#i have. like a whole rant. about the acting. i’ve given snippets. but my god. anyways. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writefightandflightclub · 2 years ago

Note

Santi saying “Right there, huh? That’s the spot?”🥵😢

Thank Me Later: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader

Rating: EXPLICIT. 18+ ONLY. Do not read further or engage unless you are over 18. ⚠️

Summary: your friend knew exactly what she was doing seating you next to this guy called “Pope” at her wedding. He’s ever so clearly trouble. However, given you’re in the mood to be trouble right back, you can’t stay mad at your friend for long.

Genre: smutty!

Warnings: finger-banging, mainly. Alcohol consumption. Restroom at a wedding deviance. Reader has a brother - but no descriptions.

GIF: by @uomo-accattivante (pls tell me if you’d like me to remove this!)

Author’s note: this is a rather quick one, written in snippets over my work breaks. Honestly, I’ve been getting too in my head about writing (or at least posting) any smut lately, so I hope you enjoy this! (Anon, I hope I did this glorious prompt justice! Thanks for sending it to me! 🧡)

You quaff some more of the table fizz, despite the fact you succumb to a grimace of distaste every time you take a sip. It’s so vile you swear it’s an outright act of evil that your friend - the bride - chose this concoction for her special day.

“Not hitting the spot, huh?”

You blink at the handsome man seated to your left, cursing your friend all over again for this seating arrangement. Now that -and you’re counting- is the second direct act of evil committed by her today. Oh, she for sure knew exactly what she was doing when she seated you next to him.

He - Pope, his name is - looks so good in his midnight blue suit that you could believe that he was created for the sole purpose of attending weddings and copping-off with the sexy maid of honour. (That’s you.)

Your friend could even have saved herself a few bucks and plated you up as dessert, you think, since you’ve already turned to jelly under his attentions.

“No it is not. It’s disgusting. It’s practically an act of outright warfare.” His delicious lips twitch around a smile as you continue to rant on the injustice of it all, and -damn him- he continues to listen attentively.

It’s true, that despite your best efforts to ignore him - and his blatant aura of trouble - you’d each relegated the bores seated to your respective left and right to the No Talking Zone. And, in fact, you and he may as well have been seated at a table for two, given you’ve spent the whole three course meal getting to know each other better. Getting, also, to dream up a new position you’d enjoy him taking you in with every passing moment. As you dream up yet another, deliciously sordid images multiplying in your head, a blanketing heat flushes your skin. And, in your attempts to cool off you forget, taking another swig of your damned “drink”, resulting in you grimacing all over again. “But then - she never did have any taste. Look at that complete douche she’s married.”

He looks at your mouth. His gaze briefly dips to your cleavage. His corded throat bobs with warm, roughly hewn laughter. “Isn’t that douche your brother?”

“Uh huh.” That was your friend’s original sin.

Pope eyes you with amusement as you drain your glass, suddenly feeling like you need the courage just to survive him looking directly at you like that.

His flirting -not that you’re complaining- is becoming increasingly brazen. He’s a confident one, this dude. He knows he’s pretty. And, his flirting combined with your gradually depleting better judgement, is a dangerous combination. Almost as dangerous a concoction as this god awful fucking wine.

You skim back over the interaction so far, attempting to consolidate your position. You suddenly think - with horror - back to the moment he’d commented good-naturedly on your evident disdain for the entire institution of marriage. You’d blurted out “Marriage? I’d be grateful just to get laid, honestly. Let’s start there.”

You recall how his gaze had become positively pornographic - his smirk devilish - when he’d responded to your assertion. “Okay. I can definitely work with that.”

He brushes your forearm with his fingers, and his touch crackles along your skin like a lit fuse. It snaps you back to the present moment, your desire urgent and running out of line.

“Well,” he purrs next, continuing his advances. Leaning closer toward you and sending a pleasant shiver shimmying down your spine as his warm breath contacts the shell of your ear. As his fingers skim sensually down your bare arm. “Since the drink’s not working out? I bet I could hit the spot for you.” Pope draws back ever so slightly, allowing you to see the flash of wanton desire sparking in his lust-blown umber eyes.

Christ. He smells good. Smells an awful lot like cologne you’ll be reluctant to shower from your skin later tonight. Smells like someone you’re very much about to fuck in some cramped wedding venue bathroom.

You blink at him wordlessly for a moment as his hand slides on to your thigh, a swallow sinking down your neck. The warmth of him bleeds through your thin, silky dress, his palm easily slipping further up and up without resistance - from you or the fabric. Your mouth drops open with a breathy, eager sigh, and you hate your friend juuuust a little more for getting you into this terrible mess.

“What do you think?” he intones, his voice thick and packed like crushed velvet. “Wanna find some place a little more quiet?”

“You’re s-serious.” Your voice is full of telltale tremors already, and he’s barely even touched you.

“Oh yeah.” He looks so very pleased with himself already. Doesn’t he? “You’re the most miserable bridesmaid I’ve ever met. Wanna see if I can turn things around for you.” He plays it straight, but you can’t help but note the more gentle, more sincere dose of mirth dancing in his molten eyes - and so, you finally crack your first smile of the entire dinner service. Entirely at his expense.

After all. He might be trouble, but why on earth has he got it in his head that you’re a good idea? “I take it you like a challenge then?” You’re hardly known for your sunny disposition. You’re notoriously hard to please.

Unphased, however, Pope takes your hand in his and, in a gentlemanly fashion, politely raises you to standing. He leans close once again, winding his arm around your middle. “Hermosa.” The sound is abrasive and delicious, almost like rough fingers grazing your skin. It makes you tingle everywhere. “Maybe I just know what’s good for you.”

Well that’s an assertion you’d like to see him back up, and so, you hook your arm in his and pace out - to find somewhere a little more… quiet.

Your friend -traitor- sees you leave arm in arm with him, causing her face to shine with an absurd level of directional glee, her eyebrows reaching towards her hairline first in shock, then pumping suggestively.

Oh, she knew exactly what she was doing alright.

She clearly knows your every weakness, as well as the fact this man is the embodiment of every single one of them. A silver-haired, brown-eyed fox, packaged in a sexy, tailored suit? You were done for the moment you sat down, weren’t you?

Even so, despite your friend’s evident glee at your imminent hook-up, you scowl, shooting her the middle finger as you pass the top table. “Don’t even.”

Hey. You can thank her later; if - and only if- this guy lives up to his own hype.

***

That’s how it happened.

That’s how you had found yourself here like this, pushed up against the tight restroom wall, your right leg hitched up and hooked over Pope’s hip. His corresponding forearm slid along the length of your thigh and his palm curling underneath your ass cheek to support your position.

It’s his other hand though, which has you in all sorts of trouble. It’s his other hand which is sunk knuckle-deep inside you, curling into every sweet spot and dragging delicious, deep, electrifying friction over your walls.

Your arms brace over his shoulders to keep you upright, the leg supporting your weight growing increasingly shaky. Your fingers skim over the soft but crisp cotton of Pope’s shirt, his suit jacket now hung neatly on the peg of the bolted rest room door, and his right-arm shirt sleeve rolled up to his elbow, the veins and muscles in his tan forearm popping as he works himself into you - first with one thick finger, then two.

“Pope,” you protest weakly as he ravages you beyond expectation or comprehension. “There are gonna be after dinner photos. I’m gonna look… fucked.”

“Mmm. Better make it worth it then, huh?” He kisses along your jaw where your head is tipped back against the wall in ecstasy, his stubble leaving a pleasant burning scrape in its wake. His rich, layered scent rubbing off onto your skin.

His mouth latches eagerly over yours and he tongues you with relish, a gruff moan blooming from his throat into the cave of you. He seems to be enjoying you. Enjoying the way his fingers are making you wet enough that he can hear that obscene squelch sound with every pump of his hand. You drink his sounds down, moaning right back into him, your palms slipping down his shirted, shapely chest in almost complete surrender. His impossible jaw working his lips against yours with vigour.

“You gonna get there?” he enquires gently. “Feel good?”

You have no doubt that you’re going to gush all over his practised hand within moments, but you don’t want to give it up quite so easy - if you can help it. “You expect me to be able to cum in this horrible, pokey bathroom?”

“Look at me,” he grits, his deep, dark, brown eyes latched on to yours. He practically growls. Nips your bottom lip in between his teeth until you lightly yowl in protest. “That’s exactly what I expect.” He looks you directly in the eye as his fingers stretch you open, his thumb meticulously nudging and massaging your clit in time with his languid, rhythmic strokes.

It’s good.

God, it’s good.

But now you’re getting too in your head.

What if someone knocks? Hears? What if Auntie Edna need the restroom and- “I can’t!” you protest breathily - in frustration- even as you writhe yourself on his hand, bucking into every long, thick, curling stoke he delivers you, his fingers precise and consistent.

“Fuck. Princesa. Do you ever stop complaining?”

“No.”

And with that, he thrusts a third finger into you, adding a far more insistent pressure against your giving, welcoming walls.

“Mmmmpppphhh,” you muffle then into the junction of his neck, your head falling forward as you give in and succumb to all the sensations he’s bestowing upon you. You bask solely in the steadily building and electric pleasure sparking out from your core. Reaching out to cling to every extremity.

You moan into his neck, huffing hot, grateful breaths against his skin. Licking over each crevice and contour of his throat with the flat of your tongue and press of your lips. Tasting the buzz of his cologne on your tongue.

“Pope,” you plead, though you know not yet quite what you are begging for. You are confident enough now that he will know just what to give you.

