#as in normally hes like...normally he emotes and moves oddly. because most of his roles are like that

[featherymainffins]

Kyle Gallner is somehow capable of looking both hot as hell and whiter than Wonderbread bread and twice as milquetoast at the same time. What do they keep doing with him on sets

[merrysithmas]

Obviously the Falcon show should've shown Bucky coming terms with the fact that he should write his OWN name in his book of victims.

It should have been made visually clear by the end of the series that he doesnt have to apologize for heinous crimes committed by Hydra hijacking his body and obliterating his bodily autonomy to incomprehensible levels, easentially using him like a criminal pump n dump. Every new assignment, new agonizing training, new puppetry, another violent rape of his body and mind.

Bucky is not at all even akin to say Tony Stark, who suffered immense guilt during the entire Infinity Saga regarding his former life as a weapons dealer. Tony's (valid) guilt resulted in a compulsive desire to protect the earth, ultimately ending in his voluntary death. Tony is time and again shown as a tortured hero despite his initial complacency in his morally bereft actions. Bucky gets no such luck- even though Bucky, in his former life, committed no such atrocities and in fact was likely one of the most heroic pre-superhero normals in the MCU.

Bucky was a well-liked, smart, athletic, happy boy who cast aside any manner of social expectation to throw in his lot, time, and energy, again and again, with chronically ill, disabled, social menace Steve Rogers. Bucky canonically nursed Steve's injuries, was his stalwart companion through all life's difficulties (his illnesses, his mother's death, Steve's psychological inferiority complex and mental anguish resulting from his social standing) and the Crash, and mostly importantly, Bucky did not want to go to war.

He was drafted (something that seemingly would have been key to bring up in Falcon re: his lifetime as an unwilling soldier). And, emotionally, Bucky ardently tried to dissuade Steve from joining the army, for fear he'd lose him. Despite not wanting to fight and being tortured, Bucky stayed in the military post-rescue from Azzano because he could not fathom leaving Steve. He planted his feet in a burning building shouting "No! not without you!" refusing to leave without Steve even after his rescue from months of torture. Til the end of the line, regardless of what happened to him.

For the next three entire films we see the frankly epic level of value Steve places on Bucky's devoted companionship. How desperately Steve valued Bucky's goodness and innocence (even above his own life, reputation, and safety).

Bucky doesn't have to cross out names he feels guilty about as if atoning for his own sins - and while the thought behind this narrative choice may have been to depict some semblance of retribution, this notion would have been much better expressed in another way. Such as: members of the public or others who were vicitmized in some horrible manner (domestic abuse, sexual abuse, scapegoats, other victims of Hydra etc) coming to Bucky instead to comfort him, welcoming him into a group designed to alieviate this solitary mental burden, or at least comiserate in some manner. Showing him he was not alone and who, exactly, he could be fighting for should he ever choose to fight again. The voiceless and disregarded, who only have Bucky who understands.

Also (though it seems to have engendered some faction of fandom vitriol), the removal of Bucky's arm during battle deserves consideration. This visual act was obviously narratively intended to show the unmatched prowess of the Dora Milaje and the justifiable premeditated cautiousness of Wakanda re: the generous rehabilitation of a dangerous mass weapon.

Though, it has the double-edged effect of showing how Bucky is still not an agent of his own bodily autonomy. His mental and physical freedom, his very ability to do his job and make his own choices therein, is still under the jurisdiction of someone else. His disability is his opposition's advantage (whether well-intentioned or not). Essentially, he is mistrusted. And it doesn't matter how much therapy he goes to, how much he atones for his "sins", his mind is still considered not to be fully and truly his. This is one of the most injurious of all things Bucky suffers - even those who rehabilitate him doubt the complete success of his healing. Therefore, his entire arc in the series is at best questionable simply with that alone.

His entire arc should clearly have been reframed to display his victimhood, and how the fact that he is mistrusted is also another burden and misfortune that he can work through and call others out for, instead of absorbing the guilt for that too.

Falcon does a poor job of showing how this "Bucky can't be trusted" mindset is highly injurious to his status as a victim, while mostly asserting it is a byproduct of his (alleged) villainy. It does not separate "alleged villainy" and "propensity for villainous actions as result of the abuse his suffered for 70 years". Instead of clarification on this for the viewers and Bucky himself we are, among other things, posed with the question - is the Winter Soldier still in Bucky?

Right there, you know the show was not intended to show much closure for the character, but rather wring-out, refresh, and even retroactively assert his alleged villainy over his victimhood in anticipation of perhaps his own solo series (where the Soldat is reactivated). Yet, we are also oddly simutaneously expected to accept that Bucky is "healing" somehow, although we never witness anything truly happen him, internally, to suggest this.

Bucky plays an almost angry motherly role to Sam at the start of the series, initially chastising him for not accepting responsibility. Bucky sees himself as the protector of Steve's legacy, and is disappointed in Sam's (later he learns, complicated) reluctance to wield the shield.

In the end, Bucky is approving of Sam and proud of his rise to the Cpt America mantle in that same manner - bookended with approval from a distance where he almost, again, stands off to the side as a proud mother. He seems to see himself as a mentor in Sam's journey towards self-actualization. Why is he so happy Sam has become the hero he always was inside?

His newfound friendship and respect for Sam as his own hero, of course. However, it is also his love of Steve which is the next obvious answer, his deep pride in who Steve was and what he accomplished, but this is inferred and never said - thus taking away again, from an oppotunity for Bucky's emotional growth and healing. The writers didn't even know where Steve was (or if Bucky knows his whereabouts) but they could have indicated something to that effect.

Once Sam has embraced Cap, the series ends. However, despite the jubilant setting of the finale, Bucky is still narrartively unmoored. We are left with the image of him lighthearted and hopeful, but without much substance towards its sustainability and so there is not much satisfaction in it despite the sweetness of its visual impact. But its depth? We are unsure. This is because Sam's ultimate advice to him, that he "serve" others rather than enact vengeance, strips away another truth about Bucky's situation.

That Bucky's desire for retribution and vengeance against those that abused and tormented him is valid and a real victim response. Bucky's perspective is seen as "wrong" instead of a well-documented step stone on the path to solid mental survivorship. Bucky could eventually want to serve -- but serve who?

Again, obviously the answer is: other victims like himself. But the show won't call him a victim at all, and thus Sam's advice feels hollow (serve... the vague and faceless Greater Good?) and Bucky's emotional security at the end of the show feels as if it lacks substance and permanance for the audience.

The payoff for Bucky's healing is almost nonexistent because no one will ever say why he was hurt in the first place (a victim).

Could go on and on about how this is because of Disney's terror of Bucky's perceived compromised masculinity (victimhood, captured, mentally damaged in WWII and present day), visual femininity (hair, slapped by men for insubordination, physically touched and moved against his will, soft spokeness, powerlessness in the narrarive), queer subtext (Steve, his origin as Arnold Roth Steve's gay jewish best friend, perceived jealousy of Peggy, intense affection for Steve), his juxtaposition to Steve and role in Steve's narrative, and their desire to wipe his slate clean with a new Masc Bucky.

Hint: it doesn't work.

[creatorofchaos]

Dream SMP’s Pandora’s Vault - the Prison

I think it is important we theorize who could end up in the prison. We, of course are at a disadvantage as we do not know, even vaguely anymore, how the story will progress.

Notes:

Dream has said the prison is for someone capable on December 27, 2020.

He also said that it is NOT for Tommy.

It has been built in such a way that the prisoner would lose all three canon lives, as once again mentioned by Dream.

The last one is important because there would be no point in adding it if Dream did not want to put emphasis on the whole ‘three lives’ thing. If it was someone with less than three lives, then there is no point to mentioning this fact. Checkov’s Gun and all that fun stuff.

This eliminates a large swath of people just on the last point alone. Such names include: Tommy, Philza, Tubbo, Fundy, Quackity, Sapnap, and Schlatt (see Wilbur reaction to game theory video and him realizing that Schlatt still technically has one canon life left).

Another group can be quickly eliminated: the Badlands. They helped build the prison, have wanted to be allies with the Dream SMP, and will more than likely be the prison guards.

One other honorable mention is Dream himself. Although there was a chance he could have been tricked into being locked up in the prison by the angry L’Manbergians, Dream has eliminated such a threat.

So, who does that leave on Dream’s actual threat radar? Techno, Wilbur, Ranboo, Eret, George, and someone else (see below for possible individual)

1. Technoblade - Likely, but Predictable

He has been a fan favorite to be locked up since the prison started. He also fits the two actual requirements above. He’s capable in many aspects of the game and has all three of his canon lives left.

However! Dream and Techno have a oddly positive relationship. There has not been one hint of animosity between the two that wasn’t brushed over with new friendship in a near instant. We all thought Techno would protect Tommy from Dream but when Dream confronted Techno about housing Tommy, Techno said he and Tommy were business partners and he wouldn’t be handing Tommy over to Dream unless Dream wanted that favor turned in. Dream brushed it off and didn’t take Techno’s words as a threat.

Furthermore, why would Dream throw away an ally that shows every reason to side with Dream. Although Techno may be an immovable wall for Dream, Techno is a wall. If Dream leaves him alone, he won’t do anything to Dream. So Techno is no threat to Dream.

It seems that if it is Techno, it would be too predictable. The writing that has gone into this has largely been good at hiding the obvious by using Techno as a scapegoat. It wouldn’t surprise me if they’d do the same here.

2. Wilbur - Unlikely, but Interesting

Why Wilbur? Isn’t he dead? Well, on Doomsday, Ghostbur wanted to be resurrected, which is apparently happening on the 10th of January. As shown by Jack Manifold breaking down death’s door, and regaining his three lives, Wilbur could do the same. (This last bit is based on various posts I saw about jack’s January 6th stream).

So what? Wilbur’s back alive. What’s the big deal? Well, he’d have all three lives back, he’s very capable (and can be quite manipulative), and all of a sudden, has figured out a way to escape death. The three canon deaths rule is something that separates Dream from the peasants of the server. He would feel threatened by someone figuring out how to overcome death, so it would be in his best interest to lock said person up.

Furthermore, Wilbur has always been a threat to Dream, being able to rally people to his side in a way that Tommy can’t, while having the morals Dream himself lacks. A threat to Dream Dominance, if I’ve ever heard of one.

3. Ranboo - Possible, but Pointless

Ranboo has a major drawback that he only shares with Ghostbur: his short term, emotion-driven, memory loss.

He seems like a likely candidate. He’s well liked and could rally the server behind him in a way that echoes of Wilbur’s L’Manberg. He’s highly capable in defeating Dream with those abilities, already allying Techno and Phil to a point where Techno wouldn’t even harm him during Doomsday.

However, Ranboo’s memory loss is his major drawback. If his memory book is altered, he won’t know, and will move on without having been the wiser. Dream knows this and has already proven he is willing to do it, having stolen Ranboo’s book to show his traitorship to L’Manberg. Dream can simply just manipulate Ranboo without ever needing to lock him up. It would be pointless for Dream to use the prison on Ranboo.

4. Eret - Unlikely, and also Pointless

Eret, like Ranboo has a drawback that Dream can easily manipulate: his kingship. Eret, time and time again has proven that he will sacrifice everything else to keep the crown, and thus remain subject to Dream. If he gets too rebellious, Dream can just put another puppet on the throne and wait for the steam to blow over before gifting it back to Eret, restoring their uneasy alliance. Dream doesn’t need to build another prison for Eret because Eret already willingly goes to his prison: the castle.

5. George - Extremely Unlikely, but Extremely Heartwrenching

George is Dream’s one and only weakness. George rarely logs on in the server, which makes Dream appear invincible. However, whenever George is active, he is a constant liability to Dream. He is constantly in danger solely because of Dream’s attachment to him. Any time George is active, Dream’s plans are hindered and have to normally be adjusted accordingly to keep George happy.

What better way to cover a liability than locking it up so it can’t be harmed. Not only is the prison in breakable to escape from, but it is also impenetrable to those who are not familiar with its intricacies.

No one can harm George - and thus, Dream - if they can’t get to him.

6. The Random - CaptainSparklez - Nearly Impossible, but the Most Story Driven and World Building Possibility

Sparklez is very much so a fan favorite for the next YouTuber to join the Dream SMP. He is also highly respected and connected to the current members. He has accepted the canon of Tubbo being his son and Tubbo accepting Sparklez as his dad. The only people who didn’t grow up watching Sparklez play Minecraft are BBH (25) and Philza (32). Wilbur, possibly, would not have been largely influenced by Sparklez as he is 24. However, many of the others have said they grew up watching Sparklez; they were born in Revenge.

More importantly, they all, more than likely, grew up watching Sparklez play Mianite, a role playing server that has many parallels with Dream SMP.

Furthermore, Mianitian Isles just ended before Christmas, right when the prison was finished.

There have been rumblings about the mysterious red egg being connected to the Darkness from Mianite (forgot the AU name) and what better way to actually pull it off.

Dream has a motive to locking up Sparklez for two different scenarios:

1. If Dream is actually evil because of the red egg - the Darkness - he would want to lock up a world hopping Sparklez so that the Captain couldn’t foil the plans of the Darkness.

2. If Dream is not evil because of the Darkness but some other reason, he still wouldn’t want someone with a just moral compass unconditionally allying Tubbo, and thus Tommy, against him. What better way than locking up the Captain the moment he joins the world, never able to even contact his son of his arrival.

Sparklez, even without his Mianitian demigod status, is more than a capable adversary. The mans was built around puzzle maps, parkour challenges, and escapes. He even has done adventure maps where he has escaped prisons, on many more than one occasion.

He also, you know, has three lives upon entering.

I’m not saying I have a clear favorite, but I have a clear favorite.

Melt me know what you think down below!

[dramatic-squirrel]

Damianette December Day 2- Swordplay

I’ll apologize in advance for the duel scene. I’m mostly just taking a stab in the dark when it comes to writing action, in particular fight scenes, but at least I try.

@daminette-december2019-2020 “Are you really okay with teaching me Kagami?”

“Of course Marinette. I would not offer my help half-heartedly only to change my mind at the last moment. Besides, you are determined to learn and already naturally talented at fencing, it would a shame if you did not learn.”

The two girls faced each other, each with a rapier in their hands. The park was oddly quiet despite the perfect day. And it was the day Marinette was finally going to learn to fence. Swordsmanship wouldn’t be much help with her yo-yo, but if she ever became Lady Noire again, she wanted to be prepared.

“We’ll start with the first position, en garde.” Marinette mirrored Kagami’s position as best as she could. “Not too bad, but you’ll want to angle your back foot at a bit more until it’s at a 90° angle from the front foot, Make sure your weight is balanced.” Marinette shifted to correct her position. “Yes, that’s satisfactory. Adrien has already told me from your first match with him that you’re footwork is already very good, so we will start with parrying. I’ll attack first.”

And so they spent the next couple of hours practicing in the park. Obviously, Kagami won most of the matches but, Marinette managed to get a few lucky points in, surprising the Olympic fencer. 

It just so happened as they were practicing however that someone who knew Marinette recognized the pair and made their way over. 

“Hey Pixie, what’re you doing here?” The voice stopped Marinette during the match, letting Kagami get the point.

“Jason! Why are you in Paris? It’s good to see you again!” It was the first time she had seen him ever since they first met almost a year ago. “You said you had to head back to Gotham to take care of some family business. Did you finish?”

“Uh… yeah. In fact, I’m in Paris for some more business, this time with the rest of my family.” He looked at the foils that each girl was holding. “Are you a fencer? Is that what you’re doing out here?”

She was a bit embarrassed at being called a fencer, she could hardly say she had enough experience to be called a fencer. “Actually, I’m just a beginner. My friend, Kagami, is teaching me. Oh right, I didn’t introduce you too. Jason, this is Kagami Tsurugi,” she pulled the girl forward. “And Kagami this is Jason. He came by the bakery a lot when he was staying in Paris back in October last year. He managed to help out a bit with some of the more rude customers when my mom was out of the shop.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jason.” Kagami turned to Marinette. “Would you like to stop here for today, we’ve already been at it for some time.”

“Sure, we can get some orange juice from the bakery after we pack up too.” Except before they could start packing up, Jason stopped them.

“Actually, before you leave, would you be interested in helping me take one of my brothers down a peg?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

About a week later they met back up in the park. This time, Adrien joined Marinette and Kagami and Jason brought along someone who could only be his brother. He was about their age although he seemed more serious than any high school student should ever look. 

Apparently, he was also very good at every style of swordsmanship, including fencing. Which is why Jason dragged Marinette into this. He wanted them to fight and, assuming she won, would ‘humble’ his brother. At first, she didn’t want to participate in the whole debacle but, Jason did make it seem like his brother, Damian was really rude to everyone else in their family because of some superiority complex and she really hated people who looked down on others.

Of course, this plan would only work if she could beat him in a fencing duel, and she doubted that that would happen anyway. Jason said he saw a bit of her practice match with Kagami and that if she really was a beginner, she was naturally talented (She wouldn’t tell him that it was really her miraculous giving her a cheat ability.

Although the only reason she was chosen for this role instead of Kagami was that Kagami was too recognizable as a famous fencer. Marinette’s advantage would be her natural reflexes that have been honed by her superhero duties, the stupid amount of luck she gained from wielding the ladybug miraculous, and the fact that her opponent was bound to underestimate her capabilities.

So, here they were, taking a part in Jason’s plan. His utterly ridiculous plan, as Chloe would say. Without a word, Marinette took up a position on one side her lack of enthusiasm showing. On the other side, Damian, clearly annoyed and unwilling to be there, took up a position at the other side facing her.

“Let’s get this over with quickly. I don’t know why I have to duel an amateur like you but, I’ll make sure to take it easy so as not to completely crush your pride.” Those were the first words he spoke to her. And while she agreed that he would probably win, his attitude was more than a little infuriating.

“Bold words for someone who hasn’t won yet.” She raised an eyebrow at him, thinking about the way Kagami might act in the same situation. Suddenly, her determination to win was surging. He looked back at her a bit stunned at the change in her demeanor. But, he still held confidence in his ability to win. So, when Kagami calls en garde, he was not entirely prepared for her attack.

She wasn’t going to wait for him to take the right of way, so she lunged at him with the foil. Taken aback by her sudden move forward, he parried her foil just in time and moved to riposte, unfortunately for him, she was too quick, and she managed to disengage before he could scour a point. Recovering back to the en garde position, she back down a bit to see what he would do next.

Damian took the opportunity to also recover back to the en garde position and analyze the situation. Marinette was fast, faster than one would normally expect from a beginner, implying previous experience with fighting but, that could be any number of things. She could gain quick reflexes from learning any number of martial arts or sports. He would either have to be faster than her or catch her off guard. 

He feinted to her right before going to attack her left side, yet it didn’t work. She didn’t fall for the feint and when he made his move against her, she was ready to parry. Deflecting the blade, she advanced forward, and, attacking from the slight angle below that her short stature afforded her, she came from under his blade and jabbed him with the point of the foil, ending the match. 

If Jason’s plan was to embarrass him, he managed to fail. Rather than embarrassed, Damian was in awe that this petite girl actually managed to beat him at a match. He acknowledged that if she had fallen for the feint then she wouldn’t have been able to block his attack and then he would have won the advantage but, either she was incredibly lucky or incredibly skilled at managing to see through the feint.

He just stood there for a while, making Marinette concerned that he may be in too much shock. “Are you alright, Damian?” she waved a hand in front of his face. He blinked in response finally showing some emotion. 

Except he still seemed out of it. He was mumbling to himself but it was loud enough that Marinette was still able to hear it and blush at what he said. “I think I’m in love.”

Jason started laughing out loud when he saw Marinette’s face go up in flames. He had a fairly good idea of what Damian had said if she was reacting like that. And so did Adrien. 

Adrien made his way up to them and, leaning against Marinette’s shoulder, spoke to Damian. “She’s free tomorrow at 12. She’ll meet you near the Canal Saint-Martin. Make sure you be there or you’ll have half of Paris ready to hunt you down.” 

“Adrien!” she whacked his side in annoyance. “Don’t just make plans for me.” His only response was to raise an eyebrow at her and she admitted defeat. “Well… thank you anyway, I’d probably be stumbling over my words for the next three months otherwise.” she turned to talk to Damian who was still a bit shocked over everything happening. 

“If you’d like, we can hang out tomorrow. We didn’t really start with the best impression of each other but, first impressions can be misleading, right Adrien? Kagami?” she nudged his side and then looked at the girl who seemed like an ice queen but was really sweet. “I’d love to get to know you better while you’re staying in Paris. What do you say?”

He finally managed to understand what was going on and, to say he was out of his depth was an understatement, but he knew his decision immediately. “I would love to accompany you tomorrow. It’s a date?”

She smiled at him. “Yeah, it’s a date.”

[mintyfrosty]

The Recovery

BEEP

BEEP

BEEP

[RESTART: ENGAGE]

[HEART RATE: 61 BPM]

[BLOOD PRESSURE: NORMAL]

[BRAIN ACTIVITY: LOW]

[LEVEL OF STRESS: 12%]

Warning signs echoing in his ears with a blurry vision was one of the last things the Toppat's Right Hand expected to see when he woke up. Well, that was to say if he woke up. Quite frankly, that wasn't something he was expecting. With the grinning face of Henry Stickmin opposite of him, he fell unconscious, believing that was his end. And yet, here he was, shaking the sleepiness out of his system, left hand moving to his face to try and remove the aching headache that was torturing his head. The soft texture he was lying on seemed to imply he was on a bed. How the hell did that happen?

