#cos i was too lazy to look at reaction images

[demodraws0606]

Becoming a WxS fan be like :

"Oh wow !! Silly clown unit, I'm sure their stories will be lighthearted and full of hope and whimsey and free of angst !!"

*After reading the events*

[monicashipsnickyjoe]

(part 2 of my advertising agency office au. read part 1 first here)

Something’s different.

Nicky can’t place his finger on what, exactly. At least, not at first. But when he finishes his usual morning work with twenty minutes to spare until lunch, he knows. He’s had no interruptions today. No mistakes born of distraction that he’s learned to allot time to correct.

Joe has not been to the water cooler.

Sitting back in his chair, Nicky frowns at the clock in the bottom corner of the monitor. Twenty minutes is not enough time to complete any of his planned afternoon work. He could start something, but would have to stop for lunch. Unless he worked through lunch. But no, then he’d only get irritable. More irritable.

Why would Joe not visit the water cooler today? He usually came by twice in the morning and twice in the afternoon. He’d tell anyone who would listen that he liked to take a break from the computer screens and stretch his legs.

Did Joe quit?

If Joe quit, Nicky will have to adjust his time management and find a twenty minute long project to fill the new empty spot. He’ll have to learn to live with the unpleasant sinking in his stomach that almost feels like... disappointment.

He should find out one way or another, he reasons. For the sake of his schedule. So he grabs a pile of paperwork that needs copying and heads out into the main hallway. He passes the water cooler, crossing from the cubicles to the offices, and remembers far too late that his pile of paperwork to copy is only so tall because the copy machine is still broken. Despite Nicky’s pleas the day before, the technician insisted he couldn’t visit their office until after noon.

The copier mocks him, usual green lights flashing red. Paper jam, the touchscreen announces, white block letters on a red background. Open tray and remove paper. Someone replaced Nicky’s scribbled note with one written in black marker, Out of Order.

From the cubicles comes the chatter of one-sided phone calls. Sellers making sales. Accountants trying to reconcile uneven numbers, yelling at other accountants.

From the offices, the steady tap of keyboard presses and mouse clicks.

Overhead, the air conditioner breathes through a humming fan.

Nicky holds his pile of papers toward his chest and approaches the copier.

“It’s broken,” says a well-meaning co-worker, walking by with his coffee. He doesn’t stop for a reply, which is good, since the best Nicky could muster is a small apologetic shrug. He waits for the co-worker to disappear into an office. Then he waits a second more.

He takes one step back toward his cubicle, then berates himself for wasting his own time, and peers into Joe’s office.

Joe has his back to the door. The blinds are open this time, thank goodness, but even the blue sky beyond cannot compare to the vibrancy of the color splashes on Joe’s screen. His mouse is a paint brush, bringing forth images, fonts, and patterns in a flourish and dismissing them as quickly.

Headphones cover his ears. The straightness of his shoulders aligns with the back of his chair. He is intensely focused, lost to the rest of the world.

But he hasn’t quit. Not yet.

The sinking in Nicky’s stomach dissipates. Instead, he feels foolish.

Face burning, he rushes back to his cubicle and returns the pile of paperwork onto the corner of his desk. He straightens it.

He checks the clock. Ten minutes to lunch.

He waits.

*

The copier technician finds the paper jam easily enough, but the broken pencil is a different, more complicated matter. In the end, he disassembles half of the machine. It takes hours. At 4:30, Nicky’s co-workers are glaring every time they pass his cubicle. At 5, snide remarks start flying around the water cooler.

The administration staff cannot leave without making copies of their reports for Merrick and the other executives. Merrick likes hard copies, not emails. Nicky suspects he has them sent to a file cabinet and never looks at them. No, Merrick has already told them, emails will not be allowed ever, not even in this special case.

“I can’t have you getting lazy,” he told one co-worker, loud enough for the others to hear.

Merrick, himself, ducked out soon after. The other executives followed. They might have looked sheepish, if they looked at their employees at all. One carried a golf bag. It smacked against the side of Nicky’s cubicle as he walked by, knocking down the printed-out picture Nicky had pinned to the wall, the one of a cat hanging on a tree branch above the words, Hang in there!

To stop his co-workers plotting his murder, Nicky agreed to make copies of everyone’s reports, quadrupling the size of his already impressive pile of paperwork. Worth it, he knew, when his co-workers left with smiles and not glares.

At 7pm, the technician finally has the copier working again. Nicky catches him in the hallway.

“No more pencils,” Nicky says, trying to make light.

“Do whatever you want,” the technician replies, while texting on his phone. “This overtime means I get to charge double.” Laughter follows him to the front of the building. Nicky sighs. He really hopes Merrick doesn’t know his name. He imagines he’ll lose more than one paycheck to that bill if Merrick holds true to his threat to make Nicky pay for it.

With that worry heavy on his mind, Nicky collects his pile of paperwork and hauls it down the hallway.

Lights on the far walls begin to switch off, until only the lights over the main hallway and the small desk light in Nicky’s cubicle remain on. Being surrounded by so much darkness is unsettling. It’s quiet too – no phone calls, no click-clack of the keys. Only the air conditioner keeps him company, whirling overhead.

He loads the pile of papers into the input tray and starts the copier. It whistles and whines as the papers file through, and he sends up a quick prayer that the machine holds out long enough to finish his co-worker’s reports. And maybe his own.

Halfway through, Nicky notices one more light is still on in this building – the one in Joe’s office. Did he forget to turn it off? Nicky peeks inside.

The blinds are drawn. The screens are black. Joe is slumped in his chair, head crooked at an uncomfortable angle, chin resting on his shoulder. His lips are parted, mouth open, drool gathering at the corner. Each inhale couples with a soft snore.

If he sleeps like that the whole night through, he’ll be sore as hell in the morning.

Nicky should leave him, though. It’s not his business, and as far as he knows, Joe fell asleep on purpose.

Except his bare forearms have goosebumps and the overhead light is burning bright. Wouldn’t he have a blanket if he intended to sleep here? Wouldn’t he have turned off the light?

The copier seems to be working well, so Nicky abandons it and steps into Joe’s office. He walks softly at first, unsure, before he realizes how potentially creepy that is and stomps the rest of the way to Joe’s office chair, hoping he’ll wake up on his own. He doesn’t.

“Joe,” Nicky says.

No reaction.

“Joe,” he says again, louder.

Joe snores in response. His eyelashes fan over his cheeks. His curls are wild, bouncing out in all directions. His lips lift softly at the edges, as if a good dream has entrapped him. He’s more than attractive, he’s... cute, in a way that startles Nicky, embarrassed, to action.

He places a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Joe. Wake up.”

“Nicky,” Joe says, laughing, as he turns his head further into the chair. “You have the most beautiful eyes.”

Nicky freezes. His breath catches. He’s sure even his heart skipped a beat.

But Joe’s eyes are closed. He’s still sleeping.

“Brighter than the moonlight,” Joe says, words slurring. He sniffs. “Deeper than the ocean. I could drown,” he yawns, “looking at you.” He curls around his arms and snores again, louder.

There could be other Nicky’s with bright eyes, Nicky reasons, as his hands tremble and his heart thunders, alive in a way it has never been before.

Nicky should wake him, right? He should.

At the copier, paper whirls through the machine. It’s finished scanning now, and is stapling the sets. Nicky walks past, down the lonely lit corridor to his cubicle. He snatches his green jacket off the back of the chair. The outside is coarse, waterproof material, but the inside is soft cotton. He brings it back to Joe’s office. Carefully, he drapes the jacket over Joe like a blanket, tucking it under his arms.

“...if you... hold me...” Another snore.

“Joe,” Nicky says again, trying only once more to wake him. When Joe’s eyes do not open, Nicky sighs. “Sweet dreams, Yusuf.” He runs his hands down Joe’s covered arms, making certain the jacket is secure. At the door, Nicky clicks off the light.

When he returns to the copier, it has finished the reports. Nicky delivers them to the mailboxes of the executives.

He shivers all the way home, but he doesn’t mind, knowing Joe is warm.

[aquamotto]

Polish School of Magic or what Rowling gets wrong about Poland

In short: many things. 

The only mentions of polish wizards come from two instances - some Quidditch team  (Grodzisk Goblins) and Hagrid’s visit to Europe (with some goblin mention, again). 

Why goblins, anyway? There is no such creature in real polish mythology. Instead, there are much more Harry Potter-esque things such as: Beast of Krakow, Dragon of the Wawel Hill who is the most famous and ferocious creature in all Eastern Europe. The majestic power of this beast can only be matched with majestic power of its city of dwelling - Krakow, to put it simply, is the city of Polish kings.

Below: Krakow, the city of “goblins”, according to JKR:

But let me guess - goblin invokes this image of rudeness and primitivity that probably comes from british understanding of poles as construction workers and such. It is curious that nuanced portrayal of poor people that is reserved for characters like Snape is not allowed to poles. They are “goblins” but Snape is a “working class hero”.  

 What I will describe below, is my headcanon based on what I imagine Wizarding Poland to really be like, sans goblins and other imperialist fantasies but based on my own observation of Poland as both pole and outsider (because, unfortunately, I am both).

Personality,  culture

Quidditch champion image as rude and loud lads couldn’t be farther from the truth. Polish wizards, much like their friends in neighboring Czech Republic, are wise, eccentric, philosophical and brave people. They have been blessed and cursed with difficult history (Such as Partition of Poland and German and Soviet Invasion) and know very well how to operate in secrecy. In fact, they are the most secretive of all european wizards and if muggle were to accuse them of witchcraft, they would deny the fact to their last breath. In the same time, polish wizards love magic and often risk everything to pursue their next magical experiment. They are prone to be idealistic and live with their head in the clouds, sometimes literally, which can lead to both troubles and brilliant inventions.

Some believe that Nicolaus Copernicus, the genius astronomer who placed the Sun at the center of the Universe, was a polish wizard (painting by polish artist Jan Matejko):

This image of genius, sudden discoveries and epiphanies is valued in Poland to the point that students of Polish School of Magic wear stars indicating their year on their uniforms - to honor Copernicus. 

However, poles aren’t Ravenclaws in disguise - they are traditional, obedient and lawful people at the core and no polish wizard, even the smallest first year, would dare to cheek their headmaster or teacher the way Harry and co. do. 

Teacher - student relationship is sacred in Poland and it’s almost like your second parent -  someone to be treated with utmost respect. This can lead to quite harsh hierarchies in Wizarding Poland. 

Looks

Polish wizards dress modestly, colorful suits Weasley Twins style are not for them. They can sometimes even look monk-like (or medieval knight-like) in appearance. Since Poland is filled with minor aristocracy called szlachta (and I am proud to belong to it, too*) many polish wizards openly wear their coat of arms on their clothes. (*If you are wondering whether I have a coat of arms - yes, I do).

Polish School of Magic uses dark red monk-like hoods with more normal suit under as an unifroms.  Since they want to be the guardians of well respected traditions, it fits them. 

This doesn’t mean that poles are somber, though. They can be playful but in their distinct, “I challenge you” way. They can be competitive and fiery to the highest degree, especially when their honor or honor of their school is involved. They are indeed the most patriotic of all wizards, thinking of themselves as separated not only from muggles but from foreigners too.

Relationship with muggles

Polish wizards do not like muggles very much but unlike Britain, it rarely comes in a form of hostility but rather patronizing and light mockery. Rather than valuing pure blood,poles just think of themselves as superior to muggles in intelligence.They are especially suspicious of muggle disrespect of culture and the past which leads to wizards thinking that muggles are morally and spiritually, rather than genetically, impure. However, there was never an attempt to deny muggleborns education - in fact, they are welcomed with open arms and often even relief - “Finally, another one of us!”. This makes them a bit closer to Grindelwald’s idea of superiority than Voldemort’s one.

Music

Anyone knows Chopin, the great french-polish composer and indeed, poles adore music. To the point that Polish School of Magic considers participation in a school choir mandatory. But highest praise is reserved for those who dare and pick up an instrument (be it violin, cello, horn, piano or something else) to join the School Orchestra. If Triwizard Tournament accepted Poland, they would arrive in most curious way possible - operating the giant musical machine which would look like a church organ mixed with piano and other instruments. The headmaster would play it and the students (dressed in cloaks) would accompany him with some strange melody to make the grandest entrance ever. 

Polish School of Magic

Pictured below: Frombork

Thanks to Copernicus, magical astronomy and astrology are best subjects to learn in Polish School of Magic. Unlike their colleagues in Prague who are obsessed with alchemy, potions and dark arts, poles are more interested in the spiritual so they also value divination in any forms and defense against the dark arts. Since living in a country as difficult as Poland forces you to  always be on your toes, teachers consider it important to teach their students nonverbal magic as soon as possible. They also encourage wandless magic and actually had a lot of luck with it (unlike other european schools). Thanks to a certain WW2 incident, they also offer a superior course of arithmancy (If you know what I am hinting at, well done!) 

Pictured: Frombork Cathedral Bell Tower

Since poles are not very practical people, they don’t teach their students about Magical Creatures at all (aside from a side course on dangerous creatures such as dragons in DADA). This just doesn’t fit their heady aesthetics. Being honest and reliable people, they also dislike transfiguration - something about turning things into animals and other things strikes them as unnecessary cruel and even devilish. Being pious at the core, poles want magic to always come from the source of respect and light. That’s why almost all students leave the school with full patronuses - most common of which is a white eagle, of course - the symbol of Poland. Poles are often so patriotic that even their best memories are linked to their national identity!

Poles are also good at charms and make superb magical duellists. In fact, not many nations can best them in this regard, if any. It is thanks to their wandless magic, wordless spells,  quickness of reaction and harsh discipline (almost military-like) instilled in them in their school. 

Talking about discipline... Polish School of Magic’s discipline is indeed very strict. The school grounds are usually quiet, students know best not to laugh too loud, not to pull pranks or fool around needlessly. Spontanous duels are forbidden. Teachers love their work and always keep an eye on misbehaving individuals. Lazy, incompetent or misanthopic teachers don’t exist in Polish School of Magic. Instead they can be overly strict, demanding, mocking, conservative and overly eccentric. (This one is based on real life experience, everyone.)

Below: Ksiaz castle

 Teachers in Polish School of Magic lean old and getting a place there is very difficult and demands tons of connections. They also lean male but not just because of prejudice (although, unfortunately, such prejudice exists - Poland is a country of soldiers in many ways), because DADA course there is especially harsh and physically exhausting. (Some say it’s because they want to best Durmstrang and it comes with knowing your enemy).

Despite the notes of traditionalist gender roles, female teachers are usually well-respected, even more than male ones. And that’s why many female teachers are quite haughty and have queen-like demeanor.

Below: Ksiaz castle room

But when do poles rest from all their strict training? The answer: when holidays come. Holidays are sacred for poles and many missteps are forgiven during them, rules become slightly more relaxed. 

One of the curiously LESS regulated things in Polish School of Magic is love. While british and american wizards such as Snape may get into a puritanical rage seeing two students kissing passionately, polish teachers would just smile sweetly at them and leave them alone. Girls sending boys postcards is not considered cringeworthy as it is in Hogwarts (I am looking at you, Harry) but natural and enviable. In fact, teachers encourage students to dance together and on holidays such as Christmas, they even overlook duels related to love triangles (a rare case of them approving non-DADA duels). Poles can dance well and you can often find them waltzing in the school balroom in their festive robes. They also flirt well and all this combined with the fact how good they are at duelling, makes them formidable rivals in love for students from any other school, including Beauxbatons, especially considering that Beauxbatons boys lean narcissistic rather than chivalrous.

In the end, if Poland did participate in Triwizard Tournament, I think it would charm everyone with their quick wit, intelligence, modesty, good manners and passionate spirit. 

Quite far from the “Goblin” stuff, isn’t it?

Below: various beautiful views from Poland

[pawthorn]

Eyes of Nein

Six vignettes of reactions and conversations revolving on the strange connection between Lucien and Caduceus Clay.

Part 4: Fjord

Fjord was not observant by nature.

He didn't pick up on cues, and he was rarely the first to see or hear or smell something in the environment. Even when he tried, the ability to focus on such details often eluded him. It had gotten him into trouble a lot when he was younger. He missed or misunderstood what was going on around him. Whether walking through a field or working through a conversation, it was the same. He'd trip or tangle, stumbling his way through awkwardly. People looked askance, taking confusion and ignorance as rudeness or malice.

The sea had been his escape. Sailors didn't care about nuance and nicety; they cared about hard work and a job well done. So he worked. With a smooth, consistent deck under him, he memorized the position of each sheet, learned to tie knots with practiced efficiency. The clear, unchanging columns of the ship's manifest were another comfort. From the ship's cradle of rules and regularity, he learned to face the wild, unpredictability of the sea, and of life. He learned to act, to control the situation. With power and momentum on his side, he didn't need to watch it listen as closely. He navigated life like a blade, cutting through and dealing with consequences as they appeared. It worked for him.

But sometimes, he missed things.

Important things.

"Fjord," Beau called, pulling him aside as Caleb prepared the Tower for the evening. The Nein would be sharing it with the Tomb Takers that night. None of their group liked inviting them in, but they were all exhausted from a brutal day in the tundra. And the Tomb Takers weren't going to take "no" for an answer.

Fjord glanced around as he and Beau stepped away from the group. No one seemed to be watching.

"I need you to do something for me," she said, eyes roaming the area around them. "I'm gonna be.. uh… busy. For a little while. After dinner. So-"

"Busy with what?"

"It's fuckin' private," Beau growled. "And not the point. Just listen. I need you to keep an eye on Caduceus. I've got a bad feeling."

"What?" Fjord's stomach swooped as he looked toward his friend, who was watching the snow drift around them. He seemed alright. "What do you think--"

"Finished," Caleb said as the shimmering doorway of the tower appeared. Fjord and Beau's small moment of privacy evaporated.

"Just do it, okay?" Beau said, and headed for the door without waiting for acknowledgement.

What. The. Fuuuuuuck?

Fjord forced the concern and confusion from his face and followed the others inside. He would do as Beau asked, though he didn't understand why she had asked it of him. What danger did she expect inside the Tower, and for Caduceus specifically?

Fjord kept his eyes on his friend as they all shared an evening meal. He seemed alright to Fjord. He ate as much as he normally did. He listened more than he talked, as usual. Fjord had no idea what the problem might be. And he couldn't ask Beau, who disappeared mid-way through their meal.

Members of both parties began to wander out of the dining hall as they finished eating. Eventually only he, Caleb, and the two Clerics remained.

"Well," said Caduceus, stretching and yawning. "I suppose it's time to settle-in for the night."

"I need to visit the kitchen first," Jester said, rising. "I have something special in mind for breakfast, and I want to make sure the cats get it just right."

"We probably should stick together, in pairs, just in case," Caleb said. "Fjord, you could stay-"

"I'll go with Caduceus," Fjord interrupted. "There are entirely too many cats in that kitchen for my liking."

Caleb looked surprised, but seemed to accept his reasoning. He bid them a quick goodnight, then hurried after Jester, who was halfway to the kitchens already. Fjord and Caduceus made their way to the center of the tower, then up, in companionable silence.

"Night, Fjord," Caduceus said once they reached his floor, halting his ascent and walking toward his room with a lazy, backwards wave.

"Good night, 'Deuces," Fjord said as he drifted upward to his floor. He hesitated on the landing, watching from above as Caduceus entered his room and shut the door behind him. Fjord shifted in place, uncertain how long he needed to keep watch. If he knew what Beau was worried about--

The sound of a door opening below, beyond his range of vision, halted his thoughts. Instinctively, he sunk into the shadows, eyes still trained on Caduceus door.

He had a perfect view of Lucien approaching it.

Fjord tensed as the tiefling knocked. After a few moments, the door opened, and Caduceus stuck his head out, looking surprised. Fjord's pulse hammered in his ears while the two of them exchanged a few sentences. Distance ate up the words, but their tones and postures seemed non-combative. Even so, Fjord was ready to summon the sword and spring to his friend's defense.

Then, still looking perfectly at ease, Caduceus stepped aside, let Lucien in, and shut the door behind them.

Oh. Shit.

For a moment, Fjord just stared, mind sputtering in shock. Then he launched himself down to the floor below, hurrying to the door. He raised his hand to knock, then reached for the door handle instead, then stepped back, running a hand over his face. Quietly, he pressed his ear to the door. He couldn't hear anything from within, not over the loud and rapid thumping of his own heart.

Dammit!

Now he knew exactly why Beau had asked him to watch Caduceus. She had known something like this would happen. But Fjord had been too slow, and now, their friend was alone with Lucien. And Fjord had no idea what to do about it.

Part of him knew Caduceus could take care of himself. When push came to shove, he could defend himself, heal himself. And he was good at reading people. Surely he wouldn't have invited Lucien in if he sensed danger. At the same time, Caduceus could be shockingly naive at times, and none of them really knew what Lucien was capable of.

