#where in his first appearance its just the two of them being dumb theatrical for no reason. its very cute

[isaacathom]

thinking about the hornblower/bush pleading paragraph again and being reminded of a scene earlier in that same book where hornblower is trying to tell bush about how he can navigate and demonstrating the math for him and all bush can do is nod dumbly and admire hornblower's delicate and nimble hands

[anika-ann]

No Strings Attached - Pt.1

Y/N vs. The Mutual Crash

Type: Modern-college-professor AU x CHUCK, part of Attached series More info here and on the Attached masterlist

Pairing: professor!Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 2900

Summary for the series: When you literally run into a cute guy named Chuck in school hallway, you soon learn there is much more to him than meets the eye. Unfortunately for you, you learn the hard way.

What’s worse, the encounter sets events in motion you couldn’t imagine in your wildest dreams – and it make you question everything you know.

Warnings: for this chapter - tiny bit of 18+ nsfw smut in the beginning though it’s barely there, swearing, mention of a migraine... that’s it?

A/N: Just so I don’t spook you, we’ll start off easy… with a 2,9k chapter… enjoy and thank you if you’re giving this crossover a chance. You don’t need any knowledge of Chuck, not realy.

Attached & No Strings Attached masterlist

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Almost as soon as you woke up, there was a feeling in your gut; today was going to be strange. Strange in a way that you might not be entirely able to put a finger on, nothing all that special happening, but even though it was only half past six, you knew it was going to be one of those days.

Maybe it was the fact that you cautiously dropped a forehead kiss on Steve’s still sleeping form only to find out he was very much awake. His arms swiftly took a hold of your waist and pulled you on top of him, drawing a startled yelp from your lips, which he quickly silenced by a passionate good-morning kiss.

Maybe it was the fact that you nearly ended up being late.

You were not the only one waking up with a peculiar mood. After Steve’s kiss stole all air from your lungs, he was rolling the pair of you over, trapping you against the mattress, arousal evident, hands wandering and sneaking under your sleepshirt, trailing higher and higher until they reached one of his favourite playgrounds. The rest was history; it was quick and little sloppy but undeniably lustful. Still, it led to mutual satisfaction and to not having even remotely enough time to get ready for the day.

Maybe it was the e-mail Bucky sent yesterday at almost 10 p.m. informing his students that there would be a last-minute change of classroom, because special guests were coming to give a lecture. A lecture that started at 8 a.m.. You hated early morning classes; the only thing making them bearable was Bucky, because he was a damn good and funny professor.

God knew if the guests were about to be a blessing or a punishment. Either way, you had a hunch today was going to turn out kinda weird.

And you only had that confirmed as you rushed through the corridors, the home-made coffee in your opened thermo cup in hand—and suddenly it was gone.

Because you crashed into someone. Well, someone crashed into you. It was a mutual crash.

Point being – a hiss of pain escaped your lips, cup slipping from your fingers as the last remnants of coffee stained it, hands thrown in the air—only to slap the person’s shoulder in the process, because they happened to be in the way.

“Whoa!”

“Dammit!” you cursed, shaking your hand to distract yourself form the mild burn.

You eyed the puddle of brown liquid at your feet before your gaze moved up, noticing a few droplets on your jeans, and finally you fixed your gaze on your crashmate.

A relatively tall brunet stared at you, dark eyes wide, an apologetic expression on his face.

“I’m sorry!” you both blurted out at the same time.

Short awkward silence followed as you just kept staring at each other, unable to utter a word. And then you chuckled at the absurdity.

You noticed the guy’s lips curling up in a brief smile as you shook your head and went to find tissues in your backpack.

It wasn’t funny – more like annoying, actually. But you did find it funny. Maybe it was because you had a perfectly steamy morning quickie with your fiancé, making you giddy. Maybe it was because this guy, dressed in a grey shirt and black dress pants was kinda cute, the dark curls of his hair causing him to look rather endearing and charming at the same time and—he was smiling too. There was an air around him; a very friendly air.

“Oh, no, let me help!” he rushed to crouch by the offending puddle before you could even open your backpack and you swiftly lowered yourself too.

“It’s no problem, the cup was pretty much empty, luckily…” you mumbled, shooting him a forgiving smile. He met your eyes, one corner of his lips rising higher.

Oh no. He really was cute.

Now, after the mess with Daniel, you were wary of cute guys, even if it came to innocent flirting. But this one, your crashmate… well. There was something about him screaming ‘trust me’; with Daniel, when you looked back at your first encounter, everything screamed ‘smug jerk’.

The brunet reached for the pack of paper tissues you were holding and so you shrugged, handing him some. If he wanted to help, who were you to stop him? It was both yours and his fault.

“Well, I’m glad it wasn’t full and I didn’t go all Hugh Grant on you,” he uttered as you both worked.

You stared at his Converses for a full second and then it hit you, drawing a surprised laughed from you.

“Was that a Nothing Hill reference? Am I Julia Roberts in this scenario?”

He smiled unsurely at you, seeming rather embarrassed – but seeing your expression, he relaxed. “Yeah, but luckily, you’re not, because the cup was almost empty. Still sorry about the coffee though.”

Picking up the soaked tissues, you went to find the nearest trash can.

“Well, if I-“ didn’t let my fiancé fuck me raw when I was supposed to be getting ready for the day-  “-was watching where I was going, this wouldn’t have happened, so we’re good,” you assured him.

“Are you sure that I shouldn’t, eh,” he pointed somewhere behind him vaguely in a sweeping gesture, smile a smidge shy, ”run to the cafeteria or something to buy you a fresh cup?”

Alert! A guy’s asking you out!

And alert it was; after the fiasco with Daniel, you made it a point to cut things off before they could develop into a sticky situation.

“Oh! That’s really nice of you…?”

You didn’t remember seeing him around before. New student? An exchange student? Because it always went so well with those…

“Chuck.”

“Right, Chuck. Nice to meet you,” you quickly uttered, introducing yourself as well. “But I don’t really--- I, eh-“

You gave up and just awkwardly showed off your left hand. The beautiful ring that once belonged to Steve’s mother – and goddammit, wasn’t it still making you feel all soft and fuzzy – sitting on your ring finger.

Chuck’s gaze zeroed on the jewellery for a moment and then it seemed that something clicked in his brain. He swiftly raised his hands in a no harm gesture, brief panic crossing over his face.

”Oh no! That’s not what I meant, though--- congratulations, but I really didn’t mean to ask you out or something-“ he babbled, hands clenching and unclenching, toying with the belt-loops of his pants the next moment.

You felt your cheeks heat up. Was he trying to cover for the fact that he was embarrassed for wanting to ask you out or had you totally misjudged this situation?

“-though this totally was a meet-cute if I’ve ever seen one and it’s not that you’re not good-looking, I mean attractive and beautiful, because of course you are-“

Oh god, he wasn’t cute.

He was an adorable disaster! You didn’t even care what the truth was at this point.

“-but obviously you’re engaged and I really wasn’t making a move or anything—and I’m gonna have to stop talking right now,” he finished breathlessly, closing his eyes with a self-depreciating smile, his chest rising and falling as he was trying to calm down.

Your cheeks burned from smiling so wide, a cackle fighting its way past your lips. Even if you didn’t want to laugh at him.

“Okay, Chuck. I think I get what you’re saying,” you assured him and because he was clearly adorable, he warily cracked one eye open as if to check if the embarrassing situation you two found yourself in went away. When he noticed your smile, his tense shoulders relaxed, both eyes opening.

“I’m glad. I’m sorry for embarrassing us both. I might as well be that guy from Nothing Hill…”

You laughed – like honestly, nearly having to clutch your belly, laughed. You couldn’t help it.

“Well, you’re charming enough. But I’m afraid I’m no movie star in hiding.”

“You’re cute enough to be one, no discussion here,” he said, his twinkling eyes gave your face a very quick once-over. Somehow, you found his compliment both funny and flattering. A lopsided grin appeared on his face, twisting into a grimace as he hesitantly raised his finger. “But, if we’re talking meet-cutes, I’m afraid I’m more of a Richard Gere here… I got a little bit lost. Point me the right direction, please?”

Whoa, he was stepping up, talking Pretty Woman now. You really liked that dorky comment though.

“Where you headin’?”

“2.34?”

You blinked in surprise, wondering if you heard wrong. Because that was where you were heading.

“Oh? Interesting…” you muttered, earning a curious head tilt from him. Glancing again at your jeans, you grimaced. Those stains had to go… guess direction would have to do. “Yeah, that one is a little tricky… and dumb. You have to go through 2.33. Not that there’s any badge on the door on anything.”

He gasped theatrically. “Tricky!”

“I know! It’s a test of our interhuman skills; can’t really finding without asking someone first. I’ll see you there, I suppose, gotta clean up the cup and… well, me.”

“I’m sorry, again. And thank you,” Chuck said politely, sending you a final smile.

“You’re welcome, Chuck.”

Here’s a thing about hunches: sometimes, they come true.

Being run down in a hallway was nothing too weird, oh no. Not even when a funny charming guy was involved.

Things only got weird when you entered the lecture hall and finally realized why was Chuck heading to the same room as you did. He stood next to Bucky at the professor’s stand, quietly talking to a stunning blond woman in a dress suit and glasses.

Feeling blood rushing to your head, setting your cheeks aflame in embarrassment, you went to find a seat, noticing everyone was sitting with a space of at least three seats between them and never behind. As if you were about to write an extremely important test. Great.

Could this day get any better?

Two taps sounded through the room as Bucky tried the microphone.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Well, good for some of us, at least,” Bucky stated, unmistakably finding you in the crowd as if he knew exactly how your morning went – at least the part before you left the apartment. You wanted to sink through the floor – and wasn’t that a familiar feeling under Bucky’s knowing gaze. “Find your seats, please, so we can start. We have some special guests from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs today with us to present you a special program you can apply to, so… you know. Pay attention. They’ll tell you the rest.”

Oh, so you had run into a guy from Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Spectacular.

To be fair, he had been a dork. How were you supposed to tell he was important?! He was still pretty cute standing there.

Also: the blonde by his side? Yeah. You understood now why he reacted the way he did earlier. Because if he knew a woman like that, the idea he was trying to ask you out – or anyone, really – was laughable. Hell, you’d ask her out.

“Morning, my name is Charles Carmichael and this is my colleague, Sarah Walker,” Chuck started off pleasantly, if little nervous from having all eyes on him.

“Like your professor said, we’re here to present you… with an opportunity to get a training for special analyst in one of departments. And before you ask why we’re ambushing a history class when we’re looking to fill an analyst vacancy…”

Several people laughed and you did too – he sounded like the guy from the hallway, only a bit more presentable.

“-it’s because we really talk about this with pretty much every student on this university, so you can see we have a lot of presentations still ahead. Anyway, I’m gonna talk a bit about the program and about our ministry in general, so… yeah. Please listen carefully and watch carefully too. Spoiler: it’s important. Thanks.”

The lights dimmed and he started the presentation, slowly pulling you in and making you forget the incident in the hallway.

And despite his charming ways… the presentation was rather strange too.

It was just one of those strange days.

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You didn’t think there would be anything to add insult to the injury, to turn into the so-called cherry on top.

You were wrong.

Chuck, or Charles Carmichael, was an alright presenter. He remained a dorky character, only enough to hold all of the students’ attention, that was quite okay. It was the pictures that appeared in between those images that felt perfectly in place, that were… just weird. Like… a rose. A beach. New York skyline. Pictures that were not at all related to what he was talking about. He always played it off as a joke – supposedly placing them there to keep you on your toes – but there was something that just felt… off.

And during what you later found out was like the last third of the presentation, you felt a headache starting to build. Not a terribly intense one, but strong enough to be fairly annoying and insistent on bugging you, just above your eyebrows. You couldn’t remember your head ever hurting in such way.

Then things got worse; you indeed got a test to complete. The nice people from Ministry of Foreign Affairs told you not to worry about getting it wrong affecting your marks in your course, obviously, so you didn’t, not really.

But it was hard to ignore that it was the weirdest fucking test you had ever seen.

In each task, pick five of ten words you associate with the word in question, read the instructions. Which on its own could be considered strange, but… it was the supposedly associated words that truly confused the heck out of you.

For ‘rose’ there were clear answers like ‘thorn’ and ‘flower’. The rest of the offered words? Non-sense. Like—utter nonsense. Bulldog, Victoria, Sao Paolo, camp, mirror, Tower Bridge, eagle, heroin. You stared at the words, reading them over and over, the pressure in your forehead growing more vexing by the minute.

For some inexplicable reason, your mind kept on gravitating towards the Sao Paolo, eagle and heroin; surprisingly vivid images of each flashing behind your eyelids as you closed them to relieve the headache. The light was starting to hurt your eyes despite being rather low. It was irritating.

Deciding the stupid test didn’t matter, you went with the first thing that came to your mind for each question, finishing among the firsts. It was rather relieving to see everyone’s face as confused as you imagined your looked.

Leaving the class, you spared Chuck one last glance, finding him staring at you with eyebrows furrowed; brief glance at Bucky told you why, for he wore the very same expression. It seemed that you weren’t very good at masking your suffering. You attempted a lame smile, knowing that you were about to ditch the class that followed.

Catching up with Linda, one of the girls who were with you in Callahan’s class, you begged her to give him your apology; the headache was turning into a splitting damn migraine.

Linda shot you a compassionate smile and assured you she would vouch for you looking absolutely terrible and having no other option than leaving.

“Thanks,” you chuckled weakly, nails digging into your palms as a mild case of vertigo threatened to throw you completely off balance.

“Hey, do you want me to call someone? Take you to the infirmary?” Linda worried, sporting a textbook example of having concern written all over her face. “Not joking, you do look like you’re gonna pass out. Rogers’ gonna be out for blood if he finds out I talked to you and let you wander off in this state.”

The image of Steve stalking down the hallway with an exasperated expression on his face searching for your classmate seemed rather amusing; but that was unlikely to happen.

“Nah, he should be all sunshine. Lots of endorphins released this morning,” you mumbled, absently rubbing at your forehead.

You only realized what you said when a dramatic silence followed, soon broken by Linda’s snort of laughter. The shock of you blatantly revealing something like that in your compromised state helped you to focus a bit more, bringing some clarity to your vision.

“I so didn’t need to know that. Good thing I have Callahan now and not him, I wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye. I’d be imagining him shirtless with a perfect case of bed hair. Gosh, you’re such a lucky bitch.”

“Don’t I know it,” you offered with another weak smile.

“I’m sure you do,” she hummed, lightly patting your shoulder. “Now you get home safe and get some rest.”

“Thank you, Linda. Really.” She only shrugged it off as if it was nothing. The friendly display brought an honest smile to your face and caused you to perk up enough to joke. “Oh, and Steve usually sleeps in a t-shirt, sorry to break it to you. But his bed hair is dreamy.”

“…I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

She would have if you added that the rumour about Professor Rogers being true. That he was indeed packing.

With a smirk at that thought alternating with a grimace whenever a sharp pain hit the back of your head, you headed home.

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Part 2

About

Chuck characters

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Thank you for reading :-*

In case you missed one of my way too many announcements, in Chuck, every episode was named Chuck vs. Something. I decided to keep the theme and go against my usual not-so-frequent use of Y/N in my stories.

P.S. – if any of this felt familiar to Chuck fans, know, some of the plot is a big nod to episode 1x07 Chuck vs. the Alma Mater. It’s one of my faves for many reasons – the plot, hilarious lines, the LOTR references… Honestly, they had me at this scene (0:05 – 0:25  though you can watch the full 2 min, obviously)  

Anika Ann out

[elemental-daddy-neos]

What are everyone’s teams in your Pokemon au? Do you have a plot set out or is it a more causal au?

Oooooh this is a fun one

You'd better fucking BELIEVE we have a plot set up, I have poured so much effort into the Pokemon au

Okay, so: when it comes to teams, I decided that everyone should have at least one legendary Pokemon in their party as a way to be faithful to the ace monster concept, but it wasn’t until much later into the au that I realized I’d failed to do that with Sora’s team, which led to a very fun plot point involving his secret 7th Pokemon he keeps in his box

Teams under the cut because it’s gonna be a long one, boys

Yuya has: Groudon, Sandshrew, Popplio, Hippopotas, Aipom, and Ekans

In his box, he’s got Phanphy, Charmander, Politoad, Ducklett, Liepard, Skorupi, and Lycanroc (Midnight form)

I wanted him to have as many Pokemon as he could that reminded me of the monsters in his deck, and since Yuya is a coordinator in this au instead of a regular trainer, it just felt right that he’d have a lot of different partners he could swap out for various contests

Also I’m mad that there isn’t a legendary dragon that looks like Odd Eyes, so I had to give Yuya Groudon instead, making him the only Yu boy in this au to not have a legendary dragon type Pokemon

Yuto has: Eternatus, Bisharp, Aegislash, Aggron, Lucario, and Shadow Rider Calyrex

Okay listen, I know I was supposed to only give everyone One legendary Pokemon, but with Calyrex I feel justified because it looks So Much like it could be one of Yuto’s Phantom Knights, I mean

Just look at it

Yuto gets to have two legendaries to make up for Arc-V killing him off so early into the show

Aside from this guy, the rest of Yuto’s team just felt like it should be comprised of steel types ow the edge so that’s what I gave him. His Pokemon are as edgy as he tries to appear to be and that is enough to amuse me.

There also weren’t exactly many good Pokemon equivalents of his archetype, so I made do with what I had.

Yugo has: Latios, Scizor, Claydol, Porygon 2, Ponyta (Shiny), and Sudowoodo

Yugo was honestly so hard to come up with a team for because all his Speedroid cards are just like... toys and stuff for the most part, so I agonized over what I should pick for him for a Long time. In the end, I feel like I got close enough to his general aesthetic with the Pokemon I picked.

(His Ponyta is there because of Speedroid Horse Stilts, and while it is a shiny, the dumbass has no idea about it, and thinks he just happened to get a special blue horse that was born a little differently- he never claimed to be smart.)

He also deadass thought Sudowoodo was a grass type for the longest time. Rin had to be the one to tell him it wasn’t. 

“Yugo. Sudowoodo? It sounds like pseudo? As in fake wood?”

“Ohhhhh is that what its name means? Wow Rin you’re so smart.”

No Yugo you’re just exceptionally stupid.

Yuri has: Naganadel, Seviper, Victreebel, Toxicroak, Vileplume, and Roserade

For the most toxic of battlers, I felt it only necessary to give Yuri an all poison type team. I included an even mix of plants in there to tie into his Predaplant deck, Seviper for the snake eye vibes, and Toxicroak... just feels right, you know. I couldn’t find any other poison plant themed Pokemon that seemed like they’d fit his vibe, so he gets a poison frog instead.

Yuzu has: Meloetta, Sylveon, Meowstic (Female), Gardevoir, Florges, and Jigglypuff

I tried to stick with Pokemon that had very feminine vibes for Yuzu, since her deck is comprised of pretty singing ladies, so Meloetta and Jigglypuff in particular feel very fitting in that regard.

Serena has: Cresselia, Delcatty, Glameow, Lopunny, Persian, and Pyroar (Female)

The moon vibes with Cresselia felt perfect for Serena, and as for the rest of her team, all cats and a bunny to pay homage to her Lunalight deck ^^

Rin has: Celesteela, Mismagius, Hatterene, Glaceon, Froslass, and Chimecho

Her team vibes with the witch part of her Wind Witch deck, at least for Mismagius and Hatterene. Glaceon, Froslass, and Chimecho are there due to the etymology of her name, where possible meanings of it include “cold” and “bell”, which I thought was pretty cool, no pun intended.

Ruri has: Galarian Articuno, Pidgeot, Noctowl, Chatot, Altaria, and Unfezant (Male)

Some softer birds for the soft bird girl, for the most part. I liked the thought of her team being all birds like her Lyriluscs, and just... yeah. They’re all very friendly birds that Ruri’s bonded pretty closely with. Also I made sure she had Galarian Articuno for no reason other than it is purple like her, and I think that’s all the reason I need.

Gong has: Kartana, Machoke, Samurott, Golisopod, Hariyama, and Conkeldurr

Gong was really easy to assign a team to- just had to find as many samurai themed Pokemon as possible, and fill in the rest with really strong fighting types, like Machoke, Hariyama, and Conkeldurr.

Shingo has: Type: Null, Dusclops, Misdreavus, Spiritomb, Decidueye, and Cramorant

With Shingo, I tried to go for Pokemon that had the same vibes as some of his Abyss Actors, and I think Dusclops is the best example of this. Tbh I am very proud of giving him a Type: Null because Type: Null is an amalgamation of other Pokemon, something that was created in a lab to be a fighting machine. There’s nothing natural about Type: Null, and it’s kind of terrifying to Yuya specifically, who’s always viewed Pokemon as creatures to befriend. This experiment created purely to kill... unnerves him, and serves as a very good foil to his beliefs when it comes to Pokemon.

And they were narrative foils

Oh my god they were narrative foils

On a sillier note, I chose Cramorant purely because of this quote from its bulbapedia page: “Cramorant are also rather unintelligent as they can't remember which Pokémon they fight in mid battle, but never forget Trainers that they trust. However, they try to attack their Trainers if they steal food from them.”

I just thought the idea of Shingo having this dumb bird that occasionally pecks at him over food would be funny tbh, gotta dunk on the rival at least a little bit.

Sora has: Banette, Vanillish, Swirlix, Stufful, Litleo, and Buneary

In his box, he has a Guzzlord

I feel like Sora’s team is very straightforward, as it’s a mix of sweets themed Pokemon, and Pokemon that represent monsters in his deck- Stufful for Flufflal Bear, Litleo for Fluffal Leo, and Buneary for Fluffal Rabbit. Guzzlord... is relevant later on in the plot after shit goes down, that’s all I’ll say for now.

Masumi has: Diancie, Sableye, Corsola, Aurorus, Tyranitar, and Lycanroc (Dusk form)

Gem Knight girl deserved to have a bunch of good rock type Pokemon, and Diancie is like. The best possible legendary I could have given someone like her lol, the crystal aesthetic is just perfect for her. Not much to say here honestly, I just really vibed with these specific rock types and thought they’d make a good team for her.

Yaiba has: Zeraora, Kecleon, Pangoro, Scyther, Purugly, and Stantler

So I actually threw this list together just now because I realized Masumi was the only member of her trio to have a full team, and that just wasn’t right. I tried to base this team off the XX-Sabers as well I could, but it was a little hard with how many humanoid cards Yaiba has. With his legendary, I actually chose it based off this monster right here! 

I think they’ve got similar enough vibes aesthetically for Zeraora to fit him. Scyther is based on Emmersblade, Kecleon on Ragigura, Stantler on Garsem, Purugly on Gardestrike, and Pangoro... Honestly, it just makes me think of Yaiba himself when I look at him. I think they’d get along well.

Hokuto has: Deoxys, Espeon, Grumpig, Starmie, Lunatone, and Malamar

Psychic type Pokemon just sort of felt right for him to have, considering that his deck is based on constellations and has an overall space theme to it. Not sure why that translates over to psychic in my brain, but you know what, it looks right, I love this team for him, and I’m not gonna question it.

I especially think Deoxys makes a good legendary for him considering it is literally a space alien, and Hokuto’s whole thing is space, so yeah, he gets to have the space alien.

Shun has: Galarian Moltres, Skarmory, Fearow, Dodrio, Staraptor, and Talonflame

Pretty straightforward team I feel- it’s all birds of prey for the Raid Raptor boy, and I just thought the Galarian version of Moltres was neat. Makes me think of his Blaze Falcon since they’re both black and red.

Dennis has: Hoopa, Mr. Mime, Delphox, Zoroark, Alakazam, and Hawlucha

Hoopa seemed like a very good legendary for Dennis to have, given his deck archetype and all, he just kind of looks like a little circus dude. Its unbound form makes me think about the swap Dennis has when it gets revealed that he’s actually been a double agent the whole time, and the play gloves finally come off.

The rest of his team... I feel like they speak for themselves. I tried to give him Pokemon that matched up with his deck archetype, so there’s Delphox to rep the fire themed monsters, Mr. Mime because it just fits Dennis’ general personality- and I love the thought of those two being friends and just copying each other’s theatric poses. Chaotic dynamic duo.

(Also: Zoroark's ability letting it disguise itself as another Pokemon is just another parallel to Dennis pretending to be one of the good guys at first, and I love it)

Shinji has: Buzzwole, Beedrill, Vespiquen, Ribombee, Kricketune, and Leavanny

I tried to give the bee man all the bees I could, but there are only so many bee Pokemon out there 😔 I knew the rest of his team had to be insect types to make up for it, so I picked Kricketune because he is just... a friend... a musical buddy who definitely gets along well with the kids. Leavanny is just a bug mom who also helps patch up the kids’ clothing when they get tears in them, which I just love the idea of. Sweet bug mom whose dex entry talks about how they sew for other Pokemon looks after her trainer’s kids when she’s not battling.

Buzzwole: witness the fitness

Throwback to the Smash Bros mains lmao 

Crow has: Murkrow, Braviary, Starly, Swellow, Pikipek, and Corviknight

Bunch of birds for my Blackwing user... This team was partially picked out by June, and it was mostly meant for the Other Pokemon au, but I don’t really see a reason to change his team here. Crow is the one person without a legendary on his team, which makes me sad, but there really isn’t a legendary bird out there that fits his vibes, so as much as I wanna give him a legendary, he will have to make do without one. Sorry Crow.

Hoo... that’s finally all the teams down. Now I can talk about the plot! So, as I briefly mentioned in a previous post (I think), this particular au is inspired by Pokemon Diamond/Pearl/Platinum! It’s the era where contests really became a big thing, which is perfect for a lot of these characters because it’s easy to translate dueltaining over to coordinating in this world. Much like in canon, Yuya aspires to be as great a coordinator as his dad was, and strives to entertain people the way Yusho could. He’s not much for battling, and far prefers getting to show off his Pokemon’s talents in contests than anything. 

Academia is going to play the role of Team Galactic in this au, which is incredibly fitting with their mission in canon: to remake the universe in their leader’s image. In this case, with Leo Akaba taking on the role of Cyrus, his intent is, presumably, to either destroy the universe that took his daughter from him, or create a new one where she can live once again, no matter the cost.

Sora being a key member in Team Galactic is a very big part of the plot in this au: his mission was to capture one of the lake legendaries, Uxie, since Leo needed all three of them for his plan to remake the universe, but things don’t exactly go well for him, and he ends up losing his battle against Uxie, resulting in all of his memories being locked away, and essentially making him a blank slate.

Side note: the Galactic grunt haircut reminds me a lot of Sora, I mean just look at it

Practically same bangs as him, just add an upturned ponytail and you’ve got my son.

This post is getting very long... but I will add one last plot related thing to it before I go: Uxie can erase memories, Mesprit can erase emotions, and Azelf can erase willpower. All three of these lake legendaries play a very important role in the plot, due to being the keys to Leo Akaba’s plans to remake the universe. Sora was touched by Uxie, effectively doing away with all memory he has of being in Team Galactic. Yuya ends up touched by Mesprit in an attempt to save them, and subsequently loses his emotions as a result. Riley?

Riley had been affected by all three of them before the plot began, which is why she is the way she’d been in Arc-V: Emotionless, unable to remember anything about her past except for those brief, fleeting flashes of memory when put into certain situations she’d experienced before, and without any will of her own. She’s so dependent on her older brother because she quite literally has no clue what to do with herself without being told to, and needs orders to function.

Hoo, if you’ve made it all the way to the end of the post, congratulations! I think this is the longest one I’ve made... ever lmao. I hope you guys found it enjoyable! If anyone wants to know more about certain aspects of this au, feel free to ask! I look forward to talking about it more c:

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “Duct Tape”

I was challenged and the challenge was accepted. Thank you  @cyberstrikebeast​ for the suggestion! Also thanks and credit to @impalalord​ for the original post where the idea was suggested to me, and the original inspiration. 

https://impalalord.tumblr.com/post/187591145361/finds-duct-tape-humans-were-here

The intergalactic technology summit was an annual event, or at least it happened once every agreed cycle. Members of the GA excitedly brought forward their best advances in the past year to share with the convention center. This was the first year that the humans had been invited. Of course, at such short notice the humans had only been able to send a few delegates, who were ordered to ‘pay attention, take notes, and most of all, see if there is anyone who would be willing to let us test it out.

For that reason, Commander Vir of the UNSC accompanied Earth’s representative rocket scientist. At first, the two humans had been a bit wary of each other one being primarily a military man and the other being primarily a rocket scientist. First impressions were a bit deflated as the scientist assumed the big, muscular soldier would be bored, stuffy, and kind of dumb, while the soldier assumed the small, tweed-wearing scientist would be boring, stuffy, and kind of condescending. Of course, upon spending the next ten minutes with each other it turned out that geeks come from all walks of life, and by the time they reached the summit, a friendship was forming.

They stepped through the doors with their badges on and allowed both of their mouths to drop open. It was no secret that humans were not far on the end of the technology spectrum. In fact most of their gear was rudimentary if not laughable to other species like the Vrul or the Runid who used anti gravity systems instead of engines to propel their rockets into the sky. There were entire rows dedicated to the advancement of medical science which made humans look like an automobile chop shop where people go to get sequentially dismembered by rusty saw blades.

The Geek fest that followed would have been laughable for an outsider, but with the two of them it was simply a reason for excitement. They pranced about the convention, the rocket scientist asking dozens of questions in an attempt to understand the technology, while the soldier took every opportunity he could to test the object personally no matter how dangerous it may have been. Generally, together, they made a decent team, and the scientist came to find that the soldier was not, as it originally seemed, and idiot. Any technology involving aviation, despite him being a rocket scientist, was quickly overshadowed by the knowledge of this man, who had operated, fixed and MacGyvered most machines without a comprehensive knowledge of physics.

