#drew the first one immediately after seeing it on theatrical release day but no one else had seen it yet lol

[twinkle-art]

favorite duos

#glass onion #benoit blanc #helen brand #birdie jay #peg glass onion #drew the first one immediately after seeing it on theatrical release day but no one else had seen it yet lol #benoit and helen are the best because Duh. birdie and peg are the best because i love pathetic toxic failyuri. they're so funny #feeling VERY vindicated online lately as someone who's been a benoitgirl since 2019

[ineloqueent]

Starstruck: Epilogue

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is the epilogue of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, or the previous part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 19

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.  

Warnings: N/A; there’s not even swearing what the hell

Historical Inaccuracies: N/A

Word Count: 2.2k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Madison Square Garden, New York, United States, 1st of December, 1977

Years could pass— years would pass— and yet the feeling would forever remain the same. The rush, the pure and simple thrill of music and theatrics. Queen performing. You would never get tired of it.

Never get tired of Freddie’s flourishes and dramatic spins, John’s little dance moves that were becoming more frequent and less shy, Roger’s funny faces and showing off with those incredible falsettos, Brian’s look of concentration through a guitar solo, and the smile that broke it when you caught his eye from the wings.

The huddled conversations before a show, the raging parties afterward that you and Brian would often sneak out from, halfway through, because there were stars and comets and Perseids and planetary alignments to be seen.

You never missed an astronomical event.

Brian had bought a little notebook specifically for the two of you to mark such things in, and it was with a giddy smile that you’d toss him the notebook on a day where he’d forgotten what would be happening in the night sky, and watch him light up as he read your note.

He had also adopted a new tradition, it appeared, leaving you polaroids you hadn’t known he’d taken— in the backpocket of the bell bottom trousers you’d laid out to wear the next day, between the pages of whatever novel you were currently reading, on your pillow alongside a bouquet of wildflowers.

You’d never met anyone like Brian, who, for all his absent-mindedness, was ceaselessly thoughtful when it mattered.

Except today.

It would seem that all logic had been thrown out the window today.

But that was fair enough, you thought, because Queen were to be playing at Madison Square Garden.

And Brian’s parents would be there to watch.

He was fretting about that fact, it was obvious. He’d walked around all day wringing his hands and chewing on his lip, pacing, chattering, at moments falling entirely silent. He’d even forgotten to bring his guitar with him when Queen had stepped onstage for the afternoon’s soundcheck.

The problem was that Brian hadn’t had the time to see his parents earlier on in the day, and wouldn’t get to do so before the show, because they were arriving in the city only half an hour prior to the concert.

“Sit down, Brian,” said Roger finally, and Brian fell back into the chair beside you, completely on autopilot.

You reached out for his hand, and he took it without a thought, grasping a little too tightly. As he worried at his bottom lip with his teeth, you rubbed circles into the back of his hand with the pad of your thumb.

“Have a cuppa, darling,” Freddie said. He stopped in the act of painting his toenails with a sparkly varnish in order to hand you the cup of tea that John had just poured.

In turn, you handed the cup to Brian, but only seconds after he’d taken the first sip of tea, the cup crashed to the ground and shattered into a thousand little pieces, tea splattering all over his white shoes.

“Oh, you klutz,” Freddie sighed. “That was one of our only good cups. The only one without a chip.”

Uncharacteristically, Brian immediately mumbled an apology, rising from his seat.

“Well, at least it won’t have a chip now,” you joked, and Brian smiled weakly.

Deacy pointed a finger at the two of you. “Don’t move,” he said. “You’ll only crush it more.”

You nodded, and a broom was passed amongst those outside of the warzone of porcelain, the mess quickly cleared.

Your hand found a place in Brian’s hair and you dragged your fingers soothingly through his curls until he sighed and stopped fidgeting for long enough to take a deep breath.

“Right,” said Gerry Stickells, Queen’s current tour manager. “Time to go, if everything is in order?”

Three nods, one quip from Freddie: “Brian’s nerves aren’t in order, but I don’t suppose anyone can fix that.”

His remark was met with silence, so everyone rose from their seats and followed Uncle Grumpy— because that was Gerry’s nickname— toward the wings of the stage.

You kept a hold of Brian’s hand as though the two of you were assured partners in crime and this was your mission— to make it to the stage and through the show without a mishap precipitated by nerves.

You journeyed successfully to the wings, and released Brian’s hand so that he and the others could go and get geared up for the show, offering him a reassuring smile which he accepted with a terse nod.

Then the house lights came up, and Freddie proffered the masses of crew and family his signature wink, Roger gave an experimental twirl of his drumsticks, and John kissed his wife, her belly, and Robert goodbye, because they had come along on tour this time.

Brian was last, as usual, and took his time in leaving you, more reluctant than ever, reasoning that if he did not go onstage, there would be nothing for his father to critique. You shut him up with a kiss and pushed him onto stage, reasoning that if he never went, he’d never know the outcome of the night.

You were a little nervous yourself, as the show began, because you had not met Brian’s parents before and would be meeting them for the first time on this occasion. But your worries would scarcely have helped Brian with his, so you’d kept your peace.

But then there was a scuffle amongst the wings, and you halted in your half-conversation with Veronica, because Crystal was stepping aside to let an older couple through to the front of the wings.

Brian’s parents.

Veronica squeezed your arm reassuringly, and to your dismay, shuffled over to view the concert by Gerry’s side, in place of yours.

Glancing over at Brian’s parents, who, despite Brian’s fears, looked eager to see their son perform, you decided to approach them and introduce yourself.

You gave a little wave, catching the attention of Mrs. May, a woman with curling hair who smiled briefly but radiantly in your direction before touching a hand to her husband’s elbow. She reminded you very much of her son.

You made your way over during one of Freddie’s speeches, stretching out your hand to shake those of the two Mays.

“Hi,” you said, “I’m Y/N Andrews.”

“Y/N,” Ruth May smiled again, “we’ve heard so much about you.”

You fought the urge to wring your hands precisely as Brian had been doing earlier on, electing instead to main eye contact like the civilised person you were pretending to be.

You laughed, knowing how much of an automaton you sounded, but scrambling desperately to cover up your nervousness. “All good, I hope.”

Harold May, it seemed, had the same pensive dimension to his personality as did his son, and spoke only now. “Of course. He speaks very fondly of you.” His voice had a slow, careful quality to it, every word embossed with intention, and you flushed, because you were now sure that Brian did speak very fondly of you.

You were lost in your thoughts a moment, and when you returned, you did not know what to say. You settled for, “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Mr. May, Mrs. May.”

“And you, dear. Call me Ruth, please, else you’ll make me feel old!” she chuckled, and you suddenly realised from where it was that Brian had acquired his gift for always making others feel welcome in his company.

Brian’s dad nodded to you. “Harold,” he said, in conjunction with his wife’s remark. You got the impression that he was a man of few words, but then again, like father, like son. It would seem that Brian drew much from his parents. From stars came stardust.

The next song began, and a guitar riff harmonised with voices sent a shock of electricity down your spine. Queen was always good, but tonight they were especially good. Ruth and Harold May had picked a good show to attend.

You looked on in silence as Queen ran seamlessly through their setlist, your heart nearly bursting with pride by the time Brian perched on the stool, his acoustic guitar poised on his knee as Freddie joined him, lit up by a singular spotlight that might as well have been moonlight.

“This is ‘Love of My Life.’”

You couldn’t stop yourself from turning to Brian’s parents. “What they do,” you said, “it’s magic. I’ve never seen or heard anything like it.” You shook your head slightly as you returned your eyes to the stage. “And Brian. He has this sway, which you don’t notice at first, because he keeps to himself, but then he begins to speak, or play, or sing, and it’s like space bends around him.”

You knew you were rambling, but you couldn’t help it. If you did nothing in this life but to convey to Harold May just how proud he should be of his son, then it would still all have been worth it.

It wasn’t Ruth who spoke up this time.

“I understand that now.”

And there was Harold May, with tears in his eyes at the sight of his son, the musician. Not the astrophysicist, but the musician.

It was abundantly clear to you that Harold May was as proud of this part of his son as he was of any, of every, part of his son.

And it was clear to everyone in the wings that this was it— this was the moment.

Queen had made it. They had actually made it.

The world was theirs for the taking.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

The sight you were met with upon leaving the wings was not one you had expected.

You had not expected to find Heather Dersch, of all people, hugging Roger Taylor so tightly that both parties were practically blue in the face.

And when she saw you, she gave a cry and rushed forward, throwing her arms around your shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

Wordlessly, you returned her embrace, because in your head, you had already half-forgiven her.

“It was never about you,” she murmured. “It was about me feeling insecure and sorry for myself, and I envied you for having it all together.”

You couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up in your throat. “Wherever did you get that idea?”

She shook her head as she pulled away from you, sniffling slightly and pawing away the hair that stuck to her tear-streaked face. “I don’t know,” she sighed. “After I came back home, I went up North and talked to my parents.”

You nodded in understanding; she’d fallen out of contact with them for a while.

“And it helped,” Heather went on. “So now I’m here to apologise for the way that I left, and for what I said to you, because you didn’t deserve that.” She looked down. “You don’t deserve that. But we’ve always been such good friends, and I was hoping…” Her usual demeanour of stubborn defiance returned as she met your eyes. But her tone was still softened by emotion. “I was hoping you might forgive me..?”

You rolled your eyes, pulling her back into the hug. “I’ve done so many stupid things in my life, and I won’t let losing you be one of them.”

When you drew away from Heather again, she smiled.

“My love,” Brian’s voice reached you from nearby, “where was I when you did all of these stupid things?” He kissed your cheek, and you spun to face him as his arms encircled you. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, and you thought your heart would burst.

A noise of disgust announced Roger’s presence, and the subsequent cackle Freddie’s.

Quite suddenly, you and Brian were surrounded by a flock of both crew and family, with Deacy chasing Robert around the room as Veronica laughed.

“Brian.”

Brian’s eyes widened, and his lips fell parted before he turned at the sound of his father’s voice.

“Dad,” he said, his hesitance evident in the way the word caught in his throat like he wasn’t aware whether or not he still held the right to say it. It was rather sweet how much regard he still held for the opinion of his parents, even at the largely independent age of 30.

“I understand.”

His father said nothing more. He did not have to say anything more, because Brian understood too.

For all the world, he finally understood that he was enough. Understood that he was enough for you, for his parents, for himself.

And as he embraced his family— you, his parents, Roger, Freddie, John— you stared up at the ethereal being that was Brian May and understood something too.

Years could pass— years would pass— and yet the feeling would forever remain the same.

Never in your life, never, would you stop being starstruck.

THE END

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

A/N: i cannot avoid being sappy about this, so here we go. 

thank you to

@hgmercury39​ & @pi-kai-sso​ for being here since literally the beginning (of time?)!

@imcompletelylost​​ for repeatedly complimenting my dialogue-writing, and for being enthusiastic about the gang going to a disco!!

@brianmays-hair​ for binge reading the first many parts, completely unprompted, and for live-blogging every! single! chapter! after that. also, for making the best memes, and for being excited for saturdays 💞

@joemazzmatazz​ for spending her work shift binging starstruck, and thereafter, for all of her lovely live-blogs 💕

@doing-albri​ for complimenting the ‘magic’ of starstruck, so many times, and for making an edit??? inspired by starstruck??? take my love.

@archaicmusings​​ for… um... everything. live-blogs, tagging me in stuff that reminded her of starstruck, general friendship, support. ily!!!

@deacyblues​ for her never-ending kindness about my talents 🥺 💘

@aprilaady​​ for binge-reading the first many parts of this, for also tagging me in stuff that reminded her of starstruck, and for making me smile with all her live-blogs 🥰

@mazzell-ro​​ for her wonderful comments and general support! 💗

and to everyone who has supported me throughout the writing of this. i never thought i would even publish starstruck, but here we are!

i’m gonna go have an existential crisis now lmao

taglist: @melting-obelisks​ @cxllianmurphy​ @hgmercury39​ @topsecretdeacon @joemazzmatazz​ @perriwiinkle​ @brianmays-hair​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @ilikebigstucks​ @doing-albri​ @killer-queen-87​ @n0-self-c0ntro1​ @archaicmusings​ @cloudyyspace​ @annina-96​ @themarchoftherainbowqueen​ @annajolras​ @mazzell-ro​ @aprilaady​ @themtvcrib​ @the-great-imagines-of-1812​

Masterpost / Part 19

#tina's writing #starstruck #brian may x reader #fic

[obscureoperations]

Ehhh,I have to admit that a slut for Michael x reader x Martin,I loved every single one you made It,so here we are again...What about a Martin x F!Reader x Michael where they are both in a relationship,sfw and nsfw If possible😩✨

Yesss! I'm glad you're a fan of this pairing as well... it's just so much fun to imagine. Martin with his residual Catholic guilt. The actual Antichrist assuring him to simply let it go. I've always felt that Michael would feel some strange protectiveness over Martin. He can see the effects that religions left him with. He wants Martin to stop feeling so afraid. Act on his desires, every single one of them. After all, humanity as a whole was already damned.

This is sort of a cluster fuck I'm sorry.

~

Being in a relationship with two equally gorgeous men was almost easier than you would have expected. The two were polar opposites in such a way that they balanced each other out. Martin was often moody and elusive whereas Michael was exceedingly blunt. You never had to wonder what he was thinking. You didn’t have to question his motives, or walk on eggshells in fear of saying the wrong thing. Martin on the other hand kept you on your toes. He was sensitive in a way that was nearly baffling. In tune with your moods through some strange form of telepathy. God forbid if he wanted to get his way, he could find it in him to ignore you for weeks.

They managed to get along exceedingly well, despite in the beginning it was difficult to leave them in the same room. They danced around each other like cats--well Martin did. Michael never really seemed to notice or care. After a while Martin became resigned to the fact that Michael was sticking around for good. It was a quiet sort of agreement--they finally settled on sharing your affection, under the condition that neither of them would have to sacrifice time with you. Sometimes you wondered how you managed to get so lucky-- especially when it came to Michael. But then again you had to remember, you knew him since you were kids. When he disappeared you figured you’d never see him again.

Michael was the first to come to you with intentions of getting closer to Martin. At first you thought he was extending some sort of olive branch.The boy had been acting weird and cagey for the past month-- almost as though he was actively avoiding Michael. He kept his responses short and brief when he wasn’t silently staring him down from across the room. If you didn’t know any better, the man had accidentally crossed him again-- but you knew full well that wasn't the case. You could see the careful attention Martin paid to Michael’s movements, the faint blush spread across his face. The way his eyes would linger on the other man’s hands as he carried out the most mundane tasks. Michael would ask him a question, and he’d grow increasingly flustered before finding an excuse to leave the room. The boy was so transparent, it was completely adorable. All he had to do was ask.

And then there were the dreams. Martin sometimes talked in his sleep, but managed to avoid that problem for several months. One night, luckily when Michael was away, you could clearly hear him murmuring in his sleep. You couldn’t deny the flicker of excitement as he began to press himself into the mattress. Gently rolling his hips in a way that caused the temperature in the room to increase. Faint moans stifled by the pillow-- small breathy whimpers that died in his throat. You lean in with the full intention of assisting him, that was when he began to speak. You couldn’t make out much of what he was saying, but you explicitly heard him call out for Michael. At first you thought you had misheard him but he soon began to rut himself against the bed. The volume of his moans increasing, you clearly hear his name once more.

~

“He’s a fighter..I like that about him.” Said Michael.

“What do you mean?”

“His intentions are written all over his face. I’m flattered.”

You had to fight to suppress your grin, with the knowledge that Michael clearly tapped into his thoughts. You didn’t blame him-- you would have as well. You often envied that ability.

“You’ll have to be careful, he's wary. ” You shrugged.

“What does that even mean?

You fix him with a warning stare.

“You know how he is. The two of you have been getting along so well.. I don’t want you to go back to hating each other.”

“I’ve never hated him.”

“You know what I mean..”

Michael begins to laugh, you can feel your irritation rising-- your promise was to Martin, not him. He was the one who decided to re enter your life, and when you were in a relationship no less. To this day you still had no idea why Martin even agreed, he was always so afraid that he might lose you. At times you worried that you had bullied him into this--left him feeling as though this was his only choice. Deep down inside, you knew that wasn’t the case, Martin knew how much you loved him.In fact, he seemed enamored with Michael the second he stepped through the door, love struck gaze dancing over his features..

“Michael..this is serious. Are you just fucking around? So you read his thoughts, and? He’s obviously attracted to you.”

Michael grew silent for a moment, a nearly unreadable expression washes over his face. He glances over towards the bookshelf, absentmindedly adjusting his rings. You knew Martin would want to kill you if he knew you had said those words aloud.

“I’m sorry.. y/n. I’m just--I’m curious. I just want to know what makes him so special? I don’t understand why I keep.. Thinking about him. Do you remember the last time that we were together?

You cross your arms over your eyes as you lay back against the sweat drenched sheets. Heartbeat hammering against your ribs as you struggle to catch the remnants of your breath. Something had clearly gotten into Martin, the boy was nearly insatiable. His actions were almost theatrical in a way as he bends you into nearly impossible positions. He knew he had an audience, Michael sat back on his knees perched at the edge of the bed. Hungrily drinking in the sight in front of him, unsure of where his eyes should land. Your long toned legs wrapped around the boy’s slender waist, delicate fingers grasp aimlessly at the sheets.

It wasn’t rare that you all shared the same room during nightly activities. In a way, it made sure that everything was fair. No one was starved from your attention, they each waited patiently for their turn. They stayed at opposite ends of the bed, gauging your reactions to see ‘who could do it better.’ You hated it, but it was the only way to keep these beautiful boys together in the same room. Still tied to the staunch rules of Catholicism, you were surprised that Martin even agreed to get undressed in front of another man. Michael made no attempt to hide the way he blatantly leered. Your boyfriend’s cheeks burned bright red as he climbed on top of you, burning his face at the crook of your neck. When he was with you, Martin felt completely absolved. He was able to ignore the weight of the man’s unwavering gaze.

He didn't wonder how it would feel to have those full lips pressed against the juncture of his thigh. He never imagined the sensation of the elegant jewels on Michael's fingers lightly brushing across his cheek.

~

His eyes began to roam over Martin’s back, faint muscles shifting beneath porcelain skin. A notion suddenly popped into Michael’s head which immediately caused his cheeks to burn. “No no no .. not now…” The images continued to play through his mind. Martin was beautiful, he realized that from the very beginning. He wasn’t surprised that you wanted him-- the boy was lovely in a delicate sort of way. Much to his dismay, even when they were at each other’s throats-- he felt this strange sort of protectiveness over Martin. He would watch him enter the door once he got home from work, cheeks singed pink from the late afternoon heat. He always looked so broken and overwhelmed, he often wanted to ask him what was wrong. But he never asked, he didn’t want to interfere, or risk breaking the peaceful spell that overcame the three of you.

As he continued to watch the scene unfold in front of him, He found himself inching closer. He wanted to brush the stray tendrils of hair away from Martin’s neck as his lips trace along his shoulder blade. He wanted to flip him over onto his back and finally press his lips against that ever present pout. Kiss him silent, he was always complaining. He could surely give him something to whine about. The sounds that escaped the young man’s lips caused something inside to ignite. He didn’t have to wonder what he was feeling now, he held you in the same position only nights before. Only now his attention wasn’t on you, but instead on the motion on his hips as he pistons you against the bed.

You were breathless, aimlessly grasping at the sheets as he drew another release from your core. Your cheeks burned, you could feel dampness soaking into the mattress and Martin seemed to have no intention of letting up. His hand was poised over your throat with just enough pressure to hold you still. Every now and then he would lean in, kissing you breathless as he whispers your practiced nickname against your lips. You could feel the weight of Michael’s stare-- the bed springs groan as he inches closer. You already feared the weight of the repercussions, Michael never liked to be second choice. The boy was spiraling, threatening to actually spill, still buried deeply inside you to the hilt. He quickly withdraws as his teeth dig into the flesh of your neck.

“I-I’mm so sorry.. “ he whispers against the shell of your ear. “I’m going to take care of you for a while alright?”

He swiftly ducks between your thighs, causing more beautiful noises to escape your throat. Michael’s eyes were glued to Martin, and the way the faint muscles of his back would contract. Leaning closer, gaze traveling over the faint dusting of freckles littered all across his shoulder blades. Like tiny constellations, he wanted to trace over each one of them with his tongue.

Michael allows his hand to freely roam down his chest, fingers ghost over every unhealed line and mark. Raised bits of flesh from failed rituals-- some of them summoning Martin himself.. But the majority of them were aimed towards his Father.

In a way, Martin’s attention seemed to quell some of the aching disappointment. He was no longer listening to his cries. He had failed. He no longer understood his purpose in life. Was he even actually the Antichrist?

He was acting on pure instinct now, as he allows his palms to lightly ghost over Martin’s back. Much to his surprise, Martin didn't recoil... a nearly sinful moan escapes the young man's lips. So it was true? His thumbs began to graze over every dip and curve. Each small shiver and breathy sigh left him craving more.

Martin’s lips continue to move over your heated flesh, as Michael smooths his hands over his back.

“Don’t you feel…”

The sigh beneath him causes his heart to skip a beat, he lifts his head for the briefest moment. The boy was practically shivering on top of you, head buried against the crook of your neck. He seemed to curl in on himself for a moment, beneath the weight of Michael’s words.

“Her intentions washing all over you--”

The young man gasps aloud as Michael’s fingers bite into his flesh. Lips warm and inviting, they manage to leave a lingering sting in their wake.

More well placed kisses along his spine as Martin continues to work you over.

He can clearly see Martin shake his head in disagreement as Michael’s fingers press into the indentations on his lower back. He leans in, tracing his lips along the curve of his ass, the boy practically convulses against you.

Despite himself, he was completely receptive to Michael’s every touch. Shivering against you as warm breath ghosts across his skin. Arching his back in an attempt to get closer, all the while Michael places feather soft kisses against his ear.

It was too much. All his dreams and fantasies seemed to muddle together in a gray and grainy blur. An icy blue gaze that seemed to pierce through his very flesh, in a feeble attempt to truly see him. A wolfish grin and pearly white teeth all hidden behind plush lips that he desperately longed to taste. All that was left to be aware of was the lingering sweetness on his tongue and the sensation of Michael pressing against his back. He could faintly feel strong and calloused fingers slipping around to his front. Lingering against his hip bones--biting into the smooth flesh of his stomach. He needed more.

Please touch me…

The words seemed to linger in the deepest recesses of his brain. He could never know. He could never say it aloud.

“Martin..turn around.”

#Martin 1977 #Martin/reader #martin/fem reader/Michael #this is so bad... #I'm sorry #I am obviously a bit uninspired #But.. on the plus side...there's Michael!

[biwatson]

I would love to know more about “eros dissolving” and “a study of five” if you’d be so kind 🥰

oooh. okay, the shorter one first-- "a study of five” is a cute 5+1 fic I want to write, based early in Holmes and Watson’s friendship.

My draft summary: Watson, despairing that his fellow boarder is seemingly capable and efficient at all tasks, determines to compile a private list of rare things that Sherlock Holmes cannot, in fact, do without difficulty.

As for “eros dissolving” -- oh baby. <3 this is a soft, tender fic i’ve actually had in mind for a while and have a good amount of work done for (the entire outline and first chapter!) and tbh the subheader on my draft just reads “holmes and watson help some Victorian Lesbians”. essentially, i really want 1883 Holmes and Watson taking on a case for some lesbians, because I want gay solidarity, parallels, and as many tropes and headcanons as possible.

The very first chapter begins with Watson and Holmes waking up in bed for the first time, because Holmes decided to stay. An excerpt:

“I opened my eyes to the unfamiliar shifting of a body against mine. With mild but unmotivated surprise, I blinked awake to low morning sunlight. As my vision came into reluctant focus, I breathed in the familiar scent of tobacco and rosehip. Immediately, my body went lax, and I closed my eyes to listen as the soft, rhythmic exhales by my ear filled the well in my chest like no other calming spirit.

Peace curling below my skin, I took stock of the points where his body touched mine. His bare arm but brushed the side of my face, soft dark hairs tickling my cheekbone, and his left leg had entangled itself with my right, a jointed tree branch hooking around my knee below my bedsheets. The duvet stirred as his breathing lifted it in light, shifting centimeters, and in the silence of my room, he was all that I could sense. Without turning my head, I peered from the corner of my eye and felt a smile of purest affection slip across my face. Holmes was lying on his stomach, face buried in a pillow and his long nose pressed against the crook of his elbow. His dark hair was mussed across his brow, forming a fringed curtain over closed eyes. The half-profile of his face, slack with sleep and pink from the warmth of the bed, took hold of my attention with its unprecedented ease and openness.

A flush of color, like a tattoo of flower petals in the flesh, drew my eye to his bare shoulder. Heat simmered in my stomach at the memory of sucking and biting at the ivory skin there the previous evening. The sight of physical evidence of our intimacy, compounded by his soft breathing and the linking of his limbs with mine, filled me with a quiet joy the likes of which I had rarely experienced.

Now that he had slept in my bed and I knew what I was to wake beside him, I was not certain I could go without.

Suddenly, a knock at the doorframe had me jolting in shock, and across my body, I felt Holmes stiffen in sudden consciousness.

“Doctor Watson,” I heard, and my stomach clenched at the sound of Mrs. Hudson's voice from behind my bedroom door. I jerked my chin downwards to stare into urgent, piercing grey eyes, set in a face no longer softened by the cottony release of sleep. His hand had darted to his mouth, one long finger pressed against his lips, and feeling the warm haze of the morning flee my body in alarm, I cleared my throat.

“Yes, Mrs. Hudson?”

“Forgive me if I woke you, Doctor,” Mrs. Hudson said, her voice apologetic. I stared holes at the silver doorknob, hyperaware for any sign of its turning. “But Mr. Holmes is not answering my knocks this morning, and there is a young lady downstairs who is quite insistent upon speaking with at least one of you as soon as possible.”

“At this hour?”

“It is almost ten o’clock, Doctor,” Mrs. Hudson supplied, voice between bemusement and fondness, and disbelieving I twisted to my sidetable clock and gawked at the time. I looked back to Holmes where he lay by my arm, and saw he wore an almost identical expression of surprise.

“Ah,” I said, clearing my throat louder. “Then—perhaps—”

Holmes’s lips met my ear to whisper in a hiss. “Unless you believe it proper to speak with a client in a shirt that’s buttons have been torn from their seams, the client must remain downstairs.”

Blushing at the reminder of my exuberance from last night, I raised my voice. “If you could please offer her some tea, Mrs. Hudson, and occupy her long enough for myself to dress, I would be much obliged.”

“Very well, Doctor.”

“—And please,” I added, eyes drifting to my side. “Leave Holmes to me, Mrs. Hudson.”

He smirked, lip twitching in a curl of mischief.

“Happy to, Doctor.”

At the sound of her departing footsteps down the stairs, Holmes sat up promptly in bed. 

“That, Watson, was nearly a—”

Holmes did not finish his declaration, for I found I could not refrain from dissolving into sudden, uncontrollable giggling. Watching him blink at me, overcome by the foolish aftermath of surprise and uncannily adolescent shame, I planted my face against Holmes’s bare side and snickered like a school boy.

“Oh—Holmes—my God, I haven’t had a morning bell like that since university.” Distantly, I felt Holmes’s rigid muscles beneath me loosen and tremble as his low, devilish chuckle sifted through the silence. Unceremoniously, Holmes dropped backwards onto the mattress, eyes glimmering with amusement.

“I should hope not,” he said, turning to face me as his hand moved beneath the sheets across my waist. “We’ve not been in university for some time, old man.” He shook his head wonderingly as I snorted. “I cannot believe I did not wake before now, in the least as she came up the stairs. I slept so heavily I did not even stir. You should come with your own warning label, my dear doctor.”

“Would you adhere to it, if I did?” I returned, pressing my lips to his collarbone with a certain smugness.

“Mm, perhaps not,” he hummed, and I bit back a yelp as he shifted and a pair of frozen toes pressed to the inside of my shin. 

“Good Lord, your feet are ice,” I complained, huffing into the hollow of his neck.

“Poor circulation, I’m told,” said Holmes, deeply amused. He chuckled as I harrumphed at the feeling of cold toes insinuating themselves between my skin and the mattress for warmth. “You are remarkably warm, Watson, even for February.”

I sought his long hands, which were nearly as cold as his toes, and took them in mine, rubbing them gently and kissing their knuckles. “And you’re far too cold, for such a warm bed.”

“I see your morning laziness does not extend to morning intimacies,” he observed, and the fond note in his voice was unmistakable. 

“This is its own form of laziness,” I explained languidly, pressing my lips to the pulse in his wrist, and with a huff of effort I twisted in bed and draped myself across his naked form like a blanket. Holmes grunted theatrically beneath my weight, coughing out a laugh, and I smiled like a fool as he sought to wriggle free.

“My dear Watson, I don’t know if you were paying attention, but we have a client.”

“I could hardly care less.” Holmes snorted almost despite himself, opening his mouth to retort, and I interrupted him, “And you care just as little for manners.” I turned my head, sighing contentedly against his pale abdomen. “I am happy where we are.”

“As charming as you are this morning, Watson, I fear that Mrs. Hudson will return soon to rouse you, and more thoroughly this time.”

I groaned in defeat, conceding the point. “Then you owe me a different morning in, at a later date,” I said petulantly.

