#and i AM apparently most susceptible to the lonely

[katealot]

.

[glaivenoct]

A Happy One

Pairing: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Nyx Ulric

Rating: Teen and Up

Words: 2,996

(ao3) I’d love to hear your thoughts :)

For day one of the @nyxnoctocalypse nyxnoct weekend! And for Noct, because he deserve nothing but good things~

“Happy birthday, baby.”

“It’s not my birthday yet.”

“It’s close enough, isn’t it?”

The clock on his desk is only a few short minutes away from midnight. Noctis sighs but smiles as he sinks back into his pillows. He’s looked forward to this call all day. Nyx promised it to him among littered kisses of apology before he left. Still, even as that mellow voice carries through the line, Noctis longs to hear it in person. To see the devilishly handsome face that matches it. Cozy up to that warm chest and tip his head up to thank him with a kiss.

Today marks the sixth day since Nyx was sent over the wall. It’ll be seven by the time he wakes up tomorrow. Noctis doesn’t know much about the assignment, and he’s pretty sure that only makes things ten times worse. Not knowing gives his head free reign to fill in the blanks, and often those blanks are filled with endless unfortunate scenarios. Scenarios in which Nyx returns grievously hurt or, even worse, doesn’t return at all.

Texts exchanged during Nyx’s brief moments of respite keep him a little sane, but nothing’s more comforting than the sound of his voice. It discredits every ridiculous fear his brain presents to him. Though, Noctis didn’t expect to miss him more than he already did as soon as he heard it again.

“Fine, but it’s not going to be that happy.”

“Not with that attitude, little king. I want you to have a good birthday, okay? You know I’d be there if I could.”

“Yeah, I know…” the disappointment in his voice almost betrays it, but Noctis would never even think about holding any of this against Nyx. “Sure there’s no miraculous chance you’ll come home early?”

“Still scheduled to come home Friday by the looks of it.”

Noct supposes coming home the day after his birthday isn’t as bad as two days after. Maybe he should be grateful for that, but he can’t help but feel a bit deflated. They were meant to have plans tomorrow after his respective time with his friends and father. Now he’s got little to nothing to look forward to after that.

Just a lonely apartment. A colder bed. A more restless night than usual. Noctis hasn’t missed any of those things since Nyx came into his life.

“I miss you…” he curls onto his side, hoping he doesn’t sound too clingy. He’s harbored the thought to himself and felt it clog up his chest for days. He needs Nyx to hear it even though he’s sure he already knows it.

“Miss you too, Noct. Every day.” Nyx says it so delicately, like it’s some sacred truth that could shatter the world should he utter it too loud. “You haven’t been worrying about me too much over there, have you?”

“Trying not to,” he yawns. “You don’t exactly make it easy for me sometimes, hero.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve been on my best behavior just for you.”

Nyx did promise that to him as well before he left. It was a promise accompanied by a kiss to his forehead, hands secured at the side of his neck, thumbs gliding along the edge of his jaw. Noctis remembers the way conviction glittered deep in those steel-blue eyes. He trusts those eyes and that promise more than anything, but he still couldn’t stop worrying.

Perhaps he won’t be able to until the moment he gets to jump back into Nyx’s arms.

“Really?” Noctis says it skeptically on purpose. “No visits to the medical tent today then?”

“Nah, but now that you mention it… I might be coming down with something.”

“With what?” He frowns. He was only teasing the first time, he didn’t really want there to be anything wrong. “You don’t get sick often.”

“I know, but I’m a lot thirstier for you than I usually am. I think the dehydration’s kicking in.”

Noctis blinks at the statement, momentarily trying to process whether he heard it correct or not. What Noctis is certain he can hear, despite the silence between them, is Nyx’s stupid, smug pride. He’s too proud of that line. Noctis doesn’t need to see his face to know that.

He shakes his head and bites his lip to contain a laugh. “What –”

“Yeah hi, can I get a tall drink of Noctis to go?”

That one breaks him, turning his snicker into full on laughter. He muffles the fit into his pillow and covers the side of his face with one hand. Never has Noctis been immune to the ridiculous things Nyx said sometimes. Being without that for almost a week does nothing but make him more susceptible to them.

It’s been days since he’s laughed this hard anyway.

“There’s the sound I’ve been itching to hear all day.” Nyx chuckles on the other end.

“You’re so cheesy,” Noct manages amid his subsiding laughter.

“You still love me, though.”

“Yeah,” he smiles to himself. “Somehow I do.”

He loves him to no end. In ways he couldn’t even comprehend. The sensation of it was always so raw, like a fierce storm sinking from his chest to the pits of his stomach. It’s a rush and a comfort. His adventure and his anchor. Also, the one thing keeping his brain from falling into a rabbit hole of panic. Not just about the imperativeness of Nyx’s safety, but about being moments away from being a year older. A year closer to inheriting the crown.

That fear’s become harder to ignore on the eve of his birthday in recent years. It takes distractions, routine breathing exercises, and the thought of spending much needed quality time with his loved ones to keep it all at bay.

How Noctis wishes he could spout his frustration off to whatever cosmic force dared to keep the staple of it all away from him. This little love he’s lucky enough to indulge in is exactly what he needs on this one night that counts the most. It’d be so much better if Nyx were physically here next to him. Though he probably shouldn’t dwell on it too much, lest the universe, gods, whatever, try to punish him further for it.

Noct will make do with Nyx’s voice no matter how much his heart aches for more.

“Hey, what time is it?” Nyx asks.

Noctis peers over his shoulder mid yawn in time to see the clock turn midnight. He stares at the numbers for a moment, already coaching himself to breathe deeply. “It’s midnight.”

“Happy birthday for real this time.”

Noctis can hear the smile in his voice and it steals his attention away from those numbers. He turns back ono his side, pulling his blanket up to his waist. Breathe and focus on Nyx’s voice. That’s all he needs to do.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, the corner of his lip twitching up.

“I’m going to make it up to you for missing your birthday, Noct. I promise.”

“You don’t have to make anything up to me, Nyx. You just have to come home.”

“That I have every intention of doing. I’ll kiss you so hard when I do.”

