#yes those are DVDs and yes I’m old

[crewdlydrawn]

Gamer Girl, Hello Kitty

With bonus cattus-interruptus:

[starlooove]

Im saving up for a laptop and it’s mainly for school but also I want to be able to play games with mods and have a good dvd player any recs let me know please

[calaisreno]

Save John Watson

1098 words / Prompt: Chaos

“Go to Hell, Sherlock.” 

The DVD shuts off. He remains fixed, staring at the screen. 

Miss me? He’d thought it had to do with Moriarty. Definitely an attention-getter. He’d needed a diversion. But this…

Mrs Hudson sighs. “Sherlock…”

Her voice startles him, reminds him where he is and that she’s been watching too.

“What are you thinking, dear?”

“Hm?” He looks up at her, standing above him, arms crossed, a frown on her face.

“I’m thinking… how to save John.” 

How to go to Hell…

She takes John’s chair, opposite him. He remembers putting it away, then bringing it back. He never can make up his mind about John. What to do about John getting married, what to do about his own vow, now that he’s failed to protect Mary. 

You promised. You made a vow.

He never could make up his mind about Mary, either, even before he knew what she was. He’d chosen a dramatic way to let John see for himself, hear her confess what she’d done, and then hoped he was right. John was stubborn, but eventually yielded. But then she died, the thing he hadn’t foreseen. 

Days have already been wasted, trying to solve this. Even in death, she presents him with puzzles.

But what she means here is obvious. John is the person they love most. Both of them understand that it’s not in John’s character to allow himself to be saved. He will stubbornly go to hell, insisting that he’s fine. Sherlock must get there first.

Once, Sherlock saved him. He got in a cab with a murderer—and John came to life, followed the cab, and saved Sherlock. The cane was forgotten and never reappeared. 

There’s no murderous cabbie this time, no Moriarty threatening to burn his heart out. But there are other ways to go to hell. 

Another sigh, a hard look in his direction. “Sherlock, I know you think I’m just a dotty old woman, but I need to say this: going to hell is not good advice. I have no doubt that she loved John, in her own way, and considered you a friend, but she is wrong.”

“In what way?”

“You and John— well, you’re both lovely people— but you have a terribly dysfunctional relationship. Coming from me, a person who’s had her share of relationship disasters, this may not sound like good advice, but who better to recognise a disaster in the making? Mary thinks that if you get yourself in trouble again, lose your mind, risk your life, John will rescue you. That’s his role in your relationship, to save you. Yours is to be brilliant and to need saving from your recklessness. But it’s not healthy. What Mary said is wrong, Sherlock.”

“But she knows John.”

She shakes her head. “Mary was one of those people who needed things to be chaotic. How else would she have become what she was? Assassins aren’t exactly homebodies, you know. She wouldn’t have lasted as a stay-at-home mum. Chaos was her first love, and she married John because he loves danger. And because of you.”

“Me?”

“Because she saw the potential of being a chaos agent between you two, disrupting the partnership you’ve always had. Look what she did to the two of you! Making you both jealous, putting herself between the two of you all the time. Shooting you, then getting John to forgive her because of the baby. And here she is, reaching her hand up from the grave to stir that pot again. She couldn’t help herself. You two have done nothing but abuse one another since you returned.”

“I’ve never hit John. And at the restaurant, he did hit me, but he had reason to be angry. I don’t blame him for his reaction.”

“I’m talking about emotional abuse. Bruises and cuts heal, but when you let people think you’re dead for two years, that’s abuse as well. Yes, Sherlock, it is. When you make him believe things about himself, that he’s not good enough, not loved— that’s abuse that doesn’t easily heal.”

“You think I gaslighted John?”

“It doesn’t matter that your intent was to keep him safe. She encouraged it, always teasing him about you, making herself out to be the smart one. He believes you didn’t trust him, that he wasn’t good enough. He believes you don’t love him.”

“He doesn’t—”

“Yes, he does. It’s as plain as day.”

“I killed his wife.”

She huffs, crosses her arms. “You did not shoot her. It was her choice.”

“No, but I goaded Vivian Norwood into shooting me, and Mary took that bullet.”

“And why do you suppose she did that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it constantly, and it doesn’t make sense. John loved her—”

“John loves you. She was no idiot, and she knew whose death would destroy him. Remember, she knew him when you were dead and understood what it would do to him if you took that bullet. She put herself in its path out of love for him. And he’s angry, of course. He’s lost his wife, and has a daughter to raise alone. But he loves you, and his anger is really guilt: when he saw you alive, and his wife dying, he felt relieved that it wasn’t you. That made him feel guilty.”

Sherlock is shaking his head. “Mrs Hudson, I know you’ve always seen us together romantically, but John isn’t gay. He—”

“Sometimes it doesn’t matter,” she replies, leaning forward. “We love who we love, and he loves you. Now, I’m not saying you meant to harm each other. Things have been out of kilter, and neither of you has dealt with it. He’s angry, and your feelings are hurt. Making it worse it not the answer. The only way to escape this is to step out of it.”

Sherlock stands and walks to the window. He stares into the street for a long time, thinking. 

They were broken when they met. He’d been out of rehab for a few months, and was trying to learn sobriety. A junkie is always a junkie, and substituting cases for cocaine was healthier, but not a cure. Every day, he’d struggled to distract himself, and felt himself weakening. The case of the pink lady was an excellent distraction, but John— 

He’d seen it that day in the path lab. A man with a cane for a psychosomatic limp. A doctor whose heart was still on the battlefield. 

He turns to her. “What should I do?”

--

Another chapter of "Things Somebody Should Have Said in Canon." Sherlock's question will be answered (eventually) in another story.

@keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @totallysilvergirl @raina-at @friday411

[wri0thesley]

the thought of lucas putting on an old dvd of a film or series you consider a childhood favourite, getting a little handsy under the blanket as you begin to tear up at what he believes is cause of the sad parts(definitely not the memory of watching with your family, instead of the murderous cannibal kidnapper who is currently trying to make you cum while you focus on the grainy tv)

it feels . . . sacrilegious. like you are defining the purity of memory; of a happier time, of a purer brighter nostalgia-drenched sunshine time. the you who had first watched this film had been skinned knees and ankle socks, had not known there was peril in the world beyond the peril that played out on the television screens of your childhood—

but oh, how you know it now. you know it in the six foot plus frame of the man beside you and the shine of an axe in the night and the knowledge of how much blood will geyser out of a clean stroke through the skull.

you try desperately to cling to that moment of happiness that is encapsulated in your memory; to take yourself very far away. but lucas’s hand is insistent - on your knee, crawling up your thigh, higher and higher. his breath is hot as he pulls you close, a satisfied hum against the shell of your ear as he finds the apex of your thighs and wilfully mistakes the whine that drops from your throat as arousal and not the pitiful dregs of a plea for him to stop.

you can’t ask him to. his face will twist and he’ll sulk and he’ll suggest that perhaps you don’t love him, he’ll tell you to behave, he’ll remind you how much trouble he went to get this vhs all because you’d said how much you’d liked it and all he’d wanted was to see you smile (in between the kisses of gratitude, the offering of your body on a platter).

“aww, sweetheart,” he murmurs, nosing fondly against your cheek, his lips brushing over your tears as the stubble of his chin abrades the soft skin. “don’t cry.” the husk of arousal. you’ll be carried to the bedroom whether you want it or not, when he’s done; nothing gets him more than the shine of teardrops on your face. “shh. i’m sure it’ll have a happy endin’.”

the vhs? the childhood favourite? the memories, before lucas had trodden all over them? yes. those things had happy endings—

but for you?

sometimes you simply feel it’s a matter of time until your own tragic one.

[yuritsukikage]

I’m having a mix of heartfelt sadness and some sense of anger (towards a certain company) right now

I know I’m mainly a Precure fan over here but I started my journey into the Japanese language, anime and manga when I first picked up and rented that Sailor Moon S DVD at a local hobby shop.

As I was watching the Region 1 DVD, I made a decision to try to watch it in another language because the old Pioneer DVD had both English and Japanese. I, a wee little depressed year 9 student was blown away by the voice acting from the Sailor Moon Japanese voice cast that I decided to look them up on the internet and find out the women behind these iconic characters.

What I realised was these women were not only around both my parents’ ages. They were in other anime that I literally grew up in, watching their anime in English. I decided to watch some of my childhood anime in those languages, just to hear how they performed. Spoiler alert: They we’re amazing.

And that’s how I started my journey into pursuing learning the Japanese language all the way to University where I graduated with a degree in that field.

The Sailor Moon Japanese voice cast were like those aunties (yes I am Asian) or older sisters (depending on the region) that you never knew but you connected with them through the anime that you have watched over the years. You watch them grow older seeing their public photos on news sites and social media through the events they attended, as you, yourself grows older.

The fact that we lost one of them in the 8th of September 2024 will be one of the most heartbreaking things to find out for me and a lot of people this year. Coincidently the shock announcement came on the birthday of one of the beloved Sailor Senshi makes it even more tragic.

Emi Shinohara was an fantastic seiyuu/voice actress. She worked in a lot of people’s childhood shows, many of us would have known her for her role as the ever reliable, ever strong Makoto Kino/Sailor Jupiter in the 90s anime of Pretty Soldier Sailor Moon (90s Sailor Moon for short). Others would have known her for Kaho Mizuki from Cardcaptor Sakura or if you’re old, B-Ko from Project A-Ko. However the majority of people (anime normies) would have mostly known her as the voice of Kushina Uzumaki from the Naruto Shippuden anime.

Her later years in life would really reflect on her roles she would later have with the aforementioned Kushina. A lot of younger seiyuu would have known her in Fafner (I hear that anime a lot on Twitter through some of the seiyuu involved and I know the character designer for Gundam Seed worked on the designs).

Probably the roles that really stood out for me personally asides her roles in Sailor Moon and CCS, would be an obscure 2007 anime called Claymore. That anime was one of those that the unfortunate case of “manga was still ongoing while the anime was airing situation”. However props to the casting staff involved in this anime because they brought in a chunk lot of veteran seiyuu that would get to show off their years of experience into this one single 24 episode anime. Emi Shinohara was no exception to this! She voiced the ax-crazy, hella insane, ultra mega bitch Ophelia and oh boy it was a ride and an experience to listen to her voice from the beginning right to the death of her character. I personally would recommend watching this anime for the voice acting in there, not for the anime itself because of its situation at the time.

Her music prowess was no joke either. Of the original 5 seiyuu of the Sailor Moon cast, she was definitely the most experienced and you can clearly experience it though the Moon Revenge live for a Christmas event that happened 31 years ago. She has released her own albums during the 90s as well and 100% she slayed on every character song that came to her during her active years in the 90s

I really cannot believe that Emi Shinohara has left us. The Sailor Moon community is definitely in mourning right now for this iconic voice actress. Our heart goes to her husband, Tokusatsu actor Hiroshi Watari and their only son who made a heartfelt and saddening message to Shinohara’s own personal Twitter account.