And what the hell were the messages floating in front of him? It was almost like a digital screen.

"да, welcome back." Came a feminine voice from in front of him, causing him immediately jump with surprise. Well. 'Jump with surprise' resulting in his sitting up straight, back colliding hard with the wall behind the bed. A woman. Blonde hair. Glasses. Doctor's coat. Russian accent. Unfamiliar.

[LEVEL OF STRESS: 34%]

"Hey, easy, easy! Hey!" Commented the lady, quickly rushing over to him and patting down his right hand. The Right Hand Man couldn't register that he was panicking. Confusion swarmed his systems, the warning signs that floated in front of him. Who was this woman? What on earth was she doing in the Toppat's base? And, from what he gathered, the hell was she doing in his room? Unsure of himself, the right-hand man tried to focus on something more solid; something that had an answer to. The first thing his mind jumped to was the feeling of the woman's arm on his arm. Oddly, he didn't feel it. Well, of course, he felt it but in the sense that his arm felt numb. As if he were flying but standing firmly on the ground. However, he soon found the reason as to why his eyes falling down the arm this 'doctor' had patted.

Metal.

Pure metallic plates covered the surface area of his right arm. His eyes were captured in the sight, cursed with the confusion of his lack of knowledge on the situation. Was he dreaming? The fingers of his left hand, which was still planted to his head, tightened, nails digging into, what he thought to be skin. But it wasn't. The sound of nails against metal met his ears.

[LEVEL OF STRESS: 54%]

"Hey Hey! Can you hear me?" Echoed the woman's voice, her fingers clicking in front of his face in an attempt to get his attention. His mind was caught in a spiralling curse of thoughts. He couldn't possibly fathom the idea that was being suggested to him. Gradually, to try and answer her question, he nodded his head, blinking with genuine confusion on his facial features. Or at least the human ones he had left. Somewhat satisfied, the doctor adjusted her glasses, letting the right-hand man's arm go. Immediately, he began to inspect it, twirling it in many ways to try and grasp the knowledge he failed to understand.

"You were quite lucky, see. Head not always easy to recover. However, I was able to bring you back to life. Your chief said you wounded in battle, да?"

So it was a result of Henry then.

However, for whatever reason deemed fit, nothing stuck out more in her statements than the word 'chief'. Reginald. Shit. A deep pit of panic sunk his stomach, a lump of uncertainty developing in his throat. The stress meter curiously bounced into the 60 percentages as the echoing sound of his heartbeat raced with speed. Uncertain of what to do, the doctor gestured her right hand over to the left of where her patient was sitting before taking a small step back. And as quickly as his heart was pumping, his eyes snapped to the left.

And there he was. Face hidden underneath one top hat (his chief one was missing), and cooing softly with the rhythmic breath of his sleep. He was, awkwardly, hanging off half of the bed; torso and arms on the mattress with his legs dangling off the side that connected to the floor. He was simply dressed in a white dress shirt with tux pants with all gloves and most accessories missing. From his positioning, his expression was unreadable since his fine top hat was hiding any facial features Reginald had to offer. Most surprising, however, was the large, slightly reddish, top hat that belonged to the one and only right-hand man, that was clutched tightly in his, ironically, right hand. An immense amount of pity came over the second in command. He was waiting. Waiting for him. With a flash flick of his head, and expression desperate, the right-hand man's eyes met the doctor's.

"'ow long--" A cough erupted from his throat. Hoarseness had invaded his throat. 

"'ow long 'as 'e been...?" Pitifully, she turned her head to the sleeping chief, then back at the right-hand man.

"You were unconscious for 2 weeks. I've only allowed visitors for 3 days before now since I finished operations." That was one of the last things he wanted to hear. In hindsight, 2 weeks and 3 days were much better than 2 months or 2 years. However, it still wasn't a good amount of time. Reginald got worried when the right-hand man slept in as if he was poisoned in his sleep, as ridiculous as that sounded. Yet, when he considered this, he had to wonder how Reginald hadn't gone insane yet. Shakily, he planted his right hand onto Reginald's back. He couldn't imagine what was going through his head in that whole period. Thankfully, since the right-hand man was miserably horrid with words, the doctor seemed to get the idea the two wanting to be alone and quietly took her leave. 

[LEVEL OF STRESS: 67%]

"Reg? Io." Trying to be as gentle as humanly possible, the second in command tugged the chief's shirt. Shortly after, a small 'meh' came from the Toppat leader, delicately moving out of the realm of sleep. With no haste, Reginald pulled himself onto the bed, sitting upright on his knees. With a final yawn leaving his lips, the first in command open his eyes, blinking slowly before locking eyes with the person who had awoken him. And his expression immediately transformed into despair. If the right-hand man thought that Reginald looked horrid without seeing his face, then he looked beyond dishevelled.

Right Hand Man had only seen Reginald's moustache messy twice in his life, and this was the second. Twists and knots made the chief's moustache curly, loose hairs sticking in almost every direction. Heavy bags sat under the chief's eyes accompanied by the slight, blotchy redness that covered his face. Whether instinctively or intentionally, the first in command moved the reddish hat close to his chest, a sudden way of indescribable emotion covering his features. The Right Hand Man could only hopeless wonder what thoughts were going through the chief's head. Awkwardly, the right-hand man offered a wave.

"'ey Reg."

That did it.

Because the next thing he knew, Reginald dived into him, curling at his side and wrapping his arms around the cyborg's torso. This was one of those times where the right-hand man wished he knew how to handle the unpredictability of Reginald's emotions, or his own for that matter. Uneasy, the right-hand man placed a concerned left hand onto Reginald's back, rubbing it gently. He felt a harsh tug at his shirt.

"Don't you sca-re me like that again!" 

His voice was about as hoarse as his was, filled with such a tone, anyone could take pity on. He figured as such; he probably wouldn't've gotten much sleep either if the roles were reversed. With a hesitated sigh, the right-hand man, sunk against the pillows of the bed, his robotic arm tightly holding the chief. Out of the corner of his eye, however, the right-hand man was able to see the diamond-covered gold band on the fourth finger of Reginald's hand. He smirked, suddenly feeling grateful that he hadn't lost his left hand. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to feel the same gold band on his own fourth finger.

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

Small fanfic idea i’ve been wanting to do for a long while. As you can probably guess, when Right Hand Man wakes up for the first time being a cyborg. Also Copperright >;3

Small shout out to @twilightdaisi​ and @the-shark-well for fuelling the fire that is this ship >;3

Goddamn I love this ship too much.

[mochikeiji]

Take a Hint.

↠ Pairing: Bokuto Koutarou x Akaashi Keiji

↠ Warning: College AU! Fukurodani Volleybal Team!(with managers) Shy Akaashi! Popular Bokuto! Slight NSFW, Fluffy

↬ Word Count: 3,912

Summary: First year college student, Akaashi Keiji begins his new life away from the comfort of his home solitude. Growing up to be an introvert, Akaashi had a hard time gaining friends and fitting in. But what happens to someone when they've met a rowdy senior who somehow slithers their way into their lives and becomes their only friend? Or maybe more.

⇢ Day 2: Obliviousness/Pinning, Roomates, College AU @bokuakaweek2020

✎﹏

It really is terrifying for some to move out of the comfort of their house and their personal room to move into a dorm for their first year in college. For some it seemed fun and adventurous, only because they were an extrovert.

Unlike Akaashi, a man with few words, was an introvert. Sure he used to play volleyball back in his highschool days— even got himself the spotlight as their schools top tier setter, but he believes he could never match the other monsters such as Atsumu Miya, Kageyama Tobio and former captain of an opposing school, Oikawa Tooru. To him, he was nothing but an average person trying to get a good grade and a college degree and good job and die just like that.

His mother did try to tell him to atleast make some friends during his days in highschool so he wouldn't be so lonely. He couldn't say he can't do it due to his facial expression and blunt words. He couldn't help it, it was already part of his charisma. Now, he wished he wasn't so alone as he carries a box of his belongings in a crowded hallway to the dorms. Seeing other freshmen and seniors helping out each other was one thing he secretly envied. He wanted a friend too, but he was just clueless on how to even make one.

Keeping his head lowered and muttering small, soft excuses on his way to his dorm, he manages to make his way smoothly away from the crowd, thinking they might've been whispering stuff about him being odd when clearly no one even saw him pass through.

Rummaging in his pocket for the key, he pulls out the small metallic object. But before he could thrust the key up into the doorknob, it flung open.

"Oh? Are you my roommate!?"

The chattering hallway was immediately silenced as the mega phone like tone of voice dominated the entire atmosphere. He was a loud person, Akaashi thought.

"Y-yes, but you may want to keep it do—"

"Ah? What are you nervous about! These guys," he points behind Akaashi with a grin, "They're all my buds! Right? Hey!" he starts as the students behind Akaashi laughed and followed his lead, "Hey, hey, hey!!"

It surprised the black haired male to see them, even the mean looking ones just go along with this mans quirks. He must be popular then.

"Anyways, come in! I'll show ya around." Bringing his hand on Akaashi's smaller frame from behind, he flinches from the contact and squeaks silently with the door clicking behind him closed. Sighing, he takes a long look at each corner of the dorm. It only held two beds from each side and two study tables. Typical.

He then reviews over his roommate's side of the dorm, it wasn't as neat as he expected from him. His bag was wode open with papers bulging out, his sheets were torn off the mattress, and what caught his eye was a volleyball jersey displayed on his pillow.

So that's why he was so popular, he thought.

"Sorry about the mess there, didn't expect my roommate to come until tomorrow." Bokuto follows Akaashi's eyes, giving him a sheepishly smile while scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. "But enough about that, I forgot to introduce myself." he swung his right arm toward Akaashi, "My name's Bokuto, Bokuto Koutarou, second year college student."

Fumbling with the box, Akaashi quickly places it down on his side and bows in respect, "Sorry, I didn't know you were a senior....Senpai." he can feel his skin crawl with goosebumps from the honorific rolling out of his tongue like a female character in a shonen manga, "I'm Akaashi Keiji, first year college student. Thank you for having me here."

After that small introduction Akaasgi managed to pull off, he was giving himself a pat on the back for actually interacting with someone normally with out bluntly saying anything out of the blue.

Or so, he thought.

"A-ah, no, it's fine. You can just lay off the honorifics, Kaashi. Bokuto is fine."

He was caught off guard by the sudden nickname he was given. I guess they were in that bases now. Akaashi gets up from his position and gives him a small nod, "Very well, Bokuto."

The room fell into a deep silence, other than the sound of Akaashi's stuff being carefully put away properly. His other stuff were still downstairs in his mother's car, he'd have to hurry un packing. But his movements were not only slow, nor careful, it was as if he was trying not to mess up or do something embarrassing as he felt golden eyes just grazing at the back of his head.

"Say, Kaashi," flinching again from Bokuto's sudden call, "Do you play volleyball? You have pretty big hands for a small boy like you."

"Have you been watching me?" that's what he wanted to say, instead he was flustered and pushed up his glasses to hide his already sweaty self.

"I used to be a setter."

Putting his leg down, Bokuto's eyes lightens up with a sparkle, "Really!? Then join the volleyball club here!" jumping off of his bed while looking at Akaashi with hope glittering his golden eyes.

"There's a volleyball club here?" to Akaashi, all he thought of college was just study, libraries, and cafeteria. He didn't stop to think if there were clubs like the ones during his highschool days.

"Of course! It would've been boring to study if we didn't atleast have a sports club. So, will ya join?" egging him, Bokuto was on his feet awaiting for the males answer.

"No."

Ah, that was too blunt.

"EHH?! Why not? You must be a pretty good setter!" His eyes trail at the tips of his seniors hair. They were dropping down as if they too were also feeling his emotions. Afraid that he might've hurt the males feelings, he quickly apologized and explained.

"Sorry, it's just, I think there will be mroe better setters for your team, Bokuto."

"Hm? But we don't even have a setter."

Akaashi's mouth closes, not knowing how to tell Bokuto that he was just not the type to be outgoing and indulging himself into prying eyes. Sure, he was able to sought out his passion in volleyball back in middle school and highschool, but that was only because he was never noticed by some people. During official games, he'd only have his hair slightly grown a bit to hide his eyes whenever he plays to avoid feeling thw pressure by the crowd. Sometimes, he'd allow himself to be seated during an entire game and watch his other setter take his on his role.

Yet somehow on his third year, he manages to catch the title of being captain.

"I'm just not cut out for it, Bokuto." he twiddled with his fingers from both habit and to ease his sweaty palms, "I'm not a pretty good setter."

"Show me first, and I'll be the one to comment." Bokuto huffs and crosses his arms with a childlike pout forming on his mouth, "And for the record, I think you're pretty."

And that was the beginning of Akaashi's heart always beating harder whenever he was with Bokuto.

After four months of adjusting into the new world, Akaashi had gone through the months according to his neatly made schedule. But even so, the past four months was also filled with Bokuto's never ending pleads for him to join the volleyball club and be their setter.

Which leads to him now panting in his sweaty attire with Bokuto still high on stamina and determination.

"One more, Kaashi. Give me a good toss!" with that being said, the setter runs into his position after one of their teammate's had flung the ball up. With long fingers easily grazing the ball and fitting his hands perfectly, Akaashi delivers it to his right to where Bokuto had already sprung up with his feet.

Like a big bang, the ball sounded as it looked squished by the floor after having the ace smash it down. Pants were heard from all players, but Akaashi paid no attention to the sweat dripping on his forehead nor was feeling exhausted. His eyes were more focused on the way Bokuto had spike the ball and landed perfectly on his feet.

And it was oddly satisfying for Akaashi to keep seeing his only friend send him straight into an awe.

That being said, it wasn't the only thing that was seen by just him, but the fact that he has done it ever since he has gotten in the team, it was so obvious to everyone that he was staring at their ace.

No one bothered to say a word about it, but being with an airheaded captain, at some point without Akaashi by the distance, they would run forward to him and say, "Looks like you've caught a really rare attention there, Bokuto."

And it always ends with, "How do you catch someone's attention though?"

Blowing a whistle far from the team had broken his stare from the captain. Before any of them could gather up, there were cheering from both above and below the sidelines of the gym.

"Bokuto senpai! You did so good!"

"What an amazing spike!"

"You really are an unstoppable ace!"

Most of them were consist of females. From senior to freshmen, they seemed to be oogling more on his physical appearance more than his passion according to Akaashi. It had been like this ever since he joined, every end of their practice, his senior would always be crowded in a herd of praises and swooning ladies. It was said by his teammates that Bokuto was a sucker for praises, and since he was well known to this university everyone of his adoring fans knew that about him.

And it made his insides churn into an unpleasant twist to see him casually talking to them, more so letting them touch him so freely.

"Akaashi, you seem troubled." another one of his senior who was at the same class as Bokuto, Yukie had spoken as she passes him his water bottle. Looking at to where his eyes were seconds ago, she could see Bokuto and couple of males but more on females gather around him with another round of praising and some gifts given.

"Bokuto has always been gaining a lot of attention ever since he entered the campus," Yukie sighs, "It's getting really annoying, we can't even finish a simple meeting after games." looking back at Akaashi, she let's out a small flinch when she saw him looking almost depressed by staring at Bokuto.

"I wish they'd leave him for his peace." no, that wasn't what he meant. Feelings were not a stranger to Akaashi, he wasn't oblivious of his own emotions. He knows what he has between him and the ace, and knowing that and seeing something like this happen all the time crushed him. The only thing the setter didn't know was how obvious he was pinning after the ace to his teammates and managers.

"Hey, hey, Bokuto senpai," calls out by a random girl, "Who's that guy over there, the one wearing number 5." she points at Akaashi, who now averted his eyes immediately away from Bokuto and started talking to Yukie.

"Yeah, I don't think we've seen him before."

"Isn't he that nerd from Class 1?"

"I think sensei offered me a tutor from him."

"Wasn't he wearing glasses? He looks kinda hot without them."

Each comment passes to Bokuto's ears made him bite the insides of his cheeks. There was no way they were going after Akaashi.

"Ah, well, that over there ladies is our setter, Akaashi Keiji. He just joined in a month ago so he's still kinda shy." Konoha, another close friend of Bokuto and his teammate steps in the conversation, "He's single but I don't think it's easy to catch a fella like him." he jabs the ace's chest with his arm, hinting him about something with his eyebrows moving up and down.

Wincing at the slight pain, he glares at Konoha, "I don't think it's a good idea to pin for Kaashi, ladies." he finally spoke, this time his tone somehow getting lower only to be noticed by Konoha who was quietly snickering behind his fist, walking away to go talk to the red haired manager.

"Why not, Bokuto?"

"Does he already have his eye on someone?"

Contemplating whether or not he should admit it, Bokuto blurts out, "Yes! Well no! Soon, someone's already have their eye on him and well," glancing slightly at Akaashi with a hint of longing and impatience, he holds himself together and lets out a sigh, "That someone is trying really hard to get him to like them."

"So, did he got mad at you?" Yukie places her hands on his hips as Konoha approaches her with a sly grin on his face.

"No but he did somehow indirectly admit his love." winking at Yukie, who sighed at his little antics.

"You really are an idiot."

"So are those two."

An hour passes, Bokuto managed to get all of his fans out for them to resume packing up and cleaning the gym. Akaashi was silent after the entire fiasco and placed each ball on the basket carefully, still deep in thought about his friend.

Bokuto notices how quiet he has grown. It wasn't the normal kind of quiet he's known to Akaashi, but rather this one seemed to be sad, "Hey, Yukie. What's up with Kaashi? He hasn't spoken to anyone, let alone, me." finally done lowering the net, Yukie sighs once more and lightly smacks his head with her clipboard, earning a small whine from Bokuto.

"Honestly, can't you take a hint Bokuto?"

For the past four months, since Akaashi's first day in the University. When Bokuto had decided to introduce him to his group of friends, despite them being older than him, they could already see how fond the owl haired male was with the smaller male.

Even before Akaashi was introduced, he was all he talks about with them during dismissal or anytime they'd get together. Everytime they'd go ahead to the cafeteria, they can see his eyes caught in his direction all the time. The kind of eyes that showed so much emotion to volleyball.

And once they got to know Akaashi, they thiught to themselves they were going to be fine knowing Akaashi wasn't as dense as their baby like captain was.

Oh how wrong they were.

Akaashi had gotten close to Yukie for the oast two months since she was mostly on her own. Kaori was always with Konoha and Washio since she was in the same class they were, but different schedules. When Yukie found out that Akaashi did too, have emotions for Bokuto, she was giddy. But when she heard him utter out, "I don't think he likes me." that's when the frustration built up. Doesn't he notice the way he was being stared at or even the lingering hand on his shoulder whenever Bokuto pats him?

"What hint?" his tone was troubled, Bokuto was truly lost at this moment, not knowing what had caused his beloved friend to feel this way.

"Try talking to him later, Bokuto," patting his shoulder, "And please, tell him already." letting go of him, Yukie walks away with the rest of the team, leaving Bokuto behind to think.

"Tell him what though?"

Back to their dorms, Akaashi rubs his eyes using his fingers to ease the tension that had been laid upon his shoulders for the past few hours. Admittedly, he has this kind of bitterness flowing in his blood remembering the events earlier, but after a few seconds, those bitterness occurred to his insecurities. He was used to over thinking a lot when he was alone, but never about another person. It was always about him.

Groaning loudly he lands his face on the plush of his pillow, releasing a shaky breath as he looks at the bedside Bokuto owns, "Why did it had to be you?"

"Who are you talking about Kaashi?"

Jolting up at the sound of the door clicking behind him, Akaashi could only stare into his face with the orange light of their room illuminating his features in the dark night. Being roommates was harder when you were living with someone that literally shakes your entire world.

"Nothing." plopping back down on his pillow, Akaashi exhales deeply. To Bokuto, it seemed Akaashi was more frustrated to see him here, but to the timid male, he was just calming his heart from beating erratically inside of him. Hearing his footsteps closing in, he thoughts to himself he was finally going to sleep. What surprised him and made his face flush against the pillow was when he felt his bed dip down from his feet as Bokuto sat down.

"Are you mad at me Kaashi?" Bokuto looks at his back side in worry, "You haven't talked to me after practice. You even left without me today." There was a tinge of guilt inside Akaashi. He didn't realize he left Bokuto alone after he left since they always walk together back in the dorms.

When Bokuto heard no reply, he continues, "Yukie told me something about not taking a hint on something? I don't really get it," golden eyes averting up on their dim light of the room, "But the more I thought about it on the way back, all I could think of was you, Kaashi."

Holy shit, he wasn't going to do it now.

"I know it sounds lame, but I really did thought of what she said and all that pops out was you, you get where I'm getting at, right?" Bokuto had his arms on his legs by now from moving into motion as he spoke. Meanwhile if Akaashi were to sit up, his heartbeat might've been already heard.

