#i had a coffee-induced epiphany

[eliza-makepeace]

doris has far more customers

[my-fancy-hat]

In the last few chapters I've noticing bits of similarities between some characters and the course of action with part 1 that, well, coming from the same author is kind of expected, but lately they've been more and more explicit and I can't help but think that maybe! there's an intention on mirrowing Denji's current development to part 1's while leading the plot toward the new "bomb girl" arc for part 2.

At first, Denji is introduced in the beggining of a new arc with an internal conflict about himself and/or his place in the world in the dichotomy of what he actually feels about his situation and what he SHOULD feel compared to someone else reaction: Aki's heartbreak for Himeno's death versus Denji's lack of empathy for the loss and the world living as it is in normalcy versus his discomformity about it. This opens a key question that will haunt Denji for the next chapters, looking for an answer capable of content him: "Do I still have a human heart?" and "Nothing beats a normal life?"

In the meantime and uncertainty, Denji is invited to hang out to a cinema date by a person who may are able to understand what afflicts him at the moment and so, influencing him:

In csm cinema is potrayed as a place of reflection and contemplation about life itself, and as Makima bringed on this concept, movies can change one's worldview. At the end of part 1 we discover that all the control devil wanted was to find an equal, to form genuine and equal relationships of mutual care like a family does; this by extention resonates with Denji because, even in his ineptitude to identify these kind of emotional issues due his lack of experience with other people and life in general, is what he wishes as well, connection, aceptance and companionship. This is why the last scene of the last movie touched both of them to the point of tears, as if the big screen did bring back to life and exposed before their eyes their most hidden desire.

On the other hand, one of the main goals Denji had was to achieve a normal life, pushing him foward since chapter 1 to secure it and do what he has missed of life or what he should be doing as a teen of his age. Such want seems not to be unique of Denji because Yoshida has also vocalized (when the oportunity is given) on wanting to know what normalcy is about, tagging along with Denji in multiple occasions, between classes, skipping classes, getting treats and coffee in their way, talking about girls, etc. Going to school, hanging out, a home to return to, good memories of childhood to look back, to have a lovely family and friends, I think is what both wish or wished to have, and so it's projected on screen in a familiar scenario, maybe a callback to the token of part 1 tragedies-accomplishment of this way of living, a little girl that could possibly be Nayuta with her schoolbag, heading to school?

But, where the view was hindered by tears of catharsis, now it is by the corpse of a demon that spattered its blood on the screen. The answers were deliverated, but Denji stills comes to his seatmate for the final confirmation:

...to both of them leaving him alone behind in the realization of this induced epiphany. While with Makima it was a relief, that in fact he has a heart capable of love and care therefore capable of connecting with others, Yoshida leaves a sour taste in Denji's mouth. The normalcy that Denji dreamed of is not what he found; that reality also contemplates loneliness, boredom and disappointment too.

In other parallels that are worth notting are the assignation of a new bodyguard replacement for Denji by Makima and Yoshida to facilitate vigilance and security over him:

And, how Denji's reaction to this isn't that welcoming making him disappointed of their new partner even tho his bodyguards are, in fact, big fans of chainsaw man:

Culminating on, as for now, with the introduction of a "friendly" pretty face hybrid:

With all this I want to make it clear that I do not want to pretend or demostrate that Yoshida = Makima, that sword man will be Denji's new love interest or smth or even worse to compare Beam with Fumiko for have approached Denji without his consent, like, no. These characters are playing similar roles already potrayed by someone else in part 1 now with Denji in part two conserving their own traits and unique issues. I don't know if authors put this much thought on their writting to come up with these kind of things nonetheless I'm so excited how things will play out this time for Denji since, if we follow bomb girls course, Sword man appearance may not hold many good intentions for Denji, explaining why Yoshida assigned Fumiko to protect him in anticipation of this new enemy, just like Makima did against Reze.

EDIT:

hmmm🏴

[atomicblasphemy]

Eda becomes some kind of flying taxi service

Amity: So I told Malphas he needed to have a talk with Gary about our coffee break space.

Emira: Mhmm.

Amity: I mean, for one, Gary never cleans after himself. Like, I once saw him leaving his mug dirty for over a week. A WEEK. It was disgusting. It was just sitting dare on the table for days. I didn’t want to clean it, I’m not a doormate. But it was dire and I had no choice. And don’t get me started on the fridge situation. My lunch has been getting smaller by the day and I can’t seem to figure out the culprit.

Emira: That’s nice, Mittens. Isn’t it nice, Edric?

Edric: What?

Amity: Will you guys pay attention? I need some advice on...

*Windows cracking”

Edric: What the...

Hooty: AMITY FELICITY BLIGHT! IT IS I, HOOTCIFER, HARBINGER OF THY DESTINY. COME WITH ME AND I SHALL REVEAL WHAT JOYS THE FUTURE HOLDS FOR THEE.

Amity: I... What?

Hooty: DOTH THOU DARE DEFY FATE? *Swallows Amity*

Emira: ... What just happened? Wasn’t that Eda’s house demon? You know, the one we met before Grom?

Edric: I think it was. I’m not sure though, he sounded more... ominous...

SEVERAL EMOTIONAL MOMENTS LATER

Luz: It’s early... Do you really have to go already?

Amity: Yeah... I still have to finish homework, and I have work tomorrow. But I’ll come back here tomorrow... If you’re okay with it, that is...

Luz: YES! I mean... yeah, I’d love that...

Amity: Anyway... I guess I should get going, we’re not exactly neighbors after all. See you tomorrow then.

Luz: Wait, I have an idea. *Turns around* EDA!

Eda: *Not stopping her flight practice* What?

Luz: Do you think you could give Amity a lift back to her place?

Eda: Oh? Not walking your girlfriend home? Thought you’d be more chivalrous.

Luz: *Showing that Amity’s tomato like properties are infectious* EDAAA!

Eda: Sorry, sorry. But yeah, sure. *Picks up Amity and flies away at neckbreaking speeds. She soon slows down to a more reasonable pace* So... Amity, before I give you that whole “What are your intentions?” scare there’s something I’ve been itching to ask you. What made you chose to dye your hair of all colors, and how did Odd-alia react?

Amity: Luz... Me... Girlfriend...

Eda: Ugh... Don’t make me regret making harmless fun of young love, kiddo.

ONE AWKWARD TAXI EDA FLYING SESSION LATER.

Eda: *Placing Amity on the Blight Manor’s front porch and looking at the two bewildered faces watching her* Sup. *Turns to fly away* Oh right, I guess purple here is in not in the mental state to give any explanations.

Amity: Small ceremony... Human realm... Only friends and family... Boscha is not invited...

Emira: Are you... Edalyn Clawthorne?

Eda: Last I checked I was.

Emira: You look different.

Eda: Oh right... Look, it was a very eventful night so let me start with the simpler one. King, you remember him, right? Tiny, angry, looks like a cat, was the MC at the last Grom along with Goops.

Emira and Edirc: Yeah...?

Eda: He’s harnessing all the powers of yelling. I guess all children his age kinda do that but he went above and beyond and actually learned how to make things go boom with his voice alone, and that’s why both Luz and your sister are still alive. And now I’m realizing I should probably go hide all those Death Metal records I got in human realm. Can’t risk turning my son into a weapon of mass destruction. Not yet.

Edric: That’s... nice... I guess?

Emira: How about Mittens?

Eda: Right. She and Luz are an item now. It was adorable, I called her Luz’s girlfriend then I think it finally really hit her and that made her go all catatonic on me. Sorry about that.

Edric: WHAT?

Emira: Okay, okay... So came out with it? Ed and I have some scores to settle.

Eda: I... Both, I guess? I don’t know, it was sort of at the same time. But I don’t want to spoil it for when she recovers. So I guess us three are kinda family now, huh? Tangentially at least, like you’re my nephew and niece-in-law or something like that, I don’t know.

Eda: The important thing is: there’s a huge waterway under my house and I think it is actually part of my property. Now I need to figure out a way to find out how big that place actually is without letting town hall know so my taxes won’t go up. Can’t push my tax evasion skills. I mean, can you imagine it? The Owl Lady, the most successful outlaw in Boiling Isles history: arrested for fiscal crimes.

Emira: Okay... That’s... cool.

Edric: Yeah... Not to pry though, but what happened to you?

Eda: Oh... Me? I got very high. Not on purpose. Then I became a Harpy. Also not on purpose.

Emira: ... I’m sorry but I’m not following the cause and effect relation between those thing.

Eda: Neither am I. All I remember is: Hooty spiked some cookies; I revisited that time I gauged out my dad’s eye, also not on purpose; then when I push my ex away (You know, Raine Whispers, current head of the Bard Coven, lead a small revolutionary guerrilla, now under mind control. Oh, yeah, guess they’d make to sure to keep it under wraps, anyway...)

Eda: Then it got pretty weird. I got trapped by this tall hooded sun and moon figure and I’m not sure whether that was an actual memory (I did get arrested a few time after all) or if it was just a hallucinogenics induced manifestation of the subconscious trauma of being persecuted for years by the state. Anyone’s guess to which was it.

Eda: And then I became Icarus, fell into the sea, and became a piece of paper. Then I was at the beach, the piece of paper was also there, but that’s not important... I hope... Anyway, so, my curse was there too an for a moment there I thought we were gonna play some chess, but nah.

Eda: I did have an epiphany though. The sky changed colors and now I’m a Harpy. Gotta a lot of stuff to process right.

Edric: *Wide eyed and mouth agape* Mother of Titan...

Emira: *Same as her brother* Do you... need a hug or something?

Eda: Ehh... Don’t worry, I’ll get through. I mean, I’m a badass Harpy woman now, what else could I want? I appreciate the thought though. Anyway, I’ll get going, Luz has probably been stuck in the same place ever since I left. Was nice seeing you guys. *Turns around*

Edric: WAIT, EDA.

Eda: Yeah? What is it?

Edric: Can you take me flying a little bit like you did Mittens? Pretty please?

Emira: *Elbowing her brother* EDRIC!

Edric: What? There’s a tall and friendly winged lady standing in our front porch and calling us family...

Eda: Kinda family.

Edric: Kinda family. And we only went flying, on dad’s staff mind you, like twice. And I mean, look at her. That’s clearly a person with next to no regard for speed limits or any form of flying safety. *Turns to Eda* I mean that as the highest of compliments, by the way.

Eda: *Nodding and smiling* Well, I’m not one to brag... But you’re on point there.

Edric: *Turning back to Emira* See? It will be fun. *Turns back to Eda while making puppy eyes* So, pretty pretty please?

Eda: Eh... What the heck, why not? I do need to get a better hold of this flying thing after all. Fair warning though, I only had these for about an hour, I’m not taking responsibility for any loss of limb or life. *Picks Edric up and place him on one of her shoulders and turns to Emira.* You sure you don’t wanna come with? There’s plenty of room.

Emira: ... I never said I didn’t want to...

Eda: *Placing Emira on her other shoulder* Alritty then, make sure to hold on tight to my hair, just don’t fall into it. Can’t promise I’ll find you if you do. And up we go. *Takes off at neckbreaking speed*

Eda: So... I tried that to Mittens herself, but she was too lost in elation to form coherent sentences. What’s the deal with her hair color change? Why did she pick that specific shade of... pink? Lavender? Purple? Whatever, I was a tad curious about that choice coming from one of Odd-alia’s offspring. So either of you can shed some light on it for me?

Emira: Eh, what can I say? Our little Mittens is growing up, coming out of her shell. I mean, if you told me a month that she’d have a girlfriend by now I’d call it bullshit. Though I would have guessed Luz as being the most likely candidate. In any case, I’m pretty proud of the steps our baby sister is taking, not gonna lie.

Edric: Yeah... Same. But I can’t shake the feeling that it is at least in part an act of rebellion against mom. She did always have that weird fixation with Amity’s hair after all...

Eda: Hum, I see. This actually takes me to my follow up question. How did your mom react when she saw it?

Edric: *chuckling* Oh, I thought she’d have a stroke right then and there.

Emira: Yup. Never saw mom that mad. You’d think the two of us would be the ones to cause it but nope, Mittens beat us to it. Again, I’m a proud big sister.

Eda: Hehehe Sounds about right. You two are the troublemaking type then huh?

Edric: That’s a way of putting.

Emira: We like thinking of ourselves as practical entertainers however. We are in the Illusions track so it comes with the territory. Buuut...

Edric: We indulge in some prankery every now and then, and there’s no one better at it than us.

Eda: Is that so? Ever get in trouble for it?

Edric: Sometimes... When we (kind of accidentally) cause more property damage than intended because SOMEONE botched their end of the spell and caused Bump’s office to almost go up in flames.

Emira: Awww. Ed, I told you already. Don’t beat yourself over it. Accidents happen. You’ll do better next time.

Edric: HEY!

Emira: Anyway, Eda. Why were you asking about Mittens’ hair?

Eda: Oh... You guys are going to love this. I think. Anyway, did you know that me and your parents attended Hexside at the same time?

Edric: Yeah, I remember mom seeing one of your wanted posters a while back and calling you “Ewdalyn Clownthorne” or something like that.

Eda: Ah, haven’t heard that in a minute, Titan those were the day. Anyway, as you might have guessed by now me and your mother we... had a bit of a rivalry. Unfortunately, I couldn’t top the nickname she gave me, best I could do was Odd-alia. No offense, but Blight doesn’t give much to work with in terms of puns, can’t get funnier than that. Especially when thrown at her.

Emira: None taken. And yeah. I mean, it is fun when people call us stuff like “The Blights of Hexside”. But it is kinda sad to know we’ll never get a nickname as cool as Owl Lady or Lord Calamity.

Eda: Oh, my fame still precedes me huh? You know, I think the three of us will get along just fine.

Edric and Emira: Yup, we sure will.

Eda: Anyway, flattery aside... Part of the reason why I love poking your mom with a short stick was, other than how aggravated she’d get and how surprisingly good at paying in kind she was, the fact that she was in the Oracle track. You see, that made her a challenge. And given how she would actually prank me back (successfully, mind you, I have no shame in admitting that) I feel like like we actually a weird sort of friends, or at least we reached some kind of agreement that we were fair game for each other. And trust me, she was ruthless, and very good at escalating things.

Emira: Wow...

Edric: That sounds nothing like the mom we know. Other than the ruthless or the escalation part, that is still true.

Eda: Yeah, anyway. Part of our little game was keeping it hidden. Neither your dad or my sister actually ever realized what was going on until... well, I’ll get to that.

Eda: Anyway, so some lovely day I notice how weirdly obsessed with her hair Odd-alia was. This gives me some ideas, but I know I have make this the mother of pranks, so I decided to just keep a watch, to figure out what the best way to go about it would be. And I was also making those smaller pranks, something to throw her Oracle powers off-balance, you know?

Eda: Well... Back in the day your mother wasn’t monochromatic as she is nowadays. She’d circle through all colors you can think off on her accessories (which she used an ungodly amount, and no judgement it just never seems physically possible). But I noticed that there was one very specific color that she never got anywhere near her.

Edric and Emira: No way...

Eda: And as I said, she was weirdly obsessed with her hair... And as top student of the Potions track making hair dye was child’s play for me... So... do the math... And guess what very specific color was? I may be bad at color names, but I won’t ever, EVER, forget that particular shade.

Edric and Emira: No... freaking... way...

Eda: Yes... freaking... way... I mean, seriously, the first time I saw Amity’s new hair I had to do a double take. The resemblance was just too uncanny.

Emira: And what did she do?

Eda: Well... For a couple weeks there I thought I’d have to place a restriction order on her or something like that. Ultimately the two of us, along with Lilith and Alador (they were our attorneys, no they were not qualified for the role.) sitting across from each other in a very formal looking table, signing a contract. An actual freaking contract setting clear limits to our mutual pranks, like what was off limits like her hair or my then partner, how long was the maximum period a prank could last, so on. Surprisingly enough that was Al’s idea.

Eda: And let me tell you, that was probably the toughest negotiation I ever been a part of. Shame it was not long before I dropped out so never could really put it to use. You know, sometime I think this actually made Odd-alia realize she wanted to be a business woman. I mean, before that she’d go off about how she’d join the Emperor’s Coven all the damn time.

Edric: Wow...

Emira: I second that. Really, wish I had brought something I could take notes on. You completely blown anything we ever did out of the water.

Edric: No wonder she never told us that. You know what? I think I’m dying my hair that color first thing tomorrow.

Emira: Can we tell Amity this story?

Eda: Are you two actually thinking of antagonizing her? Are you crazy? First off, she’s your mother, she holds power over you. All you’d accomplish is getting grounded. Not to mention that she has decades of experience on you, even if she wasn’t your mom, she’d demolish the two of you. No offense, you’re still young, naive, you lack guidance in the ways of the pranksters.

Edric and Emira: *Dejectedly* Ohh... You’re right...

Eda: Hey... Don’t look so gloomy. I see a lot of potential in you, in both of you. *Sighs* I can’t believe I’m gonna take more kids under my wing... But.... Have you guys ever heard of the Bad Girl Coven Initiative? We annoy our foes into submission.

Edric and Emira: WE’RE LISTENING.

