#this program breaks my heart on so many levels every time I watch it.

[thegildedbee]

Choice: May 10 Prompt from @calaisreno

Program Note: Here, apparently, is my version of the Fall (I didn't know I had one until writing this 👻 in response to the picture the word "Choice" prompted in my mind's eye.) Because I'm doing these on the hoof, you may find aspects that don't make sense or contradict something I wrote previously and so on. I point this out not to whine,😊 but to invite you, if you're perplexed at anything, to feel free to let me know, in the notes or by message! I'll add any feedback re incongruities to my own growing list of errors, and, if I do something with these prompt puppies someday in actual fic form, I'll be sure to ponder any observations you send my way! ( tgb 🐝) ...........................................

Fleeing from Kitty Riley’s home after Moriarty's escape, Sherlock is more furious than he has ever been at any time in his life, and his breathing is shallow and patchy. He stands in the middle of the street, caught in indecision, as he watches John paging through the cuttings in Jim’s “Richard Brook” file folder, his heart beating erratically, his mouth pressed into a line that twists into a grimace, despair evident in every centimeter of his body. 

John registers the sudden quiet, and looks up distractedly, his forehead creasing in concern when he spies Sherlock suspended between one side of the street and the other, immobile. 

“Sherlock? What? What is it?” 

Sherlock’s brain has been stoppered along with the rest of his body, through the force of the emotional tsunami racing through his nervous system. He closes his eyes briefly, registering the storm inside: fury, despair, futility, chaos, blackness, and a deep unhappiness that any semblance of okay has disappeared, blown far out of sight and beyond his reach. His mind stutters on the last one, and he suddenly knows where he should be. 

“There’s something I need to do,” he says grimly, looking at John as if peering at him from a vast distance, which he is. He feels his thought processes beginning to slowly start making connections again.

“What is it? Can I help?” John says, confused, tentative.

“No. The rest I have to figure out on my own.” Sherlock turns away from John and breaks into a jog on his way to Bart’s, intent on catching Molly before she leaves the building, his feet pounding in a dismal cacophony as he makes his way. The mounting tension pressing against his skin from deep inside his body levels off when he catches sight of her in the hallway, and he skids to a stop and flags her down. 

“Molly. Earlier – when you said I looked sad, and asked me if I was okay. You were right. I am sad, and I’m not okay. Time is running out. I have very little room to maneuver, and none at all if I can’t find an ally I can trust. You said you didn’t count, and that’s not true. You do count. I’ve always trusted you. That’s why I’m here now. ” 

He looks at her intently, saying urgently, “I need your help. Moriarty has injected a lethal poison into the world that surrounds me, and its effects are accelerating, and they’ll soon take on a life of their own, if they haven't already.” He stops, fists balled up, his fingernails sending sharp stabs of pain through his system. 

Molly returns his gaze, also intent, scanning his face, her forehead furrowed. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I think I’m going to die.”

“Explain.” 

“I will. But first – it’s important for you to know that you can tell me no, for what I'm about to ask” he says softly, slowly, carefully. “If I wasn’t everything that you think I am – everything that I think I am – would you still want to help me?”

Molly looks back at him, steady on. “Sherlock. You are many things, some good, some not so good, some peculiar, some hard to fathom, some astonishing. Inside these walls, I have spent thousands of hours reconstructing lives with you, and beside you. I know who you are when you are here and I know it to be who you are when you walk back out these doors.”

She sits down on a stool, and says gently, “Tell me what you need. I’ll do my best to help you.” She watches as Sherlock gives her an achingly helpless nod, an expression that she doesn’t think she’s ever seen before on his face. “It’s urgent, yes? Let’s get started then. What do you need?” 

“You. I need you. Your medical expertise. Your access to Bart’s. Your ability to work with my streetside networks. Your solidity. Your counsel.”

As he speaks, Molly sees him beginning to regain his footing, and says, encouragingly, “Go on.”

“Moriarty is nearly done setting up his fun house mirrors, reflecting a false image of me to the world, destroying my reputation. I think he means for this all to end by making it seem as if I’ve committed suicide, when it will actually be by his hand in one way or another. It’s inevitable.

“I have a very few hours to try and tilt the odds in my favor. I need to meet him at a time and place of my choosing – in the morning, here at Bart’s, on the rooftop. No cctv; no outside intrusions; no other people at hand. Just the two of us, finishing the game he’s been playing, moving the last two pieces on the board: him, and me.

“But the roof, Sherlock. That sounds incredibly dangerous. What if he forces you off the edge?”

Sherlock continues, his tone grim and determined. “It may come to that, although I will do my best to turn the tables on him. I won’t know until I meet with him what options are viable. I hope to capture him; my best chance of repairing the damages he's made by his slashing through my existence is to take him alive. But it may not be possible. The roof we’re standing on – he may go over the side; I may go over the side; we both may go over the side. I am going to try and prepare for these eventualities, but I have very few resources I’ll be able to have at hand. I’m afraid that, in the end, it will come down to the unanticipated, and to whatever luck the universe will allow.”

“If you fall – how are you going to manage that?” Molly probes, worried.

“Before I answer you, first -- when this is happening, I’m going to need you to be in contact with Wiggins. Hold on, let me make sure he’s gettable.” Sherlock steps aside to send a text and then sets down his mobile -- and then immediately picks it up again, glancing up at Molly. “One more – stay with me,” and his fingers set to work sending a message to another number. He regroups, then at the feel of his mobile vibrating, holds up a finger. “Okay, Wiggins is standing by for instructions after we’re done."

Sherlock takes in a deep breath and pauses, and then takes in one more. “I’ll ask him to have members of his crew gather signs that can be placed to block off the street, and arrange those people so that they can reinforce the restricted access. There will be a crucial period when there should be nobody on the street who is not one of our confederates. He’ll text you when that is, and I’ll need for you to keep a lookout and provide help from inside the building, in heading off any of Bart’s personnel who may be at ground level for some reason, and who look inclined to leave the premises.

“That’s one thing. The next is if I’m injured. I’ll need for you to assess the situation and, only if it’s absolutely necessary, get some of them to help you route me to the emergency room. But only if it’s absolutely necessary. You know that my definition of absolutely necessary will be much further out on the scale than anyone else’s. Anything short of that, I’m asking you to triage me yourself as best as possible until Mycroft appears.

“Mycroft is helping, then?”

“No, not yet. I can’t be sure he’s not compromised. After whatever events transpire on the roof, I’ll know which it is, but I don’t have enough evidence yet. If I’m dead, it won't matter which it is. If I’m conscious, I can let him stay, or send him away and zigzag myself away somehow, whichever makes sense.”

Molly waits quietly, absorbing all the details she's being entrusted with.

“There are two items I need, and I’ve told Wiggins where to find the first – one of the old-fashioned nets that firefighters used before modernizing their equipment, in the case of suicidal jumpers or people up several stories high, caught in a burning building. They’re circular, but they’re stored folded in half. There’ll be a large laundry truck at the site, and the net will be stored hanging on the outside passenger side panel. Wiggins’ people will grab it, open it, and hold it – and we’ll hope for the best.

Molly's eyes dart back and forth, turning over the scenario. “But Sherlock, that’s incredibly risky. If the net is that old – whatever material it’s made out of could have degraded over the years, as well as depending on how it's been stored. It may not hold, and that’s if you actually land on it.”

“Or I can land on it, and it holds, but the momentum causes my body to bounce off of it, and I may get smashed up even so," Sherlock says evenly.

“Or no matter how hard they try to manage it," Molly continues, "one or more of the people holding it could falter, causing it to tilt at an angle, or even drop it before you land, or drop it if and when you hit it, come to that."

"Yes," Sherlock affirms. “Or there could be a wind gust that throws things off. And so on. I know. As clever as we both are, I’m sure we could find more specifics of what can go wrong. But at that point I’ll have no control over the matter, so spending more time on it now won’t help me stay alive."

Sherlock’s mobile vibrates again, and he reaches out quickly to grab it, as if it is something vital to hang onto while floating across a stretch of ocean, lost. After he reads the message, he also sits down, the stool catching him as he sways, and slips, holding him up.

Feeling some of his rising panic receding, he says, “There, that’s the second piece. There’s a small company about an hour outside of London, D30, that makes body armor for extreme athletes who ski, use motorcycles, and so on, people who attempt jumps and find themselves falling from a height, and need impact protection. They're doing work for the military now as well. They’re brilliant chemists, and they’ve been working with polymers and created a material that’s soft and pliable, but when hit with force it goes rigid, dispersing the force at the points of contact, and then returns to its original state. I’ve texted one of the engineers to see if they can bring me something to wear, and they should be here within the hour. It should help some."

“That's good," Molly says, although the stern cast of her face is at odds with her words, the reason why revealed with what she says next. "Sherlock, what about John? Why isn’t he involved in this? Or is he, toward some other end?” Molly asks, tense and apprehensive.

“Whether or not Moriarty and I actually physically struggle, I may still need to make the choice to jump, because I may need to buy time up ahead to be safe from Moriarty’s people while I try and neutralize them – especially if I can’t trust Mycroft. I may need to appear to have died."

Sherlook looks her in the eye, and then drops his gaze. “I’ll need two forms of evidence to bluff being dead. One is to have you do the autopsy and sign the death certificate. For the second verification, I'll need a compelling witness at the scene, and that will be John. I will need for him to believe I’m dead, no question, in order to convince others, as everyone will be looking to him over the days ahead, to see if there are any falsities about what's happened, and if he puts a foot wrong, it will all be for naught. He’ll have to be there to confirm my fall and how it killed me.

“There’ll need to be some stagecraft – I’ve stored some blood in the empty cadaver bin at the end of the last row on the bottom, which you’ll need to hand over to Wiggins, and which they'll spill around my head. I’ll place a rubber ball in my armpit that I’ll squeeze against my side, and that will stop my pulse along that arm."

Molly looks dissatisfied with the chain of thoughts Sherlock is sharing, but she remains quiet. "An additional bit of insurance that this will go off as it should," Sherlock continues, noting her disquiet, but shrugging to himself mentally, "there’ll be a bicycle rider who will collide with John to slow him down as he moves toward where I've landed. When he stops to help John up, he’ll place one of his riding gloves over John’s nose and mouth. His gloves will be soaked in a substance that, when John inhales it into his lungs, will immediately hit his bloodstream; he'll be light-headed and disoriented and somewhat clumsy for a short while. After it clears his system, he’ll assume that how he felt will be due to the shock of seeing me fall.”

Having heard all she can without responding, she slides from her stool and stands up, bending her elbows and placing her hands on her hips. “You’ll tell him, won’t you? He’ll be devastated if he doesn’t know the truth, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock shrugs, this time physically, his countenance withdrawn, his voice hesitant. “Initially, maybe. But I don’t think that John’s regard for me is based on a solid foundation. I told him once that heroes don’t exist, and that even if they did, I’m not one. But I think he’s invested in my being an infallible genius, and a chief reason he's stayed with me is that he has a front row seat to watch me perform my mental gymnastics. I’ve been observing him over the last hours, taking in the information that has been amassing that I’m a fraud, and I think it’s starting to have an effect. Even if he doesn’t completely believe everything they’ll say about me, if he believes even some of it, that will be the end of us. And if he does manage to set all of that aside -- I will have irreparably disappointed him by not being able to anticipate Moriarty's game and to beat him at it . . . and, in fact, to have done as badly at handling Moriarty as anyone without a brain would."

“Sherlock, I don’t think that’s true about John," Molly says insistently.

"You may be right, Molly. But beyond me, beyond myself, the horrible stories that are being spun are catching John within the web as well. The collateral injustices he will have to bear is thatof being an object of curiosity, of pity, of scorn -- at the very least -- and, much worse, he will come under suspicion himself of having been duplicitous." Sherlock sinks his head down into his hand, his expression wrecked and weary. "I don't want to add fuel to that fire, and divorcing him from myself and my work is the only thing I have of value to give him, in a poor imitation of compensatory and punitive damages for loss of employment, emotional distress, and product liability," he says forlornly, his tone edging into bitterness.

"Sherlock, even so, you need to give John a chance to let you know how he’s responding to all of this. Don't assume you know his mind."

Sherlock's eyes dart back and forth, lighting anywhere but in her direct line of sight. "I will, Molly. I’ll see him one more time, here in the lab before I go to meet Moriarty. I’ll be able to tell what he's decided about me then, after he’s had time to take in the latest theatrics and make a judgment. I'm sure he'll let me know what he thinks of me, and how he feels."

........................................................ @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @friday411 @peanitbear @original-welovethebeekeeper rest of the @s in the tags, which will work for communication purposes, I hope? just say the word if you want to be untagged or tagged xoxoxo

#mayprompts2024 #calaisreno #sherlock bits and bobs #may prompts 2024 #johnlock

[wrencatte]

I don't know about you, but that "I'm so scared." panel is haunting me....

Please excuse all the weird errors of all kinds. I once again wrote this on my phone in tumblr drafts...at work (😅😅).

I won't know how many words this is until I can get it in a doc and clean it up for ao3 posting

Bruce closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, steeling himself.

Dick had a tendency to go high. Jason's tendency is to go low. He tucks himself under tables and in small spaces that adults usually can't fit into. The Cave has a lot of places to hide under (and has a lot of places to climb onto, high into the sky where fear is just a memory and your parents bodies seem so far away) and Bruce has scoured the more obvious places before finding this one: the work table, where he dismantles and fiddles with gear.

And where Jason has taken to messing with his own gear, absolutely fascinated by the intricate mechanisms that made it all work. The kid is an absolute gearhead along with his love for literature, several books on different engines and vehicles have started to migrate to his room.

So Bruce crouches on his knees and peers under the table. The table is deep for toolboxes and a set of drawers on top, and Jason has managed to shove himself in the darkest corner, curled up in the smallest ball possible. He's hit a slight growth spurt in the last few months, leaving his elbows and toes sticking out from the shadows. His face is tucked into his knees. His breathing frantic and hitching - but still so impossibly quiet, like he's spent years teaching himself to cry silently and Bruce's heart breaks all over again at the reminder

(This isn't the first time Jason's cried since he came to live in the Manor, and every single time Bruce never knows unless he's right there when he starts or if he walks in on him mid-sob. And Bruce hates it.)

Bruce's broad shoulders block the light, and Jason flinches into a tighter ball, toes disappearing in the shadows.

"Hey," Bruce starts then stops and doesn't continue for a long moment. Jason stills like a rabbit caught in a fox's gaze, barely perceivable quivers. He exhales slowly. His knees ache on the worn thin rug that's meant to keep dropped things from rolling away. He settles down, legs crossed, hands up on his knees to show he's unarmed, though who knows what Jason's actually seeing. "Want to come out from there?"

Jason shakes his head.

"That's alright," Bruce assures him even though it can't be comfortable down there. "You don't have to so anything you don't want to do."

Jason's next breath is the loudest thing he's ever heard since he got hit with the fear gas. A new batch, more potent than the last. Half a dose could give an adult a heart attack. Jason got one-eighth of a dose via a broken mask and a second too late realization. Hell, they didn't even know he'd actually gotten hit until they made it to the Cave and Bruce turned around and he was gone, the analysis beeping behind him with the announcement that their current anti toxins would be ineffective.

He has a new anti toxin slowly being pieced together by a program and under Alfred's watchful eye, but that does nothing for him right here, right now, with Jason too terrified to make a sound.

Bruce doesn't talk much - he's never needed to - but he sits there and he starts talking. First about a case, of a long ago Rogue that had a funnier gimmick than most and did surface level property damage more than anything else - but eventually he found himself talking about the Justice League, about their unprecedented expansion, about various antics some of the newer heroes get up to.

He doesn't know if Jason's listening or even hears what he's saying. The boy doesn't uncurl. Doesn't make a sound. He hopes that he's breaking through the living nightmare somehow, but he also knows that hope doesn't mean anything.

But he keeps talking anyway.

During a lull, when Bruce's mouth is dry and his throat hurts and - Jason shifts just the tiniest bit. He peeks out from behind his knees, eyes glittering in the dark, and stares at Bruce with pupils blown wide from fear and drugs, chin trembling. Bruce feels like the kid is looking into his soul and finding him lacking, but he opens his mouth anyway and croaks out,

"I'm scared," soft and wavering, thick with tears and the type of brokenness that lends itself to helplessness.

It's a little bit like a confession. An admittance he doesn't want to make but he has no choice but to make it.

"I know," Bruce says gently. "We can fix that, though. It may seem like it, but you don't have to be scared forever."

He holds out a hand, warm and inviting in that same way he did towards the kid sitting across from him at a rickety outdoor picnic table, one who'd just finished inhaling a subpar batburger and fries, one who'd just fifteen minutes ago had even caught jacking the batmobile's tires and had the moxie to whack Batman in the stomach with a tire iron.

The kid then had eyed it warily. And didn't take it, just took a sip of his drink and quietly agreed to let Batman set him up in a warm house with warm meals and clean clothes and the most comfortable bed ever with the 'person I trust the most' - which isn't Bruce Wayne, but one Alfred Pennyworth.

The kid now eyes the hand warily. And takes it. Lets Bruce help him from under the table and lets Bruce fold him into a tight hug, his face tucked against the man's neck, breaths sobbing and hitching.

"I'm so scared," Jason repeats.

"Not for much longer, Jaylad. I've got you."

"I'm so scared," he says out loud, but there's no one around to hear it.

Jason's both grateful for it and collapsing inward when there's no assurance that'll all be over soon, that it won't be forever, that dad's got him. He drops to his knees with a gasp, heart thudding so hard he can feel it in his throat.

He's alone.

He's alone and there's a fear in his chest, invading his lungs, burrowing in his bones. It's going to be there forever. Forever and ever until he dies from it because this isn't a new life, this isn't a gift or love. This is a death sentence. Jason puts a hand to the ground to heave himself up but the thought of walking onto those streets makes him gasp and choke and the fear cycles in on itself from fear to adrenaline to fear fear fear. Never ending. Ramping up bit by bit the more Jason breathes and trembles and, fuck, he's terrified.

Jason scrambles backward on his hands until he hits a shelving unit that rattles. It feels like a knee to the spine, holding him down, driving in, and he sobs quietly. Quiet like he always is when he cries because there's never been a point in being loud about it. Being loud just got attention and attention was always bad.

And he's back to where he was fifteen minutes ago before Marquise - Scandal - showed up and dismissed him and walked away before he could explain. Knees tucked to his chest, arms around his legs, trying to convince himself to stand up, to just go already. His chest heaves. The space gets humid from his tears. He feel like he's going to pass out, dizzy and nauseous.

He's too exposed like this, Jason thinks. Realizes. Fears. (And that fear feeds back into itself, and he hates, hates this so much, but that's not enough. The hate isn't enough to override it.) The room is half trashed and covered in rubble, and he's a whole foot taller than he'd been as a kid, but there, right there -

Jason fits there. Here, under a metal table that has his mask sitting innocently on top. It got wedged against a wall, propped up slightly by some concrete. He tucks himself under it and stays there.

And thinks about - nothing. Because if he thinks about anything - like Batman across the rickety picnic table, offering him a warm house and warm food. Like Batman scolding him for doing something reckless and scaring the shit out of him. Like Bruce sitting on the floor, so patient and understanding and telling him that this fear is only temporary.

Like Batman throwing batarang and the thick spray of blood. Like Batman throwing a punch hard enough to shatter his helmet. Like Batman ripping the insignia off his chest and dragging him across a rooftop.

Jason can't help the whimper. He tips over to lean against a table leg and gasps around the vice around his lungs.

He won't make it out of here. He'll hyperventilate himself into unconsciousness and someone will find him, wearing most of his Red Hood suit, and that person will kill him. Or they'll call the cops and he'll end up in Arkham and he'll die there. There is no normal life. No identity in Metropolis for him. Even if he did make it there, he'd be dead at the first villain attack, unable to defend himself as his aderenaline surges and the fear sets in.

He never expected Bruce to be this so fucking naïve. Cynical idealism? Sure. But not this.

"Hood?"

Jason doesn't acknowledge his name, or the voice. Purposeful footsteps crunch on debris, announcing their path from the hole in the wall to Jason, getting closer and closer.

And closer.

Until there's a shadow of legs blocking the scant light. Until the figure crouches down and there's Nightwing, peering under the table with wide, concerned eyes. He's not wearing his domino, Jason notes almost distantly. His body doesn't feel like his own anymore for all that he can feel the cool metal table against this temple and the rough feel of his pants in his clenched fists.

All there is, is the fear.

"Jason," Dick says with his own kinda fear.

He's reaching under the table, not holding a hand out for Jason to take, for Jason to choose for himself - and the man doesn't know the significance of that, but something in Jason settles anyway at the stark difference.

Dick goes all the way, cupping Jason's face like he does with them all - a pinkie under the jaw for the faint hint of a heart beat, a thumb across the cheek for comfort, his palm to lean into and let him carry the weight. And Jason does lean into it, trembling and shuddery, wet eyes closing.

"C'mon, let's get out from under here." He guides Jason forward until he's spilling into his brother’s arms, face pressed into his shoulder. The Nightwing suit is too tight to grip so Jason wraps his arms around Dick instead, clinging to him tightly. Dick hugs him back just as hard, rocking back and forth.

"I'm scared," Jason whispers - an admittance he has no choice but to make.

Dick hugs him tighter, pulling him into his lap like he's a child. Under a difference circumstance it would be comedic - Jason is broader and taller than Dick - but right now he's just small.

"I've got you," Dick says gently.

He doesn't know why, but that juat makes Jason cry harder.

#jason todd #bruce wayne #dick grayson #gotham war #my writing

[latina4rmbx]

Jane the Virgin

This is the second time I am watching this show. If memory serves me correctly, I might've blogged about it back while I was watching it.

What I don't recall seeing, when I originally watched the show was episode ninety-nine.

Episode Ninety-Nine wasn't an actual program. It was a BTS scenes look at some of the plot twists and we got a glimpse of what Jane the Virgin means to the people who are part of the show. The EP and the main characters.

The show is about family. I wasn't going to say this but it made me miss my grandmother so much. She was our strength.

The show was written like a telenovela. I understand that some of you don't know what a telenovela is so I'll break it down in the simplest of terms.

A telenovela is a Spanish Soap Opera, but unlike English Soap Operas, they end. Not every telenovela gets wrapped in a bow and ends things tidily. But this one did.

It made my heart feel like it was glowing.

As I type here and revisit some core memories, I cry and understand why us latinas are as dramatic as we are. If you've ever seen a telenovela you'd understand. Susan Lucci level drama, I tell you.

However, I want to focus more on the strength. Mainly the strength of women. We go through hardships in life and in love, but we rarely give up our strength. Even when it looks like we have taken the backseat to a man or to our children or even our workplaces, we are fierce and we are strong. That's not just for latina women either. All women.

So I guess this is a love note to women. Embrace your femininity. Embrace who you are and what you present to the world. Embrace YOUR beautiful heart and always always always keep your strength.

That strength is the core of who you are and no one can take that from you. Regardless of how that looks because strength comes in many different forms. Just because my strength doesn't look like your strength it doesn't mean you're being strong with all of your might.

I applaud you! I love you! I aspire to be all of you at one time or another in my life.

To the women in my family, y somos muchas, I see you. I see to the core of you and I love every messy, dramatic, misunderstood, complicated beings you are. Thank you for making me who I am.

To the woman i love with all of my heart, for ever and ever and ever, my Abuela. i miss you so much and I thank you for being patient with me and loving me unconditionally. For showing me what real love looks like. For never judging me and for always allowing me to make mistakes and always being there when I fall. I will go to sleep tonight with a heavy heart because you are not here, but that just means that there was an abundance of love.

XOXO

Thanks for reading

#love #family #sadness in the mundane #blog #my thoughts #thinking #meaning #adulting #life #books #netflix #jane the virgin #gina rodriguez #justin baldoni #brett dier #abuela #strength #tv shows #binge watching #tears #heart #my heart is glowing #bye

[battlekidx2]

She-ra Season 5 Re-watch Thoughts

This season the animation and art design is easily at its most beautiful. The actions are more fluid, the use of color is phenomenal, and the character’s faces and bodies are at their most expressive yet. I really loved the She-ra redesign and prefer it over the original design they had by quite a lot. I loved the scenes where softer colors were used. This is especially prevalent in the final episode after Adora defeats Horde Prime. The colors were breathtaking and it’s clear the time and effort that went into making the final shots be ingrained in your memory. I know it will be ingrained in mine. I thought the animation bumps between seasons 2 and 3 and seasons 3 and 4 were impressive but this is on a different level. It’s like everything was taken up to 11.

She-ra never lost sight of its characters and always managed to keep the focus on them and their struggles despite the larger than life stakes that were happening around them. This season paid off the character arcs of Adora, Catra, and Entrapta really well. My favorite episodes were the ones that were intensely character focused (corridors, save the cat, failsafe, heart). The show knows what its strength is and holds to it.

I came into this series not sure what to expect. I wasn’t familiar with she-ra (I had seen he-man) or the characters and hadn’t read Noelle’s work. So when I watched the first season and saw how nuanced and complicated the characters and their relationships were I was enthralled. I woke up every night that a new season dropped at 2 or 3 in the morning (based on which time zone I was in) to binge the season. I was so impressed with the character work of the show. There aren’t many shows that manage to blow me away with its characters. A large part of that is the fact that I could connect with a lot of the characters and understand them. This show managed to help me in ways I didn’t know I needed at the time and helped me distance myself from a toxic family situation. My thoughts on the show are biased because of this but that’s the case with everyone when it comes to media. There are going to be certain things that connect more with some people than others.

There’s a good and bad way of a show knowing what it is. This show takes knowing what it is in a good direction. It knows it’s a character drama that has the relationships and individual character arcs front and center and it uses the war setting as a vehicle for these things. Not everyone will like this because this makes it so the show focuses on consequences for personal actions more frequently than for war related actions. It isn't a war story. This worked for me, but won't for everyone.

In this season it uses Horde Prime and his “cult” as a metaphor for organized religion which is used to complete Catra, Adora, and Hordak’s arcs of self actualization and coming to terms with what you want and that you have a choice. This I think is done well because of how it matches with it's themes of working through programming and unlearning toxic behavior ingrained by your upbringing. I can easily say that She-ra has produced some of my favorite characters and I loved the conclusions to their arcs.

My one real issue with this season is that I think the tonal issues were jarring. To break it down it went from the premiere “Horde Prime” which was pretty dark showing the hopeless position of the rebellion and Adora’s struggle with her identity now that she-ra is gone and her suicidal drive to push herself to be useful to “Launch” which has a lot of things that are played for laughs and just felt like an odd shift especially considering that it is followed by “Corridors” which is an intense character study of Catra and her pain and loneliness and deals with her coming to terms with the fact that a lot of her anger and pain was misdirected at Adora all these years and that Adora has truly cared about her.

Then “Corridors” is followed by “Stranded” which is much more lighthearted and while it does deal with Adora coming to the decision to go back for Catra and her conflict over doing what she wants over what would be best for Etheria while Glimmer and Bow reconcile (or start to) a lot of the episode is used for levity. Catra is in a life threatening situation so while the reasoning for the main characters making this stop make sense the shift and lack of urgency at times doesn't work well in the context of the season.

Then that episode is followed by “Save the Cat” which is one of the most emotionally charged episodes of the show which has Adora refusing to make the same mistake she made in the pilot and refuses to leave horde prime’s ship without Catra even if it is the death of her. Adora places Catra above everything else. This episode is heartbreaking and calls back to all their misunderstandings, pain, history, and disconnects. This episode is followed by “Taking Control” which I think does a much better job of keeping the tone of “Save the Cat” and moving the plot and character arcs along. But then it’s followed by “Perils of Peekablue” which, while it’s a fun episode, it is very jarring to be pulled out of the very dramatic and dark episodes that came previously. Scorpia's sacrifice at the end worked really well as a precursor to what is waiting for our heroes when they get back to Etheria though so this episode had a better transition to the next than the ones that came before.

I am usually pretty good at being able to switch tones with a show and I think the balance between dark and light has been done very well in this show before in “Princess Prom”, “Roll with It”, “Mer-Mysteries”, “Pulse”, and “Princess Scorpia” to name a few. These episodes however didn’t mesh as well for me. I still enjoy watching them, but I think watching season 5 as a whole makes it clear that these episodes break up the tension too much. I will admit I am a bigger fan of drama than I am of comedy so I gravitated towards the much more serious episodes within the show like "Hero", "Promise", "Remember", "Failsafe", "Light Spinner", etc. I understand why there’s comedy, but I think that instead of having entire episodes dedicated to comedy they should have mixed it in like they do with the ones I named above. I’ve gone on a bit of a tangent because, while She-ra does almost everything else I want from a show, I think this is easily its biggest problem.

I think this season is my favorite season. (It’s a very close race between this season, season 4, and season 3) This season managed to pay off just about everything that was set up in the previous seasons and that is a near insurmountable task for any show. I haven’t felt this satisfied by a series finale in a very long time. The final episode tandem heart parts 1 and 2 left me speechless and I immediately started re-watching the series. I don’t know exactly what it was and how to put it into words, but that finale really hit me. It really felt like what the show was always building towards.