Gulping quietly, feeling Bokuto's eyes watching him intently, all he could do was shake his head slowly. He wanted him to go on. He needed to hear where he was going with this. He can feel the vibrations of his light chuckling from his body as Bokuto sighs.

"Usually I'm not afraid of doing something out of the blue, y'know? You've seen me do some weird crap all the time." Akaashi's light laugh muffles against his pillow as he continues, "But when it comes to these, it really gets into me. Telling someone how you feel about them."

The last line made Akaashi almost ascend to heaven. Was he dreaming? Was he expecting too much to know what was going to happen next? The numerous scenarios running through his head all mixing up, causing his cheeks to flare up. They got worse when Bokuto landed a soft palm on the small of his back, jolting a bit from the sudden contact.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that," Bokuto pauses, shifting his position closer to Akaashi, leaning his head next to his ear, "I like you."

Shivering at his warm breath against his ear, Akaashi bit his lower lip at the small rush of arousal from his lower regions, clenching his thighs together to ease himself.

"I like you. I don't know why it connects to Yukie's words, but somehow telling you this at this moment felt kinda right." he gave his back a small stroke for comfort, noticing him tensing after uttering out his sudden confession, "You probably don't like me, Kaashi. It's not everyday you see someone the same gender as you say that nonchalantly." chuckling out sadly, he smiles, "Still, I'm still here for you. So please, whatever is bothering you, tell me. We can dismiss what just happened now."

Not liking the end of his sentence, Akaashi grabs his hand from behind and sits up quick, "No! That's not what I meant, Bokuto." both were in shock and daze. Their faces held a tinge of redness in them, for Bokuto, Akaashi looked way more tempting than he already was with his added messy appearance.

"I-I'm sorry I left you unintentionally." he glances down at his smaller hands being held by himself, fighting away the butterflies as his feet were getting colder, "I was just really troubled by those people," he explains, "It had been a bother to me that you were always crowded by so many people...That I began to look down at myself." he grips his hand as he thought about how painful it was to endure the same scene as earlier everyday.

"What's worse is that I have feelings for you.." Finally admitting with quivering lips, "I like you, but there were so many people better than a squanny nerd like me." sighing, he lowers his forehead on Bokuto's hand that he held, avoiding eye contact. Despite having to hear his confession first, he was in fear of the future he had no idea what held the possibilities that might hurt him.

"Kaashi, why do you think I came here, sitting down on your bed, and telling you that I like you," each line he said, his voice was going lower, huskier, followed by moving his hand away from his forehead and cupping his cheek, "And just you."

Akaashi was shaking on his spot. He didn't know what to do consisting this was his first time to be experiencing this. And his first instinct?

Was kissing him.

It caught Bokuto off guard and balance, luckily he stabilizes himself by carrying his weight with one hand leaned on the mattress, and the other pulling Akaashi closer in the kiss. Both males were stuck being oblivious to each other, now getting addicted into something that they've wanted for so long ever since they've encountered each other.

Akaashi whimpers a bit feeling Bokuto's tongue swipe his lower lips for entrance, in obligating, he allows himself to be dominated by the muscled male, letting himself gently fall back into bed with him hovering over him. Hands making their way on his sides to squeeze them, making him squeak and melt into the kiss.

Pulling away panting from the loss of oxygen, they both stared at each other in daze and with so much love.

"I guess you made your own point there, Kaashi." Bokuto teases, lacing his hands together from the side of Akaashi's head.

"Shut up, please." he scoffs, pushing his head to his side to feel less embarrassed of his vulnerable state. Bokuto chuckles, peppering the side of his cheek with kisses and affection.

"I'm kidding, Keiji. I've been wanting to kiss you too."

He sees the way Akaashi's cheeks reddened from calling him by his first name. It felt so right coming from his mouth. And he loved every second of it.

"So why don't you do it again..."

"Do what again?"

"Koutarou..."

"I'M KIDDING— KAASHI WAIT NO, DON'T GET UP."

He laughs, and it was music to Bokuto's ears. Making him flustered above him. Akaashi pulls him by the neck, an inch aay from his face, "Does this mean I'm your boyfriend now?" he asks, his voice lacing with worry.

"Well you are my boyfriend, but you can ve the girlfriend if you want." Bokuto teases once more, before giving his pouting lips a short kiss of confirmation,

"But yes, I'm all yours now, Keiji."

[ibijau]

Worst engagement AU // on AO3

It is Lan Xichen’s turn to get a visitor, giving the chance to clarify a misunderstanding

When Nie Huaisang’s first letter arrives to the Cloud Recesses, Lan Xichen is so giddy he can't stop smiling all day. The letter, to other eyes, would be painfully banal: some gossip from Qinghe, complaints against Nie Mingjue’s expectations, and mentions of the ways Nie Huaisang has occupied his free time lately. Still Lan Xichen finds himself rereading it so many times that he knows it almost by heart. 

Problems arise when Lan Xichen tries to write an answer. His first few attempts are, for lack of a better term, sentimental. He can't allow that, of course. Although things have improved with Nie Huaisang, faster and to a degree Lan Xichen would not have expected, he's not foolish enough to consider romancing his fiancé, certain to be rejected. And yet, it's hard to contain his emotions when he has his brush in hand. The urge to tell Nie Huaisang how much he loves and misses him is nearly uncontrollable. In the end he has to pretend he is writing to Nie Mingjue to come up with a letter that, hopefully, won't make his fiancé uncomfortable.

It's possible that in trying to be reasonable, Lan Xichen went too far. Nie Huaisang’s next letter teases him mercilessly about sounding like a Night Hunt report, and jokes about falling asleep while reading. 

In his response, Lan Xichen makes efforts to be a little warmer. It is a fine line to walk between too much and too little, but he tries his best. After explaining that Lan Qiren seems a little bored this year with the much calmer guest disciples they have welcomes Lan Xichen boldly allows himself to mention that he too finds the Cloud Recesses too quiet, and that he misses Nie Huaisang. He goes so far as to say that though they did not always go well, he enjoyed their meetings and hopes they have other chances to chat soon. 

He shows that letter to his brother before sending it, so he can get a second opinion and ensure it isn't too much. Lan Wangji rolls his eyes at him. 

"Brother worries too much," he says, the only comment Lan Xichen can get out of him on that matter. 

Perhaps Lan Wangji is right. When Nie Huaisang answers, he mentions that he is going to Lotus Piers for a couple of weeks, and that he'd love to drop by the Cloud Recesses on his way home. He asks that the answer be sent to Yunmeng, since he will be long gone from the Unclean Realm when his letter reaches Lan Xichen, and is quite insistent that he will be very disappointed if he should be denied this small request. 

Lan Xichen, of course, readily agrees. He would never pass a chance for some time with his fiancé. 

It feels like ages pass before, one day, Lan Xichen gets word that Nie Huaisang is finally on his way to the Cloud Recesses. By a cruel coincidence, his fiancé is set to arrive on a day when Lan Xichen is busy helping his uncle deal with the leaders of some nearby small clans. Not wanting to appear avoidant, Lan Xichen convinces his brother to greet Nie Huaisang for him and to explain the situation. Lan Wangji is only too happy to help, glad as well to have a little time with his friend.

Even like this, Lan Xichen finds himself anxious all morning. He can barely focus on the conversations at hand, and has to ask for certain details to be repeated multiple times. When the lunch they take in his uncle's office is over, Lan Qiren orders him to see that tea be brought to them, then tells him he's free for the afternoon. 

"Go meet that damn Nie boy," he orders. "But you'd better be back to normal tomorrow, you hear me?" 

"Of course, uncle," Lan Xichen replies, ready to promise almost anything. "I'll see you later." 

He does not run home, because running is forbidden and unbecoming, but this is the fastest Lan Xichen has ever walked in his life. He only slows down once he reaches the door, taking a moment to compose himself and make sure he doesn't look like someone who nearly ran across the Cloud Recesses. 

When Lan Xichen enters the house, he finds Nie Huaisang and Lan Wangji sitting together. They look rather more serious than two friends should after a long separation, and though they are silent when he comes in, Lan Xichen can't shake the impression that they must have been talking about something before the door opened. Nie Huaisang’s expression in particular is oddly dark, though he quickly brightens and jumps to his feet to greet his fiancé. 

"Lan gongzi, at last! I can't believe I came all this way for you, and you made me wait. Are you perhaps playing hard to get?" 

The idea is so ridiculous that Lan Xichen can only laugh. 

"It would be a dangerous game to play when Nie gongzi finds me hard to want," he retorts, which makes Nie Huaisang laugh as well. "I'm sure Wangji explained what happened?" 

Lan Wangji, who also stood up, nods at his brother while Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes.

“He did tell me. How boring… but I suppose all of this is to train you for your future role, right? Da-ge is awful about that these days, always saying I need to be more active in the sect… I can’t tell you how glad I was to get a break from that. It was so nice to spend time with Jiang Cheng again… and Wei Wuxian too, of course.”

Instantly Lan Wangji stiffens and frowns, as if simply hearing the name of the other boy were painful to him. Lan Xichen has to refrain from smiling. It’s been over a year since his brother last saw Wei Wuxian, and yet his crush seems to be going as strong as ever. When Lan Wangji makes his excuses and quickly leaves the house, Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang exchange a glance and they both grin.

“Some things don’t change,” Lan Xichen says, even when he knows he should have a little more sympathy than that for his brother’s poor heart.

“I guess so. What else is going to be the same as before?” Nie Huaisang asks, tilting his head as his grin widens. “Lan gongzi, are you going to make me tea and light an incense stick to make sure I don’t bother you too long?”

“Nie gongzi knows I enjoy his conversation. But if you’d rather limit your time with me to a minimum, I’ll do as you please of course.”

Nie Huaisang laughs, his cheeks colouring slightly, but he seems very pleased with that answer. When he moves to sit down again, Lan Xichen stops him with a gesture.

“Actually, I have something to show you outside,” Lan Xichen says, smiling to hide his nerves. “It'll be quick, I just don't want to forget, and you might give me your input on it while you're here. If you would follow me?" 

Nie Huaisang nods, looking intrigued, but he doesn’t say a word as they leave the house and walk to a nearby tree which Lan Xichen carefully selected for his purposes. It had to be a little surdy, and well visible from the porch and from inside the house. After choosing this one Lan Xichen made the necessary preparations, namely a bowl filled with seeds which securely hangs from a branch facing the house. 

"That’s what you wanted to show me?” Nie Huaisang asks, puzzled but clearly trying his best to remain polite. 

“I thought it might please you,” Lan Xichen explains. “A compromise of sorts." 

His fiancé’s puzzlement only grows. He narrows his eyes, clearly trying to figure out what the bowl is supposed to be. Lan Xichen is about to explain when Nie Huaisang gasps. 

"A bird feeder? Really?" 

His tone is so disbelieving that Lan Xichen feels seized by a cold anxiety even as he nods. It’s not enough. Of course it’s not enough, but it’s the best he can do without breaking rules and he doesn't have yet the authority to attempt that. 

"I thought it would be unfair that I found a way for Wangji to keep his rabbits but you’d lose your birds,” he quickly explains. “It’s not a permanent solution, I am trying to find a way to let you have tame birds as well, but until then…" 

He trails off, unwilling to make promises he might not be able to keep. His uncle denied him when he asked for an exception to be made. There will be no caged birds in their immediate future, and Lan Xichen doesn’t know any other way to keep birds. But Nie Huaisang might, and Lan Xichen will do his best to help with that. 

Nie Huaisang who looks at the bowl with great attention, his lips pinched. 

"Is it unsatisfactory?” Lan Xichen asks at last, ready to hear he failed again to do the right thing. 

“No, it’s great,” Nie Huaisang replies, barely a whisper, bringing a hand to the bowl and brushing his fingers against it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. “It's… thank you. Even the types of seeds are well chosen. Did you research this?" 

"I asked around. I was hoping some birds might already get into the habit of eating here so that they are accustomed to it by the time we…" 

Lan Xichen doesn’t dare finish, still unsure how Nie Huaisang might react at the reminder of what’s to come. Last time, in Qinghe, Nie Huaisang made it clear that the idea of their marriage is still distressing to him, even if they get along a little better now. It worries Lan Xichen more than he would admit to anyone. There is no set date yet, but Lan Qiren has said that he’ll probably start preparations after that conference in Nightless City. 

"Thank you, Xichen,” Nie Huaisang quietly says, staring at the bird feeder. “This is… I can’t explain how much it means to me.”

“It’s the least I can do. I know how much you love your birds, so of course…" 

"I don’t mean just this,” Nie Huaisang interrupts, turning his eyes to his fiancé. “Thank you for… for thinking about that sort of things. For trying to make this more comfortable for me. Thank you for trying to make this feel like I could call it home." 

"I hope you might someday,” Lan Xichen replies, too earnest even to his own ears. 

He expects a frown or pinched lips, some kind of negative reaction in answer to the emotions he can never seem to restrain as well as he should. But Nie Huaisang only smiles, his expression softer than Lan Xichen has ever seen on him. 

“I hope as well,” Nie Huaisang says. “Home… Yes, I think I will get used to that." 

The way he says it, so calm and certain, makes Lan Xichen hopeful as well. This will be a marriage between friends and nothing else, but if he can make Nie Huaisang happy at his side, he won't ask for more. 

With Lan Xichen's surprise revealed, the two of them return inside. Ever the perfect host, Lan Xichen prepares some tea, and brings some biscuits. Not the usual ones that are normally served to guests, but some that he went to buy in Gusu when Nie Huaisang wrote that he would be coming. His fiancé notices the difference and grins. 

"Should we play Go?" Lan Xichen asks, unable to resist what now feels like a joke between them. 

Nie Huaisang picks a biscuit and shakes his head. 

"Let's chat instead," he suggests, his expression suddenly turning serious and nibbles on the treat. "Lan Wangji was telling me about something when you arrived, but he admitted he didn't have all the elements. You do, though, and I want to hear it from you." 

Without thinking, Lan Xichen smiles while frantically trying to guess what his brother might have said. He wonders if this is about the rabbits painting, if Lan Wangji decided to share his brother's initial reaction to it. It was petty and stupid of him to have turned around the instant he'd heard the painting was from Nie Huaisang, but hopefully at this point he has more than proved his sincere admiration for his fiancé's skill, and… and he'll apologise of course, but surely Nie Huaisang won't be upset, surely… 

"Wangji says you were punished for kissing someone at the end of last year." 

Hearing this, Lan Xichen wishes it had been about the painting after all. He feels his entire body go rigid just from these few words, terrified that Nie Huaisang might make wrongful assumptions. 

When his fiancé stays silent too long, Nie Huaisang frowns and resumes speaking. "I know you're too honourable to have kissed someone else," he states, which does ease some of Lan Xichen’s tension. "So I'm guessing this is about… about what happened between us?" 

His hands tightening around his cup of tea, Lan Xichen looks down in shame and nods once, forcing his smile away. 

"Lan gongzi, that's… I thought kissing was fine," Nie Huaisang says hesitantly. "if it's in private, anyway. I've copied the rules of Gusu Lan many, many times at this point, I don't remember seeing anywhere that kissing is forbidden." 

"But assault is,” Lan Xichen whispers, closing his eyes.

Nie Huaisang gasps.

“Lan gongzi, that’s… that’s not at all what happened!” he exclaims, putting one hand above Lan Xichen’s in a comforting gesture. “You didn’t force me!”

Lan Xichen’s eyes snap open and he stares at Nie Huaisang who looks distressed, as if he were the one to have done something wrong.

“That time, you said…” Lan Xichen starts, only to stop when Nie Huaisang pulls on his hand to force it from the tea cup and holds it in both of his, a serious look on his face.

“Lan gongzi, that time I said a lot of awful things to you,” Nie Huaisang sighs, keeping his eyes on their hands. “Some of it was true, because I was so angry at you for the way you used to be. But other things… Lan gongzi, even if you made the first move for it, in the end, wasn't I the one to actually kiss you?”

"What?"

Nie Huaisang frowns as his face turns a deep shade of red, his eyes still avoiding Lan Xichen's. 

"Well, that's how I remember it anyway," he mutters with a forced laugh. "I was so annoyed at myself for it, too. At that time, I really wanted to hate you, but you were looking at me like that, and I really do like kissing. And then you made it worse because you were actually very nice to kiss!" 

"I'm sorry?" Lan Xichen mumbles, feeling rather confused. 

Of course, for him the kiss had been extremely nice, at least before it was abruptly ended. But with the way Nie Huaisang reacted to it, he had assumed that for his fiancé it must have been deeply unpleasant, repulsing even. So he has tried not to dwell too much on how good it felt to feel Nie Huaisang’s lips on his, warm and soft, tasting slightly of tea. That kiss is on a list of memories Lan Xichen wants to forget, along with that vision of Nie Huaisang in wet, translucent robes by the river, or the way he looked in Qinghe after changing so hastily that his robes hung too loosely and revealed more skin than they should have, or… 

Nie Huaisang's hands tighten around his. 

"Lan gongzi, I'm very happy you've started apologising for those time you treated me badly," he says. "But just because you've done me wrong for certain things doesn't mean everything was your fault. I carry my share of blame as well, and I can't let you feel guilty over that."

"You didn't realise…" 

"I did. I wanted to hurt you," Nie Huaisang admits. "That's why I started kissing other people, and why I first thought I'd try to sleep with someone. I knew even if you didn't care at all about me, it would surely hurt you to be married to someone who had done things like that." 

"Oh." 

Suddenly feeling like he cannot breathe well, Lan Xichen lets his eyes fall on his cup of tea, if only to give them something to rest on. It had never occurred to him that Nie Huaisang’s dalliances might be more than his fiancé seeking a little fun, the way he's seen even other Lan boys do when they can get away with it.

It had hurt to realise that Nie Huaisang would rather go to other people than to him for these things. It now hurts even more to hear it was a deliberate choice, intended to cause him exactly the sort of pain he's now feeling. He doesn't think it will ever stop hurting, the degree to which Nie Huaisang grew to hate him. 

"I'm really sorry," Nie Huaisang says. "I shouldn't have acted like this. Being angry doesn't excuse my behaviour."

Taking a deep breath, Lan Xichen smiles again. 

"I understand. It's fine, you were…." 

"Please, don't do that!" Nie Huaisang urgently begs. "If you're angry at me, say it. You have every right to be angry, and promised you'd be more open, so do it for this as well. It's not fair if I'm the only one who gets to be upset."

"I'm not angry," Lan Xichen sighs, forcing the words out. "I'm just… sad. Do you really hate me this much?" 

"Not anymore," Nie Huaisang gently replies, squeezing his hand. 

Meaning he used to. But of course, Lan Xichen already knows that. 

"I wouldn't do that anymore," Nie Huaisang babbles on. "Even back then, I knew it was bad. It could have ruined things with Jin Zixuan too, how stupid! I really want to slap myself for that. I can't believe I just went and…" 

"It's fine with me if you do it again," Lan Xichen cuts him, spitting out the words as if they were made of acid. 

Nie Huaisang’s grip on his hand tightens to the point of being painful. 

"What do you mean?" 

"You did not choose this," Lan Xichen whispers, words that he's prepared hundreds of times in his mind, yet can barely bring himself to utter out loud. "This engagement, this marriage... I won't make demands of you. If you find a person you like… as long as you are discreet… If It makes you happy, I won't stop you." 

"But that would hurt you."

Lan Xichen scoffs at that understatement. 

"It's irrelevant." 

"It's not!" Nie Huaisang protests, sounding distressed. "Lan gongzi, Xichen, I… no matter how things were before, this is now, and everything is different. I wouldn't do that again, I mean it. The thought of hurting you like that again, it's unbearable."

Lan Xichen looks up for his cup of tea, their eyes meeting for the first time since they started on that subject. Nie Huaisang does look upset, his eyes shining as if the very thought of hurting Lan Xichen might make him cry. 

"I won't do that to you," Nie Huaisang repeats fiercely. "Not even with your permission." 

"Thank you," Lan Xichen whispers, moving his hand so he can properly hold one of Nie Huaisang's. 

He is fearful, at first, that he is taking more than his fiancé is willing to offer, but Nie Huaisang doesn't move his hand away. On the contrary he smiles and brushes his thumb against the back of Lan Xichen's hand. It is nice to be like this, quiet in a different way from when they fell silent during their meetings last year. Lan Xichen wouldn't mind spending the rest of the afternoon like this, though when before long Nie Huaisang starts chatting again, he doesn't mind that either. 

"I'm thinking of something," Nie Huaisang announces. "That time… was it really your first kiss?" 

"It was." 

"And I've ruined it," Nie Huaisang pouts, his expression exaggerated but his tone earnest. "I'm sorry for that. You deserve a nicer first kiss than that."

Lan Xichen looks away, his cheeks burning as he wonders how to explain that, even if things went so bad, he doesn't regret that kiss at all. Not now that he knows Nie Huaisang was willing. 

"How will I ever make it up to you?" Nie Huaisang sighs, his voice turning playful. "Ah! I know!" he announces with a devilish smile. "There's going to be an archery contest for junior disciples at that conference the Wens are hosting, right?" 

A little worried as to where this is going, Lan Xichen nods. 