And our hearts also go towards the remaining 4 seiyuu of the original Sailor Moon voice cast, who out of the two who have social media, are currently in a state of devastation and sadness to have lost a fellow cast mate who they have worked and truly bonded together on the 5 years of Sailor Moon’s airtime from 1992-1997.

In particular fellow cast mate Rica Fukami who she considered Emi Shinohara as her twin, having being born on the same year, month and day. To the point they even have their own duo name together back in the 90s as Funky Twins, where they last year held a 3 day fan live together. Who would have thought that this would be the only time they would be together for such a special occasion. Let’s not forget the constant amazing and interesting quote tweets interactions between the two of them since Shinohara started her Twitter account a few years back from the constant birthday congratulations, to recently finding a hidden Sailor Moon treasure while Rica Fukami was in the middle of decluttering. The fact that we will never get this kind of interaction ever again is heartbreaking but it will live on through the past interactions that they have shared together.

I will briefly mention my anger towards Toei for losing this once in a lifetime opportunity to reunite the original 5 Sailor Moon voice cast for the 30th anniversary of the franchise. The fact that their last public reunion together was for a DVD commemoration in Akihabara, late 2009 has given me this sense of anger, frustration and sadness inside me that I will never forgive them for. And we will never have an opportunity like this ever again.

With that part out of my head. I will now leave this insanely long message with a single part of a message that Emi Shinohara’s son has written in that post on Twitter, “the name ‘Emi Shinohara’ will continue to live on as long as people remember her voice and the roles that she has portrayed”

Thank you Mrs Emi Shinohara for the past nearly 40 years of service to the anime and voice acting industry. We, the fans, will never forget you and we definitely will look back to the voices and songs that you have given us over the years. Rest in Peace. 🕊️💚

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

I’m thinking I might do a Taskmaster rewatch. It’s now about 3 months before I go off the UK for two weeks, which still doesn’t feel like a real thing that’s going to actually happen. But I’ve been thinking about how weird it is that I’m flying across an entire ocean because I happened to come across something on YouTube four years ago.

That’s how it started. Not because of the pandemic. It was early March 2020 when I was at my grandparents’ house out East, upstairs in their guest bedroom at about 9 PM, clicking through YouTube, and came across Taskmaster s01e01. I thought, that’s interesting. I like British comedy, by which I mean the old shows my dad had on DVD boxsets so I watched them over and over as a kid (Yes Minister, Flying Circus, Ripping Yarns, Blackadder, Mr. Bean, Fawlty Towers, a few others), the greatest TV show in the entire world called The Thick of It, a few tapes and CDs that my dad used to play in the car a lot (Billy Connolly, Beyond the Fringe, The Good Show), all of Douglas Adams’ books, a few other scattered TV shows I’d watched over the years because my dad said they were good (Peep Show, The Inbetweeners), and a whole bunch of Radio 4 programs. But I didn’t recognize this. This one of those TV panel shows they have there. Like QI, the show I hate because it took Sandi Toksvig away from The News Quiz. But surely that doesn’t mean all TV panel shows are bad. I wonder what this one is?

I clicked on it, and it had a man I vaguely recognized as the teacher in The Inbetweeners, and six other people I did not recognize at all. They were doing things I did not understand. I couldn’t tell how serious they were about anything whatsoever. I couldn’t figure out why it was funny. What are they doing? Why have they brought in items? Who are these people? I was intrigued.

And then Romesh Ranganathan threw a watermelon on the ground and my life hasn’t been the same since. That’s what it was. That’s the moment it clicked for me, and I instantly understood everything about why Taskmaster is funny. I had to call an apology to where my mother and grandparents were sitting downstairs, because sound travels easily in that house and I could not stop laughing. I couldn’t stifle the sound, I couldn’t get my breath. Romesh Ranganathan throwing a watermelon on the ground was the funniest thing I’d ever seen. I needed to see all of it. I needed to see every episode of this and also every other thing that any of these people have ever done. It’s a total coincidence that the world happened to end about a week later so I had time to actually do that.

The world ended, the tournaments I was supposed to get home to coach got canceled, so my trip out East got extended, I watched the rest of Taskmaster. Every episode that had aired as of then, which was up to the end of season 9. I got to the end and couldn’t just be done with all those people, so I Googled my favourites to see what else they’d done. Made a list of what shows came up the most often. Then spent about a year watching every episode of every show on that list, because the world had ended and I had nothing else to do. Would I Lie to You, 8 Out of 10 Cats, Catsdown, Mock the Week, Big Fat Quizzes, QI, The Last Leg. Never Mind the Buzzcocks, though I did start that one from the beginning of the Simon Amstell era, didn’t watch it from the beginning. But I watched every single episode (that had been released as of then) of the others. As I went along, I found new favourite people, and looked up things they’d done, and added those things to my list. Watched/read/listened to those things too. Shorter panel shows, sitcoms, books. The Mash Report and New World Order, of course. I watched every episode of UK Roast Battle and I'm pretty ashamed of it but probably still not as ashamed as I should be. Had a big WILTY phase during which I also re-watched Peep Show, watched everything else Mitchell and Webb have ever done for good measure, watched every episode of Not Going Out and that sketch show Lee Mack did before it, read both Lee Mack and David Mitchell's autobiographies. I watched every single episode of Russell Howard’s Good News and The Russell Howard Hour. There were so many of them. Why did I do that?

Realized it was weird that I loved The Thick of It and Veep and In the Loop so much but had never sought out other Armando Iannucci things (besides that Death of Stalin movie that I saw in the cinema when it came out). Fixed that, went chronologically through all Iannucci's stuff starting with On The Hour/The Day Today. While I was at it, re-watched The Thick of It, also re-watched all those other Britcom shows I'd loved as a kid. Re-watched The Inbetweeners.

Had a phase of being obsessed with Noel Fielding when I watched Buzzcocks. Also watched The IT Crowd, Nathan Barley, Garth Marenghi, The Mighty Boosh, even Luxury Comedy. Learned some more stuff about Noel Fielding, and now regret that phase. But I still think Nathan Barley and Garth Marenghi are masterpieces (the latter didn't even feature Noel Fielding, it just got rolled in with the others due to other crossover people).

At first I excitedly told my friends all about this, but they did not care, and my best friend started getting actively annoyed about it, so I went looking for a place where I could put my Britcom-related thoughts and still have friends when this is all over. I created a Tumblr account in August 2020. It asked me what I wanted my name to be. I thought of a joke Sean Lock made on 8 Out of 10 Cats once, about how people should tell the meerkats that everything’s fine. I went with that.

After the first year, I figured I had a good grounding in long-running TV shows, and could expand my repertoire a bit. I downloaded all 125 hours of the old Russell Howard and Jon Richardson BBC 6 Music radio show, listened to those, confronted some stuff about how shortly before the pandemic I’d had to move out from living with a friend because my OCD-like tendencies (I can’t technically say “my OCD” because I was diagnosed with OCD as a child but then told as a teenager that it was probably a misdiagnosis and those were actually autism symptoms, but it comes to the same thing, it’s just semantics and doesn’t matter) made me so bad at sharing space with other people, watched that documentary he made, drank a bunch of whiskey and had one or two emotions. It was fine. I did Hypothetical next to bring the mood back up. Made a few incoherently furious Tumblr posts when Russell Howard brought on Jordan Peterson and ruined my ability to enjoy any of his work anymore (Russell Howard's work, that is, I didn't enjoy Peterson's work to begin with).

In 2022, the world started to exist again, and I had to do some in-person work placements (as opposed to the last two years, which I’d spent doing my very easy work-from-home editing job that left lots of time for panel shows), and I realized that audio comedy is a lot easier to take with me on a commute than TV comedy. I listened to all 217 hours of the original run of The Bugle. Then took a break for a few months before listening to the reboot, because getting to the end of the original run made me so genuinely sad that I needed some time to get used to the idea that it would become a different thing, before I could actually enjoy that other thing. Which I now enjoy very much. Listened to all of Zaltzman and Oliver's other things, of course. Got into Chris Addison's old Radio 4 stuff off the back of The Department. Found a bunch of other people's Radio 4 stuff in the same spot.

Saw Nish Kumar live twice within a few months, traveling to New York City and then Montreal for it. One time he looked at me and laughed at my reaction to a joke and asked me a question, and I briefly knew how it must have felt to be those people who fainted at Beatles concerts back in the day, due to being overwhelmed by proximity to their hero (though it's not exactly the same situation, hopefully Nish Kumar has beaten fewer women than John Lennon).

Got into Kitson in mid-2022. Bought all his stuff on Bandcamp and Vimeo, wanted more, scoured the internet because I was promised that bootlegs existed, couldn’t find them, messaged a guy on a comedy forum to see what he had, got much, much more than I could possibly have hoped for (including, incredibly, a spare room where I’m staying in London this summer). Bought all David O’Doherty’s stuff off Bandcamp. Got a NextUp subscription. Got so into stand-up that panel shows started to seem over-edited and less enjoyable by comparison. Watched all of Stewart Lee’s TV shows and stand-up DVDs within a couple of weeks. Got really really into Josie Long. Spent a fair bit of 2023 meticulously going through a hodge-podge collection of old Kitson recordings, carbon dating them from the tiniest detail so I could accurately record their date and venue on my spreadsheet and in the file name. Developed a deep obsession with a thing called the Chocolate Milk Gang. Got into a Beautiful Mind-style need to unravel all the mysteries of this one video featuring the Chocolate Milk Gang and a cow from Edinburgh 2003. Decided that Stuart Goldsmith is the best interviewer I’ve ever heard. Once accidentally ended up in a brief email correspondence with Stuart Goldsmith and had to take about six months off from listening to his podcast because I was so embarrassed about it. Listened to all Mark Watson's old radio shows and then did all of No More Jockeys, decided Mark Watson is probably the best person in the world, learned a few more things about him, decided he's maybe actually not. Memorized all the Perrier Award winners since 1999, because that seemed worth doing. Saw Grace Petrie live and managed to not cry until the final song. Went to coach the national championships in 2023, felt sad about how disconnected I'd become from the sport that was my whole life for years, ended up spending much of the weekend sitting in an empty hallway listening to Gavin Osborn songs. Accosted Josie Long in the streets of Montreal and made her sign a poster from 2011.

Went back and watched/listened to some earlier stuff. Rounded out my previous journey through the TV shows/movie of Alan Partridge with the specials and audiobooks and podcast. Did all of Lee and Herring in about two weeks. Listened to Do The Right Thing mostly in an empty classroom on breaks at my new autism therapy job, fell briefly in love with Danielle Ward.

Then 2024 arrived and that was mostly John Robins for a few months. Became an XFM/Radio X retro one-r, accidentally got a video of John Robins taken off YouTube and immediately wanted to hide under my bed forever. Booked a trip to London and Edinburgh for summer 2024.

