#that was chilling in how quiet and understated it was done

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 8 - Je N'en Connais Pas La Fin

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: tiny dash of spice… making out, hands wandering. Light angst, emotions, late-night confessions.

Word Count: 2.3k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Please don't be mad at me about this - I could not go with the cliche of wedding night. These idiots just need one more night to get their sh*t together. Sorry, and yes, as penance, Chapter 9 will be posted very soon. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Montivilliers (just outside Le Havre), September 1939 

A nervous energy ripples through your limbs as the four others leave, traipsing across the garden to the neighbouring cottage, leaving you and your new husband alone. Still waving awkwardly from the patio as they all disappear from view. A chill passes through you, just noticing how cold the night air is, autumn drawing in and without the warmth of Benedict holding you in some way, as he has been the past few hours. You startle slightly as he interrupts your reverie by chivalrously wrapping the faux fur stole around your shoulders.

“It’s my something borrowed,” you blurt, unsure what else to say.

“Eloise?”

You just nod, too nervous all of a sudden to look up at him.

“Let’s get inside,” he suggests, observing even the extra layer does not halt your shiver, gesturing to the kitchen door.

You walk awkwardly past, catching a whiff of his delicious scent that you woke up to this morning, the involuntary urge to sway into him intense.

You drift to the living room, Benedict wandering to the gramophone, putting on a mellow jazz record before taking a seat; part of you sad he chooses the armchair, not the sofa beside you. 

“Well… that was a day,” he understates in his usual affable manner.

“I don’t know how I can ever thank you,” you respond earnestly, looking down at the simple band on your finger by reflex. “It’s all thanks to you that I have a chance to escape while I still can.”

“You would have done the same for me,” he demures with a quiet certainty that makes you yearn to touch him. 

Instead, you exchange slightly awkward smiles, the mantlepiece clock ticking sounding so loud, even with the music playing.

“And I'm sure you will get home one day,” he assures. “Your family, I'm certain, miss you… and... And your fiancee,” the reluctance in his words evident.

“I’m not sure a married woman can have a fiancé anymore,” you remark; the lash of guilt every time Stanley’s name is invoked lessening with every moment you spend alone with Benedict.

“You can once you are a single woman again, as soon as you are safe,” he counters softly, so altruistic in his manner your throat almost itching with unspent words—a want to yell. No! Fight for me! I want you more than I ever will want him!!

“You yourself said on the train that perhaps there is something better out there for me,” you respond cautiously. “The longer this adventure runs, the more certain I am of that.”

His mien is profound as you finally raise your eyes to his, wanting so much to say more but feeling too tongue-tied and cowardly to be that selfish, to declare he is what you want. 

He shakes himself a little and leans back into the armchair as if resetting himself and the line of conversation. Like he senses the mutual danger lurking there.

“Tomorrow, when we sail… they will likely notice the date on our marriage certificate,” Benedict counsels gently. “That may raise flags about the authenticity of our union.”

“What can we do to assuage them?”

“Come up with a plausible story. Be physically affectionate. They may ask no questions, or they may ask as many as they wish,” he warns, “especially of you. They may ask you about…” Benedict pauses, his face flushing a little, “… intimate matters. They have every right to ask if the marriage has been consummated.”

You feel yourself flashing hot as he says it. “I should lie?” you whisper.

“You should say whatever you think will make them believe we are a real couple,” he obfuscates.

“I’m a terrible liar…” you confess, blushing when you realise your words could be interpreted as an invitation to be intimate. And on this, your wedding night. 

His gaze is heavy. “You can do it y/n. Your freedom and safety may depend on your ability to convince them you love me... And I you.”

I think I might, your mind screams.

“I know… I… think I can do it,” you falter, replaying every kiss you have shared. “We seem to have done a great job convincing Jerome and Marie…”

“They are not looking to see artifice,” he counters. “British soldiers will be.”

“Sh… should we practice?” It’s out of your mouth before you can stop it, champagne again taking your tongue, a deep flush spreading over your skin as you realise it.

“Y… yes, I think maybe we should,” he agrees very quickly. 

He stands somewhat awkward, peeling off his jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves, leaving his waistcoat. You find yourself again mesmerised by him, as you were that night in Paris, wanting to run your hands over the flex in his arm muscles. In fact, you are so distracted you don’t even realise he is proffering you a hand out of the chair. You spring up to your feet without his help, the idea of touching him right now entirely too distracting, which seems to amuse him briefly before his expression turns sincere.

“We have kissed, but not as lovers, as married people would. We... we may need to do so, casually, of course, within sight of those allowing boarding,” he opines, even as your heart speeds up, realising what he is saying.

“You think we need to… practice more kissing? Now?” you are mildly annoyed by how stupefied you sound.

“Yes,” he confirms, drawing closer, “passionate, real kissing.”

You are looking up into blue eyes and a gorgeous face as fingertips loop around your wrist as if checking your pulse.

“Grab my wrist if you want me to stop,” he tutors softly, so gentlemanly in his approach, even as you fret that he can feel your heart rate hammering hard in your veins.

Once again, time is in slow motion as his lips descend. At first, the kiss is breathtaking but still chaste, like previously. But then there is a noise in the back of his throat that makes the hairs on the nape of your neck stand on end; his lips part yours, a wave of damp heat as the kiss deepens. His tongue swipes yours tentatively, a tease before you mirror his moves. He tastes of champagne and something else that is entirely him, an impulse to bite the inside of his cheek. And then it’s abruptly fervent, wanton - like a dam has broken - his hands gripping the crest of your hip bones, each finger an insistent dig into your flesh.

Finally, given the permission, you don't hold back. Pushing into him, one hand grasping the buckled loop at the back of his waistcoat that cinches it to his slim form, the other winding around his sturdy neck, encouraging him to lean down further, take from you. The kiss seems never-ending, a rolling wave of to and fro, a dance not unlike the one in the square just last night. Those fireworks still explode, but this time, it feels like those ones that are so powerful they knock a punch to your solar plexus, a ricochet you feel physically,

His hands slide up your back, a sensual drag that makes you moan into his mouth, a noise he greedily swallows. But he stops as they reach the faux fur wrapped around your shoulders and reluctantly breaks the kiss.

“Please, take this off,” he implores, “I cannot do this with you wearing my sister's clothing,” he points out with a cringe that creases his face charmingly.

Your responding giggle causes him to break into a lopsided grin, and wordlessly, you untie it as he watches, pupils blown. When you push it back off your shoulders, it hits the rug behind you with a soft whump, and your instinct takes over, rocking onto your tiptoes, one hand sliding into the lush hair at the back of his head and bringing his face back to yours. 

The minute your mouth opens to his, you are heavy and weightless all at once, not unlike that wooden roller coaster on Coney Island that made you see stars. Your nails flex on his scalp as his hands slide over your dress, looping low around your hips, tugging you snugly into his body as your tongues tangle. 

This.

This must be what the girls whisper about—a tart metallic boiling in your blood, a heavy tug deep inside your pelvis that needs relief. A wanting so physical it almost hurts, a hunger that makes you feel reckless, liable to behaviour you could never justify, a pure carnal caprice. But all too soon, he is pulling back, a need to breathe, even as he does so inches from your face, his eyes locked on yours as they flutter open.

“Again,” you murmur, uncaring how gossamer thin your excuse is, just wanting more. 

His eyes are glittering as he complies. Kissing like a wild storm now, hands hot through the thin, cool silk fabric. And you cannot stop the noises you make, shameless and breathy, right into his open, wet, questing mouth. Pressing hard against his body, a solid warmth in his trousers promising things you need so badly you crave to curl around him, open yourself to him. 

You have never felt this before. A tingle under your scalp that vibrates all the way down to your toes. A want to take and be taken. To bite and be bitten. To ride and be ridden. For him to rip your dress from your body and throw you onto the sofa—a yen that feels not entirely human and definitely not civilised.

It's like he senses your thoughts have slid somewhere wild, or perhaps his have too, as when he pulls back, he is panting, and there is a quaking in his entire being like he is crackling with energy.

“Please. Go.” His voice is ragged, deep, almost wrecked. “Please. I… I can’t do this anymore,” his voice cracks a look that is at once hungry, aching, and barely contained restraint.

Please don't be a gentleman now, Benedict. Please. No. God. Not now. Don’t.

“I’m s…sorry,” you stutter, feeling guilty you have pushed it too far but utterly unmoored by the searing passion and the sting of his rejection, albeit reluctant. 

Even you can see the war in his being, physical desire being muzzled by the gentleman he was clearly raised to be. Knowing if you stand here much longer, something will happen that one or both of you will regret. Your wedding ring seems to burn your skin as you turn around and shrink away, leaving the room, not daring to look back, knowing he has also turned away with ragged breaths.

As you climb the stairs, feet feeling leaden, your body in utter turmoil, you hear the discordant scratch of the gramophone being halted. You undress in a daze, swearing you can still feel the heat of his handprints through the silk of your dress. Climbing into the bed approaching numb, champagne swirling unease in your gut with all the rich foods, an oily disquiet that means it takes ages to settle.  

You lay there fitfully for what feels like hours, tossing and turning, picking over the minutiae of every moment with Benedict - tonight and all the nights and days before. Seeing possible signs that make your heart clench. 

Could it be that he is not doing this all for show? 

It's a seizing thought that catalyses your body: it has you up on your feet and rushing down the stairs in your nightgown, breathless and stumbling. But when you round the corner into the living room, all your courage to declare it is sapped by the sight of Benedict sleeping, curled slightly, looking smaller somehow, his back turned to you, face buried into the back cushion of the sofa.

Instead, you back away, padding to the kitchen to take a glass of water, hoping the hydration will stave off the worst of a hangover; the water is a relief to the tumultuous, racing feeling as you stand on the large slab of earthen tile gleaming in the moonlight, cold underfoot. You pour another glass for him without thought.

Tiptoeing back into the living room, careful not to wake him, you crouch beside him to leave the glass of water within easy sight and reach should he stir. But you find yourself unable to leave without saying something. The temptation to confess to his unconscious self is impossible to resist, the grip on your own glass so tight.

“I’ll never be able to repay you,” you murmur to his back, fingers itching to trace over the bare skin of his shoulder blades where they peak out of the blanket. “For this unbelievable act of kindness and generosity. And yet… god, this is so selfish,” you flick your eyes up to the ceiling to stem a tear you feel gathering, “… still I’m greedy. Always wanting more. Wanting…. Wanting to never return to my old life. Wanting to run away. Wanting this… Wanting this to be real.” 

The last phrase is barely audible, but still, you are instantly horrified that you confessed it out loud, even to his unconscious, sleeping frame. And you know you must leave.

God, what is wrong with me? What is this? Temporary insanity? Too much alcohol, a fake wedding and an impending war are not a good recipe…

It’s a silent internal lament as you stand up and withdraw, self-chastisement echoing so loud in your head. And yet, you can't resist a parting sentence from the doorway.

“Goodnight, Benedict, you are truly the very best of men...”

—

What you don’t see as you slowly climb back up the creaking wooden stairs is Benedict’s eyes blazing open, a look of utter astonishment claiming his face as he twists around and stares at the doorway you left by, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

He was never asleep.

And he heard every single word.

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#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton angst #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton angst #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

[booasaur]

Astrid and Lilly Save the World - 1x03

#aalstwedit #astrid and lilly save the world #lilly fortenberry #candace powell #astrid and lilly save the world 1x03 #fortwell #femslash related stuff #but subtext #:)))) #I was expecting candace to not be in this ep when suddenly she showed up at the youth group thing #and I really liked that she was uncomfortable enough to leave #all the campiness and corniness aside the thing where her mom is slowly influencing more parents to send their kids to her #to behave properly and christianly #is really ominous and scary in how it's reflecting this anti-mask anti-science racist right-wing wave across the US #that scene when it was just the parents--christine and lilly's presumably liberal wlw mom--quietly arguing over astrid #and lilly's mom knowing how harmful this was gonna be for astrid but having no way to stop it #that was chilling in how quiet and understated it was done #but anyway this scene! #loved it #''your other half'' #she's so JEALOUS #and so increasingly nice

[likeshipsonthesea]

Pls !!

Pls post the ayuan and lan zhan ficlet u wrote 🥺 !!! We would love to read it !!

sorry for the late response, i didn’t have a chance to edit until last night and i thought your ask would be the perfect way to avoid having to title this lmao. here is the yuan and lan zhan ficlet!! it takes place ~somewhat early~ in lan zhan’s seclusion following wei wuxian’s death and yuan is about idk five??

anyway, enjoy :))

Yuan lays awake in a large, quiet room. He can’t be sure, but it feels as if it’s been hours since the caretaker put him to bed, and still he has yet to fall asleep. Instead, he listens to the emptiness around him and tries to blink away the monsters his mind conjures from the murky darkness around him. It doesn’t work.

He doesn’t remember exactly why, but he thinks that this is wrong. Lying alone in a room full of empty beds. Beds should be full, of people snoring and talking in their sleep, of people who sing Yuan lullabies before bed and hold him when he wakes from nightmares. He doesn’t know why he thinks this – it isn’t as if these things have happened in Cloud Recesses. All he knows is that the quiet and the dark and the loneliness is worse than anything else in the world.

Knowing it’s against the rules, Yuan gets out of bed. He crosses to the window, where he can look out at the courtyard beyond his room, moonlit and bright. No one is out this late, but the light makes it better anyway. It’s cool in the mountains at night, even in summer. A breeze drifts in and Yuan shivers, missing the warmth of his blankets, but he can’t return to the darkness, not without –

The courtyard is full of what seems to be millions of white pebbles, glittering like tiny moons as far as he can see. Yuan likes the moon. The moon is bright and smiling and always watching, always stays awake when the world gets quiet.

“Don’t worry, A-Yuan,” a voice said to him, once. “I’ll keep watch while you sleep and make sure the nightmares can’t find you.” He doesn’t remember who said it, but he remembers the safety he’d felt. The moon – the moon feels like that.

Another breeze sends Yuan shivering. Maybe – maybe if he could bring the moon back to bed with him, the nightmares and the loneliness and the darkness wouldn’t be able to find him. Mind suddenly made up, he crawls out of the window, taking careful, barefoot steps across the warm, wooden boardwalk to the courtyard full of little moons. He grabs a handful and peruses them.

One has dirt smudged over it, so he tosses it back, and one is missing a chunk like someone got so hungry they just couldn’t help themselves and, with a giggle at the thought, he puts that one back, too. He goes through the pebbles, weighing each one’s advantages until he comes to the final pair.

Hands flat to the sky, one moon perched in the center of each palm, he brings the pebbles to his face for a better look. They are both seemingly perfect. Smooth, unblemished little circles, each one shimmering, smiling, equal in every way. Yuan frowns.

How can he pick just one? Both pebbles are perfect and if he chooses one over the other, he will surely hurt that one’s feelings. But he can’t take both! Two moons for one boy! How greedy can he be?

So troubled is he by this conundrum that he almost doesn’t hear the soft music breaking the dark silence of the night. 

But with another gust of mountain air comes low, drawn-out notes, unlike anything Yuan has ever heard. He’s heard music before – his uncle plays his xiao for Yuan sometimes at their weekly dinners and, before that, he thinks someone who loved him played him lullabies on a dizi – but never has Yuan heard something like the song the wind carries now.

It makes him feel sad, a little, without really knowing why, but he’s used to that. More than that, though, it sounds like magic. The stories the caretakers read him sometimes have music. Young maidens singing songs of longing for their cultivators to rescue them, clever heroes distracting ghouls with witty tunes. Yuan has long thought up his own stories in these veins, though his tend more towards – towards a song that drifts in from the woods, that only Yuan can hear. It guides Yuan to a secret house where his parents have been waiting for him. Here, they hug him and smile, tell him they love him, tell him they never meant to leave him, tell him they’ll never do it again.

Yuan knows the rules. The caretakers read the rules for him more than they read him the stories. He knows he shouldn’t go off into the woods at night. He shouldn’t have climbed out the window either, though. Yuan thinks about it really hard for a moment and then decides that, if he’s already done something wrong, he might as well do this, too.

Yuan hasn’t a clue where such a thought comes from – Heaven knows he didn’t learn it in Cloud Recesses – but it seems logically sound to him. So, a moon clutched in either hand, he follows the music out of the courtyard, off of the porch, and into the trees beyond.

With bare feet and little legs, it feels like ages that he walks. He steps over pointy things that hurt his toes and hurries across cold stones that send chills up his legs. Once, the music stops, and Yuan holds his breath and his two moons tightly and almost begins to cry before another song appears, different than the one before. Where the last one was sad, this one is light, soaring and settling and sighing with fond notes, so loud in the darkened forest.

Not long after that song begins, Yuan comes to a clearing. Sprouting from the center of it is an understated home with a lantern flickering in its window. Yuan breaks into a sprint, heedless of the twigs that catch on his soles, doesn’t even wait to knock before tearing open the doors and stumbling inside.

At a low table sits a man dressed in all white, fingers poised but paused over the strings of a guqin. He looks at Yuan with a nearly passive expression, excepting the too-wideness of his eyes. He looks – familiar. Yuan doesn’t remember his parents, but this must be – he has to be –

“Baba?”

The man startles. “A-Yuan,” he says, and Yuan’s small heart goes shooting around in his chest. He knows Yuan’s name. He knows Yuan’s name.

“Baba.”

Yuan rushes to his father’s side, collapses next to him and buries his face in the fabric of his baba’s robes. With the stones still in his hands, he can’t tangle his fingers in the robes the way he wants to, he can only press his fists as tight to his father’s chest as he can.

He only realizes that he’s crying when Baba’s hand settles on his shaking back. He doesn’t know why he’s crying – he’s anything but sad – but Baba doesn’t tell him to stop or to meditate like the caregivers do, he just lets Yuan cry into his chest until he can take a breath without it shivering in his throat.

“A-Yuan,” Baba says again, in a soft, low voice Yuan wishes he could remember, “how did you come here?”

Yuan sniffles. “The music.” Did Baba not mean to call him? Did he not want to see Yuan?

“No one stopped you?”

“Everyone’s asleep,” Yuan says. He pulls away far enough to crane his neck back and peer at Baba’s face. “I climbed out the window.”

Baba doesn’t smile, but something in the way his mouth moves makes Yuan think that he wants to.

“Going out alone is not safe,” Baba says, but it doesn’t sound like the scolding the caregivers give. It sounds softer.

“I’m safe,” Yuan says, still defensive, at least a little. He hates punishments, especially the ones where they leave him alone to copy rules. He hates being alone.

Baba hums mildly and looks at Yuan’s feet. Kneeling as he is, the soles of his feet face the room, and the stings and scrapes he suffered on the trip over are visible. Yuan notices, then, the small spot of blood he’s made on the rug and begins to cry again.

He turns and buries his face in Baba’s side again, rushing through the words like all the breath from his lungs has disappeared. “I’m sorry, Baba, please don’t leave again, I’ll be good, I promise, I won’t do it again, please don’t go, please.”

Baba stiffens and Yuan cries harder. He doesn’t want Baba to leave, he doesn’t want the silence and the darkness and the caregivers who leave and let the nightmares find him, he wants Baba to hug him and tell him he’ll keep him safe and hold him when he wakes up in the middle of the night feeling like he’s been left alone in the world.

“A-Yuan,” Baba says softly, “let us clean you up.”

Baba picks Yuan up and he clings harder. Baba has to untangle Yuan’s arms around his neck when he kneels to place Yuan on the bed. He says, “I will be right back,” and crosses the room to take out a box before returning just as he said. Yuan’s tears slow as Baba kneels in front of him.

Baba takes a piece of cloth from the box at his side and wets it before bringing it gently to the soles of Yuan’s feet. He wipes away the blood and dirt and lifts Yuan’s foot to examine the cuts. He takes out a funny smelling jar and puts the stuff in it on Yuan’s foot. It tickles. Yuan laughs.

Baba looks up when he laughs. His mouth does the not-smile thing but his eyes look sad. “Dont be sad, Baba,” Yuan says. Baba hums and looks back at Yuan’s feet.

When he’s done, he returns the items to the box and returns the box to its place before he comes back to kneel in front of Yuan again. Yuan thinks that Baba isn’t mad – he wouldn’t be so nice if he were mad, right? – but he isn’t sure, so he says nothing, just watches Baba watching him.

“A-Yuan,” he says, after a very long time, “I didn’t want to leave you.”

Yuan’s heart beats too fast in his chest. It’s what he’s wondered about, ever since he asked Uncle where his parents were and Uncle didn’t tell him. If they were dead, Uncle could’ve just said, but he didn’t, which meant, maybe, that they’d just left. Left Yuan. Didn’t want Yuan.

Baba reaches out and Yuan holds his breath. Baba’s hand stops a few breaths away and Yuan squeezes his moons so tight it hurts. After another moment, Baba’s fingers brush away some stray hairs from Yuan’s forehead, thumb smoothing over his hairline.

“Can I stay with you?” Yuan whispers, afraid that, if he’s too loud, someone will hear him and come and take him back.

Baba shakes his head, a short gesture. “You must stay with the Sect.”

Yuan hates that the tears come again, hates how they make Baba’s eyes go tight. “Why?”