They were sitting down to lunch as the soldier was explaining, “And that’s why the T-8 doesnt work despite being good on paper simply because of human error. Its counter-intuitive and unless trained out of old habits, the pilot is going to crash it.”

The scientist frowned, “Well alright, but the T-8 system is the perfect model. It works with the least amount of energy drop-off, and can be cooled faster and more efficiently than other systems. Its use would revolutionize space flight.”

“And I get that obviously, its super awesome in theory, but I’m telling you the T-8 is not compatible to the way that pilots think, especially under stressful situations. The brain sort of goes back to its original programming while the T-8 forces you to do internal calculations, which is the reason that they constantly crash. I flew one once for like ten minutes and wanted to smash my head into wall after using it.”

“Well…. I suppose-”

“Try to automate the thing, and I bet a computer will fly it just fine, but keep out the human component-” At that moment, the scientist opened his mouth to speak when a group of aliens walked up from ne of the isles, a vrul, a rundi, a tesraki, and a finnari.

“Good morning humans, we are pleased to see that you were able to arrive today.”

The scientist squirmed in his seat nervous and out of sorts, but the soldier simply smiled and launched into his greeting with the ease of a born extrovert, “And it’s a pleasure to be here. I have to say that we are beyond impressed at what we have seen today.”

Together the aliens hummed in appreciation, “we are pleased to find that there is something we can do that you humans haven't already mastered.” 

With a wave of his hand the human brushed off the complement returning it, “Please, you give us too much credit. Our science is practically in its infancy in comparison.”

They spoke for a few more minutes before the aliens paused looking at them expectantly. The scientists glanced over at the soldier with a confused expression which was unnervingly returned in equal measure. 

“Well?” The Vrul wondered.

“Well what?” 

“Well, where is your piece of technology. That is what this conference is for after all, to share your inventions with the world.”

Together the human’s hearts dropped into their stomachs and they glanced at each other with wide panicked eyes, “We were supposed to bring an invention?”

“Of course….” The aliens glanced at each other, “Do you no have one.”

“Well I n-”

“Of course we do! Just messing with you, obviously.” The scientist turned to look at the soldier with a panicked expression of warning eyebrows raised almost to his hairline.

“Don’t tell me you forgot about our invention, Dr. I mean it is one of the most important pieces of technology in human history.”  He continued to glower in panic, what was this blabbermouth doing. It was like watching a man stand with a shovel in a hole seven feet deep and insist he wasn’t digging his own grave.

This was going to be the single most embarrassing moment of his career.

The soldier nudged his ribs, “You know, THAT technology.”

He cleared his throat in frustration and nodded, “Oh yes of course….. I’m sorry I just got so….. Excited that I blanked for a moment. Why don’t YOU show them. You are so much better at  these things than me.”

“Er….” The soldier began, “Of course I will. Hold on and let me grab it real quick.” He stood up setting his bag on the table and then began rummaging through it.

The scientist put his head in his hands, unless he had an antimatter core shoved in his bag they were fucked.

The human held up a finger as the aliens looked on expectantly, “Hold on just have to find it first…..” The scientist felt as if he was about to puke. Then the soldier’s eyes lit up, and his face was crossed with a massive grin. “Ah there it is.” The scientist looked on in confusion

The aliens leaned forward as the human stood taller hand still shoved in his bag.

“What I am about to show you may well be one of the most important inventions is the history of humanity, Nay! The history of the galaxy, single handedly responsible for human innovation 

Beyond the warp core, beyond life support and anti gravity, this is the single most important invention to ever grace the field of human scientific knowledge. Its application is endless as a multipurpose tool and is so adaptable it can be used for ANY, and I mean ANY application.”

The aliens sat wide eyed and the scientist leaned forward with bated breath. What could be so grand that the soldier could spin a lie like that and get away with it. He didn't appear to even be breaking a sweat.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and distinguished others, I present to you the….. The multifunctional Universal Unilateral Bonding Strop.” With a theatrical flourish worthy of a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, the soldier withdrew his arm from the bag and raised his hand high into the air, where light from the ceiling caught and reflected off its shiny silver surface….

“Duct-tape.” The scientist blurted in consternation. Voice cracking with near laughter and disbelief. 

The soldier gave him a warning look and then nodded, “Yes, of course, Dr. More formally known as duct tape.”

The aliens gathered closer in curiosity, “It doesn’t look like much.” One of them pointed out

But the soldier looked at him with an expression of hurt consternation, “I assure you, it's everything I said it is and more, originally invented in 1943 by a Vesta Stoudt, who was trying to find an acceptable replacement for less durable cloth tape. It was originally intended for use in sealing ammunition boxes, but soldiers later determined that this little miracle could fix anything from achinery to boots, to weaponry. I guarantee you wont find a human that doesn't have some.”

He stepped forward proffering the material for closer inspection.

“What is it made from.” One of the aliens wondered.

The soldier paused then stammered, “Well I…. Um its made of.”

“Well it can actually be made of any number of things.” The scientists piped up, “It is very versatile that way. The woven fabric base can be made of anything from cotton to nylon to fiberglass, specifically designed for flexibility. The back was originally coated with waterproof polyurethane and then coated with the adhesive. The same process is generally used though there are many different varieties. The more plastic the adhesive backing, the more water tight and so can be used to stop leakes, repair pipes, seal gaps and any number of other applications. They even make a more durable reflective variety that is heat resistant, so can be utilized at high temperatures.” 

He turned to glance at the soldier who was beaming openly at him, winking his one remaining eye before turning to the aliens.

“You said it can be used in all applications. Explain.”

“Well I am glad you asked.” The soldier began taking a deep breath, “I've personally seen it used to repair shoes, cars, machinery, pipes, clothing. It has the ability to incapacitate a human ...” He paused there to let that sink in, “It is used to make art, and clothing, hold things together, seal packages. In large concentration it is strong enough to hold a grown man off the ground. I’ve seen it used to make a boat, and once, an entire airplane, with additional equipment of course. Pretty sure someone made a cannon using it once, but that could just be a myth.”

“Point is.” Said the scientists, “Humans use this for everything, and though it is an old invention it is one that deserves to be shared across the galaxy.”

The Vrul crossed his arms, “That is a big claim to make for such an object.”

“Yes.” A Tesraki piped in, “You sell well, but business is business. If the product isn’t up to scratch than how can we trust it.”

“We must have a demonstration.”

The human grinned in response, “Well, I am glad you asked.” He held the roll of tape up picking at the edge with a fingernail before withdrawing a long strip. The sound it made was a satisfying sccriiiitch and then tear as he pulled a piece off sliding the roll over his hand to hold it on his wrist. He held the two ends between his fingers and flexed the strip between his fingers, “See completely and entirely flexible.  

One of the aliens frowned, “I thought you said it was supposed to be durable, but you just tore it in half.”

The human frowned, “Well that is one of the great parts of this tape, tear it just right, and anyone can use it, but exposed to pulling or twisting forces it is difficult to break. Let me demonstrate.” He grabbed the piece of tape by either end and then began to wrestle with it. Instead of breaking the tape stretched and strained slowly pulling apart until eventually it snapped causing the human to stagger a bit.

“See now imagine multiple strips all working together.” 

The aliens muttered. The scientist stared on in awe, they were actually coming around. He glanced towards the soldier with a look of disbelief. The bastard had done it, he had actually done it. Sold a 2,000 year old invention as the most important piece of technology in human history.

The soldier was grinning as he tore a few more strips from the tape handing them out, “Here take a pice, try it out for yourself.”

The aliens tentatively did as told and what ensued was an amusing spectacle of aliens confusedly trying to unstick the tape from their fingers, accidentally sticking it to themselves, and then begging for help in getting it off. A Vrul danced around in circle shaking his hand but the tape wouldn’t let go . This little show had drawn a crowd, and others came forward to curiously sample the strange human invention.

Warp reactors, and medical science was ignored in favor of the humans and their single roll of tape.

When they finally got the hang of using the sticky one sided adhesive the aliens suddenly became obsessed with what they could stick together. Chairs were hung upside down to tables, people’s hands were tied together. One of the Vrul was taped to the floor. The front doors to the convention were sealed shut.

Pandemonium ensued as tape was wrapped around anything that seemed even mildly broken.

To everyone’s surprise, a vrul who had recently received an injury to his helium sack, sealed the hole with a piece of tape, and was able to return to floating within a matter of seconds.

Somewhere in there the Commander and the rocket scientist lost sight of the role, only to find a rundi taped to the wall looking slightly beleaguered a few minutes later.

They stood together at the center of the convention floor staring around as aliens stuck things to other things, waved their hands about, and generally turned the center into a house of complete chaos.

The rocket scientist leaned in, “What have you done.”

Wide eyed the soldier turned to look at him with a grimace, “Er….. I have no idea.”

They looked around surveying the carnage made by one role of tape. There was a slight ripping noise and they turned to see the doors finally opening strings of cut tape billowing in the air rushing out onto the street. Drev security walked in accompanied by a Rundi oversee who paused in the doorway in consternation staring at the carnage. 

Aliens everywhere, and two well-behaved humans standing in the middle of it.

He rubbed his eyes and rechecked as if he was seeing things. Generally when something like this happens you would expect to find the humans being destructive, not the other, generally mild species. 

The soldier shrugged raising his hands in a ‘we had nothing to do with this’ sort of gesture. The rundi didn’t seem convinced.  

It took several hours to deal with the aftermath, and it only stopped when a Tesraki returned to the soldier holding the cardboard center of the role looking saddened by it’s loss, “Do you have more.”

The soldier rubbed the back of his head, “Afraid you used my whole role, but I am sure we could come to an agreement about getting you some.” The Tesraki nodded in a subdued sort of way, handed him the used up role and then slunk away. The Rundi overseer glowered at him with  an ‘i knew it’ sort of expression.

Walking out of the convention well into the night after being forced to help clean things up, the scientist looked over at his companion, “That was some serious silver tongue shit back there. How did you do it.”

The soldier simply smiled and shrugged, “Sort of just came to me.”

“If that hadn't worked, we would have been screwed.”

He waved a hand, “Nah, I wasn't worried.”

“Speak for yourself. I was close to pissing myself.

Just then the scientists phone began to ring. He was getting a patched in transmission from his superior back on earth and motioned the soldier to stay quiet. He answer the call and put it on speaker, “Yes sir.”

“I’m just calling to see how the convention went?”

“Uh….. well it went fine considering the circumstances.” The scientist stuttered.

There was a pause over the other end of the line, “What does that mean.”

He shuffled his feet nervously not entirely sure how to say this, “Well, as it turns out that being invited to this thing meant we were expected to bring an invention.”  

He heard shuffling on the other end of the line and some muffled cursing, “Shit, I had no idea. I’m so sorry. How did you handle that mess?”

He scratched the back of his head feeling a smile broke out across his face, “Ur…. well lets just say we should make a note to the UN that, if anyone asks, duct tape is the most important piece of technology ever invented.” 

[kenzieam]

Us This Way - Oneshot

Rating: M

Warnings: Angst, heartache, some language ****TRIGGER WARNINGS****

Word Count: 4417

Tags: @jewels2876​  @moonbeambucky​  @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​  @iammarylastar​ @captstefanbrandt​  @badassbaker​  @pinknerdpanda​  @oliviastan17​ @mizzzpink​​

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

Okay, so this frickin’ song gets me every time.

Kudos to the beautiful Lady Gaga for this hauntingly beautiful gem.

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

Lev swallowed past the lump in her throat, skimmed the note in her hand one last time. She’d wrote and rewrote the words so often in her head she knew them by heart, but it didn’t make reading them any easier.

James,

By the time you sober up and read this, I’ll be gone.

I can’t do this anymore, the drinking, the fights, the lies.

You aren’t the same man I fell in love with, and I can’t say anymore that I’m the same girl you knew either.

When we started this journey, you told me things would never change; that it would be just the two of us, against the world, travelling and sharing your music and voice and I, naively I guess, believed it.

But everything is different. You’re drunk all the time, drinking to excess and its only going to be a matter of time before your followers see it too, there’s already gossip on the fan sites about your behaviour.

And I’m not leaving because of that, I could deal with the alcohol if it weren’t for the craziness that comes with it.

These women aren’t here for you, they’re here for the idea of you, the Rockstar, and I can’t watch you take them into your hotel rooms anymore, I can’t hear you through the walls with them.

I deserve better and, to be honest, so do you but I can’t help you anymore.

God knows I’ve tried.

I hope one day you find peace and closure from whatever haunts you so badly and discover your voice again.

I love you; I always have.

I always will,

Levi

A tear burned hot down her cheek, but she wiped it away absently, clearing her throat. She’d already wasted so many tears, she couldn’t spare any more.

Laying the note silently on the bedside table, Lev took one last lingering glance at the man, her former lover and friend, current rockstar touring and conquering the world, now passed out face down in the hotel bed, back scratched and red from his latest groupie foursome she’d chased out just minutes ago, two or three empty liquor bottles visible among the tangled sheets, then turned and left the room.

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

A throbbing headache dragged him from oblivion later and, for a time, James just lay there, eyes half-open, trying to piece together the last hours.

He remembered two, or was it three? Groupies: giggling girls with fake tits and trout pouts, wearing little more than ace bandages and laughing at his every word like he was the most charming asshole on Earth and everything that fell out of his mouth was pure gold.

Lev had never put up with his shit. She’d always set him straight with a few well-chosen words, a sharp glare with her hypnotizing violet eyes.

Come to think of it, where was Lev? Usually she was prodding him awake by now, pushing coffee into his face, talking about getting up, getting showered and getting on the damn bus.

Bottles clinked as he moved, struggled in the tangled sheet to push himself upright. His back stung and faint memories surfaced, one of the harpies scratching him, moaning theatrically as he fucked her, wishing it were Levi beneath him still instead of this random stranger.

God, he hoped he’d worn a condom, not that it stopped theses psychos; Christ, every week there was a new accusation, a new girl stepping forward claiming he’d impregnated her.

Thank fuck for his lawyer, Sam Wilson; the man was a gem, with the retainer bills to prove it.

“Lev?” He croaked, wincing as fresh pain shot through his skull.

No answer.

“Lev!” He chanced a shout, growling and grabbing his throbbing temples. “Fuck, where are you?”  

He turned his head, squinting before freezing as his glare landed on the letter.

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

“So, you just left, huh?” Steve asked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, and staring at it contemplatively.

“Yeah, same as you.” There was a hint of venom in Lev’s voice and the blond man smirked.

“Yeah, same as me. Got tired of the shit.”

“Everyday.”

Steve sighed, staring out at nothing, thoughts a thousand miles away. “Remember when we first started out?”

“You, me and James in that old van? Driving from bar to bar and playing for peanuts?”

“You’d go up on stage when he reached for you, join him for a few songs?”

Lev sighed sadly. “Long time ago, man. We were just fucking kids.”

“Yep, but you two? Timeless. I remember when I first saw you. First day of grade three in Ms. Hawthorn’s class; James elbowed me and said, ‘that’s the girl I’m going to marry’.”

“He did not!” Lev fought a smile, she’d heard this story so many times, her reaction varying from honest disbelief to warm-hearted nostalgia depending on how fresh her latest pain was.

“He did.” Steve replied, smiling fondly. “Couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

“Yeah, well… something else has caught his eye now.”

“You can’t save him, Lev. He has to want to save himself.”

“I know… it just hurts.”

“I know.” Steve murmured quietly. “I know.”

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

‘Rockstar James Barnes’ newest run-in with the paparazzi, next on TMZ’

Lev groaned and turned off the TV, throwing the remote onto the scarred coffee table.      

Obviously, he was perfectly capable of carrying on with his shenanigans without her, not that her pleas for him to stop had ever fallen on anything but deaf ears.

She glanced at her cell phone, then cursed and purposefully looked away. Every day for years she’d seen his name come up on her display, multiple times a day, through the night and she’d come to expect it.

The calls after she’d left had come heavy and hot, barely a pause in between except for increasingly abusive texts and voicemail messages. When they had changed to broken, mournful, pleading messages she’d thrown her cell away, smashed it for good measure.

It was just habit to look for his name now, a useless throwback.

She had left a month ago and James’ spiral of self-destruction was becoming a nightly news story.

She didn’t envy Pepper, his long-suffering publicist, nor Nick, the rep from Fury Records; word was both were close to dropping him soon, if he didn’t get his act together.

Cursing herself afresh, Lev reached for the remote and flicked the set back on. She was a fucked up as him sometimes, intent on making it hurt.

James’ face appeared on the screen and Lev was shocked at how haggard he now looked, pale and drawn. His hair was lanky, in his face, clothes wrinkled. As the paparazzi swarmed him, leaving the latest club, he glanced up at the cameras and Lev was struck dumb by the utter misery on his face. His eyes were red-rimmed, either from sleep problems (something he’d had more than his share of in the time Lev had known him) or he’d taken up hard drugs.

The pap screamed questions at him, jostling each other and him as he struggled through the mob, the slightly shell-shocked bottle-blonde woman on his arm being all but dragged behind. What security James hadn’t chased off was all but overwhelmed by the reporters and fans, light flashes strobing the scene.

“Just leave me the FUCK alone!” James roared, pushing hard at one spectacled paparazzi, knocking him to the ground and only inflaming the mob more.

Lev felt a surge of fear, mixed in with a healthy dose of rage at the sight. Someone could easily get hurt tonight, lines could be crossed that would never be forgotten. James was juggling with the remains of his career right now and he had the shakes.

“Are the rumors true?” One pap screeched.

“Where’s Lev?” Another yelled and Lev winced. They were still asking him, four weeks into her departure.

“Is the picture of you snorting a white substance outside The Down Low real?”    

Shit.

James didn’t answer beyond a wild-eyed sneer then he was scrambling into a large black SUV, the confused milling of his few remaining security guards telling Lev they hadn’t expected him to drive; then the SUV was screeching away, paparazzi and security scattering like flies, their shouted questions turning into screams of shock and fear and Lev clapped her hands to her mouth, biting back her own scream.

He had totally gone crazy; without Lev there to anchor him, he was dangerously adrift.

The clip ended and the TMZ crew started rehashing it, some expressing sympathy for James and others outright condemning him for losing his shit so badly.

“Does anyone know where she went?” Harvey asked, sipping on his trademark straw.

“Who, Levi Riel?” One the lackeys frowned in confusion.

“Who else?” Harvey laughed. “I mean, James Barnes was a wild man before but now he’s completely off the rails. Something’s happened there but his camp won’t comment. Any luck on contacting Lev herself?”

They’d tried, endlessly, until Lev had smashed her phone and gotten a new number; so far, that hadn’t been leaked but the pap was sneaky and resourceful, Lev had been in the spotlight long enough as James’ gal Friday to know how it worked and she didn’t expect to remain incommunicado forever. Besides, she was already fielding calls from other musicians, hearing she was free and desperate for her services. So far, she’d said no, it was still too raw for her to go back into the industry, but her savings wouldn’t last forever.

Would she be alright? Running into James at an award show somewhere, contracted to another singer, seeing him with some other woman (not that that was in any way new), or perhaps worse, doing just fine now without her? How long would he last like this? There were plenty of examples out there of musicians who’d self-destructed, died by suicide or misadventure, and if James had been spotted snorting white powder already, he was well on his way to joining the club.

Her phone rang and Lev almost dropped her glass, despite staring at the damned thing almost compulsively looking for James’ name, the sound still made her heart race.

“Hey, Steve.”

“You saw that?” His voice was resigned. “TMZ?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Every miserable second.”

“You going to tell me to go back to him?” A part of Lev wanted Steve to say no, but a larger part wanted to hear yes.

“No. I was going to tell you to make sure you stay the hell away. This isn’t your mess anymore, hon.”

“But… my leaving-”

“Didn’t do anything, he was already circling the drain, you were right to get yourself out when you did.”

Lev blinked back tears, wiped them angrily away. “When did it all go so wrong, Steve?”

He exhaled sadly. “Who knows? After Clint overdosed?”

“After my miscarriage?” Lev whispered, the memory of James holding her, crying with her on that hotel bathroom floor, blood smeared on her inner thighs rushed back into her mind’s eye.

They… he’d wanted a child so badly, back in the good years, when they’d lay sated and exhausted in bed together, murmuring softly before sleep claimed them both.

“I want a baby,” he’d whisper, eyes searching hers. “You’d be such a good mama.”

“Not right now,” she’d always answer, although the thought of growing round with his seed sparked heat low in her belly. “It’s not the right time, you’ve had five consecutive number one hits, you’re on top of the world.”

“We are.” He’d reply, reaching up and stroking his calloused thumb over her bottom lip.

“Maybe.” Steve replied softly. “It’s still not your fault, Lev.”

She couldn’t hear anymore; the memories were rushing back too hard and too fast. “Goodbye, Steve.”

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

A part of her expected the call, and she reached for the phone, half-awake, when it rang sometime after two a few nights later.

“Miss Riel?” A clipped, professional voice. “This is Dr. Keening from the UCLA Medical Center, I'm calling about your husband, James.”

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

Lev wouldn’t let herself examine the reasons why she dropped everything and booked the next flight to Los Angeles, maybe it was seeing him so distraught on TV, maybe it was thinking about their past; the way he’d held her so tightly, so lovingly, even as he cried so hard with her that night, the realization so fresh that their child, almost too early to even be called a baby yet, had left them already.

She gave the Uber driver directions then leaned back in the seat, staring out the window without really seeing and, all too soon, the car was pulling to a stop in front of the hospital.

The sterile smell inside made her stomach roil and she almost turned around and left, then squared her shoulders and pressed the elevator button for the right floor.

A nurse directed her to the correct room then had the grace to leave her alone. Lev milled around the hallway for a beat, chewing on her lip and struggling to find a reason, any reason, why she should walk through that door.

This…. He wasn’t her problem anymore, she’d left.

But they could both use some closure.

He was asleep when she entered the room but before she could turn around and leave his eyelids fluttered. He’d always been able to sense when she was near, and that connection apparently hadn’t faded in their separation. The instant his gaze landed on her the cloudiness vanished and a desperate, clinging hope took its place.

“Lev?” His voice cracked with exhaustion, his hand shaking as he reached for her and Lev was surprised by how hard it was to not step forwards and take it, smooth back the dark hair plastered on his sweaty forehead. He’d lost weight, dark rings under his eyes, the muscles that always flexed so deliciously as he moved fading away.

She squeezed her fist around the handle of her bag and waited, not moving forwards.

His fingers twitched, confusion joining the hope. “Levi?” His voice was plaintive.

“What are you doing, James?” She clipped.

“What?” His brow furrowed, his breathing beginning to speed up. Finally, he dropped his hand, pulling it back into his lap, fingers clenching.

“Acting like this? Getting caught by the gossip rags snorting coke? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He’d obviously not expected to be chastised and wasn’t that the heart of the issue; he’d always gotten his way before, the coddled rockstar, no one calling him out with any degree of seriousness, no one but Lev anyway and she’d always caved before laying out any real boundaries, never done something so extreme as leave before.

Was that why she’d come back then, because she felt responsible for this?

The furrow in his brow deepened, the simple hope in his face vanishing. Now came the temper, the short bursts of fury meant to force his will, likening him to a spoiled child, an attitude that Lev regretted not shutting down years ago when it first started raising it’s ugly head.

He stared at her, eyes dark and wounded, “you left,” he hissed.

“I couldn’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?” A compulsive snap, he knew exactly what she was talking about, but he’d never owned up to it, never, not once.

“Watch you with all those girls, see you take them into your room, hear you fuck them through the walls, chase their skanky asses out the next morning so I could get you out of your drunken stupor and looking like a human being only to have you treat me like a piece of shit by doing it all over again the next night!” Lev hissed, enraged to feel the prick of tears in her eyes.

For a moment she was surprised to see betrayal flash through his eyes. “They don’t mean anything. They’re just groupies-”

“So that makes it alright? And telling people I’m your wife? What the fuck, James?!”

“Well, you should be!” He snarled. His arm snapped out, sweeping across the rolling table hovering over his bed, loud crashes sounding as everything on it hit the floor. “I fucking asked you enough times!”

He had. So many times, and every time she’d said ‘no’. What had held her back?

“Grow up.” Lev snapped, her face heating. How many times had they argued like this? How many times had they danced this twisted dance?

Too many fucking times.                    

“Fuck you.”

“No, James. Fuck you. I’m done. I don’t know why I came here anyway… I’m, I’m done. Have a nice life, what’s left of it anyway.” She turned to leave before the fury she was feeling was overwhelmed by the hurt and disappointment; what had she expected? Why did she always do this? Hadn’t she learned yet that he would never grow up and be the man she saw deep inside him? When would she stop hurting herself trying to draw that out?

She needed to stop trying.

“Hey. What are you doing?” James demanded but Lev ignored him, marching back out the door she’d just entered moments ago. “Hey!”

Lev stopped and took a deep breath, collecting her words. Without turning she swiveled her head enough to look at him.

“I’m done, James. I can’t watch you self-destruct anymore. I tried for years to be there for you, because I love you… but I can’t do this anymore, I need to live my own life.” Without waiting for an answer, she swiveled back, let her feet carry her away even as she felt her heart break anew in her chest.

If this was the right thing, why did it hurt so bad, why did she feel like she was abandoning him just when he needed her the most?

“Levi!” His voice broke on the scream, reverberating around her in the hallway but she didn’t turn back.

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

Ten Months Later

Lev sorted through her mail, separating the junk from the real then paused, lifting a large, cream coloured envelope from the pile.

Who sent letters anymore?

Splitting the seal, Lev pulled out folded sheets of thick paper, the same colour of the envelope, definitely expensive. As it opened, another smaller piece of paper fell out and Lev reached for it, brows drawn in confusion.

JAMES BARNES – STRIPPED BARE

A SPECIAL EXCLUSIVE, ACCOUSTIC ONLY ENGAGEMENT

She stopped reading, dropping the ticket to the table, and focussed on the letter instead.

Levka.

It’s been a while since we spoke, but I wanted to send you this anyway.

I understand why you left, and I applaud you for having the strength to do it. It seems to be the kick he finally needed.

James took a break from music, as you may or may not have realized but has recently decided to return, albeit in a much different capacity from before.

He has done away with the show, or ‘bullshit’ as he so eloquently puts it. No more pyrotechnics, no more lightshows and theatrics; he said he wants to return to the way he started, just him and his guitar, the band behind him.

Enclosed is a ticket to his first show and a plane ticket, first class, to reach it. The seat is in the back, where James won't be able to see you, if that is your wish.

I leave it up to you whether you attend but understand that James has not asked me to do this, and I have not told him I have.

Regards, Pepper

Lev stared at the letter for a full minute, marveling despite herself at the publicist’s flowing handwriting, her graceful hand.

She had stayed with James after all, even when Lev had left.

The second sheet was a printed plane ticket, leaving the next morning. Lev, if she took it, would land in mid-afternoon, giving her a few hours to gird herself before going to the show.

She recognized the venue listed; James had played it in his earlier years, just as he was starting to become famous and it was smaller, intimate, suited to an unplugged show. The seat shown was in the back, just as Pepper said; Lev could attend the show and leave again without James ever seeing her.

But did she want to?

What would it feel like to see him again, to hear him sing again the way he used to, his voice clear and full? When he’d reach his hand out to her, pull her onstage and sing with her, gaze at her so lovingly as they shared a microphone, voices melding and complimenting each other so beautifully?

Could she handle seeing him again?

She hardly knew.

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

Taking a deep breath, Lev opened the door and stepped inside. Other ticket holders milled around, no one paying her any mind. She prayed no one would recognize her, going so far as to dye her auburn hair a lustrous blue-black, switch out her contacts for the thick wayfarer frames she usually only wore in quiet moments spent relaxing or working from home.

The show was going to start in only a few minutes, but Lev resisted the urge to find her seat just yet, drifting until she gathered the will to enter the main area.

Finding her seat, Lev stared at the stage, hardly noticing as others shuffled to find their own places. Although small, the venue appeared to be sold out. Scott sat at the drums; Thor held an acoustic bass and James sat on a stool at the front, head bent over his favourite redwood acoustic guitar, the one he’d always said reminded him of Lev’s hair.

One jean-clad leg bent, worn biker boot on the footrest, he looked better than Lev remembered. Some of his physique had come back, thigh straining the jean’s stitching, biceps visible through the t-shirt he wore as he plucked the strings slowly, listening for the sound.

He looked good. He looked healthy again, his hair lustrous under the light, cheeks dark with just the right amount of stubble, fingers strong and sure, the boot flat on the stage floor tapping slowly to the beat in his head.

Lev felt a riot of emotions swell in her chest. This was the James she’d fallen in love with, the man she’d spent their early years with, before the vampire of fame began to bleed him dry.

He lifted his head, flashed a gorgeous smile at the audience and the show began.

It was beautiful, James’ voice strong and clear; the audience sat spellbound, hypnotized and Lev knew he’d made the right decision; to go back to his roots, let his talent speak for itself. He would enjoy a long career like this, unplugged and real.

Time passed like the blink of an eye and suddenly, too suddenly, James was standing, setting his guitar in its rest and stepping to the side of the stage. The spotlight followed, leaving Thor and Scott in the dark and illuminating a gleaming grand piano. The audience cheered in building excitement as he sat, adjusted the microphone.

He had not played piano is one of his shows for years, Lev wasn’t even sure he knew how to anymore.

The din died down, waiting and James looked out over them as he began to speak, a small, sad smile pulling at his lips.

