#its just funny to me all the other doctors were 'fashion disasters'

[eltehdork]

So what im gathering is the doctor had to become a black gay guy in order to learn how to dress properly.

[juniorgman187]

Fighting Fire With Fire (Reid Fic)

Summary: Reader must lower her pride after a date goes wrong and the only one who can rescue her is her mortal enemy - Spencer Reid.

A/N: This was a beast of a fic to write. It’s been in my WIP since September, and I managed to go from 11 pages to 22 pages in three days. It is now my longest fic thus far. I am insanely fucking proud of it and I hope it does well. Category: Angst Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: allusions to ‘catfishing,’ allusions to abduction, dub-con to taking provocative photos, alcohol, mentions of bruises, jealousy, carrying hug which implies weight of Reader (lmk if I missed anything) Word Count: 11.7k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I tried to play nice; I really did, but there was no getting through to him. Everyday started and ended with us fighting fire with fire.

Maybe the reason the two of you butt heads so often is because of how similar you are.

That’s what the team would say when Spencer and I got into one of our daily (sometimes hourly) arguments. 

They constantly encouraged us to get to know each other so that we’d finally see the likeness, and until recently, I wasn’t opposed to the idea. I was willing to do whatever it took to get him to like me. However, as previously mentioned, my willingness quickly dissipated in light of recent events. 

Voluntarily spending more time than necessary with him would be a recipe for disaster no doubt. 

Somehow, in a matter of a month, Reid decided that he simply did not enjoy my presence, which was the nice way of putting it. 

To be more crass, he loathed me to no end.

Initially, I was operating under the assumption that he wasn’t fond of change, and with me joining the BAU, the change was too much too fast for him, but after four weeks, his attitude toward me never deviated. Yet again, I made another excuse for him, arguing to myself that people are allowed to not like me. I could respect that, but where he lost my respect was how he made a conscious effort to remind me of how much he despised me. Even when I was at my nicest, he still treated me like a scelerate. 

If there was a prize for gaining a mortal enemy in the shortest amount of time, I guess I already won that without even trying. He hated me with a burning passion, for reasons unbeknownst to me, despite the fact that all I’d ever try to do was be his friend. 

For far too long, I kept denying the part of me that knew making peace with him outside of work wouldn’t go well and it’d simply go down in history as another failed attempt of mine to form a bond with him, so it was at this point that I decided to face the facts. 

He didn’t make it easy for me, either. It was hard having to be kind to someone that was only ever out to get me. 

He would constantly correct me but only after I said something incorrectly, just so he could prove me wrong. 

“If each police officer patrols a street, we’ll be able to cover the entire comfort zone.”

“Actually, we’d need three more officers if we want to cover the entire comfort zone. There’s still 2.347 miles that are unaccounted for.”

I never understood why he couldn’t just say his piece before me so that I didn’t look like an idiot, but I suppose that was the point. 

And he had this infuriating, unwarranted habit of judging my taste in cinema and literature. Anytime I told Emily or Derek about a movie I saw or told Rossi about a book I read, he felt compelled to share his antagonistic opinions as if I asked for them in the first place. Sometimes even spoiling the endings for me!

“Rossi, I just started reading Doctor Sleep!” I was so eager to tell Rossi that, so much so that I’d become blind to one dark cloud’s own eagerness to ruin the fun. 

“The hotel burns to the ground, but the ghosts don’t die with it.” 

He said it with such monotony and nonchalance, not even bothering to look up from his own book to watch my reaction to his menacing act. He just didn’t care!

The list of reasons not to like him truly did go on and on, so it was almost insulting how people would compare the two of us. 

They’d bring up the congruence in intelligence, the same affinity for reading, and closeness in age, but it only made me madder. The last person I wanted to resemble was Reid, except today, I gained another glaring similarity to him.

“Look at you two. Did you plan your outfits or something?” Emily playfully pointed out after I walked into the conference room. 

I eyed the doctor sipping at his cup of coffee who swiveled around in his chair to see what everyone else was seeing. Just from a short glance, I spotted his navy blue button-up with white polka dots that was nearly identical to the color and print of my dress.

“Well, looks like one of us has to go home and change.” His lips grew into a mischievous smirk behind the rim of his mug. 

Was that a joke? Did Spencer Reid make jokes now?

“Ha ha. Very funny.” I facetiously remarked, taking the only open seat at the table which was next to the jokester himself. 

“I’m kidding. You look really nice today.” He alleged without a hint of irony. He was complimenting me now, too? It was so unfamiliar that it felt like uncharted territory, possibly even a trap.

“Why? Because I’m dressed like you?” I wasn’t going to fall for his words now, maybe the version of me who would do anything to gain his approval would have. She would’ve smiled and said ‘thank you,’ but this me was going to challenge him if that was the last thing I ever did. “Bit of a narcissist are we, Dr. Reid?” 

“Mmm maybe,” He wagered, tilting his head from side to side as if to contemplate the possibility. “Or maybe I just really think you look nice.” 

Without even thinking, my heart skipped a beat. I was utterly repulsed by how I let his words have any effect over me. I couldn’t believe that he’d actually managed to fluster me with mediocre flattery. 

It felt like years that I had to sit next to Reid at the round table before Hotch dismissed the team for the flight.

30 minutes later, and we were on the jet. I’d taken one of the seats at the table opposite Derek and Emily, with Spencer beside me. 

Little things like this I could handle, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before he started bothering me. Morgan was listening to music and Emily was turned around in her seat, facing the back to talk to Rossi. Reid was playing himself in chess, and it took all of my self-control to not be a total asshole and knock the board and its pieces over and into the aisle. Luckily, I had a good enough distraction. 

Grant: can you ft tonight?

Me: we’ll see. i might have to work overtime. 

For the months that I had been talking to Grant, I was deliberately ambiguous about my job because I wasn’t exactly keen on telling him that I worked for the FBI and that I might not be able to FaceTime him since I was in the process of investigating a series of homicides. That’d surely scare him away and I was never one to flaunt my government job anyway.

Grant: you look stunning today

Me: you haven’t even seen me today 

Grant: don’t need to. 

Grant: you’ll always be stunning to me. 

“Who keeps texting you?” 

I looked up from my screen to see Reid fixated on his game but still engaged in my business. 

“No one,” I harshly replied, making a conscious decision to turn my phone on vibrate so he wouldn’t hear the chime of my text notifications.  

With one nimble side glance, Reid eyed my screen. I nudged him away with extra force.

“Nosy much?!” 

This stunned him. He wasn’t used to my coldness, he probably expected me to smile in a chagrined manner and not confront it - as I would have done - but now I was fighting back, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he liked it. 

I knew he could read fast, but how he managed to look at my phone so quickly it was like he never even moved his eyes - I didn’t know. Somehow, though, he managed to capture Grant’s entire username, and I didn’t doubt that he caught my entire conversation with him, too.

“Who’s Grant?” The name rolled off his tongue like he was insulted to even be saying it. 

“No one.” 

He didn’t respond soon after I said this, which I misinterpreted as a little victory for me since I almost believed he was going to drop the subject, but in true Spencer Know It All Reid fashion, he just kept going. 

“‘You look stunning today B-T-W. You haven’t even seen me today. Don’t need to. You’ll always be stunning to me.’ Doesn’t really sound like a ‘no one’ to me.” His recitation of my entire PRIVATE conversation with Grant embarrassed me. 

Did I forget to add his eidetic memory and speed-reading ability to the list of reasons not to like him?

“Shut up!” I nudged him, this time using much more force than the last. I was becoming more and more inclined to push over his ridiculous chess game so that he’d finally take me seriously. 

“Oh, really clever by the way. Vaguely insinuating that you ‘might not be able to call him because you’re working overtime’ just so you don’t have to disclose the true nature of your job.” Spencer’s sarcasm was thick.

“Are you just jealous because the only date you’ve been on was a fake one with a serial killer and not even your actual girlfriend while she was alive?” My reference to Cat and Maeve caught the attention of the entire jet. 

Each member mentally rolled their eyes thinking ‘Here we go again.’ And if that wasn’t their reaction, they were certainly cringing at the fight that was ensuing. 

Things had been suspiciously good between the two of us today so it was about time we argued. We were due for our daily quarrel.

“Oh, that’s right! The only girls who like you are victims in our cases.” Now this comment was referring to Lila and Austin. (I had Penelope to thank for filling me in on all of Reid’s ‘entanglements’ after I was first reassigned).

“Really? You wanna go there?” He sassed back, diverting his attention away fully from his chess game now. “Do you know how many people get ‘catfished’ when using online dating websites? Or the statistics on how many people are raped, assaulted, or murdered by said ‘catfish’?” 

“I’m not stupid, Reid. He and I have been talking for months. We’ve been on calls and Facetime before, too. We’ve just never met in person. Sound familiar?” 

“What Maeve and I had is not at all comparable to what you and this ‘guy’ have. And just because you’ve seen his face before doesn’t mean he’s not a serial killer or operating under an alias.” 

I had to scoff. Who was he to label our relationship valid or not?

“What’s it to you anyway? We all know you’d be ecstatic if this guy turned out to be a serial killer or catfish. You’d get to rub it in my face and say ‘I told you so.’” 

This touched a nerve. He hated it when I attacked his nice-guy facade. 

“Is it so hard to believe I’m actually concerned for your wellbeing?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Fine. If you think I don’t care about you, then don’t come crying to me when you realize he’s not the guy you think he is.”

“Oh, trust me, I won’t! It’s not like you’d be able to protect me anyway, Pretty Boy.” I sneered, using Morgan’s nickname for him as an insult got to him, and I could see it in the way his jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. 

Hotch had to interject now. “Alright, (y/l/n), Reid, that’s enough. We need to focus on what’s actually important.” 

I settled back down in my seat, facing forward and avoiding eye contact with Reid. 

“Have fun on your date,” He muttered under his breath. “Hope you survive it.”

Bastard.

For the rest of the case, I was on edge. Deliberately avoiding him was a much harder task than one might think. I had to wait at least ten minutes for my coffee, so I wouldn’t be at the machine when he was there, and if I had to guess, he probably took longer just to make me wait in agitation. I had to awkwardly squeeze into a new spot beside Rossi and Hotch when we were delivering the profile. I had to ask not to travel in the same SUV as him. 

And this exhausting routine went on for days. In fact, I’d managed to almost go the entire case without interacting with him. That was until Hotch sent us both in the field to apprehend the unsub. 

“Are you sure?” I asked with clear reluctance. 

“Are you questioning me?” Hotch replied sternly. 

“No, sir.” 

I was already on thin ice being the new recruit, so I knew better than to question any of Hotch’s orders. And as miserable as working with Reid was, I figured he’d at least ease up on the hostility when we needed to be professional. Evidently though, even in the field, he wasn’t willing to work together with me. 

It was a quick decision, not careless in the least, however. The unsub had locked himself in his warehouse and refused to leave unless we were brave enough to drag him out of there ourselves. The ultimatum he gave specified that only one of us could do it and we both agreed that I should go in, seeing as he’d underestimate my strength as a woman, and I’d have the upperhand when I inevitably apprehended him. 

However, he also explicitly told us that I couldn’t come in with a gun - it had to be an even playing field. 

“You are not going in without a gun,”  Reid ordered. 

“We don’t have time to argue about this - I have a spare on me, okay? There are three hostages in there, two of which are children.” Without giving him a chance to respond, I handed him my gun and holster.

Had I let him waste a single second more of my time, we wouldn’t have been able to save the three hostages and successfully arrest the unsub. I saw this as a victory and I was almost willing to celebrate it with him, but it wasn’t long before he let our enmity tear us apart again. 

When we got back to the precinct, I went to the locker room to change, then suddenly, Hotch came in. 

“I’ve been informed that you went in unarmed against a fellow agent’s orders. This matter will be discussed in my office when we get back. I should warn you, (y/n), you do not want to make this mistake again.” Hotch left me with those foreboding words, and I knew, I knew immediately that Reid was to blame for this.

If I took a look in the mirror of my locker, I wouldn’t have been surprised if I saw that my face was turning a bright shade of red. I was fuming - bursting at the seams from the anger building within me that was desperately fighting to escape. I could imagine myself as a cartoon character with steam blowing out either of my ears. I was about to go on a rampage, and no one - absolutely no one - could stop me. 

The last straw was hearing him come in. This was my opportunity to unleash what was already boiling. 

“What the hell, Reid? ‘(y/n) went in unarmed.’ Seriously?!” I undid the velcro on my vest so hastily out of my blind rage that the spiky side of the velcro strip nearly sliced my finger. “Are you trying to get me fired?” 

“If that’s what it takes to make you realize how stupid of a choice that was, then yes, I do.” He was so calm and collected in his inflection that it angered me all the more. 

“What are you even talking about? What ‘stupid choice’? You knew I had a second gun on me. And even if I didn’t carry it, I still would’ve had my vest on. I wasn’t going in unarmed or unprotected, so why would you tell Hotch that?” 

“In the time it would take you to assess the danger, react, and then reach for the gun at your ankle, the unsub would’ve been able to shoot you twice - if not more. That’s going in unprepared, which is going in unarmed.”

I scoffed in disbelief that he was actually reprimanding me. “Are you kidding? This is all based on a technicality? Did your eidetic memory somehow forget about what happened with Maeve? Because my memory didn’t. I know for a fact that you went into that warehouse without a vest or a weapon. And unlike you, I had a spare and my vest. AND I actually apprehended the unsub. Did you stop Diane?”  

This crossed a line and I knew it, but it was too late to take it back, and clearly, it was much too late to repair any relationship I had with him. We were far beyond the point of no return. 

He was so mad that he didn’t even answer me. The only response I could gauge was from his body language, which by the looks of it, all the signs of anger were plain on his face. He clenched his jaw so hard I could hear his teeth grind. Even his nostrils flared so primitively. His eyes narrowed down at me with a glare that said, ‘I’m the predator and you’re the prey.’

“Yeah, exactly.” I spat when he stayed silent. 

I turned around, starting towards the exit, but I was too furious to stop there, so I spun around and unleashed the remainder of my wrath that had been dying to come out. 

“Look, I get it. I’m the new kid around here, and it sucks when someone new comes in and changes up the team dynamic, but any mistake I make, or any mistake Hotch thinks I make, could send me packing. You’ve been working in this unit for years, and even if Hotch questions your choices, he won’t reassign you. He won’t even threaten it. He’s willing to overlook your mistakes because he knows that what you have to contribute to the team is too vital to let go, but I haven’t even had my chance to show him what I have to offer. So when I do make a mistake, there is nothing for me to fall back on, nothing to redeem me, and no safety net, but you? You have years of experience on your back to break your fall. So don’t you dare act like you’re doing me a favor by reporting my ‘mistake’ to Hotch. You might be costing me my dream job, and if you think that makes us friends - think again.” 

I stormed out of the locker room seeing red. 

This war was far from over. 

_ _ _

“You’re clenching your fists again,” Emily said under her breath. I was grateful that she said it in a hushed tone, otherwise she might’ve revealed my lingering anger to the whole jet, which wouldn’t have been good. 

I immediately unclenched them, opening up my hands to reveal small, dark C shaped imprints on my palms from where my nails had dug into them. 

I should’ve expected that she would’ve learned at least one of my tells by now. I did have many after all. Cheek biting, fist-clenching, leg bouncing. 

“Something bothering you?” She probed quietly. 

She set her book down to give her undivided attention to this conversation. That was enough to tell me that an excuse like, ‘Nothing, I’m fine,’ would not suffice. She wouldn’t be satisfied until I told her the truth, which I surely did not want to tell. So I settled for a half-truth.

“Hotch wants to talk when we get back.” 

From my peripherals, I saw her knit her brows together in confusion. “Is . . . is that it?”

“Mhm.” I lied. 

“But that’s not enough to warrant the fist clenching. Cheek biting - sure - you do it when you’re anxious, but not fist-clenching. You only do that when you’re angry about something.” 

“Oh, so you have figured out all my tells,” I smirked.

“Pfft, I figured them all out the first week you got here, but I won’t tell you the rest, otherwise you might try and hide them from me,” She joked. 

I shook my head playfully. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just worked up about something - it’s nothing you need to worry about though.” Habitually, my eyes looked right up in his direction. I caught a glimpse of him sprawled against the couch, sleeping. He was lucky I wasn’t ranting about the little stunt he pulled earlier to Emily. He should be thankful that I was even trying to protect his reputation to her at all. 

“I get it if you don’t want to talk about it, but it does help. Take it from me, someone who really only trusts myself, you shouldn’t hide what you feel.” 

What you feel. 

I clung onto those words. 

What was I really feeling? 

Was I upset that instead of receiving praise for the arrest I made, I was scolded like a child? Was I angry that Hotch believed what Reid had to say about my “problematic behavior” instead of believing in me? 

Or did I feel betrayed that despite my best efforts to build a bridge, Reid was tearing it apart brick by brick? Burning it to pieces with the fire of his rage?

“Thanks.” I bleakly said to Emily. I would’ve told her the truth, but it didn’t feel necessary at that moment. If anything, it just would’ve reflected badly on me. 

Truthfully, she was the closest thing I had to a friend in the BAU, and if I wanted a permanent spot here, I needed to make more of them - and fast. 

“Hey, (y/n), we’re all going down to O’Keefs tonight to celebrate. You wanna join us?” Morgan asked, walking up the aisle and crouching down beside my seat to talk to me. 

“Oh, I wish I could, but I have to talk with Hotch when we get back,” I explained, smiling politely. 

“We can postpone the meeting till first thing Monday morning. I need to go home and be with Jack, anyway,” Hotch added. 

I didn’t realize he could hear me from where he was sitting, which made me all the more nervous that he might’ve overheard the entire conversation between me and Emily earlier. 

“Looks like I’m free,” I looked back at Morgan. “Does the offer still stand?”

“Anything for you, sweet cheeks.” He winked. 

Judging from the lightness of the atmosphere, everyone, except maybe Hotch and Rossi, would be celebrating at O’Keefs - including Spencer. 

I think I might’ve actually preferred to be scolded by Hotch tonight, instead of being silently glared at by Spencer, but it was already too late to revoke my confirmation of presence. 

Because, if Hotch could hear me from where he was sitting, then Spencer could, too. 

He already heard I was coming, and there was no way I was backing down.

_ _ _ 

In spite of the fact that I could barely hear myself think over the loud chatter and blasting music, I could still feel the rage radiating off of Spencer. You would think with how long his nap was on the jet, he wouldn’t be so cranky, but I guess he just couldn’t sleep off his disdain for me after our minor altercation. 

I wondered if the team could see it, too. The way he was burning a hole into me with his fiery stare. The tension was palpable, as it has always been, but remember - I’m not the one who wanted it that way. 

He started this. I was only making the feeling mutual. 

“So what about you, (y/n)? Are you seeing anyone?” 

I tried to hide my growing smirk behind the rim of my beer, but I knew I couldn’t hide much from them. Of course, right across from me, Spencer was glaring at me expectantly, waiting for the answer he already knew. 

“Oooh, look at her - she’s blushing! Spill.” Penelope ordered, beating her palm on the table so enthusiastically it shook all the drinks on it.  

“Well, there’s this one guy I’ve been seeing for a while,” The second I started speaking, I noticed Spencer rolling his eyes. I figured his apprehension was the only response of its kind that I would receive, but I was very mistaken. 

“How did you two meet?” Penelope giddily asked, nearly jumping up and down in her seat. 

“A dating app, actually.” 

The table went completely silent, and I immediately felt my stomach drop. It was as if I’d just said something very wrong. With just a quick glance in front of me, Spencer was basking in this. 

What a dick.

Emily hesitated to ask. “...Have you two met in person before?” 

Now it was my turn to hesitate to speak. “No, not yet.” 

I took another sip of my drink even though I wasn’t thirsty. I just wanted to hide any part of my face I could to shield myself from the five sets of eyes burning holes into me now, rather than just the one. Trying to make matters better, I spoke all too quickly, nearly sputtering on my beer. “I’m completely safe, though. Nothing sketchy’s going on, I promise.” 

“Of course,” JJ agreed. “We totally trust you,” neglecting to attach the cliche, ‘It’s him we don’t trust.’ But if she had, it would’ve spoken everyone’s bubble thoughts right about now. 

“Just be careful, mama.” Derek’s response felt the most sincere, and I honestly believed he was happy for me, but it didn’t change how much their judgement initially stung. 

For the rest of the night, I didn’t talk. No one noticed. 

Except maybe the last person I wanted to notice. 

I quietly slipped away somewhere in the night when the conversation was at its highest precisely so they wouldn’t question where I was going or if I was okay. If they had asked, the truthful answer to the former would’ve been ‘just outside to get some air’ and the latter ‘no.’

The cool breeze drifted through the door like rising fog and for the briefest moment in time, I felt suspended in the space around me - I’d finally caught my breath. That feeling wouldn’t last long, though. 

I’d intentionally gone outside to compose myself until I came back a person who wasn’t on the verge of tears, but apparently, trying to pull myself only resulted in my falling apart. A ball of yarn unraveling is the closest comparison I can draw to what I must’ve looked like, crying quietly on the street.

“I figured I’d find you here.” 

It was the mere sound of someone’s voice that shocked me, but it was the person whose voice it was that led to the frustration that followed. 

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be inside talking to the team of people who also agree with you about Grant?” 

He was too much of a nuisance to warrant exchanging eye contact with so I simply stared forward as I spoke and wiped the tears away that were still pooling on my lower lash line. I hoped he hadn’t actually seen me crying, but from what I could tell, he was probably standing there long before he said something. And if he was truly looking at me as deeply as it felt like right now, then he’d have noticed my bloodshot eyes, flushed cheeks, and unending sniffling. 

“Is that why you disappeared back there? Because you’re upset they didn’t exactly like the idea of your relationship?” The pain in the ass really tried, he really tried to get me to look at him by facing me and making these gestures with his hands that should’ve gotten my attention, but instead, I stayed put leaning against the wall, keeping my line of sight straight ahead. 

“(Y/n), they weren’t insulting you or judging you -”

“Then why did it feel like it?” For the first time since he’d joined me, I’d looked at him. I didn’t even mean to and I had every intention of denying him that privilege for the entire duration of our conversation, but as soon as I asked him my question, we locked eyes, and I saw it written all over his face. 

He felt sorry for me. 

Now, he could clearly make out how distraught I was from this unobstructed view of my face that was kindled by the dim, flickering yellow glow of the streetlight beside us. And he kept staring, looking into my eyes to read me just as easily and just as quickly as he read a book. 

“All we want is for you to be safe,” His voice crackled momentarily, and it actually touched some part of me for how genuine it sounded. “We weren’t trying to judge you or to insult you, and I’m sorry if it felt that way, but if we want your safety, and you tell us about something that could be potentially harmful, then of course we’re going to be apprehensive about it. That’s how people that care about you should react.”

“So are you saying that I don’t care about myself because I’m engaging in something risky?” Isn’t that the most ironic statement of this year? The definition of our job was risky, and even if this wasn’t the safest relationship on the planet, it was nothing like what we put ourselves through everyday being in the field. 

