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whats-rambled-rambled · 3 years

Text

Long Nights - part 2

Neil x Reader

Chapter 2: Praise you

(see chapter 1)

summary: you found tremendous joy in coming up with new ways to make the lockpicking sessions challenging. And entertaining.

...even if the last part was mostly a one-sided thing.

warnings: 18+, explicit language, teasing, implied smut I guess? oh, and of course - ✨hand content✨

author’s note: Took me a while, but it was fun to write! Didn’t expect it to get this long, but here we are - over 4,2k words of shameless hand content

The song for this chapter is Fatboy Slim - Praise you

Anyway, enjoy! All feedback is greatly appreciated, let me know what you think?

——————

Tag list: @vaneilla @gallifreyan-uprising @ergunbilge @invertedneil @wanderedaway @truly-insatiable (let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list)

-----

You cracked it.

It took you a good while, though. A whole sleepless night, even.

And half of the morning after that.

But maybe the absolute exhaustion was the key, pun intended.

At first, it boggled your mind so much that you were dangerously close to using brute force just to examine that lock. You tried every technique that you could think of - to no effect. It wasn’t like anything you’d seen before. The mechanism wasn’t responding as usual, it was more like a thing from goddamn Upside Down, or however the fuck that was called.

It became a matter of pride.

The sun had risen over an hour ago and the sunlight was pouring through the gaps in the blinds. Grasping at the last strands of sanity, you decided to take a break. You put on your headphones and danced around your apartment to the sounds of a song with that one bloody line that somehow seemed fitting for this madness.

Is it worth it? Let me work it, I put my thang down, flip it and reverse it

Because it felt exactly like that was what had happened to it. And no amount of cursing and switching tools would help in the face of glitched reality.

And when you sat down at your desk again, with your head so empty that your last brain cell was amusing itself by yodeling and listening to an echo, you bound the first pin. The sound was so distorted it almost startled you. The last thing you needed right then was to break the hook inside the keyway, so you leveled your breath and continued, even though your fingers cramped painfully. That wasn’t enough to stop you. Not as you finally got proof that the task was actually within your reach.

With every click like a backwards version of the sound you knew so well, the next pins got set quicker and smoother. And when you opened the lock, you couldn’t help the cheerful scream that escaped your mouth.

“Fuck yes!” You punched the air, the adrenaline rushing through your veins, the biggest grin lighting up your face.

That’s when you knew there was no way you were going to sleep anytime soon. Besides, you still didn’t know how you managed to convince that device to cooperate. You had to prove to yourself that it wasn’t dumb luck, and should you ever come upon a bloody nightmare like that, you’d be able to use the experience to crack it open. Because of that, you spent the next couple of hours reverse-picking it (which turned out to be another level of bonkers) to lock the damn thing, only to open it back again. And again. And then three times more. When you got comfortable with the process, your eyes were burning, your fingers stiff and trembling, but the immense satisfaction was worth every bit of it.

You were about to crash on the bed as your phone buzzed, and you glanced at the incoming message.

//did you pick it?

At first, you assumed you got it from Mahir, but as you were typing in a long rant, you realized that there was no history of the previous conversations on the screen, so you checked the sender again.

Neil.

Huh.

You’d exchanged the numbers the day before, but you didn’t expect to hear from him until they got everything ready to start the lessons. Oh well. You snapped the picture of the open lock and sent it back, adding a short message.

//that was fun, hope you have more of them

As you faceplanted on the bed, the phone buzzed with a reply.

//N: you bet

You couldn’t wait to get all the answers about how they managed to manufacture the most bizarre and mind-bending thing you’d ever seen, but there was no point in asking those questions over the phone. Plus, you really needed to get some rest.

//awesome! now excuse me, imma get some Zs - let me know when you guys are ready to start

After a second, you typed in another text.

//ps. how’s your nose?

//N: will do, sleep well!

//N: as for my nose...let’s say I’m glad it wasn’t the straightest one in the first place

That cheeky bastard.

//hey, don’t try to guilt-trip me, i’m trying to sleep

You almost drifted off, but you couldn’t resist checking that last notification.

//N: ...I wouldn’t dare

Snorting, you rolled to the side.

Then you fell asleep, dreaming of the impossible locks.

-------

It took them another day to prepare all the stuff, and after several further messages you got a date and location.

The building looked like a contemporary tenement house, definitely standing out from two older ones at its sides. You always assumed it belonged to one of those fancy start-ups, but apparently it was some sort of temporary headquarters of your new associates.

It didn’t surprise you that you weren’t given a tour of the place, you assumed you needed to have some sort of clearance to walk freely through the area. For now, you were restricted to the ground floor, or rather to the lobby and your classroom - a rather cozy space, but equipped with everything you needed to begin.

Neil turned out to be a fast learner, at least when it came to covering the theoretical side of lockpicking. You walked him through the basics, but you couldn’t help the itch in the back of your brain. After the encounter with the preposterous lock, your mind started to question everything that used to be unshakeable.

And of course you asked Neil about that bloody device as soon as you saw him, but he just smiled lightly and said that The Protagonist insisted on telling you all that himself when the time was right. So you had nothing left to do but to continue with the lessons, hoping that you the man himself would decide to grace you with his presence sooner than later.

You propped the chin on your hand and watched as Neil grabbed the tools. Your gaze wandered over his outrageously long fingers as he gave the lock a try, but apparently, the most idiotic grin on your face didn’t go unnoticed.

“Hey, eyes up here,” snorted Neil, and you looked at him just to meet his amused face. He caught you shamelessly staring, and there was no point in denying it.

Trying to salvage your mental coherence, you choked out, “Dude, your hands are--”

“What?” he asked, tilting his head.

“...huge,” you finished, the wide smile not leaving even for a second. You bit your lip and glanced back at Neil. “Don’t mind me, I’m just gonna stare for a bit longer.”

A hint of a blush crept upon his cheeks. My, oh my. Blinking rapidly, he cleared his throat and proceeded to bind the first pin, pressing his mouth into a thin line in an attempt to keep a composed demeanor. The sparkles in his gaze were quite telling, though.

The sight was utterly adorable, but more importantly, it planted a rather gut-busting idea into your head.

You stifled a giggle.

All in due time.

____

One of the perks of the location was a small cafe on the other side of the street.

Neil took you there on your second day during a break, walking in with a confidence of a true regular. He knew the staff by name and vice-versa, so it didn’t surprise you as he charmed his way through the conversation.

“I’ve got this,” he said, raising a hand to stop you before you could place your order. “One black coffee and one--...” he hesitated, still preventing you from chiming in. You crossed your arms and watched as his forehead creased, the confidence leaving him with every second passed. He narrowed his eyes, and you could almost hear the gears grinding in his head.

Whatever he was doing, or trying to do, it was time to put him out of his misery.

“Iced mocha for me, please,” you said, wondering which one of you had a more puzzled expression. “Cat got your tongue?”

Neil shook his head.

“No, it’s just…” - he let out a small sigh - “I can’t read you.”

“Good,” you snorted. “Why would you want to, anyway?”

The young barista smiled, putting the first coffee on the counter.

“Oh, your colleague here has a thing.”

“Oh?” You arched a brow. “Do tell!”

“It’s nothing,” said Neil, cringing slightly, but it wasn’t enough to prevent the enthusiastic answer from spilling from the barista.

“He likes to guess the orders of his companions, but this is prolly the first time I ever saw him freeze like that. Can’t wait to tell Doris!”

Neil groaned, avoiding your amused stare. “Spare me, Max.”

“Aww, man, I’m honored to be your first!” you teased, nudging his arm lightly and snickering at the absolutely done face he gave you in return.

That cafe quickly became your place of choice during breaks, but sometimes, if the weather was nice enough, you ordered to-go, just to spend that bit of free time between lockpicking sessions sitting on a grassy hill overlooking a bank of the river. You chatted about everything and nothing in particular, or simply sat in silence, enjoying the ambiance, beverages, and each other’s company.

The last thing took you by surprise, in a way. You’d expected those brief moments of a break during the day to be your sacred moments of solitude, the usual necessity to avoid getting too cranky around people. As Neil joined you on that second day, you found out that his presence was not bothering you, or at least your social batteries weren’t being drained in their regular manner. Sure, it probably helped that he was incredibly easy on the eyes, but a real treat were those moments when you ventured onto a territory he felt strongly about. In a wink, he was ready to drop his typical composure just to go straight into bubbly rants, gesturing wildly, the blue irises lit by the fire that he most often kept under wraps.

There was nothing more boring than people who lacked passion.

Lucky for you, that was not the case with Neil.

Moreover, he made you laugh.

A dangerous combination.

Alluring, even.

Good thing that you were not one to become smitten that easily.

That didn’t mean you couldn’t have some fun, though.

--------

“You need to listen to what the lock has to say,” you prompted, pacing through the room and watching as Neil struggled with a new type of mechanism. “It’s all about feedback.”

He pulled out the tools and rubbed his face, trying to hide the first hints of frustration.

“What if we apply heavier tension to amplify it?” he said and glared at the lock as if it was taunting him from its place on the practice stand.

“Sure, “ - you leaned over the table to rest the chin on your laced fingers - “but can you think of any reasons not to do that, my dear Physics Boy?”

“The higher possibility of breaking tools?”

“Precisely,” you said as you snapped and pointed your fingers. ”Also, you risk binding the pins too tightly and you wouldn’t want that, either.”

Neil sighed and slumped his shoulders.

“So...patience, then?”

“Yes,” you beamed. “It really comes down to one thing - you have to feel it.”

A corner of his lips twitched. “I’ve heard it before,” he said, shifting in his seat.

You shrugged, eyeing him curiously.

“Maybe because that’s one universally useful advice?”

“Would help if I understood it, too.” He gave you a weak smile, but his expression told you he wasn’t convinced.

You hummed in acknowledgment.

“Listen, I can smarten it up for you, but let me just show you what I mean.” You grabbed the second pair of tools from the table and placed them inside the keyway, but as soon as you opened your mouth to provide some follow-up instructions, you got struck by a better idea. Your eyes flared up. “Okay, know what? I’m just gonna-- if you could scoot back a bit--...” you said, shuffling in his direction. Neil’s brows snapped together in consternation, but he moved back. Without further ado, you sat down in front of him, nestling yourself between his spread legs on the edge of the chair, and let out a content sigh. “Should be easier now. Put your hands on mine.“

Neil tensed, and you could swear you heard him swallowing hard behind your back. He followed your suggestion, wrapping his arms around you and placing his hands on top of yours.

“Now, lay your fingers on the tools just above mine,” you continued as you slid your digits back to make more room for him. “Great, try not to press them and focus. Close your eyes, if you want.” As you gently moved the tools, you couldn’t resist but to add, “You can breathe though, you know?”

“Blimey.”

You giggled at the sarcastic bit in his tone and drew a long breath, hoping that Neil would follow it, and focused back on the lock. Purposefully slowing down your movements to allow him to feel how the mechanism responded to your ministrations, you kept sliding the hook back and forth the keyway, setting pin after pin. Neil relaxed after a moment, his shallow breath ghosting over your shoulder got deeper and more steady. His palms rested heavier on your hands, and you marveled at their size again, nibbling on your bottom lip. With all your senses sharpened, you stole a brief moment of self-indulgence, closing your eyes and relishing in the warmth radiating from Neil, the way it enveloped you, carrying a scent of his cologne - airy citrus undertones mixed with hints of powdery musk, a fresh and unostentatious combination you found fitting him so well.

The final click, more pressure and voilà - the lock was open.

“Did you feel it?” you asked softly, weirdly unwilling to move, hoping to linger in the position for a little while longer.

“Yes,” said Neil, and his husky voice made you turn your head to look at him. As he pulled his hands back somewhat hesitantly, you noticed his dazed expression and slightly flushed cheeks.

“Good,” you chirped, grinning, then reached out over your shoulder and lightly booped his nose, enjoying probably a bit too much the way his eyes widened. “Your turn.”

-----

Days. Weeks. Or was it months, plural?

You lost track of how much time had passed since that morning in the Old Town district.

The progress was counted by the number of models you introduced to Neil, showing him all the tricks you’d learned over the years. You still waited for the meeting with The Protagonist, although, ever since your student spilled a little too much information during one of his enthusiastic rants at the breaks (seriously, how could a person that bad at keeping secrets survive so long in any sort of spying business was beyond you), your initial curiosity itch had been scratched, and you were now in that blessed moment before it got unbearable again and demanded taking further actions.

It also helped that you found tremendous joy in coming up with new ways to make the lockpicking sessions challenging. And entertaining. Even if the last part was mostly a one-sided thing.

Neil was clearly feeling confident that evening. He really started to get a hang of this, and you loved watching him like that - fully focused, blonde strands falling to the eyes, with the tip of the tongue poking out...

It would be a shame if someone was to test his level of concentration.

“You know, I spend so much time looking at your hands that they recently started making cameos in my dreams.”

The blue eyes darted at you from under raised brows.

“Is that so?" asked Neil, switching his attention to the lock again.

“Yep. Mind you, most of those dreams are rather uneventful.” You pouted, sliding from your place on the windowsill. “Still waiting for one that is not so boringly PG-13.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line and swallowed with effort.

...warmer...

Circling the table, you stopped behind Neil’s chair.

"I’m just saying,” - leaning over, you purred right into his ear - ”that such long fingers like yours can give a girl all sorts of ideas--"

Snap.

You bit back a satisfied smile and smacked your tongue. “Those were perfectly fine tools, you know.”

Neil turned in his seat and gaped at you.

“Why are you like this?” he complained, helpless and flustered.

You shrugged. “I thought it was a high time for a little stress test. Might come in handy later.” Snickering at his puzzled face, you added, “What? You’re not exactly in a stress-free line of work.”

He shook the head lightly and scoffed. “... yeah, I see your point,” he said, a corner of his mouth curling into a half-smile. “But I don’t think there’s a high risk of someone trying to seduce me in the field.”

“Do you think that’s what I’m doing?” you asked, arching a brow, your tone nothing but serious.

“I-...”

The panicked look on his face as he blinked rapidly was more than enough to break your deadpan façade.

“Oh man, I’m just pulling your leg. You should’ve seen your face though.” Giggling, you grabbed a fresh lock from a shelf and tossed it to Neil. He sighed and replaced the messed-up device. “Besides,” you continued, “if there is one thing that the espionage movies have taught me, it’s that the spy always has plenty of beautiful creatures willing to keep his bed warm.”

The playful sparks appeared in Neil’s eyes.

“Is this a very elaborate way of asking me if I’m seeing someone or are you volunteering?”

Well, well, well.

“What if it’s both?”

“Then the first answer is no. As for the second one--” he hesitated, tugging the bottom lip between the teeth. “...a follow-up question - is it a good idea?”

You tilted your head, sitting down on the edge of the table in front of him.

“Why?”

“What if it’s gonna make things… I don’t know, weird?”

You gestured vaguely. “Can’t get any weirder than all your timey-wimey, inverted entropy bullshit.”

“That’s not exactly--”

“I know what you meant,” you sighed and met his darkened gaze, a shade of smile tainting your lips. “And yet, you’re trying to appeal to my reason while looking at me like that.” You left your seat and grabbed your backpack. “It’s getting late. Finish with this one and get some rest.”

Then you left, not waiting for a reply.

It was one of the warm nights and you decided to take a walk. A promenade near the river was not as crowded as you expected, making your journey home way more enjoyable. With your favourite tunes seeping through the headphones, you took in the view, the city lights reflecting in the water only added to the ambiance.

The phone buzzed in your pocket.

//N: I can’t believe you left like that

You chuckled, texting him back.

//why, you had any plans?

The answer came almost instantly.

//N: maybe

He was adorable. But--

//have you finished with the lock?

//N: …no

//N: wait are you gonna use our conversation as some sort of motivational tool now

Even if you weren’t, after getting a message like that?

You just had to.

//maybe?

//N: jesus

//sex is but a great metaphorical carrot. besides - it’s all about that delayed gratification and whatnot

A moment of silence.

And then:

//N: you’re evil.

That spiteful period at the end got you snickering loudly, earning you some curious looks.

A huge grin lit up your face.

//gn <3

-----

You must admit, that game was quite exciting.

And Neil was getting better at it, and soon implying became no longer enough to make him lose his focus.

At first, it was relatively easy to prompt a blush or a slight tremble of a hand. But with every next attempt, he grew more and more resilient, and soon, the only indication that he heard you was the fire burning in his eyes.

Then you got really mean, throwing some ambitious tasks in front of him, tricky locks and complex mechanisms, as your teasing got more straightforward.

And descriptive.

It became hard to shake it off once you left the training room. The lingering looks. The accidental touches. The atmosphere, almost electric. In other words - the heat sink was ready to be popped, and it was no longer a matter of if, but more of when.

“4 minutes.”

Neil barely nodded, lips pressed together and brows knitted in concentration.

3 locks in 15 minutes. Difficult, but doable, considering his current level of skill. Too bad he’d slacked at the second one, not leaving too much time for the final push. Sure, you didn’t go easy on him along the way, but the real challenge was supposed to be a race against the clock, so now you just watched him with bated breath.

Click.

You checked the time.

“45 seconds”

“Goddamnit!” he uttered through gritted teeth, readjusting cramping fingers on the tools.

“Come on, you’ve got this,” you said, taking a step closer.

Another click.

He didn’t know that there was only one pin left to set. You did, that’s why you tried your best not to reveal it with your expression. Too early to celebrate, anyway.

“Nine... eight… seven… six… five…”

That’s when you heard a final click and you looked up from your phone, only to see the lock giving in and opening up.

“Yeah!” Neil cheered, banging a fist on the table and tossing the tools away.

You smiled, hiding the phone in the pocket. “Good job, I knew--” but before you could finish a sentence, Neil sprung up from his chair and closed the gap between you, then cupped your face with his palms and kissed you hungrily.

You froze for a second, but as your mind caught up, you kissed him back, tugging at the light blue shirt. He smiled against your lips and made you back away until you hit the wall, huffing at the sudden coldness of the surface. But he was bent on kissing you senseless until you both ended up gasping for air.

“You’re so paying for all that teasing,” he panted, running the tip of the tongue through his swollen lips. “Not to mention, you’ve given me a few fascinating ideas, and I’m very much willing to give them all a try.”

You grinned, fighting with your evidently short-circuiting brain for a grasp of coherence as his hands traveled down your body.

“My, my, all of them?”

“The night is young,” - his throaty chuckle sent a wave of heat through your body - “and I’m up for a challenge.”

“I’m counting on it,” you breathed, burying your fingers in his hair, and pulling him into a kiss again.

Actually, the challenge started right away, and that meant getting to Neil’s place, as the company conveniently rented him a room in a nearby hotel. Walking distance, but in your current quite heated state, every distance seemed way too long. Especially when you had to keep up appearances.

At least until the elevator’s door closed behind you.

The dark gaze fixed on you. Your breaths intertwining. His bottom lip between your teeth. The five o’clock shadow under your fingertips. Your hands sliding under his shirt. His knee parting your legs. The intoxicating smell of his cologne. Your quiet moan. His tongue slipping into your mouth--

A quiet sound announced you reached your floor, and you stumbled out into the corridor, giggling, unable to keep hands and lips off each other.

Your back hit the door, barely missing the knob. Without skipping a beat, Neil reached to the pocket of his pants, then into the other one. When he tried the third one, you broke the kiss, your expression nothing but innocent.

“Looking for this?” you asked, showing him a key card.

He furrowed his brows. “Yes, thank you, I don’t know how--...” he started, but when he tried to snatch his property, you hid your hand behind your back. His jaw went slack as it dawned on him and he stared at you in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am.”

He groaned.

“You’re unbelievable,” he uttered as he pulled out his wallet. “Credit card?”

“Only if you’re not overly attached to it.” The roguish lights danced in your gaze. “Especially when you’re in a hurry,” you hinted, palming over the bulge in his pants. Neil squeezed his eyes shut, biting back a moan, and you stifled a chuckle. “Try any membership card.”

He glared at you. “You’re so in for it, you have no idea.”

“Promises, promises,” you pouted, trying not to burst into laughter at his wounded expression. “Work it.”

“Gladly, just tell me what to do.”

So you walked him through the process.

Fortunately, Neil really was a fast learner, making the door give way in no time.

“Good boy,” you hummed, and the blue eyes flared up.

He crashed his lips on yours, closing the door behind you.

Then he gave you a taste of what was coming for you.

And then some more.

And then…

...he gave you all.

(next chapter ->)

#neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet fanfiction #neil tenet #robert pattinson #tenet #tenet fanfiction #long nights

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

Text

Title: Kismet {2}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Plot Heavy, Slow Burn, Mild Cursing, Flirtation

Words: 4.9k

Summary: Aliya is a singer turned model turned actress. Since she was fifteen, she’s been creating her empire in the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous fashion model/designer and Hollywood director, you’d think life is easy for her, but her past has been anything but easy. Due to past trauma, she’s forever changed and no longer trusts any man that is not in her family and a select few in her team. She’s sworn off love and serious relationships and has planned never to fall again, but love isn’t something that can be planned. It just happens when it’s meant to. Can Aliya outrun a love that seems hellbent on holding tight to her, a love that is Kismet?

