#|| i think the seriousness of buzz's character and situation exists to me as an undercurrent.

[rangespacer]

buzz being insane is both extremely funny and extremely harrowing and the switch flips based solely on the context. like oh he is unwell! but also oh. he is unwell.

[bylertruther]

no cause the last anón is so right. I scrapped a 50k byler fic because I actually got worried people might call me weird or a freak like they do others. I was on twitter when the whole fiasco went down and it pissed me off but if you even tried to speak there were so many accounts saying you were “speaking over minors” and calling you a predator/pedophile. So many of my moots deactivated bc of the hate- they eventually started attacking people for their ages alone saying it was weird that 20 year olds theorized and talked about byler. Literally word for word “you’re a freak if you’re 20 and read byler fics. Why are you fantasizing about two little 14 year old boys making out” if they would take a step back and think that maybe people are so interested in this relationship is bc they see their younger selves in these two characters then maybe they wouldn’t say such stupid shit. Anyway sorry for ranting I just have been fuming since that whole thing happened. I just wish they would take a step back and stop and think about why they see a kiss between two boys written and immediately shout creep.

oh no, anon! i'm so sorry to hear about your fic & your experience. i hope you feel comfortable enough to post it one day, if you still want to. 🥺 and don't ever apologize for expressing yourself!

not to be a cunt, but i am a cunt, so, ahem. from the bottom of my heart... fuck them kids. 🫶 i literally do not give a single shit about any of the ""discourse"" they inflict on us all. "speaking over minors" why are you even speaking to begin with, huh? 🤨 why are you buzzing into an adult's space and picking a fight when a) literally no one fucking asked you to, and b) you're just going to cry "waaaaah but i'm a minorrr :(" as if you're somehow the victim in this situation after they dare to defend themselves against your serious and unsupported allegations? be normal or piss the fuck off and do your homework.

and why do people take them seriously? disregarding the fact that anyone of any age can be a shipper & the awful homophobia laced in such rhetoric...

this is the internet. no one owes you shit & the wild web will never, ever cater to you. you need to curate your own space and protect yourself. this is, like.. basic shit. like, bare-fucking-bones basic shit. it's not anyone else's responsibility but your own. they taught me that in school, my parents told me that, and also i have a functioning brain that can come to that conclusion, too. people need to stop pretending like what these people are asking for—which is your silence and your shame—is reasonable. it's not. content gets tagged, there are multiple extensions to blacklist any tags you don't like, some of it gets put behind a privacy wall, block buttons exist, many websites have filtering options, and so on and so forth. there are multiple measures people can take to both find things and avoid them. and a lot of the time, content is something you have to seek out yourself. so, if you don't like it, why did you click on it? why spend any time on it when you could've just backspaced? how is your ineptitude anyone else's problem?

also, people need to stop throwing the words pedophilia, pedophile, and predator around. you're being an insensitive jackass when you do that. someone writing about two fictional characters is not abusive scum of the fucking earth. you're watering those acts down and showcasing your ignorance for the world to see when you throw their names around carelessly. a child predator does awful, sinister, repulsive things to real life people who did not deserve that. someone writing a first kiss or practice kissing fic is not anywhere near that and i'm tired of people pretending like this is an okay thing to say or even think. just shut the fuck up and stop saying those words if you don't actually understand the gravity of what they mean.

another thing: a lot of these people aren't just kids. grown folk fall for the same shitty rhetoric, too. it's all just groupthink and herd mentality. no one wants to get attacked so they just repeat the same shit without thinking about it beyond "protecting" themselves (which is senseless as well because conditional acceptance is not true acceptance, but i digress). this fandom would be in a much better place if people were willing to stand their ground and defend their friends when this stuff happens. it gets worse and worse if you just turn a blind eye to it and fall in line. we're all waking up and finally seeing the consequences of that now.

of course, this doesn't really apply to when you're getting attacked by hundreds of people. that's... just shitty and hard and demoralizing. i'm not victim-blaming, because no one wants to be on the receiving end of that and i know that you can't control what others do.

my argument is that it gets to that point because the fandom as a whole just lets it slide by never holding the right people accountable for their actions. they allow the needless bullying to happen. they allow the rhetoric to get crazier and crazier. they allow people to get fucking crucified for shit that isn't even remotely inappropriate. they reblog posts they don't believe in because they don't want to be the odd one out and get accused of something by someone with more followers than them. it's just... we, as a whole, need to support each other more and put our foot down when shit like that starts happening.

it isn't normal. it isn't okay. it hasn't ever been okay.

like... i KNOW that you KNOW that it isn't weird for them to kiss, for people to want them to kiss, or for people to make them kiss in their creations. i KNOW that you KNOW that it isn't weird for anyone of any age to enjoy a love story of any kind. we know these things. some of us just pretend like we don't online for whatever fucking reason. and i don't get it! i don't get why they would do that and willingly allow this place to become worse for it. you don't get anything good out of that.

also, a lot of those people are being trolls. they get a kick out of attacking people as a group, because that's the only time they feel brave and the only way they get attention in life. they don't think before they say things, because they don't see you as a human being—you're just pixels on a greasy screen. they use catchy social justice lingo to make what they're saying sound like something you should support, but at the end of the day, they're literally just gussying up the same right-wing shit we've been subjected to for ages. it's regressive rhetoric that's clear to see once you've allowed yourself to see it.

like, i agree with you. i do. you're absolutely, undoubtedly right in what you say, but... i just can't bring myself to argue that, because it's in response to what was a senseless attack to begin with. and we shouldn't need to defend ourselves and our communities against what isn't true.

homophobia, bullying, and trolling are irrational, illogical pursuits and i can't stand the idea of treating them with any ounce of seriousness in this context. to apologize would be to accept their absurdity and validate their accusations—accusations we know in our heart of hearts to be incorrect and baseless. and i won't ever do that! i won't give them that satisfaction and i wish others wouldn't either.

they keep doing this, because they haven't met any opposition yet, because we keep acting like we have any reason at all to feel shame for wanting stories about people like us, about something as basic and universal as love and connection. they don't care about our reasons. they don't care about our defense of ourselves. it's not ever about us. this is their cry for attention, good or bad, at our expense and they need to be starved out already.

like.. this is just unsustainable. it's mind-boggling and i remember kicking and screaming about it months ago in what felt like an empty room. and look at where we are now! we're already at the point where you can't win in any kind of way no matter what you do. you can't age them up, you can't leave them as they are, you can't ship them if you're older than eighteen, you can't write AUs, you can't write canon compliance, you can't write canon divergence, you can't make them kiss, you can't make them anything more than friends but you also can't make them not-friends, etc etc. we've officially been shoved into the "fuck it, we ball" stage, because this is a pissy fandom and you are never going to please everyone so you may as well just do whatever the fuck you want.

i sound soooooooo unbearably preachy in this response lol, but like... literally... all we have is each other! we all love byler and we're all here to have fun and find like-minded people. we can't keep acting like this in-fighting lunacy is reasonable and just a difference of opinion, or like it's based in any kind of sense at all. we know that it's okay to ship byler at any age. we know that it's okay to have fun and enjoy ourselves. these people want to make us feel bad. they want to silence us. why let them and give them that satisfaction? why is what they want more important than us and our happiness? i hate the idea of anyone ever feeling any kind of shame or fear over something as innocent as this. i hate the idea of them winning by getting into any of our heads like that. i just hate it.

now, this last bit is specifically for you, anon, but it goes for everyone else, too: please, please, please, i am holding your hand in both of mine and begging you to not let anyone take away the things that you love and bring you joy or your wonderful creations that you've put so much of yourself into. i promise you that there will always be people who will see you, understand you, and cherish what you have to offer, and they are the ones that matter most (after you of course hehe). we all have to find our people and just go crazy together and block out everything else. that's the only way to get through this without getting burnt out. 💛💙

[tygerbug]

INDIANA JONES AND THE DIAL OF DESTINY (2023) - A local carpenter and weed dealer who transitioned into bit-part acting in the 60s, Harrison Ford is now 80 years old, and still somehow unretired. Indiana Jones, meanwhile, is supposed to be about seventy. The equivalent would be if Indy's father, Sean Connery, was still playing James Bond in 2010. I'd say that Ford (and by extension all Boomers and above) should step aside and let someone like Chris Pine, Ryan Gosling or James Marsden make a movie like this, but we'd probably get Chris Pratt, Jared Leto, or Shia LeBoeuf instead, so I'll just have to let it slide. This time.

With a $294.7 million budget (Raiders of the Lost Ark cost 20 million in 1980), a large amount of CGI has been employed, along with green screen, stunt doubling, deepfaking, de-aging, and Phoebe Waller-Bridge, to make it seem like Harrison Ford is still a viable action hero. To be clear, he absolutely is too old for this, and it is absolutely a bad idea to make this movie. The $185 million "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull" was an equally bad idea back in 2008, and it has somehow been 15 years since then.

I don't know if it's elder abuse or simply audience abuse to keep making these, but in both cases, an aging Harrison Ford is more engaged and interested in this role onscreen than he is in just about any other. 1982's Blade Runner gave us Harrison Ford in his prime, sleepwalking, disinterested and sullen. Now in 2023, Ford is visibly too old to be doing this CGI superhero bullshit, in a sequel that is forty years too little and too late, but he's committed to the role enough that he just about gets it to work. After a tepic reception at Cannes, the film is getting very good reviews and buzz, so I'll be the one to break from the pack and say that it doesn't work for me. Oh, no one involved embarrasses him or herself. Under the circumstances, it's a miracle that the movie is as good as it is. It's a bad idea that just about justifies its own existence.

A small caveat here: There may have been something wrong with the sound setup at the theater where I saw this. I couldn't understand a word being said for large chunks of the runtime, starting with a chaotic sequence in Morocco. But I don't think I actually missed anything. Maybe the sound mixing is just like that, Chris Nolan style. The opening sequence, with a younger Ford de-aged via CGI, was very dark and murky visually. In Imax, I could see the pixels on the screen, especially the bright white on black titles.

But I think the key problem for me is that I guess I don't like James Mangold as the director for this sort of thing. I haven't seen his full filmography, and he's clearly well regarded. But I have seen his dreary films about an aging Wolverine. 2013's "The Wolverine" sees the Hugh Jackman X-Men character travel to Japan and murder every single person he meets with his adamantium claws. At one point the female sidekick is mulching guys into paste with a snowplow. In 2017's Logan, he's older and unhappy about the situation, as he gets into danger with a child. These were, for me, examples of taking a superhero film way too seriously, as if gunning for the Oscar with a script that doesn't stand up to thinking about it for more than a minute or so. You wouldn't see a movie about Superman murdering a few thousand Japanese guys, because it's not a fair fight. "The Wolverine" (2013) wounds Logan just enough that he can plausibly act like the underdog, but he's a more-or-less immortal killing machine with knives coming out of his wrists.

It's hard to make a good film, and these films are polished, stylish, action-packed and memorable in many ways. But they also leave a bad taste in my mouth, comparable to the work of Zack Snyder. There's a lack of humanity to them. I could have predicted that in this Indiana Jones movie, Indy would constantly be murdering people, and that people would constantly be getting into accidents that kill them in horrific implied ways, and that the bad guys would kill any notable character that the plot isn't relying on.

That is what you get here, and admittedly it gives the film a certain energy. You don't get the sense that this is the cleaned-up Disney version of Indiana Jones, where everything is censored. You feel the danger. But it also forces me to be the party pooper and point out that this film lacks the magic that Steven Spielberg and George Lucas brought to the property. Steven Spielberg is hard to replace. He is the most famous and beloved film director of our time, and he has always brought an aura of wonder to the screen that other filmmakers can't really imitate … with only occasional exceptions like the uncanny valley animated "Tintin" film.

It's unfair to expect James Mangold to fully replace Spielberg, and under the circumstances I'm not surprised they went with a director who presumably considers his work to be Very Important Cinema. Mangold manages to deliver lots of action, and make it feel like "an Indiana Jones movie," when forty years later it probably shouldn't. But it's just not the same, for a lot of reasons.

Spielberg's Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981) is an extremely tight two hours which works like clockwork. There's a lot of wit and character to it, but it's that precision filmmaking which makes many people call it "a perfect film." It doesn't slow down very often. It's always doing something interesting visually, and always moving forward. Every Indiana Jones film ever since has tried to recapture that.

We have a problem here, which is that an eighty (or seventy) year old Indiana Jones is more of a character role, who we could expect to talk about what he's learned over the years. And an Indiana Jones movie cannot slow down for something like that, even for a second. Or at least this movie can't. The script is also not funny enough to lend much character to the proceedings, so we don't get much sense of who these people are as they're speeding around on green screens at a hundred miles per hour. The end product is chaotic, often to the point of incoherence. Everyone is almost always moving at great speed, for reasons which aren't always adequately set up. To repeat, they're moving at great speed whether or not there is a good reason for them to be doing so. They are often on green screen, or visibly stunt doubled, and one of them is eighty years old.

There's also a lot of fighting on the tops of trains and from moving vehicles. Why do the bad guys take a wounded Indy along with them as they enact their entire plan? As far as I can tell, no reason is given, except that it's a movie and Indiana Jones needs to be there for it. Helena also manages to board the plane while it's in flight, and Teddy manages to get another plane going, for the reason that these are the characters who are in the film, and they need to be there for the end of it.

The script contradicts itself constantly, and feels like bits of different drafts were combined with one another randomly. Why is Indiana Jones teaching in July, preparing his students for mid-terms or finals, then also retiring in July on the same day? Why is he coincidentally teaching his disinterested class about the same subject that the film is about, when it's a touchy subject which secretly tore entire families apart in the film's backstory? Why do we keep meeting his close friends, that he's apparently spent decades with, for about two lines of dialogue before they get shot?

The result lacks character. As with the Crystal Skull film, stunt casting is used in place of giving us scenes that show who these characters are. I can believe that Antonio Banderas is a salty old scuba diver who has had many good times with Indiana Jones over the years. I can believe that because he's Antonio Banderas, but the film expects that to be enough for us, and gives him very little of interest to do. And Toby Jones' character, an academic who's not cut out for being an action hero, would be very uninteresting if it wasn't played by a character actor like Toby Jones. (Crystal Skull pulled similar shenanigans with Jim Broadbent, John Hurt, Ray Winstone, and Cate Blanchett.)

John Rhys-Davies shows up briefly as the returning character of Sallah, looking every day of his 79 years of age. I expect they wanted to keep any action with Rhys-Davies to a minimum, so we find him appearing in the movie for no real reason, except that this is an Indiana Jones movie and therefore he ought to be in it. I agree with that, but bringing these characters back one last time has an eerie David Lynch quality about it.

Mads Mikkelsen plays the memorable (if very standard) villain, a semi-retired Nazi called Dr. Voller. It's ideal casting, although it raises questions to have the 57-year-old actor playing the part in both 1944 and 1969. He is noticeably de-aged in the 1944 scenes, with a few less lines and wrinkles, but Harrison Ford manages to age 35 years in the same time (ten more than he ought to). A whole lot of CGI is used to give Indiana Jones one more adventure in 1944, and it's technically impressive, if still a bit noticeable and distracting. Toward the end of the sequence, a little too much of it takes place in the dark - not to hide the quality of the CGI but because movies tend to be too dark now.

Boyd Holbrook is memorable as a trigger-happy American who gives off Neo-Nazi vibes which aren't deeply explored. Ethann Isidore plays the sidekick, a thieving street rat kid called Teddy. Shaunette Renee Wilson plays a CIA agent, I think. Olivier Richters plays the guy who is 7 foot two. You know, I'm not sure that an 80 year old Indy and a 16 year old Teddy are really a match for this guy.

It is getting into spoiler territory to say that Karen Allen appears as Marion, although that won't surprise anyone either. It is definitely getting into spoiler territory to say what became of their relationship after the Crystal Skull film, and these are some of the only moments in the film where Harrison Ford really gets to act and lay out his character's backstory. I wish we'd gotten more of this. I've seen complaints about this storyline, saying it robs the character of a lot of his charm, and is too similar to plotlines in the Star Wars sequels, and the Blade Runner sequel. I can see that, but when sequels come this late, they really have to be about regret, and this storyline works better than anything else in the film. Although I couldn't help but think that this elderly couple began - in Raiders - with Marion punching her former Professor, who had clearly had an inappropriate relationship with her when she was a minor. The 30s were a different time, and so were the 80s. Marion's role is also very small here. It is crucial that she be present, but the film is not interested in exploring her character any more deeply than that.

We don't get Ke Huy Quan's Short Round, as his career only picked up this past year with a memorable role in Everything Everywhere All at Once. It's easy to imagine the character showing up in either Crystal Skull or this film as one of the leads, rather than these new characters, but that wasn't something they considered writing for the slightly embarrassing kid sidekick from "Temple of Doom." And speaking of embarrassing …

The "Crystal Skull" character of Mutt, played by Shia LeBoeuf, was covered in the press at the time as a character who could replace Harrison Ford in the Indiana Jones films, played by an up and coming young actor whose career was given a huge boost by the Spielberg seal of approval here, leading to the equally annoying character of Sam Witwicky in the Michael Bay Transformers films (the first in 2007). And yes, in the actual film, Shia LeBoeuf is deeply uncool and mostly just a nuisance.

Pretty much every male nerd of a certain age wanted, and still wants, to be "cool" like Indiana Jones. Any internet reviewer, of the Angry Video Game Nerd variety, will put on a complete Indiana Jones cosplay for their review of this film, as they did with Crystal Skull, and they'll think they're being slick with it. The leather jacket, the shirt, the hat, the whip. All clothing items that they already, apparently, had. Nobody wanted to be Shia LeBoeuf's Mutt Williams. He's got a 50s greaser look which doesn't suit him, making him look less like Marlon Brando than like Michael Cera's Wally Brando, from Twin Peaks. Indeed Cera might have been better in the role. Shia is a very reactive actor, and could theoretically have pulled off a Michael J. Fox type role which required that. But planting the idea that he could replace Indiana Jones nearly ruined his career here, because he very clearly doesn't have the necessary swagger. The movie itself even confirms this. In the end, Mutt picks up Indy's trademark hat, and Indy grabs it right back from him. This can be seen as a metaphor for how this series has gone, and also for how the Boomer generation, and older folks who came of age in the 60s and 70s, have refused to retire and let the younger generation take over for them.

Okay, so maybe Shia LeBoeuf was never going to replace Indiana Jones, a character originally offered to the hairy-chested Tom Selleck. But perhaps another actor could have. Harrison Ford seems iconic and irreplaceable now, but in the 70s he was a weed dealer and carpenter who did bit parts on the side. While it's fun to see Indiana Jones come back one last time, it's also a metaphor for Hollywood leaning back on successes from over four decades ago, and refusing to create anything truly new. Shia was set up to fail, because he looks and acts young in a movie that sees his youth as embarrassing. It didn't actually give us a "new Indiana Jones type," and Dial of Destiny doesn't either.

Shia LeBoeuf eventually left the Transformers franchise. We're told that he was killed off between films. And then there were the allegations, as his behavior, according to the newspapers, became ever stranger and more erratic. "FKA twigs Sues Shia LaBeouf, Citing ‘Relentless’ Abusive Relationship. The lawsuit, filed in Los Angeles by the musician, accuses the actor of sexual battery, assault and infliction of emotional distress."

Shia LeBoeuf does not appear in this film.

(ROT13 because of spoilers) Guvf vf npghnyyl n znwbe cybg cbvag. Zhgg Jvyyvnzf, yvxr Cbbpuvr ba Gur Fvzcfbaf, qvrq ba gur jnl onpx gb uvf ubzr cynarg, be engure va Ivrganz. Vg vf Vaqvnan Wbarf' terngrfg erterg gung ur qvqa'g fgbc Zhgg sebz rayvfgvat, naq vg qrfgeblrq uvf zneevntr. Ur gryyf hf gung Znevba jnf ybfg va ure tevrs, ohg vg vf irel pyrne yngre ba gung Vaql jnf gur bar jub tbg ybfg. Ubjrire, gur cybg bs gur svyz nyfb tvirf Vaql gur pyrneyl-fgngrq bccbeghavgl, ivn gvzr geniry cbjref, gb vagresrer va gvzr naq fnir Zhgg sebz qlvat. Gur svyz arire fybjf qbja ybat rabhtu gb tvir Vaql gvzr gb npghnyyl qb guvf, ohg jr pbhyq nyfb pbapyhqr gung Vaql ernyvmrf gung ur unf gur cbjre gb oevat Zhgg onpx sebz gur qrnq, naq pubbfrf abg gb qb fb. Haqrefgnaqnoyr, unir n avpr qnl.

V ernyyl gubhtug jr'q trg gjb Vaqvnan Wbarfrf gubhtu. V gubhtug gung'f jul gurl jrer frggvat hc gur gvzr geniry ryrzrag naq gur qr-ntrq Vaql ng gur ortvaavat. V gubhtug gung jr jrer tbvat gb ybbc nebhaq naq trg zber jvgu obgu Vaqvrf. V jnf abg rkpvgrq nobhg jung jr npghnyyl tbg.

I have not yet mentioned the rest of the plot, which involves the Greek mathematician Archimedes and is stupid. At one point there is a dull scuba-diving sequence where Indy is attacked by equally dull CGI eels. At another point we get the welcome return of the red line on a map which marks which country Indiana Jones is going to next.