Below me, Holmes stiffened, and I leaned up to see him lifting an eyebrow at me. “Our near exposure this morning poses no worry to you, I see.”

“We shall have to be more careful,” I admitted, slightly more solemn, and when his face flickered with self-recrimination, I continued, “But I’m afraid now that I know how it feels to wake beside you, I shall be much more willing to throw caution to the wind for the opportunity.”

Immediately, Holmes’s measuring expression dissolved with a softness that stirred hazy joy in my gut. “Your tenacity continues to astound,” he said. “More and more, I pity any devil who dares stand between you and your quarry.”

“I have been told I’m rather good at wearing a fellow down.”

“And out, I should say.” 

He clucked as I scoffed and shoved at him, barking a laugh at the rare lewdness, and he eeled fully from beneath me to stand, completely naked and utterly captivating in the light of day. He stretched, muscles a fluid tableau of alabaster, and his bare feet whispered against the floorboards. I stared unabashedly as he shrugged into his trousers and retrieved his rumpled shirt from beside the bed, drinking in the arresting sight of his bare, lithe figure at a distance. He turned to see my leering and smirked, confident enough to my heart thump warmly in my chest.

“Do stop gawking and make yourself useful. Get dressed and maintain the coast is clear for me for the madcap shuffle to my own rooms.”

I laughed at the imagery and cast aside the sheets to rise. “Very well, Holmes, I shall preserve your reputation.”

“It is the very least you could do. It is partnered with yours, after all.”

#ask game #holmes x watson #my fic #my wips #established relationship #acd canon #vintage-vermillion

[lastsonlost]

Oh gasps, I'm shocked.

Who would have thunk it?

The story:

Updated with Sunday figures: In the wake of Terminator: Dark Fate’s failure at the B.O., and Paramount’s recent decision to make Beverly Cops 4 for Netflix, we have the further breakdown of cinema IP in Sony’s Charlie’s Angels reboot, which is tanking with a God-awful $8.6M domestic opening, $27.9M worldwide (from 26 markets), 3 Stars on Screen Engine-Comscore’s PostTrak, and a B+ Cinemascore.

The Elizabeth Banks-directed-written and produced pic is also opening in 27 offshore markets,

China being one where it’s also bombing,

with a $7.8M 3-day take in third place behind No. 1 local title Somewhere Winter ($13.1M).

All of this is primed to further spur a WTF reaction and anxiety among film development executives in town in regards to what the hell exactly works in this have-and-have-not era of the theatrical marketplace. Many will make the hasty generalization that old, dusty IP doesn’t work, or is now deemed too risky when it’s not a superhero project. However, moviemaking is an art, not a science, and annoying as it might sound, good movies float to the top, and this Charlie’s Angels reboot didn’t have the goods going back to its script.

<Maybe somebody should have been working on a good story instead of pushing an agenda.

We’re going to break down for you what went wrong in another graph, but we don’t want to bury the success of Disney’s release of Fox’s James Mangold-directed Ford v Ferrari, which looks to be coming in at $31.5M, well ahead of the $20M+ many were seeing, with an awesome A+ CinemaScore and 4 1/2 stars and a 68% definite recommend on Screen Engine/Comscore’s PostTrak. After a franchise-laden summer which buried originals, now an original pic is sticking it to the IP.

When it comes to the bombing of Charlie’s Angels, the takeaway is this is what happens when you have IP, but there’s no reason for telling the story.

In the walk-up to developing Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle, and in the wake of its near $1 billion success, a fever broke out at the Culver City lot in the post-Amy Pascal era to reboot former Sony franchises or extend them, i.e. Zombieland: Double Tap (well over $103M at the global B.O. now), the upcoming Bad Boys 3, and, of course, Spider-Man, the latter electrified by Disney’s Marvel. Development studio executives define their being by getting films greenlit, and whenever that happens, it’s 90% of the job.

And the pressure is on to fill a 10-12 picture annual slate in a world where Disney vacuums up all the best IP. A third Charlie’s Angels with McG directing and Drew Barrymore, Cameron Diaz and Lucy Liu starring, wasn’t made immediately after the second chapter, 2003’s Full Throttle, as the sequel turned out to be 29% more expensive than the 2000 original at $120M, and also made less worldwide, $259.1M to $264.1M. With Elizabeth Banks coming off her hot feature directorial debut with Universal’s Pitch Perfect 2 (which over-indexed in its stateside opening at the B.O., going from $50M projections to $69.2M, and finaled global at $287.1M); after she expressed interest in September 2015 in taking on a Charlie’s Angels reboot with a modern feminist spin, there was no question in Sony’s mind that the project should move forward.

<Yeah Sony, how's that working out for you? You think they would have learned their lesson...

Guess not.

Back to the story.....

However, there were script problems, I hear, that could never be resolved. A few months after Banks boarded, Evan Spiliotopoulos came on to write. By the time cast was assembled in July 2018, Banks had penned the latest draft off a script by Jay Basu (The Girl in the Spider’s Web), and earlier drafts by Craig Mazin and Semi Chellas. Andrea Giannetti oversaw the project on the lot. However, I hear that the script for Charlie’s Angels didn’t really attract top talent, i.e. Jennifer Lawrence, Emma Stone and Margot Robbie (a trio that would have potentially jazzed up business). Hence, why the production opted to go with largely a fresh face cast outside of Kristen Stewart. While we overwrite that stars mean nothing at the box office, they do, sometimes, when it comes to propping IP, and unfortunately and arguably, no one in Middle America knows who British actress Ella Balinska is, and they’ve only became recently acquainted with Naomi Scott from Disney’s Aladdin and Lionsgate’s Power Rangers. Stewart, who is hysterical in the movie and even needed more funny bits, is in a different place in her career professionally, publicly, and privately. It’s unfair to think that she could delver her Twilight fans now.

Had she done Charlie’s Angels promptly in the swell of the Twilight whirlwind (like Snow White and the Huntsmen) then maybe it would have popped.

But she has largely been dormant from popcorn wide releases for the last seven years since 2012’s Twilight: Breaking Dawn – Part 2, busy excelling and wowing in specialty awards season and festival fare like Clouds of Sils Maria, Still Alice, and this year’s Seberg, to name a few. Stewart needed to be paired with equal or bigger-name actresses.

was a one quadrant movie, eyed at women 13-39, especially given its lack of action scenes, and wisely limited their exposure to what I hear is 50%, with co-finance partners 2.0 Entertainment and Perfect World. Sony claims the budget is $48M net; we’ve heard in the mid $50Ms. Tax incentives were taken in the pic’s Berlin and Hamburg shoots. Perhaps Sony should have spent more, because Charlie’s Angels biggest problem is that it has very low-octane, we’ve-seen-it-all-before action scenes. Heck, there’s more action in a 1980s Chuck Norris movie. After watching Charlie’s Angels earlier this week, I put the first two McG movies on Netflix, and it was like watching Star Wars in comparison to this reboot, with his sharp production design, camera movements, unique action, and comedy set pieces, and, of course, the first movie blasted Sam Rockwell out of a cannon. Understand that the first two movies in the series were able to compete and hold their own in an action space where, yes, Mission: Impossible and Fast & Furious (the first two films came out in 2001 and 2003) also thrived. Mission and Fast sequels distinguish themselves on multiple 10-minute action sequences that we’ve never seen before on screen; it doesn’t matter who the villain is. This Charlie’s Angels doesn’t have that. And not even a super-duper hit song “Don’t Call Me Angel” for the movie from Ariana Grande, Miley Cyrus, and Lana Del Ray can trigger lines at the multiplex; the music video clocking over 116M views on YouTube, per entertainment social media monitor RelishMix.

Some will claim that Banks’ version was never intended to emulate the meat and potatoes version of McG’s films; that this version was expected to be more comedic, and more feminist. Unfortunately, after McG set the table here with the franchise as an action film, you can’t reverse it. You can only outdo him. And with a franchise movie like Charlie’s Angels, you can’t make it for a one quadrant audience.

The film arrived on tracking with a $12M-$13M start, and really never budged, but sank. That means marketing didn’t work. I heard that a $100M global P&A was first planned on Charlie’s Angels, with the studio now reducing that overall cost greatly to around $50M and pulling back on expensive ads. Another hurdle in activating the young girl demo is that much of the pic’s cast isn’t on social media. RelishMix says that Banks is the social media star with over 6.6M followers across Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, with Scott counting 3.4M.

Sony kept pushing Charlie’s Angels, which in hindsight means there were development issues. In May 2017, a release date was announced for June 7, 2019. When the cast was locked down in July 2018, Charlie’s got moved to Sept. 27, 2019. In October 2018 when Warners pushed Wonder Woman 1984 from the first weekend in November to summer, Charlie‘s took over the autumn spot, which was the same exact place the original 2000 opened. However, when Terminator: Dark Fate moved onto the same first weekend in November, Charlie‘s relocated to this weekend as they vied for a China release which they ultimately got.

Charlie’s Angels drew a 66% female crowd, split between 36% over 25 and 30% under 25. But both demos respectively graded it low at 68% and 79%, with men at 35% giving it a 68% grade on PostTrak. Diversity breakdown was 52% Caucasian, 21% Hispanic, 14% Asian/Other, & 13% African American. Charlie’s Angels best markets were on the coasts and big cities. But again, nothing to brag about in Friday’s $3.2M gross, which includes $900K from Thursday and Wednesday previews.

Says RelishMix, which also foresaw this disaster approaching on social media chatter, “Angels is the latest example in a ‘woke’ effort to reboot a franchise that many were not all that interested in to start with. In fact, many references to the 2000 version get a call-out as a reason this one doesn’t seem to compare – whether it’s the cast or the action teased from the film.

And, as observed with other recent films, some action/adventure, unfortunately fans say they’re steering clear of this one because of its ‘girl power’ messaging.”

[aelysalthea]

The Secret Lives of Neil Josten

Chapter 3: Dan's Academic Pursuits

Dan was bored already. Bored when it wasn't even the end of her first class? It made for a long semester to come.

Mathematics wasn't really a choice she'd wanted to make. Even Introductory Statistics was so far out of her realm of expertise that it would be a struggle, regardless of how often Matt preached that it was "only a first-year subject". Dan wasn't a math person.

Unfortunately, that didn't mean she wouldn't take it. It would be useful, she knew, just as she'd known that Introductory Mathematics would be to her benefit in the long haul. It would. Hopefully. Surely her arduous struggle two years before couldn't be for nothing.

The first class of Statistics wasn't setting a good precedent for successive lectures, however. The lecturer was a younger man, thin and plain, unremarkable but was a remarkably boring voice which he used to make a dull subject seem even duller. He spoke at the room rather than to the students and seemed to forget for the better part of the class that he had an audience at all. That, and that the words he droned and the solutions he detailed were in perfectly legible font on the screen overhead.

There wasn't a need to read it out when Dan was fairly sure that everyone in the class could read. Almost one-hundred percent sure.

"This was a bad idea," Kelsey muttered at her side exactly fifty-four minutes into the lecture. Professor Drone-A-Lot looked to be only contemplating the prospect of wrapping up. "A really, really bad idea."

Dan nodded in heartfelt agreement. She and Kelsey weren't really friends, just as she wasn't really friends with Thomas at her other side, or Jackson another chair along. She didn't even know the girl who sat on Kelsey's other side but to recognise her as a fellow athlete. They tended to group together these days, and especially the seniors. Juggling a sports-life and college studies was nothing short of a circus act.

If Dan had her choice, however, she would have sat with one of her Foxes. Even a freshman would have been better than Kelsey the netballer or Thomas, who played - what did he play again? Hockey, was it? She couldn't remember. Unfortunately, a quick glance around the enormous, ominous, mostly full lecture hall when she'd first stepped through the doorway hadn't spotted any of her own. That in itself was strange, because Dan could have sworn she had one. A valuable one, too. Neil was reportedly good at math, or so Matt had claimed the previous year.

The professor was still droning, still dictating what was already written on the screen over his head, by the time Dan's watch ticked onto the hour. As if to the sound of a bell, motion rippled through every student. No one spoke, not a one interrupting the professor, but unspoken agreement sounded the end of class. A sidelong glance saw the boy at the end of Dan's row slink into the aisle, twisting in place to scuttle up the stairs and through the door in short order. He wasn't even the first one to leave.

"Should've picked a spot closer to the door," Thomas murmured, and Dan nodded again. A shuffle behind her signalled more escapees, and though the professor seemed to be making an attempt to wrap up the session, she didn't wait for him to properly finish. Her notes were minimal at best, and she hadn't written a word for the past twenty minutes. Scooping her bag from beneath her feet, Dan swept pens and books within and was scooting along the line of seats in Kelsey's wake before she'd even zipped it shut.

"Don't be the last one in," Kelsey's friend whispered over her shoulder, teeth flashing in a grin. "I heard from Monica that this guy sometimes tries to keep lecturing to anyone that gets caught behind if they hang around."

Kelsey gagged and Dan gave a shudder that wasn't wholly theatrical. Snickering with the rest of her not-quite friends, she hastened up the stairs in then thickening stream of escaping students - only to pause at the top. Thomas nearly ran into her from behind with a muted yelp.

"Dan," he scolded, but didn't wait for a reply before skirting around her and making through the doorway. Dan barely noticed. Hitching her bag over her shoulder, she slipped instead down the line of desks and seats along the back row, the chairs already emptied, and paused alongside the only one that still held an occupant.

"I thought I remembered seeing you'd picked statistics this semester," she said, not bothering to dampen her voice anymore. The ruckus of escapees had climbed to careless abandon, drowning out the vestiges of the professor's words. "I didn't see you come in."

Neil started slightly, snapping his attention from his notepad up towards her. He blinked owlishly for a moment, as quietly disconcerted as he always was when someone 'crept up' on him, even if he did seem to be getting better with it these days. When he realised it was only Dan, he eased immediately, shoulders releasing their tension.

"Hey," he said, sitting back in his chair and dropping his pen onto the notepad. "I came in at the last second."

"I'll say. I thought I was cutting it close and you got here after me." Dan propped herself against the desk alongside Neil's. "You're sitting with me next time, though."

Neil cocked his head. "Hm? Why?"

"Because you're good at math."

"I'm not that good at math. I just enjoy it."

"Bullshit. And that's weird."

Neil shrugged. "It's fun."

It's scary that he's not even joking, Dan thought with a mental roll of her eyes. Once, she probably wouldn't have been able to discern Neil's blank-faced humour from sincerity, but it was a little more apparent these days. In this instance, he was definitely being honest. "So weird," she said, shaking her head. "Come on, though, throw me a bone. I'm in my last year and could use all the help I can get."

"If you're not good at statistics then why did you pick it?" Neil asked.

"Because it'll be useful."

"I suppose. For you."

"I'll do a trade with you," Dan offered, turning against the desk to drop her elbows onto the back of the chair instead. "You're taking psych this semester, right? I'll give you my notes and even help you read my scrawl, and you can -"

Gesturing at Neil's notepad, Dan waved an indicative hand. It wasn't for lack of necessity that her words died, however. Her offer abruptly sidelined, Dan straightened and peered at Neil's paper. "What is that?"

Neil followed the line of her gaze. "What is what?"

"That." Dan pointed at a square of the page, barely post-it sized and covered in arching lines of pen. "Did you draw that?"

Neil shrugged, shoulders regaining some of their tension, but Dan barely noticed. She was more concerned with the pictures in black ink that the bleached the paper, making a mockery of the blue lines and disregarding any notes that Neil had taken above it.

It was difficult to discern just what it was that she was looking at, for it seemed a part of something larger. Like a jigsaw puzzle piece isolated from its kin, what appeared to be a landscape image in immaculate detail and various intensities of shading consumed the square piece. The outline of a tree trunk, gnarled knots at its base and twisted branches extending higher. Tufts of grass stretched from its roots, and debris surrounded its base. Foliage and stunted bushes, a shrivelled flower and a misshapen rock. Something that looked like the shadow of an animal – a fox maybe? – and something else that looked far more sinister but less discernible.

As Dan drew her gaze across the picture, she shook her head slowly. It was… unexpected, to say the least. She couldn't have withheld the wondering smile that grew on her lips if she'd tried.

"Neil, you drew this yourself?" Dan asked without really needing an answer.

"It's just doodling," Neil said.

Dan ignored that uncomfortable edge to his tone. She reached for the notepad, fingers trailing over the surface made bumpy by the footprints of the pen. "This is really good."

"What?"

"Yeah, it's - Neil, you're a really good drawer."

"Not really."

Dan shot him a glance. "Don't tell me I'm wrong. You suck at school work in everything that isn't math or, like, Spanish or whatever else you and Andrew decided to take up at the moment -"

"It's Russian, actually," Neil said.

"Whatever. What I'm saying is that I know you suck at things, but this," she tapped the picture with a finger, "does not suck."

Neil shrugged tightly again. His face bore the kind of closed blankness of discomfort that Dan knew so well of him, and the tension in his shoulders bespoke it even more. Why he should find such a thing uncomfortable Dan didn't know, but she'd learned a long time ago not to ask. It would be an unkindness when the answer could potentially dredge forth bad memories. Neil had a lot of those, and they were often sparked by the most unexpected triggers.

Straightening, sparing a last glance for the artistic spread of penmanship, Dan forced aside the urge to explore it further. "Well, whatever," she said. "It's not like it's relevant, just kind of cool. You won't be completely distracted doing drawings in every statistics class, will you? Because that would be a problem if I'm planning to mooch off of you. And if you actually want to pass."

When Neil slowly shook his head, Dan gave a short nod. "Good. That's good then." Another nod pointed towards the doors, almost vacated of fleeing students. "Let's go, then. We don't want to get trapped by Professor Mitchell, right? Apparently he has a tendency of doing things like that."

Dan didn't wait for Neil to agree. She barely waited long enough to be sure he was packing his gear away and rising to follow her. Leading the way from the lecture hall, Dan shrugged the incident aside, even if she did stick a mental pin into the reminder.

Neil had been, and likely always would be, something of an enigma. It seemed that, even without trying to hide it, he had a wealth of secrets buried just beneath the surface. Dan found herself smiling as she cast a glance over her shoulder at Neil, his chin tucked and head bowed in utter contrast to how he usually held himself on the court but nothing if not typical of what she'd seen of him in the college hallways.

Always secrets and accidental revelations. Dan doubted they'd ever stop coming, though if they were as curiously unexpected as this latest discovery was, she found she didn't mind finding them out piece by piece. Not anymore.

***

When Neil returned to Fox Tower that afternoon, the room was silent. Such wasn't uncommon, both when it was empty and when either of his roommates were present; more often than not Kevin would be sprawled on his bed with headphones on and oblivious to the world, or Andrew at a window deliberately ignoring anyone around him. Neil didn't care. He was just as often blotting his surroundings out himself.

Dumping his bag at his desk, he dug through its contents briefly before disregarding delicacy and upending it and tipping the contents out. As he flipped through his books, the door opened behind him and he glanced over his shoulder.

"Hey," Neil said as Andrew entered, gravitating towards his own desk to offload his shoulder bag. Its thud was surprisingly heavy given Neil knew he rarely carried books with him, though he'd never asked just what Andrew filled it with instead.

Andrew tipped his head in an acknowledging nod before turning towards the kitchen. "I'm hungry," he said.

In anyone else, Neil probably would have ignored such a comment. When it came from Andrew, there was question, offer, and suggestion wrapped up in the two simple words. Flipping through his extracted notebook, Neil followed after Andrew.

"There's mac 'n' cheese on the bottom shelf," he said.

"You don't like that," Andrew said, turning to the pantry.

Neil shrugged. He wasn't hungry anyway, and even if he hadn't a taste for the goop, Andrew liked it. "I don't care."

Andrew crouched before the shelves as Neil dropped onto his own haunches before the fridge. He rearranged the collection of magnets, crumpling a couple of brochures Kevin had stuck up, a receipt that Kevin said was important but definitely wasn't, and tore the sheet of his statistics notes from the book.

"You hid it," Andrew said behind him, shuffling through tins and boxes for the admittedly hidden box.

"Kevin would have tossed it otherwise," Neil said.

"Asshole."

"He's kicked up his game on dieting this season for some reason."

"We have diet plans already. Let him suffer alone. He shouldn't inflict his poor life choices onto others."

Neil snorted as he rearranged the fridge magnets, adding his paper to the motley collection. He could agree with Andrew's sentiment, if only in part. Without a dark cloud hanging over Kevin's head that year, he seemed to have launched himself into the life of a committed athlete with a vigour that put his previous attempts to shame. That meant monitoring every mouthful, and not only of his own meals but frustratingly those of every teammate. He'd nearly gotten his throat cut when he threatened to throw out Andrew's tub of ice-cream barely two weeks before.

Rocking back onto his heels, Neil glanced over his shoulder to where Andrew was pulling pots out of the cupboard before turning back to the mosaic on the fridge. The collection of paper pieces, torn slips in some instances and larger chunks of pen-lined paper in others, consumed most of the lower half of the fridge door, overriding what had once been cluttered with Kevin's choice of 'relevant' content in the form of pictures, newspaper clippings, and loud advertisements. In Neil's opinion, what took its place was distinctly better.

The image hadn't rhyme, reason, or intention behind it, but somehow each picture-piece contributed to the whole. What had started as an offhanded doodle, something sketched mindlessly in the boredom of a classroom, had expanded into something more. A crevasse in a tree that evolved into the entirety of that tree, had produced a branch, a root, and then the shadow of another alongside it. The arch of a hill scattered with clumps of dirt, pawprints, and grass flattened by a departed foot.

What had started as an offhanded glance over Andrew's shoulder, a simple request and a chipped magnet to hold it in place had expanded. Hours of mindless scratchings in the back of classrooms when he could have been prepping for the end of year exams, sitting in silence and barely attending to the movements of his pen, unintentional but subconsciously deliberate nonetheless. The result was an expanse of fragmented but somehow continuous depictions in lead or ink. To look at it, Neil could determine in an instant which scraps of paper and sketched images were his own and which were Andrew's. It was somehow satisfying to see them all click together.

He didn't know why Andrew drew. He didn't know if he even liked to do it or if he simply… did it.

Neil didn't know why he drew, either. He couldn't have said if he liked it, or if he was good at it as Dan had suggested at the end of their earlier class. He just… did it.

"That's the third one," Andrew said from behind Neil.

Neil cocked his head, arms folding as he glanced over the mishmash pieces of the picture they'd unintentionally made. "Third what?" he asked.

"Fox."

Neil eyed Andrew sidelong. Andrew was regarding his latest addition with his usual hooded, nonchalant gaze. It was difficult to get a read on him sometimes, still difficult even after over a year of knowing him, but Neil thought he knew. In this instance, with the beats of silence and staring, Neil thought he knew.

He shrugged. "So long as you're okay with it," he said, turning towards the cupboard to extract a pair of bowls.

"I didn't say I liked it."

"Neither did I."

"It's a little obsessive if anything."

"Yeah, well, it's typical of me. Right?" When he turned, Neil found himself the focus of Andrews attention. He stared back silently, expectantly, but Andrew only rolled his eyes, returning to his mac 'n' cheese. Neil followed behind him. "Your turn next," he said, just as he always did as an unnecessary reminder.

"Whatever," Andrew replied. "If I can be fucked. The entire pastime is growing increasingly pointless."

"So you agree it had a point at least at some time?" Andrew didn't reply but Neil shrugged anyway. "Then I guess it doesn't matter."

Andrew still didn't reply, didn't confirm, but though Neil had never partaken in the betting habits of his teammates, he would confidently wager there would be another addition before the end of the week.

#aftg #the foxhole court #post-canon #neil josten #andrew minyard #dan wilds #headcanons #fanfiction #domestic #college life #the secret lives of neil josten

[chiseler]

Pop Modernist Dystopia

In an interview with Peter Bogdanovich shortly before his death in 1976, Fritz Lang said of Metropolis, “You cannot make a social-conscious picture in which you say that the intermediary between the hand and the brain is the heart. I mean, that's a fairy tale – definitely. But I was very interested in machines. Anyway, I didn't like the picture – thought it was silly and stupid – then, when I saw the astronauts: what else are they but part of a machine? It's very hard to talk about pictures—should I say now that I like Metropolis because something I have seen in my imagination comes true, when I detested it after it was finished?”

Lang wasn’t alone back in 1927 when the film was first released. Critics applauded the striking visuals and the ambitious technical achievement, but lambasted the trite melodrama and cheap platitudes. In a vicious New York times review, H.G. Wells attacked the picture’s anti-progress, anti-technology message, accused it of ripping off several earlier works (including his own), and called it “quite the silliest film.” It was also attacked as a bunch of simpleminded and heavy-handed pro-communist propaganda, while at the same time and ironically enough it was  hailed by the Nazis for portraying the overthrow of the Bourgeoisie.

(As a quick sidenote, Lang’s wife, novelist and Metropolis screenwriter Thea von Harbou, became quite infatuated with the Nazis after they took power, which led to a divorce shortly before Lang fled to the States in 1936.)

The story, admittedly, is pretty trite. In the year 2000, 2026, or 3000 (depending on which cut you see), there is no middle class. The top .001 percent of superwealthy intellectuals live in unimaginable luxury in the towering city of Metropolis, while the teeming masses of impoverished proles work the monstrous machines in the underground factories. Freder (Gustav Fröhlich), son of Metropolis’ ruler, falls for a poor worker named Maria (Brigitte Helm). Meanwhile an engineer with a beef builds a humanoid robot to exact a little revenge, and the workers begin muttering about conditions and revolution. There are another half dozen storylines at play, but we’ll keep it simple here. There are some disasters, some rioting, things go a little crazy there for awhile until everyone learns they can live together happily. Yes, well. But the story hardly matters. Background becomes foreground in a film so packed with unforgettable images.

Produced by the German studio UFA, Metropolis called for 13,000 extras, over 200,000 costumes, and a city’s worth of monumental sets. It took fifteen months to shoot, over which time its initial 800,000 Reichmarks budget ballooned to over five million.

At the Berlin premiere for distributors, Lang’s directors cut ran about 153 minutes. Everyone, particularly Paramount, who’d signed a distribution deal with  UFA, felt the film was way too long and the story far too tangled and confusing. That Berlin screening would be the one and only time anyone saw a complete version of Metropolis for the next eighty years. Paramount took the print and cut it down to 92 minutes, excising a number of characters and subplots, as well as the perceived commie propaganda. Then they brought in a new writer to concoct a new story to replace Lang’s original intertitles. UGA took Paramount’s version and cut still another ten minutes out, and other international distributors made other cuts of their own.

During its first theatrical run, Metropolis brought in a pitiful 75,000 Reichmarks. The brass at UFA was not pleased. Neither was Paramont, and the film ostensibly vanished. From that point, the history of Metropolis became as tangled and complicated as the original plot about class struggle, dehumanization, several layers of betrayal, a couple illicit love affairs, and robots. Beginning in the early Seventies, a number of  attempts were made to restore Lang’s original complete vision by splicing together scenes from assorted international versions, but the story didn’t come to an end until 2008, when, much to everyone’s surprise, a print of Lang’s original 153-minute version was discovered in an archive in Argentina. The print was cleaned up, remastered, and released by Kino International in 2010. Two scenes from the Argentinian print were unsalvageable, so the 2010 version ran 148 minutes, five minutes shorter than Lang’s director’s cut, but what are you gonna do?

Until his death, Lang would tell the story that Metropolis sprang into his head fully formed upon seeing the towering skyline of Manhattan for the first time. He, his wife, and a German film critic were sailing into New York harbor for the U.S. premiere of Die Nibelungen in 1924, and Lang was mesmerized by all the skyscrapers. Immediately he envisioned a film about a magnificent city of the future. It’s a good anecdote and one he told quite well, but the only problem is by the time they first arrived in New York, von Harbou had already sketched out the story upon which the Metropolis script would be based. There’s no denying, though, that architecture would play a central role in Lang’s visuals. He supplied the film’s staggering architecture and machinery while von Harbou provided the human melodrama and social commentary. Lang was inspired by not only the Manhattan skyline, but a number of radical architectural movements of the time, from Art Deco and Bauhaus to Futurism, elements of which he would mix and match in order to  design his own magnificent vertical city. His designs for Metropolis  would in turn later go on to inspire not only other filmmakers and production designers, but artists and architects as well. And in the end, it’s the film’s visuals that stick with us far more than the plot: the new Tower of Babel, the robot-like workers marching into and out of the underground factories, and of course that insidious engineer Rotwang’s Maschinenmensch  which itself was inspired by avant-garde sculpture of the early 20th century.

In a way that is absolutely key to understanding Metropolis’ unique and singular position within not only cinema, but the culture at large. It remains to this day a lynchpin between highbrow and lowbrow, the most enduring and influential embodiment of what might be called Pop Modernism.

The world’s first feature-length (and then some) science fiction epic took the Modernist art and architecture of its time and transformed them into a vision of a dystopian future that was at once a staggering achievement of cinematic art and imagination as well as a simple message film aimed at a populist audience. Despite the initial critical and audience reaction, and despite having been butchered by distributors, it would go on to inspire artists, architects, filmmakers, writers and musicians across the board. The Los Angeles of Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner and the Gotham of Tim Burton’s Batman both owe a great deal to Lang. Madonna, Lady Gaga and countless other pop acts have grabbed  imagery from Metropolis to drop into their music videos. Respected composers, indie acts and electronic industrial outfits have all composed new scores for the film. Osamu Tezuka insists he only saw a single still from Lang’s picture, but that was enough to inspire his own Metropolis manga, which was turned into an award-winning animated film in 2001.