All of this happened because I happened to click on s01e01 of Taskmaster in early March 2020. I’m flying across an ocean. And what I really wanted, to begin with, was more context for Taskmaster. I thought it was the funniest thing I’d ever seen, and I think everything is better in context, so I wanted to see these people do other things, get as much context as I possibly could so I could get all the little in-jokes on Taskmaster.

When I first watched Taskmaster, only nine seasons were out. Across those nine seasons that I watched in the first go, I only saw six people I recognized. Greg Davies, and later, Joe Thomas, from The Inbetweeners. Sally Phillips, from Veep. Jo Brand, whom I knew from some of my dad's old British stand-up comedy tapes. Hugh Dennis, as I’d been listening to The Now Show for years. And Nish Kumar, as I’d been listening to The News Quiz for years. I’d never actually seen Nish before getting to Taskmaster season 5, and was shocked the first time I watched s05e01, because based on hearing him on the radio all those times, I’d assumed Nish Kumar was about 55 years old. Since then I’ve realized that a few of the people I saw in those first nine Taskmaster seasons were actually people I’d heard before on The News Quiz, but I didn’t make those connections at the time. Nish was the only one I’d heard enough times on The News Quiz to immediately realize that this was the same person as the one on the radio. I was shocked by how young he was. And then I was shocked by how very bad at everything he was.

Also, I didn't realize until way too long after I'd finished my initial Taskmaster watch that Sara Pascoe was the radio employee in the Richard Bacon episode of The Thick of It.

Anyway, I have more context now. Quite a bit more context. Arguably too much context. Maybe more context than any one person could ever need. But I'm thinking, before I actually go to the UK on this trip that I still can't believe is going to be real, I might go through Taskmaster again, with context this time.

I've re-watched it before, of course. In those first nine seasons, I've seen every episode at least four times. I re-watched them all along with the podcast when that first came out. I re-watched the first 13 seasons with my then-girlfriend, back when we first got together, in late 2021/early 2022. But I haven't watched them all properly since then. I've re-watched sporadic episodes, but not all of them in order.

I'm thinking I'll do all of them order. With all the context. With too much context. Not on YouTube this time. I can watch it on my laptop's own video player, from the folder in the 5TB hard drive I bought specifically to house my comedy folder (currently about 2TB). That'll be a good use of my limited time on this Earth.

Here, have a video I made in the fall of 2020, putting moments from the nine seasons of Taskmaster that were out at the time to a song that I listened to a lot during early lockdown days.

[eggcompany]

Hannibal is such a daddy Part 1

Doctor Hannibal Lecter is a daddy and everyone knows it. Everyone knows he is the most perfect caregiver but he has no littles of his own. But what happens when he learns Will Graham is a Little?

No one knew Will was a little. Everyone knew Hannibal was a daddy though. Everyone wanted Hannibal to be their daddy. He was brilliant, strong, handsome, and had a big house and a big nest. But no one ever saw a nursery . Or a nursing room. Or a little. 

Hannibal was known for his dinner parties. He was known to invite not only caregivers and minx (people who are neither caregivers or little) but also littles. He usually had large dinner parties where he would cook perfectly adult meals for his big guests and then in the side room that had no sharp or hard things that the small ones could get hurt on, he would serve his little meals. 

He would usually stay with the littles while everyone else ate. He would wash their faces and hands. He would help them eat and throw their trash away. He would change their diapers and put them down for naps. He would leave and serve the next course to the adults and go straight back to the littles. Usually one or two other caregivers but Hannibal never asked anyone to help. 

Everyone knew Dr. Hannibal Lecter was a daddy. But no one knew Will Graham was a little. 

No one could look around his house and know he’s a little. He had no soft colored walls or snuggly blankets or dvd collection of cartoons and Disney movies. He didn’t have a crib or sippy cups or binkies or diapers or a rocking chair. You could search his house and the only thing that might point towards him being a little is his one pair of fuzzy snuggly socks. And those were plain black. 

That was until he had met Hannibal. And Hannibal came to his house. 

“Will you have such a... are you a minx?” Hannibal said as he looked around Will’s very plain home. Will had invited Hannibal over to help on a case. 

Will just looked at Hannibal from the kitchen where he was getting them both glasses of water. Or rather cups of water since Will didn’t drink out of glass. 

“No I’m not a minx. The files on the table. There’s pictures just spread out.” Will said as he showed Hannibal to his dinner table. 

“Oh! You’re not a minx? I didn’t take you for a caregiver. Well perhaps to your dogs! They look so healthy and playful.” Hannibal said conversationally. He knew Will might just be an ace caregiver. Someone who doesn’t care for relationships but has caregiver instincts. 

“I’m not a caregiver, I just like dogs.” Will said plainly. As if he just said he had on blue socks. 

Hannibal froze. Not a minx. Not a caregiver. That meant. No it can’t be. 

“You’re a little? But you live alone and you have no. You have nothing!” Hannibal said in a fit. If Will was a little why did he not have any color of little things. Hannibal thought maybe he hid it all. 

Will sighed loudly. He knew he shouldn’t have told. Will had had a caregiver before. When he was just old enough to leave his family. She was nice and cared about his health. But she was vain and didn’t like the way he looked. She wanted to always have him waxed and when they bonded to have his body hair laser removed. He used to get in trouble for not having his everything shaved or waxed. So when she left him because he wanted his beard, he never tried to get another. 

“Yes Hannibal, I’m a little. No, I don’t have anything. I don’t really, uh,  I don’t really regress all that often. And when I do I’m not all that little.” Will tried to sound uninterested but failed. He just sounded sad. 

When he really let go he was tiny. Practically an infant. Most littles were toddler age. Dependent but not completely. Will expected Hannibal to drop it and assume, just like Jack, that he could care for himself. What he didn’t expect was- 

“Oh we’ll go ahead I’ll just be going over the case. I have a little bag in my car, would you like if I brought it for you?” Hannibal said cheerily. He just loved caring for littles. Especially if that little was Will. Hannibal already had a soft spot for the shorter man. Will looked shocked for a moment. 

“You don’t- you don’t have to put up with me right now. It’s okay you don’t need to do anything I’m just. I’m capable.” Will tried to get together a congruent thought. 

Hannibal was already walking back towards the door. He stopped and slipped off his jacket at the door. 

“Nonsense Will. I’m here, the dogs are all here, you can relax. I’ll take care of everything.” And Hannibal stepped out the door. Will stood in shock. Hannibal always acted like this. Did what he wanted. But this was different. 

No one ever did that. Just cared. Will was a capable FBI agent and teacher. He wasn’t helpless. Maybe he was. Maybe he was just helpless to Hannibal.

Will contemplated letting the doctor actually know how small he got when he regressed. It wouldn't hurt to let the doctor know… Hannibal loved littles. All littles. Will isn’t special, he’s just another little doll to feed Hannibal’s caregiving needs. 

Hannibal returned with a blue duffel bag in tow. He smiled and walked past Will to the couch. 

“Here we go! It’s just a small kind of emergency bag, but it will serve its purpose. Do you want a sippy or a blanket? Do you have wifi? I could hook up my laptop and you could watch some cartoons.” Hannibal said in a lighthearted happy way. Will just stood still and overwhelmed at the soft colorful items Hannibal pulled from the bag. Hannibal turned and saw the special agent clenching his fists and breathing quicker than he should be and came to his side. 

“Will, are you alright? Did I overwhelm you? I’m so sorry, I just got excited. I should have stayed calmer. I’m sor-” He was cut off by a low whine. 

“‘M too small for that. I’m um I’m not like most littles, Hannibal. I get too small. Now please just… just look at the damn case files.” Will said and tried to keep the tears from rolling down his face but failed miserably. Hannibal nodded and rubbed Will’s shoulder as he turned to the gorish photographs. 

Will stayed still for a few minutes before venturing a few steps closer to the white blanket that had been placed on the arm of his couch. He ran the very tips of his fingers over it, feeling the amazingly soft fabric. He looked back at Hannibal who was looking at the case files. 

Will looked at the blue sippy cup for a moment before leaning and looked down into the bag. There were diapers, pacifiers, wet wipes, and rolled up changing mats. There were snacks and water as well. He then spotted what looked like the lag of a stuffed animal. Maybe a bear or a dog. Will felt more adventurous, he was slipping, if only a bit but he was slipping just seeing the supplies. 

Will moved the pack of wet wipes over to see the stuffed animal more clearly. It was a dog. A light brown one with dark brown spots. It was made from what felt like thick flannel material and had plain black eyes and a black nose that was embroidered on. ‘This is a baby toy’ flashed through Will’s mind as he picked up the doggy. The thought was washed away by the thoughts of snuggling the small toy while he slept. Will held the dog up to his chest and petted it. He was slipping further. 

“Do you like it?” Hannibal said from the arm of the couch. Will hadn’t even noticed him in his fogged headspace. Will nodded his head and brought the toy up to his face to rub his scruffy cheek against it. Hannibal smiled and moved slowly as he dragged his bag closer to him. 

“Maybe he can sleep over here tonight. Do you want the doggy to sleep over tonight?” Hannibal said in a soft voice and looked at Will’s eyes. Will smiled and his eyes flashed up to the older man’s. Will bounced a little bit on the balls of his feet. 

“Yes pwease! I um… I wike da doggy. Hims so soft.” Will said as he rubbed the stuffed animal across his lips and nose. Will was swaying slightly. He usually didn’t walk all that much when he was little. Hannibal noticed and put his hand on Will’s upper arm. He pushed slightly, guiding the wobbly man to sit on the couch. Will happily held the toy close to his face as he plopped down onto the couch and smiled. Will chewed on his bottom lip slightly. 

“Yeah, he is soft. I saw you touching the blankie too. Do you want that too? You can have anything you want.” Hannibal said as he held the blanket and duffel bag toward the little. Will had started rubbing the toy against his lips more, almost mouthing at the dark brown ear. 

Will took a deep breath. It had been so long, too long, since he let himself relax. Since anyone had wanted to take care of him. He felt his eyes wet and just didn’t have the power to pull himself out, to make himself big. The tears started slow but after a few seconds Will was a sobbing puddle on the couch holding onto the doggy toy. 

Hannibal hurriedly sat down next to the younger man and pulled him close so the outsides of their thighs were squeezed together. Will turned and pressed his face into the expensive fabric of Hannibal’s dress shirt. Hannibal shushed and moved so Will could scoot closer to him and Hannibal could rub at the little’s back. 

“Oh Will… I know a deprived baby when I see one. Come on, let's get you all comfy. Poor baby…” Hannibal said and rocked side to side while Will started to calm a bit. When Hannibal pulled back and saw Will’s snotty tear covered face his caregiver instincts took over and his heart broke for the poor boy. 

