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blu-joons · 3 years

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Comforting Him After The Grammys ~ BTS Reaction

Jin:

As the winner was read out, you could see by the look in Jin’s eyes that he was disappointed, forcing a smile onto his face. “There’s always next year.”

Your head shook at his words, no matter how hard he tried to be alright about things in front of you. “It’s alright to be upset you didn’t win.”

His eyes glanced across at you brightly, “I’m not upset, it’s just the Grammys, there’s plenty of others.”

“But you guys had dreamt about a Grammy.”

“One day,” he whispered.

You moved across the room to take a seat beside him at his desk, “this is still your first nomination, you’ll get plenty more. Just don’t feel like you have to force the smile that’s on your face.”

“I don’t want to let it get to me,” he assured you, leaning his head against your shoulder, “they don’t deserve to make me upset, it’s not worth it.”

“If it makes you feel any better, from where I’m sitting, you guys should have definitely won,” you joked, drawing a laugh out of him.

His lips pressed to the top of your head, “that certainly does make me feel better, as long as I’m a winner in your eyes at least.”

“You’re a winner in my eyes every single day Jin.”

Yoongi:

The expression on his face was blank, turning the television off as soon as their category was passed. “At least that’s one less thing to worry about.”

His dismissive attitude took you by surprise as you watched him closely. “Just like that? Aren’t you sad that you’ve not got your Grammy?”

His head shook back at you, “why should I be? It doesn’t matter, we don’t need a Grammy anyway.”

“You’ve dreamt of getting a Grammy Yoongi.”

“I used to,” he sighed.

Your eyes closed as he moved back across the bed to lay beside you. “I know there’s been a lot of drama and hurt between you guys and the Grammys, but it was still your dream don’t forget.”

“Like the fans always say, the Grammys needed us tonight, and if we’ve not the award, then I don’t care about it,” he tried to assure you.

“I’m going to trust in you in that case,” you frowned, still not quite convinced, “but just know that you still have years to chase your dreams.”

He nodded his heard at your advice, “most of my dreams have already come true, one failing really isn’t going to be the end of the world.”

“Don’t give up on it just yet, you never know Yoongi.”

Hoseok:

His footsteps were slow as he allowed you to drag him through the dorm and into his bedroom where his awards sat. “Why have you brought me in here?”

You pointed to the many trophies that were on his shelves, “because I want you to see that one award doesn’t change how amazingly successful you are.”

His eyes flickered across them all, “I know you’ve brought me here to try and get me to feel better.”

“Of course, because I don’t want you to be upset.”

“I’m not,” he argued.

Your head shook instantly at his defensive response. “You’ve barely said a word all night, when you’ve lost categories before you’ve never been this hard on yourself, and I know it’s because it’s a Grammy.”

“Who wouldn’t want a Grammy?” He propositioned, “all of us let our heads get too big after we got nominated and guessed we’d win.”

“You didn’t get too big at all,” you sighed, taking a hold of his hand, “every artist has to back themselves, no matter the occasion.”

His eyes met yours as you glanced across at him, “I guess we have done well for ourselves throughout the years, without the Grammys.”

“You’ve done incredibly well, don’t be hard on yourself.”

Namjoon:

As you watched Namjoon walk around the room, you could tell he was keeping it together for everyone else. As he walked over to you, he knew you were watching. “I’m fine.”

Your head shook, encouraging him to sit down at your side. “Stop trying to smile through your frustrations for the sake of everyone else Joon.”

His eyes closed for a few moments, “I’m fine, really, I have to be strong for all of the others too.”

“That’s where you’re wrong Namjoon.”

“Am I?” He frowned.

Your head nodded instantly at his question, “no expects you to be the leader all of the time. Tonight, has been tough on you all, I think everyone here could understand if you were gutted.”

“I don’t want to be gutted though,” he continued to vent, “I have no reason to be gutted over something that really is so small in our careers.”

“The Grammys are huge, don’t try and deny it,” you frowned, “you’ve said it yourself that it’s bigger, not just for you as BTS either.”

He glanced across to look at you, “maybe the world isn’t ready for us just yet, or the critics, other artists, I just don’t know.”

“Well, they’re the ones who are missing out.”

Jimin:

He made no attempt to hide the frown on his face when he realised that they hadn’t won, glancing across at you. “I can’t say I’m surprised to be honest.”

You smiled weakly across at him, “I can tell that you’re disappointed Jimin, there’s no need to brush it aside as if it’s all nothing.”

He shrugged, “of course, I’m slightly disappointed, maybe we just hyped ourselves up too much.”

“I don’t think you guys did that at all.”

“You don’t think?” He asked.

Your head nodded, moving into his side, “everything pointed at you guys as the winners, I don’t really get how you’ve not won either. I didn’t think that any of the songs could compare to yours.”

“I think that’s why I’m so confused,” he admitted, leaning against your head, “we’d ran away and thought we had it in the bag from all the charts and data.”

“Maybe there’s something they do that you guys just don’t know about,” you suggested, trying to pick up his mood, “otherwise it makes no sense.”

A loud groan of annoyance came from him, “I don’t care anyway, if they think that the other songs are better, then I think that they’re wrong.”

“They’re definitely wrong, they don’t see how talented you are.”

Taehyung:

His head nodded as he appeared back in his bedroom where you were sat waiting for him. “Oh, well,” he sighed, taking a seat on his bed beside you.

Your arm snaked carefully around his waist, “how are you feeling about it all?” You asked, smiling as he shrugged back at you.

He let go of another sigh, “we’ve got plenty of time ahead of us to still win a Grammy just yet.”

“You’ve got the whole world ahead of you.”

“Exactly,” he giggled.

You could tell immediately how proud he was trying to be in front of you. “Maybe this time the timing just wasn’t right, but I think a lot more people know of you now, even if it’s just a nomination.”

“We shouldn’t be letting our whole careers revolve around one award anyway,” he admitted, trying to keep himself composed, “there’s bigger things.”

“It would have still been nice,” you mused, running your hand through his hair, “but one trophy doesn’t represent who you guys are.”

His head nodded back at you, “you’re right, we’ve all got cabinets full of awards, missing out on one isn’t going to make too big of a difference.”

“You’ll get it one day, when the time is right for you.”

Jungkook:

As soon as you opened up your phone, you were unsurprised to see thousands of comments from the fans. “I’m guessing they’re not happy?”

You nodded back at Jungkook as he too glanced down at your phone, “they’re not happy in the slightest, and making their opinions well known.”

His smile grew, “I know that the army always has our backs, even if something doesn’t go our way.”

“You’ve still got a lot to be proud about.”

“I am,” he vowed.

You leaned across and pressed a kiss against his cheek, “the fans are still with you as well, so I don’t think you’ve got to worry about them either, even if they are a little angry right now.”

“Sometimes it feels like they care more than we do,” he acknowledged, “we’re alright about things, but it seems they’ve all taken it to heart.”

“That’s because they know how deserving the seven of you are,” you reminded him, “and you’re always winning with them.”

His head nodded in agreement with you, “one day we’ll be able to win a Grammy for the fans, and everyone who supports us.”

“I have no doubt in my mind that you will too.”

---

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bosspigeon · 3 years

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hurts like hope

Pairing: M!Detective/Mason Word Count: 3100 Summary: Detective Juniper Fenn tries to figure out just what the limit on his incorrigible hope is, and when he’ll finally be able to stomp it out.

Hello I Am Here With More Self-Indulgent Character Study Nonsense. For $8000 a month, I Will Stop.

CW for vague descriptions/references to sex

Nothing has ever hurt Juni like hope has.

He wouldn’t call himself an optimist by any means. He’d probably settle on “optimistic pessimist” if pressed, which means always expecting the worst, because at least then he’s either right or pleasantly surprised.

But in spite of that philosophy, there’s a stupid, naive part of him that won’t die, no matter how much it’s beaten down—his dumb, desperate hope.

He hoped doing the best he could in school, never getting into trouble, never arguing with Mum or making her feel guilty for leaving him behind would show her he was good enough to acknowledge in more than impersonal letters and distracted phone calls on major occasions.

He was always disappointed.

He hoped working a job he didn’t care about, that didn’t suit someone as soft-hearted and anxious as he was, would make him feel closer to the memory of his father, would make him feel like he was doing something good enough to make people care about him like they did Dad.

Disappointed again.

He hoped letting Bobby walk all over him, use him, and placate him with saccharine-sweet murmurs of “Oh, angel, you’re so good to me” would make him see Juni as more than just a convenience, a doormat and a stepping stone to bigger, better things that would always matter more than Juni’s ever mattered to anyone.

The repetition got exhausting, after a while.

When he meets Mason, he thinks he’s given up on hoping. At that point, he just wants something for himself. He wants to be selfish. He wants to be wanted, even if it’s just for a tumble or two. Even if it’s just because his stupid, special blood suddenly means he’s catnip for supernaturals. Even if it doesn’t mean anything.

I’m doing this for me, he tells himself when Mason’s touching him for the first time, when strong, calloused hands are dancing up his sides, and he tries to shrink away, suck in his gut, and Mason squeezes with a pleased little growl that makes Juni whimper. I’m doing something for me, for once in my fucking life.

The lights are off. They crashed through the door without turning anything on, but Juni knows Mason can see him just fine anyway, and he wants to squirm, wants to hide, but Mason distracts him with a very thorough kiss, his touches gentle until Juni responds positively, his sharp eyes picking him apart, like figuring out what the detective likes is the only assignment that’s ever mattered.

And then Mason calls him stunning, and he’s done for.

He’s sure that’ll be it. One and done, and Mason will forget all about the messy, bumbling detective now that he’s whet his appetite. It hurts to think about, it hurts to hope, so he doesn’t.

(That’s a lie. He does. He always does, because he’s stupid.)

He tries to bury the hope like he’s done before, but it’s no use. Every time Mason sits as close to him as possible without physically touching him, every time he gives him one of those long, smoky looks, every time he puts out a cigarette when Juni asks or just doesn’t light one at all, every time he touches Juni with a gentleness that feels almost reverent, like Juni is something worth treating carefully, it fights back harder, hopes louder. In just a few months, the vampire’s got Detective Juniper Fenn’s fragile little heart on a string, and he doesn’t seem to know it.

If he did, would he even care?

Juni gets his answer before long.

He’s only seen me naked.

He told himself he wouldn’t hope. He wasn’t hoping. He knows better. He should know better.

But he hoped, and it hurt, and it’s exactly what he deserves, isn’t it? Once bitten, twice shy, and all that, but Juni’s been bitten so many times, and he never shies enough for it to matter. He walks right on into the hurt with open arms, like a moth to a flame, to a fucking bug zapper, and just licks his wounds until the next flame comes along to reduce him to ash all over again.

When will he learn?

If nothing else, he’s resilient. It’s one of the few things he’s got going for him. He knows how to roll with the punches and pretend everything’s fine, because he’s been doing it since he was old enough to know crying for his Mum wouldn’t do anything but give him a headache. So he runs out of Haley’s in tears—she’s known him since school, so she knows he’s a crybaby and won’t tell a soul—but at least he knows how to calm himself down before he walks into the station. He plasters on a smile, cracks a few jokes, and everything’s fine and dandy.

And then Juni’s fucking ceiling explodes and his room floods, because nothing can go right in his life. At least it wasn’t some supernatural attack this time, he supposes. Small mercies.

Of course, it’s got to be Mason who greets him, when he’s soaked to the skin and covered in plaster, and still recovering from seeing Mr. Yu naked.

And Mason apologizes.

The hope he thought had finally, finally died the slow, painful death it deserved springs back to life in his chest like one of those inflatable clown punching bags. He wants to be annoyed, because an apology doesn’t mean a whole hell of a lot if you don’t even know why you’re apologizing, and it feels more like Mason’s blaming Juni for having feelings (stupid, stupid feelings) rather than actually taking accountability for causing hurt, but he’s an idiot, so of course he reaches out, takes Mason’s hand, and asks the dumbest question he’s asked in his life. And he still has to Google literally every odd sound his car makes, because the poor thing is held together with duct tape and dreams at this point.

“What does this mean for us?”

And he’s blown off again, and when the hope shrivels up this time, he wants to grind it into the dirt with his heel, salt the earth so nothing grows there again, because really, when is he going to fucking learn? He wonders how Mum just turns off her feelings, and if that sort of thing can be taught. He wonders if she’d make the time to teach him, now that she’s “trying.”

He wonders if Dad was as much of a raw nerve of a person as he is, but it’s not as if he can ask anyone about it.

"You two… One of you is going to have to make the big leap, and he has no idea how."

Felix has never been shy about needling Juni about his ridiculous and obvious whatever-it-is with Mason (calling it a crush seems as childish as it is reductive, since he doubts it can be called a crush anymore once you’ve, uh, had sex) but this time it comes out... Softer. Gentler. Definitely annoyed, groaned out with a hearty eye roll, as if the two of them are personally responsible for all of Felix’s woes, but still... kind. Kinder than he expected, and that is enough to throw him off for Felix to leave him behind before he can even shake him and ask him what the hell that’s supposed to even mean.

No idea how?

Mason’s confusion when he apologized strikes a new chord, suddenly. Mason doesn’t know how he fucked up, just that he did. In a normal circumstance, with a normal guy, Juni would assume he was just being a dick. Of course he didn’t do anything he saw as wrong, he’d just be apologizing to get back into Juni’s good graces—and also his pants. It was certainly Bobby’s MO.

But these aren’t normal circumstances, are they? And Mason’s not a normal guy.

Juni doesn’t want to think about what he saw in the mirror at the carnival, but if he were any good at not thinking about things that upset him, he wouldn’t be in this mess. He squeezes his eyes closed and shakes his head, trying to clear it of the splashes of red, of the screaming, and he swallows until he can calm himself down.

At least he can distract himself with drumming up signatures for the blood drive. He thinks he can. But Mason is there, and he’s distracting, aloof and unamused and annoyingly gorgeous, and Juniper Fenn never professed to be a terribly strong man. There’s a gut-deep urge that draws him to the vampire, an itch under Juni’s skin to get close, poke at that sneering facade and see the softer bits underneath.

Juni’s seen so many of those softer bits, far more than he thought he could ever get when he tumbled into bed with Mason for the first time. He honestly expected to be ignored entirely once he gave him what he was after in the first place, but instead he was given little fragments of something more, and sentimental idiot he is, he’s been hoarding them and trying to cobble together something from the scraps he’s been given. So he drifts closer, pulled helplessly into Mason’s orbit, and he doesn’t even know what to say, so he just laughs awkwardly and needles Mason about not helping.

Which… works, somehow?

It doesn’t exactly go where he’s expecting it to go, conversation-wise, and he’s left reeling with Mason’s stark, shameless honesty. There’s something that warms him, knowing that the vampire seems to, if nothing else, respect him, in his own way? That anyone, much less someone as difficult to impress as Mason, thinks he’s good enough? Not just good enough, but ‘better than pretty much anyone’ he knows? Juni’s known Mason long enough at this point to understand some things about him, and one of the most obvious is how loyal he is. Loyalty is everything to Mason, and he’s fiercely protective of those that have earned it.

Juni’s fingers are slack enough with surprise that Mason can take the board from him and wander off to frighten the general populace into signing up for the blood drive, and Juni is left with his heart fluttering in a very damning way.

Don’t be an idiot, he tells himself fiercely, shaking his head as if that will rid himself of the pointlessly painful affliction he’s tried for years to shrug off. Just because he likes you as a person doesn’t mean he wants anything else with you.

Whatever weirdness still lingers between the two of them, Unit Bravo’s company makes what would have been a really boring, lonely task actually pretty fun, between Felix dancing around and chatting happily at any citizen of Wayhaven drawn into his orbit, Adam and Nate working together like a well-oiled machine to collect and transfer signatures, and Mason looking genuinely confused whenever someone is brave enough to weather his thunderous expression for the chance to chat with him, however briefly.

It’s nice to be with them all, and their comfortable rapport and playful banter makes it surprisingly easy for Juni to brush his confusing feelings aside and just be, for a while. At least until the banter halts sharply, and every eye is looking over his shoulder. “Hello, angel.”

Juni closes his eyes and stiffens, jaw clenching as a shudder ripples through him. No, no, no, not him. Not today.

Juni's relationship with Bobby was never terribly comfortable, but he’s always been something of a boiling frog cautionary tale. Bobby is not the sort of person who ever turns off the persona. He was rarely ever just Bobby, and Juni knows that hasn't really changed. While they dated, even when they were dumb kids, Juni was always stuck in the shadow cast by someone so desperate to stand in a spotlight they stepped on everyone they claimed to love in order to feel even a shred of that artificial warmth. Juni supposes he wasn’t much different, only the artificial warmth he craved came from Bobby.

He has no idea why Bobby is still so hung up on him. Juni always got the feeling he was never more than the road of least resistance to Bobby. He was easy. Low-maintenance. Didn’t kick up a fuss over being talked over and ignored, because not only was he used to that sort of thing, he was just so grateful to be anyone’s anything, he’d let the man get away with murder just to keep that illusion of happiness.

“What the hell did you just call him?” Mason snarls, stalking to Juni’s side. Juni’s trying to keep calm, trying not to turn into a complete disaster of a person under the sudden stress, but his fluttering awareness of the vampire is crashing into his shrieking fear of confrontation and turning into a messy cocktail that he knows all four vampires can sense. Vaguely, and a little frantically, he wonders if he just smells like anxiety all the time, if anxiety has a smell. It probably does.

“I… always call him that.”

He does, always has, and back when Juni was blindly obsessed with everything he pretended Bobby was, he convinced himself it was cute. Looking back, it always felt sleazy and fake, but Juni’s a master of nothing more than he’s a master of ignoring his own discomfort.

“Not anymore you don’t.” Mason takes another step forward, and for a moment Juni’s terrified he’s going to start a goddamned brawl in the middle of the square. There’s a mean little part of him that wouldn’t completely hate that, but thankfully that’s outweighed by the sensible part that knows he’d be the one stuck dealing with the aftermath. He’s reaching out to try and stop Mason from escalating things further when Adam, thankfully, intercedes.

And then Mason returns to Juni’s side, and a strong arm slips around his waist and hauls him close. His heartbeat goes crazy, and he can only be grateful that none of Unit Bravo are telepathic, because he’s sure his brain is making godawful dial-up noises. It’s a struggle to maintain politeness, but he does his best. Bobby, at least, seems to realize now is not a good time to try and pick at Juni’s defenses, with four government agents backing him up, one of whom has a possessive arm looped pointedly around him.

"Just because he's being polite, doesn't mean he wants you here.” Well, Mason’s greatest skill is reading people, and he’s probably figured out that Juni’s go-to defense mechanism is to pretend everything is fine and dandy and smile, smile, smile no matter what. Still, his protectiveness (if that’s what it is?) makes Juni’s stomach squirm. Mason’s almost baring his teeth at Bobby, who hopefully will not notice that his canines are a bit sharper than a normal human’s should be. “So piss off.”

Thankfully, Bobby is the sort of person who doesn’t like to start fights he’s not sure he can win, so he leaves with, of course, a sleazy parting shot that makes Juni shudder. He really, really hopes Bobby doesn’t find him when he’s alone. He’s got enough mental stress on his plate at the moment, thank you very much, Bobert.

He tries not to make a sad little noise when Adam ushers them back to work, which means Mason pulls away from him, but he’s not sure how successful he is, given the long look he gets from those smoky grey eyes. He throws himself into the work of cleanup to avoid anymore uncomfortable conversations, because he thinks he’s exceeded his quota for the day.

Of course, he thinks that, but he never knows when to quit, and he winds up sidling up to Mason again, fueled, once again, by hope.

He wants to smack himself with a rolled-up newspaper.

What’s the definition of madness, again? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result? He wonders if Mum still has his old therapist on retainer. He bets she’d have a field day with whatever the hell he’s doing now. She’d probably be able to retire with the royalties from a paper picking apart his myriad neuroses and subtle self-destructive tendencies. Maybe he should ring her. Someone deserves to profit from his ridiculous inability to take a bloody hint, and it’s certainly not going to be him.

But, God, Mason’s hands are on him, tugging him in, and he’s helpless under that stormy stare, he had not a chance in hell to resist, not when Mason is being soft, and open, and what the hell does any of this mean?

Juni sometimes wishes he’d resisted when Mason first started teasing him, turned him down, tried to keep things professional and friendly rather than stumbling all over himself at the first sign of interest. He wouldn’t mind at all if Mason just wanted to be friends, because at least then he could still be close, still bask in the steadfast loyalty and companionship of a man who would take a bullet for any one of his team—his family—and Juni could keep his heart intact. But he knows without a doubt he never stood a chance. So he sinks into the attention, leaning into it like a flower towards the sun, bares his soft throat and softer heart and hopes against hope he won’t be torn open and left to bleed.

It’s never gone well for him before, but optimistic pessimism and all that. He’ll either get exactly what he expects and deal with the painful consequences like he always has, plastering on a smile until he can go cry alone and listen to sad music to remember how to face the world again, or the battered, bruised hope that won’t fucking die will finally, finally be rewarded.

Mason’s smile when Juni pitifully asks “That’s it?” leaves him breathless and dizzy in a way just a smile has no right to, but it’s so warm, so open and sweet, it blindsides Juni when he’s already weak. He’s completely helpless. Absolutely done for. Nate’s disapproval is hardly a blip on the embarrassment radar, because Juni is floating.

And, as if Mason isn’t satisfied with just completely rendering him a puddle, he hops off the table with a quick peck on the cheek and saunters off to clean up, leaving Juni’s scrambled thoughts to chase themselves around in a circle. It was just a chaste little kiss. It shouldn’t even mean anything.

Of course, to Juni, it means everything.

For once, just once, without mentally whacking himself with a broom, Juni tentatively allows himself to hope.

#the wayhaven chronicles #specialist agent mason #specialist agent m #twc fanfic #twc detective #pidge writes #oc: juniper fenn #HERE IT GOES HERE IT GOES AGAIN #this one technically comes before the other one ive posted #i just posted that one first bc of the way things appear on tumblr #so you hit this one first and then that one #that makes sense right?#hhhhhh anyway here's some more character study nonsense for juni #bc thats where im at i guess #its all v long and disjointed but thats what my brain is doing so uh #¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

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sophieakatz · 3 years

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Thursday Thoughts: My Top Ten Muppets

Listeners of NPR’s Pop Culture Happy Hour recently cast their votes to rank the best Muppets – an impossible decision, really. And yet, once the top ten list was read aloud on the podcast, I found myself completely unsurprised. It’s a list that made sense, a list of safe bets. It’s also an incredibly Muppet Show-heavy list, even though the competition was open to Muppets of all properties, including Sesame Street and my beloved Dark Crystal. The full top 25 list, available here, reveals that a few Sesame Street Muppets ranked in the teens, but still. We all know the top ten is where it’s at, and this top ten was neither creative nor representative. It struck me as a list of popular Muppets, not a list of the best Muppets. Most of my favorites weren’t on that list at all!

So, here’s my take on the ten best Muppets – and because I don’t believe in objective Muppet rankings, I want YOU to reblog this post and tell me your favorites!

10. Swedish Chef

The Chef came in ninth on NPR’s rankings, and I gotta be honest, I’m on the same page with them on this one. Maybe it’s the fact that when he comes onscreen, there’s no way to predict how the sketch will end. Maybe it’s the bizarreness of human fingers on Muppet arms – and knowing that those arms indicate a frankly superhuman feat of teamwork going on under the table. Maybe it’s just the Popcorn video, which always brightens my mood. Whatever it is, the Swedish Chef is definitely tenth best.

9. Fozzie Bear

I like Fozzie. He’s an underdog, never giving up in his pursuit of fame and audience acclaim. And even though his whole shtick is that he can’t succeed – Statler and Waldorf always get bigger laughs during his bits – he objectively has succeeded, because he’s still around and making us laugh after all these years.

What puts Fozzie in the top ten for me, though, is that I genuinely find his jokes funny. Honestly. I really do. So maybe Fozzie Bear sketches don’t really work for me, but Fozzie Bear himself does.

8. Rosita

I mentioned my disappointment before in the “official” ranking’s lack of Sesame Street characters. Sure, the cast of The Muppet Show has had a notable cultural impact, but it would be a disservice to Muppetkind if we ignored the impact of their friends on Sesame Street.

I could never forget Rosita. She’s not the most popular Muppet; she’s never had a super catchy song or a roll-on-the-floor-laughing one-liner to rival the others’ success. But her “Spanish Word of the Day” segments have a permanent spot in my memory. She’s sweet, she’s sincere, and she’s an excellent friend to her more famous fellow Muppets. (And as a bilingual Muppet, she’s really hecking important – there’s an episode where she deals with some kids making fun of her accent, and it’s equal parts heartbreaking and heartwarming!)

7. Rowlf

While other Muppets have one-note personalities – see number 10 on this list above, and number 5 below – there’s also Muppets like Rowlf. He’s not an “Anything Muppet,” by any means – he’s a character in his own right – but Rowlf is a dog who rises to any occasion. He sits at the piano to bring both beautiful classical pieces and hilarious parodies to life, and it’s all music to my ears. He can be the Straight Man to more chaotic Muppets’ antics, but just one clip of “Veterinarian’s Hospital” proves that he’s got enough silliness in him to take center stage.

And all the while, no matter what role he’s playing, he’s still that chill dog I adore – calm and adorable, with that round black nose, those big fluffy paws, and those floppy ears just begging to be scratched.

6. Deethra

As much as I love the original Dark Crystal film, the Netflix prequel series Age of Resistance has one big thing going for it: its characters. The protagonists of this show draw me in and make me care, quickly and continually. And best among them all is Deet. Deethra the Gelfling – small and beautiful, kind and powerful. She cares wholeheartedly about the world around her, and that care begets a wisdom that balances out her naivete in fascinating ways.

Muppets are so often silly, and we love them for it. But Deet embodies the Muppets’ potential to tell a serious story, a potential we would be remiss to ignore.

5. Animal

Oh my god, Animal. If you want to talk about the sheer silliness of Muppets, you need to talk about Animal. There’s just no way around it. He’s loud – in both sound and color scheme. And he’s absolutely bonkers. I know every drummer has an Animal in them, and it’s likely that all humans do. We’re just not all comfortable with letting him out to play.