The fact that this big grand war ended not with a big battle, but with Adora and Catra finally coming to an understanding of both themselves and each other felt true to the show. Catra and Adora’s love-hate relationship has been the heart of the show since the beginning and it was their falling out due to their disconnect that kicked the show off in “The Sword” so it’s fitting that it’s them fully reconnecting and understanding each other that ends the series. The emphasis and climax of the show isn’t the big epic battle above, but the love confession happening below. The fact that the show manages to stay so personal and focused despite the stakes being the fate of the universe is a testament to how well written this season is in my opinion. The show comes full circle and I couldn’t have been happier with the result.

#she-ra #catradora #catra #adora #spop #she-ra and the princesses of power #glimmer #bow #horde prime #season 5 #corridors #save the cat #failsafe #heart #I love this season #I love this show

[backtoyuta]

NCT 127: How they would be as coworkers in a shitty office

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❁ [Taeil] King of the welcome wagon; If it was your first day working in a small dinky business, Taeil will make it his sole responsibility to make the environment as inviting as possible. After all, the business wasn't some glamorous well known company, nor was it an exciting new start up, so Taeil made it his mission to paint the office as pretty as he could before you could decide if the job was too boring to keep. If you ask any of his co-workers they'll tell you nobody put him in charge of welcoming the newbie, but it seemed everybody but you noticed him do a double take at the receptionist's desk where you waited to be shown around. Soft moments included him making you a coffee every time he left to make his own, making a point of clearing a little space in the communal fridge for your lunch and hanging around while trying to maintain a respectful distance in case you had any queries so he could be the first to answer them. If you were low-key dreading your first day, you kinda forget about the nerves quickly because of his kindness and tells you cheerfully "See, we don't bite." Will make sure you have everything you need, down to the last sticky note and ball point pen, and smiles bashfully at you when you go to thank him.

❁ [Johnny] cheesy office romance; It was quite impressive really, the fact that Johnny managed to unlock every single office romance cliche you could think of and he wasn't subtle about it either. Though there was no policy really about dating co-workers, the whole situation was a tiny bit embarrassing given the blatant flirting from the titan walking around in his shirt and tie, always throwing devilish smiles from over the photocopier. Even if his desk was miles away from yours, there would always be an excuse to stroll by your work space to drop off some paperwork personally, or remind you of the meeting happening in the afternoon despite the email reminder going around. Johnny really put his bladder through it since he now took too frequent trips to the water cooler that was so conveniently placed next to your desk. The whole office gagged when you finally agreed to go for drinks after work. The hours were spent buying each other pints and admiring him with his tie loosened and shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing the delicate tattoos that decorated the skin there before calling it a night and letting him kiss you on your porch after walking you home. You kind of became the height of office gossip, which Johnny thrived in, but you couldn't really be mad when you were dating that tall glass of water after all.

❁ [Taeyong] The receptionist with first aid training; Stapling your finger was embarrassing enough, imagine the heat flooding your cheeks when the receptionist appears at your desk clutching the first aid kit, big kind eyes glancing at your finger empathetically. Taeyong was the first face you saw when you walked through the door, that alone making a wonderful first impression, also he was a very diligent worker. He never made a fuss when you asked him to fax something, make a memo or photocopy, and when you had to ring the office because you left your keycard and needed to be let in, he laughed that off with you too while assuring that it happened all the time. On the blasted day you aimed the stapler at your paper but instead caught your finger, Taeyong was the first to perk from behind his desk at your exclamation of "Ow!" and was by your side before you knew it. He apologised profusely at the sting of an anti-bacterial wipe and wrapped your finger gingerly in a plaster, his chair scooted towards you and your knees bumping occasionally. You were pretty sure every female in the office was crushing on him and you were one of many, but you couldn't help the blush when you received a private IM chat asking if you wanted to get coffee after work: "Date? :)" he wrote at the end of the message. You wasted no time typing on your computer a reply, sneaking a glance at his face from behind the desk and exchanging a smile before looking busy once again.

❁ [Yuta] The guy that lowkey terrified you; Yuta was the co-worker that, whether it was on purpose or not, pushed you away with sheer intimidation and sinfully good looks. When you first encountered him in the office you were sure he was a model undercover, and when that was debunked you were sure he must have had a much higher level and higher paying job than you. His presence read corporate, the cologne you sometimes caught a whiff of smelt expensive and you could easily picture him in a big leather chair in a tall glass building barking orders at people. What surprised you was behind the intimidating aura, lay the humility of any of your other co-workers. All it took was one painfully awkward conversation in the break room and with the power of pointless small talk you learnt that his weekend plans didn't involve a modelling side hustle like you expected, but rather being a homebody, watching animated movies and cooking dinner for one instead. When you did finally enter an established relationship with him, expect impulsive moments like being tugged into the copier room so he can press his lips to yours and run his hands through your hair, or intense staring contests when other male co-workers demanded your attention. Overall, he was terrifying, but his redeemable qualities involved making dates after work so you had something to look forward to, buying your favourite cake during office parties and volunteering to do overtime with you so you would always be entertained.

❁ [Doyoung] The manager that scares you shitless; For the position of local branch manager, Doyoung exuded way more power and intimidation than what was probably warranted. Maybe that was why he managed to get the branch performing so well, everybody dreaded being called into his office for "friendly chitchat" after making a small mistake. When you first arrived, you steered as clear from him as possible, only venturing near his office when absolutely needed. What you didn't see was the way he would watch you intently in your little office nook, always appreciating how hard you worked and how cute you looked in your office get-up. You often squirmed at the amount of eye-contact he gave you when he ran meetings and you would glance around to see if anyone else was experiencing the same thing. Nope, just you. When he did call you into his office that one time you were quaking in your shoes. You had already convinced yourself you were fired before you had even reached his office door, but the feeling was replaced soon enough with confusion when he did eventually speak to you. "I just wanted to ask... would you be interested in.... this corporate training program?" He rushed. My god, your boss was just as awkward as the next bumbling guy. It would be a while before he asked you on an official date, dinner for two, also quite a bit of paperwork to fill out with HR, but you would come to realise his icy exterior wasn't all that icy when he wasn't in work-mode.

❁ [Jaehyun] The temp that never left; Jaehyun was fresh from university, now venturing into the world of work but still had the boyish aura that set him apart from the rest of the men in the office. From the way he spoke to you over lunch in the break room you could tell he was full of ambition, but also didn't seem to be in any rush to leave this job any time soon. Jaehyun was the guy who you initially tried not to get too close to, since you were under the impression that he would be leaving after completing the temporary placement and when he left it would hurt like a bitch. However, you could have sworn his placement ended like a month ago, but eventually you learnt that he somehow managed to talk himself into a full-time position. "Oh that, yeah, I guess I just realised I had more reasons to stay." He shrugged as casually as he could when you asked about it. You couldn't deny that you were happy, not when you saw his smiling face in the conference room saving you a seat, hearing his outrageous stories from uni and always being the two to get a little too drunk at corporate parties and being sent home in a taxi of shame. Romance blossomed when you remembered that one drunken kiss in the backseat and you both bonded when your boss gave you the cold shoulder after arriving to work a little more than dishevelled and with a hangover.

❁ [Jungwoo] Desk buddy; Honestly, who could hate their job when they had a sweet Jungwoo sitting at the desk adjacent to theirs. You kinda scored when your boss appointed you this specific desk because Jungwoo took to you almost embarrassingly quick. It made your heart swell looking at all the little knick knacks on his desk; toys to fiddle with and colourful sticky notes, this was just one part of his persona. You were a little shocked when he offered you a cigarette during the lunch break, kind of exposing a duality you didn't know existed, but nobody could be that wholesome of a person. Monday to Friday 9-5 was filled with Jungwoo ping-ponging back and forth between these traits, any off handed comments he would mutter to you when the boss was giving an announcement or the conversations you would overhear him having with a friend over the phone would remind you he wasn't a total puppy of a human being. However, the way he always offered to share a snack and would flick paper and notes at you playfully was also very much him being himself. You always fluttered a little at the smirk he would throw your way when your manager was talking something boring or ridiculous, it seemed those smirks were only reserved for you. It didn't take long before he became your best friend in the office, if he wasn't in that day you were in the right mind to just call it quits yourself (and vice versa), he was the guy that made the long hours that much more bearable.

❁ [Mark] The bumbling intern; When it came to responsibilities in the work place, you tried to delegate as little of that as possible to Mark the intern. It was cute really, the guy put in 110% effort into his tasks and yet when it came to coffee orders, photocopying or sending out a memo, something nearly always went wrong. You couldn't help but admire his enthusiasm, also that he made an effort to know everybody in the office, including the cleaners. Mark was one of the first people to greet you when you joined, waving around a little notebook of Starbucks orders and a company card to splurge, urging you to write down whatever you wanted. A simple task right? Rookie mistake. Bless him, you would never tell him how his mistake of getting full dairy rather than the soy you requested led to a night on and off the toilet, but that just scratched the surface of his office blunders. Somehow, he never cost the company too much, but there was a reason why the poor boy never got promoted beyond intern. He wasn't deterred though, he'd lean up against your desk while you made idle chit chat and he'd tell you that he liked his job and he didn't aspire to be the best in this business. Where he really proved himself was during company functions, you'll never forget during the annual employee bbq when he asked you your favourite song so he could sing it melodically accompanied skilfully with a guitar. Mark's contributions to the work place were always a little unpredictable, but he kept things interesting and people, including you, genuinely enjoyed having him around.

❁ [Haechan] Probably the reason you get fired; Even in the workplace, Haechan can't deny himself a bit of mischief. He made a stellar first impression by rocking up half an hour late, sending your boss a half arsed apology and plonking down at the desk across the room from yours. To be honest, he kind of annoyed you at first, his attitude came off immature and you didn't appreciate how distracting he was when you had work to do. However, things started to change at some point. Haechan was the guy that convinced you to ditch the office party and sit on the rooftop with him to watch the city lights, the guy that sent out ridiculous memos just to catch you smile and the guy eventually became the reason for you own demise after he started picking you up for breakfast most mornings. When the manager called you in his office after being late the third time in a row, you ducked your head and mumbled something about traffic while hiding a croissant wrapper in your pocket, Haechan covered a laugh with a cough and apologised on behalf of both of you. When you asked him about why he never seemed to give a shit about anything, you learnt that it was because he had a taste for adventure; "Don't tell me you wanna stay and work here forever? Don't you wanna do something more... exciting with your life?" He asked you incredulously, like the answer was obvious. He kinda got you, no, you didn't want to work in a dingy office for the rest of you life. To be honest, when he painted a picture of moving to a big city, or taking a road trip, or just fucking off to the suburbs you didn't hate the sound of that either. When you were both sat there in your manager's office, signing off on a severance package, you weren't even mad. You didn't have time to be, Haechan was already clasping your hand and leading you to his car and laughing about finally being free, tugging his tie from around his neck whilst driving no where in particular- the start of an adventure.

#why was haechan's so long #nct 127 #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct #nct as boyfriends #nct 127 as boyfriends #boyfriend!nct #nct headcanons #nct drabbles #nct x reader #nct imagines #kpop imagines #kpop headcanons #kpop drabbles #kpop fluff #Taeil #taeyong #johnny #yuta #doyoung #jaehyun #jungwoo #mark #haechan #the office #office worker!nct

[jazy3]

Free Guy Review

!!!SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

If you haven’t seen the movie Free Guy (2021) stop reading right now! Drop what you’re doing and go get yourself a ticket! You’ll thank me later!

I loved this movie! I saw it this weekend for the second time because it’s that good! I first saw the trailer on YouTube a while back and then when theatres reopened a few weeks ago I saw the trailer again and my interest was piqued. I had high hopes for this movie based on the fun looking trailer, the premise, the cast, and the sense of fun and escapism that the movie seemed to embody and it did not disappoint. It’s always nice when you have high hopes for something and it meets or exceeds your expectations.

Free Guy is just such a fun and joyous movie. Never taking itself too seriously, packed with lots of heart, cool cameos, full of gaming and pop culture references, and it’s fueled by a unique concept that is well executed. There are just so many things I loved about this movie! It was a ton of fun to watch and the actors clearly had a blast making it. During the movie I kept trying to figure out where I knew most of the actors from but couldn’t place them. When I got home, I googled it and I instantly realized why. The roles are just so different and the actors embody their characters so completely you lose yourself in the film and get completely sucked in. I was honestly so surprised when I figured out what I knew most of the actors from because the roles that they’re known for are so different from their characters in the movie. Their appearances, established ages, and even the accents are so different that I literally did a double take, but that’s what makes the movie so good! Because the main actors obviously didn’t need the paycheque they were just there to have fun and it shows. I think if the situation had been different and the actors involved had been desperate for money or took the role for some other reason it wouldn’t have worked. The film would have come off as cheesy, forced, cringeworthy, or just plain bad. Free Guy is none of those things. The film stars Ryan Reynolds as ‘Guy’ a bank teller in a video game called Free City, Jodie Comer whose best known for playing Villanelle in Killing Eve as programmer Millie Rusk and her avatar Molotov Girl, Joe Keery whose best known for playing Steve Harrington in Stranger Things as programmer Walter ‘Keys’ McKey, and Taika Waititi whose best known for playing Viago in What We Do in the Shadows as the Head of Soonami Studios and the film’s main antagonist and villain Antwan. Rounding out the cast are Utkarsh Ambudka as programmer Mouser and Lil Rel Howery as Guy’s best friend and bank security guard Buddy. In a nutshell, Free Guy is about a bank teller named Guy who finds out he’s a non-playable background character (NPC) in an open-world Grand Theft Auto style video game called Free City. Guy becomes the hero of his own story after meeting Millie, the girl of his dreams, and winning fans all over the world by racking up points by being the good guy and helping others. After leveling up and helping Millie escape a dangerous situation in the game, Guy wins her over and she falls for him thinking that he’s another player. But when the world that Guy knows and all of the people in it are threatened, he teams up with Millie to save his friends before it’s too late. In the real world, Millie enlists the help of her former programming partner and best friend Keys in a race against time to stop their code and all of the sentient characters from Free City from being deleted by Antwan the developer who stole their code when the game’s sequel launches. I love that the movie had a unique premise and didn’t overcomplicate things. There are so many movies that I’ve gone to see over the last few years with such excitement only to be disappointed. For example, I loved Wreck It Ralph, but was so disappointed by its sequel Ralph Breaks the Internet. The trailers made it seem like it would take the premise of the first movie and move things into the online gaming world, and I was excited for that. Instead, the sequel left the premise of the first movie behind entirely and way over complicated the plot and the end result was extremely cheesy and disappointing. Free Guy’s strength is that it’s a self-aware movie made by self-aware people who are excellent at what they do. The movie doesn't take itself too seriously, nor should it, and that allows the story to flow and the characters to feel real and genuine. The movie achieves that perfect balance between being entertaining and telling a cohesive and important story because while the movie never takes itself too seriously the people behind it are serious about what they do. This was very clearly a passion project for all involved, especially Ryan Reynolds, and it shows! As he’s spoken about in interviews and on Twitter, Reynolds called on a lot of his friends to be in Free Guy and help him out and the end result was fantastic! I loved all of the cameos! The Chris Evans cameo was by far the funniest and the Alex Trebek cameo got me right in the feels. When I saw the movie in theatres me and everyone else in the theatre gave a collective “awww” when he appeared on screen. Enlisting real YouTubers to show up as fictional versions of themselves to talk about Blue Shirt Guy’s popularity was a nice touch and you’ve also got blink and you miss it voice cameos by John Krasinski, Dwyane The Rock Johnson, Hugh Jackman, and Tina Fey. Channing Tatum appears as the avatar of player Revenjamin Buttons which for the most part was hilarious. One of my few criticisms of the film is that they went a bit overboard the avatar’s antics as Guy and Buddy are attempting to leave and it got bit a cringeworthy. But I know other people found it hilarious so to each their own. I love all of the little details and references in the movie. Just listing them all would be a post in itself. If you’re someone that loves pop culture references and Easter Eggs this is the movie for you. The characters are fun and believable, and you get attached to them quickly. The actors commit completely to their roles which is makes the humour, romance, and heartfelt emotion of the film work. You buy it. 100%. Something that I absolutely loved was that the characters felt realistic and that the dialogue, attire, and settings for each character really felt authentic. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve watched a movie or TV show and walked away thinking, “The person who wrote that clearly never meet a kid, teenager, or twenty something in their life! That was so unrealistic.” The slang’s all wrong. The dialogue is so eloquent everyone sounds like they did Shakespeare in the Park last summer. You walk away thinking, “What the hell was that? No one talks that way!” What I loved about the characters in Free Guy is that they felt like real people you could actually run into or walk past on the street. I’ve read in interviews that in addition to the written dialogue the cast did a lot of ad-libbing and improvisation and the end result is both hilarious and relatable. The dialogue feels real because it is. The big exception to this of course is Antwan who is altogether off the wall and ridiculous. Antwan is such an outrageous, absurd, vulgar, and cartoonish character. He’s so fun to watch and the actors clearly had a lot of fun with his scenes! I’ve read that a lot of his lines with Keys and Mouser were improvised and I believe it. When he goes all Jack Nicholson on the servers? Lord. He’s such a great villain to watch. The characters that are established to be in their twenties like Millie, Keys, Mouser, and the other employees at Soonami Studios talk, act, and dress like they’re in their twenties. The actors that are in their forties are styled to look like they’re in their thirties and honestly, they’re in such great shape it works! I mean I was honestly shocked to find out Taika Waititi’s real age. I love how the costuming really fits each character and allows you to learn more about them. Keys’ clothing is your typical gamer chic which makes because as we learn from his interview with Millie coding is his life and what gets him up in the morning. From Mouser’s clothing we learn that he’s a sports fan, but also isn’t afraid to take risks like with that blazer ensemble he wears in his final scene at Millie’s apartment.

Millie’s clothing shows the contrast between her and her avatar Molotov Girl, and Antwan’s ridiculous coat enhances the overall wackiness of his character. Guy’s clothing tells us something too. He wears the same thing every day until he meets Millie in the game at which point, he starts deviated from his Free City programming and chooses a different blue shirt. I also really love that they put thought into why Keys needs to wear glasses. Something I noticed on rewatch is that Keys is far sighted which is why he has his glasses on when he’s looking at his laptop or computer and sometimes when’s talking to other people, but not when he goes to see Millie at her apartment or when he goes to get them coffee at the end of the movie. Another interesting aspect of Keys’ character that I noticed on rewatch is self-confidence is really something he struggles with in contrast to Millie and Mouser who are very confident. Millie is a genius programmer and Mouser is excellent at what he does, and they are both very confident in their coding abilities, but Keys isn’t despite being every bit the genius that Millie is. At the beginning of the movie when they first notice the issue with Guy Mouser jokes that Keys needs to be better at his job. In response Keys meekly says he thinks he’s pretty good at his job and trails off at the end. Mouser is just joking around, but because Keys lacks self-confidence comments like that hit him hard. Mouser is moving towards his own desk as he talks so he doesn’t notice how self-deprecating and uneasy Keys’ response is. In the interview from the indie games conference that Millie plays for Keys at his apartment, he brushes off the interviewers comment that he’s a genius and says Millie is the real genius because she created the AI engine and he just wrote the code to make it work. Later on, when Keys helps Millie get into the stash house, she calls him a genius and he tells her that as he’s currently sitting on a toilet stealing user code he doesn’t exactly feel like one. Millie responds offhandedly that he never does, but luckily, she knows better. When Keys realizes that Millie was right, and that Antwan did steal their code and their game worked he tells Millie they need to celebrate because once everyone sees their build she’ll be celebrated and she could win a noble prize. Both Millie and Keys are geniuses in their own right. The game wouldn’t have worked without both of their skills and Guy wouldn’t have come to life without both of them working together. Millie’s AI engine made his sentience possible, but Keys is the one who gave him hopes and dreams so that when he met Millie in the game, he came alive. When done right the settings we see tell the story just as much as the characters do and I love how realistic the settings in Free Guy look. The floor at Soonami Studios where Keys and Mouser work looks like a real office and I love that the desks have clutter and personal effects on them like real cubicles do and that they show Keys taking a box of his stuff with him as he leaves. The lobby with the moving water videos and Antwan’s massive but largely empty office fits perfectly with the obnoxious, zany, and over the top character that he is. I also love the contrast between Keys and Millie’s apartments and how those settings tell us a lot about each character and where they are in their lives when the film starts. When Keys comes home from work to find that Millie has broken in, we see that he lives in a stylish one bedroom apartment with an open concept kitchen full of stainless steel appliances, a large living room centred around an expensive wall mounted TV and entertainment system, with his computer and gaming station set up in the corner. On the walls we see artful clusters of black picture frames, through a partially open door we see a bedroom off to the side, the apartment is full of black and white furniture including a plush couch and nice lamps, and features a textured silver accent wall. All of which makes the fact that Millie managed to break in even more impressive because it is clearly an expensive apartment in a nice building. Keys’ style is minimalist and upper scale and based on what we learn about the events that took place before the start of the movie this indicates that Keys got the apartment and all of the nice stuff in it using the money he received when Antwan bought his and Millie’s game. In contrast, Millie lives in a bachelor apartment and spends her time in coffee shops ordering one single black coffee over four hours. This tells us that she kept her original apartment that she had from before the game was sold and is living off the money she got from the sale while she spends all of her time trying to find the proof she needs to win her lawsuit. When we see Millie’s place, we find that it’s cozy, full of plants, throw rugs, quilts, and comfy furniture. She’s got a bike in the corner, you can see her bed from the centre of the room where she’s got her computer and gaming station set up adjacent to the coffee table and the rest of the living room furniture. Her kitchen is smaller and full of wooden cabinets and her bathroom door has DIY multicoloured square panels on it. Keys and Millie’s apartments are very different and through these settings we see the contrast between where these characters are in their lives, their wealth, and their personal style. The song ‘Fantasy’ by Mariah Carey is featured heavily in the film and is guaranteed to get stuck in your head in the best way! Jodie Comer’s cover of it is amazing! It fits the moment where Guy makes it to the island that is Millie and Keys’ original build and shows it to the world perfectly. This movie made me appreciate Mariah Carey’s music in a whole new way and I can’t be the only way. After watching the movie, I went looking for the song on Apple Music, wound up listening to the Mariah Carey Essentials Playlist, and I’ve become obsessed. I knew some of her hits, but after listening to her music more I get why people love her so much. Her five octave vocal range is amazing, and her music is just so fun to listen to. The film has a really great soundtrack overall and I’ve had many of its song on repeat since I saw it. Something I really loved about this movie and the reveal at the end that Keys is in love with Millie and is desperate for her to notice, but she’s been oblivious the whole time is that they don’t do the supposedly nice nerdy guy whose really a jerk trope. So many movies do this where you have a nerdy male character whose unluckily love, looked over, or his love is unrequited, and we’re supposed to root for him because he’s a quote “nice guy”. But really, he’s not. He’s a jerk who feels slighted because a woman in his life doesn’t love him back or notice him and he feels as if she owes him something. The scene at Millie’s place where Millie tells Keys he looks cute when he brags, and Mouser encourages him to tell Millie how he feels is super frustrating to watch but it’s so important to Keys’ character. He asks Millie out for coffee and when she turns him down to jump back into the game, he doesn’t make a big deal about it even though Mouser wants him to. Instead he gets up and goes and gets her a coffee anyway. She goes to tell him her order, oblivious to the fact that he’s memorized it, he tells her he remembers, and goes to get the coffee anyway much to Mouser’s and the audience’s dismay. This is big because Keys clearly doesn’t want to be walking down the street by himself to get coffee. He wants to be getting coffee with Millie so that he can tell her how he feels to see if she might feel the same way, but when she turns him down he goes and gets the coffee anyway because he truly loves and cares about her and he values their friendship enough to put his own feelings aside and suffer in silence rather than lose her and what they’ve built. So, he takes the opportunity to get some air rather than continue to sit there in disappointment. Which is why he’s so confused when Millie runs after him and calls out to him from across the street. He doesn’t understand what she’s doing there. She turned down his offer to get a coffee and he already knows her order so why is she there? I love that they chose to make that scene non-verbal. I think if Millie had come out and made some big declaration of love it would have felt cheesy and overdone. But her running after him and silently communicating through her smile and body language that she understood and that she felt the same way was perfect. It was subtle and beautiful and perfectly acted. It also felt realistic to the characters because in real life when you’ve known someone a really long time and you’ve spent a lot of time with them you don’t always need words to convey what you mean. What Millie wanted to express in that scene was so big and so all-encompassing she couldn’t find the words to say everything that she wanted to say so she didn’t. She just stood there and smiled knowing that being the genius that he is he would understand. It’s like Keys says in their interview, words will fail you, but code never does. His coding worked and now she understands so rather than try and say it all and fail she just looks at him and smiles to show him that she finally gets it. She finally understands what he’s been trying to say to her all this time. And you can see the exact moment Keys realizes why she’s there. The moment where he goes from being confused as to what she wants to realizing that she saw the video and she knows how he feels and that she wouldn’t be standing there smiling at him like that if she didn’t feel the same way. When I watched the scene the first time around, I was anxiously clutching my nachos the entire time because when Keys ran towards her my immediate thought was, “Oh my god he’s gonna get hit by a car and they’re never gonna get to be together! Oh my god!” But then he didn’t get hit by a car and Millie ran out to meet him and for the first time in their relationship she met him halfway and they kissed and it was beautiful! I think because Free City had so much violence in it that’s where my mind went and I’m very glad they didn’t go that route. One of my only criticisms about the movie is that I wish they had stayed on Millie and Keys just a little bit longer. They kiss and embrace and then very quickly they cut to black. I wish they’d linger on that moment just a little bit longer because I love those characters so much and in the scene that follows where Guy and Buddy are reunited we see them hug and then walk away together to start their new lives and I wish we’d gotten just a bit more time with Millie and Keys. I also really loved the parallel between the different kinds of relationships within the movie and how platonic relationships are just as important as romantic ones. The reveal at the end about Guy being Keys’ creation and a love letter to Millie and her realizing she’s been loving Keys vicariously through Guy and them finally coming together and being on the same page is beautiful because from the very beginning the movie is full of clues, hints, and foreshadowing that all comes together at the end. Meanwhile, we see the friendship between Guy and Buddy and how important that friendship is to him because it’s something that he created on his own. His love for Millie is born out of the programming that Keys gave him, but his friendship with Buddy is something that Guy created all on his own of his own volition. Which is part of what makes Buddy’s death on the bridge so tragic. I cried when Buddy disappeared. Reynolds and Howery play their characters with such sincerity that his death pacts an emotional punch you don’t expect. I love that the security guards at Soonami are so moved by Buddy’s heroism and are so captivated by what’s happening with the live stream that Millie is able to sneak past them into the server room and stop Antwan from destroying what’s left of the game. Something else I noticed on rewatch is that during the final battle after Millie gets booted from the game and Guy has to fight Dude on his own the glasses he’s wearing are very similar to the ones Keys wears in the movie which I thought was a cool nod to Guy being Keys’ creation. This really is a movie in which you find something new every time you watch it. For instance, the second time around I noticed that the foreshadowing that Keys is in love with Millie, but she’s oblivious to it because she’s so focused on the game was really well done. In the video from the indie game conference that Millie plays for Keys at his apartment when asked by the interviewer about their chemistry Millie responds first and says that their friends, their relationship is completely platonic, and laughs off the idea that they have chemistry. In contrast Keys falters and is silent and then eventually says meekly that they’re just friends. Millie is looking ahead at the interviewer and to the side away from Keys as she’s laughing and so she doesn’t see Keys’ reaction. At the end of the apartment scene after Millie breaks in to ask Keys for his help, he tells Millie he cares about her and he almost says something else. It feels like he’s about to say, ‘I love you’ but then he catches himself and instead tells her that she needs to leave. When Keys visits Millie’s apartment to tell her that she was right and they’re sitting on the couch he reaches out and puts his hand on her knee and then snatches it back when he realizes he’s gotten too close. He wants so desperately to be closer to her and in his excitement, he gets closer than he normally would before realizing that putting his hand on her knee in that close proximity is not a platonic gesture. Millie is so caught up in the realization that Guy, the person she’s fallen in love with, is an AI and not a real person that she doesn’t notice. My heart broke for Keys in that scene as he realized that Millie had fallen for Guy and kissed him and was so upset about it and meanwhile, he was right in front of her desperate for her to see how much he cares. It must have just wrecked him to go home that night and realize that Guy was based on the lovelorn character he created and that Millie had fallen in love with his creation while at the same time being so oblivious to his real world affection for her. In the scene at Millie’s apartment after they’ve gotten the server from Antwan and Mouser encourages Keys to say something, I noticed on rewatch just how weak and meager Keys’ attempt to ask Millie out is. He stumbles his way through asking her to get a coffee and trails off at the end so it’s no wonder Millie doesn’t clue in that he’s trying to ask her out. And in Keys’ defence he sent her a whole video confessing his feelings for her and all of the little things he loves about her and then told her to watch it and he has no idea if she did or not. We the audience know that Millie only saw half of it, but Keys has no idea if she saw none of it, part of it, or all of it. He knows she got Guy to remember, but she’s also sending him mixed messages. One minute she’s saying he’s cute when he brags and the next, she’s turning him down for coffee to talk to Guy. From the outside it’s so obvious that Keys is in love with Millie, but she doesn’t see it because she’s always looking the other way, not paying attention, so caught up in the game, and too focused on their work to see what’s right in front of her. On rewatch one of the big things I noticed is that Keys is always on the edge of telling Millie how he really feels but he always stops himself because she brushes him or the idea off and because he’s scared of what will become of their work and their friendship if she doesn’t feel the same way. It’s a huge leap. If Millie doesn’t feel the same way it’s going to make their relationship incredibly awkward and could potentially destroy their partnership so Keys decides it’s better not to say anything or only hint at how he feels rather than run the risk of ruining everything. Something else I noticed on rewatch is that in the interview they give Keys says he thinks of himself as an author and that code is what gets him up in the morning and that he loves the ones and zeros of binary because words can fail you and let you down but code never does. At the end of the movie when Millie goes to talk to Guy in Free Life he tells her that he loves her and while he knows that’s his programming he’s realized that he’s a love letter to her and that somewhere out there in the real world is the author. Such a great callback. All in all, I can definitely say that Free Guy has been my favourite movie so far this year! Definitely my favourite movie of the summer. I went to see it twice in theatres and I’ve never done that for any other movie before. I’ll rewatch them at home sure, but I’ve never actually paid money to see something twice on my own. I’m very excited to see the sequel and my hope is that it will be just as good as the first.  Until next time.

