#it feels like my camera quality is going down somehow but like. i might just be getting used to other peoples better pics

[degloved]

aaa fic requests open………… hoffheight love languages……… (but they dont label their relationship bc inner turmoil of being apprentices ;-;)

hello anon!! first of all this was a very delightful prompt. saw rarepairs (regardless if i ship them) are so fun to me !! hoffheight especially, i think they're slept on (by myself also, tbh.) i thought about the best approach to take so as not to make this too long, and initially decided to pick a handful, out of the five, which i thought most would be best suited to them. those being: quality time, physical touch, gift giving. this is very funny, as it still turned out to be excessively long (normally, these are 500 words—somehow i've ended up with 1600 words here.) therefore, i've decided to post it also my ao3 & the link to it, should you wanna bookmark or what have you, can be found at the bottom. i hope you enjoy! thanks for sending in a prompt, once again! p.s. i'm getting around to writing everything everyone's sent in! i just find myself a little more inclined to first jump into the prompts i know i'm gonna do without much trouble. chainshipping, while largely what i'm getting the reqs for, isn't my forte, hence the wait. but i'm trying!

-> READ ON AO3 <-

‼️SAW REQS STILL OPEN‼️

The Apprentices, despite their shared unshakable tendency to slip into petty conflicts with one another on an hourly basis, appeared to work oddly well together; like a well-oiled machine. Left-brain, right-brain, and their brawn; Lawrence's steady hand, Amanda's creativity, Mark's ability to put it all into motion.

If they were a machine, then Adam was surely the cog that didn't quite mesh with all the other moving parts. Perpetually on the fringes of the warehouse, uncertainly hovering about—passing a wrench here and a drill there—until inevitably slinking off with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

He didn't fit, and he wasn't even really sure he wanted to.

Wasn't sure whether he'd fit anywhere else, either.

He'd always moved through the world with a sense of displacement; as if something had plucked him off some distant planet and dumped him here, only to cruelly leave him to his own devices. Because Adam's life was also a fucking joke, whatever higher power lurked out there must've also seen it fit to exacerbate said feeling. If there'd ever been any hope of an eventual breakthrough—any hope he might stop listlessly flopping on dry land and find a suitable body of water to slip into—it'd sure been squandered now. With something of a bitter chuckle, Adam had the thought he might walk the length of the Amigara Fault without ever stumbling upon his own hole, too. (Well, at least that meant he was safe! Safety being, of course, a commodity these days.)

“Adam?”

The sound of his name bouncing off of the warehouse walls broke him out of that depressing little reverie he'd embarked on. Somewhere out of sight, the clanking of metal against metal; the noise was sharp and, by rights, ought to be annoying if not outright grating on the ears. Unfortunately, he'd gotten used to it. Didn't bother him half as much as it really should.

“Yeah?” he called out—though set down the camera he'd been fucking around with (hopelessly fucking broken after he'd knocked it off the table last week), letting his legs carry him to the machine Mark had been working on for the past hour. “Need help?”

“Nah,” the other man shook his head, rogue droplets of sweat flying every which way. “This should be done.”

Mark stood up on slightly shaky feet, dusting himself off. Adam supposed working for Jigsaw was as good exercise as any: his skin glistened beneath the pallid light overhead, face appropriately ruddy. (His own cheeks must've decided to take inspiration from it, flushing in tandem.)

“I was thinkin',” he continued, hands on his hips, “You've been cooped up in this dump too long. Wanna get out of here?”

Yes. Dear god, please.

But, Adam would never go down that easy. Pointedly, he adopted the same stance, accentuating the jut of one hip, and—with a scoff: “Way to treat me like y'all's dog, some fucking... charity case stray. What, we're gonna walk 'round the block so I can sniff about and take a piss? How big of you, Mark, thanks for the enrichment.”

Mark rolled his eyes, hardly the one to fall for the theatrics. (He was no Amanda.) “What's crawled up your ass tonight, then?”

“Nothing!” he huffed, “I'm just saying it how it is. Got the leash ready, then? I'm really itching to pay a visit to that fire hydrant—”

A strong hand fisted itself into the front of his shirt, tugged him up to the very tips of his toes—at which point, he was being shut up in the most cliché-but-effective way possible. Mark, ever the cavalier, let go of him with all the consideration one might let go of a garbage bag. Adam stumbled back, slightly dazed by the kiss and thrown off-balance—figuratively and literally. “Stop pouting and get dressed.”

Adam raised an eyebrow, “Something fancy?”

Mark snorted, “No.”

-

A bowling alley.

A bowling alley.

Adam had a hard time believing it. Out of all places in the world, a bowling alley? (What were they, sweaty seventeen-year-olds making the best out of the spare change left over from lunch that week?)

In the dimly lit space, he leaned against the worn wooden railing, eyes fixed on Mark as the other stood poised at the edge of a polished lane. His face was scrunched up with a frankly disturbing level of focus; two massive hands firmly gripped a ball, fingers knuckle-deep in its holes. With a smooth, practiced motion, Mark swung his arm back and then forward, releasing it with a precise flick of the wrist. The ball glided down the lane and—crash—it sent the pins scattering, every last one of them.

When Mark turned, pride and triumph etched into every little line of his face, Adam... was a little smitten, alright? Watching him trudge over, eclipsing the colorful lights behind him, Adam soon found himself rather crowded against that railing. “Getting a kick out of showing off?” he needled.

“Yes.”

“God, you're sooo...” Adam groaned, head thrown back. Laughing, despite himself. He felt two thick arms encircle him, peel him off the railing, press him up against a plush chest and a soft stomach.

(It was not lost on him, despite the illusion of privacy in this here corner, that they were in public. All but asking to be seen—which was far from their usual gig.)

“Sooo what?” Mark hummed, grinning.

“Shameless.”

“A little.”

“A lot.”

“The right amount,” Mark leaned down, making the most out of the situation by placing a shockingly chaste kiss to the underside of Adam's jaw, the drag of his stubble tickling just enough to chase a giggle out of him. “You like it.”

“That's a bold statement right there,” murmured Adam, letting his arms fall about Mark's shoulders; so broad, his hands didn't meet in the middle. The reminder of this man's sheer proportions, as ever, sent a little thrill through him.

“You gonna deny it?” Another kiss, a little to the left. Adam was impressed for the fact his knees hadn't yet given out. Granted, he did have supports.

“Mm, maybe,” he hummed, letting his eyes fall shut, fingers digging ever so slightly into the fabric of Mark's shirt. “Possibly. Depends.”

Mark hummed against the front of Adam's throat, the sound more so felt than heard in the way it reverberated throughout the column of his neck, thrumming along the underside of Adam's skin. On a whim, he hooked his ankle around one of Mark's legs.

“Y'know, we've still got an hour on this lane...”

“Wow,” Adam intoned dryly, “Truly didn't cheap out on me here. And you've got your priorities straight. Can't believe I'm not being mobbed by your manifold suitors every day of the week. Should probably start hitting the gym, you know, fend them off easier...”

“Lucky you're easy on the eyes,” remarked Mark, tone measured—though there was a warmth in his eyes, “'cause that mouth is doing you no favors.”

Adam cracked a smile, reveling in his turn to be a smug shit.

-

By this point, Adam had developed a strong sense that something wasn't right. Not to say something was wrong per se, but... Well, they'd been driving for upwards of thirty minutes now—and they still weren't home. ('Home' was used, here, very loosely.) He was quite certain it hadn't taken them even half as long to reach their very romantic destination initially. So, what gives?

In any case, Mark's hand was warm where it lay on his thigh. Very rarely did it move, only to switch gears on the odd occasion—and just as quickly, it’d return to its post. They haven't spoken much, but they didn't need to. The silence enveloping them was comfortable and cozy, like a blanket straight out of the dryer on a cold night. An oldies station played very softly, so much so Adam could hardly pick apart the words.

Frankly, he could doze off.

Out of nowhere (and perhaps it was a good thing, as his eyelids had gotten concerningly droopy), Mark spoke up. “There's uh,” he cleared his throat, “something in the back.”

Adam, too tired to needle ('There's uh, something in the back'—are you a caveman?), twisted in the passenger's seat to the best of his ability, pawing at the—true to his word—a box wrapped in brown paper. It sat just out of his reach. Took a few tries to propel it toward himself.

He looked at Mark, an eyebrow quirked.

“Well,” the other's eyes were firmly affixed to the road ahead, perhaps stubbornly so, “Open it.”

“It's for me?”

“Might be, if I don’t change my mind.”

Needing not be told twice, Adam swiftly undid the wrapping, balled it and carelessly tossed it to the floor.

Then stared, mouth agape, at that which was revealed.

A camera.

“How did you—”

“I didn't do anything,” Mark blurted out, tone on the side of defensive for some odd reason, “It was all Amanda. And Lawrence. I just did the wrapping, that's all.”

Adam couldn't tear his eyes away, turning the box this way and that (even though he couldn't really read or see much of anything, dark as it'd gotten.) A well-timed glance in Mark's direction—just as drove beneath a street-light—revealed a deep blush staining his cheeks, seemingly spreading down his neck.

Adam’s lips twitched. His throat tightened. His heart throbbed.

Softly, fondly, he said: “I can tell. It looked like shit.”

(He’d bet all his life savings—granted, there wasn't much there, but it was the thought that counted—that Amanda and Lawrence had less than nothing to do with this.)

“It did, didn't it?” Mark smiled, shoulders sagging. Perhaps with relief.

Adam set his hand atop Mark's, still sat on his thigh. Squeezed.

The silence resumed.

[xian1na]

buncha words 'bout some spring animes #3

Still here, still watching, still writing. Can't believe it's May already. I remember having this weird feeling last time I was watching seasonal anime - that I can't wait for the next episode to come out but once it does, I realise how time flies. It's almost scary! Many of the series that have only just come out are already at the halfway point. ...But let's not think about the inevitablility of time passing and instad talk about them animes. Enjoy!

Hell's Paradise (ep. 5) - After episode 4 I was a bit wary of where Sagiri's plot was going but episode 5 assuaged my worries somewhat. I used to get very annoyed whenever an action show would introduce A Sexist character. Why aren't the female characters just allowed to be badass without anyone putting them down, I was thinking to myself. Why can't I just have a nice escapist fantasy? But somehow I don't mind it here. I'm not sure why - whether it's because I changed or because (so far) Jigokuraku handled this subject better, or at least differently than other series I've watched. We'll see what comes next. As for the rest of the episode, I feel like the series is still at the phase of setting things up and I really hope the plot moves forward next time. Nurugai is Very Good.

Oshi No Ko (ep. 4) - I won't be a stinker this time, I quite liked this episode. We got to see Aqua acting and I got this great idea for battle-shounen like manga about acting, where the main character has to analyse their surroundings and gather data about their fellow actors to know how to rile them in front of the camera, so that they act well. (I'm going to pitch this to President of Anime whenever I get the chance.) I'm curious how will that reality TV show that Aqua got hired to act in go. As for the school plot... I don't watch many idol shows but I recall 'school of idols' is a recurring theme. Will Oshi No Ko subvert it somehow or play it straight? No idea. I'd assume the former if not for plethora of colour-coded female characters we've met already. I appreciate this series' commentary on show-business harsh truths a lot but it somehow doesn't feel grounded in reality because of the visuals, particularly character designs. And I REALLY hope there'll be more male characters in the main cast, although judging by the opening, that might not be the case.

Tengoku-Daimakyou (ep. 5) - We focus more on Maru and Kiruko this time, which is good because They Are Great. By the way, I've been reading a little about this series' production and I was surprised to learn that it's really speeding through the manga - but does it so well that it doesn't feel rushed or anything like that. It doesn't happen often in anime, I think. I'll probably read the manga once the series ends just to see how does the story unfold there (and to see all the quality K&M content that's been cut from anime). Also I absolutely need to cite one sentence from ANN's weekly review of T-D because it was simultaneously the best and the worst sentence I've read in a review in a while: "And while Maru's boner gets in the way of their hug, we can see that it's not getting in the way of their friendship." Absolute perfection.

Skip and Loafer (ep. 5) - I've already written how I appreciate what they do with Egashira in this series and episode 5 fleshes her out even more. I think my favourite moment was after Egashira's and Mitsumi's clash with the third-years in the gym - how Egashira made sure to remember the names of the students who were rude to them, while Mitsumi remembered the name of the one who helped them. It's a very telling character moment for them both. Skip and Loafer is really growing on me, it might even end up as my favourite series of this season. I'm literally feeling happier after watching every episode, it's that powerful.

My Love Story with Yamada-kun ar Lv999! (ep. 5-6) - As I thought, the matter with Runa is solved pretty quickly and she's already Akane's bestie in episode 6. That's pretty good in my opinion. Even if Runa's change of heart may be a bit sudden, I don't think she'd make a compelling long-term antagonist. That 'gamer guy' from episode 5 gave me massive creeps and there was some great direction in that scene in the toilet. I like that even though ultimately nothing bad happened, the guys from the guild immediately went to the rescue because they knew the potential danger. Then episode 6 is back to usual shenanigans and I thought it was very funny. And one important note: Kouki Uchiyama's acting when Yamada was talking to Eita right after waking up was Extremely Good.

And in the backlog section:

The Witch from Mercury (season 1, ep. 7-9) - You know guys... maybe it's because the Internet was screaming about Prospera lately (I didn't catch any spoilers, thankfully) but I'm starting to get a feeling she might be a bad guy! On a serious note, it's very interesting how Prospera is contrasted with Delling and papa Jeturk (whatever his name is, I don't even care). All three of them are shitty parents but whereas Delling and Jeturk are very openly shitty in how demanding, strict and cold they are towards their children, the way Prospera treats Suletta is just chilling. Only three episodes left in season 1, I have no idea what might happen in the finale but I'm definitely looking forward to find out.

Spy x Family (ep. 6-7) - As I knew that The Face was coming, I actually appreciated The Punch more - that was a real good piece of animation. Damian's developing crush on Anya (including the special romanticised version of her in his eyes) and Loid suspecting that Becky obviously must be plotting a political sabotage or something because he just doesn't get kids were hilarious. Also, I totally forgot about Yor's and Anya's time together (or maybe it wasn't in the manga, though I think it was). It was great! I'm not going to be original by saying that Yor often feels a bit secondary in this family, so it was real nice seeing her getting more screentime. Next episode Yuri will show up - I think his visit was the last thing I've read in the manga, so I have no idea what happens next.

Aaand that'd be the end of this week's musings and ramblings. I start a new job on Monday but I think I should be able to keep up with all the shows. At least I must find some time for more Skip and Loafer. Hope you enjoyed reading and see ya!

[vigilantfish]

It's almost like the world is spinning around me.

It's as if the world itself was a charade, a pack of jaunting spiteful jesters who would joke and jive about how to dictate my life.

"Reminisce him of his unchangeable melodramatic memories!" "Meet him a person whom he will ruin his life over!" "Force his eyes to the stellar abyss, to stare down at his meaningless existence, question him for all he is and could ever be!"

My eyes gaze upon the world around me with such fatigue, it feels like every street I go into, every turn I make somehow twists itself into a circle of which I can't ever escape.

This coat seems tired. These pants of mine feel tired. Everything feels so old, yet so unchanging, so nauseatingly unchanging. This hair of mine flowing with the wind seems tiring. My eyes gazing upon this unpredictable circle of hell feels tiring. The only that never tires feels like the very decaying nature that I'm forced to exist in.

I am strong, never endingly strong, but when I reach out to grab things or hold things, it feels as though I'm an old man who might turn to dust at any gust of wind. I am young, yet so old. I feel handsome, yet so ugly. It's as if every mirror has it's own idea of me. Maybe it's like the thing with the jesters again, each mirror made different, to portray me as any funny thing the jokers will snicker to themselves about. I feel so generous, yet so stingy. I can list off everything that is horrible about me, yet find a beauty within me that I find within every thing who looks as winded, tormented, innocent, or unassuming as I do. I can list a hundred poems about an old postman's bag as I can to my anxiety inducing limitless potential as a sentient being.

But when I pet a cat, or when I decide to watch a dumb show, or eat something that is "bad" for me, or think about love, or dream about things without feeling the rush to write about it, it all feels pointless. If I can see myself as anything I could ever want, why should I force to see myself in a favorable light, much less in a foreboding dark light?

It feels good to think about things, to craft universes in my head that I can keep to myself, I don't need to desecrate the precious feeling of being a hero in an imaginary store only to write about it, and hope for someone's critique to feel significant. I can pet a cat and let it be silly to me without having to capture it in my phone. I can look at a view without sullying it with the quality of my camera.

Sometimes, it's okay not to introspect. Sometimes, the world is what it is. Sometimes, the same way we don't need to sully our rare moments of relief with our arbitrary personalities, we don't need to digest and internalize everything we see. Sometimes the postman's bag just looks cool. Sometimes you look good. Sometimes you look bad. Sometimes you're good. Sometimes you're bad. There needn't a permanence to us in a world of constant change.

I arrive at my home, a loud metallic creek, climbing of cramped stairs in a humid block, the sound of the never ending rain outside, to stare at my brown old door. Silence is broken by distant sounds of children screaming at their parents, and television commercials. I go in, I make some coffee, but I dare not to look outside anymore.

The rain is pretty, but I don't need to think about it today.

[k00299539]

Movement Project Week 3 - Animation 01 - Trust the Process...

So like I wrote before, I expected to begin Week 3 actually participating in a Workshop and I feel the need here to preemptively defend myself a bit and mention that I did in fact show up on Monday morning. I even emailed Mary Conroy who suggested I join the workshop on Week 4 instead, so I'm hiding behind that excuse for the moment.

Anyway with all the workshops halfway through their two week block structure, I realised I could now only attend a maximum of two workshops for this project or in other words, I'd missed the boat on one entirely. And even though I love animation, it was also the easiest to do at home by myself and thus received the boot.

So now I just have to produce some animated work at home by myself to the standard of quality expected from a hands on workshop with expert tutors... walk in the park... :(

Above: Deja Vue

I guess the first thing to do is refer back to my mind map and explain my thought process here. I think by now as I write this at the end of Week 4, I've come to understand "The Spiral" as my central theme, but the dumber version of me who existed a week ago somehow beat around that bush without ever landing on that keyword. I was seriously drawing spiral staircases while still unable put words to my thesis. Anyway...

My train of thought basically went from "Kinetic/Parabolic/Geometric" to "Rotation" to "Spiral Staircase". This later led me to wider influence of the "Op Art" (or optical illusion art) world.

Above: You have no long how far back I had to scroll to find this again...

Actually looking back on I'm slightly abridging the timeline here, after all this was whopping week-ish ago. The staircase idea likely took seed in my head after seeing the above gif online by indie animator @PunchUsagi on Twitter. The quality of their work speaks for itself obviously, but it was less the stellar character acting that captured me and more the (seemingly) simple* five frame background animation loop of a camera tracking down a spiral staircase. You can even see how clearly my sketch above borrowed from this animation.

*definitely, absolutely, factually, 1000% NOT easy...

Trying to replicate PunchUsagi's work led to a couple of complications. First, I tried so many times to imitate this looping staircase effect but short of tracing I just couldn't get it right. Second, even though I know I've seen this kind of effect in animation before (Yu Yu Hakusho) I can't for the life of me track down any good reference material. Short of having some kind of Dewey Decimal ass brain for animated staircase scenes, there's really no good way to search this kind of thing.

So having (temporarily, at least) shelved that after a series of attempts, I moved on to similar but slightly less challenging prospect; animating a revolving staircase, except from a static, head-on view. I thought this would be a good exercise to stretch my 3D muscles in Blender as I'd never attempted to make anything like that before. I had a rock solid plan though, it was called "The Array Modifier"

Above: I tried to make a GIF where I would navigate to the array modifier as some sort of joke and then I actually couldn't find it cause Blender 4.0 changed the menu around...

Moving on...

Above: Behold the awesome power of the array modifier, master of stairs and making thereof...

So naturally I made a cylinder as the column of the stairs and a step whose height was an even divisor of the cylinders length to ensure an proper fit. At time I had no idea how engineers and architects measured the amount of steps need to encircle the circumference of the central column, and as you might accurately infer from that sentiment, was in over my head as a certified stair expert...

Above: That which precipitates the fall...

A column and a step, all I need now is my trusty, handy-dandy, 100% absolutely failproof companion; the array modifier...

What could go wrong?

Above: What went wrong...

Oh no.

So I realised that the array modifier is great for making straight, linear, decidedly not-curving stairs. Of course this clashed greatly with my idea of a y'know, spiral staircase. It was back to the drawing board...

Above: My saviour

But not for long! As this slightly outdated video showcased a method where you create an empty Plain Axes object at the centre-point of the cylinder and use that as the offset for the array modifier. I don't know why it wouldn't work using the cylinder as the offset value but I'm going to assume it has something to do with God challenging me.