“They can take care of you,” Baba says quietly. “I cannot.”

“Forever?”

“No.” Baba’s thumb brushes against his skin again. “Just for now.”

“Can I visit?”

Baba frowns. He seems to think about it for a moment. “We will see,” he says. “You cannot walk here in the dark again. It is not safe.”

Yuan nods. He doesn’t want to upset Baba. But, he has to ask – “Do you want me to visit?”

Baba nods without hesitation. “Very much.”

Yuan smiles and, careful of his sore feet, throws himself forward into Baba’s arms. Baba huffs in surprise but holds Yuan close, his big hands warm on Yuan’s back.

He holds Yuan for quite some time – not enough, though – before he says, “You must return.”

Yuan holds on tighter but nods. Baba stands, Yuan still in his arms, and carries him out of the house. Yuan thinks he’s going to be put down, once they’re outside, but Baba carries him through the woods the whole way. Yuan presses his cheek to Baba’s chest and listens to his heart beating. He thinks this is what parents are for, to hold you in the dark, to keep you safe. He doesn’t know if Baba is the voice in his memories – he sounds too different – but he knows that Baba must love him the same, love him enough to stay up all night and keep the nightmares away, if he could.

When they get back to Yuan’s big room with all the empty beds, Baba very quietly and gracefully steps through the window. Yuan giggles. Baba says nothing, but his mouth does the not-smile, and he lays Yuan in his bed and pulls the blankets up to his chin.

“Will you stay?” Yuan asks, suddenly so tired, in the comfort of his bed, Baba watching over him.

“I cannot,” Baba says, eyes sad again. Yuan swallows hard. Baba can’t stay. Yuan will be alone, with the dark and the empty beds, alone with no one to watch over him again—

Yuan remembers the moons and gasps, opening both of his palms. Baba’s eyebrows raise a little. Yuan turns and places one moon on the table next to his bed. It shines and shimmers and smiles. It will keep the nightmares away, while Baba cannot. Yuan looks to the other moon, warm in his hand, and looks back to Baba.

Baba must return, now, to his own empty room. He will have to blow out the lantern and lie down to sleep in silence and darkness, just like Yuan.

Yuan holds out the pair to his perfect moon. Baba stares at it. Yuan explains, “To keep the nightmares away.”

Baba stares at the pebble some more. After quite a long time, he reaches out with careful fingers and takes the moon. “Thank you, A-Yuan,” he says, quiet, the not-smile on his lips.

Yuan beams sleepily. His eyelids drag heavy, leaving him blinking slowly as he tries to stay awake as long as he can, take in as much of Baba as he can, while he can. But Baba smooths his free hand over Yuan’s blankets, brushes warm fingers against his hair. It feels—it just feels so nice. Yuan can’t fight the sleep that embraces him.

“Goodnight, A-Yuan,” he hears, soft and low, when his eyes shut and refuse to open again.

“G’night, Baba,” Yuan says around a yawn.

He doesn’t remember Baba leaving. In the morning, he wakes up alone in the room full of empty beds, the sunlight still cold and thin, early as it is. Yuan shivers with it, wondering if it had all been a dream, one of his dearest dreams, a dream where his parents, his baba, loves him and wants him and never wanted to leave him. It’s like the made-up stories the caretakers tell him. It can’t be true.

But then Yuan turns, sees the perfect round moon sitting on his bedside table, and he knows. He knows Baba loves him.

#the untamed #lan zhan #lan sizhui #a-yuan #fic #ficlet #sort of fic #my writing #lan wangji #lan yuan #wen yuan #how does one tag for the untamed fandom #anyway #i love them like a whole bunch #i wish i had time to writeeee #i'm still playing around with characterization and stuff but i hope this fits??? #writing kids is also so hard lol

[authenticdesperation]

A Review of Every Single Episode of Inside No. 9 [1/2]

Disclaimer: my opinions are not definitive but they are bloody good. There may be spoilers so read at your own risk. This will probably have to be a two-parter for the sake of my sanity and your scrolling.  

Series 1

1. Sardines 

A killer way to kick off a series with an absolutely top notch cast. This episode probably wins the award for the episode I’ve spent the most time thinking about after watching, putting all the little things that went over my head at first into place. I love the set design in this episode as well with everything seeming delightfully old fashioned. 

2. A Quiet Night In

This episode is something of a masterclass in farce and it is a Bold Move to have the second episode of a new series almost completely free of dialogue. It’s dirty, it’s fully of silly slapstick and it’s a nice change of pace after the rather harrowing ending to the first episode. 

3. Tom and Gerri 

This is an episode I enjoyed more when I thought about it more. It beautifully shows the decline of Tom’s mental health (acted impeccably, lovely work from Reece) due to grief. Also it was quite nice to see Reece and Steve acting opposite each other more, they have great chemistry together and Steve as Migg is perfectly unsettling. 

4. Last Gasp

Now, I have to be honest with you: I do not exclusively have glowing praise for this episode. I enjoyed it far more after watching it more than once as I liked the humour of it. One of my favourite things was the video camera perspective at the start, as well as some lovely moments with the music. However, I’m not overly keen on the ending, I just found it slightly underwhelming. 

5. The Understudy

Back on the praise train kids! I am a big old Shakespeare nerd (as are Reece and Steve, apparently) and I studied Macbeth for my GCSEs so I was particularly excited when I watched it. I will also have to give a little nod to the directing of this episode, it was an absolute feast for the eyes. 

6. The Harrowing

Oh hell yes (no pun intended). I think this episode is a great one to cap off the first series, really demonstrating the versatility of Steve and Reece. Also, I’m a big horror fan and the entire atmosphere of it really appealed to me. Though I would say that the second I saw that house I would have run about fifteen miles in the opposite direction.

Series 2

1. La Couchette

This episode is very similar to Sardines in the sense that it feels rather claustrophobic, but this time it leans far more towards the comedy side of things rather than drama. Bonus points for Steve demonstrating his German skills. 

2. The 12 Days of Christine

Ah yes, the episode I’ve cried at every time I’ve watched it. This one is a strong demonstration of how to wrong foot an audience: you never quite know what’s going on until towards the end and all of the horror-esque moments just add to the confusion making the ending one hell of an emotional gut-punch. I wouldn’t watch it if you need something to cheer you up, though.

3. The Trial of Elizabeth Gadge

My second favourite episode of series two, The Trial of Elizabeth Gadge is packed to the brim with silly puns and smutty jokes. I personally predicted the twist but in this case I don’t think it really mattered as I was too busy enjoying the Horrible Histories for adults thing that was going on. Bonus points for another killer cast.

4. Cold Comfort

The first of two episodes directed by Steve and Reece and really quite a bold one at that. The whole thing is filmed in the style of a CCTV feed, which I’m pretty sure an experienced director would warn you off trying, but it really pays off in the narrative. Since the camera doesn’t switch focus at any point, it really relies on the acting performances to keep your focus which, in my opinion, the cast fucking nailed.

5. Nana’s Party

If I had to describe the episode in two words they would be ‘domestic drama’. It’s a fairly classic setup of a family with their fair share of secrets, namely adultery and alcoholism, but happily doesn’t give the game away too early and a layer of humour is added by the slightly irritating prankster character of Pat. It’s the second episode of the series directed by Steve and Reece and has a sort of understated quality to it, showing Claire Skinner’s character’s exacting nature above a layer of familial drama. 

6. Séance Time

My favourite episode of series two, at first you think you’re walking into another haunted house scenario until you find out it’s a prank show that went off the air due to a scandal. There’s a great sense of humour throughout, and I don’t know whether I’m easily freaked out or the final jumpscare was genuinely terrifying but I flew about fifteen feet into the air when I saw it. Once I’d peeled myself off the ceiling, I really appreciated that it felt like a slow burn horror despite still only being half an hour. 

Series 3

1. The Devil of Christmas

I live for schlocky horror films that are so cheesy they give you nightmares if you watch them before bed. So the 1970s film within the episode, accompanied by a director’s commentary-cum-police interview performed by Derek Jacobi, was an absolute treat. The story of Krampus is one that has been done a lot, but never as a snuff film (as far as I know) so it was a nice little twist.

2. The Bill

Every time I rewatch Inside No. 9 this is the episode I always have to watch no matter what. It is such a simple premise and it feels slightly reminiscent of the Geoff, Mike and Brian sketches from The League of Gentlemen. Now is probably the moment where I should sing the praises of director Guillem Morales who has, quite frankly, become my personal hero having seen the many, many episodes of this series he’s directed. The framing in this episode is absolutely genius, but it’s only really obvious after you’ve watched it a few times and I have to give kudos for making a dialogue-heavy episode visually interesting. There are jokes that I think about at least twice a week and I am obsessed with Jason Watkins’ acting...I think this will be my longest review of this whole post. 

3. The Riddle of the Sphinx

This is the best episode I will never watch again. I love horror, and I’ve watched some bone-chilling films but something about this episode made me feel so uncomfortable. It is also a real testament to Steve Pemberton, who I’m led to believe is the cryptic crossword fan who took the lead writing this episode, that he wrote something involving cryptic crosswords that didn’t give me a migraine. 

4. Empty Orchestra

Ah, what a nice change of pace after the last episode with something far lighter. The karaoke booth concept is so fun and I’ve never understood the criticism of the episode. That being said, of every single antagonist in every single episode of Inside No. 9, Connie is the character I love to hate the most. All of the characters feel more like people you’ve met before and the vibe of a group of work colleagues in a karaoke booth going through the usual petty drama feels familiar. I think series three is one that has some of the darkest concepts and this is a great exception to that. 

5. Diddle Diddle Dumpling

When I looked in the background more while rewatching this episode, I noticed a lot of things were in twos. I can only assume that was a deliberate choice made somewhere along the line, and one that pays off when you notice it. Both Mat Baynton and Keeley Hawes played their parts to perfection, with Mat really doing quite a lot with a fairly small part. The whole episode reads as an interesting analysis of grief, in a similar sense to Tom and Gerri. Also, Reece’s character did not murder the remaining twin and apparently I’m the weirdo for thinking that was what was being implied. In my defence, there was cannibalism earlier in the series; filicide did not seem like that big of a leap.

6. Private View 

Agatha Christie eat your heart out (that wasn’t meant to be a reference to the ending, it’s just a happy accident). Murder mysteries are my absolute jam so I am obsessed with this episode. The modern art show is such a great setting for a whodunnit as demonstrated by the reaction to the discovery of Peter Kay’s character’s body. All the characters have their brilliant little quirks, and the killer is revealed at the perfect time and it was a good idea to not make that reveal the twist. 

#mine #review #inside no. 9 #inside no 9 #reece shearsmith #steve pemberton #the league of gentlemen #league of gentlemen #television

[gallavictorious]

11x03 Fill-In Ficlet: Use Your Words (Or Don’t)

How do they go from sniping at each other in the kitchen to enthusiastically banging it out just a little while later? And why on Earth is horrible, horrible dirty talk suddenly a thing?

Well, they have this whole conversation where they basically talk things through but, you know, in their Ian and Mickey way of not talking things through but totally talking things through. You know? Also, there are kisses.

Warnings for some truly atrocious attempts at dirty talk but no actual smut. Also vague displays of a fucked-up relationship with violence, and clueless dumbasses trying, and only halfway succeeding, to chill with the misogyny and toxic masculinity. For all that this is mostly ridiculous and self-indulgent fluff.

Read below or on AO3.

---

They walk home from the Alibi together, but six feet apart and in silence.

Dinner is mostly silence, too, the celebration of Carl's first arrest dampened by Lip's outburst and Debbie storming off. Lip and Tami soon excuse themselves; Liam has homework; it's Carl's turn to do the dishes. (That mostly means they won't get done, but at least they'll know whom to blame when there's no clean plates or knives in the morning.)

Mickey's pours himself another glass of Jameson, but pauses when Ian abruptly rises from the table. His husband doesn't spare him a second glance though, but merely puts the half-thawed vegetables back in the freezer and walks off with a half-hearted “night” to his two younger brothers.

Well, fuck you too.

Mickey can feel Liam's eyes on him, but for once the kid keeps his mouth shut.

Smart kid.

Mickey takes his time emptying the glass. Takes the time to fill it up again and empty it once more too, while pointedly not listening to a single word Carl is saying about the fucking arrest he made.

Then it's getting late and there's nothing for it and he's sick and tired of them not being fine anyway, so fuck it.

He leaves the glass on the table for Carl to tidy away.

In their room Ian's sitting on the bed with his back towards the wall and a book in his lap. He looks up when Mickey enters, but doesn't say anything and promptly turns his attention back to his paperback. His jaw is set, but his shoulders slumped. Angry still, then - but tired even more than angry. Defeated, maybe.

Mickey fucking hates to see it.

He busies himself by the drawers, aimlessly rifling through the socks for something to do with his hands. “So. Quit your job?”

There's a brief pause, as if Ian's trying to determine whether Mickey's trying to start something again, and whether or not to strike first with a snarky reply. In the end he settles for a soft exhalation and,  “Yep. Tried to make me to work for free through my lunch break.”

He'd told Mickey as much already, at the Alibi. Hadn't gone so good, so this time Mickey tries for a different response: “Fuck 'em. We'll be fine 'til you find something else. Too good for that fucking place anyway.”

Another pause, long enough that Mickey turns from his fumbling with the socks to look at his husband. Ian's staring down at his book, mouth opening and closing a few times, like he's on the edge of saying something but then thinks better of it.

“Yeah,” he mutters at long last. “Don't know that I am anymore. Bipolar ex-convict in the worst economy in fucking lifetime? Not seeing a lot of options for me here.” Before Mickey has time to think of an appropriate response to that Ian's eyes darts to his face; darts away just as quickly. “Manager called me a little bitch.”

Oh. Okay. Yeah. Fuck.

Moving over to the bed, Mickey sits down on the edge of it. “That manager's a fucking idiot. The hell does he know? That's bullshit.”

Ian lifts his head at that, looking at Mickey with something that might be hope tempered with wary skepticism, and a hint of challenge. “Really?”

Mickey meets his gaze without flinching; holds it for a moment. “Yeah, man. Bet that asshole knew you could break him in half without breaking a sweat, that's why he's spouting stupid fucking stupid shit like that.”

A beat, to let that sink in, and then Mickey allows his lips curl into a grin, pulling his legs up on the bed to crawl over to Ian and crowd him: “'Cause you know you're the toughest motherfucker on the South Side, so big and so strong and so manly.” He reaches out to squeeze Ian's left bicep for emphasis.

“You're a dick.” But Ian doesn't pull away and he's starting to smile, as Mickey hoped he would; it's in his eyes first, softening and a glimmer, and then it's on his lips, growing wider.

Mickey feels his own grin grow wider too, as something in his chest loosens and lets up.

“Yeah?” he asks, eyebrows suggestively raised as he, ignoring the dull protest of his aching ribs, leans in to let his lips brush over Ian's in a not-quite-a-kiss. “Whatcha gonna do about it, huh? Gonna bend me over and pound me so hard I fucking scream? Gonna make me beg for your... your big, fat cock?”

Ian tilts his head to the side, brow furrowed in faux affront. “You calling my dick fat?”

“Think I've got the right to, Tim Kruger, I've choked on it enough times.”

A snort of surprised laughter and then Ian's hand is on the back of his head, pulling him in for a kiss that is hard and hungry and coming home. Mickey shifts to straddle his thighs, their lips never parting, and fuck, it's just been a few days but it's been too fucking long.

It goes on for some time; Ian's arms around him, fingers scratching against his scalp; Mickey's hands running up and down Ian's sides, as they kiss and they kiss and they kiss.

At long last, with a long sigh, Ian pulls back a little, his eyes searching Mickey's as he runs a thumb over his cheek.

“You want me to do that?” he asks after a moment, and there's just the faintest note of uncertainty in his voice.

Mickey doesn't like it. He doesn't want Ian to be uncertain about him, about them, ever. But he bites down on the urge to bristle. Takes a deep breath. “Do what?”

“Bend you over.” A tentative, lopsided smile. “Make you beg”

Ah. “Ain't never said no to that shit before, Gallagher.” How the hell is that even a question?  Okay, there'd been this morning, kind of, and maybe a few times when they just started fucking and he had issues and things got a little too intense or whatever, and he's not so much for the actual begging, but in general, Mickey's never been opposed to Ian getting a little – or a lot – decisive with him.

Least not as long as he doesn't make him feel lesser than for liking it that way.

“Mm.” Ian nods, but he doesn't lean back in to resume the kiss. Instead he reaches out to run his hand over Mickey's thigh, idly, and with a pensive look on his face.

Mickey very, very badly wants to tell him that now that that's cleared up maybe you could get on with it but he's determined not to be (too much of) an asshole tonight; to be patient. He waits, and eventually Ian looks up. The uncertainty has seemingly fled; the look in his green eyes is calm once more, and direct:

“So just to be clear: you're not exclusively a top now?”

“What? Hell no.” Mickey makes a face, genuinely taken aback by the notion, but then he shrugs. “Doesn't mean I'd mind switching it up once in a while, though. We've tried all kinds of new shit after we got married, figured it might be fun to try that too.” He pauses, chewing his lip. “Thought you'd be cool with it.”

Ian smiles, reaching out to give a playful little tug to Mickey's hair. “Give me some warning next time and I will be.” Abruptly, his smile turns devilish. “After all, how could I resist such a stunning embodiment of pure masculine prowess?”

Mickey's eyes widen. Oh. Uh-huh. All right then.

“I dunno,” he says, pushing hard for feigned thoughfulness even as he pushes his ass down on Ian's groin, wiggling just a little. “Seems like six pack-packing, strong-willed, stoic soldier boy like you could resist just about anything.”

Ian's quiet laugher is cut short by a sharp intake of breath as Mickey leans in to nip at his ear. “Even a – ah – man-swole hardass?”

“Yeah, 'cause you're such a top dog alpha male.“

“Ultra super power bottom.“

“Fierce and ruthless devastator of assholes.”

“Yeah, asshole is right... Ow! Okay, you're going down … you big manly boss man.“

---

If there is a moment, quite some time later, when they're both happy and spent and relaxing in each other's arms –

If there is a moment, when Ian's eyes stray to the bruises on on Mickey's side, and if he reaches out to let his fingers brush over them in the whisper of a touch, if a shadow passes over his face –

Mickey will catch his hand and bring it up to his lips to press a quick kiss to it.

“Looks worse than it is,” he will say and Ian's lips will twist, in rueful smile or grimace or both:

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Bastard who jumped me hits like a fucking - “ Mickey will break off and make a disgusted face. “Hits like a... a... a fucking weak person. Jesus Christ. Fucking V.”

Ian will chuckle. A bit weakly, perhaps, still a little lost to the lingering memories of the afternoon, but he will chuckle. Will pull Mickey closer to him, carefully; push his nose to his hair and breathe him in. “I love you.”

And Mickey will smile. “Mm. I know. Love you, too.”

---

A/N: Listen, I don't begrudge anyone engaging in bad dirty talk if that's what gets them going, but I didn't really expect it for Ian and Mickey. I guess this is my attempt to wed what we saw in mid-credits scene to my already established perception of the characters. Oh, and I have a kink for understated reconciliation so there was no way in hell I wouldn't jump on this. XD That also means I want to read ALL THE FIC written on this topic, so if you write/see any, please let me know?

Tim Kruger is a gay porn star with a huge dick, btw. I know this because I googled "gay porn star huge dick". I have some regrets.

#11x03 #shameless spoilers #gallavich #ficlet #my stuff

[iwantitiwriteit]

Slow Burn: Act 1 - Part 4

The Game Night

Pairing: Chris Evans x Famous!Reader

Summary: Game night with your cast and crew turns into a silent game of cat and mouse between you and Chris.

Warnings: Profanity, Sexual connotations, drunken silliness

Notes: This one was a fun challenge for me. Wanted to make sure there was a decent amount of conflict, but it was hard cos I am the queen of avoiding drama IRL; literally don’t know how that shit starts lol. Enjoy! Read the previous part here and check out the moodboard + music here.

Lush, autumnal trees that have yet to drop their leaves become more abundant and houses fit for large families grow farther apart as your Uber takes you from the bustling Boston city into the neighboring suburbs. Over the last few weeks, between staying with your sister in her Boston brownstone and filming on location on Harvard’s campus, you’ve become familiar with the urban terrain. You’re looking forward to the slowness of the suburbs, even if it’s just for an evening. It’s an experience you missed since being on tour non-stop. Always in an airport, then some large city, then on stage, in front of thousands. The quiet of the suburbs had evaded you the past few years, so you welcomed it with open arms.

“Whatcha got back there?” You had hoped having your earbuds in would keep talking at bay, but Charlie, the older gentleman driving your Uber, had other plans. The stress of his vowels lets you know he’s Boston born and bred. “I won’t say it smells bad, just… interesting!” 

In the backseat with you are a ton of old, dusty games you borrowed from your sister, but no matter how musky, you know he’s talking about the aromatic platters of food. “Oh, it’s um, samosas.”

“Orange juice and bubbly got the cah smelling like that?!”

You giggle slightly at his misunderstanding, “Not MImosa; SAmosa. Here, try one.” You hand Charlie a fried savory pastry.

