#i was just complaining 2 myself in my head how its impossible 2 find cool homestuckmerch or like stuff htat i would wear without looking

[lostjulys]

OH. WHOAG. i'm sooo bigbrain guys....

[bakubub]

Best friend rigs the Secret Santa for Bakugo and yourself to get one another...

A/N: Hullo everybody!! This is part 2 (find part one HERE) of this Pinterest Prompt and part 3 will (hopefully) be the final part. I honestly thought this would be a 800 word fic but now we're barreling towards almost 5k all together whoops lol-

Warnings: Just a few swears here and there, SFW, its literally all Bakusquad shenanigans.

Word count: abt 1.5k, ENJOY <3

"Soooooo~ Who d'ya get for the cringle?" Kaminari asks, leaning back on his chair dangerously to look back at me, sitting on the desk behind him. I raise my eyebrows, since I can't just raise the one, and flick my pen expertly in my hand.

"Mr. Aizawa," I answered seriously. "I'm thinking of getting him another sleeping bag. The musty yellow one isn't really his colour."

Looking genuinely confused, Kaminari looks around to see if anyone else overheard our conversation.

I laugh at him, and kick his chair forward, causing him to shriek as he sits squarely on his butt. I look down to see a folded note on my desk, opening to read it as Mr Aizawa tells us to settle down;

Lover boy was TOTALLY just greasing off Kaminari for making you laugh. I think someone's still jealous from the whole sleeping incident...

Catching Mina's eye, I give her an I don't think so look, which she promptly rolls her eyes at. Its been a whole weekend since the 'sleeping incident', where I had woken up with Kaminari's arms wrapped around my waist and his head nestled on my stomach. Accidentally of course. We, along with Bakugo and Kirishima, had fallen asleep on the couch in the common room, talking late last Friday night.

It really wasn't a big deal... Kaminari apologised several times. I got over it, he got over it, and I don't see why Bakugo, whom Mina just loves to call 'lover boy', would even care.

Plus, I have bigger problems. Like what to get said lover boy for the Christmas Cringle we were supposed to be exchanging this Saturday. He's literally impossible to buy for. Well, I could always just buy him a new pair of shorts or something, but since I've had a crush on him since literally the first day of school, it needs to be perfect.

So far I've thought of a cookbook, an apron, a scarf since he's always wearing the brown one, or maybe even a matching beanie; then again his hair has such personality I don't even know if he CAN put a beanie over those suspiciously natural spikes...

"Hellooooo, come on, Aizawa dismissed us," Mina says, nudging my shoulder.

I snap out of my daze and gather my things, following out of the nearly empty classroom.

"Decided on what to get monsieur Hothead yet?" I sigh, already having predicted this question.

"Nope," I say, popping the p as we walk to the dorm rooms. "I'm thinking of maybe getting-"

"Hey girls, wanna meet at the common room at 6 for a rematch of UNO?" Kaminari asks, coming up from behind us and slinging an arm over my and Mina's shoulders like he always does.

"Yeah sure, we're down." Mina answers, pinching him in the side so he lets us out of his grasp. We duck away, laughing and continuing our banter, before I catch Bakugo's gaze.

"You coming too, Bakugo?" I ask, walking up next to him, ignoring my heart trying to escape its cage.

"Coming where?" He grumbles, still looking disgruntled and angry.

"We're playing UNO around 6 today in the common room. Come on, it'll be fun," I say, trying to persuade him into coming, since he never usually participates.

"HELL NO! I don't have time to waste, especially with you extras," He yells at me. I huff, rolling my eyes and continuing to ignore the feeling of my heart beating in my eyeballs, as I grumble, "you never do," and walk back next to Mina, who was now somehow in a water fight with Kirishima, Kaminari and Sero.

Overall certain that I didn't let my nerves peek through while talking to him, I don't register what's happening as Sero grabs Oijiro's water bottle out of his bag, unscrews the lid, then promptly dumps it over my head.

With Mina, Kirishima, Kaminari and even Bakugo gasping in the background, I wiped the water off my face, before realising my mascara had probably smudged all over my cheeks and glared at Sero, who was slowly backing away.

I practically growl before chasing him, blindly grabbing my own water bottle out of my bag and drenching him, messing up his styled hair which has him shrieking "sorry, I'm so sorry!" and has me cackling in sweet, sweet revenge.

---

"PLUS FOUR?! AGAIN KIRISHIMA! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" Mina screeches as she pounds Kirishima's arm from next to him, who is laughing and judging from his reaction, barely feeling her punches. I know from experience, that Mina punches hard. He has to be really tough not to show an inkling of pain.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just really have to win this one!" He says, shooting a guilty smile Mina's way. Maybe he just doesn't feel pain in general...? I stare at him with suspicion as Mina huffs and she rolls her eyes at him, promptly dropping a four plus for the next person in our circle, who just happened to be me.

"Hey! Not cool, hypocrite." I mutter.

"I had to get my anger out somehow. I'm pretending you're Kirishima. Go on, pick up those cards, you slimy rat," Mina says smugly.

Giving her a confused look at her weird logic, I continued the game, Shoji and Hagakure also having joined in half way.

Just as I'm about to announce UNO, Bakugo stomps through the common room and sits right in between myself and Mina, crossing his legs on the floor and leaning back on his two hands.

"BAKUBRO! YOU CAME!" Kirishima yells excitedly, Kaminari and Sero also whooping and cheering.

"Yeah, yeah, shut up. I finished my work and came to see what you idiots were doing." He says, voice gruff but not screaming for once.

I raise my brows at him, and he scowls and looks the other way, not being able to face me after he so rudely rejected my invitation a few hours ago.

"Oh please, you just couldn't handle the FOMO." I say teasingly, smirking at him without fully turning my face so the others can hear.

Sero stifles a laugh and Kaminari looks confused before the dots connect and he also has his hand clamped around his mouth.

"She has a green 7," is all he says, a sadistic look of satisfaction overtaking his features. It takes a moment for all of us to realise what he just said.

Mina cackles as she changes the colour to red, effectively stopping me from winning the game.

Shooting him a dirty look, I lean over to grab another card, simultaneously elbowing him hard in the shin, which he doesn't even react to.

What is it with these guys and their weirdly high pain tolerance?

Ignoring him now, we continue the game, Kirishima practically slamming his last card on top of the deck. "I WON, I WON, man that was so MANLY," He celebrates as I see Mina rolling her eyes and silently fuming. I begin to shuffle and hand out the cards deliberately skipping Bakugo, which doesn't go unnoticed by him.

"Oi, where are my cards?" He asks, annoyance evident in his tone as Kirishima continues to gloat in the background about how manly his win was and Kaminari complaining about how he never "gets the good cards." When I don't respond, Bakugo steals my cards from in front of me, leaning forward to play with the others.

Snarling, I grab my cards out of his hand, causing him to snarl back, until we're fighting for the 7 cards.

"What are you guys doing, there's a whole ass deck here, you know," Sero says, eyebrows raised and nudging Kirishima.

"These. Ones. Are. MINE." I gasp out, my knee coming around to jab him in his side as his hand pushes me down from my sternum. Oxygen knocked out of my lungs, I gasped for air as I tried to hold the cards out of his reach, my hero training kicking in as I snake my other arm around the back of his neck to hold him in an upside down headlock. Trying to push his forehead onto the ground, I give the cards to Mina, who laughs and takes them, after taking a photo of us.

Having apparently heard the camera click, Bakugo (after struggling a great deal might I smugly add) gets out of my head lock and zones in on Mina. "Delete that photo, Racoon Eyes," He snarls.

"Not in a million years. Awww, look Bakugo are you blushing?" She says, pointing at her phone.

Eyes widening and red creeping up his neck, Bakugo snatches the phone out of her hand and deletes the photo, before getting up and leaving.

"C'mon Bakubro, she's just joking," Kirishima says, following him out.

"Yeah man, you didn't even play a game yet," Sero adds.

"I HAVE STUFF TO DO!" He screams, seemingly going back to his old self.

"Didn't you just say that you finished your homework?" Kaminari asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

"SHUT IT, CHARGEBOLT! I DON'T NEED TO EXPLAIN MYSELF TO YOU," he says a tad too harshly, turning slightly to glare at him with bulging eyeballs. Kaminari closes his mouth and shuffles his cards, trying not to set him off again.

"Bakugo-" I start, but when he doesn't turn, I find myself letting him leave.

Staring dejectedly at Mina, she gives me a giddy smile and grabs my phone, going onto her messages and smirking as she shows me the photo he just deleted.

"I sent it to you as soon as I took it. Thank me later," she says, winking, as she gets up to leave, dragging Sero and Kaminari with her.

I look down at the slightly blurry photo, seeing me handing Mina the UNO cards under Bakugo with a desperate expression. He has his hand pressed down on my sternum, straddling my waist and looking down at me, with an unmistakable smile gracing his features. Unless that's just a new way of scowling.

The phone dims and all of a sudden I'm confronted with my own expression on the darkened screen.

A lovesick fool.

That's all I can see.

A/N: Ngl pretty proud of that ending. JUst in case I'm not as slick as I think I am, she meant herself and Bakugo, hehe <3

Notes, interactions and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

Find part 3 HERE

[fanmoose12]

catch me if you can

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Erwin Smith, Kenny Ackerman

Genres: Mystery / Romance

Summary: The Ackerman duo. Just the mention of this name filled Hange with so many feelings. Mostly, when she reread the files of their cases over and over, until her eyes watered, she felt pricking annoyance. Sometimes, when she stared at the dead bodies of those scarce unfortunates who stumbled upon their crimes, she was filled with hatred and a pushing need for revenge. Hange couldn’t deny, however, there were times when she marveled at the impudence of their crimes. And, when she was investigating the Ackerman’s cases and saw just how meticulously planned they all were, she couldn’t help but feel something close to fascination.

No one knew who they were. No one had seen their faces, no one knew their true names. Almost everyone knew of their crimes.

Hange was determined to unravel every last one of their secrets. She will put an end to their crimes and then she will get the elusive Ackermans behind bars.

Chapter 3/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Levi stared at Hange intently. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, the flutter of her eyelashes, the movement of her eyes, the way she gripped the teacup in her fingers and slowly put it to her lips, taking a first sip.

He leaned closer, pressing his elbows into the table. He anxiously waited to hear out her verdict.

"So?" he pressed after almost a minute passed and Hange still hadn't said anything.

She put the teacup down and smiled.

"I really want to say it's bad, I was actually looking forward to that date—"

"But?" Levi interrupted, impatient and hopeful.

Hange sighed, dropping the smile. "But it's delicious. I don't think I've tasted anything better."

"Yes!" Levi knew it. He was once again proven right - no one could resist a good cup of tea, those coffee addicts just didn't know better.

"Well, thanks for opening my eyes..." Hange stood up, reaching for her coat.

"Oi." Levi scowled. What the fuck was she doing? "Sit your ass back down."

"Pardon?"

"You haven't finished your tea, idiot," upon seeing the confused look that appeared on detective's face, Levi's lips curled into a smirk. He hid it behind his own cup of tea.

"Oh," Hange plopped down on a seat again, grinning helplessly. "Yes, sorry, I forgot about it."

Levi rolled his eyes, subduing a wave of affection that spread through him because of her awkwardness.

Hange Zoe in front of him was very different from the detective's persona he had seen glimpses of before. Detective Zoe was fierce, she was daring and dedicated to her work to the point of obsession. Hange he got to know today was clumsy. She was awkward, but not shy. She was funny and kind.

An interesting contrast. Levi wanted to know more.

They drank their tea in silence. Hange was smiling slightly, as she looked around the café Levi had brought her in. Levi watched her beneath his eyelashes.

The silence wasn't tense or uncomfortable, it was simply there, and at any other day, Levi would have appreciated it.

Right now, however, there was something he needed to say.

He cleared his throat. Hange's eyes immediately snapped to him.

"A new movie theater was opened recently," he took a sip of his tea, resisting the urge to fidget. "Have you heard about it?"

"I have not," she answered, and her tone of voice made it clear that she was prompting him to continue.

Levi took another sip of tea. The cup was almost empty.

"There is going to be a movie marathon this Friday. Wanna go? Together."

His voice was nonchalant and his face was blank. Nothing betrayed his feelings. But his heart was beating so loudly, Levi was worried it could jump out of his chest.

The voice of reason in his head continued to scream, begging him to stand up and leave. Levi stopped listening to it long ago. For whatever reason - be it his curiosity or a desire to find out what she knew about them - he wanted to see Hange again. One trip to a cinema wouldn't hurt. Probably.

"What the theme of the marathon?" Hange asked, gripping the cup with her two hands and leaning closer to him. She looked just like an over-excited puppy. Levi almost smiled at that comparison.

"They’re showing those Police Academy movies,” he replied casually. That poster, actually, was the only reason he noticed the advertisement about new movie theater. He saw it and instantly thought of Hange. That was also the reason why he remembered about it.

"Oh," Hange blinked. "That's quite a coincidence. I actually work at the local police precinct."

I know, Levi almost said. He bit the inside of his cheek, forcing on a surprised expression.

"You do?" he asked, adding wonder to his voice. He hoped it was convincing enough. He wasn’t a particularly good liar, even though his profession as a thief more than required it. The most Levi could do was put the mask of indifference. He had perfected this technique to such a degree that showing, or even mimicking, different kinds of emotions was almost impossible for him. Kenny always made fun of that.

Hange, however, continued to wear the same relaxed expression, leading Levi to believe that his act had its desired effect on her.

"Yeah, I'm working as a detective."

“Oh,” Levi slightly widened his eyes, before he pursed his lips and frowned. "If you don't like this kind of movies..."

"Oh, no, no," Hange frantically waved her hands around. "I adore them! They are utterly ridiculous and always get everything about police's work wrong and that's why they're so fun to watch! I could get carried away with my comments, however," she tucked a loose hair behind her ear.

"What I'm getting myself into." Levi complained dryly, eliciting a delightful chuckle out of Hange.

"You were the one who offered. It's too late to back out, shorty."

"I could just stand you up."

"No, you couldn't," Hange said confidently. She propped her chin on a hand, looking at Levi with a knowing smile. "You're too nice."

Her words almost made him wince. He wasn't nice. And if Hange knew who he truly was, she definitely wouldn't think so.

Underneath the table, Levi tightened his hand into a fist. The last thought bothered him more than he could admit.

"Fuck you, I’m not nice," he growled, letting out the ounce of the frustration that phrase caused him.

Hange raised an eyebrow. "Fuck me? Aren't we moving a little too fast?"

Under her mischievous gaze, Levi's ears swiftly grew red. Hange threw her head back and laughed.

"Oh god, you should have seen your face!" she pointed a finger at him, still laughing. Levi's scowl deepened. And to think he felt bad for lying to her. "You look like such a cool and badass man, but it's so easy to embarrass you!"

"I'm not embarrassed," Levi retorted, even though he could feel the blush spread onto his cheeks too.

"Alright, alright," Hange raised her hands, placating him. "I'm sorry for teasing. You still wanna watch movies with me?"

"I was the one who offered," Levi repeated her words, shrugging.

"Awesome!" Hange clasped her hands. She grabbed her bag and rummaged through it, fishing out a pen. She took a hold of Levi's hand next, and before he could protest, started writing on it with her sharpie.

"There," once she was finished, she patted his arm. "You can text me the details."

Levi stared down on his arm, not knowing how to react. On one hand, he hated when other people touched him, especially the ones he just met. On the other, the realization that Hange gave him his number caused a weird flatter in his chest. He almost felt giddy.

"Well, should we go?" Hange asked. "It's getting late."

"Sure," Levi nodded, getting up and passing Hange her coat.

He wanted to offer to walk her home, but before he could open his mouth to ask, his phone started ringing. Levi looked at the screen and groaned.

Of course, it was Kenny.

"Won't you answer it?" Hange wondered, when Levi just put his phone back in his pocket.

"There is no need," he shook his head. "It's my uncle, he probably wants to know what's taking me so long."

"Ah, you live with your uncle," Hange cooed. "How cute."

"Nothing cute about it. He's an old man who enjoys annoying me," he looked up at Hange, a smirk curling on his lips. "You and him definitely have something in common, four-eyes."

Hange froze instantly and Levi cursed himself. Idiot, he was a goddamn idiot. Why did he call her that? It was the same nickname he used to tease her in the little notes he left after each theft. Of course, Hange would react to that, he was just too stupid to realize it before he opened his goddamn mouth.

He had to rectify his mistake, and fast. Levi drew his eyebrows together, feigning concern.

"Hange? Did I say something wrong?"

"No," she waved him off with a smile. Levi wondered if his expression looked just as fake as Hange's. "I just have... an acquaintance who calls me the same nickname. It made me think of him, that's all."

"He's not a nice guy, I take it," Levi hummed, trying to ignore his rapidly beating heart.

"He's not." Hange agreed, anger evident in her voice. "Well, thank you for the evening," she reached out to pat his shoulder, and, although, the smile was still present on her lips, there was a faraway look in her eyes. "But I need to go. I'll be waiting for your text!"

Hange was gone, before Levi could utter a single word. He didn’t move for a few moments, staring at the place she just had been.

There was a weird feeling inside him. If he didn’t know better, he’d say it was shame.

*** Hange tiptoed around the precinct, picking her route through the most secluded hallways. She had to be careful, she didn’t want to get noticed by any of her co-workers. Especially, by Erwin.

She needed to get inside her office before he noticed her. Before he noticed her absence, to be precise.

She was never late to work. She usually came earlier than the most and always went home after everyone else had left.

Today was an exception, though. She slept in for the first time in years and then she also made a detour to visit the café Levi showed her last night and order that delicious, delicious tea on the go.

She would have never guessed that simple tea could taste so good, but Levi had opened her eyes. And he had helped in lifting her spirits. Levi was a little strange - he seemed rude and indifferent, but Hange felt that behind this facade hid a kind and honest man. He was also incredibly funny. His humor, although sarcastic, dry and so very different from hers, was more than just enjoyable. She couldn't remember when she had so much fun. Or hanged out with someone, who wasn't a part of the force. She was looking forward to their date at the movies. And she hoped it wouldn't be the last one.

Too lost in her thoughts about newly found friend, Hange forgot to look where she was going. So it took her by a surprise when her forehead had almost collided with someone's chin. She cursed under her breath, it happened for the second time in two days. She was getting too clumsy and absent-minded lately. It was probably due to constant exhaustion and sleep-deprivation. Perhaps, she shouldn’t have ignored Erwin’s advices about taking a break for so long.

Hange lifted her gaze – and Erwin was staring back at her.

“Speak of the devil,” she muttered, too soft for him to hear. Then she took a step back and put on a smile. She hoped it didn't look too forced. "Oh, it's you, Erwin. Hi."

"Good morning," he narrowed his eyes, looking at Hange from head to toe. "Why aren't you in your office? Your shift has already started."

"Yeah..." Hange scratched the back of her neck with a wince. "About that..."

"No way," Erwin raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Hange, you are late?"

"Only by fifteen minutes..." she mumbled, casting her eyes down.

"But you're never late!" Erwin continued to gawk. "And what is that?" he gestured at the cup in Hange's hands with a confused look. "It doesn’t look like coffee from the precinct's vending machine.”

"It's actually tea..."

"What?" Erwin exclaimed. "You're drinking tea? But you hate it!" he leaned closer to Hange's face, staring into her eyes. "Who are you and what did you do with Hange Zoe?"

"Very funny, Erwin," Hange pushed him away with an annoyed huff. "It's just tea, no need to freak out. And since we're already talking, I have a favor. Can I leave early on Friday?"

"You... want to leave early?" Erwin asked carefully. "You?"

Hange rolled her eyes. "Yes. Me. Can I?"

"You're always working after hours, so, of course, you can leave early, I see no problem with that. But, Hange, may I ask why do you need to do it?"

She shrugged. "I have a date."

Erwin choked. "A date?" his eyes went almost comically wide. "You are going on a date?!"

Hange was getting tired of this conversation. "Yes, I am going on a date. Is it so hard to imagine?"

"It's just very, um," Erwin cleared his throat, picking up the right word. "Uncharacteristic of you. You're so focused on your work, it’s actually quite surprising that you’ve noticed someone else, whose last name isn’t Ackerman. Your date must be really special then."

"We've met just yesterday,” Hange revealed with a dreamy sigh. She took a sip of tea and the corners of her lips slightly lifted. “So I’m yet to see if he’s special or not.”

"Well, I'm happy for you," Erwin smiled, clasping her shoulder. "It's good to know that you're taking interest in something, besides Ackerman case. You are so obsessed with it, I was starting to worry."

"You can stop now," Hange chuckled. "Last night I wasn’t thinking about Ackermans at all."

Hange decided not to mention the accident at the end, when Levi had called her 'four-eyes'. She didn't know why she had overreacted. It was a common nickname, kids at school was calling her that since second grade. But they weren't Ackermans. And, obviously, Levi wasn't Ackerman as well. He was just a simple, regular guy. Hange liked that, last night was a nice change from her usual routine. Maybe, Erwin was right in that regard too. Maybe, she did need a distraction.

"It's always nice to have a chat with you," Hange grinned, putting thoughts about Levi to the back of her mind. "But the work doesn't wait. I'll see you around, Erwin!"

As she made a way to her office, a slight spring in her step, the phone vibrated in her pocket, announcing a new message. Hange took it out, reading the text.

Friday, six pm by the movie theatre?

Hange typed ‘can’t wait!’ and entered the office with a wide, happy smile on her face.

*** Grey or blue? Or maybe black? Tuck the shirt in or not? Should he style his hair? Would a tie be too much? Should he wear a coat or would his blazer be enough? Wasn't he overdressed? Was he dressed too casually?

Would Hange like his appearance?

Levi ran a hand through his hair and tsked in annoyance. He was probably overthinking this whole thing. No, he was definitely overthinking it.

Getting ready for the date wasn't supposed to be so hard. Levi had been on dates before, he knew how to do it. Granted, his previous dates weren't actually real, but always a part of Kenny's many rouses.

There was one time, where he had to seduce a casino employee to steal a key card that would get them into the vault. And then there was a time, where he had to take a grieving widow on a date so Kenny could rob her house, while she was absent.

Levi didn't enjoy either of those times, he felt uneasy, but that feeling was caused purely by the fact that he was lying to all of these people. He was never anxious, even though his seducing skills left much to be desired.

Everything was different this time. Levi was aware that technically this date wasn't real too. He was lying to Hange, just as he was lying to all of his previous dates. But that wasn't the main basis for his state. He was nervous about meeting Hange. He was nervous she wouldn't like him. 

It made absolutely no sense. Hange was his enemy, a detective who wanted to get him behind bars more than anything. He saw it in her eyes yesterday, her desire and hatred towards Ackermans were transparent. And it bothered him more that it should. 

Levi banged his head against the door of a wardrobe, wondering what the fuck was going on with him. When it came to Hange, he couldn't think straight and his usual indifference was nowhere to be found.

He wondered when it had all begun. 

Did it happen, when he had seen Hange for the first time? When she was pacing around the house they've robbed, wearing a murderous expression and barking at every policeman? Levi still remembered the feeling of satisfaction he felt upon seeing her frustrations.

Or had it started after he had written his first note to her? He lingered at the scene of the crime that day, pretending to be a janitor. When Hange noticed a small note near the empty slot of the painting they've stolen, he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. Her eyebrows formed a line on her forehead, as she read the contents. Once she was done, she whirled around, as though looking for the person who had left the note. Levi had barely stopped himself from laughing then. He had to leave the place in a hurry after that. If someone had seen his reaction, it wouldn't be that hard to put two and two even for the dense policemen.

Or did it happen last evening, when he made eye contact with Hange for the first time? When he got a glimpse of the other side of fierce detective? When he saw a kind, endearing person underneath that façade?

Levi banged his head again. He was going crazy.                                                  

He considered hitting his head against the wooden surface for the third time, when Kenny appeared on the threshold of his room. 

"Oi, kid," he crossed hands on his chest and tilted his head, studying Levi curiously. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Yes. But it's none of your business."

"When you say things like that, Levi," Kenny walked further into a room, coming to stand just behind Levi's shoulder. His lips curled into a smirk as he saw the variety of shirts that hanged on the door of the wardrobe. "It only makes me more curious. So, what's up?"

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose with fingers. He knew that he had to tell Kenny at least a portion of the truth. Otherwise, his uncle would find out the other way, and then he would know the whole truth. And Levi really didn't want Kenny to know he was going on a date with a detective.

Yes, he had to tell him about his date, Levi was aware of that. He was also aware of the reaction his words would have on Kenny. He already dreaded it.

"I'm going out," Levi told in a strained voice. He winced, preparing for what was coming. The bomb was going to explode any second. "On a date."

"A date?" Kenny repeated loudly, staring at Levi like he had grown a second head. 

"Check your hearing, old man. Yes." Levi glowered. "I'm going on a date."

"You... are going on a... a date," Kenny spoke slowly. "With a real person?"         

"Unbelievable, isn't it?" Levi asked sarcastically.                    

"I can't quite believe it, yes," Kenny agreed, surprisingly honest. He took a few steps back and plopped down on a chair, observing Levi underneath his eyelashes. "And who is that unfortunate soul?"

"We've met a few days ago. Went out for a coffee, then agreed to see each other again and go to the movies."

Kenny whistled. "Not bad, Levi. You going on a date with someone on your own volition, not because I made you. Huh, I'm impressed. When are you going to bring them home? I want to meet them."

“Never,” Levi retorted harshly. “You’ll scare her off.”

Kenny guffawed. “Levi, if she survived an evening with you, she isn’t going to be even fazed by me.”

Well… Maybe, Kenny was right. Levi wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of admitting it, though.

“If you don't have anything else to say, then get the fuck out.” He told him, turning back to the wardrobe. “I'm in a hurry."

"No respect for his elders," Kenny muttered, shaking his head. He stood up and headed to the door. Just before he reached it, he stopped and looked at the collection of Levi's shirts. He studied them for a moment. 