Well, that wasn't strictly true. The memory of finding Vess' body flashed behind his eyes. For an instant, he saw Caduceus there instead- tall form crumpled on the floor, pale and cold, frozen look of fear in his eyes, and rivulets of blood stark against the soft fur of his face.

Fjord shook his head to clear the image, fighting against the cold dread building in his stomach.

No, he couldn't just leave Caduceus in there.

But should he burst in? Knock and make up some excuse to enter? What if that made things worse? Fjord knew he might not be able to help Caduceus on his own. But there was no one around, and he couldn't risk leaving--

The light patter of paws nearby interrupted his thoughts. He turned and saw three cats walking one of the elevated paths, carrying an assortment of foods as well as a bottle of something.

"Hey!" he whispered up at them, as loudly as he dared. "Come down here, one of you! I have a task for you!"

They gazed at him inscrutably for a long moment. Then, one of them gave an irritated mew and unloaded its burdens onto the other two. As the over-loaded pair continued on their way, the raminaing cat scrambled down the scaffolding to sit before Fjord, tail twitching.

Fjord knelt, ignoring the way his nose began to itch.

"I want you to go into that room," he said, pointing to Caduceus' door. "There are two men in there. One is purple. With horns. If he hurts or threatens the tall man, or if the tall man looks afraid or in trouble, come out of there yowling as loud as you can. Then, go downstairs and find Caleb, get him and Jester to come. Try not to be seen. Hurry!"

The cat sneezed at him, then pranced to the cat-door and disappeared inside.

Fjord stood there, tense and ready. A minute passed. Then two. Fjord began to pace, quietly. He glared at the door, clenching his fists in readiness as time stretched on and his mind raced.

Why would Caduceus let Lucien in in the first place? He dismissed the question almost immediately. Caduceus 'it's always worth making friends' Clay had thought it would be rude to keep the Tomb Takers waiting. Fjord would have been more surprised if Caduceus had shut the door in Ludien's face.

A better question was, why had Lucien singled out Caduceus? If it was an attack, it made sense to start with their most powerful healer. But if that was the case, why go alone?

Time dragged on.

What could they be talking about in there? Was Lucien needling Caduceus for information? Trying to manipulate him? Fjord couldn't imagine Lucien finding success with either attempt, but it made Fjord angry, nonetheless.

Caduceus was kind, almost to a fault. He cared for people, believed in them when they couldn't do it themselves. That care, that belief had helped to save Fjord, quite literally. Phrases floated through his mind... It takes a particular flavor of goodness… That's what a champion is… Proud to know you… Caduceus thought so much better of him than Fjord had ever thought of himself. It was part of what made Caduceus who he was.

To think of Lucien taking advantage of Caduceus' nature, to imagine him trying to use Caduceus for his own ends… It made Fjord's chest flare with the heat of righteous anger, compelling him to move, act, protect. But all he could do was wait.

Finally, he heard movement from within. He ducked into the shadows as the door finally swung open. Lucien walked out as Caduceus stood in the doorway, looking no worse for wear. They bid each other goodnight briefly, the door closed, and Lucien stepped away. As he turned, Fjord saw the cat he had sent to spy on them, cradled in Lucien's arms, purring contentedly, and looking utterly unrepentant.

Lucien turned to look directly at Fjord, cocking his head slightly.

"You could have joined us, you know," he said lightly. "Instead of moping outside like a puppy that lost its bone."

Fjord stepped forward, crossing his arms, trying to relax the tension in his neck and shoulders.

"Seemed like it might be a private conversation," he said. "Since you sought him out alone. In his room. After most everyone has gone to sleep for the night."

"Is that what it seemed like?" Lucien smiled, scratching the cat's ears. "Why then did you wait outside at all? Why send this one in to watch us?"

"I don't know," Fjord said. "Maybe because the last time you were alone with someone of my acquaintance, they wound up dead."

"You think I'd kill your friend," Lucien said, moving closer. "In the middle of the night? When we'd just agreed to travel together."

"I don't know what to expect from you," Fjord said. "But no. I suppose if I truly thought you meant to harm him… well. Tonight would have turned out very differently."

"I don't doubt it," Lucien smiled.

"So," Fjord said. "What were you two talking about? You were in there a while."

"Oh, this and that," Lucien said, strolling closer to Fjord, still petting the damned cat. "I like interesting people. Curious people. Your friend seems to as well. He's quite the conversationalist."

"He does have a way with words," Fjord agreed, forcibly willing himself not to back away from Lucien. There was something just… off about him. He was so similar to Molly, which made the edge of wrongness to him all the plainer.

"True," Lucien said. "I'm very interested in his way of speaking. For example, have you ever noticed he doesn't use the word 'we' when he talks about your group? That he says 'they' instead?"

"No," Fjord lied. Because of course he had. He didn't understand why Caduceus did that. He didn't like Lucien bringing it up now.

"Well," Lucien said, with a knowing twinkle in his eye. "I noticed. That's the sort of thing that catches my attention. It's one of my interests, you see."

"What is?"

"Lost souls," Lucien said. "People looking for belonging. And purpose."

"Sorry to say, that isn't Caduceus," Fjord said, heat building in his chest again. "He has friends, he has family, a place with us and a purpose. There's nothing you could offer him that wouldn't be a step down from what he already has."

"Well," Lucien said, with that same infuriating grin. "That being the case, my talking with him, explaining what I have to offer, that shouldn't bother you at all."

"And yet, I find myself bothered," Fjord stepped closer, meeting Lucien's eyes, letting the weight of his gaze carry his meaning. "And, I would consider it a personal favor if you would leave my friend alone from now on. Or I might have to show you and your friends just how bothered I am."

Lucien cocked his head to the side.

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" He said with a chuckle. "Friend, you have no idea what you're dealing with here. There are forces at work right now, bigger than any of us. Like it or not, your friend is smack in the middle of it, and I'm not going to ignore that. You'd best get used to that idea."

"I don't care what forces you claim to understand or work for," Fjord said, reckless anger boiling up from his chest. "If you put him in danger, I will end you. We will end you. He is not alone, and if harm comes to him because of you, we will deal with you, and I will personally ensure that no resurrection can bring you back again."

Lucien looked at Fjord for a long moment, absently scratching the cat.

"See, now that sounded like a proper threat," he said at last, eyes gleaming. "And I'd expect nothing less from you. You- only seeing what's right in front of you. No mind for possibilities, or potential. Folk like you have their uses. But without the proper guidance, you are painfully oblivious. Take comfort in the fact that, if I do decide to do anything to your friend, you won't even notice until it's far too late to stop me. So--"

"Is everything alright?"

Caleb's voice broke through the red haze that had all but overtaken Fjord's vision. He and Lucien turned to see the wizard and Jester as they finished their ascent from the floor below and stepped onto the landing, looking wary.

Lucien stepped back from Fjord easily, draping the cat over his shoulder.

"We were just discussing how nice it is to be traveling with new friends," he smiled, breezing across the landing. "Thank you again for your hospitality. Sweet dreams."

Throwing a final, mocking smile in Fjord's direction, he slipped into the spare room, door shutting gently behind him. With some effort, Fjord unclenched his fists. He knew Jester and Caleb were both looking at him, expecting an explanation, but they seemed far away at the moment.

Fjord stared at his hands. They were shaking. There were small crescent indentations in his palms, left by his fingernails. He had been moments from summoning the Star-Razor. To what sane end, he couldn't say. But he still wanted to. He wanted to wipe the smug smile off of Lucien's face, to make him regret his words.

Fjord wanted to protect his family.

But he hadn't.

He hadn't noticed Lucien's intentions toward Caduceus. He hadn't been aware of the danger. He'd done nothing to prevent Lucien from getting to his friend. And he'd done nothing to keep Caduceus safe moving forward.

"Fjord," Jester was saying. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he said, striding to the center of the chamber. "Nothing at all."

He needed space, or he was going to let his anger boil over and scald someone who didn't deserve it. He paused before ascending.

"Just, keep your guard up," he said, glancing toward Caduceus room. "And put the guest room on a different fucking floor."

Read Part 1

Read Part 5

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

I Like Surprises Too (Sriracha, Part 44.)

Series description: A problematic college student gets the worst summer job of the ‘83 - Jim Hopper, the Chief of police in your hometown will have you as his secretary since his old lady Flo has two months lasting holiday. It was agreed so Hopper could keep you far away from all the trouble.

Part Summary: Diane was gone just right after she came for a visit, but there was still more to go through.

A/N: I just wanna be done with the series, tbh.

Word count: 2.4 K

Tagging:  @nemodoren, @missdictatorme, @ysljordy, @creedslove​, @hopperlover, @btchsm, @rita-lean

Master list: H E R E

Series playlist: Jim Hopper 😠

IMAGE SOURCE

For the first time forever, you were afraid to come home. The last time you were so terrified of opening the doors was when Hopper drove you after you've puked all over his beloved Blazer. It was logical for you not to come home - you were standing in front of Harrington’s house, more specifically in front of a building where he had rented a flat, and waited for Robin to open up the door for you.

She came there only in her t-shirt and pajama shorts, her eyes were still glued together by sleepers and she was looking... Awful. Both her and Steve were extremely worried about seeing you at their hour in such an unholy hour, but she ran down to open the door for you. And the worse it got when Robin noticed that you had mascara all over your place, your face was colorless and your hands were shakily holding three cups of coffee and doughnuts from a Dunkin' Donuts. It was obvious that you and Hopper argued.

Without questions, Robin took you in and helped you with the sweets you brought. Steve was pleased to see you, so after he hugged you, he took off your coat and offered you a shower, getting you some of his clothes. Which was something so nice of him that you cried again? And the boy was wondering what did he do wrong.

"Spill the tea, sister. Let the council judge you." - Robin said, already spread all over the lazy chair while eating one of the donuts. So, you talked - about Diane just appearing out of nowhere with a kid, about Hopper drinking... And the small part when you shouted at him that you're pregnant.

"Oh, fuck." - Robin sighed, sitting straight by the end of the story. - "Oh, fuck indeed." - You answered, drinking your cup without caffeine. Steve was looking at you with a shocked furrow. - "You're pregnant? I'll be an uncle?" - Suddenly, he was on his feet, walking around the room. This was the reaction you expected from hopper - pure happiness.

"Robin, you and I will be the best uncle and aunt in the Hawkins, I tell you. Is it a boy or a girl?" - He sat next to you, his eyes shining at the question. Jesus, the boy was something, but you loved the energy. With tears in your eyes, you smiled at him and shook your head.

"I'll tell you as soon as I know something, deal?" - You asked back, having steve falling into a rant about taking the kid to restaurants, swimming pool, teaching them to play basket, and how to pick up girls... And Robin was just laughing at that. In the middle of his ranting, you've fallen asleep - night shifts were a bitch. It was quite funny when Robin and Steve was co-operating to get you into his bed, whisper-shouting at each other because Robin thought you'll bang your head into the doorframe every second. In the end, you were there, safe and sound.

It was around midday when Hopper called the if they have seen you. Eleven reported to Jim that you hadn't shown up the whole day, so Jim rode his daughter to your mum's - so she wouldn't be home alone since it was fall break starting.

Since Steve would tell Hopper all he wanted to know, because that boy was a little bitch, Robin told James the most innocent 'no' of her life before promising she'd call him when you'd appear at their place. You got up around two in the afternoon, smelling something Robin was cooking. Steve was nowhere to be found, presumably being at his shift in the VHS store.

"That looks good." - You hummed and realized how hungry you were. Robin nodded at you with confidence, serving you a plate of her risotto. - "I should go home, shouldn't I?" - You asked silently when you had half of the plate inside, having Robin look at you carefully.

"I kinda wanna tell you you can stay here... But you should go home, yeah." - The girl fixed a few strands of her hair. - "Listen... This isn't a thing about which someone calms down in a few days. This is a baby on its way. A new life you and he created. Even if you'd keep him in the dark for a little longer, he'd get to know eventually. You'd got bigger, you'd have swollen feet and Hopper isn't a dumb guy at all. So, go home, wait for him, talk to him. You'll make it work, at least I hope so." - Robin supported you with the purest tone you've ever heard. - "And if don't, we and Steve can help you with the baby. He's a damn good babysitter." - The girl tried to cheer you up once she saw other tears in your eyes. Geez, these hormones were doing things to you, didn't they?

Soon after the delicious lunch, you set on your way home. What should you expect? Him yelling at you? Will it be a heated argument full of bad words? He already told you that you were acting like a bitch into the phone, so it was quite possibly the words will get harsher from face to face. Was he looking for you when you were gone? Or was he at home? He was sure worrying for you, you knew Jim wouldn't be calm about you just disappearing even for the morning...

It was quite a surprise to find his car missing in the driveway. He had a day off, or at least you remembered so, so it was quite surprising to finding the home completely silent. El was at your parents'  and you let her stay there - it wasn't a good idea to call her to come home before talking to James about the whole baby thing.

You were nervously looking around the house, calling out his name to see if he isn't hidden somewhere out there, but the house was empty. - "Well, fuck." - You whispered to yourself. It was an hour later, an hour of nervous waiting later, when you heard him pulling onto the driveway. And at that moment, it didn't seem that you were sitting in the kitchen for an hour. The panic inside of you intensified almost instantly. Every sound coming from the outside was strumming through your ears like fucking Chinese gong. The stopping of a car motor, the opening of the door, and James' frantic footsteps as he realized that you were finally inside the damn house. You would swear that you heard him talk to himself, but you wouldn't swear that.

The front door opened in the following minute. This sound made your heart stop. Were you ever so scared? No, damn, this was horror at its best. Dear Lord, you closed your eyes for a second - your palm gently rubbed your belly, please don't let us argue. And don't let this relationship end. It would mean the world to me. There was not a single percent of you being religious, but when you saw Jim's shadow in the main hall, you suddenly started to pray to every god you ever heard about.

When he saw you sitting at the table with your nose red, he almost started the conversation by telling you that you look like Rudolf the reindeer. Yet he rather just put his bag down and went to hug you with a great force. One of his palms ruffled your hair as he took in the scent of your perfume. It was just one day and Jim was already going crazy from not smelling it. - "I was lookin' for you everywhere. Jesus fuckin' Christ." - The man pushed you off his chest just so he could palm your face, looking you in the eyes. Your face was already falling into an emotionally unstable expression as you started to cry almost immediately.

"I was worried to come here." - And there you were. There it was. The quiet, basically meowling, tiny voice which indicated that you're not only terrified but guilty as well. This side of you was not to be seen too often. It was possible for the second time Jim was ever seeing this behavior. You shut up, listened, and you were able to say 'yep, I've fucked up too, I've messed up, let's just talk about it'. And honestly, it felt very good. - "I didn't want to argue, again. After you called me a bitch... And the stuff I've said." - You almost rolled your eyes out when Jim chuckled at what you've said, yet he was quick to smooth your shoulders to calm your down. - "We've argued way worse than this. Come on. This was nothin'."

"But the matter is something, Jim. I should've done it differently. I should've told you maybe... Before Diane came here. But I was shitting myself with fear." - The way you clung onto him was almost heartbreaking. It was incredibly sweet, yet done out of fear - it was the fear of losing him. - "I would be terrified too." - The man mumbled into the back of your head, closing his eyes. If I would be pregnant, I mean. Tellin' you would be the worst thing that had ever met me, probably." - The man whispered. This speculation made you grin.

Sure, you two could argue. You could yell at each other for hours to come to no avail. You could tell each other rather nasty things, be very mean and angry. Or you could turn it into a joke. A happy occasion if you will.

Sure, having a baby was far from an actual joke, but you got what Jim was trying to do. He wasn't the most excited to do it again, mainly because of the everlasting fear regarding Sara, but he was happy that he was going through this by your side. A kid. Wow. A damn kid.

"I'm sorry for gettin' so drunk. I fucked that up." - The man whispered as he moved strands of your hair from side to side. - "Sorry for acting like a hysteric bitch. I should've trusted you with Diane. And I failed." - You answered after a while, sighing quite loudly. Carefully, you tiptoed to kiss him, closing your eyes as you leaned into the kiss itself.

"'s alrite. I was probably more confused than you, baby." - Jim's thumbs gently smoothed the sweet spots under your eyes, massaging your skin in the process. He was unbelievably gentle with you. As if you could break under his fingers any minute. - "You acted without thinkin', but yeah, I can be a fuckin' asshole sometimes." - James admitted sincerely, having this small sweet small light inside his eyes.

This man has admired you for some time now. And the more time passed by, the more years you've spent together, the more love he had in himself. It took him a few more weeks to adjust himself to the whole pregnancy situation. And yes, occasionally, there were some misunderstandings and small arguments between the two of you, but would you be a married couple if you didn't have these?

Diane called here and thereafter her visit, still climbing on Jim's nerves and getting inside his head, but these calls lasted less and less time every time it repeated. Eventually, she stopped calling completely. And since then, there was no doubt in your mind about James and his intentions.

What about the other acknowledging that soon, you'll be a mom? Eleven was over her heels. The girl always adored small kids. She loved spending time with them and every time she met some downtown, she stopped just to chat with the kid or to make faces at them. Having a younger sibling almost sent her to another dimension.

Mike and the other kids were regularly happy. Kids were cool... Unless they were younger siblings. Lucas had miss Erica as his sister while Mike had Holly, of both the brothers had to occasionally had to take care. Both the boys realized that over time, Eleven will have to spend her time with the small kid too. And they would most likely have to look after them.

Yet the young gentlemen were so cavalierish that they managed to overcome themselves and to promise you that they'd sometimes look after the kid. You managed to seal a deal with them, pre-planning them as occasionally, fully paid nannies - although your concern about what they'd do with the kid was growing more and the time as you heard what they plan to teach the kid.

Over time, as expected, you grew larger and larger. You grew so much that you had to move your seat in behind the steering just to fit there. Any of your coats and blouses didn't fit you anymore and over the time, you needed to buy some preggy jeans. When you had a worse day than you usually did, which you could recognize based on your back pain, Jim tried his best to help you with the household - he could do dishes, do the laundry and when he was feeling courageous, he tried to cook something. It was nice of him, yes, but he didn't know how to cook at all. Even Eleven could cook better than him. Sometimes, when you woke up from your slumber, you just saw black smoke coming from the kitchen and you knew what James was up to.

Slowly, the time when you couldn't go to work anymore came by. It wasn't that you were sat down on a wheelchair all day or something - but it was quite hard to run around the hospital and to interwiev kids all day. But that didn't take anything from your charming personality - James made sure he behaves or he could be schooled like a small kid. You didn't care how long would it take, but you would have an elaborate lecture all night if needed. It was one silent, calm night when it came.

[kob131]

What do you feel about the post about Vic mignogna by ultraericthered

https://ultraericthered.tumblr.com/post/183990672385/im-sick-of-the-rangers-spamming-vics-tag-with

Let’s break this down.

Vic is absolutely guilty of inappropriate behavior, misconduct, sexual harassment, and possibly (just possibly) sexual assault towards others. This has been established by his pattern of behavior for years. Monica and the others are being entirely honest in their stories and the allegations are very likely honest as well. How this is even in question, I have no idea, but it upsets and disturbs me that there are so many who are quick to jump to Vic’s defense while simultaneously vilifying his opponents and accusers (and possibly victims).

A, He hasn’t been proven guilty of exual harassment OR assault and inapporiate behavior means nothing.

And B. yeah, no. Monica has been lying via omission for months now, refusing to give ANY details on any incidents DESPITE the fact that those details are REQUIRED to convict him. And before you say she’s scared: she’s openly threatened vic supporters with legal action. Over asking her for info. That is not the behavior of an innocent person.

Oh and C. NOTHING came to light about Vic for MONTHS. The ProJared shit started and ended in the same month.

What gives credibility to the side of Monica Rial, Jamie Marchi, Jamie McGonnigal, Marzgurl, etc. is that not only do their words and allegations line up with accounts of Vic’s skeevy behavior towards fans and women that have been going around the internet for YEARS (It’s honestly astonishing just how far back some of this goes), but how many other VAs, people actually in the industry who might’ve worked alongside Vic and would be there to witness his actions, have come out in Vic’s defense? Can’t really think of much. Meanwhile, how many have been coming out in support of the alleged victims? Quite a handful, even J. Michael Tatum, himself a victim of sexual assault in the past. Apparently, Vic being a primadona and a skeevy womanizing creeper has been an open secret in the VA industry since forever.

And of these guys:

Monica has evaded legal action and refused to give details NECESSARY to convict him

Marzgurl has sactively ENOCURAGE VIOLENCE

And Jamie has been proven to bully people into dropping Vic from cons.

As for the ‘accounts”: they’re eitehr anonyomous accounts, too old to prove...or taken out of context of the people involed.

And by the way. how many famous people probably came out and said ‘that guy’s a commie’ back during the Red Scare? People coming out to help doesn’t MEAN anything without proof. People in the wrong can still come out in droves. And if that doesn’t convince: does that mean rape victims who don’t have public support while their rapists DO are the ones in the wrong then? Same logic of ‘One party has more public support than the other, therefore they’re right.’