Perhaps the most perfect and telling example of Metropolis’ place in the Pop Modernist spectrum came in 1984, when producer and film composer Giorgio Moroder edited and released his own 80-minute version of Metropolis, which by that point had fallen into the public domain. Moroder replaced all the intertitles with subtitles, ran the film at a slightly faster speed, slapped on a pop soundtrack featuring Top-40 acts of the day like Loverboy, Pat Benetar, and Bonnie Tyler, and worst of all colorized it.

Film purists were outraged, assailing Moroder for mangling and desecrating Lang’s film in such a crass and cynically commercial way. But the critics at the time neglected to consider several things. First, a British distributor had already released a colorized version (quite the unfortunate rage at the time) with subtitles replacing the intertitles. Although the Moroder version clocked in at a zippy 80 minutes, this was simply the result of removing the intertitles and speeding up the film. Fact was, his version was the most complete version of the film available at the time. And most importantly, that pop song soundtrack, as painful and outdated as it sounds today, drew a much younger audience who would normally have no use whatsoever for a silent movie. He transformed a classic example of silent German cinema into a long music video, and the newly-born MTV generation bought it. The film brought in a darn sight more than Metropolis had upon its initial release. Moroder’s version, cynically commercial as it may have been, rescued the film from the museum and gave it a new life, introducing it to a whole new generation who were likewise dazzled by the stunning visuals, and who would then go on to incorporate the imagery into their own art and films and music. So 90 years after making an ambitious art film aimed at a popcorn crowd, Lang continues, if unintentionally, to dance that line between the High and the Low, kinda like Andy Warhol.

Funny thing is, from Moroder to Club Foot Orchestra to Lady Gaga, the more contemporary artists co-opt Lang’s film, the more timely and timeless Metropolis seems, and the more ephemeral and pointless everything else seems in comparison.

The final, sad irony of Metropolis’ long and complex history, blasphemous as it may be, is that for all the understandable ballyhoo surrounding the discovery of Lang’s complete original vision, and of at last having a pristine, remastered edition  (minus those five minutes they couldn’t salvage) finally available again, I’d still argue the 92-minute Paramount version was the better picture.

by Jim Knipfel

[rwbyremnants]

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Blowjob, anal fingering, anal plug.

NOTES: OKAY! WOW! What a long trip it's been! But yes this is the final chapter of the main storyline for White Noise. God! I can't believe it's actually all posted, it felt like I would never get it all done! Thanks to BangAYang for writing this with me, and again to my beta readers and to all of you for sticking with it until now (even if you didn't and come back to this years later, it's okay I understand haha it was really long). We've enjoyed every review. There'll be a little break, and then the first of the proper non-oneshot spinoff fics - "Black Tie" - will start getting posted. Hope you guys are ready! -NaughtyButWeiss

=Chapter 43

EPILOGUE PART 2

Yang’s ecstatic expression was put on a grinding halt, eyes snapping open as she looked toward the bedroom door. Just when Weiss was getting to the good part, Ruby had arrived early. Of all the days!

"SHIT!" Weiss burst out as her wife’s half-hard cock dropped from her mouth, eyes wide. "Why couldn't she have waited a couple more minutes?!" Indecisive for a few seconds, she drew the fingers out as smoothly as she could without being cruel.

"Nnnn!" Groaning outwardly, she lowered her legs off Weiss's shoulders as she panted for a moment, swiping the matted hair out of her face. "Shit, you've still got the… You know, up in there… I'm gonna have to get the door."

"If you don't mind? I also have to dispose of this glove…" Flipping off of the bed, she waddled awkwardly across the room and scooped up Yang's underwear with the other hand, running into the master bathroom as she tossed it to her with a whispered, "Catch!"

"Oop!" Even though exhausted, she managed to catch the panties in midair, quickly forcing them back on as quick as she could. Soon after she frantically forced on the rest of her clothes, shorts, bra, shirt, even quickly pulled the snood over her head and around her neck. At least that would hide any love bites.

DING DONG! The doorbell sounded again throughout the house.

"I'm coming!" she shouted loudly. There was a quiet chuckle to herself when she realised it was the second time she'd said that today. But once down the stairs, she took a small moment to calm herself as she held the doorknob. The worst thing would be to give away what they were just doing, especially to who was behind the door.

After making sure she looked presentable, and wasn't panting for breath, she opened the door with a grin. "Hey sis!"

"Hey!" Ruby Rose's hair was even shorter than it had been the last time they saw each other, chopped off into a pixie-cut with a streak of deep crimson in the fringe. For a second, that was all Yang could see as Ruby pulled her in for a tight hug. "Penny's right behind me with your little bundle, and… an extra something special!"

"Oh God, you didn’t finally get a dog and name it Drei, did you? I told you we can't have a dog until she's at least five." Over Ruby's shoulder she spotted Penny leaning into the backseat. That gave her enough time to stroke the crimson streak in her hair when they pulled away. "Hey, the red really, really suits you."

She grinned giddily, adjusting her trendy glasses. "Yeah? Penny pushed me to do it when she saw me staring at the picture in the salon's style book while we waited. And, well… another friend. I mean, you're sure it's not too short? That I'm not trying to be too Emma Watson?"

"Hell no, you look fantastic! I love the new you!" She grinned. But the instant she spotted Penny finished with what she was doing, she took a few steps back, watching as she walked up the pathway towards them.

Her and a smaller someone else. A little toddler with shoulder length blonde hair, one whose hand Penny held as she walked rather quickly toward the doorway. Ruby's girlfriend called up to the two girls staring. "Sorry! She insisted on walking herself, and I can't say no to that face!"

"Mama, mama!" the apple-cheeked girl chirruped, trying to break into a run but being held back by Penny for fear she would trip and fall. The harsh paving stones leading to the front porch weren't nearly as forgiving as the hardwood or carpeting indoors.

"Oops!" Ruby tittered as she stepped off to one side. "Not even gonna try to get between a mother and daughter!"

"Don't even try," Yang laughed, but her face lit up when she lowered herself to her knees, throwing her arms out wide to invite the little one into them. "There she is! My favourite girl ever!"

Once only a few tiles away, Penny released her hand, letting her run freely back to her mother. Grinning as she watched her jump into the hug. "She's been very good, Yang! We went to the park and she tried to make friends with one of the ducks, until a goose came along that is."

"The goosey made, um, a noise at me!" she told her mother, trying to be as articulate as her small mind and mouth could be. "And I dropped the crumbs, and Aunt Ruby laughed!"

"Well, it was pretty funny," Ruby admitted with a little snort.

"She did?" Yang asked, lifting the small girl up and into her arms, taking a small moment to pull her in toward her and rub their noses against one another. The girl giggled. But straight after she looked to Ruby, stepping closer, within the small girl's arm length. "Well maybe little Fènleng should take Aunty Ruby's nose this time!"

At this suggestion, the girl bit her bottom lip, trying not to grin but being too young to have that much control over her own expression. Ruby gasped theatrically, leaning closer to ask, "Oh no! Are you gonna get my nose?"

"Nose!" Fènleng shouted, reaching out to touch it and clench her hand into a fist. She couldn't quite manage the manoeuvre that the adults did, sticking a thumb between fingers to approximate what it would look like holding a nose, but the fist was doable.

"NOOOOO!" Ruby wailed, holding a hand to her face. "Where'd my nose go?! What happened?!"

All the while, Yang giggled, holding Fènleng closer to her in order to support her as best she could. Once sure she could do that with one arm, she held her hand out to her. "Quick, let Mommy hide it in her pocket, we can feed it to the goose."

Immediately, the girl handed it over, and Ruby let out a long groan. "Ohhhh, how am I supposed to smell your stinky butt now?"

The reaction was instant. "STINKY BUTT!" the toddler cackled, wriggling in Yang's arms. It was one of the girl’s favourite phrases to parrot. "Stinky butt, stinky butt!"

"Well sometimes it is," Yang said under her breath, just enough so Fènleng herself wouldn't realise, but Ruby and Penny would. But after a moment longer, she held up the hand with Ruby's 'nose', finally chuckling. "Alright alright, we'll give it back, I think Aunty Penny wants Ruby to smell her nice perfume."

And while Yang pretended to put it back on her face, Penny raised a hand to her own mouth, chuckling happily. "Well yes, but I think she needs it more to smell the cookies she'll make next time we have you!"

"Oh!" Ruby yelped, once she had her imaginary nose back in place. Yang’s daughter was still enjoying saying "stinky butt" over and over. "Speaking of which… don't forget the box from the car, okay, Penny?"

"Oh! I almost forgot!" Whilst Penny turned her back and ran back toward the car, Yang turned toward Ruby again, stroking the light blonde hair of Fènleng to smooth it down.

"You didn't have to get us anything, Rubes. Looking after this lil' devil while we're figuring out the tour stuff was more than enough."

"Hey, tomorrow's your anniversary!" Then she shrugged. "Not your wedding anniversary, but the dating one. I know you try to play it off as being not a big deal, but Weiss mentioned it last time we talked, and I figured… I mean, we didn't do anything huge, don't worry."

"Wow, really? I totally… forgot." Checking for a moment that Fènleng was still alright in her grip, she chuckled to herself, scratching the top of her head nervously. “So this time five years ago I was freaking out because we kissed… yeah."

"Guess so." Once Penny returned, carrying a square, flat box, Ruby smiled and said, "Shall we go inside, dear sister o' mine? Winter said she can't be by until later tonight, so there's not much use hangin' around outside."

"Absolutely! We'll let this little dragon go pester the little snowball."

Yang opened the door even further, carrying her daughter inside while she let the other two follow after her. She trusted her sister would remain downstairs in the lounge and kitchen areas only; she'd been over a million and one times to know she only went upstairs if Yang called her up. But even then, she couldn't help but slightly worry about either of them seeing Weiss before she was ready.

Once she placed Fènleng down on the large rug in the living room, she approached the stairs. The least she could do was subtly warn Weiss about them. "Snowflake? You want a coffee? Ruby and Penny will be having one!"

The only response was a muffled, "What?" from upstairs. Being that close, Yang could hear her rushing around, but the noises probably wouldn't quite reach back to the kitchen. But Yang could tell just what she was doing. Their conversation outside distracted enough for her to correct the major problem, least she hoped. The rest they could blame on something else.

Talking of which: "Coffee!" she repeated. "Once you're done with your bath, I mean!"

"No, I'm almost done!" Weiss called down to her, apparently grateful for the excuse. There was some thumping again, and she added, "And yeah, I'll take a decaf! Getting too late for more cappuccino!"

"Alrighty!" Yang called up again, turning to the other two as she prepared the machine. "And how about you two?"

"With cream, please, Yang. That would be wonderful!” Penny took a seat on the sofa next to the curled-up feline, watching while Ruby continued to play with Fènleng a little longer. "Oh, we did briefly talk to your father while we were out; he said he wants to visit soon, and that he has some stuff for Fèn's room."

"Yeah," Ruby laughed nervously. "He doesn't seem to realize you guys already have a huge ton of stuff in there, but… it's cute. Doting grandpa."

"Probably a woodwork project again, like the rocking horse. It keeps him busy as well, so can't complain." Once finished making the drinks, Yang headed back into the room, resting them on the table and out of Fèn's reach, before sitting on the rug down by her side. Thinking about how excited of a grandpa Taiyang had become made her glow with happiness; seemed their awkward, uncertain days were truly behind them now.

"We're gonna have to start looking at daycare soon,” Yang added with a sigh. “That's gonna feel so weird."

Ruby shrugged, taking one mug into her own lap. She still preferred hot chocolate, but had gained an appreciation for mocha. "Won't be so bad. Penny and I can take her whenever she's not there, and Dad on the weekends. It takes a village, right?"

"Yeah, true. Could ask both her grandpas to alternate between weekends, might get them talking rather than competing to be 'best granddad'." However, she then grasped Fènleng's arms, pulling her in toward her again as she leant down to press her face against her neck, moving her head back and forth to tickle her with her nose. "But this little one loves the attention, don't you princess?"

"Mama, stoooop!" Fèn giggled, her tiny legs flailing around as she tried to push her parent's face away.

"She does," Ruby admitted with a huge grin. "I mean, I've only seen her playing with Grandpa Schnee once, I think, but he's just as bad as Dad is, really."

"He certainly is," Weiss called out as she joined them, walking down the stairs smoothly, like a supermodel. She was wearing the same outfit as before, but her hair was back in place, and her face was no longer shining with sweat. Then she barked dramatically at her wife, "Woman! Where is my coffee?!"

"Oh my god, what did your last slave die of?" she asked, quickly giving her daughter a kiss on the cheek before she released her from her grip, hopping to her feet to go get it.

From her seat on the sofa, Penny looked around, smiling happily up at her. "We were just saying how good she's been today, she fed the ducks and tried to be friends with them."

"Of course she became friends with them," Weiss said airily. "My little Fèn is the sweetest girl in the universe." Then she bent down very slightly and grinned, adding, "Yes she is, yes she is!"

As the little girl laughed and clapped, Ruby shook her head. "You turn into the goofiest pop star I know when your daughter is around. It's so cute!"

"And how many pop stars do you know, anyway?" Weiss laughed at her.

"I think she classes the occasional times we've met Neon or at least seen her around as 'knowing' her, it seems." Taking her own mug from the table, Penny took a small sip, before setting it down to stroke the cat that had now nestled into her side. "Speaking of which, did you finish that tour planning you were worried about?"

"We did." Now she leaned against the side of the couch, seemingly still waiting for Yang to return before she joined them fully. "There are one or two other… logistical matters to attend, but I think we have it all mapped out, all the venues booked." She allowed herself a small smile. "To be honest, I'm getting really excited. It'll be so much fun to get back on the stage again, sing the old hits!"

"You say that as if you're thirty and looking back to the glory days." Her wife had re-entered the room, another mug in her hand. This time a novelty one she bought for Weiss last year, with “world's best mom” printed on the side. Holding it out toward her, she laughed. "And if anyone's doing that, it should be me."

"You're only pushing thirty," Weiss reminded her quickly. "Not there yet - and don't rush me, either! I don't want to be married to some old lady!"

Scoffing, Ruby chimed in, "Hey, that's my sister you're talking about! Pick on somebody your own size!"

"Oh, like you?" She raised the hand not holding her coffee mug in a fist. "Let's go! Come on, short stuff!"

"Why must you bring violence into this house?" Yang asked, taking her seat back down next to Fènleng as she continued to play with one of her soft toys, not that she took her eyes off her sister and her wife. "Honestly, there's a child present here!"

"Ruby, why don't you show Weiss and Yang… the thing instead?" Penny asked, gesturing to the flat box she had left the other side of the sofa.

"The thing?" Weiss asked patiently, lowering her hand to sip the coffee instead.

"Oh! Yeah, we got you something for the anniversary!" Popping up, she raced around the couch to pick it up, bringing it around to set it on the table between the other coffee mugs.

"Ruby… you didn't have to do anything. I was just going to give Yang a big kiss in the morning and tell her I was happy with her, that's all."

"Yeah it's not a big deal, just our dating anniversary. Wedding's got nine months yet," Yang added, shuffling slightly up to the table. She'd been curious from the start.

"Oh we know." Penny continued to pet the purring feline, smiling contentedly. "But we felt we had to. This is special for you, even if most other people might wait for the wedding anniversary. But we are your family! Let us bend the rules."

"And now, without further ado," Ruby said in her best game show announcer voice as she grasped the lid. "We present… your present!"

Weiss snorted at that small Yang-worthy pun, then again when she saw what was inside: a pizza-sized chocolate chip cookie with icing around the edges, and some in the middle that spelled out "HAPPY DATE-IVERSARY WEISS AND YANG" in white and yellow letters.

"Wow, you guys. This is… I don't know if I should laugh or not!"

"Oh my god, that is amazing!" Yang was laughing at least, kneeling up to look at the giant treat. The fact that her sister thought about it and did something for it filled her with glee, made her feel appreciated by her, and everyone around her in the room. And it did look delicious, even if a little silly. "I gotta get a photo of this for Facebook, this is the best!"

"Okay," Ruby laughed, holding the lid further open for Yang as she got her phone out. "Yeah, I know it's kinda silly, but like you said, doing a whole party or getting a gift does seem kinda weird for a date-iversary, so… big cookie! Right?"

"Well, I really appreciate this," Weiss was chuckling, trying not to laugh too openly at the gesture. Then she smiled a little more earnestly; she couldn't help but grin at the little dork. Cute as a button, and she had proven a really good friend both before and after she and Yang reconnected. "Seriously, this will go great with my coffee. Good timing!"

Taking a few snaps for herself, Yang continued to grin. The knowledge that her sister thought of them was enough to fill her with joy. Once her phone was away, she couldn't help but look to Fènleng again, still playing, still happy as can be.

"Who'da thought all this would come after five years? Crazy."

"Yeah," Weiss had to sigh as she gazed in the same direction, watching her girl finally pull up on the table to walk over and see what everyone was looking at. Her smile was muted, serene. Tranquil. "Life is pretty crazy."

"COOKIE!" Fènleng cried out when she spotted it, and everyone laughed aloud. "Cookie, cookie, I want it!"

"That cookie is for everyone!" Ruby told her with a little giggle as she picked her up by the belly. "But as long as Mama and Mom say it's okay, you can have some!"

Pursing her lips briefly, Weiss put her free hand on her hip and asked, "Are you sure you didn't somehow splice your DNA into our child, Ruby Rose?"

"Wait and see if she has her own. Two cookie loving little ones running around," Yang teased, but watched as Ruby's reaction was beginning to become wide eyed and embarrassed, to which she laughed. "Dude, I'm kidding! Wow, chill."

"O-oh," Ruby laughed nervously. "Good, 'cause I, um… my parts weren't really designed for that, I don't think!" Then she brightened. "Oh, but we are talking about getting a sugar glider! Wouldn't that be awesome?!"

"We thought with our current employment, it would be more manageable than a dog. Also, I could see little Fènleng enjoying watching it fly around the room when she visits."

While Penny explained their rationale behind getting such a pet, Yang was already picking a small piece off from one side, making sure it had part of the icing as well, and then handing it over to her daughter. "Okay, that does sound pretty awesome, actually. We thought about getting her a bunny, at some point maybe. But right now I think Xu-Xu is plenty."

Ruby finally scooted over and patted the seat beside her. "C'mon, sit, Weiss! Enjoy the cookie! Oh, I'll go get a knife to cut it with!"

"That's really not-" But Ruby was already dashing into the kitchen. "Honestly, that girl…"

"Hey, she brought us the cookie and is offering to cut it for us,” Yang laughed. “That's pretty awesome, if you ask me."

"I'll bring the box to you, Ruby. Might as well avoid getting crumbs everywhere." Finally leaving Xu-Xu be, Penny went to pick up the box, heading toward the kitchen with it to follow.

But while those two were both elsewhere, and their daughter was content enough with her piece of cookie, Yang moved to sit herself by Weiss's side. For a moment she checked to make sure no one was listening, she whispered, "Guess it took you a minute to get… the thing out by yourself. Sorry I had to bail."

Weiss's smile was very… public. Like one she had worn to countless press conferences and talk shows over the years. Glancing at the kitchen, she leaned over and whispered back, "Why do you think I'm still standing up?"

"Well I don't know. Why are you st- o-oh…" That made a lot of sense now. And also made Yang blush like wildfire again. “It’s still in there?! After all this time?”

“Yes! Shhhhh!” Glancing at the kitchen again, she muttered, “I tried, but it just… wouldn’t budge! And me being nervous made me clench, and it not coming out made me more nervous, so more clenching… there was just nothing I could do!”

Yang was completely flabbergasted – along with being vaguely turned on. They had been having perfectly normal conversations with her sister, and their own daughter in the room, and Weiss still had that in the entire time?! Then again, she knew how big it was, and that meant it was difficult to remove. Leaning in again, she whispered, "Okay. It’s no big deal, right? This is what that thing’s made to do, after all – stay put. I'll help you with it when they leave; or we can put Fèn down for a nap and then do it."

"Honestly, it's not as difficult to manage as I expected," she said, though admitting that did finally make her break her facade of aloofness. Her cheeks turned a very pale shade of the pink in Yang's as she glanced down at her coffee cup. "Though… yeah, that's a good idea. I don't want to still have it in for the rest of the night while we're all talking if they decide to stay."

"We'll have some cookie then take Fèn upstairs if they don’t go." Though when spotting the others coming back with plates, she quickly ran a hand over her face, in a ridiculous attempt to try and hide the blush. Not that it really worked at all. Still, she smiled at the two. "Thanks so much, guys. You really didn't have to."

"Our pleasure!" Ruby said, holding the plate out to Weiss, which she took with a genuine smile. Though things might not have been as calm as they seemed on the surface, she did appreciate the thought. Her girlfriend's younger sibling was literally the best sister-in-law she could have asked for.

"Thanks, you two," she finally breathed, tearing up slightly. "Really."

Rolling her silvery eyes, Ruby put a hand to Weiss's shoulder and began steering her toward the couch. "Seriously, stop thanking us and start eating — and sit down, already!"

"N-no, I've been sitting all day long," she laughed nervously. "I'm in a standing mood."

"Don't be silly," Ruby told her with a little snort, pulling very lightly backward once she had Weiss positioned in front of a cushion. "Just watch your coffee."

"Shit, my-"

So Weiss did as she was bade; she focused all of her attention on making sure she didn't spill a drop of it as she went down to a sitting position. At the last second, Yang tried to call out and aide her wife, "O-oh, Ruby! You didn't have to-"

"NNhhAH!"

But it was too late. Weiss was down, somehow without managing to drop her coffee at all, or the plate of cookie that was handed over to her. Though that meant she had no choice but to allow herself to moan. That slight noise of discomfort had another side effect: it made Yang blush once again.

And this time, when she sat next to Xu-Xu, Penny noticed. "Are… you two alright?"

"J-just fine," Weiss said while clearing her throat. Bravely, she even crossed her legs to seem as if her sitting position was more casual, though that would definitely have shifted the plug around inside of her. "NohhAAAHothing to worry about!" Clearly, that had been a mistake, but there was no undoing the action now.

"Your cheeks are all red." Ruby looked between them, then focused on Yang. "Yours, too — are you guys hiding something?"

"Nope! No, we're good! Just, uh… looking forward to this, uh, this delicious cookie…" Yang nabbed a piece of her own share to try and eat, like somehow it would help. They seemed to have resigned to the fate that until Ruby and Penny left, it was going to remain in place. And Weiss was going to be slightly uncomfortable for that duration.

"Riiiiiiight," Ruby said with a slight squint, but then she shrugged and picked up her own plate. "I hope you like it, this bakery is supposed to be REALLY good."

"It is," Weiss said, lowering the piece she had nibbled the corner of. True as it was, she had barely been able to taste it, so focused was she on her own mild discomfort. "Tastes like a cookie, alright. As… cookies do…"

Even her conversational skills were suffering, it seemed. Ruby leaned over slightly and put her hand to Weiss's forehead, then frowned. "You're all warm! Are you sure you're alright?"

"Y-yes! Take your hand off my face, that's n-not public property!"

This was going to get worse as things went on, at least Yang knew they would. They had to get rid of them, somehow, in the politest way they could. But when she noticed Penny finishing her coffee, it'd given her an idea. "Hey, are you guys alright to leave after this? We wanna at least give Fènleng a nap before Winter gets here, you know how she is."

"Of course!” Penny piped up. “That's perfectly fine. We need to go to the grocery store anyway, so that all works out."

"Yeah," Ruby sighed, finally abandoning the way she was unintentionally torturing her sister-in-law. "We want to make vegan alfredo for a couple of our friends tomorrow night, and we're trying to find all the ingredients."

"Vegans," Weiss sighed. "I suppoort their life choice, I really do, but I couldn't live without actual milk in my lattes, I'm sorry."

"Oh, nor I! But we want to make them happy if we can, and the recipe looked rather enjoyable, so why not?" Penny asked, only to continue eating more of the cookie, smiling contentedly with how good it was.

"I remember having to cook vegan stuff at Sun's uncle's place. Nightmare. I got so annoyed, I had to wash the pan every time because we had to switch between using goose fat and vegetable oil. No wonder I ended up punching somebody." Although when noticing her daughter giving her a strange look, Yang looked back at her wide eyed, before raising a finger. "A-and you must never do that! Nope! Mommy was very naughty that day."

"Good catch," Weiss half-laughed around a huge bite of cookie. Then she turned back to Ruby, swallowed, and said, "Listen… I've been meaning to get back to you about that tennis match. I know it seems like I've been ducking your calls, but with the tour-"

"No, no!" Ruby told her immediately the minute she figured out where this was going, heading her off. "When I said it's no big deal, I meant it! You and Yang doing the tour thing again is a huge deal, why would I care about some dumb tennis game?"

"Because it's really important to me. My sister-in-law deserves bonding time with me if that's what she wants, and damn it, you’re gonna play with me next week – as much as you want!"

At that phrasing, Ruby scratched the back of her head as her cheeks reddened. Yang couldn’t suppress a smirk; she knew her wife didn’t notice how that sounded at all, and that her still-crushing sister was easy to fluster. That just made it even funnier. "W-well, you don't have to go that far…"

"Ruby, trust me; turning her down's the last mistake you'll ever make," Yang laughed. Even now, after five years of being together, a house, even a child together, the blonde still couldn't believe her luck. From a bodyguard, someone simply paid to keep people off Weiss's back; to her loving wife, mother, and a guitar act. Even if there was the occasional embarrassment or mood drop, Yang couldn't deny that married life was going splendidly.

The evening wore on, and Ruby and Penny both finished their cookies and said their goodbyes to Fènleng before they were guided to the door by Weiss and Yang. As Penny held the car keys in her hand, she turned to ask, "Same time next week? We thought we could take her to the park again, or to see Ruby's father for the day."

"He'd probably love that," Weiss laughed, gingerly hugging them. From Yang's view, she could see that she was clenching very slightly, but mostly she was taking it in stride by now. After all, once the first hour or two passed enduring such a thing, it was bound to start to become routine.

"And I'll see you sooner than that for tennis, maybe," Ruby whispered as she hugged back. "You just take care of business first, though, okay?"

"Will do," Weiss laughed, patting her on the shoulder before they parted. "See you wh… oh, for the love of Christ…"

Yes, of course Winter's car was just pulling in behind Ruby and Penny's, off to one side so they could still back out to leave. Driving the newest, most luxurious vehicle available, she certainly made an entrance. And now, there would be no time to take care of Weiss’s little problem between houseguests.

"Well shi-uuuuhhhh sugar. Sugar," Yang managed to say, well aware little Fènleng was within hearing distance.

Penny saw the other car as their queue to leave, quickly tapping Ruby's shoulder before gesturing toward the car. "Come on Ruby, maybe we can stop at Taco Bell on the way home if you want something. We'd better leave these two with Winter."

"Ohhh, you know I'm a sucker for a chalupa!" Practically drooling, the redhead dashed over to hug Winter. The two exchanged a few warm words that nobody else could overhear. Then Ruby waved over her shoulder at Weiss, Yang, and little Fènleng again before hopping into the car.

"Whew," Weiss breathed as she waved back. "Round one, finished. Round two, begin."

"You're gonna get me back for this, aren't you?" When there was no response from Weiss other then a gradual smirk, Yang had begun to hunch her shoulders, biting her lip. "Please be gentle?"

"Auntie Winter!" their daughter called out when she saw her walking up the pathway, holding a hand out toward her. Even at her age, she knew not to go outside until she had her mother's permission, so she waited for her to come to them.

"There's my little snowflake!" Despite the fact that they did not name their daughter after anything related to the coldest season of the year, both Winter and her father had always referred to her as "little snowflake". As nicknames go, it wasn't too bad. Even though her parents always told her no, there was nothing stopping the over-excited snowflake as she managed to climb through Yang's legs, hopping down the step and taking the few wobbly strides over to Winter, holding both of her hands up toward her.

"Up! Up!"

"Fèn, be care- ugh, who am I kidding, she's actually me." Yang rolled her eyes. Seeing as it was only a small amount of space, she was willing to let it slide for now. Instead she grinned at Winter. "Sup, sis'?"

"Not much on my end," Winter assured them with a slight smile. At least things weren’t quite as strained between them as they had been once upon a time. "Though I'm glad to hear things are going well for you?"

"Already heard through the grapevine, did you?" Weiss said with a slight laugh as she hugged her sister. They did not embrace nearly as long as she and Ruby, but it was better than they would have done years ago. "Yes, our tour is already selling tons of tickets. We just had to finalise the last few dates."

"Of course she knows, you and I both know Neon can't keep her mouth shut for anything." Yang moved to one side to allow their next guest in, smiling warmly. However, she did notice something that made her giggle. "Winter, I think you forgot to hug someone first."

"Up?" Fènleng's little arms were still up in the air as she faced Winter, jumping up and down as best she could with what little balance she had.

"Oh, alright, alright," Winter grumbled exaggeratedly, bending down to lift the small girl into the air completely. "Wheeee! Who's this? Who's this I have?"

"Yaaaay!" She cackled with glee when she was lifted in the air, continuing to hold her hand up high. But as soon as she was rested back into Winter's arms again she looked up at her for a moment. Biting her lip for a small moment, she held a hand out toward her, only to poke her nose with her forefinger. "Nosey."