#free guy #free guy movie #free guy spoilers #review #Thoughts #critique #millie rusk #Walter keys Mckey #walter mckey #guy #free guy keys #buddy #antwan #mouser #ryan reynolds #Jodie comer #joe keery #taika waititi #lil rel howery #Utkarsh Ambudka #alex trebek #jeopardy #mariah carey #fantasy #it's so good #go see it

[blackradandmad]

why blippi is rotting yr children's brains

preface: i literally expect no one to read this. it is an essay length, strong opinion piece critiquing a niche youtube-based children's show that i don't expect most of y'all to even have knowledge of lol. but like, i promise that even if you know nothing about what i'm talking about, in my incredibly, super humble opinion, it's a good piece of writing and interesting nonetheless. anyway if you read this whole thing for some reason yr really hot and we should kiss.

i thoroughly vet everything my child watches before he watches it, episode by episode. and we rarely watch youtube for entertainment; we usually just look up educational videos when he has a question about something and wants more detail than i can provide him. and that's mainly because children's content on youtube is so fucking troubling and distressing. i don't judge parents who give their children a tablet at a restaurant at all bc i've been there and sometimes it's easier on everyone to just put on a video and avoid a giant scene, but i do judge parents who just leave their children alone with youtube kids on autoplay.

take stevin john, a literal millionaire who got famous from dressing up as a silly character called blippi and going on tours of places like aquariums, zoos, construction sites, etc and posting it on youtube. this has branched into a whole empire of blippi videos, hulu shows and specials, live shows and tours (that he outsources to another character actor), merchandise and so on. this 30-something year old man cites his main influence as being mr. rogers, but i question if he's ever even seen an episode of that program.

mr. rogers had no background in early childhood development or media production, but he revolutionized the world of children's media, because he respected his audience and didn't shy away from real world situations, all while creating a show with an enormous heart. mr. rogers begins his episodes by inviting the viewer in, literally changing his attire to be more comfortable, and talking about/doing things he genuinely cares about. whereas mr. rogers calmly and maturely addresses the viewer, blippi puts on a high pitched, contrived voice, interjecting every other sentence with a forced exclamation such as, "teehee! we're having so much fun!"

i don't find it a coincidence that john (blippi) is a veteran, either. his videos are completely devoid of the absurd, abstract, childlike thinking that makes children's media fun, creative, and entertaining. his thinking and process is methodical, devoid of emotion, and very superficial. this line of thinking clearly shows the kind of creative sterilization and emphasis on sameness and conformity instilled in the military. blippi simply observes things and interacts with them in a stale, matter-of-fact way. "this ball is purple! this ball is pink! anyway... what's over there? teehee! a car! vroom, vroom!" objects are colors, toy cars don't do anything but drive, curiosity is simply not encouraged.

he uses the "it's educational!" excuse to hide the fact that his show lacks everything that makes media a valuable resource for children to consume in the first place. further than identifying colors, numbers, and the occasional letter or shape, there is just this total lack of children's need for social and emotional development. when mr. rogers breaks the fourth wall to address the viewer and let them know they're special, it feels authentic and natural, because we've spent the last half hour building whole worlds with diverse characters and unique stories in a pretend neighborhood, learning about and enjoying different musical instruments, being exposed to and making friends with (even if parasocially, it is still a real bond to children when done properly) children who are similar to us in character regardless of physical or environmental differences, feeding the fish, making art together, and so on. when blippi tells the viewer, "you are very special, and i enjoy spending time with you!" it falls completely flat and feels unearned, because the last half hour was spent running around a soft play center pointing at bright, colorful objects, visiting interesting locations like farms or fruit production factories while failing to acknowledge the humanity of the humans actually working there (everything is machine or product focused; the human workers are simply an extension of the machine), learning "fun facts" about elephants that just list attributes of elephants, not taking the opportunity to inform the viewers of elephants' intelligence, or diet, or matriarchal society. it is a loud, sensory overwhelming display of a man so disconnected from the social and emotional needs and desires of children that he assumes they're stupid, easily entertained idiots who only need some silly dances and fast-moving cartoon graphics to give their attention (meaning time and desire to purchase products meaning $$$). john clearly views his audience as a means to gaming the algorithm and ultimately a paycheck by the hollow way he addresses them.

the show is so narcissistic, so focused on all the fun blippi is supposedly having, but he lacks any of the character traits that make individual children's show hosts memorable, so much so that he was able to have someone else who doesn't even vaguely resemble him dress as blippi and impersonate him and host the show or appear at live shows, and it went unnoticed by most of his toddler and child audience. the show is so formulaic and the character of blippi is so unmemorable that instead of taking the blue's clues route of developing a story of the host leaving for college and his brother now stepping in, or making some sort of believable excuse for the change in actors, they can simply swap him out with some random guy and not acknowledge it at all. although a comedy show for older children, the amanda show in no way could or would try to replicate the show with the same name but swapping out amanda bynes with a random teenage girl who is clearly not amanda bynes. it's weird and nonsensical and shows that his character is so much of a farce put on for a paycheck that not even his dedicated audience is affected or even cares when he is replaced by a random, unknown person.

this is completely garbage content made by an opportunist with no experience with children who saw his nephew watching children's youtube content, took it at complete surface level and still hasn't realized that while children's content only looks and feels so easy, entertaining, and enriching because it is so hard to do well. even with outsourcing his music, that aspect of the show still sucks. famous and successful children's musician, raffi, is known for his song describing the life of a little white whale, called "baby beluga." it opens with a calm strumming of his guitar, followed by the lyrics, "baby beluga in the deep blue sea/swim so wild and you swim so free/heaven above/sea below/and a little white whale on the go." is it silly and kind of pointless? yes, but the point is that he is captivating children and showing them the fun of listening to music, dancing, singing, and appreciating art. the "excavator song" featured in an episode of blippi about construction vehicles opens with what sounds like a default garageband loop and the flatly sung lyrics, "i'm an excavator/i'm an excavator/hey dirt, see you later/i'm an excavator." i don't feel i have to meticulously analyze the aforementioned lyrics; the stark contrast should speak for itself.

i have a million more criticisms about both blippi specifically and youtube children's content as a whole, but this is already so long and i doubt many people will get this far anyway. it's an issue i was completely apathetic towards until i had my own child and had to wean him off these kinds of junk food shows because i realized the fast-paced visuals and bright colors and repetitive songs/lyrics were putting him in this spaced-out, fugue state, and he thought he could demand this show or that show whenever he wanted. the moment he started regularly yelling things like, "watch! cars!" or "no! click it!" i knew i had to be a lot more invested in the things he watched even if just for entertainment or as a soothing message. i showed him an episode of mr. rogers yesterday and feared it would be too slow to hold his attention, but he was mesmerized, greeting and interacting with mr. rogers verbally, asking me, "what's that?" to different objects on the screen. since purging this low-brow children's entertainment, he has had a noticeable increase in attention span and concentration, can focus on a task for longer amounts of times, is more likely to "read"/look through books without me initiating it, and doesn't throw a fit when the tv/my laptop is off.

i just know that for me, growing up with so much unsupervised internet access definitely led me to real-world pain and consequences, and it seems like now children are born with an iphone as an extension of their arm. if my child is going to be consuming videos, i'm definitely supervising every second and am going to be highly critical of the videos and the credentials (or lack thereof) of the creators and team behind it. but i also know, from pure observation admittedly, that parents letting youtube kids autoplay parent their children for hours at a time is not an uncommon occurrence. and it worries me that a generation of children are being raised on videos that rely on being as loud and bright and superficially enjoyable as possible. what's the use of a child knowing their colors and alphabet if they don't know how to treat people with kindness and empathy and respect? there is something wrong for a children's show host to plug the spelling of his name at the end of his videos ("well, that's the end of this video. but if you wanna watch more of my videos, just type in my name! can you spell my name with me? b-l-i-p-p-i!") after essentially rotting his audiences' brains for a half hour. there's something so insidious about the prioritization of naming different parts of construction vehicles over honest depictions of and conversations about dealing with feelings, or why someone with autism may act differently than you, or what to do when you feel lonely, or ways to make art and express yrself creatively. also, not to mention the blatant police propaganda and outright worship is seriously jarring; as a black mother to a visibly non-white child, i cannot sit there and watch blippi show kids how to be a bootlicker for the shittiest profession on earth, but that could be a whole essay in and of itself.

anyway, thanks for reading, if yr looking for quality children's content, i recommend, in no specific order: mr. rogers, sesame street, the electric company, molly of denali, daniel tiger, bluey!, blue's clues, the odd squad, word party, trash truck, puffin rock, uhh... that's definitely not an extensive list but that's just off the dome!!! ok bye y'all <333

#lil rambles #long post t #idk why it's formatted like this ig cos i copy pasted from my fb? #whatever anyway idk why i waste my writing skills on shit literally nobody else but me cares abt #blippi #children's television

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Lucien’s Radio Broadcast Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 电台之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

[ This date was released on 17 May 2021 ]

[ PROLOGUE ] 

Part One: A Weekend Arrangement

On the weekend morning, I wake up contentedly, doing a big stretch on the bed. 

Feeling for my phone beside the pillow, I tap on the unread text that was received five minutes ago.

Lucien: Are you awake? Little Lazy Bug.

A small smile involuntary surfaces on my lips. Nuzzling the soft pillow case, I get up at one go, washing my face and brushing my teeth.

After fifteen minutes, I knock on Lucien’s door.

MC: Lucien, it’s me!

Not a moment later, he opens the door, wearing light-coloured home wear that I rarely see, a pair of golden-framed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

It’s been a while since Lucien and I last saw each other. He has been staying in the research centre recently, and I’ve been busy with filming a new show.

Since we both have a rare break, we made arrangements to meet today.

Lucien: I even thought I’d only get to see you at noon.

Upset, I look at his teasing smile.

MC: In Professor Lucien’s eyes, am I a person who doesn’t keep to her promises? I finally get to see you, so of course I’m seizing every moment.

The arcs at the corners of his lips grow deeper. He turns his body to the side, beckoning me to enter.

Following Lucien into the living room, I see several thick English books left open on the coffee table, and my shoulders droop subconsciously.

MC: Lucien, do you have work to handle today?

Lucien turns around, his eyes curving when he sees my appearance. He walks to me, then lifts my shoulders up gently.

Lucien: Of course not. I finally get to see you, so of course I have to be entirely focused.

-

Part Two: Pondering on the Play

After releasing a secret sigh of relief, I become curious regarding the books on the coffee table. Picking up one of the books, I see its name on the title page - 

MC: “The Complete Works of William Shakespeare”? Are you reading Shakespeare’s works?

Lucien: To be more accurate, I’m selecting a play.

MC: Selecting?

Lucien doesn’t respond to my question, turning around and walking into the kitchen.

Lucien: Are there any plays that you like?

MC: Hm... I can’t think of any that I especially like. All the plays I’ve watched with you seem pretty good. What about you?

Lucien: Do you still remember the play we watched called “André & Dorine”?

[Trivia] André & Dorine depicts the enduring love between an elderly couple as their lives are disrupted, but not overcome, by dementia

MC: I remember! Was it that mime theatre production? I still remember how you pondered over the guitar case on stage for a long time after the performance was over.

Lucien: I wasn’t pondering much. It’s just that after watching it, I felt that life is very short.

Lucien brings over a cup of steaming hot cocoa from the kitchen. He places the cup in my hand naturally, his eyes meeting mine.

Lucien: It has to be spent with the person one loves.

-

Part Three: A Typical Day in the Radio Broadcast Station

The temperature within the house seems to rise along with the the piping hot cocoa. I pat my slightly flushed cheeks, pulling the conversation topic back.

MC: Come to think of it, why do you have to select a play?

Lucien sits down unhurriedly, his tone steady as he gives me an answer which leaves one utterly confused.

Lucien: I need to confess something to Producer MC -

Lucien: I accepted the invitation of another radio broadcast station.

After waiting for Lucien to finish with his short “confession”, I finally understand why he has to select a play.

Two days ago, Lucien received an invitation from the Loveland Radio Broadcast Station to participate in a 520 Special Broadcast Program called “A Day in a Play”.

[Note] 520 stands for 20 May, a day celebrated by the Chinese as another Valentine’s Day. This is because 我爱你 (“wo ai ni” - “I love you”) sounds like the numbers 5, 2, and 0 (“wu er ling”) when said aloud

This program regularly invites theatre fans from various occupations to share their favourite plays, and Lucien is one of them.

Hearing such news bogs me down with mixed feelings. On one hand, I’m silently in awe at the good choice made by the radio station. On the other hand...

I sneak a peek at Lucien. His head is currently lowered as he blows on the steam of the hot cocoa, his expression levelled.

...if I were to get jealous about Lucien agreeing to participate in another show, it’d be an incredibly inconsiderate thing, right?

Just as I think about this, Lucien suddenly lifts his head towards me. He crinkles his eyes into a smile, as though he has completely seen through the little grumblings in my heart from earlier.

Lucien: Oh yes, this show requires me to invite a partner. The Great Producer MC would grace me with her presence, won’t she?

-

[ DATE ]

Lucien: “Come live with me and be my love,”

Lucien: “And we will all the pleasures prove,”

Lucien: “That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,”

Lucien: “Woods, or steepy mountains yields.”

Lucien: “And we will sit upon rocks,”

Lucien: “Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,”

Lucien: “By shallow rivers to whose falls,”

Lucien: “Melodious birds sing madrigals.”

Lucien: “...if these flights thy mind may move,”

Lucien: “Then live with me and be my love.”

Lucien: What do you think about this poem? Do you like it?

Lucien sets down the manuscript in his hand, lifting his eyes slowly.

He’s leaning next to the window of the guest lounge. The warm light of spring falls on his shoulders, creating a mild, brilliant white halo in the air.

A few days ago, Lucien invited me to participate in the 520 Special Broadcast Program called “A Day in a Play”.

The content of this show consists of idle talk related to plays, and it regularly invites theatre fans from various occupations to share about their favourite plays.

The stanza that Lucien just read aloud came from a poem written by a playwright called Christopher Marlowe. 

MC: I like it very much.

Returning to my senses, my expression is sincere as I look at him.

MC: Lucien, have you ever thought of changing occupations and becoming an actor?

When Lucien hears this, his eyes arch into a smile. He walks over, tapping the manuscript gently on the top of my head.

Lucien: An exaggerated compliment would make it lose its sincerity.

Just as I’m about to firmly express my sincerity, I notice from the corner of my eye that there are several markings on Lucien’s manuscript.

Leaning over to get a better look, I realise that those markings are notes taken down on the poem by Lucien with a pen.

I recall how he’s been incredibly busy in the previous period, and how there were many times when I had to remind him to eat...

Even so, he made notes on the manuscript regarding reciting techniques for this show. In my heart, I deeply respect his endless energy. At the same time, I can’t help but be envious.

MC: Does Professor Lucien need to do homework beforehand too?

Lucien: Techniques are required for specialised skills. I’m not a professional at reciting poetry, so of course I need to do my homework beforehand. 

I deliberately fold my arms, letting out quiet “hmph”s.

MC: But you don’t seem to do any preparations as a consultant for Miracle Finder.

Lucien: Since I’m a consultant, I can’t let the producer of the show see me do last minute work.

He draws slightly closer to me, lowering his voice.

Lucien: At a place you can’t see, I’ve always been working hard for you.

The evident slyness in his tone causes my breathing to turn slightly ragged. Clearing my throat, I put some distance between us.

MC: [blushing] That’s not what I meant...

Lucien: I understand.

Meaningful arcs hook the corners of his lips, as though he sees through the feelings in my heart. He tugs me over to sit on the sofa in the guest lounge.

Lucien: Or should I only participate in the shows you produce next time?

MC: ...I’m not asking you to go that far either!

He narrows his eyes and turns his head to the side, pretending to give it some thought. 

Lucien: In that case, I’ll always ask for Producer MC’s opinion before appearing on a show. Is that okay?

I nod, face red from his teasing. All of a sudden, my heart stirs.

MC: Verbal statements can’t be relied upon. Concrete evidence is needed.

I lift my hand, removing the small hair tie on my ponytail. Then, I indicate for Lucien to give me his hand.

He seems to guess what I plan to do. Supporting his chin casually with one hand, he stretches the other hand in front of me.

With a serious expression, I put on the hair tie on his wrist solemnly, as though I’m conducting a formal ceremony.

MC: It shall be the evidence. In future, the Professor Lucien on the big screen will be completely reserved by me!

-

After sitting in the lounge for a while, the director comes over and goes through today’s show schedule with Lucien and I briefly.

The show is segmented into reading letters from theatre fans, reciting monologues from plays, and monologue appreciation, among other things.

In every episode, this show will choose a particular theme of plays, which will then be used to expand on the contents of the show.

In order to be in line with the special day of 520, the theme for this episode has been set as the “possessiveness” between lovers.

As such, the plays and characters we selected are related to “possessiveness”.

The first segment consists of sharing letters from listeners. The show team had collected various reviews of plays from listeners, as well as their personal takeaways from the plays.

There’s only ten minutes before the show begins. Seizing this final free time, I sit in the studio, skimming through these letters briefly.

Some of the letters include analysis spanning over a thousand words on the extreme possessiveness of some classic characters in plays...

Some of the letters created a hearty one-act play based on the word “possessiveness”.

My line of sight roams over these letters, and I can sense someone leaning over from the side.

Lucien: What are you looking at?

MC: Letters from the listeners. Which letter would you like to read later?

Lucien glances at the open letters on the table for a while. Then, the corners of his lips suddenly curve upwards.

Just as I'm about to follow his line of sight, the director gives us a signal from outside, telling us that the countdown to the broadcast is about to begin.

Suppressing my curiosity, Lucien and I begin today’s radio broadcast with the guidance of the host.

-

The segment of reading letters arrives on schedule. I select a satisfactory review of a play to read. Very quickly, it’s almost time for Lucien to read a letter.

Host: Would Professor Lucien be reading an interesting review of a play as well?

Lucien picks up a pink coloured envelope in the middle directly, as though he has long since made a decision.

Lucien: Even though it isn’t a review, ever since I saw this letter before the show, I really wanted to share it with everyone. However, it looks like the owner of this letter is female. If I were to read it, I’m afraid it’d be slightly inappropriate.

Lucien turns over, handing the letter to me.

Lucien: Could I request Producer MC to read it for me?

I blink, taking the letter without knowing what’s going on.

Opening the letter, the childish handwriting brings with it a fragrance as it unfolds before my eyes.

MC: “Hello hosts, I’m a student from junior high.”

Slightly puzzled, I look at Lucien. He smiles slightly, indicating that I should continue reading.

MC: “Recently, I’ve been feeling troubled.”

MC: “Ever since coming to junior high school, my deskmate has been a very playful boy, and he always bullies me.”

MC: “He often tugs on my ponytail, or asks me to give him my seat in the canteen. Even though he gives me snacks, he says that it’s only because he doesn’t want to eat them.”

MC: “While eating his snacks one day, a classmate suddenly teased us and asked if we liked each other. At that time, I was in a fluster and shouted without realising, ‘How could I like him!’”

MC: “Ever since then... my deskmate hasn't spoken to me.”

MC: “I thought I’d be really happy since I’m freed from his bullying. But whenever I see him distributing snacks to other girls, I actually feel the impulse to cry.”

MC: “I even secretly placed his snacks on my own table, pretending that my deskmate gave them to me...”

MC: “ --so that I can attempt to stake my claim in front of other girls.”

MC: “Last week, I watched a stage play, and the experiences of the lead character were somewhat similar to mine.”

MC: “Afterwards, I read the reviews. Everyone was saying that the lead character was fiercely possessive, and a little abnormal...”

MC: “Am I also such a person? What counts as being possessive? Is being possessive truly an illness?”

After reading the last line, I lift my head to meet Lucien’s eyes, giving him a knowing smile.

Host: I didn’t expect Professor Lucien to select such an adorable letter. How would you respond to this young listener’s question?

Lucien: I’m very sorry, but I’m unable to respond. This question might require a consultation with a professional. But I once read a document on concepts in psychology related to “possessiveness”, and I could share it with everyone.

Lucien stretches his hand towards me, and I hand the letter to him in tacit understanding. 

He unfolds the letter, casually lifting his spectacles. Then, he lowers his hand, his fingertips tapping rhythmically on the table.

The sound of tapping stops abruptly. He lifts his hand to support his lips, then tilts his head slightly, as though recalling the contents of the document.

Lucien: The following information is for everyone’s reference. Possessiveness is typically expressed as an exceptional cherishing of the other party, and being concerned about the other party in various aspects of their life.

For some inexplicable reason, along with Lucien’s words, I suddenly recall scenes of myself heading to the research centre to bring him bentos.

Lucien: Only allowing oneself and the other party to have a connection, and not wishing for others to get close to the other party.

My heart once again inexplicably recalls the bitter taste when I heard of Lucien participating in this show. 

Lucien: If one finds that the other party no longer belongs to them, they’d use all sorts of methods to stake their claim.

Lucien appears to deliberately twist his wrist slightly, revealing the small hair tie on it.

...I have a feeling that Lucien is implicitly referring to me. I keep my eyes on Lucien, and can’t help but purse my lips.

He seems to sense my “complaint”, but his eyes remain on the letter in his hand, a smile on his lips tugging upwards.

Lucien: This is simply a definition, and isn’t enough to ascertain the intensity of a person’s possessiveness. However, satisfying one’s possessiveness in an appropriate manner isn’t a bad thing. If possessiveness is unable to obtain a suitable outlet, it’d end up violently engulfing the originally balanced love. Furthermore, possessiveness isn’t a disease.

Lucien sets down the letter. As though sensing my gaze, he turns his head and gives me a slight smile.

Lucien: It accompanies a strong love. It’s a human instinct. 

-

After the letter reading segment, Lucien, as the main guest, has to read a monologue from a certain play in the next segment.

This play narrates an account in mid-century Europe, involving the love story of a wealthy lady and a butler who grew up together since young.

This butler was naturally more intelligent than others, and had a composed temperament. If he were to craft a career for himself, he’d do far better than being a butler.

However, in order stay by the side of his beloved lady, he was willing to remain within the four walls.

The naive wealthy lady didn’t understand the genuine feelings of the butler. Like every other wealthy lady, she looked forward to marrying her own prince. 

But when she was arranged to get married to a wealthy duke, her heart started to waver.

Because the intensity of the butler’s possessiveness went to his head, he eventually poisoned the wealthy lady, then vanished into the night.

With his own hands, he buried the love of his life, and from then on became a fugitive, living a life that was neither dead nor alive.

The monologue that Lucien is about to read is taken from the part after the butler finds out that the lady is inclined to marrying the duke. It’s the first time he reveals the depth of his possessiveness. 

Lucien selected this monologue himself, and I can’t help but anticipate it.

Host: Listeners and friends, we’ll now lend our ears to Professor Lucien -

Lucien nods slightly, tilting his head towards me and blinking slowly. His lowered voice gradually seeps into the earpieces.

Lucien: “I thought she was just a canary which would only sit by the window...”

Lucien: “When the sun rises every morning, she’d be at the glass window, facing the blazing sunlight and preening its feathers to its heart’s content.”

Rich affection is in Lucien’s voice. It’s as though I can see a talented and handsome young man staring at the girl’s back in the room with deep feelings.

Lucien: “Her wings are vibrant and heart-stirring. She spends a lot of time on them, combing them gently with a bristle brush.”

Lucien: “Whenever this happens, I’d stand behind her, carrying a cup of hot tea, waiting for her quietly.”

Lucien: “I know that in this moment, she belongs only to me.”

Lucien’s voice suddenly turns soft and barely discernible. I can’t help but be immersed in it -

The modern studio around me suddenly shifts, as though turning into wooden furniture in Western Europe.

Ripples of colour reflect off the windows and onto the floor, glistening with light. An expensive fragrance of rogue diffuses in the room.

Lucien: “Only I know what she's thinking of, and only I understand everything about her.”

I turn my head to Lucien, who is behind me. He’s wearing a fitting suit, standing at a spot where shadows and light mingle.

Lucien: “We will be forgotten in this place by the world, but the strings of fate will tie us together.”

He suddenly pauses, the intermingling of shadows and light distorting his expression into shreds. He trembles slightly in the darkness.

Lucien: “...before meeting that duke, she was always in front of that glass window, being my bird.”

Lucien: “She should realise that if she were to fly out, she would have cuts and bruises all over from those impetuous dandies.”

Lucien: “She would discover that there is an entire sky of canaries which are just as beautiful and frail as her. Those dandies only have to reach out gently--”

Lucien: “And her beloved feathers would be easily plucked out.”

Lucien: “If this is the ending... if this is the only ending...”

Lucien: “Then her feathers should belong to me.”

When I see his calm and shadowed expression, I hold my breath momentarily.

Lucien: “Only belonging to me.”

The monologue ends.

-

Lucien: In the short span of one minute, you’ve already hesitated to say something to me five times.

Lucien sighs, setting down the cup of water in his hand.

After the monologue ended, the subsequent segments no longer involve the guests that much.

Lucien and I have left the studio earlier, and are sitting on the sofa in the lounge, waiting for the show to officially come to an end.

It’s just that... ever since we stepped out of the studio and I saw Lucien returning to his normal state, my heart has had difficulties making the adjustment.

MC: ...I was just so stunned.

Tickled by the exaggerated tone in my voice, Lucien chuckles softly.

Lucien: I’ll take that as a compliment. 

MC: Of course it’s a compliment! I didn’t expect you to perform so well. You were basically an entirely different person earlier!

Lucien: I was simply portraying the role as I understood it. But I accept Producer MC’s compliment.

He takes a shallow sip of tea calmly, returning to how Lucien typically is, and completely different from the butler he was acting as earlier.

Seeing him like this, a question suddenly surfaces in my heart -

I wonder what Lucien’s possessiveness looks like?

-

Director: Sorry for the wait! The two of you have worked hard today!

After the show ends, the director returns to the lounge, carrying a stack of manuscripts in his hand.

Director: The responses for today’s show are extremely good! Many thanks to Professor Lucien and Miss MC for the spectacular performance!

Lucien: We’re also grateful for your invitation to participate in this show.

Director: Professor Lucien is too polite. Both of you truly did very well. The comment board for the show is filled with positive remarks. To tell you the truth, there’s something I need to ask of the two of you.

The director unfolds the manuscript in his hand. Lucien and I lower our heads to look at it. It’s the script from that earlier play.

Director: We’d like to include a special 520 Easter egg for this episode’s theme. It would be the final scene between the butler and the wealthy lady. Earlier, Professor Lucien’s monologue left a deep impression on the listeners, and the responses were very enthusiastic. If possible, could you and Producer MC record this Easter egg today?

The director clasps his hands together, inviting Lucien sincerely. However, Lucien turns his line of sight to me.

Lucien: My rights to participate in a show belong to this lady. If she agrees, I’ll naturally have no issues with it.

The director looks over in confusion. Just as Lucien is about to showcase the hair tie with a dead serious expression, I hurriedly agree.

MC: Yes! We can!

The director unclasps his hands quickly, preparing for the recording of the Easter egg. Lucien and I remain in the studio to go over the lines.

After familiarising myself with my lines, I lift my head, realising that Lucien is leaning against the sofa, reading the script meticulously and silently.

Seeing him look so serious, I suddenly become curious again.

MC: Lucien, could I ask you a question?

