#go easy on me ive lurked for years and never posted

[supportivecircle]

Sonic Wisps Warlock Patron Homebrew Part 1: Level Features

I recently posted about the Sonic-themed DnD Campaign I ran over the past year (and some few months in 2020 before a year break). If you’re in the center of that venn diagram of “Sonic the Hedgehog” and “Dungeons and Dragons”, know that you are not alone and I am here for you my sweet angel chao (tiny celestial, lawful good). Good ol’ Circle Dad has some content to quench the thirst of content for us weirdos. In the post I showed a snippet of the Warlock Patron subclass for the wisp alien creatures of Sonic, directly inspired by Whisper the Wolf, and to be used by one of my players who was drawn to the  warlock class. I can’t confidently say how balanced it turned out. Outside of any major stuff that was already adjusted in the document as we played, I don’t think it was too crazy, but the player was not a veteran DnD player who could probably find stuff to break here. I’ll post the individual pages and give some blurbs about how they shaped up in practice.

So starting off, the expanded spell list. The player immediately took to the flavor of Chaos Bolt, but if I recall I don’t believe they took any others from the list outside of Haste, and we had gotten up to player level 9, so they had the whole list to pick from. Spiritual Weapon I wasn’t sure of, and never got to effectively test outside of Whisper herself using it early on at a lower level, it wasn’t too crazy cause its damage scales every 2nd level and Warlocks only get 2 slots per short rest so they’d be dedicating their resource to a longer damage over time spell compared to a full on Lightning Bolt. The flavor is perfect though for people who like to get creative with integrating wisps into the weapon appearance. Creativity was the main goal with this subclass because I knew the player would want options without being overtly super powered. The Variable Wispon feature gives them a similar function to the Order of Scribes Wizard in allowing for damage swapping of spells. In theory, this allows for lots of fun flavoring of spells to match the different wisps energies. In practice, it was good, but my player also made it a goal to never repeat a wisp between short rests and to cycle through them cause they loved their wisps equally. Some wisps will probably be more appealing in general to players who are looking to capitalize on gameplay vs character flavor and RP. It could be adjusted to have a limit per day of how many element swaps you can do if its a problem. Easy fall back is always Prof+CHA per Long Rest if it’s a problem for whatever reason. Maybe keep it free to use on EB so the player can always have that feel of their subclass playing a role. A personal note for knock-on effects of this ability is that the player felt a bit of freedom in picking spells because it was no longer having to so much look at damage types, but rather what the spell straight up did. Fireball vs. Lightning Bolt has the element taken out of the equation and for the player it became about damage, AoE, durations, and extra effects. Certain spells became more appealing because they wouldn’t be locked behind an unwanted damage type. The flavor we used was the same as how Whisper’s weapon functioned of the wisp flying into the gun, and turning the handle knobs to get different effects n stuff. Mechanically, a Warlock can still cast spells without their focus, so if a player is found without their focus in combat it can be flavored as the Wisps just unleashing direct hell on enemies compared to focusing through the gun. If your player ends up upgrading their focus or being given a new experimental version, it will make sense thematically that raw Wisp spells are weaker because their focus will have a +1/+2/+3 and be built to enhance them. Food for thought.

So the rest of the subclass features. Level 6 is where the Wisp Patron is meant to pop off and change gameplay style substantially. Unfortunately, this is rather late if you are starting at Level 1, and until this moment, most of the subclass’ feature is the element swapping. For someone like me, I’m straight pogging. I have an Order of Scribes Wizard already penned up entirely for the next campaign I’m playing in and I’m all about modifying spell descriptions. For others, it could be underwhelming. There is a “solution” later in the document in the form of an invocation that gives 2 free uses per long rest. I put “solution” in quotes because in all the games I’ve played in with my friend groups, warlocks get the Agonizing Blast invocation as a core-kit feature because of how integral it has become in the modern Warlock equation. So logically, having AB frees up an Invocation slot for something like this to let the player have more fun with bonus actions/wisp stuff outside of reflavoring spells. There’s a lot going on with the wisps in this, I wanted the Color Powers to be fun but not amazingly strong, they are meant to be half-spells as you’ll see in the following pages. We didn’t get to Level 10 but it’s a damage resistance it’s nothing insane. There’s flexibility in it cause it’s the name of the game for this subclass. I followed the general pattern of Warlocks having a defensive feature at 10, and some flavorful cool stuff at 14, which in this case is mostly aping off the big damage of stuff like Fiend but with a Blind feature as opposed to “disappear for a turn as you hurtle through Pinhead’s summer home”. Blind can be rough against some enemies, but this late in the game, a lot of tougher enemies might also just have Blindsight. Like I said I can’t say how balanced a lot of this is in the average game. 

I’m not going to go into all the Wisp Powers in this post, but I wanted to post a little teaser of one of the pages, cause I really like how it turned out visually. There’s four pages of these to look forward to, along with the accompanying blurbs. I’ll post that part tomorrow. I’ve got a lot to say about how some of them turned out in practice, and almost nothing to say about some others that didn’t get used cause it wasn’t in that player’s playstyle. When the whole thing has been uploaded across three posts (Level Features, Color Powers, Invocations+Familiar), I’ll post the whole PDF in its entirety, or just a link to a copy of the Google Docs file so people can copy it and edit it in browser as needed on their own. I don’t know jack about using the images from the comic, but I ain’t making any cash off this and it was just meant to be a little homemade subclass with spruced up visuals. Hope that’s all good. Please don’t come at me SEGA I’m just a little circle guy im jus a small widdle circle noooo im just a little birthday boyyyyyy nooooo.

[pepprs]

hi everyone! i hope january has been kind to you and that february will be even kinder. just a few quick updates:

i haven’t remade yet and honestly im thinking that i’m not going to (so if you reached out for my new url please know im not ignoring you!). ive opened the app and lurked a little from time to time but honestly not posting / generally staying away from tumblr and other social media has definitely made a noticeable difference w my mental health. i am still very much struggling w depression but spending majority of my time touching grass has genuinely helped a lot 🥲 i still have a LOT of recovery to do but ithink im in a much better place now than i was when i made that post last month and im (nervously) hopeful that i’ll never be in a headspace that dark again. as much as i miss it here and am sad to not be as in touch w my mutuals anymore, i really think it’s the best choice for me right now. but im still “here” and i may drop in from time to time to say hi just like im doing rn!

also i have a VERY exciting update i want to share: im finally moving out!!!!!!! into my own apartment!!!!!! in less than a month!!!!!!!!! im SO excited and scared and stressed and relieved and proud of myself. and even though im stepping away from tumblr for the foreseeable future and took this huge step without talking about it here, i truly couldn’t have done this w/o all of the encouragement and comfort so many of you have given me over the years when i needed it most. it feels overdramatic / cringe / etc to say in part bc it was an unhealthy coping mechanism for me to share it all and seek relief in the way i did, but im truly so grateful to everyone who has borne witness to the some of the hardest and most formative moments along my journey. it hasn’t been an easy path at all but it has really, truly eased the hardship of it to know im not alone and there are ppl who have been through / are going through similar things. thank you for helping to light my way 💗 im considering starting a tinyletter / substack / etc (basically an email newsletter / blog) focused on what i will (hopefully) be learning and discovering as i build this new life for myself, so if you’re interested in that please send me an ask! again, im not sure if im actually going to do it… but just like w potentially making a new tumblr someday, i’ll send a link to anyone who’s interested if and when i do decide to go for it 🥹

that’s all for now! im wishing each of you a fabulous february 🫂❣️🐈☕️

[moonchildstyles]

fic announcement/sneak peek

guess who finally got the full series ive been promising for over a year!!!!!!

its been over a year since I posted the original camboy h blurb and since then ive gotten alot of questions about where his story is going and if I plan on continuing it! even tho that blurb was v spur of the moment, I always intended him to be a full series so in the last year ive been putting together his character and thinking of scenes I wanted to add and how I wanted to tell his story! in the last few months I finally had the time to put it all together and write his story!

so starting next month, on the first Friday in January (its the 7th), Patreon will be getting early access to the piece with the first part to his story called Gravity, with a new part being posted every Friday following after! Tumblr will be getting part one on January 21st, two weeks after patreon, then following the same schedule with a new part posted every Friday!

along with all of that I also have a Pinterest board up for him so u can get an idea of his story and the vibe im going for w it !

if u have any questions or anything feel free to message me !

the sneak peek to the first part will be under the cut !!

—————

She blamed it on the alcohol, and the fact she had been single for far too long. Since she was alone—something she had started the night grateful for—she became a little too aware of the lusted shift her thoughts were taking and how much she wished she had someone else there to relieve the ache that was sparking between her thighs. (This happened often when she drank. She was a loving and affectionate drunk, making the absence of another glaringly obvious to her).

(Y/N) didn't have even half the mind to be embarrassed as she dug around for her laptop in her room, too preoccupied by the tipsy lens she was seeing the world through, and the longing that had settled in her stomach. After finding her treasure, she settled herself on the wrinkled mess that was her bedding, and opened a familiar browser. It was a little too instinctive as she typed in the familiar website, but she couldn't find it in her to care when the lazy thoughts floating through her mind were urging her to find any kind of release.

That was how she found herself on a cam-site.

Truly, it had been a slip of the finger. All she had tried to do was click on the minuscule 'x' tacked in the corner of a shady pop-up ad on a much more legit site, but her lagging response time made it that much harder to react before she was being directed to a completely different site.

This one lacked the typically dark grey and black shading that other explicit sites utilized. This one used a green based layout, leaving the attention to be placed on the rows and rows of thumbnails dotting her screen. Across the main page, the site boasted a channel of over fifty-thousand different performers, making it easy to find something 'to your liking'. The small boxes that filled out the screen displayed different people in various states of undress (or in outfits (Y/N) wasn't aware were made in real life), some with their faces cut out of frame and others feeling no need to hide their identity. They were all stilled into a single scene from their 'stream', as it was labeled under the tile, some performing acts that she hadn't known were physically possible. Once she realized what it was that she had been loaded onto, she pulled back with a gasp.

She had never been on a cam-site before; the idea of paying a stranger to get off on camera while she lurked on the other side with complete anonymity felt a bit too sleazy to make her comfortable or turned on. Fully intending to backpedal onto the familiar site she had accidentally left, (Y/N) barely swept her lagging eyes over the expanse of the site, her fingertips lazily tracing over the touchpad to take her back.

Until she saw one tile of a person just sitting there.

It was a short view of a man's chest, the frame cutting off at his neck to give the full of the attention to his seated body with his torso the main focus. He was sat in something that emulated the office chair that she had pushed into her desk in her room, nothing especially pornographic about the set up; even the dimmed lights in the background denoted nothing other than a quiet night in. He wasn't undressed as far as she could tell from the pixelated view she was given into his video. A gauzy button-up was stretched across the broad of his shoulders, the fabric thin and left unbuttoned enough to show a pair of birds tattooed below his collarbones and something that could either be a butterfly or an octopus on his tummy given the quality of the thumbnail. He even had his pants on.

More than anything, the lack of lewd acts and scandalous dressing made her curious. Maybe it wasn't required that you do anything explicitly sexual during your stream.

Her decision tasted like cranberries saturated in vodka as she rerouted her finger on the touchpad and instead tapped on the username that was spelled out under the tile. It only took a second before his profile popped up. The page shared the same layout as the main site; a plain sage green base backing the much more customized personal page that displayed his information.

His screen name—treatpeoplewkisses—was highlighted in a golden yellow across the top. The details of his profile generated underneath. Most of the categories were left vague; only a country filling in his location, and a single letter (H) giving him a name. What looked to be a screenshot or a still from one of his videos acted as his profile picture, the setting similar to what she saw as he was sat in his dimly lit base with a barely buttoned top on with the black of his tattoos shining through the fabric. A green dot beside his user confirmed that he was online. A stream of posts made up the rest of his page, the most recent status making a claim that he was LIVE NOW! with a bright pink link that had been shared a little over ten minutes ago.

(Y/N) felt a pit in her tummy as she pressed the link. Something like guilt blinked through the vodka-induced haze, feeling odd to be viewing someone so intimately while she didn't have to share a thing. But, she reasoned with herself, if that wasn't something he was comfortable with, he wouldn't be on this site. Besides, as far as she could tell, he wasn't doing anything like his counterparts on the site, so she might not be seeing anything explicit anyway.

Nevertheless, she didn't stop as the screen loaded, directing her to the stream she had only gotten a glimpse of on the start page. Her laptop filled out to a new setup with the main video displayed in the center with the boy she had seen still sitting in his comfortably lit room and his ethereally thin top. Beside the video was a chat stream, where all comments were shown in response to anything he said or did. A thermometer-like bar was plastered on the other side, displaying how much money he had already made that night with a goal tacked to the top of the bar. In the ten minutes since he had gone live, he had already made a hundred dollars with the promise of more coming in if the range of comments had anything to do with it.

His—H's—throat bobbed around words she couldn't hear with gentle expansions of his chest under his shirt as he breathed, nothing at all like the wild extremes that had been sandwiched around him on the main page. She worked on something like autopilot as she turned up the volume on her laptop, wanting to know what was getting the comments flooding in faster than she could catch.

Maybe it was the alcohol-induced lag going on in her head, but all (Y/N) could register for a moment was how deep and inviting his tone was as it washed over her. He had drawn her in in a matter of seconds.

He seemed to be responding to comments, though the tone he used made it feel like he was talking to only her; answering questions she had forgotten she asked and responding to compliments she wordlessly gave. He was good at what he was doing. Even without his face in the shot, it felt like he was speaking only to her, as if there wasn't a hoard of comments streaming through at every pause

"'M happy you're having a good night, darling. Thank you for letting me be a part of it."

He spoke low and slow enough for her to register through the haze in her mind, the words dripping over her like honey. What kind of dreamboat was this? And how did he exist on a site like this?

—————

[seijungii]

new year new me new bullshit!

hello! not many people follow me here, especially because i basically just use this tumblr to post direct links to ao3 and hope ppl read my stuff lol, but if you have read my stuff, thank you so much. 

i haven’t written fic/anything In General for a hot second, especially stuff in 2nd person (always been kinda uncomfy w/ it) so it means a lot that somebody out there has been enjoying my stuff!

i do have another jjk fic in the works, aside from deeds, not words that ive been making myself work on in the meantime bc my time management is absolutely atrocious. to be honest, I don’t plan on posting it until I’ve finished it in its entirety bc i dont trust myself to post it chapter by chapter.... and write in a sequential order lol. if you’ve read deeds, not words, then u know i am very small brain.

ok that’s enough of me rambling anyways thanks if u follow me and read my bullshit. here’s a sneakpeek of the gojo x reader fic ive been workin on 

You’ve always planned a life of stability and normalcy.

Graduate at 24. Meet a nice guy and get into a steady relationship. Stable job by the time you’re 26. Get married at around 28, have two kids by the time you’re 33, and hopefully live a long and prosperous life before dying peacefully at home surrounded by your loved ones.

Then Gojo Satoru enters your life and fucks that all up.

Your head hurts like shit.

“Another migraine?” 

“...I’ll live.” You let out the longest sigh in existence as you pull out a bottle of Advil from your office drawer, downing 2 pills before clicking through a new exam chart on your computer. “Next patient is… Gojo Satoru? Anything I should know beforehand?”

Your medical assistant hums as she looks up from her computer near yours. “Nothing too important, really—I think he’s just here for a yearly physical. Oh, but he’s super hot.” 

A laugh escapes your mouth as you tug on a white doctor’s coat that’s a size too large. “No flirting with patients, Maeda-kun.”

“Oh, come on.” Maeda-kun rolls her eyes as she places her hand on her chin, giving you a teasing smile. “Haven’t you ever seen an attractive patient and thought, maybe just once?”

You snort at that, opening the office door to head towards the exam room. “Risk of losing my medical license aside, it’s hard to find someone attractive once they’ve started telling you about their explosive diarrhea.”

That leaves Maeda-kun wheezing with laughter, and you give her an exaggerated shrug before finally making your way to your morning patient.

You trudge your way down the hall, suddenly wondering if you should have taken an extra Advil for good measure. Even though you’ve always had a rather weak body (it being one of the main reasons you ended up studying medicine), you still haven’t gotten used to the migraines, aches, and fatigue that’s plagued you since birth.

Standing in front of the door, you take a deep breath, massaging your temples and rehearsing a well-practiced smile before finally entering the room.

“Good morning!” You chirp, raising your voice just a half-pitch higher so it’s welcoming, but not overly eager. “Gojo-san, is that correct?”

You’re greeted by a shock of white hair as the man sitting on the hospital chair in front of you looks up from his phone with a grin. “Yep, that’s me!”

“Great! I’m Doctor (L/N).” You reach out to shake his hand, giving him a once-over before taking a seat in front of the computer. He looks pretty healthy, and Maeda-kun’s pretests had shown perfectly normal numbers for a 27 year old male. It should be a quick and easy exam, leaving you extra time to go over previous X-Ray scans with your next patient. 

“I’ll have the pleasure of being your doctor today. So, what can I help you with?”

“Please, the pleasure is all mine.” He pulls off his sunglasses, shooting you a wink as he slides them into the collar of his shirt. 

…He’s hot, you think, before quickly correcting yourself. He’s not that hot.

The first thing you noticed were his collarbones. Those goddamn collarbones. You never really understood why people found them attractive, but the way they peek out just above his shirt collar is just enough for you to consider changing your mind. And he’s not wearing a tight shirt by any means, but the long-sleeve he’s wearing fits just right around his shoulders and torso so that you can tell—the man works out.

Then there are his eyes. The moment he took off his sunglasses and winked at you, you knew that this wouldn’t be the easy exam you thought it would be.

His eyes are a shade of blue you’ve never seen before, perfectly contrasted against his white eyelashes. It’s the color of the sky on a clear day after a harrowing storm, the color of a lake with more still lurking beneath its depths.

You feel like a deer in headlights. A very attractive pair of headlights.

[softbiker]

Bucky Barnes Oneshot

Warnings: a couple of bad words

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: After being injured on a mission, Bucky winds up spending a day with the Avengers newest recruit. Bucky x Reader

A/N: This is my submission for @nacho-bucky ‘s writing challenge! My prompt was ‘the smell of freshly baked bread’. As a side note, I drank a whole pot of coffee yesterday and wrote this in one afternoon, so it’s also unedited :) As always, let me know what you think! 

By the time the quinjet is an hour out from New York, Bucky Barnes is in an irredeemably foul mood.

Breaking up terror cells in Germany was supposed to be an easy mission - in and out, with the practiced ease of their well-oiled strike team. Really, they took the mission to spare German special forces the trouble...that, and a potential connection to an old Red Room contact of Natasha’s. With their “dream team” (Sam’s words, not Bucky’s) of Cap, Bucky, Sam, and Natasha, this should have been a light op, a scrimmage, Nerf ball.

Turns out superheroing is a contact sport, and they’ve got the bombs and broken ribs to prove it. A train station, a decoy, and an explosive device Natasha failed to disarm. With Sam coordinating civilian evacuation, there had only been a couple dozen injuries, but the suspect had slipped away, leaving them bruised and empty-handed.

Bucky had taken a brutal hit as he pulled Nat to safety, and now he is curled in his seat on the jet, metal hand holding his ribcage. He watches Steve scowl in the cockpit, jaw unflinchingly tight as he goes over the mission in his head. The captain doesn’t know how to let things go - never has, never will. Sam is actually piloting the quinjet, making unreturned small talk about a basketball game he went to last weekend. Natasha sits across from Bucky, a Stark tablet in her hands, dissecting bomb schematics and diagrams of diffusion techniques. There’s a little scab of dried blood on her bottom lip that she pokes at with her tongue, red brows lowered in concentration.

Bucky is exhausted - his hair smells like dust and smoke, his mouth is tangy and dry. There’s dried sweat underneath his uniform and he itches and his feet are hot in his boots and his ribs really fucking hurt. He lets his head fall back against the seat, and wishes they were home already.

**********

She pops her head up over the back of the couch when she hears them. What a sight they make: Bucky, propped up on Steve’s shoulder, Natasha dust-covered and buried in her tablet, Sam still sweaty and tugging at the harness on his suit. She still smiles, tentative but kind.

“Hi guys.” She lifts her fingers in a little wave. “Everyone okay?”

Bucky grunts in response; Natasha says nothing, making a beeline for her room and a shower. Sam, without doubt the most talkative person on the team, props himself on a stool and blows a harsh breath past his lips.

“We’re alright, yeah,” he sighed. “Barnes is a little beat up but he’ll get over it - he’s just  dramatic.”

“Fuck you, too, Wilson.” Bucky flips Sam off over his shoulder as they hobble towards the elevators.

She winces, not yet used to their harsh banter.

“Hey man, be nice in front of the rookie, alright?” Sam hollers, mock-offended. “You’re creating a hostile work environment!”

Steve chuckles a little at that, jostling Bucky’s tender ribs, which makes him scowl at his best friend.

“Bucky is a hostile work environment,” Steve deadpans. They’ve reached the elevator, and shuffle inside, turning to face the common room. Bucky catches the rookie’s eyes as she giggles behind her hand.

“She’s fine,” he rolls his eyes, sparing a wink for the rookie. “When I make it hostile, bird brain, you’ll know.”

The elevator doors close, and he leans on Steve a little heavier, and jabs his elbow into Steve’s stomach.

“Thanks a lot for that, by the way,” he huffs.

“What?” Steve feigns innocence, and very poorly. “Didn’t know you were so worried about making a good impression on the rookie.”

“I’m - I’m not.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shut up.”

They meet Dr. Banner in the medical wing where his lab adjoins the clinic; Sam had messaged him half an hour ago that they were inbound with a broken supersoldier, and Bruce had taken the liberty of setting up some of his supplies. Of all the doctors on staff, Bucky favored Dr. Banner - he was mild and soft-spoken enough to not trigger Bucky’s anxiety, in spite of the needles and IV drips and the snapping of latex gloves.

An X-ray and some bandages later, Bucky is removed from the active duty list for two weeks.

“Even with your advanced healing factor, I wanna be careful with this,” Bruce says, taking off his glasses to scratch the side of his nose. “I mean, your medical history is a little blurry, to say the least - and with all the shit HYDRA pulled, who knows what kind of stress your bones have been through before.” He taps away on his tablet, notifying FRIDAY and the admin system to remove Bucky from the roster. “In the meantime, take it easy - no missions, no training, no lifting weights. Probably avoid the motorcycle, too. I’ll check on them again in two weeks, and we’ll go from there.”

Steve is nodding - he never leaves Bucky by himself in medical - and crosses his arms. Neither of them have changed out of their uniforms yet, and in this sterile observation room, Bucky can finally smell the layers of grime and sweat clinging to them. His nose wrinkles when he gets a little whiff of himself, feeling bad for the nurse who bandaged his ribs.

“Oh I almost forgot -” Bruce turns around and reaches for something on his lab bench. A little blue bottle, full of round white pills. “Here. I developed these for the two of you - since you metabolize normal painkillers so quickly, I figured we might need something that would work in the event you sustain heavy injuries which…well, seemed likely. Take 2 every 4 hours, okay?”

His metal fingers grip the little bottle, rattling the tablets inside.

