#although looking up the casting sort of spoiled the twist for me

[stvlti]

S1E09

【warning brave traveller here be spoilers】

i know y’all be shipping Tyrelliot and also there’s been lots of people comparing this series to Fight Club so can I raise y’all this:

Back in s1e09, when Elliot brings Tyrell to the Fun Society arcade space, as he reveals everything to Tyrell, a piano cover of Where Is My Mind? by The Pixies begins playing. And as Elliot says “I wanted to save the world”, the popcorn machine starts to pop, a visual stand-in signifying that the explosions (i.e. thermostat meltdown at Evil Corp’s multiple Steel Mountains) have begun. Now i’m sure the Fight Club parallel here was intended. But if we remember what the Fight Club ending looked like - not only did the Narrator and Marla stand there watching explosions happen over the non-diegetic track Where Is My Mind - they held hands. Now i’m not saying that cinematic parallel was homoerotic subtext intended by Sam Esmail, but i’m saying there is metacinematic homoerotic subtext *winkwonk*

[an-ambivalent]

Yandere! Claude [WMMAP]

WARNING:  This post contains yandere themes and mentions of other toxic behaviours that can be triggering and uncomfortable to read. So, read at your own risk. This work is purely fiction. I do not condone this behaviour irl. And uh, PSA, I haven’t been writing for a long time so its rusty :’) ok thanks. 

Fandom: Who Made Me a Princess 

Pairing: Reader-Insert

No beta, we die like men. 

dedicated to my friend @spiritualotaku​ 

First Meeting 

~ After the betrayal of his brother and his first partner, and then losing Diana, the only time Claude would be able to “love” again is after the black magic he casted upon himself has done its job and erased the memory of his last deceased partner. Even though he had hoped to freeze his heart so he would not be hurt anymore, a part of the spell worked but in a twisted away. So, the next time he does love someone else, his feelings were going to be different than how he may have felt for Penelope and had felt for Diana. 

~ There’s not really a particular scenario to exist that would be a catalyst for his “interest” in you. That would be something that would develop over time, so you would have to be in a position where you interact with him frequently. Nothing like a maid or something because Claude always keeps these types of servant roles at an arm's distance. It would have to be a role where you are able to interact with the Emperor, but not significant enough that he would become aware of you right off the bat. Perhaps you’re the blacksmith responsible for the royal guards’ weapons, or the assistant of the magician who is the healer for the knights; being in an occupation that allows you to have regular interactions with Felix, who is completely trusted by Claude and friendly with you, would allow Claude to have a more favourable first impression of you. 

~In this instance, let’s assume the role of the assistant healer. The royal guard magician healer and you were scheduled to visit to conduct the regular health check ups that happen for the guards. Since Felix was not there, you were told by your senior to go find and do his check ups and they would look after the rest. One of the castle workers guided you to the royal garden where you see your client, and the cold ruthless Emperor he is assigned to protect.  

“Blessings and Glory upon the sun of the Obelian Empire,” you and the maid greet simultaneously bowing, and both Felix and Claude’s gaze shift towards you. Recognition flashes across Felix’s face when he sees you, but the coldness glistening in Claude’s bright blue jeweled eyes is unmatched and new, as a murderous aura starts to radiate off him. You and the maid freeze under his overwhelming terrifying presence. 

“You must not value your life so much if you barge in here however as you please and disrupt my peace,” he said stoically. From the corner of your eyes, you saw the maid beginning to tremble in fear. Along with this, although your face was looking at the ground in order to avoid the Emperor's gaze, you felt a spike of magic from him. You didn’t mean to, but you subconsciously released your own magic output, and put up a defensive shield around you and the maid in case the self-entitled Emperor was going to harm her or you for “disrupting his [poor] peace.”

This, of course did not go unnoticed by Claude who narrowed his eyes at you, wondering how you could be gutsy enough to usher him a challenge like that. Luckily, the situation did not escalate to that point since Felix jumped in. 

“Your Majesty, please don’t harm them. They’re here for me, I had forgotten I am meant to see the magician today. I ask that you do not hold them accountable for this.” 

Claude fixed his cold stare on Felix for a few seconds, who was accustomed to it, so he was able to hold his ground. And then,it was obviously evident that his gaze was fixated on you with the way you felt goosebumps rise at the nape of your neck. 

“I wasn’t aware the magician was a woman,” Claude pointed out, and the way he stated this made it seem like an accusation of some sort because everyone flinched as he had spoken. Felix stepped in front of you and the maid to act as a shield, and addressed Claude with a stern tone. 

“I’m sorry for the trouble that’s been caused for you because of me, Your Majesty. To not be of inconvenience to you anymore, we will excuse ourselves.” Felix bowed, and then led you and the maid out of the garden. You would have breathed out a sigh in relief and thanked Felix, but your breath and your words were stuck in your throat (coronavirus). Because for the entire time until the garden was out of your sight, the cold and intense gaze of the royal jeweled eyes, stayed fixated on you. 

How it happens 

~Although your first meeting with the Emperor had started off with a slight rift to say the least, other employees in the castle had noticed that an odd acquaintanceship had developed between you and Claude. Actually, it was an acquaintanceship in their eyes. In reality, it was completely one-sided because you entertained his whims to stay alive. He was the Emperor who could have your head whenever he wanted, and you were forced by your magician boss to interact with him in hopes that you making a good impression on him would somehow benefit him. 

~Claude’s interest in you had developed from the things he heard about you from the knights. They spoke of how attentive you were to their care each time, and whenever they were suffering from a painful injury, you made sure to numb the area around that injury to reduce their pain as much as possible. They spoke kind words about your humour, and the homemade sweets you always brought with you to give to them once their check up was over; it was a small action, but the thought behind it was really appreciated by the knights. You conversed, informed, and asked for their consent each time before you did something unlike your boss, who just wanted to finish the job as soon as possible. 

Claude also recalled how you had instantly jumped to the defense of that incompetent maid when he had unleashed his mana to intimidate her -- you had done this as if it was second nature to you. You had acted against him and not even paused to consider the consequences you may have faced for going against the Emperor. It intrigued him and he wanted to understand you. Although Obelia’s residents’ quality of life had improved after Claude became the sovereign and reduced the corruption from his father’s and brother’s reign, there were still many greedy and power hungry scum that he had to deal with. For this reason, his desire to approach someone seemingly as kind as you became stronger. 

And so, your regular tea time with Claude commenced. 

Yandere  

~Once Claude develops affection for you, he would have possessive traits as a yandere. He has lost so much already too, to make sure it does not happen again, he would want you to belong solely to him. He would keep you away from everyone else. 

~He will be clingy; there is no respect or regard for any boundaries you set. If he wants to touch you, hug you, and show affection, but you find his touch aversive or ever try to pull away, he will simply ignore you and force you to comply with him. If you struggle too much, he will use a spell that acts a relaxant to cease your thrashing. 

~Although Claude is rather temperamental and threatens people easily, he would have a bit more patience with you. But, he will not hesitate to threaten you if you give him too much trouble. If anything or anyone else tries to hurt you or take you away from him, he will hurt them. Ruthlessly. 

~He keeps you isolated so the chances of someone else trying to steal you away from him are low. However, in any instances you were out in public, he expects you to stick to his side and not initiate or respond to anyone. He expects you to stay quietly and obediently by his side, and let him do the talking for you to keep you fully to himself. 

General things 

~Once your relationship has been there for enough time, he will gift you your own palace. But even before that, he will spoil you lavishly with the most beautiful jewels and clothes he wants to see you in, or think you will look beautiful in. 

~When it is just you and him, he prefers you to wear simple robe dresses that are revealing and easy to access. When he wants to cuddle you, and with any physical intimacy, he enjoys the touch of your warm skin against his own. 

~When he is stressed, he likes you to lay down on your lap and nap while you play with his hair. 

And Claude is a boobs man

[isitgintimeyet]

Just a Friend

Thank you all so much for your support with this story.

Sorry for the delay with this next chapter. Hope you enjoy it.

thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

AO3

Previous

Chapter 10: From Posing to Plus One

I adjust the numerous cushions behind me on the purple velvet chaise longue and take another sip from my glass of champagne. This luxurious moment is marred somewhat by the underwire in my strapless bra digging painfully into soft tissue. With my free hand, I surreptitiously try and manoeuvre it into a more comfortable position.

“Claire, after this we have tae get ye a new bra, fer the dress.” Geillis has noticed. She notices everything.

She is sitting on the edge of a lavender boudoir chair, so full of excitement, I can practically see the air humming around her. She can’t seem to keep still, her legs constantly jiggling while the fingers of one hand beat a tattoo on the arm of the chair. Despite all the movements, the champagne in her glass remains unspilt, unsurprisingly.

Eventually, the sales assistant enters holding aloft a large white garment bag. “Here ye go, ma pet. If ye jes’ want tae pop behind the screen over there, we’ll get ye sorted.”

Geillis disappears behind the screen, while I continue to savour the champagne and take a good look at my surroundings. This room is like being in a big fluffy cloud. The walls are white with huge white wooden open wardrobes, filled with masses of lace, frills and satin. One wall has a full length mirror set in an ornate gilt frame. The floorboards are painted white as are the shutters at the windows. The only splashes of colour are from the chaise longue and two boudoir chairs, which do look somewhat incongruous against the overwhelming whiteness, like burlesque performers stuck in a room full of angels.

But perhaps they couldn’t risk white seating. All the shuffling bottoms, fake tan and spilt wine would play havoc with pristine upholstery—less virginal and more slightly seedy and used. The velvet decadence is probably preferable.

“How’s it going, Geillis?” I call across the room.

“Fine,” a muffled voice responds.

I am certainly enjoying this experience—wedding dress shopping with Geillis. It’s not something I ever imagined doing for myself, so to share it with my best friend is great. Even when I was a little girl, I never seemed to dream about weddings. I never played weddings with my dolls— I was far too busy bandaging them up, healing their imaginary diseases and, on one memorable occasion, amputating the left leg of my Tiny Tears. (In my eight year old self’s defence, it was a necessary intervention to save her from imminent death—her leg had already turned black with marker pen and all it took was a sharp pair of kitchen scissors and some red wool to stitch up with.)

And so I am thoroughly enjoying this new experience of visiting bridal shops and choosing dresses. All the pleasure and none of the wedding planning. Geillis has already dropped a dress size due to pre-wedding stress and I hope she doesn’t drop anymore—this is our final fitting.

I take the last sip from my glass. While Geillis is still being manhandled into her dress, I quietly lean over, take her half full glass from the (white) side table, pour some into my glass and relax back against the cushions.

And just in time as Geillis emerges from behind the screen.

The expression ‘take my breath away’ is often used, but in this case it is genuine. I’ve seen the dress before. I was with her when she chose it, but to see her in it now, well, I’m speechless. I want to rush over and hug her, but of course, I can’t for fear of spoiling the pristine fabric.

It’s a simple dress. Cream chiffon pleated Grecian style with a fitted strapless bodice and a long floaty skirt full of tiny intricate pleats that make the fabric lift and swirl around her as she moves. A plain cream veil cascades from the back of her head adding to the ethereal image. She looks like a goddess.

A goddess until she opens her mouth. “What d’ye think, then? This dress is bloody gorgeous, is it no’?”

She stands in front of the mirror, and twirls around, trying to glimpse it from every angle.

I feel my eyes prick with tears. “Oh, Geillis, you look absolutely beautiful. It’s just… just… lovely. You’re lovely and it fits like a dream. Dougal is a lucky man.”

“He is. And I make sure he knows it.”

The sales assistant is hovering around, straightening imaginary creases, checking the dress. Finally, Geillis stops moving and allows her to cast a professional eye over the fit. Once satisfied, she directs Geillis behind the screen once more, for the reverse transformation.

Geillis pulls a face as, clad again in jeans and t-shirt, she sits down and picks up her glass. She views it with suspicion, before shooting me a glance and taking a gulp. I try to look innocent.

“All ma clothes are sae boring now,” she pouts. “ I want tae wear that dress every day and never take it off.”

“Not very convenient in theatre, though, love,” I console her. “And think how special it’s going to be when you put it on for your wedding.”

“Aye, I suppose ye're right. And now it’s yer turn. C’mon now.”

The sales assistant returns with another garment bag and I follow her behind the screen.

There’s something quite uncomfortable about being dressed by someone else, I decide as I stand in my bra and knickers, arms stretched above my head waiting for the dress to slither down my body. I mean, obviously my parents would have dressed me when I was little, not that I can remember that, but by the time I went to live with Lamb, I was fully able to dress myself. He would have to do the occasional rebuttoning of cardigans, or zipping up of anoraks, but that was all.

The dress slips over my head and down my body. Now is the moment of truth as the sales assistant lifts my arm and pulls up the side zip. I breathe a sigh of relief (yes, I can actually breathe); the dress fits like a glove, or rather like a dress that’s been tailored to my exact measurements.

I step out from the screen to a round of applause from Geillis. “Claire, ye’re gorgeous. Ye look stunning in that dress.”

I sashay towards the mirror, enjoying the feeling of the fabric as it dances around my calves. In style, it’s not dissimilar to Geillis’, the same intricate chiffon pleats on the bodice and skirt. But my bridesmaid dress has one shoulder and is, as I was informed, ‘seafoam’ in colour.

That name is so descriptive; neither blue nor green yet both at the same time, and, as my skirt swirls around my legs, it’s easy to picture the ocean waves lapping against my ankles.

“D’ye like it?” Geillis sounds genuinely concerned.

“I love it.” And I do, I really do.

There’s just one thing, I realise as I continue to twist around. Geillis was right. I do need a new bra.

***********

With the two garment bags safely stowed in the wardrobe of Geillis’ spare bedroom, we celebrate with a glass of Sauvignon Blanc.

I curl my legs up on the sofa and watch as Geillis switches on her laptop, ready to update all her wedding preparation spreadsheets with today’s activities. She sticks her tongue out in concentration as she scrolls through all her information, finally finding the appropriate worksheets. A few taps of the keyboard and it’s done. She doesn’t switch off but continues to look at the screen.

Eventually she speaks. “Claire, I need tae know. This weekend we’ve tae give the numbers tae the hotel and I want tae do the seating plan. Are ye bringing a plus one? I mean, it’s ok if ye’re no’.”

I feel really bad about not letting Geillis know sooner. I mean, after the rugby club, it appears  that Jamie and I have somehow become each other’s ‘plus one’, but I haven’t yet decided whether to ask him to the wedding. That somehow seems more intimate—and the thought of him being interrogated by my friends fills me with dread.

“I haven’t asked anyone yet. When do you need to know?”

“By ‘anyone’ I take it ye mean Jamie? Who else would be yer plus one? Frank?” She pulls a face at that idea. “And I need tae know by tomorrow night. It doesna matter if ye dinna bring anyone…Angus isna bringing anyone either. He’d be thrilled tae accompany ye.”

I grimace instinctively. I met Angus, Dougal’s brother, at Geillis’ last New Year's Eve party and he was more than a little, shall we say, full on. I could cope with his hands, although it was rather like trying to wrangle an octopus. Midnight was a different matter as he tried to turn a polite peck into a full snog, tongue and all.

“Ok, I’ll ask Jamie tomorrow. We're going running.”

Geillis bursts out laughing, which rapidly turns into a coughing fit. “Running? Ye?” she croaks between coughs. “Oh ma love, I’d pay good money tae see that.”

******************

I don’t consider myself unfit. I try to do yoga every week and all those hours in theatre keep me pretty active. But running isn’t something I ever imagine myself doing, let alone actually enjoy.

Jamie first suggested it to me a couple of weeks ago. As usual, I didn’t have to say a word, my face told him what I thought of the idea. He then proceeded to agree with me, declaring that he didn’t think I had the stamina for that kind of exercise. I knew exactly what he was doing—a blatant attempt at reverse psychology. Did he really think I would fall for that?

Anyway, I’ve arranged to meet him in the park at our bench. I eye the coffee kiosk wistfully. It’s too early in the morning for it to be open, or indeed for anybody to be around, save a few fellow runners and some dog walkers. Perhaps, it will be open by the time we’ve finished.

I hold onto the bench and practice a few lunges, trying to look as though I know what I’m doing.

“Ye’re wobbling a bit,” a familiar voice calls from behind.

Immediately I stand up and turn to face him.

“Morning, how are ye? Looking forward tae this?” He sounds far too cheerful for this early on a Sunday.

“Of course.” I don’t tell him that usually all I want on a Sunday morning is coffee and a cinnamon bun.

He checks his watch. “Well, mebbe yer man’ll be open fer coffee when we get back.”

I don’t believe it. Are all my friends mind readers?

I shrug, trying to look like it never crossed my mind.

“Sae,” he continues. “We’ll start off wi’ 5 minutes brisk walking tae warm up, then mebbe 15 minutes alternating between slow running and walking and finish off wi’ 5 minutes walking tae cool down. I dinna want ye tae do too much as it’s yer first time and I think that’ll be more than enough fer ye.”

Here we go—Jamie and his reverse psychology again. How obvious.

“Oh well,” I reply. “I think we can do more than that. I’ll be fine.”

He smirks as he sets the timer on his watch. “OK, Sassenach, whatever ye say.”

*************

I don’t think I’ve ever seen so welcome a sight as the open shutters on the coffee kiosk. It may be my imagination but, even from this distance, I can smell the freshly brewed coffee. And, boy, do I need it.

I let my pride override my commonsense and actually ran-slash-walked for ten minutes more than Jamie had planned, finishing with a totally unnecessary sprint, or rather my pathetic attempt at one, before the cool down. And now I’m paying the price. My face is burning hot, my t-shirt is one huge sweat patch and my legs feel like they’re made from rubber.

Jamie, on the other hand, is strolling towards the kiosk looking as though he’s barely broken into a sweat. I think it literally was ‘a walk in the park’ for him today.

I sit down on the bench, shifting awkwardly as the sweat trickles down my back and between my cheeks. What I really need is a long, hot shower…

Jamie comes and joins me on the bench, his hands full with coffee and a couple of mysterious bags. He deposits his purchases between us and settles himself. I hope he’s not downwind of me. I don’t think I’m smelling my sweetest at the moment.

He passes me a coffee and a bag.

“Here ye go, I reckon ye’ve earned it. I didna ken what ye wanted. That’s an almond croissant, but I’ve a pain au raisin here if ye’d prefer.”

I accept the almond croissant and coffee gratefully.

“How d’ye feel now?” He asks as he takes a large bite of his pastry.

“I feel fine.” I lie.

“Hmm. Actually, ye did well today. Better than I thought. Ye’ll be running a five k before we know it.”

I stare at him, not sure if he’s being sarcastic, but, no, there’s a genuine smile on his face as he takes another bite of his pastry.

“Not sure about that.” I’m thinking that once is enough.

“Nonsense, ye should do this regularly. I’ll help ye, if ye like.”

“But won’t I hold you back with my slow pace?”

“Doesna matter. I run a couple of times a week anyway. I can do this as well.”

“I’ll think about it.” I break a piece of my croissant off and pop it in my mouth. It is delicious and totally guilt free. I’ve earned it.

We are quiet for a moment, both of us savouring the coffee and treats. I am also pondering how best to ask Jamie about Geillis’ wedding. I know I have to ask him today, but I don’t want him to feel obliged to attend, I need to offer him a way to decline without feeling guilty.

“So,” I begin, a bit hesitant. “I was wondering…of course, you don’t have to, if you don’t want to… but you know I’m a bridesmaid at Geillis’ wedding and I was wondering, well, if you wanted to accompany me…be my plus one.”

“I won’t mind if you don’t want to come. That’s fine too.” I add quickly.

“Ye sound like ye dinna want me tae come.” He watches my face, maybe looking for clues as to what I actually want.

“I do…but only if you want to. You don’t have to.” I’m still giving him a guilt free way out.

“But, ye want me tae come, do ye?” He looks a little bit perplexed, unsure what to do.

“Yes, obviously—“

“Well, Sassenach, in that case I accept. It will be ma pleasure.”

[writingfromkitchenator]

Sam ~ Just Kiss Already

1,300 Followers Challenge!

Round 2

Masterlist

Requested by Anon

Based on an imagine found here by @thefandomimagine

Words: 1,377

Warnings: Neutral Reader, awkward fluff, pining, fluff

It was clean-up day in the bunker and you were starting to get impatient with Sam and Dean.  They did this every time, took their time in getting their washing out, or just silently avoided the tasks that needed doing until they were ready to do them.

You were glad that they did their fair share, but it was frustrating that they didn’t share your outlook on getting it done quickly so you could all just relax for the rest of the day.

This morning, they were even slower than usual.

Dean was first on your list to get moving, banging on his door.  “Come on Dean, we’ll be stuck doing this all day if you don’t get moving.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let your hair get in a twist,” He said through his door.  “I’m sorting out my washing if you really must know.  I’m sure you don’t really want to do that for me, unless you can think you can do it better of course?”