There's also the matter of Phoebe Waller-Bridge, who wrote and starred in Fleabag on the stage in 2013, and on television in 2016 and 2019. Her character is equal parts charismatic and off-putting, attractive and reprehensible. (Phoebe also appeared in "Broadchurch," contributed to "James Bond 007: No Time to Die" and created Crashing and Killing Eve.) Despite a strong outing in Fleabag, it took Lucasfilm some time to do anything interesting with her. Her voice role as feminist android L3-37 in "Solo: A Star Wars Story" (2018) is baffling. It may have made more sense before rewrites and reshoots replaced directors Lord & Miller with Ron Howard. But it also runs afoul of a recurring problem in Star Wars, which is that droids seem to be fully developed, intelligent, sentient beings, who are never treated as if they're deserving of human rights. Star Wars never deals with this in any meaningful way, and it's an exposed electrical wire that they often get tripped up on, especially in animated television shows like The Clone Wars.

Anyway, I think this movie, the Dial of Destiny, has a problem with women. There are a lot of characters in this movie that aren't deeply explored or explained, but none of them quite like Helena Shaw, played by Phoebe Waller-Bridge. Unless I missed something during all the dialogue I couldn't understand, this doesn't feel like an actual consistent character. It feels like several very different characters from several very different drafts of several very different movies, all stapled together more or less randomly.

The performance is fine - Phoebe Waller-Bridge is charismatic and delivers every line with a wink and a twinkle. Her character is also just deeply insane, and her motivations never make sense. She is also, I think, playing an entirely different character by the end of the film, who is a more traditional hero, and expecting us to believe that she's been playing that character the entire time. As with her character in Solo, this should probably be funny, but isn't, because it's not written to be funny or make very much sense. Helena is, depending on the scene, the puppetmaster in charge of the entire adventure, or coming along reluctantly and making it up as she goes. She is also, depending on the scene, only in it for the money, or very deeply invested in this academic mystery and adventure. She is ready to sell off the Dial of Destiny to pay off gambling debts, because it's either the most meaningful thing in the world to her, or not meaningful at all. Sometimes she's a straightforward hero, or sidekick to the hero. She is also just deeply insane and often untrustworthy, going goblin mode in a way that may have been funny or interesting in a different draft of this script.

It is likely, considering her repeated lines that she's "in it for the money," that they intended Helena to be similar to Harrison Ford as Han Solo. But I think this movie has a problem with women, and failed to write her as a complete person with motivations that make sense. There is one scene in Greece where, to test how a location echoes, Helena starts shout-singing Beethoven's Fifth. Phoebe plays this a little bit wacky, so this feels like the setup for some comedic banter, probably with Indy being annoyed by this. But he just goes along with it and does the same. Helena Shaw is an eccentric performance in search of a better script which would actually explain what she's doing, or make it funnier.

The character clearly has a sense of humor, and is carrying a lot of trauma, and has a lot going on in her backstory, and none of it matters. This could have been a journey where her character changes over the course of the adventure, and maybe they think that's what they accomplished here. It feels more, to me, like this is four different characters held together by one performance.

The character we get as a result is acceptable, and at least she doesn't have the weight of having to possibly replace Indiana Jones, which made Mutt Williams so worrying. But it's also a character delivered with a wink to the audience, and another wink to Indiana Jones himself, as if this is all one grand joke that we're all in on. At no point was I in on this joke, so that didn't work for me. Throughout the film she does things that could easily cause the death of the very elderly Indiana Jones, as well as herself, and it just never matters because this script was rewritten a thousand times and has inconsistent internal logic.

Early scenes in the film set Indy up as a man out of time in a changing world, an interesting character note which is largely forgotten once he puts that hat back on, something he only does because it's an Indiana Jones movie and that's what Indiana Jones wears. For all of the film's chaotic, frenetic action, it's at its best when it's about an old man complaining about his life. There's a brief scene where Indy complains to Helena about the state of his body, and this angle really is curiously underexplored in The Dial of Destiny. At 80 years old, Harrison Ford is not a young action hero. This has become, whether Lucasfilm likes it or not, a character actor part. Phoebe Waller-Bridge is also performing Helena as more of a character-actor part. So I think this could have been a better movie than it is if they stopped pretending that this is an Indiana Jones movie and let it go completely off the rails and become a disaster. Like when a Sam Raimi or David Lynch film loses interest in what it's supposed to be doing, and pursues something more nonsensical for awhile. I think that would be better than what we got. I don't think the Dial of Destiny is bad, but I question all of the cultural decisions that led it to be made in the first place.

Does Indiana Jones, even at eighty, deserve one last hurrah? Sure, but we all deserve one last hurrah and we don't usually get them. If you wanted to make this movie, the time to do so was in the 1980s, or 90s if Ford was interested then.

Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade came out in 1989. (Remember "It belongs in a museum!" "So do you!") It was intended as the last hurrah for an aging Indiana Jones, and we've now gotten three of those, which is more than the two movies that preceded it, both of which purport to be Indiana Jones' first adventure. If you take into account the Young Indiana Jones TV series, all of Indiana Jones' live action adventures are either his first ever adventure, or his last ever adventure. Sometimes they're both - Last Crusade has a Young Indiana Jones segment (the weakest part of the film), Dial of Destiny has a Relatively Young Indiana Jones segment, and The Young Indiana Jones has Indy as a one-eyed old man. Or at least it did; George Lucas has cut those scenes from re-releases. At least we get one episode in season 5 where a bearded 1993 Harrison Ford plays the saxophone.

That wasn't what we wanted either; we wanted Indiana Jones and the Fate of Atlantis in 1993. The Indiana Jones film series was based on older adventure movies whose influence is, I think, nowhere to be found in the new film. Those films were probably familiar to audiences in 1981 but unfamiliar to even the filmmakers in 2023. Enough time has passed that many other series trying to recapture the Indiana Jones formula have come and gone. We've had The Mummy series. We've had multiple Lara Croft Tomb Raiders. We've had multiple Scrooge McDucks. Everyone is trying to capture that sense of old-fashioned adventure with a little comedy, and they're usually better at the comedy than Dial of Destiny is.

Full disclosure: I don't think Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull is as bad as its reputation, or at least I didn't when I saw it in theaters in 2008. I've not bothered with it since. As I recall, I was invited to see it in Los Angeles, with a friend from high school and his friend group. We couldn't all get tickets together, so I was separated. I was in either another row, or in another theater entirely. After the show, they greeted me with sarcastic feigned enthusiasm, saying "Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull rocks!" and high-fiving me. I hadn't especially liked the film either, but soon realized that I'd made a complete fool of myself, in their eyes, by having any opinion about it more complicated than "wow, that was complete garbage."

Folks, Harrison Ford was 66 years old at the time. It was two decades late to be as good as "The Last Crusade." Steven Spielberg and George Lucas had both gone to some weird places in their careers, and George's contribution was always going to include some peculiar story beats and very obvious CGI. It was about aliens.

The writers included David Koepp, who as far as I could tell is a terrible writer who was often paid a lot of money to write films that turned out very good in spite of him. David Koepp was also a writer of The Dial of Destiny. It's hard to tell, from a finished film, whether the actual screenplay was well written or not. People in Hollywood know this - that a bad movie can come from a good script, and that sometimes they know enough to judge a writer for that script rather than that film. David Koepp is credited for writing films that I like, so I might wonder why I was so convinced he's not a good writer. But those movies were mostly based on strong IP which did a lot of the work for him. It felt like Panic Room and War of the Worlds (2005) succeeded in spite of their screenplays. And what about the Johnny Depp thriller Secret Window (2004)? Show me what he can do without Steven Spielberg to clean up his messes.

Anyway, my expectations were not that high for Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull. I wasn't expecting something as good as Raiders or Last Crusade. I was expecting an elderly Harrison Ford, with a pretty bad script, and pretty obvious CGI, that would be trying to look like a vintage adventure visually but be easily dated to 2008 throughout. Dated before it was even released. I expected some distracting casting, of recognizable famous faces. I expected that Steven Spielberg and George Lucas would both be so successful now, and so deeply into their own individual eccentricities, that they wouldn't have been able to agree on what this movie should actually be, and that it would show.

I think it was a bad idea to have made that movie. I expected, more or less, what we got. And Steven Spielberg happens to be a great director who gave us, under these unusual circumstances, some of that Spielberg magic.

That magic is not present in The Dial of Destiny. As a movie, The Dial of Destiny is reasonably well made. It's action-packed. There is some obvious CGI, but it's trying to do things which are very difficult and expensive to do, like de-aging Harrison Ford or a cartoonish parade for the Apollo 11 astronauts.

Dial of Destiny is an okay movie. A lot of people are saying it's better than The Crystal Skull. I don't think The Crystal Skull is as bad as people are saying, and I don't think Dial of Destiny is as good as people are saying. I don't think either are fully successful in what they're trying to do. Indiana Jones really was too old for this, and Hollywood could have let some writer come up with a new idea instead.

I think it was a bad idea to have made both of these movies. I'm not sorry I watched them, because I'm old enough to be nostalgic for the property, but I also think they're trying to recapture something which they would have struggled to recapture forty years ago. I think, under the circumstances, both movies are pretty good and have some pretty good stuff in them.

I am also begging, begging, begging Hollywood to stop making movies like this.

These sequels that come twenty, thirty, forty years late. We watch them because they're familiar, but we don't need Indiana Jones, we need the next thing that could be as big as Indiana Jones. There won't be a sequel to the Dial of Destiny forty years from now, with a 120 year old Harrison Ford. Or maybe there will, because Hollywood wants to keep repeating itself. And we'll all be dead or dying from climate change by then, so what does it even matter?

I love slop, I love garbage. Pour it into my mouth.

[buzzdixonwriter]

Writing Report September 16, 2022

After taking a week and a half break on my previous WIP (blog posts excepted), my creative juices got flowing again last Friday.

It was one of those cases that occur to me frequently:  I see a word or phrase and as myself “What does that really mean?”

I’m not going to give the phrase away because it’s the title of a new play I’ve written. 

Friday I spent time noodling possible characters around

Saturday I began writing with no idea of how it would end (I knew how it wouldn’t end; see below)

Sunday saw more writing with an idea of where it was heading finally appearing

Monday saw me writing the climax

9,004 words.  Average of 3,000 a day.

Not a bad little clip.

Now, loath as I am to reveal details of a story before it’s published or produced, I will go into some detail here because it helps illustrate How This Writer’s Mind Works.

The phrase-cum-title pretty much compels me to focus on a limited number of characters.  If this were a movie or an episode of a TV series, I’d feel free to add a variety of supporting characters / series regulars / etc.

But as a stage play, it’s hard to justify minor roles in a story of this kind.

(What kind?  Read on, MacDuff.)

So I have my limited number of character and I have a single location to keep them confined to (some may go out to other locations and return, but the story remains in a single room).

Now, while there are stories that can use these limitations to tell different kinds of stories (see 12 Angry Men.  Seriously, go watch it.  It’s real good.), the most common use of such limitations is in variations of Luigi Pirandello’s “Six Characters in Search of an Author” i.e., a small number of characters assembled together under unclear circumstances who try to make sense of their situation.

If you think you’ve seen this before, you have:  Virtually every old dark house mystery is this type of story.

Rod Serling was particularly enamored of it, and not always to good effect.

Indeed, playwrights as diverse as Jean-Paul Sartre, Samuel Beckett, and Bruce Jay Friedman have all used the same idea.

One problem I have with all of them:  Any and all versions that end in an allegory are unsatisfactory.

Any ending involving the fantastic -- be it religious / supernatural / science-fictional / symbolic / metaphorical -- cheats.

The writer can whip any answer out of their nether regions to surprise the audience because the audience hasn’t been given enough contextual clues to make sense of the story.

It’s literally a deus ex machina.

Where it does work -- and again, not always well but at least more honestly than an allegorical out -- are mysteries where the characters must figure out what common thread links them and who might have brought them together and for what purpose.

So I have my handful of characters, I have my setting, and since the play is set in a specific era, the society that existed at that time.

I find writing stage plays goes much faster for me than prose, screenplays, or comics script.

Once the characters start talking, they tend to bring forth their own revelations and complications.

It feels less like I’m creating and more as if I’m a stenographer, jotting down everything they say as they peel back layers to get to the truth.

Mysteries -- good mysteries -- end rationally.  They may be sparked by any number of outré emotions, but in the end we know who did what to whom and why.

My play has a rational ending.  We realize who is responsible and what their motives are.  Whatever other criticisms may be leveled against this work, one can’t say it’s farfetched or irrational.

  © Buzz Dixon

[kisslettrs]

haikyuu characters talking after a fight with their s/o

featuring: lev, kuroo, suna

a/n: first post woo! hope you enjoy this ! ALSO UM. THEY TURNED OUT TO BE SO MUCH LONGER THAN I THOUGHT THEYD BE??? ESPECIALLY KUROOS LMAO THEYRE NEVER THIS LONG I PROMISE DONT GET YOUR HOPES UP OR VICE VERSA. also not beta read soz 💔

warnings: none i don’t think? relationship fights ig. oh and angsty with some gushy shit at the end for each of them 💞

→ HAIBIA LEV

you and lev rarely get into fights. only small complains about his behavior and him whining, or friendly petty arguments. but last night was different... I guess you could say.

lev was always pretty immature and playful yeah, but sometimes it felt like he never took anything seriously. it felt as though he never took him and your relationship seriously. especially now, when you decided to confront him about it.

“why are you laughing...?” you asked, staring at him

“i-i’m sorry, y/n honey, i just...!” he said, covering his mouth as a half assed attempt to keep in his laughter.

“lev, i know it’s just in your nature to act like this but I’m being genuine. i’m not joking, please. you’re doing it again! please just listen—!”

you were cut off again by the sounds of your significant other’s laughter, causing all your frustration to let loose.

“lev haiba!”

he immediately stopped, before looking at you in the eyes, his thin pupils meeting yours.

“i’m sorry. but lev, please can you just take me seriously for once?! i love you, but you need to understand that you can’t just—!” you frailed your hand around, motioning towards him, you, whatever this scene was. “—you can’t just do this all the time I—!”

before you could finish, your mind had been too pent up with frustration. “nevermind...” you grabbed your bag, before rushing out the door, not giving him the chance to talk.

fast forward next day, and you checked your phone.

[32 new messages from favorite dork 💝]

you sigh heavily, before letting the cold feeling of guilt claw at the back of your head. you hadn’t mean to make lev worry, you just needed your time alone. although if you did have to be honest with yourself, leaving without a ‘i love you,’ or hell even just a ‘bye’ was cruel.

as you opened your messages, you were bombarded with messages of pleas and apologizes that were sent at 9:21 PM last night, moments after you left his house. the guilt swallowed your stomach again, your hands slowly typing; “it’s ok hun. really. I love you too.” and pressing send.

you threw your phone onto your bed, before deciding to get ready. you and lev never really saw each other much since you two were in different grades, he was a first year, you were a second. you both had to wait after school, or well... maybe moments after. your phone buzzed a few times, but you decided to ignore it. it was too early.

schools over, and you’re walking home. you were gonna talk to lev today, just not now. you didn’t wanna interrupt his volleyball training just for some stupid relationship issue. as soon as you reach home however, you see a familiar tall figure fidgeting on his phone.

“...lev?” you called out, causing the silver haired boy to whip his head around, his eyes lighting up. “Y/N!”

he quickly shoved his phone inside his pocket, before running up to you and embracing you in a warm hug, shaking you a little. “y/n! y/n! i’m sorry for being stupid last night, I’m sorry, i’m so sorry.” he was squeezing you tight, and god did it hurt hearing his voice break like that.

“lev, sweetie, i told you it’s okay, really.” you spoke, caressing his back. he seemed to stay still for a moment, before speaking once again. “is this okay? me holding you like this, is this okay or do you... need space?”

you smiled softly. it made you happy lev wanted to make sure he wasn’t overstepping any of your boundaries. you felt your other arm hold him. “yeah, this is okay.” you swore you could feel him smile out of relief.

“i’m... i’m sorry again y/n honey, it’s just hard for me, i don’t...” he paused. “it’s just...difficult for me to handle situations like that.” you nuzzled into his shoulder. “it’s okay, you dork. i understand.” you reassured him again.

“but—!” he pushed back, meeting your eyes. “i’m gonna try...i’m gonna try harder. i’m gonna try to be better, for you y/n! i love you so much... i’ll do my best.” god, this dork. no wonder you loved him so much. you cupped his cheeks. “i’ll do better too lev, i won’t be as mean again. i promise, i love you too, so much.”

and with that, both of your faces met, and the two of you kissed lightly.

→ KUROO TETSURO

you and kuroo get into small arguments here and there like every other couple, and whenever you do you two usually recover quickly. you both like to call them ‘squicks.’

however, that night there was no denying that wasn’t any other normal squick you two had. no, that was a fight.

kuroo and you haven’t had a moment alone that wasn’t just you and him walking back home, and it’s been making you upset. so uh, that night you decided to confront him about it.

yeah it didn’t go well uhh

“i know we’re like, a couple y/n. but honey you have to understand i’m busy. you have friends don’t you? go hang out with them or something.”

“yeah, i know kuroo, and trust me i’m happy for you! but you’ve been so distant, we haven’t had a moment alone that lasted more than 5 minutes for like, 2 months! it wasn’t a big deal then, but i miss you and i’m worried.”

you paused, before continuing. “don’t you wanna spend some time with me? just, for like 30 minutes? don’t you miss me?”

“i do, y/n. i miss you and i love you. but like i said i’m busy with volleyball, you aren’t my top priority right now.”

“it’s been 2 months kuroo!” you shouted, causing him to widen his eyes. “don’t you understand? i’m not asking for your top attention, I’m asking for you to give me 25% of it at least!”

it was quiet for a moment. “sorry.” was all he said, before turning around his eyes focused on the volleyball between his feet.

you felt hurt and frustrated. “you know what? fine.” he immediately went back to look at you, seeing you grab your bag. “see you whenever you feel like to acknowledge my existence, I guess. bye.”

as soon as you touched the doorknob, you could hear him get up and say the words ‘wait, baby wait—‘ but you had enough. you needed to air out your head of the tension and frustration of the house and you left. you felt tears peak at the corner of your eyes as soon as you did.

next day, and you’ve been feeling shittier than usual. as soon as you woke up, you turned to make you lay on your back, staring at your ceiling and thinking; “was i too harsh? am i being too selfish? too clingy?”

you loved what your boyfriend did and you were perfectly fine with him having his time to himself. you knew you weren’t his top priority and he wasn’t yours. but 2 months with little to no communication felt too long. was it wrong to want to spend at least 30 minutes with your boyfriend? was that too much to ask for?

the anxiety raced to your head again. what if you were being too clingy. maybe kuroo had the right to be upset too. you were being too selfish, stop thinking of yourself so often. you curled up into your side. you didn’t want to think about it, and you didn’t want to see him in the halls either. you didn’t even wanna check your phone to see if you messaged you.

you decided to skip, staying home, watching TV and playing some games. you couldn’t mentally handle seeing him. at least not for right now.

some time passes by, and your phone is buzzing. you checked the time from the small clock on your wall, seeing the handles pointing towards 4:30 PM. oh wow, after school clubs should be over too.

you grabbed your phone to see who it’s by, knowing deep down it was who you thought it was.

[23 new messages by Hubby 😾💗]

[Kyanma: uhh hey y/n? did something...]

[2 missed calls by Hubby 😾💗]

choosing to ignore kuroo for now, you swiped at Kenma’s notification and read the full message.

[Kyanma: uhh hey y/n? did something happen with kuroo that youre aware of??? he seemed so much more down than usual during practice.

you: no. we rarely talk anymore because of practice lol I guess.

Kyanma: ???

Kyanma: Did something happen between YOU two?

you: we had a fight. im not really in the mood to talk to him. I skipped school. itll be back to normal in a few more days, sorry for the inconvenience snchsychsj

Kyanma: you two should resolve that. like seriously. hope u two feel better tho, bye✌️

you: we will hopefully lol bye kenma !!]

sighing, you placed your phone down on the small coffee table infront of you, but as soon did, you heard a knock coming from your front door. humming in response, you got up and made your way towards the front door, but decided to look through the peephole to make sure it wasn’t some scammer person or creep.

well, it was neither of those two but it was in fact no one else other than kuroo tetsuro. you sighed heavily again, before unlocking the door and turning the knob opening up to your boyfriend.

“hey y/n.”

“hi kuroo.”

you folded your arms, deciding to put up a strong facade, pretending you weren’t mentally screaming and that anxiety wasn’t clawing at your back. “did you forget something or...?”

kuroo brought his hand to the back of neck, awkwardly scratching it. “yeah uh...” he looked around, not wanting to make eye contact. “um. listen y/n.” he made his way to grab your hands, holding them together. “i’m sorry. i really am.”

“please don’t touch me. not right now at least...” even though you seemed so desperate for his touch the other night, you really did need your space. kuroo seemed alarmed at first, quickly swiping his hands back, wanting to respect your space. “of course baby! i’m sorry for acting too soon.”

you watched him scramble around a bit, finding it a bit cute. “can I come inside?” he asked. you nodded, and both of you went inside and sat to your coach.

“like I said y/n. i know ive been distant, and ive missed you so much. god, do I miss you. i wanna hug you and cuddle you so bad but volleyball and the nationals have been bugging me i couldn’t have find the proper time. i’m just scared... and I...”