Note: I did something a little different this chapter with POVs. You’ll see it toward the end. Let me know if it was confusing or if you guys liked it. Also there are Google Translations in text. If they are wrong, I apologize. I hope you enjoy this. ❤️❤️

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘 As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

Previous Chapters: 1 |

-Henry-

He could feel the eyes of those around him. He’d been recognized. You’d think that years of being in the industry, he’d be immune to the stares, whispers, and not so discreet pictures of him being taken. He was not. It was always like the first time. It was difficult for him not to feel self-conscious about it either. Doing a once over of the restaurant, he made a mental note of where everyone who looked suspicious was. Most of them looked away when they saw him looking around, but there were a few bold ones who kept looking and even one or two extra bold who tried to make eye contact while giving the classic seductress lip bite. When that happened, he usually gave a quick, polite nod before looking away, never to look back.

Tonight was no different, except he couldn’t stop thinking about one woman—you. It wasn’t enough that he’d dreamt of you last night in ways that were unexpected seeing how he’d just unofficially met you. He couldn’t explain how he felt. It was strange and new. He’d met beautiful women before, women that were drop dead gorgeous with an equally amazing and impressive body. The physical aspects of you were not what was keeping him enthralled. It was something else, something he saw in your eyes when he held you, something his body felt once he touched your skin, something his heartfelt when you spoke. It was unexplainable at this time, but just because he couldn’t explain it didn’t mean he couldn’t dwell on the feeling.

“Dude, I’ve been calling and texting you all night. What the hell?”

Jean, had his arms stretched out nonverbally, asking, “what the hell?”

“You have?”

“Yeah. Pick up your phone,” Jean finished.

“I didn’t know. I don’t have my phone,” he replied as he leaned back. The eyes of his three friends dropped to the table where your phone was. It looked identical to his.

“It’s right there, man,” William said, pointing to it.

“This isn’t mine.”

“Uh, it looks like yours,” Jameson informed.

“Yeah, but it’s not.”

They all looked confused. Stifling his laughter, he began explaining to them. He knew they were probably going to lose their minds.

“Yesterday, I had a meeting about Witcher, so I’m coming off the elevator on my phone, and I run smack into Aliya Taylor.”

The eyes of the gents around him widened as they sat up more alert.

“Thee Aliya Taylor?” Nodding his answer to Jameson, he gulped his Guinness before continuing.

“She almost falls over, so my reflexes kick in, and I catch her and set her upright. She recovers and gets on the elevator. I pick up what I thought was my phone, but I just spent the last night realizing that this is not my phone,” he finished.

The three of them sat there silently, each thinking over the bit of news he’d just shared. Saying it out loud, it sounded like a plot from a romcom. It was absolutely ridiculous. Things like these never happen in real life.

“So, you have Aliya Taylor’s phone.”

“I have Aliya Taylor’s phone, and she has mine,” he laid out.

Jameson, his oldest friend, slid back with a shocked expression on his face. “Wow. That’s bonkers.”

Releasing a chuckle, he nodded in agreement.

“So, what have you doing on her phone?”

He knew that was going to be William’s next question. He could also guess another one of his questions was going to be about your pictures.

“What you would find on a typical woman’s phone,” he answered.

“So, selfies, nudes, clothes, and makeup?”

The laughter around the table filled the space around them, giving him enough of a reprieve to drink down some more of his Guinness.

“Not sure about the nudes. I saw a half nude then stopped. I felt weird like I was violating her privacy.”

“The better question is, what’s on your phone, mate?” That was when he made a face knowing full well what might be on his phone.

“There might be a few nudes,” he admitted. His friends laughed again, but he didn’t find it funny at all. “Oh Christ, I hope she hasn’t seen them.”

“Mate, Aliya Taylor could be checking out your knob right now and fancying what she sees,” Jean teased.

“Shut up. She hasn’t called. I’m sure she knows by now that it’s not her phone,” he audibly thought.

“Just like you know. Call her,” Jameson urged.

He sat there for a few moments thinking about if that were the right move rather than a text. His friends could see his hesitation. So passed the next five or so minutes with them trying to convince him a call was the best option. With a unanimous decision, he picked up the phone as his friends squeezed in to look.

“Aw, flowers how adorable,” William teased. He ignored their laughter and dialed his number. He had no idea if you’d pick up or not.

The phone rang three times, and just when he thought you weren’t going to pick up, he heard your voice. It was soft and hesitant.

“Hello?”

Silence. His eyed automatically widened as he froze. His friends around him motioned to him, telling him to speak. That was when his brain restarted.

“Yes, hi. This is Henry—Cavill. I bumped into you; we bumped into each other yesterday.”

“Right, yes,” you confirmed in a professional voice. He wondered if you were slightly freaking out as much as he was on the inside. If you were, you sounded nothing but calm and collected.

“It looks like I might have your phone,” he breached.

“And I might have yours.”

“It seems that way.”

The silence stretched again, but it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable.

“Would you like to make a plan to exchange them back? Maybe coffee tomorrow, or brunch?”

His mouth said it before his brain caught it. Once it was out, he cringed. He sounded sleazy with a touch of desperate. It was not a good look either way. Your silence told him you thought the same thing.

“Are you asking me out or to meet up to get your phone back?”

It was a good question, one he didn’t have enough confidence to answer.

“I can’t tomorrow anyway. I’m actually in London right now working. I won’t be back in LA for about a week and a half,” you informed.

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry for the inconvenience. If you like, I can have my assistant mail it to you express. You should get it by tomorrow night,” you suggested.

“I would rather exchange hand to hand. My phone has a lot of very personal stuff on it.”

“As does mine,” you added.

“I would suspect so. The most secure thing would be when you return to LA,” he countered.

“Can you go without a phone for that long?”

A smile spread across his face. “I’ll be using yours.”

Your laughter was loud and unexpected. He couldn’t help but smile wider because of it. He wondered what you looked like while you laughed. Catching a glimpse of his friends’ faces, he wiped the smile off his face and shook the thought away.

“Feel free to use mine,” he added.

“And is someone important calls like Spielberg or a Francesca?”

That was when he knew you’d looked in his phone. He wasn’t angry. He was filled with something else—regret maybe. Regret that you’d seen things that he couldn’t explain then and there or beforehand. His friends all had the same look on their faces. It was one that said he’d been caught.

“If it’s Spielberg, yes, answer on the first ring.”

Again, you laughed. You were good for his ego; he thought to himself before continuing.

“Francesca, no need to answer, we have nothing to talk about.” It was the truth. “What about if it’s Tyra Banks or Liam or Jesse. Do I answer?”

The silence stretched for several long moments. He wondered if you would answer, and his friends looked equally interested. What seemed like a long while later, he heard you speak again.

“Tyra Banks answer at your own risk, she’ll pump you for info until you’re blue in the face. If it’s Liam or Jesse, if I were you, I wouldn’t. They have strong jealous tendencies.”

The answer was unexpected, and it was an answer he didn’t quite like. “Who doesn’t these days,” he stated. Neither of you spoke for a few moments after.

“So, a week and a half?”

“Sounds like a date,” he responded. You giggled. He liked the sound of it.

“Date?”

“Yes, a date,” he confirmed.

“I never said anything about a date.”

“I know, but I also know there was some sort of spark between us yesterday, and I know you felt it too.”

Again you were quiet. Yeah, it was bold, but he knew that he wouldn’t get any answers to the multitude of questions he had without some bold move forward.

“You’ll have your phone back in a week and a half. Goodbye, Henry,” you said before you ended the call.

Without knowing he’d been holding it, he released his breath and sat back in his seat.

“Jeez, she’s a firecracker,” Jameson professed.