“No, that’s not what I’m saying -”

“So what are you saying?” I dared. He shook his head and sighed like he was about to give up, but I needed an answer. “No, please, do continue. Finish what you were gonna say. Since you apparently know everything, 187. Please go ahead - tell me what you think I should do.” 

Tell me what you really came out here to say, I ordered him with my eyes.

“I think I respect you more than you respect yourself, and that’s really saying something. Because if you actually liked yourself as much as I do, then you would realize that subjecting yourself to this nonsensicality of a long-distance relationship is not only dangerous - but insulting to your worth, too. You deserve more than that, (y/n).” He couldn’t have been clearer when he murmured a low and firm, “Much more.” 

The world was spinning on its axis too fast for me to process anything he said before snapping back at him. “So what exactly is it you want me to do?”

With utmost clarity in both annunciation and intention, he told me, “Break up with him.” 

Not a shadow of a doubt in his words. 

Then, like the phantom of the opera himself, he vanished back into the bar, but even if he had stayed, I wouldn’t have had anything to say to him. I was simply rendered speechless.

Circling back to my previous argument, I questioned once more why was it any of his business anyway? I was allowed to do as I pleased and I most certainly did not have to listen to him. And I didn’t. 

But I should’ve. 

_ _ _ 

My Monday morning meeting with Hotch wasn’t nearly as fire and brimstone as I thought it would be. It did however feel like the equivalent to an “I’m disappointed in you” parent speech. In some ways, I related to the average teen who was grounded. Except instead of my phone being taken away, it was my freedom. From now on, I could only follow executive orders that had been given to me. At least for the time being. 

It was clear that, deep down, some part of Hotch knew what I’d done was the right call, but he couldn’t give me any favors. Not until they were deserved on my end. 

Walking onto the jet after our meeting, however, felt more juvenile than the punishment itself. I was a kid again, re-entering my classroom after using the restroom, only to have all eyes on me as I came through the door.

As per usual, the only empty chair was next to Reid. There’d been too many instances of this happening to think it was just a coincidence. At this point, I had to assume it was by design. Whose design however? That I didn’t know.

“Hello, trouble,” He sang when I took my seat. 

I could only assume that this new nickname was based on what took place in Hotch’s office - thanks to him, need I remind you - but I didn’t care to know the origin because that would require talking to him, and for several reasons, that was the last thing I wanted to do. The first of which was what happened less than three days ago. An event we both hadn’t mentioned yet, and I hoped we never would. 

I took every preventative measure in the book. I changed seats with JJ. I moved to the couch. I even started reading in the little hallway between the kitchenette and bathroom of the jet to avoid sitting beside him, but against all my best efforts, he always found a way to bug me. When there’s a will, there’s a way. After exhausting any real reason he had to talk to me, he had to get creative. 

“You’ve been on that same page for four minutes and twenty-seven seconds.” I heard him say when he walked up to the kitchen to reach for the pot of coffee. Almost expecting I’d ask him what he meant, he added the explanation casually. “It never takes you more than three minutes and twelve seconds to move onto the next page. So either you’re not understanding the material or you’re not actually reading.”

It was utterly hilarious of him to imply that either of those things were definitely the answer. “What if I’m just taking my time reading this page, genius? Ever thought of that?” 

His eyes turned into slits as he leaned in closer to examine me. “You’re blinking rate just increased, too.”

“Stop!” I screeched childishly, pushing him away by his shoulders in an attempt to get him off my back, but he was far from off my back. No, he was right against it. More specifically, his hand was on the small of it. 

Leaning in so close that his lips were practically pressing on the shell of my ear, he whispered, “Come find me when you’re ready to tell me the truth.”

He didn’t need to know his words or actions had any sort of effect on me, so I kept the most stoic facial expression on, and I didn’t say a single thing back. He turned back around to leave with the hand on my back being the last thing to go. His lingering touch caused a shiver to run down my spine while paradoxically burning my body from the friction. 

I was disgusted with myself for having let him elicit any sort of reaction from me, even if he wasn’t aware of it. 

“Yeah ... well, d-don’t expect that to be anytime soon,” was my poor attempt at a retort to shut him up.

“Whatever you say, trouble.” 

_  _ _ 

Personal space can be a wonderful thing. Much less so when it’s invaded, however. 

After what felt like the longest flight ever, all I wanted was to take a shower and go to bed. My wishes were granted when I was able to wash off the stress and exhaustion and slip into a blush pink satin pajama set Grant sent me that I’d been meaning to wear. The plunging neck of the tank top was lined with lace and adorned with the tiniest little bow at the center. To match the shirt, the hem of the shorts were lined with lace that trailed up the small triangular slits on the side of the shorts, where at the vertex of them was the same little bow detail. For such a pure and innocent color as baby pink, you’d think it’d be somewhat less revealing. The longer I started at myself in the mirror while wearing it, the more aware I’d become of the intentions behind why Grant had sent it. 

How cute, I thought, rolling my eyes.

Gifts should always be appreciated, if for no other reason than the effort put into it, but this just felt slimy. There was obviously no valiant romantic intent behind the negligee, which spoiled the delight of receiving something out of the blue from him. What’s worse was that I wasn’t even sure how to thank him for something like this. 

Me: thank you for the pajamas. they’re so cute!

Lying was easier over text message, in case you were wondering what the perks of a long distance relationship were. 

Grant: good, I’m glad you like them. are you wearing them right now? 

But sometimes, when you should lie, you don’t. And you regret it later on - take it from me. 

Me: yeah, they’re super comfy

Grant: great! i wanna see them on! take a pic 

As if to compensate for the indisputable hatred I had for this lingerie and what it stood for in our relationship, I did the only thing I could think that would make him think I really liked them. That I felt good in them. 

I took pictures - not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, Yelp review pictures, though - provocative ones. 

In the same breath I went to take them, though, Spencer’s words rang through my head. 

You deserve more than that. Much more. 

Shaking off the thought of Spencer, I decided against what the little voice in my head that sounded too similar to his would’ve said. 

To add to the illusion, I situated myself within the hotel sheets and used the front camera to capture my chest that was very much on display in this top. In the middle of rolling around the bed, trying to find the angles that wouldn’t show my face of dejection, the door opened. 

Instantaneously, I clawed at the sheets until they wrapped around me like a towel. I was ashamed to admit they provided more coverage than these ‘pajamas’ did.

My shriek of shock must’ve sounded familiar to the stranger intruding on me because no sooner did I scream than they questioned, “(Y/n)? What are you doing here?”

Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. 

“Spencer, what the hell are you doing in here?” I grumbled, struggling to maintain a tight enough grip on the sheets that would keep them from falling and unveiling a sight I desperately did not want him to see. 

“I asked you first.” 

Boy, if you only knew how badly I wanted to slap that smirk right off his face. “This is my hotel room obviously. Your turn.” 

Returning just the same tone, inflection, and vocals, he imitated me. “This is my hotel room obviously.” Like one of those magic tricks he’d show Henry or Jack, he miraculously flashed a room key between his index and middle finger that wasn’t there before. 

“No, that’s impossible.”

“I opened the door, didn’t I?” That damn smirk was still there when he asked this. Maybe, just maybe, if it hadn’t been so condescending, I would’ve thought his sarcasm was ... attractive. Disgusting, I know. 

“Well, if you actually plan on staying here, then you’re sleeping on the floor or the couch, got it?”

My question went unanswered until I turned around to follow where he’d traveled in the time that I spent pondering how this happened. Now perched at the window, sitting on the arm of the chair in a way that chairs weren’t meant to be sat on, he continued to stare silently at me. 

“What? What is it?” I urged. 

“What’s going on with the …” He made a side to side sweeping motion with his key card. “Bed sheets?” 

Consciously, I shimmied the fabric further up my body. Seeing as there was virtually no way to escape an honest answer, I confessed. “If you must know ... I’m wearing p-pajamas.” My own body was rejecting the shameful admission causing the word to stumble out of my mouth. 

He didn’t need to know any more than that to gather what kind of garments they were. He already figured it out.

“Did Grant give them to you?”

I almost rolled my eyes at the implication. “What makes you say that?” 

“Because I know you,” He punctuated every word perfectly. “And I know that you wear big shirts and sweatpants to bed because you don’t see the point of spending money on clothes that are only made for you to sleep in - especially if they’re clothes that make you uncomfortable like these ones clearly do.” 

Although, I greatly despised the fact that there was even a little bit of a chance that I might’ve agreed with him, I still defended Grant. “It was a thoughtful gesture.”

“Thoughtful, right,” He scoffed. “And which head was he thinking with?” 

I was baffled he had the gall to say such an innuendo. “Spencer!”

How dare he? So what if Grant bought me something provocative because he was physically attracted to me? At least someone was. 

Despite the ferocity plain on his face, he chose not to pursue this conversation. Visibly biting back on words he knew would hurt me, Spencer managed to sound remarkably genuine when he promised me, “I won’t look if you don’t want me to.” 

I want you to, was my very first thought. Oh, God, that’s so fucked up, was my second. 

He underlined his sincerity by turning fully around until he was facing the window. “But we should probably put the sheets back on the bed if you plan on sleeping on it.”

He was so patient as he waited for me to remove the cloth from my body. It almost made me feel guilty. He didn’t grumble or gripe, nor did he pressure me to do it at all. So by rights, there should’ve been no reason for me to take so long to let the barrier fall - he wasn’t looking at me. But I was just so goddamn embarrassed. 

This wasn’t me, and even he knew that. 

“You can turn around now,” I mumbled quietly once my safety net of a bedsheet had abandoned me. My arms were crossed over my chest and my thighs were pressed so tightly against each other as if to limit the surface area that Spencer could scrutinize. 

That never came. 

He did look, I could tell that much. But it wasn’t a look I’d ever seen before. It wasn’t rage or annoyance or pity. It was a look of lust. 

A look that made me positively weak in the knees. A look far more sensual than even my racy garments. 

“I’ll just sleep in Morgan’s room tonight, okay?” He offered once he finally broke out of his incapacitation. Grabbing the two opposite corners of the sheets that I was holding, it was a team effort as we arranged the covers where they belonged. It was probably the longest period of time we’d ever worked together without fighting or talking at all for that matter..

Not a single word was exchanged between us while Spencer gathered his things to leave for Derek’s. The room started to feel dangerously empty in the stillness. 

When he slipped past me to make his way out, I caught his upper arm, successfully pulling him back around.

I could’ve been sweet, I should’ve. But that wasn’t our thing. So I settled for what came naturally to us and what would set off the least amount of red flags - I didn’t play nice. “As long as you promise not to hog the entire bed with your behemoth body, we can sleep together -” Catching the words as soon as they came out and what they could’ve implied, I began backtracking. “Sleep in the same bed. Sleep as in rest. Not sleep as in … anything else.” 

Then, in one of those rare moments- he laughed. He actually laughed. Like a real, hearty, sudden laugh. “I know what you meant, (y/n).” 

I’ll never forget the smile that followed the world’s greatest laugh either. 

Oh, God, I’m so fucked up. 

_ _ _

Spencer’s POV

Domesticated animals are smarter than we give them credit for. Studies have shown that pets can actually sense time; They know when it’s time for their owner to leave for the day and when they’ll be coming home, too. 

Animals aren’t dumb - and neither was I. 

Like a dog sniffing out their owner’s imminent absence in the home, I could tell (y/n) was leaving the hotel room for the night. If her current state wasn’t convincing enough, then her behavior throughout the entire day supported that theory just as well. 

Whether it was her phone, the clock on the wall, or her watch, she was evidently keeping a close eye on the time. She did it so often, though, that you would think she would just use simple deductions to figure out what time it was by estimating the time it was when she last checked, but nope. She rarely let more than a minute go by without monitoring the clock.

My suspicions didn’t end there. What’s more suggestive was the anxious fidgeting. She had her tells of anxiety - everyone does - but this was a level of stress I’d never seen her exhibit before, not even in the field. 

She kept cracking her knuckles, even when she’d exhausting all the popping noises she could from them. Her leg-bobbing was another big tell, too. I tend to sit on tables rather than in the chairs at said table, allowing me to feel the earthquake occurring on the precinct floor. Her leg was bouncing up and down so vigorously it was practically shaking the room. 

I would’ve asked her what she was so impatient about, but I feared I already knew the answer.

Grant.

And if I never heard that name roll off her tongue again, it would be too soon. 

That didn’t mean I couldn’t ask where she was going, though.

Pretending to read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I barely let my eyes venture far off the page when I loudly asked from the window seat, “So where are you going tonight, trouble?” 

The faintest sound of a chuckle erupted in the bathroom, most likely from the nickname I hadn’t let die yet. 

“Nunya,” was her ever-so mature answer. 

I didn’t want to give her the chance to say ‘nunya business’ like I knew she would, so I quickly interjected with a monotone, “How clever of you.” If she wanted to be a child about this, then so be it. 

“Let’s see. You brought your good heels out of your suitcase, which you only wear on special occasions. And you put on a different perfume than the one you usually use, so I’m assuming it’s new. ... If I didn’t know any better, trouble, I’d say you’re going on a date.” 

She peeked her head out of the bathroom doorway to say, “You’re creepy, you know that?” 

Seeing the small portion of her face that was embellished with a smile would’ve been enough if only I knew what dress she was hiding in behind that wall. I had yet to see that part of her ensemble, but if I had to guess, it would break my heart. 

“Just saying,” I casually lied while clearing my throat. 

“Well,” I heard her begin from within the bathroom. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Grant is meeting me tonight.” 

Kill me now.

“I thought Grant lived in D.C.” Not that that would change much if he was already here. 

“Yes, he does, but he’s driving all the way here to meet me. Seeee,” She drew out the word. “Would a serial killer do that?” 

I refrained from giving the obvious answer: Yes. 

“Well, I hope you don’t plan on bringing him back here. Otherwise, that’d be terribly awkward, don’t you think?” My allusion to the possibility that Grant would come back here to find me in her bed was borne from the intentions that were a complete contradiction to the words I’d just spoken. It, in fact, wouldn’t be terribly awkward. No, it would be fun. For me at least. 

I would have loved to have seen the look on his face, and the worry on hers as she tried to explain who I was and why I had any right to be in (y/n)’s gravity. 

The room went silent again while I stayed on the same page of my book and, unbeknownst to her, waited for her to enter the room. How long she was taking was starting to worry me, though. 

“Need any help in there?” I called out.

“Nope,” She said through a strained voice that proved she was indeed struggling with something. 

“Really?” I asked once more to give her another opportunity to lower her colossal pride. “Cause it sounds like you need help.” 

“Nope. I’m good.” Liar. 

I knew her too well. I counted down to the exact second when she finally scrambled to ask, “Can you help me zip up my dress?”

“Yyyup.” I’d already resigned to the fact that I would have to help her, bouncing happily off the bed when she finally admitted it and letting myself lose the page I was on as I tossed the book haphazardly behind me. 

I was forced to join her in the bathroom for it was already hard for her to humble herself enough to ask me for help, so she certainly couldn’t be expected to lower her pride again and walk out to a place more convenient for me. 

The first thing I noticed was that it was a space clearly not made for two. It was so cramped that I ended up right against her in order to fit. The second thing I noticed was how she made no movements to distance herself. She was so close to me that I could actually see the little hairs on the back of her neck standing up from where my breath ghosted on the area. The sterile smell of hotel bathrooms had been replaced by the flowery, aromatic scent of her new perfume, and my heart broke all over again. 

Using the back of my fingers, I cast a barely-there caress on her neck to stroke her hair out of the way to clear the path of the zipper. The little hairs on the back of her neck stood up again. 

She liked that.

“So do I get to know where you’re going?” I reached for the zipper on the small of her back. “For safety purposes, of course.” 

“Aww, you looking out for me, Dr. Reid?” She teased in a seductive tone while gathering her hair into a makeshift ponytail that for the shortest second recorded in time might’ve reminded me of a constantly recurring intrusive image. 

“Always, trouble.” 

The zipper fastened with absolutely no resistance all the way to the top. My eyes flashed to the mirror to catch her expression, which told me everything I needed to know. 

What a pretty little liar. She didn’t actually need my help. 

Comprehending that the realization dawned on me, she gave me what she knew would shut me up. “We’re going to The Rooftop at Lamont’s.” 

How effortlessly she slipped past me without a thank you or a glance in my direction served as a rude awakening.

“Well, you should take an umbrella with you. It looks like there’s gonna be a storm tonight.” This was my small way of coming to terms with the reality of the situation. 

“Eh,” She waved my suggestion off with a dismissive hand. “We’ll be fine. Oh, and don’t even think about stalking me!” She warned before exiting the room.

In the blink of an eye, she was gone - my peace of mind having left with her. 

_ _ _ 

The amount of sleep you need varies for each person and is affected by several factors. However, for most adults, 7–9 hours per night is the ideal amount. And I was slowly reducing that optimal quantity, hour by hour, until there was none left. 

I would continue to sacrifice my sleep so long as I was awake for her return. If she’d asked why I was still up, I would lie. Though I wouldn’t look half so pretty as she did when she lied. 

Losing rest seemed like such a small price to pay to make sure I was fully alert in the event that an emergency happened, even if I would suffer the consequences in the morning. But hey - that’s what caffeine is for, isn’t it? To re-energize oneself after staying up to guarantee one’s enemy’s safety. 

Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly why Kaldi invented coffee in 750 A.D. 

Besides the thunderstorm, my mind also made great company for situations like these. Granted, the visions it would project kept me up for a reason - they were all so awful. 

There was simply no projected reality where things would turn out alright. 

If she had the time of her life on her date, she would come back to throw it in my face that I’d been wrong, and her admiration for Grant would have deepened. 

Or if he stood her up, she’d be devastated, but instead of letting me console her, she’d push me away as easily as she always did.

In a more neutral instance, perhaps she would admit it wasn’t as great meeting him as she thought it would be and the relationship would fade out for innocent reasons. Even if that seemed like the most favorable circumstance, she would eventually grow to resent me for planting the seed of doubt in her head in the first place.

But nothing- nothing I could have imagined would be as treacherous as what actually happened.

At exactly 1:09 a.m, my phone started to ring. I can’t explain to you what it was, but I just knew - it was her calling, and it wasn’t even her number.

“(Y/n)? Is everything okay?” 

If she said something beforehand, I couldn’t hear her because the storm was too loud and her voice was too quiet. “Did I wake you up?” 

I reassured her with a tone I didn’t even recognize. “No, no. I was awake. Why? What’s up?” The line went quiet again, forcing me to prompt her to speak in order to find out if she was still there on the call. “(Y/n)?”

“Spencer ...” She choked out a hoarse sob. “I need you. I need you to come get me, please.” 

My eyes clenched shut at the dreadful sound of her sorrow, and I jolted into action. After scrambling to gather the keys to her car that she’d left behind, I fled the room faster than ever before. 

“I’m on my way, (y/n). Stay right there. You’re at The Rooftop at Lamont’s right?” 

The poor thing took the longest pause in history, either from shame or disorientation. “He threw me in the back of his car and drove me all the way to D.C. I …” Her breath caught on her dry throat again. “I, um, I managed to escape and now I’ve barricaded myself in a payphone booth. I haven’t called the police yet. You were the first person I thought to call. I just, I just needed to hear your voice.”

My knuckles turned an unfamiliar shade of white when I gripped the steering wheel, picturing her caged up in a rectangular box, dialing my number instead of 911 just so she could hear my voice.

“Everything is gonna be okay. I promise you. My ETA is 1:28. That’s in 19 minutes. Are you okay being there for that long or do you want to find somewhere safer?”

I could no longer distinguish the difference between talking to her right now and talking to a victim in distress. I was speaking with the same tone and inflection but feeling a sharp pain in my chest that wasn’t there before. 

“I can stay here. Just ... don’t hang up, okay?” The fact that the possibility of me abandoning her over the phone even crossed her mind was more than enough to get me to drive well over the speed limit. 

The list of traffic infractions only grew from there because honestly? Screw my safety or anyone else’s. Her’s was the only one that mattered. She was the priority. 

She was my priority. 

Throughout the entire call, I kept repeating, “You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” Frankly, it was something we both needed to hear. 

It was both the fastest and slowest 19 minutes of my life. Time no longer felt real when I finally found the payphone booth that boxed in my troublesome girl. No sooner did I drive up to the sidewalk than I ran out of the car to sprint the short distance to free her from her coop.

“(Y/n)!” I shouted, swinging the door open and throwing caution to the wind in the process. Immediately, she dropped the phone, not even bothering to replace it onto its receiver. 

The pouring rain had stripped her of her dignity. Mascara ran down her face in pigmented streams of black. Her curled hair was dampened into strings. But worse of all, it hadn’t washed away the darkening bruises on her skin.

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She cried as she ran into my open arms. 

Her body collided with mine in such a gentle manner that I had to wonder how that was possible at all or if it was a figment of my imagination. Was our collision actually that gentle or did it seem that way because of how good it felt to have her arms and legs latch around my entire torso, crossing and connecting somewhere in between?

With one arm under her thighs to hold her up, I pulled her impossibly closer to me by cradling the back of her head with the other hand. 

Her small hands found their way into my hair, a new sensation I tried not to indulge in so as not to let my attention stray away from the little life I was holding in my arms. 

She was so cold. 

Shivering from my warm embrace, her teeth chattered as she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Spencer. You were right I should’ve listened -”

“Shh, it’s okay, (y/n),” I said with the hopes that I could make the pounding heart that was thumping against my shoulder settle down until it reached her standard heart rate of 67 beats per minute. 

After a second of just holding her wordlessly, she spoke again. 

“I don’t wanna fight.” She surrendered so easily to me that I could hardly believe this was her at all. 

“I don’t wanna fight with you either.” 

That was entirely true. Fighting with her was the last thing on my mind. The first was getting her into my car. 

It was easier that I imagined it would be, but then again, it’s easy to do things when you’re motivated in this way. 

Before I loosened my hold on her to shut the passenger door, she squeezed me a little tighter, as if to be absolutely certain this was real and not some cruel dream.

“Thank you,” She hummed into the crook of my neck. From where her shoulder was digging into my throat, I couldn’t exactly respond verbally, so I settled for rubbing my hand up and down her back comfortingly. 

“Let’s take you home,” I basically said to myself seeing as it was too quiet to be discernible. 

“No,” She shook her head rapidly. “Take me to your apartment.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to go back to the hotel right now. I need to be somewhere I feel safe.”

My apartment is closer than the hotel, I reasoned, pretending it was the logic of it that made my heart swell and not the statement I would fixate on for the entire duration of the ride there. 

I need to be somewhere I feel safe. 

And that’s wherever I’m with you.

_ _ _ 

Reader’s POV

Porcelain wall tiles gleamed back at me, mocking my wretched misery. They were much prettier than me, but then again, anything else would be prettier than me right about now.

I certainly wasn’t the belle of the ball in my bare naked state. The fact that I was sitting in a pool of my own washed off dried blood didn’t help either.

I would’ve looked away from the bright white walls, but where else were I to look? Into the pair of eyes that I was deliberately avoiding? The ones that were staring a hole through me right now? No. I couldn’t bear to meet those eyes. So I kept looking forward at the mean walls - those mean, mocking walls.