Will pouted and sniffled and held his stuffed animal close to his chest while Hannibal reached over and grabbed the bag and blanket. Hannibal took a tissue out from a side pocket of the bag and wiped away at Will’s face. Will sat still and looked at Hannibal with big round dazed eyes. 

“You do too much Will. Too much for Jack, too much big stuff. You live in this big house with no supplies. I can’t believe it. After we have a big chat I can take you home and really take care of you.” Hannibal muttered, really more to himself than the special agent. He watched Will melt further into headspace, his shoulders relaxed, his eyes closed a bit tiredly, and he brought the doggy up to his lips again and mouth lightly at the ear. Hannibal cleaned his face with a wet wipe and dried his face with another tissue. 

“Will, baby, do you want to change? You don’t need these icky clothes on if you don’t want them. How small are you?” Hannibal asked and slipped off the couch to kneel in front of Will on the floor. Will just shifted around and looked at him with an uncomfortable look on his face. Hannibal nodded. Too small to talk. Diaper, Dummy, and  some cuddles. Thought the caregiver as he studied the boy for a moment. Will was fidgeting his toes against each other and chewing on the soft ear of the dog and drooling a bit. 

“‘lil. ‘ungry.” Will muttered, his mouth not leaving the soft fabric. Hannibal smiled. So cute! Hannibal rubbed Will’s knees and stood up. 

“Okay then Will! How about you go through that bag and you put everything you want right here.” Hannibal explained slowly and simply. He pointed and patted the cushion opposite to the duffel. Will nodded and his hands went to the duffle bag, doggy left to fall into his lap. Hannibal smiled. “I will go make you up a bottle. I can feed you while you watch some cartoons. Stay here and pick out what you want, baby.” Hannibal finished by fluffing up Will’s hair. Will made a happy little noise before shifting through the bag. 

Hannibal grabbed up a blue baby bottle, which was much larger than an actual baby’s bottle since it was made for littles, and made his way to the meager kitchen. He shook his head at the nearly empty fridge and scarce cupboards. The little had more dog food than human food. Hannibal eventually found a can of sweetened condensed milk in what looked to be an emergency cupboard. Hannibal made quick work of mixing the sweet syrupy liquid into the bottle alongside the almost expired milk he had found in the fridge. Will certainly needed the extra calories and would most likely not mind the extra sweetness. 

While Hannibal whipped up a bottle Will happily pulled all sorts of things out of the duffel bag. He smiled as he pulled out diapers and pacifiers and pulled the blankie into his lap. He dug around until he found a pair of thick fuzzy socks. Will then picked up his doggy and put it’s ear back in his mouth and wiggled his feet around some. He was small, smaller than he had been in months, years probably, but he wasn’t fully there. He was still fighting it, forcing himself to move his hands and feet and keep his motor function up. 

But the moment Hannibal came over to him flipping a bottle full of milk, he slipped. His fingers felt all gummy and loose, his tongue felt big in his mouth, and his body felt wiggly and soft. Hannibal noticed and smiled as he sat on the edge of the small couch and put the duffel bag on the floor. 

“Do you want to come sit in my lap? Want me to hold you?” Hannibal asked but Will was already struggling to wiggle over to the older man. Hannibal helped him by dragging him up to sit across his thighs and rest his back against the arm of the couch. Will smiled and thunked his head against Hannibal's solid chest. 

“Open up darling. It’s sweet, you’ll like it.” Hannibal said and Will latched onto the nipple of the bottle and sucked down the sweet milk enthusiastically. 

Hannibal smiled and felt calm. These moments always calmed him, stroked that caring need in his chest. But now was different. With Will it was always different no matter what ‘it’ was. Hannibal never felt that urge to really feel the babies though. That need to feel their heart beats, their breaths, their skin. But right now, Will in his lap getting healthy and safe off of Hannibal’s efforts, the psychiatrist felt that urge. He used the hand that wasn’t helping the baby hold onto the bottle to rub up at the artery in Will’s neck. Hannibal breathed in and out alongside Will for a moment as he counted each thump of his heart. 

When Will finished the bottle he slumped against Hannibal's chest. Which would have helped calm that urge Hannibal felt in his chest if not for the goddamned layers between them. The caregiver decided that there needed to be many less layers between them. 

“Here you sit right here for a moment. Let’s get this off of you…” Hannibal said as he slid Will off of him and to the side and slipped his flannel off once he unbuttoned it a few leaving him bare chested. Hannibal then unbuttoned his vest and undid his tie, leaving him in a plain dress shirt. Hannibal also shifted his hips up to slip his belt off. He folded up the clothes and up them on the coffee table. 

Will whined and chewed on the stuffed animal again. Hannibal smiled and hauled the baby back into his lap. Feeling his skin and seeing his chest rise and fall made Hannibal feel more satisfied with each intake. Hannibal grabbed the blanket, socks, and pacifier over to them. He pulled the fabric away from Will’s lips. 

“Here we go baby… Suck on this and I’ll put on your cozy socks. Then you can take a nice nap. I see how sleepy you are. You poor little thing, poor baby.” Hannibal mumbled as he pulled Will’s feet up and slipped the socks on and unrolled the soft blanket. 

Hannibal laid back and Will nuzzled a bit into his chest, relishing in the warmth that seeped into his bare skin. Soon Hannibal felt Will’s breathing slow and even. Soon enough Hannibal decided Will would be coming to his home more frequently. How could he not have noticed this perfect baby hiding away for so long...

Next Chapter ->

[penguinwhowanttobeanartist]

Let's talk about respect for each other, dear fans of "Treasure Island" by David Cherkassky

(although I recommend that other fans of the film/cartoon adaptations of Robert Louis Stevenson's novel join in).

Before I start talking about the problem in the Russian fandom of Treasure Island 1988, I want to say: I am Russian too and I am writing this not because I am an offended foreigner, but because I am ashamed of you all (this is a message to the fanatics works of Cherkassky).

The fact is that I noticed one interesting detail that helps to distinguish the Russian Internet from the English one. On the English-speaking internet, I feel comfortable saying that I like Takarajima because I know that most people will react either positively or neutrally. But on the Russian-language Internet, I need to conduct a fairly long search to find a person who will not judge me for loving anime. On the Russian Internet, treating someone neutrally or respectfully is considered a new fashion...

I don’t feel like I’m part of the Russian-speaking fans of the 1988 film adaptation, since I also love other film adaptations of Robert Louis Stevenson’s novel. And this is... strange, because in theory we should share our love for various cartoons and films, and not beat those who love other works or are afraid of being beaten.

I have often come across the opinion that David Cherkassky is a genius and that only his version of Treasure Island is correct. I've often read that fans of 1988's Treasure Island think other adaptations from other countries are weird. I have often come across the opinion that there is only one correct and good film adaptation of Stevenson’s novel.

And I'm sick of it all.

Man who is over thirty years old and who calls children idiots for unfunny memes about your favorite cartoon, I am addressing you and others like you. I appeal to all those who cannot see what even blind Pew would see.

THERE IS NO CORRECT OR IDEAL FILM OR CARTOON ADAPTATION OF "TREASURE ISLAND"!

In the entire history of cinema, there has never been a perfect adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson's novel that everyone liked.

And now I will prove it:

The 1965 adaptation may seem strange in terms of plot, instead of people it's all animals, and the ending is different from the ending of the original story;

The 1971 adaptation left virtually nothing of the original story;

The 1978 adaptation often deviates from the canonical development of events in order to stretch the runtime over twenty-odd episodes;

Treasure Planet 1982 is a drug trip for everyone who worked on this cartoon (the budget for this cartoon is three packs of cocaine and marijuana, I'm sure of it);

The 1988 adaptation is a comedy based on the novel, which did not include enough characters (for example, Jim's parents remained somewhere off-screen) and events;

Legends of Treasure Island (1993) is a mystery series where events from Stevenson's novel appear less and less as the series progresses;

The 2002 DVD adaptation is not particularly pleasing with its cheap animation and character reactions (some people find the film adaptation rather boring and faded);

Treasure Planet 2002 may not appeal to some due to the space setting and decisions related to the characters (for example, not everyone will appreciate the fact that Smollett became an alien catwoman and that Livesey and Trelawney were combined into one character) and plot.

However, all these cartoon adaptations also have advantages:

The 1965 adaptation has an interesting twist on how predators have to hide their real selves. I'm talking about claws and how they have to fight the urge to walk on two legs. This also explains why the bones in the chest are treasure to them;

What may be interesting about the 1971 adaptation is that it deviates greatly from the original book;

The 1978 adaptation boasts beautiful stills that you wouldn't be ashamed to frame on your wall, and a soundtrack that might make some people cry ("Oh yes, yes! Play that violin even harder! I want to hear all your skill in this composition!! Ah~");

1982's Treasure Planet appeals to some people precisely because it's quite weird. “So bad it’s good” is how you can describe it. Character design and weird animation can also come in (I like Jim);

People like the 1988 adaptation due to the ease of storytelling, fun and vivid images of characters that you will not be able to forget. I also like it because it teaches the right things, for example, they say that smoking and drinking are harmful to human health (thanks to these songs, I don’t consider smoking and drinking alcohol something cool);

Legends of Treasure Island 1993 can help people relive their innocent childhood and forget about reality for a while. There are violent moments and interesting plot developments that are fun to follow;

The 2002 adaptation follows the book almost exactly. Jim is still a good boy and he, like the others, is not annoying (considering the quality of the picture, this could have happened, but did not);

Treasure Planet 2002 is interesting to watch, at least because it combined the 18th century and the theme of space. Because of this idea, we have a unique product about space, which is unique among all others. As a person who doesn’t like the theme of space because of monotony (the theme of modernity in any work is not interesting to me, just like the future), I admit that wooden ships in space captivated me.

And this is without even mentioning the other cartoons and films based on the book (and there are a lot of them)! But I think that it has already become clear to you that everywhere and in all film adaptations, in addition to the bad, there is also good. I know I haven't talked about Treasure Island from the Muppets or McDonald's, but the fact is that I haven't watched them yet. I'll definitely watch everything!

However, my goal was not to talk about all the film adaptations of my favorite book - my goal was to show that you can find at least one more film adaptation of Treasure Island that you like.

However, my goal was not to talk about all the film adaptations of my favorite book - my goal was to show that you can find at least one more film adaptation of Treasure Island that you like.

And before I finish writing this post, I want to offer you three simple rules that, if followed, can reconcile fans of different “Treasure Islands” (I hope they'll work).

And these three rules sound like this:

1) Read the original novel by Robert Louis Stevenson (not a summary, not a short version of the book, but the whole story);

2) Watch other cartoons and films based on the book and find those film adaptations that you like to talk about;

3) Treat other fans of the book and/or any other film adaptation with respect if they behave appropriately.

That's all, dear readers. Thank you for reading my post. You can safely express your opinion in the comments, I just ask you to write calmly and adequately. What's your favorite Treasure Island adaptation? What other cartoon or anime do I not know about?