Luckily, indeed, Pope truly does seem to know what’s good for you, what you need, and the precise pads of his fingers and the drag of his clumsy knuckles hit a spot inside you which sends white hot sensations blooming out from your middle. The sudden, warm expansion of this pleasure compresses everything else in you, punching an abrupt, abortive moan from your lungs, which dies on your opened lips.

“There you go,” Pope purrs, even more pleased with himself now, his voice all smug honey flecked with grit. Reading you keenly, his fingers repeat their motion, moulding to you just how you need. “Right there, huh? That’s the spot.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as he hits exactly where you want him, rubbing over your swollen arousal; but still, for some reason, you refuse to give him the satisfaction - even if your breathy, undone voice gives it away for free. “Sure. If you say so.”

He grins, still cock-sure of himself, and he bucks the sizeable, straining mass beneath his suit pants zipper up against your thigh for good measure too. You almost clench around his hand from the thought of that -what else he has to offer- alone. Could almost get off just from his big dick energy, which alone feels like it could penetrate you deep enough to count. “Don’t know why you’re fighting it, hermosa. Told you I know what’s good for you.”

He kisses you then; your mouth, your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. The sound is percussive and sweet and slick and in time with the wet, messy noises between your legs, your arousal now dripping down his fingers and pooling in his broad palm, inching down and over his hand.

He groans in disbelief at the feel of you -perhaps at the thought of burying himself in you for some relief of his own- and he hitches your leg a little higher on his hip, hooking your knee over the meat of his pert, ample ass. He braces his sturdy legs slightly, and it marginally adjusts the angle at which he can fuck his fingers up into you.

The slight adjustment is pure bliss, and God. You don’t want him to ever stop touching you like this.

“If you don’t want it, Princesa…” he slowly drags his fingers from your heat, withdrawing this heaven from you only to tease, and in desperation you clamp your hand down on to his veined, sturdy forearm, keeping him in place.

“No! No,” you protest, voice barely above a whisper but no less robust with conviction as you writhe your core on him. “Don’t stop. Right there. Please.”

With a smug, lopsided smirk Pope redoubles his efforts, surging back into your heat, scissoring his fingers slightly to increase the swell and pressure of him inside you. A moan unspools itself from deep within your chest and you bite down on your lip to quell it, your breathing ragged. Mingling with Pope’s own panting - his torn, shredded breaths. Satisfied now, however, that he’s very much about to prove his point, Pope continues where he left off, his fingers delving into you and squeezing your sweet nectar out from around them, filling you up with his girth.

“Uh huh,” you whine and he must feel you tighten around him. Must know how close you are.

“Show me,” he encourages, his voice the stiff rod to your molten core, the only thing keeping you upright; and barely. “Show me how good it feels.”Indeed, you slide all silken - down the wall, down his hand, and it pushes him even deeper.

“Yes.” Your eyes flutter closed. Screw shut. Your moans become unfettered. You let yourself go. “Like that. God. Pope.”

He maintains his pace and his pressure; thank goodness. He does not race you towards an end, but he does guides you there with a gentle, supple hand. And, when his voice comes next, it is to deliver a delicate red ribbon of a phrase, the words unravelling into the shell of your ear and snaking straight down into the depths of you. “Gonna look so good when you cum for me, aren’t you, Princesa? Gonna cum so hard on my fingers?”

You do.

You implode with pleasure, clamping down around his hand in slow, deep waves, undulating on him until you drag every last vestige of pleasure that you can from out of his touch. You cling on to him for dear life, and he practically has to keep you pinned to the wall with his body to keep you from waning. Wilting.

You drink him in as you convulse, his dark eyes locked on yours, lust-hooded and encouraging. Full of safety. You drink in the sound of him. The moans of his satisfaction at seeing you come apart for him. The mingled scents of cologne and sex and laundry powder - the smell of that crisp white fucking shirt adorning his hot body.

He holds you, making you feel safe and sure as you come down in his arms, still throbbing pleasantly between your legs. Your mouth stays slack with disbelief as he slips his fingers out of your heat, bringing his fingers up to his lips and tasting you with relish as he shoves his own fingers over his supple pink tongue.

“Well done, cariño,” he praises gently before kissing you, slipping the taste of your own juices into your mouth as he tongues you, and the unexpected tenderness of it causes your eyes to brim with emotion. Emotion which you are quick to blink away - hastily, before it can be detected.

You’re sated. Plenty sated. But you already feel to the depths of you that you are not done with this man. You want to taste him too. Satisfy him. Have him take you. Learn him. Hold him.

“D-do you want…?”

You angle your hips towards the substantial bulge at his crotch, and yet his gaze is sincere and gentle all over again. Hosting something deeper than an urgent, consuming hunger.

Gingerly, he hooks your chin with his (oh so talented) forefinger. Flashes you a lopsided smile. “Hermosa. You can thank me later.” He nods over and down - out of the small, square window which peeks out on to the lawn one level below. “I think you’re already late enough for the after dinner photos.”

“Oh shit!”

Pope’s mouth bends with amusement as you scramble to fix yourself up. He unspools some toilet roll and hands it to you so you can clean yourself up, swiping your juices away from between your thighs. He moves ever so seamlessly and calmly around you as you smooth your rumpled dress and hurriedly unsmudge your make-up. And, for his part, he washes up his hands and calmly slips his pristine suit jacket back onto his pleasing form, instantly looking as though nothing at all went down.

You meanwhile, are a dead giveaway. “Uggghhhhhh. Who the fuck has photos after dinner, anyway?” you gripe, and a laugh bobs in Pope’s throat.

“There you go again. Always complaining.”

“Oh shut up,” you snip, already far too fondly. Then, you grab him by the lapels, dragging this delicious man on to your lips. “All that matters, is that I’m going to be very grateful later.”

Your hungry kiss, as well as the clear suggestion in your eyes, leaves Pope stupefied for just a moment. Long enough for you to dash out towards the lawn, at least. Scrambling to take your place.

You are the last out of the wedding party to arrive at the designated spot, but you manage to slot in next to the bride just in time for the photographer to capture you in all your post-orgasm glory.

Of course, as you sidle up to her, though, your friend raises an all too knowing eyebrow. “What took you so long?”

You’d be mad with her blatant scheming, but, given the result, you can’t help the broad grin which erupts over your face. You bump her hip with yours. “Bitch,” you chide, and she emits a wicked chuckle.

“Hussy,” she bites around a mirthful smile. “So. Tell me everything. How did you enjoy your seating arrangement?”

You re-pose as the photographer directs the party, subtly shifting position. “Hmm. Yeah,” you respond mysteriously, knowing it will drive her wild not to have the full story. “Almost enough to make up for the shit wine.”

“That good, huh?”

You erupt into giggles again, this time chaotic enough that you are reprimanded by the photographer. “I love you, bitch,” you whisper to the glowing bride.

“Love you too.”

And, meanwhile, entirely unbeknownst to you, Pope looks on, pleased to see you smiling. He’d even like to think he played a small part in turning that around.

You look beautiful, he thinks. And God. He can’t wait for you to repay the favour.

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #Oscar Isaac

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sourestlemon · 5 years ago

Text

So. I made a bet with my friend that I could get through Omegaverse Haikyuu fanfiction because he says I can’t so if I read https://archiveofourown.org/works/13330632/chapters/30514041 that I’m going to get free icecream and twenty bucks.

But still, Bokuaka! Bokuaka is beautiful, I should rant about it more actually

This is me talking about this fic as I read, so it’ll be updated until I finish

Note, I’ve finished and it’s very very long. You’ve been warned

There’s my review and meta at the end of this as well as some critiques

Spoilers ahead.

“The Jewel of Seijou”

THE WHAT NOW

IWAOIIII

Bokuaka is so fucking cute dear god.

Oh. It’s sinful now

Ushijima better stop throwing shade at my boi’s

“"I can't believe you all think that you can go against the crown and live!" Ushishima says silencing them all. The alpha was slowly emitting his pheromones wanting to show them all his superiority. No one said a word against him. "Toru! I didn't know you'll be as lowly to use your family name to gather us here!" The alpha seethed to the omega that could have been his wife. Iwazumi hackles raised and bared his lips at the beginning of a growl. "And you!" Ushijima turned to Bokuto full on emitting his pheromones making the rest of the alpha's shoulder hackle cautiously and Oikawa to cling at Iwazumi. But Bokuto meet Ushijima calmly, unfazed by the bloodlust while Akaashi was frozen to his spot but didn't show any emotion.”

So what we get out of this paragraph is

1) Bitchy Ushi. I love Ushijima don’t get me wrong he’s precious but like. This fic Ushijima? Son of a bitch walking up in here like “Toru! How dare you be so lowly—“ and fucking trying to dominate everyone.

2) Protective Iwaizumi. Protect the precious Seijou Jewel. Do it, fight for him, protect him he’s scared.

3) Is Ushijima salty because Oikawa didn’t choose him? Oh god, he is isn’t he.

4) Akaashi’s go to emotion isn’t emotion.

5) Shits about to go down, Bokuto is gonna flip eventually, if Ushi threatens anyone—it’d probably be Oikawa or Akaashi seeing as they’re omega’s—I can see Bokuto and Iwaizumi just flipping their shit.

God I’m way to invested. Why did I read this

USHIJIMA IS A COWARDLY LITTLE BITCH IN THIS FIC, STAB HIM HINATA

D O I T

Awww Kageyama cares, Tsukki cares

OH MY GOD TENDOU!

More people came surrounding them. "What the hell," Akaashi recognized Iwazumi's voice.