“A while ago my life fell apart,” he stated simply. “I got tangled up in fame and being a rockstar and pushed away everyone that cared. Even Lev, the most important person in the world to me.”

Lev felt her cheeks warm, edginess creeping into her limbs. Was he about to blast her? Was she about to get her proverbial ass handed to her? Did he know she was here?

“She left,” he continued. “And I crashed. The only woman I’ve ever loved, and I hurt her everyday until she couldn’t take my bullshit anymore.” He swiped at a tear and Lev bit her lip.

“I hit rock bottom and Lev came to see me one more time. But instead of being grateful, of begging her for another chance, I acted like a total asshole and pushed her away again. And that was finally it, Lev leaving me like that was the push I needed to get my life together. I haven’t seen Lev since, I don’t deserve to…. but I owe everything to her.”

Lev heard sniffles around her.

“A while ago I heard this song for the first time. It made me cry like a baby and I listened to it for hours, until I couldn’t cry anymore. It brought about this idea I had about ‘stripping bare’ and starting over again…. This song is for you, Lev. I love you, baby.”

He focussed on the keys and a haunting melody began. Lev recognized it immediately, for it too had provoked her own tears the first time she’d heard it.

That Arizona sky burnin’ in your eyes.

You look at me and, babe, I wanna catch on fire.

It’s buried in my soul, like California gold.

You found the light in me that I couldn’t find.

His voice was heart-breaking, emotion pouring through as he sang, the piano a poignant, moving accompaniment, his fingers sure on the keys.

So when I’m all choked up,

But I can’t find the words.

His voice broke, but he pushed through.

Every time we say goodbye baby, it hurts.

When the sun goes down

And the band won’t play,

I’ll always remember us this way.

The band joined in quietly and Lev was lost in the sound, swaying slightly to his beautiful voice as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Too soon, the song ended, James’ head bowing as he breathed the last words, the last notes fading and the audience sat still, stunned silent for a beat before exploding.

Lev exhaled raggedly, wiping at her tears. As she watched, James tipped his head back, tears shining on his face and swallowed hard, seeming to gather himself before returning to the show.

The crowd continued to scream and cheer as James nodded once in acknowledgement, the smile on his lips tempered by the pain in his eyes.

He was open and vulnerable, stripped bare and he’d never been more beautiful in Lev’s eyes.

God, she still loved him, but was that enough?

Was she the key to his success, or the poison?

Should she go to him, step through the crowd and join him onstage, forgive him and start their next chapter together?

Or leave, let them both live their lives and follow the song, simply ‘remember us this way’?

She decided.

[avaantares]

Artemis FOUL: A Disney+ Dumpster Fire

Soooo it had been a kind of rough week for a variety of reasons, and a few of my friends/family wanted to kick back and do something mindless over the weekend, so we ordered pizza from one of our favorite local places, I set up a screen and projector in the driveway, and we had an outdoor/socially-distant movie night. Since several of us had read the books, we decided to watch the new Artemis Fowl movie on Disney+.

We knew from the trailer and its 10% rating on Rotten Tomatoes that it was not going to be a good movie. But I had not been prepared for... uh... what is quite possibly the single worst film I have seen released in YEARS. I can’t imagine this insult to cinema having an actual theatrical release (which it was intended to, before the pandemic shut down theatres). I haven’t seen the Cats movie, but I imagine this aggregation of waterfowl* could give it a run for its money.

Not only is it a bad adaptation of the books (and by “adaptation,” I mean they used a couple of names; the story and characters are utterly unrecognizable), but the script is like something a teenager would turn in for a class assignment. No, scratch that -- I’ve actually read better writing by teenagers. Plot points are explained to the audience three or four times by both characters and frame-story narrator (apparently the writers thought viewers were dumb and wouldn’t catch on?). There are missing connecting scenes. The villain is actually played by three different actors using a hood and voice modulation, because apparently they couldn’t decide whom to cast in the role. There are multiple significant plot threads that never get wrapped up. The pacing is a mess. The characters are devoid of personality or charisma. There is some truly hideous CGI.

But all of that is just (grossly) bad filmmaking. The film is worse than that -- in fact, in light of current events, it comes across as not only tone-deaf, but actively offensive.

I’m sure someone in an office somewhere thought it would be a good idea to mix up the casting of book characters a bit, to add some diversity. At first glance, this seems like a good idea: LEP Recon commander Julius Root has been switched to a female role, played by Dame Judi Dench, and Artemis’s bodyguard Domovoi Butler and his sister Juliet are played by Black actors Nonso Anozie and Tamara Smart, respectively.

Don’t get me wrong -- I am actively in favor of diverse casts and strong female roles. The problem here is 100% in the execution. Because I think we can all agree that bad representation can be even more harmful than no representation at all, and this is some bad representation.

For starters, Juliet -- a kickass martial artist in the books -- has been stepped back to being Butler’s Domovoi’s 12-year-old niece. (The movie is insistent that he is not to be called Butler, which might pass for awareness if not for the rest of the script. In the books, it’s actually a characterization point that he is only to be called Butler; in fact, Artemis doesn’t even learn his given name until book 3.) When this younger Juliet was first introduced, I thought, well, it’s a kids’ movie, maybe they want to include a younger female character to act as an active role model for girls watching? NOPE: Juliet has speaking lines in only about three scenes in the entire film. In two of them, she is bringing sandwiches to other characters. In another scene, we see her sitting alone in the kitchen while the rest of the characters are off doing plot-related things.

That’s right. Disney added a young Black girl to the cast just so she could serve food to her uncle’s rich white employer.

There is literally no other purpose served by her character in the film. She’s conspicuously absent from (and irrelevant to) key plot scenes, and the only thing she accomplishes in the entire movie apart from serving food is, in one scene, she looks at a monitor and reports on the weather conditions. That’s it. Honestly, it would have been better to leave her character out completely, rather than have this token appearance characterized by inactivity.

[Warning: Spoiler ahead!] And then there’s Domovoi himself. In the books, Butler (who possesses extensive martial and tactical training, as well as superhuman strength) earns the fear and respect of the fairies by singlehandedly holding off a rampaging troll. In the film, he is not only completely useless in the fight against said troll -- scrappy little Artemis gets more hits on the beast than Domovoi does -- but he is actually killed (temporarily, because magic) saving Artemis in the troll fight. In fact, he’s the only named character with an onscreen death in the course of the entire film.

Or, as my sister put it, staring at the screen with her jaw hanging: “Did they cast a Black actor just so they could have the Black guy die first?!”

To top off the dubious optics of both of those character choices, the apparently-progressive move of changing Root to a female character is undermined by the complete nerfing of the story’s female lead, Captain Holly Short. In the books, Holly is a whip-smart, no-nonsense officer who acts as a foil for the wily Artemis; in this film, she’s reduced to a novice recruit who technically has some agency, but her personal motivation (what little she has of it) revolves solely around her father, and is so poorly conveyed that our viewing group had an ongoing discussion trying to determine exactly what she was doing and why throughout the film.

The worst thing is that some middle executive somewhere is probably patting himself on the back for facilitating some “woke” casting, because look! There was a racially-diverse cast! And Strong Female Characters(TM)! when in fact the entire film was not only a crock of pure garbage, but insulting garbage. Both my intellect and my social sensibilities feel bruised after viewing.

I wish Disney+ had a “rate this film” feature, because I would leave a smoking hole where the star rating should be.

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

* This is a term my sister and I coined to (politely) describe something that is a complete and total disaster. I’m sure you can parse its meaning when you consider that an aggregation of waterfowl might also be described as “clustered ducks.”

[greenninjagal-blog]

Deja Vu pt3

Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait! Finally got the next chapter out! If you missed the first chapter you can find it [here], and if you need a refresher from the last chapter its right [here!]

Summary: Remus has the ability to see the future. Its not always a good thing, but he’s just starting to realize how bad of a thing it can be.

Words: 9670

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

Remus is twenty one and he knows that something is wrong with him.

He isn’t sure what words there are to describe exactly what’s wrong with him-- it’s more instinctual than physical. More of a looming dread over his shoulder no one else can see, a whisper in his ear no one else can hear, a scent in the air no one else can smell. It’s something that showed up not too long ago, and he hasn’t been able to shake. 

“What’s it like?” Remus asks, with his feet tossed up on the other half of the booth seat and his arms crossed behind his head. The waitress is long gone and so are his pancakes, although the pools of syrup up remain like a bloody battlefield.

“Come again?” Dee asks from where he’s stationed, using the face of a college kid they noted in a gas station two states over. Remus doesn’t necessarily hate this one-- not that he really ever hates any of them-- but this one is definitely an improvement: scattered freckles, sun bleached hair, and long lashes that make his face so soft. Remus likes the innocence of the look, and so did their waitress because she had given them a sly little discount when Dee batted his eyelashes at her.

It makes something stir in Remus, it makes him laugh. Because pretty little Mykayla from Nowhere, Wherever, USA is never going to be privy to the sight of Dee’s beautiful scales. She might think she’s worth something now, worth a kiss, a wink, and a phone number, but she is not, and never will be, worth the glimmering truth that Dee’s obscuring.

And somehow, Remus is.

“Your thingy-ma-jig,” Remus says vaguely, because he knows if he keeps dancing around the topic Dee will look up from that phone of his and give him a brief flash of those very real blue-grey eyes, the ones that he was born with the ones he doesn’t show anyone else. “The thing!”

He doesn’t answer for a moment-- too busy tapping on his phone, making a search, responding to an email, sending a text message to 911, hiring a hitman to take Remus out. It's fun to watch his eyes slide across the screen, hardening and softening with the news, his lips twitching up and down with his responses. 

(“I do so have a poker face!” Dee had said weeks ago, “A very good one-- stop laughing! Remus! I do!”)

“Clearer, Remus,” Dee says eventually, reaching blindly to grab his last piece of bacon. Remus is tempted for a moment to shove his empty plate forward, shove it into the place where Dee was grabbing--

---”Remus why?” Dee asks with an irritated huff as he pulls back his syrup covered hand. “Was that necessary?”

“As necessary as the Earth spinning around the sun!”---

---”Remus why?” Dee asks with an irritated huff as he pulls back his syrup covered hand. “Was that necessary?”

“As necessary as the Earth spinning around the sun!”---

But in the end he lets Dee go without. And Remus shakes off the uneasy feeling that appears in his gut suddenly. 

Dee bites into the bacon and swipes his screen.

“Deeeeee!” Remus whines pushing himself suddenly onto the table and tossing his feet back to the ground where they completely coincidentally jolt Dee’s legs. “Pay attention to me!”

“I don’t remember becoming a mother to a needy three-year-old,” Dee says, but, but, but! He flicks his eyes up to meet Remus’s and for just a second they turn that foggy blue and his teeth sharpen just enough in his smile. “Allow me just a moment more, my dear. Business, business.”

“You never do any fun business. It's all “let’s pay taxes” and “sign paperwork”!” Remus protests, running the side of his boot down Dee’s calf.

“But taxes are so much fun, Remus!” Dee says with fake enthusiasm, “Look at how much fun I’m having with Kyle, my Certified Tax Expert!”

“It's not as much fun as you could be having with me right now on this table.”

Dee’s expression is somewhere between unimpressed and disbelief, as if after all this time of travelling around with Remus, he still can’t believe that Remus has the audacity to just shout out things like that in public. Remus thinks it's very sexy of him, of both of them.

“We are in public,” Dee says, flicking his tongue around his teeth, those sharp little fangs piercing his facade of a mundane college student.

“I don’t hear you denying it, Double Dee!” Remus counters, and taps his boot over Dee’s perfectly polished dress shoes.

The Shapeshifter gives him a considering look and clicks his phone to the locked screen. Remus feels each second tick by with a thrill in his chest that has no right to be there. Dee’s gaze is a weight of its own, a smothering blanket, a crushing boulder, a lethal threat that promises regret if Remus is the first to look away. His lips are soft and pink and so very kissable.

Remus wonders ideally if Dee knows how kissable he is.

Its seemed dumb that Dee wouldn’t know. Remus has seen him speak French fluent enough to talk his way into an extravagant affluent party while drunk off his ass, seen him do ten step multiplication processes in his head while he was counting up his stolen cash, seen him plot an escape route from a couple dozen locations while evading the police without even having to change his appearance at all. Dee is so smart, that Remus can’t possibly believe that he isn’t completely aware of how nice his lips would feel on Remus’ own--

--He tastes like french toast, like eggs, like syrup. But that’s the only thing sweet about him: the moment Remus gets lost in the kiss, the moment that Dee gets over his shock, the moment that he starts actively kissing back, Dee takes control. His fangs prick and pull and Remus tastes blood. Dee’s hands cup either side of his face and draw him over the table, pulling him straight into the plate of syrup but neither of them pay much attention at all.

“Hey!” That pesky annoying little waitress yells, “Hey!” And Remus flips her the bird for her troubles--

--He tastes like french toast, like eggs, like syrup. But the only thing sweet about him is the way he tastes: the moment Remus gets lost in the kiss, the moment that Dee gets over his shock, the moment that he starts actively kissing back, Dee takes control. His fangs prick and pull and Remus tastes blood. Dee’s hands cup either side of his face and draw him over the table, pulling him straight into the plate of syrup but neither of them pay much attention at all.

“Hey!” That pesky annoying little waitress yells, “Hey!” And Remus flips her the bird for her troubles--

--He tastes like french toast, like eggs, like syrup. But the only thing sweet about him is the way he tastes: the moment Remus gets lost in the kiss, the moment that Dee gets over his shock, the moment that he starts actively kissing back, Dee takes control. His fangs prick and pull and Remus tastes blood. Dee’s hands cup either side of his face and draw him over the table, pulling him straight into the plate of syrup but neither of them pay much attention at all.

“Hey!” That pesky annoying little waitress yells, “Hey!” And Remus flips her the bird for her troubles--

Remus blinks twice, and then another time. He swears for a moment there’s blood in the back of his throat, swears for a moment that he’s still in the future, swears for a moment that he couldn’t turn off his power the way he’s always been able to.

But that’s ridiculous right?

Right?

“-ink, Remus?” Dee says. 

Remus focuses back on his partner-- business partner, whom he has never, ever kissed before-- and notes the way that the other is looking at him. Its his “unreadable” face. The one that is supposed to block everyone from knowing exactly what he’s thinking. His poker face. 

But Remus has died for him a countless number of times and vise versa. There’s nothing unreadable about him when Remus has seen him bleed out, seen him get shot, seen him get run over, and beaten, and strangled.

“You spaced out for a moment, dear,” He says, although his face reads “Are we in danger? Where is the danger? I will protect you from that danger.”

“Oh it's nothing!” Remus says, like his heart hadn’t just jumped into his throat, “Let’s just say your future self was very busy.”

“Was he now,” Dee hums. “Lucky him, then.”

“You could be that lucky too, DeeDee!” Remus offers, “If you stopped doing all that business nonsense.”

It wouldn’t take much for one of these futures to come true, even the most outrageous one where they get arrested and leave the whole state running with just the clothes on their backs and the smiles on their faces. It wouldn’t take much for Remus to dramatically change the course of their day, their week, their lives.

Its almost silly. In a fun way. 

They could spend the rest of their lives together and Remus doesn’t think it would ever stop being silly.

“Alright,” Dee says with a playful sigh, “alright. I hear you, my lovely Soothsayer.” He folds his hands and gives Remus his undivided attention. “What does the future bring us?”

Its theatrical, and Remus likes it as much as he hates it. After all, Roman was theatrical too, and Roman had ruined Remus with just a handful of words. Who was to stop history from repeating itself now? Who was to stop Dee from one day waking up and realizing he didn’t need Remus draping over his shoulder, or nudging him during meals, or begging for attention? Who was to stop the great, mystical deity out there from playing another cruel joke on Remus?

“The future,” Remus sings, “brings us one very important question! What does it feel like to do your thing?”

“My thing?” Dee repeats, tilting his head. “You mean…?” His eyes flash between blue-grey, green, brown and yellow, before settling to a caramel that he hadn’t had before.

Remus nods cupping his cheek in his hand. It's kinda weird. Shouldn’t this have been a question he’d asked weeks ago? Before they left the Basilisk Casino, before they hijacked that car, before they blew through all those gas stations, the small shopping centers, the banks after hours, the jewelers--??

Dee taps a hand on the table. “I suppose it's….much like changing clothes? I can’t imagine another metaphor to explain it.”

Remus imagines Dee taking off the skin he’s wearing like it's a onesie, unzipping the folds of the flesh from the crook of his collarbone and then dragging it straight down the middle of his chest like some sort of skin stealing alien. Dee, stationary, levels him with a look that suggests he knows exactly what Remus was imagining without him saying a word.

“I mean,” The man says, and huffs, “It's like wearing a familiar T-shirt, or a favorite pair of pants. Some feel better than others-- I personally prefer male presenting human forms and while I can play the part of other genders and animals, it's like wearing a shirt that’s too small, or too tight, or I don’t know!” Dee squints at Remus, “Why? Are you planning something?”

“Are you nervous?”

“With you?” Dee says, leaning forward and, oh.

The light hits him just right, just through the windows, turning him into a ridiculous renaissance painting of glowing pale skin, pink kissable lips, and mysterious eyes. He looks surreal all of a sudden, sticking out of the backdrop of this IHOP restaurant like he was photoshopped into the scene: impossible to miss, impossible to look away from.

Dee smiles, “How could I ever be nervous with you, Remus?”

Remus doesn’t know he’s holding his own breath until Dee stands up and gathers his jacket and his phone and Remus’s lungs cry for mercy.

“Come along, Pythia,” Dee says, “We have things to do.”

“Pythia?” Remus repeats, “Gonna bury me alive, Nero?” He jumps up like the thought excites him. Maybe it does.

Maybe something is actually wrong with him and it's not just a feeling.

Dee makes a face, “And get dirt under my nails?” He flourishes his hands as if to ward off the very thought. “Besides, I would undoubtedly miss your company.”

Remus has no reason to feel as touched as he does. Its such a dumb little thing to say-- Dee isn’t even looking at him as he says it, probably isn’t thinking about it anymore than he’s thinking about the smile he’s tossing over his shoulder at that waitress as they leave or the way he’s holding the door open for Remus they go. It means less than nothing to him.

It means everything to Remus.

It feels like a kick to the chest, like a punch to the gut, like a car running him over and leaving him for dead in the middle of the street. Remus can’t breathe and its the most glorious feeling to ever have graced him.

Because Dee…Dee wants him here.

And no one has ever really wanted Roman’s messed up, drugged up, annoying little brother.

(“I don’t need you.”) 

Roman had been quite clear about that.

Dee slides into the driver’s seat of the car they had bought. He likes to drive, likes to be in control, and Remus likes lying down in the passenger seat and talking about whatever while they quibble over the radio station and drive without a destination in mind.

“Where are we going?” Remus asks--

--Dee’s scales make an appearance, glittering in all that in green and great and glorious. “You reminded me of clothes.” He said, “And I think it's about time you stopped dressing like you’re living from a Goodwill Bin.”

“Goodwill?” Remus pretends to be offended, “I was going for dumpster.”--

--Dee’s scales make an appearance, glittering in all that in green and great and glorious. “You reminded me of clothes.” He said, “And I think it's about time you stopped dressing like you’re living from a Goodwill Bin.”

“Goodwill?” Remus pretends to be offended, “I was going for dumpster.”--

Dee’s scales make an appearance, glittering in all that in green and great and glorious. “You reminded me of clothes.” He said, “And I think it's about time you stopped dressing like you’re from living a Goodwill Bin.”

“Goodwill?” Remus pretends to be offended, pretends to be completely fine, pretends like that didn’t happen, “I was going for dumpster.”

And where everyone else would crinkle their noses and look away, Dee throws back his head and laughs that wonderful angelic laugh of his. It's hypnotizing to hear: a siren’s song that will surely end up in his death one day. But the sound of it, ringing so freely in the air, is enough to wash away every other thought that Remus is having.

There’s something wrong with Remus, but he can hardly focus on that when Dee is right beside him.

They drive into town, or out of town, or somewhere. Remus doesn’t pay that much attention. Once Dee turns on the radio and focuses on not crashing the car, the uneasy feeling comes back.

Remus thinks is a bit like a snake wriggling around, twisting and turning as it tries to consume itself before Remus’s stomach acids consume it. When Dee takes a particularly sharp turn the snake wraps itself up to Remus’s lungs and plays his ribcage like a xylophone. And wouldn’t that be a sight to see?

They’re in the car for about forty five minutes, and Remus feels each and every one of them. His armpits itch, his legs keep chafing against each other, his foot can’t stay put. His phone opens for him to play any one of the fifty billion games he has on it and yet he only stares at the clock ticking, tapping the screen whenever it threatens to sleep.

They’re in the car for forty five minutes before Dee sighs, reaches forward, and turns down the radio. 

“I know we have an agreement,” Dee starts which makes Remus want to lean over and turn the music back up--

--and Remus does because, because, because. He doesn’t check the future. He doesn’t think about it. He really should know better.

Dee’s shoulders drop and he looks away from the road just quick enough to be absolutely offended that Remus actually did that. He turns it back down and slaps Remus’s hand away when he goes to turn it back up.

The car jerks and before Remus knows what is going on-- oh fuck Remus doens’t think that he’s ever thought that before-- before he can get a grasp of what is happening, Dee is pulling along the shoulder and then parks. 

“Remus,” Dee says, squeezing the steering wheel.

“Something wrong?” Remus says as innocently as he can, which is pretty innocently considering he took lessons from fucking Roman at one point. “I was just enjoying your delightful music choice!”

“You hate classical,” Dee points out. “Which means that you are avoiding--”

Remus turns the dial so loud he feels the fucking air vibrate with the crescendo of violins. “SORRY WHAT WAS THAT?” 

Dee glares at him and then, with all the clever, stupid, unfairness of a master manipulator, Dee’s ears fold right into his head. Which of course leaves Remus in a car with music so loud it’s liable to break his own eardrums and Dee staring at him.

Stubbornness is a learned trait. Remus has always had a backbone of steel; it was necessary when he had to explain again and again and again and again that he could see the future and Roman please lets not take that back walking path through the forest to get home. Why? Oh uh, because uh…. It was necessary when he had to harass his mother into wearing smaller heels and his dad into wearing a seat belt while driving. It was necessary when he cared so much about them and the doctors said that it was just an unfortunate case of extreme paranoia with lifelike hallucinations.

Stubbornness is something that Remus has had in spades since the moment that he was seventeen and eleven minutes younger than Roman and he still cared about it. It’s what kept him moving, kept him living, kept him from going back.

Stubbornness lasts him all of fifteen seconds before he caves and turns the music back down with only a slight ringing in his ears.

Dee waits until Remus shift back in his seat before replacing his stupid, dumb ears and letting go of the steering wheel. “Remus,” He says.

“You’re a little fucker, aren't you,” Remus says, staring out the window. “It's not fair that you can just slurp your ears into your body.”

“Slurp?” Dee sounds mildly disgusted at his word choice.

Remus doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t.

Dee rubs the side of his face as if the scales that aren’t visible are itching. “Look Remus,” He says--

---”I know we made that promise, that day after we met that we’d keep this strictly professional.” Dee sounds particularly sour about it, like it wasn’t something that had happened months ago, like they weren’t allowed to change their minds ever, like words of the past met anything to a man like Remus who quite literally lived in the future. “I know we said that feelings are off the table for discussions, but I don’t…”

He hesitates like he’s hoping Remus will speak up and say whatever he’s hinting at.

Remus doesn’t.

Dee huffs, “I’m just...You mean a lot to me, okay Remus. This?” He motions between them, “us? We’re an investment. You’ve been acting--”

“An investment?” Remus repeats, and suddenly his blood is racing in his head and his vision narrows, “You mean like...the fucking bank? What? Like you’re putting money into this and you expect some big payout in the end?” Remus twists to motion to the suitcases in the backseat, “And this isn’t it?”

“That’s not--”

“Or is your investment your goddamn time, Dee?” Remus isn’t sure where the words are coming from, where the anger is coming from, where this conversation is going. “When this doesn’t end up how you want, are you gonna cut your losses? Are you gonna regret this? All of this?”

“Remus!” Dee snaps, “Stop putting words in my mouth!”

“You aren’t denying them!”

“Why do I need to deny them?” He shoots back, “Obviously, they are--”

Remus unbuckles and kicks his door open.

“Remus!”

“Fuck Off!” Remus storms away from the car, their car, Dee’s car. He’s vaguely aware that Dee is shouting after him, words and empty curses and nothing that Remus wants to hear when the air itself feels abrasive on his skin, like he’d somehow become allergic to the oxygen, like he needs to tear his own skin off and find a new one to wear.

He gets all of another six steps before suddenly Dee is there, grabbing his hand, and Remus reacts as violently as he can: by turning into the tug on his hand and curling his fingers into a fist and introducing Dee’s so-kissable face to his knuckles. Dee lets him go.

And Remus doesn’t feel a single bit better.

Because now he’s punched Dee and the air is still corroding his skin and his anger is boiling in his chest and that bad feeling(™) hasn’t gone away. Dee’s nose is bleeding the same way that Remus’s does after he looks at too many futures, looks for too long, looks and sees himself killing his brother. 

Dee hisses in pain, holding his hands over his mouth, under his nose, and breathes through the agony that is Shifting When He’s Got Noticeable Injuries.

“Remus.” Dee says, between labored breaths.

It's the same way that his mother who just wanted him to shut up said his name, the same way his dad who just wanted him to calm down said it and the same way Roman who just wanted him to be normal said it and the kids at school who just wanted him to go away said it and the doctors who just wanted him to be curable said it. It's the same way that seventeen-year-old Remus said his own name to his reflection in the gas station bathroom shaking from head to toe after he saw himself get hit by a car for the first time.

“Remus,” Dee says, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Remus doesn’t say anything. He’s not sure he can if he’d tried.

Blood drips between his hands and hits the gravel of the shoulder with bright red and warm colors.

“Every day with you is a payout,” Dee says, “Yeah, I’ll be the first to say the money is nice, but getting to see you smile? Getting to hear your voice first thing in the morning? Getting to go on long car trips and watching you try to read a map, getting to see you get excited over things I don’t even understand, getting to laugh when you say something completely inappropriate in a public setting with no remorse or hesitation? Remus, I---”

“Don’t say you love me,” Remus says, strangled “Because you don’t. You can’t.”

“There is not a single person on this planet who gets to tell me what I can and can’t do!” Dee spits. “I didn’t intend to fall in love with you Remus! But you don’t get to tell me what my feelings are!”

Remus can’t breathe. He can’t breathe and his skin is on fire and his chest is alight with something. Can he still call it anger when he wants to run as far as he can?

Dee inhales, holds, two, three, four, five seconds, and the exhales for twice as long. “Fine,” He says. “Fine, whatever, you’re right. I lied. I hate you and I’m going to kill you some time soon and stash your body in a dumpster for some opposums to eat.” He turns away, “Just...fucking….tell me if something is wrong, will you? That’s all I want.”----

---“I know we made that promise, that day after we met that we’d keep this strictly professional.” Dee sounds particularly sour about it, like it wasn’t something that had happened months ago, like they weren’t allowed to change their minds ever, like words of the past met anything to a man like Remus who quite literally lived in the future. “I know--”

“Tell you when things are wrong,” Remus says, dismissively. “Got it.” 

Dee straightens, frowning like the words he didn’t get to say left a bad taste. Remus thinks that it can’t be any worse than the blood his future self got to choke on. 

“We’re good!” Remus says, “Peachy, even! Flawless! Marvelous! Solid!”

Dee reaches over and opens the glove box by Remus’s knees. “I’m sure we are.” He says with just enough doubt that Remus knows he hasn’t gotten away with anything. Can Remus feel guilty for something that hasn’t even happened? Something that isn’t going to happen?

Dee hands him a travel pack of tissues that Remus doesn’t remember buying. Remus frowns at them.

“For your nosebleed, Remus,” Dee says.

And oh, Remus hadn’t even noticed. Isn’t that weird? The back of his entire mouth tastes like blood and eggs and syrup and there’s scarlet dripping down his front so easily that Remus’s stomach clenches. How does he keep forgetting how much he hates that color?

There’s something wrong with Remus and this might be proof of that.

“Promise me?” Dee asks. “I know you’ve been acting off, Re. But I trust you. If it's something I’m doing, promise me you’ll tell me?”

Remus twists the tissues between his fingers, feeling his atoms buzz under his skin, like a bunch of bees trying to escape while that snake in his chest breaks his ribcage xylophone. “Cross my heart and hope to die, Dee.”

Dee nods, satisfied. He puts his hands back on the steering wheel. “Not too soon, I hope.” He offers a bit of his fang in a smile, “Shopping is always more fun with you, Dearest.”

Remus’s heart doesn’t twist. It doesn’t.

That feeling over his shoulder lessens a little. 

Remus is twenty one, and there’s something wrong with him. He just doesn’t realize the extent of it yet.

Shopping with Dee is fun. 

A few weeks back Dee had insisted on taking him shopping the first time, and replaced his suitcase of thrift clothes with straight-off-the-line silks, several flannels, and smart looking button ups. Remus kept every outfit just to humor the other; He actually rotated through three half cut shirts of various colors that all read “THOT” and showed off his belly. 

It made Dee crazy, but it also wasn’t like Dee was telling him to stop. Especially not when the warmer weather meant Remus broke out his jean shorts and fishnets.

The shapeshifter liked to think he was sly, clever, and subtle, but Remus had spent far too many futures exchanging saliva with him to be fooled. Dee was a biter and Remus hadn’t been aware he was into that until he felt those fucking fangs of the first time (and every time after that).