[sjsmith56]

How I Really Feel About You

Summary: Bucky’s writer girlfriend moves into the Tower with him. He questions her about her love for Jane Austen’s novels, specifically Pride and Prejudice. For the next movie night he insists they watch Bridget Jones’s Diary and Pride and Prejudice. His reaction and the reaction of the other Avengers surprises her. First person POV.

Length: 3.25K

Characters: Bucky, unnamed OFC, Sam Wilson, Yelena Belova, Kate Bishop

Warnings: Imagine Bucky walking across the field as Mr. Darcy (sigh), implied smut.

Author’s notes: I love Pride and Prejudice and while watching the movie again envisioned Bucky Barnes as Mr. Darcy. This is the result.

The movers were scheduled to arrive the following day and I still had so much to pack for my move to the Avengers Tower. After a year of dating when Bucky Barnes, current Avenger and my boyfriend, finally asked me to move in with him into a larger apartment, I said yes. He was everything I ever wanted in a man; just old-fashioned enough to treat me with courtesy and respect, but modern enough not to be threatened by my career that took me away every so often on research trips as I flew around the world, becoming familiar with places I would write about in my novels. Sometimes, he even came with me for a time, or met me there after finishing his own mission. There wasn’t much writing done during those times but his presence certainly added to the romance of those locations, which always made its way into my books.

Being drop dead gorgeous didn’t hurt either, as I still couldn’t believe this man with the body of a god and the face of an angel, had eyes only for me. I could spend a lot of time listing off my own perceived deficits, but Bucky didn’t want to hear them from anyone’s lips. In his eyes, I was perfect, beautiful even when I was on a tear while writing, had bloodshot eyes and stringy hair, while wearing my sweatpants that were a little too tight, so my muffin top was visible. Maybe it was part of his being a 1940s man, but he seemed to like a little padding on a woman’s body, and he certainly liked mine.

Right now, he was helping me finish packing for the move, something I had procrastinated about for several weeks as I finished a final draft of my latest novel before sending it to my editor for fine-tuning. He offered to pack my bookcases, filled with my eclectic and diverse collection of books, memorabilia, and knickknacks, doing a good job until he came to the last one.

“How many different versions and souvenirs of Pride and Prejudice do you need?” Bucky asked.

He was standing in front of what I called “The Shrine,” my collection of all things related to Jane Austen’s masterpiece. It included several different collector book editions; a hardcover one, in dark brown leather with gold gilded letters, a cloth bound edition in red with silver lettering, a special illustrated hardcover edition with protective sleeve and my paperback edition that I actually used to read whenever I felt the need to resume my acquaintance with my favourite title. There were DVDs of all the movie and television versions, including the special collector’s edition of the BBC/PBS series starring Colin Firth, and Jennifer Ehle. Then there were the literary texts about Pride and Prejudice, followed by the knickknacks, souvenirs, and the photo album with the photographs of the various actors that I always took with me to comic cons, premieres and any other occasion where I might run into one of said stars, in the hopes of getting their autographs. It was my obsession and until Bucky started packing the individual items into boxes, I don’t think he realized how much I loved the book, the series, and the movies that I couldn’t watch enough times.

“Says the man with a bookcase full of Hobbit and Lord of the Rings books and the DVDs,” I replied from the linen closet. “But I’m fine with that because I know you love them and they’re good books, good movies, and your Gandalf action figure is pretty cool.”

He appeared in the hallway, leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed. His face was so serious and for a moment I wondered if he was offended that I brought up his own obsession. From the floor I looked up at him.

“What?” I asked.

“How come you’ve never asked me to watch any of the movies?” he asked. “I know you’ve seen all of the Tolkien movies. Yet, you’ve always saved your Pride and Prejudice movies for girls’ night. Is there something I should know? Are they like Bridgerton and you watch them for the sex scenes?”

“No, there are no sex scenes in Pride and Prejudice although I’m sure there is a porn version somewhere if I Google it.” I shuddered. “I would hate to think what they would do with it. Have you never read it?”

His eyes rolled. “Of course, I’ve read it, well some of it,” he clarified. “What’s the big deal?”

“What do you know about Jane Austen and the times in which she wrote?” I countered.

“Not much,” he admitted. “Enlighten me.”

I stood up as this required my full attention. “She was born in 1775, one of eight children of a clergyman,” I replied, knowing the famous author’s background well. “Well educated, she was also born into a social structure that saw a woman of her status as suitable only to be the wife of a gentleman, and mother of his children. Most marriages of the time were arranged, although her parents were a love match, and a woman was considered the property of her husband. The only women who worked for a living were in the working class. If a higher-class woman had to work because of circumstances it was seen as a drop in her social status, as governess was likely one of the few suitable jobs for her. Jane Austen began writing as a child but by the time she wrote her first published novel in 1811 it is known she had been engaged once but changed her mind and never seemed to be involved with anyone after. It doesn’t mean she wasn’t; it just was never made public. Yet her stories of life for a woman in her social sphere gave a real insight into the pressure women had to marry well, and not necessarily marry for love. Most of her heroines did just the opposite, marrying for love.”

“She didn’t write about sex at all?” asked Bucky, puzzled.

“She didn’t have to,” I explained. “It’s referred to in very genteel terms. A character in Pride and Prejudice runs off with a man who has no intention of marrying her, and although it’s not said that they did the deed, they refer to her ruination, and how that will affect the marriage chances of her sisters. In another novel, there is a reference to a teenage girl who runs off with a man, is discarded by him, and finds herself pregnant after. Because he’s a gentleman, and of a higher status than her, his standing is considered more important than hers. She’s the guilty party even though he sweet talked her into bedding with him.”

“I would have kicked his ass,” said Bucky, his face set in stone. “Talking a young woman into sex then leaving her behind with his child. Too many guys like that even in my time.”

Running my arms around his muscular middle I squeezed him hard until his face softened and he kissed me. He was my knight in shining armour with his still strong belief in how men should treat women.

“There were plenty that would but rich, handsome men of a certain status in those days often took advantage of sweet young girls that they saw as objects to satisfy their desires,” I replied. “It’s a universal truth even now, and Jane Austen was well aware of it. That’s why there have been so many versions of it in both books and movies.”

“How many books did she write?”

“Six major novels, all of them adapted into movies or TV series. There are many shorter novels, I don’t quite remember the number and one of them called Lady Susan was turned into a hilarious movie called Love and Friendship.” I placed my hand on his cheek. “Would you do me a favour and read Pride and Prejudice all the way through? Then, when I’m moved in with you, we’ll watch the most recent movie together. It’s a good adaptation, although it cuts out a lot, but it brings some aspects to the story that I like, and we can talk about the differences. Then someday, maybe on a rainy day, when I’m not writing, and you’re not on a mission we can binge watch the BBC series. It is the definitive version and delves so well into the characters. It’s what made me fall in love with Jane Austen’s writing, and certainly pointed me in the direction of writing as a career.”

That beautiful smile of Bucky’s broke out and he tilted his head at my admission. Ever since we met, and he found out I was a writer, he had often shared his admiration of those who lived by the creation of the written word. Of course, his favourite author was J.R.R. Tolkien, but he was also open to many others, and we often spent time on the couch reading together. One of us would be on their back with their feet or head on the lap of the other; it was interchangeable who was where. It was one of the many things I loved about James Buchanan Barnes, that he considered reading an important part of his life.

A week later, I was completely moved into the large apartment in the Avengers Tower. We had three bedrooms, one for us with our own ensuite, one for guests, as my family liked to visit New York at least once a year, and one to use as my writing office. We had a large living / dining area with a kitchen, although we took most of our meals in the communal kitchen with the other Avengers, some with spouses and significant others. Sam had just made a big pot of jambalaya, and everyone was crowded around with a bowl, eager to get some of the culinary treat.

“So, movie night tonight?” asked Kate Bishop as she walked away with her full bowl. “I’m feeling like we need some action movies.”

“Pride and Prejudice,” stated Bucky. “I want to watch it and then watch Bridget Jones’s Diary.”

Sam nearly spit out his drink and I threw a kitchen towel at him. He grinned at Bucky, ready to unleash his wit on him.

“You want to watch some chick flicks? The human cyborg, former Terminator, the Tin Man wants to watch a couple of romance movies?”

“Asks the man who hasn’t had a girlfriend in how long? Maybe you’ll learn something.”

Bucky didn’t even look at Sam when he said it. But you know when two guys are sizing each other up in the school yard and they begin with low level insults then one says something that the other can’t respond to? We were at that point. If Sam’s skin was lighter toned, I’m sure he would have been blushing. Everyone watched the two of them to see what would be said next. Bucky looked Sam in the eye, almost daring him to say something.

“Alright, White Panther, we’ll watch them,” said Sam. “I’m sure they will both be very informative on how to get a girlfriend. The bigger deal is how to keep one.”

Bucky put his arm around me and with a shit-eating grin looked at Sam. “I seem to be managing quite well in that department as well. Don’t I, Darling?”

I grinned at Sam then gave Bucky a long kiss. “You’re a wonderful boyfriend. Why don’t we watch the Bridget Jones movie first then watch the source material second.” I looked at all the others. “Everyone has to watch both movies. If I have to watch all of the Fast and Furious movies, you can watch two versions of Pride and Prejudice.”

I have to admit that I wasn’t expecting everyone to laugh so much at the Bridget Jones version. They especially seemed to enjoy the fight scene between Mark Darcy and Daniel Cleaver, hilariously critiquing the fighting styles. By the time the movie ended even Sam admitted he had been mildly entertained.

“Take it,” whispered Bucky. “It’s likely all he’ll admit to.”

“What about you?” I asked, quietly. “What did you think?”

“I gained some insights into modern dating that I could have used before I met you,” he said, as he gazed into my eyes. “Maybe I wouldn’t have floundered so much. The double standards certainly haven’t changed from the 1940s.”

We kissed as Kate brought up Pride and Prejudice in the TV menu, noting there was a movie version and a series version. As she looked at the series information, she recognized Colin Firth from the Bridget Jones movie.

“Wait, he played Mr. Darcy in two different versions of the story?” she asked. “Maybe we should watch the series.”

“That’s a whole rainy day of watching that you would have to commit to,” I stated. “It’s more faithful to the original book and it’s best viewed with others who want to watch it with you. The movie is a good adaptation and there is a scene near the end that should take your breath away. If it doesn’t then perhaps Jane Austen isn’t for you.”

“Who’s Jane Austen?” she asked.

“The woman who wrote the original book in 1813,” interjected Bucky. “You should read it.”

I wanted to kiss him again for that. With a shrug she queued up the start of the movie and everyone went to the bathroom, refilled their drinks, and restocked their popcorn and candy. Then Kate started the movie and I let myself become immersed in it.

“He’s hot,” I could hear someone whisper, when Matthew MacFadyen first appeared as Mr. Darcy.