That’s what’s so great about watching Animal do his thing. He has no inhibitions; he is freedom, he is chaos. And he lets me feel a little freer by association.

4. Hup

I talked a bit about underdogs in the Fozzie Bear section above. There’s an essay to be written about the Muppet as underdog; it’s an essential Muppet quality. Muppets are characters you logically wouldn’t expect to succeed, but they persevere, nonetheless.

Hup is the underdog of Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance. He’s the Podling who wants to be a paladin. Dear god he’s adorable, dear god he’s funny, and dear god do you root for him (and his spoon) to save the day! Of all the characters in this show, he feels the most Muppety – and that’s why he’s higher on the list than Deet. He’s still a serious character in a serious story (when he cries… my goodness), but he’s got that classic Muppet spirit to him.

3. Elmo

You know, I just don’t get why Elmo gets such a bad rap. Is it that people think he’s annoying? Sure, he is! Muppets are objectively annoying characters – they all are. Yes, even the one you’re thinking of right now. But I fricking love Elmo. He’s joyful, he’s spirited, and he’s exploring the world around him in that carefree way only a child can – and he brings you along on that adventure! “Elmo’s World” is your world. “Elmo’s Song” is your song. Elmo’s laugh is fricking infectious. And yeah, I’m probably biased by nostalgia (my dad’s Elmo impression cracks me up to this day), but Elmo is a darn good Muppet and he deserves our respect and admiration.

2. SkekSil

On a completely different note… let’s talk about the Chamberlain. There aren’t really that many Muppet villains. There are plenty of Muppet henchmen, providing comic relief for a human actor who isn’t supposed to be seen as that much of a threat anyway. The Skeksis of Dark Crystal are a notable exception, and SkekSil, better known as the Chamberlain, stands out among them. He is evil and he is smart. I hate him, and at the same time, I am fascinated by him. He knows what he wants and how to get it, even though he’s nowhere near as strong as the other Skeksis. He is, in his own way, an underdog. He believes in himself, and he wields that confidence as a weapon, calmly explaining to his enemies why they should do what he wants. You just can’t look away. He’s an amazing character, embodying the dark side of Muppethood.

1. Cookie Monster

When my mom first shared that episode of Pop Culture Happy Hour with me, in which the hosts talked about their favorite Muppets, I first thought, “How could you decide?” And then Stephen Thompson said his favorite was Cookie Monster, and I shouted “YES!!!” out loud. Because he’s right – Cookie’s the best.

Cookie Monster is eternally funny, whether you’re five or fifty-five. Everything that comes out of his mouth is pure gold (“Why me not get royalties?”) He’s got the best songs – not only the classic “C is for Cookie,” but also “Me Want It (But Me Wait),” “Me Am What Me Am,” and the “Healthy Foods” rap. All the stuff I love about other Muppets on this list – the unpredictability, the ability to fit into any role a sketch requires, the lack of inhibitions, the confidence, the chaos, the unexpected moments of wisdom – he’s got it all. He’s irreplaceable, he’s lovable, and he’s the top of my Top Ten Muppets list.

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imagine-that-one-thing · 4 years

Text

Her Majesty. || 6

♔♔♔

The Country Side.

I stand at the wooden fence, watching as a trainer is leading my horse, preparing it for some light exercise to keep her in excellent form.

I rest my arms on the wooden fence and watch in awe as my horse gracefully leads around with the trainer on this early and rather a crisp morning. It is a nice change of weather to finally feel a bit of coldness after having such intense heat in the last few weeks.

The palace has been hell since the horse races the other evening, Henry contrived to stir a lot of predicaments, particularly between my father and I. Somehow, the whole debacle with Henry was turned into being my fault. The media have been stationed outside the palace gates, waiting for some sort of story to mould, and online the media hasn’t exactly bestowed me any mercy. I definitely produced headlines, but not in the way my father had anticipated. My new budding romance has turned heads and now has the title of ‘The Monarch might be in the hands of an unsteady King and Queen.’

I haven’t heard from Henry since that evening, and I don’t want to hear from him. I am hoping that my Father manages to kick Henry to the curb and annihilates the tabloids and everything going on. But since my Father so graciously announced the relationship at the garden party and allowed our media team to release a story to the publishers, we are screwed until the media team can obtain a new story to leak.

Being inside the palace with my father at this time is awful for everybody, even the staff are attempting to discover ways to hide out and keep away from him. He is on a warpath. Two people have been fired and my mother has had to overrule him and hire back the staff.

I don’t understand why my father is so enraged, after all, he is the one who leaked stories to the press about me being away with a boyfriend in Hillsborough when he knew I was not. He went behind my back and painted a misleading picture for the media to dwell in, and now that his picture has streaks running through it, he wants to be deranged. He should have picked a better prince, or he should keep things out of the media. My relationships should be private. My life should be private, instead, my life is a matter of privileged information for anyone who works for the media.

I hear the rustling of grass and the sound of a few hushed coughs. I turn around to observe Harry wandering closer to me with a light jacket on. “I’m sorry, I know I am late,” Harry informs me as he is within distance for me to hear him.

Harry is never late. It’s very rare for him to be late even if it is just to accompany me around the palace to make sure I’m guarded.

I shake my head and grant him a smile, “It is okay,” I assure him, taking note of how dark his under eyes are and how his hair is a little slovenly but not in a bad way. “Are you okay?”

Harry nods, “Just exhausted, I overslept.” Harry clears his throat, “I’m sorry, I’ll make up the time.” Harry has always been immaculate with time and on occasions he misses time, he makes up for it in overtime. It is like he never gets a break.

“You’re sick,” I point out the obvious.

Harry shakes his head, “I’m fine.”

“You were out in the rain while holding my umbrella and —“

Harry cuts me off, “Anna, I’m okay, relax,” Harry assures me, “Just a little under the weather, not your fault.”… “So, I’m surprised to have found you here, has your horse sparked an interest?” Harry questions and I can’t help but chuckle and softly smile.

I can’t deny the fact the horse has sparked an interest. I am more so out here to hide out from my father. I am doing everything possible to not cross paths with him. He is too busy to step outside the walls of the palace, so right now, watching my horse is my safe haven.

“You ready to give it a chance, my darling?”

I shake my head, “I don’t know how to ride and I’m … well... horses scare me.”

Harry chuckles to himself and shakes his head at my comment, “I’ll teach you.” Harry responds.

“You can handle horses and ride?” I question, unsure of where all of this is coming from.

I have never once seen him ride a horse or get anywhere near the horses. Then again, what he does in his downtime I am not quite sure on. He doesn’t get much downtime so I just assumed he had no life outside of being my bodyguard, which is wholly ignorant of me.

Harry nods his head, “I can do many things, Anna…” Harry trails off with a cough, fighting to get his sentence out thoroughly.

“You never told me you owned a horse or that you can ride.”

Harry lifts his shoulders into a shrug, “You never asked. Would you like to ride, Anastasia?” Harry offers as he gestures towards the horse trainer. “Come on,” Harry encourages me as he begins to ascend over the wooden fence with such ease.

Something tells me he grew up in the countryside. I’m sure he has mentioned it before but he hasn’t discussed too much about his childhood. I’m starting to wonder if it had anything to do with horses.

I step up and climb over the wooden fence just as the trainer brings Meadow to Harry. Harry smiles politely and takes the lead rope of the horse and begins to speak softly to the animal, his right hand petting its neck while he stands right in front of the horse with ease and confidence. “That’s a girl,” He praises her before he motions for me to move closer. “Come here, she won’t hurt you,” Harry encourages me, reaching out and tenderly taking my hand and drawing me closer to him. “Just speak softly and put the back of your hand close to her nose so she can smell you and get a sense of you,” Harry instructs and I do as he says.

After a few moments, I benevolently pet Meadow, trying my best to overlook the fact that she’s a lot bigger than what I am and that at any given moment she can decide to run Harry and me over.

There are a lot of what if circumstances. A horse has a mind of its own and there’s no telling how long a horse will be obedient for.

I have witnessed people fall off horses, I have seen people being bucked off horses and I have noticed horses suddenly lose their mind due to the impromptu racket of a car backfiring. Anything can happen at any given time.

“The saddle is right over there,” Harry gestures towards my mother's saddle, his voice raspy and hoarse, “I can saddle her up and I’ll walk her around.”

I shake my head, but Harry grants me his sweet smile, “It will be okay, take a risk. You said you wanted to be normal, this is normal Anastasia.” Harry informs me before he leads my horse closer to the saddle and I walk beside Harry.

♔

Harry places an arm around me and caresses a kiss to the top of my head before he helps me get on the saddle. I take a breath and I glance down at him as he praises the horse for standing still. He looks up at me, “Just breathe, sweetheart.” Harry instructs.

“Harry—“

Harry cuts me off, well aware I’m close to panicking, “Hey, hey, breathe. I need you to breathe. I wouldn’t put you on this horse if I didn’t think she’d be fine.” Harry assures me. “Do you want me to help you off? I don’t want you to panic.”

“Promise you have her?”

“I promise.” Harry nods before he begins to lead the horse around slowly while I get the feel of being in the saddle.

When I was younger, this was usually as far as I could get, sitting in the saddle. Nobody could get me calm enough to be able to at least walk the horse around for me. While Harry leads me around, I can’t help but feel like a kid again. It was always nice to have my mother lead the horse while my Dad walked beside me with his hand on my back just in case.

Harry reminds me of the small details when it comes to horse riding, reminding me of how to hold the reins properly, and whatnot. It is slowly coming back to me. “Harry?”

“Yes, darling?” Harry stops walking and turns to look up at me.

“Do you… Do you think that she would let me just walk?”

“Without me leading? Yeah, she is a trained horse, would you like me to give you the reins fully?” Harry offers and I nod, “Are you sure?” Harry questions and I bite my lip, not entirely sure. I want to take a leap of faith and do something out of my comfort zone, but so much could go wrong. “I am not letting go unless you are one-hundred per cent sure.”

“Maybe not right now,” I chuckle, “Bit ahead of myself.”

“You know, you can always take lessons from the trainer.” Harry flicks his head to the trainer who is taking a small break and sitting on the fence.

“What do I have you for then?”

Harry lifts his shoulders, “Eh, you know, I am just here to take a bullet for you, no big deal,” Harry responds as he continues to walk the horse for me.

I smile to myself, noticing how the man beside me does so much for me outside his job description, he isn’t just a bodyguard or some other man. He is a genuine guy that loves me and does everything to show and prove his love to me, but somehow, it still isn’t enough for me to end the charade and the ridiculous narrative the royal family is creating. He may not have royal blood humming through his veins but he is the definition of a true prince. He doesn’t talk down to people, he doesn’t look at status, and always puts others before himself, especially me. He doesn’t think twice about helping others, and he would take a bullet for me without thinking twice, yet he isn’t deserving enough to marry someone like me— according to the list of royal rules.

Everything happens all at once and seems like a blur as the sound of Henry shouting powerfully reverberates around us.

“Give me back my horse, you thief!” Henry yells, catching me off guard and startling me.

My horse reacts negatively, and Harry does his best to calm the horse but Henry’s yelling makes this nearly impossible.

I hit the dirt and to my surprise, the horse doesn’t run off, she stands beside me as Harry lets go of the rope and rushes to my aid. I let out a heavy breath of pain and wince as I move in an attempt to get up.

The one time I take a leap of faith and feel comfortable on a horse, it is ruined.

“Don’t move, take deep breaths, Princess,” Harry instructs me.

I take a few deep breaths, and my heart is racing with adrenaline. I glance towards Henry who has jumped the wooden railing and seems to be showing no mercy for what he has done.

He is on a mission and doesn’t have any regard for anyone else or the safety of those around him.

I am not quite sure what his issue is, he left me at the Ascot and he is the one who gave me the horse, I didn’t steal her. I can afford my own horse and there are horses in the stable for me, I don’t understand his logic or need to be such an ass.

The moment Henry endeavours to march closer, Harry reacts, “You come any closer to her or the horse, it’ll be the last thing you do.” Harry warns Henry instantly, his pistol pointing directly at Henry while Harry continues to stare at me, his free hand assisting me to sit up.

I wince again, the unexpected impact still humming through me. I lean forward and rest my head on Harry’s chest and he caresses his left hand to rest on my back, rubbing comforting circles on it. There comes a time where the stern, stiff bodyguard drops his act and shows more emotion than usual. For a moment, I think about lifting my head off his chest and pulling away, fearful someone might get the wrong idea… Even though the wrong idea is quite right. Despite how things look, I don’t care. I want the comfort of Harry and the security of his touch.

Harry glances towards Henry who stands still with his hands up in the air, the only smart thing he has done lately. I didn’t think things with Henry could get much worse, but I was clearly wrong. I thought he had done enough damage at the event, clearly not. My Father is going to lose his marbles when he catches wind of this.

Moments later, we are swarmed by members of the security team and Matt takes control of Henry, enabling Harry to withdraw his pistol and put it back in its resting position.

“It wasn’t the horse’s fault or yours,” I inform Harry, well aware that his heart is beating just as fast as my own, I can only assume he regrets settling me on the horse. It was just the wrong timing.

Harry lets out a sigh of relief and extends away from me. He clasps his hands on either side of my shoulders, “Nothing is broken, where’s most your pain?”

“Right here,” I run my hand up my side, “Just a bruise, I’m sure,” I assure Harry, not wanting to have to deal with the entire palace going crazy over what has happened.

Nobody needs to fret over the Princess.

I am tired of everyone fretting over me and treating me like I am going to break the second I fall.

♔♔♔

Harry’s fretting, his mind is thinking of one-hundred different things and debating whether to increase security or to call for a doctor, he hasn’t moved from his position in the chair since I dozed off a little while ago. His fingers are tapping against his knee with his head bowed in defeat. This man never seems to stop worrying about me, even when there is nothing wrong, he still finds something. I am alive, I am fine and yet, here he is, fretting in the chair instead of getting in bed with me.

“How long are you going to sit there?” I distract Harry and he lifts his head.

He runs his fingers through his hair, “You should be asleep.”

“As should you,” I respond.

Harry nods his head and lets out a heavy sigh before standing to his feet and making his way closer to my bed. Harry sits on the edge of my bed and he brushes a few stray hairs away from my face, “It is two in the morning, your eyes are laced with pain, let me call you a doctor.”

I shake my head, refusing to allow him to bother the doctor. There is absolutely no need. This is not a life or death situation. “Harry, I’m just bruised, can we talk?”

“About?”

I carefully sit up and rest against the pillows and the headboard, “I’ve realised I don’t know much about your past, where you grew up and stuff. I don’t even know what you do in your downtime.”

“Anna, you need to sleep. I need to know you’re rested before I leave.”

“Before you leave?” I question with a raised brow.

Where is he going? Is he leaving permanently?

“Matthew has given me a few days off because I’m under the weather and because of Henry.”

I grow quiet for a moment, unsure of what to say. Harry having a few days off is highly rare.

Is it because of me?

Why is he leaving because of Henry?

“Where are you going?” I curiously inquire.

Harry smiles tiredly, “Back home where I’m originally from, the countryside.”

“Sounds lovely, can I come?” I challenge, forgetting my manners.

I can’t just invite myself to his hometown. That’s rude, but I’d love to see where he’s from. I’d love to know more details about him, the small things he has failed to tell me.

I want to see where he came from, what shaped him into the man he is. I want to meet his mother. Perhaps, his mother doesn’t know of me or wants to meet me.

“You… You really want to come?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

Harry clears his throat, “Well, my mother’s house isn’t a palace and we live—,” Harry begins but stops himself. “I’d love to take you with me. Get some sleep and I’ll see what I can do by morning, okay?”

“Really?”

Harry nods his head, “Really.” Harry leans down and kisses my forehead, “Get some sleep.”

♔♔♔

I wake up as I hear the squeak of my door and I’m greeted by my mother's warm smile. She shuffles towards my windows and draws the curtains back just enough to concede some light to enter the bedroom. I’d much rather continue sleeping, but the royal duties don’t wait on me. “I’ve spoken to your father,” she promptly begins, turning around to face me as I sit up in the bed.

“Is he still mad at me?”

My mother shakes her head, “No, he’s mad at himself for allowing Henry near you. Mathew spoke to us this morning, we think it’s best you get away from the media and Henry. The ladies will pack your bags, just get dressed. The car is waiting.” She’s very straight to the point with this morning's agenda, forgetting to tell me of the royal duties I’m meant to take care of.

Perhaps I’m off the hook for signing letters and reading mail for a day?

♔♔♔

I sit patiently in the car, tapping my foot as I anxiously wait for the vehicle to start moving. Matthew doesn’t seem to be speaking; he seems occupied with his phone, probably handling last-minute security issues as a row of eight blacked-out SUVs are lined up. I know what he’s attempting to accomplish. If there are so many cars as we exit, the media won’t know which to follow nor will they know who is in each car, it’s a lot easier to lose unwanted followers this way.

The other passenger door opens and Harry slides in, wasting no time with letting out a heavy sigh, “Everything is set, you can go ahead,” Harry informs Matthew who wastes no time with implementing the plan that has been devised. “Hey, Anna.” Harry leans over and kisses my cheek and Matthew begins to drive.

“Hey.” I greet with a smile. “How did you pull this off?” I softly question. Within just a few hours, Harry has somehow managed to make my wishes come true. A two in the morning conversation seems to have worked in my favour, this is rare.

“Security wants to keep you safe, the publicist wants to keep you out of the media and do damage control, so we came up with a plan.”

“That involves whisking me off to your home town?”

Harry shakes his head, “We would do no such thing… We are taking you to a remote area that’s entirely safe where the media wouldn’t even think to look for you,” Harry winks. “Also known as my home town. You have the weekend to be normal, don’t make me regret this.”

I grow quiet for a moment, the thought of being normal suddenly stroking me as scary. I don’t remember the last I left the palace without a strict routine set in place, I don’t remember being able to go somewhere where I could be normal.

“Yes, don’t make me regret this, my ass is on the line. That means no falling off horses, no fainting, no speaking to strangers, nothing. I can’t stress this enough, one wrong move can send this to shit.” Matthew informs me, making it known that he is doing something that he shouldn’t be doing.

I know this isn’t entirely protocol, they are doing me a favour to keep me happy but also to keep me safe. This is a win-win situation that I don’t stumble across very often.

“I understand.”

“Anna, if you feel unwell or pain, you have to tell me. If you feel unsafe, you have to tell me. If something happens on my watch away from the palace, when your parents haven’t ordered this, I’m fucked.” Harry is stern with how he speaks, a clear indication he’s concerned. I don’t blame him for being stern but at the same time… What could possibly go wrong?

I don’t blame him. He has the life of the future Queen quite literally in his hands, this isn’t like the usual outings. I won’t be on Royal property; I won’t have the media around us or following us, I’ll be off the grid— I’ll be free.

“I get it, Harry,” I nod my head, understanding his concern. “We will be like normal civilians.”

Harry nods, “The best we can, yes.” … “I need to warn you, we don’t have palace staff at my mother's house, and I didn’t grow up in a castle.”

“Harry, that’s perfectly fine. I’m not a stuck up Princess,” I mutter, unsure of why he seems to think I expect a palace life out in the countryside. I don’t want the palace life, I want normal.

Harry shakes his head, “I’m just making sure you know it’s a small house, nothing fancy.”

♔♔♔

Harry’s pov.

I have wanted to bring Anna to the countryside for quite a while, the idea of her meeting my family has played on my mind but I never thought we’d make it happen. We don’t have a typical relationship and she isn’t an ordinary girl.

How does one bring home a future Queen?

I take Anna’s bags and I give her a small smile as she looks at the house I grew up in. I know it’s far from Buckingham palace but it’s home to me. She wanted to know where I came from, this is it.

“This is how the other half lives.” I grin, attempting to break the silence. I lean down and kiss her cheek before gesturing for us to walk up the cobbled pathway to the front door.

Anastasia appears hesitant, she has this aspect in her eyes that I have seen before. She usually has this look when she’s meeting new people, especially those of high power or new royals. I place the bags down and I tenderly take Anna’s hand with mine, “You okay?”

“Does— does she know who I am?”

I know what she’s referring to. I know that her head is plausibly racing with one hundred different thoughts. Meeting your partner's parents isn't always easy, even if you are the future Queen of England. “You’re Anastasia, the girl I’m in love with, that’s what she knows,” I inform Anna with a reassuring smile.

I don’t give Anastasia more time to panic, instead, I knock on the front door before I open it, taking Anna by surprise. I don’t think she has ever seen a front door unlocked, granted, I’m always having to unlock them for her and keep protocol. Once she enters this house though, all doors will be locked.

I step into my mother's house and for the first time in quite a while, I feel a weight lift from my shoulders. There’s a sense of calmness and relaxation that washes over me and I couldn’t be more thankful to finally be home.

Before I can call for my mother down the hallway, I observe her figure turn the corner and smile extensively at me, “Darling, finally. I was getting worried,” My mother hurries towards me and engulfs me in a hug before I can even put the bags down.

“Hi, Mum,” I chuckle, “I missed you too,” I grin, appreciating her warm embrace, even if my arms are stuck to my side with heavy bags while she has her own arms wrapped around me.

“It has been too long,” My mother lets me go, allowing me to breathe.

I nod my head, agreeing with her, it has been quite a while since I have been home, “I have someone for you to meet, Mum, this is Anastasia. Before you engulf her in a hug, be careful she fell off a horse yesterday,” I inform my mother so she doesn’t wrap her arms tightly around Anna. I know my mother well, she is a hugger and sometimes they aren’t always soft hugs.

“I am fine, Harry,” Anna murmurs, “It is really nice to meet you,” Anna beams towards my mother leaning in for a hug.

“Likewise, I have heard a bit about you… Do I need to... Uhm… curtsey?” My mother asks Anna.

“No,” Anastasia shakes her head, “I am just Anastasia, I am not a Princess. I’m just me, okay?”

“Okay, well welcome to my home. Harry will show you to the bedroom. I have sandwiches for lunch, I wasn’t sure what you ate. But for dinner, I do have a roast lamb ready for the oven. You do eat Lamb?” My mother questions. I can see she is somewhat concerned that her meal choices are not adequate enough for Anastasia.

“That sounds lovely. Thank you.”

I take Anna’s hand and I benevolently guide her through the house, giving her a short tour before I take her to my old bedroom.

She glances around my bedroom and appears intrigued by how my room is set up. Nothing has changed since I left it a few years ago. The covers are still the same, the blankets still sit at the edge of the bed, neatly folded and my books are still on the shelves. Nothing is out of order.

Anastasia encompasses her fingers over the spines of each book while she wanders past them, she cocks her head to the side to look over at me, “Extensive library,” She points out, “You really are a mystery. Are the ribbons yours?” Anastasia points towards the few ribbons on my shelf.

I place our bags down on the bed with a small exhalation, “Sort of.” I shrug.

I can’t take full credit for the ribbons, they are partially mine, partially the man’s next door. “I helped train the neighbours horses for a few events. He allowed me to have the ribbons on the horses I trained. The skill is all in him and the horses, not me.” I don’t want to take much credit. I’m not a professional. I got lucky with learning how to train a few horses and helped the old man next door.

“Oh my goodness,” Anna gasps, “Little Harry,” Anna coos, holding up a picture frame of a picture of my sister and me.

I roll my eyes at the photo and the fact Anastasia looks entirely thrilled by the fact I look so young. “Okay, enough of that,” I walk around my bed to her. I take the frame and place it down before I gently wrap my arms around her.

“Are you going to go through the rules again with me? Because if you are, I already know—” Anna begins, causing me to chuckle before I cut her off and caress my lips to hers.

“No,” I mumble against her lips before I draw away, “No more rules,” I shake my head, “I do want to tell you something though.”

“Mhm, what is it?”

“I love you,” I respond with a smile.

I do my best to tell her every chance I get. I don’t want her to ever be in a position to question my love for her. I do my best to remind her daily, but sometimes that isn’t plausible. For now, as she stays in the country with me, I will do my best to remind her each day that I love her.

Anna glances at me with her beautiful eyes and dainty smile, “I love you, too. Does your Mother have any rules?”

“Rules?” I raise a brow. I think the last time my mother set a rule for me was probably when I was sixteen.

Anna nods her head, “Does she expect us up at eight for breakfast? Does she want us in separate rooms?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” I sigh with a stifling laugh, “My mother doesn’t care when we get up, she doesn’t expect us at breakfast or lunch. She doesn’t care if we share a room as long as you’re comfortable. When I say we are laid back and normal, I mean that there are no royal rules. You can relax.” I inform Anastasia, “But, I do know she is about to feed animals, she might want me to help, want to come?” I offer, gesturing towards the door.

Anastasia happily nods, bounding towards my door before I can think twice. I can’t help but chuckle at her enthusiasm while I follow behind her.

♔♔♔

Anna’s eyes light up at the sight of the farm animals, and she glances at me with awe, “Anastasia, are you coming?” My mother calls and Anastasia smiles widely like a child at Christmas before she’s hurrying down towards my mother.

I stand at the fence, observing as she appears to be having the time of her life while surrounded by animals. I haven’t seen her this free in quite some time. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile this much besides when we’ve been alone. Seeing her free and in a normal environment shows me how much she’s constrained when it comes to her royal title. I wish I had the power to give her more free time to be a free spirit.

“Be careful, darling,” I grin towards her. She is adorable to me.

Anna rolls her eyes at me before paying attention to my mother, learning from her.

It’s strange to see how things have changed. Years ago, I would never have thought my Mum would be helping take care of the farm animals of our neighbour. But here I stand, on the opposite side of the fence for once, watching my mother feed the animals.

It feels nice not being the farmhand, I spent many hours and days feeding animals and fixing fences, I honestly hated having to do it, especially in the middle of a cold winter. There’s nothing rewarding about having to break the ice so the horses can have water in their troughs or having to fix a fence right before it’s meant to snow. What is rewarding, however, is a simple fact that it’s a task I know how to do. I know how to care for animals, I know how to train a horse and ride, and it’s something that I’ll always have. Plus, if it wasn’t for being a farmhand, I wouldn’t have ended up being able to have horses compete in the races.