Eda: Heh... We’ll get along just fine indeed.

[halcyon-writings]

BEEP BEEP I'VE COME WITH A REQUEST!

From the lines from a love letter prompt list, 10. My hope was that you might share my longing for our resident dilf nanami if you may? 👉🏻👈🏻

ahahaha wow i hope one nanami kento (27), grade 1 sorcerer, doesn’t see me and ask me out, ahaha...

further note(s)/warning(s): office nanami,,,, pining,,, ahhhhh, that can be taken as either a non curse!au or just pre canon whatever floats your boat, no real warnings here but if there’s something i’ve missed please let me know!

nav

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You don’t intend for it to start this way, really. Just, once the office started getting less busy, you were bored out of your mind. A major project succeeded in going through, and so it was a reason to celebrate, you reasoned to yourself, but still, you almost could have missed those nights of staying later to work because you didn’t really have anything better to do.

...wow.

Now that you had thought about it, that sounded rather sad... You bring your palms up to attempt to rub the sleep out from your eyes as you smother a yawn with your arms. But still, a part of you had wished for some form of excitement. 

So, you had craftily come up with a new idea. One that would either get you in trouble or with a new office pen pal. You hoped it was the second option.

It was a random day following your little epiphany, all of your tasks had been finished for the current time, and you were awaiting something else to be assigned to you. You had pretended to type away at another document, which really was just you typing and hitting backspace several times to look as though you’re working. 

You look around, good, no one was walking around and so you take a sheet of paper, quickly scribbling down a small note. You see the small space between the cubicles, that would only a thin sheet of paper would fit through, and you slid your little note through it. It shouldn’t have been as nerve-wracking as it was, but here you were. While you weren’t neglecting the work you did get after, you still waited with bated breath for a response. 

And then you got one.

Yours had a simple question, “How are you?” 

“Tired.”

You can’t help but snort, quickly covering your mouth as you realize the office only really has the sounds of people typing away or scribbling at papers. As you get a look or two so you quickly hide yourself further into your little cubicle as you start to type some more, thinking of your next response.

And that’s how it starts.

It’s a near daily thing, sending a small note back and forth in between bouts of paperwork or other desk work that came your way. Sometimes if it was busy, the replies were short and concise, but when things were slow around the office, you managed to get a few sentences about their day.

Although you couldn’t help but feel rather silly upon realizing the fact that you had never gotten this strangers name, So you wanted to fix that, introducing yourself first, his response followed shortly, 

‘Nanami Kento.’

You grin, ‘Well nice to meet you Nanamin!’ You scribble back.

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It really had been some time since the first response, and now you could say that you and your office pen pal had a steady flow going. Unfortunately however, the notes had begun to slow down, it seemed that another contract was being attempted, some merger of some sort.  And it hadn’t even been long before you had wanted to just lay your head down on your keyboard and sleep for a while. 

Some of your coworkers had already left for the night, asking if you really couldn’t go with them to the local bar, and you only shook your head, relaxation could come after you were done. Although you couldn’t help but admit that you wanted to take them up on their offer. Especially your poor back after sitting in the same position for so long.

From the corner of your eye, do you see someone approaching, and your eyes brighten slightly as you sit up, and stretch,

“Kento, you’re here too?” Your pen pal, well now official office friend nods back in greeting. Although not the most talkative in the office, he held great conversation, and was good looking- ah, no you couldn’t start that again. He places a cup of coffee in your hands and you take a sip, already knowing that he’s made it the way you like. And you hum, satisfied that you were right in that assumption. 

“Yes, it seems the Supervisor wanted my input here too,” He answers, placing his own cup down, moving to roll his shoulder as a hand reaches up to his other arm, a small wince on his part, ah that meant he was staying late too. You frown.

“Aren’t you tired?” You ask with a tilt of your head, “You just closed another deal recently too.”

“I’ll be alright,” He deflects and you purse your lips, well, he never really answered if you pressed, but there was always a first time for everything.

“Nanamiiiiii,” You bemoan, “You can’t honestly tell me that you’re not exhausted from all the late nights?”

At this, his lips curl up slightly, humored, “And what about you? You’re taking your fair share of late nights as well, aren’t you?”

You wince, only looking at your computer so that he didn’t see your flustered expression, “Maybe...”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, his footsteps returning to his own cubicle across from yours. “This will pass soon.” 

“Well, if you say so,” You hum, once more sipping at your coffee. As another piece of paper catches your attention, oh, a note you didn’t seem to notice from earlier. 

You know that is was only you and Kento sending these little notes back and forth to each other, or at least you hoped so. You would’ve never lived it down otherwise. 

But something feels different about this one, and to your curiosity, you open the note and begin to read. 

It’s not a long note exactly, but it’s definitely not like the ones you both had been sending each other. Your eyes carefully trail over the words written, even with the occasional phrase scribbled out, a fond expression beginning to grow on your face the more you read. Although you do feel the warmth beginning to spread on your face too.

And then you get to the end.

“...my hope was that you might share my longing.” 

You have to hide your face in your hands, while sure it was only really you, Kento, and maybe two others in the office, you didn’t want anyone to see the way you reacted to the letter. It may have looked like you were laughing from the way your shoulders were shaking, but really, you were just flustered. Eyes wide and mouth open in slight shock. The way his words were purely sincere in their adoration. 

You wanted to thank every deity you could think of that a man like Kento existed. But you realize, that yes you were still at work, so you fold the note, hiding it in your bag, but you could only guess that someone thought something was up, as there was no way a spreadsheet of financial plans was that joy inducing. 

But you pay them no mind. 

Time seems to pass quicker after that.

And by the time you leave, it was really only you and Kento left, the work for today was done, and he kindly offered to walk with you to the station, even though you were fairly certain he lived close enough to the office that he hadn’t needed a train. But you appreciated the sentiment regardless. 

You fiddle with the buckle on your bag as you wait together, before looking at him, fortune favors the bold, you hope.

“So, I was thinking,” You start, shifting on the soles of your feet, “That when this is all said and done, maybe we can check out this new restaurant I’ve been hearing about at the office?”

Nanami looks surprised, and you almost want to say it’s something you read in the note of his, but you see the way he pats his pocket and a small look of realization appears on his face, before he closes his eyes, opening them again as they meet yours.

“You read it then?”

You nod your head. You didn’t know if it was some odd coincidence that your train was taking so long or if this was some convenient thing something or someone threw your way-

“I did.” You loop your arm in his, and you nearly miss the way his surprised expression turns fond.

“Like I said, we should go. It’ll be nice to be out on the town for a date too.”

You worry that you overstepped for a moment, seeing as how he’s a bit quiet, as though contemplating, “It’s a date.” 

And you can’t help but still feel a little warm at just how easily he says it. Barely dating and already this man would be the death of you, however, you can’t bring yourself to pull your arm away just yet, and instead remain that way for a moment longer, as the quiet bustling of the night life of the city slowly but surely beginning now that it was dark out, surrounding you both in a comfortable bit of noise. Neither of you needed to say anything, this was more than okay. 

[adamfoolcry]

Caught in the Act (Sicheng - Drabble)

pairings: Reader x Winwin/Sicheng, Johnny and Mark (side characters)

rating: 16+

warnings: sexual innuendos, cursing, suggestive scenarios

genre: comedy, pure crack more potent than the white stuff

synopsis: Johnny and Mark caught you and Sicheng doing ....

word count: 1,045

a/n: Mentioning @nctcreations​, @kpopscape, @neo-the-stars-net, @nct-writers in case the tags don’t work. I don't even know what is this but I laughed while writing it. Unedited and not proof-read, I don't know where to find a beta, cries. So please excuse the mistakes. - xo aria

The slam of the door alerted Johnny and Mark of Sicheng's arrival in their shared apartment. Enjoying the Friday night after all-nighters, procrastination, and caffeine-induced mornings, the two are sprawled on the couch, boxes of pizzas and empty soda cans littering the coffee table, and a suspense movie playing on the television. Reaching where the two was, Sicheng announced unceremoniously:

"Johnny hyung, Mark. ________ is coming here tomorrow. Just wanna tell you." twisting open the doorknob to his room, Sicheng abruptly entered it leaving them staring at the closed door.

"Hyung what does 'Just wanna tell you'," Mark did a double air quote with a baffled face," implies?"

"- and with a glare too Mark," Johnny added in a skeptical voice, scratching his chin in deep thought looking like a man in his thirties experiencing a mid-life crisis.

As if the proverbial lightbulb that was floating above their heads switched on and they have the gift of telepathy. They look at each other as if in sync; eyes wide like they had an epiphany.

"You thinking, what I am thinking?" Mark asked to which Johnny retorted:

"They're gonna get it on right?"

"You bet they will, maybe Sicheng gege wants us to leave the two of them alone, to have some sexy time," Mark concluded.

"Well fuck that, tomorrow is a Saturday. I am not going anywhere." Johnny said determined.

You and Sicheng have been going out for six months now, not counting the months he spent courting you. Every Saturday he makes sure to clear his schedule and bring you out on dates, to compensate for the time he wasn't able to, during weekdays due to course works and other curricular activities. During the first few months, the two of you will go out and spend the day frolicking outdoors with an itinerary and set of activities planned but lately, you two have been so tired of planning excursions every Saturdays, plus one downside of it is - it sucks both of your wallets dry. Being two broke college kids you two decided instead to coop up in your apartment every Saturday, trying a new baking recipe, replicating trendy drinks at the cafes (which sometimes turn out good or completely inedible), and doing other couples stuff. Unfortunately, the heater at your apartment broke and the landlord said that he will fix it this Saturday which will hinder your plans of trying a new baking recipe. Left with no choice you and Sicheng have agreed to spend the upcoming Saturday in his place - shared between him, Johnny, and Mark.

The sunlight streams in the room and bathed both Johnny's and Mark's figure in comfortable warmth. Johnny sat up in his bed in a lethargic state, still half asleep, he proceeded to rub his eyes. Meanwhile, on the other bed, Mark was stretching his arms to the high heavens yawning. The moment of serenity didn't last long for there was a loud clatter that suspiciously sounds like plates and mugs cluttering to the floor which rendered both men to fully rouse out of their half undead states. The next thing they heard was you screaming:

"Sicheng, harder, faster." Johnny and Mark looked at each other mortified.

"Of all places why in the kitchen?!" Johnny exclaimed frustrated by the idea of someone doing the deed in their shared kitchen space. He stood up in rage ready to reprimand the two of you for doing such a vile act. He stormed his way to the kitchen with Mark in tow. What greeted him was nothing short of what he was expecting.

Sicheng was holding a mixing bowl in his arm while his other hand is whisking away, like a madman possessed, emitting grunting sounds. You were cheering him on by the side: "Harder! Faster!"

After a few seconds of Johnny and Mark gaping at you and Sicheng, you have become aware of their presence. You greeted them warmly.

"Johnny! Mark! Would you like some Dalgona Coffee?" You graciously offered them some.

"Ohh Ummm sure. One for Johnny hyung too." Mark replied, flustered.

After having breakfast with dalgona coffee courtesy of Sicheng. Johnny and Mark decided to shoulder lunch and went out to order food at their favorite chicken restaurant. Both of them were excited to go back to the apartment and feast on it ordering two buckets. Closing the door with a bucket of chicken in hand, discarding their shoes to slip on their slippers they suddenly heard your voice.

"It's so hard Sicheng. I don't want to put that anywhere near my mouth." You whined as you poke at the muffin you just have taken off the oven. Johnny and Mark stopped in their tracks.

"________, don't be stubborn open your mouth." Sicheng said in a commanding tone daring you to disobey him. Holding a muffin in his hand, forcing you to taste it. "Sicheng I don't want to..." You whined some more dragging out the last syllable. Johnny looked at Mark who started sweating, eyebrows twitching, fear evident in the younger boy's eyes.

"I didn't know Sicheng ge is a dom." Mark searched for Johnny's eyes. Sicheng was starting to get annoyed by you, so he shoves the muffin past your lips which caused you to have a fit of little coughs."________ doesn't sound like she likes it? It may be non-consensual." Mark added.

"You can swallow now." Sicheng's lower timbre traveled through the kitchen as you took too long to chew the muffin. Sicheng observed your face waiting for your verdict if the muffin is good. Meanwhile, Mark made up his mind that he will not let anyone be the brunt of abuse, regardless if Sicheng is his close friend, he was ready to throw a fist at Sicheng upon reaching the kitchen. Only to find ...

"Oh wow, this tastes so good." You reached for another muffin feeding it to Sicheng. Sicheng instantly became giddy as you praise his muffins.

"Oh, you two want some muffins? Sicheng and I baked it." You noticed both Mark and Johnny standing in a corner mouth agape, faces inscrutable.

"I don't think admiring me while you sit there is enough participation, _______." Sicheng teased you.

"What the hell Sicheng, _______!" Johnny exclaimed while Mark unmoving stood traumatized.

a/n: Read more of my works for NCT here:masterlist.

[zachrykdouglas]

🌹💀🖤 "I'll have to remember you for longer than I loved you. The open road never relinquishes its power over who you're searching for. The bottomless nights when stars disagree about space and time, becomes an epiphany of sorts for the blind parts inside of me. I take each day as it comes, because I once gave up everything and almost succumbed to voices I couldn't distinguish or run away from. This beat inside my chest used to belong to you. It was a calling you ran to. One I couldn't stop from happening. We were youthful during a time when everyone else was growing up and becoming old. My skin still reeks of you and your love. I've washed my body over a million times since we last saw one another. I've learned you can't cleanse yourself of the ocean once you go below her surface. It remains a part of you, even in the ground it seeps through the earth and creates a new feeling for another to live with. You were a mystery, a deafening pause before a seated eulogy. I looked to you for love when I couldn't get full from my own. You were bloodshot skies before my coffee was done brewing. I remember looking astonished by the way you rose from your slumber, unprepared for the day, but heavily induced with enough beauty to face anything that came your way. There's a rising tension in the missing, in-between the breaks and brusing where you had loved me. We never made love, but love made us long before our lips touched. As soon as my feet hit the floor, I'm flying. I don't know how to remove myself from a past that has me in a headlock, twisting and turning me into an unwanted submission. I scream out mercy, but all it does is cut off more of my breathing. Some humans leave us for something better, someone more suitable for the next chapter of a life we thought we'd be a part of. My sunset died the day you left. My sunrise forgot how to reveal a new day when you took it with you. I don't write to relive or rehash what we once were. I try to uncover a grave where you left me so I can live again. I try to become someone to believe in, a tumbling truth made from a loss that's bigger than any grudge I could ever hold. You'll always be my full moon." (at Texas) https://www.instagram.com/p/CaGsFRKMHEY/?utm_medium=tumblr

[luminara]

Soukoku

A Love Like War by psychncislover (37,883 - ongoing)

The city of Yokohama was maintained by two Mafia Families. When an enemy targets the Nakahara Family, they find their only hopes lies in an alliance... with their greatest enemy, the Tsushima Family. But their help comes with a price - a marriage between the two heirs! Will both sides survive not only this enemy, but each other?

Only Human by TheGeatCatsby (62,143 - complete)

Shortly after the defeat of Mimic, Dazai Osamu leaves the Port Mafia. Wanting to take advantage of the situation, the government sends Nakahara Chuuya to gain his trust.

carve your love into my skin by Dont_Wake_The_Writer (64,820 - ongoing)

Chuuya looks underneath Dazai's bandages without his permission. What he finds underneath changes everything.

can the city forgive by erytheia (27,658 - ongoing)

Chuuya knows he’s so so close, fingertips just barely brushing the possibilities between them. But Dazai’s the one calling the shots again, and he’s yanking it away, out of Chuuya’s grasp, taking absolute control before Chuuya even knows he’s given it up. Every single facet of their relationship is one-sided, both of them too blind and too stubborn to stop for a second and consider what’s on the other side of the wall between them before they try to tear their way through it.

A Dandy In The Underworld by idontevenlogic (72,606 - ongoing)

Dazai presented the white candle with one hand and stretched his other hand out towards Chuuya. “My life to defend until your bitter end! Through the fire and iron of Hell, I order you to walk with me! I name you—”

Dazai’s eyes fluttered open as a tired smile spread across his lips at the sight of Chuuya’s impossibly stormy eyes widening with the realization of what specific spell the executive was performing. Nearly falling, the Wellspring altered his course in an attempt to flee from the range of the spell, but the power of the sigil’s pull had already latched onto him like a noose and began to pull him back towards Dazai, despite his wounded hollering and ceaseless writhing.

“—I name you, Nakahara Chuuya, my familiar!”

* * *

Or: Nakahara Chuuya returns to Yokohama and is forced into aiding the Port Mafia in helping them capture a mysterious, dangerous hacker from a checkered past. Along the way, he has to adjust to his new life as the familiar to the most infamous warlock in all of Yokohama: the one and only Dazai Osamu.

of bells, coffees, and love in between by KyuBaisu (40,398 - complete)

Chuuya just wants to eat with his sister, but he ends up wearing a gown, make-up, and high-heels in a fake wedding.

Dazai just wants to see the girl from the advertisement he did years ago, the girl with the ginger hair, blue eyes, and a never disappearing annoyed expression.