He screws his face at it, the sight obviously foreign to him. “What is it?”

“It’s a fried pastry with some really flavorful potatoes and peas on the inside. Go on! You’ll love it!”

Charlie takes a tentative bite, then widens his eyes as the food hits his palate. You both begin to nod at each other slowly, knowingly.

“Good right?”

“So good! Where’d you get this?”

“From the Indian place on Columbia.”

“Oh I know that place! Pass it all the time, never go in. Smells weird.”

“It doesn’t smell weird; it’s just different to you. But now that I’ve introduced you to something on the menu, it won’t be so foreign to you, now will it?”

“You know what, you’re right! Next time I pass by, I’ll order me some, um, what’s this called again?”

“Samosa.”

“Yeah, samosa. Thanks miss!”

“No problem.” You love introducing others as well as yourself to new cultures, part of the reason you don’t mind being on the road so much.

“Wanna know something? My Ma has a restaurant on Columbia, too.”

“Oh yeah? What’s it called?” You ready your phone to look it up, but Charlie is already handing you a takeout menu. “Thanks. ‘L'amore Della Madre’. Mother’s Love?”

“Sì! Puoi parlare Italiano?”

“No, at all. I can read a little if I go slow and the words are short, but that’s just about it.”

“Well if you come by, tell ‘em Charlie sent you, and you’ll get free Italian lessons!”

“Really?”

“No, but they’ll treat you like family and you’ll learn all the bad words you’ll ever need to know.” You both laugh as you pull up to a gate with a call box. You tell Charlie the passcode to let you through —‘Harvard Hottie’, to which he quirks his brow at you through the rear view mirror.

“My friend thinks very highly of himself,” you laugh as you think about how excited Scott was to make that the passcode. He’s been highly excited in general about having some of cast and crew over for game night, insisting it was a great way to bond and team build.

“Your friend has got some money, huh?” Charlie remarks as he drives the stretch of winding road along a sizable amount of land before there’s a grand but understated farmhouse in view. Yeah, I guess so. Scott is living well. Good for him.

The car parks in front of the house, and you bid farewell to Charlie, gifting him another samosa for the road. “Thanks sweetheart, and I’ll see you at Ma’s sometime soon, yeah? We’ll get you set up with a nice Italian boy, ok?”

What is with everyone and setting me up?? “Least of my worries, Charlie. Least of my worries.” You collect your cumbersome party offerings and head for the door, then ring the doorbell with your pinky, as it’s the only appendage you can get free. As you struggle to balance the things in your hand, the door opens. You have a nervous smile ready to greet whatever familiar face that will be on the other side of the door, but it fades into a nervous confused expression as you take in the unexpected, but familiar face opposite yours.

There you are: dumbfounded and face to face with the one person you dutifully have not thought about or seen in the last few weeks since New York. Chris stands across the threshold looking widely at you, just as you are at him. You stare at each other for a few more seconds before you fumble with the stuff in your hands, Chris catching them effortlessly.

“Woah there, I’ll get those for you.”

“No, it’s ok.” The two of you do an awkward little dance trying to keep the things from falling. Just then, Scott comes from another room to greet you, but is met with the sight of you and Chris, each holding a little bit of everything, and one another, in order to keep the things between your bodies from hitting the floor. Scott can’t help but smirk at the two of you before coming over to help some of the things out of your hands. He’s quick to leave you alone with Chris, disappearing around a corner.

“Um… it’s good to see you again…”

“Uh-huh, that’s nice. SCOTT! Can I talk to you a moment?” you say as you go in the direction Scott disappeared in. You’re brought to a large, homey kitchen. You take in the simplistic decor, modern but rustic design and clean state of it. Scott was at the counter, already digging into the samosas and looking through your tattered game selection.

“I thought you said this was a cast and crew get together. What’s your brother doing here?”

“Well, I'm staying with him while we’re filming; couldn’t just kick him out of his own house! Besides, he hosts a WICKED game night and offered to help.”

“What’s with y’all Bostonians and ‘wicked’? Like, who the hell actually says that?”

“Plus I figured you guys hit off ‘cos he only asked me about a million times if you were coming…”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Yeah, yeah, whatever. Knowing you couldn’t badmouth your costar and new friend’s brother, even if he had done so about you, you were careful with your answer.

“Look, I know what you and Mackie are up to and you gotta stop.”

“What EVER do you mean?”

You clench your teeth at his faux ignorance. “You know what I mean! Stop trying to set me up with your brother, or anyone for that matter. I need to focus on our film, ok?”

“Hey, is everything ok?” Chris comes to check on you and Scott.

“Yep, everything’s everything!” Scott turns to you, “I’m gonna go let everyone know you're here and that we’ll be starting in a few.” Scott excuses himself with a wink at you.You and Chris stand a few apart, stiff as rods. This literally couldn’t get more uncomfortable.

Thinking that if you gave Jimi the coffee and flowers, and focused on your work, you could magically disappear Chris from existence. You let yourself believe that you’d *unrealistically* never see him again, while Chris made sure that wouldn’t be the case. When he didn’t get a response for his green room gift, he knew he’d have to apologize in person, but he didn’t think too much about what he'd say.

Chris breaks the silence. “Soo, how’s filming going?”

You look at him, head tilted, eyes squinted, nose scrunched. Really? That’s what you’ve got to say to me right now?

“Right… that was—  listen, I—“

“Where’s your bathroom?” you interrupt him.

“Uh, down that hall to the left.”

“Thanks.” You briskly make your way there and whip out your phone. Glancing over your shoulder, you see Chris face palming himself. As soon as you’re in the bathroom, you FaceTime Jimi.

“Hey hun! What’s up?”

“Girl, he’s here!” Your voice is panicked.

“Use more descriptive words honey. Who is where?”

“Chris is here at the game night!”

“Ooookay… and that’s a problem because...”

“Because he’s gonna ask me why I didn’t respond to his apology gift and I’m gonna say what? ‘Cos it was lame attempt after you grossly offended me after playing nice in my face all night. Like dude, I thought we vibed!’” You catch your breath before you start again. “Jimi, I may act like I want the smoke, but I really don’t! What do I do?”

“First off, take a chill pill. Secondly, just steer clear, and be neutral. Play nice, but don’t get too friendly. No need to make this bigger than it is.”

You exhale at your friend’s rationality. “Ok. Ok, I can do that!”

“Yeah you can! I have faith in you! Now, leave me alone until tomorrow, I’m catching up on Insecure and this ice cream is NOT gonna finish itself. Love you, bye!” You hang up with Jimi, and repeat “steer clear, be neutral, play nice, not friendly” as a mantra, while opening your messages. You text your sister to remind her to pick you up at 10pm. She offered since she knew you’d be drinking and said she didn’t want her “drunk, famous little sister in an Uber at night. They might hold you for ransom!” Simultaneously annoyed and endeared by her concern, you accepted her offer. She replies affirmatively.

Slowly opening the bathroom door, you poke your head out, checking to see that the coast is clear of Chris. When you find that it is, you step out and exhale.

“Hey.”

“OH SHIT!” You jump at the sound of Chris’ voice behind you, clutching your imaginary pearls.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.” He chuckles a bit, but stops as you side eye him. She's not gonna make this easy. He clears his throat. “Um, I was hoping I could talk to you for a few—“

“Hey Kid! Scott said you were here!” Mackie pulls you in for a hug. You hadn’t seen each other all week because you hadn’t shared scenes with him. “What’s up with ya?”

“Oh ya know… same old, same old,” you say with a shrug. You look over to Chris who's rubbing his neck.

“Hey!! Party in the hallway!” Ansel joins the three of you in the hallway already a little tipsy. “What are parlaying about?”

“Not how you use that word.” Ansel boops your nose as the hallway fills with a couple more people, and you were never more grateful for your overly personable, slightly invasive film family. You squeeze out of the “hallway party” towards the living room, relieved to have escaped interaction with Chris, but unsure of if you would be so lucky the rest of the night. 

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

The group of about 30 cast and crew members congragate in the living room and are split into 2 teams: Team 1 In A Million and Team A-fucking-mazing. Team 1 In A Million includes you, Scott, and Jaden while Team A-fucking-mazing has Mackie, Ansel and your director, Sonya.

“Wait, we only have 14, they have 15!” Mackie complains.

“No need to whine, Mackie. Chris, I know you were gonna hang back some tonight, but you mind joining their team?” Scott gestures to the opposite team and Chris reluctantly joins them. He sits with his team on the end of the sofa across from you. He’s dressed like the big brother of a fraternity: cap on backwards that pulls his hair away from his crystal blue eyes, too tight t-shirt that show off his bulging biceps, basic jeans that accentuate his long legs, and a plain pair of color coordinated Nike’s, a size who knows, you just notice how big they are, and quite frankly, you find it all… mouth-watering. He offers you a shy smile and shrug, but you look away before you could melt and forget why you’re icing him in the first place. Chris just sighs to himself.

The games get under way, drinks and conversation are flowing, while both teams compete in a series of minute-to-win-it games. You forget about Chris long enough to have some real fun. Not really one for smack talk, though you love healthy competition, on-the-spot made-up cheers to hype up your teammates is your specialty. Every once in a while, you’ll look up mid-smile or laughter and catch Chris looking and smiling at you. Your expression immediately resolves into a neutral one, and Chris’ heart sinks every time.

“This next one is called ��Blow Ball’.” Scott announces.

“That’s what she said,” Jaden jokes, and you just shake your head, barely laughing.

“Thank you for that, Jaden. When the timer starts, each player must use only their breath to blow the 73 blue ping pong balls off the pizza tray, while at the same time keep the 3 yellow ping pong balls on the tray. Any questions?”

Jaden raises his hand. “So you’re saying the players have to blow on the blue balls until they get off?” Chris does his classic, boisterous belly laugh, and you’re inclined to smile and sigh to yourself. I forgot how good that sounds.

“You’re exhausting, Jaden. Ok teams, pick your representatives!” After some deliberation, you’re chosen to go for your team, insisting you had the best breath control. You turn from your huddle to see who your opponent is. Of. Fucking. Course.

“May the best player win,” Chris offers his hand to you to shake.

“I intend to,” you reply, slapping his hand away and the group erupts in instigating chorus of “ooo’s”. There’s even a “you gone take that Cap?!” from Mackie. Under normal circumstances, Chris would’ve found your cockiness cute, attractive even. But seeing as you snubbed his apology, have been avoiding him all night, and consistently let your face fall at the sight of him, he couldn’t help but take it personally.

“Alright, alright,” Scott calms everyone down. “On your mark, get set, go!”

The two of you set to work on your trays. Chris struggles to get strong enough breaths out to move the balls thanks to the amount of beers he’s already thrown back and his distracting thoughts. What’s up with this girl? Why won’t she accept my apology? Is she really that full of herself?

Meanwhile, you breezed through your ping pong balls, moving them off the tray with your controlled breath with ease. A couple minutes pass of you going at your trays, your team ridiculously rowdy thanks to the copious amount of alcohol consumed at this point. You’re down to the last few blue ping pong balls on your tray, careful not to blow the yellow ones off.

You look up slightly at Chris who has a little ways to go before catching up to you. You lock eyes with him. He then flicks his eyes down to your tray and notices there’s just a single blue ball between you and victory. He brings his eyes back up to yours, then to your Fenty-glossed lips that are serving him a cocky grin, which turns into a soft ‘O’ as you puff out just enough air to skid the last blue ball off your tray and onto the floor. You win.

You both rise slowly, maintaining strong eye contact, but it’s broken as your team crowds and rough houses you like you’ve just won the Super Bowl. Jaden puts a beer bottle to his mouth like a microphone. “So here we are with the most badass, bodacious Blow Ball player in the land. Tell us, how does it feel to bring your team to victory?” he asks you in his best broadcaster voice.

You patronize him because you’re having fun. “Well, you know, I couldn’t have done it without their support… and my Grammy-award winning singer’s lungs baby!” There’s another round of rowdiness from your team, but looking over at Chris, your smile falters for a different reason. He seems unamused by your antics. What’s his deal? You don’t stay looking at Chris for long, as your team turns you around for more drunken celebration.

“I want to challenge you to a game of beer pong.” Chris pipes at you amongst the loud chatter.

Your back is to him, as you were talking to one of your teammates. You only look over your shoulder as you reply. “Challenge all you want, but I don’t wanna. We won. That’s it. Move on.”

“What, you’re scared cos it’s not in your element you won’t win?” The group quiets down as you turn to face Chris. Studying his face, you come up with nothing, unable to read him. He’s joking, right?

Your mantra about steering clear and playing nice are gone from your tipsy brain. “No, but I’m sure your confidence is coming from the fact that it’s well in your element.” You approach him, sizing him up as he looks down at you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Despite your best efforts, you had been watching him tonight. The more drinks he threw back, the more bro-ish he became. Hella loud, overly competitive, with unsolicited coaching. It gave you a headache, but you brushed it off until now.

“Nothing, just that some of us,” motioning to yourself, “spent our college days studying, while others,” poking his chest, “got their frat on. Hence why beer pong is right up your alley.”

“Jokes on you: I didn’t go to college.”

“That explains why you think ‘brown’ and ‘mouth’ rhyme,” you say low enough for only him to hear. So she got the gift... There’s a pang in his chest and it’s evident to you in his eyes. The look he gives pains you and causes you to soften your features.

“So are we gonna do this or what?” says Ansel, mouth full of samosa, cutting the heady moment.

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

The next 30 minutes are a complete blur. There’s yelling, cheering, sneering, and shit talking. Cup after cup of beer is thrown back on your end as Chris whoops your ass at this game, just like you knew he would. By the end of it you are thoroughly drunk, having reached tipsy quite a few games back. His team swamps him in congratulations, but his eyes stay on you, his face still unreadable.

You’re not a sore loser, you swear it, you just couldn’t take the unsaid tension with Chris any longer, and excused yourself. You find a quiet corner to take a breather and an opportunity to text your sister to remind her to pick you up at 10. She says she’ll be there.

“Hey, cute doggie!” You notice the pooch perched on an oversized ottoman and sit next to, not bothering to make it to a chair. You read his tag. Dodger.

“Aaahhh. Chris’ best boy and dysfunctional codependent,” you recall from when the night you met in New York a few weeks ago. “Tell me, is he always this, this… frustrating?” You drawl out. Dodger just responds with a light bark as you scratch behind his ears to his delight.

You enjoy the dog’s company for a few minutes longer until he gives an alerting bark, causing you to look in the direction of the patio that you’d just left. You look up and can see double the Chris approaching. Not even thinking twice, you crawl out of the sitting area and into the next room where most everyone is now sobering up and playing low energy board and card games. You, however, are frantically looking for somewhere to avoid Chris.

Once Chris reaches, he only finds a happily panting Dodger, that he crouches down next to. “She’s seriously avoiding me, huh Bubba?” Dodger barks then licks Chris’ face, as if to say, “Yeah dude, give it up.” How childish.

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

9:55 pm rolls around and you are waiting at the front door for your ride like a kid on the curb of their school. All night has been an exhausting game of cat and mouse between you and Chris, and you appreciate the moment of solace in his foyer. The ringtone for your sister fills the room, and you put your phone to your ear.

“But Lynn, you offered!” Chris hears an anxious voice from his spot in the kitchen and walks in its direction to investigate.

“You didn’t just find that out! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!” As he gets closer, he identifies it as your voice. There you are, at his front door, coat and purse, ready to leave the festivities, and scoffs. Last to arrive, first to leave.

“Are you kidding me right now? I don’t need you to send me money! I’ve got money! Money is not the issue here!” Chris raises his brows to your statement. He has no idea who you’re yelling at like that, but it’s not helping your case in his mind.

“Yeah, whatever. Just don’t even breathe in my direction tomorrow.” Stupid sister, and her stupid bowling league. You continue to mumble to yourself as you assess your options. Seeing as you didn’t want to interrupt anyone’s good time, and want to get the hell out of there ASAP, you decide to just take an Uber anyway.

One last try. “Everything ok?” You look up to see Chris, eyes glossy from drunkenness, red from tiredness, nursing a water bottle and leaning on the archway.

“Yeah,” you say, not meeting his eyes, hoping he’d go away. When he didn’t, you moved closer to the door, hoping he’d get the picture then. Steer clear.

“Leaving already?”

“Uh-huh.”  Be neutral.

“We were just about to cue up some karaoke. I’d love to hear what those singer’s lungs could do.” You loved karaoke. But not tonight. Not with him.

“You all enjoy; I’m not in the mood.” Play nice, not friendly.

That’s it, I’ve had it with her cold shoulder! “Wanna know something? I was wrong about you.”

“Is that so?” You brace for another cringey apology.

“Yeah… You’re not an airheaded, wannabe popstar. You’re an arrogant, childish diva.”

You’re taken aback, but not entirely surprised. You can see how he got to this conclusion. What with you icing him all night, taking digs at him, and if he was in that archway long enough, that conversation with your undependable sister could have sounded diva-ish out of context. It’s a complete misjudgment of you, but you can’t help but think you started it. “Oh yeah?”

“Hell yeah.” The two of you meet in the middle of the foyer for your second stand off tonight.

“You wanna know what you are?”

“I get the feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“You’re a fickle, judgmental bro dude.”

“Bro dude?”

“Yeah! A bro dude! You're good at beer pong, you flirt relentlessly, try to get in my head, and get pissed and start calling names the second you realize you’re not getting the time of day.”

“Oh honey you wish I was flirting!”

“Is everything alright in here?” Scott appears in the archway his brother was in just moments before.

“Yeah, I was just going; my Uber’s here.” Your ride share arrived just in time to save you from any further wanton ridicule.

“Uber? I— or someone can drive you home.” Chris says as he grasps your elbow.

“More of your mixed signals. Save the fake concern for someone who’s got the time, cos it ain’t me.” Taking back your arm in a huff, you leave for your waiting ride.

“Woah... what was that about?”

“I… I’m gonna call it a night. I’ll help cleanup in the morning.” Chris kisses his brother goodnight, one last drunken act before retiring for the night. Scott is left in the foyer stunned, as Mackie comes to see what’s holding him up.

“Hey man, where’s Chris and— are they… ya’know?” Mackie gives a suggestive look, bumping Scott with his elbow. “I know you felt that tension, that sexual tension!”

“No, they’re not— They just had some intense words, and she left and he went to bed— alone.”

“What?! What happened?”

“I don’t know but we gotta think of something. They can’t hate each other!”

“Yeah, we’ll think of something… after we sing some karaoke. I’ll be Diana if you’ll be Lionel.”

“No, I’m definitely more Diana, you be Lionel!”

“Fine.”