Iwaizumi’s reaction is the only respectable reaction.

Wait this has major character death in the tags

Fuck

Everyone has decided that Oikawa and Akaashi must be defended but just once I want them to flip their shit and kill someone. Just once.

Bokuto, Lev and Iwaizumi all want to protect Oikawa but Iwaizumi doesn’t even fucking trust em.

Why does everyone act like Nishinoya not wanting to move on so quickly is a bad thing? It’s perfectly reasonable and I hate how everyone is like “What’s wrong with you, do you not like us?” And getting super standoffish or snappish simply because Nishinoya loves Asahi so much and doesn’t want to feel like they didn’t need him.

I really don’t like how Nishinoya/Tanaka/Ennoshita became a thing in this fic. It would be cute if it didn’t just happen because Nishinoya was desperate and if he wasn’t he wouldn’t have fucked Tanaka.

Oh dear god I don’t want Kenma to die.

Oh thank god it’s okay.

Fuck I forgot they had boobs

Did Bokuto almost name the Kuroken baby Oya but changed last minute?

BO ISN’T COMING BACK IS HE?????????

I’m feelin a little sniffly. I might fucking cry over an Omegaverse fic. Oh how the mighty have fallen

Oh my god the stars. I don’t think Bo is coming back y’all. I’m so nervous

The fuckin royals aren’t getting Keiji. No. Nuh-uh FUCK THAT SHIT

THAT’S BOKUTO’S MATE STAY AWAY FROM HIM

-cue mac worrying about oikawa because seijou is allied with fukurodani and an easy way to tear seijou away from the alliance is to kidnap oikawa and iwaizumi might split to keep him safe and ushi fucking knows this and possibly tendou also oiks is pretty as fuck-

BOKUTO IS OKAY!

Iwaizumi making Bokuto promise to save Oikawa if things went to shit makes me so worried but the same time his lil speech made my IwaOi heart so happy.

Suga bby...

BOKUTO JUST KILLED A FUCKING CHILD

Tendou, Ushijima I never thought I’d say this but I fucking hate them right now. They better not hurt the other best Boi’s.

Ushijima is salty as fuck confirmed.

"You truly are a piece of art," Ushijima said gently ...."But not as beautiful as him," the alpha muttered as he threw the omega to the floor.

So, this little snippet sent disgusting shivers down my spine for two reasons.

1) Ushijima just yeeted Akaashi, my son and

2) Any reader knows who the ‘he’ Ushi is talking about is, the only person in this book who is said to be as beautiful as Akaashi. You guessed it, the boi who rejected Ushi-fucking-jima, Jewel of Seijou himself Oikawa Tooru.

The thing that grosses me out the most about this paragraph just on its own is that Ushijima is either guessing about what Oikawa looks like, or he actually knows which overall just gives me the heebie jeebies because Oikawa definitely didn’t want that. What makes my skin crawl in this little snippet is what Ushijima would do when if he got his angry little hands on Oikawa—or Iwaizumi, but Iwa would probably be killed or used as a bargaining chip.

Hmmmmm, I’m pretty sure Ushi is in love with Tendou but the beauty statement still stands possibly???? Unless specified otherwise, because Akaashi and Oikawa are canonically considered the most beautiful people in the fic.

Also this entire chapter just makes me feel so gross, fuck Ushijima man. Fuck him.

My Ushijima loving heart hurts reading this fic.

I just want Akaashi and Oikawa to straight up kill someone. Please, anyone who I don’t care about

I FUCKING SEE THE MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH WARNING AND I DON’T LIKE IT

FUCK

NOT BOKUTO

WAIT IS HE ALIVE

I WANNA SEE MY LITTLE BOY

HERE HE COMES

I WANT TO SEE MY LITTLE BOY

"I came right on time," Bokuto forced out his voice cracking with emotion. "Now I can engulf you in my arms and brighten your days despite the absence of the sun. You will no longer have to endure the cold winters alone. I'll be with you, I be there for you and our child," The alpha vowed his hands itching in need.

"Are you going to leave us again?" Akaashi needed to know. The omega already knew that he wouldn't be able to survive being apart from the alpha. He knew that he wouldn't win the battle with the overwhelming loneliness.

"The seas could dry up, the mountains could turn to pebbles, the trees could die and the whole world could be on fire and I still won't leave your side."

That was all Akashi needed to hear as he leaped into his alphas arm and let go of all the pain he has held in

I’m not crying I swear

They walked together side by side and Akaashi finally faced them. They were both beaten, bloody, and torn butinstead of feeling satisfaction he felt remorse. They both looked at him with soft, wide eyes, and he realized that this was the moment they were waiting for. They wanted to see the child that they both desperately wanted and Akaashi decided to give them a parting gift.

Akaashi had won, he had won from the very beginning and he held his trophy who was a small babe with golden orbs, with mutant white and black hair. He hadn't lied to Tendou when he had said that the baby looked exactly like his father.

OH MY FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOD I’M SOBBING DON’T TOUCH ME

Meta and Review

So I just read A/B/O for the first time and I knew absolutely nothing about the entire trope that Mpreg existed and to stay the hell away from it. Please remember this in the meta and tell me if there way of dividing characters is ever specified or if it’s just decided by top-bottom dynamics.

Wow.

The story was pretty good outside of what I’m about to talk about. I liked the ships and most of the buildup, the worldbuilding seems solid, the war and UshiTens situation was really interesting to me and it made Ushi and Tendou a bit morally gray and could’ve talked about how people could do bad things for what they thought were the right reason and everything was clean cut.

Overall? Eh. Could’ve been done better

Not onto the rest

This doesn’t seem as toxic or inherently bad as most fics I’ve seen, I didn’t really like how Omega’s are always inherently feminine—the dresses, jewels, how they’re seen as inherently weaker and sometimes helpless, how they’re always referred to as “my lady”—and aren’t really given another choice because they might have the ability to reproduce in A/B/O but they aren’t women. It’s okay if a man is really feminine but for all of them to be? It rubbed my the wrong way.

I wish that the power structure was handled different in A/B/O in general. Omega’s seem to be treated like they’re helpless and I just...don’t like it? Omega’s might be submissive but that doesn’t make them physically weaker and if it did, I would’ve thought they would have picked up some other useful skills like diplomacy or strategy.

As usually, my example of how a character could’ve been handled better is Oikawa.

He’s my favorite character and I adored him but he just didn’t really deliver. It felt like he was being treated like a kid throughout this entire fic, it didn’t seem like he was doing anything during the war. Even if Omega’s don’t have a lot of physically prowess and abilities, what happened to Oikawa’s strategic and analytical nature? Why was it never mentioned in any of Bokuto’s POV sections because out all the leaders of the Allied Kingdoms, Oikawa is the best strategist—Kuroo is the exception, not the rule and I thought they should’ve been working together because smort boys—but he was simply hidden away.

Now I have no problems with all the protective IwaOi scenes when they’re in immediate danger—it makes perfect sense if Omega’s are physically weaker but have other usable talents that are taken seriously—and Oikawa simply can’t talk his way out of said problem.

I do however, have a problem with cowering Oikawa. That feels so OOC at the beginning of the first scene I cited, where is all of the quick wit and worthless pride from the show? Now, it makes sense for Oikawa to start getting scared and simply slip behind Iwaizumi once Ushijima tries to dominate everyone and all the Alphas start freaking out if Oikawa is at an actual, physical disadvantage—I feel like the alpha’s their have similar frames, or at least most of them do. Bokuto, Ushijima, Kuroo and Iwaizumi are jacked and beefy, everyone but Iwa is relatively tall too. Now, Oikawa’s tall too but he’s much thinner and leaner. I’d be scared too if everyone could break me like a twig if it came down to it—but no ??? Apparently at the first sign of any conflict he just gets scared??? He doesn’t know what’s going on in his own fucking kingdom ???

This is not Oikawa.

I didn’t like how they treated most of the Omega’s actually, it felt like they were just reverted to helpless damsels in distress. What happened to Kenma’s observation skills? Nishinoya’s everything?

More importantly, what decides Alpha’s and Omega’s? Is it up in the air like gender is? What are Beta’s then? It can’t just be who’s top and who’s bottom, that would mean the alpha-beta-omega- status wouldn’t be decided until you had a mate

From what I’ve seen in the fic, it goes by ship dynamics but what if the characters who had more strategic, cunning, observant traits and weren’t as buff and muscly would be Omega’s and had the brain power while characters who relied more on physical prowess would be Alpha’s and dominant in a purely physical way sometimes while characters who were an odd combination of the two would be Beta’s.

Going by my logic, instead of the top being the alpha and the bottom just being an omega without any personality it would be...

Bokuto- Alpha, like he was in the story. He’s definitely more physically inclined then Akaashi.

Akaashi: Omega, same as in the fic. Not to say he isn’t athletic but he relies more on his mind.

Iwaizumi- Alpha, like in the fic but from a purely physical standpoint and because he can rein Oikawa in when his friend starts going nuts.

Oikawa - Beta, he’s quite powerful but he’s also manipulative, strategic and his mind is scary as fuck.

Kuroo- Beta, he relies on his physical prowess and dorkily perfect brain a lot so he’s also a mixture of both.

Kenma- Omega, physically he’s a twig but his mind is what makes him the brain of Nekoma

Hinata- Alpha, he doesn’t use his brain a lot and has a lot of physical power

Kageyama - Beta, he’s pretty smart when it comes to volleyball and he’s also physically strong

Suga - Omega, he’s quite clever and his brain power out ways his physical prowess by a landslide

Daichi- Beta, he firms strategies and relies on his brain, plus his killer thighs

Tsukishima - Beta, he has his hue fur and athleticism but his brain power is also strong as fuck

Yamaguchi - Beta, he seems to be really people smart and eventually his serves are pretty good.

