#the entire part of them reading franks letter was amazing

[diana-daphne]

Mr. Knightley being a hater (he’s right)

#‘he is a disgrace to the name of man’ OK TELL US HOW YOU REALLY FEEL- #the entire part of them reading franks letter was amazing #he hates him so much its beautiful #‘I hope he does’ HE IS NOT HOLDING BACK ANYMORE #lol #mr. knightley #emma woodhouse #frank Churchill slander #Emma #jane austen #books

[batfamfucker]

Episode Three things I loved:

Bill and Frank. Obviously.

Old gays in general. Two gay men who get to grow old together and die together happily (As happy as you can be in the apocalypse).

Secret basement below the basement.

Bill's bunker. It's awesome.

Bill being Autistic for his entire screen time. Tell me that man isn't neurodivergent. I love him.

The fact Bill and Frank died together and it was lovely and they were happy instead of Bill finding Frank hanging like in the game. I'm glad they got to go together peacefully.

The gay coding with their words. 'A man who knows which wine to put with rabbit' 'I know I don't seem like the type' 'No, you do.' He read that motherfucker. 'Who's the girl' 'There is no girl' 'I know'

The piano scene. The fucking song throughout the ep. And the end as Joel and Ellie drive away. The open window. The message within the lyrics.

The cute little town.

Them bickering and being a married couple.

The meme-ability of Bill. 'The government ARE Nazis!' And 'You WHAT?' I need them as meme templates thanks.

Honestly that whole scene 'They ARE' 'They are NOW but they weren't THEN'

Bill's fucking Illuminati stuff. The hilarity of him staying alive because of his conspiracy theories.

Bill being a fucking badass tbh. The minute FEDRA leaves, just breaking into everywherr. Seeing him set up that town, having a full blown plan, setting up traps and building a goddamn generator, relaxing as he lets his traps take care of infected, just enjoying his steak and laughing. Knowing he does that a lot 'Gets me everytime'. Man's was made for this. He slayed tbh. That whole scene was so satisfying.

I was scared Frank was gonna use Bill, and he did at first, but then seeing him genuinely begin to love and care for him. Refusing to let Bill die when he got shot even though Bill told him Joel could care of him, wanting to marry Bill on his last day.

Honestly Frank just being sassy and dragging Bill lmao. 'We need friends babe. Sweetheart please you just sit in the basement all the time. You need a social life other than me, and for my own sanity, I need one too. So I've made a friend over the radio and you can't do anything about it. Now get me my paint'.

Tess being an AllyTM. Her and Frank being besties whilst their paranoid husbands scowl at each other.

Joel unable to say the word 'partner' for Bill and Frank lmao. You just adopted a lesbian. Honey, you've got a big storm coming.

I was hoping Ellie would get to meet Bill and he would tell her about Frank (Before going into the ep, based on the game) so she would have a nice little internal 'I'm not the only gay in the world thank god' moment. But I didn't mind since the whole episode was amazing.

The strawberry scene.

Bill apologising for getting older quicker but then it's Frank that needs the help later. My heart.

Frank and his paintings and beautiques.

Frank knowing Bill poured the pills into the wine bottle so he'd die too.

The marriage scene. Them exchanging rings. Having the same last meal and wine they had for their first meal together. Sitting next to each rather than across the table. A shot of the hole that Frank fell into, where they met. Sobbing. I love them.

They are the definition of 'In sickness and in health, till death do us part' and it hurt but it was some beautifully.

Knowing any Homophobic Gamer BoysTM were ripping their hair out at this episode.

It ripped my heart out but the fucking skeletons. The baby blanket and transition to seeing that baby and the mother. Knowing what happens. Hearing a mother comfort her kids and seeing a old lady and a whole community of families and knowing what happens to them.

All the fuck the government stuff. It feels like all the fucked up shit they did is so realistic and would happen.

The letter for Joel. 'Keep Tess safe'. And the symbolism of knowing there's at least one person (Ellie) worth saving. Worth living for. My heart.

Also, though. 'Hehehehe'

Ellie reading 'hehehehe'

The casualness of human bodies in the apocalypse. Periods actually referenced in an apocalypse show! Joel tossing Ellie some deodorant! Him being prepared to take care of a teenage daughger again! Ellie telling him he needs to shower (Also their banter). Ellie stocking her bag with toilet paper.

Joel making a small gravestone for Tess out of rocks from the river. That hurt.

Dad Joel coming out more and more each episode.

The forest scene. Joel giving his jacket to Ellie to sleep in so she wouldn't be cold. Him making sure she eats even if he doesn't.

Ellie roasting Joel. Joel roasting Ellie. 'Shit at shooting or life in general' Joel's continous 'offended but mostly confused I just got dragged by a 14 year old' face.

The arcade machine.

The repeat of the 'Anything bad?' 'Just you' joke.

Ellie being lowkey a psychopath again? The basement scene and her seeming to enjoy killing the infected dude.

Ellie being upset he stashes the massive gun. Because same.

The plane scene. Ellie's excitement all episode. Every question she asks. That's my Ellie.

Joel's dark humour. 'So did they'.

History Lesson With Joel.

Flour Zombies Confirmed. It's no longer Plants Vs Zombies, it's Plant Zombies.

The way he said the date of the outbreak, the subtle pain, and you can tell it's engraved because of that reason, as well as Sarah's death, and his birthday. I can't wait until Ellie finds out it was his birthday. And/Or about Sarah.

Contractor (?) Joel dragging Bill about his fences and using his KnowledgeTM to bait him into trading. Him being right.

Ellie's first time in a car. 'It's a spaceship'

'Women's shirts'. Joel really is thinking of her and it's nice to see he's used to taking care of a teenage girl and how he goes back into that role with ease. Him getting used to that again, even if begrudgingly at first.

Everytime Joel tells Ellie off. Dad Mode Joel Activated.

The fucking seat belt scene. Joel telling her to put her seatbelt on. The parallel of him saying that to Ellie like he did with Sarah. Him leaning over her and Ellie being completely comfortable with him doing so. Her not knowing what a seatbelt is.

Joel trying to get Ellie not to play music but then not letting her turn it off when he realises it's a song/artist he likes.

Joel warming up in the final shot when he likes the music. Ellie hating it. It's giving Dad Who Listens To Smooth Radio Whilst You Die Inside. I know because I've been there.

No school scene. Not introducing the bloater so soon. I'm glad we're building to that. Makes it seem much more impactful.

Basically the entire episode.

All I 'didn't like' (/Joking) was that they didn't hide literally everything in that house in the secret basement below the basement so raiders won't find anything when they come, so it'd still be there if they ever need to go back there. But that's just because I wouldn't be able to deal with it if that were me. I'd be making sure no one finds that shit. It's mine, and I'd go back for it when possible. Maybe. At some point. Hopefully. Or live there myself if I wasn't in Joel and Ellie's situation. I also wanna see Joel swinging upside-down from a chain at some point.

Joking aside, this episode is great. The show continues to not only meet my expectations, but exceed them. I can't take the fact that there's only nine episodes this season because I don't want it to end and I hope season two isn't about the second game, but for the show's later seasons to be about the years and adventures Joel and Ellie have together after the events of the first game, if season one meets the end of the first game. Because I love them and need more of this.

I'm so excited to see where this show goes. It has the perfect balance of sticking to the source material yet also doing new stuff that also surprises people who have played the game. I adore it.

#The Last Of Us #The Last Of Us Spoilers #TLOU #TLOU Spoilers #Joel Miller #Ellie Williams #Ellie Miller #Blil and Frank #Tess #Pedro Pascal #Bella Ramsey #Nick Offerman #Murray Bartlett #Anna Trov #I think this took an hour lmao #Worth it tho

[uncloseted]

can you please give me some book recommendations? i'm going stir crazy without a hobby and i want to get back into reading

For getting out of a reading slump, I really like books of short stories because you can read them in one sitting and quickly feel like you're making progress without having to put in that much effort. The short stories collections that I have on my current reading list are Lizard and Daisy's Life, both by Banana Yoshimoto.

For a non-fiction essay collection, Chuck Klosterman's books are always a fun read without being too stodgy. Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs is the one most people start with, and it's 18 different comedic essays about pop culture. One of the essays, What Happens When People Stop Being Polite, fundamentally changed the way I view the world and I think about it constantly. As some of you might know, I also love his book But What if We're Wrong. That one is a more epistemological endeavor that gets weird really fast, but if you're into that sort of thing it's amazing.

Another quick read is 84, Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff. It's told entirely in letters and it focuses on the the twenty-year correspondence between the author and Frank Doel, chief buyer of Marks & Co antiquarian booksellers in London.

The last books that got me out of a reading slump were the Scholomance trilogy by Naomi Novik, starting with A Deadly Education. These books are great if you devoured the Harry Potter books as a kid but want a more realistic, kind of grim take on it that includes romance.

Kind of along a similar line, The Atlas Six by Olivie Blake is a very fun book that focuses on 20-somethings who are part of a magical society. This one was a favorite on BookTok and I get why- it's not the best written book ever, but it's a lot of fun and the minute I finished it I wanted more.

The last book that I found to be a really fun, easy read was The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches by Sangu Mandanna which is a warm and uplifting novel about found families. The House in the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune is in a similar vein and another quick read.

If you like books that are no plot, just vibes, try The Night Circus and The Starless Sea, both by Erin Morgenstern. These are two of my favorite books ever, and I re-read them whenever I don't feel like reading something new.

If you want something that's mysterious enough that you want to stick with it, try Piranesi by Susanna Clarke. I won't say too much about it, just that I didn't want to put it down once I started it.

If you like hopepunk sci-fi, anything by Becky Chambers is great. I read all seven of her books back to back because I liked them so much. If you like Star Trek (or the general idea of people going to different planets and interacting with different species), start with The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet. If you want something more terrestrial, A Psalm for the Wild-Built is a really beautiful novella about two characters who try to answer the question "what do people need?" If I could live in the world of A Psalm for the Wild-Built, I would.

I'm sure there are some I'm forgetting, but those are the ones that come to mind for me. I would love to hear everyone else's suggestions, too.

#books #books and reading #bookstagram #bookblr #currently reading #reading #book recommendations

[heliossecretdeskdrawer]

Blurting It Out

This is in the same continuity as A Letter of Resignation (linked in a reblog), but can be read separately.

Continuity: IDW1 Rating: Explicit Relationship: Rodimus/Starscream Characters: Rodimus & Starscream AU: Arranged marriage Warnings: Mentioned off-screen death, sticky interfacing Other Notes: Aroallo characters Summary: In which Rodimus picks an awkward time to tell Starscream how important he is. Crossposting: in a reblog

Fic under cut

“Hey, Screamer, this is gonna sound real lame,” Rodimus nervously started with a deflecting chuckle, putting his legs apart and lying back against the bed. Already warmed up and raring to go, he couldn’t stop himself from saying something stupid. “But like, you… are… I dunno, man, you’re amazing.”

He couldn’t even blame engex on his frankness, not today. The decision to tell Starscream everything was one made entirely sober. It just seemed like the right time to say something, no forethought needed. As usual.

“I can’t stop looking at you when you’re around. When you’re not, I can't stop thinking about you. You’re—“ He hesitated. That was too lovey-dovey. Starscream hated anything mushy like he was fatally allergic to it; Rodimus knew that well enough by now, after living with him for several years, an arrangement set up by the post-war peace treaty. Better add some assholery before things went south in a way that wasn’t a euphemism for fragging. “Just get out of my brain, dude. You can’t just monopolize that. That’s my job.”

Nailed it.

Rodimus thrust his arms out to make a grabbing gesture at Starscream, who was still kneeling in front of him. He even slid back his the modesty panel over his valve invitingly, getting settled on the lap that he thoroughly anticipated would be ploughing him senseless any second now.

Any second now.

Any… second… now….

Yet, nothing happened.

“Um, hello? Exposed valve here. Fucking do something to it. You’re normally pretty stoked to get in there—” Rodimus even gestured to it with both hands, palms open like he was directing air traffic. It wasn’t like he had said anything weird exactly. They didn’t have time for orifices to just hang out in the open here, dripping lubricant onto the covers. Well, maybe they did but to his brain, there was no time to wait. He had needs and he had them now!

Rodimus had said his piece and it wasn’t like he really expected Starscream to do anything with that kind of admission.

Still no one moved. They were posed there, frozen in the preamble to an intimate moment, on the obnoxiously round bed Rodimus had purchased for their apartment like a lewd diorama. With a grumble, he grabbed the sheets and scooted down, throwing his legs over his conjunx’s lap.

Starscream simply kind of stared at him, dumbfounded despite the spread legs in front of him, inviting him to make himself at home in the soft mesh. Splayed hips were balanced between thighs hitched up over the seeker’s own, expectant, waiting, willing.

“What? Come on. It’s not like you haven’t been in there plenty of times before. Honestly, at this point, I’d be shocked if there’s a part of my valve you’re not familiar with by now.”

“Did you… just fucking tell me you love me?”

Fuck, Starscream looked… kind of offended. Apparently breezing right past it earlier had not be the right solution.

What was usually Starscream’s trademarked rude smirk—almost all for show—had shifted into what Rodimus might have called an affronted snarl.

Almost as affronted as the couple of times he’d tried to kiss the seeker on the mouth during or after overload. All Rodimus had wanted was a nice kiss occasionally. He wasn’t even asking for a passionate one or anything. They just felt good sometimes and that was more than enough on its own.

However, Starscream had… odd, but reasonable enough limits regarding intimate personal contact. Really the taboo was limited to kissing or anything that was deemed too “affectionate.” Everything else seemed fine despite perfunctory protests otherwise. Somehow mouth contact was more intimate that sticking various private parts of their anatomy together in ways that would not get past the censors like a comparatively innocent smooch would.

“What does that have to—” He was just horny and they were close friends—despite the technicalities of the peace treaty—who liked to bang occasionally and… and it wasn’t that damn complicated.

It also didn’t help matters that he really, really wanted to reach out for the critical face scrutinizing him… and pull him in, smooth his palms tenderly over that sour frown. Hands scrabbled for shoulders in an attempt to move the situation along.

“You picked a damn weird time to confess.”

“I didn’t confess though!”

Rodimus scrunched up his nose in defiance, aggravated at the lack of attention to certain areas. His cooling fans had already started spinning in futility ages ago.

His fingers dug into the shoulders and vents under them for a second before he let his arms flop down uselessly aside. He certainly didn’t think he’d confessed anything of the sort. That’d be weird… and stupid. He just said what’d been on his mind. No more, no less. Starscream just ended up on his mind a lot with all the time they spent together, either working or at social events or at home.

After all, their union was arranged, part of the cross-factional peace treaty. The arrangement had originally been for… someone else, but one of the intended had unexpectedly ceased to be. The aftermath of Optimus’s death and Megatron’s near-immediate abdication had been absolute hell to clean up, but… they had managed. And they had managed together.

None of this was supposed to have feelings attached. Rodimus didn’t think he had “feelings” exactly.

Somehow, for better or for worse, they’d managed to become friends with benefits. Not the best term for it, but Rodimus didn’t have a better one, especially since the door to being amica had been closed for them.

No one could really look into their activities with too much scrutiny.

Strictly interfacing with each other was quite proper and they were each other’s legally appropriate outlets for any urges. “I just… Like I don’t think I love you exactly, because like that’s way too strong….”

It didn’t feel like romance, not really, not like what everyone said romance felt like, but that was fine. It didn’t have to be like that. It could be something else, something just as strong that held them together. Maybe it didn’t have a name. Maybe it didn’t need one.

“But given the circumstances, Screamer, I can’t say it’s not serious.”

Starscream didn’t respond. Not verbally anyway. Though, Rodimus had never thought he’d see that pompous seeker look so thoroughly embarrassed, face flushed red under the eyes while still somehow managing to feign disgust. At least the genuine offense had vanished. Rodimus was used to the fake disdain. Sometimes he thought it was just part of the facade Starscream liked to have, pretending to care for nothing and no one despite the mutual pleasure they were poised to provide one another. The legs propping his rearend up shuddered, like there was a second thought surging through that prevented them from embarking on this otherwise familiar adventure.

“Excuse me.” Rodimus wriggled his legs and bounced in place. “I’d like one order of a good hard spiking pretty please.”

He’d rather not beg. That’d be even more embarrassing for the both of them, but worse for him specifically. Saying something impulsive and vulnerable—and stupid—and then begging for a little rough use? Not awesome. Rodimus had never been the sort to beg for anything, let alone carnal gratification.

It didn’t help matters that Starscream still hadn’t said anything—

The hips supporting him shifted down as his own went up, sliding smoothly along the ramp of thighs. A much anticipated spike dutifully lodged into the waiting opening with an unpleasant, awkwardly wet noise and a loud, grateful moan that clearly didn’t care about any of that.

“Thank you—Hey, can you—Yeah, that’s perf—” Rodimus sank back into the covers to get comfortable now that things were back into familiar, hedonistic territory.

Excellent. This was going great.

However, after a moment, he noticed something was amiss. Other than that initial, abrupt shift to wedge himself as deep as possible, Starscream did not move further, just practically hovering over Rodimus with his hands firmly grasping orange hips. Grumbling, Rodimus wiggled said hips, trying to encourage some motion. Pleasant but not enough.

“Hey, what happened to the fun?”

It was tempting to just reach down and rub to get something, anything, happening or flip them over and bounce on that spike like a desperate lunatic. Something about Starscream’s continued scowl prevented him from moving.

“What do you mean you love me?”

“I didn’t say that.” Not exactly anyway and frankly, he’d rather not think about how heavily he’d implied it. “Ngh, less gooey feelings, more gooey thrusting. Come on. Please, fuck—”

Before anything else could escape his loud, unfiltered mouth, their postures shifted, awkwardly at first, to be more parallel, horizontal to the covers. Then all at once, he was shut up with a slow, but firm kiss.

At long last.

What Rodimus supposed he had really wanted all along.

“You’re an absolutely awful brat, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know, but I’m—Wait.” Something wasn’t quite right. “Hey, Screamer, hold that thought.”

Rodimus sat up, pushing back on Starscream’s shoulders.

“Dammit, we left the door open again—I don’t want Skywarp to walk by and laugh again. That was mad awk last time.”

#fic #one shot #valveplug #maccadam #idw1 #rodimus #starscream #rodistar

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Diary found in K---D--- : Part 2

So, here's the next little part of this :D

Imagine by @lathalea is indented!

Enjoy <3

Taglist: @shrimpsthings, @mulasawala (so you see where I'm going with this lol)

(Yes, there will be MORE artwork coming, stay posted...)

Fandom: Hobbit

Characters: Ori x OC

Rating & Warning: Fluff and silliness

His name was Ori and he was a scribe in Erebor. It turned out he visited the forest often to sketch the animals and plants. You spent the rest of the day together. In the evening, you exchanged campfire stories, sharing a meal. At one point, he shyly asked about where you came from. Blushing, he admitted, almost whispering, he never saw a person with such beautiful hair before.

You told him that you came from another world, from a region called East Asia, where many people looked similarly to you. He was very curious about your homeland, your culture and your world. You spent hours telling him everything about it and he listened to you in awe.

“Ori.” He replied, his lips quirking a tiny bit as if he was not used to speaking his own name. “I’m a scribe. In Erebor. The Mountain.” He pointed to a tree beyond the clearing.

Thankfully, I was familiar with the Lonely Mountain and did not think that he didn’t know the difference between a living organism and a pile of minerals.

“I have never seen you, neither here nor in that Mountain.” I replied, for I went into the halls sometimes to translate for travellers, but for the most part, I let the king be his grumpy, glorious self.

“I come here often, to sketch, but I seem to have lost my way.” He admitted with a tiny frown. Ah, a real dwarf. They only knew up and down seemingly and if there was no way into a hill, they’d stubbornly trek up until they tumbled off the other side again.