So with that figured out we were home free...

Above: Why?

Oh No.

Basically this was a result of me not understanding the engineering or architectural design behind spiral staircases, as I alluded to earlier. In fact I've actually been recreating all the screenshots for this post cause I'm stupid and never document anything, and I actually couldn't even replicate this mistake at first. That's correct I am unable to succeed at failure...

Anyway the problem was that I failed to align the steps to the centremost point of the cylinder, which is necessary for it to coil properly. The other mistake I made while less important structurally was equally displeasing aesthetically. If you want the steps to perfectly encircle the circumference of the cylinder, you have to actually plan ahead and do the math to ensure that outcome. This particular math has already left my head (to make room for all my clever thoughts, no doubt) but this video by a real guy with actual qualifications sums it up better than I could:

Above: My other saviour

And finally we're on to the end result. I am now a master 3D staircase maker, capable of bending geometry to my will... I can also make little animations like this cool turnaround!

Above: Literal minutes of hard work...

Tumblr looks to be fucking up that video so I'll re-render it and try again tomorrow but for today I honestly can't be arsed.

Looking back I've probably spent too much time covering the "How?" and not enough covering the "Why?". I'll rectify that in a later post and get more into what I want to accomplish using spirals in animation, but for now you can probably gauge my overall mental energy level from the second half of the above paragraph's lone sentence. For now, me tired, me sleep.

[cursepoem]

Year in Review 2022 — Part 6 — Top Ten Movies

10. Top Gun: Maverick (dir. Joseph Kosinski) I'm an easy mark here, ever-fascinated by the arc along which Tom has orchestrated his career, and whatever we call this current era. To call him a singular performer sells it short; it's hard to think of a single artist or performer in any field that has functioned in such a way, throughout all these enigmatic phases. There's a very reasonable impulse to draw him in the lineage of Jackie Chan and Buster Keaton, but neither of those guys were fucking sex symbols, they didn't have the spectre of an actual cult lurking just out of frame, they never played Frank T.J. Mackie! (No fault of their own, obviously.) Tom has just had so much baggage, both earned and not, so much meta-text informing his work and our reading of it, and through it all he continues to exude the same magnetism all the while contorting himself into this physical martyr for our entertainment. He simply cannot exist unless he is killing himself onscreen for us, physically, metaphorically, all of it. And what's more, the guy just really fucking loves movies. The near-maniacal agency he's asserted on virtually every level of production, the collaboration he's cultivated with McQuarrie, deep down the man still has this childlike wonder with what movies can do, and say what you will about the guy, but after everything that is a beautiful and rare thing that should be protected at all costs.

So on to Maverick. This is the perfect vehicle for the Tom experience; he gets to employ all the painstaking precision while pouring on the nostalgia to remind us all what going to the movies is about. Sure, I expected to enjoy this movie, but I was not prepared to feel the depth and swell of feelings that I did. It was e-mo-tion-al. For something as obvious and dumb as Hangman's third act reversal to genuinely send my lip aquiver means you're just doing something right from a moviemaking perspective.

9. Pearl (dir. Ti West) Ti West is a guy I root for, but do not exactly ride for. He's at his best when playing with pastiche, devoting himself to classic genre tropes and aesthetics often beyond even the point fetishization, and the results are varied. He's a guy that seems to have more good ideas than you can actually point to in his movies, which isn't necessarily a knock or even his fault I don't think. It's no coincidence that his best achievement by far is also the first time he's really spent exploring character, when his other films were often antagonistic to them (I'll never get over Greta Gerwig's death in House of the Devil). Pearl is such a refreshing turn, a promise that yeah, there might be more to this guy than his VHS-era horror movie dioramas lead on.

And really, it's Mia Goth who deserves all the credit in the world here. Looking at her filmography, the choices she makes, the artists she seeks out, she has proven herself to be a legit little weirdo in the best possible way. That so many people try and fail at faking this quality makes it all the more satisfying when someone like Goth genuinely goes all in. I honestly feel fortunate that these two have found one another; in Ti West, Goth has a director who will never tell her no, who will push her to go bigger, broader, past all reasonable sense. And that's precisely what his movies have always needed, something larger than the scaffolding he's so complacently proficient at building. Her performance her is manic and fascinating, animated and chaotic in a way that repulses and seduces in equal, unsettling measure. But for all the goose-stabbing, all the apocalyptic dance numbers, all the immolation, the most striking part of her performance is a shockingly tender monologue. The camera stays still for what feels like the first time all movie and the unexpected deftness of the writing shines through with what is revealed. All the while, Goth delivers it masterfully, vulnerably, and it somehow works. Between that scene and the insane closing credits alone, this was one of the best performances this year.

I also have to mention how cool it is that these two pulled a trilogy out of nowhere. Even though I didn't really care for X (it's pretty much the worst of West's tendencies all at once), shooting the two back-to-back and announcing a third feature the same week that Pearl opened shows that West in some new and totally invigorated mode. Beyond the effect of his collaborator, he's found a way of working within budget constraints that seems to energize and inspire. It's almost dare I say it Soderberghian, and you know i'm an easy mark for that. Here's hoping that MaXXXine reaches the bar these two have set with Pearl.

8. Triangle of Sadness (dir. Ruben Östlund) Östlund is a Renaissance painter of cringe, able to cull a veritable gyre of political and philosophical tension out of a single moment of everyday awkwardness. Triangle is deliberately uneven, pushing you away and winning you over in turns throughout; there is ample exposition (thankfully more thematic than plot-wise, though) leading up to the (unfortunately literal) explosive setpiece before becoming a much more raw movie in its back third. In stranding his principals on a desert island, stripping them of signifiers of wealth and the power structures they suggest, Östlund literalizes his metaphor in a pretty ingenious way. He takes on the familiar tropes and gags from any shipwreck scenario while turning a cynical eye on his characters as they establish new, lopsided power structures informed by altogether base and sometimes arbitrary human currencies.

Between this, the loathsome Glass Onion, and The White Lotus, we're seeing a whole lot of commentary on the rich, with this year's Infinity Pool signaling that we're far from through here. To me, this is a fool's errand, a surface-level pandering to what's left of Twitter, willfully turning a blind eye to anything deeper than limp satire. Dear lord the last thing I need is to be explained that Elon Musk is bad, actually, by Rian fucking Johnson by way of Edward Norton, of all people. Triangle at least has the benefit of being mostly fun.

7. Petite Maman (dir. Céline Sciamma) Sciamma's latest is as haunting as it is clever, throwing out all the usual trappings of its magical realist framework to instead delve into the rich emotional resonances that it allows. The result is heartbreaking and beautiful, a tender meditation on memory and family that, looking back now, suggests a brutal double-feature with Aftersun, both films artfully interrogating the relationship between child and parent through time. Can't think about either too hard or for too long or I'll lose my shit.

6. Three Thousand Years of Longing (dir. George Miller) This one was an unexpected gift. Not knowing how Miller would follow-up Fury Road after so long, and with the threat of a prequel ever looming, I had no clue what to expect from this very welcome diversion. Miller's fairytale hits all the beats you would want it to, its delightful frame narrative soaking up all the chemistry of the leads before giving way to lush enactments of timeless parables. It's a joy to see the use of all the memorable visual effects flexed in Fury Road to be employed here for such a different outcome. DJ Big Driis plays his djinn with such a believable world-weariness, so perfectly balancing his desperate impatience with obligatory deferral. The games he and Tilda play around one another,

5. AmbuLAnce (dir. Michael Bay) What a fucking banger. Instant classic, already firmly cemented in the Bank Heist Mount Rushmore. What is there to say, really; this is a movie that has your jaw on the floor, heartbeat racing, adrenaline pumping for the entire duration. Any movie that can elicit such an intensely visceral reaction surely can be forgiven its faults, none of which are anywhere egregious enough to puncture your awestruck suspension of disbelief or distracting enough to interrupt the breakneck pace. And pace is everything here, rushed along by the plunging drone shots that punctuate the converging plotlines, new tricks alongside the maestro of explosions' familiar touches. Whoever is asleep at the wheel of the Fast franchise better be taking notes; the past few entries have all been desperately missing just an ounce of the juice that Bay squeezes out of every shot here. They just don't make 'em like this any more, and with this one, Bay seems to put everyone else on notice to step the fuck up.

4. Tár (dir. Todd Field) Let me just get this out of the way up front so there's no confusion on where I stand here: Lydia Tár is a real person and she did nothing wrong. The third feature from the acclaimed co-inventor of Big League Chew, Tár revolves around an absolute powerhouse of a performance. It is a rigorous and commanding film, one that demands your attention and almost punishes you for being anything less than totally enraptured by it. It is rare that I would use the word "relevant" to describe a movie and even rarer that I would consider that quality to be among a movie's strengths, but I was honestly taken with how it handles some very contemporary cultural questions. The Juilliard scene is so jarring, the tension between us not yet knowing if the film is condoning the diatribe of its title character or poking fun at it. The discussion that it invites can be a fruitful one, and one that should lead to somewhere more nuanced than this aforementioned binary so long as we avoid the pitfalls of certainty that both of its principals cannot seem to stray from. I found it surprisingly satisfying to see a scene like this play out here alongside so many lesser, groan-worthy attempts to tackle "cancel-culture" (to think that that Spotlight-but-make-it-Me Too movie was out around the same time! I could barely make it through the trailer.)

Beyond the cultural conversation though, and honestly in its own way strengthening it, this is a ghost story, one that unfolds with a masterful subtlety. Mood and tone take over, warping the shared perception of both the viewer and title character as guilt deepens and takes on external forms. It's reminiscent of Personal Shopper in these ways, where we feel haunted not by what is depicted but how. Through this haunting we're able to see with a sort of dramatic irony how Tár internalizes and navigates the thorny trappings of her own life and fame and influence that she's so confident in dispelling when it comes to others. For her, it is not even a question of forgiving some genius virtuoso or other for their shortcomings or foibles; she barely acknowledges they exist at all; art and genius absolve. We watch her squirm as the heat gets turned up, making frail attempts to cover her tracks all the while deluding herself into thinking she's maintaining the haughty guard of her persona. The eye on her remains cool and almost objective, Field's deft restraint allowing us to bring our own experience into the character. I think that's a lot of what's polarizing about the movie, and what makes it so powerful; it's become so rare that we are allowed our autonomy as an audience, that we're not told precisely how to feel about characters we can easily deem either good or bad.

Also, for as seriously as Tár takes herself, the film itself has a wonderful and cutting sense of humor, from Cate Blanchett threatening a child to the hilarious knife-twist of the closing scene.

3. Decision to Leave (dir. Park Chan-Wook) One of the deepest and most wrenching love stories I've ever seen on film. Decision to Leave is in some ways more grounded than the sumptuous The Handmaiden, but twists and diverts from its detective story frame in unexpected ways to follow these two doomed and inextricably linked characters. With these last two especially, Park slyly belies the early notoriety earned with his still shocking Vengeance trilogy, revealing himself (or maybe just reminding us) that he is just simply one of the most skilled and creative technical directors out there. Decision to Leave is unforgettable, it is mean, it is precisely my kind of feel-bad flick. That chainmail glove is just about the coolest shit I've ever seen.

2. Nope (dir. Jordan Peele) The most effective proper spectacle in recent memory, assisted greatly by understated promotion, impeccable sound editing, and a sublime sense of scale. Peele has such a sense of the enigmatic, weaving all these striking, unforgettable images that resonate with one another as his films unfold. In an age where trailers tend to show every major plot point, we take for granted just how unsettling and captivating it can be to not know where a movie will go from once scene to the next. The opening of Nope is so transfixing precisely because you have zero context and Peele exploits this tension to its fullest throughout.

One of the many things that astounds me about Nope is just how many narrative and thematic levels it's operating on. This is a movie about making movies, about the new and brutal ways that American people are becoming further disenfranchised, about a reflexive type of contemporary isolation, about desensitization and stunted attention spans, about legacy ... I guess it's about aliens, too. It's a western, it's science fiction; the use of genre does so much to inform each of these readings. It's so packed full of ideas and nothing is wasted, nothing is arbitrary. As with Arms Across America Us, here Peele continues creating his own winking Mandela-effects; don't lie and tell me you didn't scour the internet to see if Gordy's Home was real or to research the identity of the "Plate 262" rider. Peele has such a way of capturing, of inventing, a collective imagination.

As with his other features, the casting here is spot-on; Peele has an incredible way of working with actors, of capturing chemistry. Keke Palmer and Daniel Kaluuya are so much fun to watch together, such perfect foils to one another. Steven Yeun's Chris Kattan monologue is an absolute all-timer.

With each effort, Peele makes me think more and more of Hitchcock, of Shyamalan. I watch his movies and just feel so fortunate that we have his singular voice right now, especially at such a nadir of moviegoing. This guy is operating within a rich tradition of the spectacular, masterfully employing genre to interrogate potent and present anxieties. His works are time-capsule pieces, perhaps the most telling of our era. I just want him to keep making whatever the hell he wants with whatever amount of money he needs to do it.

1. Aftersun (dir. Charlotte Wells) This movie just simply does things I've never seen before, operating in some of the subtler and more poetic reaches of what cinema is capable of as an art form. We're witnessing memory as it is formed and recalled simultaneously. This is slowly revealed in flash-forward, leading up to the jaw-dropping climax that is stirring to the core, a frenetic fever-dream frame narrative that punctuates the softness of the impressionistic and nostalgia-drenched camcorder brushstrokes. Paul Mescal's character is a ghost haunting the reflective surfaces of resort swimming pools and mirrors, an indefinite form captured obliquely against the screen of a turned-off television. His daughter can only ever conjure him in these fleeting and enigmatic ways; he is not his own person yet to her, only sketched in the ways she that sees and needs him. Such is the inevitable tragedy of the relationship, made all the more harrowing by the simmering turmoil he bares in private that she can only naively intuit. This film is so intimate and personal it almost feels like my own memory, my own aching and secret guilt reflecting on the selfishness of childhood, on taking something precious and formative for granted after it's too late to recover. This movie just fucking wrecks me in irreconcilable ways the more I think about it.

[digitalsatyr23]

The Space In-Between

    Have you ever thought about the time you spent going from one place to another? What about the places you passed by? We only ever have one destination... Right? So for all intents and purposes, everything in-between where we begin and end a journey might as well be background noise. I don’t feel this way when I’m out in nature. The trees, the hills, the mountains in the far distance... It all seems pretty normal to notice these things. But what about when you’re in the suburbs, or a city? Do you really look at every house, every passing car, and every sign? You probably do, but our brains are hardwired to filter out all unnecessary information from our memories, so even if we see these places, we may not remember very much about them. Now here’s another question for you: why? If I understand correctly, there is no upper limit to how much memory our brains can store, so why filter things out? Is it to make the more important things easier to remember, or is there something else to these filtered memories, some quality that makes them... Unwanted?

    I’ve had a lot of time to think about these things recently. As of now, I’m sitting in my room staring at my computer screen typing up this very story, all because I have nothing better to do. This might seem a tad strange, but it will make sense in time. Honestly, I’m not sure if this story will reach anyone. I guess I’m just doing this for myself. Something very strange has happened to me, and I can’t seem to make heads or tails of it. All I know is it’s getting very lonely in here. Very, very lonely...

    It all started about a month ago. I had formed a habit that after returning home from work, I would set all of my things down and go back outside, walk over to my local convenience store called the Pit Stop, buy a Coke, and head back home. It was part of my one-step program “Walk around outside more often” by placing a goal at the end of the journey to entice me. Admittedly, it wasn’t always a Coke. Sometimes it was a smoothie. Sometimes it was a donut, or a bag of chips. Whatever it was, I had a specific goal in mind whenever I walked, and even if I ultimately didn’t buy anything, it did get me out of the house more often.

    This information may seem superfluous, but I feel it’s important for understanding the circumstances I now find myself in. I live on the corner of my street, no more than fifteen minutes away from the Pit Stop, assuming I don’t rush. That means the total time spent walking will be roughly thirty minutes. Good? Good. Now, sometimes I would bring along my MP3 player to help pass the time by revisiting old favorites, but other times I would forget or leave it home on purpose, and let me tell you, fifteen minutes there and fifteen minutes back leaves a lot of time to think about things. Before all this happened, I thought about a lot of existential stuff.

    Have you ever thought about what’s behind you? No, seriously. What’s behind you is obviously a space that exists, but you’re not consciously aware of what’s behind you without context, and even then, you don’t fully perceive it until you turn around and look. Is it possible the space behind you is different than what you see when you turn around? Since we don’t have 360-degree vision, we can only ever perceive that which our eyes can reach and nothing more. So there is always a “front” and “behind” regarding our perception.

    What about the people behind us? You’ve heard someone’s voice without seeing them, right? It’s pretty easy to tell where it’s coming from unless something is in the way. Those people obviously exist whether we perceive them or not... At least that’s what I’d like to think. Simultaneously, we cannot perceive things from their perspective. Even if we somehow unlocked the ability to see through their eyes, we are still simply experiencing something else through our own perception, like seeing a basketball game on television. In this instance the other person would be the camera, and we’re merely looking through the camera. This led me to an idea that I like to call the sole consciousness. Assuming reincarnation does not occur, we only ever perceive the world through one consciousness, our consciousness. As I said before, even if we looked at the world through another’s eyes, it would be no different than them acting as a camera that we decided to peer into, and once we can no longer experience the world, we enter into a stage many people refer to as death. Here’s a question, though: are we aware when we’re dead, or do we cease being aware of anything? Does it all go black? I’ve often thought about what the world would be like if our senses go away. Take away our eyes, and we can no longer see. Take away our ears, and we can no longer hear. If you take away all of our senses, we could no longer perceive anything. Would there really be a difference between true death and consciousness absent of experience? In any case, this all leads me to the unusual happening that occurred that one fateful walk to the Pit Stop.

    After coming home from work and setting down my things, I made the conscious decision to not grab my mp3 player and walk to the Pit Stop while thinking about the strange existential thoughts I mentioned above. As I said, this would ordinarily take me fifteen minutes of mostly uninterrupted casual walking there and another fifteen minutes back. On the way to the store, I decided to consciously commit my surroundings to memory. I slowed my pace far more than I normally would, doing everything I could to soak in the streets. I memorized every sign, every house, and every crack in the sidewalk. I don’t know why I did this, I just... Did. If I had to guess, that would have at least doubled the time it took to get to the Pit Stop, and I spent just as much time confirming my memories on the way back. However... The longer I took to soak in these memories, the quieter it became. When I was certain I had perfectly memorized my surroundings, I took one last look around. Everyone was gone.

    Now, what do I mean by this? I do not mean that the houses were gone, nor the street signs or the like. The cars were there too, but only the ones in parking spaces. There were no cars driving along the road, nor were there pedestrians passing me by. It wasn’t particularly cold, since it was in the summer, but there was a bit of fog in the distance of every direction. It must have just come in, I thought, for there was no such fog when I first left my home. It was a strange feeling. It was a place I had been to before countless times, but now it felt... Wrong somehow, like I was somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be. Everything went back to normal once I reached the Pit Stop, but the memory of that place, the space in-between where I started and my destination stuck with me.

    Interestingly enough, I was not the only one to have experienced this sensation. In fact, the internet had provided me with a name for this place: liminal spaces. A liminal space is most often defined as, “the time between what was and the next,” and I couldn’t think of a better way to put it. I had never heard this name prior to the experience, and yet as soon as I started looking, I found myself flooded with information and eerie photos—places that were familiar and yet more than a little uncomfortable. The photos created the same sensation in me as when I found myself alone on the way to the Pit Stop. That feeling of something not quite right. And that’s when I realized I had been in a liminal space once before.

    Back when I was a child, there was a time when I and the rest of my family were getting ready to head over to a pizzeria. I was the last one to approach the car when my mother told me she had forgotten her purse and asked if I could go get it. So, being the obedient child that I was, I headed back inside the house to look for it. Now, I don’t want to criticize my parents’ choice of homes, but the place had a lot of corners and bends, plenty of spaces where it felt like something was waiting behind them, only disappearing once I could see into those spaces. As my parents’ room was on the second floor, I passed by more than one of these strange corners and bends, all lit by simple fluorescent bulbs. My time going upstairs and looking for my mother’s purse while everyone waited outside was the most uncomfortable I had ever felt, and I hadn’t thought about why until now. I made sure to shut all the doors on my way out, but that didn’t help either. Being alone in such a large house with so many places for something to hide behind... I wanted to scream. I didn’t tell my family that I felt that way, because the feeling disappeared as soon as I stepped outside. I guess you could say that memory had been filtered out. Not erased, but brushed under the rug.