“kuroo.” you said. his head snatched upwards, looking at you. you were gonna say something as soon as he did but the look he gave you caught you off guard. he looked like a cat pleading.

as soon as you pushed away the thoughts of him being stupidly adorable, you continued your sentence. “I understand, and i’m sorry for being too clingy. i just miss you a lot. i’m willing to wait for you, baby.” as soon as you said that, you saw his eyes pierce through your soul. fuck did I say something wrong.

before you could say anything else, it was kuroo’s turn to speak. “no baby. it’s alright, you aren’t the one at fault here it was me. i’m sorry for not listening to you that night. i’m gonna be a better boyfriend, i’m gonna be the boyfriend you deserve through and through.”

fucking idiot, i’m the one who was supposed to say sorry, not you! You didn’t say anything for a moment, before laughing lightly. “babe? i love you but i have to be the one who takes at least, 50% of the fault. it’s okay, i love you and i forgive you. and i’m happy for what you’re doing and how far you’ve come.” you placed your hand on his. “you can touch me now.”

his eyes immediately lit up, his lips curving into a smile and you swore you could see tears start forming in his eyes before he launched himself onto you. “my god y/n, how did i get so lucky. i love you so much, i love you so much.” he hugged you tight. you laughed. “i love you too kuroo. so much, i love you so much. i’m the lucky one.”

he pulled away and brought you to a kiss. before you could respond, he asked, “are you free saturday?”

→ SUNA RINTARO

while suna and you disagreed on a lot of things from time to time, you two usually both came to a mutual agreement and it wasn’t anything big.

but lately he seemed even more off than usual. communication was such a huge thing between both of you, but he seemed to just not be...cooperating?

suna is someone who doesn’t like expressing his emotions. and as his significant other, you felt like understanding him was a priority. but you just didn’t sometimes and it made you worry. him being distant did not help.

one day when you decided to bring it up, the situation got a bit... out of hand

“what?” he asked.

you shrugged your shoulders. “i don’t know. suna i care for you, and you just never helping me understand makes me extremely upset! i know it’s hard for you, but...”

you could feel him roll his eyes. “i don’t know what you’re going on about y/n,” he looked at you. “but really, i’m fine. do you not trust me to talk to you or something?”

“no..!” you denied. “listen. youve been getting more and more tired each day and i could tell. you’ve been ghosting me too.”

“...what?” he basically hissed it. “i’m not an asshole y/n. nothing is wrong. why do you keep trying to butt your head into my life every second?” his voice began to raise.

this was rare. even when he did raise his voice at you, it was never filled with negative intent but this time...

“i can take care of myself, y/n. i don’t need you and your noisy nose in my business all the time. sorry if you feel like you’re on baby sitting duty, but you really don’t need to be so clingy and emotional all the time...”

well damn. his words hurt. a lot.

“sorry for caring for you then, damn...” you grumble under your breath. you quickly grabbed your house keys and bags. he perked his head up. “y/n? where are you going?”

you didn’t reply. “y/n!” you rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the pain in your chest and stomach, before opening the door and leaving.

as soon as you woke up, your head hurt more than usual. those words must’ve hit you deeper than they should’ve, huh?

maybe i was just being too clingy, you thought, and those thoughts hadn’t left your mind the whole morning. whatever, you’ll just apologize after school.

you haven’t seen suna at all that day, not on the walk to school, not in the halls, not in his classroom. he was... nowhere. when you went to the volleyball club after school, asking if any of the members had seen him all of them replied with a simple ‘no.’

kita specically had been giving you long glances ever since you arrived. once you finally reached him, instead of denying seeing your boyfriend, he told you, “he wasn’t in school at all i assume. maybe he’s at home.”

home? why would he be home? maybe he was feeling sick...

you bowed and thanked him and the rest of the teammates before leaving. on your way home, you decided to stop by a connivence store and buy him his favorite snack, chuupet. or well, just jelly fruit snacks. you bought 2 packs for you and him, hoping it was a good time to apologize.

you walked up to his house, knocked lightly on the door and was greeted by his mother. “ah~ greetings y/n!” you smiled lightly and gave her a wave. “good afternoon! say, is rintaro home?” you asked. she nodded, moving to the side as a way to invite you in the house. “he should be in his room!”

“thank you!” you bowed quickly before making your way up the stairs. as soon as you passed by his sisters room, there you were infront of his. with your free hand, you lightly held a fist and began knocking on his door.

“suna? rintaro?” you called out. you would call him by a sweet pet name but remembering last night, you didn’t wanna break any boundaries. the room was quiet, and though you really didn’t wanna disturb him, you wanted to make sure he was okay. as soon as you did, however, you were greeted by a sight that broke your heart.

suna rintaro, the boy you loved so much, had his hair messier than usual, his eyes seemed red from crying and he was up against his bed frame, his phone in his hand. when he looked up, he saw you, his eyes widening.

“...y-y/n?” you stood there frozen. “rintaro...honey my god,” you quickly went up to him. “what happened?” you looked at him, his gaze looking down. you wanted to hug him so bad, but yet again, that argument you had last night prevented you from anything.

“hey. listen, sweetie. i got your favorite.” you held up the 2 bags of jelly fruit gummies. “it’s gonna be okay, okay? i’m here.” he was just looking at you, not saying anything, before muttering something under his breath.

“huh? what was that? i didn’t hear you hon, what’s up?” you asked, making sure to keep your distance. suna choked back a sob, before launching himself onto you, almost knocking you into the ground. “w-woah there!”

“y/n... i’m sorry i’m so sorry. i’ve been so frustrated with school... exams... volleyball and i’ve missed you so much but i was so tired that night! i lashed out on you but i didn’t mean any of it. i promise, i promise, don’t leave me please.” he sobbed quietly, his head resting against your forehead. when you looked up, you could see him squeezing his eyes shut.

wow, this was even more rare.

you brought your arms to his neck, embracing him. “it’s okay rintaro. shh, it’s gonna be okay. i love you and i’m sorry for being upset, i just worry about you.” you rubbed his back lightly as he continued sobbing, allowing you to give him a few kisses on the cheek, neck and forehead. “you’re safe, you’re gonna be okay honey. i love you so much.” you repeated.

suna never showed his emotions much, but he seemed to have a lot of pent up anger, sadness and confusion up in him, and he let it out for an hour infront of you, there to comfort him.

as soon as he stopped, you and him were snuggling on his bed watching whatever was on his TV, eating the fruit snacks. he leaned onto your head. “i love you...please, don’t leave me. i’m sorry.”

you bumped your head back onto him. “stop apologizing. i keep telling you it’s okay.” you giggled lightly. “please sweetie, talk to me so this doesn’t happen again.” he only nodded silently, before drifting to sleep in your embrace.

[mooshys]

the silver lining of bad first dates

summary: a date gone wrong. a walk in the rain. a simple conversation in a ramen shop. mundane slice of life and mutual pining with kuroo.

word count: 2.1k

author’s note and warnings: curse words galore. set in time-skip. pure word vomit. kuroo’s one of those characters that I’m so scared to even consider writing for because I feel as though I’ll never truly be able to “get” his character. whatever though, I tried.

This date fucking sucked.

Point-blank. No sugarcoating because the dude sitting on the opposite side of the dinner table was more interested in the JASDAQ than your name. Seriously, he couldn’t even be bothered to listen to you talk about your alma mater before he swooped in and started blanketing his insecurities with his recent Bitcoin investment. 

Talk about lame.

Wine and hors d’oeuvres be damned, you were making an escape before he started mansplaining the economy. Even wagyu couldn’t save this candlelit disaster.

Making no attempt to be discreet, you whipped your phone out of your bag and typed up a quick text:

Mind picking me up? Shitty date.

Ping! 

Seriously? Again? What’d this guy do this time?

Ping!

Send the address

Ping!

I swear, this is the last time I’m picking you up

You smiled at the screen, thumbs moving fast.

That’s what you said last week

A bubble with three dots appeared, disappeared, and reappeared.

Ping!

Five minutes.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Like every cliché bad first date, the weather made sure to mimic the mood. The rainfall was nothing less than dreadful, a downpour that left the streets empty as most people kept indoors to avoid getting soaked.

“You’re so lucky that I didn’t have to work overtime tonight,” Kuroo began, standing close to you in an attempt to shield you both from the shower with his janky umbrella. “Otherwise, you’d be walking in the rain or sitting there having your dinner ruined from hearing that guy talk about his gains in the market.”

You laughed at the truth of his words. There really was no one else who knew you like Kuroo. 

“And you know I would’ve walked in the rain out of the two options. I can’t believe someone so dick-ish exists that I’d bail out on a free meal,” you said, raising your voice over the heavy pelting.

Without any warning, a trio of college kids rushed past you two, not paying attention to the other pedestrians walking the sidewalks as their only priority in mind was making it back home before catching a cold. They had their backpacks held up to cover their heads, but it wasn’t much help as their clothes were completely soaked.

“See that?” Kuroo jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “You would’ve been running like those kids all the way back to your apartment if I didn’t show up.”

You lightly elbowed him and rolled your eyes. Rain fell on your shoulder from the sudden movement, but Kuroo repositioned the umbrella to prevent you from getting wet. “As if,” you murmured, hugging your body in an attempt to keep warm. “Thanks for picking me up. Again.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re oh so welcome,” he waved off your words and then cackled when you narrowed your eyes at him. Sometimes he really knew how to push your buttons. “Anyway, are you trying to date a bunch of crappy guys on purpose? Because I feel like that’s what you’re trying to do.”

“It’s not like I ask to go through a bunch of crappy first dates!” you said, letting out a huff of hot air. The past month had been riddled with unsuccessful first dates. Statistically speaking, you were an outlier; the average person probably went through a handful of bad first dates in a single year: you went through that number in a mere month. Multiple standard deviations past, you were way out of the norm. “Maybe I’m just a magnet for awful guys who only have a thing for themselves.”

Kuroo scoffed. “Or maybe you just like to make my life a little bit harder.”

You smiled at his words.

“Maybe.”

Besides the realization that you were like a honeytrap to flies when it came to bad first dates, another constant came from the start of it all: Kuroo. You weren’t expecting much from the first SOS call; really, just someone to walk you back home when it was late and the taxi fares were jacked up. But you would never forget the first time he waited for you outside that overhyped bar with a bag of take-out, his tie loosened and hair messy because he had just left the office and rushed to the nearest place that sold yakisoba for a decent price.

Maybe you did make his life a little bit harder. It was selfish, but whenever you had a bad date, you actually started to anticipate your escape because that meant Kuroo would be there for you.

He was your silver lining for the past month.

Red brick walls came into view once you two rounded the corner into a more secluded alley, revealing a familiar site that made you hungry. A neon sign which turned brighter due to the haze of the rain drew you in like a moth to a flame. It flickered, but still kept its light. Another constant.

Underneath the awning of the restaurant, Kuroo retracted his umbrella and shook the excess water off of it. He shoved it in the small bin filled with umbrellas belonging to the other patrons and dragged the soles of his shoes on the mat before pulling the door open. 

“Let’s just get some ramen,” he said, ushering you inside. You took the first steps and situated yourself at a lone table. He followed and a waitress quickly took your orders, soon rushing back to the kitchen to help with the line of tickets pinned to the wall. 

“Ramen on a rainy day,” you said, giving a low whistle. “You know your stuff.”

“Duh, ramen tastes best when you’re freezing,” he replied, pulling on his necktie to loosen it. He grabbed two pairs of chopsticks along with a pair of spoons, placing a set in front of you. “And it tastes pretty good after bad dates too.”

“You’re talking to the queen of bad first dates.”

“Oh, I’ve had my fair share too, Your Highness.”

As if on cue, two bowls of ramen were brought over from the kitchen along with an extra soft boiled egg as soon as he finished his sentence. The soup had small ringlets floating at the top from the fat of the broth along with bright green scallions acting as a garnish to offer a vibrant and appetizing color. Wasting no time, you both gave thanks and started to dig in.

“You know,” he started, breaking his chopsticks apart and dipping them into the broth. He pulled up a nice amount of noodles, the steam rising up higher than before. “I really think you should quit dating guys who suck.”

Following Kuroo, you did the same and blew at your noodles. “You say it like it’s easy.”

“It is. It’s so easy.” He ate a mouthful and swallowed before speaking again. “You have your top tier guys, your average guys, and then your totally shitty guys. I mean absolute trash—these are the guys you’re dating. Avoid them and all your problems will be solved.”

“Ugh, I feel like we go through this conversation after every single mishap of a date.”

Translation: Kuroo, you sound like my nagging mother.

“Because you never learn.”

Translation: I will nag at you all I want.

You sighed. “Love’s a lot more complicated than you make it.”

“Whatever. Just find a guy who isn’t an asswipe, and then we can talk.”

As you two continued to eat, the kitchen staff remained lively. The sounds of ceramic bowls clattering together along with the static hum of an old radio buzzing some city pop tune your mom would have listened to in her youth acted as background noise while chatting. 

“So... what kind of guy do you think you are?” you asked, curious to hear his answer. Kuroo was in the middle of slurping his noodles and held a hand up to signal you to give him a second.

“Me?” He pointed at himself and you nodded. Who else would you be asking? “I’m your average guy.”

You frowned. “No way.”

“What, you think I’m an absolute trash kind of guy? Harsh.”

“No, I think you’re definitely top tier. Average guys don’t go out of their way to do stuff like this.”

Kuroo raised a brow at you and set his chopsticks down. His bowl was half finished, but he was more interested in what you had to say. “Stuff like what?”

“You know,” you motioned the space between you two, “doing this awful-first-date-rescue-at-the-drop-of-a-hat kind of stuff. No questions asked. Average guys don’t do that. Average guys just pay for your meal and maybe give you their jacket when it’s kind of cold. And sometimes they call you some gross pet name like...” You shivered at the thought. “Kitten or something.”

He looked slightly taken aback. “You don’t like being called kitten?”

“No, something about it sounds gross.”

“That’s just because you haven’t found the right guy to say it to you when—“

Not wanting to hear the rest of what he had to say, you quickly crumpled up a napkin into a ball and tossed it at him. He threw his head back, putting on an act as if you actually did any damage to him.

“Stop. Please. Enough. Don’t even finish what you’re going to say.” You went back to devouring your bowl, the noodles more soft than before. Still tasted great as you shoveled in mouthfuls. “I don’t wanf tew heur et!”

Sporting a disgusted look, Kuroo grabbed a few napkins from the dispenser and slid them to your side of the table. “Jeez, you eat like that whenever you’re on a date? Maybe I saved that guy from you.”

“Well, you’re the one stuck with all of this now,” you motioned a hand to your entirety and wiggled an eyebrow. “Consider yourself lucky.”

He held his chin in the palm of his hand and stared at you from across the table, eyes still holding a glint of amusement under the low lighting of the restaurant. His bowl was nearly finished, yet he focused his attention on you, allowing a small smile to grace his lips as he pondered your words.

You eyed him, his gaze feeling a bit different from before. “What are you doing?”

“Considering,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“...It shouldn’t take you that long to,” you mumbled and ate another mouthful of noodles. He kept at it and soon started to crack up. When you narrowed your eyes at him, he shook his head and pushed another pile of napkins your way. 

“There’s a scallion at the corner of your lips,” he tapped a hand on his bottom lip and cackled when you rushed to grab a napkin and wipe it away. Heat rose to your face and you sucked on your teeth.

“You know what? Forget about me calling you a top tier guy. It never happened.”

He placed a hand over his heart, wounded by your words. “It was kitten, wasn’t it?”

Unable to contain yourself, you laughed into your hand, shoulders shaking. You had to set your chopsticks down as you fanned your face, trying to get rid of the tears threatening to spill from the corner of your eyes. “If I ever heard that from another guy, I would walk out. The second the word came out of his mouth, I would pack up my things, leave, and never look back.”

“But you’re not right now.”

“I’m not.”

“Because I’m a top tier guy. Admit it.”

Because it’s you.

You shook your head and waved the white flag. “Right, that’s exactly it.”

Kuroo crossed his arms in front of his chest, satisfied with your answer. Like he won something from this conversation. He liked the way your lips tugged into a smile, not too tight, but enough to showcase the apples of your cheeks; he liked these nights when he could unwind after a long day of work and laugh about stupid pet names; he loved how easy it all was. 

Consideration done and over with, he went back to finish his bowl, the steam from the broth no longer visible to the naked eye.

“Eat up or it’ll get cold,” he said and sipped on the broth. It was still warm, much to his surprise. “I’ll walk you back home when we’re done.”

You took small bites, prolonging the meal in any way possible: listening to him talk about his lazy cubicle partner, ordering another side of gyoza, folding a napkin to tell him his fortune through grade school methods. Both your bowls were empty, pushed to the side with a sliver of broth left as the focus was neither the food nor the JASDAQ jerk from hours before, but rather mundane conversation that went in circles until the shop emptied out.

A hundred dates could go wrong only for Kuroo to show up and make things right.

Maybe it was time for him to become more than a silver lining.

[obxdrewseph]

Tik Tok - Rafe Cameron

Description: Rafe Cameron falls for a girl he often sees in a cafe and is too nervous to talk to her, so his best friend, Topper, decides to take matters into his own hands and makes a tik tok asking if anyone can identify Rafe’s crush. Of course, she sees it and confronts him. 

P.S. pretend covid doesnt exist in this LOL

---------

“Bro, just do it.”

“No.”

“Rafe, c’mon man. When did you become such a pussy?”

“Shut the hell up man, I’m not.” 

“Then ask her out!” 

“No!” 

It was your typical Wednesday afternoon-- the college cafe was bustling with students coming in and out from classes and from students mingling with their friends.

Rafe and Topper sat in the midst of all the chaos, ignoring their econ homework to stare at Rafe Cameron’s current obsession.

“How is this girl different from any other you’ve liked? Just man up and ask for her number or something.” 

Rafe Cameron. 

Notorious player on campus. And douchebag. He was the type to sleep with a girl and kick her out of his room at 3 in the morning. He never had strong feelings for a girl, which is why Topper was baffled at the fact he kept staring at the dark haired, brown eyed plain Jane in the corner of the coffee shop. 

“Look, she’s just a pretty girl. And she just looks... shy I guess.” Rafe lamely said. He didn’t know why he wasn’t just barging up to her like he normally did at parties. Of course, those girls were clawing to get to him. He didn’t have to work as hard. 

Topper sighed loudly. “Fine, fine. If you’re gonna force my hand.” 

Rafe raised a brow as Topper slowly pulled his phone from his pocket. 

He then began to film the girl and zooming in on her face. 

“Top, what are you--”

“Ssssh.” 

After 30, long, agonizing seconds for Rafe Cameron, his best friend finally stopped filming the poor girl.

“Does anyone know this girl? This loser wants to ask her out...” He spoke as he typed.

“No wait--”

“Done. Just posted on tik tok.”

Rafe’s jaw dropped.

“What?”

“Now, we wait.” 

-------

You had a long day of classes and all you wanted to do was fall in your bed. 

But no, as a history major, you had to read 250 pages (the entire book needed to be read by the end of the week, but you were spacing), write detailed notes on them, and then start on your essay that is due next week. 

You always liked to get ahead of schedule so that your work wouldn’t pile up. 

After sitting in the cafe for an hour, you had to go home to cook dinner. You hated eating at cafes since bread just wasn’t your thing. 

Once you hit your dorm room, you checked your phone that seemed to have hundreds of notifications.

"The fuck?” You whispered out loud. As an RA, you could say whatever you wanted to in your room, but you still felt weird swearing in front of others. Which is why you whispered the words to yourself.

You dropped your bag at the door and quickly opened your phone. 

GIRL, CHECK TIK TOK 

Congrats, you’re famous! don’t forget me lol

rafe cameron ?? honeyyy get itttttt 

Confusion. That’s all you felt. You quickly clicked on the link on of your friends sent you. 

You watched the video set in as Topper, the owner of the account, zoomed in on your face at the cafe you were just in. You didn’t think you looked pretty as your hair was a mess and you hadn’t showered in a couple of days. 

Not to mention you were wearing jeans and a baggy t-shirt-- the normal college attire. 

As you read the caption, you felt your heart race at an abnormal rate. 

The words became blurry fairly quickly as your stress started to build up. You set your phone down on the counter to avoid dropping it-- you were rational enough to do that. 

You kept getting texts from your closest friends saying two words: Call me. But at this point, you couldn’t even think straight. What was a hot, popular guy like Rafe Cameron doing pining over you? And apparently being too afraid to ask you out?

Honestly, you had never been hit on in your first two years of college and you didn’t think it was going to start with Rafe Cameron, the richest guy at the school. And every straight college girl’s wet dream. 

You heard your phone buzz on the counter and you checked caller ID. It was your best friend.

You took a deep breath and answered it.

“Hey, you didn’t tell me you were dating Rafe Cameron.” She joked. 

“Shut up! Tell me what to do!!” You screamed. 

“Ok, ok, I can tell you’re freaking out and nervous, but this is a good thing! A happy thing! A guy liked you so much that he put a video--”

“His best friend posted the video--”

“As I was saying, put a video out about YOU! This is your chance to finally have the romance you’ve always dreamed of, right? You’re always pining after those book boyfriends or whatever who AREN’T REAL.”

She emphasized the last part which made you cringe. Your obsession with fictional characters was justified-- if she read, she would know. 