The only thing that Dee had bought him that he actually wore was the black leather jacket. It was nice. Remus remembers looking at one similar back when he was seventeen and still so stupid and his mom had saw him eyeing it and put her foot down.

“Absolutely not, Remus,” she had said, “You’d look like a delinquent!” 

Sometimes he thinks about stopping by a payphone and telling her exactly what he had done with his life. He’d tell her all about where he went after he realized that none of them cared to listen to him, he’d tell her how he was rich, how he got that money, how he was always just one criminal act away from being caught and arrested and Mom, isn’t that so much worse than just looking like a delinquent? 

“I guess you should have just bought me that jacket,” Remus would laugh into the receiver, as his mother has a heart attack on the other end, to which the ambulance would get there just in time to help her with.

It wouldn’t feel as satisfying as he thought it would, so he’d asked Dee if they could rob a jewelry store/ bank/ high-end boutique/celebrity mansion instead. And Dee loves it when Remus is the one bullheading a heist. His blue-grey eyes light up and his hands dance in the air when he throws out suggestions. 

So shopping with Dee is great.

They have about two bags a piece when they blow through another high price shopping center despite the bits of blood on Remus’s chest, paying with cash that they liberated from a couple of vaults in a bank at least a state ago. The cashiers in two of the places are extra super nice to them, and the third place offers a personal assistant to help them although Dee chuckles at them and brushes his hand against the small of Remus’s back.

“If you pick out at least one shirt,” Dee says, while picking through a series of smart looking ties, “We can go look at wedding rings.”---

---“To get married? Or to fence?” Remus says leaning back against another display, “Or do you not have a preference?”---

---“To get married? Or to fence?” Remus says plucking a black tie with a yellow snake from the shapeshifter’s hands and using it to hook it around Dee until their chests are pressed together. “Or do you not have a preference?”---

---“To get married? Or to fence?” Remus says plucking a black tie with a yellow snake from the shapeshifter’s hands and using it to hook it around Dee until their chests are pressed together. “Or do you not have a preference?”---

---“To get married? Or to fence?” Remus says plucking a black tie with a yellow snake from the shapeshifter’s hands and using it to hook it around Dee until their chests are pressed together. “Or do you not have a preference?”---

Remus blinks, hesitating for a moment more than he means to. “To get married? Or to fence?” He watches as Dee hooks the yellow snake tie back on the rack. “I think I have a preference.”

Dee glances back at him. His gaze is narrowed, but Remus picks up the snake tie up again and holds it out for him. Dee takes it back and puts away the others that he had been looking at.

“I was intending to fence them,” Dee admits, with just a bit of a flush, “Though, getting married...is that something we should be considering at this stage in our lives?”

Remus tries not to think about corroding skin, or blood on gravel, or words that Dee hasn’t said and doesn’t mean. 

“Any shirt?” Remus asks, because changing the topic is easier than answering.

“It has to fit and it has to look presentable.” Dee says.

Remus makes a face, and Dee pokes him in the cheek. “Honestly, darling,” He says, in a southern accent that Remus is sure he’s pulled out for fun at this point, “That’s just the bare minimum. I’ve decided to start small.” 

Remus tries to keep the sour look off his face, but from the way that Dee bites the inside of his cheek he knows how he did. 

“These clothes suck,” Remus tells him, and it's most definitely a whine. “Dee, you can literally turn into a dragon. Why would you want to wear clothes like these when you can be a dragon?”

“It's the aesthetic, my dear. Rich clothes mean a rich person, and I do so very much enjoy looking- and being- richer than others.”

“But you could be a dragon.” Remus repeats, because really, is Dee just not hearing him? “You could be rich and be a hundred feet long with giant wings and sharp teeth and just step on people who annoy us. A Dragon!”

Dee laughs like someone who is rich and can be a fire breathing dragon at any moment and yet still chooses to wear shirts with collars. Remus thinks it would be sexy of him-- well, actually, it is sexy of him. Dee is sexy. He’d been knew.

Remus flutters over the shirts, all of them looking more uncomfortable than the last. Honestly, Remus doesn’t know why he wasn’t fine in his own outfit. What, do rich people not know everyone had legs and midriffs underneath their clothes?

Remus picks out an offending neon green shirt in a box that comes with a fancy tie and whatever. It makes his own eyes hurt to look at it so he throws it at Dee.

“This is not your size,” Dee says.

“I’m starting to think that you’re trying to get me to pick out my funeral outfit.”

“And you want to be buried in this?”

Remus grabs his chest, “Don’t be ridiculous Dee! Why would I want to be wearing clothes at my own wake? Are you trying to take the “fun” out of “funeral”?”

“And if I am?” Dee says without really missing a beat. So maybe that’s why Remus likes him so much. Because after months and months of searching for that one phrase, the one comment, the one statement that's too much, he still hasn’t found it. 

Dee should have run away by now-- Remus knows this fact, the way he knows the fifty million futures are going to end up. Dee should have run after they robbed that casino, after Remus chose to get them driven out of Oklahoma for funsies, after Remus wouldn’t stop making suggestive comments about the two of them. Dee should have run and never looked back.

You know, like every other person in Remus’s life.

But no matter which future he enacts, no matter how many he looks at, no matter what he does.

There’s always Dee. There’s always blood on the gravel. There’s always those words. 

That he doesn’t mean, can’t mean, won’t mean. 

Remus is twenty one and whatever it is between them is wrong, despite how much he really wants it.

“If you are then you should get me a wedding ring,” Remus says tugging at a button on another shirt, pulling it loose, and imagining eating, because choking to death is easier than any other thought he’s having.

“Oh?” Dee plucks the button from his hand before he can put it in his mouth and tosses it across the store, like the good person he is. “And why would that be?”

Remus pouts. “Gotta marry me for the life insurance, Jekyll and Lies!”

Dee’s lips quirk, up and down, like a worm wriggling under a blazing sun. He pulls on his poker face, and Remus reads between the lines as him being frustrated.

“Oh?” Dee says between gritted teeth, “Is that the only reason?”

“Wha--??”

Dee throws the offending green shirt back on the rack and grabs Remus by the forearm. Before he can get out another very confused word Dee is dragging him towards the store entrance without an item to buy. The employees blink at them, but Dee bulldozes his way back out of the door with a warpath that would surely put Alexander the Great to shame--

---The Jewelry Store flings into view a cute little shop with barely anyone nearby and windows with dark backdrops and glittering jewels that probably would cost them most of the fortune they’ve amassed together. 

Remus’s heart jumps to his throat, out of his throat, it lands on his tongue and he chews his way through it as Dee drags him towards the shop.--

---The Jewelry Store flings into view, a cute little shop with barely anyone nearby and windows with dark backdrops and glittering jewels that probably would cost them most of the fortune they’ve amassed together. 

Remus’s heart jumps to his throat, out of his throat, it lands on his tongue and he chews his way through it as Dee drags him towards the shop. The doors are clear glass and the handles are sleek black, but Remus isn’t looking at them as much as looking around them at the curious bystanders who follow them with their eyes--

---The Jewelry Store flings into view, a cute little shop with barely anyone nearby and windows with dark backdrops and glittering jewels that probably would cost them most of the fortune they’ve amassed together. 

Remus’s heart jumps to his throat, out of his throat, it lands on his tongue and he chews his way through it as Dee drags him towards the shop. The doors are clear glass and the handles are sleek black, but Remus isn’t looking at them as much as looking inside where there are two jewelry store employees pressed against the back wall and a guy pointing a gun at them and a kid, a kid flourishing his hands out--

---The Jewelry Store flings into view, a cute little shop with barely anyone nearby and windows with dark backdrops and glittering jewels that probably would cost them most of the fortune they’ve amassed together. 

Remus’s heart jumps to his throat, out of his throat, it lands on his tongue and he chews his way through it as Dee drags him towards the shop.

“Dee!”

But Dee isn’t listening, because, because, because, because---

“Dee!” Remus yells anyway. 

But Dee isn’t listening for some stupid reason and the Jewelry Store flings into view, a cute little shop with barely anyone nearby and windows with dark backdrops and glittering jewels that probably would cost them most of the fortune they’ve amassed together. 

Remus’s heart jumps to his throat, out of his throat, it lands on his tongue and he chews his way through it as Dee grabs the steel black handles of the glass doors and yanks them open. 

Remus shoves his entire weight sideways, sprawling over Dee, hitting the floor heavily, slamming his chin to the ground, and biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood. “FIRE!”

The glass doors shatter over them, raining twinkling stars over Remus’s back and a violent, furious explosion. Heat seers into them, over them, punching through them both like a physical blow to their bodies. The air burns, too hot to breathe, too hot to see through, too hot.

A body flies over them, probably, maybe, definitely, and slammed wetly against the internal decorative plant beds that have been all over the mall so far. Flames lick off the body, paralleling the godawful screaming of the man. The crowd, the other shoppers, the unsuspecting normal people panic. They scream. They cry. They run.

And yet all Remus can see is Dee on the floor of the mall, eyes empty, mouth open, scales out and body devoured by flames. Gone gone gone gone--

“Remus!” Dee yells, because he’s not dead yet, because he hadn’t been burned alive, because Remus had changed the future. He’s alive.

His heartbeat is there, and Remus can feel it from where he’s pressed against Dee covering him entirely. His breathing is warm against Remus’s cheeks, his hands on Remus’s chest. His stolen appearance is still functioning.

He’s alive.

But for some reason Remus’s brain can’t get with the program.

He tastes ashes in his mouth, burning his lungs, and ripping through the dryness of his mouth. The air is hot, steaming, shimmering with the threat of more fire.

“Remus,” Dee is suddenly in front of him, cupping his cheeks so sweetly, blue-grey eyes boring into his, “Remus, are you okay?”

He’s not. 

Remus is twenty one years old and he just watched Dee die again but this time it was unexpected and they weren’t even doing anything illegal and it just happened and he died and Remus is not okay.

There’s something wrong. Everything is wrong. 

His mouth opens but none of that comes out. He’s shaking.

Dee’s eyes harden on something beyond him, harden and darken and his mouth pulls into a sneer. “Breathe for me, Dear,” He says softly, “and forgive me. There’s a small task I have to do. I’ll be right back.”

He steps back, pulls back, and Remus’s head follows him on instinct. Remus is kneeling on the ground, although he definitely doesn’t remember getting here at all. Dee stands up, runs his fingers through Remus’s hair and then strolls directly towards the child and the man on fire. 

There’s an elegance in his walk, Remus notes distantly. An elegance that makes him glide across the floor, flowing between panicking people, squaring his shoulders and tilting his chin up so he can look down at his opponent.

Opponent? 

“Hey!” Dee yells sharply, cuttingly, loudly. He slices through the panic like a knife through warm butter, or a truck through a red light, or a bullet straight through flesh.

“Hey!” Dee yells, and suddenly everyone is looking at him as he rushes towards the burned man. “Just what the fuck do you think you are doing, brat?!”

The brat in question, the child who had been in the jewelry shop, the juvenile who had flourished his hands outward and made fire appear in the air, that kid stops where he’s standing. And oh god he’s wearing some sort of outfit-- its like Halloween came early! Black clothes, with an orange flame over his chest and an orange mask tied around his face like he’s some sort of superhero.

At the oldest? This kid might be twelve. And there’s no mask hiding that fact away.

“Official Hero business, sir!” The child says and Remus wants to laugh, thinks he laughs, does actually laugh. Because this is a joke isn’t it? An elaborate joke? There are people nearby who stopped in their panic when Dee stepped up, who are holding their breaths, who are looking at Remus like he’s finally lost it.

“Official hero--” Dee also thinks this is funny, and Remus knows because of the way his eyebrows quirk. “Where are your parents?” Without waiting for an answer Dee turns to a woman crouching nearby, “Are you his mother? This is so irresponsible!”

Flames flicker around the child as he stomps his foot, “Move out of the way, sir! I’m the official superhero of this city, Flamestrike!”

“What you are is a child,” Dee says sharply, before turning back to the woman, “Call an ambulance for this man will you? Those burns--”

“He’s a villain!” The kid cuts in, “He’s going to jail!”

“Will someone please go find his parents!” Dee yells. "Call an ambulance, and someone check to make sure he’s still breathing. And get me a clean sheet! We need to cover the burns with something that won’t leave anything in the wound!"

Remus sways where he is kneeling on the floor. Dee sweeps the area with a flourish of his hands, dismissing the child with just a word, throwing commands to the others nearby, and generally being amazing. It's a cold shut down, a cruel one.

But no one moves at his words, because they're all stupid and for some reason Remus is surprised about that again. Why does he put his faith in people again? Especially when he has the memory of Roman breathing down his neck most days?

But these people are looking between Dee, the adult, the very capable stranger, and this toddler like they’re waiting for some stage direction. Remus hates plays, has hated them for forever. It only had a little bit to do with the fact that Roman loved their highschool theatre program so much.

But the air smells like burned flesh and several plants in the decorative planters are still on fire and Remus’s chest still hurts from a lack of oxygen and there’s a man who's so crispy he doesn’t feel anything at all but can’t move a muscle lying over there-- a man whose life is in the balance and Dee is apparently the only one willing to take up that weight.

 It's because of that Dee hisses out distastefully.

“Apologies,” Dee says, very unkindly, very dangerously. “Are we waiting for Christmas to come along? This is an emergency, not one of your soaps! Call an ambulance! Get me a sheet! And someone get over here and help me make sure his clothes aren’t stuck in the burns!”

“That man was robbing--” The child tries again.

“Oh, please, shut up!” Dee roars at him, “I could not give a single fuck what this man has done or not done! You are the one at fault here!”

If there was oxygen in the air before, it's gone now. Remus knows this from the sharp loud inhale by nearly a dozen frozen onlookers, from the way the child looks taken aback, from the way that Dee’s eyes flash blue grey and dangerous. The singes on his shirt, the soot on his face, make him look murderous in a way that Remus hasn’t had the pleasure of seeing before.

(Because he never gets mad at Remus, never that mad, never that angry. It doesn’t matter what buttons Remus pushes.)

“Did you think you were special?” Dee's tone starts like a bubbling brook and swiftly crashes over everyone who listens like a tsunami and drowns everyone who wasn’t prepared. “Did Mommy and Daddy tell you your power was one of a kind? Did your friends think it was so cool that you could make fireballs? Did you build a little secret lair in your treehouse?”

The kid takes a step back. Dee takes a step forward, wearing the face of a stranger who has probably never been this livid before in their life.

“What was it, Kid?” He asks, “You had a power and you decided that you know right and wrong, now? You wanted to play superhero so badly you forgot that life isn’t a silly little movie? Please enlighten me on why you have the right to just attack a handful of civilians! Because if it weren’t for my friend you’d be staring at two extra corpses!”

It's him, Remus realizes a second too late. It's him that Dee just mentioned as having saved their lives and it’s him who would have been dead alone with Dee if he hadn’t moved fast enough.

There’s movement, he notes a second later. There’s a woman who takes several hesitant steps forward, and dashes beyond Dee to the burned man. She drops her shopping bags and pulls out a phone, and does those things that Dee had commanded, with all the nervousness of someone trying improv for the first time.

“Thank you,” Dee says to her.

“If you’re…. If you’re helping that man, you’re a villain!” The kid stutters.

And like a shark when there’s blood in the water, Dee laughs. “Us?” He says, stepping in front of the brave woman to block her from the child’s view. “We’re not the ones who just tried to kill two innocent people, kid.”

“Its Flamestrike!” The kid stomps his foot, but he sounds so pitiful, Remus almost feels sorry for him. If it weren’t for the smell of burning flesh, the sight of marred skin, for the memory of a future that didn’t happen-- 

“I’m a hero,” The kid insists, stubborn in all the wrong ways.

Dee growls deep in his throat. “You are not a hero!”

“I am!”

“You don’t have control of your power. You don’t have control of your emotions. You’re the modern day Fires of Rome! You make one mistake and you set a whole building-- the whole city, on fire! You do not get the option of forgetting that there are normal people here!”

Dee looks past the kid to the jewelry store owner, worker, whoever, who is creeping by the shattered glass doors, squeezing an ornate silver cross in her hand. “Tell me, madam--” Dee’s voice is smooth and soothing like the surface of an icy river that promises an unkind demise if she lies to him, “--how much were the items he was attempting to steal?”

It takes a long suffering moment for her to answer. Remus’s breath hovers in his chest for all of it, clinging to the insides of his throat until his eyes itch. His knees grind into the ground, trying to steady him when the whole world feels like it's swaying. 

“Several thousand,” she admits, and Dee almost laughs, but to be fair so does Remus.

“Several thousand!” He repeats to the kid in front of him, “A man’s life is several thousand to you? You would kill a man for several thousand? That’s less than the price of a car!”

“Wha--No!”

Dee waves to the man behind him, to the woman who was kneeling beside him, clutching a phone between her shoulder and her ear.

“But you did!” He says. “You did. You! The so-called Hero! Who attempted to extinguish a life over a couple thousand dollars that this man probably wouldn’t have been able to fence, and the store right here most likely had insurance over.

“It's time to face the music,” Dee says softer, sterner, and perhaps unkinder than it needed to be. “You are not a hero, kid.”

--- The child’s eyes glow brightly, burning red with a special type of hatred that Remus is sure only Dee can inspire in someone. He thrusts his hands forward, fingers spread as wide as they can go and lets out a furious screech.

“ITS FLAMESTRIKE!”

Flames explode out from his palms, shooting across the open area towards Dee who didn’t really expect a child to attempt a murder, towards the bystander who was calling that ambulance towards the man who had just tried to rob the jewelry store with a gun that still had the safety on.

And when the sweltering heat subsides, when the screams break, when light dies down and the bile in Remus’s mouth comes back up….all that’s left in the place of all three of them are ashes, flaming plants, and scorch marks on the floor.---

---Flames explode out from his palms, shooting across the open area towards Dee who didn’t really expect a child to attempt a murder, towards the bystander who was calling that ambulance towards the man who had just tried to rob the jewelry store with a gun that still had the safety on.

And when the sweltering heat subsides, when the screams break, when light dies down and the bile in Remus’s mouth comes back up….all that’s left in the place of all three of them are ashes, flaming plants, and scorch marks on the floor.--

--And when the sweltering heat subsides, when the screams break, when light dies down and the bile in Remus’s mouth comes back up….all that’s left in the place of all three of them are ashes, flaming plants, and scorch marks on the floor.--

---And when the sweltering heat subsides, when the screams break, when light dies down and the bile in Remus’s mouth comes back up….all that’s left in the place of all three of them are ashes, flaming plants, and scorch marks on the flo--

“FLAMES!” Remus screams, because he can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything from so far away. His heart hammers against his chest as the child’s eyes glow brightly, burning red with a special type of hatred that Remus is sure only Dee can inspire in someone. 

The child thrusts his hands forward, fingers spread as wide as they can go and lets out a furious screech. “ITS FLAMESTRIKE!”

Flames explode out from his palms, shooting across the open area towards Dee, who hears Remus, who isn’t surprised, who sees the attack coming and faces it head on.

And Remus can’t breathe for a second as the sweltering heat sweeps through the open area, as the screams rise up again and light seers into his eyes with crackling, horrific popping noise. It's like popcorn, and all Remus can think of is the noise that the acids in the human stomach make when they’re boiled in an open fire.

The attack cuts off, the flames subside and the kid is left there shaking, screaming, eyes wide and horrified and-- 

“Oh my god,” The kid says softly. “That’s impossible….”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dee says, grinning with his fangs on display as he brushes off the last of the flames. His body had morphed into a humanoid dragon looking thing: fireproof wings, a spiky tail, and thick iridescent scales interlocking over his entire body, up his neck and covering half his face like a mockery of his true form, “Was that supposed to help prove your point or mine?”

Remus feels floaty. He feels like he’s watching a nightmare, but it's not one of his.

 He feels bad. So bad. Wrong.

Terrible. 

“You… you’ve got powers too,” The kid says, and he sounds excited about it. As if he had somehow missed the previous five minutes, the previous ninety seconds, the previous heartbeat where he tried to kill someone. “You’ve got powers and you're a bad guy!”

“Remus,” Dee calls from where he’s standing, with his wings arched up, so powerful, so dangerous, fucking beautiful, from where he’s using those wings to protect the one brave woman and the would-be robber. His tone is questioning, a version of vibrations that Remus has heard in a bazillion futures that never happened. Remus knows what he’s asking about without him needing to say it.

“Two minutes,” Remus offers, scarcely definable, scarcely English. And yet Dee just nods to acknowledge that Remus had been heard, that Remus had helped him, that Remus had done a good job.

“You’re a super villain!” The kid continues on, looking determined under his stupid dimestore mask.

“I do hope you’ll forgive me, Dear,” Dee says to Remus again, although he hasn’t looked away from the teacup-size nuisance that nearly flambeed him a moment ago, “I’m about to add assault on a minor to our long, wonderful list of crimes.”

Remus laughs. Because this is all weird and wrong and it's funny. Genuinely.

Or maybe he’s just finally lost it. 

The child yells something, forming a glowing orange fireball in his fist, like this is some sort of bad anime where the heroes win. Dee doesn’t even humor him. The fight is over in seconds as the gorgeous green wings fly forward and send the winds of a hurricane directly at him.

Remus sees it in snapshots: The winds picking up the kid, the jewelry store worker diving out of the way, the glass shards from those doors swooping into the air, and that kid slamming backwards twenty feet or so, folding over one of the untouched jewelry cases with a cry of pain. 

“Some free advice,” Dee says, because he’s a bastard, and Remus is definitely in love with him, “Don’t get back up.” 

The next thing Remus knows is Dee is right next to him wearing the face of the waitress from that morning, helping him to his feet, taking most of his weight when Remus knees refuse to work. He’s soft, warm, gentle, familiar. The soot from the close calls is gone, leaving only a torn shirt and exposed skin.

He grabs their fallen, forgotten, abused bags from their shopping earlier, and leads them away from the mess, the chaos, the wrongness with one minute and five seconds to spare before the police show up on scene. Remus doesn’t really remember much after that. Somehow they make it through the questioning-- Remus suspects that Dee puts their waitress’s large chest to use-- somehow they make it back to their car. Somehow.

Dee leans him against the door as he struggles to find the keys somewhere between their various pockets. “Keep breathing, Re,” He says softly, but no less meaningfully, “We’re almost out.”

Remus blinks and blinks again and his entire stomach makes a lunge for his throat. He doubles over and hits the asphalt of the parking lot like there are cinder blocks tied around his neck. Everything from that morning comes back up: the eggs, the pancakes, the blood on the gravel--

Remus coughs on his inhale, gags on the effort to remain upright while his mouth tastes like the inside of his stomach.

Dee presses a hand between his shoulder blades that’s grounding and painful and exactly what Remus needs all at once. He shudders, shakes, and falls apart. And Dee just maneuvers him into the passenger seat before crawling over him to get to the drivers side.

“I’m sorry,” Dee says, as he starts the ignition and pulls through the parking spot to get out of this lot, to get away from this mall, to get as far as possible from this location. “You-- You tried to tell me something was wrong and I didn’t--I wasn’t-- Remus--”

Remus hugs his knees to his chest. “F-fuck!”

Dee frantically scours their cup holders and finally offers him the remains of blue slushie from yesterday. And Remus is grateful enough that he takes it, swishes it in his mouth, and spits it out the window for the person driving behind them to deal with. 

“Fuck,” Remus says again because the back of his eye lids are still burned with the sight of scorch marks on the floor.

“Fuck,” Dee agrees, and presses the gas pedal to the floor. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

Remus is twenty one years old. Everything feels wrong in him, around him, about him in ways he can’t explain yet. 

He does not know that things are only going to get worse.

(Chapter Four)

[voidcat]

Intrusion

– 4: gone with a snap (wc: 1.9k)

prev ; next ; m.list

a/n: another filler. sorry i forgot to upload the other remaining intrusion chapters from ao3 to here,,, i’ll upload other two in the following days.

After that day out, everything seems to fall back into place and regain its old rhythm.

Except that Iwaizumi becomes a part of the said rhythm of your life now, conversing and interacting with him a lot easier and almost refreshing.

What he said about your view of people seeing you play plays on loop in your mind but in a way, it feels like a breaking point on your journey of friendship. It feels good to step outside your comfort zone once in a while.

It’s funny how sudden some changes can appear before someone.

The first school day since your little hang out and you’re awfully cheery. Waking up in a good mood, not cutting conversations short; not even a certain teacher’s discriminating opinions can burst your bubble.

Your friends notice the sudden change during your typical lunch meet up.

It starts with wondering where some of your friends are. Ever since the rearrangement, it feels harder and harder to stick together.

“I heard the MUN club is holding a meeting during lunch break.”

“Again? This is the 3rd time in the last two weeks. Can’t they do that after school?” Okemia’s sudden outburst catches you off guard and causes Etsuko to drop one of her cookies. Meanwhile Ayame is nodding approvingly, backing up Okemia as always.

“Yeah because every single club wants to create a gap between us and the boys.”

“Well, they could be! They might be planning for it right now and we would be none the wiser!”

“A little bit of a reach, don’t you think?” Koto says as she sits down. The rest agrees in silence.

Everyone finishing up with lunch and occasionally eyeing the distance in case anyone else shows up, time passes by like that. Leaning against the tree behind you, you start watching the blurry figures in the distance, eyeing the leaves once in a while and getting cozier.

Startled by the sudden poke by your ribs, you break out of your trance.

“And what about you? You have been awfully quiet lately…” You slowly turn to Okemia.

“Not that it’s bad!” She adds worriedly. “It’s good to see you feeling, better. But at least one of us is there to witness the reason behind it. So… Spill.”

“I- spill what?”

“It’s the one you saw this weekend, right? It has to be! What else could you have done without us that would cause such a-“ She moves her hand rather dramatically, all digits pointing at you. “-change. So, who is he?”

Here it comes.

“There is no ‘he’ if that’s what you are asking. I’m just feeling lighter for no particular reason.”

“Hey, no need to get defensive! Nothing wrong with having a crush now.” You can hear the teasing tone in Etsuko’s words.

“Uh… Wait! Have we had a hobbit day recently? We haven’t had a hobbit day recently! I think we should have one soon and do nothing but eat!” Your desperate attempts at changing the topic of discussion is acknowledge. You’re not sure you’ll be getting away for a second time.

“Last time was fun, except for the moment our literature teacher saw Ayame and I feed each other chocolate though.”

“That’s because you two aren’t as fast and experienced as us!” You pull Koto to your side a bit too harsh as you say these. She just puts her arm around you in support and Okemia rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, keep lying to yourself.”

Successfully avoiding the possible news of your crush, you all set a date for your next grand ‘feast’ and some of your friends start to talk and giggle about their crushes. You just go back to looking at the sky and zoning out.

Trying not to dwell on your friends’ implications, you find yourself walking back to your classroom.

The looks and knowing smirks they sent your way when you announced you’d be leaving your little lunch spot a bit earlier making your blood rush, causing you to walk a little faster.

Pushing unwanted thoughts about why you might feel a bit different about someone proves to be an issue, especially when that someone is the one you hope to talk with a little before class starts.

Passing people by fast, ignoring their looks and heading straight to restroom, you stand over the sink.

Taking a deep breath and holding it for a few seconds.

You breathe out as you look at your reflection in the mirror.

Taking another deep breath and you start to examine your face.

 A pink blush spread on your cheeks and your nose, which you hope is caused by your quick pace and not a certain someone. Other than that, your eyes look fine, your mouth in a straight line and your face not giving away a single thought on your mind.

Splashing some cold water and standing for another 10 seconds, you slowly exit and make way to the classroom.

You’re almost disappointed to see Iwaizumi preoccupied with someone else. Key word; almost.

He’s sitting by his seat and a tall figure is looming over it.

From the way the figure moves his hands almost theatrically, it’s clear they’re the ones doing the talking. You can see their shiny brown hair and the gestures pull your attention to their skilled-looking fingers. They must know the enchanting presence they have right now, half the people in the classroom doing nothing but watching them. And they keep on talking about whatever it is they’re talking about purposely, not moving their head an inch from where Iwaizumi is sitting. And from where you are standing, they don’t block your view of Iwaizumi.

You can see him watching and nodding at them. Moving his mouth to make small comments, you assume to be words of agreement and encouragement, once in a while. He looks like in any other class; posture not slouching, hands rested on his desk, gaze focused on the speaker.

Yet the impression on his face. That, you cannot pinpoint.

Maybe you were wrong about Iwaizumi Hajime being an open book. Maybe you don’t know him enough to recognize this specific emotion on his face. It is clear there is something in the way he looks, the way his jaw clenches and the way he breathes. But you can’t make it out.

Startled by a sudden bump by the shoulder, you turn your head, mouth open ready to blurt a harsh word out, only to realize you’ve been blocking the entrance this whole time. Bowing your head slightly in what you hope is an apologetically way, your attention is back to them.

Eyes sliding back to the hall once in a while, you walk back to your desk and to Iwaizumi. Silently hoping he notices you or maybe not. Do you want him to notice you? Do you want to engage with someone who seems to be close to him as well? Do you-

Is that his voice? Head spinning around so fast to confirm with your eyes and yes it is the idiot you’ve been looking for all day, you rush to your desk, all your worries about Iwaizumi and his friend long forgotten.

Muttering few complaints and insults under your breath, along with a “wait up dumb ass” to no one in particular, you furiously search through your bag and make a run for the door as soon as you find what you’re looking for.

You don’t realize the puzzled look on Iwaizumi’s face or how his hand almost reached out to you.

You certainly don’t feel the cold gaze the brunette directs your way either.