    After spending so much time thinking about my experience and reading about the experiences of other people, I came to dread going outside. And it wasn’t just because I had a name for that feeling, either. Remember how I said I had taken an unusual amount of time to study my surroundings before I went to the store? Guess how long it took me to get to the Pit Stop and back?

    Thirty minutes.

    It felt so surreal. I wasn’t sure if I was remembering things wrong, remembering too many things, or if I had somehow tapped into another layer of reality I was never supposed to see. Up until then I hardly noticed my surroundings. But... Was it because I consciously chose not to remember, or because my brain kept filtering that information out? These thoughts plagued me for days on end, and it made even navigating my own home feel treacherous at times. Technically, I lived with two other people who took up other corners of the home and we split the mortgage, but our schedules were so different we almost never saw one another except on weekends, and even then, we were usually busy with our own lives. So, for a few hours at a time, I felt that existential emptiness close in on me.

    After a while, I managed to shake off the feeling and return to my normal routine. It’s just my imagination, I thought. I’m thinking too hard about ordinary things. And that’s what was supposed to happen as I’m sure it happened to everyone else. But I didn’t know that for sure. After all, I was the sole consciousness.

    Though my mind had calmed down, there was still a twinge of paranoia in the back of my brain. Thus, I started timing my walks to the store. There were some minor variations in the time (I mean why wouldn’t there be?), but there was something off about the numbers. I can’t tell you when I started noticing, but even though my timer told me thirty minutes, it didn’t feel like thirty minutes. Remember how I said I committed the walk in-between to memory? At first there were small changes, like a missing crack, or a sign I thought was taken down. Then it was more obvious. A missing car, a missing wall, a missing house. Even though the time spent was the same, the space in-between was shrinking. And then one day, I stepped outside my home, turned the corner, and there was the Pit Stop. The time? Fifteen minutes.

    I couldn’t believe it. I knew it had to be a trick of the mind. Clearly, I had filtered out everything I saw on the way, and as soon as I turned around, there would be the street I walked down to get here. But... That’s not what I saw when I turned around. I saw my house, as well as the other streets nearby it. And behind me once more was the Pit Stop. What happened to that space? Where had all the cracks and cars and homes gone? And... Where were the people?

    I grabbed my Coke, paid the man at the register, and exited the Pit Stop, walking back home. It took another fifteen minutes, but it felt like only a few seconds had passed.

    Then it got worse.

    The next day when I got back home and set my things down, I felt something closing in from behind me. Outside it looked relatively normal, save for a thin layer of fog in the distance. But when I opened the front door, I found myself in the Pit Stop. The man at the register didn’t so much as blink at my hasty arrival, nor at what was behind me through the doorway.

    “Come back for another Coke?” he asked me.

    “Yeah...” I said, avoiding eye contact.

    I passed the man his money, turned down the receipt, and stepped back into my home.

    Just my imagination... I thought. Just my imagination.

    The rest of the day proved ordinary, but the fear of what would be different the next day haunted me all night. I kept looking out the window, wondering what would be different, what would be missing. Nothing seemed out of place from within the house. Nothing at all... But then, when I woke up and got ready for work, something already seemed off. All the windows had their blinds down, shutting out the morning light. I couldn’t twist the handle, I couldn’t look underneath through the window, I couldn’t do anything! I then turned my attention to the door, a sinking sensation building in my stomach as I approached the peep hole.

    Looking through the peep hole, I couldn’t see anything. It’s not that it was dark, it’s that there was nothing there. The feeling of something closing in on me from behind returned. I couldn’t bear the thought of turning around, but I did in the end. And there on the couch was my jacket, my laptop bag, my lanyard, and... A Coke.

    I checked the time. Hours had passed me by. I turned on the TV. Nothing. I tried my radio. No signal. Just white noise. The world around me was shrinking, closing in on me. I couldn’t breathe. I knew that if I could somehow get outside, the feeling would go away, and everything would be back to normal. I ran to the front door and grabbed hold of the doorknob, but it was locked! I tried to unlock it, but it wouldn’t turn! I couldn’t so much as wiggle it. The door and its lock had become a static object.

    “Let me out! Let me out!!!” I screamed. I slammed my shoulder into the door, kicked at it, and even tried to break it down, but nothing I did could even so much as scratch it. I clawed at the blinds and yanked at the strings as hard as I could, but they just wouldn’t open.

    Perhaps this seems childish, but after that I ran into my room, shut the door, barricaded it, and hid under the covers. Whatever was happening, I wanted it to stop. I wanted it to end. Was this all because I started snooping around where I wasn’t supposed to? I cursed my curiosity. If only I left those filtered memories behind, if only I let myself forget...

    Whether it was the stress or the comfort of my bed, I eventually passed out. When next I awoke, I found myself trapped in my room. Just as before, nothing I did could open the windows or door. I slammed on the door as hard as I could, yelling, screaming, calling for help! But no one came. I wasn’t sure if there was anyone out there. My world had shrunk all the way to the borders of my room, and there was nothing I could do to change that...

    The clock on my phone and computer no longer work or seem to be able to connect to anything, and even if I try a stopwatch app, the numbers just fly by. It’s strange that the world hasn’t shrunk since I became trapped in my room, but maybe that was the logical conclusion all along. We only have one beginning and one destination, and if you live in a home you usually have a room. Where does your day begin? Where does your day end? It would seem that the beginning and the end had overlapped, and I was caught somewhere in-between.

    So that’s where I sit. Nothing to do except watch the walls, try the doorknob every once and awhile, and type away at my computer. I don’t feel hungry anymore, or thirsty, or even tired. The power never goes out, and the days, if there are any, never begin or end. I’ve had a lot of time to think about what this all means, and a lot of time to think of a solution. That’s when the thought crossed my mind. What if I’m in the space behind you? Not literally, of course. I just mean that space that exists but can’t be perceived. Was it possible that someone could find me and set me free? I’m not sure. I suppose if there’s still a world beyond these walls, then all it would take is for one of my roommates to notice my absence and open the door, but... What if everything was normal and I could no longer perceive it? Am I trapped in my own head?

    After all of this, I decided there was only one way I could escape. I sat at my desk, opened my laptop, and started typing out my tale. Maybe if I can get this message out, maybe someone will finally rescue me. That should work, right? It has to!

    Please... I can’t take much more of this. I just want to see the outside world again. It wouldn’t take much. Just a knock on the door, a twist of the handle, and one foot forward.

    Please...

    Please...

    Turn around.

[knuckleduster]

it sure is halloween

[jaeheewillalwaysbemyfav]

Can u make mc is the actual owner of Cerberus when he was a pup but villagers killed him because they thought that he was a monster and what how would the brothers and the undateable react to that when mc started to cry when she saw Cerberus headcanons

Oh Beans! I totally spaced when reading this and only have the brothers.

I'll post what I have here right now, but this will also be on AO3, so if you keep checking/subscribe there, you'll get a notification when I've added the undateables! It might not be for a while though, since I'm about to start school again ^-^;;

Who's a Good Boy?

The Guard Dog of the House of Hades. A vicious, three-headed hellhound that only the fallen Morningstar himself could command. Unfathomably massive. Devourer of demons, angels, and humans alike. Notoriously difficult to groom.

That is Cerberus, Lucifer’s extremely volatile pet named after a figure from Greek mythology for reasons no one truly understands. The creature has struck fear into the hearts of its housemates, and the Devildom at large, for what feels like ages.

So when MC cries upon seeing the wolf-dog for the first time, none of the brothers are especially surprised. How could a human cross such a monster’s path and live, after all?

Except those who weep in fear usually don’t then barrel full-tilt into one of the monster’s furry legs, babbling incoherently about how they thought they’d never see him again.

One of Cerberus’ heads leans down to the human, and the brothers panic, fearing the worst. It opens its mouth, revealing razor sharp fangs—

And licks MC’s entire body in a saliva-filled canine kiss. Now covered in tears and drool, MC laughs as they shake themself off, teasing the hellhound by saying that they already showered today, thank you very much.

“So, did you miss me as much as I missed you?” they ask, giving Cerberus’ central head some under the chin scritches (the only part of its head they can currently reach).

Cerberus boofs loudly, enormous tail waving back and forth at an increasingly hazardous pace.

Lucifer

What.

Lucifer is dealing with a Lot right now. He almost lost the exchange student to his own dog, except apparently Cerberus used to belong to MC?! How?!

He orders Cerberus to back away from the human, part of him still convinced that this is somehow a combination of MC being mistaken and Cerberus playing with its food, but the hellhound actually growls at him and picks MC up by the back of their shirt, tossing them onto its back.

MC, in response, finds new places to scritch.

He stares at the scene for a few minutes, unable to process what his life has become.

Later, once Cerberus finally agrees to let MC leave, they explain to him that Cerberus used to be a puppy in the human world.

Obviously, he was immediately noted as strange due to his three heads, and the people of MC’s village believed him to be an omen of death. MC themself didn’t care, and just saw “lil’ Cerb” as a puppy like any other, albeit an exceptionally drooly one.

He used to be more or less normal dog-sized, but it quickly became obvious that Cerberus was growing fast, and would be much larger than even a wolf by the time he was done. He also became harder and harder to hide.

Unfortunately, one night they awoke to poor Cerberus being chased out into the night by a mob, never to return.

They assumed the worst, mourned, and got on with their life as best as they could. But seeing Cerberus— they knew it was the same dog as soon as they saw him — brought all those emotions right back to the surface.

It’s not hard to adapt to these strange circumstances. Lucifer is actually quite relieved to have someone who is both willing and able to safely help him in caring for Cerberus, and both MC and the hellhound delight in each other’s company.

Lucifer also won’t deny the pride he feels upon seeing MC, the one he loves, getting along so well with his son dog.

Mammon

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

The P A N I C of seeing MC within bite-chomp-murder-kill distance of Cerberus nearly killed Mammon.

What the hell is he supposed to do against that furball?! MC’s dead meat, a chew toy, he can’t save them again—

WHAT THE FUCK ARE THEY D O I N G ? !

Torn between passing out from fear and yelling about how brave and cool HIS human is!

So he kinda just… stands there, slack-jawed, as MC finds a spot on the creature that makes it thump its leg so hard the ground shakes.

Already he’s cooking up ways to use MC’s Cerberus-taming powers to get into all kinds of Shenanigans

Except he quickly learns that while Cerb is much more gentle with MC, it won’t let them distract it from its duties.

Has this resulted in MC semi-unwillingly riding Cerberus as it chases a terrified Mammon throughout the Devildom? Possibly~

Though when MC explains to Mammon how Cerberus used to be their dog, and what had happened to him… He can’t help but feel a touch more sympathetic to the hellhound.

Only a little bit though. It still does try and tear him apart whenever he gets too close, after all.

Leviathan

Levi’s fear metamorphoses into awe much faster than the others’. MC LOOKS SO COOL!! Riding the mighty Cerberus like a steed!

He desperately wishes he had the art skills to capture this iconic moment forever. But alas, a camera will have to do.

It’s a pretty good picture, the comparatively small human sitting on Cerberus’ back like something straight out of a fantasy novel. Levi even has a shot of them accidentally scritching a spot that makes Cerberus breathe fire (like a furry dragon!)

100% gets super emotional when MC tells him how they originally had— and lost— Cerberus as a puppy. It reminds him of his precious Henry 1.0 in some ways…

Begs MC to let him post the photos he took, along with their story as the caption. It’s just too good! It’s exactly like that arc in My Adventurer Boyfriend Keeps Adopting the Monsters He Beats in Combat and Now We’re Running Out of Space to Keep Them!

Like Mammon, Levi also quickly learns that just because he unlocked Cerberus’ tragic backstory, doesn’t mean that the hellhound will treat him any differently.

But sometimes, after a long “walk” with MC, the massive creature will be mostly asleep. And then, his hand shaking, MC will guide Levi to pet Cerberus’ flank. Its tail swishes softly, Levi’s own swaying in response.

Satan

He shakes his head and laughs, torn between relief, awe, shock, and lingering horror for MC’s safety. Of course they can tame even the ferocious Cerberus…

Guess all sorts of angry monsters like MC, huh?

He definitely wants to hear the story of MC owning Cerberus in the past, but first he’s going to drink in the absolutely dumbfounded expression on Lucifer’s face.

Toooootally doesn’t cry upon hearing MC’s story with Cerberus. No way, he’s still a cat person, he swears!

...No one is allowed to comment on Satan’s various burn injuries that occur over the next few weeks.

Not if they don’t want to be left with worse.

Asmodeus

OH SHIT!! Also, ewwwww

Once the fear for MC’s safety subsides, Asmo can appreciate the cuteness and hilarity that is MC with Cerberus. Truly no one is immune to their charms it seems, and their affections know no bounds.

...Is it that same quality that allows MC to continue to care for him and his brothers despite their past actions?

Asmo claims that the smoke from Cerberus’ fire breath is getting into his eyes, prompting him to leave. He has a good long stare-at-a-wall crisis for a bit.

Learning MC and Cerberus’ story only makes him mushier. Their tragedy got a happy ending after all!

As much as he loves MC’s charms, he still insists that they de-drool themself before touching him or any of his things. It stinks like brimstone!

Now if they need any help getting clean… That he can oblige~

Beelzebub

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH part 2

As one of the physically stronger brothers, when Lucifer’s not available it’s Beel’s job to groom Cerberus. He knows how dangerous that mutt is.

But apparently not for MC “Knows No Fear” over there!

As Cerberus continues to remain docile in MC’s presence, Beel starts to appreciate the cuteness of a human and their giant hellhound.

Unabashedly mushy upon hearing MC’s story about Cerberus. The themes of losing a loved one, only to find them much later in a new form… it kinda hits a little close to home for him.

(It’s not a perfect analogy: Beel knows MC isn’t Lilith, but having them as part of her legacy is undeniably cathartic. It’s why he doesn’t share these exact feelings with them, since he knows they’re uncomfortable with being compared to her excessively. Still, he can’t help but note the comparison.)

Naturally, he’s also very happy to have a very useful partner for grooming Cerberus. That living nightmare turns into an overgrown puppy whenever MC’s around. It’s much easier, and much safer, to work with this way.

Plus, it means he gets some quality time with MC! And there’s nothing quite like the fond smiles they share with him during these moments.

Belphegor

He has got to be dreaming. No way is this actually happening— nope, Mammon just stepped on his foot, and that hurt, he’s awake.

WHAT THE FUCK?!

Does MC not fear death? Is that it? Did that part of their brain just completely shut down when he killed them?!

Unlike the others, he can’t really shut down his panic. Sure, right now Cerberus is acting all cuddly, but that could change on a dime. That dog only listens to Lucifer, and right now all Lucifer is doing is staring gormlessly at it!!!

He nearly loses his hand trying to pull MC away from the creature (which it naturally did Not appreciate).

“Belphie, wait! It’s okay,” MC reassures him even as smoke blows out of Cerberus’ nostrils.

They explain their history with the hellhound, how they rescued it as a puppy and then lost it to the angry and frightened people of their village.

Belphegor can’t help but recall their expression when he told them about his imprisonment, the outrage there mingling with a much older emotion. Is that why they were so quick to help him?

He’s still wary of Cerberus. He refuses to be fooled by any facades the creature may be putting up.

But one day, MC invites him to one of their “playdates”. Cerberus watches him like a hawk, growling when he first approaches, but MC just shushes and soothes the monster until it allows him closer.

And maybe, after a few tense minutes, the pair begin to relax around each other.

And maybe, Lucifer has a picture of MC and Belphegor curled up in Cerberus’ fur as the three take a mid-afternoon nap.

And maybe, Belphegor lets him keep it.

[kohanayaki]

.:Time And Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 8

You come across an old photo book full of untouched memories and decide to go through it with Harry, though there are some things you decide he doesn't need to know and some things you'd rather forget. (Takes place mostly through Marauders era flashbacks)

LINKS:   CH 1   CH 2   CH 3   CH 4   CH 5   CH 6   CH 7   CH 8

Ch 8 .:Snapshots, Secrets, and Sentimentality:.

“Hey, Harry?” you called out into the living room where said boy was reclined on one of the large charcoal armchairs, “I found something you might want to see.”

His eyes widened behind the round frames of his glasses as you carried over a large, leather bound book that was thick with laminated pages. You sat across from him on the couch, setting it down on the coffee table in front of you.

“We still have a few more hours before the others arrive for the meeting,” you said, “and I don't know when the next time we'll be able to talk like this will be.”

“Wait,” he said before you could open the book, “you aren't staying?”

“I can't,” you smiled at him sadly. A statement that was true for a multitude of reasons you'd rather not get into with your godson. “I wanted to show this to you before I left, though.”

With a wave of your hand the book's pages gently flipped open, revealing a number of old magical photographs. The page you had turned to had a picture of James, and you could see Harry's eyes lock onto it. His father was beaming at the camera, holding up the Quidditch cup as two of his Gryffindor teammates held him up on their shoulders.

“Now you see why everyone always tells you how much you look like him,” you chuckled, “that's him in his fifth year, same as you now.”

Harry stared in wonder at the photo. He really did look like his dad. James was slightly taller, lankier, but he had the same disheveled waves of dark brown hair and boyish grin as Harry. Their faces were nearly identical; except for the eyes, of course.

The photo right next to that one was you wearing a Seeker's crest. You were posed, standing with the rest of your team with a wide smile on your face. Harry's brow furrowed as he spotted an unknown yet somehow familiar boy next to you with curly black hair and light eyes.

“Who is that?” he asked, “he almost looks like—”

“Sirius?” you finished. Harry nodded. “That would make sense,” you said, “that's Regulus, his younger brother.”

“I. . . didn't know he had one,” Harry said in wonder.

“Well, you know he doesn't talk about his family often.”

“Right. . .” Harry trailed off for a moment, “but you knew him? His brother?”

“Yeah,” you said, feeling a tug at your heart, “We were friends, for a while.” Your eyes subconsciously looked up towards his room which now stood empty. “He, um. . . he died, some time ago.”

“Oh,” Harry said, not knowing what to say, “I'm sorry. . .”

You gave him a small smile in thanks, trying to shrug off the grim feeling the memories brought up as you turned the page of the book to the next.

This photograph was one that was moving— you and James in your Quidditch captain's uniforms. He was reaching over, ruffling your hair while you were ducking to avoid him, pushing his face away and turning his glasses askew despite the grin on your face.

“We both became team captains in year six,” you said, smiling fondly at the picture, “we'd squared off as Seekers the year prior, so it was only natural. You were already playing Seeker your first year, weren't you?”

“Yeah,” Harry said bashfully, “although my first time catching the snitch was bit rough to say the least.” You laughed at that, recalling the time he told you the story of how he had caught the snitch with his mouth his first match.

“You take after your father, for sure,” you said, “he was always a creative flier; came up with all sorts of purposefully confusing strategies as captain. By the time the other team figured out what he was doing, he'd have already caught the snitch and the match would be set.”

Harry felt pride fill his chest at your words, glad he was taking on his father's good qualities.

“So you were a Seeker your fifth year and played until you graduated,” he recalled, “but I thought you said you played Chaser before?”

“Well, sort of?” you admitted, “Not officially. My introduction to the game was unconventional, to say the least. . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1974   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

James and Sirius huddled with the rest of the Gryffindor team on the Quidditch pitch, gearing up for the match. The energy around them was electric, the stands packed with students and faculty from every house.

“Remember, keep to the left,” Halls, their team captain, said sternly, “and take advantage of Parkinson's blind spot. If Rollins and the rest of the Chasers start scoring above 40 before halftime, we'll go in for the Pincer.”

Sirius nodded, determined to win this match. It was the first one of the season, so a lot was riding on this. However, his attention was diverted as the crowd's cheers suddenly grew louder. The Slytherin team had arrived on the field, marching towards them. Something Sirius didn't expect to see, however, was you, dressed in Chaser's robes next to his brother.

“What are they doing here?” Sirius scoffed as he spotted you, “they're not even on the team!”

“Rollins took a spill last practice,” Vanity said as she stepped forward. The Slytherin captain had a wicked grin on her face, “(L/n)'s a last minute replacement. Don't bother trying to argue, I've already cleared it with Madame Hooch.”

“Convenient of you to tell us ahead of time,” Halls' eyes narrowed.

“Is there a part of 'last minute' that escapes your understanding?” Vanity rolled her eyes.

“Well, no matter,” Halls said, “you've lost your best Chaser, we don't have anything to worry about.”

“That classic Gryffindor confidence,” Vanity smirked, “we'll see about that. I don't choose just anyone to fill in.”

Halls scoffed as Vanity turned on her heels, not bothering to look back.

“Seems you've found yourself another game to lose, (L/n),” James smirked at you.

“Have I?” you arched a brow, “what's our score now? 10-9?”

“10-10 since I got you with that scalene water in the Prefect's bathroom,” James reminded you, “how was being half fish for a day?”