"Pick the blue one," he said at last. "It brings out your eyes."

***

Levi paced around the entrance to the movie theater, his expression turning sourer and sourer with each minute. They've agreed to meet at six. It was already a quarter past six. And still there was no sign of Hange. 

Had she forgotten? Or, maybe, there was some emergency? And she had no time to notify him? 

Perhaps, she had she changed her mind? Had she decided to stand him up?

Levi glanced at his clock again and decided enough was enough. He grabbed his phone and dialed Hange's number. 

He waited and waited and waited. No one picked up. He cursed under his breath. 

Was the great detective Hange Zoe cowardly enough to tell that she didn't want to see him to his face? Levi refused to believe it.

Putting his phone back into his pocket, he started to walk. Gladly, he knew exactly where his date could be.

Taking a first turn to the left, he headed to the local police precinct. ***

If someone had said to him a week ago that he'd willingly go inside the police precinct, Levi would have called them a fucking idiot. But here he was, and all because of some pesky detective who didn't show up for their date.

With a grim look on his face, Levi approached the reception desk. A blonde woman with short hair was sitting there, her eyes focused on a computer screen.

Levi cleared his throat to gain her attention. 

Looking up, the woman graced him with a polite smile. "How can I help you, sir?"

"Where I can find detective Zoe?"

The woman continued to smile, but a cautious look appeared inside her eyes.  "May I ask why do you need her?"

Levi hesitated, not knowing what to say. Should he call himself Hange's date? Or should he come up with another explanation?

He was spared from giving a straight answer by a tall man with sandy hair and very impressive moustache.

Paying no attention to Levi, the man put his elbows on the reception desk, leaning over it.

"Hey, Nana, are you finished already?"

"Almost," the woman whispered, not taking her eyes off Levi. "I just need to deal with the gentleman over here first."

"Oh?" the man turned to Levi, looking him from head to toe. "And who is this?"

"I'm looking for detective Hange Zoe." Levi stated firmly. The man was looming over him, a full head taller than him, but Levi stared him right in the eyes, despite the growing discomfort in his neck area. What a fucking giant, he thought angrily, feeling the muscles in his neck stiffen.

"You're looking for Hange?" the man scratched his chin with a raised brow. "Oh! You must be the infamous thief!"

What?                    

Levi's heart stopped. He felt the ground disappear from underneath him, as he struggled to make sense of the current situation. So the police already knew? Was it an elaborate plan to make him come right into their hands? Had Hange known the truth since the very beginning? Was he the one who was being played, not the other way around?

His head reeling and his thoughts mashing together, Levi thought about turning around and bolting out of here. Maybe, he'd get lucky and be able to escape. He could use his intimate knowledge of the city's streets, make cops lose him in the labyrinth of back alleys. 

Through a fog around his mind, Levi heard the man's chuckle. Instinctively, he turned his head to the direction the sound came from, listening more closely. 

"Nana, that's him! The man who stole our beloved Hange's heart!"

What?

"Oh," the woman smiled, tilting her head to study Levi more closely. The suspicion was gone from her gaze almost instantly. "My god, you're right! Short, dark-haired and with a scowl on his face! He looks just like Hange described him."

Hange had described him? Hange talked about him? With her colleagues? And she called him short?

Levi didn’t know what to think of it all, getting even more confused than before.

"Let's go, Romeo," with a short laugh, the tall man threw an arm over Levi's shoulder. "I'll lead you to your Juliette."

 ***

"I'm Mike, by the way," the giant extended his hand to Levi.

"Levi," he nodded, shaking the offered hand.

"Oh, I know this already," Mike smirked. "It's the only thing our division talks about."

"Me?"

"Your date with Hange," he clarified. "Don’t take it the wrong way. We just worry about Hange a lot. Ever since she took the Ackermans’ case, she became quite obsessed with it. So we’re all glad that she finally took interest in something else.”

"Ackermans’ case? What’s that?" Levi asked, trying to goad Mike into revealing some kind of information. "I’ve never heard of it."

“You haven’t? I thought it’s the talk of the whole city. Either way, I'm sure Hange will fill you in in no time. It's one of her favorite topics nowadays."

His attempt obviously failed, so Levi merely grunted, hoping this kind of answer would suffice.

"We're almost here," Mike announced, turning the corner. "Before you go, I just want to say something." Levi looked up at Mike, picking up a slight shift in his tone. It wasn't as friendly anymore. "We all like Hange very much, so if you hurt her..."

"Got it," Levi swallowed, the feeling of shame weighing down on him. He didn't want to hurt Hange. He knew he was most probably going to.

“And another thing,” Mike mumbled, leaning closer to him. With wide eyes, Levi watched how the man started sniffing him, his nostrils flaring. “Yeah, you’re alright,” he concluded with a satisfied smirk. “A bit weird, but alright.” Mike clasped him on a back, his strong hand almost made Levi stumble. "That's Hange's office," he gestured at the door with Hange's name written on it and then left, humming under his breath.

Levi watched him go, wondering what the fuck had just happened. Had the man really sniffed him? What was that about? Should he be concerned? Honored? He should definitely ask Hange about it.

Shaking his head, he brushed the invisible dirt from his blazer. He breathed in, preparing himself, and then knocked on the door.

"Come in!" someone yelled from the other side. Levi instantly recognized Hange's deep voice.

He opened the door and entered. Hange gasped.

"Levi!” she jumped to her feet, almost knocking back the chair in the process. “Oh god, I'm so sorry! Our date! I forgot about it!"

All annoyance Levi had felt up to this moment had disappeared the moment he saw how embarrassed Hange was. She seemed genuinely ashamed and Levi couldn’t find it in himself to stay angry any longer. Although, he still couldn't pass an opportunity to tease her a bit more.

"I thought you decided to stand me up." He said in the saddest voice he could master. It wasn't that different from his usual one, but Hange's reaction was priceless.

"No! I would never, I just forgot about time, I'm—"

"It seems like I'm largely at fault here."

Levi blinked, as a tall blonde man came into his view. He recognized him right away, Captain Erwin Smith was as imposing in person, as he was on Levi's phone screen. Was he present in the room since Levi had entered it? Despite his quite large figure, up until he announced his presence, Levi didn't notice him at all.

"Hange, you may go, since your gentleman is already waiting," Erwin smiled, standing up from a chair across from Hange’s desk. "We'll finish tomorrow."

"Alright!" Hange waved her hand in Erwin’s general direction, too busy with gathering her belongings.

Watching her frantic moves, Erwin let out a soft chuckle. “She’s really excited about your date,” he whispered to Levi. “I’m Erwin Smith, Hange’s Captain.”

“Levi,” he let out his surname, for obvious reasons. “Hange’s… friend.”

“Take care of her, alright?” despite the warm smile and easy expression, Erwin’s blue eyes bored into Levi with surprising intensity. If he wasn’t so good at concealing his emotions, Levi would have squirmed under the heavy gaze.

“And bring her home before ten!” Erwin added, raising his voice, so Hange could hear him.

“Just go already!” Hange snapped, glaring at him. “Stop embarrassing me!”

Erwin laughed, but obeyed, heading to the door. Before he walked out, he gave Levi another look. This one was a little less hostile than his previous one, but it was just as successful in making Levi feel uneasy. Erwin Smith was a sharp and dangerous man. Levi hoped it was their last meeting.

“What’s taking you so long?” Levi grumbled, as he approached Hange’s desk. She was looking for something, opening drawer after drawer and shifting through their contents.

“I can’t find my phone!” she whined, forcefully pushing another drawer shut.

“That’s why you didn’t answer my calls,” Levi guessed, as he pretended to join Hange’s search. He started looking through the papers on her desk, his eyes going over them quickly. Most of it was regular paperwork, reports from Hange’s patrols and other boring stuff. One file caught his attention, though. It was a case from 1988. What Hange could need it for? His fingers twitched to open and read the whole thing, his mind scrambling to explain, how it could be linked to him and Kenny.

He didn’t want to raise any suspicious, though. So with a heavy heart, Levi laid the case file down and continued to search for Hange’s phone.

“Got it!” Hange fished the phone from underneath the table. “Must have fallen down somewhere during the day. Ah, and it was on silent, so that’s why I didn’t hear your calls. Sorry about that,” she added sheepishly.

“It’s fine,” Levi said. “You have an important job, I get it.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Hange promised, as she put on her coat. “Are we too late already?"

"We are," Levi confirmed grimly. "Good thing it's a marathon, we can still be in time for a movie or two."

"Let’s hurry then!” Hange linked their hands together and dragged Levi along with her.

 ***

"Did you enjoy the movies?" Levi asked, after they left the cinema auditorium. 

"Yes!" Hange answered, nodding enthusiastically. "They were great!"

"But you were complaining all the time," Levi noted, taking an empty bucket of popcorn from her hands and throwing it out in the trashcan. 

"Well, there were a lot of inaccuracies in these movies. And most of the things these guys did would get me fired, or worse, earn me a very strict verbal reprimanding from Erwin. But yeah, I still had fun watching them. Did you?"

"Maybe, I would have," Levi shrugged. "If you had shut your mouth for at least a second."

"I warned you," Hange smiled, unfazed by his rude tone. 

She did. And, truthfully, despite his bitching Levi actually enjoyed himself at the movies too. He was sure that whatever plot was unraveling on a screen wasn't even half as amusing as Hange's hilarious commentary. 

As he walked through the movie theater's hallway with Hange by his side, Levi felt unusually content. Hange's company was unexpectedly pleasant. 

Once they left the theatre and walked outside, however, Levi's good mood disappeared without a trace. 

It was snowing. Big, fluffy snowflakes slowly descended from the sky, haphazardly falling down to the ground. The city around them was covered in snow and Levi involuntary shuddered, feeling the cold seeping into his bones, and then spread right to his heart. 

"Levi?" Hange laid a hand on his elbow, her face and voice equally concerned. "Is everything alright?"

Shaking off his stupor, Levi nodded. 

"Sure," he slumped his shoulders slightly, staring right ahead. "Just a bit colder than I expected to."

"Oh. Do you want to go home then?"

"It's up to you. Is there something you want to go?"

"There is one place," Hange said enigmatically. "It's not far from here. And I know just the way to keep you warm."

Levi raised an eyebrow, curious. 

With a playful grin, Hange took his hand, interlaced their fingers and hid their joined palms inside the pocket of her coat.

"Better now?" she asked. 

"Just a little," he mumbled, turning his face away to hide his embarrassment. 

Judging by the soft look in her eyes and her slightly wider smile, Hange was able to see right through him.

“Let’s go before I freeze to death,” Levi grunted, dead set on keeping up his rude exterior.

*** The place Hange had led him to was just a walking distance away. While they strolled through the city, she seamlessly filled the silence with her chatter. She talked about anything and everything. She complained about her noisy colleagues, told him how she nearly burned her breakfast this morning, because she almost fell asleep in the shower, and shared her thoughts on a movie Levi had never even heard about. 

He didn't participate in the conversation, only offering different kinds of grunts from time to time, but Hange didn't seem to mind. 

Levi was grateful to her all the same, Hange's babbling, even though, a bit silly, helped him take his mind off certain things, memories he didn't wish to relive today. And her hand that was still holding his kept him grounded, forcing him to focus on his sensations. 

"And here we are!" Hange exclaimed, stopping in front of the entrance to the park. 

Levi looked around, appreciating the view. The park wasn't big, but it was away from busy streets. It was practically empty too, save for a couple of joggers and a few dog owners. Most importantly, it was quiet. Levi liked that.

He turned to face Hange, meaning to thank her for bringing him here. But when he looked to the side, Hange wasn't there. She was crouched a few steps away from him. There was wide, mischievous smile on her face and Levi instinctively took a step back, glaring at her. 

"No," he warned. "Don't you dare—"

He didn't get to finish his threat, and a snowball that hit him right in the forehead was the reason for it. Levi cursed, furiously wiping snow from his face. 

"Run, Hange," he growled, bending over to gather some snow too. 

Not needing him to tell twice, Hange sprinted off, laughing joyfully. Levi formed a snowball and rushed after her. As he got closer, he raised his hand and aimed the snowball at Hange. It landed right in the center of her back and Hange yelped. 

"That was low even for you, shorty!" she shouted. "Attacking from the back is against rules!"

"I don't remember you setting the rules!" Levi smirked, making another snowball. 

He threw it again, but Hange hid behind the tree, evading his attack. She immediately retaliated, staining the front of Levi's blazer with snow.

Hange cackled, celebrating the successful hit. Levi tossed another snowball and again, Hange effortlessly dodged it. Levi decided to switch tactics. Getting to his feet, he ran right at Hange, spreading his arms and circling them around her waist. Using the momentum, he threw Hange on the soft snow, falling on top of her. 

"Do you yield?" he asked, staring down at her. 

"N-never!" Hange replied, panting. She raised her arms, which Levi, in hindsight, had forgotten to pin down, and pushed Levi's blazer up, revealing his shirt. She laid her hands on his ribs and her fingers started tickling him.

Levi wheezed, pushing her hands away. Hange took this opportunity to flip them over, landing on top of him. Not repeating Levi’s mistake, she pinned down his arms and then secured his hips with her knees. 

"Do you yield?" she grinned victoriously. 

Hange looked like a mess - hair disheveled, glasses askew, red-cheeked and breathing heavily. Levi couldn't look away. 

"Fine, I yield," he grumbled. "Just get off me."

Hange complied almost instantly, falling in the snow next to Levi. 

"Oi," Levi huffed, struggling to catch his breath. "Get up. You're going to catch a cold."

“I’ll be fine,” Hange replied lazily.

“Your boss would kill me if you become sick.”

Hange laughed and the joyful sound reverberated through the otherwise silent park. “Erwin scared you, didn’t he? Don’t make him fool you, he’s actually a big softie,” yeah, Levi had some heavy doubts about that. Maybe, Erwin Smith was indeed a softie. But only to Hange and his other co-workers.

“And what about your other friends? That giant of a man, for example.”

“You’ve met Mike!” Hange exclaimed, throwing her hands up. She turned to Levi, watching him with amused eyes. “Did he try to sniff you?”

“He did. What the fuck was that about?”

“It’s just a habit of his, don’t think about it too much. I need to know, though,” Hange moved her face closer to Levi’s, curiosity sparkling in her gaze. “What did he say?”

“Said I was ‘alright’.” Levi grunted.

“Oh! That’s a high praise, coming from him. Yeah, he won’t beat you up, don’t worry,” again, Levi wasn’t sure about that. “Let’s just stay here for a moment. Relax, we only live once, shorty. Enjoy the moment."

Levi's pants and hair were wet and starting to freeze, his fingers felt numb from the cold, but he did, as Hange said, and tried to relax. It was surprisingly easy, he noted, as he raised his gaze to the night sky. No stars were looking back at him, the weather too cloudy to allow for that, but Levi found a strange beauty in that nevertheless. It was quiet, it was calm. He felt at peace. 

"How did you find this place?" he asked Hange quietly, wanting to preserve the tranquil atmosphere. 

"I used to come here often, as a child. I visited it with my mom almost every weekend. Do you have a special place like this with your mom?"

"My mom died," Levi blurted out. 

"Oh," Hange’s face fell. She pushed herself up, resting on her elbow. "Levi, I'm so sorry..."

"Don't be. It happened a long time ago."

"But you still miss her," she softly noted.

“I don’t.” Levi argued stubbornly, trying to keep his stern façade. “And if I did, how would you know about this? We’ve just met. You barely know me.”

“I’m a detective, remember?” Hange reminded. “It’s my job to be observant. You’re a hard nut to crack, Levi, your face is always so scary,” she mimicked Levi’s usual scowl, and he rolled his eyes, biting back a smile. “But your eyes show what you truly feel. And they look so sad. It was the first thing I’ve noticed about you actually."

Levi looked up, meeting her gaze. There was something inside it, it was inviting him, enticing him into trusting Hange with things he had never revealed to anyone.

"It was snowing when she died," he whispered. He closed his eyes and could almost feel it - the cold wind ruffling his hair and bits of snow flying through the open window as he sat next to his mother's dead body, unable to comprehend why she wasn't getting up; the crunching noise his shiny new shoes produced as he walked through the snowy cemetery; the numbness in his hands and legs as he kneeled before her grave, begging her to come back. “That’s why I hate snow so much.”

He knew Hange was watching him closely and she probably had noted the slight trembling that wracked his body. She said nothing, though, just simply took his hand in hers and squeezed it.

Levi was grateful for her silence. He was grateful for her presence.

Hange didn't offer him meaningless words of condolences or fake encouragements. She just held his hand, reminding him that he was not alone.

"Sorry for bringing the mood down," he said after a few more minutes of silence. 

Hange smiled, a gentle look in her warm, brown eyes. 

"Don't you even think of being embarrassed about this, Levi. I—"

Whatever she was going to say was suddenly interrupted by a loud shrill.

"Excuse me," Hange took out her phone and looked at the screen, grimacing. "I have to take it," she explained and stood up, walking a few steps away. 

With detached look, Levi watched how expressions on her face changed. First appeared annoyance, then anger, next came curiosity, before it settled into determination. 

Hange put the phone back into her pocket and came back. Now she wore an apologetic expression on her face. "It's an emergency," she said, offering Levi a hand to help him up.

“Do you want me to walk you back?”

“No, thanks,” Hange winced. “My friend will pick me up.”

“Oh, alright,” Levi nodded numbly, not knowing what to say.

“I’ll text you, yeah?” she looked at him with a hopeful smile. “So we could meet again, perhaps?”

“Sure,” he agreed. “I would love that.”

“Awesome!” Hange gave him finger guns, and Levi rolled his eyes, smacking her arm playfully.

“See you soon!” she shouted and then hurriedly walked away.

As soon as she was gone, Levi was cold once again.

[pride-moth]

Don't hold your head so low that you can't see the sky [Stolitz Week Day 2 - Stargazing]

Ao3 Link

Event Info Link

Stolas can clear the sky with just a motion of his hand. He can make the clouds give way to the clearest night sky you’ve ever seen, the stars twinkling up above as if they exist only to please. As if they don’t house their own little systems of life and death. As if their only purpose is to make anyone happy who looks at them.

Blitz can’t stand it, not really, the way these magnificent things are reduced to mere overhead decoration in the view of the rich and powerful, how Stolas tries to impress him by showing him the stars and talking about how he even witnessed and participated in some of their creations. For Blitz they’re other worlds, but also merely tiny specs in the night sky that he rarely even has the time to look at.

But Stolas sits right next to him, one arm draped around him and Blitz is too tired to pretend it doesn’t feel at least a little bit good. He’s too tired to pretend he doesn’t want Stolas to touch him, hold him, just be around him while they cool down from one of their sessions that have long stopped only happening on the full moon.

“This is weird,” he comments, with no idea where he wants to go with that thought. It’s true, though, in his mind, that this is a weird situation they’re in. An imp and a Prince, stargazing.

“What do you mean, love?”

Love. Stolas calls him that. As if it doesn’t mean anything, as if that’s just a thing you can call people casually and not have it have consequences. As if that’s a thing you can just call someone and not have their heart skip a beat despite their every effort to stop that from happening.

“I just… Isn’t it weird? You can sit there and look at the stars and you’ve been part of creating them and I sit here and I don’t even know what these fuckers are called?”

“Well, that’s not a problem at all, I can tell you-”

“That’s not what I mean. What I mean is… You were born into all this power and I? I had to work at the circus with my siblings to keep my family afloat. I’ve never even really had time to look at the stars. It’s weird.”

“I suppose you could say that…” Stolas says and ponders it for a moment before snapping back into a smile, “But why does it matter? No matter where you come from and what your circumstances are, the stars shine down upon you in all their beauty all the same.”

Blitz scoffs. “They don’t, though. Most people can’t just make the clouds and the smog go away to look at the stars. Actually, down in Imp City, you can’t even see the stars at all.”

“Take me.”

“Stolas, we just finished, you can’t possibly be horny again.”

Stolas shakes his head quickly, “No, no, no. I mean… Take me down to Imp City. I want to see your night sky.”

Blitz ignores the little flip in his chest to focus on the flaws of the plan. “We can’t do that. You’re seen there and before you’ve taken two steps forward, you’ll either meet a paparazzi or a guillotine.”

“Don’t worry, love, I can disguise myself.” Stolas snaps his fingers and in the blink of an eye he is not the freakishly tall owl demon anymore, he’s red and white and has little curled black-and-white horns between fuzzy white hair. He’s still tall, but for the first time ever he’s not taller than Blitz, just about the same height.

Blitz looks him up and down, takes notice of a little heart-shaped dot under his left eye and can’t help but smile ever so slightly. It takes a few moments for him to regain some of his sarcastic energy. “Okay, fine, that works.” He pauses. “No tricks, though, the clouds stay exactly where they are.”

“Deal,” Stolas says, his voice the only indication that it’s even him in that imp body.

Blitz nods and then drags him out of the palace and onto the streets, to the train station and into a train that Stolas evidently has never seen from the inside.

“Why are we on a train?”

“Because if you’re going to come to Imp City, you should get the full experience. Full streets and smelly trains that are never on time and the simply unreasonable amounts of sweat developed in a train that is just slightly too hot for comfort.”

“You’re too hot for comfort.”

“Focus.”

They ride the train all the way to Imp City, of course delayed by a damaged bit of railway and some idiots blocking the door, but they get there eventually with Stolas moaning and complaining about it the entire way. Blitz doesn’t complain, mostly to save face, though, he would be lying if he said he hadn’t gotten used to the comforts of simply using Stolas’ book for most of his travels.

Finally, the train comes to its last stop and Blitz nearly pushes Stolas out of the train. They’re in the buzzing middle of Imp City, amid stores and homeless people in equal proportion, voices layered on top of voices on top of traffic sounds and sirens and incomprehensibly awful street music. It feels like home every time.

Stolas looks out at the city for a moment. “It’s…” he starts but stops talking.

Blitz braces himself for another complaint, a screed about the royal palace is much more beautiful, more refined, more comfortable.

“It’s beautiful!” Stolas exclaims finally, his eyes sparkling with glee.

“What?”

Stolas gestures vaguely. “It’s so… You, Blitzy!”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s scrappy and dirty and crude and kind of mean-looking, but yet it exists so effortlessly! It stands proudly above all adversity! It might seem superficially ugly, but you look for just a moment, just a little deeper and it’s just beautiful! A thing to behold, truly!”

“That’s-”

“Oh, and the sky, it’s so tranquil. It’s smokey and dark but if you look long enough, you see a star shine through.”

“No, you can’t!” Blitz protests.

“Yes, look!” Stolas points up in the sky. Blitz follows his direction and looks into the sky, but he can’t see shit and the smog that hangs in the air burns in his eyes.

“I don’t see anything.”

“You have to look gently. Take a deep breath. Don’t look for the stars, let them show themselves for you.”

Blitz frowns and keeps staring at the sky, but it’s no use. “Probably just one of your royal superpowers again, seeing stars through clouds and smog and-”

Stolas interrupts him by simply taking his hand. “Trust me.”

“I always trust you,” Blitz says before he can stop himself.

“Then trust me again,” Stolas says, letting go of Blitz’ hand and instead wraps his arm around his waist.

Blitz isn’t used to having Stolas arm there, being that much shorter than him normally. The arm should feel foreign, especially considering it isn’t really Stolas’ arm, but it simply feels warm and comforting.

Stolas puts his lips - that he suddenly has in this form - to Blitz’ ear - and whispers: “Just take a deep breath and look. Calmly. Don’t force it. Just… Look into the world ready to see the stars shine down on you.”

The hot breath against his ear makes Blitz’ heart nearly jump out of his throat but he nods and does what Stolas says.

It takes a moment, but as his heartbeat slows down amidst slow, calm breaths, it feels like the sky opens up above him, despite it being just as filled with smog and clouds as before. He looks and looks, not to find anything but simply to look and then, there it is. A faint twinkle in the night sky.

A star.

Blitz simply looks at it in awe. There it is, a star, twinkling in the night sky through all the clouds, the smog, the light pollution of the big city. Undeterred, defiant. Shining even though it shouldn’t. Unbothered by how its sheer visibility should be impossible.

“I think I love you.” Blitz can’t stop the words tumbling out of his mouth, he’s too weak, too small to stop them between the awe-inspiring impossibility of spotting a star in the Imp City night sky and Stolas’ arm around his waist, sheer joy emanating from deep within him.

“Really?” Stolas asks, hesitantly.

Blitz sighs. “Yes. It’s stupid and it’s weird and probably unhealthy considering our social standings, but yes, I think I love you.”

“You’re probably right about it being weird… But I know I love you too. And I want to hold you like this whenever I can. And I want you to do unspeakable things to me not because you get anything out of it, but because you want to. And I-”

“Stolas.”

“No, let me finish.” Stolas breathes in shakily. “I need you to know that I’m not going to hold it against you if you don’t want to be with me. If it’s too weird, if you feel uncomfortable with my status. If you want to stay away from me, forget about me, if you don’t want to deal with the complicated mess that a relationship between us would bring about… I understand. Nothing would break my heart more than you feeling like you’re forced to do… Anything.”

Blitz nods. Then, he thinks for a moment. About the implications, the complications, all the problems it all would bring… Everything between them, it could all turn into disaster in the blink of an eye. But then there’s that single star in the night sky that shouldn’t be visible, but yet it is, as long as you’re willing to look, ready to allow it to be seen. Maybe that’s all love is.

“Yeah, it’s… weird,” he says, but he takes Stolas’ hand, rubs it gently, touches him more gently than perhaps ever before. “But what if we just… This feels stupid, but… What if we just take a deep breath and look into the world ready to see the stars shine down on us?”

Stolas hesitates. “And what if it doesn’t bring joy? What if it all goes wrong?”

“Then we stop and we say goodbye. Maybe that’s what every relationship is. You go into it ready for a spark and if there’s none to be found, you leave. But sometimes… Sometimes there is a spark, even if it shouldn’t be there. Even if it’s...weird.”