You’ve been in an awfully good mood all week so far, Iwaizumi’s sure of it.

It’s almost impossible to miss when the typical demeanor of someone like you is cold and lacking in the smiles department. It’s a relief to see you like this, a little uplifting too. He wants to ask if it’s because of the mysterious text bearing news of hope you had received at the café. He knows better than to pry and settles with waiting until you decide to tell him yourself.

He can’t help but wish he is part of the reason why you’re happy.

Life goes the same for him; practices with the volleyball club, coming up with new strategies to beat Shiratorizawa, dealing with his highness’ shittiness whenever he is too handful. Additionally, you become a part of his life; slowly but surely giving more bits about your true self, talking with much more enthusiasm, making or saying something that is so you that he can’t help but agape once in a while too.

It is a nice change, welcomed, a little challenging because how you hold back and take things in time. He may not be the type to go and befriend anyone he sees but it doesn’t take a genius to know people don’t go all the trouble of slow processing and the effort when making friends nowadays. Lucky for him, Iwaizumi is not the type to back down from a challenge.

  Except for the times you disappear off to god knows where and all he has left to do is to wait. The back and forth between the two of you in thrilling somehow, adding a pinch of adrenaline to all this and leave him wondering what more to discover about you, what more to unlock with you, which layers to reach. To Iwaizumi you’re a little like a matrushka sometimes, reminding him of an oh-too-familiar friend he has spent a life time knowing.

But knowing him and discovering, bonding and growing together with him is what pulls Iwaizumi to the potential your friendship holds and offers.

So here he is one lunch break, sitting by his desk, most gazes locked onto where he is because Oikawa decide to pay him a visit in his classroom instead of calling him outside like he usually does.

He is not even there for something urgent, not even a hair crisis or a sudden volleyball strategy he came up with. No, Oikawa Tooru had to come and just ramble about nothing for no reason Iwaizumi can see. Yet he finds himself listening to his friend’s blabbing, nods when agreeing, making a small comment here and there, watching his comical gestures.

This goes on longer than he can comprehend, not long enough for lunch break to come to an end but long enough for Iwaizumi to zone in and out few times.

By the time his focus his back, he can see you aggressively going through your bag and cursing it. Unaware of Oikawa’s sudden silence, right when he’s about to touch your shoulder, you’re gone with a snap of fingers.

From where he is sitting, the view of the halls is limited. It takes a while for you to be seen again, walking besides someone and giving them whatever it was you were looking for a second ago. The figure’s back turned to him, Iwaizumi cam make out their built and height a bit, hint them to be in a sports team. He doesn’t realize the silent stance Oikawa has whenever he is observing, planning, breaking something into pieces in his mind; not until Iwaizumi realizes the mixture of words and giggles taking over the classroom as they’re done fawning after Oikawa. Before he can say anything else to his friend, besides a hurried “See ya!” Oikawa is gone, followed by the bell.

[grell-writes-stuff]

A Self Indulgent First Chapter

Enjoy...something

Words: 2,549

Genre: Young Adult / Paranormal

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

Slam!

Gasp!

And then the apathetic yell of “Walk it off, Willow!” from Coach Martin. No stopping the game or running over to make sure I’m not deprived of air or dying or something. Just “Walk it off, Willow!”

I suffer for a second with the wind knocked out of my body. My inhaler finds its way from my pocket to my hand, and while I hold the one breath I force myself into and wait for my crap lungs to jump-start again, I contemplate the most-likely-illegal play that landed me flat on my back in the middle of the field. Quarterback Tom Styles’ outstretched elbow connecting with my neck at full speed in his chase for the checkered ball and high school sports glory, clearly confusing his claim-to-fame varsity moves with a pickup game of soccer since I doubt he has the brain cells to remember the rules to two sports at once. And probably a little bit on purpose. Because he’s a dick.

My chest wheezes a little, but at least it’s something, and the weak inhales finally start to catch as a sun-freckled face appears above me and blocks out the light. Ivy offers me her hand.

“Did th-that look a-as bad as it f-felt?” I sputter.

Ivy tilts her head from side-to-side like it’s the scale measuring how uncool I am. “Worse. Very pathetic. You will die alone.” She yanks me to my feet and acts like a support in spite of the height difference.

“P-Please stop making m-me take gym with y-you.”

“Nah. It’s too funny.” She ignores my scowl. “Come on. Let’s get you some water and wait for those shitty lungs to work again.”

She escorts me – hobbling like some eighty-year-old man with spine problems and not just what will soon be a terrible, ugly bruise – toward the bleachers, empty except for the water bottles of our classmates. I’m happy enough to sit on the sidelines, not just while recovering from having all of the air robbed from my chest, but for the rest of gym class, and also forever. Ivy is equally as happy, but only because it prompts the girls’ teacher, Coach Caruthers, to scream in her booming voice:

“Hammond! Back on the field!”

Without missing a beat, Ivy responds, “In the event of moderate injury, students are allowed to have a friend or fellow student for mental, emotional, or physical support. It’s in the code of conduct.”

I don’t know if that’s actually something in our school’s rule book, but Ivy has read the whole thing cover-to-cover for the sole purpose of seeing how many provisions she can disregard without getting into trouble through malicious acts of over-compliance or sheer dumb luck. So, she’s either following the rules to the letter or lying about them. As I sit, I see that Caruthers does not look impressed when Ivy plops onto the bench next to me. The whole reason our gender-segregated phys. ed classes collaborate so often is because they’re full of athletes – and me, the outlier – so more often than not, it’s just an extra practice for the varsity players. Even though Ivy was born with the “good at physical stuff” gene, and talented enough to be a forward on our girls’ soccer team, she prefers to rely on the natural part of her ability and not the practice part to the vexation of literally everyone.

“Hammond!” Caruthers screams. “On the field, or off the team!”

Ivy squirts a stream of water into her mouth and quickly swallows before passing the bottle on to me. “Cool. Who’s replacing me?” she retorts.

I focus on downing some water and breathing evenly again and not on the vein beginning to pop out of Caruthers’ angry-red neck. She can’t say anything back because, well, Kinross High School isn’t huge. Pretty much everyone who can play sports is already playing sports, and as far as Ivy’s tendency to disrespect anyone of authority can go, she’s also crucial to securing victory over visiting teams. Caruthers just grits her teeth and returns to refereeing the game where Tom Styles has once again stolen the ball that got away from him, this time without incapacitating anybody since the one guy with asthma has left the field. (Asshole.) I watch as Abby Jefferson starts to gain on him, and Tom makes the choice to skillfully send the ball flying across the grass to the next open player, Drew Young, the only person in our gym class who does even less than I do.

That’s not for lack of talent either. I’ve seen Drew actually try on the rare occasion, and he could absolutely score a spot on a boys’ sports team. But most games, like today, he receives the pass and kicks the ball along to the next open player – it’s intercepted by one of the girls – and continues pacing the field leisurely. Coach Martin yells at him to get his head in the game, but Drew doesn’t bother. If the activity doesn’t involve selling the pens that he stole from the cheerleaders to the football team, the little weasel has no interest.

The game continues on.

Ivy reclines until her shoulders are touching the bench behind us, tilting her head back and staring at the sky. I have to wonder how comfortable it is.

“My dear Sid,” she theatrically addresses me. She likes to be dramatic sometimes. She thinks it’s funny. “I have a proposal for you.”

“I told you I’m not training a messenger pigeon with you. We only live three houses apart.”

“I’ll wear you down eventually, but no, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.” She looks over at me without breaking her questionable position. “I know what we’re doing tonight. I’ve concocted a perfect plan, you see, for this most All-Hallowed of Eves.”

“You can say ‘Halloween’ like a normal person. It’s okay.”

“Let me bring you back in time,” she continues, ignoring me, “to the Kinross of yore. Just decades after its founding, the Salem Witch Trials came about and our town was no exception to the noose–”

“Salem is two hours away, Ivy,” I interrupt with the fact.

“Shut up. The Salem Witch Trials swept across the state of Massachusetts, migrated into Kinross, and thus the most famous trial of Kinross history was set in motion when one Ann Kelly was accused of being a creature of the occult!”

“Can I get the abridged version of this plan please?” I ask her. “Like, the part that takes place in this century?”

Finally fed up with my interjections, Ivy sighs exaggeratedly and rolls her eyes at me. “Blah, blah, blah, she was hanged, she’s buried in the historical section of Riverview, and we’re going there tonight during the witching hour to see” – she switches to her best spooky voice with elongated, trembling vowels – “her haunted grave.”

“Hard pass.”

That makes her sit upright again with a slouch to her posture. She’s wearing a fabricated pout. “Sid,” she whines.

“Ivy, I’m not sneaking out with you at three in the morning on Halloween to go see a ‘haunted grave.’” She opens her mouth, but I follow up with, “Our parents would kill us. Besides, what’s-her-name probably just angered a bunch of Puritans and got executed because of religious prejudice. That doesn’t mean she was a witch.”

“Well, of course. I think angering Puritans was a mandatory activity back then. But come on, Sid! The legend says she’s a witch, and it’s the perfect Halloween thing! I think we are obligated – if not encouraged by the spirit of Halloween herself – to go see a ghost witch.”

“Does the spirit of Halloween have a gender?”

Ivy pushes past that and waits to catch my eye dead-on. “Bet you a hundred bucks we actually see Ann Kelly’s phantom.”

My lips part to say no just a split second before I register the number. “Wait – a hundred?”

Something cocky has taken up her face, and she recites with inflated confidence, “Ten A-Hams. A Franklin. A thousand Roosevelts.”

“You know what? Fine. I’ll take your money,” I tell her. “You’re on.”

Her grin is smug as we fist-bump on it and close the deal, but I decide that I don’t care so much with the promise of an easy hundred dollars coming my way. Ivy ingests another stream of water, and swallows while her eyes quickly scan the grass to catch up with the game again. Suddenly, a yell flies from her mouth:

“Box him out, Julia! Come on!”

Then she’s up off the bleachers and jogging back out onto the field. As unwilling as Ivy is to make an effort and practice, she’s also equally as competitive, even if this is just a gym class where victory doesn’t really matter. I, on the other hand, take my time on the bench. Struggling to breathe isn’t my idea of fun. I need to stop letting Ivy manipulate me into taking phys. ed. If she keeps it up, she might kill me.

 ***

I can nearly be qualified as a mess by the time Ivy and I reach our lockers after final period, and she’s humming like she’s got live wires for veins despite just spending an hour burning off energy. Meanwhile, I’m still recovering from my last bout of airlessness after I returned to the field and ran for maybe ten minutes. And I feel gross. The benefit of having P.E. last period is that I don’t have to shower here and can wait until I get home or to Ivy’s. The con is the window of time in between. I usually try to keep the gap as short as possible, and therefore, my time at my locker brief. I think Ivy and I took enough time getting changed after gym to avoid most people – at least the non-athletes.

“Hi, Sidney! Hi, Ivy!”

A mixture of feelings suddenly rockets through me and don’t add up in the end. While my chest is beginning to slowly overclock, and the hallway seems a few degrees warmer and rising steadily, I’m ready to play dead as Naomi Park opens the locker right next to mine on the opposite side of Ivy’s. Her shoulder is a fraction of an inch from touching my arm which is probably too close when I’m still drenched in gym sweat. Ivy greets her politely with ease while my brain is trying to catch up with the mundane situation and not think about how she smells like some kind of flowery perfume and I smell like crap.

“Hey, Naomi,” leaves my mouth and sounds too drawn-out and weirdly cheesy, so I just try to smile to make up for it. That feels awkward too, but she thankfully doesn’t seem to react to that, and her glossy pink lips tilt up without much effort into a perfect grin.

She puts some books on the shelf in her locker. “Any exciting Halloween plans?”

“Nope,” Ivy says immediately, likely because our actual idea involves a wager and might not be entirely legal – it’s a misdemeanor at the least. I just take the hint and don’t add anything to refute her answer.

“You? Any plans? For tonight – Halloween?” I wish that had come out differently. It could have at least sounded coherent.

“Nothing tonight,” Naomi responds. “But Heather’s having a ‘Belated Halloween Bash’ on Saturday while her parents are out of town so I’m ‘required’ to be there.”

“Oh, cool. That’s…cool.”

“I guess so. Heather’s parties get a little boring after a while though. I bet your plans for Saturday are much more fun.”

“Yep. Pints of ice cream, horror movies, and making bets on how long it takes Sid to hurl when the blood starts gushing,” Ivy interjects.

“Ivy.” I mutter the snap of her name so it doesn’t sound as harsh as I want it to. The temperature in the hallway rises astronomically.

Naomi giggles, which hurts. Well, it would if her laugh wasn’t so musical and twinkly. It’s like a damn harp quartet. “Sounds like a good time,” she comments. Her locker door shuts. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Yeah, totally – tomorrow. See ya’, Naomi!” She’s nearly out of earshot down the hall, and I wait until I know she definitely can’t hear anything before I say to Ivy without daring a look at her, with the heat of embarrassment and shame boiling me alive from the inside, “Please say nothing.”

I can hear the grin on her face when she speaks. “You realize she’s just another human being, right?”

“Are you kidding? She’s at the right hand of Heather Loch. She’s popular. I’m shocked she still knows my name.”

Ivy shuts her own locker with a characteristic slam. “Dude, you’re ridiculous. She likes you back. If you just talked to her, and told her that you like her, you would have a girlfriend.”

“Ivy, she thinks I’m a loser.”

“I think you’re a loser and I still like you sometimes.”

I roll my eyes and can’t say anything to that. I don’t care if Ivy thinks I’m lame. It’s not the same. We’ve been together for as long as I can remember, so at this point, she’s locked into this friendship, no matter how easy it would be for her to hang out with the people at Kinross High who are actually popular and liked.

I close my locker and we start walking to the main exit of the building and eventually across the school’s student parking lot. Some groups linger, but most people seem to be dispersing and heading home for the day. Ivy and I walk straight through the lot as always, avoiding the cars pulling out.

I want to avoid the Styles’ Ford Everest – which is so bright red that it’s an assault on the eyes – but we have to walk past it and the clump of popular kids loitering next to it: blonde, perfect, popular Heather Loch, Asshole Quarterback Tom and his not-as-terrible twin, Ed, and my locker neighbour and secret crush, Naomi. The girls are under the guys’ arms like they belong there, popular with popular. There’s usually not much interaction between our pair and their group because I’m pretty sure most of the popular kids either don’t know who I am or just hate me for no reason, but today Tom decides to rub in his full-contact plays on the soccer field.

“Nice moves out there, Pussy Willow!” he shouts clear across the lot. It makes me feel the bruise on my back, still fresh, but I’m past the point of being mad about it. Really, Tom’s just an annoying jerk, and that’s all he’ll ever be.

I try to tap into Ivy-like sarcasm and passiveness. “I get it. Because my last name is Willow, and you’re insulting me. That’s really funny. It’s original.”

He yells something back that includes one of Ivy’s favourite swear words, but we disregard it and turn out of the parking lot in the direction of our houses. Ivy states that we’re going to my place because, in her mind, it’s easier to sneak out of a single-parent household. I don’t try to refute it because arguing with Ivy when she has her mind made up is like talking to a brick wall.

[sykilik101]

Colloyd Week Day 2: Outfit Swap

Colette didn’t know the details, but from what she could gather, Lloyd had lost a bet.

Off on the other side of the campsite, just out of earshot, the swordsman was currently ranting at Zelos and Genis, neither of whom had lost their impish grins for the past few minutes. His expressions ranged from flabbergasted to irate to flustered, throwing his hands every which way as if hoping they would get across whatever point he was trying to make. Clearly it wasn’t working as the other two crossed their arms simultaneously, with Zelos poking a finger out towards the campsite.

Lloyd’s face fell as he scanned the rest of the group, though for what she wasn’t sure. His eyes slid over to Zelos, mouthing something with annoyance before his legs began carrying him forward. A flush adorned his face, his lip tucked between his teeth. It was a look she rarely saw on her friend, and she wondered if maybe there was something she could do to help, but before she could stand up she watched him make his way towards Sheena.

The girl looked up from the book she was reading, wearing a smile that was in stark contrast to the anxious one Lloyd donned. His hand found its way to the back of his head, his lips creating words that looked like they tasted funny in his mouth. In a flash Sheena’s gaze turned from jubilant to confused and eventually to exasperated, shaking her head and mumbling something with a wave of her hand. Lloyd nodded as if he’d expected her reaction, waving apologetically.

The next minute consisted of Lloyd repeating similar interactions with the Professor and Presea, although the Professor looked a bit more annoyed than the other two. He had turned back to Zelos and Genis, both of whom were reduced to snickers with each girl he talked to. Colette watched as Zelos held up a single finger and said something. Lloyd’s shoulders sagged, and slowly his pleading gaze turned to her.

Endless possibilities about what Lloyd could be going through consumed her imagination, and as he slowly approached her she couldn’t decide which one she wanted to believe. She opted to paste an inviting smile on her face, hoping that whatever was troubling him, she’d have a way to help.

“Uh, h-hi, Colette.”

The stutter was uncharacteristic to her normally cheery companion, and she was starting to worry that maybe his situation was more dire than she’d expected. “Hey, Lloyd. Is...something the matter?”

“Well, no, not really. I just...have a weird favor to ask.”

A gleam of optimism sprouted within her, taking solace in the notion that she’d be able to aid him after all. “What is it? If there’s anything I can do to help, just ask.”

He looked unsure of what to do with his hands, opting to let one rest on his hip as the other scratched his cheek. One of his feet tapped against the ground, wisps of dust blending with the rest of the dirt on his boots. If restless was made incarnate, Lloyd was it, and it didn’t seem to ease up as he dragged his gaze back to hers.

“I sort of lost a bet with Zelos and Genis, and now I have to wear girl’s clothes.”

She’d expected all sorts of responses, but of all of them, this was far from what she could have predicted. Still, the idea of Lloyd in a dress tickled her fancy, and she covered up her incoming laughter with an endearing curiosity. “I didn’t know you owned girl clothes, Lloyd.”

His eyes narrowed by the tiniest margin, clearly sensing her hidden merriment. It was enough to undo her inner restraints, allowing a giggle to escape her. His face relaxed at this, resting both his hands on his hips. “As a matter of fact, I don’t, which is why I need to borrow some.” Some of his fluster sparked back into his cheeks, his eyes shifting to the side.

Colette tilted her head to the side. Borrow some? From who-

The nature of his predicament suddenly clicked in her head, a pouty blush creeping up on her. “Oh. So...you mean we’d have to trade outfits?”

Saying it aloud seemed to make his apprehension more potent, his mouth twisting in humiliation. “Yeah...something like that.” He turned back to her, waving his palms at her. “But if you don’t want to, it’s okay. It’s kind of a dumb thing to make me do.”

Even in his awkwardness she found an earnestness in his eyes that had drawn her to them for all the years they’d known each other. Deferring to Lloyd was a common occurrence for her, and her desire to see him relieved of his discomfort sent the words to her vocal cords before she had a chance to stop them. “Well, if you really want to, I’m okay with it.”

She couldn’t tell if he looked more surprised or confused at her reply. “Really?”

“Mhm. Besides, it’s not good to go back on a promise.”

“I don’t know if I’d call this a promise…” he mumbled, turning to glare at the duo with the playfully optimistic eyes. Holding up a weak thumbs up caused the pair to exclaim excitedly, whooping and cheering on their own.

Colette giggled once more, still perplexed at this ritual between the boys but amused all the same. “So where should we get changed?”

His already rosy cheeks flourished further as he glanced around the campsite, searching around for wherever the two could exchange clothes. He exhaled sharply as he raised his finger towards a pair of boulders off in the distance. “We should be able to get some privacy behind those.” His face twisted and a wave of apprehension washed over him. “I promise I won’t peek or try to look!”

The concept of Lloyd trying to peek at her as she changed was so unbelievable that she almost collapsed into another fit of giggles, but she imagined her assurance would work better for him than her laughter.

“It’s okay, I trust you, Lloyd.”

xxxxx

It hadn’t taken much effort to slip herself into Lloyd’s outfit, given that he had a few sizes over her. With her arms at her sides the cuffs of his jacket slipped over her hands. Despite his suspenders his pants waist band refused to cling to her hips, forcing her to grasp it to keep them from drooping too far down. It was a miracle she was able to walk from behind the boulder without tripping over, given how large his boots were over her feet. In spite of how silly she felt, deep down she savored the warmth of his clothes around her, as if Lloyd was embracing her, protecting her like he always had.

She was surprised to find the entire group standing before her, sans Regal who was in charge of dinner that night. Genis and Zelos grinned approvingly at her before turning back to Lloyd’s boulder, clearly far more interested in his wardrobe exchange. Presea seemed generally unphased by her appearance, but Sheena held her chin in her hand, head gently cocked to the side.

“It’s kind of big on you, but you actually pull those clothes off pretty well, Colette.”

She meant to move her hand atop her head out of flattery, but the excess sleeve fell over her head and flopped against her ear, adding more fuel to the giggle that had already been bubbling inside. “Hehe, thanks!”

The Professor, however, appeared less than thrilled at their antics. “It’s fine that Lloyd’s clothes cover you well enough, but I’m concerned about how he’s supposed to fit in yours.”

“You know, when you put it that way, I almost don’t wanna see him in Colette’s clothes,” Genis shrugged with a shake of his head.

“Yeah, I’m kinda with you on that one,” Sheena chimed in, resting her hand on her hip.

“Oh, I’m sure it won’t be that egregious,” Zelos chuckled, though his comment did little to assuage the concerned looks of his companions. Rather than acknowledge their lack of faith in him he instead cupped his hand over his mouth. “Hey, Lloyd! You having some trouble over there, bud?”

“I’m fine...I’m just...trying to get this to fit…”

Not knowing which article of clothing he was referring to tickled at Colette’s fancy, though Zelos and Genis were clearly more amused. Between their snickering, Presea looked to the girl. “If Lloyd accidentally damages your clothes, I’m sure I could repair them without any trouble.”

The kind gesture warmed Colette’s heart and pulled the corners of her lips upwards. “Oh, that’s okay, I’m sure Lloyd is being really careful with them.”

“He’d better be, otherwise we’ll have a wardrobe malfunction on our hands, and I don’t think any of us want that.” Genis placed his hands behind his head, rocking side to side.

“Perhaps you or Zelos should go make sure everything fits properly before he comes out,” Raine responded, gently giving the boy a shove on the back with an amused grin.

“Not it!”

Their voices harmonized perfectly, prompting laughter from the rest of the group as they glared each other down. Before either could offer the first argument Lloyd’s voice rang from behind the boulder.

“Guys, I don’t think this is gonna work out.”

Zelos pulled himself away from his staredown with Genis, reviving his previous merriment. “Oh, come on, Lloyd, it can’t be that bad.”

As if to answer him, Lloyd inched himself out from behind the boulder. Colette’s top wasn’t especially snug on her, so Lloyd had some leeway as far as fitting into it, but it still clung tightly to his arms and chest. However, he clearly hadn’t managed to fit his legs into her tights or shoes, standing there pantsless and tugging at the bottom of her top to allow himself some decency.

Colette felt her face go hot, taking an unexpected extra second to take in the sight before looking away. Zelos and Genis howled with laughter, clutching their sides as they fell to the dirt. Sheena made a noise as her face went aflame, covering it and turning to the side. Presea also averted her gaze, though with far less theatrics than the Mizuho native. It was the Professor, however, who was the most incensed at his appearance.

“Lloyd Irving, cover yourself up this instant!”

“I’m doing the best I can, Professor!” He pulled harder at the hem of the top, looking to the cackling duo with shame and fluster in his glare. “Zelos, how long do I have to keep this on?”

I took a few moments for the redheaded Chosen to regain his composure, wiping a tear from his eye. “Well, I would hate for Raine to get mad at me for this, so you can get your clothes back after dinner. Is that alright with you, Colette?” he asked, turning to the girl.

She nodded, still at war with the heat and second-hand embarrassment coursing through her. “Okay.” It was all she could manage to say, still coping with the reality that she and Lloyd had (mostly) traded outfits.

Lloyd looked to her, his grip on her top tightening. “I-I’ll do my best not to mess this up, okay?”

In spite of everything entertaining about the situation, all Colette could do was grin softly. “Okay.”

Seemingly satisfied with this response, Lloyd grit his teeth, meandering towards the campsite. Sighs and residual chuckles resounded as the party watched him trek forward, though all shared a laugh at the sound of Lloyd’s voice erupting. “It’s because I lost a bet, Regal!”

Zelos was the first to begin heading back. “Let’s go get dinner over with so we can put Lloyd out of his misery.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, though some were more at unease than others. As footsteps trekked away from the boulders Colette held her place, rubbing the cloth of the jacket between her fingers. She could still smell his scent in the fabric, still imagining the way the sleeves moved and stretched as he fought. With the others gone she allowed a wavering sigh to escape her. Her eyes closed and snapshots of the ways Lloyd walked, worked, played, and lived raced through her mind. Oxygen tasted sweeter as she pulled his outfit closer, savoring her private indulgence.

“Colette, come on, we’re all waiting for you!”

Genis’s voice ripped her from her reverie, the mental hue of brown eyes vanishing in an instant. Her throat tightened for a moment as she prayed that the ruby tint of her cheeks wasn’t noticeable from afar. The boy stood there curiously, oblivious to her swordsman musings. “Coming!”

The images wouldn’t leave her as the fireplace grew closer, but the sight of her friends focused on making cracks at Lloyd’s predicament gave her blush the perfect camouflage. Between the banter and how much food Lloyd could eat, it was likely she would have more time with his clothing than she expected. A small smile worked its way onto her lips; perhaps she could intervene, stall a little. She didn’t intend to embarrass Lloyd any further, but maybe she could delay dinner from ending right away. Maybe she could keep him close to her, just a little longer.

xxxxx

I actually had a lotta fun with this one. I’m not the most satisfied with some parts, but as a whole, I really like this story.

[marredbyoverlength]

Year-End Awards 2019

2019 was very good for movies.  Or, rather, November and December of 2019 were very good for movies.  I could speculate about why that is (Awards season? Disney? Moloch?), but I don’t really know.  What I do know is that the Oscars are tomorrow, so I better get this post up today.

Honorable mentions in no particular order.  Strap in, chumps.

Best Lead Performance: Adam Sandler, Uncut Gems

Sometimes it feels like Adam Sandler is cheating, lowering our expectations with awful performances in even-more-awful films so that his dramatic turns look better by comparison.  But whether or not we grade him on a curve, this performance is the best of the year.  

Sandler’s character, Howard Ratner, is ridiculous.  In fact, much of the movie is ridiculous.  But Sandler makes this absurd person human, and in doing so, makes the whole movie work.  He commits hard to the role, and even though every scene is a little more unbelievable than the last, I never for a moment stopped believing in Howard.  Superb work.

Honorable Mentions: Willem Dafoe, The Lighthouse; Saoirse Ronan, Little Women; Scarlett Johansson, Marriage Story; Adam Driver, Marriage Story; Ana de Armas, Knives Out; Kang-ho Song, Parasite; Jonathan Pryce, The Two Popes.

Best Supporting Performance: The rest of the cast of Uncut Gems

The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that Uncut Gems is a movie that survives entirely on its acting.  The Safdie brothers themselves have said that the movie wouldn’t work without Kevin Garnett nailing the scene where he first holds the black opal.  I’d extend that credit to all the other supporting roles: Idina Menzel as Howard’s wife who no longer even bats an eye at the insanity he brings on himself, Marshall Greenberg (a non-actor) as the fellow jeweler who expresses genuine concern for Howard but still gives him unfavorable terms on a pawn deal, deranged Garment District legend Wayne Diamond as a character just named “High Roller”—every one of these people is essential to the success of the film.  When it comes down to it, Uncut Gems doesn’t make any sense.  It takes a suite of perfect performances to make it feel as real as it does.

Honorable Mentions: Timothée Chalamet, Little Women; Laura Dern, Little Women; Florence Pugh, Little Women; Takayuki Hamatsu, One Cut of the Dead; Daniel Craig, Knives Out; Al Pacino, The Irishman.

The Costner Award for Worst Actor: Rebel Wilson, Cats

When we meet Rebel Wilson (as her fursona “Jennyanydots,” a name I will never utter again), she is showing her butthole to the camera.  The character never gets more likable than that, because they let Rebel Wilson ad-lib numerous “comedic” lines to punch up the script. They’re awful.

Honorable Mention: James Corden, Cats.

 Nicest Surprise: Cold Pursuit

I watch the Liam Neeson stupid action flick with my brother Rob every year. Sometimes we get something legitimately great, like A Walk Among the Tombstones.  Other times we get a movie like The Commuter, which is dumb as rocks.  But this is the first time we got a comedy.  I went in expecting a second-rate Neeson-kills-people thriller, and instead got a solid black comedy.  Apparently it’s nearly a shot-for-shot remake of the Norwegian film In Order of Disappearance, so maybe I should have known better.  But I didn’t, so I was pleasantly surprised.

Hiddenest Gem: One Cut of the Dead

One Cut of the Dead is the best movie of the year that my friends haven’t seen, and it’s a tough movie to talk about because of how fun it is to watch knowing nothing about it.  So I’ll keep it short.  One Cut is a Japanese schlock horror movie with a fun twist that manages to be creepy at first, then funny, then heartwarming.  Two things elevate this above the usual fun-twist movie.  The first is that the surprise unfolds in little pieces over the entire second half of the movie, rather than hitting all at once. The second is that there’s real substance there: under the goofy exterior there’s a charming family story that’s worth coming back for.