“Marvelous, felt just like you,” you quipped.

“Settle down, everyone,” Madame Hooch said, stepping out onto the field, “Potter, (L/n), I know you two have taken to pranks on each other in class, but I don't want to see a lick of that up in the air, understood?”

“Perfectly,” you said, a smirk sneaking onto your face as you mounted your broom. 

“Wouldn't dream of it, professor,” James said with sarcastic flair.

Sirius eyed you cautiously. Gryffindor had flying class with Hufflepuff, so they'd never actually seen you fly before, but there was no doubt that if Vanity approved of you, you had to pose some kind of threat.

“Take your marks,” Hooch said, and you rose off the ground in unison, staring each other down. “Let the match begin!” With a strong, well placed kick, the Quidditch case was thrown open to release the bludgers and the snitch, and as she threw the quaffle up in the air you lunged forward into a dive. You were just about to grab the ball when a blur of red and gold nearly knocked you off your broom.

“Potter has the Quaffle!” Kingston commentated from the box, “he passes to Longbottom, who evades Catchlove and Regulus Black. Longbottom scores! The first ten points go to Gryffindor!”

The patrons in the red and gold stands went wild, the roar deafening in your ears. This was definitely different from flying class. You had to get it together.

The hair on the back of your neck suddenly stood straight up when something whizzed right past your head as you barely moved to dodge it. Sirius gave you a passive shrug from the other side of the field, a beater's bat resting on his shoulder.

“Tosser,” you grumbled under your breath. You had half a mind to throw him right through the left-field hoops without his broom, but dealing with the bludgers wasn't your job; you just had to evade and score. You wouldn't let your team down.

Your eyes searched the skies for the quaffle again, and found it as you spotted a Gryffindor snatch it out of Catchlove's hands. You built up momentum, lowering your body to your broom handle as you picked up speed, swiping the ball from the red Chaser's hands before his eyes could register. You flew under him before their team could rearrange formation and spun around quickly, swatting the quaffle towards the lower right goal with the tail end of your broom. Their Keeper dove to block it, but was one second too late. The ball flew through the hoop and straight into Regulus' hands, who looped back around and threw it through the top right, leaving the Gryffindor Keeper too disoriented and too low in the corner of the goal posts to do anything about it.

“(L/n) outmaneuvers Johnson and scores!” you heard the commentary box boom, “Regulus Black follows up with another goal, we are 20 Slytherin to 10 Gryffindor, what a quick turnaround to start off the match!”

You huffed, impressed that Regulus was able to make the most of your shot. You knew he was Sirius' brother, but that was about it. He was a year younger than you, so you didn't have any classes together and never really talked to him before.

“Nice shot,” you said, flying next to him.

“Same to you,” he said with the slightest upwards quirk of his lips.

“Oi, keep it up you two!” Vanity shouted, hovering over you before dodging the bludger that flew her way, “Black, keep point on Johnson, he's off his game today. (L/n) I want you on intercept and watch for Potter.”

“Gladly,” you smirked, flying off towards the other side of the field. You were starting to feel more comfortable in the air, like you were when you were just flying by yourself; the sounds of the crowd disappeared over the wind rushing in your ears, and you were able to concentrate on your main objective:

Kicking James Potter's arse.

And that you did. The all too confident smirk that seemed to be permanently plastered to his face disappeared when he suddenly felt the weight of the quaffle leave his hands. A victorious smile graced your lips at his dumbfound expression as you threw the ball long to Regulus, who caught it with ease, swatting Johnson away like a fly before scoring another goal.

“(L/n) passes to Black who scores another ten points for Slytherin!” Kingston announced, “it looks like the two rookie players are really hitting their stride now. Choosing (L/n) as a last second fill in is really paying off!”

Sirius' eyes narrowed, grunting in frustration as he hit another bludger your way. Regulus' head turned at the sound of the crack of the bat and signaled over to one of your Beaters, who tossed the bat his way just in time for the Slytherin to send the ball flying back towards his brother. Sirius cursed under his breath, rolling to the right and spinning out of control for a moment before reorienting himself.

“Hooch, what gives!” he shouted, “penalize them!”

“Fair play under protection,” Hooch denied him, “you've been taking headshots, Black. Be grateful I'm not docking you.”

Sirius grumbled a few choice words under his breath before flying back into the fray.

“Thanks for that!” you called over to Regulus.

“Don't mention it,” the boy said, his expression still fairly neutral save for the slight smirk on his face. How the hell was he so calm during this game anyways?

You continued to work with Regulus throughout the match; you'd found a system that worked, and your captain told you to roll with it. Pass after pass you intercepted and scored, mainly targeting Potter not just because Vanity had told you to, but because it brought you a considerable amount of personal enjoyment.

That's when you saw it— a tiny, nearly imperceptible flash of gold that whizzed by your peripheral vision. Neither of the Seekers had caught sight of it yet, but you watched as it zoomed low towards the ground, hovering just beneath one of the crowd stands.

“Oi, Talkalot!” you shouted over the crowd at your Seeker, “Dive low at Hippogriff, now!”

You'd only had  a few hours to look over the strategies that Vanity laid out for you, but you knew the Slytherin team had come up with code words for each quadrant of the Quiditch pitch so you could alert your Seeker if you saw the snitch without the other team knowing where it was. You hoped to Merlin you'd gotten the code right, and you exhaled in relief as Talkalot zoomed past you, taking a sharp dive straight down.

“Nice eye, (L/n)!” she shouted over her shoulder, her voice trailing off as she went after the snitch at top speed.

Sirius' eyes widened as he saw the sporadic move from your Seeker. That could only mean one thing.

“Halls, they've got eyes on the snitch!” he shouted to his team captain who cursed under his breath, taking off in Talkalot's direction, but her lead was too great.

“She's got it!” Kingston hollered into the mic, “Lucinda Talkalot has caught the golden snitch, scoring 150 points for Slytherin! Our score comes out 50 Gryffindor to 230 Slytherin, and this match is over!”

“Slytherin wins!” Madame Hooch proclaimed from her broom.

Everyone in the emerald stands cheered so loudly you thought their tents would topple. You couldn't believe the amount of adrenaline coursing through your body in that moment. It was a complete sensory overload as you were bombarded by the Slytherin team, mostly comprised of people you hardly even knew, and thrown on top of their shoulders and they cheered for you.

“What a game, (L/n)! I never knew you could play!”

“Where the hell have you been all this time, eh?”

“You better try out next year or you're dead!”

You laughed at the last comment from Vanity, people buzzing around you as soon as you were set down. You broke away from the congratulatory comments and pats on the back, however, as you spotted James across the field. You couldn't help but rub this in his face a little.  

“Why so blue, Potter?” you grinned as you bounded over to him, “what was that about me 'finding another game to lose'?”

For once, James had no clever comeback, and his face flushed as you laughed at his expression.

“I do believe that leaves us 11-10,” you said cheekily, doing an overly exaggerated bow before tossing your broom from your left hand to your right and stalking off.

“Not for long,” James said to himself once you were out of earshot, equal parts impressed and supremely annoyed. It was time for him to pay another visit to Zonko's. He'd show you blue all right. . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“After that year I tried out for a permanent position as Seeker,” you said, “your father and I concluded our prank war, Sirius and I put aside our differences, Lupin vouched for my involvement with the map, and the rest is history.”

“I seriously can't believe you became such close friends only two years later,” Harry said, shaking his head in bewilderment.

“Neither could we,” you said, “it was just a series of chance encounters that we learned we were more similar than we thought. I really do believe that friendship can come from anywhere, Harry. Even more so when you least expect it. So if there's anyone around you that you think you might never get along with, I'd say it's worth it to give them a chance.”

Harry paused at your words. There were more than a few people who came to mind.

You turned to the next page, which was a spread of you and the rest of the Marauders in more casual settings. One could clearly tell you had taken them of each other, if the shaky camera movement and blurry rendering were anything to go off of.

You smiled to yourself as you saw a photo of you and Remus asleep in the Hogwarts library, lightly leaning against each other with your eyes peacefully closed. Suddenly the camera flash jolted through the photograph, and you two bolted upright. You glared at the person taking the photo and reached out to smack the camera away, the picture going blurry for a moment before resetting. Harry laughed at the brief repeating scene, as did you.

“Your father took this one,” you huffed, “because of course he did.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1977  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You rested your head in your palm as you transcribed a few spells into your notebook. The lantern in front of you gave you just enough light to read the elaborate Latin, as the sun had long since set. Your eyelids felt annoyingly heavy, attempting to close on their own as you fought against them to stay awake.

“How are you holding up?” Remus asked with a slight grin, catching you jump awake at his remark.

You and Remus had gotten permission from Madame Pince to use the library after hours to study; after all, you two were outstanding students. If James and Sirius had made the request, they wouldn't have gotten so positive a reaction.

“I've been more awake in my life, but I really need to get this done tonight,” you sighed, “NEWTS start next week and I have to be ready.” You stared up at the boy who was looking at you with obvious concern. “I'm fine, Moony. And I don't want to keep you here, so whenever you want to head off to bed, feel free to.”

“It's no trouble,” he said, “I'll walk you back to your common room, at least. At this rate you'll fall asleep in the middle of the hall for Filch to find you.”

You gave him a light but well-meant glare, groaning as you turned your tired eyes back to the parchment in front of you.

“Why the sudden all-nighters anyways?” Lupin asked, “I thought you'd be plenty prepared.”

“My Charms marks haven't exactly been the best lately,” you admitted, “that's kind of important if I want to become an auror, Remus.”

“Really?” the lycanthrope said, surprised, “but you're always in the know on some spell or another I've never even heard of. You've even made some of your own, right?”

“Yes, but the Ministry wants people who can conjure a corporeal patronus, not someone who made up a spell that makes antlers grow on someone's head to make a very specific joke.”

“Well, I thought it was impressive,” Remus laughed, thinking back to James asking him 'why does my head feel so heavy?' “but I see what you're saying,” Remus continued, “Have you thought about Dumbledore's proposal? Joining the cause might call for some more specialized tasks that would fit you well.”

“Right,” you bit your lip, “I just. . . I don't know. It's a lot to take on. A big part of me is scared, Remus. I'm not like you guys. I can't just fearlessly leap into a battle without any second thoughts. James and Sirius gave their answers so quickly and. . . I couldn't say for sure right away like they could. Honestly, I was terrified, and I still feel guilty because of it.”

“Fear is wisdom in the face of danger, (Y/n),” Remus said, “It's nothing to be ashamed of. No one is forcing you to make this decision right away, nor are they requiring you do it alone. There's a war going on out there, (Y/n). No one would blame you for not diving into it headfirst.”

“Always the quoter of muggle proverbs,” you chuckled lightly, “thank you, Remus. Really.”

A quiet yawn snuck into the back of your throat, and you stretched out of your chair to try to get feeling back into your body.

“Maybe I should turn in soon,” you said, your voice already groggy, “just a few more transcriptions. . .”

Remus stayed by your side as you continued to work diligently, and he found himself smiling at your innate stubbornness. It was something he greatly admired about you; when you decided on something you stuck to it no matter what, sometimes to a fault. You fought to keep your eyes open, even as your head began to slope and your handwriting gradually became slower.

Lupin was beginning to tire himself, which surprised him. He was naturally nocturnal, after all, and usually had no issue staying up to the early hours of the morning. But the quiet scratch of your quill against the parchment, the occasional sound of a page turning, and the smell of your shampoo that wafted with the motion, all lulled him into a sense of ease that was much too easy to doze off to.

Just when he thought he might fall asleep, he almost jumped out of his skin as he felt a soft pressure on his shoulder. He looked to the side to see you sleeping peacefully, your head having slipped from your palm and onto the soft fabric of his sweater. His face flushed a deep red, and he thanked Merlin you were sound asleep. He was caught in between embarrassment and slight panic as he instinctualy wanted to wake you but also ensure you actually got to sleep tonight.

He meant to wake you, he really had, but his mind and body betrayed him, and without even knowing when, his eyes fluttered closed and he drifted off into quite possibly the best sleep he'd had in weeks.

The flash of the magical camera was blinding, even through your closed eyelids. White spots danced in your vision as you groaned, shielding your face from the camera.

“MORNING, LOVEBIRDS!”

Remus jolted awake, remembering last night's events in an instant and banging his head on the bookshelf beside him in an attempt to put some distance between you two.

James was stood there, camera in hand and doubled over in laughter.

“Prongs, you better start running before I skin you and turn you into a pair of shoes,” you growled.

“How is it that I always catch you two sleeping together?” James chortled, completely ignoring your statement, “Can't be long till you get it on to the other sense of the phrase.”

And that's when you lunged at him. Too bad he didn't take your advice for a head start.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“That twat,” you said fondly, a statement that about summed up your and James' friendship.

Harry found himself smiling as you recounted your memories with his father. It made him feel that much more grateful for what he shared with Ron and Hermione.

“Oh, Merlin,” you laughed as you saw the next picture. You, Remus, Sirius, Peter, Lily, and James were standing side by side, Slughorn smiling in the middle of all of you. “This was the first and last Slug Club party that we ever attended all together,” you said, “Like I mentioned, Lily and I had always gone, and—”

You caught yourself.

And Severus would pretend to be reluctant tagging along, you finished in your mind. After what happened he stopped attending the parties.

You cleared your throat.

“Ahem, well, we'd always gone together as friends but none of the boys ever went with us,” you said, “It was our last year, and Lily finally convinced James to tag along, because by then they were together and he was contractually obligated to do so. I talked Sirius into coming because Slughorn had been trying to get him to come for years, and I made Remus my plus one. So for the first time ever, we were all at the party.”

“So it was the last party of the year?” Harry asked.

“Um, well, no,” you laughed, “it was the last party we were invited to. Let's just say your godfather thought it would be funny to enchant the ice sculptures to chase Lucius Malfoy around the dance floor. I'll admit, watching that stupid blonde ninny run screaming from a rapidly melting octopus to the tune of a classical string quartet was pretty entertaining, though Slughorn obviously felt otherwise.”

Harry chuckled, clearly seeing the spark of mischief in Sirius' eyes, even through a photo. As Harry's gaze drifted across the page, he noticed an empty space near the corner of the book. A discolored square remained where a photo should have been, the caption reading 'Christmas, 1976.' As he saw the way you ran your fingers lightly across the page, he decided against asking you what used to be there. He instead turned his attention to the next photograph, which was one taken in an all too familiar setting.

“Hold on,” Harry said, pointing to the picture, “that's the Gryffindor common room!”

“Sure is,” you grinned, “that secret passage from the dungeons to Gryffindor tower went from being used purely for pranking purposes to a way for us to actually hang out together at night.”

You stared down at the photograph fondly. You all looked so much older than the first pictures. You and James were lounging on the couch, not bothering to hide the overly full glasses of firewhiskey in your hands. Sirius and Remus were sitting on pillows on the floor, caught in the middle of a fit of laughter before all four of you turned to the camera which flashed. A pang of hurt and anger hit you square in the chest as it did. Peter had been the one taking the photo.

“I remember this day,” you said, an expression Harry couldn't quite figure out on your face, “it was the night before graduation. Our last night at Hogwarts. . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1978   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A giggle rose in your throat as you took yet another drink of firewhiskey with James and Sirius, something that Remus insisted you were going to regret come morning.

“Oh, don't be suck a stickler, Moony,” Sirius guffawed, “tonight's the night! This time tomorrow we'll be packing up camp and heading out into the great unknown.” He made an expansive gesture with his hand that was cut off promptly by James smacking him upside the head.

“I'll brew a pepperup potion tomorrow if anyone really needs it,” you assured Remus.

“Not really the point, (Y/n),” he rolled his eyes.

As you leaned back to look at the four of them, all grinning like idiots and laughing, you felt a strange sense of sadness come over you. This was your last night at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the place you had spent most of your life and where you had met the people you could no longer imagine that life without. As the reality of that fact sunk in, you grew quiet.

“Everything's going to be different after tomorrow, isn't it?” you said.

The boys looked surprised at your sudden and intense declaration, and James was the first to break the tension you'd created.

“Aww, Fangs is getting all sentimental,” he grinned, slinging an arm over your shoulder.

“I will toss you out this window, Prongs.”

He laughed, poking you in the cheek, his smile only widening as you huffed in annoyance.

“It won't be different,” he promised, more serious but with that smile ever present on his face, “we'll still be friends. We'll still be a pack. And besides, after we graduate we could go. . . well, anywhere together! Just think, the five greatest heroes Hogwarts has ever seen, going on top secret missions from Dumbledore, saving the world!”

“It'll be dangerous, James,” you said, “there's a war going on, remember?”

“What war could ever break us up, huh?” he said reassuringly. You felt your heart swell at the remark. “And besides, you're gonna have to see me next year for the wedding anyways! Lily wanted it sometime in Spring.”

“. . .”

“WEDDING?!” you, Sirius, Remus, and Peter screeched, practically in unison as if it had been planned and rehearsed. Chaos erupted in the room, and you couldn't care less if you woke everyone in Gryffindor tower.

“You sly git, when were you gonna tell us?!” Sirius whacked his friend over the head with the map.

“I just did!” James said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head, “And ow, Merlin, Pads. . .”

“You hit me first!”

“I can't believe you just dropped that on us,” you said, “Lily actually agreed to this?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” James huffed.

“Hey, I'm just saying you tend to drift off into fantasy land when it comes to her,” you said, putting your hands up in mock surrender, “I was just making sure this was rooted in reality.”

Remus laughed at that, lifting the needle on his record gently.

“They have a point,” he chuckled.

“Yes, I actually proposed, and yes she actually agreed,” James said, a lovesick smile on his face, “I wanted to get married pretty soon after we graduated, and she had no problem with that. She said she'd want to start a family—”

“Oh GOD,” Sirius said, drunken horror on his face.

“An actual nightmare,” you joined in playfully, “imagine another one of you running around. Even Lily's DNA couldn't balance that out.”

“Alright, that's it,” James said, “you're not gonna be godparents anymore.”

“I'd be terrible at that anyways,” Sirius chortled.

“I disagree,” James said earnestly, and the comment struck Sirius completely off guard. He chocked up the welling tears in his eyes to the alcohol, taking another sip to mask it.

“You're going soft, Prongsy,” he grumbled.

“Look who's talking, tough guy,” James laughed, clapping his best friend on the shoulder.

“We should take a picture,” Peter suggested quietly, turning red when everyone stopped what they were doing to face him, “I-I mean, since (Y/n) was worried about things changing, and we're all graduating, a-and who knows when—”

“Good thinking Wormtail,” James beamed, pulling you closer and leaning down towards Sirius and Remus so you could all be in the frame.

Peter was looking down at his shoes, fidgeting with his wand.

“Peter, you don't wanna get in the picture?” you asked.

The large framed boy jumped at your voice, looking nervously between the people he had come to know as his friends. There was an oddly fearful look in his eyes that left as soon as it came— a look you wouldn't understand until years later.

“N-no, that's alright,” he said.

And that was one of the last peaceful days of your life you could recall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I haven't even thought about these in the longest time,” you said, staring at the faded photos, “it's crazy to look back on them. It feels both like yesterday and a hundred years ago.”

The next page immediately summoned a lump in your throat.

“This was their wedding,” you said, fighting to keep your voice level, “the year after we graduated.”

Harry looked down at the dozens of photos of the ceremony and party that took place after; James at the altar in his burgundy and gold embroidered suit, and Lily walking down the isle with a bouquet full of the flowers that shared her name. Remus raising a champagne flute to the large crowd of guests as he made a heartfelt speech. You and Sirius dancing under the floating lanterns made to mimic the Hogwarts ceiling.

“Your father never was one for subtlety,” you laughed lightly, “he wanted the ceremony to be as extravagant as possible. He pulled out all the stops. . . and then, the very next year, they announced that they were going to have you.”

You looked up at Harry, and the resemblance he shared with two of your closest late friends conjured feelings of happiness, love, and deep, cutting sadness all at the same time.

Your fingers moved to turn the page, wanting to move on to something else, but you froze as you saw the edge of the next one. So much for that plan.

“I think that's enough for now,” you said quickly, smoothing the page back down, “the others will be arriving soon for the meeting, you best get washed up.”

Harry was curious, of course, but he nodded, not wanting to press for anything else as he reluctantly headed back upstairs.

When you were left alone with the photo book you sighed, bringing yourself to turn the page to see a picture of you and Severus. You were beaming at the camera, proudly holding out your perfectly brewed Draught of Living Death, the photo having been taken by Slughorn to put up on his famous wall. One of your arms held the cauldron haphazardly, the other slung around Severus' shoulders. He certainly wasn't displaying your level of enthusiasm, but a small smile graced his expression, allowing his lips to fully curve upwards, which was as close to 'beaming' as he ever got. He looked so much younger— less burdened.