Can Betas get into a relationship with other Betas? I don’t know or care, we stan Alpha-Alpha, Beta-Beta and Omega-Omega ships here

I DON’T KNOW IF THIS IS HOW IT WORKS THO

do I have to read more

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ivalice-tifalucis · 6 years ago

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Found a forum about Take That, also found some interesting discussion

Now it’s 4AM in the morning, I slept too much for past couple of days because of some flu and the medicine makes me drowzy and moody all the time and sleeping was very tempting. I should’ve finished my essay so I can get this one subject to more than a ‘B’ so I can still retain my dream of going to Netherlands this year. But here I am searching non-important things (or at least maybe it’s important for my curiosity), and tried to google if there’s any existing Take That forum. My standard is high with mygnrforum which is a super active and long term versatile fan forum of Guns N’ Roses, I even manage to find myself some friends there. The whole website is even made and funded by fans, active discussions from all age, nationalities, and genders, and even there was a time when Axl Rose decided to showed up to everyone’s surprise. But hey, obviously GN’R is bazillion times bigger than TT. I just saw their concert of same shit they’ve been singing for 35 years with terrible mickey mouse voice of Axl’s and people still went lit. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy that I finally see my favorite rock band. It just hanging around with old fans give me sense of cynical for the band.

Anyway...

I went to thread that is talking about Odyssey. You may check it here: http://www.buzzjack.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=209704&st=440

The thread is actually meant for both Robbie and Take That fans. I found nice thread that talked about Reveal and even gave me snippets that I haven’t even seen before since I was too poor to buy Reveal. But what I want to talk about in Odyssey thread is the view of this person who definitely this kind of annoying GB Army you will find a lot around Thatters group or social medias comments sections. Try to start from the link I gave you. Here this person talks about the BBC Documentary.

Tl;dr the cynical side of Thatters and that for this lovey-dovey band, in the eyes of some of their fans they still are one of the most controversial band.

“Saw it There were some tears involved here as well, but of boredom, unfortunately. Absolutely NOTHING new whatsoever and nothing of substance and, on many occasions, it felt like the Robbie and his backing singers documentary. The era starting with 2006 was almost brushed off, because, of course, Robbie wasn't there - most of the moments from this era were the ones with Robbie in it-, we had the neverending Jason eulogy, but nothing to actually celebrate the members that really carry Take That. And I realized another thing that pissed me off - in almost all the recent performances, Robbie had the silver jacket, to make sure he distinguished himself from the others - God forbid someone mistook him for just a member and he didn't take the center of the stage. I guess that, on a very superficial level, the documentary will do its job, it will sell the album, but I see it as nothing more than that - just a promo trick, without real substance. I hope one day we get a documentary that brushes off Robbie's coming and going and the boys' constant "guilt" over it and the Jason "I'm happy to enjoy the money I've made off the back of TT, but without TT" and actually concentrates on what Mark, Gary and Howard have been doing. I know I sound bitter and I'm probably blowing things out of proportion a bit, but, seriously, is it too much to ask, as a fan, to have one episode that doesn't involve Robbie? Gary's documentary with James was so much more fun and deep, at the same time. This looked just like a label-ordered film, with no other purpose than filling some pockets. I was really disappointed. And I didn't understand what was the whole thing of including their mums in this documentary if they gave them 2 minutes and didn't get anything of substance out of them? We got more time with the same old fans that appear everywhere and say nothing interesting. It would have been more interesting to just have 2 fans that actually had some stories to tell; the same for the mums - considering how crazy it got in the 90s, they'd have had a ton of stories to tell - they probably talked amongst themselves, but nobody was smart enough to include the stuff of interest in the documentary. Sorry, just because I'm a fan, I'm not gonna praise everything they do, especially when it's so shallow. Rant over “

I mean a documentary released close with release date of their Greatest Hits album obviously not for commercial purpose related, right? People already complain that it’s going to be only TT3 doing Greatest Hits tour and she wants this documentary only about TT3. I agree though that maybe there should be more Take That mums and less fan stories maybe. But I think she doesn’t understand that ‘We’ve Come a Long Way’ is not like ‘For the Record’ or ‘Look Back Don’t Stare’. The purpose of this documentary is celebrating and look back but with brighter light on their career in the past 30 years. Don’t expect bunch of guys look pissed and depressed in this one.

And when I say she’s definitely GB Army, just read it how she reacts around the other person who is more leaning to Robbie.

“Take That have been a UK (almost) only act since especially after Progress. Boy or Manbands do not sell well in the rest of Europe. It is not down to them only. The music taste is different. Robbie maintained his solo fanbase in Europe different to the UK more than TT. He sells out stadiums still. Progress was the unification all time height. Gary never sold well in Europe. And in the UK in the comments on FB, Newspapers etc (aside of the usual hate comments every public figure gets) you see that his political direction and the tax issue hurt his image. Robbie coming and going makes some people happy, some unhappy as you also realize in the comments even in this thread. But what really took mojo away is Jason leaving. And the miss of huge ballads. However, as long as they sell tours, even if it is for the live moment rather than TT - it is good for them as it pays millions in their wallets. In 10 years there might be a full reunion and then the Progress effect will set in again”

And this GB Army lady thinks Gary has no political direction. Then do tell me why people mocking him as Tory. I don’t understand UK politics. I always roll my eyes when I found random comments like for example at Kit Harington, sometimes he got called Tory too and ffs the dude never say anything about his political views, the reason he got called Tory is probably people mistaken him for being blue blood because he is the nth descendant of an Earl and married to Rose Leslie, whom her uncle is an Earl. But then again, it’s even written on his wikipedia page with article related, Gary did stated he supported David Cameron.

Oh this GB Army lady again...

“To be frank, I understand certain fans liked Jason and miss him, I personally don't. I'm probably one of the few people who don't acknowledge that "intelligence" and "wisdom" the others are talking about - that's probably because I saw really intelligent, academic people in the person of my professors and I know how that truly looks. I guess Jason strived to be intelligent and he probably read a lot, but, imo, he had no real in depth view of anything. I'm not saying, by any means, he was a stupid person, just that he wasn't any more intelligent than the others. I agree with you, though, about his contribution to the band - even if it was only for the moral of the group, he was good for them. But he chose to leave, he wasn't kicked out, so I don't see why the boys have to always go out of their way to acknowledge him - if "fans" attack them for this, then they're idiots. The interviews the boys did in November clearly showed they are annoyed of always being asked about Jason and Robbie - that's why I find this documentary to be more of a "guided" one - they said exactly what people expected them to say, regardless of how they actually feel.“

“As I've said, I agree that both Jason and Robbie's contributions had to be acknowledged, that's indisputable. What I'm saying is that Robbie's presence in the documentary wasn't necessary, given all he's done to the boys. He could have left them have their moment. I truly, truly despised him when he referred to them as "my business brothers". He's clever when it comes to distorting reality without many people noticing it. Maybe the III and Wonderland eras weren't as successful as the previous ones, but, given the context, it's no wonder. They were still successful and it was all down to Gary, Mark and Howard. 30 years of work and did anyone actually acknowledge these eras? Even Odyssey was brushed off. So, I have a problem with the program being called "We've come a long way" while we're only presented the beginning and some of the middle. Oh, and funny how Robbie uploads his new single on yt precisely the day the documentary airs! How convenient! “

There’s also some talking about TT downfall, how they can’t sell as much as they used to. Personally, I wanna know too from this side of the story, long term fan all the way to the 90s. And tbh their problem is also every musicians for all time and all place problem. Even Gary acknowledge this. They’re an old act. And that’s ok. Kinda agree that they made some bad decisions on songs and singles, but to me it’s related to the first problem. I stand with all the 5 lads so I don’t think Robbie came and left and changing the dynamic has something major to do. I agree that they’re lacking huge ballads now, but I still enjoy their newer songs tbh, The Jason one is quite intriguing though.

“I agree about the impact of Jason leaving. He may have been quiet on records but from what I could see he was --Robbie and Gary aside-- the next most popular member since they reformed. (**) I think Jason represented 'the good guy' and humble aspects more naturally than the others and this gained him droves of fans. He is very intelligent, including emotionally intelligent which made him relatable with everyday members of the public. The other four are nice though in my opinion you could tell Jason was truly sincere. Of course he is also the only member not involved in any tax issue and possibly took moral issue on this. I once read he still banks with his local co-op.”

IMO, this part is even interesting

A (dylandog): “I actually feel for Howard. A few months ago he bumped into the 'elusive Jay' on Kensington High Street and they had a brief chat. Apparently that was the first time Jay had see Howard's two children. Howard has also posted some lovely heart felt posts about Jay - who has completely cut the boys out of his life. I genuinely think that Howard is upset by Jay's decision to not only walk away from the band, but also their friendship.”

B (GBA lady): “That's exactly what I'm thinking, dylandog. Howard and Jason seemed to be very good friends during the TT years and Mark, well, he seems to be friends with everyone. I'm not including Gary on this one, although, back in the 90s, they said themselves, it was Gary-Howard-Jay, on one side, and Mark-Robbie, on the other side. I can understand - to a certain extent - Jason's decision to quit the music industry, but I don't get why he had to also quit his friendships. Howard was the one who said, during an interview, that Jason doesn't even reply to their emails anymore.”