“Sure thing, doc.”

**********

She lifts the hem of her shirt, wiping at the sweat on her forehead, and leans against the wall of the gym. Her breath comes in short pants as her chest heaves, trying to cool down from her last bout with Agent Romanoff.

“Heads up.”

Her hands barely make it up in time to catch the flying water bottle headed for her face.

“Good catch,” Romanoff smirks a little. She’s sweating, too, but in a way that’s decidedly more sexy, little red curls hanging by her face. She looks fresh from a Pilates class, not a suicide workout - the rookie can feel the heat of her own face, the sweat drenching her clothes, and knows she’s not nearly as glowing as her trainer.

“You did really good today,” Romanoff continues. She keeps saying to call her “Natasha” but that is so hard to do with a woman so intimidating her alias is one of the world’s deadliest animals. “Really good. You’ve shown tons of improvement since we started. I’m going to recommend we start letting you shadow on missions in a couple more weeks.”

“Wow, really?” Her face lit up in spite of her exhaustion.

“Sure.” Natasha smiles. “I know it’s gotten a little boring, having you go through all of this.”

“Boring” was an understatement. Despite having a few years of experience under her belt - well, according to Tony Stark, vigilantism barely counts as “experience” - the rookie was assigned to a training program for her first couple of months on the team.

“Too much of a risk to put you in the field right away,” Stark had rattled off, handing her forms to sign and an official t-shirt (‘Look Mom! I’m an Avenger!’) and a tablet with a map of the compound. “Legal says we can avoid liability issues with a training program before we gradually phase you in, and I’m inclined to agree, so! Welcome to the team, but not officially!”

Her days consisted of early morning workouts, followed by combat and tactical training with Black Widow herself, and then...well, not much. There was research, of course, and she stayed on top of the intelligence briefings with the rest of the team. She went to meetings and official dinners and unofficial karaoke nights, but the rest of her time was mostly her own. Frankly, she was chomping at the bit to get back out there, in the action. Helping people.

“Well, hopefully it’ll pay off,” she sighs, giving Agent Romanoff an exhausted smile. “I wouldn’t want to be the weak link on the team.”

“You won’t be, believe me,” Natasha shakes her head. With a glance at her watch, she picks up her own water bottle and heads for the door. “Now I’ve gotta run, Skype meeting with Fury in 5. I’ll see you later, Rookie!”

**********

Bucky Barnes was feeling good.

Like, damn good.

Like, ‘Banner should label his controlled substances’ good.

Thing is, post-HYDRA and post-fugitive and post-cognitive reconstruction therapy, Bucky was more mentally okay than he had been in decades. He had the occasional rough day, and he definitely wasn’t perfect by any means, but with the shrinks that Stark had on retainer, he was getting better at dealing with it all. His physical health, however, was more of a moving target. In spite of receiving a bastardized supersoldier serum, he had been pumped full of so much other shit and gone through so much physical stress that his body had fundamentally shifted equilibrium. Multiple appointments with Dr. Cho and Shuri revealed that his chronic pain may never fully heal - if it did, it would be a very gradual process. Normal painkillers in reasonable doses did nothing for him, so Bucky settled in to his discomfort, carrying it the way he carried his knives and his scars - always.

24 hours into his medical leave, a few doses of pills down, and he couldn’t feel a single ounce of pain in his body - he shifted his awareness to each part of himself, like that guided meditation thing Wanda did sometimes, and he couldn’t find the pain, not even lurking behind the muscle and metal. He might be a little miffed at being off the active duty roster, but if his whole vacation is going to feel like this? Well, he doesn’t mind to let Steve handle the next threat to world peace.

With his schedule suddenly wide open, Bucky wonders what he’ll do with his day. He can’t remember the last time he truly had nothing to do - it’s an exciting prospect. So he lets himself ease through his morning, sleeping in, long hot shower, slipping on those plush Black Widow pajama pants Nat gave him as a gag gift. He knows everyone else will have had their breakfast and moved on to morning briefings and training drills by now, and he wanders down to the kitchen in the hopes that they’ve left him some coffee.

He sees her there, perched on a stool at the island and frowning at the tablet in her hand. There’s a little scrunch to her nose when she does that, he notices.

“Good morning,” he says softly, trying and failing not to startle her.

“Oh, hey Bucky,” she smiles, watches him round the island to the coffee pot on the counter. “I didn’t see you there.”

“S’okay. I’m quiet.”

“You didn’t get tapped for the recovery mission? They’re going after your suspect from Berlin again, I think.”

“Oh, I’m off missions for two weeks.” He turns, giant ‘Don’t forget to be awesome’ mug gripped in his metal hand. “Banner’s orders. You didn’t hear about my smashed ribs?”

“Oh no, I guess not - are you okay?” Suddenly she’s concerned, and a little sheepish. “Sorry, I’m still a little out of the loop I guess.”

He feels guilty for that - she’s eager, bright, kind, a brilliant recruit. But it can take a while before you’re ‘in’ with the team. Not because they exclude her, but, well - a group made up of outsiders has a hard time adding new faces to the mix.

“Don’t apologize. Not your fault.” Bucky digs around in a jar on the counter for a few sugar packets, dumping them into his mug. “Anyways, I’m off the roster for now. Gotta figure out something to do with myself, I guess.”

Her smile is slow, ducked under pretty lashes - he really needs to stop noticing these things.

“Would you - I mean, you can hang out with me if you want?” She chews on her lip. “I’m done for today - my training with Natasha ended early and they didn’t need me in on the briefing so…”

The rookie was lonely - he could see that, anyone could. The fact is, between their own training and missions, it had been a little hard for the team to spend very much time with her. Bucky himself was often a bit of a loner in his free time, preferring to hole up in his room with books and movies rather than go out for drinks or another karaoke night. And yet, he found himself feeling eager at the thought of spending a relaxing day with the new recruit, getting to know her a little, hearing that funny little laugh through her nose.

“Sounds great, Rookie - what did ya have in mind?”

**********

“Okay, I just wanna go on the record and say I called it. I called it!” She’s grinning. “I knew you would love this.”

“Well, hey, in my defense, I’ve never hated beautiful women.”

She just rolls her eyes, kicks her feet out to rest on the coffee table in front of them. There’s a pile of DVD’s, all hers, laying across the surface, picked through and ranked in order of what was most important for Bucky to see. His film education was obviously lacking, considering he missed out on 70 years of movies, and didn’t even know what he liked anymore, so he was content to let her pick. After raiding the kitchen for an array of snacks, they settled in, opposite ends of the same couch with a bowl of popcorn and dark chocolate M&M’s between them.

Approximately 20 minutes into the movie, Steve appears, just passing through for an apple from the fridge. He stops in his tracks behind the couch, the crunch of the fruit in his mouth just above their heads.

“What is this?” he says around his mouthful. If his Ma could see him now, Bucky thinks.

“It’s called ‘How to Marry a Millionaire’ - came out in 1953,” she answers, smiling over her shoulder at him. “It’s one of my favorites honestly.”

“That’s - that’s Lauren Bacall!” Steve perks up, smacking Bucky’s shoulder.

“Yeah, punk,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “Betty Grable’s in it, too.”

“No shit!” Steve is grinning now, and he gives the rookie a conspiratorial look. “Y’know, Bucky used to have her pin-up poster. The one in the white bathing suit? Had it in his suitcase when he shipped out.”

“Oh, really?” She’s looking at him now, eyes sparkling at the rosy blush climbing up Bucky’s cheeks. “Betty Grable, huh?”

He clears his throat. “Well, everybody had that picture, I mean...it’s famous for a reason. All the boys had ‘em.”

“No, no, I get that,” she shrugs. “I just had you pegged as more the Rita Hayworth type, that’s all.”

It takes him back for a second, Steve too, that she knows these starlets, that they could’ve been having this same conversation 75 years ago. He can see that look in Steve’s eyes, sly and knowing as they slide towards him. Bucky works his mouth, tries to control his smile.

“Well, nothing wrong with her either,” he drawls, spreading his arms along the back of the couch. “But did you see Grable’s legs?”

“I just thought you might’ve had a thing for redheads!” she laughs.

“They’re alright, I guess - now Dugan on the other hand…”

Neither of them notices Steve leave the room, tossing the apple in his hand and a huge dopey grin on his face.

**********

“Tell me again what the recipe says?”

“One cup of pumpkin puree.”

“Oh - shit, I thought you said one can.”

She smacks her forehead. “No wonder the batter is so goopy!” She rolls her eyes playfully. “You’re trying to ruin my bread, Barnes.”

“I swear I’m not, doll - it was an accident.”

“Okay, new plan - we just make a double batch since the can has two cups in it.”

She shuffles around behind him, grabbing her flour and sugar and sour cream and other ingredients, hands flurrying to measure and fix the dough. It’s mid-afternoon now, a couple of movies down, and they (she) decided they needed to get in the fall spirit by baking a ridiculous amount of...breads. The banana bread is already in the oven, the pumpkin will be on its way as soon as she fixes his mistake, and a blueberry bread (made from muffin mix) is next on the list.

“But...what’s so special about making it into breads?” He had asked, causing her to look at him like an idiot.

“Ask me that again after you try them, Bucky.”

So he shut up and cracked eggs and sifted flour, stirring when her arm got tired. He was already regretting his words now that the smell of the banana bread was drifting towards him from the ovens, and he had to admit the pumpkin and cinnamon from her bowl was making his stomach growl. With all the bowls and measuring cups laying around, they were making enough sweet breads to feed an army, but hey - the Avengers are practically a small army of their own. And besides, Bucky intends on taking an entire loaf - baker’s privilege.

He decides that he likes watching her work, bouncing around the kitchen, some oldies playlist on the speakers, her tongue poking out between her lips. She’s got her sweater sleeves pushed up over her elbows - he had to help with that, after she got dough on them. This song is good, too, and he wants to ask her who wrote it-

“Are you gonna stand there staring at me, or are you gonna help?” she quips over her shoulder. He has no idea when he last smiled so much.

“You’re the boss, Rookie.”

**********

She’s got her feet in his lap now, and they haven’t said a word in an hour, and Bucky doesn’t even remember taking his last dose or two of his pain pills but he doesn’t feel a goddamn thing.

There’s a huge book in her lap, Stephen King - a favorite, he’s learned.

“I read at least one of his books every year in October,” she tells him. “You know, to get ready for spooky season.”

“Spooky season? What the hell is that?”

“You know, Halloween time!” she smacks his arm. “It’s Halloween first, Buck, you gotta get in the spirit.”

“I’m -” he sputters, face drawn in the most adorably confused look. “Halloween first?”

She hands him a book of his own and now here they are - he’s 20 pages into The Shining, but he’s stopped paying attention because she’s yawning behind her book and her eyes are fluttering shut, and it shouldn’t be as distracting as it is.

He forces his eyes down to his own page, to Jack Torrance and haunted hotels, but they’re drawn back up when her book finally drops the rest of the way to her lap. Her head slumps sideways onto the back of the couch, mouth open just a little. He draws the blanket down around her feet and tucks it in a little tighter, but other than that, doesn’t move a muscle. He’s just fine right here, thank you.

He’s sinking in again, driving up the twisting mountain road to the Overlook, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Carefully - in the way highly trained superspies can be careful - he lifts his hips up and pulls his phone from his pocket, managing not to dislodge her feet or wake her up. She merely sighs in her sleep, nuzzling her face into the couch pillow. A text notification from team group message lights up the screen.

It’s Natasha. A photo, a photo which she somehow managed to take without him knowing, of him and the rookie, practically snuggling on the couch and reading together. Her legs are propped over his lap, and Bucky’s eyes are staring straight at her over the top of his book. Nat has captioned the photo: “looks like Barnes found a good nurse.”

He snorts a little. Natalia. Glances up at her, still sleeping, and tilts his phone upwards a few degrees and snaps a picture to send back.

“She sleeps on the job” he types, thumbs still slow on the phone keyboard. Instantly, his phone starts buzzing with more texts from the team, but he mutes it and lays his phone on the coffee table. He doesn’t feel like talking now. Well, talking to them.

“Hey...Rookie,” he whispers, reaching out and shaking her shoulder a little. She hums in her sleep, but makes no other move.

“Rookie, I gotta ask you something.” He wiggles her leg a little, shaking her feet in his lap, and whispers her name. He’s rewarded with her eyes fluttering open, her mouth drawn down in a pout at being woken up.

“Whatisit,” she sighs, still slumped into the cushions. He clears his throat. Here goes nothing.

“So, there’s a charity gala for the Stark Foundation coming up next weekend,” he starts bravely. “And - and the whole team is going anyway, so I know you’re gonna be there, but - well, maybe you would consider going...with me?” Courage runs out, and his brain backpedals. “I mean, just as a friend?”

She huffs. “I can’t believe you woke me up for that.”

“Oh.” He looks down, hair falling in his eyes. “So...you don’t want to go with me?”

“Of course I’ll go with you, Barnes,” she sighs. “Now shush. I was napping”

His face hurts from the stretch in his cheeks when he smiles. He’s gonna give Bruce those pain meds back.

[rosepyrearchive]

𝐟𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏

an  experiment  of  posting  a  drabble  a  day,     from  a  few  sentences  to  a  paragraph  or  more.     i  posted  them  on  my  old  blog,     now  i’m  going  to  compile  them  all  here !

i.

fingers  carefully  shift  the  lavender  crystal  in  betwixt  her  thin  fingers.     for  years,      it  had  remained  faithfully  at  the  base  of  her  throat,     the  way  wolves  protect  each  other’s  most  delicate  parts;     her  father  always  did  the  same.     now,      there’s  somewhere  else  she’d  like  to  place  that  power,     that  protection.     what  color  would  the  crystal  turn,     when  placed  in  anakin’s  palm ?     blue,     like   his  eyes,     or  red,     like  the  blood  he  sheds ?     the  choker  she  once  wore,     pastel  colored  velvet  around  her  neck,     has  an  empty  slot  where  she’d  pulled  the  gem  from,     and  now  it  finds  a  new  home  on  a  long  chain  of  beskar;     where  she  imagines  it  will  press  right  in  the  middle  of  his  chest,     beneath  his  tunic    &    tabard.     no  matter  what  becomes  of  him,     or  what  tries  to  hurt  him . . .   the  chain  and  crystal  will  remain.

ii.

in  her  mother’s  arms,     she  is  just  a  daughter,    a  doll.     on  stage,     she  is  better  than  a  mortal  girl,     or  even  the  immortal  one  she  became;     she’s  a  ballerina  in  tufts  of  pink    &    tulle.     i  am  a  good  girl,     even  now  when  they’re  all  in  the  ground.     now  that  the  curtains  of  earth  &  velvet  have  fallen,     though,     who  is  she ?     who  does  she  become,     without  the  pale  pink  ribbons   &    tight  bodice  of  her  costumes ?      the  voice,     the  visions,     the  hallucinations  seem  to  answer  for  her;     a  ghost,    a  hazy,     obscure  daydream  who  cannot  truly  exist.     who  is  she ?     where  does  the  camouflage,     the  eagerness  to  please  end ?     serena  supposes  it  doesn’t  end  at  all;     and  in  that,     she  is  a  russian  doll  of  nothingness.

iii.

she’s  never  seen  him  without  his  helmet.  no  one  has,     serena  imagines  —  not  in  this  state  of  his  life,     where  removing  it  means  deprivation  and  vulnerability;     the  simple  act  and  thought  is  filled  with  an  intimacy  serena  knows  she  could  never  earn  from  him,     but  …     the  yearning  doesn’t  stop,     nor  does  the  longing  and  curiosity  to  see  his  pallid  skin,     scarred  &  tainted,     the  marks  that  must  cover  his  cheeks  and  chest.     where  do  they  end ?     are  they  like  ripples  in  waves  or  a  pattern ?     and  …  when  she  stands  near  him,  does  he  ever  look  at  her ?     the  blackness  of  his  shield  hides  it  all,  and  it  does  it’s  job  in  making  her  nervous;  serena  can  never  stand  still  in  his  presence,  thighs  shaking  and  nails  digging  trench  tracks  into  her  soft  palms.     darth  vader  is  terrible,  awful,  even  cruel  …     so  what  is  it  that  allures  her  so  deeply,  and  why ?     then  again,  if  she  knew,  perhaps  the  shimmering  butterflies  would  subside  and  she  could  see  clearly,     see  this  for  what  it  was.  he  wasn’t  even  using  her  —  and  she  is  the  very  picture  of  devotion.

iv.

to  what  end  does  the  fae  steal  a  fair  maiden ?     or  is  it  truly  a  crime,     when  the  victim  is  so  terribly  willing ?     allie’s  feet  move  so  mesmerizingly,    around  &  around  while  flowers  and  mushrooms   bloom  from  beneath  her  soles;     her  palm  is  so  open  –     ❪   come  to  me,     serena !   ❫     perspiration  of  late  summer  sticks  to  serena’s  forehead,     betwixt  her  rosy  fingers,     ❪   𝙾𝚁  𝙸𝚂  𝚂𝙷𝙴  𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃  𝙽𝙴𝚁𝚅𝙾𝚄𝚂 ?     𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙴  𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴𝙳  𝚃𝙾  𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴  𝙷𝙴𝚁  𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻  𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃  𝚆𝙰𝚈 …   ❫     and  without  a  regret,     she  lays  her  hand  in  the  other  girl’s.     she  sups  on  honeyed  milk,     gives  her  name.     the  fairies  covet  gold,     and  what  is  serena,     if  not  well - dressed  in  a  golden  shroud,    from  her  crown  to  the  hem  of  her  long  dress ?     what  does  she  have  to  fear,     when  she  is  magic  all  on  her  own ?     allie’s  hand  lifts  both  of  theirs  high  as  she  twirls  serena  amidst  the  flowers,     and  she  swears  she  can  feel  grass  grow  from  her  steps.

v.

calloused  fingers  dig  deep  into  serena’s  sweet,     soft  dimples;     and  from  her  jaw,    trickles  of  sweet  wine  drip,     down  her  neck,    like  spilled  rubies  on  her  pale  skin.     you  hurt  me,    she  wants  to  say.     you’ve  hurt  me,     and  i  am  the  one  who’s  sorry.     hollis  draws  his  thumb  down  to  her  chin,     leaving  perfect  smudged  fingerprints  across  her  the  way  one  would  drag  their  fingers  across  a  fogged  glass.     his  eyes  are  a  dull,    venomous  green  as  he  calls  her  a  name  that  doesn’t  belong  to  her.    that  isn’t  me,   serena  wants  to  cry.     non,    mon rêve,     you’re  much  prettier  than  she  ever  was,     hollis  would  reply,     because  this  isn’t  the  first  time.     he  squeezes  bruises  into  her  little  arms  as  he  kisses  her,     and  serena  thinks  she  kisses  him  back.

vi.

allow  the  camera  to  pan  upwards,     from  her  pale  pink  ballet  slippers  into  her  soft  cotton  dress,     her  feet  turn  out  in  first  position  as  she  raises  her  hands  into  fourth,     pulled  up  by  soft  silk  strings  by  an  invisible  puppeteer.     the  stage  is  her  church,     a  massive,     all  encompassing  world  of  history  &  grace,     and  then  the  world  becomes  it’s  own  stage;     and  serena’s  performance  is  all  consumed,     like  an  apple  in  the  garden  of  eden.     isn’t  she  so  lovely,     so  flawless,     our  little  ballerina  ornament ?     serena  doesn’t  know  who,     or  what,    controls  her  actions   –   her  lies,     her  pliés.     some  entity  who  refuses  to  present  themselves,     only  bothering  to  choreograph  her  life  &  watch  her  from  behind  the  scenes;     she  is  both  fresh  as  a  flower,     brought  up  in  springtime,     &     as  broken  as  skeletons  that  have  long  withered  to  dusk  in  their  caskets.     even  in  her  most  secluded  moments,     she  does  not  feel  alone   –   not  truly.     this  puppet master  is  always  watching,     writing  their  script,     judging  her  arches  and  how  gracefully  she  can  slide  across  the  floor  in  her  pointe  shoes.     when  she  takes  her  final  bow,     it’s  only  the  studio  mirror  that  gazes  back  at  her,     her  own  doelike  brown  eyes,     her  own  slim  form  –  there’s  no  cables  attaching  her  to  the  ceiling.

this  life  is  so  very  boring,     so  unlike  the  dreamy  world  she  longed  for  as  a  foolish  girl.     i  had  long  ruined  my  own  life  with  my  own  dissatisfaction  before  someone  else  destroyed  it  for  me.

viii.

longing  lurks  deep  behind  a  golden  -  brown  gaze   /   what  comfort  can  she  take  in  the  jedi  code,     when  it’s  cold,    hard …     and  ben’s  hand  is  warm,     all  encompassing ?    the  code,     the  code …     the  temple  is  a  stage,     and  the  council  pulls  her  strings,     but  the  one  thing  they  can’t  take  from  her  is  her  mind;     in  there,     she  is  strong,     stone.     they  encourage  compassion:     but  no  attachments.     what  is  that,     to  her ?    what  is  it  compared  to  the  sunlight  she  feels  in  ben’s  eyes  when  he  leans  down  to  kiss  her  temple,     or  the  delight  serena  can  see  in  him  when  she  enters  the  room ?     ❪  because  love  is  the  death  of  duty,     as  wiser  men  say   ❫     in  many  ways,     she  is  greater  than  other  girls;     a  doll - like  padawan,    bright,     intelligent   –   but  in  the  end,    she  is  still  human,     and  she  finds  no  love  within  the  code   /   only  does  she  find  the  serenity  it  speaks  of  in  ben’s  embrace,     and  the  way  he  bends  over  at  the  waist  to  hold  her,     and  he  is  all  around  her  like  cologne.     that  is  a  glory  &  a  tragedy  worth  dying  for.

viii.

fear  has  always  cut  deep  within  serena’s  soft  skin;     it  was  easy  to  pull  her  apart  like  a  pomegranate,     see  the  little  pin - prick  razors  of  fright,     but  nothing  had  made  her  so  afraid  since  meeting  the  jedi.     she’s  a  fragile  heart  wound  tightly  in  red  ribbons  and  strings,     each  tied  to  the  pinkie  finger  of  every  person  she  loves.     some  of  the  ends  are  cut,     some  fray  towards  the  latter,     but  she  doesn’t  forget.     she  doesn’t  let  go,     not  in  her  deep  heart,     where  they  are  safe.     the  jedi  don’t  agree;     and  her  body  wracks  with  guilt  as  she  resists  placing  ribbons  on  their  fingers.     they  cannot  love  me,     she  knows   /   so  why  isn’t  it  enough  to  stop  her ?

ix.

every  part  of  my  body  aches.       serena  sits  on  the  hard  bathroom  floor  like  a  stain  on  the  tile,     the  tulle  of  her  practice  skirt  shimmering  in  the  dim  fluorescents.     the  plastic  stall  divider  is  freezing  against  her  shoulders,     and  it  hurts  when  her  head  falls  back  against  it.     the  bathroom  is  empty,     but  the  room  is  loud.     DISGUSTING  GIRL.     IT  HURTS.    what  hurts ?     I  CAN’T  FIND  IT  ANYMORE,     IT’S  SPREAD  LIKE  A  POISON.     she  finds  sanctuary  in  her  own  little  white  lies,     and  this  stall  where  none  of  the  other  ballerinas  go  –  she’s  a  soloist,     a  prima;     she  is  special.     allegedly.     she  barely  notices  the  wine - red  trickle  of  blood  that  spills  from  her  nose,     gravity  pulling  it  down  her  perfect  pale  face.      the  relief  is  nearly  instant,     whatever  ache  she’d  had  seems  to  fade  away   /   her  eyes  hone  in  on  the  empty  plastic  bag,     only  remnants  of  white  pill  powder  left.     the  same  resin  seems  to  linger  on  the  tip  of  her  pointe  shoe,     that  she’d  used  to  crush  it  all  up.     the  urge  to  smash  the  wooden  end  of  her  slipper  into  the  stupid  godforsaken  plastic  container  as  hard  as  she  can  and  see  how  much  damage  she  can  do  washes  over  her;     but  she’s  too  shocked  by  the  sudden  violent  urge  to  act  on  it.     instead,     serena  lets  the  clarity  &  ability  to  focus  drown  out  the  voices  that  scream  in  her  tender  head,     and  brings  herself  to  stand.

x.