That’s the least of it, he thought.

~~~~~~~

-Aliya-

Your time in London was hectic. You were all over the place. Your photoshoots took you all over the English countryside. You frolicked in green pastures, posed on trees, in trees. You rode horses and pretended to play cricket. You posed with English roses and having afternoon tea all the while in the latest in fashion, and all dolled up in makeup. When your days began at five in the morning, they didn’t end until ten at night. If they began at night, you were not back in your hotel room until six in the morning.

On the days your modeling responsibilities didn’t rule your schedule you worked within your company. You were still in the midst of putting out your first magazine that you hoped would be up to par with Vogue or Bazaar. The goal was to do what they did, just better, and geared for a more ethnic audience, but you were now working on ways to be a bit inclusive—but not much. You wanted black and brown people to feel included, seen, represented, and heard. It was a lot of work, but you knew it would be worth it. Your launch was scheduled for a few months from now, and your excitement was reaching epic proportions with each passing day.

This project was your baby, you put sweat, blood, tears, sleepless nights, and everything ounce of your energy into it. You sometimes neglected having a life for it, and that included dating. It was what you told yourself was the reason for your lack of dating. At the surface, it sufficed, but deep down, you knew you were full of shit. No one else had to know that, though. All anyone needed to know was that you liked to work, and you were damn good at everything you did. You made sure of it.

With your current phone situation, you used Henry’s phone to do everything. No one recognized the number, and when they saw it, they always wanted to question you on what was going on. You were thankful that whoever you called didn’t have his number, or else the caller ID would say his name whenever you called, then you’d have a lot of explaining to do.

On your fourth day in London, you were sitting in the tub soaking after a long day when his phone went off with a notification signifying a text. When you looked at it, you couldn’t help but smile.

MSG Your Phone: Travis and Jesse have called three times so far. I haven’t answered, but you have an overflow of messages and voicemails.

You smiled and wondered if he was fishing for details. When you reread the message, you tried to pick up on any hint of jealousy. There was none.

MSG Henry’s Phone: Francesca and Abby haven’t called, but the messages are overflowing. Would you like me to forward them?

After barely waiting a minute, another message came in.

MSG Your Phone: No. As I said, we have nothing to talk about. Would you like me to forward your voicemails?

Again you smiled. He was fishing.

MSG Henry’s Phone: Nah. They can wait.

You had to giggle. You didn’t plan on giving him not one detail.

MSG Your Phone: How is London treating you?

MSG Henry’s Phone: It’s fine.

MSG Your Phone: Did the sun come out for you?

MSG Henry’s Phone: Nope. Raining cats and dogs.

You sank deeper into the tub and took up the glass of wine you had rested at the side. After a decent sip, you placed the wine glass back and sighed.

MSG Your Phone: Glad to know mother nature treats you just as how she treats me.

MSG Henry’s Phone: Are you in London a lot?

MSG Your Phone: I mainly live in London. I come to LA for work but am spending more and more time here for work, or on location.

The thought popped into your head of where he lives. You wondered if you’d passed it. As soon as you began thinking about it, you pushed the thoughts out of your head.

MSG Henry’s Phone: Oh, so you’re a Brit. Interesting.

It was a stupid reply. Duh, he was a Brit, the accent in interviews you’d watched since bumping into him made it a dead giveaway. It was the only thing you could think of.

MSG Your Phone: What is that interesting?

MSG Henry’s Phone: I completely missed your accent.

It wasn’t a lie.

MSG Your Phone: You were rather distracted.

You couldn’t help but giggle again. It was adorable how confidant he was. This was not the first display of it. Deciding to throw him off, you shot your final text.

MSG Henry’s Phone: Gotta run, goodbye Henry.

Instead of putting the phone down, you reread the messages. With each message, you found yourself smiling wider and wider until you noted a giddy feeling rushing through you. Nipping it in the bud, you put the phone down and closed your eyes, deciding to focus only on relaxing. Unfortunately, the two hemispheres of your brain weren’t in agreement. One wanted Henry, the other wanted relaxation.

Two days of working and forcing yourself to focus on work and everything related to it found you drifting onto the side of overstressed and worked. Any normal human would do everything to alleviate the discomfort, but you, you did everything in your power to prolong it. You knew what the root of it was, and you didn’t want to entertain any parts of your growing curiosity about him. Though you didn’t want to entertain your thoughts about him, you found yourself two days later sitting on your hotel room balcony with a glass of wine thinking of no other but him.

MSG Henry’s Phone: Why don’t you have a lock code on your phone?

As you waited, you sipped from your glass and stared out to the London Eye. It was one of your favorite parts of the city. Sometimes at night, you liked to ride it and just think about your life. You especially liked having it stop at the top. It gave you such a beautiful view of the city and the lights it always took your breath away.

He heard the chime of the phone in the next room. He turned the flame on the stove down to low, so the sauce he had simmering wouldn’t thicken too quickly and made his way to his bedroom for the phone on the nightstand. When he took it up, his smile was wide when he saw his number and the name he’d designated himself as highlighted. When he opened it and read the message, he couldn’t stop the victory dance that he did around his two-bedroom home that went on for much longer than he’d ever admit to.

When he stopped, he was back in the kitchen, hovered over the counter.

MSG Your Phone: What do I need a code for?

As he anxiously waited for your reply, he put the phone on the counter several inches from him. He hoped this would stop him from sending message after message. When he realized that it wasn’t enough, his idle hands still wanted work, so he went back to stirring his pot.

His reply had you wrinkling your nose. He sounded so flippant about it.

MSG Henry’s Phone: Well, for one, you’re an actor with a lot of private high secret info regarding movies on your phone. Anything can get leaked. For two, this is the twenty-first century, and the average person has at least six pieces of incriminating material on their phones. That incriminating material can end up on TMZ or US Weekly, hell every Perez Hilton.

You couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of that. This was logic to you, logic you couldn’t believe no one else had.

He nearly laughed out loud from your message. This was definitely a concern of someone whose star of fame was up there in the stratosphere. He didn’t consider his fame to be anywhere near that high. Yeah, he had fans that ventured on highly over spirited, but on the ever swinging pendulum of fame, he was somewhere a few notches past middle ground. He was glad for it. Already he found his level of fame to be somewhat invasive and debilitating. He could not imagine dealing with your level of fame.

MSG Your Phone: I’m not nearly important enough for anyone to want to hack into my phone to blast info. Also, yes, this is the twenty-first century, but I am anything but the average man. That doesn’t apply to me.

You liked his reply. It said a lot about him but also left so many things hidden, things you absolutely wanted to know more about.

MSG Henry’s Phone: So, there is nothing on your phone that you wouldn’t want a stranger, me seeing?

You thought back to his pictures and the women in his text history and wondered how he would respond. This time you finished your wine with the raise of your hand and poured the remaining contents of the bottle into it as you waited for his reply.

Immediately his mind went to his suggestive nudes and the messages with Abby and Francesca. Those were the only two things he worried about.

MSG Your Phone: Yes, there are things I wouldn’t want you seeing. A stranger, I don’t really care.

Your message came in almost immediately.

MSG Henry’s Phone: What makes me so different? I am a stranger.

Smiling, he turned off the fire, took up the saucepan and poured the caramelized onion, garlic, butter, and wine sauce over his perfectly prepared steak. After putting the saucepan in the sink for washing later, he walked to the dining table with his steak and potatoes dish. He was still living on a high protein diet to keep himself in Witcher shape.

MSG Your Phone: So I’m a stranger?

MSG Your Phone: Yes. I don’t know you.

He thought about your words for a few moments as he sliced a piece of his steak to pop into his mouth. As he chewed, he knew the right response.

MSG Your Phone: Do you want to know me?

It was bold as hell. You couldn’t believe the words as you reread them for the fourth time. What the hell did you say to that? What did he expect you to say? What did you want to say? The only answer that fits every question was you didn’t know.

MSG Your Phone: Something easier then. Why don’t you have a code on your phone?

Sighing out in relief, you took a few gulps of your wine.

MSG Henry’s Phone: I did, I was in the process of changing it when I bumped into you and never completed it, so both were void.

MSG Your Phone: Oh, so it was fate then.

You almost rolled your eyes into the back of your head so far they got stuck.

MSG Henry’s Phone: Fate?

MSG Your Phone: Yes, fate that we bumped into each other at the exact moment you took the code off your phone and then happened to have lost your phone to me. Fate that gave me ten days to peruse it if I chose to. Fate that gave me ten days to make a plan.

Your smile was widening every second that ticked by. The man was charismatic.

MSG Henry’s Phone: A plan? To what exactly?

His smile was big. This was going just as he hoped. The only thing left for him to do was take it there.

MSG Your Phone: To make you mine.

He wished he could see your face right now.

Gasping for air, you continued to cough. The wine was still trapped in your windpipe. As you struggled for air, you tried to calm your panic. After several moments you found yourself able to catch a full breath.

“Holy shit,” you finally gasped. The man was bold as hell for real. You read the message again, and again each time the shock remained. You couldn’t believe he actually said that. A flirtatious feeling washed over you, and you decided to run with it.

MSG Henry’s Phone: You can’t make something or someone a possession that doesn’t want to be possessed.

MSG Your Phone: I think you want to be possessed.

Scoffing, you shook your head and stared at the London Eye again and looked over the lights of the city.

MSG Henry’s Phone: Are you sure?

As soon as you sent the message, his phone chimed again, except this wasn’t a message from him. It was from Abby. Almost instantly, a sour taste filled your mouth, and your face reflected that. It was like a slap to your face telling you to wake the hell up and come back to reality. That was when your bitch face came out to play.

MSG Your Phone: Pretty sure, but you tell me.

MSG Henry’s Phone: You should call Abby. She’s sent you fourteen messages today, most recent right now. Goodbye, Henry.

Closing out messages, you gently tossed his phone onto the small table on the balcony, grabbed your glass, and looked out over the city.

For the next four days, any message he sent you ignored. The one thought that kept racing through your head was that there were currently two women that were continually texting him. Though you didn’t know the specifics of why the whole situation screamed messy. You didn’t do messy; you didn’t do love triangles or squares, you didn’t do anything that screamed complicated or distracting. You didn’t care how attracted you were to him. You wouldn’t compromise your ideals for anyone—not again.

When he changed his tactics from texting to calling, you ignored those too. You were tempted to answer, and on several occasions, you almost did until your stubbornness triumphed. You were victorious until one night in your room as you soaked in the tub after another long day. His phone rang loudly. Somehow you knew it was him. You didn’t know how, but you knew. When you reached for it and glanced at the screen, you loudly groaned as your suspicions proved correct. Closing your eyes, you tried to decide on if you’d answer or not.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” His voice sounded so damn good, and by the way, your belly flipped, you knew it agreed.

“Hey,” you nonchalantly replied.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Uh, not really. Not unless you call catching me in the bath a bad time,” you teased.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Henry quickly stammered.

“It’s fine. How can I help you?”

Yeah, it was slightly cold, but maybe cold was the right way to be. “Hello? Henry?”

You heard him release a puff of breath. You could imagine what it smelled like. You couldn’t picture it.

“Whew, this is the second time I’ve heard you say my name, and it had the same effect as the first time.”

Your belly again flipped. It was becoming a normal reaction to his words.

“What was the effect of the first time?”

He didn’t speak immediately, and after a minute of silence, you wondered if he would.

“So I’m about two weeks away from finishing reshoots and prep for season two for Witcher and I really, really need some time off. I had no idea how much the process had run me down. I am physically exhausted,” he mentioned.

“A lot of action, huh. I saw some episodes of the first season.”

“Nice. Yeah, it’s a lot of working out and fight training. It goes on and on,” he explained.

“Poor thing.” You were teasing him, and when he chuckled, you were glad he caught it and didn’t take offense from your condescending tone. The lite humor worked to ease away any tension in the air between you.

“This is strange. I’m talking to someone on their cell phone while they talk to me on mine.”

“I can see how that would be strange,” Henry replied.

Silence fell between you again. It was a mixture of a comfortable one and one of nervousness.

“I have to tell you before I miss my chance. You have the most amazing voice I have ever heard, and you’re an amazing artist.”

With a racing heart and a wide grin on your face, you closed your eyes and tried to get control over the butterflies in your belly. It took you several moments to get a grip. This was not the first time you’d gotten a compliment like this, but this was the first time it made you feel like this.

“Thank you. That’s—kind of you to say.”

“Just stating facts. I’ve always been a fan of your music,” Henry added.

“Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome. How’s work?”

You sighed and dropped your head back on the cushion there. “Exhausting. I need a vacation or to stop getting on a plane. It takes a lot out of me,” you confessed.

“We both need a vacation it seems,” Henry began. The way his voice sounded had you lifting your head to read between the lines.

“Are you insinuating that we should take a vacation together?”

“I wasn’t insinuating anything. I was thinking it, though. Seems you read my mind. Sounds like a good idea.”

You snorted as soon as he finished. “How? We don’t know each other,” you piped up.

“What’s a better way to get to know each other than on vacation?”

Your jaw dropped. The man was insane. “You’re crazy. That’s a horrible idea.”

“Tomato, tomato.”

Your laugh was loud and almost uncontrollable. You had to give it to him, his sense of humor was top notch.

“Plus, after our date in a few days, we’ll know each other better,” Henry confidently slid in.

“What date?”

“The date you want to show up for when we exchange phones.”

Usually, this level of cockiness in a man was unattractive. You’d left plenty of them hanging for far less. With him, you found yourself not hating the cocky spiel maybe because it came off as something else—intoxicating confidence.

“I hear an accent, too,” Henry said, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“What accent?”

“An Australian one. It’s faint on most words but heavy on a few.” You smiled. You’d thought it had mainly disappeared by now.

“Not many people can hear it,” you clarified.

“I’m good with accents and languages. I know French, some Italian, a few words and phrases in German and Czech.”

You decided to test that theory.

“Combien de temps at-il fallu pour apprendre le français?” (How long did it take you to learn French?)

“Peu de temps peut être cinq mois.” (Not long maybe five months.) Henry responded in perfect French.

A thrill filled you.

"Und Deutsch?”

"Deutsch dauerte länger etwa acht Monate.” (German took longer about eight months) Henry replied in perfect enough German.

“You speak French and German?”

“A very little bit, trust me, it wasn’t my idea. You sound like a native, though,” you complimented.

“Thanks. I try.”

The longer you spoke, the more intrigued you became by him, and the more intrigued you became, the more attracted to him you became. You checked the phone and saw you’d already been talking for almost forty minutes. It didn’t feel nearly that long, though. You could hear his breathing through the phone. It wasn’t heavy breathing, but soft breaths that you imagines were pleasantly warm. When you thought it, you dropped your head back to the cushion in frustration.

“It’s pretty late here, and I have an early call tomorrow,” you began.

“Right, I’m sorry to have kept you up.”

“It’s okay—I guess.”

“All right, have a good night,” Henry ended.

“Goodbye, Henry.”

You ended the call and sank low in the water, but not low enough to wet your hair.

“I don’t need this now,” you groaned out before you slapped your hand on top of the water creating a small wave that splashed over the edge of the tub and cascaded onto the floor. You had to figure out a way to nip this in the bud.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!***

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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fireinmywoods · 4 years

Text

the heart of the matter (is Leonard McCoy)

Followers...friends. I come to you today, hat in hand, to ask for your support in a certain fandom matter, a trifling concern of little real consequence which nevertheless has been driving me absolutely cross-eyed bonkers for some years now.

Simply put: can we please all agree that Bones is the heart of the Enterprise???

In AOS, I mean. I’m not aware of any debate over this when it comes to TOS, where the roles of the triumvirate have always been explicit, though there are a few different ways to identify them:

Spock = logos = superego = head

Bones = pathos = id = heart

Kirk = ethos = ego = soul

So clear! So clean! So universally accepted by Trek fandom at large!

Oh, but things get murkier in AOS, and there are plenty of posts floating around which suggest that it’s Kirk, not McCoy, who serves as the heart in the Kelvin timeline. Even the writers of the first two AOS films have outright stated that their interpretation of the triumvirate had the original roles switched, with Kirk as the highly emotional one and McCoy as the arbiter between Kirk’s passion and Spock’s logic. It’s true that this technically counts as a Word of God pronouncement by the actual creators of 2/3 of the series thus far, which some would argue renders it canon. However, it’s equally true that those same creators also felt that Kirk was a fuckboi and that Benedict Cumberbatch wonderfully embodied their vision for Khan Noonien Singh, so honestly, who gives a hot hollerin’ fuck what those dingdongs think. This seems as justified a time as any to invoke Death of the Author, and in fact, it’s my firm belief that despite the writers’ intentions, Star Trek and Into Darkness both support the original triumvirate breakdown.

Under the cut you’ll find a long-winded and self-indulgent ~*~character analysis~*~ of the Kelvin-timeline incarnations of Jim Kirk and Leonard “Bones” McCoy, reviewing why Leonard is still unmistakably the heart, unpacking what the hell Jim’s deal is, and finally taking a look at some key examples from canon, because ya girl believes in showing her work.

Let’s get down to business.

[A quick warning, as this is starting to spread beyond my own followers: if you don’t like McKirk as a romantic pairing, you ain’t gonna like part IV, so I’d bow out before then or just take your leave now.]

i. Leonard

Independent of Jim’s characterization, it should be blindingly obvious that Leonard is the heart. He’s by far the most nakedly emotional of our seven core crew members, a trait we see writ large and small throughout the films. He’s reactive; he’s passionate; he’s humane. He cares, first and foremost.

Not about Starfleet, of course. Leonard doesn’t give a damn about playing the game or advancing his career, or even really about the Enterprise’s mission - he has no desire to explore strange new worlds, he’ll pass on seeking out new life and new civilizations, and he spends half his time trying to convince everyone else that boldly going where no man has gone before is a great way to die horribly. Fuck exploration, fuck space, and fuck the Federation while we’re at it. Leonard is perhaps the most improbable of the Enterprise’s senior officers for the simple reason that he seems to resent everything about the job.

Well. Almost everything.

See, what Leonard cares about is people. He cares about their lives, about their stories, about their hopes and dreams, about their suffering. That’s why he entered and has stayed in an extremely taxing caring profession, and it’s why he’s still on the Enterprise despite his incessant bitching about everything they do. He wouldn’t trust anyone else to take care of the crew he’s become so attached to, and he finds fulfillment in helping the people they encounter out there in the nightmare of space.

In every timeline, Leonard McCoy defines himself by what he can do for others: the pain he can ameliorate, the wounds he can heal, the diseases he can cure, the small amounts of good he can bring to a galaxy filled with so much absolute horseshit. Unlike most of his colleagues, he’s not motivated by curiosity or an adventurer’s spirit or a burning desire to make sense of the universe. (Fuck the universe, too, as a matter of fact.) Instead, he’s driven by the incredible depths of his compassion and empathy and concern for the people he serves alongside and those they meet along the way.

Sure sounds like the heart to me.

ii. Jim

I actually totally get why some people characterize Kelvin-timeline Jim as the heart. He’s quite literally a different man than the original timeline’s Kirk, and he definitely has more of the pathos qualities to him. Early on, he’s a total spitfire, fierce and hot-blooded, quick to anger and other sharp-edged emotions we’re not used to associating with James T. Kirk. Even as he grows into himself and leaves some of those traits behind, he remains spontaneous, passionate, protective, and self-sacrificing - easy enough to mistake for the heart if you squint.

But let’s not confuse having a heart for being the heart. Sure, Jim is more openly emotional and reactive than his TOS counterpart, but there’s still a marked difference between the way he and Leonard express and act on their emotions.

AOS Jim definitely has a lot of feelings - big ones - but at the end of the day, he’s not driven by his heart. He’s driven by his gut.

Whenever there’s trouble, Jim makes a beeline right for the center of it. He’s impulsive as hell, rarely pausing to think past his first instinct, because he just wants to be doing something, no matter the odds, no matter what it costs him. He explicitly calls himself out on this in ST:ID when arguing with Spock: “I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I only know what I can do.” He doesn’t have the patience or the constitution to sit and debate all the options, either internally or with his crew. If there’s a path forward from where he is, even a bad one, Jim’s gonna take it.

[Sidebar: One could make the case that the roots of Jim’s instinct to act reach back to his childhood traumas - canonically ignored abuse and neglect on the one hand, and the Tarsus IV famine and massacre on the other - but that’s a whole post on its own and we ain’t got all day here.]

Jim can’t not act, and while that gets him into a lot of trouble, it also saves lives. Sulu probably appreciated that Jim’s gut drove him to leap off Nero’s drilling platform without a moment’s hesitation after a man he’d only just met. He may have been a real shithead about it, but Jim’s impassioned insistence on going after the Narada and not wasting time on the possibility of a better option was key to saving Pike and Earth itself. And I don’t know why Spock was so surprised that Jim intervened to save him on Nibiru, considering that the reason they were there in the first place was because Jim couldn’t sit back and watch the Nibirans die when there was something his crew could do to help them, even if it meant risking a violation of the Prime Directive.

Jim is a good man with a big heart, and he cares about people, absolutely. But he cares most of all about Doing The Right Thing - which in the heat of the moment often translates to Doing Something, Anything, Hold My Beer.

iii. heart vs. gut (i.e., time for some receipts)

I think one of the main reasons Leonard and Jim’s characterizations get confused is because they both tend to act on instinct, only lightly informed by higher reasoning. However, I’d argue that their motivations and the nature of those actions are super distinct, and those distinctions remain relatively consistent throughout all three films. (And y’all know I really mean this shit if I’m out here calling ST:ID consistent.)

Jim is a big picture guy, figuratively and often literally heaving himself full-body into the mix of whatever problem the crew has encountered for lack of any better alternative. That energy propels the plots of all three films: the chaotic path he carves through the events of Star Trek and ST:ID, and the slightly calmer but still undeniably bananas course he charts for himself and his crew in the second half of Beyond.

As the heart, Leonard operates on a more micro level. His concern invariably lies with the individual people caught up in those grand events Captain Chaos is busy dragging them all through. While Jim’s zooming around flipping plot switches, Leonard can always be counted on to bring it back to the personal.

We frequently see this juxtaposed right there on film. Think of that slow pan through medbay in the first movie after the Narada’s ambush and the destruction of Vulcan: while Jim is stewing over what to do about the Big Bad, Leonard has stepped into the CMO role without fuss or fanfare to care for the wounded crew and traumatized survivors.

Or jump ahead to Beyond: during Krall’s attack on the Enterprise, there’s a gorgeous cinematic shot of Jim sprinting down the corridor with two crew members to take on the invaders - and then we cut to Leonard moving slowly through those same ghastly red-lit corridors, searching for casualties in need of help, visibly affected by what his scanner is telling him about the downed crewman he tries to save.