A: “Jay was always the one that struggled with the limelight so to some extent it wasn't a surprise that he was the one to jump ship. I also felt that he was, to put it bluntly, rather work shy. I think they probably understand/accept his decision to leave the music industry, but I agree with you, they must be hurt and confused by his actions to cut them out of his life. I know if a friend I'd spent many years with did that to me I'd feel very hurt. It does make me wonder what an earth went on? Was Jay appalled by their involvement in the tax scheme or was it something else? Whilst I understand Jay has his own life and friendship groups to completely erase them from his life is drastic to say the least. “

B: “I don't think it has anything to do with the their tax scheme. I doubt he even knew what the boys did with their share. Jason's finances are managed by his brother, the boys' by someone else. I don't see them sit down and talk: "oh, did your lawyer/accountant make you sign that paper regarding that investment?". I really trust Gary when he says he had no idea what he was signing - if he had any suspicion back then that it would be something that would backfire, he'd have pulled the money out immediately and payed the tax to the State, just like he did when he found out what it was all about. BUT, in the eventuality that Gary and the others lie and they knew they were doing something morally questionable and Jason was aware of this and this is the reason he left the band, then shame on him! He isn't a saint, he's done his fair share of morally questionable things in life - at the end of the day, using fans for sex is way more wrong than making an investment that doesn't break any laws -, so he wasn't in any position to judge. Just like all the others, he did alcohol, he did drugs, he used people for his own pleasure.....he really had no foot to stand on when it came to this. He is enjoying, after all, a life of doing nothing off the back of others, limelight shy or not. I sincerely hope that is not the reason he quit the band. If it were, his mum being in the documentary would look very weird.“

Then another guy came...

C: “I don't understand the talk about Jay like he is a bad guy here when this is probably the main reason why he quit the band, to stop stangers being judgmental on him. What's wrong with him dating young girls or older girls (Catherine Tate wasn't exactly young when they were dating)? He is single and should be allowed to date whoever he wants. And if he decided to quit because of the tax thing then I don't see any problem. People has different values in life that hold dear to their heart. Anyway, all this was just you guys' speculations (not even truth) and you still manage to use it to talk down on him just because he is not your favorite. Jason has never been a fan of technology since when he was in the band so I see no reasons for him to change after he left the band. Being of grid is so Jason that I don't know why everyone would be surprised. I have a lot of old colleagues that I was close to when I was working with them but never bother to keep in touch. I still like them but they are not my priority at the moment. There are so many levels of friendship and Take That is definitely a unique one.”

A: “I'm sorry you see it that way BadHabit. I in no way meant to be dismissive of Jay or suggest that he is a 'bad guy.' If you read my post I do say I miss Jay and for me they were at their best as a four piece. However, it's not unfair of me to point out that he had few leads, which I think is a shame by the way,because he's my second favourite vocalist in the band, or that he had very little input re song writing. The forum is for comments and opinions and unless we're looking at facts such as sales figures, then of course it's merely conjecture. My point was that I didn't fully understand the intellectual label given to Jason. Of course he can 'date' whom is wishes, regardless of their age, I don't think I suggested otherwise, but simply made an observations that he appears to have been photographed with much younger women on a number of occasions and therefore falls into that stereotype of older man/ younger woman. By the way for balance Howard is married to a much younger woman as well.“

B: “In regards to Jason dating younger women - although I couldn't care less about his private life (as long as his private life doesn't affect TT's image/reputation/connections)-, I do believe it's morally wrong for a 40+ old man to be dating 20 year olds. No, a person doesn't have the right to date whomever they please. In some countries, it's legal for 80+ year olds to marry young girls, some are still kids - based on the mighty principle that "one can do whatever/whomever they please". Just because it's not illegal, it doesn't mean it's not wrong. Plus, it's just disturbing to see an almost 50 year old - or is he 50 already? - jumping from woman to woman - he's either interested in settling down, in which case he should be dating just one person -or he's not interested in a family life, in which case he shouldn't be dating at all. I could understand it to some extent when all the boys were teens or in their early 20s, but now it's just ridiculous. I know you all live in a "liberal" thinking country, but I have the feeling nowadays abnormalities are being perceived as normal, which is soooo wrong. It's not right that any person on this forum be made to "retract" an opinion based on a system of values, just because others' fan bias. Like dylandog said, nobody believes Jason is "a bad guy", but that doesn't mean he's a saint either- he's just showing signs of immature and questionable decisions. Every single member of this band has been criticized for various choices they've made in their lives, why would be Jason exempt from the same treatment? He actually had it pretty easy going while he was in the band. For all his questionable public appearances, he never got the 10th amount of the slagging Gary did for simply existing.“

*sigh* now I’m getting some pattern that the older you are as a fan of an act, the cynical you are.

If anyone manage to read this until this part, please let me know your thoughts. Especially about Jason because tbh even I still confuse about his mindset.

#take that #tt5 #tt digging

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filmfilmmagazine · 4 years ago

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Linklater on Linklater : self-interview by the Slacker filmmaker (The Austin Chronicle, 1991)

“Austin has the highest per capita ratio of wonderful people and the lowest percentage of assholes of any city. I believe I'll be based here for quite some time." When Richard Linklater made that announcement to the Chronicle back in 1991, at the height of Slacker's success, it would have been reasonable to believe that he was blowing at least a little smoke. But three decades, five Oscar nominations, and $300 million in the global box office later, he's still hanging around – an older, wiser version of the indie innovator whose latest film, live-action/animation hybrid coming-of-age period piece Apollo 10 ½: A Space Age Adventure, has been acquired by Netflix, and was still made in the ATX.

But 30 years ago, he was the newly minted hometown hero. In typical fashion, when the Chronicle sponsored a screening of Slacker at the Dobie on Sept. 22, 1991, we ran a story under the unwieldy title of: "The Art of the Interview: Self-Revelation or Self Torture? Richard Linklaker Interviewed by ..." There's no byline, because the subject was the author: Linklater, still whirling from the seemingly never-ending press tour, sat down with himself to dispatch, once and for all, the most meaningful answer to the most generic questions he had been asked over the summer months.

Here's a snippet, for the first time since its original print appearance, is the whole story of surviving Slacker, in Linklater's own words - Richard Whittaker.

After nearly 140 Slacker interviews in the last two months, automatic pilot has taken over, like an actor in a long-running play summoning energy before each performance, or an instructor making an ages old lecture seem witty and spontaneous. This publicity grind also seems to resemble a psychoanalytical session: Someone gets paid to ask prompting questions and listen to you drone on and on – and I do find myself discovering new things in the process. It's been a forced transformation from being too shy to address an audience to being live on CNN in front of millions. The final stage in the filmmaking process is apparently being a professional mouth and ranting on about things that have only the slightest connection to whatever "qualified" me to be ranting in the first place. So I thought a "composite interview" of all my interviews might able to include many of the natural questions the film invites, as well as more than just the snippet of my answer that happens to fit an interviewer's agenda – the luxury of my being both interviewer and subject here.

So, first question:

RL: So, just what is a slacker?

RL: (Acting like he's never heard the question before.) Hmmm... Slackers might look like the left-behinds but they are actually one step ahead, rejecting most of society and the social hierarchy before it rejects them. The dictionary defines slackers as people who evade duties and responsibilities. A more modern notion would be people who are ultimately being responsible to themselves and not wasting their time in a realm of activity that has nothing to do with who they are or what they might ultimately be striving for.

RL: (A slightly suspecting, almost distrustful look) So okay... You aren't a slacker. Slackers don't make movies.

RL: Sure they do, just not the kind you would usually want to interview somebody about. It sounds like I'm being judged on the success of the film, not its simple existence. No one ever said slackers weren't productive. It's just that their products often fall outside the market economy. If the film never found an audience, would my slacker credentials be revoked like this? I think I still qualify as a slacker... just one that's currently lucky. I've been officially employed about one year of the last seven. Actually, filmmaking is the perfect slacker profession. You can piddle around for years, watch tons of movies and daydream about what important films you would make if you only had the cash.

RL: Speaking of it, where did you get the money for Slacker?

RL: It wasn't about money, we never talked about it. There wasn't any, so we had to get by some other way. Everyone who worked on the film did it for reasons other than cash. The fact that it was done so inexpensively says more about the spirit of the people involved in the project than the cost. But by the first watchable print, about $23,000 had been spent. That doesn't include large amounts still owed at the time to the lab, sound studio, and all the deferred wages. With the blow-up to 35mm and all the legal costs involved in signing with a bigger distributor, the budget is now well over 150 grand and still growing. The initial cash came from where most truly independent films come from: supportive family and friends, credit cards, any savings, additional loans. You sell off possessions, steal, ask others to steal, all kinds of things you're not particularly proud of.

RL: Are you surprised at the film's success?

RL: On one level, sure. It could easily have never happened. It comes down to a series of the right people at the right time saying "yes" in whatever way they can. But for whatever success the film has had, there is a parallel track of rejection. You have to build up an almost erotic relationship with rejection, or the process could decimate you. Even as late as last week, it continues to get turned down at certain festivals, and we haven't really had a big break internationally yet. But I think everyone who worked on the film felt it was a success last summer when we opened at the Dobie. It was closure and success completely on its own terms. Had it never gone much further, it would have been this positive experience that we all learned from, had fun with, and basically accomplished what we set out to do; any additional success has all been gravy. The national selling of the film is a bit strange to me because it's so "cult-of-the-director" oriented. When I say "we," they usually change it to "I." Fortunately for me, my key Slacker collaborators understand the inevitable simplifications as a part of the marketing process to be used, ultimately, for our ends. I'm trying not to take the personal attention and scrutiny too seriously. and actually find a certain comfort in simply seeing myself as a spokesman of the moment for a lot of people's creative energy and input. As a producer, I've always felt responsible to the 150-plus people who donated their time and energy and will share in any profits from the film.