Lucien: Does it have to do with why I agreed to participate in this show?

MC: ...as expected, I can’t hide anything from you.

He sets down the manuscript, grinning as he tidies the hair at my ear.

Lucien: I simply care about you exceptionally. I’m guessing that what you want to know even more is why I’d bring you along to participate in this show.

My eyes widen slightly, and I give him a thumbs up.

He chuckles after seeing this. Waves of gentleness ripple in those eyes that have always been difficult to read.

Lucien: I know that we differ from others in the way we’re always handling our own matters. It’s difficult to meet, much less have each others’ time. I also know that you’re always doing your best to give your free time to me -

Lucien: Bringing me bentos with plenty of dishes, attending conferences when I release new books, and taking me to see the spring day in your eyes.

Lucien: So, I want to tell you that whether or not you can see it, I’m also doing my best to own every moment of your free time.

Lucien: To me, participating in this show is akin to watching a movie together. I simply want it to be a special moment for us which belongs only to you and me. 

He leans down, drawing closer to me, encasing my surroundings with his unique scent.

Looking into his eyes, a wave of gentleness seems to ripple in my heart, and my cheeks flush slightly.

MC: I’ll also do my best to create special moments belonging only to the both of us. I’ll invite Professor Lucien to look forward to them.

Lucien: You being like this is already good enough.

The corners of his eyes turn upwards, and he puts some distance between us.

Lucien: Let’s go over the lines together. The director’s waiting for us to record the Easter egg.

I nod. Taking a deep breath, I return my focus to the script again.

In the final scene between the butler and the wealthy lady, the wealthy lady is holding a love letter she wrote to the duke, naively wanting the butler to polish her writing.

Even though she senses that she shouldn’t let the butler see this letter, he’s the person she trusts most.

In front of the butler, she’s like a young girl experiencing her first awakening of love as she reads the love letter aloud.

The butler, whose unbridled possessiveness and intense jealousy have rushed to his head, finally poisons his beloved in his arms after she reads the final line.

Using a letter from a listener as a prop, I place it in his hand and begin the monologue.

MC: “You must definitely listen to this letter...”

MC: “It contains my heartfelt sincerity. No matter what, I don’t want there to be any mistakes.”

Lucien: "If you read it to me, it will be your first mistake.”

MC: “Please! You’ve never refused anything I ask of you. I’ll just treat it as tacit consent, just like always!”

MC: “Dearest Great Duke...”

MC: “I’m writing this letter to you, and it contains my sincerity...”

Following the script, I read the letter written to the duke.

MC: “...and with this, I look forward to your reply.”

These are the final words on the letter. Following this, there are a series of stage directions.

“The wealthy lady grips her love letter, brimming with anticipation as she stares out of the window. The butler is silent, handing her a cup of hot tea as he usually does.”

“The lady drinks it without putting up any defences, but doesn’t know that he had poisoned this cup. The love letter floats to the ground, and she falls into the butler’s arms.”

“...he speaks into her ear: ‘You belong only to me.’ The canary in his arms twitches for a while, then never stirs again.”

Seeing the tragic ending of this love story, my heart can’t help but sigh.

The butler’s love made him lose his mind. In order to possess his beloved forever, he pushed both himself and her into hell with his own hands.

I recall the scene from before when Lucien was reading the monologue, and how he usually has eyes as calm as a deep pond.

That earlier thought once again surfaces in my mind -

I wonder what Lucien’s possessiveness looks like?

Just when I’m thinking about this, I feel a forceful tug on my arm.

I stumble, then fall into familiar arms. 

Puzzled, I turn my head towards Lucien. A sense of restraint is concealed in his eyes, and the unfathomable dark eyes hold within them intense emotions. 

Lucien: “This letter will never be sent, just as the bird will forever remain in her cage.”

Lucien takes a deep breath, leaning his weight against my body.

I feel scorching breaths on my exposed shoulders, and his hand brushes against my lips gently.

Lucien: “You can only belong to me.”

A familiar scent cages me in his embrace. For a moment, I’m unable to tell if the person before me is the butler who went mad because of love, or if he’s Lucien himself.

I abruptly return to my senses - the performance should already be over.

However, Lucien doesn’t let go of me, as though he hasn’t disengaged from the performance. 

Just as I prepare to remind him that it’s over, he suddenly leans near, leaving a soft kiss at the corner of my lips.

Lucien: Very sweet. I’m referring to the taste of the tea.

Stunned, I look at Lucien - he’s changing the ending of the script...

While he looks at me, the foreign emotions in his eyes suddenly vanish. Then, he crinkles his eyes into a smile, just like how he smiles at me every time.

I already knew that I couldn't hide anything from him.

This is his response to that question I’ve never asked -

Lucien: The person I want to possess will eventually possess me.

🎙 Texts and Moments: here

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[justlookingvm]

Tessa Virtue’s leap from Figure Skating Olympic Champion to Executive MBA | Kneading Dough Canada

https://youtu.be/JAAkEDRFJ1A

Host: Vinay Virmani

T: If you’re going to build something, you need options in your life. I’ll say this especially as females, it’s important to be independent. To feel like you can be self-reliant and to take care of yourself.

[Intro presented by Tangerine]

V: Tessa, welcome to Kneading Dough Canada.

T: Thank you so much for having me.

V: It’s a pleasure. Kneading Dough Canada is a financial empowerment platform as you know, where we talk money, we talk mindset, we talk about financial lessons that you’ve learned along the way to hopefully inspire the next generation.

T: Well I’m so grateful to be on, I really appreciate it. I think it’s always refreshing to hopefully lend that female lens but also maybe that perspective from the amateur sport world too.

V: Yeah, you know Tessa you’ve accomplished so much, both in your personal and in your professional life. As an athlete you have achieved so many incredible honours, you’ve represented us, this country of Canada at the highest of international levels, but what I’m really excited about is you’re about to add another accomplishment in the form of three very special letters, MBA behind your name. Talk to me about that decision.

T: It’s been you know lingering in my mind for a long time. Education was always a priority in my household growing up in my family, and I thought about law school for quite some time and then I retired at 28 or 29 and thought maybe that’s too long (giggle) and realized also I wanted to flex a bit of a creative muscle. So this MBA program has been a dream of mine for quite some time. I want to be a student again in every sense of the word and I’m eager to learn the ins and outs of the business realm and that corporate sphere that I’ve had a unique perspective of, you know for 10 15 years, but if I’m going to take on a new role whatever that may be then I really want to feel like I’ve adopted that rookie mindset once again, and earned my stripes, I’ve gotten the credibility to to deserve a place there.

V: I want to take it to the world of figure skating though, because the world of figure skating is so glamorous as a sport. You know

T: I wasn’t sure where that sentence was going to land. It could have gone so many directions.

V: I I’m so like fascinated by the world of figure skating because the glamour, the imagination, the costumes, the drama, the whole production value. It looks so beautiful and elegant, but behind it there’s also rigorous routine, training and it’s not cheap.

T: Uh huh

V: So growing up, dd you have those conversations with your family and did you understand the investment that it was taking to sort of put you through the highest levels of figure skating.

T: The 2 things that my parents were always wiling to invest in or prioritize were education and sport. And it was important to them that we were exposed to as much as we could be. I’m the youngest of four. You know I’m of two minds because on one hand I do believe they tried to shield me from the burden of that sacrifice, that they made for all kids and for you know all of these adventures. But I was also keenly aware of it. I knew the the toll and I knew the cost and um you know I felt that responsibility…

V: Was there anything that you remember early on where there was an incident or a moment where you were like, I recognize like you talked about the toll.

T: My parents were so conscious to ensure that I wasn’t carrying that weight, and yet I moved away from home  when I was 13 and I was kind of budgeting at that age for groceries and 7-eleven runs (laughs), whatever it is that a 13 year old needs. Taking taxis everywhere and I made a decision when I was 15 um to be able to do it on my own. My mom was always quick to say you know you have to look after yourself and you always have to make your own way and she was all about sort of creating that sense of security and freedom, so that I had options.

To be honest I had a tumultuous relationship with my father when I was a teen and I think it was just a decision, at that point. I didn’t feel right.

V: Yeah

T: I didn’t feel right accepting that kind of support anymore um and maybe it was a bit of pride you know, not wanting to

V: You don’t want to be dependent on anybody.

T: Totally. Yeah, and that’s not to say that I’m not aware of the privilege that I had growing up to have those opportunities. It was just a real marker of OK, if this is the path I’m choosing, um and I really need to make sure that I can I can do it on my own or in a way that really isn’t such a burden.

V: You know talking to you today has reinforced independence. You know being independent, not being dependent and and just being self-sufficient. And how gratifying that is, you know I think a lot of people, especially as you said, I hope a lot of young women watch this show and and really listen to your advice. And the fact that you took that decision at such an early age.

T: You know it’s interesting I found old journals not too long ago, and there was a page in one and I don’t know, judging by my handwriting I might have been 12? 11 or 12? And I had written my goals and that were, you know the to win the Olympics, be on Oprah, which I’ll settle for uninterrupted and Kneading Dough, uh buy a cottage, like buy a family cottage

V: Right

T: And at 12 that was on my mind and the feeling of walking into this cottage that my mom and I were able to dream of and then buy together, is so visceral and it’s it’s so much about, like I think back to being young and maybe not having, especially for her like that sense of security and and just really feeling like that can be a safe place now. Um so again it’s more of the representation of that.

V: I’ve heard you say something that has really resonated with me always because it’s something that I believe in. That the highs are so much better when you’ve experienced the lows. And obviously Scott Moir and yourself accomplished so many great things together. Something that I always try to tell the younger generation is, sometimes you have to just sit back celebrate your failures.

T: Well we learned to embrace it by making it part of our process, in that, not only did we anticipate failure and expect it and embrace it, well, we practiced it. So we learned to fall on demand, get back up, refocus, and

V: OK

T: be back into our program still trying to amalgamate as many points as possible.

V: You know I remember once um I must have been in grade school and I and I failed a few subjects. I was never a good student.

T: OK

V: And you know we didn’t have a lot of money at the time and I remember my my dad, I was really afraid to tell him that you know I’ve failed these courses and blah blah blah, but he said to the family, he said, alright everybody get ready we’re going for dinner. And we went to this restaurant that was only saved for like birthdays or anniversaries. And so we get there and he’s ordering all these great things on the menu and I’m like “dad, I don’t think you heard me like I failed, like I failed and here you are taking it t the restaurant.” And I remember he looked at me and he said “You know I want you to celebrate this failure. I want you to take it in because if you’re winning all the time, you’re not going to learn anything.”

T: Wow, and obviously that stayed with you

V: Oh yeah, you’re always going to learn so much more from the losses.

This next set of questions is called the two cents round, so you can’t overthink these things.

Tessa, we all know about your discipline but what do you splurge on?

T: Clothes

V: Clothes, OK, all right. What part of your budget are you working on lowering?

T: Clothes (big laugh). Actually not really because I will say, it’s more what it represents like part of that is like my I love it and it’s become also intertwined with my career and my brand if you will. Um

V: Its an investment in yourself.

T: I think so, that’s how I twist it

V: So, what is us the best financial decision you’ve made so far?

T: Hire the right people

V: Building the right team around you.

T: Yeah absolutely.

V: Describe your financial persona in just one word.

T: I want to say careful?

V: Careful.

T: Careful in that I’m strategic

V: I like that, OK

T: But I’m willing to have some fun.

V: OK, all right. Tessa if you could run any business, what would it be?

T:  My own.

V: Your own. OK. All right I’m not going to push you more. [Tessa laughs]. They say patience is a virtue, how long did your first paycheck last?

T: I mean I spent my whole career basically operating at a deficit, so everything went back into training. I worked towards certain things and the you know I was really fortunate to get some funding and bursary grants, and then eventually sponsors and um was able to build this little nest egg, but mostly  it went right back into training.

V: Tessa, this year we’ve been having such important and meaningful conversations about women in sport. And you know of course there’s such a long way to go for those conversations really to achieve equality, but as somebody who’s such a big advocate for women’s empowerment in sport, how do you feel that you want to lend your voice to those conversations?

T: I think, currently the biggest impact I feel I can have is really connecting with those young female athletes at that precipice of maybe dropping out um for all the heart breaking reasons that we’re learning about through research. Whether that is you know body image, or lack of self-confidence, lack of self-worth, it’s just not good enough. Like the access to resources, there are opportunities, um I think those conversations are really important and that’s where I’ve been feeling most fulfilled, when I’m able to connect with those athletes and you know I’ve been able to benefit from all of the lessons and the opportunities that sport has lended it uh to my life. And I just so want that for other female athletes. And you know we’re seeing that there are more mentors, more representation, more access to viewing these formidable female athletes, and I hope that resonates.

V: Tessa, we’ve uh had the opportunity to work on a few branded campaigns together. There’s this Tessa grace, and there’s this element of everything being held to a certain standard. In everything that you do, especially things that are public facing. Talk to me a bit about that.

T: I hate the word brand but I’m going to say it, my brand has been

V: I mean you definitely have a very strong brand

T: Well it’s been built on the very foundation of me and my personality and if those values aren’t upheld in every sense of you know the word, then I’m I’m not useful to anyone. Then I’m then no brand would want to hire me, um because it if it gets diluted, then I then I just think um it’s losing the very essence of what resonates with people. And I’m really careful about that like I only partner and pair with brands that I would authentically stand behind and feel really good about promoting.  

V: I love that

T: And I’m conscious of where I lend my voice and my likeness, a very clear mission statement, and you know I love to be hands on but that’s where like the creative fulfilment comes in

V: Right

T: And honestly that’s where the most successful engagement also comes. If I’m involved and it’s a collaborative process, um it’s much more successful for the brand too.

V: You know, over this past year, there’s been such a strong connection to mental health and financial wellness. Many Canadians have a very high debt to income ratio, which can be very stressful. For you, how do you protect not only your mental health, but when it comes to financial wellness. How do you really protect your sanity?

T: As an amateur athlete I grappled with that um day after day. I think it’s important to find purpose in saving and planning. So, you know my mom started those conversations with me when I was young but that was all to sort of plant the seed of like you need to plan for this. And if you’re going to build something you need options in your life. For me you know it’s helped having a corporation for example, because a lot of my money is tied up there and it it’s great um but, it’s also made me very careful and strategic in how I spend it.

V: What is your one big piece of financial advice to all young women out there?

T: Surround yourself with the right people and set yourself up for independence.

V: I love that. Financial freedom.

T: Financial freedom.

#Tessa Interview: Kneading Dough

[moonbeamsung]

Winter Nights & City Lights

Because nothing says ‘Christmas’ like spending the big day (and not to mention the whole holiday season) in the Big Apple living with your high school friend-turned-roommate, Mark Lee.

member: mark (featuring johnny)

au: roommate!mark x gn!reader, college roommate au, christmas au, ‘the gift of the magi’ au/inspired

word count: 9.5k

genre: fluff, angst, slice of life

warnings: profanity, underage drinking, hangovers, insecurities, mentions of food and drink, money issues, embarrassing moments

author’s note: This fic is close to becoming my favorite that I’ve ever written. It’s also almost twice as long as I planned, not to mention that tumblr crashed right as I tried to post it so here I am, two hours later. Overall I had a blast writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it! Please let me know what you think, too! :,) Happy holidays! <3

taglist: @astroboy-lele​ @kisshim​ @radiorenjun​

network tags: @kpopscape​ @neo-constellations​ @starryktown​ @culture-cafe​ @dreamlab-nct​

“That parade was so cool! I mean, did you see the size of all those balloons? They were huge! I’ve never seen so many people all in one place before,” Mark chatters away like an excited child as you navigate through the crowd that always seems to grow bigger year after year, gathered along the curbs of the New York streets to watch the famed Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“How are you not more excited about this?” He questions, and you stifle an amused giggle. “I’ve lived in the city for over a year, Mark. I’ve seen a thing or two.”

“Oh, right. I knew that.” The cold air only accentuates the blush on his face as he remembers that particular detail about you. It isn’t often that it’s demonstrated, however, considering you spend so much time cooped up inside of your shared apartment cramming in university work and studying. There are hardly any opportunities during the year to take in the sights of the concrete jungle you live in the very heart of, but luckily, one of your long-awaited breaks is coming up soon.

Thoughts of Christmas vacation are the only things keeping you going, along with countless cups of steaming hot coffee, as you prepare for exams in just a few weeks, weeks that seem to go by in a flurry of snow.

There’s less than three days left until your first one, but you’re nothing short of drained after pulling so many all-nighters, and you need a break. A breath of fresh air seems like just the cure for your burnout, so you slam your textbook shut and lethargically drag yourself off of the soft comforter you’ve been sitting on for the past two hours. You grimace at the deep imprint left behind.

Trudging through the living area, you knock softly on Mark’s bedroom door. A tired “Come in” sounds from the other side, and you push it open, immediately noticing his disheveled state. Eyes heavy with fatigue and lacking their usual sparkle of youthful innocence, he blinks back at you, “What’s up?”

“You look like you need a break just as much as I do,” you insist. His already-open mouth widens a bit more, “But... our first exam is on Monday, we can’t just—”

“Mark, come on, you’re one of the smartest people in our class. If anyone’s going to pass, it’s you.”

He huffs, “Maybe you have a point.”

“I do have a point, and you know it. A little walk in the park never hurt anyone, right?”

Mark rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, fingers raking through his dark locks before he musters up enough strength to push himself off of his bed and into a standing position.

“I’ll get my jacket.”

Central Park is a sight to behold on its own all year round, but something about the Christmas season makes it even more magical. You and Mark step at the same pace, your paths lined by metal benches blanketed in fresh snow. Even through the many layers of warmth you’re both wearing, the chilly air still nips at your skin. It’s Mark’s first time experiencing the holidays in New York City, and you’re determined to show him everything this real-life winter wonderland has to offer.

The story of how you two came to be roommates in the first place is an extremely lucky one. You met in high school, and had been part of the same group of friends along with six younger boys. Both Canadian, you’d been hoping to get into the same New York college since what felt like forever. The day that you received your acceptance letters in the mail was full of joy and celebration, but not even a week later, Mark got an unexpected scholarship to a local but prestigious university not far from where you lived that he simply couldn’t pass up.

Parting ways after graduation, you had thought you might never see each other again until you got a call from him. It was the day after your last exam of the spring semester in college and you were sitting on your two-person couch, feeling rather lonely. The number seemed too familiar, too good to be true, and scrambling to pick up the phone as it blared throughout your fairly small apartment, you answered with a shaky voice. Mark’s recognizable tone met your ears, and a wide smile met your face. Though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the happiness in your words.

As it turned out, his college had given him the opportunity to transfer to yours for the remainder of his four years, as their programs were closely linked and on similar levels. Graciously, he had accepted, and wanted you to be the first to know.

“So, uh... are you living with anyone?”

The question he dreaded asking more than anything else. Call him cliché, but he had the biggest crush on you in high school, much to his dismay and to the rest of his friends’ excitement. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like you, but he feared that college could tear a potential relationship apart, regardless of whether or not you went to the same one.

As a result of this, he had never acted on his emotions. But he’s older now, and wiser, which leads him to believe that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to maintain one, should he ever gain enough courage to ask you out.

“No, actually, I have my own apartment.”

Silence.

“...Are you looking for somewhere to stay?”

“Yes! Yes,” he replied a little too quickly, eager to accept what would hopefully be an invitation from you. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Well, my place isn’t the biggest, but you can live with me if you want to. Plus, we could split the rent between us!”

You’ve always liked Mark. He’s hardworking, kind, and humble, maybe a little too much of all these things for his own good. Even back in high school, you spent endless nights and very early mornings on the phone with him, trying to convince him to go to bed after he refused to stop studying. To reassure him that he did the right thing by ending that friendship, or to insist that he tell the teacher no one worked on the group project, so he did everything himself. You’ve been his shoulder to cry on for years, you’ve seen a side of him that he’s never been brave enough to show anyone else because they expect so much of him.

Mark knows he’s blessed to have had a picture-perfect childhood, a good family, and an education that was rigorous yet rewarding enough to prepare him for his next chapter in life. The pressures that came with being so lucky just got to him sometimes, and they made four years of high school seem more like fourteen.

You, on the other hand, didn’t quite have all the same luxuries that he did, but you still managed. He’s been there for you plenty of times, too. In your opinion, though, he’s the much more vulnerable one of the two of you, mainly to his cumbersome insecurities and shortcomings, however rare those shortcomings may be.

So in your mind, Mark Lee deserves the entire world and then some. The least you can do is share your apartment with him, either until he finds what you’re sure would be a much more desirable place to live, or if he wants to stay with you indefinitely.

What you don’t realize, and will eventually struggle to admit to yourself, is that your admiration for his perseverance and endless generosity is teetering rather precariously on the edge of blossoming into something more than just platonic.

“Sounds good, then. Thanks so much!” He had exclaimed, the sound of his pure excitement and gratefulness bringing a wave of heat to your face, and you were glad he wasn’t there in front of you to see it.

You talked a little bit more for the next few minutes, catching up and enjoying a lighthearted conversation about what you had both been up to. These sessions on the phone began to occur more and more frequently, turning into weekly, and soon daily, affairs. Mark planned to move in a couple weeks before school started again, giving himself some time to settle in and adapt to urban life in general. The calls became a highlight of your summer vacation, and every day without fail, you found yourself waiting to hear the unique ringtone you had set his contact to.

Less than twelve hours before Mark was scheduled to arrive at New York’s largest airport, you were on the phone with him just like always. The clock in your apartment chimed eleven o’clock, and as reluctant as you were to hang up, you knew you should turn in for the night. After all, the sooner you went to sleep, the sooner the morning would come. The morning you would meet him at the airport.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice was hopeful. Slightly unsteady, but hopeful all the same.

“I guess so. What time does your plane land, again?” You confirmed the time you had scribbled down onto a neon yellow sticky note a few days earlier as he repeated the short string of numbers, nodding to no one in particular. Why did you feel so nervous? It’s just Mark, you had told yourself.

“Have a safe flight!”

He bade you goodnight in return, accidentally throwing in a “sweet dreams” before he could stop himself. When you put your phones down, you were both too busy trying to calm your racing pulses, however, so it didn’t matter. Mark collapsed onto his bed, hand bumping his duffel bag and heaving a sigh. You sank down into the couch cushion, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the back of the furniture. Neither of you could find the strength to stand in those moments, scared that your legs would give in from the unsteadiness of your nerves, your hearts, your emotions.

A singular worry occupied both of your minds from that point on until you greeted him in the JFK airport terminal the next morning, shy smiles on your faces: is it dangerous to enter into the impending situation of living together? Are you really ready to be in such constant close proximity to the object of your affections, however oblivious you might be to them?

Before his brain could talk his heart out of it, Mark had wrapped you in a tight hug, extra thankful for the welcome since you were all he had here, in the city. You wouldn’t have missed his arrival for the world, and you told him so. You also wouldn’t have missed the chance to make him flush a deep but adorable shade of red, reaching from his rounded cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

In your long-term rental car, you drove him back to your apartment, enjoying the quiet sounds of surprise and amazement that spilled from his lips, generated by the city’s sights. As you passed underneath towering skyscrapers, navigated bustling avenues, and caught glimpses of world-renowned landmarks that you both had seen only in the movies when you were younger, you just knew Mark’s eyes held their signature sparkle, despite your inability to see the dark brown orbs glimmer with wonder. You kept yours on the road ahead.

His first day was spent unpacking his suitcases and bags full of possessions, one of which was his most prized: an acoustic guitar.

It had been a gift from his parents when he finished the eighth grade, and all throughout high school, he had turned to music as an escape whenever he needed it. As any new musician does, Mark had played around with chords, experimenting and seeing what sounded good, and before you knew it he had composed a song. Another one followed, then another, and by the end of his freshman year he had written enough to fill an entire album if he so wished.

The guitar had heard every note, every lyric, carried every melody from his heart into the world. It had grown to be a part of him, a worldly sliver of his soul in the form of a simple musical instrument that could convey every hope and every dream, every concern or every frustration. Every love confession. Though that wasn’t saying much, since he only had eyes for you. You didn’t know it, but one of those songs was about you. For you.

You and Mark’s circle of friends tried to set you two up one day in the school’s band room after hours, with the excuse that the second-youngest of the group, Chenle, had forgotten his piano sheet music in there. They sent you to retrieve it, which you only agreed to do after being persuaded by the boy’s intimidating but still lovable pout.

With no sheet music in sight, your eyes landed instead on a diligent Mark that appeared to be the only sign of life in the room, plucking away at the strings as the sun set outside. You had sat with him for a while, neglecting your task and listening to him strum gracefully, softly murmuring lyrics that sounded like your name at one point. You didn’t think much of it, though, not making the connection behind the rest of the words coming out of his mouth and accompanying the chords. His love song was left unacknowledged by the subject of it themselves, and that was both the first and last time he ever attempted to confess to you.

He wondered if now that you were sharing an apartment, he would let something slip by accident. What would he do then?

University had other plans, though, and his fears were temporarily relieved. So fortunately and unfortunately, you were so occupied with schoolwork that trying to balance dating, or even mere thoughts of doing so, with all of your other responsibilities would have been exhausting, not to mention impossible.

Snapping out of your memory-induced daze, you realize that you nearly wandered off the path into a deep snowbank, only aware of this fact because Mark catches you by the wrist and pulls you back toward him to walk at his side. His fingers stay curled around your forearm as you approach a famous bridge, stepping to the side and gazing down at the icy waters below, calm and rippling with the chilly breeze.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

You honestly haven’t thought about it yet, so you can’t give Mark a definite answer. The same goes for him, both of you leaning against the brick railing in a comfortable silence.

In Mark’s mind though, he knows what he wants to give you: something to complement your own equivalent of his guitar, a large collection of handwritten letters and notes from your childhood and school days. Sentimental by nature, you had saved every colorful post-it note one of your friends would slip through the narrow slats of your locker, every birthday card received over the years, every thoughtful postcard from someone’s vacation.

Your favorites are undoubtedly the always-awkward Christmas cards that your friends’ families consistently mail out each December, by far the most humorous parts of your growing collection. You always found yourself chuckling at the pictures displayed on the front. Eyes bright with mirth, you would observe their forced smiles and arms slung carelessly over siblings’ shoulders, their eyes flickering between the camera and something going on behind it, probably the family pet getting into trouble across the yard. You pitied the photographers, surely beyond frustrated as they would try to get everyone to stand still for more than five measly seconds. Mouths were clamped shut and for a brief moment, the air was void of complaints of how itchy someone’s sweater was.

Then the camera would snap, capturing an image that was simply “good enough.” They’d plaster it on the card and in a few days, it would magically appear in the mailboxes of relatives and close friends. Grandparents would overlook the uncomfortable expressions and focus instead on how fast the kids were growing up. You didn’t blame them. Even in four years’ worth of cards, so much could change. In between fits of laughter, you’d stare in awe at the way your friends grew into their features, only becoming more handsome with time and some growing so tall that they even towered over their fathers. You always kept the letters they included, too, detailing the highlights of the year that was soon to come to an end by the time they dropped it into a nearby mailbox.

And like he could read your mind, Mark makes an offhand comment right then and there. “My folks texted me the other day to ask for our address. You know, for the Christmas card.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Shame I couldn’t be there for the family photos this year.”

“Is it really a shame, though?” You prod, tilting your head a bit at the boy. “You always told me you couldn’t stand waiting around for the so-called ‘right lighting’ and all that.”

“Well, I couldn’t, but now that I’m not there I wish I could go back to those days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know?”

“Right,” you sigh, thinking about how the same saying could easily apply to the way you felt about Mark all throughout your first year of university.

You have a box, made of a dark mahogany wood and lined with elegant golden trim, where you keep all of these letters, these handwritten memories and souvenirs from some of the happiest moments in your life. A gift from a past Christmas, your family had your initials engraved onto the front in a loopy cursive font, making it truly unique and utterly irreplaceable. And, you’ll soon come to realize, valuable.

Mark remembers it well, remembers the many times you’ve shown him its contents, remembers how his eyes sometimes land on the delicate container resting beneath the windowsill in your room, sunlight catching the accents. He knows how much those letters mean to you, and he also knows how much you love returning the favor.

That’s why he wants to give you the tools you need to do just that, and to do it well.

You’ve always been one for writing thank-you notes for any and every gift you receive, your parents having ingrained the habit in you since you were very young. Slowly, crayons turned into pencils and lead became ink. To this day you remain unfazed by the increasing amount of yellowing papers residing in the letter box, but the words imprinted on them never quite fade, strong enough to withstand the test of time.

Too many times in high school Mark would find you, hunched over your dining room table in frustration with a stack of letters beside your arm that you deemed “failed” because your handwriting was bad, or something of the sort. Usually it was the other way around, him being the one in need of comfort, but on those days your roles were reversed.

He had always wondered why you didn’t have fancier supplies that were more suited to your task, but he supposes now that maybe it simply wasn’t an option for you and your family. So a stationery set seems like the perfect gift for you this year.

On a similar note, you’ve already decided what you’re getting him: a guitar case. You happened upon a sleek leather one while browsing the website of a popular music store, coincidentally with a location not too far from your apartment.