Part 5

#chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans fluff #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x female reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans one shot #chris evans x poc!reader #chris evans x woc #Slow Burn Series #chris evans series

[sternenteile]

wrapping things up with some closure  on the ty/cho situation. this is the last time i will be bringing it up. if you’re wondering what i’m talking about, you can see the receipts and the files here. massive content and trigger warnings here include, and are surely not limited to, gaslighting, abuse, sexual harassment, ableism, antisemitism, racism, and most damning of all, literal and actual rape. i’m telling you, it’s bad. take my word for it when i say to avoid ty/cho at all costs. this is not some meager drama; this is a legitimately dangerous individual. what’s worse is there are even more details i know now (not included in the callouts) that i cannot divulge, as they do not involve me, as if this scum of the earth could be any worse. just know that this is a very terrible person and to not read the receipts if you don’t think you can handle the contents. in such a case, please just take my word for it instead and block him, avoid him, all that jazz. he is an actual rapist. avoid.

that being said, the theme i’ve noticed with all of this tomfoolery of his and actual crimes and traumatization of people is the domineering of an entire group of rpcs using intimidation tactics, including over those he’s hurt the worst, in the most reprehensible, objectively inexcusable ways ever.

the rpcs tycho played prominent roles in are beyond just pokemon and sonic. the way i met him was through the smash brothers rpc (which, unlike the general smash fan base, is a darling and kind community). smash is rather all-encompassing for video games even outside of nintendo, and he is plenty aware enough of the fandoms within that umbrella. mario, zelda, fire emblem, pokemon, sonic, metroid, castlevania... you name it, he knows it, and he will therefore have association with it that makes him a danger to these communities as is. his influence cannot be understated. he was a huge influence for a lot of people and groups.

the way he weaponized anything he could get his slimy hands on left so many people fearful and in silence. the worst i’d gotten were some jitters about how... out there and volatile he could be, but i’d otherwise not been suspicious of anything too egregious, especially nothing like what has come forth. i really didn’t get the brunt of it. however, the subtleties were there, and they had unfortunately lulled me into a sense of security that he, in all of his flaws, was a fine person and an admirable man. of course, we all know now how horribly wrong that is... but it goes to show that his charismatic nature had been used expertly to harm many people for his own selfish gain.

he left entire communities and groups of people mum on the situation. no one, no one was able to speak up in fear of retribution, not to mention the fact that his smooth way of manipulating people made it seem like he was on this untouchable pedestal. it was quite the opposite, and we all know that now. the only reason he was on a pedestal was because he brute-forced everyone else away from his level, threatening the worst if anyone so much as dared to find stable ground with him. in reality, though, his pedestal was a farce, a pillar filled with cracks that was destined to fall. it didn’t just crumble, though, no. it collapsed and was promptly blown to smithereens. once that one hunk of rubble came loose from that pedestal, his world came crashing the fuck down. it was an inevitability, and i’m sure he knew it was.

why would i make a statement that bold? simple: when i caught wind privately of what had gone on, i’d blocked him on all fronts. it hadn’t been more than perhaps a couple of hours before i realized that i’d still had him on my twitter, too, but he’d blocked me already before i got to do so myself. it often takes some time to realize a mass-blocking has happened, at least from what i can imagine (as i’ve not been mass-blocked like, ever before in this rpc i think?), but ty/cho was on it fast. it was almost as if he was watching and waiting for the shoe to drop. it was like he knew. it happened so quickly that it gave me whiplash. he was waiting for this.

another fun little detail i found was that he, as he had done to many other people who treated him with nothing but kindness, shit-talk me behind my back. let me tell you that the smash fan base is a terrible place where you can be harassed just for liking your comfort character, thinking they would be a good fit to the roster, even if your behavior is innocent and without harm or annoyance to other smash fans. those who have been here long enough will know that i’ve undergone a lot of bullshit because of my love for geno, and so have other geno fans who have done nothing but innocent speculation. one person i know personally had even gotten his and his elderly parents doxxed with death threats launched his way. i’ve seen people state that they want to, ah... let’s just say knock the wind out of geno’s fans and cover them in flammable material. let’s just put it that lightly. it’s very bad.

ty/cho knew this. i’d vented to him about it once. i praised him for being a competitive smash player that wasn’t as vile as any of the trash in that community (an as an addendum, there are some good comp smash players! the bad ones are just very prominent and very loud!). i praised him for accepting people of their comfort characters, emotional support through way of a character i connected with, not to mention the cases for many other folk, as well.

turns out, he used that information to shit-talk me behind my back, whining and complaining about me daring to like a character that ‘nobody cares about’ as if i was some fucking smegma gremlin on the face of the earth. you know, ty/cho? he did that, yeah? the guy who played nack the fucking weasel? the guy who knew i was sensitive about this shit because of what the smash fan base put me through? the guy who obsessed over and loved his own comfort character, too, and should have understood what that felt like?

needless to say, i’m pretty reviled about that. i entrusted him with this information, and he knew how much it hurt me... so he weaponized it. he specifically picked out what pained me and utilized it for harm when i trusted him. my case is a whole lot of NOTHING compared to everyone else’s, to be sure, but the core concept is chilling. he will find out what hurts you the most and attack you unprovoked with that knowledge. thank god it was just about my fucking comfort character and nothing worse, because others were unfortunately not as lucky. i got out totally unscathed by comparison.

the way he used puppet strings and played people like fiddles to keep his image pristine was beyond fucked up. he tarnished the trust of so many people. he made entire communities drop and leave because they were terrified of ty/cho ruining their lives even further. they felt unwelcome around excellent people who had done no wrong to them because of ty/cho, when said excellent people more than likely felt the same and feared them because of ty/cho. it poisoned the entire well for these communities and made everything go so quiet. the sonic rpc and smash rpc, in my experience, suffered the most. a lot of my sonic mutuals and sonic mutuals of friends either left or went awfully silent. the once-hopping smash rpc became practically like a ghost town. all. because. of. ty/cho.

he is a danger to both individuals and to entire communities alike. he doesn’t care about what we as people think, though, so how about i pull the nasty, petty card and hit him where it hurts? considering all that he did, i think it’s more than justified. ♡

ty/cho, you objectively will never live a fulfilling life where you make an impact on the world. you will never do anything medically if you can’t find it in yourself to empathize and care. you will never do anything for the people you supposedly ‘care for’ if you throw them under a bus at any and every opportunity. you will never do anything for racial justice if you use the movement and Black lives to abuse others, lie (nice to know that protest i feared for your life over turned out to have never happened in your area to begin with, LOL, i want my lost sleeping hours back) and better your own image. your image will never be a pristine, perfect image. you are not a god among men and never will be. you are not hot shit. you will not leave a positive legacy on the world. rapists don’t do that, you son of a bitch. go to hell where you belong and burn for eternity, where deviants like you become fucking rump roast. enjoy your unfulfilling life that will never amount to anything for yourself. :)

#★ ; ( ooc. ) #negative / #get me off tycho's wild ride #heed the cws and tws. #i also get very nasty at the end. very angry. be warned. #love you all. please stay safe. #this man will not make anyone submit to fear any more. #i won't fucking let it happen ever again.

[februaryflowers]

Victon Writing Their s/o a Song

warnings: none

fluff, 1185 words (in bullets), victon x reader

Seungwoo

I think he’d be friends with his s/o first and then develop feelings for them

So I feel like his song would be about how he feels about them

We know he doesn’t openly talk about things that are troubling him so it’d be like his way of letting his friend know about his feelings

Also a more discreet way to confess in case of rejection (but you would never)

He’d play the song for you to ask for your opinion on it

He’s super embarrassed about asking you to but you assure him it’s fine

It’s filled with a lot of super sweet thoughts and a lot about his feelings for you

I think it’d lean towards maybe Time of Sorrow instead of something like Crush on U in terms of the vibe (even though “crush on you” is this scenario...)

And you totally get that it’s about how he feels about you

You feel the same way and tell him so (and I mean the song is really cute and he’s a little flustered watching you react)

And that’s how you and Seungwoo started dating :)

Seungsik

Another super sweet one

I think that you’d already be dating him though, and it’d be like a birthday present for you

Instead of it being about how you make him feel/his feelings, I think it’d be more about how much he loves you (if that makes sense)

A lot of references to cute moments throughout your relationship

He’d already given you a physical present and he brought you to your living room where the piano was

You were a little confused why he was so insistent on you coming but when he sat down at the piano you knew

I think it’d have a similar feel/vibe to Your Smile and You/a ballad song

Super emotional while he’s singing to you (which goes along with the tender and romantic lyrics)

You’re super endeared and flattered he’d do all of that for you

In addition to the lyrics just making you melt into a puddle

Chan

You’d have to be dating for a while for him to actually show you the song he’s written for you

He’s a shy boi about that kind of thing

Probably has a few other songs about you that he wasn’t comfortable showing you but when you heard them, you knew they were about you

I think he’d show you the night before he plans to propose

You’re both just chilling in your bedroom before going to sleep and he suddenly starts to play a song you haven’t heard

“Can you listen to this?” His cheeks are a light pink and he has a nervous smile.

 His song would probably be more upbeat than Seungwoo and Seungsik’s

Not that it isn’t genuine (it is) or that Seungwoo and Seungsik’s songs are sad (they aren’t)

But its vibe is more like nostalgic night

You’re super happy he’s willing to share it with you, especially since the lyrics are cute and romantic and there’re a lot of emotions and things he feels towards you in it that he hasn’t verbally told you (all good things, of course)

Sejun

He’s been head over heels in love with you for a while and has been working on his song for a bit

He’s super open about how much he loves you and I think that would come up a lot in his song

Planned on showing you on your birthday or something as a gift

But he's super excited about it and starts randomly singing it one day

He might be passing through the kitchen to get snacks one day and you hear him

You ask about what he was singing and he has an “oh. wait no” moment

You want to hear the rest so he lets you, and you just melt

Super cute and lovely

Also leans more towards the lighthearted spectrum, like Chan

Maybe a little cheesy at times but that’s totally on purpose and you adore it

I think the vibe would be a mix of maybe Flower and between the middle and the middle of the end of White Night (I hope that makes sense)

A well-balanced mix of playful affection and serious love

Hanse

Probably has been writing songs about you since the beginning but just hasn’t shown or told you

Also probably has published some and you think they’re cool and sound really pretty but you haven’t realized they’re about you yet

Topics of the lyrics range from being about how you make him feel/his feelings to how much he loves you to how special you are to him

You’d have to be pretty close for him to share them with you, and I honestly see him showing them on his wedding night

Maybe not in front of everyone but he’d play them when you’re alone (including the already published ones) and would actually tell you that they’re all about you

There’s a lot about his emotions and you really appreciate him showing you

Like a window to his soul

Vibes and themes range from things like Your Smile and You to Time of Sorrow and nostalgic night

Basically lots of variety (I mean, there are lots of them, too)

He’s super shy about it because he’s basically opening everything he’s ever thought about you for you to judge and doesn’t want you to reject him (even though you’d never and you’re literally married)

Byungchan

Sweetness overload

Lots of grandeur to match the lots of love he has for you

Lyrics would probably be about this or how special he thinks you are

I get a Time of Sorrow mixed with Celebrate vibe from it

Would probably show you the soonest out of all of them (well, besides Seungwoo)

Probably on a romantic holiday/your birthday

Nervous when he shows you, but also kind of excited

Probably asks a lot of questions when you’re done, wanting to make sure you don’t hate it

I mean, of course you don’t. You love it, and you love him even more

I think he’d need some reassurance that you really do like it and aren’t lying to make him feel better, but once that’s done, he’s super excited and glad you liked it and you listen to it again

Subin

Sweetness overload round two

But veers more towards a “cool” sound compared to Byungchan’s 

So probably a nostalgic night vibe

He would probably show you on an important anniversary

You’ve been together for a while by now and are super close but he’d be more open about it than some of the other members, in my opinion

He gets super quiet and flustered while you’re listening to it

I think he might think it’s a little overdramatic but he wasn’t sure how to change the lyrics without understating how much he loves you

You love it anyway and don’t even realize/think that

Spoon feeds you cake/dessert with blushing cheeks afterwards so you don’t bring up any of the things he mentioned in the song

Even though you’re practically swooning over him

a/n: when I talk about the “vibe” of a song I don’t mean the lyrics, just, like, the general instrumentals/sounds of the song (I might not’ve made that clear)

also victon in (I think they’re) eggs gifs 🥺

edit: ik this was posted earlier, but as i write this addition, it’s his birthday, so happy birthday sejun!

#victon imagines #victon fluff #victon reactions #victon seungwoo #victon seungsik #victon chan #victon sejun #victon hanse #victon byungchan #victon subin #mei's

[faithhopedreamslove]

The 100 7x12 thoughts

I’m constantly amazed at how much The 100 manages to pack into one episode, which is why I have to rewatch each one at least once before I can gather my thoughts. It gives me hope, because even though we only have 4 episodes left, SO much can happen between now and then. 

Although not surprising, I hated seeing Sachin’s and the Children of Gabriel’s deaths. That essentially means the end of all Sanctumites. Despite Monty’s edict to do better, it seems Bellamy, Clarke, and crew have indirectly brought about the destruction of another society, albeit a dysfunctional one.

I can’t tell if Gabriel’s comment to Bellamy that he looks good in white was meant to be snarky, flirting, or hiding a deeper meaning. But it was unexpected, to say the least!

So Bellamy is testing Cadogan’s attachment to Anders. Does that mean he’s not fully brainwashed? Plus, he’s also bargaining for his friends’ lives. The old Bellamy is still in there somewhere.

The scene between Jordan and Hope was incredibly moving and sweet. These two really are the “odd ones out,” and it was nice to see that the writers acknowledged that and used that to forge a tentative bond between them. They are technically the next generation of the human race, along with Madi and the other kids.

The roommate pairings are so significant. In one room, Bellamy’s new family. In the other, his old family. I know Bellamy has known Raven from the beginning, but they truly became family on the Ring. The fact that Bellamy sent her off to M-Cap so easily was chilling. And I wish they had shown Raven in M-Cap - I hate how insignificant her character has become this season.

The scene between Bellamy and Echo was understated but powerful. Huge hats off to Tasya Teles for that scene - she acted brilliantly. Both of their voices were low, deep with emotion. This was a defining moment for Echo - until now, she has blindly followed her leaders. Queen Nia, Roan, and now Bellamy. And unknowingly, she has been working against the very people her leader and love, Bellamy, fully supports. So she is at a crossroads here. Her last question to him, “Is this thing you believe really that important? Is it more important than us?” is huge. And the “us” can be interpreted two ways - “us” as the entire group, or “us” as in Bellamy and Echo and their relationship. I think that’s why there’s such confusion as to whether they broke up when Bellamy answered “yes.” And the way Echo reacts is telling - she is struggling with herself. Should she follow her leader, Bellamy, as she’s always done, and support the Shepherd? Or does she finally break away and follow her own beliefs?

And in stark contrast, we have the Bellamy and Clarke scene. Where Bellamy and Echo were quiet, Bellamy and Clarke are passionate, fighting to get through to one another. Bellamy shared his life-altering experience in Etherea with them, which he didn’t with Echo. And when Clarke starts breaking apart, telling Bellamy she doesn’t even recognize him, he starts breaking too. He reminds her that he is the person who brought her back from the dead, who fought for her. Of all the things he could have reminded her of, I think it’s telling that this is what he chooses to try to reach her with. And my heart broke when Bellamy asked her to believe in him. He didn’t ask Echo to do the same - he basically told her what he believes, and that was that. He asked Clarke to believe in him because he NEEDS her to. When they are at odds with each other, neither one of them is whole. It’s only when they both believe in the same thing that they are complete, and Bellamy knows this, consciously or subconsciously.

It’s interesting, because I think this scene was meant to show us how Bellamy is NOT fully brainwashed. Yes, he believes in the final war and transcendence, but his first priority is still to save his friends, to save Clarke. The way he said “I am trying to save YOU,” to Clarke was so raw and full of emotion. This is the woman he just pulled from the brink of death mere months ago. He has had to grieve her death not once, but TWICE. He CANNOT go through that again. Bellamy is trying to work with his head and his heart. His heart wants to believe in Cadogan fully, but his head is coming up with a plan to save his friends, because his heart still loves Clarke and his friends - Cadogan doesn’t fully own it yet.

I know Clarke calling Bellamy her best friend has riled some people, but he IS her best friend. The foundation of the strongest love is friendship. And what else would she call him? She can’t say “the man I love is standing in front of me,” because she still believes he’s with Echo.

I am so, so happy to see Octavia and Clarke reconnecting with each other. These two have been together since the drop ship, and their relationship has gone through so many ups and downs. For Octavia to say that she finally understands Clarke is huge, because these two women have not always seen eye to eye on things. 

Octavia has also been observer #1 of Bellamy and Clarke’s relationship. She has seen them love each other, fight with each other, fight FOR each other. It’s telling that she lets Clarke get in Bellamy’s face while she hangs back. Partly because O knows that she hasn’t yet fully mended her relationship with Bellamy the way Clarke has. But also because she knows that the only one who can get through to Bellamy is Clarke, and vice versa. I also love how she comforted Clarke when Bellamy refused to listen to them, and tried to fight when Bellamy sent her off to M-Cap. 

Doucette had grown on me in Etherea, but now he just seems creepy.

Bellamy can’t even stand to watch Clarke being tortured in M-Cap. Every time he looks at her, he has to look away. And when he can’t take it anymore, he tries to convince Cadogan that Clarke doesn’t know where the Flame is. So much for not lying to the Shepherd. He’ll absolutely do just that where Clarke is concerned. And Bellamy’s wince when Clarke finally agrees to help Cadogan after he threatens to send one of her friends to Penance - Bellamy knows Clarke, and he knows she will always sacrifice herself to save her friends. This is a HUGE parallel to CoL-Abby, who said to torture her friends to get Clarke to break. Abby was fully brainwashed, and knew that the quickest way to get to Clarke is to threaten her friends. Bellamy also knows this, but he did not offer that knowledge up to Cadogan. Again, I think we’re seeing signs that Bellamy is not fully brainwashed. And the way he looked at Cadogan when he said “she knows, or she wouldn’t be fighting,” had a hint of disgust - Bellamy does not want to follow a Shepherd who tortures people to get what he wants. The cracks are starting to deepen in Bellamy’s brainwashing here.

My two cents on “It didn’t have to be this way.” “Yes it did.” - I think Bellamy was honestly trying to save his friends with the least amount of damage caused. In his mind, Clarke tells them where the Flame is, they give it to Cadogan, his friends are safe, and they all transcend. Clarke’s response is more cryptic. I interpreted her “Yes, it did,” to mean that she wanted Bellamy to witness her torture so that he can realize that Cadogan is a monster. She knows this is the only way to get through to him. Clarke is trying to save Bellamy, just as much as he is trying to save her. This is a direct parallel to season 6. Bellamy fought to save Clarke from Josephine, who was controlling her mind. Clarke is fighting to save Bellamy from Cadogan, who is controlling his mind.

I’m so over Shidheida. He can take his OTT outfit, OTT throne, and get the hell out of here.

I LOVE Murphy and Emori this episode. My love for them has steadily been growing, and I especially love how protective they are of Madi. I’m wondering if this is setting them up to become Madi’s parents when Clarke and Bellamy go off to take the final test and perhaps have their Marperly ever after ending. I would be sad for Madi to lose Clarke, but I’m glad of the relationship she’s developing with Murphy and Emori. Plus, if this theory is correct, that means that Murphy would actually live!

Miller is so freaking underutilized this season, and it breaks my heart. He’s one of the original 100. His scene with Bellamy was cut this episode, and I was really looking forward to it. Bellamy trusted Miller before he trusted most others, and they go way back. With so few episodes left, it was a huge missed opportunity to acknowledge their bond. It’s telling that he looked to Clarke for confirmation as to whether she’s good with what’s happening. Clearly, he has lost faith in Bellamy for now.

From a narrative standpoint, Echo and Bellamy are now separated until we don’t know what episode. Whether Bellarke becomes canon or not, clearly the writers did not feel it was important to keep Becho together this close to the end of the story, yet they kept Bellarke together and on the same planet. Where this leads, we shall see.

Murphy’s little smirk when he sees Clarke is everything. That was a total cockroach moment. It’s also indicative of how much respect and affection Murphy has for Clarke. He missed her, and he knows she’ll find a way to fix the mess they’re in, like she always does. Clarke’s reaction “What the hell happened here?” was writing gold. I don’t care if they moved the stone into the castle just for this scene - it was a great way to end the episode!

Wow, this got way longer than I expected. If you read it all the way through, thank you! Please share your thoughts! 

#The 100 #the 100 season 7 #the 100 7x12 #bellarke

[clowniconography]

The first time I met her, she had a bee in the palm of her hand.

I’ll admit, I’ve never liked bugs. It’s not something I’m too ashamed of; most people don’t like bugs in some form or another, and my fear is certainly a lot more understated than some peoples’. I just need you to understand that I don’t like bugs, and never have, in order to put my actions into a little perspective.

That said, I think most people in my situation would’ve turned tail and ran at the sight of this woman, standing on the roof of an apartment building in early fall, surrounded on all sides by hives full of living, stinging, buzzing bees. 

But me? I couldn’t look away. 

She seemed to be wreathed in light, drawing it to herself like a halo--The sunset was just beginning and the sky behind her was bathed in pale yellow. It all matched her sundress, which was long and a different shade of yellow (and honestly a bit light considering the chilly time of year). 

Okay, I’ll admit it--it was a bit of an understatement to say that there was only one bee, and that it was only in the palm of her hand. The truth is she was covered in them; not like some circus performer attempting to give himself a “beard of bees” to please a crowd, no, but everywhere I looked a bee seemed to have found its way there, crawling on her exposed skin or attempting to feed at the sunflower print on her dress. 

I was awestruck and silent at first, and I thought I had been quiet enough for her not to notice me, until she spoke. The incessant buzzing that surrounded us seemed to dim slightly in order for me to hear her.

“Please don’t smoke up here.” she said. 

I jumped and looked down at the pack of cigarettes in my hand like I hadn’t even realized they were there until she’d said something. I hastily stuffed them into the breast pocket of my jacket and took a few steps towards her.

“Sorry, I--I hadn’t realized there was someone up here.”

She nodded sagely, still not looking directly at me. “Yes. Not many know. Meyers lets me keep them up here as long as I promise to keep them…” she seemed to be searching for the right choice of words, “...‘under control’.” she said eventually, with ironic air quotes.

The roof we were standing on belonged to Meyers, as did the entire building below it. It was no mystery to me how this ethereal young woman had been able to charm that crotchety tomato-like man into letting her keep--I counted quickly--eight makeshift beehives on the roof of his building. I probably would’ve done the same in his situation.

“I just moved in.” I said, and then pinched myself for saying something so mundane--but I needed to do something to keep the conversation going. I sure as hell wasn’t about to just walk back to my apartment like I hadn’t seen anything.

She smiled, finally meeting my eyes. “I can see that,” she said. “Most people who live here know not to come up to the roof. I tell them not to smoke up here but my little friends seem to do most of the convincing themselves, and I never have to worry about it again after the first warning.”

I laughed “Yeah, I can imagine.” I took another step forward. I didn’t notice a bee landing on my jacket sleeve, and in return it did not sting me. 

“Are you not scared?” she said, sounding like she didn’t care if I answered, or left, or died right there on the spot.

“I’ll admit, I’ve never seen this many in one place, and usually I’d be pretty freaked out but...no, I’m not scared.” I surprised myself with my fearlessness, and I saw her eyebrows raise in a similar response.

“Well, it helps that you seem to have them pretty under control” I said.

She smiled, saying nothing. 