"Well, here's my offer: if you win first place, I'll give you a real first kiss, to replace that other one." 

Lan Xichen's eyes go wide with surprise, while his cheeks turn redder than cherries at this bold proposition. To be so casually offered such a thing is… 

"If it's to compensate for what happened, shouldn't you just kiss me without condition?" Lan Xichen hears himself say, without any input from his brain. 

Nie Huaisang, blushing heavily as well, snickers at that comment and smirks at him. 

"I can't make things too easy for you!" he protests. "Besides, aren't I worth the effort? And you're such a strong archer, I'm sure it will be quite easy for you." 

"There will be other strong competitors," Lan Xichen protests, a little ashamed to be taking this joke so seriously but unable to stop himself when Nie Huaisang is pretending to offer him exactly the thing he most wants. "Wangji is probably even better than me, and Wei Wuxian is serious competition as well." 

"Already looking for excuses?" Nie Huaisang teases, squeezing his hand. "Lan gongzi, just say you don't want to kiss me." 

"I did not say that," Lan Xichen protests too quickly, which makes his fiancé burst out laughing. Lan Xichen can't decide if he's embarrassed or glad that this is apparently something they can joke about, now that they've clarified things between them. 

"Lan gongzi, you're so easy to tease these days!" Nie Huaisang chuckles. "I like it, it's more fun than when you tried to be serious." 

"I'm glad I can entertain Nie gongzi." 

"I wish everyone took it as well as you do. Jiang Cheng kept complaining about how awful I am, when I was in Lotus Piers. He said I was worse than Wei Wuxian, can you believe that?" 

"I can imagine him saying that, certainly. How are they both doing?" Lan Xichen asks, eager to move to a less dangerous topic.

That is all the prompting Nie Huaisang needs to start chatting about his stay in Yunmeng, and what great fun he had there. Now that he is not distressed by other subjects, Lan Xichen is free to observe his fiancé and finds him to be in a much better state than he was in Qinghe. Loneliness does not suit Nie Huaisang, and Lan Xichen is glad Nie Mingjue listened when he suggested to let his brother travel to see his friends. He will still offer to play music for Nie Huaisang later, but the need for it seems less urgent than last time. 

They continue talking as the afternoon pass (or rather Nie Huaisang chatters while Lan Xichen makes comments here and there), never noticing the time. They are only brought back to the world around them when, as the shadows start growing longer, Lan Qiren briefly comes into the house.

"I forgot some documents I was working on," he grumbles, striding past them without bothering to greet his nephew's guest. "I'll only be a moment, so…" 

Lan Qiren trails off, stopping on his tracks and suddenly staring at them as if they've both grown a second head. An ugly one at that, judging by his expression. It's rare to see him so disconcerted and Lan Xichen wonders what could be upsetting him. Following his uncle's gaze, he realises that this entire time, Nie Huaisang and him never let go of each other's hand. 

For a moment, Lan Xichen fears that Nie Huaisang will realises and move away. That fear is assuaged when instead, his fiancé gently squeezes his fingers and resumes his anecdote about one of Wei Wuxian's bouts of mischief, as if Lan Qiren weren't there. In turn Lan Qiren seems to recover from his shock. Without another word he goes to pick up his documents and leaves as quickly as he had arrived, his expression unreadable. Lan Xichen can't help staring at the door a moment, wondering what his uncle must think of this, until Nie Huaisang tugs at his hand, demanding his attention. 

"Lan gongzi, am I boring you?" he asks with a pout. 

"You never could," Lan Xichen replies. "So what did he do after stealing that boat?" 

Nie Huaisang grins. "Well, first of all, he got yelled at by Jiang Wanyin of course! And then he grabbed me and forced me to jump in, and…" 

Lan Xichen smiles, and listens with amused horror to a wild story that ends with all three boys falling in the water and punished by Madam Yu.

It took too long and caused so much pain to both of them, but it is nice to finally be friend with Nie Huaisang.

[elizabeethan]

My Hands, Your Hands

Chapter 1 / 2

Part 2

After being cheated on by her boyfriend, Emma Nolan moves in with her older brother David and his two stupid roommates, Will and Killian. After a night of drinking games and plenty of rum, Emma lands on the one rule that she'd rather avoid: "The Iron Curtain- player to your left."

Modern Captain Swan AU based on the New Girl episode where Nick and Jess go behind the Iron Curtain

Read on AO3

Killian got a new leather jacket in the mail and wouldn’t take it off. Like, he would not take it off. He keeps walking around in it saying stupid things like, “it really makes my hips pop,” and “I know it’s black, but it’s, like, a different kind of black. It brings out my eyes.” Emma is seriously about to lose it.  What makes matters worse is the fact that David and Will aren’t trying to stop him from acting as stupid as he is. They’re amping him up because they want to go out tonight, and it’s very un-fun going out with Killian when he’s down in the dumps about Milah. Still.

           Milah broke up with Killian months before Emma moved in. She had been cheated on by her long-term boyfriend Neal and needed a new place, and the only place with a room available happened to be her older brother’s loft, which happened to be filled with three grown men who act like children. Killian apparently took his breakup pretty hard, although she doubts he was as openly and embarrassingly emotional as she was. According to David, Milah was the one who got away. Evidently, she loved Kilian, but had to let him go. Her words, not Emma’s. Also evident was the fact that she very quickly moved into another’s man’s apartment after dumping his ass.

           So, while Emma had managed to get over Neal, she thinks rather successfully, Killian was still nursing that post-breakup hangover and hadn’t been out with the guys in several months. David usually doesn’t go out drinking, Emma assumes because he is in a long-term, committed relationship, so this is apparently momentous. Will is very excited to get out and get laid as he so eloquently put it. And now, with Killian’s new-found confidence thanks to a leather duster, he plans on getting laid as well.

           She has to admit, despite how obnoxious and childish he’s being, the black leather does work very well on him. His fair skin and dark hair compliment it, his muscular shoulders fit inside perfectly, and his ocean blue eyes truly do stand out.

           She immediately shakes that thought out of her head.

           Emma plans to stay home alone tonight; her current fling Walsh is working, and her best friend Ruby has a date. She could try and call Mary Margaret, David’s aforementioned girlfriend, but the two of them are more… daytime friends. Meaning, they get along great when they're doing adult things like having brunch or decorating the loft, but when it comes to Emma’s more childish side (read: drinking in excess) she sometimes feels as though Mary Margaret disapproves. Almost as if she’s the mom friend, but in a way that makes Emma feel like she could actually be her mother. This could be because she’s dating Emma’s older brother, or it could be because Mary Margaret has basically the purest soul of anyone Emma has ever met. Perhaps a combination of both.

           Honestly, Emma would totally go out with the guys tonight. But apparently that wouldn’t work in their favor.

           “I’m so down,” Emma exclaimed when Will announced their plans, jumping off the counter and imagining what outfit she would wear. She hasn’t been out in weeks and it wouldn’t kill her to act like a single lady for a night.

           “No way.” Killian practically jumped out of his own seat and stood directly in front of her, blocking her way to her bedroom. “You can’t come. I actually want to get laid tonight. You’d just get in the way.”

           “Excuse me!”

           “You would! Do you know how difficult it would be to get a woman to come home with me with you present? There’s no way you’re coming,” Killian says, rather rudely.

           “He’s right, Emma. It’d just make it harder for us guys if a lady was there,” Will added, shrugging and making the most insincerely apologetic face.

           “Maybe I can call Mary Margaret and see if she wants to hang out with you tonight?”

           So now she’s stuck at home. Emma spent the rest of the evening glaring at Killian before they left. She could also place equal blame on Will and David, but Killian is easier to glare at. Each time she looks over at him and narrowed her eyes, he shoots her a stupid, cocky grin and waggles his eyebrows.

           “Don’t wait up for us, Swan. Although, it may be difficult to sleep by the time we get home. We are right across the hall from one another, so if you think me and my lady friend are being too loud, well… just try and block it out.” Everything that Killian says to her is a joke, but that doesn’t make her glare any softer.

           “Shut up, Jones. You’d be lucky to get anyone to come home with you. Women will take one look at your stupid jacket and run for the hills,” she scoffs, pinching the fabric at his collar and dismissively flicking it away from her.

           “You said you liked my jacket!” His eyes grow twice their normal size and he feigns hurt, placing his right hand over his heart and gasping.

           “Just tell me you’re not actually going to wear it out tonight. It’s so long and flowy I feel like I could’ve worn it to prom.”

           “I’m sure it would look wonderful on you, love. But I think it will look better on my bedroom floor,” he says, another waggle in his thick brows. Emma glowers and groans.

           “You’re so stupid! Who says that?”

           “Oh, you love my sense of humor, Swan, don’t try and fight it,” he says in a low voice, leaning in closer to her and looking at her through his long lashes.

           “I’ve told you so many times to stop calling me that.” Emma rolls her eyes and turns around towards her bedroom, but his hand catches the crook of her elbow.

           “It’s funny. That’s one of the best things I’ve ever seen. Why wouldn’t you want me to continuously memorialize it?”

           “It’s not funny! I was attacked!”

           Killian chuckles and let’s go of her arm, a soft smile now decorating his face. “You’ll be alright here tonight, aye Swan? I didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome.”

           Emma rolls her eyes again as she walks into her bedroom and Killian follows. “Yes, you did. And it’s fine, I get it. Wouldn’t want anyone to get in the way of Killian Jones’s great conquest,” she says sarcastically, waving jazz hands in front of his eyes.

           It was Killian’s turn to roll his eyes now, blue disappearing behind his lids as he scoffs and smirks. He shakes his head leaves his place in her threshold.

~~~

           Emma didn’t always like Killian. Okay, she doesn’t really like him that much now, but when she first moved in, she couldn’t stand him. He was completely cocky, which David explained was a symptom of his difficult breakup. Apparently, it was arduous for him to get over the love of his life without acting like an asshole. Emma’s not sure what Will’s excuse was; the youngest of the three, he seems to get into the most trouble. David’s the oldest of the group, and also the most mature. He takes on a caretaking role rather effortlessly, just as he always has with Emma.

           As she sits at home alone, she becomes so desperately bored that she considers organizing her closet. However, knowing that that would never happen, she chooses to put on a scary movie and make some popcorn.

           When it ends, she decides to call Walsh while she thinks he’s on his break. Lately, even though they’ve only been seeing each other casually for about a month, she’s been feeling as if he expects much more from her than she’s willing to give. It seems as if he wants a committed relationship, although he hasn’t come out and said it, and she’s been feeling pressure to act more like a girlfriend.

Of course, it’s only natural that the hot water pipes should clang loudly in this moment, causing her to scream and throw what’s left of her popcorn right as she finishes up her voicemail.  

           “Swan,” she hears from outside the door. “Swan?” Killian swings the door open with fervor; his brows twisted into a concerned arch. David and Will were behind him, along with one of the most beautiful women Emma has ever seen. She offhandedly wonders who she decided to go home with.

           “Hi,” she replies, reaching down to pick up some of the popcorn that went flying around her. “How was your night?”

           “It was great, Emma. I’d like you to meet Sabine,” Will cuts in and gestures towards the woman with a cheeky grin on his face. “Sabine, this is my totally platonic roommate, Emma.”

           “Nice to meet you,” Sabine says with a small wave and an oddly flirty smile. “This is a great place you guys have.”

           “Yeah, thanks.”

           “Killian tells me you created a great drinking game, and the vibe at the bar was totally off, so we thought we’d check it out. Mind if we play?” Emma finds it interesting that Will seems to think he brought Sabine home, but Sabine appears to be all over Killian. Killian starts towards Emma now, and miraculously takes off his stupid jacket before sitting on the arm of the chair she’s in, smirking. The asshole.

           “Sure, that’s fine. Everyone needs a drink and we need to find the dice and board though,” she turns her attention to Will. If he thinks she’s helping set this up, he’s got another thing coming. “I’ll take a rum and coke.”

           Killian’s looking down at her still, so she looks back at him and glares once again. “Can I help you with something?”

           “Aye,” he says softly, reaching his right hand towards her face. She thinks she almost feels her lashes fluttering at his soft touch, until she feels a slight pull of a few strands of hair at the top of her head.

           “Ow, what the hell?”

           “More popcorn, love. How’d that get there?” She rolls her eyes (yes, again), and takes the kernel from his hand, tempted to throw it at him.

           “I don’t know. Maybe I was saving it for later, and now you’ve just ruined my midnight snack.” Killian laughs- actually throws his head back and laughs, before raising his right arm over her shoulders and sliding himself into the chair she’s in, effectively squishing the both of them.

           “Again, what the hell,” she asks, her tone incredulous and hostile.

           “Not enough seats, love. Ruby’s on her way.”

           “How would you know that? And why wouldn’t I just share a seat with Ruby?”

           “We text from time to time, mostly about you,” he says, his brows switching places as he raises one and lowers the other.

           “Shup up, you idiot,” she says with an eye roll. Pretty soon, they’re going to get stuck up there. At least, she thinks that’s what Mary Margaret would tell her. Killian chuckles deeply in response and she thinks she feels him squeezing his arm tighter around her shoulder. She knows he put it there to annoy her, but she doesn’t particularly mind, what with her irrational scare a few minutes before. “So, what the hell are you doing home this early?”

           “It’s like Sabine said, Swan, the vibe at the bar was totally off,” he says sarcastically, clearly poking fun at Will’s new friend.

           “So off that you couldn’t get anyone to come home with you? With that jacket?” Emma feigns shock, putting her hands to her cheeks and raising her brows, painting herself with a concerned expression. “Sabine seems to think you guys make a great match.”

           “Wasn’t really interested, I suppose. She’s better suited for Will.”

           “Please,” she scoffs, “she’s hot as hell, and earlier you literally said, and I quote, ‘I actually want to get laid tonight.’” Her take on his accent is truly terrible.

           His response is minimal, simply a shrug of his right shoulder as he works his way out of the chair that he wedged the two of them into. “You know you aren’t getting that drink from Will. You want a lime?” She nods, looking at him incredulously. They’ve lived together for nine months and he still acts like he doesn’t know what she drinks. It’s not as if they don’t drink together nearly every weekend.

~~~

           The game started only once everyone finally got their shit together. It’s true, Emma did create an awesome drinking game. A poster board and Mary Margaret’s artistic abilities quickly allowed for the creation of a game somewhere in between Candy Land and Monopoly. Okay, not really, but the concept is similar. Emma’s game states that the player roles a die and moves their game piece the appropriate number of spaces, then completes the task in the square they land on. Many of the tasks are drinking related. The game was created while they were all drunk.

           Emma roles the die and moves five spaces, commanded to drink because she’s from out of state. Killian must drink as well, and so must Sabine. Killian roles next and drinks because he doesn’t have brown eyes. Emma and David drink here too. At some point, Ruby does show up and complains about her date with the doctor named Whale. Emma thinks that anyone named after an animal cannot be trusted. Then she stops herself, remembering the stupid name Killian gave her.

           The game goes on for many rounds, and each of them get drunker with each role of the die. Eventually, Sabine lands on Never Have I Ever, and the loser must finish their drink, while everyone also takes a sip for each finger they put down. Emma, Ruby, and David all have one finger left, and it’s Killian’s turn to call a rule. He stares her dead in the face and smirks, one brow raised higher than she even thought was possible.

           “Alright, never have I ever…” he pauses, moving his right hand up to pinch his bottom lip and jut his jaw forward, his tongue running along his lip. Fuck, Emma thinks. I must be drunk. “Never have I ever been attacked in a park by the local wildlife.”

           Emma freezes and glares in his direction while everyone else laughs. She was holding up her pointer finger, but she drops it and replaces it with her middle. Then, despite the fogginess in her brain, she picks up her glass and takes another swig of her third perfectly made rum and coke.

           Once she finishes what’s in her glass, it’s her turn to role, and she lands on the one square that only one other person has ever landed on: The Iron Curtain- player to your left.

           In her drunken state, Emma’s not sure how well she hid her horror. She does not want to go behind the Iron Curtain. Only once was this rule played out, and it was the night that sparked silence between Ruby and Will for two weeks afterwards.

           Ruby cheers and stands up excitedly, jumping for joy and spilling her wine in the process. David groans and says she doesn’t have to do this. Sabine looks at Will, clearly wondering what the hell is going on.

           Emma has to go behind the giant metal sliding door and kiss someone. Specifically, she has to kiss the person to her left.

           When she looks to her left, all she sees is a sea of blue covered by thick black brows. “No way,” he says.

           “It’s the rules!” Ruby has never looked more excited, and her wolfish grin is very off-putting.

           “No! I’m not kissing Killian!”

           “Well I’m not kissing you!”

           “Oh, come on, we’re all adults here! It’ll literally take a minute,” Ruby tries to reason unsuccessfully.

           “A minute? How long do you think we’re going to be kissing? I’m certainly not kissing my best friend’s sister for a full minute.” He looks over at her and shrugs.

           “That’s a great point, Killian,” David chimes in.

           “Nothing from you, pal,” Will pipes up. “The rules state that she must go behind the Iron Curtain with the person to her left. She should’ve sat next to Ruby and this whole thing could’ve been avoided.” His attempt at lightening the mood is truly upsetting.

           “Okay, fuck this. If it’s gonna get everyone off my back, I’ll go behind the stupid Iron Curtain with stupid Killian Jones. Let’s go, idiot.” She grabs his right hand and yanks, noticing that it isn’t all that difficult to get him to come with her. Behind her, everyone is whooping and chanting kiss kiss kiss! as they shut the sliding door behind them.

           Once they're behind the door, the chants become muffled and she’s finally able to comprehend what the hell she’s doing. She’s quite drunk, mainly because Killian is always very generous with the rum when he makes her drinks. She’s not so sure about him though.

           “We’re not actually doing this, are we Swan?”

           “You know, I made the game, and now I’m really mad at myself. Why did you have to sit on my left?”

           He scoffs, although she thinks she sees a smile in his eyes. “I always sit on your left, Swan. We literally always sit in the same seats when we play this.”

           She rolls her eyes once again. “It’s the rules, we have to just suck it up and do it.”

           “I don’t want to suck it up, Jesus. So crass.”

           “Why are you so against kissing me? Do you really think it’ll be that bad, Jones?” She’s raising her voice slightly, for which she blames the rum. “We’re both drunk, we can just do it and forget it happened tomorrow.”

           “I am not even close to being as drunk as you are right now, Swan. And did you forget that you have a boyfriend? Because I didn’t.”

           “I don’t have a boyfriend, Killian,” she scoffs, backing to the wall and sliding down into a sitting position. He cocks his head and turns his body so that he can copy what she did, sitting on her left side again.

           “Trouble in paradise, love?”

           “No… I don’t know. Walsh is fine, it’s just…” she trails off, not sure how to finish the statement. Things with Walsh are just that, fine. But lately, she can’t help the feeling that things between them just aren’t right.            “Fine doesn’t seem promising to me, Emma. Are you sure that’s enough?” She’s honestly caught off guard by the way he says her name. Not love, not Swan, Emma. As if he means what he says, and cares about her answer.

           “No,” she replies so softly she’s unsure if she even heard herself. “I think we want different things.” He hums in response, nodding his head slowly and bumping his shoulder into hers.

           “I’m not convinced kissing me would make that any better. Maybe we shouldn’t do this. I really don’t want to kiss you like this.” For some reason, Emma suddenly feels herself grappling with a strange sensation. I really don’t want to kiss you like this. A pit has formed in her stomach and it feels as though someone has reached in and grabbed her heart, squeezing as hard as they could. Rejection.

           Why on earth would Emma Nolan be upset that Killian Jones doesn’t want to kiss her? Hell, she doesn’t want to kiss him! So, what is it about these words that threaten to send her over the edge? These words that make her feel so much more sadness than she thought was possible?

           “It’s fine,” she breathes, refusing to lift her head in his direction.

           “Swan,” he says carefully. “Emma… What’s wrong, love?” She’s never heard his voice sound so smooth and velvety and caring. Part of her wants to lean into him and take comfort in his softness, but the other part of her continues to replay his words over in her head. I really don’t want to kiss you like this.

           Rude of him to assume that she’s too drunk and sloppy for a kiss, considering he’s the one who made her this way.