The moment I glance down at my phone and let my guard down, I hear a gasp. Instantly, I look up and see Anna in the mud, “Anna!” I quickly climb over the fence but my mother stops me before I can get any closer.

“She’s fine.” She assures me and it takes me a moment to realise that Anastasia is giggling to herself as she sits in the mud. This is a part of being normal.

I step towards Anastasia in less of a panic and help her up, her giggles still filling the air. “I’m so sorry, I tripped over the goat.”

She looks so sweet and innocent, half covered in mud with a dainty smile, “Or maybe I tripped over myself. I’m not sure, but the goat is happy.” Anastasia chuckles, gesturing towards the bucket of feed that she dropped.

“You’re perfectly fine.” My mother assures her, “Is my son always like this?”

Anastasia nods, “He is.”

“Mum, it’s part of my job.” I interrupt, defending my constant observations and the fact that I may or may not have jumped a fence for no reason besides the fact Anna fell in the mud.

“In his defence,” Anna begins, “A lot of the time we are constantly watched and you never know what’ll happen.”

I nod my head, “Exactly. Let me take you to the stables, maybe you’re less likely to injure yourself there.”

I take Anna’s hand and lead her towards the stables, leaving my mother to do her part of the chores.

I know she’s not a fan of horses, and I know considering the events that have happened, she probably never wants to be near a horse again, but I know she deserves to know a little more about me.

“Does this pretty girl look familiar?” I question, leading Anna closer to one particular stable where my horse is standing, waiting for her feed before being able to run free in the paddock.

Anna takes a look from the distance, she cooks her head to the side and looks at me, “Looks like a horse.”

I chuckle and shake my head, “Of course. It’s the horse that won the race. She has been staying at your Mum’s stable but she was brought up here to be a horse for a bit. I don’t want her being raced to death.”

“Did you train her?”

“A little bit, I haven’t had much time to put much effort into her, that’s why I hired a trainer. Can’t be a farmhand or work with horses when I’m your security guard.” I respond.

Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t change being her bodyguard for anything, but sometimes it would be nice to have a little bit more time on my hands.

I catch Anastasia looking around and glancing over her shoulder, a look of concern written all over her face. I instantly narrow my eyes on her before I scan every inch of area around us. There’s no threat, none at all. “What’s the matter?” I question, diverting Anna’s attention back to me.

Anastasia shakes her head, but I know she’s lying, something is rattling around that beautiful mind of hers. “Anastasia, what is it? Why are you looking over your shoulder? Nobody is there.”

“I can’t help but sometimes wonder if Prince Henry could pop up.”

The sheer sound of his name causes my nerves to rattle. That prick doesn’t dare show his face around here ever again. He might be royalty but I’ll gladly knock him down a few pegs.

I step closer to Anastasia and I mildly grab her hand with mine, “He won’t come up here. He’d be stupid to even think of it. Let’s go back to the house, I have a few calls to make.”

Although I highly doubt Henry would know where we are, I can’t help but want to double-check everything. I need to call Matthew and find out where Henry is and what will be done about him. I’m sure the King has some sort of say in the punishment— if any. On top of that, I need to make sure the media have caught wind of where we are, I also need to make sure that damage control is happening. Anastasia’s media team is known to sometimes side with the King and as of now, I don’t think Anastasia wants her father in charge of what the media has to say about her and her relationships. I know Anna is still mad that her father leaked the story to the press on where she was in Ireland. He had his own intentions for it, whatever they may have been, it was wrong. I can’t always fix the situations this girl gets put in because of her title, but I will do my damn best for her. My job doesn’t just start and end at keeping her physically safe, it involves keeping her emotionally and mentally safe, it involves keeping her integrity and outlook nice and clean. I love her and I will do what it takes to make sure that she isn’t slandered and beaten down by whatever the world or media may have to say about her. I know she reads the media, as much as her father attempts to keep her away from social media, she reads it. She reads the articles that shed her in a good light but she also reads the articles that shred her to pieces. Anastasia thinks I don’t know about the nights she has cried over her title and the stress it causes, she thinks I don’t know about the nights she has cried over the harsh articles and the reality of her life. I see it and it breaks my heart.

The whole reason for bringing Anna with me is to keep her away from Henry for the time being and to keep her away from the firing media. I can only imagine the headlines that have been printed this morning.

I purposely stayed away from newspapers and the internet. Surely someone has managed to leak the story on how the princess fell off her stolen horse. I need to go through the articles and do damage control. Her media team is meant to be strategically planning something, but most of the time I’m the one hiding certain things and releasing new stories or being the anonymous tip.

♔♔♔

I stand on the back porch, gazing out into the open garden my mother has created in her spare time. I remember growing up, she always said how she wanted to have a beautiful blooming garden, a garden for her favourite flowers and a small area for her to grow fresh herbs to cook with.

Before I left for London a few years ago, I built her the small garden patch for her herbs, and I had all intentions of finishing the project but little did I know that I would end up with a bigger job than being a farmhand and helping maintain everyone’s gardens for a little extra money.

I press the warm cup of tea to my lips and enjoy the quietness of being out here, there are no media, there is no hassle and most of all there is little to no threat for Anastasia, I can let my guard down a little bit and relax.

The glass doors slide behind me, I look over my shoulder, expecting to see Anastasia with her sweet smile but instead, my mother offers me her charming smile.

“What are you doing out here?”

I turn around and fully face her. I lift my cup, “Just enjoying a cuppa. What are you doing?” I curiously question, unsure of why she has yet to wander off to bed or why she isn’t curled up on the couch with a new book.

“Thought I would talk to you for a minute.”

“What’s on that pretty mind of yours?” I ask.

My mother grows quiet and for a moment, my heart sinks, whatever is on her mind mustn’t be the best of things. “What is it, Mum? What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head and grants me a reassuring smile, “Nothing is wrong. She’s really lovely, and I like her.”

There it is… What’s running through her mind… Anastasia.

It brings me joy to see my mother smile at the thought of the woman I love. I wasn’t quite sure how my mother would react to Anna, not because of I thought Mum wouldn’t like her for her personality, but more so I wasn’t sure how Mum would appreciate her having a title.

“I like her too,” I chuckle, “But, that is obvious.”

I don’t think I just like Anastasia, I am pretty sure it is love.

“I see she loves you. Are you okay with everything that is happening? Are you okay?”

I grow withdrawn for a moment, my heartstrings drawing.

I am not okay with how certain things are. I despise the idea of Anna being with another man, even if it is fake. I hate the idea of keeping us a secret, but I knew what I was getting into when I first started to date her. I knew her life, I knew things wouldn’t be easy. She explained it all to me and I accepted things. I accepted that there would be bumps in the road due to her royal title.

I accepted her for who she is, I accepted that we would have a lot of struggles that aren’t easily fixed or explained.

“No, I’m not. But she comes first.” I flick my head towards the inside of my mother’s house. “I love her. I’ll do anything for her.”

“If you love her, why don’t you propose? I read in the tabloids all the time she needs a husband…”

“Not that easy, Mum. You know that. I can’t right now. I want too; I just can’t.” I trail off with a heavy sigh. She doesn’t just necessitate a husband, she needs a King. I will never be King. I don’t live up to the expectations of the Royal Family. I am nothing but a commoner.

I’m just a boy who grew up in the countryside; I’m just a man who attempted to make a living and somehow fell in love with a true Princess.

There is nothing more in this world I want than to be able to get down on one knee and ask her to be my wife. I picture our life together all the time; I imagine her planning a wedding, walking down the aisle and all the things we’d go through in life. I picture the way she’d fall asleep in our bed every night, how there would be no sneaking around and hiding things.

There would be no greater pleasure in my life than to be able to call her my wife and the future mother of my children. I want us to have a life together, but at the end of the day, she is the soon to be Queen and that changes things. It changes the picture of where I stand.

“You want to? You’ve thought about proposing?” My mother challenges me and I nod my head.

“Where is Anna?” I question, unable to see her through the glass doors but not wanting to chance anything.

“She went to your room, she is going to call the King,” My mother pauses for a moment and chuckles, “I can’t believe the King of England is being called from my house.”

I roll my eyes at my mother before I hand her my cup of tea. I pet both sides of my pockets down before I slide my hand into my left pocket. I pull out a small box and my mother’s eyes grow wide.

“You-You have a ring?” She stutters.

I open the box and show my mother the ring that I have been carrying around with me for a while. “For a while now. Just haven’t found the right moment. With everything going on, I don’t even think I should. I love her, I do. But I didn’t expect things to be so unconventional… I always thought I would ask my future wife’s father for his blessing, but what chance do I have to get the Kings blessing?”

“Oh, Darling.”

“It is respect to have his blessing… Plus, the King has to approve her marriage under the Royal Marriages Act of 1772. He won’t approve. I’m just another man in society.”

My mother rolls her eyes, “That is bullshit, Harry. For many reasons that is stupid. But unless both houses of Parliament object, you two can still get married. Even if her father says ‘no’ this is her decision. Is she going to let her father dictate her life forever?”

“Mum, you don’t understand. She is in line for the crown.”

“I know she is in line for the bloody crown, I know how it works. So what? It is a bloody crown and I think she would choose you over a damn thing that sits on her head.”

“It doesn’t—”

“It does work like that, Harry.” My mother cuts me off.

She has a point, to an extent, but things still aren’t that simple. It isn’t just a crown, it is a monarch, the whole country depends on her when she takes the crown.

“I can’t ask her to choose the monarch or me. I need to check on the guards outside.” I attempt to divert the conversation elsewhere before my mother and I get too far into a conversation that I can’t get out of.

My mother grabs my arm as I attempt to walk away, “Propose to her. I have never lead you wrong, she’s the one for you. Don’t let the monarch ruin it. A left-handed marriage in a monarch is better than a ruined love..”

I give my mother a nod of my head, dismissing the conversation before I wander around the side of the house and make my way to the two guards who patrol the outside of my family home just in case.

I play with the box in my pocket and contemplate the things my mother has said.

What if I do propose?

What if we elope?

Nobody would need to know, Anna could keep her title and crown without an issue… We could figure out the logistics later on down the road.

Perhaps my mother has a point.

I can either take things by the reins and go headfirst into life with Anna, and show her how much I truly love her, or I can let a monarch ruin us over age-old rules that need to change.

I may be nothing but a bodyguard but one thing for sure is I love her more than life itself. I put my life on the line every day to keep her safe. I don’t do it anymore because it is my job, I do it because I would take a bullet for the woman I love any day of the week. I would do anything to keep her safe. I would do anything for her.

She’s the one.

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gwynplaine89 · 5 years

Text

Paper hearts (A Fanfic)

Summary: You come home to a very sad Arthur but you always know how to make him smile.

Soft and sweet, no smut.

You hated Mondays. We all do. But it was more likely that you hated what Mondays represented, going back to routine and being away from Arthur for twelve hours a day. And just as you hated Mondays, you also hated Fridays, because on Fridays you worked longer hours at the diner and never came home before 10pm. It was the only day of the week that Arthur arrived at the apartment earlier than you did and even though he was very tired, he always waited up for you, usually watching the Murray Franklin Show. The other week days you liked to cook dinner together, it was something Arthur enjoyed. However, on Fridays you always left him something prepared so he could eat earlier and didn't need to wait until you came home. Today was one such Friday.

- Arthur!! I'm home!!- you announced as soon as you came in.

You felt particularly happy and you owed that happiness to the contents of the bag you carried in your hands. A small surprise for your Arthur.

He usually got up and ran out to greet you, even if he was watching Murray's show. Nothing was more important to him than you.

But today there was no reply and no greeting. You wondered if maybe he had fallen asleep, it was really very late. But as you walked past the kitchen, you saw that the meal you had left him was untouched. Arthur hadn't eaten. You left the bag in the kitchen and went straight to the bedroom. When you found him there, sitting in a corner of the bed, hugging his legs to his chest and resting his head on his knees, an awful sensation of anguish built up inside you.

He wasn't in a state of anxiety, he rather looked like he was in a trance. He was wearing his pajamas and his hair was quite a mess. His beautiful green eyes were open but they had an empty look. And when you noticed that the Murray Franklin Show was on and Arthur wasn't even paying attention, you worried.

You walked over and sat down next to him. You feared he might be sick and you put a hand on his forehead but he didn't feel warm.

It was nights like these when Arthur felt very sad. You noticed in the way his shoulders hung and in how quiet he was. Tonight was one of those nights.

- Arthur, honey, what's wrong?

You came a bit closer, cupped his face with your hands and kissed his nose. It was something he liked and it always made him laugh because it tickled. But today the effect was quite the opposite and as if it was a reflex, tears started to fall from his beautiful green eyes and ran down his cheeks.

- What is it, sweetheart?- you asked with a lump in your throat.

But Arthur remained quiet. You opened your arms and he just fell into them. He clung to your waist, burried his head in your shoulder and silently cried. You held him tightly and mumbled words of love into his ear. You didn't know what had happened but you could very well imagine.

- Don't cry, angel. I'm here. Everything's gonna be alright...

Several minutes went by like this until you felt his body relaxing in your arms and his breathing calming down.

- You wanna tell me what happened?

Arthur wiped his nose with his sleeve and without letting go of your body, he began to speak in a voice so soft you had to put up all your effort to understand what he was saying.

- I t-tripped while I was working...those shoes a-are so big. And the sign I was holding in my hands broke.

You stroke his back as he spoke.

- And when I got back, Hoyt started yelling at me in front of the others and they all made fun of me. He said he would take it out of my pay check.

- Did you get hurt?- you asked, very much concerned.

- No.

You hugged him to your chest and kissed the top of his head. You silently swore to kill Hoyt or at least to kick him in the nuts next time you saw him.

- It's OK, Arthur. You didn't do anything wrong. It was an accident and it happens to all of us. You know...today I broke a mug at the diner.

- You did?- he asked in surprise.

- Yes!- you lied.

It wasn't true but you wanted to make him feel better.

- It just fell and crashed on the floor. I'm very clumsy, too...

Arthur let go of his embrace and looked at your eyes, as if he was silently thanking you for that small comfort. You smiled, kissed his forehead and dried the remaining tears under his eyes. You took his hands in yours and noticed how cold they were. In your mind you cursed yourself for not being able to afford a fucking heater.

- Baby, you're cold.- you said getting up and headed to the living room. You found the blue sweater Arthur had left on a chair and brought it back with you.

- Come, let me put this on you.- you said and with much love you put the sweater on him and buttoned it.

Arthur looked at you with his sweet eyes that were still so sad and your heart could simply not stand to see him like this. You quickly changed into your own pajamas and got into bed with him, taking him in your arms once again.

- Hmmmm, I know how to make you smile...- you said all the sudden. - Close your eyes!-

Arthur did as you said and for a second you watched his beautiful eyelashes that gave him such a sweet look.

You always kept a box of chocolates locked in the drawer of your nightstand. It wasn't like Arthur shouldn't eat them. You just had to keep him from eating them all at once. It had happened the first time you came home with a whole box of chocolates you had gotten for Christmas at work. Arthur had been so excited, rarely did he get the chance to enjoy such luxury and he definitely had a sweet tooth. The poor thing, he hadn't been able to control himself, eating up a dozen chocolates and he had ended up with an upset stomach. You knew this would cheer him up right now and so you opened the drawer and placed the box in his lap.

Arthur opened his eyes and when he saw what you were offering him, he couldn't help but smiling with the joy of a small child.

- Choose one, baby.

- Oh, but... I'm not allowed to touch that box.- he reminded you.

Your heart melted away.

- You are allowed for tonight, sweetheart.

Arthur's eyes grew big at the sight of all those chocolates. You could tell he was having a hard time picking just one.

- You can have two.- you offered.

You felt pure bliss when you saw Arthur enjoying something so small and simple so much. Simple souls are happy with so little...

Arthur hugged you and kissed your cheek, leaving chocolate stains on your skin.

- Thank you.- he whispered.

- Hold on...I still have a surprise for you!!- you said, suddenly remembering the bag you had dropped off in the kitchen.

You came back with it, sat down again and handed it to Arthur. His curious eyes opened wide and he carefully opened the bag. His beautiful face beamed when he realized he was getting a present without it being his birthday or Christmas or any special occasion at all. He was getting a present for the simple fact that he was loved and never ever before you came into his life had anything like that happened.

His eyes were filled with happy tears when he unwrapped the book. Arthur loved books, especially children's books because they were sweet and easy to understand. Above all he loved stories that had animals as their main characters. They weren't cruel and they never had double intentions. They're just like Arthur, you thought to yourself, there's no evil in their hearts. That's why you had chosen this book in particular. Earlier, you had walked past a book shop and the colorful cover with animal drawings had immediately captured your eye. You didn't have much money but you put together all the tips you had received this week and bought it for Arthur. You knew he would like it.

His favorite part was when you read the stories to him. He loved the sound of your voice and the way you made a different voice for every animal. You always allowed him time to run his fingers across the drawings and when he asked you about the meaning of a word he did not understand, you always had the patience to explain it to him. You never read him a sad story, only those with a happy ending. And you loved to read for him. You could read him the same story ten times over and Arthur never got tired of it.

- Thank you...- said Arthur, touched by your generosity. - I don't deserve all these presents. I know they're expensive...-

- You deserve so much more, sweetheart- you replied.

You saw the look in his eyes and knew what he wanted to say and yet he didn't dare. After so long he was still shy to ask this of you.

- You want me to read it to you, darling?- you asked.

- Mhm- said Arthur, hugging your waist and leaning his head against your chest. It was his favorite position because it allowed him to look at the drawings as you turned the pages.

You received him in your arms, covered him with a blanket and kissed the top of his head, enjoying the smell and the softness of his hair.

- My sweet Arthur- you said - I love you with all my heart.-

You read and re-read the book three times over until Arthur's eyes finally closed and he fell asleep in your arms. It was so late.

Ever so carefully, you laid his head down on the pillow, Arthur softly moaning in his sleep at the loss of your embrace.

- Shhh, sleep baby. I'm right here. I'm going nowhere.- you whispered.

Then you pulled the blanket over his body, making sure he was warm and cozy and you watched him sleep for a while. How you wished you could always keep him safe like that, safe from the outside world and from all the pains of life. You couldn't. But at least for tonight you could provide him this much care and comfort and it mattered. Arthur was now soundly asleep, a soft smile drawn onto his beautifully thin lips. And you knew there couldn't be a bigger paradise than this, a small and run down apartment in the ugliest side of the city where, nontheless, lived two hearts that loved each other.

#fanfic arthur fleck

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lihikainanea · 5 years

Text

Guys. Guys. I uh....I got carried away. I’m almost sorry except....I’m not. This took on a life of its own and I just cannot deal.

I mentioned it in my previous post but originally, this portion was planned to be all smut because I was in A MOOD. But when I started writing it, I realized that I just...I really love these two and their dynamic, so more of that ended up coming out in this round. I’m a sucker for these hooligans and how sweet they are, I can’t wait to see what happens next wait shit I’m the author what the fuck.

Anyway, I have maybe one part left in this; I want to do a morning after. That being said, if you want more BFF!Bill then by all means, send me prompts. I can’t get enough of him either. I created him and that bish still fucks me up.

You know the drill, Parts 1 + 2, Part 3, and Part 4. Originally inspired by the nani ask to @ill-skillsgard thats over there in the first parts.

But listen, hey, I want you all to be safe here, so trigger warnings: there’s a brief mention of the date rape drug being slipped into her drink. Nothing happens from it, but it’s mentioned and I want this to be a safe space for you all.

If you think I missed a trigger, please, let me know. I don’t ever want anyone to be triggered by what I write because it lacked a proper warning.

Name’s Leilani, by the way. No it ain’t my real name. Pronoun is she. I’m angry smol human but on here I’m quite friendly.

Tags: oh god people asked me to tag them and I feel way too self-indulgent doing so??

*******

You almost wished he’d hurry up, be just a little more rushed in his movements. Not because you wanted the whole thing over with, not because you wanted something a little rougher, but because something fast and unbalanced on the pleasure scale was a lot more familiar to you. Too many men had poked and prodded at you a little too roughly and a little too soon, and while it had always been consensual, there was nothing that was pleasurable about the jackhammer, hurried pace that dominated the majority of your experiences. Men who skipped foreplay altogether, had little to no knowledge of female anatomy, men who were so scared you’d change your mind that they went fast, came first, and left right after.

The way Bill was savouring you, though, was driving you insane. You had never quite been with a man who made your pleasure his sole focus, who seemed to be enjoying giving you pleasure as much as you were enjoying receiving it. He took his time, and nothing in his movements was tentative. Every touch, every kiss, was something you could feel. It was confident, it was sure. It was gentle and kind but definitive in letting you know that he was exactly where he wanted to be right then. Everything he did lacked hesitation of any kind. His sole focus was on you, on making sure you were enjoying what he was doing. On making sure that you were finally getting the pleasure that, in his mind, you deserved every time.

But the pace, and his undivided attention, also made you feel vulnerable in a way you hadn’t anticipated. You had been vulnerable with each other before on so many occasions, sure. You weren’t afraid to be emotional, to be raw with one another. You were the one who put Bill back on his feet after his girlfriend--the first girl he fell so, so hard for--broke his heart and left very suddenly. He had been a mess for weeks, not eating, not sleeping, spending days in bed in a catatonic state. You had set up camp at his place, coaxing him to shower, to eat a little something, to talk through it or just cry his heart out. Bill had been the one your friends called when a girl’s night out went south, after a jerk at the bar slipped something into your drink. Your friends had noticed your strange behaviour and followed you into the bathroom, where the last thing you remembered was throwing up neon orange and passing out. Your friends, they later told you, had called him in the wee hours of the morning. He left the set he was on immediately, ran through the bar and had busted the door down of the women’s bathroom to find you on the floor, bleeding from a gash in your forehead where you smacked the toilet on the way down. He wrapped you in his jacket, tucking you into his chest as he carried you out. Bill never mentioned anything, but that night he ordered Uber rides for all of your friends, tracked their routes and requested that they text him when they arrived home safely. He was the one to drive you to the hospital, propping you against him as he held his scarf to your bleeding head. You had thrown up, both in his expensive car and directly on him, but he held your hand while the doctors connected you to an IV and stroked your cheek while they stitched you up. He slept with you at the hospital that night, contorting his large frame into an uncomfortable chair and keeping a solid hold of your hand. Afterward, he had donated half of his earnings from his latest movie into the patent that was pending for a nailpolish that could detect the drug in someone’s drink.

Everything about Bill, about your friendship with him, had been about comfort. About safety. And now, it was that same comfort you felt in every kiss, every move he made against you and to you. It was reassurance that you were safe, that he wanted you to feel good.

And you did feel good, so good. As he ground his hips into yours, kissing you until you were lightheaded while you were still trembling slightly from your earlier release, the only thing you could think of was chasing that high again but making sure he was right there with you this time.

You threaded your fingers in his hair, scratching at his scalp lightly and he moaned into the kiss as he placed his forearms by your head, giving him better leverage to grind against you. You reached your other hand down between your bodies and palmed firmly at the large bulge prominent in his jeans, and his hips surged forth. He broke the kiss with a grunt, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth as he tried to control his urge to drive you into the mattress. You removed the hand you had buried in his hair to lightly trace his cheek instead, down his jaw, and finally tugging his lip free from his teeth. His mouth was on yours again in an instant, the intensity matching the way his pelvis was grinding into your palm with much more urgency. Popping open the button on his jeans, you danced your fingertips along his happy trail, scratching ever so lightly with your nails. He moaned loudly against your lips, hips jutting forward again of their own volition.

“Fuck,” he grunted, “You could kill a man, you know that? Kill him de-” his sentence was cut off abruptly in favour of a drawn out moan when you reached your hand into his boxers and took a firm hold of him. He ran a hand through your hair and clenched it lightly in his fist, pulling your head back and smothering you with his lips again. He licked into your mouth, caressing your tongue with his, moving his warm lips against your own until you both were out of breath.

You whimpered when you felt him twitch under your hand, and you weren’t sure how much more you could wait.

“Bill,” you moaned against his lips, “Please, fuck, please don’t make me beg for it.”

The look in his eyes when he pulled back slightly to look at your face was enough to almost put you over the edge again.

“What did I tell you about begging, tiger?” he placed a sweet kiss to the tip of your nose, giving you a genuine smile that flashed his dimple, and you suddenly couldn't wait a second longer. Your fervour took him a little by surprise, he jumped ever so slightly as you started to yank at his pants. He helped you take them off of him, shimmying out and kicking them away as he moved to crawl back over you. He settled between your legs again, both of you moaning when he felt your wetness slide along the length of him. He ran his finger lightly down the bridge of your nose and your eyes fluttered closed.

“You feeling good, tiger?” he asked.

“Yes,” you replied, pleasure drunk and stupid on it. He kissed your cheek, then your earlobe, before placing his lips at your ear.

“Eyes, sweetheart.”

You turned your head, opening your eyes and bumping your nose against his. You grabbed one of his hands and laced your fingers through it.

“Yes,” you whimpered.

“Good,” another slow kiss, “I’m glad. Do you want to keep going?”

“Bill please, make me come again,” you begged, and your own response would have embarrassed you if your mind hadn’t gone completely blank except for the need to feel that again.

His eyes closed, and he rested his forehead on yours, squeezing your hand tighter.

“Say that again.”

You only whimpered, tilting your pelvis up to rub your wetness against him. A firm hand stopped you.

“I won’t make you beg, sweetheart, but fuck say that again. Please,” he pleaded.

You indulged him, moving a hand to claw desperately at his back, drag down his spine and dig your nails into his hip bone, pulling him towards you.

“Please Bill,” you whined, “Please make me come again. God you made me feel so good.”

He groaned, low and deep in his throat before you felt him line up against your entrance. He gently took your chin in his thumb and forefinger, kissing you softly, before checking in one last time.

“You want this?” he whispered, close enough that his lips still touched yours when he spoke.

“Yes,” the desperation was getting worse, you could feel your insides throbbing just at the thought of being stretched so deliciously around him. You felt yourself clench around nothing, so empty that it ached.

“You’ll tell me to stop if you change your mind?”