A Collision of Fates by dgalerab (83,603 - complete)

Dazai Osamu has always known his fate - to become the vessel of the Hollow God, a god hellbent on reuniting with Its lover, the Tainted God, and wreaking havoc on the world.

But that doesn't mean he can't try going on a last ditch effort of a quest trying to stop it from happening.

hide the truth by writingfromtheshadows (24,611 - complete)

When Chuuya wakes up in the middle of an ongoing fight without any memory of how he got there or what happened to him, he ends up turning to someone saved as 'bandage-waster' in his phone. Somehow, it just feels like the right decision.

Gifted by TheGreatCatsby (28,863 - ongoing)

The government's experiments with genetics to induce "gifts" in children is a well-kept secret. Dazai is sent to infiltrate one of the facilities and gather information. He is assigned to be the nurse of one of the facility's oldest and most successful experiments.

Message Received by hellosweetie17 (26,579 - ongoing)

Late for work, Chuuya collides with a stranger on the sidewalk. A stranger who happens to be annoying, frustrating, flirtatious, and even worse—gorgeous. Thanks to a tricky sleight of hand, their encounter leads to Chuuya texting the wrong number.

Dazai Osamu begrudgingly finds happiness (It's a long road) by BlueFlameSakura (34,810 - ongoing)

Dazai Osamu had never even dreamt  about this happening to him, not even his worst nightmares could compare to this. To being married off to some stupid alpha prince as a mockery of a peace offering.

North- and South-Yokohama had been at war for several centuries now, and as much as the brunette would like a bit more of the tranquility peace between their nations would provide, couldn't it have been done with someone else? Or in another few decades?

Well, apparently not.

How to Hornswoggle Death by SecretlyACatLady (20,544 - ongoing)

This wasn't what Chuuya had in mind when he hoped for a big haul. ----- In which Chuuya is a fisherman with an adventurous past and Dazai is a merman who tries to bully Chuuya into killing him.

keep you alive, set you on fire by flyby (23,574 - complete)

Dazai steps out in a dress and heels for a mission, since the gown won't fit Yosano. He's only supposed to spend an hour or so leading their targets on a dance around a charity gala, but the unexpected arrival of a certain Port Mafia Executive threatens to disrupt all his plans. And when he and Chuuya find themselves finally face to face, they end up entwined in a tense game of mutual provocation...

bad enough for you by Maristella (28,555 - complete)

There are two reasons why Chuuya tolerates Dazai: 1.) The god inside Chuuya hates him; 2.) Chuuya definitely hates the god more than the stinking demon mackerel.

Or, alternatively, that one time Dazai and Chuuya swaps abilities, and Arahabaki was never the same.

360 degrees by setosdarkness (11,060 - complete)

Chuuya gets cursed by an Ability that forces him to eternally live out his biggest regret. Unlike the other victims who end up killing themselves or hurting others, Chuuya goes into a coma.

For his biggest regret is—

[groundhog day AU with a twist, where Chuuya relives the day Dazai leaves the Port Mafia over and over and over and over]

black /// reciprocity set by setosdarkness (3,363 - complete)

Soulmate AU where your soulmate mark will only appear on your skin once you’ve fallen in love with your soulmate.

Chuuya has Dazai’s name on his neck while Dazai’s skin is bare of any names.

partners by setosdarkness (27,746 - ongoing)

Chuuya realizes that he’s been married to Dazai since they’re 15: The Fic.

Featuring: wedding fairs, faked marriage registries, angry calls to newspaper agencies for unsolvable crosswords, fake leather couches, love epiphanies and falling in love, not necessarily in that order.

This Way Lies Madness by setosdarkness (41,338 - ongoing)

It’s supposed to be simple. Go in, hand over the questionnaires, wait a few minutes, take the answered questionnaires, get the fuck out. Chuuya should have known, with his shitty luck, that nothing’s ever going to be simple for him.

(—the one where Chuuya inadvertently catches the attention of quite possibly the worst serial killer in history, Dazai) (—police-trainee!Chuuya, inmate!Dazai)

our hearts steeped in hate by setosdarkness (10,202 - ongoing)

Needing to kiss your soulmate to stay alive sounds romantic in context, but absolutely shitty in reality if you’re bound to someone you despise with all your heart and soul.

The act of being human by purplesan (31,457 - complete)

‘This is Chuuya Nakahara, your new caretaker.’ his mother stated. Dazai’s eyes only widened in shock.

‘A robot?’

‘Kind of a degrading term, but yes; a robot.’

Dazai’s glaring only intensified. ‘I don’t need some pathetic excuse of a toy as a caretaker. No one can replace Odasaku anyway. Couldn't you have gotten me a pet instead?’

Chuuya didn’t seem to be affected by Dazai’s insults, which only showed how very non-human he actually was.

‘Stop behaving like a spoiled brat! We could have sent you to a clinic the moment you decided to behave like this, but instead we spent a lot of money on getting you this expensive solution.’

‘You could have spent more money on getting protection for Odasaku.’

(In which all 7 year-old Dazai really wants is to get back Odasaku, but gets Chuuya instead. Though in the end, perhaps the hatrack isn't all that terrible)

chuuya is red hot and dazai is so not by toriosaurus (12,040 - complete)

Dazai couldn't wrap his brain around it. How could the student population think that Chuuya Nakahara was more attractive than him? And, alright, sure, maybe professors shouldn't get caught up in petty drama. But to Dazai, this wasn't just drama. This was war. A war in which he was not going to lose.

The wooing art by holdinglucy (20,940 - complete)

The one where Dazai ended up with more tattoos than he intended to. Or:

Dazai's attempts at wooing the very hot, very dangerous tattoo artist he's just met.

Wrapped up in You by quinnlocke (100,935 - complete)

Chuuya just wants to get through his day as a reptile expert, but there's a bandaged lunatic in his reptile house trying to get murdered by his snakes.

Saving the man's life is a courtesy, taking him home is just asking for trouble.

still still still by toriosaurus (112,578 - complete)

Finally, Chuuya eloquently said, “I don’t want to date you.” Dazai huffed. “Yeah, well, I’m not too thrilled at the idea of having a crazy rockstar boyfriend. But you got us into this mess, you need to help us get out of it.” Had Dazai gone insane? Nakahara Chuuya and Dazai Osamu, dating? Had Chuuya not made it clear through the dozens of direct and indirect meetings that he despised Dazai with every fiber in his body.

Featuring: drunk tweets, falling in love, horrendous song writing, cheesy interviews, learning how to "fake it," and Chuuya getting over the headache that is Dazai. Not necessarily in that order.

where your loyalties lie by writingfromtheshadows (163,126 - complete)

Loyalty is the foundation of the yakuza code, something that was drilled into Chuuya at an early age. However, his lessons did not cover how to manage a political marriage with his organization's oldest rival.

color theory by setosdarkness (2,469 - complete)

Soulmate AU where your heart glows whenever you’re with your soulmate. The color of the glow depends on your feelings for them.

(the one where Chuuya and Dazai make sure to wear layers and layers of clothes and/or bandages just so they can hide their feelings.)

A Heat of Convenience /// A Mark of Inconvenience by dgalerab (19,902 - complete)

PART 1: Yosano won't give Dazai suppressants unless he can prove he's having a healthy amount of heats. Dazai tries to outsmart her. He fails. Chuuya picks up the slack.

PART 2: Dazai gets used to his new arrangement with Chuuya as his heat partner by forcing Chuuya to claim him. It works both better and worse than he expected.

centrifugal/centripetal by TopHat69 (154,138 - ongoing)

[No Summary Available] A/B/O Dynamics

A Catspaw in the Wolf Court by dgalerab (58,357 - complete)

Prince Dazai, a single werecat in a court of wolves, is to be married off to Prince Chuuya, a fox in the kingdom that accepts everyone. He's given one instruction: bring back a defector to the wolves and topple Chuuya's kingdom from the inside.

Things, of course, get more complicated than that.

Counting the Days by Neiro Gin (Neiroa) (23,575 - complete)

How will a certain bandage-wearing ex-Mafioso detective react to hearing that his former partner-who-is-definitely-not-more-than-that has…

…a girlfriend?

“He has been all lovey-dovey with her ever since they came back together!”

“No way! How could any girl fall for that short hat rack?”

“I heard she’s glued to him every single minute of the day. He seems to really like her as well! I’ve never seen him so sweet to anybody!”

“Even if—and that’s a BIG if—she loves him, he’s not the type to just fall in love after only knowing someone for a short amount of time.”

“She’s French.”

“…”

“D-Dazai-san? Dazai-san?!”

Countdown by setosdarkness (31,175 - ongoing)

Eternally-single Chuuya is dared by his friends to date someone. Chuuya eventually agrees, but adds a condition: if the guy he chooses breaks up with him within 10 days, it will suffice as proof that Chuuya’s not meant for dating and therefore his friends will stop nagging at him about his non-existent lovelife.

Thinking that it’s an easy win, Chuuya chooses to date Dazai, his asshole childhood friend who’s known to be a serial womanizer.

Chuuya... is very wrong.

don't you ever tame your demons by writingfromtheshadows (108,592 - complete)

Every year, a handful of children are born with the ability to command supernatural powers. Thousands of dollars and dozens of trained specialists are tasked with identifying, tracking down, and labeling each one as Deviant. Once identified, they have no rights other than those that are permitted to them, and disobedience is a crime punishable by death.

Chuuya has never known a life outside of the routine he's forced to follow, but when the boss of Yokohama's Port Mafia offers him a chance of freedom, Chuuya is not prepared for the rebellion he's stumbling into.

Chuuya Nakahara and the Falling Camelia by Anonymous (12,628 - ongoing)

A new year begins at Hogwarts, and between a nervous wreck of a first year Chuuya met over the summer managing to become Akutagawa's arch enemy upon their first meeting, a pair of second year's younger sisters' complicating things, and leftover tension with Tachihara, Chuuya is in for a hectic term.

Things take a turn for the worse, however when there are rumors about a man eating were tiger, Dementors -- unspeakable creatures who bring back horrible memories and can steal your very soul -- surrounding Hogwarts as wardens and watchmen, and a murderer breaks out of Azkaban, a high security prison in the wizarding world.

Especially when that murderer is dead set on getting his hands on Dazai.

Chuuya Nakahara and the Chambers of Draconia by Anonymous (51,820 - complete)

After a first year full of questions, Chuuya barely gets a moment to breathe before his second year proves the last to be gentle in comparison. With tension among friends and the looming threat of an unknown danger, he'll need all of the clues he can get -- not just for the safety of the school, but for the strength of his friendships.

Madder Aubrieta by hypermoyashi (21,790 - ongoing)

Flowers bloomed, rain fell, and the whims of nature dictated all. This was the status quo that Chuuya knew, and it was a surprisingly delicate order. Change came in the form of a mysterious man he found, woken from an ageless sleep by none other than Chuuya himself.

Margin of Error /// Scale of Success by izanyas (31,416 - complete)

PART 1: After a failed assassination attempt on his person, Dazai finds himself recovering in an unfamiliar place: a hospital where criminals abound, staff and patients alike, and Dazai's own doctor is a little too attractive.

PART 2: Dazai makes due on his promise. Chuuya has to revise his.

[infiniteshawn]

Since We’re Alone | 3

a/n: 3.5k words. the calm before the storm. and a whole lot of fluff.

Andrew had hoped to have Phoebe on a flight to Los Angeles within twenty-four hours. This was not the case.

Ideally, Phoebe would have had her Handmaid’s Tale-induced epiphany and replied to Shawn with a simple “I’m in.” Instead, she agreed to continue thinking about it, and if all went well, there was a chance for a possible meeting.

Which she never intended on following through with.

“Yes, I know he’s hot, mom, but it’s just n-“

Phoebe sighed and chewed her lip, interrupted once again by her mother on the other end of the line. She felt as if her own self was the only one with actual morals, as everyone in her life insisted that she bite the bullet and take part in a completely dishonest and misleading attention-cry.

Her boss pointed out that he’s famous.

Her mother pointed out that he’s attractive.

Sophie pointed out that it would make for a fantastic article.

And Shawn himself was on television talking about it. Oh, my god, Phoebe thought to herself.

“I’ll call you back,” she muttered to her mother, unmuting her practically-Jurassic Sony Wega to tune into the interview.

“I’m just really happy right now,” he flashed those damn pearly whites, causing the interviewer to erupt in a giddy blush-fest. Phoebe scoffed.

“With the success of the album and tour coming up, everything seems to be coming together.”

Phoebe cursed herself for leaving the TV on. She forgot Entertainment Tonight—an even worse version of what she did for a living--existed.

“That’s great, Shawn,” the young woman grinned, uncrossing her legs to cross them again, “and I understand that love is in the air for you, too?” she asked, and Phoebe wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a question or a statement. The world seemed to be in this unsure state of limbo about Shawn Mendes’ relationship status, and she felt relieved that she wasn’t completely subjected to this so soon. No one really knew what was going on. Not even Phoebe.

Shawn tossed his head back with a chuckle, “Caught the Grammys, eh? Yeah, my girlfriend’s great.”

Fuck. There goes that, Phoebe thought. He so easily admitted it. A public confession in full confidence was her biggest nightmare. Even though she’d barely scratched the surface, she knew she was in deep.

_________________________

What the fuck she messaged, still refusing Shawn’s offer to just text him. Giving him her number would give him complete access to her any time, and she didn’t need his management on her tail. She hadn’t agreed to anything.

Phoebe hoped she hadn’t worried Shawn with her DM, reminding herself that it was his team forcing him into this mess. As far as she knew, Shawn was pretty innocent.

Sorry she added, and then, ET interview caught me off guard

Shawn was already typing.

@shawnmendes: Can we talk about it?

Phoebe huffed. If she was being honest, she didn’t want to talk about it. But he’d seen the message, and the seconds were ticking, and Phoebe’s stomach dipped when she saw he was typing again.

@shawnmendes: Andrew says you live in Toronto?

Phoebe groaned. She’d read the message, she did live in Toronto, and there was no way she could lie because he was definitely going to find out anyway.

I can call you she sent, willing to surrender her ten digits of freedom in order to avoid what was to come. But Shawn was hot on her heels.

@shawnmendes: No, can’t talk about it over the phone

Phoebe wondered if this was more serious than people were leading on. Maybe his phone was tapped, monitored by the people in charge of him. The thought made her mouth dry.

And then an address popped up. An address that was two blocks away.

@shawnmendes: Red or white?

_________________________

Phoebe chewed her lip in the mirrored elevator, questioning if she was underdressed. An oversized long-sleeve shirt and bottoms that couldn’t be described as anything other than airport pants hung off of her. She looked down at her socked feet inside of her Birkenstocks—definitely underdressed, she concluded.

“10” lit up the LED display and the doors opened, and rather than being greeted by a carpeted beige hallway, the last man she’d locked lips with stood before her. With a massive grin on his face.

“So good to see you!” he smiled, pulling her in for a hug.

Phoebe blinked, regaining feeling in her arms and bringing them up to wrap around his firm torso. Before she could get much of a grip, Shawn was releasing her and walking down the long hallway.

“Thanks for agreeing to come over,” he spoke, looking over his shoulder, “I just figured,” he paused, looking forward again, “we probably shouldn’t be seen until,” another pause. Shawn cursed himself for talking too much, especially before whatever this was had been established.

“Don’t worry,” Phoebe interjected, slowing her short legs as Shawn twisted the doorknob, “I don’t want to be seen either.”

Shawn pushed the door open and motioned for Phoebe to go inside, where she stepped out of the way and waited for him to tell her what to do or where to go. Shawn took note of her manners.

Phoebe was hesitant to look around, feeling as if it wasn’t her space. Afraid to get too close but too curious to hold back, she obliged when Shawn poured her a glass of sauvignon blanc and began showing her around.

“I signed the lease when I was nineteen,” he spoke, pausing to sip his drink. She’d seen the kitchen, admiring the dark cabinets and chocolate marble countertops. It looked nothing like the late-80’s vibe her appliances radiated.

“And since then I’ve just kept renewing it,” he added, stopping where the tile transitioned to hardwood and the kitchen became the living room, “I always thought I’d buy it out, but, I don’t know,” he chewed his lip, twinkling the rightmost keys of the upright piano as he passed, “it’s just never been home. I’m twenty-three. Who knows where I’ll be in five years.”

“Surprised you’re still here at all,” Phoebe spoke, taken aback as Shawn looked down at her with a surprised expression.

“Are you crazy?” he giggled, “I love my job, but you wouldn’t catch me dead living in LA.”

Phoebe nodded. All signs were pointing her to the realization that Shawn didn’t want this either, and the whole thing was being orchestrated by the people managing him. He didn’t want to leave Toronto. Fuck, he hadn’t even looked like he wanted to be at the Grammys.

“And then through there’s just a spare bedroom—the other one’s back there,” he said, pointing back to the kitchen, “and then my room. Bathroom attached, just so you know.”

Phoebe nodded, swirling her wine around in its glass. Shawn had a beautiful home, but she was having a hard time understanding why she was in it. Her hair fell from behind her ear.