RL: One of the most interesting aspects of the movie is its large cast of mostly non-professional actors. Where did you find such poorly dressed people?

RL: Many were friends of mine or the crew, but were most were found through a very selective vetting process where we gave out cards that were essentially invitations to a video interview. From there it was matching people to parts they seemed to embody the essence of. A lot of interesting people couldn't get it together to show up for their interview, and a lot of cool people we met with just didn't match a preconceived part. We were then so underground no one cared much. I run into people who say if they had known it was going to be any good, they would have been more interested. Basically, the cast has never been given enough credit. These were not only interesting, creative and courageous people, but also the ones serious enough to approach the rehearsal and shooting process in a professional manner. By saying everyone "simply played themselves," it doesn't acknowledge that leap of faith to get into that arena and tap into a part of themselves necessary for the part. It's not easy to be yourself on purpose take after take.

RL: The press kit here says that the movie was entirely scripted. It has such an improvisational feel.

RL: Don't ever believe press kits... that was all bullshit. Actually, we'd just turn the camera on and whatever happened, happened. I don't know why everybody doesn't do a movie like this. I guess we just got lucky that it all fit together somehow (smiles).

RL: Seriously, I detect a structure, but was just commenting that the actors seemed very real.

RL: They are real. That was the point. It was all about giving the characters complete freedom within the confines of a certain structure. As long as the scene meant what I wanted it to mean, it was open to anything and in fact demanded a certain honesty of the moment that transcends acting in the typical sense. The inspired moments and personal characteristics were planned on and cultivated. It was all about creating an atmosphere where everyone was participating as an artist. Nowhere does it say that I alone wrote every word of the movie. The director in me would never give myself that much credence as a writer, and that wasn't what this movie was all about. I initially wrote what happens in each scene, minus the exact dialogue. This all came from God knows where... conversations, crazy ideas, and actual experiences. Some were inspired by or adapted from bookish ideas or pre-existing texts, like a spoken word performance by Jim Roche or a few short stories by Jack Meredith. I had a meeting with Sid Moody about various conspiracy theories. The thread was that I was moved in some way or another by a situation and deemed it important and thematically meaningful enough to be worthy of screen time. After the cast had been selected I would usually write the dialogue and then work with the actors rewriting it. To blend with the pseudodocumentary style of the film, it was very important that the characters make the material their own in whatever way possible. This was in the rehearsal period, which for me was the most inspired aspect of production — seeing the ideas come to life via this fusion of real person and fictional context. Each scene had its own unique life, and was as varied as the personalities involved. I had trained for years as an actor and felt confident I could extract a certain quality from people that would play on the screen. It's amazing what many of the characters brought to their scenes. This was where a lot of the humor in the movie came from: You get witty and intelligent people together with a common purpose in a playful atmosphere, and almost magical things start to happen.

RL: Does this Slacker phenomenon exist anywhere else, or could this have only been made in Austin?

RL: It definitely taps into one aspect of the local atmosphere, but it's hard to say how unlike other college towns that is. I wanted it to be both an "Austin Movie" with references and one that could have come from anywhere. Its spirit might have come from elsewhere, but it probably could have only been made in Austin. Where else would such a concentration of talented film people be willing to be involved in something outside the typical professional borders of the film industry? Where else would we have been able to get the professional favors and donations of everything from equipment to locations to food? I'm proud to say that it's a 100 percent Austin product.

RL: Much is being said about the twentysomething generation that is represented in the film.

RL: First off, I refuse to participate in a conversation couched in such derivative, blatantly unoriginal terms. That ridiculous catch-phrase started last summer on the cover of Time magazine, the same magazine that could only talk of Slacker in relation to the 1960s. and even called Austin a Haight-Ashbury of the 1990s. There's no doubt where their heads are at, and it's that kind of thinking that ruins anything new. I never bought that standard baby-boomer line that we were all so nothing... it just takes a different form. We're aware of the past, informed, cynical in a healthy way, and have a great sense of irony. Who could spend such formative years in the 1970s and 1980s and not have that ironic edge? I can see why people are asking me about a generation I happen to be a part of, but to me Slacker owes more allegiance to cinema than to a generation.

RL: I thought the movie was funny, but the person I was with found it a little depressing... that it adds up to futility.

“What gives me eternal hope and, in a way, what the film really depicts, is that our society still has a strong individual vitality at heart, intellectual and otherwise.”– Richard Linklater

RL: I guess I can see how some people look at it that way... it certainly has its dark areas. But what gives me eternal hope and, in a way, what the film really depicts, is that our society still has a strong individual vitality at heart, intellectual and otherwise. Habitual energy can equal optimism. We as individuals and as a society have the ability to revitalize ourselves. There can be no denying there is a large amount of alternative social and cultural experimentation going on. It could add up to something new, or if in fact there isn't anything new, at least a new emphasis, a new combination.

RL: What's been the most exciting or satisfying experience related to the making of Slacker?

RL: I think it was working with my friends and who were with the film all the way — the "Slacker 7." When people ask advice on how to make films, I always say "have talented friends." It was one of those rare experiences where we were so in sync and dedicated to the film that the notion of professional credits was a little odd when it was all over. We all had our specialties but basically everyone did everything — whatever was required. It was just such a life-expanding process. When I fell in love with the cinema eight or nine years ago, it filled a vacuum in my life in an all-encompassing way. With Slacker, I think I had a need to reach out and try to communicate, not only to a potential audience, but more importantly, to the cast and crew I was working with. It was a challenge to go from a rather isolated world to working intimately with over 100 people. And a finished film can add an entirely new dimension to the lives of those who worked on it. The people I've met because of this film have been the coolest. I could almost now say I have a life in addition to film. There were many years before where I really couldn't or wouldn't have wanted to.

RL: What's next? Are you going to go Hollywood or stay in Austin?

RL: I'm getting really anxious to be in production again — it's been so long since we were first shooting Slacker. I have several very different kinds of films I'd like to do soon. It's all about hooking up with the right people who, regardless of what level they're on, want to make the same movie you want to make. It's certainly not so cut and dried, like the independent scene is cool and artistic and the studios are evil. A guy who gives you 50 grand to make a film can totally ruin it, and a studio that gives you seven million can leave you alone completely. I've already been to Hollywood, actually, and it's a lot of driving around and people who care much more about their bodies than their minds and spirit. I've spent a lot of time in New York in the last year, but always come back thinking Austin has the highest per capita ratio of wonderful people and the lowest percentage of assholes of any city. I believe I'll be based here for quite some time.

Cet article est disponible en ligne sur le site de l’Austin Chronicle.

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#Richard Linklater #The Austin Chronicle #Slacker #en

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frangipanidownunder · 8 years ago

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Under a wide sky: Chapter 6

Part six of my AU set in 1950s Australia for @leiascully‘s XFWriting Challenge prompt International. Chapter Six: Flesh and Blood

The ringing in his ears was the same as the aftermath of the worst of the bombing he’d lived through. A dozen horrific images flashed across his mind. He couldn’t quite open his eyes. But he wasn’t sure if it was a physical reaction or a psychological one. Mulder could hear his own heavy breaths as he dragged oxygen through his lungs. His chest burned. His body buzzed. It reminded him of the feeling he had after landing from a flight with one of his RAF buddies, spending too long in the rickety cockpit of a Bristol or a Hawker. A headache so strong was causing waves of nausea through his guts but he knew instinctively if he moved, he would vomit. He concentrated on each of his body parts – checking to see if he was still in one piece. When he’d reached the fingers of his right hand his breathing had returned to something approaching normal and he felt his stomach settle. He willed his eyes to open. He felt the lids peel back, unsticking, fluttering against the brightness.

“Mulder?” Of course, she was there. He licked his lips. “Hi.”

Her voice was fragile but her wet eyes held hope. A tremendous feeling of love flooded him. At that moment, the connection to Scully was so tangible that it was like a magnetic force between them. His mind reeled at the emotion of the moment and he raked through his thoughts to express something special to her.

“Who are you?” he asked. It was out before he could take it back and if his body wasn’t so worn down he would have leapt out of bed and screamed full bore at his stupid self. He couldn’t even manage an apology before she cottoned on.

“Oh my god. Don’t do that to me. Do you know do you have any idea what you’ve been through?”

“Only what I see in your face.” That was better. That’s how you do it.

She stroked his hair, smiled, and buried her face in his chest. He blinked above her head, grateful for the contact. She was being unusually demonstrative but he wasn’t complaining.

“Anybody miss me?”

That brought a muffled sob and laugh from her and he closed his eyes, savouring the sound.

“Scully, where are the others?”

“Others? Mulder, do you know how long you’ve been gone?”

He blinked. “The guys. Your brother. Walter?”

She took a tissue from her bag and dabbed her eyes. “My brother? Why would he be here?”

“He came to Spender’s property. The rescue party.”

She squeezed his hands. “Mulder, you need to rest. Your body is…well, it’s a miracle, but you need to take care of yourself.”

“When did you cut your hair, Scully?”

She shook her head. “Sleep, Mulder.” She pushed herself up from the chair and pulled her jacket around her. “I’ll be back later.”

And when did you get pregnant, Scully?