“Is the water warm enough?” He asked, dipping a finger into the bathwater to test it himself. 

I watched as his hand snuck into the tub and swirled around some water, causing soap bubbles to revitalize. 

For a reason I didn’t know nor could remember at this given moment, Spencer drove me to his apartment. That memory of why I was here was fuzzy, but the rest following my arrival was more vivid. Perhaps because it was all unfolding right now.

“I think I should go,” I murmured. The bathwater had gone cold, and the silence was too deafening. If I didn’t leave now, then I would be trapped forever. 

I leaned forward with my knees still pressed to my chest to protect my modesty while I tugged on the silver drain plug of the tub to release the suction.

“You can’t go home. You’ll be alone again, and who will be there to help you that time?” 

“I don’t need anybody’s help.” I responded curtly. 

“Then why did you call me tonight?”

“Why did you answer?” 

He was stunned by how I didn’t miss a beat with my question, stunned enough to purse his lips in contempt. “Should I have declined your call then? Said ‘no’ instead and let you fend for yourself? You know what - my bad, (y/n). I sincerely apologize that I care about you.” 

I scoffed at his factiousness. “No, what you should’ve done is whatever the hell you wanted to do. But clearly, since you said ‘yes’ and came to my rescue like I’m some victim in a case - you wanted to be there. I could chalk that up to you having a hero complex, but I think it’s time for you to admit you just wanted to see me at my worst so you could throw it in my face like you’re doing right now.”

He clenched his jaw in fury, muttering under his breath, “I should’ve left you in that booth.” 

This crossed a line, but I was just as ready to cross it, too. 

“But I bet you liked saving me. Seeing me as a damsel in distress that you could white knight. You like that, Spence? Does my weakness settle your deep rooted fear of inadequacy in strength?”

Shouldn’t have done that. 

For a second there, I was sincerely scared of the response I might’ve just elicited, so I shot up from the tub and grabbed the towel on the rack, quickly wrapping myself in it and avoiding Spencer’s gaze the entire way out of the bathroom.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Judging from the loudness of his voice, he was right on my heels, following me close behind. 

“You’re smart. Figure it out.” 

“God, why do you have to be such a pain in the ass? I don’t want to leave you like this.” It never failed to amaze me how he could both show disdain and concern for me in the matter of a sentence. 

“Well, you’re not leaving me like this - I’m leaving you like this.” My clever remark angered him more.

Seemingly from out of nowhere, Spencer called out from the end of his hallway, “What are you so scared of?” 

Reaching the end of my rapidly fraying rope, I spun around to throw my arms out to my side in just the same defensive manner as he did. “Nothing! Maybe I just don’t wanna be stuck in the apartment of the man who hates me! Can you blame me?” 

He ran a hasty hand through his hair, pulling at the strands out of pure irritation. “Why do you keep saying I hate you? How can any of what I’ve done for you tonight suggest that?”

He’d chosen his words carefully and for that, he was smart. His inclusivity of the word ‘tonight’ meant I could only reference his actions from the past few hours, which wouldn’t help my case, as opposed to the months and months that he’d given me the cold shoulder, which would have helped my case. But again, he was smart - he had me in a deadlock. I couldn’t accept defeat, but what could I possibly argue against his point? 

My body literally shook from the power of the deep groan that tore through my chest. “God, what do you want from me, Spencer?” I wanted nothing more than to be far, far away from him, but my body was resisting all those urges. Lunging forward, I pointed the sternest index finger at him, staring the most unforgiving glare into his soul. “Tell me - tell me what you want! Because when I was nice to you, you-you treated me like shit. And then when I stopped being nice to you, you still treated me like shit. So what -” I had to laugh to alleviate the sheer rage I was feeling. “What the fuck do you want from me? Because it’s like no matter what I do, it’s just not good enough for you!”

His eyebrows had furrowed and his eyes softened. He didn’t look angry whatsoever. No, he looked hurt. 

“Not good enough for me?” He leaned down to my level to look right into my eyes. “You are everything … everything to me.”

With one last breath, I cried out in anguish, “Then why? Why do you hate me so much?” 

He gulped back the lump in his throat - the last barrier that kept him from telling the truth. 

“I ... I never hated you. I just need to be in control of my thoughts and feelings at all times, otherwise, I feel-I feel like I’m going crazy. Like I’m on the verge of a psychotic break that I’m genetically predisposed to have. But when you came around - I lost all my control. You were inhabiting my dreams, you were stealing my sleep, occupying more and more space in my brain until there was no more room left to take. God, I think about you all the time, and I literally cannot physically stop it. I have no control anymore,” and somehow him saying that sounded something like an ‘I love you.’ 

“The only thing I could control was how I treated you. I thought being awful to you would get you to despise me enough to make me despise you, too, and while it was easier to be angry at you, it was so much worse having you hate me.”

“I never hated you, Spencer.” Never. 

“You should have,” He rasped. “I know I don’t deserve you, but I wish to spend every day proving that I want you. Oh, I want you so bad,” He sharply inhaled through gritted teeth, and I unconsciously laughed in return. His pain wasn’t funny in the least. What was amusing was knowing that he had the same excruciating longing for me that I had for him. 

“I don’t want control anymore if it means I can’t have you.”

He leaned in so carefully that I almost didn't register the movement at all. Our hearts were pounding to the same synchronized beat. We were the shore and the tide one in the same. Our breaths would draw in and out, in and out, as he held my face so gently. We were still the shore and the tide, but more than anything we were drowning in the ocean of ourselves. The rising waters of his admiration threatened to flood every empty nook and cranny of the room until it swallowed me whole. All I could feel was him, everywhere, filling absolutely everything. 

“Wow ... I finally got you speechless,” The cocky bastard hummed happily, letting his words vibrate on the smallest part of my lip.

“Oh, shut up,” I declared through a smirk I needed to fight off before finally closing that nearly imperceptible gap between us. 

All the forces in the world couldn’t tear us apart after we connected. They were no match for the force Spencer’s hands had as they pulled me impossibly closer. The pressure might’ve even been unbearable had it not been for the velvety pair of lips giving me back all the oxygen it stole from my lungs just seconds ago. They were so soft, like freshly washed sheets, like biting into cotton candy, like floating for the first time, feeling utterly weightless in water. It’s sweet, it’s so effortlessly sweet. 

Not nearly as sweet as the words that followed our parting. 

“Not enough for me?” He repeated, recalling my previous claim. “You’ve had me since the day you walked in, trouble.” 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

fingers crossed this fic doesn’t flop!

complete taglist: @muffin-cup @s1utformgg @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence @jemimah-b99 @justanothetfangirl @kylab @rainsong01 @calm-and-doctor @inkstainedwritergirl @rexorangecouny @ashwarren32 @carooliina @fortheloveofcriminalminds @watermelongubler  @obsessedmaggiemay @k-k0129 @aperrywilliams @eevee0722 @spencersmagic @spencerreid-mgg @half-blood-dork @goldeng1rl8 @just-a-bunch-of-fandoms @random-human-person @masumiyetimziyanoldu @dreamer-writer-fangirl @kalamitykait @jinxy175 @apolloroid 

tag not working: @gloriousmuffinempathstudent 

[bewitching-elizabeth-olsen]

Press: Elizabeth Olsen’s 20/21 Vision

The Marvel star takes us inside her transformation to a new kind of hero

GALLERY LINKS

Studio Photoshoots > 2021 > Session 002

Magazine Scans > 2021 > Grazia

  GRAZIA: Elizabeth Olsen is a trooper. We are in a field in Surrey on the outskirts of the Marvel studios; it’s a biting minus one and she is standing in a Chanel broderie anglaise sundress and increasingly soggy UGG boots. Her feline cheekbones face skywards, but Olsen is slowly sinking into the mud, trilling out high notes to keep herself warm (possibly distracted) and of course with spirits high. “It was the wind I think, that was worse than the sideways rain,” she jokes as we trundle back to the soundstage hangar that we are using as a studio. It’s the kind of moment that could go viral on Instagram, that is, if Olsen were on social media. Yet one of the biggest stars of our current cultural moment is completely offline – and that surprising fact might just be the least interesting thing about her. If anything, it is a sign of how Olsen has come into her own as a confident, decisive star with the power to create her own universe.

On the cusp of her 32nd birthday, Olsen is fastidious and professional, yes, but also bright, engaging, creative, and collaborative. Born and raised in the California sunshine, she is surprisingly at ease in the blustery conditions that deluge the English countryside in late January – or, it’s that she’s very good at acting. “It was one of the ugliest days of this winter – just hilarious – but I knew we wanted the shot,” the 31-year-old actress says.

Since October, Olsen’s been living in the leafy British countryside with her “man-guy-partner,” musician Robbie Arnett, just a short drive to the Surrey compound where Doctor Strange is being filmed. It’s a closed set, masked in secrecy as much as the socially distanced masked crew dotted all over the 200-acre studio. “It feels right being in a small city right now,” she says.

Indeed, Olsen is a modern-day Renaissance woman. Learned and dedicated to her craft, she studied at New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts, with a semester at the Moscow Art Theatre School studying Stanislavski. (Surely, no matter how much of a genius the Russian theatre master was, he never could have conceived of the Marvel universe.)

Approached with the concept of WandaVision, “I thought it was perfect for television, and a very original idea that made me excited,” Olsen says. Also, she was happy she would get to work with Bettany again: “He’s very precise, like me.”

In many ways, WandaVision is a love letter to the first American television heyday. Olsen, who stayed up late watching Nick at Nite reruns as a child, says it’s a bit of a homecoming in that way. “I was a very hammy, performative child,” she explains. “So, I do think I got to live out some sort of childhood dream doing the show.”

“The highlight was really getting to tell a story about these superhero individuals told in different decades of American sitcoms, trying to match the tone of those sitcoms in order to help orate the story,” she says. “But keep it playful and fun.” Little did she know just how much we’d need that.

Half-filmed pre-pandemic in Atlanta and half post-pandemic in LA – with a six-month hiatus in-between “until all the unions figured out to work safely” – WandaVision was released almost a year into the pandemic. In many ways, it is an artifact of its time: centered upon a yearning for the simplicity of earlier days, yet shot through with the creeping realization that such days may never return, and perhaps never existed to begin with.

Indeed, the weekly story of suburban superheroes Wanda and Vision has played out like a parable of our times: Wanda living in her chosen bubble, her trauma resonating in the world we find ourselves in today. Olsen appreciates a good metaphor, but feels people may be projecting a bit much. “I see Wanda as a victim of extreme trauma, who does not understand how to process it,” she explains. “She has been a human experiment.” (Not to belabor the point, but haven’t we all?)

Being summoned by Marvel is like being called to a parallel universe for an actor: thrilling, yes, but not without a tinge of terror and a dash of the unknown. Six years in, though, it’s become like family in some ways. As a member of two dynasties – Olsen and Marvel – family is key to Olsen. She checks in on her mom (who still lives in California) and, like many American daughters, is researching which vaccine mom should get.

The performative gene runs strong through her family, of course – and no, we don’t mean her sisters. Olsen’s mom was a ballerina. Still, when she first started auditioning, Olsen took special care to carve her own path – one far from Full House. “Nepotism is a thing and I’m very aware of it,” she says. “And of course, I’ve always wanted to do it alone.” She did just that, her acting credentials consistently rising as her sister’s cemented their fashion kudos. Olsen bears a noticeable resemblance to her fashion-designer older sisters and her sartorial DNA is similarly low-key. She loves The Row (of course) and NYC label Khaite’s denim and cashmere.

For Olsen, her day job is like playing dress-up. This time around, she walked away from WandaVision with the girdle worn underneath her 50s wedding dress, laughing, “I mean, to have a custom undergarment like that, I felt like it was necessary!” Her WandaVision co-star, Kathryn Hahn, also became her shopping cohort when filming.

“She’s dangerous!” Olsen says. “She has the most exquisite, minimal but expensive taste.” It was Hahn who led Olsen to the independent boutique where she found the belted Julia Jentzsch trench that she wore to our shoot.

At the rail of samples compiled by the stylist, Olsen gravitates towards a spacious linen boilersuit and longline cashmere cardigan. Has she always been a tomboy, I ask? “I think I felt uncomfortable being a child being told they were pretty,” she says of her early auditions at age 10, adding that her love of ballet and musical theater could leave her “feeling exposed” at a young age.

Speaking of over-exposure, Olsen is distinctly offline in a time when so many are defined by their social media presence. Among celebrities and regular digital citizens, the perfect balance of online and off is up for debate, but Olsen is clear: social media saturation is a choice for all of us, and everyone needs to draw their own boundaries.

“It has to be a personal decision, right?” she begins. “So, my opinion has nothing to do with what anyone else does or doesn’t do with it.” Her own journey began when she momentarily dabbled with Instagram (since deleted), while filming Ingrid Goes West, director Matt Spicer’s frightening and funny debut feature about a social stalker, co-starring Aubrey Plaza.

Up until that time, she says, “I had never touched it before. I thought, ‘This is an interesting social experiment for myself, to see if it is a good source to talk about charities or a good source to talk about small projects, or to share something goofier about myself.’ But I think at the end of the day, what I discovered was one, I’m really bad at creating a perceived identity!”

“I didn’t find it very organic to who I am as a person,” she continues. “I found some joy in putting up silly videos, but I think the main reason I stopped – not I think, I know the main reason why I stopped – was because of the organization in my brain.”

“Lots of horrible things happen all the time. Or, lots of great things happen all the time. Whether it’s something terrifying, like a natural disaster or a school shooting or a death, there are so many things that happen, and I love processing information. I love reading articles. I love listening to podcasts. I love communicating about things that are happening in the world to people around me. And what I don’t love is that my brain organization was saying, ‘Should I post about this?’ That seemed very unhealthy ….”

“And to then contribute to these platitudes that I don’t really love, you have to subscribe to two different ways of thinking,” she says. “So, I didn’t like that, and there was a lot of it that was just bothering me for my own sake of what value systems I have.”

That’s not to say that there’s any inherent value system – pro or con – in using Instagram. Olsen is clear that like any other method of expression, it’s up to the individual to use it as they see fit. “I do see a use of it and how you can use it well for work,” she says. “But I don’t think that I would like to use that tool to promote myself.”

She’s private for a millennial yes, but not prim. On the photoshoot, lockdown experiences were shared, and Olsen recounted her (hilarious) first at-home bikini wax: banishing her husband upstairs “for an extended chat with his therapist,” her trusted waxer on speed dial, and microwave set to ping! (Yes, Olsen is a trooper, as I mentioned.)

We catch up over Zoom a week later, her hair once again pulled up in a casual topknot, her cashmere turtleneck simmering in a dark claret, and her entire being suffused with covetable understatement. She chats buoyantly against an unexpected backdrop of pirate ship wallpaper in the playroom of a house she shares with Arnett, who proposed with an emerald and diamond ring in 2019.

“We first started to try to make it the gym, but it was so cramped,” she says of the jolly space. The home gym was instead awarded a larger room, where Olsen loves to maintain a varied fitness regime – running, yoga, dancing, more – though after all the intense Marvel filming, she jokes, “maybe it’s time to give up on my body?!” Being comic book fit does sound grueling or “time-consuming fun” as she anoints the “strenuous physical demands.”

Like most of us, she is longing for the spring, but she still takes a regular constitutional walk in a nearby Richmond park, whatever the weather. “The deer are incredible; every time I see them I feel alive,” she says. “We have been lucky to have nature around us in lockdown.” It’s a marked difference from her paparazzi-populated home in the Hills. “They know our walks, where we get coffee, work-out…,” she trails off.

Her haven in Los Angeles is her backyard, complete with a mid-century swimming pool and an edible garden. “It’s crazy the blackberries grow like weeds! I love watching a kid’s first reaction to an edible garden,” she gushes That has been the part of the pandemic travel restrictions she’s found hardest: missing her friend’s children growing up, and others who have been born this past year that she’s yet to meet. They will no doubt all be treated to her homemade blackberry sorbet on her return stateside.

Yet, her time on British soil will likely be prolonged, with a prospective indie commencing filming here when Doctor Strange wraps. Prompted for more detail, her firm charm kicks in. “I can’t jinx it!” she insists. Still, she will share that she’s heavily involved in the creative, and that funding smaller productions in the current climate has been a challenge.

Through it all, Olsen has remained determined and calm. “I feel patience is my superpower. But my weakness also,” she says. “I feel like it gets tested more than others who don’t have a lot of patience. If someone learns you’re easygoing or that you’re relaxed, sometimes it gets taken advantage of.” While she waits for the green light on that film, she is busy producing a new children’s cartoon with Arnett, “about loving and caring for our world,” and has also written a children’s book about to be published by Random House, all while the demands of Marvel life continue to surround her.

Indeed, Olsen is a superhero for the modern age: Multi-hyphenate, but fiercely devoted to the craft that she loves; instantly recognizable, yet thoughtfully protective of her private life; a woman with style, substance, success, and deep rewarding relationships with those around her; focused on a vision of a better world for us all.

Press: Elizabeth Olsen’s 20/21 Vision was originally published on Elizabeth Olsen Source • Your source for everything Elizabeth Olsen

[aion-rsa]

Marvel’s Loki Episode 3: MCU Easter Eggs and References

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

This article contains Marvel’s Loki episode 3 spoilers.

Marvel’s Loki episode 3 is a big one. It’s the first episode of the series to spend the entirety of its runtime outside of the TVA offices, the first where we get to spend a substantial amount of time with the mysterious Sylvie, and the coolest visit to an extraterrestrial location we’ve had in the MCU since Avengers: Endgame.

It’s a big one, and there’s lots of cool MCU things you might have missed, or might not know about from the pages of Marvel Comics…and more!

Here’s what we found in Marvel’s Loki episode 3. 

Lamentis

The planet Lamentis was introduced in the pages of Annihilation: Conquest Prologue (the very story that established the modern incarnation of the Guardians of the Galaxy). It exists on the outer rim of the Kree empire and is filled with scavengers trying to gather scarce resources via force. The Phyla-Vell version of Quasar and Moondragon were there to help keep the peace, mainly protecting a sect of pacifist priests from those who would take their stuff.

But to be clear, the events of Loki episode 3 take place on Lamentis-1, a moon of Lamentis, and it’s the planet itself that is breaking up and crashing into the moon, not the other way around.

Interestingly, while the lighting choices for this episode were most definitely a very specific story choice (more on that in a minute), it’s also in keeping with the way Lamentis was colored in its only comic book appearance.

Sylvie, Lady Loki, The Enchantress

We don’t get a TON of clarity on the nature of Sophia Di Martino’s Loki variant, but despite her “Sylvie” name, the balance is tipping further in the direction of her being a true “Lady Loki” and not strictly the Sylvie Lushton version of Enchantress from Marvel Comics (we wrote more about this confusing distinction here).

That being said, she’s not NOT Sylvie/Enchantress, either! It seems that Sylvie is indeed a variant Loki (recent merchandise reveals have officially shown that she is “Sylvie Laufeydottir” (as opposed to “Loki Laufeyson”)  so that’s another sign that she’s truly a variant of our Loki. For some reason (probably a good one) she doesn’t want to be known as a Loki anymore, hence “Sylvie,” and she does use enchantments as a primary power, hence “Enchantress.”

So the answer here is still “yes” to any of these questions, but we’re leaning on the simplest explanation being the correct one: she’s a Loki variant, and in true MCU fashion they’re just mashing up other elements of mythology from the comics to make a cool new character.

There’s also some serious Moonlighting energy between the hedonistic Loki and the more serious and on-mission Sylvie all through this episode, but we’re wondering how many of you are even old enough to remember Moonlighting, and that is depressing. 

The Loki/Enchantress-appropriate green tie-dye that Sylvie is rocking in the bar “flashback” is pretty cool, but not an Easter egg. But maybe we should bring tie-dye back this summer.

Loki is Bisexual

The “bisexual lighting” that Lamentis is bathed in throughout the entirety of the episode is no accident, as it’s revealed that both Loki and Sylvie are bisexual. Loki director Kate Herron spoke briefly about this reveal on Twitter, as well:

From the moment I joined @LokiOfficial it was very important to me, and my goal, to acknowledge Loki was bisexual. It is a part of who he is and who I am too. I know this is a small step but I’m happy, and heart is so full, to say that this is now Canon in #mcu #Loki 💗💜💙 pic.twitter.com/lz3KJbewx8

— Kate Herron (@iamkateherron) June 23, 2021

As far as we can tell, in terms of the comics, Loki’s bisexuality first came up in Young Avengers #15. After saving the world and getting a bit of a pep talk from Prodigy, a late-teen incarnation of Loki hit on his teammate for the sake of celebration, but was ultimately turned down.

“My culture doesn’t really share your concept of sexual identity,” Loki said in that issue. “There are sexual acts, that’s it. I’m actually the patron god of certain popular ones, believe it or not.” (some very cursory research fails to confirm that last point, which would really be perfectly in keeping for Loki to lie about)

“Another!”

When partying up on the train, Loki smashes his empty glass and excitedly asks for another. This is exactly what his brother does in the first Thor movie after enjoying a cup of coffee at a diner. It’s an Asgardian custom!

The Songs

The song that opens the episode is “Demons” by Hayley Kiyoko, which also includes some potentially Loki-specific lines as “Please forgive me, I’ve got demons in my head, tryin’ to eat me, tryin’ to feed me lies until I’m dead.”

The song that closes the episode is “Dark Moon,” a 1957 country hit by Bonnie Guitar (there are other versions, including a rare one by Elvis Presley and a really cool one by Chris Isaak for the soundtrack of the very cool and underrated A Perfect World, but the version here is Bonnie’s). It’s a little on-the-nose with the events happening on Lamentis, but also features haunting lyrics that may hint at something more: “Mortals have dreams of love’s perfect schemes, but they don’t realize that love will sometimes bring a…Dark Moon.”

Does anyone know the name of the song that Loki sings while he’s “full?” If so, please let us know in the comments!

The TVA

The mobile devices that TVA agents use to navigate through timelines are given a name in this episode: TemPads. 

We get a couple more bits of important TVA context this episode. The first is that apparently the Time Keepers reside at the top floor accessible by a golden elevator in the TVA offices. When Hunter C-20 said she “gave up the location” of the Time Keepers last week, who could have expected the answer to be so simple?

Additionally, Sylvie reveals at episode’s end that all TVA employees had a life prior to joining the TVA. In fact, every TVA worker was at some point a Variant just like Loki and Sylvie. This directly contradicts Miss Minutes’ claim that the TVA employees were created by the Time Keepers to police the Sacred Timeline. This may mean that Mobius was also lying to Loki about the nature of TVA agents…UNLESS…in the comics, Mobius was one of many Mobiuses, because the TVA engaged in “managerial cloning” for their best representatives, while employing “freelancers” for other work. Perhaps Mobius was telling Loki his truth, while Sylvie’s theory about the Variants being conscripted into service as Minutemen is ALSO true.

During the end credits, there’s a collection of TVA file photos on a desk, showing Loki and Sylvie together. Apparently, they’re getting their images from their exploits from Lamentis-1, as one photo is specifically Loki as a train guard. Looks like these two aren’t as hidden from the authorities as they realized.