Now it’s no longer a question of what to get the other, but how. As university students living on your own, money is scarce. Unknowingly, you both contemplate this concern as you walk side by side, returning to the start of the path that you set out on at least a half hour ago.

This stroll of yours was supposed to clear your minds, but why are they racing even more than before?

There’s no time to worry now, though, and for the next week, your thoughts are forced to shift back to the topic of school and midterms and all your academic endeavors.

Your exam week is over before you know it, and the two of you return to your apartment after the last one only to collapse onto your respective beds, beyond exhausted.

The dreary Friday afternoon clearly calls for a nap, but unbeknownst to you, Mark decides to seize the opportunity that has so conveniently presented itself to him: a chance for him to go out and buy your gift without suspicion. He drops his backpack on the carpet next to his dresser and sighs, wondering if what he’s about to do will be worth it. But it’s you, of course it’ll be worth it.

Thus, his next move is done with a heavy heart. He’s been forced by a lack of funds to come to a decision about your gift, and a difficult one at that. The only thing he can think of doing to even come close to affording a nice stationery set is to sell some things in exchange for cash. Namely, the most valuable item he owns: his beloved guitar. He doesn’t really want to, but deep down he knows that a true friendship warrants the occasional sacrifice. He’s done some research on a nearby pawn shop, and however sketchy those kinds of places may seem, it’s his only feasible option at the moment, with just a week left until Christmas Day.

After making sure you’re fast asleep, he not-so-stealthily slips out of your shared flat, his actions far from silent but even so, you don’t wake up. Mark winces at the unintended high volume of pulling the front door shut behind him, sticking his hand into his jeans pocket and relaxing when he feels his keys at the bottom of the fabric compartment. Guitar strung over his shoulder by the flimsy, fraying strap, he sets off.

With his phone in hand and directions to the pawn shop displayed on the screen, he strides through the lobby of the apartment building and pushes the revolving door, stepping onto the busy sidewalk and into the cold winter air. Shoppers crowd the pavement with hands full of department store tote bags, crinkling loudly as they pass by one another. Shoulders knock together and heels click against the concrete, just some of the many sounds of the city that Mark is still growing used to hearing.

A few blocks and several wrong turns later, he finds himself on a quieter street, standing in front of the shop. It’s dimly lit inside and looks almost abandoned, the letters painted on the window chipped and faded from the wear and weather of past years. A soft bell rings when he lets himself in, searching for some sort of employee.

From behind a cluttered shelf a tall man emerges, the shabby name tag pinned to his vest reading “Johnny.” Well, he’s not some shifty-eyed, balding man wearing a muscle shirt stained with grease. New York continues to be full of surprises.

His dark hair looks neat, the jacket he’s wearing free of any wrinkles and face young but chiseled, high cheekbones prominent.

“How can I help you today?” Johnny booms, stepping behind the counter and absentmindedly sifting through some loose change in bottom of the cash register.

Mark gulps, “I’d like to sell something.” Still not entirely sure he wants to do this, he instinctively tugs on the strap resting atop the fabric of his wool jacket.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Johnny assures with a small laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

Taking a deep breath, Mark slides the guitar off his shoulder and holds it near his chest for a moment, before extending his arms out towards the counter.

“A guitar, huh? We don’t see many of these,” the tall man comments. “Are you sure? It seems pretty valuable to you in more ways than one.”

Mark’s fingertips trace the strings for the last time and he decides to just get it over with, before he can change his mind. His hands are shaky as he gently places the instrument down on the counter in front of Johnny, taking a step back once he’s done so. “I don’t have much of a choice. I need the money to buy a gift for my… uh, my friend.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, “Just a friend? Or a special someone?”

“They are special,” Mark confirms, noncommittal to either title that Johnny suggested.

“They must be if you’re willing to give up something like this for them. Okay, that’ll be…”

Johnny tells him what the guitar is worth, matching the amount with a stack of cash and a few old coins, rusty but still holding their value.

Despite the pain of letting something so meaningful go, a bit of joy creeps into Mark’s heart as he realizes that now he can give you a gift that will hopefully become just as meaningful to you as his guitar was to him.

He thanks Johnny and bids him goodbye, step lighter than when he entered, much to his surprise.

It’s the next day when you and Mark find yourselves getting into the Christmas spirit for the first time this season. After he had returned yesterday, you were still out cold on your bed, so he chose to follow your example and do the same. The both of you had slept the rest of the day and almost the entirety of the following morning away, waking up just before noon.

With a sudden burst of energy you spring up from the sheets, overtaken by your excitement for the nearing holiday as you dig out the artificial Christmas tree you had bought last year from your closet. Sure, it may seem lazy of you, but let’s face it: there was no easy way to find a real one in New York City, let alone lug it down the streets, through an elevator and down a narrow hallway to a door it wouldn’t even fit through.

Mark hears the loud rustling of various decorations as he begins to stir, leisurely getting out of bed and checking one of his dresser drawers to make sure he hadn’t merely dreamed up his shopping adventure of the previous evening. There the stationery set sits, tucked safely at the back of the wooden cabinet.

The bookstore he stopped at on his way back last night had many different options to choose from, so he made sure to get one that both matched your box of letters and reminded him of you, with its color scheme and style. A surge of pride brings a smile to his features, pleased with his choice, and he pushes the drawer shut before joining you in the living area.

Your knees brush as he sits down next to you to help unpack the large but manageable box, taking out the tiers of the tree to eventually stack on top of one another. Working more quickly than usual (and probably necessary, there are six days left after all), you assign Mark to stringing the lights across your small balcony while you finish setting up the tree. You knew you shouldn’t have let him do it alone, though, because when you look over at his progress you find more lights wrapped around his body than the metal railing.

“Do you need a hand?” You question, holding back a laugh at the way the cord restricts his arm movements to the point where he can’t even reach for the handle on the sliding door.

From outside he opens his mouth to reply, but pauses, looking down at himself and the mess he’s made of the lights before meeting your eyes once more. His voice is muffled by the glass, but you hear him shout playfully, “I’m the tree now! We don’t need that one.” He tries to gesture to the one you’re currently decorating, but fails, and this time you aren’t able to contain your amusement.

“Let me help you,” you offer, joining him on the balcony and helping him untangle himself from the glowing strands. “Thanks,” Mark replies, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. With your combined efforts, you manage to thread the string of lights through the railing with little to no mishaps, and both of you continue decking out the apartment with other seasonal items for the next several hours.

At some point during the afternoon one of you decided to connect their phone to a speaker and play some music, all Christmas songs of course. As the classic version of “Jingle Bell Rock” begins to blare throughout the living room, Mark abandons his task momentarily to walk over to you. He extends a hand down to you, sitting on the floor, and you accept the invitation to stand up with a questioning look.

“Dance with me?”

It’s hardly a platonic request, Mark realizes once the words leave his lips, but even so you don’t shy away, glancing down at your feet with a slight trace of bashfulness in the action.

He intertwines your fingers somewhat loosely, placing his non-dominant hand on your waist and beginning to sway, slowly at first but then his movements become more exaggerated, shoulders tilting dramatically to one side after the other and straying from the rhythm of the music. You join Mark in drawing out the jesting movements, losing yourself in laughter and leaning forward to bury your face in his shoulder, the heat of your breath hitting his skin through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. In one last attempt to keep the joyful smile on your face, he steps back a bit and holds your wrist above your head to twirl you in a circle.

The electric guitar in the song fades as you collapse onto the carpet, recovering from your fit of giggles. The sun has begun to sink in the sky, you can tell by the gold and orange glow that your apartment becomes bathed in as it sets, inching closer to the horizon and eventually becoming hidden by tall skyscrapers in the distance.

Satisfied with your progress so far, you both decide to call it a day, though in truth there aren’t many decorations left to put out. A few stray ornaments and some garlands remain, still packed up in boxes that you would need help reaching. You’re also eager to get your mind off of the way your heart was palpitating as you danced with Mark, your roommate and friend but nothing more, nothing less. You have enough to worry about at the moment, not wanting to add potential feelings for the boy into the mix. Shit, you think, you still need to buy his gift.

“What should we watch?” Mark asks, scrolling through the list of movie choices on the TV screen.

“I don’t really care, anything’s fine.”

His finger presses a button on the remote to select a film at random, the intro playing as you scan the refrigerator shelves for a frozen meal. Hopefully it’s not one of those cheesy holiday romances.

Settling down on the couch a few minutes later, you with the warmed-up container in your lap and Mark holding a cup of ramen noodles, both of you fall into a comfortable chatter about the movie. Thank god it’s a comedy.

Occasionally you find yourself diverting your attention from the harsh display and directing it over to the panes of floor-to-ceiling windows, where you watch more and more lights flicker on in the distance, illuminating the urban landscape as night falls. The view is breathtaking, but so is the way your face softly glows with their warmth, even from blocks away. Not that Mark would ever tell you that, of course.

“I’m going out!” Mark hears shuffling from outside his bedroom the next morning, your voice instantly bringing him to his senses. Curious, he shoots out of bed and flings the door open to find you, one arm stuck through the sleeve of your coat and the other buried in a bag, but it’s not the one you usually bring when you leave the flat. Eyes wide and panicked at the boy’s unexpected appearance, you clutch it to your chest with a visible amount of difficulty, Mark notices.

“Where are you off to?” He squints at the brightness of the living room, the early morning light pouring in through the glass on the far wall.

“...Maybe I can’t tell you,” you respond with a huff, slinging the heavy bag over your shoulder and pulling the rest of your coat on.

“What do you mean, you can’t—oh.”

“Nice going, genius,” you shake your head, feigning disappointment. “It’s not like it’s Christmas this week or anything.”

“My bad, sorry.” Mark winces and rakes a hand through his bedhead, abashed.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?”

With that, you step into the hallway and offer a parting smile over your shoulder, shutting the front door behind you.

At least your being out of the apartment gives Mark time to wrap your gift. All he has to do is figure out how.

Johnny gets a familiar feeling when he sees you enter the pawn shop, fumbling with your things and reluctantly gazing at whatever’s in the tote you’re holding. Are you also about to make an exchange you could potentially regret?

“One second,” you excuse yourself as you step up to the counter, placing the heavy bag down and removing the large item from inside: your letter box, minus its contents. Of course you would never get rid of those, but despite the letters and notes being so special to you, the box they were always kept in is also a significant part of your attachment and the memories you hold dear.

With a thud you set it down, Johnny glancing between the hesitation on your face and the wooden container on the counter in front of him. “Let me guess, you want to exchange this for cash?”

“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I—” You pause, biting your tongue. “Hold on… Look, I know this is a pawn shop and that’s what people do here, but how are you so sure?”

Johnny’s gut tells him he shouldn’t give away the fact that a boy wearing the very same expression and with the same sense of purpose and determination was in here just two days earlier. So he corrects his mistake with a simple “Lucky guess” and a hearty chuckle.

Without Johnny even asking, you tell him that you’re also looking for some extra cash in order to afford a gift for your “friend,” and you say the word with so much conviction and certainty that it’s almost laughable. The information given to Johnny helps him fully connect the dots in his mind, realizing that each of you are the one the other talked about.

Before handing you the money, Johnny tears off a sheet of paper from a nearby notepad and asks you to fill out your information, most importantly your address. He has to lie a bit, saying it’s for contact purposes, but his heart is in the right place nonetheless. Just in case something goes south (and the sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that it will somehow), doing so gives him an option, even if he doesn’t know what that option might be yet.

“Thank you, Johnny, and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” He returns your wish cheerfully as you push the door open to leave.

“Good luck finding a gift for your ‘friend,’ too.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks when you see his teasing use of air quotes, but still smile.

On your way back to the apartment Mark texts you and asks you to check the mail, saying he forgot to do so yesterday. When you arrive in the lobby and make your way over to the cluster of mailboxes, you’re instantly shocked to find a large cardboard box shoved into the small cubby with your and Mark’s name on it. You’re already struggling to carry the guitar case you bought for him, so you decide to make a second trip later.

A few moments after stepping out of the elevator, you knock on the door to your apartment, hoping with all your might that Mark won’t actually open it and instead just answer with a “Come in” as he always does. Your wish is, thankfully, granted, but it’s quickly followed by “Wait, wait, wait!” As it happens, he just finished wrapping your gift and needs another minute or two to tuck it away somewhere until the big day arrives. “Can you stay out there until I say?”

“Sure,” you reply, “but I’m going to have to ask you to do the same.”

“How about I stay in my room while you come in and do… whatever you need to?”

“Sounds good.”

With his door closed, Mark hears the front one open and shut as you enter. Trying not to make any noise that would give away the size of the item you just bought, you finally settle for hiding the leather case underneath your bed, concealed by the drapery attached to its frame that hovers just above the floor.

Mark had hastily placed the now-wrapped (though not elegantly so) stationery set back into his dresser, so he’s already out of his room by the time you leave yours. “Any letters or packages?” He questions when he sees you.

“Oh, right!” You snap your fingers, “We do have a package but my hands were full, so I’ll bring it up right now.”

“Eggnog?”

While the box had looked fairly ordinary from the outside, upon opening it and glancing at the return address you learned it was actually anything but that. Mark’s and your parents had sent a holiday care package of sorts, including both of your families’ Christmas cards and a carton of eggnog, along with some small gifts that are meant to be saved for the morning of the 25th. Also mixed in are a few small decorations (not that you need more), some baking supplies complete with a copy of the recipe for the cookies you make every year, and a soft pair of mittens for each of you. He hopes you don’t realize that one of the items is a sprig of mistletoe.

“You don’t like eggnog?” You ask, stunned. Mark shrugs, “I don’t really care for milk but it’s the thought that counts, I guess.”

That evening you and Mark take another stroll, this time choosing to stay on the streets and admire the festively adorned buildings and shops as you pass by them. Admiring Christmas lights at this time of year is nothing new to you and Mark. In fact, when you lived in Canada you would do the same thing. The only difference is that back then, it involved driving through quiet suburban neighborhoods and not ambling through crowded city streets and alleyways on foot.

Snowflakes begin to cascade from the heavens as you make your way back around to the block where you live. Mark sticks his tongue out to catch one of the small crystals, and it immediately melts in his mouth, eliciting a high-pitched laugh from the boy. Snow is also something you both are more than used to by now, having grown up with white Christmases all your lives. It makes you wonder if the holiday season would be the same without it.

“You know what we should do?” Mark turns to you just as you’re about to enter the apartment building again. “Go ice skating at Rockefeller Center.”

“Mark, c’mon, you know stuff like that is overpriced. And besides, I can’t skate to save my life. Remember—”

“That time in sophomore year? You bet I do,” he laughs as he remembers how you clumsily fell not even two seconds after stepping onto the ice with your skates, and then refused to let go of the railing for the rest of the day. The elevator whirs to life, climbing floor after floor with ease.

“Hey,” you offer, “we can still go and watch people skate, I’m sure there’s some place to sit.”

“And we can look at the Christmas tree, too,” Mark adds, eyes brightening at the idea.

“Right. I forget you haven’t seen it in person before.” The cabin doors open with a ding and you step out, your eyes landing on the door to your apartment a few yards away.

When you turn on the TV, Mark becomes mesmerized by the movie that’s playing, since it takes place in NYC and he recognizes so many places from actually being there. He scrambles to remove his jacket and beanie, plopping down onto the couch once they’re safely hooked on the coat rack.

Watching him, you sigh. Would anything really change if you were dating? Assuming your feelings were returned, of course, but you can’t imagine that your relationship would differ much. You certainly wouldn’t go on extravagant dates, or buy expensive gifts for each other, but that’s not what love is about, anyway. With the exception of a few extra hugs and the addition of kisses, along with more forms of physical affection in general (actually, scratch that, Mark’s always been awkward with those kinds of things), you’d still be by each other’s side just like always.

As you sit down next to him and feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, you don’t shrug it off, instead embracing the warm and fuzzy feeling in your heart that you can’t blame on the holiday season this time.

Mark’s glad, too. He’s been working up the courage to do that all day.

Late that night, you quietly tiptoe into the living area, retrieving an old box from your move-in last year that will fit his gift perfectly, and won’t give away what’s inside. Your hands fold and tape the wrapping paper with care, tying a neat ribbon once you’re done. Sure, you had to give up something that meant a lot to you in order to afford Mark’s present, but the gains outweigh the losses. You find comfort in imagining the way his face will surely light up with pure joy on Christmas morning, drifting off to sleep with ease once you’ve hidden the rectangular parcel back underneath your bed.

A few days pass and soon it’s the 23rd, and you join Mark at the railing of the ice rink, of course on the side with solid ground. “Ice is solid ground,” Mark had corrected, but you stood firm in your words. “More like slippery ground, if you ask me.”

Luckily you had been allowed to stand here for free, because god only knows what small, simple thing someone would be charged for in New York. It’s happened to you before, and you’re not even a tourist.

Mark’s dark eyes gaze up at the 75-foot-tall tree in wonder, pupils dilating and reflecting the tens of thousands of bright lights strung through the dark green branches. They seem to sparkle with sheer amazement. Just then someone skates a little too close to the section of railing you’re leaning on, startling Mark out of his LED-induced daze and putting the most adorable look of surprise on his face.

His focus shifts to the people on the ice, wearing sweaters and jackets of every color imaginable, and the sight is still as beautiful as the looming Christmas tree above. He notices some couples, holding onto one another or skating hand-in-hand, and it makes him wonder if that could be you two someday, at a future Christmas, or if it’s an idea absurd enough for an alternate reality.

Mark sees you shiver out of the corner of his eye, and it’s his cue to suggest returning home for the evening. In a very cliché and boyfriend-esque gesture he offers you his jacket, but you decline, insisting that it’s not far and assuring him that you’ll be okay.

Back in your heated flat, you twist open the lid of the eggnog carton and pour a small glass for yourself. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” You call out to Mark from the kitchen, snatching one of the cookies you made the other day and finding a paper plate for the thin shortbread wafer, lined with elegant white icing and dusted with sprinkles.

“I already told you, I don’t like eggnog!”

“Have you even tried it before?” Mark grumbles at your nagging. You really sound like his mom right now.

“No…”

You appear at the other end of the couch, holding out a small cup with just a sip or two of eggnog in it. “Try it. You never know.”

He knows you won’t leave until you see him lift it to his lips for yourself, so he does. Immediately the sweet drink overwhelms his taste buds, and also leaves a slight sting on his tongue.

“What’s in this stuff?” He coughs, nose scrunching a bit from the strong taste. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t hate it. Following you back to the kitchen, Mark pours a full glass this time, already gulping it down.

“Uh,” you scan the ingredients on the back of the carton once he sets it down on the counter, “milk, cream, sugar, eggs…”

“...whiskey? What the hell?”

“It has alcohol,” Mark slurs, his giggling interrupted by a hiccup. Having never drank before, he’s undeniably a lightweight, and even a little bit can get him wasted almost instantly.

“Mom and Dad must have mixed something up, because they definitely didn’t mean to send us alcoholic eggnog.”

Sure enough, back home in Canada your parents are wondering why they only have the kid-friendly stuff in their fridge.

Mark latches on to you, arm curling lazily around your waist. Great, he’s one of those people that gets clingy when they’re drunk. “Try some,” he whines, nuzzling into your shoulder a little.

“Are you crazy?”

“No one will know,” he laughs, hiccuping again. Giving in to his adorably drunken pout, you take one sip from your original glass but no more, an unpleasant buzz taking over your whole mouth.

Not looking forward to finding a hangover cure on Christmas Eve of all days, you pray that you’ll stay sober enough to take care of the tipsy boy, who’s currently pressing his face into the back of your neck and—shit, did he just kiss you there? You really don’t need this right now.

“Mark, you’re drunk, okay? Stop it,” you caution.

“But I love you,” he murmurs, warm breath fanning your skin, and you want to kick yourself for almost saying it back. Does he even mean it, though? Alcohol makes people say crazy things, things they don’t mean, so you shouldn’t get your hopes up. You unhook his arm from your torso and turn around to push against his chest, frustrated. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He seems to have just remembered something, because he ignores you and instead goes over to where the care package was still sitting, digging into the bottom and pulling out something you hadn’t noticed before. “Look,” Mark declares in a nasal voice, “mistletoe.”

You exasperatedly hang your head, desperate to slam it into the nearest wall. With much difficulty, you eventually manage to get him tucked underneath the blanket, leaving a glass of water on his nightstand for when he wakes up. “Get some sleep,” you say simply.

He tells you goodnight with a fond mumble of your name as you shut the bedroom door behind you. Rubbing your eyes, you yawn before turning off the lights and heading to bed yourself, trying to block out the events that had just taken place.

Your head aches when you wake up the next morning, and you feel like garbage, so you can only imagine how much worse Mark must be doing. Quickly chugging a water bottle, you reluctantly go to knock on his door, hearing a pained groan once you enter. He’s sitting up, chin resting in one hand and the other anchored onto the heavy comforter covering his legs.

“How are you feeling?” The obvious question with an even more obvious answer makes Mark wince. “Awful.”

“Sorry.” It’s silent for a moment, Mark pressing three fingers to his throbbing forehead and you staring aimlessly at the wall. “I knew that eggnog was a bad idea.”

“You were the one that told me to try it!”

“I didn't know it had alcohol in it!”

You sigh, dejected. Something tells Mark that your head isn’t the only thing hurting.

“Hey, I know that look. What’s wrong?” He prods, voice soft and gentle and altogether unlike how it had been last night. You meet his eyes for a moment, about to speak but biting your lip at the last second. Mark’s brain puts two and two together at your expression.

“Oh god, did I say something? Do something?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply in a huff. “First you kissed my neck, then you told me you loved me, and then you held up a clump of mistletoe and implied that we should kiss underneath it.”

His memories of the previous evening are all a blur, so he truly would have no idea what happened if you hadn’t just said something. Mark knows he screwed up, bad.

You tense when you feel him place his hand over yours, but you don’t snatch it away. After collecting his thoughts, Mark clears his throat.

“Look, I… I know that’s not the best way for you to find out how someone feels about you. But I’m completely sober, and I can tell you that I meant what I said last night.”

“You promise?”

“Promise,” Mark replies.

“...Can you say it again, then?”

He blushes, “That I…?”

You nod, the corners of your lips lifting into a small smile.

“I love you,” Mark tells you for the second time in the last 24 hours, but this time you know you can believe him. The pain of your hangover goes away for a moment as he takes your jaw in his hands and connects your lips, just barely retaining the buzz of the alcohol but not enough to bother you. Slowly you kiss him back, sinking down onto the mattress beside him.

Mark pulls away for air a few seconds later, thumb grazing your cheek lovingly. “Does this mean we’re—”

“Dating? If you want it to, then sure,” your finger traces swirly shapes on the small of his back while you assure him that neither of you need to rush into anything if you aren’t ready.

“I don’t want things to change, though.”

“Who said they have to? I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and we’re already pretty close, you know? Making it ‘official’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘different,’ so...”

Mark hums in agreement, “You’re right. Okay, I can live with that.”

“And I can’t live another second without food. I’m making breakfast,” you quip, reverting back to the usual banter between you and him.

“I’ll cook the eggs,” Mark insists as you both make your way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

“You absolutely will not!”

The night before Christmas had started out unlike any that you’d ever experienced before, with you confronting your now-boyfriend about a drunken love confession the previous day. But now, it’s ending just like every year, with you cozy and curled up in front of the television as the last few segments of the news play.

It’s the coldest Christmas Eve in years. You learned this after the meteorologist had informed viewers of the record only a few minutes earlier, inadvertently planting an idea in Mark’s mind.

Right as you’re about to turn in for the night, setting a plate of decorated cookies and a glass of milk down on the end table (as is tradition in your families, no matter how old you are), Mark holds out his arms like a child might. “Can we…?” He asks in a quiet voice, nervous to finish his sentence.

“Huh?”

The boy inhales sharply, “It’s freezing. Do you wanna sleep in my bed tonight?” His cheeks flush a deep red that’s almost the color of Christmas itself.

You’re slightly taken aback, and then you remember it’s just Mark. “Sure, why not,” you answer with a light shrug and a smile on your face.

“But no funny business,” you inform him as you climb under the sheets together, instantly happy with your choice to join him because double the people means double the body heat. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mark replies, pecking your lips. His wrist finds the warm skin of your neck and you flinch away.

“Your hands are cold!” He just snickers at your whining.

The two of you fall asleep more quickly than you ever have on Christmas Eve, usually overcome with nerves and excitement, but now, as two college-aged kids, you’re comfortable and not rushing the morning’s arrival at all, content in each other’s arms for the moment.

You feel like you’re 10 years old again as you rush into the living room at 8am the next day, the bright, early morning sky lighting up your entire apartment. At the base of your Christmas tree sits a humble amount of presents, composed of the two that you bought for each other plus the half-dozen small ones from your parents.

You hand Mark one of the cookies from the end table and grab one for yourself, taking a bite of the sweet treat as you sit down and motioning for him to do the same.

“Open yours first,” you say eagerly, referring to your gift for him. Mark shakes his head and points to what he got you, “No, you go first.”

“Fine, we’ll open them at the same time.” Mark nods, satisfied with the compromise and handing you both the packages.

“On three. One, two…”

The final number barely leaves your lips before you both begin tearing into the paper excitedly, Mark reaching for the flaps on the box and you unfolding the tissue paper.

When you each see what the other gifted you with, it’s completely silent, save for the TV playing a Christmas Day special in the background.

He gazes blankly at you, licking his lips as his eyes dart between the guitar case and your expression.

“I appreciate the gift, but I…” Mark pauses, unsure how to tell you this.

You don’t say a word, raising your eyebrows as a signal for him to continue.

“I sold my guitar to pay for your gift,” he breathes.

“You what? Mark, that guitar means everything to you! Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re worth it, of course!”

“Well, I did the same thing,” you break the news with an unamused expression. “I sold my letter box to pay for that case.”

His eyes become impossibly wider at that, nearly bulging out of their sockets. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You groan and lie down on the floor, beyond discouraged. “Let me guess, the pawn shop on 23rd?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” An idea hits Mark like a rush of cold air. “Maybe we can work out a deal or something.”

“Meaning?”

“We go back and see if we can trade in our new gifts for enough money to get our old things back.”

“One, I doubt it’s that easy, and two, pretty much everything is closed on Christmas Day.” You’re half tempted to laugh because of how ironic this situation is.

Mark sighs, “I guess that makes sense.”

“We can still try, though.”

Sure enough, the pawn shop is dark, even more so than usual, and the door doesn’t budge. A sign taped to the window from the inside confirms your fear: Closed on Christmas. Gloved hands pressed onto the glass, you and Mark admit your defeat. You had been bested by the giving spirit of the holiday season, almost too generous for your own good.

But it’s the message that the day itself stands for after all, for putting aside material value and doing something out of the kindness of your heart just to make someone else happy. That’s what it’s all about, and you and Mark had personally experienced it this year.

So you’re surprised to find two boxes leaning on the wall beside the door to your apartment the next morning, shapes oddly familiar. Could it be?

Just hours earlier, the hallway surveillance cameras caught a tall man striding down the corridor, carrying those exact packages under his arms. In the video he pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen from his coat pocket, scribbling a short message before tucking it underneath the ribbon of the larger parcel and leaving the building just as quickly as he came.

You and Mark���s only clue as to who had returned your items is a messy ‘J’ at the end of the note attached to the box containing his guitar. Exchanging knowing glances, you both grin, squeezing your intertwined hands with the same name in mind.

...So what if Johnny had to take a bit of money out of his own paycheck to cover the cost of the items? Besides, it’s Christmas. And his boss never has to know.

#kpopscape #neo-constellations #starryktown #neoculturecafe #nctmentary.net #nct #nct au #nct fanfic #nct dream #nct 127 #wayv #nct dream fanfic #nct dream scenarios #nct dream au #mark lee fanfic #mark lee fluff #mark lee angst #mark x reader #mark scenarios #mark imagines #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 fanfic #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct oneshot #nct fluff #nct angst #fluff #angst #mark lee oneshot

[after-avenging-hours]

Out of Time [1]: Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist

Summary:  After Steve gets injected with a mysterious substance during a mission gone wrong, you come to find out that the only thing that can save his life is a pure sample of Dr. Erskine’s Super Soldier Serum. Unwilling to let the love of your life die without a fighting chance, you travel through the quantum realm back to 1943. Equipped with little more than your knowledge of past events, you have to figure out just how exactly you’re going to get your hands on that serum. Not only that, but with the infinity stones no longer protecting the reality you’ve come from, there is now a chance that your presence in the past can change the future you’ll return to. Can you succeed without messing things up? And if things go wrong, can you fix it before it’s too late? Or will you run out of time…

Word Count: 5565

Warnings: Canon typical violence, time travel, injury of major characters

You don’t know how it went so wrong. You’d been on a mission with the team. A few former SHIELD scientists that were suspected to have been working under the influence of Hydra had been spotted in the same vicinity, raising several red flags. After a few days of recon, you’d managed to track down the location of their lab. When the team had busted the door in, ready to take them down, they’d already been expecting you.