           “Stop calling me that,” she finally says dismissively, getting up too quickly and stumbling her way towards the door.

~~~

           “Emma?!” She hears the annoying voice before she sees the face it belongs to. Walsh is pounding on the door, and frankly, he’s the last person she wants to see right now.

           “Did you kiss?” Ruby asks her with her grin still plastered on her face, and Emma rolls her eyes. She sees David looking at her from the corner of her eye, then sees him get up and go towards the door.

           “Emma, are you alright? Oh, hey everyone,” Walsh says when the door finally opens and he sees the party of people in the loft. “Emma, I got your voicemail. Are you okay? You were screaming.”

           “Did you call Walsh while you were behind the curtain with Killian? Emma, that’s sneaky! But you can’t get out of this one!” Ruby’s brows waggle in a way that resembles Killian’s, and Emma’s eyes launch themselves into the back of her head with a roll.

           “What does that mean, behind the curtain? Are you okay?”

           “Walsh, I’m fine. We’re just playing a game. The pipes creaked while I was calling you and it startled me.” Emma’s mood is completely shot, and she isn’t even really sure why. Frankly, she’s pissed at herself for being upset right now.

           “Well, where’s Killian? I’d like to know what he was up to during this game.” She can hear the sarcasm dripping from his voice for whatever reason.

           “How should I know where he went,” She snaps. “I’m not his keeper, I don’t track his every move.”

           “Emma, calm down. Jesus. Do you know what it’s like to receive such a horrible message while I’m at work and then have to come over here and see everyone trashed out of their minds? Would it kill you to just chill out for a second rather than jumping down my throat for asking a simple question?”

           “Woah, mate,” she hears from behind Walsh. Killian has made his way out from behind the curtain and is wearing a look of astonishment on his face.

           “No one asked you, Jones.”

           “Shut up, Walsh,” Emma retorts. The room suddenly feels much quieter than it was just a few seconds ago. Will has turned the music down and everyone has stopped shout-talking.

           “Excuse me?”

           “I said shut up. Don’t talk to my friend like that. Don’t talk to me like that. I didn’t ask you to come over here. In fact, if you had given me a heads up, I would’ve told you not to come over here.”

           “Are you serious? You literally left me a voicemail as if you were in grave danger, and now you’re mad at me for checking on you?”

           “You checking on me isn’t the problem here! The problem is that you clearly don’t actually give a shit and you’re just here to keep up appearances!”

           “What does that even mean? That’s absurd.” He’s rolling his eyes this time, still standing close to the still-open door. David and Killian are both behind him, eyeing Emma carefully.

           “If you really cared about me potentially being in danger, you wouldn’t have come over here with a whole stick up your ass. And you certainly wouldn’t have gotten upset when you saw that I was fine!” Killian purses his lips and nods, and David shoots her a discreet grin.

           Walsh scoffs, backing towards the door some more. “You know what, I don’t need this.”

           “Good,” Emma retorts. “Neither do I. Go home, Walsh.”

           “Where do you think I’m going? Christ, I swear. Go have fun with Killian, I guess.”

           “Don’t bother coming back, and don’t call me! I don’t wanna hear from you!” She’s shouting at him, as if he’s too far away to hear her, even though he hasn’t crossed the threshold.

           “Why would I come back? It’s always been obvious that you don’t want me here, Emma! I don’t even know why I ever bothered! A slut like you could never settle down!”

           She feels like she’s been punched. What grounds could Walsh possibly have to call her a slut? In her entire adult life, she can count the number of guys she’s dated on one hand. Her six-year relationship took up a lot of her time, thank you very much.

           Emma may have felt like she was punched, but at least she wasn’t actually punched. At least she didn’t have Killian and David standing behind her, taking in her insult and rearing up to punch her in the face the second she turned towards them. At least she didn’t have David holding her in her place while Killian swung his right fist straight into her jaw.

           If she wasn’t so shocked by what just went down, she would’ve found it impressive to see Killian and David working together to beat up the guy who just insulted her character. Killian likely wouldn’t have been able to grab Walsh and hold him in place with his left hand while his right hand swung into his face, but with David there, he was able to deliver a firm hit that must’ve made Walsh dizzy.

           “Get the fuck out of our apartment,” Killian hisses, practically spitting in Walsh’s face while he holds his collar with his right hand. Then, Killian shoves Walsh to the ground outside the door and David slams it shut.

           “Alright, Swan?” Killian’s blue eyes are on her, along with everyone else’s. She nods and slowly turns around and walks back to the couch.

           “Emma…” Ruby starts, but she’s clearly not sure where to go from here. Neither is Emma. What the hell just happened?

           “I’m fine. I just- I need another drink,” she says pleadingly, eyes on Killian’s. His brows tighten together in concern, but he nods softly, making his way over towards the kitchen.

           Emma sits on the couch and draws her own brows together, trying to comprehend what just happened. Walsh busted in and started accusing her of making stuff up, or, at least, that’s how she interpreted things. She was already heated, so having him come at her like that must have just set her off. Did she really have to scream at him like that?

           Then she remembers what he said to her, what he called her. Emma has been dating a bit more lately, trying to get over Neal, but she certainly wouldn’t classify herself as a slut, and she definitely wouldn’t say she’s been sleeping around. Walsh just said that because he wanted a relationship and she didn’t… right?

           Then she thinks about what happened after he called her a slut. Everything happened so quickly that she’s not even sure if she remembers it correctly. As soon as Walsh said it, he turned around, as if he wanted to insult her and then promptly leave. However, Killian had just walked out from the other room, and David was the one who opened the door when he first arrived, so the two of them were waiting for him when he turned around. The second they saw his face, it seemed like the pounced. It was almost as if the two of them had rehearsed David holding Walsh in place and Killian hitting him square in the jaw. It wasn’t hard enough to knock him unconscious, but it was definitely a hard hit.

Then, Emma’s thinking about Killian’s knuckles and how they must be starting to ache, so she stands abruptly, stumbles a bit, and makes her way into the kitchen. She’s certain that at least David and Ruby are watching her, but she doesn’t care.

“I was on my way back out, love,” Killian says when she reaches the kitchen area. She nods, her eyebrows still screwed up in concern and confusion. “Would you like your drink here?” She nods again.

“Okay?” She’s looking him in the eye and then glancing down at his hand and pointing at it.

He chuckles softly, “are you asking if I’m okay, or are you saying okay to drinking out here?”

“You,” is all she can say back, eyes still fixed on his reddening knuckles. It’s as if she’s completely unable to focus on anything else.

“I’m fine, Swan. You should see the other guy,” he jokes with a cocky smile, but his eyes soften when her expression remains unchanged. She steps forward towards him, stumbles past his body, and heads towards the freezer, pulling out a box of popsicles. She thrusts the box towards him and nods her head. “Swan, really, I’m okay.”

“You need to ice it,” she says, pushing the box towards him again. She thinks this action through and ends up opening the box and taking one out before forcing him to take it from her. “You only have one good hand left, take care of it.”

His face falls slightly at the comment, and she immediately regrets saying it, but he takes the box from her anyway.

“I’m sorry,” she says, suddenly feeling a wave a guilt that’s likely to drown her, tears pricking her eyes. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head and walks towards her, steadying her wavering body with his arms and drawing her into an embrace. “It’s alright love, I’m not mad. Everything’s alright.”

She feels like crying, she thinks she is crying, in fact, but she can’t hardly focus on that anymore. Not when she’s also focused on the way Killian smells like the ocean and the way that the smell mixes with the scent of leather lingering on his tight black Henley. He’s squeezing her in a way that makes her almost forget the weirdly terrible turn the night took.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, although she’s not sure why.

“Don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything. I’m sorry he was such a dick to you.”

She shakes her head against his chest and continues to breathe deeply, warding off tears without even meaning to.

Suddenly, as they stand there with him holding her so tenderly, her thoughts draw back to where they were only minutes ago, and she feels that familiar sensation in the pit of her stomach. She moves from him, his embrace loosening, and drunkenly looks up at him with sadness stuck in her eyes. “You didn’t want to kiss me,” she states.

He hums lightly, sighing and nodding his head. “Perhaps we can talk about that tomorrow.”

“No,” she says, “I want to talk now. I won’t want to talk tomorrow.” What she means is, she won’t have the balls to talk about it tomorrow, without excessive liquid courage.

“I didn’t want to kiss you,” he confirms. “I didn’t want to make you kiss me because I thought you would feel bad about it afterwards. What with Walsh and everything,” he trails off. He clearly thought that they were in a better place than they were.

“Walsh is gone,” she says without thinking. “He was gonna be gone soon anyway.”

“Aye, love, I know that now. But I also,” he cuts himself off, sighing and pulling on his bottom lip with his right hand in a way that threatens to drive her insane. His left arm is still slung over her shoulders, but they’ve separated a bit. “I didn’t want to kiss you because of some game you were playing while you were drunk.”

“Oh,” she says, considering this. Perhaps her suspicions about her being too drunk to be kissable were accurate.

“What I mean is, if I were to kiss you, I’d want it to be more special than it would have been behind the Iron Curtain.”

“Oh.”

“Emma?” Ruby rounds the corner before Emma can comprehend what Killian said. “Are you okay, honey? Why are you holding a popsicle?”

She looks down at the melty mess within the white packaging. Killian chuckles and tosses it in the trash, then moves to put the box back in the freezer. While he’s in there, searching for room even though it was just pulled out, she leaves the kitchen and heads straight for the bathroom.  

           She feels slightly better now that she’s walking and not being suffocated by Killian’s muscular chest and intoxicating scent. At the same time, however, she also feels cold and alone.

She notes that it’s now completely quiet in the living room, as if the party died the second Walsh walked in. She feels guilty about being the root of the problem tonight, but honestly can’t really spend much time thinking about it.

           Once she makes it to the bathroom, she gets her cleanser and removes her makeup, then puts on her moisturizer. Throughout her adult life, if there was one thing she was good at, it was drunkenly taking off her makeup and completing her skincare routine.

           Once she gets to bed, she finds her thoughts migrating back to Killian. She thinks about the way his face tightened and his arm muscles rippled when he swung and hit Walsh. She thinks about the way his kind eyes stared at her and only her afterwards, as if he needed to make sure she was okay. She thinks about the way he smelled and how his soft warm chest felt against her face while he held her.

           Then, she thinks about what he said. If I were to kiss you, I’d want it to be more special than it would have been behind the Iron Curtain. What the hell does that mean?

           She would genuinely be lying to herself if she said she hadn’t thought about how it would feel to kiss him. His lips are luscious, anyone would have to admit it. And he’s always doing that thing where he pinches them between his fingers or runs his tongue along the bottom one. If it was anyone else, someone she didn’t live with and someone who wasn’t her brother’s best friend, she probably would have jumped on the opportunity to sleep with him months ago.

But thinking that he’s physically attractive and actually having feelings for him are completely different things. And lately, despite her constant annoyance, she also has feelings of longing and happiness whenever she sees him. Him saying that he would want their shared moment to be special is only adding fuel to the fire of him being crush-worthy. Her feeling rejected by him saying he didn’t want to kiss her also made her feel foolish for ever thinking that she didn’t have a crush on him.

The lights are off and she’s under her blankets, but she hears her door creak open and sees light flooding in the crack. She’s sure Ruby went home by now, so she’s not sure who would be breaking into her room. Rather than dealing with it, she pretends to be asleep until the culprit leaves. Once they do and she hears the door close tight, she rolls over and looks to her bedside table to see that whoever it was left some Advil and cold water for her, and grins, knowing it must have been Killian who dropped it off.

She’s fucked.

[greycappedjester]

What is your take on Barbara in your Young Justice story? As in what comics or shows inspired you? Also, how is she handling(i don't know another word) her feeling for Dick? From what I can take is that she still loves him; she wants him to be happy and will do things for him to accomplish that. Idk i don't think she has time to really "move on" even if she tried because she will always be there for him... along with the other bat-family

Thank you so much! Hmmm, I love Babs a lot but I’m trying to think of where I primarily draw her character from--probably a mix of her Oracle days, Birds of Prey, some Batgirl Year One, with a bit of fandom in general, Young Justice (ofc), and the Batman animated show I watched when I was younger. Anything that shows Barbara as competent, efficient, a badass but also clearly cares about her family and the people she works with. She’s such a great example of a character that can both act marvelously and unhesitatingly in a support role without making supporting others seem lesser in any way--because really how would any of the Batfamily in the 90s-early 2000s get anything done without her--while also being a hero/ main character in her own right (with Oracle and Birds of Prey).

For how she’s dealing with her feelings--I think what you said is fair: she loves him, she wants him to be happy and is glad that he seems to be with Kory, she does have trouble moving on completely because they always work together. It’s essentially Barbara’s a wonderful person about prioritizing her goals--her top goal is to keep her loved ones (and Gotham) safe through anyway she can help them. As long as she has that, she can be happy...even if she sometimes is too selfless in that she removes herself from (or allows) situations where she thinks she’s too biased even if she thinks the situation is ill-considered.....that’ll make sense a lot more after the next year arc, promise.

Bonus very short story under break because I feel like it explains it better than my ramble.

Here is a piece of dialogue I wrote from a short story in Barbara’s POV. It’s not finished so I won’t post all of it; but, it’s called “Prom” and takes place between Year 2 and Year 3 (so post Batgirl, pre-Kory’s arrival on Earth).

-----

Barbara Gordon is in love with Dick Grayson.

She doesn’t let it affect her that much. 

There’s more important things to worry about.

Namely being Batgirl, Gotham’s newest vigilante of about a year and a really good one if she does say so herself. And with that comes other worries. Like containing Arkham breakouts. And patrolling Crime Alley. And tracking down leads on whatever new addition there is to Gotham’s ever expanding list of batshit insanity. And going through the next torture mislabled as a training exercise because “we can never be too prepared, right, Babs?”. Or, hey, speaking of which, trying to make sure neither she nor Dick die in this nightmare of a city that she adores so much.

And then, there’s the additional joy of keeping all of the above mentioned vigilante activities out of the attention of her father aka the Police Commissioner aka one of the most observant men in Gotham.

The point is Barbara doesn’t have time to be part of anyone’s unrequited teenage love story, even if it’s her own.

All of which normally works out pretty darn well except for one occasional fact.

Dick Grayson is an idiot.

Big blue eyes look up at her imploringly from across the lunch table and Babs momentarily contemplates stabbing him with her fork.

“I just thought it would be a good idea,” he explains before hurrying to add, “if you don’t already have someone you want to go with, I mean.”

“You’re asking me to prom,” she says incredulously. “Wait, you’re telling me you don’t have a date to prom?”

Dick hesitates. “Um, well, no, I don’t. Not exactly.”

Barbara blinks, narrows her eyes, and then mentally translates that through her built in Dick Grayson decodifier. The answer comes alarmingly quickly.

“In other words, people asked you and you turned them down. So now, you have to find a date if you want to go and not look like an asshole,” she concludes.

Dick blushes and she knows she’s right.

Not that there was ever really a question because, unlike her, Dick actually is popular. Insanely so considering, like her, he’s two years younger than most of their classmates and makes the absolute minimal effort to be part of any extracurricular activities besides sporadic decathlon appearances.

Then again, maybe it’s not that surprising when you factor back in the whole billionaire heir status plus the...well, okay, the unfair levels of attractiveness and grace Dick exudes as unconsciously as breathing.

Dick smiles sheepishly and Barbara swears she hears a girl two tables away actually sigh.

“I just thought it would be more fun to go with you,” Dick insists and Barbara’s traitorous little heart might have skipped if he didn’t immediately follow it with, “as friends, you know?”

Barbara continues to stare at him because dang it, she might have tripped into a bad teen movie but she still has her pride.

“If you’re just asking me because you think I don’t have a date--”

Dick’s eyes immediately widen. “No! Babs, that’s not it at all, I swear!” He sighs, checking the cafeteria before leaning in. “It’s just...you know how things can get kind of, ah, busy all of the sudden for us, right?”

Oh….

Barbara nods, feeling like an idiot. She should have known it would all come back to vigilante stuff.

Dick looks relieved. “I just don’t want to agree to go to prom with someone when I’ve got to ditch them last minute if something comes up.”

“Oh,” she says, mostly on autopilot. “And at least if we go together and something happens…”

“We won’t be letting anyone down.” Dick smiles before shrugging. “And, if nothing happens, then I still get to go to prom with one of my best friends. Win-win.”

Barbara forces herself to swallow. “Win-win.”

“So, what do you say?” Dick’s smile goes a little bit mischievous. “Barbara Gordon, will you go to prom with me?”

The sad thing is that when it comes down to it, she doesn’t have to think about it.

“Sure, Dick.”

Dick’s face lights up, endearing in all the ways it’s not infuriating. “Really?”

Barbara shrugs, pulling up a smile. “What can I say? You know I love dancing.”

-----

Since apparently this is her life now, Barbara gives in to overdramatic impulses and throws herself onto the couch before finding a thick enough pillow to scream into.

When she finally lets the pillow slide off her face, her dad’s staring at her from over a heavy stack of case files.

“Bad day at school?”

She smiles sardonically. “I got a date for prom.”

“....Oh.” He frowns and there’s something Babs always finds oddly touching about the utter panicked confusion the hardened police commissioner shows with anything approaching the emotions of teenage girls. He shoulders through. “I thought you weren’t going to prom.”

“I wasn’t,” she agrees. Frankly, she thinks she could go her entire life without seeing classmates she barely talks to swaying awkwardly in a cramped gymnasium.

Her dad’s frown deepens. “Who’s the guy?”

She sighs, closing her eyes, already knowing how this will go. “Dick Grayson.”

“Ah...well that’s--”

“He asked me as friends,” she finishes.

Silence greets her response and Barbara shuts her eyes a bit tighter.

If there’s one thing she absolutely hates about being in love with Dick Grayson, it’s the fact that everyone else in her life already knows. Everyone except Dick.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s fine, Dad.”

“You want me to shoot him?”

She chokes on a laugh, finally opening her eyes. “You can’t. You’re a cop. The police frown on things like murder.”

He gives her a look, a smile creeping in under his moustache. “It’s Gotham, Barbara.”

She stands up, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

“Don’t.” She smiles. “Gotham still needs one honest cop left.”

“Drats.” He catches her hand, smile evening out as he meets her eyes. “If he doesn’t see what’s in front of him, honey, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

Barbara squeezes his hand in lieu of answering.

That’s the thing no one ever seems to get. 

It isn’t that Dick doesn’t see her. In fact, she’s pretty sure Dick sees her better than anyone.

He’s her partner, the best friend she’s ever had, the one thing she knows she can always count on.

But, he’s not in love with her.

-------

Thanks for the ask!

[adamwatchesmovies]

The Best of 2019

What a year. By the time 2019 ended, I had seen over 130 new movies. It's actually probably closer to 150 but I lost count. There are a few titles I missed, such as The Dead Don’t Die, The Fanatic and Honeyland so obviously, this is not an all-encompassing, definitive list of 2019’s best, but it should give you a good idea of which films you need to check out if you haven’t already.

I usually like to save the #10 spot on my list for a movie that’s just for me. Normally, this would mean a giant monster movie, an off-beat creation nobody else saw, a comic book movie that spoke to my particular tastes or maybe a Canadian movie I know didn’t get the opportunity to shine like it should’ve. This year, that’s not happening. Trimming my list down to 10 was hard enough. I certainly wasn’t going to sacrifice one more to make it just 9. Let's dig in.

10. The Farewell

It’s been weeks since The Farewell and I’m still thinking about it. If I was put in the same position as Billi, I'm not sure what I'd do? Is it better to tell someone that's dying that their days are numbered, or should you spare them from that burden? Is it really them you’d be sparing, or is keeping the secret for your own selfish needs? Writer/director Lulu Wang asks serious questions about culture I had never contemplated before. There’s a lot for you here and even more if your family comes from mixed backgrounds.

9. A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

I heard some complaints about Fred Rogers (Tom Hanks) not being the main character of this film by Marielle Heller, from writers Micah Fitzerman-Blue and Noah Harpster. It was the right choice. The plot has a cyical reporter meet Rogers and through their relatively brief interaction, learn what we knew going in. It delivers a moving character arc without having to stain its subject with flaws we didn't want to see. The quasi-meta presentation is what elevates it into top-10 status. That extra touch means it does a lot more than simply re-iterate what we saw in the 2018 documentary Won't You Be My Neighbor?.

8. Knives Out

Knives Out is one of the most entertaining films all year. There are no profound moments of meditation, no earth-shattering realizations about yourself, just a mystery to be solved. All the suspects are so intriguing they could be the stars of their own movies. Put together in the same house as a dead body and you’ve got no idea who did it. Its screenplay is excellent. The twists are juicy. Everything ads up in a satisfying manner. Rian Johnson is already working on a sequel. I can’t wait.

7. Apollo 11

There are few holdovers from the list I made halfway through the year, which either says something about the strength of the second half of 2019, or the weakness of the first. Either way, you’ve got to see Apollo 11. It’s the closest thing to going back in time and being there when man landed on the moon. The tension and anticipation are overwhelming. Knowing what happened doesn't matter. The way the footage is assembled is nothing short of incredible. Why this documentary wasn't present at the Academy Awards is beyond me.

6. Uncut Gems