“Yes. Bill...” it was almost a sob. You felt the tip of what you so desperately wanted bump against your entrance and then he was pushing in, agonizingly slow, so that you could feel every vein, every pulse, every single inch of him. It was a stretch, he was bigger than most of the men you had been with, but he had spent so much time making sure you were ready that the only thing you felt was pleasure. With a drawn out groan and one last push of his hips he was seated fully inside you, his face buried in your neck and his arms wound tightly around you. You had never felt so full, with his hips flush against yours and you felt your walls clench involuntarily around him.

His arm shot out, gripping the headboard until it almost splintered.

“Fuck,” he swore. You felt him twitch deep inside you, and then you suddenly started to feel that delicious pressure low in your belly again. It was already starting to build, his tip resting heavily against that spot inside you that had you squirming. You just needed...friction. You needed friction.

You ran your hands down his tensed back, pressing down firmly, and you wrapped your legs around his waist. You used your heel to gently tap at his backside, rubbing your clit against his pubic bone in a silent plea to get him to move.

“I just....” his face was still buried in your neck, his chest heaving against yours, his hand still gripping the headboard in a vice, “I just need a minute.” He rested his full weight on you in an effort to render you rather unable to tilt up and grind against him, but all it did was put more pressure on your clit and caused you to clench around him again.

A string of Swedish curse words, some new to your ears, left his mouth.

Removing his hand from the headboard, he wove it with yours and dragged his hips back, thrusting into you slowly. Your head fell back against the pillow and you moaned loudly, spurring him to bring his face back to yours and lay a kiss on you that had the pressure in your belly building even faster. Your walls fluttered around him as he rolled his hips forward with every thrust, rubbing his pubic bone against your clit as his tip repeatedly pressed down against that spot inside you that had your toes curling.

“You’re so tight,” he ground out, “So wet for me.”

You were a mess, legs shaking, and the only thing you could do was moan as you started to feel your insides clenching more frequently around him now. His hips faltered in their pace.

“God I can feel how close you are again, sweetheart” he moaned, “You’re so sensitive.”

You whimpered, almost embarrassed at how easily he was working you over.

“Don’t hold back, kid. Just let go,” he coaxed. You gasped, feeling that coil winding so tightly it was ready to burst again. His lips at your neck, his delicious words at your ear, were getting you there that much faster.

“Bill...” you tried to warn. He licked at your mouth, taking your lips in a ferocious kiss and tangling his tongue with yours before pulling away

“That’s it, tiger,” he groaned, “Just let go. All over me.” He thrusted a few more times, angled deeper.

You were powerless to stop it. Your second orgasm of the night tore through you and your back bowed roughly off the bed. He caught you as you surged forward into him, wrapping his arm around your back to support your body and keep your chests together. You clenched repeatedly around him and he let go a grunt so rough that it was nearly a yell, fisting the sheet in his hands as he tried to stave off his own release. When you finally went limp against him, he kept you close and guided you back to the bed. Wiping the hair from your face, he used every ounce of willpower he had left to still his hips.

“You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re so good for me,” he soothed. You could barely breathe.

“Hey, tiger,” he said, and when the haze wasn’t clearing from your head, his voice got a bit more firm, “Look at me, kid.”

You dragged your eyelids open, almost wincing, and looked at him.

“You’re okay. We’re okay,” he said, continuing to trail a delicate finger around your features. You came back to your senses slowly, and he waited patiently until he saw the spark return to your eyes. The spark, and then a glint of ferocity that he knew well. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, you crushed your lips to his forcefully.

“More,” you demanded, once you had separated from his mouth. He was still buried deep in you, but hadn’t moved an inch while you came down from your high. You could feel him throbbing, twitching inside you, and you noticed now the tight clenching of his jaw, the way his fists held sheets so tightly balled up that his knuckles were turning white. He needed his own release so badly it hurt.

“More?” he looked for confirmation. Your eyes already bore into his and you didn’t look away, didn’t even blink, as you raked your nails down his back.

“More,” you confirmed emphatically and it was all the encouragement he needed before he started moving against you again, slowly at first, as he felt you involuntarily jerk your hips towards his.

You were already so sensitive, so buzzing, that it didn’t take much to get you right back to that edge again. He had a knack for making sure his pelvic bone ground against your clit with every thrust, and with every push forward you felt him slamming into that spot nestled deep inside you that felt like it might explode. You felt like you might explode, not only had you never had this pleasurable of an encounter with any man, but Bill had catapulted you off the edge twice already in releases that were nothing short of earth-shattering. Maybe it was his weight on you, maybe it was his breath on your neck, his voice in your ear, maybe it was the reverberations in his chest that you felt against yours when he moaned his own pleasure so loudly--but nothing, no toy, no man, not even yourself, had ever made you so pleasure drunk.

You knew he was close the way his hips took on a more frantic pace. His large hands grabbed at you, still careful to avoid your love handles that you had told him you hated being grabbed, but he palmed at your thighs around him, grabbed at your hair, your chest. You had a vice grip around his back, needing the closeness, as he drove into you with more fervour. His moans were sinful and loud, unrestrained passion in your ear. The sound of his pleasure only drove you further until you were soaring higher. He fisted your hair, pulled your head back none too gently and crushed his lips to yours before tearing them away, biting anywhere he could reach as he felt your tell-tale fluttering around him again.

“Come for me,” he commanded. You moaned, digging your nails into his shoulders. His hips surged, faltered, and drove deeper.

“Now, tiger,” he said with urgency. And then, you were crashing again. Like a freight train. You gripped him, helplessly holding on as you spasmed and cried out, your body feeling like it was moving independently of your mind.

He couldn’t hold back anymore, the sight of you coming undone for the third time that night, and all the little noises you made, pushed him over the edge. He gave a few more thrusts before groaning loudly, nearly ripping the bedsheets bundled in his fists as he came. His back popped, his leg cramped up and he was pretty sure he may have cracked a tooth with how hard his jaw clenched. He jolted for several moments, the aftershocks tearing through him, as you soothingly ran your fingernails up and down his spine. They found their way to his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp as he panted in your ear and collapsed against you.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice taking on a frail tone, “thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you,” you kissed any part of him that you could reach. His hairline, his cheeks, his chin, his nose, his jaw, his neck.

“That was....” you started to say.

“Oh my god.”

“That was incredible,” you kept your tone low, not wanting to spoil the intensity of it all.

“Oh my god,” he repeated.

You laid like that for awhile, waiting until each of you caught your breath. When your breathing had slowed, he moved his face to yours and gently caressed your features. You reached up and moved his hair away from his forehead.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Mmmm, yes,” you closed your eyes and hummed happily, wriggling further into the mattress. You felt him gently bump his nose against yours, and you opened your eyes, staring into his, knowing that he needed that eye contact to confirm.

“I’m good. You?” You kissed him lightly, and were rewarded with that boyish smile and the dimple that accompanied it again. He nodded.

“Did that feel good?” he asked.

“Good?” you replied incredulously, “Bill, I think I’m going to need a chiropractor to reset my spine, I came so hard.” It earned a chuckle, and you drew him back in to keep him close as exhaustion suddenly overtook you. He held you like that for awhile, his weight pressing into you, and it was a comfort. After several minutes, and only once he was sure you would be okay with the loss of contact, you winced as you felt him slip out of you and leave the bed. Floating in that in between state of consciousness and deep sleep, you barely registered a warm wash cloth between your legs, a cool one being pressed to your forehead. He disappeared for a few moments when you had passed out cold, you heard the shower running and the clang of a few pots and pans in the kitchen, before the bed dipped down under his weight and a hand was gently running through your hair.

“Come on tiger, sit up for a sec,” he coaxed. You turned your head into his hand, urging the head scratches, but ignored his plea.

“Can’t sit up. Too fucked out.”

He chuckled, easing an arm under you and slowly bringing you upright. You caught whiff of something--food something, and shit you were starving now--and opened your eyes. He was waving a plate under your nose; two grilled cheese sandwiches, one with the crusts cut off. Your hand immediately snatched it.

“Yeah, thought so,” he said, smugly. You munched on your sandwiches in comfortable silence, still maintaining contact in some way--he brushed the hair from your eyes, or you swiped at a crumb stuck on his lip. When you were done eating, he placed the plate on the floor and put a glass of water in your hand, urging you to drink it. You listened, handing the empty glass back to him. Sitting on his haunches, he reached a large hand up and cupped your jaw, gently forcing you to look at him.

“You feel good?” he asked, his thumb stroking your cheek. You placed your hand over his.

“Yeah. Yeah, I feel really good,” you said. You placed a gentle kiss on his palm. “Thank you, Bill.”

He smiled at you, dragging his thumb across your lips. You kissed that too, before grabbing his chin and bringing his face to yours, placing a gentle kiss on his mouth.

“Happy to help. Now come on, let’s get some sleep.”

He nudged you into lying down, scooting in close behind you. He wrapped an arm around your rib cage, opening his hand over your heart and tucked his legs up under you.

“This okay?” he asked, burying his face into your neck.

Your only answer was to scoot further back into him, pressing your back to his chest, and enclose your hand around his. The last thing you remember is him pressing a gentle kiss to your ear before coaxing you to sleep.

#BFF Bill #bill skarsgard drabble #bill skarsgard fic #nani asks #BFF!Bill

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spirit-of-the-void · 5 years

Text

Ebony and Ivory (V x Reader Fanfic) Chapter 30

Author’s notes: Let’s keep it going, kids! Gotta love these time jumps amiright

Chapter 30

~Four months later~

(Vergil POV)

To say the son of Sparda was growing tired of fighting was an understatement.

He didn’t quite know why he was still down in hell with Dante, battling each other and demons alike hour after hour, day by day. The repetition had long grown tedious, numbing even. But there he was, slashing at repulsive creatures with the Yamato until the ground ran red with their blood. He thought taking this time reflect would perhaps help settle his head and give himself the time to gather back into who he was before. Distancing, coping. Those memories hung over him every moment, and his concerns only continued when his actions didn’t help in the slightest bit. The repetition of fighting was no longer a distraction due to how easy and mindless it was, and that left him open to thinking of the very things he had stayed down in Hell to avoid.

Things like you. And Nero. And the destruction of Redgrave city.

To have a child of flesh and blood was still startling to him, unthinkable. And to make matters worse, his memory was spotty of the moment Nero was conceived to begin with--was it due to his time as Nelo Angelo that those memories were faint? He was certain it had to be the case, because his time in Fortuna was spotty at best, flickering with images that told him nothing of who the boy’s mother was. Regardless, Dante had insisted it was so, as much as that was worth. But there was no denying the Yamato hidden inside Nero’s arm, ripped off by Vergil himself. He could remember that moment well at least, seeing it in a peculiar vision now that he knew of who Nero was.

Was that guilt? Perhaps, if he took the time to actually analyze the emotion. Which he stubbornly refused to do so. Where Nero was concerned he was uncertain at best, and downright baffled at most--taking the time to pick apart what he was feeling or should be feeling was just not something within his realm of capabilities. He was no father, no parent, and it was far too late to even begin thinking of trying to be so. But the white-haired boy had made it a point to push the issue, even calling him father when they had clashed months earlier. Vergil was unsure how that made him feel as well, it felt neither wrong nor correct. And that all in itself was a nuisance probing his already scattered mind.

And you were a far bigger issue.

He had hoped taking the time to blow off some steam, ripping apart demons and working his body to the point of exhaustion would help him shake the emotions concerned with you. But as before, there was no such luck to be found. You were a cloud lingering in his head, fogging his senses and bringing an unbelievable sense of confusion and conflict. Maybe staying in hell would help muddy those memories, distancing him from them and making them seem less like his own?

No no, things were never that easy. You were ever present, the image of you staring at him with that expression of agony burned into his retinas. Even now, clashing swords with Dante for what had to be a hundredth time, Vergil was thinking about you--he could remember your taste on his tongue, the feeling of your hands stroking through his hair. His, or V’s? But V was him in a way, a part of him. And the more he tried to piece that together, the more blurred the disconnect became.

It was madness.

His focus waned again, feet stumbling to the side and giving Dante an opening to kick him back. Vergil let out a grunt, taking the blow to the chest and skidding into a kneeling position a few feet away. Damn it--again with this. Why wouldn’t his mind repair itself, let these things go? He spat blood out onto the floor, wiping his mouth with the back of the hand while meeting Dante’s exhausted gaze. Speaking of the annoying devil hunter, he hadn’t spoken a damn word about leaving in any of the days the spent fighting. Not a peep. He had taken fight after fight without complaint, aiding Vergil in the killing of demons with nothing but a smirk and the occasion joke and jibe. When was the last time Vergil spent so much time with his sibling? Surely back when they were kids, those memories or fighting, sparring, and playing seeming so foreign now.

His lack of complaint was baffling to the older male. Surely he was tiring of the fighting, of hell itself? Didn’t he have better things to do than sit there clashing swords for months at a time?

Dante let out a low, heavy sigh when Vergil stabbed the Yamato into the ground and sat back for another moment. A break of sorts, time for both of them to catch their breath. It was in moments like these that Vergil found his thoughts most muddled, flickering between memory after memory in an attempt to clean up the mess. Not like it was working, instead it was bringing forth new, lighter images to the surface. It was getting so bad now that the son of Sparda could directly recall the texture of your skin, how it felt to kiss you. And with those thoughts came emotions, ones that Vergil could not make heads or tales of. He worried about you--had Nero kept to his word, taking you to safety once he had left? Were you recovering from what happened in the Qliphoth?

Foolish. Foolish.

You deserve this, That voice in the back of his head hissed, growing louder with each passing day, If anyone deserves the title of fool, it is you. Go back to the human world and face what you have done to them, to her.

Vergil gritted his teeth, rubbing a hand over the back of his head and letting out a heavy sigh of annoyance. His head truly was a mess, filled with self-deprecating thoughts that refused to go away. In reality...he knew, deep down. Knew that staying in hell was his way of hiding, of running away from the situation waiting for him if he were to return. He refused to admit fear in regards to anything, but with this...the uncertainty was stifling, leaving him more anxious than he had felt in some time and hesitating in this position without moving forward. And that was not in his nature.

You are a fool. A fool. This is not about you, it’s about them! It’s--

“You’re gettin sloppy,” Dante clicked his tongue a few times, drawing Vergil out of his contemplation and making his grey eyes snap to attention. Dante was sprawled out on the ground, laying like he was in a bed at home without a care in the world, “You’ve lost the last three times we fought. Finally outta steam, you stubborn bastard?”

Vergil narrowed his eyes, letting out a snort of annoyance as he looked away from his brother, “Nonsense. I won at least one of those times, you’ve just gotten lucky.”

Damn him for being right. Vergil was getting sloppy in his distracted state, of that he was incredibly certain.

Dante laughed lightly, putting a hand to his unshaven face and rubbing it down to his chin with a groan, “Don’t you ever get tired of fighting, brother?” He tilted his head, glancing at Vergil with a searching gaze as he continued, “Four months down here, and you’re still chugging along. You look like shit.”

“Surely you jest,” Vergil scoffed, waving away his brothers words with a flick of his fingers. He refused to admit Dante was correct in any capacity, not in a million years “Are you in any position to tell me of how I appear? You’re repulsive.”

Dante rose a brow, lifting one of his arms and taking one disgusting, experimental sniff of his own armpit. Vergil resisted rolling his eyes, he really did, but to no avail. Especially when Dante scrunched up his face in disgust at what awaited his nostrils, letting out a little cough and immediately flopping the appendage back to the floor. Disgusting. He had always been that way, lacking in class and proper hygiene. Vergil could remember Dante playing in the mud when they were kids, bringing in filthy frogs to show their mother or handfuls of bugs. She hadn’t approved.

“Ya got me there,” Dante chortled in a strained tone, wincing a bit as he shifted again, “I definitely need a shower, but then again so do you. Got a whiff of you back there during our fight and hooo boy--you are ripe, buddy.”

On any normal day Vergil would have been aggravated by his words, tempted to unsheathe the Yamato and stab him for such a remark. But instead...he thought of you, of a moment shared that he didn’t recall before. The day was somehow clear to him, the image of you and himself walking through a sewer system below Redgrave. Your elbows were scraped, thigh highs torn in some places. We had fallen through the ground, had we not?

“I...It’s strange. I guess I just miss the warmth,” The memory flickered through his mind, showing you walking and playing with a strand of your hair while you spoke about why you were so fixated on taking a shower of your own, “Showers are very comforting--I like the feeling of lathering my hair and decompressing. I just...haven’t felt it in a while.”

Vergil felt his body stiffen, eyes drifting away from his brother again as he pushed the emotions back. That dull ache bloomed in his chest, hand reflexively lifting to rub at the spot as if it would somehow make it go away. There was no such success.

“...Perhaps.” He muttered, but completely refusing to confirm Dante’s claim in the same way he had. It would be more than degrading to smell himself.

Dante chuckled again, but fell quiet after that. Oddly enough, Vergil wished he would keep up his useless chatter. Anything was better than leaving his own mind to its devices, because they drifted back to you and his guilt over Nero without fail. Vergil himself was not good at coming up with discussions to keep with his sibling, and he certainly didn’t like to be the one to initiate them. If he had his way, these thoughts of his would be easily tamed and avoided, allowing him to move on without any complaint. Instead...it was under his skin, you were. And worse, bottling it up inside made him feel on edge, like a ticking bomb waiting to tick off. This was behold his comprehension skills, beyond anything he was used to.

If he was willing to be honest with himself, he might admit that he was...worried. About everything, edging toward being afraid to try and return. What would you look like now? Would there still be that hollow, agonized look in your eyes? Would Nero still gaze upon him with anger and hurt as well? Vergil didn’t want to think these things, they were driving him mad and making him irritable to boot. Too long in his life had he ignored his traumas, his haunting memories in an attempt to make himself numb to it all, cold. Unfeeling. And yet here he was, awash with uncertainties and whirling thoughts that seemingly didn’t belong to him. Or did they?

This is your punishment for what you have done.

“...So,” Dante’s quiet voice, sounding a lot more serious and uncharacteristic of him snapped Vergil to attention again. He turned back, seeing his younger sibling now sitting up and staring at him with steady, grayish-blue eyes. There was patience there mingling with concern, seeming far beyond Dante’s years as he asked his older twin, “When are you going to talk about it?”

Vergil felt his spine stiffen, knowing exactly what Dante was implying by those meaningful words alone. For a moment, disbelief passed through him, adding to the irritation as he held Dante’s gaze. There was no way he was that transparent, was there? He had kept his composure, fought and killed demons with skill and precision like always. There had been no indication that he was struggling other than the occasion slip up, but even then that could be contributed to exhaustion. But even that was a first for the surly man--he rarely tired, and even when he did it never tended to show or slow him down. There was a will inside of him, a need to keep going and pursue power and greater things.

Only now Vergil was feeling a bit...off. After fighting for four months it was to be expected, but this felt different from exhaustion. More like...well, he wasn’t sure what it was.

“There is nothing to talk about,” He quipped, brain shutting down any notion of discussing things so personal with his brother. The Yamato was back in his hand a moment later, fingers gripping the handle tightly as he went to rise to his feet, “If you want to babble on about things unimportant, that’s your choice.”

She isn’t unimportant! And neither is Nero!

Vergil gritted his teeth, putting a hand to the left side of his temple when a dull ache passed through. He felt at odds with his own head, emotions far too out of control and bouncing all over the place. Untethered, unsteady. This was not like him, but what could be done about it? Guilt, affections, worry...He had always tried to stifle such feelings before the spark could even grow, but now they were a raging inferno eclipsing everything else. Had splitting himself in two really effected him that much? There was no place for things for fear and uncertainty in the son of Sparda, he had always told himself that.

But...when did those things seem to stop mattering? He had changed.

Dante let out a light snort at his aggressive words, rolling his eyes and flopping back again, “Still too much of a coward to stand up and hear the music? Thought you had at least taken a little of that stick out of your ass.”

Vergil most certainly didn’t like being called a coward. Especially not by Dante.

His fingers twitched on the Yamato’s handle, sending a phantom blade shooting right at the prone man--which was easily deflected by him tiredly raising his own sword. Honestly Vergil would have mustered more of an attack, but...he was more exhausted than he cared to admit.

“You shouldn’t be so presumptuous, brother,” The word was spat mockingly, Vergil’s bad mood tripling as he glared at the younger of the two, “There is nothing to speak of, so drop the subject or--”

“Oh come off it, Vergil!” Dante cut him off, letting out an exhausted groan as he sat up again. He wasn’t glaring as his brother expected him to be, but somehow that steady look of understanding was even worse, “You’ve been getting more and more off since we came down here. How long are you going to keep running away, hiding in hell away from your problems? That’s all this is, isn’t it?” He gestured broadly around, taking in all the dead bodies of disintegrating demons and slice marks from the Yamato, “A distraction, and a shitty one at that. You just don’t know how to handle anything--just like when we were kids.”

He’s right. You are a coward.

That clicked Vergil’s anger back into overdrive, flipping himself up with the Yamato already raised to slash at his sibling lying on the floor. God damn it--how dare he look at him with those condescending eyes, calling out all the things holding him down? More than anything, the Sparda was furious that Dante had nailed all his emotions right on the head, forcing him to mentally address them when he was trying so hard not to. That coping mechanism kicked in, spurring him to attack to try and pull them back into the cycle, the one that kept him from plunging back into the memories weighing down his shoulders. The movement was so fast, precise. Prone one minute then standing over Dante the next, sword raised above his head to stab him with it.

But Dante didn’t even flinch, nor did he move from that spot. He simply stared up at Vergil with calm eyes, ringed with exhaustion as he said, “Go ahead. Do it, I’m done fighting with you--I’m god damn tired of enabling this bullshit.”

Vergil froze in that position, sword raised as he stared down at the grizzled man with a heavy scowl. How dare Dante, the crass, loud mouthed devil hunter, try to be the more reasonable of the two? It was far more annoying than anything Vergil could think of. To make matters worse, that hesitation extended to every part of him, drawing forth another memory of talking to you. It was consuming him now, these fragments you and his human counterpart had shared together all those months ago. It made him close his eyes, fingers gripping the sword ever tighter until his own knuckles cracked with the force of it.

It was a memory of sitting by you, staring out at a landscape of destruction and tragedy caused by his hands. Moments before, he had kissed you, tasting your plump lips for the first time as if you were water after days of thirst. You had looked so soft, so kind, more than someone like him had ever...No, he shook his head at that thought, confusion filling him to the brim of his being. It was both clear and muddled, like a high definition image viewed through TV static. The warmth of your hand squeezing his own brought forth that dull, ever-present ache in his chest again and brought forth a longing to repeat the action again and again. Why? Why was this happening?

“It’s healthy to feel emotions, and it’s healthy to acknowledge them.”

“Vergil?” Dante’s voice sounded worried now, sitting up again as he registered the conflicted expression on Vergil’s face. Damn it, and damn him. Damn everything.

The elder Sparda let out a slow breath out from his cheeks, lowering the sword as he leaned back and landed on his ass to try and gather himself again. Your words were like spurs in his heart, digging in and reminding him of things that he hadn’t necessarily learned. His human half had been far more honest with himself, and that trait seemed to keep trying to bubble up to the surface again. Because in the end, who was this vicious cycle helping? Certainly not he, wallowing in convoluted memories and emotions every waking moment. And it wasn’t aiding Dante, who was looking like he desperately needed food and a shower. Thoughts like those were the most confusing to handle--since when did he ever worry about Dante’s well-being?

Now, apparently.

Vergil would have thought that Urizen’s memories would have been the most loud, but he was gravely mistaken. In fact, the memories of erecting the Qliphoth and all that transpired were incredibly dim. All he knew was that, in the end, there was no victory to be found other than his two halfs coming together once more, and the devouring of the fruit. Why was this the case? How had his humanity become so strong, thriving so much until it became this loud in his consciousness?

It was because of you.

“What is happening to me, Dante?” Vergil rasped, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He could feel his sibling staring at him, but didn’t dare turn to meet his gaze, “I cannot shake these foreign memories, no matter what I do.”

Dante let out a light snort at his words, scooting closer so he could get a better look at Vergil’s face while he replied, “I would imagine so, they are your memories after all.”

That wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear.

“They do not belong to me…!” Vergil snarled in response, running a hand raggedly through his hair and sending a few strands draping over his forehead, “I do not know this girl, she is a stranger. And yet…” He looked at his fingers, feeling a strange disconnect between what was seen and what was felt. He remembered tattoos lining his fingers, black and swirling, but they were now gone, “I have memories of her, things that I should not have. Things that are...intimate.”

How awkward to admit, but he didn’t dare elaborate on such memories. His brother didn’t need to know he remembered having sex with you, nor did he need to what extent of emotion that stirred. He was being torn apart by it, the image of you staring up at him with soft pleasure and adoration and the image of you staring down at him in complete and utter anguish. Both caused by his humanity, him in a way. But...he didn’t know what to feel about that.

Dante let out a low whistle, clicking his tongue as he replied, “Boy, your human half didn’t do things halfway, that’s for sure,” He patted Vergil on the shoulder, tone taking on a kinder edge as he added, “Best thing I can tell you is to man up and face these feelings, brother. They are yours, afterall.”

Vergil scowled at that, muttering so quietly he wasn’t sure if Dante would hear it, “Are they?”

They felt like his memories, but it was so hard to accept them considering how mixed his consciousness felt now. It wasn’t in his nature to seek affection, to care. His humanity had been vulnerable, weak, easily succumbing to your kindness and eagerness to protect him. Acknowledging that something like that existed inside of him was something that he refused to admit, despite everything that had happened. But...that desire was still there, to be held, to hold you, to be loved and protected. To love and protect.

He had spent so many long years tampering such a feeling down, burying it so far down that he was sure that he felt no such affections anymore. All unraveled by you and his human half, leaving him feeling disorienting in the middle of it all.

“Those are your memories, Vergil, whether you wanna admit it or not,” Dante continued, leaning his arms on his own knees and meeting his brother’s gaze, “That human half is a part of you, and by proxy is you. Everything he felt, you still feel, and it’s time to stop running away from that.”

Vergil fell silent, looking off into the landscape of hell and trying to calm his thundering pulse. Could he even do such a thing, face these emotions and decide what to do about them?