The place was full of hired mercenaries and ex-members of the SHIELD Strike team. They’d put up quite a fight. Sam, Clint, and Wanda held down the ground floor while you and Steve had made your way to the upper level. Two agents held you off in close combat while six others took on Steve at the same time. Even six to one, they were having a hard time restraining the Super Soldier, but they managed to keep him pinned just long enough to allow one of the scientists to inject him in the neck with some type of black substance.

“No!” you scream, turning absolutely feral. Throwing caution to the wind, you mercilessly take on the two agents fighting you and they soon end up on the floor.

As Steve falls to his knees, the six other agents grab the scientists and leave out the back door. You rush forward and drop down, skidding across the floor to catch Steve by the shoulders before he can faceplant into the floor.

“Steve!” you call desperately. “Steve, look at me!” Your hands grip his face, trying to guide his eyes to yours, but they’ve turned hazy and unfocused. Perspiration has begun to collect on his brow and the veins at the injection site on his neck have started to turn black.

You lift a hand to activate the commlink in your ear. “Requesting immediate evac. The Captain is down. I repeat, Captain America is down.”

The rest of the team rendezvous to your location and it takes all of you to get Steve out of there and onto the Quinjet. You grab a tablet and bring up the life sign readings programmed into his suit. You watch with dread as his heartbeat wildly fluctuates between too high and too low, while his body temperature continually climbs.

As soon as the jet has landed back at the Avengers base, he’s carted off to the infirmary, where Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho are already waiting for him. You pace up and down the hallway, unable to rest or step away for even a moment to change out of your uniform. Your stomach is tied up in knots and you can’t get the image out of your head on how his face just went completely blank as soon as they had injected him.

You halt your movements and look up when the door opens and Bruce steps out. Seeing Bruce’s face on the Hulk’s massive body was still a little unsettling, but you have started to grow used to it.

“How is he? Is he okay?” you rush out.

Bruce’s poker face is terrible as he pulls off his glasses and fails to meet your gaze. “He’s stable for now… but no, he’s not okay.”

You cup a hand to your mouth and release a pained whimper. “What-” your voice breaks and you have to clear your throat before you can try again. “Do you know what they injected him with?”

“From what we can tell, it seems to be some sort of anti-serum venom. It was made to specifically target the Super Soldier serum enhancement in Steve’s cells.”

You feel the dread sink like a weight in your stomach. “What can we do to stop it?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Wanda grabbed the syringe from the Hydra lab, so we have a small sample of the anti-serum for analysis. But without a pure sample of Steve’s Super Soldier serum, it could take months to synthesize a cure. And he doesn’t have that long.”

The lump in your throat grows and it becomes difficult to swallow. “How long does he have?” you almost don’t want to ask.

You see the answer in his eyes. “This anti-serum… it’s aggressive-”

“Bruce,” you cut him off, urgency in your gaze. “How long?”

“A few days… maybe a week.”

Your whole body blanches and you stumble a few steps until your back hits the wall. The thought alone was inconceivable. Steve… Your Steve… Gone in less than a week? Haven’t you both been through enough? You shake your head fervently, straightening your spine and pushing off the wall. “No,” you deny, allowing your anger and frustration to bolster your strength.

“Hey…” Bruce attempts to reach out to you.

“No!” you coil back. “No, I won’t let that happen.”

“We will do everything we can, but without the original serum-”

“Then I’ll get it for you,” you state with finality to your tone, a plan already forming in your mind.

Bruce looks at you, perplexed. “How?”

Instead of responding, you turn on your heel and march down the hallway. Pulling out your phone, you bring up your contacts and dial the number you need. You’re talking as soon as the line picks up. “Hey Scott, remember that favor you owe me?”

--

It takes a full day of preparation before things are ready. You grow even more anxious with every minute that passes. Every single tick of the clock is one less second Steve has to live.

Seeing him in the infirmary had nearly broken you. Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho were keeping him sedated to help slow the spread of the anti-serum, but the damage was already beginning to take its toll. It was working its way through his body like a poison, starting in the bloodstream, but if left untreated, his organs would begin to fail systematically. Normally, Steve’s Super Soldier serum would help defend his body from something like this, allowing him to metabolize it out before it could do any harm. But, somehow those Hydra scientists found a way to target the original serum first, to weaken his body’s defenses and let the venom take over. It must have taken them years of research to develop something like this and you only had days to reverse it.

You had never seen the Super Soldier look so weak and sickly. He had lost all color, his skin pale and beginning to verge into an ashen grey. He looked thinner like he had been bedridden for weeks, not just a day. His cheeks were gaunt and dark bags had appeared beneath his eyes. When you reached out to touch his hand, it was deathly cold and your heart had skipped a beat. You didn’t understand how this could be happening so fast to the strongest man you had ever known.

You’d pushed the hair off his forehead; no longer a shiny blonde, but more of a dull straw color; and pressed your lips to his skin. “You’ve come to my rescue so many times, Steve. It’s time for me to return the favor. Please, hold on, just a little longer, until I get back.” You then place a gentle kiss to his lips, a single tear dropping from your eye and landing on his cheek. You wipe at the wet trail with your thumb before you step back and release a shaking breath. “I will make it back,” you promise both to him and to yourself.

--

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” Bucky asks, helping you in to your quantum suit.

It’s good that most of his memories were back. He was your best source of information for getting the correct dates, times, and places so you could successfully accomplish your task. Not only that, but you had needed a quick and dirty rundown on etiquette, behavior, and style for the time period. It felt like you had enough bobby pins and hair spray to keep your hair as still as a plastic doll. Not to mention the signature red painting your lips.

“You can’t,” Bruce speaks up from where he stands behind the console for the platform. “The infinity stones were the only thing holding our reality together when we time traveled the last time. Those stones no longer exist in this reality. Since she isn’t coming back with them either, there may be repercussions from this. She should go alone because she doesn’t already exist in that timeline.”

“I’ll be okay, Bucky,” you give him a tentative smile, unsure if you’re telling the truth.

Based on the look in his eyes, you know he’s reading you easily. He gives your arm a squeeze in reassurance. “Stay out of trouble. The punk will kill me if anything happens to you.”

You nod and begin to step away, heading for the platform. You shift on your feet, mentally psyching yourself up for the journey. You release a long breath before signaling to Bruce that you’re ready. You meet Bucky’s gaze one last time. “Be right back,” you tell him before your helmet pops into place and you’re flying through the quantum realm.

--

You land in 1943 without much fuss, quickly dissolving out of your quantum suit before anyone catches you in the empty alleyway. You fix any flyaway hairs and straighten your outfit and then walk out onto the main street. It’s a bit of a trip, seeing all the old-fashioned cars driving past and the dated outfits and hairstyles that everyone wears. The movies and pictures that you’ve grown up seeing don’t quite do it justice. However, it does remind you of the sketches Steve sometimes shared with you whenever he was feeling nostalgic.

You give yourself a second to marvel at everything, but the thought of Steve helps to sharpen your focus and bring yourself back on track. You step onto the sidewalk, behind a group of young school children with their mothers in tow. Walking passed a newspaper stand; you take a quick glance at the paper to make sure you’ve landed at the correct time. Monday, June 7th, 1943.

Breathing a breath of relief, you move to the edge of the sidewalk and hail a taxi. Soft, jazzy notes fill the air of the car from the radio, helping to ease the tension in your shoulders. The song is also familiar to you, because of Steve. You give the driver the address to your destination and soon find yourself pulling up in front of Brooklyn Antiques. You pay for the taxi with a set of vintage coins you’d been able to acquire before leaving your time. You shuffle out of the taxi and head into the shop.

The bell above the door dings and you enter the space. An older woman in a soft pink sweater steps out from the backroom to greet you. “Did you hear the ball game last night?”

Your mind races as you try to recall the answer to the code that Bucky had told you about. They would change them daily and randomly rotate through a long list of them. “Yes, but I only wish I had some Cracker Jacks,” you respond.

She nods once before moving behind the cashier desk and presses the secret button beneath. You try to steady your pounding heart as you walk to the back room and stand in front of the bookshelves. After a moment, the shelves begin to move to reveal a set of hidden doors. You roll your shoulders back and walk with confidence into the hidden laboratory.

The energy in this place buzzes like a beehive. The tan military uniform you wear allows you to blend with everyone else. People give you a casual side glance before turning back to what they had previously been doing. As you walk down the hallway toward the main room, the sound of raised voices grabs your attention.

“You’ve had more than enough test runs! Stark’s machine works. Your formula is ready for development. All that’s left is the man.”

Looking to your left, you see that it’s Colonel Phillips and Dr. Erskine that are arguing inside the observation room. Dr. Erskine shakes his head, with an exasperated look on his face. “But it can’t be just any man, it has to be the right man!”

“We’ve been at this for months! Week after week, we run training exercises on a new group at Camp Lehigh, and you’ve denied every single one! Do you realize how much money this has cost us? We have to pay the scouts that send men our way. Gotta pay the buses that bring ‘em to the camp. Lodging, food, uniforms, supplies. Enough is enough. You have one week to find your man for the next round of recruitments. If you can’t find him. Then you’ll have to pick from the rest of the selection. We cannot afford to wait any longer.”

With the final word, Colonel Phillips turns and walks out of the observation room. You make sure to step back and out of his way, ducking your head slightly, so as not to draw attention to yourself. You look back up when you hear Dr. Erskine give a long drawn out sigh. He has removed his glasses and rubs at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

You find yourself moving forward and into the room. “Is everything all right, Doctor?” you question with a gentle voice.

He moves his glasses back into place and meets your gaze. “Not quite.” He admits, his accent a little thicker with stress in his voice. “Unless you have an idea on where we might be able to find someone actually worthy of this project.”

Your lips part as you try to come up with a response to that. “Well… Um. I’m sure the World Expo will bring all sorts of new faces in.” You cringe inwardly a little, thinking that may have been too obvious. Bruce’s words of warning echo in your ears. Get in, get out, don’t change the timeline.

Erskine’s eyes light up at that prospect. “The World Exposition? Of course. That is a wonderful idea. Stark mentioned that there was a recruitment center there. Come, let’s go take a look.”

He begins to head for the doorway and gestures for you to step through first. You hesitate. “You want me to come with you?”

He smiles kindly. “Well, it was your idea, was it not?”

So much for 'get in and get out'. Although, this could be a good thing. After all, Erskine was your ticket to the serum. Another second passes, and then you begin to move out of the observation room. You look down at the machine in the main room, knowing that one day soon, it will be used to create a Super Soldier. Erskine follows you out before taking the lead and moving toward the exit. He pulls off his lab coat and stops at a coat rack off to the side. He swaps the lab coat for a beige trench coat and his fedora.

The MP sitting at the desk right next to the secret entrance hits the button to allow you both to exit. Erskine leads you out of the antique shop and over to one of the vehicles parked nearby. The driver is already sitting in the front seat. Erskine opens the back door and gestures once more for you to enter first. You give him your thanks as you sink into the leather seat, then push over to the other side to make room for him to follow you.

Dr. Erskine gives his instructions to the driver to take you to the Expo.

You relax your posture into the cushioned seat and watch 1943 New York pass by the window.

“So, you are new,” Dr. Erskine states casually, also looking out through the window on his side of the car.

Your shoulders stiffen and your heart stops. “I…” you begin to protest before changing tactics. You laugh nervously and glance over at him. “Is it that obvious?”

He continues to look out his window as he responds. “In all the months we have been working on this project, no one has ever asked me how I am doing.” He turns away from the window then and meets your gaze.

Your own gaze softens with sincerity. “That sounds lonely.”

He tilts his head and lifts his shoulders in a slight shrug. “This is the bed that I have made. Great things can happen if my serum is used properly, but many terrible things have already come to pass.”

You know that he is talking about Red Skull. “We will find the man you need, Doctor,” you assure him.

He looks at you curiously. “How is it you sound so sure of that?”

You swallow and try not to look like a deer caught in a headlight. “I have faith,” you manage to get out.

He cracks a small smile. “Faith,” he repeats, before he releases a low chuckle. “I’m afraid as a scientist, I may need a little more than that.”

You find yourself smiling back. “Then perhaps I can try to muster enough faith for the both of us.”

“That would be appreciated,” he responds right as the car pulls to a stop. He steps out of the vehicle first before turning and reaching to take your hand to help you to your feet.

“Oh wow…” you marvel as you take in the sights of the Expo before you.

The giant metal sculpture of the globe looms over everything, casting its shadow over the crowds as people hurry passed in excited groups, eager to see the exhibits. A monorail train curls around the globe and zooms past in a rush of metallic sound.

“You have not yet seen the Exposition?” Dr. Erskine asks curiously.

You find it difficult to pull your eyes away from the sights. “I haven’t had the time,” you speak honestly.

“I heard that several of the soldiers were planning to take the other women to Stark’s show this weekend. I’m sure you could join them.” He speaks casually as he begins to head for the recruitment station.

“Those men don’t interest me.” You follow behind, looking around as you do.

Dr. Erskine grins to himself. “Fair enough.”

The two of you continue on your way. Before you can make it inside the building, though, a voice calls out “Dr. Erskine!”

A man in an expensive-looking suit walks up to you both. He has dark hair, a thin mustache, and a dashing smile. A smile with confidence that you recognize.

“Mr. Stark,” the Doctor greets, shaking his hand.

“What brings you all the way out here? I thought you never left your lab, save for heading out to Camp Lehigh. And who is this?” Howard’s eyes trace down the length of your body, an appreciation settling into his features.

You raise a brow, barely able to contain your amusement between this Stark and the one you’ve known. “She’s not interested,” you reply bluntly.

Erskine laughs while Stark’s lips part in momentary shock. With a shake of his head, he shrugs off the rejection and his lips return to a charming grin. “Where are you and Phillips finding these girls? First Agent Carter, now this one?”

“You were commissioned for the head on your shoulders, Mr. Stark. The females working on this project should be of no concern to you.” The somewhat harsh blow of Erskine’s words is softened by the smile of amusement on his face.

Howard doesn’t take it to heart, laughing as well. “I understand. Well, can I at least show you both around?”

“We are actually here to observe the recruitment station. The Colonel has given us a week to find our man. We were hoping the selection here might provide something new.”

“Ah,” Howard remarks. “Well then, I won’t keep you. Feel free to stop by the Modern Marvel’s Pavilion. Perhaps we can all grab lunch.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Erskine neither confirms nor denies the invitation and ushers you into the recruitment center.

“He’s certainly a handful,” you comment, no longer able to hold your amusement.

Erskine releases a long sigh. “Sometimes it is a wonder that he can get anything accomplished. His mind is brilliant, but he can be easily distracted. Though, I am starting to wonder… if not even the great Howard Stark can hold your interest, I am fascinated to find out the man that will.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Maybe you will meet him one day.”

Dr. Erskine speaks with the head physician of the recruitment office, establishing a protocol for directing prospective enlisters his way for additional questioning. He then gives you instructions on the qualities he is looking for, so you can also help to keep an eye out with him.

You spend the day interviewing enlisters. You pretend to be invested, but know that none of them are going to be the correct one. Steve isn’t supposed to show up to this recruitment center until this weekend after Stark’s big show. You had planned to drop into the timeline several days before his recruitment, in case you needed the extra time to get your hands on a sample of serum. Your first day wasn’t quite going as expected, but it could be worse.

Erskine comes to collect you at the end of the day to see how your interviews have been going. When he offers for you to join him for dinner, you readily agree, only then realizing how hungry you are. The two of you walk away from the crowds of the Expo and back into the city.

You find a small family-owned diner to grab a quick bite to eat. Getting seated at a booth near the windows, you watch the people pass by while you wait for your food to come.

“My apologies for taking so long to ask, but I have come to realize that I do not know your name,” Dr. Erskine pulls your attention back to him.

“Oh,” you start. Realizing that you also had never introduced yourself. “Well, my friends call me Vic.”

“Friends?” he repeats with a raised brow.

You realize your mistake a little too late. As the head scientist of the SSR, he was technically considered your superior. It’s been so long since you’ve worked with a superior that wasn’t your friend. Also, with one that you weren’t sleeping with…

You clear your throat and try again. “What I mean is that I haven’t really gone by my given name in a long time. It almost feels foreign whenever I do hear it.”

Erskine looks at you curiously. “And this Vic name was given to you by your friends?”

“Yes,” you confirm, before growing a little shy. “It’s actually short for Lady Victory,” you explain, your face heating in embarrassment. You’ve never actually had to be the one explaining it to anyone.

“Lady Victory?” he repeats, both brows now raised in intrigue. “And how did you manage to earn that name?”

“Well,” you laugh lightly. “It started after a few successful rounds of poker.” That makes Erskine laugh as well. “But, once I started working in the field, the name stuck. I became a lucky charm of sorts. Everyone would say that there was no way we could fail as long as Lady Victory was on our side. And that held true, at least until…” Your voice falls away and your eyes grow hollow. At least until the last mission.

“You have been to the war front?”

You pull yourself out of your dark thoughts and focus back on the doctor. “No. Not this war, at least. But I have seen war. Up close. It’s never easy.”

Erskine nods in agreement. He sits quietly for a moment, considering your words. “Have you considered submitting yourself as a candidate for Project Rebirth?”

You had reached for your glass of water and taken a sip when he asked his question. You choke upon swallowing the drink. So much for not screwing up the timeline. You’re pretty sure this conversation was never supposed to happen. You set your glass back down and attempt to cough the water out from where it’s trying to reach your lungs.

“I am sorry, I did not mean to startle you. But I must admit, you do have several of the qualities I am looking for in a candidate.”

After you’ve managed to catch your breath, you try to figure out the best way out of this. “The offer is generous, but that’s not my destiny.”

“What happened to faith?” Dr. Erskine smiles cryptically.

“I have faith that we will find the right person. But I know that isn’t me.” You release a breath of relief when the waitress arrives with the food. “Besides, can you imagine the Colonel’s reaction if you were to tell him you had picked a woman for the project?”

Erskine shrugs his shoulder. “He has been making his threats for months, but he knows that I will not make the serum until we have a candidate that I approve of.”

You can actually hear the record scratch sound effect going off in your mind. “Wait, I thought the Colonel said your formula was ready.”

“The formula, yes. I have all the ingredients ready. But the serum itself must be used within hours of preparation or the components will begin to degrade. It is a side effect from some of the ingredients used, but also works as a failsafe, should anyone think that they could steal it.”

You try to keep your face neutral, but internally your heart is sinking. This means that you coming early was a wasted effort and your only shot at getting a sample of the serum would be the day they turn Steve into a Super Soldier. And not only that but if you did manage to get your hands on a sample, it could degrade before being of any use to Dr. Banner.

In an effort to keep the despair off your face, you steer the conversation away and start to dig into the food that you no longer feel hungry for. Dr. Erskine turns out to be fairly good company and enjoys regaling you with tales of his home in Germany. It helps to keep him talking, so you can mentally plan just how you’re going to make it through these next few weeks, stuck in 1943.

Erskine offers to cover the cost of dinner, which you agree to, but only if he will let you pay for the next meal. He seems caught off guard by your proposal but then agrees with a quiet chuckle. As you prepare to leave, he places his fedora back onto his head and folds his coat over his arm. He then holds the door open as you exit the diner.

You both walk down the sidewalk in the direction toward the expo, occasionally needing to move behind one another to make room for people heading in the other direction. A flash of movement catches your attention from across the street. You narrow your gaze at the two men walking in the same direction as you and Erskine. They are both wearing fairly nondescript outfits in dark, neutral tones. Also wearing fedoras that they use to shadow their eyes. You notice one has a camera in his hands.

You quicken your steps to match up with the doctor, then wrap your arm through his. He looks down at you slightly startled, but you don’t pay him any mind. “Darling, that dress is lovely. Why don’t we take a look inside?” You point toward the display of a boutique and quickly usher him into the shop.

“Miss Vic, we really should be heading back to the recruitment center,” Dr. Erskine begins to protest.

You hush him and pull him deeper into the shop. “We were being followed. I noticed those two men loitering outside the bar across the street when we were at the diner. They stayed the whole time and didn’t begin to move until we did.”

“Are you certain?” he questions, looking back, but you’ve already pulled him too far into the shop.

“I am. One of them pulled out a camera and was trying to take pictures of you.”

“Hello, how can I help you?” the shop attendant takes that moment to make herself known.

You put a sweet smile into your face. “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you have a back door? It seems we’ve gotten a little turned around and we’re actually supposed to be on the next street over.”

The woman looks at you curiously, “Oh, we do, but it leads to a back alley, not the main street.”

“That’s all right. I’m sure we’ll find our way. Thank you!” Before she can come up with a response, you’re pulling Erskine after you and out the back. You check to make sure the coast is clear, before dragging him out. You run as fast as you can in your heels down the back alley toward the next street. You stop just short of the alley opening and press your back into the brick wall. Peaking around the corner, you find that the men aren’t anywhere to be seen.

You step out with Erskine and quickly hail a taxi. Not conforming to societal rules, you yank open the back door and shove him into the seat. “Don’t head directly for the expo. Drive aimlessly first, check for any tails. If you don’t see any, stop and switch to a new taxi before heading back.”

“What are you going to do?” he questions, still thrown off by what’s happening.

“I’m going to make sure they won’t follow you.”

You quickly shut the door to the cab and bang on the top to send it off. You then duck back into the alley. You’re almost to the back entrance of the boutique when the two men come stumbling out.

“You boys lost?” you question with an innocent tone to your voice. The two take one look at you before looking around for your charge. “I’m afraid it’s just the three of us.”

“We ain’t got no beef with you, Toots,” one of the men states in a heavy Brooklyn accent.

Your innocent façade drops instantly. Darting forward, you grab the man by the lapel of his coat. You use his surprise against him to swing his whole body around and slam his back into the brick wall. Your movement knocks the wind out of him and you quickly pin your forearm to the base of his neck to keep him from being able to regain his breath. “Who you callin’ Toots?” you question with a deadly tone in your voice.

“Geez, lady!” The man chokes out, raising his hands in surrender.

“Back up, if you don’t want to get hurt!”

You look over your shoulder to find the other one has a pistol aimed at you. Rolling your eyes, you release the first one and step back, your own hands now up in surrender. In a flash, you whip your arm out, grasping the gun and kick your foot out, straight into his knee. His leg buckles from beneath him and he loosens his hold on the gun as he falls.

You take the weapon into your own hands, holding it over him, while he kneels at your feet. “I think you’ll find that it’s actually you who should be worried about getting hurt, Toots,” you tell him, sarcasm dripping from your tone.

You catch the movement of the man’s eyes and turn back toward his partner, just a moment too late. The sound of a gun firing echoes down the alley moments before pain explodes in your side.

You cry out, barely managing to keep your grip on your own gun as you stumble into the brick wall.

“You shot her?!” the one kneeling bellows.

“She had a gun to your head!” The other argues.

“Red Skull’s gonna kill us if he finds out we were caught!”

“Not if we finish her off,” the one that shot you once begins to turn.

Your hand shakes as you try to raise your gun back up to defend yourself.

“Hey! Get away from her!” A new voice enters the fray.

The two men look to see someone else running into the alley. They are coming from your back and you fear if you attempt to look at who it is, you might pass out from the pain.

“Let’s get out of here,” the one that shot you tucks his gun away and helps pull the other to their feet. They take off before the newcomer can reach them.

“Miss, are you alright?”

This gunshot wound must be affecting you more than you thought because you could swear their voice sounds like-

Gentle hands grasp your shoulders as you stumble. You lift your head to meet a worried gaze. Soft blue eyes, framed by thick lashes, and two furrowed brows. It’s a look you’re all too familiar with and it always makes your heart clench.

Seeing it this time also makes your head swoon and your stomach flip. “Steve?” you barely manage to get out before your legs collapse.

Part 2

#steve rogers x reader #pre serum steve x reader #40s steve x reader #captain america x reader

[obeyme-kaidii-writes]

Proposal

Leviathan x gn!MC

Words - 1916

Content Warnings - mild angst, lots of fluff, love confessions

Prompt/Inspiration - inspired by the “Wedding Vows” event

Summary -  Following Levi’s proposal audition, you are forced to confront your feelings for him.

AO3

Levi’s proposal was perfect.

You loved everything about it. Who programs an entire video game in a single week just to propose to someone? Well, Levi apparently. And he did not overlook any details. From the character design, to the level design, to even the background music. You could tell how much effort he put into it.

Only thing is...it wasn’t really for you.

It wasn’t until he finished his speech that it finally dawned on you, and it took everything you had to not break down on the spot and run away crying. You should have known better. You tried to prepare yourself all week. But the minute he stepped out for his turn at the audition, you let yourself get swept away by emotion because it just felt so real.

It wasn’t real though. And it never would be real. Because try as you might to get closer to Levi, he just wasn’t interested. Not like that at least. You were his best friend, his Henry, and for the most part, you were alright with that. If it meant you could stay with him and continue to enjoy his company, then Henry you would be.

But watching his proposal just now? It ripped your heart to shreds. A reminder of something that you would never have.

Thank goodness Mammon’s proposal immediately followed so you didn’t have time to wallow in your own self pity. You could always count on him to bring a smile to your face and distract you when needed. You almost had to wonder if he prepared such a big, over the top flash mob proposal just because he knew how hard it would be for you to handle Levi’s. He was just that sort of thoughtful demon, even if he would never admit to it.

By the end of the night, you had almost completely forgotten how heartbroken you had been earlier. Every now and then during the shoot you’d catch sight of Levi and offer him a small smile, but he was starting to look a little out of sorts himself too. It had been a long day after all, so it wouldn’t be entirely out of the question for him to be exhausted by this point.

By the time you finally managed to corner him and pull him aside, you were ready to go home yourself.

“Hey, do you think you can walk me home? I’m kinda worn out now and could really use the break. I already checked with Lord Diavolo and he said it would be alright.”

Levi had to think for a moment. He really didn’t want to be alone with you right now. You may have been trying to hide it, but he had seen the disappointment on your face when he finished his proposal earlier, and he kept replaying it over and over again in his head. He had tried so hard to make everything perfect for you. He knew that he’d never have the courage to tell you how he felt for real, so he poured his all into this in the vain hope that at least some of his feelings would get across.

But at the same time, he really wanted to get back to the comfort and safety of his room and curl up in his tub for the next century.

“Alright. Fine. I guess we can.”

You were a little surprised at how short his response was, but tried to write it off as just him being tired as you headed for home.

————

The walk back to the House of Lamentation was full of awkward silence. You were used to spending time quietly with Levi while you both read a book or manga separately, but this was different. You had so much you wanted to say to him - how much you loved his proposal, how much you loved him, how you would have said ‘yes’ in a heartbeat. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

Levi was also struggling with what to say. He really wanted to know why you looked so sad, why you still looked so sad. He watched you interact with his brothers all day and you looked perfectly happy with them, but the moment you caught him staring your smile would falter and you’d quickly look away.

He assumed of course it had to be something he did wrong. Was the game not good enough? Were you upset that he got so carried away and finished for you? Or were you just totally disgusted by the idea of someone like him proposing to you that it made you want to burst into tears anytime you saw him? And if you were actually disgusted with him, did that mean you didn’t want to be his friend anymore either? The thought was too painful to even imagine.

Levi was so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t even realize when the two of you had arrived in front of your bedroom door. Neither of you seemed ready to part quite yet, both of you still hesitating on what to say. So Levi figured he might as well get this over with while he had the chance and knew his brothers wouldn’t interrupt.

“So...Umm…did I do something? I know my game idea was kinda cheesy and everything, I mean seriously who does that? And it’s from me of course so I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t want to hear that from me...I know what I’m like and…”

“Levi! Stop!” you thought you had been heartbroken earlier, but it was nothing compared to how you felt now. Not only had Levi noticed your disappointment, but he had been blaming himself for it all afternoon. No wonder he looked so worn out. The guilt felt crushing, and at some point you had started to cry, a steady stream of tears flowing from your eyes.

“That’s...that’s not what happened,” your voice was barely above a whisper now as you dropped your gaze to the floor. Wiping roughly at your eyes in an attempt to stop the tears, you took a deep breath to calm yourself before continuing.

“I...I really liked your proposal. It was my favorite actually,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady and even.

“Then why did you look so sad?”

“That’s...umm...well...well, I liked it so much I was disappointed it wasn’t real, I guess,” you gave a self deprecating laugh at that. How foolish it sounded when you put it into words. And how much more foolish you had to be in order to say them out loud. But you couldn’t let Levi blame himself for your feelings, so you had to tell him the truth. Better for him to be disappointed in you for wanting more out of the relationship than he did, you thought.

“What are you talking about? Of course it was real. I stayed up all night working on it for a week!”

You lifted your head to look at Levi, absolutely stunned at what you were hearing. He couldn’t possibly be this dense could he? Surely he had to have known what you meant when you said it wasn’t “real”...right? Your mouth opened and closed as you struggled to put a response into words.

“If you didn’t like it, you could just say that. I made it myself, so I know it wasn’t that great, like everything else…”

“Hey! I said to stop that! Seriously! I told you I liked it already.”

“Then why were you crying just now?”