---

I kept visiting her for the next few weeks. I was worried I might annoy her with my visits, but she revealed nothing about how she felt and I kept finding myself unable to resist climbing those stairs most nights.

I found out her name was Valerie, but it felt strange to use it. It was like tethering a name to a force of nature; trying to pin down something that wanted to fly, to be free. 

With every visit I stood closer and closer to her, eventually claiming a place in one of the long-disused lawn chairs nearby. I would sit and talk to her for an hour or two while she tended to her “little friends”, and while she was as opaque as ever, the more I got to know her, the more confident I was that she enjoyed the company. She didn’t strike me as someone with many close friends. 

Never did I notice that each of her bees seemed to be a different type. I let them land on me, now, without worry; not as much as she did, certainly, but the more it happened the less afraid I became. Some of them were fat, fuzzy, almost cute bumblebees, and others were the pointed sleek bodies of yellow jackets, with every type in between also making appearances. 

I was used to seeing all different types of bees in what little nature I’d been exposed to in my life, so it never occured to me that these different species were not usually meant to coexist. 

I brought her food a couple times--coffee, donuts, and once Chinese takeout. The coffee and takeout sat untouched, but she devoured the donuts ravenously and my heart swelled at the thought that my offering was appreciated.

Looking back, I’m a bit ashamed at how smitten I was, how desperate my various attempts to win her favor had been. At the time, though, I felt nothing but totally in love and desperate for her to like me, to acknowledge me past our meetings on the roof. 

Once I bought her a mug shaped like a bee that I had seen at a kitsch shop on my way home from work. It was round and painted with black and yellow stripes and a dopey little smiley face, and the handle was shaped like a pair of wings. 

She squealed when I revealed it to her, happier than I’d ever seen her, and I in that moment I think I was happier than I’d ever been. 

I hadn’t even thought about smoking a cigarette for weeks. 

---

One day, a few weeks after our first meeting, I was sitting there on the roof as I always did. She was standing at the hive nearest to me, with only a few feet of air and about one thousand bees between us. It was then, watching her as I always did, that I saw it--a patch of yellow on the inside of her wrist. 

Without thinking I reached out and grabbed her. This was the first time we’d ever touched, and I was surprised by the texture of her skin. I want to say it was clammy, but that wasn’t it--it was some other, similar feeling, almost like wax. 

She yelped as I yanked her towards me--I realize now how insensitive I was being, but I’m a medical resident and the patch of skin looked terribly infected. I was terrified, honestly, with the idea that she might be getting sick.

I only got to glance at it before she yanked her arm away. The bit of skin on her wrist was textured with what looked like a bunch of little holes, mixed with a scratchy, papery texture and patches of raised bumps. 

After taking her wrist out of my hands she stared down at me, the anger in her eyes at that moment being the strongest emotion I’d ever seen her exhibit.

“Valerie, I..I think there might be something wro--”

“Out!” she screeched, gnashing her teeth at me. I was suddenly, terrifyingly aware of how many of her “little friends” were currently exploring my skin. 

“But Valerie--”

“I said get OUT!”

I know it sounds stupid, but I could’ve sworn that the buzzing grew with her voice, raising from simply a background noise to a loud cocaphony which engulfed my thoughts and made my whole head vibrate. 

As she yelled at me again and again to get out, to get away, the buzzing seemed to drown out her voice--but at the same time, the buzzing was her voice.

I ran, not stopping until I reached my apartment, my breath heaving.

In my bedroom I stripped off every piece of clothing I wore and inspected every inch of my skin to see if a single one had followed me inside. I was irrational with fear, and when I threw away the clothes I’d been wearing I had to resist the urge to burn them, too. 

---

Despite the fear I felt that day, it didn’t take very long for the need to return to the roof to come back. I was so used to the routine that I had to force myself to focus on other things; watching TV and doing work and playing video games when it would’ve been so easy to let my legs carry me up those steps. 

I wondered how long I should wait before apologizing. Should I do it at all? Would she just rather I not speak to her? The thought that I might never see her again scared me. 

I kicked myself when I remembered that I had no clue which apartment she lived in. I realized how little I knew about her besides her name; what had we talked about those days on the roof together? Did she know where my apartment was, or even my name? My mind blanked.

After two weeks the waiting became too much--I was determined to apologize to her. I convinced myself that I didn’t care if she told me that she never wanted to see me again; that all I needed was closure.

I found my way up to the roof the way I had dozens of times before. I realized I was straining my hearing, listening for that telltale buzzing that I still sometimes heard in my dreams. 

It wasn’t until the final flight that I heard it, much quieter than it had been the last time I’d been there.

I opened the door to the rooftop and the chill hit me like a wall. It was no longer just the start of fall; the season was on in full force with winter creeping around the corner. Despite this, the buzzing was as strong as I was used to and the bees were as active as ever, flying to and fro in their little focused clouds.

Valerie was nowhere to be seen. This was the first time I’d come to the roof without her there, and the chill felt stronger without the warmth of her presence. 

I wove through the hives as if in a dream, no longer really concerned with wondering where Valerie was. I let the constant buzzing fill my mind, let the vibration of it worm its way deep into my very marrow. I let the bees land wherever they wanted; my hands, my shoulders. Any final bit of fear I harbored against them was gone. 

It worried me that Valerie wasn’t there to take care of them, and I made the resolute decision to keep checking each day to see if she’d come back. I’d learned a lot about beekeeping from observing her, and I’d tend to them intermittently in case she didn’t come back at all. 

After walking through the rows, inspecting each of the hives for any possible damage, I made my way back to the door. I was about to leave, to return to my apartment, when I felt a sudden urge. 

I turned around and counted out the hives. There were nine of them; just as there always had been.

I smiled to myself and went back inside.   

#bees #horror #horror writing #i wrote this for the writing club at my school and i thot people here might appreciate it #it's very tma inspired if you can't tell. #writing #frenchie originals #short story #also #wlw #wlw writing #the main character isn't gendered but also :)))) shes a lesbian :)))))))) #scooter.txt

[jinsai-ish]

Welp, I guess I'm gonna start posting all the things. It's all old, from when I actually had, you know, free time. I also have no idea how tumblr works in terms of stuff like cuts so if people want to read the nice formatted stuff it's all up at jinsai.livejournal.com.

Any complaints can be forwarded to the otter.

First up, Pet Shop of Horrors drabbles:

Title: Imprisoning the Elements

Rating: G

Word Count: 100

Pairings/charecters: DxLeon

Notes: Response to challenge #6 (elements).

You can pick up earth, hold it in your hands. You can shape it, toss it into a box. But the wind will flow through your fingers, laughing at you. Water flows, but it will hold shape in a container. It can be imprisoned, remaining water. But fire…

Only one of two things can happen to fire enclosed in a box. It will die out, smothered for lack of nourishment. Or it will burn down the sides of the box, flickering merrily at your futile attempts to catch it. 

There are days when D can’t stand to look at Leon.

Title: Of Lizards and Rats, Mirrors and Hooks

Rating: PG

Word count: 100

Pairings/characters involved: Robin Hendrix, Medusa, Despair

Notes: Cross-over with the Sandman, response to challenge 7, bystander pov.

She looks at her mirrors, the rats scrabbling around her feet. Ah, there. Platinum blonde hair, blue eyes. Rich, handsome, talented, and utterly apathetic save for his reptiles. Drowning in the shadow of the prince, Robin Hendrix is one of her favorites. 

A new development, that lovely young lizard. She sees Robin creeping out of the frame of the mirror, step by dreamy step. Digging her hook into her cheek, she nearly smiles. The rats scamper in fear. 

Nice try little god.

Despair is patient.

When Robin looks into Medusa’s eyes, he almost misses the hook behind the prince. Almost.

Title: The Price

Rating: G

Word count: 100

Pairings or characters involved: the Chief, implied Leon/D

Notes: response to 8 "Beneath the Mask." I wanted to focus on the chief, wondering what his job costs him. Rather understated I think, but please let me now whatyou think.

Wrenching open his door, the chief gestured for the ranting detective to take his leave.

“Out! Leon, it’s Valentine’s Day. All the criminals are off romancing their mistresses. Why don’t you take off a bit early? I’m sure you can think of somewhere to go.”

Leon blustered a bit, a faint red tingeing his cheeks. But he grabbed his coat as he did so, brushing past a winking Jill. The chief humphed.

“Finally, some peace and quiet!” 

Left alone in his office, the chief twisted the gold ring on his left hand and stared at a phone that wouldn’t ring.

Title: Einstein's Truth

Rating: G/PG

Word count: 100 (not including quote)

Pairings or characters involved: D/Leon

Notes: This one was a pain to cut down to 100 words but it's done. Response to challenge 10 on the theme of time. Inspired by raison d'etat's wonderful fic "Unwilling Sleep" and the following passage from "Properties of the Light" by Rebecca Goldstein.

The passage of time is nothing real. It is a chimera spun out of gauzy consciousness, and nothing more, a frightful apparition tossed up by our mixed-up minds. We know this from Einstein's physics, which shows us a time as stilled as spread space. Time is static, the flow unreal: it is Einstein's truth, and it is the truth, falling straight away from the conditions of perfect symmetry imposed on the geometry. The ebb, which seems so terrible and real, which seems to carry off one's every treasure, leaving one like a chest spilled open on the waves: unreal, unreal.

“Einstein’s Truth”

At forty-five, calluses have long since formed on once-smooth palms. This is the choice he made. 

The aroma of hothouse flowers manages to cover the hospital smell, signs of the respect the officers at the precinct held for their chief of ten years. Leon’s resting now, the bullet that had tore through his chest no longer paining him. Eyes shut, D rests his head above a stilling heart. Somewhere he knows that he is pouring tea for a loud-mouthed, loving detective. As Leon drifts away, into past and future, D knows that this time, it is his turn to search.

"The distinction between past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion. (Albert Einstein, shortly before his death)

Title: Sakura

Rating: G

Word count: 100 

Pairings/characters: D/Leon (implied)

Notes: Reply to challenge 12 (seasons). Post-series, with D in Tokyo ala Nemuki special. Inspired by the latest "Flowers and the Detective" from volume 6.

It is summer in Tokyo and past-time for some rigorous spring-cleaning. D assigns tools and tasks, arming himself with a duster.

The denizens of the pet shop are winning against dust and dirt when D stumbles upon a box stashed in the corner of his room. Within lay the gifts his grandfather sent from his own visit to Japan: the rake, the fan – and the kimono. D reaches for it, his hand unsteady. Suddenly chilled, he wraps himself in the kimono, trying not to remember widened blue eyes and blossoms falling to the ground in rushes of color and scent.

Title: Just Another Part of the Job

Rating: PG 

Word count: 100

Pairings/characters: The Chief (anyone know his name?), Leon 

Notes: response to challenge 13, waiting. Just a bit of fun at Leon's expense.

Fingers the color of rich chocolate milk tapped impatiently on the desk. The hollow thuds landed in counter rhythm to the ticking of the clock. The chief scowled at a stack of files, then back at the time piece. Ten more minutes. If those reports weren’t in his hands by then he swore he’d – The phone rang, interrupting his mental threat.

Nine minutes and twenty-one seconds later a panting Leon burst in the door, shoving a large folder at the chief.

Orcot was a damn good detective, but he was the absolute worst when it came to completing his paperwork!

Title: Statistics

Rating: PG

Word count: 140 (sorry!)

Pairings/characters: the Chief, Leon (implied D/Leon)

Notes: Response (albeit too long) to challenge 14, numbers. Takes place right after the first "Flowers and the Detective" story. 

Yesterday they had posted the annual report for the 14th precinct: 1,038 cases of robbery, 69 rapes, 700 vehicle thefts, 1,065 aggravated assaults, and 19 homicides. That wasn’t counting the officer who had lost his life in the line of duty.

“Dammit Leon…”

“Chief?” Awakening for the second time, Leon’s bleary vision picked out the chief’s face, focusing on his eyes, red and dry as the Martian surface. As red as the petals from -

“Gattolotto...” Leon winced in pain. “Where’s D?”

“I made him go home; he was here all night.

“We caught the dealers. You’ll probably get a promotion out of this. But don’t think this means you’re not an idiot for getting shot.” 

But the chief smiled. Last night they hadn’t known if Leon was going to make it. And he had already attended one funeral too many.

Long I know. But I did research! lapdonline.org and http://www.losangelesalmanac.com/topics/Crime/cr03ea.htm

I'm assuming the 14th to be under Central of Central Bureau as they service Chinatown, among other areas. And anyone else notice that before getting shot Leon is "Officer" and "Detective" after? Maybe just a translation error but it worked. *shrug*

Title: Selling Vinyl Siding

Rating: PG

Word count: 100

Pairings/characters: Leon, Sofu (implied D/Leon)

Notes: Response to challenge 16, family. 

“Selling Vinyl Siding”

Since meeting D, Leon had suffered a lot of weird-ass dreams. Man-eating rabbits, and all that crap. But that last one had really taken the cake.

“If you leave my grandson alone, I’ll give you anything you want.” 

Leon had recognized the man, nearly a mirror-image of D, save his eyes matched and lacked the glimmer that always hovered in his D’s. 

He had said this out-loud and D’s creepy grandfather glared.

“What is it you want? Riches, power, immortality? Never see him again and I’ll give you an immortal life!”

Leon had never laughed so hard in his life.

Title: Father's Day

Rating: G 

Word count: 100 

Pairings/characters: D/Leon

Notes: Response 2 to challenge 16, family.

“Father’s Day”

Leon only spoke of his father once and he held very still while he did so. His lips moved, but the shadowy blue eyes blinked slowly, the rise and fall of his chest barely discernable. D gently pried the tea cup from his fingers and refilled it, his hand lingering over the Detective’s as he returned it.

D never spoke of his father. But sometime at night, when the darkness seeped from the corners of his room to surround, he’d tremble slightly. That’s when Leon would hold him, clutching D tightly and mumbling soothing words that had no real meaning.

Title: Odile's Spring

Rating: G

Word count: 100 

Pairings/characters: Jeanne La Croix (from vol. 5, Dance)

Notes: Response to challenge 17, cold. I would have to say that of all Count D's one-shot customers, Jeanne and her story "Dance" are my favorite. :)

"Odile's Spring"

March in St. Petersburg is cold in a way that L.A. could never understand. Jeanne clutches the freshly-made bread close to her chest, the warmth soaking through her gloves to chilled fingers. Her parka is thick enough but still she envies the thick fur of the husky that runs past, chased after by laughing children. Jeanne smiles, loving the sound of the language, the thick accent that warms her ears. Her leg muscles loosen and her feet begin sweeping gracefully over the frozen ground. In Russia, Jeanne La Croix dances amid a flurry of snow, falling softer than swan’s down.

Title: "A Token of my Esteem"

Rating: PG

Word count: 100 

Pairings/characters: Leon/OC, implied D/Leon

Notes: With D gone, someone had to try and pick up the pieces. Post-series. (#31, token) 

It was raining the night she met Leon. Drunk as he was, he held the umbrella steady as they walked to her apartment. Sometimes, when she was too caught up in a client’s portfolio, he’d bring coffee and donuts. They were the only sweets he could stomach. He never talked after sex. They never made love. When she told him the company offered her a prestigious job in Tokyo, he shrugged. She left him the apartment.

She recognized him the second she entered the pet store. She strode out, fighting back tears, a red palm print marring D’s perfect complexion.

Title: "And a Pocketful of Raindrops"

Rating: G 

Word count: 100 

Pairings/characters: D, Leon, Chris (implied D/Leon)

Notes: Reply to challenge 33, dance. 

“And a Pocketful of Raindrops”

Walking out of the restaurant, Count D, Leon, and Chris strode directly into the downpour. Puddles dotted the sidewalks and a heavy, slow rain was falling. Chris seized the moment to puddle-jump, soaking the Count and his brother in the process. 

“Christopher!” D glared at him, brandishing an armful of wet silk.

“Aw Count, live a little!” Leon joined Chris, swinging him around in an odd little jig.

“Detective! If you must dance, at least show him how to do it properly.” 

Brushing droplets out of his hair, Chris gaped at a bewildered Leon, roped into waltzing in the rain.

Title: Trick or Treat?

Rating: R

Word count: 165 

Pairings/characters: T-chan/surprise

Notes: #35 -Trick-or-treat. A new pairing for me. Let's see how it goes.

"Trick or Treat?"

Tetsu thrust hard into the pliant body beneath him. Finally the Count had seen the light. Sure, it was a bit sudden and completely out of the blue, but the toutetsu wasn’t about to protest. Not with the writhing body beneath him, the long nails digging into his back. He growled at the scent of his own blood, moving faster and deeper. As the Count arched up his back Tetsu leaned down and licked the sweat droplets off of one blushed nipple. The Count tasted of fresh peaches and cinnamon spice. At climax two cries echoed in the room – a loud howl and a shrill scream.

The toutetsu allowed his lower body to rest against that of his lover. Slowing his breath, he meet the Count’s mismatched eyes, only to stare in shock as black hair grew and shaded into red. A pair of sly golden eyes glittered up at him – a fox’s eyes.

Ten-chan leaned up and nipped the frozen man-eater’s nose. “Trick-or-treat T-chan.”

Title: Kindred

Rating: PG

Word count: 100

Pairings/characters: the Chief, Leon, Jill, other

Notes: Challenge #36, instinct

“Kindred”

Leon depends on his instincts while Jill prefers research. He’s hotheaded, she’s too trusting. Ted’s a joker, Marianne’s a cynic, Phil’s always late. But they’re all good cops. All the men and women who serve under him are. The chief won’t tolerate a dirty cop, or a lousy one. If that keeps him from the coveted promotion to commissioner, so be it. 

As long as officers like Orcot and the others are on the force, he knows he’s not the only one kept up late at night by the dead’s silence, names slipping from his lips in a broken mantra.

To be continued...

#petshop of horrors #pet shop of horrors #fic(let) #antediluvian

[ragewerthers]

Blue

Summary: Ravus has noticed that Gladio has been pulling away from him more and more.  He begins to wonder if perhaps it's because of him?  Is he too boring to hold the mans attention anymore?  Maybe he needs to spice things up a bit?  Sadly, it may be possible to 'dye' of embarrassment.

A/n: Hello, hello!!!  This is another lovely F3S prompt from my friend bgn846!  She requested:

"Modern day AU - Ravus the, (insert your career choice here) decides to die his hair one day to mix things up. His (insert lover here, some suggestions include, Aranea, Cindy, Ignis, or whom ever, Loqi?? ) might be getting bored and he thinks this will help. It does sort of, turns out his partner was having a bad week at work and it had nothing to do with him."

I hope that you enjoy it, my friend and I really enjoyed getting to write these two for you! :D

You can also read on AO3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22990987

Enjoy! :D

Word Count: 3406

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

“... and honestly, can you believe Aranea really did it?  I know the clients were surprised,” Ravus chuckled as he finished recounting a truly hilarious incident that had happened at the law firm today.  To be fair, Aranea’s stubborn attitude was something that worked well when it came to finding the facts and hunting down information that pertained to their cases.  However… sometimes her means of finding said information were less than law friendly.

He knew that Gladio would get a kick out of it though.  The man worked as the head of security for one of the largest banks in Insomnia, but even he could find amusement in his assistant’s antics… at least without reporting him to the authorities.

“What do you think, darling?” Ravus asked, looking up from his almost finished dinner, his smile faltering slightly as he saw his partner.

Gladio had barely touched any of his food, looking like he was worlds away in his head and like he hadn’t just heard one of the most hilarious stories Ravus had ever told.  Clearing his throat, Ravus gently nudged his partner’s foot under the table, watching as Gladio jumped slightly at the contact.

“Everything alright, Gladio?  You seem rather… quiet this evening,” Ravus asked as Gladio seemed to finally realize where he was.

“Oh!  I’m… yeah, I’m alright.  Were you saying something?” Gladio asked, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he finally focused back on him.

Giving a little sigh Ravus merely shook his head.  “I was… nevermind.  A little anecdote from work.  Nothing more,” he said quietly as he picked up his glass of water to take a sip.  Gladio seemed to take him at his word, finally taking a few bites from his meal.

To be honest, this wasn’t the first time that Gladio had seemed to drift away from him lately.  Over the past week it felt like a gap was slowly starting to grow between them and for the life of him, Ravus couldn’t figure out why.

It started with longer hours at work which was quickly followed by dinners that were mostly in silence.  Worse was when Gladio would seem to suddenly think of something and head off to make a phone call or send a text when they would both normally be talking about their days or settling in for the evening.  Ravus always enjoyed those moments of just catching up with his partner, of the time when they were allowed to just enjoy each other’s company without the stresses of work and the day to bother them.

Now… it felt like he was intruding upon Gladio’s time and left an uncomfortable feeling slowly growing in his chest by the day.

His quiet ruminations were interrupted by the shrill chirp of Gladio’s phone going off and without missing a beat Gladio was up and out of his seat, grabbing it from the counter.

“Amicitia,” he answered, making his way to their bedroom so that he could talk to whomever was on the other end in private.

Sitting alone at the table, Ravus glanced around before sighing and standing.