“Is that all?” he asks pointedly, petting the cold, empty space next to him. Six, if he could have Nyx here now, kissing him silly till he forgets he’s even a prince. If Noctis could just let go as Nyx slowly –

“Definitely not, but I gotta keep some of it a surprise, don’t I?”

Noctis blinks and hastily releases the sheets he apparently clutched into his hand during that train of thought. Screw gratefulness and the possibility of the gods punishing him further for complaining. A week without Nyx affects him on too many levels.

“I can’t wait,” he says, voice becoming heavy with sleep like his eyelids.

“Tired, baby?”

“Mm, a little.” Nyx’s beautiful, doting voice isn’t helping either now that he thinks about it. He rubs at an eye with his free hand and settles further into his pillow.

“You should get some sleep.”

Noctis shakes his head defiantly. “Don’t want to. I want to hear your voice. I miss it.”

“Want to talk till you fall asleep?”

“Please.”

“I have a funny story for you. It involves Crowe messing with Tredd this morning. Again.”

“Do tell.” Noctis smiles into his pillow and reaches for a loose one nearby to hold close to his chest. He sets his phone down next to him and presses the speaker button. Nyx’s voice fills the room as he gets into his story and Noct hugs his pillow. The setup isn’t perfect, but it’s the closest he can get to pretending Nyx is right next to him. Warm, safe and happy.

They spend the next hour exchanging anecdotes from the past week until they end up talking about the most trivial things. Yet it’s the most important conversation he’s had in a week, keeping him at ease and far away from pesky thoughts of the crown. Noct’s half surrendered to sleep towards the end of it. Nyx’s voice comes as a soothing buzz in the back of his consciousness.

He hums once or twice when he thinks he hears him calling his name. He thinks he hears laughter, one final birthday wish, and a soft “Sweet dreams, little king.”

His dreams are only sweet because Nyx is home in them. Bringing him coffee, kissing him and lazing in bed without a single care or responsibility.

How disappointing to rouse the next morning, reach across the sheets and feel no one next to him. Noct’s brows crease, eyes remaining closed as a groggy whine sounds from his throat. He retreats into his slumber, hoping to meet Nyx in his dreams once more, but he doesn’t. He dreams of nothing.

Hours later, his senses are assaulted by pleasant smells and strange noises. When his eyes peek open, he’s surprised to see light coming in from the hallway. He turned everything off before bed, didn’t he? He thought he didn’t leave the door too wide open either.

There’s an extra blanket draped over him as well. It’s one he knows he left on the couch in the living room, and it’s tucked all the way up to his shoulders. Noctis blinks at it curiously and then hears a faint clank from outside his door.

It sounds like it’s coming from the kitchen. Noctis remembers what he smelled a minute ago. Something sweet and savory from what he can tell. Breakfast. Definitely breakfast.

Iggy? He asks himself. It makes sense. He’s gotten birthday breakfasts before, but Ignis usually asks for his preferences. Had he missed a text from him yesterday? Noctis turns onto his back with a yawn, pawing at his pillow for his phone. Something crinkles beneath his arm when he grabs it. He pulls away startled and turns his head, eyes wide open now.

A small bouquet of blue violets rests next to him, wrapped neatly in tan paper and clear cellophane. Noctis sits up at the sight, palm hovering hesitantly over them. He’s careful as he brings them into his lap, glancing back at his open door. Iggy…? No, Ignis hasn’t given him flowers since he his stay in Tenebrae all those years ago. Prompto and Gladio have never given him flowers for as long as he can remember. It would’ve been syllelblossoms if it were Luna.

Noct turns the bouquet over in his hands to search for a tag or a card, but there’s nothing. He reaches for his phone again to check the date. It’s not Friday. He did not sleep through his own birthday.

Sure enough, his phone tells him it’s Thursday. But Nyx said…

There’s a promising sizzle beyond his door, beckoning Noctis to pull himself out of bed with his flowers hugged to his stomach. Hope twists into his chest as he quietly steps out into the hall. The tantalizing aroma of coffee, cinnamon and bacon hit him all at once. Noctis pauses to take in a big whiff of it.

Then he peeks around the corner. There’s an array of food set out on the counter – a huge stack of chocolate chip pancakes resting on one plate, a curling wisp of steam indicating them being fresh from the griddle. A plate of toast is just across from that and Noct feels his mouth watering the second he recognizes that’s where the cinnamon’s coming from. Cinnamon toast drizzled with icing. A medium pan filled with scrambled eggs is lined up next to the one with golden hashbrowns. There’s even a small plate of sausage links and a bowl of fruit.

Sitting right in the middle of the delightful spread is a plush black chocobo. Tied around its body is string leading up to three balloons, each with vibrant birthday wishes printed on them. Noctis steps into plain sight, covering his mouth as something squeezes in his chest.

The best part of it all has his back to him, reaching to turn off the oven top.

“Get out,” Noctis blurts, grinning wide and dopey. Nyx turns around with a pan of fresh bacon in hand, greeting him with a smug quirk of his lips as he sets it down.

“And here I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“Get out!” Noctis bounces on the back of his heels, laughing giddy like a child on a sugar high. One second he’s standing across the way, by the next he’s warping right into his glaive’s arms. Nyx catches his weight with a startled yelp, failing at maintaining his balance.

They collapse together, breath expelling from Nyx’s lungs once his back meets with the kitchen floor. Noctis’ flowers plop down next to his head while the prince buries his face into his neck to stifle his joyous laughter.

“Ow…” Nyx’s own laughter bubbles up behind his groan. “Ow, shit. Wow. You really did miss me.”

An understatement, to be honest. Noctis proves it when the only response he can manage is his hysterics. He nuzzles his face against the stubble he’s longed to feel for days. It makes the hair on the back of his neck rise when it brushes his ear. His fit dwindles down into sporadic giggles and Nyx’s arms come around his back to hug him so hard it hurts.

Gods, does it hurt so good. Gods, does Nyx smell so good. Like cinnamon and leather. His voice sounds better, too, when it isn’t altered through the cell’s microphone. Noctis lifts his head and looks straight into Nyx’s eyes, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Surprise, little king,” he says, a smaller smile upon his lips.