"That is my nosey, very good!" Smiling in her parents' direction, she added, "She's right on schedule developmentally. I'm so proud of my niece."

"We're glad you approve," Weiss said, with a dash of sarcasm. Then she motioned into the house. "Would you care to join us?"

But of course, Winter instead looked back to Fènleng, the big smile transforming her typically-aloof features. "Can I come in and play with you for a little while?"

The little one clapped her hands in approval, flailing her little legs in Winter's grip. "Yes yes yes yes!"

"C'mon then, ‘Trouble’, you can show Aunt Winter your toys and stuff."

Yang stood to one side as she held the door open, leaving plenty of room for her sister in law and her daughter. Once in the entranceway, Winter made a turn for the kitchen. She had grown too used to their coffee machine's presence, and now expected to be provided with refreshment the moment she arrived. Of course, she also expected to make it herself; she was no pampered houseguest.

"So how are FNKI's prospects shaping up?” Weiss asked. “Are they on track for that world tour, or is Budokan still a holdout?"

"Well," Winter said as she began making her cup, "Budokan is essentially willing to have them open for Neptune, and that's as far as we can get. Which is acceptable, given he's a more established act and this is an international event."

"Tell 'em to check the fireworks." It'd been years, but it was a joke Yang made about every larger event. Perhaps it was in poor taste, but it was a fairly tame coping mechanism. However, all it earned her was a glare from Weiss. "What? I'm just saying, they need checking anyways."

"I suppose so," Weiss sighed, still glaring. "But you could say as much with a little more tact."

Turning with her espresso, Winter said evenly, "Actually, I agree that heightened security is a must after that fiasco. Perhaps you should go with them?"

"Hey, I like the girl and I like the group, but Japan’s too far out of the way for one event,” Yang put in. “Besides, isn't the point that they don't end their show with a Yang?"

Whilst it earned a rather annoyed groan from the two Schnee sisters, it earned a clap and a giggle from the littlest Schnee, who grinned up happily at her mother. "Mama's funny!"

"All those times she acts spoiled and you demand to know if she's really yours?" Weiss gestured to the small girl. "This is the moment. This is the moment there's undeniable proof she's a Xiao Long."

"Can't argue with that." Yang answered with a resigned grin as she bent down to pick up the small girl for herself, ruffling her hair once she was securely in her grip. "And she makes Mama so proud."

"Mama, stop it!" she called back, although was still giggling even when she tried to push Yang's hand away and out of her hair. "You mess my hair!"

"Don't ruin my daughter's hair!" Weiss gasped exaggeratedly. "A Schnee's hair is her pride and joy — and you know how you are about yours."

"You have to admit though, she got the better hair. It's gonna be silky like yours, but as thick as mine when she's older." Resigning to her daughter's attempts to stop her, she stroked it back again, giving the giggling little girl one final kiss on the cheek before she set her back down. While she immediately ran back into the living room toward her toys, Yang sighed. "Gonna miss her while we're on tour."

Nodding, Weiss watched as Fèn set to the "work" of the young; playing. "Yes… but Ruby has Skype. We'll still see her all the time. And we have that stopover when we make it back to Nashville, so it won't quite be a full two months without her."

"This is true," Winter put in between sips of her drink. "And I would be willing to fly her to any of the cities should your separation anxiety grow too overwhelming."

"Oh don't worry about that! I'm just saying, that's all…" However, as Yang watched from the kitchen while their daughter tried to gain the affections of their cat, she smiled glumly for a moment. It would be the first time without her for an extended period since she was born, and at such a young age. Although they both knew it would come at some point, somehow it snuck up on her. She shook her head to trick herself out of her mood, instead grabbing her own used mug to quickly rinse it out, looking back toward the other two. "It'll be a good show. And, I kinda admit; I do miss that bus. It feels like a second home, after everything."

"Right?" Weiss said with a smile, eyes still on Fènleng. "It was kind of our first home together, if you think about it. Even though we were only sorta kinda dating."

Winter's mouth pulled into a smirk. "Really? That's not how you two told the tale. I believe handcuffs came into play at some point?"

That made Yang's nostalgic expression turn into a blushing one, for what must have been the millionth time today. Although she was grateful she could talk about she and Weiss's earliest memories together with Winter without worrying at all, it still never spared the embarrassment.

"Oh… well… come on, that’s not exactly ‘Fifty Shades’, is it?"

"I should hope not," she replied mildly. "Considering what a gross misrepresentation that is of BDSM culture. Still, not entirely vanilla."

"Yeah…" Her younger sister squinted over at that notion, arms folding over her chest. "Speaking of which, are we ever going to talk about those studded leather straps I saw in your dresser drawer? You know, when I was looking for some emergency underwear that day I had an unexpectedly heavy flow? Not that I'm trying to pry, but…"

Now it was Winter's turn to flush slightly, though otherwise her expression remained unchanged. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"Ohhhhhh, you didn't tell me about this," Yang joined in, taking a sip of her own drink as she smirked toward Winter. As far as they both knew, Winter was single. Always had been, and preferred it that way – especially after the way she used to handle business. She was very career orientated, and that seemed to span into her free time as well. News like this was a rather pleasant surprise. "So, does his mean you got yourself a sub in your back pocket or something?"

"What? Oh, d-don't be silly!" Winter was still doing a decent job of feigning disinterest in the topic, but now her hands were shaking just the tiniest bit. "Your strange fascination with everyone's love lives isn't going to get you anywhere in this discussion. Not when there isn't anything to talk about — and a ‘sub’ in my back pocket! Honestly…" Though she clearly was protesting too much.

Suddenly, Weiss's gaze took on a much more serious cast. "Winter… you know I don't want to ask this, and I'm not doing it because I don't trust you. But if you're in a… situation like you were years ago, I would hope you'd let us know."

"Yeah,” Yang insisted. “Seriously, we don't mind if we're not that big of an act anymore, we're not using you to sign any deals. Enough said."

A grateful smile passed across Winter's face. The haunted look that once would have accompanied it was minimal; she had made peace with her past "negotiation tactics" by now. "Don't worry. No more of those dirty dealings, I can assure you. But I appreciate your concern." Her hand came to rest on Weiss's shoulder very lightly, thumb rubbing in a tiny circle. "Really, I do. It… means the world."

Nodding to herself, the blonde sipped more of her own drink with a contented smile as she watched her wife lean into the comforting gesture. Curiosity was still a big factor, but they couldn't exactly play a game of spin the bottle to get Winter to spill like they used to be able to. Not with little ears and little eyes present, even if they were currently occupied. Deciding to drop the subject, she went on to something unrelated.

At least, she assumed it was.

"So Dad’s been saying you sometimes join him and Qrow for their bowling nights… you seem to hang out with my uncle a lot. Kinda crazy."

This, far more than the mention of bondage or her checkered past, caused Winter to gag on her espresso. Waving a hand at her mouth, she turned and quickly dashed to the sink before she had a coughing fit, managing not to soil anyone's clothing or make a mess on the countertops.

"WINTER!" Weiss burst out, rushing over to lay a hand on her back. Yang noticed her running quite funny indeed, but luckily, it was while her sister's back was turned. "Are you alright?!"

"F-fine!" she sputtered, voice slightly strained. "Just… went down the wrong pipe, that's all!"

Though holding in her laughter from how Weiss was reduced to running, she was still concerned about Winter. Especially when such a response came from such an innocent question. "What? What’d I say?! I was only saying it’s weird you ended up hanging out with Dad and Qrow!"

"Yes, it… I happen to like… bowling!" After another cough, she brought up the mug and took a sip, using it to soothe her throat. "Ahhh… at any rate, it's none of your concern what I do and don't like doing."

Still rubbing Winter's back, Weiss leaned over just enough to catch her eye. "But why would you be bowling with Qrow? I didn't expect you and he to have much to talk about."

"Oh, he and Taiyang aren't bad sorts. They have a fourth, a woman they just call 'The White Witch'… she and I sometimes butt heads like two rams. Kind of a know-it-all. But still, we have a good time playing the game together. What else needs to be said?"

"You're oddly defensive over this subject." Particularly when Qrow was mentioned, Yang wanted to add. But she held her tongue for now, taking a sip again of her own cup just to see how Winter would react. But something in her mind was telling her that she already knew what was going on, and how the leather straps fell into it.

Then Weiss piped up, after a few seconds of contemplation, "That night I called you and a man's voice answered. I thought he sounded familiar, but you passed it off as an 'old friend' who came back to town and you forgot to take your phone with you to the bathroom."

"That was none of your business, but I am sorry he answered the phone for me. Should have just let it go to voicemail."

"I just thought it was a little strange how we tried to introduce you two at the wedding party but you seemed to already know each other,” Yang then pointed out, but either way, she'd pretty much gained the picture already. “Aaaand you both appeared at breakfast at the same time…"

Now, the elder sister was slowly turning as red as Weiss had been when going to sit down — though very legitimately, that could have been from choking on her coffee. "That… had nothing to do with-"

Weiss interrupted her with a theatrical gasp. "What he said! His words were 'Afraid Winter is all tied up right now and can't talk'! He meant it, didn't he? Like, you were literally tied up, weren’t you?!"

"Ho-ho-holy fuck, babe! You never told me any of this!" Yang had quickly checked to make sure Fènleng wasn't listening; which she wasn't, even if she wouldn’t have understood anything. Satisfied, she smirked at the permanent blush now present on Winter's face. "Seems you got busted."

"Congratulations, Nancy Drew!" she burst out in irritation, and Yang's grin only grew wider as she blushed to her roots. "And to you, Weiss. Thanks f-for digging up this information, I really wanted it known to the public!"

"Hey, I'm not telling 'the public', it’s just us girls!" Gesturing at Yang, Weiss added, "And as you may have figured out, I never told her about it behind your back, I just… now that the subject has come up, I did have to ask!"

"Well, you asked! And now…" Pushing a hand in front of her face, she growled, "Now you know a few of my predilections I'd rather you didn't. Oh, why couldn't you have just asked me for the underwear? Why couldn’t he have left my phone alone?!"

"Hey, we ain't judging at all, you know that, right?" Yang asked, putting the finished mug down and leaning against the table top instead, still looking toward Winter. But then briefly over to Weiss. She knew that the sisters had spoken on occasion about these particular things, and particularly of Yang. Bearing that in mind, she somewhat breathed out a quiet laugh under her breath. "I mean, it’s not like she and me never get kinky, y’know? Don’t be such a prude."

"You have no idea," she breathed. Then, in a rush, she told them far more than she had intended. "I like it when they spit on me. Call me a 'cheap cumslut'. Tie me up, bend me over, and…" Glancing at her sister, she left that sentence hanging. "When Qrow said I couldn't talk? I was gagged. Literally could not say a word unless he let me break character so he could take the ball out of my mouth, and he would only have done it if I… if I made three chicken noises deep in my throat." Now her face was shining red so badly that she could only mask it by pressing her hands against it. "And to think I made fun of you two for… f-for handcuffs! My disgusting double-standard, and I felt comfortable because you didn’t know it was one."

Sensing that her sister was about to have some kind of breakdown again, hating the idea of her sinking this low, Weiss followed suit and revealed far too much: it seemed like the shortest route to keep her from sinking into that low. "At least you don't have the largest butt plug available up your ass while we're having this conversation!"

Although about to make a comment on Winter's activities, Yang instead froze up completely, keeping her mouth firmly shut as she looked back to Winter again. No doubt all eyes would be on her for that one, even if she had volunteered to pull it free before any of the guests arrived. She leaned back and nervously laughed.

"Does… anyone like the coffee? I think the coffee's really good. Really really nice cup of joe."

"You're… but I don’t have…" Winter did glance between both of them, suddenly completely distracted by this revelation. Her eyebrows drew inward, and she began to say something else once or twice. Still, she looked at Weiss and Yang equally, almost as if trying to figure out which one her sister had meant.

"It's me," Weiss finally told her — which of course meant Winter wasn't looking at her anymore. At all. "Oh, come on, after all that you just told us, this is too far?"

"Yes, but I'm not tied up and being spanked while talking to you, am I?!" Winter hissed quietly. Then she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. "No, that's not fair. I'm… not sure you should have told me this, but you haven't done anything wrong. My judgment would be hypocritical. Again."

Despite her own blush growing, a small smile pulled at Weiss's mouth. They had come so far in their relationship; even though Winter's instincts were very much the same, still snappish and short, she caught herself most of the time. And even though they might not ever quite be the normal sisters that Yang and Ruby were, it had become a good sort of friendship-slash-sisterhood. That was all she could really ask for.

"Mmm, delicious coffee. I'm gonna get us another mug, okay?" Even if pleased that Winter wouldn't be about to have harsh words with her, and that they were on good enough terms to talk about these kinds of things, that didn't stop the vague embarrassment she felt about it all. No doubt Winter was probably thinking the plug was her idea, and that they intended for her to have it in while talking to their guests. Even if it wasn't the case.

As Yang turned her back on the awkward conversation, Winter cleared her throat. "So… what brand do you use?"

"What?! Oh, w-well…" She had been about to snap that it's none of her business, but in all reality, she was asking about brand preference, not what type or shape. That wasn't so bad. “Asscination.”

“Hmm, not a bad brand. Do you buy locally? I know there are… a few good stores in Nashville.”

Clearing her throat, she responded, "It was online. I mean, obviously I can't go into a store, I'll be recognized in five seconds…"

"Very true. And I do the same, to be honest; usually just read the reviews and get what seems the best value." Her smile was cautiously pleased. "I… recommend the Trinity; the beads increase in size very gradually, and… none of them are too… large. What's wrong?"

Weiss shrugged, sweat running down her temple as she said, "N-nothing. I just wasn't expecting to have this conversation. With anybody, let alone my sister. So… beads, huh?"

"Oh." Winter made a vague gesture with the hand not holding her coffee, even though her face hadn't returned to normal, either. "What's the difference, really? Knowing we're both interested… in this, um, general topic… I mean, that we won't condemn the other person. It's sort of a relief, in a way."

"Love Honey's a good store." Even with her back turned, Yang was able to at least leave that comment, only to whistle innocently when they looked at her. And once they turned to talk to one another again, the comments while she kept her gaze away continued. "Aaaaand we thought about getting a Bad Dragon toy…"

"No, YOU thought about getting a Bad Dragon toy," Weiss told her back with a slight smirk. "I said I didn't want anything animal-shaped with weird ridges going into my-" But then she looked back at her sister, deciding not to finish that thought.

"Oh, don't mind me," Winter chuckled, even if her voice was a little higher than usual. "Bad Dragon, hm? I'll have to look into that." Then she added in a more careful tone, "Do… you do this often? In front of guests, I mean."

"This is the first time. NO, WAIT, I- what I mean is, we didn't plan to do this at all! Oh wow, I sound like a freak…"

Winter's hand laid on Weiss's shoulder, but then she quickly decided that it was a little strange to be doing during this conversation and drew it away as quickly. "You don't. I've… well, there have been similar situations for me. Chastity belts, plugs… sometimes just going without underwear. It's odd how the idea is to feel owned, controlled and put in your place, but the effect is quite the opposite." Lowering her voice, just in case the little one might suddenly wander closer to them, she confessed, "Standing in front of three stuffy old representatives of a music venue in a red state, while you have vibrating panties working on you… I had never felt more empowered, because they didn't know. It wasn't any of their business, and never would be."

Quickly sparing a look to Fènleng, Yang could see she was still perfectly content, playing with her stuffed toy and singing to herself. The entirety of the Frozen soundtrack was more than enough to keep the little one distracted while her mothers chatted about such topics to one another, and drank coffee together.

Turning back to them, she held up her next mug of coffee, handing one toward Weiss. Then she seemed to realise: "Wait… and this is all with Qrow? As in my forty- nearly fifty-year-old uncle?"

"Well… that is…" Sighing, she shook her head out before taking a drink to steel her nerves. "I'm standing next to my sister while she's holding something in her rectum that doesn't normally belong there, so I don't know why I should feel bad for what I may or may not be doing with your uncle."

"Did you have to say 'rectum'?" Weiss sighed as she drooped slightly, unable to resist flexing her cheeks when that was mentioned.

"Yeah but… He's old and drunk." Yang shrugged her shoulders. In truth it was a little more then that. He was a close relative while she was growing up, plus finding out he was into things a lot more extreme than vanilla was somewhat of a surprise. But overall, the main concern was that latter part. "Like… I get you want that kind of treatment, but he's hardly the aftercare-giving type. I think the most romantic thing he ever did for someone was pick a flower out of someone else's garden once?"

"You would… be surprised." Her smile was slightly wistful. "He isn't the first one on my dance card — you know, since we had our talk on the private jet. About me not using my body as a bargaining chip. There have been a fair few doms and subs since I came to understand what I liked, and how to explore it… safely."

Weiss made a scoffing noise. "And Qrow is good about that? The lush?!"

"Qrow is good at both sides of the equation. Even when drunk; he knows how important it is to make sure I don't continue to feel like an object once play is ended." Then she rolled her eyes slightly. "Not saying he's… eloquent, exactly. But he can use a few short words to completely undo all the 'shaming' he does during play, and I'm back to myself again. My favourite is… oh, but you probably won't want to hear that."

"No no, go on. We're curious now." She somewhat had to forget that it was her uncle they were talking about, considering that was someone she'd rather not imagine in these situations. But so long as she could replace the mental image of him with some kind of faceless individual, she was capable of doing that.

However, that would be made harder when Winter chuckled, then dropped her voice into an approximation of his grizzled tones. "'Dunno why a perfect ten like you wants a six like me tying her up, but hey, not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth.'"

Weiss waited for a few seconds before asking, "Is… that it? It’s kind of gross."

"That's it. Just letting me know he thinks of me as perfect… it's more than anyone else has ever done."

That, Yang really couldn't imagine as anyone other then her uncle. Even if she knew it would have been in their own moment of afterglow, she smiled to herself as she raised her mug once again. "Yeah, sounds like Qrow alright. He might be a whiskey-soaked geezer, but when you scratch the harsh surface he's a pretty great guy. Always finds the best in people, even if they don't see it."

"Oh, he drives me into subspace better than anyone… and brings me back when I can't bring myself back. How he can switch from taskmaster to the gentlest…" Then she glanced at the two wide-eyed relations and cleared her throat. "Sorry. Anyway, yes, I'm satisfied with his services. Please don't worry."

In the end, Yang shrugged her shoulders, gently blowing across her hot coffee. "Well, as much as I don't get why you'd wanna be treated like shit during that, least it puts us at ease knowing it's Qrow. He's a good guy, and family. You two can take care of each other."

Winter smiled tightly. "Ah. Well, I don't really think we'll ever… that is, we enjoy being friends outside of play, but I don't see us entering into a relationship. Just… can't let someone become that intertwined with my life."

"Never say 'never', sis," Weiss told her confidently, reaching over to hug her from the side. "Maybe he'll surprise you. I mean, I trust him, even if I'm still weirded out with that choice. How did you even start doing… what you're doing?"

"That's a funnier story," Winter said, warming to it immediately in comparison to their heavier topics. "Just a few slip-ups I made during bowling nights. He just said something about us getting 'spanked' by the other team, and I said 'You say that like it's a bad thing.' Of course, we were both joking, but a few too many jokes like that… you begin to wonder about a person."

"So you figured, 'oh, I'll see if he wants to spank me after bowling' or something?" Yang asked. But things were starting to click into place now that they knew. In fact… "Hey… I remember awhile back, while Weiss was still pregnant, we saw Qrow in the main Schnee building, and he said that he was just dropping in to say ‘hi’… he wasn't really looking for me, was he?"

That brought about an apologetic smile. "No, he wasn't. Though he was glad to see you, as well; thinks the world of you and Ruby. I know you wouldn't know it to look at or listen to him." Then she grimaced. "Sorry about… messing up your bed, by the way."

"That WAS you!" Weiss burst out, aghast. "And you blamed it on Xu-Xu, saying she 'could have' run in there and jumped on it!"

"Did you really want me saying 'sorry, that was myself and Qrow getting in a quickie’? Either of you, honestly?" When Weiss had no reply, she simply raised her eyebrow and sipped at her coffee.

"I guess I can't say anything, we've done it in some pretty crazy places ourselves when we've been desperate for it." Shrugging her shoulders, Yang stood on her wife’s other side instead, smiling to herself. "Plus I don't think it was getting much use; Weiss was so big she barely wanted to leave the house, anyway."

"Didn't stop me from plowing you through the first half of my third trimester," Weiss muttered, causing Winter to literally snort with unexpected laughter. "And don't you laugh — I probably had to sleep on those sex-sheets! Ugh, from my own sister!"

"We weren't unduly 'messy', Weiss. I didn't even take off my clothes, really."

"That doesn't help!"

"Clothed sex is the best sex," Yang quietly muttered, giving a small wink in Winter's direction for a short moment. However their private conversation was called short by the smaller voice in the front room.

"Mommy? Where did you all go?"

"Oh, we're wanted." Yang grinned, stepping away from the counter.

Before leaving the kitchen, Weiss frowned up at Winter, jabbing a finger into her chest. "Don't think I'm going to let this go. You aren't allowed to use our bedroom to… to have a 'quickie' in without even letting us know it happened! At least so we can change the sheets!"

"Fine, fine. I apologise. Now then…" She had picked up a large wooden spoon from inside the large stone jar that housed such implements, turning it over thoughtfully. Weiss turned away with a sigh of disgust, but this turned out to have been a bad move — for Winter took that opportunity to poke the smaller, angrier Schnee square in the middle of her behind.

"A-AAAHHhhhhnhhh!" she groaned, freezing entirely as she paused to hold onto the counter for dear life, weathering the oddly pleasant sensation of the enormous toy shifting inside of her, pulling at her skin. She panted a few times as her face lit up, trying to wrestle her reaction back under her control. "Oh God, d-don't do that! WHY would you do that?!"

Laughing as quietly as she could manage, she returned the spoon to its home and patted her sister on the shoulder. "Well, partly just to satisfy my curiosity whether or not you were telling the truth; you hide it fairly well. I’m kind of impressed, I wouldn’t have known until you told me."

"Yeah?" she asked weakly. "And… what's the other part?"

"To remind you that I'm not the only one who has been guilty of being indiscreet around family." But when Weiss glared at her, she nodded very slightly. "Okay, I am sorry; maybe it was a bit far. But you should have seen your face!"

“C-come on, though, you...” Weiss lowered her voice to a whisper. “Don’t you care that you just turned on your own sister?”

Winter’s pale blue eyes rolled, even as her cheeks reddened a bit more. “Don’t exaggerate. It’s the plug that you left in there that turned you on. I just gave it a little bump. Don’t you try to turn this around and make me the deviant when you’re the one wearing it in front of all kinds of family today.”

“I told you, that was unintentional! I couldn’t get it out by myse-”

"Are you two done in there?" Yang called loudly as she sat down on the single sofa chair, leaving the main sofa free for the Schnee sisters. That was if Weiss even wanted to sit at all after all this. Either way, she didn't mind. Only looked to what her daughter had gotten herself up to. And then began to laugh as she looked at just what that was. "Oh, have you made her pretty, baby?"

"She's a princess!" Fènleng attempted as best she could to pull the placid cat towards her, one who was wearing the two flower hair clips that she had in her hair earlier, now in her long fur. Then there was a small, messy bow on her tail, along with some small amount of glitter. Seemed a run around with the vacuum cleaner and a bath for Xu-Xu was required.

"Oh, goodness!" Winter laughed as the two rejoined the main area, bending at the waist slightly to better address her niece. "What has become of little Xu-Xu? Have you made her a princess?"

"She's Princess Xu-Xu now! And I'm the queen!" She managed to lift Xu-xu's front paws up slightly, just enough so she was 'stood up'. But it didn't take much longer until the cat powered out of her grip, briefly meowing as she walked quickly toward Yang's chair, crawling underneath it. Which Fènleng sadly groaned. "Aww, she's grumpy."

"Honey, what have we told you about making the cat do human things?" Weiss said in a very patient voice; much more patient than she had been with Winter, to be fair.

"But Mom, she was pretty!" She looked up toward her, giving her best impression of puppy eyes that she possibly could, even mastering the frown and quivering of her lip.

And although Weiss couldn't resist it usually, Yang pressed on as well. "No, listen to Mom. You remember what Xu' did last time when you didn't listen?"

Looking down sadly instead, she held her hands behind her back, twisting one of her feet back and forth when she looked guiltily. It was the one and only time she was scratched by their pet, but considering it was a day when Fèn wouldn't listen when they repeatedly told her, they all considered it a teaching moment.

"Yes, Mama."

"And we don't want that to happen again," Weiss said, coming over to bend down and ruffle her hair. "Because why?" The little smile that pricked up on Fèn's face told that she already knew what her mother was going to say before she said it. "Because we love you!"

Jumping on the spot, she was grinning from ear to ear, chuckling to herself through her teeth. But when spotting Winter again, still kneeling down to her, she looked up toward her hair for a moment. And then tilted her head. "Can I make Aunt Winter pretty?"

A bemused smile pulled at Winter's face, and she sat on the couch. But then, at the last second, she did the same thing Ruby had done: reached over to pull Weiss down with her.

"Hnnhghhh…" The younger sister glared at her, even as her cheeks pinkened very slightly from the renewed sensation. "Ohhh, you're going to hear it about this when we're not in front of a tiny audience…"

"Of course, Fennyfen!" Winter told the child, ignoring Weiss's death stare. "Make your Aunt a princess, too!"

"Yay!" Little Fènleng grinned with glee, picking up a few of the hair clips that were on the floor that she hadn't quite managed to get on the cat. A couple of which had the Schnee emblem on them, and one that had a fiery heart. Specially made ones for her second birthday last year. But seemed she decided they looked better on people other than herself.

All the while though, Yang couldn't help but smirk in Weiss's direction, whispering just out of Fèn and Winter's hearing, "How you holdin’ up?"

Cupping a hand to her mouth to block it from Winter and Fènleng's vision, she mouthed the words slowly enough so they could be made out: "So angry, and so wet." Then she lowered the hand as she continued to squirm, seeming as casual as ever other than the slight pinkness.

"Ohh, that's wonderful!" Winter was giggling at the clip now swinging in her field of vision, hands making sure to hold the small person still as she knelt in her aunt's lap, trying to decide where the next clip would go. Seemed Fèn was really concentrating, tongue sticking out of her mouth while she tried as best she could to put the other clip into place. Even if it was only hanging barely off a couple of hairs, she seemed more then happy with it, clapping her hands when she was finished with the second clip.

"Pretty," she muttered to herself, before deciding to try and find a place for the final one.

Thankfully it formed more than enough of a distraction for Yang to cup her mouth, whispering to Weiss, "We'll put Fèn to bed, then I'll help you out. If you can stay quiet, we can have a quickie before we sleep."

"Maybe I should borrow that gag of hers," Weiss muttered behind her hand. And she was half-serious; if she thought there was a chance Winter would have it on-hand, it might be worth it purely to muffle her usual cries of pleasure.

"Or maybe we can get our own." It had been something she considered for a while, even though Weiss often refused. Although they were often too busy, or too tired, a major reason they didn't sleep together as much was Weiss's volume. There was the constant worry of waking Fènleng up; even if Yang covered her wife's mouth with her hand, she was still rather loud. Maybe it was time to consider it again. And it would be less expensive than soundproofing.

"Finished!" The small voice called to both of her mothers as little Fènleng sat patiently on her Aunt's knees, having put two clips on her fringe, and one to the other side to the best of her ability. It was messy, but still, she was learning. And from the looks of things, enjoying herself.

Which Yang grinned at happily. "Woooow, she looks b-e-a-uuuuutiful, Fèn!"

"Thank you!" Winter told her with a big smile, completely enchanted by the girl and her self-satisfied grin. "Fennyfen did such a good job!"

"You did!" Weiss agreed, leaning closer and petting her sister's hair very superficially. "And look how pretty! Why, I bet Winter will want to wear that all the way home to see Uncle Qrow!"

"Nice try," Winter told her with a quiet chuckle. "But I do love them, thank you, Fenny."

Fènleng hadn't quite gotten the hang of saying "you're welcome" just yet. She only smiled shyly and looked down to one side instead, swaying her body side to side as normal. Something they'd all gotten used to while she was still developing.

Though their present subjects aside, Yang did perk up a bit more to ask, "Don't suppose you wanna take her this weekend, do you? If you're busy with Qrow that's totally fine, we can ask your dad, but, if you wanted to while we just straighten some things out here…"

"Straighten out some things," Winter repeated with a slightly dubious look. But she didn't press the issue. "I would love to. I just thought you wouldn't want to be handing her off so close to the tour starting."

"Well… maybe just for an afternoon," Weiss compromised. At Winter's intense stare, she finally broke down and just said, "Today was so rushed, look at the state I ended up having to suffer through!"

Winter leaned over closer, bouncing up Fen to distract her as she said in a lower voice, "You're loving it and you know it.” Pretending to ignore Weiss’s obvious shiver, she went on, “Still… I can completely sympathise. I'll be by Saturday at noon and take her until after six, if that's alright? I have an… appointment at eight."

"Tell my uncle I said ‘hi’," Yang insisted. Although it seemed a more than fair compromise. A little private time for the two together as a couple before going on the tour with Neon and Inu; more than enough for them to unwind after so long. And it would give Winter plenty of time to bond with her niece. "Done. Is that okay with you, Fènleng? You can play with Aunt Winter this weekend?"