Stolas pulls Blitz a bit closer. “That works for me.”

“I love you,” Blitz says, a bit awkwardly, but he feels, deep down, that it’s true.

“I love you, too,” Stolas replies, unwavering.

It’s a beautiful night, even if no one else might see it.

[hardskz]

[ 2:03 am ] continuation of [ 4:21 pm ]

chan is thrusting into you in a fast pattern, the sound of skin slapping bouncing off the walls. it’s a miracle that none of his band members have busted through the door yet to see what the commotion in his room is about. it better stays that way, because the first thing anyone would be greeted with the moment they enter the room is your boyfriend pounding into you from behind. 

it’s pathetic how you can no longer control your moans and let out lewd whines like a porn star in a matter of seconds. something within chan bubbles up when you reach for a pillow and bury your face in it in an attempt to muffle the sounds. as much as he wants to see your fucked out expression, drool dripping down your chin and hooded eyes, he wants to push you to your limit and see more. all good things come to those who wait, so he settles on gripping your hips so hard that bruises are bound to be formed. 

the knot in your abdomen tightens and you clench your jaw when the orgasm crashes in like a riptide. as you ride out your high, chan repeatedly abuses your sweet spot in a fast pace. however, even after he’s milked you out until you’re spent, he doesn’t slow down and keeps ramming his still hard dick in angles that makes you want to scream. although your body hurts due to the oversensitivity, as if you were stung by dozens of tiny needles, you feel yourself growing wet for the second time.

“you take me in so well,” he groans, “you take in everything i give you without complaining. i’m using you like a little ragdoll and you’re loving every second of it, don’t you? you can’t even talk, that’s how much you love me treating you as my pretty cumslut, am i right?”

even in the dark, he knows your cheeks are heating up. you let out a high-pitched moan and clench around his cock, causing him to chuckle darkly. one hand that was previously on your hip moves to knot in your hair and pull your head back. your chest heaves rapidly, heavy pants and uncontrollably lewd moans escaping the back of your throat. tears are threatening to spill from your eyes, now that you can’t dampen your moans with the pillow anymore and increase the risk of getting caught.

“i c-can’t— please— the others are going to find out— s-stop!” you sniffle loudly and chan immediately stops in his tracks, dick still buried in you and slightly grazing your sweet spot. the grip on your hair hasn’t loosened and he has no intentions on pulling out. it’s like he’s just waiting for someone to see your current position. 

“you’re really ungrateful, do you know that? the moment it doesn’t go your way, you act like a brat.” chan enunciates every single syllable with a harsh tone, tugging on your hair. “unbelievable, you still clench around me when i treat you like this. you really are a cumslut. my pretty little cumslut who gets off of everything.”

“y-yes, i’m your pretty little cumslut,” you sob, no longer caring if the entire building hears what you’re up to. for this fraction of a moment, you’re so deep into your headspace that you don’t find the energy to worry. “i’m yours, only yours, and i love everything you give me. i’m a needy little bitch, just like you said. now please move, i need you.”

“holy shit,” chan whispers, and he’s not sure if his cock can get any harder than it is now, “you’re so fucking hot.”

and just as he’s about to give in and move, the door flings open. 

“dude, are you still awake— oh.”

changbin blinks once, looks to chan and then his eyes flit to you. at the sight of your parted lips and the shock in your eyes, his cheeks flush. his duffel bag drops onto the floor with a thump and he quickly averts his gaze from you. “jeez, you could’ve told me beforehand and i would’ve gone straight to a different room—”

“no, stay for a moment.” chan says casually, as if having his dick in you and hand threaded in your hair is nothing unusual. changbin freezes and stops fumbling for the doorknob. “you just came back from the studio, didn’t you?”

the other nods wordlessly, suddenly finding the the curtains oddly fascinating. chan doesn’t let it go and continues, “how was work? did you finish a solid track?”

“well, it was frustrating, but that’s nothing new,” the rapper mumbles, now shifting his weight on one leg. it’s evident in the way he stands that he’s silently hoping for the other to get over with the small talk and let him leave. however, it’s also pretty fucking evident that your fucked out state and just the situation in general do things to his clothed dick. he’s so easy to look through, and chan quickly cuts to the chase.

“changbin, lock the door and come here.”

the other almost chokes on air and splutters, “w-what? are you even hearing yourself?”

“i’m not going to repeat myself.”

your blood runs cold at the underlying authority in chan’s voice. “p-please, not him—“

“why are you complaining, baby?” he scoffs and you sense him cocking a brow, “didn’t i promise you? i’m going to fuck you just how you fantasized it. i promised i’d fill you up changbin’s bed, because you wanted it. he’s simply getting the best place to watch you get fucked over. that’s only fair for him, after you’ve been ogling him during dance practice behind his back.”

“is that true?” it’s impossible to ignore the surprise laced in his voice as changbin slowly follows the orders and shuts the door with a soft click. his eyes rest on yours and you detect the lust written in his expression. your intentions of staying silent don’t last long as a forceful smack on your ass makes you choke out a broken “yes.”

“so, are you going to enjoy the show or not?” chan clicks his tongue, gradually losing his patient. changbin stands still and contemplates a little, but when chan starts rocking back into you and you struggle to keep your moans at bay and chew on your drool-stained lip, his blood rushes south and his dick twitches.

“fuck,” he mutters and trudges forward, the bulge in his sweatpants now prominent. the mattress dips at the addition of the new weight and changbin licks his lips when you stare at him hungrily. he fights the desire to run his thumb across your bottom lip and looks back at the other man moving behind you. “can i?” he asks and raises his hand. 

“do whatever the fuck you want with her. just don’t hurt her,” chan says and picks up his pace all of sudden. not expecting him to pound into you, you let out a loud moan that breaks the previously silent room along. 

“shit, you really can’t control your voice, babygirl,” changbin hisses and shoves three fingers into your mouth to muffle the sound. you gladly take the opportunity and coat his fingers in your saliva, slurping excessively to avoid drooling and groan deliciously whenever he thrusts in and out. he never thought he’d ever get to see an image this hot that doesn’t come out of a badly filmed porn clip any time soon. but sure as fuck, he’s staring at you with hooded eyes, taking in everything he sees and burns it into the back of his head. you’re being so hot and vulgar and so good to him, so he makes sure you know that too as he blurts out praises between low groans.

but it’s only so long that he can keep up with his wavering self-control and not just whip out his dick and fuck your mouth, making sure you’re going to swallow every last drop of his cum when he releases. luckily for him, chan seems to notice that too.

“you know, you can be rougher with her.”

the rapper perks up at the sound of that, and he looks back to you. despite the permission, he still looks a little bit wary and searches for answers in your eyes. “m-more, changbin, more,” you say the best as you can with three fingers in your mouth, but he catches your words.

“what do you want, baby?”

“y-you— i want your cock— p-please, use my mouth,” you whine.

fuck, that’s it.

changbin fails to suppress a groan and dismisses your pout when he pulls his fingers out of you. his other hand is busy pulling his sweatpants down and pulling his hard cock out of its confines. he hisses when his dick meets the cool air and your mouth waters when you see his length, precum oozing out of the tip. in terms of length, he may be smaller than chan by a little, but his girth makes up for it. in any case, he’s huge and you immediately open your mouth once he’s done smearing precum all over his cock and places the head on your lips.

“you better keep your eyes on me as i fuck your mouth. the moment you look away, i’m pulling out. so be a good girl and obey."

[rwby-redux]

Deconstruction

Worldbuilding: Genetics

If any of my Deconstruction posts were going to turn heads, I had a hunch it would be this one. You’ll probably find this topic incongruous with the others simply because—unlike Aura, Semblances, Dust, and Grimm—genetics isn’t one of RWBY’s unique gimmicks. If I’m being entirely honest, part of why this post exists is because I still had some miscellaneous talking points to address, but lacked a proper heading to file them under. Call it what it is: a dumping ground for wayward thoughts.

But there’s a bit more to it than just that. The reason why I want to talk about this is because, much like the other mechanical aspects, genetics does have a bearing on RWBY’s worldbuilding, and the stories that were subsequently built around it. It has an undeniable impact on the sociopolitical human-Faunus schism that set the stage for Remnant’s immediate past, and the present-day terrorist acts committed by the White Fang. Genetics is also an extension of RWBY’s adherence to color theory, reflected in the hair and eye color choices of the ensemble cast.

Before we can finally conclude Part 1 of the Worldbuilding posts, we need to discuss this topic from both a narrative and a production standpoint. Genetics is firmly rooted in the development and design choices of the writers—choices which, as you’ll quickly see, had long-lasting consequences for the show.

Today we’re going to be dividing this topic into two sections. Since I’m sure it’s already on your mind, let’s get the obvious one out of the way first:

The Genetics of the Faunus

The Faunus are going to have an entire post dedicated just to them, but it’s impossible to talk about genetics without at least a passing mention of one of Remnant’s two main species.

Subspecies.

Races?

Yeah. You can quickly see where this is going.

Before I get ahead of myself, let me provide some context. Just like the conception of the Maidens, the Faunus can trace their developmental history to a rather impulsive design choice:

“Monty really wanted a character with cat ears,” admits Miles Luna. Shawcross expands on how Blake Belladonna’s look resulted in a cornerstone of the show’s lore. “So if Blake has cat ears, does that mean anyone can have cat ears? Could they have other animal traits? It’d be cool to see someone with scales or a fox tail…” [1]

Let me clarify by saying that there’s nothing wrong with basing a decision on aesthetics (in principle, anyway). And RWBY isn’t the only franchise guilty of doing this. It only takes a few seconds of consulting TV Tropes to see that zoomorphism is extremely pervasive. And while I have a tendency to complain a lot on this blog, I’m not such a kvetch that I’ll deny that animal-people with lion tails and ram horns look fucking sweet.

The problem I have with Faunus (from a genetic standpoint) is the way they’re inconsistently described in relation to humans. While Qrow unambiguously refers to them as a separate species, [2] we have Faunus characters that contradict him by describing themselves as a race. [3] This leads to the inevitable issue of whose account do we trust? On one hand, the information provided to us by Qrow is through World of Remnant, a spin-off series whose entire purpose is to clarify information and teach the audience about core worldbuilding concepts. On the other hand, what we’re told about the Faunus being a race comes directly from Ghira Belladonna. In this context, who would you expect to be the better authority on Faunus—a human, or a Faunus?

Even if we set aside the complicated implications of an outgroup member talking over a minority, we’re still left with the issue of well, which is it? Are they a race or a species? And why does it even matter?

Before we can answer any of those questions, let’s quickly define both terms:

A species is a taxonomic rank used for classifying groups of organisms together on the basis of being able to participate in genetic interchange via sexual reproduction, to produce fertile offspring.

A race (in biology) is an informal/unrecognized taxonomic rank below subspecies, defined as unique subgroups with either geographic, physiological, or genetic distinctions from other subgroups within their species. In anthropology, however, a race is typically regarded as a social construct. In this case, it refers to an identity held by members of a population that share physical or social qualities that are seen as categorically distinct.

The answer, if we’re being objective, is probably something along the lines of “RWBY’s writers thought that the two terms were interchangeable, or they didn’t think the distinction mattered enough to do the research and settle on a definition.” Unless someone specifically reached out to a Rooster Teeth employee and asked, we’ll never truly know. Speculation will only get us so far, and where this blog is concerned, we need a definitive answer—or at the very least, we need to talk about why the distinction matters to us.

So, are Faunus their own race? Meaning, are they a self-identifying ethnic group with a common language, ancestry, history, culture, nation, or social treatment within their residing area?

Common language: That’s a definite no. RWBY still hasn’t managed to explain how everyone across the four kingdoms speaks the same language, let alone develop any conlangs.

Ancestry: We actually don’t have a canon answer for this. The show has yet to tell us where the Faunus came from, so we can’t make any assumptions about how related they are to one another.

History: Technically, yes. But the series has a gross tendency to homogenize the experience of Faunus across Remnant, so the history of Faunus in Vale is virtually identical to that of Mistral. This trend results in storytelling discrepancies, like the Faunus in culturally-unprejudiced Vacuo [4] being equally threatened by and involved with the Faunus Rights Revolution, when there shouldn’t have been an in-world basis for this scenario.

Culture: Don’t make me laugh. RWBY couldn’t even be bothered to give any of its four kingdoms distinct cultures. Apart from a few scenes in Menagerie where you see a bunch of background characters hanging out in the Shallow Sea district of Kuo Kuana, there really isn’t anything culturally unique to the Faunus.

Nation: I guess? I personally wouldn’t consider Menagerie a nation, simply because it’s not one the Faunus originated from, but were rather given in the aftermath of the Great War. As far as we know, Faunus have always been just as widespread across Remnant as humans.

Social treatment: We’re told that social treatment for the Faunus as a whole is shitty, but that the degree of shittiness varies from place to place. Forgive me if I don’t buy that. Not after we’ve seen students in Vale physically harass a Faunus, [5] shops in Mistral refuse service to Faunus, [6] and companies in Atlas extract labor from Faunus. [7] If social treatment is contingent on shared experiences, then why are we told that these experiences change depending on the kingdom? And if the kingdoms vary in levels of racial acceptance, then why are we repeatedly shown the exact opposite?

Based on the aforementioned criteria, I’m inclined to say that Faunus don’t fit the definition of race.

So, are the Faunus a separate species from humans?

“History gets a little fuzzy past a certain point, but we do know that their kind and ours are completely compatible, from a—a biological standpoint.” | Source: World of Remnant, Volume 4, Episode 6: “Faunus.”

That’s a resounding no.

As much as the taxonomist in me wants to talk about things like the multiple competing species concepts, or the fact that plants frequently violate the definition of species by producing fertile hybrids through polyploidy (chromosomal doubling), I have to restrain myself. For simplicity’s sake, we’re accepting that Faunus and humans are members of the same species on the basis that they’re not reproductively isolated.

The reason why genetics matters in regards to the race-species discourse is because we have yet to learn what the Faunus truly are. If we ignore the fact that they exist because Monty Oum wanted to stick cat ears on a girl, then we have to figure out what their existence means to Remnant’s past: Did the Brother Gods intervene in the early evolution of Humanity v2.0, by creating a subset of people with animal traits that would sow discord, for the sole purpose of giving Ozma another obstacle to overcome? Did Salem (who watched Humanity v2.0 evolve) try to influence their evolution, and somehow managed to bestow animalistic traits upon select groups of early hominids? Is Dust like a magically-radioactive fossil fuel that by pure chance mutated early people through exposure, resulting in their animalistic traits? Are the Faunus’ animal traits completely irrelevant to the plot, and are only there for the sake of style?

That’s why the Faunus’ genetic background matters—because as the story progresses, it’s going to inform what questions the audience asks.

There’s a good chance that all of this will end up being nitpicky conjecture, and there won’t be any storytelling payoff. But I think it’s still important to address, if for no other reason than to illustrate why pre-production worldbuilding is essential for telling a coherent story. But I digress.

Genetics, and Its Relationship with Color Theory

It goes without saying that RWBY is defined by color. It’s reflected in nearly every facet of the franchise—team names, wardrobe, Dust color, Aura color, emblems, characters’ names, even the show’s title—and it’s just as important from a worldbuilding standpoint as it is from a narrative one. [8]

Where color theory and genetics cross paths is in the field of character appearance—specifically, hair and eye color. For the moment, let’s set aside eye color as a visual device for foiling and paralleling characters (like Yang Xiao Long’s purple eyes compared to Blake Belladonna’s yellow eyes). Instead, we’re going to talk about these phenotypes from a hereditary perspective.

We’re going to streamline this discussion a bit by focusing on hair for the moment, and picking three colors that would be considered unnatural by our world’s standards. Let’s go with blue, green, and pink. Here’s a handful of characters who have these traits:

Blue hair: Neptune Vasilias, Ciel Soleil, Henry Marigold, May Marigold, Nebula Violette, Sky Lark, Trifa

Green hair: Emerald Sustrai, Marrow Amin, Bartholomew Oobleck, Reese Chloris, Russel Thrush, Sage Ayana

Pink hair: An Ren, May Zedong, Nadir Shiko

Now we’re going to take those lists and swap out the characters’ names for their inferred country of origin:

Blue hair: Mistral, Atlas, Atlas, Atlas, Vacuo, Vale, Menagerie

Green hair: Vale, Atlas, Vale, Mistral, Vale, Mistral

Pink hair: Mistral, Vacuo, Mistral

We can conclude that these hair colors are natural on the basis that we never see characters dying their hair, and that similarly unusual eye colors (red, pink, purple, yellow) would also be natural in Remnant. Unless we’re assuming that everyone is wearing custom contact lenses, then it’s safe to say they’re legit. With the example of hair color, you’ll notice that they’re distributed across a wide number of nationalities, with little hint of consistency among them.

At the end of the day, it’s easy to write this off as “the writers wanted to have cool character designs and not have to think too hard about the worldbuilding implications behind them.” But there is a worldbuilding implication behind them, and it’s one that I’ll be focusing on in later Deconstruction and Amendment posts, so I want to make sure we talk about it now:

RWBY has repeatedly shown us that people are fairly geographically isolated from each other, and travel between kingdoms has always been difficult due to the Grimm. It wasn’t until eighty years ago, when the Great War ended, that a combo of international political cooperation and technological advancements made travel safer and more commonplace. Keep in mind that when populations of humans are geographically isolated from each other over prolonged periods of time, it results in those populations evolving specific anatomical traits.

Let me give you a few real world examples. Epicanthic folds are predominantly found in East Asian, Polynesian, and North Asian ethnic groups. Red hair, while not exclusive to any one nationality, is statistically highest in people of Northwestern European ancestry. Darker complexion is most common in equatorial populations, where high melanin production (especially eumelanin) protects against UVR exposure.

RWBY has every reason under the sun to ascribe certain phenotypes to the ethnicities of each kingdom, and for some reason it just doesn’t. Like, why not make green hair a trait common to people with Sanus ancestry? How about red eyes originating from Anima?

Avatar: The Last Airbender pulled this off by making dark skin, brown hair, and blue/gray eyes features of the Water Tribes. The Fire Nation, to reflect its broader geographic distribution, has a much wider range of phenotypes, with both light and dark skin tones and black or brown hair. However, it still retained golden, amber, and bronze eyes as a distinguishing characteristic of people descended from this ancestry. Frankly, I love that the show took the time to establish those traits among its ethnic groups. Not only was it a great way to visually communicate to the audience the ethnicity of the characters, but those traits took on entirely new meanings in the sequel Avatar: The Legend of Korra. When we meet the brothers Mako and Bolin for the first time and see their respective eye colors—amber and green—we’re immediately able to deduce that they’re the products of successful multiculturalism, something that would’ve seemed impossible seventy years ago when the world was gripped by war. It’s a powerful statement that was conveyed through careful attention to detail and excellent worldbuilding. Given that RWBY also takes place several decades after a global war, the writers had the opportunity to pull off a similar feat. And I don’t think it ever occurred to them once.

At the end of the day, it’s not the worst thing RWBY could’ve done. I think I’m just disappointed by the missed opportunities. The show already has so little going for it when it comes to shaping the identities of its four main kingdoms, so with color being such a vital motif for the show, this feels like it should have been a natural progression of those ideas.

On a more positive note, we’ve finally reached the end of Worldbuilding (Part I) - Mechanical Aspects! Next time, we’ll get to introduce the second section of worldbuilding topics: history.

-

[1] Wallace, Daniel. The World of RWBY: The Official Companion. VIZ Media LLC, 2019, page 42.

[2] World of Remnant, Volume 4, Episode 6: “Faunus.”

[3] Volume 5, Episode 3: “Unforeseen Complications.” Ghira Belladonna: “[Adam’s] actions not only tarnished the reputation of an organization originally created to bring peace and equality to all, but to our entire race.”

[4] World of Remnant, Volume 4, Episode 4: “Vacuo.”

[5] Volume 1, Episode 11: “Jaunedice - Part 1.”

[6] Volume 5, Episode 6: “Known by Its Song.”

[7] Volume 7, Episode 1: “The Greatest Kingdom.”

[8] Wallace, Daniel. The World of RWBY: The Official Companion. VIZ Media LLC, 2019, page 44.

[katieskarlette]

Shadows Rising: A Reaction Post

Short, mostly non-spoilery version:  I liked it overall.  I give it a solid B, maybe a B+.

I was disappointed in how little Nathanos and/or Sylvanas content there was, but I think proclamations of the ship’s doom are premature.  

I’m intrigued by the first rumblings of new character development for certain characters, especially Anduin, Alleria and Turalyon.

I was rooting for Talanji so much.  She’s great. Zekhan is a cinnamon roll too pure for this world.  Sira was kind of boring. Fairshaw is so darn heartwarming I can’t stand it. I like Bwonsamdi more now. The lack of Wrathion is unsurprising but unfortunate. Nothing new with Tyrande but she’s already poised for major development in Shadowlands.

Much longer, spoilery version below.

This ended up being more of a ramble than an essay, but there’s a lot of disjointed thoughts pinging around in my head, so let’s dive in.

Overall, I enjoyed Shadows Rising.  Was it the best book ever?  No.  Not even the best Warcraft book ever.  But it was an enjoyable read.  It’s always a treat to get into the heads of characters we mostly know in passing from in-game events.  There are internal, emotional beats that cannot easily be explored in the game, and the books are a way to build the world and the characters in a more introspective, slow-paced manner.  I like that.  (That’s not to say there are no action scenes, because there definitely are.)

Talanji, Jaina, Zekhan, and Anduin were all written well and sympathetically.  Maiev’s only in a couple scenes, but she felt off to me.  Nathanos was very in-character, in all his snide, sour glory.   Flynn and Mathias are great together.

The pacing was fine.  The descriptions were good, and it all felt grounded in the game world (i.e. landmarks, ambiance, the ridiculous amount of stairs in Daz’alor...)  Each of the Horde leaders got a moment or two in the spotlight.  Despite a fair amount of chapters about Anduin, Alleria, Turalyon, and Jaina, it still felt like a Horde-centric book to me.  Not that that’s a bad thing.

Prologue:  Gayness detected on page 8!  And it’s even something I kind of inadvertently predicted.  In my reaction post for Before the Storm I wrote, “ In this book alone, it would have been so easy to have that blacksmith bringing a helmet as a gift to his long-lost Forsaken husband instead of friend.”  That’s basically what we have here.  I don’t know if they were married, and neither were blacksmiths, but the Westfall moonshiner describes one of the Forsaken slain in Arathi as “the best man I ever knew and loved.”  Tada!  See how easy it was?  Add Jago x Wilmer to the growing list of LGBT rep in Azeroth.  (Even if they’re super minor characters in the long run, it’s still great to see.)

There might be some kind of parallel to be drawn between Alleria failing Anduin (by not finding/killing Sylvanas) and Nathanos failing Sylvanas (by not killing Bwonsamdi) but my brain is too overloaded from binge-reading to articulate it right now.  Both failed their king or queen, but both were also given nearly impossible tasks. 

Alleria and Turalyon are definitely being set up as antagonists.  We are clearly supposed to side with Jaina on this, and be uncomfortable (if not outright horrified) at their torture methods.  It’s especially disturbing how they use their respective void and light powers to accomplish their goals.  I mean, on one hand it’s great that both sides of the great cosmic divide can work together, and their marriage seems stronger than it was for awhile there, but yeesh...can you not torture people?  I know, ends justify the means, slippery slope, greater evil, blah blah, but still...that’s not okay.  It’s yet another sign that the Light is not necessarily good (or the void necessarily evil).

I welcome conflict within the Alliance, though.  That’s been the Horde’s thing for long enough.  Time to see how the blue side deals with its rifts.

In chapter 2 Nathanos is annoyed when a dreadtick flies by his head.  What, was it too similar to a bird for his liking?  Heh. 

All that time in Nazmir, and we didn’t get to see a single crawg!  Harumph.

It took three chapters and 39 pages to finally get something from Nathanos' perspective, and he was much more scarce going forward than I had hoped.  The bits we did get from his perspective were great and in-character, but I wanted to get into his head more.  Most of his scenes were from the POV of Sira or the troll villain instead, and while Apari was a good character I find Sira to be pretty one-dimensional. 

I kind of got paternal vibes from Nathanos toward Sira, though.  He was like, “I’ve been undead a lot longer than you; I know how to handle the bloodlust and such.  Get it out of your system at appropriate times but learn to control yourself.  There’s more to (un)life than slaughtering people.”  She herself, though, was just “Rawr, I hate everything and want to kill anything that moves.”  I mean, I get that she’s been through some traumatic stuff, but I didn’t find myself invested in her at all.

Page 42, as a bunch of trolls are about to be slaughtered:  "Hungry birds circled, expectant of a big meal, and Nathanos so hated to disappoint."  WHAT?  Nathanos wanted to do something nice for BIRDS?  I know, the phrasing fits with his dry, sarcastic sense of humor, but considering the running joke about him hating birds, it still made me go, “Huh?”

Chapter 5 (and later on, as it turns out):  Zekhan having a soft spot for kids is too precious for this world.

Page 51:  Thalyssra's eyes were "sparkling as she gazed across the room at Lor'themar."  Awwwwwww.   There was a surprising amount of ship fodder in this book overall, with Lor’themar x Thalyssra, Turalyon x Alleria, Fairshaw, and Zehkhan x Talanji all getting a moment or two (or more.) 

Chapter 6:  Anduin says, "Turalyon, take Alleria Windrunner and investigate these deaths."  You know, Alleria...YOUR WIFE?  I don't think you need to say her last name there, genius. 

While I’m being snarky about the editing, there were at least two times where the word “grieves” was used instead of “greaves.”  I spotted a couple other little things that a better editor (or one with more time, maybe it was rushed, I don’t know) would have caught.

Chapter 7:  More matter-of-fact LGBT inclusion for minor characters, this time a lesbian troll couple who want to marry.  Yes, thank you Blizzard, keep it up.