As if to prove to me that he was not lying – dear reader, he had a face that was utterly devoid of malice or dissimulation – he showed me rather good sketches of the fauna and flora of the dense forest surrounding us. “That is really good, Ori, the scribe, from under the Mountain.” I commented which made him blush with a fierce and, apparently, unexpected pleasure.

In an expression of indescribable cuteness, he literally wiped his face with his sleeve as if he could clean away the rosy hue like a stubborn ink stain from under his skin.

“What are you here for?” He then asked, pushing out his chest heroically. As a reminder, he was the one who had lost his way, but apparently, he wanted to defend either the forest from me or the other way around.

“I am here to think…in silence.” I replied; he retreated a few steps. “Oh? I’ll leave you to it then, I guess. It was great to make your acquaintance…”

I gave him my name, after all, he had given me his, and he chewed on it for a few moments before his face split into a smile that was like the sunlight breaking through the cloudy afternoon sky: tentative, warm, and strikingly beautiful.

“Stay. I like your face.” I heard myself saying. Maybe, it was my teasing, mischievous streak acting up, but I had liked his embarrassment so much that I couldn’t help wanting to coax more of these blushes out of him.

“My…face?” In that weird dance he had been engaged in for the last few minutes, Ori stepped closer again, shuffling his feet in the heavy boots dwarrows insisted on wearing.

No, your ass, I thought, but bit my tongue; Ori the dwarf looked like someone who would die on the spot if I said anything even remotely inappropriate…as I was wont to do when nervous.

My sarcastic thought spurred my own interest though and I examined him a little closer: he was indeed swaddled like a babe, beads of sweat pearling down his temples on account of the steep climb and the stubborn blush powdering his nose and cheeks with pink blotches.

“Sit down, you’ll get a heat stroke.” I invited him and pointed to a patch of moss beside me while rummaging in my pack for the flask of ale I had brought.

“Thank you ever so much.” He plopped down in a cascade of earthen-coloured wool and awkward limbs. He did smell warm, I noticed, a blend of cinnamon and comfort.

Also, he had one of those faces that only became better when seen up-close, I admit freely; there were golden stars dancing in the depth of his dark eyes and he had the most adorable freckles as if some outlandish fairy had sprinkled gold dust over that heart-wrenchingly handsome face.

“Are you thirsty, Mistress?” He asked, nodding at the flask in my hand.

Handing it to him rather abruptly, I realised that I had spent the last moments intently staring at his face as if I had never seen a male dwarf before in my life.

“I have work to do.” I snapped, feeling immediately guilty for taking my own embarrassment out on him, but he merely nodded and pulled his sketching supplies into his lap.

Strangely enough, Ori did not disturb me. If anything, the silence felt fuller, richer, deeper with him by my side. As I translated a letter, as a spinster I had to support my family and my insufferable sisters as best as I could, I felt like the chirping of the birds and the vibrancy of the colours around me were even more enjoyable now that I shared them with someone else.

…

The sun crept along its never-changing arc slowly and yet, much too fast.

As I looked up, I wished I was a better painter myself, for this dwarrow was made for sunsets.

The way the last golden hurrah of a perfect day exploded in a halo of warmth around his figure, the way all the greys and the blues seemed to bleed out of the world to leave nothing but warm tones behind, and the way his smile was the perfect expression of this mellow, unhurried mood…it struck me deeper and more violently than a thunderstorm in all its booming rage would have.

“Will you join me for dinner, Ori?” I asked gently, “I shall escort you back down.”

“It would be my honour.” He nodded, tearing out a page of his notebook and handing it over.

“It was an invitation; I do not demand payment.” I said seriously, for the sketch of the doe was so good, it might have been worth actual money. “Oh…” His nose crinkled at little at that.

“I wanted you to…have something beautiful. I have seen you work very hard.”

Of course, he was a scribe as well, he would consider the scribbling work, I thought and gave him a thankful smile. “You’re beauty enough for one day.” I shrugged.

He gasped, bringing his notebook up to his face as if to shield himself from my words.

“You’re having me on, aren’t you? Dori has warned me that girls do that sometimes.” He sounded utterly dejected. “I am not having you on. Has nobody ever told you that you’re handsome?” It was my turn to be wide-eyed with shock.

“And who is Dori?” I followed-up when he didn’t really reply to my question even though I thought I had seen his braids move like strings of pearls in a draft. The minutest of shakes of the head, a quiet admission of inadequacy that sunk ugly, ragged claws into my soft heart.

“He’s my brother. I have two of them. Dori…and Nori. They’re…” – “Older than you.” I completed. “Protective.” He supplied.

He was still holding his drawing out to me, and, after a moment, I took it gingerly and put it between the pages of my own writing supplies. I would hang it in my room and look at it daily.

Nowadays, there were but very few gifts for me; all the money went to my two younger sisters who were still nubile and would, if Mahal willed it so, be able to make a good match.

Busying my hands with making a fire, I asked him to tell me about his brothers.

“Oh, Nori is…agile. He’s…funny and brave and resourceful.” Ori started, his voice warm with affection and admiration. He sounded like a proper rogue to me, and as it turned out, he was, but he also deserved every single ounce of the deep-felt care Ori held for him.

“Dori is…fussy. He’s polite, he’s very caring, and he’s exceedingly proper.” Ori went on as I waved a hand for him not to stop. I enjoyed hearing about the life of other families than my own.

“So, is he the one who raised you to be this…warmly clad and gentle?” I asked, turning to place the foodstuffs I had brought up and stored in the cool lake water on spits to roast over the fire.

“Warm? Oh yes…I was a sickly pebble and he’s been worried ever since. I hope I have behaved in a way that would not make him disappointed in me.” Again, he worried his lip.

“Let’s see, you’ve startled a bird and an unsuspecting dwarrowdam.” I listed with a wicked gleam in my eyes; his face fell, and he looked properly guilty.

“Then, you’ve kept me company, and the best company I’ve ever had, it has been, on my grandmother’s grave, I swear.” I went on and that treacherous blush was back with a vengeance.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He then said in a low voice. “Great beauty is always startling.”

“I am hardly Thorin Oakenshield.” He laughed. Readers, you cannot imagine that sound just by reading my words. If flowers blossoming had melody, if the sun setting on the eternal sea had a song, if autumn leaves dancing on a gale had a tune, they would have sounded like nails on scree, like cats having their tails trampled, and like kettles going unheeded compared to Ori’s laughter.

“There’s beauty in the doe as much as in the wolf.” I replied gently.

“May I…can I ask where you’re from? I don’t seek to be rude, but I’ve never seen anyone quite like you; your hair looks like those fabrics the Elves weave. It…seems so soft, so liquid, so smooth.” He blushed a darker shade yet.

This might well have been the first time that someone had asked me about my origins without making it sound like an accusation; there was honest fascination in his demeanour.

“My family and I have come from the Far East. I have travelled a lot, Ori, I have seen landscapes entirely made up of rock and sand, I have walked forests so stiflingly hot and moist it felt like being underwater, and now, I am here in the land of tall trees and taller mountains.”

I said, surprised by my own frankness.

“That sounds amazing.” He took the food I offered readily enough, and I told him about the people I’ve left behind to be stranded at the other end of the world.

“This is good, is that a recipe of your homeland?” He asked, looking down on the piece of meat I had seasoned with herbs I had grown myself in our small backyard.

“It actually is. I’m glad you like it. I had not planned to have company, otherwise I’d have brought something more palatable to the local tongue.” I apologised quickly.

“No, I like it. You should definitely trade some recipes with Dori…and Bombur…oh, and if any of your delicious herbs are medicinal, Óin.” He laughed again when he saw my dumbfounded expression.

“I make a good honeycake, if I can interest you in that? Maybe…” He fell back into silence.

…

A look at the sky told me that it was too late to go down in the inky darkness.

“We’ll have to stay here for the night.” I mumbled, slightly uncomfortable at the idea of spending the night with a dwarrow who had not lost a single word about a wife.

“Are you married, Mistress? Will that endanger your wedlock?” He asked shyly.

“No, I am not and I have no name to lose…It’s a long story.” I didn’t feel like blurting out my disgrace, lest it give him strange ideas after all, especially as he would easily have been able to overpower me if he so chose.

“Neither am I. I don’t know about my name…Doesn’t look like I’m going to be married either. There’s not enough dwarrowdams as it is, and I think the royal line has a prerogative there.” There was no resentment in his tone; he seemed to accept this as a fact.

How could someone that sweet not be married, I wondered. He was courteous, he was cute, and he would have made the fortune and happiness of someone.

“Well, in that case, I think we can risk our reputation rather than our necks.” I grinned, rolling out a blanket I kept tied to my pack for emergencies and stretched out next to the fire on the moss.

“Erm, yes…Good night…” He mumbled, fidgeting around with his different layers of clothing. Apparently, he was deciding which one he needed least on his body to use it as a bedroll or blanket.

I eyed the proceedings with interest and a good deal of amusement.

“I can offer you my cloak to lie upon…the ground will grow very cold and wet soon.” He said in a low voice, not sure if I had already fallen asleep or not.

“Alright, I can offer you a spot under the blanket then?” I extended my own graciousness.

“With you?” No, with the red bird, I thought, rolling my eyes internally.

“Yes, Ori the scribe, with me. I will not eat you, as you have witnessed, I have had dinner.” Not that he did not look good enough to devour, standing there with his cloak in his hands and his face all crunched up in embarrassment.

“Hmmm…I guess.” He muttered doubtfully, spreading out the cloak and sitting down on it carefully. Impatiently, I scooted over and spread my lousy blanket over the both of us with a flourish.

“Sleep!” I commanded as I turned around only to find him staring wide-eyed at the spot where the back of my head had been only a second ago. Now that he was presented with my face, only inches away from his, his eyes grew even rounder and bigger in wordless distress.

“Friend…Have you never lain with a woman? And I literally mean, lying next to one?” I laughed for there had been friends and cousins aplenty in my own life and the feeling of having another body so close to mine was not a new experience for me.

“Well, I fell down on the battlefield once, next to a foe…I’m pretty sure that was a Lady-Orc. She was dead. There was a…” He gestured, indicating a spear or a lance sticking out of his chest and brushing against my own with the back of his hand. Dear reader, he flinched back as if I was a tiny Durin’s bane wreathed in flames.

“A Lady-Orc, indeed…” I mused; no doubt, he could hear the smile I hid in my voice for his face crunched up in embarrassment.

“I am sorry.” He sighed, rolling his eyes, and thinking – there was not a shadow of a doubt about that much – of his brothers who would have mocked him mercilessly for his stammering.

“There’s no need to be sorry” I tried to reassure him, but I admit now that there were things that I did not tell him right away then. We had only just met, and he was blessedly unaware of my shameful past.

How could I have made him understand – without hurting his feelings – how much I enjoyed that air of purity about him that I had squandered myself on an undeserving fiend? As a daughter amongst others, I had been used to dwarrows coming to court or to seduce, their eyes ablaze with greed and their hands wandering.

He would not have comprehended how much the absence of that voracious hunger that had plagued my youth and had ended up destroying my promising future meant to me.

“Sleep.” I repeated, unable to put into words how miraculous and precious the things he seemed to be most ashamed of were to me.

“Good night, Mistress.” He breathed with a soft smile that was nowhere near the wolfish baring of fangs I was used to and so, it was easy to return it.

You who may or may not have stumbled upon this ludicrous account of the most important story in an otherwise unimportant life, you shall hear another confession I did not make at the time.

I was fiercely aware that – had I but leant forward a little – I might have pressed my lips upon his; I was young still at that time and, despite what had happened, parts of me, that should have withered and died in the aftermath of my botched engagement, were much alive.

He smelled like our dinner and warmth, and the gentle reticence of the curve of his smile was more inviting than any flashing grin I had ever seen before.

Yes, in that very moment, on this very first evening, I had already been conscious of the shrewd attraction this self-effacing dwarrow held for me…and it scared me half to death.

…

Part 3

#Fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ori the dwarf #Ori #OC #Fluff #Diary #1st person

[hanoella]

Affettuoso- With Feeling (Part 6)

Pairing: Bucky x Pianist!Reader

Set after the events of TFATWS: In an effort to start over and make a home in Louisiana, Bucky meets a friend of Sam’s who ends up being his landlord. With only a driveway to separate them, he finds that he’s not the only one looking for a fresh start.

Series tags/warnings: Slow Burn, Eventual Bucky x Reader, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Canon Level Violence

Part 6 Word Count: Just over 6k

A/N: It's been such a joy to write this series. Once again, thank you for all your support! Every heart and comment motivates me and is just so wonderful

Taglist!: @vicmc624 @officiallykuute @undiadeestos @tailsoflightning

Read Part 1; Masterlist

“Please join me in welcoming Irina Novikov, the Reigning Queen of Russian Classics!”

Bucky watched from the special box seat as you walked out from the left curtain, the silver embroidery on your sea-reminiscent blue-green dress and matching hairpin glinting in the bright spotlights. You shook hands with the conductor and faced the crowd, greeting them with a deep bow at the waist. You sat at the piano which had been moved from the back left to the front, right by the conductor. The crowd clapped all the way until you sat down on the bench. Bucky watched you smooth out the tea length dress on your lap, your black velvet flat peeking out to settle on the golden pedal.

Bucky tried to pay attention to conductor as he explained the piece, but he was just so confused about the name. He looked down at the program he had gotten at the front. Irina Novikov was featured and italicized, indicating that person as their featured guest for this concert season. There was applause once more as the conductor gestured to you to open with your opening solo piece. Seeing your shoulder rise with your preparing breath, he watched as you raised your arms to begin playing.

The opening notes grew in intensity before settling into a haunting melody. It gradually filled the extravagant room. It was amazing how one instrument could fill an entire room. Or rather, one person. One beautiful, talented person.

You captured the attention of every person in the theater. Framed on either side of the stage with deep red curtains, you were in the spotlight. The way you moved as you played conveyed the emotions of the music. You could have been a dancer, arms moving gracefully up and down the entire length of the black grand piano.

Enchanted, Bucky was focused on you, and only you. The blue tulle cape on your right sleeve of your dress fluttering as you moved, hiding the shoulder. There was one stray piece of hair that moved with you, having fallen out of the low bun you had pinned with a silver chrysanthemum comb. The silver thread twinkled. It was as if you were the night sky itself, clear and brilliant.

---

Earlier in the month…

Bucky had just gotten back from his trip with Sam. Parking his sports bike, he walked into the garage to the door of his apartment, where something was sticking out. A white envelope, addressed simply to his first name. Walking up the steps and chucking the keys on the table, he opened the letter to find a note stuck to a lanyard with a ticket in the holder.

Here’s a season pass I got from the orchestra. If you’ve got nothing better to do, come see me play! :)

He looked down at the bottom where your name was scrawled, half-cursive and half-print. Flipping the ticket around, he saw the dates of all the concerts, the opening of the season being next weekend. Russian Classics-Part One was listed as opening weekend’s theme. Well, that was your specialty, right? He had to come.

Peeking out the window facing your house, he saw that your car was missing from the driveway. Probably at rehearsal. Wait, what do you wear to something like that? Did he even own a suit?

After taking one look into the closet, the answer to that was no. He was going to have to get one. Which is how he ended up at the tailor’s with Sam.

Sam had replied to Bucky’s text on where to get a suit. How have you gone this long without having a suit? Every man needs a good suit. What’s the occasion?

Bucky had texted him back. Never needed one until now. It’s for the concert next weekend.

Oh snap, that is an occasion. Meet me here-

So now, he was sitting in the plush velvet armchair by the entrance, waiting for Sam to show up. He was on his phone, scrolling through the news, trying to avoid the gaze of the sales clerk who was giving him quite the look from under her eyelashes. Thankfully, Sam came to the rescue.

“So, what’s the vibe we’re going for? Sleek? Rich? Mob boss?” Sam asked, rubbing his hands together.

“What? I just need a suit, man.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he mumbled under his breath, before getting hyped up again. “Let’s get you a suit!”

An older Black man dressed in brown slacks and a white button up came up to them and greeted Sam with enthusiasm.

“Sam! Good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you Mr. Frank!” Sam said, hugging him. “You remember my friend Bucky from the cookout, right?”

“Of course, I do. Good to see you Mr. Barnes” Mr. Frank said with a smile that brought out little wrinkles in the corner of his eyes, giving him a handshake.

“Bucky, please.”

“Well Bucky, what can I do for you?”

Sam answered for him. “Bucky here is going to need some suits so that they don’t kick him out when he shows up at the orchestra.”

“The one that your friend is at?”

“Yeah, actually. How do you know that?” Sam asked.

Before Mr. Frank could answer, a familiar voice floated faintly into the room.

“Wow, Selena, it’s absolutely stunning! I honestly couldn’t have asked for better. It’s beautiful.”

Sam and Bucky looked at each other before walking under the arch into the other room, Mr. Frank following. There on the short pedestal, you were standing in the middle of the room, holding the slightly big shimmering blue-green dress to your chest to prevent it from falling while the seamstress pinned the various alterations. Your hair was up in a messy bun, giving the seamstress room to work. The soft light of the chandelier giving you an ethereal glow.

Sam gave a low whistle. “Wow, you are one pretty lady.”

You looked in the mirror to make eye contact with Sam.

“Sam!” You said excitedly, turning your head and causing the seamstress to chastise you while chuckling. Your eyes then flitted to Bucky, suddenly leaving you feeling very exposed. You hadn’t seen him from the angle in the mirror. A blush creeping over your nose, you spoke

“Bucky!” You said with more surprise than enthusiasm. You were very happy to see him. He had just caught you off guard. His eyes lingered on the exposed piece of your back, framed with soft sea foam tulle, before meeting your eyes.

“Hey.” He said simply, before clearing his throat, red creeping up his neck. You stared at each other for a moment before the seamstress hung the measuring tape on her neck and gave the all clear.

“You can move now, but don’t mess up my pins.” Selena said, turning to point at Sam for the last part of the sentence.

“I would never.” Sam said fondly, putting a hand to his chest before wrapping the seamstress in a hug.

“This is my wife, Selena. We’ve owned this shop for the last twenty years.” Mr. Frank explained proudly, introducing Bucky to Selena. “Selena, this is Bucky Barnes, Sam’s right hand man.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” She said with a smile, shaking Bucky’s hand.

You hopped off the pedestal to give Sam a hug.

“I am so excited to get back to performing, Sam. You have no idea. Are you coming next weekend for the opening performance?”

“I’m gonna try my hardest! I have a meeting with Senate that morning, but I’m gonna use the supersuit, try and fly back in time. If I don’t make it Saturday, I will for sure see you on Sunday.”

“Awh, it’s no problem Sammy. I appreciate it. I’ll just be happy if you show up at all this season.” You said, taking a step back and turning towards Bucky.

“Well, Bucky’s going to be there, for sure. That’s actually why we’re here. To get him a suit.” Sam said, tossing Bucky a wink on the side.

“Really?” You said as you looked up at him, eyes sparkling.

“Yeah. You look beautiful… by the way.”

You averted your gaze shyly. “Thank you.” You said meekly, swishing the dress slightly. “I’m glad you’re coming. I was wondering if you had gotten the season pass.”

“I did, thank you.”

Sam, Frank, and Selena all exchanged knowing looks, Sam rolling his eyes while smirking.

“Well, you guys got an exclusive sneak peak at my opening night dress. It was nice to see you guys!” You said as you gathered your dress up, Selena grabbing the back. You waved as you disappeared around the corner into the dressing room.

A few moments went by in silence before Mr. Frank spoke up.

“Well son, I see why you got it bad.” He patted Bucky on the shoulder, turning around and walking towards the main room.

“Well, I-” Bucky started, turning to see that he was alone with Sam, who was leaning over on his knees, holding in the laughter.