 Most Insulting Moment: We Hate Sensory Deprivation, Angel Has Fallen

I haven’t seen the other films in the Blank Has Fallen franchise, nor did I need to do so to understand its third installment.  It’s exactly the kind of institution-worshipping great-men-of-history support-our-troops action bullshit you’d expect.  But after the credits, there’s a totally inexplicable scene where Gerard Butler and his dad Nick Nolte agree to get treatment for their (implied) PTSD.  Instead of leaving it as just a nice moment of healing, it cuts to a comedy scene where they go to a two-person sensory-deprivation tank and float around in the dark complaining about it.  The general gist of the scene is “sensory deprivation is dumb and gay.”  I’m not a sense-dep guy, but it’s used here as a stand-in for all the forms of “modernity” that reactionary filmmakers hate: you know, like mental health treatment, or trying new things, or expressing any sincere vulnerability even for a moment.  Why not just show them affectionately kissing guns and save some production cost?

Honorable Mentions:  The trailer for A Dog’s Way Home; The narration in Ad Astra.

 Winter’s Tale Memorial “What the Hell Am I Watching” Award: Cats

At long last, a film that unites the unholy trinity of ambition, incompetence, and derangement to form a true “What the Hell Am I Watching” award-winner.  The premise of Cats, in short, is that the cats of London meet every year to perform a ritual sacrifice of one of their number, believing that the chosen cat will, after their death, be reincarnated…as another London cat.  And they determine the sacrifice by holding a talent show.  And one of the cats is a warlock.  So we’re off to a good start.

I was fortunate enough to see the original version.  You see, the film is almost entirely CGI, so much so that viewing it feels like living inside a haunted kaleidoscope.  Even the actors, through “digital fur technology,” are turned into cats which are anthropomorphized to greater or lesser degrees. The warlock cat, for example, has cat abs.  But shortly after theatrical release, director Tom Hooper realized that the film contained major visual effects oversights, including failing to CGI several of the actors’ hands, meaning that Judi Dench and Ian McKellen appeared to have human arms on cat bodies.  These are only some of the crimes of the film Cats.  A full reading of the litany would take all day.

Honorable Mentions: A Dog’s Journey; Gemini Man.

Prettiest Movie: 1917

I’d be remiss not to talk about the cinematic achievement of 1917.  The all-in-one-take thing, or the appearance thereof, is kind of a used gimmick at this point.  (Birdman, after all, used it and won Best Picture.)  I went into 1917 expecting a cheap knockoff. Instead I was blown away.  Every detail was perfect, down to the mud stains on the extras’ overcoats, the stacking of sandbags in the real dug-out trenches, the bloating of the bodies clogging the waterways.  One especially memorable scene follows our hero (George MacKay) sprinting through a ruined city by night, intermittently lit by mortar fire, dodging gunfire all the way.  Maybe “pretty” isn’t the right word, but no film this year used the visual medium as well as 1917.

Honorable Mentions: Parasite, Once Upon A Time…in Hollywood.

Best Picture: Under the Silver Lake

Yes, I know it’s weird to give Best Picture to a movie that didn’t even get an honorable mention anywhere else.  But this is my blog, dammit, I stand by it.  Under the Silver Lake is a movie about capitalist-media-technology-complex-inspired brain poisoning.  It stayed on my mind for weeks after seeing it, and I eventually gave it a second watch. It held up.  

Criticisms of the film abound, like how male-gazey a lot of the portrayals of women are, but I think the parts that some reviewers identify as flaws are intentional and important features of the movie.  We see the film through the eyes of our main character (Andrew Garfield), who is a scumbag, but the film is very clearly not endorsing being a scumbag. It’s about the interplay of personal neuroses and moral failings with the broader perverse clown-reality we all occupy, and the inescapable tinge our perspectives bring to the world we see. The film is, after all, a sort of noir film, and our hero’s attitudes are reflective in some ways of the noir mindset: find the clues, unravel the plot, get the girl.  The incongruity between the stories and attitudes of our past and the demented reality of our future define the film.

I could go on about this for much longer, which is why I’m choosing Silver Lake as the best film of the year.  It’s not notable for its acting or cinematography (though both are solid), but in terms of content, nothing else this year encapsulated my internal and external world quite so well as this.

Honorable mentions: Parasite; 1917; Little Women; The Irishman; One Cut of the Dead; Marriage Story; Uncut Gems.

 That’s it, that’s the post.  I think I’m moving to Letterboxd next year.

[movienotesbyzawmer]

The Empire Strikes Back

December 15: The Empire Strikes Back

(previous notes: Star Wars)

Source: Limited Edition DVD, original 1980 edit (Same deal as for Star Wars. The only difference is that with this one, the back of the box actually does mention the fact that it includes the original theatrical cut, in small print.)

Worth noting that this is the Star Wars movie I've seen most recently. A couple of months ago I saw it at Orchestra Hall, with the score performed live by the Minnesota Orchestra. This score is fantastic and that was a great way to experience it. It was the "Special Edition", though. And in January, so 11 months ago, I saw Star Wars the same way.

So this is many Star Wars fans' favorite of the movies. Worth noting that this is probably the least tampered-with of the oft-adjusted original trilogy. I guess with this one it was like "whoa, if it ain't broke don't fix it". I was 9 when it came out and I went to see it numerous times in the theater back then. So the darker vibe was definitely not a problem for me as a child. But when people say that this is the best of the Star Wars movies, my haughty response is to point out that it had an advantage that the first one didn't have in that it had hardly any burden of exposition. But whatevzies, let's press play and take another look at how this unspooled in 1980.

The credits now begin with the Fox logo… then a "Lucasfilm Limited" card. Movin' up in the world, ain't ya George

The first scene is about the probe droids. God damn I love those probe droids. That sound.

But then we cut to Luke on a tauntaun. And then he gets attacked by basically The Abominable Snowman. Again I observe the importance of creature and vehicle design, on display early on in almost all the movies. Although maybe that Wampa isn't all that creative.

Yeah, that Wampa stuff I think got punched up significantly in the re-releases, and seeing the original one now, I guess there just really isn't much there.

Tauntaun freezes to death. Hey, tauntauns, you need to evolve your weak asses if you're going to be on a super cold ice planet. But I've still always liked that stop-motion animation of it dying. Did that stay in the re-releases?

And I VERY much retain the vivid memory of Han slicing open the tauntaun carcass. It was "gory". Watching it now, seems like they actually left a lot to the imagination.

0:19:40 - Cut to Destroyers, and the mama ship which dwarfs them in size. And in the background the Imperial March, first time that's been heard. (I often have to point out that that famous theme was written for Empire, not the first movie.) The back of Vader's head with space backdrop. It's just good cinema, yo.

The Destroyer getting sizzed while the transport gets past it, that's not a very good effect. I'm a bit disappointed.

But more good cinematic introductions… the walkers, first spotted through binoculars! Then a cool shot of a bunch of them approaching! Is good! Then a POV shot of a rebel ship flying through the legs of one of them, looks great! Harpoon trap is very satisfying too.

These spaceports always have ceiling-mounted suction hose things that seem to be exclusively designed to lower R2 units into spaceships. Not much utility is all I'm saying.

0:37:35 - The sound of jump-to-lightspeed fail has become instantly recognizable.

The music here is great, this new asteroid field theme, followed by, at 0:40:00, the super-beautiful, under-appreciated "Han Solo and the Princess" theme making its first appearance.

0:44:25 - This was exciting when I was a kid, the shot of Vader's helmet being lowered onto his head. Mysterious! Kinda gross!

But also gross to me as a kid was how Han & Leia interacted. I was baffled that they ended up together after how dumb he acted to her, like just now when he was aggressive about her sitting on his lap.

0:53:00 - First appearance of The Emperor since the prequels, but this is the original theatrical release so it's a different actor. Actually close enough, though.

Yoda as a Muppet character works remarkably well. Perfectly integrated into this environment. So much definition. Such personality.

Love this bit where the cave they're in is actually a giant serpent monster. They were walking around in its squishy fleshy innards hahaha

Pretty memorable scene now, this one where Luke goes into a dark-side-of-the-force cave and there's frame rate shenanigans and a Darth Vader. Luke has only seen Vader that one time when he sort-of killed Obi-Wan, right? But that's enough for him to be the subject of Nightmare Cave.

"You want the impossible." "I don't believe it." Luke has always been a very flawed person. Childish and impatient. I mean that in a good way as a movie critic; he's not a "model hero".

Kinda interesting where we're at with the two concurrent subplots. Luke is learning to be a Jedi from a charismatic little puppet, while Han, Leia, and the rest are just on the run trying to deal with their busted ship while being very closely pursued by huge Imperial Destroyers.

Boba Fett! Such a cool looking dude.

Cloud city. Pretty, and a welcome change. But, and maybe I'm being a snob here, I find myself longing a bit for blemish-free HD filling my screen.

The light play going on when Luke departs in his X-Wing and Yoda has his "no, there is another" exchange with Ghost-y-Wan, unique and vivid and I like it.

Shit be getting dark now. That scene where Chewy turns C3PO back on is creepy, then Han is getting straight tortured.

And now THIS, the carbon freeze scene! Spooked me but good as a kid. But the look of this chamber is great, and hey we get that awesome Han/Princess music back. "I love you" "I know". And now he's a block of ice. The slab thuds down and it's morbid.

We've returned to that chamber now with Luke facing Vader, and between their light sabers and the blue-red contrast of the lighting in there, it's nice to look at.

1:48:10 - Leia and Lando got away but Luke is still there, just kind of stuck fighting without any purpose. Except of course to lose his hand (dark!) and find out who his daddy is (Darth!).

Do you think when they cast Mark Hamill in the first movie, they realized how valuable his prodigious frown-mouth-face-shape would be in this second movie?

Getting Luke off that weather vane or whatever and into the Falcon, they don't really show how that got done. Feels like some flimmaking sloppiness.

A final swelling arrangement of Han/Princess and it's over without much resolution. This whole movie is like a second act. It begins with problems starting up, and it ends with things just about as bad as they can get. That's the textbook definition of the second act of a screenplay. I think ending it that way could have left people feeling unsatisfied, but instead we're all like "ooh, this one is dark, no happy ending, I dig it."

(next: Return of the Jedi)

[thefinalcinderella]

Tsurune Book 1 Chapter 4-Gift (Part 2)

In this chapter: The qualifiers start, Minato and Shuu have their fateful meeting, will Kazemai advance to the finals? (This is the fourth chapter of a six chapter book, which has a sequel, hint hint)

Glossary here

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

1. Warawara means “swarming, shuffling” but also a way to say “wwww” (lol in Japanese internet slang, as you probably know) and I didn’t know which one to put so I put both

2. Uchiwa fans are round Japanese handheld fans, as seen here

3. Kasumi-mato are targets with concentric circle designs

4. An izume competition is a competition where when there is a tie between finalists, both keep shooting until someone misses the target and get eliminated

Previous | Next

It was the middle of May.

Beneath the almost-transparent blue sky, the preliminaries for the Prefectural High School Kyudo Tournament were being held.

The hakama-clad high school students in front of the venue were carrying long, rod-shaped objects covered in cloth, causing the passersby to wonder aloud if they were naginatas or the like. Since the standard length of a bow was two-hundred-and-twenty-one centimeters, naturally they were moving carefully to avoid hitting things like the top of the entrance and noticeboards.

The competition event was a kinteki (close-range) competition. The first day's individual competition was shooting four arrows in two sets while in zasha, and the ten archers with the most total hits were selected. For the second day's team competition, teams were composed of one coach and five to seven archers, and one boys' team and one girls' team were allowed to participate from each school. The competition method was a tachi of five people, four shots while in zasha, and an eight-minute time limit. The boys' team competition had thirty-eight schools participating, and the top ten teams with the highest total of hits in two rounds will advance to the prefectural tournament.

For Kazemai High School, Hanazawa, Shiragiku, Seo, Kaito and Nanao were doing the individual competitions, and Kaito, Ryouhei, Seiya, Nanao and Minato had entered the team competition. Their white kyudogi with their school's name embroidered on one sleeve emphasized that they were new members of a new club. There was also a suggestion that they should prepare headbands, but they postponed that idea for this time.

After they finished finding good spots to put down their baggage, cloths with numbers on them were attached to the right hips of those who were taking part in the individual competition.

Tomi-sensei cleared his throat theatrically.

"The fact that all eight members of the Kazemai High School Kyudo Club can gather here without anyone missing, makes me truly happy. Now, let's start the mission."

"Yes, thank you very much!"

"Masa-san and I will have to leave to take care of some business, but in the time leading up to the opening ceremony, everyone will move forward with preparations."

After seeing them off, those who were tense and those who were relaxed all made their final adjustments before the competition finally began.

Ryouhei looked around.

"Uwaah, all these people are doing kyudo? There's so many!"

"There's actually more high schoolers doing kyudo than kendo."

"Heh, I'm getting excited."

When speaking the tall Ryouhei, Minato instinctively raised his face up to talk. Maybe because of that, he felt like even his mood was heading upwards. In the practice competition they had before the tournament, he was able to get the high score of getting fifteen hits out of twenty shots, so if one did simple calculations, getting thirty hits out of forty shots in this competition wasn't a long shot.

Suddenly, there was a break in the noise. When he just happened to look in that direction, he saw a group clad in matching jerseys. People's gazes were fixed on the words carved on the back of their jerseys.

It was the Kirisaki High School Kyudo Club.

It wasn't only because they were a powerhouse school that Kirisaki High School attracted attention. Kazemai High School stood out today because they had a team composed of only first-years, but even the starting lineup of Kirisaki High School had more than half of its members as first-years. Looking at the program, it seemed like they had substituted members on that very day. Before the word "Kirisaki," Minato felt himself getting goosebumps.

On the other hand, Ryouhei and Nanao looked at each other with expressions of glee.

"See them? Is that the favorite to win, Kirisaki High? I guess the ones in kyudogi are on the team. They kinda even look strong."

"The number of people in their cheering squad is impressive too. Ooh, that girl is cute. Should I go talk to her?"

"Huh? Are my eyes getting bad? It looks like I'm seeing two people who look exactly alike coming this way!"

"No, I'm seeing that too?"

As they talked, the two people who looked exactly alike did not stop walking, and Nanao and Ryouhei panicked about whether or not they heard their conversation.

The twin brothers, Sugawara Senichi and Manji, stopped at almost the same time. Their bangs were arranged symmetrically to each other’s, and it was the one with his bangs parted to the left who introduced the two of them.

"Hellooo, are you the Kazemai High School Kyudo Club? We are the Sugawaras from the Kirisaki High School Kyudo Club. We're also first-years like you, so please treat us well. So, you there, the girls in our club wouldn't talk to a gaudy, airheaded guy like you. Oh, and that huge, dumb-looking guy over there too. Ah, you don't just look it, you really are dumb, right?"

Oh crap, they did hear us. They have pretty sharp ears, Nanao thought. Then, Kaito stepped forward.

"You guys have some nerve to come here and line up like some loser doppelgangers! Why don't you just piss off and make your faces even more like a horror movie!"

"Wow, what's with this rude boy?"

"Isn't the one who's rude here you guys?"

"Kaito, stop it. You two should go back to your own place as well."

As Seiya was calming Kaito down, the twins' target moved somewhere else. Scanning over the Kazemai High School club members as though evaluating them, their gazes stopped before Minato.

"…Hey, weren't you on the same team as Shuu in middle school. This guy over here, too. When I saw the program, I was wondering where I saw your names before, but now I finally remembered. Aah, Narumiya-kun and Takehaya-kun, right? I guess you guys must be pretty good to get teamed up with Shuu?"

When the older brother Senichi was alternately looking at Minato and Seiya, the younger brother Manji did the same. When they both did the same thing like this, it looked like they were drunk to someone else watching.

"It's really you, the guy who was the oomae for that three-person tachi. I remembered because the girls were screaming about how cool you were. If I remember correctly, didn't you get hayake at the prefectural tournament finals and self-destructed? Have you recovered from your hayake since then, Narumiya-kun? Well, our kai is also short, so should we worry about it?"

"Man, a short kai and hayake are two different things."

"Ah, that's right."

The twins laughed strangely, but the people around them kept their mouths shut. Not because they couldn't refute them, but because they were overwhelmed by the person who appeared from behind.

Gorgeous, un-Japanese, looks and disciplined movements. Someone who could not permit others to mimic him with his overwhelming presence——.

Fujiwara Shuu smiled elegantly.

"Sen, Man, you two are too talkative today. It's better to stop on that matter. ——It's been a while, Seiya. And, Minato."

"…Shuu."

As long as one continued to do kyudo, there was no escape from seeing the figure of Fujiwara Shuu. But even as he was resigned to that fact, his feet froze from seeing the person himself right before his eyes.

Shuu stepped forward, still wearing a smile, and stopped in front of Seiya, who stood in front of Minato.

"Are you still acting as Minato's knight like always, Seiya? I was surprised when I was told that you chose another high school as well, not just Minato."

"Aren't you the one who never changed, Shuu? I heard that you did a twenty shot kaichuu the other day. Even in high school, the name of the 'Young Lord' is still going strong."

"I have no interest in such a common name. Hey, Minato."

Shuu went past Seiya and stood next to Minato.

In that moment, Minato stopped breathing. Nobody could get close to the two, who were face-to-face with their right shoulders next to each other's.

"Minato, do you remember? How Saionji-sensei, who was a former Imperial Guard, had bad hearing in his left ear, so we always brought our faces close to his right ear like this to speak to him... We were still in elementary school, so when we wanted Sensei to listen to us, we would fight for his right side."

"I remember."

"And, Minato," Shuu put his hand on Minato's left flank. "Does this still hurt?"

"…No."

"I see, that's good."

"…I know that you turned your back on me, Shuu. We lost the championship of the prefecturals because I got hayake, even though you got a kaichuu… I, who ran away without being able to overcome my hayake, cannot face you."

"I have never turned my back on you even once. I didn't say anything because I believed that there were no words of sympathy or reprimands that would suit you. ——Four years ago, when you suddenly disappeared before me, I didn't know it was because you had suffered that injury. When we met again in middle school, I realized just how much I've been eagerly waiting for you. I still believe you will definitely return before me this time. Show me your kyudo again."

"Shuu…"

"Although he never said it, Saionji-sensei never taught anyone personally no matter how much he was asked. When he believed that it was the last duty entrusted to an old archer, he took it on. He seemed convinced that that duty was the two boys before him. That meeting was a gift from the god of the bow——. I should go soon, my senpais are looking for us."

When he looked, he saw a boy with a calm and carefree air about him and another boy, both beckoning them over with clear file folders that appeared to be idol merch.

Shuu took a step away from Minato, called the twins and left. The others, not to mention Minato, stood stock still as though wondering if they were having a dream.

But, Kaito was different. Even after the three from Kirisaki High School left, his anger did not settle down.

"Seiya and Narumiya came from Kirisaki Middle School? Seiya, when we first met, I asked you what middle school did you come from. You said something like 'I don't think you'd know the name even if I told you.' Aren't they a prestigious kyudo school… I thought you guys just lost in the first round when you said you guys lost at the finals of the middle school prefectural tournament. Why did you keep quiet? Ryouhei, didn't you know about this too?"

"Huh? I didn't even remember the name of the middle school Minato and Seiya went to. I just knew it was a school where kyudo was popular."

Seiya went between the two of them.

"Don't blame Ryouhei. I just didn't want to be interrogated if it was known that we were from Kirisaki Middle School. If you're that curious about it, you should have looked us up, right?"

"Haa, because of this, you guys… Are you guys happy to get looked up by me? Keeping secrets means you don't trust us. Why did students from other schools know, but we didn't? Don't screw around with us. Even though I was thinking that I could acknowledge you guys a little bit…" Kaito said as if spitting it out, then turned on his heel.

"Kacchan! I'll bring Kacchan back, so just go on ahead, guys!"

Nanao chased after Kaito.

Kaito sat at the edge of a flowerbed in a courtyard away from the kyudojo. His more-than-usual sullen aura was at full throttle, uselessly intimidating passersby. Nanao sat next to him, and tried his best to speak with a light tone.

"Ka—cchan, won't the opening ceremony and the yawatashi be starting soon? Let's get going."

"We don't have to be there, so isn't it okay? I'll stay here for now."

"Geez, Kacchan. You didn't have to get so angry about that, did you? They didn't mean anything bad by hiding stuff, and hiding what middle school they came from isn't that big of a deal."

"That's exactly why! What kind of teammates wouldn't even confide stuff that isn't that big of a deal to us? And on top of that, what's with those twins? Fujiwara and Sugawara, stop swarming me with all that warawara internet slang. (1) I won't forgive anyone who talks bad about our club members. That seriously pisses me off…"

"Even Kacchan is saying bad jokes…"

"Shut up, I wasn't joking!"

Oh, I see, Nanao thought. Kaito was angrier with himself for not being someone to depend on, even though they were all comrades, rather than having secrets hidden from him.

Kaito boasted a high hitting rate even in middle school, but he was never once chosen as a team member for a team competition. The reason given by the advisor was that there was no spirit of cooperation with a loner, but Nanao guessed that he was instead demanding a feeling of comradeship too much, and the people around Kaito disliked his company. No one was as devoted to kyudo as Kaito was, and there were many who believed that it was all fine as long as they were able to have fun. Their stances were different depending on whether one thought of kyudo as a martial art or a sport, and to say nothing of the environment of club activities in middle school, where the probability of those who possessed the same amount of zeal gathering together was low.

The power created by the feeling of "liking something" was great, for better or for worse, and the more earnest that liking was, the more confusion and misunderstandings were created. Minato, Seiya and Kaito were very similar to each other not just because they wanted to get better at kyudo, but also because they harbored a longing to win in a team battle.

They really are such irritating people.

Do they know zeal flows from high places to low?

Everyone's zeal is even able to pour into me. If you don't take responsibility for that, won't it be a pain?

"Alright, stop worrying about all that and let's get going! Don't you want to win the prefecturals?"

"Hah? What's got into you all of a sudden, Nanao?"

"If you don't go to the opening ceremony, I'll keep calling you 'Kacchan' here! Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan!"

"Nanaooo, you bastaaard! Do you have a grudge against me?"

"Everyone—, this person is called 'Kacchan.' If you call his name, he will cry from happiness. When I say 'One, two,' you say 'Kachaaan.' One, two—"

"Na-na-o!"

Kaito pursued the running Nanao, and two of them headed for the venue for the opening ceremony.

At that time, Minato and Seiya looked truly apologetic.

"Sorry, Ryouhei. You didn't do anything wrong at all."

"It's fine, Minato. I think Kaito-kun was just a little surprised, that's all."

Seiya then spoke.

"Kaito might be right. I should have talked to everyone properly. And then, finding out things about your teammates from an outsider on top of that doesn't feel too good, huh. I'm disqualified from being the club president."

"What are you saying? You're the only person I can consider to be the club president, Seiya. You're smart, and nice to everyone—a friend I can really be proud of."

"You're making too much of me. What if I was a bad person who was trying to use everyone?"

"You're not. I guarantee it. You're a good guy."

Seiya widened his eyes at Ryouhei, who spoke without any hesitation. Although he never tricked him, Ryouhei was completely unaware that Seiya's good qualities were all because he was highly calculating and extremely careful, and he always honestly admired him. He did not know how much Seiya was healed by that purity. Ryouhei's eyes, just like his dog Bear's, turned towards him. He didn't want to be the kind of man who disappointed them.

"When I get the chance, I'll be the one talking to Kaito properly about it. First, let's focus on the competition."

"Oh, that's right."

Ever since Kaito had hit the nail on the head about him, Seiya had cosntantly reflected on whether or not he had been acting a little cold towards him. When Kaito returned right before the opening ceremony, Minato and the others felt relieved for the moment.

After the yawatashi, the girls' individual competition started.

Hanazawa, Shiragiku and Seo put on their yugake, took their bows, arrows and tsurumaki containing backup bowstrings (kaezuru) and went to the third waiting area (hikae). Tomi-sensei also accompanied them as their manager. Kaito and Nanao also headed there a little later.

The first tachi of girls did their yuu bows with the signal to "start." While a great crowd watched, the oomae rose after nocking her arrow and went into the ashibumi position. Douzukuri, yugamae, she distinctly carried out the Shahou Hassetsu.

The cheering squad for Kazemai High School took their places in a section of the stands and waited for their turn. The stands were filled with groups putting up cheering banners and girls holding uchiwa fans (2) with kasumi-mato (3) designs on them. After many tachi finished, it was finally the Kazemai High School girls' kyudo team's turn.

Hanazawa hit with her first shot. They all shouted out "Alright!" at the same time. Cheering in kyudo was not permitted except for calling out "Alright" and applauding, but there was an especially good feeling at the moment where one was about to witness a kaichuu. Because the archer wasn't allowed to express emotions to their results, they could not take a triumphant pose when they hit, or feel bitter when they missed, only dispassionately moving on to their next action.

In the first round, Hanazawa hit, Shiragiku missed, and Seo hit. The second round was miss, miss, hit… Thus, Hanazawa, Shiragiku, and Seo put out the adequate results of two hits, two hits and three hits respectively.

On the other hand, for the boys, Kaito was out of form. Even though he hit for his first shot, for his second and third shots he kept landing his arrow right in front of the target.

For Minato in the stands, Kaito's bad form felt like it was his own. He wondered if the confrontation with Kirisaki High School from before had a bad effect on him. Next to him, Masa-san also had a "hmm" look on his face.

"Isn't it unusual for Kaito be nervous? His tenouchi turned back to its form from before the training camp."

Even though it could have been fixed with one shout, once nyuujou began no one could give advice to the archers. That applied to even Tomi-sensei, who was standing right next to the shajo as the manager.

After all the individual competitions ended, the results were Motomura and Shuu from Kirisaki High School both getting kaichuu, and then after the subsequent izume competition (4), Shuu was crowned as the victor of the boys' competition. For Kazemai High School, Seo with seven hits would be advancing to the prefectural finals, but Nanao with five hits, Hanazawa with four hits, and Kaito and Shiragiku with three hits would unfortunately not be advancing. Everyone got advice from Tomi-sensei, and there were few words spoken as they set forth on their way home.

For the second day's team competition, the sky was covered with gray clouds—a completely change from the day before.

The first round. When the first tachi finished, the target viewers went to the azuchi to perform verification work. They held out a number plate that displayed the number of hits, and were crouching down on the left side of each target. An announcement came on.

"Please return the arrows. The results will be announced as follows. First shajo, for the first group:  one, three, two, one, four, total eleven hits. Second shajo, for the second group: two, zero, one, one, two, total six hits. That is all."

By chance, Kirisaki High School and Kazemai High School ended up shooting alongside each other, with Kirisaki in the first shajo and Kazemai in the second. The shooting order for Kirisaki was Motomura, Senichi, Manji, Sase, and Shuu.

With the confirmation of names in the third hikae, the officials gathered their tsurumaki. They were worried about what would happen with Kaito's poor condition in the individuals, but instead of returning to his normal mode, he was more motivated than ever.

"It's possible to make up the difference between us and Kirisaki. Everyone, put in more spirit!"

"Roger!" Ryouhei and Nanao responded.

Minato could barely sleep last night, probably because of his meeting with Shuu, but now his head felt strangely clear. He was glad to know that Shuu hadn't given up on him, and a strong desire was born within him, not only for his hayake to not act up at all, but also to not expose an unsightly figure to Shuu.

A desire that was too strong—an obsession that the bow hated.

The nyuujou began. At the signal to start, they did their yuu bows, then stood up and went to the shooting line. Minato hid his fast-beating heart, putting on an expression of ignorance as he chose a hitote from four arrows.

The first shot. The oomae for Kirisaki High School was the third-year Motomura. A person who shot calmly, appropriate for a club president, he won the individual competition at the prefectural tournament last year. He drew his bow as though he was having a leisurely conversation with it, and hit right on the target.

On the other hand, Kaito shot offensively with plenty of vigor, releasing an arrow with a force that made his opponent flinch from the spirit, no matter that it was just an unmoving target. However, he still hadn't come out of his slump from the day before, and his arrow went over the target.

When the oomae entered kai, the second archer of each team began uchiokoshi. Since gyousha was carried out at intervals in individual competitions, one raised their bow at the previous person's "tsurune," but team competitions had a time limit so the intervals were quickened. Ryouhei stood up when the person before him finished his douzukuri, and smoothly switched over to shooting.  

However, tsurune consecutively resounded twice from Kirisaki High School. That was because their second and third archers Senichi and Manji shot their arrows in exact rapid succession. Kirisaki's cheering squad seemed used to it, since they cheered "Alright!" "Alright!" rhythmically. But others were semi-dumbfounded at the unexpectedly quick hanare of the third archer. It could be understood if the time limit was imminent, but there was no need to shoot it that fast from the start.

Bewildered by the twins' time-difference attack, Ryouhei, who was entering hikiwake, missed the timing of his hanare and lost his chance to get a hit. Seiya, going after him in third, kept his own pace and got a hit.

Kirisaki High School's fourth was the vice-president Sase. Sase was an idol lover and called disappointingly handsome by those around him, but he was the type of person who only had to know the key points of hitting the target once, and then he would never miss on that day. He nimbly did hikiwake and clinched a hit.

Kazemai High School's fourth, Nanao, was always sparkling. Him feeling the strong urge to please others might have been because of the idol-like disposition he was born with. When he got a hit, there was a big cheer from the girls.

The ochi of Kirisaki High School was Shuu. His shooting was different from that of a high schooler. Perhaps it was because his grace was revealing itself from within. It was still different from Masa-san's dignified shots, but they both had a picturesque quality in common. He capitalised on the physique he was blessed with, and elegantly and grandly performed hikiwake. A strong kai without the slightest tremor. At the right time, his readied arrow ran ahead. He of course hit the target.