“How?! When I talked to you on the phone – I even asked you-”

“So by some miraculous chance, we did everything we needed to do and Drautos gave us the okay to come home early. I was home for about twenty minutes before I called you.”

“You ass!” Noctis shoves at Nyx’s chest, getting a chuckle out of him. “Why didn’t you just tell me?!”

“And miss all of this?” Nyx alludes to their current predicament and lets his hands slide down to his hips. “Nah, it was better this way.”

“You suck.”

“Yeah,” Nyx grins, one hand coming to the side of his neck, fingers scratching into his scalp. “I missed you too.”

Noctis leans into the touch, eyes falling shut as he purrs happily. He doesn’t have the right words to tell Nyx how much he missed him, only an avid urge sending chills down his spine the more Nyx plays with his hair. He opts to show him instead with a hungry kiss, bringing a surprised noise out of Nyx. He adjusts seconds later to keep up with Noct’s lips, returning them in full.

Good, because Noct didn’t forget Nyx saying he’ll kiss him hard for even a second.

“I made you breakfast,” Nyx says breathless as Noct nips at his lower lip teasingly. He sits up, careful to keep Noct in his lap as he scoots back against the cabinets. He grabs the fallen bouquet of violets and hands it to him.

“It smells great. You bought me flowers, too...” Noctis hugs them to himself again, staring down at their deep color like they’re the most precious thing in the world.

“You like ‘em?”

He nods. “I love them.”

“Good, because I spent half the ride to Insomnia trying to figure out the best last-minute gift I could get you.”

“You bought me flowers…” Noctis says appalled and looking up from them, “and balloons. A chocobo plushie. You made me a big breakfast. You came home a day early with no major injuries from your stupid hero antics…”

“Hey –”

Noctis grabs his face to cut him off with another kiss. The gentle press of his lips assuring Nyx of every ounce of appreciation he holds. This is the single damn thing he wanted. The tangibility of Nyx’s physical presence confirming his safety. Noctis needs no more or less. Everything else is merely a heartwarming bonus threatening to bring tears to his eyes.

That’s the thing about his relationship with Nyx. It’s always the simplest things Noctis holds dear. The most mundane moments that make his heart scream with content. Though, this is far from mundane to Noctis. It’s the missing piece to the perfect birthday. The one thing he was prepared to curse the gods and the universe for should they keep it from him.

“You’re here for my birthday. You’re safe,” his voice softens on the last word, thumbs stroking over scruff. “Nyx, that’s the best gift I could’ve ever asked for. Thank you.”

The violets get squished between them when Noctis leans back into him. He wraps his arms around the back of his neck, resting his head on Nyx’s shoulder. He feels Nyx smirking against his skin before kissing his cheek.

“Happy birthday, Noct.”

“Guess it really is a happy one after all.”

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Vital Signs, Part 5

Word Count: 2099 Tags: @to-pick-ourselves-up-7 and @outside-the-government, @jimfromsales, @donnaintx 

I woke up to my pager and was momentarily disoriented. I lifted my head from the textbook I’d dozed off into, wiped the drool from the corner of my mouth and checked the message. As usual, I was wanted in the ER.

After returning to finish my residency at Midtown General, it became apparent very quickly that SHIELD, and in particular Director Fury, had made it clear to my residency program that I was to be accelerated through to finish as soon as possible, and that I needed my focus to be trauma. As a result, I always kept a clean set of clothes in my locker, and I hadn’t seen my apartment in about 6 days. TV shows might lead you to believe that a lot of naughty happens in the on-call rooms, but I would have killed anyone who came near me looking for blow off steam. I was too tired and too worried about my boards.

I ran down to the ER to find out what was happening. I checked in with the triage nurse.

“Hey, thanks for answering my page. There’s a really hot guy here with a deep laceration on his arm, and he said he knows you and only wants you to treat him. Curtain two.” She handed me the chart. I flipped it open as I opened the curtain and couldn’t help but smile when I looked up.

“Captain Rogers! It’s been too long,” I said warmly. He smiled back and then directed his gaze to his arm. He pulled back the makeshift dressing he was holding on it. I dropped the chart.

“Holy shit, Steve. What the hell?” The gash in his forearm was about 3 inches long and oozing blood. I grabbed a pair of gloves and started poking at it.

“Would you believe this is a gym injury?” He blushed.

“Really? The equipment is fighting back?” I pulled a dressing cart behind the curtain and set about cleaning it up. It was a clean tear, but it was deep.

“Actually, yeah. It’s a long story, but part of a press machine popped apart.”

“At least I know your tetanus shot is up to date,” I laughed, “but you’re going to have to help me out. I know your healing is accelerated, but is it enhanced too? If you were a normal guy I would put a couple of internal stitches in and then stitch up the laceration, but I don’t know if that’s appropriate here? You must have been hurt at some point during the war, right? What did the docs do then?” I was trying to keep quiet. Most people had no idea that Captain America had been found, and thawed back into life. It was probably why he sought me out for treatment.

“I’m not magical, Lex. If you would put stitches in a normal guy, then I need them too. I’ll just need them out sooner than the average guy,” he chuckled. I shot him a look and opened the dressing cart to dig for sutures. I stitched his wound closed and put a dressing on it.

“I’m going to guess you’re still susceptible to infection as well, so I’m going to give you a shot of penicillin too. But otherwise, you are all fixed up. I can take those out in a few days for you, pretty much as soon as they start to itch.” I wrote the penicillin order in his chart and dropped it back in the chart rack so the nurse could get the med ready. I returned to his bedside to clean up.

“You didn’t mention you were a doctor when we spoke.”

“Because I wasn’t, Steve.”

“But your name tag says Doctor now, Lex. I might have been asleep for a while, but I know med school takes longer than a few weeks.”

“It’s a long story.” I gestured to the busy ER.

“Meet me for dinner sometime and tell me about it,” he shrugged, and stood up.

“Why, Captain Rogers, are you asking me on a date?” I couldn’t help but smile. He was very hot. And he seemed really nice, so far. And he was Captain Fucking America, which was kind of cool, and seemed to suggest he was probably a pretty decent guy.