An hour later and Bucky had settled on a slim cut dark blue suit and a similar one in light grey. With a handful of ties and a pair of dress shoes, they were at the front to check out.

“So, the suit alterations will be done by this weekend so you can pick it up anytime this Saturday or after.” Before Bucky could pay, Sam held out a hand, shoving his card in the payment kiosk.

“This one’s on me. Just promise me you’ll make it this weekend. I might not be able to. But someone she cares about should make it to her first night back in action.”

Bucky paused before putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder and squeezing. “Thanks man.”

“Anytime, Buck.”

“Actually boys, the bill’s taken care of.” Selena said as she strolled up to the desk. “Your friend footed the bill. So, you’re paid in full.”

---

A week passed by and he hardly saw you to thank you for the suits. You would wave hello and goodbye in passing as you got into your car. Sometimes, you were dressed for physical therapy, donning clothes like army green leggings and an oversized black hoodie. Sometimes, you were dressed in business casual for rehearsals, wearing slim cut khaki slacks and a light blue blouse with the sleeves rolled up into cuffs just above your elbow.

Bucky really didn’t have anything to do since you weren’t around much. Occasionally, he raked the fallen leaves in your yard. He’d finally fixed that mower, though there was no use for it now. So, he spent his days catching up on reading, watching The Hobbit movies and waiting up for you to come home. He couldn’t really sleep if you hadn’t made it home safe yet. Something that had taken him a while to realize. It made him linger by the window facing your house, pretending to watch something on TV until he saw your car come down the driveway.

Today though, he had one thing on his to-do list. Walking into the tailor’s shop to pick up his suits, he saw that the sales clerk from last week with the eyes was working today. He cursed in his head as he walked up to the desk, where she was leaning over trying to show off some cleavage.

“How can I help you?”

“Picking up some suits. My ticket number is-”

“No need, I remember you from last week. Hard to forget a face like that.” She said with a wink as she walked to the back. Bucky purposefully looked the opposite way, clearing his throat in the process.

“Here you go Mr. Barnes, I appreciate your patronage.” She said with a sly smile.

“Thanks.” He responded dryly.

As he grabbed the hanger of the garment bag, she startled him by refusing to let go. Bucky pulled the hanger lightly out of her grasp and left. Sure, she was conventionally attractive. But she doesn’t hold a candle to you.

---

On the evening of the concert, Bucky turned to look in the mirror, making an impressed face. He didn’t look half bad. The dark blue suit had a little bit of texture, and while the white button-up made him feel a little claustrophobic, the wine colored tie really brought it all together. Running his fingers through his hair to straighten it up, he didn’t look bad at all. It made him happy that like this, he looked like a normal guy who cleaned up nice. Well, almost. He had gotten a finer, more delicate set of black leather gloves. Ones that weren’t so clunky, to match the nicer clothes he had gotten.

He looked at the clock. Still had time to buy flowers. He’s got to do something nice for your opening night. Taking a backpack, he started his bike and drove to first florist in the city to find a gift. He took a lap, everything he was looking at blending together. Red roses were too formally romantic… Daisies were too casual…

Rounding the corner of the counter, he saw a small arrangement peak out from behind a large one. It was a smaller jar filled with a few blush pink peonies, with a few stems of lily-of-the-valley, lilac and eucalyptus pouring out of the sides. Wrapped around the neck of the jar was a crème colored satin ribbon, pinned with a small square cut emerald brooch.

“Ah, that’s the perfect gifting pair, one gift to enjoy now and one to last!” The florist said, popping out from the back. Bucky thought back to your room, with the soft sage greens and soft crèmes. It was perfect. Bucky nodded while holding up his backpack.

“Uh. Is there anyway I could get it to last a trip in this backpack on a motorcycle?”

---

The florist first emptied most of the water, wrapped it in plastic, and then put it in a firm cardboard box. Carefully setting it in his backpack, Bucky thanked the florist, tipping him extra. He waved on the way out of the store, feeling good about the flowers he had picked out. The ten minute ride from the florist to the concert hall was taken very carefully.

Parking his bike and joining the long lines of well dressed people, he felt a little self conscious wearing a backpack and holding his lanyard. He tried not to draw any attention to himself as he made his way slowly up to the box office.

“Welcome to the Louisiana Philharmonic! May I see your ticket?” A perky young woman in usher’s attire asked through glass.

“Sure.” He said, sliding the lanyard through the window.

“Hey, you can’t bring backpacks in the concert hall.” The security guard said, pointing at the bag Bucky was holding.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I just-”

“Either return it to your vehicle or throw it away.” The man sternly said before the usher whispered through clench teeth and gestured for the security guard to come over. Bucky couldn’t hear exactly what she was saying, but he caught every other word or so.

Ticket… Ms. Novikov’s personal box… have to let…

The security guard squinted his eyes at Bucky before gesturing at the bag.

“What’s inside?”

“Just my wallet, keys, and some flowers.” Bucky said, unzipping the bag to show him. The security guard had him open the box and show him the flowers for good measure before grumbling something, handing the lanyard back, and letting him pass.

Yikes… Bucky thought, putting as much distance between him and security as he could. Getting up to the usher, he showed him the ticket as he was handed a program. The usher took a moment to look at the ticket before directing him to the left, away from where everyone was walking.

“Box one will be on the second floor, last entrance on the right.”

Huh.

Bucky walked up the stairs, passing a fancy bar and going down the empty hallway. Coming upon an entryway labeled Box One, he pushed aside the heavy red curtain to find that he was directly overlooking the stage. He was the closest balcony seat to the stage, the private viewing area containing five seats, two in the front and three on the step behind, staggering the tiers so that everyone could see properly. Sitting in one of the front seats, the one closest to the stage, he admired the scene.

The seats were plush and comfortable, the architecture of the theatre traditional yet stunning. The stage was framed by a huge rectangular arch that was rounded at the edges. The gold on the trim and handrails accentuated the softly glowing lights that hung in two rows over the aisles. Each bulb was captured in a long tube of rectangular glass, creating the image of a row of glowing piano keys floating in the aisles.

Speaking of pianos, the shiny black grand piano in the front caught his attention. The keys were facing him. If this is where you were playing, he would be looking at your back and have a clear view of your hands. Most of the musicians were already on stage, except for you, warming up for the night. Suddenly the orchestra stopped, commanding everyone’s curiosity. The sound of dress shoes against the stage prompted applause as the conductor, an older man, walked out onto stage. After pausing to let the applause die down, he gestured for someone to come out. There was more applause as the first chair violinist, the concert master, walked out onto stage. The woman bowed before playing a note, prompting the rest of the orchestra to tune to her pitch. She did this several times before giving a nod to the conductor and sitting down in the first chair of the row of violins.

Clearing his throat, the conductor grabbed the mic and turned towards the crowd, slight German accent coming through.

“Good evening. It is my pleasure to welcome you to the Louisiana Philharmonic Orchestra.” The crowd gave more applause before he continued.

“My name is Arthur Albrecht, your guest conductor for this season. This weekend we have a lovely selection of classics that stem from Russian composers.” He went on to explain some of the history behind Russian composers and how their music was influenced by their culture. Bucky looked at the piano that was still empty, wondering where you were. A sudden loudening of the conductors voice snapped his attention back.

“We have with us this season, the most lovely pianist, nicknamed for her excellent performance of these very pieces. Please join me in welcoming Irina Novikov, the Reigning Queen of Russian Classics!”

---

Sam had showed up right before the end of the first piece, dressed in concert attire. Playing the last chord, you held it down as it reverberated all around the auditorium, waiting for the slow fade before finally releasing the keys. A moment of silence emphasized the heavy digestion of a piece such as that. Then, the applause and whistles came. People stood up in waves as you got up from the bench and bowed once more.

Sam and Bucky stood up as they clapped, just in time as you looked towards the box. Eyes flitting over Sam, you made eye contact with Bucky before bursting into a big smile, the breathlessness from the adrenaline making the rise and fall of your chest evident. Turning back to the crowd, you graciously accepted their applause. Sam glanced to his side at Bucky. But there was no acknowledgement. Bucky stood smiling and clapping, completely enamored, completely smitten by you.

---

After a few longer pieces that included the entire orchestra, the lights came on to signal the intermission. Bucky and Sam got up leisurely, greeting each other and stretching their legs.

“Glad you were able to get here.”

“I did! That suit is amazing, man. Stupid fast.”

“You’re welcome.” Bucky said, bemused.

They chatted for a few minutes before the curtain moved, letting light in from the hallway.

“You guys made it!” You said as you hopped down the two steps before hugging Bucky, who was closest to the aisle.

“Woah, you’re gonna push me off of the balcony!” He joked, steadying himself before hugging you back tightly around his waist, resting his chin on the top of your head. You let him go, moving onto hug Sam. He squeezed you back saying, “You were amazing! And these fancy seats you scored us really let us in on the action.”

“Yes, it was incredible, seeing you play up there on that stage.”

Practically radiating happiness, you tucked the one loose strand of hair behind your ear as you let go of Sam and faced the both of them.

“Thank you guys so much for coming. I was so nervous to get back in the spotlight. Especially as a featured artist, you know?”

“Oh yeah, speaking of-” Sam said as he reached into his suit pocket for the program. “Who’s Irina Novikov?”

“Oh, shoot. I’ve been so busy with rehearsal; I didn’t even get a chance to tell you. One of the things that we worked out in my contract is that I work under a stage name, and they get all the talent of a known artist. That way, I can… avoid anyone who’s looking for me.” There was a slight pause, Bucky chiming in to lighten the mood.

“Okay, but ‘Reigning Queen of Russian Classics?’”

“Hey now, I got that nickname ever since I won that International Rachmaninoff Piano competition while I was in college. When I got back, my friends threw me a huge party with a banner that said that, and now it’s followed me throughout my career. It started as a joke, but now I kind of like it.” You said, laughing.

“Well, you basically are!” Sam exclaimed, gesturing out to the stage. “You’re gonna tell me that you don’t look like royalty up there? Especially with this dress.”

As you smiled and accepted Sam’s compliments, Bucky’s eyes finally got a chance to take in the full dress. Selena had done a fantastic job. The silver accents sparkled lightly, the fabric orchid blossoms making their way up one sleeve. She had made it to look like the bodice was made of two large delicate petals of a sea green blossom. If Thor was the god of thunder, you were the goddess of greenery.

“Ms. Novikov,” an attendant called as they peaked their head through the curtain.

“One moment!” You called back. “Sorry, excuse me for one second.”

You looked like you were practically floating as you pulled up the dress slightly to go up the couple steps, the waves of fabric moving like a mist off of the sea. The attendant said something in a hushed tone and you sighed. The attendant left and you made your way back over to them.

“I have to go, but thank you both so much for coming. I mean it.” You said, each of your hands reaching out and squeezing one of their arms.

“Wait, I got this for you.” Bucky said, reaching for his backpack. He carefully took out the cardboard box and removed it off of the vase of flowers. He watched as your face lit up.

“Oh, these are beautiful Bucky. Thank you so much. I’m going to take them to my dressing room.” You said as you accepted the flowers, gently rubbing one of the petals between your fingers.

“You have a dressing room?”

“Yeah! Its around the hall and down the stairs. If you want to see it after the show. I’ll tell the attendant at the bottom of the stairs to let you through. You too Sammy.”

“Alright, sounds like a plan.” Sam responded.

“Okay, see you guys after!”

You walked away, arranging the flowers in the vase with a small smile on your face. Bucky watched you walk away before turning to Sam who, for once, had a serious expression on his face.

“What?”

“She’s a good one, Buck.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know what it means.”

“Aren’t you the one she calls Sammy?”

“Oh, so you noticed that because you’re jealous.”

“No, of course not-”

“She’s a nice girl.” Sam said, cutting him off. “I think you two would be great together.”

Bucky bit his lip and looked to the side. “I don’t think so. I’ve still got… so much going on.”

“No offense to either of you, but so does she. She makes you happy. I can tell just by how you perk up around her. You deserve to be happy. And so does she. You know you have the same effect on her, right?”

Bucky didn’t answer.

“You’re a good person, Buck. She’s a good one, and so are you. So, give it a shot. Don’t be afraid to be happy.”

Bucky paused before swallowing and nodding.

“Thanks.”

“Of course, man. Anytime.” Sam said, putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

---

The show ended with a standing ovation. The conductor took a bow, then signaled to you. You swung an arm out and gestured to the orchestra, giving them credit before you took a deep bow at the waist. When you came up, you clapped along with the crowd, facing the orchestra to applaud everyone’s fine work.

Bucky and Sam turned right out of the box, which was the opposite direction that the crowd was filing out in. After rounding the corner, they found a stairwell heading downwards, just as you had said. At the bottom, the attendant greeted them, leading all the way down to the end of the hall to the last room.

“Ms. Novikov? Your guests are here.” The attendant called, knocking on the door.

“Thank you! You can send them in.” You called from inside the room.

The attendant opened the door and gestured for them to enter. Walking in, they admired the aura of being backstage of a performance. The attendant shut the door behind them, leaving them with you as you sat at the vanity. You were adjusting your hair, just having taken it out of the bun that it was in. Soft curls fell out and framed your face, the lightbulbs around the vanity giving you a halo of sorts. The cement-bricked walls kept the room cool, housing the green velvet couches, mini fridge, coffee table and faux fur rug. There was a three-paneled, gold mirror right next to the bathroom. There was a clothes rack with several garment bags hanging from it.

“Wow, major movie star vibes in here.” Sam commented, touching the edge of the velvet couches.

“Thanks! This is the suite for guest artists. Every time they have a guest star, they make a little nameplate and hang it up outside. When my time is up, they’ll stick it outside of the room with the others.” You said, now getting up from the vanity. Your hairpiece was set down on the vanity, next to an open velvet box that held your earrings.

“I didn’t realize you were making big money like this! Dang, can’t Captain America get a raise?” Sam joked.

“Ha ha,” you said sarcastically. “I will admit I get a nice salary, but the only things I spend money on are fancy dresses and jewelry to perform in. Gotta keep up the look, give people something to see.”

“And that you do.” Sam said as he chuckled. The sound of a phone vibrating paused the conversation.

“Oh, hold on, I gotta take this. This might take a minute. Be right back.”

That left you and Bucky. You looked at him for a moment before settling down on one of the couches, folding your legs underneath of you and resting your arm against the back cushion to support your head. Swallowing, Bucky tentatively sat down next to you. It remained silent before you both spoke up at once.

“I know I-”

“I’m so happy you-”

You laughed and he gestured for you to go ahead.

“I was just going to say, thank you. I’m so happy that you came to support me. It’s been a long road to get here and I just want to let you know how much I appreciate you. I wasn’t expecting for us to be friends at all, and here we are. I’m so thankful for it. You’re just… amazing.” You said, smiling softly at him. He felt the red creep up his neck and didn’t know what to say. Fortunately, you figured that and gave him an out.

“What were you going to say?” You now gestured to him. Taking a moment, he cleared his throat.

“I was going to say, I know I already said this earlier but the concert was amazing. You sounded great.”

“Thank you.” You said simply, still staring into his ice blue eyes.

“And you look great.”

“Yeah?” You said amusedly as you raise your eyebrows.

“Yeah. You look beautiful. One might even say stunning.” A little of the old Bucky, the smooth-talking one, made a surprise appearance.

“Oh? Who’s the one?” You scooched closer to him.

“I thought it was obvious.”

“Not to me.”

His eyes met yours in a deciding moment. You watched as his eyes flickered down to your lips momentarily. You wondered if he could notice how your breath quickened.

“Ms. Novikov?”

The attendant’s voice was muffled through the door. The knocking that preceded it had startled you out of your moment. Tentatively, the door was opened just a crack.

“They’re ready to toast the champagne.” They called in. You sighed and got up.

“I’ll be there momentarily, thank you.” You called back. Satisfied, the attendant walked away, the soft clicking of dress shoes slowly fading away. You turned towards Bucky, who had also stood up.

“They’re opening a bottle of champagne in celebration of opening night, if you’d like to join me.” Your fingers nervously picking at each other.

“Yeah, of course.” He accepted, somewhat awkwardly. You tried not to be disappointed about what might’ve happened if the attendant hadn’t interrupted. Turning towards the door, you were stopped by his hand gently grasping your upper arm. Eyes wide, you whipped your head around. Bucky opened his mouth, though no sound came out.

“Yes?” You said softly, features softening from shock to gentle anticipation.

“Did I hear the attendant say something about champagne?” Sam’s voice floated in through the crack of the door. Quickly, Bucky dropped your arm and you turned towards the door. Sam opened the door and eyed the both of you. His expression changed slightly as he looked back from you to Bucky, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Did I interrupt something?”

“No.” Bucky said quickly.

“Not at all!” You said, a little nervously. Clearing your throat, you smoothed out the front of your dress. “Let’s go, they’re handing out champagne on stage.” You flitted around Sam and into the hall. Sam raised an eyebrow at Bucky, who gave him a look that told him not to ask. They followed you to the stage where the chairs had been cleared to the side to make room. The red curtains were drawn, separating the stage from the auditorium where people were still filtering out.

Upon seeing you, the conductor cleared his throat and called everyone’s attention. It fell quiet as he made your presence known. An attendant handed you a glass of champagne and you quietly requested two more for Sam and Bucky.

“This had been such a wonderful opening night. We’re so happy to have you with us this season, Ms. Novikov.” He started. A hum of agreement made it’s way around the other orchestra members. “It is a delight and an honor. Without your charity, we would not be standing on this stage tonight. Truly, you have helped us keep this program successful and alive in such turbulent times.” The orchestra broke out into thanks and cheers. Your face lit up, your smile breaking out into one bigger than it had in a long time.

“If I may, I’d like to say a few words, Arthur.” You said, gently squeezing his arm with your free hand. The conductor reciprocated warmly, setting his hand atop your before you let go. Looking behind you to make sure that the attendant had gotten Sam and Bucky some glasses, you started speaking.

“Many of you know that this is the first I’ve performed in quite some time now. The road to recovery was and still proves to be difficult. But I’m so happy to have found my way back to performing, and it is an honor that it be with the incredibly talented people in front of me. Each and every one of you has cause to be proud. This was an incredible performance. And it is with pleasure that I say the real recognition goes to you all. With all of your hard work, you were able to reopen the concert hall and provide people with a bit of respite in a time of rebuilding.”

You raised your glass. “So, with that, I say we toast. To growth, and a wonderful season.”

The others raised their glasses while repeating the words. After the celebratory sip, another round of cheers erupted. Several members came up to you with words of thanks and commendation. The jovial atmosphere under the golden hue of the stage lights made it feel surreal. Bucky looked at you, nodding your head and redirecting praise to whomever you were talking to. Your dress made you stand out in a sea of black suits and black dresses, like a gemstone amongst the coal. He’d never seen anyone so beautiful, inside and out. He was snapped out of his daze when he heard you excuse yourself politely and walking back over to them.

“Sorry about the long speech, guys. Thanks for staying.” You apologized, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Are you kidding? That was beautiful. I’m glad your back to it. You seem happy.” Sam said, always quicker than Bucky with the responses.

“I am.” You said with a big smile, gaze moving over to Bucky.

Normally, Sam would be rolling his eyes or something at Bucky, but a text stole his attention away. He looked at his phone and cursed under his breath, scrolling through something. Bucky took the moment to ask a question.

“What’d you do for them?”

You swallowed the sip you had taken and looked at him with a confused expression.

“What?”

“Sorry, for the orchestra. They mentioned charity.”

“Ah. Yes.” You looked over at Sam, who was busy texting a reply.

“I, uh… Some unexpected problems with the building were going to close the orchestra. They couldn’t afford to fix it. So, I donated half of my salary for the season to repair the theater.”