❪   𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐊  ❫

pink  silk  shimmers  in  the  early  morning  sun;     her  blush  is  just  as  pretty,     sitting  across  from  her  father  at  the  iron  balcony  table.     he  is  her  king,     her  first  love,     and  serena  revels  in  the  attention  her  father  lavishes  on  her.     everything  is  still  so  new,     so  beautiful,     when  she’s  young  –  serena  dreams  of  the  future,     of  white  veils  and  cotillions.     her  distance  isn’t  yet  defensive,     but  a  sweet  daydream,     of  romantic  notions  &  hopes.     serena  dreams  of  the  far  away,     of  paris  and  rushing  crowds.     you  have  the  carlisle  look,     julian  had  told  her,    once.    your  brother  has  it  too.     someday,     this  world  will  be  wrapped  around  your  little  finger.     be  kind  to  it.     serena  had  smiled  so  lovely  at  that  –  let  the  world  be  kind.     let  it  show  her  kindness.

xi.

❪   𝐈𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐘  ❫

this  is  a  private  moment;     but  serena  can  feel  the  hidden  camera  lenses  on  her,     seeking  that  million  dollar  photo of  palpable  grief,     or  the  bullet  hole  in  her  father’s  chest,     as  if  it  weren’t  hidden  from  view  behind  his  favorite  suit.     she  won’t  cry.     serena  had  already  emptied  herself  of  every  golden  tear  when  she’d  cleaned  her  father’s  face,     when  she’d  combed  his  hair.      she  was  the  one  who’d  laid  his  arms  over  his  chest,     with  her  favorite  stuffed  animal  between  them  to  keep  him  company.     august  pulls  all  her  curls  behind  her  head,     and  lays  his  hands  on  her  thin  shoulders,     squeezing  just  enough  to  be  a  reassurance.     a  million  questions  ran  through  her  head  –     every  single  one  beginning  with  why.

her  fingers  drift,     softly,     for  the  last  time,     over  her  father’s  cheek.     she  pretends  it’s  warm  with  life,     and  not  chilling  to  the  bone.     if  he  could  be  killed,     then  no  one  is  safe.

xii.

❪   𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐋  ❫

be  kind  to  the  world.    serena’s  innocence  had  died  screaming,     yet  she  still  remembers  the  words  her  father  had  told  her.     sunlight  streams  through  the  trees  above,     but  she  is  too  stiff  to  move  just  yet;     so  she  lies  there  in  the  grass,     flowers  having  bloomed  over  the  years  of  her  sleep  through  her  hair  and  around  her  body.     a  new  era  has  begun,     everything  she  knows  is  gone.     everyone  she  loves  is  gone.     maybe  it’s  the  haziness  of  first  waking  up  after  a  half - century,     but  there’s  a  determination  beneath  her  silk  skin,     her  ivory  bones.     serena  has  become  something  new,     just  as  the  world  has  –  beneath  the  porcelain,     her  ribs  have  grown  steel.     she  will  not  be  so  breakable  ever  again.

xiii.

in  the  movies,     pearls  are  always  being  yanked  from  necks,     the  precious  little  beads  clattering  to  the  hardwood  floor  in  bunches.     serena  allows  the  pretty  necklace  to  drift  through  her  fingers,     remembering  the  time  her  mother  had  wrapped  it  around  her  neck.     she’d  felt  like  such  a  little madam  in  her  maman’s  pearls.     there’s  a  little  secret:     those  pearls  in  films,     dramatic  as  they  were,     were fake.     maman’s  were  genuine,     and  the  little  pieces  were  knotted  in  between,     meaning  even  if  she’d  ripped  them  from  her  throat,     only  one  or  two  at  worst  would  go  missing.     her  mother  was  too  much  of  a  lady,     anyway …     prone  to  melancholy  and  hurt,     but  not  quite  fits.     what  a  complicated  love,     the  one  between  a  mother  &  a  daughter …     serena  finds  herself  missing  her  mother’s  arms  more  often  than  not  these  days,     and  the  security  that  came  with  them.

xiv.

valentine’s  day  has  always  been  a  non - affair  romantically;     her  favorites  were  dinner  dates  with  her  family,     the  men  being  the  gentlemen,     and  the  one  day  her  maman  would  let  her  wear  her  red  lipstick.     the  couples  on  the  street  below  her  balcony  make  her  feel something,    but  is  it  jealousy,   or  nostalgia ?     her  palm  cradles  her  jaw  as  she  leans  against  the  iron  barrier.     a  man  kisses  a  woman,     and  why  does  her  heart  lurch  for  something  so  impossible ?    to  love,     to  be  loved …     she  would  never  be  capable  of  it,     her  last  boyfriend  had  told  her  so.     adam  had  as  well.     anyone  who  would  want  to  spend  this  day  with  her  is  dead,     and  no  one  else  could  accept  the  things  she’d  done,     the  person  she’s  become  beneath  the  lace  and  ribbons.     hallowed,     broken.

xv.

i   hate  the  dirt.     i  hate  the  grime  that  i  can’t  wash  away,     and  the  fingerprint  i  leave  on  the  pristine  envelope  that  the  postman  gives  me,     his  gaze  apologetic.     until  i  look  at  the  handwriting,     i  don’t  understand  why.     it’s  been  a  week  since  he  could  last  reach  us  on  the  battlefield,     to  give  us  some  form  of  comfort  and  relief,     and  he  only  gives  me  a  single  letter.     there  should  be  more.     serena  writes  to  me  every  day,     there  should  be  at  least  six  or  seven,     all  beginning  with  my  dearest  brother;     but  even  the  single  letter  isn’t  from  my  sister,     but  my  wife.     i  should  be  excited  for  that,     but  i’m  not  –  not  when  i  can’t  fathom  why  there’s  only  this  one  letter.     when  i  tear  into  it,     a  picture  falls  out:     my  wife,     holding  our  son.     this  is  a  happy  moment,     and  i  can  feel  pressure  build  behind  my  eyes,     but  it’s  distracted,     because  serena  should  be  in  this  photo.     she  isn’t,     because  for  some  godforsaken  reason  she’s  here  in  europe  –  and  that’s  enough  to  push  the  tears  from  my  eyes.     i  should  be  there,     and  serena  should  be  holding  her  nephew  and  accepting  our  request  to  be  his  godmother.

but  she  isn’t,     and  i’m  not  either.

xvi.

the  streets  of  new  york  now  aren’t  so  different  from  the  streets  of  new  york  in  my  childhood.     the  fashion  is  different;     women  wear  shorter  skirts,     deeper  cuts  to  expose  their  collarbones,     and  these  are  changes  i  like.     the  buildings  still  creep  into  the  clouds  like  pillars  of  divinity,     and  the  sidewalks  are  crowded,     but  no  one  pays  too  much  attention  to  anyone  else.     the  men  dress  differently  too,     and  those  changes  i  don’t  like,     but  if  i  sit  and  close  my  eyes …     it’s  still  all  the  same,     and  i  can  picture  the  cars,     the  pretty  women  and  handsome  men …     even  my  silly  little  girl  friends,     the  ones  who  would  walk  with  me  during  breaks  in  ballet  when  we  had  so  little  else  to  do.     when  i  close  my  eyes,     it  doesn’t  feel  like  a  lifetime  ago.

xvii.

it  happens  gradually,     then  all  at  once,     like  the  impatience  of  waiting  for  a  rose  to  blossom.     one  day  you  wake  up,     and  it’s  simply  bloomed,     petals  spread  wide  in  the  sunshine.     in  that  case,     serena  wonders  which  moment  it  was  that  made  her  realize  her  feelings  for  ben  had  flowered   ──   was  it  the  time  his  fingers  grazed  hers  on  the  piano  keys,     and  he  played  the  wrong  note  to  make  her  laugh ?     or  perhaps  when  he  smiled  at  her  so  earnestly,     all  white  teeth  and  curled  lips  that  met  the  crinkles  by  his  eyes ?     she  can’t  pinpoint  the  exact  moment  she  realized  she  loves  ben  kenobi;     serena  only  knows  what  she  feels  now,     the  safety  of  his  warm  hugs,     the  way  the  word  ‘graves’  slips  between  her  teeth  and  she  doesn’t  choke  trying  to  reel  it  back  in.     home  was  something  impossible,     turned  to  ash  &  bone,     but  then  she  finds  herself  sitting  at  their  table  in  the  coffee  shop  &  she  thinks  perhaps  a  home  can  be  rebuilt.

xviii.

prayer  used  to  come  first  thing  in  the  morning,     a  mantra  spoken  breathlessly  to  open  air.     it’s  not  an  ideology  that  serena  subscribes  to  anymore     ❪   part  of  her  wonders  if  she  ever  did   ❫ ,     but  old  habits  had  died  hard.     she  wants  to  enjoy  a  new  one.     ben  is  there,     barely  awake  while  thick  raindrops  smack  against  the  balcony  doors,     and  serena  shimmies  his  boxers  down  his  thighs.     she’s  already  asked  him  nicely,     with  her  polite  manners  and  pretty  mouth     ──     and  she  tries  to  mask  her  eagerness  with  languid  movements,     laying  her  cheek  to  his  hip  and  letting  her  long  curls  fall  over  his  body.     serena  knows  he  can  feel  her  by  the  way  he  shudders  when  her  eyelashes  flit  over  him,     her  rose - petal  fingers  everywhere  and  nowhere  because  they  aren’t  exactly  where  ben  wants  them.     you  should  tell  me  what  you  like,    serena  offers  with  a  wicked  little  smile,     dragging  his  hand  until  he  can  grip  her  curls,     holding  sunshine  in  his  palms.

xix.

when  the  legs  beat  against  each  other  in  the  midst  of  a  jete,     it’s  a  battu  jete …     beaten.     everything  is  more  beautiful  in  french,     and  serena  thinks  it’s  true  of  herself  as  well.     she  had  been  her  company  director’s  little  princess,     sliding  into  his  queen;     she  would’ve  been  the  youngest  prima  ballerina  in  history.     she  would’ve  had  a  life.     she  would’ve  had  a  brother.     orson  does  so  much  for  her,     and  serena  can  hardly  find  it  in  herself  to  be  grateful,     can  hardly  repeat  the  pleasantries  and  manners  she’d  been  taught  to  sing  since  she  was  a  little  girl  letting  words  tumble  from  her  mouth.     instead,     serena  tries  to  create  a  peaceful  world,     she  jumps  at  the  chance  to  redesign  the  building  he  buys,     create  a  setting  of  her  own  making;     only  to  lay  under  the  covers,     sleeping  next  to  a  pillow  she  pretends  is  august.

xx.

disgusting.     vile.    serena  watches  august  rip  a  newspaper  in  half,     once,     twice,     then  three  times,     letting  the  pieces  fly  onto  the  floor  and  cover  the  coffee  table.     the  headline  had  once  read  about  her,     calling  her  a  top  three  debutante  in  new  york’s  uppercrust  society.     not  just  in  the  top  three,     but  ranked  number  one.    shouldn’t  we  be  proud ?    serena  asks  him.    shouldn’t  i  be  flattered ?     august  had  fallen  to  his  knees  in  front  of  the  chaise  where  she  sat  after  that,     holding  her  little  hands  in  his  own.     he  squeezes  them  so  tight  serena  winces.    tell  me,     he  begs.     tell  me  if  anyone  ever  touches  you.     tell  me,     and  i’ll  kill  them.    with  all  the  naivety  in  the  world,     serena  giggles,     shaking  her  head.     nonsense,     my  darling  brother.     the  only  man  i  love  is  you;     and  the  only  man  who  shall  ever  touch  me  is  not  here  yet.

xxi.

the  sunlight  doesn’t  seem  so  bright,     but  the  city  is  just  as  bustling  as  the  last  time  she’d  seen  it.     what  year  had  that  been ?     somewhere  around  nineteen  forty,     serena  thinks.     her  old  ballet  studio  has  moved;     it’s  previous  location  now  just  another  parking  lot  in  new  york  city.     everything  about  it  gives  her  whiplash.     it’s  all  the  same  and  all  entirely  different.     she  almost  expects  to  see  august  across  the  street,     handsome  smile  &  hair  swept  back,     but  she  knows  she  won’t.     he’s  dead,     and  so  is  everyone  else  she  ever  knew.     there’s  a  pressure  on  her  shoulders,     wondering  when  someone  will  notice  the  imaginary  blood  seeping  out  of  her  core,     or  when  someone will  realize  she’s  half - dead.     little  walking  dead  girl,     schrodinger’s  girl,     dead  and  alive.

xxii.

photographs  from  another  era  are  spread  all  across  the  wooden  table  serena  sits  at,     glimmering  and  shining  in  their  black  and  white  glory,     sepia,     and  even  a  few  colored  ones.     they  all  had  a  touch  of  grain  to  them,     the  consequence  of  new,     unperfected  technology,     but  serena  adores  them.     after  all,     in  every  photo  she  sees  the  face  of  someone  she  loves.     her  grandfather  royce,     cradling  the  toddler  version  of  herself  in  his  arms,     and  then  them  at  a  later  age,     serena  with  her  arms  wrapped  tightly  around  him.     in  another  photo,     serena  sits  in  his  lap,     while  her  grandmother,     the  woman  for  whom  she  was  named,     hugs  them  both  from  behind.     so  many  lost  smiles,     shining  with  no  idea  of  what’s  to  come.     her  finger  traces  along  another  photo,     of  her  mother  posing  with  her  in  her  first  pair  of  pointe  shoes.     she’d  been  so  proud  that  day,     and  serena  can’t  help  but  smile  back  at  her.     these  little  moments  are  all  she  has  left  now;     what  if  she  forgets  it  all  someday ?     at  least  she  won’t  forget  their  faces.     serena  glues  the  back  of  the  photos,  pasting  them  into  a  scrapbook.     there  are  new  people  she  doesn’t  want  to  forget  someday  as  well,     and  for  them,     serena  glances  at  a  newer  camera.     she  doesn’t  have  to  forget.

xxiii.

moy  lebed.    my  swan.    mr.  nikolaev  calls  her  that,     from  the  first  moment  he  saw  her  complete  the  thirty - two  fouettés  in  odile’s  coda.     serena  sighs  into  the  open  studio.     the  sky  has  long  gone  dark,     and  every  other  dancer  and  crew  member  has  gone  home — but  she  remains.     this  is  the  dedication  that  will  make  me  the  prima,     serena  reminds  herself.     this  is  what  sets  me  apart.     she  counts  the  steps  in  her  head  until  she  loses  herself  to  the  imagined  music,     eyes  closed  while  she  moves  her  arms  and  tip - toes  across the  floor.     serena  is  the  very  picture  of  a  music  box  ballerina  when  she  kicks  her  foot  up,      finding  her  north  star  and  turning  in  pirouettes.     not  even  the  quiet  opening  of  a  door  interrupts  her  focus.     august  takes  her  little  waist  in  his  hands  and  helps  to  give  her  the  extra  momentum.     then  he  hoists  her  over  his  shoulder,     telling  her  how  mother  is  so worried,    and  she  has  to  come  home  right  away…     all  spoken  with  his  hidden,    wry  smile.

xxiv.

i  had  never  tried  to  impress  anyone  the  way  i’d  tried  to  impress  mr.  nikolaev,     my  ballet  master  and  choreographer.     my  every  waking  moment  was  spent  under  his  scrutinizing  gaze,     attempting  to  dissect  his  utter  dissatisfaction  with  the  world  for  it’s  lack  of  grace  and  beauty  and  what  he  felt  towards  me  specifically …     all  in  a  leotard  and  tights  that  would  only  leave  the  color  of  my  skin  to  our  imaginations,     and  mirrors  on  every  wall  reminding  me  of  that  fact.     i  don’t  know  if  i  tried  harder  to  gain  his  attention  in  the  first  place,     or  if  i  would  have  killed  myself  trying  to  keep  it.     no  girl  is  ever  more  beautiful  than  they  are  at  sixteen,     and  though  i  didn’t  realize  it,     perhaps  if  i  had  lived  to  see  him  again  in  my  later  years  he  would’ve  been  impressed  with  my  freckles,     my  dimples,     and  my  big  eyes  at  the  age  of  twenty  –  i’ve  heard  i  don’t  look  so  different.     still,     i  was  even  more  girlish  then  than  i  am  now,     and  three  times  as  shy ;     ballet  was  all  i  could  use  to  get  him  to  look  at  me,     to  make  him  pay  attention  &  perhaps  remember  why  he  took  this  job  in  the  first  place  after  his  own  short,     but  famed  career.     i  would  be  perfect ;     not  just  for  him,     but  for  myself.     it  didn’t  hurt  anything  that  i  was  his  little  prima  prodigy.     he  smiled  for  the  first  time  when  he  called  me  his  moy  lebed,     his  swan,     and  i  can’t  remember  the  last  thing,     even  now,     that  had  made  my  heart  soar  so  much.

xxv.

‘are  you  ready?’     on  the  cusp  of  spring  in  the  midst  of  march,     lies  serena’s  birthday.     thirteen  is  such  a  special  age  for  a girl ;     not  quite  a  woman  yet,     not  quite  a  girl  anymore,     but  leaving  the  throes  of  childhood  behind.     august’s  question  comes  with  an  excited  edge  to  his  voice  and  a  slim  box  in  his  hands,     with  pink  wrapping  paper  and  white  ribbons.     the  other  guests  at  the  party  had  long  dissipated,      and  serena  sits  on  the  edge  of  her  bed,     feet  swinging  back  and  forth  to  dissipate  a  bit  of  the  thrill  she  feels.    ‘i’ve  been  waiting  all  day!’     is  what  serena  replies,     taking  the  gift  into  her  lap.     her  brother  sits  down  next  to  her ;     he’s  twenty,     seven  years  older,     and  a  man  grown,     but  it’s  as  if  there’s  no  difference  between  them  as  august  wraps  his  arm  around  her  waist,     matching  brown  eyes  gleaming  as  he  watches  her  carefully  pry  apart  the  paper  to  reveal  a  box  of  velvet.     ‘it’s  sentimental,’     august  had  said,     as  to  why  he  couldn’t  let  her  open  it  amongst  the  guests.     private,     serena  thinks.     her  brother  was  always  a private  man.     when  she  lifts  the  lid,     and  august  uses  his  other  hand  to  fold  away  the  white  paper,     it  reveals  a  precious,     heart - shaped  golden  locket.     he  pulls  it  out  by  the  chain,     letting  the  pendent  rest  in  serena’s  palms.     ‘it’s  the  most  beautiful  thing  i’ve  ever  seen,’     serena  says,     eyes  glimmering.     august’s  fingers  snap  the  clasp,     and  inside,     a  photo  of  himself  on  one  side,     and  then  a  photo  of  their  parents  from  their  wedding  day  on  the  other.     serena  beams  as  august  closes  it  then  places  the  necklace  around  her  neck,     the  pendent  falling  just  at  her  collarbones.    ‘it’s  beautiful,     my  wonderful  brother,’     she  says,     and  august  kisses  her  crown.     ‘it’s  almost  as  lovely  as  you,     my  sweet  little  sister,     and  you  deserve  lovely  things.     this  way,     we’ll  always  be  with  you.’

xxvi.

julian’s  wedding  band  was  like  him ;     it  was  a  simple  golden  band,     with  ivy  growing  around  it,     interrupted  only  by  a  diagonal  line  of  diamonds.     when  serena  tilts  it  back,     she  can  see  her  mother’s  name  engraved  in  it.     eirene’s  was  a  little  flashier,     with  a  bigger  diamond  in  the  center.     it  wasn’t  because  of  her  personality,     though …     in  that,     serena  can  still  see  her  father,     wanting  to  impress  her,     wanting  to  give  his  wife  the  world.     julian’s  ring  occupies  her  left  thumb ;     she  couldn’t  bear  to  get  it  resized  for  her  dainty  hands,     so  it’s  the  best  she  could  manage.     he’d  had  a  lithe  frame,     and  for  that  she’s  thankful  –  serena  remembers  sliding  the  ring  off  of  his  finger  when  she’d  crossed  his  arms  over  his  chest,     holding  it  between  her  fingers.     she  had  to  have  it.     her  mother  had  worn  hers  until  the  very  last,     until  she  had  slipped  from  serena’s  hand  into  the  ocean’s  embrace.     serena  had  only  been  able  to  just  clasp  the  ring,     before  it  too  could  fall  from  her  grasp.     now,     it  rests  on  her  index  finger,     where  at  least  on  her  hands,     her  parents  could  still  be  together.

[bucky-iss-bae]

Reminiscences - Peter Hale x OFC (Part 2)

Hello againnnn - so I’m finally back, finally going to be active. 

My life has been a mess, I’ve not been motivated, and mentally I’ve gone through a lot the last 10 months, got thorugh University, Graduated, got a job, was a shit job, got another grad job during quarentine, and it’s been good and bad... 

Sorry for never posting and being bad at this, but I want to bounce back, so now its timmmeee. Also this Fic is actually completed. 

Want to post more, and just give you guys good content xoxo 

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Peter Hale x OFC (Calla)

Word Count: 2900 (Sorryyy, idk why it’s so long) 

Warnings: None - Slow Start I guess

Summary: Calla has grown up as Derek’s best friend, she’s known the Hales her whole life,she’s known their secrets and everything in Beacon Hills. Things in Beacon Hills are quiet, the pack are a family, and Calla realises that Peter knows more of her secrets than she realises.

A/N: Hope you all enjoy, any feedback is welcome x

Masterlist Fandom List

Peter Hale x OFC - Reminiscenes Part 1 

Part 2 

The days following that evening I completely ignored Peter. I saw him whenever he was lurking around Derek’s, I even went to the efforts of walking the complete opposite direction as him when I went grocery shopping. But if he remembers, everything every single thing I told him. Then I may as well die now. Especially since he’ll use that against me. This is Peter we’re on about.

“So you’ve apparently been ignoring Peter?” Derek asked once he settled onto my couch on Thursday.