Judging by the equipment in the room, he was no longer in Tarra Warra. He’d been in small base hospitals before but this was cleaner, larger, brighter and filled with a vast amount of machinery that spoke of a different time. He blinked again and lay back against the scratchy pillow. He was still processing but the only explanation he could come up with, one that fitted the facts, was that he’d travelled through time, to the future.

The technology surrounding him was surely only being dreamt of by the brightest minds in his day. He turned his head, taking it all in. His mind churned over what he could remember before the blast. It was patchy but he recalled the craft, the guards, the rescue party. He heard Scully’s tearful voice as she recounted her mysterious story of Emily, the baby she’d had. And yet she was pregnant – in this lifetime, whenever that was. Was this going to be another version of Emily?

He tried to lift his head from the pillow but it was fatigue-heavy and he could feel his eyes drooping again. He lifted an arm to his face, tracing several scabs that marred his cheeks. He felt a dull ache in his jaw and nostrils. What happened to him? Why was Scully so different? Where had 1950 Scully gone? Was she still trapped in Spender’s shed? Was she propelled forward further than him? Not as far? He had to find her. He tried to move but his body refused. His mind was slowing, he was losing the battle against sleep. He huffed out a sigh of frustration. Sleep took over.

She visited often, for hours, just holding his hand when she thought he was sleeping. He saw a man at the door, tall, angular features, cynical blue eyes, watching her through the window on occasion. He’d her talk to him outside, this man, Agent Doggett. It made Mulder feel a little safer – that someone else was watching out for Scully, someone physically well. At least if Spender had travelled here too, or if another version of Old Smokey was present in this lifetime, he hadn’t got past Doggett. Yet.

But surely it was just a matter of time, and he still had to broach the subject of time travel and the small matter of a baby with Scully.

His apartment was small, but the novelty of an inside bathroom was never going to get old. He shuffled about in the dark, still getting used to the layout. The first time across the threshold was awkward. He wasn’t sure how to react. He had a whole speech planned in his head, to deliver as soon as they were inside. He was going to blurt out the whole thing and make her understand. Then they were going to work out a plan. But Scully seemed so very cautious, holding back.

“Something looks different,” he offered, trying for humour again.

“It’s clean.” Her gentle quip took him back to his 1950 Scully. This newer one still had the same essence. But there was so much sadness too. Their life in this era must have been hard.

“That’s it.” He chuffed and she waited. “Missing a Molly?” He looked at the tank, having no idea how many fish he was supposed to have. He was playing for time, being facetious. Waiting for the right moment.

“Yep. She wasn’t as lucky as you. Mulder. I don’t know if you’ll ever understand what it was like. First learning of your abduction, and then searching for you and finding you dead. And now to have you back.”

This was more information than she’d given him so far.

He wanted more. “You act like you’re surprised.”

“I prayed a lot. And my prayers have been answered.”

“In more ways than one.” His gaze fell across her stomach. “I’m happy for you. I think I know how much that means to you.” He hung his head waiting for her to speak, to open up.

“Mulder.” Her voice was so thick with pain that he couldn’t push it.

“Sorry, I have no idea where I fit in. I mean I just I’m having a little trouble processing everything.”

Over the past days in hospital he tried to ‘feel’ the Mulder she was used to, the 2001 version. In his dreams he had flashes of this Mulder, the one Scully so desperately wanted him to be. He recalled snippets of past conversations with Scully about God and babies and monsters and luck and snakes and touchstones. He knew Skinner was still his boss in this lifetime. When he closed his eyes and concentrated he saw himself kissing Scully in a hospital waiting room, gasped at her bruised and battered face, smiled at her laughter, felt guilty at her tears, expected her questioning and doubting. And underlying all this was the very definite feeling that their partnership in this era had crossed a line somehow, from something professional to something more.

She turned to leave, but his mind sparked. He couldn’t let her go. Maybe this Mulder, and whatever had happened to him over the past months, would rather watch her leave and wallow in his own self-pity. But he wasn’t this Mulder.

“Stay, Scully. Please.”

He sat on his couch and pondered how to tell her about Spender and the space craft, the animals, the time travel, the Australian versions of their lives? She must have spent years listening to his bizarre rantings on cases, so he was sure she would listen to him, indulge him. But she was carrying a baby. And to her, he’d been missing for some time. Their connection ran deep but was almost certainly fractured by these events.

He ran his hands over the cracked leather. She sat next to him. She rubbed a hand over the mound of her belly. It sat snug under her breasts and made Mulder want to literally drop to his knees in front of her and nestle his face there – the vitality of her shape was overwhelming to him, the life within her made her own self seem larger and more vibrant.

“Scully, I’m not the Mulder you think I am.”

“Mulder, you’ve been through such an ordeal, what you went through, physical and emotional torture and deprivation, and then returning to find your old life gone, it’s going to take some time.”

“We don’t have time, Scully.”

“We have all the time you need, Mulder.”

“No, you don’t understand. This…” he pointed to her stomach. “And all this…” he gestured around the room. “This is new to me, but not to the Mulder you know.”

She sighed. “What do you mean?”

“I’m going to tell you something you won’t believe, or understand at first. But it’s the truth. Promise me you’ll listen?”

She scooted closer to him and lifted his hands into hers. She pressed them to her stomach and he felt the life within her move. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with love. “This is our child. Our flesh and blood. This is our miracle. That’s the truth. That’s what I want you to believe in. That’s what you need to focus on.”

Their child. Their son. He knew it with such a rush of certainty that he gasped. William. A miracle child. A child sought by others. A child in danger. You’re going on a journey, Mr Mulder. To retrieve something for us.

“What’s the matter, Mulder. You don’t look good. Do you need to lie down?

He grabbed her wrists. “No, Scully. We need to leave.”

“What, why?” She pulled her hands out of his grasp.

“The baby.”

She clutched her stomach. “There’s nothing wrong with the baby. I’ve checked and checked.”

He paused, sensing her growing alarm. “No, that’s not it. He’s perfect. But you’re not safe. Either of you. Someone is after you.”

“Mulder, you’re scaring me. I’m calling Skinner.”

“I’m sorry, Scully. There’s so much to explain. It’s…I don’t know where to start.”

She put her phone back in her bag. “You can start by telling me who’s after me and the baby.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath of courage. “I know him as Spender.”

“The Smoking Man?”

“Yes.” Old Smokey, Smoking Man, Cigarette Smoking Son of a Bitch, Black Lunged Bastard. Whatever his name, he was here, in this life with them. He was sure of that.

“He’s dead.”

“No. Listen to me, Scully. He’s not. He might want you to think that, but I guarantee you he’s very much alive. I can’t tell you how I know that, but I can tell you what I do know.” He took her hands again. “I’m Fox William Mulder but I was born in 1920. When I was 12 my sister went missing. I learned all about the stars in the sky. When I was 18 I joined up. I was stationed in France as a Celestial Navigation Trainer. In 1950 I went to Australia and ended up working on a sheep station run by Walter S Skinner. I met you, your dog Missy, your brother Bill and I met Frohike, Langly and Byers.” His words were rushing out and she was trying to pull away. “Hear me out. You had a baby – Emily, but she was taken away from you. You lived with Bill on a farm. Animals were going missing. There were bright lights in the sky.”

She blinked slowly. Trying to keep back the tears, but a single one tracked down her cheek. “Emily?”

“Yes. At a remote convent. You couldn’t remember anything. Your father told you it was a fugue state. You told me you hoped that she was safe somewhere, with parents who love her. Do you remember? We were in Spender’s shed, before the craft lit up.”

“Emily is dead, Mulder.” She wiped away the tear and straightened up. Her voice was monotone now.

“I’m sorry, Scully. I know this is hard, but the 1950 you, you told me the story. The despair you felt, your father’s distress, Bill’s shame. But the 1950 you, you believed. You opened your mind. You listened, you looked for answers. You would have loved her – you…Scully, you were amazing.”

She stood up. “What you’re suggesting – that you’ve travelled fifty years into the future – makes no sense. If you were born in 1920, you could still be alive. How can there be two versions of you in one dimension?”

“I don’t know, Scully. I don’t understand it all. We were just uncovering the experiments at Spender’s property when we were caught. But that version of you, she knew about our interconnected lives. She had flashes too. We’ve always been together, Scully. Always. Parallel universes. Call it what you will but we are always living our lives, somewhere, some time. Together.”

She shook her head. “You are the most remarkable man I’ve ever known, Mulder. And if we’ve been together in past lives, then I’m a very lucky woman, but you have to give me something more than this. If you’ve always known me, then you’ll have to provide me with evidence, proof.”

He stalked over to the desk and sat down at the chair. Scully sighed from where she stood, her shoulders hunched over now as she rubbed at her lower back. He watched her, struggling to work out how to get her to believe him. He guessed, with an ironic shake of his head, that this was how his life was always going to be. He drummed his fingers on the desk, tapping away absently.

“Mulder?”

Her voice was strained with fatigue. “I’m sorry, Scully. I don’t have anything physical to show you. I just need you to look deeply into yourself, to try to connect with…your soul. Shit, this is too hard.”

“Do that again.” She stepped forward, standing with her hands on the back of his chair.

“Do what again?”

“Tap your fingers.”

He repeated the pattern he’d made.

“I know what it means.”

He watched her frown a little, as she listened to his repeated messages. “Morse code, Scully.”

She snorted a little. “I know, but how? I’ve never studied it.”

“Not in this lifetime.” He grinned. “You were a nurse. You were training during the war. It would have been pretty common to learn it back then.” He tapped again.

“I want to believe,” she said, as his fingers drummed. She smiled at him. “Mulder.”