“One of these days you’ll regret those smart arse comments to me,” You said, smiling as you rolled your eyes and stepped away.  “Then what will you and Sam do when you don’t have my help?”

“Please, you love us.”

You snorted, shaking your head and heading to Sam’s room.

Your heart race increased a little as you got closer and you hesitated for a moment, not wanting to make an idiot of yourself, and definitely not wanting to reveal how you felt about him.  It was almost like torture, having to do this every time you wanted to talk to Sam, but you found if you didn’t, you stumbled over your words a lot more.

Letting out a slow breath, you knocked on his door.

“Come in.”

You pushed the door open, words ready on your lips about getting moving, but you found them suddenly lost at the sight in front of you.

Sam was in the process of changing his shirts over and you had a perfect view of his bare chest. You were usually so careful when it came to situations that would expose you to this, but it suddenly seemed that your eyes had a mind of their own, practically drinking him in.

He sees you there and gives you a smile, slipping a clean shirt on.  “Hey Y/N, sorry, I’ve just finished getting my washing together. I’ll bring it out in a second.”

You have no idea what kind of noise left you, but when Sam seemed taken back for a moment, you quickly cleared your throat.

“Right, thanks.”  You said, feeling like you were about to trip over your own tongue, heat flaring in your cheeks.  “I’ll, um, go-go hurry Dean up again.  N-nothing is going to dry otherwise.”

Sam tilts his head, looking like he wanted to say something, but you just cast him what you hope doesn’t come across as a nervous smile and leave the room.

Your face hot, you closed the door quickly, turning away, and unfortunately walked straight into Dean.

“Woah, what is wrong with your face?”  He asked, stopping dead in his tracks and giving you an odd look. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”  Your voice came out as no more than squeak, only increasing the heat in your face.  “I-I’m fine.”

You hurried away before he can say anything else, quickly disappearing into your room and locking the door, hoping that you could recollect yourself after what you just saw.

Damn him and damn your crush on him.  You were a hunter, you were meant to be above this sort of thing.  You hunted monsters for a living, every day was a risk, it was not the time or place or occasion for childhood crushes.

Drawing in several deep breathes, you hurried to your bathroom, splashing cold water on your face, trying to cool yourself down.  This had not been a part of the plan for cleaning day, and you currently had no idea how you were going to walk back out there and keep things as normal as possible.

A soft knock on your door made you freeze.

“Y/N?  Um…are you okay?”  Sam’s voice called.

You cursed, both him and yourself, feeling like you’d done it now, dug yourself into a hole in which there was no way out.

“Y/N?”

“Ah, yeah,” You finally managed to get out, swallowing thickly as you mentally shook your head. “I’ll be back out in a minute Sam, I just…forgot to do something.”

When you stepped into your room though, Sam was standing there, looking a little worried, making you stop in your doorway, staring at him.

He gives a small smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.”  You said and glanced around your room, quickly moving to make yourself look busy, despite the fact that you’d already given your room a once over in the morning.  “I’m fine.”

Sam watches you, a little unsure.  “Dean said you looked really weird when you walked out of my room before.”

Tension shot up your spine, but you didn’t let it show.  “Well, he did almost run straight into me.  Hardly my fault if he wasn’t watching where he was going.”

“Y/N…” One of his hands rested on your arm and you couldn’t help but tense.  “Look at me.”

Nervous laughter bubbled up from your chest, and you quickly shook your head.  “Nothing for you to worry about Sam.  I-I’m okay.  Just been an off morning I guess.  Absolutely nothing to worry about.”

His hand moved and you relaxed for the briefest of moments before his fingers cupped under your chin, bringing your gaze up to meet his, even as your heart rate suddenly peaked. You were surprised at just how worried he seemed, although he had his own sense of nervousness to him as well, and you wondered just how much you’d never really noticed before.

“I do worry,” He said softly.  “I always worry about you.  Am I wrong to?”

“That would depend on the circumstances.”  You said, feeling incredibly dumb for saying it, but it was the first thing your brain could think of to say.

Sam smiled and chuckled lightly, shaking his head.  “No circumstances about it.  I worry about you all the time, whether it’s hunting, or here, at home.  It’s not even something I do intentionally, the thought is just…there.”

Nervous laughter bubbled up again and you take his hand in yours and can’t quite bring yourself to let it go.  “I…know what you mean.”

The two of you stand there for a long moment, just looking at each other, neither really sure what to do next.  This sudden revelation of each other’s feelings, despite not being said out loud, had taken you both by surprise.

“Just kiss already.”

You both jumped and looked at the open door, Dean standing there with a smirk, shaking his head at the both of you.  “Seriously.”

“Dude,” Sam said, frowning a little at him.  “What, you couldn’t give us a little privacy?”

“The way you two have been pining for each other?”  Dean asked, grinning.  “Not a chance in hell.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped forward, closing the door in Dean’s face.  “Honestly.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck.  “So, ah, this is not really how I wanted you to find out about this.”

You sighed and nodded, smiling at him.  “Likewise, but I guess the cat’s out of the bag now.”

He returned your smile. “If you’re up to it Y/N, would you like to go on a date with me tonight?”

Heat flared in your cheeks again, but you beamed and nodded.  “I’d like that Sam, I really would.  I’d say we could go now, but I doubt much of the cleaning would get done if we just left Dean to it.”

Sam laughed and nodded. “Definitely.  Tonight it absolutely is.  And Y/N?”

“Yes Sam?”

He smirked.  “You don’t have to be shy about looking.”

You broke into giggles, stepping in and kissing his cheek.  “We’ll see who’s shy later, okay?  I can’t have it all spoiled for me.”

The two of you broke into laughter, foreheads resting together, and suddenly neither of you remembered why you had been so nervous about this to begin with.

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/4/2020: SOCIETY

Without having a survey to back me up, I feel comfortable asserting that as a horror fan, you go through different phases with SOCIETY. It’s a basic fact of life, and yet it morphs and mutates underneath you, shocking you anew just when you think you’ve got a grip on it. You never forget your first time, because there is simply nothing like it. Then, after you get over the initial shock of its patented brand of body horror, you start to take it for granted; it's so broad and monolithic that it becomes something like the Grand Canyon--when it’s not right there in front of you, you begin to experience it more iconically, as part of the wallpaper of existence, rather than an in-your-face confrontation with the limits of experience. Then, you revisit it every few years (or months, depending on what sort of person you are), and the prophylactic layer that your brain has wrapped around your memories of it--the one that allows you to think of SOCIETY as a fun, wacky cheap thrill--begins to crumble, and you realize all over again how iconoclastically vile it is. Wherever you happen to be at, with this inimitable genre landmark, you'd be hard pressed to deny that it earns its royal status among horror movies, just for being so uniquely fucked up.

Filmmaker Brian Yuzna is best known as the co-creator of the indispensable RE-ANIMATOR (or as the co-writer of HONEY, I SHRUNK THE KIDS...depending on what sort of person you are, again), itself a milestone achievement in the blending of sex and gore that so characterized '80s horror production. That film clearly brought out the best in Yuzna and frequent collaborator Stuart Gordon (also of HONEY, I SHRUNK THE KIDS fame...among other things), but it's interesting to see how they operate apart, to understand the unique ingredients that each filmmaker brought to the more perfect union of their classic Lovecraft adaptation. Gordon skewed darker and more intellectual, as evidenced by the end of his career with the shattering mob thriller KING OF THE ANTS, the disturbing true crime drama STUCK, and the Mamet-penned EDMOND. Yuzna, for his part, is almost anti-intellectual, preferring to cook up blackly comic, semi-pornographic nightmares like his two increasingly horny RE-ANIMATOR sequels, the terminal S&M fantasy RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD 3, and the shamelessly hokey comic book adaptation FAUST: LOVE OF THE DAMNED. Yuzna's lack of shame is really his defining feature as an artist, and nowhere is this more obvious than in his directorial debut and signature masterpiece, SOCIETY.

Salvador Dali's "The Great Masturbator," a chief visual inspiration for SOCIETY.

Yuzna was able to leverage the success of RE-ANIMATOR to lock in two directorial opportunities, BRIDE OF RE-ANIMATOR, and a bizarre body horror exercise about a Beverly Hills orphan who discovers that not only are his adoptive family from a different bloodline, but they're not even from the same species. That both pictures employed the writing team of Woody Keith and Rick Fry gives you a little taste of what to expect from SOCIETY, but to be frank, the latter threatens to make the former look like a very special episode of ER; "overkill" barely begins to describe SOCIETY’s ambitious assault on the human body. In a recent interview, the philipino-american director giggles perversely, "I think my friends were a little embarrassed for me (when they saw SOCIETY)," and this sound bite reminded me that the last, most important ingredient that Yuzna contributes to any project is unabashed joy. It's a little hard to imagine stomaching SOCIETY without it.

In this unusual scene from the class struggle in Beverly Hills, Billy Warlock (son of HALLOWEEN 2's Michael Myers, Dick Warlock) plays Bill Whitney, a rich, handsome, athletic high school student with a heavy duty anxiety disorder. Although he appears to have it all, he is plagued by nightmares and hallucinations, reflecting suspicions that the family that spoils him is also out to get him. Perhaps this is all understandable, though. Bill is under a lot of pressure these days, with his parents devoting all of their attention to his sister's coming out party, and his narcissistic girlfriend pushing him to ingratiate himself to the assholes higher up the social ladder; it's enough to make any teenager feel alienated and insecure. But, do these garden variety anxieties account for his visions of his sister's body deforming itself unnaturally, or the dubious evidence he finds that her debutante ball involves incestuous orgies and human sacrifice? Is Bill simply crumbling under the strain of societal expectations, or is the friction with his shrink, his parents, and his peers all symptomatic of an elaborate plot against him by elites who are truly less than human?

I can’t believe they use this cheapo blanket trick MORE THAN ONCE in a movie that is famous for its unforgettable special effects, and I guess I kind of love it.

In case I haven't made the answer abundantly obvious, I'll add that while SOCIETY is the purest expression of Yuzna-ness on the market, it has an important co-author in Screaming Mad George. The eccentric japanese FX master, whose name is apparently an amalgamation of Mad Magazine, Screamin' Jay Hawkins, and...George, has produced some of horror's most outrageous makeup and visual effects, mostly for Yuzna, many of them in SOCIETY. If you've seen even a trailer for Alex Winter's 1993 oddity FREAKED--which is itself a grossout criticism of American social standards--then you are already familiar with SMG's trademark style. He specializes in twisted perversions of the human form that would make a cenobite blush, driven by a penchant for puns, and influenced equally by THE THING's Rob Botin, and Big Daddy Roth’s Rat Fink style. Screaming Mad George is instrumental in articulating Yuzna's premise: that behind the shimmering veneer of success and sophistication, the upper class are just a bunch of degenerates, who literally degenerate into something unimaginable behind closed doors. It's impossible to imagine SOCIETY without his sinuous, slithering monstrosities, or his indescribable realization of their most important social event, "the shunt".

One of many great images from a zine I wish I owned, on SMG’s Facebook page.

It's easy to get overwhelmed by SOCIETY's visual impact, but its message is just as potent now as it was at the end of the Reagan era: Rich people are not only different from the rest of us, but in fact, they aren't even human. Writers Keith and Fry make an interesting choice of hero to help put this across. A lazier writer would have selected any archetype from the Freaks and Geeks set to create an easy Us vs Them tension, but SOCIETY is led by a promising young man who, for reasons he himself does not yet understand, is just not "the right kind of people". Bill appears to have every advantage in life, including a level of popularity that wins him presidency of the debate team despite his nerdier rival’s superior prowess--and yet, he suffers from a stigmatizing psychiatric disorder that is the natural result of feeling indefinably different from one's peers, and intuiting that, as a consequence, they don't even really like you. The shallow jock with deep-seated emotional problems is a much more interesting protagonist for this kind of social allegory than the charismatic outcasts that you get in movies like THE FACULTY and DISTURBING BEHAVIOR, for whom the idea that the elites could be aliens is just de rigueur.

It's worth noting that this complexity of character extends to Bill's love interest, sympathetic society girl Clarissa Carlyn (Playboy Playmate Devin DeVasquez). At first, she seems villainously eager to introduce Bill to the many splendors of "the shunting", but as the plot against him mounts to its horrifying conclusion, she defects. There appears to be a reason for this, although honestly, this is the most difficult part of SOCIETY for me to wrap my head around. Clarissa lives as an essentially independent adult, only burdened by her mother (Pamela Matheson), a possibly brain damaged hulk who lurks in and out of various scenes just to be disturbing, always announced by some toots on a tuba, before eventually siding with our heroes. I'm really not sure what's supposed to be going on in this part of the movie, except that this character contributes to a number of distasteful jokes. But, I hold on to the idea that by virtue of whatever disorder Mrs. Carlyn suffers from, she serves the purpose of priming Clarissa to rebel, since her very existence makes her daughter something of a societal outcast herself. That's the best I can do.

In any case, everyone working on SOCIETY commits completely, with Mrs. Carlyn being no exception. The movie's climactic orgy of the damned is an all hands on deck operation, just as reliant on Screaming Mad George's artistic abilities as it is on the actors' responsibility to make you believe that this fucked up shit is really happening. There's a visceral patina of sleaze spread over the entire film, dripping from the way that characters talk to and touch each other, flirting and flaunting their bodies in a distinctly unseemly fashion, even when it stays within the realm of mundane reality. This constant sinister, insinuating attitude on the part of the whole cast lays the foundation for what is to come, and while I appreciate everybody's hard work, my favorite performance is from an actor who only comes in at the very end: David Wiley as society king Judge Carter. Wiley's career consisted almost exclusively of the most ordinary sort of television work, which makes his outrageous turn in this alien porno flick all the more respectable. While other characters transition from suspicious pod people to full-on mutated perverts, Judge Carter has to show up just for the finale, establish his authority, rip off his clothes, and plunge straight into a sea of slime, happily fisting his way through the cast. Wiley meets this challenge with aplomb, making of himself a hybrid of Robert Englund and Gene Hackman, perfectly embodying the movie's joyful absurdity, and never betraying the slightest hint of embarrassment. 

SOCIETY is very much a don't-look-down type of endeavor, a fairy that could expire at the slightest lapse in faith. There's a visual pun in the last act that's so gross, so offensive, so frankly idiotic, that I don't have the courage to describe it; my whole body tenses up when I know this scene is coming, as if it were the meat hook scene in TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE or the brutal rape in the middle of SHOWGIRLS. I don't like it, but at the same time, I respect Yuzna's unhesitating commitment to show it to me, and I think that actor Charles Lucia should get some kind of award for shouldering the burden so valiantly. SOCIETY is a daring movie in the truest sense, a film with more balls than brains, and in this it exposes the limitation of intelligence and taste, and the real need for pure transgression, in producing art of any real value. You might argue with me about whether Yuzna's masturbatory magnum opus really qualifies as art, but to respond to that, I'll quote the great transgressor Alejandro Jodorowsky: "If you are great, EL TOPO is a great picture. If you are limited, EL TOPO is limited." So stick that in your shunt and smoke it.

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PS Here, have this stuck in your head for the rest of your life.

[yergink]

Bravery and a Bowline Ch.4

Starting right where last chapter left off! A bit shorter since it’s basically a part 2 to last chapter. About 2.5k words.

First Chapter

Crossposted to Ao3

Summary: A couple of missed parties return to camp, and Willow and Walter talk about bravery. 

Includes very slightly implied Willow/Wilson

When the dawn light peeks over the wall of the camp, casting long shadows over the dew-moist grass, Willow is awoken by the patter of footsteps and the trill of voices accompanying them. 

Before she even gets a chance to open her eyes, someone is shaking her. She blinks them open to meet eight more above her, set in a fuzzy dark face. 

“They’re back!” Webber just about shouts in her ear. Willow winces, squinting and sitting up slowly with a yawn. She stretches her arms above her head, blearily watching as the camp gate opens, letting in a very chipper looking Wilson with Ms. Wickerbottom following behind him. 

They’re both carrying backpacks and looking somewhat encumbered by the weight. Wilson slides his off next to the alchemy engine, and it lands with a heavy thud. He groans, rubbing his shoulder, but overall he looks rather pleased. 

“We’re back,” he says, looking to Willow. 

She crosses her arms. “I’ve noticed.” She stands, hurrying to help Wickerbottom with her backpack. “What took you all so long?”

“The underground is not the easiest to traverse, dear,” the older woman answers for the two of them, placatingly. “We may have underestimated our travel time.” Wilson, occupied with unpacking their spoils, does not give a reply. 

After setting Wickerbottom’s pack on the ground beside him, Willow says, “You just missed the hounds.” It’s an effort to get his attention. Wilson just nods, clearly distracted. “I see.” 

She purses her lips in frustration, and she’s just opened her mouth to make a remark about seeing where his priorities lay when she’s interrupted. Wickerbottom, clearly sensing the tension, quickly asks, “How are the children?”

Oh, right. Willow straightens her back and gives a thumbs up. “All good, Ms. Wicker! I told you I was responsible. Although, there is something--”

“Willow?” Walter’s voice is soft as he interrupts, and she turns to see him just barely peeking out from the tent. Wickerbottom gives a small gasp upon seeing him, her eyes widening behind her glasses.

“Oh, goodness. Who is this young man?”

“I’m Walter, ma’am,” he answers before Willow can get a word in. She hurries to explain.

“He got here a few days after you two left. He’s, uh.. new.”

Walter takes a hesitant step out of the tent, and Willow internally groans, knowing that the first thing the older woman’s sharp eyes are going to see is the bandage around his leg.

Sure enough, Wickerbottom gets right to the point. She points to the bandages. “What happened there, dear?”

“He got a little nip during the hound attack, but I fixed him all up,” Willow assures. Although it doesn’t do her much but get her a disbelieving look from Wickerbottom. It’s not the first time anyone’s been disappointed in her, but it still stings a bit.

“I’ll take a look at it,” the librarian decides, stepping forward and patting Walter’s shoulder to push him back towards the tent.

“It’s really okay. I’m fine, ma’am,” Walter insists, although it’s not enough to keep Wickerbottom from ushering him away, insisting on taking a proper look. Willow doesn’t know whether to feel insulted or reassured that she’s going to check her handiwork.

She feels a touch at her side and glances down to see Webber shyly pulling on the hem of her sweater. “We think you did a very good job watching us, Ms. Willow!” Webber beams. He’s so cheerful, Willow can’t help but smile, even if she doesn’t necessarily think she did a very good job at all.

“Thanks,” she says, patting him on the head. “Hey, go find Wendy and let her know they’re back, okay?”

“Okay!” He chirps, practically skipping out of the camp. Willow waits until she’s deemed him out of earshot before turning to where Wilson is still knelt by the machine.

She anchors her hands on her hips. “So, how was the trip?”

The man wipes at his forehead with the back of his forearm, clearing some of the cave dust still clinging to his skin. “It wasn’t easy,” he says, and Willow believes it. He’s got several cuts on his face, one of which is still oozing blood, as well as bandages peeking out from under his sleeve and at his collarbone. It could have been worse though, she knows. At least he wasn’t coming home a ghost.

Hesitantly, she says, “I was worried about you, y’know.”

Wilson blinks, cocking his head to one side, looking almost baffled when he turns to face her. “Really?”

She scoffs. “Yeah, really.” She flicks his forehead, causing him to sputter and bat at her hand to get her away. “You’re such a nerd,” she teases.

“I’ve been told,” he deadpans. He glances over at the tent. “So. A new arrival, huh?”

“Yup,” Willow pops the word, plopping on the ground beside him. “Y’know, he’s kind of a nerd too. I think you’ll get along.”

He sighs at that, but Willow knows it’s more amused than annoyed. “All the same, I think it would be better if we could have never met.” He looks back to the bag in front of him. “It never feels good to see more children here.”

Willow shuffles closer to him, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Yeah,” she mumbles. “Especially not when you nearly get them killed.”

“Is that bitterness I’m hearing?”

She shrugs, somewhat dismissively. “I dunno. I guess I wasn’t paying enough attention to him during the hound attack, and that’s why he got hurt. And it feels sucky.”

Wilson hums. “Well, it could have been worse, couldn’t it?”

She snorts. “That’s not the point.”

“Well if you’re feeling bad, maybe you should talk to him about it.” He nudges her off his shoulder. “Go on. I’m busy.”

“No you’re not,” Willow argues, nudging him back.

“I’m about to be.” He draws out a shimmering green gem from the pack. “We discovered several of these while underground, and their properties aren’t like any gem I’ve seen before. I have a few ideas for experiments--”

Willow shoves herself off him. “Okay I get it, I’m going! You don’t have to kill me with your boring science stuff.” Wilson smiles innocently at her as she stands, and she sticks her tongue out at him before leaving him to it.

She meanders out of the gates, starting down the fields and towards the edge of the island. There’s a makeshift dock by the shoreline, with short walls built around it, protecting where the boat is anchored. It’s one of Wilson’s pet projects, something he’s been busying himself with constructing lately. Willow finds herself there soon, and she hops atop one of the walls and sits down. She watches the gentle waves lap at the pebbles of the shore.