Bucky looked at you incredulously. You smiled sheepishly under his gaze.

“What?” You responded, as if he was the strange one for the reaction. You never got it though, Sam now done on his phone.

“I’m sorry, but something came up. I thought it could wait ‘til morning, but things are developing a lot quicker than I thought. We need to go.” Sam said, looking at Bucky.

Bucky opened his mouth and closed it, nodding in reluctant understanding.

“I’m proud of you. Great job tonight. Sorry we have to leave so suddenly.” Sam said, hugging you.

“Oh please, don’t apologize. Go save the world. I’ll see you when you get back. Thanks again for coming.” You said, rubbing a hand on his back before letting go. Sam looked at his phone again before looking at Bucky.

“Your go-bag is on the plane; I’ll meet you there.” He said, before walking away, giving you one more wave before typing on his phone. You and Bucky turned to each other, not saying anything. You spoke first, reluctance filling your voice.

“You should probably go. Sounds important.” You said, looking up at him.

“Yeah…” Bucky looked in the direction that Sam had walked away in before turning back to you, still unmoving. He opened his mouth to speak, unsure of what to say before settling on an apology.

“I’m sorry.” Something told you he was probably apologizing for more than just having to leave.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, placing a hand on his arm and squeezing gently. “Be safe. I’ll see you when you get back, right?”

He nodded and you reluctantly dropped your hand. He walked backstage, but not before looking back at you one last time. Someone had approached you, but you were still watching him. You gave a little wave and then he was gone. You took a big sip of your drink and nodded at whatever was being said to you.

Bucky Barnes was going to be the death of you.

#bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #reader insert #SoundCloud

[aquaticstyles]

from the dining table

I know I said I was posting at 7, but I finished earlier than expected :) 5k inspired by the song we all know and love, From the Dining Table. Hope you all enjoy reading! I really liked how this one turned out. As always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated!!!

“Whatcha doin' out here by yourself?"

You nearly jump out of your skin and send the wine sloshing in your glass splashing onto the freshly cut grass at the sound of his voice.

You hoped—you prayed that you could get through the night without running into him. You were here to celebrate your good friend and her new husband, not re-open old scars. Yet here he is, right in front of you, dressed to the nines in all black, tailored perfectly to fit his broad shoulders and slim waist, chestnut locks styled haphazardly and intentionally all at once, new, foreign stubble on his upper lip and jaw making him that much more ruggedly handsome, chest hair peeking through the opened buttons of his shirt, and a white rose clipped to the lapel of his jacket.

He looks good. He looks really good, and you would like to die.

You would very much like to bury yourself in a hole.

He seems so familiar, traces of an old lover lost in the gold flecks of his eyes, but you don't know him, at least not anymore. He's a stranger now, an array of old photographs and journal clippings scattered throughout your memory. He went from being your person, to a person--from being the one person you could talk to for hours upon hours tangled in the sheets, the moonlight from the open curtains dancing upon miles and miles of bare skin, without ever growing tired, to the one person that sucks every word out of you, leaving you speechless, an awkward shell of the confident woman you used to be around him.

You would have followed him anywhere, blind, heart thumping beneath your chest, relying solely on his palm in yours to guide you through the dark—to the ends of the earth, tiptoes over the edge, ready and willing to plummet thousands of feet downward.

The breeze that floats through the air and brushes against your arm adds more goosebumps to the ones already present due to the man next to you. Everything around you is calm—the ocean to your right, waves slowly reeling in and releasing back against the shoreline, the sun setting in the horizon, creating warm hues of tangerine and pomegranate in the sky and sparkling on the endless canvas of blue below, the palm trees rustling gently, the soft chatter of guests behind you in the distance. Outside, there's a whirlwind of serenity, but inside, there's a hurricane crashing against your rib cage.

"Oh, I, um, had a phone call," you confess. You barely got the day off to come to the wedding, and your phone has been buzzing nonstop with work emails, texts, and voicemails.

Yes, you had to take a phone call, but you also needed a minute. A minute for yourself. A minute to reflect, on both past and future.

A minute to inhale--his palm in yours, your cheek pressed against his chest, his temple resting on top of your head, swaying slowly in the kitchen, Frank Sinatra's 'One For My Baby' echoing softly, pulling you closer to him if possible, hushed whispers of "I love you" from two hearts beating in unison.

A minute to exhale--love letters, broken promises, his (your) favorite t-shirt, borrowed books, his handwriting still in the margins, tokens of his thoughts, postcards, one for each new city he inhabited while he way away from you for months on end, pearls, a Frank Sinatra vinyl, your ring stretched and bent from his pinky, anything and everything that was part of him, tucked away in a cardboard box in your attic, collecting dust.

Weddings are supposed to be joyous; they're supposed to remind you of just how amazing life can be, particularly when it's spent with someone you love, but you can't help but feel lonelier than ever.

This is what you wanted.

This is what you wanted with him.

"Still always working," sparkles dance in those eyes of his, morphing every coherent thought in your head to mush. It's criminal how relaxed he is. It's almost as if you're old friends catching up, as if all of the history between the two of you simply no longer exists. He's smirking at you, making your insides turn to jelly and your brain slosh around in your skull. He seems entirely unfazed as he strolls closer to you, the whiskey in his glass barely moving from how slow he progresses. He's honey, the golden sugar dripping lazily from a swarming hive.

You look good. You look really good. And he notices.

His eyes trail from the very tip top of your head, to your cherry red toenails, and you immediately shrink in on yourself. He studies your appearance, long locks of hair he used to comb his fingers through flowing in the slight breeze and cascading down your back, thin straps holding up the loose, silky fabric of your sundress, heart-shaped lips glistening, coated in your favorite lip gloss (He thinks the longer he stares, the more he can taste them again—the more he can feel the sticky substance transferred on his own lips, remnants of your sparkles imprinted on him), freckled cheeks paired with a rosy nose, results from a sunburn (You're tanner than he last saw you. Has your skin always been this golden?), a new tattoo on your inner right forearm, a compass, so minute that one would have to be staring to notice (Which he was, and he did).

Then he sees it.

That all-too-familiar gold band wrapped around your right middle finger, catching the light reflecting from the white wine in your glass.

The ring he gave you.

The one he saw in Japan and had to buy because it had you written all over it. The one he left on his pillow in your shared bed, waiting for you once you had successfully stretched and rubbed the sleep from your eyes while he was off to an early studio session. The one he had engraved, "H.S." on the inside of, a little piece of him always with you. The last token of him you couldn't bring yourself to rid of, a time capsule from a past love.

As soon as you realize he's spotted it, your grip on the glass in your hand tightens. Harry's eyes immediately snap back to yours—after all this time, you still wore the ring. Why were you still wearing the ring?

In a desperate attempt to distract Harry from asking that question you knew was swimming around in his mind, you clear your throat, "Still always working," you force a tight-lipped smile and rock on your heels, "that and you know I'm no good at dancing." You nod your head to the crowded dance floor alive with couples drunk off the mini bar behind the two of you.

Harry's hard expression softens, accompanied by a dimple as memories of your horrible dancing come flooding back. He releases a warm chuckle, one you haven't heard in ages that echoes in your eardrums longer than you would have liked, "Can't argue with that, 'member you almost broke m'big toe a couple times." His eyes never leave yours as he takes a sip from his glass, the amber liquid gliding down his throat with a faint burn.

The space between the two of you progressively decreases as he moves closer and closer, until suddenly his shoulder is only a couple inches away, daring to brush against yours. You're both facing the ocean now, backs towards the roaring crowd. You close your eyes, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore easing the anxiety coasting through your veins. You inhale slowly, enjoying the feeling of the wind brushing against your cheekbones, cooling off the nervous heat Harry has caused. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Harry turns his head and watches you with your eyes fluttered closed, admiring your side profile up close with no shame, because how could he not? He hasn't seen you in person for over a year—it's like he's seeing you for the first time again. He fights the urge to tuck a stay piece of hair behind your hair, something he would have done without thinking if things hadn't gone completely downhill. He wants to memorize how you look in this moment, the exact position of every eyelash, the exact angle of the slope of your nose, just in case he has to go another 12 months without seeing you again. But boy, he wants to see you again. And again.

You keep your eyes closed, your lips turning upwards in a faint smirk, "I saw you at Target the other day," you open your eyes and turn to look at Harry, only to find him already fully fixated on you. Has he been staring at you this whole time? "Rolling stone? That's big."

He grins at your flustered look of shock; he was caught, but he's not embarrassed at all, not trying in the slightest to hide how much you have captivated his attention, "Uh yeah," Jesus, your eyes are beautiful. Your eyes didn't look this beautiful when you were together. Did you do something to your eyes? No, that's impossible. Is that a new piercing in your ear? You hate needles. Did you pierce it yourself? What else has changed about you? Harry, focus. What did you say again? Oh, yeah, Rolling Stone. "Doesn't do well for my narcissism though."

"Hmm... I can imagine," you take a sip of wine, returning your eyes back to the horizon, this time focusing on a pack of seagulls gliding through orange creamsicle skies. You can't stare into his eyes for too long without thinking of everything, the good, the bad, the ugly. Each time you look into his eyes, it's like reliving every conversation you ever had. His words, a gallon of feathers poured on top of you, soft tufts brushing against your skin. His words, a gallon of daggers poured on top of you, sharp metal piercing your skin.

Silence overwhelms the two of you—filling the void of words needed and wanted to be said.

Harry clears his throat and finally looks in front of him to the breathtaking sunset melting into the skyline, almost as breathtaking as you. Taking a big gulp of his whiskey, he prepares himself for the words about to spill from his mouth. He has to ask, because you're here, in person, live in stereo, and when will he have an opportunity like this again? This question has been swimming in his brain for months; it's been eating him alive, the unknown mystery of the situation. He's dying to know if you've heard that one song.

"Have yeh listened to the album?"

He chose the absolute worst time to ask this question, right when you were taking a sip from your glass. You nearly choke on the liquid sliding down your throat, erupting into a coughing fit as soon as you get a breath of air. Harry's eyes widen, immediately angling his body towards yours, a look of alarm flashing across his features. You hunch over, sending cough after cough into your free hand. A warm palm rests on your back between your shoulder blades, causing goosebumps to rise, and as soon as he's about to ask if you're okay, you wave your hand, brushing off your near-death experience. You cough one last time, your raspy voice hesitantly admitting, "Um yes, I have."

Harry furrows his eyebrows, analyzing your face to make sure you're actually okay and before he can stop it from happening, he's rubbing small circles into your back. He hovers his body slightly over yours as you cough one last time into your elbow. You mouth "I'm good" inaudibly and send him a thumbs up. You finally straighten back up, brushing your hair out of your face and blinking slowly a couple times, God, that was embarrassing, way to keep it cool.

When your posture returns to its natural state, and his palm on your back is no longer appropriate, Harry removes his hand and pushes it into his pocket. He silently curses himself for not grabbing intertwining your fingers together and squeezing your palm once—that was something he would always do when you were together. It was his thing. When you would be out shopping and the paps would show up inconveniently out of nowhere, he would grab your hand and squeeze it once, letting you know that he's here and he's sorry, before dropping it. When you would be eating dinner at your parents, laughing about who knows what, his knee brushing yours underneath the table, he would grab your hand and squeeze it once, letting you know that he's here and he loves you, before dropping it.

Silence returns again and you're both back to your original positions overlooking the sea. Bass thumping, "cheers!", clinking, birds chirping, leaves rustling, waves crashing, heavy breathing, congratulations, "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!", his rings tapping against his glass, the soles of your shoes crunching the grass, heart pounding.

The loudest silence breaks, "Figured one day you'd at least g'me a call back."

If you weren't sure if that last track was really about you, you were completely certain now. Maybe one day you'll call me and tell me you're sorry too. For the first time since he's been in your presence this evening, you regain a sense of confidence, your nervous jitters diminishing with your next statement.

"I didn't have anything to apologize for."

And you didn't. Not when he was the one that left, when he was the one that decided he didn't want to love you anymore, when he was the one that chose his life over the both of yours. It hurt. It still does. So why would you call him and tell him that you're sorry too? Sorry for what? Loving him too much? Because you loved him too much. He was the love of your life, the man you wanted to marry, the man you wanted to be the father of your children, the man that completely and utterly captured your heart and sewed it together with his own. But he left. And you had to figure out how to live without him, how to do the dishes when he wasn't drying, how to dance when it wasn't his records playing in the background, how to kiss when it wasn't his lips that were folded over yours, how to love again when it wasn't him that you were loving. You had to do it all. Alone. Pick up the pieces he scattered, put them back together, and super glue them.

Then he put out his debut album. And suddenly he was everywhere, from magazines, to billboards, to tv shows, to recommended YouTube videos, to Instagram, to twitter, to even Facebook, there he was again, closer to you than he had been in months, yet still light years away. And all of those pieces you super glued? Yeah, they became completely undone again, and it didn't help that you decided to actually listen to his album. It was one thing to see him everywhere, but to hear him again, hear that voice that once felt like home, it ruined you.

That song ruined you.

You remember the day that song was inspired from, every single detail.

-

You had a particularly busy day at work, and you decided to have a spa night. A bubble bath, a bottle of rosé, a face mask, a couple bath bombs, and a pizza was exactly what the doctor prescribed. You had just stepped out of your steamy wonderland, your body covered in your favorite, fluffy robe, soapy suds still clinging to damp skin, completely content in your cotton bubble and slightly buzzed from the glasses of wine you consumed. It was nearly 3 in the morning, and you just sat down at your vanity to apply your various lotions and serums when the phone rang.

Who on earth is calling you this late at night?

You shuffled your slippered-feet to your bedside table, glancing over to see something you never thought you'd see again.

His name.

Harry Styles

Flashing on your screen.

Nearly giving you a heart attack.

You froze in your tracks, eyes widening, mouth hanging open, breathing halting, heart beat slowing and thumping louder than ever in your ears. It felt like the entire world was put on pause, every car on the busy street outside your apartment stopped, traffic lights stuck on red, clouds frozen in place in the sky, every form of life on hold. You miss the call, not that you could have answered anyways; you were completely and utterly paralyzed.

Another notification: Harry Styles Voicemail.

Then you're breathing again, quick, sharp puffs of air in and out. Are you dreaming? You squint your eyes shut tightly and pinch your wrist. This has to be a dream. You open your eyes, the same notification illuminating your screen. You're not dreaming.

God presses play on the world, your surroundings slowly returning back to their normal pace around you, your bubble bursting as you frantically pull your phone from its charger, typing in in your passcode at the speed of light and going straight to the neon green cube on your dock. A shaky thumb taps on the voicemail, hitting the speaker button. There are a couple seconds of static, and for a moment you think maybe it was an accident, a butt-dial, a complete misunderstanding. Please let this be an accident.

Key word: moment.

Because as soon as you think you can forget about this, go back to your nightly routine, and have a peaceful sleep, his voice is booming through the speakers, and you're paralyzed again.

"Um... Hi, it's Harry," the ghost of the man you used to know lets out a nervous laugh, "But you knew that didn't yeh? Probably why you didn't answer..." there's silence, two seconds, five seconds, eight. "I'm in Japan. It's noon here, and m'drunk, alone in my hotel room," his voice is deep, raspy, tired. "'Member that ring I gave you? I'm stayin' a couple blocks away from that shop. Y'loved that ring. Think tha' was the last good thing I did."

Your eyes shift to your right hand, the one that's not death-gripping your phone, the one that holds the piece of metal he's referring to. A lump grows in the back of your throat, and suddenly it's becoming harder to stand. You collapse on the edge of your bed and gulp. Tears pool uncontrollably in your eyes, falling onto the robe that now feels like pinecones suffocating you.

"I saw Mark befo' I left. Ran into him at the grocery store," Mark, your co-worker, your friend. Mark didn't tell you he saw Harry. Why didn't he tell you he saw Harry? Why is Harry talking about Mark? Why did Harry call you? Why did Harry leave you a voicemail? "I asked him how you were, and he said you were fine. Are you fine?" No. "Cause I'm not. M'not fine at all."

You shut your eyes in pain, wincing at his words. Waterfalls flood from your eyes, and you hate it. You hate that this is affecting you so much. You hate that he still has a hold on you. You wished you could not care; you wished you could simply say "fuck you forever" and forget him. It's been 6 months since the breakup, and you want more than anything to move on and forget him.

"Love I-" You bite your tongue at the pet name, almost drawing blood. When was the last time he called you that? 'Love'—the equivalent of a knife plunging into your chest again and again. "I fucked up... and I miss you." And again. "God, I miss you so much." And again. "And m'sorry. I'm so fucking sorry." And again. "Th'worst thing I ever did was what I did to you."

You're fully sobbing at this point, your phone thrown across the other end of your bed, his voice slightly muffled by your duvet. Your hands are tangled in your hair, elbows resting on your knee caps, shoulders shaking as you hiccup, wave after wave of his words hitting you. Little do you know, Harry is on the other end of the world doing the exact same thing—hands pulling his hair, hunched over on the edge of his grand suite's expensive mattress, an almost empty bottle of whiskey to his right, tears staining the carpet beneath him.

"And I know this is late. M'a fuckin' idiot for not saying it until now. I just..." He breathes out a sigh, and you pinch your eyes shut even tighter. No, he's drunk. He doesn't mean it. He's drunk. He doesn't mean it. Don't fall for it; you've been doing fine. You're fine... right? "I needed yeh to hear that. Need you to know I'm so sorry for hurting you. I did th'one thing I swore I'd never do."

Relaxing your grip on the roots of your hair, you sit up at his words, the words you have waited to hear him say for six months. Why don't they sweep you off your feet like you imagined? Why don't you feel different? You had thought about this moment over and over, the moment he would finally own up to his mistakes, finally apologize for all the shit he put you through. You imagined him showing up to your doorstep with a dozen sunflowers, your favorite, a speech prepared on how much he still loves you and how much he is sorry for everything. After, you would launch into his open arms, sinking back into his quicksand, enveloped in his love all over again. Everything would fall back into place; you would be whole again. What you didn't expect was a drunken voicemail, making you want to crumble inside yourself until all that is left is a pile of bones, useless. It felt as if there was a surprise epilogue to your joint ending—you were experiencing the break up all over again. What was supposed to give you life, hope was slowly taking it away each second the voicemail continued.

"I'm dying, love." Me too. "Can I still call you that?" No. "M'dying without you. Just... Please call me. Please let me show you how sorry I am. Need to hear y'voice. I'm so sorry. Call me."

-

His voicemail remains in your phone. You never called him back. You've lost count of the times your finger hovered over his contact name, nearly jumping into the deep end, just for you to take one step backwards on the diving board. One particular night, after taking another step back, you decided to write down everything you wanted to say, everything you wished you knock on his door and scream at him until you lost your voice—all of the heartache, the sorrow, the stress, the hope, the anxiety, every single emotion you felt since it ended. You wrote twenty-two pages. They're now hidden in your bedside table, addressed and stamped, never sent. Harry didn't call you again; that was the last time you heard from him, over a year ago now.

Silence welcomes itself again. Comfortable silence is so overrated.

Shoulder brushing against yours, Harry stands still, digesting your last words. I didn't have anything to apologize for. There was a time when he would have completely disagreed with that statement, clearly, given the lyrics to his last track on his debut album. Then, he would have argued that both of you had dipped your toe in your downfall, each equally responsible for how things crumbled apart. Now, however, he sees how it was him that was in the wrong. He was the one afraid of the commitment you wanted from him—part of him could never fully love you like he wanted to. A couple hundred therapy sessions later, he's sorted his shit out, and he sees just how much shit he put you through, as if someone had sat him down in a theatre, showing him your love story from your perspective. You don't owe him an apology; you were perfect, always giving him your all, every single drop, every single ounce of your love from an endless fountain. He was the one that left. Hewas the one that broke you into small, jagged pieces.