“Dude, this is Rafe. Rafe fucking Cameron.” She gasped at your swearing, a joke both of you had because you’ve known each other since you were children.

“Exactly, it’s Rafe motherfucking Cameron, meaning, you HAVE to go after him.” 

“No, you’re wrong! He’s Rafe Cameron! If he was really into me, he would’ve asked me out already. Literally no one can say no to him nor does anyone want to.” You bit your lip, thinking of ways to get out of this. “You know what? I bet this is a prank or something.”

“A prank?”

“Yeah, like Topper trying to embarrass Rafe by making an ugly girl ask him out--”

“First of all, don’t talk about yourself like that. And second, no, tik tok is not the place to embarrass girls. They would get roasted so hard. And third, THIS IS YOUR CHANCE.”

Contrary to your best friend, you never seriously wanted a relationship. You were the type to fantasize about falling in love and hyped up all of your friends when they had crushes, but you never truly found someone you wanted to get to know or wanted to date. 

It just seemed so outlandish to you. 

Plus, you wrote off college boys when one followed all of your roommates on instagram besides you. That kinda knocked your ego down. 

“Look, I’m just going to ignore this. I don’t think it’s going to be the love story you think so I’m gonna go.”

“Wait, y/n--”

You hung up before she could finish. 

You just couldn’t deal with her hopeless romanticism right now. 

You sighed and tied your hair into a messy bun. How could you finish your homework now? 

--------

“I don’t think she saw it.” 

Topper laughed at his nervous looking friend.

“Dude, she definitely saw it. It has thousands of likes the last time I checked and I’m pretty sure people were tagging her in the comments.”

Rafe fixed his hat so it covered his face. He definitely didn’t want his friend to notice it turning beet red. 

“I hate you dude.” 

“No you don’t.” 

Once again, the two rich boys were sitting in the same cafe they were in yesterday. They had been sitting in there for two hours now, and there was no sign of the mysterious girl who did or did not know she was tik tok famous.

“I don’t think she’s coming.” Rafe commented. On one hand, he was relieved he wouldn’t have to talk to her. But on the bigger hand, he desperately wanted to see her again. He didn’t know why he was so captivated by her brightly dyed hair or the 10 pins stuck on her backpack. She seemed so normal, yet she stuck out with all the book stickers she had on her laptop. Rafe would never tell a living soul that he liked reading YA romance novels but he felt like he could confide in this mysterious girl. 

“I don’t know. It’s still early.” Topper noted. 

“Um, excuse me?” 

The two boys’ heads shot up at the dainty voice.

You were wearing black ripped jeans with a white top; it was the most simple outfit Rafe had seen you in as you usually dressed in bright colors. He would never admit it, but he even noticed when you changed your nail polish.

What Rafe didn’t know was that your best friends held an intervention last night and told you to dress “more to his style” which included simple attire. Yet, you couldn’t fully immerse in the role and wore your favorite bucket hat that was covered in white daisies. 

“Hey,” Rafe said lamely. 

Topper immediately gathered his stuff and left you two alone. What a homie.

At Rafe’s bland answer, you smiled politely. 

“Can I sit?” You asked. Rafe nodded and gestured towards the seat. He didn’t know why he was acting so weird, but you were just so much prettier up close. 

He could see the bright red earrings you wore that matched your Nikes and noticed your clumsily applied makeup (which he knew because his sister was so good at it). It only made his heart race even faster.

“Um, so I saw the video... I’m sure you know which one I’m talking about.” 

The boy blushed.

“Yeah?” He tried to act suave and calm, but his nerves were all over the place. He felt a bit calmer seeing the girl start to play with her hair: a nervous trait his sister said most girls had. 

“Um, well, I... I was wondering...” The girl trailed off, her face turning a darker red. He almost felt bad for her, but she was so darn cute and wanted her to continue.

“Look, I’m really bad at this... and I know you’re good at it, so...” 

The boy’s ego inflated slightly. 

“So?” 

This wasn’t going the way you wanted it to go. You felt frustrated that you couldn’t even get the words out that you practiced. Your eyes prickled with tears from embarrassment; you wanted to get out of the situation as soon as possible. You didn’t know what you were thinking approaching the hottest guy in campus and expect not to be tongue tied. 

And his lack of words made you think he was just messing with you. 

You felt a gentle hand on top of yours which burst your drama bubble. You looked up and saw Rafe’s bright blue eyes full of concern, and... something else.

Dammit, he probably thinks I’m a weirdo. 

“Hey, it’s ok. Honestly, it was my friend, the one who left earlier, it was his idea to put the video up and he did it without my permission. If it were up to me, it would’ve taken a lot longer to pluck up the courage to approach you...” He confessed. 

This shocked you. Rafe Cameron... tongue tied around you?? 

“Look, let’s start over. I’m Rafe Cameron, junior, business major, and fun fact: I’m on the hockey team.” You knew all of those details, but you let him give a formal introduction. You thought it was cute that he felt the need to explain all of this to you because there wasn’t anyone at your campus who didn’t know who he was.

You held out your hand.

“Y/N, a sophomore and a history major. Fun fact: I’m an RA.” His eyes brightened at your response and shook your hand with a smile. 

He had to practice his stern handshake with businessmen his father forced him to meet, but your hands were gentle and soft, like they were afraid of hurting him. It’s been a while since someone has treated him so delicately. He liked it. 

“Well, y/n, it’s a good thing I don’t live in the dorms because I definitely would’ve tried to act up to get your attention.” He teased. 

You laughed at the response because you knew a couple of the young freshmen who made a ruckus in the lounges so that you had to come in and yell at them. 

You shrugged. “I don’t know, we could’ve met sooner if you were.” 

The flirty words flowed from you naturally and you wanted to take them back as soon as they left your mouth.

But they made Rafe Cameron blush, so you let it go.

Suddenly, his watch buzzed and he swore under his breath.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I have a business meeting to get to. Can I get your number for uhhh... for future purposes?” 

His slight fumble of words made you grin.

“Of course.” 

I guess tik tok is good for something. 

[athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit]

Of Ice and Blood

Part 7

Pairing: Tai'chi Kashharzol (Orc) x Pearl Blackbell (Fem!Human/Reader)

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: Violence, brief mention of attempted rape (minor character)

Tai'chi gently lets go of your hand as the two of you approached the building entrance, students filing out of the rooms, chattering as they made their way to their next class.

As much as you want to feel the warmth of his hand as he held yours, both of you didn't want to risk any more brash acts, having enough of what had happened in less than a day.

You are tired.

One more jerk approaching you with a snide, insulting remark will send you off into a frenzy of kicking everybody's ass. Your father always scolded you for this, lecturing you about the importance of training your self-control, to not let your temper get the best of you.

Come to think of it, if Tai'chi hadn't stopped you earlier, you would've lashed out at David without a second thought, which will then put you in a bad position, making everything far more complicated.

Worst case, they would have expelled you right away.

Self-control, huh. Should've listened to Papa and worked more on it.

You weren't paying much attention to where you were going as you walked through the slightly crowded halls. You let out an "oomph" as you bumped into someone's...arm?

Your apology didn't make its way out of your mouth as a tall, blonde elf, snapped.

"Watch it, human."

The elf gave an irritant side glance as they passed, looking down at you, literally. Like most elven kind, they were slightly taller than the average human. You scented them, subtle, taking in a smell that confused you. The usual sourness is there, but mixed with something sweet? Perhaps the elf was not a bad person after all. Sweet scents from your experience were good.

Kind, even.

"I'm sorry!" You called out, with enough volume, so they could hear you. Your apology was genuine, with a small smile hidden behind your mask. All you got was a 'hmp' in return.

Hey, at least they heard you. You really didn't mean to bump into them, maybe they didn't see you, in regards of your height.

Which wasn't much.

You turned to Tai'chi, and as always, he was watching you, his gaze soft, his face neutral, but you caught a small tug of his lips before it goes back to his previous expression as you went to your class.

-

Once you stepped inside, you subconsciously looked for vacant seats in the back. Luckily, there were still a few students when you arrived, the pink pixie and the lizard person catching your attention first. You waved as you pass by where they sat. The pixie waved back, seemingly cheerful with your greeting. The lizard person beside her, however, only gave you a curious eye.

You took your seat, Tai'chi following suit and took his beside you, the chair slightly creaking under his weight. You held your breath, releasing it after a moment when the chair didn't break. Tai'chi hummed in amusement.

A moment later, an old, white-haired man entered, followed by a couple of students in your class. He wore a light grey undershirt, a black vest with a red tie, matching black slacks and shoes, along with square-rimmed glasses.

You didn't see him in the office earlier so you have no idea what he's like.

"Good afternoon, students." The teacher began as he wrote on the blackboard. The class responded to his greeting before he continued with his aged voice. "I am Professor Hurton Flemming. I will be the one teaching you your General Mathematics. We will be..."

You listened to Professor Flemming as he briefed the class on what you will be tackling in his subject for your freshmen year.

"Please raise your hand if your name is called. I would like to know the names and faces of my students under my care this year." He took out what looked like a journal and started calling your names.

Turns out, the girl who shoved you this morning was Tiffany Morai. She did sound and act like a Tiffany, like a bitch.

No offense to the other Tiffanies out there.

Lilia Fontaine, the pink pixie. Her name suits her cheerful and bright personality just from her scent when you passed by. She smelled like an assortment of flowers. You weren't good with figuring out their names but you could hint marigolds, which was abundant where you were from.

The lizardperson, Eznet Novak, you found out right after. You couldn't scent them much, just a whiff of some earthy mineral you didn't know.

You thought back on what Tai'chi had told you in regards of your ability.

I should ask him later.

Eznet seemed apprehensive of you, too. Maybe they don't like humans in particular? Or is it because of your mask? People who wore masks are usually deemed suspicious so it seems.

The blue tiefling and the dwarf from earlier weren't present, you noticed. Perhaps they skipped or went somewhere else, another class maybe.

You looked to your seatmate for help when you missed someone's name. Tai'chi felt your eyes on him and he leaned down for you to whisper.

"What's the elf's name again? I spaced out for a second there," you asked.

"Her name's Arlenre Vinela."

Tai'chi whispered back, tilting his head to your ear. You couldn't help but feel a little shiver run down your spine at his rich voice. You hoped he didn't notice it. You almost forgot the name again.

"T-Thanks."

He huffed out a reply as he sat back in his chair. He briefly gauged your reaction, quite proud when he saw that slight tinge of color on your ear.

The two of you raised your hands in attendance, being the last ones called.

-

Once the professor was done, he left everyone to use the time left for chit-chat and other things as long as we don't cause problems. He is caring and openminded, you wondered what he's like when teaching actual lessons in class.

Ligh chatter filled the room, some in hushed voices, others in a casual one. You glanced to your right at a group of humans halfway across the large room as you sensed their eyes on you. They grimaced when you saw them and went back to gossip amongst each other.

You try blocking out their scents, letting out a tired sigh when you couldn't, you shut your eyes and attempt to get some rest before anything else happens, resting your head on your arm and desk.

What are the chances that a ball of paper would be thrown in your direction right after?

Pretty high.

The orc saw it flying over and caught it in his fist before it hit you. He shot a glare in their direction, huffing when the students pretended to have nothing to do with the paper.

Tai'chi suspected some worded insult inside, so he chose not to uncrumple it, shoving it inside his pocket instead. He'll throw it once he sees a trash bin on the way out.

You weren't aware of what happened and even if you felt the air move, you wouldn't care much. The day's events were catching up to you slowly, you're pretty sure once you step inside your apartment you'd pass out.

For what seemed like half an eternity later, the bell rang for the last time today.

-

"...Pearl." You two walked out, Tai'chi slowing down his steps for you as he took notice of your drowsy state.

"Hm...?"

"You are tired."

"Mhm yeah...that I am." You replied, yawning behind your mask. Tai'chi chuckled at this, he found you cute everytime.

"Would you allow me to walk you home?" He offered once the two of you got out of the school building.

You perked up, blinking away rapidly.

"W-walk me home?"

"Yes...? But if you're not comfortable with I unders—"

"No! I mean yes!" you spluttered, "I mean— I-I would like that...you walking me home, Tai'chi." Your little outburst drew some attention, but you were pre-occupied to even bother.

Tai'chi breathed out, "Good. That's good. I would like to talk to you about the, uh, courting, if that's okay with you? If you're exhausted we could talk tomorrow." There was no lie on how your eyes looked, you need to rest.

"Nah, I can pay attention for that," you insisted. "I'd like to know what these courting rituals are, today, so I'll know what to expect...and stuff. I seriously have no idea. I never ever, ever had any...suitors? Yeah, suitors."

Huh, now that you think about your past, you didn't find anyone you were attracted to, much to every other girl's convenience and annoyance when you wouldn't react like them when the "campus sweetheart" walks by, squealing and batting their eyelashes, puffing out their chests and raising their hips. They all acted the same way and you found it confusing why they'd do that, alienating you in the process.

"Not even one?" The orc was secretly baffled and relieved to hear that, but he'd never admit it out loud. Maybe.

"Before you? Hell, there are none. I don't think they know I exist, until I get into a fight with them or if they caught word about my reputation, I guess," you shrugged. "You see, uh, most people don't really like the thought of girls who are strong, and psh...capable of anything else other than being submissive, curvaceous and flirty with those skimpy skirts." You say to him, waving your hand in front of your face. You were out of the gate already, so you head right, Tai'chi an arm's length away to your left.

He grunts as he pondered about how those human men are blind and shallow in their choice of interest. Who would not want a strong woman? One capable of handling herself in undesired situations and protecting others?

The answer to that was obvious.

You remained silent for a while, the rush of vehicles and the buzzing of the city surrounded you as you got lost again in your own thoughts. You saw groups of high school students chatting along as they passed.

Tai'chi would glance at you from time to time, paying attention to your features, your tight braid swaying slightly behind you as you walked, and your hands hidden inside your hoodie. You took a left and crossed the street, and then a right after 8 minutes of walking straight, the area you were currently in was quite deserted in the early evening...

A scent.

You stood still, frozen as your nose caught something faint. Something familiarly bad.

"What's wrong?" Taichi asked, his brows furrowing, concerned as he watched you— why did you stop?

"Tai'chi, do you smell that?"

He inhaled the air around him, catching a whiff of something indecent and awful, he frowned, alarmed when he realized what it was.

Lust and fear.

A distant scream slit through the silence and you bolted.

It took a second for Tai'chi to follow, taking large hurried steps as you ran ahead of him towards the origin of the distress.

When you arrive in a dark dingy alley, you pulled out a pair of nunchucks from your bag, the red and black patterns barely visible in the shadows, your knuckle dusters on your left, fingers gripping them tightly. You saw a young girl, her uniform that of a high school student, similar to the ones earlier. She was held down against a wall by a brawny tattooed arm of a man, his hand slowly trailing up her skirt as the other people with him rummaged her school bag.

"P-Please let me go...!" She begged as she squirmed under his grasp.

"There now, little girl, you and I are gonna have so much fun tonight," he breathed at her neck, humming lustfully as he groped her thighs.

You didn't bother making a sound as you lunged, going for the first one as you whip your weapon and hit the back of his head. This startled him, letting go of the girl in the process as he stumbled back, she only sat there, shocked in place.

"What the fu—" You shut him up with a punch to his gut and another one to his jaw. He drops to the ground, unmoving, you hit him too hard, apparently. Not dead, at least.

You got to caught up on your front that you failed to notice the one behind you.

Shit.

Curse yourself for being such a reckless ass when you're lethargic. You braced yourself for whatever was coming, arms raising up to cover your head defensively.

A second passed but nothing happened, nothing hurt. You opened your eyes when you heard a strangled cry and saw a man, held at his neck against the wall by none other than your orc.

W-Wait he's not my orc!

Tai'chi disarms him and buries the knife into the wall just beside the their face, cracking the concrete in the process. He let out a low growl, reigning the urge to simply snap their neck for trying to hurt you. He glared down at them, the man shaking under his hold, terrified.

Your attention was quickly drawn away by a yell of someone heading for you, seeing a glint of another knife, you dodged as he repeatedly tries to stab. You wrapped the chains of your weapon around his wrist when he swiped, twisting it and making the man scream out in pain. You punched him square in the face, a tooth flying off as he spit blood. He falls down to the ground, just like the previous guy.

You attempt to chase the last one that scampered away. The quiet woosh sounded in the air made you hault. A small brick, you saw, flew over you and it hit the guy right on the head.

Anddd he's out. No, he's not dead. I think.

Tai'chi, (who else would've made that shot?) just saved you the trouble of running again. You doubt you could even reach the guy, you'd pass the fuck out within 50 meters.

You exhaled loudly, your hands on your hips as you let your body come down from another rush of adrenaline.

For like, five goddamn times now. You just can't catch a break today for fuck's sake!

While you were cursing every wicked thing out there, a whimper reached your ears, immediately silencing your thoughts.

Ah, right, the girl.

"P-Please don't h-hurt me." She cried out, her scent was heavy in fear, terrified as she stared at the orc who stood beside a man that lay unconscious at his feet. You ran to her, holding her face in your hands as you force her to look at you. The girl was trembling, her body flinching away when you touched her.

"Shh...shh... It's okay, it's alright, you're safe now. Calm down. Take deep breaths for me okay?" you assured. She nods and does what you say, breathing in and out in repeat until her scent changed slightly, though the fear was still there, her trembling turned into light shivers.

"He's a friend. He will not harm you."

You glanced at the orc, your eyes landing on Tai'chi smiled, which he returned with a small nod.

You helped her stand up and put back her things in the bag. Her phone was still in the area, luckily, the guy must've dropped it when he ran away.

Once that was done, the girl hugged you tight, taking you by surprise. You weren't used to this sort of physical contact, at least in a non-violent way.

"Thank you for saving me. H-How can I repay you, miss?"

"Oh no, no, no need to do that. I only did what was right. Just be careful next time when going home alone okay?"

"I insist, p-please let me repay you!" she pressed and you pulled back to look at her.

"No. Really. It's okay, you're okay now."

"But—"

"How about thanking my friend then?" You motioned to Tai'chi who was leaning his weight against the wall, watching you both silently.

"H-Him?"

"Yes, him. His name is Tai'chi and I'm PearI. I want you to thank him."

"But he's—"

"An orc. Is there a problem with that? No. Now listen here, girl, race doesn't fucking matter." You said as you took her hands and squeezed them. "Everything and everyone has a good and a bad side to them, no matter their kind. Do you remember who attacked you? Humans. Our own flesh and blood. Never judge anyone from what they look like, that and thanking him is enough as your payment."

She stared at you with wide eyes, nodding after a moment when she took in your words. She approached the orc, stopping a few feet away and thanked him, shyly peeking up at his face.

"You're welcome," Tai'chi smiled.

——

Part 8 will be out shortly! The day is not over— and I'm scolding myself for the pacing and I'm sorry...

[welllpthisishappening]

Hello there, I see you're back on blue-line drabbles! I love them, I am obsessed with this universe. I don't know if I ever came back to say hi after I read all your big fics, but somehow I liked each even better than the last! I don't know how that's possible! But anyway, I think one of the best signs of a good writer/good story is when you're not ready to leave the world once you've finished, and Blue Line is one of the few fanfics I've read where even well after I've finished it, (cont)

(cont) I want to keep living in it and I end up writing my own fic of it in my head (strange, I know). Anyway, for whatever reason, I got really invested in Roland and Lizzie's relationship. Like, how did they end up dating after knowing each other for literally Lizzie's entire life? How did the adults react? Do you have any Lizzie/Roland stories up your sleeve? They would not go unread :)

————

Hello, yes, listen, this ask has lived rent free™ in my head since I first got it and I cannot properly convey how absolutely, goddamn wonderful it is. I am a broken record of outdated references , but it continues and will always amaze me that people are not only interested in Blue Line (more than three years!!! after I originally started posting) but are also interested in other characters in the story who are, for all intents and purposes, original characters at this point. Like the overall size my heart becomes when reading something like that could potentially cause a serious medical condition.

But, like, in a nice way.

So thank you, thank you, thank you. It genuinely warms the cockles of my entire soul. And, like, if you wanna share those fic ideas of the fic, you’ll never hear me say no. Just like I will never turn down the opportunity to write more stuff. Which is what’s under the cut. This stuff includes:

Roland and Lizzie’s first kiss, what I hope is some legitimate banter, more kissing, obvious flirting, and Roland being something of a sap.

Also, uh, it’s entirely possible that I have also already written: Roland and Lizzie’s first “I love you,” their wedding and some other stuff where their kid is involved. Seriously, guys, I am always down to write other relationships in this ‘verse.

————

It was, she figured, something almost passably close to, sort of resembling, definitely inching somewhere nearer to—

Assured. 

Unavoidable. 

Inexorable

Inevitable. 

That was a bad word. That last word. The third one was pretty impressive, honestly. Vocabulary, wise. She’d have to remember that one later. The last one, though. Made teeth Lizzie wasn’t even aware she possessed ache as she ground them together, a pronounced tension in her jaw that was likely affecting her shoulders as well. That word. An awful word. Boasted less-than-positive connotations, letters practically dripping with lack of self-control and overtly aggressive infatuation, but if the world expected her not to be a little in love with Roland Locksley by the time she turned fourteen and noticed that slight indentation in his right cheek every time he smiled, well, then the world had another thing coming. 