Miscellaneous Time Variants

Funny enough, the shot of Loki landing after being thrown out of the train is framed to look exactly like when Loki fell out of Doctor Strange’s portal in Thor: Ragnarok.

The two soldiers at the entrance to the train are called Corporal Hicks and Private Hudson which is a neat nod to Michael Biehn and Bill Paxton’s characters in Aliens!

The guards on Lamentis look kind of like they’re wearing Cobra uniforms, don’t they?

There’s a serious Snowpiercer vibe to that “rich folks getting on a train to escape a natural disaster/apocalypse while the poor are left to suffer and die.” Wait, that is actually a real life vibe, too.

If episode 2 was a police procedural, this episode is very much “peak TV,” right down to its use of an obscure needledrop to end the episode coming out of an elaborate “one take” action sequence. Daredevil no longer has a monopoly on those in Marvel TV, it would seem.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Spot something we missed? Let us know in the comments!

The post Marvel’s Loki Episode 3: MCU Easter Eggs and References appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3xLb0W9

[melancholicvampires]

Amalia backstory pt. 1

Amalia cleaned the floor of the large main entrance hall for the third time today. At morning it wasn’t clean enough, at the afternoon it wasn’t either and now it didn’t shine enough. All in the high-pitched voice of the madame of the house in her typical demeaning manner. ‚Amalia, bring me a cup of my favourite tea‘, ‚Amalia, you forgot the black velvet gloves. How do you forget everything the minute I tell you?‘, ‚Amalia, there’s still dust in the corner of the room'. Sweat dripped from her forehead onto the freshly scrubbed spot, which she cleaned again not without an audible groan. A floor to look at ones own reflection seemed horribly unnecessary to her. The screeching voice echoes through her mind. ‚Amalia, did you even clean the floor? I want it to shine like a mirror'.

Scrubbing was not odd for her. It was what her usual task once a day. Cleaning it three times and letting it shove like a mirror however, were even in the halls of this house exaggerated work. And it was the largest, most expensive and exquisite house of the village and surrounding area.

The exterior walls were painted in the purest white, contrasted by the doors and balcony railings made of dark brown, looking almost black, wood and the wide grey roof. Tall columns in front of the skinny entrance double doors supported the roof and balcony.

Travellers and villagers equally gasped in amazement when they stand in front of the magnificence that is the mansion. What would they give to visit this building and live one day in this embodiment of mortal luxury? Only servants, visitors of high birth or importance and the noble family itself were allowed to enter the house. Although it was large enough to fit the whole village inside and there would still be enough space for visitors and a small orchestra.

Amalia never understood, why the other villagers weren’t allowed to enter the house. Not even for Christmas celebrations or at New Year’s Eve. After all it was them who provided food and money to the nobles.

She asked once the madame of the house, only to receive a cold stare and mumbled reply about how stupid this question was. Amalia didn’t understand what was stupid about it. It must have been a complicated question for she didn’t get a proper explanation.

Personally she would have switched with any of the villagers and travellers. The white friendly exterior always seemed like a liar to her. The many tall windows wouldn’t suppress the soulless darkness inside the house. And that all surrounding loneliness.

The staff was in the house everyday, yet it was quiet. The silence was only disturbed by fleeting footsteps and low voices. No one was allowed to raise their voice and make loud noise. Communication was only granted through whispering. The monsieur of the house suffered from a terrible migraine. No doctor could help him. They suspected crooked bone structures or that he hit his head once and simply didn’t remember. However they never took his mental state in consideration. Amalia was sure the solution must lie there. She snuck out to the library in the dead of night one day. She couldn’t hold her curiousity any longer, even her fear of punishment vanished. One book in particular struck her interest. The writer suggested chronic headaches might be a result from stress. But what could stress him out? He doesn’t work, nor has many visitors to worry about. Perhaps he is scared of something?

Amalia wrung out the cleaning cloth. She'd much rather read some about this topic than scrub the floor.

„Stupid floor", she grumbled, „the floor is already clean, why should it shine even more then?“.

She threw the wet cloth on the floor. A small puddle spread around it, like it would mock the young servant for not following her orders. The look on her masters faces and their outraged gasps upon a cloth and bucket with dirty water right in the middle of the main entrance, she'd have enjoyed. Picturing the scene, made her giggle.

„May you share what is so funny?“, a young voice asked.

„Odile, uhm, mademoiselle“. Amalia stood up, her stiff legs thankful for no longer kneeling on the hard ground. However the comforting feeling didn’t last long. A dump noise echoed through the entrance hall and the apologizing expression of the Odile told her the tale. As she glanced at the now dirty puddle on the floor, her suspicions were confirmed.

„Cursed bucket“, Amalia said, forgetting who was also in the room. „Pardon my language! And the mishap! I will clean up in an instant. You won’t even notice this accident happened“, she stumbles over the words and kneeled down in a desperate attempt to clean up the mess and hide her red face.

She always liked Odile. Although she was a bit stiff and very devoted to etiquette. She'd never ignore a duty and carry it out with perfection. She had to. Her parents seem to expect no less than the very best from her. Among those strict demands, her kindness didn’t suffer. She caught Amalia with a book about ancient medicine from the library, admiring Amalia's dedication and since then brings book to her. It’s a secret between just the two of them.

Odile got down next to Amalia and grabbed her hand, stopping her in her quick sloppy scrubbing.

Odile's hands were soft, not having faced tedious and coarse work, but only the delicate arts and crafts, as was fitting for an aristocratic lady. Amalia's hands were the opposite, although she was four years younger. Rough from the daily work and the cleaning of clothes and floors.

„What are you doing there? You need to help me choose a dress and clothe me. And my hair is not done yet“. Odile pulled the confused Amalia on her feet again. „We have an import visitor today and I need to look exceptional. Better than at any of the last visits. I couldn’t look as disheveled as I am now. La madame bought me new dresses. You need to help me decide for they look all magnificent“.

Amalia indicates with her eyes to the mess on the floor. La madame would kill on the sight of the small disaster.

Odile waved it off. „Another servant will handle it. We have more important business to attend to at the moment“. She continued talking as she pulled Amalia up the stairs to her room, turning her head to her. „And we cannot forget about you of course. You need to look decent for the evening. Wear the nice dress today. The one Madame gave you when my dear aunt visited“.

How could she forget? The servants were running around, the madame and monsieur were scolding a poor servant about one forgotten dusty edge of a  bookshelf, and Odile wore the prettiest dress Amalia has ever seen, she looked almost like a princess. As Odile's chambermaid Amalia couldn’t wear her trousers with improvised patches and oversized blouse, but a proper dress instead, with ruffles, puffed sleeves, flower embroidery and a wide skirt with a petticoat under it with even more ruffles. As much as Amalia thought the dress was pretty, she would have rather worn her patchy trousers and blouse. But arguing was of no use. The Madame was very keen on giving her sister a honourable welcome, or rather a welcome to show her superiority. If her sister was affected with envy, Amalia didn’t notice. She was graceful and always kind to the servants. Sometimes Amalia wondered if Odile wasn’t the daughter of her and simply got switched at birth or the Madame stole her from the crib, like a bitter hag they tell stories of to scare children.

„Don’t forget to close the door behind you", Odile ordered.

„Of course, Mademoiselle“. Amalia did as she was told and took a second to examine the room with her eyes.

When the rest of the house was clouded in darkness, this room was the hidden sun. Although not much light fell in there either, the cozy atmosphere was what gave warmth like a flickering fireplace in an otherwise dark room. The carpet with elaborate patterns from the far east, a collection of stuffed animals, the pillows of velvet, the padded armchair, in which Amalia slept when Odile was having bad dreams. Nightmares about a dark entity dragging her away from her family. She doesn’t have them anymore. Now Amalia sleeps in there when Odile needs someone to talk with. They would whisper and chuckle under their hands. Those fond delightful memories were only disturbed by the faded family portrait hanging on the wall exactly opposite from the armchair. They looked so serious in it without even a trace of a smile. The painting looked almost ironic with its bright colours. Odile explained it was fashionable to have a serious expression on depictions of oneself. Amalia was of the opinion a family portrait should show how happy everyone is to be together, with smiles and laughter.

The broad bed was surrounded by a transparent baldachin, revealing three dresses trough the light fabric.

„You will look like a princess from a fairy tale in all of them. Everyone will be enchanted by you", Amalia said with a gasp.

One dress was more beautiful than the other. The first dress capturing Amalia‘s glance was a simple black dress with golden embroidery, pronouncing elegance. The embroidery was as shiny as threads made out of gold. The other dress was a red velvet dress with soft and shiny fabric, the red was the colour of a deep wine. But the most beautiful was the dress of a dark blue brocade with an ornamental pattern. It was as blue as the sea at night, adorned by silver stars made of diamonds.

„Do you like the blue gown?“, Odile asked.

She must have caught Amalia staring in awe, although she didn’t try to hide her amazement. She nodded and let her fingers wander over the silky fabric and cold diamonds.

She looked at Odile with a smile. „The fabric feels so comfortable and warm. And the dress is not too long. The others are so long, you might trip".

Odile laughed, making Amalia put a confused look on her face, „You’re always so focused on practicality, little one. Is there nothing you choose to wear according to your taste in aesthetics? I rarely see you in other clothing than those blouses, that are too wide for you, and patched trousers“.

Amalia looked down her clothes, over her blouse, she had to tightly roll the sleeves of up her arm and her already colourful trousers from the patches. „They are comfortable and not so tight as your dresses are. I could barely move my arms or bend my waist last time I had to wear one!“, she protested, „If I have to wear that uncomfortable dress again today, I will pretend to be ill“. Her confident words however couldn’t hide her red face. She knew Odile was only curious and couldn’t understand how someone prefers worn ugly clothes over decadent dresses, but so could Amalia not understand how someone would want to be restricted in their movements simply for a pretty looking piece of clothing.

Odile put her finger up her lips, like she was in thought. „Perhaps we still have a suit that fits you in the servants dressing room. You are quite tall for your age. So your size shouldn’t prove a problem“.

Amalia's face lit up and she threw her hands around Odile. It was like Odile read her mind. „Thank you, thank you, Odile. You are the best!“, she exclaimed with a wide smile on her face, that vanished, like the shining sun being disturbed by a grey cloud. She stepped back with her head low. „Apologize my improper behaviour, Mademoiselle. I shouldn’t have disrespected your boundaries".

‚I am only a servant after all‘, she reminded herself. This household didn‘t tolerate violating the etiquette. No matter how small the offence may have seemed to a commoner's eye, to the a aristocracy every little step one took was of importance.

„But you are not", Odile spoke softly in her gentle voice. „Raise your head. Don’t be ashamed".

Amalia felt Odile's warm hands on hers. As she looked up she saw eyes, expressing calmness.

„Who would I be to take away your joy after giving you reason to be cheerful? Only a tyrant, no, a monstrous person would do such bleak thing“. She tilted her head. „You came into this establishment six years ago and have been my trusted chambermaid since. But you far exceeded that status. You were with me in times of grief and happiness, wept and laughed with me, listened to my dreams and talked to me about yours. You are not merely a servant to me, but a friend".

A friend? Amalia felt how her face became warm and hoped Odile wouldn’t notice her blushing. If she did, she concealed it very well. Honest friendship seemed like an illusion in this place, yet she couldn’t disagree to see Odile as more than the girl she has to dress and give company. But there was one concern.

„Won’t your parents disagree when they know you’re friends with a servant?“, she asked, thinking of their disappointed faces.

„There is something else I meant tell, however it has to wait until dinner“. Her voice returned to the tone of the organized daughter of the family. „You need to help me get dressed remember?".

„Of course!“, Amalia stammered.

She already had her chemise and stockings on under her silk morning coat, as well as black leather pumps with a simple crisscross lacing.

„Don’t forget to fold the coat this time. I don’t want any wrinkles in there", she instructed Amalia, as she took the morning coat off, rolling her eyes. She forgot one time to fold her morning coat and threw it on the sofa. Simply goes faster than folding it.

She loved the feel of the smooth fabric though she would never wear it. Silk seems so delicate and is mostly used for fine clothing. And has to be folded everytime very neatly, which takes time. Time she could use for reading books.

The pieces she had to dress Odile in were already layed out on the sofa, ready to be worn. Sometimes Amalia wondered wether Odile didn’t trust her with choosing the right pieces of clothing or she simply liked choosing and putting them out like this. Amalia may have picked the wrong garments in the wrong order one or two times, but that was a long time ago.

Next were the stays for the bust and fastened them on the back. When she tied the string, she always thought about the different suture patterns for surgery and went them through in her head. Appositional and inverting suture patterns, interrupted and continuous sutures, sutures that are simple and others that provide tension. Unfortunately she wouldn’t find someone to practice with her and her heart was too big to kill a cat. There are quite a number of mice and dead mice in the village, but her fear of mice always stopped her from using them as test subject. When they are dead, they seem worse than alive, she found. She shook herself to get the images out of her head. And picked up the next piece of clothing in line.

Odile raised her arms, so Amalia could put on the linen petticoat. She was much taller than Odile, which was quite practical for dressing her. Sometimes guests thought Amalia was older than Odile. She liked that. It made her feel already grown up, mutual to them.

Next was gown, the beautiful blue brocade gown she chose. She smiled to herself. The embroidery might have looked old fashioned, but it had quite a charm.

Amalia smoothed out the remaining folds. The silver embroidery shimmered on the deep blue fabrics. She almost looked like a goddess of the night sky, glistening with enigmatic elegance.

„You look beautiful!“, Amalia commented with enthusiasm.

Odile turned around to face the mirror and look at her reflection. A small elegant smile appeared on her face and her eyes glistened satisfied. Even though this might not seem like much joy to others, Amalia knew her long enough to recognize in which moments she was happy and this was one of them.

„Now we cannot forget about you, correct?“, Odile said, turning to look at the person in question.

The urge to hug her and scream into her ear came to Amalia again, but this time she stopped herself from it and simply nodded, but couldn’t suppress a snicker.

Odile threw a turquoise shawl around her arms and with a wave of her hand, she signed Amalia to follow her to the chamber where old clothes were kept. Amalia was surprised to find a servant uniform from when she started to work in this estate. The clothes were dusty and gnawed by moths. As she touched the fabric, it was brittle under her touch.

„Why do your parents still keep all that old stuff around and let it rot in here?“, she wondered, thinking of the other servants, complaining to freeze at home, not being able to provide warm woollen clothes for themselves nor their families.

„They say it might be of use in case new servants need to be employed. Providing used clothes, saves cost“.

Looking at the suffered and uncared for fabric, Amalia doubted those old rags would still serve a purpose other than to throw them into the fire.

Odile continued rummaging around in the collection of various servant uniforms.

„There’s one that might fit!“, she exclaimed, holding a black three piece suit.

„Odile!“, a female voice called from downstairs, „Odile, you should have been in the hall five minutes ago!“.

She looked back and forth and pressed the suit to Amalia's chest with a hurry. Amalia looked at her with a frown. She knew Odile had duties to fulfil, yet it saddened her to not have her look how the suit fits in case it wasn’t the correct size.

„I must apologize for not helping you dress, I must take my leave now. Madame requires my presence to instruct me on the etiquette for our guest". She put her hands on Amalia's shoulders and made a last apologizing smile, when the high pitched call sounded up to their floor again at which she took her leave with quick steps and with both hands slightly pulling up her dress.

Although in haste, she still appeared elegant, Amalia thought.

Staring in a mixture of being lost and joyous at the folded suit in her hands, clutched to her chest. The first time she'd dress someone in a suit and this someone was her, let her heart beat faster and her cheeks became red. But she had to hurry. The impatience in Madame’s voice and darkening sky indicated the evening and with it the guest was soon to arrive.

She stepped out of the musky chamber, turning her head left to right, considering the best options. Changing clothes in her room was the obvious choice, but she'd lose valuable time. Odile’s room was the closest, but if someone would notice she'd been in there, it would assure her the displeased insults of the Madame. She couldn’t be late to the reception however. As close servant of the Mademoiselle of the house, it would be an embarrassment, a disgrace even. As much as she regarded the aristocratic etiquette as unnecessarily strict and more than less helpful in being truthful, she knew how angry Madame would be at her. A few demeaning insults would be the least of her worries in such a case.

„Screw it", she whispered to herself. A displeased Madame, who insulted her was nothing new to her. And she was quick.

She went into the room, throwing the suit on the couch in the middle of the room. While pulling her worn out shirt up, she closed the door with her body leaning against it. Soon her clothes followed their way on the couch as well, as she threw them on there without wasting a second thought, whether they would make the soft clean cushions dirty or not, didn’t matter to her for the moment.

She put the pieces on, one after another, feeling the smooth comfortable fabric against her skin. It was so different than the rough and patchy fabric or tight dress she was used too.

Closing the last button of the black waistcoat, she looked up into the mirror and a wide smile appeared on her face. She turned around to look at herself from all sides, testing how well she could move in the new clothes. With content she found it appropriate. It was almost like the suit was made just for her. She couldn’t clean in it obviously, but wear it to every festive occasion from now on, she determined, forgetting about the strict etiquette of the house for the moment.

She stayed there for a few minutes more, admiring herself in the mirror. To her it felt like no time had passed, as she was busy, catching every aspect of how she looked in her new found favourite clothes. She couldn’t wait showing herself to Odile. She'd surely be happy too.

„Odile!“, she quavered louder than she intended.

With widened eyes she looked on the clock on the wall. She had only one minute left until the guest arrived!

[dmcdrabbles]

*slides you a nice, shiny red orb* 'ey fam you wanna fuck me up with something about the Reader being 100% totally-has-been-since-forever-in love with Nero, but dumb rowdy angel boy either doesn't see it or is with Kyrie?

I got this one SO long ago and it turned into The Mega Ficlet™ which is super exciting for me because even though it’s not that long, I’ve never written this much for a request before (or for most things lol). I think I just really like angst, even though I have much trouble expressing it (๑•́ ω •̀๑) I hope this sad enough lmfao

–

Pairings: Nero x Kyrie, onesided Nero x Male Reader

Summary:  Your best friend is getting married. Of course you’re happy for him. Why wouldn’t you be?

Word Count: 5,638

Warnings:  angst, recreational alcohol use, offscreen injury

——————————————————————————————

The summer after the Qlipoth was as hot as hell on Earth, the kind of summer that got everyone sluggish, running their daily routines at half-speed. Funny how so immediately after life-shattering disaster normalcy slides right back into place, as welcome as an old friend.

Three months have passed, and Redgrave was well into its repairs. Donations came pouring in from outside cities with the unspoken sentiment of “poor thing, but we would’ve done better”; benevolence with an undercurrent of superiority. Even the Devil May Cry crew- including Dante and his brother- had returned to something approaching ‘normal’, whatever that meant for people like them.

You, on the other hand- you had been benched for most of the past three months after a Behemoth had snapped your femur like a twig. Nico had offered to build you a new leg and seemed only mildly discouraged at your reminder that you didn’t plan to cut it off. It was the second big personal disaster of the year- the first being the Qlipoth roots pulverizing your apartment building, forcing you to move in with Nero and Kyrie. You hobbled around their place and felt like a goddamn burden most of the time. You practically begged the doctor to take your cast off.

Only three months gone and normal had slid back into place like one of Nico’s vinyls, spinning round and round and playing the same familiar tune. This one’s called ‘We’ll Be Fine’.

But disasters came in three for you, they always had.

“Okay, okay, slow down!” You yell, pressing your hands against your knees as you try to catch your breath. Ahead of you, Nero slows to a stop and whips around.

“Tired already, Y/N?” He taunts, laughing. “You’ve gotten soft since we left the Order.”

“I just got my cast off two days ago! I’m a normal amount of tired,” You pant, wiping sweat away from your forehead with both arms. Your right leg is throbbing with pain, but you try to keep your steps even. “You’re just too energetic.”

With the rubble cleared in Redgrave City and most of the populace trying to hide from the heat, most of the sidewalks were prime real estate for training. Whole long stretches for Nero to torture you back into shape with. Just like old times. He could always leave you in the dust, fucked-up leg or not.

“What’s got you so bouncy?” You manage, coughing into your wrist.

Nero’s face twists a little and he cups the back of his head, elbows up to the sky as he stretches. The tension in his face melts away as he contemplates, and you almost want to look away- there was just something so private about seeing him so unguarded. He carried the weight of all his stress in his knit brow and his tensed jaw; you haven’t seen him look this relaxed since before you left Fortuna.

“Hey, what’s that look for?” You ask, taking shaky steps to catch up to him. “You get some other new power I didn’t know about?”

“I wanted to talk to you about that,” Nero drops his arms, swings them a bit as you two start walking side by side. Nowadays it’s so obvious how much of a growth spurt he had- you can remember a time when Nero was so much shorter than you that the morning sun wouldn’t be shining behind his head like that. You have to squint just to look at him.

He rubs his nose, and you stiffen despite your exhaustion. Didn’t take a genius to know what that meant, just someone who knows him half as well as you do.

“About your new power?” You laugh, halfhearted. Weird how even emotional weight slows your footsteps these days. “Did you grow another arm or something?”

“Y/N,” He says, coming to a stop. You just keep walking, trying to keep the jaunt in your step. “I finally asked her.”

“Oh,”

“She said yes.” His voice is so soft.

Couldn’t have expected personal disaster number three to happen so fast. A chronic injury, chugging along with almost-ignorable pain just flaring up fast enough to floor you. Switch the vinyl, play another old song- this one’s called ‘Be Happy for Him’.

“Damn, Nero! Congrats!” You slap his shoulder, “You and Kyrie, getting married? Knew it had to happen eventually.”

A grin breaks out along Nero’s face, and he rubs his nose again. He wraps his arm around your side, yanking you up against his. Like this you barely have to use your bad leg and walking almost feels relaxing again. You’re so close you could tilt your head and rest it on his shoulder.

“We were hoping to have the wedding soon, maybe this month–”

“Why? Any pressing needs?” You joke, petting the air in front of you where a round belly would sit. Nero slaps your hand down.

“No!” He yelps, face red. “We just don’t know how long it’ll be before the next crisis, you know?”

That crease between his brows is back, eyes far off like he was still trying to see the future. Looking for some guarantee that they’d already suffered enough this year and could rest easy for once.

“I know.” You tell the sidewalk, as quietly as if its some kind of secret.

“We don’t exactly have a lot of people to invite, and we wanted something small.” He says, slowly. “About that…”

You round the corner together, finally reaching a part of the city with enough appeal for the people to brave the heat for. You two get more than your share of annoyed glances as passerby weave around the wide blockade you form with your entangled bodies. Nero barely seems to notice.  

“Y/N, you know how long we’ve known each other?”

“Iunno. Nine, ten years maybe?” You wrinkle your nose, thinking back. “All I remember is Credo bringing this little snot-nosed runt into training one day and saying that he was going to join us.”

“Runt?” Nero snorts, “I kicked your ass!”

“Only because you fought dirty!” You jab him in the side and he twists away from it, laughing. “Remember what Credo said when they pulled you off me?”

“'Holy Knights don’t start fistfights’?”

“God, so lame.” You shake your head, willing away the less cheery memories that latch themselves to your time in Fortuna. “So like, a decade. What about it?”