But he's selfish. He still misses you so much. He misses your hand encased in his, your laugh at his terrible jokes, your lips on his cheek, your faint snores that only erupt on Friday nights after a hard week at work, your face buried in his neck, chest on top of his and legs entangled in his on the couch, your finger poking his dimple, your face scrunched in concentration as you painted his nails, your records playing in his house (the ones you said he had to borrow, but if he scratched them, he was a dead man), your hugs (the way you would make him feel itty bitty in your embrace, enveloping him into your open arms after he was away for too long), your mind, always alive and itching for those deep conversations that always arise at midnight in his bed.

That's why he came to the wedding in the first place. He was originally booked to shoot a music video, but he quickly cancelled at the possibility of seeing you here. And that's why when he finally spotted you, off in the distance, speaking into your phone away from the buzzing reception, he knew he had to talk to you. He didn't care if it re-opened closed wounds; he was selfish and he had to talk to you. He missed you.

"Listen-"

"I-" Harry speaks up at the same time you do, beginnings of sentences clashing together. Your eyes meet again, shoulders turned towards each other now. He grins, bunny teeth making an appearance at the mishap regardless of the obvious tension that has invaded the air between the two of you. You envy that trait, his ability to make any situation comfortable and relaxed despite its origin. "You first."

"No, um you go," you mumble out awkwardly, finishing off the remnants of wine in your glass in a rather large gulp to ease the nerves. You know Harry, sometimes better than he knows himself, and you know that he would have never approached you if he didn't have some motive on his own. You had to shut this down—there was no way you could go down this road with him again, not when just this conversation was enough to ruffle your feathers, making you feel like a traitor in your own body, someone you don't even know.

"How 'bout we both go?" There's a cheeky look in his eye, and if you look hard enough you could see a tinge of excitement, hopefulness, "On th'count of three?"

Not daring to quirk upwards, your lips remain straight, and you nod.

"One," You can do it. Just tell him you want to basically forget he exists. "Two," You can do it. Just tell her you still love her. "Three."

Two similar heartbeats.

"I still love you-" Sweet sugar crystals, an honest confession from candy land.

"I think it's best if we don't see each other again." An exploding cannon, sinking his battle ship.

Two entirely different headspaces.

-

The next morning, you wake up with a massive headache, one that was undoubtedly brewing as you cried yourself to sleep the night prior (it might also have to do with the entire bottle of wine you consumed as soon as you slipped off your heels in your apartment).

You notice it's technically no longer morning when you check your phone, squinting in pain at the sudden brightness, the numbers 1:25 yelling back at you. Thank god it's Saturday; you haven't had a hangover of this intensity since college and there is no way you could possibly go to work like this.

Slowly slipping out of the warmth of your numerous weighted blankets, your socked feet hit the plush carpet, and you bend down and open the bottom drawer of your bedside table. Tied up in a pink bow are four envelopes, addressed and stamped, waiting to be delivered to the man whose hopes you crushed. You reached for the stack, running your fingers along the edges, reading over his name, tracing the letters with your fingertips.

With the letters firm in your grasp, you rush to your front door, making sure to slip on your robe; you don't want anyone to drive by you putting these letters in your mailbox in nothing but a t-shirt and undies, after all.

You're finally doing it, diving into the crystal-clear water that was once forever still. You're going to mail all twenty-two pages, every emotion. This is it, the last period to the epilogue, the ending of this book, the closure the both of you so desperately need.

As you reach for the handle, you pause, noticing the one thing you nearly forgot about—that gold band. You slip the piece of metal off your finger, observing his initials engraved on the inside for the last time. Untying the bow holding the envelopes together, you slide the ring onto one end of the cotton-candy colored ribbon and retie the knot, the ring now attached. Inhale, one moment to reflect. Exhale, one moment to say your final goodbye. You swing open the door, and right before you can make another move, something stops you. Looking down at your doorstep, a bittersweet smile breaks out across your face. He was saying goodbye too.

A dozen sunflowers.

#my writing #harry styles #solo harry #harry imagine #harry blurb #harry fluff #harry one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry writing #harry angst #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #writing #imagine #fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fic #harry styles x y/n #kinda sad #sorry about that #love youuuu #tell me what u think #ftdt #from the dining table #from the dining table type beat

[generallypo]

[   Constellation ’Director of the False Last Act’ is looking at you.   ]

------

dark academia!hsy, yeeee! the white coat is fantastic, but unlike kdj and yjh, she doesn’t really switch up the color scheme. no, her bum-aesthetic purple hoodie does not count. i think she’s super hot. i yell about how much i love her under the cut.

------

yo han sooyoung is actually amazing, incredible, powerful, witty, drop-dead sexy... what makes her so irresistible? let me explain

1) yeah, kdj takes the kdj company to end of the scenarios, but please. how many times does he have to kill himself to get there? not to mention his intentional (and unintentional) kill count? 

sure, he does the job, but damn is he kind of inefficient about it. say what you like about hsy’s methods or personality, but the 1863rd round far surpasses the 1864th in terms of the lives preserved while still managing to take the team to the end.

without the benefit of cheat-like knowledge, skills, and resurrections, hsy almost single-handedly orchestrates the events of the 1863rd round to a satisfying finale. kmw, problematic as he is, survives and becomes an admittedly better person, yjh finds a timeline where he can rest in peace, and the rest of the cast have their eyes set on the hopeful end of all scenarios. all this, while only being HALF of a person (hsy originally split off into two after misusing her avatar ability). do her actions lead to the happiest ending? no. but it’s the one that sacrifices the least and saves the most. for the greater good, in other words. 

hsy may be an intrinsically selfish person, but unlike kdj, she has the ability to grasp the entire picture and avoid tunnel-visioning into a crappier, more convoluted and self-sacrificial solution. ironically, it ends up saving more lives. perks of being a talented writer, i guess. 

and the 1864th hsy emerges as a leader in her own right as well. the epilogue arc shows her assuming roughly the same role as her 1863rd self in kdj’s absence: yjh breaks off from the main group (AND BECOMES A TERRORIST AKFDJDSLKSL HAHAHA) to assume a similarly antagonistic role to the remaining members of kdj company. as a result, she’s the most powerful lawful incarnation remaining, and once more the incarnations circle around her for direction.

2) independent, confident, competent (hot and kinda shameless about it). this woman has the most delightfully unrepentant attitude towards life -- how to defeat the man with the strongest defensive ability without dealing a single blow? summon a horde of your naked dancing clones to terrify his innocent sensibilities, and then cackle at his helplessness. the fact that her sponsor is literally the chuuni-est cringefest in the entire galaxy and she gives no fucks about him is just additional comedic gold. her undisguised disgust for what should otherwise be a highly respected/feared entity is a clear indicator of her supremely dominant position over everyone else, and i admire her consistent irreverence of everyone and everything.

hsy is the only character who can consistently bully kdj, brush off his deflections, and bully him again. 1863rd round hsy gives kdj about 50 migraines in the span of 5 minutes of conversation before confirming her superior wit. jhw comes close, but unfortunately, she actually respects the rat bastard. i wish i could mention yjh, but let’s be real: he -- and just about every existing version of him -- has been whipped for the guy for at least 250+ chapters now. 

hsy, on the other hand, has no regard for anything except herself... man, i respect that so much. what a queen. 

and i won’t lie! i didn’t like her in the first fifty or so chapters. plagiarism? homicide? kind-of-in-general-just-being-an-obstacle-to-kdj’s-plans? yeah, i almost fell into the trap of disliking her purely because she didn’t cave immediately in the grand scheme of kdj’s plotting -- thereby denying me the power rush that came with seeing kdj bulldoze his way through the puny attempts of small fry characters. she’s neither a friend nor a despicable foe, but rather someone who acts independently and in her own self-interest, WITH the ability to thwart major players if need be. aka, the one who frustrated kdj’s plans -- and me -- the most. 

going by my previous isekai/power-fantasy trope experience, i figured she’d get pegged into the sexy-but-sassy harem candidate, or get killed off if that didn’t work out. in hindsight, i’m just pretty fucking dumb, but honestly, i can accept that with gratitude -- 

-- because in fact. the whole ‘she-gets-in-my-way-so-she-either-goes-into-the-harem-or-dies’ trope in light novels/webnovels and the like, is, frankly, misogynistic and boring as hell. i had some admittedly low expectations for ORV, which consequently blasted my ass to the moon and left me there sobbing for 42 years as i mourned my stupidity and paid my respects to its incredible ending and character development. hsy is a particular delight, especially in her meta awareness of these tropes -- blatantly stating she isn’t obligated to kdj for saving her life and declaring the damsel-in-distress cliche as ridiculous, for example. 

and it really is, because suspension bridge effect aside, you’re not gonna want to bang a total shady stranger in the middle of the apocalypse. it’s the little statements of self-awareness, self-worth, and frankness that build up hsy’s charm. as ORV progresses, these little windows of her personality bloom as her presence takes stage center -- and then BAM! you really get to know how strong she is, how hugely capable of love she is, how subtly but wonderfully she expresses it, how she leads and protects those close to her, and how damn good she is at it. hsy is amazing. we stan an iconic queen -- no, black flameS EMPRESS. *kneeling*.

3) writes an entire EPIC, just to keep one lonely, broken fifteen-year-old alive. like. at that point in ORV, i knew. i knew. hsy is the fucking GOAT. seeing her spend the rest of her life on WOS, making sure it reaches completion because it’s the only thing that will sustain kdj until the advent of the scenarios... that hits too hard. inadvertently, it also damns the rest of the world to the terror and tragedy that the star stream brings.. but that’s the call she makes in order to save kdj’s life. 

obviously, there’s no precise beginning to the timelines -- ORV is so neatly crafted in its cycle of writer, protagonist, and reader -- but i’d have to argue that hsy holds the greatest power in the trinity. creating the existence known as ‘yoo joonghyuk’ and granting life-changing hope to an otherwise forgotten boy.. is pretty powerful. yjh, for the most part, is a slave to the scenarios (until he breaks free in the 1863rd and 1864th rounds, in particular), while kdj (unwittingly) admits it himself: he’s truly the most powerless god in existence. i forget exactly where he mentions it, but it’s in response to lgy’s reverent commentary that, with all his knowledge and presumed confidence, kdj seems like the protagonist of story or a god to him. kdj’s inner monologue, of course, is appropriately self-deprecating and scarily accurate.

in a lot of ways, WOS -- and ORV itself, really -- is a love letter to readers. it’s a two-way connection, writer and reader, between someone who creates with all their passions and someone who consumes and responds with equally sincere feelings. Ways Of Survival -- the story of a man who defied death and grief and great powers far beyond his being -- is a fictional guide to surviving in a ruined world. but to a battered, bullied, and ostracized boy, it’s not just escapism, or wish fulfilment anymore. WOS is the map to navigating the hell of his reality. there’s a certain power in the right words being spoken -- or in this case, written -- at the right time, even if it’s only for the temporary burst of endorphins upon reading an especially delightful chapter. even if it’s forgotten the next day, you’ve managed to connect. you’ve touched another person’s heart. you made them think about questions they’ve never considered before; maybe, you made them smile. 

what can i say but the honest truth? ORV, without a shadow of doubt, has most certainly reached me. i’m a goner for this story and its excellent characters -- long, long gone. something has changed, something that wasn’t there the previous day. 

the mark has been made on the reader -- small as it is, it’s irrevocable. behold, in all of its little magnificence: the power of a writer, and their story.

#omniscient reader's viewpoint #omniscient reader #orv #han sooyoung #dark acadamia aesthetic #fanart #long ass emotional screeching #wow these are the nights i wish i had someone to yell about orv with #otherwise i stay up at ass-o-clock uncontrollably writing and groaning and writing #anyways hsy is best girl and sexy as fuck

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Chimerical

Chimerical’s stories aren’t at Gossamer, but you can now find them at AO3. If you have not read them, are you in for a treat! For instance, Regular People and Regular People Still are some of the X-Files fics I have read and re-read. You may also know Chimerical from her site Chimerical Publications, which was an extensive Mulder and David Duchovny fansite. Big thanks to Chimerical for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

I’m not surprised at all that X-Files fandom is still popular, it was an amazing, creative show with iconic characters. Aside from just being entertaining, like all good Sci-Fi it asked deep, profound questions about the nature of relationships and humanity. It’s these things that people remember more than the MOWs.

However, I’m surprised to hear that my stories are still read, mostly because there is always something new, someone has a new take, and of course, we have the more recent episodes which provides all new fodder for writers, which is wonderful. But it’s super nice to hear that stories from the classic show still mean something. Also, I wasn’t a prolific writer, there are only 12 stories, but perhaps they struck a chord and people like to revisit them the way you like to re-watch a favorite episode or movie.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

Fanfic is certainly not new, but The X-Files was absolutely at the right place, at the right time. The internet was just really taking off, and it enabled fans to connect instantly in ways that hadn’t before. I remember that Fox used to send out Cease & Desist letters in an ill-considered attempt to stem fanfic because the Suits just didn’t understand what it was. Nowadays, of course, they embrace much of it, encourage it, even. Supernatural wrote whole episodes about it. But in the early days they were really stupid about it.

But what I took away from it was that great community can exist with people you have never met in person. There is a great sharing of ideas and love of great characters.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

It’s true, no Facebook, twitter, tiktok – it seems strange!

But I connected to fandom though the old Usenet message boards, you couldn’t wait until the episode was over until you could leap on and start discussing the episode. And it was painful if you were on the west coast as I was because you would get spoiled. In truth, it wasn’t must different than Twitter, just without the character limitation. But it was rather the wild, wild, west, no moderators and no terms of service. It could be a free-for-all, and some of the disagreements were legendary! For writing, certainly ATXC was the big dog for fic, and of course alt.tv.x-files for discussion. There were many different Yahoo Groups and AOL mailing lists, that catered to interests in fanfic (Friendship/Adult/Slash) or to the characters and/or actors.

But frankly, the main thing I remember was what a complete PITA it was to just get anything posted. There were all these size limitations and ASCII issues that don’t exist today, you had font and formatting limitations, which cause people to get weirdly creative with italics, bolding, quotes and so on. And you had to break your story up in weird way simply to jam it into the email because there were size limitations. And it never failed that no matter how many Beta Reads you had, you didn’t see that last damn typo until AFTER you hit the send button. There was no edit button, all you could do resend the whole damn thing. It was the fanfic version of the 20 mile walk to school through the snow……Kids today have it so easy!  LOL….

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

Actors are, and always will be, the face of the show. David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson are amazing actors, and the nuance they brought each week was a wonder.

But one of the things that the X-Files also did was make people aware of the people behind the scenes, the showrunners, the writers, the directors. This was also something new. For most TV dramas, most people couldn’t tell you who wrote an episode if you had a gun to their head.

But people knew the writers like Vince Gilligan, James Wong, Darin Morgan, and of course Chris Carter and Frank Spotnitz. And they knew the directors, Rob, Chris and the late great, Kim Manners.. It was like a repertory company. You could count on Morgan & Wong for the creepy, you could count of Vince Gilligan for the humor and relationship stuff, you could count on Darin Morgan for the “what the hell was that, but I loved it.”

So I guess what I took away was a deep appreciation for the craft, for the work. This carried over to other fandoms. I’m more aware of the creative team beyond the actors.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

Believe it not, I didn’t watch at the beginning. I’ve always been a Sci-Fi fan but for some reason this wasn’t on my radar. I came in about the middle of Season 1. I was channel surfing and stopped the X-Files, it was the episode “Ice.”  I won’t lie, I stopped because I saw David Duchovny in a henley and I’m never one to pass by an attractive man. But as I watched, I became intrigued by these two characters, and their conflicted relationship with each other, even though I didn’t really know what was really going on. But I had to know more. That’s good writing, where you can walk in half-way through an episode and be captured.

I immediately checked out the old AOL Service forums and found a group. Of course, back then, there was no streaming, there was no BitTorrent. So, you just had to wait until when and if the network decided to show a repeat, which meant you were screwed if you were trying to catch up. But someone on one of the boards offered to send me VHS tapes of the episodes of missed. That’s fandom as its best - I’m excited about this and I want to share it with you. So in about a week I was caught up and hooked. I had to see how these two people’s story turned out.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I’ve always written as a hobby, taken many writing classes, have always written short stories, worked on a novel or two. I’ve got friends who are writers by profession. But the closest I ever came to doing it professionally was co-writing a play that ran for a month off Broadway many years ago, so I’m a dabbler, at best. I’m a big reader, and good stories always make me think, “well, what if this happened….”

So, X-Files wasn’t my first fanfic rodeo. I had been involved in Quantum Leap fandom and Beauty and the Beast, some Star Trek. Once I good hooked on the show, I immediately began searching out fanfic. But it took me a long time before I wrote anything. I’m not sure why, perhaps I was waiting to see where the story went. But X-Files was different in that it blended one of my favorite genres with a truly compelling relationship story. And I don’t just mean romance, it was a melding of two entirely different ways of looking at the world that was captivating. Scully was so strong and Mulder so complex, how could you not love them.

So, I enjoy writing, I learn from it. I learn from the feedback, both good and bad. I’ve never understood fanfic writers who say “just sent me nice feedback.”  No one loves criticism, and not all criticism is valid. But you learn from it. I’ve had people tell me they hadn’t looked at an episode from that point of view and they like it - and I’ve had people tell me that I didn’t know what I was doing, everyone knew that Scully would never cuss (to which I say, please, she grew up on military bases!)  But it helps you improve.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

It was a period of my life I cherish because I met some friends who are still my friends to this day, all these years later because we found other things in common besides a show. It was great to share ideas and debate storylines. And it was a fun, creative, and exciting time. Each episode was must-see and then talking to my friends about it later was the best part.

I started to drift away when David Duchovny left the show. I thought then, and still think, they should have called it a day because the beating heart of that show was Mulder and Scully together. You can’t rip out half the heart and expect the patient to live. On an intellectual level, I got why Duchovny left, I got why Anderson stayed and I got that Fox was a fledging network back then and XF was a cash cow. But on an emotional level, it all turned upside down, especially when the much-promised “search for Mulder” never really happened.

Fans got angry. They were angry at David for leaving, they were angry at Gillian for staying, and they were angry at poor Robert Patrick, perfectly decent person, for merely existing. It got ugly and I got up caught up in that. Frankly, I was as much to blame as anyone in carrying on stupid arguments about crap that didn’t matter. And one day I just realized I’d let all the joy be sucked away, and this just wasn’t who I wanted to be, or how I wanted to spend my time. So, I took a break, I still watched the show as it limped on, but I disconnected from the fandom part of it. And by the time I’d had my break, the show was done!

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I’m always a fan. There are many shows I’ve followed and liked, Supernatural, Fringe, Walking Dead, but I don’t get involved in the internet drama. So, I don’t get as invested.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

I assume you mean besides Mulder and Scully!  In literature, My favorite writer is John Steinbeck and every character he created was indelible and singular. East of Eden is my favorite book and the characters of Adam & Caleb Trask, as well as Cathy Ames are so well drawn.  Of Mice and Men, Cannery Row, they’re all perfect.  Another favorite book and character is Alexandre’s Demas, The Count of Monte Cristo.  The arc that Edmond Dantès’ life take is quite Mulder-esque.  And of course, Harry Potter, I’m a sucker for a character fighting against overwhelming odds.

On TV, Sam Beckett from Quantum Leap.  That was an amazingly well-crafted series, also featuring a female show runner, Deborah Pratt.  I love the character of Raymond Reddington on The Blacklist, there is something about a completely unapologetic bad guy. I would have once said Dean and Sam Winchester, but sadly that turned into a case of staying too long at the fair and I stopped watching a couple seasons ago - But the early seasons rocked. Literally every single character in M*A*S*H was golden, and they knew when to call it quits. Thomas Magnum from the original Magnum PI. (People my age will still remember the “Did you see the Sun Rise, Ivan” episode!)