As much as she’s gotten used to being around the others, she misses having time to herself. Over the years, she’d learned to treasure solitude. It was something she’d gotten so little of during the time she spent in the orphanage, and her independence had shaped her, had made her strong.

But mostly, she just wants some space to feel bad without anyone bothering her about it. Because when she closes her eyes she keeps thinking about the sight of Walter on the ground, clutching at his bloodied leg, and she can’t shake the feeling that it’s definitely her fault. Shaking her head to try and clear the images, she draws a few bits of grass from her pockets and lights them, watching the blades shrivel and blacken, streams of smoke rising into the air. It’s calming. She breathes in the smell of the fire and tries to think of anything else.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t get much of a chance to do so.

There’s the faint sound of someone calling her name, getting steadily louder. Willow perks at the sound of it, crushing the still-smoking tufts into ash in her palm before twisting around to see. It’s Walter, shuffling down the hillside to meet her by the dock. He skids across the wet grass, grabbing onto the wall for balance. She notices that Woby is noticeably absent from his side, probably napping back at camp.

“Hi,” he raises one hand to wave. “Mr. Wilson said you might be here.”

“Hi Walter,” Willow greets, moving to allow space for him to sit beside her on the wall. He quickly hops up to join her. “How’s that bite feeling?”

“I’m a lot better!” He kicks his legs, holding up the bandaged one for a moment before letting it fall again. “Ms. Wickerbottom said you did a good job. She just changed the bandages and put more of that pink stuff on it.”

Willow smiles. “Good to hear.”

She’s glad to see that he’s returned to his usual self. Whatever that side of him was that she’d seen in the tent last night, hollowed out and afraid and so very quiet, it was gone now. And she was more than excited to bid it farewell. Walter was best when he was loud and brash and, above it all, unapologetically a kid. And Willow’s beginning to realize she’ll do a lot to protect his right to be so.

“You know,” Walter’s voice peters out, breaking into her thoughts. It’s sort of subdued and it immediately sparks her concern. She looks over to him questioningly, although he doesn’t hold her gaze, looking away in a manner that seems almost shy. “I was actually really scared last night. I know it’s kind of dumb, but…even with just that little bite, I felt like I was about to die.”

“Walter...” she starts, trailing off. She doesn’t know what to say.

“But then,” he continues, “I tried to think of all the things you told me about. All your cool stories about the stuff you did when you were my age. And I knew I had to be brave. Like you are.” Here, he faces her fully, and Willow is startled by the sheer admiration in his eyes. It almost makes her feel sick. Her hands tighten into fists on her knees.

“You’re braver than I am, Walter,” she admits.

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

One of her hands shakily finds her lighter, and she clicks it a few times, feeling the warmth burst under her fingers. She doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve a kid like Walter looking up to her. Not after letting him get hurt and pretending like they’re similar and lying to him. Her stomach twists as she tries to think of what to say next.

Her mouth feels dry, and she swallows to clear the feeling. “I mean...you really faced your fears last night. And you’re always so goddamn hopeful and bright and…” she sighs, wanting nothing more than to throw her lit lighter to the ground and be swallowed by the flames. “I’m not any of those things. All I ever do is run.”

It hurts to see the confusion on his face, and he looks like he’s going to say something else. Willow doesn’t let him. Because she has to make him understand, because she feels aflame with guilt, and she’s not the type of person he thinks she is. She’s just not.

“I lied to you!” she nearly shouts, her voice strangled. She has to make him understand. “I lied about all those stories, about being in the scouts, about being--” she breaks off with a ragged breath “--Brave.” Unable to keep his gaze, she squeezes her eyes shut and turns away. “I’ve lied about so much, Walter, and it’s because I’m scared. I’m scared of people knowing that I’m not really cool or courageous or honorable or any of those things you’re supposed to be.”

She laughs, and it comes out like a sob. “I just didn’t want to tell you the truth. That all I really was is some punk kid off the streets they felt too bad to say no to.”

Some part of her is unsure of why she’s even admitting all this, but at the same time, she feels like he deserves to know. Because he’s not like the other survivors, jaded or judgy or apathetic. He’s Walter. He’s a kid who reminds her so greatly of herself that it hurts, even now. And he’s placed his trust in her, whether she wants it or not.

She waits for him to get angry. To cry, maybe, all hurt and betrayed. Or maybe even to just get up and leave at how she’s shattered the trust between them. But several moments pass and it doesn’t seem like Walter has moved at all. And even though every inch of her screams to avoid whatever the look on his face may be, she chances a peek.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t look particularly upset. He’s just keeping a neutral frown, looking somewhat contemplative. When he notices her, he gives a sheepish smile.

“Yeah...I kinda figured most of that stuff wasn’t true.” He looks almost guilty about admitting it.

Willow blanches. “You did?”

He shrugs. “I don’t think you really have the right fire safety habits to be in the scouts. No offense. Plus, I’m pretty sure there’s no badge for bear-taming, no matter how cool it sounds.”

She feels like her entire head has gone blank at his admission. She stammers, “B-But...Aren’t you upset? That all those things I said that inspired you or whatever aren’t true?”

“They’re stories,” he says simply, answering Willow’s doubt in that blunt, childlike way only he could. “They’re not meant to always be true.” He grins. “Unless you really believe in a hook-handed man killing people in the woods? Or bog monsters?”

It takes barely a second, and, like she’s forgotten her worry, Willow knocks his shoulder. “Oh shut it. Of course I don’t.” It startles her a bit, just how easily he’s able to lift her mood. Having come down, she’s a bit embarrassed at how much she’s just dumped on him. Walter rubs his shoulder, still grinning, and thankfully not looking too overwhelmed. They sit for a moment, watching the waves. Walter gives a small, thoughtful hum.

“For what it’s worth, I still think you’re really cool. Like, the way you fought off those dogs?” He leaps to his feet, injury apparently forgotten, and waves his fists together like he’s brandishing an invisible spear. “You got all of them without even a scratch! It was amazing! And…” he falters, hands loosening and falling back to rest at his sides. He turns to face her, eyes brimming with sincerity. “You carried me back. Even when I was all messed up. Even though I could tell you were scared too. You still did it. And you sat with me even though it was kinda awkward.” He seems almost embarrassed then, his cheeks darkened in a flush. He shrugs and kicks at the dirt, his hands linking behind his back. “I dunno. I thought that was pretty brave.”

And in that moment, those words feel like the highest praise she could have ever received. Willow lets out a breathless laugh. “You think so?”

Emphatically, Walter nods. She can’t help but laugh again at that, slouching forward and resting her chin on her palm. And even if her guilt hasn’t entirely melted away, Willow still smiles.

“Well then. I guess I can’t argue with that.”

[randomguywithwords]

As The Dust Settles: Chapter 15 (Geten X Dabi Slowburn)

Chapter 15: Soldiering On

AO3 Link: Here

Previous Chapters: 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

––––––––

Extinguishing his flames, Dabi saw only charred ashes on the ground. Wind will get them. It always does. 

“What did they do to me? Why can’t I use my meta ability?” Geten said, as Dabi rubbed his arms. He turned to look at her.

“I should have figured…” Dabi muttered. “Tokugawa Prefecture was near their territory. These guys must have been one of the last few to acquire them.”

“What’re you talking about?” She pressed on, frenetically rubbing her hands. She made a few gestures, trying to use it, but to no avail. 

“You mean you don’t know?” Dabi stared at her. “You guys kept track on the League so well, so why not – oh.” 

Again with the hierarchy. The pieces put themselves together; Dabi knew why she was in the dark. 

“What? What ‘oh’?” Geten screeched. 

“Hey, calm down, girl. It’s only temporary.” Looking at the store, the door was still open and the lights were on. “Let’s get something to eat. Might help.”

That seemed to relax her for now, although she was still trying to move ice. The two of them entered the store and walked out carrying some snacks. In spite of the abandonment of this town, the snacks’ preservatives lasted for a long time. Dabi made sure to turn off the lights as they left.

“Ok, explain,” Geten said as they sat on the sidewalk. 

“First off, the quirk-erasing bullets are temporary. It was an unfinished product made by the Shie Hassaikai, a yakuza group that got shut down a while back.”

“And I’m guessing here,” Dabi said as he munched on his chips, “But your leaders – those lovely asshats – they knew about the Hassaikai. They probably knew the group had a way to erase your precious meta abilities. Since their whole army was based on the principle of free meta ability usage, your Re-destro didn’t wanna make everyone panic. So he and his group shut up. Makes sense?” 

“So they kept it from me.” Geten growled. “Again.”

What does she mean, again? Dabi took another bite in silence. 

“Well, like I said, it’s temporary, and we can just call for an extraction –” He pulled out his phone when Geten unexpectedly grabbed his arm.

“No! We’re not leaving.”

“But...you’re gonna be useless, aren’t you?” Dabi raised an eyebrow. “I mean, you saw what happened to that guy. We might be up against something...problematic.”

“We can handle it.” 

“Speak for yourself. You’re quirkless for the next couple of hours. And do you even have any ice?”

Geten balled her fist. “I have some ice cubes in my pocket. They’re cold enough to last a few hours. I’ll take care of myself. And I’ll help with this assignment.”

Dabi sighed. You and your ego will be the death of me. “Fine. Whatever, if you’re going to be so difficult about it.” He put his phone back in his pocket, and Geten released her grip. 

Her hands aren’t cold, he realised.

He caught her with a blank stare at the pavement. “What are you thinking about?” He asked, suddenly feeling that her pride was not the only reason she was so insistent on continuing.

No, she’s not that afraid of the rest laughing at her quirklessness, or that she got shot...but what was it?

She put on her hood. “Nothing.” Her face was shrouded once more, and Dabi felt a tinge of disappointment. Can’t see what’s she’s thinking, it’s unsettling, he rationalised. That was probably the reason. 

“Let’s go.” She said, standing up. She had stopped trying to use her quirk by now, giving up. He thought of saying something, but his mind came up blank. So he followed suit in silence, with the both of them getting on the motorcycle and speeding off. 

Are her hands shaking? Dabi thought. 

The silence of the ride was more somber than peaceful, knowing that what lay ahead was a real threat. Skeptic’s talk of this dissenter managing to evade capture from the soldiers sent to stop them sent chills down Dabi’s spine, but also a burning thrill. This better be good. 

“So, what’s the plan now?” Dabi shouted over the wind. 

“You still have your fire, so you can take care of large groups. I think it might be a gang or cult of some sort that hates the Liberation ideology, considering the advisor back there looked like he was beaten to death. I can run distraction or disruption. We should split up and use our communicators.” Geten replied.

Good plan, Dabi admitted. “Ok, and what if things go south?” 

She had no reply for a good three seconds.. “Usually things never go south for me, but seeing the condition I’m in...maybe we should regroup in an area?”

“Fine. Don’t die, okay?” Dabi thought out loud, then added hastily, “Gonna be a hassle to explain your death to everyone.” 

“Worry about yourself,” She retorted. “I’ll be fine.” 

If you say so...He thought, his grip tightening on the handlebars, unable to push out the thought that something bad was going to happen to her. She was quirkless, after all, during the most crucial time of the night. 

“Who do you think those guys were back there?” Dabi asked. 

No response came for a few seconds. “I don’t know,” She finally said, “But I don’t think they were just random thugs. It seemed more like a hit squad. And who’s Mesa?”

“No idea. Never heard it in my life.” Dabi racked his brains, but he never bothered keeping the names of people in his past. Just the few, and the rest were smouldering corpses like those trash back there. “Do you think they were targeting you?”

He felt her bristle at the question, as if that triggered a thought. “Don’t know,” She said throatily. 

Lying? Whatever. She’s not gonna tell me. But it might be linked to this whole assignment…

“Anyway, they might have tried to shoot me too, but I probably burnt the bullets up.”

“Fast reflexes,” She uttered.

“Thanks.” Was that an actual compliment? She sounds bitter about it – that she didn’t react fast in time. The rest of the ride was spent in silence, until Dabi saw their destination. 

“There.” He flicked his head towards the fast approaching factory. 

It was run-down and abandoned, complete with a “NO ENTRY” sign and worn-down wire fences which provided as much protection as fabric against a bullet. Towering metal and concrete chimneys gone dormant studded the compound; five-storey high buildings were placed next to them. Large metal containers occupied the expansive courtyard with dark lampposts situated in an orderly fashion, surrounding the containers like patrol guards.

Strange, have I been here before? No, that was impossible. He’d never visited Tokugawa Prefecture in his life. His mind was being a prick.

The two disembarked. “Guess we’re playing hide and seek. This place is massive,” Dabi said as he retrieved his earpiece from his pocket and wore it. Geten did the same.

“Let’s set here as the meeting point.” Geten pointed at their motorcycle. Dabi assented. 

“Search the buildings first. It’s the most logical place to hide,” She said as she rubbed her left arm up and down. Did she always do that? Or is she just nervous? Just as he finished the thought, she abruptly stopped and tucked her hands in her parka pocket.

They walked through the row of buildings, until Geten tapped his shoulder to draw his attention. She pointed at one of the doors. In particular, a handprint on the dusty iron. Damn, she spotted that? He nodded. 

The door was shackled by a chain, and said chain had been broken and strewn on the floor. Dabi pushed it open. 

He wasn’t surprised that he was greeted by darkness. With the faint strings of moonlight permeating through the dusty windows above, he could make out the silhouettes of stacks of crates, catwalks and broken lamps hanging on the ceiling like death row prisoners. No movement caught his eye when they stepped in. 

Getting her attention, he made a ‘split up’ gesture. She nodded and the two separated down the narrow paths.  

Dabi walked until he saw a sparkly glint of reflected light shining on one of the crates. He automatically read the label engraved on them, and his eyes widened. 

BUSHIDO ENTERPRISES PTE LTD 

So that’s why –

The ground shook. He heard Geten yell over the thundering of crates shifting. 

Shit. He turned and ran back as he saw crates beginning to collapse where Geten had headed. He spotted a blue parka and grabbed it, hauling her into the clear. With his other hand he shot a plume of azure flames into the darkness.

The fire illuminated a tall figure as it passed through like water around a rock. The figure had its hands braced to take the brunt of the damage. It looked like –

Dabi hid his surprise with a grin. “Well, I’ll be damned.” He retracted his hand. The fire lingered on some wooden planks strewn on the ground, casting a blue glow on the man’s face. 

“Beatdown.” Geten breathed, veins of fear pulsing through the word. 

Advisor to Violet Regiment, Shingu Takame, eyed the two of them with a stoic face, void of any expressions of pain. It seemed as if Dabi had sprayed water rather than a torrent of fire. The man had no words; he raised his fists and leapt towards them. 

–––––––––

Cliffhanger? Plot twist? Eh. 

Uhh right my thoughts on this chapter. I went through about 2 revisions? Major ones. I wrote the first draft in that flurry of creativity (and evasion of my academic responsibilities), then after hearing some of the thoughts on c14 (thanks Kannra in particular btw), it helped clear some of my thoughts and I realised I characterised Geten slightly incorrectly there, so I did a revision, and then once more when the chapter wasn’t “correct”. 

Yeah I always planned for Takame to be an antagonist here (I hoped I made that pretty clear with the last few sentences of this chapter). Also look at me with chapter planning. Much wow, very writer.

Hopefully he’ll be one of the few OCs I’ll ever need to use.

Next chapter’s going back to Geten and...yeah. Not gonna spoil anymore than that. Thanks for the support, any feedback is much thanks from me. 

[ordinaryschmuck]

What I thought about Adventure Time: Distant Lands-”BMO”

Salutations random people of the internet who probably won't read this. I am an Ordinary Shmuck. I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons. And today, I'm going to do one-fourth of what I do best by reviewing "BMO": The first hour-long special of Adventure Time: Distant Lands. Seeing how it's been a week since the special premiered, and that most fans saw it by now, I thought I'd share my thoughts on BMO. Keep in mind, if you haven't seen the special yet, you're final warning against spoilers stops here. Because I'll be spoiling the heck out of this special, by listings everything I like, and don't like. Things like characters, plot elements, and little touches that I thought were worth mentioning. Without further ado, let's start this review off by listing-

WHAT I LIKED

The Animation Quality: You know how Steven Universe: The Movie had animation quality that was ten percent better than the original series? That's basically what the animation in “BMO” is like. It's not the smoothest I've ever seen, and probably not the best Adventure Time has ever looked, but it's still pretty good. There's definitely more attention to detail, shading, and lighting to help make “BMO” look more cinematic than the series. There is one issue I have with the animation, though. But I'll get into that with the dislikes. For now, it's safe to say that the animation is still pretty darn good.

BMO (The Character, not the special): What can I say about this little rascal that hasn't been said already? BMO is still his adorable little self, and more so. There are times when his naivety can be kind of annoying, at least to me, but I'm sure BMO fans will love how he's presented in the special. Especially given the fact that this is the most active BMO has been in the entire series. Throughout most of Adventure Time, BMO has primarily been a source for comedy as well as a tool for characters to use. Even in episodes when BMO does save the day, it's either by accident or by him not understanding the situation. In "BMO," the little robot purposefully solves many problems, and fully understands the situation. The special still manages to keep his naivety by having BMO just not completely understanding how serious the problem is. Weirdly the writers found a perfect way to make BMO a more active role while not giving him a different personality. And personally speaking, the writers executed that idea well.

Y-5: This special may be about BMO, but Y-5 is the real star here. Y-5's personality, design, and overall arc as a character was so much fun and downright adorable to see. It was so surprising because I did not expect to like any new character introduced in Distant Lands. I just assumed that any newcomer would divert attention from the main character that the special would focus on. And while Y-5 does do that, I'm ok with it for three reasons. First, BMO is not a good character to work on his own. He actually needs characters that fully know what's going on for the plot to progress. Second, while Y-5 can hijack the story, sometimes, there are still segments that make it clear that "BMO" is about BMO. Third, Y-5 is already an incredible character, so I'm not going to waste time complaining about her inclusion. She plays the perfect straight man to BMO's antics, and it was so endearing to see her grow as a more confident character. So much so, that I actually consider Y-5 as one of my personal favorite characters. Not just in the special, but in the series overall. Also, I’m sure that there’s some symbolism behind her wanting to be called Y-5, but I’m not touching it. Mostly because I have no idea what I’m talking about in that regard.

The Comedy: There's not much to say here. The jokes are all worth a good chuckle but were never funnier than anything in the series as a whole. Except for that hard-cut to the elf looking angry as he drifts off into space. That was pretty hilarious.

The Drift: I love everything about the Drift. From its design to the background characters, and even the backgrounds themselves. Everything about the Drift just screams hard work and dedication from the cast and crew. It's almost as if everyone involved knew this would be the last time they would work on Adventure Time, so they just poured their hearts and souls into it. And given the fact that they worked so hard on the first special, makes me even more excited for the other three.

Martin returns...sort of: Let's be clear: It is understood by everyone that Mr. M is Martin Mertens. He has the same voice actor, the same mannerisms, and even the same body type. However, what I like isn't the fact that Martin returns. What I love is the fact that "BMO" never reveals that it's Martin. I'm sure some fans might be upset about not getting an official reveal, but I personally don't think it matters. Mostly because it doesn't matter to BMO. BMO doesn't know who Martin is, and has very little connection to the scumbag. So making a big reveal that Mr. M is Martin would just be unnecessary. Overall, I'm ok with the fact that the writers had Martin return to be nothing more than a glorified easter egg. Because honestly, it's what he deserved.

Hugo’s backstory: Again, there's nothing much to say here. It's yet another twist reveal about how a character who seems nice turns out to be quite the twat. There are two things worth mention, though. One, Hugo's personality stays the same. Look back at all Disney twist villains who become vastly different characters before and after the big twist. Compared to Hugo, he seems like a twist villain done right. Once you figured out that Mr. M is Martin, it should be pretty clear that Hugo's not a saint to be partnered up with the guy. Plus, when it's revealed Hugo really is, he still keeps up this charming persona that he uses around people...up until he ditches them like a twit. Another thing worth mentioning is the animation used for the flashback. Dedicated fans might remember that it was the same style used for "Water Park Prank," which might be the worst episode of the series. So it's nice to see the art style used for something good rather than something...not as good.

The solution to “save” the Drift: Most people use the special as an allegory for climate change. Which is why I put "save" in air-quotes because the citizens didn't really save anything. Similar to how we all play our part to save our planet. What the citizens do, though, is come up with solutions that might work as long as they have hope. And I. Freaking. LOVE that! The lesson that "BMO" is trying to teach is incredibly important, both to children and especially to adults. It's so easy to assume that the best solution is to abandon once it gets too hard and take the easy way out. Same as how some people believe it's better to just abandon this planet we call home, rather than put in the work to save it. And to those people: Let me ask you a question. Do you really think that you'll shoot off into space with the people planning to colonize another planet? Or do you think that those people are going to be like Hugo, who will only take along close friends and the rich? Personally, I think it's more likely going to be the latter. Which is why I adore the lesson being taught in "BMO." It might be hard to save the planet at this point, but it's still worth doing. And I can hope everyone else will come to agree with that conclusion.