Right next to that photo was an older one from 1973. It was one you had taken from the top of the oak tree, with Severus and Lily looking up at you. You knew he'd be here soon, and you knew you should talk to him, but you found yourself stuck back in the cycle of doubting every opening spiel you came up with.

You groaned in frustration, snapping the book shut and resting your forehead on the table as stress flooded your being. You refused to live in this perpetual state of dwelling on what happened. You were ready to talk, you just had to take the first step.

Chapter 9 coming soon!

Taglist:  @sleep-i-ness, @blackpinkdolan, @parker-natasha, @ornella0910 @undertaker1827 @thatwierdo-koemi @nxstalgicnxbxdy @calaryssia @aleksanderwh0r3 @juggysgirlfriend @beautifulsweetschaos @kattirin @mialupin1 @crazy-obsessed-fangirl, @youcantbesirius @pan-pride-12​

[avissapiens]

Avis' Subject Symposium

A Crash Course in Trance Pt 1: Files.

(Art by Acro @sodalite96/https://twitter.com/sodalite96 Used with their permission. Go check them out!)

So often new subjects come to me and they don’t know the first thing about trance. None of its mechanics or methods, and so it can be very daunting for them; to step into such a wide abyss without knowing what to expect and what is expected of you. Many of them, even experienced subjects, expect that 100% of the work is and should be done by the Hypnotist. In truth both parties, the hypnotist and the subject, must be willing and able. But while it’s more readily apparent what must be done in order for a tist to be successful in their endeavors, many subjects/potential subjects can have a hard time understanding what it takes to get the most out of their trance, both from pre-recorded files, and from live sessions with a hypnotist. So, I’m here to give you what is in my opinion, the essential Crash Course to Trance, starting first with trancing to files.

Location

Find yourself somewhere nice, darkened and quiet, where you know you won’t be disturbed. This is already a hard task for a lot of subjects, living with other people always increases the chance that one might barge in on you, eyes glazed over, drooling all over yourself. Or that someone’s reckless pounding from above might shake the abyss so thoroughly that it takes you out of trance. But here is the thing I will stress. While physical quiet is a good idea as it allows you to focus on the words and suggestions streaming into your head. What matters so much more is internal peace and quiet. A location where you can feel at ease and safe and secure in yourself. A locked bedroom surrounded by mountains of pillows. Your favorite plush armchair that threatens to swallow you almost as well as the Abyss of Trance. The peaceful morning route on the train whose path you know so well that you can be lulled into trance just by the rumbling vibrations of the tracks beneath your seat. Wherever you can be comfortable.

The ideal location for trance I'm sure does exist in some government facility or therapists office somewhere, where you can be dropped into an isolation tank and be brainwashed clean. But most of us will never encounter that. So what matters then is the ideal mindset for trance, which is one of peace, safety, trust and assurance.

Equipment

This is one of the reasons so many love using files. Because its barrier to entry is so low. All you really need is something to play the file on and a place to listen. This is in contrast to working directly with a tist where you need, at the very least, A good internet connection, maybe a camera, Another person who you trust and who might be wildly inconsistent. Or working in person which probably will require a whole location and time-table to get set up. No, Files are relatively simple and they are no better or worse than live sessions for certain purposes. However, like all simple things, they can be elevated by improving its ingredients. A box cake from the store and a home-made chiffon are functionally the same, but their difference comes in the ingredients and technique.

So for trance I recommend spoiling yourself a little, at the very least buy yourself some decent quality over-ear headphones. Many file-makers (myself included) add frequencies and binaural beats underneath the main track. These serve the purpose of training your own brain’s waveforms to a certain frequency, thus more easily taking you into trance. But they can only be detected and properly registered with some good headphones. Additionally, The encapsulation of headphones provides a more immersive experience, isolating you and transporting you through the trance experience like you are in your own little world. Trust me. $600 studio headphones aren’t needed, But a good quality wired $40 headset goes a long way and is multi-purpose. A decent quality chair or mattress also will serve you well, not just in trance but in life.

Focus

Trance is a very tricky state that, like all things, requires practice and patience to master. Staying in trance is like a tightrope walk, teetering gently between the realm of consciousness and awareness, and the oblivion of total subconscious and sleep. It is the liminal space between the two, that subconscious space that makes trance and hypnosis possible. It is the state where your mind is most open to total suggestion and where magical things can happen. So how does one walk the line between these two modes of being? The answer is focus. Or rather Half-focus. Focusing without focusing. With descriptions like that it can sound like some kind of Zen riddle, but that is often what it feels like sometimes. Now this is not a laser focus like you would expect in a classroom setting, no one is being tested here. It's a more gentle and subtle focus. Like focusing on the world around you. Focusing on the wind on your face, the rise and fall of your lungs; On the way your body just goes loose and slumps over. The trick is to go in and to follow along, to listen and pay attention and try to comply with the suggestions given at first. Suspend your disbelief and engage with it unironically and without pretense. If you notice yourself drifting, don’t try to force it back to focus. Simply let it explore where it wants and to carry on organically. Nothing in trance needs to be forced. Simply focused on and allowed to happen.

Many subs oscillate in trance, their minds ebbing and flowing like a Sine wave; wavering in and out of trance, one minute aware, the next minute completely blank and asleep, and then for a brief moment in bliss. But it averages out to trance at the end of it. One must also not fear dropping out of trance. Focusing too much on that eventuality makes it a self fulfilling prophecy. Just Focus-not-focus-half-focus and enjoy yourself.

Apprehension

So many subjects look at files and their mind begins to spin with endless questions and anxieties. Worries about “losing themselves” or “changing too much” or “doing things they don’t want to do.” It’s a valid set of concerns for a new subject, uninitiated in the true mechanics of trance and only knowing of hypnosis what is shown in the media. Evil villains and monsters brainwashing our heroes to do horribly enticing and arousing things. So ingrained is this idea that it even crossed over into the allure of hypnosis files. And while I won’t say it's impossible for that to happen, I have 3 comments on it to ease your mind. First, with Files, one of the best things about it is that the subject gets to control practically every single aspect of the experience. When you do it, how many times you listen, and whether you listen at all to begin with. While all files should be clearly labelled with Content and trigger warnings and given an explicit summary of what they are and what they do, we know that is not the case. The amount of “Mystery files” I've seen on various forums irks me to no end. But it appeals to some people. However, for those who are not particularly fond of surprises you have the absolute power to review the file before you trance to it. You can give it a fully aware walk through, or just jump through segments to look for anything that doesn’t suit your taste.

Once you’ve done that however you might still be conflicted about some content. Not openly averse to it, but unsure. Dumbing down and IQ reduction are probably number one on this list. People are so terrified of somehow losing everything when they learn to stop overthinking things. For these concerns my second point suggests Introspection. Ask yourself “Why do I/Don’t I want this?” “Is it really as bad as my anxiety is making it out to be?” Because if you like something a lot, and really want it, then why should you deny yourself it out of fear? Even aside from dumbing, many desires are tinged with this air of guilt or fear. Terrified to acknowledge or grab hold of what we truly want and own up to it. In my estimation Hypnosis can be one of the best ways of dabbling with those desires because in trance there is no shame or judgement. Finally, my 3rd point says you don’t have to worry. If you really don’t like a suggestion you can always leave it behind. Your mind has built in fail-safes to reject suggestions you haven’t agreed to. A file cannot make you do something unless you want it, at least subconsciously. The old cliche goes “All Hypnosis is Self-Hypnosis” and what that fundamentally means is that as a subject you are the one who decides what happens. You consent and go along with things and allow them to happen to you. It is your desire, your focus, your arousal and your own subconscious that allows hypnosis to work. Subjects have more power than they know. I really hope it assists some people in vibing better with trance and files. I’ll be putting out another version for Live hypnotists later this month.

Thanks again to Acro for letting me use their Art, definitely go and support them on twitter. And If you want to support the creation of more hypnotic experiences that might help you practice that balance of focus then you can do so by subscribing to my Patreon, or to my Youtube channel. And if you want to interact more closely with me and my supportive community you can join my Discord server.

[thinger-strang]

okay okay centerfold au (like....the song by the j geils band) where billy mas moved out and away from hawkins (he hasnt quite made it to california yet, hes not ready) and hes starting to let himself be gay and think gay thoughts and ya know indulge himself every so often

which obviously means he picks up a magazine from the back corner of the corner store he frequents

he does for something a little tamer, maybe throws in a few playboys just because hes nervous (which doesnt even matter because the cashier doesnt even spare the covers a glance once scanned)

gets home and eagerly flips through it, feeling excited that he can have gay porn out in the open in his living room without fearing for his life

hes mostly just idly looking through it, folding down a few corners of pages he'll revisit when hes in the mood, just kinda reveling in the freedom of it

until

he flips to the centerfold, the showcase, the main event and it's–

"steve?"

billy fucking drops the entire magazine, it lays open, teasing billy with those big brown eyes and tantalizing moles

its a good shot honestly, pretty tasteful, definitely not modest, but billy can appreciate the artful quality

of course not in this moment, in this moment billy is panicking?

who the hell told steve harrington he was allowed to do that?

billy finds himself staring at the photo; steve as the centerpiece, draped across several laps, being groped by way too many hands for billy's liking, steve's got a half hard cock in one hand, the other possessively wrapped around the thigh of a man standing next to him, everyone's sweaty and there's splatters of something all over everyone, and there's hard and soft dicks and muscular legs and soft bellies and flexing muscles but only one face

steve stares at the camera–at billy–with an enticing stare that seems to ask "what are you waiting for?" and the barest hint of a tongue pokes out–

billy cant look away but wants to tear his gaze away to anything else, he wants to memorize the page, he wants to burn it, he wants to frame it, he wishes it never existed, he wants to be in that room

billy thought he was over this silly crush on straight boy steve but heres he is, gripping another man's cock, letting another man's cock rest on his leg, letting other men hold him and touch him

it might be fine if billy hadn't seen steve in years, hadn't seen steve since he left that fucking hellhole behind but no, no!

steve harrington, the man who happened to be the centerfold of the one single gay magazine billy happened to pick up, was his upstairs neighbor

///

billy stares at the ground as he stops to get his mail, hoping, praying, that he'll be lucky and not run into anyone on his way home

prayers not answered

"hey billy, i haven't seen you in a while, you doin' okay?" steve asks cheerfully as he wiggles his own mailbox open.

"yup, doing just fine, thanks for asking" billy slams his box shut and hurries to the elevator without running and jabs the close door button a hundred million times

"woah hang on, hold the door!" steve calls after him, juggling his mail and his groceries that billy somehow didn't notice

steve makes it

fuck

steve's blabbering on about.... something, billy can't hear a word he's saying, he focusing on thinking about anything other than–

sweaty

magazine

dick

nude

moles

dick

dick

dick

billy is begging for any thought, anything, to cross his mind, anything but that stupid centerfold

"hey are you sure you're okay?" steve asks in a far too nice voice

"i told you i'm fine, please just leave me alone?" billy grits out

"i thought we were past all that" steve says in a sad voice

billy sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose

"we are, i'm just having an off day, got this killer headache ya know?" he lies through his teeth

"oh okay, gotcha, i'll be quiet" steve mimes zipping up his mouth

why is that worse why is that hot?

it's billy's floor and he can't get into his apartment fast enough

pulls out his dick and jerks it a few times before cumming right there in his kitchen floor

///

things don't get better

at all

billy avoids steve like the plague, which it wasn't like hung out on the regular, but theyd chit chat in the elevator or say hi when passing each other

so it was just awkward when billy would see steve in the hallway and immediately turn the other way

so it's not that surprising to wake up on a saturday morning to angry pounding on his door

"i'm coming, i'm coming, hold your fucking horses" billy grumbles as he pulls on a shirt and walks to the door

yanks it open to find a grumpy steve with his hands on his hips

"what gives hargrove? you said we were fine yet avoid me any time we so much as make eye contact? did i do something?"

billy has not had enough sleep to handle this conversation

"no you didn't do anything, it's kinda hard to explain just–" billy opens up his door to invite steve in

steve shoulders past billy and plops onto the couch

"coffee?" billy asks as he rubs his eyes

"im good" steve bites out

great

billy rolls his eyes and gets busy making himself a pot, trying to figure out how to say this, what to even say that would make this remotely okay

"oh my god" steve gasps

"what?" billy groans

he turns around and sees steve holding the magazine, clutching it really, something close to horror drawn all over his face

billy left it out on the coffee table as some sort of sick twisted 'fuck you' to neil

"shit shit SHIT i can explain–"

"no no i get it, um... i think i'm going to go, just... yeah i'm sorry i'll just–"

and with that steve was gone

///

this is worse, so so so very much worse

they either need to talk about it or billy needs to fucking find a new apartment

billy comes home after a long day at work to find steve knocking at his door

"hey–"

"jesus christ you scared me!" steve jumps into the wall

"sorry i kinda... snuck up on you, what are you doing at my door?" billy adjusts his backpack

"i, um... i wanted to explain? or talk? i get why you were avoiding me, i honestly forgot that came out this month" steve is twelve shades of the prettiest blush billy has ever seen

"hang on, let's go inside, i don't really wanna talk about this in the hallway"

steve's shoulders relax and he pressed himself into the wall to let billy open his door

steve sits awkwardly on the couch as billy hang up his bag and jacket and starts taking off his boots

"i... don't really know where to start" steve chews on his bottom lip and fidgits with his fingers

"i'm gay" billy blurts out

"what?" steve laughs

"i mean, i have a gay porn magazine, you're all nervous, i figured i'd break the ice?" billy shrugs

steve laughs and looks ten times lighter

"those pictures are older, i did them to help pay some bills while i was inbetween jobs, it was for a smaller thing, a blog or something, i dunno, it payed good so i said yes, i was desperate"

steve tuns his hands through his hair and breathes

"the guy who took the pictures asked if i'd be okay with him selling them to a bigger magazine, he said i'd get half the profits so i said yes"

steve shrugs and looks out the window

"so you just... did it for the money?" billy asks

"yes and no, i'm gay–well not gay, i'm bi but i'm... into dudes and all that, but mostly just to pay the bills"

steve finally meets billy's gaze with an almost scared look but more of a 'what are you gunna do about it' look

a lot like the one in the magazine

"that's cool, pretty brave too" billy says casually and leans back into his chair

"yeah... i'm kinda scared my job is going to find out that my dick is all over a magazine" steve laughs nervously

"you'll be fine, if it helps, you'd make a killing as a porno model"

billy grins wickedly in steve's direction

steve tries to smile back but it turns into a grimace

"i don't think it's weird, by the way... and while i don't think my crush on you from high school has quite gone away, i'm not going to like, make a move ot try to do anything" billy nudges steve's toe with his own

"okay" steve smiles for real this time

"okay" billy smiles back

"you really had a crush on me in high school?" steve smirks

"oh god, yeah, it was so bad, i didn't know what to do so i was just... an ass!" billy laughs

steve laughs along too and it's just comfortable, more comfortable than they've been ever

"do you wanna go get dinner?" steve smiles lopsidedly

"what!"

"like a date, do you want to go on a date with me?"

"it won't be weird?" billy asks earnestly

"not unless you make it weird"

billy grins and stands

"then let's go on a date!" he hold out his hand an hauls steve up

///

they're walking in comfortable silence, bumping into each other's shoulders, trying to make the other drop their left over box

they get to billy's door and kean against it, very much in each other's space

"you wanna know a secret?" steve asks with a mischievous glint in his eye

"sure"

"i had a crush on you in high school too" steve smiles and rests his forehead against billy's

"oh yeah!" billy leans into steve's touch, their noses bumping

"hell yeah" steve closes the distance and presses a soft kiss into billy's lips

[darthfrodophantom]

Ectoberhaunt Day 5: Ouija Board

Summary: To get into the spooky season spirit, Tucker and Sam convince Danny to play a video game late at night, and Danny isn’t pleased about the subject of the video game.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34303123 

Too Close to Home

“Let me get this straight,” Danny interrupted. “I fight ghosts - real ghosts - on a nightly basis. And now that I actually have a free night you want to take up the time that I should be sleeping to fight fake ghosts?”

He shook his head as he looked at his computer screen, the only light in his entire bedroom aside from the digital clock that showed the hour: 11:45. From the first-person view of the computer game on his screen, he watched the avatars of both of his friends attempt to throw basketballs into a hoop.

“But this is way more fun,” Tucker’s voice said over Danny’s headset. “And it hurts a lot less! Ah! Dang it Sam - you messed up my throw!”

Sam cackled triumphantly. “Better pay more attention to your timing then.”

Tucker groaned as his avatar abandoned the basketball for spray paint cans, which he chucked at Sam. “Besides Danny, we’re not fighting ghosts: we’re hunting them.”

“Fine, fight, hunt, whatever. I still do both of them,” Danny argued.

“Not like this you don’t,” Tucker grinned. “God he’s gonna get creamed.”

“You know Danny, maybe we should let you go to bed. You’re gonna ruin my perfect streak,” Sam teased.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Or maybe you’ll actually do better because you have a true ghost hunting professional on the team,” he defended. He had no idea why he was bragging - he’d just been given an out and given the late hour he should take it, but now it felt like he needed to defend his pride as a ghost hunter. …That thought sounded a little too similar to something his parents would say and he quickly dismissed it. “Besides, I played the tutorial, I know what I’m doing. I’m just trying to figure out why we’re doing this.”

“Because it’s spooky season,” Tucker replied with a hint of sarcasm.

“We are only five days into October, Tucker, and if you’re gonna keep doing this all month I am going to hit you with the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick,” Sam threatened.

“I dunno, it might be worth it,” Tucker teased. “What do you think Danny?”

Danny shook his head, even though none of them could see it. “As the only person in this group who has actually been hit by the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick, I would back off,” he advised.

“Listen to Danny Tucker,” Sam chuckled as her avatar walked over to the white board to set up the hunt. “He’s actually speaking wisdom for once. Now come over here and pick out your gear.”

The playful teasing between best friends stopped as they actually got serious and picked out the gear they would need for their mission. Since Danny had no money, he couldn’t really participate in the conversation, but it seemed like Tucker and Sam had played this enough to know what they needed to bring. Sam started the mission, and their avatars found themselves inside the trailer looking at another whiteboard.

“Alright, looks like our ghost is named Thomas Clark and he responds to all of us,” Sam informed the group while Tucker’s avatar walked over to the shelves to equip supplies.

“Well that’s a dumb name for a ghost,” Danny complained as he looked at the bulletin board next to the computer. He had to squint at his screen to read them, but the articles were fairly legible and contained ghost stories he remembered hearing his parents talk about. It also had a recent article that he actually remembered running in USA Today proclaiming Amity Park as the most haunted city in the world - he didn’t know whether to feel proud or annoyed.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Sam agreed, though her voice was laced with sarcasm. “He should have gone with Thomas Phantom instead.”

Danny rolled his eyes as Tucker burst out laughing. “Oh yeah, now that sounds like a proper ghost,” Tucker added between laughs.

“I knew I was going to hate this,” Danny groaned under his breath. “Can we just get this over with?”

Sam’s avatar turned to face the new whiteboard. “Alright, fine. Objective one: find out what kind of ghost we’re dealing with - standard. Objective two: witness a ghost event.”

“I am a ghost event,” Danny smirked, causing Tucker to burst out laughing again.

“Objective three,” Sam snapped, “capture a photo of the ghost.”

Tucker’s avatar grabbed a camera and snapped a picture of Danny’s avatar. “Got one!” he proclaimed, which drove both boys into laughter.

“Objective four,” Sam said louder, “get a ghost to walk through salt.”

“What? That’s dumb. Everyone knows that’s an old wive’s tale,” Danny complained as he shook his head. Did the creators of this game actually do any real research before they made this game?

“Are you regretting this yet Sam?” Tucker asked as he finally stopped laughing.

“Let’s just get in the house,” she groaned. Danny smirked in triumph, and he could tell Tucker was sharing a similar smirk on his end.

They divided up equipment between the three of them, but not before Danny could comment on the inaccuracies of each of the pieces of equipment and how useless they’d be in an actual ghost fight. From faulty science to just being plain incorrect, Danny made sure to have pithy comments about all the equipment. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much that it had to be accurate - he was not his parents - but as a ghost and a ghost hunter, it just felt a little more personal than he wanted to admit.

Because he was the newest one, Danny got stuck with the Spirit Book (“What? Are they trying to imply all ghosts can’t write? That’s alivist!”) and the EMF Reader (“...Okay that one’s actually accurate”) because they were apparently the easiest to use. Laden down with their gear they walked up to the small house. Sam’s avatar unlocked the door and they headed inside. Danny noticed the tonal shift immediately. Outside he could hear wind and crickets chirping, but once he stepped inside the doorway, an oppressive silence covered his headphones. It reminded him of the sensation on a pressurised airplane and it unnerved and unsettled him...a lot more than he planned to admit to his friends.