I rolled my eyes, “And. There’s nothing wrong with that, he’s a psycho”

Derek huffed out a laugh, “There is when it makes him mopey. He comes around to mine in hope that you’re there you know”  

“Well, maybe he should stop trying to be such a stalker” I told his nephew. It was weird that there was such a large but short age difference between Peter and us. He wasn’t ever seen as the adult when we were younger, he had a boyish smirk, he had charm, and wit, and was so different compared to how he is now. He completely changed because of the fire, and the 5 years of solitude almost. He grew up, yet I didn’t see this change despite being the only person visiting him. I didn’t know he was the alpha yet I made a fool out of myself by being there for him, and he couldn’t even trust me.

“You sure it’s that?” Derek asked.

“Derek. If you’re here to talk about Peter then you can just leave. Actually no you can’t you don’t have an option, stop talking about Peter, tonight is about us. If you want I’ll send him a text saying hi later and then ignore him”

Derek shook his head a small smirk on his face. I felt a bit bad that I was taking Derek away from his boyfriend. But I needed my best friend sometimes as well.

“Good, now how are things with Stiles going?”

Derek huffed out a laugh, “They’re going well. Really well actually, never really thought that I would end up with him, but it’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. And I sound like a soppy teenager. So let’s talk about your love life”

I snorted, “Right, what love life? Actually, I went on a date last week, it was a complete failure. I’m just glad that the girls who set me up with him don’t work in the same department as him”  

Derek started to laugh, “How comes I didn’t know about this?”

“Because I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t even... it wasn’t even a big deal for me. I wasn’t excited, I just wanted to get it over and done with, and the worst thing is when I was getting into my car at the end of the night he tried to kiss me. And Derek I still cringe, what happened was I turned my head so fast he kissed my hair. Completely missed the cheek”

This caused Derek to laugh, loudly, at me. “Wow Calla. Who would’ve thought huh?” He asked.

I rolled my eyes at him, “Shut up. It was a mess, so I rather not talk about that. Instead, I’m going to set up a tinder profile.”

Derek still had this amused smirk on his face, it was nice seeing him like this. For the first time in years, he was happy. His life was on track, sure there were constant threats to the town, but that happens, that’s part of the job description of being a werewolf, and with Derek being a complete shifter, it makes a difference.

But being with Stiles makes a difference, you can literally see the way that he looks at him, and I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time. He’s almost that young cocky guy he once was, but a more matured version who has a history to him. Who has so much more to himself than ever before, and I’m proud of him. Proud of everything he’s gone through and defeated. I know his mom, and sister would also be proud of him, whether he’s an alpha or not, he’s still so powerful, and has such a good heart.

“Let’s get started then” He grinned at me.

I rolled my eyes and rather than Pizza we ordered Chinese food, and rather than watching a film we created a tinder profile for me. It was terrible, Derek called in the big guns and Stiles was on Face time with us, which made it even worse for me. But I didn’t mind, I love stiles, and boy let me tell you he added spice to my basic profile. And obviously gave my pictures a yes or no.

“I’ve helped you guys this far, let me help with the swiping” Stiles said through the phone.

I scoffed at him, “Derek say bye to your man he’s helped enough”

Derek shook his head with a small smile on his face, “You heard the boss” He said to him.

“All that help, you better show me your matches or who you’ve spoken to over the next few days Calla. I’ll know if you don’t”

I laughed at him and Derek soon hung up, “Come on, let’s see who’s around then”

Both Derek and I started swipping through these guys, commenting to each other, and swiping left or right. Mainly left. Let’s be honest. Most of these guys either looked like guys who were balding too early in life, or others who were after a quick fuck. Despite everything I did manage to swipe right a few times.

“Please let’s stop now. Like, if you think I’m going actually going to find anyone through tinder its... not likely. It’s just a bit of fun, could lead to a quick lay”

“The same way Stiles and I getting together wasn’t likely”

I grinned at him “I should’ve called it. When you constantly wanted to get mad at him, way back when, and you just couldn’t. But that itself feels like years ago”

“Yeah, the same way my uncle spared your life?” Derek said back.

I glared at him and hit his arm, “I hate you, and I’m pretty sure your uncle is a sociopath”

“Yeah. Same but, let’s be real here. He has a soft spot for you Calla”

“Derek, I will stab you if you don’t shut up.”

“I would love to see you try”

I narrowed my eyes at him, “I will call Argent right now and get him to help me out”

He laughed, “Alright, I’ll shut up now. I’m sorry”

I nodded, “You better be sorry... Also why do you keep bringing up your uncle of all people to me?” I asked curiously.

Derek knows nothing of what I done whilst he was away, he knows nothing of the feelings I once harboured for Peter, maybe I still do which is why I’m so defensive, but no one needs to know this. But still, there’s got to be a reason behind Derek’s madness right now. Maybe Peter wormed his way into his head? It’s a possibility.

“You just said you wanted me to shut up”

I shrugged, “Just curious. Then you can shut up, and we can watch something”

He shook his head, “The way he acts around you I guess. He’s a prick towards everyone, including you don’t get me wrong, but he’s a different type of prick round you. And he cares about you, he gets protective, worries, cares”

I would be lying if I said that didn’t affect me, but it does. Although it means nothing.

“Derek, are you forgetting that I was basically raised around him. Wherever you were, he was, or the other way around. Like he’s been a constant figure in my life for a very long time. Sure he wasn’t mobile for a few of those years. But he was still in Beacon Hills. So maybe that’s why, maybe he has something that slightly resembles feelings from when he’s younger and he sees me as the kid that he used to teach basketball to, and just putting this out there I am amazing at basketball, which has got to be the meaning behind this madness, and this is because of him, and maybe a little you, but still”

“Really? We live in this town, and that’s what you call madness?” He asked.

“Yes Derek. That is madness, you’re forgetting I’m just a human girl who only just knows how to defend herself and I rather have that as my type of madness instead of anything else”

“How have you actually been?” He asked me giving me a serious look, “Like... you’ve literally been thrown into this world again, months after your parents passed away, and sure that was a couple of years ago, but you rarely see your younger brother because he’s working abroad, and the only other family you have is us. But most weekends we’re off fighting something supernatural, and you’re just at the loft, waiting.”

I shrugged, “I’m fine Derek. I’m happy... sure I miss my parents a lot and that set me back a lot. That made me want to constantly curl up into a ball and just cry. But having you back, having this normal-ish again. These last few months, I’ve gotten better. Ive also got my girls” I said with a smile, but he looked at me, waiting for me to elaborate causing me to sigh and twist my body completely towards him,

“Derek, I’m working an amazing Job, sure it doesn’t pay the best but I don’t need the money. I have money, instead I’m doing something I enjoy, and they’re easy shifts. I’ve always wanted to be an elementary teacher, but without the stress so a teaching assistant is the best thing. And I have Fridays off, and I do talk to my brother. Just not as often as I want because he’s doing so well for himself in London. And I have you Derek, I have my life long best friend. After everything we’ve been through we’re both here and we’re both happy. Sure my life could be further along than it currently is, but I’m finally in a good place”

He nodded at me, “Good” He whispered, “I’m happy to hear that”

“I hate you” I said shaking my head, but in reality he knows that I love him and he is my absolute best friend no matter how much I want to kill him.  

**

Apparently Lydia and Malia found it amusing that I now have an online dating profile. Everyone did, all aside from one person. That person I’m still avoiding but he still finds a way to worm his way into my life, especially since I’m currently sat with the girls, who are judging each and every guy whose photo I scroll through, and his face pops up.

Malia was laughing, seeing her father’s face on my phone, and Lydia finding it as amusing made me realise I need more friends other than Derek my age. Especially since Lydia decided on swiping right.

“Well, well, it’s a match” Lydia laughed, “But it makes me think, whats the maximum age you’re hitting here”

I rolled my eyes with a small scoff, trying to keep my heartbeat in place, “Well, if I wanted to talk to him. I would, yet I’m not, and you just swiped for me, that’s not fair, and guy my age are… I don’t know” I said to them.

“Well he clearly wants to talk to you” Lydia murmured.

I scoffed, “He wants to get under my skin. It’s what he does. Anyway don’t you girls have I don’t know other stuff to do?” I asked trying to change the subject.

“Nope, completely free tonight.” Lydia grinned.

I internally groaned but only seconds later was I literally saved by the bell, my phone started to ring, and Derek’s name popped up.

“Hello” I answered.

“Where are you?” He asked.

“I’m at Lydia’s place. With Lydia and Malia. Why?”

“No reason. Just, a few threats about, tell me when you’re going to leave to get home, and message me when you get there alright”

I rolled my eyes but had a small smile on my face, “Yes of course Derek. Do you know who or what it is?”

“Not sure yet. Probably isn’t something too dangerous. But whatever it is, they’re drawing other hunters to town. And now we have twice as much to look out for.”

“Stay safe then Derek. Does Chris know the hunters?”

“He’s looking into it”

I nodded, “Alright then. Just make sure you’re all safe and everything ok”

“Yeah always. Remember to message me when you get home” He then hung up and I looked at Lydia,

“What’s happened?” She asked me,

“Something else is out there, along with some hunters. And now I’m worried that these hunters will obviously know about our boys, and one thing will lead to another and someone might get hurt”

She had a worried expression on her face before looking at Malia who was on the phone to Scott, “We’ll figure it out. We always do”

I nodded, although I didn’t get involved as much considering I’m human with no special ability at all, and no badge, and well I’m not the smartest of the bunch. I just make sure everyone’s safe and worry about them all whilst making sure they eat and do their homework. That’s obviously the teacher side of me coming out there, no matter what ages I teach even if I am only a teaching assistant who works 4 days a week.  

“So Scott just said that Stiles and Chris are trying to find out who the hunters actually are, and that he Derek and Peter are going to find whatever’s out there. He told me to stay here...”

“You’re not are you?” Lydia asked.

Malia smirked and shook her head, “Nope. And I’m pretty sure you two won’t either, so who’s going to drop me off at Scott’s house?”

Both Lydia and I looked at each other before sighing and getting up, we got our stuff together, she called out to her mom telling her that we were going to Scott’s before we all left.

**

“What are you all doing here?” Scott asked once we walked in.

“You think we’re really going to let all the boys have the fun?” Malia asked her boyfriend, “And come on, I know those woods better than anything” She shrugged.

No one could deny that, both her and Chris were the best hunters here. As in being able to physically find something with the given clues.

“And I’m here to assist Stiles and Chris apparently” Lydia shrugged, everyone easily let that pass before all eyes were on me.

“I thought I told you to go home. It’s dangerous”

I shrugged, “I know. I really didn’t have any other choice” I said nodding my head towards Malia.

“Well you should just go home then. You’ll just be in the way otherwise” Peter snapped at me.

I rose my eyebrows at him, silently cursing Lydia for swiping right on his stupid face.

“I might just stay, make sure you don’t snake anyone out” I spat back to him.

“What and you think you’ll be able to stop me?”

“Peter won’t do anything, we’re not even sure what the problem is at the moment. So just go home Calla” Derek told me.

I felt a bit taken back at how blunt and rude he was at that, and considering no one decided on saying anything, I just grabbed my bag and left without a word. Because hey there’s nothing new there, being treated like I’m nothing despite seeing everyone as family. I would’ve expected a bit more considering they’ve got literal kids in there helping yet I can’t. Even if it is to make sure they’re all safe and not making stupid plans. I was there when Talia was alpha, I know how things work. Instead I just get embarrassed surrounded by my friends, and left to feel worthless because I’m of no help.

As soon as I got in my car, I knew that all I needed right now was a glass of wine, and some trash TV.

Which is exactly what I done when I got home, wine, some trash TV, and the comfort of my own apartment. And as petty as I may sound, I just hate feeling this way, and knowing that it’s something that constantly happens, I don’t see why I get involved in the first place. It’s the same old thing, I try and be there for everyone, they shut me out whenever shit goes down and I just keep running back. But no this isn’t going to keep happening because this week I will make the time and effort to go out with my girlfriends. I’ll dress up and have fun without worrying about anything else. Derek won’t be there to stop me, Peter won’t be there with his snarky remarks, and I won’t be surrounded by teenagers.

Which is exactly why I messaged my friends that I’m always talking to yet never have the time to see because I’m constantly with everyone else. We spoke for a little while before I asked when everyone was free for drinks, and guess what this girl is doing on Thursday after work. A night out, with my girls, and I can’t wait.  

Because I really felt in the mood to treat myself, I also planned on going shopping with one of the girls tomorrow after work. So no harm done there, I’ll buy myself a new outfit, some new makeup all ready for Thursday.

Peter Hale x OFC - Reminiscences Part 3 

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hi, can you find some good sterek fics that are post season 3, 4, 5 or 6? Canon or non seriously anything is fine and I'd really appreciate it if you could. Thanks in advance!

Sure - Anastasia

That's New by alisvolatpropiis

(1/1 I 2,459 I Mature)

Stiles missed out on seeing Derek's transformation, so a few days after Mexico, he goes to see for himself.

~~*~~

“Come on dude. You’re making me regret saving your life. Again.” Stiles grins and kicks his leg, knowing full well that Derek can hear his lie.

Derek rolls his eyes again and stands, peeling off his shirt, dropping it to the couch before unbuttoning his jeans.

“Oh, um, okay,” Stiles mumbles, looking away and slurping at his coke. He knew about the naked part, was expecting it. But expecting – imagining – Derek naked is nothing like seeing it happen right in front of him. Derek steps out of his jeans and walks towards the middle of the room in just his black boxer briefs. Stiles knows the rules of no homo means he shouldn’t look, but he’s always felt pretty damn homo when it comes to Derek, whose hands are resting at the waistband of his underwear, and Stiles doesn't just want to look, he wants to touch and lick and oh damn.

Maybe by aprettysmalldose

(1/1 I 3,658 I Explicit)

It's 3 am. Derek was actually sleeping for once. If this is another one of these 'world is ending' 'people are dying' moments, Derek is going to - but no, it's Stiles. Fuck. He takes it back. Give him one of those 'world is ending' scenarios. Those he can handle.

lodestone by llassah

(1/1 I 5,491 I Teen)

“We could…we could be something, couldn’t we?” Stiles murmurs, eyes slipping shut. Derek looks at the IV line in his arm, the bandages covering his chest, his leg. His hand, pale against the hospital sheets, palm up. Derek waits until he’s sure Stiles is asleep before he responds.

It takes Stiles eight years to ask the question again. It's okay. Derek can wait.

Fuel a Fantasy by Delightful_I_Am

(1/1 I 18,690 I Teen)

Let it never be said that Stiles wasn't able to keep his cool when faced with awkward situations. It'd be right maybe, but it should never be said.

Stiles gasped and spun around, eyes finding Derek immediately. The poor guy looked a bit shell-shocked.

“Oh my god! Dude!” Stiles flailed his arms and lunged forward, tripping a bit and catching himself on Derek’s arms. “You have to fake date me!”

“What?”

You Belong with Me by halcyon1993

4/14 I 19,705 I Explicit)

Derek is tired of watching Stiles get treated like crap by his so-called friends. When both the Hale Pack and the McCall Pack end up in the same nightclub, Derek decides it's finally time to convince Stiles that he'd be better off with him as his alpha. 

 the amber of the moment by redhoodedwolf

(2/2 I 23,202 I Mature)

Ever since he was eight years old, Stiles had been running. Fate decided it was time to stop.

The Fury of the Righteous by orphan_account

(16/16 I 48,911 I Teen)

Stiles has been afraid of himself since October. He knows, rationally, that the Nogitsune is gone- but he also knows that what he felt when Donovan died isn't right.Or maybe it is.Maybe what Stiles felt, what he's feeling, is completely right. And maybe he isn't the only one feeling it.

With Tears in My Eyes by Dexterous_Sinistrous

(7/7 I 55,043 I Explicit)

Stiles Stilinski never thought much about his relationship with Derek Hale. He didn't have to because Derek was always there for him. That is, until Braeden entered the picture. Derek seems happy, and Stiles takes comfort knowing that the broody werewolf is less broody.

Stiles, however, is hit full force by his feelings when Derek is injured at La Iglesia. He realizes then, that everything he has felt for Derek is more than what he originally thought. He struggles with coming to terms with them, and finally, with the advise of Scott, takes the first step to doing something about it.

With fear and hope guiding him, Stiles tries to tell Derek the truth. But nobody said love was going to be easy.

A Melody That Climbs And Then Falls by siny

(17/17 I 66,176 I Teen)

They won the fight against the alpha pack; the nightmare was apparently over.That was until Stiles fell on the ground with blood coming out of his mouth when Derek reached him.

--

Or the fic where Stiles gets an internal bleeding for saving Derek, only a tragedy like this would make Derek realize his true feelings.Peter betrayed them all and is currently missing. Allison and Stiles are buddies, as much as Derek and Erica.

Doors Unlocked and Open by Imnotahero

(20/20 I 140,060 I Teen)

They say that when one door closes another one opens. That might be true elsewhere, but not in Beacon Hills. Danger lurks behind every door, and once they're ajar they stay like that - unlocked and open. Which is not good. Not at all. Stiles find things bad enough with Dread Doctors, Theo and his pack of Resurrected Chimeras, Lydia stuck in Eichen House and the foundation of his friendship with Scott unraveling fast. The surprising return of Derek might just be the counterbalance he needs. Especially if they could just close some of these damned doors...

[monstaxandmultifan]

💔💔🖤😭😢

Hello Everyone,

After having some time to think about things and collected my thoughts after the past 24 hours, i have decided to to be on a hiatus indefinitely from this specific blog as I have another one which is personal.I will probably still be on here and there, and lurk but I don't think I can go on without posting about Monsta X/ Wonho.  My ultimate group and my ultimate bias has always been Wonho and Monsta X. I have loved this group from the moment they debuted. I am a multi-fan but, this group has always stuck out to me for their edgy and powerful music/ lyrics. Also, due to the fact that they are around the same age, made me want to stan them even more. My sisters have even told me that I am a very loyal monbebe and Wonho bias. Thats who I run back to.

The moment I laid my eyes on this group Wonho had this magnificent aura to him, you just wanted to get to know him and protect him. He is a HUGE softy. Plus coming from a background where he didn't have everything meant so much to me because that is what, one would interpret as the "American Dream" here in the States. He is a caring, supportive, thoughtful, loving, human being who shouldn't be shamed for what he did in his past. He cared SO MUCH for monbebes, he was always giving us video lives, showing us love, and simply there. He doesn't deserve this hate/ bullying. Ive realized that this k-pop industry is disgusting towards their artists.And the netizens, especially of Korea are atrocious monsters who feel the need to bully others to make them feel better about themselves.

Overall , Monster X has grown over these years and have shown it. I will always love this group. I will always be a Wonho bias. I will try my best to support our loving group and all the members, but in all honesty things will never be the same. It hurts, to see them like this, to having to move forward and who knows if they will ever talk about this. I also wouldn't be surprised if they end up disbanding after their contracts come to an end and go solo.  Or they end up leaving as well. These are the consequences when, this industry  prefers their "image" instead of sticking by or helping their artists.

There is so much more I want to say but I think this is all I will say for now. To all the Monbebe's out there please take care of yourselves. Emotionally, physically, mentally and spiritually.. Feel this pain and grieve. Don't allow anyone to invalidate it. Take time off, go outside we need it.  

This space will still be open to any and all, who need to speak, get things off your chest, support one another, and simply be there for one another. I can't erase this as it has so many photos/stories from members who put their time and effort to show us so many different groups, including Monsta X. 

And for our loving bunny Wonho, I hope whatever it is your feeling, you are letting out. Don’t hold onto the pain. Grieve, scream but don’t ever be ashamed of yourself. You came a long way from what you were back then. If this is your decision We will respect it but I hope you get all the love you need from those who honestly care about you. You will always be loved by monbebes. You are a special treasure that we got a chance to see. You will always be a part of monsta x and I hope you have success in whatever else you may do. I hope you also take care of yourself in ever aspect.

And for our Monsta X members, please take care of yourselves. You guys are loved immensely, you guys literally shined bright like a diamond. Your music is still going to have a HUGE impact to me and to all monbebe's who will be by your side, wherever / whatever you guys do. Ill be there to support you. But for now I'll take it easy and give myself a huge break since this impacted me tremendously. I hope in the future you guys are able to rekindle. Love you Monsta X

I honestly can’t handle all the k pop that has evolved over the last year or so. From BI leaving ikon, to woojin leaving stray kids, it’s been honestly horrible. I think I’ll refrain myself from liking any future groups and kind of distancing myself from k pop for a while as well. Hope every fandom that has lost someone are still there for those members . Stay strong everyone !!

--- Signed a Heartbroken Monbebe  💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

[killcomet]

Mutuals!!! here!!! read this!!! i love you!!!

heres an appreciation post to all my mutuals that i consider family!!!!! because i love you lots!!! 

WARNING TO ALL NON MUTUALS, THIS IS LONG AS FUCK

@anpandan Danny boy!!! i love you so much oh my god you are such an amazing person and i have so many good memories with you, bad ones too but even those are nice !! you make me smile and i when you sometimes respond to my updates i send you it makes me smile so softly and its just a really nice feeling? i love you a lot Danny!!!!! happy new year!

@unknowntalesx Pao, we havent talked in a while and i hope youre doing well!! ill always love you even if we dont talk. i miss you and you are such a good part of my day when i do talk to you, even if they arent very often. happy new year and merry christmas Pao!!!!!

@little-star-in-the-universe Holley Jolly, im so so proud of your resilience. youve overcome so much and grown so much as far as i can see when i talk to you. you are such a good thing to me, even though you may not feel the same. i know that you always struggle, and im incredibly impressed at how far youve come, even if youve taken steps back. even when youre feeling shitty, you always listen to me and talk to me when i need it and im thankful for that. i love you, youre my family, i hope i never ever lose you. happy new year!!!

@little-bunny-jungkookie Parent!!! ahhh you are such a role model in my mind?? you always seem to keep a somewhat level head and always are so so supportive and just ugh i want to meet you so bad?? i always love talking to you and you always seem to know how to help even if its just like telling me to go drink water or sleep. i really truly consider you family, like i would consider you someone i would follow? anyway, i love you a lot, happy new year!!!

@sundaetae Dee Cookie, my smart cookie, you amazing person you. i love you a lot, you seem to have this aura around you that just lights up rooms. you are so so creative and im so glad your personality is the way it is. you are such a light in some peoples lives and are such absolute joys to them. you are so so smart and you are a god damn fantastic thing to this world, i love you, happy new year Cookie

@jungkooksbuttons Bub, i love you a lot, even when i do seem a bit agitated. you are such an important piece to my world, and you always are there to support me when i need it. youre my cub, my cutie patootie!! you always make me smile when im a bit down and its p great honestly, and when you always talk to me about cough cough you know who cough cough you always try to just let me talk about her? which is kinda nice, but i love you my cub bub, happy new year!!!

@bloomingjiminie Marshmallow, wow i remember when i gave you that name, you were pouting about not having a nickname and wanted me to make one for you and i thought of marshmallow bc youre sweet and full of fluff and a wholesome being which is what marshmallows are. we dont talk as often as i would like, but i love you a lot and you mean a lot to me, and i just want to hug you tbh, happy new year Dia!!