Nero pauses, and realization comes to you quickly. Is it entrapment if he’s got his arm hooked around your shoulders like that?

“You’re the closest friend I have, Y/N…”

Don’t ask this of me, you want to say. Instead you stare ahead, burning the memory of this street into your mind in third-person perspective. You wonder how many of the other people around you are feeling that chronic pain of heartache stabbing at them with every throb. It’s an invisible disease with no risk of mortality; the worst symptom is just a constant feeling of being the dumbest person you know.

“Will you be my best man at the wedding?”

“Really! ‘Will you be my best man’, he says.” You burst, laughing a bit. “You’re making this sound like another proposal! No need to be so formal!”

“You’re such a pain,” Nero grumbles, taking his arm off your shoulder and shoving you. An innocent passerby dodges you by an inch, tossing a dirty look over her shoulder at you. “Will you do it or not?”

“I,” You look at the ground, at the buildings, at the dozens of bystanders watching you squirm. “I think I’d make a pretty shitty best man. I don’t know anything about weddings, you know?”

“You’re not our wedding planner,” Nero protests, “Practically just a witness.”

“What if I don’t want to ‘witness’ you and Kyrie being all lovey-dovey as always?” You quip, trying to sound lighthearted.

“Please?” Nero grabs your hand, turning you around to face him. The two of you are taking up the entire sidewalk- you’re probably shoved once or six times, someone probably yelled at you- but it doesn’t even seem to matter. You stare at him, transfixed. You’re pretty sure you’ve never even heard him say ‘please’ before. “I want you there.”

God dammit. That’s not even fair.

“Okay.”

—

It’s three weeks before the wedding, and Nero’s picking out his tuxedo. You had feigned some horrified shock at the idea- you’d never seen someone force him into formal wear before, let alone seen him wear it willingly. You were half sure he asked you along just to spread the misery.

“If I knew the job meant giving you fashion tips, I would have charged you.” You grumble, shifting uncomfortably on the fitting area couch. Weird how they could spend so much money on interior decorating and still make the place so awful to stay in. Still, it was the only place that had managed not to get destroyed by the Qlipoth, so it wasn’t like you had many options.

“Right?” Nico drawled, foot kicking so fast it practically vibrates. She’s been on edge since the attendant confiscated her cigarettes. She sticks out against the artistic monochrome of the store like a tattooed sore thumb. She leans full on against you, the literal to your metaphor of leaning on her. It’s easier to tamp down the melodrama with her crowing in your ear every other minute. “Maybe the wedding should be trash bag themed. Kyrie would still look cute.”

“Oi, quiet out there!” Nero calls from the other side of the stall. “Nico, what’re you even doing here? You’re a bridesmaid!”

“Maid of Honor,” Nico corrected, “And you need all the fashion help you can get. Now are you coming out here, or what?”

The dressing room creaks open loudly, and Nero takes his first step out. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looks almost…sheepish. You’ve never seen him look like that before, and it hits you with a sudden rush of wondering how many other sides of him you’ll never see.

At the beat of silence he spins around and looks at himself in the hallway mirror. He seems so much taller and broader in a suit- he’s nearly as big as Dante now and he looks it.

“Nero, you look…” You start hesitantly. The pause could last a second or an hour and you wouldn’t know any better- it’s unbearable. And punctuated with a loud slap as Nico smacks your thigh with her open palm, jolting you out of your seat as you wheel on her with wide eyes. It throbs in familiar pain again and you clutch it mindlessly.

“Damn, Nero! You ain’t look half bad when you’re cleaned up!” Nico locks eyes with you, a broad grin on her face. “You tell him, Y/N!”

“Right!” You blurt, following her lead. “Never would’ve guessed you’d look so good in a suit.”

Nero glances at you over his shoulder, smile softening his features back into that unfamiliar little boyish look. The wedding date’s barreling towards him and Kyrie faster than Nico in her van, but every day his face seems to hold that unguarded bliss for a little bit longer.

“Good thing, I don’t think Kyrie would have wanted me to get married in street clothes.” He turns back to face the mirror, tugging the hem of his suit again like he’s not used to jackets that fit right. “You don’t think the blue is too much?”

“It brings out your eyes.” You explain. You had picked it off the rack for him with that in mind. Nero’s eyes meet yours in the mirror for a moment, and you wonder if you can play off that softness in your voice for some sort of sentimentality.  

My best friend is getting married to the love of his life and I get to be there for every second of it. I’m so happy I could just die.

“Thanks. I guess this one’s probably it then, huh?” Nero looks down at the suit again, pinching it off his body to look at the fabric. It really is a good match, and you tuck away the little factoid that you’ve spent so much time staring into Nero’s eyes that you’ve memorized their lovely grey-blue.

“You don’t even wanna try the one I picked out?” Nico pouts. She pulls a half-smoked cigarette from her shirt pocket and sets it between her teeth. “Fine, fine, go on and change. We’ll see y'out front.”

Nico has the decency to wait for Nero to get back in the stall before she accosts you. She grabs your arm and yanks you up from your seat, dragging you around the corner and behind the racks of suits. These ones are so expensive you don’t have to worry about customers coming by. How clever. Her fingers are like daggers in your bicep when she spins you around.

“Nico? What the hell are you-”

“Okay, listen here.” She whispers, stabbing your chest with one of her little dagger fingers. Her cigarette stays surprisingly steady between her pursed lips. “I know what’s goin’ on with you-”

“There’s nothing going on with me,” You whisper back, slapping her finger down and rubbing your bruised pec. Your heart races under your palm.

“Hey, hey, shut it!” Her voice climbs until an attendant looks over, and she drops it back down into a conspiratorial whisper. “Trust me when I say I feel for you, but you can’t be doin’ none of that-” She clasps her hands together and flutters her eyelashes at you, then snaps back into a stern pout, “Around him, y'know?”

You open your mouth, then close it. Who cares. I’m already obvious.

“I’m not doing it on purpose.” You whisper, and Nico has to lean in even closer to hear you.

“Well of course you ain’t,” Nico slaps you in the arm, glancing around the corner to make sure Nero’s still in his changing stall. “Nobody’s looking that tragic on purpose.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime. Listen,” Nico’s voice drops into a more serious tone, and somehow it makes you nervous. “I’m gonna help you out here. You work with me, and we’re gonna get out of this with minimal damage. It’s a goddamn miracle Nero ain’t already noticed the little crush you got on him, homewrecker.”

The relief drops back down into the pit it rose from. She might as well have slapped you, would’ve been just as funny and hurt less.

“I’m not a fucking hom-” The dressing room door’s creaking cuts you off, and Nico snaps away from you faster than you can finish your sentence. Nero whistles lowly as he turns the corner, suit folded over one arm and lifting the price tag.

“Damn, Y/N. You really know how to pick 'em. This suit’s the most expensive thing I’ll own.” He sighs and let the tag hang, looking up at you and Nico for a moment. He double takes the expensive suits around you, face pulling into a wince. “I am not trying any of those on.”

It’s two weeks before the wedding, and Nero is practicing old drills with you. You never would have thought he’d be the one to suggest it- back when you two were teenagers he hated those drills more than anyone else you knew. Not that it meant his form was ever sloppy; he just played fast and loose with the rules and his sparring never suffered for it. You, on the other hand, had found comfort in the repetition of the exercises; you would practice them over and over until they stuck in your head like ‘Be Happy For Him’.“I can’t believe you still remember all the steps,” Nero mumbled into his shirt, lifted to wipe the sweat off his forehead. He had shoved Red Queen tip-down into the dirt and you had to stifle the old habit of nagging him about it. No officers to get in trouble with anymore. “I did the drills a lot more than you did.” You snort, starting up the drill again from the top. It was nice to know your body could still make the motions. “Never saw the point in them. Nobody fights like,” Nero picks up Red Queen and copies the four steps of the starting drill, “You follow that pattern every time, you’re gonna get your ass kicked by the first person who notices it.”You roll your eyes. “That’s not what the drill is for, which you’d know if you listened to our instructors.” You switch up the first drill halfway, changing to the end part of the third drill then back to the top of the second. “It’s so you know how to respond to your opponent and always have something to fall back on. And for good blade control.”Nero stops your sword with his own, stepping up in front of you so you can see his skeptical look. “So you just go back to the old moves one way or another. But people and demons don’t exactly fight fair. What happens when you get something you don’t have a drill for?”“That’s what the control is for.” You push down Nero’s sword and straighten yourself back into your familiar sparring stance. “Wanna test it out?”“Thought you’d never ask.” Nero grins, spins Red Queen just to show off. “You gonna be good on that leg?”To answer you dash forward, sword flashing in a flurry of sweeps you already know Nero will dodge. Using unblunted weapons is a bad idea, especially at this speed, but you and Nero spend more time practicing with real blades than fake ones anyway. He recognizes the drill as expected and brings Red Queen down by his legs in anticipation of the final slash. You feint away at the last second, whipping your blade back and starting up a different drill; this one presses him to retreat back step by step.He doesn’t even try to attack. Maybe he can see the slight stumble in your bad leg, maybe he knows you’ve never favored your left so strongly before. You stop your drill halfway again and instead make a slash around his head so fast that he stumbles back afterward, a ‘what the hell?’ popping out of his mouth just as a tiny lock of his fringe falls to the floor. “Your cut was a little uneven,” You explain, mouth curling up into a half-smile. “Blade control.”Nero huffs and shrugs, ruffling the front of his hair for a moment and starting to turn away. At the last second, the dull side of Red Queen sweeps the back of your good knee and you crash to the ground with a yelp. Nero stabs Red Queen into the ground beside your head, plants one black boot next to it, and leans over you with a smirk. “Fighting dirty.”

—

It’s one week before the wedding, and you’re sitting at the kitchen table making wedding decorations. The original plan was just flowers scattered everywhere- Nero and Kyrie both loved them- but bouquets were too expensive for a Devil Hunter’s budget. So origami it was.

“Done.” Trish announced, dropping one last flawless stalk of paper leaves onto the table. You had been skeptical about Kyrie’s choice to enlist Trish and Lady with the decorations, but one glance at their work had you eating your words- they were damn good at this. “Do you need help with the roses?”

You exchanged a look with Nero, staring at each other and then the messes you two are making out of the paper. You laugh and slide over a stack of paper. “Yes, please.”

“So, Y/N, how are you holding up?” Lady asks after a moment of working in silence. Your eyes flick to Nico for a second and she raises her hands up defensively, like she expects you to attack her with some delicate handmade decorations.

“Uh,” You accidentally rip one of the petals you’re working on and you curse under your breath. “What do you mean?”

Lady looks between the two of you for a moment, mouth twisting into an amused half-smile. “Your leg?”

“Oh. It’s fine.” You flex your leg out as if to test it again. It responds with a resounding throb of pain. “Would be even better, if somebody didn’t decide to clothesline me with his sword.”

“Come on, I barely hit you.” Nero grumbles, waving away Lady’s dubious look without glancing up from his rose. He’s starting to get the hang of it.

“I figure after the ego bruises heal I can get started on finding a new place.” You continue, just as Kyrie walks in with the snacks for everyone. She stops short, mouth falling open in surprise just as Nero turns to you with an almost identical expression. It would be funny if it wasn’t directed at you.

“Y/N, I didn’t know you planned on moving out so soon!” Kyrie starts up again, placing food and drinks on the table as she watches you with a strangely worried look.

“Ah, well,” You take your drink and gulp it down to spare yourself some time. “After the wedding I thought it would be nice for you and Nero to have the place to yourselves.”

Nero pulls his mouth in a tight line. “We’re not gonna kick you out.”

“You don’t have to,” You say, awkwardly. “I just think it’s going to be awkward having an extra roommate around.” And I can’t pay my share of the rent if I can’t fight anymore.

“You’re always welcome with us,” Kyrie smiles gently, until Nico groans loudly and makes her jump.

“Aw, come on. Don’t make it weird for’im.” Nico crosses her arms, locking eyes with you and nodding just the slightest bit. “He’s just too nice to say he wants his own place again.”

Lady and Trish’s eyes ping-pong between the four of you, watching the argument unfolding with mild amusement. You drop your own gaze to the table to avoid locking eyes with anyone.

“Well, you can stay with us in the meantime,” Kyrie pipes in. “At least until you get back on your feet?”

“Nah,” Nico fills in for you again, “Because he’s gonna be stayin’ with me.”

—

It’s the night before the wedding, and Nero is sitting with you at the bar. He’s trying to salvage something more relaxed out of this bachelor’s party that he didn’t really want, and you’re doing your best to help. Dante’s plan to “show up at the bar and see what happens’ combined with the only guests being the groom, the uncle, the estranged father, and the lovesick best friend is turning about as well as could be hoped.

“He didn’t,” Nero sounded horrified, but a grin was stretched wide across his face.

“I’m serious!” You insisted, shouting over the music and the chatter all around you. You took another cautious glance all around- you hadn’t seen Dante for well over an hour, but you still felt the need to check. “He said ‘if we can’t take Nero to the strip club, we’re taking the strip club to him’. Word for word.”

“Noooo,” Nero moaned, his entire upper body melting onto the bar even as he shook with laughter. His grip stayed firm around his beer though- he learned well from the last one. “Stripper nuns, though? The hell does he think I’m into?”

“I was afraid to ask,” You take another gulp of your own drink, eyes falling closed to savor the way the alcohol seemed to turn even your anxiety into a pleasant blur.

“How the hell did you talk him out of it?” Nero asks the bar, blindly wiping the condensation off his beer glass.

“Told him he could bring stripper nuns to my bachelor party someday.” You lean your face on your hand, watching Nero’s back shake again. You were pretty sure he was giggling. “It’s hard being a martyr.”

“Martyr?” Nero turns his head, pillowing it on his forearm as he smiles at you. God, he’s so drunk. “You’re my guardian angel.”

“At your service,” You salute sarcastically. The conversation lulls and you rest your chin on your hand, glancing around the room. When you look back down at Nero, he’s still watching you. His smile has faded back into something thoughtful. “What?”

“You finished packing up this morning, right?” Nero mumbles, head bobbing slightly with his words.

“Yeah. Nico already picked up my stuff, so I’m staying with her tonight.” You tap your fingers against your glass. “She offered to start teaching me her gunsmithing too.”

At that, Nero sits back up. “Really? You gonna have to pay an apprenticeship fee or something?”

“Pff, no.” You stare at your glass. “But I’ll be joining her side of the business. For now, at least.”

Nero stares at you for a second, mouth open. “The hell? And you didn’t tell me?”

“Uh, sorry?” You twirl your cup, face twisting into a grimace. “I’m just testing it out for now.”

“Jeez. You’re leaving devil hunting and I’m getting married. What a year.” He sips his beer. “You excited?”

You look at Nero for a moment, not sure how to answer. How do you say ‘I’d rather it all stay the same forever’ without sounding as pathetic as you feel?

The bartender saves you, sliding up to offer refills. You accept, and she turns to Nero.

“I’m still working on it,” Nero sits up, drunk grin relaxing back into that soft expression he got so often lately. “We probably shouldn’t drink too much before tomorrow.”

“Special occasion?” The bartender asks, sliding your drink to you and picking up your old glass to clean it out. You take it in big gulps, a medicine for the upcoming repetitive conversation- you’ve heard people ask Nero about it so many times you can’t stand to be sober for it this time.

“Wedding.” Nero grins. The bartender whoops and tops off his beer.

“Finally some good news in this city. Everyone’s so damn depressing lately.” The bartender picks up a clean glass, clinks it against yours and Nero’s cups in turn. “Congrats, you two!”

The warmth in your stomach cools, then freezes. You fumble, exchange a glance with Nero. “Oh, I’m not–”

“He’s the best man,” Nero explains, red up to his ears. “I’m marrying someone else.”

“Oh,” The bartender says, sounding genuinely surprised. “Sorry, you were just looking at each other all puppy-eyed-”

“Where’s your bathroom?” You interrupt, and you must look queasy because she hands you a plastic bag from under the counter even as she points to the back corner. The second your bad leg takes your weight it crumples under you, and Nero’s arm shoots out to hold you up. You twist out of his grip.

“I’m good, I’m good-” You assure him as you stumble off, not caring who you bump into, breathing hard into the plastic bag. People sober enough to see the way you heave part way for you, clearing a decent path to the bathroom. You shove the door open as hard as you can. To your irritation, it doesn’t even make a peep. You scan the room- empty. You run into a stall. You fall to your knees in front of the toilet bowl.

And you let out a sob.

It echoes through the bathroom, multiplying until it almost feels as loud and as crushing as it feels. You grip the bowl and empty your tears into it, whole body curling into itself tighter and tighter like you can make yourself so small and weak that the pain will leave, satisfied. Every sob forces its way out of you violently. Let it out, you tell yourself sarcastically, the same way you would if you really had just vomited into the bowl like you were supposed to.

You don’t know how long you kneel there, only that by the time you finally roll onto your ass your knees are numb. You’re still crying but at least the roaring in your ears has died down enough for you to hear your phone vibrating against the tile. It must’ve fallen out of your pocket. You glance down, eager to shut it off, but it’s slid far into another stall and you practically have to crawl into it to pick the phone up. At least the gaps under the stalls are massive.

Two notifications- a text from Nero (‘you ok?’) and an incoming call. “NICO” flashes across the screen. Right. She was supposed to be picking you all up.

“Finally you answer!” Nico yells into the phone, and you wince away from it. “You know how many times I’ve been callin’ you, dummy?”

“Sorry,” You whisper into the phone. Another sob shakes you, and you cover your mouth. Too late.

“Hey, you doin’ okay?” Her voice is so much softer than usual and it makes another sob bubble up out of you.

“I’m so tired of this, Nico.” You whisper, voice taking on a harsh edge as you grit your teeth. “I can’t do this.”

“Hey, hey, hey lover-boy, it’s just one more day. One more day and this shit’s over and done with.”

“It’s not!” You hiss, drawing your knees up tight to your chest. When your voice comes out again, it’s rising louder and louder. For a second the music in the bar seems to climb with your voice, then it’s damped down again. “It’s not done tomorrow! Tomorrow is the ‘first day of the rest of their lives’,” Your voice breaks in a half-crazed, exhausted laugh, “And I’m so happy for them! Nobody in the world deserves it more than they do! I should know, I’ve been by their sides for almost a fucking decade!”

“Listen–”

“We don’t have the Order anymore, we don’t have Fortuna anymore, but they have each other and Nero is so, so happy with her.” You have to pause, overwhelmed by another breath-stealing shudder, “I would never want to hurt Nero. I want him to be happy.” Your whole body seems to relax at once, ragdolling you against the stall. “I just wish he could be happy with me.”

“Listen, lover-boy,” Nico starts, but you don’t hear the rest. Through the bottom gap in the stall you can see a pair of black boots, standing motionless just a few feet away. They turn slowly, and by the time you have the stall open he’s gone.

—

It’s the day of the wedding. They planned it for the evening, just a simple ceremony in a simple place with a small group of people and a simple reception. The details blur together like you’re still drunk. Nero hasn’t spoken to you since last night, and you can’t tell whether it’s deliberate. On their wedding day, grooms rarely have time to chat, let alone confront their best man on what they may or may not have heard the night before.

As planned, you and Nico walk the aisle together to your spots. You’re too slow for the music and you know it, but you’re not used to your new cane yet and you haven’t gotten the right rhythm to support your steps with it yet. Nico stayed up late crafting it for you, said you couldn’t just keep fucking up your bad leg by walking on it as much as you do. She’s working overtime to act like you’re just hungover instead of emptied out from an emotional breakdown, and when you can feel present again you’ll be sure to thank her. Until then you stand behind Nero, face schooled into a smile.

How far back would you have to go to save yourself from this feeling? The moment you accepted your role as best man? The moment Nero told you he was getting married? Your choice to follow them after the crisis in Fortuna? The day you and Nero were sworn into The Order? The day you met him?

How many years would you erase to stop yourself from being here this day, this time, standing at Nero’s side and knowing the fact it was a place no longer reserved for you?

Had it ever been?

Nero looks back at you over his shoulder, brow creased up in that soft expression that has gotten so familiar over this past month. Not a sign of fear or regret. It was the face he made when those butterflies fluttered in his stomach, when he told you about being with Kyrie, about the future he wanted together with her. A face that said he couldn’t wait for the future.

But his eyes are sad. And you have to wonder what that means.

He turns as the music started for her walk down the aisle. So beautiful in white, the fabric of her veil fluttering behind her almost reminiscent of Nero’s wings. She glows in the sunlight. The smile on her face crumples into an overwhelmed grin as she looks up the aisle to her groom and his best man, both of whom stood there with faces wet with tears.

As Kyrie and Nero step into each other’s spaces they bubble off the world around them. No pretenses between them, no expectations, just hands meeting and a whisper under Nero’s breath of her name, spoken like the most intimate word in the world.

And you stand there privy to it, like a voyeur to joy that was never meant for you or your ears.

Tonight, tomorrow, a week from now, a year, you can rebuild yourself into something that you hate a little less. You reassemble yourself just like Redgrave City has, piece by piece. You can play that familiar tune “We’ll Be Fine”, because you will be.

But for today? Today you witness their first kiss as husband and wife, and you stumble a little when you let go of your cane to applaud.

[otakween]

Cyborg 009 Manga - Hepatica Symphony, Pharaoh Virus, Modern Narcissus, The Seven Children, Invisible Strings, and Cosmo Child

Hepatica Symphony

-Well that was kinda beautiful and kinda stupid at the same time. It starts out having nothing to do with the cyborgs and then Albert just randomly shows up at the end, having a very thin tie to the main filler character. I feel like they already did this with 007 and his random old friend. Both happened on a snowy mountain too. Running out of plot lines here. 

-So...004 saved a woman from an avalanche by...shooting at snow? Like...what? The art didn’t make it clear how that works at all but okay

-It was interesting seeing Albert do something gentle for once (playing the piano). The close up of his hand definitely got me in the feels

Pharaoh Virus

-This played very similarly to the anime episode but with less action. Again I appreciated the little tidbits of history, it kinda felt like reading an Ancient Egypt kids book you’d get from the library

-I don’t really get how they went from panicking about the spread of the virus to being fine just cuz they found a single flower. Pretty sure the world’s still in danger but okay...

-Pretty timely read with the coronavirus going on lol. I learned the word for “pandemic,” “contagious disease,” and “to spread germs.” Handy!

-Why the heck did that professor’s gravestone say he only lived like 4 years? Misprint? 

-This chapter and the last one were flower centric. Either they published it that way to be clever or Ishinomori was a in a big flower mood lol 

Modern Narcissus 

-Honestly I didn’t really like this chapter. It didn’t have enough substance it was basically just Francoise telling a girl that it’s okay to have freckles lmao

-Not really sure how Francoise ended up at a fashion shoot in the first place...

-It’s mostly just cuz my Japanese isn’t up to snuff but I didn’t understand the comparison to the Narcissus myth. I thought that was supposed to be a morality fable about how vanity’s bad but the moral of this story was to love yourself?? Maybe they were trying to distinguish between obsessing over superficial beauty and accepting your true self? Let’s go with that...