WHAT I DISLIKED

Olive: I feel bad for saying I don't like Olive because the truth is that I'm more indifferent to them. To me, Olive feels less like a character and more like a plot device. This is because Olive has little to no personality, and all they do nothing but be something that furthers the plot. Although, I do like how Olive can stretch, as well as how they are overprotective over BMO. Other than that, there's not much to work off of.

Inconsistency with Character Designs: This was the problem I had with the animation. At times, characters are pretty inconsistent with how they're drawn. Some scenes, Y-5's eyes are large and cute, and other times they're normal-sized. There also times when BMO's height and width can be pretty inconsistent with what scene he's in. Now to be fair, this is nothing new to Adventure Time. It's a problem that the show has had for quite some time, and fans have come to accept it. However, just because you accept a problem doesn't make it any less of a problem. If anything, it makes it worse because the showrunners still refuse to fix it.

KS-2: Is it weird that the best character in "BMO" is the daughter of the worst character? Because to me, I don't understand how someone as amazing as Y-5 came from someone so rotten as KS-2. To be fair, I get what the writers were going for. They wanted to make a mother who was just another adult that "just doesn't understand." I can see that, but the problem is that the writers went too far with the idea. The way that KS-2 just constantly berates Y-5, as well as refusing to listen, comes off as too cruel. And the fact that the father pointed out how KS-2 never said the words "Y-5 was right," does nothing more than add fuel to the fire. But what's tricky is for all I know, this could have been the intention. And if it's true that the writers wanted to make KS-2 so unlikeable, then they more than succeeded. Although, I will give the crew credit for subverting gender norms by making KS-2 buff and the dad scrawny. I just wish that good intention was put into a good character.

The first chase scene in the Jungle Pod: This is mostly a nitpick, but it's still something that bothers me. Because having BMO getting chased away from his radio, to then have him end back where he originally was, felt like padding to me. Because why else would you have BMO go through all of that danger, only to have him end up at square one. Maybe the writers included the scene to build tension, but even if that's true, there could have been a better way to do it. Like while BMO's being chased, he somehow gets closer to his goal, rather than end up in a loop. And if the scene really was just for padding, then pad that time with literally anything else. Like maybe use the time to show KS-2's gentle side, or doing more to tease Hugo's true self. I know it would only be a few minutes, but actually make those minutes count for something. 

It’s a Prequel?: After my initial viewing, my reaction to the ending was, "Oh, BMO found Finn and Jake's descendants." Then when actual smart people pointed out that "BMO" was a prequel, my reaction became "Oh, that makes way more sense." But then I started thinking about the fact that the special was a prequel, and the more I thought about it, the more holes I found. Or, at least, two holes that I found. First off, why does BMO have a heroic nature in this special? At first, I thought that maybe the years living with Finn and Jake taught BMO how to be a hero, but BMO hasn't met Finn yet. So I guess BMO felt like a heroic personality the entire time? Even though he never acted like this before in the series, unless he thought he was playing a game? Another thing I noticed is Martin's line about kids calling out their deadbeat parents. Why would he say that? Martin hasn't met Finn yet, either. Therefore Martin doesn't have the experience of being called a deadbeat parent. So does this mean that Martin has other children in the universe who calls him out on his crap? Or is it most likely that the writers wanted to give another clue that Mr. M was Martin, but briefly forgot the series timeline? I think it's most likely the latter, even though the former sounds way more interesting. And before people want to kill me because they actually love the story being a prequel, I want to point out, this is another nitpick. The fact that "BMO" is a prequel doesn't bother me too much, but I still can't help but feel confused when thinking about it.

As a whole, I give “BMO” an A-. BMO is as adorable as ever, Y-5 is an astounding character, I love the moral that the special is trying to teach, and the entire thing just screams effort. Is it perfect? No. Does it have problems? Yes, but not anything that makes me think the special was unwatchable. I enjoyed it, and something tells me that if you're an Adventure Time fan, you enjoy it too. "BMO" was a great introduction to Distant Lands, and here's hoping the other specials will be even better.

(And here’s also hoping that “Obsidian” will deliver that sweet, sweet Bubbline goodness that fans have been demanding for years.)

[captainchrisfics]

Endgame Interviews and Special News

About: As per the request of @rororo06 , Chris Evans and the (first person pov) reader are married and going through a round of press interviews, although the plot of Endgame isn’t the only thing they’re worried about spoiling (hope you don’t mind that addition to the plot!)

Words: 2,600

A/N: Featuring the lowest key hint at what could possibly be considered a spoiler, lines lifted straight from Chris and RDJ’s dialogue in The Avengers, and a reference to a quote from my favorite author, Jandy Nelson.

“So, this is potentially the last time we’ll see the two of you in the MCU. I’d imagine that feels pretty weird, huh?” The interviewer asked, sitting a little closer to us in her chair that looked so much comfier than the folding ones Chris and I have been sitting in all day. I felt bad for omitting her name from my memory. I really did try to remember, but this is our seventh question session of the day and there reaches a point where they all kind of blur together and you forget things. I made an effort to push the thought of exactly why forgetfulness was plaguing me way worse than usual out of my mind in the hopes that it wouldn’t accidentally slip from my mind to my mouth during this Q and A.

“I think I can speak for the both of us when I say that after shooting so many of these, getting back on set sort of feels like coming home,” Chris said with his Boston accent accentuating his vowels in a way I would’ve laughed at if it were just the two of us. “Granted, it’s in the same weird way a high school reunion does.” The interviewer giggled at that and tried to hide her blush behind her notes, but I’ve gotten pretty good at catching the flirty eyes women gave my husband and how their voices raised a couple octaves around him. I couldn’t blame her, Chris has always had this disarming charm about him and I was secure enough to know he wasn’t entrancing her intentionally. Chris intertwined his arm with the one I had sitting on his armrest, never knowing where the blurry boundary of my personal space ended and his began, and held my hand. “What do you think, babe?” he asked, turning his baby blues to me with his attention and perching one eyebrow higher than the other. I nodded in agreement and added, “We’ve watched them grow so much over the years, it feels more like sending our kid to college.”

The interviewer cleared her throat and turned to me, more serious now. “I mean, I grew up watching these movies over the last decade. Being one of the first female heroes in the series, you’re someone little girls everywhere have been looking up to for a long time now,” she said, eyes boring into mine the way they do when conveying the kind of admiration someone had when they saw you as a hero, despite the fact that all I did was pretend to be one. The appreciation people who could see a reflection of themselves in your mirror, one that the screen didn’t show them too often, wasn’t something I’d ever get used to. “Thank you,” I said earnestly, placing a hand over hers. “I can only take so much responsibility, though. The most amazing women in this industry from the cast to crew work on these movies, standing alongside them has been one of the biggest honors.”

Chris smiled down at me as I spoke and stretched to wrap his arm around me and I leaned into his side comfortably, giving into the giant magnet always pulling us together. “Your relationship has been something so many fans loved seeing develop on and off screen as well. Any clue as to how your characters will be affected by the Endgame?” she asked, tucking one index card behind another. I started twisting my wedding ring around my finger unconsciously, thinking about how crucial this franchise was in bringing us together for the first time in a while, with a new sense of nostalgia. It wasn’t a secret that our contracts were up and, as excited as we both were to move on to new projects, there was a bitterness sprinkled in with the sweet when I thought about hanging up our superhero costumes for the last time.

Chris was established as Captain America in his origin story, but I was a new addition on the set of The Avengers. Still, the role wasn’t as second nature to him then as it is now. He didn’t feel as though the shield felt right on his arm. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to Chris, but that’s not why I invited him back to my trailer after a particularly stiff scene, even though when he tells the story it’s because his blue eyes and high cheekbones ignited an irrevocable love for him within me and a burning need (not desire, need) to be in  his presence every moment I could. It was an exceptionally humid day, made worse by our heat-trapping supersuits, which grew into a sticky summer night spent sat in my trailer going over our lines for hours on end. There was something I noticed about the way Chris was carrying himself during our scenes together that was so unnatural, I just hoped to help him grow more comfortable with me so the camera wouldn’t pick up on whatever was bugging him next time we were on set.

We were at this part where everyone’s arguing, shouting over one another while Loki’s scepter glowed behind them. Chris and I were standing a little too close for comfort, sandwiched together by the counters in my thin trailer, which made it increasingly difficult to stay in character. “Why shouldn’t the guy let off a little steam?” I said with faux nonchalance in reference to Bruce’s growing temper, slapping my hand on his broad shoulder. Chris shook the script in his hand to stiffen the pages, staring at it intently before turning to me with a dramatically furrowed brow and tight jaw. He slapped my hand away, shoulders heaving as he breathed heavily with acted anger, and said, “You know damn well why so back off.” Chris took a small but threatening step toward me, looming just inches away. Although the harsh lines of his bone structure and intensity in his stare made Chris that much more intimidating, I tried to rely on my character’s own unabashed smugness as I rolled my shoulders back and crossed my arms, playing his challenger. “Oh,” I said, eyes dragging from the frown on his lips to meet those gorgeous blue eyes. I tried to step back, as the script directed, but my back hit the cabinet. “I’m starting to want you to make me,” I said lowly, conscious of my breath fanning across his face.

Instead of saying his next line, Chris threw his script down on the tabletop. He closed what was left of the little space between us by reaching out and caressing my cheek. His other hand slipped behind me, resting on the small of my back. Our chests rose and fell together, brushing against each other with every breath. His eyes searched mine, looking for permission. When his mouth opened and closed like a fish, trying and failing to find the words, I kissed him. It was slow at first, soft and uncertain as our mouths melded together, but before I knew it everything was on fire. I felt hot, every inch of skin Chris touched burned for his attention again. So did he, with the way his blood rushing turned his skin into a radiator. I wasn’t thinking about it as Chris pushed his hips into mine and sucked on the skin of my neck, leading me to the trailer’s sorry excuse for a mattress, but I read somewhere that when people fall in love they burst into flames, which I think is as true as the sky being blue.

Although, watching the movies now, it’s clear there was always some sort of tension between us if you know what you’re looking for. In the scenes we shot before that day, Chris stood straighter around me and puffed out his chest while I walked with an embarrassingly prominent sway in my hips. After though, even by the next morning, it was clear to everyone we’d grown more comfortable together. We found our rhythm and it showed, causing the directors to pursue an on-screen relationship between our characters. Chris and I didn’t complain too much about getting paid to do what we already were anyway.

“Would you agree?” Chris inquired, tracing the tip of his thumb along my shoulder to regain my attention. I nodded absentmindedly, focusing on trying to keep the blush in my cheeks to a minimum. My hand floated to where it rested on my stomach without me noticing while I was reminiscing, which I pulled away quickly and prayed no one would notice in the recording’s shoulders-up shot. “So I think we’ll see a new side of Steve,” Chris reiterated the point I’d missed. “At this point, I’d say he’s willing to stop at nothing to get her back after she got dusted in Infinity War,” he elaborated, moving the light line his finger brushed against my shoulder a little higher to draw shapes on my exposed skin, sending shivers down my spine. Chris either didn’t know or didn’t acknowledge the effect he was having on me as he kept talking without breaking the interviewer’s eye contact. “It’ll be interesting to see how he handles really losing everything for the second time now.”

She nodded solemnly and gave his words a minute to hang on suspense in the air before leaning toward me as she shifted her attention again. “Your chemistry is so clear on screen, you two get along effortlessly. I was wondering if it’s like that in real life as well?” I couldn’t stop myself from laughing at the assumption, knowing that suppressing my anger every time I had to pick up the socks Chris strewn all over the apartment since he refused to put them in the laundry each time he peeled off another pair sure as hell wasn’t even close to resembling effortlessness. “Sorry, it’s just… of course it isn’t,” I said, causing Chris to feign hurt as he pressed his hand to his heart and joked about me twisting the knife. “No, really. We’re real people. We fight over the stupidest things,” I insisted. Chris nodded, bringing up how the third world war almost broke out in our kitchen this morning after I discovered he finished my favorite cereal and put the box back. I fired back by mentioning the time he lost the screaming match over whether we should record the Patriots game or the premiere of my favorite show.

“At the end of the day, I love him,” I said, as Chris placed his hand over mine. “It’s like stumbling through the house when you’re sloppy drunk,” I paused to allow Chris the time to throw his head back in the laughter I knew was coming, the kind that pulled his hand to his pec as he sunk into his seat. “Really,” I implored once he finished. “Sometimes it’s dark and you have no clue where you’re going, but you figure it out. It isn’t perfect, you forget to take your makeup off, we fight, but you put on your pajamas and choose to land on your soft bed instead of the floor, which feels like exactly where you’re supposed to be. It’s where you fit in the world but you have to make it work, too.” I turned to Chris who met me with a quick peck on the lips. The interviewer cooed, calling that the sweetest thing she’d ever heard though her tone told me that wasn’t the case. “You wouldn’t think it was so cute if you poured your heart and soul out in your vows and she stood at the altar and compared you to a drunk night in front of your whole family,” Chris dramatically pinched in between his eyes to drive the joke home to the woman across from us, who genuinely believed him for a second until we both burst into laughter.

“I’m sorry on Marvel’s publicists’ behalf,” I apologized, wiping a tear from my eye. “They really should know better than to put us together for these things, being twenty-two movies deep and all.” The interviewer chuckled lightly and I could tell her patience was running thin as she tried to reign Chris and I back in. She asked the usual concluding question: if there was anything more we could say about Endgame without losing our jobs.

“Whatever you’re expecting, I guarantee you’ll still be surprised,” I promised. The interviewer raised her eyebrows and laughed, joking about how ominous that sounded. I just shrugged, letting my answer speak for itself in an attempt to be mysterious. And to avoid breaking my contract, spoiling the movie, and being sent to that training camp they made Ruffalo attend. Chris contemplated the question a little more than I did before saying, “It’s definitely an ode to the fans, which is my favorite thing about it. I’ll guarantee,” he said, shooting me a pointing look coupled with a knee-weakening smirk, “that they’ll love watching it as much as we loved making it.”

Chris thanked the interviewer and excused himself to the snack table while I shook her hand. We were only afforded short breaks between shots, which he intended to make the most of by stuffing as many grapes into his mouth as possible. I met him there and took a donut that disappeared in mere minutes. “You know what else I really loved making?” Chris whispered to me with incisive eyes aimed at my stomach, taking advantage of our few moments alone today to poke fun at me. “That’s such a weird thing to say,” I remarked, crinkling my nose at his comment. “I know,” he laughed, popping another grape into his mouth. Before swallowing he cocked his head toward me and said, “You know what’s worse? I actually almost said that.” I rolled my eyes as I giggled at him. “Imagine if that’s how everyone found out we’re pregnant,” I entertained the idea, laughing harder at the absurdity. I could just imagine the YouTube comments now. Maybe even an E! News headline that went something like: Chris Evans Spoils Pregnancy Instead of Endgame. Chris shrugged sheepishly, taking a step toward me as he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me into his side. “I can’t help it, I’m just so excited,” he grinned down at me, staring at me with soft eyes. My gaze met his, making me melt from the inside out. “Me too,” I said quietly, wrapping my arm around his waist and bumping our hips together as we fused. “Don’t you think it’d be a fun way to tell everyone? Like hey guys, we’ve got some special news- here’s the link to our pregnancy announcement!” Chris tried to get me to give in. “It’s still way too early and-” I started, until the director cut me off.

“You two, back on set!” he called Chris and me back to our chairs to start the next round of interrogation. This time the interviewer was a young kid who gaped at us with a grin so big it looked like it ached. He was dressed as Captain America, which Chris kept insisting would be our baby’s first Halloween costume, so I knew he was about to be putty in this boy’s hands. “Don’t slip now,” I reminded him, shooting Chris a threatening look. His head ping-ponged between me and this kid who sat in a folding chair, legs dangling above the floor. “But-” he started, until I squeezed his hand a little harder than necessary to prove my point. “Fine, but this is harder than not spoiling the movie, you know?” Chris groaned playfully before walking toward his seat again, ready for another Endgame interview.

[recentanimenews]

FEATURE: 5 WEBTOON Series We’d Love to See Animated!

  With Tower of God over and The God of High School hitting the midway point, it’s pretty obvious that WEBTOON Series adaptations are a hit, but what will come after Noblesse later this year? While we don’t have any real answers to that question, we do have five titles we think would be fantastic adaptations to see animated on our screens. The WEBTOON library is frankly huge and filled with tons of great possibilities, so we decided to try and narrow it down to five different genre titles we think would really shake things up on the “big screen!” If you want to learn about even more WEBTOON Series we think are great (some of which definitely deserve an anime), check out our previous article here.

    When deciding what would make a good anime, though, there’s more to it than just, “Wow, I really love this series, so it should totally get an anime!” It’s also worth asking the question: “Would this benefit from being animated?” What would they be able to do with it that they couldn’t do as a WEBTOON Series? What sort of changes might they have to make? As we’ve seen with Tower of God and The God of High School, action series benefit from animation greatly, but that doesn’t mean only action series deserve some lovin’. So with that in mind, I tried to grab a few different genres and styles of WEBTOON Series. But, of course, this is by no means an exhaustive list, and we highly recommend you go check out the WEBTOON website or app (available on Google Play and on the App Store) and see what types of amazing series you can find! 

  Love Advice from the Great Duke of Hell

    I’m a huge comedy fan, some of my favorite series of all time are comedies. So when I started reading WEBTOON Series, I really wanted to find something that would make me laugh. I didn’t have to look too hard, but perhaps no series has been as funny so consistently than Love Advice from the Great Duke of Hell. The main character, Paul, just can’t seem to get the attention of the woman he thinks he loves. So he chooses the best possible course of action: learning black magic and summoning Astaroth, one of the Great Dukes of Hell!

  The comic routinely features amazing, understated visual gags and humor while building an interesting and deep storyline over the course of its run. In fact, I really didn’t expect the characters and world that Duke of Hell creates to really suck me in as much as it did, but that just lends to its overall strengths. As far as an adaptation goes, I could see this as a fantastic comedy hit that either focuses on extensive, gorgeous animation for gags like HINAMATSURI, or a muted and simplistic animation style like Skull-face Bookseller Honda-san that lets the art and jokes combine without getting too big. Either way, just thinking about voice actors for the various characters, especially Astaroth, is perhaps one of the most fun fantasies to have—after all, it would need to be someone with enough gravity to play such an amazing Duke of Hell! 

  Purple Hyacinth

    Purple Hyacinth has long been on my read list and was actually one of the series that got me started on the idea of seeing WEBTOON Series animated. Unlike other series, Purple Hyacinth routinely asks readers to turn their audio on, playing ambient and specific music throughout the series to create a multimedia experience. Of course, that isn’t the only reason for it being on this list. No, Purple Hyacinth is here because it’s a type of story that, frankly, isn’t told very often in anime lately: a gritty crime mystery thriller!

  Lauren, the protagonist, has dedicated her life to avenging the death of her childhood friend and the elimination of Phantom Scythe, a terrorist organization responsible for the events that would alter her life forever. Lauren meets the assassin “Purple Hyacinth,” who just so happens to share similar goals as her. This series really just gets how to build a complex and deep mystery and the fact that you need excellent character drama to make people care about what happens next, especially when big twists and turns come! Lauren possesses the ability to detect lies, “seeing” them in red whenever people tell them. Just imagining the creative ways this could be animated alone makes me giddy at the idea of a Purple Hyacinth adaptation. But beyond that, the character drama and intrigue of the twisting mysteries here would turn this into a killer multi-season anime. I can just imagine the gleeful frustration waiting for the next season after the first one ends on a cliffhanger! If any of these series were worthy of being dubbed “binge-worthy” as an anime, I’m convinced it would be Purple Hyacinth. 

  Lookism

    Readers of our first article on WEBTOON Series pointed out Lookism as a favorite of theirs, and with good reason. This long-running ugly-duckling story packs a lot of punch, both literally and figuratively, as the story threads of school bullying, the ugly side of society, delinquent fights, and more together into a fascinating tapestry. Daniel is poor, overweight, and bullied to such a degree that his mother scrapes all the money together that she can to send him to a new school. However, his life takes a huge change upon arrival to his new school home when he wakes up in a different body: gorgeous, tall, and super-strong! The “new” Daniel gives him the ability to pursue the life he thought he wanted, but it comes with a lot more than he bargained for!