@seokjinownsmyass Mina!! you amazing person, i remember when i first met you i gave you the nickname my love because you were low key jealous that me and eden were flirting so i called you my love and it just kinda stuck for a while (tho i stopped when Rae showed interest cough cough didnt want to get into that whole thing lmao) but you are such a funny and caring person and we dont talk very often but im glad we do talk in those few cases we do, its nice, but i love you a lot and happy new year!!

@problematicsinnamon baby, where do i even start. you mean a fuck ton to me, even tho i sometimes act kinda shitty. youre so supportive and so so so kind and patient and i just love you so much. you just light up my world and always make me smile and just overall always help me a lot through things. youre so so understanding and i look forward to when i get the chance to talk to you. i remember when you would go crazy the first few times i flirted with you and it made me laugh and made me smile. i remember when i said i like being given nicknames and you called me starlight and the softness i got from it. i remember when the server started shipping us lmao i remember when the first time you said i could come to you whenever i needed it. they all meant a lot to me, because they made me smile. i love you Eden baby, happy new year

@simonbunnyjunior Simon Sweetie, you wholesome being that i love v much and would suffer from the most annoying people for you. you always get me so excited when you come around. its like a bout of excitement and its really nice when im having a bad day to see that youre talk, even when im just simply lurking. theres moments i had with you that really made me laugh and smile, like the “its just platonic” thing that happened a bit back, i love you sweetie, happy new year!!

@lofisapphic Honey Bee i would drop kick someone for you. you mean a lot to me, like really truly a lot. i would never let you die and i would kill you in the after life if you did, and im saying that bc you say you will a lot. i love you to the moon and back and i would 100% support anything you do, unless its killing millions of people, thats a big no no. bUt you have y love so that should sate you for a bit lmao but seriously tho, i love you a lot and happy new year

@bangtansoftboys Robin!!! my honey bun!! we dont talk often but you are a v wholesome person. just your entire personality is so soft and fluff and overall p great. when i first came on the server, and first talked to you, i kinda thought of you as this intimidating person that was impossible to talk to, and honestly thats hard to believe now. youre way too soft to even try to intimidate me, not that you cant try. anyway, i love you a lot and hope you have a great new year!!

@kingdomzeldaquest Lotte!! my other parent!!! i love you a lot, even though we dont talk too often bc of time zones. you along with some others have been my family the longest, and i love you a lot. i remember when i first met you and i thought it was honestly wild when you said you were from australia. you always have loved me so much and always cheer me up when im feeling shitty, overall im v thankful for you lotte, i love you, happy new year

@spriteisbetter Esther !!! you wholesome wholesome human being, where do i start. you are such a soft yet firm soul hon, and i love it. youre understanding yet know when clear about what you say. you always try to make me feel better about how im feeling when i talk to you all about that stuff. youre such a comforting person and always seem to calm me. i miss you a lot and i think always will. you made my day good when you were at school and always check up on me when you can to make sure im doing ok and better, and i appreciate it a lot, more then you know. i love you hon, happy new year!!!!

@generalchenchen Rachel, bby!!! you always are such a happy soul, a loud, but happy, soul. its really nice when you dont make me talk about anything and just,, talk. its nice when you ask about my day and i tell you then you babble on about whatevers on your mind. i find it v cute and endearing when you get super excited about something and just ramble on and on about said thing. i remember when you had me come over for a sleepover to cheer me up. im so so grateful that you trust me enough to talk to me about things on your mind and that you trust me enough that you want to tell me when you leave the country. i love you, would die for you, happy new year bby

@daydream-hobii Sweets!! ive always admired your writing and i just love it a lot. youre so sweet and just really make me happy when i read your stuff and when i see that youve answered my asks! youre a really nice and v understanding when im a little down or when im not taking care of myself. you overall are just a v caring person that im grateful to know, i love you! happy new year! (´ヮ`)

@puppieseokie Fay, i know we dont talk often and were not as close and i am as everyone else, but you still mean a lot, you always have a somewhat level head and you always seem to be so calm and i kinda admire that considering the server were in together lmao but i really do appreciate youre existence, love you, happy new year!!!

@shadowclaws Sophia!!!!! i miss you!!!! i love you a lot!! i remember when we were kids and vaguely remember meeting you in kindergarden and man that was wild when i had the revelation that were in the same kindergarden class as me. you are such a funny and relatable person and so easy to get along with tbh. youre my longest friend and im incredibly grateful for you, happy new year!!!

im sure theres people im missing but im getting tired of typing and my fingers are getting cramped and this is really fucking long so like ヽ(。_°)ノ

but i love you all a lot!!!!!

[bloggerblagger]

87) Blank space. (And the profound questions deriving therefrom.)

                                                              I was there.                            ______________________________________________________________________

I am looking for a film.

I have hunted high and low and I can’t find it.

I don’t mean a roll of film - who has those these days? Unless you’re living in the dark ages. Or in Hackney or Stokie or Lewisham and have a beard, tatts, nose ring, possibly a lip disc - and that’s just the girls, tee hee. (Sorry, I meant cis gender women.) (And trans women too of course.) (Maybe I shouldn’t have started this.)

Anyway, no, I do not mean that kind of film, I mean a film as in a movie, a flick, a picture, a cinematic experience. I have lost one - no. 45 to be precise - and being a bit anal about these things, I am quite disturbed.

To explain: a few weeks ago we had the London Film Festival. As a one time titan of the airwaves, and now the the author of this estimable blog, I am, in exchange for an ever increasing fee - forty five quid  this year - able to blag a press pass.

And very grateful I am. What better way to fill a retiree’s days as the autumn chill begins to bite.

The trouble with joy

Ah! If only simple pleasure were enough for me. I am, as Woody Allenonce described himself, ‘anhedonic’. As I understand it, that means incapable of having a good time for the sake of it.

Something - somewhere inside my amygdala or frontal lobe or wherever such impulses lurk - insists that I must have an aim, a goal of some kind. It’s as though standing before the Eiger, it would not be enough for me to admire its magisterial beauty. I would feel an  irresistible compulsion  to grab some crampons and leg it  up the North face. (Okay, possibly a slight overclaim there but you get the idea.)

And thus it is that, each year, my principal purpose at the festival really has nothing to do with appreciating  the glories of world cinema. As with the mountain that must be climbed because it is there, I hear  an irresistible call to a completely pointless course of action.

My personal Eiger (it really should be Everest but I’m stuck with the Eiger now) is to pay an average price of less than £1 per screening that I enter.

Rules of the game

And lest you think that’s dead easy - and that all I have to do is walk in, get the person with the BFI badge and the little hand held   recording doobery to record my press pass number, and  then walk straight out again - you are most seriously mistaken.

Rule 27 subsection b, clearly states that I have to see enough to be able to write some kind of review for each and every film.(See below.) (And further below.) (And much further below.) Furthermore, although I am  permitted to walk out if I think the film is really shite, I have to stay for at least half an hour.

It is a feat  that I have, for one reason and another - typically, violent vomiting brought about by a surfeit of Gallic pretentiousness or a crippling attack of wobblycamitis -  never previously managed to accomplish. And inflation makes it an ever more daunting prospect. It’s like the Eiger growing another couple of thousand feet every year. At the 2018 price, it would mean I had to see at least forty six films.

Reaching for the stars

The one thing that gave me a tiny shred of hope was that this year I would be in London with a more or less empty diary for the entire period of press previews, beginning Sept 24th, and for the actual festival, which ended October 21st. Forty six films in twenty nine days. Obviously tough, but at one and three fifths  a day, it did seem just about doable.

In fact, a bit  like Mo Farah, who is happy to ease himself into the race and hang about at the back of the field for the first lap, I saw only one film a day for the first week and gradually stepped it up so that by the beginning of the final week I still had twenty three films to see. Yes, as  the bell sounded for the last lap, I still had an immense amount of ground to make up.

But I was honed, oiled (a steady diet of oatmilk lattés) and up for the challenge. Saw four films a day Mon to Fri, except Wed when I saw five - my first ever 5 a day! Saw two on the Sat - but, as much as it stuck in my craw, paid - PAID! - for a ticket for one of them (will explain later) so  only one counted. And  then three more on the final Sunday. Meaning I had seen forty eight films overall  with forty seven eligible  - forty seven for the price of my forty five pounds press pass. Average cost: 95.744 pence.

NINETY FIVE POINT SEVEN FOUR FOUR PENCE!!!! Cue tumultuous applause, wild cheering, caps being hurled into the air, my modest, slightly sheepish acceptance of bouquets thrown at my feet, headlines in the dailies, in depth analyses in the Sundays,  a billion tweets, Facebook breaking down through worldwide overload,  invitations to appear on Breakfast TV, The  One Show - rejected - Graham Norton - maybe - James Corden’s Carpool Karaoke - okay -  and The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon - accepted if whole show is devoted to me.

Let the naysayers nay

Of course, I knew there would be doubters. Small minded types consumed with envy - very possibly like yourself - and  conspiracy theorists  who would insist that, like the landing on the moon, seeing forty eight films (forty seven eligible) in twenty nine days was simply beyond the reach of humankind and that the whole enterprise was some kind of epic confidence trick.

So I knew I would need proof. And so I kept notes. Contemporaneously. Each film I saw, I noted down on the yellow notebook thingy on my i-phone. From one to forty eight (forty seven eligible) they went in and were consecutively numbered. And then, at the end, it was my intention to review them. (Too busy resting in my  bivouac - aka the cafe in the PIcturehouse Central - to write them as I saw them.)

That was the plan and the plan was put into effect. All went swimmingly, if several tads slowly - at the time of bloglication it’s already the thick end  of a month since the Festival finished - until I reached no 45.

And then - disaster.

YIkes!

44 was clear enough: ‘Ollie and Stan.’ And 46 was there: ‘Girl’’. But beside the number 45, there was nothing. Just blank space. (And though Blank Space could easily have been a film, perhaps based on the song Blank Space by Taylor Swift - ‘I’ve got a blank space baby, And I’ll write your name’ - and there was actually a film called Blank Spaces made in 2010, the blank space in question was just in fact, no more than that, a blank space.)

The reader - if there still is one - will be easily able to imagine how distraught I was. I was - and I remain - convinced that I had seen forty eight movies (forty seven eligible) but I could only identify forty seven ( and therefore only forty six eligible.)

How could this have happened, I wept and beseeched the God in whom I do not believe? As expected, no answer, but retracing my fingers I concluded that in writing the reviews beside the numbers, I had unwittingly deleted the name of the film that had been beside the number 45.

An absence of proof

I grabbed my dog-eared copy of the Festival Programme and cross-checked all the gazillions of  titles with those on my list, to see if there was one that I recognised that might have been no.45. But when you are as anal/OCD/idiotic as I am, you have to be punctiliously - obsessively - honest and I have to confess that I couldn’t find anything. I delved into the settings of  my i-phone’s yellow notepad thingy several times to see, if I had by any chance, inadvertently made a copy of the original entries before I began the review, but nada.

Eventually I had to accept that,  like Shergar, the name of the film that should have been beside no.45, would never be found. My only consolation was that this fascinating tale would be the basis for a fantastic movie, which I shall, one day, star in, write, direct, and produce: ‘And the winner of the Academy Award for Best Actor/Writer/Director/Motion Picture goes to: Richard Phillips, Richard Phillips, Richard Phillips, Blank Space!’)

Other than that, I am left with nothing but a terrible quandary. Do I insist, despite the missing movie,  that I saw forty eight films (forty seven eligible) and that  the price of 95.744 per film stands? Or do I say, since I cannot name film no.45, that, for the official record, I shall accept, albeit grudgingly and bitterly, that only forty seven films (forty six films eligible) can be counted, which increases the average price to 97.827pence per film. Yes, still inside £1 but unarguably by a substantially narrower squeak.

But  that is not proof of absence.

As you will imagine, I have, before sending this blog post off into the e-ther, fought an epic battle with my conscience. I have tossed and turned in the night, spent days in a monastic retreat - well, sitting on the loo, as good as - before deciding that, one missing title notwithstanding, I did indeed see forty eight films (forty seven eligible) and will claim, until the moment I have taken my last breath that the average price per film was 95.744p.  Indeed, given the importance this  has assumed in my life, it is not beyond the bounds of possibility that these will be  my actual last words -  though hopefully not right now.

However, my rigid insistence on  complete honesty  demands that I confess that there is another reason for choosing the 95.744 option.

It is this: There  is another rule - 39, clause iv - that has to be obeyed. And to explain that properly, I need to go out of order and begin my reviews with no.22

Ignorance is not always bliss.

Rule 39, clause iv, states that I must see every film ‘completely cold’ - by which I mean, knowing as little as conceivably possible about what I am about to see. I make a point/fetish of never reading the Festival programme blurb before I go in. When going to the cinema in the ordinary way, that is to say paying a proper price, I do everything I can to avoid seeing a trailer, usually by timing my entrance so I miss them, but if not, I  cover my eyes and stick my fingers in my ears, and I would go ‘la la la la la’ except I would be bombarded by popcorn and soggy nachos.

And I never, ever so much as glance at a review until after I've seen the film, and not just because I think all reviewers - except me - are tossers. I want to make a judgement of my own, uninfluenced by the half baked opinions of others. I want to witness  the story unfold exactly as the director intended that it should. Of course my determination to be so pure has its drawbacks occasionally, and never more so than  in this case.

Thus:

22 Little  Drummer Girl

I went in with high hopes as the director Park Chan Wook, who made the astonishing Korean and Korean-ised version of Sarah Waters’ fantastic (I thought) novel Fingersmith. (His film was called The Handmaiden, not to be confused with The Handmaid's Tale.)

TLDG started intriguingly and then, after about  an hour, the end credits rolled, seemingly  half way through the film. I sat there thinking, ‘how very odd’,  but, given my admiration for this director’s previous film, I decided this must be some uber cool directorial device and carried on watching regardless. Then an hour later the same credits rolled again, this time, as it turned out, at the conclusion of the performance. Even odder, for there seemed to have been no clue - at least none that I’d picked up -  as to why the credits had  been run the first time.

So whatever uber cool trick the director was trying to bring off, it was clearly way too cool for me. Moreover the story was left completely unresolved. It seemed as though there was a lot more  to be said  and  the audience had been left high and dry. The whole thing was completely baffling. Until, that is, I finally referred  to  the programme blurb and discovered this wasn’t a film at all but the first two episodes of a new BBC series. (Now showing.)

Why should this be shown at a Film Festival, especially when the TV series is to be broadcast only two weeks later? Answers on a postcard please.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.0* (Not a film.)

So, you can see the problem. This wasn’t strictly a film - as in a movie that you might see in a regular cinema - at all. So should it count?  If the Rules Committee (me, myself and I) took a really strict view, they might not allow The Little Drummer Girl through even though I had  thought it would be a proper film  when I went in.

You can see where I am going with this. If I had not refused to back down on the missing no.45, I could have been in serious trouble. Because If I hadn’t and the Committee  put their black caps on in regard to no.22, I would be down to forty six films viewed and only forty five eligible, meaning the average price of entry would be £1 exactly.

Still a formidable achievement but, whichever way you look at it, £1 cannot be simultaneously less than £1. I would my miss target for yet another year.

Agonisingly close but no cigar. And you can’t really plant the flag unless you’ve reached the summit.

Let the record show

As I have said, I am not a believer but sometimes one simply has to invoke the name of the  so-called creator because it is the only word that will do. So thank God that after long, and sometimes hotly contested deliberations, the committee voted by a majority of two to one (myself and I for  the motion, me dissenting)  to take a lenient view and admit no 22. What’s more they didn’t even raise the subject of  the missing no.45.

So, all’s well that ends well. Will 95.744p ever beaten? One never knows, but my guess this is a Bob Beamon Plus Plus Plus sort of record.

One final note before I get to the other forty six reviews. I am the reviewer who is absolutely, positively guaranteed never to give the game away. No plot spoilers, no tedious Kermodian descriptions of every tiny thing. In fact, sod all apart from the odd detail such as the title, occasionally who might be in it, its country of origin and the briefest reference to  the skeleton of the story.

Reading one of my reviews you will never learn who dunnit. You won’t even know  wot they dun.  

The rest of the reviews:

1 Asako 1&2 (numbers are part of the title) 

Japanese romance with a clever plot twist.  Inoffensive, watchable - a slightly different slant (shamefully politically incorrect pun but impossible to resist) on familiar themes. 3*

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3*

2 Petra 

An incoherent Spanish film about a young woman and a small daughter in search of something or other. Complex plot which asked too much of this audience. (By which I mean me.) Tiresome.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.1.5*

3 The Guilty 

Highly unusual and thought provoking thriller of sorts. Although nothing remotely like it, except in its ‘message’,  it reminded me of the celebrated Guardian commercial - celebrated if you lived  in the advertising bubble, that is  - which showed one scene from different points of view, each one altering your assumptions about what was going on.

A lot of concentration required for ‘The Guilty’  - slightly more than I had. A few irritating plot flaws but worth your time.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.4*

4 Wildlife

Thanks to British Rail’s time honoured uselessness,  I was 10 minutes late but I don’t think I missed anything crucial.  This was the very first film I saw but I can still just about remember it which says quite a lot for it I suppose. Carey Mulligan who I usually don’t like is very good in this 50s Americanadrama. Ed Oxenbould as the teenage son in the midst of a family crisis is impressive.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3.5*

5 Crystal Swan

The lesson to be learned here is that  under no circumstances choose Belorussia  for your next holiday unless unremitting bleakness turns you on. But the story of a rebellious young woman desperate to get  a visa to America is intriguing and persuasive.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3.5*

6 Shadow

Another of those Chinese warrior films which involves all sorts of leaping about and balletic sword twirling. Not my cup of Lapsang Souchong  but if it’s yours, go for it.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3*

7. Arctic.

Icelandic. Very snowy. A man lost and hungry and  not a happy bunny (not that any bunny would be)  in the eponymous frozen somewhere. In short, All Is Lost on Ice. (A brilliant line if I say so myself. If you haven’t seen All Is Lost, you should because it’s better and also because you will then appreciate the brilliance of the line which will otherwise be wasted on you )

On the other hand if you don’t see it, Arctic will probably seem more original and interesting than it did to me.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3*

8 Jinn

Awful, unlikely story about a black Californian teenager who wants to shake her booty  and her controlling TV weatherwoman mother who discovers Islam. 

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.1*

9 Manto

Worthy but tedious biopic about a famous writer caught up in the cross border chaos of Indian/Pakistani independence. I lasted for about 3/4 of it, then decided to get a sandwich instead.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.1*

10 After the Screaming Stops

Where else but at a press screening at the London film Festival would you find yourself watching a documentary about a Bros reunion? Interesting  in that it showed what an incredible jerk Matt Goss is. And sometimes funny in the laughing-at as opposed to laughing-with sense.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3*

11 May  the Devil Take You

Walked out. Hated  it. Apart from that I can’t remember anything.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.0.5*

12 Mandy

Never got all this cult film bollocks.  Never liked Russ Meyer or  got George Romero or John Waters  and this film which appears to be in this ‘cult’ category was , as far,  as  I was concerned,  simply unbearable. Left after an hour.  Yes, I know it’s had fantastic reviews from all and sundry but then remember, fengshui proves that a billion Chinese can be wrong.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating. - (minus) 200*

13 Ash Is Purest White

A Chinese melodrama about low level gangster life centred on the life of the moll. (I mean morr- ha ha ha.) (Is it racist to make pathetically obvious jokes, if you can call them that, about Chinese/ Japanese pronunciation issues? Probably yes, so why do I keep doing it? Discuss.)

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.2.5*

14.Widows

The gushing reviews it seems to have received (judging by the number of stars on the posters on the underground)  baffle me. It was nothing more than a highly polished turd. The original television serious was completely implausible and this film is no improvement. In the trailer  that I advertently failed to miss, ‘12 Years a Slave’ director and, in another life, Turner prize winner, Steve McQueen - the new one not the dead one - appears himself  to  claim this is the film he always wanted to make. 

Personally  I think it might have been about the money.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.2*

15 Thunder Road

A curious piece, written and directed and starring  the same person, all about the  disintegrating life of an American policeman. Tonally it was partly black comedy and partly unalloyed tragedy. A tour de force of sorts creatively,  but not quite sure what to make of it.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3*

16 Border

A love story with knobs on - but not necessarily in the usual places - this is a quite brilliant piece of filmmaking which questions the very nature of attraction.  ‘Border’ has a very contemporary story but one which is drawn,  apparently,  from Nordic mythology. One of the two or three best films I saw in the festival.  Highly recommended.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.4.5*

17 Colette

I started by being irritated by Collette. Keira Knightley has had a bit too much onscreen rumps pumpy to be a convincing teenager in plaits skipping through the grass. And there was early dialogue referencing toothpaste and the top line on an optician’s charts. In 1892? Did they have those in 1892? (The answer it turns out is yes - toothpaste invented in the 1850s, Colgate producing it in jars in 1873 and in tubes in the 1890s, and opticians have been around since earlier than that - so one in the eye for me. And one  in the mouth.)

But all this became quickly irrelevant anyway. Because I stopped being picky and submitted to the  charm of this film, seduced by the bravura performance of Dominic West - who seemed  made for his twinkly eyed, moustache twirling part  and by the surprisingly nuanced Keira Knightley - never been a fan but I am now. As it turned out, after that first slightly jarring note, she was perfectly cast as the country school girl who goes on to be a revolutionary in the fin de siecle culture war in Paris.. But above all it was the astonishing, and very well told, story of Collette - nothing of which I knew - which fascinated. In short, a  damn good night at the cinema.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.4.5*

18 Beautiful Boy

Film about parental angst over teenage son’s descent into drugs hell. I found it interesting, if for no other reason than it made me realise the blindingly obvious fact that each viewer sees  a film through the prism of their own life experience and that must affect their appreciation of it. In  this case, as a father I couldn’t help but see  things  from the father’s point of view but if you you were in the first flush of youth you would, I think see it from the son’s. 

The  casting of Timothy Hutton  as the expert to whom we see Steve Carell talking caught my eye because he was, about 40 years ago,  the Timothy Chalomet  of his day - remember ‘Ordinary People’?- and then looked a little like him.

And here’s another curious little factoid about Timothy Hutton - perhaps something to thrill the table with if Christmas lunch is flagging. He also appeared in a 1996 film called Beautiful Girls.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3.5*

19 Sometimes. Always.Never

Light, low budget British comedy with Bill Nighy; painstakingly made and clearly a labour of love. A little twee at times but very well played and with something semi-profound to say - though at a distance of a few days, having seen so many films since, I can’t remember exactly what it was.  

It had a particular appeal for me because the hero had  spent a life in the menswear business, as my father did, and  the title refers to how one should button a three button jacket, from top button downwards - something I learned at an early age and have never forgotten.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3.5*

20. Roma

I would say that Roma was a faultless recreation of 1970s Mexico City except that I wasn’t in Mexico City in the 1970s so how could I know?  It did however ring completely true to me - apart from a shower head which looked suspiciously modern - pedantic? moi? - and demonstrated  the astonishing versatility of the director, Adolpho Cuaron, who  also made ‘Y Mama Tu Tambien’ 'Children of God' and ‘Gravity’ - that’s some CV -  films which could not be more different to this. ‘Roma’ is a sort of upstairs downstairs story and has wonderful performances from all the actors but most particularly from the main character, the young servant girl. 