“I don’t know. Am I?” He seemed surprised, and looked down at his feet before looking back up at me. “Listen, I’ve been told that I can use my phone to send letters, if I have your phone number. Is that true?” He dug into his pocket for his phone.

“It is. Do you want me to put my number in there for you?”

“Yeah, I’m still figuring it out. I feel pretty stupid sometimes.” He handed it to me. I added my number, and sent myself a text from his phone so I had his as well before handing it back.

“There, now I have your number too. I’m supposed to have tomorrow and Thursday off, but I’ve been up for about 36 hours, so I am not going to be great company tomorrow. Let me know if Thursday works for you.”

“Sure. Thanks Lex. I don’t know a lot of people, and Fury has asked me to keep a low profile,” he blushed. I had to wonder exactly how awkward he’d been before he got the super serum that turned him into a hero. He seemed awfully shy.

“You don’t need to apologize for wanting to be friends, Steve. I’m lonely too.”

“Thursday then,” he said and shook my hand, which was a little weird. I nodded and excused myself. I checked in with the head nurse to make sure he got his antibiotic shot, and went back to the on-call room to keep studying. If I was going to take an evening off to hang out, I needed to redouble my study efforts. The boards were in just a few weeks.

I was jogging through Central Park when my text alert chirped in my ear. I stopped running and pulled my phone out of the running sleeve to check the message and immediately cracked up.

“Dear Alexandra,

I hope you are well and got some sleep last night. The weather has been great the last couple of days, it would be a shame for you to miss out on enjoying it. Further to our conversation on Tuesday at the hospital, I wanted to make sure you were still available for dinner tonight. If you are, I would like to meet you at the hospital at 1800, and from there we can continue out for the evening. I am looking forward to seeing you, and hope you enjoy the plans I’ve made. Please let me know if you received this letter. It seems very strange to be sending you a letter through this tiny phone.

Sincerely,

Captain Steve Rogers”

I was laughing so hard I started to cough and had to sit down on a bench. I quickly typed a response, careful to make sure it would make sense and not seem short with him and continued on with my run. I received another text back from him as I was running up the stairs to my apartment.

“Lex,

Thank you for writing back so quickly. I had no idea the letter would reach you as fast as it did. I’m glad we can still get together. And thank you, I will remind you to show me how to make text messaging easier. I would appreciate it. I’m having a hard time with how much technology has changed.

Steve”

He was so naïve it hurt. And I was really looking forward to our ‘date’.

True to his word, at six p.m., Steve was waiting outside the doors of the ER. Even better, he was holding out a Starbucks cup.

“The clerk said I should try a caramel macchiato, but I like mine black. I hope you do too,” he smiled. I was totally taken in by his offer, and accepted the coffee while giving him a quick appraisal. Yep, lots had changed since the 1940s. He was wearing a button down shirt, open at the collar, and I could see he had a white t-shirt underneath it. It was paired with khaki Dockers that were belted appropriately at his waist, and not hanging down showing the top of his underpants off. He looked old-fashioned and at the same time, so incredibly hot.

“You look great, Steve,” I offered.

“Thanks, you look fantastic. I had no idea your hair was so long. Or so red,” he said. And then blushed.

I’d been careful in picking out what to wear. So far, he’d only actually seen me in scrubs or my archery whites, and he’d been back long enough that I didn’t think the pants on women would be really shocking anymore, but I opted to wear a wrap dress anyhow. And to be honest, it was the only dress I had. I was wearing a heeled boot that brought my height to just above his shoulder, which was nice. I usually wore flats around guys just because anything more than 2 inches and I wound up six feet tall. It’s unnerving to be that tall. Steve was tall enough that I didn’t look like a giant. I linked my arm in his and smiled at him.

“Where to, Cap?”

“I hope this isn’t too forward, but I was hoping we could go to my apartment. I’ve discovered that I really like cooking since I’ve been… back.” He waited for my response.

“I love a man who can cook.” We walked off the same direction I’d come from and when he stopped in front of my building I couldn’t help but laugh.

“You live here?” I asked. He nodded. I held my door key up.

“It must be SHIELD building,” he laughed.

He definitely had the better apartment. I had a bachelor suite, no bedroom, tiny kitchen, miniature bathroom. He had a separate bedroom, and a decent sized kitchen that opened into a living room that was roomy enough to accommodate a big TV. I was jealous. The aroma in the apartment was amazing. He’d obviously figured out enough about the 21st century to realize that I was not going to have a problem having dinner at his place, as he’d already set something in the oven. Whatever it was, it was mouth watering. I sat down on a bar stool across the counter from where he was working and watched him. He immediately set about making a salad, obviously not used to company, as he was humming tunelessly. To say I was smitten would be an understatement. He probably drank a gallon of milk every day and cared for orphans too.

“What’s that you’re humming?” I couldn’t resist asking. He turned bright red.

“Oh, uh. It’s old. You probably wouldn’t know it. Glenn Miller.”

“Love Glenn Miller. I just didn’t recognize the tune.” My grandfather had been in a band in the 40s, and his love of playing had been one of the highlights of my childhood. The thought gave me pause. Steve was probably born around the same time.

“Yeah, the serum didn’t cure me of being tone deaf,” he laughed, “Oh, I’m a terrible host. Can I offer you a drink? I have Coca-Cola or milk. Or water, I guess.” I bit the inside of my cheek. He did drink milk.

“Still working on my coffee, but thanks.” We sat in an amiable silence for a while as he continued to prepare dinner.

“It smells amazing,” I offered when he pulled the pan out of the oven. He dished up and came and sat on the bar stool beside me to eat. But first he said grace. I wasn’t sure who was suffering worse culture shock, him or me. Alone in his apartment we were equally odd to one another. I could understand wanting to spend the evening together here. After dinner, he invited me to stay for a movie. I decided I probably could stay, as I just needed to go down a single flight of stairs to get home. I got comfortable on the couch while he made popcorn and chatted excitedly about how much he was enjoying catching up on the movies he’d messed.