Adam Sandler should’ve been nominated for an Oscar. He wasn’t. I’ll bet you dollars to donuts it's because of his association with all of those brain-dead Happy Madison Production comedies. His history with cinema shouldn't matter. The movie is what matters. The fact is, this was the perfect role for him. It isn’t even that Sandler’s doing something different, it’s that he’s being used to his full potential. If you weren’t glued to the screen, eager to see what’s coming next, this movie would have you jumping out of the window screaming - anything to escape the anxiety the Safdie Brothers serve up with devilish grins.

5. The Lighthouse

Next on my list is The Lighthouse. Right away, the aspect ratio and black-and-white cinematography lets you know you’re in for something different. You have no idea. What I love so much about this film is the way it handles madness. At the end of the day, I’m not sure if I could tell you if Robert Pattinson’s character was crazy, if Willem Dafoe’s character was the nutty one, or if they both were. It shows you just enough to make you doubt your own sanity. It’s also unexpectedly funny, which makes it feel oddly genuine. In one scene, Robert Pattinson's Ephraim Winslow gets a hold of the lighthouse's logs. In it, his boss, Thomas (Willem Dafoe) recommends Ephraim be disciplined for masturbating excessively. Considering Thomas has been cavorting with some kind of tentacle creature up in the lighthouse (at least that's what I think I saw, I'm not so sure anymore), all you can do is laugh. What kind of loony bin is this turning into? One I'm looking forward to revisiting.

4. 1917

Shot in a way that makes it all look like one take, 1917 is a technical marvel. It hooks itself up to your circular system and steadily replaces your blood with pure, undistilled stress. As you're about to flatline, it stops and gives you a breather. A shot of a meadow untouched by the ravages of war; a reminder of what the soldiers are fighting for and of how utterly devastating armed combat is on humanity as a whole. Gorgeous cinematography, powerful emotions, magnificent production values.

3. Joker

Along with Godzilla: King of the Monsters (a movie they basically made for me), this was my most anticipated movie of the year. To get ready, I watched Taxi Driver and The King of Comedy, two Scorsese films Joker director Todd Phillips drew a lot of inspiration from. For some reason, it seems as though many critics took offense to the similarities. Sometimes I understand differing opinions from mine. This time, I don’t. It’s a great film that warns of the dangers of letting people like Arthur Fleck (brilliantly performed by Joaquin Phoenix) fall through the cracks. Left unchecked, he discovers that by doing terrible things, he becomes a “better” version of himself. It’s not a drama. It’s a horror movie that spins the familiar Batman archenemy in a new direction but also stays true to the character. There are several scenes in this movie that are going to be permanently imprinted in my brain. Those stairs. Need I say more?

Runner-ups

Avengers: Endgame

Even if every single Marvel movie going forward is awful, this caps off the whopping 22-chapter saga epically. A couple of aspects bugged me enough that it could only manage to make the runner-up list but it's a terrific film.

Booksmart

The funniest comedy of the year. I think back to Amy and Molly using their hairs as masks and still can't manage to hold back a few chuckles months later.

Toy Story 4

This one was hard to cut. The only flaw I could find was that it isn’t on the same level as 3… even though they’re both 5-star movies.

Midsommar

I’ve heard the extended cut is even better than the original. I wish I’d had the chance to see it in theatres.

Jojo Rabbit

Audacious and heartfelt. I loved those scenes of Scarlett Johanson being a mom. Her agent might've dropped the ball getting her cast in Ghost in the Shell but she sure knew how to pick great work in 2019.

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

Quentin Tarantino brings us back to a time when Roman Polanski was simply a good director instead of a convicted rapist, movie stars were untouchable, and the death of someone’s wife under mysterious circumstances was nothing to raise eyebrows about. It’s not a movie that screams “here and now”. If anything, it’s regressive. That said, I cannot deny the experience I had watching it. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime kinda thing and I doubt even Tarantino could pull it off again. I wonder how many people went in knowing what happened to Sharon Tate like I did.

Marriage story

It’s nothing but raw emotion and powerhouse performances in this drama about two people you love going through a divorce. I always make it my goal to watch movies all the way through without any interruptions. Several times throughout, I was tempted to hit "Pause" so I could catch my breath.

Internet lists are everywhere. You know why, don’t you? They suck you in and when you get down to it, most don’t require all that much effort to put together. Except when I make them, apparently. These bi-annual lists always turn out to be difficult to put together. 2019's proved particularly arduous. I’m fairly sure that my #3 movie belongs there. Out of all the movies on this list, it’s probably the one I’m going to go back to most often. The other two? I’d say that technically, one may be better than the other but I think the other one is “more important” so that gives it the edge. What I’m trying to say is, they’re all winners and on a different day, I might even swap them around.

2. Little Women

I have only seen three of the seven silver screen adaptations of Louisa May Alcott’s novel and I don’t expect any of the others to top this one. The secret ingredient to this one's success is Greta Gerwig. Writing and directing, she does so much more than merely translate the classic to movie form. She re-arranges the story to give the events a greater punch than they would if they were shown chronologically and puts a little more emphasis on a couple of key moments (that tear-jerking Christmas, for example) to crank up the emotion. She also makes it more modern without having to change anything about the setting or characters. Admittedly, the back-and-forth between the past and present is a little jarring at first - makes you wonder what Greta Gerwig could’ve done had she been given the de-aging budget Martin Scorsese was given - but that’s where the performances and costumes come in. It takes mere moments before you get what the movie is doing. I’ve said it already but it made me cry.

1. Parasite

To make this list, I didn’t go through all of my past reviews and check which ones were rated what. I thought back to which movies gave me the most vivid memories, which ones gave me the biggest reactions. I’m still not sure how I feel about the final final moment but there’s so much about Parasite that I admire. This would be a great one to watch with others just to see their reactions to the reveal about the bookcase.

[pokeshippingflashfic]

ok no prob ^^ what about a 'we should kiss just to break the tension' kinda fic?

[Okay so when I received this I had a really fun little idea that didn’t perfectly match the quote - if it’s supposed to be a quote, I wasn’t sure - and I felt my inspiration… may trump my uncertainty about possibly not quite meeting anon’s expectations for this fic… Very sorry in advance!]

He’d thought things were finally back to normal.

Ash Ketchum was not what one would call particularly observant. He himself had admitted on at least one occasion already to not fully understand the female, or rather one specific female’s, mind… But he’d seen Misty bristle in irritation when Melody introduced herself on Shamuti Island’s beach and he’d inwardly blanched at the redhead’s aggravated and curt response when he’d asked her to join him in fulfilling his role as the so-called chosen one in the Shamuti Island legend.

Lugia had since returned to their deep sea home, the other legendary birds had retreated to their respective islands, all of the Pokemon that had journeyed to the supposed end of the world had begun to withdraw… Ash and friends, including his mom and Professor Oak, had spent one final night on Shamuti to nurse their thankfully small wounds and new emotional scars. A feast was thrown and everyone who’d had a part in securing the three elemental orbs that quelled their respective titans’ fury had retired to bed rather early.

And, by end of next day, Misty was back to glaring daggers and offering little more than argumentative commentary whenever they shared the same space.

Ash sighed, squinted up at the twinkling stars from his position at the rear deck of the ferry he and his friends were riding on to reach their next destination. Honestly he was too tired to be playing detective. There was a reason he’d opted to take a ferry instead of sailing to Pummelo on Lapras…

Speaking of tired, he yawned, standing to his full height and stretching. There was no point speculating on Misty and her weird moods. He did hope though that whatever she was going through would resolve itself before he completed the Orange League. Truth be told, it was nice to think of her cheering him on…

“–Ack!” The half-formed complaint formed in Misty’s throat as he turned and knocked straight into her.

“Mwah! Sorry! I… oh, Misty.”

“Geez, Ash, look where you’re going! And don’t sound like you wanna take back your apology just ‘cause it’s me you ran into!” she rebuffed briskly, turning her nose up at him.

“Uh, what’re ya doin’ here? It’s pretty late to be wandering around,” he replied almost sheepishly instead, choosing to ignore her attitude.

“I was going to the bathroom, not that it’s any of your business. I thought I’d take the outdoor route since the ocean at night is so nice to look at,” she told him almost absentmindedly, though he saw the twinkle in her eyes as she confessed her admiration. “But I could ask you the same thing. You can’t be this restless after everything we just went through, right?”

For half a second, he wondered to himself if that was concern he’d heard in her voice.

“Actually I was just going to bed, was thinking about some stuff but I’m done now.”

It was awkward. For all of his lack of knowledge and experience dealing with Misty Things™, even Ash could feel the air thicken with restrained hostility. Neither of them moved, not even to create enough space for the other to pass them by.

“Well, see ya in the morning then,” she told him in that same curt tone he’d practically gotten used to (again, for she’d all but ceased in using it since the first few months of their travels together… and honestly, what kind of friend acts that way for no reason), her gaze sharp as she stared him down.

“Hey wait!” he practically shouted, even going so far as to grab her hand and pull her softly back, forcing her to face him. Well, sorta. She refused to look him in the eye all of a sudden, and he swore her face looked a lot redder than what was normal.

“Wh - what?”

“Is something the matter? You’ve been treating me weird the past couple days.”

“Wh - huh?” she responded blankly, though the lack of ire lasted mere seconds before her brow knitted in irritation, lips pursing to keep herself from saying anything she’d regret too much as she tugged herself free from him and placed blunt and somewhat callused fists on her hips. “Why of course not, Mr. Pokemon Master. Don’t be silly! I’m treating you normal.”

No, you’re not, he thought automatically, somewhat frustrated but not enough to risk raising her temper by calling her out aloud.

No, I’m not, she internally relented but she shouldn’t have to point the obvious out to him and, really, she wasn’t emotionally prepared to be that open with him anyway. Maybe things would just have to be unfriendly between the two of them for awhile yet. They’d gotten through a rough patch before, right? They could do it again.

Because how could she tell him the reason she was so upset was due to another girl coming on to him? Kissing him on the cheek? Not to mention twice! 

It hadn’t seemed to phase Ash quite as much the second time around but Misty, having only just found it in her to be honest about his importance to her, had not planned for Melody’s second attack just before their departure from Shamuti Island. The redhead had half a mind to ask if that had been more for her response than his but hadn’t gotten the opportunity.

But perhaps the most shocking part of it all was that Ash noticed anything was wrong to begin with. The only hope she had now was to keep from giving him anymore clues. About anythi--

--She was interrupted by a three or so second long soft and rather chapped pressure against her left cheek.

Wide-eyed, breath stifled somewhere between her lungs and throat, the redhead clamped both hands quickly over the victimized part of her face, doing her best to form an accusation.

“Wh - wha... what’re you doing, Mr. Pokemon Master? What was that?!” she whispered in an oddly high-pitched voice, face burning as bright as her hair looked, mind turning a little gooey despite her best attempts to stay vigilant.

“Uh... I guess it was a... kiss?” he replied, his face scrunching a little in distaste of the admission. He didn’t offer her anymore information off the bat, perhaps focusing more on his own reaction to such a choice. He’d never done that before after all, for anyone, and had never even been tempted in the past.

But while Misty had been thinking hard about Melody’s final transgression against her, kissing Ash on his cheek a second time before he and his friends left her home island, while she’d been resigning herself to her reigning temper and temporary fear that he’d somehow manage to put two and two together to figure out her feelings, he had returned to playing detective.

And the fact that he’d kept circling back to was that Misty had been angry again by the time their group left Shamuti. And she’d been angry within minutes of them first arriving on Shamuti. And somewhere towards the end of their latest perilous adventures in the archipelago region, she’d temporarily gotten over that feeling. So her anger didn’t seem to be tied to frustration over him getting caught up in something dangerous, nor did it have to do with her part in saving him from that something dangerous...

He’d acted instinctively, so swiftly after coming to his conclusion, that he too hadn’t had time to mentally prepare for its ramifications before kissing her chastely, intimately, on her cheek... just as Melody had done to him.

“But why did you kiss me, you dummy?” she practically squealed, eyes glinting though he couldn’t tell what emotion was clouded behind them.

“It, uh... I dunno,” he finally confessed after trying and failing to find a better excuse. “But you’ve been mad ever since Melody kissed me so... I figured this would help break the tension.”

Break the...

“You... Agh, Ash Ketchum!” she wailed finally in response, stomping her foot against the ferry’s deck and wishing desperately that it was his dumb face.

“Mwah! Was I wrong?” he yelped, leaping back a step, momentarily pursing his lips together afterwards as he replayed the moment where he leaned in and pressed them against her cheek, eyes squinting tightly shut. Weirdly, he hadn’t much minded such a gross decision but there was no time or energy to dwell on that at present.

“Gah! Of course you...” she began in reply, fists formed and looking mightily prepared to fight against something. But her anger burned to fumes rather quickly as she looked the oddly nervous boy up and down before it hit her... that he had no idea how deep this whole thing went, he couldn’t possibly fathom the details. He simply thought things were resolved now.

What a nice thought that was.

“... Maybe... you’re right, Ash.”

“I - I am?”

Misty sighed, blinking her eyes closed as they threatened to roll out of her head. A little romantic voice was screeching in joy at the back of her mind, the part of her that had knowingly declared herself to be Ash’s protector not more than two days ago. Most of her still seethed at his audacity to decide a kiss from him would quell her passionate fury but...

“Let’s just... call it even,” she abated, smiling faintly for the first time in at least a day, hands up in defeat.

He squinted suspiciously at her, unsure how to counter. Call it even... What had been uneven to begin with? He still didn’t know. Maybe such things were for the best. It was weird that his redheaded companion, usually so capable of holding a grudge, was acting so suddenly forgiving. But was it a good idea to look a gift Ponyta in the mouth? He certainly didn’t mind the idea of things returning to normal... even if a part of him now felt as though something different and new was burgeoning from deep down.

But Ash Ketchum has never been the observant type. And he generally had little to no patience for Misty Things™.

“Well, that’s good then... So we should go to bed?” he asked hopefully, pointing in the direction of the room their group was sharing.

“Oh, uh, you first. I still have to take care of something, y’know?” she replied, face tinged red once more for reasons unrelated to her romantic scope, reminding him what had made her venture out of bed in the first place. 

Her rather smooth response reassured him that things would be fine though as they went their separate ways.

And by next morning, all was normal, mostly because both of them had convinced themselves that the kiss had either been some weird fantasy or some unexpected dream they had no option but to shake off.

But good luck trying to figure out who thought which.

[insanityclause]

When coronavirus closed the theaters on March 12, there were still 16 shows left to open in the Broadway season. Audiences will get to see some of them later, others probably not — but what of the more than 20 plays, musicals and miscellaneous offerings that had already faced the press? It seemed unfair not to celebrate them, so on Friday, just after it was announced that the Tony Awards will not go on as usual this year, we sat down (in cyberspace) to devise a Tonys of our own. Naturally, we made our own rules.

BEN BRANTLEY Well, Jesse, even in a season that’s 16 plays short, there’s still a fat if imbalanced roster of intriguing shows. Have we ever before had such a preponderance of jukebox musicals that might qualify for Best Musical? The good news is that some enterprising minds managed to inventively retool the genre you once described as the “cockroach” of Broadway.

JESSE GREEN The cockroach has evolved! “Jagged Little Pill,” “Tina: The Tina Turner Musical,” “Girl From the North Country,” “Moulin Rouge!” and — since we’re playing by our own rules here — even “American Utopia,” the David Byrne show that was deemed ineligible for the real Tonys, are all jukeboxes, all worthy and all eligible for ours. Maybe not quite all worthy.

BRANTLEY Perhaps it’s appropriate then that the last show to open on Broadway was the most unorthodox of the “jukebox” shows. I use quotation marks here because that label seems too confining for “Girl From the North Country,” the Irish playwright and director Conor McPherson’s work that uses the songs of Bob Dylan to imagine life during the Great Depression in Duluth, Minn. The more I think about “Girl,” the more innovative and haunting it seems to me.

GREEN For me it took some time, and the show’s move from the Public Theater to Broadway, to appreciate how McPherson was deploying the music in this musical. The songs do not function the way songs normally do; they never address the situation at hand, and sometimes even contradict it. Yet in that gap, poetry grew.

BRANTLEY For me, “Girl” deals with the ineffable and unsayable through song in a way that makes it the most religious, or at least spiritual, show on Broadway. I have found this aspect of the show stays with me, as an oddly comforting reminder of the hunger for communion in this time of isolation. But moving on to matters closer to profane than sacred, what about another mold-breaker in a very different sense: “Moulin Rouge!,” based on the Baz Luhrmann movie about la vie bohème in gaslight-era Paris.

GREEN Here was a case where the gap between the story, such as it is, and the musical materials — found pop from Offenbach to Rihanna — did not produce poetry. For me it produced a headache.

BRANTLEY Ah, I had a swell time at “Moulin Rouge,” and I thought the far-reaching songbook became a kind of commentary on how such songs form the wallpaper of our minds. And then there was “Tina,” which was more business-as-usual bio-musical fare, although illuminated by a radiant, cliché-transcending performance by Adrienne Warren as Turner.

GREEN The creators of musicals really offered a sampler of ways to respond to the jukebox problem. “Jagged Little Pill,” built on the Alanis Morissette catalog, made the smart choice of abjuring biography and instead attaching her songs to a new plot (by Diablo Cody) that grew out of the same concerns and vocabulary. Or perhaps I should say “new plots,” because it is not shy with them. There are at least eight story lines.

BRANTLEY To be honest, this was the show that gave me a headache, because it was so insistently earnest in its topicality and, even when it was trying to be funny, humorless. So, of the new musicals (and we haven’t touched on “The Lightning Thief,” your personal favorite) what would you give the premature Tony to?

GREEN The one that wouldn’t be eligible: “American Utopia.” Joy and sadness bound to each other through David Byrne’s music and Annie-B Parson’s movement: What else do you want from a musical, even if it’s just a concert?

BRANTLEY I loved “American Utopia.” I think, though, I’d have to go with “Girl From the North Country,” but I wouldn’t have predicted that after seeing it in London two years ago. I find more in it every time I revisit it.

GREEN Despite all the Best Musical possibilities this truncated season, only one, “The Lightning Thief,” had a new score. Yet most of the offerings sounded new anyway, the result of terrific arrangements and orchestrations. I’m thinking especially of Justin Levine’s magpie-on-Ecstasy song collages for “Moulin Rouge!,” Tom Kitt’s theatricalization of post-grunge pop for “Jagged Little Pill” and Simon Hale’s excavation of the deeply layered Americana in Dylan’s catalog for “Girl.”

BRANTLEY Here, I’d have to say it’s a tie between “Girl” and “Moulin Rouge!,” each a remarkable accomplishment in a very different way. As for best revival, the undisputed winner is Ivo van Hove’s divisive revival of “West Side Story,” but that’s because it is, remarkably, the only musical revival so far.

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GREEN I liked “West Side Story” better than you did, Ben, perhaps because I wasn’t reviewing it. I lapped up the new things it wanted to show me (while also hunting for the old things it wanted to hide from me) and didn’t worry about the elements that laid an egg. (“Gee, Officer Krupke.”) Its evocation of innocence and hopelessness felt more like real life now than I’ve experienced in previous revivals.

BRANTLEY I concede the point intellectually. But the acid test for me with theater — and musicals in particular — is how much it makes you feel. And to borrow a lyric from “A Chorus Line,” for the most part “I felt nothing.”

GREEN I admit it was odd that there were no obvious breakout performances in “West Side Story” — which brings us to our first lightning round. Who wins our Tonys for leading actor and actress in a musical?

BRANTLEY Best Actress: Adrienne Warren, for “Tina” (though Karen Olivo in “Moulin Rouge!” is pretty fab, too). Best Actor: Jay O. Sanders in, perversely, a non-singing role in “Girl From the North Country.” You?

GREEN Same. I think we are having a socially distanced mindmeld. Will that also be the case with the nine new plays and four revivals that opened before March 12? With one exception, the revivals were not as thrilling as the full slate promised to be.

BRANTLEY For me, the winner is Jamie Lloyd’s spartan, merciless revival of Harold Pinter’s “Betrayal,” which brought harsh clarity to the work’s emotional ambiguity.

GREEN And ambiguity to the play’s harsh formality — its semi-backward construction. It was certainly the best “Betrayal” I’ve seen, yet I hold out some love for the revival of “Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune,” which in retrospect turned out to be a farewell to Terrence McNally, its author, who died last week. I felt that Michael Shannon and Audra McDonald did it, and him, justice.

BRANTLEY It was certainly a reminder of his shrewdness and compassion. I was perhaps a little too conscious of the Acting, with a capital A. But it was a welcome addition to the season. For Best Play, we have a far more varied field, no? I suspect we’ll agree on the winner here, the season’s great iconoclast.

GREEN Yes, “Slave Play,” by Jeremy O. Harris, wins on sheer disruptive energy, even before considering its intelligence as playwriting, its knockout production (directed by Robert O’Hara) and its fearsome challenge to renegotiate race in America.

BRANTLEY But for all its shock value, what made it a wonderful play — as opposed to just a bracing exploration of dangerous ground — was its heart. By the end, you felt so completely the pain of its characters, all trying to navigate the perhaps insuperable hurdles of interracial relationships.

GREEN I think “The Inheritance” wanted to be that kind of play, too: a story of intimate relationships yet also a gay manifesto with the multipart heft of “Angels in America.” It got the heft, anyway; “Slave Play” ran 120 minutes; “The Inheritance,” 385.