If I have one caveat it is that it didn’t quite ‘speak to me’, apart from making me queasily guilty that I have a cleaning lady.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.4*

21 Non Fiction

One of those literary French films purporting  to be profoundly intellectual (even if, in this case, also supposed to be ironically amusing.) All about writers and publishers and their existential angst in the digital world.  But then  aren’t all French films like this about existential angst - whatever it means? This is the sort of thing I viscerally loathe  and after about half an hour, je sort, and  gave ‘Non Fiction’, the General de Gaulle - ‘Non! Non! Non!’

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.1*

23 Life  Itself

Not everybody loves this film; in fact, the reviews have generally had the whiff of a  blocked drain,  but I claim my right to vigorously demur - up to a point. Directed and written by Dan Fogelman (the guy who does ‘This Is Us’ on Netflix or somewhere) it begins with a story about familiar  Noo Yorker angst but approaches it from a surprising angle - at least to me. ‘Life Itself’, comes in four labelled acts, something I don’t like in movies usually but the first three  worked for me. The  last seemed like a rather - make that very - tired cliché. 

My main issue with the film was that, whereas with Roma I couldn’t quite understand what it was trying to say, here the message was triple underlined in upper case bold. Not yet quite at the stage of jibbering senescence where I need to be spoon-fed.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3.5*

24 Wild Rose

Have to declare an interest here. The film’s star, Jessie Buckley,  is someone I know a little, and whose  career I have watched with interest since she was about 18 when she appeared on a TV talent show and after which  I interviewed her. I am a massive fan. She is an astonishingly gifted singer and a damn good actor. (Brilliant in her earlier non-singing role in last year’s ‘Beast’, which I thought was an exceptional movie, better than this to be honest, and which may yet prove to be a bit of a sleeper.)

 ‘Wild Rose’ is about a single mother from the badlands of a Scottish estate who has a yen to be a Nashville diva. (A bit like  Lady Gaga in ‘A Star is Born’. C&W seems all the  rage at the mo.) ‘Wild Rose’ has a few credulity stretching moments but the  feel good peaks make you want to ignore  those. It will make the Saturday night popcorn go down with a tear and a cheer. And it is a wonderful showcase for Jesse, who, If there is any justice, is destined for Hollywood mega stardom.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3.5*

25 Sunset

Lazló Némes, who made last year’s wincingly convincing Auschwitz film ‘Son of Saul’, now comes up with a wobbly cam evocation of verge-of-World War One Budapest called ‘Sunset’. By a complete but happy coincidence the person sitting next to me turned out to be an old  pal, Saul Metzstein, who is a movie director himself. 

I was gratified to learn that he was as mystified by this film as I was. No idea what the point of it was - went straight over my head. (Which,  admittedly does not require much intellectual elevation.)

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.2*

26 Dogman

Loved this. One of my Festival top three or four and likely, I read,  to be a runner in the Oscar Foreign Film race. It’s a modern tale of the  little man in a hostile world and takes place in one of those seedy parts  of Italy that you find everywhere if you stray very far from the tourist trail. It is already on release - in fact, by the time I get around to posting this blog, it may already be finished, but try to catch it if you can. (Beware of violence though, if that bothers you.)

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.4.5*

27 The Kindergarten Teacher

Never been much of a Maggie Gyllenhaal fan - always seems a bit cold and distant to me - but she is exceptional in this unusual contemporary New York drama about a thoroughly decent middle aged woman who,  for reasons which may or may not be valid,  finds herself out of step with those about her. Intriguing and thought provoking and better the more I think about it.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.4*

28 They Shall Not Grow Old

Everyone is raving about Peter Jackson’s  colour and  3-D reincarnation of genuine old World War One footage but it left me pretty cold.

It may be - no doubt is - an astonishing technical feat but after so many books and plays and films and so much TV and radio devoted to the subject I am afraid to say that I have a touch  of World War One fatigue and this didn’t relieve my symptoms.

Last year’s  wonderful remake of RC Sherriff’s ‘Journey’s End’ packed far more emotional punch, for me at least. Yes, the colour pictures of corpses and lice and rats and trenchfoot were ghastly but I wasn’t shocked and I wasn’t surprised. Who doesn’t know that World War I was unspeakably awful? Or rather, who amongst those who might go to see a film like this, doesn’t know? (‘Venom’ fans, I would have thought,   are unlikely customers.)  

My biggest complaint, though,  is about the soundtrack: I found the unrelenting stream of voices irritating and soon switched off and stopped listening to what they had to say. Easily the most powerful piece of sound in the film was, I thought,  the accompaniment to  the end title, the marching troops singing ‘Mademoiselle from Armentiers’. (Sung  of course, as Ah-men-tears’.) Nothing seemed to me to sum up the pathos and suicidal naivety  of the cannon fodder as much as this.

Perhaps more music of the same intensity and fewer quotes might have made them more memorable.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.2.5*

29 Rosie

An Irish version of a Ken Loachy sort  of film about decent people caught in the poverty trap. Persuasive and faultlessly done. But I am not sure what it told me that I would prefer not to know but unfortunately do.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3*

30 El Angel

A highly original and sometimes very funny,  blood soaked,  true story  about a teenage boy with decent, law abiding parents and   a head  of blonde curls  which is  set   in  Argentina (where, typically, people  are swarthy with black hair) in the 70s, and   who determinedly but very merrily sets about pursuing his ambition to become a ruthless murdering gangster. If there seem to be a few contradictions there, that is the joy of this film. 

Remember to search  for it on Amazon or Netflix in a few months  if it doesn’t get a release.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.4*

31 Florianopolis Dream 

Was really   struggling to remember anything at all about this film  and,  until I checked, I thought it was more of the seedy  Italian  seaside and the story of two women battling it out to claim maternal rights over a small child. But now I realise that was another film entirely, which was....

32, Daughter of Mine.

Okay but in the unlikely event of  it ever getting a release, I wouldn’t worry about FOMO if you can’t manage to see it. 

And, now that I  do remember it, likewise  Florianopolis Dream, a Brazilian effort about a family’s seaside holiday in a place where it seemed to be perpetually cloudy. (Just to be clear, the  cloudiness was nothing to do with the plot, which was largely non-existent, but the obviously very low budget. I am sure the director would have preferred the sun but couldn’t afford to wait.)

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.

Florianopolis Dream 1.5*,

Daughter of Mine 2.5*

33 Capharnaum

A close second, that well  might have been first had I not seen the winner afterwards in the race to be my top pick of the festival. Timing is everything.. This is the heartbreaking yet ultimately uplifting story of a boy of about twelve brought up in abject poverty in the slums of what I presume was Beirut. 

The performance of the boy is magical and though a two hour journey through the world of the  Lebanese dispossessed (or rather,  the  would’ve been dispossessed if they had ever possessed anything in the first place) may not sound like a fun Saturday night at the pictures, do not be put off. Whilst not so much pricking your conscience as repeatedly firing a  Kalashnikov at it, it somehow manages to be a feel-good movie at the same time.  

My only quibble was that the editing around the clever device upon which the plot is built,  slightly confused me at the end. Oh, and also, what’s with the title? Could they have found anything more obscure? Or maybe there was a clue in the film but, if so, I didn’t pick it up.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 4.5*

34 Birds of Passage

Think of this as a pre-prequel to Narcos. Drugs and grisly murders mixed in with a bit of ancient dream interpretation  in Colombia in the sixties, when it was the  Native Americans (or one of the 87 tribes of Pueblos  lndigenas  as they call  them in Colombia - isn’t Google marvellous?) and not the Sicarios who were cashing in on the medical benefits of the local cash crop. 

Judging by the gore in ‘Birds of Passage’,  they  could have taught  Pablo Escobar a thing or two about effective persuasion -  blowpipes were out and sub machine guns deffo in. Clear and solid storyline, good pace, convincing acting, and lots of ketchup  - what’s not to like? Another probable Oscar Foreign Film contender.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 4*

35 Carmen and Lola

Good late Sunday night on BBC4  type film in which two young gypsy women in modern day Spain confront the fixed ideas of their incurably misogynistic families. One fascinating side effect of seeing this film  was noticing in the sub-titles that the Roma  in Spain (who are not shown as travellers but living in permanent homes) refer to the wider Spanish community as white  people.  

To me,  the man and woman in the Spanish Street  and the Roma  all looked pretty much the same - dark haired and sallow skinned,  and hard to differentiate from each other. I mentioned this in the Q&A afterwards and Spanish members of the audience - and remember, film festival goers are usually predictably right-on - seemed a bit put out. Perhaps I was being tactless and/or naive. Prejudice runs deeper than you might think.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 4*

36 The Quake

I correctly interpreted the title as heralding  a thriller about an earthquake and looked forward to some  light relief from the intense social commentaries that are the bread and butter of the festival. I have rarely seen a bad Norwegian film but I did this time. Ludicrous  plot,  wildly overdone CGI including a slowly toppling, and clearly named  Radisson hotel - very  odd  product placement. Avoid.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 1*

37 Girls of The Sun

A no punches pulled war film from a French woman director about Yazidi girls fighting in the Kurdish army in Iraq. Couldn’t help but be struck by the casting of far and away the prettiest girl as the group leader and main character. A curious - commercial? -  decision in such a feminist piece. 

A decent enough effort otherwise  but I feel that Henry Naylor’s plays which have done so well at Edinburgh and in New York in recent years (Borders, Angel etc, a couple of which are on at the Arcola, Dec 4-22)  and which deal with similar themes  do so much more effectively. A rare case - for me- of the cinema being inferior  to the theatre.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 3*

38 The White Crow

Quite nteresting without being competely fascinating, watchable without being riveting, this is a tale of the early days of Nureyev directed by Ralph Fiennes, who also appears,   thankfully not as Rudy, but as his teacher, giving a performance which I found somewhat  distracting as he strongly reminded me of Paul Whitehouse. Nureyev Is portrayed as an unsympathetic character, driven and selfish, which could well have been true, so ‘The White Crow’ ticked the ‘seems authentic’ box, although his chilliness  doesn’t help you love the film.

 I would semi-enthusiastically recommend it, but I doubt it will be shown very widely since I can’t see it  doing brilliantly at the box office - not sure that the world of ballet is a place the Saturday night  popcorn crowd want to visit.  And who under 50  will know much - or indeed anything - about  Rudolph Nureyev and his place in the sixties zeitgeist?  But then who cares? It wasn’t my money.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 3.5*

39 Burning

There seemed to to be a bit of a buzz about this film amongst the so called press (aka the vast number of liggers who, like me, and with no less right, had managed to blag a press pass) but I have no idea why. It’s a strange story about the homecoming of a rather disorientated young Japanese chap with a father in gaol and another contrastingly self assured young fellow  who is doing jolly nicely thankyou. Plus, for some reason, there are burning glasshouses. Utterly mystifying - to me at least - and so slow it made the average glacier seem like Usain Bolt.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 2*

40 Yommedine

A road movie about an Egyptian  leper and a runaway orphan. (One of the many surprisingly good things about this film is that there it unlikely to be a Hollywood remake.) 

An astonishing achievement to have made such a simultaneously upbeat  and yet deeply moving  film about people one would normally think of as being at the very bottom of the heap if, that is, one gave  them any thought to them at all. Brilliant performances that take us beneath the skin that so many are terrified  to touch.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 4*

41.Can You Ever Forgive Me?

Stands a pretty good chance of coming to a cinema near you and I don’t you think will begrudge the price of a ticket. Melissa McCarthy gives a masterful - if that’s the right word to use - performance in the true story of surly, lonely, habitually rude 51-year-old biographer and lesbian Lee Israel  and her extraordinary and ingenious attempts to make money in 90s New York.

 Richard E. Grant plays her camp hoppo with all the Richard E. Grantness that you’d expect and Dolly Wells does a nice little turn as a guileless bookshop owner. (To be frank I might not have mentioned her, but coincidentally her mother was my Airbnb guest on the day I went to see this film, so I thought it was only fair to give her a shout out, and I did think she was pretty good.) Amusing, touching and very watchable.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 4*

42 The Hate U Give

Based  on a ‘young adult novel, this is the story of a young black girl living  in a rundown,  violent, gang ridden   district because her father, whilst allowing her to be sent to a private white school doesn’t want to make the move into a middle-class world. (Sounds fairly unlikely but on this occasion, I wasn’t in one of my usual hole picking moods so I went with it.) 

A series of regrettable incidents  force her to come to terms with the conflicting  aspects of her identity. Not quite sure if this film was actually intended  for my demographic group, but, despite it’s improbable  plot turns, I thought it had something useful to say. And hear.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 4*

42 The Sisters Brothers

Saw this on the day that I actually managed to attend five screenings. A notable achievement but knackering and while I was supposed to be watching  this - I think it was my fourth of the day  - I have to admit I nodded off more than once.  I have a strong feeling it was probably rather good - featured Joaquin Pheonix, Jake Gylenhal, John C.Reilly, so a promising cast -  but I’m not really sure. Anyway, it’s cowboy film with a slightly Coen Brothers tone of voice, but isn’t one of theirs.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 3.5*

43 A Private War

Like Maggie Gyllenhaal - see The Kindergarten Teacher, above -  Rosamond Pike has never been  a favourite of mine. and for similar reasons. I’ve always found her ice queen manner slightly off putting. Here she is playing legendary war journalist Marie Colvin but I never believed her. Lots of actoring with cigarettes and an eyepatch and her unruly wig flapping about  but it just seemed like dressing up to me. I kept wanting to scream at the screen, ‘Put a bloody helmet on!’.

 For all that, I can’t deny that ‘A Private War’ held my attention and had the odd moment.The sort of thing that might not  seem a complete waste of time when it makes its inevitable appearance on    BBC2 late on some future Sunday night. Otherwise not really recommended.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 2.5*

44  Stan and Ollie

As a child in the er ah ahem um er nineteen whatevers I use to love Laurel and Hardy and here John C. Reilly and the make up artists do a great job of recreating  Oliver Hardy on screen and Steve Coogan is more than passable  if less impressive as Stan laurel. 

A fascinating story of their later years but for me, let down by the stagey, artificial representation of fifties England. Also very odd casting and playing of legendary impresario Bernard Delfont. Was Lew Grade’s brother really like that? No idea but not how I imagined the man who brought us Sunday Night At the London Palladium. Still, all in all, a pretty decent night out at the flicks.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 3.5*

45. (As previously discussed.)

46 GIRL

 On the final Saturday I went with some friends to see the announcement of the result and the screening of the film which had won the best first feature award and I had to pay so I could sit with my pals. A little bit of a gamble as there was a chance I had  already seen the winning movie,.  

The winner  turned out to be Girl,  a story about a Belgian boy of 15 who wanted to be a ballerina. (Note:  Not another Billy Elliott -  he wanted to be a real ballerina.) When the announcement of the award was made, the  good news was that it was a film I hadn’t  already  seen but the bad, I glumly thought, was that I had consciously decided not to see it earlier in the week because, to be honest,  I have grown a little weary  of the entire LGBTQ I XYZ trans-gender, cis gender, gender  fluidity,  gender whatever, what? WTF!, what-do-THEY-do? thing. 

Only it didn’t turn out to be bad news at all. Girl is an absolutely extraordinary film, deeply touching with an astonishing performance by the young boy playing the young boy who wanted to be a girl. Not only was it riveting viewing but it made me completely rethink my attitude to the whole transgender thing.  Whereas  previously my attitude might have been summed up as ‘all these boys wanting to be boys and girls wanting to be boys - perlease!’ I felt afterwards that I had at least a small but sympathetic understanding of the predicament that Victor/Lara and his family faced. And by extension, others like them. A really good film can do that - open your eyes and mind to a different world. 

So, from being  a movie that I hadn’t wanted to  to see, Girl became my personal pick of the festival and recipient of the Palme d’bloggerblagger

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 5*

46 Blaze

Went to see this because I noticed that Ethan Hawke was the director and I am a bit of a fan of his work both as an actor and as a writer - he once wrote a very good novel, the name of which now escapes me. Unfortunately this film, a story, supposedly true, of a  singer and songwriter in the sixties - I think - failed to stop me from making short but frequent visits to the land of nod.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 2.5*

47 The Fight

The very last film I saw, A low budget British film about a fortyish woman in a racially mixed marriage with a bullied  child and  a dark secret and a bad relationship with her own mother and who, for some reason that I never quite got to grips with,  takes up boxing.  I might have appreciated this film more  had my hearing been better. I discovered in post movie conversation (with one of the other members of the  press/ liggers ) that I had mistaken the spoken number 30 for 13 and that had a significant bearing on my misunderstanding of  the story, and consequent confusion and mild dissatisfaction.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 2.5*

PS Anyone with so much time on their hands that they have waded through this nonsense until the end will have noticed, as I have only just done, that there were, in fact, two no 42s. Which I take to mean that, joy of joys,  we have found the missing no 45. (Something obviously went awry with the numbering system in my i-phone’s yellow notebook thingie. Or possibly, though obviously improbably,  it was my fault.)

Delighted to have been vindicated in my claim that I did indeed see 48 films (47 eligible.) Or, if there were an appeal against the present ‘Little Drummer Girl’ decision (unlikely but you never know) and it were to be upheld by the Rules Committee (even unlikelier) I would have seen 47 films (46 eligible.) And in even that remote eventuality I would still have officially reached the summit of my personal Eiger (Everest).

But it also means   80% of the first 1500 words of this post are completely redundant.

I could start again, I suppose. And I probably should. And yet….really?

[drferox]

20 Questions with Dr Ferox #14

Another mixed bag of 20 questions and comments from you Vetlings. I hope I’m not overloading you with answers lately. Many of these questions and comments pertain to posts made earlier in the week.

Anonymous said: Dumb question but do you draw? I looked at the FAQ and realised most of the questions have been vet stuff so I wanted to ask something non-vety... If you do draw, can we see an art?

Unfortunately i do not effectively draw, and I’m profoundly jealous of those that can. I can manage an unconvincing kidney or an overly complicated scribble on an endocrine system, but they are better described as ‘a spider falling into ink and having a seizure across the paper’ than ‘art’.

Anonymous said: Talking about drug seeking behavior: My mom use to work in a human urgent care and once a lady walked in saying she's new to town and doesn't have a vet yet but her poodle has SEVERE anxiety and NEEDS some kind of drug to help the dog and the poodle just happen to weigh as much as the lady. What a coincidence. Needless to say she didn't get drugs.

Rightfully so. What sort of poodle weight as much as a grown woman? That’s a poorly thought out ruse if ever I saw one. That said, I’ve had someone come into the clinic and ask to take home a syringe full of euthanasia solution for their dog at home, which happened to be human sized. We firmly declined.

@ jbbarnes-rogers said: I wanted to say that I really liked hat you compared surgery to hand sewing :^). I've always wanted to be a surgeon or a vet but gave up on that when I was in middle school because I inherited my mother's shaky hands, but I'm pretty proud of my ability to sew.

It’s a fair comparison for soft tissue surgery, which is the more common surgery. Facial surgery takes a little more finesse, but orthopedic surgery is more like carpentry.

Anonymous said: My cat, Arrow, has been with us for about 10 years and she's got a few adorable habits. When she's sleepy, you can pick her up and move her somewhere else and she'll remain purring and not be disturbed even slightly. She also seems to have figured out petting, somewhat; when she wants you to pet her she'll raise her paw and slowly claw your arm until you start petting. She doesn't seem to realise we don't like claws, but she never tries to hurt us or deliberately break skin. She's a good kitty.

All kitties are good kitties, according to their own definition.

Anonymous said: My cat really likes to eat grass. Is that ok for her?

If it’s not sprayed with anything then eating a little bit of grass is probably fine. Some cats just like to chew it, some like the novel taste or texture. A little bit wont hurt her.

@thisoleking said: ive known the issues with the Scottish fold breed for quite some time, however id like to know if Scottish straights are generally of better health?

I’d never heard them called ‘Scottish Straights’ before this site. I’m sure there’s a joke to be made from that name somewhere. They lack the gene for osteochondrodysplasia but are equally likely to develop the genetic heart and kidney diseases.

@ vilkasdaina said: Do the American Curl cats have the same risk as the Scottish Fold because of their ears?

If you mean whether they also get osteochondrodysplasia, then it doesn’t appear to be so at this stage. This s a relatively new breed though, and I’m yet to see one in Australia, so will await further data.

@dracus16 said: Quick question: what does feeding a cat a banana do?

Quick answer: You will have fed it a banana.

It eats a whole bunch of starch and potassium that won’t do any harm to a normal cat. It’s far from a balanced diet, but the occasional banana nibble doesn’t concern me.

Anonymous said: Why does eating too well cause so many problems in horses?

Someone who’s still studying this can go into more details, but asides from potentially getting colic from either pasture which is too lush, or stomach ulcers from feed which is too rich in easily digestible carbohydrates, horses (and ponies) that are fat are at increased risk of laminitis, where their hoof can basically fall off.

@lunalcvegoocl said: Hi! Thankyou for all your advice and time and effort you put into this blog! I had a check out of previously answered questions but i dont think youve answered anything along these lines before! My pregnant dog (she is in her second term, getting regular vet check ups) has recently started going mad whenever there are certain foods around, foods she has never bothered about before, also foods that are poisons to her, chocolate is one of the biggest reactions, is it like the dog version of cravings? we have kept her on her regular food, the vet recommended one, yet while she has never begged before she will now growl and bark and whine if anyone has anything (like chocolate, or weirdly, eggs and cheese) that she wants. Is this normal or should we be worrying about her not having all her proper vitamins needed? do you know if theyre any way to find out what it is she is lacking in? (she is a shih tzu, just turned 4 years old, this is her only litter)

You can get blood levels for various vitamins and minerals checked (they’re expensive though), but I would suspect this is more likely behavioural, especially because she’s after chocolate and it’s easy to ‘spoil’ a dog who’s pregnant for the first time. I wouldn’t give in to her, especially with regard to teh chocolate.

Anonymous said: I know breeders would never let it happen, but what would you think about making the puggle the new pug? Their faces are still a little smushy but at least they have an actual visual nose, and they get also get more proportional legs from the beagle as well. I just think any pug/English bulldog/etc are unethical to breed since, ya know, they literally can't breathe, and they need to figure something out, and for pugs making the puggle the actual pug might be a solution?

A pug x beagle is not a ‘new pug’. While such a cross reduces some problems, It’s not going to solve all of them and is a lazy, short term solution. This is particularly the case if you have breed standards, and public desire, striving towards a flatter and flatter face.

I have talked about this before here.

What I personally would like to see is new gene infusions from multiple suitable breeds, then back crossing those mixes to pug lines, selecting for better faces, hips and spines. This will take a global effort and a lot of work to organize, but it would be the best long term solution.

Anonymous said: Hey Dr Ferox, I was wondering, how often have you seen yellow cats aka cats with yellow nose, gums, inner-ears etc.? One of our own turned to that shade and, without going into detail, he couldn't be helped. Just wondering if it's a common occurrence. As for the question tax: came for the breed evaluations, stayed for the fantasy biology and vet stories. I like reading your posts that come by on my dash!