Dimple, that was the appropriate description. Another word. More words. Too many words. All of them bouncing off the slope of her skull and scratching at the back of her brain, nearly distracting her from what should have been the very pleasant buzz lingering beneath whatever biological thing made up her top and bottom lips. 

Which were parted in an emotion very similar to overwhelming surprise. 

That was stupid. 

The whole thing was stupid. God, maybe she was stupid. No, that wasn’t true. She’d made Dean’s List last semester. Stupid was—

A stupid word, really. Despite the blush rising in her cheeks and the wide eyes practically boring into her soul, bated breath that didn’t make any noise because that was what bated entailed, and no one else glanced in their direction. Not once. No one else noticed. 

That the whole world had flipped upside down.

Or right-side-up, maybe. Depending on how the next five minutes or so went. 

Because the last two minutes and twelve seconds, give or take, had seen Roland Locksley tilt his head and let his eyes flutter closed before his mouth found hers for the very first time — at midnight for God’s sake. On New Year’s Eve. Or New Year’s Day, she supposed. His parents were standing on the other side of the room.

Suggesting that Lizzie had ever been just a little in love with Roland was a rather monumental lie. 

As far as those things went. 

“So, uh—” she started, only to find blood in her mouth. From her teeth. Wayward and unpredictable, as they were. Biting down on the side of her tongue and Lizzie hated going to the dentist. Doing irreparable damage to her teeth on what was now legitimately New Year’s Day, in the middle of an annual party, was not on her schedule. 

Metaphorical as it might have been. 

She liked schedules. Had plans. Focus, even. People always said that about her — how focused she was, liked to throw around the word drive with startling regularity, as if they were amazed she wasn’t simply willing to rest on her laurels or the pair of last names she proudly toted around with her. As if Lizzie expected doors to swing open on a glance. 

Rather than consistently preparing herself to knock them down. 

She liked the challenge of it all. Appreciated the way disbelief always spiked something in her blood, and that was likely equal parts genetic predisposition and a product of her childhood, but right now, Lizzie was simply prepared to fight for the schedule she’d never allowed herself to mention to anyone else before and it wasn’t like they weren’t friends. 

Talked outside the group chat, even. 

That meant something. Definitely meant something. Had to mean something. Her lips felt like they’d been doused in liquid nitrogen. 

She didn’t know all the scientific properties of liquid nitrogen, but it always made that rather impressive cloud of steam-type stuff on cooking shows. So, it seemed very likely that it did something similar to cause whatever was happening in the region directly surrounding her mouth. Buzzing and tingling, and whatnot. 

When had Roland last blinked? Lizzie couldn’t remember. That would have been impressive in any other situation. Right now, it was sort, kind of, totally— Pissing her off. 

Color dotted his cheeks, no sign of the goddamn dimple because he wasn’t smiling, presumably couldn’t do that when it was clear he was so intent on pulling his lips into his mouth, and that felt a little insulting. Her tongue had just been in that mouth. 

Lizzie was fairly confident in the abilities of her tongue, so she wasn’t all that pleased to be replaced by a pair of lips that could have been doing much better work against the side of her neck. 

“If you sit here right now and tell me that you are,” Lizzie lifted a finger, “one, sorry,” another finger, “two, anything even remotely resembling regretful,” another finger, wiggling close enough to Roland’s nose to make him just a bit cross-eyed, “or, three, too old for me, I will throw my heel at that bruise I know exists on the back of your left calf.”

His lips twitched. 

He really had impossible eyelashes. Seemingly made so he could glance up from underneath them, to meet Lizzie’s steely expression with what she refused to believe could be cautious hope. Passable optimism, maybe. She’d have to look up what liquid nitrogen did, later. 

“I’m standing.” “I hate you.”

“You wanna go in order, or how do you want to work this?” “Where else are you bruised?” Roland laughed softly, a shift of his shoulders and tiny burst of air between barely parted lips. Feeling that tiny burst meant they were standing very close to each other. How they were standing remained another mystery. 

One of those great ones, Lizzie figured. The kind referenced when people talked about the sweeping potential of life and love and— Ah, fuck. 

“Please don’t threaten to attack me anywhere else,” he muttered, before quickly adding, “you gotta know this was not my end game, Liza.” Narrowing her eyes did nothing to temper the…tempest. Swirling in her gut. Threatening the back of her throat. Eating away at vocal cords and vocal boxes and the structural integrity of her entire goddamn larynx. Possibly her tongue, too, just to be especially efficient. 

“Really? Might’a been mine, actually.”

She’d always liked his eyes. 

How they could widen, and it wasn’t like...a normal brown. Nothing about the way he looked was ever dull. Drifted toward regularly excited, and the sparkles were probably a figment of her over-active teenage imagination, but Lizzie liked to think sometimes the sparkle came from her. Because of her, even. When she’d call because he always wanted to hear about her latest lecture and he’d call because sometimes Western swings were exhausting and loneliness-inducing and—

She knew. 

He knew. 

They knew each other.   

Grand scheme, the sparkle-prone eyes still weren’t particularly close to the dimple. On the list of things Lizzie liked. What left butterflies fluttering in her stomach and her heart hammering against her chest. Sparkle was probably a solid fourth. Behind the precise way his curls fell toward his eyebrows when he didn’t have time to get his hair cut. Which rarely happened during the season. Right now, it was happening right now. Well-defined strands that Lizzie knew felt even smoother than she’d ever theorized between her fingers, and she wasn’t sure what she was going to do with that information. 

Obsess over it, probably. 

For at least the next week, or so. 

Still. Eyes. Eyelashes. Too long and too bright, and that was the wrong description order and she was starting to teeter. On the edge of a rather dramatic free-fall. Into feelings and possibility, and this was way too dramatic. For both of them. 

“Don’t do that,” she mumbled, a scrunch of her nose that apparently demanded his thumb. Brushing against the bridge, and there wasn’t any caution there. No obvious fear or concern. For the way it left Lizzie’s lungs pinched, and there must have been a limit. 

To everything her internal organs could cope with in a limited span of time. 

“What was the last one on the list?” She swallowed. “Too old.” “Yuh-huh.” “Pretty flimsy as far as excuses go. You realize I’m not asking you to marry me right now, right?” He choked. On what, she wasn’t entirely sure. Only that it made her stomach heave and her teeth dig into her lower lip, and that was— “Because I know I said, end game,” Lizzie continued, giving in to the need to fill empty space with the sound of her own voice, “but that sounds like several pop culture references all at once, and you know how much I—”

“Hate to come across as disingenuous.” “Mattie’s the pop culture reference machine, anyway.” “Please don’t talk about Matt when I keep thinking about how much I want to kiss you again.” Her eyes, that time. Widened. Bugged. Did something unnatural. “Yeah?” “You’re kidding me, right?” “You’re not an old man.” Rolling his eyes, Roland’s tongue dragged across the front of his teeth. To torture her, apparently. “I was in college when you were a freshman in high school.” “Yuh-huh.” “Liza.” “Nah, nah,” Lizzie shook her head. Crossed her arms. Tried to stand up to her full height, but even the heels didn’t do much to add to the overall intimidation factor. Roland was doing an awful job of fighting off his smile. “Pulling out ancient nicknames is not—” “—It’s not a nickname; it’s literally letters in your name.” “Nick,” she leaned forward, “name. All personal-like.”

Making mistakes was not something she enjoyed very much. It was that Jones competitive streak. Plus, the Vankald stubborn streak. Created a monster of determination, who knew what she wanted, and feeling Roland’s fingers graze her cheek as a strand of hair hung limply in the minimal space between them was the result of Lizzie’s mistaken movement. 

Even as much as she might have wanted it. 

Goosebumps prickled her arms. Stole whatever oxygen she’d managed to get in the last forty-six seconds, or so. Her eyes fluttered. Head tilted. Towards the touch and the warmth, and for someone who spent so much time on the ice, he really was impossibly warm. 

“This is your fault.”

He didn’t move his fingers. Cupped her cheek, instead. “You were doing that eyebrow thing.” “Expand on that for me.” “Lifting ‘em. Happens sometimes. When you’re listening intently. Like you’re a little amazed by new information. They’re these stupid little arches on your face. Drives me nuts.” “The compliment was in there somewhere, I’m sure of it.” “I am so much older than you, Liza.” “Shouldn’t’a played out a bunch of teenage daydreams at once, then.” She was legitimately worried about the state of his tongue. Barely biting back her laugh, Lizzie let her eyes lift. To find Roland gaping at her, drooped shoulders and puppy-dog eyes. And that goddamn dimple. “C’mon, this isn’t...do you think I haven’t made out with people before?” “Wouldn’t classify what we just did as a makeout.” “No?” His eyes darkened. Shivering was probably not a good move, right? Right. Definitely. She wasn’t shivering. It was just...January. And inside. With dozens of people around them. “I would not, no,” Roland said, and the drop in overall volume was some sort of trick. Or, something. 

“How many people do you think you’ve made out with? Ballpark it for me.” “No.” “Is the issue a lack of appropriate numbers to tally that mark, or—” She bit her tongue, again. At the flash of amused frustration sweeping his face and polluting the molecules of whatever air was hovering between them. Permeating was a better word. Lizzie really needed to work on all of that. Words. Being slightly less jealous of potential make outs that didn’t have anything to do with her and definitely happened because there had to be other people out there in the world who simply could not cope with the existence of that dimple. 

“How many people have you made out with, then?” “Scores,” Lizzie snarled, only to get immediately scoffed at. “I’m really, incredibly popular.” “Oh, I’ve got no doubt.” “Boatloads of guys. Lining up to,” she pointed an imperious finger at her mouth, “make out with this.” “Your well-defined chin?” “I’m going to take my shoe off.” “Draw attention with a move like that.” Whatever fight she had didn’t immediately die. It just, sort of, fell. At her feet, threatening all the bones there and there were too many. All of them far too fragile. For whatever metaphor she was running with at the moment. “And we’re not trying to do that, huh? Draw attention.” “Shouldn’t you be out sowing wild oats?” “Really know how to charm a girl,” she grumbled, and that got her a smile. No scoff. Not even the hint of a smile. The whiplash was hurting her neck. “Trust me, the oats have appropriately sowed. If I was ever particularly inclined to farm work.” “I’m starting to be vaguely embarrassed by all of this.” “Good.” Wasn’t quite a scoff. Was more like a half-hearted laugh, and a tinge of desire and that was better than the other emotions, but the decreasing level of Roland’s eyebrows gave her pause. “What about the status of your oats?”

“Well sowed, rookie season,” Roland said. 

“You’re going to change the name on your jersey.” “Not sure that particular fact has a lot to do with anything else. Seven years, Liza.” “I’m perfectly capable of doing math, you know I took that stats class once.” “Because I double checked everything you turned in.” “Makes you slightly less of an idiot than the vibe you're giving off right now.” “A freeway or compliments.” Pulling in a deep inhale through her nose, Lizzie didn’t miss the way Roland’s gaze fell. To the neckline of her dress, lingering on the jut of her collarbones for a few seconds longer than a strictly platonic friendship should allow, and they were friends. Still. She knew that as well as she knew that he believed she thought he was simply being clever with nicknames. 

And not making vaguely incorrect My Fair Lady references. 

Because he’d always been a little annoyed that Eliza had gone back to Henry Higgins. Instead of Freddie.

It was really impossible not to be a little in love with him at all times. 

“You’re really going to hyphenate?” Roland nodded. “Think of all the new jerseys they’ll sell.” “By the box-load, and Gina’s gonna buy the entire stock. She’s—that’s really nice, you know.” “Just a fact. Little late, but—” He shrugged. Lizzie’s smile threatened to split her face. In that same nice way, she’d been talking about. Her lips were still buzzing. She might have been buzzing. With adrenaline. Happiness. The near-desperate desire to find some type of closet and get her fingers back in Roland’s questionably long hair. 

“Of naming conventions.” She couldn’t begin to guess what the record was for shoulder shifts in an emotionally charged conversation between two people who were simultaneously ignoring the point of the conversation, but Lizzie also knew her eyebrows had been halfway up her face as he’d detailed the reasons for making his jersey say Mills-Locksley. From here on out. 

Maybe that was the top of the list, actually. 

He was a good guy. 

Had always been a good guy. The best guy, really. 

Falling into that chasm wasn’t nearly as terrifying as Lizzie expected it to be. 

“Why’d you do it?” Roland’s lips disappeared. His tongue moved, again. She was staring at the area around his tongue. So, like, his mouth. Directly at his mouth. “Because, I uh—have wanted to?” “Oh, don’t phrase that like a question.” “Wanted to,” he repeated, a statement of fact with a certain amount of conviction. Enough to make Lizzie’s pulse sputter. “Which is kind of freaking me out.” “Come back with more compliments.” “Your dress nearly made me fall over.” “Better, actually,” she laughed. 

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Made sense at the time.” “Be more specific.” “Kissing you,” Roland said, enough emphasis that he leaned forward half an inch as well. It was a miracle their noses didn’t collide. Not the most impressive miracle, but—counted. “If I tell you that you might be my best friend does that make the lamest professional hockey player alive?” “Yes, absolutely.” “Matt might challenge you to a duel if he hears me talking like this, you know.” “God, Locksley, didn’t we just talk about the Mattie rules? Also, that made it sound like Mattie wants to kiss you too, so...”

He chuckled. Fingers still tugging on the back of his hair, like he was trying to ground himself in the pull and the self-inflicted tension, Roland looked up. Back at her. And Lizzie didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Held her position and prepared herself to defend the schedule she’d only ever allowed herself to hope for in the silence of that one corner in her brain. 

Filled, as it was, with memories. Of conversations that didn’t have anything to do with hockey. Others that did. Arguing over blue line placement in the brownstone and college rankings. Of movies watched on two different laptops in different corners of the country, bad jokes, and consistent updates, that deep-rooted understanding that came from a life full of expectations and the exact opposite. No overt pressure, but the need to prove yourself anyway, if only because of the name on the back of the jersey, and Lizzie was going to have to buy a new jersey. 

“You like me? Yes, or no?” Roland smiled. Wide and honest, the kind that ensured the dimple was on prominent display. “Yes.” “I am a grown adult? Yes, or no?” Crinkles appeared around his eyes. From the smile. 

“Yes.” “Meaning I get to make my own choices. Romantically, or otherwise. Yes, or no?” “Obviously.” “Wasn’t one of the options.” “Yes,” Roland corrected, fingers trailing over the bend of her elbow. Lizzie hadn’t uncrossed her arms. Or remembered when she’d crossed them in the first place. 

“Ok, good. Same page, then.” “Liza.” “Locksley.” Lifting her eyebrows wasn’t a challenge, per se. Was closer to instinct, really. Specifics didn’t matter, honestly. She did that thing with her eyebrows, and he did that thing with his mouth, the same one she was staring at and hoping would move closer to her, and then—

Well, it did. 

Hands found Lizzie’s hips, pulling her forward sharply enough that she let out a soft grunt. From the feel of hips bumping against hers, and she honestly wasn’t sure who hissed in their next inhale, only that it did something to the flutter-like state of her pulse and the erratic nature of her heart, and it was slow and fast and good and great and not a single person noticed. 

Miracles were arriving en masse, apparently. 

Pushing her fingers into Roland’s hair got Lizzie another hum of approval, the first brush of his tongue making her lips part and her head fall to the side, but then his hand was wrapped around the back of her neck, and she could not be expected to pay attention to anything except the semi-consistent swipe of his thumb against her skin. It left more goosebumps. Caused another chuckle, the kind that rumbled through her and resonated around her, a tiny bubble of that same cautious optimism from before. 

Like a spark. 

Fanning flames and threatening to burn everything because if this didn’t work, then Lizzie wasn’t sure what would, and that was scary and overwhelming and terrifying was a synonym, but she really was working with very limited word-based resources when Roland’s thumb kept moving. Tracing her. Committing the feel to memory, and she wasn’t sure when they’d established the rocking pattern they were moving in, but something deep in the center of her trusted it. 

Someone who regularly strapped knives to his feet and raced around at top speed knew how to stay balanced. And she was a stubborn idiot. Who got what she wanted. 

“Is part of liking me because I told you I didn’t think it was embarrassing that you still got a little emotional about Miracle on 34th Street?” Laughter pushed past her lips. Took root in the pit of her stomach and the spaces between her ribs. Laced through her heart. In the kind of way that cemented itself. Right in the middle of Lizzie. Right in the middle of this. Them. 

There was a them, now. 

“Was definitely a factor, yeah,” Roland said, not bothering to pull away. “You, uh—you snuck up on me a little, Liza.” “Peak romance.” “Want me to talk about your dress some more?” She shook her head. “Unnecessary. And you didn’t.” “That might be part of the problem.” “Nursing old crushes, you mean?” Her hair hit her cheek. And his hand. He couldn’t seem to let go of her. “Nah, this wasn’t like...there was no torch, not really. I—I wasn’t hanging posters of you on my wall if that’s the picture you’ve painted for yourself.” “Kinda disappointing, admittedly.” “Pick a lane, babe.” No sparkle, that time. Just flash and want and the very thin line Lizzie’s lips had become. “Be more specific,” Roland repeated softly. “You’re not standing on a pedestal. Just you, Rol, as is.” He waited. That was fair. There should have been more. Should have been a detailed list of all the reasons the grown-up version of her liked so many parts of the grown-up version of him, but that all felt a little extraneous when she was still thinking about closet-type possibilities and that stubborn streak was a mile wide, anyway. 

Roland nodded once. “Good.”

Both of them jumped. At the pop of another champagne bottle and Lizzie never understood how Regina managed to order so much champagne every year, but she felt a bit like she was floating on the bubbles, and they didn’t decide. Explicitly. To keep the whole thing—

Secret. 

Another bad word. With bad connotations and shadows that clung to the definition, but this was them and only them and, for right now, that was enough. And if no one noticed the way Roland’s hand drifted over the small of Lizzie’s back during David’s speech, then that was a miracle she was willing to accept. 

[aot-snk-4238]

SNK Meta Part 2: Ymir

In my previous post, I talked about my feelings regarding Historia's character this final arc. Now I'm going to talk about Ymir, her relationship with Historia, and my feelings about her send-off.

Was Ymir a good character?

In my eyes, yes. When she was first introduced, it was clear that she had feelings for Historia, making her one of the only canon queer characters in the series (assuming Historia reciprocated those feelings, which I'm pretty sure she did). She also appeared very snarky and cynical, but us readers came to learn later on that there was a much softer, sensitive side to her deep down that Historia would be the first to witness. These revelations, including her backstory, helped flesh out her character in a way that made her very interesting and mysterious for me. I especially loved how sharp and intuitive she was. I'm going to quote the wiki on this part, because I think it does a great job explaining her impressive observant abilities. "Ymir was extremely perceptive and could discern the nature of the people around her with alarming accuracy, such as Historia's martyrdom mentality, Reiner's split personality disorder, and Sasha Blouse's desire to look good in front of her peers by hiding her native accent and developing an extremely formal way of speaking. Due to her experiences and belief in self-pride, she tended to rudely criticize people for being untrue to themselves. Furthermore, Ymir was very reasonable, as she knew what to do during her kidnapping situation and reconsidered her options to accomplish her goals." I also enjoyed her interactions with other characters besides Historia. Take Connie, for example. When he lamented over the possibility of his mother being stuck as a mindless titan, Ymir tried to distract him, albeit not in the most appropriate way (ch. 38).

Connie complained about this behavior later on, but Historia defended her, explaining that she was only trying to stray his thoughts from that traumatic discovery. There were a few more moments between these two that were fun to see as well.

😂😂😂. Ymir's looking at him like, "You ruined it, Connie..."

I love the way she pats him on the head. Knowing how much taller Connie's gotten I don't think she'd be able to do that anymore.

This becomes one of the many times that Connie calls her "ugly" when she's in her titan form. Too bad she couldn't talk very well as a titan or else she probably would have had a smartass remark to throw back at him. It's looking back on scenes like this where I wish we could have gotten more out of these two. You can tell she cared for Connie and I know he also cared in his own way.

We only saw her together with Eren once when Reiner and Bertholdt captured them, but it was very interesting to see their perceptions of each other.

Eren found Ymir to be mysterious and wasn't sure if he could trust her, which isn't surprising considering this was the only time they ever spoke to each other. One detail that he couldn't miss, however, was Ymir's undying determination to protect Historia, a goal they would both come to share later on. Meanwhile, Ymir couldn't trust Eren because she found him to be too reckless and hot-headed.

These were my favorite qualities from Ymir, although to this day I still question the rationality of leaving Historia behind considering the situation she's currently in. Historia herself called her an idiot after reading her goodbye letter. Now that I've covered my reasons for liking Ymir as a character, let's move on to her relationship with Historia.

Ymir and Historia

I've loved these two together since the beginning for their complex and amusing dynamic. On the surface, you had the selfish, confrontational tomboy and the girly, kind and beautiful goddess. But underneath were two young women who were dealt a dirty hand early in their life and lead empty lives as a result until they found each other. Their story arcs throughout the Clash of the Titans arc were beautiful and complimentary, and it's part of the reason why it's actually my favorite story arc in the series. Everything from Ymir seeing through Historia's charade and urging her to live her life with pride to Historia telling Ymir her real name and the two of them fighting side by side in chapter 49 was some of the most empowering moments for me and I will forever cherish those parts of the story.

Ymir's departure

And now the part I've been most excited to talk about! Ymir's glorious, memorable and emotional departure.