Chapter 8:  If you’re going to make the “Zappy Boy” nickname for Zekhan canon, having Bwonsamdi be the one to wink at the camera and use it was a great decision.  I can totally imagine him saying it.

We learn the name of Varok’s wife/Dranosh’s mother:  Remda.  Although I read elsewhere that the vision Zekhan saw of the Saurfang family in the afterlife was just Bwonsamdi’s B.S., it was still cool.

Chapter 13:  Nathanos wearing cologne?  Love it.  And it’s not even to cover up the rotting smell, because apparently his new body doesn’t stink like some undead; it just doesn’t smell like a living person, either, and some find it unnerving.  So he wears cologne.  That’s such a delightful little detail, and surprisingly considerate of him.

Sira complaining about bugs:  "We'll be eaten alive."  Uh no, you'd have to BE ALIVE for that to happen. Tsk.

Nathanos being called "the pale rider" makes me think of old cowboy movies.  Like, “You greenhorns better clear out; the Pale Rider is comin’ to town and there’s gonna be trouble.  Go wake up the sheriff.”  

Sira says that while on the voyage to Zandalar the dark rangers liked to tell the tale of how Nathanos was promoted to Ranger Lord by Sylvanas.  I'm surprised he lets them gossip like that!  His quests in vanilla made it seem he wanted to keep those parts of his past on the down-low, at least from the player.

Chapter 14:  Thrall's second kid is Rehze.  *blink*  Reh-zee?  Rez?  Ruh-zay?  I guess she’s not named after anyone.  After he named his son Durak (sort of after Durotan) I assumed he’d continue the pattern with kid #2.  Maybe she’s named after one of Aggra’s relatives.  (Later I read on Wowpedia that the author actually said she dislikes the “fan service” trend of naming children after other characters so she just picked a random orcish name.  I don’t think it’s fan service, because lots of real-life people do it, but okay.  Fair enough.)

Speaking of orcish names, there’s an orc page helping out the council named Gunk.  Like, what you clean out from under your fingernails after gardening.  Gunk.  LOL

Aww, that’s no fun...Maiev's wearing a cape trimmed in white fur, not daggers.  What happened to her impeccable/deadly fashion sense?

Chapter 16:  Zekhan starting to clap at Talanji's speech and then stopping and shrinking back when he realized no one else was applauding was so freaking adorable.

Chapter 17:  Fairshaw, full steam ahead!!!  Their chemistry is everything I hoped it would be.  Learning a little about Flynn’s tragic past was both fascinating and heartbreaking.  (We learned his mom’s name: Lyra Fairwind.  R.I.P.)

Chapter 18:  Proodmoore keep has a gallery with floor to ceiling oil paintings of the Proudmoore family, extended family, and beloved friends.  It now includes Anduin.  I can’t help thinking that, in a different timeline, Arthas’ portrait would have been there.

Will wonders never case?  Ji Firepaw actually gets to do stuff!!!  GASP!

"Thrall understood that to other humans Wrynn was said to be pleasing-looking, but to the orc, Anduin simply looked like a small, pink boy swallowed by clunky armor."  So it’s canon that Anduin is good-looking in-universe.  But LMAO at Thrall’s description.

Chapter 22:  From Shaw’s POV, "These odds ranked pretty low...  Maybe just above the time he had relied completely on a shoddy network of spies embedded in a cheese business."  OMG leave Elling Trias alone!  He did his best!  LOL

Shaw wanting to hang out in a mountain meadow and whittle bird calls (perhaps even with a special someone) was so touchingly normal.  That’s the kind of characterization that the books are so much better at than the game.

I actually like Bwonsamdi more after reading this.  Not that I disliked him before, but I didn’t have a strong sense of him due to not playing Horde as much in BFA.  He’s a well-done gray character:  not good, not evil, insightful but a smartass, part of the great cycle, out for himself but also taking his duties seriously (saving troll souls from the Maw.) 

I’m not entirely sure that we needed as much from Thrall’s POV as we got.  I mean, sure, he’s a familiar character with ties to a lot of others, so it was easy to drop him into situations, and his ties to Jaina made cross-faction communication easier, but he didn’t seem as relevant to the lore of Zandalar and the Shadowlands as some other characters.

Maiev seemed OOC, especially in the Stockades scene.  I know one of the themes of the book was “people change,” and I suppose I should be happy that she has a more moderate viewpoint nowadays, dialing back the Lust For Vengeance Meter from eleven to maybe a five or a six, but it didn’t feel like Maiev.  Especially because her message of “maybe don’t go overboard with this vengeance thing” was aimed at Tyrande, of all people, someone who Maiev has had quite legitimate reasons to dislike for a very, very long time.  I could see her maybe mellowing out a little in front of fellow Wardens, but Tyrande?  Eh, it didn’t feel right to me.

No surprises from Tyrande in this.  She’s still steely cold, vengeance-obsessed, consumed by anger.  Not that I blame her, but it’s not healthy.  I know we’ll be exploring her situation more in Shadowlands, so this was more of a reminder/reinforcement of where she is right now.  It was kind of funny how Thrall, Baine and Calia tried to talk to her and she just gave them the stink eye and the silent treatment, though.

I’m fine with Anduin exploring his dark side a bit more, as long as they don’t go overboard with it.  I like him as an earnest, good-hearted character.  It’s only natural to test your limits, though, especially in times of crisis.  Power corrupts, and he’s got plenty of it, both politically and magically, so I can understand Jaina and Mathias being a bit uneasy.  Add to that the increasing themes about the Light not being as benevolent as we originally assumed, and there’s potential for interesting plot there.  In the end I want Anduin to stay firmly on the side of good, empathy, compassion, etc., but a deviation into the shadows along the way isn’t a bad thing for the story.

I imagine every single person who read about Anduin sneaking off to the Lion’s Pride Inn in Goldshire smirked about that place’s reputation on certain RP realms.  I was surprised he didn’t find scantily-clad elves and draenei dancing on the furniture.  And then it turns out Jaina was there, too.  Awkward!

Why, oh why couldn’t we have had a scene with Anduin and Wrathion hanging out (incognito, of course) in a tavern?  That was their thing in MoP, and now with Anduin desperately wanting to get away from his duties for awhile and soak up some tavern ambiance it would have been perfect.  Let Anduin show off the best taverns Stormwind has to offer.  Even though Wrathion was as much a guest at the Tavern in the Mists as Anduin was, he acted like he owned the place and Anduin was his guest, so let them turn the tables and have Anduin play host.  There could be jokes about how he better not punch Wrathion again or they’ll get kicked out for starting a bar fight.  They could have still seen the young recruits, ran into Jaina, etc.  But Anduin really needs a buddy to hang out with right now.  

And you can’t tell me after Nya’lotha fell Wrathion just disappeared again and never at least visited Stormwind to tell grandiose tales about how he stabbed an Old God, it was so heroic, and he wasn’t scared at all, and those mean adventurers were so quick to believe he’d been corrupted, but he hadn’t, and did you know Azshara was there?  And then N’Zoth almost won but KERPOW LAZERS and oh Anduin you should have seen it, etc. etc. etc.

I should be used to being disappointed about Wrathion’s absence by now, but there are SO MANY MISSED OPPORTUNITIES!

Sigh.  Moving on.

Being exposed to spoilers meant I wasn’t fooled by it, but it was still a deft bit of writing to have the dark rangers drink poison when cornered by Horde soldiers, then mention Nathanos having a vial in his coat, which he drinks when defeated--making the unspoiled reader assume he’s killing himself--only for it to be a kind of liquid hearthstone attuned to Sylvanas.  Had I not known that he survived the book I would have freaked out there.

So, like, was Bolvar just sitting there on the ground awkwardly eavesdropping while Sylvanas and Nathanos talked/argued?  Or did he use that time to sneak away unnoticed?  LOL

Which brings us to the epilogue that’s caused so much hand wringing and wailing from my fellow Blightrunner shippers.  It wasn’t the openly sentimental interaction between them that I had hoped for, but I honestly didn’t read it as the doom of the ship.  A bump, at worst.

[If you’re not interested in the relationship between Nathanos and Sylvanas, or if you’re one of those people who simply hate his character, you can skip the rest of this post.]

First of all, Sylvanas had just broken the Helm of Domination.  That was a hugely significant thing to do, both for her personally and in the cosmic scheme of things.  Her state of mind at that moment had to have been in a turmoil.  So if she was a little distracted and tense, I think that’s quite understandable.

Second, I saw other fans being upset that she threatened/wanted to strike him.  That’s not how I read it at all.  “Sylvanas could strike him, scream and hollow out his soul, but it would not correct the failing.”  She’s not saying she wants to do that, just that she could.  The instinct to lash out in violence is ingrained in all the undead; death knights have to do it or they go mad.  So for her mind to go there in a moment of high emotion seems natural to me.  She doesn’t actually attack him or verbally/physically threaten him.  People say things like “I could have killed my brother for eating the last slice of cake” or “I could’ve strangled my co-worker when she spoiled the ending of the movie” and it’s not literal.

Third, she doesn’t say “go away, I never want to see you again.”  She says “Go where you will, Nathanos, but do not be idle” and “I expect you will return to me with means to prevent [Bwonsamdi’s] meddling.”  So essentially she’s saying, “Fine, go home, regroup, come up with Plan B, and if it’s not possible to destroy Bwonsamdi at least concentrate on countering him.”  Also note that she still considers the operation to be theirs, not just hers:  “This was a blow, but one she felt sure they could overcome.”  That tells me she expects to work with him in the future.

Fourth, and granted this is before she learns of his failure, but she’s clearly happy to have him there when he first arrives.  “’My champion,’ Sylvanas purred.  ‘Your timing could not be better.  Tell me of your victory as we take these first steps together.’”  She wanted to cross into the Shadowlands with him at her side.  Hell, that’s bridal imagery...crossing the threshold together, and all that.  The only reason she tells him to go is because his work isn’t done and she still needs him on Azeroth.  But she explicitly says “I expect you will return to me.” 

Fifth, in the line from her POV about how “the unjust ladder of their lives must be dismantled,” the “they” she’s referring to is all of the denizens of Azeroth, true, but I think there’s also a tinge of bitterness there as she looks back on her own life, and her life with Nathanos.  Destiny has not been kind to either of them.

Sixth, she says “My path lies ahead” as she prepares to cross into the Shadowlands.  It’s a reminder of the scale of the forces she is trying to manipulate.  When faced with the potential fates of all the souls in the universe, her own regrets are insignificant.  She can’t stay on Azeroth any longer, even if some part of her does want to just chill out on a beach somewhere with Nathanos and watch his blighthounds chase seagulls.  She thinks “It would not be easy, but then, her mission required great sacrifice.”  Like leaving him behind.

Even this part can be interpreted different ways:  “She heard the note of hope in his voice, fragile as a fledgling dropped from the next.”  Putting aside the humor of comparing bird-hating Nathanos to a fledgling, we don’t get a value judgment about the comparison.  Sylvanas doesn’t think about him sympathetically, wanting to protect him in a vulnerable moment, but she also doesn’t think, “Geez, what a pathetic weakling.”  It goes back to that bit in Warbringers about how she can’t kill hope.  And she can’t.  Here, again, no matter how bleak things are, no matter how displeased she is at his failure, he still has hope.  And she needs that, whether she believes it or not.

When she “flicked her fingers, as if ridding herself of a speck of muck” that can be interpreted as her thinking of him in a derogatory way, but she was also talking about Bwonsamdi in the same breath so I can choose to believe that’s who she was being dismissive of.

I don’t know.  I get that some of the language is discouraging.  She describes him as having “blubbering lips” and she’s definitely not happy with him.  But these two have been through a lot, and their bond has remained strong.  I’m sure this isn’t their first fight, or the first time he’s disappointed her.  This isn’t the end for them.  Just another bump on a very long highway they’ve traveled together.

...

OMG this has turned into a monster of a post, rambling all over the place.  I hope it’s coherent enough to follow.  I’m just in lore overload at the moment (and enjoying every second.)  I know I’m forgetting things I wanted to talk about, too, but I’m going to go ahead and post it as it is.

[mellicose]

Doctor ... WTF?

An impassioned rant about the steady decline of Doctor Who, the trajectory of the Thirteenth Doctor, and the righteous indignation after The Timeless Children, not only as a Whovian, but as a woman-

I love how certain people are spinning The Timeless Children as being good, yet the BBC has released (2)TWO statements basically telling fans the following:

“Doctor Who is a beloved long-running series and we understand that some people will feel attached to a particular idea they have of the Doctor, or that they enjoy certain aspects of the programme more than others. Opinions are strong and this is indicative of the imaginative hold that Doctor Who has – that so many people engage with it on so many different levels.

We wholeheartedly support the creative freedom of the writers and we feel that creating an origin story is a staple of science fiction writing. What was written does not alter the flow of stories from William Hartnell’s brilliant Doctor onwards – it just adds new layers and possibilities to this ongoing saga.”

Creative freedom, huh? Ask Joe Hill about it. Or Gaiman. The writers, including Chibnall, are only free to do what the Beeb and the other show investors tell them. 

They go on:

“We have also received many positive reactions to the episode’s cliff-hanger. There are still a lot of questions to be answered, and we hope that you will come back to join us and see what happens, but we appreciate that it’s impossible to please all of our viewers all of the time and your feedback has been raised with the programme’s Executive Producer." 

Uglylaughing.gif

There is a huge, monumental difference between 'not being able to please everyone all at the same time' and basically making a whole fandom, New and Classic, young and old, come together with the same level of disgust and disappointment.

I also find the people arguing "Canon? What canon?" about the Doctor now being the Lord and Savior of the Shining World of the Seven Systems to be foolish at best, and disingenuous at worst.

No canon?? So what have I been steeping myself in for years  - a vague approximation of a tale? Please. Of course, writers have embellished and alluded, but tampering with the unspoken but well-known 'no touch' rule about the Doctor's origin is ... well, it's canon, in and of itself...

...which Chibnall completely wrecked, and I can't imagine why. Hubris? By all accounts, he was a fan. I thought Moffat was a dick for bringing back Gallifrey, but now, to me, my disappointment then vs now is like comparing a fart to a shitstorm.

Please excuse the scatological references, but I'm using it deliberately. It is a swirling turd, which I and many others wish we could flush down and forget forever.

In another RadioTimes article - which basically is the BBC - amongst the usual apologetics, Huw Fullerton drops this little gem:

“The glory days of David Tennant et al were in a different TV landscape, and if the Tenth Doctor touched down now it seems unlikely he’d command anything close to the ratings he did over a decade ago.”

Yeah, you can all take a break to have a hearty laugh. Or throw up. Whichever. Did they just hint that, basically, the incarnation of the Doctor who continues to get as much love (if not more) than Four, who still consistently gets thousands of butts in seats in conventions worldwide, and has made the BBC hundreds of thousands of pounds sterling in merchandising “wouldn’t command the ratings he did in 2008?”

As Gary Buechler of Nerdrotic said in his response to this article: “Actually, if David Tennant had been given as many chances as Jodie Whittaker, it would’ve had Game of Thrones-level ratings.”

And I agree. Not because I’m a Tenth Doctor stan, but because it’s just ... categorically true. His seasons consistently got average rating of 7.5 to 8 million viewers - and this in a time before BBCiPlayer, so 7-day catch up ratings meant nothing. It was butts on sofas then, which, to me, speaks of a massive, sustained interest.

But Huw goes on to say that such things mean nothing. And that the huge, telling sink in both overnight and 7-day ratings between the 11th and 12th seasons, and the dismal 4.69m 7 day ratings for The Timeless Children - the lowest for a NewWho finale since its reboot - shouldn’t be taken as a loss of interest from the fandom.

Then, pray tell goodman, what does it mean? Does it mean that fans are following the Thirteenth Doctor’s adventures in spirit? Ratings are tanking. Outside of the precious few who blindly tweet and write articles about the show solely based on its now female protagonist, people are notoriously furious, especially after the execrable season finale.

Yet BBC’s Piers Wenger, who once produced the show, says “I don’t think it’s been in better health, editorially. I think it’s fantastic and I think that, the production values obviously have never been better.”

Right. Okay. So, putting Tom Ford makeup on a pig makes it haute couture, huh? The writing is appalling, and after two excruciatingly painful to watch seasons, the Doctor has failed to appear - all I’ve seen is borderline sociopathic navel gazing from an ‘alien’ wearing a pastel duster.

How dare you besmirch the unfailingly cool reputation of the long coat, Chibnall? Jodie? How?? 

I will not let someone piss on my head and call it rain ... ‘because it’s a woman.’ Assuming I’ll accept it just adds insult to injury. Who do they think we are, as female fans? I will not cosign garbage to further an agenda that is ultimately damaging one of my favorite things ever, Doctor Who. I agree that politics, and a positive moral, have always been a part of DW, but at it’s best the writing was so good that it only added to the entertainment. Now, the BBC is feeding us all the bitter pill, without the kindness to hide it in a piece of tasty cheese. It gives the impression that they believe we are already so indoctrinated that we no longer need artifice!

Well, not only am I not indoctrinated, but I refuse to ingest.

I refuse to allow people to silence me because the Doctor is now a woman, and so am I. That, I shouldn’t say anything, or complain, because it’s an act of rebellion on womankind, not only in entertainment, but in general. Well, to that I say ... er ... I disavow.

Disavow. Disavow.

And this from a woman who once criticized Peter Davison for saying that casting a woman was “a vital loss of a role model for boys,” taking it as a sexist comment when in truth, it was just a relevant narrative concern about gender-swapping the traditionally male-presenting Time Lord. Just changing a character from male to female doesn’t do anything but demonstrate a tone-deafness about the emotional and physical differences between men and women, which exist whether we want to address them or not. This is why genderswap reboots are terrible. They are trying to further the feminist agenda, while surreptitiously painting traditional, every day femininity as weakness, and something to be avoided at all costs. I reject the modern Hollywood representation of what a ‘strong woman’ is meant to be. I can be clever, yet sensitive enough to comfort a friend when they confide their fears about a cancer relapse. I can be funny, and not at the expense of the man in the room. I can be brave, but not at the expense of my friends. The mind boggles as to why they thought their current tack with the Doctor was going to be any good. The Doctor is a woman, but more importantly, she’s a Timelord. Where are they? Is the alien that we’ve known and loved for the last 60 years truly gone away, and Thirteen is from a whole different timeline? If so, I don’t want to know her. 

And it breaks my heart.

Why continue to support a corporation who thinks of me, the fan, as no more than a heartless, thoughtless consumer? A drone? A sheep who has no conscious idea of what I like or need?

I’m done. It’s been two seasons of absolute dreck, with absolutely no sign of a course-correction due to the overwhelmingly negative response. I may be many things, but I’m no masochist - even in the name of love. And Chibnall, knowing that many fans would go back to the classic stories to cleanse ourselves, went back to the beginning and took a giant shit there too. 

Oh, the cleverness! the absolute schadenfreude of not only tampering, but rewriting the Doctor’s origins! I suppose that tells me he truly was once a fan. But no longer. Even if it turns out that the Master is as full of crap as Chibnall and it’s all an orchestrated lie, I don’t care anymore. Every inexplicable, terrible thing that happened before has already exhausted my patience with the narrative.

As veteral DW writer and script editor Terrance Dicks said:

If you’re concentrating on putting forth a political message, rather than on doing a really good show, I think there is a danger, maybe, you can do both but it would be hellish difficult, and I think that there’s maybe a danger that the show wouldn’t as be as good as it could or should be, because you’re not looking at the right aims.”

It seems like all that has been lost in time. Big corporations are buying up beloved science fiction properties, and systematically destroying them by trying to mix their politics into the mythos. [see ‘the fandom menace’]

I say, don’t support things that make you unhappy, in the name of nostalgia. That’s how they continue to upset us, while lining their pockets with our hard earned money. Complaining amongst ourselves, writing emails, or making angry Youtube videos no longer works anyway. Now is the time to just ... let it go. No more special edition DVDs, novelizations, or pretty action figures. Hit them in the pocketbook. We will still have fond memories of better times. I will not let them hijack, retcon, and retool them too.

There is a telling paragraph hidden in the depths of the article, which makes my DW fangirl sink:

It’s not as simple as “the ratings are down so Doctor Who will be cancelled,” as for the publicly-funded BBC there’s an interesting question about exactly what ratings are for beyond bragging rights. Obviously they need to make TV that people want to watch – but which people?

Not us, Huw. That’s who.

[beacon-sanctuary]

Chapter 2: Class decisions and dorm warfare for the win!

introduction, Ch.1

Note to self: next time Bean and Merlin fight, get popcorn, and maybe grab wall rubble, I’m not a hoarder, scouts honor~

     I looked up at the teachers with stars in my eyes, everyone was so cool!  Plus, I got a head pat-so that’s even better!  Ugh, why’d you guys have to make so hard to choose a class, hmmm let’s put our suspects, up shall we?  Looking at the professors, I saw the grumpy Alchemist guy, his pale wood patterned skin shone in the lights above as once more those dang amber eyes of his bore into my mind.  Like chill man, how can putting a baton in your jacket be mind warfare?!  Huff, he looked so cool during the show but ehhh, too strict for me.  

 Well, Rasputin’s a no I guess, number 2, Louis Armstrong, seems like a fun guy, buuut I have no musical talent, got two left feet, voice sounds like a banshee bleh, ain’t a good fit.  It’s not you Louis it’s me, sorry man. Onto suspect 3, Hobo Billy the kid, chill, kinda dusty, but I’m not stealthy, wouldn’t have light-up shoes if I was after all.  Suspect 4 come on down!  Here we have Joan of Arc, awesome sword wielder and dealer of cherished head pats, 9/10 we might have a winner here people.

 Now onto suspe-oh no megaphone man’s back, just in case, I pulled my beanie over my ears, no hearing loss for me.  

 “Ah, jolly good show everyone!  It was quite a sight to see, I must say, now children, if that display did not solidify your choice-well buck up!  We’ve decided to allow our professors the chance to remind you of their profession and the meaning behind each class!  And remember no class is better or worse than the ot-”

 “Guerillas are best, don’t listen to the loudspeaker” Izusa jabbed in

 “Heheheh, Izusa I am glad for your class pride still runs deep, but we are headmasters, after all, we need to be unbiased!  Let our bright youths decide for themselves!”

 “Unbiased, you have your freaking Knight necktie on” She fired back motioning to his stripped blue silver tie which he straightened. 

 “Well, of course, one must never forget their roots after all, and even though I myself favored our knights here, this is not-” Before he could finish, a sharp  “Shush” interjected.  Professor Blum strode forward hand massaging his temple.

 “If we listen to this squabble any longer, we shall not move anywhere, and I would like to return to my facility before night comes if you don’t mind.” Fixing his overcoat, the amber eyes of the earth magi quickly returned to the crowd, piercing them with a cool stare as he began to speak once more.

 “To you lot” he admonished us snapping his arm, “Listen well, for I shall only say this once.  Despite what the news or the media has led you to believe, Alchemists are those who study and pick apart the gears of magic and the world for all its worth.”  When he said news and media he spat out each word as if it were venom in his mouth, and as he began to go on, the methodical style of his speech began to ebb more into a stately passion. 

 “We are no mere scientists, we are alchemists! The fusion of creativity and scientific reasoning to understand, this little thing we call magic.  Despite the moniker of “Youngest class,” Human, Magi, or whatever in between that’s shuffled about on this rock has always been curious of this force in our world.  Whether you trace our origins to the wizards and warlocks of old, or to the Alchemists of which we’ve gained our title, we are both and neither of our predecessors!” 

      Pacing a bit, he calmed his voice back down as he continued on, “Were our ancestors simply explored the capabilities or tried to pick apart magic for their own uses, we have a different goal.  We carry the light of knowledge, illuminating the unknown for our fellow people so that they may find comfort in said findings.  If you choose this path, burn this into your mind! If you have no passion or hunger for finding the secrets of magic and our world, then as soon as you enter my facility, you. shall. be. Gone!  I do not want to hear your complaining, “Oh it’s too hard,” or, “ Oh, it’s too boring” for if I see one hint of uninterest in your eyes, I'll throw you out myself! For if you have no passion or drive in your field what is the point of you?  Now then,”  

 After a long sigh, he quietly composed himself, “if you feel this is right for you, step forward now.” he crooned out. And to my left, I felt a rustle beside me Orion groaned up and walked towards the old magi, he gave me a two-finger salute and lazily walked forward.  And as everyone saw him go, bit by bit more people stood in front of Rasputin, as each was handed some black clothes in a bag.  And as if on cue, a sharp whistle broke the silence, bringing all our eyes on Billy the kid.

 “Alright, kiddos eyes on me for a sec’. Thanks to ole grandpa given that essay, I’ll be straight with ya.  Guerillas are the rebels, outlaws, anarchists, or whatever they call us now.  Where there's some rules we break 'em, were there's laws we go past 'em. We be the judge of those in power, that roarin' flame under they feet that keep our leaders in check. And if they go too far, well, this lil' fire finna burst into an inferno I'll promise ya that.  If ya got freedom and rebellion in ya chest. We yo people, see a riot, we in there, see a protest, we in there, and if you see a revolution? Hoo boy, you sure as heck know we in there! We carry the light of freedom and change, always there to stop a leader if they go too far and if they do, we gon' hold 'em accountable and make somethin' new.  If my words struck home, we be happy to have ya, welcome to the family kiddos.” legs dangling over the stage the professor watched as the future Guerillas approached, heck even one girl flew up and gave a high five to him.  Thanks to her wings, she was an air magi, had some golden-brown wings and storm grey hair, and perched atop the stage as her classmates rushed up too.

             At my right, I heard a grunt as freaking Joan of Arc hopped off her pommel and kicked the sword in her hand like it was nothing!  Yup, definitely joining her I don’t care what anyone says-Imma be a knight!