Actually, Beyond as a whole does terrific justice to each of their roles. (Perhaps because it was not written by dingdongs.) The first act finds Jim flailing around for a sense of purpose and forward momentum - an understandable consequence of a gut-driven character having stalled out for too long - and he ultimately gets his mojo back by spending the rest of the film careening through one insane seat-of-his-pants ploy after another. Meanwhile, in the quieter moments between all the mayhem, Leonard serves as the empathetic sounding board for both Jim and Spock as they struggle with deep emotionally charged secrets and Big Life Questions, helping them untangle their feelings and reminding them of the emotional attachments which are ultimately key to their respective decisions to stay on the Enterprise.

More examples, you say? Don’t mind if I do!

Star Trek

GUT: Jim hurtles around the Narada, improvising almost every step of the way and paying the price for his and Spock’s scheme in bodily harm, and ultimately succeeds in rescuing Pike. HEART: Leonard calls out for Jim as he runs into the transporter room, overwhelmed with relief that he’s made it back, and takes Chris Pike’s weight literally and figuratively onto his own shoulders to begin healing him while Jim runs back off to the center of the action.

Star Trek: Into Darkness

GUT: Jim argues with Leonard, Spock, and Scotty in quick succession as he’s preparing to drag them all off to Qo’noS, immune to their attempts to reason with him because, unraveled as he is by grief and pain, he can only focus on his visceral drive to Do Something. HEART: Unlike the others, Leonard is upset not about the larger moral questions of whether it’s right to go after John Harrison or bring torpedoes aboard the ship, but about the fact that Jim himself is hurt and hurting and won’t accept help.

GUT: Jim makes a snap decision to sacrifice himself by hurling his body against the warp core to realign it and save his crew. HEART: Shellshocked by the emotional grenade of his best friend’s death, Leonard suddenly realizes, through the haze of his own numbness and upswelling grief, that he might still be able to do something for this lonely radiation-ravaged body he’s been brought and the life it represents.

Star Trek Beyond

GUT: At the tail end of an improvised plan to out-maneuver Kalara, Jim quite literally shoots first and asks questions later, igniting a fuel tank and setting off an explosive series of events which he and Chekov just barely escape. HEART: The next time we see Leonard, Spock is opening up to him about Ambassador Spock’s death and his own plan to leave Starfleet for New Vulcan - and while he’s empathetic toward Spock (I can’t imagine what that must feel like), Leonard’s thoughts go immediately to the emotional impact of Spock’s plan on the other people he’s closest with. (I can see how that would upset [Nyota]. / I can tell you, [Jim]’s not gonna like that.)

GUT: Jim frantically strains to reach the final switch in the life support hub, believing that he’s going to die either way since the vent has already opened, but spurred on by the knowledge that his ability to move that switch is the only thing standing between Yorktown and annihilation. HEART: Knowing exactly what’s at stake, with the fate of the station and millions of lives hanging in the balance, Leonard’s greatest concern is that Jim won’t make it out in time.

iv. never bet against the heart

Let’s wrap this up with a deep dive on one of the absolute best examples of Leonard as the heart: his decision to sneak Jim onto the Enterprise in the first movie.

As relentlessly as I drag him for the, you know, poisoning and kidnapping aspects of that whole deal, there’s no denying that it is a god-tier heart move. Is it logical? Absolutely not. Is it really the right thing to do for either himself or Jim, as far as he knows at the time? Nope. It’s 100% the wrong choice for his own job security, reputation, and relationships with his fellow crew, and it’s almost guaranteed to get Jim into even worse trouble. Leonard is a smart dude who must understand that this course of action will likely end up coming back on them both in a real bad way. For someone who argues loudly and often in defense of self-preservation, this is a shockingly bad idea.

But none of that matters, because Jim shakes his hand and tells him to be safe with that horrible empty-eyed smile, and it gets him right in the heart, one-two-three.

One: sympathy, worry, and affection for Jim - his best friend, his wild and troublesome stray, his only family.

Two: guilt over adding onto Jim’s pain, and the instinctive urge to fix whatever‘s hurting him.

Three: fear of heading out into the unknown by himself, the agonizing uncertainty of not knowing what’s coming, craving for the security and reassurance Jim’s presence would give him.

“Dammit,” Leonard says, as his heart wins out over his brain. He knows this is a garbage plan, and he doesn’t care. His heart chooses Jim. That’s all that matters.

So he goes back for Jim, and to his own surprise it turns out that this Very Bad Idea was actually a Very Good Idea because Jim’s impulsive instincts end up saving Earth, and Leonard’s not in the habit of fixing what ain’t broke so he figures he may as well keep on chasing Jim’s crazy ass around the galaxy for a while, through jungles and off cliffs and into the goddamn afterlife when need be, until finally one day Jim’s gut drives him right into Leonard’s arms and he suddenly realizes that this is what his heart was choosing all those years ago: Jim’s wide terrified eyes, Jim’s voice breaking over his name, Jim’s hand pressing hard against his chest, reaching out for what’s his.

But that’s another story.

#mckirk #otp: bedside manner #fic related #palimpsest verse #@animetrashmuffin is a gift #several people messaged me when i vague-tagged about this a while back #but you're the one who had to listen to me rant at great length about this while i was sick so CONGRATS PAL THIS MESS IS FOR YOU #mccoy #kirk #star trek #aos #long post

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coffeebeannate · 4 years

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Nate Watches Things: A Saga

Or in this case, one thing. One thing that was far too long of a thing, but such a bizarre venture that I felt rather compelled to put an actual review of said thing together.

Why? Because I can and because others HAVE to experience this..this journey. A nice lil journey called Die Pfeiler der Macht/ A Dangerous Fortune. And I watched it solely because Luca looks cute in Victorian clothes, and I was intrigued by the gifs.

Curiosity has always been such a great human motivator, eh?

And..guys. I just. I don’t know what the 3-4 hours (it’s two movies, and I took a couple days to watch it) WERE, exactly, but they were..a thing? I know that it’s based on a book by Ken Follett and that this production is German. Despite being based in England.

Oh, and Luca’s character Mickey Miranda, is uh, Spanish. Make of that what you will.

So the summary is this:

A shocking secret behind a young boys death leads to three generations of treachery in this breathtaking saga of love, power and revenge, set amid the wealth and decadence of Victorian England.

And no it does not do this thing justice whatsoever.

Review under the cut. It’s too long *again, two movies here*, and I took far too many screencaps of this absolute wtfery, and uh, it’s probably better suited for a real-time live blog but nah. You can have this instead.

Some images under the cut are NSFW because nefarious boning is a key point in this..thing.

SPOILERS. So many spoilers. This thing is a spoiler fest. The caps have a very obvious Luca bias, I know why we’re here everyone. Hehe. There’s also some triggering stuff in this thing, so be warned there too.

BEHOLD:

So, a point I want to make is that the costuming in this movie is LEGIT. If absolutely nothing else works? Note that the costuming absolutely does.

The opening credits are very nice, Luca’s very pretty, this cap serves purely to showcase that because I’m a very serious man doing a very serious review.

Pretty.

So the beginning is..confusing. We have a girl, Maisie Robinson. (Around 10-13 here?) Her father is very poor and it’s her and her two siblings. He works for a man who is part of our main characters, the Pilasters? and they run this bank. The head of the bank commits suicide, since they’re having financial troubles and he cannot repay his workers. He pens a note to his young son *under 12 at this point*, Hugh.

Hugh never finds out about this letter, but anyway. At the moment, it’s 1866. Maisie’s father was one of those employees. Destitute, he leaves Maisie to..raise her siblings, and goes to America.

We never hear from this man again.

Hugh goes to live with his aunt (Augusta/Augustina?), uncle Joseph, and cousins, Edward and Clara.

THEN IT’S 1877 (we jump ten years)

Maisie’s two siblings have died, and she has a daughter, Rachel now. Who is also dying. This movie is very keen on people dying. I’d also like to point out that there is like, endless plots all happening alongside one another, and it took me until mid-way into part two to even really grasp what the main plot is.

The movie has a LOT of bank talk as well. I cannot express this earnestly enough, there is SO MUCH bank chatter. SO MUCH. This thing does not have to be as long as it is but again, bank stuff.

Anyway, the one plot is that Maisie is from the poor area, she’s had a horrible life and has struggled from day one. She’s in a constant battle with Hugh, and they argue a lot. A lot. (They like each other, they met as kids, but they’re from very different worlds. Hugh has money, she doesn’t, but Hugh has suffered as well and basically it’s your normal class struggle social commentary thing).

Maisie and Hugh in 1866, as kids, after Maisie’s father left for America. This is the funeral for Hugh’s father. So that’s the theme I mean.

Anywho.

Back in 1877, this is Samuel *left*, Joseph *middle* and Edward. The Pilaster’s get marched into work like they’re freaking army Captain’s and not just rich ass bankers. Imagine saluting your CEO. At work. Outside of the military. WHERE IS THIS A THING? Maybe this was a thing in Victorian England I have no clue I’ve certainly never come across it in my studies. Ffs.

Anyway.

So while all this is going on, there’s this man that wants to marry Maisie.

And his name is,

(That’s Rachel, Maisie’s daughter). Anyway, Solly here loves Maisie and wants to marry her. But Maisie loves Hugh, and neither of them realize this yet. Solly is a himbo and we mostly like him, but stay tuned because that doesn’t stick. Sorta. Depends on how-

Nevermind I’ll just keep going.

ANYWAY, more plot.

Here’s Edward again, doing drugs, being gay, and overall..useless. Edward is..Edward is kind of like a person who would make an interesting wall decoration. Fun enough to look at, but utterly freaking hopeless, and useless, and so dumb. Just so dumb. This character is given the substance of ash fault. Kinda like, only vaguely solid enough to be entertaining. Kinda.

I don’t know guys, BUT LOOK!

It’s his good old pal Mickey! And he’s slapped Edward awake out of his drug coma (okay he grabs his face and shakes him rather than slapping but given how much slapping happens in the rest of this movie I think I can be forgiven) and he has PLOTS.

Mostly it’s his dads plot, but it’s a plot. A very devious scheme and he needs our favourite wallpapers assistance!

(Sorry Edward, but it’s true)

So keeping in mind that the ‘theme’ of this movie is bone-and-soul crushing sadness paired with periods of intense chaos and insanity that you never see coming, our plots continue to thicken.

What Mickey means here, is that Edward’s family denied Mickey’s father what he wanted *weapons deal*, and beat the crap out of Mickey in a carriage. But that’s fine that’s fine Mickey is not deterred! BECAUSE.

*sigh*

So.

OK.

This scene.

Remember what I said about how this movie goes from being incredibly boring to so off the walls bonkers without actually WARNING YOU that it is going to do this? Yeah.

Edward, you see, really does not ‘do’ women. He’s gay. He’s extremely gay. Edward’s mother wants him to marry Florence Stalworthy for idk rich people reasons.

So..Mickey. Uh. Mickey’s solution is..this.

What is this, you ask??

Fuck if I know.

Anyway, no, uhm. This is a brothel. So (not) pictured here (I can’t post the scene on tumblr guys we have a ban) is Edward on a couch across from mask-and-feathers MIckey and this tied down woman, with another woman who is not tied down. And this is Mickey..showing Edward..how to.have sex with women. Apparently. Sort of. His lesson falls very flat. It is not a good scene, Mickey’s ‘instructions’ get increasingly louder, and he at one point makes this noise that sounds like a Joker laugh.

It is...it’s something.

(Also note there’s some extremely uncomfortable, misogynistic name-calling on Mickey’s part here..so yeah).

Oh, and it doesn’t convince Edward. At all. IMAGINE.

Around all this time, the Hugh/Maisie/Solly plot is also ongoing. And that also encompasses bar fighting (bare knuckles boxing and wrestling I think? And gambling)

Hugh has gambling debt we’ll get back to this. (He’s also obsessed with getting Russian bonds into the bank, again, the banking plot losses me a LOT)

So meanwhile, Mickey meets up with Edward’s mother.

But why Edward’s mother, you ask??

Well. *sigh*. Something I didn’t mention earlier is that Mickey likes Ed’s mum. A lot. A lot a lot. Mickey wants to take that woman to town and then some, is a very basic way of me putting it and-

Fuck it. Mickey wants to bang Ed’s mum. BADLY.

(She’s not opposed either, at all)

So their little scheme here is that Ed’s mum wants Ed to take control of the bank, but with the father-in-law alive, that’s not going to happen. So they’re plotting to take down the next person in charge who would succeed said father in law, (Samuel) who is in a relationship with the secretary mentioned above, Michael.

Yes, another GODDAMNED PLOT.

(Samuel is fairly unpleasant like all of these people, so I don’t feel that bad for him. He also kinda treats Michael like garbage, and is called out for this by Joseph later in the movie)

So the scheme here is to get rid of the father-in-law, and get Ed married. Cake walk!

(Also, while ALL THIS is going on, Mickey’s got his own mini-plot about doing these things for his father, the weapons and stuff but we don’t actually find out about the main goal of that whole thing till the end, you’ll see)

Oh, and since we’ve not had a good dose of ‘WHAT THE FUCK’ lately, Solly proposes to Maisie with an honest-to-god Alice in Wonderland party.

Yeah.

Meet the Mad Hatter! He’s a guide, he says nothing. Other people are in costume too, but you know-I have enough caps as it is.

So anyway, Maisie and Solly get engaged, Maisie and Hugh meet up at some point and bang instead.

And while that’s happening, Edward is convinced by Mickey to marry Florence.

So he does.

Lookit this shit faced smug ass grin.

(Also ahead is Samuel again, and Hugh)

BUT THEN the bank finds out about Hugh’s gambling debts. So he leaves. Taking his cousin Clara (Edward’s teenage sister-at her insistence) to the USA. And just like Maisie’s dad, another man abandons her for the States.

So the father in law is still alive, so!

It’s murder time.

Perfect wedding time event yeah?

So Mickey murders the father-in-law. (He jumps on him, suffocates him with a pillow, gets caught by Augusta and then they do this..weird ‘tensely make the bed thing’)

Murdered.

And then, exactly five seconds or so later..

Nothing like some murder pre-boning with the dead guy two feet away amiright?

Anyway at this point I was just:

And yelling at my ceiling. Not pictured.

I was a Hannibal fan and I STILL went !?!?!?

END PART ONE.

Part two starts out in 1912, and then cuts back to 1882. So in this messy timeline, note it has been six years since part one. And Hugh is married now to Nora, an American singer, and Clara is older and pregnant. (Father is never determined, but he’s a married man and that’s why Clara didn��t stay)

SO the three of them are returning home. Maisie and Solly have a son, David, and Maisie is depressed and distant, so Solly is the one who spends all the time with David. He’s shown as a legit good dad and it’s quite cute watching them.

(The kids Hugh’s, btw, he and Maisie both know this, Hugh does not, it’s revealed dramatically later but we still have so many plots)

Edward and Florence are childless. Edward doesn’t sleep with her. Everyone knows this.

(At this point I kept asking myself when this would end, I cannot stress how LONG this thing feels at times)

So Hugh and Nora meet up with Maisie and Solly, and they chat and there’s more love plots, more bank plots and a masquerade party where at some point Maisie thinks a little girl at the party is Rachel (who died in the end of part one, sorry!) and there’s a fire and Maisie and Hugh make out and Nora and Solly are both upset and it’s a whole thing.

Samuel now does something of a side business that’s unspecified with Michael, and pregnant Clara is being persued by the only man who might be a good match for her (she’s not keen on getting married. But he’s also..really old.) PLOTS.

And Mickey and Augusta are..still a thing. And Edward being chlidless is becoming an issue. So what is the solution dear friends??

*BANGS HEAD INTO A WALL*

Why the fuck not.

Absolutely flawless! Eddie will NEVER notice.

SO with this plan in motion, Mickey sets out to seduce Florence, Eddie’s neglected wife. He starts in a church, and I have to admit, this one line he gives is quite funny.

“I don’t go to church.”

Cannot begin to imagine why.

Also, around this time is when we get the infamous scene about how he fcked the wives of the three men and then made the guys suck his dick one by one. I didn’t cap that since it’s in gif form, but yeah.

Hugh and Solly and Nora and Maisie are still having their love issues. And there is still bank stuff as all this is going down.

But while on his Florence quest, we see Mickey beat up a guy who was abusing a small boy, and Florence see’s him do this as well and:

He looks so baffled.

‘Me? GOOD? I really don’t think so.”

She’s also holding a baby, and he gives the infant this face:

“Eugh, what is that?”

He also finds her in church again at some point and comes alongside her like this:

”Sup? Whatcha prayin’ about?”

Anyway, while doing all this, he’s still having some issues. He needs Eddie’s signature for a bank transfer (for his father, his father’s plot is STILL a THING) and so it is time to seduce someone ELSE. This time it’s Edward. This won’t be hard. Edward wants him so bad you could probably see it from fucking space.

Mickey is well aware of this.(I don’t think it’s one sided either, he looks at Edward all wide eyed half the time, but he’s so manipulative it’s hard to judge).

Actually me right now tbh.

So that’s this followed by the infamous gif set.

Edward takes him up on it.

‘Come along my dear there’s nefarious boning to be done’.

Absolutely vital screencap below (which is the most we get anyway and I didn’t cap the line about the freaking signature because fuck plots over nice images okay)

Vital

Anyway Edward gives him the bloody signature. And then Mickey goes along to talk to Augusta. But at this point Mickey is very much beginning to unravel. His goal seems to be more centralized to finishing whatever long ass convoluted job his father has been making him do for the last six years (possibly more tbh) and he’s sort of done with everything.

And Edward see’s this exchange. Le. Oof.

SO! IN BETWEEN ALL THIS. There’s some party where there’s drama and then basically Nora..willing gives up Hugh so he can be with Maisie and Solly just..I don’t even know, single dad for life and all. Edward knows that his family has basically been doing shit all around him, and Mickey STILL seduces Florence. He has her meet him outside that night at two am and they get together, but when he’s with her he kinda has these doubts but she wants him anyway so they bang.

Yeesh.

AFTER that there’s Edward again, because Edward knows shit is up, Mickey goes to a room to grab a bag and see’s Edward there. He tells Edward goodbye, but Edward pulls a gun. Mickey just...drops the bag, tells him to shoot. Edward doesn’t, instead he turns the gun on himself and then Mickey shoots himself in a chair.

Yeah.

DEATH! SADNESS! REMEMBER-THIS MOVIE LOVES DEAD PEOPLE~!

At some point in all this, Augusta goes to her daughter, Clara, apologies for being an absolutely evil mother for her entire life and then the movie sort of begins to wrap up.

Maisie and David were going to leave for the States together, but David wants to stay with Solly, who well DID raise him despite him being Hugh’s kid. So Maisie and Hugh are alone and David lives with Solly and the Pilaster bank has discovered the ACTUAL FREAKING PLOT OF MICKEY’S DAD AND THE ENTIRE BACKGROUND THING. Which was this:

THIS DIDN’T NEED TO BE ALMOST FOUR HOURS, GERMANY.

SO Hugh lets the mob inside. We don’t see what happens after that, but Augusta comes in to tell Joseph Edward shot himself.

Lots of sadness.

So the movie ends in 1912, with David and Hugh meeting up. David never saw Maisie again *she’s deceased now, as is Solly.* they talk, there is some moral lesson or something about love. The goddamned end.

OOF.

SO overall?

I don’t know.

It’s a movie. It has a script and plot and..it was put on screen? The costumes are legitimately amazing. They might be the best thing about this thing. But it REALLY feels like Ken really wanted to make a movie about banking, noticed that’d be boring and tried to make it spicy.

It’s so bizarre. So depressing. So many people are horrible. So many bad things happen. So much slapping, so much weirdness. There’s nothing happy in this thing. Not one. The so called ‘good’-ish ending falls flat amongst a sea of depression and I re-iterate, IT DOES NOT HAVE TO BE SO LONG.

I distinctly recall lots of clock watching at times, wondering how I could POSSIBLY have more to go. It then goes so completely off the rails that you just don’t know what is happening and it’s just WEIRD.

At times that weirdness makes it fun, but overall it’s really not great. I probably would never rewatch it, and I can say that it’s an uh, experience in movie-watching.

A good one? I don’t know. But an experience, none the less.

#a dangerous fortune #nate reviews things #nate reviewing #look don't expect coherency here ya'll this thing is A TRIP #long post #too many screenshots #am i legit posting this thing at quarter to four in the morning #yes because i dont want my drafts to eat it askjdnkas #i'll just rebagel later in the day if needed ok

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snowdice · 4 years

Text

Food You’ll Never Eat (Part 3 of the Series “Is There Anything Left of Patton?”

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Virgil & Patton (?) Virgil & Logan, Logan/Patton(?)

Characters: Virgil, Patton(?), Logan

Summary: And was this cruel, Virgil had to wonder, to the man that Patton used to be? To the men they both used to be? To drag what was left of Patton back into the world of the living? To tie him down to the couch he once picked out himself? To let him look blankly out the window into a world he’d never be a part of again? Virgil was not sure. He just knew that usually when Logan and Patton were in the same room together, Virgil could feel the heartbreak and mourning drowning them all.

This though? This was almost, almost, funny.

Notes: Zombie Apocalypse AU, Past major character death(?), Look it’s a zombie AU so you can probably guess why there’s a question mark after everything involving Patton. Angst. It’s a little funnier than the last two parts?? Maybe? Zombie Patton is a little funny if you forget the whole horrifying painful death that caused it. Logan still cries of course.

The third part of a series of one-shots called Is There Anything Left of Patton?

Previous parts:

“Something Left”

“Someone You’ll Never Meet”

Convincing Logan to bring Patton upstairs had been frustratingly difficult considering how badly Logan clearly wanted it. It had not been helped by the fact that Virgil had snuck around behind his back to do something “objectively stupid.” (Hypocritical considering how Logan had snuck around behind his back for months and went into the cage many times to do said “objectively stupid” thing himself. But, you know. Whatever.)

“I tested it with a rat first,” Virgil had defended himself, shaking the cage he’d been holding, “Luckily for Nibbles, Patton isn’t interested in live meat.”

“Luckily for you,” had been the retort.

It had led to a series of arguments over the next couple of weeks with interactions such as…

“Why would you even want to do that?”

“I wanted to know. Sue me for wanting to be aware if there was ticking time bomb in the basement that could come and bite me in the ass at any moment. Literally.”

and…

“Well, I’ve kinda grown to like Patton.”

“Patton’s a zombie! He might as well be that chair.”

“Look I’m not going to listen to a lecture on my attachment issues by a guy who keeps his dead boyfriend’s corpse in his basement.”

and…

“He might be more comfortable up here.”

“Patton isn’t going to be comfortable anywhere ever again.”

“But what’s left of him might be.”

“…”

It was still a trial run. Neither of them was exactly going to sleep with Patton upstairs, and so Logan always wrestled him back downstairs at night. During the day, they didn’t let him freely roam the house; they’d finagled him what was basically a man-sized toddler leash. He… did not seem to like the leash. He tried to yank on it every time they pulled him around on it, but he never managed to think about using the simple clasp to get out of it even after he saw Virgil and Logan use it multiple times. He didn’t even seem to understand that Virgil and Logan were the source of the tugging, simply turning his ire on the belt itself.

He was all instinct. Struggle against things that pulled on you, grab for things that moved or made sound, eat things that your body wanted to eat. There was no more thought put into his actions than Virgil put into the act of breathing.

Virgil had secretly hope that brining him upstairs into what was once his home and not keeping him completely restrained all the time would make him act… he didn’t know… more human? Like, maybe there’d be a spark of recognition in his eyes when he saw his old bedroom, or he’d want to reach out for one of the stuffed animals Logan set out for him. But he just didn’t. He reacted, but only on the most basic levels. He would hear Logan or Virgil speak, but what they said made no difference. He would watch them move, sometimes getting up from the couch or chair they’d attached him to in order to follow them and then blindly swiping the leash when it pulled him back. Yet, he’d react the same way if they threw something large enough or if he caught site of an animal outside the window. He would reach and reach for them, but whatever it was his zombie brain seemed to want, he would never find it.

The only time he took any initiative was when there was food in the area and god was Virgil glad that he and Logan apparently did not register as food to the guy because holy fuck. The first time Virgil had seen him eat a potato, he’d almost thrown up. Like, the meat was one thing. He’d been prepared for the meat. It was fine, but the potato? He shuddered in memory even now. His mind could just not accept it. Also, he was also absolutely unstoppable when food was in the area. They had quickly learned to not attempt to cook or eat anything the zombie found palatable with him in reaching distance because, whatever it was, would be going into his mouth, no argument to be had.

Yet, despite it all, Virgil could not regret bringing him up here. Perhaps there was nothing of a person left under all of that instinct, but he still seemed calmer upstairs. Virgil was fairly certain it had more to do with the lack of restraints than the fact that his surroundings were nicer. While he pulled against the leash sometimes, it was easy for him to forget about it. He didn’t breathe quite as heavily or make as many sickening noises. He still tried to grab them when they were near, much like other zombies did (just without the biting), but it seemed just a touch less desperate.