Her ending...was not what I expected it to be. She left Historia at the very last second and gave herself away to the enemy because she felt guilty for something that was not her fault. Now as we know, Ymir is selfless at heart and she felt indebted to Reiner and Bertholdt for inadvertently helping her return to her human form after 60 years of wandering the earth as a mindless titan. She also decided that Historia might be safe after all after learning that Eren possessed the coordinate. I understand all of that, but what I don't understand is...well...everything else.

This was Ymir's last real appearance. We see that Ymir has willingly chosen to accompany Reiner and Bertholdt back to Marley to give up her titan powers at the cost of her life. Many people weren't so sure if that was truly the last of her though, because her death was not explicitly confirmed for a long time. We spend the next 33 chapters hoping to get something more, and then this happens...

A glimmer of hope. Finally there's a real chance we'll hear from her again, and it's got a lot of people buzzing with excitement. Sure enough, we finally get to see what's in that letter a few chapters later and are given Ymir's backstory. Here's where the disappointing part comes, though. Ymir makes it clear at the beginning of her letter that she will be dead by the time Historia receives it, meaning that this is the only goodbye they're gonna get. The last time they saw each other, Ymir wasn't even in human form. Instead of a proper goodbye, all we get is a short letter. The anime even tried to fix this by giving us Ymir's backstory earlier, but by doing that, her letter was cut short by a lot. All that was really left was, "Hi babe, sorry I left you like that. Oh well, I'm about to die anyway. Sorry we couldn't get married." And then this happened:

Historia touches Ymir's letter and is suddenly bombarded with visions of Ymir's past, including her chained up and about to be eaten. That is definitely not what happened in the manga and its honestly very confusing to me. How was she able to see all of that just by touching the letter? I get that she has royal blood and was able to access memories when she touched Eren, but Eren is a human who just so happens to possess the founding titan. The letter is just a piece of paper. Also, I'm guessing the last thing Historia saw was Ymir chained up so that there will be no need to bring her up again like Reiner and Porco did in chapter 93. I don't blame the anime team for making that change because I'll be honest, when we saw that one panel of her in her death chamber it felt very out of nowhere and I had a hard time concentrating on the rest of the chapter after that. So here are my main problems with her death:

1. It was off-screen

If I recall correctly, Ymir is the only major character in the series whose death was off-screen. All we got were her final moments, and there wasn't even any dialogue. That part especially bothered me because you can see that Ymir and Porco are looking at each other and Ymir's mouth is slightly open, implying that she's speaking. But what was she saying? You seriously don't mean to tell me that they both just sat there and stared at each other the whole time. She must have had some last words, but for some reason we never got to know what they were. At one point I even thought that Historia and Porco might cross paths at some point and he would be able to give her closure that way but no. No closure, just a last minute goodbye letter and a glimpse of her final moments that I now consider completely useless and unnecessary because we never got more out of it. I mean really, we even got closure and an on-screen death for Marco for crying out loud. Why give him that kind of attention and not Ymir? Not to mention one of the more recent guidebooks. Her character has the diceased sticker and it talks about how she went back to Marley with Reiner and Bert, but that's it. Not even the guidebook makes it clear what happened next. Yeah she died, but did anything else happen before then? That's what I wish we could have gotten more details on like, I don't know....her final words???

2. It was anticlimactic

We didn't get enough focus on Ymir's point of view after leaving Paradis in order for her death to have any kind of lasting emotional impact. As I mentioned above, it just felt out of place and messy. There was nothing memorable about her death either. It was quite simple and boring.

3. It contributed to an ongoing literary issue that has anti-LGBTQ roots

Yep. I'm talking about the infamous Bury Your Gays trope. Now before I go any further, I am not accusing Isayama of being anti-LGBTQ, I'm just shedding some light on something that's been continuously repeated in countless forms of media, not just anime and manga. Truthfully, I hadn't heard about this trope before reading Attack on Titan, but when I did hear about it, it only made Ymir's death even worse for me. I'm not surprised that it exists and I realize that this is a manga where death is inevitable, but keeping both women alive in the end would have certainly been very refreshing. At this point, all I could ask for is that Ymir and Historia get to see each other one last time. Obviously since Ymir is dead it will have to be through other means and I don't care how it's done. It can be in a dream, a vision or through Paths (which I think would work best). Seriously, there's nothing I've been more curious about than how Ymir would react to Hisu's current predicament and what she would say to her. It would just be great for them to have one last conversation face to face because for me, the letter just wasn't enough. Of course I'm hoping for too much, though. We've only got 1-2% of the story remaining, leaving no room for further closure. It's disappointing and frustrating, but no story is perfect. I'm grateful for the content that we did get, but I hope one day I can find a story like this one where the queer characters get to live for once. I'm aware of other shows like Steven Universe, Adventure Time and Yuri on Ice that give them good endings, but those shows are much friendlier towards younger audiences and aren't nearly as dark and grim.

Conclusion

Ymir was a very intriguing character while we had her, but her death was unsatisfactory and only left us with more questions. I am not going to trash Isayama for it, but I will leave this critique here so I can unload all my thoughts for others to read if they wish, or possibly share their own thoughts. We are coming close to the end of the manga, so now would be a great time to reflect on what we read and enjoy what's left of it.

[clumsyclifford]

i won’t forget you (but i may forget your name)

this is unforgivably stupid and entirely the fault of @reveriesofawriter​ who pointed out that because duke’s name was originally luke, if calum hadn’t changed his name, luke would’ve had to have been known as human luke. i have no explanation other than that. this is a gen fic i didn’t proofread it at all and all you need to know is that duke’s name is never changed to duke. the name luke is in this fic an obscene amount of times

i’m also so fucking sorry for giving this an actual title i really was just going to call it human luke but then i remembered this lyric from i’m ready by ajr so instead it’s being called that 

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO: the human luke fic aka five times someone called luke human luke and one time he did it to himself

read it here on ao3

-

“What’s his name?” Luke asks.

Calum smirks. “Luke.”

“What?”

“His name.”

“Yeah, that’s what I asked you for, dipshit.”

“And I’m telling you, dipshit, his name is Luke.”

Luke stares through the phone screen. “No it’s not.”

“It is.”

“But you’re going to change it, right? You’re not going to keep a dog named Luke when you already have a best friend named Luke?”

“Quick to assume you’re my best friend,” Calum says airily. “Not very fair to Michael, I’ve known him longer.”

“You’re going to rename the dog, right?” Luke repeats emphatically. 

Calum scrunches up his face. “But he looks like a Luke, Luke! It’s the perfect name for him.”

“We are in a band together!” Luke says, feeling vaguely hysterical and also kind of like this is some kind of fever dream, or possibly nightmare. “You see me every single day! You can’t just have a dog named Luke! You could rename him so easily!”

“But it’s about the vibes,” Calum says.

“Change the dog’s name, bro.”

“No, bro. The dog is Luke. You’ll just have to be Human Luke.”

“Absolutely the fuck not,” Luke says. “Under no circumstances are you calling me Human Luke. I was here first. The dog can be Dog Luke.”

“He’s already used to the name Luke, though,” Calum says, glancing off-screen at something. His features immediately soften, and he shifts for a moment, then sets his phone down. Luke frowns. When Calum’s face returns, it’s accompanied by a dog’s face.

Luke hates the dog on instinct, but he has to admit this soon-to-be-renamed Luke is super cute. His tiny snout takes up most of the screen, white with a black streak that climbs up onto his black head. He has a little beard, or whatever, tan fluff under his little cheeks and chin. Luke forces himself not to awww. This dog is causing problems.

“I’m already used to the name Luke,” Luke says, ignoring the way Calum is cooing over Dog Luke and kissing his adorable face.

“Yes, but it’s much easier to make you understand that you’re Human Luke than to make him have to learn a whole new name. Look at this face, Luke.” Calum brings the camera closer to Dog Luke’s snout. The dog’s deep black eyes stare innocently into it. “Just look at him. You wouldn’t deny this face his name, would you?”

“Easily,” Luke grumbles. “Easily I would. I am not being Human Luke.”

Calum gives him a look of sympathy. “Sorry, mate.”

Luke is not being Human Luke.

-

“So I went over to Calum’s house,” Ashton explains, “and Luke was just sat in the kitchen, and I was like, when the hell did you get a tiny dog?”

Everyone laughs, except Luke, who had momentarily zoned out only to be pulled back in by being mentioned by name. And they’re not even talking about him.

“Not Human Luke,” Calum adds, giggling. “My dog, Luke.”

“That must get confusing,” Elvis Duran says. “Having a dog named Luke and also a bandmate.”

“Yeah, you would think, wouldn’t you?” Luke puts in, shooting a glare to Calum, who’s decidedly ignoring him. “You would think maybe if you were in a band with a bloke called Luke you wouldn’t get a dog with the same name?”

Elvis chuckles, although Luke really hadn’t been joking. “So how do you guys tell them apart?” he asks, which is kind of rude. It’s not like Luke and Dog Luke look alike. “Or do you guys just say Luke and go with whichever one answers first?”

“Oh, we call Human Luke, well, Human Luke,” Ashton says, grinning at Luke’s put out expression. “He’s not a fan.”

“I maintain that I was here first!” Luke insists, as the entire studio breaks into laughs.

“Human Luke seems like it would work,” Elvis agrees. 

“Don’t get any ideas,” Luke says warningly. He says it like he’s joking so that he doesn’t get in trouble, but Elvis is grinning. “Yeah, the boys have begun their efforts to force me out of the band by bullying, but I won’t go down easy.”

“I don’t know,” Michael says thoughtfully. “He really doesn’t like being called Human Luke.”

“I’m the original Luke!”

Nobody will stop laughing long enough to let Luke defend himself any longer, and the interview moves on. 

-

Calum posts a picture of Luke and Dog Luke on Instagram. Luke gets no warning, hadn’t even known about the existence of the photo. It’s a really cute picture, a candid taken from earlier in the week, when Luke had come over to Calum’s place and they’d had a swim together. The photo shows Luke cradling Dog Luke, standing waist-deep in the pool, nose buried in Dog Luke’s neck. 

The caption reads: Luke and Human Luke, my two best friends <3 #cake.

Luke is going to kill Calum.

“You can’t just call me Human Luke!” Luke says when they’re in the studio later in the day. Calum smirks and says nothing.

“Move on,” Michael calls from the other end of the table, where he and Ashton have been plotting, heads together. “You’re already Human Luke. You can’t escape it. You may as well own it.”

“Never,” Luke says. “I’ll fight this until my dying day. And you,” he jabs a finger at Calum, “are the worst friend ever.”

“I called you my best friend!” Calum protests.

“If I was your best friend, you’d have changed your fucking dog’s name.”

“Think of it like this,” Calum says, placatingly. Luke already senses he won’t like what Calum is about to say. “You’re called Luke, and you’re cute. And he’s cute, so it makes sense to call him Luke.”

“But he,” Luke points out, forcefully, “is a dog.”

Calum shakes his head, like Luke’s entirely missing the point. From the other end of the table, Michael snorts. “Can you take the compliment, please? I’m making the best of a bad situation.”

“You’re living for this,” Luke accuses. “You fucking love this. You all love calling me Human Luke. Sadists, all of you. I’m getting a new band.”

“Good luck finding anyone else who will put up with you as much as we do,” Michael says. “We’ve been in the studio for an hour and all you’ll talk about is being called Human Luke.”

“Maybe you should write a song about it,” Ashton suggests. “Get your frustrations out.”

“Or you could just accept it,” Calum offers, slinging an arm over Luke’s shoulders. “It gives you character. Luke wishes he could have as much character as Human Luke has.”

“Worst friend on the planet,” Luke repeats.

-

Ashton FaceTimes while Luke is making dinner with Jack — not his decision, but Jack’s, determined that Luke learn to make at least something for himself, never mind that he can make scrambled eggs just fine, kind of, thank you very much — but they’ve just put the lasagna in the oven, so Luke picks up.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Ashton says, beaming. When Jack appears beside Luke, Ashton adds, “Jack, man, what’s up!”

“Just teaching this guy to cook,” Jack says good-naturedly. Luke passes his phone off to Jack so they can chat. “How are you, man? It’s been a minute.”

“I’m good,” Ashton says, grinning wide. “I’m good, yeah. Spent some time today with Luke and Calum, tried to get some writing done but Luke wouldn’t stop, like, trying to climb onto the couch and walking all over the pages and stuff. Eventually we just gave up and played with him.”

Jack’s face goes through several stages of confusion. “Uh, what?”

“Oh, obviously not Human Luke,” Ashton says, and Luke glances at Jack and sees sheer glee building itself on his face. “Calum’s dog, Luke.”

“Calum got a dog,” Jack repeats, a slow smile stretching the corners of his mouth out, “and named it Luke, and now my brother is Human Luke?”

“The dog was already called Luke,” Luke grumbles. “And don’t get any fucking ideas, you arse. If you call me Human Luke even once I will put all of your worst secrets on the internet.” He glares at Ashton. “See what you’ve done?”

Ashton doesn’t look even slightly regretful. “I can’t believe you don’t know about Luke,” he says to Jack. “He’s basically the only thing on Calum’s Instagram these days.”

“I don’t go on Instagram a lot,” Jack says. “You really call Luke Human Luke?”

“Enough of this!” Luke says loudly, wrenching his phone out of Jack’s hands. “I’m going to go catch up with Ashton, and you can call me when you need me to, like, whatever you need from me.”

“Have a good catch-up,” Jack bids him, smirking, as Luke leaves the kitchen. “Human Luke.”

“Twitter’s just begging to know about you bringing your teddy bear to uni!”

“Twitter doesn’t give a shit about me!” Jack calls back. “Tell them I’m only calling you Human Luke from now on!”

Ashton laughs. Luke gives him a piercing glare.

“You’re a shithead,” he declares. “You’re all shitheads. I need new friends. And a new family.”

“But you love us so much,” Ashton says, giggling. “You’re the only Human Luke I’ve got, buddy.”

“I will seriously hang up on you.”

Luke’s phone buzzes. He briefly swipes down from the top to read a text from Ben:

Ben Hemmings: YOUR BAND CALLS YOU HUMAN LUKE???????????

For fuck’s sake.

-

When Alex texts Luke asking if any of his band wants to grab a coffee this weekend, Luke is quick to accept. It’s been too long since he’s seen Alex, and they’re intersecting one weekend in L.A., so Luke sends out the invite to his bandmates.

On Saturday afternoon, Luke and Michael wander into a coffee shop somewhere in the mysteriously secluded part of downtown Los Angeles, eyes searching until they land on Alex and Jack.

“What’s going on?” Alex says, grinning and getting to his feet. He pulls Michael into a hug first, and then Luke. Jack does the same. “Feels like it’s been forever.”

“Well, you’ve been busy with Last Young Renegade, haven’t you?” Michael says as they all sit. “And we’ve got Youngblood coming out.”

“Yeah, suspiciously close release date you guys chose, there,” Jack says, narrowing his eyes playfully at Michael. “We know you’re, like, a million times more successful than us, but did you need to show us up like that?”

“Yeah,” Michael says. “We did, yeah.” He turns to Luke. “Wanna get us drinks?”

Luke stands. “What do you want?”

“Iced caramel coffee,” Michael says. “Honestly, Luke, you should know my coffee order by now, This is terrible for our image. We’re supposed to live in each other’s pockets.”

“Fuck you,” Luke argues. “It changes, like, every month.”

“Or maybe you’re just a terrible friend.”

Luke rolls his eyes and Alex and Jack chuckle, and he ambles over to the register to order for himself and Michael. 

When he returns to the table, Michael’s mid-story. Luke slides back into his seat and passes Michael’s drink to him, and Michael takes it without breaking in his narrative. “So Calum is wasted, and Luke — Human Luke, I mean — is basically passed out, almost, and I’m just trying to get Calum’s fucking door open. This bitch,” he jerks his chin at Luke, “is heavy.”

“I’m just tall!”

“I basically had to feel Calum up to get the key out of his pocket,” Michael says gravely. “But we got inside. And then Luke wouldn’t stop making noise, of course, because he was so excited to see us after we’d been out for hours. You wouldn’t think such a small dog could make such a racket, but there you are.”

“Oh, Luke!” Alex says excitedly, and Luke thinks, for a second, that Alex means him, but of course he doesn’t. Nobody does, these days. “I keep seeing him on Calum’s Instagram. He’s so fucking cute.”

“Absolutely adorable,” Michael agrees. 

“Did you just call Luke Human Luke?” Jack asks. Luke buries his face in his hands.

“Don’t even start,” he mutters. “They won’t stop.”

“That’s kinda hilarious,” Jack says. “Imagine if I got a dog and just called it Alex.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Alex says. “Alex is the best name ever.”

“Actually, if I was going to name it after anyone in the band, it’d be Alex, probably,” Jack concedes. “Zack’s kinda, like, too human. And Rian’s name is spelled weird, so obviously it couldn’t be that.”

“You have my blessing,” Alex tells him. “In fact, I dare you.”

“This isn’t a joke,” Luke says stubbornly. He takes a drink from his own iced coffee. “I’m being made into a mockery. I’m a serious musician.”

“So is Lil Dicky,” Jack points out, “and he’s called Lil Dicky. Like, on purpose. You could do way worse than Human Luke.”

“Human Luke would actually be a pretty sick rap name,” Alex says, laughing.

“It’s a futile effort, guys,” Michael says. “He’s dead set on being pissed off about it.”

“I’m the original Luke,” Luke says despondently. He’s said that so many times in the past couple of month he’s beginning to feel like a broken record. “I came first!”

“Aw, don’t worry,” Alex says, reaching over the table to pat Luke’s cheeks reassuringly. “You’ll always be plain old Luke to me.”

“Not me,” Jack says, smirking. “I’m calling you Human Luke now, for sure.”

“I’ll delete your number,” Luke threatens.

“You will not.”

Luke won’t — he’s not about to delete Jack Barakat’s number — but he sure wishes he could, just to make a statement.

-

Dog Luke is super cute. There’s no way around it.

It’s just, okay, his snout. It’s his snout! And his tiny paws, and his floppy little ears, and his soulful eyes. And, he can smile. He’s a dog who can smile, okay, how could you not find him just absolutely precious? Luke would challenge anyone to look at Dog Luke for five seconds and not fall immediately in love.

He and Calum are playing Fifa, but Calum’s just gone to the bathroom when Dog Luke stretches out. He’d been curled up, snoozing on the floor. Now he shakes himself out and pushes himself onto his hind legs, front paws on the couch, gazing at Luke.

Luke huffs. “Only ‘til Cal gets back.” He picks Dog Luke up and hugs him close to his chest. Dog Luke nuzzles his nose into Luke’s neck. Luke smiles despite himself. He actually loves this dog, whatever bitterness he might spread around. It’s impossible not to.

“Alright, let’s have a little chat, you and I,”  Luke decides, laying down and cuddling Dog Luke up in his arms. “I don’t hate you, you know. I just hate your owner. Calum’s a shithead. You’re alright. It’s not your fault you’re called Luke.”

Dog Luke squirms in Luke’s arms, and Luke drops a kiss on the top of his head. This seems to satisfy him, enough to stop him moving. “I bet it gets confusing for you, though, having me here?” Luke hums, scratching mindlessly behind Dog Luke’s ears. “That’s why I have to be Human Luke, because that doesn’t sound like Luke. You’re Luke. When we’re in the same room, anyway. I forgive you for that. Can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Or a new name. Or anything new, really.”

Dog Luke just sneezes. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Luke,” Luke says. “I’m Human Luke. I’ll go by Human Luke for you.”

“About fucking time!” Calum crows, and Luke, startled, jolts upright. Dog Luke loses his balance and Luke only just manages to catch him from falling off the couch. 

“What the fuck, Calum, a little fucking warning,” Luke says, heart still pounding from the shock. “Jesus Christ.”

“You just called yourself Human Luke!” Calum says triumphantly, crossing to the couch and taking Dog Luke in his arms. “Hi, cutie. Did Human Luke finally accept his name?”

“That was conditional,” Luke feels it necessary to add. “I just don’t want to confuse the dog.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Calum grins. “You’re so full of shit, Luke. Human Luke.”

“I wasn’t talking to you! That was for the dog!”

“You were talking to Luke,” Calum sing-songs, “and you agreed to be called Human Luke, and I won’t ever forget about it, and am going to absolutely tell that story next time we get asked about Luke in an interview.”

“I hate you,” Luke announces loudly. “I hate you, I hate you, you’re the worst friend ever and I hate you —”

Calum just hands Dog Luke back to Luke, and Luke can’t very well be scathing while he’s holding about fifteen pounds of pure sweetness.

“You’re perfect,” Luke informs Dog Luke. “I forgive you. I will never forgive Calum, but that’s something that you and I are going to have to move past if we’re going to be friends.”

Calum laughs. 

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

No Matter Where You Go, No Matter What Happens - fic

Characters: Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson Summary: Damian had given up on the family, given up on the Bats. But there was one who he thought he’d lost, who’d never give up on him. A/N: Apparently my new thing is to ignore all the ideas I’ve been building in my head or long fics I’ve started to write garbage in two hours and post it. Cool. Could be seen as kind of? a sequel to Missing The Obvious, but also not really. But the same idea of that fic/what happened in that one is what I carry into this one, if that makes sense. But you don’t have to read that one! Just have to kind of know about Damian’s current turmoil in canon. I dunno. more trash from me woo-hoo~

~~

It was without warning, that his phone started blowing up.