 “Heh, alrighty, may as well start, hmph” She grunted, holding her sword in a rigid pose.  If I’m being honest her face looked like she was constipated “to be a knight you be gallant, focused measured precise and powerful, my children take up arms your calling is nye it is time for a crusade!  We shall take back the holy land,Deus vult, DEUS VU-pfffft, heheheh, sorry I had to” she chuckled leaning on her sheath “Oh, that never gets old, ok serious time now” she took in a breath to speak but

 “Ah, it seems the impossible did happen, you being serious” Rasputin interjected walking past her, to this he received a light snicker

 “Listen I can be serious sometimes, on occasion, when I feel like it, every few years.  But, as I was saying before mister essay interrupted me, Knights are old as heck alright, we’re the first beacons, defend people for generations, all that good stuff.  But just cause we got knight in our name, don’t mean we’re Chivalrous, glistening warriors who vanquish evil to the ends of the earth that’s only a third of the pie, we’re not just warriors, we’re healers and guardians kids.  The sword, shield, and healing hand, we become that light.  We guard against the dark and give people a haven.  In more than one way!  So,” she said resting her sword over her shoulders,

“If you want to be a knight, grab some chainmail and a tunic from the stage and come to my class tomorrow.  I’d be happy to have you” She winked strolling out.  Yeeep, I’m all in let’s freaking go!  I cheered in my mind, but I had a feeling I had a dopey smile on my face all the same.

             After that, not much else happened, learned about the other two classes, Artificers, basically artists, builders, and all that fun stuff that entertains or helps people. And seekers, explorers, and stuff, always run headfirst into the unknown and hard to pin down.  But by the end I got some bag of clothes and a rune stone. It was a smooth navy-blue rock with a messed-up F burnt into it.  It felt warm and hummed a bit in my hand as I turned a bit, it was like a weird magic compass to my dorm I guess, this is so cool!  Welp, into your prison-I mean my bag little guy.  As I was putting my stone back in my bag, a gun shot made me nearly drop it on the ground.

 “Gah!  what is this, give Eir a heart attack day?!” I mumbled clamping my stone as Headmaster Ortiz cleared his throat.

 “Knights, Alchemists, Seekers, Guerillas, and Artificers, thank you all for continuing in the protection of Human-Magi kind.  This is the first step of your journey as Beacons!  For even having the courage to step up this far, you should be proud!  Bully indeed for you!  I already can see great potential in all of you, all I can say is good luck, and may your lights always shine bright.” He finished his final speech and gave us all a hearty laugh and warm smile before walking into the back as Izusa made her way to speak.

 “Alright Torches, like the headmaster megaphone said, this is your start, remember you all wanted this, so get ready, tomorrow starts four years of hell, have fun~” she sang away into the darkness from whence she came.

             After the speeches of fluff and doom we all dispersed to our new dorms, which for some freaking reason was on the of the fort!  School’s in the middle, makes sense, access to everything, but the dorms. At the very edge of the freaking coast, who designed this and where can I smack them with my bag?  I’m going helicopter them so bad won’t know what hit them.  But still, I walked to my dorm.  Weird F rune dash 5 as the stone in my hand vibrated more and more the closer I got to my door.  The jade-gold rune patterned carpet sat atop a shining wood floor and the air had a scent of strangely chocolate, and fire?  

 “Who’s burning something?” I thought aloud, but right as the words came out of my mouth, the wall right across from me shattered as a flaming girl bulldozed through while a hand patted me on the head.  Whirling my head from side to side I saw Orion standing besides me snickering at the dragon girl.  She had two jagged black horns sticking out of her messy flame like curls.  She was short but had a stocky frame, I think I even saw a few muscles if I’m being honest.  And as I saw her gold eyes stare daggers at Orion(nickname still pending) a wicked smile seared across her face, disrupting the red scales upon her cheeks.

 “Orio get back over here so I can hit ya!” She growled in her rough voice, to which Orion strolled across from me with a playful shrug

 “nahhh, don’t really feel like it sunflower, good offer though, you’re getting’ better at em, I’m proud!”

 “Tsk, I told ya before, I ain’t no little flower, I am the sun!” she yelled crouching down for probably another charge.  Orion chuckled as he held his free hand at his ear

 “Uh, say that again white dwarf, I ain’t hear ya~” he teased, and at that my eyes even glared at him,

 “Please don’t my ears have suffered enough for a day!” I groaned,

       But as at the girl, it seemed like she physically had a tick mark on her head as the whole room heated up to 90 degrees. I had to take off my hat and fan myself, what the freak did he say to make her that mad? But unfortunately, I got no answer as the girl barreled forward with a battle cry.  Careening towards Orion before I saw him poof out of existence in a blue flash before reappearing behind the solar magi.  He placed a hand on her back and caused it to steam, but what instantly caught my attention was two words that slithered from his mouth.

 “Liga Hostem” he said, and yanked his hand back as multiple black and blue chains wrapped around the girl, battling against the fire and the light she gave off.  Making the hallway as wicked battle of heat and cold. Gasping from excitement I rapidly said

 “You used a binding spell!  It’s not the full incantation but that’s still awesome!  Wait, your element doesn’t usually go into that unle-“

 “let’s save this for later, I ain’t tryin’ be bbq magi over here”  to further his point the girl took in a deep breath and bellowed out a stream of flames in the boy’s direction, cursing under his breath Orion slammed his hand on the ground and cried

 “Fortifico!” as a black and blue hexagon of swirling void, blocked the incoming flames, and as soon as the barrier was released, the girl charged forward with an knee aimed at Orion’s fac, he rolled back and threw a punch at her stomach, but she brushed it to the side.  Back and forth they parried and dodged each other’s blows like clockwork.  Oh I wish I had popcorn, this is so good, but sadly before the fight could continue, the door behind me slammed open as I saw a baby face looking Asian guy with, a long, rat tail… Oh its him, time to give him a piece of my wait why is he my dorm mate?!

 “QUIET” the pale faced boy roared, on his face was now a pair of jade, metallic looking goggles, and as soon as he looked at the two magi his face grew a face of sheer disgust. “Ugh, just typical of their kind, arrogant and loud beyond measure. You two, cease this disturbance immediately, I am trying to work. “ he screamed in his childlike voice waving a large wrench at the two.

 “Hey, angery baby man, shush.” Said angery baby man looked agasp and was about to say something before I said

“Oi, ya owe me an apology from earlier, what was your deal?” I demaded looking over my shoulder

 “just my luck, of course I’m roomed with you of all people.” He rolled his eyes

 “Me of all people?!  Square up baby man, lets go!”

 “First of all, I am not, a baby man.  My name is Lin Su-Wang, and I am not fighting a munchkin.”

             And this is how this went for like thirty minutes, four people either fighting or yelling at each other before, nothing, I really can’t remember what happened afterwards, only thing is I woke up with a pain in my neck for some reason.  Weird, buuut yeah, this was one interesting first day.

 Day one-completed! :)

[son-of-alderaan]

Making a movie is a powerful thing,” says Adam Driver, dressed in a baggy hoodie and eating a breakfast of bacon and eggs at Brooklyn’s Dumbo House. “And to fuck it up or get tired while you’re making it?” He frowns. “Why not make sure you leave nothing on the table instead?” The 34-year-old actor is here on a cool fall morning talking about his own career, both onscreen — most recently in BlacKkKlansman; most famously as Adam Sackler in HBO’s landmark Girls and Kylo Ren in two Star Wars films — and onstage. It’s the latter, via his Arts in the Armed Forces nonprofit, which brings theater to military personnel, that he’s most eager to talk about. (On November 12, AITAF will celebrate its tenth anniversary with a special Broadway performance of Sam Shepard’s True West.) But he knows it’s the glow from the big and small screens that often draws people in. Like, presumably, the eager young podcaster who sidles up to us and asks if Driver will participate in a live podcast something or other. Or the barista who wants his autograph in her book of poetry. “I thought,” Driver says, despite having handled the interruptions gracefully, “that here I could avoid that kind of thing.” 

Stories written about you always make a big deal out of the fact that you’re an actor who served in the military.[1]    Like it’s a kitschy thing?

Not so much kitschy, but as if those two jobs are fundamentally at odds. Are they? I see more commonalities than differences, but yeah, in one job you’re pretending the stakes are life and death and in the other they actually are. And people expect that being in the military is going to be difficult. They’re not like, “Oh, the catering’s bad. Oh, we’re shooting more than 14 hours?” Fucking who cares? The stakes are so high [in the military] that there’s no “Well, I feel this way.” Everyone is on the same plane.

What are the commonalities? The team effort. You have a group of people working toward a bigger picture, working together intimately for however long it takes to get the job done, and there’s somebody who’s in charge who, if they know what they’re doing, makes everything seem necessary and urgent. And if they don’t know, everything feels like a demoralizing waste of time.

But the collective effort you just described could also be said about a business or a sports team. Sure.

So what I’m trying to ask about are the specific mental and emotional similarities and differences that might exist between actors and soldiers. It seems to me that one profession is at least partly about individual expression and one is more about conformity. Do you know what I mean? Yeah, I do. This is where things differ: In the military there’s a structure in place for how things work, and you can’t supersede it. If a PFC is really good at his job, then he’ll get put in charge. But in making movies, when people get to a certain level they can push their needs ahead of others’. Acting is not set up to be a collective effort. It can be, but it never is.

What do you mean? There’s more bureaucracy to navigate.

There’s more bureaucracy in acting than in the military? I’d never realized that most of your job in acting is managing personalities and talking about your job. Only, like, 10 percent is the actual doing of it. Sometimes that 10 percent is all you need to keep motivated but often there’s so much bullshit — never mind. I don’t want to complain about having a great job. I don’t want to be that guy. What am I trying to say? Obviously in the arts people have more liberty to be individual, but I still think of the work as a group effort. I’m not saying my view is better than anyone else’s but it can be at odds with someone who thinks, No, you guys are here to support me with my effort.

How much do money and fame distort your thinking and feeling about work? Does money? Yeah, it does. In terms of this nonprofit, we [AITAF][2] could probably be doing even better financially if I wasn’t one of the people at the head because I’m so unwilling to do so many things — or talk to people in general.

Because those things make you uncomfortable? I don’t want to start getting into favors. It’s not about me and Star Wars. It’s about the people that we’re trying to serve and if you don’t get that then I’d rather not be associated with your money. I guess that applies to acting also. But then you have someone like [John] Cassavetes, who did all this TV work and had no loyalty to the things he was doing just for money. He would take all that money and dump it into Faces or Opening Night. I’m sorry. I feel like I don’t have the right answers for you.

There’s nothing wrong with your answers. What made you think acting could fulfill you in the same ways that being in the military did? I don’t know. As you change, your relationship to your job changes. At school [Juilliard] I learned the value of time. Well, I learned that in the military, but I transferred it into making movies. I don’t take doing a play or making a movie for granted: We’re here, right now, and we’re never going to get a chance to do this again. It always seems like a miracle when someone is willing to pay for us to do that. And the fact that films are so democratic — for me, it was discovering [Martin] Scorsese and [Jim] Jarmusch movies in Indiana.[3]

The Blockbuster in your town had Jim Jarmusch movies? It was a Hollywood Video. We also had a Blockbuster and PJ’s Video. You just learn how films have a way of finding their audience. Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore was completely different from my life growing up, but finding it was so powerful. Making something that can affect someone like that is an amazing opportunity. And we’re not going to live forever, so we have to make the most of the time we have. I’m getting very saccharine, but you can’t take anything for granted. I don’t know, these big themes of life and death — feel free to jump in any time.

Okay, I know that acting in Silence, which was all about sacrifice and purpose, made you wonder about the larger point of being an actor. Right.

So how does thinking about your job in a holistic way like that affect how you go about it? I don’t know if I have a good answer to that.

I bet you do. That thinking you just described affects everything. Without sounding pretentious, which is impossible, I’m trying to mean it as much as I can. So I want to work with people who are taking things seriously. There’s a quote I stole from an interview with Thelma Schoonmaker. It’s something like, “Making a movie is like having to take a piss.” It’s so urgent. That’s how I feel.

Does acting need to be difficult in order for you to feel like it’s worthwhile? No. Some roles are more challenging than others. Silence, for example, was physically exhausting[4] but that’s what was required. I do like to work hard, though. I don’t know if that’s because I’m from the Midwest and was raised with “you work from nine-to-five and you come home exhausted.” But I don’t need work to be any more difficult than it needs to be. I’m always trying to find a way to work more economically. Can I ask you something?

Yep. Do you feel with writing that you overdo things or put a lot of work in you didn’t need? I always want to feel like I’ve exhausted every opportunity so that no question comes up while I’m working that I can’t answer.

I think what I do is a million times easier than what you do, but yeah, I try to make sure I’m as prepared and have as many cards to play as possible. Right, right, right. Also, this is another frustrating thing: You’re at a table read and you’re reading the script for the first time and in a way it’ll never be that good again. You weren’t thinking about it. You weren’t overanalyzing. You were just doing what was instinctual. I’ve been lucky to work on jobs that required me to trust my instincts and move on. [Steven] Soderbergh[5] is one of those people who will only give you one or two takes no matter how much you’ve prepared. Spike Lee[6] is another. Then you have Noah Baumbach[7], who’ll do 50 takes and that’s 50 opportunities to do the same scene in a completely different way.

You did an interview with Noah Baumbach where you talked about having to “rebel” when you get too comfortable with your work. What does that mean? It doesn’t mean not showing up to set or anything like that. But if Noah wants me to move over there [in a scene], I don’t want him or me to get too comfortable trusting that I will go over there. So if we’re doing a scene 40 or 50 times, I’ll need to do something to remind myself that it’s all supposed to be happening for the first time. Maybe I won’t go over there and I’ll completely fuck it up. I’ll have a little battle with him [Baumbach] to keep the scene on its toes.

Are you someone who thinks a lot about your own thoughts? You can probably tell from this conversation that I overthink the shit out of everything. I do try to be introspective but not to a point that it’s vain and I’m thinking me, me, me.

Let me tell you why my belly button is so interesting. [Laughs.] Yeah, what makes me tick? In life I have such a problem of wanting control, and between “action” and “take” is the only time when I have to think about just one thing. In that moment there’s nothing else, and so much of my life I spend thinking about myself or other people, life, death, what our point is in the world. So to not have to think — this discussion is getting too abstract. I’m also moved by straightforward things like the writing in Ordinary People[8]. You know that movie?

For sure. There’s this scene in the hallway when he [Timothy Hutton’s character] is like, “You took trig?” And she [Mary Tyler Moore’s character] goes, “Did I take trig?” It’s very beautiful. There’s also a scene where those two are outside and he’s trying to talk about Bucky, the brother who died, and she’s talking about something else and he starts barking like a dog. So there’s the formal structure of the script — the lines that are spoken — and then there’s something abstract, too. I want to make sure that I don’t shut myself off from that abstract thing.

You’ve been helping run a nonprofit for ten years. What are you doing better now with it than you used to? I didn’t used to feel comfortable fundraising. Like, “Yeah we’re interested in your mission but could you take a picture with my daughter? She’s a big Star Wars fan and if you do that I’ll give you $100,000.” No, I’m not going to take it. Is there nobody that is just philanthropic for the sake of it? Is there always some picture with your kid? I don’t want AITAF things to turn into Star Wars events. But then you say, “No,” and you’ve pissed somebody off. I don’t know that I ever handled that badly; I just took it too personally.

So now you say yes? I still say no. It has to be the right thing or it can feel disgusting. Some people are good with being like, “It feels uncomfortable but imagine what you can do with that money.” So I’m starting to get more comfortable with that idea because we’re raising money not only for a military nonprofit, but a performing arts nonprofit. It’s difficult. We’re not saying, “Give us $100 and it’ll go towards $100 of art.” We’re giving something that you can’t quantify.

You find that you can’t emotionally disassociate when you have to glad-hand? Even if you know it’s for a greater goal? I can see the advantage of going “What do I care?” but I’m not wired that way. This is an ongoing thing I’m trying to figure out. Sometimes I feel like I’m doing us [AITAF] a disservice, but I don’t want people to give us money for me. I want to cultivate donors that we’ll have a lasting relationship with. So it’s not just, “Give me a check and we’ll keep this as impersonal as possible.” I’m trying to make things meaningful. Do you know what I’m saying? I’m not quite explaining myself.

I get what you’re saying. Okay, good. I’m trying to say things to you here that I don’t normally say.

I know fame, and the subject of fame, is not your favorite thing. So how did that distaste factor into your decision to be in Star Wars? You had to know that’d kick things into a higher gear. No.

No? I was aware that more people would see it than see most things I do, but I don’t think I could have anticipated how often I’d get recognized because it’s so different for every person. I’m very tall and I look a certain way. I can’t blend into a crowd.

You’re fairly nondescript this morning. I look suspicious.

What’s interesting to you about playing Kylo Ren? That’s hard to say because we’re working toward something in particular with that character. I don’t want to give anything away.

It seems like it’d be fun to play around in that world. Yeah, the scale and size is interesting. Usually you work with people who are like, “Everybody save their cigarettes because we’ll need them for the rest of the movie.” But Star Wars has 4,000 people working on it. It’s an entirely different process.

Is there anything about your public persona that’s given you insight about yourself? Or made you think about yourself differently? What do you mean?

There are very few people in the world who can see the ways in which a large number of other people view them. But celebrities can. So does seeing what people pick up on — whether it’s being considered attractive or intense — incur any particular self-reflection? Being an “intense” actor[9], I don’t understand what that means. That I show up on set and glare at people? That before every scene I’m like, “I need to fire off a rocket really quick and then I’ll come back and act.” That I carry around cold cuts that I smash before every scene?

Do you? [Laughs.] Only on Paterson[10]. I don’t think of myself as an intense person. If what I’m doing is so abnormal that it’s intense — yeah, I have no idea. I’m not a method actor. I like to stay focused on set but it’s not because I have a process that I’m imposing on everybody else. Sometimes you have to be more focused in between scenes because what’s happening is that, on something like Star Wars, it’s pure comedy in between takes. It’s stormtroopers running into walls because they can’t see through their helmets. So I don’t know where the intense thing came from.

This has been a mostly serious conversation. So just to counterbalance a bit: What do you do for fun? What do I do for fun?

Assuming you have any. I’m so fun that I can’t think of anything. Clubbing. I go clubbing[11] .

Did I read somewhere that you play music? No, I don’t play music.

You don’t play an instrument? I play the piano, but it’s not …

It’s not for fun? [Laughs.] Yeah, not for fun. Work is sometimes fun. I mean, I have fun. What do I do for fun though?

It’s okay if you don’t have an answer. I have no fun.

One more question related to fame, and I mean this as nicely as possible: I could imagine that in high school you were maybe kind of gawky looking, and then to learn as an adult that you’ve become an internet sex symbol — did that have any bearing on your self-conception? I’m not aware of much of this. Social media, I don’t participate. I don’t have an opinion that it’s bad — or worse. You’re right that the existence of a public persona is an interesting thing, but I have no control over it so I don’t try to control it.

Some people try to control it. That’s not how I want to spend my time.

When did you know that you wanted to be an actor? And when did being an actor feel like something that could actually happen? In retrospect, I always wanted to be an actor. I did a play in my freshman year of high school and then tried to do theater throughout. The rule in our house was that I could do it if I got good grades. But being an actor didn’t seem like a realistic job to someone living in Mishawaka, Indiana. Juilliard was one of the only colleges I wanted to go to, and before I joined the military I auditioned. I liked that that school didn’t check grades and admission was based on your abilities. That doesn’t mean I thought good, I’m in.

It meant you thought you had a shot. Yeah. And then I didn’t get in and I put acting out of my mind. But it wasn’t until I was in the military that I was like, “I know what I want to do when I get out.”

Was there something that happened? I had a come-to-Jesus moment. There was a training accident with white phosphorous[12] where we very easily could have died. After that happened I thought, The two things I really want to do are smoke cigarettes and be an actor. And then it just so happened that I did wind up getting accepted [into Juilliard] and I was incredibly lucky to go from having not even a novice’s understanding of the acting world to suddenly having the best access.

Is a soldier who has been affected by the arts different than one who hasn’t? I think so. The Armed Forces has acronyms for acronyms but no language for expressing anything abstract. When you actually have that tool at your disposal, there’s such — I’m hesitating to say “cathartic” because that sounds pretentious, but there’s such power in being able to describe a feeling.

How does having that ability manifest itself in a soldier’s behavior? Speaking for myself, coming from the military and not talking about what we did and then suddenly encountering a play that described my experience was incredibly important — even though the play wasn’t about the military. And the military is a stressful environment. Having an emotional outlet is — I hate to say therapeutic because I don’t want to label what we do as therapy — but I just think it’s good. And it’s not as if everyone in the military only thinks about the military. It’s like, you’re a writer and on top of writing you have to deal with your kids and whatever else is going on in your life. It’s the same situation with the military, only people are also handling weapons. People are stressed out. Expressing that feeling somehow makes it less stressful.

Do you remember the first play that was cathartic for you in that way? True West was one of the plays that started it all for me: the idea of brotherhood, and how the characters are so different but bound by their brotherhood. I totally got that play. These answers I’ve been giving you are the worst. I’m listening to myself and thinking, What the fuck am I talking about?

Why do you keep saying that?! Your answers have all been fine. Anyway, this is probably overly broad, but I think that underneath a lot of what you’ve been talking about is the idea of integrity. Is the business you work in — show business, Hollywood, whatever you want to call it — a high-integrity one? How do I give you an answer without giving you a headline?

I don’t know. That was a joke.

I know. But I’m not bailing you out. No, you aren’t. I would say no, it isn’t high integrity. There are people in this business that have integrity and I’ve been lucky enough to work with a lot of them. But overall no, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of integrity. I’m not saying anything controversial with that. At the higher levels there’s interest in money, and wherever that appears, it affects people’s choices. But I try to work with people whose main interest is in making the thing we’re working on as good as possible.

How interested are you in the subject of masculinity? Was exploring that part of what made the military appealing? I don’t know if I was seeking that out — I guess so. When I was in high school I wasn’t an organized sports guy. A bunch of guys getting together doesn’t sound appealing to me. I never had the “hey bro, let’s all hang out” thing. I haven’t been asked about this subject a lot recently. When Girls came up I used to get these questions more.

Questions about masculinity? About modern masculinity and what it means.

Why do you think people were asking you that? Because I was playing a type of guy on that show. Maybe also because a lot of people thought that since Girls somehow represented a generation of women then that guy [Adam Sackler] also represented a generation. That’s not really an answer to your question. I have no insights on modern masculinity. I don’t think much about it. I see value in being emotionally available sometimes. I see value in getting angry sometimes. A sense of responsibility is a good thing to have. I don’t have a better answer than that.

Do the best directors[13] you’ve worked with have common ways of going about their job? They all know there’s no one right way to do anything. They’re constantly exploring or doing things wrong. The great thing about this work is that you you never truly figure anything out. It can always be better. It can always be more economical.

You’ve mentioned “economical” a couple times. Why is that quality important to you? I’ve had the experience at the end of a play’s run of wishing I could go back and start with what I’d learned from doing it for four months — instead of having wasted energy on things that didn’t work. If I can start from an economical, efficient place then the performance is going to be better.

Is there a role that you can look back at and think, I did that as well as I could? No. I try not to watch things that I do.

But you must have feelings about what worked and what didn’t. There are ones that felt good, but I wouldn’t necessarily say that made them better. And it’s not my job to feel good about what I’m doing. It’s the audience’s job to get an effect from what I do. I can feel anything I want. But I do remember one of the first theater jobs that I ever had, right out of school, was a play we did at the Rattlestick Theater called Slipping. I didn’t know anything and that was good.

Because not knowing anything meant you didn’t have any expectations? Yeah, exactly. I had no pressure. I was just doing what I’d gone to school for four years to do.

It’s a special feeling when you first get paid to do what you’ve always wanted to do. Yeah. It was a miracle to be making a living as an actor. Nothing else mattered. What I get to do, it still feels like a fucking miracle.

This interview has been edited and condensed from two conversations.

[1]Motivated by a sense of patriotism post-9/11 — and a desire to get out of his Indiana hometown — Driver enlisted in the Marine Corps. He served for just shy of three years before being medically discharged after breaking his sternum in a bicycle accident. 

[2]Driver and his wife, actress Joanne Tucker (the two met at Juilliard), have been working hard at AITAF since they were students, bringing what Driver described to me as “the greatest hits of modern American theater” to soldiers all over the world. That means material by the likes of Sam Shepard, Stephen Adly Guirgis, August Wilson, etc.

[3]Driver was born to Nancy Wright and Joe Douglas Driver in San Diego, but raised in Mishawaka, Indiana (home to an AM General Hummer plant!). His stepfather was a Baptist minister. Despite that, by his own admission, Driver was a misfit growing up.

[4] For Martin Scorsese’s harrowing 2016 adaptation of the great Shūsaku Endō novel, Driver lost 50 pounds to play a Jesuit priest trying to clandestinely spread Christianity in 17th-century Japan.

[5]Driver gave a sly performance as a one-handed bar owner and Iraq War veteran (he stays on just the right side of caricature) in Soderbergh’s delightfully breezy 2017 heist movie Logan Lucky.

[6] Driver played police officer Flip Zimmerman in Spike Lee’s much-talked-about BlacKkKlansman. Just recently he earned a best actor nomination from the Gotham Independent Film Awards for his work in the film.

[7] Driver teamed with Baumbach for the director’s 2012 Greta Gerwig–showcase Frances Ha, as well as 2014’s modern comedy of manners While We’re Young. He’s especially funny in the latter, playing Jamie, an outwardly chill, inwardly opportunistic Brooklyn hipster.

[8]Robert Redford’s 1980 directorial debut starred Donald Sutherland, Mary Tyler Moore, and Timothy Hutton as a family coping with the aftermath of the accidental death of a son (Buck). Judd Hirsch played the therapist helping Hutton’s character through the trauma. I don’t get the sense that this movie is held up all that often these days as a classic, but it is, with uniformly strong performances.