“That’s….”

“See, you can’t even deny it. It was my fault, I get it. I’m sure I just made you uncomfortable proposing to you like that.”

“ARGHHHH!” You let out a loud, frustrated growl. You absolutely adored this boy, but holy cow could his self doubt really make things way more complicated than they needed to be sometimes.

“Levi, I love you dammit. That’s what I’m trying to say. I love you. I cried because I realized your proposal wasn’t real and you’d never actually say those things to me. Alright?”, you let out a sigh as you caught your breath, “I’m going to bed now, I’m exhausted. Goodnight Levi.”

“Uh goodnight,” was all he could say before you closed your door behind you.

Now alone in the hall, Levi was left to work through his thoughts. You loved him? Where did that come from? He had been trying to drop hints to you forever, but you never seemed to pick up on them. And now you were saying you loved him? Why didn’t you say anything sooner if that were the case? He couldn’t really blame you though, he never told you how he felt himself, after all.

Wait.

HE NEVER TOLD YOU HOW HE FELT.

“Hey!! Wait a second!” Levi yelled as he yanked open your door. Fortunately for him you hadn’t bothered undressing yet or things would have gotten very awkward very quickly, a thought that only occurred to him as he watched you sit up on your bed still fully clothed.

“What is it Levi? I really would like to get some sleep,” you were absolutely drained now and really did not have it in you to spend any more time explaining to him how you felt. He knew enough to not blame himself, and that was just going to have to be good enough for now.

Without stopping to think (because if he stopped to think about anything he was about to do, Levi knew there was no way he’d be able to do it), Levi knelt on the ground by your bed and wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face in your stomach.

“I didn’t give you my answer. You can’t just leave after a confession. You have to wait for my answer.”

“Your an…” your heart was pounding in your chest now and you fought desperately to keep it under control, and to rein in your emotions. Just because he wanted to give you an answer didn’t mean that he was going to say that he felt the same. He probably just wanted to enjoy the anime-esque moment and make the most of it. Yeah that had to be it.

“I love you too.” By now Levi was blushing a deep shade of red and oh so thankful that he was able to hide his face from you in this position. Even though you confessed first and took a lot of the pressure off him, this was still really embarrassing. Plus there was always that nagging voice in the back of his head telling him he misunderstood you and was just making things worse.

“Do you...do you mean that?” you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. There was no way this was real right? You had tried telling him so many times before and he always deflected and shut down your attempts before you could even finish. But now here he was, clinging to you, telling you he loved you.

“Of course I do! I wouldn’t do something this embarrassing if I didn’t,” he said, squeezing you tighter.

You couldn’t help but laugh at that answer. It was just so very...Levi. Gently, you wrapped your arms around him and returned the hug, lowering your head so you could rest it on top of his own. He really was here with you right now, and your heart had never felt so full.

#gn!mc #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me levi #levi x mc #obey me fanfic #obey me fluff #levi fanfic #levi fluff

[nerdypanda3126]

City of Love

Happy Valentine's Day and happy birthday @crescent-woods! I'm your @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers Secret Admirer! 😁

The prompt that I chose was: "They both host foreign exchange students who are dating, and end up getting dragged along on their dates and fall in LoOoOve"

Or rather, that prompt chose me because this thing took off and ran with me trailing along behind and hoping I can keep up 😅 I hope you like it!

As a side note: because there's a bit of a language barrier, there will be minimal French used throughout with definitions provided in the end notes, but the characters are speaking English unless otherwise mentioned. 

Read on Ao3 

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Marinette paced by the door of her apartment, waiting for her new roommate to arrive. She had offered to go to the airport to pick her up, but the woman—Tikki, that was her name—had insisted she could find her own way. Marinette was clutching her phone, waiting for the inevitable call. Paris was confusing, after all, for those not familiar with it, and it was so easy to get lost, and what if she couldn’t make it? 

Just as she was starting to bite her fingernails, there was a knock at her door and Marinette ran to it, flinging it open to find a small woman—shorter than Marinette, even, which was quite a feat—in a bright red sundress with black polka dots and a huge sun hat big enough that the brim flopped over her face. When the sun hat tipped up, Tikki had gorgeous, wide blue eyes, and a black pixie fringe with red feathery highlights peeking out.

“Marinette?” Tikki asked, out of breath from carrying her bags up the many stairs to the apartment. Marinette nodded and Tikki squealed, dropping her bags to the floor, all fatigue seemingly forgotten as she swept Marinette up into a hug. She smelled like something sweet, although Marinette couldn’t place it. Some sort of pastry, maybe? She started yammering in rushed English, her sprawling American accent making some of the words run together in Marinette’s ears.  

“I just know we’re going to be the best of friends! I’m so glad I made it, those streets are so windy, you know, windy, like—” she made a motion with her hand, like a snake, back and forth—“but there was this nice man who pointed me in the right direction and—oh, désolée!” When she slipped into French, the tiniest hint of her accent remained. “J’ai oublié, this is supposed to be immersive, n’est-ce pas?” 

Marinette was taken aback, but smiled at the mashup of language. “C’est vrai,” she agreed, “but English is fine for now.” She stooped to grab Tikki’s bags for her, but Tikki smacked Marinette’s hand away and picked everything back up herself. Marinette almost giggled at the ridiculous contrast between the tiny woman and the wealth of luggage she’d brought. Tikki was stronger than she looked, though, because the weight didn’t seem to bother her a bit. 

“Your room is this way,” Marinette said, gesturing as she walked, intending for Tikki to follow her. On the way, she pointed out the kitchen and the bathroom they’d share. Tikki ooh’ed and aah’ed enthusiastically at everything, then squealed again when they got to the room Marinette had laid out for her and instantly dumped her bags on the bed and opened the curtains to let the sunlight stream in. 

In the smaller space, the scent surrounding Tikki was more concentrated and Marinette finally placed it. Cookies. Tikki smelled like chocolate chip cookies. It pulled Marinette back to living above the bakery with her parents. How was she the one that was homesick? Tikki was an entire ocean away from her family and would be for the next few months. 

Although Marinette's homesickness was rather the point of her signing up to host a foreign exchange student for the fall semester. She'd spent the spring semester looking for busy places to go so she could draw or study; her apartment was too quiet when she was used to living above a bustling bakery and with her parents. But it was her first year at University and she was determined to make it work. When she pulled herself out of her thoughts, Tikki was still looking out the window with absolute awe written across her delicate features. She started when she noticed Marinette watching her.

“Everything is so pretty here!” she gushed. “How do you say it? Jolly?” 

“Joli,” Marinette corrected kindly, emphasizing the ‘ee’ sound at the end.

“Right, c’est trés joli.” Tikki repeated carefully with a flounce of her hands. “I want to see absolutely everything.” 

Marinette did giggle at that. She supposed Paris was pretty, when it wasn’t something you saw every day. Tikki’s enthusiasm was infectious. 

“I was planning to take you out to lunch, if you wanted to go? There’s this little place—”

Tikki flopped her sun hat down on the bed and unzipped one of the smaller bags to pull out a crossbody purse and a pair of black flats. She ruffled the short ends of her hair, fluffing them on top where they’d gotten flattened by her hat, unfolded a pair of sunglasses and set them on top of her head like a headband, and grinned at Marinette. 

“Allons-y!”

***

Luka tapped his foot along with the music in his earbuds as he waited for the exchange student he’d be hosting to get off the plane. No thanks to Juleka, he had a picture to go off of and that was it. Although he assumed this guy had a picture of Luka and would be looking for him, too. 

He flicked through his phone absent-mindedly, keeping one eye on the gate. Juleka had been texting him the entire time, asking questions he couldn’t answer and telling him to be nice. This was all her idea; quite frankly he was a bit anxious about the whole thing. 

He was expected to chauffeur this guy around the city and show him all the French culture and, as Juleka had so kindly pointed out, “It’s not like you have anything else going on.”

“You need to make friends,” she’d wheedled near the end of the spring semester, shoving the brochure in his face.

“Friends that are forced to hang out with me and then leave after a semester? Yeah, sounds awesome.” He’d ripped the brochure out of her hands and thrown it back at her, but she didn’t give up. 

“Come on, all you do is go to that stupid club and whine about not being in a band yet! You should be breaking out of your shell, isn’t that what Uni is all about?”

“I don’t have a shell,” he’d muttered as he stuck his earbuds in. Juleka had rolled her eyes at him, but picked the brochure up from the floor and left it on top of his music theory book. She’d given him a pointed look as she flounced out the door. 

And then she went and signed herself up as a host for the fall semester anyways without telling him, somehow making it his job to pick their new roommate up from the airport. “Because you’re the one with the motorcycle,” Juleka had reasoned. And of course he had to stay in Luka’s room with him, because “he’s a guy, and so are you.” 

Whatever. It was one semester. How bad could it be? 

The guy who matched the picture ended up being the last one off the plane, and Luka wrapped his earbuds around his phone before stashing it in his pocket. As Luka’s new roommate strolled up, he had one bag on his shoulder, one rolling behind him, as if he were on vacation instead of about to stay in someone else’s home for the next few months. He was a head shorter than Luka, with russet skin and sleek black hair, pulled back into a small ponytail at the nape of his neck. He took one look at Luka, adjusted his bag on his shoulder, and walked towards the airport door. 

It took Luka a second to process what had happened before he was jogging after a great view of the guy’s shoulders straining against his teal T-shirt. What the hell was his problem? 

“Hé! Attendez,” Luka grabbed at his backpack and the guy turned with an unamused frown deepening by the second. “Uh, salut?” Luka stuck his hand out for a handshake, but deep brown eyes underneath heavy black brows just flashed down to Luka’s hand, then back up to his face. 

“Anglais?” he asked, drawing out his ‘s’ the slightest amount. Luka nodded. “Cool. Look, I’m only here because my girlfriend had her heart set on ‘Paris,’ okay?” He rolled his eyes as he made air quotes and pronounced it “Pari.” He shrugged, adjusting his bag on his shoulder again in the same movement. “I’m not here to make friends, I couldn’t care less about discovering your culture, and I don’t plan on being around much. So, thanks, but no thanks, you know?” 

The way he was pronouncing his “th” as a soft “t” and the subtle lilt to his voice, added to the consistently drawn out sibilants gave him a serpentine accent that made Luka pause before he realized what he’d actually said. 

“Your girlfriend?” How was it that this guy had just shown up in the country—with a bad attitude, no less—and already had a girlfriend? A scowl started to pinch Luka’s face although he had little motivation to stop himself. No way he could be friends with this smug little shit.     

Said smug little shit nodded, although his shoulders shrugged along with the movement, making him look like he was a cobra assessing whether to strike or not. “Tikki. We’ve been long-distance for a while. Pen pals, you know? Decided to come here, meet up, see the sights. She’s a bit of a Francophile, you know what I mean?” 

Luka blinked at him. He’d joined a foreign exchange program, flown who knew how many miles, would be staying away from home for months… for a girl? He hadn’t met yet? Was he insane? He shook his head in sympathy and shoved his hands in his pockets. “All right, well I’m Luka.” 

“Yeah, I gathered. Are you gonna show me the way to your place, or what?” He turned again and started back for the door. This time Luka was able to keep in step with him. 

“You got a name?” Luka asked, only slightly irritated by his apparent dismissal. 

“Not a French one. How about you just decide on something and I’ll answer to whatever.” 

“How about ‘ass’?” Luka grumbled. 

“What was that?” 

“Sass. I said ‘Sass,’” Luka amended quickly. 

He stopped again and leveled a look at Luka, narrowing his eyes to little more than dangerous slits. “Weird, but sure,” he said finally, adjusting his grip on his bag again. “So are we walking or what?”

Luka dug his keys out of his pocket and flashed the lights on his bike. It was an older model Yamaha; sporty, reliable, slim enough to wind through the narrow streets of Paris on deliveries, with an extra seat behind the driver for the times Juleka needed a ride. He’d bought it used and kept good care of it, other than the fading midnight-blue paint job. And the brakes. And the sputter it made when it started up. He'd meant to get that into the shop sometime soon. 

For the first time, Sass cracked a smile. “Now that I can work with.”

Translations:

désolée: sorry

J’ai oublié: I forgot

n’est-ce pas: is it not

C’est vrai: it is true (that's right)

Joli: pretty

c’est trés joli: it's very pretty

Allons-y: let's go

Hé! Attendez: Hey! Wait

salut: hi

Anglais: English

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #mlb fic #lukanette #lukanette endgame #marinette dupain cheng #luka couffaine #marinette and tikki #luka and sass #human kwami #fic title: city of love

[danganronpa-21]

Naegiri Week Day 2 - Work

Looks like I spoiled all of you yesterday by posting in the afternoon! As you can see, we’re back to more “regular” Koto posting times. Fear not, though, as my piece for Work is finally here! This time around, I have no warnings to issue before you start reading the text. It should be pretty safe. I hope the story is to your liking!

_______________________

Makoto was at the computer again.

 Should that have surprised her? He’d been there every day for a week. He migrated to it in the way that a moth might journey towards a flame; it entranced him in a way that others could not comprehend. Well… perhaps the moth metaphor wasn’t the best way of putting it. Any idiot would be able to see that his fixation on the system had been born of desperation, rather than admiration of its beauty. After all, how could he grow to admire a healing project that become corrupt, swallowed by the very despair it was meant to fight against? His heart was far too gentle to ever be drawn in by something like that, and Kyoko supposed that was why she worried. Too many hours subjecting himself to all of that suffering wouldn’t be good for his kind soul. The fact that he scarcely ever seemed to leave it behind would be just as bad for his body, too.

 “Makoto.” Her hand found its way to his shoulder without thinking, squeezing tightly as if that would somehow reassure him that she was there. Everyone knew they should have been more worried that he’d gotten to the point where he needed that, but with the program going haywire and students losing entire consciousnesses… well, the mental health of the Super High School Level Hope had to be put on the backburner. That was what the others told her, anyway. She, on the other hand, struggled to believe it.

 Her friend seemed to respond only slightly, glancing back at her. Though she couldn’t see his face fully, she noticed the dark circles and half-lidded eyes right away. He looked so tired that she feared he might suddenly drop at any second. “Yeah? You need something from me, Kiri?”

 Kyoko’s brows furrowed, but she couldn’t be bothered to change them back to a more neutral position. Makoto wouldn’t listen to that. She doubted that he would listen to any change in expression, even if she glared and scowled. At this point, he was a man possessed. “This is your eighth day managing the Hope Restoration Program.”

 He blinked sleepily at her, reaching up to rub one of his eyes without a hint of irony. “What about it?”

 “You were also up managing it until four o’clock in the morning last night. Togami-kun told me you had very clear intent to continue working on it, and would have if he hadn’t stopped you. He also informed me that this was not the first night this week that he caught you managing the program into the late hours of the morning.” She hated having to be stern with him. It always made her feel like she came off as thinking he was inferior to her in some way, but it was more about using status to get him to take a break. Sweet as a peach, that boy was, but he failed to listen when it came to taking care of himself. This wasn’t the first Kyoko resorted to pulling rank to get him to do as he needed. “You need some time away from the computer. This is getting out of hand.”

 Makoto could do little more than grin weakly at her. “I appreciate your concern, Kirigiri-san, but I’m okay. Really!” The yawn he suppressed did little to convince her. “I honestly feel like… like I’m at my best when I’m here working.”

 “Yes, well, being consumed by rampant anxiety about what will happen to Class 77 at any moment that you’re not around would be the reason for that.”

 You’d think Kyoko had kicked him with the way his expression deflated, tilting his chin down like a puppy who had just finished being scolded for chewing an armchair. Hints of rouge spread across his cheeks at the reprimanding. She supposed she could have felt guilty, watching him slump in his chair like that. Heaven knew that she probably should have, but she couldn’t justify that pit in her stomach when she was already so worried about him. Tough love would hopefully be the reality check he desperately needed. Makoto certainly had the tendency to be stubborn when he set his mind to something, but did he really intend for this to be the battle he picked?

 Folding her arms, Kyoko let out a sigh. “You know I am right, do you not?”

 He didn’t meet her eyes; his blinking growing rapid for a few seconds. Did she perhaps cut too deep with that comment about his anxiety? She suddenly felt the urge to snatch every word back out of the air. It felt like she’d just picked the wrong option in a dating simulator game and lost relationship points. If she hadn’t been raised to be perfectly stoic, perhaps she would have been able to reach out to him. Instead, though, she could only stand as still as she could manage; her gaze fixed itself on him intently.

 “I do...” Her heart broke over how slurred the words sounded. Two simple words, and he could barely keep them apart. The tension his shoulders had lost transferred to her own with ease. Something about this behaviour was very much not right, and the feeling of it squirmed in Kyoko’s belly like a ball of worms. “I’m just… is just… I’m…”

 “Naegi-kun?”

 It surprised her, how soft her voice sounded. It had been ages since she’d had to speak to anyone that softly, much less him. When push came to shove, he was usually the one lifting her spirits. Not the other way around!

 Without thinking, she crept closer to him, leaning over slightly to try and lift his head to look at his face. She had barely even reached her hand out to place it upon his chin when he tilted his head up for her, staring at her with pathetically sleepy eyes. When he tried to speak, all that came out was a pathetic whine.

  “Kirigiri-san…”

 “I have never seen you this pale before. I know you have not been sleeping recently, but what about eating and drinking? If you are lacking in sleep and in blood sugar, then I think we have lots of cause to be concerned.” She blinked quietly at him, waiting for an answer. “Well?”

 “Um… I had some berries, recently. I think.” He was practically a ragdoll in Kyoko’s hand, his neck feeling almost like it would let him fall limp if she didn’t keep her hand where it was. “One of the older recruits brought them for me.”

 “What kind?”

 “Blackberries and blueberries.”

 Ugh. Of course they brought him a bowl of berries that didn’t serve to elevate the blood glucose levels by more than a hair. As sweet as it was that they were looking out for him, she couldn’t help but be annoyed that they hadn’t made better nutritional choices. Admittedly, some of that irritation did come from the fact that she knew she probably should have been the one making him sandwiches or something… but that was beside the point. He’d been too long without proper elevation in his blood sugar, and his use of the word ‘recently’ told her all she needed to know. She found herself shaking her head in frustration.

 “Do you remember when you had them?”

 He blinked slowly. When he got to be this way, she supposed he kind of reminded her of a sloth. All slow movements and droopy eyes. Come to think of it, she actually quite liked sloths. They were cute, just like sleepy Makoto would be, if he weren’t on the verge of collapse. The more girlish, romantic part of her wanted to scoop him up in her arms and carry him off to bed as if he were a cuddly pet. But that would be unprofessional in a workplace environment.

 “Um…” He looked down at his hands for a moment, as if he were prepared to start counting on his fingers. He never was all that good at math. “No, I don’t… don’t know.”

 Could one involuntarily roll their eyes? If they couldn’t, Kyoko felt uncertain of how she would explain her response to his answer, then. Shame crept into her being. Realistically, as his boss and best friend, she should have been doing a better job of looking out for him. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known that he would be at the computer all day, every day for the next little while. She had seen all of the signs of his fixation, and just hadn’t known how to stop it. Seeing where that fixation brought him only made the horrid sense of dread pooling in her belly worse.

 “Alright,” she gently released his face, “We need to get you out of here. You have spent enough time in front of the computer as of late and I’m genuinely worried that you are going to collapse. What you need now is food, water, and a good sleep.”

 A frown etched itself into Makoto’s expression, making the already exhausted boy look borderline pitiful. He was practically     sulking. “Kirigiri-san… I don’t want to… to… to leave them.”

 Tenderly, she reached over and grabbed hold of his arm to try and help him to his feet. “Nor should you have to. I will see to it that someone takes your place here monitoring Class 77.” Though seeing him in such a state hurt, she pushed what little smile her iron mask could manage. He said to her once that her smile gave him strength, and at this point, she figured he needed all of the strength she could give him. “You have done excellent work so far, Naegi-kun, but I need you to rest. Perhaps we can have Togami-kun take over from here. You trust him, don’t you?”

 He nodded. “I do… you promise… things will be okay?”

 “Of course, Naegi-kun. You know that Togami-kun and I share your ideals just as much as anyone else. We want to see these students survive and succeed as well. We would never want to do anything that would hurt them, nor you.” She nudged him slightly. “Now, really. We need to get some food in your system sooner rather than later.”

 He nodded again, the beginnings of a grin cracking through his tired face. He didn’t appear stable otherwise, but she imagined she should be allowed to count that twinge of hope as a victory. Now, if they could just overcome the trouble of the fact that his body was absolutely trembling from lack of energy, that would be great. The tremors were so strong that she almost worried that he might start to make her shake too.

 “I’m going to help you to your feet, okay?”

 “Okay.”

 ‘On the count of three’, Kyoko told herself. For most people, having health this bad would be cause for concern, but for Makoto it was all that much worse. Not only had he poorly taken care of himself, he somehow thought it was a good idea to neglect his health when he was prone to fainting. Whether it was extreme psychological or physical distress, Kyoko had seen him faint faster than Byakuya could reject “commoner food”. She witnessed it only a few times, and each and every time it got more uncomfortable to watch. Every time it happened, she found her heart rate increased to the heaviest levels it could maintain. Holding onto Makoto now, she prayed silently that he wouldn’t faint.

 One.

 Two.

 Three.

 Warily, she took hold of his other elbow and began to lift him from his seat. Though it would benefit her to check her surroundings as they moved, she refused to take her eyes off him. As far as she was concerned, his expression needed to be surveyed at all times. Any twist or twinge could alert her to his potential collapse. She couldn’t afford to let the situation fall outside of her control — she liked her control, thank you very much. For his sake, she tried to keep her cool. It was a bit of effort to ensure that anxiety didn’t force her finger tips to dig into him as she lifted him up, but she coped well enough. 

 Judging by the look on his face, they appeared to be making decent progress. For the most part his gaze directed itself towards his own body. He watched himself with as much intensity as his sleepy eyes could manage; he fixated on every shake and slight hesitation. Was he as worried as she was about completely falling apart? He was rising to his feet with as much grace as he could muster, only stopping to cringe when he stood at full height. His jaw clenched almost immediately. Kyoko’s heart skipped a beat.

Unable to control her worries, she leaned close to get a better look at him. He would certainly be able to feel her breath on his skin from this distance. “Is something wrong?” 

His skin paled rapidly, dragging itself to a hue that didn’t even appear human. Had she held less self-control, she would have scooped him up and carried him off to bed right then and there.

 “You’re losing your pallor, Naegi-kun.”

 He tried to wave her off despite his obvious distress, his body swaying slightly. “I’m just dizzy, that’s all. Just… dizzy.”

 As much as she wanted to believe that he would be fine, his eyes looked like they were about two seconds away from rolling back into his head. His feet were already starting to wobble off-course, and if that were to happen, the rest of his body would surely follow suit.

 “Are you sure?” Kyoko suddenly realized that she had a huge lump in her throat. “You have yet to see any spots? Your stomach is settled?”

 If the world functioned according to her preferences, Makoto would have answered right away. If things went according to her plans, he’d tell her that he felt fine, and had simply been overcome by a twinge of vertigo. In her ideal world, this is how things would be. It would not involve the ominously vague groan he released instead, with one of his hands reaching up to hold his head.

 Shaking him was the last thing he needed, but it was all she could think to do. “Hey. Naegi-kun, come on. Stay with me,” as his head began to hang once more, she tilted her head in a futile attempt to get a better look at his face, “Are you going to faint?”

 “Y-Yeah…”

 The universe could squeeze only a few more blinks out of him until he finally fell limp like a ramen noodle. Even with the advantage of holding his elbows, Kyoko still had to rush to catch Makoto before he hit the floor. That cheeky luck of his had been very close to running its course, too, for it tried to pull him to fall to the right. If she let him fall that way, he would smash his head into the desk and all of the computer equipment — and then they’d have a concussion to worry about, as well as his lack of sleep and poor nutrition. Catching him in time honestly felt like a miracle, her arms making quick release of his elbows to swoop under his arms and keep him from tumbling over like a deflated toy. Thankfully, her grandfather’s martial arts training made her skilled at moving quickly; they made the rush to grab him swift. Not elegant by any means — she nearly punched him in the chest as opposed to sticking her arm under his own — but it was doable. It did take her a minute to adjust to the weight of an extra person in her care, but she took it in stride. With a heave of her shoulders, she wiggled to stand him a bit more upright, so most of his weight leaned on her shoulder.

 “Please, Naegi-kun… Take better care of yourself,” she whispered, “If not for your sake, then… please do it for mine.”

_______________________

Waking up with no idea where he was or how he got there was the kind of thing that sent Makoto into a panic the second it happened. A year had passed since the killing game, yet he still startled awake in a feverish panic if he woke up with even a moment of forgetfulness. He’d immediately sit upright in bed, gaze tracing the room for some sign that he was still in the world he remembered. The rooms at Future Foundations’ headquarters tended to be so barren that there was never truly much to ground himself with. Perhaps a calendar flipped to the correct date and time, or a special trinket from a specific pocket of aided citizens. Nothing more than that, which usually made it difficult to figure out where one was. When this happened, panic would settle into Makoto’s bones within a matter of minutes; his heart beating wildly as he fought off the urge to dash around the room. Simply sitting there and trying to convince himself that he felt like a normal human being felt like far too much of a hassle to do, yet it was where he found himself. Groggy, disoriented, and light-headed, trying to figure out what happened. Where was he?

 His tired eyelids allowed him to blink once. Twice. Part of him wanted to be surprised by the fact that he still couldn’t see anything, but the heaviness of sleep just made things so damn blurry. Future Foundation rooms were already so arid, but their rooms on Jabberwock Island were somehow worse. Everything about it just screamed generic island room, or as Makoto saw it currently: generic island-flavoured blobs. He reached up to rub at his eyes, doing his best to ignore the spinning feeling that refused to ease into nothingness. Exhaustion had such a grip on him that even this barely helped. Somehow, everything still looked and felt unreal. Had the next occurrence taken place only thirty seconds later, he might have laid back down and decided that this was all a dream. But it clearly hadn’t been, for the knock on the door was completely off-cue.

 Thump, thump, thump.

 Plain, spiritless, to the point. Yep, anyone who knew her would recognize Kyoko’s knock within an instant. She always did have this formal way of rapping on a door. He used to tease her in their early days of working together, insisting that it was a “boss knock”. Unfortunately, she never found it as funny as he did.

 “Naegi-kun? Are you awake in there?” Her tone came out so much softer than he expected to hear. Most of the time she spoke just loud enough to be audible, and clear enough so no adversary could detect emotion through it. In some ways, it still maintained this aspect of her character, but… he did remark it was a little outside of the realm of normal Kyoko things. Was she actually worried about waking him up?

 When he opened his mouth to answer, the words got caught half-way up his throat. “Yeah, I’m awake,” god, he could barely believe that strained voice belonged to him, “I think.”

 Kyoko let out a slight snort on the other side of the door; it made a smile tug at the corners of Makoto’s mouth. She almost never showed it to anyone, but she had an adorable laugh. That little snort was the extent of what she’d do in public, yet he adored hearing it all the same. “Well, if you’ll allow me in, I have something that might make you feel better.”

 Though he knew she couldn’t see him, he nodded to the door anyway. “By all means.”

 There was a split second of pause before the doorknob twisted, and then she nudged her way in with her foot. When the door swung open to reveal Kyoko, she fortunately looked the same as Makoto remembered her — tall, slim, long lavender hair tied out of the way, striking purple eyes and kissable pink lips. Gulp. Maybe not the time to think about kissing. He directed his attention instead to the brown cafeteria tray she held in her hands. He couldn’t see much on it apart from a tall glass of water, but the aroma promised him something with… chicken? Had she brought him cream stew? Something like that would hit the spot right about now. In all of his confusion, he’d barely had the time to process the painful emptiness of his belly. 

 “You seem to have woken up just in time,” she sounded half-amused as she strode into the room, but struggled to replicate the sentiment through emoting, “Your shichuu would have gotten cold otherwise, and I’m sure you know microwaved shichuu is nowhere near as good as fresh.”

He mustered a laugh. Her shichuu comment was something he’d told her once during his many infamous rambles. As corny as it was, the soup wasn’t the only thing that warmed his heart. The fact that she remembered something as silly as that worked wonders, too. “You’re the best, Kirigiri-san. Thanks so much.”

 Her shoulders quirked, her mouth twitching downwards ever so slightly. “Think nothing of it. In fact, consider it an apology.”

 By no intention of his own, his eyebrows squished together. A pursing of his lips followed suit. “An apology? What for?

 The detective let out a sigh, taking a seat in the rather unremarkable chair positioned at the edge of his bed. She slid the tray onto her lap almost teasingly, or perhaps it wasn’t so much teasing as taunting. His stomach let out a loud growl at the sight of it, causing him to clutch it in embarrassment. If Kyoko noticed, she didn’t utter a word. 

 “Do you remember what happened before you woke up here?”

 Makoto shook his head, wincing when that made the spinning worse. Note to self: don’t do that.

 “Well, in summary, you worked yourself to the brink of exhaustion and passed out. I carried you here.”