“Alright, spread out,” Sam instructed. “See if you can find the ghost room.”

Ghost room, right. He remembered that from the tutorial. It had been the garage in the tutorial, so he figured he should start there. He walked back through the dark house, turning lights on as he went. It wasn’t because he was scared - absolutely not, he was a real ghost hunter! - it was just much easier to see. He pulled out the EMF reader and walked into the garage. It had an eerie quality to it, and he couldn’t tell if it was because he remembered seeing the ghost there last time (a mean looking (and inaccurate) ghost covered in blood and holding an axe) or if it was because he was alone and the room was so large, but he did not like being in here.

“You know, in the tutorial, the ghost was a bloody axe-man,” Danny remarked over the walkie talkie.

“Yeah, I think he’s standard in the tutorial,” Sam remarked offhand. He did not want to admit how good it felt to hear her voice in the oppressive silence of the house. They were clearly focused on their tasks, and that was a good thing, but it felt a lot better hearing their voices.

“Red blood,” he continued, simply to trigger more conversation. He didn’t get any EMF readings, so he gratefully left the garage. “Not ectoplasm. It’s like they didn’t even try.”

“Ugh, Danny, they’re going for a horror aesthetic, not something real,” Sam sighed.

“What? Ectoplasm-stains are horrifying,” he countered as he walked through the rest of the first story. Still no EMF readings.

“Only when it’s yours,” Sam said, and the weight of those words echoed in the silence of the house that made him stop moving for a moment. “No cold spots upstairs,” Sam informed them to break the silence.

“Yeah, no EMF downstairs,” Danny added. “I’m gonna check out the basement.” That’s where they loved to hang out in the real world, so it seemed the next best choice.

“Oh hang on, if you’re going down there I’ll go with you,” Tucker spoke up.

Danny stopped halfway down the stairs. “It’s fine, I’m pretty used to basements,” he joked weaky.

“Yeah, well the last time you went into a basement alone with untested ghost equipment you died.” Tucker said it light-heartedly as a joke, and it was one they’d said a bunch of times before, but somehow it just didn’t feel the same in this tense environment. It felt too...personal.

He waited for Tucker’s avatar to appear before they walked down the stairs together into the basement. Unlike Sam’s basement or his own, this basement had a much creepier feel to it, with the foreboding worn brick walls and discolored cement flooring. Honestly he was glad Tucker went down there with him because it just felt better having another person there.

“Sam, maybe you should get down here with the thermometer,” Tucker mentioned as they both walked through the basement. “Because we’re not--”

Danny whirled around as he heard something thud hard against the ground behind him while he jumped in his chair. The EMF reader in his hand jumped up to three dots and blared at them while he stared at a box of tools now on the ground. The ghost was clearly in the room. Danny half-expected his ghost sense to go off, but he had to remind himself it was just a video game. There wasn’t actually a ghost here.

“What happened?” Sam’s urgent voice said over the walkies.

“Ghost knocked something off the shelf down here,” Tucker said as his avatar walked over to the toolbox. “Ooh! We’ve got fingerprints!” he cheered as his avatar shined a light on a glowing handprint.

“Oh that’s so not how that works,” Danny complained, just to help lighten the mood. Honestly he felt a bit jumpy knowing that the ghost was in the room...and he couldn’t sense him. He’d dealt with invisible ghosts before, but his ghost sense always gave him a vague idea of where they were...except for now. He turned in his chair to check the room behind him. No ghosts, no ghost sense. It’s just in the computer game.

“Figures that the ghost would be in the basement,” Sam remarked as her avatar walked down the stairs and opened her journal. Right! Journal. Danny opened his and placed their one piece of evidence inside. The sooner they got all of those the sooner they could leave, and he really liked that idea.

“I’m not seeing freezing temperatures, but it is a little cooler than the rest of the house,” she continued. “So let’s start setting stuff up in here. Tucker get the DOTS up and I’ll place the camera. Danny place the spirit book.”

Okay, this wasn’t so bad with the three of them in the room. He could hear them moving around and he could see them, so it made him feel a bit better. And there was still no sign of the ghost. He put the spirit book down near the toolbox and looked away from it. Maybe the ghost wouldn’t write in it while he was watching? He didn’t know.

“Ooh!” Tucker cried excitedly.

“Did you see it in the DOTS?” Sam asked.

“No - Ouija board! Oh yeah!” Tucker cheered. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Oh I love these,” Sam agreed. Danny’s brow furrowed as he looked at the screen. Why were they acting so happy - didn’t they forget there was a ghost in this room with them?

“Hang on, let Danny try the Ouija board,” Tucker suggested. “You know, because he’s never seen it before.”

“Ooh good idea,” Sam agreed. Danny walked over to where they were and saw Sam’s avatar set down a light brown board.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sus about your motives right now,” Danny said. He had a bad feeling about this...

“No Danny, it’s fine. These are actually pretty cool in this game,” Sam assured him. She quickly explained how the Ouija boards worked in the game and what questions to ask, and against his better judgment, he walked over and activated the board. The numbers and letters glowed orange against the light color of the wood.

He decided to start with something easy, so he swallowed and forced his voice to come out clear. “How old are you?” He jumped in his chair and his avatar backed up quickly as the planchette moved across the letters.

“Y - O - U - N - G,” Tucker read. “A young ghost.”

“Oh God, I hope that doesn’t mean it’s the crawling baby ghost,” Sam sighed. “I really hate that one.”

“Ask it something else,” Tucker encouraged.

“I don’t know,” Danny hedged. For some reason the Ouija board set him on edge. Something deep in his gut did not like this. Even if it wasn’t real and he kept telling himself it wasn’t real, he didn’t like it.

“No dude, it’s okay,” he assured him. “You can ask two questions before a significant sanity drop. Just ask it one more and you can go back to the truck.”

He very much wanted to go back to the truck. He just needed a chance to regroup. He was a ghost and fought ghosts for a living and he could not understand why this game unnerved him so much. But Danny Phantom wasn’t scared of ghosts, any kind of ghosts, and he wasn’t about to show it on a video game. “Fine,” he groaned as he picked up the board again. “Who died?”

This time he knew what to expect, and didn’t jump as much as the planchette started moving. First to the D, then to the A. Over to the N, then looping back to the N. It ended on a Y.

All three of them stopped moving. The silence became even more deafening around them. Danny dropped the Ouija board and backed up as far as the game would let him. He felt a cold sweat drip down his back. Danny. It spelled Danny. How did it know his name?

“...That has got to be a coincidence,” Sam finally said after the silence that seemed to stretch on forever.

“The ghost’s name must be Danny,” Tucker suggested, voice full of forced bravado.

“...No it’s Thomas,” Sam said slowly. “It must just be reading your username to scare you,” she decided.

“No my...my username is GhostBoy,” Danny reminded them, finally feeling like he could speak.

“Is this game actually haunted? Danny, what did you do?” Tucker accused, voice bordering on hysterics.

“What? I didn’t do anything!” Danny yelled back. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He put a hand up to feel his breath - still normal temperature. He looked around his room. There wasn’t a ghost here. But how did it know his name? And that he did almost die in a basement? “You’re the one that told me to use it!”

“Okay, let’s just calm down,” Sam interrupted. “It’s gotta be a coincidence. Let me try it and see if it says the same thing or gives me my name. It could be a new update that checks the name on the Steam account or something.”

Sam moved closer to the board, but before she could touch it all their flashlights flickered.

“Shit!” Tucker yelled.

“Run!” Sam cried in a panic.

Danny followed them up the stairs to the main level. The idea of running from a ghost, not fighting it, was so foreign to him, but he had no choice. He was powerless here. No ghost powers, no weapons, no thermos. He was completely helpless against this ghost.

He bolted for the garage, the one other room he knew how to get to. Sam’s avatar was running next to him. He could hear footsteps behind him and he swore as he ran towards the garage. Sam diverted into another room, but he continued into the garage. He found a locker he’d opened before and rushed into it. He barely remembered to turn off his flashlight and he waited. Seconds passed and he realized he was holding his breath. No...not holding his breath. Not breathing. He looked down at his hands and saw the glowing white gloves. When...when did he change into his ghost form?

Sam’s voice over the walkie startled him. “What the--? Oh my G--” The walkie feed cut to static and then nothing.

“I...I think it got Sam,” Tucker’s voice said over the walkie. Danny turned on his flashlight and saw that it was no longer blinking. He threw his head back in relief. The hunt was over. He climbed back out of his locker, keeping the door open again just in case.

“Dude, she was running right next to me. It must have followed her instead of me,” Danny told him. “Ugh, well what are we going to do now? She’s the only one who knew what she was doing!”

“Wait, I thought you would be a pro because you’re a ‘professional ghost hunter’ - isn’t that what you kept saying?” Tucker teased.

“Yeah, well I lied! This is nothing like ghost hunting!” he argued as he walked out of the garage. He was going back to the trailer. “Real ghost hunters would bring some kind of weapon and wouldn’t just run around helpless! We should just call it.”

“What? No! We’ve got two more pieces of evidence to collect. And we haven’t done any of the objectives! Tucker retorted.

“Fine!” he snapped as he walked down the main hallway. “if you want to keep looking for clues you can, but I’m going back to the trailer to check--”

The front door slammed shut. His flashlight blinked again.

“Shit!” Tucker cried.

Danny could hear the footsteps behind him. He could feel a heart thumping in his headset. He started running off to a room but stopped. No, he was not running again. He was going to stare this ghost down and prove that Danny Phantom was not scared of some ghost. His image struck fear in the hearts of ghosts and his name carried respect in the Ghost Zone. He was not going to let some video game ghost get the better of him and spook him with some Ouija board trick.

He turned around to face it, camera at the ready. If he was going down, he was getting a picture of it. The ghost blinked in the hallway and Danny saw the cause of his anxiety for the first time. The ghost floated down the hallway, with white hair and a black and white jumpsuit. It...it was him. The ghost was Phantom.

He completely forgot to take a picture as his own image rushed at him. He saw two gloved hands cover over the screen and then everything went dark. He heard the crash of breaking glass, saw a strange underground cavern for a second, and then he was back in a foggy blue version of the house.

The ghost of Sam’s avatar approached him, and he heard her laughing over the headset. It sounded like she’d been laughing for awhile. “Oh my god Danny, did you see the ghost?” she asked between laughs.

“It...that was...oh my God,” he groaned. It all made sense. Spelling Danny was likely an Easter egg, a cute nod to his name of Danny Phantom. The fact that it happened in the basement was just a coincidence, because it’s a creepy spot and a commonly haunted area. He hadn’t summoned anything. He wasn’t being targeted by some ghost in the computer. It was just an Easter egg paying homage to him.

Suddenly all the stress left him and he laughed. God, it felt so good to laugh after all that panic. This game had gotten him so worked up and over what? Over a ghost that looked like himself? Suddenly it all seemed so silly that it scared him that much. He had felt actual dread and fear, enough to trigger an unconscious transformation out of a need to protect himself, but there weren’t actually any real consequences. Now he just got to walk around unhindered in this ghostly version of the house, but nothing else actually happened.

Sam laughed along with Danny. “So you did see it then?”

“It was...oh my god Sam it was me! It looked just like me!”

“I know!” she exclaimed. “As soon as I saw it I forgot to keep running and stared. So of course it killed me. I did get a picture though,” she bragged.

“Oh man. I meant to, but I was just too stunned.” Now that he felt much better, he decided to wander around the house following Tucker who, for some reason, was still trying to finish the level on his own.

Sam suspiciously stopped her laughing. “Wait...Danny, your voice sounds weird. Are you...are you in your ghost form?”

Danny bit his lip as a slight blush graced his cheeks. “I don’t want to hear it.” But the telltale whoosh of the glowing rings turning him back to his human form seemed to be all the confirmation she needed. Except, he didn’t hear her laugh.

“...Danny, I wanted to apologize,” she said, and that made Danny stop moving and look quizzically at the screen.

“What? Apologize for what?” he asked.

“For goading you into playing this game,” she clarified, her voice surprisingly serious. “While I’ve been hanging out here in the spirit world, I realized why this game set you off so much.”

“What do you mean? I never said it set me off,” Danny defended. How could she possibly know that? He thought he was playing it pretty cool.

“Oh please,” she scoffed. “You’re in your ghost form and you were panicking after the Ouija board thing.”

“Hey you would panic too if--”

“Danny I’m trying to say that I get it,” she interrupted. “Being near a ghost without your powers? Without any weapons? Being powerless? It’s one of your biggest nightmares, that your powers will fail when you need them. And this game, it’s too close to home.”

Danny stopped moving and stared at the screen, because she was absolutely right. This was too close to home. How many times did he have to check to make sure his ghost sense wasn’t actually going off? How many times did he keep thinking about how similar everything felt to his own experiences? How unnerved he was about a ghost in the basement? It was too similar to his real life...except he had the tools he needed in his real life. Not a flashlight and some dumb spirit book, but actual real tools and powers and weapons, but here they were all taken away from him. Everything he relied on to fight ghosts had been stripped from him in the game and trapped him helpless in a house with his friends. Of course that bothered him. It was, as Sam said, one of his more recurring nightmares.

“...Yeah I think I’m good never playing this game again,” Danny admitted, the closest he planned to get to acknowledging everything she said was true.

“Honestly? I don’t blame you,” Sam agreed softly. “I think it’s easier for us because we’re used to this role: when there’s a ghost in the area, we help figure out what’s going on and support you. It’s not all that different from this game,” she explained. Her ghostly avatar followed Tucker out of the house and he followed after them. “But when you’re used to doing the fighting and defending and can’t...I guess it’s probably harder to separate yourself from the game.”

He reached behind him and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. It was too similar to his daily life, and as he tried to argue at the beginning, he didn’t need to hunt fake ghosts poorly when he knew how to fight real ghosts well. “You know you sound like Jazz,” he pointed out, trying to lighten the mood and change the subject.

“Wow, you’re going to insult me after I tried to help you?” Sam scoffed. “See if I ever help you again!”

Danny smiled at the screen, glad to be back to the teasing. He definitely felt more relaxed and more like himself. “Oh look, Tucker’s finally calling it quits,” Danny observed as Tucker closed the door to the trailer.

“God, I can’t wait to find out if he saw you.” He could hear her grinning through the headset and honestly he felt the same. Out of all of them, Tucker would be the most excited about this addition.

The screen changed over to the menu screen, showing all their accomplished objectives. It also meant that all three party members could talk to each other again. “I can’t believe you left me!” Tucker complained. “It’s even worse when you’re in there on your own! Do you know how much more evidence we needed to collect? Um, a ton!”

Sam laughed, and Danny had to join in. “Okay so we are sorry about that, but Tucker did you ever see the ghost?”

“No, which is probably why I’m the only one that survived!” he complained.

“Oh my god Sam, he didn’t see it,” Danny groaned.

“Oh my god.”

“No wait, didn’t see what?” Tucker asked. His voice had calmed down a bit and was colored with curiosity.

“Tucker...the ghost was Danny,” Sam told him.

“Uh no, we clarified his name was Thomas,” Tucker corrected.

Sam and Danny both groaned. “No Tucker, the ghost was Danny Phantom. It was skinned to look like Phantom,” she clarified.

Tucker’s line sat silent for a long time before he finally exploded in a shower of shock, excitement, and regret. “NO WAY! No! That is so cool! I mean I knew the developers were fans, but this is so cool! Like literally the best tribute ever. Oh my god I can’t believe I missed it! No!” he cried. He was so loud into the microphone that Danny had a hard time believing Tucker didn’t wake his parents.

“It’s why both of us died,” Danny explained. “We were just too shocked seeing it.”

“We’re going back in. I need to see this,” Tucker demanded.

Danny bit his lip. He was not going back in. He meant it when he said he was done. He almost had his explanation on his lips before Sam spoke up first. “I doubt it’ll show up two times in a row. I Googled it and the skin will be here for the whole month of Halloween as a random draw, so you’ve got time to see it. But if you want to try again tonight, I’ll keep playing if you want. Danny...he needs to get some sleep.”

“What? No, it's so much easier with three people. Come on Danny,” Tucker pleaded.

“Nah, Sam’s right, I should go to bed. Gotta be rested for those real ghosts tomorrow,” Danny chuckled. “Besides, being killed by my own image was a little weird.” And also a little too close to home, considering some of his memories of Dan.

“Yeah, this game isn’t Danny’s jam,” Sam explained simply. He had a feeling Sam would talk to Tucker more about what they discussed while their avatars were dead, and honestly he didn’t mind. He didn’t want to keep secrets from Tucker, he just really didn’t want to talk about it any more tonight.

Tucker sighed. “Alright, fine, you’re off the hook. At least you gave it a try though.”

“I did, and you’re both gonna owe me one for doing it too,” Danny reminded them.

“Dude, pretty sure you’re in the negatives when it comes to IOUs from us,” Tucker pointed out with a good-natured laugh. “Testing out inventions, excuses at school, doing your homework, remembering the thermos when you forget it, distracting your parents…”

“Okay okay, I get it,” Danny groaned as he left the screen and exited out of the game. “Well fine, then I’m less in the negative now. And on that happy subject, I’m going to bed. Good night guys.”

“Good night Danny,” Sam replied. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Danny almost hung up on their private Discord server when he heard Tucker speak up. “Hey Danny, wait.”

“What?” he asked curiously, his mouse still hovering over the disconnect sign.

“The type of ghost...was a Phantom.”

I’ve never cross-posted on tumblr before, so this will be a first! I hope you enjoy!

[natigail]

Phil Lester is someone who makes me feel safe in a lot of ways. In honour of his birthday, I want to put some of them onto the page. 

I can turn to his videos when I want a laugh or a smile. I still pause to properly read all the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it text he likes to put in his videos. I go back and watch my favourite videos, sometimes just putting them on in the background while I’m doing something else. His voice is soothing to me, his laugh is utterly infectious (somehow even more when he’s laughing at his own silliness) and he is such an excellent storyteller. 

I started watching he was publicly out but even before that he’d created this lovely and comforting community of (overwhelmingly) queer people and I could never have predicted how many friends and how much comfort I’d find here. When I tentatively dipped my toe into his fandom, I was a newly maybe queer person. Now I’ve learned a lot more about myself and I’m proud to be who I am, in part because of Phil, Dan and the people I met through watching them.

I had only just started dabbling in writing fanfiction when I got really into (Dan and) Phil’s videos, and it was the most natural thing to start writing about the two of them. The fact that such creativity and art was always accepted, even encouraged by the boys themselves, is something I will never take for granted. I was scared about writing rpf at first, but it has brought me so much joy and made me grow so much as a writer to be allowed to borrow inspiration from these two wonderful men. I have told so many stories that are dear to my heart even now.

Videos these days are more of a rarer treat, since the gaming channel shut down and Phil started to relax his video schedule a little. I wholeheartedly support that and honestly I think it means that we get higher quality videos because you can tell that he has so much fun with what he chooses to make. He is creative, uncompromising and he’s secure with himself. I might start to miss him when we hit the two weeks mark but I know a video will come, sometimes when I least expect it - and often when I most need it.

Happy birthday to Mister Amazing himself and thank you for always creating such a safe space for so many people like myself. You are an inspiration and a wonderful lad and we are lucky you decided to pick up that camera and make your first video blog. 

[xoruffitup]

Annette: The AD Devotee Review

So I saw Annette on its premiere night in Cannes and I’m still trying to process and make sense of those 2.5 hours of utter insanity. I have no idea where to begin and this is likely going to become an unholy length by the time I’m finished, so I apologize in advance. But BOY I’ve got a lot to parse through!!

Let’s start here: Adam’s made plenty of weird movies. The Dead Don’t Die? The Man Who Killed Don Quixote? There are definitely Terry Gilliam-esque elements of the unapologetically absurd and fantastical in Annette, but NOTHING comes close to this film. To put it bluntly, nothing I write in this post can prepare you for the eccentric phantasmagoria you’re about to sit through.

While the melodies conveying the story – at times lovely and haunting, at times whimsical, occasionally blunt and simple – add a unique sense of the surreal, the fact that it’s all presented in song somehow supplies the medium for this bizarre concoction of disparate elements and outlandish storytelling to all coalesce into a single genre-defying, disbelief-suspending whole. That’s certainly not to say there weren’t a few times when I quietly chortled to myself and mouthed “what the fuck” from behind my mask when things took an exceeding turn to the outrageous. This movie needs to be permitted a bit of leeway in terms of quality judgments, and traditional indicators certainly won’t apply. I would say part of its appeal (and ultimately its success) stems from its lack of interest in appealing to traditional arbiters of film structure and viewing experience. The movie lingers in studies of discomfiture (I’ll return to this theme); it presents all its absurdities with brazen pride rather than temperance; and its end is abrupt and utterly jarring. Yet somehow, at the end of it, I realized I’d been white-knuckling that rollercoaster ride the whole way through and loved every last twist and turn.