[9] There’s a reason, after all, that SNL had Driver play Abraham H. Parnassus.

[10] Jim Jarmusch’s exquisitely subtle 2016 character study is a truly lovely film. In it, Driver plays the title character, a Paterson, New Jersey, bus driver who writes poetry in his spare time. Nothing much happens. In the best possible way.

[11] In case there’s any doubt, this is sarcasm.

[12] Here’s Driver describing the near-miss to NPR’s Terry Gross in 2015: “White phosphorus is … a highly acidic chemical … And the FO, the forward observer, the guy who’s alone, called in the wrong coordinates. And so artillery fired on us as opposed to what they were supposed to be firing, you know, miles away from us.”

[13] Given that Driver’s film career is still relatively young, the list of directors with whom he’s already worked is especially impressive: the Coen Brothers (Inside Llewyn Davis), Steven Spielberg (Lincoln), Jeff Nichols (Midnight Special), Terry Gilliam (The Man Who Killed Don Quixote), J.J. Abrams (Star Wars: The Force Awakens), and Rian Johnson (Star Wars: The Last Jedi). That’s in addition to Baumbach, Jarmusch, Lee, Scorsese, and Soderbergh.

[lfthinkerwrites]

A Riddle For a Bat, pt. 13

Title: A Riddle for a Bat

Fandom: Batman

Pairing: Riddlebat

Rating: T

Chapter Summary: Edward comes face to face with Rupert Thorne and begins to play the most dangerous game of all.

Previous Chapters: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12

AO3 Link

"You're sounding a lot better, Eddie. More like your old self. Guess Vreeland dragging you to that society thing yesterday was good for you after all."

Edward smiled as he cradled the phone between his right shoulder and ear. "I suppose it was." In more ways than one. Getting out into the world, even the glitzy high society world, seemed to do wonders for him. Seeing him again played a sizable role in that as well, even if he wasn't sure what to make of that encounter. "I feel alive again, that's for sure. I'm ready to get back to work."

"Good to hear. What about Batdick? You're sure you don't want me and Deirdre to hunt him down and kick his ass for you?"

"Nina dearest, even if you two could find him, you couldn't take him. I did witness him throw a man twice your size across a room. Besides, I'm over it." Well, that may not be completely true, but Edward had spent enough time moping about his office. It was time to begin the investigation again. Thorne had spent the last few weeks consolidating his power. He'd be feeling secure, confident, perhaps overly confident. Perhaps now that he had no rival, he'd finally make a mistake. Edward needed to put thoughts of Batman and what he'd learned about him behind for now. "Enough of that. Have you and Deirdre heard anything?"

"A lot of the old Falcone and Maroni guys joined up with Thorne's crew, at least the grunts did. Other than that, not much. Thorne's always been a tough nut to crack."

Edward leaned back in his office chair and groaned. "Tell me about it." A knock on his door drew his attention. "Nina, there's someone at the door, I have to go. Just keep your eyes and ears open. I'll be by later tonight."

"See you later tonight, Eddie." Edward hung up the cell phone and placed it down on his desk before getting out of his chair. He took a moment to smooth back his hair and adjust his purple vest before he crossed the room to open the door. He'd finally settled back into his morning grooming routine today. He needed to look his best for his clients.

He opened the door and saw an attractive, dark-haired young woman wearing a short red skirt and red suit jacket practically leaning against his doorway. Her almond shaped eyes looked him up and down and her lips upturned in a smirk. "Edward Nigma?" she asked.

"That would be me," Edward answered, trying to ignore how the woman seemed to be devouring him with her eyes. The most awkward part of the job by far. "How can I help you, Ms....?"

"Call me Candace," the woman said, extending her hand out to him. Edward gently took it and gave it a shake before he withdrew his hand.

"Very well Candace," Edward said. "How may I be of assistance to you today?"

"Actually, I'm here on behalf of my boss. He's heard quite a bit about you."

Edward arched an eyebrow. This certainly was unusual. "Does your employer have a name?"

"Rupert Thorne."

Instantly, Edward felt the room drop a few degrees. "Rupert...Thorne?" He had to be dreaming. That was it. There was no way this woman had just come in out of the blue to lead him directly to Rupert Thorne.

"The one and only," Candace smirked.

Edward wet his lip. If Thorne had found out about him and wanted him dead, he wouldn't be sending this woman to do it. It wouldn't hurt to play along. "And just what does the illustrious Rupert Thorne want me to assist him with?"

"You can ask him yourself," Candace gestured to the front door. "I have a car waiting to take you to him. Interested?"

For a long moment, Edward considered this. This would take him straight into Thorne's lair. Kristen would be worried. Nina and Deirdre would call him an idiot. He would be furious. But. But he'd been waiting for this opportunity for five years. When would it ever come again? "Give me just one moment." He walked to his hat rack to put on his flashiest jacket. He also grabbed the cane hung up on the hook next to it. After he put on his bowler hat he flashed Candace what he hoped was his most dazzling smile. "Lead the way."

Edward barely acknowledged Candace on the drive further in Gotham's downtown. He barely took in the sight of the stone building the car had stopped in front of or noticed the plush carpet of the hallway she and two men led him down. He barely heard the light conversation they made over the beating of his own heart. Finally, they stopped in front of a solid oak door. Candace at the front of the group opened it. "We're back, Rupe!" Edward followed Candace and the two men inside and he froze.

There was a man sitting behind a large desk. An older, overweight man with white hair, wearing a black business suit. He looked up when Candace called him and fixed the group with an oily smile. This was the man Edward had spent the last five years of his life working to bring down. This was Rupert Thorne. "Come in, come in!" he beckoned them into his office with a gesture of his palm. Edward wasn't aware that he was stepping forward until he was directly in front of Thorne's desk. Thorne looked up with a glint in his beady black eyes. "Ah, you must be the famous Edward Nigma," Thorne addressed him in a way that was almost charming. He reached his hand out to shake. "Pleased to meet you."

In one second, Edward could reach across the desk and strike Thorne. How often had he lain awake at night, wishing for that? If he'd come armed, he could have delivered a fatal blow to the man before Candace and his guards had time to react. He'd be killed but wouldn't it be worth it to make sure Thorne was put out of this city's misery for good? Edward plastered on a cool smile before he accepted the handshake. "The pleasure's all mine. It's not every day that I get to meet someone as distinguished as yourself." It made Edward almost cringe to be so subservient to the man, but appearances needed to be kept. He rubbed the head of his cane and surreptitiously pressed the record button on the underside of the cane's head. This entire conversation would be recorded. "Now, your very charming assistant said that you requested to meet with me."

Thorne dropped his hand and sat back in his plush red chair. "Yes," he said. "As I've said, I've read quite a lot about you Mr. Nigma. You've made a bit of a name for yourself solving seemingly impossible cases."

Edward made a show of shrugging. "Well, I don't mean to brag, but I am the cleverest men in this city. As well as the best dressed."

Thorne let out a deep laugh. "Well, you're certainly sure of yourself! I like that. To come to the point, I'm in need of your services."

A cold dread settled in Edward's gut. In need of his services...what could that possibly be? "Go on."

Thorne leaned forward then, steepling his fat fingers. "There's one great mystery that no one in this town's ever been able to solve, but I think you can. I'd like you to figure out who the man is behind Batman's mask."

Edward felt as if he was in a daze. Batman. Of all the men and all the things Thorne could ask him for, it had to be Batman. It made sense though. With Falcone and Maroni gone, the only person left to oppose Thorne was Batman. At least, that's what Thorne believed. There was another and he was standing right in front of the gangster's stupid face.

"Mr. Nigma?"

Edward slightly shook his head. "Batman's true identity," he pretended to muse. He rubbed his chin. "I have to admit, that's a question I've pondered myself for some time. To solve that would be quite the challenge."

"So are you interested?"

Edward looked down to study Thorne's expression. He looked right back up, his eyes almost boring into Edward's. He smiled. "Mr. Thorne, I am at your disposal."

Thorne smiled. A cold smile that wouldn't be out of place on a serial killer. In Edward's opinion, Thorne may as well be one. "Excellent! Now, about your fee-"

Edward abruptly raised his hand. "Forget it." He would be dead and buried before he ever accepted Thorne's blood money. The confused expression on Thorne's face however needed to be dealt with. "Beg your pardon, Mr. Thorne, but with something like this, the challenge is its own reward. We can discuss a fee after I deliver Batman's identity to you."

Thorne smiled again and Edward knew he had him. "Mr. Nigma, I think this could be the beginning of a great partnership."

Edward smiled himself. If the fool only knew.

The girls were, as Edward could have predicted, less than thrilled when Edward told them the news that night at Kristen's apartment. Kristen herself sat at her table, picking at the sleeves of her blouse. "Eddie," she said at last. "I'm sorry, but-"

"This is the stupidest damn idea you've ever had," Deirdre piped up from her seat on the couch next to Nina. "What happens if Thorne finds out you were in GCPD?"

"If he didn't figure it out before he had me brought to his office, he's not going to now," Edward said, pacing across Kristen's living room. "Besides, how better to collect evidence against Thorne than from his own mouth? If he trusts me, he may be candid about his actions the last few weeks."

"What about Batman though?" Nina asked. "I get that your pissed at him and I don't blame you, but are you seriously going to go along with trying to figure out who he is?"

"No," he admitted. "But Thorne doesn't need to know that. All I have to do is look busy and he won't have anything to complain about."

"For a few days, maybe," Kristen said. "Eddie, Thorne didn't get to be where he is by being an idiot. He's going to figure out that you're playing him eventually."

"Eventually," Edward said. He wasn't about to deny that Kristen had a point, but he was so close, how could he give up now? "But that's only a problem if I can't get evidence. And I will get evidence."

Kristen shook her head. "Eddie, I really think you should talk to-"

"He's the one that pushed me away, Kristen!" Edward shouted. He saw her flinch and instantly calmed himself down. He sighed. "I'll be alright. I promise."

The three women exchanged an uneasy look.

Tonight was the night, Bruce thought. He drove the Batmobile down Broad and turned onto Main. It was a quiet night on patrol tonight, as it had been for the past two weeks. The relative peace gave Bruce time to think about tonight, about what exactly he would say to Edward when he saw him. He'd apologize, of course. Offer to reform their partnership, if that was what Edward wanted. Bruce swallowed a bit. Tell Edward what he was beginning to feel for him. Everything else was up to Edward.

"Anything interesting going on out there?" Dick's voice rang through the Batmobile's communications.

Bruce leaned forward to press a button. "Nothing so far. Just a mugging and some vandalism."

"Wow. Maybe we should think of retiring. So, have you seen Eddie yet, or?"

Bruce arched an eyebrow. "No, not yet. And since when did you start calling him Eddie?"

Dick laughed. "Well, if we're going to be working together, might as well get comfortable, right? So I'm thinking we could have him be our intel guy. He's still got that informant network that could come in handy."

Bruce hadn't thought that far ahead, but the idea of Edward joining their team was appealing in more ways than one. "I think you're just saying that to get out of intel duty."

"You really are the World's Greatest Detective."

Bruce was about to say something when he caught a glimpse of light in the rearview mirror. He turned around slightly and bit back a curse. The Batsignal was on in the night sky. "I got to go, Dick. I'll check in in a bit." He made a sharp left turn and drove back towards GCPD.

When he arrived on the rooftop of GCPD, Gordon wasn't alone. Standing beside him, clutching her jacket close to her, was Kristen Kringle. Bruce's heart dropped. "What happened?"

Gordon gently put his hand on Kristen's shoulder. "Tell him what you told me."

Kristen took a step forward, her hazel eyes downcast, and said the two words Bruce feared the most. "It's Eddie." She bit her lip. "I think he's in real trouble."

Edward stretched his arms above his head and popped his back with a grunt. He'd just spent the last few hours reviewing the audio he'd taken at Thorne's office and backing it up to his computer. Nothing that directly connected him to the killings of course but it was a start. He'd be meeting Thorne back in his office the next morning at 9 on the dot. Hopefully, he'd slip up then. In the meantime, Edward would have to be careful just how he went about the business with Batman, how to avoid giving away what he knew. He sighed. More than anything, he wished the vigilante was with him now, that they were back to working this case together. He felt the cool wind against his back and he shivered a bit. Then he froze. The window to his fire escape was shut when he came back from Kristen's.

"Edward."

Edward jumped out of his chair and turned around. Batman was there, standing behind his desk. Edward felt almost every emotion competing for dominance in his mind. Elation, at seeing him again. Anger, for being abandoned by him. Confusion, desire...Edward furrowed his brow when he saw how tense the vigilante was, how his fists were clenched. He was angry. "Edward," he spoke again. "Just what in the Hell are you doing?"

Edward almost took a step back before his own ire was roused. Batman was angry at him? That was rich. "I see Kristen got word to you, somehow," he said, crossing his arms. He really should have expected that. "Nice to know that all I had to do to get your attention was to make tangible progress on the case."

"You're throwing yourself in danger, Edward!" Batman shouted at him. He really was angry. "What are you thinking!?"

"I'm thinking that this is the best shot I have at getting evidence against Thorne! O'Reilly's dead and I doubt either of us had any luck connecting him to Thorne!"

"That doesn't mean that you have to take risks like this!" Batman lowered his voice and the timber of it was very familiar to Edward. "Don't you think your life is more important than putting Thorne away?"

He sounded almost stricken and that made Edward's heart beat just a bit faster. He shook his head and stepped forward. "You told me that night when you found out about why I left GCPD that you understood me," he said. He closed the distance between the two of them and impulsively took a gloved hand into his own. "I think now I understand you. You think that you're trying to protect me. I suppose I appreciate the thought, even if the way you go about it is less than ideal. But you're so busy trying to prevent me from getting hurt that you seem to be forgetting that I survived for five years outside of GCPD with nothing but my own wits. You need to respect me as much as protect me."

"Edward-"

Edward held a hand up. "Let me finish. I want to work with you on this, more than anything. You said that you trusted me, and I believe you, but you need to prove it."

There was a long pause before Batman spoke. Soon enough, Batman moved his hands out of Edward's grasp and onto his shoulders. "Three days," he said finally. "I'll give you three days to do this. I'll be by every night to check in with you and at the first hint of any danger, I'm pulling you out. Understand?" Edward nodded. Batman sighed again. "I don't like this."

"It's not strictly speaking what I'd want either," Edward said. "But I can do it."

"I know you can," Batman said again. He dropped his hands and went back towards the open window. "I'll be back tomorrow. Be careful."

Edward nodded. "Thank you."

Batman hesitated as if there was something else he wanted to say, then he left, disappearing into the night.

[axelsagewrites]

Santana Lopez*Heartbreak Girl

A/N: ALL CREDITS TO THE SONG GO TO 5SOS. No, I didn’t write the song, glee didn’t write the song, it was all 5sos. But for the sake of this imagine they didn’t write heartbreak girl.

Masterlist HERE

Wattpad HERE

“Dean, what were you thinking?” I yell frustrated at the screen when my phone starts buzzing.

Normally I would never pause supernatural but when Santana’s name flashed across the screen it was an instant reaction. “Whats up?”

“Not much” Lie. I can hear the sadness in her voice.

“Whats wrong? Are you crying?” She stays silent. My heart clenches but I ask “Is it, Brittany?”

“How could she move on like that?” She sobs. It hurts to hear Santana upset. It breaks my heart. Just as much as it breaks my heart that she loves someone else.

Santana complains and I try to console her but it's like a broken record, saying that her heart hurts.

“I'm never gonna get over her getting over it.” She sniffles.

“Don’t say that,” I tell her “You will. Time heals all wounds.”

 Whenever she phones because of Brittany she ends up crying. When they were still together I’d end up lying, saying that Brittany didn’t mean to hurt her, that they were great. Now I lie and say I'm happy for her when she gets another date.

And when the phone call finally ends, she says, "Thanks for being a friend," “No problem,” I tell her. But it feels like we're going in circles again and again when she says she’s going to get Brittney back,

then I'm left with silence when she hangs up. Why can't she see I could take away her pain. I don’t want to force her to like me but at least I can try and make her happy.

 The next day at school I see the two hanging out. It's sickening. I want to scream out that she could be with me. Later on, at lunch, she pulls me aside. “Do you think Brittney would give us another chance or am I being crazy?”

I put on a fake smile “She’d be crazy not to.” I tell her what she wants to hear again. Her face lights up and I don’t know whether its worth it.

“Thanks. I need to find her then.” It's so frustrating. Especially since Brittney doesn’t deserve her. All she does is string her on. It's not fair. But I cant make someone fall in love with me.

 Later that night, she calls me again. “Hey, guess what?”

“Mmm, you finally started watching Supernatural?”

“You wish,” she huffs “No, I'm going on a date.” She squels.

My face drops. “That’s-that’s amazing!” I tell her, trying to sound excited.

“You don’t sound too happy?”

“Oh, um my otp are going through a breakup thing, no I'm happy for you.”

“Great.” I can hear the happiness in her voice. How am I meant to say something when it would take away her happiness?

Santana starts asking what she should wear and other things about her date. Luckily it isn’t with Brittney but I still don’t trust the girl she’s going with. I mean I'm pretty sure she's straight.

“Thanks. You're the best friend someone could ask for.” She tells me. My heart drops. Friend. What a cruel word. “Call you tomorrow to fill you in.”

At least I have the whole weekend to eat ice cream and feel sorry for myself “Yeah have fun.” I hang up and fling myself back onto my bed.

 The next day I don’t get a phone call. Or the next. When I try phoning her it goes to voicemail.

On Monday when I see her her face is like stone. “Hey,” she says but in a flat voice.

“What happened?” I pull her to the side of the corridor. “The date go badly?”

She shook her head “She’s straight. She also has a boyfriend who was there. If you get what I mean.”

“People disgusting.” I scrunch my nose up at the idea.

“At least I've got you.” I wrap my arm around her shoulder and she leans on me.

I nod “Yeah, you’ll always have me.” Just not in the way I want. I think but never say.

 That day in glee I sat with Santana, as usual, but make sure we sit away from Britt. As Mr Shue talks Santana and I pass notes. We actually have this notebook we pass notes in. Its so we can look back at the end of the year. Plus if you have a notebook on your desk its a lot less conspicuous than a folded up piece of paper.

I don’t really pay much attention to Mr Shue but something that he says snaps me out of the notebook. “What about an original song?”

Suddenly my interest peeks and I find myself listening to every word carefully. I’d always liked the idea of writing songs. I don’t know why I just think it would be cool.

Most of the glee club disagree. “Isn't that a bit risky?” “Why change what we’re good at?” “Who here can even write?” Where just a few of the objections.

“Think about it” He yells over the scabbling club “It was just a suggestion. But I want every one of you to at least try. In fact, that’s this weeks assignment,” Mr Shue grabbed his marker and wrote on the board ‘write a song’. “At least write a lyric or a dance move or something.” He pleaded as everyone seemed to glare.

When we were walking out of glee everyone was complaining “How does he expect us to write a song? In a week?” Kurt whined.

“I don’t know but it seems kind of cool.” Everyone's head snapped towards me “What? I'm just saying, it might be fun.”

“I think your mistaking fun for annoying,” Quinn said.

“Forget I even said anything.”

 The week went by without anyone mentioning the songwriting. No one tried and if they did they aren’t admitting it. I did give it a go and I think it went ok.

As sappy as it is I based it on Santana. All week she was stuck in my head and it was therapeutic to write it out.

When Mr Shue asked if anyone tried you could hear crickets chirping.

 At lunch, I snuck away from the group to Mr Shue’s office. “Whats up (Y/N)?” He asked when I sat down.

I flipped through the pages of my notebook. “I wanted to talk about the songwriting thing.” He raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. I never get this nervous. “Can you check this out? And be honest.” I handed him the notebook.

As he read it my stomach churned. After a couple of scrutinizing minutes, he said something “You wrote this?” I nodded “Its great” He grinned. I couldn’t stop myself smiling “If we just tweak a few things it will be perfect. Is this your first go?”

“I've tried a couple times but they never turned out that great.” I took my notebook back.

“We might be able to get Brad to help us with the music. Maybe some of the music clubs will help with the guitar. But I think this could be great.”

For 2 weeks I gave up half my lunch time to work on the song. Perfecting the lyrics, creating the melody and music. “Are you going to do this at glee?” Mr Shue asked after we finally finished the song.

“I don’t know.” I played with my fingers “ Won't they think its kind of lame?”

Mr Shue thought for a moment. “I've got an idea.”

 The next week the assignment was already on the board when we walked in; heartbreak.

The plan? Perform the song in glee and don’t tell them its an original. If they like it, tell them, if not say its from some weird band I found on youtube.

“(Y/N), your up next.” Mr Shue told me. I walked up, hiding my shaking hands, and handed the music sheet over to the music kids, despite them knowing it.

Mr Shue nodded to me before the music started.

“You call me up, it's like a broken record, saying that your heart hurts, that'll you'll never get over him getting over you.” I changed the pronouns about Brittney. I didn’t want Santana to know it's about her.

After the song, they all seemed to love it. “That songs amazing. How have I never heard it?” Rachel asked.

I rubbed the back of my neck “That’s cause I wrote it?” It sounded like a question. Being the dramatic group of people they were they gasped. Loudly. “What?”

“You wrote that song? For real?” Puck asked, clearly not believing me.

“Well, Mr Shue helped with the lyrics. And they,” I gestured to the music kids “did the music. Brad did the melody but yeah technically. I wrote about it.”

They kept asking questions for the rest of glee and everyone forgot about the assignment.

As everyone was leaving glee I heard Mr Shue call my name. “Whats up?” I ask as the last few people trickled out.

“When are you going to tell Santana?” He asked once the room was empty. My eyes widened. How did he know? “You kept looking at her. Plus everyone kind of knows you like her.”

“Everyone?” I groan. “Fuck.” I mutter “Wait no! Sorry, I mean-“

“It's fine.” He cuts me off. “I’ll let it slip if you tell her.”

“I don’t know. What if she doesn’t like me?”

“What if she does?” I look at the ground “You said it yourself, you could take away her hurt. Is it not selfish not to try if you think you could make her happier.”

“I don’t know.” I sighed.

“Think about it.”

 When I walked into the corridor it was mostly empty. But Santana stood, on her phone, leaning against the wall by the glee club. “Hey. What did Shue want?” She asked.

“Just talking about the song.” We started walking towards the exit since school was over.

“About that, whose the heartbreak girl?” I instantly went to start denying it before she cut me off  “Don’t even try it. Tell me so I know who to beat some sense into.”

I sighed and looked anywhere but her. “You.”

“What?”

“You!” I said louder, almost shouting.

She stayed silent for a moment “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you were happy. I didn’t want to ruin it. I didny even know if you liked me. Do you?” I looked at her, trying to be hopeful.

She looked confused, bewildered even “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it before.” I looked at the ground but she put her hand on my arm “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t try. What do you say, want to go on a date sometime?” She smiled lightly.

My face lit up “Yeah I’d love that.”

She chuckled. “Good. We’ll be like Cashton but better.”

“Impossible.”

[lindoig8]

Friday-Wednesday, 2-7 July

Friday, 2 July

I had to go back into town this morning to do a few things, including putting a little more pressure on TJM concerning our trailer hitch – and Heather did a huge array of cooking. She converted many of yesterday’s purchases into delectable meals and all three freezers are now chock-full of ready to ‘heat and eat’ food. I was the chief taster for all of them and can guarantee that we will enjoy every one of them. We have enough prepared meals to last us for almost 4 weeks if we never turn the cooktop on again.

The rest of the day was spent lazing around the van, just hanging out with no pressure to tick anything off or achieve anything less than pure enjoyment.

But…. After dark, I went outside to deliver our accumulated rubbish to the bin just past the next caravan. We had our outside light on and so did the next van and I reached the bin without incident, walking between their car and the front of their van. But coming back, they switched off their light at the ‘psychological moment’ (as my Mum would say) and with our light in my eyes, I was temporarily blinded and crashed over the next van’s drawbar. I went A over T with my hands on the ground on the far side of the drawbar and my legs waving frantically - and me gasping for air with their brake handle in my belly. I lay there for a minute or more before I could collect my senses and by then, the guy from the other van was out asking what had happened and was I OK? I said I was fine and managed to stand up and stagger the last 6-7 metres to our van and lay gasping inside, trying to explain Heather what had happened. I have a big lump on my thigh and was really not up to much for the rest of the evening – but at least it got me out of doing the dishes. Heather ordered me to sit and after rubbing some emollients on my injuries sent me to bed while she did all the dishes on her own. I was pretty sorry for myself, but to compound matters, soon after we turned the light out, I got an extremely painful cramp in the calf of the same leg and was hobbling around with both upper and lower leg in pain.

Saturday, 3 July

Surprisingly, although I expected to wake up unable to walk at all, I was pretty sore all day, but not seriously incapacitated by it all. I even went birding along the side of the nearby road for a couple of hours in the afternoon. (Nine days later, it is still quite sore to touch, but it is no longer inhibiting my movement.)

I read a bit more of my book and Heather spent most of the day on her photos and blog, but there was not a lot of significance to record for the rest of the day.

Sunday, 4 July

We did a couple of loads of washing in the morning and I went birding in the afternoon. I had read about a local birder who said he often saw the Kalkadoon Grasswren on a rocky hill on the edge of town so I went to explore. Alas, they must all have been on holiday (or perhaps in Covid lockdown) because I didn’t see any. I saw quite a few other birds and spent a couple of hours scrambling around the hill, dodging (not very successfully) the spinifex, and slipping and sliding on the loose rocks chasing little flashes of colour that disappeared by the time I raised my eyes from the precarious ground to try to find them.

I tried at a few other places, one along a dry creek-bed not far from the rubbish tip. (I couldn’t go into the tip because entry is exclusively by pre-booked appointment.) I also spent some time along another creek and saw quite a few birds, but nothing exceptional. It was a fun afternoon for me, albeit a pretty hot one and it was nice to cool off under the shower before dinner.