 Heat rose in his cheeks. God, he hoped she hadn’t carried him bridal-style. Oh, what if the other foundation members saw?! His temperature elevated suddenly. If anyone else saw her do that, he would never live it down! They already teased him for being wrapped around Kyoko’s finger. He’d even earned himself an inappropriate workplace nickname because of it, as well as the rumour that the two of them were taking a little too much pleasure in each other’s company outside of office hours.

 She appeared to notice the rising colour in his skin. “You needn’t make that face. Nobody saw apart from Togami-kun.”

 A groan tore its way through his throat; his hands rushing to clutch his head in exasperation. “You say that like it’s not bad. He’s going to taunt me about that for weeks.” 

The lavender-haired woman shrugged, her gaze not lifting from the bowl of soup in her lap. “He already tried it with me. Kept asking me if I was taking my boyfriend somewhere for a nap.”

 Though Makoto would have actually liked for that to have been true, he still found himself sighing just a bit. “I really hope that he’s gotten it all out of his system, then…”

 “We can only hope,” she continued to refuse to meet his face, “Getting away from that, though… there is something that I wanted to ask you.”

 “Oh?”

 That bowl of soup seemed to be getting more eye contact from his crush than he was. She was staring into it like a reflective romcom protagonist at a low moment. “Why?”

 What a clear question. He couldn’t help but shake his head again. Leave it to her to be as cryptic as possible. Sometimes, he wondered if she enjoyed being needlessly unusual, or if it was just a special talent. Still, he tried not to let his frustration show. “What do you mean by that, Kirigiri-san?”

 She poked at one of the vegetables with the spoon; it bobbed up and back down. “I want to understand why you were so fixated on the program,” a crease began to form between her brows, making it look vaguely like the soup had wronged her somehow, “There have been a variant of different people monitoring the Neo World Program participants, yet none of them took to it the way you did.”

 Thinking made his head ache. Not that much thinking had been done since he’d come to. An angrier part of him wanted to reach out and pry the soup from Kyoko’s hands just so the room would stop spinning so much, and he could actually consider her question. But that would be rude, and Makoto was not a rude man, so he just sat there. 

 “Well?”

 “I don’t know.”

 Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her pressing her lips together in a thin line. “I think you do.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he replied almost instantly.

 “Then you can’t have your soup.”                

 His arms folded across his chest; his lower lip jutting out. “You already haven’t given me my shichuu.”

 “Will you talk if I give it to you?”

 “Yes.”

  She lifted the tray into Makoto’s lap, allowing him to take in the full scent. It smelled amazing – someone else definitely had to have made this for him. As much as he adored his boss and thought of her like she painted the night sky, her cooking was the worst he’d ever had. One could usually confirm whether or not it was her cooking by lack of stench alone, so the pleasant aroma wafting into his nose meant that it would be safe to eat. “Then here’s your soup.”

 “Can I have my spoon?”

 She let out a small grumble and placed the spoon on the tray, tapping her foot impatiently. “There. Now eat.”

 For a moment he considered giving her a cheeky answer, but quickly decided against it. When her patience had worn thin, she didn’t tend to take so well to teasing. Deliberately pushing her buttons would only serve to get him into much more trouble. So rather than giving it any more, he dug into the delectable dish in front of him. He’d be the first to admit that his consumption of the dish ended up being a little sloppy, but he could barely help himself. More than a few times the liquid threatened to dribble down his chin, and he’d be forced to stop it from dripping into his lap. If Kyoko had any sort of opinion on this, she neglected to share it. She simply sat there and watched him eat. Man, with her watching him like that, it was like being a suspect she intended to interrogate. The air had grown a little too tense for his liking, especially with the only sound being his slurping and chewing.

 “Are you going to sit there and watch me the whole time?”

He hadn’t meant for the question to sound harsh, but she sure seemed to take it that way, retorting: “Are you ever going to start talking?”

 He bit his lip, tensity beginning to build in his shoulders. The affection he held for her was something he knew to be real, yet when she spoke to him like that, he couldn’t help but wonder if she even liked him at all. Her bluntness could be a lot. “If you wanted me to start talking, you could have just asked.”

 She scoffed and rolled her eyes.

 “What’s gotten into you?” He complained, startling even himself. “Why are you being so harsh about this? You were acting all sweet when you came in here, and now you’re grumbly. Did I do something?”

 Her frown deepened. “Yes, you did.”

 “What did I do, then?”

 “You worried me.” She answered curtly, the tone coming out so sharp that even she jerked herself back in surprise. Makoto opened his mouth to make an attempt at saying something, but shut himself up just as quickly when he saw blood rush in Kyoko’s cheeks. A flustered Kyoko was almost always a Kyoko with more to say. “You and I have known each other for several years, and I have yet to see you work yourself in a manner this dangerous. You have had a complete disregard for your health these past few weeks, and quite frankly, it’s frightening me.”

 He swallowed thickly and lowered his spoon toward the bowl. He’d barely noticed, but it was already half-full. “I’m… sorry. I never meant to scare you.”

 Her arms folded across her chest, bitterness dripping from her voice. “Then what were you trying to do?”

  “Help,” he choked, “The students in the program, I mean. I’m sorry, Kirigiri-san… I know I’ve given you nothing but trouble, but I just… I had to help them.”

 “I wouldn’t say that you gave me nothing but trouble-”

 He shook his head frantically. “No, it’s alright Kirigiri-san. I know I’ve been trouble these past few weeks, and I’m sorry about that. I just haven’t felt anything like myself lately. Ever since Monokuma showed up in the program, and everything got corrupted… I’ve been desperate to keep an eye on things. I feel like if I leave the students alone, they’ll…”

 She nodded gently, her scowl finally starting to ease. He wondered if she would give him her hand if he asked. Touch happened to be an aspect of connection that she struggled with, but she knew how much it reinvigorated him. Maybe he could get her to crack, just this once. “I know,” she whispered, “I know.”

 “We’ve lost so many of them already. I can’t stand the thought of losing more,” he willed himself not to cry, his words tripping over the lump in his throat, “Every time I’m away from the program, I can’t stop thinking about them. We know how that feels, and it’s our responsibility to stop it.”

 “We’re doing everything we can, Naegi-kun, I promise you.”

 “I want to be doing more, Kirigiri-san. I want to be giving them everything I have, because if the shoe was on the other foot, I know they would be doing the same for me.”

She shut her eyes softly. “You don’t want them to suffer like we did.”

 “Exactly,” he sighed, “Exactly.”

 “I understand your reasoning. Really, I do.” She rested her hand on his wrist without him even having to ask. His heart fluttered at the sensation of her gloved hands on his skin. “However, no good can come from working ourselves to the point of collapse. The lives of the students within that program are irreplaceable, yes, but so is yours. What would happen to everyone here if we lost you? What would I do?”

Oh. He… had not considered that.

 Guilty silence ate him within seconds. It would be simple to say that they could carry on in his absence with Kyoko as their valiant leader, he knew that would not be the case. When they lost their hope, he was the one they turned to for guidance and encouragement. His ideals were the ones that shaped their whole project; nobody would be there without him. If he were to keel over and die without another word, the team would be devastated. His friends would be devastated. “I guess I didn’t think about that.”

 “I’d suggest you start, then. We all want to have you around for the foreseeable future.” A slight smile carved its way into her face as she leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his head. “You’ve been working so hard to give everyone this hope… I think you deserve to be around to enjoy some of it for yourself, too.”

 Makoto tried desperately not to blush. “I guess you’re right,” he murmured, finally finding the strength to smile, “I’ve got to take care of myself to share in that hope, too.”

#naegiri2020 #danganronpa #naegiri #thh #kyoko kirigiri #makoto naegi #makoto x kyoko #danganronpa goodbye despair #kyouko kirigiri #naegi makoto #kirigiri kyoko

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Evolution of Pines

Ford attempts to give Mabel a science lesson.

~~~~~~~~~~

Takes place between Stanchurian Candidate and The Last Mabelcorn…

“BOB! BOB! BOB! BOB!”

Ford paused pouring his coffee when he heard the odd chanting coming from the living room, but then he heard the sounds of the television and he smiled to himself, guessing the kids were watching some program they enjoyed. Deciding he could take a tiny break from going over his old journals, he wandered towards the living room with the hot mug of coffee in his six-fingered hand.

He smiled at the doorway, seeing a young pair of twins share the big armchair, Dipper grinning and shaking his fists excitedly while Mabel knitted a new sweater with her eyes glued to the TV.

“Bob Dry the Science Guy!” The theme song and the kids finished, and the episode began.

“I’m going to take a wild guess and assume you kids are watching Bob Dry the Science Guy?” Ford asked, leaning against the armchair, greeted by an energetic man in a lab-coat.

“Yup!” Dipper answered. “It’s really good! He teaches about magnets, volcanoes, global warming, bugs, all sorts of things! You knew you were gonna have a good day at school when the teachers pulled out the old TV and the theme song plays.”

“He’s so funny!” Mabel laughed as Bob printed a picture of his parents to explain something and it exploded. “My favorite episode is when he talked about the desert and got chased by a camel.”

Ford watched the TV for a second as Bob Dry explained to his audience that when things copy, they slightly change, explaining evolution. He could definitely understand why both children would love the show, but his interest peaked and his smile crashed down when he heard his niece say, “Eh, I don’t buy it.”

Ford turned his head sharply, like a hunting owl, and managed to make a smile through his shock. “Wh-What do you mean, you don’t buy it?”

Dipper snorted and smirked, “Yeah, Mabel doesn’t believe in evolution.”

Ford swore he could hear glass break. “You… You don’t believe in evolution?”

“Not really.” Mabel said with a shrug, still watching the TV just as invested as she was a few moments ago. “I mean… monkeys, Darwin, it’s a nice story, I just think it’s a little too easy.”

“T-T-T-T-Too easy.” Ford repeated, swallowing hard and standing up. “Too easy? Wait, so, the process of every living thing evolving over millions of years from single-celled organisms is too easy?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Once the shock wore off, Ford was actually quite amused. To him, this was simply a child misunderstanding the knowledge offered to them, like teaching a child that 2+2=4, not 22. He chuckled warming and moved around the chair to be next to Mabel and got on one knee to be closer to her level. “Mabel, evolution is scientific fact. It’s just as real as the air we breathe or gravity or…”

“Oh, don’t even get me started on gravity.”

Ford stared at Mabel, confused and startled and maybe even a bit amazed. “Y-You don’t believe in gravity?”

“Oh, I believe in it, I just… I dunno,” Mabel paused her knitting to better explain her idea to her stranger of an uncle. “Lately I’ve just been feeling pushed down instead of pulled down.”

Ford snorted a laugh, caught it in his throat, coughed into his fist, and took in and out a deep breath. “You know, Mabel, there are times I wish my mind was like what yours is right now, so clean, a blank slate, an empty sponge so ready to soak up new knowledge. It’s truly a wonderful time.”

Mabel gave a timid smile back as he walked away, but something about what he said rubbed the young girl a wrong way. Needless to say, she was too distracted about what he had said to pay much attention to Bob Dry.

~~~~~~~~~~

Later that night, Mabel petted Waddles in bed robotically, still thinking. Dipper came into the room in his shorts and t-shirt and turned off the main light, leaving only his lantern on, and she decided to ask her brother something.

“Hey Dipper, do you think I’m stupid?”

Dipper turned and stared at her. “What? No, of course not. You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met! No one can think of as many colors and games and escape plans as you can.” He stood next to her bed and asked, “Why? What’s up?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” Mabel bit her lip, hesitant to tell Dipper how she felt. But this was the first time since Ford came home that Dipper had paid her this much attention, so maybe she should seize her opportunity why she could. “When Great-Uncle Ford said those things it made me feel… stupid.”

Dipper had to take a second to remember what Mabel was talking about. “Oh.” And he sat next to her, legs dangling off the edge, to listen to her.

“Y’know, clean, blank slate, empty… I think… I think he thinks I’m dumb, and if the Author of the Journals thinks that…”

“Hey, hey,” Dipper put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “I’m sure he doesn’t think that. He loves us, we’re great. And even if he does think you’re not very smart, he’s wrong. You’re brilliant! You’re super creative and always thinking outside the box. Who cares if you think a little differently or if you don’t believe in something others do and vise versa. I mean, you believe in gnomes and not a lot of people do.”

Mabel snorted at Dipper’s slightly pathetic try at a joke, but she was still grateful. “Thanks, Dip-Dip.”

“Don’t start unbelieving what you believe in, sis.” Dipper advised, making Mabel laugh, and they both accidentally started singing a cheesy song that always got people hyped.

~~~~~~~~~~

At breakfast, Mabel and Dipper were eating Stancakes with the chef cooking up one more batch for himself. They were joined by Ford, who held a rolled-up poster in his hands, and he grinned at the sight of the only female in the room. “There you are Mabel, I wanted to talk to you.”

Mabel perked up and smiled. “Really?”

“Yes,” He unrolled the poster on the table and her smile dropped when it was about evolution. “I wanted to show you the proof that we scientists have collected over the years that evolution exists…”

“Oh boy what did you do to unleash the beast?” Stan groaned.

“Ford found out Mabel doesn’t believe in evolution.” Dipper answered.

“This should be fun.”

“... so you see, they found these fossils all over the world, stretching back as far as four-hundred million years ago.” Ford explained as this poster showed the fossils and what they looked like in life.

“Uh, wow.” Mabel said, holding her chin in thought. “You can actually see it.”

“Yes! See, you can.” Ford said proudly, glad he could help his niece.

“Now,” Mabel looked away, giving this serious thought. “Who puts those fossils there, and why?”

Dipper snorted into his milk and Stan bit his lip when they saw the look on Ford’s face. “Mabel sweetie, I love you so much.” Stan said as he sat down to have some breakfast.

“M-M-Mabel, Mabel, listen to me.” Ford chuckled nervously as he put a hand on her shoulder. “What about… What about thumbs?” He held up his own and further asked, “We human beings have opposable thumbs, now how did we get those without evolution?”

“Oh!” Mabel gasped and removed her hand from her chin to slam a fist down at the table. “Maybe the overlords needed them to steer their spacecrafts!”

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. “While they do, evolution…”

“Great-Uncle Ford, can I ask you something?” Mabel said sweetly, with eyes filled with wonder and sparkles.

Ford grinned. “Yes, of course, my dear. Anything you want.”

“Okay, so, wasn’t there a time when the smartest guys in the world thought the Earth was flat?”

“Uh… y-yes…”

“And, up until sixty years ago, everybody thought the atom was the smallest thing ever, until some dudes split it open and this whole bunch of other stuff came out?”

“Um… y-y-yes, I suppose…”

“Okay, so, one last question, Great-Uncle Ford,” Mabel said. “Is there the teeny tiny-est possibility that you and every other scientist could be wrong about evolution?”

Ford was absolutely dumbfounded. He looked at Dipper and Stan for some sort of assistance or reassurance, but they only peered at him, interested in what Ford had to say now. The aged scientist cleared his throat; his niece’s logic certainly added up, and with all of that said, he felt that he was obligated to swallow his pride and croak out slowly, “There is a teeny… tiny… possibility… that I could be wrong, yes.”

Mabel blinked and put her hands over her heart in shock. Ford was ready to apologize if he had accidentally made her feel that he was so strict and by-the-book that he wouldn’t have enough humility to admit he could be wrong, but his jaw dropped when she said, “I can’t believe you caved.”

“Wh-What?”

“You just abandoned your whole belief system…”

“N-N…”

“... I mean, I didn’t agree with you, gut at least I respected you.”

“B-B-But…”

“Oh my gosh, how are you gonna go to another science convention?”

“I…”

“How will you ever set foot in another museum or planetarium again?” Mabel gasped sadly. “How are you going to face the other science guys? H-How are you going to face yourself?” And she puckered her lips innocently at her uncle, feeling sorry for him.

Ford had absolutely no clue what the heck just happened or how to respond. Feeling numb and needing a moment to digest, he slowly rolled up the poster, but rather than carry it in his hand, he cradled it like it was his own first born son, and hurried back down to the basement with as much dignity as he could muster.

“That was fun.” Mabel said casually as she popped another bite of Stancake into her mouth.

#GF #mabel pines #grunkle ford #gravity falls #fanfiction #I hope you liked it! #also hope no one got offended #mabel totally likes science #she's just doesn't like to limit things to only ONE possibility

[pi-cat000]

MSA time travel idea (part 39)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Vivi POV, 8, 9, 10, Lewis POV, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Lance POV 18, 19, Lewis POV 2, 21 , 22, Vivi POV 2, 24, 25  Lewis POV 3,  Mystery POV , Vivi POV 3, 29, Lewis POV 4, 31, ViVi POV 4 , 33, 34, Lewis POV 5, Mystery POV 2, Lewis POV 6, Vivi POV 5

Part 40: here

...

LEWIS POV

Lewis comes to welcome the dark interludes which provide a brief reprieve from the parade of fake-Arthur-memories. The cold, empty silence is preferable to the increasingly dour scenes depicting the day-to-day struggles of fake-Arthur and fake-Vivi as they fail at dealing with fake-Lewis’s death. Not that either of them know about his death. Arthur doesn’t remember the cliff or the body snatcher, thinking fake-Lewis is alive and lost somewhere. Vivi doesn’t remember him at all. He’s been erased completely from her mind, leaving her confused and Arthur distraught.  Lewis has no idea how long he’s spent watching them struggle. The scenes come and go at varying lengths and changing levels of detail.  He must have lived through several weeks’ worth of fake-memories now. Months of Arthur’s life flit by, broken up into chunks. 

...

A conversation with Vivi, trying and failing to convince her that the other-Lewis had existed at all.

“Lewis…you know, Lewis. Please remember.”

“I’m sorry, I blanked out for a second there…what were you saying?” 

“Nothing. It’s nothing…”

“Oh shit…I was...how long was I out for this time?”

“An hour...You were gone for an hour.”

 “I’m sorry Arthur.” 

“Don’t worry about it. Was my fault…Mentioned something I shouldn’t have.”

Fights with Lance when the older man attempts to intervene and stop Arthur’s increasingly destructive behaviour.   

“This behaviour isn’t healthy.”

“What am I supposed to do!”

“Maybe, stop and actually think about this…” 

“Lewis is out there somewhere, and you want me to just give up!”

Hours spend online and in police stations trying to convince people to look for the other-Lewis. 

“Kid. You’re friend is listed as missing. We have alerts out in the neighbouring states and so far there’s been no word. Search parties, caving experts, were combing those old mine shafts for six days after you came in. There was nothing there.”

“Something happened there...something bad...if you would just...”

“The cave is just a regular cave. Those old mines are old mines. Nothing weird or spooky about them, just very easy to get lost in. There’s nothing more to be done so go home, eat a hot meal, get some sleep. If your friend shows up you’ll be one of the first to know. ” 

...

 It’s like watching a highlight real, only nothing about these memories is a highlight. He’s almost sure the fake-memories are selected and purposefully skewed towards negative experiences. Surely, even if this were real-it’s not real, it can’t be real-Arthur’s life wouldn’t be this bad without Lewis there.  

When the darkness falls away, transitioning into another memory, Lewis wants to yell out in frustration.

…

…

…

Lewis’s eyes open of their own accord and he’s looking out at the world, experiencing life from his friend’s perspective.

…

…

This memory starts with Arthur staring as a door handle, hesitating to pull it open. Lewis recognises it of course, he’s seen this door serval times, scattered in amongst the most recent lot of fake-memories. It’s the door to Vivi and Arthur’s apartment in Milton, faded green in colour and rusted around the hinges.

Arthur lets out a long breath which tranistions into a yawn, fiddling around with a set of keys with his one, good arm. Lewis tries not to worry when his friend drops the keys to the ground, hand slightly shakier than usual. Arthur probably hasn’t been sleeping properly. Not-sleeping is a running theme for this fake-memory-Arthur.

When the door does finally swing open, it is to reveal an irate Vivi. She is blocking the flat’s narrow entryway, her hands on her hips, expression creased into a scowl.

“In what universe does ‘I’ll be back early’ mean 11:30 pm?”

Arthur winces. Lewis can’t see his expression but his friend is probably grimacing. Most memories that feature both Vivi and Arthur involved an argument of some sort. Another form of torture for him no doubt. Seeing them struggle to come to terms with his disappearance was always a painful viewing experience. Lewis braces himself for some sort of emotionally charged argument, wishing he had the power to intervein. These fake-memories are some of the hardest to sit through.

“A lot of the guys in the lab work late hours.”

Vivi looks unimpressed, “And I suppose they’re all recovering from a recent amputation as well are they?”

“It’s been four months …It’s healed plenty.”

Lewis feels the echo sensation of pain as Arthur drops his bag to the floor, freeing up his remaining arm. Arthur lying to Vivi about his wellbeing is another common theme in these fake-memories. Vivi knows it too, Lewis can already see the tension in her shoulders.

“I’m fine,” Arthur tries to reassure, skirting around Vivi, avoiding eye contact. “The prototype for the new arm is almost done, we’re just waiting on the guys in programming to double-check some of the coding….”

“This new arm isn’t going to be worth much if you’re too exhausted to do anything with it.” Vivi interrupts angrily, following Arthur as he slinks past the small kitchen towards bedrooms at the back of the apartment.  

Lewis feels her grabs the back of Arthur’s shirts, pulling the other up short.

“I said I’m fin….wait.”

 Vivi drags Arthur to the narrow kitchen bench just big enough to fit two bar-chairs, ignoring his objections.

“Sit.” She orders, stopping over to the frig, pulling out a bowl and thrusting it into the microwave. The hum of the microwave makes the following quiet twice as uncomfortable. Even Lewis feels it.

Arthur clears his throat to speak and is cut off when the microwave lets off a loud ping.

Vivi all but slams the streaming bowl down in front of Arthur.

“You really don’t have to…” Arthur tries.

“Oh yeah? What did you eat for dinner?”

Silence.

“Lunch?”

“…”

“Because I only know you ate breakfast because I was there for it.”

More silence hangs between them.  

“Eat.” She instructs and glares until Arthur picks up the spoon. Lewis can feel Arthur shift in awkward discomfort as he starts eating. After living through so many of these fake-memories, Lewis is becoming an Arthur body language expert. 

“How was work?” Arthur breaks the silence, glancing at Vivi. She is sitting with her arms crossed, still upset, still annoyed. Lewis can read the worry fuelling her frustration clear as day. 

Her expression clears as she deliberately puts the issue of Arthur arriving late to one side, “Work was good. Duet is a real character but they’re nice and super knowledgeable when it comes to the occult and other supernatural stuff. They’re helping me research memory-related curses and whatnot. The first person, apart from you, who doesn’t think I’m crazy. So that’s a plus.”

“When my arm is fixed, we can hit the road and follow up on any leads you hear,” Arthur murmurs between mouthfuls and Lewis wishes he could face-palm because that is the exact wrong thing to say. Not for the first time, Lewis longs to be physically present so he can smooth over the sudden tension which spikes in the room.  “Or we could go before that…I mean…I don’t really need two arms.”

“It’s not urgent or anything,” Vivi responds with the forced cheer of someone holding back on speaking their mind. “I bleary notice that the memories are gone most days. Your arm is more important.”

 “Don’t say that,” Arthur stops eating to frown.

“Don’t say what? That I’m fine postponing the search for my memories for however long it takes you to get better?”

“That’s not…what I mean is that your memories are important.”

Vivi’s expression hardens, becoming terse, “Not more important than your health.”

Arthur tenses.

“My missing memories can wait,” She insists. “I’ve been doing fine without them. Especially now we live here and not in Tempo. I haven’t had a blackout since we moved.”

“It’s not just that…” Arthur retorts, frustrated.

“Then what.” Vivi snaps, almost yelling now, “Do you hear yourself speak?  ‘I don’t really need two arms,’…are you kidding me!  What could possibly be more important than your health.”

“You know I can’t tell you.”

Vivi lets out a long, frustrated breath, standing. “You promised, when we moved closer to the hospital labs, you promised that you’d make an effort to actually look after yourself.”

Arthur doesn’t respond as Vivi continues.  “When your arm is finished. When you look like an actual person and not a zombie. When we don’t have to have this conversation every day. Then we’ll go searching.”

The bar stool squeaks on the floor as Vivi pushes it back, “I’m going to bed. I’ve got work early tomorrow. You should sleep as well…when you’ve finished.”

A long silence stretches between his two friends, all the heat gone from the argument. Lewis can’t see Vivi anymore, Arthur’s vision is now fixed on his spoon which is resting on the lip of the bowl.

“I would tell you everything…if I could…” Arthur doesn’t look up. His voice is strained.

Vivi pauses in the doorway. “I know.” She sounds tired. Lewis’s heart aches. “That doesn’t change anything.” 

Arthur flinches.

A sigh and Vivi adds, “I better not find you awake in an hour because I’m going to set my alarm to check.”

“What?” Arthur finally looks up. “You can’t do that.”

“I can and will.”

“…but you just said you have work in the morning.”

“If you’re not gonna sleep then I’m not gonna sleep.”

“But….”

“Just the way it’s gotta be apparently,” Vivi finishes, strolling out of the room, leaving Arthur- and, through him, Lewis- to stare after her.

Arthur slumps, “God…damnit…” rubbing his eyes. There’s no anger to the word.

No matter how many times he’s seen Arthur and Vivi argue in the weeks and months following his counterpart’s death, it never got any easier.  They were both too stubborn for their own good. Arthur’s got a quiet, methodical stubbornness about him while Vivi is loud and abrasive. Mix that with emotional stress and an obvious concern for one another and the result was a whole load of tension. Lewis knows Arthur has low self-esteem and tendency to beat himself up and blame himself for stuff that definitely wasn’t his fault, but he’s never seen him this bad. It never seemed like that big a deal when both him and Vivi had been around to help.  Vivi too, he’s never see her so stressed and angry at seemingly everything.  Or maybe Lewis doesn’t know Vivi or Arthur as well as he thought he did. 

There is movement in the corner of the room and Lewis notices Mystery for the first time. The not-a-dog had been lying in the corner.

“What.”

Mystery just cocks his head to the side.

“I know you can understand me,” Arthur mutters, shifting with discomfort. Mystery doesn’t speak or do much of anything, trotting out of the room after Vivi. Not too surprising. Another trend in these illusions was that Mystery tended to just sit and watch.

Sometimes, Lewis wonders if he just imagined the whole ‘giant fox’ thing. His memories for the car park confrontation are fuzzy, he’d been in a lot of pain at the time and probably suffering a bit of blood loss. He’s lived through so many of these memories that the real would seams so far away. Then he remembers those shinning teeth biting into him, and very real physical pain. That was real. 

The real world was still out there. 

None of these memories were real. He had almost forgotten. 

“I’m not crazy,” Arthur murmurs, eyeing the dog uneasily before turning back to finish what’s left in his bowl. Lewis can’t read Arthur’s thoughts, but he suspects that his friend might be having similar doubts about Mystery’s true identity as well.

“I’ll find you, Lewis…”

For a second, Lewis thinks Arthur is addressing him directly before remembering that that’s impossible. This fake-memory-Arthur is addressing the ghost of a best friend he doesn’t know is dead. Lewis is only a passenger, watching life through Arthur’s eyes, invisible and stranded.

“I’ll find you …no matter what it takes. I’ll find you. And everything will go back to normal…”

…

…

…

The memory fades, darkening and Lewis is once again back in the dark.

...

...

...

“DAMNIT!”

He slams both fists into the ground, watching the darkness ripple under the impact. His yell doesn’t echo, swallowed by the nothing.

“Damnit…DAMNIT…DAMN IT ALL!”

Feelings of frustration and anger smother his hurt and sorrow. He growls, smashing his fist into the ground again. If this were the real world, he’d have to worry about bruising his knuckles or breaking his fingers. The void offers little in the way of resistance. 

“I GET IT, ALL RIGHT! They’re miserable…they’re struggling…I get the point!”

Nothing responds to his shouting. He’s alone. He shouts again, screaming into the void. He’s stopped questioning the motive behind what he was seeing long ago. They were illusions masquerading as his friend’s memories. Designed to hurt him as much as you can hurt a person without touching them.

“Just stop already!” He rages. Nothing responds.

 Fury, white-hot, is better than the creeping sadness threatening to drown him. Sure, being angry about things had never worked well for him in the past. He’d been a very angry child and it was only thanks to his adopted patents and then Vivi and Arthur that he’d put the unpleasant emotion behind him.

None of that mattered here. Here, in the dark, the anger is his only defence against the green bastard’s torture.

Lewis regrets not punching the asshole when he had the chance. He wishes he’d done a lot of things differently. Lewis continues yelling right up until the dark once again fades into another memory.

..

NOTE: Resurrecting this fic in anticipation for a possible new video maybe? One can only dream. Sorry if it reads slightly different, i’m a bit rusty.  

Part 40: here

#MSA #mystery skulls animated #arthur kingsmen #Lewis pepper #angst #despression #interpersonal conflict #coarse language #HEAVY ANGST #lewis has a bad time #getting stuck watching anther person's memories? is there even a tag for this? #fanfic