  One thing about Lookism that caught me off-guard is that it seems, at first, to be a sort of traditional ugly-duckling story where Daniel learns to love his original self while teaching those around him to be better people. But it also features heavy delinquent style fights and action. While this might sound a little dissonant, it’s fair to say that Lookism would provide tons of great material for high school delinquent action and social drama—and the fight scenes in later storylines are truly amazing to behold on the page. Lookism also features an amazing supporting cast of unique and weird characters that tend to steal the spotlight from Daniel as they get introduced, meaning there are tons of characters to fall in love with here (I’m a big Vasco and Jay fan, myself!). With a unique mix of action, comedy, and heavy drama, Lookism really has a lot to bring to the table, and when animated, would surely take advantage of its mixed genre-typing to be a big hit.

  Let’s Play

    While many of the series we’ve talked about have a tinge of supernatural action or combat to them, Let’s Play is quite a bit different—just regular people here! Of course, these regular people are involved in all sorts of turmoil and romantic drama, but that’s to be expected. Let’s Play follows game dev Samara “Sam” Young, creator of the game Ruminate, and the trouble she runs into when her game’s biggest critic, Marshall Law, becomes her neighbor. Let’s Play is a fairly interesting drama due to the combination of game dev discussion—which veers into similar territory as shows like Shirobako that delve into making things—and the personal drama of the main cast.

  Although it is indeed a romance, the most striking part of the series is Sam’s struggles with anxiety; her internal monologues and issues make her an incredibly relatable and fresh character. Let’s Play would make an amazing romantic comedy with a woman lead, which we really need more of these days! The video game elements of the story add that extra touch that, in all honesty, feel like they would be amazing to see animated and played with using various graphical touches, allowing animators to play with the adaptation in ways that don’t rely solely on action sequences. 

  unOrdinary

    If you’re an avid WEBTOON Series reader, then it’s very likely you came to this list expecting to see this exact series, so don’t worry: we agree! UnOrdinary would be an amazing anime adaptation, likely to find a huge audience of new fans who would gobble up the series premise: a world in which some people are born with powers, or Abilities, and those who don’t find themselves treated as lessers and outcasts. John, unfortunately for him, is the latter, and as a result, he is relentlessly bullied by his classmates for his powerless nature.

  In a lot of ways, unOrdinary is almost like a darker My Hero Academia, except instead of a world of superheroes and villains, it's a world of the “haves” and “have nots,” where people without abilities are treated extremely poorly. Like quite a few WEBTOON Series, social class, status, and bullying are a big part of unOrdinary, which gives it a sharp, dark edge to its narrative at times. Similarly, John is a fairly interesting protagonist and, without spoiling things, certainly makes unOrdinary, well, unordinary! Given the popularity of My Hero Academia and Tower of God, unOrdinary would probably be the best possible candidate to get the anime treatment next, likely becoming a smash hit in no time—especially once the superpowers start showing up!

    With the continued success of shows like The God of High School and Tower of God, it’s only a matter of time before we see more and more WEBTOON Series adapted to anime. Of course, there’s no real plans or releases yet, but we think our list is pretty solid. No matter what, it seems like an exciting time to get into WEBTOON Series and keep an eye out for the next big hit title that might be showing up on your screens in animated form!  

  Which WEBTOON Series titles do you want to see animated? Do you agree with our list? Let us know what series you like and what you think in the comments!

  ➡️ Watch The God of High School today! ⬅️  

    Nicole is a frequent wordsmith for Crunchyroll. Known for punching dudes in Yakuza games on her Twitch channel while professing her love for Majima. She also has a blog, Figuratively Speaking. Follow her on Twitter: @ellyberries

  Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: news+feed@crunchyroll.com

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It's a well-written mystery, but it's not a well-written mystery where the reader can feel a sense of mystery because he or she is doing the mystery. The movie version is closer to that, but it's not quite as effective.

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[lou-bonfightme]

Catnapped 2: This Time It’s Purrsonal || Part  Three: The Enemy of My Enemy is My Friend || Merlou

In which a desperate Toulouse seeks help in the unlikeliest of places...[February 1, 2020]

@heart-of-dunbroch

[tw -- self-loathing, thoughts of suicide and self harm, these two are really a pair]

TOULOUSE: Toulouse stood, staring up at the Best Castle’s imposing silhouette. 

If he was here for other reasons, he’d find the sight tragically beautiful. 

As it stood, he could not find beauty in the ivy or the crumbling grey stone, the same colour as the sky, so that it all melted together if you looked up high enough, the snow falling in perfect flurries, obscuring the view. This was a tragedy, in and of itself, because Lou had always been curious about the castle in the woods, as many were. He had simply never made it out so far, as it was well hidden. Lou may explore the forest at his leisure but the only time he tread off the beaten path was at the beckoning of fairies. He knew better than that, otherwise. Not even as a wolf did he venture deep. Most of his full moons were spent curled up on the Acheron’s rug. He had no desire to run through the woods like an animal. Hades had once joked that he had somehow been turned into some kind of weredog--not a wolf at all. 

Still, he had found it relatively easily. With Belle’s directions and his wolf’s instincts, which told him to just go to the part of the forest he was least comfortable. Standing at the gate, he wished he had not denied Belle’s offer to accompany him, although he knew it was for the best. If this went the same way his last meeting with Merida DunBroch had gone, well, he didn’t want Belle getting in the middle of it. Because she would get in the middle of it. And get herself bitten in the process. 

No, this was better. 

Toulouse was in no danger here. What was the worst Merida could do to him? Kill him? His wolf was smarter than that, it’d run before it came to that. In the meantime, it stayed close to the surface, waiting and watching and already very much wanting to leave. Lou ignored it, though not in a harsh way, the way one ignores a pup looking for attention. Though, he listened to it too. If Lou had learned anything in the past year, it was to listen to the wolf. It knew danger than Lou ever would. And here, danger lurked around every bush and tree.

Even with his strength, Lou had to shoulder the gate open somewhat so that he could slip through. He climbed the steps slowly, sure that if Merida was home, she would’ve already heard him. Or smelt him. Still, he knocked. Merida may be a beast, but Toulouse still had manners. 

He stepped back and waited, clasping his hands together behind his back so that he didn’t fiddle with them. His shoulders squared and he kept an ear out for any sounds coming from behind him. It was a cowardly thing to do, sneak up on someone like that, but Lou put nothing past Merida. She was a coward, as far as he was concerned.

MERIDA:  Several days ago, Merida had gotten a text on her phone-- a cryptic message from Lachlan, her cousin. At first, Merida thought she’d officially lost it. Her lonely, pathetic, depressed brain had conjured up exactly what she wanted to see and she was hallucinatin’ Come home messages. But when she’d clicked it, it turned out to be very real after all, no cliche message of love or support, but a vague warning delivered from a cousin whose loyalties, he felt, were probably still an obligation: a warning that the Order was returning to Swynlake.

Merida asked him why. Asked him for how long. Asked him if they were finally comin’ for Merida, to hunt her down. She’d not gotten any reply. 

And so Merida had locked herself in the castle. Perhaps Lachlan had hoped she’d run. Perhaps the Order hoped to lure her wolf out and play duck-duck-goose in the woods. But if the Order was here for her, she’d force ‘em to come to her territory. So she waited, feeling the wolf grow restless under her skin as she paced in front of the windows and sharpened the knives in the kitchen. 

They never came. As far as Merida knew, at least. The days passed and Merida was untouched. No other messages came her way through Lachlan. It was as though she were as good as dead to them all yet again, and now her pathetic, lonely life could continue with no interruptions. Meetings with Rogers, workin’ at the gym, hacking down shite meals of beans and mash till her wolf’s stomach demanded she go out for a fresh kill… 

Until Merida got a visitor after all.

The visitor was Toulouse Bonfamille, and as soon as he was on her territory, the wolf sensed him. Merida’s stomach revolted as the wolf tried to shove its way to the surface. Shut up, she thought back to it, breathing deeply even as she gripped at a doorframe like she might punch holes into it. But the wolf did not shut up. Toulouse Bonfamille knocked on the door, and the wolf wanted to howl. 

At first, Merida figured-- well, maybe he’d leave. She stayed quiet and tense. But the pressure in her stomach grew, the wolf trying to break through.

“Fine, fine--” Merida snarled out loud, like she was actually talking to someone. She listened to the wolf, stalking toward the door so she could defend her land. 

She dragged the heavy door halfway open and looked out at Toulouse. His wolf smell, this close, was overwhelming. She tried to ignore it anyway.

“Think your the last wallaper I’d expect comin’ t’see me,” Merida grunted. “Whit ye here for?” 

TOULOUSE: Toulouse wanted to sneeze. That was the overwhelming…sensation he had standing on Merida’s doorstep. He was ignoring the wolf. The wolf was not happy about this, but it was content enough to wait and watch. Its only thought was on Claude. It could make friends with its enemy, if it meant getting him back. On that Lou and the wolf were in an agreement. (The wolf and Lou were, more or less, in agreement on most things these days.)

Which meant the wolf was still and silent inside him. Lou felt it watching, but he encouraged the wolf’s vigilance. He had no idea what to expect of Merida DunBroch.

They had only met a handful of times--outside of their infamous meeting--as two of the only consistent visitors at the Acheron cottage. Lou had thought little of her, and not in the degrading way, but quite literally. He knew her as Belle’s friend, he was glad for Belle to have a proper friend during that awful winter, the way he was a friend to Hades. (Until he wasn’t, thanks to the woman on the other side of the door.) He had simply had no opinion of her outside of this, except perhaps that she was loud and took up space in a way that Lou had always found rather abrasive.

And now: he knew so much about her, but nothing at all, all at once. It was as if he had seen a reflection of her in a pool, but when he looked up to catch a glimpse of the real thing, she was already gone.

She’s a coward, answered the wolf to Lou’s idle musing as he waited on the doorstep. Lou thought he might, perhaps, agree; considering that Merida had yet to show her face. He was about to give up, turn around, when he heard the scuff of shoes coming from the other side of the door. It was muffled, but his senses were all tuned high—on alert.

The girl on the other side of the door was not at all what Lou remembered of the bright-eyed, sharp woman he’d known, albeit vaguely, before. Her hair was dull, her eyes sunken and suspicious. He didn’t have time, really, to react to her general disheveled appearance.

Instead, he had to try and understand the garbled English that came out of her mouth. At first, he thought she had suffered from some sort of stroke.

Wallpaper? Lou had never heard anyone referred to as wallpaper. He supposed, it was perhaps an insult. Though, Lou quite liked a good wallpaper.

His own brain lagged as it tried to dissect the inflection of Merida’s words, his eyebrows knit together. If this any other situation, he’d probably answer back with a “pardon moi?” just to be both cheeky and condescending.

As it was, they did not have time to argue proper grammar or punctuation.

“Trust me, if I had another option, I would not be here.” The distaste and malice in his voice was not concealed, he hadn’t even tried. “Your Order kidnapped my nephew,” Lou said bluntly. “And I need information from you to get him back or I will make sure you are run out of this town quicker than you can blink.”

MERIDA:  The Order hadn’t been here for her at all.

The information smacked into Merida and she wrenched the door open wider without even thinking about it. For once, her wolf fell silent-- or rather, it was Merida, the girl, who roared to life. The Order was her blood, not the wolf’s. It didn’t matter that she’d been cast out, nor that she’d never fit in the first place. When she dreamed, it was still her home that she saw. It was her castle, her brothers, Da and Mum and Angus-- the dungeons, the huge, drafty ballroom where the Order gathered twice a year… 

Funny what sticks in the memory after the bridge to the past has burned down. Funny what you miss. Merida had always hated the gatherings and the old creaking castle she knew one day she’d be forced to inherit and upkeep. Now though, these were the things that came back to her, twisting in her brain so they shined brighter. Every time they did, her gut lurched, like the wolf was trying to expel her leftover love like spoiled meat. Because it was all a lie. All a lie, never for her, a sham from the start.

Still, knowin’ the Order had been in town-- in a way, that danger had made her feel like more herself. She wanted them to come hunting for her if only so she’d see some of her family again. Let them point their swords and arrows. She’d take it like a welcome. That is, she would have, if they would have come for her.

But they didn’t. Perhaps they hadn’t even remembered-- perhaps they no longer cared.

It hurt nearly as much as her own da telling her to run. Peeled back the wound. 

In front of the Bonfamille boy, Merida just swallowed down the hurt, even if she was too late to hide her shock. She tried to gather herself and piece together what he’d said. Now, different parts of her past trickled back...not memories cast in rose glass, but bits and pieces from months ago, about Phoebus, and that’s right, he’d had a woman-- she’d been pregnant. 

Now, the child was gone. Merida hadn’t even realized the child was born. She had a...what would the child be? A third cousin? A second, twice removed? 

“You don’t have to threaten me,” said Merida after a beat. She opened the door wider and stepped aside. “You can come in. Ask whatever ye want-- I told Belle I’m on her side and I meant it. That’s who sent ye, isn’t it? Belle?” 

Despite herself, Merida’s heart clenched hopefully. Even if the Order, her own family, had forgotten her-- Belle hadn’t. 

TOULOUSE: Merida’s eyes bugged wide in a kind of shock that Toulouse thought would be hard to fake. Though, he was a connoisseur of the opposite: of concealing emotions. So, he could not really say, what real shock looked like, as his own graced his features so seldom that he would hardly recognize real from fake. As it was, Toulouse was on guard towards considering anything that Merida did truthful. He kept, at the front of his mind, what she had done to Belle. Not solely the kidnapping, but everything before it: how she had lied about being her friend for so long, how thoroughly Belle had fallen for it. How thoroughly Hades had fallen for it.

There was not a single part of Merida that he could trust.

He looked into the dark, cold castle that would hardly protect from the chill, as the winter wind whistled through it. It was tempting to deny the offer and stand on the stoop. He was not planning to stay long. Just get the information he needed and leave. There was not a moment he could waste; he had already wasted so many. Arguing with his siblings, trying to plan with Hades and Belle. Every moment was precious. Besides, he didn’t want her to see him hesitate. The wolf could not sense any danger and for the moment, that was good enough for him.

Toulouse stepped over the threshold with a frown situated clearly on his features. He took off his gloves, as was polite when entering a building, putting them in his pocket before removing his hat, running his fingers over his hair out of habit more than anything else. He was not looking to impress Merida.

“She sent me because you have information that I need. We will speak no more of her.” His voice was flat and final. Belle’s name on Merida’s tongue made the wolf in his chest want to rip that tongue right out. How dare she even mention Belle. To give his hands something to do, so that they wouldn’t quiver, he fiddled with the rim of his hat.

“Some woman named Sorcha and a man named Silas came to the house claiming to be his grandparents,” he started in a clipped tone. He did not, necessarily believe, at face value, that those two had been Claude’s true grandparents, and he assumed it would be pertinent for her to know the information. He didn’t even know if those were their real names, but it was the only information he had to give. “We sent them away and the next day—” his voice caught slightly on the emotion, even though he tried to smooth it out “—they broke into my house, assaulted my nounou and my sister, and took Claude.”

His gaze felt sharply on the woman. “I need to know where they would have taken him and I need to know how to get him back.”

MERIDA:  The Order was not a big organization, but it was strong-- even in its disparate pieces across the rest of Europe. And so Merida knew these names. She’d know them even if they were not distantly related to her, even if all she knew was where they were from, and what sort of achievements they had to their family name, evoked with just the mention or with a flash of the crest. That missing entered her again and in the same breath, a bitterness. She did not want to miss that world or feel pride in her own family’s sigil. Not when they turned her out, or endangered children, and-- it seemed-- kidnapped them. 

And at least in this way, Lou’s news reinforced that Merida had done the right thing. She didn’t need that reinforcement, really. No matter how lonely she got, she’d never go back. She couldn’t go back if she wanted ‘course, so that made the decision easier. 

But--in Swynlake, where she was still criminal and that was all that people were seein’-- that and the wolf-- 

It felt good to know herself to be somethin’ else. And right now, her face reflected her revulsion at the news that Silas and Sorcha would act so dishonestly. Attack both an elder woman and a younger girl? Snatch a child from a crib? These things held no honor. They were not the Order that Merida had believed in, at least, not its best parts-- the pledge to protect the innocent and uphold the codes of the best of Great Britain, in the time of the chivalrous. 

She was not surprised, though. Perhaps a DunBroch, leadin’ a mission, would go about such things differently. But Phoebus’s family had always been much like him: slippery like a sea serpent. 

“The babe is not yet a year old?” she said it like a question and raised her eyebrows, though she did not need to wait for Lou to confirm to know it was true. She could do simple math. “It’s important for an Order child-- especially a boy-- to be baptized in the Order’s stronghold by the sittin’ King before he’s a year. It’s usually done much sooner than this so I imagine they are takin’ him to the headquarters. Probably. And then--” she frowned.

“They’ll be takin’ him back to Denmark. To be raised there. Well, unless they want to hide ‘im, then he could go to any number of families, least till he’s older. If they believe ye a threat, that could be the case.” 

Her frown deepened, her next words catching on her tongue. It was not good news. She knew that Lou did not trust her either (her wolf could smell it, like it could smell his wolf, and remained wary) and she didn’t want to deliver it. But she couldn’t lie. 

“You’ll have to break into the headquarters before they move him. It’s… no one’s ever done that before,” she hedged. “And many of the families will be gathered there. For the ceremony. It’s-- you’ll probably die,” she put it bluntly. “Sorry. I think it’s important you know that. ‘M not tryin’ to discourage ye, I just-- I almost died escapin’ out me own home. They’ll kill you much faster.” 

TOULOUSE: Toulouse raised a slight eyebrow at the question, but nodded slightly—even though, apparently, it had been rhetorical. He was wondering what on earth it had to do with anything. Was a toddler less of a concern to her than a baby? Did the Order gobble up children like trolls from folktales told to little ones to get them to behave? Lou would not be surprised. Everything he knew about the Order he loathed. He loathed that they had hurt Belle and Opal (for he was of the opinion, much like Hades, that that ordeal had had a great deal to do with Opal’s early delivery.) He hated them for turning his aunt into someone he did not recognize. For killing her too, for killing his little niece. (It was easier to blame them than leave it a blameless death.)

The Order was nothing but death and destruction.

He pushed away his questions and simply listened. The story Merida wove was like something out of a fairytale. With kings and ceremonies and strongholds. It sounded so farfetched that he hardly dared to believe it. However, he reminded himself, he was standing in a castle right now. His best, most dear friend, was the king of Underworld. He had attended a magical wedding. There was a wolf, whose heartbeat was Lou’s own.

His world—no matter how he disliked it, no matter how ill-fit—was this world now, full of shadows not of his own making. Of the sort of villains that were truly dangerous. Lou had long ago learned how to handle the villains of the world he had been from, ones with silver tongues and distracting, glittering jewels. He did not know how to handle a true villain.

Though, he couldn’t help but snort at Merida’s warning.

I am plenty prepared to die, he thought to himself and he knew it was true. The idea didn’t make him afraid. In fact, there was a reckless part of him who almost wanted it. It wouldn’t be dishonorable if he was killed trying to get his baby cousin back from the clutches of some medieval organization. He’d die a hero. Honestly, it all sounded rather pleasing to him.

There was only one problem: if he died, would Claude be rescued? Lou did not care about whether or not he died in vain, he always imagined that was how it would be in the end. Unless he was dying to escape the pain of this life, the weight of this life. Then it wouldn’t be in vain at all. The darkness and stillness would be peaceful and welcome. But, if he was dying trying to save his baby cousin, he would want to know his baby cousin would get out. He had to remind himself this was not about him dying, it was about saving Claude.

“Thank you for the warning,” he told her drily, looking towards her. “Isn’t exactly useful, though, is it? Tell me where this headquarters is and tell me how to get Claude out alive. If you do not, I will simply find another way.” And Lou was confident in that. Perhaps, not in himself, but in Hades? In Belle? Oh, they were clever when it came to magic and mayhem. They would find a way to fix this.

No matter where the Order hid Claude away. 

MERIDA:  Merida nearly rolled her eyes at him. She thought about it. Normally, she would. But she saw somethin’ here that she hadn’t had before, and even Merida was wise enough to know that she couldn’t fuck it up--

That thing was a door. 

No, it was not a door that would take her back. There was no going back. But she hoped it would be a door forward, into becomin’ something more than the woman who kidnapped Belle, the liar, the criminal, the girl from the Order-- and the wolf. Merida desperately wanted to be Merida again. To find a way to build somethin’ out of the debris of last year. Since that day, she’d been stuck in the same place, unable to do anything but tread water. Run in circles. Survive, but barely.

If she helped now…

Well, maybe nothing would change, who was she kidding? But at least it was the right thing to do. At least it would give Merida another chapter. Instead of stealing a baby, she was saving one. 

“I’ll tell you all I know, I told you I would-- I’ll do me best,” she reiterated. “ I can tell you what kind of things to prepare for-- the weapons they’ll have, the defenses, who will probably be there, who won’t. I can tell you the entire place is underground, and there’s tourmaline everywhere. Magic will be useless.  Stay down too long, and you’ll start to go topsy-turvy yourself.” She was thinking of Hades-- because naturally Hades, she assumed, would go. He’d have no fire though, no way to move things. Neutered like that, he’d die in a heartbeat, because his weakness was the same as all Magicks’ weakness-- his ego. Without his powers, he had no skill or strength. 