“I’m sorry, can we,” Shawn spoke nervously, almost in broken English. He was bouncing around on the balls of his feet, but not in an excited way, “Can we talk about this? Here,” he motioned back toward the living room, adjusting one of the cushions of his stark-white couch for Phoebe to have a seat.

“I know this must be so weird for you,” he started, finding her gaze. She took the opportunity to give him a one-over, too nervous to so obviously check him out before. He was in black jeans and a Henley. She once again felt underdressed. At least he’d forgotten socks.

“We’re already in this mess, though,” he continued, and her gaze fell to his lips, and then his chin, where she noticed that he had a bit of scruff that she’d never seen before, “it’s just, they’re really pushing me to do this,” he spoke lowly, as if he was worried someone would hear him. Phoebe half-expected him to look over his shoulder, “that was a really close call, at the Grammys, and if we just swept it under the rug, they feel like there would be a lot of loose ends.”

Phoebe nodded, still not having added to the conversation.

“Plus, you’ll get some time off work. This is probably good experience for your job. You might see the world or whatever. Who knows? It could be fun,” he grinned, and she smiled back. But it wasn’t convincing.

“Look,” Shawn spoke, voice low again, “my best friend got married last year. He’s got a kid on the way. I just feel like everyone’s, you know, living, and I’m at this standstill where I’m doing the same thing I was doing when I was seventeen,” Phoebe frowned. He avoided eye contact, “it would just be nice having someone around that’s,” he paused, “normal. Not so-LA-it-hurts.”

It broke her heart.

Phoebe sighed, and Shawn looked at her once again. His eyes looked sunken in. Dark circles accented the paleness of the rest of his face, “Okay, I’m in.”

Shawn’s lips parted as he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly, “You’re in?”

“For now, yes,” she nodded, stretching her legs out in front of her and wiggling her socked toes, “on the terms that the contract is nice to me.”

Shawn grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The tone was still heavy.

“Play me something,” Phoebe blurted, and Shawn’s eyes widened in response.

“What?”

“Come on, Rockstar,” she grinned, figuring the glass of wine was reaching her brain, “I’m supposed to be dating you, but I’ve never heard you play?”

Shawn grinned and shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

Phoebe relaxed her shoulders and leaned a couple inches in his direction, “Please?”

Shawn sighed, but it wasn’t a disappointed one, “Alright.”

He placed his glass on the coffee table and stood from the sofa, retrieving an acoustic guitar from its stand in the corner of the living room, “Do you,” he paused in disbelief that she was making him do this, “have a preference?”

“I was actually a big fan of yours back in second year.”

“Really?” Shawn laughed with his eyebrows raised and a sly grin gracing his lips.

“Yeah,” she nodded, “SM-three days.”

“What’s your favourite?” Shawn asked with the excitement of a puppy.

Phoebe took a deep breath. She couldn’t believe she was admitting this, “Mutual, but it’s kind of upbeat, you can play something els-“ she spoke, but Shawn was smiling and already plucking the strings, and she knew she didn’t need to keep going because of how quickly he interrupted.

“I can do Mutual.”

_________________________

The next morning, Phoebe danced in her kitchen to the sounds of sizzling bacon and “Mutual” by Shawn Mendes.

For the very first time, she was excited about this.

“So you’re really gonna do it?” asked Sophie on their morning commute, navigating through the herds of Toronto-banker-sheep. People moved even more frantically in the winter months.

“No,” Phoebe answered, “I’m going to LA to scope it out. Then,” she emphasized, looking up a few inches to meet Sophie’s denying gaze, “I’ll decide.”

“That you’re gonna do it,” Sophie concluded flatly, sticking her hand out and motioning to an Uber that was driving far too fast.

“If I’m gonna do it,” Phoebe corrected.

They began crossing the street, Phoebe struggling to keep up with the swift movements of Sophie’s long legs.

“You won’t have any issues convincing Margaret,” Sophie sighed as they made a right, forcing Phoebe behind her for a few strides.

Phoebe wondered if what she was sensing was jealousy. She figured she’d worry about that later.

“As much as I wish it were me,” Sophie spoke, and then stopped abruptly upon reaching their building, “I think you should do it.”

Sophie smiled as she swung the door open for Phoebe, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

_________________________

It was a small plane. Andrew had been nice and placed her in business class—probably some sort of a bribe, Phoebe figured—but she wasn’t complaining. There was plenty of room for her not-very-long legs, and the drinks were complementary.

She sat on the aisle, although it didn’t make much difference because there was only one aisle and two seats on each side. The spot beside her remained vacated, and she was hoping to sneakily scoot over once the seatbelt lights went out and the plane was in the air.

Ten minutes to takeoff. Phoebe put her tattered copy of American Gods in her fraying Longchamp and closed her eyes, pressing “play” on a podcast she was sure she wasn’t going to pay attention to.

David Dobrik’s laugh was loud in her headphones when she felt a tap on her shoulder, causing her to quickly tug her earbuds out and clutch her bag a little tighter.

Of course.

The tree of limbs that was Shawn Mendes was stowing his backpack--with his sweatpants-clad thighs in front of her face.

“Make some room,” he spoke with a smile as Phoebe tucked her legs in, allowing him to crawl across her. She hadn’t been expecting this.

Her cheeks were red hot as Shawn made the most noise possible getting settled in, stopping abruptly to ask, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, “just didn’t know we were travelling together. I guess you’ve gotta get to LA too,” she gave a tired, tight-lipped smile.

Shawn looked a little discouraged.

“Sorry,” he paused, breathing in, “I guess I should’ve asked you if this was okay, I wasn’t think-“

“We could’ve carpooled,” Phoebe grinned, and Shawn looked as if she’d taken the weight of a train off his shoulders. Shawn smiled with a slight tilt of his head.

“So,” Phoebe spoke, “what are we watchin’?”

“What?”

“Five and a half hours, Mendes,” she replied, “that’s a whole lot of Pheebs.”

They both giggled and began looking for a movie, determined to press “play” at the same time.

_________________________

Phoebe looked around. The lights were out and they were halfway through some alien film that neither of them cared for but were both too polite to object. Her screen had been paused for a while, allowing her to observe the white interior of the aircraft as her mind ran wild.

Shawn’s movie was a few minutes ahead, but he seemed to have caught on because his headphones were out and his right cheek was pressed against the headrest.

“What’s up,” he spoke, and it wasn’t really a question. The awkwardness of not knowing each other unfortunately called on small talk to fill silences.

Phoebe tugged the plastic from her ears, though nothing had been playing. She released a little laugh and spoke, “What am I doing?”

Shawn sighed and straightened his back a little, but kept his head tilted in her direction as he responded, “I don’t want to say anything because I don’t want to push you.”

Phoebe shook her head, “I did it to myself when I kissed you.”

Shawn turned a darker shade of pink and hoped she wouldn’t notice.

“Phoebe,” Shawn spoke, and she woke up a little. That was the first time she’d heard her name escape his lips. She liked it. “Come on, let’s start small. Tell me about yourself.”

“You want the whole life story?”

“No, I want to discover that stuff on my own. How about,” he paused, searching her dark blue eyes, “what’s your biggest weakness?”

Phoebe squinted a bit in his direction as she wondered if he was taking note of her weak spots for future reference.

But his curious chocolate eyes and boyish grin suggested otherwise.

“I think my greatest weakness is myself,” Phoebe started, “I expect too much because I expect everyone to think like me. I go above and beyond and they don’t, and I wind up disappointed. Every time.

“But it always results in my being used because I’d rather be taken advantage of than abandoned, I guess,” she admitted, and it was merely a whisper.

It didn’t stay so grim for long, though, because Shawn said something and then Phoebe said something, and they were both laughing louder than intended.

It took the gentleman behind them popping his head up and asking, “Do you mind?” to shut them up.

They laughed.

_________________________

Shawn must have drifted off at some point, because Phoebe noticed he was lightly snoring with his head resting between the seat and the wall of the plane.

“Attention passengers,” the pilot came on the PA, “we will be landing in ten minutes. Thank you for flying with Air Canada.”

She smoothed her ponytail, sitting up with determination. Phoebe knew what she wanted. She just had to be stealth.

She leaned toward Shawn’s limp frame, right arm outstretched, trying her best not to disturb him but desperate to see LA illuminated in the pitch black.

Shawn snapped awake, catching Phoebe off guard.

She stumbled, redirecting her hand to his thigh to catch herself, landing with her face just inches from his own. Shawn gulped.

Her gaze fell to his lips.

“Hey there,” they spoke.

“Sorry,” she apologized, pushing off his leg to get herself back into her seat, “I just really wanted to see out the window.”

“Oh!” Shawn quietly exclaimed, seemingly putting the pieces together. Effortlessly, he reached over and slid up the window cover.

It was gorgeous. Clusters of lights winked hello to Phoebe Rose for as far as she could see. If she squinted hard enough, she could just make out where they ended and the Pacific began.

“Don’t fly often?” Shawn asked, eyes on her as she admired her view.

“Rarely,” Phoebe spoke, and Shawn leaned back so she could get a better look. She instinctively responded, leaning forward.

But Shawn could feel her breath on his neck and her hand on his knee and he wasn’t sure if all of this was a blessing or a curse.

He wanted to find out.

The seatbelt light came on. The wheels came out. The plane touched down.

Phoebe grabbed Shawn’s hand.

A few minutes later, Shawn crawled across their seats to retrieve his bag. Phoebe regretted bringing a luggage big enough to check because she didn’t want to be an inconvenience, but then she quickly remembered that without her, Shawn would likely be in deep shit right about now.

Coming back to reality, she watched as he reached above his head, causing his hoodie to ride up and bring his cotton t-shirt with it. He’d developed more fuzz below his belly button since she’d last seen him shirtless—in 2019, on a larger-than-life billboard in Yonge-Dundas Square.

She wanted to touch it.

Then, she wondered what was wrong with her.

And before she knew it, Shawn was pulling her out of her seat and off of the plane toward baggage claim.

“Flight AC753” flashed on the screen above the metal conveyor belt, and Phoebe switched out of Airplane Mode as bags began emerging.

She watched the cell phone provider texts roll in before switching off roaming, and Shawn had located her bag and pulled it from the contraption before she could even tell him which one it was.

The platform for car pickup services looked busy, but before they could fully round the corner, Shawn came to a halt.

“You might want these,” he spoke, retrieving his black Ray Bans from his carry-on. Phoebe looked at him, confused, but listened as he talked, “out the doors is our Uber. I think it’s just a black Malibu. Ask if it’s for “Shawn” and he’ll let you in. I’ll be there in ten.”

Phoebe mentally questioned his methods but did what he said, and once she saw the crowd of fifty-some teenage girls with their iPhones out, she understood.

She had no idea what she had gotten herself into.

______________________________

taglist: @enchantingbrowneyedgirl @its-the-unknownspidey @everytigerisakity @harold-hugs @ccidk @particularshawnn @ssweet-empowerment @tamegray @loveat2 @heyits-claire @martinimendes @shxwnmxndess@sunriseshawn @jollybonkpatroldonkey @jesuscheistkaren@casuallycoolcloud @sinplisticshawn@deafeningdeanhoagieturtle @rosieblondie @hannahlouiseee @change-perspective13 @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @calthesensation @livsalzy @illumelilac

[kinetic-elaboration]

January 6: Epiphany (Actually, A Rant)

I have treated myself so badly today. So much for winter vacation and a new year actually aiding me in any way in my life! What is it about working 4 hours on site that makes me just want to completely give up on everything as soon as I’m off work?

The actual answer is that I worked 9-1, and then I went grocery shopping (at the big/intimidating Food Lion--with real bakery section! I am easy to please) and then I had lunch. It was a delicious lunch, too, this fucking amazeballs sandwich (and pretty decent soup) from a coffee shop near said huge Food Lion, and I ate it while reading more of Roadside Picnic because hey!! I read things now. But that took a long while. So I didn’t start working again until past 3 and I still had four fucking hours because 8 hour work days exist to actively destroy people’s souls. So there it was, getting dark out, and I’m still sitting there in the eternal purgatory of reading law review articles in order to mine metadata, while I compulsively check both the time and the state of American democracy--and occasionally tumblr, even though this is THE most irritating place I know on the internet during times of political strife in particular. A bunch of unsourced, un-time-stamped, hysteria-inducing op’s circling around in a frenzy. Is there real info on tumblr? Yeah but mixed in with who-even-knows what else. I also dislike hearing from a commentariat of unknown national origin(s).

So when I was finally off at like 7:20 I just kinda disappeared down a rabbit hole of my own making to try to Ignore and Forget and then what do you know--it’s 2 in the morning. Really hate me at this particular moment. I also hate that I have to go back to work tomorrow. I like working on site but I hate having to roll out of bed at a particular time (in this way and in this way only remote work has spoiled me) and I hate having this bifurcated day, and I hate having to come home after what feels like it should be a complete day and having to do more work, and I hate that I have this endless abyss of work AFTER completely 4 hours where I rushed to do everything because it’s only 4 hours (not that long in the library, 5 million years at home) because that’s how long we’re supposed to staff the building every day between semesters even though SOME OF US have jobs with absolutely NO CORRELATION to the comings and goings of students and could really use some more on site time.

So fucking stupid. Not that I was actually that busy because the same Sex-Fiend-Appointed Dumb Bat who ruined the post for the election AND Christmas has ruined it for work, too. This is one of the busiest publishing times of the year and we’ve been off for two weeks and there’s not been a SHRED of campus mail in the past two days. I feel like this is probably more USPS’s fault than campus mail’s fault (see: my Christmas gifts taking nearly 3 weeks to travel from VA to WV, a distance of 5 hours by car) but it would still be nice if someone thought to uhhhhhhhh tell us what tf is going on. Just like as a fucking courtesy or whatever. Because now I’m going to be living in fear that any day now I’ll walk into the library and not be able to open the door for all the backlog of suddenly delivered packages. Also when BL tried to ask the Relevant Sub Dean about all this, he was super unhelpful, but just came back with a different question. There are literally like 2 people on the admin side as of this point. I know people can do stuff remotely but that nearly every member of the library staff comes in at least once a week and the entire rest of the law school is almost entirely staffed by people who’ve seen the inside of this building maybe five times in the past ten months really pisses me off. Feels like we’re all alone in the ship trying to keep it afloat and everyone else is like uhhhhhhhhhhhhh maybe I’ll show up sometime in January?? Fuck off.

(I don’t mean to sound like I don’t care about the virus or social distancing but what I AM saying is that actually the building both cannot be and never was totally abandoned and all the little shit that other people didn’t even have to THINK about from mid-March to mid-August still got done because SOME of us braved the world outside of our respective homes and we got zero credit or appreciation for that and that’s what I mean by fuck off. The world didn’t stop. Other people just picked up slack for you.)

Anyway so I’m doing all this again tomorrow but hopefully my lunch will be shorter, and thus I will finish earlier. I’m tempted to work through it (since I’ll be doing mostly reading anyway--more LR stuff) but I’m trying not to do that this year. I’m trying to read this year!! I am reading dammit! I am a person I still recognize, underneath it all!

[berrybang97]

   “Hello, how can I help you?”

      Your smile burned into his mind like a scarlet ember in the ashes, a picture so clear and wholesome, one that he held onto and rememorated with great endearment every time the jet-pack blues kicked in and decided to overtake the tiniest bit of happiness he had left in that trembling soul of his.

    “H-Hi...,” he uttered in a timid voice, so quiet that, if it weren't for you incidentally looking at his lips shape around the word, you wouldn't be able to understand it.

      You suppressed a chuckle, head tilting to one side to analyse the boy in front of you. Although you've seen him around several times – given that you were the one that would take his order every time he stopped by – you couldn't help but admire his unintentional genuineness. He was really something else, and you didn't mind at all.

      He wasn't cocky, that you could guarantee. In fact, he was the most sheepish guy you have encountered in your whole career as a barista – which wasn't wide to begin with, you were just a part-timer that happened to have their shift match with the time span the boy sitting in front of the counter allocated for his daily caffeine-based beverage.

      You munched on your bottom lip so as to control the beaming grin that wanted to escape, and your eyes skimmed over his physique, taking in the beautiful details that seemed to charm you, and, therewith, spark a light of interest in your dreamy mind.

      His thin hair was dyed grey, as if sampled, with an eye-dropper, straight from the stormy clouds that would take over the sky on a rainy day. His bangs were already too long for him to blink comfortably, so he would sweep them away every two seconds – though you weren't exactly sure if it was the length of his hair or the obvious nervousness that made him thread his fingers through his lead-like locks so god damn often. In any way, you were in no place to complain – this simple action of his made him look a thousand times hotter.