I woke up to my phone ringing, stretched out on the couch under a blanket, with the sun shining brightly into my eyes.

“Yeah?” I answered.

“Dr. Richmond. You are late for rounds.” It was the chief attending at the hospital.

[aion-rsa]

Wonder Woman 1984’s Maxwell Lord is a Trumpian Villain For Our Time

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

The best movie villains are ones who tie into a deeper theme. The Dark Knight Joker isn’t scary solely for his mad unpredictability, he is terrifying because he embodies a thematic nihilism that Bruce has chosen to fight against every time he puts on the cowl. It will (hopefully) be six weeks before we see Wonder Woman 1984, but Den of Geek had the chance to garner some insight into the sequel film during a set visit two years ago.

Coming away from that visit, I was most excited about the relevance of the film’s main themes to contemporary America. While the Wonder Woman sequel is set in 1984, it seems to be a story that taps into the anxieties and frustrations of late stage capitalism (though the producers and cast never used this terminology). Wonder Woman 1984 antagonist Maxwell Lord (played by The Mandalorian‘s Pedro Pascal) is the perfect villain to embody that theme. Described by producer Anna Obropta as a “desperate, self-obsessed, fraudulent entrepreneur who runs a business selling the American dream,” Wonder Woman 1984‘s depiction of a villain doesn’t sound so far away from what many of our society’s real-life villains look like, and that might not be a coincidence…

Maxwell Lord has a long history in the comics. First introduced in 1987’s Justice League #1 and previously depicted on-screen in Smallville and Supergirl, Lord is generally depicted as a cunning and powerful businessman. In Wonder Woman 1984, he is the president of Black Gold International, a corporation that promises to give the people of America, according to the trailer, “everything [they] always wanted.”

“[The 1980s] was the height of everything that we’re now paying the price for,” says director Patty Jenkins. “It was like we thought for sure it could go on forever and there was going to be no price and you could just exponential growth then it could keep going and all of this excess. And so I think, in that way, we’re talking about then and we’re also talking about right now. We’re talking about what we’re dealing with right now because that struggle is very much alive in our own psyche.”

Producer Anna Obropta expands on this discussion of theme by highlighting the decision to set the sequel film in 1984.

Why 1984? America was at the peak of its power and its pride. It was everything from commercialism, fashion, wealth, even violence was in excess. It was a decade of greed and desire with time of me and more, so America was really at its peak. It was humanity at its best and at its worst. 1984 because it was a year of lessons learned, lessons for a goddess warrior and lessons for all of us.

How does Maxwell Lord tie into all of this? He epitomizes that greed and desire, building his unsustainable business model on that part of all of us that wishes for having without consequence. As Jenkins puts it: “[He is] somebody who’s everything about that era and what we believed in then that has resulted in who we are now.”

When it comes to a film, nothing you see on screen is a coincidence. It was a conscious, ideally story-driven choice made by a production department under the vision of the director. When it comes to the aesthetic of Maxwell Lord, it’s not a coincidence he dresses like Donald Trump circa 1980-something. When we visit the costume department, a photo of 80s-era Trump is on a board of inspirations for Lord’s costuming.

“[Maxwell Lord is a man who] appears to have quite a bit of money, but not so much taste,” costumer designer Lindy Hemming tells us. “So he has really beautiful tailoring done by lovely tailors, and beautiful fabrics, really elegant and expensive, but just something is not quite right. How’s that? They don’t quite fit and they’re not quite right. And I’m sure that people will think I don’t know anything about tailoring when they see it, but the truth is, that’s how we wanted them to be.”

Speaking about using a younger Trump as inspiration, Hemming says: “There is something about the period of Donald Trump and being a businessman, isn’t there, of being rather sleazy a little bit, and a bit goofy and a lot of talk. So that’s why he’s there.”

Much of the action in Wonder Woman 1984 is based in Washington D.C. During our set visit, we get to tour Diana’s swanky-yet-comfortable, D.C.-based apartment, as well as a White House Oval Office set where, presumably, Maxwell Lord spends some time. Later in the set visit, we watch Jenkins films a scene that sees Diana and Steve facing off against Maxwell Lord and his henchman in the halls of the White House—another not-so-subtle hint that, while Lord is very much his own filmic character with a history in the comics, his specific portrayal in this film draws at least partial inspiration from the real-life antagonist currently sitting in the real-life Oval Office.

“You know, what I wanted this movie to be about was pretty clear fairly early on,” says Jenkins, discussing the thematic important of truth and its manipulation in the film. “There is something about what the world wants to talk about right now, and [Diana] happens to have this lasso of truth, and truth ends up figuring in very large.”

It should be noted that, like most big-budget studio tentpoles, this film is not overtly political. In fact, when discussing having filmed in D.C. and the city’s prominence in the film, Gal Gadot specifically says: “The movie is not a political movie, but … it taps on issues that are very current.”

I don’t believe there is such a thing as an apolitical movie—films that viewers tend to classify as such are really just movies that reinforce the political and social status quo. I doubt that Wonder Woman 1984 is going to be particularly subversive (though, frankly, as a big-budget Hollywood film that centers women in positions of creative authority both in front of and behind the camera, its existence in and of itself is subversive), but I am interested in the filmmakers interest in using the 1980s as a setting not solely for its fun fashion and its hip tunes, but as “a metaphor for this time,” as producer Charles Roven puts it.

The best antagonists and themes also challenge our hero in some way. Maxwell Lord and his promise of easy happiness driven by greed and desire goes against everything that Diana believes in and works for, but that doesn’t mean she might not be susceptible to the temptation. (Isn’t it interesting that Steve Trevor somehow appears decades after his death?)

When we catch back up with Diana, she is secretly saving the world as Wonder Woman, but also working in cultural anthropology and archeology at the Museum of Natural History in the Smithsonian.

“While she’s still doing her best to stoically perform her duty to protect humanity, we learn early in the film that she’s very slightly disengaged with the world, and a bit lonely,” says Obropta. “The world whips around her, as people chase after dreams of wealth and power and fame, dreams that are apparently for sale by [Lord].”