One look at the posh biscuit of a boy in front of her, she reckoned the same thing. 

“I can even try to draw ye a map if ye like. But I’m no artist.” She swallowed. Her fingers flexed. She looked Lou in the eye. “I’m a warrior. So if you want to know how to get your cousin out safely, without taking a silver bullet between the eyes… you take me. I can lead you in. I can get you out. I know how to fight ‘em-- and I’ll beat ‘em too.” 

TOULOUSE: Toulouse knew that Merida had a point. For in the same way she was not an artist, he was not a warrior. In fact, Lou hated the idea of violence, if he was honest. He didn’t have the stomach for it. Would he kill someone that threatened his family? Yes, but only as a last resort. He much rather liked playing these things in a courtroom, where there were rules and things were civilized. Where he could feel much more smug and righteous about putting some asshole behind bars. To him, that was more satisfying than killing someone, than hurting them in any sort of physical way.

However, Lou had seen firsthand how the Order circumvented these laws. They were a force greater than the law, which meant that they deserved worse than the law.

Besides, Lou was well aware of the fact that if he did take them to court properly, his status as a wolf would jeopardize his family’s ability to keep Claude in their custody. No judge in their right mind would give a baby to a werewolf. Not even a Swynlake judge.

So, they would have to do this the underhanded way. Lou was not a fan of this, but Hades had been right when he said the police would be no help. And Lou was not going to waste time cutting through bureaucratic tape when his cousin’s future was at stake. Which meant, yes, Lou was outnumbered and woefully unprepared.

He still did not trust this woman.

It didn’t matter that there was an echo of her that he felt in himself. She had been chased from her home, he had been barred from his. The town was against both of them. The only difference was: Merida had been the one to turn his life into this, she had dragged him down to her level. Merida was a criminal, Toulouse had never hurt anyone in his life (not in the way Merida had.) The only reason they were on the same level was because society no longer cared that Lou was good-looking, well-dressed, wealthy, eloquent. All the tools he had spent his life building no longer mattered,  because when they looked at him—

They saw Merida.

“Why should I trust you?” he scoffed at her.  “What’s to say you’re not the one who puts an arrow in my back? Who holds a knife to my throat and uses me in exchange for your own clemency? If what you say is true, in these catacombs I would be entirely at your mercy and considering your history, those don’t feel like very good odds.”

MERIDA:  Merida didn’t have a good answer for him. 

She wished she did. Merida hated this question. This new version of her life was defined entirely by it, and there was no way to overcome it. It didn’t matter that the RAS believed in her (not that anyone knew). It didn’t matter that she’d helped keep Hades out of jail, that she’d freed Shuck (they focused, instead, on how Merida had been the cause of the trial in the first place). It didn’t matter that she held a steady job now and followed all of Swynlake’s rules. Merida could try and she could try, but she was still just a criminal in the eyes of the town, and most importantly, in the eyes of Belle. Nothing would ever change that.

Truly. Merida had stopped believin’ otherwise. It was freeing in a way, even if it didn’t stop her from missin’ Belle quite awful. Sometimes she caught herself reaching for her phone, a thought in her mind that could only be shared with Belle alone. But she stopped herself these days. She reached less and less. And when she thought of Belle, she tried only to wish her happiness and her daughter good health. 

Belle didn’t have to forgive Merida. But-- 

She’d like someone to. 

 Merida wished she could answer his question with a question-- how will I ever prove myself trustworthy if no one gives me a chance? The retort bit at her tongue. She pressed her lips together, then licked them. Still, no answer. Maybe she’d just let the Bonfamille boy walk away, take his distrust elsewhere. 

If she did that, the wee one would surely be lost.

Merida took a breath. “You don’t. There’s no clemency there for me, though. There’s nothing for me to bargain, I’ve already told most of the Order’s secrets to the police to put Phoebus away so as far as they’re concerned, I’m good as dead. I’d offer you something to hold over me to ease your mind, but I’ve nothing left here either. So--I can do nothing but give you my word--not as one of the Order, because I’m not anymore. But as one of you. A wolf.” Her chin tilted up as she met his gaze again. “It’s that, and the truth that I know-- I was raised in the Order and I would not want a child raised there, either.”

TOULOUSE: There was a part of Toulouse who was more convinced by Merida’s explanation of how the Order had sworn her off, how she had betrayed them. If someone had done similarly to him, he would probably scorn them too. However, the shrewd politician in him saw only the betrayal, only the disloyalty of someone who would throw the institution they had grown up in away just to save their own neck.

He was not moved to pity by her declaration that she had nothing to give him. If anything, it made him more cautious. A person without anyone or anything was a dangerous one. Lou could only imagine what his life would be if his family had turned his back on him, after he had been bitten. If he did not have them; did not have the Acherons and Periwinkle. He could scarcely imagine it, because if that was the case for Toulouse, he would cease to exist. He would become vicious, he would not care about someone coming to his door, looking for help. He would turn them away or he would kill them, if only for a way to feel something, anything at all.

Though, perhaps, he understood the scorn.

They had turned her away first, so now she had turned away from them. Lou thought he would do much the same and he thought, briefly, of his tantine. How wretched she had made him. How vicious he had felt whenever in her presence, like his intestines were an ouroboros, devouring itself. He had not once begged for her love back. He had looked at her the way she had looked at him: like a stranger, like a monster. But, he also knew that if she had ever given him a hint or a hope of redemption; if she had smiled at him or spoke to him sweetly, he would act as a man dying of thirst. He would have fallen to his knees and begged.

He wondered if the same would happen to Merida. If the Order smiled at her and said: we will love you again, just kill the wolf. Would she do it?

Did Lou have a choice, even if that was the truth of it?

His gaze found its way back to her properly when she spoke of that wolf—those wolves—their wolves. He wanted to snort at her, to snarl and snap.

What good is the word of a wolf?

We are not the same.

The wolf felt differently. Lou felt it stir in his chest. It was watching, it was listening, and it was silent. He heard no protest from it, and he realized that since they had stepped into this castle and Merida had started explaining, the wolf had settled.

Despite himself, if he trusted anything’s instincts, it was his wolf’s. His wolf, which had disliked Edgar from the start. Who had been restless in his chest ever since the de Chateaupers had shown up at his door. The wolf who was kind and gentle towards those he loved, but who had wanted to rip Bradley’s throat out with a lust that startled and disturbed Toulouse.

The wolf wanted Merida to help. The wolf reasoned Merida was their best chance. The wolf reasoned that if Merida came along, Hades would not have to; which meant one less person Lou loved in danger. The wolf pointed out that if Merida died, it would not matter. Not at all.

“Fine,” Toulouse settled, feeling somewhere inside of him that he was agreeing to much more than a quest to save his nephew. His weight shifted, one foot to the other. “You can come along, but we will do this on my terms. It is my family in danger, and I do not trust you. This does not mean anything, and if I catch wind of you using it to gain pity or an audience from Belle, or anyone else I love, I will find a way to put you behind bars where you belong. Are we agreed?” 

MERIDA:  Merida could argue. Normally, she would-- call Lou stubborn and stupid to think he had any sort of experience to demand terms of his own. She could see this mission laying itself out in front of her now: Lou making bad call after bad call, Merida correcting him only when he begrudgingly asked for her help. Time wasted, shortcuts and advantages lost. Honestly, she should do the whole mission on her own. She didn’t need some upper-class nosh bumbling around and making a fool of himself. Making a fool of himself on a journey like this would put them both in danger. 

But she could no more say she should do this alone than she could that he needed to listen to the likes of her. It was as Lou said: he did not trust her. Merida was reasonable enough to know she’d feel the same way if in his shoes. And so Merida had no real argument. She had no real choice. 

But Merida was used to that. What choice had she ever had, especially over the past year? She’d always done exactly what she had to do to survive. To stay true to herself. And that’s what she would continue to do. She had nothing but herself anyway. No friends, no family, no reason to even exist. 

But she had her heart, and she would not betray it. 

Her lips pressed in a stiff line as her arguments stayed inside. She buried her desire to scoff at his threats, to sneer and let him know that she was not afraid of him and his petty methods of waging wars with his parents’ coin purse. She ignored the wolf too, whose presence in this room loomed larger than it ever had. It wanted to make Lou’s wolf listen, if not to reason-- then instinct. The wolf knew where to go, what to do. The wolf wanted to lead. 

Instead, Merida nodded once, quickly.

“Agreed.” Her lip twitched. Almost a smile. Not quite. “Then I suppose you’ll tell us when to leave, Chief.”

[it-will-not-last-the-night]

‘First’, Technically

For @ryukitaweek

Prompt: First

Synopsis: It takes a certain combination of thick-skulled obliviousness and artful vaguery for two boys to successfully go on about 50 dates together without any of them, technically, being their ‘first’. 

Today

The sound of the door opening prompted Ryuji to snap his head back reflexively, eyes wide…but only to be greeted by the sight of a pair of strangers bustling into the already crowded eatery.

Not him, not yet.

With a sigh he returned his attention to scrutinizing the table before him, elbow propped up, chin resting on his palm, he waited. One foot tapped nervously at the floor beneath him as he habitually checked his phone again. In an uncharacteristic bout of diligence, he had come several minutes earlier than usual to their meeting spot, glad that he’d actually reserved a spot for the two of them. 

Grabbing a beef bowl with his friend wasn’t supposed to be this hard, wasn’t supposed to leave him glancing at his phone and looking to the entrance every minute. The whole situation sat unwell with him, his stomach twisting itself into knots, spoiling an appetite he’d been carefully cultivating all week.

Like so many things in his life the culprit for his discomfort was obvious; Ann Takamaki. 

Yesterday

“Tomorrow afternoon, you’ll be open?” The blonde pair, one natural one dyed, had been lounging atop the roof of Shujin as they were want to do during their break periods. Ann had been studying over some textbook, cramming what little she could before the test in the next period, whilst Ryuji had already moved past that stage of procrastination and straight into the ‘I’ll fail this one and then make up the marks in the next one,’ stage. He sprawled out near some of Haru’s old garden, finger tapping away at his phone, as he absently answered;

“Nah, tomorrow won’t work, meeting Yusuke,” he grimaced, something about the game upsetting him as Ann continued to speak; “Oh? What you guys up to? Beef bowls again? Didn’t you just go last week?” 

“I mean…we go every week so, yeah, duh again, it’s like our thing,” it was hard for Ryuji to focus on both their conversation and the game and he was suffering for it, but Ann seemed determined to continue; “That can’t be cheap, you’re not making Yusuke pay for it, I hope, you know he can’t waste what he gets,” 

“Of course not, why ya think I got that job last month? It’s more than enough for just two beef bowls a week, relax will ya, he enjoys it to,” there was a pause in his friend’s questioning, giving Ryuji a chance to try to rally for a last-ditch effort. The reprieve was barely a few seconds long, though, before he felt Ann’s shadow cast over him, eyes glancing up to see her looming, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed to a point;

“You…got a job to pay for the two of you? That’s why you got it?” Although it wasn’t fair on his side the disbelief in her voice strangely rankled him. “Yeah…so?” He pushed himself up, head cocking to the side as Ann’s own mouth opened, as if to say something, closed and she placed a finger almost contemplatively to her chin;

“Hmmm…it couldn’t be…right?” She mused to the space about her, Ryuji letting out a disgruntled guffaw; “Couldn’t be what? What are ya even gabbin’ on about? I just got a job to pay for us to hang out, that’s all, that’s it. You use some of that modelling cash to visit Shiho over the holidays always, ‘member?” 

Ann’s eyes widened but not because she seemed affronted or offended, an expression Ryuji was accustomed to. No this was…almost as if some sort of understanding had just come to her, an answer, and for a moment Ryuji wondered if she’d figured out some clever trick for helping her through her test. 

“Ryuji…I go down to visit Shiho so we can go on dates, you know that, right?” Ann was never coy or subtle about her and Shiho’s relationship, it had never bothered her friends, so Ryuji was even more perplexed at such a strange turn of the conversation; “Yeah…so? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Ryuji…are you and Yusuke…d-”

Today

“Ryuji? Is everything alright?” “AH!”

In compliance with practically every narrative rule of irony Yusuke had slid in undetected as Ryuji had mulled over his conversation with Ann. Under normal circumstances Ryuji would not have been so shocked at his sudden arrival, he’d grown accustomed to the fact that, when he wanted it, Yusuke could seemingly move with stealth and grace of a tiger. What had alarmed him so much today was how close the artist had thrust his own face to Ryuji’s when he’d finally announced his presence.

“Gah! N-not so close Yusuke, geeze! Give a guy some space!”  The blonde had sputtered, reeling back from his friend as Yusuke’s lips pursed, the artist sliding in to sit alongside him. It wasn’t something Ryuji would have questioned before, the two had taken to sitting next to, as opposed to opposite, each other sometime ago, it’d just felt like an easy natural development, but now it was one that only made the squirming sensation in Ryuji’s stomach seem to intensify.

“My apologies, you merely failed to respond to my greeting, I thought perhaps you’d lapsed into a state of deep introspection,” Ryuji couldn’t help but give an amused snort, lips involuntarily twisting into a half-smile before his newfound sense of self-consciousness kicked in. 

“Nah, nah it’s cool, I was just…thinkin’ and stuff,” Yusuke’s eyes seemed to spark with an eager curiosity, once more the tall, elegant, boy leaned forwards; “Oh? So, I was correct? You were deep within the labyrinth of your own mind untwisting sordid truths?” In the past Yusuke’s frankly bizarre exclamations, and the looks of confusion they elicited from others in the eatery, might have prompted Ryuji to try to silence him out of some misplaced sense of embarrassment, but by now he couldn’t help but find them endearing…even if he still didn’t quite understand them most of the time. Today he did certainly understand at least one of the words he used;

“N-nothing’s sordid! Why would ya even talk like that? We ain’t sordid, j-just normal stuff, ya know, homework, meat, running, games-”

“Girls?” A thin eyebrow lifted on Yusuke’s face and Ryuji found himself strangely spluttering; “’C-course! Them too!” He insisted. “Glad to see nothing has changed then, you remain predictable as ever,” Yusuke turned away, disinterested now, eyes dropping down to the menu as he began to peruse it. Instinctively Ryuji felt a strange disappointment welling inside of him, but he shoved that down as he tried to gather his thoughts and rally his way out of the incredibly awkward situation Ann had clearly put him in by filling his head with ridiculous notions.

He took the chance, knowing from experience that Yusuke could take ages searching for the right dish for the moment, to study his friend. Yusuke had always been a handsome boy, elegant, tall, poised, but he’d leaned towards waifish from his diet, or rather lack thereof, for a long time. In all honesty Ryuji was glad to see that their regular get-togethers had helped him grow a bit more meat on his bones. Not so much for him to lose that almost crane-like beauty that he held, but enough that Ryuji could see the positive impact he was having, and that knowledge made him unable to stop a faint smile on his face.

There were simple facts about Yusuke Ryuji had to face. He was handsome, undeniably so, almost frustratingly so for how much attention he drew, a fact which particularly annoyed Ryuji when he was trying to spend time with him. He was also fun to be around, he made Ryuji laugh and he made him smile, often not because he intended to, but it all worked out with them both enjoying it all the same. Ryuji also knew that he could count on him no matter what, he’d be there to help, or even just stand alongside him when he needed it. He also didn’t mince words when it came to expressing his feelings on the matter, something Ryuji couldn’t help but like, blunt, straightforward, earnest, but in a different way to himself, around Yusuke things might often have been confusing, but it was never intentional, the boy always tried his best to express exactly what he felt, even if often it was hard for him to know what that was.

Previously, before, Ryuji would never have thought twice about these. They were friends, bros, just like him and Ren. That’s what bros did, right? Hung out all the time, talked to each other, helped each other, got jobs for each other, invited each other out to eat, paid for each other’s meals, asked each other to model and comment on art pieces even when one felt they had no business making such comments anyway. It was all Ann’s fault! She had to go and complicate it! She had to go and make it out to be more than what it was! He and Yusuke had a perfect thing going and he didn’t want to go stuffing it up like he always did when he overthought it-

“Are you sure you’re well? Ryuji if you don’t feel up to this, we don’t have to do it, I know how much a burden-” Yusuke might have been the type to miss obvious social cues on people, but even he could notice something was bizarre when Ryuji seemed to clam up for a minute straight staring at him. 

“No! Hell no! Yusuke sorry I just…” that was a topic Ryuji did not want to have to revisit. Convincing Yusuke to let him pay for the both of them, that he wasn’t a burden, that he didn’t ‘owe’ him, that had taken no small amount of time and he wasn’t about to let his friend lapse back into feeling like some parasite;

“Dude, I promise, I’m fine, and just hanging out with ya is all the payback I need, don’t sweat small stuff like this, cool? Sorry I spaced out on ya, just thinkin’ about a stupid test I did, like…why does maths have to be so hard, ya know? I’ll always have my phone on me when I’m an adult and it’s got a calculator, so how come I gotta know how to add things up? What’s ‘x’ gotta do with numbers anyway? It’s a freaking letter!” As much as he was paralyzed with a self-consciousness one thing that could motivate him to act was when his friends needed help. Speaking his mind came naturally to Ryuji and helped him bulldoze through the mental block forming in his own mind, even if it more often than not saw him put his foot in his mouth. Luckily, today, was one of those rare days where he seemed to have stumbled on to just the right words with luck;

“Thank you, Ryuji, somewhere in all that hot-blooded mess you really do have the heart of a dragon,” was it weird that a compliment as bizarre as that brought a soft pink blush to Ryuji’s cheeks? Sure, perhaps, but though Ryuji wouldn’t think twice about calling Yusuke weird anyone else daring to do so would have to watch themselves around him. 

From there things returned to the tempo Ryuji was accustomed to. They ordered good, Yusuke extrapolated bizarre things from their surroundings, they laughed, Ryuji made a show of being reluctant to helping Yusuke with his latest project but then, inevitably, gave in as he always did with a smile. 

They were stepping outside the eatery, any of his earlier anxieties forgotten, when Yusuke off-handily spoke up; “You know…my latest contest entry actually garnered me not to minute a purse of money. I was wondering…perhaps I could take you somewhere next time? Cover our expenses?” Ryuji had looked to Yusuke, surprised to find that, for a change, the normally stoic boy seemed nervous about meeting his eyes; “I know you’d prefer we don’t treat this as a matter of debt, so I don’t mean to offer this as some form of recompense but, perhaps, rather, we could,” Yusuke’s rambling was silenced when Ryuji put a hand on his shoulder, a firm smile plastered on his face; “Dude, chill, I’d love that,” the artist smiled;

“So then shall we do it sometime next week?” The sun was shining, the sounds of Tokyo surrounded them, things couldn’t have been better;

“Sure! It’s a date!”

 .

.

.

“…date?”

There was the sound of the metaphorical record scratching, and the sound of Ryuji literally gasping an incoherent; “Grrrfffggglll!” In response to the quizzically cocked head of Yusuke and that damnably charming tuft of slender hair that drooped across his face. “Ryuji…do you…want to go on…a date with me?”

“I…ppphhfff…ahhhh….uhhhh…it’s…ummmmm…I…I…I-”

Tomorrow

“So…yeah, we’re gonna have our first date,” the sheepish admission by a blushing Ryuji, eyes downcast, scuffing his one shoe against the other, filled Le Blanc for a moment, a silence lingering after it. Next to him, looking no less sheepish in his own way, Yusuke too tried to avoid the eyes of their friends variably arrayed seated, or communicating via a laptop, before them.

“Congratulations you two! I knew you’d go together wonderfully,” Haru, of course, was the first to say, positively beaming with joy as she clasped two hands together in front of herself. “I’m happy for you two, it’s great to hear you’ve grown so close,” Makoto offered as alongside her Futaba snickered; “Ryuji and Inari? Oh boy, this is going to be fun,” like a shark in water catching the scent of blood.

“There’s definitely something special about going on, like, five-hundred dates without ever realizing what they were. I guess we’ll have to count this one as your first if only be technicality,” Ann radiated a smug self-satisfaction and had done so since Ryuji had broken the news to her. Like a cay playing with a ball of yarn she had cooed over the two when, stammering and blushing, he’d been forced to concede she had been right, and concede to about a half-a-dozen double dates with her and Shiho in the process. 

From the laptop Ren’s whoop, all the way from Inaba, drowned out some or other catty remark by Morgana and Ryuji just about felt like he could crawl into the earth and stay there. His foot had already begun to nervously tap, unnoticed by any, when he felt Yusuke’s hand slip into his own, a soft squeeze, bringing their eyes to meet and his foot to stop. The two shared a smile, but one of those special sorts of ones. It was a young smile, a nervous one, after all it was the smile of something very new, something that would still need to grow and mature but, for the moment, represented the birth of something intimate between only two people. 

It was not Ryuji’s smile or Yusuke’s smile but, rather, their smile.