Kirisaki High School's intervals were quick, and Motomura finished his second shot with a hit, but Minato was slowly raising his bow.

Minato's shot was similar to the moment one immersed one's hand in running river water. The beauty of the limpid water and its crisp coldness were pleasant. He stretched out at kai, then got a hit on the three o'clock position on the target.

At his second shot as well, Kaito did not hit.

And then, to make matters worse, Ryouhei had a "shitsu" even though he had hit.

When shooting, there were times when a mistake could be made. This was called a shitsu, and it could be dropping the bow at hanare, or it could be a "hazukobore" where the nocked arrow came loose from the string during the gyousha after torikake (nocking the arrow), but in Ryouhei's case it was a "tsurugire" (bowstring break).

Ryouhei's head turned completely blank. There was an etiquette for dealing with shitsu, and it must be carried through properly, but he was at a complete loss as to what to do with his hands. Ah, he remembered. I move the broken string closer with my foot and get into kiza, pick up the string and hold it with my left hand and roll it into a ring with my right hand, then pick my bow up with the other hand, slide back to the shooting line on my knees and do a yuu bow that signifies shame.

He handed over his bow and broken string to the facilitator, and then the manager re-stringed the backup string outside the shajo, but during that time the other members continued shooting, with Seiya and Nanao hitting, but Minato missing. Ryouhei could not move onto the next movement because he had no bow, so he restlessly waited for it to be returned to him.

When he received his bow with the stringed bowstring, he quickly finished nocking his arrow and stood up. Although there wasn't much time lost even with a broken string, Kirisaki High School had faster intervals than the norm, with Manji already finishing his third shot. For that reason, Ryouhei got the wrong impression that they were late.

As Kazemai High School also went into its third set, Kaito finally got his shooting down. The cheering squad also cheered with all that they had.

Ryouhei hurriedly did hikiwake, and even Seiya did hikiwake as though following him. Nanao, standing behind them, also got flustered. If Seiya shot earlier than Ryouhei, then even if his arrow hit it would be invalid. Caught up in it, Nanao shortened the interval as well and lifted up his bow. Perhaps because he lifted his bow quicker than usual, the arrow missed the target along with an unpleasant-sounding tsurune.

While Kirisaki High School was smoothly making matooto (sound of arrow hitting target) resound, for Kazemai High School only Kaito and Seiya hit for their third shots. Minato was swallowed up by the premature course of events, and he ended up holding out at kai longer than usual. But, on the contrary his hanare became slacker, and his arrow bounced once before hitting the target.

In the stands, Hanazawa, Shiragiku, and Seo were fretting.

"I wish they'd also count arrows that bounced once as a hit."

"It is because 'hakiya' are arrows that swept against the ground and did not properly reach the target."

"Kirisaki High School has so far almost never missed. I can't believe this is just the qualifiers for the prefectural tournament."

Ryouhei's rhythm was completely thrown off by his tsurugire. The matooto coming from the first shajo and the cheers from the stands made him feel as though he was being rushed. The more he thought about how bad it was to be slow because there was a time limit, the more he got impatient, until he couldn't even do torikake.  

As though laughing at the Kazemai High School club members, Kirisaki High School went into their fourth set, one by one clinching kaichuu. Shuu got his kaichuu, just as expected, and exited the shajo while bathed in thunderous applause. That gave more and more pressure, and Ryouhei did not understand at all what he was doing right now.

At the fourth set, Kaito and Ryouhei missed their last shots and exited. Infected by their impatience, Seiya also missed his chance to get a hit, but Nanao managed to recover somehow, and Minato also got a hit with his last arrow just as the warning bell sounded.

After Minato exited the shajo, the announcement informing the results came on.

"The results will be announced as follows. First shajo, group seventeen: four, three, four, four, total eighteen hits. Second shajo, group eighteen: one, one, three, three, two, total ten hits. That is all."

Ryouhei knitted his brows together.

"Haa, why did my string break right at that time… Even though I replaced it with a new one yesterday."

Hearing that, Nanao had an "aah" look on his face.

"Normally, it breaks in the middle, but yours snapped from the end.  Occasionally, there are strings that have ends that immediately snap. Also, it's not good to change to a new one just before a match, since the string isn't experienced."

"I see, I didn't know…"

"Well, tsurugire is common, you know? Let's switch our heads now!"

Tomi-sensei patted Kaito on the back.

"It's okay, it's okay. Predicting outcomes can be a hit-or-miss affair. Let's make a comeback for the next round."

"…Okay." Kaito answered with a meek expression.

In the afternoon, the second round began, but the wind that would boost the five from Kazemai High School did not blow.

Even Seiya, who was in good form during the first round, missed his first shot, and then the five ended up in the state where there was only a total of three hits by the time half of the ten shots were drawn. From behind Kirisaki High School, who was smoothly making matooto resound, the shouts of "Alright!" did not stop as the shooting continued.

Ryouhei's chest pounded as his palms became slippery with sweat.

Kaito fell into a state of losing self-confidence.

What's wrong with me. No matter how much I ask and answer myself what's wrong with me, this wave of slumps won't end. Somehow or other, I don't care how, please let one arrow hit, please, he ardently prayed.

Perhaps because Kaito's wish reached someone, all five members hit the target for their third set.

The results after the two rounds were finished were as followed.

(Circle means hit, x means miss; shots in order from left to right)

Kaito: ××〇×　××〇× 2

Ryouhei: ×〇××　××〇× 2

Seiya: 〇〇〇×　×〇〇〇 6

Nanao: 〇〇×〇　〇×〇〇 6

Minato: 〇××〇　×〇〇× 4

A "hawake" with twenty hits out of forty shots.

Ryouhei murmured as he looked at the record table on the wall.

"Could we advance to the finals with this…?"

"There's a fifty-fifty chance. We can only wait for the results for all the teams to come out, I guess."

Nanao rubbed his cheek with his thumb.

Kazemai High School got tenth place in the results from the prefectural tournament qualifiers.

They just barely made the last qualifying place.

Meanwhile for Kirisaki High School, Motomura and Shuu both got eight-shot kaichuu, Sase and Senichi got seven hits, and Manji got six hits—obtaining the high achievement of getting thirty-six hits out of forty shots, and achieved a passage to a first place that overwhelmingly outdistanced the others.

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[beckytailweaver]

Coco thoughts lately

This is (mostly) in response to @anotherweepingwoman and This Post but also some other things in general I’ve been reading (and you will probably recognize it if you’ve read the same things). It’s separate here because I didn’t want to hijack other people or Great Wall of Text so badly again. XD I’ve tried to be coherent but this will likely drift around a lot! It’s a lot of thoughts all muddled into one space.

(Disclaimer: I only got to see Coco in theater once. For the rest I must resort to vid clips that may or may not decide to load on my slow internet, until I can buy the disc. It's a good exercise in my memory skills.)

Héctor is a liar, but oftentimes he's apologizing for his lies. When I go into my headcanon-framework for his background, these fibs that come out may be old habit from an orphaned childhood. If he was raised, say, in an orphanage by strict caretakers, it would have been to his advantage to know how to put on a good-little-boy face and say whatever was needed to divert attention or stay out of trouble. If he was more of a rangy little street rat type, then white lies would have been a stock part of his survival kit. I think this habit of evading the truth would have worn down a bit once he had a stable home with Imelda (and she would insist on teaching their daughter honesty), but after decades of desperation in the bottom of the afterlife he's definitely back to street rat mode.

Ernesto lies too, and we've seen where that went.  I don't think Héctor has ever lied in such a way that was meant to harm anyone. Little fibs to his advantage, a disguise here or a sparkly promise there; never damaging gossip or deliberately hurtful untruths or a promise that could get someone killed. But he is a liar, and anyone who's known him long would know that. (This might also explain why Imelda seems so eager to believe he'd run off and never come home, whether or not Ernesto told her anything. Héctor is slippery and she knows it, but she'd dared to hope he would not be dishonest to her.)

Héctor acts his age, largely, I think because you are sort of frozen the moment you die: You get a skeletal representation of your body at the moment of death, with some decorative additions to give you individuality and mark who you are. Skeletal children don't grow, the old are forever elderly. While the visual/physical form of the body is bones, there has to be some kind of force to animate them, to process what goes on around them. Invisibly, I think, a sort of ghostly/energy echo of the body remains, and part of that is the echo of a brain (how else could they think and remember things?) which for Héctor is an imprint of a 21-year-old brain with its not-quite-complete neurological maturity. While he can learn and gain experiences, the structure of that brain is still going to process things in a 21-year-old way. Experience can shape his thinking and grant him wisdom, but at his root he's still young in personality. (Young people can be tired, cynical, and hopeless too.)

Héctor is a father, but he has never been a parent to a child older than 3-4. (Young parents grow with their first kids and learn things!)  "Rubbing shoulders" with Miguel may just be the only way he knows how to interact with young boys older than his daughter was. He does seem to be comfortable around kids and isn't flustered by dealing with them, which makes me think he was around a lot of them growing up (orphanage?) or ended up being That Kid in their small town who is all the children's favorite bro. He is the fun, gentle sort of person that children flock to, so it's likely he would sing and play with the neighborhood kids even up into his marriage. He seems pretty active and playful himself (when not desperate or on the clock, but you still see flashes of it), despite the crippling of being Forgotten.

Miguel wasn't mimicking Héctor to mock him, but because he wanted to walk "like a skeleton" and his nearest, dearest example happened to have the Forgotten condition of loose bones and an awkward limp. Miguel will imitate his new cool big bro! But in this case, Héctor is so used to being mercilessly ridiculed for everything that he takes it poorly on reflex, without realizing (perhaps not until he stops and thinks about it later) that Miguel meant nothing bad by it. The shove in response isn't really that severe for the horseplay that young boys can get up to. (It wasn't a punch or a slap or a kick or a grab, which angry men are certainly capable of.) But it is reactive in a somewhat immature way, same as his snappish responses to the musicians later on.

He let out that grouchy "how come he didn't invite you?" comeback to Miguel in the rehearsal area, but Miguel wasn't hurt or upset by it.  Kid didn't even blink.  (It was a pretty legitimate question from Miguel, even!) But I think the subconscious drift into familial familiarity made it more like the kind of snark Miguel gets at home all the time and he doesn't even pause.  It's Rivera snark, it just happens, nobody's really injured by it, on to the next subject.  They may use it to cover up their soft spots, and they all know how to take it as well as dish it out. Miguel had the proper Rivera response as well: Let it go.  He didn't keep digging in or teasing on this.  He might react with disbelief to some of Héctor's statements about knowing a famous guy like De la Cruz, but that's because he's already recognized Héctor as a consummate embellisher and knows better than to believe every word from his mouth. He never uses the lack of party invitation as a weapon or even brings it up again.

Héctor's poor actions as an "adult and disciplinarian" after Poco Loco can be attributed to, yes, his mental youth, and also I think to those edges of desperation that crop up many, many times all night long. That desperation, knowing that tonight is probably his last, is a poor help to an already-impulsive young man's mind. It makes his Ready-Fire-Aim even worse. It short circuits a century's worth of wisdom and (after)life experience in favor of urgent, sometimes thoughtless rushing. Yes, he is very deeply concerned with himself and his photo right now; he can't help it. He's dying and he's desperate and he needs to do this now, and however much he likes Miguel this dumb kid is on a clock too and doesn't even know what's important here!  Despite that he's usually a nice guy I definitely don't think Héctor is a total pushover in personality.  That whole night prior to the cenote we're probably looking at the shortest his fuse has ever been. And he still manages to be in general kind and supportive to Miguel (who has been alternately delighting him and giving him hell all evening).

I have a somewhat different headcanon about Héctor watching Miguel's slow fading to bone over the course of the night. I think Miguel did discuss his time limit with Héctor during or just before the face painting early on, but initially Héctor is understandably more concerned with his own deadline. As he comes to know Miguel better, he cares more. But he also may forget now and then, in his own urgent situation, until a look over the kid's shoulder reminds him that two hourglasses are trickling down, not one.  And he does care, potentially a great deal: "Your life literally depends on you winning!" He didn't even mention the photo until after, when the family thing came up.

Genuine Héctor...definitely makes numerous appearances through the night. Most of his performance-art is for guards and gatekeepers, wheedling to people he needs to get past who might cut him some slack. Héctor being all super extra nice to Miguel during the face paint and explanation is definitely performance. He does a lot of performance with the Shantytown Crew, putting on a happy-go-lucky face. His Frida impersonations are absolutely performance, quite deliberately so!

However, Genuine Héctor comes out surprisingly fast around Miguel. The kid worms his way into a position of camaraderie pretty darn quick. Perhaps this is due to Héctor's loneliness making him open to someone who could be a real friend, or maybe it's genetic similarity gently drawing them to trust more easily. Most of the Genuine Héctor moments are in Miguel's proximity, possibly not only because the kid is the other leading character of the film; a lot of his genuine moments aren't just in proximity to Miguel, but in response to him.

Genuine Héctor generally doesn't come with the overbearing grins, theatrical body actions, or higher, wheedly tone of voice.  Genuine Héctor is in the casual questions, exasperated eye-rolls, short-tempered grumps, dramatic sighs, epic grouchface, snappy comebacks, freely teasing, warm encouragement, playful dance teaching, melancholy stillness, angry desperation, grieving rage, tearful hopelessness, clear relief. Those moments when Héctor is not keenly watching the people around him as targets he needs to con. (There's a difference in his gaze; keep your eye on it!)

Not all of his performance is negative or self-serving, either; sometimes it's just because a nervous kid needs a pick-me-up and Héctor can put on a smile for that.

Face painting scene—lots of performance, but some real warmth. Walking with Miguel, the shove—no performance, pure grumpy. Talking to Ceci—plenty of performance for deference, Ceci is a gatekeeper. Rehearsal studio—mostly genuine; no point in faking the musicians, they treat him like crap no matter what he does. Going down to Shantytown—performance, especially off the ledge! With Chicharron—started as performance, became genuine real fast. Trolley to the plaza—performance to get around truthtelling, but also to act encouraging. Waiting for a turn onstage—no performance until okayokayokay and he goes into another encouraging spiel.

Some of Héctor's best genuine moments are on the Poco Loco stage. Sure, he's performing, but that's genuine Héctor, not a performance. Not during the song. He's not watching the audience—he's watching Miguel. And then he's playing with him. There's no con in that music. That was all Héctor and Miguel having fun with each other.

Afterward, the argument...no performance. None. It's all very real exasperation and anger fueled by the same old desperation. The argument hurts both of them because it tastes like betrayal. ("I told you I needed to cross tonight!" "Well I told you it has to be De la Cruz!") They both pulled lies on each other (taste of your own medicine!) and ran face-first into a mirror.  Shortsighted demands and lack of explanation, and the whole thing goes down the drain.

As a kind person, we never see Héctor use force to get across the bridge.  He did not grab or physically coerce Miguel in any way to take his picture there; he used only words. Even when things came to a head and he was angrily trying to drag the kid back to his family, it was half-hearted at best (and no more than we've seen anyone in the Rivera family do with recalcitrant children) and Miguel slipped out of his grip in a heartbeat.  (Maybe he's getting too weak to hold on; maybe Miguel is too heavy for him to drag without lifting.) I'd bet money that Héctor has never threatened physical injury or actively harmed anyone in his pursuit of crossing; that he's never used a weapon or taken anyone hostage to try to force his way across. I doubt such things would even occur to him!  His entanglements with the crossing guards have all likely been evasions and brief tangles where he's trying to disengage. I'd wager that night that Ernesto is the first person he's actually attacked with intent to harm in a very, very long time—if ever.

One of the saddest things is how Héctor has been denied musical joy for so long.  "Stupid musical fantasy" is mainly because his turned out to be.  He's also lost perspective on this: To a child, these things are huge. Like, music is everything. Miguel has his family, but they're...in a way, background, they've always been there, and in his mind always will be.  He doesn't want to leave them for music, he wants to find a way back to them with music on his own terms.  Family should support you, but Riveras have made music into an all or nothing deal. (What would they have done, if the LoD journey hadn’t happened, if truth hadn't come out and Miguel refused to give up music? Would they have disowned him or otherwise banished him?)

Héctor likely had little or no family before the one he made for himself, and going back to them would not have meant giving up music altogether.  I think at the point of their argument, Héctor failed to realize (or had not been informed of) the position Miguel is in.  Héctor was giving up a fond dream of musical fame to go back to his small town family and find a local job he could do while continuing to play music for recreation and additional income.  It's really not the same as Miguel going back to (or being forced by curse conditions) an existence centered around a shoemaking family defined by its enforced silencing of music.  In that sense, Héctor was giving up fame and money (Ernesto's priorities), not music; Miguel would be losing music entirely, for the fame and money afforded by the Rivera shoe reputation.

It puts a different spin on their respective stories to think of it that way.  They both love their families and giving them up permanently isn't even part of the equation.  The real culprits/sacrifices here are wealth/reputation and music.  And before we get into "But Héctor left his family!" let's just pause: Héctor did not abandon his family, he went on a business trip!  He fully intended to return, and the fact that he didn't—sooner or later—is entirely due to Ernesto's choices.  It's incredibly sad that Ernesto decided to kill him, and equally as sad that Imelda was so eager/willing to believe that he would abandon them.  Poor guy just can't catch a break at any point in his life (or afterlife).

As a somewhat related postscript: I think it's a bit funny that people like to bring this up, since "Go for your dreams!" is a big motif in modern (especially American) society. We're pretty much expected to leave our families behind to achieve what we want. Big education, big job, big house, the spouse we desire, the city we want to live in, the generation gap we can't abide...basically the whole point (so far as I was told) is to grow up, move out, leave the old folks behind (call a few times a year, and visit on some holidays), and achieve our dreams no matter what.

What Héctor was doing—going on a business trip for a job or potential job—is absolutely nothing unusual to what goes on every day: People with spouses and children temporarily leave them to go on business trips, they go on military tour, they go on band/performance tours, they commute or move to another city for half the year for work...and this is considered normal. Not ideal, but pretty normal.  (Even when Héctor was alive, people would at times have to go far away to make money to send to their families.)  Maybe it wasn't favored in Héctor's time either, but I find it rather ironic that people give him hell over it now!

[cocoarosalia]

Truth or Shot (LadyNoir)

Follow A Sister on AO3

“Chat, i don't know about this” Ladybug said eyeing the high end bottle of tequila between them and the makeshift spinner that was aimed right at her.

“What’s not to know” Chat Noir rebutted with his famous sly smile.

“Truth or shot?”

When Ladybug asked Chat to be her drinking partner this wasn’t even close to what she had in mind. And yet, she shouldn’t have expected anything less from his usual grandiose theatrics. Especially after her tearful cries to him for comfort.

And it was so stupid too. What did it matter that her boyfriend for the past 6 months suddenly just decided to up and ditch her for some skank with massive tits? Wasn’t her fault she wasn’t packing a pair of state fair, blue ribbon watermelons under her shirt. But even with that ladybug still found herself buying the biggest bottle of vodka her wallet could muster and crying to chat to drink with her until she forgot who she really was under the mask. He agreed but only on two conditions.

A) she let him buy the alcohol for the occasion (because according to him her choice was “insultingly cheap”)

B) that they drink it his way (“What’s the point in destroying bad thoughts if you can’t have a little fun”)

Had she have known that his way consisted of a russian roulette of shots and dirty black secrets she would’ve easily settled on just chugging it alone in her apartment until she passed out watching old cartoons. But that was just the effect Chat had on her. One teasing smile and a gaze into those way too sexy emerald eyes and she could follow him to the ends of the earth.

Which coincidentally happened to be at the bottom of a Don Julio bottle.

Ladybug eyed the clear bottle again. On the one hand she could just keep everything buried in the shadows and just drink to her stomach’s discontent. On the other hand was the fact that she knew she had rather loose lips once alcohol got involved. So the way she saw it it was either voluntary truth or involuntary spewing of information….

She’d rather be aware of her stupidness first-hand

“Alright kitty, what do you wanna know?”

God, she could feel her hands pricking with pins and needles as she awaited her dreaded fate. This was such a stupid idea and she knew it but she was desperate for mental escape. But what would he ask? Would he ask of her identity, her true feelings of him, something even worse? Her heart beat erratically as she stared down his alluringly green eyes. She steeled her nerves, prepared to deflect anything.

“Last tuesday when you said my new scarf looked dumb and then said you were kidding...did you actually mean that?”

Oh that’s right, this is chat we’re talking about...he’s about as deep as water poured on a glass counter

Ladybug groaned in a mix of relief and annoyance “Yes kitty I meant that. The scarf actually brought out your eyes quite nicely”

“Works for me!” He grinned with his usual boyish charm. Taking the tequila bottle by the neck he carefully poured himself a shot and tipped it back. She couldn’t contain her composure as she snorted at his face twisted in disgust.

“Now explain to me why YOU’RE the one drinking again?”

“Oh simple” he said casually “Refuse to answer, you drink. Decide to answer, I drink”

“So either way, one of us is getting smashed”

“Or both of us, depending on how the night goes”

Ladybug’s lips split into an eager smile. “Sounds fair to me” She took hold of the spinner and whipped it around “Now let’s see how far we can really go”

Unsurprisingly, the arrow landed on everyone’s favorite feline. She looked at his face for any kind of discomfort but it appeared his poker face was air tight as he balanced his shot glass on the tip of his nose.

“Well kitty?” she said, leaning back into her chair atop a cafe roof “Pick your poison”

“Ooo sexy choice of words my lady” Chat replied, still relaxed in his own chair “But for the sake of fun i’ll choose truth”

Ladybug drummed her fingers along her chin, humming absently while she thought about her question. When it finally hit her, her eager smile slid into something more devious and rather mischievous.

“What was the last thing you searched on your phone”

A flurry of giggles spilled from her lips as she watched Chat nearly fall out of his chair and directly onto his poor kitty cat ears.

“W-why do you wanna know that?” He demanded

She smirked at his clear discomfort “Because either I get to learn about all those naughty fanfics that I KNOW you read on your off time OR I get to see you squirm and down another shot”

Ladybug was really starting to turn her opinion around on this whole game of his since it meant watching the inner machinations of her poor kitty’s mind (which of course amounted to nothing more than a knocked over milk carton). Chat wracked his brain endlessly for some type of loophole out of this, but, sadly he could find none and had to concede defeat.

He straightened out his back and cleared his throat. Ladybug rolled her eyes, all of this for a silly secret. What a ham.

“The last thing I looked at were porn fics about us”

She was stunned silent. She didn’t think he’d actually admit it! She moved to blindly just pour herself a shot but then paused. What if he was lying? Even better, if he was telling the truth...just how filthy were these fics of his?

“I’d like your phone please minou” She said plainly

Chat’s eyes were as wide as the twinkling moon above them “FOR WHAT!? I told the truth”

Ladybug clicked her teeth disapprovingly “Now kitty, such an outlandish answer demands proof don’t you think?”

“Not really, no”

she swooped up his phone into her hands before he could even have time to blink  “Isn’t that unfortunate for you then”

She fully expected for him to be lying, covering up something more embarrassing under something lewd and outrageous

Oh how she only wished

Pages upon pages, bookmarks beyond bookmarks of various levels of smut were plastered along his phone screen. And the worse part was that it ranged! One minute she could be glancing over a sweet intimate peace on them revealing themselves to one another and in a heartwarming flurry of emotions they would pour out their love in a beautiful show of trust and acceptance….

And the next she’s reading one where Chat has her strung up in a hotel room with a vibrator shoved up between her legs while he’s smacking her ass and she’s calling him sir and begging for more

Suffice it to say the cat was well out of its bag

Ladybug gently put the phone down with her face matching well to her suit and was instantly met with both shot glasses filled to the brim being pushed her way. She glanced up at him, considering protesting but his reply left her with nothing to combat against

“One is for me telling the truth. The other is for putting me through that humiliation”

She sighed and bravely downed both shots, the plan was to get wasted after all

Shortly after that little fiasco the pair fell into something of a rhythm. They asked about each other’s lives and families, experiences and regrets and within about 3 shots each they were pretty fucking comfortable with one another.

“Did your parents ever give you the birds and bees talk?”

“My father? Not a chance in hell. The man tossed me a ‘my body and me’ book and never looked back. Have you ever, you know, ‘walked in’ on your parents?”

“I so supremely do NOT want to relive that trauma (I still will never look at marshmallows the same ever again) so I move to drink.”

“Booo lame ladybug”

“Oh shut up you weren’t there in the fall of my 11th year”

“Was it really that bad-”

“YES IT WAS THAT BAD NOW LET ME DESTROY THE MEMORIES IN ALCOHOL”

It was about 4 more shots in and the realization that, yes, Ladybug has had a wardrobe malfunction once before (AND ON THE ONE DAY HE HAD TO TAKE OFF FOR OTHER WORK) that she began to finally feel all the booze hit her system. Suddenly the space around her began to feel hazy and warm while her suit felt itchy and too tight. Her glazed eyes peered over at chat gulping down another shot. And then, she had that thought. The kind of thought that only borderline drunks and rabid fangirls has.

Chat was stupidly attractive

Ok, obviously she’d never say he was bad looking at all but he was a FAR cry from what he used to look like when they were just plucky teenagers trying to figure out what the hell a hormone even was. He used to be nothing but skin and bone, Lithe, lanky, and in much need of a well cooked homemade meal. Not to mention his speech wasn’t much better with his sizeable collection of horrendous puns and white knight way of “courting” her. It was cute and all, maybe even charming sometimes, but she never felt anything more than a fluttering crush that would peter out under the immense weight of her puppy love crush on Adrien Agreste.

But somewhere in between their usherance into adulthood and agreeing that fucking during work time would NOT be the best use of their time, Chat decided to get all….stimulating.

I mean just a heads up that he would run off and be remodeled into the son of Adonis himself would’ve been appreciated. He grew to a dizzying 6”3 seemingly overnight, towering over her tiny frame and taking an annoying amount of pleasure from their height difference. He grew his hair out longer and was apparently hitting the gym EVERY. FUCKING. DAY cause while he wasn’t a beef cake he definitely was not the one you’d wanna fuck with in a bar fight

But on a rooftop with all her inhibitors drowned in a sea of Don Julio?

She’d fuck with him. Ohhhh She’d fuck with him goooooood.

Ladybug suddenly stood up from her seat and slowly raked her eyes over Chat’s sculpted body. He looked at her with a confused expression. ‘He has no idea, does he?’ She mused ‘That makes this even more fun’.

It was as if her body was running completely on autopilot, operating on nothing but blind desire. She sauntered her way to the other side of the table, her hips swaying to an almost exaggerated extent. She could tell that Chat was getting antsy now, his tail flicking around nervously. She was getting way too close for someone not saying a word.

So when she just plopped herself onto his lap and wrapped her arms possessively around his neck it was like the air was being knocked clean out of him.

“W-woah there cowgirl!” He sputtered nervously “I think your seat is on the other side of that table over there”

Ladybug ignored him, much to his dismay. She just pressed her body in closer, the smell of the alcohol seeping from her lips. It left his mind empty for a moment. Normally the smell of alcohol made him feel a little nauseous but with it being mixed with her cherry gum that she must’ve been chewing earlier it left him with a all too familiar tingle sitting at the meeting of his legs. She really needed to hop off him...preferably sooner rather than later.

She lifted her head from the cook of his neck and looked up at him. Damn, she was even cuter and sexier up close. Age clearly did wonders for his favorite bug. Her face still had its usual plush cheeks, dotted with freckled that looked like stars dancing across her face. And she even stayed pretty much the same height (to which he will never get over since it meant he could plop his head atop hers which, come on, who wouldn’t). But she must’ve sold her first born to Aphrodite cause when they met she was as thin as paper with the non-existent curves to match.

But now?

Now, she apparently just decided to have the body of a valley with abs of military grade steel and an ass that just refuses to quit (that he would honestly murder for). She was all the woman he could dream and drool for, powerful and athletic but still quite huggable after a bad day

And let him reiterate...she REALLY needs to hop off him

“Kitty” She sang sweetly in his ear “Let’s keep drinking”

Chat laughed nervously “I would say sure but first you’d need to be off of my lap for me to reach it and second I think you’ve had just about enough liquid courage in your system.”

She puffed out her cheeks defiantly. “Bullshit” She slurred out “I can get it my damn self! Just stay right here”

…….

“Oh this isn’t even fair”

Ladybug sat up on her knees, still nested comfortably on top of his legs and stretched herself backward to grab the bottle off the table. He had to hold on to her lower back with both hands just to keep her from falling off. Chat suddenly got a full open view of her smooth plane of stomach, delicately sculpted abs and soft peaks of breasts.

His mouth felt horribly dry, and there was really only one way he wanted to quench it

“Hah! Told you I could do it!” She exclaimed when she sat back up. Ladybug was a giggling mess, but not entirely at random. She knew what she was doing and she knew EXACTLY how it was affecting her favorite feline (These suits are obscenely thin). But she didn’t care. Chat wasn’t kidding about that liquid courage thing either, she felt like she could do anything her little heart desired. And unfortunately for his self-control that meant him.

“Congrats buginette but that still doesn’t change the fact that-”

“Chaton” She interrupted, the booze lightly clutched in her hand “Where do you go when we don’t patrol together”

He initially thought she was joking, teasing him about being unfaithful or something. Her eyes spoke to him differently though. There was a kind of mirth behind her eyes, a playfulness that gave him a feeling of high alert. This was still a game to her. But to what end? He hadn’t the slightest clue.