The film’s other antagonist, Kristen Wiig’s Barbara Minerva (aka Cheetah), is one of the people who buys what Lord is selling. While Barbara enters the story as Diana’s co-worker and newfound friend, she “falls prey to this scheme of Black Gold International,” says Obropta.

“She starts to transform,” continues Obropta. “At first look, it is a dream come true. She’s wished for and now feels more confident. She feels more beautiful. She feels physically stronger. She feels more seen and respected in the world, but her power takes a very fast, very dark turn as she transforms into this vicious and savage creature, like nothing we could have ever imagined.”

Barbara isn’t the only person whose dreams begin to come true.

“At first, it’s great,” says Obropta, “but what happens if you get everything you ever wanted, everything you think you deserve? … What happens when the entire world gets what they want at the same time? What are the consequences for Barbara? For [Maxwell Lord]? For Diana? For you and for the world?”

Through a certain lens, it’s a capitalist thought experiment wrapped up in a superhero movie, and I say that with the utmost delight presuming that it is still going to be mostly epic fight sequences and Diana getting shit nobly done. Movies don’t have to be overtly political to mean something. They’re reflecting and impacting our culture whether they are meant to or not, whether we want them to or not. I appreciate that Wonder Woman 1984 seems to be trying something thematically new, especially in its use of the 1980s not simply as an excuse to rock shoulder pads and Walkmans but as a major turning point in our country’s relationship to and execution of its capitalist ideals.

“I would say that it’s a good bet that Patty was using that time as a metaphor for this time,” reflects Roven. “There are a lot of similarities to where the world was. It’s remarkable how those similarities just keep growing.”

Wonder Woman 1984 hits theaters on October 2nd. Warner Bros. will be dropping a new trailer for the film this Saturday during the Wonder Woman 1984 panel at 1pm ET at DC Fandome.

The post Wonder Woman 1984’s Maxwell Lord is a Trumpian Villain For Our Time appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3aDBZsD

[anneedmonds]

This is Not #CottageCore

Here I am, wafting about underneath a canopy of wisteria. It all looks very serene and idyllic, but don’t let appearances fool you! Just out of shot: a cockapoo eating the remains of a small dead bird, a three year-old trying to touch the remains of the aforementioned small dead bird, Mr AMR shouting at both the dog and the three year-old in an attempt to get them to leave the dead bird alone and a four year-old crying because her empty blackbird eggshell has broken again.

(The egg is called Layla. Everything seems to be called Layla in this house, from dinosaur torches to “precious” stones that have been unearthed from the flower bed. But now we also have the remains of a tiny egg, called Layla – it’s the smallest slither of impossibly delicate, pale blue shell. It started off as roughly two-thirds of an empty shell, but four year-olds have no concept of the word “fragile” and so within two seconds it became half of an empty egg and half a day later the majority of that had disintegrated too.)

Anyway. I read an article at the weekend that discussed something called “cottagecore” which apparently is a sort of romanticised vision of what people think their lives would be like if they lived in the country. Possibly in a tiny, wisteria-hung, seventeenth-century thatch cottage, making pots of jam on the AGA and securing little squares of red and white gingham over the tops of the jars with bits of old string.

Now I’m not one to shatter people’s dreams (I also don’t live in a cottage, so perhaps I don’t even count) but if you’re living in the city and tinkering with the idea of finding a remote abode somewhere and replacing your daily London commute with Zoom meetings plus a weekly office trip then note that:

a) you will never make jam, or if you do then you will make it only once

b) you will want to take a sledgehammer to your AGA within a matter of weeks

c) your thatch will have a bazillion insects and small, crawling animals living in it – think of it like Mr Twit’s beard, but with more activity

Oh, it’s easy to see country life as one big romp around the haystacks in a smocked white dress, but the reality is is that you’ll spend 90% of the time wearing your oldest tracksuit bottoms and mud-caked wellies, standing on the roof of your car in an attempt to find some mobile phone signal. And if you’re doing that then you’re probably trying to phone the oil people to come and fill your oil tank or the sewerage people to come and empty your septic tank or a roofer to come and repair your ancient roof.

I jest, of course. I am the most susceptible person ever to romanticised visions of pastoral life – how do you think I ended up here? And country life has much going for it – a slower, less frenetic pace, clean air, lots of space and greenery and wildlife, gorgeous old stone houses and picturesque #cottages – but dear God don’t think that you’ll suddenly turn into the sort of person who has time to make jam. Unless, that is, you’ve already got the time to make jam.

One of the biggest things I’ve realised, since moving to the sticks, is that plopping yourself somewhere geographically different, especially somewhere more remote, will not in itself automatically change your life. We moved from the outskirts of London to the depths of Somerset with a two year-old and a six month-old baby and for some reason, perhaps because I was postpartum and slightly crazed, I thought that by escaping to the country we would also escape the overwhelming intensity of our everyday lives. But if anything it made life harder. People (the three that we knew in our new county!) were suddenly more spread out – there was no peering out of the window on the offchance that we’d get a friendly wave – and each trip to the shops or a cafe or a baby class involved an epic loading and offloading of small children into the car, so much so that eventually I just didn’t bother.

And you think you won’t miss the bright lights of the city (“I never use the theatres anyway! Why pay such a premium to live in a city when I don’t even use it?”) but once you’ve unpacked all of your boxes in your remote Herefordshire manor house/Devonshire bothy and you’ve knitted your hemp blanket to keep the vegetable patch warm, won’t you be itching for just a little bit of excitement?

Just playing devil’s advocate! Don’t shoot the messenger!

It has taken me the good part of three years to get used to living in the countryside. Granted, I did double-whammy and moved the whole way across the country as well as going remote (what can I say? The house sang to me like a wanton temptress) but still. There are things to consider – things that don’t seem important at the time of moving, but will gradually creep up on you after the three month Honeymoon period is over.

It starts with a general sense of unease – a niggling feeling of is this it? – and then it grows, daily, until winter sets in and you feel the full, bleak force of untempered weather. Because there are no distractions, really, if you’re out in the middle of nowhere; you wake up and look outside and it’s all about the weather. In winter that means rain, rain, wind and a lot of mud. In a town, or in the city, you notice the weather but I feel as though it’s more of an inconvenience if it’s bad – and a huge bonus if it’s good. Life still goes on, streets have Christmas lights and stalls have mulled wine; but if there are no buzzing cafes, bustling pavements and nice shops, and your immediate entertainment involves walking, tending to the garden and more walking then… It’s a different way of life.