[buri-art]

we stan Please Save my Earth!! I always get so happy when i find a fan lol anyways did you read the sequel? i wanted to, like so so much because i've heard good thing about it but the change in the art turn me off, it is so bad?????

Yaaaaay, always good to find PSME fans! : D (This is primarily an Akatsuki no Yona blog, though.) I did read the sequel (Boku wo Tsutsumu Tsuki no Hikari, which takes place 15 years later) and although it has wonky art, I did enjoy it. I’m also four volumes into the sequel to the sequel, Boku wa Chikyuu to Utau, which takes place another 4 years later. My feelings toward both are a little complicated, so I’ll discuss Boku-Tsuki first (and I’ll also answer your other questions behind the cut, since this will get long!): 

I love PSME so much that OF COURSE I love having more of it and seeing what the characters are doing when they’re older (though I’m sad that characters like Rin’s mom and Boon never made appearances! Tamura himself only had one scene, haha). It’s a very different story at first, which a fun focus on the children of a few of the old characters (plus some other kids they meet). I liked the kids’ relationships and perspectives a lot, with the PSME lore as background. I was hit and miss with how the old cast wound up, and it inevitably has colored how I look back at them in the original. However, I found the last arc (which spanned a few volumes) pretty… I don’t know. The phrase that comes to mind is a Chinese idiom, “pulling up sprouts to make them grow faster”, which means “spoiling by excessive enthusiasm”. It started to feel like Rin, Alice, Mokuren, and Shion were getting strangled by excessive drama/development. It’s like their characters were no longer allowed room to breathe. And it was during this arc that Hiwatari noticed that it was started to become a different story, which was why she abruptly asked her editor if she could conclude the series and start a new one under a different title. That makes sense, because Boku-Uta takes those changes a lot further. With this one, I feel it’s really overindulging in extra background development, which takes away from the mystique of the original.It’s also…. just weird. Like, Hiwatari writes weird stuff,  that’s why she’s so beloved because her stories are so unique. ^_^ I’ve read a lot (but not all) of her other works, and I loooooved stuff like Global Garden because–although the art style was wonky–I’ve never read anything quite like it. Well, except for PSME–it’s funny how it uses so many similar themes but plays them in such a different way. 

But with Boku-Uta, it’s like her publishers just stepped out of her way and said “you know what, you have such a fanbase that people will buy it no matter what you write, so go ahead, add more magic cats.” 

So, like, I really want to like this one too, but I find it difficult to. I do really like the continued developments of the younger generation which Boku-Tsuki focused on, but other than that, I find it difficult to enjoy. I read Volume 4 around 2am in an airport and just felt angry by the time I finished because some of the new plot twists just felt so stupid. XDSo, in conclusion, yes, Boku-Tsuki has a lot of merits, but it’s going to change your experience of PSME, which is why I can understand why a lot of PSME fans didn’t like it or choose not to read it. Boku-Uta is a natural progression from the ending of that one, so if you choose to read Boku-Tsuki, keep that in mind. But hey, I AM such a big Hiwatari fan that I know I’m going to buy every volume of Boku-Uta anyway. Maybe it’ll redeem itself in my eyes, it still has some interesting elements keeping me going. Okay, on to your other PSME Ask: “sorry, i just found this tumblr so i’m going to ask a lot of PSME questions lol: favorite characters and why?“I love this question. : D Ironically I was just talking with a friend about this the other day since she’s borrowing the manga from me, and I didn’t really know how to answer it. As stated before, my perceptions of the characters has been affected by reading Boku-Tsuki.So like… just because they get the best development, how can I NOT love the Rin-Alice-Shion-Mokuren quatrad?? I keep going back and forth over the years between who of those four is my favorite. While reading the manga for the first time while I was a teen I think I usually leaned more toward Rin and Alice, but now maybe it’s Shion and Mokuren?? I don’t know XDDDAs for OTHER characters, though, part of what I love about it is that there are so many good supporting characters, especially beyond the basic seven kids and their past lives. So here are a few that come to mind to write some thoughts on: Haruhiko: I haaaaaaaated him with a passion as I was reading the manga because he was so whiny and helpless, UNTIL I got to the volume when he confessed everything to Alice, Jinpachi, and Issei, and it was like a switch was flipped and he became one of my favorites because of how much courage he had. You know how he really lightens up and gets comfortable talking with Alice later on? That’s the sort of person he remains in the sequel, which has made me like him even more. He’s mature and mostly at peace with his past, but not totally, and he can recognize that about himself without it taking over. But he’s not totally mature either—you know that scene when he fakes having heart trouble and then gets Alice to stop? And how he makes that “What did you think I was going to do? I’m not Shion!” joke right afterward? That’s the sort of nasty side of his personality that I love too. Looking back at the start of the series now, I see that he was courageous and understanding all along, he just had an extremely weighty situation to deal with. Mikuro: I can never see him the same way again after the sequel (in which he’s a major character). XDD It’s clear that he’s always been a pet OC of Hiwatari’s, but the cool, hard-boiled original character designs for him are nothing like the adult he’s become. He tries so hard to play it cool, but the guy’s a helpless dweeb sometimes. I always found it exciting to learn more about his EPIA life. An extra one-shot (Things Accidently Left Behind, I think it’s called?) gives a lot more backstory for him and introduces more of the EPIA characters, who I enjoy. (Fun fact: Remember his friend Tomoko who was briefly mentioned? She winds up marrying his brother Hokuto. XD Mikuro winds up in a complicated relationship with an American psychic named Pamela, whom I also really like, she’s a hoot.)Mode: I loved her as soon as I met her (and although I’m okay with how she was used in the final arc of the sequel, I sort of wish she could have been left as-is too). She was, through and through, such a good friend, but I like her sense of responsibility as a caretaker too. Lazlo: How can I not love Lazlo!!? The sob story gets played up a little TOO much and I think it was effective as-is in the original (like, we didn’t need to know that he and Kyaa got into the car accident while bringing home a toy for Shion to try to make him smile). In fact, it was Lazlo who made me realize that I have interest in being a foster mother someday. Rin’s Mom: She’s got such a rough job, seriously. She had a break-down, which I don’t blame her for, but I love the courage and understanding she shows after that. She’s the mom who Shion always deserved. Hajime: Always a favorite. XD But I also love that he’s not a huge influence on the story either, his mission has always been to support and take care of Alice, even if that means being critical of her decisions. There are a few extra chapters in Boku-Tsuki discussing Rin & Alice’s early parenting years, and they’re told from Hajime’s POV (he wasn’t exactly happy with the shocking situation), which I really enjoy. Daisuke/Hiiragi: He’s not as big a favorite now (because in some ways he and Jinpachi grew into lame adults XD), but I always liked him and found it funny how despite being the leader, he basically has no influence and is the least important of the seven. XDD It was liking him in a sort of feeling bad for him kind of way. The Lians: Part of what’s so cool about PSME is the development of the Homeworld, and I thought the role of the Lians fleshed out that world really well. Seeing Shion’s different relationships with them (they’re all doing their best, but the older one clearly has more of a way with him) was a nice touch. Plus, I just like and respect nuns in the first place, so that influences my view of them.

Tamura:  When I first read/watched it, I didn’t like him much because I thought he was too nosy and I just wanted to focus on the younger cast; the yakuza subplot was a turn-off at first. But looking back on it, Tamura is a such a great and unexpected driver of the plot for a shoujo manga. Nowadays if I rewatch or reread it, you’ll even hear me squeal about seeing Takeshi again. XDDIssei & Sakura: They are such a stinking cute, girly married couple in the sequel, and now it’s hard to ever see them the same way as in the original when I could just appreciate how their deep friendship took shape. If anything I didn’t want them to get married because that felt trite and like a Pair-the-Spares trope and it made it seem like that was the only possible result of a deep friendship between a girl and formal-girl-now-guy-on-purpose-due-to-failed-romance. BUT!! Boku-Uta does provide a nice insight on that, which I appreciate, and which explains why the other three are singletons (being from the Homeworld, they have a different wavelength from regular earthlings, which is why they harmonize well together (as do Rin and Alice), whereas Daisuke, Jinpachi, and Haruhiko can’t find partners to be in the same harmony with). But to back up a bit, Issei’s subplots was one of my favorites in the original. That scene when he “releases” Enju’s soul to go out and love deeply again was so sweet. : DSo like, I pretty much like EVERYONE due to deep attachment for the series, though my thoughts and feelings change over the years. These are just the thoughts coming to mind at the moment. XD

[elfnerdherder]

Ill Intentions: Chapter 13

[Support my Writing] [Read on Ao3]

A shout out to my patrons, with whom I have ardent admiration for: @jenacar @frostyleegraham @evertonem @starlit-catastrophe @sylarana @kenobi-is-king @frostylicker Mendacious Bean, Superlurk, Duhaunt6, and Cecily!

Another huge, huge shoutout to kenobi-is-king for such a happy surprise for me when I got on my computer today. This fanart of Will Graham blew me away, and I’m so thankful to them for their work! It honestly made me tear up. :)

Chapter 13: Plot Progression -The True Bane of the Writer

           Beverly and Abigail enjoyed their arrangement just as much as Will supposed they would. They eyed one another speculatively, shook hands, then left Will on the steps of the office building with a turn to their shoulders said that they weren’t going to be friends in the near future. Their common denominator thought to feel a bit guilty at foisting them together, but in truth he didn’t.

           The air stung his nose as he headed home. He’d only realized that it was time to leave when Beverly had come up to him and asked if he was going to try and put in OT for being late. Late. He was late on everything, wasn’t he? His head pounded in time with the pressure of his feet on the concrete. Had he eaten? Had he ever gone and gotten water?

           His stomach gurgled furiously. Those peanuts hadn’t gone a long way in providing sustenance. No, he hadn’t fucking gotten water.

           He only stayed in his apartment long enough to change. The place was still a dilapidated mess from the overturned chairs to the kitchen utensils that littered the floors and counters. He pocketed a few important tools, then saw himself outside once more where he managed to convince a taxi cab to take him to Baltimore.

           He wouldn’t begin to imagine just how much he spent just to get a ride to fucking Baltimore.

           He didn’t want anyone to know what he was doing, though. Darkness had fallen by the time that he arrived to the posh and non-descript neighborhood, and he waited until the taxicab had driven around a corner before he turned in the opposite direction of the address he’d given in order to head towards the house at the end of the lane.

           It was cute, in a Tudor-style sort of way. White fencing trimmed windows, and the rich stonework along the walkway to the front door looked as though someone took great care not to allow grass to grow between the cracks and ruin the aesthetic. It was the kind of home that a psychiatrist would have, Will supposed. Lush evergreen bushes dotted a mildly Asian-inspired garden with Japanese maples whose rich red leaves still clung to the thin branches. Resilient. As he walked just on the edge of what appeared to be motion-sensor lights fixed on the yard, he plucked a leaf idly from one of the branches. He paused by the tree and crushed it in his palm, pressing the leaf to his nose. It was bitter yet sweet, and he wondered if that was much the way that his life seemed to be going –each individual breath holding some taste of one or the other in an equal enough balance to keep him from blowing his brains out. He couldn’t say that his life was bad. He wouldn’t yet call it good, either.

           This is the most fun that you’ve had in years.

He slipped around back and hopped a fence, ducking behind well-trimmed hedges. There was a pond whose waterfall gurgled and spit water down artfully laid rocks, lily pads and natural overhangs hiding what Will figured would be a delicate collection of Koi. No self-respecting psychiatrist would fill a pond like that with anything other than Koi. Goldfish would be the cheaper route, but the Chesapeake Ripper of all people wouldn’t cut corners in his garden décor.

           Will found his entry point at one of the only blind spots that he could find –perched on the top of the 6 ft. privacy fence, he managed to hoist himself up using a wall trellis. A few broken vines and a couple of curses took him to the roof where he slipped through the attic window. Most people didn’t lock attic windows.

           It was just as neat and tidy inside as the garden was. Even among the dust and aged smell of old things, there was a clear order to the boxes. They were labeled in a neat hand, but although the looping curve of the ‘G’ was familiar, the rest of it was not.

           What if he’s not the one you’re looking for?

           Quite simply, he was fucked. He wasn’t going to even begin to figure how he’d be able to justify his actions to Agent Crawford should he find out what Will had been up to in the middle of the night. The cops would laugh if he accused someone that casually kept a koi pond well-maintained this far into the chilly season. People like that didn’t hide bodies. People like Will Graham, however, broke into homes in the middle of the night on a really, really good hunch.

           That, and the guy had his watch.

           He forewent lowering the attic stairs in order to drop silently down onto what appeared to be a thick, plush carpet. His steps made no sound; nary a squeak on the wood as he ventured deeper into the house and down a hall that led to a master bedroom just beside a curving staircase.

           It was empty; Will wasn’t sure whether or not to feel relief or a mild sense of disappointment at the neatly made bed and the curtains adorning the four-post bed. A quick scan of the end tables didn’t reveal any watch or master plan, although Will pointedly left behind something small, something unmistakable if it was the Chesapeake Ripper. In the walk-in closet, suits of various twills and plaids hung in sleeve order, followed by color order. When he found a small box containing handkerchief squares, he pocketed one, fingers worrying over the embroidery of H.L. No watch. No fucking watch.

The house was dark, sharp outlines of vases adorning end tables casting layers of shadows on wine-colored walls. While the outside boasted a modestly expensive garden, the interior of the home felt like old money, the kind of money someone was born into rather than earned. Natural, was the word for it. Will descended the stairs, careful to mind weak floorboards. The grandeur of the house was natural.

           He wasn’t sure how he would know when it was time to leave –when he discovered his watch? The owner of the home? Evidence? Will perused a sitting room that didn’t seem to have been sat in much, and he passed fingers along a grand piano. The lid was lowered, but he imagined the rich tones of harmonies woven through effortless fingertips gracing the ivory. It wasn’t the sound from the neck of a dead man that Will heard, but something sharper, like pricking an unsuspecting finger on a cruel thorn.

           Will tried to imagine the thoughts that nestled among the floorboards and heating vents. He tried to feel the skin of the Chesapeake Ripper as fingertips glided along a bannister; he wondered if he sometimes roamed these halls as Will did, searching but not yet finding. He could see the elegance in the artwork on the wall. He could feel the sophistication in the subtle scent of rosewater and ivy that permeated the air. If the person that owned this house wasn’t the Chesapeake Ripper, they were certainly something much like him.

           It wasn’t until he found the kitchen that Will knew what he was truly there for. The pantry held a meat freezer, and within that cooler there were two neat little rows of package-sealed meat.

           On each package, there was a sensible tag that labeled a date.

           Will’s heart stuttered, then stopped. He wheezed a breath, and with clammy yet eager hands he grabbed three packages of meat with three very specific dates –he barely remembered to take a photo of the rows on his phone before he was rushing from the pantry with his breath in his ears. He had something. He had something.

           He fucking had something.

           His heart didn’t stop pounding until long after he’d gotten back to his apartment. His breaths couldn’t quite grasp onto an even pace, even as he paced his apartment with three very special packages of meat in his freezer. His phone read the time 3:23 A.M. He still had time.

           With careful deliberation, he scrolled through his contacts and hovered over a very specific number, one he hadn’t thought to call in a long, long time. He glanced to the freezer, then back to his phone.

           Molly Foster, ex-girlfriend to Will Graham, answered on the seventh ring.

           “If you’re drunk, Will, I really don’t have the time,” she said. Time had taken the sting out of her words; in truth, it sounded more like fatigued repetition from a person that knew the words to say without having to miss a beat.

           “I’m not drunk.”

           “Do you promise?”

           Hearing her voice made his stomach turn. “I never lied about drinking. I didn’t feel the need to.”

           “I have to ask, you know. It’s three in the morning, and you’re calling me.”

           “It’s the perfect crime,” Will agreed. He propped his chin in his hand and resisted the pressing need to tap his foot in order to track seconds. If he’d had his watch, he wouldn’t have felt the need.

           “Does Beverly know you’re calling me?”

           “I couldn’t sleep, and I thought about you. I just wanted to hear your voice, Molly.”

           “I’m not a booty call, Will Graham.”

           “I wouldn’t do you the disservice, Molly Foster.”

           They were quiet. Will thought about the silk texture of the Ripper’s lapels in his hands. He’d wanted to destroy, then. Something had stopped him, though, stopped him from the moment in which he could have brought the Chesapeake Ripper to his knees at an art gala in Baltimore.

           He didn’t like thinking about why he’d hesitated.

           That would spoil the fun.

           “How have you been?” Molly finally asked. Her voice changed, softened around the consonants rather than spitting them.

           “Not too good. I think I over-estimated my ability to be alone.”

           “You purposefully isolate yourself,” Molly reminded him.

           “I know, I know,” Will replied, and he twisted on the couch in order to lay down. He tracked dust motes dancing from the lights of the traffic below lazily. “I maintain that I’ve never really known how to be around people. I’m learning.”

           “Will…I have seen the news, you know. How’s… that been working out?”

           His gaze darted to the freezer again.

           “It’s fine,” he assured her, quietly. “It’s been…fine, really. The news makes it sound worse than it is.”

           “I thought about calling you, but then I also remembered that you can be an ass.”

           “I can be sociable. How’s this: how have you been, Molly? Are you still working in the bio labs at GWU?”

           Her laughed was muffled, but he still heard it. “Yes, I have. I’ve been promoted.”

           “Wow, that’s…that’s great,” he said, and he meant it. “I’ve been writing wedding announcements.”

           That time, the laugh wasn’t muffled. “What are you doing tomorrow?” A brief pause. “Much, much later today?”

           “I can clear my schedule,” Will promised.

           “You do that.” She yawned, and it was so endearing that it made him cringe, made him wonder just what the hell it was that he thought he was doing. “I’m going to go back to sleep. Good night, Will.”

           “Good night, Molly.”

           He set the phone down only after he heard the line disconnect. It’d been awhile since he’d last spoken to Molly Foster. She had a warm heart and a dry wit, and Will had followed along because she didn’t mind his idiosyncrasies and the way he sometimes woke up at night covered in sweat and shaking. She accepted him until he made himself unacceptable. It hadn’t been an amicable break, but there was never the bitterness of harsh words exchanged or tense silences after. Their break-up had been more sorrowful than angering. It’d felt like something had been cut short before it’d had the chance to even begin to grow –a flower plucked too soon.

           He didn’t regret it, though. Molly Foster wanted children and a white picket fence one day. Will wasn’t quite sure how things were going to end for him, but he could safely bet that a white picket fence wasn’t on the list of what the Chesapeake Ripper had in store.

           And considering how poorly he handled Abigail Hobbs, Will was more than confident that children were about as good of an idea as him being foisted into wedding announcements.

           He fell asleep on his couch only after he had it barricaded against his front door, to better prevent the Chesapeake Ripper from dropping in on him. He dreamt of overcooked meat and a fisherman’s hook dangling just out of reach. His wrist was bare and lacking.

-

           His temporary watch was awful.

           It was a classic analog that he dug out of an overturned drawer from his bedroom end table. Any extra money that he could have used to buy a new watch had been spent on taxi fares –next paycheck, then. He wasn’t sure how to go about removing that watch from his data plan while it was still having payments made on it, but the need to have all of his communications blocked from the Chesapeake Ripper’s prying eyes was at the top of his list of things to-do.

           He remembered his water bottle, although it wasn’t until halfway to work that he realized he hadn’t filled it with water. He’d forgotten to do laundry. He wondered if Freddie would notice that he still had the small stain on his shirt cuff from spilling coffee in the break room. Breakfast had gone cold by the time he’d remembered to eat it. Cold oatmeal. Cold coffee. Bare wrist.

           Jack Crawford met him at the door to the office building with two coffees and a stern jaw. Will wondered if the Chesapeake Ripper had found his calling card yet.

           “I was given word that Abigail Hobbs visited here yesterday,” Jack said by way of greeting.

           Will accepted the coffee. “She was upstairs when I got there.”

           “You didn’t think to call?”

           “The last boyfriend I had that kept harping about me calling every time something happened at least had dinner and drinks waiting back at the apartment when I got home.” Will gestured with the coffee cup, then took a long drink of it. It was black with no sugar –the ex-boyfriend had been far more attentive to sugar-coating things in order to placate Will’s frustrations at feeling like a child that had to check in with their mother every ten minutes. At least that relationship hadn’t ended because of Will.

           “I’m pushy in relationships.”

           “I could figure that without you telling me.”

           They tracked cars inching by in the early morning traffic, their sour feelings punctuated by the occasional sips they took from the cardboard cups. At least this coffee was hot.

           “Abigail Hobbs is being investigated,” Jack finally confessed. His comradery tasted like the small grinds that’d found their way into the coffee. “I think she was helping her dad.”

           Will’s most vibrant dreams had been Abigail leading her father back to his apartment so that they could strangle him. His breaths shortened, then stuttered. He took a gulp of hot coffee and regretted it.