A note on the structure of this post before I dive in: I’ve written out a synopsis of the whole film (for those spoiler-hungry people) and stashed it down at the bottom of this post, so no one trying to avoid spoilers has to scroll through. If you want to read, go ahead and skip down to that before reading the discussion/analysis. If I have to reference a specific plot point, I’ll label it “Spoiler #___” and those who don’t mind being spoiled can check the correlating numbers in my synopsis to see which part I’m referencing. Otherwise, my discussion will be spoiler-free! I do detail certain individual scenes, but hid anything that would give away key developments and/or the ending.

To start, I’ll cut to what I’m sure many of you are here for: THE MUSICAL SEX SCENES. You want detailed descriptions? Well let’s fucking go because these scenes have been living in my head rent-free!!

The first (yes, there are two. Idk whether to thank Mr. Carax or suggest he get his sanity checked??) happens towards the end of “We Love Each Other So Much.” Henry carries Ann to the bed with her feet dangling several inches off the floor while she has her arms wrapped around his shoulders. (I maybe whimpered a tiny bit.) As they continue to sing, you first see Ann spread on her back on the bed, panting a little BUT STILL SINGING while Henry’s head is down between her thighs. The camera angle is from above Ann’s head, so you can clearly see down her body and exactly what’s going on. He lifts his head to croon a line, then puts his mouth right back to work. 

And THEN they fuck – still fucking singing! They’re on their sides with Henry behind her, and yes there is visible thrusting. Yes, the thrusting definitely picks up speed and force as the song reaches its crescendo. Yes, it was indeed EXTREMELY sensual once you got over the initial shock of what you’re watching. Ann kept her breasts covered with her own hands while Henry went down on her, but now his hands are covering them and kneading while they’re fucking and just….. It’s a hard, blazing hot R rating. I also remember his giant hand coming up to turn her head so he can kiss her and ladkjfaskfjlskfj. Bring your smelling salts. I don’t recommend sitting between two older ladies while you’re watching – KINDA RUINED THE BLATANT, SMOKING HOT ADAM PORN FOR ME. Good god, choose your viewing buddy wisely!

The second scene comes sort of out of nowhere – I can’t actually recall which song it was during, but it pops up while Ann is pregnant. Henry is again eating her out and there’s not as much overt singing this time, but he has his giant hands splayed over her pregnant belly while he’s going to town and whew, WHEW TURN ON THE AIR CONDITIONING PLEASE. DID THE THEATER INCREASE IN TEMPERATURE BY 10 DEGREES, YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT IT DID.

Whew. I think you’ll be better primed to ~enjoy~ those scenes when you know they’re coming, otherwise it’s just so shocking that by the time you’ve processed “Look at Adam eating pussy with reckless abandon” it’s halfway over already. God speed, my fellow rats, it’s truly something to witness!!

Okay. Right. Ahem. Moving right on along….

I’ll kick off this discussion with the formal structure of the film. It’s honestly impossible to classify. I have the questionable fortune of having been taken to many a strange avant-garde operas and art exhibitions by my parents when I was younger, and the strongest parallel I found to this movie was melodramatic opera stagings full of flamboyant flourishes, austere set pieces, and prolonged numbers where the characters wallow at length in their respective miseries. This movie has all the elevated drama, spectacle, and self-aggrandizement belonging to any self-professed rock opera. Think psychedelic rock opera films a la The Who’s Tommy, Hair, Phantom of the Paradise, and hell, even Rocky Horror. Yes, this film really is THAT weird.

But Annette is also in large part a vibrant, absurdist performance piece. The film is intriguingly book-ended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character; and your own role blurs between passive viewer and interactive audience. The first scene has the cast walking through the streets of LA (I think?), singing “So May We Start?” directly to the camera in a self-aware prologue, smashing the fourth wall from the beginning and setting up the audience to play a direct role in the viewing experience. Though the cast then disburse and take up their respective roles, the sense of being directly performed to is reinforced throughout the film. This continues most concretely through Henry’s multiple stand-up comedy performances.

Though he performs to an audience in the film rather than directly to live viewers, these scenes are so lengthy, vulgar, and excessive that his solo performance act becomes an integral part of defining his character and conveying his arc as the film progresses. These scenes start to make the film itself feel like a one-man show. The whole shtick of Henry McHenry’s “Ape of God” show is its perverse irreverence and swaggering machismo. Over the span of what must be a five minute plus scene, Henry hacks up phlegm, pretends to choke himself with his microphone cord, prances across the stage with his bathrobe flapping about, simulates being shot, sprinkles many a misanthropic, charmless monologues in between, and ends by throwing off his robe and mooning the audience before he leaves the stage. (Yes, you see Adam’s ass within the film’s first twenty minutes, and we’re just warming up from there.) His one-man performances demonstrate his egocentrism, penchant for lowbrow and often offensive humor, and the fact that this character has thus far profited from indulging in and acting out his base vulgarities.

While never demonstrating any abundance of good taste, his shows teeter firmly towards the grotesque and unsanctionable as his marriage and mental health deteriorate. This is what I’m referring to when I described the film as a study in discomfiture. As he deteriorates, the later iterations of his stand-up show become utterly unsettling and at times revolting. The film could show mercy and stop at one to two minutes of his more deranged antics, but instead subjects you to a protracted display of just how insane this man might possibly be. In Adam’s hands, these excessive, indulgent performance scenes take on disturbing but intriguing ambiguity, as you again wonder where the performance ends and the real man begins. When Henry confesses to a crime during his show and launces into an elaborate, passionate reenactment on stage, you shift uncomfortably in your seat wondering how much of it might just be true. Wondering just how much of an animal this man truly is.

Watching this film as an Adam fan, these scenes are unparalleled displays of his range and prowess. He’s in turns amusing and revolting; intolerable and pathetic; but always, always riveting. I couldn’t help thinking to myself that for the casual, non Adam-obsessed viewer, the effect of these scenes might stop at crass and unappealing. But in terms of the sheer range and power of acting on display? These scenes are a damn marvel. Through these scenes alone, his performance largely imbues the film with its wild, primal, and vaguely menacing atmosphere.

His stand-up scenes were, to me, some of the most intense of the film – sometimes downright difficult to endure. But they’re only a microcosm of the R A N G E he exhibits throughout the film’s entirety. Let’s talk about how he’s animalistic, menacing, and genuinely unsettling to watch (Leos Carax described him as “feline” at some point, and I 100% see it); and then with a mere subtle twitch of his expression, sheen of his eyes, or slump of his shoulders, he’s suddenly a lost, broken thing.  

Henry McHenry is truly to be reviled. Twitter might as well spare their breath and announce he’s already cancelled. He towers above the rest of the cast with intimidating, predatory physicality; he is prone to indulgence in his vices; and he constantly seems at risk of releasing some wild, uncontrollable madness lingering just beneath his surface. But as we all well know, Adam has an unerring talent for lending pathos to even the most objectively condemnable characters.

In a repeated refrain during his first comedy show, the audience keeps asking him, “Why did you become a comedian?” He dodges the question or gives sarcastic answers, until finally circling back to the true answer later in the film. It was something to the effect of: “To disarm people. It’s the only way I can tell the truth without it killing me.” Even for all their sick spectacle, there are also moments in his stand-up shows of disarming vulnerability and (seeming) honesty. In a similar moment of personal exposition, he confesses his temptation and “sympathy for the abyss.” (This phrase is hands down my favorite of the film.) He repeatedly refers to his struggle against “the abyss” and, at the same time, his perceived helplessness against it. “There’s so little I can do, there’s so little I can do,” he sings repeatedly throughout the film - usually just after doing something horrific.

Had he been played by anyone else, the first full look of him warming up before his show - hopping in place and punching the air like some wannabe boxer, interspersing puffs of his cigarette with chowing down on a banana – would have been enough for me to swear him off. His archetype is something of a cliché at this point – a brusque, boorish man who can’t stomach or preserve the love of others due to his own self-loathing. There were multiple points when it was only Adam’s face beneath the character that kept my heart cracked open to him. But sure enough, he wedged his fingers into that tiny crack and pried it wide open. The film’s final few scenes show him at his chin-wobbling best as he crumbles apart in small, mournful subtleties.

(General, semi-spoiler ahead as to the tone of the film’s ending – skip this paragraph if you’d rather avoid.) For a film that professes not to take itself very seriously (how else am I supposed to interpret the freaky puppet baby?), it delivers a harsh, unforgiving ending to its main character. And sure enough, despite how much I might have wanted to distance myself and believe it was only what he deserved, I found myself right there with him, sharing his pain. It is solely testament to Adam’s tireless dedication to breathing both gritty realism and stubborn beauty into his characters that Henry sank a hook into some piece of my sympathy.

Not only does Adam have to be the only actor capable of imbuing Henry with humanity despite his manifold wrongs, he also has to be the only actor capable of the wide-ranging transformations demanded of the role. He starts the movie with long hair and his full refrigerator brick house physique. His physicality and size are actively leveraged to engender a sense of disquiet and unpredictability through his presence. He appears in turns tormented and tormentor. There were moments when I found myself thinking of Conan the Barbarian, simply because his physical presence radiates such wild, primal energy (especially next to tiny, dainty Marion and especially with that long hair). Cannot emphasize enough: The raw sex appeal is off the goddamn charts and had me – a veteran fangirl of 3+ years - shook to my damn core.

The film’s progression then ages him – his hair cut shorter and his face and physique gradually becoming more gaunt. By the film’s end, he has facial prosthetics to make him seem even more stark and borderline sickly – a mirror of his growing internal torment. From a muscular, swaggering powerhouse, he pales and shrinks to a shell of a man, unraveling as his face becomes nearly deformed by time and guilt. He is in turns beautiful and grotesque; sensual and repulsive. I know of no other actor whose face (and its accompanying capacity for expressiveness) could lend itself to such stunning versatility.

Quick note here that he was given a reddish-brown birthmark on the right side of his face for this film?? It becomes more prominent once his hair is shorter in the film’s second half. I’m guessing it was Leos’ idea to make his face even more distinctive and riveting? If so, joke’s on you, Mr. Carax, because we’re always riveted. ☺

I mentioned way up at the beginning that the film is bookended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character, and between reality and performance. This comes full circle at the film’s end, with Henry’s final spoken words (this doesn’t give any plot away but skip to the next paragraph if you would rather avoid!) being “Stop watching me.” That’s it. The show is over. He has told his last joke, played out his final act, and now he’s done living his life as a source of cheap, unprincipled laughs and thrills for spectators. The curtain closes with a resounding silence.

Now, I definitely won’t have a section where I talk (of course) about the Ben Solo parallels. He’s haunted by an “abyss” aka darkness inside of him? Bad things happened when he finally gave in and stared into that darkness he knew lived within him? As a result of those tragedies, (SPOILER – Skip to next paragraph to avoid) he then finds himself alone and with no one to love or be loved by? NO I’M DEFINITELY NOT GOING TO TALK ABOUT IT AT ALL, I’M JUST FINE HERE UNDER MY MOUNTAINS OF TISSUES.

Let’s talk about the music! The film definitely clocks in closer to a rock opera than musical, because almost the entire thing is conveyed through ongoing song, rather than self-contained musical numbers appearing here and there. This actually helps the film’s continuity and pacing, by keeping the characters perpetually in this suspended state of absurdity, always propelled along by some beat or melody. Whenever the film seems on the precipice of tipping all the way into the bleak and dark, the next whimsical tune kicks in to reel us all blessedly back. For example, after (SPOILER #1) happens, there’s a hard cut to the bright police station where several officers gather around Henry, bopping about and chattering on the beat “Questions! We have a few questions!”

Adam integrates his singing into his performance in such a way that it seems organic. I realized after the film that I never consciously considered the quality of his singing along the way. For all that I talked about the film maintaining the atmosphere of a fourth wall-defying performance piece, Adam’s singing is so fully immersed in the embodiment of his character that you almost forget he’s singing. Rather, this is simply how Henry McHenry exists. His stand-up scenes are the only ones in the film that do frequently transition back and forth between speaking and singing, but it’s seamlessly par for the course in Henry’s bizarre, dour show. He breaks into his standard “Now laugh!” number with uninterrupted sarcasm and contempt. There were certainly a few soft, poignant moments when his voice warbled in a tender vibrato you couldn’t help noticing – but otherwise, the singing was simply an extension of that full-body persona he manages to convey with such apparent ease and naturalism.

On the music itself: I’ll admit that the brief clip of “We Love Each Other So Much” we got a few weeks ago made me a tad nervous. It seemed so cheesy and ridiculous? But okay, you really can’t take anything from this movie out of context. Otherwise it is, indeed, utterly ridiculous. Not that none of it is ever ridiculous in context either, but I’m giving you assurances right now that it WORKS. Once you’re in the flow of constant singing and weirdness abound, the songs sweep you right along. Some of the songs lack a distinctive hook or melody and are moreso rhythmic vehicles for storytelling, but it’s now a day later and I still have three of the songs circulating pleasantly in my head. “We Love Each Other So Much” was actually the stand out for me and is now my favorite of the soundtrack. It’s reprised a few times later in the film, growing increasingly melancholy each time it is echoed, and it hits your heart a bit harder each time. The final song sung during (SPOILER #2), though without a distinctive melody to lodge in my head, undoubtedly left me far more moved than a spoken version of this scene would have. Adam’s singing is so painfully desperate and earnest here, and he takes the medium fully under his command.

Finally, it does have to be said that parts of this film veer fully towards the ridiculous and laughable. The initial baby version of the Annette puppet-doll was nothing short of horrifying to me. Annette gets more center-stage screen time in the film’s second half, which gives itself over to a few special effects sequences which look to be flying out at you straight from 2000 Windows Movie Maker. The scariest part is that it all seems intentional. The quality special effects appear when necessary (along with some unusual and captivating time lapse shots), which means the film’s most outrageous moments are fully in line with its guiding spirit. Its extravagant self-indulgence nearly borders on camp.

...And with that, I’ve covered the majority of the frantic notes I took for further reflection immediately after viewing. It’s now been a few days, and I’m looking forward to rewatching this movie when I can hopefully take it in a bit more fully. This time, I won’t just be struggling to keep up with the madness on screen. My concluding thoughts at this point: Is it my favorite Adam movie? Certainly not. Is it the most unforgettable? Aside from my holy text, The Last Jedi, likely yes. It really is the sort of thing you have to see twice to even believe it. And all in all, I say again that Adam truly carried this movie, and he fully inhabits even its highest, most ludicrous aspirations. He’s downright abhorrent in this film, and that’s exactly what makes him such a fucking legend.

I plan to make a separate post in the coming days about my experience at Cannes and the Annette red carpet, since a few people have asked! I can’t even express how damn good it feels to be globetrotting for Adam-related experiences again. <3

Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to ask me any further questions at all here or on Twitter! :)

*SYNOPSIS INCLUDED BELOW. DO NOT READ FURTHER IF AVOIDING SPOILERS!*

Synopsis: Comedian Henry McHenry and opera singer Ann Defrasnoux are both at the pinnacle of their respective success when they fall in love and marry. The marriage is happy and passionate for a time, leading to the birth of their (puppet) daughter, Annette. But tabloids and much of the world believe the crude, brutish Henry is a poor match for refined, idolized Ann. Ann and Henry themselves both begin to feel that something is amiss – Henry gradually losing his touch for his comedy craft, claiming that being in love is making him ill. He repeatedly and sardonically references how Ann’s opera career involves her “singing and dying” every night, to the point that he sees visions of her “dead” body on the stage. Meanwhile, Ann has a nightmare of multiple women accusing Henry of abusive and violent behavior towards them, and she begins growing wary in his presence. (He never acts abusively towards her, unless you count that scene when he tickles her feet and licks her toes while she’s telling him to stop??? Yeah I know, WILD.)

The growing sense of unease, that they’re both teetering on the brink of disaster, culminates in the most deranged of Henry’s stand-up comedy performances, when he gives a vivid reenactment of killing his wife by “tickling her to death.” The performance is so maudlin and unsettling that you wonder whether he’s not making it up at all, and the audience strongly rebukes him. (This is the “What is your problem?!” scene with tiddies out. The full version includes Adam storming across the stage, furiously singing/yelling, “What the FUCK is your problem?!”) But when Henry arrives home that night, drunk and raucous, Ann and Annette are both unharmed.

The couple take a trip on their boat, bringing Annette with them. The boat gets caught in a storm, and Henry drunkenly insists that he and Ann waltz in the storm. She protests that it’s too dangerous and begs him to see sense. (SPOILER #1) The boat lurches when Henry spins her, and Ann falls overboard to her death. Henry rescues Annette from the sinking boat and rows them both to shore. He promptly falls unconscious, and a ghost of Ann appears, proclaiming her intention to haunt Henry through Annette. Annette (still a toddler at this point and yes, still a wooden puppet) then develops a miraculous gift for singing, and Henry decides to take her on tour with performances around the world. He enlists the help of his “conductor friend,” who had been Ann’s accompanist and secretly had an affair with her before she met Henry.

Henry slides further into drunken debauchery as the tour progresses, while the Conductor looks after Annette and the two grow close. Once the tour concludes, the Conductor suggests to Henry that Annette might be his own daughter – revealing his prior affair with Ann. Terrified by the idea of anyone finding out and the possibility of losing his daughter, Henry drowns the Conductor in the pool behind his and Ann’s house. Annette sees the whole thing happen from her bedroom window.

Henry plans one last show for Annette, to be held in a massive stadium at the equivalent of the Super Bowl. But when Annette takes the stage, she refuses to sing. Instead, she speaks and accuses Henry of murder. (“Daddy kills people,” are the actual words – not that that was creepy to hear as this puppet’s first spoken words or anything.)

Henry stands trial, during which he sees an apparition of Ann from when they first met. They sing their regret that they can’t return to the happiness they once shared, until the apparition is replaced by Ann’s vengeful spirit, who promises to haunt Henry in prison. After his sentencing (it’s not clear what the sentence was, but Henry definitely isn’t going free), Annette is brought to see him once in prison. Speaking fully for the first time, she declares she can’t forgive her parents for using her: Henry for exploiting her voice for profit and Ann for presumably using her to take vengeance on Henry. (Yes, this is why she was an inanimate doll moving on strings up to this point – there was some meaning in that strange, strange artistic choice. She was the puppet of her parents’ respective egotisms.) The puppet of Annette is abruptly replaced by a real girl in this scene, finally enabling two-sided interaction and a long-missed genuine connection between her and Henry, which made this quite the emotional catharsis. (SPOILER #2) It concludes with Annette still unwilling to forgive or forget what her parents have done, and swearing never to sing again. She says Henry now has “no one to love.” He appeals, “Can’t I love you, Annette?” She replies, “No, not really.” Henry embraces her one last time before a guard takes her away and Henry is left alone.

…..Yes, that is the end. It left me with major emotional whiplash, after the whole film up to this point kept pulling itself back from the total bleak and dark by starting up a new toe-tapping, mildly silly tune every few minutes. But this last scene instead ends on a brutal note of harsh, unforgiving silence.

BUT! Make sure you stick around through the credits, when you see the cast walking through a forest together. (This is counterpart to the film’s opening, when you see the cast walking through LA singing “So May We Start?” directly to the audience) Definitely pay attention to catch Adam chasing/playing with the little girl actress who plays Annette! That imparts a much nicer feeling to leave the theater with. :’)

[cuquitalocita]

smile and lie- feysand

AN: no, this isn’t a part three to kids and car rides (BUT IT IS IN PROGRESS)-  i just had a dream about it and had to write it- hope you like it :)

~~

“So we meet again.” 

Rhys grinned at the annoyed-looking redhead across from him. There was no doubt in his mind that the man wanted to strangle him every time he saw him and Rhys wasn’t sure if he could blame him. 

Folding his hands behind his head, Rhys leaned back in the uncomfortable office chair and gazed at his principal. 

“How’ve you been Mr. Vanserra?”

“Worse and worse every time I see you, Rhysand. Worse and worse.” His principal pushed his chair away from his desk; Rhys tracked the movement with his eyes in silence. 

“Not that I don’t love our weekly chats, Mr. Vanserra- because I do. I absolutely adore them.” The man rolled his eyes as Vice-Principal Helion walked through the doors and sat in the seat next to him, both now facing Rhys. He should’ve shrunk under their gazes. His grin only grew. “But why am I here? Again?” 

Helion sighed, his head falling into his hands and running over his face in blatant frustration. 

“Tell me this, Mr. Knight. You are aware that there are other students at this school, correct?” Rhys raised his brows. 