"Can we see Grandpa Schnee?" Usually the two came hand in hand when Winter took her, or even when their father took her, as well. It seemed a common occurrence that at some point Winter ended up discussing some business, but it seemed the distraction of her niece/his granddaughter was more than accepted.

"Of course, my little snowflake! We'll let him give you piggyback rides, and you can have a candy from his special Fennyfen jar!" Indeed, the man had taken to keeping sweets in his office purely for her sake… though a few did tend to go missing even when he didn't have little visitors.

"Thank you so much," Weiss sighed earnestly. "We just need some time apart from… little ears."

Nodding to herself, Winter picked up her niece and set her down, patting her in the middle of her back to send her toddling off toward her toys. Then she leaned over closer to her sister and muttered as quietly as she could manage, "I could turn her cartoons up a bit louder, keep an eye on her for a few if you wanted to run upstairs and take care of… unfinished business."

Weiss didn't know what to say to that. Her eyes flicked over to Yang as she contemplated. On the one hand, it would be pretty strange to do such a thing with her sister having full knowledge… but they would be on entirely different floors. Given how ready she was for some further satisfaction, she was inclined to worry about moral implications later.

And when she looked back to Yang for advice, she seemed just as perplexed as she was. Sure, it would help her wife not have to worry any longer about the object if they did remove it now, but wouldn't mean that'd have all too long to relish and treat one another after. Then again, with Weiss's volume, it could be an issue anyway. She left it to the one in question, whispering, "Depends how desperate the wife is to get it out or not."

Embarrassed to be saying this in front of Winter, she undersold the situation. "Sooner is better."

"If you want my suggestion?” Winter offered. “Take her from behind, manipulate the plug as you go, and then take it out right when she's climaxing. She'll have the biggest orgasm of her life, and you won't have to worry about it still being in when you're finished."

Weiss was staring at her sister with an open mouth and heightened eyebrows. "You cannot be suggesting things like that to us! It's just… just wrong!"

"Do you want the best possible experience for your trouble or don't you?" When Weiss had no answer for that, the elder woman just gave Yang a level look and said, "Trust me. And I can tell the idea is thrilling to you."

Yang had simply run that notion through her head. It sounded like a good plan to get the most pleasure they could in order to make up for Weiss's discomfort after so long. Though it seemed as though Weiss wasn't all too convinced. As she got up from her chair to make a move, she managed to whisper, "If the stuff you've done to me while I had it in is anything to go by, you're gonna have a lot of fun."

And then she looked back to Fènleng again, who had managed to pull another soft toy out, and was playing with them both together. "Fènny? Auntie Winter's gonna stay down here with you while Mom and Mommy go… have a shower, okay?"

"Okay, Mommy!" Blissfully unaware, and eyes full of innocence, she went back to playing again, singing to herself once more.

"I'll buy you diamond earrings to make up for this," Weiss promised as she stood gingerly, only shivering once.

"Not necessary. We sisters have to look out for each other, right?" Almost in direct contrast to those words, Winter reared back her hand and gave Weiss a hard swat on her backside, eliciting something between a moan and a yelp. When she glared down at her, the older sister shrugged. "For good luck?"

"You're… terrible." As Winter chuckled, she took her wife's hand and led her toward the stairs, taking one last look at the precious bundle they had created together, who was jumping with excitement when the TV came on and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse was playing. A wistful smile pulled at her lips. They would have a great time on tour, but she was going to miss her daughter powerfully.

And as they headed up the stairs, Yang even now couldn't believe her luck. Not just from today, but for her many years of bliss she seemed to have. And those that were yet to come. When it came to years down the line, and they would tell their daughter how they met, it would seem completely unbelievable.

"Hey…" That gave her a thought, as she kissed her wife on the cheek one more time. "I think I did pretty good for a lesbian who just got the job to sneak a few photos of you, huh?"

"You wh- ohhh, stop that," Weiss hissed at her, walking much more cautiously than usual. "Is that going to turn into some kind of 'dad joke' you literally tell every day? Because if so, I think I want a divorce."

"Nah, that still goes to the kimono," Yang joked, quickly dashing ahead a little more toward the bedroom with a beaming smile. "Come on, then; I didn't punch a guy in the face for you the day we met for nothing."

Talking of her previous racial misunderstanding, she did something she knew Yang both loved and rolled her eyes at; began singing a very specific song. "I'm a mess without my little China girl… wake up mornings, where's my little China girl?"

Yang groaned a final time as she held the bedroom door for her wife. "And people get annoyed at me for the puns."

The pop princess wasn’t inclined to argue.

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

THE END

[For now]

#white noise #freezerburn fanfic #freezerburn smut #rwby fanfiction #rwbyremnants #nsfw-Text

[notesonnotes]

Notes on Shane Archer Reed

Shane Archer Reed is from Oneida, NY. I first heard of him when going to see Bluprint in Syracuse. Shane has unique vocals that you don’t hear a lot in todays world of music, and it’s refreshing. It’s almost like watching a rock musical, and it’s thoroughly enjoyable. 

Upon meeting Shane in Syracuse at The Lost Horizon, I immediately knew I wanted to do a feature on here and share his music with all of you. Shane took some time to answer some questions. So, take a few to get to know a bit more about him, his music, and his other talents. 

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

NON: Who are all the members of the band? What drew you all together, and when did you all start playing together?

SAR: The band's line up has changed over the 3 years we've been active. Currently i have Jordan Kobo on bass/backing vocals and Brandon Caporale on drums. Jordan will move to guitar and Chase Cowen will join in on bass after the tour is over. (The guitarist we had for the tour was my friend Molly who filled in to help us out). We're even considering adding a 3rd guitarist. This particular lineup came together not long before the tour, but we became very tight very quickly and I love these guys and enjoy performing with them so much.

NON: Can you describe your style a bit?

SAR: The best way I can think of to describe it is Theatrical Alternative Rock. Most of my influences come from my love of rock music from the mid 70′s onward and my background in musical theatre.

NON: You act as well, right? What has been your favorite performance?

SAR: It’s a toss up between 3. My first time as a leading man was when i played the title role in "Jekyll and Hyde" in 2017 and it was a life-changing experience. A year ago I played my dream role being Roger Davis in "Rent" which of course was a dream,come true, and a few months ago I played Eddie Birdlace in a production of "Dogfight", a show I hadn't heard of but ended up loving because of how wonderful everyone in that production was.

NON: Who are some of your influences?

SAR: My influences are all over the place. For starters I have a background in musical theatre so I love performers like Jeremy Jordan, Adam Pascal, and Ramin Karimloo as well as composers like Jason Robert Brown, Stephen Sondheim, and Jonathan Larson. As a songwriter I loved bands and artists that push their limits while still being able to tell a good story in their music. Favorite bands include Queen, Alter Bridge, Panic at the Disco, and My Chemical Romance. Solo artists include Jeff Buckley, Billy Joel, David Bowie, and Paul McCartney.

NON: What is your dream venue?

SAR: I honestly just wanna tour and play as many venues as possible, both with music and theatre. Its a bit lofty and across the country, but one day it would be cool to play the Royal Albert Hall

NON: What has been your favorite venue to date?

SAR: My 2 favorite venues I've played so far are Exit/In in Nashville TN, and most recently at The Lost Horizon in. Syracuse NY.

NON: You released your full length album in July of this year, and had your CD release party on August 21st. Could you describe your writing process a bit? And how do you feel it's been received so far?

SAR:  I’d say its been pretty well received so far, a lot more so than my first full length album from 2016. The summer tour was the first time a lot of these songs were played live so its been nice to hear positive reactions from those listening.

NON: Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

SAR: I see myself continuing to tour but on a more professional level. I hope to make a living being a singer so I hope to make more records and tour with my band in support of them, hopefully in larger venues in front of more people. I’d also love to have a lead role in a national touring musical, maybe even get a chance to play dream roles like Jean Valjean in "Les Miserables" or Roger in "Rent" again. Singing is the thing I love to do most, and to make a career out of it is the endgame for me.

SHOUT OUTS

SAR: There are far too many people to name that I wanna thank for all the love and support they have given me throughout the years I've been doing this. First, to anyone who is, or ever was a part of my band, I thank for helping me bring these songs to life and for being my dearest friends. Second, to those others I have performed alongside in their projects, like John Harris and Jordan Kobo, thank you for supporting me in my endeavors the same way i do for yours. Finally, to my friends, family, and loved ones who continually support my choice to pursue a singing career and put up with me through the ups and downs of it all, I cannot thank you enough for being there for me even in my darkest times. I love you all so much and will never be able to repay you.

[ma-sulevin]

And now, a bonus! This story is for day 1 of @alistairappreciationweek but is also for @sloth-race , who drew me a lovely picture and deserved something in return.

(Also, my apologies to whichever Indiana Jones movie I stole the ending from).

It’s not exactly Alistair’s fault -- he never looks at his feet when he’s walking, much less when he’s trying to charge into battle against some darkspawn. He just tries to keep his eyes on his surroundings to make sure he’s not getting flanked by anything, to make sure that the rest of their party is safe as they slog through the Ferelden countryside.

It also isn’t his fault that Elissa and Leliana never point out the traps on the ground until it’s too late, until he’s about two seconds from one.

Sometimes he has the presence of mind to jump or to swerve to the side, avoiding the trigger…

Sometimes…

He hears the metallic snap of the trap springing before he feels the pain of its sharp teeth digging into his calf, breaking through the leather of his trousers to bite into skin and muscle. He roars in fury, trying to tear his leg free of the trap but only succeeding in making it tighter.

Elissa’s head snaps toward the sound, knives in her hands ripping free of the darkspawn closest to her as it falls at her feet with a shower of dark blood. She pivots, boots digging into the soft earth as she turns to run back to Alistair’s side, but a hurlock knocks her back as it runs past her to attack Alistair where he’s trapped.

A spell brushes by his ear, the magic making him shiver and the hairs on the back of his neck raise as he tries to duck to the side. It hits the hurlock square in the chest, ice shooting out from the point of impact and freezing its armor but not slowing it down much.

Alistair raises his sword and tries to brace himself on his good leg, but the clash of metal on metal doesn’t slow the hurlock down and they both fall to the ground with a sickening thud and another scream tears from Alistair’s throat as the trap holds his foot to the ground and tears something in his knee instead of releasing him.

He drops his sword and punches the hurlock in the face, desperation making him claw at the monster’s eyes in a bid for freedom. Elissa is on them in a moment, teeth bared in a snarl as she slashes the darkspawn’s throat and kicks him away from Alistair’s prostrate form.

He grins up at the picture she paints -- hair a wild mess from the fight, eyes wide and wild, blood across her face and down her front -- and asks, “Are you hurt?”

She glares at him. “Am I hurt?” she snaps, dropping to her knees beside him and swatting angrily at his shoulder. “Am I hurt?” she repeats, waving at Wynne to join them. “You’re unbelievable.” She continues her muttering as gentle fingers probe at his injured leg, icy eyes flashing as he sucks in his breath at the newer burst of pain.

“I told you there was a trap there,” Leliana says, lilting voice tinged with worry. Alistair opens his eyes to peer up at where she’s bent over at the waist, hands on her knees, looking down at him. “You should be more careful!”

“I’ll remember that next time,” Alistair spits out through clenched teeth, and Leliana grins down at him.

Wynne uses her staff to help her lower herself to her knees by his feet, and almost immediately he feels the cool wash of her magic moments before another sharp pain makes him bite his tongue. Elissa sits back next to him and then her slender fingers are on his face, gently patting him and leaving smears of blood behind.

“I got the trap open,” she says, voice soft. “Wynne is going to do what she can so you can walk back to camp.”

Alistair nods up at her, then squeezes his eyes closed as the feeling of Wynne’s magic increases, growing painful as it begins knitting flesh and bone back together. He doesn’t realize he’s clenched his hands into fists until Elissa takes one in hers, rubbing her thumb against his knuckles.

It’s almost enough to distract him from the pain radiating up his leg to his hip, or the separate, duller pain radiating from the left side of his chest that signals damaged ribs, or the pain at the back of his head and in his shoulder from where he landed under the hurlock.

He didn’t even kill one darkspawn and this is the most injured he’s been in weeks.

The realization sours his mood, turning his mouth down at the corners as he grits his teeth and waits for the healing to be over.

When it finally is, Elissa and Leliana help him to his feet. Elissa slips her arm around his waist and lets him lean against her, taking some of his weight off of his injured leg. It’s better than it was, certainly, and nothing that a good night’s rest and some elfroot won’t cure, but it’s still… uncomfortable.

Leliana slips away to support Wynne, and the four of them make their way back to camp just as night begins to fall.

Elissa helps him to his tent, setting him on his bedroll before immediately moving to help strip him of his armor. It badly needs to be cleaned before the leather and metal begin to wear down, but neither of them are worried about that yet.

As soon as she has Alistair in just his shirt and trousers, she starts to poke at him again, feeling for more wounds that she can help him with.

He hisses as she accidentally presses too hard on a bruise and scoots away from her the best he can, only feeling the slightest bit of guilt at the hurt look in her eyes when she sees him glaring at her. “That hurts, Lis,” he says, a pout on his lips and a whine in his voice.

She places on delicate hand on his good knee and squeezes softly. “I’m sorry,” she says. “You had a hard day.”

He’s not sure if she’s being serious or not, but he nods either way, and she continues exploring. She finds the bruises on his side and back, the swollen knee, the broken nails. Each touch, though light, makes him grunt -- first in pain and then in irritation.

“Leliana said she would help Wynne make some healing potions,” she says finally, done surveying him. “They probably won’t be ready for a while. You should lay down and rest.”

Alistair wrinkles his nose at her, ignoring the way she smiles back. “It hurts to move,” he grouses. “It hurts to lie down.”

Elissa laughs softly and shakes her head, taking the time to remove her own lighter armor and putting it by his. “That’s what happens when you step into a bear trap, Al,” she says.

This earns her an eye roll from her injured companion, and he carefully lowers himself down onto his back to stare up at the ceiling of his tent. After a moment, he groans theatrically and then huffs when it just makes Elissa giggle again.

“Everything hurts,” he complains again, then opens one eye when he hears her moving around again. She comes to kneel over him, planting one hand on the fabric behind his head to stare down at him.

“ ‘Everything’?” she echoes. “Is there anywhere that doesn’t hurt?”

He opens his other eye, pauses, pretends to consider. “Here?” he lifts his good arm to point at his forehead.

Elissa hums quietly, then leans down to kiss the spot he indicated.

Alistair feels his cheeks warm under her attentions, his heart doing a funny little jump in his chest. When she pulls away, he taps the tip of his nose. “And here.”

The twisting of her lips let him know she knows what he’s doing, but she gives in anyway. She leans down again and presses a kiss to the tip of his nose. Her lips are soft against his heated skin and he bites back the sigh that wants to leave his lips.

She doesn’t pull back as far this time, waiting for… something. For him to point out another place that doesn’t hurt, maybe, or permission to give him a real kiss.

He bites at the inside of his lips to keep from smiling, forcing his face to stay surly even though the discomfort radiating through his body is paling as Elissa fills his senses. Locking eyes with her, he lifts his hand once more to brush two fingers over his lips. She glances down at them, then back up to his eyes with a single raised eyebrow.

“Here, too.”

There’s a moment of silence before she says, “Ah,” and then leans down to slot their mouths together.

She lingers over him, though they both still taste like blood and sweat from the road. He lifts his good hand to slide his fingers into her hair, holding her against him, and he feels her lips curving as she smiles into the kiss.

“Ahem. Wynne sent me over with a healing potion!”

Elissa jumps away at Leliana’s voice, and Alistair finds himself frowning again. Leliana is standing in the open tent flap, a huge grin on her face, a small vial in one hand. She offers it to Elissa, who accepts it, then continues to stand in the opening.

“I hope I did not interrupt anything!” she says, voice full of laughter and eyes shining in a way that makes Elissa’s face turn a blotchy red and Alistair loose a growling sigh. Leliana takes a step back and lets the flap fall closed, her laughter drifting away from the tent.

Elissa pulls the cork from the vial and hands it to Alistair, who drinks it down without sitting up. “I’m sorry,” she mutters, and then takes the vial away again when he’s done.

He groans as the warmth of the elfroot mixture fills him, tingling a little around his wounds as it begins to work immediately.

He holds out his hand, and she takes it in hers. He tugs her until she leans against his side and kisses her palm.

“I don’t suppose…” he starts, speaking against her hand so that his lips tickle her skin, “that there are any places on you that don’t hurt?”

She rests her forehead against his shoulder and giggles helplessly at his attempt at seduction. He waits patiently for her to calm down, grinning up at the canvas ceiling. After a moment, she props herself up on her elbow and cups his cheek to draw his gaze back to hers.

“Maybe you should find out.”

#alistair appreciation week #alistair theirin #alistair x cousland #alistair x warden #my writing #2017 writing

[weekendwarriorblog]

The Weekend Warrior Home Edition May 29, 2020 – I WILL MAKE YOU MINE, THE HIGH NOTE, HBO MAX and more!

Before we get to any potential theatrical releases – there aren’t many (if any?) this week  –  today is the day that HBO MAX launches! I hope to add it to the streaming section below, but since it’s a newborn baby launching today, it will get the lead in this week’s column…

Some of the HBO Max original programming at launch will include On the Record, the new doc from The Hunting Ground and The Invisible War directors Kirby Dick and Amy Ziering, which looks at the story of music exec. Drew Dixon and her decision to be one of the first women of color to come forward about being sexually assaulted by Russell Simmons. I’ll freely admit that I haven’t watched this yet, but my friend/colleague Candice Fredrick did this amazing interview with Dixon and the other subjects for Shondaland, which you can read right here, and it’ll make it obvious why  (like Dick/Ziering’s previous docs), this one NEEDS to be seen, even if you don’t have a horse in this race.

Anna Kendrick will be starring in new romantic comedy anthology series called Love Life from Sam Boyd, each season which will follow a different person from their first to last romance. I hope this is better than Kendrick’s Quibi series.

On a lighter night, there’s a new series of Looney Tunes Cartoons, a series of 11 to 12-minute cartoon collections featuring all your WB favorites. While I was mildly dubious about new cartoons, apparently WB has been making these for a few years although they’ll now be migrating over to HBO Max. Some of the first toons will include a couple Porky Pig-Daffy Duck shorts: “Curse of the Monkeybird” and “Firehouse Frenzy”; another one called “Harm Wrestling,” pitting Bugs Bunny against long-time nemesis Yosemite Sam, and another Bugs one called “Big League Beast.” These new toons definitely have their own identity and charm and are pretty clever with wackier modernized cartoon violence ala “Ren and Stimpy” or maybe Adult Swim would be a more current reference. The series is exec. produced by Peter Browngardt, and I don’t think regular Looney Tunes fans (or cartoon fans in general) will be too disappointed by these offerings.

There’s also the Not Too Late Show with Elmo, which looks cute, but it’s definitely veering more towards the TV side of things than movies, at least for now.

Something rather strange and interesting happened leading up to this week’s “Featured Movie,” but it involves an introductory story: Just before the lockdown on March 12, I went out to see Emily Ting’s great new comedy, Go Back to China on its very last day in New York theaters. One of the actors in the movie, Lynn Chen, seemed vaguely familiar but I couldn’t figure out where from. Sometime after that, I started seeing a few tweets about Alice Wu’s 2004 film, Saving Face, which I thought I was one of the only people who knew about it, having covered it 15 or 16 years ago. This led to a Twitter conversation about Wu’s new Netflix movie, The Half of It, which made me realize that Chen was one of the two leads in Saving Face. One thing led to another and besides learning about Wu’s new movie, I also found out that Chen’s own directorial debut would be coming out soon. That movie, I WILL MAKE YOU MINE (Gravitas Ventures), is now available digitally and on DVD/Blu-ray. Got all that? Good. So that’s what I’m going to write about next.

Chen’s directorial debut is an interesting black-and-white romantic dramedy, but you really need to go into it knowing that it’s also the third part of something being labelled, “The Surrogate Valentine Trilogy,” based on two indie comedies directed by Dave Boyle. I did not know this the first time I watched Chen’s movie, which may be why I was so confused about the relationships between three Asian-American women with a musician named Goh Nakamura (who plays himself in the film). Once I watched the previous movies, Surrogate Valentine from 2011 and Daylight Savings from 2012, things became a LOT clearer.

Both those movies were quirky comedies mostly based around Nakamura’s day-to-day, but they also had romantic undercurrents with three different women over the course of the two movies: Lynn Chen’s best friend Rachel, “the professor” Erika (Ayako Fujitani) and fellow singer-songwriter Yea-Ming (Yea-Ming Chen, also playing a version of herself). It’s immediately clear that Chen’s movie is going to focus on the three women, but it my not be as evident who these women are or their relationship to Nakamura without having seen the previous two films.

The movie takes place five years after the previous one, so Chen is taking the Linklatter “Before” trilogy approach, at least in concluding the overall story with a few players from earlier movies also making apperances. Erika and Yea-Ming are still polar opposites with Erika’s moodiness being increased by the death of her father and having to care for her five-year-old daughter (Ayami Riley Tomine).  Yea-Ming is still single and ready to mingle, while Rachel is now married but she is still reminiscing about Goh, who she long ago put in the friend zone despite his feelings for her.

Both the previous movies were left hanging with no real answers, so it’s quite respectable for Chen to take the reins in trying to answer some of the unanswered questions. The general idea is that all these women are still thinking of Goh, and you’ll have to watch the movie to see which one he ends up with, if any. (Not too sure how I feel about all these beautiful women chasing after the mopey Nakamura, but like the “Before” movies, you’ll be quite invested after seeing the other two movies.)

Nakamura is an incredibly talented musician, songwriter and singer (as is Yea-Ming) but not a particularly expressive actor, especially in comparison to a seasoned pro like Chen. As a director and co-star, she does a better job getting a performance out of him than Boyle did, although her character’s arc is more about dealing with her cheating husband Josh. Chen maintains the quirky humor of the earlier movies without involving as much of the bro-ness of the characters around Nakamura. Putting the focus on the three women trying to discover themselves and figure out what they want in life just makes her film a far more enjoyable experience as a whole, especially as we get to see them interacting with each other.

I particulary like this movie on its own merits due to the very funny and talented Yea-Ming Chen (whose own musical project is called DreamDate). She clearly has the best chemistry with Nakamura, but I Will Make You Mine gains so much more knowing the characters’ history together, even if those relationships were not necessarily the focus of the previous two films. There’s no question Lynn Chen has a solid future as a filmmaker, as she takes the ideas and characters introduced by Boyle’s films to a far more emotional level. I recommend watching the entire trilogy, which hopefully Gravitas Ventures will put all in one place (like a collection of all three movies with a soundtrack CD?) someday soon. In the meantime, you can find out where you can watch I Will Make You Mine on the official site, so do check it out!

I had been pretty interested in Focus Features’ new film, THE HIGH NOTE, which will be available via PVOD this Friday, mainly because it was directed by Nisha Ganatra, who did such an amazing job with last year’s Late Night. This is a very different movie, maybe more commercial but also not quite as much my thing, which is odd since it’s set in the music business, which is almost definitely my thing.

Dakota Johnson stars as Maggie, personal assistant to legendary soul singer Grace Davis (Tracee Ellis Ross from black-ish), but she would rather be a record producer. Maggie hs been practicing by doing an edit on a live album for Davis who is being drawn by her manager (Ice Cube) to take up a Vegas residency ala Celine. Soon after, Maggie meets Kelvin Harrison Jr’s David Cliff, an aspiring singer and songwriter who she decides to take under her wing, without letting him know she’s actually a personal assistant.

Written by Flora Greeson, her first produced screenplay, it’s almost immediately apparent this movie came about due to the success of the 2018 remake of A Star is Born, which did so well despite winning only a single Oscar for song.  There are a few hurdles the movie had to overcome right away, the first being my general “eh” feelings about Johnson as an actor, but then there are also serious credibility issues of a Hollywood personal assistant getting away with HALF the things Maggie does in the movie. There is definitely an aspect of the movie that reminded me of Working Girl, one of the movies that made Johnson’s mother (Melanie Griffith) a household name, but this sort of “everything works out for the white girl” just seems kind of stale and played and maybe a bit out-of-tune in this day and age.

The High Note is barely a drama and more of a romantic dramedy and while the songs are decent, there’s very little way that this can be deemed any sort of “musical.” There’s also the whole “white savior” thing in play where Maggie is there not only to save Grace’s flagging career but also trying to help David make it big. Harrison is as good as he’s been in almost every role, and that seems almost wasted among the other okay performances.

The thing is that The High Note did eventually win me over, oddly with a pull-the-rug-out twist that for some reason I didn’t see coming. There is a cuteness aspect to it that makes it palatable, if not always entertaining, but I definitely expected more and better from Ganatra for her second feature. It makes it that much more obvious what Mindy Kaling brought to the table as the writer/producer on Late Night.  

Next up is John Hyatt’s documentary SCREENED OUT (Dark Star Pictures), which is probably rather apropos right now as it deals with something very prominent and timely: our addiction to our devices. The movie follows Hyatt and his family who go through their own journey of dealing with screen addiction. It will be available in the US and Canada this Friday. I really couldn’t get too far into this movie, since I generally hate docs where the filmmakers turn the camera on themselves, and I’m not talking about Morgan Spurlock or Michael Moore so much, as those who make these movies about themselves without having too much to offer the viewer.

Film Forum’s Virtual Cinema adds two new repertory films this week: Philip Borso’s 1982 film, The Grey Fox, starring Richard Farnsworth (in a new 4K restoration) and Andrei Ujică’s 1992 film, Videograms of a Revolution.  Film at Lincoln Center’s own virtual cinema adds Mounia Meddour’s Papicha (Distrib Films) about a university student during the Algerian Civil War who is studying French with an interest in fashion so she defies religious conservatism to design dresses for her peers. The film won the César Award for Best Female Newcomer and Best First Film, and was a selection for the recent “Rendez-Vous with French Cinema.”

STREAMING AND CABLE

Netflix’s big launch this week is the new series from The Office (American version) creator Greg Daniels (his second new one in the last month!), SPACE FORCE, a comedy based on the Trump military initiative that reunites Daniels with Steve Carell. He’s joined by John Malkovich, Jimmy O. Yang, the late Fred Willard, Ben Schwartz, Noah Emmerich and more, so we’ll see if I like it more than the Amazon series, Upload. (Granted, I’ve only seen one episode of that.)

I’m semi-flattered that Hannah Gadsby named her second Netflix comedy special, Hannah Gadsby: Douglas, after me, but honestly, I’m one of the few people who never really understood the appeal of her as a comic. She just seems like a snarky Australian who just happens to also be a lesbian, but I dunno, maybe I’ll like this one more?

Fernando Frias’ Mexican teen drama, I’m No Longer Here (also on Netflix), is about a young street gang in Monterrey, Mexico who get into a feud with a local cartel, forcing the leader to migrate to the United States.

Also, I’ve heard good things about Andrew Patterson’s THE VAST OF NIGHT, which will be available on Amazon Prime, this Friday. It stars Sierra McCormick as Fay Crocker, a switchboard operator in 1950s New Mexico, who discovers an audio frequency that can change their small town forever. It sends Fay and a radio DJ named Everett (Jake Horowitz) on a scavenger hunt into the unknown.  This movie played a lot of genre film festivals last year after debuting at Slamdance, and I generally enjoyed it, since it has a very different vibe of other thrillers, even period ones. The two leads are so cute together in the film’s opening scene, you’ll definitely want to see where things are going, and the dialogue is particularly good. Maybe the movie isn’t as direct in its genre elements as others, but it goes to interesting places for sure.

Also, the We Are One: A Global Film Festival is supposed to start this week, running for a week from this Friday to June 7 with proceeds going to benefit COVID-19 relief funds with programming curated by a number of film festivals including Tribeca, the New York Film Festival, Berlin and others. You can see some of the programming here, and the festival will run starting Friday on the YouTube channel.

Next week, more movies (mostly) not in theaters!

By the way, if you read this week’s column and have bothered to read this far down, feel free to drop me some thoughts at Edward dot Douglas at Gmail dot Com or drop me a note or tweet on Twitter. I love hearing from readers … honest!

#TheWeekendWarrior #TheHIghNote #IWillMakeYouMine #Movies #Reviews #Digital #Streaming #HBOMax

[silvermoon424]

The Sailor Moon paper I wrote for my gender studies class

Last week, I mentioned the presentation I did on Sailor Moon for my gender studies class, and how my professor was so impressed by Sailor Moon’s themes that she told me she wants to show it to her kids. Anyway, I promised that I would post the paper the presentation focused on once I finished writing it, so here it is!

I drew quite a bit from a previous paper I wrote on Sailor Moon, but I also included a lot of new things. Particularly, I added sections on how femininity is often negatively portrayed in the media, Haruka’s gender nonconformity in the manga, and the presence of the Outer family.

Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon

It seems as though more and more frequently, the lack of female-centric media is being called into question. It appears as though the majority of movies, tv shows, and other media feature a male protagonist, with female characters being relegated to the sidelines. Even if there is a female protagonist, it often feels like she doesn’t get to develop strong relationships with other female characters. The lack of deep female relationships and overall female representation in media is indeed unacceptable; the same can be said for the lack of representation regarding LGBT people. However, I feel as though we should praise a particular series that not only delivers on those things, but proves that doing so can lead to massive success. It’s called Sailor Moon (known as Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon in its native country of Japan), an anime (cartoon) and manga (comic book) series aimed at girls. Sailor Moon is so impressive because it provides positive portrayals of femininity, female relationships (both platonic and romantic), gender nonconformity, and even non-traditional families.

Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon, which means “Beautiful Soldier Sailor Moon” in Japanese, was created by a female Japanese mangaka, or manga artist, named Naoko Takeuchi. The manga debuted in the girls’ magazine Nakayoshi on December 28, 1991 and ended on February 3, 1997; the animated adaptation premiered on March 7, 1992 and ended February 8, 1997. From the very beginning, Sailor Moon was a smash hit; originally intended to only consist of a single arc, its popularity caused Takeuchi to expand it to five arcs. In addition to the original anime and manga, Sailor Moon’s enormous popularity has resulted in, as of 2017: A series of stage musicals, 31 in all; three movies with theatrical releases; a live-action series that comprised of 52 episodes; numerous rereleases of the manga and anime; many video game spinoffs; many foreign-language dubs; and finally, a new, updated anime reboot entitled Sailor Moon Crystal that is ongoing.

Sailor Moon revolves around an ordinary 14-year-old girl named Usagi Tsukino who befriends Luna, a mysterious talking cat who gives her a magical brooch. After saying a transformation phrase, the brooch enables her to transform into Sailor Moon, a beautiful soldier who fights against evil and protects good. Usagi and Luna must work together to find both the Legendary Silver Crystal, an artifact of enormous power that the antagonists are also searching for so they can conquer the world, and the missing Moon Princess, who can use the Silver Crystal for the sake of good as her birthright.

Along the way, Usagi makes friends and allies who assist her in her mission. The first is the studious and shy Ami Mizuno, who becomes Sailor Mercury. The two later meet a fiery shrine maiden named Rei Hino, who awakens as Sailor Mars. After a period of the three fighting alone, they meet the strong yet sensitive transfer student named Makoto Kino, who becomes Sailor Jupiter. Finally, they encounter a bubbly aspiring idol singer named Minako Aino, who had already awoken as Sailor Venus and later joins the team with her own cat, Artemis. Together, they’re known as the Sailor Soldiers (or Sailor Scouts, popularized by the English dub of the series). Usagi also meets and falls in love with Mamoru Chiba, a high-school student who assists the Sailor Soldiers as the mysterious Tuxedo Mask. It’s eventually revealed that Usagi herself is the reborn Moon Princess, Serenity, and Mamoru is her lover from her past life, Endymion.

The series goes on for four more arcs, although the basic premise of the Sailor Soldiers fighting against evil always remains. Within the second and third story arcs, five more Sailor Soldiers are introduced. Chibiusa, Sailor Moon’s daughter from the distant future who travelled back to the past in order to train alongside her mother’s past self as Sailor Chibi (which means “small”) Moon; world-class violinist and artist Michiru Kaioh, who can transform into Sailor Neptune; famous racer and notorious flirt Haruka Tenoh, who becomes Sailor Uranus; Sailor Pluto, an immortal goddess who was originally the guardian of time but later became a human named Setsuna Meioh; and finally Hotaru Tomoe, a chronically ill and misunderstood girl who later becomes the dreaded Sailor Saturn.

These characters are what Sailor Moon can attribute its phenomenal success to, as well as  its overall themes of female empowerment and optimism. Before Sailor Moon and, indeed, to this day, superheroes are predominantly male and geared towards a male audience. Not only that, women and girls are underrepresented in entertainment media as a whole and femininity is often portrayed as weak (or at least weaker than masculinity). Traits and qualities that are usually associated with women and femininity are often devalued, scoffed at, or are, again, at least portrayed as being weaker than qualities associated with men and masculinity. These feminine, so-called “weak” qualities include cooperation, mutuality, equality, sharing, empathy, compassion, caring, vulnerability, a readiness to negotiate and compromise, emotional expressiveness, and intuitive and other nonlinear ways of thinking (Johnson 7).

Moreover, female characters are usually less multidimensional than male characters. The documentary Miss Representation examines this lack of representation and how girls and young women in particular are affected by it. The documentary argues that, because media propagates such limiting portrayals of women, teenage girls are left feeling powerless and unrepresented. And it’s not hard to understand why that is. As Miss Representation demonstrates, women are rarely the main protagonists in films and tv shows. When they are the protagonists, their stories are rarely about finding one’s destiny or saving the world the way it is for male protagonists. Adding insult to injury, even if women are action heroes, they are usually hyper-sexualized. Femininity is limited to its sexual aspects for the benefit of male viewers.

With all of this in mind, it becomes apparent just how much of a game-changer Sailor Moon herself was. In her article “Sailor Moon: Japanese Superheroes for Global Girls,” Anne Allison elaborates on this concept:

Sailor Moon is popular for both the female and superhero parts of her character. As such, she is something of a hybrid, embodying conventions both of boys’ culture- fighting, warriorship, superheroes- and shoujo (girls’) culture- romance, friendship, and appearance… The show’s creators have merged two features that have traditionally been kept fairly distinct; the masculinity of a fighter and the femininity of a romantic…. Sailor Moon is a warrior who retains, rather than revokes or transcends, her femaleness. (273) Not only is Sailor Moon a warrior who fights against evil alongside her teammates, she’s also a beautiful, sensitive girl who dreams of romance and shares close, loving relationships with her family and friends. Although Usagi becomes much more focused and determined after she transforms into Sailor Moon, her femininity is still readily apparent.

This weaponization of femininity is most apparent in Sailor Moon’s attacks. Her most powerful weapon is the Silver Crystal, which often emits sparkles and pink bursts of light when in use. Sailor Moon also uses pink, ornate magic wands to utilize her attacks, which present themselves as hearts made of pink energy, bursts of rainbow colors, and sparkly feathers. Sailor Moon may be a warrior, but she doesn’t fight like a conventional one. In fact, instead of beating enemies into submission, she prefers to love and heal them instead. One of the major themes of the show is that Usagi’s unparalleled ability to love and forgive is her true strength and the source of her power. In fact, in the very last episode (“Usagi's Love! Moonlight Illuminates the Galaxy”), Usagi redeems the final arc’s main antagonist by appealing to the goodness that remained in her heart instead of just killing her. All of these traits are associated with traditional femininity.

All of these traits associated with Sailor Moon immediately endeared her to a wide audience. She instantly connected with Japanese schoolgirls in particular, in large part because of her approachability. The “Sailor” part of Sailor Moon comes from the fact that the Sailor Soldiers fight in modified versions of sailor fuku (also known as seifuku), or school uniforms that are based on naval suits. The majority of Japanese middle and high schools implement sailor fuku as uniforms, so Japanese schoolgirls were able to easily relate to the Sailor Soldiers and were excited to see girls who looked just like them fighting as heroes (Choo 279). Sailor Moon’s approachability is not limited to appearances, which is what allowed the series to connect to millions of people worldwide. Each of the ten Sailor Soldiers are completely unique and have their own personalities, interests, strengths, and weaknesses. The cast is so varied it’s guaranteed that almost anyone who watches the series will find at least one role model or a character to look up to. Instead of struggling to find a female character to connect with, viewers were now presented with ten to choose from.

Additionally, Sailor Moon became so popular because it completely reinvented the magical girl (or mahou shoujo) genre. Before Sailor Moon, most magical girls only used their powers for mundane or personal purposes. Sailor Moon introduced the concept of a magical girl warrior, a mix of traditional magical girl elements and sentai (Japanese-style superheroes, such as the Power Rangers) action. What resulted was a type of magical girl who used her powers to actively fight against evil. Not only did the Sailor Soldiers have flashy, pretty transformation sequences and wear cute, feminine uniforms like the protagonists from previous magical girl series, they fought like the Power Rangers. This hybrid magical girl/sentai style became enormously popular and soon other series began trying to emulate Sailor Moon’s success (Allison 262-267, 272-274).

Furthermore, Sailor Moon provides a wide array of strong female relationships, both platonic and romantic. What we typically think of women’s experiences in friendships and women's virtues- emotional expressiveness, dependency, the ability to nurture, intimacy, and so on- are prominently featured and celebrated in the series (Kimmel 375). In fact, the friendships that the Sailor Soldiers share with one another- specifically, the friendships between the five original girls who are collectively known as the Inner Soldiers- is one of the main themes of the series. They aren’t just teammates who support each other in battle; in fact, much of the series’ screen time is devoted to the girls’ everyday lives as they go to school, go shopping, study, and hang out together, just like ordinary friends.

The deep and intimate bonds of their friendship are shown in full in Sailor Moon R: The Movie, the series’ first theatrical release. Towards the end of the film, the main antagonist, Fiore, speaks of his loneliness; the Inner Soldiers (sans Usagi) all think of how they have also been lonely, shunned by their classmates for being different or strange. At the movie’s climax, in order thwart Fiore’s plot of sending an asteroid to hit Earth, Usagi is forced to use the full potential of the Silver Crystal; doing so is incredibly dangerous for her, as using too much of the Silver Crystal’s power exhausts one’s life force. The other Sailor Soldiers immediately rush to help her, resolving to combine their powers so they can all return to Earth together. As the girls join hands, they think of how much Usagi means to them, and how she saved them from their loneliness with her love and friendship. With her friends’ support, Usagi is able to destroy the asteroid before it hits Earth. The film makes it clear that the Sailor Soldiers’ bond with and devotion for one another is what makes them powerful. This is in stark contrast to the many movies and tv shows that depict women as natural enemies who compete with each other to be the most beautiful or to win the man (Miss Representation).

Platonic relationships aren’t the only kind featured in the series. In fact, Sailor Moon is significant for its prominent representation of LGBT people. Most notably, two of the Sailor Soldiers, Sailor Uranus and Sailor Neptune, are actually lovers who share a close, loving relationship. Within the series, their relationship is treated as something as something completely ordinary; their closeness is never questioned or objected to, and the other Sailor Soldiers sometimes comment on how perfect they look together. In one episode (“Episode 95: Let Moon Help With Your Love Problems”), they even enter a couple’s competition and blow everyone away. But what’s more important is that Haruka/Sailor Uranus and Michiru/Sailor Neptune are given ample characterization outside of simply being lesbians. Their sexualities, while part of who they are, don’t dominate their characterizations; in other words, they’re gay characters who are treated like normal people instead of stereotypes.

Aside from being a lesbian, Haruka/Sailor Uranus is also presented as gender-nonconforming in the manga. Haruka identifies as a woman, but her gender presentation often changes; she easily switches between pants and button-down shirts to short skirts and flowing blouses. At one point in the manga’s third arc (“Act 32: Three Soldiers”), Michiru/Sailor Neptune says “Uranus is like a man and a woman in one. She has the strengths of both genders; it is her special advantage as a soldier.” Michiru isn’t saying that Haruka is physically both male and female; she’s saying that Haruka does not choose to present as either totally masculine or totally feminine, but rather a combination of both. Haruka’s gender nonconformity isn’t portrayed as strange or off-putting; rather, it’s explicitly stated that it’s her strength as a Sailor Soldier. What’s more, nobody ever questions Haruka about her androgyny; rather, the other characters just accept it as a part of who she is. This portrayal is very admirable, especially considering how gender nonconformity is usually handled in media. As Leslie Feinberg explains, “Those of us who cross the ‘man-made’ boundaries of sex and gender run afoul of the law… We have grown up mostly unable to find ourselves represented in the dominant culture” (Feinberg 147). Although character like Haruka is unfortunately hard to find, at least she’s able to be a good representative for gender-nonconforming people.

Aside from all that, Sailor Moon even features a very positive portrayal of a non-traditional, lesbian family. This is significant, because as Stephanie Coontz explains, “For 150 years, the married-couple nuclear family based on male breadwinning and female domesticity has been the main set of instructions on how we should organize adult sexual relationships, raise children, and meet interpersonal obligations” (118). When people- especially LGBT people- attempt to deviate from this familial norm, many immediately protest it; they do so because they argue that children raised by gay or lesbian parents will be not be as healthy as children raised by heterosexual parents (Kimmel 183-184). In reality, however, gay and lesbian couples provide a model of family life in many cases. For example, homosexual couples are more likely than heterosexual couples to share housework and child-rearing responsibilities (Kimmel 185). Moreover, research shows that the children of same-sex parents are just as emotionally healthy, and as educationally and socially successful, as the children raised by heterosexual parents (Kimmel 186). It’s the quality of person’s parenting, rather than their sexuality, which determines how well a child will develop.

In the final chapter (“Act 38: Beginning a Journey”) of Sailor Moon’s third manga arc, Sailor Saturn exhausts her powers and is reborn as a baby. Because she has no family, Sailor Uranus, Sailor Neptune, and Sailor Pluto decide to adopt and raise her. Several chapters later (“Act 44: New Soldiers’ Dream”), we see that Haruka, Michiru, Setsuna, and Hotaru (the reborn Saturn) have formed a loving, stable, and healthy family. Hotaru (who by now is a young child, as her powers have caused her to age at an accelerated rate) refers to Michiru and Setsuna as her “Mamas,” while she calls Haruka “Papa” due to her more masculine appearance. The manga also states Haruka, Michiru, and Setsuna all share the housework and child-rearing responsibilities; in fact, all three of them wear promise rings to symbolize their dedication to raising Hotaru and being good parents to her. Thanks to their love and support, Hotaru grows up to be a much happier, more outgoing, and stabler girl than she was in her previous life. Just like real-life research indicates, Haruka, Michiru, and Setsuna’s gender and sexuality did not negatively impact their ability to raise Hotaru. All that mattered was the quality of their parenting.

For all these reasons and more, it’s easy to see why Sailor Moon is such a beloved series. It brought audiences what they sorely needed: Strong and brave, yet relatable, female superheroes who encouraged them to be themselves and provided something to aspire towards. Moreover, it provided positive representation for LGBT people (including gender-nonconforming people) and even debunked stereotypes about them, such as the idea that same-sex couples cannot properly raise a child. The series also provides a healthy view of female friendships. Rather than portraying the Sailor Soldiers as rivals or making their relationships with each other shallow and insignificant, the series consistently characterizes their relationships as strong, meaningful, and loving. When keeping all of that in mind, it becomes clear that the series is just as relevant and needed in 2017 as it was back in 1992. Its themes of love, friendship, hope, and female empowerment will always be needed by not only girls, but by boys and adults as well.

Works Cited

Allison, Anne. "Sailor Moon: Japanese Superheroes for Global Girls." Japan Pop! Inside the World of Japanese Popular Culture. New York City: M.E. Sharpe, 2000. 259-78. Print.

Choo, Kukhee. "Girls Return Home: Portrayal of Femininity in Popular Japanese Girls’ Manga and Anime Texts during the 1990s in Hana Yori Dango and Fruits Basket." Women: A Cultural Review 19.3 (2008): 275-96. Web. 28 Apr. 2017.

Coontz, Stephanie. "How Holding on to Tradition Sets Families Back." The Way We Really Are: Coming to Terms with America's Changing Families. New York City: Basic Books, 1997. 109-22. Print.

Feinberg, Leslie. "To Be or Not to Be." Women’s Voices, Feminist Visions: Classic and Contemporary Readings. 2nd ed. Boston: McGraw Hill, 2004. 147-50. Print.

Johnson, Allan G. "Where Are We?" The Gender Knot: Unraveling Our Patriarchal Legacy. 3rd ed. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2014. 3-25. Print.

Kimmel, Michael. The Gendered Society. 6th ed. New York City: Oxford U Press, 2017. Print.

Miss Representation. Dir. Jennifer Siebel Newsom. OWN: The Oprah Winfrey Network, 2011. Netflix. Web. 28 Apr. 2017

#Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon #sailor moon #analysis #my writing #essay #writing

[aoi-mikazuki]

The Briefest of Reunions

Huge spoilers for DGS1 and 2, but I wanted old people love and reminiscing so here is my contribution... >>;

Also on AO3 if shorter chapters are your jam.

SPOILER SPACE

Title: The Briefest of Reunions

Series: Dai Gyakuten Saiban

Words: 5,765

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/Mikotoba Yuujin

Chapter 1 - The Train Ride

"I nearly had a heart attack when I first saw Miss Susato on that ship, you know," Holmes suddenly blurted as he sat at his desk hunched over his fancy instruments.

"Hm?" I looked up from my book and over the back of the settee I was lazily reclining on. The children had all retired for the night, and I had been hoping to finish this last chapter before I headed up to bed myself. But alas, I could see that my relatively relaxed evening was not meant to be.

"She looks just like her mother," my friend continued, lowering his goggles into position on his face, "though she has your eyes."

I had, on a few occasions, shown a picture of my dear, departed wife to Holmes during our six years together, but to think that he still remembered her face ten years on was remarkable; the man could barely remember what had happened on a case an hour after the fact and yet he had identified Susato with ease, it seems.

Then again, one should never underestimate Holmes's capacity to remember things -- especially those even tangentially related to me -- is something I learned about him relatively early on. He had always chalked it up to his keen powers of observation, yet, I daresay it was more due to a combination of his youthful spirit and a keen personal interest in me.

It was 16 years ago that I first met the then 18-year-old Sherlock Holmes. I was only 27 myself back then, and though I was a rather privileged and well-educated man back in Japan, it was something of an eye-opener to travel with the intent of living in an entirely different country -- I was suddenly intensely aware of how very small and very ignorant I was here among a people and a society with a set of rules all of their very own. Suddenly, all of the book-learning I had done felt very inadequate indeed in preparing me for my new adventure half-way around the world, so it was a godsend that I had met a young man who was willing to share his home with me and acquaint me with different people of all stations of life.

As with most people he encountered, Holmes instantly struck me as a strange and curious fellow, and perhaps that is what drew me to him in the first place. From the poorest of the poor up to the noblest of the noble, the man had a way with every soul in London, it seemed. I had initially assumed that this was a perfectly normal state of affairs for the average British gentleman, but I soon grew to see that he is actually a most singularly peculiar specimen among his countrymen. His strange mannerisms, raucous laughter, and ridiculous theatrics endeared him to the masses, but his intellect and deductive reasoning were what made him a necessity to the upper elites. But none of that seemed to matter to him, for I never saw him with anyone I would label as a "friend".

That is, until a little under a year after we’d first met. We were on a train traveling back to London after a most thrilling chase through the English countryside when we hit upon the topic of how we should celebrate yet another great success.

*********

"Let's go out -- just you and me! A night on the town!" Holmes proposed.

I laughed at that, my slightly larger frame bouncing in time with the train as it leaned into a curve in the tracks.

"I'm too old to be running around piss drunk like a teenager, Holmes. And you know how I feel about 'female entertainers' and brothels in general."

"That I do, but you still never gave me a good reason why."

"Does a man need to have a reason to decline the company of certain persons in this country?" I rebutted. I was beginning to sense that Holmes was going to try to push that topic again today.

Holmes stared at me from his seat across the cabin, making observations and filing the information away for future reference. I released a small sigh in response.

The Western custom of casually sharing one's personal life with strangers and friends alike is something I continue to find rather odd, and the expectation that I should divulge such similar information about myself to others still seems immensely invasive to me. Yet in the year of our acquaintance, Holmes had proven himself to be a trustworthy flatmate.

I ran my hands over my face to clear my mind and buy myself some time. I needed to phrase things in such a way as to satisfy his immediate curiosity without opening the door wide enough for him to barge right on through to ask gods know what else.

Placing one hand on each thigh, I leaned forward and looked Holmes in the eyes. "I know I haven't shared very much of myself with you, Holmes, but I... I’m actually still in mourning. My wife passed away in childbirth, you see... and I..."

In my mind's eye, I saw my wife's pained face as she slipped away from me -- me, a medically trained doctor who was powerless to stop her rapid decline. The piercing cries of our new baby girl grew muffled in my ears as my mind focused solely on the woman in front of me.

"Ayame... Please..." I had pleaded then, as my eyes darted around furiously, searching for the source of the bleeding. I scrambled and tried to find a tear, a rip -- anything -- but it was like dowsing for water in the middle of the bloody ocean. Precious minutes passed like seconds, and eventually, my wife reached down to me and lifted my face up to meet hers.

"Yujin," she had said though a pained smile. "I am counting on you to raise our daughter now."

"No, we'll raise her together...!" I answered in denial. But she knew me, and gave me one last parting request.

“Please take good care of Susato for me.”

And then, she was gone.

"...kotoba! Mikotoba!" The force of Holmes shaking me snapped me out of my reverie and back into the train cabin.

"I-I'm sorry, I appear to have..."

Holmes gave a flourish of his hand. "No need to apologize. I assume you were transported back to that moment?"

I nodded in affirmation.

"I see," Holmes states. "So..." he started, "you have a child then?"

I nod again. "A daughter. Her name is Susato."

"And yet you are here with me in jolly ol' England?" he questioned.

"Holmes, don't..."

"You... didn't come all this way just to escape your responsibilities, did you?" he said with one eyebrow cocked as he drew ever closer. Uncomfortably so, even.

"I wasn't-- I'm not trying to escape my responsibilities!" I answered indignantly. And yet, he was right. I had come to escape something, but I decided that the sordid details could wait for another day.

His eyes lit up for a second, and I knew he had made some deduction in that short span of time. But he quickly hid it.

He moved to sit next to me, his long right leg against my left -- the man really had no concept of personal space -- but when he reached out to grab my left hand with his own, I pulled it towards my chest instinctively. His hand was quicker and he caught it mid-air and laid it over my heart, holding it there. He slung his other arm around my neck, his hand reassuringly gripping my shoulder.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to impugn on your honor. But... just humor my curiosity for a second, Mikotoba."

A long moment of silence passed between us as I considered my options:

Push Holmes off and away from me and switch to another topic

Ask him to extricate himself from me and then switch to another topic

Talk with him like a goddamned adult

I breathed in and steeled myself for what I knew I needed to do.

"You've probably already deduced that there is more to my story, but..."

"But...?"

"I'm sorry, my friend." The word "friend" couldn't have felt more right just then. "But I'm afraid your curiosity will have to go unfulfilled for now."

Holmes was strangely silently next to me. Perhaps I had been too forward, or perhaps he did not see me as a friend. I turned my head to see what was the matter. He seemed at once somber and yet, somehow, comically dejected.

"Ha ha! You are a tease, Mikotoba," he rebounded. "But I will get the truth out of you yet!"

I smiled back at the young detective. "I have no doubt you will, Holmes. But for now, I ask that you simply stay by my side."

"Isn't that what partners are for, Mikotoba? To be there for one another in times of need?" he gently said into my ear over the rattling and clanking of the train as it continued on towards home.

Chapter 2 - The Advertisement

Recalling the details of that train ride brought to mind another lady I couldn't save.

"...Is everything alright?" Holmes asked, concern in his voice. He had turned around and was now kneeling on his seat, facing backwards over the chair’s tall back. Holmes lowered his goggles to where it usually hung around his neck to get a better look at me.

"Ah, yes,” I started. “I was just remembering how I came to tell you about Ayame--"

"And it brought up memories of Lady Baskerville, right?" Holmes surmised.

"Yes," I replied, not the least bit surprised anymore by his ability to read me like an open book. "I can only wonder what she thought of me -- whether she honestly believed that this Japanese stranger would take care of her daughter, or if she had simply given herself over to me because she had no choice in the matter."

"But you explained yourself to her -- about how you came to know of her hiding place and your promise to Mr Genshin."

"I did, but she was delirious from blood-loss by that point. All I could do was help her finish delivering Iris and let her hold her child in her final moments." I squeezed my eyes shut in frustration. “What’s worse,” I continued, “is that I couldn’t even keep my promise to Genshin and I had to leave Iris in your care.”

Holmes looked at me as though I had just proffered him the world's most complex puzzle to solve.

"Mikotoba," he started cautiously, "to this day, do you really still doubt that you've been a good father?"

"...Sometimes."

"Is it because of me?"

I looked up at my partner. "...I can't tell Susato what really happened, Holmes. You know that."

Holmes gave a small sigh and put his head in his hands as he leaned on the back of his chair. "She's not a child anymore,” he said as he looked me straight in the eye. “Sooner or later she will find out. Especially given how much liberty you allow her."

"I am only allowing her to claim her full birthright as a human being. After seeing the different kind of freedoms women are allowed here, and far be it for me to be a hypocrite, I found myself unable to justify my ability to act as I wished while she was bound on all sides by social expectations."

“Or is the real truth that you feel guilty for not being around for her -- be it that you are always busy with your teaching, or research... or that you were gallivanting around solving cases with me half-way around the world for six years?”

“I...” Holmes’s words stung with the pain of truth, but while I was still reeling from his pointed observation, he had leapt up and over his chair to close the distance between us.

“Wake up, Mikotoba! And see how highly your daughter thinks of you!” he said. “It is you, and only you, that thinks you have done her harm.”

Holmes’s countenance softened for a second before he came around to sit by my side, trapping my legs between himself and the back of the settee.

"Just as I will have to explain the circumstances of her birth to Iris someday, Yujin, you should explain how it was you really came to England in the first place to your own daughter." Holmes reached out to clasp my hand.

"I know. I've left her in the dark for long enough."

Holmes was right, of course. Susato would find out in her own way someday, just as he had in his usual, persistent way one morning, not long after that fateful train ride.

*********

Holmes was reading the paper at the breakfast table again -- as he is still in the habit of doing -- with his meal in front of him lying wholly untouched. Yet, I could tell his mind wasn’t actually occupied with the paper, but rather, with me, as I sat on the other side of the table gently tapping the top of my egg open.

“Out with it, Holmes.”

I had no patience for his whimsical games today. I had a medical forum to attend, and before that, a train to catch.

“Nothing. I was merely scanning the personals and found an interesting listing.”

“You? An interesting listing? In the personals?” I laughed at the thought of Holmes finding anyone genuinely interesting. By this point in our relationship, I had been with him long enough to know that people were only as interesting as they were a source of puzzles and mysteries to solve. Otherwise, the ever-aloof Sherlock Holmes had little use for actual, intimate relationships.

“Indeed, for the comings and goings of society itself are reflected in these pages. One never knows when a particularly juicy piece of gossip may be the lead that cracks the case.”

“I suppose I’ve never thought of it that way,” I replied, dipping my toast into my not-quite-as-soft-as-I’d-hoped soft-boiled egg. My face scrunched up at the less than runny yolk. I knew there was a reason why I usually got up earlier than Holmes to make our breakfast.

“Here’s a fine example, Mikotoba: ‘Wanted: Male partner for a night of passion. Am willing to pay for transport, and utmost discretion.’ Now, what would you make of that?”

I felt myself slowly tense with each word of that infernal advertisement. Holmes had to know what he was doing, I thought. Curse the man’s inability to let things go until he’s solved the living daylights out of them.

“I’m afraid I must be going, Holmes,” I said as I ungracefully dropped the remnants of my toast on my plate.

“Fine,” he pouted. “But you will think on this listing and let me know your conclusions when you return?” he requested as I wiped my mouth with my napkin.

“Yes, yes, of course, my dear man,” I hastily replied as I checked for crumbs in my mustache on my way out of our drawing room. A quick glance back provided me with the picture of a close-eyed Holmes, deep in thought. Before anything further could transpire, I quickly shut the door, ran down the stairs, threw my coat on, and strode briskly out -- cane in hand -- into the mid-autumn air.

At the time, I had no intention of answering Holmes in any way whatsoever. What was private, was private. He had no right to pry, I thought. But as the day wore on, my mind kept drifting to my dear friend.

Surely a man with as many eccentricities as him could understand my plight without judgement. Not to mention, if he had indeed, already correctly deduced what my secret was, he had been more than generous in allowing me to stay on in our lodgings.

And so I resolved that should he ask for my opinion about the advertisement upon my return that night, I would do my best to be honest with him.

I arrived back at our lodging a little past seven, and found it to be empty.

“Holmes?” I called, but received no reply. On the arm of the settee was the paper from that morning, a giant red circle around a small block of text. I picked it up and read it for myself.

“‘Wanted: Male partner for a night of passion. Am willing to pay for transport, and utmost discretion,’ huh.”

I gave a long sigh, and wondered where Holmes had gone off to. If he was on one of his expeditions again, I feared what little courage I had scraped together would be lost by the time he returned.

I spent the rest of that evening reading, though honestly, I could hardly call what I did that. Rather, it was more akin to staring at a sea of English words with the more than occasional glance at my watch. At a quarter to eleven, I finally gave up all hope of seeing Holmes that night, so I placed my bookmark in its place and closed the book.

“Of all the days to be out, you had to pick the one in which I finally have something worthwhile to share.”

“Ah, then do feel free to share,” Holmes exclaimed as he twirled into our drawing room.

“Wh-Where have you been, Holmes?” I stuttered, bewildered at how my words had seemingly summoned him home somehow.

“My story can wait,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “while I suspect that yours cannot. Therefore, I request that you go first.”

“At this hour? And after you left me waiting for an entire evening?” A twinge of irritation slipped out of me. “I’m inclined to say that we should have to wait until tomorrow--”

“Un, un-un.” He tsked his finger at me. “I did ask that you provide me with your thoughts upon your return, did I not?”

I placed a hand on my forehead and looked down in defeat. I might as well get it over with, I thought.

“Well, then, I suppose I had best get on with it, haven’t I?”

Holmes took a seat in his chair and nodded, and urged me to continue. I took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh.

“Let me just start by saying that it was an awful trick you played by placing that advertisement.”

“Ah, but how do you know it was me?” His eyes twinkled in mischief.