Then there was Logan. Virgil felt a bit conflicted about Logan. He clearly wanted Patton upstairs, but at the same time, Virgil often caught him looking at the zombie wistfully. Logan was sadder when he was upstairs, but at least he was emoting something. He was less blank and emotionless. He tended to talk more even if those words were almost always tinged with melancholy. When Logan looked at Patton, he clearly could see that he wasn’t the man he loved anymore, but he was something.

And was this cruel, Virgil had to wonder, to the man that Patton used to be? To the men they both used to be? To drag what was left of Patton back into the world of the living? To tie him down to the couch he once picked out himself? To let him look blankly out the window into a world he’d never be a part of again? Virgil was not sure. He just knew that usually when Logan and Patton were in the same room together, Virgil could feel the heartbreak and mourning drowning them all.

This though? This was almost, almost, funny.

“What did… what did you do to my dining room?” Logan asked aghast when he walked downstairs to see what looked to be going on two dozen plates and bowls of barely touched food haphazardly stacked across the table, something red (distinctly not blood thankfully) all over Virgil and the carpet, and silverware and cups on the floor.

“Patton and I are trying different foods,” Virgil said as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “He really did not like the tomato soup.”

Logan rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “He is clearly an obligatory carnivore. What is the point of this?”

Virgil didn’t answer him. Instead, he set down yet another plate in front of Patton. Logan bristled a bit at the dismissal. “I heard your no on tomatoes loud and clear buddy,” he addressed Patton. “So, maybe we should stick with root vegetables from the oven. I present for your culinary experience, oven roasted carrots.” Patton stared straight forward, not even looking at the plate. “Please dude. I can’t take the only eating potatoes thing. I really can’t. It’s going to drive me bonkers.”

“This is completely unnecessary and ridiculous,” Logan hissed.

“Well, what else am I supposed to do with him Logan?” Virgil asked. “It’s not like we can play chess or have an invigorating conversation about the meaning of the universe.”

“You’re not supposed to do anything with him,” Logan snapped. “He’s not a person anymore. He’s not even a pet. He’s lawn furniture that can walk. He’s a fucking corpse that just isn’t in the ground yet.”

“Then why is he here Logan?”

“Because you wanted to bring him up from the basement!” Patton turned at his increased volume and stumbled to his feet to paw at Logan. Logan pushed him firmly away, but he just kept coming.

“No. If that’s what you think,” Virgil said. “then why is he here, Logan?”

“Because,” Logan shut his mouth. He grabbed Patton’s wrist in his hand to keep it from him and looked away from them both. “Because I love him,” Logan said. He squeezed the hand and got nothing in return. “Because I love him and he’s not here anymore. Sometimes I find myself pretending, but I know he’s not.” he looked up to stare into Patton’s blank eyes. There was no spark to them, and there was no emotion on the face that used to be so open and dynamic. He used to always smile and joke and offer soft touches. Now there was nothing left but the way he struggled to grab at Logan’s face. “Yet…” he continued. “There is something there. Just… just a little piece. Not nearly him, but something. I can’t… I can’t let him go.” He roughly used his unoccupied hand to wipe a tear that had leaked out of one of his eyes away. “And he’s not a toy. He may not be a person anymore, but he was once.”

“I…” Virgil said softly, “I know that Lo. I’m not playing games with him, I swear. I just thought maybe he’d like some other food. Might as well give him things he likes, right?”

Logan let out a soft sob against his will and Virgil’s arms went carefully around him even as the new sound renewed Patton’s efforts to get to him. “I would have let him kill me,” Logan divulged. “When I found him. He was trapped and I knew he wasn’t there anymore, but I let him loose because I knew I couldn’t kill him or leave him there. I couldn’t live without him.”

“Oh Logan,” Virgil sighed. Logan turned from Patton into Virgil’s chest and Virgil rubbed his back as he cried even when Patton started up the grabbing at the back of his head now that he was released. After a few moments, Logan managed to wrestled control over himself.

He stepped back and started to push Patton back toward the chair he’d been sitting in. He aimlessly shoved back. “That’s how I figured out he wouldn’t hurt me,” he told Virgil. He finally got Patton shoved back into the chair. “You’d never hurt me, would you dear?” There was no answer from Patton except to wiggle against the hold, but then again, he’d already answered that question, hadn’t he? He answered it every moment of every day that the mindless husk of himself never tried to harm Logan. He answered it right now when all he did was push against the arms restraining him and never tilted his head down to bite.

Logan knew, logically, it was probably only some kink in the code of whatever virus or parasite the disease was, but some part of him couldn’t help but think that maybe just a part of it was an echo of the man he loved.

Patton gave up the struggle to get back up eventually, more forgetting than relenting. There were a few more moments of silence and then Logan turned to Virgil and forced a small smile. “So, what are you going to try to feed him next? Just a warning, he didn’t care for tomatoes when he was alive.”

“I really wish you’d told me that before he sprayed soup everywhere.”

“How exactly did that happen?”

“I tried to spoon feed him and he must have not liked the smell or the touch of the metal on his lips because he slapped the spoon away. His arm hit the bowl too and I got surprised and knocked over some glasses.”

Logan found himself chuckling. “That’s surprisingly in character for Patton,” he said. “Once we talked about his dislike for tomatoes and he told me that he was fine with cooked ones meaning, of course, in spaghetti sauce or on pizza but hated them raw. So, I cooked him grilled whole tomatoes. He threw them at me.”

Virgil laughed with him. “Well, maybe I’m going about this the wrong way. What did he like to eat?”

Logan hummed. “He would eat dill pickles straight from the jar. I’d call him a heathen and try to take them away from him.”

“You’re the heathen; dill pickles are good.”

“Disgusting,” Logan replied. “He also had a sweet tooth. Particularly for snickerdoodle cookies.”

“Hmm,” Virgil said, “alright. So, we’ll work with the cucumber family and sugar and see where it goes.”

Patton did eat two pickles on his own power later that day. It was… not any more pleasant to watch than the potatoes.

Want to read more? The next part of this series is

Things You’ll Never Do

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #logicality #?#adriana writes #zombie au #past major character death #angst #italop #platonic analogical #platonic moxiety #(sorta?)

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vmheadquarters · 4 years

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We’re still playing our game of written hot potato! Dozens of your favorite authors are taking turns to tell a Veronica Mars mystery story. Each writer crafts their chapter and then “tosses” the story to the next person to continue the tale. No one knows what will happen, so expect the unexpected!

Follow the “vmhq presents” and “murder we wrote” tags for all the installments, or read the story as it develops on AO3. --Chapter Twenty-Three of MURDER, WE WROTE is written by @disdainfullady. And stayed tuned next week for Ch.24 from @artoftalent07 - tag, you’re it!

_____________________________________________________________

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE by @disdainfullady

Veronica turned the page, fascinated despite herself. When Ruby had come stomping into Mars Investigations that morning, Veronica had had to try three of the breathing techniques Logan swore kept him from washing out of OCS before she dared to even acknowledge the girl. Either she wasn’t fighter pilot material, or Ruby was worse than the drill sergeants – MTIs corrected the little Logan voice in her brain – because she could never be sure if those techniques actually helped, or just gave her time to fine tune her sarcasm.

In the year since Carrie’s death, Ruby had found half a dozen excuses to hire Veronica, mostly background checks for potential dates – so far none of them had been kicked out by a pop star’s security for hiding in a closet, but they were keeping hope alive – and one case where she was convinced the couple across the street were running drugs out of their basement. She’d actually been right about that, although Ruby had based her theory on the idea that the couple had far more lawn ornaments than anyone not pushing meth had a right to, and still insisted that that was the big give away.

Veronica never had the heart to turn her away. Sure, she didn’t, they didn’t, strictly need the money, but there was something so earnest about Ruby, despite her off-the-wall conspiracy theories and what seemed like a new obsession every week. It was sometimes hard to remember that Ruby was only a year younger than her - Veronica doubted she'd had half Ruby's enthusiasm and energy even in her all too distant pep squad days. Of course, she probably should aim for a degree or two below manic.

After leaving Veronica three voicemails of escalating urgency about a case she absolutely needed Veronica’s help on, Ruby had shown up at Mars Investigations that morning in full pensive-artist mode complete with glasses that were either fake or a prescription so minor that they might as well be, pages clutched to her chest, announcing that the case in question was that which took place in the novel she had written.

Veronica knew she should have politely declined. Maybe gotten Wallace to have one of his colleagues in the English department give it a read, if her conscience was really bugging her. But it had been a slow week, and she wouldn’t have gone back to being a PI if she’d been able to resist the pull of her curiosity. Nor would Logan forgive her if she wasn’t able to give him a full summary of the entire thing.

And the work was fascinating.

She wasn't sure what impressed her more, the depth of Ruby's research, or her completely scattershot method of applying it. Sure, she'd pulled in most of the obvious players, but there were some deep cuts in here. Lenny? Cole? She was pretty sure Cole's own parents forgot he existed when he wasn't in the room, yet here he was parading all over this mysterious snow ridden island within easy access of Southern California. Actually, she mused, Cole would make a great killer in the traditional way of things. Veronica was always suspicious of named minor characters with no apparent motive.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem like Ruby was a fan of narrative efficiency, so he'd probably just been tossed into the manuscript along with the kitchen sink that she only hoped would be getting its big scene in the next chapter or two.

A chair scraped and she looked up, remembering just in time to wipe the incredulous glee off her face. Ruby Jetson, formerly Della Pugh, literary alias Mistress X, had scooted her seat even closer to Veronica's desk, and was staring at her with an eager intensity. Veronica cleared her throat and the - fortunately wigless - Ruby inched forward even closer, her knee actually bumping the desk.

"Did you get to the part where they discover the island's tragic past?" asked Ruby. The question burst out of her like she’d been holding it in for the past hour.

"Not yet - it has a tragic past?"

"Every mysterious island has a tragic past, Veronica." Ruby's scornful tone was undercut by the restless tapping of her leg.

"Oh of course," Veronica nodded with what she hoped was an appropriately serious expression. "Well, that's something to look forward to, then." And she sort of was. The way Ruby phrased it she rather hoped the island had had a passionate romance with a nearby peninsula only to lose it to - how did you kill a peninsula, soil erosion maybe?

"But as I said earlier, it's going to take me a while to go through all this. You really," really, really, really she thought, "don't need to sit here and watch me read it."

Ruby’s face scrunched in disapproval. “You said that you’d prioritize my case, Veronica Mars.”

Veronica sighed. She steepled her hands as she tried to gently let the girl down. “That was when I thought you had a case. I’m not a literary critic, Ruby.”

Ruby snorted.

“No, but you are a detective, and if I can stump you then I know my story’s good.”

Veronica carefully did not point out the flaws in that particular assertion. “You don’t want it to be too baffling, Ruby. Readers like the satisfaction of clues coming together.”

Ruby, beamed, apparently delighted by this rather commonplace observation. “I knew you wouldn’t figure it out,” she crowed. “I bet you haven’t even grasped the significance of the chocolate.”

Veronica shook her head, even as one corner of her brain started following the trail begun by that breadcrumb. The significance of the chocolate? The number of chocolate martinis that had supposedly been consumed by the party were massive – but she’d been to plenty of 09er events that had better liquor stores than most bars. Was there something to read into that? Oh, that one was going to bother her.

She shook her head. “Ruby, you already revealed your character as the bad guy. There’s nothing to figure out.”

Ruby’s mouth dropped open and she blinked at Veronica in surprise.

“Me? I’m not the bad guy.”

“You’re not?” She’s wasn’t? Oh god, was Ruby supposed to be the heroine? Was Veronica supposed to be rooting for her own comeuppance in this magnum opus of Ruby’s?

“You’re barely halfway through. Do you honestly think that I would give away the real villain that soon?”

Ah. Veronica looked down again at the depressingly large stack of papers in front of her. It hadn’t seemed like this much when she’d started.

Ruby smirked. “Ruby Jetson is merely a red herring.”

“Ah, like communism,” Veronica murmured.

Though she had to point out, “Of course, you are killing people.”

“Madison Sinclair,” Ruby scoffed.

Veronica gave an equivocal head nod, not quite acknowledging the semi-validity of that point.

“And Leo. Should I wonder why you even know Leo?”

Leo had been in San Diego for nearly a decade at this point, and occasional appearances at high school dances in Miami Vice regalia aside, she wouldn’t have thought he’d have had much occasion to cross paths with Ruby.

“I do my research, Veronica.” Ruby gave another one of her smug, knowing expressions. Veronica, no stranger to being smug or knowing herself, sighed inwardly.

“And you didn’t actually see what happened to Leo did you?” Ruby continued. “I mean, sure Lenny took credit, but then he would.”

With neither wealth, nor wit nor charisma, Lenny Sofer had been one of Neptune High’s more determined bullies, a nonentity so frustrated by his lack of status he spent all his time searching for those below him on the ladder, trying to push them down further. Veronica had pretty much forgotten he’d existed the second she’d graduated, as she’d imagined, had most of their class, his chosen victims excluded. Now if Ruby had written some sort of Murder on the Orient Express situation with Lenny as victim, she could probably get behind that.

“Is Lenny Sofer actually your cousin by the way?”

Ruby looked offended by the question. Did she think Veronica had memorized her background the way she, Ruby, had apparently memorized Veronica’s? Ruby did have a flare for investigation, if one could get past the whole bit where she was mildly bonkers.

“Lenny Sofer is a sociopath,” Ruby said, flatly.

That didn’t actually answer the question, Veronica noted.

“He bullied me for two years straight. I had to spend my lunches hiding in that gross bathroom near the physics lab because someone kept putting out of order signs on the good one.”

Veronica’s eyebrows rose. “So, you brought him in as your partner in crime?”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Again, not actually the bad guy. And his character gets what’s coming to him a little further on.” She smiled, probably going for sinister but ending up on goofy. “Let’s just say that was fun to write.”

Veronica supposed she could understand that. She had always been more about enacting her revenge, but it wasn’t like that didn’t come with its own set of problems. Maybe Ruby’s method was healthier, if a little odd.

She gave a little shrug and settled back to read some more.

#veronica mars #veronica mars fanfic #vm fanfic #vmhq presents #murder we wrote #round robin

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rhetorical-ink · 4 years

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Rhetorical Ink Reviews: Cats 2019

Also known as, “The Movie That Nearly Broke Me.”

**PURRRRFECTLY PLACED SPOILERS BELOW**

Okay, so my best friend and I saw this film today on New Year’s Eve -- it was $5 movie day at the theater and we had heard it was bad. What a better way to cap off this year and decade, right?

To set the scene, the woman at the ticket counter commented, “I haven’t seen it, but I’ve heard mixed reviews.” Another employee said, as we were about to walk in the theater, “I heard it was pretty bad.” Votes of confidence all around, y’all.

Little did I know what was about to happen. I could easily do a Top Twenty WTF moments of this movie....which is exactly what I’m going to do.

My Top TWENTY (because it’s needed) Thoughts on Cats the Movie:

20. Meeting Victoria

The movie starts with a cat being dumped in an alley -- this is Victoria, a humanoid (more on that below) cat that is reluctantly approached by the rest of the alley cats. They question whether she will fit in as a “Jellicle Cat,” and we get an instant music number where they describe all of the traits of a Jellicle Cat, which we can assume is their “Group” or “Tribe.” The only point that is slightly odd is that their “traits” that define a Jellicle Cat...are basically traits of all cats. Is this group just unaware? Is this a cult? More. On. This. Be-Low.

19. Munkustrap

So, my favorite cat in this whole thing is Munkustrap -- or rather, the actor playing Munkustrap. Seriously, this man is giving 10000% and after researching, you find out he is a Tony-nominated ballet dancer --- IT MAKES SENSE. If you can get a chance to watch this -- watch his movement and facial expressions in every scene. The man is clawing up the scenery and his intensity is terrifying.

18. And Then...There’s Rebel Wilson.

Okay, speaking of terrifying. About 10 minutes into the movie, we’re introduced to Rebel Wilson. If you’ve watched the trailers and seen her -- those are the TAME scenes. Seriously, my friend and I were questioning whether this film was okay or bad, and then...Rebel Wilson is introduced.

Her musical number made me say out loud, “WTF” about seven times. There is nothing I can do to prepare you for animated mice with children faces or cockroaches with female faces who are being eaten alive by a furry Rebel Wilson. If people walked out at this point, I would not have blamed them 1%.

17. James Corden and Rebel Wilson Don’t Fit In This Movie.

In all fairness, much of the cast are ballet or dancers and Broadway voices -- which is great for a musical. James Corden and Rebel Wilson completely throw off the tone of the film. Their jokes are not humorous, and both characters rely on self-deprecation...their scenes are probably among the strangest in the film, and completely ruin the tone of the film as it goes.

16. Jason Derulo Had His Genitals Digitally Removed.

So, I read a headline last week with that information leaked, and that clung to my mind the entire time Derulo sings as his character, Rum Tug Tugger...to be fair, he is a great voice and his song was catchy. But... once you know, you won’t get that image out of your mind as you watch.

15. The Twins are Creepy...and Boring.

Victoria stumbles upon two twin calico cats that mischievously rummage around a house -- before stirring up the house dog and abandoning Victoria. Their song isn’t bad -- it’s almost catchy -- but the scene goes on sooooo long, that it’s probably the only music number that drags and just feels overly long.

14. Proportions are....not a thing?

One thing you may notice in the gifs are that proportions for these cats are odd -- in the scene with the twins, Victoria holds up a gown, and it’s as big as her, but in the next shot, she is wearing a human ring as a bracelet.

This happens throughout the movie, as the proportions are never proper. Sometimes the cats seem normal sized in comparison to the man-made props around them. And at other times, they seem the same size as humans or the size of the creepy human-faced mice. The inconsistency is instantly noticeable.

13. Victoria doesn’t...talk...much.

I’m not sure if this is addressed in the actual Broadway production, but in the movie, Victoria rarely speaks. Perhaps she is just a voice for the audience, but most of her action in the movie is through expression and dancing alone. Which is fine, I suppose, but as a protagonist, her lack of voice creates a lack of agency, and so when she is integral to the plot of Grisabella (Jennifer Hudson’s character), it seems a little forced.

By this point, I’m sure I seem like this review is pretty tame...well, now let’s dive into the bonkers points that happen from here on out in this film, because it gets BONKERS.

12. Judy Dench and those Toenails

As you have probably noticed in the trailer, these cats have very humanoid features -- what you probably miss is that their hands and feet are UNEDITED. Meaning, that while you’re looking at a digital cat on screen, these digital cats have HUMAN hands and feet. At one point, Judy Dench’s purple toenail polish is present -- Jennifer Hudson’s perfect plum manicure is noticeable, too -- and Judy’s wedding ring is visible in most shots.

It really makes me question how in the WORLD these shots got into a final product -- or why they released this film if it wasn’t complete...was there a deadline to make it before the new year? This is SO distracting that it took up a lot of my time watching the film.

11. Hands, all the human feet and hands...

Additionally, these are very humanoid cats -- I understand that the Musical on Broadway is just people in cat suits, but if you’re going to the extreme of creating entirely CGI characters --- why not make them literal cats? Instead of these weird alien-like creatures who sometimes wear clothing and sometimes are nude well, basically with a thin layer of fur on them?

10. Ian McClellan

Similar to Munkustrap, Sir -- SIR -- Ian McClellan gives his small role 100%, even down to acting VERY cat-like throughout. He can’t sing well, though. Better than Russell Crowe, but no Judy Dench, who also hams up her performance, well, at least until the ending.

9. Taylor Swift and the Musical Number that Actually Works

In all honesty, Taylor Swift’s musical number introducing the villain of the piece, whom we’ve seen throughout the entire production, so I’m not sure why we’re doing this, but here we are --

--ahem, anyway, her musical number is one of the best, but it’s still a mind trip, as she basically sprinkles catnip on the crew and they all start writhing on screen.

Also, did they make her breasts larger? Is that a thing? Is it just me?

8. MaCavity and Things I Can’t Unsee

Idris Elba plays the villainous MaCavity, who has been trying to one-by-one pick off the cats that could qualify as “chosen” by Judy Dench. His role is a basically hammy one, but it gets worse...

At the start of the movie, he has a cap and trench coat that make him look extra villainous, but as he’s revealed by Swift’s cat, he ditches these garments.

It was hard to find a gif of this, but it’s basically a naked Idris Elba with a tail...and if you’re thinking to yourself, “Oh, that sounds hot!” No, no it is not. It was disturbing and I won’t ever be able to watch this actor without seeing him with a thin layer of fur all over him.

7. The Magical Mr. Mistoffelees...

As you’ve probably noticed at this point, the “Plot” if it can be called that is practically non-existent in this movie. The only elements of action we get are that Macavity is trying to kidnap the other cats so he can be chosen by Judy Dench’s cat, Deuteronomy.

Unfortunately, Dench vows not to choose him, so he kidnaps her...to...change...her mind? It doesn’t make sense, and he even threatens her life if she doesn’t pick him. If he kills her, how will that help him get picked?

In any case, Mr. Mistoffelees, who has THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE MOVIE told everyone that he’s a “magical” cat and can do magic, is suddenly asked if he can bring Deuteronomy back through magic....and he’s NOT SURE IF HE IS CONFIDENT ENOUGH TO DO SO.

It’s such a cop out and leads to an overly long song about everyone telling him he can do magic, until he finally does the thing and brings Judy Dench back to the other Jellicle Cats.

I don’t mind Mr. Mistoffelees’s character, but don’t tell us you’re one thing the entire movie and then “puss out” (pun absolutely intended at this point) on the very identity feature you’ve drilled into our brains.

6. Suspension of Belief...and Physics...

In addition to the proportions being off in this entire movie, so is the suspension of physics and belief, especially after Mr. Mistoffelees brings back Deuteronomy.

You can see in the gif below that magic starts happening everywhere to celebrate (glad we’re confident of our abilities NOW) and later with Grisabella and the climax, there’s a huge shift from reality to fantasy. Movie, what ARE YOU?!

5. Grisabella’s Plight?

Jennifer Hudson’s cat, Grisabella, is portrayed as an outcast who comes crawling (literally) back to the Jellicle Cats...it’s not clear whether she is wanting the chance to be chosen or not. But the other cats hate her and shun her...except the newbie, Victoria. She convinces Grisabella to come back and sing to the other cats her story. Which she does, and this changes everyone’s mind, including Deuteronomy’s.

My issue is...what did Grisabella do? Other than run off with Macavity, who never even addresses her in the movie, what did she do? Why do the cats hate her? We never really learn this, which makes it just seem like hollow bullying. And maybe that’s it, but if it is, there needed to be SOMETHING more to give us a reason to care about Grisabella and her plight in the film.

4. “MEMMMMMORRRRIIIIEEEESSSS!!”

Okay, yes, J. Hud. can sing. REALLY, really well. And the climax of “Memories” is done well -- it’s just....not as good as Elaine Page. There. I said it -- I’ve only seen that number from the original Broadway show, but it’s true. Page knocks it out of the park.

I think part of the problem is that the movie doesn’t let Hudson go all out -- she does that dramatic musical moment, but then her voice and the song is restrained and just peters off...you don’t hold Jennifer Hudson back in a solo, ya here?

3. Trading a Tire for a Hot Air Balloon

In the original musical, Grisabella is chosen to be reborn and rides away from the set on a tire -- which begs the question: Is this a representation that she was run over? Is that how she is “reborn?” It would be an interesting concept to think about, but here, they just fix up the chandelier (through magic, or whatever at this point) and it becomes a hot air balloon that carries her away. Any possible conversation that could be created in this moment is sacrificed for a magical deus ex machina...and I hate it.

2. Judy Dench Came For Our Souls, Y’All

The resolution of this film is what killed my brain.