What’s damning on Vic’s side of things? Well not only was a thorough investigation into the sexual harassment allegations conducted during the time of the Broly movie’s production prior to Funimation’s decision to lay Vic off (something his fans don’t even seem to realize happened) -

You mean the one where they didn’t give any info and was probably a ‘cut off the controversial figure for profit’ decision?

- but Vic’s response to the whole situation has…just not been how I think an absolutely innocent man getting his career and livelihood threatened by accusation of things he absolutely never did and would never do would respond. Vic’s been pretty sincere and professional throughout this and I give him props for that, but his “defenses” against the allegations have always been along the lines of “I remember things differently” or “I didn’t realize she felt that way - I thought that thing we had was consensual and mutual.” Of course he’s not going to recall those incidents as being ones where he committed sex offenses because he did not see his actions as being such when he committed them. He fails to recognize how and why his behavior is so wrong. He doesn’t knowingly think of himself as a sex fiend and harasser when he acts that way - he really thinks he’s being nice (backed up by the allegation where he repeatedly asked his victim to “let me be sweet to you.”). But those moments were not consensual. The girls and women he touched or romanced were not comfortable with it.-

And Monica has threatened legal action and Marzgurl thretaened PHYSICAL VIOLENCE.

You wanna judge this based on public reaction? Show me where Vic threatens anyone who questions him.

What his intentions were at the time don’t matter when put next against how his victims internalized his actions and how they were made to feel -

No, intentions DO matter. That’s why ‘self defense’ and ‘murder’ are different concepts.

And on top of that, look at how Monica Rial worded her own account:

This, by contrast, is Vic’s wording of his side of things. He “got lazy.” He’s “a work in progress like everyone else.” And my personal favorite: “Voice actors are no different from you: we’re bozos. We’re all dumb humans just trying to do our best.” The emotions are sincere, but the words are unrefined and a bit try-hard in trying to paint a sympathetic image of himself.

And Monica, by your own standards, is trying to appeal to basic human empathy to trick people into believing her. Thing is, Vic is consistent in his actions. Monica has acted contradictory MANY times.

And what’s damning on the side of Vic’s fans and defenders? Well, I could not help but notice that they can be found all over Youtube, hive of the Far Right that it’s become-

Strike 1.

I also could not help but notice that whenever I clicked a video made for supporting Vic and tearing down his opposition and accusers (who, again, could very well be his victims), it was literally ALWAYS a dude speaking.

Strike 2.

It was always some man speaking in defense of this other man who he probably doesn’t even personally know in a situation he wasn’t there to experience and knows next to shit about, and demonizing “waamen” that he also doesn’t personally know. And in all of this, I have not once seen any valid reasoning for why Vic absolutely must be innocent of the allegations made against him other than “he’s a super popular, charming, beloved VA” and “he seems like such a nice guy”. It’s frankly quite terrifying that the immediate default for these people is to stand with the popular, prolific, powerful man (and I don’t want to be an SJW here, but that Vic is handsome, white, straight/cis, and Christian might be a huge part of it

Strike 3-

Not only is this gonna EMBOLDEN the assholes on Vic’s side-

But Monica’s defenders (like YOU) have focused on gender and bullshit instead of anything FACTUAL. You act like anyone whose accused of sexual assault is IMMEDIATELY guilty if the accuser is a woman and teh accused is a man. Never mind how most of these accusations come down to simple miscommunication between the parties and nevermind how if a guy tries coming to the police about being raped, it’s likely HE’LL be arrested. Let alone what happens if the woman gets pregnant and can sue for child support...even if she committed STATUTORY RAPE.

Oh, and Vic’s italian and that culture is very touchy feely. So guess what? You’re racist by your own logic.

and denounce the women who come forward to accuse him as being liars because this is exactly why women who are victimized by men of such power and popularity tend to NOT come forward with stories of their victimization immediately after it happens. Yes, anyone is innocent until proven guilty in a court of law, but that doesn’t mean the accusers should be denounced as liars and demonized for daring to mess with the man - they ought to be shown support and respect IF in the case what they say is true and they really were hurt by that man. If they’re proven liars beyond any doubt, THEN they can be given well deserved scorn. But brushing them off beforehand is Not OK. Especially if it’s with conspiracy theories about how this is some big coordinated feminist effort to tear down a great man and destroy his livelihood, or it’s a retaliation from yaoi fangirls who hate that Vic dares to be anti-yaoi and Conservative in regards to gay people.

And yet you condemn Vic before he is proven to be lying.

Sorry, either condemn yourself or be better.

These assclowns have also constantly resorted to the defense of “Oh, hugging other people and kissing them in places not on the lips totes isn’t sexual harassment”. Totally ignoring the little details of the girls getting the hugs typically being total strangers to Vic outside of being fans of his work who are thus underage girls being touched by a grown man who has absolutely no relation to them, that he might have done the same with female co-workers behind the scenes, and that he has done these things on a whim, without the recipient’s consent and without paying any mind to how it might make them feel.

Also ignoring if they give consent like that time someone tried portraying Vic touching a supposedly underage girl only to BACKFIRE as the womana spoke out in defense of the man.

This has been a consistent pattern of behavior with him,

Consistently unproven.

and allegedly, he’s justified it with saying “silence gives consent.” Like a girl or woman absolutely has to verbally say “no” or tell him outright that he’s making them feel uncomfortable for it to be considered wrong and unwarranted. Basically “a lack of a No makes it a Yes.” I can’t begin to describe how gross that is.

So Vic has to be a fucking MINDREADER or else.

Great to know, especially considering how my own condition would make this shit damn near impossible to see.

The worst part is how these IStandWithVic cultists demonize Monica Rial. A woman who, by her own admission, was a victim of rape as a teenager.

Says the man who demonizes Vic.

A woman who has shown nothing but emotional and intellectual honesty and kindness on social media, who has acknowledged that even Vic and his fans don’t deserve to be harassed and hurt, to the point of stating this:

https://twitter.com/Rialisms/status/1095156641543192576

Funny how she says this TWO DAYS LATER than your picture.

But she’s both painted as a vicious liar who’s out to destroy a good, innocent man’s life and career, and is ALWAYS being written off by these dudes as just “the VA for Bulma.” As though she’s had no other notable roles in her long career of voice acting aside from that one character (as opposed to the oh-so talented, versatile and legendary star that is Vic). As though that character has had only one English VA. As though Monica just plain doesn’t matter when put next to a fellow VA in the industry who happens to be a handsome white, straight/cis, Christian male.

Keep being a bigoted douchebag, I can hear the alt RIght cumming.

And as though Monica had any feasible reason to lie about her experiences with Vic and assassinate his character on social media.

*points at you and your blind defense of her*

the pro-Vic crowd seems to think she’s greedy or jealous or just resentful towards Vic as a person, and is out to get him so that she can get money or respect or more roles or petty revenge or whatever.

Literally change ‘vic’ to ‘monica and that’d describe you.

But if that were really the case, how does that account for the friends and family who support her claims? How does it account for the fellow VAs (Jamie Marchi, Jamie McGonnigal, J. Micahel Tatum, Josh Grelle, Justin Briner, Daman Mills) who’ve all supported her claims and have said “Yeah, Vic’s been like that forever.

‘Get social brownie points’

How does it account for the fans and congoers who have been sharing their stories of uncomfortable experiences and encounters they’ve had with Vic FOR YEARS?

‘Stories’ are not truth.

The deck is NOT stacked in Vic’s favor here, so “he’s successful, popular, funny, friendly, charming, talented and a classic VA who’s so well loved in the anime community” is NOT going to cut it as an assumption of his innocence or a defense for his character.

No, that’s the legal system that says ‘innocent until proven guilty.’

He needs to be held accountable for his misdemeanors against people who gave no consent to being touched, hugged, kissed, stalked, romanced, or squicked out by him.

And yet Monica threatening legal action and Marzgurl making THREATS OF VIOLENCE? A-Ok.

It’s a Michael Jackson type of situation - even if he’s NOT done the things he’s being accused of, that does NOT make his creepy behavior towards underage fangirls excusable or alright.

Funny thing about Micheal Jackson-

The accusations, when you actually pay attention, are complete bullshit. Events don’t line up, accounts vary wildly, facts contradict stories. And yet he STILL suffered until the day he died and BEYOND. So thanks for remindidng why, as much as I hate Yellow Flash, Hero Hei and Nick Riekta-

You idiots are the worse evil.

Tl;dr: I shall from now on be referring to this VA as “Vic Cosby Mignogna.” ‘Cause even if he’s not guilty of the heinous shit that Bill Cosby is guilty of, his case is still all too eerily similar.

#IStandWithMonica

So does that mean if I call Monica ‘Monikkka’- She’s a KKK member now?

Oh wait, you wouldn’t give two shits if the places were reversed would you? For your cry of ‘I’m not an SJW!’- You sure do sound like the fucking strawman it represents.

[lunarwits]

Blister

Please read it here also https://archiveofourown.org/works/18660700 

warnings of violence, cursing, death, description of violence, description of self violence

During this time of year, the emergency room always was humid. It soaked up the water in the air every time the sliding doors opened bringing in more bodies inside the enclosed space. The constant chatter around the room and the sweat that pours off the patrons  which  alway s  cause d  a claustrophobic feel to the space.  

Doctor Jake Morgan was all too use to the sweat that clung to the back of his collars after standing in crowded room for more than a moment. He had spent much of his youth in the room, running from patient to patient as an intern and then later being in charge as he started his residency in the hospital. Tonight was not any different to any previously, he was tired, sweating through his shirt as he checked over a new victim that was rolled into the hospital on gurney.  

He took in the statues of the patient, calculating mentally his scraps and bruising, while he also focused on the real problems. The man was brought in as a motorcycle crash victim, one of the most common crashes in the city, sustaining lacerations and bruising across his body but the real worry that he had focused around the man’s head. The cuts and bruising did not resemble that from a crash and his movements seemed lethargic, as if he was on something.  

Jake frowned as he reached out and tipped the man’s head back, reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out a small flashlight and shined it in the man’s eyes. He frown ed   harder  at the lack of reaction, there is no dilation of the pupils. The man gave no reaction as the nurses moved around him trying to get a look at the scrapes as they moved clothing and rubbed swabs against the cuts. Jake looked over to his left and caught the eye of one of his head nurses, “Get a blood test, he may be high on something that we don’t know about and until we know what, it is too dangerous to get him examined.”  

She nodded her head and moved forward once he stepped back. Around them the room burst to life again as another patient was rushed in on a stretcher. He blinked slowly taking in the movement of the room and the sweat clinging to him .   H e  then  reached a hand up and pulled the handkerchief he ke pt  in his pocket to wipe his face, doing his best to wipe away the liquid.  

A sudden exclamation brought his attention back toward the man that rested in front of him. Though he himself had backed away a few feet the two nurses he entrusted to care for the man had moved closer, each trying to do their own job for the patient. Maria, his brain supplied her name, seemed to have been doing as he requested, drawing the patient's blood to get it sent to diagnostics for a drug analysis. She was now wrestling with the man, an image that caused Jake to rush forward getting a hand planted on  the  shoulder of the patient and using the other to grab the arm that was struggling with Maria.  

Jake was not a young man, he had been in his late thirties when he finally was accepted into his residency but that had been more than 15 years ago, he was not able to keep up the same health as he had then. He struggled with the other, around him he heard the other nurses shouting for security, or maybe it was police, he couldn’t focus on them as the man surged up again. It was unnerving when he realized that him and Maria were losing this struggle, both panting hard and hissing words of calm to the patient. The grip that Jake held on the man seemed to loosen each time the other surged up, with empty eyes and exposed teeth, deep in his mind it reminded Jake of his neighbors Doberman's who always growled at him passed their gates.  

All it took from the patient is one well-placed thrash of his leg to knock Jake off balance, causing him to release the others hand which shot out to grab the needle Maria had been struggling to keep out of reach. Once in possession of the needle the man drew his arm back and stabbed it into his own neck, causing a sudden reaction of a squirt of blood and the sound of choking.  

“No!”  

Jake was quick to stumble to grab the others arm with one hand and with the other press against the bleeding wound, but he could already tell it was too late as the blood tricked through his fingers. Maria screamed as she also reached out to add her own pressure to the wound, but jump ed back as Jake shouted, “I need something to close the wound!”  

With a choked sob, Maria stumbled back from them both, the man was already falling limp from the blood lose. Jake looked up at her with panicked expression and shouted, “Move!” His voice echoing across the now silent Emergency. He frowned at her as all she could do was shake her head, hands clutched to her chest. Only later he would realize that the man was past saving, the blood that dripped between his own fingers expressing that intent without words.  

He turned back to focus on the man but as he looked at the other, he knew he had passed. The blood had stopped flowing not long after the realization, which allowed him to pull his hands back and stare down at the body. He let out a weak breath and raised his head to look at Maria and another nurse who had moved by her side, “Time of death,” he paused and flicked his eyes down to the watch on his wrist only to catch it covered in blood, unreadable under the red liquid. His stomach churned with distaste and he quickly looked to the clock above the exit, “10:03 P.M., someone call the P.D.”  

With that he stepped from the body, and shaking lightly from adrenaline and panic, and turned to head toward the locker room in hopes of escaping the suddenly loud rush of voices that surrounded him.  

Across town in another hospital two more similar disturbances occurred.  

The call had come in at 10:07 P.M., just after Matt had crawled into bed. He hated late night calls, it always meant long nights away from home and sick criminals that made his skin crawl. He moaned loudly into the edge of his pillow before reaching for his phone and swiping to accept the call, “I just fucking left the office not more than 30 minutes ago, this better be important V.”  

“Just got a call from the hospital, we need you to come back in,” Victor Harkness, his partner in most cases, responded sounding just as tired as he was.  

“The hospital? What type of case do we have that would require us to go there,” he flopped over onto his side glancing at the clock that sat on his bedside table, which allowed him to focus his eyes on something besides the darkness around him.  

“Dunno, I just got the call a minute ago. I am heading over to pick you up, be ready in five.”  

The line went dead after that not giving Matt a chance to plead his case about staying in bed any longer. He dropped the phone on the bed next to him and grabbed the pillow from behind him and dropped it on his face then let out a yell of frustration. He finished his yell after a second and then threw the pillow against the wall and sat up to look around his room disgruntled.  

He only allowed himself a few seconds of frustration before he brought his mind into focus. He climbed out of bed quickly and rushed through his room pulling out one of his suits quickly and dressed in it taking less time than it normally does to get dressed in the morning. Once dressed he moved out of his room toward the entry way where he kicked off his shoes when he first got home. He paused on his way to the entry way and stopped in the dining area to grab his wallet from the table and with that his gun belt and badge. With great skill he tugged the belt around his waist as he moved, he crossed the thresh hold of the entry way just as the door was knocked on.  

He tightened the belt ,  so it sits on his waist perfectly and the holster rests on his right hip, gun still in its holster because he had been too lazy to put it away properly, and shouted, “Come in ! ”  

The door was unlocked from the outside and pushed open revealing Victor standing on the step. Victor painted an impressive figure in with his 6’ tall  and  muscular frame, there wasn’t any question about why he was handpicked for this detail. Matt smirked as he shoved his feet into the work boots, they had both adopted to start wearing after a crime scene in the bogs.  

“That couldn’t have been five minutes.”  

“I may have lied, got you up and moving through didn’t it?”  

Matt grimaced at him. He shoved his wallet and phone into his front pocket with one hand while he reached out with his other to yank his coat from the door handle of the entry way closet. Victor just shrugged his shoulders at the grimace and stepped back as Matt stepped out. He shut the door behind him and turned his back on Victor to lock it with the keys he had grabbed from the table he left by the door to catch anything he didn’t care about car ry ing farther into the home. Once done and now facing Victor again, they shared a look and moved down toward Victors car.  

His car this time was not a patrol car, proving that he had gotten the call and then headed straight towards Matt’s home, instead parked at the end of his driveway was a sturdy grey pickup truck. It wasn’t as new of many of their co-workers but when Matt had first asked Victor shrugged and had told him that it had come from his father after he had passed away due to an unexpected heart attack. From then on Matt never commented on the older, hand-me-down items the other man possessed. They both entered the pickup after the short walk down the drive, and Victor started it and pulled back from the drive and then took off toward the Hospital.  

The drive to the hospital was silent, the only things passing between their lips were Matt’s directions on the fastest routes and Victor telling him to shut up because he knew the way.  

They pulled into the hospital parking lot, both men sucked in a shocked breath at the sight before them. The Emergency entrance was covered in police cars, around them people moved back and forth under caution tape and groups of civilians seemed to be congregating behind the marked off areas. They shared a look, one where a handful of words passed through their eyes but none through their lips, years of working together made them masters at reading each other's minds.  

The pickup was put into park and turned off and in turn they both climbed out of the cab and moved toward the caution tape. They moved together in a silent harmony, both looking professional and focused once they reached the tape. One of the police nodded to them, someone Matt knew from the force when he had worked as a beat cop. Matt and Victor ducked under the caution tape and moved toward the emergency doors, which opened automatically for them.  

The first thing he had noticed once the doors were open was the smell, it wasn’t like how normal dead bodies smelled, instead it was almost like a skunk had sprayed down the whole room. He gagged suddenly reaching up to cover his mouth and pinch his nose in disgust at the smell, “What the fuck?”  

Next to him he heard Victor choke in response him grabbing the corner of his jacket to cover his nose and mouth in response. In front of him a voice cackled loudly and said, “Delightful smell isn’t it?”  

“Cut the crap Marsh,” Matt responded his voice muffled behind his hand as he looked toward the Chief Medical Examiner David Marsh. Marsh was crouched on the ground hovering over a body that laid on its back in the middle of a large pool of blood. He stepped forward, eyes focused on the body, “What is that smell? It’s fucking horrifying.”  

Marsh smirked and said as he looked over the body, “We are assuming it’s the blood, staff said that it started to smell like this about 3 minutes after the Vic stopped breathing,” he held out a cotton swab and wiped it into the blood on the ground and pulled it up, the blood clinging to the swab following it up almost like melted cheese, “Bloods an odd texture too, got some swabs set up and sent to the lab for analysis, just waiting to hear back.”  

From behind Marsh a figure approached, average build and height the women that came into view did not seem like the t ype  to be there, but Matt knew different. Avery McCullen was a spitfire woman, full of spunk and danger when it came time to doing her job as the head detective for the Police department’s homicide unit. She stopped a few paces behind Marsh, being the only one in the room seemingly unaffected by the smell as she said, “Harkness, Jones, nice of you to join us.”  

Matt nodded to her respectfully before he dropped his hand putting on a brave face. He stepped closer to the body crouching down to look at the victim, “Chief. Can I ask what warrants  two homicide detectives  to look at one body?”  

Avery nod ded back at Matt  and sa id  as she pulled out a note book from her suit jacket,  the book  likely stolen off one of the cops outside, “Vic is a twenty-year-old returning vacationer, clear background, just coming off a two month stay in the Caribbean, first thing he did when returning was wreck his motorcycle and then kill himself in a hospital emergency room. Twenty miles across town I have two other victims, similar circumstances, no clues. That’s three deaths with in four minutes of each other. The doctors that looked them over described all similar ta le s, unresponsive victim until they were to have blood drawn in which they responded by panicking and killing themselves. I need to know why.” She shut the notebook and turned her gaze on the two men before her.  

Matt frowned and looked down at the victim again, his gaze shift ed  as Victor lean ed  over him, “How long until we get the blood back from analysis?” Victor held his hand out to Avery  for the notebook,  who   slapped it into his  palm.  Cringing slightly Victor pulled it close and then passed it to Matt who was quick to open it again looking over the detailed scribblings inside.  

“‘Bout, twenty-four hours, sooner if there isn’t any back up in the lab,” Marsh responded as he moved to tip the victims head to the side to show Matt the fatal wound. Matt frowned harsher at the wound, a sloppy hit, but lacking hesitation which most people who attempt such a violent suicide have. He used the notebook to lightly tap his chin as he shifted his weight to look over the body, taking in the discoloration around the mouth and na ils something that normally set in due to lack of body care.  

He spoke, “Can you flip him over? I need to see his lower back.”  

Marsh raised an eyebrow but nodded and called over to two of his lackies to help assist in flipping the body. Once the body was set on its stomach, Matt snapped his fingers holding his hand out to one of the lab techs for some gloves which he was given quickly. He shoved the notebook into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and then pulled the gloves onto his hands. Once gloved and crouched closer, Matt pushed up the man’s shirt and poked around his lower spine looking for the telltale signs of a needle point. It doesn’t take him long to find it, the skin brightly discolored, a deep yellow and green just above the victim's waist line.  

He cursed and dropped the shirt and stood suddenly. His eyes moved from the victim to Avery, she stood with pursed lips trying to read his mind. Instead of addressing her, Matt t hen t urned his head to Victor.  