“You’re not the only one with deductive powers around here. I’ve gained quite a bit of insight into your methods by now, as you should know.”

“Quite right! Aha ha ha ha ha!” he laughed raucously, doubling over in amusement. “Well done, Mikotoba!” Holmes’s laugh subsided as he recovered into an upright position. “But I won’t be derailed so easily.”

“Very well. Where shall I start, then?”

“How about with why sleeping with a man compelled you to travel to the complete opposite end of the world when, unlike here in England, it has once again become perfectly legal to do so in Japan?”

Well. Let it never be said that Sherlock Holmes is the master of subtlety, I thought.

“Because,” I began, “as you are no doubt aware, I come from a country where honor and dignity is valued more than gold. And ever since Western culture began pouring into my home country, all of Japan has been most thoroughly taken in by your ideals and way of thinking. On the topic of human relations, a book titled ‘Psychopathia Sexualis’ by a Dr Richard Freiherr von Krafft-Ebing has been quite influential, to say the least.”

“Ah, yes. The Germans have been rather vigorous in their pursuit of knowledge in the emerging field of sexology.”

“Then you are familiar with its underpinnings?” I inquired.

“Only that it seeks to explain anything outside of the everyman experience as perversion.”

“Yes, well, it got my own countrymen talking, and not wanting to be seen as closed-minded, perverse barbarians, I’m afraid that most people of my station in society and above have quickly turned their thinking around to match that of their European counterparts.”

There was a brief moment of silence as Holmes looked at me in all seriousness, the mirth gone from his eyes.

“And what about you, Mikotoba? As a medical man, does your thinking on the matter fall in line with those of your colleagues?”

I had never been asked to state so clearly my thoughts on such matters before, and I struggled to put them in some sort of order before I opened my mouth again.

“I... I must admit that I have a great deal of trouble reconciling the scientific literature with my own lived experiences, Holmes. It is hard to look back on more than a thousand years of Japanese culture and history and simply wave it all away as wanton perversion when truly beautiful relationships did emerge from such acts. Indeed, some of them have even endured the test of time through glorification in poems and art.”

Holmes nodded at me. “Which explains the lack of disgust on your own part at your rented liaison.”

I give a small sigh. Of course he would also quite correctly deduce that my partner was paid.

“Yes, he was slightly younger than me, and an actor of kabuki theater. Oh, Holmes, it wasn’t that he meant anything to me, though. I fear my act of indiscretion was the result of severe loneliness and grief.”

Holmes took my statement in and processed it as only he can. “Yet you chose a man. Why?”

“Ayame... She had only just passed. And I... I did not wish to dishonor her by replacing her with another woman so casually, or so soon. It is with greater shame that I reflect on my inability at the time to control myself and deal with my grief properly, and instead, succumbed to my emotions and need for another person’s touch.”

“Well, depression can do drastic things to a man, as you know by my own dark moods.” Holmes paused for a second before he continued on. “I think I have an idea of the shape of things now. Your family must have thought it best to use its clout to send you far away -- perhaps allowing you to regain your sanity by redirecting your focus to your professional studies and training here -- while they tried to repair any damage you may have brought onto yourself and your daughter’s reputations. Is that about the long and short of it?”

“Yes,” I replied, unsure of what else to say.

“Excellent. I’m glad we resolved that little issue. Now, on to the next!”

“N-Next?” I sputtered in Holmes’s direction as he got up and started for his room.

“Of course, my good man. Did you forget what I actually asked for your opinion on this morning?”

I thought back to my mad dash out of our drawing room earlier in the day and the truth of the matter began to dawn on me.

“The advertisement...”

“Correct!”

“Holmes... I’m flattered and honored to have your attention, but... I hardly know what to think right now.” I answered honestly. “If you would give me some time...”

“As much as you need, Mikotoba. As much as you need,” he said with a flourish. “Just don’t expect me to pay for your transportation fee when you do come around.”

“Wh-What transportation fee?! I live with you, Holmes!”

“Right, so you do! Aha ha ha ha ha!” His laughter continued down the hall as he walked through his bedroom door. “Good night, Mikotoba.” He tipped his finger against an imaginary hat and closed the door behind him.

“Good night, Holmes,” I replied lamely from my chair, alone in the drawing room.

Chapter 3 - Our Family

“You should explain how it was you really came to England in the first place to your own daughter.”

“I know. I've left her in the dark for long enough.”

Giving my dear Holmes’s hand a squeeze, I picked up my train of thought from where I had left off. “I just hope she can understand and forgive me for the time I’ve stolen from us as father and daughter.”

“I’m sure if you start at the beginning, she will,” Holmes reassured me with a warm smile on his lips.

“I suppose that means I’ll have to more fully explain how it is that you and I came to live together as well.”

"That’s right! She did seem as surprised as Mr Naruhodo when she found out you were my partner!” Holmes paused for half a second before exclaiming, “Wait, are you saying that you never mentioned me to her -- ever?!"

"There was never any good way for me to do so!” I retorted. “It's bad enough that I haven’t been able to set my selfishness aside to do the socially correct thing and find myself a new wife to give her a mother. How was I supposed to explain why?"

"Pshaw, that’s simple: Susato, did you know that THE Sherlock Holmes used to call me "daddy" too?"

I threw the nearest pillow I could grab into Holmes's face.

"And sometimes," he continued as he sensuously licked his lips from behind his newfound cushion-shield, "he'd feed me a most thick and juicy sausage--"

"H-Holmes!" I ejaculated. "She could come down here at any minute!"

"Excellent! The perfect chance to fill her in, wouldn’t you agree?"

"N-No!" I sputtered. "I am nowhere near ready to divulge such information."

Holmes's eyes lit up.

"And you are not to divulge it either. Understand?"

The world’s most immature man gave me his most disappointed look.

"Time and place! And context, Holmes! This isn't something one simply blurts out over breakfast."

"Pooh, pooh! Why do you have to be such a spoilsport?" he pouted.

"Because you saw what happened when she thought Iris was my biological daughter. She was literally ready to punish me over an imaginary affair."

"But you did have one... with me."

"It's not the same. You weren’t some one-night stand. You were the one who taught me that I could still honor and cherish Ayame while loving another. And had I not been forced to leave this country, I might have called for Susato to come join us and raised Iris with you.”

“Thus bringing her into the very sort of inverted household you were sent here to cleanse yourself of!” Holmes chuckled.

I gave an exasperated sigh at the bald irony staring me in the face.

“Regardless, Holmes, there is so much more nuance to what we have than she can imagine."

"You mean the fact that we are two men in an actual honest-to-god relationship."

"...Yes."

"Come on, now," Holmes said, looking rather serious. "Do you honestly think she has never imagined the domestic home life of 'Sherlock Holmes' and his partner 'Dr John Watson', and the sort of sexual congress they might have enjoyed?"

Oh.

In truth, the thought had not crossed my mind, though I had seen my share of female students throughout the years whisper wild and taboo fantasies amongst themselves about their favorite fictional characters. Why had it never occurred to me before that my own daughter might enjoy such flights of fancy?

I could feel the tips of my ears burning with embarrassment. I harrumphed and twitched my mustache as I tried to think of something suitable to say in return.

“Speaking of those novels, do you remember when you sent Iris’s “Baskerville” manuscript to me?”

“Of course.”

“I must apologize for being so negligent as to leave it out in my study where Susato could see it.”

“It’s quite alright,” he forgave me with a flourish of his hand. “I deduced as much when she let it slip. To be honest, it was my fault for jeopardizing our case by even sending it to you in the first place.”

“Regardless, I’m glad you did, Holmes. You were so genuinely torn up about prohibiting Iris from publishing it that it was the first time I really saw that you had let her into your life... and your heart.”

Holmes looked sheepishly to the side. “I’ll admit I did spend a number of years trying to distance myself from her.”

“I’ll say you did! You told her I was her father!”

“Well, you were! You were the one who promised to look after her, after all.” Holmes grew quiet. “I only agreed to keep her safe because I thought you’d come back to England once everything had been resolved. I never imagined that so many years would pass in the interim.”

The fire crackled loudly behind us in the silence that enveloped the room. It was my turn to reach out to my dear partner. I gave his hand a squeeze.

"Do you remember how frantically you would telegram me at all hours of the day, asking me how to change Iris's diapers and how to tell whether she was crying from hunger or discomfort?"

Holmes turned and smiled in return. "I do. And I still remember your frustrated replies, reminding me that you never had to change Miss Susato's diapers so you had no idea!"

“What a spectacle you must have been at the telegram office with Iris crying on your back!” I laughed. “I wish I had been here to see it for myself.”

“I’m afraid that before I gained the moniker ‘Great Detective’, I was known as the Great Nanny Sherlock Holmes,” he joked and laughed. As his laughter subsided, the warmth in his eyes remained as he cupped my face. "Must you return to Japan so soon, Mikotoba? You've only just arrived! Why not relax a little longer here. We've barely had a moment to ourselves," he gently complained.

"That's what happens when you have kids, Holmes. I thought you'd have figured that out by now."

"I guess I have to take my fatherly duties more seriously now, don’t I?"

"You've got a charming young lady with even greater expectations of you than before."

"I get the feeling it won't be hard to live up to virtually no expectations," he gestured melodramatically.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. You are a brilliant father raising a most extraordinary daughter. I daresay she has even picked up a few of your mannerisms.”

My mind drifted back to the night before, when Iris had made her fondness of Holmes clear. A number of things had been brought to light that day -- some of them big, some of them small. But one thing had remained unchanged throughout it all: I had always intended to call on my dear friend Genshin.

“About my plans, Holmes,” I began. “I would still very much like to go and pay my respects to Genshin, and see about arranging for his remains to be returned to Japan, now that he has been cleared of all charges.”

“Why not let Mr Asogi deal with that?” Holmes said with a rather considerate look on his face. “Perhaps he would rather keep his father close by, though probably in a better grave than the one he is currently occupying.”

“Indeed. I suppose I’ll speak with him in the morning. To be honest, I’m glad I am able to speak with him at all.”

Holmes nodded his agreement. “Things did get a little too close for everyone a few times, didn’t they?”

“But you managed to keep things under control, and that’s what’s important.”

I thought back to that day when the children had left on the Alaclair, bound for England. Holmes had urgently telegraphed me two months prior about two things: “I’m sending you a package,” he had mysteriously said, “and I will be on the Alaclair”. I suspected something had begun to move in our case of ten years past, and I was not mistaken when I finally received the package containing the Baskerville manuscript and a note regarding some sort of conspiracy spelled out in a series of dancing men.

I sent the manuscript back after they had gone so as to delay its arrival until after Holmes’s return home with a simple, pleasant message about how enjoyable the story was, and added a few words of caution through a line of dancing men of my own.

I admit that sometimes, it had filled me with great regret to know that my partner had been on that very ship, and that we could’ve met then to strategize further, but as long as he was watching over Susato, I knew she was in good hands.

“You have no idea how many times I wished you had been by my side, though. Truly, as my fictional self would say, ‘I am lost without my Boswell.’”

“Well, there was at least one circumstance that was a conundrum of your own making. Naruhodo mentioned that you told him that sometimes Great Detectives lie. Far be it for me to be surprised that you would do such a thing to him, trickster as you are, something tells me your brilliant plan backfired when you'd set yourself up as the fool during your first encounter with him."

"It would have only aroused suspicion had I suddenly reverted back to my charming, clever self, wouldn’t it?"

"True, but to maintain the act for so long! You are truly a consummate actor, and a master of disguise, Holmes."

Holmes took a dramatic bow. "It was nothing really, especially in this case. After all, there is but a fine line that separates genius from jackass."

"I think you mean brilliant and bumbling, since there is certainly no line separating jackass from any part of your beautiful, Bohemian soul."

"Aha ha ha ha ha!" he laughs in that way I love. "We've come a long way, haven't we?"

"I dare say we're certainly much better off than we were back then."

"Who would've thought that the great Sherlock Holmes and his partner Dr Mikotoba would have two daughters to round out their rather unconventional family?"

"Indeed, I'm not sure that the world would believe it, even if Iris wrote it up in one of her stories!"

"As she said, you really are the only "yujin" I have in the whole world," Holmes said as he doubled over in laughter at the silly cross-language pun.

"I honestly still can't believe you made Iris write that!" I joined in my partner’s mirth.

"My Yujin, the only one I will ever need," he whispered as he leaned in and took my last snide remark of the night from my lips.

NOTES:

- Technically, “Psychopathia Sexualis” was published in 1886 in Germany, and then later in Japan, but since DGS is fairly liberal with its historical timeline, I figured I could be, too...

- Japan had outlawed sodomy at one point in 1872, but in the quickest of turnabouts, it seems that it was repealed only 10 years later (8 - 10 depending on which dates you count) when Japan adopted the Napoleonic Code into what would form the basis of all Japanese law, the Six Codes. Thanks, Japanese Wikipedia article “日本における同性愛”!

- DGS Holmes seems more likely to initiate things between the two of them, but I wouldn’t say he is an especially sexual creature either. He comes across as demi-sexual to me (or he would if he had any other true friends to speak of other than Mikotoba). I like to think that he seems asexual in Iris’s accounts partially because he has no other partners that she can see (his only partner is off in Japan, after all), and partially because it probably didn’t occur to her that her papa could be interested in such things.

- Maybe someday I’ll get around to writing how they actually get together, but I fear that that will take another long fic on its own... ^^;

- Watson “ejaculated” a number of times in the real Sherlock Holmes canon. I guess that was just the hot word to use back then instead of “exclaimed” XD

- Mikotoba’s first name is phonetically the same as the word for “friend” but it uses different kanji.

#Dai Gyakuten Saiban #DGS1 spoilers #DGS2 spoilers #Huuuuuuuge spoilers #Sherlock Holmes #Mikotoba Yuujin #I write stuff

[stubblesandwich]

Return To Me

Emma Swan is dying. Her last remaining hope is a heart-transplant, and those aren't easy to come by. But, as luck would have it, fate finds her worthy, and on a stormy autumn night, Emma is given a second chance at life. Meanwhile, on the other side of the Boston hospital, Killian Jones has been devastated by the sudden loss of his wife.

Inspired by the 2000 film of the same title with Minnie Driver and David Duchovny. Author Note: Shout out to my home girls @welllpthisishappening and @bleebug for looking this over for me and being soundboards for my gushing feelings. They’re awesome. Find on A03 here.

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

Chapter One. “Care to dance, captain?”

Killian had been staring at his wife, not bothering to hide the adoring expression on his face. She'd noticed. For her part, Milah found it sweet. His eyes crinkled when he smiled, crow's feet well-earned throughout the seven years they had been together, and nothing made her heart leap quite like the smile that reached all the way to her husband's eyes.

He rose, gave a slight bow, and extended a hand to her. “It would be my honor, m'lady,” he said, and she laughed, shaking her head at his theatrics. She took his hand, letting him lead her to the dance floor, where a dozen couples were already swaying serenely along to an old, sweet love song.

The Boston marina had been decorated exquisitely, hardly an expense spared, for the gala that evening. Museum heads, entrepreneurs and business executives alike had all been invited to the black-tie event, whether they had donated in the past or potentially would in the future, in hopes of raising both funds and awareness for the ship restoration program Killian manned. It was his passion, and this gala was the highlight of his year, as far as his career was concerned.

His eyes flit around the room, trying to make out the faces scattered throughout the immense ballroom to see if he recognized anyone. The turnout was phenomenal. This was fortunate for him, as most of the funding for the grandiose event had come out of Killian and Milah's own pockets. But, by the looks of things, it had been well worth it. The marina, as expected, held a pristine view of the harbor and sea. The wall facing the ocean was nearly all window, from floor to ceiling, and as night had fallen, the effect was absolutely mesmerizing. A lighthouse in the distance flashed, and the moon cast its white light over the water, the dark waves nearly as beautiful as the stars looming over it.

Most of the lights had dimmed after dinner, once the dancing began. Only the grand, ornate hanging chandeliers spread throughout the ballroom were lit now, casting a warm glow over the guests as the dance floor began to fill. Milah was a sucker for this sort of music, those crooning, golden voices that seemed to capture an entire era and take their listeners back to a simpler time. It made her melt, and Killian was fully aware of this. The song playing faded into one they both knew well, and Milah couldn't help the happy little sigh that escaped her as Killian began to sing along softly for only her to hear.

She wrapped her arms over his shoulders, hands coming to rest at the back of his neck. Her fingers immediately found the hair that flipped out just a touch over his collar and began to toy with it gently.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” he asked.

Milah feigned thoughtfulness for a moment. “You know, I don't think you have. Not in a few hours, at least.” A devilish look came onto his face. “Allow me to show you.” He leaned in slowly, sweetly, and took her mouth in a kiss. The world around them melted away, fading into soft light and a slow song. Usually, she wore her hair down, letting it do whatever the thick, unruly curls were going to do that day, and he loved it. He loved the wildness of her hair, found it to be just a small glimpse into her spirit. It had been one of the first things he'd been drawn to when he'd met her. Next, her eyes. He was lost in them then, as they swayed across the dance floor. The twinkling white lights around the room made her blue eyes shine brilliantly, even with the main lights dimmed. On this night, she had gone all out, especially with her usually untamable hair. The curls he loved were twisted and tucked delicately into an elegant up-do, similar to the style she had worn for their wedding day. Of course, managing this feat hadn't come without its qualms. After several frustrating attempts to figure out a style for herself in the days leading up to Killian's fundraiser, she had eventually given up and made an appointment with her hairdresser the day of the event. It was, in Killian's opinion, well worth it. She looked stunning. A tea-length navy dress—one of his favorites—hugged her shape, accentuating all the right curves, and he couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself. Not that she minded. She certainly understood the sentiment, as her eyes had hardly strayed from him all night, glued to he tailored, blue-black suit he'd worn just for her.

“If you're trying to get laid tonight,” she'd said cheekily that afternoon, as they were both getting ready, “You're off to a great start.” He'd waggled his eyebrows at that and kissed the lipstick right off her mouth, despite her laughing protests. They were, undoubtedly, the most beautiful couple in the room, made only more alluring by the way they danced, and how they looked at each other. Eventually, the man of the hour was called to the microphone. With a swift kiss to his wife's cheek, Killian left her and made his way to the front of the room, where one of his event organizers was standing with a microphone. “Thanks, mate,” he told him, clapping him on the shoulder before he took the mic in hand. The lights had been raised, and he took a moment to find Milah in the large crowd. Once he did, he shot her a wink. Killian cleared his throat, testing the volume of the microphone. “Thank you all for coming tonight,” he began. “None of this would have been possible without my event coordinators, who secured this marina for us. I think we can all agree it's absolutely lovely.” There were murmurs and a few claps of agreement. He didn't have much more to add. The affair was extravagant, but its purpose was fairly simple. Donors who had given money to the ship restoration company in the past were profusely thanked and honored, potential donors were further wooed. Killian promised them all they would be able to see the fruits of their donations first hand, as some of the organization's more prestigious restoration projects—a gorgeous antique yacht, an old sailing ship circa 1800, and a small historical battle ship halfway through its restoration process—would be docked outside in the front of the marina within the next hour. This drew a few whoops of excitement and a raucous round of clapping. Killian beamed and found Milah's smiling face in the crowd again. “I wouldn't be standing here today,” Killian went on as the applause began to die down, “Without the constant love and support of my beautiful wife, Milah. Darling, you are the wind in my sails.” Her smile grew, stretching so wide across her face it threatened to split it in half, and he wore one to match. When he returned to her, he took her hand in his, issued it a kiss, and they danced the rest of the night.

+++ Emma lay nearly as still as death, face ashen, staring up at her hospital room's ceiling. It had been painted with that horrible “popcorn paint” that had been so popular in the 90s. Something about it made her smile. Her heart monitor sped up just a touch, its high pitched chirping picking up tempo. “What is it?” Mary Margaret asked, leaning in. She had been firmly planted by Emma's side since the moment she and David had brought her in a few days ago. She held her hand, stroking the back of Emma's with her thumb every now and then. Each brush of her fingers sent warmth spilling through Emma's terrible, useless heart.

Emma's voice was hardly above a whisper when she spoke, raspy and rattling and weak. She hated it.

“Remember...” she laughed, stopping to catch her breath. Mary Margaret smiled patiently. “... That time we—” A cough overtook her, and Mary Margaret squeezed her hand as she fought through it. “.. Tried to get that... stupid popcorn paint..”

“Off my ceiling!” Mary Margaret finished for her, and Emma gave her a grateful, albeit weak, smile. “Yes! What a horrible weekend that was!”

Emma chuckled as Mary Margaret sat back down in her chair, releasing her hand as she scooted it closer to Emma's bed. “Your worst idea,” Emma murmured, and Mary Margaret put her hands up in mock surrender.

“All right,” she said, “I'll give you that. But how was I supposed to know the popcorn was only painted on to cover that terrible salmon color?”

“Who paints their ceiling... pink?” Emma asked in a whisper.

“Crazy people,” Mary Margaret said, leaning back in her chair. They settled into a comfortable silence. The sound of Emma's monitors were oddly soothing, a rhythmic symphony of chirps and beeps helping to keep her alive. She had been listening to them for so long, attuned to the sounds each individual machine made in a day, that it was hard to remember what normal life sounded like without them.

It was a simple room, with outdated wallpaper and a sparse amount of pictures on the wall. The closest frame to Emma was an Anne Geddes original of a baby poking its head out of a giant tulip. The first time she had seen it, she'd found it creepy. Mary Margaret had loved it, naturally. After almost a week, it had grown on Emma, too.

Everything had grown on her. The hospital staff, with their infinitely perky attitudes, had been insufferable in the beginning. The room was drab, but after a few days, she had softened to its old-fashioned charms. The hospital itself was apparently one of the top in the city of Boston for cardiac issues. Naturally, with a heart that was practically useless, it was where she wanted to be.

Mary Margaret had suggested, quite rightly, that if the hospital was going to put their money anywhere, it should be in its doctors and technology, instead of updating its interior decorating. Emma agreed.

While she tried not to make complaining an unbecoming habit, internally it was a hard ritual to break. Life hadn't always been kind to Emma swan. Its knocks had turned her into something of a cynic. She had been born with a heart defect, a bleak prognosis looming over her life, a laughing villain threatening to come for her one day and take it all.

Eventually, she was told, her heart would give out on her. She'd had frequent checkups in her life, most of which she had attended. Some foster parents were better than others about getting her to her necessary appointments. Others took the extra funding they were allotted for taking on a terminally ill child and kept it for themselves.

She never found out what had happened to her birth parents, if they had given her up when they had found out about her condition, as so many would-be parents had done in the history of the human race, or if they had known from her conception they weren't going to keep her.

Eventually, she stopped wondering.

For all the horror stories she had accumulated throughout her time in the foster system, she had a few good stories to go along with them. If she hadn't liked a place, she ran. Her heart condition hadn't truly manifested itself until her teenage years, wherein running away from group homes was far less manageable.

Life had picked up a bit, though, when she was sixteen, and had been introduced to Ruth Nolan. It was her last home in the foster care system, and for everything she had endured throughout her life, she at least ended her time in the system on a good note.

With Ruth came David, her son. Ruth had been the mother of twins, David and his slightly older brother, James. Tragically, James had died as a baby, and the hole he left had never been filled in Ruth's heart. She doted on David, a sweet, hard-working boy who returned her affection ounce for ounce. When Mr. Nolan passed years later, Ruth opened her heart to foster care. She had a few children come and go, offering them a sanctuary in the only way she could, and Emma had been the last to come to her.

David was only two years older than Emma, but he eagerly took on the role of her older brother. She spent two years with the Nolans, and they became the closest thing to family she had ever known. David went off to college, returning a few years later engaged to a woman he had met in one of his childhood development classes, Mary Margaret Blanchard. They were sickeningly sweet together.

Emma had stayed in touch with both of them. But for all the support they had given her, she needed to go her own way. The pendulum swung, and with the good in her life inevitably followed the bad. She met a man she thought she loved, fell hard, and was let down.

As it turned out, most young men weren't interested in a woman with a death sentence.

Where Emma had begun to withdraw, David and his new wife, Mary Margaret, predictably sought her out all the more. They had both moved into Mary Margaret's apartment, a spacious loft just outside Boston she had been previously sharing with her college roommates, and promptly began begging Emma to come visit them.

Eventually, they wore her down. When her heart condition began to worsen to the point where she could no longer hide it from them, they were there for her, fussing like a pair of mother hens.

In time, she moved in with them. She was reluctant at first, but one night, as she was pouring herself her third glass of wine, Mary Margaret had let slip that she was terrified something would happen to Emma and they wouldn't find out about it until it was too late. Suddenly, their frequent check-in texts and daily calls weren't so vexing.

+++

Eventually, her doctor sent them all home.

The past week had proved a frightful scare. Emma's face, taut with constant, thrumming pain, pallid as a corpse, was enough cause for worry.

But, most alarmingly, was what had happened while she had been on a ride-along with David earlier in the week. They had just swung through a drive-through for coffee, and as David turned to his foster sister to get her order, Emma had gone into convulsions. With a flick of a switch, his sirens were on.

In the days she had spent under the hospital's care, they had made her comfortable. She would be sent home with a handful of new prescriptions she couldn't pronounce, some for the mounting pain, some for other things. There wasn't much else they could do; they told her as much. Most helpfully, her position on the heart transplant list had been moved to top priority.

While her doctor framed this as a good thing, it did little to assuage Emma's unease. She had just skipped over multiple others on the list, and it felt like cutting in line. The idea of getting a new heart more quickly was terrifying, in itself, and the fact that this jump in priority level was necessary in the first place was something she didn't care to think about. Mary Margaret, as expected, was thrilled at the news, clearly only honing in on the single detail that Emma could potentially be getting a new heart sooner, should the new donor arise.

Nevermind the fact that they had essentially issued her a death sentence. Make sure she's comfortable, were the unspoken words. She hasn't got much time left.

She's dying.

The wind whipped her hair as the hospital's automatic doors slid open, as air burst through the entrance like a reaper, its cold grip making Emma shiver violently. Tendrils of blonde hair kept whipping over her face, and she paused to tug a few pieces out of her mouth. David squeezed her shoulder gently.

"I'll get the truck and pull it around."

He jogged off, disappearing into the inky darkness enshrouding the parking lot. The nurses had insisted Emma be escorted out in a wheelchair. Mary Margaret stood just behind it, huddled into her tweed coat, chin tucked into her scarf.

"I feel really sorry for anyone who has to be out in this tonight," she murmured. "There's supposed to be a pretty bad storm coming in from over the water."

Emma squeezed the arms of the wheelchair anxiously, fingernails digging into the fake leather. They waited in silence for David to return, listening to the wind whistle around the building. After a few minutes, a pair of headlights came into view in the drop-off area, and David flashed his brights at them.

Mary Margaret nudged the wheelchair forward a bit, prodding the automatic doors to slide open. She offered an arm and helped Emma stand. David had come running up, clearly ready to help. Once she rose, Emma waved them both away.

"Guys, I got it. Thank you," she added, "But I got it. Let's just go home."

+++

"Keys, please."

Milah was watching him fondly, holding out her hand. Killian dug around in the pocket of his suit for a moment, fumbling a bit, before he looked up at her with wide, adorably panicked eyes. She scoffed playfully and reached into his other pocket, pulling out the keys to their car.

"Thanks, love." Killian said, with only a hint of a slur to his words. He put his arm around her shoulders as they walked, and she reached up to hold his hand.

She hummed. "You haven't had that much to drink in a long time."

"Mmm? Oh, yeah. Was a good party."

"Seemed like half the room wanted to buy you a drink."

A slow smile worked its way over his features, stretching languidly like a cat. She was absolutely right. His event had been a huge success, one likely to keep his chest puffed with pride for the rest of the week. Old donors were impressed, promising to keep their monthly donations to the program coming in steadily, and would-be donors were thoroughly wooed. Several had come up to him after he had unveiled some of their finished projects, pressing a drink into one of his hands and a check into the other.

The old ships stirred up something wonderful in people. Killian's love and passion for the projects was tangible, infectious. He spoke of them the way some men talked about women, their beauty unparalleled, potential untapped, taking people back centuries as he painted mental pictures of the ships in their prime. Even those who knew nothing about antique naval vessels and sailing ships wanted to see them brought back to their former glory.

"He would have been so proud," Killian whispered, his words almost lost to the sound of their footsteps as they made their way back to their car in the dark.

Milah had heard him. "Liam would be proud of you, Killian," she clarified. He only grunted in response.

Thunder rolled in overhead, low and ominous. They felt the first few droplets of rain as they slipped into their car. By the time Milah pulled out of the parking lot, it was pouring.

+++ The three of them settled back into the loft quietly, their only conversation a murmured, half-hearted debate about who would use the bathroom first. Emma won.

She was tired, could feel it all the way to her bones. When she caught sight of her face in the bathroom mirror, she gaped. There were dark circles cradling her eyes, her skin ghostly white.

Mummy, she thought in horror, I look like a mummy. The medicine cabinet door creaked as she jerked it open, and as its door swung out and away from her, so did the mirror attached to the other side of it.

An array of orange pill bottles met her eyes, seeming to stare her down, and she looked at them dejectedly, knowing she had more rattling around in her purse, fresh from her recent hospital stay, to add to her collection.

Pills for the invalid, given out like candy by doctors with pitying eyes and tight-lipped smiles.