He tapped again. Her smile dropped away.

“Soulmates.”

She was rubbing her temples by the time he’d finished the third rendition of their encounters in Tarra Warra. Her face was pale.

“But what does he want with our baby?”

“There’s something about Wi…our baby that’s special to his cause. Spender is connected to some kind of consortium that is intent on taking control of the world. The gunmen told me the Spender in 1950 had been collecting the missing pieces of the crashed UFO and using it to build a craft capable of flights through time and space. It would appear that he was successful.”

“And our baby is a threat to him at some point.”

Mulder shrugged. “Perhaps at all points in time, all universes we are destined to have a child together and that child is Spender’s nemesis.”

She rubbed her forehead. “This is crazy, Mulder.”

“Any more crazy than anything we’ve been through in this lifetime? The more time I spend with you, the more things I remember from this version of me. And if you believed that Morris Fletcher and I body-swapped, then this can’t be too much of a stretch.” He chuckled, then tentatively held out a hand towards her stomach. “Can I feel it?”

Her lips pulled back into a brilliant smile and she pushed her jacket aside. Coyly, she unbuttoned her shirt and revealed her taut skin. Mulder’s throat tightened. She lifted his hand towards her abdomen and placed it gently on the roundest point. He spread his fingers and she held her hand over his. He watched as she closed her eyes and her face relaxed. The world seemed peaceful then, his mind cleared and he felt tears pricking at this eyes. They held still for a minute and then he was rewarded with a kick, a rippling under her skin that caused her to take a sharp breath and that forced the tears from his eyes. They spilled onto her bare skin and she gasped, her eyes still closed.

“Mulder! I can see the farm! And a blue dress. And a bag filled with bread rolls. My hair is longer and the dog. It’s so clear.”

And then she was sobbing with him.

When their tears dried, he leant forward and kissed her tummy. “Hello, William. We can’t wait to meet you.”

“William?” she whispered. “Is that our son’s name?”

“Sorry,” Mulder said, lifting his head.

She moved forward so her face was just inches away from his. “I know this might seem a little forward for the sensitivities of a boy from 1950, but can I kiss you?”

He nodded and their lips met and before too long their mouths opened wide in a rush of passion. When he finally pulled away, he was breathless. “Scully, I think being a boy living in 2001 would seem to have its perks.”

She patted her stomach. “And its consequences.”

“You’re tired. You should go.” He reluctantly let her body go.

“I can stay,” she said quietly. “If you want.”

He wanted. He really wanted. “Would your staying constitute cheating, do you think? I have a girl back home. And I’m not the sort of boy who does that.”

Scully laughed at that. “A girl, huh?”

“She might be patiently waiting for me to rescue her.”

Scully clucked her tongue. “Mulder, I’m pretty sure you know that in whatever universe I’m living, I will never be waiting to be rescued.”

He pouted.

“And besides, I’m not sure that soulmates can cheat, can they?”

She blushed as she undressed. She was breathtakingly beautiful, all curves and softness. She slipped in besides him and he draped an arm over her waist, feeling the shape of the baby as she lay on her side.

“We have to leave here, Scully,” he murmured into her neck. “To go where?”

“Would it be crazy to suggest we go to Australia?”

She stiffened. “You’re not serious?”

“I’m not sure, I’m just thinking aloud.”

“I can’t fly anyway, Mulder. Not like this.”

“Of course, flying…”

“Did you expect to go by boat,” she went to laugh and then stopped herself. “Oh, sorry, Mulder. You did…I can’t…this is so weird.” She sat up and pulled the sheet over her. “Now I feel like I’m cheating.”

He grimaced. “Sorry, Scully. I need to work out a plan.” He got up and started to get dressed.

“Where are you going? It’s the middle of the night.”

“Exactly.”

She huffed as she sat down next to him on the fire escape. “There are so many stars up there.”

“More than we can ever know,” he said, pulling her close. “And whenever I need to think I look up to the skies. In Tarra Warra the sky is so wide and so low to the land and so full of stars that I can’t describe it without underplaying its beauty. One day, if we don’t work this out, I’ll take you there, Scully. This version of you will love it as much as the 1950 version.” He saw the glistening corners of her eyes, huge in the darkness, but full of emotion.

“Why is this happening, Mulder? What is so special about our child that someone wants to take it from us? And Emily? If what you’re saying is true, then she dies in every life we live. How is that fair?”

He turned and kissed her hair. “No, it’s not. And I don’t know but I suspect the two are connected. Emily was some kind of experiment. Something went wrong. Maybe the technology wasn’t there yet. Maybe it will be next time around. And as for William, I can only begin to guess that it has something to do with the alien race. The Gunmen, back in Tarra Warra, they’d begun to dig into it, but I wasn’t there long enough to find out any more.”

“And I don’t suppose they’ll be any help now? Have you told them any of this?”

He chewed on his lips. “Between coming back from the dead and finding out I’m going to be a father, I guess I haven’t really had time.”

She snuffled out a tired laugh. “Then maybe that’s where we’ll start in the morning.”

He looked up. “It’s already the morning, Scully.”

“But in Tarra Warra it’s not. Let’s go to sleep.”

Mulder was not in the least surprised by the security at the Lone Gunmen’s place. He was fascinated by the surveillance equipment, monitors, recorders, cameras and paranoia that cluttered their den. If the forces had been able to access this kind of equipment ten years ago…wait, sixty years ago…what a different story. He turned around, peered, smiled, shook his head.

“This isn’t like that Morris Fletcher case again, is it?” Frohike eyed Scully.

“We do have something unusual to tell you. But this is Mulder,” she said. “In a way.”

Mulder lifted his head away from a tiny recording device and grinned. “It is me, but a different version. This is going to sound weird.”

Langly shrugged, “So, nothing new there.”

When he’d finished the trio stood silent. There was no change in their expressions but they took a moment to absorb the information.

“And Agent Scully, you’ve seen enough to be convinced?” Byers gentle voice broke the silence.

She tucked her chin to her chest. “I’ve also experienced some…flashbacks. I can’t explain it fully. I have no scientific evidence. No proof of what Mulder is saying is true, and yet…”

“I can’t see myself as a station manager in Australia,” Byers said, with a chuckle.

“I don’t like sheep,” Langly said.

“I’m not sure what you’re hoping we can do for you, Mulder. But just wait here.” Frohike headed out of the den.

Mulder pulled a chair out for Scully. She sat down, resting her hands on her stomach. When Frohike returned he was carrying a case. A metal tool box that looked very familiar. Mulder leaned towards it as Frohike unlatched and opened it. Inside lay an object, a flat, metallic plate, pearlescent, reflecting muted greens and purples like an opal.

“That’s it!” Mulder said, his face beaming.

“What’s it?” Langly asked.

“Where did you get this, Frohike?” Byers said, peering into the box.

The little man shrugged. “I don’t really know. It just seemed to appear.”

“And you didn’t think it might be important, dude?” Langly took the plate out and held it up under a spotlight.”

Byers pulled out a microscope and motioned for Langly to put it under the lens. “Goodness. This is incredible.” He pulled away. “Agent Scully, what do you think?”

She moved over and peered through. “The detail is unbelievable, there seems to be etching upon etching. But I’m no expert.”

“Frohike, have you had any strange experiences, memories, flashbacks?” Mulder rubbed his chin.

“Well, I thought they were dreams…”

Langly sniggered. “Agent Scully is in the room, dude.”

“Dreams?” Byers prompted.

“Bright lights and a huge workshop. A craft of some kind revving and humming to life. Skinner is there, but he’s wearing odd clothes. There’s always an explosion. So loud it feels like it cracks my head open. And then I wake up.”

Scully looked at Mulder. “Is that what happened? Before you ended up here?”

“Yes,” he said. “You were part of the rescue party and then the ship’s engines started and the whole room went white. That plate is the key. It’s part of the ship. It’s our connection between all our interconnected lifetimes.”

“But how do we use it?”

Scully’s phone rang. She answered it, whispering that it was Skinner. “Yes, he’s here. Right away, sir? We’re on our way.”

Scully parked. Mulder was still amazed at the smooth journey the car gave them, the way the seats were so comfortable, the quiet engine. Even the door’s shutting seemed no louder than a baby’s breath.

“Agents…thanks for coming on such short notice.”

“What’s the problem, sir?” Scully followed him into the building, an abandoned factory on the outskirts of town.

Mulder noted how Skinner’s jaw tensed and he rubbed the skin above his eyebrows. He couldn’t look at them.

“I’m not quite sure how to tell you this. It’s…an unusual situation.”

“Sir?” Scully’s face paled and she turned to Mulder.

Mulder stepped to her side and slid a hand to sit on at her lower back. “What sort of unusual situation? What is this place?”

Skinner cleared his throat. “There’s a young man inside. He claims he knows you.” They passed through narrow, dark corridors that smelt of mildew and urine. “He says he’s brought you proof of something you’re both looking for.”

At a grey door, its paint peeling and its small window grimy and opaque, they stopped. “He’s in here. And, agents,” Skinner pushed his hands deep into his pockets. “For what it’s worth. I believe him. I don’t know why, logically it makes no sense, but there’s something about him and about his story that… feels right to me.”

The door pushed back with a dreadful squeak. A young man, in his twenties perhaps, with sandy blonde hair, freckles, wide blue eyes, a nose that was slightly too large for his face, a full mouth set above a small chin. He stood up, his chair scraping back.

“Mum, dad. You came. What took you so long?”

#txf writing challenge #xfwc prompt: international #txf fanfic #msr #my fanfiction #australian au

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