He attempted to laugh it off “Don’t tell me you think i’m swaying my tail for another superhero. I’m a one cat woman, Ladybug. Plus you could easily snap me in half over your knee so I’d rather not cheat on you”

He petted her head softly. If he could just lull her into passing out on his chest then he can just drop her off at her apartment and deal with his own biological problem in the comfort of his own apartment with some well written smut (Satisfaction Brought It Back, here he comes!). But Ladybug wasn’t giving in that easy.

She shook off his warm hand and started to giggle drunkenly “Someone’s a liar~” She cooed “That means that it’s BOTTOM’S UP KITTY CAT!”

Chat suddenly had the tequila bottle forced up against his lips. He swallowed down two big gulps of the burning liquid and spat out the rest. Ladybug laughed almost maniacally at his predicament.

“Christ that burns” Chat said after catching his breath “And are you insane? I’m not lying!”

Her laughing dyed down to a light chuckle “That’s not what that cute baker girl told me~”

The color that once painted his face was dyed a complete white. There’s no way she knew. He always waited at least 5 minutes before approaching her apartment. She’s just crazy! Yea...she was just being a crazy, deluded drunk…

Right?

Her lips were just a hair’s breadth away from his ear “From what I hear, you’ve been visiting that Marinette girl eeeevery night when you’re not with me”

“A-and what about you” He said defensively “It’s not like you’ve been able to keep your hands to yourself around that model Adrien….A-at least from what I’ve heard anyway”

Honestly he couldn’t care less that she was more into him as a civilian than a hero. As time wore on and they got older he realized that if she liked him one way then chances were that she’d like him the other way too. He was honestly just being a pussy about the whole thing but figured that he’d wait until she was ready. Until then he had no problem playing her mystery lover that she could visit in the dead of night. His window will always be open for her.

Ladybug hummed in agreement “Hmm that is true I do enjoy rocking his little model world whenever I can”

‘I know she’s talking about me but that salt doesn’t burn any less’

“But the way I see it” Her eyes darkened with a predatory hunger “He’s not here right now, is he?”

Chat felt like he was having an out of body experience. Ladybug, his partner in justice, woman of his heart and subsequent wet dreams was currently smacking her cherry alcohol tasting lips to his. It was all he had ever wished for in the dead of night. He had reached his nirvana!

….until his stupid conscious had to come kicking him in his leather bound tail

He let out a small whimper of regret. He could feel Ladybug just starting to poke her tongue through his lips right before he took hold of her face. He pulled her away and caught his breath. The look in her eyes set his whole body on fire, eyes foggy with wanton desire and lips tinted pink with what little kissing she could get in. Fuck, he wasn’t drunk enough for this!

“Look,” He said reluctantly “I want this, sweet merciful christ I want this so fucking bad it quite literally hurts to not have my tongue down your throat right now.” He sighed for what felt like the 15th time that night “But I am a gentleman first and I won’t take advantage of you like this. You’re drunk, possibly emotionally damaged as well, and it would honestly be scummy of me to prey on that just because I want to fuck you into the morning light. I’m taking you home, you’re gonna go to bed and we’re gonna forget any of this even happened. Plus, who knows, you might just reconcile with your ex or some sappy shit like that”

“Well that’s fucking stupid”

Huh?

Ladybug honestly looked annoyed by his impassioned speech. She put the alcohol back onto the table and wrapped her arms back around Chat’s neck. She even wiggled her butt on his lap to punish him a little.

“I don’t give a ripe, flying fuck about that dickless fuckboy.”

Chat doesn’t think he’s ever heard her say fuck so many times in a sentence….it was honestly super hot

“As much as i’ve been fucking Adrien I know he has his sights on another. So I’m currently 0-2 on getting consistent dick and it’s making me want to beat the nearest criminal till he bleeds out”

‘This feels like a one-sided conversation and I genuinely do not care’

“Now you listen here, kitty cat. I like you. Hell, I think I might even love you. Certainly enough to have been wanting to fuck you since entering college. So are you gonna let me have what I want?”

‘This night could not possibly get any better!’

He leaned in to give her everything he had and more but paused ‘Oh wait. Yes it can!’

“One question before we wake up the neighborhood”

Ladybug clicked her tongue in irritation “What now?”

Chat laughed at her eagerness and nestled in her chest “What exactly was your ex’s name anyway?”

“What does that matter?” She was getting impatient, how cute

“Because,” Chat dropped his suit and looked up at her with a dangerously playful look in his eye “Famous model Adrien Agreste wants to make sure he calls him by the right name while i’m bragging about how good i’m giving it to you”

Ladybug didn’t even bother making a show out of dropping her suit as she grabbed the tequila one last time, taking a massive swig “His name was Liam”

Adrien took it from her hands and swallowed the rest

“Let’s see if we can make you forget that”

[rattlung]

rivers and roads pt 3

whats up it’s ur boy skinny penis back on his bullshit with another chapter of that fnv mcgenji fic no one but me asked for.

I wrote this in like two days and hardly edited, but yknow, fuck it. if your preferred jam is ao3 you can read it there too. if smth isn’t tagged that you’d like to see tagged let me know

“From where you’re kneeling, this must look like an eighteen karat run of bad luck.” She said this while gesturing with her gun, the metal of it shining against the lanterns. It wasn’t too bright, but his head throbbed and the shine squeezed at his brain. When he didn’t make a move or try to say anything, just squinted up at the woman, she crouched down and patted his face twice, like a mother with a petulant child. “Ay, pobrecito…”

The smirk could be heard in her voice, he didn’t have to stare to see it. He couldn’t look away.

She gave a theatrical sigh and a played-up shrug when she stood again. “Truth is… the game was rigged from the start.” The woman pointed the gun, and he stared down the barrel. She didn’t stop smiling, he didn’t look away.

She fired.

=+=

The walk to Primm was not a long one. Before the sun rose over the hills, McCree could make out the few buildings and the winding track of a wooden roller coaster behind them. It was a pleasant surprise, as he thought he’d be going further than that before he reached another settlement. He made a mental note to study the Pip-Boy’s mapping system thoroughly to learn the roads better. Unreliable distances meant unreliable food and water rations, a dangerous mistake.

Mr. New Vegas’s voice carried him over the final hill, dipping straight into an overpass, the bridge leading to the entrance of the town on the left. McCree stayed right so he could cross once he reached it and kept his eyes on the cityline. There were no lights on, which he guessed wasn’t very odd, seeing as it was hardly five in the morning. It was doubtful a lot of people would be awake.

“Hey!”

McCree jolted and reached for the pistol at his hip. The shout had come from in front of him and was followed by a man hurrying toward his direction, dressed in a military esque uniform the same color as the dirt that dusted his boots.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The soldier demanded, stopping a good distance away from McCree. “Primm is off limits to civilians. Head back to Goodsprings or wherever you came from - before you get shot.”

McCree regarded him with an unimpressed look. “‘Preciate the concern, sir, but I can take care of myself.”

It was the trooper’s turn to raise a brow, giving McCree a once over. “I have my orders.”

“What’s goin’ on in Primm that needs stayin’ away from?” He asked instead of rolling his eyes.

The man appeared to age several years at just hearing the question, obviously troubled and doing a poor job of hiding it. “Convicts broke out of the prison up the road, took over the town. Anyone there is either dead or boarding up their windows. That, and the tribes of raiders causing trouble in the nearby areas.” He lifted up the goggles attached to his helmet to rub at his eyes and sighed deeply, exhausted. McCree would have felt bad for him if he’d liked him. “You really would be better off heading back.”

McCree looked back to the military camp he had not noticed during his approach. In the rising sunlight, the tents appeared to be more stones and collapsed homes against the horizon, but now that he was made aware it was hard to ignore. A few other men and women strolled around tiredly in matching gear as the man before him. His eyes were drawn toward the flag hanging limp above it all, and then the wind blew and he saw it: a two headed bear. NCR, the New California Republic. A democracy, expanding its uninvited reach from what was left of California. McCree thought he must’ve worked for them a few times, because he only knew them for their money.

“Shouldn’t you be helping?”

“We’d love to,” the soldier stated, sounding unenthused, “but they don’t fall under NCR jurisdiction. Even if they did, we’re in no shape to provide any support.”

McCree gave the collection of people behind him a pointed look. “You’re not?”

“No equipment, not enough hands to provide backup if need be. The convicts are armed with explosives, they’d slaughter us.” He crossed his arms, seemingly finished with McCree. “If you’ve got any more pressing questions, talk to Lieutenant Hayes. He’s in a tent down the road.” He turned away from McCree and started marching back to his post. “Stay on the west side of the road if you don’t want to get shot,” he called.

=+=

Lieutenant Hayes wasn’t in better spirits than his trooper that sent McCree his way, but he was polite. He greeted McCree with all of his titles that he only half-listened to and told him the same thing the other soldier did but in more detail. Not enough supplies, not enough men, convicts holding the town hostage, nothing they could do.

“They’re taken to calling themselves Powder Gangers,” he had said. “We think it’s because of the explosives meant to clear boulders they had stolen. They organized faster than anyone had thought - well, most of them, at least. This group split off from the main force, so they seem to be on their own.”

“What about the prison?”

“Most people just call it N.C.R.C.F., that’s NCR Correctional Facility. Convicts staged a coup; killed the guards and took over the prison.”

McCree left the tent unsurprised. The wasteland had never been a safe place. Thugs and raiders torturing innocents wasn’t a new development. The idea of basing the group off of an obsession with explosives, though, that was different, McCree had to give them that. He’d seen enough “cannibal” raider groups to last a lifetime.

Still, he thought back to Goodsprings, the man that had intercepted him and Hana at the Prospector Saloon, and the N.C.R.C.F. printed across his back. He hadn’t been dumb enough to think him a real security guard, but his presence in town was more troubling now knowing his origins. McCree retreated back to the overpass, keeping the idea of returning to Goodsprings in mind. But, firstly, he has to make sure there isn’t any trace of the woman in the lilac suit in Primm. If there wasn’t anything he’d be back at square one anyway.

There was a makeshift blockade on the west side of the bridge made mostly of wood planks and old rubber tires, a woman standing behind it at the post with a rifle in hand. “You’re going in there?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She scoffed, like she was surprised someone could be so stupid, and said, “Careful of the mines. Laid ‘em out in case they tried to initiate an attack.”

Most of the buildings he passed were either boarded up or hollowed out, crumbling toward the street. Among the trash and rubble were small pools of dried blood and bullet casings; the NCR hadn’t been overstating the situation in the slightest. The layout of the town - from what he could see as he approached off the bridge - was simple, unlike the winding road and similar buildings of Goodsprings. What was left of the main road was shaped in a ‘T’, headed by a large hotel with the roller coaster he had seen from down the way looming over it. An appropriately shaped sign titled the hotel “The Bison Steve”.

The front of the building to his left face the heading street, but McCree’s attention was drawn to the square office stood on the opposite side of it. Its roof was outlined by neon-light lettering reading “Mojave Express”. He recognized the company’s name, the very same company that issued the delivery order that had been left on him when he’d been attacked.

A gunshot rang out over his head. He heard the yelling from further in the town when his hearing cleared after the deafening pop. Two men, both dressed in armor that resembled the man’s from Goodsprings, rounded the corner.

“Get the fuck outta here,” one hissed, raising his pistol with a wild look in his eyes.

McCree didn’t say anything in return, only retrieved his own weapon in kind. He shot down the second man who had advanced even further than the first with a deadly looking blade. It clattered to the pavement, along with the man’s body, and the other yelled wordlessly. He fired at McCree, but the closest he came was a few bullets whizzing over his head. McCree put him down quick, once in the shoulder, second clean in the head.

They didn’t have much on them in way of supplies besides a few extra caps and ammo. The knife the thug had was deadly, but not in the sense that the cut would kill you. Rather, the rust and old blood it left behind would cause some sort of infection that’d finish you off. That, and the fact that the blade wobbled in its hilt, was reason enough to leave it behind. The gun the other had McCree unloaded and dropped in his bag.

When he’s sure no one else was on the streets looking to shoot him in the back, he makes his way to the Mojave Express.

There was a body propped against the side next to the door, a courier, by the looks of the messenger bag strapped around his shoulder, contracted with the NCR. The bag was covered in the same symbol printed on the flag the troopers had stood under. McCree opens the flap, finding a few bottles of clean looking water and flat bread wrapped in an extra t-shirt. McCree transferred the contents into his own bag before coming across a crumpled piece of paper underneath it all.

The ink was smudged in places, but there was no mistaking the contents of the letter. It was nearly an exact match to McCree’s own delivery order; the only difference being the manifest and the delivery order number. This man, Courier Four, was meant to deliver a pair of furry dice. He had no such thing on him, so McCree could only assume he had been stopping in to finish the contract and had been killed for his pay.

McCree folded the paper neatly and set it with his own, and left the man on the street.

=+=

Inside the Mojave Express, there was only an empty space behind the counter to greet him. Everything was silent except for his footsteps on the wooden floors, so he didn’t call out, not expecting anyone to be out back. It was a normal express office as far as he could tell; cleaner than most but McCree had a sneaking suspicion that was due to the raiders picking houses apart for supplies.

Besides crates of papers and bottles, the only thing interesting on the counter was a rather large piece of metal. It must have been some type of robot, he decided upon closer inspection, round and a little bigger than a dodgeball. He’d never seen anything like it before, had no idea what sort of function the little bot was supposed to be capable of - or how it would even function in the first place. Was it made to roll around? He doubted that, the several antennae melded in its base would make that difficult. He rolled it over to its side, revealing a miniature ventilation system on what he supposed was the bot’s underside. For cooling - or maybe a propulsion system so the bot hovered a few feet off the ground, maneuvering that way. A flying robot. Yes, McCree definitely wanted to see that bot working.

He ran his fingers over the metal casing, over a bullet hole, and against the plastic of a bumper sticker plastered on its side. It was bright red, even with a layer of dirt, and the lettering was blocky, reading “Roosevelt Academy; A Proud Bastion of American Ideals!", all white besides the large, bolded word “Bastion” in a gaudy yellow. There was a license plate on the other side of the bot, number itself unintelligible. The only thing that was left untarnished was the Great Midwest, Illinois, 2062.

As far as he could tell, there was no serious damage to the bot. There was no doubt it had seen some action, though, if the bullet holes were anything to go by. Whoever worked in this building had apparently tried their own repairs; piles of screws and scrap metal were strewn about the countertop, along with a few tools. McCree retrieved a screwdriver from the pile and opened the outer casing of the bot and peered inside. He grunted to himself. There were servos and gyroscopes that looked twisted and out of place, probably in need of recalibrating, something he’d be able to do himself if he had the know-how. He didn’t. What he could do, however, was replace the parts that needed fixing. What was laying around would be useful, but he needed more if he wanted to see this bot - hopefully - in the air.

Across the street from the Mojave Express building was something called the Vikki and Vance Casino. All of the windows were boarded up, and the only accessible entrance to the building was through the double doors from the heading street. McCree walked close to the walls and with his eyes on the road rather than in front of him.

Inside was a drastic difference to the exterior and last building he had been in. Countless people were milling about, everyone in the town who survived must have holed up in the casino once the convicts hit. The very entrance served as a barricade to the rest of the casino floor, all the lanterns lent to it to keep it nice and lit. It made the rest of the space difficult to see, as his eyes were still adjusted to the bright sun, which is probably what the folks had been hoping for.

An old man stood from the slot stool where he’d been sitting, not raising the pistol he had in his hand but not loosening his grip on it, either. McCree didn’t go for his own weapon, wanting to convey he meant no threat in the easiest way possible.

“I don’t know what it was that brought you to Primm, youngster,” the man started, voice smoother than what McCree would have expected, looking as worn as the man did, “but you might be wantin’ to rethink your plans. Town’s gone to hell.”

“Didn’t notice,” McCree said quietly, mostly to himself, but the man heard him and seemed to get some type of amusement out of it. “Who are you, if you don’t mind me askin’.”

“Johnson Nash, husband to Ruby Nash. Livin’ in Primm going on eight years now, thick ‘n thin.” He told McCree this all proudly, another smile crossing his features when he mentioned his wife. McCree decided he liked this man, and was glad he didn’t walk in the casino with his gun pulled. “I’m mostly a trader,” Nash continued, “not that that’s worth much with things the way they are. ‘M also in charge of the local Mojave Express Outpost.”

McCree tore his eyes away from where they had wandered as he listened - an old, shot up car on display with a protectron in a tiny cowboy hat patrolling in front of it - and stared back at the man. “I’m a courier with the Mojave Express.”

Nash gave him a strange look. “Well, I don’t have any work right now, sorry to say.”

“No, it ain’t - I lost a package I was supposed to deliver.”

“Oh, well alright. I can tell you everything I can. You got a delivery order you can show me?” McCree shouldered his bag over to rifle through it, retrieving the slip of paper and handing it over. Nash read it over and his brow raised, but he didn’t exactly look surprised. “You’re talkin’ about one of them packages. That job had strange written all over it, I tell ya, but it wasn’t like we were gonna turn down the caps.”

He handed the paper back to McCree, who returned it back to his bag. “What was strange about it?”

Nash settled back onto his stool, setting his pistol back on his lap and wiping his hands on his dusty overalls with a sigh. “That cowboy robot had us higher six couriers, each one carrying somethin’ a little different. One had a pair o’ dice, another a chess piece - that kind of stuff. Last I heard from the office, payment was received for the other five jobs.” He raised his brow again, nodding at McCree. “Guess it was just you and your chip that didn’t make it.”

“When you say cowboy robot, do y’mean that one?” McCree pointed to the back of the casino and Nash’s eyes followed his to the Protectron shuffling around.

Nash laughed once with a shake of his head, “Nah, that’s Primm Slim. He’s been here longer than me, I’d recognize him. Naw, this feller was much bigger, with a screen showin’ a smilin’ cowboy’s face.”

Victor. So there was no coincidence in the robot’s unlikely presence when he had been attacked, Victor was supposed to be there. But why? And no robot would do something on its own prerogative, so who programmed it? Who was watching for McCree?

“The first deadbeat we hired for your job cancelled,” Nash went on when McCree didn’t say anything. “Hope a storm from the Divide skins him alive,” he cursed, and even though McCree had only known him for about five minutes, he was sure this display of anger was uncharacteristic for the man. He seemed to think so, too, because he sighed again and shook his head. “Well, anyway. That’s where you came in.”

“They cancelled?” That was suspicious, like everything else about the whole ordeal. Had they known what would happen if they were to carry the chip?

“Yeah, he got this look on his face when he saw your name down on the courier list, expression got turned right around. Asked me if your name was real, and I said sure as the lack o’ rain, you was still kickin’. Then he turned down the job, just like that. I asked if he was sure - it was good money.” Nash shrugged. “‘Nope, let courier six carry the package,’ that’s what he said.” He gave McCree a long look, and then, grimly, said, “Like the Mojave’d sort you out or something. Then he just up and walked out. Never saw ‘im again.”

The idea of the courier stumped McCree. He knew plenty of people from his line of work, but none that would turn down money for him. At least he didn’t think he did. He accepted that, because of his most recent gunshot wound, he wasn’t as read up on his own history as anyone would like to be with themselves. Some things were fuzzy, others were gone completely. He could know this man, but there was also the possibility that he didn’t know him at all. Just another mystery to solve.

“Y’know who he was?” McCree asked Nash, already knowing the answer. “Where he went?”

“No idea,” Nash answered, just like McCree thought he would, but he still managed to feel a little disappointed. “Sounded like you two had some history for him to act like that - and turn down the money, too. Hope he didn’t see any trouble in that package of yours. Maybe he thought your name was bad luck.” Ain’t that the fucking truth. “Not for me to say,” the man finished with a shrug.

McCree couldn’t help but heave out a frustrated sigh. He scrubbed at his face, pinched at the bridge of his nose, then sighed again. Nash at least looked a little sorry for him. McCree would take what he could get.

“My package - it was stolen from me,” he informed. “Couple of guys with skulls painted on their faces, a woman in a purple checkered suit. They wouldn’t’ve passed through here, would they?”

Nash looked up, rubbing his chin in thought. “Well, now that ya mention it, a few nights back a townie was out at night scavenging for some supplies. He said he saw a lady in a daisy suit comin’ through with a couple of Los Muertos thugs, talking ‘bout a chip.”

It was something, a big something. It was evidence that he was on the right path, that the people who attacked him were here before and that they were leaving a trail. It should’ve made him happy, but it just made his chest tighten; didn’t ease anything, only filled him with more anticipation.

“That woman, she shot me. I need to know the best way to get to them.”

Nash didn’t seem too hung up on the prospect of McCree getting attacked, just continued to rub at his chin and think for another moment. “Well, the best way to do that would be to talk to Deputy Beagle. He was keepin’ some tabs on ‘em, slinkin’ around Bison Steve when your pretty lady and her thugs rolled through. He may’ve heard where they were goin’.”

McCree nodded, remembering the hotel on the heading street. “Thank you kindly, sir.”

“Don’t mention it. Before you go, lemme warn ya about somethin’,” Nash called as McCree turned for the door. “The Bison Steve, it’s where all the gangsters are holed up. They took Beagle hostage after they killed the sheriff. Guess it took ‘em a go of it to get ransomin’ right.”

“Good to know.”

“Just be careful out there, son.”

McCree smiled. “I can take care of myself just fine,” he assured for the second time that day.

=+=

The interior of Bison Steve was about as one would expect it to be after being overrun by criminals. Garbage cans were knocked over, the floors were covered with the trash from said cans, along with rubble from failing walls. Only a select few lights overhead still worked and even those flickered. There were vending machines that still hummed, though, with a few bottles of cola left.

McCree navigated the halls of the hotel quietly, picking up those bottles and anything he saw that seemed to work - or had once worked - by using a battery or similarly electronic. The footsteps he heard around him didn’t make him uneasy, but he still waited until he caught each man off guard and alone before he confronted them. The halls were long enough, the were walls thick enough, and was McCree fast enough to handle every convict quietly without causing too much of a commotion.

They hardly carried anything interesting, maybe a few sticks of dynamite and a pocket full of ammo, or a chem or two. Sometimes they had caps, other times they had bills that reminded him of old world cash, but those were printed with newer faces and other symbols. NCR cash. Made sense, them coming from one of the NCR facilities; was probably the only thing the guards had on them in the way of money when the convicts killed them.

From one convict he took the previously stolen guard armor and ventured into one of the hotel rooms in the hall. He tossed the chest piece onto the bed and searched the wardrobe against the wall. McCree appreciated everything Doc Amari had done and given him, but the vault suit she provided did little in way of protecting - from the sun and from bullets. He didn’t expect to find much better in the old clothes he found, but at least he would be more comfortable.

He shouldered off his bag to dress in some faded-from-age jeans and a collared button-up, then folded the vault suit and stuffed it into the bag. The blanket from the bed came with him after he strapped on the chest piece and laced up his boots. He checked it for stains - blood or otherwise - before he decided on any worth. It was red and thin, but large enough to wrap around his shoulders and cover the bold N.C.R.C.F. across his back. The last thing he needed was to be mistaken for a powder ganger and be shot down by an NCR trooper later down the road.

With the bag back around his shoulder and dressed in his new rags, McCree felt more like himself than he had since he’d been shot in the head. He adjusted the “homemade” serape to sit more securely and made for the door, but then he saw it. On top of the wardrobe he had rummaged through, seemingly untouched by the havoc around it and pristine as could be, was a desperado cowboy hat. McCree grinned when he pulled it down, gave the brim of it a few whacks to shake off any dust it had collected, and place it on top if his head with a content sigh.

Now he felt back in his own skin.

=+=

He found Beagle on the bottom floor in the back of the hotel, in the dining area’s kitchen. He was knelt in front of the fridges, hands bound in front of him. He looked ragged, his white hair wild and his face dirty, exaggerated by the pout pulling at his expression.

“I don’t suppose you’re here to rescue me?” He asked, having undoubtedly heard the gunshots that had took place just outside where his captors had been loitering. “I’d cross my fingers, but my hands are numb.”

McCree regarded the sorry looking man with a raised eyebrow. “You must be Deputy Beagle.”

“Why yes I am,” he replied, insolently in turn for McCree’s flatness. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m in a bit of a predicament here. Would appreciate it if you set me free.” Beagle held up his hands wired together, a deliberate gesture.

McCree made no move to untie him. “I hear you might have some information I need, some words about a few Los Muertos and a woman in a purple checkered suit.”

“Indeed I do, good sir, and I would be thrilled to share that information with you as soon as I’m freed from captivity. I’m gonna need to be in a calmer emotional state for my memory to function as we need it.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, McCree narrowed his eyes at the man before him just slightly. He absolutely did not want to bother with this conniver after the trouble he’s put him through - Nash did not mention the incinerator the leader had been sporting when McCree found him. Unfortunately, Beagle did not waver. With a grumble, the cowboy knelt to mess with the knot, pointedly ignoring Beagle and the victorious glint in his eyes when McCree pulled the bonds free.

“Well, that’s just marvelous.” The deputy stood, shaking out his wrists and flexing his bloodless fingers. “I’ll be makin’ my way outside, now. The airs, ah,” he glanced behind McCree and at the smouldering tables and singed bodies. “Well, it’s a little close in here.”

He checked the kitchen for anything useful, coming out with a few more bottles of water, and met Deputy Beagle outside of the Bison Hotel. He was looking out over the streets with his eyes narrowed and his revolver drawn, looking like a sad excuse for a western hero rather than the man who had just ran through the hotel lobby with his hands over his head in fear.

“Hey, Deputy.”

Beagle jumped, spun around, saw it was McCree, and changed his demeanor back to the calm and suave hero. “Well, that was quite the adventure,” he declared, like he had much to do with it. “We taught those convicts a thing or two, didn’t we?”

McCree decided not to roll his eyes. “Sure.”

“Breaking myself out of a hostage situation - not to diminish your role in the whole thing, of course - but it was quite thrilling. Problem is, there’s still no law in Primm,” he went on, which solidified McCree’s suspicion that Beagle was, in fact, being one hundred percent serious in his claims. He didn’t dare argue, didn’t exactly want to. “What’re we to do the next time ruffians menace us and hold us hostage?”

Grow a pair, McCree wanted to tell him, learn to use that gun instead of posing with it, quit your hero act, be one instead of pretending, among other things. “If yer boss is dead, don’t that make you the new sheriff?”

Beagle’s eyes widened. “Oh no, I’m just a deputy! And I can’t be a deputy without a sheriff. It’s called chain of command .” McCree felt his jaw set firmly. He wanted to hit this man. Beagle chose not to notice this. “We need a new sheriff, someone brave like you, but more of a homebody. Someone with experience who’ll settle down and watch over us.”

“Know anybody who’d fit the requirements?”

“I heard some of the Powder Gangers talkin’ about someone in the prison named Meyers. Said he used to be a sheriff ‘fore he got locked up. Then there’s the NCR just over the bridge, they’re likely to jump at the chance to control another town.”

McCree didn’t like his options. After having just run enough of the criminals out of town, the convict sheriff was a bad idea for obvious reasons. On the other hand, he wasn’t comfortable with turning the town over to the NCR as there were so few independent cities left in the desert. McCree thought back to the tired soldier he had spoken with, the state of the military camp he belonged to, and decided that the NCR wouldn’t do Primm much good, either.

“I’ll help you bring law back to Primm,” he told Beagle anyway. “Just give me some time to find someone.”

Deputy Beagle’s face lit up. “You will? That’s just marvelous! I’ll start thinking up questions for the interview!”

He turned to walk away, heading for Vikki and Vance with an excited bounce in his step before McCree called out to him. “You still owe me some information.”

The man wilted, but only for a moment. “Ah, yes. My memory is much clearer now that I’m free.” Again, McCree refused to roll his eyes. “I was sku - uh, performing recon on the Powder Gangers when some Los Muertos guys arrived with your friend in the suit. They were talking about some delivery they took from a courier. Assumin’ that was you.”

“Seems about right,” McCree conceded.

“They said they would be headin’ through Nipton to Novac to meet a contact there.”

McCree let him handle his Pip-Boy just long enough to mark the road he needed to walk to follow his attackers’ route, then he was off again. McCree was glad to see him go.

=+=

Before he left town, McCree was sure to stop in and thank Johnson Nash once more, and ask about the robot in his express office. A courier had dropped it off months back, he found out, and Nash got it working again but only for a while. He explained to McCree that he was planning on using it for courier work, but he hadn’t any luck with getting it running again. He gave permission to McCree to tinker with it, and promised him the bot if he got it working. The prospect of a new, fancy toy buzzing around was enough to get him to try. As he left the casino to make his attempt, Nash commented on the fruitlity of the whole thing, said he’d just take it to the Novac scrapyard and be done with it.

McCree ignored him, and worked for the better part of three hours, shocking himself numerous times and cursing out loud more times than that. The machine sputtered to life when the sun began to sink, the casing snapping shut on its own and the body of the bot rotating so it could propel itself into the air. The sudden reaction gave McCree a jolt, stumbling off his stool and onto his feet. He stared at the robot cautiously, not exactly knowing what to expect from it. It would be his luck to have the thing start up on a combat mode.

Instead of incinerating him where he stood, the little robot beeped a few times, tilting down enough as if it was staring at McCree.

“Well,” McCree said, hands on his hips. He nodded at his work and let himself feel proud for a moment. “Would ya look at that.”

The robot beeped again in response.

It seemed to be running fine, it’s flight wasn’t jagged or shaky, and there was no smoke - McCree always took that as a good sign. He grinned, eyes catching on the hideous bumper sticker on the bot’s side once again.

“A Proud Bastion of American Ideals, huh?” A confirmatory beep. “Alright, then. Let’s hit the road, Bastion. Could use help like yours.”

wwhwhwhwheeeeew lmao. yeh.