The purple pills would keep it beating as long as it was meant to, the white ones would manage the pain, the round pink ones would keep the purple ones from thinning her blood too much, the long yellow ones would manage the nausea from the round ones, and so it went, in a diverse color wheel of prescriptions refilled at the end of each month.

This past week had been a scare, to be sure. The worst week of her life, in fact, as far as pain went. She could feel it getting worse, each beat of her crap heart thumping sluggishly and with more strain each day. There wasn't much they could do for her now, apart from sewing someone else's heart into her chest.

She took down a few of the bottles, uncapping them and setting aside the pills she was supposed to take before going to sleep. She brushed her teeth quickly, skipping the less vital parts of her night routine in favor of the soft bed she knew was waiting for her.

Mary Margaret shot her a sympathetic smile as she exited the bathroom. Emma didn't have the energy to return it. Mary Margaret had lit a candle, and its lavender scent wafted up and intertwined with the smell of chamomile as David steeped his tea. He worked nights most weeks, doing his time on third shift as a night officer before he could move up to first. It would be a while before he was ready to sleep, despite the late hour.

"Tea?" David asked, holding up an empty mug.

Emma shook her head, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a yawn with the back of her hand. "No, thanks, though. I'd be asleep before it could even cool down enough to drink." Mary Margaret stepped up to hug her, and Emma reciprocated, leaning into her for a moment.

"Thanks for being there," Emma murmured, and Mary Margaret nodded vigorously. When Emma pulled away, she could see tears shining in her friend's brown eyes. "None of that," Emma said, pointing a finger at her in playful warning. "Crying isn't allowed."

Mary Margaret laughed, despite herself, and nodded. "No crying in baseball."

Emma smiled back at her, as she always did when they quoted one of their favorite movies. "Goodnight, guys."

"Night, Emma."

She made her way up the open staircase slowly, taking advantage of the railing, trying to keep her steps as steady as possible, as they were definitely watching her. As Emma tucked herself into her bed, she could hear the distinct sound of Mary Margaret's quiet crying. +++

It was still dark when she awoke. Someone was shaking her gently, and it took her eyes a few moments to adjust.

"Emma. Hey. Wake up, sis."

David, she realized. She squinted against the onslaught of white light as he turned on his cell phone's flashlight. It was better than cruelly turning on her bedroom light when she wasn't prepared for it, but only marginally.

Emma groaned and leaned back into her pillow, throwing her arm over her face to shield her eyes. "What," she croaked, "Where the hell's the fire? It's not even morning!"

David's voice trembled when he spoke next, and it grabbed her attention by the horns, forcing her to pull back her arm and look at him. "No fire, just listen. You're getting a new heart, Em. The hospital called. They have one for you, right now."

Emma gaped at him, mouth hanging open like a fish. "They... what? Heart?" She said eloquently.

David laughed and put his hands on her shoulders, shaking her lightly again. "A heart! There's a heart waiting for you!"

Emma felt her mouth go dry, and her stomach did a jerking little flip inside her. "I... oh, shit."

#captain swan #millian #milah #cs ff #cs fanfiction #captain swan fanfic #ouat fanfic #return to me #my writing #millian haters to the left

[hetmusic]

FESTIVAL FINDS: 6 MUSIC FESTIVAL 2019 | The Most Radicalist

In this feature, we pick out our favourite emerging artists from stages around the world. This was our first time at the city-hopping three dayer that is the 6 Music Festival, and this year it was based in the historically musical city of Liverpool. Spread across several venues of this former industrial hub, we stepped off the platform at Liverpool Lime Street Station to seek out the freshest sounds at a festival which offered an array of established and emerging talent to sink our teeth into.

SHE DREW THE GUN First stop on our 6 Music Festival experience was Liverpool’s Olympia to see local band She Drew The Gun in action. We’ve been following The Wirral’s SDTG for some time now and we recently had the opportunity to interview the band’s founder Louisa Roach about their recent album release Revolution of Mind. And so, it was with high expectations that we stepped into the red walled, floored and furnished venue. She Drew The Gun opened with stand-out album track ‘Resister’, and despite the lyrics of social consciousness and entirely competent musicianship, the track didn’t quite hit the same live as it did recorded. Okay, we think, maybe the band is warming up. As the performance goes on, the band certainly does seem to settle into the groove of things and as ‘Paradise’ rolled around, they’re sounding much more like the bold, anti-capitalist revolutionaries that we expected. An absolute shining moment of the set and a place where we felt Louisa Roach really stepped into her own was ‘Resister Reprise’, in which the lengthy spoken word call for “collective self improvement” and tolerance paired with those swirling guitars entirely enraptured the audience. BODEGA After a slightly tricky start where Bodega had to stop and restart due to some technical difficulties, the band dove right back into the swing of ‘How Did This Happen?!’. After several sweat-inducing tracks, vocalist and guitarist Ben Hozie customarily thanked the audience and dedicated the rest of Bodega’s set to film director Agnès Varda who had passed away that Friday afternoon, leaving behind a legacy of French New Wave film. Hozie encouraged the audience to close their eyes for free admission to their next short film - aka song - ‘Boxes For The Move’. Throughout the whole performance, each member of the New York band played their part with enthusiasm and style. There was the slick chic of bassist Heather Elle, quirky guitar playing from Madison Velding-Vandam, the warrior-like drumming from Tai Lee, complete with eye catching pink and blue buzz cut. There has to be a special shout out to percussionist and vocalist Nikki Belfiglio, who snaked her way through each song like a Bellatrix Lestrange and The Worst Witch hybrid. Bodega offered up one of those sets you didn't want to end; their energy was simply intoxicating. If you ever see Bodega on a bill in the UK again, go get yourself a ticket, you won’t regret it. MARIKA HACKMAN A quick search for Marika Hackman among the archives of The Most Radicalist and you’ll find a long old stream of List Picks. Clearly, we’re fans here, and so as the unassuming figure of one Marika Hackman in suit pants and t-shirt took centre stage at the theatrical Olympia, we watched in anticipation… and surprisingly the opening number was a subdued solo performance; a simple, yet timeless, combination of voice and guitar. It harked back to her earlier work, We Slept at Last LP. Although we were really still holding out for the London slacker-pop and guitar-loaded fury of I’m Not Your Man. The following song was good, as was the next, and the next. All in all, the show proceeded with a solid consistency, however the songs lacked distinction from one another. It all melded into one. Not to say that this wasn’t enjoyable, there were wonderful moments of fired-up instrumentals, but following the truly riotous performance of Bodega, this band’s stick-to-your-stage-spots show felt lacking. As time ticked on, we felt sure that fan favourite ‘Boyfriend’ was to come soon. And then…. As if a beam of sunlight shining through the clouds, we heard a familiar opening melody. The witty lyricisms and catchy hooks quickly won the crowd over and the band seemed to enjoy this new-found energy. Closing the show with ‘Boyfriend’ left us with a warm glow, although we wished Marika could have turned up the heat a little sooner. JULIA JACKLIN Firstly, let’s set the scene. It’s Sunday at last, and we’ve carried our festival-worn selves out of bed and down to the trendy Baltic Triangle areas to a revamped warehouse now going by the name of Camp and Furnace. Our looks might be slightly more bedraggled than earlier in the weekend, but luckily for us the scent of loaded patatas bravas fills the air and Julia Jacklin is preparing to take to the stage. Over the past couple of years, this Australian export has found a loyal following here in the UK, having played many festivals and shows throughout the country. Having featured her resplendent, softly accented voice many times through songs like ‘Body’, ‘Cold Caller’ and ‘Eastwick’, we know that this is exactly what we need. Julia Jacklin is one of those artists you can watch any time of day, and although it's only just turned twelve o’clock, her presence at centre stage is entirely reassuring. Her performance is steady and comforting, her glassy vocal drifting over the crowd and settling upon our shoulders. Anyone who had seen Julia Jacklin play before today definitely wasn’t disappointed, she played ‘Head Alone’, ‘Pressure To Party’ and more with utmost confidence, while treating us to a more tender rendition of ‘Don’t Know How To Keep Loving You’. Safe to say, Jacklin remains in our good books as ever. PIGS PIGS PIGS PIGS PIGS PIGS PIGS Having been much revived by the street style food and multiple bars inside Camp and Furnace, we were somewhere still milling around underneath the foliage and cotton wool clouds swinging overheard. Nope, we’re not waxing poetic about nature; there was actually plastic leaves and great balls of wool up in the rafters of the venue. However, as fortified as we may have felt, nothing could have prepared us for the Northern rapture that is Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs. The five-piece stoically took to the stage and immediately frontman Matt Baty, with his open, sheer material shirt and cropped black jeans, looked like a man possessed. With each doomy guitar revolution and thunderous percussion, Baty’s body convulsed and posed with each sound, his hands forming strange symbols, and the microphone - wire and all - becoming one with himself. Each member of the band seemed wrapped in their own world, none more so than Baty, but also the lofty, Adam Sykes, standing close to the edge of the stage, playing his guitar with passive compliance. Pigs x7 is a truly engaging band to watch, and even more endearingly, they’re kind and funny while talking to the crowd between songs. They joke about being a happy pop band on the radio and how their song ‘A66’ got their local council to fix a stretch of neglected road. For their final song, it felt as if Pigs x7 would be unstoppable, or spontaneously combust. Then, a parting in the crowd drew our attention - the brooding guitarist Sykes handed his guitar over to a member of the audience, who was doing a rather brilliant job shredding amongst his admiring peers, keeping the momentum going. Like all good things, Pigs x7 set came to an end, leaving us all of little dazed and grinning from ear to ear. http://www.themostradicalist.com/features/festival-finds-6-music-festival-2019/

[prepare4trouble]

Star Wars Rebels fanfic - Dokma Science (1/6)

Little by Little masterpost 

(The title to this one was actually a working title that we decided we kind of liked, so it stuck.  This is the first time in a long time that there hasn’t been a very long title-related discussion before a fic got posted.)

“Hey, long time no… how’s it going?”

Hobbie was smiling, but his fingers tapped nervously on his thigh and his eyes darted around the place as though searching for something else to look at so that he didn’t have to look Ezra in the eye.

Ezra shrugged.  As weird reactions went, it wasn’t the worst one he’d had.  “Okay,” he said.

It was true; so far, today hadn’t been too bad.  Not wanting a repeat of last night, when he had been so obvious about his moping that Kanan had taken it upon himself to coax him out of his room, Ezra had ventured out into the base early, resolving to stay there for as long as possible.  He wasn’t actually avoiding Kanan, but not being around him did mean there was no chance of having to talk about what had happened the night before.

With one exception, other people had left him alone too.  That had been by design; he had kept himself as out of the way as possible.  He had only had one conversation all day, not counting the usual ‘good morning’ stuff before he headed out, and it had been a strange one, but not too bad.  Less uncomfortable than it should have been, given the subject matter.  The woman that had approached him clearly carried her own pain with her.  He didn’t know what it was, and he didn’t want to know, but it was good to know that someone understood.  Someone other than Kanan, of course.

Other than that, wherever he looked, he had found people getting on with their daily lives, paying no attention to him at all.  There had been the occasional conversation that stopped as he approached, or a strange look from someone that he didn’t really know, but for the most part things felt normal.

Well, more like an imitation of normal, but it felt as though everybody was at least playing along, and the chances were good that most of them weren’t actually playing.  It had been that way when he and Kanan had returned from Malachor.  There had been shock at first, there had been whispers and rumors, speculation and stupid questions.  And then, slowly, it had gone away.  Old news.

It was good, in a way; but in another…  No.  It was good.  He didn’t want people to talk about him, not for that reason, anyway.  Still, at the same time, for the subject to be so easily dismissed felt wrong.  Like it wasn’t important.

It was important.

But, he supposed, it wasn’t important to them.  Outside of his immediate circle of family and friends, the information had been nothing more than an interesting anecdote, one most people had already, apparently, managed to assimilate into their mental picture of him.

“This must be some new version of ‘okay’ that I’ve never heard before,” Hobbie told him.  “Because you look…” he stopped suddenly, eyes wide, as though in panic.  He looked around again, and his eyes settled on one of the dokma as it made its way past them.  “Hey, is it me or are there less of those things around today?”

Ezra followed Hobbie’s gaze to see what he was talking about, then glanced around him.  There did seem to be fewer creatures.  Maybe they had finally decided to move on to wherever it was they were going.  Good, the stupid things hadn’t made the walk back to the base any easier the night before, and he wouldn’t have even been out there if it hadn’t been for them.

“If they’re planning on leaving, I can’t say I’ll be sorry,” Hobbie added.  “The engineers will, though.  The obstacle courses were just getting popular, but if the dokma go back to their usual uncooperative selves, that’ll be the end of that.  Have you been to them yet?”

Ezra shook his head.

“They’re okay,” Hobbie continued with a dismissive shrug.  “I still like the races better though; it was good when everyone got together in one place and you knew who was going to be there, now there’s all these different little groups, it’s just not the same, you know?”

“Sure.”  Ezra nodded, and rubbed at an itch on the side of his head.  “Like you said though, they probably won’t be around too much longer, if the dokma are starting to move on.  Things should go back to normal soon.”  He hoped.  It would be nice to be able to walk around outside again without having to plan every step, and that was when it was light out.  He had clipped a flashlight to his belt before heading out that morning, just in case.  He didn’t plan on being caught out after dark again, but just the fact that it was there made him a little feel better.

“Pretty warm today, isn’t it?” Hobbie asked.  “But I guess it’s never actually cold here, is it?  We really lucked out with this place.  Some of the planets I’ve visited… Hey, did you hear the rumor that there’s some kind of a monster in the desert?  Not the krykna, something else.  People swear they’ve seen rock formations open their eyes!  Well actually it was only one person, but still.”

Ezra frowned.  Had Hobbie heard?  The chances were slim that he hadn’t, after all, the information was everywhere by now; but he hadn’t mentioned it.  The tone of the conversation was strange, though.  There was a kind of nervousness to Hobbie’s voice, a desperation to fill the silence with chatter, as though trying to avoid the subject.  It was something that Ezra did himself, and something that he had done often over the past few weeks.  He had never realized how obvious it was.  Or how annoying.

It wasn’t like Ezra wanted to talk about it, but this might actually be worse.  It felt like they were pretending, and not pretending well, that nothing was wrong. 

Hobbie folded and then unfolded his arms, fidgeted with his collar, and glanced around him again, probably looking for another subject to move onto.  “Wedge got back from the Cathonie system yesterday,” he said.  “Apparently the mission was a success.  So, that’s good.  Hey, do you…”

Ezra took a deep breath.  “Hobbie?” he said, cutting him off mid-sentence.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve heard, right?”

Hobbie went very quiet for a moment, then folded his arms for a second time.  “About…?”  He nodded.  “Yeah, I heard.”

Ezra was surprised to feel relief at that.  At least if Hobbie knew, there were no secrets between them.  At least he didn’t have to worry about him finding out later that day and wondering why Ezra hadn’t brought it up, or him somehow managing to miss the information completely.  Because that happened when information spread; someone always had to be the last to know.

Hobbie shifted his weight from one leg to the other, and appeared to be inspecting the ground just in front of his feet.  “You okay?” he asked.

Ezra shrugged.  There wasn’t an easy answer to that question.  “I guess,” he said.

It wasn’t a good answer, but it was better than he had managed the past few times, so it was progress at least.  And he hadn’t changed the subject to the races.  Yet.  Probably because Hobbie had beaten him to it.

“That’s good,” Hobbie said.  He licked his lips and took a deep breath, arms still folded, still looking at the ground.  It felt very much like the conversation was over.

“What’s going on at the races anyway, with the dokma acting like this?” Ezra asked.  “Last time I went, they were trying to escape up the side of the track.”

Hobbie visibly relaxed at the change of subject.  He shrugged.  “They’re still doing that a bit.  But eventually they give up and just do what they always do.”

“Stand around not racing?” Ezra said.

Hobbie grinned.  “It’s still better than the obstacle courses.  Half the time they’re in there, they’re in a tunnel or something and you can’t even see th…” he stopped abruptly, cheeks coloring.  He cleared his throat theatrically, as though the urge to do so was what had stopped him speaking.  “So, yeah, the races are better,” he muttered.

Ezra’s heart was pounding double-time.  He wrapped his arms around his own body and tried to control his breathing, release the emotions into the Force.  It didn’t work.  It never worked when he needed it.  It barely worked when he was sitting alone with his eyes closed.  “You’re allowed to say ‘see’,” he said quietly.

“I know.”  Hobbie was one giant ball of tension, so much so that without trying, Ezra could feel it radiating from him.  “I wasn’t not saying it, I was…” he stopped again, and sighed, defeated.

Ezra drew a line on the ground with the tip of his boot.  “Trust me,” he said.  “After Kanan, I tried… Look, it’s possible to never use any of those words, but it’s really awkward and it draws more attention to it than just talking normally.  So don’t, okay?  Please?”  He was going for a light, joking tone, but he didn’t feel it, and he heard that come across in his voice.

Hobbie took a deep breath and steeled himself.  “Okay.  What I was saying is, you can’t see the dokma,” he said.  “When they’re in tunnels on the obstacle courses, so you just end up standing around staring at a piece of tubing or something, because they go inside and then decide to stay there a while, so you’re just looking at this thing and wondering why you didn’t just go watch the races instead.”

Ezra smirked and held out one hand to count on his fingers as he spoke.  “See, look, stare, watch…You know, you didn’t have to use that many.”

Hobbie flinched as though he had hit him.

“No, sorry!” Ezra stuttered.  “It was a joke.  I was…”  he sighed, frustrated.  Too soon, he supposed.  But then, when would he be able to make jokes again?  It was one more thing that had been taken from him and he wanted it back.  He ran his fingers quickly through his hair.  “I was just messing with you.  Sorry.”

Hobbie looked at him appraisingly, as though analyzing him in some way.  “Well, nothing’s changed there then, your sense of humor is as terrible as ever.”

Ezra scowled.  “Hey, my sense of humor is excellent, it’s all you guys who just don’t understand it!”

“We understand it, we just understand how awful it is.”

“I’m thinking you mean ‘awfully good’.”

Hobbie shrugged.  “Keep telling yourself that, one day it might even come true.  I mean, it probably won’t, but nothing’s impossible, right?”

Ezra grinned.  “I guess not.  One day you might even win that helmet back from me.  I mean, it’s really unlikely, but like you said, not impossible.”

“I’m getting that helmet back,” Hobbie said.

“Just keep telling yourself that,” Ezra said, repeating Hobbie’s own words back to him.

Hobbie started to laugh, and Ezra allowed himself a moment to breath a sigh of relief before joining in.  Things were going to be okay after all.

Well, some things.  Not all the things.  Plenty of things were not going to be okay, but if he could turn the disaster that had been this conversation around, Hobbie might be right, nothing was impossible.

Hobbie took a deep breath and stopped laughing.  “Hey, Ezra,” he said.  Ezra was still grinning when he turned to look at him in response, but the smile faltered just slightly when he saw Hobbie’s suddenly more serious expression.  “Can Kanan fly?” he continued.  "Using the Force, I mean.”

Ezra frowned, suddenly struck by the image of Kanan lifting himself from the ground, propelled upward and onward by the power of the Force.  He almost laughed out loud, although actually, was it such a farfetched idea?  He and Kanan had used the Force to propel each other through the air, why not themselves?

“No, I’m pretty sure he can’t,” he said.  “He’d have shown me if he could, and I’d have got him to teach me.  He can jump pretty far, though.” He thought about it carefully.  “I don’t think he’s ever even mentioned actual flying though, like whether it’s possible.  I’ll have to ask him.” It probably wasn’t.

Hobbie frowned.  “Okay, not that that wouldn’t be pretty great, but that’s not the kind of flying that I meant,” he said.  “You know, like flying a ship?”

“Oh.  Right.”  Ezra felt himself begin to blush.  “Uh, why?”

Hobbie shrugged and looked down at his feet, and Ezra felt a pang of sympathy for him; he clearly didn’t want to say what he was thinking any more than Ezra wanted to hear it.

“No,” Ezra said, quickly.  “I mean, maybe he could, somehow.  But I don’t think he’s tried it, not since Malachor, or if he has, he hasn’t mentioned it.”  Which would mean that it probably hadn’t gone so well.

Hobbie nodded slowly, absorbing that, and then frowned, curious.  “What’s ‘Malachor’?” he asked.

Ezra blinked in surprise.  For so long he had used that one word to encapsulate the horror that had been that place, the terrible things that had happened there and the pain and uncertainty of the months that followed.  Somehow, he had forgotten that to most people, the word meant nothing.  It had as little meaning to Hobbie as it had to himself the first time he had heard it spoken.

“A planet,” he began.  He shook his head.  “It’s a long story.  But that’s where it happened.  Where we were when Kanan lost h…”  His throat closed up, stopping the words against his will.  Where Kanan had lost his sight, where they had lost Ahsoka, whom Hobbie had never known.  Where Ezra had made the mistakes that had allowed it all to…

“Wait,” Hobbie’s voice interrupted his thoughts.  “You were there when Kanan was hurt?  That puts it a lot more recent than I thought.  The way he does, you know, everything.  I assumed it must have been years ago.”

“I guess it was maybe about a year.”  Ezra didn’t know the exact date.  That was probably for the best; to know it, to find it out, would have been to allow it to become some kind of anniversary, a date to be commemorated, commiserated, brought up again year after year, even if it was only inside his own head.  That wouldn't help anybody; better to let it pass unnoticed, uncommented.

Hobbie was looking at him with a mixture of awe and incredulity, like he knew Ezra wouldn’t lie about that, but still couldn’t quite believe it anyway.  Sometimes, it was easy for Ezra to forget what a relatively short amount of time he had known Hobbie and Wedge.  Hobbie was right to be impressed.  He might have been even more impressed if he had seen Kanan in the months following Malachor.

Hobbie leaned in a little closer, glancing around him as he did, checking for prying ears.  “What happened?” he asked.

Just for a moment, to keep the attention on somebody else for a few moments longer, Ezra considered answering.  Not with the full story, of course, but some abbreviated version of it, something that would answer the question without sharing unnecessary information, things that Kanan -- and that Ezra himself -- wouldn't want people to know.  He resisted the temptation; this wasn’t the time, and it wasn’t his story alone to tell.

“Another time, maybe,” he said, emphasizing the last word.  It was in no way a promise, and he was sure that Hobbie understood that.

Hobbie nodded.  “Well, I don’t know a lot about the Jedi, but if he can do that in less than a year, you’re gonna be fine.”

Ezra looked away.  It wasn’t like that.  He wasn’t Kanan, and nobody seemed to be able to understand that.  What had happened to Kanan and what was happening to him were not the same, and even if they were, he wouldn’t have been able to do what Kanan had; he didn’t have the background of years and years of training that Kanan did.  He still had trouble sitting still for long enough to meditate, and it had gotten so much worse recently.  Lately, he could barely quiet his mind for long enough to drift off to sleep; a crushing terror -- one that he could barely bring himself to admit to -- lingered in the background all the time, and without a distraction, if he let his guard down, it might get inside.

He shrugged.  “Yeah, I should be,” he said.

It was easier to lie.  There was no point getting into that whole thing now; the conversation was already teetering on the edge of awkward, and he was coping unusually well, but there was no point pushing it over into unbearable if he didn’t have to.

“But he can’t fly,” Hobbie said.

“No,” Ezra said dully.  “I guess not.”

It made sense that Hobbie would keep dwelling on that one fact; he was a pilot, just like Hera.  To them, the ability to fly meant freedom.  It meant being in control of their own destiny.  But it was more than that, more than the ability to take yourself out of any given situation without having to ask or pay for assistance.  Ezra had seen the look in Hera’s eye when she spoke about flying; about the feeling of being behind the controls of a starship, plotting a course, anticipating obstacles and enemy moves, planning out maneuvers before she even realized that she needed to make them, pushing the limits of what other people believed was possible.

Sometimes, he wondered whether Hera — and perhaps all pilots — had a touch of Force sensitivity.  It would explain a lot.

Ezra was only just beginning to understand that feeling that she had spoken about, the one that she had been unable to put into words.  He was glad of that, glad that that wouldn't be another thing that he would have to lose.

He shrugged, plastered on a smile and didn’t make eye contact.  “Flying’s overrated anyway,” he said.  “And it’s not like there’s a shortage of pilots around here.  I was never that great at it, so if that’s what you’re getting at, it’s fine.”

Hobbie didn’t appear convinced.  “Not great?  Well, no.”  He grinned.  “But you’re not bad.  Well, not that bad.  You’ve even been getting pretty okay at it the last few months with Hera teaching you.  She’s gonna carry on with that, right?”

Ezra shrugged again.  There wasn’t much else he could do, it wasn’t like that was going to be negotiable, especially when he was still grounded from missions.  “Hey, Hera.  So, I know Sato doesn’t trust me to go on missions, but how do you think he’d feel about me flying around in one of the Rebellion’s small supply of ships?  I promise it’ll be fine…”

“You should talk to her about it,” Hobbie added.

“Nah,” Ezra shook his head, still feigning disinterest.  “Not a lot of point really — waste of resources when I won’t be able to do it for long.  She’d be better training someone else.”  He smirked and looked Hobbie directly in the eye.  “Like you.  I bet you could be a half-decent pilot with the right training.”

At Hobbie’s scowl, Ezra’s smirk morphed into a grin.  The pilot folded his arms and glared at him, but didn't rise to the bait.  “A lot of piloting is interpreting readouts and course plotting,” he said.  “There’s gotta be tech out there somewhere that could help.  And the rest of it, well, you could have a co-pilot.”

Tech that, even if it did exist, would be expensive and difficult to get hold of.  They had trouble getting some of the things they needed as it was; throw specialist equipment that might not even exist into the mix, and it wasn’t going to make things any better.  And having to rely on someone else to go with him everywhere he went would make the whole thing pointless anyway; he might as well get someone to take him, than do a substandard job himself and have someone pick up the slack.

Ezra shook his head.  Maybe there was some way that he would be able to get up there and fly about, training, but when it came to an actual mission, there would always be somebody better.  And that was only if Hobbie was right, and the technology was out there somewhere.  Developing that kind of thing wasn’t going to be a priority for the Empire, which would make it old, and difficult to come by.  “I’m not really interested in flying,” he lied, quickly and dismissively.  “I’m going to have enough to learn anyway.”  He heard a bitter note in his own voice that he hadn’t meant to put there.

Hobbie nodded, looking chastised as he realized that it was probably time to drop the subject.  He looked away, back at Ezra, and then away again.  “So, what else is going on?  Overheard anything interesting?” he asked.  “What have you been up to the past few days?”

Ezra hesitated, trying to work out exactly what Hobbie was asking.  Was he trying to change the subject, asking Ezra to choose something else to talk about, or was he continuing the same conversation down a slightly different path, wondering whether Ezra had been learning any of those things that he had mentioned already, and how it was going?

Unfortunately, whatever the answer, Ezra had no idea how to respond.  All he had known since he had last spoken to Hobbie — since before then, actually — was what was happening to him, and how it was affecting the people that he cared about.  All he had done the last couple of days was hide, and sulk, and all he had learned was that he was barred from missions.  He didn’t want to talk about any of that.  Conversations had used to flow, without anybody having to think to hard about it.  He wondered if he would ever get that back, and how long it would take.

“I made a connection to a dokma last night,” he tried.  It wasn’t the best thing to talk about, because Hobbie couldn’t possibly understand what he meant by that, not really, but it was the only thing that he could think of, and as long as he steered clear of what happened afterward, it was a safe topic.

Hobbie, for his part, did appear interested.  “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I, uh… It’s a Force thing, hard to explain.  But I can connect to other creatures, kind of understand what…” he stopped and shook his head.  “I could tell where it was without looking,” he said.  “I could get an impression of what it was think… not thinking, they don’t really think, but what it wanted, why it’s here, that kind of stuff.”

Hobbie looked at him, fascinated and inexplicably excited.  “Can you make it do things?” he asked.

“What kind of things?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hobbie said.  “Move along a racetrack, for example?”

Ezra felt his eyes widen as the possibilities occurred to him.  He grinned, but shook his head.  “I don’t think I can,” he said.  “They’re so simple, I don’t think they’d even understand what I was trying to make them do.”

Hobbie shrugged.  “Try it,” he suggested.  He made a show of glancing around, “I bet you could find a dokma around here somewhere.”

Ezra looked around too.  There was no shortage of the creatures, and he selected one that was making way its past, inches from his toes.  He reached out to it in the same way that he had the previous night, finding its simple mind instantly.  Gently, he pushed a little harder than he had before, no longer lingering on the outskirts of its mind but moving a little closer, clouding its judgement in the same way he would a person, while using the mind trick.  He tried to issue a single command.  Stop.

The creature continued on its way, either not noticing, or not acknowledging the request.  He tried again, closing his eyes and mouthing the word this time, imagining the creature’s forward motion grinding to a halt.  Through their connection, he could still feel the creature's location as it moved further and further away.  “Nope,” he said, and opened his eyes.

Hobbie frowned.  “Well,” he said, “let's think about this.  There’s got to be some way we can use it.”

“Some way I can use it, you mean,” Ezra said.

Hobbie shrugged.  “The way I see it, it’s my idea, I should get at least half the benefit.”

Ezra laughed. “Sure,” he said.  “As long as you remember that half of nothing is still nothing.”

(part 2)

#little by little #star wars rebels #swr fanfiction #ezra bridger #hobbie klivian #dokma