“I… suppose I’ll just tidy up then, shall I?” he said to absolutely no one in particular.  Hell, even the fern in the corner seemed to be ignoring him as he stood and began to collect their dishes. As he made his way over to the sink he could still hear Gladio talking on the phone, even hearing the deep rumble of his lovers chuckle at something the other party must have said.

And honestly?  Hearing that simple sound made that uncomfortable feeling in his chest intensify.

He missed being the one to get that laughter from Gladio.  

He missed sharing the stories of their day and finding time with one another.  

He just... missed Gladio.  

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d gotten a kiss to his brow or had been able to tempt the man into joining him on the sofa to enjoy some ridiculous show while they just cuddled and made fun of whatever played.  

Maybe… Gladio was growing bored of him?

He’d heard of that.  Of couples growing apart simply because they had grown together so much that no spice or excitement remained.

Shaking his head he refocused on turning on the water to rinse off their dishes.  Gods, he sounded like a melancholic housewife!  But… truly… was he the reason that Gladio seemed to be pulling away?

He made quick work of their dishes, setting them aside to dry on the dish rack before starting to make his way toward the bedroom.  He flipped the light switches off as he went, not really in the mood to spend another evening by himself out in the living room watching some silly program that he only enjoyed watching with someone he could banter about it with.

As he neared the bedroom he could still hear Gladio talking and for some reason he changed course, turning to enter their bathroom to tidy up before bed.  Flicking the light on he turned to look at himself in the mirror, a small sigh escaping him as he turned on the faucet.

Why had he chickened out of going into their bedroom?  It’s not like they had any secrets between them and Gladio had taken a number of phone calls in there.  In the past Ravus had found no qualms in ducking in to grab his pajama’s, maybe stealing a kiss on the way back out.  But with the distance between them lately it felt like he really was intruding even in their own home.

As he began brushing his teeth he thought over his own actions.  The same question popping back up in his head.

Was he the reason for Gladio’s distance?  Did the man find him too boring to be around that he would rather talk to his colleagues then spend time with him?

Glancing up into the mirror and catching sight of his frothy visage he winced slightly.

White hair pulled back into a loose ponytail…

Frumpy sweater to ward off the February chill…

Astrals damned sweatpants?!

He really had become a less then enticing presence!

He could remember the days he would dress to the nines to impress Gladio.  Finding the best outfits to show himself off because the reactions he always got were fantastic.  Now he looked like a walking laundry hamper.  Not to mention that with winter upon them he hadn’t even gotten a little color to his already fair skin and seemed to be doing a remarkable impersonation of a snow white.

All in all every feature of himself screamed one word.

Boring.

Another chuckle echoed through the bathroom door and Ravus growled slightly in his chest, rinsing his mouth with as much petty anger as someone could rinse their mouth out with.

He refused to lose Gladio simply because he had let himself go a bit.  Had allowed himself to become so… so… boring.

Ravus was going to make some changes starting tomorrow and he was going to win Gladio back!

He could do this!

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

How could he have done this?!?!

The day had started out so well!  He had a plan and everything and now… now!!!

After his revelation last night, Ravus had taken his time in formulating a plan.  Perhaps taking too long as by the time he made it to their room Gladio was already settled in bed and snoring softly, his phone not even plugged in properly.

He tried not to let the pang of hurt in his chest cut too deep at the thought that even a good night kiss seemed to be out of the question.  Instead he made sure that Gladio’s phone was properly charging before settling down with even more resolve to right whatever was wrong.

That following morning he had woken up before Gladio to get ready for his day.  He left a little note on the coffee table saying he would be out most of the day, but he hoped to see him later that evening for dinner.

Usually when he had left these notes he would receive some sort of text during the day from Gladio either making suggestive comments, teasing him or simply a sweet ‘I look forward to seeing you tonight.’  However, the lack of a notification on his phone only drove him on in his endeavor for the day and before long he was returning home, a new outfit at the ready and… a small box of hair dye.

After taking stock of himself and what may have been pushing Gladio away, Ravus had thought that perhaps a little color might add some spice back into their relationship?  He had looked over a litany of colors and had settled on something a little more fun.  He had found an understated blue that would bring out the greys and whites of his natural hair color and just add small pops of color through his locks.

At least… that had been the plan.

When he’d gotten home he had gone into the bathroom to start his hair transformation.  The idea was doing a few blue highlights, nothing too outrageous just… fun and lively!

That was not what happened.

Apparently the plastic hair cap he was wearing that allowed some of his hair through to highlight and was supposed to leave the rest alone was more than a little faulty.  At the end of his first attempt he had rinsed and removed the cap only to find blotches had bled through and stained into other parts of his hair.  All in all it looked like an ink pen had broken and seeped over his head.

This was where attempt number two came in.

And made things so much worse.

Realizing at this point that he couldn’t get the color out he went for broke and decided to dye the rest of his hair to match.

What transpired next was what could only be called a comedy of errors.  By the end, Ravus’ hair was an absolute fiasco.  Bits of hair were still white, some were a weird teal blue and others were almost midnight blue in their darkness.  And somehow the earlier mistake blotches were still blatantly noticeable.

He had to fix this!

Maybe he could call Aranea to pick him up more blue dye to try and blend it all?  Maybe there was a grey or white he could add into it to even out the color of the darker spots?

Maybe he should just shave it all off but if so… what about the one blue eyebrow?!

Sadly, fate decided it desperately wanted to kick him while he was down because before he could even think to pick up his phone he heard the front door opening and closing, Gladio’s voice soon announcing his return.

“Ravus?  You home?” he heard, honestly surprised to actually be addressed after being treated like more of a fixture than a person lately.

“I… I’m in the bathroom!  Don’t come in!” he shouted back, looking around him for he didn’t even know what!

“Is… everything okay?  You sound a little… different?” his partner called back before the sound of footsteps moving down the hall reached his ears.

Quickly Ravus made sure the bathroom door was locked, refusing to allow Gladio to see him like this.  If the man wasn’t already one foot out the door from sheer boredom in this relationship then seeing Ravus looking like he’d tried to become a blueberry certainly wouldn’t entice the man to stay.

“What?!  I-It’s… nothing!  I’m… it’s… nothing!” he rambled, met only with silence for a moment as he saw a shadow appearing under the door.  After a moment the handle of the bathroom door shook as Gladio apparently didn’t understand bathroom boundaries and Ravus took a step back.

“Ravus something’s definitely not right.  Are you okay?” Gladio asked again, making Ravus’ heart beat a little faster as fear and embarrassment began to completely engulf him.

Apparently his lack of an answer only fueled Gladio’s worry as the door shook a little more forcefully.  To be fair, Gladio’s entire job was making sure things were alright and everyone was safe.  Obviously he would be able to read that there was something wrong in this situation and it wouldn’t sit well with him.

“Ravus?  Ravus please answer me?  Are you hurt?” he called again and this time Ravus literally saw the door bowing as Gladio seemed to be pushing more of his weight against it.  He apparently forgot that Gladio had the strength of a behemoth with how gentle the man normally was with him and honestly the last thing he wanted was for Gladio to hurt himself by breaking down the door.

“No!  No I’m… gods, I’m fine,” he called back, his voice tapering off into a strained whisper.  “I-I’m coming out, but please… let me explain before you say anything.”

The door creaked with Gladio’s weight slowly moving away from it and Ravus took a deep breath as he reached forward and unlocked the door, opening it slowly to face his fate.

“Ravus you’re really starting to wor-......,” Gladio's sentence halted instantly as Ravus stepped out into the hallway, the lawyer’s gaze firmly fixed on the carpeted hallway as he refused to meet his partners eyes.

“I um… had a small mishap with some… hair dye,” Ravus whispered quietly, his heart beating rapidly in his chest from fear and worry.  “I wanted to surprise you.  Mix things up... a little.”

He could hear Gladio take a breath to say something and then pause as if thinking better of himself.

“I mean it’s… definitely a surprise?” Gladio tried, but it only served to make Ravus smile humorlessly..

“Well… though it’s not quite the effect I was looking for it did ultimately allow me to reach my goal,” he said quietly.

“What goal was that?” Gladio asked, still sounding more confused than anything.

Ravus closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself before looking up at Gladio.

“You finally noticed me,” he whispered.

Gladio’s eyes widened as he heard this and the confusion he had only seemed to double.  “What?  I notice you,” Gladio said quietly.

“No… you don’t, Gladio,” Ravus countered, frowning more and feeling anger starting to prickle its way through the layers of embarrassment and uncertainty that had taken residence in his chest.  “What did I wear yesterday, hm?  What did we talk about at dinner?”

Pausing a moment at the questions, Gladio seemed to be flounder for an answer. “You were wearing… we… it was a conversation about… your sister!” he finally answered, seeming to grasp onto a memory he deemed recent.  “It was about your sister and how her trip is going in Altissia.”

“Luna returned from her trip a week ago, Gladiolus!” Ravus shot back, the anger only growing and the shock that appeared over his partners face did nothing to make him feel better.  “Tell me… who called yesterday?  What did you talk about with them?”

Gladio’s surprised expression from learning that he’d apparently missed an entire week morphed into something akin to guilt.  “It was Nyx… from work.  We were discussing the extra security measures that we’ve had to implement lately.”

Ravus couldn’t stand to look at the guilt written over Gladio’s features, his head ducking down once more as he shook his head.  “I understand that your job requires a lot from you.  I do.  But it feels like you only light up anymore when there is a call from work or something to do with it and… you just seem so… so… bored with me anymore that I ju-...,”

“What?!” Gladio shouted in surprise, making Ravus jump slightly as he glanced back up.  Soon he found his jaw cradled in his partners strong hands, the touch so gentle he was afraid to move lest it stop.  The look Gladio leveled at him with those amber eyes was so intense he thought his heart would melt from it.  “Ravus.  I have never… will never be bored with you.”

“Really?” Ravus whispered though his heart still couldn’t believe him completely.  “Because I feel like all I’ve done is… bother you recently.  We don’t talk like we used to.  We don’t joke around or go out.  And it’s not like I’m looking to be swept off my feet and taken to luxurious places!  It’s just… I miss… spending time with you when you’re actually present.”

Ravus felt a tightness in his chest and swallowed thickly, hating himself for this weakness.  “It’s no fun watching those awful reality shows without you beside me to make fun of them.  Or to hear you laugh when we talk about our days together.  I just… miss being something important in your life.”

“Gods,” Gladio whispered, his expression looking absolutely heartbroken and making Ravus regret speaking so openly.  However, before he could utter a single apology he found himself engulfed in Gladio’s arms and Astrals had he missed the warmth and safety his lovers embrace gave him.  Instantly he wrapped his own arms around Gladio, soaking in as much of this affection that he had missed so much.

“Ravus… I’m so, so sorry,” Gladio whispered, still refusing to let go and honestly, Ravus wasn’t too keen either.  Hiding his face against the man’s broad shoulder he felt Gladio’s hand soothing along his spine.  “Work has gotten out of hand recently.  But that is absolutely no excuse for how I’ve been behaving.  I shouldn’t have let it take control of everything and make you feel like I was bored of you or like you were bothering me.  Nothing could be farther from the truth!  You are what keeps me sane, but apparently I have been taking it all for granted.  I’m sorry, Ravus.  Gods, I’m sorry.”

Ravus was an incredibly proud man.  However hearing all of this and realizing that he wasn’t pushing Gladio away, rather the man had allowed himself to get swallowed up by his work, did startle a slightly watery chuckle out of him.

“So… you really aren’t bored with me?” he whispered, his voice still a little thick even as he felt Gladio shaking his head as the man nuzzled against the top of his head.

“Never.  How could I?  You are the most amazing, wonderful and patient man I’ve ever met.  And I swear that I’m going to make this up to you for being such an ass,” Gladio promised leaning back to look at him.

Ravus glanced up and instantly his face blanched.  He had forgotten about the still damp hair dye and apparently so had Gladio.  When the man had nuzzled against him he had managed to imprint a rather large amount of the dye onto his right cheek and beard.

Taking in Ravus’ expression, Gladio’s eyes widened, apparently thinking he’d said something wrong.  “I-I mean… I know that saying I’m sorry isn’t enough for how I’ve been acting, but I swear I-...”

“No no!  Gladio it’s… my hair… you are… I’ve tainted you!” he finally managed to get out, watching as realization dawned in Gladio’s eyes.

Raising a hand to his cheek, Gladio brushed his fingers over the now damp skin, pulling his hand away to find his fingertips imprinted with the same blue.  Instantly a little smile appeared over his lips and a deep, rumbling chuckle escaped him.

Hearing the noise instantly had Ravus’ heart beating a mile a minute and before long he felt a smile tugging at the corners of his lips too.  “Oh, Gladio.  I’m sorry, love.  I look ridiculous and now I’m apparently trying to get you to join me.”

Gladio snorted at that and shook his head.  “You don’t look ridiculous,” he murmured, getting an unimpressed look from Ravus and laughing a bit more.  “Well I mean… yeah, you look a little blue… but… perhaps I can help fix it?”

The comment did take Ravus by surprise and judging by the look Gladio was giving him, one so tender and full of love he realized the double meaning behind the comment.  A soft and honest smile finally appeared over his lips as well and he nodded.  “I know you will,” he agreed, soon finding a gentle kiss pressed to his lips, Gladio’s arms pulling him closer once more.

Who knew that all he had to do to remedy all of this… was to be a little blue?

#ffxv #my fics #nontickling #hurt comfort #fluff #ravus nox fleuret #gladiolus amicitia #raviolus! #f3s

[yourdeepestfathoms]

“what are you so afraid of? it’s only me! the monster you created.”

TW: Alcohol, abuse mention

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

Bessie was a mess when she arrived late to the theater. She was bleary-eyed, her cheeks flushed. She stank of booze. Below the knee her jeans and boots were mottled with dirt and splashes of God knows what. Worst of all, though, was the dark stain spreading down over her left hip. She'd tried to wad the apparent wound with napkins, but it hadn't stopped the hemorrhaging. If whatever the injury was hurt her, she didn’t show it. Just stumbled with her ankles twisting with each step until she finally collapsed on the couch in her dressing room.

  “Where have you been?” Jane gasped. “What have you done?”

In her right fist, Bessie clutched a brown paper bag. She pulled a bottle of whisky from it, unscrewed the cap and swallowed a mouthful. She ran her thumb over the bottle's embossed label and smiled softy at it, ignoring Jane and everyone else in the room completely.

   “Libbie?” Anna tried, hoping to pull her dear friend out of her drunken reverie. It worked slightly, but not enough to snap Bessie out of the daze she was swallowed up in.

None of them really knew what to say as their bassist took another slug of whisky fifteen minutes before the show was supposed to start and stared off into space. They didn’t even know why she was late, but could tell it hasn’t been a good day for her. Her mouth was trembling ever so slightly. They could see the tears teetering on her lower eyelids, glittering slightly under the fluorescent lights.

  “Bessie, hey?” Jane reached out tentatively. “Honey? Are you alright?”

Bessie recoiled sharply, but the action had succeeded in slapping her out of her melancholy. She blinked a few times, and the first thing she saw was the horrified faces of her three girls. Joan was hugging herself tightly and Maggie was clutching into Maria, who had both of her arms around the two of them. Seeing how scared they were almost pulled Bessie back, but then she noticed Aragon’s disgruntled expression.

  “Tell me something, guys,” She smirked, swinging her face back to them all. “Do you think I'm a nicer person when I'm drunk?”

Bessie turned sideways in her seat. She’s swaying in circles, cross-eyed, and her words take a moment of thought to understand because of how thick and slurred her accent had become.

  “Maybe I should stay like this,” She breathed when she got no answer. “Is drunk Bessie more fun? Do you guys prefer her?”

In the end, the answer was easy.

  “No, we don't prefer her.” Anna said for the others, which resulted in many nods. Aragon was not one of them.

The bassist’s inviting pout clenched into a scowl. She straightened in her seat with a huff.

  “Well, you're no fun.”

Looking ahead, she raised the bottle and gulped another mouthful. Her chest and throat were quivering as she strained against another avalanche of anguish.

  “Sweetie, you need help.” Jane said gently.

  “No.” Bessie lumbered to her feet. She began pacing back and forth, rambling to herself as much as to her audience. “Stay away, Seymour. If you help me, you get hurt. Worse.”

  “Bessie, you’re scaring me...” Maggie squeaked out softly. She jumps when Bessie’s head whipped around to stare at her.

  “You don't understand. I have to go.”

  “What? What are you talking about?” Anne spoke up.

Bessie stumbled over to the window. She glared at the city. “This world,” She prodded the glass. “It's not real… The artifice, the gluttony, the filth. We don't need any of this meaningless shit. There aren't any answers here. This is all a distraction, a diversion from the truth.”

It all sounded so ridiculous; Bessie in wide-eyed… what? The very conspiracy theory mode she used to sneer at? Many of the queens wanted to loudly bark her incredulity but the way their bassist stood- shoulders hunched, fingers cupping her downcast face- the wrong response would be equivalent to body charging her through the window.

But...

Something about this all tipped Aragon specifically into her own pool of fury and frustration. She guzzled down mouthfuls of the bitter-tasting stuff. Then immediately spewed it back out.

  “Christ have mercy, Elizabeth, you aren’t the only one in this world. We all went through hell. You need to stop pushing everyone away, cutting yourself off. Stop acting like you're-”

There it was. The flame to the fuse.

  “Acting?”

The way Bessie slowly cranes her head around to stare was chilling.

  “Acting?” She repeated. “You really have no clue do you, Miss Perfect?”

  “This isn’t fair to any of us.” Aragon said calmly.

  “Fair?” Bessie laughed bitterly. “What do you know about fair? You had everything. EVERYTHING. Money. A home. Parents who actually gave a shit about you despite all your flaws. Maria. Me. And what have you done to deserve any of it?”

  “I-”

  “I bet you haven't ever even thought about it? You're just so bloody self-absorbed.” She took a breath and continued with a smirk, “God, I wish I could be as shallow and petty and spoiled as you are. So blissfully ignorant about everything and everyone.”

Aragon clenched her jaw. She couldn’t help the humiliation that crept up from her heart to her face, burning her cheeks like fire. Everyone else was staring, now.

Aragon kept seeing the Bessie in her youth standing before her in the dressing room. Bessie pre-fallout. That gentle, quiet, tender-hearted girl who had never said a hurtful thing in her life. All those times- whether it was from court stress, a miscarriage, or just an angry Henry, that Bessie had been there for Aragon, curled up in her lap and chirping about how much she loved “her Catty”. Her mama.

But at that very moment, as they were standing in the dressing room, the Bessie before her was not a fuzzy, cuddly bear cub, but a full grown bear.

Seeing that Aragon has yet to speak, Bessie continued, this time with a horrible imitation the queen’s accent, “Oh Lizzie, I must look soooo terrible! How did Henry ever fall in love with me!”

Her words were consciously cruel, a barbed blade designed to do as much damage going in as coming out.

  “I hate you.” Aragon hissed; a reflex reaction to the bassist’s metamorphosis.

Bessie twirled her hand in the air and bowed with a flourish. “Another calm, understated response from Queen Aragon.”

  “Stop it, Bessie!” Joan suddenly cried. She and the others were basically backed into the corner of the room, only able to watch this all unfold. “This isn't you!”

That produced a self-satisfied grin.

  “Good.” Bessie said, then turned back to Aragon, “I want her to say it.”

  “Say what?” Aragon growled.

  “That you wish I never came back to life.”

Aragon opened her mouth and then shut it. Eyes are drilling into her. She so badly wanted to say what Bessie said, but her heart denied it.

  “No, Elizabeth. No. I wish I never came back to life so I didn't have to see you like this. So that I didn't make you into this.” There’s a softness in her voice, but Bessie just cackled.

  “It's not always about you, Catalina. Amazingly.”

  “And it's not just about you, Elizabeth Blount,” Aragon shot back, her anger filtering back in, “All of us suffered under Henry.”

  “Horse shit. You have no idea what I went through. Alone. Eight years. All that time. For you. All for you.”

  “I would if you'd fucking talk about it.”

  “I don't want to! Stop telling me what to do!”

Aragon half expected Bessie to ball her fists and stamp her feet. Her pout was ridiculous. The queen laughed, “Stop being so childish!”

Bessie’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Repeat it again. To my face.” Bessie snarled.

  “You, Elizabeth Blount, are being fucking childish!”

  “YOU are telling ME that?! Christ, you are so superficial. If it's not about the show or God or your precious little Mary-”

Aragon slapped her.

There was a moment where everyone stood frozen, silent. Aragon’s gaze traveled between her stinging palm and Bessie, whose face had been turned away by the force of the blow. The younger woman’s eyes are wide, and there’s terror in them.

Aragon had hit her.

But it wouldn’t have been the first time.

  “Elizabeth...” Aragon murmured.

Aragon, in a moment of guilt, reached for her old friend, her daughter. But it wasn't Bessie who turned back.

It was Henry.