It was Tim. Jason. Cassandra. Stephanie. Even a few from Barbara Gordon. And that proved its seriousness – Barbara never texted him, even in emergencies.

But he didn’t read them. Didn’t care to. He’d separated himself from the family months ago. Took his own path, one unobstructed by his father or mother. One entirely his own. He knew he didn’t have their blessing, not from anyone he considered family, but he also didn’t ask for it. Didn’t want it.

No one had contacted him since he left, which was good. Even when it stung, when he thought he might miss them, it was good, because that meant for once in his life – they listened to him.

But now, all of the sudden, it was like his attention was all they wanted. He scoffed as his phone buzzed again, and he whooshed the notification away without even glancing at its content.

Too little too late.

It’d been a week of this. A week of buzzing, of ringtones, of voicemails and texts. But it was fine, he’d already trained his brain to ignore it as white noise.

He almost laughed the day it became more than that. When he was sitting on the balcony, completing some research, when he heard his phone come to life inside the apartment. When he heard it start speaking.

“I…” It crackled. Damian smirked. About time they thought about remotely accessing the device. “I think I got it, Jay…”

Tim, of course. But still, Damian didn’t rush to answer it. Barely even turned his head towards the sound.

“Damian, if you can hear me, please just listen.” Tim begged. There was static on the line. “…bered, okay? He remembered and he wants to find you. Talk…you. We told him about your…gone the next morning. So, just…just so you know?”

“And don’t fucking attack him either, got it?” Jason chimed in angrily. “We told him your request…never fucking listened in the first place.”

“…mian, if you’re there, plea…ust let us know you got this, okay?” Tim continued, like Jason hadn’t interrupted. “That’s all we’re ask…you’re doing well, kid.”

The static took over his voice for a second, and then the phone went silent once more. Damian just snorted and went back to his research.

~~

The attempts to contact him stopped immediately after the message, and Damian didn’t care enough to remember anything Tim’s half-delivered message entailed. Whatever it was, he could handle it, surely.

So he wasn’t thinking about it, when he went into town a few days later and mulled around a farmers’ market. Didn’t think about it when he bought a bushel of fresh apples, and went to the nearby park to snack while he sketched the simple scene in front of him.

Didn’t think about it because for once, he was at peace. Calm. Settled.

But he should have known better. Because peace never lasts very long.

Somewhere nearby, in his periphery, he saw someone stop in the middle of the crowd, and stand there longer than normal. Frozen, clearly not looking at one of the nearby stalls. Damian took note of the person’s presence, but otherwise did nothing. Unless they attacked someone or pulled out a weapon, a person being strange was no reason to be alarmed.

“…Damian?”

Oh, well maybe that was.

He tightened the grip on his pencil as he looked up, but almost dropped the utensil instantly. Because the person who had stopped in the crowd, the person acting strangely, was none other than Dick Grayson.

“He remembered and he wants to find you.”

…Oh.

“Damian?” He asked again, taking a step forward. Damian just stared at him dumbly. Because with one word, with just one name, Damian knew it wasn’t Ric. It wasn’t the cabbie his older brother had become in the amnesia. With just the sound of his name he knew it was his brother. It was the Richard Grayson he knew and adored.

“…Grayson?” Damian whispered back. A grin instantly broke out on Dick’s face, but there was instantly something wrong with it, like it was being weighed down. Like it wasn’t allowed to exist.

“I found you.” Dick breathed, and instantly his eyes began to well up with tears. “I…I found you. I was starting to think I wouldn’t, was just thinking I should go home, but I didn’t…I didn’t want to give up on you. I didn’t…”

Suddenly, Dick inhaled a shaky breath and began wiping at his eyes with his fists, like a child might.

Damian’s eyes widened when he saw the first tear drop onto Dick’s collar. “Grayson…?”

“I…I remembered and I came home.” He sobbed. “But…but you weren’t there, and no one would tell me where you’d gone. It took…it took them a fucking week to tell me you’d left, and why, and what happened and I just…”

Dick curled in on himself, and without warning, dropped to his knees, right in the middle of the farmers’ market. Damian instantly jumped up, letting his sketchbook and pencils fall to the ground, and ran to his brother’s side. His own knees had barely touched the ground when Dick lashed out, dragging Damian into his arms, and hiding his wet face against his neck.

People were starting to stare. Damian ignored them.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured. “If I’d have been there, I’d have never let Bruce treat you that way. Or the Titans. Or the family.” He squeezed Damian’s shoulders. “I’d have stayed with you, or…or you could have stayed with me. We could have figured this out together. I’d have helped you. I’d have listened. I wouldn’t have let you be alone.”

Despite his shock at the moment, at the complete breakdown, at the situation, Damian felt himself smile. “I know, Grayson. It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

But Dick was shaking his head. “When I remembered everything, I remembered you first. And I came straight to Gotham because I knew…” A pause, to blubber a little. “Because I thought you’d be there.” A watery exhale. “I just wanted to see you so bad, Damian. After…after everything, I just wanted to see you.”

Damian closed his eyes, wrapped his arms around Dick’s back. “Well. I’m here now. I hope that’s alright.”

Dick tried to laugh, but it came out wrong.

“And I won’t…I’m not here to force you back to Gotham. I won’t do that to you.” Another squeeze, and Damian almost had to grunt in pain. “I just wanted…I just needed to see you. After everything.”

Damian merely rubbed at his brother’s back. “…Thank you, Grayson.” He hummed. “Thank you for coming after me.”

“As if I ever wouldn’t.” Dick promised, voice almost angry. “And trust me, I gave Bruce a piece of my mind for not doing the same. For pushing you away in the first place.”

Reluctantly, Damian pushed Dick back, holding his arms as he stared up at his red, tear-stained face. “You look ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well.” Dick pouted, sniffing and running his sleeve across his eyes. “You go spend two weeks looking for your brother, afraid the whole time that you’re never going to find him or see him again.”

“I should not be on that high of a pedestal in your life, Grayson.” Damian laughed.

“God, kid, I’d hope you’d believe me by now.” Dick scolded, cupping Damian’s face in his hands. “You mean the whole damn world to me. Always have and always will. No matter what the rest of our family and friends do or say. Bruce included.” A thoughtful pause. “Bruce especially.”

Damian felt his face heat up, the sentiment almost too much to bear. He’d…forgotten, what it was like to be cared about. Quite frankly, the lack of Grayson reminding him so every second of every day is how he ended up on this shattered, lonely path in the first place.  “…How long will you be in town?”

“For however long you’ll have me.” Dick swore, wiping at his eyes one last time. “I haven’t seen you in almost two years, Damian. A few days might not be long enough.”

“Stay as long as you want, then. Forever is fine.” Damian grinned. “We’ll have to get more food from the market, though.”

“Whatever you want to do, I’m with you every step of the way. Honestly, you’re stuck with me, for now.” He gently stroked his thumbs across Damian’s cheeks. “…I love you, kiddo.”

“I love you too, Grayson.” Damian said confidently. He pulled out of Dick’s hands and stood, offering a hand to Dick to help him up. Dick took it, stood, and immediately enveloped Damian back in his arms, pressing a long kiss to Damian’s forehead.

“I missed you so much.” Dick whispered into his hair. “So, so, so much.”

Damian leaned up into the embrace. “I missed you too, Grayson.” Then childishly: “Please don’t leave me again, even if it’s just through amnesia.”

“I’ll do everything in my power.” Dick promised. He held Damian for a moment, and they let the sounds of the market wash over them. Finally, hesitantly, Dick let go, stepping over to pick up Damian’s abandoned art supplies and remaining apples. “So. Where to first?”

“Back to the fruit stand.” Damian smirked. “I’m sure you didn’t eat much in the way of healthy foods in your life as a Bludhaven cabbie.”

Dick grinned at the barb. “Brat.” He laughed, wrapping his arm around Damian’s shoulders as they disappeared back into the crowd.

[abandonedlefteye]

Derry 1988- Part One (Losers club x reader)

Summary: This is inspired by the book ‘11/22/63’. The reader is an average girl from the year 2020 but accidentally travels into a parallel universe and finds herself in Derry 1988 where she meets the losers club, and tries to change their fate.

Warnings: Spoilers (IT, and IT: Chapter 2), Swearing, Violence (Bowers gang)

“DON’T LISTEN TO HIM GEORGIE!”

“STAN DON’T DO IT!”

“MOVE OUT OF THE WAY EDDIE!”

“......this can’t be the end”

**********

Summer boredom was just about killing 17 year old Y/n Y/l/n. She spent most of her days either on her phone or watching her favourite movies. Her most favourite movie however had to be ‘IT’, she didn’t know why exactly but it was something about the characters, how she wished she could be a part of that world, even if it was a horror movie, a tragic one after all.

She had just finished watching IT: CH2 for what felt like the 5th time since it came out. Her eyes red from crying at the death of not one, but two characters that she for some reason felt so close to.

Y/n closed her laptop as she got out of her bed and walked into the hallway. She had just moved into a new house with her aunt a few days prior. Her current room was just a bed and...well that was it. Her aunt had been raising her for as long as she could remember since her parents passed away in a car accident when she was just a baby.

Deciding it was time she explored the area, Y/n texted her aunt saying she’d be back by sunset and started to put her shoes on. She was wearing tight jeans matched with a cropped t-shirt as she made her way out the door.

Y/n then rode her bike around the small town of Windsville (made up), soon stopping at an ice cream store that was located in a plaza that consisted of no other stores; but instead a dentists office...how ironic. She got her favourite which was one scoop of chocolate chip cookie dough in a cup, because she hated the cone. As she sat down and looked out the window she noticed how old the buildings were and how much the area lacked of greenery. The last thing she wanted was to go from living in sunny California with all her friends to being in a dark sketchy town where she had yet to see anyone that looked under the age of 50; That was until she noticed she was quite obviously being watched by a boy around her age.

Y/n slightly turned her head to face the boy. He had curly dark brown hair that was almost black. It looked completely disheveled as if he had never brushed it in his life, and bright blue eyes. He was dressed in black jeans and a grey cardigan, underneath was a graphic t shirt that read ‘windsville library club’. As she caught him staring he gave her a warm smile, which she returned back although she still felt a bit creeped out.

He noticed her getting uncomfortable and decided to speak up “Hey I’m Cosmo. Sorry I didn’t mean to look weird it’s just that you seem new” He told her as he went to sit next her. She didn’t mind though as she was dying to meet someone interesting.

“New?” she asked.

“Yeah. Well I mean, this is a small town and I’ve lived her my whole life so I think I’d remember seeing someone my age. We are rare you know” He chuckled trying to break the ice.

“I noticed” She smiled. “I’m Y/n, I just moved here a couple of a days ago”.

“Really? I didn’t even know there were any houses for sale here” He stated in slight confusion.

“Oh, well I live on the corner house on Castlelane” She replied while finishing the last spoonful of her ice cream.

She then looked up to notice his eyes go wide as he suddenly froze up.

She knew this Cosmo kid sounded weird, but it was something about the way that he looked as if in fear from just the name of her street that gave her a feeling so eerie she couldn’t even seem to describe it.

“Is something wrong?” She asked enthralled by his reaction.

“I, I don’t think I should say anything” He stutterered as he suddenly got up and walked out of the store.

Okay. This is way too weird now Y/n thought to herself. She was definitely not the kind of person that would let someone leave her with all that confusion, so she decided to grab her bike and run after him.

“Wait! Cosmo!” she shouted as she caught up with him. “Okay now you HAVE to tell me what’s going on, please?” she begged.

“I don’t know I really shouldn-“

“PLEASEEE” she started to scream, catching the attention of an elderly couple walking down he sidewalk, they both gave the two teens dirty glares.

“Agh okay okay fine...just promise you won’t tell anyone I told you this?” he stopped in his tracks as he stuck out his pinky finger.

She chuckled a bit until she realized that he was completely serious, and then slowly wrapped her finger around his. “I promise”.

“Alright, now believe what you want but for as long as I’ve lived in this town it’s been a known fact that everyone in the house you’re living in right now...goes missing.”

Oh wow. Classic. As cool as it sounds Y/n knew there was no way her life could be interesting enough to sound like the plot of just about hundreds, if not thousands of horror and thriller movies. But at the same time they all did end the same way: owners of the house don’t take the rumours seriously, and then they go missing too. Y/n decided she rather bruise her ego than be a missing person.

“Let’s Say I believe this conspiracy-

“Not a conspiracy, it’s a fact” he interrupted.

“Okay..So let’s say I believe your fact. Why do you think that is? Ghosts? Demons?” She questioned him.

“Well, I don’t exactly know but nobody’s lived in that house for like 10 years, it’s gotta be cursed or something i’m telling you.” he tried to explain “it’s like..someone would move in, and by like a week they’d just be gone into thin air, but all their stuff would be the exact same”

“Hm..I mean if they all just coincidentally decided to move, why would they all leave their stuff behind?” She thought out loud.

“Exactly right? I’m telling you there’s some weird shit going on in that house, you better be careful” He told her.

She then felt a buzz in her pocket. She picked up her phone to see she had 2 missed calls from her aunt. It had been past sunset but Y/n didn’t seem to notice.

“Shit. I have to go...I’ll talk to you later?” She told him as she hopped onto her bike.

“I’ll be there” he called out as he pointed to the town library. Y/n gave him a thumbs up as she rode down the street.

***********

It was now about 3am as Y/n was tossing and turning around in her bed. After her conversation with Cosmo she couldn’t bring herself to sleep. She wasn’t one to get scared over things, especially not ghosts or demons. But it was something about the situation. People going missing, how it was completely unknown what happened to them that made her feel uneasy.

After about an hour of trying to sleep but failing miserably, Y/n decided to get out of bed again and get a glass of warm milk, something that helped her when she was younger and would get nightmares. She made her way down the stairs slowly as she noticed herself checking behind her and in every room, as if something was going to come and attack her any second. The fear had definitely gotten to her.

As she waited for her glass of milk to heat up in the microwave she jumped when she heard a huge crash in her basement, as if someone had fallen. Panicked, Y/n rushed down the basement stairs calling after what she assumed to be her injured aunt, but instead she found nobody at all. She then walked down the dark and empty room as she realized she was alone. Feeling goosebumps rush throughout her neck and arms Y/n quickly decided to walk back up the stairs.

As she went up the first step she suddenly heard a voice call her name from the end of the dark room, groaning in pain, the voice sounded like someone was injured very badly.

“Y/n.....y/n help me please hurry!”

“Aunt Jane?....A,Are you there?” she called as she walked down the room trying to see as much as she could in the pitch black. Suddenly she reached the end of the room and noticed a wooden door that was opened slightly. She opened the door and walked in to see a figure in crouched in the corner crying.

“Aunt Jane what happened are you okay?!” Y/n called out approaching the figure, however she was walking very slowly because in the back of her head Cosmo’s words kept repeating. She knew this could be a trap, but what if it really just was her aunt? It sounded like her. She couldn’t leave her alone if she was hurt, that’s just the kind of person Y/n was.

She slowly crouched down to the figure that had it’s back away from her as it was crying into the corner.

“Aunt-“ she spoke as she reached her arm out to the figure but was interrupted as it quickly turned around revealing the face of not her aunt, but rather a terrifying clown, one that seemed all too familiar.

Before she could say the name of who/what she knew was in front of her, everything went black.

**********

After the darkness came a shining bright light under the eyelids of Y/n. She was almost sure she had to be dead, that this must be heaven and she was brutally murdered and left to die in a room she didn’t even know existed. That was until she opened her eyes.

She was no longer on the cold black ground of the mystery room, but instead she found herself laying on a field, a beautiful one as a matter of fact. Y/n looked around and noticed the bright blue sky and shining sun. Confusion had hit her as she knew that there was know way Windsville could have an area so full of life, but she was still trying to put two and two together on how she ended up there until she looked down. Instead of her pyjama shorts and tank top she now had on overall shorts, and a lilac tshirt underneath, an outfit she would never think to wear considering how out of date it is.

Y/n decided this had to be a dream. There was no way she went from her basement floor being attacked by what she thought to be Pennywise, to going through a wardrobe change and ending up in the middle of a bright green field of grass. But it all felt too real. She pinched the skin on top of her hand over and over again.

“Wake up wake up wake up” She whispered to herself repeatedly expecting to be back in her own bed.

“Hey! who is that?”

“Where? I don’t see anyone”

“Over there dumbass, it’s a girl!”

...Turns out Y/n wasn’t dreaming after all.

**********

A/n: Part 2?

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

Mission Accomplished

Chapter: 1 of 3 (Find Chapter 2 here)

Characters: Loki x SHIELD Agent Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: On one of your many missions with Loki for SHIELD, you are forced to stay in a hotel room with the frustrating God of Mischief. And it just so happens that there's only one bed.

Warnings: Eventual smut. 

Permanent taglist: @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @nonsensicalobsessions @vodka-and-some-sass @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @myoxisbroken

A/N: If you would like to be added to the permanent taglist or be tagged for the rest of this series, let me know! :)

“No, that’s not right. There should be two rooms under the name Smith.”

The young night desk attendant for the hotel Tony had booked you into seemed unbothered by the death glare you were sending her.“I’m sorry, ma’am, but the reservation was only for one room with a king size bed. For two nights.”

You pulled out your wallet and dug out your credit card, thrusting it towards her almost desperately. You were not sharing a room with the god standing impassively next to you, his face schooled in practiced boredom. And you certainly weren’t going to share a bed with him. “Here, I’ll book it under my own card. Whatever room you have left, please.”

Her eyes flicked to the card you held out to her before coming back to rest on your face as she handed over two plastic keys to the room. “I’m sorry, but we’re all booked up for the convention in town. Your room is 1045.”

Loki opened his mouth as you handed him his key, and you anticipated his snarky remark and cut him off with a finger poked into his chest. “Not. One. Word.”

His chuckle as you stalked over to the elevator was dark and full of promises that sent a wave of betraying heat straight to your core.

You had hoped the room maybe had some sort of couch or loveseat that you could force Loki to crash on - even a recliner would do - but the only vaguely soft surface other than the bed was a straight-backed chair tucked into a small table meant to be used as a desk. There was no way any sleep would be had on that thing.

Loki stretched out on the bed after hanging up your garment bags in the closet, his long limbs spreading across almost the entire width of it. He shot a salacious grin your way, his eyes glittering with mischief and the beginnings of desire. “Now, where will you sleep? The bed seems to be taken…”

Choosing not to dignify that with a response excluding the roll of your eyes, you lugged your bag into the bathroom. “I call the first shower.”

You shut the door before he could say something else that made you want to punch him in the face.

As you went about your nightly routine, grateful that you had packed a comfortable baggy t-shirt and mid-thigh length shorts to sleep in, you rationalized the situation. This was a mission, and although Loki was a trickster, he also seemed to take his new role assisting the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. seriously. This wasn’t the first time you had been paired together, your penchant for espionage and his cunning proved to make you a competent and complementary pair. Your assignment wasn’t until tomorrow evening, so he surely wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that by messing with you more than usual beforehand. He was an ass, but he wasn’t that much of an ass.

And speaking of, you stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam to the sight of Loki standing beside the bed, wearing only his black silk boxers that did nothing to lessen the shape of his backside. Was anything he owned not designer?

Your eyes drank in the sight of his long torso greedily - you couldn’t help it - lingering on the dimples of his back above the waistband of his underwear and the flex of his muscles as he looked at you over his shoulder. You knew that you had been caught ogling him when his lips pulled into a smirk that could make even the strongest go weak at the knees.

“See anything you like?” he drawled, his richly accented voice dripping with heat.

Hiding the blush of your cheeks by bending down to set your bag on the floor, rearranging your dirty clothing inside of it and pulling out your phone charger, you shook your head. “Did you really just say that? What is this, some cheesy porn flick?”

“It could be,” he replied smoothly, just barely brushing your upturned bottom with his leg as he passed by you to slip into the bathroom himself.

Taking advantage of the few moments alone, you quickly plugged in your phone, setting it on the end table at the side of the bed Loki seemed to have picked for you, judging by his own phone charging on the opposite side. You dove into the cold sheets, curling up with your back to the middle of the bed, trying to make as small of an imprint on the mattress as you possibly could.

Your eyes were tightly shut when you heard the bathroom door close, followed seconds later by the tilting of the bed as Loki settled in beside you. His radiant heat quickly spread beneath the blankets, soothing the slight chill of your skin from your shower and urging you to relax. No part of him touched you, and for that you were grateful.

Why you were grateful was too complicated and layered and you were not going to think about that.

“Goodnight, Agent,” he intoned softly as the light shining through your lids flicked off.