      Moving down towards his eyes, you couldn't refrain yourself from simply admiring their beautiful shape and size – they were so big and, although almond-shaped, they would cut at the end in a winged line, offering him the flair of a tiny, adorable kitten. However, the eyeshadow that casted over his lids was in pure contradiction with your previous observation. It made him look more mature, and, oddly, even more masculine than he already was. Somehow, you felt your heart twitch at the thought, but you pushed it away as your gaze progressed downwards, past his amazingly-constructed pyramidal nose, and down to his plump, rose-tinted lips. What drove you crazy about him wasn't the luscious quality of his lips, nor the light-headening thought of how insanely soft they'd feel around yours. Instead, you found yourself dazed by the tiny mole that danced atop his mouth, a detail so cute, but oh-so-intoxicating, inducing, in your head, certain imagines that your brain should not produce about a mere client. Lastly, your eyes shifted towards his slender neck, and you gulped at how proeminent his Adam's apple was.

      You didn't want to admit it, but you wouldn't mind wrapping your hand around his neck, thumb padding at the tiny bump that protruded from his seemingly soft skin and moved along every time he spoke, and you also wouldn't mind having your lips melt against his in heated kisses that seemed nothing but prohibited in the current circumstances.

      You shook your head to wake yourself up from this exaggerated fantasy, cursing your own mind, in the process, for producing such sinful scenarios that had no place in a coffee shop, and definitely not during work hours.

      You cleared your throat. “So, uhm, what should it be?,” you asked innocently, trying to maintain your pristine posture. “The usual?”

      He managed a nod of the head, a molecular grin tugging at his lips. His hand dug into the pocket of his checkered, beige coat, grasping around for the leather wallet he had received just today. His birthday.

      As you were preparing his drink, you saw him pull out his new acquisition, and your brow arched in interest. “That must be new, right?,” you curiously questioned. “Your old one was made of some other kind of material. And it was brown, just like firewood,” you chuckled.

     He responded with a similar giggle, nodding and shaking his wallet as if to emphasise its uniqueness. “Yup, got rid of the old one,” he stated matter-of-factly. “This one's a gift.”

     You were already topping his drink with whipping cream when he said that. “Oh?”, you feigned wonder. “For what kind of occasion?”

     You could already guess the answer, but it was funnier to hear it from him, especially since you've already noticed a flush of pink creeping up on his cheeks. How adorable, he was getting shy all over again~

   “Uh...,” he was definitely becoming more flustered by the second, tugging at the collar of his blouse. “You know...”

      Your hand grasped the bottle of caramel topping, and you added a few, careful swirls on top of the whipped cream, popping on the lid once you were done.

      Seeing this, he was already counting the money in his wallet to extract the exact sum required for his prefered beverage. You shook your head, picking up a black, permanent marker that laid atop the counter. “Nu-uh,”, your pursed your lips, scribbling on the surface of the cup.

      He furrowed his brows, transfixed by your statement. “What do you–”

    “This one's on me”, you smiled playfully, handing him the cup. “Happy birthday, Jun~”

     Before he even had the chance to protest, his eyes fixed themselves on the cursive writing on the cup. Not only was his name written there, just like the usual, but a newfound information lay black against the plastic. A phone number.

      Jun's head shot up in your direction, eyes enlarged with miraculous bewilderment, as his whole body froze in a moment of pure epiphany. His – now dry – lips parted themselves as if dying to voice out his absolute marvel, but no sound managed to slide across his vocal chords in coherent formulations.

      None were needed though, as you simply shrugged, hand shifting into the shape of a universal “call me” gesture, leaving Jun frigid in his enthused state, suggested, especially, by the burning crimson that coloured his cheeks in the most delicate, yet alluring way.

[faean]

Endeavor x G. Neutral Reader x Hawks

Requested by: Anonymous

Rating: T+; Language and Sexual References/Innuendos

Word Length: 2072

Title: Villains... Or you two?

           “Of course, sir, I’ll head straight over there.” I hang up, putting my phone in my pocket as I leave the coffee shop.

           So, the flame head finally had an epiphany, I think to myself. These past few weeks have been, strenuous, to say the least. Working with heroes guaranteed an interesting time, and I welcomed getting to know some of them personally.

           Not this time.

           I was paired with two of the top three heroes here in Musutafu, and I still cannot decide who got on my nerves more. Was it Endeavor and his blinding ambition? Or perhaps Hawks with his cringe-inducing arrogance? To be fair, I could look past such… qualities, if not for one particular reason that has made me regret becoming a Private Investigator.

           The two heroes flirted with me, unabashedly, ever since they requested to work with me on a cold case that was re-opened after 23 years. Quite obviously, this has led to numerous issues.

           One- We are on a case and must be professional. Which they regularly ‘forget’.

           Two- I have a decade on Hawks, and the gap was even larger between Endeavor and me.

           Three- They were willing to share me.

           Four- I am quirkless, and I did not become the best PI in the world just to be catered by these two.

           Five- That’s about it, but I wanted to hit a nice number to end on. So…

           Getting in my car, I make no effort to speed to the meeting location where Endeavor would share his findings with myself, Hawks, and the small police squad I was given charge of by the Chief of Police; who happens to be a good friend.

           Now, it may appear that I am indifferent about this case, but truth be told, I had solved it days ago. However, my ‘partners’ were reluctant to let me investigate on my own and had convinced the chief to ‘give us time to consolidate the evidence and prepare for a raid.’

           Apparently, the threat was ‘too great a risk’ for Japan’s best PI to take on alone; despite having crossed paths with the League of Villains multiple times during other investigations, arresting several of its members and still completing the task I was hired to do. All while being quirkless, those love-struck fools.

           Nevertheless, I listened to my superiors, ready to save their asses when the time inevitably comes for a confrontation… that they use for showboating.

           Arriving at a warehouse that was a secret meeting place for law enforcement, I stroll through the metal door, greeting a few colleagues as I made my way to the front of the group. With a stern look, I urge Endeavor to share his ‘findings’, ignoring Hawks’ flirting. Neither hero was perturbed by my blatant disregard for their advances, and Hawks was content with looking up into my eyes (being several inches taller than normal had its advantages; this was not one of them) as Endeavor spoke in his usual proud tone.

           “After much consideration and deliberation, we have deduced the location of the criminal organization that has been feeding vital intel to the League of Villains. After this brief, we will suit up and take action. Now…”

           Having lost interest in his droning, and not wanting to listen to Hawks comments, I let my mind wander on the multiple high-profile villains that were associated with this case. Over two decades ago, these few villains had banded together and wreaked havoc in northern Europe. After being discovered, they scattered, establishing small safehouses for information gathering, always in touch.

           I had been working on the case for nearly a year since learning of it, traveling everywhere, calling in favors. I had soon discovered that many of the safehouses had been sabotaged by an anonymous source, which I traced back to my home city in Japan; where the same villains had gathered once more to join forces with the League.

           They were, indeed, not be underestimated, having sold out several allies for personal benefit. Even after 23 years, there was little doubt that age would be a factor in the coming battle; after all, if they could handle an entire nation’s efforts at stopping them, they could certainly hold their own with a small task force. If that task force didn’t consist of specially trained officers, two pro heroes, and the best damn PI in the world.

           “You all know your roles, we leave in 15.”

           Endeavor had finished detailing the mission, and I took the opportunity to head to my car to suit up, having acquired numerous ‘resources’ over the years; many of which were standard issue, but specially fitted and adapted to me alone. It was for the best, as my fighting style sort of required me to stay adaptable, which helped when facing down those with quirks.

           My quiet time didn’t last, unfortunately, as it dawned on me that I was to ride with Endeavor and Hawks… Silently cursing myself for not having my motorbike, as that would mean the two would have to share the sidecar, which would be a hilarious sight-gag, I got into the driver seat and awaited their arrival.

           With a few minutes to spare, I put on a playlist I made to help me relax, while simultaneously pumping me up for a fight. Admittedly, a lot of it was from an animated show I adore; you know, ‘It’s also a gun!’

           While listening to the music, my mind began to wander, and I hesitantly entertained the idea of possibly allowing a single date with the two heroes. If we weren’t trying to save the city, and they at least tried to stay professional, then maybe after all was said and done, I’d go out with them. But, no. Worse was the fact that both were incredibly handsome, and Endeavor was a role-model for me when I was making a name for myself. And I may have a thing for younger guys…

           A heavy sigh escaped my lips when the heroes entered my car, signaling it was time for the raid. 

           “I’m impressed, it only took all seven of you to get me tied to this chair and hang it from the ceiling.” I say smugly.

           I was, obviously, tied to a chair dangling from the ceiling, the seven villains in a semicircle around me while my partners and squad were in the front room, fighting the countless lackeys they hired over the years. Thankfully, I got away from that pointless scuffle and was able to corner the villains we had been searching for. Naturally, they thought they had the upper-hand.

           Oh, were they wrong.

           Best part? The idiots started monologing. They took turns revealing all they had done, like they fucking rehearsed it. I was loving every second of it, considering they were holding my faux ear piece, which functioned as a recorder. They also removed my utility belt, claiming a toy gun and plastic knives. What they didn’t take was my bulletproof vest that was fitted to my body, so it looked natural; nearly a dozen real knives hidden on my person, including the one currently slicing away at my restraints; several shock-absorbing braces on my arms and legs that were reminiscent of an African hero’s panther suit; and a pair of faux glasses that I was wearing with thermal, night, infrared, and UV vision.

           Being kind enough to wait until the end of the monologue, I stayed in the chair, reclining with my legs crossed while snacking on a bagel I had tucked away, a knife twirling in my free hand. When they finally stopped, a string of threats was thrown towards me before one realized my bonds were broken.

           Having spent the 15 minutes they monologued mentally reviewing the info I gathered on them, creating a feasible plan to execute that would incapacitate the three villainesses and the three villains. Then, I was going to interrogate the behemoth of a person that was in charge to find out what secrets they had given to the League.

           The villainesses consisted of one who could electrically charge their muscles for extra strength and speed, one who could bend light to create barriers and turn invisible, and another who could sap the heat from objects to effectively freeze them. The villains, on the other hand, had one who could exhale hurricane force winds, one who resembled a scorpion with a tail and pincers, and another who could increase gravity in a small area. As for the behemoth, they could block out all pain, and had a one time use of a mutated quirk that allowed to double the pain experienced and force it onto someone else.

           Swinging from the chair and breaking the chain holding it, I spun it around as I descended, crashing it into the leader so I could focus on the other six. Hitting the ground rolling, my braces already storing energy, I blocked several charged punches from a villainess before judo flipping her into the tempest breather with the help of the braces, causing him to blow back the gravity shifter and knock him out while he, himself, got electrocuted. The villainess was knocked out from the force of the impact.

           Three down, three to go. Then, the main boss … I may play too many videogames in my spare time. Ah, well. I was having fun, but it got exponentially more exciting when I was charged by the heat sapper and scorpion man; or so they attempted to fool me with. My special glasses allowed me to see the light bender who was shadowing the heat sapper (I probably should’ve learned their names).

           All I had to due was time their movements, so they struck each other, which proved a challenge to me. After all, I needed the scorpion to strike and poison the heat sapper who would, in turn, flail and steal the heat of the light bender, freezing them in place.

           Or, I could go a route that relied on actual skill, and not arbitrary luck (although, there was a heroine back in the states who could manipulate luck; I think she was part of some sort of force with an ‘X’ in it?). 

           Dodging the tail thrust of the scorpion, I grabbed his tail and pulled him into an overclocked punch, knocking him out. Then, ducking under the grasp of the sapper, I grapple her, spin around, and suplex her into the light bender, using up the stored energy in my arm braces (and possibly breaking someone’s bone(s)).

           Finally, I moved on to the big one, seeing as they were finally able to pick themselves up from the ground and face me. I had to be careful with this one, seeing how they didn’t feel pain. But, as a favorite red-headed character from a show I like once said…

           ‘I don’t need him to feel pain; I just need him to GO DOWN!’

           They charged me in a fit of rage, swinging an arm at me. I leapt up, allowing my leg braces to absorb the impact as I was launched into a wall. Once again using my braces, I timed my velocity to kick off the wall with maximum force, shooting towards final villain, and with a simple twist and drop kick, they crashed through the building, skidding into the street.

           Strutting out into the main room where my squad and the heroes were preparing to breach the door that now lay splintered, I drunk in the praise of my squad (after an accidental misfire at me, which didn’t faze either them or me since I still wore my vest); having seen me in action before, they had an inkling of what to expect. As for the two males currently gawking at me, unable to respond, I didn’t hesitate to make a remark while still on my adrenaline high.

           “Well?” I ask, my voice laced with authority as my lips donned a smug grin. “The sooner you two finish up the job, the sooner you two can fire your ‘shots’ in me. Or am I too much for the two of you to handle?” I finish with a wink and coy smirk, leaving to my car.

           The last thing I heard was the scrambling of feet and an argument on who would top me first before I shout over my shoulder, “Who said I was letting either of you top?”

[bfgplanner]

Lately...

So, I’ve been pretty slack when it comes to keeping up with updating this page. I guess that sometimes life happens really fast, and that’s exactly how I would describe the last couple of months! The purpose of this blog was intended to track my progress with running, something I’m still and will always be passionate about, but, well, I haven’t been running. At all...

...because... (click below to read a whole lot more)

Shortly after we got home from Guatemala, we found out that I was pregnant! This had been a goal of ours for 2019, but we had absolutely no idea it would happen as quickly as it did, and we feel very fortunate for that. 

The week that I found out, I was TERRIFIED to run. In fact, Not only that, but I was worried about moving too much, eating too little, not drinking enough water, letting my heart rate get too high, eating a ‘forbidden’ food, etc etc. I was being totally unrealistic about the damage I could do to what was at that time a tiny cluster of cells hidden safely deep inside my body. 

After a week, though, this constant anxiety got old, and as happens when you suddenly cease being active, I started feeling pretty awful. This was not how I was going to spend 9 months of my life. I started running again, tentatively at first, but then I worked back to my normal pace and distance for about a week. Unfortunately, I had a couple of spotting episodes immediately after runs, and it scared me enough to decide to hold off on running until I’m safely into my second trimester, when everything becomes a bit safer. 

Instead, I’ve been spending my workout time in the gym on less jarring exercises: cycling, using the stair machine, elliptical, etc. And of course, plenty of weight training. I’ve noticed that staying active has definitely helped me cope with the overall crummy feeling that the first trimester brings. I’m very fortunate to not have had traditional morning sickness in the form of vomiting when I wake up. Instead, the surge of hormones has manifested itself in more of an all-day feeling of sea sickness (bleh). To say that I’m ready to feel like myself again is an understatement :)

The last couple of months have been full of difficult conversations involving big lifestyle changes. We are city people through and through. We love the life we’ve built in Hoboken over the past six years, and of course, half of our hearts are just across the Hudson in NYC. It’s safe to say we split our time evenly between the two cities. Initially, we decided that we wanted to stay in Hoboken until it was time for middle school, we just couldn’t picture ourselves leaving. It didn’t help that one of my best friends, also in Hoboken, found out she was pregnant only 3 days before me. We would chat endlessly about the playdates we would have and how we would have the best maternity leave ever together. But then I came back down to earth and started thinking more realistically about what our lives would like like in Hoboken with an infant. 

We would have to upgrade to a two bedroom apartment of course, which meant going through another move (anyone who’s lived in a housing-competitive city knows how much of a hassle this is). There’s no telling how pissed off our new neighbors would be by a crying infant at all hours of the night, which for me was beyond anxiety inducing. Then, at only 7 weeks pregnant (even before my first scan which is insane), I was already researching Hoboken infant care centers and setting up appointments to go tour them because I didn’t want to risk being wait listed. There was some major sticker shock to learn that the average infant care price was $2400/month. Of course, nannies (even shared) are over $3k. 

For weeks, I was waking up in the middle of the night with major anxiety about all of this. It was all do-able, but was it worth it? Were the suburbs really that bad that we were avoiding considering them like the plague? Over the course of a couple weeks, we had an epiphany. We wanted a space to call our own. We wanted an actual house we could paint and decorate. We wanted a yard where we could plant flowers and have cookouts. We didn’t want to hear our neighbors television anymore. We wanted enough space to host family if they wanted to come help us with the baby (Darryl’s parents just retired so we’ll take all the free babysitting we can get!). 

More importantly, after we crunched the numbers with a mortgage broker, we realized we didn’t want to keep throwing away MORE MONEY on renting a one bedroom apartment than it would cost to buy a four bedroom house. 

So the search for the perfect town began. Anyone familiar with New Jersey knows there are hundreds of commuter towns in the NYC suburbs to choose from, it can all seem a bit overwhelming. Our criteria was (what we felt) simple: a quick and easy commute to the city (where I work and many of our friends live), highly rated schools (so weird to think that this was a criteria for us now), a centralized and bustling downtown (with local businesses and not many chains) and plenty of park space. We began where most of our transplanted friends had ended up- in Bergen and Essex counties. We had assumed we would end up somewhere like Glen Ridge, Montclair or Glen Rock. We spent a weekend scoping out these towns and visiting open houses. I can’t say exactly what it was, but they just weren’t doing it for us. We just didn’t feel any connection to these areas, and we both despise the traffic and feel of highway 17 and the Parkway. It’s just so congested up there. Out of the three, Montclair was our favorite, but for the type of house we were looking for, we were unfortunately priced out of the area. We were conflicted because we weren’t willing to consider anything further north than Ridgewood. Our only option was to look south, which was tough because we don’t really have any friends who have moved this direction and haven’t spent any time there. Someone suggested Westfield, so we did some digging and decided to check it out. 