I don’t see really yellow cats very often (they look like their blood has been flooded with yellow highlighter), but I have about a 50:50 track record for getting them to survive. By the time they’re that jaundiced, the poor things are very, very sick.

@phenolphthaleinfuchsia said: Do you find that cats that started their lives as strays tend to get more health problems later in life even if they are kept inside once they are adopted? My mom thinks it's true based on the four cats we've had but I'm not convinced. Her argument is they are exposed to more pathogens outside that could lurk in their bodies and cause problems later in life. And question tax: what did you choose as your first starter Pokemon?

I tend not to see this. For young kittens their main problems from being strays are parasites and malnutrition, which you can correct with some parasite treatment and good tucker. Older cats may have picked up viral infections, FIV and Feline Leukaemia being the most important too, but if they have avoided these specific diseases then they’re pretty hardy. Pedigree cattery cats may avoid the malnutrition, but they’re not guaranteed to be free of these diseases, and it’s common to see them with cat flu, so they’re not notably better off.

Anonymous said: Do you recommend getting pet insurance? Specifically, do you recommend getting it for sighthounds?

I recommend everyone have a financial plan for if their pet ever gets sick, and for most people that’s insurance. However, I’m not a financial adviser so I don’t recommend any brand in particular.

Anonymous said: Does heat effect the gender of all reptile eggs, or is it just for some reptiles?

I’m not a herpetologist, but firstly reptiles don’t have a gender, they have a sex. In many species it has been determined that temperature does play a role in skewing the percentages of either sex (pH and other water parameters can do this in fish too). Wikipedia has a good starting article.

Anonymous said: Do you get foxtails in Australia? Inspired by a very recent incident in which my cat got a foxtail in his eye.

Yes, we have that type of grass seed, but we don’t often use that name. They’re just a grass seed or an *expletive* grass seed.

@ mushymaman said: Do you often see working animals such as seeing-eye dogs or therapy pets or even police dogs or horses? Have you made any observations regarding them? I assume that they have to be especially well for their jobs and I always wondered what vets think of animals being relied on for important tasks.

The police usually have their own vets they prefer, but I see the occasional guide dog or seeing eye dog. They have a few extra challenges when it comes to medicating them, because instructions like “administer half a mil” is a challenge when you’re vision impaired.

I have treated a custom’s dog before, and had to write him a medical certificate to excuse him from work while he was healing after surgery.

Anonymous said: Can cats crack their knuckles? My cat uses his teeth to pull at his toes very hard when he's cleaning them, and I can hear an audible "pop" sound before he lets go. He does each toe very methodically. There are no wounds/scratches on close examination, touching and handling the toes produces no pain reaction, he is not limping or showing any sort of injury. Vet check reveals nothing out of ordinary. He does it about twice a day for all the toes. I've honestly never seen anything like this before

It’s possible, you could technically ‘crack’ any articular joint. I suppose he might also be cleaning his claws, but I can’t really speculate more than that.

Anonymous said: Going anon because I speak for all of us vetlings on a very important matter.  May I politely demand more Trash Bag?

If you’re willing to come to my house and tell the little scamp to sit still more often for his photos, then sure. He’s a constantly moving target.

@ actual-dullahan said:  A little "question tax" if you will, heh! If you could live in any video game for a day, what game would it be and why?

That’s an interesting and difficult question because video games either have very short days or lots of bad things happen and you’re likely to die

While there is a certain appeal to survival games where literally all you’re expected to do is find yourself some food and not annoy the monsters, I would probably choose the Legend of Zelda, Ocarina of Time. I’m still hugely fond of that game from my childhood, it was very pretty and the danger levels were manageable. And it was just pretty and peaceful a lot of the time.

[artificialqueens]

pygmalion (katlaska) -- svetlana

summary: Justin had a habit of drowning in people with beautiful dreams and strange chins. Slow-burn in non-chronological order.

a/n: thank you so much for the response to astronaut! i was very nervous submitting a fic for the first time, but you guys have encouraged me so much. i tried to give back to the community – i wanted to answer the prompt i saw earlier for katlaska slow-burn on the topic of addiction. but somehow it ended up becoming something a little different (or a lot different from anything ive ever written – ft. the least graphic sex scenes ive ever attempted). hopefully, its good! 

The first time they fuck is just that: two men with mascara still clinging to their lashes, the last vestiges of Alaska and Katya hanging thin between them. They mark it by putting another stain on Alaska’s couch and knocking over that shitty bottle of cinnamon vodka they shouldn’t have tried. 

It goes like this.

“Oh,” Katya says, gesturing at the general region of Alaska’s crotch. “You know, I could take care of that for you.”

Somehow, that makes it worse. Suddenly, she can hear where this night will veer. Maybe it’ll be one bawdy joke and maybe it will be two, then they’ll go at it until Katya sucks something out of her dick, and then they’ll watch Golden Girls and she’ll stare at Katya’s toes curling in time with her laughs. It is a circle, Alaska decides, a bit that reruns even after it’s dead. It’s a sketch that she decidedly never wanted to be a part of. The entire thing seems exhausting.

This is the part where you remind yourself that you can never say no to her, Alaska’s mind supplies, but it isn’t technically true. It’s more like Katya makes it easy to say no; there are fifty million things that Katya wants at any given moment, and as much as she likes sucking dick, she’d be fine if they spent the rest of the night exploring conspiracy theories. But Alaska doesn’t want to say no. 

“This is a bad porno,” Alaska decides. “Go for it. Shoot for the fucking moon.”

At least Katya seems to know the script. At some point during the night, she’d started switching in and out of that disgusting Maureen voice and hasn’t stopped since. “Spread your legs for me, baby.”

“Okay, okay. Stop.”

“I’m like a dementor,” Katya says conversationally, “I haven’t actually left anyone a lifeless husk or anything, but –“ 

“No, like seriously, stop.”

It’s strange how no one talks about Brian’s jaw and how it connects the alien texture of his cheekbones to the sandpaper feeling of his chin. Alaska has never understood either and she presses her thumb against his chin, where his lipstick has smudged. He’s cold, she realizes. He’s cold and his jaw is clenched so tight he’s shaking. When he speaks, it’s clear that the lozenges from earlier have worn off.

Katya or maybe Brian says, “Are we going to do it the bi-curious college girls experimenting way? I can be Mary-Anne the dean’s daughter who’s rebelling against daddy and pursuing a women’s studies major, if you know what I mean.”

“Why are you trying to fuck me in character?” 

Fuck, she’s made it awkward. Brian’s eyes are wide enough that she can see the tiny dilated vessels, leftover from the vodka. She thinks it might be hurt, or shock, but they’ve both been in the industry enough to know better. Put enough of yourself into the woman you paint on and you’re Miss. Charisma Uniqueness Nerve and Talent. Too much and you risk confusing fantasy and reality. It’s a dangerous line that Alaska has learned to toe. Addicts, former or otherwise, must take caution not to lose themselves. 

How many seconds has it been? Brian is staring at the carpet. One of his lashes has fallen to cover his eye. His wig is gone with his corset and most of his clothes, and only the lashes and communist-red lipstick remain. He makes no move to speak, nor to remove Alaska’s hand.

Justin sighs and drops his hand to Brian’s shoulder, intertwining his other hand through his fingers. “I’ll do it if you’re sure you want to. But I don’t think we should.” 

A pause.

“Brian? You know I mean this in a I’m horny, but I’m also worried about you way.”

“No, no,” Brian rushes, “no, you’re right, I’m sorry, it’s just, it’s just that my thoughts are really fucking loud and also, did you know that I find you very attractive?”

“I’m Justin right now.” 

Brian blinks like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him, trailing his fingers up Justin’s forearm. “Aren’t you always? Wait, is this philosophy? I don’t think I can have sex and think about philosophy at the same time.” 

And it’s simple after that. Whatever’s wrong, it’s none of Justin’s business, and he’s never been one to turn down an invitation to keep things easy. There are better things to drown in, he tells himself, and his mind goes blank as they kiss with just a little too much tongue and Brian wraps his hand around Justin’s dick.

—

—

Justin wasn’t always so careful. Justin had a habit of drowning in people with beautiful dreams and strange chins. He remembers them in pieces. Phillip, Wesley, Sharon-Aaron, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon. He’d wanted to be deconstructed, unwritten, assimilated into something better than a boy who would never be brave enough to be normal. Sometimes he still wants to drown until he forgets Justin and Alaska and everything in-between. But that’s not what Sharon wants to hear.

“Good,” he says. 

Sharon stares back, unimpressed. “Why are you trying to lie to me?” 

“I’m not,” Justin says, and it’s true. He’s not really lying so much as he is making a policy of not telling his ex every single thing that runs through his head. Sharon should know that. Or maybe Sharon suspects something. He looks at his nails on the table. That’s probably it. Stripped of Alaska’s razor-sharp plastic manicure, they are pale and ragged. He frowns. They didn’t look so ugly this morning, but that’s the Sharon effect. Somehow talking to her has always made Justin feel like an idiot teen – all at once becoming too much and not enough. “I’m fine. You’re not responsible for my bad decisions.” 

Sharon snorts. It suits her more than concern, and a part of him thinks that this should worry him, that he thinks Sharon is at her most beautiful with scorn lining her lips. “That’s what I get for being one of your bad decisions.” 

“If you want to put it that way,” Justin starts. 

“I have four years of rage I haven’t used on you. I get very creative when I’m angry.”

This part is easy. Sharon smirks, still looking like the crazy punk dreamer who never entirely left the 90’s. Justin bares his teeth back – his horse-face, they called it. “What are you suggesting?”

“That I could read you for being a bitch, but I won’t.”

“It takes one to know one,” Justin drawls.

The teasing is new. Before, it had never really been so verbal – it had been cold fingers up Sharon’s sweater in February, nightmares and fantasies they’d whisper to each other in the mornings. They’d been serious. Sharon had wanted to build something and she could never find the words to explain how; only that she needed to destroy the world to make room. All Justin had known was that he trusted her vision more than his own, even when he was sober.

Thirty-two is too old for learning to create instead of destroy, to invent instead of borrow, but he has to try. But sitting across from Sharon, drinking coffee and not alcohol, he tells himself the world is ten shades brighter. 

“How are you really, then?” Sharon asks.

“Just tired,” Justin answers.

—

—

It starts with Trixie. “Have you seen Katya?”

“No,” Justin says. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Trixie answers. “Nothing. Just wondering. I’m not sure. I haven’t seen her in a while, and she mentioned that you’d been hanging out lately. Sorry if I woke you up. Anyway, I’ll see you later.”

The line goes dead. Across him, Brian snores softly, yesterday’s makeup smeared across his chin and the cushions. Justin will have to get a new couch soon, he tells himself as he shoves his phone across the floor. “You can stop pretending to be asleep now,” he tells Brian.

Morning in Los Angeles is jarringly pale and it has washed Brian of all color. Where the light hits his stubble, he seems brittle like he’s lost weight. He doesn’t open his eyes. “Five more minutes, Mom.” 

Justin pushes himself to his feet. He thinks he should expect something, or maybe feel something, but there’s only his stomach twisting itself into a post-clubbing knot. He lingers for a moment anyway, watching the way shadows settle into Brian’s cheekbones. Then, he heads into the kitchen and sets out the blueberries and pancake mix before he can change his mind. The problem is, he knows that he shouldn’t have lied. If anyone speaks Katya, or Brian, it’s Trixie with her strange ability to comprehend half Russian psychopath, half batshit American.

It’s not my problem. 

But is it?

Justin is good at reading people. He’s good at cataloguing sidelong glances and knowing when to joke, when to comfort. Sharon had told him her theory once, that all queer kids learn how to be invisible at the right times to avoid dangerous attention, how to do what people expect. Justin stirs the rest of his milk into the pancake mix. He turns on the stove, puts out a pan with a slab of melting butter. 

Something is wrong with Brian. It’s not the first time Brian’s annexed Justin’s living room after a show. The amount of tiny plastic hands lurking in wait between the couch cushions is atrocious. But bruises bloom beneath Brian’s eyes. Even after stealing all the blankets, he’d shivered all night. They’d talked yesterday at manic speeds, as if Brian had forgotten that Justin is barely proficient in his brand of logic.

Justin starts scooping the batter onto the pan. No, he decides. It’s not his place. Crazy as he can be, Brian is a private person. It strikes Justin that despite the fact that that he’s heard about every sexual encounter that Brian has had this year, he knows next to nothing about Brian’s life or his mind, that it sounds familiar.

(Once upon a time, there had been a boy who played so many roles that he lost himself.)

Then there’s Brian himself, standing in the kitchen doorway. He shifts from foot to foot, eyes downcast. For once, his awkwardness isn’t funny. Never one to miss an opportunity to get out of cooking, Justin places the spatula in Brian’s hand and pushes him to the stove. There’s a flash of something that tries to be a smile, then, nothing. Only Brian methodically stacking pancakes ceiling high on Justin’s Betty Boop plates.

Just as the silence threatens to swallow them both, Brian mutters, “Sorry.”

Neither of them are looking at each other. “But you didn’t want me to tell Trixie where you were.” 

There’s too much whipped cream on the pancakes, which is fine. Justin has an incurable sweet tooth. “I think I might’ve asked you not to yesterday.”

“I don’t remember,” Justin admits. “It was more like I saw the look on your face.”

Brian looks at the ceiling, contemplates the stains there. It’s the last five years mapped out in shadows that never really fade. He turns off the stove and drops the spatula into the sink. “Sorry.”

“Does it make you feel better to say you’re sorry?”  

“Not really,” Brian says, and for all that his eyes are oceans, it is nothing like a flood.

“I’m not sure what the problem is,” Justin says instead. “But you can keep coming here if you need a place. You don’t have anything to be sorry for if you just do the dishes or something.” 

Because there is a tightness in his lungs that feels like fire when Brian smiles, or maybe a breathless summer in Erie. Because there’s a quality about Brian that seems swing toward happiness no matter what, and Justin can’t help but want to make him laugh. And somewhere along the road, he’d realized that he could say no to the strange three a.m. conversations and crazy childhood stories, but that he didn’t want to. 

Because Brian says, “You’re a furry little gnome, and we feed you too much,” holds a straight face for one second, before collapsing into cackles. 

“You can’t ruin that show for me,” Justin cuts in, “whatever you do, that’s like the one thing, you can’t ruin Golden Girls.” 

But Brian is doing that scream-laugh that’s uniquely his, and Justin can’t help but join in.

—

—

The second time they fuck, it’s to Prometheus playing in the background. Brian’s dick is heavy against his tongue, and it’s spring and Justin is half-crazy from the moans and the way the couch cushions dig into his erection. And they climax like teens, all shuddering curses and sad, sad stamina. He tells Brian on the way to the trashcan, two used condoms swinging from his hand. 

“But okay, did you know, did you know that it’s been a few months? And it’s the craziest thing too, because I think it’s because a month ago, I was going through an occult research phase, and this like, orgy cult got my email and now I’m invited to their moonlit trysts every fortnight.”

Justin laughs. “Are you going to go?”

“I’m thinking about it,” Brian says. He crosses his legs, then his arms, and then makes a truly disgusting face. “I feel like it would be like, like, too soon? I think there’s a level of comfort with myself that I have yet to achieve.”

“So, not the fact that you don’t know if these strangers have STDs.”

Justin sinks into the couch, and Brian pulls him into his arms. Their height difference is such that Justin’s feet dangle off the armrest.

“Well,” Brian says reasonably, “you never know if strangers have STDs. Eating ass is an adventure.”

“So, when you offered to help Violet with her show, that wasn’t community service.” 

The arm around him shifts, shaking with laughter. “No, I got finished doing that months ago after they realized that yes, I did leave the stove on. And it wasn’t community service, I was exploring as of yet… ah, unmapped mysteries.”

“Don’t flatter the whore,” Justin says. 

Brian wheezes, slamming a hand onto the spot where Justin’s heart beats, his entire body curling inward from laughter. “Mama, are you worried about indirect kisses?”

“I wouldn’t call you indirect. I can smell you from my kitchen before you even knock.” 

The briefest touch of lips against his neck, and, “What do I smell like?”

Justin doesn’t remember the last time he felt this light, or even the last time he wanted to feel. Justin is new to wanting things for himself, caught halfway between mania and hesitation, where he can’t help but be too much because that’s better than not enough. But this is soap-bubble-thin and it’s so much easier to deadpan, “Desperation.”

It’s a cheap joke, but Brian laughs, soft and warm. “Did I ever tell you that you’re absolutely shit at reading me?”

“Don’t worry, I know.”

Brian goes still. “You know I’m fine, right? I don’t want to –“

“You’re not,” Justin says, and he has the feeling that Brian doesn’t know which question he’s answering either. He doesn’t want to have this conversation now. It’s too much trying to adjust and his mind’s still stuck on the joke he didn’t tell. “I don’t mind it. I –“

“It’s not fair to you, I know,” Brian interrupts. The hand on Justin’s back has stilled, and god he can hear every car coming down the street through these shitty walls. “You have enough to deal with right now, and I promised I’d tell you soon, it’s just spiraling out of control and I feel like I’m back to who I was ten years ago, and I really don’t want you to meet that person.” 

It should worry him, that the moment the emotion reel begins it all feels fake. Suddenly he is transported to grade school where he’s auditioning for a part, making all the exaggerated motions to the back row. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s still hanging onto Ms. Zhu telling him that he got the part, and he can’t stop thinking about the things he should do and say. The correct response is to turn around and look Brian in the eye, grip his hands and tell him that it’s more than two fools grasping at permanence. It’s more than two fuck ups in mourning, that you can make something beautiful out of everything ugly. But his thoughts are a storm and he has no real reason to be unhappy.

He wants Brian, or maybe he wants move back to Erie. He wants to shoot up. Justin has never been good at wanting anything.

—

—

“What do you think?”

“I think that we never watch Contact together and it’s a sign. Also, I’m so fucking scared, Detox, I like, am seriously considering going for someone who regularly admits to being a crazy bitch.” 

Detox gives him an unimpressed look. “Bitch, you’re not considering it. Stop trying to pull the shy act. I saw those drunk texts.”

Justin has to smirk at that. “Yeah, but sober is different.”

“Boo-hoo, you have to be responsible for your actions when you don’t have mind-bending shit in you, boo-fucking-hoo, grow up. How hard can it be? You’ve already –“

“Wow, I came here looking for sympathy,” Justin drawls. But it’s what he already knew, and he’s aware that he’s in danger of being slaughtered by Detox for being melodramatic. It’s simple, but –

(Brian turns his phone off and the car plunges into darkness. They are floating over mountains and clouds in a ski lift in Colorado and it sounds more poetic than it is. Later, he hears that Katya and Trixie are taking a break because Katya isn’t good at lines; she’s all the weirdness Brian was afraid to let out and Brian is half-in-love-drowning-mad. Later he hears that Brian hasn’t been on his phone in days, has deleted the half of his friends who are using. But now, there is only Brian and Justin huddling closer for warmth, then closer yet. Their lips meet, and, and, and…)

—

—

It’s the last thing he thought he’d hear himself say, “Let’s go back to testing it out then. Let’s just hang out, have a good time, let’s talk about shit. I’m probably going to fail at talking about shit right now, because I’m not having a good few months, and you’re not either, but I’ll try if you do.”

Brian blinks before he makes that gross noise again. “I never thought that you’re Trixie’s replacement,” he blurts out. His voice is scratchy like the words have clawed scars into his throat. “You were there at the time, but you’re not, I swear.”

He does turn over then, to find that Brian is looking at him with wide eyes. Up close, he can see that there are fine lines in the corners of those eyes. “Well, obviously. I can pass for a woman in the dark, and she can pass for a woman if you’re blind.”

There’s a quiet snort, and the eyes and nose crinkle together. “Oh my god, we were having a moment.”

Justin considers it, and decides to reenter the moment. “I hope you’re talking to her again.”

Brian frowns. “It’s the good thing about being a whore. Inevitably, something happens like lusting after your best friend and it’s somewhat socially acceptable?”

Justin raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, Mom, I’m talking to her and we’re halfway back to where we were, like good adults. Stop trying to reenact Thanksgiving Dinner.” Then, he tries again, leaning into Justin’s shoulder. “But it’s a little different. I guess we’re more, we’re more learning to laugh about it. That’s what we do.” 

“What do we do?” Justin asks. Outside of the tiny plastic hands in the couch, the apartment is clean for the first time in years. Justin’s books are ordered on the shelves, and the refrigerator is stocked with something other than takeout. It seems they’re both better at taking care of others than they are of themselves, and he can work with it. “Can we promise to tell each other when something is wrong? Like we’re joking about it now, but at the end of the jokes, I want to know about you.”

A stray bit of sunlight lands on Brian’s cheek. It’s warm to the touch. “I’ll try,” he agrees. 

Beautiful people with strange chins, Justin thinks. Drowning in them felt like justice. But he knows better now than to trade his ideas and for theirs, to lose himself in their visions. Beautiful people with strange chins who are different people, at the end of the day – just as he has changed. He thinks he’s learned how to be ambitious. 

He hopes he knows how to dream.

[philipshay]

all of the writing questions 1-54

1. Favorite place to write.

my bed lmao 

2. Favorite part of writing.

that moment when you just frantically have to get something out??? and the words just spill out like crazy and idk its amazing

3. Least favorite part of writing.

having to write the boring chunky stuff thats essential for plot

4. Do you have writing habits or rituals?

not really tbh

5. Books or authors that influenced your style the most.

maggie stiefvater and lauren oliver definitely

6. Favorite character you ever created.

so shes my current mc for my trilogy and her name is isla and i just really fucking love her

7. Favorite author.

lauren oliver

8. Favorite trope to write.

i love angst idk if thats a trope??

9. Least favorite trope to write.

probably like.....idk tbh i dont have anything that i dont like when it comes to tropes

10. Pick a writer to co-write a book with and tell us what you’d write about.

i would die to write a book with lauren oliver like i would write anything she wanted to write

11. Describe your writing process from scratch to finish.

step one: frantically write a paragraph or scene

step two: frantically try and fill in around that first thing

step three: leave it alone for a while

step four: finish when the motivation returns

12. How do you deal with self-doubts?

the only way to deal with them for me is to just. let them be. i know im gonna have them, and that i cant get rid of them, so i just work around them. i write regardless of them. 

13. How do you deal with writers block?

take a break for a little while. read something. watch something. wait for it to become easy to write again.

14. What’s the most research you ever put into a book?

for my first book i did hours of research on amputations and prosthetics and stuff because my mc was an amputee

15. Where does your inspiration come from?

everywhere. songs or quotes or shows or books. 

16. Where do you take your motivation from?

readers and just myself. i enjoy the writing and it makes me feel good to do it. 

17. On avarage, how much writing do you get done in a day?

i try and write a little each day. but some days it doesnt work and i have to just set it down. 

18. What’s your revision or rewriting process like?

look...i fucking hate revision and i grumble through it and hate it

19. First line of a WIP you’re working on.

its for an evak fic btw: 

Something that Isak Valtersen has tried to accept over the last year is that sometimes love isn’t enough.