“Isn’t she on Yellowstone?” Someone else asked that when Kelly Reilly appeared as Caroline Bingley.

“Shhh,” was the answer and I inwardly grinned.

When Mr. Collins arrived, there were groans at how awkward and clueless he was.

“Reminds me of some guys I grew up with,” deadpanned Kate, then she yelped when Yelena elbowed her to keep quiet as she leaned forward, taking in everything.

There were some comments at the incredible music score, which I had the CD for, as well as a digital version on my playlist. Finally, we got to the scene between Elizabeth and Lady Catherine. There were whispers of “Bitch” at Judy Dench’s portrayal of Mr. Darcy’s aunt. When Elizabeth sent the old woman on her way I settled back, knowing that my absolute favourite part of the movie was coming. Sure enough, there was Lizzie walking in the early morning mist in her nightgown and housecoat. Intellectually I knew it was highly unlikely the daughter of a gentleman would do that but visually and romantically I could feel the emotions in the scene when she turned to see Mr. Darcy walking towards her in the same mist, his overcoat flaring out as he walked, his chest partially visible through the open top of his shirt. His manly stride was just … perfect.

“Damn,” Sam’s voice was loud enough that I almost giggled.

Several audible exhaled breaths showed the scene had hit the mark and I looked up to see Bucky watching the TV screen intently. There wasn’t even a kiss between the characters while they were silhouetted in the morning sunrise, just them touching their foreheads together. It was magic. When the final scene ended, and the credits began to roll I started to turn around then felt Bucky’s face next to my ear.

“That was good,” he whispered. “We’re going to our room right now.”

Before I could respond he pulled me up and practically dragged me down the long hallway to our apartment where he pressed into me against the wall, kissing me feverishly. It wasn’t until we were both laying on the messy bed after, our legs splayed across each other, that he finally said something about the movie.

“I never knew how romantic it was,” he said, then he shook his head. “It’s not even that. They were so constrained by the morals of the time and the expectations to marry at or above your station, but all of their desires just raged under the surface.” He sighed. “That part at the end when Mr. Darcy comes out of the mist. Did you hear all the gasps? Even Sam was affected. I know that it was in the script but it just ….”

His voice trailed off and I lifted my head, propping it up on my hand as I gazed at him, while running my fingers over his chest.

“Do you remember when we met?” I asked. “I was driving all night to get to New York, and I had the flat tire. There I was, out on the highway, in the dark, the fog coming in and not a vehicle in sight. There was no cell service, and I couldn’t even get the first lug nut off the flat tire.” He raised himself to look at me, propping his head up on his hand and gently caressing my arm with his other hand. “Then out from the dark there you were, dressed all in black in your combat gear, your rifle slung over your shoulder. I should have been afraid, but you just strode right to me and looked at the flat tire.”

“It’s not safe for you here,” he stated. “That’s what I said, isn’t it? I remember. Somehow you had suffered a flat tire right in the middle of our stakeout and I just wanted to get you to safety.”

“Every time I see that scene of Mr. Darcy walking through the mist I’m taken back to that night when you helped a lady in distress. You walked me back to the quinjet and told me to stay there until you were all done with your stakeout. When you had your suspects, you changed the tire and strode through the mist just before dawn to get me. It’s how I really feel about you, Bucky. You’re my Mr. Darcy, in the flesh, except we liked each other from the start. We didn’t have to get through our prejudices to find out that we belonged together.”

“That makes you my Lizzie Bennett, doesn’t it?” He smiled. “My beautiful, smart, incredible girlfriend.”

We slept in each other’s arms, secure in the certainty that we were meant for each other. In the morning, after a quick shower, we headed out to the kitchen and found everyone else already up. As Bucky poured us each a coffee, Yelena came up to us and gestured out the window.

“It’s a rainy day,” she said bluntly. “Perhaps we can watch the miniseries of Pride and Prejudice. You did say it is more faithful to the original book.”

I looked at all the others, who had obviously delegated Yelena to the task of getting our participation. Even Sam was there, looking a little sheepish. But she was right. It was a rainy day and the episodes, if we ran them without interruption would take over 5 ½ hours to watch. There were perhaps better ways to spend the day but to me, there weren’t many. Bucky heated up several breakfast sandwiches for himself while I grabbed a muffin, some yogurt, a banana and a coffee. We settled into a spot on the sofa, as did everyone else. Then Yelena started the playback, the lights dimmed, and we all lost ourselves into the life of a Regency family with five unmarried daughters once again.

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[nancydrewwouldnever]

Advocate January 2009 Interview

Chris Evans: Not Another Gay Interview

Chris Evans is a serious actor, but that doesn’t mean he wants you to stop objectifying him.

By Brandon Voss

January 05 2009 12:00 AM EST

After working a whipped-cream bikini in the 2001 spoof Not Another Teen Movie, Chris Evans fried phone lines in Cellular and melted hearts as The Human Torch in the Fantastic Four films. Next seen as a telekinetic troublemaker in February’s sci-fi thriller Push, the 27-year-old revisits his steamiest photo shoot and outs his even hotter gay brother.

This may come as quite a shock, but gay men enjoy you. I was well aware of that. I remember my mother saying, “Chris, do you know you’re #2 on some gay list [AfterElton.com’s Hot 100]. Brad Pitt is #12!” I was like, “What?!” I couldn’t believe it.

That was 2007. I hate to break bad news, but you dropped to #8 in ’08. Aww, that’s outrageous! Who took my spot?

I forget, but Jake Gyllenhaal was #1 for both years. What? Jake? Unacceptable. [Laughs]

It couldn’t hurt to play a gay role next. I really wanted to be a part of Milk, but I lost out to James Franco. I guess if you’ve got to lose, he’s the guy to lose to. I did a movie called Fierce People where I played a sociopath who wasn’t gay, but he does rape a teenage boy. You come to find out he didn’t do it for sexual reasons; he just did it because he could. He really was a sick character.

I’ve actually got an idea for a gay musical sequel to Cellular called Blackberry Storm. You in? Absolutely. Sounds like a nailbiter.

I hear there might also be a queer subtext in Push. Yes, those with powers try to keep it under wraps. They’re being hunted by the government, so everyone’s trying to lay low. Now I understand the gay man’s struggle. [Laughs]

What’s the status of your Tennessee Williams film, The Loss of a Teardrop Diamond, about a 1920’s Memphis debutante? We took it to the Toronto Film Festival looking for distribution, and it does not look like that’s going to happen. I don’t know if there’s really a market for a Tennessee Williams film. It would’ve been a tough film to distribute and make money back, so it’s probably going to remain in limbo and possibly come out one day on DVD.

Do you blame Lindsay Lohan, who was originally set to star before Bryce Dallas Howard took over? [Laughs] No, not at all. To be honest, Bryce was phenomenal in the movie. It’s a shame that people won’t get to see her performance.

Let’s discuss your sexy, now-infamous 2004 Flaunt magazine photo shoot �� and why you seem more hesitant to flaunt your physique. I really didn’t think twice about taking my shirt off at the time, but my current publicist would pull her hair out if I did that photo shoot today. If I got to a photo shoot and they said, “OK, we’re going to do some shirtless shots,” I’d say, “Fine. No big deal.” It never really occurred to me that that could be misinterpreted as a bad thing or as selling out.

Do you think those photos hurt you? I couldn’t care less, and I don’t think it makes one lick of difference. But I hired my publicist for her professional opinion, and she seems to think it’s a mistake. I have no problem taking my shirt off for a role if the part calls for it, but my publicist says, “When you’re promoting yourself, being you, there’s a way to keep it as classy as possible. Greasing yourself up and stripping down may not be the best way to do it.” To some degree, she may have a point. But at the end of the day, it didn’t bother me then and it doesn’t bother me now. Maybe I dropped to #8 because I haven’t had enough shirtless photo shoots lately. I’m blaming my publicist. [Laughs]

When you need an ego boost, do you ever watch the Chris Evans tribute videos on YouTube? No, I just call my mother. When you’re feeling depressed, you talk to her for 20 minutes and you think your shit doesn’t stink. And you can quote me on that.

I read on PerezHilton.com that your younger brother Scott is gay. Yes, I do have a gay brother. I’m down with the gays. Mostly I’m hanging out with him and his gay buddies, who are fucking hilarious. They’re the funniest people I know.

Do they take you to gay bars? They’ve invited me out to gay bars before, and I said, “Look, guys, I’ve got to draw the line there.” That’s where a photo will get taken, it will run in magazines, and before you know it, I’ll be living down the gay rumor for the rest of my life.

Does your brother look anything like you? He does, but he’s about an inch taller and about four shades tanner than I am. He’s a very fit young man. Believe me, he does quite well for himself.

How did he come out to you? He was really nervous. He came out to all of us very slowly. His first year at NYU, he came out to our mother and our sister, and then he came out to me a little later. I was driving him back to New York City for school. We spent the whole day together, got to the city, had some beers in my hotel room, got into a really great talk, and he came out. I was so glad that he did. That’s got to be a difficult transition, but I come from the most liberal household you have ever heard of. And for some reason, gay men are just drawn to my mother. She’s a cool chick. I think, like, six men have come out to her. I guess they just feel so comfortable with her, and before you know it, they’re coming out of the closet. I think my mother was praying for us to be gay, so at least she got one of us.

Growing up, when was the first time you realized that you weren’t gay? When I had a crush on my babysitter, who lived with us for a few years. I must’ve been 10 or 11. I was just head-over-heels in love with her. I thought she was the greatest thing in the world. Then I had a really big crush on Kim Cattrall in Mannequin. I was in love with her too.

In May 2008, you were photographed wearing a T-shirt with an image of two girls making out. Was that your way of showing support for gay marriage? My buddy owns a clothing line in L.A, and that’s one of the T-shirts that he makes. To be completely honest, I threw it on without really taking a close enough look at it. On that day I ended up getting photographed at a clothing store — which rarely happens to me — and then on the way home, I get in a car accident. So I’m dealing with police, the ambulance, taking down names and numbers, all while wearing a shirt with two women tonguing each other. It was a rough day. As for gay marriage, it’s mindboggling and appalling that human beings are being denied civil rights in this country. But time will heal all. I have to believe that in 10 years we won’t be having this conversation. We’ll be having another one, because we’ll always find someone to persecute.

2008 was arguably the Year of the Man-crush. Who was yours? My buddies always tell me that I have a man-crush on Brad Pitt. What can I say? The guy’s great. I think he’s a great fuckin’ actor, and he’s versatile as all hell. I’ve never seen a movie I didn’t like him in. So I guess he’s my man-crush.