What a change from the congestion in Bergen county! We drove around a bit and checked out the downtown area, which was a real downtown. It was adorable with just one drawback, nearly all of the shops and restaurants were some familiar chain. Ugh. We still popped into a few open houses, but again, there was something missing for us. We decided to see if there were any open houses in any of the surrounding towns because we knew next to nothing about the area. We ended up finding some in the neighboring town of Cranford and, well, this is where it looks like our new chapter in life will begin.

It was literally love at first sight in Cranford. There are the most beautiful parks (the cherry blossoms were in full bloom, so this certainly helped), and we ended up spending the afternoon strolling the charming downtown checking out the local coffee shop, brewery and restaurants. Everyone seems to walk and bike throughout town, there isn’t much driving done, which is exactly our style. There are quite a few city transplants there, mostly our age who are starting families as well. The schools are great, and the homes were in our price range.

Fast forward a couple weeks, and an offer we made on a Cranford home (that we love!) was accepted and we’re that much closer to living in the burbs. 

What a whirlwind! Much, much more to come as we enter this totally new, totally exciting stage of life :)

Side note: While I will greatly miss all the Spanish wine, it looks like our 2 weeks in Spain in July will be much more than our summer holiday, it will be our babymoon! :)

[planetarie-howers]

epiphany induced by nico’s sandwich

days like this i realise how primitive i am and what a double-edged sword that is - how easily pleased i am by a sunny day, a smile from a stranger, a good sandwich, a pretty turn of phrase - how small my pleasures are, how little i have ever understood of existential questions. i’m a small person, a literal person, i live only in my body, i know too many words for the person i really am. 

in my heart of hearts i never understood poetry and never had a mind for abstractions, and if i am a poet, i’m only a poet of sensations, and of temporal beauty and pleasure floating by so visceral & so evanescent. maybe once i struggled with the smallness of life, or thought i did, or wanted to think i did. but i find i love all these things so purely in their smallness, and sometimes i think of all the summers to come, all the strawberry harvests, all the parks and picnic lunches and novels and long walks and places left to go, and nothing really seems so complicated anymore.

sometimes i think i must be the happiest and most shallow person on earth because i truly need no more than to sit in the sun, or a good lunch after a long run, or to cook something elaborate on a weekend afternoon, or to spend a long lazy morning with someone i love. a little beauty and a little love and my youth & rude health to luxuriate in - it’s all i want anymore - i don’t understand anything about ambition and meaning in that high abstract sense, i never have. 

and i think about it - an easy pretty life - a lemon tree in the garden, a puppy, flowers on the kitchen table, good coffee, maybe a baby? and i wonder what all my tormented introspection has ever been for. it seems so bright and simple and perfect to me & i can’t comprehend that it could be mine to have.

[lackadaisical-pottymouth]

@kitsoa @desfraisespartout 

Marilyn meets Viktor for the first time. 

[Birdmen AU]

"Have no fear, Marilyn is here!" 

And she let herself into the room where her self-proclaimed wards were making valiant efforts at giving themselves hunger sores. She knew without asking that they’d foregone lunch (and probably a substantial amount of sleep, judging by the way Rei’s palms magnetized to his face and the growing pyramid of used cups just a ways away) and frowned.

Maybe she'd produce a guide? A, "how to not let yourself waste away even though your deadline is looming" for uni students and radio hosts and scientists and others who should know better but sometimes didn’t. A squib of hushed words drowned out her entrance. Marilyn raised an incredulous eyebrow at the scene, observing them quietly as the door clicked shut behind her. They didn’t get louder, just harsher and less distinguishable. Was there a rhyme for the word purple? Maybe if Eishi was sleepy enough.

She waltzed around them, peering over their shoulders at the mess they were trying to make sense of. It was littered with big red circles and colourful sticky-notes. A familiar scene to her, albeit with something a bit more potent than Folger’s and infinitely more colourful a dialogue, but she digressed. Rei had yet to break out another cup and Eishi’s gestures weren’t quite the daggers she knew they could be. Another half-hour before knocking any heads? Sure. If lunch was cold, it was their fault for spurning her generosity.

The meal went to the countertop along with the drinks, and she rubbed her arms where the bags had made tiny grooves as she maneuvered the aftershock of their activity. All chairs had been expelled from the table save for two that were neglected in favour of stress-induced pacing. The condiments and table-decors were relocated to the countertop where they stood like bird-shaped sentries. Marilyn made herself comfortable as she waited for a time to intervene, looking on with a bubble of warmth in her chest. Too early and they’d ignore her once more and dig themselves further into the rabbit hole of work, too late and they’d regress into 3D renditions of the Scream.

Something sighed beside her.

Marilyn turned, expecting nothing, really. The radio station was an old building, making old building noises wasn’t out of the norm (even sighs, because at times it seemed even the building was tired of them). But what she saw was an old man, short, his hair a pale almost-blonde, a crying protest to the mischievous red of his eyes. A grin rested on heavily wrinkled skin and he stared at the boys, his legs penduluming with listless energy.

Had he been there the entire time? She realised with a start that she honestly couldn’t tell. Marilyn traced back her steps, assessing the unfamiliar stranger with a cautious eye. A shock of cold shivered down her back. She dismissed it and suspicions alike, opting instead to say, “Hello.”

Red eyes blinked up at her and the smile stretched once more, “They’re fascinating, aren’t they?” he said, nonchalant and airy as though they were picking up from a conversation already started some time ago. The familiarity he spoke with did little to settle her nerves.

Something ostensibly protective grumbled in the pit of her stomach and Marilyn regressed to her business smile as she filtered through the cracks in the system that would’ve let him slip in. And then she breathed, slowly, because despite their youth, her kids were not children. Any guests to the station would have been invited by them and were, by extension, guests of hers.

She accepted it, though the longer she thought the less it made sense. Abhorrent heat from the summer had rendered the kitchen more or less a sanctuary, true, but the upstairs meeting room boasted a fantastic AC unit. She assured herself that the old man, weird, wily or otherwise, would've been housed elsewhere if they didn't trust him.

Likely he was an associate they’d made through the grapevine. A viewer or friend introduced some way or another. Yes, probably during a leisurely walk outside when the global oven wasn’t set to ‘unbearable’, or the weather wasn’t conspiring for a second Great Flood.

Of all things, the prospect of decent weather was what seemed out of place.  

“So, how did you meet them?” she pried sweetly through the haze of perturbed emotion. The suspicion refused to quell by itself and something Naoyuki had shared (a hum while his hand skittered across a dirty whiteboard, ‘their lack of pigmentation means that some of them burn very easily’) lollygagged on the fringes of her memory.

The old man’s expression made not even the slightest twitch, a mask imitating a smile imitating a human being, “Oh, you know,” came the cryptic reply that grated on her nerves, “these things happen.”

Marilyn smiled against the urge to throw him out.

“And you?” the old man asked offhandedly, his attention drawn back to the rising commotion--an epiphany had struck and they scattered to reorganize the papers in a manner more suitable. Marilyn wished them luck and briefly considered ignoring the question as he’d done her greeting, but she was a lady and her manners impeccable.

She fake hummed, stilting the longer, more dressed up, response reserved specially for such occasions. To crowds gathered at an event, inquiring as to her relation to the boys (dusted and fancy, her custom masks fitted to their faces and obscuring their identities) was a special tale that had achieved the Eishi brand of approval.

It told of Rei traveling far and wide (down the street) to find her, staking out for what must’ve been ages (a week, because they’d been preparing shows the same period that he started at the station and she didn’t need be distracted more than she already was), to win her over with silver-tongue promises (which was the least embellished part of the tale). 

Of Eishi, she told of a young man in a sea of faces, seemingly unassuming, who’d seemed almost destined for the role when he pseudo-broadcasted the practice lines.

It was less a ‘brand of approval’ and more a groan of embarrassed annoyance that grew longer with every iteration.

But she hummed against the tale of glory, settling back into her seat. To the old man she said, “we go back a bit.” and that was decidedly enough. He didn’t pry, she didn’t add. Eishi burned his tongue on another cup of coffee. And Rei?

Rei attempted to stir his empty cup with one of the pencils, a good enough sign as any for ‘make it stop, please’. Marilyn, the good samaritan, was all too happy to oblige.

She rose, leaving her begrudging conversation partner behind. There was a pot lid and spoon on the countertop nearer the sink that was usually reserved for mac and cheese (or whatever they alchemized in the pursuit thereof). Both were swiped as she stalked closer to her unsuspecting prey.

Rei complained about colour-coding.

Eishi listed off deadlines.

The spoon whistled before crashing to the lid with a mighty CLANG.

The effect was instant. Eishi flinched harshly and the pen in his hand clattered angrily against the tabletop. Rei’s eyes snapped to attention and he coughed sharply, then whined as liquid dribbled out his nose, hands flailing softly to soothe the pain.

They stared at her a moment while the edges of their trance lingered. Marilyn bit back a satisfied smile and settled her arms on her hips, the lid and spoon incriminating final pieces to the stance. She schooled her face to look as intimidating as possible.

Eishi regarded her with an annoyed squint that was probably well deserved, but easily ignored. He’d thank her later. It was Rei who spoke first with his eyes wide in recognition. He stuttered a rushed, “Oh, crap, it’s Wednesday isn’t it?” and then he set to apologies, ever polite despite the paper pressed to his nostrils.

Marilyn nodded but clapped her hands before the statement could progress. Of the things she'd planned for the day--gathering materials for costume prototypes, and ensuring Naoyuki didn’t accidentally starve himself in pursuit of science--guilt tripping her little ones was not on the list.

She smiled instead, gesturing to the (probably cold) meal with impressive theatrics. A sigh, wistful, as she gestured to their lunch. “You’re lucky you’ve got a gorgeous, caring--”

Eishi scoffed, taking a small step towards the pull-apart bread. Marilyn shot him a glance from one open eye without ceasing her monologue.

“--patient,” and there was the slightest glimmer of a smile at that, “lady like me looking out for you.” She finished, her arms crossed in front of her as she leaned on the cool wood of the pantry. 

The bag was relocated as soon as an island of less-paper-than-the-rest was formed on the small table. Eishi set to finishing his bread before starting on the rest of his meal. Rei scrambled for one of the soup cartons. As the lid was pried open and both boys set to eating, a tired but comfortable silence between them and a proud Marilyn hummed in satisfaction.

And then she turned to their guest, who’d been surprisingly mum for a chatty, skeevy, question-dodging old man. She supposed, somewhat, that he could have one of the breadsticks. 

Her lips pursed when she found the chair he’d monopolized empty.

It was Eishi’s call that pulled her from the confused searching--as if he’d miraculously appear from the ceiling if she stared long enough. “Lost something, Marilyn?” he asked without rising.

A quick shake of the head. He must’ve left while they were talking, though she didn’t recall being so engrossed that the click of the door went unheard.

“You worked so hard you didn’t even hear your guests come in,” she started instead, banishing the old man to the thankfully short list of suspicious peoples. A straggling chair was pulled back into the orbit of the table, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were ignoring me. What would we have done if the door was locked?”

Eishi turned to her, somehow dripping sarcasm from even the simple movement, “You could use the key.” he said, “You’re the only guest we’ve had all day.”

Marilyn bristled, displeased.

.

[rediscoveringwords-blog]

Learning to Live

Henriette O'Callaghan was in possession of a highly proper name, but she slowly found herself rejecting it. In her youth, she wanted to be called Ri. That was it. She wrote songs of love and heartbreak that she had never experienced, even as her peers began to get a taste of what they couldn't put a lyric or a chord to. She was a hopeless romantic lacking actual romance. She would pour her heart out in her songbook for those who she could never tell. She cried to the voices of those more famous she wished to be with. And she held fast to the hope that love might come her way. That, finally, a boy would notice her as a woman, not just a friend.

Never did she imagine that college would be her... cynical awakening. She got what she wanted. She fulfilled her own songs, like flowery prophecies that would begin to tarnish her core belief in romance.

The first one to tarnish her view of romance was called Tyler.

Ri met Tyler at a party. One of her first college parties. She had a couple wine coolers because she detested the taste of beer. Not than anyone could blame her, she hadn’t been treated to a very good beer. She handed it off to someone else, and her companions (annoyed) found something else for her to drink. She sipped it with apprehension, but was pleased to find that the taste of alcohol wasn’t smacking her in the face as she did. She did a little more than sip it. After one, she felt a little cloudy-headed. She wanted to stop. But those with her kept encouraging her to drink another. So she did. Ri had to be the most notorious lightweight, but she was drunk after the second one. Tyler had a couple beers that night too. He had one thing on his mind. He sidled up to Ri as she was leaning against a wall, enjoying the music. She glanced at Tyler out the side of her eyes, giving him what she hoped was a seductive glance, but most likely just looked confused. None of that mattered to Tyler. He started dancing with her. If only it was the thing to be polite when dancing with a lady, but it wasn’t. Nowadays, dancing like that was predatorial. Not that Ri particularly noticed. She had a small gut feeling, but it was clouded by the liquor. She let him. Tyler kept glancing at her lips, trying to move closer to her, resting his hands on her hips. Ri’s head swayed side to side, back and forth, just a little. And she bit her lip. She decided to tease a little. Ri rested her wrists on Tyler’s shoulders, swayed her hips, and flicked her eyes down at his lips. At least, she was pretty sure she did. Next thing she knew, Tyler had guided her over to a worn-in couch and leaned in so close she could smell the beer on him. But she kind of wanted it. Everyone else she knew had done it already. She was okay with going this far to try it out. Tyler leaned in, and touched her lips. At first, it was alright. But then it wasn’t. Ri didn’t want any more than she had already gotten. They kissed. That was it. But Tyler wasn't done. He didn’t pull back. He opened his mouth, and tried using his to force hers open, like a slimy jaws-of-life. He gripped her harder, squeezing her forearm with his vice grip, digging his chewed nails into the small of her back as he tried to force her closer and closer. He slid his tongue in her mouth when she opened hers to protest. Ri wasn’t having it. She finally sobered up enough to push him off. Putting both hands on his chest, she thrust them forward and knocked him off balance. At that moment she stood up and walked away. Ri went to go find one of her sorority sisters. She didn’t want to be alone and end up with Tyler again. Ri wiped her mouth with her shirt and went in search of water. That was disgusting.

The second boy to strip her of her rose-lenses was called Mason.

Mason was almost everything— physically— that Ri was looking for. He met her height requirements (at least 5'9", to come slightly above her 5'7"), had luxurious hair that swept over his eyes sometimes when he looked down,  a smolder that could light a flame in anyone's heart, and just enough definition in his arms that Ri could imagine being comfortably swept off her feet. As for personality, Ri had never dated before... so she didn't quite know what she was looking for. But Mason had a laissez-faire attitude about life. He wasn't exactly the life of the party, he didn't exactly wake up every morning with a goal in mind... he didn't commit. Like a stoner or a leaf in the wind, he let life take him without truly realizing the damage he left in his wake.

Ri knew this... sort of. She was too enamored by his good looks, suave yet ballsy physical advances, and climax-inducing kisses. Of course, she never let it get that far.

"I'm not looking for commitment," he would say, and then continue to feel around as much as Ri would dare let him.

But he felt like a boyfriend. At least, Ri thought so. He had gone as her date to formal, they cuddled on his couch, slept together once (but no funny stuff. That just wasn't Ri's style), hung out at least weekly, and even been out together... with other people... while one of them was more than a little tipsy.

So it should not have come as a shock when the summer approached and Mason's attention waned. A lot.

But Ri was a romantic. It didn't make sense right away. They had something, right? After checking her phone everyday for even a “hey,” she began to lose confidence in what she thought was there. Whatever it was, it wasn’t there.

After doing a little social media stalking, Ri found photo after photo of Mason with another girl. Albeit, she wasn’t nearly as pretty as Ri… but she was still another girl. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out what was going on, Ri got it. She soon stopped responding to Mason’s mass-snaps and occupied her time by talking to her trusted sorority sisters and drowning herself in relatable poetry. But she would still dwell over Mason. Damn that boy, she would think, why’d he have to affect me like this? When Ri wasn’t avoiding staying at home, she would be out with friends. Coffee once a week, twice a week she would go out, sometimes she’d get a shift at her summer job. All the while, Mason occupied her mind.

Yael: u there, ri?

Henriette: sup, el?

Yael: u gon bring the banner for ep nu rush?

Henriette: totes, el. I got it

Yael: kk, but u been off

Henriette: ?

Yael: come on, grl. I see what u post on twitter

Henriette: yeah… lotta poems.

Yael: is this about mason?

Henriette: i can’t forget him!

Yael: u gotta date other guys, girl.

Henriette: news flash- i don’t know any

Yael: what about will?

Henriette: your ex?

Yael: he’s a great guy and i think u guys would hit if off

Henriette: that’s sweet, el. But no thanks.

Yael: i gotchu, fam. Imma text him ur number.

Henriette: el!! Rlly???