#i regret absolutely nothing #rip to everyone else in that room #this lowkey a vent because of recent bullshit ✌️✌️ #bessie on the bass #catherine of aragon #anne boleyn #jane seymour #anna of cleves #katherine howard #joan on the keys #maria on the drums #maggie on the guitar #six ff #six fic #six fanfiction #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six the musical #tw: alcohol #tw: alcholism #tw: alchohol mention #tw: abuse mention

[grigori77]

2019 in Movies - My Top 30 Fave Movies (Part 1)

30.  GLASS – back in 2000, I went from liking the work of The Sixth Sense’s writer-director M. Night Shyamalan to becoming a genuine FAN thanks to his sneakily revisionist deconstruction of superhero tropes, Unbreakable.  It’s STILL my favourite film of his to date, and one of my Top Ten superhero movies EVER, not just a fascinating examination of the mechanics of the genre but also a very satisfying screen origin story – needless to say I’m one of MANY fans who’ve spent nearly two decades holding out hope for a sequel.  Flash forward to 2016 and Shyamalan’s long-overdue return-to-form sleeper hit, Split, which not only finally put his career back on course but also dropped a particularly killer end twist by actually being that very sequel.  Needless to say 2019 was the year we FINALLY got our PROPER reward for all our patience – Glass is the TRUE continuation of the Unbreakable universe and the closer of a long-intended trilogy.  Turns out, though, that it’s also his most CONTROVERSIAL film for YEARS, dividing audiences and critics alike with its unapologetically polarizing plot and execution – I guess that, after a decade of MCU and a powerhouse trilogy of Batman movies from Chris Nolan, we were expecting an epic, explosive action-fest to close things out, but that means we forgot exactly what it is about Shyamalan we got to love so much, namely his unerring ability to subvert and deconstruct whatever genre he’s playing around in.  And he really doesn’t DO spectacle, does he?  That said, this film is still a surprisingly BIG, sprawling piece of work, even if it the action is, for the most part, MUCH more internalised than most superhero movies.  Not wanting to drop any major spoilers on the few who still haven’t seen it, I won’t give away any major plot points, suffice to say that ALL the major players from both Unbreakable and Split have returned – former security guard David Dunn (Bruce Willis) has spent the past nineteen years exploring his super-strength and near-invulnerability while keeping Philadelphia marginally safer as hooded vigilante the Overseer, and the latest target of his crime-fighting crusade is Kevin Wendell Crumb (James McAvoy), the vessel of 24 split personalities collectively known as the Horde, who’s continuing his cannibalistic serial-murder spree through the streets.  Both are being hunted by the police, as well as Dr. Ellie Staple (series newcomer Sarah Paulson), a clinical psychiatrist specialising in treating individuals who suffer the delusional belief that they’re superheroes, her project also encompassing David’s former mentor-turned-nemesis Elijah Price (Samuel L. Jackson), the eponymous Mr. Glass, whose life-long suffering from a crippling bone disease that makes his body dangerously fragile has done nothing to blunt the  genius-level intellect that’s made him a ruthlessly accomplished criminal mastermind. How these remarkable individuals are brought together makes for fascinating viewing, and while it may be a good deal slower and talkier than some might have preferred, this is still VERY MUCH the Shyamalan we first came to admire – fiendishly inventive, slow-burn suspenseful and absolutely DRIPPING with cool earworm dialogue, his characteristically mischievous sense of humour still present and correct, and he’s retained that unswerving ability to wrong-foot us at every turn, right up to one of his most surprising twist endings to date.  The cast are, as ever, on fire, the returning hands all superb while those new to the universe easily measure up to the quality of talent on display – Willis and Jackson are, as you’d expect, PERFECT throughout, brilliantly building on the incredibly solid groundwork laid in Unbreakable, while it’s a huge pleasure to see Anya Taylor-Joy, Spencer Treat Clark (a fine actor we don’t see NEARLY enough of, in my opinion) and Charlayne Woodard get MUCH bigger, more prominent roles this time out, while Paulson delivers an understated but frequently mesmerising turn as the ultimate unshakable sceptic.  As with Split, however, the film is comprehensively stolen by McAvoy, whose truly chameleonic performance actually manages to eclipse its predecessor in its levels of sheer genius.  Altogether this is another sure-footed step in the right direction for a director who’s finally regained his singular auteur prowess – say what you will about that ending, but it certainly is a game-changer, as boldly revisionist as anything that’s preceded it and therefore, in my opinion, exactly how it SHOULD have gone.  If nothing else, this is a film that should be applauded for its BALLS …

29.  THE PEANUT BUTTER FALCON – quite possibly the year’s most adorable indie, this dramatic feature debut from documentarian writer-directors Tyler Nilson and Michael Schwartz largely snuck in under the radar on release, but has gone on to garner some well-deserved critical appreciation and sleeper hit success.  The lion’s share of the film’s success must surely go to the inspired casting, particularly in the central trio who drive the action – Nilson and Schwartz devised the film with Zack Gotsagen, an exceptionally talented young actor with Down’s Syndrome, specifically in mind for the role of Zak, a wrestling obsessive languishing in a North Carolina retirement home who dreams of escaping his stifling confines and going to the training camp of his hero, the Saltwater Redneck (Thomas Haden Church), where he can learn to become a pro wrestler; after slipping free, Zak enlists the initially wary help of down-at-heel criminal fisherman Tyler (Shia LaBaouf) in reaching his intended destination, while the pair are pursued by Zak’s primary caregiver, Eleanor (Dakota Johnson).  Needless to say the unlikely pair bond on the road, and when Eleanor is reluctantly forced to tag along with them, a surrogate family is formed … yeah, the plot is so predictable you can see every twist signposted from miles back, but that familiarity is never a problem because these characters are so lovingly written and beautifully played that you’ve fallen for them within five minutes of meeting them, so you’re effortlessly swept along for the ride. The three leads are pure gold – this is the most laid back and cuddly Shia’s been for years, but his lackadaisical charm is pleasingly tempered with affecting pathos driven by a tragic loss in Tyler’s recent past, while Johnson is sensible, sweet and likeably grounded, even when Eleanor’s at her most exasperated, but Gotsagen is the real surprise, delivering an endearingly unpredictable, livewire performance that blazes with true, honest purity and total defiance in the face of any potential difficulties society may try to throw at Zak – while there’s excellent support from Church in a charmingly awkward late-film turn that goes a long way to reminding us just what an acting treasure he is, as well as John Hawkes and rapper Yelawolf as a pair of lowlife crab-fishermen hunting for Tyler, intending to wreak (not entirely undeserved) revenge on him for an ill-judged professional slight.  Enjoying a gentle sense of humour and absolutely CRAMMED with heartfelt emotional heft, this really was one of the most downright LOVEABLE films of 2019.

28.  PET SEMATARY – first off, let me say that I never saw the 1989 feature adaptation of Stephen King’s story, so I have no comparative frame of reference there – I WILL say, however, that the original novel is, in my opinion, one of the strongest offerings from America’s undisputed master of literary horror, so any attempt made to bring it to the big screen had better be a good one.  Thankfully, this version more than delivers in that capacity, proving to be one of the more impressive of his cinematic outings in recent years (not quite up to the standard of The Mist or It Chapter 1, perhaps, but certainly on a par with the criminally overlooked 1408), as well as one of the year’s top horror offerings.  This may be the feature debut of directing double-act Kevin Kölsch and Dennis Widmyer, but they both display a wealth of natural talent here, wrangling bone-chilling scares and a pervading atmosphere of oppressive dread to deliver a top-notch screen fright-fest that works its way under your skin and stays put for days after.  Jason Clarke is a classic King everyman hero as Boston doctor Louis Creed, displaced to the small Maine town of Ludlow as he trades the ER for a quiet clinic practice so he can spent more time with his family – Amy Seimetz (Upstream Color, Stranger Things), excellent throughout as his haunted, emotionally fragile wife Rachel, toddler son Gage (twins Hugo and Lucas Lavole), and daughter Ellie (newcomer Jeté Laurence, BY FAR the film’s biggest revelation, delivering to the highest degree even when her role becomes particularly intense).  Their new home seems idyllic, the only blots being the main road at the end of their drive which experiences heavy traffic from speeding trucks, and the children’s pet cemetery in the woods at the back of their garden, which has become something of a local landmark.  But there’s something far darker in the deeper places beyond, an ancient place of terrible power Louis is introduced to by their well-meaning but ultimately fallible elderly neighbour Jud (one of the best performances I’ve ever seen from screen legend John Lithgow) when his daughter’s beloved cat Church is run over. The cat genuinely comes back, but he’s irrevocably changed, the once gentle and lovable furball now transformed into a menacingly mangy little psychopath, and his resurrection sets off a chain of horrific events destined to devour the entire family … this is supernatural horror at its most inherently unnerving, mercilessly twisting the screws throughout its slow-burn build to the inevitable third act bloodbath and reaching a bleak, soul-crushing climax that comes close to rivalling the still unparalleled sucker-punch of The Mist – the adaptation skews significantly from King’s original at the mid-point, but even purists will be hard-pressed to deny that this is still VERY MUCH in keeping with the spirit of the book right up to its harrowing closing shot.  The King of Horror has been well served once again – fans can rest assured that his dark imagination continues to inspire some truly great cinematic scares …

27.  THE REPORT – the CIA’s notorious use of torture to acquire information from detainees in Guantanamo Bay and various other sites around the world in the wake of September 11, 2001, has been a particularly spiky political subject for years now, one which has gained particular traction with cinema-goers over the years thanks to films like Rendition and, of course, controversial Oscar-troubler Zero Dark Thirty.  It’s also a particular bugbear of screenwriter Scott Z. Burns (The Bourne Ultimatum, Contagion, Side Effects) – his parents are both psychologists, and he found it particularly offensive that a profession he knows was created to help people could have been turned into such a damaging weapon against the human psyche, inexorably leading him to taking up this passion project, championed by its producer, and Burns’ long-time friend and collaborator, Steven Soderbergh.  It tells the true story of Senate staffer Daniel Jones’ five-year battle to bring his damning 6,300-page study of the CIA’s enhanced interrogation program, commissioned by the Senate Intelligence Committee, into the light of day in the face of increasingly intense and frequently underhanded resistance from the Agency and various high-ranking officials within the US Government whose careers could be harmed should their own collusion be revealed. In lesser hands this could have been a clunky, unappetisingly dense excuse for a slow-burn political thriller that drowned in its own exposition, but Burns handles the admittedly heavyweight material with deft skill and makes each increasingly alarming revelation breathlessly compelling while he ratchets up the tension by showing just what a seemingly impossible task Jones and his small but driven team faced.  The film would have been nought, however, without a strong cast, and this one has a killer – taking a break from maintaining his muscle-mass for Star Wars, Adam Driver provides a suitably robust narrative focus as Jones, an initially understated workman who slowly transforms into an incensed moral crusader as he grows increasingly filled with righteous indignation by the vile subject matter he’s repeatedly faced with, and he’s provided with sterling support from the likes of Annette Bening, delivering her best performance in years as Senator Dianne Feinstein, Jones’ staunchest supporter, the ever-wonderful Ted Levine as oily CIA director John O. Brennan, Tim Blake Nelson as a physician contracted by the CIA to assist with interrogations who became genuinely disgusted by the horrors he witnessed, and Matthew Rhys as an unnamed New York Times reporter Jones considers leaking the report to when it looks like it might never be released.  This is powerful stuff, and while it may only mark Burns’ second directorial feature (after his obscure debut Pu-239), he handles the gig like a seasoned pro, milking the material for every drop of dramatic tension while keeping the narrative as honest, forthright and straightforward as possible, and the end result makes for sobering, distressing and thoroughly engrossing viewing.  Definitely one of the most important films not only of 2019, but of the decade itself, and one that NEEDS to be seen.

26.  DARK PHOENIX – wow, this really has been a year for mistreated sequels, hasn’t it?  There’s a seriously stinky cloud of controversy surrounding what is now, in light of recent developments between Disney and Twentieth Century Fox, the last true Singer-era X-Men movie, a film which saw two mooted release dates (first November 2018 then the following February, before finally limping onto screens with very little fanfare in June 2019, almost as if Fox wanted to bury it. Certainly rumours of its compromise were rife, particularly regarding supposed rushed reshoots because of clashing similarities with Marvel’s major tent-pole release Captain Marvel (and given the all-conquering nature of the MCU there was no way they were having that, was there?), so like many I was expecting a clunky mess, maybe even a true stinker to rival X-Men Origins: Wolverine.  In truth, while it’s not perfect, the end result is nothing like the turd we all feared – the final film is, in fact, largely a success, worthy of favourable comparison with its stronger predecessors.  It certainly makes much needed amends for the disappointing mismanagement of the source comics’ legendary Dark Phoenix saga in 2006’s decidedly compromised original X-Men trilogy capper The Last Stand, this time treating the story with the due reverence and respect it deserves as well as serving as a suitably powerful send-off for more than one beloved key character.  Following the “rebooted” path of the post-Days of Future Past timeline, it’s now 1992, and after the world-changing events of Apocalypse the X-Men have become a respected superhero team with legions of fans and their own personal line to the White House, while mutants at large have mostly become accepted by the regular humans around them.  Then a hastily planned mission into space takes a turn for the worst and Jean Grey (Game of Thrones’ Sophie Turner) winds up absorbing an immensely powerful, thoroughly inexplicable cosmic force that makes her powers go haywire while also knocking loose repressed childhood traumas Professor Charles Xavier (James McAvoy) would rather had stayed buried, sending her on a dangerous spiral out of control which leads to a destructive confrontation and the inadvertent death of a teammate.  Needless to say, the situation soon becomes desperate as Jean goes on the run and the world starts to turn against them all once again … all in all, then, it’s business as usual for the cast and crew of one of Fox’s flagship franchises, and it SHOULD have gone off without a hitch.  When Bryan Singer opted not to return this time around (instead setting his sights on Queen biopic Bohemian Rhapsody), key series writer Simon Kinberg stepped into the breach for his directorial debut, and it turns out he’s got a real talent for it, giving us just the kind of robust, pacy, thrilling action-packed epic his compatriot would have delivered, filled with the same thumping great set-pieces (the final act’s stirring, protracted train battle is the unequivocal highlight here), well-observed character beats and emotional resonance we’ve come to expect from the series as a whole (then again, he does know these movies back to frond having at least co-written his fair share).  The cast, similarly, are all on top form – McAvoy and Michael Fassbender (as fan favourite Erik Lehnsherr, aka Magneto) know their roles so well now they can do this stuff in their sleep, but we still get to see them explore interesting new facets of their characters (particularly McAvoy, who gets to reveal an intriguing dark side to the Professor we’ve only ever seen hinted at before now), while Turner finally gets to really breathe in a role which felt a little stiff and underexplored in her series debut in Apocalypse (she EASILY forges the requisite connective tissue to Famke Janssen’s more mature and assured take in the earlier films); conversely Tye Sheridan (Cyclops), Alexandra Shipp (Storm), Kodi Smit-McPhee (Nightcrawler) and Evan Peters (Quicksilver) get somewhat short shrift but nonetheless do A LOT with what little they have, and at least Jennifer Lawrence and Nicholas Hoult still get to do plenty of dramatic heavy lifting as the last of Xavier’s original class, Raven (Mystique) and Hank McCoy (Beast); the only real weak link in the cast is the villain, Vuk, a shape-shifting alien whose quest to seize the power Jean’s appropriated is murkily defined at best, but at least Jessica Chastain manages to invest her with enough icy menace to keep things from getting boring.  All in all, then, this is very much a case of business as usual, Kinberg and co keeping the action thundering along at a suitably cracking pace throughout (powered by a typically epic score from Hans Zimmer), and the film only really comes off the rails in its final moments, when that aforementioned train finally comes off its tracks and the reported reshoots must surely kick in – as a result this is, to me, most reminiscent of previous X-flick The Wolverine, which was a rousing success for the majority of its runtime, only coming apart in its finale thanks to that bloody ridiculous robot samurai.  The climax is, therefore, a disappointment, too clunky and sudden and overly neat in its denouement (we really could have done with a proper examination of the larger social impact of these events), but it’s little enough that it doesn’t spoil what came before … which just makes the film’s mismanagement and resulting failure, as well as its subsequent treatment from critics and fans alike, all the more frustrating.  This film deserved much better, but ultimately looks set to be disowned and glossed over by most of the fanbase as the property as a whole goes through the inevitable overhaul now that Disney/Marvel owns Fox and plans to bring the X-Men and their fellow mutants into the MCU fold.  I feel genuinely sorry for the one remaining X-film, The New Mutants, which is surely destined for spectacular failure after its similarly shoddy round of reschedules finally comes to an end this summer …

25.  IT CHAPTER 2 – back in 2017, Mama director Andy Muschietti delivered the first half of his ambitious two-film adaptation of one of Stephen King’s most popular and personal novels, which had long been considered un-filmable (the 90s miniseries had a stab, but while it deserves its cult favourite status it certainly fell short in several places) until Muschietti and screenwriters Cary Joji Fukunaga and Gary Dauberman seemingly did the impossible, and the end result was the top horror hit of the year.  Ultimately, then, it was gonna be a tough act to follow, and there was MAJOR conjecture whether they could repeat that success with this second half.  Would lightning strike twice?  Well, the simple answer is … mostly.  2017’s Chapter 1 was a stone-cold masterpiece, and one of the strongest elements in its favour was the extremely game young cast of newcomers and relative unknown child actors who brought the already much beloved Loser’s Club to perfectly-cast life, a seven-strong gang of gawky pre-teen underdogs you couldn’t help loving, which made it oh-so-easy to root for them as they faced off against that nightmarish shape-shifting child-eating monster, Pennywise the Dancing Clown.  It was primal, it was terrifying, and it was BURSTING with childhood nostalgia that thoroughly resonated with an audience hungry for more 80s-set coming-of-age genre fare after the runaway success of Stranger Things.  Bringing the story into the present day with the Losers now returning to their childhood home of Derry, Maine as forty-something adults, Chapter 2 was NEVER going to achieve the same pulse-quickening electric charge the first film pulled off, was it?  Thankfully, with the same director and (mostly) the same writing crew on hand (Fukunaga jumped ship but Dauberman was there to finish up with the help of Jason Fuchs and an uncredited Jeffrey Jurgensen) there’s still plenty of that old magic left over, so while it’s not quite the same second time round, this still feels very much like the same adventure, just older, wiser and a bit more cynical.  Here’s a more relevant reality check, mind – those who didn’t approve of the first film’s major changes from the book are going to be even more incensed by this, but the differences here are at least organic and in keeping with the groundwork laid in Chapter 1, and indeed this film in particular is a VERY different beast from the source material, but these differences are actually kind of a strength here, Muschietti and co. delivering something that works MUCH better cinematically than a more faithful take would have. Anyway, the Loser’s Club are back, all grown up and (for the most part) wildly successful living FAR AWAY from Derry with dream careers and seemingly perfect lives.  Only Mike Hanlon has remained behind to hold vigil over the town and its monstrous secret, and when a new spree of disappearances and grisly murders begins he calls his old friends back home to fulfil the pact they all swore to uphold years ago – stop Pennywise once and for all.  The new cast are just as excellent as their youthful counterparts – Jessica Chastain and James McAvoy are, of course, the big leads here as grown up Beverley Marsh and Bill Denbrough, bringing every watt of star power they can muster, but the others hold more interest, with Bill Hader perfectly cast (both director and child actor’s personal first choice) as smart-mouth Richie Tozier, Isaiah Mustafah (best known as the Old Spice guy from those hilarious commercials) playing VERY MUCH against type as Mike, Jay Ryan (successful on the small screen in Top of the Lake and Beauty & the Beast, but very much getting his cinematic big break here) as a slimmed-down and seriously buffed-out Ben Hanscom, James Ransone (Sinister) as neurotic hypochondriac Eddie Kaspbrak, and Andy Bean (Power, the recent Swamp Thing series) as ever-rational Stan Uris – but we still get to hang out with the original kids too in new flashbacks that (understandably) make for some of the film’s best scenes, while Bill Skarsgard is as terrifying as ever as he brings new ferocity, insidious creepiness and even a touch of curious back-story to Pennywise.  I am happy to report this new one IS just as scary as its predecessor, a skin-crawling, spine-tingling, pants-wetting cold sweat of a horror-fest that works its way in throughout its substantial running time and, as before, sticks with you LONG after the credits have rolled, but it’s also got the same amount of heart, emotional heft and pathos, nostalgic charm (albeit more grown-up and sullied) and playful, sometimes decidedly mischievous geeky humour, so that as soon as you’re settled in it really does feel like you’ve come home. It’s also fiendishly inventive, the final act in particular skewing in some VERY surprising new directions that there’s NO WAY you’ll see coming, and the climax also, interestingly, redresses one particularly frustrating imbalance that always bugged me about the book, making for an especially moving, heartbreaking denouement.  Interestingly, there’s a running joke in the film that pokes fun at a perceived view from some quarters that Stephen King’s endings often disappoint – there’s no such fault with THIS particular adaptation.  For me, this was altogether JUST the concluding half I was hoping for, so while it’s not as good as the first, it should leave you satisfied all the same.