Monday, 5 July

We did some cleaning and packing up in the morning and ate an early lunch before connecting up the caravan to have the air conditioner fixed. Rather than disconnect the van overnight and reconnect it in the morning, I asked the manager of the caravan park if we could use a drive-through and stay connected overnight when we came back from the air conditioner people. She said that was fine and allocated us site 46 in the bottom part of the park. I wandered down there to see how flat it was and found another caravan just finishing its set-up on that site. I went back to the office and told her and she said she had just given them the site because the guy had complained about the one he was originally allocated – and she had forgotten to record that we were moving there later in the day. She allocated us site 86 lnstead so I went to look at that one – and it was clear that we would struggle to even get onto the site. It was very narrow, with a tree on one side, and had an extremely steep approach that would make access almost impossible. By the time I got back to the van, the woman had phoned Heather to say that site was really only for campervans, not caravans, so she allocated yet another site – and that was fine and we enjoyed it for the night – a little separate from the rest of the caravans with nobody outside our door. I just drove in forward and reversed out next morning. All very easy!

Our appointment to have the air conditioner repaired was at 1pm and we arrived just a few minutes early. It took them almost 4 hours to fix the problem – a cracked refrigerant gas pipe – and then we needed a few things from the supermarket so it was almost six by the time we got back to the caravan park.

Tuesday, 6 July

We were on the road again, heading initially east for Cloncurry, and then north to the Burke and Wills Roadhouse where we camped overnight. We bought pies and pasties for lunch in Cloncurry and then visited the Information Centre where Heather wanted to get some information about amethyst fossicking in the area. We purchased a Queensland Fossicking Permit and got the required information about where to go and how to get there, but it will be a couple of weeks before we actually do any fossicking.

The drive up to the Roadhouse was uneventful and on arrival, they told us to drive around the powered part of the van parking area to see if we could fit in somewhere – or else we would have to go into an unpowered area with no facilities somewhere nearby. We managed to find a narrow spot and the people in the van next to us rolled up their mat and moved some of their gear so we could squeeze in. The whole area was like a giant jigsaw puzzle except that none of the pieces actually fitted. The way some people had wedged themselves in meant that they had to move out next day before other people could even get their vehicles close enough to hook up to their vans. It was a nightmare, but it didn’t bother us. Many people seem to try to get on the road soon after 6am to race everyone else to their next camp so they get the pick of the sites. Our approach is different – we aim to enjoy our trip and leave around 10 am (or so) and take whatever is available, if anything, when we arrive. After all, we are only looking for a place to sleep, hopefully with power and water, although even they aren’t essential because we have our own if necessary. (And the Roadhouse had no water anyway.)

Wednesday, 7 July

I think we were the last ones to leave next morning and only had a bit over 200 kilometres to go to Burketown with two days to get there. But about 65 kilometres along the road, we had a flat tyre! The car started sounding really strange so we stopped and the right rear tyre was half flat and we could hear air leaking from it. It took us two hours to change the wheel. I managed to pull off the edge of the road, but it was on a curve and there was quite a steep bank so I was only a foot or so off the bitumen. We had to unpack most of the back part of the car to get our trolley jack out and finding a place to position the jack was a challenge. In due course, I jacked the car up to the absolute limit of the jack and the wheel was still firmly on the road. Heather suggested we use the caravan jack to raise the back of the car because the tow-ball is locked to the van and raising the front of the van raises the back of the car. That worked fine until the van jack was also at its maximum height – and the trolley jack was simply sinking into the road verge. More unpacking to find our original little bottle jack – and find a place to position it – and we used that to hold the car up while we let the van jack down again and positioned a couple of blocks of wood under it to allow it to raise the car even further. That let us put a block under the trolley jack and eventually, using all three jacks, we got the wheel off and replaced it with one of our spares and we were eventually in business again. Amid all the drama, dozens of cars and vans hurtled past without even slowing so we had to keep a sharp eye out and scramble out of the way as they all raced by. After we were finished and were repacking the car, two cars stopped to see if we needed help – pity they didn’t come an hour or two earlier!

The whole process nearly killed me. It was hot and I kept getting really dizzy and felt awful. I drank at least 2 litres of water during drama and remained thirsty all day. And a weird thing happened once we were driving again. I started getting cramps in my hands – initially just my 3rd and 4th fingers on my left hand, but then the same two fingers on my right hand, then my thumb and index finger on my right hand, then those two on my left hand. As soon as I relieved one cramp another would start and it kept up for at least 2-3 hours – but I have been fine ever since.

We reached the Leichardt River late in the afternoon and decided not to park there – in fact, we didn’t even stop. We have been there before and it is quite a nice area with a spectacular waterfall, but there were people camped everywhere – just scattered willy-nilly all around the places we might have wanted to walk if we had stopped. It looked quite gross and we decided not to augment the grossness of it and drove on another 60-odd clicks and parked off the side of the road and enjoyed some solitude. We had our Happy Hour in the shade of the van and I wandered around some trees and spotted a few more birds, but I was pretty tired after the trauma of the morning so we had a delicious sausage casserole and collapsed into bed and slept the sleep of the dead.

Wednesday, 7 July

It was a short run for the last 21 kilometres in to Burketown, but with at least 3 opportunities to get killed by maniacs on the road. I think the road from the Roadhouse to Burketown is the most frightening road I have ever driven. As we were leaving the Roadhouse, we were on a sharpish curve when a car and van hurtled past us on the wrong side of the double white lines with absolutely no way of knowing what was ahead of him. He immediately slowed down and drove for at least 50 kilometres with me often driving at less than 60 kph to avoid overtaking him. The way cars and vans roared past us while we were struggling with our flat tyre was horrific – but from the Leichardt River to Burketown (about 90 kilometres) was nothing short of suicidal (or is that homicidal?). We were approaching a one-lane bridge at about 60-70 kph and had the right of way when a car and trailer roared down on us from the other direction (at 130-140 kph at a guess) and I had to lock up all car and van wheels into a skidding stop because there was no way he was going to stop. A few minutes later, still on a single lane road, two more cars and trailers and a car and van, all travelling together, passed us at break-neck speed and forced us off the road again. They just had to be in front of us but almost straight away, we all had to stop at a roadworks red-light – and they were less than 100 metres in front of us pulling into the servo as we arrived in Burketown – potential suicide to gain perhaps 15 seconds over 20 kilometres. I reckon this sort of thing happened 8-10 times in that 90 kilometres – it was frankly terrifying.

We arrived at the caravan park just before 10am but there was a sign saying ‘no check-ins before 11am’ so we sat outside and checked our messages and emails until we could enter. We were soon set up and went out to get a new tyre and one of our gas bottles filled. We had to leave the tyre there and come back in a couple of hours so we explored the town a little, found the historic hot-spring bore, and visited the dump point that is well outside town – such an adventure (not!).

In the afternoon, I went for a long walk alongside the wetlands created by the bore and saw quite a few birds, including several to add to our trip list. The bore itself is quite interesting having been erupting more than 800,000 litres of water full of various salts every day for 124 years (so far), creating a solid mound of salts close to 2 metres high and a wetland that runs for almost 5 kilometres and spreads for hundreds of meters across. There were lots of birds around and I identified 24 species in an hour or so. And wallabies – many hundreds of them, right across the wetland and surrounding areas. (You can see about a dozen of them in the video above if you have a strong enough magnifying glass.)

I tried to cross the wetland to walk around the opposite side back to the road, but found myself cut off and had to retrace my steps. By the time I got back, I was very hot and exhausted so returned to the caravan and cooled off for an hour or so until the day’s Happy Hour was officially launched.

[sierrabinondo]

summer tour days 10 + 11, post-tour thoughts

wow it literally took me over a month to get this entry up, sorry haha. santino roasted me for this several weeks ago and it still took me this long. i’ve been chronically bummed out for what seems like a month now, so it was hard to muster up the will to write. period, actually. it’s been really hard for me to write music lately i literally have to push myself and i find no joy in the things i love anymore!

anyways, here’s the last 2-3 days of our tour! 

day 10 - philadelphia

sunlight peered in through the glass sliding door behind me as i woke up around 8:00 am in a living room with 8 other people, packed tightly across deflated sleeping bags and worn-in couches. i felt tired, but i was up already. i knew that if i didn’t get up and shower now, i was going to be waiting for five other people to shower before me. 

everyone took a few hours to get ready before we decided to head out to breakfast together, including jorge. we had a lovely lil family breakfast at this nice cafe about 10 minutes from jorge’s house. it was a small spot overlooking the valley that had an expansive coffee and espresso drink menu. i got a cappuccino that had some FUN art in it and a Very Disappointing Eggs Benedict. I was a dumbass and asked for the florentine benedict with lox added, instead of asking for the lox benedict with spinach added, which would have cost me significantly less hahaha. 

look at how small this bullshit is

sitting at a table with my bandmates and julie, we agreed that despite how long we had been on the road that we felt like we could keep going. i could tell everyone felt drained, but content. it’s like we all knew we were enjoying the last moments of freedom away from our boring lives back home and were cherishing each other’s company. 

after paying our checks we said our goodbyes to jorge and piled into the van. we had a much shorter drive due to staying in state college, but still hit some traffic approaching philly. not a surprise. it was also weird arriving philly from the west and not coming over the ben franklin bridge, haha. as we drove towards south street we admired the sight of the chinese lantern festival, which we sadly wouldn’t have time for. as opposed to missing DGD’s tour, i was sure i’d live vicariously through photos of it from my friend’s back home and didn’t feel too bad.

i completely forgot that south street is one of the busiest streets in philly and is mere minutes away from TLA. i realized i had been here before and felt my blood pressure rise realizing parking would be impossible. however, behind the venue we found a shoddy dirt parking lot. skeptical of whether or not this was a good idea, we approached the lot attendant and asked if it was okay to park, explaining that we needed a clear space behind us for opening the trunk to get gear out. the attendant obliged to our request, or so we thought.

i’m not gonna lie, i had NEVER heard of the tusk before we played there and it was actually a cool spot. the staff were cool and it was much more spacious than the pictures led me to believe. loading in up a couple flights of stairs was just the worst part. we played with our friends in copley woods which was great, and played with another philly local old city revival. another touring band also hopped on last minute. our set was purely okay??? we all agreed it wasn’t my best set but whatever i had fun and people still dug us so that was fine. jaime and santino had to be like lined up behind one another with their amps and then joe got one whole side to himself hahaha. 

photo credit: julie yi photography

i’m going a little out of order; i’m pretty positive this actually happened before our set. but out of nowhere i’m in the upper level of the venue by the stage and merch when julie texts the tour group chat BUGGING saying “HELP COME DOWNSTAIRS WE’RE GETTING KICKED OUT OF THE LOT”. so both bands run downstairs to scope out the situation, anticipating hell in the form of trying to find a new parking spot by south street in philly. what happened was, the lot attendant parked a vehicle behind ours, and when confronted about his promise that he made, he threatened to kick us out of the lot. however, jaime somehow magically de-escalated the situation somehow so the attendant agreed to move the car and everything was fine hahaha. 

the night was wonderful because santino’s dad came out and we hung out with some real cool people, the only downer was we had to stay later than anticipated because the promoter added that fifth band/touring band on the end, AND, the touring band were the only people who listened to the promoter and played a long set. yeah, the promoter wanted us all to play for 45 minutes but all of us were like, fuck that. but this band ACTUALLY had that much material so they played FOR AN HOUR. ALL of us stayed and we watched them, but we were so fucking tired and we just wanted to go home. we stayed because we understood the importance of supporting other bands, and these people were out here all the way from denver, colorado. but we were so done. and on this night we were staying at my house in brick so we were only an hour and forty five minutes away from a comfortable sleep. AND, my boyfriend was going to be coming over late too so i was just dying to get home. 

after loading out, a taco bell trip and a relatively short drive, we made it to my house around 1:00 am. and jeremiah still waited up and drove over for me uuugh :’)

day 11 - wallingford, ct

god, waking up to my boyfriend and fresh homemade breakfast by my parents was so, so good after being away for so long. it felt pretty strange to be home, and so briefly, but it was so good.  we sadly couldn’t stick around for long after eating breakfast, as we had our van drop-off scheduled for 1:00 PM before our last show of tour in connecticut.

we have shindle drive us up to jaime’s house for one last drive in the van. it’s always sad when you’re in the van for the last day and you know your grand adventure is soon coming to an end. it rained as we drove up parkway north and shindle weaved in and out of shitty new jersey traffic. i definitely did not miss the parkway while i was gone.

shindle wanted to run home quickly to shower and change at home (understandably), so not soon after we unload all of his belongings he takes off. it sucked so badly unloading the van in the rain but what could you do. we started plotting where we were going to get a bite to eat after jaime, julie and i dropped off the van. 

i look around at my bandmates and i go, “okay, who has the key?”

everyone stares blankly at each other.

joe goes, “uhhh, i think shindle gave it back to santino?”

santino looks back at us and goes “... i don’t have it.”

we tear apart our bags and turn our pockets inside out. search the interior of the van hoping it was left in the dash or on the floor by accident.

the drop off time for the van is 1:00 PM. it’s 12:15 PM. 

and we realize that, shindle still has the key. 

shindle’s phone died from the fifteen times i called him. he had left his phone on silent and didn’t look at it while he was driving back to little falls (who would). i had to call bandago and add another day to our rental. it sucked so badly. i was so frustrated that i started crying and jaime’s mom had to console me hahaha. i had to come to terms with the fact that there was literally nothing i could do. we weren’t going to get the key back until we saw shindle later. so i took a deep breath, put myself back together and we just left for the show anyways. 

photo credit: julie yi photography

we arrived to wallingford, CT around like, 5:30, maybe 5:50 PM. i felt my throat acting up again. in fact, it started to feel shitty a day prior but i was praying that i could still pull off a good set later that night. julie walked with me from the venue to get throat coat from CVS and hot water from mcdonalds. i couldn’t really go on voice rest; i had to just drink a lot of fluids, warm up as well as i could and hope for the best. cherry street is a small venue/dive kinda place, but i actually really liked it. anthony told me a lot of people have complained about the sound there but we actually had a really easy time. but there were two people doing sound, one was scotty the venue’s regular and then there was a guy named will who ran the board for our set. will was great. scotty was just really nice too haha. 

our friends migrant played the show as well as the band visitations. it was really great to see the guys in migrant again; we’ve been playing shows with them since 2016. we both played our first-ever studio at webster show together opening for sianvar before AEG shut all of webster down. because it was such a memorable night and they’re such a great band, we’ve kept in touch since then. visitations were also really awesome; i tried to watch as much as i could in between warm ups. i feel bad that i have to disappear to warm up while bands i’ve never gigged with before play, but i have to. 

well it turns out, it was pointless anyways!

yeah, wasn’t fond of the set i played at all. and the sound wasn’t bad either. it was just me. i was really upset. this was our chance to win over people in a state we could easily travel up to and play whenever, and it felt so embarrassing to be up on stage and watch these people hear me blow it haha. its like nails on a chalkboard for me when i hear my mistakes. even if i know what i’m doing sometimes i just blow it anyways. chris knew i was upset too because he just patted me on the shoulder as i slumped off stage like “it’s okay just go do your cool-downs” HAHAHA. but apparently i did something right because scott, *the* sound guy everyone knows at cherry street, bought me a shot LMAO. and some other people from CT chatted us up too, and they bought our merch (and also bought me more drinks). maybe we did do something right for these people to still approach us and have nice things to say. but i still felt like they were being way too nice to me. i still feel like people lie to me. all of the time. 

it was so awesome to watch destination dimension play to their hometown, as we were all surrounded by friends of theirs who were shouting the words to future cougar with us. it was so much fun to watch them play. and it was really nice of them to wear our t-shirts on stage haha. i didn’t wear mine but i bought the gray one which i loveee and is so comfy. we didn’t get to hang long after the show ended with them which sucked sooo badly because almost everyone had work the next day. i had the next day off but not everyone was so lucky. we loved touring with destination dimension so so much. it was nice to tour with a band in the same genre. we had such a happy time and we couldn’t wait for the next time we’d all get to see each other. 

photo credit: julie yi photography

it’s always so weird, the last day of tour. in the middle of tour, it feels like you’re living in this dreamscape where calendar days barely exist and your only job is to show up, play and then do it all over again the next day. that night, it felt like it all barely even happened. all of tour was already becoming a faint memory. i’d look back at photos and only barely remember what it was like to feel that joy again. and i dreaded how distant every adventure we shared together was about to become. 

epilogue

my alarm went off at 9:00 am. i hear sounds of jaime’s dad walking around the kitchen and in minutes time julie wakes up next to me. i lay there for a bit before texting jaime, “you up?” he comes downstairs, i throw my shoes on and my hair up in a ponytail and we go drop off the van. 

it feels like tour is over but i’m still with my friends so i feel okay. julie and i grab our belongings from jaime’s house, say goodbye and return for our drive home together. we talk about tour and how fast it flew by. i’m sort of in a rush to get home in time for E3, so julie is kind to oblige and we get her stuff out of my car expediently when we pull up to her house. 

i say goodbye to julie and joel, get back into my car and instantly feel my face muscles sink. the rest of the day just sucked. 

i’m driving myself home feeling sleepy and don’t even realize it. i run a stop sign and nearly get t-boned by some poor person who didn’t just spend 11 days on 4-5 hours of sleep. 

i finally arrive at jeremiah’s apartment in asbury and go to pick up the coffee i bought for my boyfriend, only to realize the ENTIRE cup spilled out everywhere all over the seat. 

jeremiah meets me downstairs to help me bring my bags up. there’s just so, so much shit. a heavy bag of clothes, souvenirs, non-perishable food i never ate. i’m happy to see him; i’m happy for a little bit. we place an order for delivery at our favorite taco place, and i’m joking about post-tour depression as i walk out the door to go buy beer downtown real quick. already drinking at 1:30 pm! post-tour depression, is it a thing? probably not. there’s probably nothing wrong with me. 

i check my work email and the dread floods in, full force. i did promise that i’d work from home, and i did, but there weren’t a lot of time sensitive matters. i took care of some youtube community engagement, checked stats on videos uploaded while i was gone, checked the socials throughout the day. 

i’m home in time for the next E3 conference but i’m not even paying attention. my work laptop sits in front of me, screen glaring back at me as i’m not even using it. i’m on the couch looking out the window and seconds later tears are pouring down my face. seemingly, with no rhyme or reason. 

well the crying thing happens like every 3-5 days lmao

but it just, didn’t stop. at one point i turn to jeremiah sobbing hysterically and he just holds me. like a broken record all i could say was “i hate that i have to go back to work tomorrow, i loathe that tour is over and this is just it, no more for the year. i have to wait until next year to go out again.” 

and to be transparent, this is sort of the melancholy that has sat with me ever since that day. i wake up five days a week and drive the longest hour and five minutes of my life to work, and back home again in an hour and twenty, sometimes thirty, sometimes forty. 

for my entire adulthood (let’s say like going back to age 18), i’ve dreaded my mid-20s. because my parents would warn me “you need a full-time job by the time you turn 26. you’re going to have to worry about health insurance. we’re going to turn over your bills to you.” so since then, my entire experience of living has been haunted by this death clock ticking down to year 26 of my life. so at 18, i said that by age 22 i needed to be somewhere with my music or i needed to give it up. completely. 

hah.

the first few years of my 20′s i coasted. my band broke up so there went my shot at playing shows until i found something new. without delving into too much detail- for three years i dated someone and because i wasn’t happy i lost a lot of time. i finally recorded music again towards the end of that relationship. when i left that person at age 22 it felt like an entire world opened up to me. an enormous weight was lifted off my shoulders and i was free. i was starting over, in the best way possible. and then mere weeks after, something serendipitous happened- a friend i met because of that relationship approached me, offering to fill-in for drums for me so that i could play shows. 

i was now 23. we were way past the cut-off date for me to be pursuing music seriously. but i couldn’t say no. and now here we are. 

i stayed at my dead-end, incredibly far-from-home job for too long and now i’m finding difficulty finding something closer to home. i almost had a job a few times but i got scared of losing the ability to tour due to the nature of each company, so i idiotically turned those opportunities down. it seems like, to get signed to a label, you have to be both churning out digital content AND actively touring. if we could get a booking agent and/or signed to a great label i would quit my job immediately and work at a coffee shop. i just can’t swing an intense touring schedule if i get a serious full-time job in marketing. i just want to see how far i can take this band. yet, i may be screwing my future after the band if i don’t settle for a better job than just starbucks. but i don’t want to settle, at all. i’ve been panicking about this for a year now and recently my stress has become paramount, ruining every other day for me. when i sit down to practice and feel like i’ve barely accomplished anything in that practice session, i break down. because i feel like i’m running out of time. always. i have a finite amount of time and i’m running out. 

so if you haven’t seen me lately, that’s probably why. i feel guilty for going out and spending time with friends because i feel like it’s time i could be spending on music. and i work day in and day out on my singing, guitar playing, writing, learning new tools for my craft, maybe i’ll go to kickboxing or the gym so that i stay in shape... and that’s it. and it’s crushing me. managing the band takes the fun out of everything too. i’ve become such an irritable person. i hate it. i feel like i’m not myself anymore. but i don’t think the problem is music. i don’t hate music- i hate this pressure to have every facet of my life fit perfectly together. i hate not having the freedom to only worry about music. being in a serious/active band is time-consuming. i realize i can’t have it all- the stable job with money and benefits and the life of a musician- but the pressures i’ve faced my entire life to settle for security have been making me lose my mind. 

i hope that something good happens next year. i hope that something good happens sooner than that. i’m pretty sure this is how i wrapped the last tour journal too. but this has been my entire life- praying that things will just work out and that something good will happen. a year from now when i look back, i hope that i can regret any worry i’ve ever had. but if i find myself looking back in regret, no longer able to tour/pursue music seriously, i’m just grateful it all happened. 

[panticwritten]

Breaking Furnace Book 1: Lockdown

Chapter 2: Highway To Hell

Here’s chapter two!

Table of contents!

All of my writing!

I’ve had to change quite a bit of formatting to post this on tumblr because I am a fiend when it comes to using different fonts and tools and junk in my writing. If you want to read this chapter with its original formatting, you can do so here.

I’m good at making up names for characters that spend .2 seconds in a story, but when there’s a character that ends up here for the whole story, they end up with five different working names and when the daydream is over they complain about it.

Remember that this is a daydream taking place in the Escape From Furnace universe, so keep that in mind if you haven’t read EFF.

Word count: 3518

Triggers for this chapter:

Unreality

Being misgendered

Suicide (brief mention)

As always, tell me if you need specific warnings.

Chapter three will be up Friday, December 29th, at 7pm PST.

If you like what I do here, maybe consider buying me a Ko-fi or checking out my Patreon! I love being able to put so much out for free, but this would be a great way to show support and also see cool new content!

~-S-~

It’s still dark.

I’m not sure how long we’ve been walking in silence, our hands swinging between us. Our deadened footsteps make it seem as though the ground is carpeted. It doesn’t take very long for me to get curious and check. On my knees, my hands grope much farther down than should be possible.

There is no floor.

So, we’ve been walking for awhile. Every once in awhile, I stop and turn in a different direction on a whim. Connor doesn’t ask questions or argue, staying right at my side. We might be getting close, but nothing is certain here.

I don’t even know if we’re going in the right direction.

“This should be fast,” I say. “Maybe a year.”

“If I know you, I doubt it.” He cracks a grin, and we both laugh. He squeezes my hand.

I open my mouth to reassure him, but catch a glimpse of a pinprick of light out of the corner of my eye. I stop and jerk my head to look so fast that Connor’s hand pulls out of my grip. Even in such darkness, the light is so faint I almost have to squint to see it.

“That’s it.” I don’t look at Connor when he speaks, nodding instead. He moves to my side and offers his hand once again. I take it and we walk toward that distant light.

It doesn’t take us very long to reach it.

The light pours from the cracks around yet another door. This one is metal, rusted. A grimy window lets even more light out. Finally, I look at Connor to find him smiling at me. He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

I look up at him. I decide to tell him a secret, a present before we begin.

“I’m going to change my name to Sawyer.”

I reach out, before he can respond, and push the door open. Our hands pull apart as the portal sucks us into a new world.

~-S-~

I land with a stagger in a disgustingly clean office. Two of the walls are windows overlooking a city, the other two are shining metal holding a sleek wooden door each. I glance around, checking for nearby witnesses.

No one.

I search frantically for clues, immediately locking onto an ornate desk and trying to figure it out. The desk is familiar, the one that I had in my first run through Furnace. Sifting through neatly stacked papers, I find my dead-name (my surname is Furnace here?) on envelopes and stationery, which also identify me as Chief Financial Officer in Furnace’s company.

God, no one can accuse me of being humble anymore.

The idea of being so high up unnerves me. I haven’t had that much influence in a legal way in my daydreams in a long time. Does that make me older? That would be impossible, I won’t be allowed inside the prison if I’m an adult.

I take stock of my body, patting the expensive dress suit I find myself in. My hair is in a tight bun and I find my fingernails longer than I can usually stand. All it tells me is that I have to be close to my real age.

Shit.

I’m about to panic when I catch sight of a card propped open on the desk. My desk. I scrabble for the card and stare at it in disbelief.

I’m fifteen?

I’ve been knocked back two years and I’m more successful than I’ll ever be in real life. Of course, this world is very biased in my favor and normal rules don’t exactly apply. In the real world, I wouldn’t be able to be the CFO of a major prison. In the real world, there’s no way I would be sent to an underground prison full of angry teenage boys, so there’s the reality of the situation.

The phone rings, and I jump so violently that the desk chair behind me rolls away. I take a moment to collect myself, then click the phone onto speaker.

“Yes?”

“Miss Furnace? I wasn’t expecting to reach you directly. Anyway...”

I frown.

Miss Furnace. I must have been a much different person here to earn such casual tone from Cross. I was obviously fine with the honorific miss — I doubt this version of me, in their ivory tower, would deem it acceptable if not.