I now feel at peace with it, but it’s taken a while and I’m not afraid to admit it. I’ll also come out and say: it can be lonely. There.

So, people lusting after the cottagecore life; if you’re feeling isolated now, in lockdown, then it’s a good time to consider how you would feel with the slightly different level of ongoing isolation that living remotely brings. True, outside of lockdown you are free to socialise and visit family and meet friends at the local organic (“all meat is raised and butchered on the estate!”) pub but everything is slightly more effort. You don’t just pop out for a donder to the shops if you live in a hamlet – you pop out to walk the dog and yes, you see the owls taking flight as the sun goes down and you get to appreciate the sound of absolute, definitive silence as you lay your head on your pillow at night, but you have to ask yourself, would you miss the sound of human life around you?

If the answer is no then go full steam ahead with your #cottagecore dream. Have chickens pecking at your doorstep and dry your boots on the top of the AGA and lomp down to the river with the dog instead of queuing to get into the tube station at Holborn at rush hour. For me, the benefits of living in lots of space and peacefulness vastly outweigh the perks of the city, but then I did live in London for over a decade, then a few more years within easy commuting reach, and I feel as though I got my fix.

So who am I to tell you what you want? If the #cottagecore life seduces you and you find yourself on Rightmove then the best of luck – maybe I should write a guide on what to consider! Just don’t expect to make jam…

The post This is Not #CottageCore appeared first on A Model Recommends.

©2020 " This is Not #CottageCore published first on https://medium.com/@SkinAlley

[complete-messs-blog]

BEFORE WE Begin

The skin tone, sex, area, workplace, income degree and also any other variable tend not to exclude you from being a target of crime.  If you have a gentle goal you are certain to become chosen.  This list intends to allow you to a tricky target, a challenging marker to get a criminal to reduce any such thing from even happening but nothing is foolproof.  In cases like this, no quantity of awareness or training has been "crime-proof" nonetheless it's useful.  These self defense hints may really induce more offenders to skip you however, that the truth is that there continue to be times when, even the extreme vigilance remains inadequate to protect against a terrible guys plans. All training and knowledge originates out of a police foundation through COBRA while offering insight to the way the criminal believes unlike any additional training encounter.   It is possible to find it on the market on Amazon. The Ideal self defense hintsNo1 -- LOCK AND RELOCATE You moved directly into the food store to get a evening ice cream encounter.  In the right path back into your own vehicle in the parking lot you're planning about the ideal status upgrade to place with a fuzzy image about your trip and following plans to devour the whole pint.  You accomplish your vehicle, unlock the doors, set your goods over the passenger chair and then wind up launching your cellular program.  You're a sitting duck as well as a simple target.  Criminals prefer to see and await their own opportunity.  They watched you walk in and judged one to be poorer and bigger compared to those.  They then remained hidden in an close space to a own vehicle prepared to reevaluate their strategy up on your return. Consistently LOCK the doorway instantly upon sitting in your auto and re-locate.   This opens our simple self defense hints and can be 1 thought to reside. No2 -- SMART Social Media Marketing Still another interpersonal networking example here, but you should be real you're utilizing it and it's a significant portion of our society now for everything from business to pleasure.  Now I am confident you are not buddies using a maniacal offense boss or bad henchmen but let us imagine your kid's friend from throughout the street can understand your profile along with a few among his friends isn't the most useful of impacts.  Watch the links which may be made here?  Putting where you are, that you'll lonely throughout a definite length of time, moving on holiday or otherwise announcing your aims before time is not ever a fantastic thing.  Ladies decide to try to steer clear of this form of upgrade; "time and energy to savor a tub and also a picture in a lonely Saturday night having a glass of wine".  That you never understand that the apparently benign work secretary is enthusiastic about you personally, has found your speech by means of a collection of basic internet hunts and will appear unannounced.  You merely gave the terrible guy Time and Position to get a prime prospect.  This leads us into your simple TPM formula which most crooks dominate.   It's possible to get a grip on your own time and put to a degree however, the badguy will also have the drop for you personally when he chooses action. Discussing of societal websites however....you should certainly  follow our FB webpage from more upgrades Discussing of societal websites however....you should certainly  follow our FB webpage from more upgrades No3 -- Comprehend In Tent Criminals need some thing out of you personally.  The most usual are "Real Estate, Fun, Perversion or Revenge" That really is their aim.  I recently had been asked concerning ATM safety and selfdefense and seemed on WTSP Channel 10 TAMPA.  My information has been to be compliant and escape with no violence occurring.  It is possible to cancel your credit cards, regain your money or change out your jewelry in a subsequent time as you're going to be living!  You won't ever understand what weapon which offender gets, just how shaky they're of course when there is certainly just another criminal together with him hiding within the shadows.  When it's property afterward wise compliance, appropriate distancing and carrying in the complete description of this robber could be your thing to do.  But if the offense is switched into some one of those other types of objective it is the right time to struggle with whatever you've got.  This necessitates training.  Any quantity of reality selfdefense training is much better than nothing.  The important term there's REALITY.  Make certain that you're training for facts centered situations in a plan that's situated around those adventures.  (Twist for COBRA Self-defense) Self-defense Advice for Ladies No4 -- ASSESS YOUR MOST Susceptible MOMENTS Think of a criminal.  I understand that it's hard for individuals who comply laws and awaken each daytime to work a real job however it is crucial when seeking to re engineer a match intend to work contrary to them.  My spouse was putting our new born daughter right into her car seat above one yr ago and that I was still getting used to the complete routine.  There she had been dutifully in the office hoping to procure a infant with her handbag dangling off her out shoulder, then head buried within the auto and her rear into the world to get a good three minutes.  This is a chance.  We immediately realized this and began practicing in home until we can scan the location, simply take good care of procuring the kid and be prepared to LOCK and re-locate in less than 30 minutes.  Where have you been most exposed?