The once again they seemed to share a silent conversation one that Victor did not seem to like the end of as he moved forward and crouched down to look at the victim too. The group stood in silence while Victor examined the victim. He moved to push up the others shirt, after he grabbed some gloves from a lab tech that stood close. It did not take long for him to  stand with a disgruntled look on his face, not pleased with what he found on the victim’s lower back.  

He then followed Matt’s example and let out a loud curse, “What the fuck. He is in prison! What is this?”  

Matt shrugged his shoulders and looked at the other with a worried look, “I ’ m not sure, but this has to be him, all the same qualities and the smell is similar. Victim falls into his category.”  

Avery held a hand out and said, “Whoa, hold on what are you two talking about?” She glared at the both, her eyes moved from one face to another almost as if she could not decide who to glare at totally for answers.  

Matt sighed lowly and pulled off his gloves quickly holding them out to a close lab tech to grab. Once his hands were glove free, he pulled out the notebook that Avery gave him, “Back in the early 2000s there were a string of suicides, none of the victims had anything in common aside from the fact that they all killed themselves once a medical professional attempted to draw blood. Twenty-three people ended up taking their lives b efore the cause of the killings were revealed. They all were infected with a drug called Blister, a street drug that was used to block pain and sold off for a new high. Everyone was infected by the same dealer, Hendrick Ryan Junior.”  

Avery nodded her head gravely remembering the case and slowly connecting what the other said to the current cases, “Blister didn’t cause these extreme circumstances, none of the blood or the victims reacted li ke these ones did.”  

Matt nodded in agreement and continued, “You’re right, not in these cases but when we stormed his lab and arrested him, we found his previous notes on testing on earlier people, all of them seem to have reacted like this.”  

Marsh spoke up as he stood up moving closer to the others, they all had moved together slowly as Matt had spoken, “I remember this, there were three vials found on scene, right?” He looked at the others and Matt nodded back, “but only two made it into evidence, the third was written off as being busted  during  transportation.”  

Matt crossed his arms over his chest and the others turned to look at the body, “Yeah, but we had always had our suspicions about what really happened to the vial.”  

Avery let out a breath and then turned back to Matt eyes narrowed and worry was clear there, “You’re saying that someone, on the force, took the vial and now have copied it an d  is using it on unsuspecting victims?”  

Matt’s face looked grave as he met Avery’s eyes, “That’s exactly what I am saying.”  

“There is a copycat out there,” Marsh breathed out , a nervousness entering his stance .  

“And he is a part of the Police force,” Victor continued eyes hardened by the fact , disgust clear on his face .  

“And we have no idea who it could be.” Matt finished.  

They all paused and then turned to look at the body that lay at their feet.

[fellowhuman-being]

Insight on Hollywood - Fifth Harmony Related

So for fans who are “woke”, I think you guys know that whatever you read on articles, what you see on Instagram and Instagram story, or even what your most favorite artist tweets are not all real. @emisonme​ @decoding1432​ and @sun-to-my-luna​ has exposed a lot about it in their page. So you better go there to get deeper understanding about “the men in suit”.

I came across this game called “Choices” where in this game, you can choose your story based on the options given to you. Different options of course lead to different stories, but I guess the ending is still almost the same. So there is this book called “Red Carpet Diaries” in the game. It gives a little hindsight about what happened in Hollywood. If you wanna know the technical things that “the men in suit” do to their artists, you might as well just try this game and you’ll get an idea about how things works with contracts and stuff.

This game tells a story about a new actress, but the technical stuff is almost the same for a newborn singers. I’ll explain about the story a little and highlight important parts that will give you a hint to how “the men in suit” works. This is gonna be a bit long, so bear with me. (For those who don’t wanna get spoiled of the story, I guess you can play on the game first before you read this article).

These are the links to see the big picture of the story. (You can just skip if you’re too lazy and just jump to play the game in your phone by downloading it through AppStore or PlayStore lol... Or you can just jump to my article below)

http://choices-stories-you-play.wikia.com/wiki/Red_Carpet_Diaries,_Book_1_Choices

http://choices-stories-you-play.wikia.com/wiki/Red_Carpet_Diaries,_Book_2

So the story is about an actress whose talent is good and comes to LA for putting a bet on her career in Hollywood. She has a best friend whom she knows from her hometown who currently works as a Junior Agent in a big talent agency. The Book 1 basically shows about how she climbs the ladder and tries to become a spotlight in a big film and (let’s cut to the chase) she made it.

Here I will focus on Book 2 where the whirlwind happens when “the men in suit” tries to control this actress‘ life. But before that, don’t get surprised that “the men in suit” can play really dirty. I will mention it one by one later. For now, I’ll call this actress as “Ms. Queen”.

After all the success that Ms.Queen has achieved in her first film, she became a star and all Hollywood wants to work with her. Her best friend who becomes her agent got an email that a Director wants to take her as a lead in the season’s biggest blockbuster WITHOUT any casting. It’s an action movie where she will play as an agent trying to capture a former agent who becomes a villain. The filming starts with her mostly trying to perfect her hairflips when she comes out of water wearing a bikini. The director says that she will look like a sexy agent.

I remember how this also happened with Fifth Harmony. They came out straight of a talent show with no record label wanted to take them. It was all like a dream came true when Epic took them. No one even knew their songs. In their age as newborn stars, they needed to follow the instructions that sex appeals and here came all the sexy songs.

Yes, everything also seems like a dream come true for Ms. Queen that after the first stage of filming, she got invited to meet the owner of the film. Let’s just call him “Mr. V”. This Mr. V is “the men in suit” who then gives a promise to Ms. Queen to make her a star. But then at the end of the meeting, Mr. V suddenly tells her that she will have a new manager. In other words, her best friend is not her agent anymore and tells her that he has talked to the owner of her best friend’s agency and both have agreed that it’s for the best. She wanted her best friend to stay as her manager, but then Mr.V says “It’s an order!”. Thus, Ms. Queen now has a new manager named “Tad”

With Fifth Harmony, do you still remember when they were under a new management? Correct me if I’m wrong but if I’m not mistaken with the timeline though, it happened in early 2016 and all hell broke loose.

https://www.billboard.com/articles/news/6836616/fifth-harmony-joins-maverick-management

Under the new management, Ms. Queen has a really tight schedule with endless appearances on shows, interviews, and so on. Tad (the new manager) also wanted her to “fake” date her co-star to boost the film once it is launced. Then of course after a few weeks the film is released, they can post a “break up”. They need to upload in their Pictagram (which is a replacement for Instagram in the game) through a screen in the management office that looks like a real beach. Then the next day, Tad set up a “fake” date in a fancy restaurant where Ms. Queen will have a candle light dinner with her co-star. He invited press and some photographers from gossip blogs. Tad asked Ms. Queen to “make it look real” so that the photographers who stand by can take a highres pictures and video of them looking comfy and cozy together. They are not even allowed to speak as if they were not couple-y. They need to call each other “honey” and all those cute nickname as long as the press is there.

Now, do you see where this is going? This is also what happened with the girls ever since 2016. All the whirlwind especially with “Lauren’s private life” and now even Camila does the same thing. The whole PR stunts were made as if everything looked real while it’s NOT. I don’t need to talk about which one 1 by 1 here. I think you know what I mean.

The next day, surprisingly Mr.V’s secretary calls Ms. Queen that Mr. V would like to have a dinner in a restaurant. The time has been set. But then at the last minute, before Ms. Queen goes off to the restaurant, Mr. V calls and asks to change the place to his mansion / house. He says that he has some business afterwards that it will be better to have the dinner in his house. Sounds fishy? Well, Ms. Queen is too innocent to notice that Mr. V has something up his sleeves. Apparently, during the dinner, Mr. V asks her to sleep with him. She tries to escape the house but then Mr. V tells her “You’re going to regret this. Remember I am the powerful one here.”

I don’t want to jump to conclusions though but do you still remember the rumour about L.A. Reid being accussed for doing sexual assault? I know the one who brought the case to public is not FIfth Harmony but if something happened to any of the girl, I would NOT forgive him.

https://variety.com/2017/music/news/l-a-reid-accused-sexual-harassment-sony-music-epic-records-1202426625/

The next day when Ms. Queen goes to the set, everything is crumbling. You know there is like a cabin or a container where the actors can rest during the break time, right? When Ms. Queen arrives at the set, hers is replaced with a dirty and stinky one. After that, the Director makes an announcement about the poster and Ms. Queen is not in it. Meanwhile, SHE SHOULD BE THE LEAD ACTRESS. After that, surprisingly the Director also says that Ms. Queen is not needed on set on that day. It’s like Mr. V is punishing Ms. Queen for not giving what he wants.

As if things don’t get worse already, when Ms. Queen arrives at the apartment, she gets a call from her best friend. He tells her about the news that she is bully in high school and the source of the news is anonymous. She tries to open her social media, but she can’t open it. Apparently, the password has been changed by Tad (her new manager). Then, she tries to look from another account into her real account. In fact, there is a posting of an apology from her account about what she did in the past and that she would not repeat the mistakes again. But she never even bullied anyone!

Do you think this is kind of familiar? This happens to Fifth Harmony all the time. They always ruin the girls or one of the girls’ image and build it back again later. I still remember how the image of Lauren being a weed user became viral after the incident where she was caught in the airport before she went to Brazil to sing for a show with the girls.

http://www.tmz.com/2016/12/14/fifth-harmony-lauren-jauregui-arrested-weed/

It was such a stupid news to be honest. I think with someone as smart as Lauren (someone with 5.0 GPA like the fans say), it was so stupid to bring weed in the hand carry. Could it be a punishment as well at that time for Lauren? Unfortunately, we never know....... After all, TMZ was always source of PR stunts.

Of course Ms. Queen was pretty sad with what happened. She doesn’t like the “Queen brand” that Mr. V and Tad make. She wants to quit, but apparenly it states in the contract of the film that she will be fined USD 10 million if she quits! She tries to re-read the contract, and it clearly states like that in fact.

Do you still remember when Lauren was asked about what keeps them going for 3 years and Lauren said “a contract” and the situation became awkward? I honestly laughed really hard at her reaction but she wanted to spill some tea!

You can see the full video here (watch 16:58 - 18:03)

Here Lauren also mentioned about how they performed the same songs over and over again as well as singing songs that they were “given”. At that time, I’m pretty sure they don’t have the “control” that they are talking about. It’s just to give us reassurance that Fifth Harmony is getting better year to year.

After that, Ms. Queen has a coffee meeting with her best friend (her former agent) and he tells her to just forget everything. Like indeed there is “Queen brand” out there but it’s not the real Ms. Queen. It’s for the people out there who don’t really know her. The Ms. Queen that her friends and relatives know is the complete opposite and 180-degree of that being mentioned in the press and even her own social media. Those who know Ms. Queen before all of this will know that it is NOT the Ms. Queen they know.

So, guys what I get from this game is somehow like a “slap” in the cheek, you know? I know I have always been a fan of the girls. All of them. All 5 of them. And I will always be OT5 stan. But this is also an important message for you guys, fans. This is such a reminder that we need to remember how the girls are back then when all hell hasn’t broken loose. We still remember the kind and cheerful Ally, the kind and beautiful Normani, the kind and smart Lauren, the kind and friendly Camila, and the energetic and sarcastic Dinah. That’s the real them. I know people change. But seriously, how is a characteristic changed though? It’s easy to change your habit, but it’s really hard to change someone’s characteristics. That’s why some things never change.

On the next day, Ms. Queen goes abroad to continue the shooting. But all the props are not safe. Ms. Queen tries to protest but then the Director ignores her. He ensures her that everything is safe and will be alright. So they shoot the capturing scene when Ms. Queen is trying to capture the villain by climbing up the scaffolding. In fact, the actor who plays the villain falls over and breaks his legs and ribs. All the crew was shocked including all the actors. The filming production was postponed for some time and all crews were asked to stay silent about what happened. It’s part of the contract and they were instructed there would be punishment if they breaks the rules. Ms. Queen tries to knocks the Director head but then she unintentionally eavesdrops on the Director’s discussion with his Assistant Director. Apparently, Mr. V cuts the budget on the film production so that the crews need to reduce the budget on the props as well, costing the actors’ safety! Since they were tight in budget, they could not hire a stuntman as well. Ms. Queen was angry and she told everything to the biggest Hollywood gossip show by staying anonymous. But, Mr. V knows that Ms. Queen was the source of the leak. So Ms. Queen gets fired.

Fortunately, even if she gets fired, after reading carefully to the contract, Mr. V cannot sue her for the USD 10 million. Instead, after she gets back to LA, Mr. V blocks the entire street of her apartment and she cannot live in her own appartment. Thus, she is homeless for around 3 days.

What I want to expose here is the power of “the men in suit” in controlling their artits, and the part where the NDA contract plays a role here. You can see if the NDA contract is broken, then there will be sort of “punishment” to the related person. I think this is why Dina Lapolt says that Fifth Harmony’s contract is like the worst she’s ever seen.

https://www.billboard.com/articles/news/magazine-feature/7865161/fifth-harmony-2017-billboard-cover-story

The long road to liberation began with 5H hiring outspoken music lawyer Dina LaPolt at the end of 2015. “I sat the girls in a hotel conference room and for five hours educated them on trademarks, copyrights and rights of publicity,” says LaPolt, who soon helped secure them new management with the preeminent firm Maverick (Madonna, U2, Miley Cyrus). “Then I educated them about every agreement they signed, which [were] the worst I’ve ever seen in the music business.”

LaPolt successfully transferred the Fifth Harmony trademark from Cowell to the group, meaning the women now own the name, along with the right to control how it is used and to profit from any deals. (The agreement -- signed in April 2016, months ahead of Cabello’s exit -- doesn’t name Cabello in the “Fifth Harmony Partnership.” “I don’t represent Camila,” is all LaPolt will say.) She then renegotiated 5H’s contract with Epic, which she characterized as “a very adversarial” process.

Even in this game it is said that “The biggest stars are not just people. They are commodities.”, which means that the investor (”the men in suit”) can play around with the stars as long as they get the money, even if that means that the stars should give up their identity to public. After all, the stars can’t do anything against what they want since they are bound with the contract.

I hope this gives a little hints on how it works in Hollywood and how “the men in suits” control their stars. I surely don’t know th content of the NDA contracts though since nobody can talk about it, but that’s how it works and how bad the punishment can be when the rules are broken.

[ohthathurt]

So I’ve been slacking off drabbles for a long time now, and I wrote this messy thing ha. Enjoy xx

**Shout-out to the Indian and English cricket players whom I witnessed totally throwing each other flirty looks, you both compelled me to write this. I see you boys lol.**

Zayn willed for his expression to stay blank, his insides betraying him and basically melting into putty at the sight in front of him. What was it? Oh just a very sweaty, panting Liam Payne doing laps around the abandoned pitch, all alone in the musty cold.

He was stood on the stands right below their side of the stadium, and hopefully his presence was unknown to the other man down on the grass because he really didn’t want to get caught ogling the opposition.

This wasn’t his first time playing against Payne; Zayn’s first match against England on international grounds had brought him face-to-face with the man who was then merely a young man. In the three years that he’d known about Payne, Zayn had seen that young man grow into an accomplished player and downright gorgeous almost overnight, sporting scruff at matches and flashing abs during practice rounds.

Anyone would be infuriated by the man; he wore his smirk constantly and consistently and a sharp glint in his eye was never missing. But in the same minute, he could lose it all and crumble down like honeycomb in front of anyone he really cared about; sweet and docile.

Or at least around Zayn since their first match together.

It went a little bit like this; Zayn had been worried sick for his first international play, a fresh player at the mere age of 20. Playing for his home country had been a surprise because he was sure England would offer him up a position when he turned 19.

But that hadn’t happened; Zayn had shed bitter tears at the harsh betrayal, his family having moved to the UK when he was a baby. So why was it that the place he called his own had so easily turned their heads on him?

That didn’t mean it was all over. The country he used to call home as a newborn swiped him up at the first declaration that he wasn’t signed. And that was that. He still played County for England but on an international level, Zayn owed his loyalty to another country. That never bothered him.

He didn’t know what or who to expect on his first match against England. A roaring crowd, professional umpires and an overall tense atmosphere was what greeted him. But the icing on the cake arrived in the form of Liam Payne.

In Zayn’s eyes he was already a legend, having achieved several accomplishments in the few years he’d played for England. As if that wasn’t enough, Zayn was basically blown away by the way he carried himself. Without wanting to wax poetic about the colour of his eyes, he could admit to himself in secrecy that the man was proof there was a God out there.

But even men like Liam, it seems, have their weaknesses. Unfortunately, Payne took one hit to the groin thanks to a ball travelling at a really high speed and Zayn could hear the entire stadium hush then groan in sympathy at the downed player.

He still doesn’t know what compelled him but in a few seconds he was by Liam’s side, crouched over his prone form. Thankfully, he seemed to be okay as he was taking a minute to clench his eyes close and breathe through the pain.

Zayn winced in sympathy and his hand went to the man’s shoulder. Liam had swiveled those beautiful brown eyes up at him and smiled at Zayn, who’d tentatively returned it.

As it turned out, he was a champ about it. Still curled up into a fetal position, Zayn had offered him a water bottle which he’d chugged down dutifully but then he’d turned his attention onto Zayn.

“So.”

Zayn shot him a confused smile at the statement and the man returned it before grimacing slightly in pain.

“Eh, you come here often?”

The nonchalance in his tone had Zayn bursting into embarrassingly loud laughter, watching through squinted eyes as Liam beamed up at him.

That was three years ago; three years of the two men dancing around each other and throwing heated looks and flirtatious smiles that had their team members groaning in consternation at.

Zayn smiled down at the blurry form of Liam, still going around the pitch. They were to face each other in another series of test matches which went on for long, unending days. Still, Liam was his silver lining.

***

Liam didn’t expect for that day’s test match to turn out so eventful. There was nothing exciting about test matches unfortunately, especially those played on weekdays where crowds were thin and players were a little too comfortable playing the game. He preferred it when the tension was hiked up to a 100 and the crowd thundered and roared out beats and chants.

Still, that day did not disappoint in excitement.

Malik was up for batting for that over, and luckily Liam was delivering the ball. Over the years that he’d known the other man, Liam had basically fallen for those hazel eyes and that lazy grin. He’d received enough shit from his team mates over the issue but it wasn’t his fault that whenever he saw Zayn, his heart thumped louder for reasons other than physical exertion.

So, Liam was biased; but he was convinced Malik was the best player both sides had seen since the early 80s. However, that didn’t stop him from shamelessly flirting on the pitch and observing in amusement whenever Zayn’s cheeks flushed around Liam.

Unfortunately, not everyone was happy about the two men throwing each other long looks and meaningful glances.

Malik’s co-batsman at the moment, for example, was a piece of work.

He’d already all but bitten Cole’s, the wicket-keeper, head off for apparently stepping up a little too close to him. As if that wasn’t enough, the man was also heard bitching about the English weather for fuck’s sake.

But none of that mattered to Liam, as him and Zayn basically danced around each other for the long hours stretched out in front of them.

That is until Cole got hit by a ball Liam delivered. He grimaced in sympathy as the man went down on one knee, Zayn stood stock still in front of him, one foot cemented behind the white line that could result in him being out.

He rushed past Zayn down the pitch towards Cole, meaning to check on the man and took the opportunity to brush an affectionate hand on Zayn’s hip as he did.

A rush of pleasure flooded his chest when he heard the resulting hitch in the man’s breath but before he could turn around to observe him a distant shout further away from him had them all turning.

It was the co-batsman; fire raging in his eyes for some reason, the man was basically frothing at the mouth. Even Zayn looked puzzled at the man’s behaviour. That is until he came closer.

“ – saw that Payne you think we are idiots? You clearly hit him and that’s foul and I think you should be banned for that shit – “

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Louis, their Captain arrived at the spot, wanting to check on Cole when he’d heard the man’s accusations.

“Don’t think anything of that sort happened, mate, you must be mistaken – “

But the man had turned and wrenched Zayn’s arm painfully to turn him around.

“Zayn, tell him! – “He continued his sentence in Urdu, Liam presumed, but by the sudden flinch from Zayn, he guessed it wasn’t all that good.

Everything went silent, as Zayn’s team-mate stared at him as if waiting for an answer or reaction but when Zayn merely swallowed and kept his eyes to the ground, the man’s expression turned. Liam was shocked to see what looked like hatred flash in the man’s eyes as he quickly turned around, spitting out a “disgusting!” at them.

Liam would’ve kept quiet; there was enough shit being spouted by players every day to react to each one of them. But the way Zayn’s expression had crumpled and the way he’d hunched his shoulders, had rage coursing through him.

He shoved past Louis and Zayn down the pitch towards the man, “Hey you’ve got a problem, why don’t you say it you piece of shit?”

A flurry of movement followed him and he recognized Louis berating him and pulling him back away from the man, whose expression was still twisted into something ugly.