-The cameraman telling them to go for a “lesbian” look was pretty gross...

The Seven Children

-WTF!? What is this random pro-life propaganda doing in my cyborg manga??? I am u n c o m f o r t a b l e...

-Seriously, this was so weird. The plot was basically 001 and 003 eavesdropping on a bunch of doctors saying that a multi-birth was dangerous and they’d have to kill the weaker babies. Francoise gives this speech about “life is a privilege! All lives are sacred under God” blah blah blah and then there’s a bunch of Christian imagery everywhere. Isn’t this a shounen manga...?

-I mean...freedom of speech and all that but just...wha??? This seriously felt like something they’d hand out to kids in church.

Invisible Strings

-Random Pinocchio reference! This was interesting to see because I know manga was originally very Disney-influenced. (I know Disney didn’t invent Pinocchio but it would be the most recognized depiction). 

-Am I supposed to take the whole chapter as a daydream Gilmore had? I thought the metaphor was kind of clever but overall I’m not really sure what the message was. Does Gilmore see the cyborgs as his kids and he doesn’t want to lose them? If so, awwwwe <3

Cosmo Child

-Okay, strapping in for a long arc. The first chapter was really short tho. I liked that it wasn’t super dialogue heavy. The art seemed more detailed and snappy than usual.

-This was adapted into a two parter in the Cyborg Soldier series. I remember it feeling pretty rushed and awkward so hopefully it will be better in its original form. 

-lol @ the panel of all of the Americans and Jet just pointing at the space colony. I’m just picturing some disaster happen in NYC and instead of running away everyone just points at it.

-006 calls their uniforms “costumes” which I found kind of funny. Is there a typical word to for superhero/sentai units’ clothes? Suits? Costumes just make it sound like they’re playing make believe lol 

-Another hilarious panel in this arc is Geronimo being tractor beamed into the space ship. Mostly because of his stiff body/expression lol 

-This really reminds me of the plot of the Cyborg 009 “Simple Series” game. Flying saucers and all of the cyborgs are separated at the beginning. Very similar vibes...

-So they randomly decided to make this a Jet-focused arc in the anime but it’s not like that at all in the manga, he barely shows up. 004 plays his role but really the focus is mostly just on the alien children, not on any specific cyborgs

-Francoise gets all deep at the end like “Ohhh the perils of humanity have been passed on to these innocent children.” Half of me thinks it was nice to add that extra layer to the story but the other half of me is rolling my eyes. 

-I have mixed feelings about this arc. It was nice to have a more action-based story but it feels really out of place. Other than the 80s movie this series doesn’t have a lot of canon aliens and they’re just treated like they’re completely normal here. Then there’s the whole forced bit about why the children can’t kill...I dunno it’s kind of clunky. Also 004 pointing his ray gun at them seemed pretty un-hero-like...

[healthpeak02-blog]

Deborah Eisenberg’s Short Stories Are Sharp Enough to Cut Deep

It isn’t long before an elegiac note sounds in Deborah Eisenberg’s latest book of short fiction, Your Duck Is My Duck. In the first story, the narrator begins:

Way back—oh, not all that long ago, actually, just a couple of years, but back before I’d gotten a glimpse of the gears and levers and pulleys that dredge the future up from the earth’s core to its surface—I was going to a lot of parties.

That retrospection, tinged with rueful wisdom and more than a little melancholy, is central to the collection, Eisenberg’s first in twelve years and her fifth since Transactions in a Foreign Currency heralded her arrival in 1986.

Eisenberg’s early stories often focused on a certain kind of lost girl—bright but slightly overwhelmed, a little too pliable to the people around her—trying to find a place for herself in a rudely inhospitable world. When Eisenberg was working her comic mode, the travails of these women rose to the level of modern-day screwball comedy: thinking of 1987’s “A Cautionary Tale,” a classic account of Manhattan bootstrapping, I still laugh at how the heroine indignantly admits to herself, at the low point of an impossible waitressing gig, that “This was not how she had imagined her adulthood.”

Thirty-some years later, Eisenberg’s protagonists are likely to be women of a certain age, members, however tenuously, of the creative class, and still city dwellers acutely attuned to the mores of a world that’s passing them by. (“No one met people in person any longer—you couldn’t hear what they were saying” is the most concise summary of New York restaurant culture I may ever need to read.) Most saliently, these modern selves find themselves unexpectedly alone (breakups are a recurring motif) and only too aware of the shadows lengthening all around them.

In one new story, “Cross Off and Move On,” a narrator reckoning with the death of her last surviving relative thinks, “Yes, off they go, my old allies, sailing right through the radiant shield at the edge of the universe, blending into darkness.” In “Recalculating,” a former dancer mourning a long-ago lover feels “brittleness fretting her bones, youth streaming from her in galaxies of sparkly molecules.”

These women have even more to contend with than aging and loss. Because they’re Deborah Eisenberg characters, they are also coping with what it feels like to be alive, as educated, alert citizens of a Western society, in the early years of the twenty-first century, when old-fashioned everyday anxieties have given way to something like dread. As in her previous collection, Twilight of the Superheroes (2006), Eisenberg is able to dramatize how the diabolical crawl that appeared on the bottom of TV news screens in the days after 9/11 found a counterpart inside people’s heads—and just what a toll our new normal of permanent crisis is taking on them. In the title story, a painter says to the doctor who’s prescribing her sleeping pills:

“It’s beginning to look like a photo finish—me first, or the world. It’s not so hard to figure out why I’m not sleeping. What I can’t figure out is why everybody else is sleeping.”

(This is from a story, by the way, that was originally published in 2013.)

The painter in “Your Duck Is My Duck” later meets an avant-garde puppeteer whose magnum opus, The Hand That Feeds You, is such a blunt allegory of life under terminal capitalism that it leaves the audience at its premiere, a select handful of one-percenters, momentarily speechless. The scene is bleakly funny in a way that feels just right for our present moment. But the story’s coda fulfills the puppet show’s preemptive title and then some, acknowledging how the two artists’ reliance on those one-percenters for patronage implicates them in the same system—a subtle reshuffling of our assumptions that’s characteristic of Eisenberg’s method throughout these stories.

In real life, the charge “first-world problems” became a reductive cliché almost overnight, so it’s especially gratifying in this book to see the idea explored humanely and from so many angles. Beings of conscience, Eisenberg’s characters are haunted by a suspicion that their relatively well-off lives might somehow be linked to all the hypocrisies, inequities, and worse that are the stuff of daily headlines—the stuff of our malaise, in other words. (As a character in her story “Twilight of the Superheroes” asked himself back in 2004, “Then again, how far away does something have to be before you have the right to not really know about it?”)

The theme gets its most expansive treatment in the novella “Merge,” which traces the shifting fortunes of Keith, a slippery scion of privilege headed for rock bottom after his domineering father, CEO of a rapacious multinational, kicks him out of their home. Eisenberg has long specialized in a comedy of aggrievement, and at first Keith’s indignation, his perplexity at having to fathom how ordinary people go about their lives, yield some of the funniest scenes in this book. When Celeste, an NGO worker who is also a potential romantic interest, tells him she’s about to embark on fieldwork in Slovakia, he thinks: “Slovakia? That was what she meant by Europe?”

Celeste’s trip to Europe—and points beyond, in several senses—is the hinge on which the story turns; it leads to a widening of scope that puts Keith’s struggles in a stark new light. The fascination with multiple perspectives that distinguishes Eisenberg’s later stories comes into full effect in “Merge,” whose changing points of view ask us to consider, among other things, dramatically different definitions of what it might mean to be homeless, and why some people become victims while others, heedless or even undeserving, get to flourish.

That said, even after repeat readings I’m not sure how all of the story’s thematic elements, which grow to include mental illness and theories of language, cohere into a persuasive whole. At the same time, it’s evident that a late Eisenberg story isn’t interested in surrendering its meanings too easily. A case in point here is “The Third Tower,” the outlier in the collection: set in a world both like and unlike our own, it features a young woman receiving treatment for a psychological condition that scans a lot like unfettered creativity. Something other than naturalism, the story testifies to Eisenberg’s formal restlessness, the way she regularly tests the four walls and ceiling of short-story form.

No account of Your Duck Is My Duck is complete without a mention of how gracefully this writer, tagged earlier in her career as a quintessential urban sophisticate, renders the natural world. “Recalculating” includes a beautiful description of a hurricane descending on a Midwestern prairie, and “Your Duck Is My Duck” has this snapshot of a wildfire witnessed from a great height:

Accident had selected me to observe, in whatever way I could, the demonic, vengeful, helpless, ardent fires as they consumed the trees that had replaced the crops—to observe the moment when, at the heart of the conflagration, the trees that sustained it became phantoms, the fire’s memory.

It’s typical that these lyrical outbursts are prompted by natural disasters—appropriately for a collection that regularly glances over its shoulder at environmental collapse along with every other kind of decline.

How much needs to be said about a writer who has very little left to prove? Across four decades Deborah Eisenberg has steadily enlarged her vision while refining her art. Her writing adds to our collective store of wit, empathy, and intelligence. If you haven’t read her yet, by all means start with Your Duck Is My Duck, and then waste no time in getting your hands on her Collected Stories, the chunky 2010 trade paperback that gathers the rest of her singular body of work.

FICTION Your Duck Is My Duck By Deborah Eisenberg Ecco Published September 25, 2018

Deborah Eisenberg is a MacArthur Foundation Fellow and the award-winning author of four previous collections of stories: Transactions in a Foreign Currency (1986), Under the 82nd Airborne (1992), All Around Atlantis (1997), and Twilight of the Superheroes (2006). Her first two story collections were republished in one volume as The Stories (So Far) of Deborah Eisenberg (1997). All four volumes were reprinted in 2010 in The Collected Stories of Deborah Eisenberg (2010). She is a professor of writing at Columbia University.

Source: https://chireviewofbooks.com/2018/10/25/your-duck-is-my-duck-deborah-eisenbergs-review/

[theday]

tagged by @ikyh and @younghyuuns ill be doing both sets !! :D thank you both for tagging me!! this got long so yall dont hav 2 read <3

ru?? rushee’s set!! me: wow ru does not sound like rushee at all ? djsjdhhjd im dumb but i realize now

i. do u believe in astrology? whats ur sign and do u line up with the features usually attributed to it?

fucc... i guess i do ;-0...... and yeah i think?????? like they say capricorns are cold bitches and funny nd im like ya thats me... but they also say we’re hard workers and im like uh.. dont know abt that karen !

ii. what’s ur favorite pair of socks?

bbbbbbb..... socks huh...... i guess my ankle ones? there are also socks that have actual designs on them and those r usually thicker.. keep my feets safe! most of them have pkmn designs bc.. yeah... love the poke mans

iii. what’s a food that reminds you of a specific moment/memory?

i could think of anythiing and get reminded of one situation if that makes sense.. but i thought of pineapple..pizza... anyway the memory isnt anythngn special its just me staring at my delicious hawaiian pizza..... at my favourite pizza place.... love that shit

iv. what’s the longest you’ve gone without sleeping?

i dont have the actual hours but the latest ive stayed up.. like willingly would be until 2am

v. how has ur taste in music changed throughout ur life?

went from 1d to 5so/s + other bands to utaite.... they cover vocaloid songs ig i never kno how2 explain what utaites r then 2 kpop.. but i still listen 2 bands + kpop and utaites.... so nothing much has changed ive just gone broader.. wider... expanded my tastes... 

vi. who’s ur fashion icon?

oh definitely kim wonpil

vii. what’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done without realizing?

i breathe dumbass particles.. i cant think of one bc my brain probably blocked off all access to my horrifying past but ive been thinking abt how i used 2 send the boy i used 2 like 1d songs....................... 12 y/o old me rly thought. he’d listen.... 12 y/o me thought spamming him was a good idea glad ive learnt from that! 

viii. what’s something you want to brag about?

my grades but it didnt get me into psychology so nvm ! its still good though i didnt expect to get an A1 (hghest grade) for combined humanities since ive had a B my whole life without it i wouldnt be able to move on education wise lmao so thank god for that thanks cambridge thanks bell curve sunbaenim 

ix. when you imagine urself being happy in the future, where exactly are you (like the location!)?

oh definitely an apartment somewhere where its always windy and the curtains are always Moving and the sun just Shines in the room but its not that hot either its just full of warmth and yeah thats the dream maybe also walks in the park without having 2 worry abt sweating my pits out u kno! tldr anywhere but here

x. what’s something you’ve always wanted to own?

let me Think.... i dont need a lot/?? but id love hm.............. i want stability but realistically i want all the hh pcs from the code albums. 

xi. how’ve you been lately?

good good! i finished my *** fic and its. im proud of it though i know its not that good nd i can do better but its done ! and hm i could be going to see mx but asking my mum is stressing me out speaking of her she wont stop Coughing and she refuses to see the doctor ;-/ love those sleepless nights ! other than that i just want 2 get out and feel the sun ???/ wanna get out of this house yea but i need to be.. shady with my money i cant get a job because school is starting in a month and im going overseas again sometime next month so ! no ones gonna hire someone who can only work for 2 weeks at most dhzjhhs shouldve worked when i had the time dumbasses only

ok now falen

1. what’s been on your mind??

hm redacted feeling towards my mum but i cant say them bc itd be insensitive 

2. what are you looking forward to? 

mx? possibly but also finishing my enrolment papers

3. story time!: how and when did you get into day6!!!!!

fuck...... listen up LADS. 

ive told the same story like 10 times but im never gonna get tired of saying this shit bc i love miss boxy so much nd she deserves the appreciation anywy she introduced me 2 day6 after i saw this one (1) picture of brian in minion glasses and instantly i knew in that Fucking moment thatd id die for him. so i asked for the name of my murderer and was introduced to day6 whom frankly id never heard of b4 bdjhjh she sent me all their mvs and i still remember the night . i remember walking out of this japanese restaurant, twitter open, chat wiht boxy there and i was like.. interesting ill go listen when im home so i Did! and my mind was blown away bitch? i honest 2 god expected them to be a boy group,,, dancing and shit yknow? i didnt know k bands existed ! so as a previous 5/sos stan i was like wow. this??? this shit is 10/10 a fucking BANGER thats what i felt listening 2 i smile and just going :O over the fucking instruments so idk if how can i say was the last or second song but Damn. .. it made me scream thanks mister j** he rly dragged me by the collar of my shirt and threw me face first into Heaven so i watched everything i asked my friend for video recommendations and after boxy sent me a page with their face and names i was like this jae kid is 182 cm? wow gotta stan now im stupid and stupid for glasses and tall people so ! it happened bithc,, ugh i lov eday6 so much i remember binge watchng all their vlives after the july after party live (that being the first vlive i watched Ever in my entire life and i laghed so hard despite not understanding a damn thing) please id giv my heart and soul2 day6 im so happy with the way ive progressed as a myday :^( 

bonus when i first started stanning it was 26th june and shortly after i made a stan acc teasers were being dropped but i didnt kno why ppl were freaking out i remmeber seeing jae’s teaser nd going ? ok? its just a pic damn ;-/ and then eveeryone was like: dowoon! choker! me: wdhs? what

4. ????do you have any allergies????

did u think of jae and no i used to be allergic 2 dairy products but thats disappeared

5. a fond memory???

bowling with friends and im just a disaster of a friend im always so loud with them and i thank god everyday that they handle my energy ? i would cheer for them even if they got a gutter or whatever and when they got a strike id go clap like crazy i love my friends i also went i have the power of god and anime on my side before flinging the ball and theyd laugh despite not knowing what vine that was from i love my friends... psg if ur out there yall are the best x i miss hanigng out with them as a trio.. three of us :( 

6. do you paint your nails?? if so, what are your fave colors to use?? if not, why??  

thats so.. tiresome.......... dont u have 2 wait for it 2 dry and shit ? my mums always worried abt ruining the colour or some sht nd im like !!! okY!!!!!!! tldr its a pain in the ass

7. what are your favorite colors?? what are your fave colors to wear??

i like hte colour of the sky... all the colours........ yeah love that bithc and lately ive been wearing a lot of black shirts finally went out of my embarrassing colourful phase ! 

8. what languages would you like to learn?? for what reason(s)??

japanese nd korean jp because i listen to a lot of things in japanese and korean for the same reason but my priority would be jp even tho id love to communicate with my faves i just... yeah although im not exactly making an effort 2 learn bc im lazy but if i Could.... itd be those two

9. when you get stickers, do you use them or do you keep them??

DHDGFHDHDGDSJHJSJAKSSJHFHS THIS FEELS LIKE A CALL OUT???? i keep them......... 

10. are there any groups that you might get into/want to get into?

hm... well theres knk ive learnt their names and im finally able to put name 2 face so thats nice svt too if htey didnt have such large numbers... thats all for now i think?? i love evry girl group though i love gIRLS... 

11. how are you???

idk im constantly just fine?? not the im sad but im fine kind of fine im literally just neutral half the time wjhddshs wild 

both of your questions were really unique and i loved answering them thank you so much for tagging me and if youve read until the end thank you i hope you have a good day!

[iugesorbust]

The city of Christchurch is a patchwork of pedestrian shopping areas and public art and empty construction sites. The town is built around the Avon River, and the entire riverbank is a beautiful green park with lots of public sculptures. The historical cathedral was one of the buildings that was split in two by the earthquake, and so Cathedral Square, a central park in the city, has a feeling of incompleteness. But the city is clearly trying very hard to keep Christchurch attractive.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Their main shopping area is made of metal shipping containers, which actually is a fun looking way to have lots of little pop-up stores. We ate lunch at one of the outdoor seating areas and walked around the brightly colored storefronts. After lunch, our group splintered again, with half of us going to find the Earthquake Museum, and half going to try to catch the mountain gondola outside the city in a town called Lyttleton.

Unfortunately, we found out that the museum was moved too late and it had closed by the time we had arrived at its new location. I’ll be going today, so it worked out. With a few more hours until we were planning to meet up with the rest of our group, we continued to walk around the city.

One of the things that struck me about Christchurch is how clean it is. There’s very little litter, the streets and sidewalks are nearly spotless, and the vast majority of graffiti was street art. I don’t have many pictures, but there are numerous giant murals all over the city. There was very little honking, though construction noises pervaded everywhere.  Additionally, there are no panhandlers or homeless people that we could see. I’m not sure of the politics behind this, but it made walking around pleasant.   In fact, I saw a public bench that had edible plants growing around it, with signs encouraging people to eat them. I don’t think such a thing would ever be built in NYC.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Our next destination was the “Cardboard Church” a replacement cathedral while the old one is being repaired. It was designed by a Japanese “emergency architect,” and it is a very simple, large A structure with most of its main supports made of large cardboard tubes. It wasn’t very attractive. But there was a boy’s choir practicing hymns, and their voices gave the space an aura of serenity and reverence. Nearby there was a memorial to those that died in the 2011 earthquake, an area of empty chairs of various types, all painted white. The rest of the afternoon and evening was spent walking around the downtown, and then we met for dinner.

The following morning, we all met in the hotel lobby at 5:15 sharp with our bags all packed. We were ready to be sent off to Antarctica. Sometime overnight, the hotel’s internet network went down (allegedly caused by malware on a guest’s USB stick?). We had heard rumors that the weather down South was too rough and that we’d be delayed at least a day, but no news had gotten through to us. A shuttle pulled up, and we all started gathering our bags. The driver rushed out and told us there was a 24 hour delay, but that we’d have training at 7:30. We all shrugged and went back to our rooms.

We arrived back at the Antarctic Center at 7:30 for a series of powerpoint presentations and videos that taught us about fire safety, health, proper waste disposal, and the rules for driving light vehicles. The fire officer was entertaining, though he made it seem like fires in McMurdo occur daily. Antarctica is the driest, windiest place in the world, and there’s a lot of flammable material in a tight space in the research stations. Fire doesn’t really care if it’s 100F or -50F, and it always wants to get behind you. The medical officer sent in a video presentation of him talking at his desk in McMurdo. He seemed no-nonsense and glib, like Doctor McCoy from Star Trek. It’s probably not too dissimilar a job. Condoms cannot withstand extreme cold, so don’t keep them in the outer pockets of your parka! Waste disposal is complicated and rigorously eco-friendly, but it will take some getting use to all the very specific and enforced sorting rules. The motor vehicle presentation was a very snazzy government instructional video, with early 90s easy listening jazz and smooth male narrator. It was pretty funny.

Back near the hotel, me and a few of my group-mates had a very lackluster lunch of fish and chips from a hole in the wall across from the hotel, eaten while wandering around the suburbs of Christchurch looking for a spot to sit down (we eventually found a small park).

We journeyed downtown to go to Quake City, a museum devoted to showcasing information about the February 2011 earthquake, and the rescue and repair activities afterwards. We learned that in Maori mythology, Ruaumoko, the god of earthquakes, is still a fetus inside the womb of the mother Earth, Papatuanuku. When he kicks, earthquakes occur on the surface. There are records of large earthquakes from the start of European colonization of Canterbury region, NZ, two hundred years ago . Nearly every ten years, a large earthquake destroys parts of Canterbury. The most recent disasters, the Sept 2010 earthquake and the Feb 2011 earthquakes destroyed 80% of Christchurch’s downtown area. Historic cathedral spires, rose windows, and the historic City Council building all fell down. However, it seems like parts of these buildings fell down in previous earthquakes too. Without belittling the trauma and devastation, why did they keep building tall spires and stained glass windows that would then be destroyed? The museum had a number of testimonies of people who experienced the earthquake first hand. One father and daughter were at a public pool, and the water sloshed like a tsunami around the building. One office worker devised a way to repel down using ropes. A woman in an office building was trapped for five hours in the rubble and lost several fingers.

The efforts of numerous organizations and thousands of people have made the city of Christchurch a pleasant place to live. There has been a huge effort to fill the empty spaces with art. In many ways, it is inspiring to see the resilience and cooperation of the New Zealanders in the face of such a disaster. On the other hand, it should not be optional in these areas to build earthquake-resistant architecture, and I think the fact that some of these historic buildings have been rebuilt multiple times raises the question of whether it’s wise to rebuild things exactly as they were.

Our next stop was the Canterbury Museum, a natural history and history museum housed in a very stately stonework building on the edges of the Botanical Gardens and Christ’s College. Right across the street, there is a very beautiful building which I think is the art center, but there’s quite a lot of signage about Ernest Rutherford and his discovery of the electron. I hadn’t realized it, but he’s a New Zealander.

The Canterbury Museum is very similar to the older exhibits in the NY American Museum of Natural History. Musty stuffed animals, Maori artifacts, and historic Antarctic artifacts were the exhibits that we sought out and enjoyed. There was an exhibit devoted to the moa, a giant bird that looks like a mix between a kiwi and an ostrich that the Maori hunted to extinction. The next hall was split between Maori artifacts and early European colonial artifacts. There was a room that focused on Maori familial lineages, which was interesting just for having hundreds of pictures of Maori women over the years. There was a lot to learn just from the evolution of these women’s names and appearances over the last two centuries, from Maori to Western names and from Maori hairstyles and clothes, to Western dress in the early-mid 1900s and then back to Maori dress.