And so Will started texting Ri. It was awkward at first, but then Ri finally had a guy to talk to about her troubles with Mason. And Will finally had someone to talk to about his long-time crush he’d had and not been able to get through to. Ri and Will found friendship in each other, friendship they both desperately needed. But Will told Ri the things that she had been hearing from pretty much everyone: give it time and you’ll forget about him. Except that Will learned Ri had never been on a proper date, so for the sake of her knowing how she should be treated… Will decided he’d take her on one. During this time, Ri was getting DMs from another guy who she went to the same university as, but had never met. His name was Garrett.

Garrett was dangerous. Ri could tell. But not because he was necessarily a bad guy. Garrett was like Ri, a hopeless romantic. Except, Ri didn’t want it to be that way anymore. Garrett reached out to Ri. He texted her about music, then about hockey, and then about how they’re both in greek life organizations. Garrett wanted to marry a sorority girl. He wanted to marry a girl who loved her sorority as much as he loved his fraternity. And after a few mentions of this, Ri quickly tried putting Garrett at arms’ length. She was not about to have this. She still wasn’t really over Mason.

But one night she had an epiphany. She was scrolling through her twitter feed while pondering what kind of quote she could post next, and she noticed that there was no sign of Mason anywhere on her feed. He hadn’t been posting. It was almost as if he really didn’t matter in her life.

And he didn’t.

Mason had been clear that he was never interested in seriously dating Ri. He never took her out on a date. He had never been solid about anything. Except that he was definitely emotionally unavailable.

So why was Ri spending so many of her precious neurons on this guy?

She wouldn’t do it anymore. He didn’t matter. His song in her life was over. She needed to focus on herself. She had so many more important things to do. She wanted to get back into reading. She wanted to be able to help with recruitment for Ep Nu. She wanted to make money. She wanted to write music again.

Ri went back to her songbook. The one that she had jotted down notes for lyrics, chords, and full songs. In there, she had so many songs about heartbreak and wasting her energy on a guy who was never going to love her. She wrote this two years before she had ever felt anything of the sort.

Why’d you leave me? Why’d you leave me this way?

I can’t feel anything I used to

It’s like I’m numb to everything that matters

I don’t know how it got to be this way

But somehow, here we are..

or here I am…

You used me up more than I thought was possible

You took my heart without my letting you

And yet you said you don’t want anything from me…

Not my love.

Not my love.

You wouldn’t give me your love.

Your love.

Your love…

Was it there?

Did it even exist?

Was it air?

Did I make the whole thing up?

Tell me!

You used me up more than I thought was possible

You took my heart without my letting you

And yet you said you don’t want anything from me…

Not my love.

Not my love.

You wouldn’t give your love.

Your love.

Your love…

Was it there?

Did it even exist?

Was it air?

Did I make the whole thing up?

Tell me!

Here I am.

Broken down.

All day and all night thoughts of you swimming round

In my head.

On my phone your contact stays there so I know

If you call

If you do

Then I won’t answer.

Because you won’t answer me…

Was it there?

Did it even exist?

Was it air?

Did I make the whole thing up?

Tell me!

But you won’t.

You’re not there…

But I don’t think you ever were...

Holy crap. Ri looked over the lyrics that her fifteen-year-old self had written. And it was spot on. It was almost as if her song predicted the future. She combed through the rest of her songs. They all said the same things. She was deceived by a guy. She let herself get caught up in a guy. She let herself be deceived by a guy. They were all about Mason before Ri had ever known Mason. She opened the page with her first full song. A tear slipped down her cheek. She knew it was coming, she knew she would suffer, and she let herself suffer. But no longer.

Ri closed her songbook and went to her desk chair. She pulled out her favorite poetry book and looked for the poems on strength. She would have strength. Ri would focus on herself. No more Mason, and no worrying over Garrett. Garrett wanted to date her, that was for sure, but Ri wasn’t about to be swept up in another guy before she had a stronger sense of self. She would focus on being the best the she could for her, and nobody else.

Henriette O’Callaghan was her own person, and no tragic song she wrote when she was fifteen would dictate her life again.

For those who made it to the bottom, thanks for reading my first entry! This story was inspired by a friend who gave me permission to turn her story into short literature.

[ratherhavetheblues]

INGMAR BERGMAN’S ‘A LESSON IN LOVE’ “What do you do?”

© 2020 by James Clark

The film we’re about to come to grips with, namely, Ingmar Bergman’s, A Lesson in Love (1954), has by all and sundry, maintained that its action amounts to  be a “comedy”—a whimsical romance confirming a matrimonial imperative. That would be a validation of mainstream life.  Where, pray, comes the idea that Bergman strives for such an outcome? I think I know.

A Hollywood film, from 1940, namely, His Girl Friday, under the auspices of Howard Hawks, a figure nearly as talented as Bergman (though nowhere near as profound), became a “screwball classic” for an era needing some laughs. It had to do with an ex-wife still tangled up with her newspaper editor, being so adept and delighted with the work as to be indispensable. Notwithstanding, she’s about to remarry and leave the job, a prospect the boss can’t contemplate. The ensuing skirmishing, between the incomparable, Cary Grant, and likewise, Rosalind Russell, are an epiphany of old-time, rapid-wit and cynicism. With their barrels of charm, they end up staying together, and the customers applaud with gusto.

Had the customers, of Bergman’s film here, taken a look at the three preceding Bergman films, they might have curbed their zeal about A Lesson in Love being an effort to live up to Hawks’ His Girl Friday. The newshounds are already in their heaven of advantage. Hawks was as flush an adjusted giant as Bergman was as flush a maladjusted giant. (A bit closer, though, to our helmsman, was Howard Hughes!) Though Hawks was, in addition, a daring sportsman, for sure, he would not have wanted any part of the rigors which Bergman faced all his life. As such, Bergman assembles an action with many formal aspects of the 1940 film, but only to display how very different such domestic conflict can careen into long-term emptiness. Gunner Bjornstrand and Eva Dahlbeck, though handsome enough, are not built for swooning, but instead for bloodless self-mutilation. Once in a while a bit of mirth escapes, but only to emphasize the loss of real sustenance. (This seems to be the moment to take to heart how badly served the commentary of Bergman films through the years have been left. A few ridiculously overrated pundits have managed to disfigure the work beyond recognition, to be followed by the quick and the dead. One of the more egregious and destructive faux pas along this slope is the daft reflex to the assumption that early works [like the one here] are minor and dispensable. Bergman was ready to shoot out all the lights from the outset. A Lesson in Love is as brilliant and indispensable as Wild Strawberries, The Seventh Seal and Persona.)

     This is a vehicle with many flashbacks during a train ride to Copenhagen, where Marianne, telling David, for the umpteenth time, “I’m not for you, my man,” induces in both of them a reverie of 15 years before and the irony of their wedding there. (We begin here—about the mid-point of the narrative—to absorb the harsh measures being promulgated, measures that strikingly distance the Hawks’ comedy.) Pushing off, one of them brags, “We were like The Three Musketeers… [rich killers with an excuse]. From that fanfare, the missing of Marianne on her wedding day (to sculptor, Carl-Adam) leads out to a stream of casual contempt. At the wedding ceremony underway, Carl-Adam tasks David with finding the bride. Finding, as he knew where she would be, namely still in bed, David becomes a lightning rod to the young girl’s faulty decisiveness. The groom had prefaced the confusion with, “She needs to reflect, analyze the past, say good bye to virginity” [all laughing about that, even the pastor]. Adam chugged down something strong—“You’re supposed to be calming me down”—and turned to David with, “My only friend, can you pick up the car and console her if she needs? I know you exert a tranquillizing influence.” (Behind the two searchers, one of the revelers wore a black and white dress with chevron patterns which no one knew what to do with.)  On waking Marianne at Adam’s pad, David discovers that she’d rather marry him. The seriality of the handrails up to the door had not created the sensation it could have. Nor did the Hollywood wind motif, up to the door. But entering, he saw a noose hanging from a light fixture, which gave him a start. When the patrician youngsters are eye-to-eye, Marianne’s eyes are crying. Between there and the feeble bid to use the noose, she deflects David’s scorn—“ What are you saying? The wedding has already begun!”—with , “I wanna die… If you’re going to scold me, you better go.” Followed by, “Can’t I be tired of him, the buffalo?” She cites how handsome David looked on blushing when he saw Adam using her as a nude model. And she adds, “Carl-Adam, the buffalo, laughed and said, ‘He’s [David’s] going to be a gynecologist!’” And finally, she crafts an intimate history of his tracking down an ant in her pants, eliciting from the budding gynecologist, “I’m still ashamed to think of that… ant.” And when she can’t seem to swing David along with her, she pulls down the plaster, saying, “I’d rather hang myself.”

   But eventually they do see themselves becoming married (an early Millennial marriage), and rush off to announce the eleventh-hour nuptials. (Not before, however, her declaring, “I’ve loved you for over two years!” And not before David’s deadpan, “We need to talk with Carl-Adam…” [in one of their patented seepage of manufacturing “important information”]. Now, for a bit of spice, she adds, “He’s gonna kill you!” And he adds, “Rightly so. We’re best friends.” And this becomes the origin of a 15-year marriage, with two children. (A few years later, Bergman will return to discern more rotten rich pussies, in his Scenes from a Marriage [1974], replete with another Marianne.) David resists her wanting to make love at this moment, and she praises, “What a strong personality!”—the ways of subterfuge spinning crazily.

Entering the reception to cheers, here screwball shows us something far darker than the resources of Howard Hawks. It involves an effete fraternity. David pipes up, “Dear Carl-Adam, I can’t tell you how annoying it is coming here to spoil your wedding. It’s doubly painful that we are best friends…”  Marianne, cutting to the chase, looks for bloody tidings, with, “But we love each other… David and me.” Adam, burly, but far from proletarian, having embarked on an invisible cash-flow and an endless supply of alcohol, laughs a zany laugh, as if someone else has been stiffed (or, as if the contretemps has shot up an instable disinterestedness). The moment provides the once-groom handing over a fine beverage to the traitors. “Let’s toast the new bride and groom! My sincere congratulations!” (This angers Marianne, who had been born to be a princess, never to be fast food, nor to be less than a centre of the universe, carrying a world-wide anxiety about those not endlessly in awe of her supposed prestige and power.) A laugh comes from the artiste. Then, to David, “You’re afraid, you dog!”/ “I can’t deny it,” is the new family man’s response. The sometimes-ugly drunk chooses, “A healthy little man, very surprised…” His smile—now a stage smile—clicks into a murderous register, and he smashes David into unconsciousness. The aggrieved tells her, “Witch!” But Marianne, who in another era would be a leader of a counter-revolution, easily avoids his haymaker. She tells him, being a paragon of convenient correctness, “Are you going to hit a woman?” Adam, perhaps having some class-time at a law-school (the other Marianne follows in her daddy’s footsteps as a lawyer), tells her, “I’ll get you what you deserve, you bastard!” (One of his savage sculptures is in view for the festivity.) She smacks him in the face. The pastor says, “Peace, my friends, peace.” The born lawyer emotes, “Who was wronged? [Who has the advantage?]. On what side is justice? In my innocence! No?” Marianne objects, “What innocence?” she addresses the divine. “And the sluts he uses as models, vertically and horizontally… like a dirty goat!” “I was going to marry this bitch, pastor! I am a man of peace…” She jumps up on a chair and pulls up her dress to expose a thigh. “Kisses me where the sun does not shine. Can anyone see the bite mark? I told people I got it when I climbed up a tree!” The pastor cries out, “Peace, in the name of God!” Adam rushes to the dock. “I protest! Deceptive propaganda!” She retorts, “You protest? I’ll kick you in the ass! That’s right, your pigs dumpling! … Sorry, pastor…I’ve been a maid to this pretentious genius for three years! ‘Marianne do this, Marianne do that… Sew my socks… This food is bad, make some coffee, kiss me… It is an honor for you to serve me, the greatest sculptor in the world! I talk to Michelangelo…’” When he protests, “I never said that,” she comes back with, “You were drunk! You’ve always been drunk. And on our wedding, too!” He protests, “I was sober when the wedding started—was I not, my friends?” Marianne sneers, “You and your friends have never been sober…” (The friends denounce her.) “I’ve passed your threshold for the last time… And I let you draw my breasts, also for the last time…” (She brandishes her fist in Adam’s face.) “And I shit on your art, your immortality, your ostentatiousness and your unbearable and idiotic virility!” She underlines her oration by smashing a cup. Adam tells, “I am very angry with your imprecation… who took you out of the gutter, who will become famous from his unique art… Lick my… Pardon, pastor… the soles of my boots… I gave you a home, food and drink! I was like a father, all these years! [Clichés to the max.] Marianne, you repay me badly. The world is an ungrateful place…”

   She, momentarily, and dysfunctionally ashamed, says, “I created a snake in my chest.” David has recovered, given another chance to find equilibrium. “Actually two damn snakes,” Adam perseveres. He loses his balance and falls. Marianne’s self-criticism now out the door, she sheiks in vicious laughter. David does not laugh, nor anyone else. A glimpse of viral derangement. On regaining his footing, he finds a gesture to regain some dignity: “Get out of here or I’ll kill you and that good-for-nothing friend of yours!” And he pushes over the piano for high effect, which belies his commitment to dignity. Then Marianne, seemingly taking a course in self-destruction by way of virulent advantage, declares, “I’ll take everything that’s mine.” She races around the centre, grabbing bits of décor, while the other guests regard her as terminally shabby. Adam does nothing helpful in the way of poise, by smashing all her dishes. “I won’t forget that,” she didn’t have to tell us, “you fucking camel!” She equips herself with a club-like utensil and smashes down one of his larger works. Adam begins to overturn a table; but he manages a second thought. He grabs David, but then pushes him away, before any more assault. He approaches Marianne, with hate in his eyes, while her club is on the ready. He spits in her face, and charges… But then he calls out, “A woman, my friends! What a woman!… The party goes on… Hell! The bottles are empty!” David lifts Marianne! She’s beaming, and so is he! She commands, “Don’t just stand there! Come on, pastor…” Marianne lights a candle, and the guests feel they’ve seen the heart of creative depth. (This being, among other rejoinders, Bergman’s challenge to Hawks’ famous expressive vigor.)

Going into this fascinating, early and far from minor film, we are on the hook to discern how Marianne and David (as we rejoin them on the rails for that supposed date with destiny, in the form of Marianne—once again—about to tie the knot with bemusing Adam) fool themselves that theirs has been and will continue to be a rich relationship. Along with this scrutiny of the protagonists, however, there is hovering over it all the question if anyone surpasses their chaos; and, if so, what it looks like. The narrative transpires in one day, as mentioned, with a flurry of flashbacks exposing both of them as self-indulgent mediocrities.

   However, laced within their nausea, there is, as always with Bergman, a motherlode of apparitions piercing, somewhat, the thick-skinned perversity. With the first image, being a music box with a mechanized scenario of a rococo, Era of Reason coquette flitting between two rich men, we are ensnared by essentially obsolete players remaining dominant. This minuet is suddenly shattered by a brief lightning flash, followed by David, having become the gynecologist of his dreams, and being told in his office by an attractive woman patient, “You’re a bastard! You’re spoiled, coarse and technical. And you’ve never understood a woman… You’re extremely naïve…” After feeding her with, “The conjugal bed means the death of love” (wit from the 18th century), he races off to catch that train, having a chauffeur allowing him to doze off and dream about that flirtation he was trying to put in the past. (One very odd vision in that medical facility is his lab-coat—more a trench-coat than an indoor apparel. Then there is the chauffeur, Sam, speaking along lines of Hollywood detective, Sam Spade. Does the “technical” worthy need a supplement of something else? Another of David’s epigrams is, “Perhaps repentance and painful conscience are only Siamese twins” [another nod to something missing]. The impatient woman patient is seen in a chair involving a pattern of delicate parallel lines, hoping for sensation. Try to keep in mind this surprising bid of ragged poetry, from the supposed “technical,” because one of the highlights of this film shows him, very briefly and near the end, to be truly distinguished.)

   The dance of Sam’s windshield wipers lulls him to sleep; but it could also, given the right outlook, be a shot in the arm. “You have nice hands and a very beautiful neck,” David praises. He continues, “I have certain principles with regard to marriage and faithfulness… I have an extremely attractive wife that I sincerely love. I’ve never been unfaithful…” (This after his reminiscence of his kissing another woman in the moonlight, after his wife went to bed.) The mistress, Susanne, tells him, “You have an uncontrollable will to kiss me and that’s not all…” His retort is, “I prefer my life with you to be one of small joys and hassles. I prefer my slippers and the indifferent fire from the fireplace, to a perfumed body, and a completely different fire that is dangerous and suffocates everything we call home, children and decency. And gains absolutely nothing.” (Little does he recognize that the fireplace is not indifferent!) A dream being more candid, he veers into, “I don’t love you, but I have come to touch you and erase my apathy by fire. Let me overcome the garbage in my brain… This was banal, stupid, silly and ridiculous.” She, seeing him making her point, calmly says, “Don’t talk any more, just kiss me.” He begins to kiss her, and then backs off… rattling on, “My cogency is indispensable, however boring.” She smiles, “Think of it as a diversion…” He tells her, “I’m crazy with desire, who wouldn’t agree to it?”/ “I’m still waiting,” the more coherent of the two tells him. “Your wife doesn’t trust you. Fidelity exists if you are faithful… Infidelity is the invention of moralists and gossips.” He seems to need more talk: “If I’m going to hell, you’re the best company.”/ “Men need reasons for everything,” she triumphs. “I dreamed about you at night,” he blurts out. Going farther, he says, “You were like our own child!” Her response? “He’s turning into a poet…” And—of course—they kiss passionately.