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on.

from my book: 

One of her hands came up to cup my head, and she held me tighter than she ever had before. It reminded me of when I was small, on the nights I was afraid and young and didn’t understand why I had to stay downstairs. 

The small basement had seemed so big when I was a child. Monsters lurked in all of its corners. Demons waited in the shadows. 

I myself was a monster, but I didn’t know it yet. I was a different type of monster; I was the type that couldn’t be killed. I was too human for that. I was the dredge of humanity. 

But the thing is, when half of the population is as well, it’s much harder to hunt us. It’s much harder to hunt us when we share the faces of those that are good. 

Before I knew what I was, my mother would come downstairs and tell me that one day I wouldn’t be scared, that one day I wouldn’t have to spend every day downstairs. She’d hold me and whisper empty promises. 

Even then, as she held me, there was another empty promise on her lips. She didn’t say it, as I was far too old to believe it, but I knew what she was thinking.

21. Post the last sentence you wrote in one of your WIP’s.

from my current book too:

Because it was a lie. My freedom was a beautiful, beautiful lie. 

22. How many drafts do you need until you’re satisfied and a project is ultimately done for you?

okay so honestly im a 1 draft kinda girl and then i go in and edit. 

23. Single or multi POV, and why?

it really depends but currently i prefer single.

24. Poetry or prose, and why?

prose. it has more freedom.

25. Linear or non-linear, and why?

i havent written non linear but i really love it because its so complex and theres so many ways to slowly reveal things and idk its amazing

26. Standalone or series, and why?

ive noticed that most books that are in a series are never as good as book 1. but, that said, there are some worlds that i love to live in and will totally take multiple books. 

27. Do you share rough drafts or do you wait until it’s all polished? 

usually wait until its polished

28. And who do you share them with?

i have a writing friend amy who i used to share everything with and other than her i guess tumblr? idk

29. Who do you write for?

myself. 

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.

this sounds conceited but there’s so many that i like. i guess one of my favs is: 

Sometimes people leave, and sometimes they’re lost. And sometimes we don’t ever find out why. That’s a darkness that just doesn’t go away.

31. Hardest character to write.

writing my mc marley from my first book was difficult because she had so much anger towards what happened to her and it blinded her to quite a bit. and as the author i knew she was going to get over that but the character herself didnt, and it was hard. 

32. Easiest character to write.

so this is fic but tbh percy jackson because it was on him and the other pjo characters that i learned to write and i spent so much time in that world that i know the characters

33. Do you listen to music when you’re writing?

yep usually

34. Handwritten notes or typed notes?

typed

37. Most inspirational quote you’ve ever read or heard that’s still important to you.

probably “The promblem isn’t your thighs. The problem is your head.” because it reminds me that my eating disorder is the real enemy, not food. 

39. Do you base your characters of real people or not? If so, tell us about one.

definitely on real people. there are pieces of people i know in all of my characters. like the nurse that helped marley in my first book is based off my friend amy. 

40. Original Fiction or Fanfiction, and why?

both. they both have their perks and their cons. 

41. How many stories do you work on at one time?

so many. so so so many. 

42. How do you figure out your characters looks, personality, etc.

it comes in pieces. like, i just figured out a few days ago that my mc wasnt a redhead after all. it just happens naturally. it occurs to me randomly tbh. 

43. Are you an avid reader?

i used to be. i do love reading but i dont do it as much anymore. 

47. Do you start with characters or plot when working on a new story?

it depends. 

48. Favorite genre to write in.

i love dystopian and contemporary.

49. What do you find the hardest to write in a story, the beginning, the middle or the end?

the beginning. 

52. How did writing change you?

it showed me who i was. it gave me purpose and showed me what i wanted to do and idk it made me into the person i am. 

53. What does writing mean to you?

everything. writing is so important to me like....its everything. 

54. Any writing advice you want to share?

“Comparison is the thief of joy.” it truly is. comparison is the enemy. try not to take part in that shit. 

[aurora-boring-alis]

wip lmao

Got tagged by @dxrkblaze to share some wip writing. Tbh I haven’t been doing much lately so ive only got scraps n shreds that have been chilling on my ipad for the last bit 

I also usually save proper writing for my side blog but eh i can bend the rules once or twice 

Oh ye its oc shit btw sorry

Its roughly 2 AM and I am awake, entangled in sweat soaked fleece in the backseat of my car. My gaze, clouded and blurry from interrupted sleep and absence of my glasses. The seats are lumpy and my back aches. It feels like I left the heat on, despite my car having been off for the last day or so.

I ran here earlier in the night and crashed in the back seat, hoping to catch some alone time and sleep. I haven’t slept well, much to my dismay; my mind was too awake, revving its engine, ready to go and drive me into a ditch. I retrace my thoughts, recount the steps of how I had got here, lying in the backseat of my beat up Tercel, trying to sleep, trying to outrun this. I  suppose I could try to sober up from sleep and trek back to the city. But something about the thought of driving alone on a highway at night terrifies me. Perhaps it’s the thought of being completely alone. Maybe it’s the thought of crashing and not having anyone find me.

I sit up, reaching for my glasses, which are in the cup holder. I slide them onto the bridge of my nose, my gaze tracing up the plastic interior and gazing  out the window. I’m parked on the shoulder of a gravel road that can barely fit two cars. To the left is the forest and a few cottages, slowly steeping upwards on a slight hill. To the right is the lake, it’s glassy waters glimmering, the moon shining brightly onto it. Cottages pepper the cleared path before the road and back onto  the forest. There’s a few other parked cars along the road, but they’re like ghosts, emptied of their belongings and people. Near the cars are little tin boats that the cottagers use to get across the lake and onto the small islands in the middle. Light from them  snakes across the lake, showing where they live. Hours ago, I was like them, with Patrick, in happy company, enjoying the sun, fresh air and lake.

But like always, I had to go and doubt myself. Oh yes, I just had to go and question everything I’ve ever felt about me, about Patrick, about our friendship, about our love. “Stupid Lindey…” I chastise myself. I pull my knees up to my chest and hold myself, drawing a thin gasp of air. I shut my eyes, trying my hardest to block him out of my thoughts. But the more I do, the more the spurs and spats of memory come crawling back to me.

I hear my phone vibrate, and I tense. I look down, the phone screen lit up, burning my eyes. It’s nearly silent, save for the buzz. It ceases a second later. I look down, the words Pat, missed call (4) appearing on the lock screen. A frown creeps across my lips as I unlock my phone and begin to play back his messages.

“Lin, it’s me. Why did you just run off? Did I do something wrong? Please tell me.” His voice is gruff and tired. A shiver goes down my back. “We’re friends right? I don’t want to loose you. And you mean a lot to me.“ 

The voicemail system flips forwards to the next message. ”Lin. It’s me again. I don’t know where you get off just running away like that. Why won’t you tell me what I did wrong?“

The next. ”You know what, I’ve had it. Call me back or don’t. I don’t care anymore Lindey. You can go-“ I hit the hang up button before I can hear anymore. He’s right though. I have jostled him around. I’ve played with his heart, and led him on. I toss the phone onto the floor of the car and lay back onto the plastic interior.

I mean, I haven’t always felt this way. I love Patrick and I can see myself going into something deeper with him, but, now when I look at him, there’s something missing, not connecting even. He’s whole and complete, and me, I feel like the wires in my brain are jumbled into a large knot, the ends loose and thrown across the edges of my mind.

I’ve been somewhat of a checkerboard in my past – not really caring whether I wake up beside a girl or a guy. When we started, Patrick told me that he was bi, it didn’t bother me. However, he looked expectantly towards me, and I said I was straighter than an arrow with sarcasm lurking behind my words. This memory sends me back into questioning. I never thought much about it – I liked girls and guys and that was that. I never saw anything more than a possible friendship with them. But my parents always said that I would make a great mother, and that kids love me, yet I can’t think of myself like that. Not now, at least. And that’s fine, I suppose. 

My phone vibrates again. I look down at it and sigh out of my nose. I pick up the phone and hit answer. ”Lindey?“

I shut my eyes. “Pat.”

We sit in silence for a moment. I hear him breathe and cuss. Words spew from his mouth. Patrick’s hit his word vomit, and things just keep coming and coming from his mouth. He doesn’t stop. It’s a jumble of why would you’s, I don’t understand Lins, and we should just go back to being friends.

“I can feel it. You’re uncomfortable.” He says quietly. His voice is like a whisper in the air. I shut my eyes, pulling the sleeves of my sweater to meet my palms. “You were uncomfortable and still you pushed yourself to do it and rather than facing me and telling me what was wrong, you just… you ran off.”

I stay silent, rolling onto my side and letting the frames of my glasses cut into my face. I attempt to drown him out, but my thoughts are no better. In fact, they’re worse, dragging back old memories and slurs and questions from classmates, friends and family. It’s normal to want sex, right?

Everyone wants it, at least at one point. But then, if you have too much, you’re labelled as a slut, and if you have too little, you’re a prude. If you let anyone touch you like that you’re suddenly easy; and if you let no one, you suddenly have rumours that you have a chastity belt on. If you lust after people, you’re a skank. If you don’t want anyone, you’re boring. And yet, there’s this sinking, awful feeling in my stomach, settling there now. The same one that came over me when Mom told me that she can’t wait  for me to have children or when Patrick said any guy would be lucky to have me.

“I don’t understand you Lindey.” He whispers into the phone. His voice is fuzzy and sounds as if he’s fading away, being pulled far from my reach. 

“I don’t understand me either,” I say at last.

He stays quiet for another moment, this time much longer. “Why did you ask me out then?” His voice gets a little bit louder.

“I don’t know why, Pat.” I say, raising mine in response.

“Lindey,”

I don’t say a word.

“Do you think we should take a break? From each other, from this?” He asks. “Are we getting too heavy? I know we’ve been together for a while and said that nothing serious would come from this but-”

“I don’t know Patrick.” I say again. And suddenly, I’m the one with the word vomit, spewing out my life’s story. My world. My views. How I’ve felt forever; before adulthood, before adolescence. Before Patrick. 

I tell him how I never cared about the valentines I got in grade school, and how I stayed home for all the dances. I tell him of staying awake to watch television and finish a book instead of texting anyone. How when a friend said a boy looked hot, I would look and see nothing. About going to parties in high school and how I got stuck in the closet with another girl who kissed me for the first time. The times when my friends would The time where I went to prom by myself and ended up leaving with someone. About the indifference to losing my virginity and being called a slut for it. How I when on a sex spree to try and see if I could feel something, anything like what my friends constantly spoke of. And then, then is when I tell him, in my quietest voice possible about how in first year college, I slept with my roommate twice and then moved on to the boy down the hall of my residence. And how that boy eventually asked me out and how I ended up here with him; halfway been two cities, sleeping in the back of my car.

He doesn’t say a word. I hear the porch door creak loudly and his footsteps against the floorboards. At last, he speaks. “Lindey.” He says. “Do you think you may be ace?”

I blink several times, staring at the dashboard of my car. I draw a breath and shake my head. Patrick knows me so well, too well, perhaps. Reading my thoughts and in tune with my actions even if I’m not around him.

“What is that?” I ask.

“It’s asexuality. It’s where you don’t like anyone, in a sexual way.” He says.“It’s nothing wrong, it’s just how some people feel about romance and love.”

“But it doesn’t make sense. I love you.” I say, my voice growing slightly frantic. “If I’m that, how could I love you? That doesn’t wor-”

“I mean, it totally works. And it’s subjective to everyone.” He says quickly, grasping at works to make me feel better. “Like Jas. You remember Jasper Alucard, right? The guy who I was talking to back at the post office in town?”

I nod, thinking he can see me. “Yeah, I think I remember him.” I say unconvincingly. I do remember glancing back and seeing Patrick talking to some guy outside the post office when we were there earlier. I only remember long, raven hair and nothing more. I only saw his back.

“Well, he’s ace too, and he’s got a partner right now. It just depends on who you are. Like you can want to be in a relationship and still be ace!” He says, his voice soft but upbeat. “And maybe you’re that. Maybe you’re ace.”

I try to get his metaphor, but it’s lost on me. I don’t know Jas, and I didn’t see him. He’s nothing more to me than a half-assed effort on Patrick’s part to make me seem normal. But instead of his intention, I feel more alienated than ever. “So what? I’m a robot? I’m broken?” I ask, my voice cracks.

“Lindey,”

“Because right now it’s feeling like it, Pat. I… I feel broken.” I cry into my phone. I hiccup tears and shake as Patrick struggles to comfort me over the line. 

“Lindey. Lindey!” He yells. I swallow my tears and sniffle as he speaks. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare.” His voice is stern now. I hear him pace across the porch, the creaking of the boards under his feet. “You’re not broken for not wanting sex. You’re not a prude or some robot. You’re you. And you’re the girl I love.”

I fall silent again, my hands balling into fists as . “Lindey.” He says. “I love you. No matter who or what you are.”

I stay silent. My eyes well up. I know what’s coming. His voice has gone down in tone, becoming lower. He’s quiet. I can hear the waves lapping against the shore over the line. I hold my head in one hand, shutting my eyes tight. ”We should stop and figure things out. I think it’d be best if we-“

"We need to take a break.” I let a hiccup sneak into the conversation and then cover my mouth, sucking back a breath between my fingers. I part them slightly, allowing the words to creep through.. “I need a break. I need to figure myself out. That’s what you were going to say, and I agree.”

“You do? You’re not just saying that?” His voice grows quieter for a moment.

“Pat, I’m not. I’m certain.” I lie in a louder voice, attempting to hide that I’m crying. I swipe at my eyes. I attempt to hold myself together, keep myself from sobbing into the phone, begging for him or anyone to make myself make sense once again. I hate to lie to myself, to Patrick, but I can’t tell him that I want to keep going after I think – know – that  I’m ace. I feel like I’m living a lie, telling myself that I’m okay going to bed with him even though I don’t see that in him. “It’d be best for us, right? Get our lives together before going forwards?”

“You’re right.” He says. His voice is eerily calm, barely above a whisper. I hear a loon call on the other end, and the real thing in my other ear. I fill the silence: “I’ll get my stuff out of the apartment.”    

“Isn’t that a little extreme?” Patrick asks with concern.

“I mean, it’s apart of a break, right? I cut myself off from you, you cut yourself from me?” I say. Being ace and in a relationship feels so alien, so abnormal, unjust. I need to break away from him, I need to be alone.

“Right.” He says. “But where will you stay?”

“I’ll stay here until school comes back . Then I’ll go back to the city.” I say. “I’m sure I can find somewhere to stay.”    

“As long as you’ll be all right.” He says. I hide a sniffle and another sob under the guise of a cough. “Lindey… I love you.” He says.

I stay quiet. “And if we get our shit together, maybe we’ll try again?” He says. “At the end of the summer?”

I nod into the phone. “Yep. Okay.” I say. His voice becomes distant. The words slip out of my mouth “I love you too, Pat.”    

A moment passes and I feel dread pinch my nerves. Patrick takes a breath and then he breathes the words, “take care of yourself” and hangs up on me.

[ciathyzareposts]

Game 360: Quest for Power (1981)

Problem #1: Nothing Arthur or Galahad did was done “for power.”

          Quest for Power

United States

Crystalware (developer and original publisher); Epyx (later publisher)

Released in 1981 for Atari 800 and Apple II. Rereleased in 1982 as King Arthur’s Heir

Date Started: 5 March 2019

Date Finished: 5 March 2019

Total Hours: 1

Difficulty: Very Easy (1/5)

Final Rating: (to come later)

Ranking at time of posting: (to come later)

            Quest for Power is another insulting game from Crystalware, a company that was either knowingly scamming its customers or so clueless about what made a good game that they must have never played one. I admit that their titles at least sound interesting–I was sucked in by the backstory of House of Usher (1980), for instance–but if anything they’ve gotten progressively worse as time passed, losing core elements that made them, if not “good,” at least memorable. A commenter named Tronix recently posted some background on the company, and while we can’t take an anonymous Internet comment as gospel, what he says makes sense given the quality of the games. I’m particularly disturbed about the party where they “skipped town” while still owing money to a lot of developers. I hope the developer of this game, Marc Benioff, managed to recover.

There isn’t much to say about Quest for Power. Like the other Benioff/Crystalware collaboration, The Forgotten Island (1981), it’s a short adventure with a few light RPG elements, recalling in structure the old Adventure for the Atari 2600 (1979). It takes about as long to play and win the game as to read the manual, and the lengths that Epyx went through to puff up the manual for the re-release (as King Arthur’s Heir) are particularly absurd given the paucity of actual gameplay. 

            You have to have several artifacts before you enter Canterbury.

            The backstory casts you as Sir Galahad, son of Arthur’s “good friend” Lancelot, who Arthur designates as his heir to the English throne if he can find and return the Scroll of Truth, which Merlin has hidden somewhere on the island. Good lord, that sentence alone manages to mangle the Arthurian legends in about a dozen different ways. The whole point of Galahad’s story–in the few sources where he actually appears–is that he’s too pure for the mortal world, and he is taken bodily into heaven at the end of the Grail Quest. Arthur and Lancelot are hardly “friends” by the end of Arthur’s reign; Merlin should be long gone; and the realm wouldn’t be known as “England” for over 400 years.

               There are several places to buy necessities. This particular list makes it look like I’m about to murder someone and then dump the body off-shore.

             Your little icon sets out from Camelot to explore the land, which I guess is roughly shaped like Britain except that for some reason it’s surrounded by a wall. Your journey will take you to the Caves of Somerset, Hastings Mountain, Sunderland, Essex, the Castle of Skenfrith, the Black Forest, the Eagle Stone, Canterbury, Hillsborough by the Sea, and Leeds. (Of these, only Canterbury has any authentic Arthurian history. “Hastings Mountain” doesn’t even exist.) The manual makes it sound like these are all exotic and interesting places to explore, but really they’re just names written across the screen with maybe one NPC and a treasure item.

            This would have made World War II a lot easier.

           To win the game, you have to defeat a series of enemies (The Devil of Skenfrith Castle, the Black Wizard, Gogmagog–none of them appear in actual Arthuriana) and acquire a series of treasures. For instance, you explore the Caves of Somerset to find the key to Essex, where you find Moses’s Rod (where’s Kenny when you need him?), and so forth. The enemies named in those parentheses, plus a couple of dragons, are the only fights in the game.

              Canonically, Galahad could probably do this.

           Combat is a matter of random rolls. Each round, each fighter does 1-9 points of base damage against the enemy but each round, one of the two combatants gets 10 added to his roll. For instance, you might take 7 damage while doing 19 in the first round, but in the second the Black Wizard gets the bonus and does 15 damage to you versus your 3 damage to him.

                 Looks like I got lucky this round.

               As you start off with only 3 hit points, the first combat–whoever you fight it with–is a risk. But if you can win, you’ll gain enough power and extra hit points that further combats become much easier. After your second or third combat, you’re basically invincible.

          In battle against Gogmagog.

         Gold chests pop up randomly as you explore, and there are a few places where you can spend your gold on an axe, a rope, and a boat. There are three NPCs (Ambrosius, Amadas, and some random guy in Essex Castle) who give you spectacularly unnecessary hints, and one of them must be bribed over 1,000 gold for his. 

     I’m sure I would have found it on my own anyway.

       Once you’ve found enough artifacts and have built up enough power from killing enemies, the guard Oberion (facepalm) will let you into Canterbury. There, you find the Ark of the Covenant. If you open it without the three major artifacts (Anselm’s Staff, Solomon’s Ring, and Moses’s Rod), you’ll be melted in the manner of the Nazis in Raiders of the Lost Ark. With the three artifacts, you find the Scroll of Truth.

    Completing my quest.

Granted, I had the emulator speed cranked up to 250%, but it still only took me about 20 minutes to run around the map and do what I needed to do. The game minimizes its control scheme; the manual actually brags about this. All action is mapped to the joystick except for the (T)rade command. If you have certain items (torch, boat, rope), you’re assumed to use them when the situation calls for it.

Returning the Scroll of Truth to Camelot wins the game. You get a picture of the throne room at Camelot and your score is displayed.

             You can tell it’s Camelot by the “C” on the banners.

            But of course it doesn’t end there. As with half of Crystalware’s titles, there’s supposedly a Great Mystery lurking beneath the surface, with players encouraged to solve it and send their solutions to the company, with promises of a $250 cash prize. (The Epyx re-release removes any mention of such a puzzle.) As usual, I not only didn’t solve it, I don’t even know what they’re talking about. Is it something you’re supposed to find in the game? A hidden message? Is it simply winning the game? 

                 Can anyone identify the source of the image Crystalware used? Reverse image searches were no help.

        The manual says that to solve the mystery, you must a) read the entire manual, b) “go to each of the magical places and talk to all of the magical people.” “It is then,” the manual says, “you may understand the very neurotic mystery.” Did the author not know what “neurotic” means, or is that a clue?

               I wonder if they paid anyone.

           The only three people to talk with in the game are Ambrosius, Amadas, and the guy at Essex. Amadas, at Hastings Mountain, says that “you must have Solomon’s Ring and Anselm’s Staff and Gogmagog to make it past Oberion!” (Once you defeat Gogmagog, his power “fuses” with you or something.)  Ambrosius is hanging out by something called the Eagle Stone, and he says, “Ah, son of Arthur [???], the staff is in the caves.” Essex says, “The Ring of Solomon is in the Skenfrith Castle.” I’ve looked for anagrams, initialisms, and other wordplay and can’t find anything. Thus, I’ll give a reward of $50 to whoever can solve the mystery, which is five times the value of the GIMLET I gave to Quest for Power. It’s the first game so far with 1s straight across the board.

*****

Let’s talk about how we got so far down the list:

      1. I’m having trouble with Planet’s Edge (1991). The introductory application starts up okay, but every time I hit ESC to move on, DOSBox crashes with a “corrupt MCB chain” error. I’ve tried multiple versions. I’ve tried running INSTALL and configuring video and sound different ways. I’ve tried running it with LOADFIX. I have not tried another computer with a different configuration of DOSBox, which I will next week after I move.

2. Minotaur: Labyrinths of Crete (1992) turns out to be a two-player game. (You’re supposed to connect over AppleTalk.) There’s a “single-player mode,” but it just lets you explore the dungeon, pick up items, and test them, not play in any meaningful way. It moves to the rejection list.

             Wandering the Minotaur dungeon.

              3. I thought I had a working copy of OrbQuest from reader Lance M., but I lost it or never downloaded it or something. I had to ask him for it again. He came through, but I had already half-drafted this entry by then. It’ll be soon.

4. I’m moving this week, so I didn’t have time to approach a game as complicated as Ultima VII.

      Anyway, this means I need two more games to add to the “upcoming” list, replacing both Quest for Power and Minotaur. The earliest game on my list that I haven’t played is Sands of Mars (1981), another Crystalware title. We have three more, in fact, and I think I’m going to try to cover them all in one entry, but we’ll leave it as Sands of Mars for now. After that comes a random roll! It lands on Moraff’s Dungeons of the Unforgiven (1993). For those worried that I’m going to get too far away from 1992 before playing Might and Magic IV/V, don’t worry–we’re going to have a discussion next week about designating “landmark” games that I should prioritize in a given year.

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/game-360-quest-for-power-1981/