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

Oddly enough, a few weeks before you reached out to me, I watched the X-Files movie again. I remembered the incredible excitement when it came out. Fox did this tour across the county; it was like a mini-con. But I remember they had the trailer on a loop and my friends and I sat through it so many times we could recite the entire thing by heart. TV shows, such as Star Trek, had made the leap to movie, but I don’t believe a TV show had ever made the leap to films while the show was still on TV. But damn, it was good.

I watched the two recent XF mini-series. They did much to revive the old feeling, especially the episodes by Darin Morgan, who is a national treasure. And it was wonderful to see David, Gillian and Mitch. I’m sorry there won’t be more.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I haven’t in quite a while. Mostly because real life has interfered (work, personal stuff, Covid) over this last year and I have trouble concentrating. But I would certainly return to it, you need the escape of a good story.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

Oh yes! But they were all from the time I was writing. Lydia Bower, DashaK, BlueSwirl, XFBandit, Paula Graves, Taverl, Prufrock’s Love, and dozens of other are still on my PC.

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Like children, they each have their virtues but some may be harder to love than others. While I love a good smutty MSR, I was also a big fan of conflict resolution. So, I’m going to cheat and split the baby here. Based on feedback, I’d have to day my most popular story was Regular People and its sequel. And I really enjoyed writing that. It’s simple, it’s sweet, it’s what I hope for Mulder and Scully. The chance to just BE, if only for a while.

I wanted to try a slash story, so Wind River. That story was inspired by the murder of Matthew Shepard. I have dear friends in the gay community and I was so angry that this could happen in this country, so that one was about the need to treat people compassionately and who better to do that than Mulder and Scully.

But in truth, my own favorite is one that didn’t get much attention, called Rock Bottom. I wanted to explore that the fact Mulder and Scully, were, on occasion, just truly awful to each other and yet still reason to come back together.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I have a couple unfinished stories. There’s one from Quantum Leap, I want to finish first and when that’s done, I would like to finish the two X-Files that are half-baked.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I do legal writing as a profession now, so I write all day long, but analyzing a case or a legal matter is not the same creatively and I do miss that, so I see returning someday, you need to feed your soul.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

Well that’s all over the place, much like my mind! Often I was inspired by something I thought was unaddressed in the episodes. That’s where the Just One series came from. Or it’s a Rosencrantz and Guildenstern kind of thing -- That is, what’s happening off screen while the main action is going on. I find that intriguing, and that’s where Risking Everything came from. The incident in By Coincidence actually happened to a friend of a friend and I thought it would make good fodder. Pentimento came to me following a lecture I attended at a gallery, what happens when you peel back the layers you thought were true. You never know what’s going to connect.

What's the story behind your pen name?

“Chimerical” means existing  as the product of unchecked imagination, given to unrealistic flights of fantasy- which seemed right for a fiction writer, especially for XF. In the early days, it became the phonetic “KiMeriKal” when I was on the old AOL service simply because Chimerical wasn’t available as a screen name! But I’m finally [email protected]!

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

Yes, my friends are aware, some of them have been my betas over the years. My brother knows I write, but I don’t think he’s ever read anything because he would find the smut elements uncomfortable coming from his little sister!

Is there a place online (Tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

The most recent versions of my stories are at AO3. If I ever get around to anything new it will be posted there as well.

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

Thanks for reading, thanks for remembering me, and it was a great time in my life. Fandoms are great communities as long as we can always remember there’s a human being at the other end of the keyboard.  Be kind, be compassionate, and never stop imagining the possibilities.

(Posted by Lilydale on February 23, 2021)

#old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #chimerical

[mst3kproject]

Teenage Wolfpack

This is, unfortunately, not a werewolf movie.

That’s it.  That’s why I’m reviewing it.  The title suggested a werewolf movie, the film itself would have been way more fun if it were a werewolf movie, it wasn’t, and now I’m annoyed.  I felt the same way about The Wolf of Wall Street but that one is way too upscale for this blog.

After opening credits set to some very catchy and extremely inappropriate swing music, we meet brothers Freddie and John Morgan.  Freddie, in his early twenties, was driven out of the house by their asshole father and now commits crime and dates underage girls.  John, age eighteen, still lives at home but is getting increasingly frustrated, especially when Mr. Morgan mistreats his wife.  In search of money to help his mother, Johnny gets drawn into Freddie’s web of crime.  Things start going south when the gang rob the wrong postal truck, ending up with mail instead of money, but Freddie’s girlfriend finds something in one of the stolen letters that makes him think maybe, just maybe, he can make crime pay after all.

On the surface at least, Teenage Wolfpack is a pretty serviceable movie.  The dialogue mostly makes sense and you can usually tell what’s going on.  There are times when it sets things up and pays them off pretty efficiently, but at nearly eighty minutes long, there is also a lot of time spent dithering around accomplishing nothing.  The opening, for example, where we are introduced to Freddie and his buddies as they show off their pasty German bellies at a swimming pool. They sexually harass random women, beat up the staff, and annoy their girlfriends.  This bit is far too long and ultimately does very little for the story.  Later we’re treated to a lengthy dance number, a weird sequence with a boy who admires Freddie throwing away his jacket, and a kidnapped dog, which are similarly useless.

The dog especially.  It’s a little wiener dog and it’s very cute, but it never does anything except hang out and be cuddled.  I kept expecting it to either get killed or for it to somehow be instrumental in the plot but it’s just a random dog and when things are supposed to be getting intense it vanishes from the story.  It also never barks once, which makes me wonder if the movie crew sedated it before filming.  My neighbours have two dachshunds and those little bastards never shut up, ever.

Outside of that, the story makes a reasonable amount of sense.  There are bits in which you’re not sure what people are actually talking about, but most of those end up not really mattering.  The final plot point, about the money at the bar, is not very clear at all – characters talk about what they found in the letter but we never get any details, or even see the text they’re reading (possibly this was simply cut from the English dub), so we only have the vaguest idea what they’re looking for.  Worse for this ending, and the thing that pretty much kills the whole film, is that it is entirely lacking in tension.  The guys are sneaking into the bar owner’s house to rob him while John, who has had enough of this, races to try to stop them. There’s a four-way standoff between Freddie, John, Freddie’s girlfriend Cissy, and the bar owner, in which the latter two are shot, but somehow the movie manages to make this downright boring.

I think a part of the problem may be that the stakes here are much lower than the earlier robbery of the postal truck, which involved fistfights and sneaking by the police (does anybody happen to know when ambulances were invented?  Because there’s a scene in this movie where a policeman flags down a random passer-by to ask them to take an accident victim to the hospital).  Here they’re just sneaking around a house and their only foe, besides each other, is a man with a heart condition.  I guess we’re supposed to be worried for the bar owner, but he’s not really a character, just an Italian stereotype even broader and more offensive than that skit from Devil Fish.

The other issue is that we’re not really sure what this movie wants to be.  Of course it’s a morality play, teaching us that criminals can never win, but it kind of wanders around that point in circles rather than attacking it from any particular angle that might unify the story.  There are repeated hints that John is going to end up taking the blame for Freddie’s shenanigans, but the story never follows through on that. Cissy plays it sweet for most of the movie but turns out to be the very worst of this nasty lot, lying and trying to turn the brothers against each other… that was kind of a fun twist, but it’s not at all necessary to the plot.  At the end, Freddie and John’s father turns up to identify these two criminals as his sons, but then the movie’s over, without any attempt at exploring what this means for the family.  Mr. Morgan is clearly upset to see them getting arrested, but whether he will reconcile with Freddie or just disown John along with him, we never find out.

Cissy, by the way, is supposed to be fifteen. We never find out how old Freddie is exactly, but he’s at least a couple of years older than eighteen-year-old John. That’s a little questionable, but what’s even more questionable is the camera’s loving attention to her ass, especially when actress Karin Baal was only sixteen when she was in this movie.

The thing MST3K would have surely had the most fun with is the characters, which are very flat.  John is a Wholesome Young Man who does things like remind his brother, who has just stolen a car right in front of him, to obey the speed limit. Mike, Tom, and Crow would have added their own dialogue to characterize him as a hopeless sniveling Mama’s Boy and it wouldn’t be much of an exaggeration.  He’s supposed to be conflicted once the actual crime begins but instead he just comes across as a fool, willfully ignoring what Freddie’s really up to in the attempt to feel better about his own part in it.

Like a number of characters in MST3K movies about young criminals, the movie balks at actually allowing John to commit a crime. He does hit a guy over the head with a gun, but the guy volunteered for it in exchange for some money from Freddie! While Freddie’s gang beat people up and rob the mail truck, John is merely distracting a night watchman by giving him a letter to mail.  It’s never very clear how much John knows about the whole plan.  He went to Freddie because he knows he needs more money than he can get through legitimate means.  He has seen them steal a car and when he’s sent to ‘borrow’ one he must know that the original owner probably isn’t getting it back, even if he’s able to secure it without any violence.  Yet in the face of all this, he does his level best to remain oblivious.

Freddie seems at once eager to have John as a partner and yet reluctant to actually bring him into the fold.  In T-Bird Gang the bad guys had Frank commit an actual crime as a test, to make sure he was up to it and to secure his loyalty.  Maybe it’s because John is family that Freddie doesn’t seem to feel a need to do this… maybe the ‘hit a guy’ thing was the test, but it didn’t feel like that.  Freddie can’t seem to decide whether he wants to trust John or protect him, which is another thing that movie could have used as a focus for this story, but doesn’t. It never really tries to get into Freddie’s head at all, which is a shame.

I guess the reason these movies don’t want their ‘hero’ characters to commit crimes is because they want them to seem redeemable.  The problem with this is that for a character to be redeemed, you need something to redeem them from.  A person can’t pick themselves up if they’ve never actually fallen.  Then again, I’m not sure this movie is about redemption.  Freddie certainly never redeems himself.  Cissy looks for a while like maybe she wants to get together with John and try a life of things other than crime, but doesn’t.  And John is only barely a criminal – we don’t even hang around long enough to find out whether his father’s going to think he is, or whether he’s going to take the blame for the stolen car.

Like so many other of these movies, the only goal Teenage Wolfpack seems to have is to make the audience feel crummy.  The moral lessons are barely a sketch and deeply unsatisfying.  The title seems to suggest an exploitation film but the bad behaviour it showcases isn’t any fun to watch.  The most interesting conflict the story sets up is between John, Freddie, and their father, but that is barely explored and certainly isn’t done justice.  The film-makers seem to have been competent but the script gave them nothing to work with.

This really should have been a werewolf movie.  Freddie’s been thrown out of the family for being a criminal, but when John goes to him looking for money, he discovers instead the terrible truth about the recent slew of animal attacks!  John still loves his brother but Freddie’s pack of slavering werewolves are a danger to everybody in town… can he bring himself to break out the silver bullets, knowing that he’ll be labeled a fratricide?  Can he protect the Italian bar owner, or even his own parents from werewolfish bloodlust?  That would have been an amazing movie.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #teenage wolfpack #50s

[blake-belladonna-defence-force]

Dear Little Me...

Recently, I’ve been struggling. Struggling with the fact that, looking back on my childhood, I was left with more scars than I thought. That it had far more impact on me and who I am today.

I spent a good portion of the other day traversing through my memories and coming to terms with the fact that I was hurting as a child.

Today... I came across this and decided to give it a go. As a way to let go of the past hurt. To validate myself. And maybe even as a reminder, not just to myself but to anyone that might need to remember that we are worthy of love and kindness and gentleness.

So... here it is. A letter to little me... and maybe, some of you can take a message away from it too.

Hey, Kiddo.

So this is me talking. Um… to start off… I’m nonbinary. No wonder we despised the clothes mum got for us, eh?

So… most people call me Defence these days… and yes, by that, I do mean my friends. And before you ask, yes, you find yourself friends one day. Friends that remind you that they care about you. Friends who never make you question whether or not you matter. Friends who see your flaws and your quirks, who see how different you are and still love you.

Do you know why?

Because you deserve it. Just as much as anyone else.

You do, I promise you that you do, hun. I know that you think you don’t. I know you think that the way your peers treat you is normal. I know that you think that the way your so-called “friends” treat you is normal but believe me… it isn’t.

It is not okay for them to question how devoted you are to the group just because you’d rather sit and listen because you just like listening to them talk.

It is not okay for them to make plans in front of you every single day but never invite you, excluding you from things that you so desperately want to be a part of but are too scared to ask for.

It is not okay for them to dangle their friendship in front of you but only let you get so clos, snatching it away when you behave in a way that they don’t like.

No, they’re not obligated to love you. No, they’re not obligated to spend time with you. They don’t have to invite you anywhere. They don’t owe you shit, to be quite frank.

But to make plans in front of you, to ignore you, to shower each other with affection while you’re forced to watch isn’t okay. To make you question why you’re not good enough for them isn’t okay. To slowly isolate you from them instead of being honest with you isn’t okay. To make their friendship, their love, conditional isn’t okay.

And the thing that hurts me now, kiddo, is I know how much that killed you. I know how much it chipped away at your soul and heart every goddamn day. I know how much you wanted to be a part of that. I know that you loved your friends fiercely. And I know that when you finally left the group… you may as well have not even existed. You discovered the truth that day, little one. You discovered that you didn’t matter. That you were nothing to them.

And it happened time and time again. Because you were different. Because you weren’t normal. Because you didn’t match up with what they wanted from you. Because you were a weirdo that spent more time with her nose buried in a book, content to listen to her friends because their happiness made her happy. Because you just didn’t understand social connections like they did. Because it was harder for you to connect to people your age.

And the worst part is… I know what you’re thinking right now. You think that this is okay. You think that this is normal. You think that love and friendship and affection is unobtainable to you. That you’re not allowed to have it. That you don’t deserve it. That you’re not worthy of it.

And it kills me that you’re going to feel this way for 23 years. It hurts knowing that you’re going to get your heart broken over and over and over again.

It hurts knowing that you question why anyone would be friends with you. Why anyone would love you. Why would they even tolerate you.

It hurts knowing that one day… hearing a friend say “I love you” is going to overwhelm you and leave you wondering “why?”

It hurts knowing that you think that you’re better off alone. That you’re meant to be alone.

And dear fucking Christ above, kid. It breaks my heart knowing that you can’t even look at any reflective surface because you can’t stand to look at the girl nobody wants to be friends with. That you hate yourself. That you wonder every single day what you’d done wrong.

It hurts knowing that you believe people when they say that you don’t care enough. That you’re heartless.

But let me tell you this… you didn’t do anything wrong, my love. You might not always know how to show it or maybe the way you show is just different or maybe you’re just not good at emoting… but you have a heart. You do care. You care so much and have so much affection for your friends that it bubbles up inside your chest and you feel like you’re going to explode because there’s just so much. It overwhelms you… but it’s only a bad feeling when you know they don’t even like you. When you know that they care right back? It’s very comforting.

And that love that you think you’re not worthy of? That friendship that you think you don’t deserve? I need you to know that you do. You are so, so worthy of it all. There is nothing wrong with you. You are not broken. You’re just different and that’s okay.

And here’s a little secret… one day… you’re going to get a haircut. You’re going to change your hair colour. You’re going to dress how you want to dress… and when you do? You are going to have the biggest, dopiest grin on your face when you look in a mirror and for the first time in your life you’ll like what you see and you’ll say “I feel handsome. I like me. This is good.” And it will be. Because you’ll finally be looking at you, not the person everyone wants you to be.

You’ll make friends who care about you. Friends who you care about you so much. Friends who make you feel wanted and loved. Friends that slowly help you unlearn all of the horrible lessons that your school years taught you. And you’ll help them in return. You’ll support each other. Tease each other. Annoy the utter shit out of each other. Be utter gremlins to each other. Scream at each other when you’re not taking care of yourselves. And it comes from a place of mutual fondness, which is very nice.

I know you don’t believe me. You still think that you don’t deserve it. That you’re too broken to have it. That you’re not allowed to have it. That’s okay. You take your time. Hell, I’m still learning to accept it myself! But there’s something else I want to tell you before I go. Something that has been a long time coming.

Are you ready?

I love you, little me. I do. I love you for your quiet nature. I love you when you get loud and excited and don’t know how to wait your turn to speak because of this really cool thing you learned! I love you when you’re shy. I love you when you just want to sit in your room and read. I love you when you think that no one else does. I love all of your quirks and I love you through your flaws. I love you when you’re being a little shit. I still love you when you fuck up and make mistakes, even when those mistakes hurt people. I love how you learn from them. I love how sensitive you are in a world that demands you to be cold and uncaring and harsh. I love your creativity and how you make dumb jokes just to make other people smile and laugh. I love that you’re clumsy because it’s a part of who you are. I love that you love so fiercely, even though it fucking terrifies you because you know it’s just going wind up with another broken heart. I love your strength that you think you don’t have. I love the bravery that you think you lack.

I love you, kid. I’m just sorry that it took me nearly 24 years to say it to you.

I won’t lie. We’re still hurting. Still healing. We have a lot of bad days. But the good days more than make up for them. I don’t always love myself and sometimes, often, I’m not very nice when I speak to myself. But this is me reaching out to you. This is me taking a step forward. This is me looking back at the hurt and scared little girl I used to be and smiling reassuringly.

Because believe you me, kiddo… we’re going to be okay.

That’s a promise that I intend on keeping.

You’re going to hurt. You’re going to lose people. You’re going to watch somebody very important to you fade away to illness and you’re going to grieve for them. You are going to be so strong and so brave for that, no matter what you think. It’s not easy, this road that we walk. But it’s ours and we’re not entirely alone. We have our family and one day, we’ll have our friends.

Chin up, baby girl. Keep those eyes open. Keep breathing and taking it one step at a time. Take as many breaks as you need to. Because one day… you’re going to make it to my point in the road and you’re going to look back and say “Holy shit. I did it!”

We’re not always kind to ourselves… but I am proud of you. I love you. And I promise that I won’t give up on you.

Promise that you won’t give up on me?

And I know it’s your birthday this month. I know you don’t like your birthday, even less after what happened with mum. But it’s okay to let go. It’s okay to be happy. It’s okay to laugh and smile and giggle as the people in your life celebrate you.

You deserve it. Because without you, I wouldn’t be in the amazing place I am now.

So… Happy Birthday, little me. You’re more loved than you think you deserve and I can’t wait until you see what’s in store for you.

Spoiler alert; you’re happy. Still sad, still have bad days, still spiral. But you’re happier than you have been for many years. That’s something to look forward to, my dear.

I’ll leave you here… but just know that the future is brighter than you think.

Lots of love,

Older you.

P.s… try shopping in the men’s section. Our non-binary ass will appreciate it 😉

#this is mildly terrifying to post #but hey... thats another step forward right? #and it might help not just me but somebody else too #plus... I feel a lot better now that I’ve written it

[p-and-p-admin]

Interview given to The Severus Snape and Hermione Granger Shipping Fan Group.  (sharing here Admin approved)

https://www.facebook.com/groups/199718373383293/

Hello Ciule and welcome to Behind the Quill, thank-you for sitting down with us for a chat.

SS/HG readers might be familiar with your stories “Awkward” and “Headmaster’s Wife”. 