My favorite exhibit of course was the Antarctic history exhibit. There were old photographs and artifacts of the seal hunters of the late nineteenth century and of the heroic age of exploration. Apparently Scott did an aerial survey of the Ross Ice Shelf in 1904 from a hot air balloon, like our project but 100 years ago. I always have mixed feelings about Heroic-age explorers. They did incredible things and are testaments to human bravery, but their motivations were so nationalistic. The most glaring mistakes they made were because they didn’t listen to other people’s advice. Shackleton was told repeatedly that sailing to the Ross Sea so late in the season would get his ship trapped in ice, and that’s what happened. Scott felt sled-dogs were “unsportsmanlike” so he brought ponies and then when they died and had to be eaten, the sleighs were pulled by them by hand. I don’t know. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. Their old-fashioned cold weather gear is entertaining to look at.

That evening we had dinner at the hotel restaurant. We talked about our chances of finding Scott’s corpse in the Ross Ice Shelf’s radar images (none, so stop asking, a human body is way too small to be picked up by ice-penetrating radar). The day ended, and it was unclear if we would be traveling to Antarctica the following morning, or staying in Christchurch for an undetermined amount of time. I was ready either way.

Not Enough Time in Christchurch (but then we got more time, part 2). The city of Christchurch is a patchwork of pedestrian shopping areas and public art and empty construction sites.

[gazzhowie]

My Top 25 Movies of 2016.

Yes, indeed. It’s that time of year again - This year is going to be a lot like last year unfortunately. I’m going to do another blast through a few films that deserve ‘special mention’, then just lay my Top 25 of 2016 out.

No long introduction. No 50 – 26 countdown like previous years. Let’s just bang straight on. Every film mentioned in the preceding paragraphs is well worth seeking out and experiencing whether it be a comedy, documentary, horror, drama, animation or blockbuster. The Top 25 that follows them though is obviously the one’s I regard as absolute must-see’s!

In terms of comedy I seemed to get a great deal more out of Hail, Caesar than most and was genuinely surprised by how hard a ‘cash-in’ sequel like Bad Neighbours 2 actually tried instead of going down the usual route of phoning it beat-by-beat. I liked Sleeping With Other People a great deal and thought Alison Brie gave easily one of the Top Ten best performances of the year. I thought both Goosebumps and Lazer Team were a great deal more fun than they had any right to be, and I thoroughly enjoyed the mixed-tone of The Mermaid though it was a long way off from the majesty of Kung Fu Hustle.

Unlike a lot of people, I seemed to think it was a strong year for documentaries. Two hit my Top 25 in joint position and then there was the horrifying depiction of college rape cover-up in The Hunting Ground which demands to be watched as part of a double-bill with Netflix’s jaw-dropping Audrie & Daisy. Netflix also had a great year in getting Amanda Knox out there which was an engrossing watch but couldn’t help but feel slight. Both The Barkley Marathon: The Race That Eats Its Young and Man VS. Snake (a sort-of sequel to The King of Kong) both finally landed on UK shores and were more than worth the wait. As did Welcome to Leith which was a staggeringly uncomfortable watch that plays out like a found footage horror film – until you remind yourself that it is 100% real. Finally there was Marathon: The Patriot’s Day Bombing which is every bit as moving and upsetting as you would imagine it to be.

Drama-wise, I was very impressed with Lamb and the performances in it. It skirted a line so deftly you don’t know quite whether to slap the label “paedophile drama” on it or whether that is missing the film’s point altogether. Disorder was an extremely solid if unexceptional home invasion type thriller but excels by proving to be one of the most accurate depictions of PTSD captured on film. I liked Room a great deal and was delighted to see the talents of Brie Larson were finally knocked into the stratosphere. As much as it lost its way towards the end, I had a lot of time for John Hillcoat’s Triple 9 which is filled to the brim with talented actors (and Kate Winslet!) doing strong work amidst some truly tense and well-executed set pieces. Ben Wheatley may make uneven movies here and there but he never makes a boring one and High Rise holds true to that. As chase thrillers go, the indie thriller River is well worth a watch just for its unrelenting sense of pace. The heavily maligned and (production) troubled Jane’s Got A Gun turned out not to be the turkey many envisaged and was in fact enormously watchable thanks to strong work from its cast. Norway took on the disaster movie to great B-movie effect with The Wave, Money Monster was a watchable and fun siege-style movie that shouldn’t be taken as importantly as it wants you to. And finally Goat is well worth seeking out. It’s horribly uncomfortable stuff but needs to be seen just for the double-whammy of an excellent Jonas Brothers’ performance AND a tolerable appearance from James Franco.

On the horror front, I was genuinely impressed with both Under the Shadows and The Witch, the final third of both films are ones that still linger and leave me feeling uncomfortable even now, months on. In a year quite barren for old-fashioned ‘creature features’, I sought comfort in and had a great time with the Aussie killer-dog exploitation-er, The Pack. Mike Flanagan absolutely knocked it out of the park with the Netflix exclusive, Hush, and I look forward to seeing it again. I’m normally no fan of the ‘anthology’ movie and there’s certainly a lot of awful ones out there but I was really taken with Southbound and, unlike a lot of those movies, didn’t find a weak link within it. On that note, I’m no fan of the ‘found footage’ movies nowadays but The Good Neighbour proved to be an effective gem that kept me guessing in terms of where it was going and has a typically strong, stoic performance from James Caan. For its first two thirds I was a genuine fan of Lights Out and thought it was on point to secure its place as my favourite horror of the year. Then it floundered into crassness in its final denouement and the film sadly come undone for me.

Animation wise, I liked both Kung Fu Panda 3 and Finding Dory way more than I thought I would given their purpose as ‘cash-grab lazy sequels’. Both found new ways or ideas to light up what should be tired concepts (the former taking a Seven Samurai style ‘train a village to defend a village’ approach and the latter utilising Ed O’Neill’s octopus character to break up the monotony of a beat by beat re-tread). Finally there was Kubo and the Two Strings whose structural issues in its final third were the only things keeping it from an appearance on my final Top 25. It’s a stunningly beautiful piece of work with some tremendously inventive moments (the face-off with the giant skeleton is one of the year’s best sequences!) and I’ll probably become more forgiving of its flaws with further re-watches.

Finally, on the ‘big’ blockbuster-esque front, I enjoyed Jon Faverau’s The Jungle Book a great deal on a technical level but felt flattened by the young lead actor’s VERY ‘stage school-y’ performance. I also thoroughly enjoyed the return of Jason Bourne and feel churlish for grumbling that it is only ‘very good’ instead of an ‘instant classic’ like the first three. It’s all very same-old, same-old in places but it brings out the big pay-off with its Vegas-set car-meggedon finale. I thought Doctor Strange was a tremendous accomplishment in bringing that particular character to the screen and for the most part I got a lot of entertainment from it, but for me Benedict Cumberbatch and that god-awful accent just didn’t work for me. One of the blockbuster surprises of the year was Star Trek Beyond which – bad writing aside (Simon Pegg tends to write very cloth-eared dialogue) – turned out to be relentlessly entertaining and full of gusto in all the ways the inert second movie was not. Possibly the biggest surprise even over that movie though was The Shallows, which was considerably better than it had any right to be. A big, high concept, one location, survival movie with a transfixing performance from Blake Lively, this plummets into the realms of stupidity in its final confrontation but all that goes before it is an absolute B-movie joy! Deadpool was a delight that hopefully blasted the cobwebs off of the comic book movie subgenre with a lead performance from Ryan Reynolds that finally cements his years of being underrated. Rogue One: A Star Wars Story most definitely came good midway into its second act and slowly evolved into one of the best blockbusters of the year, but what went before it was so unnecessarily choppy and uneven that it took a bit too long to settle in for the ride. Netflix’s Siege of Jadotville was a terrifically enthralling Zulu-type true life war movie that far too few seem to have taken the time to check out and far too little are bestowing praise upon. It’s well worth a look. Finally there’s Kill Zone 2, an – in name only – sequel to the Donnie Yen / Sammo Hung martial arts classic. This time Tony Jaa heads up the cast for a head-spinning action extravaganza involving prison kick-offs, organ trafficking, shoot-outs and so much more. It’s a genuinely brilliant blast of action cinema. You don’t have to have seen the first Kill Zone either by the way. They just slapped that sequel title on this unrelated movie.

And now, without further ado, here’s my Top 25 movies of 2016 that - thanks to some blatant cheating on my part - is clearly a Top 27 as I just could not be drawn to pick between the best documentary and the best horror...

25) The Invitation

I went into this sniffily, half paying attention, just so I could rip the terrible guy from Prometheus a new bum-hole and... boy did it start to slowly grip me. Anyone who says they saw the final act coming is a liar. And that final image? One of they year’s most haunting!

24) Victoria

An entire film made up of one take - no cuts - ends up being one of the most enthralling and technically captivating films of the year. It’s lazy to just call it a ‘heist movie’ when it is offering so much more.

23) Keanu

Utterly disrespected on its UK release, this is a must not just for Key & Peele fans but for fans of legitimately funny, laugh-out-loud comedies. This is the sort of film that you see and start passing around amongst your friends as a sort of “You’ve GOT to see this!” secret gift. It’s all the more a must-see in light of George Michael’s death. You’ll see.

22) Tickled / Weiner

I genuinely could not call it between these two documentaries. Both are astounding pieces of work. Tickled takes you from a place of “I ain’t watching no documentary about competitive tickling!” to “Ok, whah! Hold up! What’s going on?” to actual “What. The. Fuck.” And Weiner? Well Weiner is all the more a must-watch in light of revelations that Anthony Weiner could well have inadvertently taken down Hillary Clinton’s campaign for president. It is a total jaw-dropper of a documentary in the sense that you continually question not just how the makers got this level of access but how they were allowed to carry on filming during some of the scenes presented. The McDonald’s scene could well be both the most degrading scene of the year and one of the year’s best action sequences.

21) The Wailing

One part ‘possession’ movie. One part Korean police procedural. Two parts horror movie. And finally one part ‘mystical battle of good and evil’ epic. This is an absolute blast of a film that grabs you extremely early on and holds you tight for its lengthy running time. You never know what’s coming next and that makes the scares - when they drop - all the more strong. Go in knowing as little as possible, and give yourself over to it completely.

20) Zootopia

There was absolutely nothing about this movie (entitled Zootropolis everywhere but the UK, bizarrely) in its marketing that made me think it was something I a) needed to see and b) had not seen done a hundred times before: Cute Disney animals riffing on some well-worn subgenre of cinema to uneven effect. But this was REALLY something different; playing with the police procedural and the beats of the standard buddy movie, this ends up being an excellent lesson in tolerance, racism and persecution. It’s a joy from start to finish.

19) Everybody Wants Some!!

I went into this under a swell of hype because everything Richard Linklater puts his name to seems to get an immediate seal of high quality nowadays. I was really reluctant towards it because I just thought “M’eh. He’s done Dazed & Confused. How good can this actually be?” And you know what? Believe what you hear. It’s a real delight.

18) Arrival

Ignore the trailers that try to sell you this as some sort of Independence Day type movie. Read up on as little about it as you can. Go in completely cold. Give yourself over to it and pay close attention. This movie will get deep into your headspace, warm your heart and change your perception of how the human mind sees and comprehends structure and storytelling for a long time to come.

17) The Revenant

We seem to have thrown the Oscar at Leonardo DiCaprio and pushed this film to the side but in doing so we forget what an absolute tremendous piece of work it is on a visual and technical level. You cannot conceivably discuss the best cinema had to offer this year and not involve this epic revenge ‘poem’ in the conversation.

16) Sausage Party

I really wanted to dislike this. I did. I saw all the reviews and high word-of-mouth and I absolutely thought half the western world was off their fucking rockers, so to speak. But this really is THAT much fun and it absolutely is that hilarious. Not every joke works and when they clunk they thud. Yet there’s more hits than misses - and you’ll not see a better talking food movie about religion and existentialism this year!

15) Hell or High Water

They’ll sell you on this being an ‘all guns blazing’ heist thriller just to get you through the door. But, in reality, this is a thoughtful spin on the ‘greedy banking crisis’ told as a surprisingly elegant modern western. Chris Pine, Ben Foster and Jeff Bridges are all universally excellent. And the final scene is a slow burning, mature reward for your investment. 

14) 13 Hours: The Secret Soldiers of Benghazi

Written off as political propaganda upon its release, this is actually one of Michael Bay’s best movies with a remarkable performance from John Krasinski. It’s a bombastic, relentless, gory, engaging and exhilarating piece of work and I think time is going to be kind to this movie, more than people realise. It’s the best war movie of the year but I think it could go on to be considered one of the best modern war movies of the decade.

13) Bone Tomahawk

Quite possibly the best ever bait-and-switch since Robert Rodriguez took his crime thriller to the ‘Titty Twister’, this is a fabulous assured old-school western with superb turns from Kurt Russell, Richard Jenkins, Patrick Wilson and (yes) Matthew Fox. If you know nothing about this already, go in that way and... well... try to survive! Good luck! 

12) Spotlight

A good old fashioned procedural movie that plays out like the true life dramas of the 1970s - Pull together a great cast, have them go off a great script based on an enthralling real incident, keep the direction clean and unshowy and just sit back and let the results come together as they should. One of the best dramas of the year. Totally deserved of its Oscar, in my opinion.

11) Eddie The Eagle

Absolutely NOTHING about this movie should work in the least. It’s a true life sporting underdog tale where pretty much 95% of the ‘facts’ are unashamedly fictionalised. It’s got a lead performance that you have to warm to because it takes a while to get past the gurning. It’s apparent Hugh Jackman is only there to help the budget... and yet, within the first few beats of the film’s epically retro soundtrack, you are hooked into one of the loveliest and warmest films of the years. It’s very much an explosion of feel-good cinematic hugs.

10) Midnight Special

A father kidnaps his son from the religious cult he’s been held at the centre of and takes him on an obsessive quest to get to a very specific place at a very specific time. That’s all you need to know right there. Seek out nothing else. Head on into a viewing of this with just that information and lie back in the warm embrace of masterful storytelling.

9) The Hateful Eight

Tarantino’s playful homage to both John Carpenter’s The Thing and Agatha Christie’s storytelling of old is a thoroughly impressive piece of work, lauding over its love of its own dialogue, brazen performances and showy directorial flourishes. It’s a ‘guess who’ that - whilst not as clever as it thinks it is - will certainly have you absolutely captivated. The thankfully short appearance from the painful Zoe Bell is the only flaw this otherwise exceptional chamber-piece offers.

8) The Big Short

The true story of the 2008 banking crisis as told by an all-star cast - in the style of a comedic heist movie? With celebrity cameos used as a glossary index? As told by the guy who directed Anchorman? Come on. This should never have worked. This should never have even been considered seriously. And yet, here it is and here it is as one of the best movies of the year. Don’t worry if you leave your first experience of it angry. You’re meant to.

7) Captain America: Civil War

Quite simply, the best blockbuster of the year by a large margin. In amongst the fast-becoming-impenetrable size of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the Captain America movies have emerged (especially because of the double whammy of this and The Winter Soldier) as the franchise’s lynch-pin and high bastion of quality. This all-star beatdown should have, by rights, been the clusterfuck that snapped the wheels of the MCU. Instead it is one of the most insanely enjoyable blockbusters of the year and - with that airport sequence - the owner of the best action set-piece of the year! 

6) Hunt For The Wilderpeople

I was desperate to see this because of my adoration for What We Do In The Shadows and it genuinely did not disappoint. It’s funny, moving and really rather lovely with a very subtle but warm performance from Sam Neill that, by rights, should see him nominated for some awards come that particular season.

5) Don’t Breathe / Train to Busan

I couldn’t call it between these two as the best horrors of the year no more than I could between the documentaries. Train to Busan takes the (frankly exhausted) zombie genre, puts it on the tracks and sends it speeding off through a cavalcade of carnage, scares and truly brilliant action sequences. You’ll rip the arms of your chair and scream out loud watching this one. And Don’t Breathe is a truly exceptional reinvention of the home invasion movie in all the ways Busan reinvigorates the zombie movie. Jane Levy and Stephen Lang do work here that should, by rights, get them nominated for a boatload of awards - but sadly won’t because awards councils very rarely respect horror. Yes, it gets a little daft the higher up the dial they turn the tension but that doesn’t undo the fantastic work done here in setting up one of the geographically cleanest and leanest horror films of the year. 

4) Green Room

I love a good siege movie and Jeremy Saulnier most definitely delivers a great one. I was ‘in’ from the outset as I was a huge, huge, huge fan of Saulnier’s Blue Ruin but this more than lives up to expectations. It’s bigger than the ‘punks versus neo-nazis’ longline it hides behind. It is gruelling and gory and exceptionally tense. It is also driven steadfastly by another effortlessly brilliant performance from Anton Yelchin, who died far too young in 2016.

3) Creed

A SEVENTH Rocky movie after the stretch - a lovely stretch, but a stretch none the less - that was Rocky Balboa (aka Rocky VI)? A spin-off about Apollo Creed’s illegitimate son being coached by an aged Rocky? Oh come on! This sounds utterly awful! No better than that dire Rocky VI ‘spec’ script that appeared online in the late 90s with Rocky Jr taking on the son of Ivan Drago. But... But.. BUT, hold up! This film is the real deal. A movie made by die hard Rocky fans for die hard Rocky fans with the actual Rocky up, front and centre giving it his blessing every step of the way. It’s not just a thematic modernisation of the franchise but it is also a pitch perfect spiritual return to the raw, indie-style, rough-and-ready feel of the first classic. Stallone’s Best Supporting Actor nomination was truly deserved. His campaign might have been a little classless but the nomination was earned - if for nothing else that heart-breaking scene in the doctor’s office! 

2) Sing Street

NINE separate people recommended this film to me and I ignored every single one of them. I am not a fan of musicals. I’ve not seen Once. I lasted exactly 10 minutes into Begin Again. I watched the trailer for this, saw the lad from Transformers 4 in a bad wig and just thought “Eurgh! No!” Then a lad who’s opinion I legitimately respect pushed hard for me to give it a go and I threw it on as a 99p iTunes rental one rainy Sunday afternoon and... I was left in tears! It resonated hard with me in a lot of ways from my own childhood, growing up in the 80s. It’s really lovely and special and you can clearly tell that the people behind it are coming from a place of honesty and passion about that era and the music. It’s a fabulous little film and I have no qualms in admitting that I was wrong to pre-judge it.

1) The Nice Guys

I am an obsessive fan of all things Shane Black anyway but this truly was the absolute gift of the year for me. Not only was it a truly fabulous return to the well Black has played around in as director with Kiss Kiss Bang Bang and writer with The Last Boy Scout and The Long Kiss Goodnight, it’s a film that will transform your opinion of what Russell Crowe is capable of. Featuring some of the strongest gags of the year, this is a deliberately convoluted shaggy-dog PI tale that slowly mutates from a comedy caper into a genuinely strong shoot ‘em up thriller. I loved it from its opening car crash gag right the way through to its sequel baiting final scene. A sequel that... just like Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, The Last Boy Scout, The Long Kiss Goodnight, etc... we will NEVER GET TO SEE because APPARENTLY NONE OF YOU FUCK TRUMPETS TOOK THE TIME TO SEE THIS!

Rectify that now. “And stuff!”

[chicagoindiecritics]

New from Kevin Wozniak on Kevflix: What’s Streaming This Month? – June

At the end of May, HBOMax launched and really elevated the streaming services to a new level.  Along with Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime, Disney+, and the Criterion Channel, HBOMax is another streaming service that is loaded with infinite content.

Even with so many streaming services, the quality of content coming to streaming is possibly the best I’ve seen in a long, long time.  Some true classics will be available for viewing, along with some fun genre fare and some new 2020 films.

Here are my picks for the best movies coming to Netflix, Amazon Prime, Hulu, Disney+, the Criterion Channel, and HBOMax in June.

          NETFLIX

Full list of everything coming to Netflix in June can be found here.

    CAPE FEAR (Martin Scorsese, 1991)

Underrated in every way: an underrated Scorsese picture, an underrated Robert De Niro performance, and an underrated remake.

    CASPER (Brad Silberling, 1995)

A silly, childhood classic that is still a technical marvel 25 years later.

    CLUELESS (Amy Heckerling, 1995)

A timeless classic that could be argued as the greatest Shakespeare adaptation ever made.

    DA 5 BLOODS (Spike Lee, 2020)

Spike Lee’s follow-up to his Oscar-winning BlackKklansman is a look at a group of African American vets who return to Vietnam to find the remains of their fallen Squad Leader and the gold fortune he helped them hide.  One of my most anticipated movies of 2020.

    THE DISASTER ARTIST (James Franco, 2017)

James Franco gives a brilliant, uncanny performance as the legendary Tommy Wiseau in this look at the creation of the midnight classic, The Room.

    E.T. THE EXTRA TERRESTRIAL (Steven Spielberg, 1982)

Not much to say about this one other than it’s one of Spielberg’s best and bonafide cinematic masterpiece.

    INSIDE MAN (Spike Lee, 2006)

Spike Lee’s fun and twisty heist thriller features a trio of stellar performances from Denzel Washington, Clive Owen, and Jodie Foster.

    THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS (Jonathon Demme, 1991)

As good as thrillers get, Jonathon Demme’s Oscar-winning masterpiece is one of my all-time favorite movies.

    STARSHIP TROOPERS (Paul Verhoeven, 1997)

My favorite Paul Verhoeven film is a delirious, violent, darkly funny war satire.

    WEST SIDE STORY (Jerome Robbins, Robert Wise, 1961)

A bright, lively, beautiful, stunning musical.

    ZODIAC (David Fincher, 2007)

One of David Fincher’s best films, Zodiac is one of the best movies of the 2000’s.

    AMAZON PRIME

Full list of everything coming to Amazon Prime in June can be found here.

    CRAWL (Alexandre Aja, 2019)

A fun little thriller about a woman trying to survive a siege of alligators during a hurricane.

  DIRTY DANCING (Emile Ardolino, 1987)

An 80’s classic.

    GROWN UPS (Dennis Dugan, 2010)

It’s stupid and peak Sandler-is-on-vacation-movie, but it’s mindless, funny entertainment.

    HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON (Dean DeBlois, Chris Sanders, 2010)

As good as any Pixar movie, How to Train Your Dragon doesn’t get nearly the love it deserves as one of the best animated movies of the 2010’s.

    KINGPIN (The Farrelly Brothers, 1996)

Featuring a great performance from Woody Harrelson and a scene-stealing performance from Bill Murray, Kingpin is the best Farrelly Brothers movie and a great sports movie.

    KNIVES OUT (Rian Johnson, 2019)

One of the best movies of 2019, Rian Johnson’s whodunnit gets better with every viewing.

    MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE – GHOST PROTOCOL (Brad Bird, 2011)

Featuring one of the best action sequences of the last decade where Tom Cruise climbs the tallest building in the world, Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol is one of the great action movies of the 2010’s and a perfect mix of a maniac director working with a maniac actor.

    THE NATURAL (Barry Levinson, 1984)

One of the great baseball movies and a great Robert Redford performance.