“Why don’t you give her a chance?” Dante suggested, scratching the back of his head and letting out a gust of air, “Hell, why not try in both cases to make amends--with her and Nero? You keep fighting this human half of yours, but if you just accepted it things might improve. Y/N is a sweet girl, and if she loved V as much as it felt like she did...well, why couldn’t she also love the man he came from?”

Because I don’t deserve her, I never did.

Vergil bit down on the thought before it passed beyond his lips, eyes closing again with a furrowed brow. To seek you out felt selfish, especially after how much you had been hurt by all that transpired. And that was such a bizarre thing to feel--that intense want to put your well-being above his own, to distance himself to save you from more pain while also craving you like air and water. In the end...V was who you had fallen for, not him. He wasn’t like his human half, and after all the death he had cause and the type of person he was...why would he ever put your through loving something like him?

“I doubt the world works so easily,” He replied to Dante tiredly, shaking his head and pushing the loose hairs back in one fell stroke, “As for Nero, he has made his opinions of me quite clear, has he not?”

“Yeah?” Dante replied in annoyance, narrowing his eyes on the surly man with a disbelieving look, “You tried to disregard his feelings and settled on a fight as your first hello to your goddamn son. Maybe--now hear me out, this may be a doozy--maybe you should try actually fucking talking to the kid about why you weren’t in his life?”

Why oh why was Dante turning into the voice of reason in all of this? One would think Vergil as the younger sibling in this scenario.

He let out another puff of air, admitting with several layers of gruff reluctance, “...Perhaps. But does it really matter? I am no father, and he has grown up for years without me perfectly fine,” He sheathed the Yamato once more, scowling lightly as he added, “It seems like a pointless waste of time.”

“Well you could start by apologizing for ripping off his arm.” Dante suggested tersely, brows arching toward his hairline. There was an implied ending to his sentence, one that suggested his twin had no choice in the matter on this.

“...” Vergil didn’t respond, that annoying guilt prickling back up like thorns around his subconscious. There was no argument he should have made to excuse such a thing, but his mind still tried. He didn’t know who Nero was at the time, but even then would it have mattered? Desperation fueled the cracking, crumbling Sparda at the time, so he doubted that there would have been an ounce of hesitation even then. There would have been no other way to save himself from death, even if it had a heavy price. But...that didn’t stop his illogical guilt over it.

Dante let out another sigh at his stubborn refusal to reply, tone taking on a lower quality as he added, “Hell, why didn’t you just come to Devil May Cry?” He muttered, sounding a bit gruff and unhappy as he rubbed the back of his neck, “I wouldn’t have asked questions, could have found a better way to help you that didn’t involve putting Nero through that shit.”

Well now...that was certainly not what Vergil expected. He stared forward, trying to keep a composed expression while he thought over what Dante said, not quite sure what to make of the question. At the time, he never contemplated even thinking about his brother’s aid--why? Because he resented him with every part of his body, resented how their mother loved him more, resenting how Dante seemed to win no matter how hard he tried. He who scoffed in the face of their Father’s demonic power, instead embracing his weaker human half. It had seemed so shameful at the time, pointless. Pride kept him from asking for his brother’s aid.

“You know why,” He replied simply in return, turning his cold eyes back to meet Dante’s, “Asking for your help was never an option. Had I showed up at your door would you have truly offered me your hand? Or would you have blindly attacked me, as you did in the Qliphoth?”

“I would have fucking helped you!” Dante snapped, uncharacteristic anger entering his tone as he pulled himself to his feet. He then glared down his brother, letting out an annoyed growl as he continued, “You think after everything that happened, I wanted to watch my goddamn brother die again?”

Vergil blinked, taken aback by Dante’s fierce words as he held his gaze. Had he truly been affected by Vergil’s death, even after all the surly male had done to him? All the fighting, the harsh words, the conflict...There was no brotherly love to be found, he knew that much. But Dante, as always, shocked him.

“The reason I kicked your ass then,” Dante muttered after that brief pause, turning away as he registered the surprise in his brother’s expression. He looked tired, and a bit sad if Vergil was willing to see it, “Is because you grew a tree in the middle of a city in an attempt to gain more power. Do you have any idea how many people died? Families, innocent people now husks in the wind because of a fruit.”

That made reality set in even more, that blade plunged into his chest deeper and twisted until he would bleed from it. The Qliphoth was another thing he was loath to admit troubled him indeed. Again, it wasn’t his plan in the beginning to even do such a thing, but Urizen had gotten his own plans. But that creature existed inside of him, as did that greed and need for power. The pride, the rage, the disgust he felt for humanity as a whole. That was part of who he was as well, even in these times where his mind was scrambled and trying to balance the level of humanity he was feeling. If you had not come along, would Urizen have been the stronger factor? Would he be even more cruel and unfeeling for all he had done?

To contemplate it was a strange thing.

“I know what happened,” He replied flatly to Dante, tone low and bitter as he pulled himself to his feet as well, “And I won’t try to excuse what has transpired in the city. There are amends to be made, and the gravity of my choices is my burden to bear. I need not reminding.”

“Yeah you’re really tryin’ to make amends hiding down here in hell,” Dante snorted, heavy sarcasm in his tone as he braced his back and stretched. A groan rumbled from his chest, the sound of his spine settling make Vergil wince in disgust, “How about we finally blow this joint? I’m starving and I doubt you wanna deal with how smelly I am.”

That was less of a concern compared to what was waiting for him. Vergil paused, reaching into his jacket and pulling out the only item he had left of you--a single glowing, blue-filled vial of whale oil. He was surprised such a thing had transferred over when he turned back, but...it had. What a curious thing, to be holding something that came from a world he had never seen. The older twin remembered the moment you gave it to him, eyes filled with tears and worry before you went after Dante. A way to find him, a way to sense his location. He doubted you would be able to sense it all the way in hell, but it had remained on his person the whole time. Did you remember it? Could you even begin to think he had it?

That had been the first time you told him that you loved him.

Return it to her. Return. To. Her.

Would he be able to look you in the eyes without these stubborn emotions overtaking him? That fear was ever present, but was drowned out by that annoying voice in his head. More than anything, he was hesitant to see how this all had affected you, the damage done. That dull ache formed in his chest at the notion of you losing your smile, that kindness that drove you because of what he had done. And that was so uncharacteristic of the Sparda that he almost denied Dante’s request then and there.

But...He gripped the vial in his palm, closing his eyes and releasing a slow breath from his cheeks. There was only so long he could hide from everything, and more than anything...He wanted to see you. That voice in his head demanded it, the loneliness left over from you not being there so heavy he felt like drowning. That dependency was one he didn’t want, but there was nothing more to be done. He had his time to fight, to contemplate, and be found wanting. Any more time taken would simply be a foolish waste.

“Then let us depart,” He finally replied to Dante, unsheathing the Yamato with intentions to cut open a portal after months and months of holding back, “I’d hate to stand between you and actually growing into normal hygiene habits.”

Dante opening laughed at that, a smirk tilting his lips as he tried to defend himself, “Hey now! I have perfect hygiene! It’s hard to maintain with bills to pay.”

That made Vergil scoff, scrunching up his nose in disgust as he muttered, “Figures you would never learn how to balance a checkbook.”

“Like you’re any better!” There was definitely teasing in his tone, Dante clapping his brother a bit too hard on the back as he huffed, “How the hell would you know anything about managing money? Ever thought of becoming a business partner?”

Was that Dante’s offhand way of inviting Vergil to work at Devil May Cry? If Vergil was younger and more stubborn, he would have stabbed Dante just at the notion of working with him. Instead he tucked the vial of whale oil back into his jacket, rolling his eyes and shrugging off his brother’s hand. Things certainly had changed, hadn’t they? To even contemplate such a thing was so unthinkable he could have laughed. Yet...he was contemplating it. Where else could he go after this? There was no planning, no other goals to reach now that he was healthy and whole once more. All that remained was a mess, and no way to clean it.

“Maybe if you could learn to shut up and listen when I ask it of you,” He replied shortly, whacking Dante’s wrist with the Yamato’s sheath and earning a light yelp, “I will ponder the offer.”

That earned him a hefty snort, one that was quickly followed up by a snarky, “Bold of you to assume I’m giving you a choice in the matter. Can’t let your crusty ass run around growing more trees.”

As if he would. Vergil had no desire to deal with something like the Qliphoth again, it had caused far more issues than it was worth. If anything the four months in hell had taught him, it was perhaps less was more in his future endeavors for power. His human half, the demonic half...they were both the proof laid out at his feet that a choice had been made that wasn’t in his favor. And that carelessness had caused a ripple effect that had killed more people than he thought possible.

No...there would be no repeating.

He lifted the Yamato, steeling his resolve with intentions to cut through and make a portal back to the human world for them to cross through. He decided that if need be he could busy himself with working at Devil May Cry, easing himself back into a normal life cycle as a means of keeping that distance from you and Nero. This was still a step forward, but a calculated one. A careful one, he hoped. As it stands you were now living in Fortuna with Nero and his fiance, so the son of Sparda saw no need of seeking you out if it was something you did not want.

But that thought caused an avalanche of consequences.

A wave of nausea hit him in the next instant, arm holding the Yamato faltering and dropping the blade with a loud clang. Vergil stared at his now empty hand, breathes coming short and confused as he felt an intangible sense of wrongness spread through his entire form. What? His vision swayed, the landscape of hell tilting until Vergil realized that he was no longer able to stand up. Unsteady, unbalanced, light-headed. What the hell was happening to him? He had never felt such a sensation before, unable to register where it was coming from as he fell to what knee and had to fight gagging and a torrent of sickness.

“Vergil…!” Dante noticed right as he fell, rushing over and putting a hand to his back as he exclaimed in annoyance, “Hey! What’s the matter with you?!”

He couldn’t even answer. His vision was fading, body tilting to the side against his will and leaving Dante to grab him and try to hold him steady. The elder twin could hear him yelling, but there was no energy to answer. This was not exhaustion, this was something more. An urgency, like fire in his lungs clawing to get out and pounding on his skull with fists. To say Vergil was unnerved, confused, and shocked was an understatement. He who was a poised, pillar of control and discipline forced to collapse and have no control of his body? It wasn’t right, he had made yet another mistake that cost him his stability. Only this time, he knew what was causing it.

That voice came back in his head as his consciousness faded out, somehow louder than Dante yelling in his ear.

For every moment you hurt her, is another moment I destroy you.

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madam-legba · 5 years

Text

{bispeccare in bello non licet - WIP}

(Im posting this here as a follow up to my help request; if you’re interested do reach out! I’m looking for someone who can help me edit/correct my English as it is most definitely NOT my native language)

PROLOGUE

I. The escape

Another flash of light broke the darkness of the stormy night, another wave hit with utter force the rocks where the damp building sat. Tiny drops of salty water spread in the air.

The halls of each story of the building resounded with howls of desperation and madness; some cries were distinctly aimed to relatives — usually a mother, asking her how could she ever let something like that happen to her own flesh and blood, many others were mere begs for mercy.

Merlin’s name was a recurrent plea, too, but nor him nor the Dementors had ears to listen to those delusional cries.

The overall noise of the voices, mixed with the rumbles of thunders and the constant lapping of the North Sea, sounded like the worst cacophonous orchestra that ever played on Earth.

That never ending lento, that never stopped at all, forced the prisoners mind to slow dance to their madness; each mind danced alone, yet dreading for someone to save them.

Therefore, sleeping wasn’t a possibility.

With all the chaos that inhabited Azkaban, only a deaf witch or wizard would have ever been capable of a good night of sleep.

Restless were the cries, restless were the guards, restless were the prisoners.

Sleep deprivation added up to the list of reasons why whoever stepped into that living hell of a prison would soon lose their minds.

Furthermore, each cell was built so that only a weak strand of light could pass through the cramped rectangular window where, rarely, a bird would sit. The lack of an understandable difference between daytime and nighttime made it so easy to lose track of time.

A day felt like a year, a month felt like an hour; the constant darkness made it hard to eat, as the prisoners’ body were tricked into believing it was always nighttime. Yet, an enchantment prevented the prisoners from dying of starvation.

Torture was most definitely not legal nor tolerated, especially if it was by the hands of the Minister of Magic, but it could easily be masked as aid.

An excuse at saving prisoners from certain death was nothing but another way of punishing the inhabitants of Azkaban.

If it wasn’t for some kind jailer, no wizard could have said exactly for how long they’ve been chained to that miserable, rotting spot of a penitentiary. Not that it really mattered, as most of those who were imprisoned would never again get to see the light of the day as free citizens.

They were bound to rot in that hell of a place, abandoned by their families, beliefs and minds. Abandoned by a community that was supposed to educate them.

Alone.

The flashes of light - lightning of a never-ending storm - were the only quivering lamps of each cell.

At the highest floor of that boundless slimy hell that Azkaban was, a witch sat huddled up in a corner of her room.

Her hair was a messy curly ball around her head, some wild locks were hanging free from the main skein that was now harsher than ever, due to the salty drops of water that clogged the air.

Her face was so gaunt, her black tired eyes were popping out of their orbits, seemingly bigger and rounder than what they truly were. Her pale, white skin was opaque as if blood didn’t run at all below the level of that pearl-like white skin.

Her prisoner attire, that once fit her so well was now redundant on her small frame.

She was gazing at her left arm with a clinical attention, a vein pulsed in the middle of her forehead as a clear sign of her concentration.

The mark on her arm had considerably faded since the day her Lord had somehow been harmed and debilitated by the facts of Godric’s Hollow but, nevertheless, it was there.

She knew it meant he was still alive, he had explained to her –– only her, of course, her most faithful follower and pupil –– exactly how that kind of magic worked: as long as the wizard who casted the spell was alive, so was the mark. Whereas, if the warlock who casted the spell died, the mark would have been imprinted on the markeds’ skin as a scar.

The witch studied her mark with utter care, incredulously eying every detail, every turn of the snake, every shadow. It looked like that mark was the only thing able to keep her madness at bay given how silently and composedly she gazed at the magic tattoo.

Then, with a barely audible whisper, filled with hope and madness, she broke her unusual silence.

“He’s back.”

Her round eyes studied the pale drawing on her arm with deranged meticulousness for the nth time, looking for confirmation. The change in its colour was barely noticeable and to anybody else, it would have been unrecognizable.

Not to her, though, her who passed her days checking for an update on her arm, her who had patiently waiting in that hell of a prison for His return.

Not to her.

She was sure her dark mark was a grade darker than what it had been just a few seconds before.

“He’s back, he truly is.” She repeated, louder than before but, still, her tone was just above a whisper.

It was enough.

An annoyed intense grunt came from the wall to her right, she easily ignored it, engrossed as she was in the epiphany that had just struck her.

The witch leaned down on her forearm to kiss the mark with renewed spirit, a long detailed trail of kisses covered each spot of her strange tattoo.

“He’s back! He’s back, He’s back, He’s—” She quickly covered her mouth with the palm of her dirty, dry hand and wearily looked around to check her surroundings. How ungrateful of her, to speak so poorly of her Lord.

What a poor choice of words. ‘He’s back’, He’s never been gone at all. He was just waiting for the right time to come back, He must have spent some time regaining his strength.

She shook her head, ashamed of her own behaviour, her pompous mass of hair followed her movements. There was a jiff of hesitation, then she proceeded to correct her previous choice of words. “— he’s never been gone at all. My master...I knew it! I knew this day would come, I’ve never lost faith, my Lord, not even once, not even for a single teeny tiny fraction of a second. I’ve waited, faithfully, and now we’ll be tog––”

Again, an interruption.

The wall to her right spoke, not bothering to hide its disdain for the witch. “You’re delusional.” There was a shade of tiredness in his tone.

How dare he speak to her?

In the fury of the moment, the witch had tried to get up to get closer to the wall and break it down with her bare hands. Sadly, she forgot she had been handcuffed with heavy sharp metal strings and she almost tumbled face first on the floor. Almost.

“Shut up, shut up! HE’S ALIVE AND WELL!” Came the reply of the woman, she wanted everybody on that god-awful ground to know the truth.

Their loyalty was going to be rewarded, they didn’t face Azkaban for anything. She could feel her heartbeat increase as time went by, she knew they would have joined soon for a meal. “Rod, are you there?” This time, her voice was more trembling, giving away her excitement.

She didn’t know exactly where her husband had been accommodated, but she was well aware he had been restricted on her same ground.

She liked to believe only a few cells separated them, which had to be true since they had spoken – better yet, shouted to each other – on several occasions since day one of their confinement for life.

She was about to get to her feet again when a shiver of cold ran through her spine.

She brought a hand to her chest, grasping the tissue of her uniform to cover and warm the exposed skin. The temperature had dropped in just a speck of time, and it wasn’t due to the howling icy wind that blew outside.

Immediately, she looked down: the damp floor was turning quickly and way too easily into ice. That could only mean one thing.

Her first instinct was to seek shelter, but her four corners room provided none, no shield to use, her body was her only defence.

Even though her legs were telling her to move away and her throat was aching for a scream that she just couldn’t afford to let loose – she did have a reputation, for Merlin’s beard! – she stood still.

The layer of ice on the floor was getting thicker, the creature was coming for her.

Gritting her teeth, she cursed her ass for having been so naive. How could she ever forget where she was? She had let her excitement win and now she’d be punished for her misjudgement. That thing was coming to steal her only happy thought, then it would have killed her.

I’m not going quietly, she thought to herself as she collected all her strength and courage.

She had only managed to grab in each hand the chains of her handcuffs when the creature poked through the bars of the entering wall of her cell.

It looked like a giant black ghost, floating over the ground in all its sick glory. Its bony, dark fingers caressed the bars separating the two figures from physical contact.

Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. Bellatrix opened her mouth to suck frozen air in her lungs, but the air felt thicker, it just could not pass.

She tried to make a fuss out of her chains, she wanted to shake them, slam them into the walls, make any kind of noise to get that thing to move, to make it scared of her and not the other way around. However, she knew it didn’t work that way with dementors, but logic wasn’t something she could count on at that moment.

The thing lingered longer, it felt like it was staring right at her soul.

She had never felt so hopeless in her whole life, she wanted to disappear and to rot in a corner of the cell, she felt like she truly deserved to disappear.

She closed her eyes and waited for the dementor to unlock her door and take away her soul. Her ears were resounding with the erratic sound of her beating heart.

The witch peaked through her eyes, curious to know why it was taking so long and –– it was gone.

Only then she let go of a shaky breath she had been holding. She collapsed on the frozen floor, only to then crawl near the bars.

The dementor had passed over, she’d never been its prey, to begin with. A few feet away, a young wizard was screaming his lungs out as the dark ghost deprived him of his joys.

She couldn’t know for how long she had watched that disgusting show, nor how long she stayed there contemplating the renewed emptiness of her thoughts.

It must have been hours.

Only when she took her right hand over her left wrist to move the handcuff to a strip of skin that wasn’t already cut open she remembered what had happened.

She gazed at her mark in shock, then she sang her chant from the top.

“He’s… alive. I… see it. Do you, Rod?, I see it, clear as day, can you see it too? He’s alive, he’s there, he’s coming again!”

“Will you choke on your tongue already, he’s gone!”

She turned her head to her right, looking at the wall as if it was to be held responsible for such an attack on her person.

How. Dare. He. Her jaw locked, a molar tooth was cracking under the pressure of the muscle.

“SHUT UP!” Fist clenched, ready to physically fight that brat of a cousin. “Filthy blood traitor, good to nothing! What would you know?!” Crawling to the wall on all four, she hardly slammed her fists on the hard, cold bricks, the metallic chains clashed at each hit. “What would your little muggle-shagging-flea-ridden brain KNOW!”

She slammed her fists once again on the rock bricks to nail her point as a picture to the wall. “My poor lord, all alone, they all turned their backs on you. They don’t deserve you, they’re not worthy of your attention.” Her voice, previously gruff and resentful, had turned in an affectionate, pitiful whisper aimed to the mark on her left forearm.

“Guards?” The voice called jokingly, laughing to himself. They both knew nobody was going to show up, they never would. The prisoners were abandoned to themselves, abandoned to die alone. “Medical attention is needed! My dear cousin has definitely lost her fragile and already compromised sanity.”

“But I am, my faith never waved. I’ve patiently waited,, I’ve stood by your side ––”

“Ha, and look where that got you.” He spat lightly, failing to stop that nauseating litany.

“–– I’ll always stand by your side.” Bellatrix kept on as if she hadn’t even heard Sirius’s snarky comment.

“Confirmation enough for them to keep you locked up in here until a dementor will finally take pity on you and free you with a goodbye kiss.”

A corner of his lips lifted up to his cheek as “silence” had finally been restored. Cries of desperation and madness could still be heard from other cells, but at least the death eater had ceased her ridiculous chant.

“Sirius, dearie?” Bellatrix sounded quizzical, but he knew better than to keep going along her insanity. “Don’t you DARE INTERRUPT ME when I’m talking to HIM!” Her last word echoed in the aisle of the prison.

In the cell next to hers, Sirius shook his head. He was so used to her shouts and rants that he didn’t even flinch at her outburst. “Let me knock some good sense into that rotten head of yours.” His voice calm and controlled perfectly masked the angry bark that followed. “He’s DEAD!”

The wizard was expecting a shout or the muffled sound of her cousin’s hands on their common wall, but Bellatrix had other plans.

At first, there were light puffs of air, but it soon became a loud hysteric cackle. “Dead?” She repeated, almost unsure she heard correctly. “Oh, no, no-no-no. The only dead people I know are the Potters, you silly puppy, and that’s on you.”

“I’ll kill you!”

If the clinks of chains were any indication, Sirius must have raised to his feet to come after Bellatrix. “You coming to get me, Sir?”

Further laughter came from the witch, but it wasn’t loud enough to cover the repeated “I will kill you” coming from her neighbour.

“You wouldn’t even get to hex my pinky before I’ve got you laying on your back, crying for mercy.” Spat the woman, aroused by the thought alone.

“I will KILL YOU Bellatrix!” He was rabid, the only mention of his best friend was enough motivation for him to actually earn a reason to deserve that place.

“Is that a promise, pup?” She teased him, gleefully. “I’m afraid it’ll have to wait.”

She ignored the profanities from the cell on her right, ready to commit to her destiny. She glanced at the tiny rectangular window, then she checked the hallway of the ground.

A sly smirk crawled up her face, the time had come.

Bellatrix was done waiting.

She had mustered through all that time in Azkaban only because she hadn’t had proof of a real return of her Lord, but she was resolute in her revelation, now.

He was out there, somewhere, and he needed help – her help.

She closed her eyes and she collected the concentration needed for that spell. It took her a little longer than what it used to take, but eventually, she managed to turn.

The metallic chains fell heavily to the ground, she was free. With a flop of her dark wings, she hopped on the window of the cell.

She looked down and she studied the area surrounding the prison.

The land was nowhere to be seen.

She wasn’t sure she could survive the journey, food deprived as she was, but she had to try.

Curiosity had the best over her, so instead of departing immediately, she flew to the window of Sirius cell. He had never seen her animagus form and he sure couldn’t recognize her, clueless as he was, so she lingered on the windowsill.

A single screech, just to catch his attention. Their eyes met, then the blackbird was gone.

#bellamione #bellatrix black #bellatrix lestrange #sirius black #azkaban #fanfic #fic #wip #bellatrix black x hermione granger #bellatrix x hermione #help #edit #beta #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fandom #bellamione fic #bellamione fics

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unelectedofficial · 5 years

Note

Thoughts on how Nessa's relationship with Elphaba evolves over time? In their early years, did she ever take notice of the difference in treatment from Frexspar? Anything relating to her and her sister really.

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As children, the two Thropp daughters were as close as they could be as Elphaba acted in place of a mother to Nessa ( despite not having much of a mother herself either ). Their father wasn’t very present in the earliest years of Nessarose’s life after going into a bit of a depression following the death of Melena. The guilt of being the reason for her death made it almost impossible to even look in the direction of Nessa, seeing as she had the same beautiful features that her mother did. This only drew the relationship between her and Elphaba closer – some may say even dangerously close. These early years caused Nessa to become so emotionally and physically attached to Elphaba that it would become the norm for the rest of her life. Eventually, when Nessa became too heavy for Elphaba to carry around, Frexspar realized that he had no reason to dislike his younger daughter. He began to tell himself that his intentions for forcing the milkflowers down Melena’s throat were good so that, therefore it couldn’t be his fault but rather that it was his older daughter’s fault. After all, he only did it to ensure he would have at least one normal child.

Frex, then, tried to love Nessarose and even grew fond of her charming remarks and adorable face. Additionally, he felt bad for her ( as many did ). Due to this, he began to shower her in gifts to hopefully dull any pain she ever felt. Throughout this gift giving, Nessa was aware that she was getting more than her sister and often felt guilty when she would receive something better than Elphaba and felt even worse when she was left getting nothing at all. Despite all of this, the relationship between the sisters didn’t change. They were still as close as ever, mostly because of how Elphaba reacted to the gifts. She would never show any anger or disappointment from not receiving something because she didn’t want Nessa to feel bad about something she couldn’t control and would feel better that her sister at least was happy. They both were aware of how they were being treated differently, but never brought it up to each other as to not stir up a situation that already was a bit sticky. Seeing as they were hardly allowed to leave ( perhaps from being an embarrassment to the governor – or to keep them safe from harm ) the two girls found company in each other and became not just sisters, but friends. Especially as they grew older, they would find themselves in each other’s rooms chatting all night about something ridiculous, hosting their own mini book club, or studying up on certain topics. They never attended a proper school, but Elphaba made sure that they both had a solid education. When they were allowed to leave the house, Elphaba constantly made a fool of herself – overreacting to the shallow comments about her green skin. This embarrassed Nessarose, who disliked all of the attention it brought the two of them.

As they grew, Elphaba began to become more motherly and would constantly help Nessa in ways that could sometimes be a bit too much. Constantly, she would fix her hair, make sure the pillow in her chair was straight, smooth her clothing out, or make sure she was finishing meals. It was kind, of course, but sometimes was annoying. Nessa didn’t want Elphaba to try so hard to be a mother to her, though she didn’t mind when it was just a natural thing.