Okay, let’s jump right in. What's the story behind your pen name? Well, I sort of took one of my real names, swirled the letters around in the air with my imaginary wand, and I ended up with this. Can’t begin to imagine where I got the idea from... ;-) Later on, I realized that Ciule is actually a name in Romania. I had no idea, but there are people out there carrying this name for real. I guess I’m #sorrynotsorry?   Which Harry Potter character do you identify with the most? To be quite frank: No one, really. This is more about the characters I like, than truly identifying with them. I can relate to parts of some of them, but not the whole package. Primarily, I write about Hermione, Voldemort and Severus, and the one common thread between those three is the search for knowledge. That’s a trait I can identify with, but I’m neither an evil bastard, a grumpy protector nor a fretting, intelligent activist. I am, however, a swot. If you had asked who I’d want to be, the answer is clear. I want to be Albus Dumbledore. Though I can’t agree with the things he did, I feel absolutely certain that he’s the one who has the most fun during the books. I want to have that twinkling fun in face of absolute chaos.   Do you have a favourite genre to read (not in fic, just in general)? Fantasy! Definitely fantasy. While growing up, I read ‘everything’ in every genre, and in my twenties, I decided I’d spend my time reading what I loved the most. So, fantasy it is. Do you have a favourite "classic" novel? You landed me in an existential crisis right there. I mean, there’s so many to choose from! ‘Wuthering Heights’, I think. It hurts so good. Or maybe ‘Rebecca’, at least, I loved that when I was younger. Or the fairly obscure ‘Lorna Doone.’ When I was a kid, I wanted to be a film director, shooting Lorna Doone into an epic film. Oh well, there might be a theme in this selection of books which reflects in my writing… At what age did you start writing? The creative process has gone on since forever. I’ve told myself thousands of stories in my head, but rarely written anything down. At the age of ten, I had a co-writing project with one of my friends. We created this secret room in her basement, and painstakingly wrote a ‘novel’. It was fun, though the writing ended as it became too cold down in the basement during winter. How did you get into writing fanfiction? In 2009, I became completely obsessed with a TV-show in the last episode. I was watching the entire series, casually enjoying the murder mystery, and in the last episode, the villain said: “I can do the math,” and I was literally gone. That obsession sparked writing my first fanfic stories. Those stories are still on FFnet, but they aren’t any good. *shrugs* What's the best theme you've ever come across in a fic? Is it a theme represented in your own works? Compromise. The world isn’t a perfect place, and will never be. You can, however, make it more to your liking. It may not be perfect, but if you play the cards you are dealt, you might improve something. In Robert Jordan’s “the Wheel of Time”-series, one of the characters goes through a test in a parallel universe of sorts, and she thinks: “The world was not what she wanted, not anywhere near it.” I loved that: trying your best to make things as you want them to be in the face of dangers and difficulties.   And then there’s time travel! I love messing with time, and there are so many great Time-travelling fics. Plus, I have to say I have a certain love for the villains...   What fandoms are you involved in other than Harry Potter? Currently, I’m not writing for any other fandoms. I read Star Wars, GoT, POTO and LOTR, and in the past I read Smallville. Though it’s more of a type of ship for me, because I only read Reylo, SanSan, Erik/ Christine, Lex/Lana and ….drum roll… the extremely small and quite oddball ship of Eowyn/ Grìma Wormtongue. If you’ve never tried the last one, go search for the fantastic stories by auri_mynonys. If you could make one change to canon, what would it be? Do you have a favourite piece of fanon? One change: duh, that’s easy, isn’t it? Severus lives. Or, maybe Dumbledore acting more rational, not keeping so many secrets. Maybe telling McGonagall that Severus is on the Order’s side… (Interviewer is laughing - ”NOT so easy”) I do write Voldemort wins AUs, but I wouldn’t want canon Voldemort to win. I prefer him to be more sane than in canon. My absolute favourite piece of fanon has to be the Black library. I thought it was canon, but it’s not. This is a thing that really, really should exist in canon! Do you listen to music when you write or do you prefer quiet? I’m very much inspired by music, and sometimes I listen as I write, but not always. Some fics are heavily inspired by music, such as ‘Absence’ and the last epilogue to ‘The Manipulation of Time and Matter’. What are your favourite fanfictions of all time? Definitely ‘Two Steps from Hell,’ by the amazing Ssserpensssotia, but that’s a Volmione. This was such a wild ride, I felt like I was on the edge of my seat, holding my breath the entire time. Those twists and turns were so unpredictable and … Well, I’m in awe. The SS/HG fandom is so massive, there’s a plethora of great stories out there. The unfinished ‘Self-Slain Gods on Strange Altars’ is a wonderful story by scumblackentropy, and I love Slytherpoufs stories, especially the wip ‘Ghosts’, but also ‘Angels to Fly’. And then there’s the one that got away - it means, I can’t find it. In this story, Severus watches the thestrals, befriending one of them, I think, but they’re unpredictable and maybe even dangerous. He’s heartbroken, and knows how it all will go down, having bitterly accepted his role. It made me cry. And then there’s the works by Aurette, and lena1987, Subversa, Kittenshift… Are you a plotter or a pantser? How does that affect your writing process? I need (strike that: want) to draft the entire story before I post, to have some idea on how it goes. That makes it easier to write, but if it’s a long story, I’m happy as long as I know the general direction. This year, I finished a story that was on an unintended hiatus for two years, and I think part of my problem on getting back into writing it up was a too vague idea for the ending.   What is your writing genre of choice? Uh. I don’t know? Basically, you could argue that I’m a porn writer, or at least it’s fuelled by sexual tension and angst. So, romance or drama, bordering on erotica might be correct. To be frank, I haven’t really thought about categories after I started posting on AO3. Which of your stories are you most proud of? Why? Hard to say. I might go with “the Manipulation of Time and Matter,” because I think it’s the best plot I’ve created. Besides, I managed to write Hermione having a relationship with both Severus and Voldemort in the same fic. My favourite “clean” SSHG would be the short story ‘Grimmauld’. Did it unfold as you imagined it or did you find the unexpected cropped up as you wrote? What did you learn from writing it? In Grimmauld, the house became a character. That was unexpected, and not something I had planned from the beginning. So the lesson would be “don’t start posting until you know what’s going to happen.” Or else, this story might have turned out very much different. I had to throw in a little made-up lore on how you set blood wards on a house too to make it sentient. That proved to be a quite chilling piece of magic.   How personal is the story to you, and do you think that made it harder or easier to write? I love old houses. Exploring abandoned houses, going inside to see what remains of furniture, tapestries and everything is so exciting. (It can also be dangerous, but that’s another matter). Such houses makes me feel .. nostalgic, plus I get those nice little shivers down your spine that is a little like a horror story. So, I wanted to use Grimmauld as a setting to explore that in a fic, to really dig into the aching loneliness of a lost house. The story came very quickly to me, so I guess that helped me.   What books or authors have influenced you? How do you think that shows in your writing? Big question there. Hmm, I think … it’s hard to say. I’m a reader, really, and I couldn’t easily pick apart any influences. Though I have to say that one of the things I enjoyed when reading ‘Two Steps From Hell’ was the attention to magic. I think it’s important to include spells, rituals and the use of magic in my fics, because that’s what sets it apart from a Muggle AU, for example. That’s an important part of the world-building.   Do people in your everyday life know you write fanfiction? My significant other knows. I didn’t tell him, but he found out for himself, probably by spying on me. When he told me, I almost couldn’t stop laughing, because he… erm, he said he had thought about reenacting a scene in my PWP ‘Twenty Points to Gryffindor’, where Severus shouts the title as he… well… you get the gist. If he had done that, I’d have had a heart attack. I would literally be dead. Instead, I laughed non stop for an hour.   How true for you is the notion of "writing for yourself"? Haha, so true. You spend all those hours in front of your laptop - and if I wasn't motivated by doing it for myself, I can’t even see how I’d force myself through all those hours. It’s fun, though. I do this because I love it.   How important is it for you to interact with your audience? How do you engage with them? Just at the point of publishing? Through social media? Very important. I'm on the publishing sites (visible interaction is why I prefer AO3 instead of FFnet) and on Facebook, mainly. I love feedback (as all authors do), and when people form theories or make comments, I get an insight into my own writing. I know how it’s going to pan out, but the audience doesn’t, and how they perceive things might be different from how I think it is. At times, it influences how I go forward, mostly because I need to add things, to explain what’s going on. What is the best advice you've received about writing? Don’t post until you know the ending, and remember: the devil on your left shoulder will be at war with the angel on the right side. Listen to the angel telling you to wait a little longer, and not to the devil chanting: ‘Post, post, post!’ In the end, of course, you’ll give in to the devil, regretting it until you’re done. What do you do when you hit writer's block? Read. Read a lot. And read some more. Has anything in real life trickled down into your writing? Certainly. I’m a foodie. For example, everything that Voldemort eats is stuff I love. His food habits are primarily mine, and I love cooking.   Do you have any stories in the works? Can you give us a teaser? It’s a short piece, maybe three or four chapters, with the title ‘Transference’. The point of departure from canon is during their time in the tent at DH. Hermione wakes up in a bed, in a room she doesn’t recognize, having no idea where she is, but she spots a large, moving picture on the drawer:  Feeling panic rising, she stared hard at the moving and smiling pictures, and her heart leapt into her throat, pulse hammering as she recognized herself in the largest picture. A slightly older Hermione, in a white wedding dress, kissing and laughing at someone who simply had to be a much younger Severus Snape. It had to be him: Long black hair, hooked nose, sallow skin - but then he looked so young, carefree and happy - expressions she had never seen on her dour Professor's face. Beside the picture, there were numerous cards, greetings and well-wishings for their wedding - the date an impossible 21 August 1982, and amongst the cards, the largest one stood out, the black ink showing an elegant handwriting: “Dear Hermione and Severus! Best wishes for your wedding, Lord Voldemort.” Any words of encouragement to other writers? Read and write, in that order. Don’t worry about trolls, because when you contribute something that you created, it makes you so much more than people spending their time just raining on anyone’s parade. You brought something new to the world, they’re just reacting to things. If someone accuses you of a self-insert, go ahead and lecture them on the intentional fallacy. I promise, you won’t regret looking it up. ;-)   And please, mind the normal physical limits when you’re writing smut. Unless you give the male a stamina potion or put him under the Imperius, it’s unlikely that his refractory period allows him to come five times in one hour. Realistic smut is so much more sexy, lol. Thanks again for speaking with us Ciule.

#fanfic #fanfiction #snamione #writing

[nerianasims]

Billboard #1s 1967

Under the cut.

The Buckinghams – “Kind Of A Drag” -- February 18, 1967

The song's about how it's "kind of a drag" when your girlfriend cheats on and then leaves you. Not exactly a heartrending wail of anguish. The song's nothing.

The Rolling Stones – “Ruby Tuesday” -- March 4, 1967

What possessed someone to name a chain of bland American restaurants after this song? They wanted to be associated with a woman who changes with every new day, and needs to always be free? The restaurant Ruby Tuesday's is the opposite of changing with every new day and taking risks. Anyway. When I wrote that the Rolling Stones were almost never nice, I was thinking of this song, on which they are actually nice. The narrator's ex-girlfriend needs to leave to be free and take constant risks, though at "such a cost." It's based on a real ex-girlfriend of Keith Richards', who left him because he wasn't wild enough for her. Really. He ended up going to her parents and warning them that the amount of drugs she was doing, she was gonna end up dead, and they were able to save her. Seriously, she was living such a dangerous life that Keith Richards felt he had to do something. She's apparently doing fine now.

So um. Great song. I especially like the flute. It's a little weird to listen to Mick Jagger sing about a woman who's wilder than him, but the woman really exists (though I don't think she's wild now.) And both Keith Richards and Mick Jagger survived an era many of their peers did not, so they must have known where to draw the line. It's a bittersweet story with a happy ending, which plays against what's normally expected from The Rolling Stones, or really most popular musicians.

The Supremes – “Love Is Here And Now You’re Gone” -- March 11, 1967

The Supremes were no longer in Detroit with this song, and it shows. It's a far slighter song than anything they'd recorded before. And there's more than one embarrassing spoken word section. Most telling, I had never heard this song before doing this list. It's also the first Supremes song I don't think is good at all. Another heartbreak song, a bunch of tambourine, and a bunch of nothing.

The Beatles – “Penny Lane” -- March 18, 1967

I loved this song when I was a kid. It's an adult's hazy memory of their childhood home, with plenty of humorous flourishes. It's a cute song, but there's something sad about it too. It's about nostalgia -- he's remembering Penny Lane, but he's not about to go back and have his memories tarnished.

The Turtles – “Happy Together” -- March 25, 1967

I think I've heard this song too much. It sounds overly polished and hollow to me.

Nancy & Frank Sinatra – “Somethin’ Stupid” -- April 15, 1967

Ew. Who thought Frank Sinatra singing a love song duet with his daughter was a good idea? And this isn't one of those love songs that could easily be sung to anyone you care for -- no, this is definitely supposed to be a romantic song. Ew, ew, and furthermore, ew.

The Supremes – “The Happening” -- May 13, 1967

Horribly produced. Diana Ross seems to be fighting with the instruments to be heard, and I can't understand what she's singing. Looking up the lyrics, the song is apparently about how all her plans fell apart because she lost her love. But musically, the song sounds like it belongs in a circus tent. This is a painfully bad song, which is depressing coming from The Supremes.

The Young Rascals – “Groovin'” -- May 20, 1967

A nice calm song about doing what you like with your s.o. on a calm Sunday. (And not with Leslie. The line's supposed to be "you and me endlessly," though even knowing that, it still sounds like "you and me and Leslie.") It's got a nice beat and motion, so it's not dull. It's just, well, groovy.

Aretha Franklin – “Respect” -- June 3, 1967

All hail the Queen. And her backup singers and band, while we're here. But mostly her.

The Association – “Windy” -- July 1, 1967

This sounds like a sitcom theme song. How does one "capture a moment"? Is Windy a photographer? "Windy has stormy eyes/ That flash at the sound of lies" is a pretty good lyric, even if it also sounds like the kind of thing I wrote when I was twelve. Otherwise, I'd expect to hear this on Nick at Nite.

The Doors – “Light My Fire” -- July 29, 1967

The narrator in this song is a dick talking about his dick. Why does his girlfriend have to light his fire? How much thought has he put into lighting hers? The song is also incredibly repetitive. And yet, it's still sexy, thanks entirely to Jim Morrison. I can't say I like it exactly, but I also can't claim it's not hot.

The Beatles – “All You Need Is Love” -- August 19, 1967

Hating on this song has been the thing to do since I was a teenager myself. Like, come on, you also need food lol dumbasses. Except that's a really shallow reading of the song. Not that the song's exactly deep. But since I've become disabled and totally dependent on my husband, I've understood it a lot better. Now all we need to do is get everyone to feel love for everyone, the "love thy neighbor" type of love that this song is talking about, and everything will work out! Okay well no one said the song was a political platform with practical solutions.

Bobbie Gentry – “Ode To Billie Joe” -- August 26, 1967

I've been sitting here trying to figure out what to say about this song for some time. First, it's an amazing song. It's a story country song, and in this one, the narrator is a part of the story. But no one in her life knows it. No one knows what she and Billie Joe threw off the Tallahatchie bridge (I don't see how it could possibly have been a baby fwiw), but it doesn't really matter. What matters is that everyone in this family may as well be strangers to each other. They're physically close, economically interdependent, and completely without intimacy. It's called Southern Gothic, but it's familiar across the country, and maybe across the world.

The Box Tops – “The Letter” -- September 23, 1967

The narrator's wife has written him a letter saying she wants him back, so he has to get home as fast as he can. The singer sounds old enough to have seen a lot of life (he wasn't), and the music is happy while remaining grounded. Quite good.

Lulu – “To Sir With Love” -- October 21, 1967

No, it's not about a D/s relationship. Thankfully, since it starts with "Those schoolgirl days." This song is about a movie of the same name, which stars Sidney Poitier as a teacher who helps a class of mostly-white troubled students. Can you imagine having Sidney Poitier as a teacher? My crush on him would have been devastating. And the narrator does sound like she has a crush on him, but not like she's trying to get anywhere with it, thankfully. She's grateful for his teaching and guidance. And I'm bored. It's musically soupy -- there needs to be more of a beat. Also, the subject matter of a student feeling grateful to a teacher doesn't move me. I've been grateful to many teachers in my life, but it's not exactly a highly charged emotion.

The Strawberry Alarm Clock – “Incense And Peppermints” -- November 25, 1967

Incense and peppermints are what you keep on hand to cover up pot smoke. So, obviously, this is a song about getting high, even if the lyrics claim "incense and peppermints" are "meaningless nouns." It's about how nothing matters, nothing changes, but everything is connected. Maybe it sounds profound when you're high. Like "the color of time" line. I like it musically, but the lyrics just make me roll my eyes. It's not good nonsense and it's the shallowest imaginable philosophy.

The Monkees – “Daydream Believer” -- December 2, 1967

Musically, the Monkees were usually Davy Jones and some studio musicians. But all of them played and/or sung on this song, and they should have been allowed to on previous ones, because I don't hear a difference. In the song, the narrator's wife is feeling down about life. She was a daydream believer and homecoming queen, and now they don't have any money. Life isn't like her daydreams. But the song doesn't get into that; it's basically an airy love song. It's okay.

The Beatles – “Hello, Goodbye” -- December 30, 1967

I thought this was an awkward song about a relationship dissolving because they can't agree on anything, but apparently it comes from an improvised word game. It sounds like The Beatles, so that's good, but not one of their best efforts. It's as close to nothing as The Beatles got.

BEST OF 1967 -- Respect and Ode to Billie Joe WORST OF 1967 -- Somethin' Stupid, as it's the one that actually grosses me out. even if musically it's not the worst

#billboard number ones

[arcadiafound]

It is the first thing he is advised to not do. His lawyer, his lawyer, not the Prescott family lawyer, is an unfamiliar face but she is the only person Nathan has seen in weeks, and the only person since the news broke who has been able to step foot in the Prescott manor. Perhaps her presence is comforting yet suffocating at the same time. She stands half a foot shorter than him, heels clicking on the linoleum as she paces around the kitchen, answers to his questions visibly juggling around on her tongue. Her jaw tenses, and untenses, and Nathan feels his anxiety spike just looking at her. She pauses only to take a sip of her coffee, and when her hands land palm-down on the marble island, Nathan feels pinned under her gaze.

“You cannot talk to Rachel during any of this. Do you understand?”

Her brown eyes land on him and he suddenly feels very uncomfortable. Most likely because the answer she gives him is not the answer he wanted to hear. He was alone in this enormous house, and Rachel was the only person who ever understood what he had been going through. Especially now, he thinks, but he can’t be too sure. While she was being examined in the hospital, her parents allowed no visitors and there have been no answers to his texts. Rachel emerged from the underground only to become a ghost again. All Nathan wanted was to see her, not even speak. What would they talk about, anyway? There was no point in asking if she was okay, because he out of anybody else on this planet knows that she isn’t. 

He goes back to slouching in his seat at the kitchen island. “I just want to get her something. Flowers, or whatever. Everybody has been giving her flowers.”

His lawyer moves just a few inches closer to him and it sets off the alarms in his head. Nathan jerks away from her. “Nathan, I don’t know if you’ve ever had to deal with D.A. Amber, but he’s headstrong as it is. You say everybody in this town wants you dead, but I think that’s the only man here who will actually do it.” Her eyes are pleading. “Just hunker down in here for a few more days. They’re almost done with Rachel. A couple more days of cross-examination and then it’s your turn. You have to prepare to see your father again.”

Your father. Two words that immediately shut him down. He stays awake at night paralyzed with fear imagining what Sean was going to do the second his eyes landed on his son. Nathan’s eyes drop to the floor. “I get it,” he tells his lawyer, and even though the look on her face tells him that she barely believes him, the topic is dropped. It’s not enough to stop him from driving down Route 6 and stopping at Josie’s Floral Arrangements just a day later, picking up the special I’m Sorry bouquet full of flowers he does not recognize and driving right back to the Amber residence. In the middle of the day, all of the curtains are pulled shut. Half-melted candles litter the walkway up to the front door and Nathan just watches the house for a bit, thinking about the times he drove her home after theatre rehearsals and forcing out a few smiles just to ease her mind. Driving home with blush leaking down his neck after she parted ways with a kiss on his cheek. 