All of these are fantastic selfdefense tools however they don't prevent crooks out of beginning their way.  Have you ever had to utilize your taser at a real-life strike?  Have you ever used your martial arts learning street combat or merely in sparring?  When you own an instrument such as a taser, gun or other apparatus then exercise using it regularly.  Go on it out of this's hidden location and tip it.  Proceed to the scope to take at weekly.  Always keep in mind that real and reality time works much differently compared to game and theory.  Was a powerful athlete and been trained in kick boxing I believed I might take care of a dangerous situation when it ever arose.  After being a section of a COBRA presentation 4 years ago I realized I wasn't prepared.  That which I thought I'd do instantly collapsed along with also my strength and fighting styles skill disintegrated to a huge confused mess.  Under stress your system starts to seek our experience files intentionally  for a way to solve the lifethreatening issue.  One's heartrate increases, tunnel-vision ensues and flight or fight gets control.  Even authorities officers/military still receive yourself a amount with the plus they've been around in combat conditions!  Imagine the way youpersonally, together with NO training could react?  There's not any reality-based experience document for the stress a reaction to get at the moment therefore that it catches onto anything it may.  Maybe that indicates that you fall into floor and pay upward.   Worst of you all do so.  You suspend.  Avoid being lulled to sleep since you've bought a device/tool that lots of men and women state could be your "ultimate self defense".  Practice avoidance daily and also eventually become proficient with your weapon or apparatus.  

[odysseuscomplex-blog]

Brother

He was four years old when he died, three years before I was born.

His tiny, fragile body, cancer-ravaged, had been through two years of chemo, radiation, needles, IVs, poking, prodding, scans.

In his final hours, my mother told him that he would get to slide on rainbows and touch the stars.

Everything about it is perverse. To cross the threshold of death when the world was still so new and full of wonder for him. The only way I can bear it is to think of him in that playground.

(My eschatological views shift and change according to my feelings about existing, probably, but don’t everyone’s?)

He’s the reason that I’m around. My parents would never have had another kid if he had lived.

When I was just a month old, a fractious but hearty infant (crying for life, or crying because life is pain?), my mother felt a lump on me. It turned out to be a hernia -- *just* a hernia. I have a scar around the top of my pubes, which shows up more the shorter they are. I’ve shown it to lovers.

I have a head canon that this was a joke by one of the gods. A joke, or maybe a cruel shadow of another life, where I got the same cancer he did, born with it coursing through me, where I never had a chance to live. There’s infinite possible timelines for all of us, that much seems plausible.

There are times when I remind myself that I must live because he never got the chance. He never got to go to school, or kiss someone’s lips, or move across the globe, or grow into a tall strapping twenty-something -- but his sister did.

Sometimes I envision him as a child, or sometimes as an adult, the adult the universe, those clashing atoms, never let him become. Sometimes I wonder if we would get along, but in this timeline, in this universe, it was always impossible for us to exist on the same mortal plane at the same time. But there is a piece of him in me and his shadow on me. I can’t forget him, and I never want to forget him. I want to live in such a way to honour him, to make a small corner of all of that unimaginable horror somehow vindicated.

But maybe I can’t, and that’s the thought that gets me.

Sometimes, though, it’s that very thought that gives me vigour, that helps me feel the blood coursing through me. My physical health has always been pretty robust, barring a paronychia or two. I’m a large hairy dyke, always taller than the other girls, always broader, fuzzier, for most of my life fatter. I’m the tallest in my family. Some kind of twisted hypertrophy to form the obverse to that tiny child. The tallest, the most myopic, and apparently the only one anywhere in our genealogy to be queer, or over-susceptible to booze, or depressed to a degree to interfere with everything.

There’s no reason that I should be the fucked-up one, or maybe there is. Maybe I could never be him. Never have his bravery, his strength. What have I got to complain about, ever? I got life.

Clever joke, universe. Take life away from that boy, and give it to a woman whose brain won’t even let her enjoy it most of the time.

--

I have a thing about tenderness. I have a thing about making a lover a safe place, about making *myself* into a soft place for her to fall. A woman’s soft hands, and heartbeat; the way someone else’s warmth merges with my own. I wonder if there’s something perversely Freudian about my desire to melt into someone’s arms, to have them kiss my forehead and stroke my hair. Maybe I just want a mommy domme.

The night before I moved away from home, I snuggled into my mother’s arms and we cried together. Maybe a part of me knew that she could no longer protect me from the world, that it was all me now. Maybe I’ll always crave that insulation, that homeliness, that security, which hurt more because it was most intense at the moment it was about to disappear.

People say, Are you homesick? I am, but not for my country. I am homesick because I crave home. Growing up a misfit queerdo black sheep, a painfully sensitive and painfully shy cringing apologetic child - well, I suppose I never got over the sense that I have something to apologize to the world for, that there’s something problematic about the fact I exist, that I will never be able to atone for his loss and the gift of life that was given to me in his stead.

Why me? How am I worthy of this? I struggle with drinking in everything that life offers. I fight, I fight constantly, and no part of me will ever forget that my family would give anything for my brother to have had all that I have, life and health, a body filled with it. How could I ever be grateful enough? There’s no way. My family suffered things I could never comprehend.

I was a lonely dissatisfied kid who preferred fantasy worlds to anything else. I remember frequently complaining to my mother that I was bored (a boredom that, looking back, seems to have something anhedonic about it), and her stock response was Write a story, or draw a picture. So I wrote stories. I drew pictures. I spent countless hours playing video games. I was a tomboy who wanted to be a big, strong bearded superhero. Was it capacity I craved? Capability? 

I don’t want to be a bearded superhero these days. I want to be an Amazon warrior, fiercely and queerly devoted.

--

I think ultimately what I want is to be loved, fearlessly, recklessly. I am reckless, hasty, careless, though you’d never know it. The haste and the mess and the slapdashery, they’re all very queer things. I jump off cliffs on the reg. My heart has never known caution. It will run off in all directions, haphazard, desperately searching for home.

--

Every time I see the scar, I’m reminded of maybe the biggest reason for fighting.