But a small voice floated up to him and a warm body shoved in between Liam and the man. He looked down to see hazel eyes that were apologetic and earnest.

“Please, don’t. Not worth it, please.” Zayn whispered to him, through the confines of his helmet, a gloved hand resting on Liam’s chest.

Liam kept the eye contact, running a hand down Zayn’s side and squeezing it once in an attempt to give him a half-concealed hug. An answering smile put him at instant ease, but the ‘boo’s’ of the crowd were overwhelming the players and they all pulled away for a quick drinks break.

Liam was happily surprised to see Zayn contentedly sitting down on the grass and chugging away at his own bottle of water. He shot him a shy smile and Liam could swear he felt his entire body light on fire.

A loud snort and resulting laughter from his left sounded and he glared at Louis who only smirked and inclined his head towards the large screen displaying scores.

Liam followed his gaze then promptly choked and groaned at the sight. It was a pink graphic of animated hearts surrounding the text ‘Love is in the air’.

As soon as everyone saw it, the cameras switched over to film Liam who instantly flushed and rolled his eyes. But the cherry on top was when the footage went split-screen to show Zayn across the pitch, the animated hearts still floating around their images.

He laughed when Zayn buried his crimson-flushed face in his gloved hands, the crowds whooping with laughter and teasing chants.

He still can’t believe this is his life.

Please let me know if you liked it xx

[ryanmeft]

Welcome to Marwen Movie Review

Here’s something I think few people understand: no critic with half a heart (and most do have at least half) wants to give a negative review to a movie like Welcome to Marwen. The story of a man who had his entire life erased from his brain by a homophobic beating and found therapy by constructing a miniature World War II-era town and populating it with stories, it’s an obvious labor of love for director Robert Zemeckis and his team. Unfortunately, it’s also a bizarre film in all the wrong ways, wildly inconsistent in tone and pacing, and with a worrying undertone of mild misogyny that I couldn’t ignore, no matter how much I really wanted to. The film is like a damaged-but-self-destructive person: you want to help, but it’s still not wise to stand too close.

Mark Hogancamp (Steve Carell) was a comic illustrator until he drunkenly let slip one night that he sometimes liked to wear women’s shoes. That’s it. Just the shoes. For this sin, five men followed him out of a bar and kicked him half to death in the street. This fact is sure to arouse righteous anger in anyone who is not the kind of person who would kick someone half to death in the street for wearing women’s shoes. It’s a poignant tragedy, and the deep wounds it left in Hogancamp are well-represented by Carell. He suffers from severe anxiety. That may not sound like a big deal to you, but Hogancamp---or Hogie, for short---routinely relives the attacks in the form of war violence, imaginary bullets and bombs shattering the peace of his living room. He has coped by building a town he calls Marwen in his backyard, out of toys and props. Populating this town are a group of female dolls representing the women in his life, including his physical therapist (Janelle Monae), a toy shop owner (Merritt Wever), a co-worker (Eiza Gonzalez), his caretaker (Gwendoline Christie) and, um, his favorite “actress”, of the adult persuasion (Leslie Zemeckis). When Nicol (Leslie Mann) moves in across the street, she becomes part of the cast and also a seeming fix for Hogancamp’s loneliness. Meanwhile, he’s got to decide whether to appear at the sentencing of his attackers, to encourage the judge to throw the book at them.

I don’t know Mark Hogancamp. I will likely never meet Mark Hogancamp. I can’t speak to his life or his pain. I do know this may be the most tonally inconsistent movie I’ve seen all year. The basic template is familiar to fans of Zemeckis: it’s a feel-good tale of hope and redemption, designed to crowd-please rather than push boundaries or illicit complex thoughts. Mark has made the women in his life, in their doll forms, into a cadre of bad-ass Nazi-killing ladies, playing out a rich fantasy in which he himself is a tragic immortal stalked by the Third Reich, and they are his team of inglorious, well, bitches. These sequences take up about half the film, and are accomplished with some impressive animation slightly reminiscent of stop-motion.

Each of the women has a distinct personality---and therein lies the beginning of the problem, because these personalities consist of a few traits applied broadly and made to stand-in for character development. About half the women get one, maybe two scenes as their flesh-and-blood selves, and Hogancamp has otherwise boiled them down to what he calls an essence. These essences, frankly, consist mostly of ethnic stereotypes. The black woman is sassy, the Russian is hard-charging, the Latina is subtly flirtatious and wears an outfit one might have expected among the South American extras of a 1950’s Hollywood spectacle. Wever and Mann, being white, are apparently exempt. The truly bizarre “evil” doll (Diane Kruger), which Hogan camp thinks is ruining his life and blames for all misfortunes, is so over-the-top that it drags the film into parody.

More issues come in the way Hogancamp tells his stories. There are just too many signs that the guy is less “benign oddball” and more “creepy voyeur”. Acting out one of his fights with Nazis, he has a doll get her dress torn open and run around topless, for no reason whatsoever. The women this doll is based on stops by in time to see this, and her reaction is not to hit him with a brick and call the police, but to calmly ask why it’s required for the story, then continue to pursue him romantically. The main conversational piece among his dolls is how amazing he is, and they all want him; he refers to them as dames. This stretched reality to a breaking point; if you had a neighbor who created miniature dolls of you and played with them in his backyard, you would file a restraining order, and you’d be right to do so. This can perhaps be explained by a credits blurb that says the real Hogancamp has over 200 “residents” in his town. I cling to the hope that Zemeckis simply chose to focus on the women in order to win over the all-important female audiences, and that in real life Hogancamp’s focus is broader. As it is, what we have are talented female performers utterly wasted.

Even if you were to fix that issue, though, the movie’s apparent conclusion---that if you are mentally ill, all you have to do is figure out what’s causing you to be mentally ill and then you’ll be better and you can throw your medication away---is not only warmed-over Hollywood pap, it’s shockingly dangerous and irresponsible in a time when right wing elements around the world mock and denigrate the disabled while opioid addiction becomes a massive problem everywhere. What were Zemeckis and co-writer Caroline Thompson thinking when they wrote most of this? No, I’m not judging the movie by its politics, but by the fact that its genuine attempt to depict a victim dealing with very real trauma is undermined by the reliance on lazy writing that also happens to have been debunked a thousand times over. It’s the burned, blackened feather in the cap of a movie that could have been a great look into a little known-story, but is instead so bad it borders on the offensive.

Note: I have heard a documentary called Marwencol inspired the film, and is much better. I haven’t watched it. I can’t imagine it not being better than this.

Verdict: Not Recommended (1 out of 4 Stars)

Note: I don’t use stars, but here are my possible verdicts.

Must-See

Highly Recommended

Recommended

Average

Not Recommended

Avoid like the Plague

 You can follow Ryan's reviews on Facebook here:

https://www.facebook.com/ryanmeftmovies/

 Or his tweets here:

https://twitter.com/RyanmEft

 All images are property of the people what own the movie.

[valoisfulcanelli]

randomsquirrel replied to your post: What’s going to happen to my content on Tumblr

Doesn’t it just figure that JUST as things are getting together and you CAN start posting again they pull this bullshit. I’m in a similar boat, as this is one of the few places I can think of to say “hey, read my fics!”, and without it, well, I almost wonder why bother updating, yeah? >_>

Yep. The new computer is actually arriving this afternoon.

The thing is... *sigh* I’ve seen all of this before. Many years ago, before Tumblr was even much of a thing, LiveJournal was THE home for fandom. Everyone was there. After the first ‘strikethrough’ several clones popped up--most notably JournalFen--but LJ was fandom’s home in its entirety. You could find anything on there when Brad and his staff ran it.

(I got wordy again. The rest is behind a cut.)

Then Brad sold it to 6Apart, who took it apart. They created VOX: an abortive attempt to ‘simplify’ LiveJournal for people who thought it too complicated. I got an account there to try it out, and it was horrendous; like LJ for kiddies. You couldn’t leave comments on other peoples’ posts; the only way you could respond was by clicking an “I like this” button. 

Clicky buttons are the one thing I truly detest about Facebook. Their ‘like’ button was the start of what I think of as ‘lazy reactions’. People rarely comment these days (and yes, I include myself among that number) because we have other, much faster ways to react. And thus, slowly, community and support is eroded. Slowly, more and more young people--who grew up with simplified reactions as their only feedback--are at risk of tying their self-esteem and self-worth into how many likes/hearts they get, and how many followers they have, regardless of whether those followers actually interact with them. Is it any wonder that--despite our all being so much more ‘connected’ these days--many of us feel so much more lonely?

So 6Apart began the taking apart of LiveJournal. I finally quit my expensive permanent account when one of the staff members made a post mocking people who were upset about the changes that were being made. He actively wrote derogatory things about them (I still have the screenshot of it somewhere in my old backed up archive files). And when I made a final post telling my almost 300 followers that I was done with the site, guess what happened?

Several of them told me I was selfish for taking all of my self-created content away from them. People messaged me, screaming about how I was letting them down. Other people messaged a co-writer I’d been working on a long series with and urged her to forget about me and take on a new co-writer who would (get this) take over my characters and write them for me, just so they didn’t lose a series they were so invested in on that platform.

I’d created something they loved, and they didn’t want to lose it. Looking back on it now, with the benefit of time and hindsight, those people were just as scared as I was of change. But while they stayed on the sinking ship, I had to jump over the railing and swim away.

I quit in 2008 and pretty much left fandom for a long, long fucking time, after having been incredibly active on LJ for 7 years. 6Apart sold LJ to SUP, a Russian company. I took a tentative step back to LJ about a year ago. I tried it for about a month and then the ToS changed. Everyone was logged out, and they couldn’t log back in without accepting the new ToS... which stated that they agreed not to post any LGBT ‘propaganda’. 

So I closed the tab and never went back. So did many others, but--Dreamwidth aside--there was no single place that fandom went to. The diaspora had already begun years back, with the people who posted the pictures moving to Tumblr, the fic-writers moving to AO3, and the general bloggers moving to DW. Fandom was split into three, and--not incidentally--that was when fandom started turning in on itself, too. The worst of fandom that you see today was beginning to make itself known back then, on those disparate sites. Sure--even prior to that--you’d see some stupendous Harry Potter absurdity being related on the fandom_wank community on JournalFen but the kind of shit you see with fen turning on other fen wasn’t around back then. (Anyone familiar with ‘hed pastede on yay’? That was a fandom_wank thing.)

I didn’t get back into fandom until I started writing The Madness of Mr Goth. And my god, had fandom changed by that point. I barely recognised it. Whereas before--when I posted chapters on LiveJournal--I’d get up to 50 comments per chapter, now I was lucky to get maybe five or six from the same faithful band of devoted readers. Sure, a lot of that could be down to the fandom I found myself in--but hell, my old ones weren’t exactly hugely popular! I was often the fandom-of-one who managed to pull other people in.

People don’t interact anywhere near as much as they used to. And part of me can’t help but think that... that is what’s wanted. In isolation and loneliness, people have no support, no backup, it’s harder to organise things. Look what happens when people do protest. Shit gets done! But with everyone posting away and getting only hearts and thumbs-ups, it’s harder to feel like you’re getting anywhere. Whereas, back when I was more active and other were too, there was support everywhere.

You know something about me and LiveJournal? I started something there, something that a lot of other people picked up and ran with. Anyone who might have been active back then may realise that I’m about to out my old fannish identity to anyone with a good memory, but I started a movement on LJ: the _daily community, posting a daily image of [insert fandom here]. I created the very first one--the idea was mine--and thousands of others followed. You won’t find a _daily that’s older than the one I created (and yes, eventually deleted when I deleted all of my other journals; another thing I got told I was selfish for doing) because I started that whole thing. And I was the only one who never missed a goddamn day. I even arranged for others to cover when I was away on vacation (there were no queued posts back then) so that not a single day was missed. 

I had something like 30 or so journals and communities, combined. They ranged from my own personal account, personal fanfic posting, non-fannish fic posting, several fandom communities, a writers’ support community, a community dedicated to philology, multiple roleplay journals and journals dedicated to individual long story arcs, a journal that I was writing from the historical standpoint of a fictional Elizabethan doctor and his apprentice (in as close to original syntax as I could), and many many others. I was ridiculously active back then, posting fiction almost every day, and huge summaries at the end of each month, so people could click links to catch up on what they were currently reading.

LiveJournal was my home, but I upped sticks and left because I couldn’t stay there any longer with the way it was heading. Not only did I leave behind those journals, I also left behind the online persona I had been using for more than ten years (actually, when I look back, I’d been using that persona online for about TWENTY years). I figuratively shed my skin, and felt lost for a very long time because my entire online identity was left behind on LJ.

I don’t even know where I’m going with this ramble. Clearly I have a LOT of fucking thoughts on this, and many of them have been simmering just under the boil for about ten years. I would love to go back to how I was then, but I’m not sure that I can.

[lovinthepizzalife]

1975

There's a look on Cap's face that Tony can't quite decipher, but then, Tony's had about five hours of sleep in the span of six days, so maybe that's why. Either way, Cap's in his workshop, because JARVIS asked if he could enter and Tony said sure, because why not? Cap usually brought food, sometimes, and Tony couldn't really remember the last time he'd ate. It could have been yesterday, if yesterday was Saturday.

From the look on his face, if Tony's reading it right - he doubts he is, because again, five hours of sleep - then yesterday wasn't Saturday. Okay. Tony can probably deal with that.

He can't really deal with the fact that Roger's is holding something that looks like hospital notes, though.

"In my defence," Tony starts, raising his hands - ow, soldiering iron, put that down - and meeting Roger's eyes, "It probably wasn't my fault."

"Probably?"

"Maybe, then," Tony says instead, peeling his sweaty gloves off. "So, okay. You're in my shop, hurrah, but - why? I haven't done something without thinking again, have I? The last time I did -"

"I need to ask you something," Roger's interrupts, which, no. Tony's not doing that. Those words, in the history of them being used, have literally never meant anything good. Ever. Tony doesn't like this. He really, really doesn't fucking like this, and it must show, which, shit, because now Roger's looks sort of panicked. "Not anything bad! Well. Not anything as bad as you're thinking? I think." Roger's frowns, shifting on his feet.

"Give me the notes," Tony starts slowly, stepping forward, "And then I'll be the judge of that, yeah?"

Cap hands him the hospital notes - so Tony was right - and Tony reads them over. When he's done, he turns, grabs the closest hot thing, and sets them alight. Roger's panicked yell is pretty loud, but Tony really doesn't care, chest seizing on the memories of "this is for your own good, Anthony" and the knives and the fights and the fucking, fuck all of this. Fuck Roger's, and probably Natashalie, and most likely Barton, and Fury, and just. Bruce, honestly. Fucking Bruce. Fuck all of them, everyone, Tony doesn't care and then he cares too much and -

Sunset was better than this. At least she was fucking honest.

"J, get me a suit ready, and get Iced American the fuck out of my lab. Full blackout, start the protocol, you know the one, and just. Get me out of here, JARVIS. Please," he adds, a little desperately.

DUM-E and U, because they're so fucking good, he's never donating them, ever, shove Roger's out of the 'shop, whirring angrily. Roger's can't do anything with his super soldier strength without breaking them, and if he does Tony will honestly kill him, PR department and their panicked squawking be damned.

The suit closes around him, the workshop goes dark, and Tony says goodbye and fucking flees, no tact about it. He doesn't need any. Roger's can declare him dead or gone or a traitor, but what he did - what they did - is unacceptable, and because JARVIS is JARVIS, the PR department probably already knows what happened and are ready and willing to crucify Roger's and co., because they're good like that.

("And they knew Howard," a sly part of him whispers, grinning, "They knew the man the world called millionaire and you thought of as monster, but he was both, wasn't he? He was a millionaire monster and no one could do anything about it then. They still can't, can they? Poor, poor Tony, losing his daddy at seventeen. What was it he did again?"

Tony grits his teeth and the voice hums, gone metal, gone man, and then it's Ultron saying: "Better to ask what he didn't do, hmm? What's the answer, Tony? Oh yeah," Ultron says, feigning sudden realisation. "He didn't love you.")

"So, I got your message." Rhodey clears his throat, trying for a laugh. Tony closes his eyes - JARVIS will make sure he doesn't crash - and just. Listens, for a moment. Rhodey, who loves him. Rhodey, who's his brother. Rhodey, who sounds a little pissed. Great. "Quitting the Avengers, huh?"

"They got a hold of some hospital records," Tony answers cuttingly, voice cool. When Rhodey sucks in a breathe to start speaking, Tony barrels on with: "Not the public record ones. Do you remember me telling you about six months of private PT in 1975?"

Tony can almost hear him go white over the phone, breathes rushing out in a free fall of 'what the fuck' and 'why'. Tony's reaction was sort of similar, except no it wasn't, because the memories of being five years old, a year after the circuit board and a year before the car engine, made him panic so much he set the records on fire. He has no idea what he used to set them on fire, because honestly, all he could see was red, all he could fucking feel was red, and - oh. Rhodey's talking.

"Repeat that, honey bear? Please," Tony asks tiredly, eyes finally opening when he lands. New start, apparently, until he can gather himself to get all his shit. The team can stay in the tower, probably, but Tony doesn't want anything to do with them, not after this.

"I remember how many bottles you'd drank before I found and you started spewing out gibberish, among other things. Like how fucked up it was." Tony laughs a little, nodding to himself. Rhodey's right. That night had been so messed up, both the - the event, and when he was telling Rhodey about it. He was so, so fucking drunk and high and just fucked up in general. Rhodey, bless hi, dragged him into their dorm so no one else would hear about - that.

God, it's been decades and Tony still can't talk about it. How fucking hilarious is that.

"Bye, Rhodey," Tony mutters, hanging up. He lands, lets the suit fall away in scattered, blood red pieces. So much blood. Always so much red.

(Sometimes, when he blinks, there is an image of Howard standing above him, older than he'd been when Tony was a child. Howard is always smiling. He is always holding Tony's heart in his hands. He is always, always red.)

"Call Pepper and prepare the workshop, please." Tony thinks for a moment, staring at his bar. He hadn't thought to empty this one. Hadn't thought he'd ever see it again. "How many drinks do you think I'll halve if I try it, J?"

"Too many," JARVIS answers lowly, concern buzzing behind his voice. Tony chokes on a laugh.

"Good answer, J," Tony says, and turns away from it before he drinks a shelf or ten. As he descends the stairs, JARVIS phones Pepper. It doesn't go to voicemail, thankfully, because for some reason every time it does Tony says a little too much, but that doesn't matter when Pepper's picking up, tired.

"Hey," she greets, raspy voiced. Tony hums a little, the workshop doors sliding open. He'll need to get DUM-e and U and Butterfingers shipped over. The workshop is too empty without them. Is too empty with him in it. God, he's getting poetic again. He needs to stop that. "What's up? Do you need anything?"

"Just needed your voice?" Tony says, like he's joking, because of course. Tony Stark would never phone just for that.

"I'm not having phone sex, Tony," Pepper says flatly, and it's absurd enough to make him laugh, kneeling like an idiot on the floor of his workshop, hand against his mouth, choking on the laughs. "What? Tony, are you okay? Should I -"

"It's fine, Pep," Tony manages, wiping his eyes. "I needed to laugh, thanks. How's the company doing, by the way? I was thinking of doing some work today."

"What's brought this on?" Pepper asks curiously, and oh. She hasn't read the message, then.

"I quit the Avengers," Tony blurts, which. Not the smartest thing he's done, but today hasn't been a smart nor good day. Or week, since he hasn't slept and when he has it's been the wormhole, space, open and endless and infinite all around him, the darkness from between the stars filling his lungs and oh god he can't breathe, oh g o god -

He's falling he's falling he's falling he's falling so hard so fast so long and no one is there to catch him oh g o d -

"I muted the call, sir," JARVIS says, and then lists it off, dates and names and scientific laws. Those are facts, presented in a cool, clinical sort of tone, but it's real and Tony can breathe a little, back shaking against his workbench. The world didn't end. New York is still in once piece. Nicholas J. Fury is an asshole, but the world didn't end. Nothing ended. Tony's okay, and JARVIS is there. Okay. It's fine.

He's fine.

(Ultron blinks red red eyes at him and grins, lazy and predatory. "Is it really?" He rumbles, metallic, and Tony pretends he can't hear it.)

"Sorry about that Pep," Tony says brightly when the call unmutes, forcing a smile. He can do this. "I quit the Avengers, yada yada, PR is dealing with it, yada yada, the Avengers got a hold of some private hospital records, you get the drill."

"Oh my god, Tony," Pepper says mournfully. There's a sound like rustling over the phone, like she's moving in what Tony assumes is her bed, since it was sort of late when Cap entered Tony's shop. Maybe. Tony in't really sure, because he still hasn't slept and his mind's a mess, all hazy and floaty, so. God, he hates these moments.

"It's fine," Tony mutters, crawling out from under his work bench. He can do this. Handle it a little longer, Stark, this isn't nothing compared to the third kidnapping, come on. "I'll put more time into fixing the company, clean up any trash if need be, just. Give me a little time, okay?" Way to go, Stark. Way to fucking go.