Another huge factor in their relationship, was the rare occurrence that Elphaba’s so-called flaw appeared, causing accidental spurs of sorcery to happen. The incidents started small, such as a plate levitating before smashing on the floor but gradually got bigger and bigger, before they started to affect other people – which almost always was Nessarose. A few times, the magic came in handy such as the time it had stopped Nessa from plummeting down a steep hill ( where she would have definitely ended up injured – or at least hurt ). Other times, however, proved annoying or even painful. Parts of Nessa’s body would burn or, in one case, she would find it difficult to catch her breath. After each time, Elphaba would promise to her that it wouldn’t happen again and yet every single time, it did.

It was Nessarose who asked if she would be permitted to attend university and, through many months of persuasion and arrangements, their father finally agreed. There were some conditions that needed to be followed, however. The school of their choosing ( Shiz University ) had to be thoroughly aware about Nessa’s condition and would have to allow the two girls to share a room – which ended up being the only reason Elphaba was allowed to go. A compromise it was, and so they headed out for Shiz. As expected, her sister was a nervous wreck before they arrived and the whole way there. They spent hours packing, re-packing, and double checking that they didn’t forget anything by accident. Elphaba lectured to Nessarose about what she may encounter at this new school, though Nessa found it a bit unbelievable that she could know all of this and began to suspect that her sister had done thorough research on the topic.

Things had already gone wrong the moment that they arrived at Shiz. Students, as expected, had poked fun at Elphaba, who couldn’t resist but holler at them in a rage. Nessarose, of course, felt embarrassed by this reaction – especially when during this rant her sister decided to introduce her to everyone, pointing out how she had a “perfectly normal skin color”. At this moment, Nessa could tell that her sister would take a bit to adjust to PEOPLE and couldn’t understand how the two of them could react so differently to a new experience ( being around their peers ) when they had been raised in the same way. Before leaving, her father presented her with a beautiful gift of jeweled shoes, which embarrassed her further. All of these students, who didn’t know her, saw her get a gift in public. Additionally, she had to watch as, once again, Elphaba didn’t get the same treatment as she did. Her sister, once again dismissed this but not without Nessarose feeling guilty about the gift again. And this time it really WAS a lovely gift to receive. Just when it seemed like things couldn’t get any worse, they did. Somehow, despite the arrangements being so carefully planned months in advance, the rooming had been messed up and Elphaba hadn’t been listed for a room. Nessarose, however, was given special living quarters with the headmistress of the school, Madame Morrible. Panic set in for both of the girls, though Nessa hid it a bit more. She didn’t let it show because it was a bit of a sensitive topic for her anyway, especially since it all occurred in front of the entirety of the student body. How was she supposed to manage without Elphaba there? For her entire life, her sister had served as almost an extension of herself and to teach such ways to another person ( who seemed quite undesirable as well ) seemed like the worst thing. But she kept her composure and decided that it would be sorted out later, even though her sister was getting more and more visibly upset. This only went to embarrass Nessa even more about the situation because, once again, she believed Elphaba was drawing attention to them that was simply unnecessary. Madame Morrible ignored the protests and began to take her away ( which made her uncomfortable, of course ). Seeing this as wrong, which it was, Elphaba screamed at the headmistress to let her sister go. The reaction was out of love, which Nessarose later appreciated – but what happened after turned a day that was already bad into a day that became MUCH worse.

Another incident with Elphaba’s uncontrollable magic occurred as Morrible tried to whisk Nessa away from her, this time causing her wheelchair to move itself back to where she stood. Though her intentions were good, this scared Nessa, seeing as she was completely not in control of herself and Oz knows where she was heading. Again, Elphaba apologized to her sister who forgave her, but not without berating her for allowing it to happen again. It had been one day and, already the Thropps were known disasters.

One bad day, however, didn’t dwindle their relationship at all. They were still sisters who loved each other, even if they did get on each others’ nerves.The very next day, they caught up with what had happened to the both of them throughout the rest of day before. Expectedly, Elphaba asked a few too many questions about Nessa’s living arrangements and how Madame Morrible was treating her so far. She answered honestly, telling about the terribleness of her situation, After all, her sister DID deserve to know the pain she was going through as well.

In classes, Elphaba always made sure that Nessarose got a seat up front where it was guaranteed that she would be able to see the board, even if that meant that she wasn’t able to sit by her. After each class, they waited for each other before they left and often would compare notes ( though it was usually Nessa copying her sister’s detailed notes and not the other way around ). They helped each other out, and were still as close as ever. Every morning, Elphaba would arrive early to fetch Nessarose from her room and, on occasion, would arrive even earlier to help her get ready for the day. Though she wanted to, Nessa couldn’t do things for herself because she had an older sister breathing down her neck the whole day.

Elphaba often would give Nessarose advice on how to act in university and what she could expect there. She also tried to open her eyes to a few harsh realities. Most notably happened when Nessa was asked on a date to a party being held at the Ozdust Ballroom. Her sister tried to explain that the boy who had asked her, Boq, was just doing so because he felt bad for her but Nessa refused to believe this. It had happened all too often to her, that people did things for her solely out of pity. Before attending, Elphaba also warned Nessa that sometimes ( at THESE types of gatherings ), people liked to spike the drinks and that she should never be too shy to ask someone what was in it or refuse the beverage altogether. Throughout this, Elphaba poked fun at the party, not being able to believe that Nessa would be attending a DANCE of all things. Perhaps she had hoped for a lovely night in with her sister while the rest of the school went out, danced, and partied the night away. Either way, she was happy for her sister because she was happy and decided to help her get ready for the party – even suggesting she pair her pink dress with the new shoes her father had given her.

It was embarrassing, once again, for Nessa when Elphaba decided to show up at the Ozdust ( clad in a very unflattering frock, might she add). She had made fun of Nessa for wanting to go all afternoon just to show up herself! As the attendees laughed and joked about her sister’s appearance, Nessarose left the party crying. It was supposed to be her night for her to enjoy without her sister – and yet Elphaba had come and ruined it again. This moment was when Nessarose started to very much dislike how much her sister tended over her. For the amount of times it had ruined what would have been a fine day, it wasn’t worth appreciating anymore. She wasn’t a child and didn’t need to be taken care of.

Though she insisted on this, it wasn’t true. She had attached herself so much to her sister that she didn’t have any skills to take care of herself. Life proceeded as normal for the next few months – until Elphaba received an invitation to meet the Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Of course, she went to see her sister off and as expected, Elphaba made sure that Nessa would be fine. They said their parting words before Nessa stormed off, reacting to something Boq had said. Though Elphaba would only be gone for a day, she couldn’t help but feel sad.

So when Elphaba didn’t return from the Emerald City and news spread that she had done something terribly wicked, Nessa’s heart broke. Her first thoughts were selfish – about her. How was she supposed to live like this? How could she endure Madame Morrible for the next three years alone? How, after all the years they spent together, could Elphaba abandon her. Summer came, and being at home didn’t help with Frexspar leaning into the rumors, perhaps even strengthening their validity at times. Each day she told herself that Elphaba would return – and that what they said about her couldn’t be true, but as each day passed and her sister didn’t return all of that hope became lost.

Eventually, she graduated Shiz, though the value of her education wasn’t as valuable to her without Elphaba there to remind her. After all, throughout the years she knew that it wouldn’t matter in the end because she would just take her father position once he died. But no one expected Frex to pass so suddenly. In his last days he, once again, blamed it on Elphaba and claimed to be dying from shame. Another person in her life was gone and ( according to her father ) it was Elphaba’s fault. Nessa, not being particularly intelligent, believed that her sister had inadvertently caused her father’s death and therefore took another thing away from her that she needed.

Her heart grew bitter as she laid down an iron fist over Munchkinland, adding more laws each day to protect her own feelings and needs, not thinking much about anyone else and what they might need. Once again, her reputation was fueled by negative thoughts about her sister ( who now was officially being referred to as a wicked witch ). Even though she hadn’t seen Elphaba in years, the memories lingered everyday, whether it be from entering a familiar room or another rumor that had popped up. No one ever came to her to ask about a theory, for they had all lost trust in her years ago.

It was insulting when Elphaba showed up again, seeing as she had only come back because she needed something. All of these years and she just returned to ask for a favor? Not a small favor either, but a rather large one that could result in arrest or even death. She hadn’t even bothered to know about their father’s death and didn’t care much for how Nessa felt about his passing either. It was obvious that she hadn’t liked him growing up – but Nessarose had never realized that she felt absolutely no love towards him. Their relationship cracked more in that moment, when Nessa realized just how wicked her sister had become. All the things they said must have been true, because the girl that showed up wasn’t the girl that she used to know. Where was her compassion? Where was the love in her presence? It was gone, destroyed – and it seemed unlikely that it would come back. So she refused to help her sister. At this point, she was no sister to her anymore. Nessa listened as Elphaba went on a rant about helping the Animals when something hit her; her sister had NEVER tried to help her with magic. No, her whole life it had just caused her pain and embarrassment. It surprised her when Elphaba quickly performed the spell from the Grimmerie, enchanting her shoes and granting her the ability to walk. Nessarose was grateful, of course, though still felt bitter over the whole engagement. Years of suffering, depending on others for support – just to have it solved in a few moments? Why, if Elphaba hadn’t been so dramatic she would have had a place to hide years ago. All she would have had to do was come back.

Nessa rushes to show Boq ( who had been forced to reside with her ) her new ability and his reaction isn’t the one she hoped for. While she’s expecting something sweet, such as a proposal, she gets something very difference. As he grasps her hands kindly, he announces that he too is leaving now. So Nessa snaps, tries to perform a spell from the Grimmerie herself, and sees it fails miserably. It does, however, do what the spell description said it would – and Boq loses his heart, but it is physically instead of metaphorically. Elphaba steps in, fixing the mistake her sister made by performing another spell on Boq that turns him into a man made entirely of steel. She announces that Boq will be okay, as Nessa realizes that her decisions have been a bit selfish. If she had just moved on from missing her sister, she would have been able to carry out her own life better – but she didn’t. And now she was stuck, being just as wicked.

Elphaba decides that she needs to go, despite Nessarose begging her to stay. She needs someone. She needed SOMEONE – but no one wanted her. So Elphaba leaves and Nessa stays.

“I have done everything I could for you, Nessa and it has never been enough. And nothing ever will be.”

The Thropps don’t get a happy ending. They never get the chance to make up, though if more time existed they would have eventually, because they always do. They always did. But death hits the young woman ( quite literally ). She dies alone. Goodness knows, the wicked die alone.

#headcanons ･*→ this changes everything!#spaeir #answered ･*→ excuse me miss nessarose?#unelectedofficial #wicked the musical

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humanitys-shortest · 6 years

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RK800/RK900 - Everyone Deserves A Name ♥

How RK900 got his name:

After the android revolution, Connor is so much more free as a Deviant. He’s allowed to develop his own personality, his own style… He’s allowed to discover his own indenity and make his own choices and decisions. Connor likes to let his hair curl and be messy, and he loves to wear the thick rimmed, thick framed glasses that Hank got him - even if he doesn’t actually need to wear glasses. He loves to cuddle in big jumpers - especially his “Detroit Police” hoodie the most, and any other clothing that is pretty much two times his actual size. Things like this make Connor happy, and he’s reminded everyday how good it feels to be free.

That’s why, when RK900 joins the Detroit Police Department, Connor makes it his mission to try and help RK900 out of it. To try and coax him to be free, too. RK900 is so buried within his programing - he doesn’t care about himself or his own comfort, or how he was percieved amonst others, as long as people played to his game. He’s the upgraded version of Connor - so of course, he’s bigger and stronger. More muscular and capable, where as Connor himself is on the smaller side; very lithe and agile. But RK900 is just… Devoid of everything. He has an unprecedented amount of coding that stops him from going Deviant, irregardless of everything around him. Connor just wants him to be happy and free. He always comes over to RK900′s desks to check he’s doing okay, to check he’s taking his breaks, to ask how his day has been and bring him coffee of a couple of occasions… Even if, at first, RK900 is a little annoyed by all of Connor’s questions and the interuptions to his work that he causes. For so long, he’d either tell Connor to “go do your job” or “why aren’t you at Anderson’s side? He’s a liability when not under watch” or just completely ignore Connor. Not even looking up from his desk and computer. But… RK900′s weakness would be the coffee. He’d try to hide it, but it was a luxury that just seemed to somehow draw out the faintest reactions from him. He’d actually engage in drinking it, and he’d start (accidentally) linking Connor to that sense of faint enjoyment.

And Connor would pick up on how RK900 was enjoying the coffee, too. One day, Connor - who was all excited, practically bouncing on his heels - would come over to RK900′s desk, taking his wrist gently and tugging him out of the DPD. Tugging him down the endless streets of Detroit that Connor was very familar with by now. All cheerful and happy. “RK800-’ RK900 would start, feeling like an owner who’s puppy was tugging at the lead. ‘-Let go of my hand. What are you doing? Does this pertain to the case?” Wondering just how in the world Connor had all of this energy. “Would it make you happy and agree to come with me if I told you that it linked to the case?” Connor would smile, practically glowing, having come out of his shell so much since becoming Deviant. With help from Hank, Markus, North, Kara… Connor is now his own person. “And call me Connor! It’s not that hard! I keep telling you!” No one expects this cute, little dork to be a damn police detective, but when they get their asses kicked by him, they believe otherwise. He was scarily good at his job and super successful, whilst staying true to himself and being confident. “It wouldn’t make me happy, I can’t feel happy - however, it’s relevance will ensure my compliance.” RK900 would respond, following after Connor and wondering silently whether or not Connor was going to let go of his wrist - and further more - why RK900 hadn’t automatically pulled his wrist away when Connor first took it. “If I called you Connor, it would result in confusion, since I myself do not have a name - it’s best that I call you by your model number.” RK900 reminded Connor so much of his old self… Which would give him even more of a reason to help. “…Well, I could give you a name… If you’d like that…” Connor would say, almost shyly, still with a happy tone to his voice.

RK900 would be scanning the area repeatedly, trying to figure out where the bundle of joy and energy was taking him. Connor knew where this place he was - taking RK900 too - off by heart by now; always going here with Hank and his friends. But as for RK900… The surroundings offered nothing for him to work with just yet. Was his processor slow? Or was he not up to date on the case- “I don’t need a nickname.” He’d insist at first, before pausing… “However… It… Might decrease ineffciency or time loss. RK900 is not… Catchy.” He’d think again for a few moments. “If I had an ulterior, more memorable nickname, it could benefit my overall efficiency.” Connor would be grinning as soon as RK900 explained his train of thought. Connor would honestly think it was adorable, and he’d be completely listening to every single word. “Good! Then it’s settled! I’ll pick out a name for you.” Not just a nickname. “But you’re going to have to let me think about it over coffee!” Woops, well, Connor just outed himself there. Taking RK900 to a coffee shop wasn’t much of a surprise anymore, huh. “Come on, slow poke!” RK900 would blink. Connor had changed his phrasing - “RK800, you said “name” not “nickname”, there is a substantial difference.” He wasn’t allowed to have a name. That was very clear, buried in his protocols - names formed senses of individuality - “-coffee? and I am not slow! I have a higher speed capacity than any other model on the market-” He’d speed up a little regardless, following orders subconciously. “If you want coffee, we should turn around and head back to the station, where the coffee machine is.” And, it was free. RK900 didn’t have money - he wasn’t allowed to buy things - no, he didn’t need to buy things.

“A name is more important then a nickname, dummy. And i’m going to give you one, whether you like it or not. You’ve already given me your permission.” Connor would giggle with a bright smile - ever present - as he looked back at the taller, more muscular android. And Connor would be a lying little shit if he said he didn’t like that. “Oh, I promise you, the coffee i’m about to buy you is ten million times better then the coffee back at the station. You’ll love it!”

When the two of them arrived and got inside of the small, cute cafe that Connor himself always loved going to - Connor situated RK900 down at one of the corner booths and asked him to wait in a soft voice, followed by a kind smile. He came back within a few minutes, with two recyclable take-out cups in hand. He’d sit on the other side of the booth, opposite to RK900.

“Okay, you see how my name is written on the cup, here?” Connor would point out with his finger. “I thought of a name for you. And it’s written on your cup! So… Surprise, I guess?” And on the back of RK900′s coffee cup, would read: Nines. In clear handwriting.

“…Nines.” RK900 would say softly, and before he could control it, his brow would unfurrow - eyes softer, clearer, and although is mouth would stay sealed the way it was, his eyes would actually be so expressive - he’d look happy. Barely recogniseable - but then he’d realise what he was doing and stop instantly. He wouldn’t know how to confirm that… It’s the nickname he wanted - but not want, since he couldn’t want, or like - just - “that fits well.” He’d end up saying somewhat awkwardly. Conflicted. “I… Accept this as my nickname. Thank you.” “You’re very welcome.” Connor would respond happily, so glad Nines - Nines! He had a NAME! - liked the name. “I’m glad you like it…” Connor would be blushing a very faint blue, dusting over his cheeks as he looked down at his own coffee cup shyly. Watching Nines expression change like that, however…? Oh, Connor had seen it. He’d seen the way Nines’ features relaxed, and his eyes became a little softer and… Dare he say it… Happier. Connor was SURE of it! “And it’s a name, Nines, Not a nickname. Dammit, i’ve just gotten you to stop calling me RK800 and now i’n going to have to get you to stop doing something else? Unbelievable.” Connor would say, but in a completely playful tone, laughing soon after. “If it was a name, it’d be on my offical records. It isn’t.” Nines would say matter-of-factly, his eyes always flickering back to the cup… Before they left, however, Connor would definitely take a photo on his phone of his and Nines coffee cups. To remember this moment. And Nines… He has an inbuilt software that allowws him to take photographic records with his eyes, for crime scenes etc… He definitely snaps a shot as well.

A few days later, after giving Nines time to adjust to his name, Con would so expertly and easily hack all files on Nines, and his interface/HUD, to display his name instead of his model number. Even his jacket… Connor would change that, too. So when Nines caught his reflection that day… He’d just be staring, eyes unblinking, looking at the jacket. “You gave me a real name.” He’d say, not turning to look at Connor, but knowing Connor would hear.

#detroit: become human #dbh #connor #connor dbh #connor rk800 #rk800 #rk900 #nines dbh #i ship them but it can be read/seen as totally friendly and platonic :')#rk800 x rk900 #rk900 x rk800 #rk800/rk900 #rk900/rk800 #sims #the sims 4 #char's sims #concon

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ghoulboyboos · 6 years

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Inspired by doppelgangers i saw on my cruise. Ryan is a performer in the musical shows and shane is one of the photographers on board

Oh boy, nonnie! I have never been on a cruise ship in my life, all that I have is Google and my imagination. I hope I can get the scenery across

Thestage of the Calliope isbigger than any cruise ship’s Ryan has ever been on. He and thetroupe get a little lost in blocking and re-blocking the show for thenew venue. The director has already slipped out for his seventhcigarette break and it’s getting a little concerning. Ryan looks athis co-star who just shrugs. She is twisting in the cute blue dressthat is part of her costumes and Ryan snorts and pulls her into aspin. Somewhere behind the stage, “The nicest kids in town” isplaying and everyone else seems pretty chill with the new place.

Theyeventually figure all of it out. Hairsprayis still well liked, because it’s bright and happy and positive.Ryan isn’t sure if the rich and mighty are the crowd who gets mostexcited about the show, but they definitely seem to like it. Whenhe’s not on stage, he glimpses out through the curtains and frombehind the backstage door. Most of the guests are dressed in allkinds of expensive outfits, but they keep it pretty tasteful. Ryanswipes the lock that is half-plastered to his forehead to give himthat I’m trying to keep my hair in linelook Link Larkin is rocking outof his eyes and looks around. The waiters and waitresses are prettybusy and Ryan knows alcohol is flowing on these cruises like mad. Hehears a click and looks to his left.

Aman is standing nearby. He’s dressed in dark chinos and a blackHenley with a jean jacket over it. Apart from that, he has severalbags and pieces of equipment strapped to him, all of which seems tobelong to the camera he is holding in his hands. They’re nicehands, Ryan notices. Long fingered and lean. The man isn’t exactlywhat he would consider conventionally attractive, but in a weird way,he’s sort of cute. His face is long, his nose is big and his eyeskind of droopy. But he has soft, fluffy brown hair and a nice stubblecovering his chin and jaw. He’s also tall. Really, really tall andRyan licks his lips thinking about someone that height pinning him tothe next wall to kiss him senseless.

OkayRyan, chill your bi little brain. It’s just a photographer.

Saidphotographer stands up to his full height – and Ryan can’t helpbut gulp a little at that – and removes the lens of his camera,swapping it for another one with quick, practiced movement. When helooks up, his gaze brushes Ryan and Ryan can’t help it, he lifts ahand in greeting and smiles a bit. The guy pauses and then grins andwaves back.

Somewherebetween high school and college, Ryan has learned to always followwhat’s happening on the show even if he was paying attention tosomething else. He knows he’s going to be on stage in five, so hejust smirks at the tall guy, gestures towards the stage and shrugsapologetically. The photographer seems amused and just nods and giveshim a thumbs up. Ryan chuckles as the thumbs up turns into fingerguns and a wink. He pretends to swoon and sees the guy’s earspinken. Interesting.He smiles at the man before he ducks backstage and gets ready for hisnumber.

Afterthe show, he finds the photographer again. He is ambling about,offering people at the tables to take their picture on the Calliopewith the show’s scenery in the background. From what Ryan can see,the guy is joking a lot, making people laugh genuine laughter whilehe is taking pictures. Afterwards, he shows them the tablet he iscarrying in a bag under his arm, probably showing off their pictureson a big screen. He hands out business cards and Ryan can see himcollect the odd tip, always humble and grateful. Ryan is hanging outat the bar and buffet. He normally focuses on buffets and stacks hisplate with a bunch of fried food, but tonight, he is distracted. Ryanisn’t sure what exactly draws him to the guy. He is neitherparticularly hot or charming, but there is just something about himthat seems friendly and comforting and, as embarrassing it feels,Ryan could use someone who is just supportive and nice.

Luckily,his interest doesn’t seem as one-sided as he has feared, becauseeventually, the guy passes the bar and just quickly grabs a sausageroll to stuff his face with before he is heading straight for Ryan.Ryan knows he should probably fall into a pose that makes him lookaloof and charming, but he is sick and tired of all the flirting tipshe has gotten over the years. He feels a genuine attraction to thisman, so he decides to be genuine in return.

“Uh.Hey.” The man smiles down at Ryan and Ryan feels his stomach flip alittle. “I saw you earlier, remember me?”

Ryanchuckles. “Yeah, uh. I do remember. Did you think I wouldn’t?”

Thephotographer smiles thinly.

“Itdepends on the person. There are some who consider the staff kind of…replaceable. They don’t recall our names or faces. Not that yourcrew did that, but some other show folk have done that. Sorry.”

Ryanwaves him off.

“Noworries, you’re not insulting me or anything. I know some peoplehave huge egos.”

Theman nods.

“Isit okay if I hang out here a bit?”

Ryanblinks.

“Ofcourse! You don’t have to ask that.”

Theguy leans against the wall next to Ryan and he seems to relax alittle as he looks over and smiles. He has a nice smile and Ryanfinds himself mirroring it.

“Iguess I got in touch with too many… uh, complicated people.” Theman says and laughs. “There are some people who don’t want to beseen with me.”

Ryanfrowns.

“Whythe fuck not?”

Theguy shrugs.

“Classicism,I think? I’m just a dudetaking pictures of people who deserve having their picture takenbecause they are rich and beautiful.” He sounds a little bitter andRyan feels himself nodding.

“Yeah,I get it. The kind who wants entertainment but treats entertainerslike dancing monkeys. I know what you mean.”

Hecatches the guy shoot him a look, measuring and unsure.

“I’msorry you get that shit, too. If it helps, I thought your show wasreally amazing.”

Ryansmiles.

“Itdoes. Thank you.”

Thephotographer laughs and it sounds of relief.

“I’mShane, by the way.”

Heholds out his hand and Ryan shakes it.

“I’mRyan.”

Shanesmiles back at him and Ryan could swear he sees a sparkle in thosehazel eyes.

“Well,Ryan. I took a bunch of pictures of your show… wanna help me pickthe best ones?”

Theyend up at a table in the back where they go through the picturesShane took. Ryan is impressed. Whatever Shane did to take and editthem, the colors are popping wonderfully, which has always beensomething that was very important to him in this show. Shane alsoseems to be able to capture movement very well without causing thepicture to blur. Ryan smiles down at a picture of the main actressand him and he feels great.

“Isthat your girlfriend?” Shane asks.

Ryanknows that tone. That actively by-the-by behavior. The question thatwas really a different one: “Are you single or are you taken?”

Hedecides to go easy on the guy.

“No,no. She’s a great friend but we could never fit together likethat.” He laughs.

“Ihad a boyfriend a while ago, but it didn’t work out so I’ve beenliving the single life ever since.”

Shanelooks over at him, eyes widening and Ryan smirks at him.

Theydon’t push anywhere that night. Instead, they talk about picturesand Shane explains to him what adjustments he made to capture thecolors so well. Ryan listens intently but still instantly forgetshalf of it. He admits it to Shane, who just laughs and promises toteach him again and again if he wants to.

Afterthat, they are sort of glued at the hip. Some of Shane’sphotographs are just for Ryan. Moments during the show where Shanehad zoomed in to take a picture of Ryan looking especially good. Ryanfeels flattered, but he also is worried. He doesn’t want this guyto believe that he is just talking to him so he gets the bestpictures.

Hemakes a plan. On one of the nights they don’t have a show, he hangsaround the dining room until Shane is done taking pictures. He wavesat the other man to catch his attention and his heart flutters whenhe sees that face split into a smile. They hang out in the kitchen.The cook lets them, because they are technically staff and each ofthem is sitting in the back with a filled plate while talking.

“Iwas wondering.” Ryan starts, pushing himself to continue. “Do youmaybe want to hang out at my cabin later? Each of the actors got abottle of Champagne as a gift from the captain. But drinking alonesounds like a stupid idea.”

Heis laughing for good measure, but the way Shane’s eyes widen almostmakes him laugh even more.

“Uh,I mean. Are you sure you don’t want to keep it for a betteroccasion?”

Ryanleans in, not too much, but enough to insinuate something.

“Ican’t think of a better occasion than sharing it with you.”