It’s unnerving to hear him talk to me like an equal. Like he trusts me, like I’m on his side. Ignoring the knot in my chest, I listen hard to pick up on what’s going on.

“These preliminary designs for the German prison are fine, but Furnace is still waiting for those numbers. We aren’t certain that the costs will be explained as easily as they were out here. Maybe a strategic—”

“Why not have our own workers deal with the underground portion?” I pitch, retrieving my chair and sliding right into the role I’ve found myself in. “The suits will do it for free, that way we won’t have any nasty fees to hide. We’ll only have to shuffle some materials around.”

“Yes, we’ve talked about that,” he says with a touch of impatience. “We need a fall back. You told us you would have a decent cover before—” He breaks off, and the line is silent long enough for me to look up to make sure the call didn’t drop. Before I can ask, he speaks again, his distaste evident. “Perry. You’re here.”

I direct a cold smile at the phone. “Yes, I’m here. I trust we’ll be able to play nice for the time being?”

There’s a pause.

“Of course, dear sister.” His voice comes in a dangerous purr. Still, I release a tense breath. It’s been so long since we’ve clashed, and it’s a relief that he’ll leave all of that for within the prison.

“Perfect. I’m sure I’ll be able to find the cover on this desk soon enough. Can you send me the design? I’m sure you’ve made changes.”

“Consider it done.” I don’t miss the mocking tilt to his voice, but choose not to comment on it.

The line is quiet again, and I squint at a newspaper clipping. It looks relatively new and covers a rumor that I may be a murderer.

“How long have you been here?” I ask, lifting a folder labelled ‘Financing plan.’ This seems like a plausible hiding place for a cover story.

“Three weeks.”

“Oh? Well, these doors tend to have a sense of humor.” I flip the folder open and smile, spinning in my chair. “I found the cover story. Now, about this blueprint. Is this official or the one we’ll actually be building with?”

~-S-~

I’ve been so caught up in putting together the plans for this new prison and preparing for the day I’ll be questioned for those murders that I haven’t given much thought to my own plans for Furnace and Cross. I’ve had two conference calls with the CEO, some douche by the name of Tyler Jackson, about the particulars.

I’m actually having a good time. It makes me feel sick, though, in the moments I remember what’s happening underground. How long has Connor been in the prison from his perspective? I’m having a hard time getting sleep, worrying about him. I resist poking my head in the prison, though, knowing that it won’t help anyone.

Three days in, my secretary calls my office phone.

“It’s the police, ma’am,” she tells me. I smile, pleased. Finally.

“Do they have a warrant?” I continue typing up my plans for the German prison. Even if I won’t see it, I might as well finish what I need to.

“Yes.”

I tell her to send them in and end the call. I email what I have to Cross. I’m hoping he’ll know where I want to go with it. If not, he can complain about it later. The officers walk in as I’m closing my laptop.

I pause the world for a moment to consider how to deal with this. I don’t think it matters what I say, really—these people have a limited span of thought. NPCs that just do what they’re programmed to.

I gaze at the officers, at the familiar face following them in. What’s he doing here? I might as well play along, I suppose, since Damon’s here.

I return the flow of time to normal with a blink. I smile briefly in greeting before standing. I wouldn’t put it past Damon to do something stupid, but I’ll leave him alone for now.

“Do you know why we’re here, Miss Furnace?” the first officer asks, handing me her warrant.

Because I killed the family of a kid we framed for murder after they killed him.

“I assume it has to do with a nasty rumor.” I barely glance at the paper, then drop it on my desk with a shrug. I don’t care. “I’ve been expecting you. Sarah, my assistant, will be at your disposal if necessary.”

They shift uncomfortably.

“Actually, we’re here to bring you in for questioning,” the younger man says. I suppress a sigh.

Just throw me in the prison already, the back and forth will be hell for all of us.

“Of course.” I stand and push their warrant back at them. I shift my gaze to Damon in the background. “And you, what are you doing here?”

He quirks his eyebrows. “I’m here to act as your lawyer. Make sure they don’t twist your words around.”

We’ll talk later, I think, my frown deepening.

“Thanks,” I say dryly. That isn’t really what I meant.

“Promise?” His voice, tickling my brain, clashes with the words that actually come out of his mouth.

“Just doing my job.”

I narrow my eyes, and he shrugs. Wonderful.

The older officer coughs, and I turn to her. “We should be on our way.”

Still glowering at Damon, I stand. I push past them into the corridor beyond.

~-S-~

“What are you doing here?” I scold when we pull onto the street.

“What do you mean?” He laughs. My scowl deepens. Great.

“You should have stayed home.”

He doesn’t defend himself, changing tact instead. “What, exactly, are the charges?”

I groan, turning to look out the window. If he couldn’t take the time to look into it before blundering in, I might as well start at the beginning.

“From what I gather, a family went for a trip and didn’t come back when they were supposed to. I was in the same area. The family’s bodies were found in a river last month. Evidence came to light connecting me to it—and three similar killings.”

“Sounds like overkill to me.”

“I need to be sure I’ll end up in Furnace.” I catch my fingers digging into the skin of my inner arm and force my hands into my lap. This is not the time.

It reminds me, though, about the key around my neck. I pull it off, struggling with the knot of the string to avoid looking at Damon.

“If you want a conviction, this world won’t deny you,” he says, shrugging.

“I’m really good at making things go wrong.” The knot gives, and I abandon the rest of the necklace on the floor of the car. I roll up my sleeve and press the key against the skin just above my elbow in my inner arm.

“You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

I look up at Damon, who’s watching me from the corner of his eye. I shrug and roll my sleeve back down, the key safely under my skin. If I’m right, it’ll show up on an x-ray as a plate in my shoulder.

“I’m doing what I have to do.” I mutter. “I need to go help Connor. He’s stuck down there right now.”

“Only because you put him there,” he murmurs.

I ignore that.

“You get to stay out here, and hopefully either—” I stop and frown, shaping the words in my mind before saying them and turning my eyes back to him. “Either kill yourself or get out of the city. You shouldn’t be here when I get out.”

He grips the steering wheel.

“I want to help.”

I chew the inside of my cheek, staring out the window.

“I don’t want you to be here when I break the prison open. You won’t like what you see. Please, go back to the Lounge, where it’s safe.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but is cut short when one of the officers taps on the window. We’re sitting in the station parking lot, the engine still idling. We both exit the vehicle and follow them inside.

~-S-~

“It stands to reason that Furnace might not be so trustworthy if you aren’t.”

I frown at the accusation. I’m the good guy here, god damn it. With little hesitation, I swallow the thought.

“I’m at the head of prisoner rights, keeping the kids who don’t deserve life sentences out of there.” I stop for a beat. It might be overkill, Damon might be right, but I have to be sure. “Just because a plumber commits insurance fraud doesn’t mean he’s bad at clearing pipes.”

Damon clears his throat. I throw him a dirty look, and the officer raises an eyebrow. I shrug, my eyes wandering to fix on the wall. I’m so tired.

“Are you saying you're guilty?”

“Maybe I am,” I say, my words barbed. She leans forward, surprised. “But those kids would be starving or dead down there if it were up to Cross.”

“’Those kids’ are guilty, Miss Furnace.”

I now care 90% less than before.

“Jurors should be screened better.”

We go back and forth like this for several minutes.

“Your lawyer doesn’t seem too interested in what you’re saying.”

I shrug again.

“Think what you want. Can I go?”

I get news that, obviously, I can’t go back home. I spend a week of more interrogations and staring at the ceiling of a cell. Damon comes back once more, telling me about two cases that come to trial on the same day as mine, then I don’t see him again.

~-S-~

I am the very definition of compliant the morning of my trial. Too many of the people we pass know me. Police officers, administrators, many of their eyes aren’t unkind when they nod to me, but I don’t have the memories attaching me to them.

I hope that my popularity doesn’t keep me above ground. Still, there isn’t any reason to put my safety in jeopardy.

We have to stop several times, as the key in my arm sets off each and every metal detector between my cell and the courtroom. It’s less annoying than losing my key would be, at the very least.

Finally, when I settle into my seat it’s behind a set of bars. A metal cage, setting me apart from the rest of the courtroom.

I plead guilty from the beginning, and I don’t bat an eye at the derisive remarks of the prosecution. When it’s my time, I stand. The effect is slightly marred by the bars, but it doesn’t matter. None of these people are real, anyway.

“I know you’ve already made up your minds, and I welcome it. I think the inmates of Furnace will be more reasonable than any jury I could find here.

“Thank you for your time.” I nod at the judge, then take my seat.

I’m convicted and sentenced to life in Furnace Penitentiary later that day.

~-S-~

Passing the commotion outside of Alex and Zee’s courtrooms, I frown. It’s not a coincidence that their trials were today, but I’m almost surprised that the two of them agreed to come back here with me. This has never been a good place for them.

But here they are.

I stride with purpose, releasing these thoughts. There’s no point in hysterics; after all, I’m actually guilty. I'm stopped only briefly by a crowd of reporters that my court-appointed escorts. Somehow, I still make it to the bus before my friends.

Monty and Jimmy, two other new inmates, already wait there. I give them an easy smile and they exchange a glance.

Of course, they don’t know who I am, though they should recognize me. These two aren't part of the game, so they only know me as a part of the prison’s corporate eye.

Alex reaches the truck first, and Zee isn't far behind. They both stare at me for a second before breaking into matching grins. Their hesitance isn’t easily hidden, though.

“You couldn't have skipped the trials?,” Alex laughs nervously.

I shrug, noting Monty and Jimmy watching us like we have two heads.

“Take it up with the door you came through. You ready for this, guys?” I curse the nervous tilt in my voice.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Alex says, and the tense awkwardness begins to fade. The three of us burst into laughter.

“Hey, quiet!” A guard says as he climbs in. “This ain’t no carnival ride.”

As we all settle in, I watch the guards. The two don’t seem concerned with us, merely joking between themselves. I’m certain that if we speak, they'll shut us up quick, so I keep quiet.

This is going to be a long ride.

~-S-~

When we finally arrive, my eyes rest on the Black Fort. What should be ominous hits me with a sense of nostalgia. It’s good to be back, even as an inmate. The truck stops, and the guards prompt us to exit ahead of them.

I step off the truck to see two blacksuits waiting for us They salute, and I wave it away.

“Sorry, boys, I'm here as a resident this time.”

They both grin and wink before barking at the others to get out of the vehicle.

I pause the world and try to prepare myself for what’s ahead. Zee and Alex stand behind me, ogling the frozen blacksuits.

“Would it be against the rules if I just—” Zee jerks a leg in their direction.

“Don’t be a dick. They should be on our side.” I smile and straighten the hulking mens’ ties. “It’s as much of a game to them as it is to us now.”

“So, if we aren’t here to kick some ass, what are we waiting for?” Zee asks. I look to the sky, at the clouds scudding by in the otherwise still world.

“Since I can choose my last experience on the surface as I am now…” I shrug. “I’m waiting for something.”

“What?” Alex watches me, then turns his eyes skyward as well.

I open my mouth to respond, but a sound from the truck distracts me. I narrow my eyes and flash to the back of the vehicle. Monty and Jimmy whisper behind the doors, but they freeze when my shadow falls on them.

They stare at me.

I stare at them.

We remain like this for at least a minute. They way they watch me, like cornered animals, tells me they’ll get on just fine in Furnace.

I can’t help laughing, but that doesn’t seem to help matters.

“Color me surprised, you two are supposed to be frozen!” I beckon them out with a smile and continue. “I guess this means you’re part of the team? That makes, um, two, five…” I pause, counting on my fingers. I grimace. “Eleven. No! If you count Lucy and Sam that’s thirteen!”

My frown deepens. That’s lot of people to coordinate. Not that it matters. If they’re letting me jabber like this, they might not even be sentient.

They hesitantly follow to join the other grinning boys.

“Right now, we’re playing everything by ear. We can’t make many plans until we get inside. I’ll explain everything on the way down, so all we have to do is pretend that none of this has happened.” A raindrop falls, and I grin. “Remember, keep your mouth shut and we’ll all get out of here. Time to move on!”

I turn to face my children and snap my fingers.

“Alright, maggots, line up,” a suit says, shoving us into a line.

The driver jumps out of the truck with a tablet. “Here’s the papers, just gotta sign ‘em out.”

The suits both scan their thumbs. Pride swells in my chest, unexpected. One of them catches my poorly suppressed smile and his expression softens. My friends give me weird looks, but I ignore them.

When the court guards pack back into the truck, the suits confer with each other. They lead us to the Black Fort in the rain with me at the front of the line.

“I’m proud of you all,” I say in a very quick, quiet tone. “Please tell the others. I don’t say it enough, and—”

“Shut it, Furnace.” The suit in front of me barks, glancing back at me. In that look, though, he hides a wink.

I leave the rain behind with a swell of gratitude.

[inkstainedfanfics]

I Still Exist

Requests: Omg your stories are awesome! I was wondering if I could suggest a newt x reader with the song "Where Do We Go" or "Shatter Me" by Lindsey Stirling? Where the reader feels kinda neglected and depressed for quite some time and newt fails to notice because he is in a lot harsher mood and snaps a lot as a result of working on his book? And one day she goes "missing" and worries newt? Lots of angst pls!(Idk it sounded a lot better in my head)You can come up with the rest. Thanks!       AND      hi !! i really love your stories, and i was wondering if i could request an v angsty one where newt is under a lot of stress and snaps at reader? ❤️❤️

Word Count: 2,701

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Part 2   |   Part 3

Requested by Anonymous

Requests are currently open! Feel free to one in

The workshop smells about how you’d expected when you crawl into the case. A burning mixture evaporates somewhere nearby, partly covering up the odors of the various feed bags for the creatures and the plate of raw meat rotting on the table. You shake your head, disgusted, and slip past the shed. Scanning the field, hand over your eyes to block out the blinding sun, you spot Newt next to a murtlap. He’s on his knees saying something to the snarling creature. You swallow down the heart breaking in your chest. He’s exchanging more words with that beast than he has with you in the past month.

“Newt. Newt!” You shout, crossing through tall grasses and kicking stones out of your way. For God’s sake, “Newt!”

He twists enough to ensure it’s you before turning his back on you. “One minute, love.”

Hands on your hips, you wait as he chatters with the beast. It’s not that you’re against his research, it’s that he’s trying to cram chapters worth of new material into the book. You’d supported his idea when he first told you a month and a half ago. Now, though, you’re not sure you would’ve been so encouraging had you known he would spend every waking minute in the case without you.

“I don’t have all day, Newt. I have to get to the bakery with Queenie before it closes.”

He shakes his head, facing you. “I’m busy, love. Can’t it wait?”

You can feel the tension in his voice, strengthened, no doubt, by the bags under his eyes. “I just need to know if you’d prefer apple or peach pie for dessert.”

He mumbles something that sounds like ‘that’s it?’ but when you question him, he simply says, “I said it’s your choice. I’m sure you’ll make the right one.”

“All right. How about a bag of flour? I was thinking we could make some doughnuts together tomorrow morning.”

Newt sets his quill down on his paper and stands, brushing the dust from his knees. “I wish I could.”

“But you’re busy with your book?” It’s more a sentence than a question.

He reaches down to pick up the dirty journal at his feet. “I’m sorry, love. You know I want to. I just need to finish this study on the murtlap’s instinctive reactions to mishandling.”

“He bites you. There’s your answer.” You cross your arms over your chest. “Now will you please spend some time baking doughnuts with me tomorrow morning?”

Newt frowns. “You know it’s more complicated than that.”

“It’s been ages.”

“I know. It’s been ages since we’ve had time together. But my book is being published soon.” He starts forward, leaving you to follow him. “I need to be sure the information in it is as precise as possible.”

You step next to him and wrap your arms around his side. “Please, babe?”

Newt shakes his head. “I don’t have the time.”

“Newt-“

He pulls the door to the workshop open. “I told you this would take a lot of work. You were fine with it then.”

“I didn’t realize it would mean that I’d lose all of my time with you.”

He tosses his journal on the table and rushes toward the heated liquid that you’d first smelled when you’d walked into the shed. “I will try,” he murmurs, lifting the vial from the flame with a pair of tongs, “to find some time.”

“Try?”

He raises his eyes to yours as he sets the vial in a cooling rack. “That’s the best I can do.”

“I miss being with you.”

“You’re with me right now.” He quirks an eyebrow at his dry joke.

You groan. “That’s not what I meant.”

He wipes down the table with a rag. “I know what you meant. I don’t want to promise anything.”

You step forward to stand across the table from Newt but gag at the plate of rotting meat in front of you. “Why not?” You ask as you round the table and lean against it, next to Newt.

“I don’t want to disappoint you, love.”

You would consider that sweet if you didn’t see his left ring finger tap the table twice: his tell. “Don’t lie to me.”

He swallows, staring at the table. “I would never.”

His finger twitches. “Why the hell don’t you want to promise anything?”

Newt sighs and turns, rolling his eyes when he thinks you can’t see, but tries to keep his tone light. “It doesn’t matter, love. Don’t you have to get to the bakery?”

You suck in a long, slow breath. “Tell me the truth.”

He’s silent for so long, you almost ask again. When he does speak, though, you know why he was so hesitant. “I’m tired of your whining.” The words are quiet but harsh.

The long breath leaves in an instant. “My whining?”

Newt braces himself against the window’s wooden sill with two hands. “You have a tendency to complain more than is necessary.”

Your cheeks flush. “I’m so sorry I want to know if you even care anymore. I’ll try to keep my worries to myself from now on.”

He scowls, eyes flashing in anger. “You asked me to be honest.”

“I didn’t realize that my boyfriend would have an issue with me asking for him to spend a second of his time with me.”

“I am right now.” His voice hardens as he turns toward the tube. “Looks how that’s turning out.”

He stares at the vial like it holds the rest of his manuscript, completely ignoring the crack in your voice. “I’m sorry to waste your time. I’ll just see my own way out.”

“Please do.”

You want to both scream and cry and the result is your crimson face and puffy cheeks. You spin on your feet and march out, muttering curses at him beneath your breath.

You miss Newt. You miss joking with him, miss cooking burned suppers with him, miss late nights stargazing and sipping butterbeer until the sun comes up. This Newt, though, you wish would just go away.

Slipping on your jacket, you grab your purse and head into the kitchen, hoping Queenie will be ready to head to the bakery. The kitchen is empty, so you shout for Queenie twice. You’re about to head out the front door to see if she’s outside already when you notice the note stuck to it.

Something came up. I won’t be able to make it to the bakery with you. So sorry. Could we go tomorrow? Xo Q.

You step into the hallway alone. Your feet thud along the ground, one heavy bang at a time as your fury melts out, replaced by nothing more than a heavy despair. Newt doesn’t want you around. Queenie made other plans without consulting you. You’re little more than a shadow on the wall.

You continue down the staircase, growing tired and slower with every step. There’s no reason to hurry. No one’s waiting on you anyway.

The steps seem endless when you’re not pounding down them in a race against Newt or gossiping with Tina about the residents on each floor that you pass. By the time you reach the landing, the familiar feeling of hopelessness has wormed its way into your heart and made its bed.

As you trudge to the bakery, you wonder if it even matters if you return to the apartment.

Newt casts a charm on the final candle, sending it floating into the air around the blanket. He sets two plates on it, flicking a pebble off the nearby pillow he’s going to sit on later tonight. The basket of biscuits floats over, settling on the checkered setting. He looks over everything else one more time. The sun is already halfway finished with its descent when he stands. He chose this spot on the flat stone outcropping because of its view of the midnight sky. You’d loved stargazing with him on your first date, pointing out random shapes and making up stories for whatever you saw. It was all you had talked about for the next month.

Newt rubs his neck as he leaves the spot to go find you. He hadn’t meant to say what he said. Sure, maybe you could be persistent, but it isn’t your fault the two of you hadn’t had a date in so long.

He’d felt terrible the moment he’d calmed down, but when he had climbed out of the case and searched for you, you’d already left for the bakery with Queenie.

The next hour of his research had been worthless; he’d spent the entire time wondering how to properly apologize for what he’d said.

Now, though, the picnic is ready and you’ll be back from the bakery.

Crawling out of the case, he notices your jacket isn’t strewn across the bed. Odd, but he continues forward. Queenie sings in the kitchen, swaying along to the jumping record playing in the corner.

“Queenie?”

“Hey, honey, I was wondering about you. Will you join us for dinner tonight or are you gonna be too busy in that case?”

Red tinges his cheeks. So everyone feels the same. “I’m afraid I’ll be in the case again. How was the trip to the bakery?”

“Oh, apologize for that, would you? I feel horrible for having to cancel.”

Newt’s face screws up in confusion. “Wait, you two didn’t go together?”

“No. I had a work situation.”

“So you’re alone? You don’t know where she is? She’s not with you?” Newt’s innate protective side pesters him.

Queenie giggles. “Why would she be? I thought she was with her ‘handsome, clumsy boyfriend.’”

Newt ignores Queenie’s use of your thoughts and asks when she last saw you.

“This morning at breakfast. When you would barely look at the poor girl.”

Newt’s guilt digs deeper. “Do you know where she is?”

Queenie stops dancing as she sets a pot of food down. “Probably with Tina.”

“Who’s with me?” Tina calls from her room, appearing in the doorway.

Newt tries to calm his heart before it begins pounding.

Queenie steps to Newt’s side. “She’s probably just running late at the bakery.”

“Impossible. It’s getting dark out. It’ll be dangerous for her to walk alone.”

Tina interrupts. “She’s probably in the case. You just didn’t notice her.”

Newt nods. Of course. He could’ve just passed you when you were standing behind some trees or feeding a large creature. “I’ll check again.” He’s back in his room and in the case in a minute.

He walks through the fields, calling your name from habitat to habitat, but the further he gets without a response, the faster he moves, until he’s jogging, running, sprinting back toward the apartment. He smacks his head trying to hurry out.

He rolls across the bedroom floor, yanking the door open and dashing to Tina and Queenie.

They take in his red face, terrified eyes, and hands on his knees as he pants. “She wasn’t down there. Anywhere.”

Tina can’t hide her nerves when she peeks through a curtain and spies the black sky. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Newt spits out. “We need to find her.” He stands and strides toward the door.

Tina reaches a hand out and grabs his arm. “Newt, wait. We don’t even know where to start.” “We’ll figure it out.”

“If she’s really in danger, we need a plan.”

Newt is quiet. “I have one: Find her and save her.”

“One more developed than that.”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have time to wait around thinking.”

“Stop and think!”

“She could be hurt!”

“Wow,” you interrupt meekly from the now open front door, “you were really going to give up some of your precious time to try to find me?”

Newt’s shoulders sag when he sees you. “Where were you?”

“Out.”

“Look at what time it is. You could have been hurt.”

You walk in and shrug the grocery bag off your shoulder. “Why would you care?”

“I care about you.”

“Yeah?” You walk past him, sliding your jacket off your arms. “What a great line to pull out anytime it seems like I might leave you.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Please let me explain.”

“Let you?” You hang your jacket on a hook and turn, eyebrows raised. “I should do something for you? Why, exactly, should I when you can’t even give me five minutes of your time to talk?”

Newt winces at the blow. “I know I haven’t been paying you enough attention lately. I’m sorry.”

“Lovely. It comes at the perfect time.” You run a hand through your hair. “Whatever, Newt. I don’t want to fight right now.”

He follows you into the bedroom. “Where were you?”

“I was leaving.” You pull open the case, voice flat.

Newt’s shoulders curl in. “To where?”

“Wherever the wind blows me.”

Newt climbs into the case after you. “Why did you come back?”

“I didn’t feel the wind, and I don’t know where I’d go on my own.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad the wind stayed still.” He tries to smile at you.

You don’t reply.

Eyes flickering between you and the ground, he breaks the silence. “Are you going to leave again tomorrow?”

“I don’t know, Newt. It’s not like it really matters to anyone.”

He blinks. “What?”

You can barely meet his eyes when you face him. “How long did it take for anyone to realize I was even missing? Four hours? Five? It wouldn’t matter to any of you if I just vanished one day.”

He stops you by grabbing your hand. “You matter to me. So much more than you understand.”

You swallow at the pain in his eyes, but you’re too exhausted to fight tonight. “You can’t just act like this after a month and a half of pretending I don’t exist.”

“I know I don’t deserve forgiveness, but will you give me time to make it up to you as best I can?” His sincere pleads almost convince you. Almost.

You draw your hand from his grip. “I need space for now.”

His voice shakes and grows quiet. “Please don’t leave me.”

The little flame of anger in your chest burns your next words. “I won’t make any promises.”

He flinches at the words. “I’m sorry.”

He leaves, shoulder drooping low, when you turn your back on him without so much as a nod.

You look over your shoulder to be sure he’s gone before you slouch to the ground and close your eyes, letting the grief take over. You sink into the ocean of it, letting the waves drown you until you’re not sure if you’re awake or dreaming. You lose track of time as the ocean consumes you. Hours may have passed by the time the wind tickles your face and slowly blows the ocean of grief from your chest.

You prop yourself onto your elbows, peering around. Hours have definitely passed. A pink sky has replaced the midnight black. A pack of diricrawls waddle nearby, pecking at seeds. You rub your eyes and push yourself to your feet. The air is surprisingly cool and you just want to curl up in your bed.

You reach the shed and are about to leave when a beaten journal catches your eye. Newt’s collection of notes for the book. He treats it like a child treats his favorite teddy bear. He’s never even let you flip open a page before.

You lift it and examine the outside. Streaks of dirt cover it, results of carrying it everywhere. The corners are rounded from wear, and ink splotches are dotted around it like a design.

You open the cover, expecting the table of contents, Newt’s way of knowing what page he’d need to flip to. Instead, it appears to be the dedication page.

To my love,

You freeze, reading and rereading the final sentence five, ten, twenty times before you accept it. Your name is right next to Scamander. Written in the same messy scrawl. As though he hadn’t picked up the quill, as though he had meant to put the names so close together.

As though … as though he means to marry you.