Judy Dench looks DIRECTLY into the camera,

DIRECTLY into our souls,

and proceeds to give a lengthy and unnecessary review of why cat names are important -- which really has been the thesis of this movie, hasn’t it?

There is an interjected chorus between her speaking, but seriously, this ending is longer than Return of the King -- and her looking right at us the audience only made me feel more and more uncomfortable -- to the point where I was laughing, and crying, and feeling like a puddle of mush.

1. My Mouth During This Whole Film...

...Was agape. Seriously, this movie is not just bad; it’s unfinished, confused on its adaptation, and just bonkers. The only things that possibly work are the vocals, with the exception of McClellan, but the lyrics and premises are just so bizarre that good singing can’t save your brain being completely confused as to what it’s watching.

If you can get a cheap seat, or go to a $5 cinema like I did, you could see this with a group of friends as a joke.

But otherwise, AVOID this. It’s the 2010′s version of The Room.

Perhaps fun to watch as a cult film when it’s free on streaming later, but not worth the money now, sadly.

#Cats #Cats 2019 #Cats the Movie #Munkustrap #rum tug tugger #Macavity #Taylor Swift #Rebel Wilson #Victoria #Jennifer Hudson #Judy Dench #Ian McClellan #Mr. Mistoffelees #nightmare fuel #James Corden #Rhetorical Ink Reviews #Rhetorical Ink

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volturialice · 4 years

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Spork Haven chapter 22: outlandish fucking statue

welcome to spork haven, where I spork the EL James fic you’ve never heard of

previous chapter | next chapter | contents

previously on Spork Haven:

actor!Edward and murder witness cello student ex-hotel maid!Bella got ready to go to an awards show! and that was it that was the entire chapter

SADDLE UP CHUCKLEFUCKS, THIS CHAPTER IS GREAT. like, I legitimately mean that. a lot of stupid shit goes down and it is absolutely bonkers and thoroughly entertaining. this is the reward I deserve after putting up with the last few dead boring chapters. chapter 22 has restored my faith in this story’s ability to be wildly, audaciously stupid all over the place, like the shitting hippopotamus of stories.

chapter 22 begins with Bella and Edward getting into the car to get to the airport to get on the studio’s private jet to fly to a different airport to get into a limo to get to the awards ceremony. okay, so maybe it’s not fun right off the bat. just hang on a sec.

on the drive, Edward notices Bella’s lack of delicious, suck-able earrings. she tells him she lost one, and he tells her he found it in her room and has kept it as a trophy. now he can’t stand the sight of her disgusting, shamefully naked ears, declaring that she should be wearing

so he makes Mike pull over at a Tiffany’s. I’m not even kidding. they’re on their way to an official event and he insists they need a pit stop to go jewelry shopping. Tiffany’s should really have a drive-thru for occasions like these.

Bella is not allowed out of the car for security reasons, so Edward takes Jasper to Tiffany’s instead. honestly at this point I am so checked out that nothing would please me more than a sharp left turn into Edward/Jasper territory, but alas, the most we get is Edward calling Jasper

and telling us how bitter and jealous Jasper is as Edward casually drops twelve grand on a single pair of earrings.

Edward makes sure to tell us how clueless he is choosing earrings, in case we needed to be reminded of what a good ol’ fashioned Red-Blooded Hetero™ he is. he’s so out of his depth here, among all this

don’t worry ladies, this hunk of oozing testosterone has never seen a diamond or a sparkle in his life

he quickly picks a pair of earrings called the “Victoria Double Drop,” which is as close as this story will get to having Victoria in it. oh well. on second thought it’s probably for the best that way, seeing as how in f!fty sh@des, erika made Victoria a head of Human Resources.

back in the car, Bella opens the

causing Edward to feel such varied emotions as

and

but of course Bella loves the earrings and puts them on right away.

I...assume we’re supposed to be impressed with Edward’s generosity and largesse and thoughtfulness here, but. do I even need to point out that if he were actually a thoughtful and considerate boyfriend, he would have spent more than two seconds picking out a gift for Bella and done it, oh, maybe a day or two before the black tie event as opposed to in the car on the way there?

Edward, Bella, and their retinue (Emmett, Jasper, and Edward’s movie’s director, Chris, who is completely unimportant to the story but still here for some reason) board the jet, which is decorated in

Ed and Bella sit down on the couch, causing Edward to have a flashback to the time he had a threesome with two beautiful flight attendants on the same couch last year.

like actually. that’s an actual thing in the actual story. flight attendant threesome.

Edward catches Bella eyeing him during his fun little reverie and has a moment of panic

wait, was that a joke? was that a...fun reference to canon?

...gosh,

if only it were in a better story

anyway. after the plane ride, the gang meets up with Taylor and gets into some

to head to the read carpet. once on said carpet, they pose for “the fucking press corps” in a paragraph where erika hilariously mixes up flashbulbs and flashlights, making it sound like everyone on the red carpet is playing flashlight tag.

Bella gets a lot of attention from the press and seems uncomfortable with it, causing Edward to wonder if it was a good idea to bring a shy person who’s spent the last six months in hiding from murderers to such a high profile event. ya fucking think?

they talk to a bunch of people Edward hates and drink a glass of champagne

remember kids, champagne is gay. this post brought to you by Beer Hets™

Ed and Bella sit down for the ceremony, and guess whomst is one of the award presenters? that’s right, the delectable old vain blonde hussy herself.

and just when I thought Safe Haven!Bella couldn’t possibly get any stupider, I’m proven wrong.

not to get all Serious And Analytical here, but Safe Haven is an amazing example of erika’s patented “write a heroine so unbelievably fucking dumb that all of the creepy male love interest’s abusive, controlling actions seem justified” method.

Tanya opens the Best Actor envelope with

and pauses for

and surprise, surprise, Edward has won. the audience dissolves into

then Edward goes up to collect his award, and we get one of my favorite paragraphs of all time, which I have here preserved for you in its entirety:

yes, that was 5 “fucks” in...two? sentences

then Edward and Tanya have to do a photo op in front of a “lit to fuck board.” Tanya makes some catty remark about Bella and Edward snaps at her that Bella is “the future Mrs. Cullen, if you don’t mind.”

quick sidebar, are we sure an adult wrote this? like are we sure it wasn’t a ten-year-old? have we double-checked? like are we totally certain?

ok then.

Edward and Bella make their way to the after party, where they drink more champagne (gay) and something finally dawns on Edward

no, and no official, televised, US-based event would serve her in the first place. I can’t wait for the next chapter, in which all these characters serve 60 days in jail for supplying alcohol to a teenager.

then Bella starts to feel dizzy, so Emmett takes her to the ladies’ room while Edward poses for more pictures. place your bets now on whether she’s poisoned, pregnant, or both! my money’s on “both” but I wish it was just poison. that would be way more fun.

and indeed, some type of skulduggery seems to be afoot, because when Edward joins Emmett to lurk outside the ladies’ room, Bella still hasn’t come back after five whole minutes! Edward and Emmett share a glance

I’m sorry erika but literally what is the point of describing them like that if they aren’t going to fall in love?? can you fucking read, erika? can you read the phrase “dark burning eyes”?? can you read that last sentence aloud and then honestly sit here and tell me it’s not the gayest thing since gay sliced bread?? hmm? can you???

after this epically, gloriously homosexual moment, Edward bursts into the ladies’ room, surprising all the ladies who are engaged in activities like

you know, the more of el james’ work I encounter, the more I’m convinced that she has never actually met another human woman and that her only source of information on womankind is stock photos.

Edward rushes through the women’s restroom, checking every stall, only to find that—alas—horror of horrors—Bella has disappeared! oh, the humanity!

he fights “the nausea that’s threatening to erupt all over the fucking floor,” and there the chapter ends.

predictions: chapter 23 will begin with Edward projectile vomiting all over the women’s room. then it turns out that Bella is totally fine and was just taking some Me Time in order to laugh alone with a salad.

best “fucks”

“a complete fucking delight”

“every fucking muscle”

“a fucking house on fire”

“pouty fucking lip”

“secretly fucking pleased” (bella)

“fucking elegant” (bella)

“fucking blinking” (the Tiffany’s salesgirl)

“fucking flashy” (earrings)

“fucking animated” (bella)

“one of the biggest fucking mouths in Hollywood” (tanya)

“completely fucking oblivious” (bella)

next chapter: salt fucking peter

#spork haven #twilight fanfiction #anti e.l. james #alcohol mention //#if I had to guess I think this chapter has the most 'fucks' of any chapter #it's a good one lads #we're BACK baby #unsafe for work text //

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vydante · 5 years

Text

Trust Me | Natasha Romanoff x Stark! GN! Reader

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: GN! Reader x Natasha Romanoff - Platonic/ Romantic, up for interpretation...

Plot: There was no way around it. It was either you or Natasha. She didn’t want you to go, and obviously, you didn’t want her to go either. You knew she was as hard-headed as you, so you came up with a plan to get the soul stone, even if you had to lie to Natasha about it.

A/N: (shitty) Angst. Endgame spoilers, but if you haven’t seen it yet by now... Then don’t... Don’t read this... I Guess lmfaoo... Inspired by this post on Instagram. I wanted to show Natasha some love, and since she Did Not Deserve To Die (not to say that Clint does), might as well Kill Someone Else ;) And this was originally a male reader fic, but it was vague enough so that it can be gender neutral.

“... It’s going to have to be one of us.”

Your jaw clenched as you were sat on the ground next to Natasha, who held her head in her palms.

You were silent as you peeked through your lashes to look at the bastard who was already up here. He’s also silent as he looks at you, almost through your soul as your guts clench with anxiety.

“... What if he’s bullshitting us?”

Your voice was quiet.

She didn’t answer you, though you didn’t really need an answer to that question. It was inevitable. Neither of you could ever go back from this- you had only one chance to get the soul stone, no matter what it took.

Your lips were pressed in a fine line.

You thought about it logistically, trying to find some way to justify you being the one to jump.

Family?

You winced.

No, that wasn’t really a great one to start off with. Biologically speaking, you had your father, Tony. You’d know he’d miss you beyond words, after all you saw him grieving for Peter first hand. And Pepper would be devastated from losing you, her first- if not technical- child...

As for Natasha...

As far as you and the team knew, she doesn’t even know her own family members or if they were even alive. Hell, she didn’t even know her own father’s name when the red skull guy said his name.

But, either way, the team would miss her... And besides, Tony would still have 2 kids left- Morgan and Harley-, and if this whole thing works, 3 since Peter would come back.

And chances are if it does work, then they could just... Use the Infinity Stones to resurrect you, right?

It was a gamble to take, but if it meant that you were to be the one who jumped, then so be it.

But... How were you going to convince her to let you be the one to jump? There was no real guarantee that you could be resurrected, and even then, she’d argue that she should be the one to jump since she’s older than you.

She always used that to her advantage, saying that her age came with more wisdom than you’d ever have. Even if the age gap wasn’t all that big, she’d still say that.

You sighed quietly.

Either way, there was no real way of going around the argument that she should be the one to jump. All of the logistics point to her being the one to do it, even if you didn’t want to admit the facts.

Your head buzzed with ideas until one hit you.

“(Name)?”

You stood up abruptly.

Was this going to work? What if she doesn’t agree with your plan? How are you going to convince her to go through with it with you?

You held your hands out to her and she took it with a curious but grim expression. Chances are, she’s probably thought of a million ways to get you to stay behind.

“Follow me...”

You held her hands with a tight grip as you walked towards the edge of the cliff. You were a few feet away from it as you stopped and turned around to look at her in her eyes.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you spoke in a low, quiet voice, trying to make it seem like you didn’t want the red skull guy to hear. Either way, it didn’t matter if he heard you or not, but it would at least give some sense of slyness that should spark some hope in her.

“I have a plan, Nat.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Care to tell?”

She kept her voice at a soothing calm tone, but you knew better than that. Her palms were getting a tad bit sweaty. You really didn’t know who she was trying to calm down- you, or her.

“I know this might sound really stupid, but most of my plans are stupid but they work. You just... Please, just trust me, okay?”

You weren’t lying. Whenever you used to suggest plans to the team when you were all in your prime time, it sounded absolutely bonkers. But never had they failed you, so no matter how ridiculous it was, the team always trusted you and your plans.

“Okay. I trust you.”

She nearly whispered that her warm breath momentarily heating you up as you both stood on the cold clifftop. You searched in her eyes for any hesitation. Any reluctance, any doubt.

There wasn’t any of them in her eyes. Just trust and mutual understanding.

Your heart ached.

She trusted you.

You were thankful that you kept up that little tidbit of yours up until the bitter end. You were thankful that she trusted you. Just so you could use it to your advantage.

“To keep it all short... We jump off together.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth opened. She tried forming words, looking into the windows of your eyes, searching for humor in them. Only seriousness.

“... What...?”

You squeezed her hand and felt your heart swell when she squeezed right back.

“Look, Nat, both of us are stubborn as a mule. You won’t let me jump, I won’t let you jump.”

You shook your head as you pulled her in for a hug. She didn’t hesitate to wrap her hands around you as you murmured quietly.

“But... I have a plan, and that plan needs us both to jump.”

She leaned back, but not enough to separate herself from your embrace. Her lips quivered as she tried to smile at you.

“(Name)... I don’t...” She shook her head as she cast her eyes down. She rested her forehead against yours.

“... I don’t know, (Name)...”

You strained a smile as you closed your eyes.

“Natasha, do you trust me? Yes or no?”

You prayed that she said yes. There was a lingering doubt in the back of your head. What if she said no? What would happen then?

Knowing Natasha, she... Oh God, she wouldn’t hesitate to try and beat you into the ground, just to prevent you from jumping off.

You both knew in your heart, even if she was more skilled than you, you had an iron suit for god’s sake. You could easily overpower her into the ground, even if that meant having to do the worst just so she could stay down.

You opened your eyes and stared right into hers. Emotions were swimming through her eyes as they were illuminated by the dim sky.

“... Yeah... I trust you...”

Relief flooded your system. You were glad. If she had said no, you two would eventually have to brawl for the cliff.

But as quick as the relief came, it left and was replaced with anxiety.

If your plan worked, then...

You stepped back and faced the cliff. You held her hands with a vice grip as you both approached the edge. You swallowed the lump lodged in your throat as you teetered over the edge. You take a quick glance down as your stomach dropped to the floor.

It... You were so high...

You snapped out of it when you felt Natasha squeeze your hand. She’s smiling at you, which makes your throat clench up. She thinks it’s a good plan.

She thinks it’s a good plan.

You clenched your other fist behind your back, trying to get rid of tears threatening to come out. You looked away and down at the bottom of the cliff before glancing back at her with half-lidded eyes. You chewed on the inside of your mouth as you sent her a smile.

“Trust me, Nat. I have a plan.”

You prayed that she didn’t hear the uncertainty in your voice.

You two stood there for what seems to be an eternity before you nodded at her, and leaned forwards together and off the cliff.

The cold wind hit you with more force than you were expecting.

You felt like you were flying in your suit, freefalling as you always did in your free time.

Only this time, your suit wasn’t going to save you.

You still held hands with Natasha as you were both falling. Blood rushed to your ears as you pulled Natasha close for a hug. She returned it back and you saw her lips moving, but you couldn’t really tell what she was trying to say.

You glanced up- or down, since you both went head first, and saw the ground near. You couldn’t see the ground from the cliff, but now, you saw it clearly.

Strangely, it was rather clean. Just rubble.

You swallowed as you heard F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice in your earpiece.

“7 seconds until impact.”

Shit, you had to act quick.

You glanced back at Natasha, and you could tell she was getting extremely nervous as the ground got closer and closer as each millisecond passes.

“5 seconds until impact.”

You snaked your hands over to your nano-tech storage center- it was conveniently on your chest, just like your fathers. You tapped it and felt the nano-tech forming rapidly. Only this time, it wasn’t wrapping around you.

It was latching itself onto Natasha.

‘Take her to the top.’

The suit commanded your last order. You pressed your lips firm on her forehead and pulled back, mouthing her your last words.

‘Trust me.’

Her eyes widened as you pushed away from you and watch as the suit form at light speed over her body. She’s trying to struggle out of it, but the suit simply holds her in one place as she screams at you.

“(Name)!”

You sighed quietly and watched with a smile as the suit completely forms over her. The suit immediately flings itself upright and uses the leg thrusters to stop her from descending with you.

Quickly, her figure fades away from your view until the fog takes over. You couldn’t really see the cliff top from here, but you closed your eyes.

It wouldn’t really matter now.

All that you could do was pray that the next time you saw her, she’d forgive you for using her trust in you to your advantage.

“... Where’s (Name)?”

Tony asked Natasha. She avoided his gaze and stood there silently.

Steve frowned and put his hand on her shoulder.

“Romanoff...?”

His voice was gentle but firm. Natasha’s lips quivered as she lifted her head up to reveal her glassy eyes. Tears gently slid down her face as she locked eyes with Tony.

Realization passed Tony’s eyes as his hands trembled. Fear rushed through his palms as he furrowed his eyebrows. He clenched his hands as the shook.

“No...”

“Tony...”

Thor approached him from behind and placed his hand on Tony’s back. He turned around to look Thor in his eyes, and all Thor saw was immediate grief.

“My baby...”

Tony’s voice trembled as he gripped Thor’s bicep. Clint and Scott hung their heads as they didn’t know what to say. Bruce shook his head as he clenched his jaw, tears already slipping down his face.

Natasha’s voice was caught in her throat. She wanted to say so many things to Tony right now. She wanted to fall to her knees and beg for his forgiveness. She wanted to cry and yell and scream and punch the ground for letting you- letting you trick her into jumping with you.

She wanted to do a lot of things, but she could only say one last thing before she tasted her tears streaming down her face.

“... It should’ve been me...”

#gender neutral reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x male! reader #natasha romanoff x male reader #male! reader #natasha romanoff #male reader #x male reader #avengers #avengers x male reader #avengers x male! reader #avengers: endgame #avengers x reader #angst #reader insert #gn reader

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beabaseball · 4 years

Text

this is a delirious 11pm post for Adults Only guys

Leave this space, child!

...

...y’all teenagers are going to be tweaked out of their goddamn minds.

Like, not necessarily in the drugged way, though some maybe yes in the drugged way, but like. Specifically in the non-drug way, they’re going to be snippy, and inattentive, and self centered. And that’s probably fine.

Like. Of course teens are self-centered, their bodies are doing weird shit for the first time and people keep making jokes they don’t understand yet, and some of these fuckers haven’t been given sex ed so they don’t even know what’s coming.

The younger teens have just emerged from the child form that has only just started being able to comprehend a larger world. In elementary school, sure I was reading time magazine for kids and we prayed for people who were being reported (religious school; recent tsunami, it happens) and when I was in 1st or 2nd grade we heard rumors that once upon a time women weren’t allowed to do the same stuff as men, but like— you can feel those things, but it’s not really something that you comprehend unless it’s right then a part of your life. I remember the first time I really ‘got’ sexism was in ninth grade in a gym class of 24 boys to 3 + me girls, and I wrote bad poetry about it in my phone for like three months trying to process it.

When I was like 16 our car broke down midway to school and we had to call my dorm parent to come drive me the next 5 mins, and so he’s in a bad mood bc he has to pick me up, and mom is in a bad mood bc car she gets a feeling dorm parent didn’t believe her when she said the car broke down, and it’s like 80 out but more importantly the humidity is a swamp, and I just remember being in his car driving the rest of the way to school and he’s complaining about sunburns bc he’s super pale and Irish, but he’s trying to talk so I kind of say “huh well i’ve never gotten a sunburn. I tan real fast and then go inside and I’m white again.”

and even in the moment I remember being like “that’s not really what he wanted to hear” and I think he even made a face, but I was too out of it and hot and tired to really do anything passed that. And I do feel kind of bad about it? Like, I did not mean to demean his pain of sunburns and I know also that at the time he was having A Rough Time with his marriage, to the point where he had us doing religious plays about parenthood for three seasons straight.

But also, I was a teenager. And looking back I can’t exactly blame my past self for just kinda... saying some words and feeling bad the rest of the car ride but also too tired to care. Theater teacher man wasn’t a bad guy; we were definitely not good at reading each other and he thought musicals sucked, but he also was the one who comforted me out of a panic attack when we had a tornado warning and I ended up convinced my daystudent friend was going to die.

Because that’s what I cared about at the time. Me-related things. Yes, tornado, but I am worried about one (1) person, and that mattered to me. I stayed behind when we got an actual sex-ed person in 7th grade because I was scared that reading yaoi would send me to hell. I had a breakdown in front of my history professor because one of my friends was discovering her gender identity and I was scared I was ‘losing her’ (you know the words!)

Now, someone comes out to me or someone doesn’t understand a term and I’m over here like “yea which definition u wanna use” but back then I was a kid and I had never experienced anything like this before, my hormones were wild—which didn’t mean I was horny and wanted boyfriend, it meant I was in constant fear of bleeding through things and every now and then I would wake up and my body would be in surprise unknowable pain (aka I was finally big enough to cut off my own circulation in my sleep and also growing pains)

Now, I’ve got a lot of that under control. When I wake up with a body in pain I usually know why and probably it is my fault actually. I know a bit better how to get through days when I’m too hot, or too groggy, or just dissociation or mad. (The trick is: say aloud, “sorry if I’m not responding much, I’m just really hot/groggy/out of it/still upset about that.” )

That’s not something a lot of teens have down yet. I saw a kid with a naruto shirt on at work once and I said “hey naruto” and he looked at me like he’d seen the face of god, he was so surprised someone knew what naruto was. To someone even MILDLY in my age range, the idea of not knowing who Naruto is is preposterous. But this was like, 12-15 year old at the most. Not hit his growth spurt yet. Just absolutely blindsided that there was an outside world which recognized something he liked, which I’m gonna wildly guess his parents probably aren’t into or don’t talk about it with him, because the thought of talking Naruto with your kid is horrifying.

Obviously, thinking other people don’t know about naruto is a similar kind of self-centered thought along the lines of “I bet thigh chick isn’t a REAL fan of x” or “EVERYONE has an opinion on me and there is no in between” where like the world... sort of revolves around you.

And like, once that person grows up if they keep that sort of self-focus, that’s usually the time you start trying to ditch them, but even older teens are still just coming out of that larval childhood state. They know a lot more about the world than we probably did at their age—I know a lot of them aren’t having the same existential crisis over their friends’ gender like I did, which is a big ol step— but there are still days that it’s going to be too much new shit to deal with, plus whatever else is happening inside them personally. And it’ll take a while to learn how to handle that.

In the meantime, they might be snappish, or out of it, or just kind of give up and have a ‘fuck it’ attitude sometimes, and it drives a lot of adults just goddamn insane it seems, according to all the mildly aggressive parents at work, trying to get kids who don’t want to be there to give the right reactions. It’s probably not even anything personal to the event that’s making them unhappy. One time I talked to a kid who was crying, and when I got her to tell me what was bothering her, it turned out that some people on her family reunion were mean to her. Nothing about the immediate ‘now’, just a lot of emotion that needed to go somewhere, and that somewhere ended up being crying, and it was not at all about respect or disrespect or anything related to us. Probably most of what was needed was to talk about it (success) and take a long nap.