And although you had thought it impossible, scrunched up into a ball with the God of Mischief’s light rhythmic breaths the only sound in the room, you drifted off to sleep.

~~~

You were so pleasantly warm when you slowly came to from your dreamless sleep, your body rested and restored as you woke for the first time in a long time to your own internal alarm clock instead of your blaring ringtone.

Breathing in deeply, the scent of leather, spice, and clean male musk washed over you. It was comforting, enticing, and you buried your nose into the source to relish it for a moment longer.

The steady rise and fall of the bed - no, chest - beneath you was what pulled you fully from your sleepy haze.

Your eyes shot open and you froze, realizing that you were so toasty beneath the covers because you were using Loki as your own personal body pillow, your chest half-draped across his, your nose buried into the space where shoulder met chest, and your thigh thrown over his waist. You became aware of several things in rapid succession.

Loki’s arms were wound around you, one hand having slipped beneath your t-shirt to splay across your skin and sear into your lower back, the other cupping your upper arm. Also, his subconscious was very happy about the current sleeping arrangements, if the stiffness nudging the loose muscle of your inner thigh was anything to go by. And finally, he was thankfully still asleep.

You resisted the urge to snuggle deeper into him - it had been so long since you’d been held this way and your touch-starved body was practically buzzing with pleasure at the closeness. But that wasn’t proper, not among colleagues, and he would never let you live it down if he knew that you were enjoying this small moment of stolen intimacy.

But how did you get out of this situation? Part of you - the stupid part driven by desire and the smallest bit of affection - wanted to just lie in his embrace for a few moments longer. If only for his sake, as he needed the rest. The dark purple circles that had stained the thin skin below his eyes the night before had not gone unnoticed to your ever-observant gaze. But remaining like this was dangerous, as your body woke more and more to respond to him, sending signals to the butterflies having a rave in your lower belly that did not need to exist.

Just as your muscles tensed to roll off of him, his fingers tightened their hold on you, pressing you into him more firmly. A pleased hum rumbled through his chest and into you, vibrating against your rabbiting heartbeat.

“Good morning,” he murmured. The normal silk that weaved through his tone had roughened with his slumber, and it was almost endearing, especially combined with the softness lingering at the edges of his gaze as he looked up at you. He was unguarded, the mask of boredom or contempt he normally wore stripped away to reveal quite a striking, almost kind face beneath it all.

And the flutter it gave your heart was far too dangerous.

Pulling yourself from the comfort of his arms, you scrambled to sit up in bed next to him, running your hands through your messy mane of hair self-consciously. “We should order room service and go over the details at least once more, before we have to focus on getting ready.”

“Not before I take my own shower. Would you mind ordering a coffee for me as well?” He pitched the question to you as he left the bed, swiping a pair of underwear from his bag and dropping the others to the floor as he sauntered toward the shower.

You were too shocked by the admittedly glorious sight of his bare bottom to bite back a retort.

[magpiemorality]

Bring It On, Moceit/Moremus, 5/5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5  AO3

We’re here; the final part. The happy ending, hopefully… 

Huge thanks to @littlestr​ for the original prompts! And thank you all for following along with this fun weekend jaunt, I have come to adore these boys and they’ve outgrown the little prompt oneshot they were supposed to exist in, constantly yelling at me for more attention until now we’re here. There’s even art HERE by @sometimeswritingsometimesdying go look at it!!!! 

Without further ado; please enjoy.

Warnings: dismissal of polyamory (character doesn’t believe it’s real/feasible), swearing 

Patton Sanders was the prettiest boy in the whole college...

***

Patton Sanders was the prettiest boy in the whole college. He wasn’t being vain or anything; there had once been an online poll on the college gossip blog and he’d won hands down. It was just fact at this point. 

He was also currently (in his own internal poll) the saddest. Everything had been going so great (shut up Remy it had) and then it had taken a turn towards the endgame and then- 

Well, what had happened with Remus? Patton still wasn’t sure, and Remus was ignoring his texts so he had no clues to go on apart from the fact that one minute the boy was giving him some very upmarket salmon filets and pulling off a classing hair-behind-the-ear move that would have possibly even led to a kiss- and then nothing. Remus had suddenly… changed his mind? He’d freaked out for some reason anyway, and had just run off. 

Since then nothing, nada, total radio silence (yeah so it had only been two days so what Remy shh) and Patton was falling into despair. There had to have been a vital signal he’d missed somewhere that would have turned the whole thing around. 

Maybe the fish was a clue? 

He and Remy had spent a full evening poring over the fish. Was it a secret message? Symbolic in some way? Was there something written on it? Patton had drawn the line at trying to open it up and check the inside because he still very much wanted to save it to cook for Remus some day, so it had been rehomed in the freezer after a careful perusal of storage methods on Google. 

And there was a whole other problem now too- Dex was avoiding him. Over text, on campus, in the cafe; everywhere Patton could think of to try and run into his second paramour turned out to be a bust, and the only way (again, two days was ages Remy don’t be a bitch) he could have avoided even accidentally bumping into Dex for that long was if the other boy was actively staying away. 

Those texts went unanswered too. 

(Remy was starting to lose patience.)

“But I just don’t-”

“Oh my god gurl please don’t finish that sentence!” Patton’s very best friend and emotional support gay snapped, slamming his Starbucks cup down on the table (situated outside the cafe, so they could be seen by as many people as possible, of course). “I literally can not with you.”

Patton’s nose wrinkled. “My tutor Logan says we shouldn’t say literally when it’s not grammatically accurate.” 

“Your tutor Logan can literally suck my dick. No seriously; he’s hot, get me his number and I will consider literally forgiving you.” 

“But-”

“Baby, sugarplum, Patty-cake- for the love of all things caffeine; just take a chill pill okay? Boys will come and go in your life and if they’re worth anything at all then they’ll be back. Besides, they’re probably just duking it out over you somewhere. Maybe shirtless. Maybe there’s baby oil…” Remy trailed off with unfocused eyes, sipping his drink absently and Patton sighed, because even that nice (very nice, saved for later) image not enough to dispel his melancholy. 

He checked his phone again for the millionth time that day. Spring break was coming up and the cheer squad Whatsapp was going wild with anticipation, but Patton wasn’t in the mood. He’d foolishly hoped that one of his handsome men was going to sweep him off his feet and away to somewhere spectacular for the holiday, but that hope had tanked dramatically in light of recent developments. Normally that would’ve just made him shift his hopes towards prom, but it wasn’t enough of a big deal as it had always been in high school, and it was really more of a friends’ night out situation. Not the sort of time to be expecting big dramatic declarations of love, you know or whatever. 

No, the universe seemed to be spelling out ‘Patton Sanders is going to die alone’ pretty hard, even if Remy wasn’t in agreement. 

“Who are you texting, anyway?” Patton asked, picking at his nail polish with a pout. “Let me at least live vicariously through you until I waste away, a tragic damsel whose beauty was lost to time…" 

Remy looked up, talking around the straw in his mouth. “Jesus you’ve got it bad. And it’s none of your business, P, I’ll tell you when you aren’t moping.” The way Patton visibly and genuinely sagged seemed to revive Remy’s best friend sympathy instincts, because he quickly finished his drink, took Patton by the hands and pulled him up. “Come on cupcake, it’s the weekend and we’re going shopping. Because no matter what happens with your boys- it’s nearly Spring Break and we are gonna look hot to trot!” 

And who was Patton to disagree with such flawless logic? 

***

Maybe there was something to be said for the mystical powers of retail therapy, because when Patton flopped down on his bed that evening there was a text notification from a blocked number on his phone that made his heart beat wildly. 

It contained an invitation, to meet the following weekend at a destination that would be sent in a future text, and it was signed ‘from your not-so-secret admirer’. 

The week went by horribly slowly. Even practice seemed to drag, and yet… 

Suddenly Dex was meeting him every day with his tea again, no word of explanation but a soft smirk always hovering around his lips, lighting up his usually serious face. 

Suddenly Remus was watching and winking at him from across the gym- not approaching this time round but offering little shy waves and offering help when he could, putting away the gym equipment or offering a protein bar on the way out just as Patton’s stomach started to rumble. 

Something was up, and Patton’s head was in a spin, but it was oddly perfect. 

Even Remy couldn’t believe the change. 

“You’re totally one hundred percent sure they’re not on drugs?” Patton shot him a look. “Okay just double checking. Joined a cult? Kidnapped by aliens and replaced by pod people? Serial killers planning on luring you in an-”

“God, Remy, no!” He hit his friend with his pillow, laughing at the offended noises Remy made before he joined Patton in giggling on the bed. “No I think they just… sorted something out. It’s weird though, right? Like there’s something weird happening? Not bad weird, but…”

Remy mirrored his shrug. “You’ll have to wait and see what happens with your ‘not so secret admirer’,” he said, singing the name. “Do you have any clue which one of them it is?” 

“Well no. But surely it’s Dex? I mean, he’s Dexter, he can sort out a blocked number. It’s… Remus is a total carebear but he’s not exactly James Bond, you know? It’s got to be Dex. But he’d just out and say it, I know he would, so I don’t- I can’t be sure. Remus is the dramatic one…” Round and round in circles they went but never came any closer to solving the puzzle. 

Friday came and went and at long last it was time to head out for the grand reveal. Remy had helped him get dressed (cute but weather appropriate and with good running shoes, just in case) and they were waiting in the living room for the address to come through. 

His phone buzzed. 

Once they’d stopped shrieking in excitement they googled and found the address was of the same cafe he’d spent so much time in with Dexter over Winter break, which- it was probably not a good thing that his heart had sunk over ruling out the possibility this was Remus all along, right? It had simultaneously skipped a beat at the confirmation that it was Dex, so… You win some, you lose some he supposed. 

Crunch time. 

He hurried along the streets- glad for the tiny size of their college town and for the lack of rain on the crisp February morning- and slipped into the cafe. Only to see not Dexter O’Reilly sat inside waiting for him, but- 

“Remus?!”

***

Let it be known that Remus Duke was not the prettiest boy in the whole college, far from it. Nor was he the most intelligent, nor the richest nor the most popular. However what Remus Duke had in spades was earnest charm. It was lethal in a one on one situation, and he made sparing use of it so as not to abuse his power. 

Let it also be known that Dexter O’Reilly was far from immune to said charm, especially when it was turned on him from a few feet across a brightly coloured, messy, but shockingly cosy room in a frat house on Greek Row. If Dexter was the Slytherin here then Remus was almost certainly the Hufflepuff who would drive said Slytherin to world domination. 

In this case, of course, world domination was replaced by Patton Sanders, and the prospect of getting to date him. The concept was the same though, and the intense level of detail required to get the plan exactly right was too. 

In fact, Dex had stayed way later that night than either of them had expected, as they’d plotted and planned and discussed various ways of making their dreams reality. What Remus lacked in book smarts, he made up for with an innate talent for asking exactly the right questions to fix any inefficiencies or problems before they ever arose, and you bet Dex had made a mental note of that for future reference. 

What neither of them had really considered, was the exact reaction Patton would have when he walked in the cafe door on Saturday morning to find not just Remus, but- 

***

“And Dex!” Patton’s eyes were big and round as they switched back and forth and back and forth between the two young men. He clutched his phone in his hand like a lifeline, wondering if this was going to turn out to be the worst day of his life so far, rather than the tentative best he’d pencilled it in as… 

“Hey,” Remus smiled hopefully at him, standing up and awkwardly trying to gesture Patton to his seat like a magician’s glamorous assistant or something. Patton took pity on him and did in fact sit, still mostly set to ????? and !!!!!! and only just managing to process what was happening. 

Opposite him, Dexter crossed one long leg over the other, and Remus perched on the edge of the third chair like he was physically restraining himself from getting up to go be closer to Patton. Which wasn’t entirely untrue, as it happened. 

“Guys, what’s going on?” Patton asked weakly, looking to Dex for guidance, but it was Remus who replied. 

“Well,” he started, twisting his hands around nervously. “We ended up having a bit of a chat, last week. I um, I- oh fuck what was I supposed to say?!” Dexter snorted softly and Remus pouted at him. “You’re no help, we said we’d do this together!” 

You could’ve knocked Patton over with a feather. His mouth actually fell open at the display of camraderie. Suddenly the serial killer theory had merit. 

“Patton. Through a convoluted set of circumstances we ended up discussing our possible futures… with you. It’s fairly clear you’re struggling to choose between the two of us, right?” He waited until Patton nodded slowly. “So we thought… why choose?” 

“My brother Roman told me about this class he took last semester see, about like, changing identities or something. People, basically, and he heard about all these different things they never taught us in school! And one of them was-”

“Wait,” Patton interjected, holding a hand out because he was ninety percent sure he knew where this was going, but- “That’s real? Having… sharing partners is real? It actually works?” 

“Hey how’d you know what I was going to s-”

“Yes, darling, yes to all of that. If the people involved are honest and open and willing to work on it,” Dexter interrupted, smiling at Patton. Remus was also looking at him, nearly bouncing in his seat with excitement, overflowing with energy like always. Gosh Patton loved his energy, his enthusiasm for life, his potential, ahem, stamina… 

He turned back to Dex, only to be filled with warmth at the look he was getting, because he loved the way Dex gave him special smiles he gave no one else. He loved his soft, clever words, and his gentleness. 

Oh. 

“Oh.” There was quiet for a moment before the two hopefuls shared a concerned glance. 

“Patton?” Dexter prompted. “Is that… a good ‘oh’ or a bad one? We uh, we know it’s kinda not what you were expecting, probably?”

“And you can take your time to think about it!”

“Thank you Remus, yes. You can take your time, darling. But we would like to try this with you. However you like. And if we want to change things down the road… we can talk about that too.”

Patton was the prettiest boy in the whole college. Seemed like today he was the luckiest, too. “Yes!” He shouted, leaping out of his seat to grab them both in a hug, dragging them together forcefully. “Oh gosh, goodness, yes, that sounds perfect!” He gave them each a kiss on the nearest cheek and sat back down, cheeks red but smile bright, holding his hands out for them to take one each. 

“This is going to be so cool!” Remus crowed, and Dex chuckled softly at his exuberance, squeezing Patton’s fingers, his eyes betraying his own quiet excitement.

Yeah, Patton thought. It really was. 

--

Bonus 1 | Bonus 2 | Bonus 3 | Bonus 4

[novastarlyght]

That Time I Named an Invader Zim Background Character and Everyone Thought it was Canon: The Story of Ixane

Like a lot of others it seems, the premiere of Enter the Florpus has recently made me think back to my first stay in the Invader Zim fandom many years ago. For me it was between 2006 and 2007, and I was 14-15 at the time. IZ was and still is a very special cartoon to me, not only for how it influenced me creatively but also the fact being a part of its fandom was my first really positive experience in a fan community. And I wanna talk about that experience because it... lead to something very interesting. Something that only could’ve happened in the now bygone days of the early internet where reliable sources were harder to find and misinformation was much more common, but somehow, has lasted until today. 

This is how Ixane, a silent extra that appears only in the episode “Backseat Drivers from Beyond the Stars,” got her name.

So first off, you might be wondering “Who the heck is Ixane?” As I mentioned, she only appears as a background character in the 21st episode of the original series, titled “Backseat Drivers from Beyond the Stars” which I’ll abbreviate for the rest of this post as just Backseat Drivers. She’s a member of The Resisty, a resistance group against the Irken Empire who also only appear in that episode, although they were planned to become more significant recurring characters later down the line before the show was cancelled.

In 2006 I LOVED the Resisty. They were my favorite group of characters in the entire show, probably because I was fascinated by all their potential which sadly didn’t get the chance to be explored before IZ was canceled. What planets did each of them come from? What are each of their individual species like? How did they form into a single resistance group? What were their names, their personalities? Their hopes, dreams and fears?! THEIR FAVORITE DRINKS?!?! I attempted to provide my own answers to some of these not-so-burning-to-anyone-but-myself (or so I thought at the time...) questions by writing a fanfic called “Resisting Authority,” which I published on Fanfiction.net and later DeviantArt. It’s since been taken down on FFN while the DA version is currently in private storage on my old account, so here’s a screenshot just to prove it existed:

(click here for larger image)

Despite being more adult in tone than the show it was based on and rather melodramatic (then again, I was 14, and probably so was everyone else reading it), “Resisting Authority” became really, REALLY popular... at least for a fic that didn’t feature any of the show’s main characters, given it was entirely about the Resisty and told mostly from the perspective of its leader, Captain Lard Nar. Regardless it got a large amount of positive feedback and significant fan art on DeviantArt, most of which is no longer online although there’s still a little bit hanging around - mainly featuring Lyn, an Irken OC from the story who chooses to rebel against the empire and falls in love with Lard Nar, leading to a star crossed lovers conflict.

Because the purpose of the fic was to further explore the Resisty along with the idea of “What if an Irken betrayed their own?” several characters that appeared onscreen for only a couple of seconds in Backseat Drivers were fleshed out considerably in “Resisting Authority,” where they were given names, species names, home planet names, backstories, motivations and personalities. And of these the one who received by far the most development was a feminine, blue-eyed alien in a hooded purple cloak who I decided to name “Ixane.”

Ixane would become one of the most important characters in “Resisting Authority” right behind Lard Nar and Lyn. She is a Xanan from the planet Xana, a race of spiritual mystics. She is initially distrustful of Lyn, despite her actions and claims to be as much of a rebel as the rest of them, due to her hatred for the Irken Empire and how they destroyed her home. She believes Irkens are more like machines than living creatures, their bodies merely being empty shells to carry their PAKs around, making them incapable of genuine emotion. When she discovers Lyn and Lard Nar have been in a secret romantic relationship, she becomes even more hateful towards Lyn both due to jealousy, since she’d been harboring feelings for Lard Nar herself, and her genuine belief that Lyn’s feelings aren’t real, something that will only hurt Lard Nar in the end.

However throughout the course of the story her views are challenged and eventually Lyn manages to prove her wrong by displaying what she can’t deny is anything but legitimate love for Lard Nar and compassion for her allies in the Resisty. Unfortunately Lyn is fatally injured during a battle with a number of Irken soldiers sent to hunt down the rebellion. Now wanting nothing more than happiness for the person she loves, Ixane uses her mystical powers to save Lyn’s life while sacrificing her own in the process.

This character development (both in the meta sense and in the context of the fic itself) plus her selfless heroic sacrifice is what I think made Ixane one of the fic’s breakout characters and caused her to stick in the minds of those who read “Resisting Authority.” They were no longer thinking of her as just some extra, but as this fully developed character complete with an arc that I’d made her into - as the character of Ixane. But it didn’t occur to me just how big of an impact this may have truly had until about 9 years later.

In 2015, the official Invader Zim comic series by Oni Press began publication and I found myself extremely hyped about IZ again for the first time in almost a decade. It was during this time I came across a particular IZ wiki article and section of its TV Tropes page...

(Sources are here and here)

And I thought to myself “Wait... I thought I named her Ixane...?”

Because at this point I seriously couldn’t remember. I hadn’t thought about “Resisting Authority” in years, and with TV Tropes in particular noting that Ixane’s name was given “in the [episode] script” I wondered if I didn’t actually come up with the name. Maybe it was in the script for Backseat Drivers after all so I used it in the fic. Being unable to find said script (the original script as made by the episode’s writers, not a transcript) I couldn’t confirm it, so I mainly shrugged it off and thought more than likely I just had a bad memory. It wouldn’t be on a (still regularly maintained) wiki if it didn’t at least have a high possibility of being canon, right?

Cut to last night, August 2019. Me and all my other friends and fellow nerds who also grew up loving IZ are still buzzing over Enter the Florpus and our childhood/teenage fan content comes up in conversation. I dig up “Resisting Authority” from my old DA storage for perhaps a good laugh and a bit of nostalgia when more of when I first wrote it starts to come back to me. “I know the wikis all say her name was in the script, but I swear I came up with the name Ixane myself,” I thought, wondering if there was any way I could prove it.

Turns out I could. All the proof I needed was in a drawing of the character I posted to DA in January of 2007, which like the fic was still in storage:

(click here for larger image)

“Um...I bet a lot of people who read Resisting Authority got the impression she was an OC. She technically isn't. She is a Resisty character we saw VERY BRIEFLY once or twice in Backseat Drivers and I just elaborated on her for the story. The cloaked girl, yasee. Just look here: [link] “

That link no longer works normally, however putting it into Wayback Machine provides a snapshot taken in September of 2006, which would be around the time “Resisting Authority” was first published on FFN. Scrolling down on that page gives us...

(click here for larger image)

Additionally, opening the image itself reveals the filename “resistycloak.jpg” rather than something like “ixane.jpg” or “resistyixane.jpg”

For those who weren’t in the fandom back then, The Scary Monkey Show was a very well known IZ fansite and its Encyclopedias section was basically a resource for the show’s lore, one considered highly reliable, before things like fan wikis became commonplace. I actually used this site as a reference for the different types of Irken ships and other planets in the IZ universe brought up in the fanfic and so did many other fic writers at the time. If any site on the internet would know a minor or even background IZ character’s name, if it really was in the official episode script, it’d be The Scary Monkey Show. Yet her name is listed as unknown.

So why am I telling you this?

Because as wild as this whole situation is, I’m not a person who likes misinformation. I feel like IZ fans, both young and old, should know Ixane is not actually this character’s canon name as given to her by the writers of the show. That being said...

I see no reason to stop calling her Ixane. That’s just her name now.

Heck, it’d probably be difficult to go back to thinking of her as having no name given how long the name has been used on all these wiki pages and whatnot. And I’m completely fine with receiving absolutely zero credit for actually being the one who came up with the name in the first place, because here’s the thing...

I may have made the name, but it was the fandom that spread it. The IZ community, primarily in my absence too, were the ones who codified, legitimized it. Who added it to those wikis and accepted it as canon all these years. Who believed in it enough to assume it came from the official episode script, from the IZ crew themselves!

Ixane isn’t my name for her. It’s our name for her, as the fans who made Invader Zim the cult classic it is today.

And I want that to be something we all can have and be proud of ❤︎