"Will that be all, Mr. Stark?" Pepper asks, murmuring, because great, she caught on to it. Brilliant.

"That will be all, Mrs. Potts," Tony answers, and the call clicks off. Silence.

He's not fine.

---

Guess whose laptop got fixed? Mine! Guess who wrote almost two thousand words to celebrate? Me. I am not managing my time wisely, but in my defence - I got nothing. Anyway:

@tonystarkismyprompt I hope this is up to par, and also, enjoy! I’m pretty sure you should know what prompt this was inspired by, but either way, I hope you enjoy :D

[queermtl]

House of Baga Represent! An interview with Rita Baga

You’ve been doing Rita Baga since 2007?

Yes. 11 years of fabulousness.

And where did that start?

Here at Mado. I was hired first as a club kid with Marla (Deer) and Celinda and we were called the Three Stooges. And we were just paid to drink and party.

And how has that changed? You don’t get paid to drink and party anymore?

Yeah, a bit. But I have to perform now.  Hard times.

How did you move from being a club kid to a drag queen?

I took time. First, well, I’ve been a club kid for like two years without really performing, it was really just doing maybe one show every three months on average. And for a birthday party I was performing and Mado saw me and said, oh you’re good on stage,’ and gave me bookings. It started that way.

Who did you look up to as a club kid?

Leigh Bowery. Even though I didn’t know his name when I was doing it.  But I know it now. It’s really the inspiration. And Boy George a bit too. All the classics. But at that time there was no internet, really. It was 2007 and taking like three hours to have only access to a page like Google. So basically pictures from the magazines and I’ve been travelling a lot since I was a kid, so I’ve seen things around the world. And I was impressed by several things in New York City art museums. My father is a big pop art fan and at his house he has several pieces of Andy Warhol, real and fake, so that kind of image has always been an inspiration to me because it has always been a part of my life. Flashy colours and stuff like this. Marilyn.

When you were looking up things like Leigh Bowery before the internet, what other sources did you find?

I was reading a lot of magazines because my first job was at the Couche-Tard, and I was working the night shift so the only thing I had to do was press the gas button when there was customers and half of the time I was reading all the magazines. All the fashion magazines. I had three art courses, so I had to read a lot of books to find inspirations and I did that between 15 and 18 years old and that’s how I found my art identity.

What is it like for you when you meet young queens and they have such easy access to everything and they didn’t have to crawl through all of the dirt to find the diamonds?

I have mixed feelings because first, it’s so easy for them to have access to this kind of information now – and even to have access to everything. Because even when I started to wear fake lashes there was only like two stores in Montréal that had big lashes.  And now if you want any kind of lashes you can order it from the internet.  And same thing for wigs. If you wanted to have a green wig, there was one place and they had two wigs in stock so you had to fight with your colleagues to make sure you were the first one to have it. But now I’m also living with that reality, so at first I was like, not offended, but kind of jealous that I had to start at that time. But they don’t know what it was like 10 years ago when it was like the golden age. And there was no Grindr, everyone was going out just to meet and to have sex with different partners. So it’s a different time, but I’m glad that I’ve lived in this time too.

How does this easy access to things affect the transfer of information between generations?  Are you a mother to a lot of queens?

I only have two drag daughters but I have plenty of children. With the dancers here at club Mado, I call them all my kids. House of Baga represent! But now I feel like there’s a gap between the generation before me and the generation right after me, because I’m kind of in the middle. There’s six or seven queens still doing it from my time. And now since five or six years there’s like 40 queens. There was an explosion. Everybody wants to do drag now.

How does a scene like the Montréal scene – it’s a very active scene, it’s a big family and it’s crossing over a lot because you in particular are hosting these big drag superstar shows with big famous queens from TV – co-exist with the other drag scene from RuPaul’s Drag Race?

Every time I’ve worked with the queens from Drag Race they were all really kind with us because I think they know what’s drag before being famous. They just know that we’re doing the same job that they’re doing. There’s always a clash in the audience when we mix local queens with queens from Drag Race because just, for example, last summer I hosted the Drag Superstars show (at Parc LaFontaine) with a fellow Montréal queen and she was doing a big number with eight dancers and the choreo was so tight and she had her moment. It was fabulous, everybody was screaming, but then right after there was a queen – I can’t remember who it was – but she did a regular number, she was all by herself, and the people were screaming so loud and I was like, ‘oh my god, she didn’t do a thing.’ So I’m just wondering if for them it changes stuff. Are they becoming lazy because they don’t have to do much now? I’ll ask that question next show.  But I’m glad that we have this chance to perform with them because it’s bringing a lot of people.

The reaction you had last summer on that stage was amazing.

Yes. And I’m grateful.

You’re also the events coordinator with Pride …

The Queen Supreme.

So, because you’re also an artist, how do you think having an artist coordinate those events has made Pride Montréal something special?

I know that there are a bunch of Pride organizers who are also doing art stuff in different ways. And I think that has it comes to coordinate artists and just having access to stuff in the backstage, it’s easier because we understand what we need backstage. Or just to set a proper time to rehearse and stuff like that, it’s easier. But I think I’m bringing my artistic point of view to the table and I’ve been there for five years now. Already! And I think it’s a growing organization, we’re all growing together and it’s always growing like this from the beginning. So it’s challenging – we don’t want to do the same thing every year, every edition. So we’re trying to listen a lot to what the communities have to say. For now it seems to work.

Can you describe for me your experience just how Montréal has changed in the last 11 years you’ve been doing drag?

The gay village has changed so much in the past 10 years. 12 years ago it was my first experience in a gay village and I was shocked. There was people kissing everywhere and they were partying, and I was under the impression that people were partying all of the time. But now I’ve found that it’s more of a touristic place. The function seems to have changed now. It was a resistant place from the start, but now it’s still a place to mingle and to find friends but it’s mostly different venues to go if you want to have fun. It doesn’t matter your sexual orientation or gender identity. It’s just a place to have fun now. Just here at Mado, on the weekend, we have so many straight people in the audience. It’s like more than half of the audience is straight, so it’s changed a lot. When I first started to work here there were only LGBTQ friends in the place and two or three lost straight boys. Times have changed. It’s more the opposite now.

Do you think that the Village serves less of a political purpose now?

Yeah but if ever something happens in the world, it’s still a place where people want to come. It’s still a safe place for most of the LGBTQ community.

I remember after Orlando coming to the streets here.

It’s weird because if nothing’s happened, it’s like, ‘I’m not sure that I need to go out in the Village now to meet people, but I’ll go if there’s a show that I want to see.’ But if something happens, it’s like, ‘We need to be together in the Village.’

How does the world of the Village interact and work with the more underground scenes in Montréal like at venues like Never Apart or Notre-Dame des Quilles? Do those worlds interact?

More now than when I first started for sure. Now we have since 3 years, we have a Gala de Drag, an annual drag gala. And for the first time it was a mixed event with Cabaret Mado and Cocktail Bar, but I spoke with Uma (Gahd) and she wanted us to try to integrate the other venues outside the Village for next year. Not only the Café Cleopatra, but plenty of other venues showcasing drag queens and LGBTQ talent. So it’s a discussion that we never had before, so I’m guessing there’s some changes. Also the voguing community of Montréal, and just the competition last week for Mx. Fierté Montréal, we had Johnny Deville and Coco who is part of the voguing community. But I don’t know if you have noticed that there was a merge in the audience, and it was rare. I was thinking, ‘I’m seeing people here that I’ve seen at the vogue balls. I’ve never seen them here before.’ So that was cool.

The history of the two scenes goes together, so it makes sense.

You know, I used to feel like it was two separate worlds, but now it’s merging again.

Can you tell us about Mx. Fierté?

We have 53 drag queens from Montréal and Québec. We have 75 in total in the drag community so it’s more than three out of four, and each week we have between four and six cunt-estants. That’s my favourite word. Cunt-estant. And the jobs choose one at the end and the audience as well. This runs 11 weeks and we have two semi-finals.

And what happens to Mx. Fierté?

She, he, they win $2,000.00 and that person will have their own special float in the parade and will lead the T-Dance final closing number with another $2,000.00 budget. There’s also extra prizes – clothing, wigs, and a huge gift basket. There’s about $5,000.00 of prizes.

Can you go back and tell me a little bit about the club kid scene in Montréal? And do you have pictures of you from this period that we can publish on the internet?

I was so ugly. You’ll laugh. I’ll show you one and you’ll laugh.

What was that world like?

It was fearless, I think. Because now I feel like people are really aware of what a drag queen should look like. They’re watching Drag Race, they know all about drag queens. But 12 years ago it was like they just wanted to see a boy wearing a wig. That was all. We were so ugly. We were wearing stuff that we made completely drunk the day before. But it was fun. We were doing everything – it was horrible but it was fun. People were just wanting to have fun and now it seems harder to have fun, but people are so obsessed with their telephone. When I host, I’m like, ‘Can you just put your telephone in your pocket? Please?’

Unless they’re Instagramming you and hash-tagging #RitaBaga.

Unless. But it was not like this 12 years ago. People were more free. Even more sexual. Because now it’s so different. People are so secretive. They have their own secret lives. But it’s still a good time to live. 50 years ago it was another time. But I’m glad that I had the chance to start as a drag 12 years ago. Because I’m just 30 years old, but when I’m talking to my friends who are the same age who started drag at the same time, we’re like, ‘oh, do you remember when it was full of people drunk and smoking cigarettes in the bar?’ And it’s like, ‘fuck yeah! That was so good!’ And now people are so prudish and like, ‘You’re so polished! I know drag! I watch Drag Race!’

Can you tell me some of the people in Montréal that you’re excited about? Young queens or other performers?

I think Uma Gahd is one queen that we have to watch in the years to come. I love Tranna Wintour too, and every time I meet her I’m like, ‘I love you.’ Every time she performs I’m performing here. Every single time. The only time that we were performing at the same time at the same place was a Never Apart party, but I was only there for 30 minutes. I love an emerging artist called Jade Above. I love his music.

Tell us about the Drag Superstars show at the Casino Montréal on March 2.

I’m very excited because two years ago I set a goal of wanting to do a show at the Casino Montréal and it’s really a dream coming true. I’m excited. It’s a drag show and I’ll try my best to meet the girls because at the other show I was so stressed trying to change outfits between every song and I just missed the entire crew. I saw them only at the end to say, ‘you were amazing!’ But I had a talk with Sasha (Velour) because she needed a ride back and she’s really nice.

How did you pick the queens for this event?

I wanted to have a different lineup than what people are used to. I know that a lot of people love Ongina, but I don’t know why here in Canada she’s never booked. She has plenty of gigs in the US but here it’s more rare.

Is it her first time here?

It’s her first time in Montréal. She has performed in Vancouver, I think. And every time they’re touring they’re bringing half of the latest season and fan favourites. But I mean Ongina is a fan favourite. And I wanted to bring Pearl because we have tried to book Pearl two years ago and she cancelled the day before the performance. Same thing for Shea Coulée, so people were angry. ‘I want to see my queen!’ We’re listening. I’m excited and it’s going to be a fun night and we have a whole program for the night. There’s a show but after that there’s an after party and there’s six additional queens from Montréal joining the lineup and performing as surprise guests. It’s going to be very fun. Time to let loose! And now I’m kicking you out to tuck my junk.

Photos by Eva Blue. Interview by Mark Andrew Hamilton.

[littlehollyleaf]

Ask a writer!

tagged by @mysillylittlesoapbox (yes I do still write fic... sometimes :p I’m afraid it’s all Gotham now though!) ...I don’t usually do memes about my writing though so, this should be...interesting...

1. How did you come up with your username and what does it mean?

my name is holly, holly leaves are a thing, I wanted to just be ‘hollyleaf’ but it was already taken so I figured ‘well hey, I’m also small...’ and voila! (no, I’m so sorry, but the Warrior Cats series was not involved at any point, I still haven’t read them and only know a character has my username, or a version of it, because of all the asks I keep getting about it :P)

2. Which fanfic of yours has the most feedback? (bookmarks/favorites, follows/subscriptions, visitor hits, kudos)

So I had a quick glance at AO3 and this is something it looks like WAAAAY too much effort for my lazy ass to figure out, plus I dunno how accurate the AO3 stats would be for my stuff anyways because I only very recently put all my fic on there after having most of it posted (and therefore commented on and otherwise interacted with) solely over at LJ for years and years...

I would imagine it’s Imitating Life (spn, deancas), because that’s the one I remember getting the most feedback for. So I’ll just go with that!

3. What is your FFnNet/AO3 profile icon, and why did you choose it?

It’s the same as my tumblr one. Because it’s me and I already had the image saved in an appropriate size. I know, dull right?? (back on LJ I was OBSESSED with finding and/or creating SO MANY different icons to convey different moods and whatnot - they were basically an oldschool version of reaction gifs I guess - but on any other platform I’ve been just... meh about the icon thing... idk!)

4. Do you have any regular/favourite commenters?

@vampirebillionaire has been a regular for my Gotham stuff, notable for jumping ship with me into foxma :) (well not jumping... simultaneously enjoying :p), for which I am profoundly grateful xx but generally my fic style and content is a bit... eclectic I guess? so no, no one who is super regular

5. Is there a fanfic that you keep going back to read again and again?

Of my own? Nah. Well... not AGAIN AND AGAIN like on the regular. I HAVE re-read my stuff OF COURSE :p But usually it’s me re-reading previous parts of a series/set to get the feel for the story/characters again as I write new stuff. Though admittedly I have re-read Imitating Life more than most probably, to check it still reads okay.

As to other authors’ fics - I must confess that I read less and less these days, so there is def not a single one I constantly return to.

I have, however, re-read a few by depthsofgreen since I got into Gotham, as well as some by rissalf and silentsinger

Back in the day there was this one spn last unicorn AU I used to re-read the night before each premiere, because it was a deliciously angsty way to get me in the mood for a new season and pass the time while waiting - particularly notable because AUs are not really my thing, so it was an interesting choice for me to keep returning to! Alas I have lost my link to it however :( Should anyone know the one I mean drop me a line! (Cas was the unicorn, obvs, Dean was the Prince, Sam was Schmendrick, Anna was Molly and Meg was Fortuna)

6. How many stories are you subscribed to? How many do you have bookmarked?

I have ONE (1) story bookmarked - because it is a WIP I am following (and I just learnt how to bookmark the other month)

...what even is subscribing and how is it different??

7. Which AU do you find yourself writing the most?

None at all if possible. Although most of my fics end up being Canon Divergent in the end ofc they are generally canon compliant (based on my interpretation of the canon anyways) at the time of writing... Sometimes canon changes things while I am in the middle of writing stuff though ofc (*shakes fist at Gotham right now*), in which case I will unavoidably be writing something knowingly Canon Divergent/What If.

(aside - I tried to write an spn x-men AU once, but I got bored very quickly... full on AUs are just not me!)

8. How many people are subscribed and bookmarked to you in total? (you can view this on the stats page)

OH THERE’S A STATS PAGE?

*checks*

K - 34 subscribers and 423 bookmarks (whoa that seems a lot??)

hey there’s graphs and stuff with your top five fics based on hits too - that’s pretty cool - my top is in fact Holding On and Letting Go... probably because it was one of my last big spn fics and one of the first I published on AO3...

9. Is there something you’d like to write about but are afraid of people judging you for it? (Feeling brave? If so, share it!)

No... I mean... I don’t think so? If there ever has been it’s passed me by and I’ve forgotten about it.

...for a hot minute I was into Eddie/Isabella in Gotham, and that plot was ofc (understandably) received VERY POORLY by the fandom, so I may have at one point been hesitant to explore that idea (and the related Ozzie/Eddie/Izzy thoughts I had) because of that... but I never got as far as wanting to actually WRITE anything that I recall so... I guess not really?

10. Is there anything you would like to be better at? Writing certain scenes or genres, replying to comments, updating better, etc.

There’s a couple of dumb little grammatical things I wish I was better at remembering - like when it’s ‘passed’ and when it’s ‘past’ or when it’s ‘effect’ and when it’s ‘affect.’ Because I forget and have to look it up Every.Damn.Time!

11. Do you write rarepairs or popular ships more often?

Well, the ship I’ve written most for is deancas - so it’s def ‘popular ships’ I write most! (though I would like to point out that it WASN’T ONE when I STARTED :p). 

I’m not opposed to writing rarepairs as well however (she says, in the middle of a huge Gotham rarepair series!). I just write... whatever I’m enjoying most at the time.

12. How many stories have you posted on FFNet/AO3 to this day (finished and unfinished)?

I’ve got 39 works up on AO3. Never published on FFNet. Probably got a few little things that I’ve only ever published on tumblr (like my cracky spn/WtNV crossover :p), so total number published across the board is more like 40ish...

13. How many stories do you have saved in/with your writing program?

(not counting the abandoned spn x-men AU that will remain forever unfinished) Just one. I CANNOT work on more than one fic at a time.

14. Do you write down story ideas, or just keep them in your head?

In my head (my stories are never especially complex after all). Once I’m stuck into a fic though I do tend to start creating bullet points below the main text of certain things that are coming next - like specific lines or phrases/metaphors I might think up as I go that I want to make sure I include, or the order of certain scenes if there is a series of short ones on the way, or sometimes points with question marks if I haven’t quite decided on something (eg. ‘have Eddie take his hat off here or wait until Ozzie smiles at him?’ that kind of thing...)

15. Have you ever co-authored a story?

No. I came CLOSE to co-writing a DCBB with the lovely @takadainmate YEARS AGO but we never quite made it work (I got a distracted by involving Balthazar in a subplot and went on my own tangent, we had trouble even getting together to discuss it, the deadline started looming and eventually we wisely close to call it a day!). 

For a while there were VAGUE murmurings about returning to the idea... but the plot involved Dean and Cas getting trapped together in Purgatory you see aND THEN SEASON 8 HAPPENED!! So we decided to let canon run with it instead :P

16. How did you discover FFNet/AO3?

While I don’t use FFNet and don’t even read stuff there now, I did used to read fics on it early on. I discovered it while searching for info on my very first TV obsession Due South and was DELIGHTED to find a place full of stories about this thing I loved but had no new content for at the time :)

AO3 I remember being talked about and used a little by my LJ crowd, which is how I heard of it. I didn’t start using it myself until recently when I realised it had very much become the go-to hosting site used by tumblr fic writers.

17. Do you consider yourself to be a popular or famous author in your fandom(s) on FFNet/AO3?

Nah.

18. Do you have a nickname or fandom name for your readers?

...my personal readers? As in, not the general name for the various fandoms (like ‘spn family’ or ‘Gotham fam’), but for the people who read my fic specifically?

No... that seems... weird...?

19. Was there an author who inspired or encouraged you to write?

Actually... no... no one specific. Just... reading lots of fiction by lots of different writers, fic writers included, is what inspired/encouraged me to take a crack at it myself I suppose.

20. What writing advice would you give to a beginning author?

Do not listen to me!

21. Do you plot out your stories, or do you just figure it out as you go?

Um... both I suppose. Only... my plotting isn’t really... plotting. 

Because I just... daydream, you know? And after a bit I’ll realise that I’m coming back to one particular daydream more often than another. And adding to it. And adding to it. Until I’ve got something at least vaguely coherent. At which point I make a decision as to whether I like the scenario enough to write it down or not and if I do, well, it’s already pretty much there and fully formed in my head, so no additional ‘plotting’ necessary (just the ironing out and researching of a few details).

But while I’m daydreaming... well that’s me ‘figuring it out as I go’ I guess.

22. Have you ever gotten a bad comment on a story? If so, what did you do?

My first foray into writing fic was with a Clex re-write of S05 Smallville. It ended up being a sprawling, much too ambitious multi-chapter thing I had no hope of ever finishing. But hey, it kept me out of trouble :p 

Anyways, I was part of a sci-fi society at Uni at the time I was writing and each of us in the group developed these different fictional versions of ourselves over the course of our time together... because we were a sci-fi society and it was fun! And I thought it would be a laugh if, for one chapter, I put all of us into my SV fic. So I did (I made us all kryptonite infected characters who lived at Lex’s secret 33.1 facility - if any SV fans are reading) and prefaced the chapter with some disclaimer about how I was sorry if this part was a bit too self indulgent or ‘mary-sue’ or whatever, but that I couldn’t resist doing it for my friends, and that things would get back to normal next chapter.

And generally it was fine - I didn’t have many readers anyway :p 

But long LONG after the fact, when I had written many other chapters since, I got a comment on this one chapter from someone saying that they felt my self-insert characters came across as too obviously self indulgent and were unnecessary and that I shouldn’t have written them in.

And you know, it was a fair call. But since I’d actually prefaced the chapter with myself saying that’s EXACTLY what they were, it seemed a bit odd to me that this person would bother making a point of the issue. And to compound confusion - this person had actually already commented POSITIVELY on the chapter when I first posted it, so their comment read something like ‘I’ve been re-reading this and on consideration ACTUALLY I think you should know that...’