    SEX DRIVE (Sean Anders, 2008)

A wildly under-seen and utterly hilarious sex comedy.

    WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE (Spike Jonez, 2009)

A visually stunning, emotional adaptation of a childhood classic.

    HULU

Full list of everything coming to Hulu in June can be found here.

    THE AMERICAN PRESIDENT (Rob Reiner, 1995)

A charming political romance featuring a pair of lovely performances from Michael Douglas and Annett Benning.

    A BEAUTIFUL DAY IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD (Marielle Heller, 2019)

Tom Hanks becomes Mr. Rogers in Marielle Heller’s beautiful movie about love and forgiveness.

    BUFFALOED (Tonya Wexler, 2020)

One of my favorite movies of 2020, Buffaloed is a wild and crazy crime film featuring an off-the-wall, brilliant performance by Zoey Deutch.

    CASINO (Martin Scorsese, 1995)

A sprawling gangster epic from the crime maestro Martin Scorsese.

    CHARLIE WILSON’S WAR (Mike Nichols, 2007)

A solid movie, but worth the watch for some solid Aaron Sorkin dialog and a top-tier Phillip Seymour Hoffman performance.

    CLEMENCY (Chinonye Chukwu, 2019)

Alfre Woodard and Aldis Hodge are outstanding in this powerful, heart-wrenching look at the relationship between a warden and a death row inmate.

    I AM LEGEND (Francis Lawrence, 2007)

A smart and intense movie bolstered by a one-man showcase performance by Will Smith.

    OUT OF SIGHT (Steven Soderbergh, 1998)

One of Soderbergh’s best, Out of Sight is a stellar crime film features George Clooney and Jennifer Lopez at their absolute best.

    TRUE ROMANCE (DIRECTORS CUT) (Tony Scott, 1993)

Quentin Tarantino’s writing plus Tony Scott’s plus an all-star ensemble equal one of the wildest movies of the 90’s.

    YOU DON’T MESS WITH THE ZOHAN (Dennis Dugan, 2008)

One of Sandler’s weirder movies, but really entertaining and funny.

  DISNEY+

Full list of everything coming to Disney+ in June can be found here.

    ARTEMIS FOWL (Kenneth Branagh, 2020)

Director Kenneth Branagh and a stellar cast of Colin Farrell, Josh Gad, and Judi Dench look to bring this YA adaptation to life.

    PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIANS: THE LIGHTING THIEF (Chris Columbus, 2010)

A fun but forgotten adventure film.

    TARZAN ( Dean DeBlois, Chris Sanders, 1999)

A late-90’s animated classic with a banging soundtrack.

    CRITERION CHANNEL

Full list of everything coming to Criterion Channel in June can be found here.

*The Criterion Channel does things a little differently than every other streaming service.  The Criterion Channel, a wonderful streaming service that focuses on independent, foreign, and under-appreciates movies, doesn’t just throw a bunch of random movies to stream.  They get more creative, by having categories like “DOUBLE FEATURES” or “FILMS FROM…”, giving us curated lists of films that somehow blend together or feature a specific artist.*

  DOUBLE FEATURES

  CITIES OF SHADOW:

The Naked City (Jules Dassin, 1948)

In a Lonely Place (Nicholas Ray, 1950)

A pair of noir murder mysteries presented by directors Josh and Benny Safdie.

    FIGURES IN LANDSCAPES

Museum Hours (Jem Cohen, 2012)

Columbus (Kogonada, 2017)

Two movies that look at unexpected human connection between two people in which art, architecture, and environment serve as characters themselves.

    DIRECTED BY MIKE LEIGH

Mike Leigh is a huge blindspot director for me.  I’ve seen a couple of movies of his, all of which I’ve liked, yet have dove more into his filmography.  Thanks to Criterion, nearly his entire filmography (the only films missing are his last two films, Mr. Turner (2014) and Peterloo (2018)) will be available to view, which has me very excited.

Meantime (1984)

High Hopes (1988)

The Short and Curlies (1987)

Life Is Sweet (1990)

Naked (1993)

Secrets & Lies (1996)

Career Girls (1997)

All or Nothing (2002)

Vera Drake (2004)

Happy-Go-Lucky (2008)

Another Year (2010)

    SCORSESE SHORTS

Criterion just dropped this on Blu-Ray not too long ago.  The collection features five Martin Scorsese short films from his time at NYU to through the early 60’s.  Martin Scorsese is my favorite director ever, so seeing his early films has me very intrigued and excited.

    JAZZ SHORTS 1929-1939

Another short film series, this one focusing on tune-filled shorts, featuring some of the greatest jazz musicians of all time in their electrifying prime.  These films were made as preludes to accompany feature films and feature the legends of Jazz like Duke Ellington, Bessie Smith, and Billie Holiday.

Black and Tan (Dudley Murphy, 1929)

St. Louis Blues (Dudley Murphy, 1929)

I Surrender Dear (Mack Sennett, 1931)

A Rhapsody in Black and Blue (Aubrey Scotto, 1932)

A Bundle of Blues (Fred Waller, 1933)

Sing, Bing, Sing (Babe Stafford, 1933)

Cab Calloway’s Hi-De-Ho (Fred Waller, 1934)

Symphony in Black: A Rhapsody of Negro Life (Fred Waller, 1935)

Artie Shaw’s Class in Swing (Leslie M. Roush, 1939)

Hoagy Carmichael (Leslie M. Roush, 1939)

    HBOMAX

Full list of everything coming to HBOMax in June can be found here.

*HBOMAX is brand new, but it has already changed the game of streaming services.  The content is so extensive and features something for everyone, whether its a Hiayao Miyazaki masterpiece, an Oscar winner from the last couple years, or a Hollywood classic, HBOMAX has it and their library is so expansive, it’s easily worth the price.*

    AD ASTRA (James Gray, 2019)

One of the very best movies of 2019, James Gray’s moody space drama sticks with you long after it’s over.

    ADVENTURES IN BABYSITTING (Chris Colombus, 1987)

This 80’s gem is also a Chicago classic.

    DOCTOR SLEEP (DIRECTORS CUT) (Mike Flanigan, 2019)

One of 2019’s most underrated films is a bizarre, haunting sequel to Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining.

    FIRST MAN (Damien Chazelle, 2018)

Damien Chazelle showed us the difficulty and horrors of going to the moon in 1969 in stunning fashion.

    FORD V FERRARI (James Mangold, 2019)

Another one of my favorite movies of 2019, Ford v Ferrari is a classic American sports tale featuring a pair of dynamic performances from Matt Damon and Christian Bale.

    HE GOT GAME (Spike Lee, 1998)

Spike Lee’s powerful look at basketball, redemption, and family.

    THE IRON GIANT (Brad Bird, 1999)

One of the greatest animated movies ever made.

    MCCABE AND MRS. MILLER (Robert Altman, 197

A Robert Altima Western starring Warren Beatty and Julie Christie.  What else do you need?

    SPEED RACER (Lily and Lana Wachowski, 2008)

Panned on its initial release, Speed Racer is a gloriously bizarre and visually astounding triumph that needs to be revisited by all.

    TITANIC (James Cameron, 2007)

A movie that literally has everything.  It’s a big, bold, epic movie with romance, action, comedy, and drama and I love all 194 minutes of it.

        Follow Kevflix on Twitter and Instagram, @kevflix, and on Facebook by searching Kevflix.

          The post What’s Streaming This Month? – June appeared first on Kevflix.

from Kevflix https://ift.tt/2U1wqwT via IFTTT

from WordPress https://ift.tt/3csqzqK via IFTTT

[biofunmy]

Against Nihilism

Kate Ferro for BuzzFeed News

After a big breakup earlier this year — I was the one who ended things — I gave myself a lot of room to grieve in whatever ways felt good at the time. Ordering takeout for both lunch and dinner? Sure. Downing IPAs while watching women’s soccer at 10 in the morning? No problem. Draining my savings on weird funky clothing and yet another pair of clogs? You bet!!!

According to the tenets of modern pop feminism, I’m entitled to a certain amount of overindulgence because, as a hardworking woman, I’ve earned it. Everything from institutional sexism to harassment to heartbreak can supposedly be assuaged by a couple bottles of wine with a group of good girlfriends. The treacly “Treat yo self” mantra popularized on Parks and Recreation has enabled many a stressed-out woman to place that $800 Anthropologie order (you can always return most of it, right?). Life is hard and the world is on fire; maybe we deserve to indulge in some good old simple pleasures.

So what if wine is a carcinogen and the alcohol industry has actively worked to downplay the link between drinking and cancer? So what if fast fashion is built on exploitative labor and contributes to mass global pollution? So what if the concept of self-care — popularized by Audre Lorde, a black lesbian activist battling breast cancer — has been co-opted to sell us things we don’t need, things which indirectly harm others and might actually harm us in the end? We’ve earned it, ladies!

I’d like to think I don’t actively buy into the capitalist vision of self-care, even as I’ve thrown my money into its maw; at least, I don’t assume any sort of entitlement to feeling good via the accumulation of material things. More so, I just thought…fuck it.

A few months ago, drunk in the middle of the day, I impulse-bought a Juul at a bodega in downtown Manhattan. I’d been taking hits off my friends’ vapes for months, only after I’d had enough to drink that smoking became pleasurable instead of disgusting. That was the rule I’d used for myself previously with cigarettes: I could never buy my own, but if I was drunk, I could bum one or two or five. Actually owning a Juul, as much as I liked to think the vapor or whatever made them safer than my beloved Marlboro Lights, was definitely breaking the rules. But I’d reached a point where I no longer cared.

While other people were having their hot girl summers, I spent mine flirting with a sense of doom I haven’t experienced since I was a hope-starved teen. (Nihilism: It’s back in style, just like denim miniskirts!). And I’m not alone. Twitter offers a daily glut of jokes about the apocalypse; things have gotten so bad we’re begging for vaping or an asteroid or alien overlords to finally put us out of our misery. The novelist Jonathan Franzen published a (much-maligned) essay this past weekend about climate change, arguing that the oncoming disaster is impossible to mitigate and “we” can no longer pretend otherwise. (“Every day, instead of thinking about breakfast,” he wrote, we all “have to think about death.”) Reading recently about presidential candidate Andrew Yang’s dystopian vision of the future, I found myself dismayed, and thoroughly dragged, by Max Read’s description of a “doomer,” the archetypal internet memer who believes we’re all totally fucked: “a depressed, purposeless 20-something usually depicted smoking a cigarette and wearing a beanie.”

Okay, I’m not a doomer, but I have become somewhat fatalistic lately. With talk of another recession and the continued possibility of dying in a mass shooting or some sort of natural disaster, the scarcity mindset I’d developed as the child of a parent living paycheck to paycheck kicked back in again. Thanks to a few greedy corporations and crisis-denying national governments, climate catastrophe seems inevitable — no matter what personal choices I make about things like food or travel or children.

So why bother saving for the future if there isn’t even going to be a future? Why bother being kind to my body by taking it easy on the beer and potato skins when all the crap I consume might not catch up with me by the time that not-future comes to pass? No matter how I treated myself — and no matter what infinitesimal steps I took to be a better human citizen — we’d all end up in the same place in the end.

For a while during my “fuck it” summer, it felt great to be a mess, if only because of its implicit rejection of corporatized self-care’s evil twin: self-optimization. Since diets have become passé, we’ve entered a new era defined by “wellness,” but women are still expected to meet Eurocentric and patriarchal beauty standards — only, unlike with dieting, we’re now supposed to feel good about attempting to contort ourselves into socially acceptable bodies.

Fuck other people’s narrow ideas about the only right ways to live a good and happy life.

“Wellness” conjures images of Gwyneth Paltrow peddling hundreds of dollars’ worth of Goop vitamins and oils and crystals and juices to customers who, because they are not wealthy celebrities, will never look like Gwyneth Paltrow. Organic vegetables and private Pilates instructors are the provinces of rich people who have the time and money to optimize their bodies as if it’s their job (because it is). Fuck wellness! I thought, ordering chips and queso for the third time in a week. Fuck other people’s narrow ideas about the only right ways to live a good and happy life.

But was my life really better, or happier? I loved taking shots with my sister at my favorite dive bar, bonding in a way we sometimes struggle to when sober. But I hated that by the time we got home I was sobbing on the couch about our fraught relationship with our mother, some deep dark part of me ripped open and exposed to the unforgiving light. I loved the dopamine rush of confirming yet another online shopping order, but I hated having to return half the crap once it piled up in my bedroom. I hated hangovers, mountains of takeout containers, and the point at which my Juul would stop giving me a stream of little highs and instead just start making me sick.

Amazon Studios / Courtesy Everett Collection

Jillian Bell in Brittany Runs a Marathon.

Last weekend, I took myself on a date to the movies. I saw Brittany Runs a Marathon, which is the exact kind of movie I’ve been seeking out lately: funny, uplifting, and you know going in exactly what you’re getting. Keep your twist endings, Quentin Tarantino! I’ll watch the movie where the ending is literally spoiled by the film title.

Paul Downs Colaizzo’s indie movie, which won the Audience Award in the US Drama category at Sundance, stars Jillian Bell as the titular Brittany, a goofy twentysomething in a major life rut. A doctor tells her she has an unhealthy BMI (proven to be a bogus measure of a person’s health) and that she needs to lose 50 pounds. This leads Brittany — and Bell herself — to attempt to shed the weight of a “small Siberian husky” over the next year, at the end of which Brittany plans to run the New York City Marathon.

A movie about a woman trying to find fulfillment through weight loss sounds pretty out of step with our current cultural moment, when fat acceptance and body positivity have been gaining significant ground. Kate Browne in Runner’s World argues that the movie functions as “fitspo” by conveying to viewers that if you lose weight, you, too, can achieve your dreams. “The story we’re too often told about fatness and running,” she wrote, “is that body size is an obstacle to overcome in our quest for glory.” Madison Malone Kircher, in a piece for Vulture, made similar points: “In Brittany Runs a Marathon, being fat is portrayed as a starting point instead of just a state of being.”

I, too, would have preferred a movie in which Brittany ran a marathon after gaining back all the weight she initially lost while training — proving to herself, and to viewers, that she could do remarkable things at any size. Still, I think the film does complicate more straightforward and more explicitly anti-fat weight loss narratives in popular culture by making clear that personal fulfillment and a small waist aren’t inextricably intertwined.

Soon before she’s set to run her first marathon (spoilers ahead), Brittany pushes herself too hard in her attempt to lose her final 10 pounds; she deprives herself of food and ends up in the hospital with a stress fracture. She has to miss the race. While recovering, she’s much thinner but more miserable than ever. In the film’s cringiest scene, Brittany gets drunk and heckles a fat woman at her brother-in-law’s birthday party, refusing to believe that the woman’s “average” size partner could actually love and desire a fat person. At other moments, she makes jealous assumptions about a (thin) neighbor she doesn’t actually know; she begrudges a married friend his happy domesticity with his husband and children. The film suggests that Brittany’s main problem has never been her weight — it’s that she’s convinced all her woes have nothing to do with her own actions and that other people, in turn, don’t deserve their happiness.

Amazon Studios / Courtesy Everett Collection

Patch Darragh and Jillian Bell in Brittany Runs a Marathon.

At the end of the movie, when Brittany signs up for the marathon again the next year and actually makes it to the race — cheered on by friends she’d previously spurned — I cried. I cried because it was, yes, inspirational, but I was also moved by the way the story managed to explore personal autonomy and desire in a self-improvement narrative without discounting the significant role played by larger systemic forces.

No, Brittany shouldn’t have to lose weight to be treated with respect — but the material reality of her life is that, when she’s thinner, she’s actually “treated like a woman,” as she tells her soon-to-be boyfriend: People smile at her; they hold the door for her on the subway. No, it isn’t fair that the fancy gym she tries to join when she first decides to lose weight is cost prohibitive to so many people — but that doesn’t discount the fact that running, and other ways of moving one’s body, are completely free.

I cried because I’ve long resented all the pressure I feel to work out and eat “well” and drink less and sleep more. So much of that pressure comes from a world hellbent on optimizing our bodies and brains for workplace efficiency, for social acceptance, for conventional beauty standards, for “normalcy.” It’s pressure designed to make us believe the world will become less of a hellscape through mere personal effort, rather than structural change.

But what if we don’t make those choices (just) to make ourselves more palatable to the world around us? Yes, living “well” — if we’re financially and physically able — benefits The Man. That doesn’t change the fact that treating our bodies with respect and care might benefit us too.

When I first thought about quitting drinking, about a month ago, I read Sarah Hepola’s 2015 recovery memoir, Blackout: Remembering the Things I Drank to Forget. I sobbed through the last 50 pages. (Yes, I’ve been crying a lot lately.) She talks about how, even after she got sober, she still wasn’t taking care of herself: lots of takeout, not a lot of making the bed or hanging up her laundry.

I told myself this was OK, because our society was beyond warped in its expectations of women, who were tsunamied by messages of self-improvement, from teeth whiteners to self-tanners … I wanted to kick the whole world in the nuts and live the rest of my years in sweatpants that smelled vaguely like salami, because who really cares?

But then, after a while, Hepola realized: She cared. She realized she didn’t need to make her body and home feel and look better to please men, or because it was what she was “supposed” to do. “I should take care of myself because it made me happy,” she wrote.

After finishing the book, I wondered if, angry at the propagandist sham of American individualism and bootstraps meritocracy, I’d course-corrected a little too hard — giving up on trying to improve myself or the world around me.

Eddy Chen / HBO

Zendaya as Rue on Euphoria.

My nihilism was both political and personal. Politically, I’d become Chidi, the philosophy scholar on The Good Place, who ends up in Hell because of his ethical indecision. At one point, after grasping so desperately for moral purity and failing to find it, he gives up. “The world is empty,” he yells. “There is no point to anything. And you’re just gonna die. So do whatever!” Personally, I saw myself as Euphoria’s Rue (minus the hard drug-taking), who returns to her life of debauchery after getting clean in rehab because she doesn’t see the point in trying to get better. “The world’s coming to an end,” she says in the first episode, “and I haven’t even finished high school yet.”

It’s a lot easier to believe that you can’t do much to improve your moods, your relationships, and the way your body feels while simultaneously believing you can’t do much to improve those things for other people, either. Abdicating that sense of any responsibility let me avoid a deeper, darker worry: that prioritizing the self is, by nature, saying to hell with everyone else.

My obsession with that particular quandary led me to Trisha Low’s new book-length essay, Socialist Realism, in which she attempts to reconcile her desire for the comforts of love and home with her desire for a socialist utopia. Is it even possible to pursue personal happiness and fulfillment while prioritizing The Greater Good at the same time?

“Home,” she writes. “It’s just something to contain our misplaced desires for a better world. How can we willingly long for that?” Her work is built upon that of her teacher, the academic José Esteban Muñoz, who famously theorized that queerness is, by its very nature, not-yet-here — “that thing that lets us feel that this world is not enough.”

In Megan Milks’s review of Socialist Realism for Bookforum, she notes that a decade ago “many queers were enamored with the alluring radicality of queer negativity” — think Lee Edelman’s 2004 polemic No Future, about the queer death drive — but “in the Trump era such grandiose nihilism seems puerile.”

I loved Low’s book for its messiness, its sense of struggle — a perfect depiction of the constant tugging I feel within myself every day, between my desire to deal with the realities of my own life and my desire to think on bigger, more ambitious scales. “Whatever,” Low eventually concludes. “You can make utopia out of almost anything.”

Since last month, I’ve stopped consuming alcohol (for now, though maybe also for longer). I threw away my Juul, then got jealous that I didn’t get rid of it more dramatically when I saw somebody smash theirs with a hammer on Instagram. Even King Princess, the Gen Z queen of Juuls, recently quit — a harbinger of change if I’ve ever seen one.

I’m trying to whittle away at my nihilism (both the personal and the political) in other small ways. I signed up for a trial at a rental clothing company, with the hopes that I’ll spend less money on shopping and contribute less waste. I’ve stopped eating beef, hopefully en route to full-fledged vegetarianism. And I joined a powerlifting gym after my friend Katie, who is basically a lifting influencer, extolled its many virtues. I’m hoping the sport’s focus on strength and power, rather than weight loss, will help me stop punishing my body for the way it looks and start celebrating it for what it can do.

I’ve had these little bursts of self-improvement projects before, but in the past I’ve always gotten bored and given up eventually. I’d start drinking again. I’d order a bunch of crap I didn’t need from companies that mistreat their workers and actively make the world worse. Whatever, who cares, nothing matters.

Just last week I caved and ordered six different white T-shirts and a $200 pair of boots. (“Basics!” I told myself. “Just the basics!”) I know I’m still going to have nights where I eat only popcorn for dinner and watch six straight episodes of Love Island and bum hits from my friends’ Juuls. I think what’s most important is that I’m at least trying to train myself to rely on more than just instant gratification. To have faith that, if I’m lucky, there’s a lot more life I’ve yet to live.

Critics of Franzen’s New Yorker piece on the climate apocalypse pointed out that the author’s climate projections are seriously flawed and his conclusions perhaps even more so. After taking swipes at everyone, from the evil science-deniers on the right to the overly optimistic peddlers of the Green New Deal on the left, Franzen sees hopeful futures for community gardens and CSA programs, but not much else.

“If your hope for the future depends on a wildly optimistic scenario,” he wrote, “what will you do ten years from now, when the scenario becomes unworkable even in theory? Give up on the planet entirely?”

What a patronizing way to address anyone who dares to dream. Teenage climate activist Greta Thunberg hasn’t documented her climate depression or dared adults to consider the impact of their personal choices just to piss off a bunch of man-baby conservatives. As a young person, she’s more than justified in fearing for her future, but despite her anger and her sadness — because of her anger and her sadness — she still believes in something better. Why bother even trying otherwise?

Yes, living “well” — if we’re financially and physically able — benefits The Man. That doesn’t change the fact that treating our bodies with respect and care might benefit us too.

Corrupt corporations and governments do hold the most blame, and the most significant obligations, when it comes to righting our course. But there is no easier way to shirk consumer responsibility — whether you’re eating beef, or flying a lot, or holding onto that unholy Amazon Prime subscription — than by self-soothing with the leftist adage that “there’s no ethical consumption under capitalism.”

As Charlotte Shane recently wrote in a piece about Jonathan Safran Foer’s We Are the Weather (yet another collection of Big Climate Thoughts by yet another underqualified white guy), holding institutions accountable “can’t be a ploy to deflect attention from our own culpability … No matter how otherwise constrained our circumstances, we can always choose each other, choose solidarity, choose effort. Every time we do, we’re making headway toward a new habit, a self-reinforcing orientation that alters the fabric of who we are and how we live.”

Is there anything in this world harder than trying to be both happy and good?

I’ve been listening to Lana Del Rey’s Norman Fucking Rockwell on repeat since the album dropped, which has put me in the perfect mood for my sad girl fall. But as much as Lana sings her beautiful, dreamy way through the depressing fog that is modern living, she still ends the album on somewhat of a high note. “Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have,” she croons on the very last song. “But I have it.”

May we all, Lana. May we all. ●

Sahred From Source link Science

from WordPress http://bit.ly/2LPYdeK via IFTTT