  In a coda to that romp, David doses off again during Sam’s trusty navigation—this time elicited by a ripple of light from the highway. (These occurrences, however, could be part of an agency of incisiveness.) This time bodies, not talk, take over, due to a lovely archipelago just beyond Stockholm, also seen in Bergman’s sensual films, Summer Interlude (1951) and Summer with Monika (1953). David and Susanne (the “patient”) drift in his sailboat. “The delicate memories remain. Yes, that summer…” A shimmer from the seas passes over her face (like the “glitches,” in the 1951 film, eliciting mystery and joy). His refusing to go swimming stings her, in her journey toward disinterestedness. “I see, one, two, three, four… stars,” he avers, prosaically, not on the same page. They both admit to be tired. She takes his pipe out of his mouth, and puts it in her mouth. He feels “satiated.” She’s “insatiable.” He declares, “Men cannot vegetate.”/ “You can’t just be,” she complains. “I want to do some research,” he posits. (But research is a wide-ranging notion. A test for both of them.) Her slur, “That’s so minor,” finds her at her worse. He trots out a slur, himself: “Eat, eat, satisfy.” And then she waits for the product, “Hate.” Once again, a shimmer of light from the sea passes over her face and body. Instead of a progression, there is an impasse. “You’re tired of me,” she declares. His, “I didn’t mean that,” is met by, “Yes, that was exactly what you did mean. Don’t try to dodge that.”/ “I could spit! But you’re under my skin… at the tips of my fingers…” She counters with, “I’m a kind of poison…”/ “Call it what you want. Stop smoking my pipe… You leave it filthy.” (She could have turned the tables by saying, “You leave it pedantic.”) She grabs his throat. “I could cut your throat!”/ In a flash, he chirps up, “I’ll show you the quickest way! Put my head on your desk, and use a lamp [emitting no light] to smash me between the eyes.”

   Catching the train was easy. Using the train was not. Such a vehicle happens to be one of Bergman’s means of offering the gifts of dynamics to a sluggish constituency. No longer wearing his eccentric lab coat, David, like a gumshoe, plies the first-class relaxation until he finds Marianne. And here comes one of the film’s “whacky,” “screwball,” and let’s face it, “cynical,” initiatives, face-to-face with His Girl Friday. Seeming to be encountering someone he’d never met before, the droll Carry Grant wannabe obsequiously  addresses his wife, “Is that place occupied?”/ “No, it’s unoccupied,” she reports, not really surprised befalling complicating from an agency who had driven her to the portal of divorce. The supposed classic, harmless pedant, begs her to spare his frail constitution, by moving over to the window seat. “I don’t like  the wind in my face.” In the maneuvering there, he pretends to accidentally sit on her purse. (The ambiguity of David’s powers is a major hot spot to consider.) After the arrangements are finished, the other occupant of the deluxe room, a gregarious gentleman, making a point of never taking a train due to being an avid car driver—whose car is needing repairs—sizes up David as a rather meek intellectual. (The little home away from home, however, is provided with headrests in the form of patterns of two wings spread out, and a central figure therewith of oblique nature. There is something engaging about the pattern, to be sure; but there is also a fascist, military thrust.) The genuine stranger also sizes up Marianne, as one of his type, sophisticated and promiscuous. He fibs being delighted here, without his expensive chariot, telling his audience, “We can meet nice people… and beautiful ladies…” Cut to Marianne, who smiles warmly and then opens a book she was reading before David messed things up. The latter opens his valise and begins to read a formidable-looking book. That brings from the mixer, “A black-cover book, huh. Probably modern literature. Can I ask its title?” It reads, “Introductory Study of the Arterial Circulation and Sexual Glands.” Marianne rolls her eyes in boredom, seeing in the stranger a soulmate. She asks for a light (David’s incursion being more annoying than she realizes). And, Hollywood Lite, the people guy immediately lights her cigarette while David’s lighter refuses to perform. (Like a TV ad. This motif takes off in earnest, in Bergman’s punchy rendition of The Magic Flute [1975].)

   The couple whose wedding was unusual might have been understood, by those not present at the reception,  as merely eccentric. But we have Howard Hawks’ Hildy and Walter, from the era of real screwball, never departing from the aegis of savvy skepticism. They enjoy the cuddle of a virtually universal escapism. With Marianne and David, however, there is an intensity far abrogating even the quirky normal. Their sham of being strangers is actually a truth. She’ll go out of the chic little cabin (regarding David with disdain), to visit the washroom, whereupon the critic of modern literature proposes to the supposed easy mark a bet that she’ll happily kiss him before the trip is over. “What a woman!” he exclaims (the very words that Adam used during that up-and-down wedding). “What posture, what way of walking, what breasts…” David is almost serene, having, in the course of rushing to save their marriage, a strange disinterestedness. Here the dynamics of the ride, seen out the window, show up. “Won’t you be sad left alone?” the rambling gambler asks./ “On the contrary!” David enthuses. Then they both laugh uproariously, for different reasons. The conductor comes in, and by this time David covers his eyes. That visit done, he opens his book, but he doesn’t read. He stares into space. The book falls on the floor. A lesson in love. (The carpet shows a pattern of binary forms, with a gap.) Two photos fall out of the pages, and he’s in a mood to relive, by reverie, an episode pertaining to his daughter, Nix, played by Harriet Andersson, who—talk about “nix”—had only a few months before portrayed the savvy skeptic, Monika, in Bergman’s film, Summer with Monika (1953).

   Of course, the gambler gets his face slapped—a slap coinciding with David’s resumption of trying to make pearl out of swine. (He bets the kissing loser that he, the supposed nerd and nothing else, can kiss the chick. And he wins, though winning with Marianne is hardly winning.) Thus, begins a pell-mell race of our bemusing protagonists performing yet another blind alley. (Nix takes over the memory, with her crusade to never marry, to stay masculine and to resent her parents’ going separate ways. “It’s not healthy for a woman living without a man… [more incoherence]… It’s so disgusting! I pity all women.” They visit an uncle/ potter (everywhere they turn there are estates and the idle rich); but Axel, the artisan, does carry some gentle, if quietist, traction. Moreover, Nix’s noisy rebellion does sustain some sense. “It means that Mom also plays the ‘love game.’” (In a show of ambiguity, she also declares to David, “If you have a new lover, let Mommy have hers.”) Seemingly a level-headed, classical rationalist, the dad advises (with something up his sleeve), “The best of life seems to be a collaboration.” Nix sums up the day, “And you’re a baboon!” After a pause, he replies, “Yes, maybe I am.” She adds, “You despise yourself, Daddy!”/ “Yes, Nix. I despise myself. I see everything being infinitely incoherent…” How lacking in acuity, comes in the follow-up: Nix, unsparing, “So you see Mom, and Pelle [Nix’s brother] and me to be incoherent?”/ “No!” [of course], he rushes to assert. “They’re  the only thing I care about!”

   Now that the voyager finds herself needing more substance and far less fantasy—Marianne, beginning with feigning a bit of grit in her eye (grit being in short supply) which David attends to with some body contact—attempts to fabricate some validity for her folly of linking to an alcoholic idiot. How far had David slipped from the momentary reflection of his past moment with Nix? He tells Marianne, “I’m known for my delicate touch…” She thinks to be on solid grounds by musing, “I’ve always thought of the huge powers that a gynecologist has over our hearts and our confidences.” He brags, “You can lose your head. Sometimes it’s relaxing.”/ “Does his wife also find it relaxing?” she asks. And he snipes back, “She seizes the opportunity to lose her head.” After much more mutual steeling, David shifts to self-criticism. “Aside from reproduction, man is an insignificant player in the world of women… I admit my inferiority without grudge. I just cannot babble…” [a means of surrender including being tops, anyway].

Babbling and embarrassing seem endless, coming from blast-furnace experts of advantage. Let’s see the rare moments of vision, as the action  subsides to spineless retreat. Adam, that easy target, drives Marianne to the epigram, “A grown man is rare, Dear David.” But she spoils it with the loopy arrogance, “A woman chooses the man-child whom she fits best.” He musters, “In the beginning, it was just you and me… A company with a future. [But seeing yourself as cash-flow, therewith, is in fact a form of bankruptcy; however, a ‘company’ may be quite a different action from that.] Our painful experiences can be our start-up capital.”[Painful experiences may veer for good; they may also veer for collapse.] David, bidding for a prolongation of what was already too long, enlists the wrong powers, powers of bathos: “Give me again your heart, and I will treat you like a sacred reliquary.” (His winning kiss is far less than it might seem.)

As Marianne drifts for the second time to leave Adam in the lurch on account of an extended family too big to fail, they, nearing Copenhagen, bring us along in shaky celebration to the birthday of David’s father, only a year before real time. By this time, Marianne routinely puts down booby-traps to spoil, for instance, David’s morning at the palatial homestead. (And, before that, he rudely slaps her ass as a wake-up call.) The grandma, barging into their temporary bedroom and ignoring Marianne, wants it known that the birthday boy—forever the pedant—got up at 3 a.m. to change for the party. But the day does put out some magic. Sam, turning out to be the oldsters’ chauffeur, can’t persuade the ancient limousine to start, and they take their two horses and a cart to attempt to make the day shine. A flute passage jumps up, and the woods are everything the household isn’t. They arrive at a cliff on the seashore, and they scatter at will. The protagonists invade a pristine swatch of saplings touched by a bright sun. Their cigarette smoke-clouds predate vapers. “Do you still love me,” she asks. “That’s a stupid question,” is all she gets. “Imagine that it ends one day…” she continues. “No one’s beautiful like you,” he asserts. And in response, she says, “I’m serious…” The subject of his mistress hovers like bugs. And she, hardly a paragon of stability, emotes, “When you are far from me, only for a day or so, I feel I have become small and sad. And as if everything died around me. Is that weird?” Her jist comes down to, “Let nothing change,” and let’s have another baby… (“Imagine its smell,” she brandishes… “Imagine holding that life… I get creepy talking about it…” All of this futility occurs in close-up, with them reclining in the grass.)

Still in reverie, but productive on the basis of hard-wired outlooks, earlier on that day, while waiting for the car to behave, grandma demands that grandpa return to the house and put on one of his best vests. Nix is ordered to accompany him, and a conversation takes place, a conversation, opened by Nix, which David and Marianne would regard to be “small and sad.” The candid granddaughter asks, “Grampa, are you afraid to die?” His response is, first of all, “No, not at all, I believe in God Almighty. I believe in the next life and all kinds of life… Death is just a little part of life…” He mentions that life forever would be a bore. [Coherence be damned!] “It’s understandable that a child be afraid and worry. Only an old man like me can begin to solve the meaning of life… Everything has a beginning, a middle and an end… Maybe this life is just the beginning…” Nearly everyone subscribes to that pattern; but the dramas sustaining the work of Ingmar Bergman don’t.

The train conductor snaps them out of that. They meet Adam at the station (the host seemingly and unbelievably forgetting who David was) and the less than fully welcome third proposes going to a hot club. (Before that, at a café for a bite, Adam salivates, “What a wonderful idea! The woman, the lover and the husband!” From there they take a ferry to the heart of Copenhagen [a craft resembling the boat in Bergman’s Summer Interlude]. On this interlude, Adam—perhaps stung by David’s congratulation, “Marianne said you were sober for several days”—maintains, “Women are realists. They choose the strongest. I have big muscles…” David mocks him that his works will be known 2000 years from now; and the artist reports, “You’re being ironic, but you’re right… Women love the great artists…” A flurry, in close-up, of a tray delivering their drinks, comes and goes without attention.)

   Back to David’s last-ditch hope at a hot club, Marianne moots, “Maybe another drink won’t hurt.” He, looking for a miracle, jazzes up the fanfare, “Promise me that we’re going to hell! [hold that thought]. I want to see something exciting. Slightly immoral. Something shocking!” There’s a jazz trio, far from shocking; a woman swirling, sort of like Rita Hayworth in, Gilda, and, to Adam’s annoyance, David and Marianne enjoying a dance together, cheek-to-cheek. In that moment of solitude for Adam, the budding family man, he notices a close friend, a hooker, in fact, and he prevails upon her to get David into single-guy mode. For good measure, he arranges by way of his close-buddy-bartender, to induce David to drink a notoriously unhealthy stimulant. (On entry, Adam calls out, “Marianne is an independent woman. She isn’t bourgeois [like you]. There is no such thing as purity. Only impotent men are faithful. Wives betray you without delay.”) Lise, the supposed distraction, complaining, “Business is bad,” tells Adam, “He’s very attractive” [and though he steps on Marianne’s toes, his renegade gambit shows him at his best]. Marianne knowing something’s that wasn’t there before, asks, “Are you crazy? What’s wrong with you?” (David’s explanation is not quite right—“This dance made me excited!”) She glares and marches away toward Adam, where she grabs the bottle out of his mouth, his equities plummeting, while the blur of the takeover could have been gold. Lise catches up the seldom-dancer, and declares, “David, you didn’t see me?” He smiles within his rare roll. “Give a kiss to Lise!” (Marianne sees this affection, and becomes even more angry. Adam remarks, “It’s nice that David found a girl.”) The new lovers come to the designated bartender. While waiting for the complex mixture, he asks her, “What do you do?” In a flash, she comes up with, “I’m a teacher,” adding, mysteriously, “You want a deal?”/ “What do you teach?” he continues. “My love, of course… What did you think?” And she exposes a shoulder and chest. David has a moment of nonplussed (“Where’s Marianne?”) ; and recovers with laughing out loud, “I’m an idiot, Lise… Hello!” (The ebb and flow of this tonal frontier being never surpassed in Bergman’s many delights.) Then he drinks some of the preparation (the bartender alarmed). He drains the glass (the bartender sticking out his tongue in empathy). “A love potion,” he says. Lise the critic says, “Yeah, good!” The bartender—right out of Depression Era Hollywood—fears the worst. “Can you give me the ingredients?” David asks. “It goes down to the knees… Now I’ve lost my muscles. Why did I do this?” he asks. And he’s glad he’s become (perhaps not for long) someone he’s never been. He orders a second wave of seemingly out of this world, and Bergman’s perfect pitch shows no more reaction from the front line. “There’s a kink in my neck,” the crasher observes; and his glasses fall off. “You look better without glasses,” Lise enthuses. He then treads another step toward dangerous and necessary territory. “Lise, my girl, you’re so beautiful one could die for. But you shouldn’t tie up your hair. You must be loose and free! Like rapids!…” (Cut to the farther range of the bar, with Adam smug and Marianne morose.) “Let’s dance!” the hidden talent calls out./ “Yes!” Lise winks to him. (All smiles.) On the crowded dance floor, Lise says, with more than professional delivery, “Kiss me, David!” He remembers he hasn’t had his second drink. On completing that, he says, “Now, I’m going to kiss the most beautiful girl in Denmark! Not even the King could disapprove!” He, tiger-like, tells the crowd, “Get out of the way, I need space!” He backs into Marianne, produces a rude gesture toward her, and pivots away. Adam laughs uproariously. David kisses Lise passionately. The room applauds. Marianne grabs Adam’s drink and drinks it down. David kisses Lise once more, as if he’d made a discovery needing more details. Unfortunately, impetuous and violent Marianne rushes into the caress; and chaos ensues. Recalling 15 years before and the seriously questionable embrace there, Marianne reverts to advantage at any cost. “Let me go! I’ll make mixed meat out of her!” Lise rushes to find David, but he has left the building, and left forever not only his moment in the sun, but hers’. She does find Adam, once again failing to find some kind of marriage. “I want to scream!” she tells him, far more a lady than what David had pulled out the stops for.

The denouement, winding up in a 5-star Copenhagen hotel and its bridal suite, with a card strung on the door handle ordering, “Do Not Disturb,” is one of the saddest celebrations you could ever imagine. Cutting from the bar, we have David and Marianne at twilight, along a canal as seen from the other side. She is shrieking like a complete fool, and marching toward him with a panzer attack, while he silently back-peddles. “How could you kiss that filthy and vulgar slut? And right in front of me! Your promises are worthless… I want to fuck you!” David, still slightly in a moment of vision that Marianne will never for a moment savor, has what he wanted, and he might as well  be dead. The advantage-pro dips into the world of entitlement and rococo: “I’m sad, cold and depressed. If there’s water here, I’m going to drown myself… I’m going to pummel you first!” David, shrinking by the minute, manages to say, “My beloved Marianne. What a day, what a night!” Sam, the fixer with the fixed limousine, had handled all the arrangements for a night of, if not love, victory. On being driven to the appropriate address, the princess exclaims, “David, you slut! You were so sure!” Masters of ceremonies. Midgets, forever! Once again, that 18th century music box confirming endless nothings.