           “Why do you think that?”

           “You have your tricks, and I have a good gut feeling. My gut is rarely wrong.”

           “What’s your gut say about me?” Will wondered.

           Jack’s mouth puckered, and he wouldn’t look at Will. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

           That was better than Jack saying that he hated Will, that his gut said to take Will and lock him as far underground as possible with no possible key for release. Maybe he wouldn’t feel the same if he knew just where Will Graham was the night before. Will unconsciously reached into his coat pocket in order to stroke over the embroidered initials on the handkerchief. His token. His prize. It was grounding to feel such an accomplishment. No watch, but if he sneezed then he was taken care of.

           He wondered if the Ripper had sent more fan mail yet.

           “I met her, and my empathy says that she’s scared as hell,”

           “What’d she want to talk about?”

           “Mostly she wanted to see the person that incidentally became the reason you had to kill her father,” Will replied pleasantly. “She wasn’t impressed with me.”

           An understatement. The look on Jack’s face said far more than words could. Will swallowed down a sneer and glanced to his watch. He was late.

           “What do you think of her being an accomplice?”

           “What do you think of her being an accomplice?” Will countered. He didn’t want Jack to know what he thought about Abigail’s lure. He wondered if Beverly and Abigail had found some sort of truce while settling into Bev’s apartment.

           “I think it’s too much of a coincidence that she managed to find girls that looked remarkably like her every time she went to a college to check it out, became decent enough acquaintances with them that her father was able to stalk them and then murder them within a day or two of her meeting them. The first, maybe, but after eight…?”

           He wasn’t wrong. It was suspicious at best, downright bone-chilling at worst. Will chewed on his bottom lip and rolled his words about carefully.

           “She’s not got a unique profile, Jack,” he said when he found the right angle. Careful, careful. Speech wasn’t like writing where one had the ease of editing and fine-tuning the words to sound just perfect enough to resonate. “Brown hair, blue eyes, pale and freckled is a consistent appearance in mid-American Caucasians. I’d say more popular than the blonde hair and blue-eyed stereotype.”

           “I had her checked out by a psychiatrist back in DC, and they said she has a penchant for manipulation.”

           “Yeah, so do you.”

           “And you,” Jack agreed.

           Will wasn’t sure why he was defending her, but he let out a quiet huff of breath and nodded. “With that logic, then, we should all be on the chopping block. Manipulation is a trait of psychopaths.”

           “Where’s she at now, Will?” Jack asked, ignoring Will’s jab.

           “Are you taking her in?” At Jack’s pointed glare, he relented. “I had her stay with Beverly. She had nowhere to go, and I figured it’d be inappropriate with me.”

           His straight answer mollified Jack, but only just. Will wondered how long it’d be until Jack snapped and tried to wring his neck. “How do you see her?” he asked Will. When Will opened his mouth, he added hastily, “No shit. When you look at her, tell me what you see.”

           That was a little trickier to answer. Will stalled by sipping his coffee and pretending to consider Jack’s question, brow furrowed. He glanced to his watch. No notifications. It was a terrible watch. The fact that he hadn’t found the watch at that house had been infuriating, to say the least. His watch would have urged him to finish his coffee. This watch ticked seconds like small strikes against him.

           “I think she’s uncertain, and she’s trying to find her footing,” he said at last. “I think those victims weren’t the only ones that her dad kept tight control over. She’s putting on a good show, but that’s a scared kid, Jack. Trauma victims react in sporadic ways. I didn’t shoot dear old dad, but I made a small column that led to his death. She can’t blame the FBI for doing their job, but reporters are great scape goats. I think she could have known, but then again; I think it’s just as easy to say that she didn’t. There’s no proof to say either way.”

           “He tried to kill her when we arrived. Killed his wife, had a knife to her throat when we came in.”

           “He was loving up until he couldn’t love anymore. That fucks with a kid’s head, no matter how monstrous their parent is.”

           “What were your parents like?” Jack asked. It sounded far more curious than aggressive or accusatory.

           “Foster care,” he replied automatically. “Had a lot of parents. Some were great, one ran the next-door neighbor’s cat over and buried it in the backyard. Never told the neighbor. I hated that.”

           Jack found that enormously funny. He didn’t guffaw or laugh obnoxiously, but he did allow a very thin-lipped smile to overtake him. He huffed a couple of short breaths and looked down in order to watch his shoe scuff over a few rocks and pebbles.

           “I figure that as long as she’s not a runaway, Jack, she could stick around here. Beverly said she’ll only let her stay if she gets a job, so that’s probably what she’s doing right now. Job hunting and trying to put her horrors as far back behind her as possible.”

           “The doctor that administered the psychiatric evaluation said that it’s too soon. Repressing isn’t healing.”

           “You can’t call it repressing when she sat down across from me and asked if I’d intended for her dad to die right in front of her,” Will said cheerfully. “That’s pretty damn direct.”

           “Keep me posted on her is all I’m saying, Will. You can do that, can’t you?”

           Will certainly could, although he’d probably be just as particular and careful in what he relayed as he was with the Ripper case. He watched Jack climb into an SUV just at the curb after his coffee was finished, and he headed into work with an odd feeling in his stomach. Probably the coffee. He’d let it grow cold. Fucking watch.

-

           Will was just sitting down outside of the small café that Molly had chosen to meet at when he received a call. In truth, he only realized that he’d gotten a call because the guy just to the side of him let out a loud, unattractive sigh and jabbed his shoulder roughly, once. Will looked away from the thick, fat clouds that threatened snow and blinked at him owlishly.

           “You gonna answer that, or you just gonna keep letting that shit ring?” the guy asked, clearly annoyed.

           That is when the sound of his ringtone finally broke through the haze of his thoughts, left him equally annoyed as he managed a sheepish “sorry,” and picked up the phone. The man uttered a short curse and went back to reading the newspaper –Tattler News. Will hoped he wasn’t another Avid Fan. He sincerely hoped that he wasn’t recognized.

           “Are you ignoring my calls now?” The Chesapeake Ripper wondered. Amusement colored his tone.

           His voice filtering through the tinny speaker made Will’s skin heat up. He stood and wandered away from the man nearby that eyed him suspiciously over the top of the paper. He eyed the thick clouds overhead, then looked out across the street where busy passerby hurried home after work. Traffic was thick, heavy with a sense of impatience, and curses hissed from clenched teeth. Horns honked and middle fingers were liberally shared through intersections. Molly was late. Will’s wrist wasn’t bare, but it might as well have been. How many steps had he taken?

           “Or is your anger at missing your watch so encompassing that you cannot even find the words to share?” he continued, seemingly unworried over Will’s silence. “If I stood in front of you, would you resort instantaneously to violence?”

           “Any violence given would be overdue for you, I think,” he said after a moment. He tried to collect scattered thoughts like dust motes.

           “You reflect the world around you. If you give violence, it is because violence was first given to you.”

           “And if I steal, you’d say it was only because something was first stolen from me?”

           The Chesapeake Ripper was quiet at that. He didn’t sound as though he were among the hustle and bustle of post-work traffic, but then again; the first time around Will had only known because the Ripper wanted him to know. He itched to ask about his calling card, but he refrained.

           That would spoil the fun.

           “That is the way the theory of mirror neurons work, but I’ve come to find that after childhood mirror neurons don’t work the same way for humans as they do our primate cousins. You reflect the world around you because that is how you are able to pass among the general populace.”

           “If you tell Jack Crawford that, I’m positive that he’d ensure I was institutionalized,” Will said dryly.

           “Giving the illustrious Agent Jack Crawford a ‘bone’ is actually not on the list of things that I’m willing to do,” the Ripper assured him. “You’re safe from me.”

           Will laughed, and when the sound didn’t do the feeling justice, he laughed a little harder. It scraped from him, and he thought about Jack asking him to keep tabs on a teenage girl, as though he could be trusted with something like looking after rebellious teens. He took one of her cigarettes out and lit it, taking a drag of the menthol. Seconds ticked with the pulse that pressed just at his temple, threatening a headache. Fucking menthols.

           “You’re collecting a following,” the Ripper said when Will’s laughter died down. If he mentioned his stolen items, he’d surely give it away, wouldn’t he? Will’s stomach lurched, curled in on itself at the thought. Was absence of acknowledging it just as damning as mentioning it?

           “Sooner or later, every psychopath will climb out of the woodwork just for a chance to be featured in my column,” Will replied. “What would you do then?”

           “Come now, Will, you know that I don’t share.”

           “Neither do I.”

           “And yet you’ve found yourself rekindling an old flame?” the Ripper wondered. His teasing tone was just curt enough when he said ‘rekindling’ that Will grasped onto it immediately. “I see from your watch that she is running late but will be there in approximately five minutes.”

           Such casual mention made his tongue curl, made his teeth clench tight as he snarled.

           “What else do you see on my watch?” Will asked snidely.

           “I see your sleep schedule is abysmal at best, and you drink a fair amount of water considering your otherwise terrible diet. In truth, I’ve mostly been intrigued by the reminders that you have set up. They’re quite persistent.”

           Will saw Molly pass by the café, her car slowing to turn into the parking lot. He wandered away from the entrance, phone pressed tight to his ear as though he could ingrain some part of the Ripper’s voice into his skin. His breath came short.

           “Your alarm starts the day early, and before you’ve even left the house you’ve ensured that at least one cup of coffee and one glass of water has been consumed. You remind yourself to collect your things by the door, and you remind yourself to practice a polite smile in the mirror in your bathroom. You remind yourself which stop to take on the bus, what time you should be at work, and you remind yourself to grab a glass of water before you sit down. After a couple of hours, you’ll have hopefully taken a lap or two around the office while refilling your water, and you have a reminder to tell you when it is appropriate to eat.

           “Your entire day is structured from the moment you wake until the moment you sleep, but what I found most fascinating were the reminders that you set in order to appear more human than you really are. ‘Check in with Charlie’ took precedent over ‘make small talk,’ which only went off approximately ten minutes after ‘eat lunch’ prompted you to stop working. You have a reminder for leaving work, as well as a reminder for ensuring that you’ve had another cup of water before you left. You remind yourself to get necessities at the drug store near your apartment. You remind yourself to prepare dinner, followed by a reminder to eat the dinner that you’ve prepared.

           “One of my favorites, though, would have to be the reminder that you set periodically throughout the day, in between reminders to exercise and prompts to make eye contact. ‘Wake up,’ as if to imply that you exist in a state of dreaming unless otherwise prompted. Do you oftentimes forget what reality looks like, Will?”

           “If you’re jealous about Molly, don’t be,” Will rasped, and he was ashamed at how the Ripper’s words tore right through him, left gaping holes where his insides should be. “She was just another dream, once.”

           “And now?” the Ripper inquired, saccharine sweet.

           “I hope you’re getting your steps in. If you mess up my streak by the time I get my watch back, I won’t be happy about it.”

           “A missed day is a red day, yes?” he asked. At Will’s grunt of affirmation, “I’ll endeavor. I’m not sure if your mild form of O.C.D. could handle the indignity of seeing a jarring discoloration on the days of the week that as of late consistently glow green. Congratulations, by the way. You’ve recently increased your step goal.”

           Will had a sharp retort for that, but he was surprised by a loud and sharp sneeze that made his throat burn. He withdrew the handkerchief and pressed it to his mouth. It smelled like laundry detergent.

           “Bless you.”

           “Thank you.” A beat, then, “Thankfully, I found a nice handkerchief for use in polite company.”

           “Embroidered, no doubt.”

           Molly waved to him, and Will headed towards her, swallowing down something sharp. She was layered in a sensible winter ensemble, complete with plaid scarf and a loosely fitted beanie that made her hair frame her round, pink cheeks. A dream. A dream, and Will stomped down the mild sense of guilt at seeing her smile grow upon taking in his suit and peacoat. “No doubt. Goodbye.”

           “Goodbye, Will. Enjoy your dream, but try to remember when it’s time to wake up.”

           Will couldn’t bring himself to admit out loud that he was already awake –had been since Jack Crawford first showed up to inform him that the Minnesota Shrike was dead.

           This is the most fun you’ve had in years.

[ellanainthetardis]

Summer Books Reviews

I’ve said I’d do a book review for the Grisha verse and then I remembered I also said I’d try to do more book reviews because of reasons (like the fact I had a book blog once upon a time, you know) so I thought I’d do a pot pourri of my summer readings.

I’m actually happy because I read a lot this summer. I think I managed a book a week give or take, without taking into account the  various comics (I’ve read all the Buffy comics I could find, sue me, I am in a PHASE). So without further ado, here are my summer reads with a short review that may or may not be spoilerish.

The Night Circus – Erin Morgensten: I think I talked about this one already actually. I gave it a 5/5 on goodreads even though it took me a while to really get into it. It’s very very slow paced and although I liked the characters, I think it’s one of those books you either love or hate. The atmosphere is everything, it’s really awesome because the circus itself is like a character of sort. I loved the two main characters – I loved all the characters actually and I loved how the ending tied back to the beginning as well as the whole meta-reflection about storytelling and stories in general. I think it’s definitely not for everyone but it’s really worth a go.

The Stolen Throne (Dragon Age #1) – David Gaider: I gave it 4/5 on Goodreads. Well it’s no secret by now that I love fantasy and video games and that Dragon Age might be my most favorite franchise. Hell, how many times did I play the whole series by now? I think I’m at three Wardens, Two Hawkes, and at least 4 or 5 inquisitors. This first novel takes place decades before Origins and it was nice to have some more context than just the codex you find on the games. I think the story works very well without further knowledge of the games and everything and it was a nice little fantasy story. I adore Loghain, you have to understand and what I loved about the love triangle (and you won’t hear me say I love a love triangle often so enjoy) is that… They all could be together. I mean, I’m not really into OT3 but for the three of them I’d do an exception.

The Mercy Thompson Series – Patricia Briggs: I re-read the whole series which took me I think more or less the whole July month since there are ten books. I can tell you I give this serie a definite 5/5. It had been so long since I read it and I hadn’t finished it so I thought why not? If you love urban fantasy (modern world with vampires, werewolves, witches and the likes) this series is for you. I just love Mercy. I love the way the author handles sexual trauma as well as trauma in general. I mean, often it’s trashy and written for shock value ( I’m looking at you Career of Evil) and here it’s just… very well handled. It doesn’t fade in the background after a book, it’s something Mercy has to deal with recurrently, it’s just a master lesson in how to write trauma. BUT those books are also full of fun, love and family. I love all the characters in there and I plan on reading the spin off series very soon.

Opal (The Raven Cycle 4.5) – Maggie Stiefvater: Ok it’s a novella but it still counts. I gave it 2/5 and nobody is more disappointed than me by this rating given how much I loved the Raven Cycle (go read if you haven’t seriously). It just… Didn’t click for me. The point of view was very limited, it was hard to relate and it left too many stuff unexplored. But I guess it’s just a way to link TRC with the next series and I’m still very much hyped for what comes next whenever it comes.

Ready Player One – Ernest Cline: ah, that one. I slaved through it. I gave it a 1/5 but really I think it would be more of a 0.5/5. To me, it’s one of those rare rare times when you can say the movie was better than the book. What was even this book? I hated it. This book is an enabler. I say this being an introvert who has problems with social situation and who love video games, considers herself a geek and proud to be and had grown up in the 90s. This book is an enabler. It gives far too much excuses and never quite set out a clear morale. And it was boring. Really, I was surprised by the movie. I liked it a lot more than I expected it too – probably because it was very little like the book.

Fairest Of Them All: A Tale of The Wicked Queen – Serena Valentino: Another one I was disappointed it. I had a strike unfortunately. I gave it 1/5. It was all very… shallow. I wished for more depth and characterization but it was all very confused and confusing. I have little more to say about this one because I honestly don’t even remember. It was that unremarkable. I know I’ve read better fanfictions.

The Infinite Sea/The Last Star (The 5th Wave #2 and #3) – Rick Yancey: I’ve read those two back to back because I knew after The Infinite Sea I would never read the last one if I waited. I gave 2/5 to The Infinite Sea and 3/5 to The Last Star. I was so pumped by the 5th Wave. I remember reading it what… Two years ago? And I loved it. It was fresh and interesting, lots of plot twists… First thing I didn’t like about both books were the shifting povs. Some pov are first person (like Cassie’s, the main character) and some are third person. And that’s just plain weird. I know I have a problem with pov, I usually don’t like first person pov much but re-reading Mercy Thompson helped me get back on that horse. But if you constantly shift from I to he/she, it gets annoying really fast. The second book is mostly full of length and doesn’t have much happening except for Ringer (but I will come back to Ringer) and the third one was… confusing. Ok maybe I’m very dumb but I didn’t get it. Were they really aliens, was it all a plot, who were the real villains… I didn’t get it. The only positive point of both books was: RINGER. She’s the best character ever and she’s the only reason I slaved through those two books. She’s an ass kicking bad ass with a tactical mind to rival all and although the love story with Ben and the spoilerish thing I won’t talk about but let me say REALLY could have been maybe introduced a little better and would have deserved some more depth, I really really loved her arc. I saw a people say the ending was cliché and I might have thought so too but I think if the writing had been consistent and a little better, it might have been emotional despite the cliché.

The Secret Wife – Gill Paul: I gave it 1/5 I’m not even going to talk about it because I skimmed through the last of the book because it was SO bad I couldn’t keep reading. The premise looked soooo good, I usually love the dual present/past story and the Romanov aspect made me very interested but it was badly written and boring and simply meh.

Shadow & Bones / Siege & Storm / Ruin & Rising (The Grisha #1, #2, #3) – Leigh Bardugo: We’re here at last. OMG. Did I love this trilogy (with it’s many linking novellas?) YOU BET. I gave them all 5/5. Let me tell you something, this is MY JAM. I loved Alina Starkov. I LOVED her. She’s so relatable. All the cast of characters is amazing. The writing is just as amazing and I think it’s safe to say I will read anything by this author because I trust her completely. If you love fantasy, young adult and a good villain, this is the story for you. I didn’t like the main ship I won’t lie. I would have loved a good redemption final twist and the love interest was a little too bland compared to the villain and the King but… It didn’t spoil my enjoyment at all. I’m so HYPED on this verse right now.

The Obsession – Nora Roberts: I’m a big fan of Nora, I’ve read a lot of her books and I was a bit disappointed in this one. I gave it a 2/5. The story is okay and it’s nice to read. I mean, it reads easily, it doesn’t as for a lot of reflection. It’s a good story all in all and I would have put it a 3 or a 4 if not for something that has been jumping at me for the last couple of her books I read. I’m not one to jump up and down and scream misogyny at every turn but there’s a certain idea of a woman in her books that is starting to make me a bit… meh. Let me be clear. The male lead is cliché as can be, full of testosterone, riding a bike, a mechanic, a dog lover with a sensitive side because of course he loves books and while the female promised to be extremely strong and independent career woman, it’s not long before we fall into the a happy woman = a husband, a dog and a kid cliché. And that bothered me.

Six Of Crows (Six of Crows #1) – Leigh Bardugo: Ok there was such a hype around this one I was a little disappointed when I read it. I’m not much into incredible heist stories and to be fair, I read it right after I saw Ocean’s 8 (which was awesome) and it suffered from the (unfair and unconscious) comparison. I gave it a 2/5 BUT this being said I just loved the characters. I was already one hundred percent on board the Kaz/Inej train (didn’t you hear me shout as I passed by?) and the Jesper/Wylan one. Matthias and Nina both left me a little indifferent I will admit and I had troubles with so many povs crammed in one book. It was  lot of information everywhere and from every angle. I’m still happy I read it, do you know why? I will tell you. First I love the Grisha universe and it takes place in the same world a few years after and then: CROOKED KINGDOM BABY.

The Lies They Tell – French Gillian : I gave this one a 3/5. It’s a little detective story that reads very easily. It’s nothing exceptional but it will give you a good time.

Kindred Spirits – Rainbow Rowell: I have a problem with short stories/novellas. Always had. it always leaves me wanting more and that was my problem with my book. The moment I got into it, it ended so I gave it a 2/5 but it was really cool nonetheless. Would have liked to read more.

Crooked Kingdom (Six Of Crows #2) – Leigh Bardugo: OMG OMG OMG OMG. Ok, needless to say I gave this one a 5/5. I finished it yesterday so I’m still very much having FEELS. Maybe I wasn’t that much in Six of Crows but this book makes the read worth it, I promise. THIS IS JUST AMAZING. THE FEELS. FEELS EVERYWHERE. Kaz and Inej and their perfect love. Matthias… Nina and her addiction… Jesper and Wylan being cutiepies. I cried at the end. Do you know how often I cry reading books? very much not often. What I mean is: READ IT. READ THE WHOLE GRISHA VERSE. DO IT. DO IT. YOU NEED TO MEET DIRTHANDS AND HIS WRAITH. YOU NEED TO. THIS BOOKS IS PERFECT. IT WILL GIVE YOU FEELS. IT WILL GIVE YOU LIFE.