BRANTLEY “The Inheritance” certainly gets points for ambition — and for the fluidity of Stephen Daldry’s production. And might I put in a word for the prickly comic abrasiveness of Tracy Letts’s “Linda Vista,” a lacerating anatomy of toxic masculinity disguised as brooding charm?

GREEN I liked what “Linda Vista” wanted to do but found it flabby. Perhaps straitened times demand slender plays. Certainly, the other new drama I greatly admired was whippetlike: Adam Rapp’s “The Sound Inside,” an existential mystery wrapped in a literary one, or vice versa. Among other things, it allowed Mary-Louise Parker, as a Yale writing instructor, to deliver a Tony-worthy performance. And now that “How I Learned to Drive,” the other play in which she was set to star this season, has been postponed, she doesn’t have to compete against herself. Is she our winner?

BRANTLEY I am going to declare a tie between her and Laura Linney, who gave a very subtle, and emotionally transparent, performance as the title character of “My Name Is Lucy Barton,” adapted by Rona Munro from Elizabeth Strout’s novel.

GREEN I buy that. But let’s not forget Joaquina Kalukango in “Slave Play,” Eileen Atkins in “The Height of the Storm,” Zawe Ashton in “Betrayal” and Jane Alexander in “Grand Horizons.” It was a very strong semi-season for Best Actress in a Leading Role.

BRANTLEY And for Best Actor?

GREEN The real Tonys decreed that Paul Alexander Nolan was eligible for his “supporting” role in “Slave Play,” but in my Tonys he’s a strong candidate for “leading.” Still, I’ll go with Tom Hiddleston, in “Betrayal.” Or at least he wins in my newly invented category of Best Use of the Lack of a Tissue. His facial leakage was Vesuvian.

BRANTLEY He was superb — and a reminder of the cathartic value of the tears of others in theater. Of course, there’s so much to cry about now in terms of opportunities lost this season. But I’m not writing an elegy for, or even a definitive summary of, this season yet. It will be fascinating to see how it reincarnates itself, won’t it?

[bensboynton]

White Wine b.h

ok so this was requested by an anon but i changed the prompt a little to make it easier and much more practical to write. enjoy this!!

sorry for grammar errors its 4 am

fem!reader x ben hardy

word count: almost 2k

warnings: cursing, unedited, fluffy, angsty

“Christ, you’re beautiful.”

Ben was leaning against the door frame of your shared bedroom, his left hand lightly massaging the back of his neck. You gave him a small grin as you looked back in the mirror, smoothing out the dress that was hugging your body.

The air was still tinged with the scent of the floral perfume you had sprayed on moments earlier, and the light coming from your lamp on your dresser illuminated you just perfectly in the dark room.

Ben walked behind you, pushing your hair to the side gently and wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing small butterfly-like kisses to your neck and shoulder. “I’m so lucky.” Ben said airily.

You jerked his arms away from your body and walked away, sick of gazing at yourself in the mirror. Ben was put off slightly, but deciding not to push anything, he grabbed your hand as you emerged from the bathroom.

You both made your way out of your house, and into the black BMW that belonged to Ben. The ride to the restaurant was oddly silent. Just quiet enough to make the insides of your stomach crawl a little, just enough to make you feel off.

You had arrived at the restaurant, and Ben was wary. He was nervous that you were acting so weird, so distant.

If only he had known.

Your eyes glazed over at the sight of a headline popping up on your twitter timeline.

“Ben Hardy’s New Girl?”

Your breath hitched as you scanned the article, paparazzi photos of you going out to the store the other day to pick up milk. You were wearing a baggy sweater and sweatpants, and your hair was a greasy mess.

The article was passively-aggressively degrading your appearance, and you felt tears well up in your eyes before shutting off your phone and throwing it to the other end of the couch. You took a deep breath and regained your composure before your phone rang suddenly.

“Incoming call from: Ben Hardy.”

You felt so unbelievably vulnerable right now, the last thing you wanted to do was go out to dinner in a dress you weren’t 100% confident in. And to make matters worse, the restaurant was very classy, very expensive, and very populated. You were sure there’d be another article out by tomorrow.

Just the thought of it made you want to start crying again.

You and Ben were seated at your table, across from each other in the low light of the restaurant. It was a typical dimly lit dinner with a white rose in an eloquent glass vase on the edge of the table. The table cloths were silk, and the napkins felt like they could be velvet. You immediately ordered a full bottle of your favorite white wine, causing Ben to chuckle. “Eager to start drinking, yeah?” he had asked playfully.

You faked a small giggle as the waiter returned with the wine, pouring both you and Ben a glass. If only he knew.

Dinner went by painfully slow, due to the fact that you were zoning in and out. And you and Ben were about to move on to your second bottle of wine.

When your dinner arrived, you practically scarfed it down so you could avoid talking. You attempted to keep food in your mouth or a wine glass to your lips to have an excuse to not talk to Ben and accidentally letting something slip.

You see, you were a horrible liar. And Ben knew that.

So if there was something he wanted to know, it wasn’t that difficult for him to get it from you. But you really, really, did not want to upset him tonight.

You were both celebrating him landing a new role in a Netflix special that was also starring Ryan Reynolds, and you didn’t want to ruin this moment for him. You didn’t want to have to drag him down with your own self-pity and self-doubt.

So you kept your mouth shut best you could, but you could tell Ben was starting to catch on to something being wrong. He was constantly staring at you concernedly, and you could feel the pull of the strained conversation. Dinner wrapped up quickly, and to your dismay, you had to hook your arm with Ben’s to keep yourself walking straight.

Stupid fucking white wine.

The car ride home was even worse. You could tell Ben was beginning to get agitated. “Is everything okay?” he had asked earlier. You assured him, yes, of course! How could you not be okay after eating the best caesar salad you had ever eaten in your entire life? He had let out a singular laugh in response, turning his eyes back to the road.

His knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel and the leg he wasn’t using to step on the pedals was bouncing slightly.

When the two of you finally arrived home, you sat in the car for a moment, silence practically swallowing you both whole.

“You looked amazing tonight.” Ben said quickly staring out the window to the car. His voice sounded rough and cold, a huge contrast to what it did a little earlier before dinner.

"Yeah okay.” you said under your breath as you stepped out of the car, making your way to the house and letting yourself in. Ben was practically running behind you.

“What the hell is that supposed to be mean?”

Your breath hitched in your throat, you couldn’t speak. So you just continued walking through your home to your bedroom. Ben was on your heels.

“Forgive me, but my mind-reading abilities have been severely lacking lately. I’m going to need you to talk to me if you’re upset, instead of forcing me to sit across from you at dinner and eat in complete fucking silence.” Ben was mad, you could hear his voice beginning to raise and that just made you feel worse.

You finally turned around to look at him after blinking the tears away from your eyes. “Sorry.”

“Now why are you saying sorry? Just talk to me!” Ben was beginning to yell and it made your heart rate speed up. You could feel your pulse in the tips of your ears.

“It’s not a big deal, Ben.”

“Well, either that’s a lie or you enjoy going to really nice restaurants and sitting there in complete fucking silence on the way there, during the dinner, and way back.”

“Ben, it’s fine I promise.” you said, exhaling shakily as you tried to get a tighter grip on your composure.

“Why are you lying to me? We’ve lived together for the past year, why are you hiding things from me?”

“I’m not hiding anythi-” you began before Ben’s loud voice knocked all the sound out of your throat.

“Jesus fucking Christ! I know you, Y/N! I’ve known you for four years and you don’t get all dressed up to go out to dinner and barely say 15 words the entire time and get drunk on almost two bottles of wine. That’s not who you are,” he took a deep breath in before meeting your slightly tearful eyes, “and you certainly don’t walk around making comments like you just did in the hallway. So I need you to tell me what’s wrong.”

His voice was rough and angry, but calming and sweet like honey at the same time. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the pent up emotions from that stupid fucking article, maybe it was Ben. But you sat down on the edge of the plush mattress and broke out into broken sobs.

You put your face in your hands as you rested your elbows on your thighs, Ben frozen in front of you. Not exactly the reaction he had been expecting. 

He dropped to his knees in front of you, prying your hands away from your face that was now a mess of smudged mascara and foundation. “What’s the matter, love? I can help yo-”

“No, you can’t, Ben,” you said, wiping a few tears off of your face. You sniffled quietly in the momentarily silence. You could still hear the very last sound waves from your words buzzing in the air.

Ben stayed silent, so you decided to continue, “I saw this article the other day, about me a-and these pap pictures from me at the store. And the article was just... I don’t wanna say it. And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

Ben scoffed, looking at you in disbelief. “This is really what has you all worked up? A paparazzi article?”

“No, Ben. It’s the afterthoughts. Because they’re right! I’m me and you’re… you and you should be dating some super hot Victoria’s Secrets Model who looks like they rolled off the runway at every single fucking moment of their life!”

The alcohol had control of you, and you couldn’t stop talking now if you had tried.

“You deserve someone who’s smarter and funnier and prettier than me, someone who has a million dollar smile and charms every single person they look at long enough. And I’m not that. And one day you’ll realize it, too, and you’ll leave me because you realize you could do so, so much better.”

Ben looked up at you, his face twisted into a confusing mixture of emotions. Anger? Confusion? Sadness? You couldn’t tell the difference. He stood up and walked to the other end of the bedroom, the only sound heard being your sniffles and occasional sobs.

After quite some time, he turned around to meet your face. His eyes were glossy with tears and his hands were balled up, pushed deep inside his pockets. “You really think all that?” he whispered, his voice barely audible. You nodded, shifting your gaze to your bare feet that were resting on the hardwood floor of your bedroom.

“Y/N, I genuinely can’t believe you would ever say anything like that. Ever.” Ben turned around again and made his way back over to you, kneeling in front of you again.

“I couldn’t get someone better than you if I tried. Which I wouldn’t, because I have you. And that’s all I’ll ever need.” Ben glanced up to your eyes to see if the normal glow and sparkly had returned. Not yet.

“You make me laugh harder than anyone I have ever known. With your dumb stories and wild recounts of your latest dreams. And you make the best chicken pot pie I’ve ever eaten in all my 28 years of living. And your taste in music? It’s unmatched!” Ben listed things, enthusiasm practically dripping out of every crevice in his body.

“And you’re truly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he breathed out, looking you up and down and drinking in your outfit. “The first time I saw your smile across that shitty pub in London, it was like a bunch of butterflies flew up my ass into my stomach and made a home there. Bouncing off the walls, making my insides turn themselves into knots. And then you laughed. I swear to God I could have cried. I fell for you before I had even known your name.”

You were crying again, side effect of Ben’s words and of course, the wine.

“I’m so in love with you, everything about you. How you scrunch your face up when you’re in an awkward situation, how you blush every time I stare at you from across the room, how fast you drink champagne and how much you regret it later. I’m in it for the long haul. And I love you.”

Not being able to contain yourself anymore, you threw yourself into his arms and collapsed into shaking sobs as he held you tighter than he had ever held you before. You felt like he was gluing all the shattered pieces of your self-esteem together right then and there.

“I love you more, Ben.”

[theprodigypenguin]

Scamander Headcanons Cuz I'm Pissed At Life Right Now

I'm in a very shitty mood so I'm gonna try and get rid of it by indulging in my version of the Scamander twins and their parents and life. Please note none of these are canon, they're my personal headcanons and opinions, you're allowed to have different ones. These are the ones I'm sticking too though, so have fun with yours like I have fun with mine:

Lysander is the oldest by a full five minutes.

They're the same age as Lily Luna, but Lily was born first.

While they aren't official Wotters, Luna and Rolf spend many holidays and just general get-togethers with them, so the twins grew up around the Weasley cousins and the Potter kids.

Lorcan is a Hufflepuff like his father but takes after his mother in personality.

Lysander is actually strikingly similar to his great grandmother (Tina) and his great grand uncle (Theseus).

Lysander is a Ravenclaw like Luna.

Lorcan is a very quiet and airy person, seeming to be constantly stuck in a daydream and often seen swaying on his feet as if to music.

He's a generally very happy person and loves hugs.

He gets along with most people, though he is occasionally bullied for being "weird".

Never seems to mind the bullying, usually just smiles through it and often will try to hug his bullies because "they need a hug".

Lysander, on the other hand, is very different, argumentative and cynical, hard to talk to because he tends to ramble when he's anxious (which is a lot).

Unlike Lorcan, Lysander has trouble working around his emotions, and usually just ends up getting frustrated and angry.

Finds it difficult to make friends because of internal self doubt and the fear that they'll ditch him eventually when they realize he's so difficult.

Because of this fear, he tends to ghost potential friends before they can really get to know him.

Says it's for the best.

Lorcan is a Legilimens like his great grand aunt (Queenie).

Lysander, an absolute dumb ass, is unaware of his brother's talent until they're around seventeen or eighteen, because he's a fucking idiot.

Like most born Legilimens, Lorcan has trouble controlling it sometimes, which often lead to migraines and physical trembling, fatigue and fainting spells.

If the thoughts get too overwhelming then Lorcan will seek out the most relaxing presences, the people whose thoughts aren't as loud, or are more predictable.

Lysander is often thinking of simple things like school or music, occasionally he'll be reciting something ridiculous in his head, and Lorcan finds it oddly therapeutic, so nine times out of ten he'll look to Lysander for comfort.

Other comforting presences are Filius Flitwick (he's always thinking of music compositions for some reason), Hagrid (always thinking about his creatures and his cooking), Scorpius Malfoy (his internal rambling is quite similar to Lysander's), McGonagall (she knows about his talent and always tries to be aware of her thoughts when she's around him, so she doesn't overwhelm him), Madam Pomfrey (also aware of his condition), and of course his parents.

Being in the great hall for meals always strains him the most.

Lorcan seems to take after their family the most, and has a born talent for dealing with and caring for magical creatures.

He was capable of calming even the testiest of creatures when he was still very small (and he's Newt's favorite but don't tell Lysander).

Lysander, on the other hand, is absolutely horrible around animals.

He doesn't even own an owl/cat/toad because when Rolf took him to get a pet for school, everything he held tried to bite or scratch him.

Because of this stark deviation from his family, Lysander spends much of his youth and teenage years hating himself, doubting himself, and fighting against incredible shame, thinking he's somehow less than the rest of his family, assuming they're ashamed of him and hate him as much as he hates himself.

He finds a bit of comfort in his studies, and prefers reading and hiding in the library or down by Black Lake over making friends (because he's honestly terrified of making friends).

He has amazing grades in everything accept for his Care of Magical Creatures class.

Though Hagrid never says so, Lysander can tell his teacher is always disappointed when he messes something up.

He's excellent at the written aspect of the class, he just can't physically handle the creatures.

Lorcan can read him like a book, and always feels sad when he hears Lysander thinking so badly of himself.

He tries to cheer Lysander up the best he can by reassuring him that just because their name is Scamander, doesn't mean they all have to be Magizoologists.

That Lysander can be anything he wants.

In the end he takes a lot of strength from Tina and Theseus, who become his role models, and he becomes an Auror straight out of Hogwarts.

Lorcan, unlike Lysander, loves animals. Creatures don't have any discernible thought process that humans can interpret, so Lorcan finds being around them very soothing.

He owns a big ginger half Kneazle cat, a gift from Rolf when he was just a kid, given to him when it was just a kitten.

The cat fucking hates Lysander and Lysander hates it right the fuck back.

Lorcan takes him everywhere though and it annoys Lysander SO much, cats don't belong in the FUCKING classroom!!!!

Despite how different the twins are, they're very close. Maybe not attached at the hip, but still close.

Lorcan isn't ashamed of hugging his brother whenever they cross paths at school, saying he loves him every chance he gets.

Lysander, while not as physical as Lorcan, still loves his brother dearly, and though he complains about the constant hugging, he has never and will never push Lorcan away.

Also not one to throw around the phrase "I love you", Lysander will mumble it incoherently when Lorcan insists he say it back.

He acts annoyed with his brother sometimes, because Lorcan's airy go with the flow attitude clashes terribly with Lysander's schedule oriented life.

Lorcan is a messy kid, his robes are never on right and his tie is always crooked or knotted wrong, so whenever Lysander sees him he stops just to fix the tie and straighten his robes.

Of course the minute he's gone Lorcan absentmindedly messes everything up again and gives Lysander a brain aneurysm from it.

To people who don't know them, it might look as if Lysander hates his brother, is so terribly annoyed with him, but Lysander loves his brother, and he hates nothing more than when people bully him.

While Lorcan doesn't mind it, Lysander has gotten into more than one physical fight (who needs fucking wands when you have fucking FISTS) trying to get the bullies to back off.

Lysander has a strong sense of justice and wanting to look after the little guys who can't defend themselves, which is one of the reasons being an Auror fits so perfectly for him.

Lysander is also an excellent flier and loves Quidditch, but never tried out for his house team because of his anxiety and fear of failure.

After Hogwarts, Lorcan studies Magizoology with his parents, specializing as a Healer for Magical Beasts (wizard vet!!!).

Lysander moves to his own flat in London to be closer to the Ministry and his work, partly because being an Auror is dangerous and has the potential of making him enemies, so he doesn’t want to end up bringing danger to his family.

Lorcan stays living at home because that was where their creatures were, where he studied after school and took care of the magical beasts that his family would bring home.

Though he would also travel in the situation where a creature was sick and couldn’t come to him instead.

Lysander is bisexual, but he’s had a crush on Lily since they were thirteen.

It took him several years to realize he liked her as more than a friend, though, and Lily was the one to ask him out first.

At first their “dates” were restricted to studying as friends (Lysander helping Lily prepare for exams), flying together during free periods (Lily insists Lysander help her practice for Quidditch), and walking to Hogsmeade and spending the day there together.

They don’t become an “official” couple or tell their families until after graduating and getting jobs.

Lorcan is omnisexual, but it’s very difficult for him to open up to people since their intentions are so clear to him, and normally not as pure as he would like.

He isn’t one to take relationships lightly, and is actually very sensitive when it comes to people’s crushes on him, or if he’s the one with the crush.

In the future he ends up falling in love with one of Lysander’s Auror partners, Liam McLaggen (OC), which Lysander isn’t exactly HAPPY about.

Both Lysander and Lorcan are around the same height.

Lysander has his mother’s silvery-blue eyes and keeps his hair neatly cut and styled.

Lorcan has blue-green eyes (see Newt!!!!) and his hair is a bit longer and curlier than Lysander’s (it’s also a lighter shade of blond).

After years of reading by dim wand light in the middle of the night, Lysander had to get himself glasses before starting at the Ministry(who hasn’t read books in the middle of the night under the covers with nothing but a flashlight?).

He’s supposed to wear them all the time, but rarely does, claiming he only needs them for “reading”.

It takes a while, but Lysander eventually becomes good friends with both James and Teddy.

James played difficult at first, pretended he didn’t like Lysander because he was dating Lily (and as the big brother it’s his job to be suspicious of his baby sister’s boyfriend, right?) but they genuinely got along and enjoyed each other’s company.

James basically adopted both Lysander and Lorcan as two more little brothers. Lorcan is very pleased with having another brother, Lysander not so much.

Lysander didn’t make any permanent friends during his seven years at Hogwarts, but as soon as he joined the Aurors and was placed into a field team he quickly made friends with each of his partners.

He would die for them, and they would die for him (but he’s not allowed to die cuz Lorcan would cry and Rolf would ground him).

Okay heck that’s all I got for right now, but writing all this down was super therapeutic. Heck I love the Scamander brothers. And I know everyone in fandom probably have a million different headcanons for these good boys, considering they’re not mentioned much in canon aside from the fact they exist, so their personalities are entirely fluid and up for interpretation, buuuuuut I’ve thought so damn much about about them and I’ve grown super attached to my version of the boys. I wanna reiterate what I said before though, if you have headcanons that differ from mine you are hecking valid and should be proud of your headcanons because they can be insanely hard to think up!

Anyway yeah, I’m in love with the Scamander brothers, bye!

[electricbluebutterflies]

differences

Neither of them have ever been good at making the difficult decisions. She did something that seemed like a good enough idea at the time, risky and insane but the only option left apart from an ending she has sworn so many times she will not endure a second time, and he gets to live with it.

Kabby, post 6x08. Yes, I am willing to accept and work with this bodyswap thing. Their dynamic is resilient and I think they’ll be fine. Influenced by conversations with @kt-anansi and @restrainedubiquity. PG-ish and also on ao3.

Different eyes stare at him in the mirror. It's been four days and still a fight to accept that this body is him now. He raises his hand and then lowers it, watching the movement in the reflection. This is going to be a hell of an adjustment period.

Somehow not the strangest thing that's ever happened, Marcus reminds himself. At least there's an explanation for this one - not one he's particularly happy with, but after the third or fourth run-through he at least understood the logistics of how it had happened. Why and how it had been justified. Unhappy, but smart enough to realize this kind of second chance is not to be wasted.

He lost track of how many times he should've died years ago, but the most recent almost-ending would've been a great cosmic letdown. If this all had to happen, this moving of his consciousness into a different body, it makes sense in this kind of timing. When he dies, if he is ever allowed to die, it ought to be some kind of sacrifice. The latest almost wasn't. The latest almost was-

A door opens behind him and he turns. Abby. Of course. She's hovered since this all happened, and he can't blame her for that, nor for anything else.

He ought to be angry. He ought to hate her. But he never has and he damn well won't start now, not over the most her thing she has ever done.