The first time I remember having a meltdown with a ‘trigger’ like that, I was in 5th grade and my first assignment was something like “what did you do over summer” so I lost my entire shit and cried on the couch for an hour. Passed out, slept til 7, woke up and was fed soup, and have no idea if I finished that paper but presumably I did because I remember a nap and food working.

I would keep having these homework meltdowns periodically, and I don’t know when they stopped, but I had at least one, maybe two, in my first year of college.

And eventually I’ve just kinda.... stopped having them. Stress about a big project wasn’t something that bothered me anymore. You just did it one step at a time, and when you started thinking “maybe I’ll do it in the morning”, you immediately go to bed because you’ve already lost the fight and even if you don’t do it in the morning at least you won’t face it sleep deprived.

It takes time and living to get these experiences, and while one kid might not have the same issues with school work I had, maybe something else just knocks them on their ass every time (same) and it is just. Literally something you need to live through a couple times before you know how to deal with it. You can provide Blank Slate Alien Person with all the mental health tips and anecdotal advice and chamomile tea as you want, but the first couple times they face stress, none of those tips help if they don’t know how to implement them.

If you’ve ever assembled something by instructions and ended up building it upside down—it’s easier to build it again once you’ve gotten mad and undone it and started again. Because you’ve practiced. You already had the instructions, but now you have the experience of building it already, even if the result wasn’t the one you wanted.

Teens are learning a) how to read instructions, and b) that their assembly is probably upside down. and in the meantime, the world is also bonkers wild right now.

When they have that moment of rage, or giving up, or aloofness upon finding shit got built upside down— just. Let them.

You don’t have to ‘fix’ it or ‘fix’ them for having these emotions, or lack of them.

These are normal reactions. They make sense. All I’m asking is that we understand it’s going to happen. These emotions are going to happen.

Don’t let yourself justify being mean to kids and teens by telling yourself they’re being disrespectful. The world and their lives and emotions also don’t revolve around you. It’s not always a rebellion or reason to fight when things get too high strung to hold total control of.

That doesn’t mean ignore them. I was maybe 12 or 13, and it was 90 on a metal ship, and i was wearing an under shirt because i didn’t have a bra, so two layers of clothes on a hot metal ship, on my period— and all I remember is asking my dad to let us sit down and eat some lunch, because i was dizzy and dehydrated, and all he just kept saying we would do it once he saw the tour. I have no idea how long it was but I probably could’ve cried and been called moody or uncooperative.

Life is difficult. Especially for people who aren’t yet in control of their situations. Who are still bursting out with emotions they can’t otherwise articulate.

Be kind to that.

#long post #ramble #teenagers #kids #teens #puberty #puberty Sucks #especially when the world continues to exist around you #beatext #memories

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non-writingwriter · 5 years

Text

for love casts out fear

or, Ineffable Idiots raise the Antichrist (somehow)

He should leave, before Hell comes looking for him and Heaven finds out about the Arrangement. He should, but the truth is that he wants for them to sit in this very room again, and laugh and drink and eat together and for the world not to end.

Must be why he came to London in the first place, the hope they’ll be able to fix the end of times if they only try hard enough - and the best chance they’ve got is the infant sleeping in his lap.

He just needs to make Aziraphale understand his point, and also come up with a sensible reason for the baby to still be with him and not with the American diplomat’s wife. Piece of cake.

«[…] It seemed like a good idea at the time.» he says, even if it still doesn’t seem like a good idea.

If he looks convinced enough, though, he could try to suggest what he’s about to suggest without sounding completely bonkers. Aziraphale already thinks he is, if the vehemence of his protest is any indication, so it wouldn’t do him any good anyway.

«Well, it clearly isn’t! You should go back and-and give him to them like you were meant to, Crowley! They’ll notice, and then you’ll be in deep trouble. Us both, if they catch us here.» he says, eyes darting to the child in fear. He’s gotten better at the yelling-under-his-breath thing, and the baby doesn’t even stir, this time. Crowley swears he looks relieved of half his problems just for that.

«I can’t. It’s too late. Had a time frame, fucked it up-» he starts, but static interrupts him, the antiquated gramophone in the corner of the back room coming to life without any warning.

It’s not playing something to take over – although Crowley wouldn’t have been too surprised if it blasted Queen –, so Hastur’s voice is delightfully his own, if a little distorted, nails-down-a-blackboard-like.

CROWLEY.

The angel startles, looking around frantically, but they don’t know where he is. He’s sure of that, so he just shoves the child in Aziraphale’s arms, prompting a look full of panic.

He ignores it, trying to convey an urgent “shut up and leave the room before he wakes up” at the best of his abilities, pushing him through the door when it doesn’t work.

Hastur can’t see him, but he plasters a smile on his face nonetheless, just in case, and steadies himself to hear the long and detailed list of his sins and consequent punishments, surprised they even bothered giving him a heads up.

«Oh, Hastur! Long time not hearing from you.» he tries to keep a neutral but cheery tone, prepared to meet his end with at least a sliver of dignity intact.

YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE WITH THE PRINCE, CROWLEY. THE SISTERS COULD HAVE MISSED HIM, AND WHERE WOULD YOU BE IF THEY HAD?

Notwhat he was expecting. It makes about three dozens alarm bells go off in his head simultaneously.

He didn’t even go near the convent, and whatever the nuns found is not the Antichrist, but Hastur doesn’t need to know that.

A tiny, practically nonexistent spark of hope lights up in his chest. Crowley crushes it before it can take form, because it would be absolutely ridiculous if it was like that, wouldn’t it?1

But if they know and they’re just playing with him, he has nothing left to lose.

He tests the waters, as casually as he can manage while lying through his teeth. This is easily the biggest risk he ever took in his existence, and he was never a good gambler.

«Wasss in a hurry, lots of places to be. I take it the exchange went well, then?» and he hasn’t prayed in a very, very long time, but if Hastur’s saying what he thinks he’s saying maybe he should have.

The pause that follows is electric with tension.

Crowley can feel the hair at the back of his neck stand up, his fists clenched by his sides.

He moves in the angel’s line of sight, ready to signal him to run if he’s wrong and they are on his tail.

Wide, blue eyes meet his own, and Crowley knows he will never be able to forget the way Aziraphale looks in this moment, the light from the table lamp like a halo around his head, baby fast asleep in his arms, dread and determination etched into his expression. He’s beautiful and terrifying, and Crowley will fight, he will beg, he will do anything it takes to protect what they have and what they are and to keep it safe, in this place of theirs.

Static again, loud and threatening. Crowley doesn’t look away from him, and he waits.

THE CHILD HAS BEEN DELIVERED TO THE DESIGNED FAMILY. IN ELEVEN YEARS’ TIME ARMAGEDDON SHALL BEGIN. UNTIL THEN, HOPE WE DON’T CROSS PATHS AGAIN.2

The gramophone gives another bit of crackling, and then turns off as it had turned on3.

There is, then, a moment of perfect stillness, silence growing heavy between them as they both try – and fail – to process the implications of Hastur’s words, looking for something on the other’s face to confirm it happened. It goes on for about twenty-three intense seconds, only to be interrupted at the twenty-fourth by a blood-curdling scream.

Aziraphale almost drops the child, letting out a truly undignified squeal of surprise. He manages not to4, and stares down at the crying, red-faced baby he’s holding with a very specific mixture of confusion and fear usually reserved for particularly disgusting insects.

Crowley is too relieved to even laugh, and the sound is starting to get on his nerves. He has met enough newborns in his life to know what the matter is.

The Antichrist, the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Darkness, is hungry.

1 Life and fate, Crowley had found, are often much more ridiculous than any plan humans and occult beings alike can conceive.

2 The unexpected arrival of Mrs. Young had caused havoc in the hospital, and a third child in a picnic basket had conveniently been left on the steps of the convent at the right time for Sister Mary Loquacious to stumble upon him in her quest for biscuits. This would not have happened, hadn’t Crowley needed a golden-haired male baby in a picnic basket so bad as to accidentally convince a young girl to not abandon her unwanted child on the side of the road, but to keep walking just five minutes longer. The exchange had gone just – or mostly – as expected, and the hospital had burned down before anyone could ask questions.

3 Sputtering and whining, and as if everything is perfectly normal. Gramophones, being non sentient objects, don’t really care for life-changing events, and Aziraphale’s is no exception.

4 Crowley knows it takes a minor miracle, because he’s the one to do it.

—————————————————————————————

Way, way too excited about my current wip. Is getting an entirely-too-long sneak-peek out the best way to deal with it? Probably not.

And yet here I am anyways. (‾◡◝　)

#morning repost!#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable dads #fanfiction #my writing

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riselioness · 4 years

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Some thoughts on TROS, including things I enjoyed

It’s two weeks since I first saw TROS (I’ve had a couple more viewings since then), and I’ve been doing a LOT of processing since then (haven’t we all!). I’m disappointed with many aspects of it, but there’s also a lot in it I enjoy, and some things I love. I think I’m now at a place where I’ve largely made my peace with what TROS is as a film, and am both able and keen to enjoy it (I have a high tolerance for ridiculousness in Star Wars, which definitely helps). I’ll probably be sharing some less positive articles/meta in time, but I wanted to start in a more positive way. So I’m going to get my main criticisms out of the way first, then share some of my favourite things about TROS.

From the start TROS was set an impossible task: close out the entire Skywalker saga, conclude major plot threads and character development, and reunite and invigorate the fandom after TLJ and Solo. It's abundantly clear that there was no real overall plan for the sequel trilogy, and without this how could the film possibly succeed? There are some things in TROS that could/should have been incredible if developed over the course of the three films: the Emperor's return, Finn's being Force sensitive, Leia's Jedi training to name just a few. But the way these things were handled in TROS was sadly lacking.

I've been rooting for Bendemption for some time, and the fact that he ends the film on the Light Side is one of the major reasons why I'm able to enjoy TROS as much as I do. However, he doesn't get a redemption arc so much as a redemption U-turn. Given his progressive and deliberate embracing of the Dark in TFA and TLJ, TROS had a LOT to do to set up and justify a convincing turn to the Light, and I don't think it did that. I do buy his turn, but that's in large part due to me reading into it headcanon that's consistent with the film but not contained within it (more on that later).

Ben having such an abrupt change of heart (for ambiguous reasons), and dying so soon after, means TROS barely scrapes the surface of redemption, and doesn’t even touch on the long, long work of reconciliation and rehabilitation. Why did Ben turn back to the Light at that moment, when he’d had so many other chances? If he’d lived, how would he have dealt with facing the consequences of his actions? Even though he’s (presumably) genuinely repented of his violent, manipulative and abusive behaviour towards Rey, how (if it’s even possible) would he reform to such an extent that there would be even a possibility of a healthy relationship with Rey? In failing to address these questions, TROS fails to provide a believable or responsible picture of the messy, painful and lengthy process we try to sum up with the word redemption.

I’ll leave any in depth commentary on representation in TROS to those better qualified than me, and just say here that the sidelining of Rose Tico (as the first major POC woman protagonist in the SW films, and especially given the horrific racial abuse Kelly Marie Tran was subjected to) is inexcusable, and the people responsible should be ashamed of themselves.

Despite all these things and many more, there was plenty in TROS that I liked or loved. I’ve enjoyed it more with each viewing, and I hope this continues. So in that spirit, I thought I’d share some of the things I loved (in attempted chronological order):

REY. REY REY REY. I flipping love her, and overall I’m happy with where she ended up as a character by the end of TROS. Am I completely happy with her characterisation? No. Do I think it could have been done better, for example if any women at all were involved in writing her? Absolutely. Do I still love her with every bit of my fangirl heart? You bet I do.

Literally every single hug and friendship moment in the whole film (wish I could remember more specific examples, awks).

Finn's absolute devotion to Rey (which I read as deep platonic friendship rather than unrequited love). The moment where she actually tells him what’s worrying her

Iain McDiarmid was great. As a prequel girl I got a real kick out of him quoting that line from ROTS.

Rey and Poe's argument at the start of the film (shame that tension is brushed under the carpet for the rest of the film).

"Dark science. Cloning". For some reason, that line and Dom Monaghan's delivery crack me up every time, despite (or perhaps because of) the Very Serious Moment.

Rey's little smile after she heals the sandworm, pleased with and proud of what she's done.

BABU FRIK. His heyheeeeeeeeeys get me every time.

Hux’s “I’m the spy” reveal was bonkers, but very enjoyable.

The fact that Rey doesn't try to redeem Ben. The way I read it is that when she senses Leia's presence she remembers that it's Leia’s son she's just mortally wounded, and that once she had hope that he would join her on the Light side. In healing him she allows him one more chance to make the right decision, but she doesn't try to influence him. Instead she leaves him to choose for himself, and you can see just the flicker of hope on her face that Ben Solo might come back after all. It was hugely important to me that after TLJ, when she literally closes the door on him, she didn't spend TROS trying to redeem him. Is Ben’s turn sudden and unexplained in the film? Yes. Is Rey’s part in it made clear? Nope. Can I read it in a way I like? Heck yes.

The scene with Kylo/Ben and the memory of Han Solo. I was on tenterhooks all throughout it, and the moment when he hurls his lightsaber into the sea is probably my biggest punching-the-air moment after the throne room scene in TLJ.

Every frickin' second of Ben Solo screentime we get after this. Sprinting alone across Exegol to her in his Hot Jedi Boyfriend outfit. THAT LOOK before the lightsaber manoeuvre. His little bow before he absolutely destroys the Knights of Ren. Limping and crawling to her and the way he tenderly holds her before healing her. The kiss - somewhat despite myself. I read it as a back-from-the-dead-heat-of-the-moment-potential-start-of-something kiss, when she saw the Ben she thought she saw in TLJ. My headcanon is that had he lived they wouldn’t have fallen headlong into a relationship, but rather would have taken time to get to know themselves and each other, and for Ben to do A LOT of reforming, before potentially starting something. Doesn’t that sound like riveting cinema (I wish). You can tell, from the fact that my feelings in this paragraph are inconsistent with my thoughts about Bendemption at the start of this post, that I am VERY conflicted about Reylo.

The fact that it's very clearly Rey who saves the galaxy (with the help of the Jedi before her). When Ben was racing to join her, I was worried that his part in the showdown might lessen her agency, strength and power, but in fact he was the one who got damselled.

Rey’s yellow lightsaber!

Rey calling herself a Skywalker - I've got mixed feelings about it now, but first time round it really worked for me.

There are plenty more things I liked, but these are the ones I’ve got for now. My feelings on TROS are and will probably remain distinctively mixed, but I’ve found it pretty therapeutic to share both my main concerns and things I loved. If you’ve made it this far, thanks for bearing with me!

#st #tros #tros spoilers #conflicted about reylo #my thoughts #tell me yours!

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jmeddows2 · 5 years

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Purple Thunder (Roger Taylor Series) - Part 3

(present/old) Roger Taylor x Reader

Notes: Sorry for grammar mistakes/ weird sentence structures. English is not my first language but anyways, I gave it a go. Enjoy and feel free to submit requests, feedback etc. So there’s loads of dialogue.. sorry for that??

Words: 1822

Part 1 Part 2

Part 3:

“Wtf, dad? “ Lola‘s voice filled Roger‘s apartment in Kensington, as he was sat on his huge black leather couch, watching her pace around. “What‘s wrong, honey?“ “Don‘t 'honey' me Paps. What‘s going on between you and Y/N? I’ve seen pictures!" “Nothing‘s going on. She came down to Surrey to talk music and I gave her a ride home. You’re overreacting, honey!" "I know when you‘re lying, Paps! I can see the way you’re looking at her, you used to look at mum just the same way! Dad, you’re never this affectionate, not even in public. Hell, you don‘t even properly hold Sarina‘s hand. And now this? That‘s disgusting! She could be my sister! She could be your daughter! You‘re 50 years older than her, goddamn!!!“

Lola was now shouting at her dad, letting anger take over. Roger just sat there in silence. Listening carefully to his daughter, knowing that everything is true. Every single word. But why did he feel guilty about it? Nothing‘s happened anyway. That‘s what helped Lola calm down. Nothing‘s happened anyway. That‘s what Roger told himself when he was tossing and turning in his bed late at night, thinking about one thing only.

But something’s happened, deep inside of him.

But it was wrong. So wrong. His heart began to speed up just thinking about the previous day. Reminiscing. Reminiscing how your face lit up when you discovered his drum skins in the studio, or when you had heard his new song. Your sparkling eyes, getting wider and wider during the tour through his house.

You, sitting by the lake with a stern look on your face, scribbling down some lyrics. When your eyes met his, he felt it. There was an exciting feeling, deep inside of him. But he tried to shrug it off - without success.

One look on the clock. 2 am. He couldn‘t get himself to sleep, so he decided to go for a walk. Down by the Thames on a bench was his secret hideaway spot. Roger first discovered it after he got into a heated argument with Tim Staffel, his former Smile band mate.

He found himself in that peaceful spot quite often, even when Queen started to take off, to just get some air. Arguments happened to literally be on the daily Queen agenda during those times. It‘d been a while since he had actually been here, but nothing had changed.

The night was quiet and peaceful as the moon lit up the river Thames. Slight sounds of traffic could be heard from the city. As he got closer to his secret spot, he noticed that the bench was already occupied. Roger was not sure if he should approach the bench anyway, despite not knowing if this person was a serial killer or something like that. (LOL, jk guys be careful though!)

As he got closer and closer this person looked even more familiar to him.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” You flinched when you saw a man approach you, until you recognized his figure.

“Roger?? Ahh, just couldn’t sleep. I could ask you the exact same thing” you answered as he plunged himself next to you on the bench. You sat there in silence for a few minutes, until he decided to speak up again, looking directly into yours eyes:

“Will you now tell me what’s really going on?” he put his arm around your shoulder, wiping away a few of your tears. He felt it again this incredible warmth and completeness.

Yes. You’ve been crying. After a heated argument with Josh, you stormed out of your flat. In situations like these, your past self would have already been drugged down, drunk and fooling around with a hot stranger. But not this time.

“Everything’s alright Roger, seriously” wiping away a few new tears. “Look, I get it if you don’t want to talk. Especially to me, but if I can help you out… You know I’m here for you, love. C’mere, at least take my coat you’re freezing”, with that he handed you his coat and even through protest, he insisted on you to take it. Being all snuggled up into his coat made you feel safe in this cold night. Surrounded by Roger’s warmth. The coat smelled just like him, heavenly.

“Now you‘re freezing, I feel so guilty“ you snuggled closer into his side. ”Love, don‘t worry I‘m more than alright like this“ wrapping his arms tighter around you. His cheeky smile made you laugh.

“You know, I used to come down here every so often when I was younger. Guess my secret spot is not much of a secret anymore.” he laughed. “You remind me a lot of my younger self. Carefree, not really giving hoot about what others think.” He was probably implying your various drug encounters and one night stands. He must have done his homework on you then, reading the daily papers. Roger was also not so innocent in the past, living life the fullest. You’d done your homework on him, considering these terms as well.

“Those were some crazy times. I’m sure you’d have enjoyed it, it was unbelievable, really. You’d not believe my stories if I told them to you, love. You would have been a perfect fit.” “You think so?” The 70’s had always been your favorite time period, whether it was in relation to music or the lifestyle.

“100% sure, love. I would have gone crazy to have such a beautiful girl like you on my arm and we would have done some bonkers shit.” The thought of being with Roger in the 70′s made your heart flutter. “YOU think that I‘m beautiful?“ “Obviously, love. But you most certainly don‘t need me to tell you that.“ his smile fell.

Oh right. Josh. Your boyfriend.

"How about some tea, love? “ You could never get tired of him calling you pet names, even though it made you blush every single time. Agreeing to tea, he led you to his Kensington flat which was again very breathtaking.

Luxurious interior. Marble. Leather. You always dreamed of such a home. Not saying that your flat was packed with a bunch of old stuff. It‘s just different. Well, maybe because he had so much more money and actually could afford a place like this. Who would‘ve thought that winning a Grammy wouldn’t guarantee you unlimited money and stardom?

Sitting on the counter, you watched Roger pour the tea from the kettle into 2 cups. “Sugar? Cream? “ “1 cube of sugar and a splash of cream, please“ “Another thing we have in common then“ he smiled at you with shining blue eyes. “And the other things in common would be? “ you asked curiously. “I don‘t know, love“ he answered “being absolutely smashing musicians, amazingly talented and wandering around Hyde Park at 2.30 in the morning, maybe?“ You now both burst into laughter when suddenly everything turned quiet again, sipping on tea.

“I rushed off. Didn‘t feel like arguing. Got me into some serious shit in the past“ “Huh?" “You asked me what‘s really going on earlier. Josh and me....had an argument. I had to blow off some steam and didn‘t really want to stay with him tonight" “Is it because of the paparazzi pictures? Everyone seems to freak out about them and I don’t even know why. You have a boyfriend, I have a wife. Nothing happened anyway.” Wife. It stung a little. But he was telling the truth.

“Anyway, what‘d you want to do, love? Stay on the bench in the freezing cold in your little outfit?“ Looking down on yourself you were still dressed in ripped jeans and a white bralette. “Yeah. Partly because of the pictures. No, I could get a hotel room. I should go now actually. Don’t want to bother you more than I already have and I’m also verrrryyy tired. Thanks for the tea and company, Roger. You definitely made my night“

As you made your way back to the front Roger hesitated but was quick to speak up again: “Why don’t you just stay here?”

Everything was quiet again. You didn’t know what to say.

“There’s no way I’m going to let you go out there alone at this time in the freezing cold. You could uhh, sleep in one if the guest rooms if you want? So.. uhh.. you don’t have to look around for a hotel…”

“Roger, I don’t want to bother you-“ “Stay.”

You agreed to stay in his flat. Before settling into the room, he handed you a shirt of his to sleep in and wished you good night by hugging you and giving you a peck on the cheek.

His shirt was baggy around you and reached your mid thighs. It smelled like him. Suddenly, inspiration struck you again as you reached for the notebook, that you always kept in your bag.

It was your lyric notebook, as you flipped through the pages, you finally landed on the lyrics you had written down at Roger’s home by the lake in Surrey. -Surrey-

Sitting on the sea Soaking up the sun

A jaw dropper Looks good when he walks Is the subject of their talk He would be hard to chase But good to catch

…. was already written on the page…. and you decided to add some more…

With eyes that make you melt He lends his coat for shelter Plus he's there for you When he shouldn't be

…. before you fell sleep clutching your notebook in your right hand…

A loud bang woke you up. 5 am. “Where is she, where did you keep her? I know she must be here somewhere” A unknown female voice filled the flat, full of anger and betrayal.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sarina.” “Y/N of course! I should’ve known you can’t keep in your pants, Roger. Especially when some young slag opens her legs wide for you to shag. That’s so typical of you.”

You listened closely; tears started to form in your eyes. A slag. That’s what the papers said. But you had changed. Did you change? You tried so hard to be a better person, to improve. To prove them wrong. You didn’t even do anything wrong. Or did you? After quick consideration, you decided to change into your own clothing again, to sneak out of the window. Thank god there was a fire escape.

The walk home seemed to take ages. It was still early, so no one recognized you walking the streets looking like a mess.

At the same time, Roger could convince his wife, that no one was in the flat with him, still she decided to spend the rest of the night elsewhere. As Roger wanted to check in with you, the room was empty. He totally understood your actions, it saved him a lot of trouble, but still hoped you would have stayed.

As he was about to leave the room, he spotted something in the middle of the bed. It was a little notebook. Your notebook.

taglist:

#roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor fanfic #present day roger #present day roger x reader #Queen #queen + adam lambert #purple thunder

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darthstitch · 5 years

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The Idiot's Guide on How To Tell Your Mischief-Making Archangels Apart

(Yes, His Formerly Infernal Featherbrained Nibs still qualifies, even if he gets all snarly and flame-eyed about it.)

1. Wings

Michael's wings are the color of the night sky, threaded through with stars. He thinks nothing of using a wing to pull his favorite people in for a hug or to show comfort and it drives the Kingsman tailors absolutely bonkers how he manages to do that without ruining the suit.

Roxy Morton has a necklace with a feather in it. Michael will always know where his goddaughter is and if she is ever in danger that even a Knight of Kingsman cannot get out of, he will always know where to find and help her.

He's already lost one Lancelot; he won't have that happening again.

Yes, he's done the same with his remaining Kingsman family - Eggsy, Harry and even little Daisy.

***

Lucifer's wings, of course, help explain his name. They are silver white and they glow... sometimes.

(They didn't really glow in his time in Hell.)

Chloe has figured out that they glow especially bright when she kisses him, when she makes him laugh, when she does all the little ordinary human things that let him know he's loved. She's seen them fold gently around Trixie when she pounces on him for a hug, soft and sunbright.

Lucifer used to hate his wings with a passion, believing them to be chains, to be manipulations of his Father.

He stopped when he realized that he couldn't have saved his beloved Chloe without them.

2. Glasses

Michael has had twenty years of living among humans, unaware of what he used to be. The glasses weren't only just something he adopted because of Kingsman. He's always been aware that something about his direct gaze unnerves people.

It's the reason why Harry lets him handle interrogations, when they work together on mission. The first time Michael had consciously tried it was somewhat hilarious and terrifying at the same time. The poor idiot started confessing all his sins, even back to a schoolboy panty-stealing prank.

He likes wearing them now and has a pair that are decidedly non-Kingsman issue.

Predictably, his twin rolled his eyes upon hearing the comment from Ella Lopez: "He looks like Lucifer doing a Clark Kent cosplay. So cute!"

Michael couldn't help laughing when it was the good Detective Chloe who then chimed in with a: "Y'know, Christopher Reeve as Clark Kent was my childhood crush. There's just something about Tall, Dark, Handsome and Adorkable in Glasses."

Yeah, that last one definitely made Lucifer grumpy (read: jealous). Although he did brighten up considerably when Chloe later pointed out that HE was adorkable as well. At least until the inevitable: "I am NOT Adorkable!"

"Keep telling yourself that, Lucifer," was Chloe's response, along with a kiss.

Yeah, game, set and match once again went to Detective Chloe Decker.

3. Instruments

The Twins, of course, play all musical instruments. And they can do that pretty well.

One of them prefers the piano. It's totally not the one with the penchant for drama, guyliner and sinfully fitted suits.

Right. If you believe that, we've got a bridge in New York to sell you.

These days, there's a certain sense of sheer enjoyment when Lucifer plays the piano at Lux, especially when he chooses to sing along. It helps when a certain blonde detective is in the audience, unwinding after a long day at work. His Formerly Infernal Featherbrained Nibs will probably make some innuendo-filled comment about Chloe and inspiration at this point and Chloe will probably roll her eyes at him, but this time, the exasperation is fond and loving and he soaks that all up blissfully.

And of course, Michael prefers the guitar. While London is his home, the fact that he has wings and has finally re-discovered the ability to "hop" from one country to another, means that he can always visit his twin in L.A. when he wants.

Of course, these days, he's far more welcome than Amenadiel, who can still, on occasion, get on Lucifer's last nerve.

When the Twins choose to play together, guitar and piano, and voices raised in harmony, it's magic.

4. Opinions

Michael's nature is as the Father made him. He protects and defends. There are many dreadful and evil things that are out there, far beyond human ken and it is Michael who will face them head on.

But Michael also helps protect and defend in spiritual battles. His is the name that believers will invoke when they face the darkness in their souls. He can't wage those battles on his own, of course, because every person has to do that themselves. But he is the one who is the shield at their back, who whispers of courage and hope and strength.

Michael fell in love, truly in love, with humanity first.

He remembers sharing the Father's excitement at this new life, that did have a spark of the divine but was still so fragile and all the more precious because of it.

And that is why Michael had been furious with his twin at his rebellion. Samael's arrogance and presumption. His selfishness and self-centeredness. The way he'd opened humankind's eyes to good and evil, before he thought they could be ready for it. The way that he had envied humanity's place in their Father's heart, his initial disgust and disdain of them.

Michael had been angry. He'd been angry at Samael.

And yes, Michael was angry at himself. He was angry over the Fall and the loss of Samael... now Lucifer, to Hell and the fact that he couldn't protect his Twin. Not in this.

Although in the deepest part of his Self, Michael knows that if it were left to him, he would have left humanity forever innocent of such things. They would never have grown if Samael had not dared their Father's wrath. They would never have changed and been what they were now, beautifully imperfect and capable of great things, both terrible and good.

Michael remembers quietly listening at the feet of a Certain Jewish carpenter, who also happened to like telling stories. The story that has stayed with him is the one of the Prodigal, the son who had foolishly squandered his Father's gifts and returned shamed and sorry, but still welcomed by his parent with love, joy and acceptance.

Michael remembers weeping afterwards and the Storyteller did come to him, held his hand and brushed away his tears in gentle comfort. "Brother, why do you weep?"

"Because. I do not want to be the firstborn son," Michael finds himself blurting out. "I love my brother. I still love him. And I failed him."

(As we know, it is very difficult to lie to the Storyteller. Even if one happens to be an Archangel.)

The firstborn son, the one who had stayed with the Father, who had been dutiful and obedient. Michael isn't the firstborn in the family, but he looks at his own Self and realizes his own failings. Sees himself in that firstborn son of the story. He doesn't want to be like that - resentful, proud and jealous. Self-righteous. Unforgiving. Unyielding.

He doesn't want to be the one to hold his brother down again, weapon at his throat, filled with wrath.

"Then don't be like that," the Storyteller tells him with an affectionate smile. "Love your brother. He is lost... but he will be found, someday. Welcome him home. Be happy for him."

Michael listened and kept that lesson close to his heart.

5. Style

"Well obviously, I get the style points in this family. Amenadiel has made some truly unfortunate sartorial choices and well... the only one who comes closest could be my twin, that is, if he'd only be convinced to remove that tie."

"Excuse me?"

"Amenadiel, if you're tired of walking around in that dreadful hoodie and jeans combination, please let me know so I can schedule an appointment for you with my tailor."

"I happen to own a very nice three piece, Luci. Even Linda -- "

"Yes, dear elder brother, do finish that sentence. I'm all ears!"

"This tie hides a garotte in it that I can use in a pinch."

"Oooh, do you have any other interesting toys, twin?"

"Got a lighter that I can use as a grenade? And this suit is bulletproof."

"..."

"Michael, you're supposed to be the SENSIBLE twin, please do not encourage Lucifer."

"Mmmm.... Lucifer likes."

Obviously, His Formerly Infernal Featherbrained Nibs ending up getting bespoke bulletproof Kingsman suits for Christmas. While he still disdained ties, the novelty of being bulletproof around Chloe when they were off crime-fighting together was too good to pass up.

- end -

Notes:

Look, I'm really, really, REALLY tired of all the "Michael-is-a-douche" stories that I keep stumbling on to in fandom. He's my favorite Archangel. So... hey, if I can't get the story I want to read, I guess I have to tell it myself. Eeek?

Michael did the tailoring for Luci's Kingsman suits himself, with some help from Eggsy and Harry.

No, Luci is not allowed to get a Kingsman lighter grenade.

#lucifer morningstar #michael the archangel #lucifer #kingsman #deckerstar #percival #is michael the archangel and you will pry that headcanon from my cold dead paws #i crack what i want #headcanon #everyone's favorite cosmic catastrophe #percival's brother is a mess #you will pry this headcanon from my cold dead paws

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dresupi · 5 years

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working for (packing) peanuts

Darcy Lewis Crack Challenge 2019 | Day 9: Must Include Packing Peanuts |

Ship: Darcy Lewis/David Haller | Prompt: Day 9 - Must Include Packing Peanuts | Other tags: Fake Marriage, Fake Relationship, Undercover as a couple, Kissing, Mutual Pining, Crack, Tech malfunctions | Rated: M | Word Count: 3216 |

Summary:

Faking a relationship with a telepath feels like cheating somehow. Especially when <i>he’s</i> the telepath.

But Darcy’s pretty sure he’s not reading her mind. Because if he was, he’d know how much she wants to kill him for losing that listening device.

“Where do you want the books?” David had one of the boxes open in front of the built-in shelves that lined one entire wall in this new apartment.

Darcy was almost jealous she didn’t actually live here. The shelf space was bonkers. But she really liked her apartment too. It had Bowie, who was being fed by Jane for the foreseeable future, and it had only been eight hours and she already missed her cat. She’d start welling up again if she thought about that, so she pushed all thoughts of her special Bowie-boy out of her head and focused purely on the task at hand. Move into this apartment with David.

“Wherever they’ll fit,” she replied, fluffing a throw pillow and tossing it onto the couch.

The SHIELD movers were bringing in most of “their” stuff from the moving van, but they still had to figure out where to put it all. They’d practiced most of their in-public lovey-dovey routine, kind of like a weird acting/improv workshop where everything focused on getting her and David to kiss, but she was kind of flying by the seat of her pants here. The door was left open for the movers because that was what normal people would do. They wouldn’t shut the door every time someone walked out while they were moving in all their worldly possessions.

She had to play a convincing house.

Because the truth was, 99% of this stuff was on loan. As was the apartment. It was just lucky that they could grab the empty place for their undercover operation.

There was a couple in the building who was smuggling some rather impressive tech and the powers-that-were needed Darcy to prove the Joneses had it. She wasn’t actually sure if their name was Jones, but for all intents and purposes, in her head, they were the Joneses. And considering that SHIELD only got reads from the tech in this general vicinity and had no idea which couple had the stuff, the anonymous couple was lucky Darcy was just referring to them as the Joneses.

And that brought her to David. He was here because SHIELD needed his super fancy mind-reading powers to figure out which couple had the tech. Why they couldn’t just use David’s powers was beyond her, but it was cool. She felt like the Q to his Bond. If Bond was a major dork and could read minds.

“Come out and help me grab the groceries,” she said, walking past him and dragging her fingertips down his arm before grabbing his hand. They’d come with a few bags of what looked like generic pantry staples, but really the bags were filled with Darcy’s own personal tech.

And she guessed, on second thought, that the tech was the reason she was here. She designed her own, pretty much ensuring her job security. So yeah. That’s why she was here.

David came willingly, they really had this couple thing down pat. Maybe. As long as no one threw them any curveballs. Like sex pollen or an amnesia drug that made them think they were actually married.

She really wished she was kidding about that, but both had happened in previous undercover ops (not hers, but she’d heard about it) and it made everything super messy and feelsy. But there had been no evidence of either being attempted in this instance.

As it stood, she and David had a couple of lookie-loos who’d walked past the apartment door, nosily peeking in to get a good look at the ‘new neighbors’, so it was probably a good call to keep up their charade as long as was possible.

David followed her downstairs, dragging his feet a little as he listened in on the neighbors on each floor. The apartment was a fourth-floor walkup, which was a pain in the ass. Literally, her glutes were on freaking fire, man.

It felt a little weird, having him listen in on everyone around here, but he could control his powers pretty well. He wasn’t listening to everything all at once, he could tune things out. ‘Like a radio,’ he’d explained. And if he didn’t hear anything of use, he tuned them out really quickly.

“Anything yet?” Darcy murmured.

He shook his head slightly, “Nope.”

They reached the landing on the second floor and an older woman stepped out after them, and David tugged on her hand, pulling Darcy close so the other woman could pass by them. His fingers tickled a little at her waist, fingertips encountering bare skin as her shirt rode up on her torso. It made her visibly shiver. In a good way.

Darcy felt the woman smile a little as she passed them

“So you’re the newlyweds who moved in, I presume?” she asked, directing the question over her shoulder as she moved down each step in front of them.

Darcy felt David squeeze her tightly and tilt his head slightly to touch hers. “Are we that obvious?”

“Sorry…” Darcy replied, tilting her head slightly as well. “It’s our first place as husband and wife.”

Technically not a lie, so actually, Darcy didn’t show any lie-signs at all. Supposedly. Not that this woman looked like a threat in the slightest.

“It's not a problem at all,” the woman replied. “It’s refreshing to see people so in love.”

It was silent after, the only sound was the combined footsteps moving down to the first floor. The woman walked over to the mailboxes as Darcy and David exited the lobby.

They made their way out to the street and to where their car was parked in the temporary loading zone to pull out the bags of ‘groceries’. They’d have to come down later to move it, but they had twenty-four hours to do so. That sounded like something for tomorrow-morning Darcy because if she had to walk anymore today, her legs were going to go on strike.

The moving van SHIELD had used to transport all the household stuff was being closed up and the movers waved as they climbed into the cab.

They must have everything they needed.

David managed a wave before the movers pulled out and disappeared down the road.

“Nice job in the stairs, by the way,” he mused, hoisting two bags into his arms.

“Likewise.”

“What, like it’s hard to pretend to like you?” he asked, smirking a little as they made their way back upstairs. Darcy chewed on those words and the way his lips quirked in the corners for the rest of the way back up. They didn’t meet anyone, which was probably good, because she had a totally blank look on her face like she was trying to multiply two seven-digit numbers in her head.

They set the groceries on the counter in the kitchen, Darcy was about to go close the door when David suddenly smacked her ass, squeezing tightly before slipping the same arm around her waist and tugging her close. “Neighbor at four o’clock…” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her lips.

Her eyebrows went up in surprise, but she wasn’t facing the door, so David lingered on the kiss, attempting to wipe the surprised look off her face. Probably succeeding. Maybe. All Darcy could focus on was the firm pressure of his lips on hers. He seemed to know just how she liked it. But he promised he wasn’t reading her mind. And she had no reason to think he’d lie to her about something like this.

But that wasn’t what she should be focusing on. There was still a neighbor at the door. They were lingering as well. Kind of suspicious, considering that they were just standing there watching David grope her.

“Oh, sorry! Am I interrupting?” asked someone from the doorway.

Obviously, Darcy thought to herself, her back still to the doorway and whoever was standing there.

“Not at all,” David replied, eyes locking with Darcy’s as she composed herself and turned.

“Everything’s peachy,” she said, laughing a little too loudly, but it seemed to work.

“I just noticed you were moving in… I live down the hall if you need anything.” The woman smiled and Darcy swore she could count all her teeth. Weird.

“That’s super nice of you,” Darcy gushed, and the woman nodded, still smiling as she backed out into the hall.

“For real. Let me know if you need anything at all,” she said before making her complete exit.

David watched her leave, closing the door and sliding the deadbolt into place behind him.

“Well, this is going to be easier than I thought…”

“What is?” Darcy asked, her mind immediately going to that place. The place that seemed to stick longer and longer each time they engaged in coupley things. Her smile was almost flirtatious, but David didn’t seem to realize it.

“I think she’s one of our smugglers,” he gestured out the door.

Darcy’s eyebrows went up. “Why on earth did she come to visit us, then?”

“Oh, she has no idea who we are. We just need to get invited over to her place for dinner and plant the bug. We’ll be in and out in a week.”

A week? Darcy thought to herself. She was embarrassed to admit it, but she’d kind of hoped she’d have longer with David than a week. But she was quick to hide her disappointment.

“Awesome,” she said. “If you’re sure we have our smuggler, I have some surveillance gadgets to unpack.”

“Anything cool?” He was smiling again and woe be it to her if she were to deny him anything.

“Definitely, you wanna see?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay, help me unpack these bags so I can get set up.”

Contrary to what he’d said before, David didn’t actually follow her into the bedroom after he’d helped unpack the gadgets. From the sound of things, he’d gone out to the living room to watch TV.

Which kind of ruffled her feathers more than she was willing to admit. Just because he didn’t have tech didn’t mean he couldn’t help with hers.

She guessed it didn’t matter anyway. There were some super cool bugs to set up.

Darcy had some really cool ones from SHIELD. Shapeshifting bugs. She called them shifters for short. Basically, you tossed them onto a table or into a junk drawer and they cloaked as a nearby object so they could remain hidden for as long as audio feeds were needed.

She took out a teeny screwdriver to tighten a few post screws and jumped when her finger got zapped. “Fucky Charms,” she muttered, biting on her lip as she furiously shook her hand to relieve the sensation.

The TV in the living room went quiet and she heard a few hurried footsteps in the doorway as David tucked his head in to check on her. “Everything alright, Darcy?”

She sucked at her fingertip until the burning ceased and nodded. “Glorious.”

For the second time that day, she suspected he was listening to her thoughts. And without her permission too. Maybe. Or maybe not? She wasn’t sure. But she’d barely exclaimed, and he was watching TV, so...

All she knew was that he’d promised he wouldn’t. And she was super embarrassed at the images he’d find in her brain if he looked there. She took a deep breath and let it out as he fully entered the room.

“So what kind of goodies are you working with?” he asked, approaching the bed, but remaining a safe distance away. Like if he got too close, he’d get hurt or something.

Either that, or he’d looked into her mind and found those very non-PG fantasies she liked to entertain about him and one (1) can of Reddi-Whip.

She pressed her lips together for a long moment before answering. “Well, this is one of our listening devices. New SHIELD tech, state of the art. I call them shifters. Because they shapeshift into other objects. So you can hide them in a junk drawer or something and pick up a great audio feed and the target has no idea.”

She held the device in her fingers, showing him how small it was. When it wasn’t activated, it looked like a little silver capsule. About two inches long. Kind of like a bullet or something.

David looked interested. “Can I see it?”

“Sure.” She handed it over. “Now, don’t drop it because…”

He had just tossed the device in the air, attempting to catch it, only to have it slip through his fingers and dropping down into the box at her feet.

The box full of packing peanuts.

“Fuck,” she muttered.

Maybe he wasn’t reading her mind after all. Because if he was, he’d have known not to fucking toss that thing into… oh for fuck’s sake.

“I’m so sorry,” he replied. “I can find it…”

“No. You can’t. Because once it comes into contact with something other than human flesh, it activates and cloaks. As a nearby object.”

“So what does that mean?” he asked, frowning a little at the box between them.

“It means it’s one of these packing peanuts now.”

There was a long, awkward silence as they both gazed down at the slightly green styrofoam bits.

“There’s no way to figure out which one it is?” he asked, his frown deepening.

She sighed, “Unfortunately, there is. I’ve had to do this before.”

“What is it?”

She reached for a smaller cardboard box and dropped some pennies inside. She sat down on the floor and picked up a packing peanut, dropping it inside. Nothing happened, and she sighed, tossing it over her shoulder.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. That thing’s insanely expensive. We have to find it.”

David sat down beside her and reached for the box. “Let me take the first shift. It’s my fault.”

She laughed and patted the carpet beside her. “We’ll take turns.”

“Can I ask what’s funny?” he asked, settling down on the tan berber on the other side of the box.

“Definitely. You see, twice today, I suspected you of trying to read my thoughts without permission, and this just clinches it.”

He looked alarmed. “What does?”

“There is no way you’re reading my thoughts if you did that.”

“I wouldn’t anyway…” he said, trailing off as he dropped another peanut into the small box of pennies. “What were they?”

“What was what?” she asked.

“The instances? You said there were two of them. What were they?”

Darcy felt her cheeks reddening a little, but she went on like she wasn’t flustered as hell. “Oh, when I zapped my finger, I thought you were reading my mind to find out I did it.”

He laughed. “No. You yelled out ‘Fucky Charms’ really loud. Like… super loud. Louder than the TV even.”

She scoffed. “It wasn’t that loud.”

“I guarantee it was.”

“I mean. Maybe it was.”

“Maybe it was?”

“Okay, I thought I was muttering. Apparently not.”

“Shout-muttering maybe.”

She laughed softly and reached for a handful of peanuts. “Okay. Shout-muttering.”

“What was the other one?”

Her eyes widened a little as a packing peanut stayed stationary in her fingertips, hovering over the box. “I plead the fifth.”

“What? You can’t plead the fifth to friends,” he argued, reaching out and plucking the peanut from her hand and dropping it into the box.

She pursed her lips as if deep in thought. “Yeeeaahhhh, I think you can.”

“Can’t.”

“Can.”

“Can’t.”

“Can.”

The clock chimed nine on the mantle out in the living room, and Darcy sighed, dropping another peanut into the box to no avail.

“We need to take a break to go have sex in a few minutes,” she said, nodding towards the bed and hoping no, praying that her statement would be enough to keep his mind off what the second instance had been.

Sure enough, David looked surprised at her words. “To go… have… sex?”

“Fake sex. Believe me. That’s the last thing I want to do with you right now,” she said with a smirk.

“Oh really? Thanks. Thank you so much.” His sarcasm was so thick, she could slice it up and make a sandwich, but that was fine. If he was being sarcastic, he wasn’t niggling for answers.

She wiped her hands on her pants and pushed up off the floor. “For all I know, you wouldn’t be able to find anything. I mean, that’s been my experience with you, after all,” she said, gesturing to the pile of peanuts.

“I can find everything,’ he assured her. “Just like I can find out everything. Like what that second instance was where you thought I was reading your mind?”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “Just. Get on the bed, Casanova.”

Sex simulations were, fortunately, something they’d practiced in their improv/training course, so when he jumped up on the end of the bed, she followed suit, but centered herself more, while he was up at the head of the bed.

Once they were in position, they started bouncing the mattress a little. SHIELD had thankfully provided them with a very squeaky mattress, so it sounded obscene.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his gaze intent on her as he bounced around, raising his voice only to let out a very convincing grunt. One that was decidedly for their neighbors’ benefit and not hers.

“No,” she replied, speeding her bouncing a little. “Not telling.”

“Please. I need to know if it’s a weird vibe I put out…” he countered, still softly, his eyes soft and pleading as he kept up a very steady rhythm.

“No.”

“Darcy…”

“David…”

“I’d tell you.”

She scoffed, “Unlikely.”

“Please,” he said, reaching out to grasp her hand. She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. Not when what they were doing was so ridiculous.

“When you kissed me,” she murmured. “I wondered if you were reading my mind because you were doing exactly what I liked.”

David stopped bouncing for a moment, his face almost unreadable as he soundlessly dropped to the floor. Darcy panicked a little, slowing her bounces too as she sat down, sliding her feet to the floor and scooting over to the side where he was standing. “It doesn’t need to--”

He placed his finger to his lips and shook his head.

“David.”

Another shake of his head as he stepped closer, his knees bumping the bed as he stepped between her knees and bent over her, lips pressing breathlessly against hers. Firm as his hand slid into her hair, fisting a handful of it as he parted his lips, tongue swiping lightly between her lips. When he broke off the kiss, she chased after him, a soft giggle escaping when he cupped her face in his hands and pulled away. “Like that?”

She nodded and he kissed her again, reaching over for the headboard as he gave it a good shake, bumping it back against the wall and let out a soft moan. “Multitasking?” he whispered.

Darcy agreed and moved back up to the pillows, a slightly louder moan slipping from her lips when he followed. It wasn’t entirely fake, full disclosure.

She was pretty sure they’d be up until the ass crack of dawn finding that listening device in the packing peanuts, but neither of them really cared about it right then.

#Taserlegion #Darcy Lewis #David Haller #Darcy/David #dlaf2019 #crack challenge

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