When I interviewed Milo Ventimiglia for The Advocate, he told me about performing “I Will Survive” in drag for the short-lived 2000 TV series Opposite Sex. He failed to mention that you were one of his two backup dancers. [Laughs] I’ll tell you the worst part. Milo and Kyle [Howard] look like the ugliest transvestites in the world; meanwhile, I think I pass! I look like an alright-looking woman! It was horrible walking from the makeup trailer to the set. I was ogled, getting catcalls, and being sized-up. It was very demeaning. I could definitely relate to what women must go through.

Have you done drag since? No. Unless you want to count the blue tights in Fantastic Four.

By the way, “flame on!” was typically reserved for flamboyant homosexuals before you stole it as your Fantastic Four catchphrase. Sorry, guys. Well, you knocked me down to #8. I had to steal something.

[richonnesbitch]

Those new bts pics 👀 They need to put a real old school dvd/blu ray box out FILLED with bonuses! I want audio commentary, I want deleted scenes, I want bloopers, I want documentaries, I want cast and crew interviews, I want it all ok!!!

I was actually gonna assume that it would be from a scene between his arrival at the CR and Michonne finding him cause I believe his beard is longer than that the entire time with Michonne? Like a flashback or something. But I also just noticed it’s his military outfit so… Still could be from the time he joins the CRM and Michonne finding him I guess.

If it’s post Michonne finding him, I’m happy they went another direction tho!! Those wounds!!! He has suffered enough 😩😩

Yes to this!!! I would give them all my money.

Also I believe the wound is from episode 6 because he's wearing a robe in one of the pics and there's also nothing beforehand that could have caused those wounds! So I'm genuinely so damn confused on what could have caused them?!?!?! Because if it's from the big bomb going off then why wouldn't Micbonne have a wound? Or maybe that picture just didn't get shared? But also it could have came from him exploding those walkers on top of him because THAT was close range. I guess they just decided to scrap it to give richonne their full happy ending? I really don't know! Lol

[aceofwhump]

Im on season 4 of a H50 rewatch, because I miss it. Did you notice how in the end of the first episode, where they were sitting in the chairs by the beach, that’s how it ended, as well? OMG, when I realized it, I can’t explain that feeling. And how Grace just loves her Uncle Steve is amazing. I’m trying to remember when the first time she called him that was. Or maybe I’ve read too many fanfics and have now put the two, as one?

Oh man I miss H50 so much it's crazy. I need to go buy the dvd sets so I can watch it any time I want to. I'm about due for my own rewatch.

Ahhh yes!! The parallel of the first and last episodes with the two of them sitting on the beach together KILLS ME! And we can add in the dream sequence Danny has in 8x10 of the two of the sitting on the beach as old men. Danno and Steve. Sitting on the beach together. My favorite thing.

I love Grace's relationship with her Uncle Steve!! He's like a second father to her and i love them. She definitley calls him Uncle Steve in the show and it took some digging and thinking but I'm fairly sure the first time we hear her call Steve "Uncle" is in 1x23 which funny enough is one of my favorite episodes because it's the episode when Danny is poisoned with sarin. Steve picks up Grace from school after Danny is in the hospital and she calls him Uncle Steve then. I think that's the first time we hear it but certainly not the last time! The Aloha Girls camping trip, her homecoming dance, the episode after she gets into her car accident. I know for sure she calls him Uncle Steve in those episodes.

God I miss H50

[lumosinlove]

Day Ten:

On the tenth day of Winterfic, Hazel gave to you, a bit of Oh My Heart (Zombie!au)

(cw: mention of death and injury, but nothing very gory, or graphic)

“Anything?”

Natalie shook her head, blond hair braided back in two. She flipped the switch on the radio she’d been working on for the last month. “If you’re asking me if I’ve done my job, then the answer is yes. But no, nothing.”

Logan, standing beside Remus, cursed. Remus rubbed at his eyes. He adjusted his bow over his shoulder and stared at the contraption. He felt like he was in outer-space, trying to reach home, and their orbit was somehow off.

Natalie shrugged. “If there’s a problem, it’s on their side. Sorry, Doc.”

Logan pressed his hands flat against the table, eyes hard. “How’re we suppose to find anyone if we can’t talk to each other?”

Natalie narrowed her eyes, hand resting on her ax that had a constant presence beside her. “Don’t shoot the messenger, Tremblay. We’re all looking for someone.”

“Are you looking hard enough?”

“Watch it there, honey,” Natalie said slowly. “Just because we’re scout partners, doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you.” 

Logan stared at her for a long moment before giving the table a small, frustrated shove and turning away.

“Logan,” Natalie sighed. “A radio won’t solve our problems. The dead are still dead.”

“He’s not dead.”

“I’m not saying he is. But stop putting all of your hopes into one thing.” She looked down. “It’ll just hurt you.”

Remus glanced at Logan. He knew his list well. His only remaining family member, his older sister, Noelle, and a boy called Finn. Newcomers were rare this far out of the city, but on the rare occasion they did get one, Logan was ruthless with his questioning. He had a photograph that he showed. It had been taken at a party. Logan looked younger, in college. Maybe that was where he and Finn had met. Remus had never asked. They were standing in a backyard somewhere, picket fence, open grill, string lights. Logan was standing, laughing at something off camera, and Finn was there, too, pressed up behind him, arm wrapped around his chest.

Remus, honestly, didn’t like seeing that photo. It looked too much like the old-normal. Like before. Times like those, of parties and buying packs of beer from the corner store, of finding someone to spend the rest of your life with—a life that would keep growing and turning out new adventures, new loves—were over. Remus would rather forget them than long for them.

God help one woman, May, who had given Logan a hesitant maybe when she’d first arrived and he’d shown her the picture. Logan had all but killed her with his questions. Where? When was this? It’s yes or no, have you seen him? Is he alive? Answer me now.

Logan seemed to think there was a good chance that Finn was in the city. Remus would have been jealous, he wished he had an idea where his family could be—if they were anywhere at all. But to be in the city seemed like a fate worse than death.

“What can I do, is there anything?” Remus asked. “What about Celeste, she’s got scrap medal and…I don’t know, what do you need?”

Natalie gave a sad shake of her head. “Like I said. It’s them, not us.”

“They have got to want to be contacted,” Remus said. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“Beats me. They might just not have the equipment.” She smiled and tapped her temple. “Or any brains to use it.”

It was true. Remus counted them lucky to have Natalie’s skill at hand. She’d even managed to rig up an old DVD player and a projector in the canteen some nights. The amount of smiles and laughter had been jarring.

Remus gave a short nod of thanks before pushing his way out of the tent. The winds were picking up and the entry flaps would have to be tied down. It looked like a storm.

Logan pushed after him, glancing up at the sky. “We should send another party to the city.”

“No.”

“But we haven’t been able to get into any buildings. And if the Walkers are coming out in the day now, maybe night’s the better option. We will have darkness.”

“The Walkers don’t see well at any time of day.” Remus returned the smiles he received as they walked down through the trades. He could smell fire and leather, hear people working. “It’s scent and sound, Logan. I know you have people you’re looking for, but you’ll have to be sensible about it.”

Logan scoffed. “There is nothing sensible about any of this.”

Remus sighed and turned into a stall. “Can’t argue with you there. Thomas?”

“Here,” came a voice from behind many shelves before a man pushed through the flap separating the counter from the back. He had dark brown skin and kind eyes, and he grinned widely. “What’s up, Doc?”

Remus leaned on the counter. “Does everyone here know I never actually graduated?”

Logan laughed. “Pretty sure an apocalypse counts as a diploma.”

“Let’s hope I can live up to the name.”

“Look at it this way,” Thomas said. “Your last name isn’t Walker, like mine.”

Remus winced. “You got me there. Sorry.”

“Re.” Thomas arched a brow. “You already do live up to the name. You always have.”

“You haven’t known me always.”

“I have in this always.” Thomas flashed another smile. “Now, what’s up, Doc?”

“Think its going to storm. We’ll need—”

“Buckets are already out,” Thomas said. “Shower tubs open. By Nat’s radar, we’ll have hot showers for, oh, two days.”

“That’s a record,” Logan sighed.

Thomas spread his hands. “Unless you wanna volunteer to hike to the river…”

A crackling of thunder seemed to accentuate his words from above and Thomas threw his head back and laughed when Logan flinched.

Just as suddenly, a familiar, dreaded four clicks sounded from all three of their radios. A signal from the patrol line. Logan’s head snapped up, his hand going behind his shoulders, to the hilt of the long blade slung across his back. Thomas, wordlessly, jumped the makeshift counter and followed Remus beside Logan back down the trade alley. The rain had started. Someone had seen a Walker near camp. The signal came again, then once more—it was a hard thing, sounding an alarm that needed to be as quiet as possible.

“Mon Dieu,” Remus heard Logan whisper under his breath. “Je vous en supplie…”

Remus recognized the prayer, though Logan had never shown signs of being religious. My God, I beg you…

Remus didn’t hear the end of it, but he could guess. Reunions, finding each other was all anyone sought…but not like this.

Remus wouldn’t beg for anyone. Not when it could end like this.

They joined the crowd running towards the perimeter, arrows knocking against his back, but soundless thanks to the felt that Celeste had wrapped them in for him. The alarm only told them there was a Walker, not how many—and not at what stage of the transition they were in. The tall grasses on the outskirts of the camp brushed up to Remus knees and, maybe, in some form or way, he prayed, too.

There were four stages. The first was numbness. It’s what allowed the infection to spread. Blood on the clothes but no pain? Most people assumed the blood was someone else’s and that they were fine. It was only when the pain crept in that they realized, but, even then, there was only about an hour until stage two set in—the headache. The bite went strange to the mind. Remus had heard it described as an intense burning, and he’d tried to rack his brain for what exactly the burning was, but all he could think of was some sort of brain fever setting in, or perhaps the infected bite then acted as some sort of venom, altering its victim. There were very small windows to find out more, and very rare opportunities. He’d seen more bites than he could count, but never, never would he ask anyone to go through the four stages for something like observation. The world was cruel and inhumane enough. Remus only knew about the stages from  word of mouth—as good as rumor and not helpful—or his own accidental stumbling upon victims far enough along. At that point, they merely begged for death—if they even could do anything that sensible at all.

Stage three was the delirium. It sent most people back to the old world, to their old lives. Rambles about dinner reservations or running to the store for milk. Talking to people who weren’t there. The mind, offering one last defense, one final strand of relief to the human conscience. Remus had never seen the delirium be painful, or terrifying. It was like a small, flash of peace for the victim, a happy memory, before everything was lost.

Stage four, they knew the most about of course. One’s self was undone. The Walker. The Dead. Corpsie. Chomper. Gnawer. Brainer. Zombie. More lore than science, stuffed with nicknames as a buffer against what it actually was. The last thing Remus remembered seeing on TV before the world fell apart were frantic questions that were still unanswered. Where did this come from? How did this happen? What is it?

“There!” someone called out, and Remus dropped down from a run to a walk with the rest of them. It was in the trees—the figure of perhaps a young girl. A body with a loose, ragged dress hanging off of it, long blond hair that looked oily in the wind. She was turned away from them, but Remus was glad. He didn’t want to see her face, her walk was enough. The uneven, strangely smooth gait of the Dead.