He knows her too well, perhaps. Has known her so long and close enough to know how she fights for those she loves, and the day she clearly decided he was one of them was one of the best of his life. Years ago now, another life, a quiet day and a heartbeat of an embrace and he knew.

She has not changed at all. This is what he clings to, as he deals with the rest.

"Something wrong?" she asks, crossing the space between them but not daring to touch. He is used to a much more tactile version of the woman he loves, yet he understands her hesitation under these strange circumstances. He supposes he would do the same if roles were reversed, and yet he cannot…

He would not be desperate enough to make the choices she did, he thinks. And yet he cannot know, and he hopes he never will.

"Still in shock," he murmurs, because he has to give her something. Less so with every passing day, but he is unsure if this new body will ever feel like his. Perhaps that's a good thing.

"I'm sorry. It was the only way to… I tried everything else, I…"

Oh. Oh no.

He's seen a few of her guilt spirals over the years, enough to know when one is beginning, and he doesn't have the energy for that storm. Once begun it can only be waited out, and while that would still be more eventful than anything else he's been allowed to do since the switch…

"You don't need to apologize to me."

"The hell I don't."

Or perhaps not a guilt spiral, perhaps something even worse. Abby when she wants to pick a fight because that's easier than dealing with her issues is a fascinating sight, but a little less so when he's her chosen emotional punching bag. Which he probably deserves, long-delayed cosmic payback for a decade of the same behavior, but-

"Abby."

"I knew goddamn well what I was doing. I couldn't let you go. And I am not… I did that for me. Barely for you." She takes a breath, steadies herself against a wall. Yeah, full fight mode and too lost to realize he knows the signs. "Do you finally hate me, now that I can admit that?"

"No."

He remembers first deciding she was attractive - she was in one of these moods, an easy fifteen years in their past, still very married but perhaps not as happily as she claimed, and that raw fire in her ignited something in him in return. It's oddly comforting that despite how much has changed since then, she is still capable of lighting up a room with misguided frustration. An odd trait to fall in love with, and yet-

"What the fuck do I have to do to push you away?"

"Is that what you're trying to do?"

She makes a low noise somewhere between a hiss and a growl. "Well considering this didn't work…"

"You saved me. Again. I'm missing the part where I should be mad about it."

"What about the part where I functionally killed someone and you're in a different body that used to have a different occupant?"

He does wonder about that. He suspects details have been kept intentionally vague - all he has of this body's previous occupant is a first name and a rough guess of age that puts this form at about fifteen years younger than his previous body, and oh that should not sound so normal already - but Marcus has pieced together a few things on his own. This body has no intentional marks nor any scars significant enough for him to wonder about, and these hands have never worn a wedding ring nor spent significant time holding any kind of weapon. The previous occupant lived a boring life, and on some level that makes it stranger. He would be more comfortable in a body that came with a map. But he has this one, and he's in no place to complain.

"You saved me," he repeats. He half wants to lean down and kiss her and see how much of a mess that becomes, but later, once he can't feel the heat radiating off her, once he-

"You are the only person who thinks that's what I did."

"And the only person who has to live with it," he reminds her. "That's what matters."

"You are way too fucking calm about this."

He is not calm so much as… aware of when not to burden other people, he thinks might be a way of putting it. Abby is having enough of a crisis of her own volition, and he can only imagine how much worse he would make it.

"You're panicking enough for both of us."

"I am not panicking," she counters, hands on her hips that way she does when she thinks she's more intimidating than she is. "I am wondering why the hell you're not. There's a difference."

There is absolutely not, he's tempted to point out, but he doesn't. Pick your battles, especially when your girlfriend - is she still that? are they still anything that can be described? - is determined to pick all of them at the same time. This is a moment for damage control, not adding fuel to a fire.

"I'm getting used to it. Is that an answer you want?"

"No. I want you to be mad. I want you to think I've gone too far. I want… I know you too well, and you won't, and that makes it worse, and-"

Oh god. She's about to start crying, and one of the core things he knows about her that he suspects no one else does is that she absolutely hates breaking down in front of other people. Damage control, he repeats. They can deal with everything else later. Right now…

Right now he knows that leaning down and putting his mouth on hers will at least distract her enough to ward off the oncoming mess of self-loathing that will happen if so much as a single teardrop falls from her tired eyes, and so he does. She is the same as ever, a little bit smaller in his arms but still her in every way that matters, and she opens up. She hasn't said much about the desperation he wasn't there for, but he tastes it as this new tongue learns her chapped lips, feels it as she wraps herself around him as best she can. He cannot fault her for anything.

Neither of them have ever been good at making the difficult decisions. She did something that seemed like a good enough idea at the time, risky and insane but the only option left apart from an ending she has sworn so many times she will not endure a second time, and he gets to live with it. He's lived with worse, he reminds himself as he undoes her hair. He has lived with so much worse than all she is. His own demons in a long-locked past were hell enough. At least hers are friendly, for the time being.

"Is this at all weird for you?" he asks when they break for air.

"Weird how?"

"In any way."

"Yeah. You're not… I worked with the options I had. And probably made things worse, because you're technically younger now and yet you're not, but… I'll get over that detail. Pretty sure no one else will."

"Can't imagine there were any more suitable hosts lying around," he laughs. Could be worse, could be even younger, could be-

"You have the same eyes. And similar enough everything else. And I'd still love you if you'd ended up looking completely different, but…"

Similar enough. She's not wrong. He looks like what he imagines a brother of his previous body would look like - another statement that should not feel so normal, but he's trying. Different but close enough to what was. Could've been so much worse.

"You did what you had to do."

"I did something desperate that no one we know is ever going to forgive me for," she corrects. "And I don't think I regret it as much as they want me to."

"Could you get used to this, Abby?"

"To what part?"

"The differences." The scars that aren't there. The fact that he still knows her body perfectly but she doesn't know this one at all, and he can't envision that being a full-on problem for a while yet but hopefully it will down the line, and-

"I'm going to. That enough?"

She rests her body against his, and circumstances be damned, some things don't change. She is still her, exactly the same, still makes the soft purring noise as these new hands rest on her back. And as long as she stays - and he knows with every cell of this new skin that she's not going anywhere, never has and never will - the rest of it will be alright.

"Yes."

"Is it weird for you that I look… less than you?" Her voice catches, like she's torn between a few self-deprecating comments and can't decide which will hurt herself the most. "That we don't match anymore?"

"Not at all. Reminds me this is all real and not a bad dream."

"Because I still look like shit?"

He kisses her forehead, because he can. "You look like you, Abby. You saved my mind, remember? Preferences haven't changed."

"You did not answer my question."

"It might be strange to other people. It isn't to me."

Hell of an adjustment period, he thinks as he closes his eyes for a heartbeat and lets himself try to inhabit this body a little better. But it all happened because someone loved him too much, and that's not a bad start for a new life.

[sepiadice]

Art Direction of Tabletop RPGs

Dungeons and Dragons is good at being Dungeons and Dragons.

That shouldn't be a controversial opinion, and it's not worded as one, yet I have one friend who derisively labels it as a war game, and another friend who believes D&D is all you need in regards to TRPGs. These two are from distinct eras of my life, and have never met.[1]

My moderate view is such: Dungeons and Dragons is good. It's not the ultimate system, but if you want a western fantasy built on the framework of Tolkien, Fifth Edition is the way to go. You could use a different system, in theory, but no other system has the same reach and stability. Everyone knows D&D, which is valuable.

Its combat and mechanics are a good balance of grit and function, and it's mostly teachable. My friend's 'wargaming' derision is because he believes it doesn't support role-playing well. Something about the guy who wrote Dungeon World saying if it's not in the rules, it’s not in the game.[2] But I've always felt that D&D makes the right decision in not bogging it down with structure and dictating the 'correct' way to role-play.

However, if you want to do anything else (Sci-fi, non-european fantasy, superheroes, Slice of Life), best case scenario the seams will creak in the attempt. D&D is good at being D&D, and that's the limit.

I appreciate D&D. I'll play D&D, happily!

There's a reason I bristle when “DM” is used as the generic term.

That said, I've always had a sort of tonal disconnect when I play D&D, and it's because of the art.

Fair warning, what follows is a lot of personal interpretations and vague mumbling trying to relay a point. I’m not actually an authority on anything.

(Dungeons & Dragons owned by Wizard of the Coast . Image sourced from Wikipedia)

Dungeons and Dragons does not have pretty art. It’s technically well done, and far from ugly, but it’s not actually inspiring. Above we have the cover of the Player’s Handbook, the first thing most new players see. Setting aside that the focus of the cover art for what should be the book about Player Characters is a giant monster man[4], the cover is very orange. The actual people are composed of muted, neutral colors, and the background is vague and out of focus.

It’s not really conveying an air of fantastic worlds and larger-than-life characters (giant wearing a dragon skeleton aside). It coveys oppression, monotony, and “realism”.

(Pathfidner owned by Paizo. Image sourced from Wikipedia)

Pathfinder’s core rulebook, on the other hand, is colorful. Look at that big, bright dragon![5] Sensibly dressed Fighter Man’s brown clothes are still bright enough to pop him out from the green-grey dungeon background[6], and Fantastic Sorceress’s red dress is also bright and helps frame the Fighter as her hand glows with magic.

While both covers feature a woman with an orb of magic, D&D’s cover shows magic as contained and lighting a small space, while Pathfinder’s magic is big and trailing, hinting at movement.

Actually, D&D’s mage girl doesn’t have a cohesive movement. Is she falling from above? Jumping in from the left? Where is she going? It doesn’t really follow in a meaningful way.

Anyways: color. Yes, yes, I know the plague of brown and and muted tones is a much whined about criticism, and it might seem odd from someone calling himself SepiaDice, but neutral tones have their place; usually as background and supporting other colors to pop more.

Besides, Sepia has a noble history in film, the brown range isn’t a common image color, and Sepia is fun to say.[7]

Color choice is very important. Bright colors draw the eye and make visuals more distinctive. Bright colors also denote and bring energy to things. Dull colors are used for locations meant to be calm and sedate. If you want the characters and locations to seem fun and full of life, you fill it with bright colors.

Everything breaths, adventure can strike at anytime!

Dull colors, and it’s hibernation. People are around, but they don’t seem to enjoy it.

But let’s turn to the visual storytelling: what does each cover tell you about life in their setting?

D&D: lots of posing to look fancy, but there’s no real sense of energy. Jumpy Magerson’s weird Megaman hop has been mentioned, of course. The Giant has a look of dull surprise as he drops Jumpy Magerson,[8] as he holds a sword in the non-active hand. Foreground fencer man is wide open, holding his own foil up and away from where it might accidentally jab anyone. The locations is… orange? Looks like there might be lava geysers?

Patherfinder: A dragon roars at its enemies! Teeth bared, tongue coiled, tendons on display! Wings unfurled to make it seem larger! The fighter is yelling back at the dragon, his weapons mid-swing! Shoulder forwards to defend the rest of the body! The Sorceress is holding a firm stance as she casts a spell that crackles with arcane energy!

Pathfinder’s cover tells a story of epic combat, fizzly magic, and energy. D&D’s cover tells a story of two adventurers existing in a space also occupied by a giant.

Now, both of these systems have the same ancestry, as Pathfinder is an iteration on D&D 3.5.[9] But one sparks more joy when I look at it.

But let’s do another case study. I’ll need an audience volunteer, and my brother’s the only person immediately on hand.

I’m going to make him list three qualities of goblins real quick:

Green

Wimpy

Sneaky

Awesome. Don’t know if the green text translated, but those are what he wrote. Give him a hand!

So, with those three traits in mind, let’s look at a goblin picture from D&D Beyond:

(Owned by Wizards of the Coast. Source here)

Like, you can’t say D&D doesn’t call that a goblin, it’s literally on the goblin page.

This guy is yellow. He’s built like a four foot tall WWE Wrestler. He’s defending with his advancing arm as he rears up to smack ya!

(Okay, “Sneaky” is a hard one to argue.)

Moving on, what does Pathfinder call a Goblin:

(Owned by Paizo. Source here)

Look at this charming miscreant! Green. Big ole head. Good mix of of ugly and oddly adorable. Probably two feet tall, and happens to want your two feet, please, but you could step on him if you’d like.

He also looks like a Gremlin

(An adorable little chaos monster owned by Warner Brothers. Source)

Point is, Pathfinder’s more cartoony take on the classic monster feels more in the spirit of the thing. Every time I see one of those goofy faces, I feel like I’m in for an enjoyable time.

Bringing us back around to the point of this essay: the art direction of D&D bogs down my theater of the mind. The art in the rulebooks don’t inspire creativity or fantastic visions. It inspires… dull, lifeless people walking through dirt roads flanked by dead grass.

I don’t enjoy looking at D&D’s art. Relatedly, I don’t like looking at the art of Magic: the Gathering, whose style I can’t help by see in every D&D sourcebook cover I see. Neither game invokes an inviting world, but utilitarian ones that exist to give quick, forgettable visual flair to represent mechanical card effects.

To save making this long essay even longer and unfocused, I’ll save talk of actual ‘canon’ lore for another time.[10]

So why do I, a semi-professional funny man and sad dreamer who can’t actually draw, want to talk about rulebook art?

Well, I’ve always felt a disconnect when I play D&D. I make the characters, I roll the dice, I attempt to role-play, but I’ve always had an emotional gap between me and the character I’m playing. I like the concept, but when I use my theater of the mind, the character feels stiff and divorced from everything. Kind of like the 5th Edition rulebook.

Then I saw this:

(Source tweet. All of this artist’s work is great and I wish I could hire them.)

This half-elf showed up on my twitter timeline, and my first thought was ‘How come my characters don’t look like that?’

Soon followed by ‘Why couldn’t they?’

Then I completed the trilogy with ‘Why haven’t I imagined my characters in a style appealing to me?’

As I was deep into contemplating what sort of aesthetic I consider my “brand”,[11] it was entering a mind primed to start overanalyzing.

So, how do I imagine my characters? In the neighborhood of the D&D art, if I have  firm concept. Micah Krane always was mentally nebulous to me, just kinda being a generic half-elf dude. Trix (who was created for the brightly colored Pathfinder) is green-haired and wears a tail coat, but otherwise is also normal looking in my mind’s eye. In the last two D&D campaigns, Tybalt was also vague in appearance, and Teddi had Goat horns, but those were meant to stand out on a generic rogue character.[13]

But you know what I’ve never put on a character I’ve played? Glasses.

I hope that those who read my various media reviews[14] don’t need this overly explained, but I like glasses. I, myself, don’t wear glasses, but I find them to be great accessories in character design. Frames the eyes, come in a variety of shapes, adds bit of extra visual interest. I always point out Meganekkos and pay them extra attention.[15] I really, really like girls with glasses.

But I’ve never made one. Because there’s no cute design in D&D rulebooks. Just a range of handsome people to ugly halflings.[16]

That is the effect of art design in a system. It sets tone, expectations, and aesthetic for the players. It’s so ingrained that everytime I see art of players’ characters that break the standard, it always takes me aback. It’s inspiring to see artists who manage to divorce D&D the game from D&D the art.

I want to imagine fun, personally appealing characters. But the subtle direction of the insert art as I look through to rulebook, or the provided character portraits of D&D Beyond does not suggest things I like to see. It infects the mind, and leaves specific molds. People in practical, mundane clothes, walking down drab, uninteresting roads.

It’s the same lack of escapism that makes Western (Video Game) RPGs super unappealing to me.[17] Dark Souls, Elder Scrolls, Bioshock don’t look like fun places to be, they look tiring and full of splintery furniture waiting to do 1d4 nonlethal damage.

So I have to talk about anime now.

My mother was staying at my home a little while ago, and I turned on My Roommate is a Cat. This prompted her ask me about what about anime was appealing. I couldn’t form a competent answer for the question at the time, but it’s had time to churn in my head.

Anime is a good middle ground between cartoon and realism. It can broach deeper topics and more mature storytelling than children’s cartoons,[18] without sacrificing a light visual tone and fantastic imagery. Also, the fact that it’s produced by a non-American, non-European culture lends a degree of separation with cultural expectations and tropes. Enhances Escapism.

Luckily, in (very) recent years, after generations of exchanging video games and animation back and forth, Japanese Tabletop RPGs are starting to join in on the fun.

Which means I can look at Ryuutama.

(Image copied from DriveThruRPG. Brought over the pacific by Kotodama Heavy Industries. Buy this book.)

I love this system.

Watercolor art direction. Layout evokes a spellbook. Two Characters and a Dog take the focus on the cover, while the road signs and tiny shrine in the background invoke the emphasis on travel and wonder.

The interior art?

(Taken off the Ryuutama (english) website. Buy this book.)

Well, that makes the game just look like fun. Cartoony characters fighting cat goblins. Conflict, but it doesn’t make life feel like a constant struggle. A world I wish to inhabit. There’s also more detailed images of dragons and other world-establishing pictures mixed in to give the art range, but it’s this sort of charming that makes Ryuutama the first rulebook I actually sat and read cover to cover.[19] It’s a good system I already reviewed. Buy this PDF, maybe they’ll reprint the physical book.

Anyways, I’ll admit, the art’s a little too simple for D&D. Perfect for Ryuutama, and the end of the scale I want my mental image to be, but overshoots the sweet spot. And it’s difficult enough to find players for the much more popular 5e, so Ryuutama exclusivity would grind my playtime to zero.

Still, Ryuutama does a great job of setting it’s light, fantastic tone, where D&D has failed me. The art direction of the books, and years of exposure and defaulting to what I assume D&D should look for establishes a mental habit that’s hard to break. Wizards of the Coast has drowned nerd spaces with its particular kind of art, especially with MtG plastered all over hobby stores, deck boxes, dice, playmats, and even D&D sourcebooks.

That’s not even accounting for fanworks and the speculative fiction art in online spaces.

So what do I want to look like? Were I blessed with talent or with patient to actually learn to draw well, what would I be referencing?

What about what set my expectations of fantasy years before IndigoDice invited me to that fateful Traveller game?

(Screen cap of Tales of Vesperia grabbed from here.)

Well, okay, what I’m actually thinking about is Tales of Symphonia, but Vesperia’s graphics are kinda what nostalgia tells me Symphonia tooked like, as opposed to what it actually looks like.[20]

Look at that verdant town! Warm lighting, bright characters, leaves growing to depict life. A hotel built into a tree. This is a fantasy world that is unashamed about life thriving.

Forget solarpunk. This is my aesthetic.

As for the party members…

(Okay, Judith’s a little gratuitous, but The Definitive Edition lets me put her in a suit, and she’s awesome. Art stolen from here.)

Oddly enough, as far as JRPG outfits go, these are pretty tame with details.[21] Mostly bright, popping colors, even Yuri’s dark clothes are done in such a way to not feel grim and edgy, hints of personality, and I just enjoy looking at them.

The Tales series as a whole does a good job of taking European fantasy and applying Japanese whimsy to the design. Also yukatas. Every member looks like the hero of their own story, while still being part of a cohesive whole.

Which is, you know, the ideal way to operate as a TRPG party.

So, what’s the take away?

Artists, keep being creative. Pull inspiration in from things besides the rulebooks and Critical Role. Look at the other things you love and bring visual flare and whimsy to your art. Then share it. Ignite the passions of those of us who can’t do the draw-good thing.

Players, play with the tropes. I love doing it narratively and mechanically. My favorite rogue is still my neutral good stage magician who would never do a crime. Explore what’s possible in the freeform world of tabletop games, both in play and your Theater of the Mind.

Game designers, branch out with the art. And stop using Powered by the Apocalypse as a crutch.[22]

Hope this long ramble was enjoyable and cohesive. If you want more of this, my other works, and maybe to allow me to make an actual play podcast, consider supporting me through Patreon or Ko-fi.

Until next time, may your dice make things interesting.

[1] Though I would love to read a transcript of the two discussing it. It'd be a fun debate. [2] I don't like Powered by the Apocalypse for precisely this reason. Every actual play I've heard with the system has players talking about their characters in the abstract, because they're just pressing the buttons on their character sheet.[3] [3] I maybe should do a breakdown of PbtA one day. [4] Which is pretty poor direction. Do an epic group shot of characters battling a horde around them. [5] None of the D&D core books has a dragon on the cover. Come on, that should’ve been a gimme! [6] Similar note as footnote 5. [7] Also CornflowerBlueDice is too long to be catchy. [8] I figured it out! [9] I haven’t looked at at Pathfinder’s forthcoming second edition. Fifth Edition reclaimed it’s throne as The ubiquitous system after fourth lost its footing, so I don’t think there’s much point. [10] TL;DR: I ignore it. [11] Pulp Fantasy is too mundane. Steampunk is too victorian-y. Sci-fi fractals into so much. Solarpunk has appeal, but isn’t quite right.[12] [12] Haven’t really found the term. [13] Let’s not examine that I put more thought into female character design than male for the moment. [14] Which you should. Validate my efforts! [15] And desperately pray it’s considered innocent enough of a fetish that I don’t have to stop. [16] Never liked halflings. Gnomes are fine. Halflings, in art, have always been off-putting and malformed. [17] That and the emphasis of character customization kneecapping the Player Character’s narrative involvement. Can’t give them a personality if that’s the end user’s job! [18] Even Avatar: The Last Airbender felt like it had to sneak the narrative depth it achieved past corporate. [19] I do need to give it a reread, though. Relearn the system. [20] It still looks good, especially the environment, but the characters are kind of… leaning towards chibi. [21] This, specifically, is why I chose to highlight Vesperia over Rune Factory. [22] Technically nothing to do with this essay, but I can’t stress this point enough.