“This is news to me.” Helion ignored him, continuing forward. 

“And because of this, I and other faculty members have other students- other issues to worry about, than you acting up.” Rhys grinned as Mr. Vanserra nodded his agreement. “From the first day of your freshman year, Rhysand, you have been nothing more than a menace to the faculty and teachers in this institution.” 

Rhys felt kind of offended. He knew Mr. Tarquin liked him- even if he pretended not to. And he didn’t consistently try to make life any harder for them than they had to be. Sort of. 

“Being a distraction in class, using the fragile and- might I add- expensive lab equipment to perform practical jokes-” Rhys snorted at the mention of his and Cassian’s joke sophomore year. In his defense, the sulfur wasn’t supposed to react that much. “...disrespecting your teachers, trying the patience of your coach, and now vandalism.” 

Rhys kept his face impassive. He swore the principal had some sort of grudge against him. Any minor inconvenience and bam- Rhysand Knight was to blame. To be fair, he was to blame for this. But vandalism was a harsh term for it. He and Mor had gotten bored after school the day prior and had found a few half-empty spray paint bottles.  

It had been a short Baudelaire quote, not a threat of murder, and the white paint had been barely visible with its awful quality. Rhys held back the roll of his eyes- of course Vanserra would rail him for this. 

He crossed his arms over his chest, his leather jacket stretching uncomfortably, and eyed his superiors with thinly veiled disinterest. He opened his mouth to respond. 

“Look-” Whatever bullshit he was going to spew about his innocence came to a halt as the door to the office breezed open, revealing an out-of-breath girl. The men in front of him turned their attention to her as well, and Rhys breathed a silent sigh of relief from the momentary break. 

He gazed silently at the girl in the doorway, sporting clunky combat boots and a denim jacket, both splattered with a variety of paint colors. Her cheeks were flushed and her chest was heaving as if she had literally sprinted to the office, and her blue-grey eyes immediately pinned him in place. 

She was pretty- beautiful, even. But she was a complete stranger to him. 

Rhys was sure her confused frown mirrored his own and the girl narrowed her eyes as Vanserra stood, folding his hands in front of him and clearing his throat. 

“Miss Archeron,” he greeted, tone cold. “Thank you for joining us.” 

She arched a brow, taking the seat next to Rhys’s own. She mimicked his own posture, crossing her arms in front of her and leaning back in her chair. Her boot tapped against the ground in a quiet rhythm. 

“My pleasure,” she replied, her tone holding more snark than it should, considering who was across from her. The only person Rhys was aware of who had the guts to speak like that to their superiors was him. 

But her voice was honey-sweet- it suited her. 

Still- he had no idea who she was. He tried not to turn to her as her lilac scent enveloped him and instead stared at the principal. 

“Now that we’re all here,” Helion took a deep breath and locked his gaze on the Archeron girl. “The two of you were caught vandalizing school property yesterday between the hours of three and four PM, using spray paint.”

If Rhys had water in his mouth he would’ve spewed it all over his principal as the words left his mouth. Yes, he had vandalized school property. Yes, it had been after school. And yes, he had used spray paint. But the girl sitting next to him had nothing to do with that. He hadn’t even seen her before now. 

It seemed she was thinking the same thing as she shot him a look from the corner of her eye, both of their gazes meeting in an amused, ‘can you believe this?’ Rhys was actually surprised the girl wasn’t glaring daggers at him for somehow dragging her into a mess she had no part in. 

Instead, she just watched the two men in front of her, her lips slightly parted as if in a silent laugh. Rhys noticed a small twinkle in her eye- a twinkle of amusement. 

Vanserra, however, did not find the entire situation amusing and slammed his palm flat down on the desk in front of them. Neither one of them flinched, instead meeting gazes again with intense eyes before turning back to the men in front of them. 

“I don’t know how things worked at your last school, Feyre. But here we don’t tolerate vandalism. It’s rude, destructive, and not to mention a federal crime. I’m not sure how you ended getting mixed up with Mr. Knight here, but it may be the biggest mistake you’ve made since coming to this school.” Rhys would have been offended if it hadn’t been the truth. 

The girl- Feyre, merely raised her brows until they scrunched together as he kept talking. 

“The two of you would be better off admitting to it now before we get the authorities involved. I’m sure the Velaris University of Arts would appreciate knowing exactly who they’re giving a scholarship to. Don’t you, Feyre?”

Whatever response he had expected to get out of her was rewarded with nothing more than the slight stiffening of her shoulders, which only Rhys could feel from beside her. 

What an ass. 

Clearly bringing up something that was important to her- and threatening to take it away for something she had nothing to do with. It must’ve been her hair, he realized. Although Mor was a bright blonde, the shitty camera quality could easily have painted her color darker, making it a golden brown like Feyre’s. 

Rhys was amazed at Feyre’s strong will. She simply stared back at Vanserra in silence, as if daring him to threaten her again. Helion finally sighed, looking at the teenagers with something like pity. 

“Look, you two. I understand that you’re young. And when you’re young, you start to make choices that seem fun because other people are doing it.” 

A sharp laugh shot out of Feyre beside him and she disguised it as a cough. Rhys found his own lips tilting into a smile. He placed his hand over his mouth to cover it as he caught Feyre’s eye once more, her blue-gray eyes glistened with knowing humor- his reflected the same thing. She had a beautiful laugh, and it had his heart flipping uncomfortably in his chest. 

Across from them, Helion cleared his throat. Vanserra was glaring daggers at the two of them and before he could open his mouth to say anything, Feyre’s hand flew to Rhys’s knee. She placed her hand there casually as if they were friends- or even something more- and did it all the time. He attempted not to jerk forward with the electric shock her touch sent through his body. 

What are you doing? Rhys asked her with his eyes.

Just trust me. She seemed to respond in a flash of gray eyes before turning back to the principal and fixing him with a disinterested gaze. 

“Look, you’ve got the wrong girl. I don’t know what time you have us allegedly vandalizing the wall, but I was at work all afternoon yesterday.” Now Rhys felt bad. He had accidentally dragged an innocent girl into this mess with him- and she even had an alibi. 

There was no way Vanserra would believe her, which only left Rhys feeling even more guilty. 

“Yesterday was my first day and I accidentally got lost walking by the football field. Rhysand saw me and skipped practice to walk me to work- that’s why he wasn’t there.” Rhys startled as the lie slipped easily through her lips. He had definitely not walked her to work yesterday. But she was covering for him, so he kept his face impassive. 

Vanserra’s eyes narrowed but Feyre looked unaffected. 

“You can check with my boss if you want. Rhysand was with me from three to… at least four forty-five. There’s no way he was the one you saw in the video. I’m not either, by the way. But again, you’re more than welcome to call my boss and confirm it with her. I’m sure she’d be delighted with your interruption.” 

Feyre’s fingers tapped a calm rhythm on his knee and Vanserra turned the color of his hair under her cool gaze. Rhys had to bite his tongue to keep from letting out a laugh. 

“Well, Miss Archeron, since you seem so inclined to prove your own- and Mr. Knight’s innocence, I may do just that.” Helion grabbed a pen and paper as the principal sneered at the two of them. “Her name?” 

Feyre grinned, her teeth glistening pearly white under the office lights. 

“Amren Cauldron.” 

Every bit of air seemed to be sucked out of the room as Helion’s pen stilled in his hand and Rhys swore his principal flinched. Rhys himself felt his own throat go dry and he attempted to keep his eyes from widening. 

Amren Cauldron was one of- if not the most terrifying woman in Prythian. She was practically a myth since Rhys was a child. The woman- or in most stories- the witch that lived in the corner of town-owned a small book store complete with strange spices and old relics along with books holding languages long since faded. 

A witch she might not have been. But scary and intimidating, not to mention mean? 

That she was. 

Rhys had seen her around town, her old age doing absolutely nothing to alter her terrifying exterior. She was unwrinkled and wicked, with her slits for eyes and cruel smile. 

She’ll eat you with those teeth, Cassian had told him one night when they were eight, hiding under the covers and telling scary stories. But there was no story to be told about Amren Cauldron. She was real, and she was scary, alright. Rhys still heard horror stories about her circling around school from time to time. He had even heard one last week. 

Rhys couldn’t think of a time he had heard a kind word out of her mouth, let alone heard her speak to anyone in town as a friend. Everyone he spoke to chose to keep their distance. Probably the smartest thing to do if he was being honest. 

But here Feyre was, working for her. And through all the myths of Amren eating children, Rhys gazed at Feyre Archeron and decided that he too could easily have a soft spot for the brunette. 

Feyre’s mouth tilted up to the side and she arched a brow. 

“Well? Do you need her phone number?” Feyre turned toward her backpack and began shuffling through it, one of her hands still burning a hole in his knee. “I know I have it here some-”

“That won’t be necessary,” Helion interrupted, his voice higher than it had moments before. Vanserra looked pale and cleared his throat, twisting his fingers on the desk in front of him. 

Rhys and Feyre shared an amused glance, an exhilarated blush dusting her cheeks. 

“We wouldn’t want to interrupt Ms. Cauldron at work,” Vanserra stated, glaring at the teenagers in front of him. 

The principals exchanged a silent conversation before turning back to them and sighing. 

“The two of you are free to go. Now that we think about it, the video was fairly blurry. It could’ve been anyone considering both people had hoodies on. For this reason- and for this reason, only, you’re off the hook.” 

Rhys and Feyre let out a collected sigh of relief. 

“But don’t think,” Vanserra interrupted. “That I won’t be watching the two of you. Vandalism is still a crime. Rhysand, I expect to see you at football practice every day this week.”

Rhys nodded his silent agreement. 

“And my scholarship?” Feyre pressed sharply. Rhys could tell Vanserra was holding back a roll of his eyes as Feyre’s gaze locked onto him. 

“The University will not be informed of this mishap. Your scholarship will remain fully intact.” Feyre smiled, falling back into her seat with a pleased nod.

“Well?” he snapped. “Out of my office.” 

The two teenagers needed no further encouragement as they grabbed their bags and practically booked it out of the office, only letting their grins show after they had turned their backs to the principals. 

By the time the door shut behind them, Rhys had managed to still his incredulity for the girl beside him. He still had no idea how he had never seen her before this encounter, and he knew he would have a hard time if he never saw her again

There was something about Feyre Archeron that intrigued him, and he knew- from the bottom of his soul, that she was something else. 

The two of them walked in silence through the empty halls, everyone still in the middle of their fifth period, leaving the hallways empty and eerie. But Rhys had always liked the silence- liked the solidarity in the middle of ongoing classes. 

He wouldn’t go back to class today. But he would show up for practice- just like he had promised. In the silence of the hallway, Rhys glanced at the girl next to him. 

Feyre’s hair was tied up in a ponytail and if Rhys looked close enough, he was able to see a small splatter of neon green paint by her hair tie. He hid his small smile. Who was this girl? 

“I haven’t seen you around before,” he finally said when the silence became too much. He had a feeling Feyre Archeron wasn’t the type to appreciate a ‘thank you for saving my ass.’

Her gaze snapped to his, gray eyes meeting violet before she gave him a small smile that almost had him floored. 

“You wouldn’t have. I’m new.” Rhys nodded. There was no way he wouldn’t have noticed her in years prior. He wondered just how long she had been walking the halls a stranger to him.

“Well maybe I’ll see you around,” he couldn’t keep himself from saying as Feyre stopped in front of a locker-her locker, and rolled in the combination, opening it to reveal a hot mess of clearly unfinished art projects. She took something out of her backpack and shoved it into the locker. 

“Not if you keep getting caught, you won’t.” 

“Excuse me?” Feyre shut her locker, the sound ringing through the empty hallway, and fixed him with a knowing look. 

“Never mind.” Feyre turned to walk down the opposite hallway but paused before reaching the threshold, turning back with a sly smile. Rhys ignored the pounding of his heart. “Nice pants, by the way.” 

He frowned, confused and unable to resist looking down at his pants. 

His jaw dropped. 

Rhys was an idiot. He hadn’t even bothered to check what jeans he had thrown on earlier that morning and had coincidentally chosen the same ones he had worn the day prior. The same jeans sporting splatters of white spray paint on the right knee. 

Rhys exhaled as he realized the explanation of Feyre’s earlier hand placement. She had been covering up the stain. Saving his ass- again.

He turned back to Feyre only to be faced with the back of her denim jacket as she walked down the hallway, leaving him in the dust. 

“Wait!” Rhys called out, hating how hopeful he sounded. What was he doing? He had never been this fascinated by a girl before. Feyre’s head whipped back around, her ponytail flicking her shoulder with the movement as she pinned him with a curious gaze. “What are your shift hours at Amren’s?” Whether or not he would actually have the guts to walk through the door was another story entirely. 

The smirk that curled on her lips could have been described as nothing less than purely wicked. 

“How should I know? I’ve never even seen the place.”

~~

yeah i think i’m only capable of writing high school feysand... 

@emikadreams​ (hope i did that right idk how tags work)​

[clusterbuck]

in the eyes of all posterity

(1.8k, rated T, complete) (read it on ao3)

tw: no one actually dies, but there's a lot of thinking about death

post-well, eddie makes an if you're watching this it means i'm dead video for christopher (and a little bit for buck, too)

Eddie sits in front of his laptop and stares at the grainy reproduction of himself on the screen. The image quality is—abysmal, really. And since posterity is kind of the whole point, he considers putting this whole thing on hold until he can acquire a different camera, something where the planes of his face are actually discernible.

But it’s taken him several days to psych himself up enough to actually do this, and if he stops now he isn’t sure he can make himself start again. And this is important.

Maybe the quality is a good thing, anyway. It smooths out the dark bruising under his eyes, blends it in and makes it looks like shadows from the uneven lighting of the room. Christopher doesn’t know the specifics of the well, but Eddie knows his kid is worried about him, knows he still looks like he was buried alive even days later. The mud washed off, eventually, but the haunted desperation in his eyes didn’t.

So maybe it’s a good thing that the camera softens some of it out. If, god forbid, this video ends up being the last thing Christoper has of him, at least he won’t look quite as wrecked as he currently feels.

He moves his mouse over to the record button, but he can’t make himself click it just yet. He’s never been too superstitious, but—the idea of preparing for his own death just feels deeply wrong. A small, irrational part of him worries that preparing for it is as good as letting the universe know he’s ready to go.

But the rest of him knows that when the universe decides to come for him, it isn’t going to care one way or the other how prepared he is. So he might as well do what he can.

Eddie takes a deep breath and hits record.

“Hey, Christopher,” he says, trying to remember to look at the camera and not his own face. “If, uh—if you’re watching this, it means something bad happened to me at work. Or—I guess it could have happened somewhere else, too, but work is most likely.”

Eddie is hit with a sudden, deep conviction that he should have planned this out. Should have prepared what he was going to say, written down some kind of script or at least some goddamned bullet points.

Except he tried that. Has been trying it for the past several days, really. And every time he managed to get something down, when he looked it over later it never felt genuine. It felt like someone took his feelings and shrink-wrapped them, freeze-dried them.

Rehearsing what to say might have made for a more coherent video, but if this is all he gets to leave behind, Eddie doesn’t need it to be coherent so much as he wants it to be authentic. He wants Christopher to remember the real him, and try as he might, he couldn’t get a pre-written script to feel real.

“There’s a couple of things I want you to know,” he says now. “First—and this is the most important one—I need you to know that whatever happened, it wasn’t my choice. I want you to remember that if I had a choice, I would come home to you every single night for the rest of time.”

Eddie sighs and scrubs a hand across his face. “But something happened the other day that reminded me we don’t always have a choice. This time it had a happy ending—I got to come home to you—but next time it might not. So I—I just wanted to make sure you’d have something to hold on to.

“The second thing I want you to know is something we’ve talked about before. I don’t know if you remember, I don’t know when you’re watching this—god, I hope you never have to watch this. But you might, that’s the whole point. So. It might be a while since we talked about it, but remember how I asked you who should look after you if I couldn’t be there?”

It was the first thing Eddie had done when he’d gotten home, that day after the well. Or—the second, after he’d spent just slightly too long in a shower just slightly too hot, trying to scald the memory of the mud off his skin.

It hadn’t worked. He still feels it every time he closes his eyes—the weight of forty feet of earth collapsing on him, the pressure of the mud surrounding him, the water attempting to breach his lips and replace the oxygen rapidly disappearing from his lungs.

But he got out of the shower and put all of that aside, at least long enough to sit down with Christopher. Long enough to ask the question he hopes he never needs the answer to.

Christopher looked thoughtful for all of ten seconds before asking, “If you can’t be there, can Buck be there?”

And Eddie felt steadier than he had since descending into that shaft. The question hardly bears thinking about, but at least he and Christopher were on the same page. Buck was his first choice, too—how could he not be?

Buck, who’s never treated Christopher like anything but a fully-formed person in a child-sized body. Buck, who accommodates Christopher’s needs as easily as he breathes, and goes out of his way to build accessible skateboards just because. Buck, who walked through a watery hell for hours on end to find Christopher, and who Eddie knows would do it again and again and again, as many times as is necessary.

Of course Buck was his first choice. His only choice, really. He stopped having other choices a long time ago.

“Buck’s going to take care of you,” Eddie says now. “Just like we talked about.

“This isn’t going to be easy for either of you, I know,” he says, and feels like the most arrogant man on the planet. Even if it’s most likely safe to assume that his son and his best friend will miss him if he dies, saying the words out loud feels—presumptuous, somehow.

But this isn’t about him, it’s about Christopher. And if he knows his kid at all, giving him something to focus on will help more than anything else. “So I need you two to look out for each other, okay? It might take a while to adjust, but I know you’ll figure it out. Together.”

He should probably tell Buck he’s changed his will, so Buck can be prepared. Just in case. It’s the rational thing to do. Guardianship of a child is not something Buck should be blindsided by, even if Eddie knows there’s no iteration of the universe in which Buck refuses to take Christopher in.

He’s tried, a couple of times. He’s picked up the phone and pulled up Buck’s contact, intending to invite him over so he can tell him about the changes he’s made to his will. But he stop himself every time.

Because the truth of his feelings for Buck bubbles under his skin every time Buck is near, and he doesn’t know how to lift the lid enough to tell him about the will and then clamp it down again before everything boils over—and it can’t boil over, not when Buck isn’t the least bit interested in anything but friendship.

He’s going to do it. He really is. He just needs to work up to it.

“I could give you all kinds of practical life advice,” he says to the camera now. “But I don’t know that it would be worth much if I’m not there to see the context. So instead I’ll tell you this: listen to Buck. Whatever it is, Buck will help you figure it out. The two of you are gonna get through it together. I know he’s always gonna do what’s best for you.”

Eddie takes a deep breath. “Of course, that doesn’t mean you can’t ask Abuela or Pepa or Carla, but—if you ever wonder what I would think, I want you to know that I trust Buck to make the same decisions I would. I have absolute faith in him.”

He shifts his gaze a little, hoping that on the video it lands somewhere close to where he needs it to. “Buck, I know you’re watching this too,” he says. “I need you to believe everything I just said, okay? I need you to believe it because it’s the truth, and because I don’t know how you’re gonna get through this if you don’t.”

And just for a moment, Eddie thinks about letting everything spill over. About telling Buck he loves him, just for posterity’s sake, so that even if he never gets to say the words to Buck directly they’ll at least be out in the universe.

But it doesn’t seem fair to Buck, to leave them behind after he’s gone. After he’s no longer there to witness the potential fallout.

So Eddie just sighs and looks back at the camera. “One last thing,” he says. “Christopher, never forget how much I love you. I told your mom once that being your dad is the single greatest joy of my life, and that’s going to be true whether I die at work tomorrow or in fifty years as an old man. I’m going to remind you as much as I can, for as long as I can—but tomorrow isn’t promised to anyone, so this is a reminder that will outlast me. I love you, and nothing is ever going to take that away.”

Eddie ends the recording and drops his head into his hands. He’d thought he’d feel lighter, getting it all on the record, but it turns out spending any amount of time actively thinking about the prospect of your own untimely death isn’t exactly the mood booster he’d hoped it would be.

It’s still a relief, though—knowing that if something does happen to him, he has an ironclad plan for Christopher, and a chance to say goodbye, even if only indirectly. It’s a relief, but now he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t know how to switch back out of the morbid headspace he’s climbed into.

There’s a shuffling sound, and then Christopher peers around the door. “Dad?” he asks. “Do you wanna watch a movie with me?”

Thank god for his kid. “Yeah, buddy, I really do,” Eddie says. He picks Christopher up on his way out of the door, relishing the warm weight of his son in his arms, and Christopher squirms and protests that he can walk by himself.

“I know you can,” Eddie says, but he squeezes just a little tighter and kisses Christopher’s temple before setting him down. Just because he can.