The flowers sit heavy in the passenger’s seat. His lawyer’s words ring out in his skull. Does he really want to do this? (Maybe Rose Amber will open the door instead.) Nathan keeps the car stalling when he exits, grabs the bouquet and cradles it in his arms when he knocks on the front door. He avoids eye contact with the door’s peephole and only raises his head when the door opens in front of him. He watches as James Amber’s face contorts, his lips raise and curl to expose his teeth and he explodes in a fiery rage. 

“A Prescott has the balls to show up at my door with the knowledge of what he’s done to my daughter? I’m shocked.” He steps forward, effectively making Nathan cower and back down from the front door. “You know full well what I think of you showing up here. Rachel has gotten cross-examined by lawyers for days now and you have the audacity to show up and, what, expect her to talk to you? Give you all of the details so you can spend mere hours in court and leave not guilty? I catch you roaming these streets free and I swear…”

“James?” A voice calls from inside. Nathan finally lifts his head.

“I just wanted to give her…”

Hands rip the bouquet from his arms. When he looks behind James, into the house, Nathan can see Rose emerge from the kitchen and Rachel from upstairs. She catches glimpse of him standing outside and pauses coming down the stairs. They make eye contact and Nathan wants to melt in a puddle of all the words he’s been meaning to say to her.

“You are giving her nothing, do you understand that? You’ve given her nothing but trauma the entire time you’ve been at Blackwell together. Arcadia Bay is ruined permanently and has been the second your family stepped foot in it.” James throws the bouquet onto the stone stairs below them and steps on it to approach Nathan. “If I ever…”

“James, enough.” Rose’s hands wrap around his bicep. “Please.”

He doesn’t stop. 

“If I ever see your face again, you’re going to wish they had given you life in prison.”

Rachel finally speaks from her position on the stairs. “Dad,” her tone is begging, “please. Just leave him alone. He’s leaving.” Nathan looks at her again but he rips his gaze away when James looks towards him.

“Right,” he stammers. “I’m leaving.” His hands are thrown up. “You’ll never see me again.”

The Amber family watches as he trips over his loafers to make his way to his truck.

Rachel texts him later that night. I'm sorry about earlier, it reads, but Nathan is shaking with anxiety. Too much to reply. The next day his portion of the trial began, and he wakes up after a mere 45 minutes of sleep to pull his closet open and fish out the suit Caroline had fitted for his graduation. Navy blue, she had picked out, cradling his face in the tailor shop as it was just the two of them. Behind her watery eyes, Nathan could see how proud of him she was. Graduating just like his sister before him. Just how Martin would’ve done. The hug was awkward, but needed, but she is nowhere in the manor to give Nathan another.

He drives with his lawyer to Portland.

The stairs to the court are littered with press and familiar faces. Nathan wants to collapse when he catches sight of Hayden, Victoria, Dana, even Max Caulfield. This was his biggest fear come to life. He was going to sit in front of everybody who knew him and confess all of his sins. Unload his brain and give everybody some free ammunition for them to throw back at him. When he manages to push past the press to enter the courthouse, he finds Rachel sitting between James and Rose. She looks up at him and smiles. 

Nathan swallows down bile.

It never goes away. No amount of preparation could’ve gotten him ready for the glares delivered by his father, or for the questions said by the lawyers. They all watch him crumple in on himself on the witness stand, staring at the twitching and shaking hands in his lap. When they ask him about his relationship with Mark Jefferson, he lifts his hands to grip the stand ahead of him and throws desperate looks towards the judge. “Can I have a recess, please?” He asks from a sour throat, and the judge nods.

“After you answer these questions.”

He bares it all to them just to have that fifteen minute recess. Nathan glows red in the face when he talks about how he craved having someone be proud of him, and Mark gave him that. There were good years with Sean, great even, but something switched when he got that Blackwell acceptance letter. Nathan began losing track of who he was, he was no longer able to track his moods or how his mind moved. He went from therapist to therapist after Sean deemed them unable to help, and the few that stuck were slipped bills to ensure that Sean was relayed everything Nathan spilled. He had no privacy, and in the summer before his freshman year at Blackwell Nathan morphed from Sean’s son to his legacy. 

Kristine leaving was the worst decision she could’ve made. It ruined his life, he says, detailing the way Sean would hit him after Kristine, supposed heir to the Prescott fortune, took her girlfriend and her life and left. Sean would slap and beat him black and blue and send him right off to class, just like that. Every meltdown Nathan had was his own fault. Mark Jefferson’s arrival to Blackwell saved his life.

The reassuring smiles when Nathan began shooting photos in black and white, the claps of hands on shoulder when Nathan sought out Frank for supplies, and reassurance that they are doing something amazing for the both of them when Nathan is assigned the task of drugging these girls. Nothing felt off, nothing felt real, he couldn’t tell what was and what wasn’t after Mark gripped his wrists and showed Nathan his twitching digits, asking him if that was something that was okay. Did these twitches feel normal? They started with his medication, so why even bother taking them if these rapid movements of wrists and fingers were going to fuck up their shots? 

Sean Prescott’s glare reduces him to tears. Nathan Prescott is breaking apart in front of everybody he knew.

“How long have you been alone?” Rachel asks over the phone that night, after answering his call for the first time in months. She sounds sad for him after he reveals that Kristine and his mother took off for Fort Lauderdale, where the family had lived before. They wanted no association with the Prescott name or fortune or legacy. He was stuck with it.

“A while,” he admits, unsure if he’s only counting the months since this story broke. “It’s okay.”

“Is it?”

It isn’t, they both think.

#❪ ･‘ﾟ♛ * 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 : RICH BOYS DON’T HAVE HEARTS. ❫ #no meta tag but heres an establishing post for my verse with kayla #had to get this particular inspo out #❪ ･‘ﾟ♛ * 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 ⋆ 𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 : DARKRCCM . ❫ #child abuse cw #manipulation cw #trauma cw #drug ment cw

[thecomicsnexus]

Lost, Legacy, Love, Life

DC UNIVERSE REBIRTH JULY 2016 BY GEOFF JOHNS, GARY FRANK, ETHAN VAN SCIVER, IVAN REIS, JOE PRADO, PHIL JIMENEZ, MATT SANTORELLI, JASON WRIGHT, BRAD ANDERSON, HI-FI DESIGN AND GABE ELTAEB

SYNOPSIS + REVIEW

From the Speed Force, outside of reality, Wally West narrates his many attempts to break into reality or at least, warn everyone about the mysterious forces manipulating reality that already removed ten years of history, love and relationships.

His first try is Batman, trying to make him remember about Barry giving him the letter from Thomas (from Flashpoint), Bruce cannot remember him, but he starts questioning his reality.

He then tries to “awake” Johnny Thunder, telling him that the world still needs the Justice Society of America. Johnny seems to remember everything, but reveals that he has been trying to bring them back all along. However, he has lost contact with Thunderbolt.

We then move fast across the DC Universe, we see Saturn Girl held prisoner as they think she is insane (she will end up in Arkham), we see Ryan Choi taking the Atom mantle to find Ray Palmer. We see the next Aqualad. Green Arrow and Black Canary not knowing they had a thing, yet knowing something is missing.

We also see Pandora being killed by an unknown (very blue) force. Saying that they (the heroes) will find a way to stop him. She talks about Hope being stronger (in line with Pandora’s myth).

As the world is still mourning the death of Superman, the Converge-New-Earth Superman, Lois and Jonathan see the news on TV with a bit of despair. Lois thinks this Superman will come back, like his Clark did after Doomsday. When Clark steps out of his hotel room, he is visited by the mysterious Mr. Oz who warns him that he is not what he think he is (we will learn eventually that Oz claims to be Jor-El, will murder a lot of people, plan complete planet genocide, and as a reward, Lois and Jonathan will leave Earth with him as some kind of summer vacation. Horrible parenting skills).

Arthur finally proposes to Mera.

Wally tries to make contact with Linda Park (who has always been his lightning rod), but she doesn’t remember him. Wally loses all hope to return.

(Yes, this is an homage to Crisis).

We then learn that there was always another Wally West in New-Earth. And Wally sees that he has powers as well and feels that at least his void will be filled.

Finally, he visits Barry to try to make him remember about Flashpoint and tell him that it wasn’t really his fault, that someone messed up the timelines while they were merging. Wally says goodbye and prepares to join the Speed Force forever. But at the last minute Barry remembers and brings him back to reality.

But there is still a war coming about Hope and Despair. Batman finds the Comedian’s button in the Batcave (apparently came from the speed force lightning).

This is a very emotional comic-book. It brings back memories of what the DC Universe used to feel like in the nineties, before DiDio. When legacy heroes were the norm and part of an extended supporting cast. When despite being very dark times, the heroes could really overcome anything. It’s so strange that Geoff Johns was involved in many events that shaped the DCU for the worst and for the better. While Wally didn’t find happiness after this  and ended up killing his best friend (by mistake), some of the things that came out of this issue survived. And really, after reading most of Doomsday Clock, you can see the connections. Even more so seeing Gary Frank’s art here.

After these few years, I still think that DCU is heading somewhere thanks to this event. You can see that Flashpoint Batman was incorporated into this, and that is no coincidence. It cannot be a coincidence that he ended up being a big element in Tom King’s run. Now, I am not sure if Johns had anything to say about Wally West’s trashing in Heroes in Crisis, but he says here that a war between hope and despair is coming. Well, there was plenty of despair recently, and Doomsday Clock/Metal have been shaping the Universe into despair. We are in the f*cking year of the villain!

DiDio is right in saying that the heroes shouldn’t be entirely happy, that they shouldn’t have everything solved. But they are also an inspiration, role models, and most importantly, someone in this planet is meeting them for the first time, and it would be a pity if they cannot see why we loved them so much. Some hope is required in heroic stories.

So call me whatever you want, but I do think that DC has a plan. It’s just taking forever because Doomsday Clock had too many delays. Plus the Three-Jokers story that we have been promised since Darkseid War.

And why would Pandora admit to shape reality if she knew about Manhattan? Well, I don’t think she actually knew it wasn’t her. And about the Watchmen twist... this was spoiled ahead of the publication, so most people were prepared for this. It was already theorized when “Before Watchmen: Doctor Manhattan” came out, that one of the universes he created was the New 52. Well, as we see in Doomsday Clock, it’s more complicated than that.

It is also an amazing job in terms of art, that we have artists that were involved in Wally adventures in the past (or in other “Rebirths”). Phil Jimenez and Gary Frank really aced the most emotional sequences in this book.

I give this issue a score of 9 

#gary frank #brad anderson #phil jimenez #dc comics #comics #review #2016 #post modern age #rebirth #dcu #dc universe rebirth #wally west #the flash #watchmen #doctor manhattan #joker #batman #flashpoint

[gokinjeespot]

off the rack #1292

Monday, December 16, 2019

 I sure got a heavy cardio workout yesterday scraping off the ice from both vehicles after the rain on Saturday froze under a layer of snow overnight into Sunday morning. That kind of temperature change will give you whiplash. The frozen blowing snow covered half of our birdfeeders too so I had to clear those off for our feathered friends. It's despairing when the temperature drops during the day instead of getting warmer. Stupid Arctic Air Mass.

 The Red Mother #1 - Jeremy Haun (writer) Danny Luckert (art) Ed Dukeshire (letters). The first page with the disintegrating skull will give you an idea of what this beautifully drawn new story is about. Daisy and her boyfriend Luke are walking home from dinner when they are attacked in a scary black space behind an iron gate. Luke is hauled into the blackness and Daisy has her right eye plucked out but survives. By the end of this issue she's seeing scary things through a haze of red. I loved the art in this and look forward to meeting Mother.

  Harley Quinn & Poison Ivy #4 - Jody Houser (writer) Adriana Melo (pencils) Mark Morales & Wade von Grawbadger (inks) Hi-Fi (colours) Gabriela Downie (letters). The Floronic Man attacks the girls again. This time in a roadside dinosaur theme park run by a crazy old lady. Poison Ivy figures out how the bad guy is tracking them and Harley fixes that problem with a machete. This is one crazy story.

 Punisher Soviet #2 - Garth Ennis (writer) Jacen Burrows (pencils) Guillermo Ortego (inks) Nolan Woodard (colours) Rob Steen (letters). Frank has reluctantly taken on a teammate in his fight with a Russian mobster. This issue starts that guy's origin story.

 Something is Killing the Children #4 - James Tynion IV (writer) Werther Dell'Edera (art) Miquel Muerto (colours) AndWorld Design (letters). Erica goes shopping for monster killing tools and into the woods we go. Time to meet the monster.

 X-Force #3 - Benjamin Percy (writer) Joshua Cassara (art) Guru-eFX (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). The enemy is revealed and they are Xeno. Kind of reminds me of the Court of Owls from Batman. Wolverine and Kid Omega rescue Domino from their clutches while a new Charles Xavier is hatched with a rebuilt Cerebro to lead the war. I liked how Magneto made a sword for Charles from the broken Cerebro helmet.

 The Dollhouse Family #2 - M. R. Carey (writer) Peter Gross (layouts) Vince Locke (finishes) Cris Peter (colours) Todd Klein (letters). Maybe I'm wrong but I suspect that the M. in the writer credit stands for Mike. I loved Mike Carey's Vertigo books and this has a very familiar feel. I like how the house is a character too.

 The Immortal Hulk #28 - Al Ewing (writer) Tom Reilly & Matias Bergara (art) Chris O'Halloran (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). The villain gets the spotlight this issue as Roxxon C.E.O. Dario Agger tries to find a way to fight the Hulk. He goes to find an ally on Monster Isle and I laughed when I saw who it was.

 Valkyrie #6 - Al Ewing & Jason Aaron (writers) Pere Perez (art) Jesus Aburtov (colours) VC's Joe Sabino (letters). What a great read. This is an example of how two good writers can produce a highly enjoyable issue of a comic book. Add to that very nice art and you've got a "pick of the week". Part one of "Strange Aeons" starts a new story where Val needs to put together a team to save Death. Doctor Strange is her first recruit and Night Nurse, Cardiac, Doctor Faiza Hussain AKA Excalibur and Manikin make the journey to the valley of the shadow of death. Talk about D-list, but I trust that Al and Jason will make good use of these heroes.

 Detective Comics #1017 - Tom Taylor (writer) Fernando Blanco (art) John Kalisz (colours) Travis Lanham (letters). This is a great one issue story if you want to see why this comic book is on my "must read" list. Batman solves two crimes and I was happy to see Damian helping out. If Tom Taylor did a Robin book, I'd read that too.

 Fantastic Four #17 - Dan Slott (writer) Luciano Vecchio, Carlos Magno, Bob Quinn & Sean Izaakse (art) Erick Arciniega (colours) VC's Travis Lanham (letters). I was wondering why this story was called "Point of Origin" and this issue explain why. We all know that the Fantastic Four were bombarded with cosmic rays when they took their maiden flight and that's what gave them their super powers. Little did we know it wasn't an accident. It's a subtle change and doesn't make a lot of difference in the grand scheme of things but it is kind of neat.

 Miles Morales: Spider-Man #13 - Saladin Ahmed (writer) Javier Garron (art pages 1-2, 16-20) Kevin Libranda (art pages 3-8) & Alitha Martinez (art pages 9-13) David Curiel & Protobunker (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). I usually get annoyed when an issue is drawn by a bunch of different artists but Javier, Kevin and Alitha all did a splendid job and the story flowed seamlessly. The awesome colouring job helped too. Say hello to Billie Mariana Morales. Miles is now a big brother.

 Superman #18 - Brian Michael Bendis (writer) Ivan Reis (pencils) Joe Prado (inks) Alex Sinclair (colours) Dave Sharpe (letters). As big a Brian Bendis fan that I am, I stopped reading this title because I wasn't interested in what was happening in the book. Now I'm interested again. Superman drops a bomb that's going to explode into all kinds of repercussions. I liked how Wonder Woman, Batman and Lex Luthor reacted to the news even though they don't utter a word. That's great art right there. The cover will give you a hint to what Superman's announcement is.

 Fallen Angels #3 - Bryan Hill (writer) Szymon Kudranski (art) Frank D'Armata (colours) VC's Joe Sabino (letters). Cable, Psylocke and X-23's mission to save some children continues and one of the heroes is captured by the enemy. I hope their next story happens in the daytime because these issues have been very dark.

 Dark Knight Returns: The Golden Child#1 - Frank Miller (writer) Rafael Grampa (art) Jordie Bellaire (colours) John Workman & Deron Bennett (letters). No returning Dark Knight since this story features Lara, Jonathan and Carrie, the kids of the Big Two. They battle old man Joker and old man Darkseid. I loved the art. The writing was annoyingly repetitive. That seems to be Franks writing style now using lots of verbs and choppy little captions. I don't like it. The thing about comic books is that the art and writing go hand in hand and I just couldn't stop reading the words part way and just look at the pretty pictures. Seeing Greta Thunberg on the last page just made me love Rafael even more.

 Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man #14 - Tom Taylor (writer) Marguerite Sauvage (art flashback) Ken Lashley (art) Marguerite Sauvage & Rachelle Rosenberg (colours) VC's Travis Lanham (letters). Crappydoodles! This is the last issue. I am sad. I enjoyed the entire 14-issue run. It was Juann Cabal's art that got me hooked but Tom's writing kept me reading. His stories were very Mister Rogers and I liked them a lot. He showed Peter committed to his sense of responsibility and ended this issue nicely. I'm going to miss this title.

 The Batman's Grave #3 - Warren Ellis (writer) Bryan Hitch (pencils) Kevin Nowlan (inks) Alex Sinclair (colours) Richard Starkings (letters). Batman is working on a case of murder disguised as a suicide. I like how this issue starts and ends with him working the case with Alfred in the Batcave that bookends 10 pages of wordless solo crime scene investigation and a fight with an intruder for a crucial clue.

 2099: Doom #1 - Chip Zdarsky (writer) Marco Castiello (art) Chris Sotomayor (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). This one-shot doesn't add much to the overall story but I like Chip's writing so I read it. Victor winds up in 2099 fighting his future self. The last page doesn't make a lot of sense so skipping this comic won't hurt much.

 2099: Spider-Man #1 - Nick Spencer (writer) Ze Carlos (art) Brian Reber & Andrew Crossley (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). I was as confused as the Miguel in this story when I got to the end. We get a sense of what's happening in 2099 that's bad for everyone but there's no connection to the main story as far as I can make out. These 2099 one-shots have been a waste of time, which doesn't bode well for Marvel's next big event. I'll read 2099 Omega to see if there's a point to this story and I'll read The Amazing Spider-Man #36 that ties into this event because that book is on my "must read" list, but Nick Spencer is skating on thin ice with me.

 Annihilation - Scourge: Beta Ray Bill #1 - Michael Moreci (writer) Alberto Alburquerque (art) Jay David Ramos (colours) VC's Joe Sabino (letters). This was a good single issue story. Beta Ray Bill goes up against the Sentry and saves our universe from the scourge of the Cancerverse. I liked that he's teamed up with Lockjaw.

 Annihilation - Scourge: Silver Surfer #1 - Dan Abnett (writer) Paul Davidson (art) Matt Milla (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). I was asked recently if the Silver Surfer was good or evil after the Silver Surfer Black story and I didn't know the answer until now. This tie-in one-shot takes place right after Silver Surfer Black as Norrin Radd breaches the barrier between the positive universe and the Negative Zone to investigate what's causing the mass exodus from Annihilus's realm. Here he finds the means of defeating the Void controlled Sentry and thereby save two universes. He also discovers the ability to merge with another being sort of like DC's Deadman.