So... that was a bit odd. Not really bad, but notable enough that it’s stayed with me! Since I was many many chapters along in the story at that point though it was easy enough to just nod and shrug and move on.

I’m lucky in that I’ve never received any actual scathing or horribly negative comments otherwise. I like to think I’d be thoughtful and philosophical about any serious criticism I might receive...

23. Is there a certain type of scene that you have a hard time writing? (action, smut, etc..)

Hmmm. Exposition probably. My focus is typically on a character’s emotion at any given time, but when the only thing happening is characters discussing what’s happening and when and why there’s not exactly much strong emotion involved you know? So I struggle, because it’s boring to write and I constantly fear I’m not describing/depicting it in a way that is interesting to the reader and blah blah.

(part of the reason I don’t often write complex stories anymore perhaps - less narrative means less exposition!)

(smut used to be hard... now it is less so... though that doesn’t mean I think I’m good at it now! I don’t think I’ll ever shake the fear that my smut is actually cringe-worthy...) 

24. What story(s) are you working on now?

Just The Fox and the Scorpion :)

25. Do you plan your next project(s) before you finish your current ongoing story(s)?

No. Like I say above - I CANNOT work on more than one fic at a time. How do people do that??? I bow to you all!

I have in the past paused in the middle of longer spn fics (like my DCBBs) to knock out some quick ‘finished in the span of an evening’ FICLETS, usually in response to specific happenings in canon (like when Gabriel died and I just HAD to type something up as an outlet). But I don’t think that’s really quite what this question means? Because those aren’t projects OR stories, they are just... SCENES, you know? Also - I haven’t written a ficlet in FOREVER, so I’m not even sure I could do it anymore...

Having said this - I DO CONSTANTLY DAYDREAM. Which involves daydreaming multiple scenarios not exclusive to whatever fic I’m in the middle of. Some of which may well end up being part of the next fic I end up writing. But that’s hardly ‘planning’ I think? Because at that stage of things I’ll have no desire to make what I’m dreaming part of an actual story/fic.

26. Do you have a daily writing goal set for yourself?

Nah. I just write when I feel like it and keep going until I’m done.

If I’m writing for a challenge this changes ofc, because DEADLINES. So sometimes I’ve had to set goals because of that - usually it’s something vague though, like ‘you need to get to this point in the plot by tomorrow night Holly, come on!’ Nothing so regimented as a specific amount of time and/or words every day.

...generally when I’m in the middle of a fic I end up in a kind of... idk, natural momentum that pulls me on? Like there’s this constant FEELING in the back of my mind urging me to get back to the story. And not in a nagging guilt kind of way, in a ‘this is what I WANT to be doing right now’ kind of way.

Not that I end up easily writing every time I get back to the fic or anything! Sometimes I’ll get back to the page and just... be stuck, find I’m not in the mood or can’t think of the words or whatever. Which is frustrating because I still have that feeling of WANTING to continue the story, but I’ll know that I’m not in the right frame of mind so have to leave it for a bit (which can be anywhere from a few hours to a week). Generally the pull to keep writing draws me back in eventually though. 

27. Do you think you’ve improved as a writer since you first started?

Goodness yes. I think if you’re writing regularly you’re just ALWAYS improving, aren’t you? Naturally my fic today is better than my first attempts, but likewise I think some of my Gotham fics are better than my spn fics in some parts. It’s a constant process isn’t it?

28. What is your favorite story(s) that you’ve written?

Imitating Life remains one of the fics I’m most proud of. Not only did the main story hold up well AND stick to overall canon (when it comes to Dean and Cas at least), so I think anyways, I also wove in a couple of subplots I very much enjoyed seeing through to the end. PLUS I really enjoyed all the meta nonsense, including messing about with the format to make it like look (a little bit) like a screenplay. So yes, that one will always hold a dear place in my heart :)

For Gotham I don’t think I’m ever gonna do better than We Are What We Are tbh

29. What is your least favorite story(s) that you’ve written?

Generally unimpressed by ALL my SV fic now. And considering I spent SO MANY HOURS/DAYS/WEEKS/MONTHS/YEARS of my life on it all I kinda feel like I should feel bad about that but... you know I really don’t? Because if it wasn’t for all the time and effort (and love and fun) I put into those not very good stories, I wouldn’t be enjoying the work I’m proud of and writing today. So *shrug emoji* 

30. Where do you see yourself (as a writer) in 5 years?

5 whole years? Tbh I rather think I’ll have stopped writing by then. I’ve been winding down when it comes to fic for a LONG TIME now and writing for Gotham feels very much like a minor, brief resurgence of the hobby. Currently planning on calling it a day once I’ve finished Fox and Scorpion in fact.

31. What is the easiest thing about writing?

The part that doesn’t involve writing.

32. What is the hardest thing about writing?

Trying not to be repetitive.

Have I started a paragraph with this character’s name too many times in a row? Am I using ‘furrowed brow’/’bites lip’/’narrows eyes’/’insert stock descriptive phrase here’ too often? Did I use this phrase already or was that in another fic or in the book I was just reading? Is there too much alliteration in this sentence?  - to name but a few of the questions that inevitably pop up related to my paranoia about repetition.

33. Why do you write?

Because I’m insatiable and the stories onscreen aren’t enough for me. 

...well that was exhaustingly introspective so I’m way too tired to tag! Interesting one though, made me think! (and taught me some stuff about AO3 :p)

[returntothefalls]

Prologue

Return to the Falls, a Gravity Falls fanfiction

Before heading back to Gravity Falls for the summer, Stan and Ford make a quick stop at an old haunt.  However, they are surprised to also find a familiar face waiting for them.

(Chapter 1 of “Return to the Falls”, a Gravity Falls fanfiction.  The up-to-date entirety can be found here.)

A.

The old man opened his eyes and blinked, confused.  He was in the living room, in the old recliner, the best seat in the house.  He must have dozed off while watching “Duck-tective,” but that didn’t seem right.  That show engrossed him far too much to put him to sleep, even if he’d seen the episode a hundred times.

X.

The TV was turned off, but that in itself wasn’t odd.  If he’d fallen asleep with it on, his brother would have shut it off.  That old nerd hated wasting energy and had gone on a big power-saving kick after getting the house back in working order, insisting that the rest of the family keep their lights off and devices unplugged when not necessary.  Of course, that all seemed pretty rich coming from the guy who built a giant universe portal that ran exclusively on raw nuclear waste.  It was a miracle the thing hadn’t rendered the whole town uninhabitable when it went to pieces.

O.

Stan looked around, frowning.  Had he imagined that sound?  Maybe his hearing aid was on the fritz.  The house seemed to be quiet, after all.  The kids must have been outside.  Or … what time was it?  Afternoon?  Night?  The fact that he’d dozed off didn’t help him much; he could fall asleep in the armchair no matter the hour.  Oh well, he felt no need to worry.  Right now, all he wanted was a nice cool drink to counteract the heavy summer air.

L.

A slight noise drew his attention and he glanced to his right.  A pink aluminum can sat on the dinosaur skull end table.  Had that been there before?  He grabbed it and nearly dropped it in surprise; it was ice cold.  Maybe Mabel had left it.  She knew how much he loved his Pitt Cola, especially on a hot day like this.  Without further question, he popped the tab.

O.

The frosty beverage fizzed delightfully in his mouth.  He took a long, refreshing drink and sighed in contentment.  Now this was more like it.  If the kids were out, he might as well just kick back and enjoy some alone time.  He took another swig of his soda and picked up the remote.  With the house to himself, this would be the perfect time to check out the Black and White Period Piece Old Lady Boring Movie Channel.  The Shack was usually too busy for him to have a private moment to sit down and enjoy his guilty pleasure in peace.  He pressed the power button.

T.

There was a soft sound, like the gentle whisper of a breeze, but the television did not come on.  He frowned and jabbed the button again.  Still, there was no reaction.  The batteries must have been dead.  Of course this couldn’t be easy.  He flopped back in the chair and groaned, even though no one was around to appreciate his dramatics.  Why couldn’t Ford have invented a lifelong remote battery, or a robot butler to fetch new batteries, or something useful of that nature.  Surely he and the hillbilly could have put something together.  Sighing, Stan stood up, resigning himself to the fact that he’d have to move from his seat in order to change the batteries.

L.

The TV flashed on, startling him with the sudden burst of color and sound.  A young man with brown hair and an open-collared shirt danced onto the screen.  “Hi, I’m Stan Pines of Stan Co. Enterprises!”  Stan recoiled in shock from the face.  His face.

A.

It was a voice, fully audible now, emanating from everywhere and nowhere.  This time, Stan heard it clearly over the commercial.  The TV screen buzzed with static and the image changed.  It was the younger Stan again, now sporting a bushy mustache.  “Hi, I’m Steve Pinington!”  Stan backed away further, sweat running down his back.  Was it getting hotter?  Was the TV possessed?  Weirder things had happened in the Shack.  Steam rose from the aquarium tank and, judging by the smell, Mabel’s lobster had been boiled to delicious perfection.

X.

Stan’s hair stood on end.  The room felt charged by the voice, like lightning was about to strike.  The TV flickered again.  “Hi, I’m Stetson Pinefield!  Are you tired of piles of owls constantly blocking your driveway?”

O.

The images flew by faster and faster.  Stan’s skin was like wax, melting and dripping to the floor, but he felt no pain.

L.

“I’m Hal Forrester!”

O.

“They call me 8-Ball Alcatraz!”

T.

“Hi, I’m Mr. Mystery!”

L.

An exterior shot of the Mystery Shack remained on the screen, but its surroundings changed.  The sign fell away, the decorations disappeared.  Snow blanketed the house.  The man of many names was still there, standing on the front porch, staring longingly at the door.

A.    X.  O.  L.  O.  T.  L.

The voice droned on with greater intensity.  Stan sank to his knees, which squished sickeningly into the carpet.  The picture darkened and the Shack faded away, but a strange orange symbol still glowed in the blackness.  Without warning, Stan’s back seared with pain and he screamed as blue fire erupted from his scar.

A X O L O T L.

The screen changed one more time.  Another man appeared, almost identical to the young Stan, but wilder, a manic glint in his unblinking eyes.  A tattered red book was clutched in his six-fingered hands.  He stared into Stan’s eyes as though he were there in the room, not merely an image on a screen.  And perhaps he was.

The Journal floated out of his hand, pages flipping wildly in an unfelt gale.  Azure flames licked at Stan’s legs and he struggled to stand back up, but he slumped forward again, his decaying body unable to handle the effort.  A long, merciless laugh rang out, coming from the flames, from the Journal, from the doppelganger in the television.

A X O L O T L A X O L O T L A X O L O T L.

The fire loomed over Stan, twisting and writhing like an entity in itself.  From within the chaotic mass, a familiar shape began to emerge.

“Stanley?”

The man from the TV was looking up at the fire, panic in his eyes.  He lifted up into the air, his arms flailing, as he was drawn through the screen and toward the hellish triangle.  Stan lunged forward, mustering all his energy, but he still could not reach.  “St-Stanford!”  He gritted his teeth, ignoring the flesh-colored drops that fell from his fingertips.

“Stanley?”  The young Stanford was frantic, kicking and screaming in a vain attempt to distance himself from the fire.  A white light glowed in the center of the triangle, shining like a beacon amidst the scorching sapphire.  The mocking laughter shook the earth.

Stan tried to lift his arms, but his energy was gone.  He fell to his side, could feel his cheeks sticking in the carpet, but his eyes were still locked on his brother.  The words came unbidden to his lips.  “I just got him back, I can’t lose him again!”

But he did not stop.  With one final scream, Stanford disappeared into the light and the triangle, still laughing hysterically, crashed down onto Stan, consuming him in fire.

“Stanley!!!”

Stan sat straight up, gasping for breath.  He spun around, but the flames were gone.  The entire room had changed.  He was sitting in a bed, a rather small one.  His bed.  He grabbed his glasses from the small bedside table and slipped them on, blinking as the world came into focus.  The small cabin rose and fell in the gentle rhythm of the sea that he had grown so accustomed to.  A figure stooped by the bed, gripping Stan’s arm with both hands.  It was his brother – the grizzled old adventurer, not his crazy-eyed younger counterpart, driven half-insane by nightmares and paranoia.

Ford smiled, apparently relieved.  “Thank goodness, you’re awake.”

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Stan grumbled, wiping the sleep from his eyes.  “I’m an old man, sleepin’ is one o’ the few pleasures left in life.”

“Sorry, but you were mumbling and thrashing around,” Ford said.  “Seemed like you were having a nightmare.  Everything okay?”

Stan swallowed hard, the image of the younger Ford covered in blue flames flashing through his mind again.  “Of course I’m fine,” he said, keeping his voice steady.  “I met the king o’ nightmares once, and I smashed his two-dimensional keister into a million pieces.  There’s no nightmare left that can get the jump on ole Stanley Pines.”

Ford gave a short laugh.  “Alright, fair point.  But don’t hesitate if there’s anything you need to talk about.  I promise, I’ll listen.”

“Don’t get all mushy on me yet,” Stan said, lightly shoving his brother aside as he climbed out of bed.  “I haven’t even had my coffee.”

“Already poured you a mug,” Ford said, moving to the door.  “Drink it fast and get ready.  We arrived while you were sleeping.”

Stan froze halfway through pulling on his pants.  “Here?  Already?”  He pushed past Ford and stepped out of the cabin.  The ocean breeze tousled his shaggy hair as he crossed the deck, inhaling a deep lungful of tasty sea air.  He leaned over the rail and gazed across the gray water to the dingy shore beyond.

Ford appeared next to him, coffee in hand.  “I honestly never thought I’d see this place again.”  He paused, watching a seagull as it drifted in lazy circles overhead.  “I wasn’t sure I wanted to see this place again.”

“I know the feeling,” Stan said.  “Technically speaking, I shouldn’t even set foot in the state.  But hey, it’s been forty some years, no one’s gonna remember my ugly mug.”

Ford smirked.  “Well, let’s get this over with.  You get dressed and I’ll take us in.”

Stan turned back to the cabin, then glanced over his shoulder again at the city awaiting him.  “I’m finally back,” he murmured, feeling almost dreamlike as he looked across the misty bay to the small wooden sign standing at the water’s edge, too far away to read but familiar nonetheless.  “Glass Shard Beach.”

***

Strange as it was to return to Glass Shard Beach after so many decades, their entry had been quick and easy.  Ford got them a good price for docking – and Stan continued haggling with the dockworker until the poor sap settled for $5 and an “ancient Antarctic artifact” made of paperclips, chewed gum, and some soon-to-be melted ice cubes.  From there, they set out on foot, visiting a few familiar haunts.  For a silent thirty minutes, they sat in the sand beneath a dilapidated old swingset, its seats long ago rotted away, and watched calm foamy waves lap at the shore.  They explored the cave that had seemed like a whole new world to two adventurous New Jersey preteens; now, it was small and empty, offering nothing more than hollow nostalgia.  The old pawn shop had been converted into a tattoo parlor.  Stan joked that they ought to get matching tattoos, but Ford just pulled his coat a little more tightly around his neck and kept walking.  And now, after a hearty breakfast at Hot Belgian Waffles, they reached their final destination.

Raindrops began to fall, slowly at first.  Ford opened his umbrella and held it over Stan and himself.  The brothers stood before three weathered stones.  They were alone in the cemetery with nothing but unvoiced thoughts and unseen ghosts.  Stan’s eyes ran over each of the graves, waiting for some kind of emotion to stir up inside him:  sadness, regret, satisfaction?  But he felt only emptiness as he read the three names again and again:  his father’s, his mother’s, and his own.

Ford was the first to break the silence.  “It was three days before I thought of them.”  Stan kept his eyes locked on Filbrick’s name.  “I’d been back in Gravity Falls for three days,” Ford continued.  “I was in the basement, dismantling the Portal.  Much easier to take apart than it was to build.  But I guess that’s true for most things.”  He chuckled quietly, but his smile faded as he looked at Stan.  “Things had calmed down a bit by then, and I found myself thinking about all that I’d missed in the thirty years I was gone.  And I thought about Ma, and Dad, and … well, I knew there was no way they’d still be around.  So I never bothered to ask.  And I thought a hundred times about coming back here to see them, but …”  He trailed off.

Stan put a hand on Ford’s shoulder.  “I would never’ve come back here without you either, Sixer.”

Ford smiled.  “Thank you, Stanley.”

Stan gently elbowed his brother in the ribs.  “That wasn’t so hard to say now, was it?”  The two laughed, and Stan marveled at how far they’d come in the last nine months.  That which had once divided them now brought them together.

“I’m glad we could do this,” Ford said.  He frowned, gesturing to the third gravestone.  “But we should probably tell somebody that you’re not actually dead.”

“Eh, the less people who know that, the better,” Stan said, waving his hand dismissively.  “And, uh, ya should probably check with me before ya make any out-o’-state trips in the future.  There may or may not be a few outstanding warrants in your name in the Northwest.  And the Southwest.  And the Midwest, the South, pretty much all your contiguous United States.  And, uh, you’re not sittin’ too hot south of the border either.  Basically, just stick to Oregon, Canada, and international waters, and even then I can’t make any promises.”

Ford sighed, massaging his temple and smiling in spite of himself.  “I’ll try to keep that in mind.  Now come on, we’d better get moving if we’re hoping to get home on time.”

Stan nodded.  “Nothin’ left for us in this town anyway.”  Together, he and Ford turned away from the graves, ready to leave, but they immediately stopped in their tracks.

Another figure was strolling down the path toward them, shielded from the rain by a purple umbrella spotted with a white floral design.  It was an old woman, her face wrinkled and her shoulder-length hair white, but her stride was long and confident, undeterred by her onset age.  Stan squinted at her, his brow furrowed in concentration.  Even after his time spent with Ford and the kids, there were still little gaps in his memory that plagued him from time to time.  And now something was setting off bells in his head, an image fighting to resurface at the edge of his consciousness.

The woman paused mid-step as she saw the two men in front of her, then continued toward them, flashing a friendly smile.  “And here I thought I’d be the only one out here on a gloomy day like this,” she said.

Ford waited for Stan to speak – normally he was the one to take charge in social situations – but Stan’s mouth remained set in a grim line.  “We were just in town for the day,” Ford said quickly.  “Just leaving now, if you’ll excuse us.”

“Oh, of course,” the woman said, stepping aside.  She glanced at the three gravestones as Ford moved past her, dragging Stan alongside him.  “Did you know the Pines family?” she asked.

Ford didn’t look back.  “Yes, we knew them.”

The woman nodded.  “I did too, a long time ago.  I thought I’d come see them one more time before I moved on to greener pastures.”  She stared at the third tombstone for a moment before looking back to the brothers.  “They suffered so much.  But I’m sure you knew that already.”  She smiled sadly.  “I had just left town before it all started falling apart.  Maybe if I’d stuck around, I could have done something to help.”

Stan gave a harsh laugh and finally met her gaze.  “Lady, lemme tell ya, there’s nothin’ you or anyone else coulda done to help that mess of a family.”

The woman locked eyes with Stan, her expression mournful yet curious.  Stan simply shrugged and turned away, nudging Ford to start moving.  However, before he could take a step, the quiet voice behind him spoke once more.

“Stanley?”

He froze.  Slowly he turned back.  A single word popped into his head; it was strange, nonsensical, but it felt right.  He was on the cusp of remembering, he just had to let that one word loose in the air.

“Hotpants?”

The woman laughed, even as her eyes brimmed with tears.  “No one’s called me that in a long time.”  She ran forward, dropping her umbrella in the dirt and throwing her arms around Stan.  A rush of warmth ran through him as the bubbles of memory burst in his brain.  He’d felt these arms wrapped around his neck before.

Ford’s eyes widened as he came to the same realization.  “Carla?  Carla McCorkle?”

“It’s good to see you, Stanford,” she said, pulling back from Stan and bending down to retrieve her discarded umbrella.  She looked between the two brothers and laughed again.  “I can’t believe I’m standing here with you two.”  She glanced back at gravestones.  “You know, I always wondered about you, Stanley.  Seemed to me that a crazy guy like you would never kick the bucket so easily.  But to think that I’d find you here now…”  She wiped away a few stray tears.  “Well, I never dared to hope for that.”

“I never thought I’d see you again either,” Stan said.  “I’ve, uh, had a lot on my plate for the last few decades.”

“I can imagine,” Carla said.  “Wow, I just … wow.  You’re alive.  Stanley Filbrick Pines is alive and standing right in front of me.”  She looked to Ford.  “There’s a story here.”

“A long one,” Ford said.

Stan scoffed.  “My brother got too deep into sciency stuff and I had to fake my death and pretend to be him for thirty years while I tried to save his life.”  He shrugged.  “Pretty simple, if ya ask me.”

Carla raised an eyebrow.  “Sounds like you’ve come a long ways from driving my boyfriend’s van off a cliff.”