24.  MOTHERLESS BROOKLYN – it’s taken Edward Norton twenty years to get his passion project adaptation of Jonathan Lethem’s novel to the big screen, but the final film was certainly worth the wait, a cool-as-ice noir thriller in which its writer-director also, of course, stars as one of the most unusual ‘tecs around.  Lionel Essrog suffers from Tourette syndrome, prone to uncontrollable ticks and vocal outbursts as well as obsessive-compulsive spirals that can really ruin his day, but he’s also got a genius-level intellect and a photographic memory, which means he’s the perfect fit for the detective agency of accomplished, highly successful New York gumshoe Frank Minna (Bruce Willis).  But when their latest case goes horribly wrong and Frank dies in a back-alley gunfight, the remaining members of the agency are left to pick up the pieces and try to find out what went wrong, Lionel battling his own personal, mental and physical demons as he tries to unravel an increasingly labyrinthine tangle of lies, deceit, corporate corruption and criminal enterprise that reaches to the highest levels of the city’s government.  Those familiar with the original novel will know that it’s set in roughly the present day, but Norton felt many aspects of the story lent themselves much better to the early 1950s, and it really was a good choice – Lionel is a man very much out his time, a very odd fit in an age of stuffy morals and repression, while the themes of racial upheaval, rampant urban renewal and massive, unchecked corporate greed feel very much of the period. Besides, there’s few things as seductive than a good noir thriller, and Norton has crafted a real GEM right here. The pace can be a little glacial at times, but this simply gives the unfolding plot and extremely rich collection of characters plenty of room to grow, while the jazzy score (from up-and-comer Daniel Pemberton, composer on Steve Jobs, King Arthur: Legend of the Sword and Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse) provides a surprising complimentary accompaniment to the rather free-form narrative style and Lionel’s own scattershot, bebop style.  Norton is exceptional in the lead, landing his best role in years with an exquisitely un-self-conscious ease that makes for thoroughly compelling viewing (surely more than one nod will be due come awards-season), but he doesn’t hog ALL the limelight, letting his uniformly stellar supporting cast shine bright as well – Willis doesn’t get a huge amount of screen time, but delivers a typically strong, nuanced performance that makes his absence throughout the rest of the film keenly felt, Gugu Mbatha-Raw continues to build an impressive run of work as Laura, the seemingly unimportant woman Lionel befriends, who could actually be the key to the whole case, Alec Baldwin is coolly menacing as power-hungry property magnate and heavyweight city official Moses Randolph, the film’s nominal big-bad, Willem Dafoe is absolutely electrifying as his down-at-heel, insignificant genius brother Lou, and Boardwalk Empire’s Michael K. Williams is quietly outstanding as mysterious jazz musician Trumpet Man, while Bobby Canavale, Ethan Suplee and Dallas Roberts are all excellent as the other hands in Minna’s detective agency.  It’s a chilled-out affair, happy to hang back and let its slow-burn plot simmer while Lionel tries to navigate his job and life in general while battling his many personal difficulties, but due to the incredible calibre of the talent on offer, the incredibly rich dialogue and obligatory hardboiled gumshoe voiceover, compelling story and frequently achingly beautiful visuals, this is about as compulsively rewarding as cinema gets. Norton’s crafted a film noir worthy of comparison with the likes of L.A. Confidential and Chinatown, proving that he’s a triple-threat cinematic talent to be reckoned with.

23.  PROSPECT – I love a good cinematic underdog, there’s always some dynamite indies and sleepers that just about slip through the cracks that I end up championing every year, and one of 2019’s favourites was a minor sensation at 2018’s South By Southwest film festival, a singularly original ultra-low-budget sci-fi adventure that made a genuine virtue of its miniscule budget.  Riffing on classic eco-minded space flicks like Silent Running, it introduces a father-and-daughter prospecting team who land a potentially DEEPLY lucrative contract mining for an incredibly rare element on a toxic jungle moon – widower Damon (Transparent’s Jay Duplass), who’s downtrodden and world-weary but still a dreamer, and teenager Cee (relative newcomer Sophie Thatcher), an introverted bookworm with hidden reserves of ingenuity and fortitude.  The job starts well, Damon setting his sights on a rumoured “queen’s layer” that could make them rich beyond their wildest dreams, but when they meet smooth-talking scavenger Ezra (Narcos’ Pedro Pascal), things take a turn for the worse – Damon is killed and Cee is forced to team up with Ezra to have any hope for survival on this hostile, unforgiving moon.  Thatcher is an understated joy throughout, her seemingly detached manner belying hidden depths of intense feeling, while Pascal, far from playing a straight villain, turns Ezra into something of a tragic, charismatic antihero we eventually start to sympathise with, and the complex relationship that develops between them is a powerful, mercurial thing, the constantly shifting dynamic providing a powerful driving force for the film.  Debuting writer-directors Zeek Earl and Chris Caldwell have crafted a wonderfully introspective, multi-layered tone poem of aching beauty, using subtle visual effects and a steamy, glow-heavy colour palette to make the lush forest environs into something nonetheless eerie and inhospitable, while the various weird and colourful denizens of this deadly little world prove that Ezra may be the LEAST of the dangers Cee faces in her quest for escape.  Inventive, intriguing and a veritable feast for the eyes and intellect, this is top-notch indie sci-fi and a sign of great things to come from its creators, thoroughly deserving of major cult recognition in the future.

22.  DRAGGED ACROSS CONCRETE – S. Craig Zahler is a writer-director who’s become a major fixture on my ones-to-watch list in recent years, instantly winning me over with his dynamite debut feature Bone Tomahawk before cementing that status with awesome follow-up Brawl On Cell Block 99.  His latest is another undeniable hit that starts deceptively simply before snowballing into a sprawling urban crime epic as it follows its main protagonists – disgraced Bulwark City cops Brett Ridgeman (Mel Gibson) and Tony Lurasetti (BOCB99’s Vince Vaughn), on unpaid suspension after their latest bust leads to a PR nightmare – on a descent into a hellish criminal underworld as they set out to “seek compensation” for their situation by ripping off the score from a bank robbery spearheaded by ruthlessly efficient professional thief Lorentz Vogelmann (Thomas Kretschmann).  In lesser hands, this two-hour-forty-minute feature might have felt like a painfully padded effort that would have passed far better chopped down to a breezy 90-minutes, but Zahler is such a compellingly rich and resourceful writer that every scene is essential viewing, overflowing with exquisitely drawn characters spouting endlessly quotable, gold-plated dialogue, and the constantly shifting narrative focus brings such consistent freshness that the increasingly complex plot remains rewarding right to the end.  The two leads are both typically excellent – Vaughn gets to let loose with a far more showy, garrulous turn here than his more reserved character in his first collaboration with Zahler, while this is EASILY the best performance I’ve seen Gibson deliver in YEARS, the grizzled veteran clearly having a fine old time getting his teeth into a particularly meaty role that very much plays to his strengths – and they’re brilliantly bolstered by an excellent supporting cast – Get Rich Or Die Tryin’s Tory Kittles easily matches them in his equally weighty scenes as Henry Johns, a newly-released ex-con also out to improve his family’s situation with a major score, while Kretschmann is at his most chilling as the brutal killer who executes his plans with cold-blooded precision, and there are wonderful scene-stealing offerings from Jennifer Carpenter, Udo Kier, Don Johnson (three more Zahler regulars, each featured with Vaughn on BOCB99), Michael Jai White, Laurie Holden and newcomer Miles Truitt.  This is a proper meaty film, dark, intense, gritty and unflinching in its portrayal of honest, unglamorous violence and its messy aftermath, but fans of grown-up filmmaking will find PLENTY to enjoy here, Zahler crafting a crime epic comparable to the heady best of Scorsese and Tarantino.  Another sure-fire winner from one of the best new filmmakers around.

21.  FAST COLOR – intriguingly, the most INTERESTING superhero movie of the year was NOT a major franchise property, or even a comic book adapted to the screen at all, but a wholly original indie which snuck in very much under the radar on its release but is surely destined for cult greatness in the future, not least due to some much-deserved critical acclaim.  Set in an unspecified future where it hasn’t rained for years, a homeless vagabond named Ruth (Gugu Mbatha-Raw) is making her aimless way across a desolate American Midwest, tormented by violent seizures which cause strange localised earthquakes, and hunted by Bill (Argo’s Christopher Denham), a rogue scientist who wants to capture her so he can study her abilities.  Ultimately she’s left with no other recourse than to run home, sheltering with her mother Bo (Middle of Nowhere and Orange is the New Black’s Lorraine Toussaint), and her young daughter Lila (The Passage’s Saniyya Sidney), both of whom also have weird and wondrous powers of their own.  As the estranged family reconnect, Ruth finally learns to control her powers as she’s forced to confront her own troubled past, but as Bill closes in it looks like their idyll might be short-lived … this might only be the second feature of writer-director Julie Hart (who cut her teeth penning well-regarded indie western The Keeping Room before making her own debut helming South By Southwest Film Festival hit Miss Stevens), but it’s a blinding statement of intent for the future, a deceptively understated thing of beauty that eschews classic superhero cinema conventions of big spectacle and rousing action in favour of a quiet, introspective character-driven story where the unveiling and exploration of Ruth and her kin’s abilities are secondary to the examination of how their familial dynamics work (or often DON’T), while Hart and cinematographer Michael Fimognari (probably best known for his frequent work for Mike Flanagan) bring a ruined but bleakly beautiful future to life through inventively understated production design and sweeping, dramatic vistas largely devoid of visual effects.  Subtlety is the watchword, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t fireworks here, it’s just that they’re generally performance-based – awards-darling Mbatha-Raw (Belle) gives a raw, heartfelt performance, painting Ruth in vivid shades of grey, while Toussaint is restrained but powerfully memorable and Sidney builds on her already memorable work to deliver what might be her best turn to date, and there are strong supporting turns from Denham (who makes his nominal villain surprisingly sympathetic) and Hollywood great David Strathairn as gentle small town sheriff Ellis. Leisurely paced and understated it may be, but this is still an incendiary piece of work, sure to become a breakout sleeper hit for a filmmaking talent from whom I expect GREAT THINGS in the future, and since the story’s been picked up for expansion into a TV series with Hart in charge that looks like a no-brainer.  And it most assuredly IS a bona fide superhero movie, despite appearances to the contrary …

#glass #glass movie #the peanut butter falcon #pet sematary #the report #dark phoenix #it chapter 2 #motherless brooklyn #prospect #prospect movie #dragged across concrete #fast color #2019 in movies

[lettersnorth]

Aislinn North

Name: Aislinn North

Race: Hyur

Gender: Female

Age: 32

Sexuality: Demisexual

Server: Balmung

Residence: She has a small apartment in Limsa Lominsa and is employed by a Free Company based out of Gridania.

Birthplace: Ala Mhigo

Religion: Adheres to the Eorzean religion of the Twelve.

Patron Deity: Nymeia, goddess of Fate. Her life, being as filled with chaos as it has, has taught her that the individual has very little control over what happens to them in life. All a person can do is control themselves and their reactions. “I’ve done all the preparation I can. Once the arrow leaves the bow, I have no control over whether it hits the target.“

Occupation: Takes on various odd jobs mostly related to engineering and aetherological research. Works for a mercenary company based in Gridania.

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Proficiencies: Sharpshooting, Aether manipulation through arcane maths, Engineering

Interests: Tinkering, Philosophy, Travel, Aetherlogical Studies

Relationships:

SPOUSE: None.

CHILDREN: None.

PARENTS: Deceased

SIBLINGS: None.

OTHER RELATIVES: None.

Likes: Learning new things, reading, travel, people watching, letting her mind wander, triple triad, fixing broken things.

Dislikes: Large crowds, bullies, pushy men, being touched, Ul'dah, wordplay

Fears:

Abandonment - For one reason or another Aislin has lost everyone important to her over the years; childhood friends, mentors, family. She doesn’t realize how much of an impact this has had on her over time, slowly chipping away at her willingness to open herself to new people. As a result, she tends to keep her distance, using her work as an excuse to maintain space.

The Dark - She had an unfortunate experience as a child at the hands of her bullies. To this day she can’t sleep without the glow of a lantern or candle nearby.

Black Magic - She once found herself on a mage’s bad side. The harrowing experience left her convinced there is some knowledge no one is meant to possess.

Being Dependent - Spending years as a refugee in Ul'dah, Aislinn and her father were constantly reminded of how much their survival depended on those with the coin and the power. Ever since then, Aislinn has worked hard to make sure she’s never at the whim or mercy of someone else ever again.

Personality: Generally even-keeled with a steady hand. Aislinn is easily overlooked, she’s never the loudest or the most flamboyant one in the room, but loyal and steadfast to those she’s close to. More often than not, she will put the needs of others above her own, even to her detriment. She gives off a quiet and calm energy but does light up when she gets a chance to nerd out about one of her interests. Some see her quiet disposition as aloof but Aislinn was raised not to use seven words when three will do. As a child she spoke so infrequently that some thought her mute. And while she is well past that, rhetoric is better left to someone more eloquent than she. She still trips over her words or speaks in broken sentences when she gets flustered. In combat she is often underestimated due to her diminutive stature. But what she lacks in brute strength she’s learned to make up for in speed, being quick and light on her feet has saved her many a time. She’s also a crack shot with a variety of ranged weapons. An avid student of philosophy, she prefers to retreat to quiet nature spaces for reading and reflection when she finds herself with free time. Analytical and logical, Aislinn relates best to a person when they are frank and forthright. Her weakness lies in her inability to discern subtlety and innuendo or to read between the lines.

Traits –––

* Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between /  Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Love and Romance:

Turn-Ons: Strength, protectiveness, kindness, warmth, confidence, tenderness, a sense of safety

Turn-Offs: Loudness, Yelling, Mercurial personalities, pushiness, arrogance, cruelty, inexperience, alpha males, roughness

Relationship Tendencies:  Aislinn has built quite a shell around her due to the hardships and abuse she’s experienced in life. She doesn’t trust easy and has a tendency to withdraw. If she ever reaches out or touches someone of her own volition, it’s a pretty clear indicator that she cares deeply for that person. She’s absolutely monogamous and has no interest in playing games or competing with rivals, she will cut and run and she senses this is the case. After all she’s been through she has trouble believing anyone could see her in a romantic light and subtlety is lost on her so the other person would have to make their interest abundantly clear. Any romance with her would take time and care to build.

Physical Description: Aislinn is on the shorter side though she’s slender and fit from a life lived outdoors. Her most distinctive features are her red hair, which is usually pinned back just enough to keep it out of her eyes, and a scar across her face, just under her eyes. She carries herself with the quiet, earthy confidence of someone who is comfortable in her own skin and knows what it’s capable of. Her attire tends towards the simple and understated as if she’s trying not to attract attention. She eschews bright and garish colors in favor of subtle, muted tones. Instead of a distinct style, she will readily wear whatever is best suited for the city or destination in which she finds herself. She prefers to blend in whenever possible. Her expressions are subtle, a twitch of an eyebrow or slip of a smile is usually as animated as she gets. She’s soft-spoken, with a husky quality to her voice.

History:  A general background and more in depth stories can be found here

RP Hooks:

Tinkering - Have some piece of machinery on the fritz? A clockwork that’s gone haywire? Or maybe that gunblade of yours just isn’t shooting straight. Aislinn knows her way around a variety of magitek and only too happy to get her hands dirty repairing old pieces of machinery or devising new ones.

Ul'Dah’s Seedy Underbelly - Aislinn is no stranger to the street gangs of Ul'dah. She used to be a runner for a cartel during her time in the city. Though she’s left that life behind it’s possible she would be recognized by someone who traveled in the same circles.

Limsa Lominsa - Though the nature of her work has her frequently traveling, she currently calls Limsa Lominsa home. When she’s in town, she can usually be found in the Missing Member tavern, or lounging in the sun, her nose in a book.

Aetherlogical Research - Aislinn is always up for talking about the finer points of aetherlogical study and loves to collaborate on experiments or research.

OOC:

I’m 30+ and prefer to RP with fellow adults. Pretty chill and patient, I’ll roll with most things though I would like the people I play with to be emotionally mature. I don’t have time for toxic behavior, people who can’t keep IC and OOC separate, tantrums or guilt trips.

I’m in the EST time zone. My weekdays are pretty busy between a full-time job and a side job that takes up a significant amount of time. I’m usually around a couple of weeknights long enough to run some roulettes or do some light RP but lengthy RP scenes would probably need to happen on the weekends or in Discord.

I’m interested in plots and long story arcs, relationships that take time to build. I don’t really do tavern RP as my RP time is limited and I’d rather spend it building depth in story and character. Aislinn has a lot of walls and while the potential for romance is there, she’s not going to jump right in off the bat.

I’m absolutely up for plotting a variety of previously established relationships or how our characters might know each other.

I do love running all sorts of content and am happy to have people to run with. So if you’re looking for company for roulettes, maps, raids, etc. I’m there.

#ffxiv rp #balmung #crystal lfrp

[psychiclovecomputer]

you will regret

‘Don’t this nimwit have anything better to do’, Travis thought to himself as Kevin lifted him off the ground by his shirt collar.”look i still don’t know what your problm with me is but piss the fuck off before i make you regret it”

“And how exactly do you plan to do that” his disbelief was understable. Kevin had 20 pounds of muscle on travis, but travis had twice the iq then kevin and a magic watch.

“With brain power something you obviously lack” he could see the veins pulse in anger as kevin drew his fist back.”you won’t be so smart when i’m done with you.” as the fist moved forwards travis reached for the watch on his left wrist.*tweet* a wistla froze both of them in their tracks.

“Break it up you two” the gym teacher, a mostly nice woman in her late twenties said as she pulled Kevin off Travis.``to class,”she told travis as she dragged Kevin away. Straightening his clothes and grabbing his book bag from off the ground Travis did as he was told leaving the back of the school.

Taking a seat in his advanced algebra class he pulled out his tool and got to work on the problems on the board. When he was half way through the problems he look at his watch stealy pressing the hidden button stopping the flow of time. Travis stretched before finishing the rest of the questions before leaving the classroom and heading to the science room that Kevin was currently in.

Entering he looked around to find Kevin sitting in the back on his phone. Walking up to him he grabbed the phone and started to go through it,”why is he looking up funny puppy photos”.  Leaving the browser app he turned to the navigation app to obtain the boy's home address before returning the phone to how he found it and returning it. 

Walking around the table he pulled Kevin out of his chair dragging all the way to the nearest bathroom before going to his own locker,”it was a feeble hope that I wouldn't have to use this” he said to no one as he pulled out a plastic bag full of supplies.

Returning to the bathroom he placed the bag down before stripping kevin of all clothing waist down,”what a hairy boy well he was,” taking a quick picture before grabbing the clippers and razor from the plastic bag before attacking all the hair on the lower half of kevin body.

Using a wet rag he wiped the other teen leaving him smooth as a baby especially after he applied the after shave and lotion. Taking another picture he put kevin clothes back on before taking him back to class and put him back in his seat leaving travis to return to his one class.

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

The rest of the day Travis could tell that kevin was on edge and probably freaking out even though he didn’t show it,”I wonder how much of a commotion he had when he realized what i did?” laughing to himself as he watched the raven climb into his friends ride.

“I guess it's time for part two” getting on his bike he rode it out of the school parking lot and onto the streets where he stopped time for the second time today. Travis pettled his way to his house where he quickly grabbed a duffle bag he prepared the day before.

Taking the bag he made his way to Kevin's house where he picked the lock to let himself in. walking around who was properly kevins younger sibling he found the older sibling room. “Time to get to work,” the first thing he did was empty his underwear draw and fill it with tighty whities leaving a note on top of them, next he add some items to his closer before setting a note the dresser before leaving the house. rEstarting time he grabbed something to eat before heading back to his own home.

Several hours later after the sun went down travis tricked his parents into thinking he went to bed before freezing time and leaving the house. Grabbing his bike he rode it to kevin house pleased to see that Kevin had arrived at his bedroom clearly just finished a shower.

Pressing another hidden button on the watch travis restarted time. Unseen travis watch as kevin walked over to the dresser where the note sat, at first he ignored it then he opened his underwear drawer. Only to immediately shut it closed, sighing and grubling a saliors vocab he snached up the note.

Travis watched as expression changed multiple times reading the note before tearing it up and throwing it away.’so he plans to go commando’ Travis thought as he watched Kevin get dressed. Being as quiet as possible he loteried around the room until kevin went to bed and his breathing evened out.

Slowly as to not wake him Travis put in a pair of wireless earbuds into Kevin's ears, moment later they were playing a track on loop and Travis had vanished from the room.

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

*beep beep beep beep beep beep, smack* groaning travis  rolled out of bed grabbing his watch from his bedside table. Putting it on the teen stopped time so he could get ready for the day, resuming time he went down the stairs and made himself some food waving his father as he left for work.

Done eating he placed his dishes in the sink before leaving the house and mounting his bike. When he rode it out of his neighborhood stopped time for the second time today so he could check on kevin. Entering the bully’s room he rolled his eyes at the fact that he was still sleeping but it made things easier for him. Retrieving the earbuds and phone he left here last night placed them in his pocket before making another note and placing it on Kevin's head.

With that done he left the house and headed to school. While back at Kevin's place he woke up feeling a chill in his groin and something on his face. Pulling the thing off his face Kevin trew off his covers, half asleep he read the note,you should have left me be, have fun being potty trained again. That woke him as he relised what the cold was ”FUCK”.