Remus touched his radio at his hips and clicked it twice, two long beats of silence, then once more. I’ve got it, the signal read.

Painless. Remus would make it painless. Clean. No one deserved to see any of this. He didn’t care how close he had to get. He walked in his soundless, endlessly practiced way, drawing in closer and closer to the Walker’s back, it’s slowly dragging feet. His own breathing was loud in his ears as he used a tree as partial cover, reaching the edge of the woods. He let the trunk support some of his weight—he always felt weak, just before a kill.

Remus raised the bow, and at the creak of the string, the Walker snapped around. Unnaturally. Too jerking, too quick, eyes too wide. They were hazel, yellows and greens, and young. They reminded Remus too much of—of his—

He let the arrow fly. It lodged in her chest, making her sway. There was a horrible moment of complete silence.

And she dropped.

God, did Remus wish that, if this virus refused to take life in its entirety, it would at least have taken the resemblance to humankind out of its victims. To an unaware onlooker, it looked as though he had done nothing more than kill an innocent human.

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

Oven repair still isn’t going well. I just can’t seem to get those two damn screws out. Excuse me I ramble/vent/moan/bore about things. (I am waiting a few minutes for some WD-40 to soak into rust, and the farmer sprayed the fields, AGAIN, an hour ago so I can’t go outside. I could do something useful, even with these grungy hands , or I could….)

I’ve had to stop working on the computer and the rest the tech issues. Which had already stopped my working in plumbing. Which had stoped me working on the roof. Which had stopped me working on the kitchen floor and wall at Mom’s house. Which had stopped me from working on the floors at my house. Which had stopped me working on….

Yeah.

So why the stove gets top priority?

Because, damn it, I like to have bread! I have toast every morning. Toast with cheese and fruit. That’s almost every breakfast. I count on having bread! **

And there is the mac and cheese I was going to fix to eat on for a week. And that sweet potato I was going to use last night. And the crust for the grape juice pie I was going to make in a couple weeks to use up juice (cluttering up the fridge) that I made from those fox grapes. And the bagels I’ve been craving**** I was going to make once I used up the bread. And roasting some of the peanuts from the field when they get harvested. And pumpkins and their seeds at Halloween. And turkey at the holidays. And cookies! And…

Okay, I also just like baking. I’m good at baking. Baking is so easy. And yummy.

I dunno. I can survive without an oven and a stove with a burner that goes full volcanic on low, but do I want to?

I have had my life’s pleasures whittled away from me. Like, at first it was just no trips or going out to eat. Fine. But then it was no going to the movies. No going to bookstores. Dropping all my comics and magazines. No buying books, or DVDs, or even little treats. No buying shrimp when the ground chicken is cheaper. No new clothes when I still have my parents’. No getting an internet provider good enough to watch videos all the time. No new sculpey or paints!!!

No family goes without saying.

And it isn’t just normal decay, with poverty (and the neglect that can lead to) speeding things up. Worse, thieves and vandals have repeatedly shown up lately to wreck my, already held together with duct tape, world.

Ok, yes, I have a few things left I get to enjoy. I’ve still got the pool (I almost refilled it after repairing the storm damage, but damn it’s cold) and the woods (when I get time, and the swamp is going dry again…gotta write about that sometime). And there are the animals, of course (but caring for them is soooo expensive). I appreciate my luck to have any of that.

But it all feel so precarious.

Any of them can be taken from me so fast. One tree can take out the pool, and sooner or later one will. Or maybe I will get so I physically can’t clean it any more first. The person that owns a quarter share of the farm and woods can still cause me to lose my woods. As it is, the people that own the next property seem to have it in for the swamp. The pets will all die eventually (old age I hope!) , and I should want no more strays show up. I’ve reached the “Oh no!!! Not another one!” stage every time a new one shows up.

As it is, I never go anywhere. I never do anything fun. I can’t buy things. I have no social life or any way to get one. Everything is broken or breaking around me.

My cooking may not be fancy, and I’m not a fan of the actual process of cooking, but having something yummy to look forward to eating at the end of the day has been something I counted on. During a day working on repairing, cleaning, or cutting brush, knowing I have leftover pizza in the fridge or that I can always make myself oven fries as a treat or that I’ll have brownies for dessert makes it easier to keep shoving through pain.

Ah well, it’s out of my hands. The problem will either be something I can afford to fix or it won’t. I’ll just have to adapt if it turns out to be “won’t”.

But first I have to get those damn screws out!

(Wanders off to go get a hack saw, chisel, hammer, drill, crowbar, and dynamite….’cause those suckers are coming out!!)

** I have no taste for store bought anymore. Mom went from occasionally making bread to making all our bread (when Pop developed stomach issues) thirty years ago. Then when Mom injured her arm*** in the shop, maybe fifteen years ago, I took over. After all those years of home made, when I’ve had folks give me store bought I realized I kinda hate it. So it isn’t just the cost of buying bread from a store (when every penny counts) but I don’t actually like it.

***Long story. Dislocated shoulder. Screw up by hospital folks. Mom with a completely paralyzed arm for six full months. Docs could do nothing but wait and see if it came back, and luckily it did.

**** If you think I hate store bought bread, the bagels are worse. I never liked bagels until I tasted properly made ones at a shop near my brother’s. It was a revelation. Too bad the shop is over 100miles away! There are NO bagels but grocery store plastic bag ones in my damn county. So it’s homemade or nothin’.

[beardedmrbean]

Hi, I’m a 23 year old zoomer working at Amazon and battling with ADHD, autism, depression, and diabetes.

Yeah yeah a mess, but one thing about a lot of zoomers…

That have main character syndrome, and well hollier than thou attitude

Yes I belive in working rights, but even in union run places. You are going to need to kiss a lot of asses.

Also the technology illiteracy, believe me I’m part of it. A lot of boomers and Gen x ( my father is the later) presumed that because my generation was born into the digital age we would know everything about tech.

But that like presuming a boomer now how to make nuclear weapons during the atomic age

Also a lot of people presume that most zoomers were in suburban and urban eras. Well my ass was born and raised in college town called Macomb Illinois for 7 years. I remember my family renting stuff from family videos. I remember vhs tapes, I remember putting those wires of the consoles I played with on those dvd/vhs combo systems.

Though I am atypical zoomers because my mom died I was 9, my tween years was a train wreck, fun fact I was diagnosed with autism and adhd AFTER I got into foster care at 11.

I’m in a financial and stable place now, well as you can get in the Chicago area.

But a lot of my generation….hmmm…damn I thought I wouldn’t say this.

But think a lot of zoomers the same ways you would see boomer hippies. I know a lot of working class boomers must had said “We are so fucked!” when they saw those upper middle class brats gain power

Sorry for my therapy session

That's the fun with lumping folks into generations, we're still all individuals with our own experiences so things are going to be wide generalizations.

Where doe all this stuff leave the Amish too, but that's more of a giggle and thought exercise.

Main character syndrome thing is a issue, that's every generation up till the next one catches up and the crossover happens just called teens/early 20's

be why every decade or so we get people popping up thinking they're the first ones to care about the environment and instead of coming up with solutions they just sling blame, that or the solutions are insane and wouldn't do any good, also that's not just the environment there's rotating wheel of agendas that goes round.

You start to see the pattern eventually.

I have great hope for Gen-Z though, just gonna take a bit for the lump group to hit it potential is all.

[petri808]

Just a quick ficlet for kyoru week 2023 cause I wanted to write something.

8/22 home movies @kyoruweekofficial

It’s more of a kyoru family story. Idk the idea is cute to me lol

“Hey mom, watcha doin’?” The six-year-old questions.

The woman stops wiping the shelf. “Oh, just tidying up.”

“What’s those?” The child points to a set of DVD jackets. “Movies?”

“Sort of, they’re home movies. You know, like when we record videos on our camera? These are of events we like to keep.”

“Can we watch one?”

“Sure. Why don’t you pick?” The child picks a random disc and hands it to their mom. “Oh, this is of my graduation,” the woman reminisces as she pops it into the Blue-Ray player.

They curl up on the couch as the video rolls with mom narrating for the little girl. The video was taken when she graduated from high school and her parents held a big party at the Sohma compound. Many were there, like uncle Mutsuki and his parents uncle Yuki and aunt Machi, uncle Hatsu and aunt Rin with daughters Sora and Riku, even uncle Shiki came considering he wasn’t fond of parties. Of course, aunty Akito and uncle Shigure had to attend as the heads of the clan, but it was nice to see them since they rarely left the compound anymore. She names off the relatives as they appear on camera, often pausing to answer questions because the little girl has never met many of the older generations that have passed on.

“Who’s that next to you and papa Hajime,” the child points at the elderly couple who are standing next to her grandfather.

“That’s grandpa’s parents. They’re your great-grandparents, grandma Tohru and grandpa Kyo.”

“Oh, they look so old, but so cute still holding hands.”

The woman chuckles, “well, they are in their 80s.” She sighs, “I wish you could’ve met them. You look a little like grandma Tohru when she was a young girl.” A bit of moisture clouds her vision as she reminisces. “Lets’ see, grandma passed away about 8 years after this, and your grandpa followed a year later. My parents believed with his heart gone, grandpa didn’t have the will to keep living.”

“That’s impossible,” the child looks up at her mom with concern, “how can a heart just disappear from,” she points to her chest.

“No, not like that.” The woman laughs. “They’re talking about your great-grandmother. Grandma Tohru was his heart. Great-grandpa loved her more than anything else in this world because she saved him from the Sohma monster.”

The child turns to look at her mom again, this time with an indignant glare. “Mom,” she crosses her arms. “A monster, seriously? Monster’s aren’t real so that makes no sense.”

Before responding, the woman pauses the video and pulls her daughter onto her lap. “Have I ever told you the story of the zodiac?” The child shakes her head no. “Do you want to hear it?”

“Yes!” The little girl bounces in excitement.

The mom moves her back to the couch, gets up and goes to another room. She comes back in a couple minutes holding an old wooden box and sits back down next to her daughter. She then opens the lid to show the child the little animal figurines inside, worn with age, but still discernible for what they represent. But there was one odd piece in the box.

“Mom, why’s there a wooden rice ball with a bunch of animals?”

“I’m glad you asked,” the mom talks as she pulls out the figurines of the rice ball and an orange cat, placing it in the little girls cupped hands. “These represent your grandma Tohru,” she points to the rice ball, “and grandpa Kyo,” she points to the cat. “The rest of the animals make up the zodiac.”

The child gives her a mom a confused look which gains a chuckle from her mother.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be explained in the story.” The woman takes the figurines from her daughter, puts them back in the box, and puts the box aside. “Now where should I begin?” She thinks for a moment. “A very long time ago, there was a god…”