“That hippie jerk was hypnotizin’ ya with his trash flower music!” Stan said.  “I stand by what I did!”  His voice softened.  “But y’know, I’m, uh, sorry for all that.  My nephew tells me that mighta been a bit much.”

“I appreciate the apology,” Carla said.  “But don’t worry about it.  I’m sure you’ve grown a lot since then.”

“Less than you probably think,” Ford muttered, earning a jab in the ribs from his brother.

Carla was unable to hide her smile.  “So, you say you have a nephew?  Do you two have families?”

Stan grinned sheepishly.  “Eh, we have our niece and nephew, Shermie’s grandkids.  But that’s it.  I dated around, but I never found anyone worth settlin’ down with.  And my nerd brother ain’t exactly the marryin’ type.”  He leaned in closer, glancing conspiratorially back at Ford.  “Though if ya ask me, there’s a hillbilly back home he’d make a cute couple with.”

“Stan, I can hear you.”

Stan ignored Ford and winked at Carla.  “And what about you?  Live happily ever after with your granola-munchin’ Prince Charming?”

Carla snorted derisively.  “No, Thistle Downe went out with disco.  Dark times, those 70’s.”  She shuddered.  “But your story sounds a lot like mine.  There were a few guys who came and went, but none of them were right for me.”

“Shame, they all missed out,” Stan said.  “You’ve aged phenomenally.”  He blushed.  “Er, y’know, for an old broad.”

“How flattering,” Carla said dryly.  “You’ve not done too bad yourself, Stan Pines.”  Stan’s face grew redder and Carla laughed.

Ford cleared his throat.  “Not to intrude on this happy reunion, but we do have places to be.  The kids will be coming to town in a week and we hope to be there when they arrive.”

“Geez, Poindexter, sounds like you’re in a hurry to get rid of me,” Carla said, her tone playful.

Stan sighed.  “Much of a buzzkill as he may be, my brother’s right.”

“I understand completely,” Carla said.  She smiled.  “It sounds like everything has turned out pretty well for you guys.  I’m really happy for you.  After everything that went down back in high school, I was afraid of where you would end up.”

“We went through a lotta bad stuff,” Stan said.  “And it took us a long time to get past it.  But we made it.”  He grinned.  “Maybe I’ll tell ya the whole story sometime.”

“I’d love to talk again,” Carla said.  “Can I have your cell number?”

Stan scowled.  “Hey, I’ll have you know I haven’t been to jail since … er, if ya don’t count that night for the Madame Ben Franklin dollars, or that whole nuclear waste thing that I was completely innocent of, then I guess it would be –”

Carla smirked.  “Stan, I mean your cell phone number.”

Stan’s face flushed red again.  “Er, yeah, of course.  Uh, Ford, do we have one of those doohickeys?”

“Fiddleford fixed up this old laptop to give us direct video connection to Dipper, Mabel, and Soos’s devices,” Ford said.  “And he also gave me this long-range walkie talkie for whenever we need tech support, like when Stan tries using the computer to check his cash-for-gold sites and crashes it with pop-up advertisements.”

“It’s important business!” Stan said indignantly.  He leaned closer to Carla again.  “Y’see, there’s change comin’.  People say gold’s on the rise, but the real money’s in turquoise.  Little pro-tip for ya.”

Ford sighed.  “So to answer your question, no, we don’t have a cell phone.”

Carla laughed.  “No worries.  I’m sure we’ll get something worked out.  Ask your niece and nephew to look me up on the Internet, they can hook us up.”

“It’s a deal,” Stan said.  “If you’re ever in the neighborhood, just drop on by.  That’s Gravity Falls, Oregon, by the way.  Come to the Mystery Shack, buy some keychains, and ask for the original Mr. Mystery.”  He gave a thumbs up and winked.  “That’s me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Carla said, smiling.  She extended a hand, blinking in confusion as both brothers flinched back in response.  But they recovered quickly, and Ford and Stan each shook her hand in turn.  Stan’s fingers locked through hers, lingering in her grasp for a few extra seconds before he drew his hand back.

Ford coughed awkwardly.  “Uh, Stan?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m comin’,” Stan grumbled.  He made finger guns with both hands and pointed to Carla.  “You stay frosty, puddin’ … uh, puddin’ pie, dessert cream, uh, creamy cat.”  He covered his face with his hand.  “Er, bye.”

Carla laughed and gave him another short hug.  “Goodbye, Stan.  I’m glad you’re alive.”  She turned to Ford.  “Make sure that doesn’t change.”

“It’s a struggle, but I’ve managed so far,” Ford said.  He put an arm around Stan and turned him around.  “Come on, Stan.  Back to the ship.”

“A good brother wouldn’t let me make an idiot of myself like that,” Stan muttered.

“When have I ever been a good brother?”

Carla watched as the two old men walked away, bickering good-naturedly like they had as kids.  Whatever had happened to them in the interim, some things never truly changed.  It was a comforting realization.

She stared down at the gravestone before her and shook her head in disbelief.  She had seen a lot of extraordinary things in her life, but Stanley Pines certainly took the cake.  She still remembered the sparsely-attended funeral, where Ma Pines had stood up and given a short speech about her “free spirit” who had left too soon.  Shermie stuttered through a generic speech about brotherly love.  Filbrick remained stony-faced, never speaking a word through the whole event.  And Ford didn’t even bother to show up – though now she knew why.  Otherwise, there was nothing more than a smattering of townspeople, several of whom were simply looking for a refund on their Stan-Vacs or Shammies.  Carla wasn’t sure why she attended, but she was glad she did.  She’d seen firsthand how the world treated Stanley Pines, and she respected him all the more for his ability to keep standing under all that abuse.  There was something to be appreciated in a man like that.

A coy smile played at the edges of her lips.  She’d spent the last few years with no real aim in life anyway.  But now she knew where she could find a little fun.  She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and ran a quick search for maps, transportation, lodging.

Everything she needed to know about Gravity Falls.

GRQ'W DVN FDUOD DERXW KHU MRUWV SKDVH

[misssophiachase]

You and I (Part 2) - part one is HERE. Hope you like it.

"It's been a long time since I came around, been a long time but I'm back in town..."

May - 2017 (2 months later) - Houston ,TX

"Always and Forever ; )"

Candice shouldn't have checked her twitter feed and now she knew why looking at Joseph's dimpled face smiling at her from the computer screen. Although most fans would associate those words with the title of the first episode and the Originals' family motto, she knew they meant far more than that. In fact he'd uttered those words in her ear two and a half years earlier after rousing her from a lazy slumber in that gorgeous villa in Mijas. Pity it hadn't worked out that way for them in the end.

Candice had been awaiting the news of the Original's possible renewal for over a month now and all it took was one call from its show runner Julie Plec to confirm it would go ahead and she was set to guest star on at least six episodes. They suspected it was coming which was why she'd been talking up the Klaroline ship on the press circuit, including the Vampire Attraction event in Rio last month. It wasn't as if Candice was ungrateful, knowing she had steady work was an actor's dream but having to be so close again with her ex-lover wasn't going to be easy, especially knowing just how intimate those scenes would probably be

To help quell the nerves, Candice had headed home to visit her family for a few weeks and although it usually calmed her this time was very different. Even her parents had questioned her unusual behaviour but she'd shrugged it off. When the news came through, Candice had immediately consulted social media even though she knew it was an incredibly bad idea. Coming across his tweet had shaken her resolve more than she'd expected, especially given the way they'd ended things so abruptly. It was almost as if he was sending a message just to her and Candice wasn't quite sure what that meant. She had a feeling that once they came together in Atlanta again for filming she might just discover his intentions.

May - 2017 (2 months later) - Chicago, IL

"This time I'm not leaving without you."

Joseph knew exactly what he was doing and it wasn't just giving a shout out to his loyal fans, he was trying to reach her. Truth be told life hadn't been the same without Candice. He'd tried to move on but every time Joseph would imagine her creamy skin and expressive blue eyes and he was back in his usual daze. He loved her, Joseph wouldn't just promise someone always and forever if he didn't mean it. He hoped that message he'd sent would make her believe that too.

He was currently spending some time in the Windy City with his co-star and onscreen little brother Nate Buzolic, aka Kol. They'd bonded from the very beginning and even though he wasn't a regular on the Originals, they always made an effort to get together wherever they were. Given the announcement of the renewal only hit the public a day earlier, Joseph wasn't sure about the reaction, especially from the blonde he missed more than anything. According to Julie, filming wasn't due to begin until late July in Atlanta.

"You look like you're at a funeral, not one of the hottest clubs in Chicago," Nate observed, handing Joseph a much needed whiskey. They were currently drinking at an out of the way and darkened speakeasy. "Given the renewal announcement, I thought you'd be decidedly more upbeat."

"I am."

"And you call yourself an actor?"

"Shut it," he warned. "I'm just a little tired from all the press and social media excitement today, I kind of figured I could be my usual, grumpy self in your presence tonight."

"At least you admit that you're grumpy," he teased, taking a sip of his drink. "This doesn't have anything to do with a blue eyed blonde about yea high?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Again, you call yourself an actor?" Joseph's dirty look didn't require any immediate response. "We all know this means you're going to be spending a lot more time together with your ex-girlfriend."

"We are both professionals."

"Professionals who love each other but can't get their bloody act together. Seriously mate, it's been like two years and you are still not over her."

"It doesn't even matter anymore."

"Except that the last few years you've tried and failed to get over Candice and I'm not sure having to act so intimately together is going to help that effort."

"I'm fairly certain she's moved past what we had," he murmured thinking about her rumoured relationship with some American guitarist from that band he'd since removed from his song library. "And so have I," he lied, knowing that text was far from moving on. He just didn't want anyone else to know. He'd decided he needed that few months to decide exactly how he was going to get her back for good.

February - 2013 - Mercedes Benz Superdome, New Orleans, LA - Superbowl XLV11

"I'm such a slut," she moaned, downing the last of her beer and placing the glass back on the table with a bang.

"I think you're being a little hard on yourself, Candice," Arielle offered. She'd flown into New Orleans that day to meet the rest of the cast before returning to Atlanta to film her scenes for the last three episodes of the fourth season. If there was something you could say about her character Lexi it was that she was heavily in demand. Given they were filming episodes with the veil open to the other side of course she would make an appearance.

"You were the one who called me that on the phone the other day," she shot back accusingly. "Shortly after congratulating me on bedding the on-set, English hottie as you so eloquently put it."

"I meant it in an endearing and congratulatory way," she replied, albeit feebly. "Anyway, it's obvious he feels the same way."

"Yeah he wants to have sex with me and that's about it," she muttered. "I have no idea what came over me that day, I just..."

"Couldn't keep your hands to yourself?" Kat offered, her brown eyes flickering to the guy in question who was standing with Steven, Zach and Michael watching the unfolding game with avid interest. Well they were, Candice was pretty certain Joseph wasn't quite sure exactly what was going on rules wise. His football was a little different to theirs after all.

"I wasn't the only one there," she growled. After they'd ripped each other's clothes off in her trailer and given into every animalistic desire that'd been building they'd decided to keep their indiscretion secret and gone their separate ways, never to speak about it again. If Candice was being honest it hurt. She wasn't sure what she was expecting after such a build up between them but that certainly wasn't it.

The sex was phenomenal, something she'd never really doubted given their thick, sexual tension onscreen but she'd be lying if she didn't want more. Although they'd promised never to tell anyone, Candice felt herself hurtling towards insanity if she didn't tell someone her secret. Kat had suggested she share her feelings with him but that wasn't her style, especially when he'd been so quick to leave her trailer that day. Arielle had suggested a repeat performance saying it would bring the awkwardness to the fore but she'd ignored both. Caroline Forbes might have been bold and fearless but Candice Accola certainly wasn't that brave unfortunately.

With only three days between filming commitments, the cast of the Vampire Diaries had been given a break (albeit a publicity one) before returning to set in Atlanta and what better way to spend their time than at the Superbowl in New Orleans? The guys had been ecstatic unsurprisingly but Candice was a iittle worried to be so close with Joseph. It was bad enough they'd had to act so friendly the past few episodes (she still couldn't get the image of a shirtless Klaus out of her head from episode 18). She was just glad that the most recent episode had them working on two different sets. Joseph on the possible Originals spin off in New Orleans and she on TVD.

There was industry chatter that the Originals would be picked up by the CW and Candice wasn't quite sure whether she was happy he'd be filming further away in Atlanta than usual but given the awkwardness it was probably best between them.

"Ladies," Michael interrupted their conversation as he had a tendency to do accompanied by their other co-stars. "Would you care to make a wager on the game?" Candice rolled her eyes not surprised he was being so competitive. "Steven and I are backing the 49ers. Zach and Joseph for some crazy reason have their money on the Ravens."

"Do you know exactly what you're betting on?" Candice asked, her gaze settling on Joseph. She was trying to ignore just how gorgeous he looked in those dark jeans and black suit jacket.

"Not really but I've always been partial to birds, including ravens."

"You're basing your bet on the team mascot?"

"Why not?" He prodded, now standing to her left and causing Candice to lose her composure a little from his damn aftershave that was infiltrating her nostrils unwelcomingly.

"Well, I'm with Steven and Michael backing San Fransisco," Kat replied. Although she was born in Switzerland she'd been raised in California so her choice wasn't surprising.

"This Florida girl is supporting the Ravens. Candice?" Arielle asked. She was born and raised in Texas, so the obvious choice was Baltimore but for some reason she had no intention of agreeing with Joseph, especially given their situation. Yes, her immaturity had hit an all time low.

"My money is one the 49'ers," Candice replied nonchalantly. "I've never been much of a bird fan."

"Let me guess, there was an incident with one when you were a child?" Joseph asked, Candice trying to ignore those familiar dimples and a slight smirk tugging at the corners of those kissable, crimson lips. Bastard.

"That's none of your business," Candice bristled. Of course there'd been an incident when she was younger. It involved a pelican that took a liking to her birthday cake at the zoo.

"Well," Arielle interrupted. "This should be interesting." Candice had a feeling she wasn't just talking about the game anymore.

The Baltimore Ravens won, holding on by four points in the end. Always competitive, Candice was kicking herself that she didn't go for her chosen side because of him. She'd chosen to ignore his triumphant and cocky grin and made her exit to the hotel as quickly as possible. The last thing she wanted was to deal with his English ego, especially after the last few weeks she'd had to endure.

April - 2013 - Atlanta GA

Joseph was frustrated and not just in the sexual way either. Ever since they'd been together, Candice had basically ignored him. The only time she did speak was during their scenes together or to throw out some sarcastic insult like at the Superbowl. He thought what they shared was amazing and even better than he'd expected after longing for the girl for two years now.

It had all seemed so glorious until things became awkward and they'd reverted back to their original discourse. Joseph didn't want that, he wanted her. But it seemed as is Candice wanted to forget what happened between them so he let it go, albeit reluctantly. The fact she wanted to keep what happened between them secret spoke volumes and he had no option but to pretend like it never happened.

Coming onto set that day had been particularly difficult, knowing that this would be their last scene together for the foreseeable future given the Originals had been officially picked up by the CW and announced only the day before. He should have been ecstatic and he was for the most part, Joseph had always dreamed of having his own show and things were finally falling into place. Well, all except for one significant part. Knowing exactly what their final scene entailed, Joseph was certain it would do nothing to quell the burgeoning feelings he felt.

"And action..."

"How'd you get here so fast?"

"I was already on my way. I received your graduation announcement, very subtle. I'm assuming you're expecting cash?"

"That, or a mini fridge."

"Well, I had considered offering you a first class ticket to join me in New Orleans, but I knew what your answer would be. So I opted for something you would accept." Joseph paused briefly before adding. "Tyler is now free to return to Mystic Falls."

"What?"

"He's your first love, I intend to be your last," he murmured, holding her gaze. "However long it takes." He leaned forward his lips grazing her cheek before pulling back slowly. "Congratulations Caroline. Now, let's get out of here before twelve angry hybrids decide to pick a fight."

As they walked away from the camera, his arm laced through hers, Joseph couldn't help but feel sad that it was all coming to an end and he didn't just mean his stint on the Vampire Diaries.

It was now 4am and the show had finally wrapped. Even though it was late (or early as some may say), the cast and crew had gathered together on set to toast to another successful season. Joseph had hovered around the drinks table for a while making small talk about his new show, watching Candice chat away to Nina. He'd been so quick to write things off between them but knowing he wouldn't see her again for some time was weighing heavily on him.

He seized his opportunity when he saw her making her way towards her trailer alone. Joseph couldn't leave without telling her how he felt. He knocked gingerly on the door noticing her surprise as she let him inside.

"There's something I need to know and then I'll leave you alone for good," he stuttered, not expecting her pink lips to find his so quickly and pull him towards her. They attacked each other's lips greedily, their clothes coming off in record time with all reason flying out the door, much like the first time they were together. Before Joseph could lay her on the couch she stopped, pulling back abruptly, her creamy skin tinged pink and breathing ragged.

"We can't do this."

"You started it," he growled, unable to help himself.

"I know," she admitted sheepishly. "I just..."

"I thought you hated me."

"When you left so quickly that day, I assumed you didn't want this, that you didn't want me," she mumbled.

"You wanted to keep it a secret, I assumed you were ashamed and then when you all but ignored me..."

"I didn't mean to, it was just so awkward," she conceded. "Especially having to act together knowing what had happened between us." Joseph found her jacket and hung it over her shoulders trying to protect what modesty she had left given their lust filled reunion.

"So, do you think maybe we could try this again?"

"What are you suggesting?" She asked, pulling the jacket around her body securely.

"A date." They might have started things off on the wrong foot but Joseph had every intention of rectifying the situation with her.

May - 2013 - CW Upfronts - New York, NY

Candice couldn't believe how quickly things had accelerated between them over the past month. True to his word, Joseph had taken her on that date in Los Angeles, of all places, during their production break. In the past, guys had tried to impress her by going to upscale restaurants and exclusive clubs but he'd taken her to a small, Mexican cantina followed by salsa dancing at a roof top bar in central LA. He blamed his lack of salsa experience on growing up in a stuffy, English household but the fact he'd done it for her meant so much and she was more than happy to show him a few moves in very close proximity. Candice couldn't remember when she'd had that much fun with someone.

They'd kept things strictly professional given how quickly they'd jumped into things all those months ago. The CW Upfronts were being held in New York later that week and Joseph was going to be front and centre advertising the Originals first season. Candice wasn't required that year and had told Joseph as much before secretly travelling there to surprise him in his hotel room.

They hadn't gone public with their romance yet and it was exactly the way Candice preferred things. Yes, she was famous but there were some things she liked to keep quiet for obvious reasons. She'd contacted Claire who played Joseph's sister Rebekah on screen about her plan and organised a key to sneak into his room. She was decidedly nervous, not quite sure why given they'd already slept together. For some reason this time meant so much more.

She heard him enter the room, a deep and relieved sigh sounding out from the man in question as he closed the door. She'd chosen her best La Perla, red lingerie in anticipation. "You sound like you need a good massage."

He was speechless momentarily, his blue eyes hungrily devouring her curves in red, lacy lingerie. "I certainly wouldn't say no," he growled, picking her up and throwing her onto the king sized bed excited for what was to come. Her overwhelming beauty wasn't a surprise but the fact she'd sneaked into his room was and he couldn't get enough of her in that moment.

November - 2013 - TVD 100th Episode Party - Atlanta, GA

The cameras were flashing madly as he walked the red carpet. Joseph would have preferred to have a certain, beautiful blonde on his arm but their relationship was a well kept secret. Joseph actually appreciated Candice's wish to keep things secret. She insisted it wasn't because she was ashamed, she just wanted to keep her private life private. He couldn't argue with that fact.

"So, do you think this 100th episode will deliver for the fans?" Joseph knew it would but he couldn't say that of course. He'd enjoyed their time against that tree just as much as he knew Klaus had.

"I think so," he offered slyly. "I couldn't expect anything less than from this amazing TVD team." His eyes averted to her blue ones momentarily, Joseph a little scared he might get lost in them. No one knew about their relationship and it was the way they liked it, especially a very shy Candice.

"You realise all the fans want is a reunion between their favourite star crossed couple?" All Joseph wanted was a reunion between the actors who played them right away but he knew he needed to play this down, otherwise Julie would certainly kill him.

"I suppose we'll have to wait and see, they are on different shows after all." Candice heard him, those blue eyes sending a message that they would definitely be hooking up tonight unbeknownst to reporters.

He'd been desperately waiting for Candice to come to his room. Joseph had found it was difficult to be apart from her than more than a few days. She was like a highly addictive drug and he was struggling in her absence. He pushed upon the door to his room, standing on the balcony with a glass of scotch awaiting her arrival. It was then he noticed her approaching from below, unfortunately he wasn't the only one as the waiting paparazzi enveloped her. Joseph screamed out protectively not caring what secrets would be revealed, all he cared about was her well being.

You can read the chapter on FF HERE