Thereit is, the clear breach from fun flirting to serious flirting and hedoesn’t miss Shane swallowing.

“Imean… I feel really honored…”

Ryan’sheart starts to beat faster and faster as he is waiting for the“but”. It doesn’t come, however.

“Areyou sure?” Shane asks, eyes wide and stunned. Ryan frowns at him.

“Ofcourse I’m sure! Why wouldn’t I?”

Shaneblinks and actually blushes.

“Imean. You’re a pretty popular actor and singer and dancer. I’mjust a dude who takes pictures.”

AndRyan understands. His heart melts a little as he looks at Shane.

“Youwere never just a dude who takes pictures to me. I would love to hangout with you whichever way you want, Shane. Okay?”

Shaneonly nods, face pink.

Theyshare the Champagne and talk about shows and pictures and filming.Shane explains a bit about his camera to Ryan. He picks throughsome adjustments and talks about exposure and light with Ryanslouching on the bed next to him. Ryan doesn’t quite understandwhat Shane is getting at, until he catches a certain sentence:

“See,most people on these cruises are rich, privileged white people.Photographing them is easy because many cameras are made to taketheir picture. But when someone has brown or olive or black skin, youhave to fiddle with exposure a bit.”

Ryanwatches him with interest. They are about half way into the bottleand Ryan has taken off his blazer. He is still wearing the pink shirtand maroon pants after discarding the tie. Shane picks a lens andsits up to point the camera at Ryan. Ryan looks up, champagne flutein one hand, eyes wide and the flash goes off, less blinding than heexpected. Shane takes his tablet and swipes across the screen a bitand Ryan sits up to look over his shoulder. He sees himself, leaningon the bed, slightly surprised… and his skin glows.The brown tint fits the reddish outfit so well he feels his breathstop.

“See,babe?” He hears Shane say. “I told you. You’re a sight tobehold. Living, breathing art. I’m just some dude who takespictures.”

“Ah.”Ryan empties his flute and puts it away. He is familiar with thefeeling of inadequacy.

“Youthink I’m just hanging with you because you take good pictures?”

Shane’seyebrows twitch upwards.

“Uh…I don’t want to sound like I have a bad impressionof you- It’s just-”

Ryansmiles.

“Iget it. A bunch of people in the business have seduced you for you totake nice pictures of them?”

Shanechuckles.

“No,it never actually gets to the seducing. They just hang with me a bitand I take a bunch of pictures and then I leave.” He seems to sigh.“It’s okay. I’m doing it for the art. Not justso someone… I don’t know.Owes me affection, I guess.”

Ryanchuckles.

“Clearlythey don’t owe you anything. But in return, you don’t owe themeither, okay?”

Shaneseems to frown.

“ButI’m not an actor. My job isto take pictures of people like you.”

Ryansmiles softly.

“Andthat makes you a great person. You put so much thought in what you’redoing. Your photographs are beautiful. And you put so much work intothem. Work you really don’t have to put in just for a couple ofshow photographs.”

Hesmiles softly at Shane and it seems to work, because the other man isflushing and moving in his seat.

“I’m…I’m not doing it for attention.”

“Iget that.” Ryan whispers. He reaches out and runs a hand throughShane’s soft hair. “I guess you just caught mine. Do you… notwant it?”

Despiteeverything, Ryan wants to make sure. Shane could simply beintimidated by sitting next to someone who is kind of a “celebrity”,even though Ryan never saw himself that way. He doesn’t want Shaneto go along with something, just because Ryan is popular. Butapparently, his fear had been absurd.

Shaneblinks and laughs and leans in a little.

“Ofcourse I do. I have to admit, I kind of felt drawn to you from thesecond I saw you at the backstage door. But I’m just- And you are-Ryan are you even aware of how gorgeousyou are?”

Ryanchuckles.

“Well,that’s convenient. Because while I’m not sure what about youradmittedly strange face is so interesting to me… I have to admitI’m pretty smitten with you.”

Shane’seyes widen. Ryan sees him swallow hard and shuffle back a little.Ryan feels a sting of pain and discomfort.

“Imean… I’m sorry if that was too forward. I guess I just wantedyou to know that I’m not just some celebrity who wants nicepictures or is bored. I actually like you. And I’m happy to havemet you.”

Ryanmeans it. They have talked about a lot of random things and duringthat time, Ryan has realized that he and Shane fit togetherperfectly. Almost all of their interests overlap, they have the sametype of humor and the same taste in movies. The only thing theyreally disagree on is the existence of the supernatural, but their“fight” had quickly melted into an excited talk about theirfavorite Horror films.

“Ryan…you don’t want this. Me. You don’t want me. I’m a hugemess. I wanted to be someone and now I take pictures of richpeople on cruises, sucking up to them so they will leave me a nicetip. I’m a fucking failure. You have seen me. You know it.”

Ryanalmost laughs, but he doesn’t because Shane seems honestly upset.He takes the man’s hands.

“Listen,Shane. I really don’t have a negative opinion of your job. I’m abit upset about how little confidence you have in it, because I thinkit’s cool and you are really good at it. I still hope you will sendme that picture you took earlier. And if you don’t like me thatway, it’s cool. But if you are interested, I would like you to…well, stay here. Tonight.”

Shane’seyes seem huge in the low light of Ryan’s cabin.

“Really?”He finally manages.

Ryansmiles and leans in to press a kiss to the corner of the other man’smouth.

“Iknow you’re sometimes around a bunch of douches with too muchmoney, but just because I work on a stage doesn’t mean I sharetheir views on things.”

“No.”Shane says softly. “I mean… I didn’t think you would.”

Heglances at Ryan. It seems like he is trying to get across an apology.

“Iguess I was just worried that someone as magnificent as you wouldsettle for someone as average as… well, me.”

Ryan’sbreath stops for a second.

“Please.”He whispers. “Please don’t think you’re ever less thanperfect, okay?”

Shanechuckles a bit as Ryan leans in.

“Aren’tthose song lyrics?”

Ryansmirks, their lips almost touching. “Maybe?”

Shane’ssmile widens and Ryan feels a huff of laughter.

“Iwould love to stay with you, if you let me. And I will allow you totry and proof to me that I am nice to look at.”

Ryansnorts and cups the other man’s face in his hands.

“Ipromise I’ll do my very best, love.”

Shaneblinks and stares at him and then his tongue darts out to wet hislips. Ryan can hear the sound of Shane’s camera turning off as theman puts it aside.

“Okay.”Ryan feels the whisper more than he hears it. Shane’s breathtickles his lips. “Show me.”

Ryandoesn’t let him ask twice.

#shyan #skeptic believer #ask #anonymous #prompts #this was a cute prompt and i hope i did it justice #i'm sorry for writing so much insecure shane #i guess it's a coping mechanism #ffffff

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lightsandlostbells · 6 years

Text

Druck episode 9-10 reaction

If they don’t renew this show I’m going to boycott Germany.

a huge thank you to everyone who translated Druck and made the clips accessible to the international viewers! I know it was a lot of work and the geoblock was a pain. I really appreciate the continued effort.

Episode 9

Clip 1 - Hanna comes for Matteo

Jonas is really closed-off in their conversation; he’s not that warm to Hanna, which is kind of interesting since I’d say the other Jonases were a little less frosty in this scene. Especially because German Jonas and Hanna have such strong chemistry. But I get why he’d still be upset, I think less time has passed since he and Hanna had the talk about him not understanding her? He hasn’t had much time to work through it so he still seems really wounded.

Clip 2 - Hanna and Jule

Hanna appropriately has a “stronger together” shirt for a scene in which girls commiserate over how boys are such dicks.

Jule and Hanna’s conversation didn’t really have the meat to it from their previous interaction to set up how friendly Jule is here, I would’ve preferred a little more hesitation and maybe an apology from Jule. A little initial awkwardness just to acknowledge that they didn’t leave off on a cozy note.

I do love the initiative Hanna is taking and that she’s the one to extend the invitation/olive branch to Jule. It’s a nice mark of maturity. We’ve seen some scenes of her gradually gaining confidence and being proactive so we can chart how her character is slowly but surely moving forward.

Clip 3 - Fight on the stairs

I dig this artsy paint-splattered stairwell. I felt like it also made the scene a little more tense and awkward (in a tonally appropriate way) - instead of them running into each other in a warmly lit stairwell or hallways with lots of light shining through the windows, they’re in a closed space (very awkward) with cool coloring and no sunlight. There really is no way to avoid this conversation once they run into each other, and there’s still ice between them, unlike with Eva and Jonas where you could tell they did enjoy seeing each other despite the awkwardness.

Nice details are added to Matteo’s family story, that the dad wanted him to come along but Matteo chose to stay behind and take care of his mom. Oh baby :(

Jonas got rougher with Samuel than I expected, like he seems dead inside talking to Hanna but he came alive to slam Samuel up against that bar.

To be fair, Samuel was kinda asking for trouble with that comment, which was unprompted and meant to provoke. You guys are also in a tight enclosed space, you can’t really avoid each other.

And Jonas doesn’t tear away from her grip, he firmly removes her hands. He is not happy with her at all.

Lmao, these random students staring at Hanna. She was just a bystander to that male aggression, yo.

Clip 4 - Drink your way out of obligations

Is it just me or did Sam’s hair get even bluer? Or is she just that radiant?

Nice that Mia acknowledged that Kiki behaved poorly even while expressing that they should include her. Because yeah, I feel bad for all the Vildes/Kikis knowing what they’re going through, but they also were nasty to their friends.

L O L Sam’s brilliant plan to get out of supervising the party - get drunk, get fired, go to the party. That’s kind of amazing. And they’re all like sure, we’ll roll with it.

Good that Amira mentions that Leonie and Sara called Kiki a slut previously and there’s a bit of a challenge between her and Kiki. Not a great look that Kiki wanted to disregard that incident at least in front of Amira, her defender.

You know, Kiki is one of the bigger jerks of the Vildes, but … I still kinda like her, I’m sorry! It’s not that she’s a great person, it’s that the way she’s acted and written feels very realistic. She feels like a clear social climber/popularity seeker but is messy enough to alienate people. Compared to the way that say, Kelsey is portrayed in Skam Austin, she’s also a jerk, but the depiction often veers into something cartoonish and broad - like a definite TV character. Kiki feels like a ton of people I’ve known in real life.

Sam is drawing an alien in her notebook to illustrate how her pal Kiki has gone to space. She also appears to have doodled a flower and a unicorn.

Clip 5 - Karaoke emotions

Okay, now THIS karaoke scene is exactly what I wanted from karaoke in S4 of OG Skam. Lovable scamps wailing their hearts out to beloved pop tunes.

Sam doing Wannabe by the Spice Girls!!! I'm not imagining that she dressed and styled her hair like Scary Spice, right?

YES AMIRA “DA QUEEN” IS NEXT! Dedicating it to her favorite Germans! Everyone cheering Amira :D :D :D Amira doing Rolling in the Deep!!!! We are blessed.

Are they all wearing pussy hats? Also love Hanna and Mia’s blatantly feminist shirts. Truly a ladies’ night.

It’s hilarious that Carlo and the other dude (do we know him?) are wearing matching pussy hats. Honestly from what I remember of him way back in the Dark Ages of March/April, he didn’t seem like a terrible dude. A bit obnoxious, but not rude or bad on Elias levels.

The Hanna and Matteo confrontation? My soul will never be ready.

Oh man, Matteo openly acknowledges his mom is going insane. There’s no feigned attempt to keep an optimistic attitude about his parental situation like with Isak. And he’s not putting in any effort to seem cheered up, except for having a drink.

Hanna doesn’t even toy with her food before eating it, she just lays it out for Matteo and confronts him directly about telling Jule.

And he looks so sad and depressed when she asks the reason. Worth noting that he doesn’t directly confirm her hypothesis that he has a crush on her, he just looks downcast and awkward.

He looks honestly near tears when he asks her how she couldn’t get it. Because as we know, he’s not really talking about him liking Hanna, he wants to know how she couldn’t understand his BLATANTLY OBVIOUS crush on Jonas.

A drunk Kiki appears! Does she have a tattoo on her arm??

And she gives Matteo a hug … have they met before? Lmao.

Kiki staggering in just in time to steal Amira’s spotlight, scream a thematically appropriate song about how she and Alexander could have had it all, and then collapse is the most Kiki-ish thing I can think of. Yeah, that’s exactly how it would go.

Also I thought “we could have had it alllll” could apply to Amira and Kiki’s relationship , heh. Especially because it ends up getting downgraded a lot from Sana and Vilde’s relationship? It was so important that Sana was the one carrying Vilde and sticking her fingers down her throat and letting her puke down her front, and that their relationship in particular was affirmed.

They just dragged Kiki to the nearest toilet and had her puke on some dude’s shoes (that’s Matteo’s friend, right?) which I will admit, more practical than carrying her like a romance novel heroine as a divine hymn plays.

Wow, so it’s just Mia tending to Kiki and we don’t get the girls all lying in bed together. On the one hand that’s a little disappointing; it’s one of the most iconic scenes of S1 and probably the whole show, and it’s a moment that really solidified the girl squad as a ride or die group of friends. But I also like them to try new things and not just redo big successful moments from the original show. I did like seeing Mia go through all these little steps of tending to Kiki, getting her dressed, sending a text to her mom.

Pretty big difference that it’s Mia and not Amira taking care of her, though; as mentioned above, the Amira-Kiki relationship is downplayed. Not super keen on that because Kiki was quite nasty to Amira and visibly hurt her feelings on several occasions, such as the bus stop incident and the disastrous group meeting. Sana was better at adopting a harder attitude and not letting the hurt show. But then again, Kiki is the one who really needs to grovel, not Amira.

Also ...HUGE break in POV since Hanna isn’t there but lol I’ve accepted it’s a losing battle even if I’m still not super fond of it. You win, less-than-tight third person POV. I surrender.

Mia has a text from Alexander, because what is truly desirable in a man you have rejected is him texting you about changing your mind close to midnight while you take care of your friend who he fucked and then ghosted passed out beside you in bed.

JONAS PLAYING THE GUITAR AND SINGING FOR MATTEO WOW WOW

while wearing a pussy hat lmao, BEST REMAKE JONAS

I’m sure Matteo loved Jonas playing and singing a song dedicated to him, only for Jonas to slow down and get more serious once Hanna entered. Not to mention shifting that eye contact from him to Hanna.

Lovely scene of Hanna and Jonas, I’m a broken record but they have SUCH good chemistry. They just seem so into each other, and overall I would say they felt so much that they liked each other.

NOOOOOO don’t break up! Please!

Episode 10

Clip 1 - Honas and Janna

Honas and Janna fucking ADORABLE.Them snuggling… you’re hurting me, Druck.

He took her nose! Goddamn!!!

I love all this backstory and delving into the beginning of their relationship. This honest conversation that takes its time and really lets them talk ... what Skam does at its best, man.

Jonas looks so heartbroken in this flash forward where he’s holding onto Hanna.

And that painfully raw moment where he asks if she regrets choosing him and the answer is an unspoken yes, owwww

All this emotional soul-baring, such as Hanna talking about how once she got with Jonas, she was only happy when she was with him, and dependent on him for happiness. And that she became paranoid Jonas would cheat on her and thought she deserved to get hurt. And that she changed her personality so he would like her and wouldn’t have a reason to leave her. Really happy how plainly Hanna stated the truths, even the raw and uncomfortable ones.

I know they just laid out all the reasons Hanna should be on her own and they should break up, but I don't want them tooooooooo

The way they hold each other and cry and draw it out for so long because they don’t want it to end!

“I still got your nose.” “You can keep it.” FUCK YOU, DRUCK!!!!!

You realize that we need this show to run for many more seasons and eventually Jonas will casually mention to Hanna that he’s still got her nose and she says, “I hope you’re taking care of it.”

And then one day he gives her a fake nose like on one of those Groucho Marx masks and she puts it on and IDK, this is all a buildup to them kissing again.

Hanna as an independent woman, wearing her Femme Future shirt. Nice.

They’re honestly up there with original Eva and Jonas for me. Round of applause for the director and actors for making this couple as likable and believable as they are.

Clip 2 - Mia and Kiki in the mooooorning

Oh jeez, this is a TOTAL break from the POV, I wonder what the logic behind it was?

I guess they're setting up S2. Or who knows, maybe there were scheduling conflicts with the actors and they couldn’t have everyone together.

Seriously, what’s Kiki’s tattoo? I’m sure it’s just because the actress happens to have one.

Kiki saying she wants to die, oh no. She looks miserable.

Although how dare you show Mia’s flat but not her roommates.

Clip 3 - Doctor visit

So only Mia went with Kiki? They’ve really downplayed her relationship with Amira, and the other girls as well. I mean in a way, it’s nice it’s just the two of them, and I presume Mia will keep this incident a secret. I hope this will affect their S2 dynamic a little.

I got so hyped for this scene, though. I adore this doctor.

Did she tell her she was pregnant at first just to mess with her??? Omg.

I doubt that’s the most professional approach but who cares, my love

Mia saying that the pregnancy was “Unplanned of course, she’s 17” and the doc mentioning the 5-year-olds in Peru or Chile who gave birth … I mean, 5-year-olds who get pregnant are the victims of rape, so hardly planned.

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away” but I want to see more of you! Can the whole cast just get like incredibly sick and have a reason to stop by?

Not only did she have an apple, she gave Mia a banana too, lmao! She just keeps fruit in her office for wayward teenagers not getting the proper nutrition.

We need this show to get to S3 so I can see this doc talking to Matteo.

Clip 4 - Mia giving Kiki the talk

I guess Hanna told Mia about hearing Kiki puke at school.

This is pretty direct referencing to Kiki’s ED when I think it’s been more or less implied before, in other versions. I mean it’s pretty obvious, it’s just not spelled out quite this much.

There’s also a more direct reference to Mia also having an eating disorder … “I know exactly how you feel.” That’s very pointed. Noora having an eating disorder was understated and mostly subtext in a lot of ways.

Again, a shame that Kiki and Amira’s relationship was downplayed, but hopefully the focus on Mia and Kiki in these scenes will add more to S2.

Clip 5 - Hero party

This was just a heartwarming clip so don’t expect commentary other than 😍😍😍.

Hanna and Mia and Amira just hanging out!!!!

Amira eating during Ramadan, though... the remakes are really bad at remembering this. (I’m not Muslim so if I’ve made a mistake in understanding when she can/can’t eat, let me know. And I do know that she can eat during her period, it’s more like in the absence of other acknowledgment of Ramadan, I tend to think it was an oversight.)

Amira giving Hanna a hug and telling her she’s strong … GOSH. Although she calls Hanna out on the similarities between what she did with Leonie and what Matteo did to Hanna, which I mean ... fair.

Amira encouraging Hanna to talk to Matteo .... I know this is for Hanna’s benefit, not Matteo’s, but man, I can’t wait for Amira and Matteo friendship. They’re both vulnerable kids with lots of buried feelings.

Oh my God, them putting on their security uniforms and being ADORABLE, ahhhhh! We get another slow motion power walk on the way to the party, Druck gets the essence of Skam.

Of course the power walk was just to lead up to them standing/sitting outside awkwardly.

Are they for real going to get drunk to avoid their responsibilities? Maybe not the best life choice, but in this situation, sure, why not.

Amira getting “high on Allah” was precious. GIVE ME S4 ALREADY.

Mia is drinking, which is quite a character divergence from Noora.

Was that a peace offering of beer from Leonie? Love it.

OH GOD JONAS AND MATTEO AND THAT OTHER DUDE ROLLING UP IN A CART

Sam is so magnificent. Her hair is a beautiful blue tower!!

And she and her brother are too cute! She brought him and his Bass Bus to liven up the night!

SHE TOLD HIM TO DRIVE INSIDE. THE BEEEEST

Matteo and Hanna <3333 She said she realized she’d done as wrong to her friends, and she asks if they can stay friends. It seems like a really genuine moment, guys. I wouldn’t blame her for keeping him on her shit list for a time but it feels like they might not drift quite as much as Eva and Isak did, since there’s maybe a bit more comfort between them here.

Mia says she’s worried that Kiki is drinking too much again and that’s why she’s not there, suggesting that she hasn’t told Alexander to apologize to her and that’s not the reason she wants to call her.

OH GOD THIS AMAZING ADAPTATION OF THE “FUCK, YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL” MOMENT

Mia tells Alex he’s creepy for that whole “no means I want you more” thing. She tells him it was blackmail to pressure her for just one date and then he’ll leave her alone. He tries the “fuck, you’re beautful line on her” and she turns around to make out with Hanna. Then she calls him a massive asshole and tells him she’s not her type, wink wink. She and Hanna walk away laughing.

This is the best remake, guys.

ALSO LET’S TALK ABOUT THAT HANNA AND MIA SMOOCH, A REMAKE FINALLY GAVE ME NOOREVA

On a more serious note, there’s absolutely reason to be concerned this is just queerbaiting. I doubt Hanna and Mia are going to be a couple, Mia and Alex are almost certainly going to have a romance arc, and the whole “two girls kissing in a bar so a boy can witness” is definitely enough to give off “barsexuality” vibes and make it seem like just a gimmick.

However, the production team has confirmed that Mia is bi, so hopefully that will be acknowledged in the show itself (other than “I don’t like labels” which is not actually an admission of bisexuality, and tbh which suggests that she won’t call herself bi on the show). But even if she doesn’t want to label herself, there are ways to address her interest in women and incorporate it into the story. And I hope to God they don’t make Alexander all “girls kissing is hot” or trying to pursue Mia even though she’s indicated she’s a lesbian (even if she’s really bi, her comment to him suggests she’s a lesbian), because that character does NOT need another reason to make me dislike him.

For real, Alexander better leave her alone after this, because Mia has told him she is not only not him, but not into dudes, and whether that’s true or not, he needs to accept it as truth. If they get together Mia has to make the first step in pursuing him.

Damn, this this makes me want to go back and rewatch S1 through shipper-tinted goggles. So was Mia really trying to hit on Hanna at the bar? I don’t know if that’s what they meant but I’m declaring it canon in my mind.

Plot twist: Toilet Sam pats Alexander on the shoulder here as foreshadowing for their upcoming love affair, Mia will be free to get together with a nice girl in S2.

Another plot twist: That awkward yet smoldering Jonas/Toilet Sam eye contact.

You know, if Alexander apologized to Kiki without any incentive - if Mia’s like “I’m gay” and then Alexander apologizes to Kiki anyway - then that makes me approve of him more, since he doesn’t think Mia is an option now. Unless he’s thinking, “Well, time to convert the lesbian!” But otherwise - a MAJOR step in improving Winterberg.

Kiki got a little sarcastic with Alexander, too. ”Wow, you know my name?: GOOD FOR HER.

Group hug! I still feel that the girl squad is a little disjointed, mainly on the Kiki angle, but that’s to be expected.

Mia giving Kiki a slice of pizza … very nice to work that in, nice. And Alexander apologized so that may have something to do with it, that her image-related insecurities stemming from his comment have been soothed.

Also, props to Mia for waiting until the other girls left to bring up Matteo’s gay porn to Hanna.

L M A O it only took Hanna 10 episodes to realize Matteo’s deeply gay looks and feelings for Jonas. That’s impressive because of all the m/m Isak/Jonas pairs, Matteo was by farrrrr the most transparent about his 😍😍😍😍😍

Speaking of, excellent smitten look Matteo gives Jonas there. Some of the remakes have been toning down the 😍😍😍😍😍 but no, Matteo is bringing it.

Awww, the cast dancing during the credits <3 <3 <3 Was this from their audition tapes or something?

General Comments:

This is my favorite remake. My ass will be so bitter if Druck out of all of them doesn’t get renewed. It’s the one that most captures the spirit of the original, has an age-appropriate and charming cast for the most part, great chemistry between the characters, and did a decent job of adapting the storyline while giving the story its own personality.

Moreover, Druck really captures the vulnerability of the characters, which is essential to Skam’s storytelling. A Matteo or Amira season really excites me because those actors have already displayed capacity for fragility in this season, and I think they could do decent jobs in their own seasons.

Plus, Jonas would be SO amazing in a Matteo season! If I already loved him in S1, when he’s at his worst, imagine how awesome he’ll be supporting Matteo during his coming out process!

Give me that Amira and Matteo friendship. Or Amira falling in love, jeeeeeeez. Matteo falling for a boy who can match him in longing stares.

I’ve had some reservations about Mia’s acting but she has honestly grown a lot on me as a character, I like how she’s written, and so frankly? Even S2 kinda has me excited. My personal feelings about the central relationship aside, Druck deserves a chance to have its S2 as much as any of the others.

IDK, it’s kinda frustrating that the geoblock and random production issues seem to have cut off a lot of the potential fanbase, so I hope the show gets another chance, and that they fix whatever lingering issues.

They definitely could do better with social media output and overall keeping the interest in the show flowing between clips.

Anyway, for the most part, I actually enjoyed Druck S1 quite a bit, and I truly hope I get to see more of these characters.

I don’t speak German, so if I missed some context, feel free to correct me.

If you got this far, thank you for reading!

#druck reactions #this is a week late bc i got busy with life stuff #but i enjoyed these last clips so much that i did want to write something

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 7 years

Note

If you are still doing book reviews, could you do one for the departure?

Short opinion: I admire the hell out of #19: The Departure, and I’d put it on every summer reading list in the country if I could. I also find it unbelievably annoying.

Long opinion:

I agree with all the people who point out that K.A. Applegate does something incredibly daring and complex and real-world important with #19, through showing that the Evil Empire of Evil can still have a ton of residents who just kind of ended up in Evilstown through the bad luck of being born there and can’t really be held responsible for (initially) believing the poison they’ve been fed their entire lives. Aftran 942 is arguably the most important character in the series because her greatest sin is simply not questioning the beliefs that she grew up with—and as a result, she horribly enslaves and violates at least three or four people (including children) and commits at least one murder. We come to understand that what Cassie asks her to do—to reject everything she was raised with and believes and cares about—is not only incomprehensibly difficult, but nearly ends up being deadly. Applegate deconstructs the idea that entire groups or belief systems can be “evil” and simultaneously shows that the actions of an entire group can be so evil that the only moral choice is opposition. She makes it clear that many of the yeerks fighting the war against humans are doing so because of false or distorted beliefs, and also shows that rebellion against those beliefs is possible.

But in order to accomplish this effect, #19 awkwardly uses everything from an enraged black bear to a fucking random-ass leopard to herd the characters around the plot. How about just a bear, but maybe one that is humanized or has rabies? How about a more straightforward survival story with no random-ass leopards, maybe one in which Cassie’s major moment of saving Aftran’s life is instead giving up all of her found mushrooms so that Karen can eat?

Regardless of how it happens, Aftran and Cassie together make this incredible, radical choice to trust each other, and they do so specifically because of their forced empathy for one another. Cassie thinks of yeerks slugs and slavers, but never as individuals, until she and Aftran end up forced to spend two nights sitting around in a cave whining about their respective difficulties with the ongoing war. Aftran dismisses gedds, hork-bajir, and other non-yeerks as “lesser” species in need of domination for their own good until she ends up unavoidably forced to take Cassie’s perspective as she is literally seeing through Cassie’s eyes. It’s not that Cassie is anything all that special; it’s just that Cassie is a unique individual with fears and dreams. Cassie’s a scared kid thrust into a war too big for her to handle, just like Aftran. Cassie’s an animal nut and an only child who thinks shopping with her best friend is silly and has a crush on her CO. Cassie deserves to live her life free from controllerdom, even if that means Aftran isn’t allowed to use her eyes.

However, in order to have that moment of empathy, CASSIE FIRST HAS TO BECOME A FUCKING VOLUNTARY CONTROLLER. Just to be clear, I am 100% with Marco: once that happens, the other Animorphs have a duty and an obligation, albeit an unpleasant one, to kill Cassie and Aftran. Forget letting Tom have the morphing cube; that decision right there is the most unforgivable thing Cassie ever does to her team. Letting the yeerks morph is a bad idea. Letting the yeerks know the names, addresses, faces, and personalities of every one of the Animorphs is a far bigger betrayal. Worse still, it’s one that Cassie commits out of sheer carelessness: she seems to be suffering from temporary amnesia because she genuinely does not realize she is dooming all of her friends and her entire family to the same fate when she lets herself become a controller. It is canon (according to Tom, Eva, Chapman, Allison Kim, Alloran, and John Berryman, all on different occasions) that being an involuntary controller is LITERALLY a fate worse than death; if not for Aftran, Cassie would dodge that bullet while allowing everyone she loves to take it in her place. The only alternative would be forcing someone she loves (Rachel or Marco) to kill her in order to save the other people they love. I cannot think too hard about this moment without despising Cassie as a human being. Anyway, would it have been that hard just to have Aftran abandon Karen and infest Cassie one of those times Cassie was sleeping next to her?

However, Applegate does an absolutely amazing job of showing that the moral choice—to give up on having a host—is the unbelievably difficult choice for Aftran. She explains the rhetoric of “look out for oneself” and “fight to get what you and your group need” very clearly—and then utterly takes it down, not just on a societal level, but also on an individual level. Cassie and Aftran draw strength from one another, saving each other’s lives several times until there’s no doubt that each one would be dead without the other. Cassie’s whole character arc is about the importance of drawing on others for strength and about the power that comes from vulnerability, and her willingness to rely on Aftran to save her is an even more important part of her development than her willingness to save Aftran. The lesson that Aftran takes from Cassie’s dependency as a form of strength is also really important: that it doesn’t have to be either-or, a matter of the yeerks having the humans’ strength or the humans having the humans’ strength. It is possible for the two species to work together, and the moral solution to the power imbalance is definitely not one in which the yeerks punish the humans for the andalites’ bad choices and their own bad luck through using children as livestock.

And yet this lesson gets somewhat lost in that Cassie’s whole oops-I’m-a-controller fuckup miraculously works out for her. She does not allow Aftran to infest her in the hope of changing Aftran’s mind; she does it because she’s unwilling to get Karen’s blood on her hands. And then she not only avoids consequences for her mistake but ends up being better off for having made it. I’d be less annoyed with Cassie doing something stupid and then the universe rearranging itself to make that stupidity okay if she didn’t do it four or five other times in this same damn book (quitting the team, using a horse to attack an angry bear, allowing a controller to see her morphing, becoming a nothlit) and if the universe didn’t accommodate her every damn time (Jake being way too understanding that she’s leaving her friends to die, the horse fending off the bear, the controller being one of the few on the planet who is wavering about the idea of involuntary hosts, caterpillars resetting as butterflies). I’d be even less annoyed if the series as a whole didn’t demonstrate this pattern again and again and again. Cassie risks her life to save some baby skunks, only for the skunks to become the key to stopping Visser Three from destroying Ax’s forest (#9). Cassie thinks that the gang should trust George Edelman (#17) and Mr. Tidwell (#29) only for them both to prove to be trustworthy; she doesn’t think that they should trust Taylor (#43) but still manages to come out of nowhere to save their butts after she proves to be right yet again. Cassie stops Jake from killing Tom because she doesn’t want Jake hurt; that decision ends up working itself into the morph-capable yeerks rebelling and Cassie claiming she knew it all along (#50). Cassie just “knows somehow” that stopping John Berryman from ever being born will bring Jake back (MM3), just like she “knows somehow” that the Animorphs can trust Ax but not Tom (MM4). It’s sloppy characterization, it’s awkward plotting, and it’s just bad writing.

AND YET this book is also incredibly important as an SF* story in general, because (I will be the first to admit, as a huuuuuuugggee SF geek from about age six on forward) SF specifically has an ethics problem. No other genre promotes ideas such as “they were urgals so it’s okay for us to slaughter several thousand of them and then go have a party,” “we often shoot/stab/torture humans to hurt the demons inside them because, dude, they’re demons,” or “my dad being mean to me is a valid excuse for destroying a planet.” The yeerks get a raw deal right from birth—but being born without eyes isn’t a valid excuse to steal someone else’s body in order to use their eyes. Cassie is only trying to defend her home and her family from invasion—but defending one’s own isn’t a valid excuse for cruelty or capricious murder. Applegate doesn’t allow the reader the luxury of an easy story with a simple moral; she shows how the right choice is neither easy to find nor easy to make once one finds it. She also shows that the “heroic” gestures SF worships are often as harmful as they are helpful, and that making the truly right choice to care for others and avoid harm is a years-long commitment to exhausting and unrewarding selflessness. In the process she also heroicizes both Cassie and Aftran for making that choice. There are not enough SF stories that humanize the alien villains, and there are definitely not enough SF stories about strength that doesn’t come from fighting ability.

Nonetheless, I’d like to count off the freaking plot holes in this freaking book. The leopard’s presence is never properly explained, and its behavior doesn’t make much sense: sometimes it’s frightened enough of a wolf to run away, and sometimes it’s willing to fight a wolf and a gorilla in one go. The yeerks just let Karen go at the end for no really good reason, when they go through heroic lengths to kill other ex-hosts who know too much in #8 and #31 especially. Cassie picks up the Idiot Ball at a couple different moments in a way that is frankly uncharacteristic of her. Aftran manages to hunt Cassie down and follow her home while in the body of a seven-year-old child without morphing and apparently without using any public or private transportation, when none of the other yeerks succeeded in doing this with any of the Animorphs after any other battle. A panicked horse, an angry bear, a flooded river, and a badly-placed rock manage to conspire to get Cassie and Karftran stuck out in the woods in a string of bad luck worthy of a Charles Dickens novel. While they’re out there, five super-competent teens who can (among other things) see for miles, track scents, and run at 30+ MPH remain unable to find them for days. Ax doesn’t feel the need to mention the whole “metamorphosis resets the nothlit clock” thing during the several days that Jake et al spent worrying about Cassie.

NONETHELESS, this book shows the awe-inspiring degree of courage needed to face down one’s entire society and systematically reject every aspect of it and its damaging beliefs. It also shows that the Karens of the world need the Aftrans of the world to make that radical decision, because although it is heroic to choose to act in the face of one’s society committing atrocities, it is equally reprehensible to choose not to act in the face of those kinds of atrocities. #19 is a clear example of what makes K.A. Applegate a writer like no other, in that it rejects the easy choice of writing YA SF with all-bad villains or all-good heroes in favor of the right choice of writing an emotionally exhausting but deeply thought-provoking war epic with no simple answers. The fact that Applegate does so in a book that also has gutwrenchingly accurate descriptions of depression (Cassie feeling unable to care about anything, even her loved ones), uncontrollable-giggle-inducing moments of humor (Marco announcing that he has to be excused from class to go buy a nicotine patch because he feels the urge to become an adolescent smoking statistic coming on), and stick-in-your-brain imagery (Aftran struggling to describe blindness as she and Cassie stand in a field of wildflowers) is just another credit to her freaking amazing ability as a writer.

So YOU’D THINK she could come up with a better way to get this plot moving than a fucking random-ass leopard. Le sigh.

*SF ≈ speculative fiction ≈ science fiction, fantasy, horror, modern myth, etc.

#animorphs #animorphs reviews #mama nature #aftran 942 #cassie #the departure #19 #yeerks #asks #answers #anonymous

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junker-town · 4 years

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20020: Questions and answers

The world of 20020 is a very strange one, and people are right to have questions. Jon answers some of them here.

I don’t know if I’ve ever had more fun working on a project than I did with 20020. It was a long time in the making, as was this website, Secret Base. We intend this to be a place where we tell stories, whether they happened last night, a hundred years ago, 18,000 years from now, or some nightmarish video game realm that exists outside of time. In that sense, 20020 doesn’t define this place. Secret Base is the place where something like 20020 can actually live. I don’t want to get too overdramatic; Secret Base is a website where me and a bunch of of other jerks make shit we hope you’ll like. It’s a place I love nonetheless.

I started planning 20020 about three years ago, and I wanted to make sure I wasn’t just writing a sequel to 17776 for its own sake. This time I wanted to piece together a single, cohesive story, rather than a series of loose vignettes. I also wanted to explore certain themes more specifically. What happens to the concept of time if time becomes infinite? What defines a “good game,” and can it be laid out completely by accident? Who are Americans – specifically, these Americans, us? What the Hell is this place, and what was it? What would we do with ourselves if we actually got everything we wanted?

I tried to make something bigger and better than 17776, rather than just bolting on another installment. Personally, I feel like I did, but ultimately, those of you who have read it can be the judge of that. At any rate, thank you so much for reading. I know it was a big ask of you – not only is it roughly as long as a book, it’s a mashup of two things that typically don’t go together. A lot of you came in with zero interest in American football, and a lot of you came in without any particular inclination to read a work of science fiction where humankind never explored space because it was too boring.

A couple of people deserve an extra-special thanks here. Graham MacAree edited the piece from start to finish, and help me close as many logical loopholes as we could, picking out every time a player broke a rule, or one rule was inconsistent with another rule. Throughout the whole process, Graham was totally bought in, and was always in favor of making it more weird over less weird.

Meanwhile, Frank Bi engineered the entire thing so it could actually exist on the Internet. I’m still amazed that some of these pages weigh upwards of 50 megabytes, and yet they scroll completely smoothly without glitching out and slowing down. Frank also built an app on the back end that allowed us to easily format things like dialogue.

Anyway. Earlier this week, I solicited any questions you might have had about 20020 – why I made it, how I made it, how the game works, or literally anything else about it. I received a few hundred of those, and while I couldn’t get to all of them, I’ve answered as many as I could. Thanks so much for sending them in.

* * *

I haven’t read it yet - is it good?

– Anonymous

yeah

20020 feels a lot lighter than 17776. Why did you decide to go with that tone?

– hali

It’s interesting to me that it struck that tone with you, and I’m actually glad it did, because at some points the story actually felt slightly darker to me than 17776 did. I had a couple of priorities this time around.

The first was to continue to avoid what I hopefully avoided in 17776, which was writing some kind of morality play. I am tired of reading stories and watching shows that are trying to teach me some kind of lesson. I’m a grown adult! You’re a television, I don’t want to learn concepts like “right and wrong” from you! Fuck off, loser!

Instead, I mean 17776 and 20020 as open-ended explorations of themes and concepts. It’s so great to see people walk away from them with different ideas. Some people see this post-scarcity eternal playpen as Heaven, some see it as a completely nightmarish existence, and some see it as a sometimes-promising, sometimes-unsettling in-between. Far be it from me to call it one way or the other.

when designing The Bowl Game, how bogged down did you get in rules/technicalities? a game of this scale seems so hard to effectively govern, and many readers seemed to get stuck on rules technicalities that didn’t affect the plot much. i guess a better way to phrase this question is: did you develop the rules of the game first and then write a plot around them, or did the rules emerge naturally as you wrote?

– Victoria (@dirtbagqueer)

This was by far the toughest part of the whole thing. The field itself actually inspired the entire story.

Early in 2018, a few months after finishing 17776, I had a little bit of time in between major projects, and that’s when I started drawing up the fields. The geometry and weird aesthetic of it fascinated me. At the same time, I had absolutely no fucking idea what to do with it. I wanted it to make some sort of sense somehow. I wanted to design actual good, solid gameplay within it, but I just could not figure out how to do it. Over the course of two years, I would occasionally open it up and stare at it, practically begging for some kind of solution to present itself.

It never did, and my stupid ass finally got the point: this thing is a tribute to chaotic, senseless institutions. It’s a monument of the absolute nonsense that spews forth from ostensibly rational architecture. Like, imagine the most grating, insulting, senseless corporate drivel you’ve ever heard. To me, this that in the form of a football field.

It all clicked from there. Who would come up with such a bewildering and obnoxious thing? Obviously, Juice would. He’s amused by the literal interpretations of things and he delights in inanity and chaos. I needed Ten to hibernate, because she loves well-considered, intelligent gameplay, and she would have shot him down at every opportunity.

From there, I just wrote the rules in accordance with what I felt would be the most interesting story. After looking at San Diego State’s sad little field, I realized I wanted them to star in the A-plot, and I’ll admit to writing some of the rules in service of their story.

Chapter 4’s Georgia Quarterback is introduced to us by screaming into a phone for a pizza that never gets to him. It’s the funniest thing I’ve read in a long time and I have to know, was there something or some things that inspired it?

– @Kay_N_B

That guy’s ripped straight out of real life. I used to work at a call center doing tech support for an Internet service provider. Legend has it that if you simply yell REPRESENTATIVE or SUPERVISOR to an automated system enough times, it will get you off hold and talking to someone more quickly. This was definitely not true, but it didn’t stop people from trying.

On one occasion, I picked up the phone to a woman yelling SUPERVISOR! SUPERVISOR! SUPERVISOR! SUPERVISOR! over and over and over. She was yelling it so loud that she couldn’t hear me. Or, more likely, she was just holding the receiver to her mouth without actually holding the speaker to her ear. At any rate, I just could not get through to her. After about two minutes of that, I hung up. Sometimes I wonder how much longer she sat there yelling like that.

Is Lori from the Illinois chess chapter the same Lori who talked to the Durabos in the Koy Detmer chapter in 17776?

– Ale

She is! Not for any particular reason, other than that I liked the idea of bringing someone back. She’s named after my fourth-grade teacher and ninth-grade science teacher.

Why do trains still run on diesel fuel and how does this not affect the climate/environment?

– Vince

In this universe, humans have learned how to perfectly synthesize fossil fuels that are environmentally harmless. (That’s why I was fine with Nick just carelessly pouring gallons of diesel fuel on the ground while he was fueling the train.) In my optimistic view of the real-life future, I’m sure we’ll opt to solar power or some other environmentally benign solution, but these peoples’ insistence on fossil fuels reflects what does and doesn’t change about you if you live for thousands of years. If there are no coming generations to prod you along and find solutions of their own, how much would we really be compelled to change?

That’s a foundational theory of this story, however right or wrong: change happens generationally far more than it does internally. Once we grow up, the cake’s baked. With no generations to come, there are no more agents of change, and we’re the same old slobs. I’m going to want to smell gasoline when I mow the lawn.

What would happen if a team relocated its stadium? Or repainted the field within their existing stadium at a slight angle?

– Dave

Another fundamental theme of this story is that humanity, or at least America, is very, very preservationist. Architecturally, very little has changed, because there’s a sense that if things change, they’ll never truly get back what they once had. Whether or not that’s healthy is entirely up for debate.

Someone in the 20020 thread (apologies, can’t find the comment and don’t remember who it was!) had the idea of one school building an apparatus underneath their field that would allow it to rotate. This would be both fascinating and an absolute nightmare to calculate/write, but I loved that.

How did you create the animations and videos and such with Google Earth?

– @xyleb_

Google Earth allows you to import image overlays and slap them over the terrain. It took me a long time to figure out how to get 111 image files to stretch all across the country without the frame rate slowing to like three frames per second. In the end, it was a matter of making the field image files just about as small as possible (20x1 pixels) and stretching them from coast to coast. Given that Google Earth was never intended to do anything like this, I’m kind of stunned by how well it worked.

How do you choose the names for the players? Are they based off people you know or do you just make up names you think sound cool?

– Arp1033

When it comes to naming characters, my biggest screwup was naming the Georgia Tech quarterback Connor O’Malley. Conner is a very, very college football quarterback name, so I just bullshitted a last name that I thought would fit. Not only is Connor O’Malley an actual public figure, he’s actually a guy I’m a fan of and have been aware of for some time, and yet I somehow never connected those dots until a reader pointed it out.

I tried to give lot of consideration to the naming of characters. Since I prioritized representation, I did want to signal that certain characters were Black, or Hispanic, or Asian. Sometimes this was because I felt it was essential to their character, and sometimes it was just for the sake of representation.

In a couple of circumstances, such as the UAB Steamroller poster in which I named literally 125 characters, I partially relied on name generators. Even with those, you have to be careful. At first, I used one that allowed you to generate names that are traditionally women’s names, or more typically Black names, or Asian names. So I was like, all right, give me 50 women’s names, and it returned a bunch of names like Heather and Sally and et cetera. Yes, of course there are Black women named Sally and Asian women named Heather, but if they all have such names, that doesn’t feel entirely representative. So I requested 20 typically Black women’s names, and like six of them were Keisha. All right, cool, thanks! In that case and a few others, I just ditched name generators entirely and took first names from people I’ve known personally.

If I recall correctly, in the 17776 q+a, you talked about Nines identity a little bit and how you wanted to include an NB character in your stories. In this story, is Nine using they/them pronouns a decision they have made to identify as NB?

– Anonymous

Yep, Nine is non-binary. In 17776, Nine was non-binary simply by virtue of only having been conscious for a few days and not even having the time to examine or consider it. But now it’s been a while, and they actively identify as NB.

do you plan on bringing back any other space probes, like hubble in ‘76?

– scotty

Yes! I’ll spill the beans on that now. Hubble was originally going to appear in 20020, but there was just too much other stuff to get to. He’ll be seen in 20021.

how do you manage to find the “non-dull” part of each of the stories you write? like how do you find the newspaper clippings, names, etc?

– Carter Briggs (@carter1137)

Before I started writing, I spent two whole months just scrolling across every single field. If I hit a town, a lake, a mountain, or even a road with a weird name, I’d stop and search the newspaper archives to see if I could find anything interesting. This was definitely a test of Nancy’s sentiment in 17776 that you can’t walk ten feet in American without running into a story.

Technically speaking, it turns out that this is more or less true, but the vast majority of these stories are UNBELIEVABLY FUCKING BORING. As far as a lot of town are concerned, if anything interesting ever happened there, it sure as Hell didn’t make the papers. I’d say a good 10 percent of old newspapers are just, “Mrs. Hubbard took a trip here to visit her sons.” Just a 19th-century proto-Facebook check-in app. But one time out of a hundred, I’d find out about the James gang’s forgotten stash, or the Stannard Rock Lighthouse, or the escapes of Eugene Jennings, and it was all worth it.

I feel really, really gratified by those. I’m not so sure anyone has explored American history the way I did – by literally drawing lines across it and following those lines. It’s a very silly, stupid way to do it, but if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have found some of these things that would otherwise have been lost to history.

What do the probe’s voices sound like over the phone? Synthesized? Uncannily human? Like a Siri kind of thing?

– Anonymous

They sound human, yeah. How exactly they sound, I can’t say, but I can kinda hear Juice. Despite being French, I hear him as a fast-talking, hyper-charismatic, high-energy Southern dude, like some guys I grew up around. Think some weird amalgamation that’s reminiscent of Matthew McConaughey and Chris Tucker.

what is the answer to nines postscript(what happens when a ball is on a intersection)

– Anonymous

So when a ball is on Field A, and it crosses Field B at an intersection, the scoreboard doesn’t change. It still belongs to Field A, and only transfers to Field B if the player makes a turn.

What do video games look like in the year 20020? Do they still make new games or do they just kind of permanently update the old ones, like an MMO or something?

– Ben

This is not necessarily canon, and is just my real-world feeling on the matter seeping out: the real frontiers in gaming aren’t about graphics or technical ability or anything like that, they’re about creativity and art. Like, Breath of the Wild? That plays at 720p on my Switch, and while it’s artistically breathtaking, I think that strictly from a technical perspective, it could have been made 10 or 15 years ago. And yet it’s probably the greatest video game ever made.

Was there always an intention to do multiple parts (17776, 20020, 20021), or did that evolve as you wrote? What does the idea generation stage look like for a story as massive and out there as this one?

– @stxnmxn

When I finished 17776, I knew I wanted to write a sequel at some point, but didn’t always imagine it in two parts. As recently as this summer, I’d planned on writing it all at once before Graham and I decided to break it up. I’d just found too much stuff to condense it into one thing.

Did you have fun writing it?

– benfrosh

yeah

ballground & ballplay — how did you think to link them to this story? were you looking for them? when did you make the connection to the fields?

– @heysihui

That was an unbelievable coincidence! Clemson’s field just ran across both of them. I knew for sure I wanted to talk some about indigenous peoples, and I’ve long been fascinated with the seemingly far-flung concept of replacing war with sports. It was just the perfect opportunity.

I loved how in 20020 there are so many smaller stories being retold, some of which even affect the larger story. Of all the places big and small visited over the course of 20020, which location had your favorite historical event? I think mine was the 1910 Emory Gap runaway train.

– @jj_jjjjj_jjjjjj

The story of Eugene Jennings takes it for me. I was so profoundly touched by the story of a guy who had an incredible gift for escaping. He wasn’t an evil person, he was just born into a world he wasn’t compatible with. I think lots and lots of people like him have lived and died, and I hope we don’t forget them. You can barely find anything about Jennings on the Internet; his story could only be found in old newspapers. I’m honored I got to tell his story. I sure as Hell won’t ever forget him.

first of all, thanks for making an explicitly lgbt couple, one where the romance is directly shown, part of your main cast for 20020. did you really give much thought to it, or was it a decision that felt natural?

– jijo, @optikalcrow

Part of the reason I wrote 17776 in the first place was to take football, which I view to be this spectacular, fascinating thing, and imagine a world where it’s opened up to every single type of person. A long while back, a friend and I were talking about football. He’s gay, and he supposed that while football seemed like the sort of thing he’d like, he never got into it growing up because he “never got the invite.”

So I did that as a means of sending an invite. More generally, I really liked the idea of making a gay couple the main characters because I almost never see that anywhere, and if I do, it’s probably a story about them being gay.

As I did last time, I wanted to represent people completely matter-of-factly. I don’t delve into the experience of being gay, because I don’t have valuable perspective to offer there, but I did want to establish Nick and Manny as fleshed-out, imperfect, warts-and-all human beings. Sometimes they argue, sometimes they make a bad call, sometimes they say stupid things, and sometimes they’re unsure of themselves, just like everybody else.

who is your favorite character to write for?

– @mwuffie

It was a lot of fun writing Nick and Manny’s pointless arguments. Mimi was great too, since she was inspired by a few people who are very close to me. But Bryce, the new Troy recruit from Chapter 10, might be my favorite.

I grew up around so many guys exactly like Bryce. A young guy who’s not sad, really, just mopey. He’s an asshole in a mostly benign way. He seems to want to do nothing but just sit in a parking lot smoking menthols and leaning against his Nissan, and mumble something about wanting to challenge someone to a street race but never, ever actually doing it. He doesn’t seem to actually like or dislike or want anything. You have absolutely no clue what makes him tick or what ever motivates him to do anything, or whether he likes you. He’s just kinda there, but you get the sense that he’s perfectly content. He fucking rules.

I also enjoyed hate-writing Chess Guy. I never bothered to give him a name because he didn’t deserve one. When Graham first read that chapter, the first thing he told me was, “I fucking hate chess guy.” Mission accomplished.

juice mentions in ch 7 that he worked with indigenous tribes to get permission for fields/players to cross native land (which, of course, all of america is native land). some tribes said no — are these tribal lands OOB and/or handled in the rules?

– lily b.

Yep, for the indigenous peoples who did not grant permission, those portions of the field are out of bounds. Some also have special conditions – for instance, a limit on how many players can be on the field at the same time. These changes aren’t reflected visually on the map for two reasons: first, I couldn’t quite figure out how to do it from a technical sense, and second, I didn’t think it was particularly important or appropriate for me to guess which tribes would and wouldn’t grant permission.

Why hasn’t technology really developed that much? Besides the nanobots, there really isn’t anything else. They still watch/follow games through normal tv’s/radios. Just wondering how boring this must be for anyone not involved in the football games.

– permian triassic extinction event

I think old people just like what they like and don’t need much more, and these are the oldest people in history. Just like folks from decades ago were perfectly fine with their three TV channels and crossword puzzle, I think we’d be okay with an eternity of, I don’t know, online gaming.

Not to be a downer but at times I felt almost guilty about this future with nothing left that needs to be done while we live in this society that’s a total hell-hole for so many. Did you have any feelings like that while writing? Is there a message here linking our harsh reality with the immortal 20020 world that went over my head?

– Anonymous

These times are full of struggle and defeat. The thing I want most and believe in most for this country and this world are things I might never get to see for myself. But god damn it, I will imagine them. It’s practice for the real thing. I believe that one day we’ll actually have the world we want, and we’d better have a plan when that day comes. What are we gonna do with it?

Is it pronounced 20020 or 20020

– Mylograms

20020, yeah.

Any other questions? Graham and I will be hanging out in the comments sections for a while, so feel free to yell at us down there.

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