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mattzerella-sticks · 4 years

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Caught (a 9-1-1 fic post-s3 finale)

Photobooths are prime for catching special moments and making them last forever, even if they are less both and more open spaces with a backdrop. When Athena, Bobby, and Michael stumble upon one such moment between Buck and Eddie, what will they do?

And how will it affect Maddie and Chimney?

T, 3.7k, Athena/Bobby, Buck/Eddie, Maddie/Chimney

Athena finds operating a laptop with only one hand maddening. Typing up an e-mail takes double the time, she needs breaks when shopping online, and scrolling through social media becomes dangerous when she accidentally likes pictures she didn’t mean to. If she had her choice, Athena would be on her phone. But the hired photographer from May’s party e-mailed the pictures from the photo booth, both Bobby and Michael nearby when her phone pinged. Instead of having her husband and ex-husband crowded at her shoulders, Athena pokes her password into the given space while the men gather snacks. When she finally has the first picture loaded, Bobby places the bowl of popcorn by her sling and Michael hands off a soda.

“I think we’ve never looked better Bobby,” Michael laughs, pointing at the screen.

Athena snickers into her drink, studying the picture. Bobby’s jaw dropped in a faux yell; guitar hugged tightly against his chest. Fingers hooked as if he were playing something. Michael’s expression mirrored his except the tinsel wig on his head making it immensely funnier. “Don’t you be trying to steal my man from me, Michael,” she warns, attempting severity, “You already got a doctor eating out of your hand.”

“Okay you two,” Bobby settles his arm across Athena’s chair, chuckling, “we’ll never get through these if you two are bickering. Athena, click onto the next picture?”

They kill the next half-hour like that, pausing every so often to laugh at a few pictures. Like Maddie with May, the two women back-to-back and imitating an old spy poster. Or Chimney and Hen battling with the inflatable guitars like they were axes. Although not every picture was funny. Michael and Athena thought May and her boyfriend gravitated closer than necessary for a simple photo. And Athena needed a moment, collecting herself from the sheer adorableness of Buck and Christopher’s faces pressed cheek-to-cheek.

The next few pictures included Buck as well, except Christopher’s father joined in the fun in his son’s place. Eddie sipping a drink while Buck played the guitar. Him raising a leg mid-kick while Buck locked eyes with the camera. Smoking on a corncob pipe as Buck runs wild behind him. Flexing, playing the guitar, and jumping. One picture had half of his face cut off.

Buck must have landed closer, because Athena clicked on and they occupied the same breadth of space. Eddie, non-plussed, while the younger man messed with him. Grinning, swinging beads in his face. Then wincing when it struck the soft spot between his brows. Brushing gently over his nose in a cursory inspection, too close. Followed by –

“Oh, my,” Athena gasped, hand over her mouth. She felt Bobby tense at her side and Michel mutter a curse under breath.

The photographer, with perfect timing, captured the briefest of pecks. Buck’s lips on Eddie’s, both puckered. Expectant. None of them can decipher who initiated the embrace. Only that it happened and there was no mistaking the intention

“Well I’ll be damned,” Michael says, “this is…”

Athena glances at her husband, “Did you know about this?”

Bobby shakes out of his stupor, turning to her. “No, I… I had no idea,” he says, “I mean, they’re close but I always thought it was more like… brothers?”

Michael snorts, drawing Athena’s attention. “Do you have anything to add?”

His mouth thins, and he inches back. “No, I’m as shocked as you both are… A little intrigued… and embarrassed I didn’t notice those boys swung on my team before… But shock is at the forefront.”

She sighs, sagging in her seat. Her finger scrolls onto the next arrow except she cannot continue. Athena finds herself staring at the picture again. “What should we do?”

Bobby hums and squeezes her shoulder. “We can pretend this didn’t happen and let them come to us in their own time?” He nods at the screen, “For the first month at least. If they don’t say something past then, I will have to bring it up anyway seeing as fraternization between coworkers requires tons of paperwork.”

“Okay, then I guess we keep this to ourselves until they own up on their own,” she says, moving on, “or you need evidence if they try and deny it altogether.”

“Always thinking like a cop,” Michael laughs, nudging her, “you’ll be back on the streets soon enough.”

“We’ll see.” She finally clicks onto the next picture, another Eddie and Buck. More bashful and with ruddy cheeks. If there were any confusion about the prior scene, this added the final layer of context. “They do make an adorable couple.”

“And a hot couple…”

Athena elbows Michael with her good arm, scowling. “Hush up. Think about your doctor.”

The mood returns, not at the same level it was before the discovery but there the same. They finish viewing the album and then spend more time dividing it. Creating folders for their friends and family so they can have their pictures. Athena finds the kissing scene again and immediately puts it, and the accompanying aftermath shot, in its own folder. She forgets it when they start compressing the files for ease of sending.

Unfortunately, when attaching Buck’s pictures to the e-mail, his zip file contains two folders.

-----------------------------------------

Buck find Eddie in the kitchen, pouring milk into two bowls of cereal. His heart skips a beat at the scene of pure domesticity. The way sunlight streams through the thin curtains and makes Eddie glow in its beams. Makes him look more irresistible than he already is. He tugs his shirt down over his chest and walks over, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s chest. “Breakfast? Really?”

“What – not a fan of Fruit Loops?”

“I love Fruit Loops,” Buck chuckles, kissing at the bruise on Eddie’s neck he made earlier. “But I don’t know if three o’clock is the perfect time for them.” Still, he takes the bowl from off the counter and opens a nearby drawer.

Eddie grabs spoons for them both. “Breakfast isn’t a meal… it’s a state of mind. It’s the first thing you eat when you get out of bed. And since we haven’t left the bed since now…”

“We could’ve left earlier,” Buck reminds him, “If you weren’t so damn horny.”

“I wasn’t the one practically crying for dick in my ass –“

“Hey, hey!” Buck cuts him off, cheeks burning hotter the longer Eddie laughs. “I wasn’t crying, I was… heavily suggesting.”

“Sure…”

He scowls, sticking his spoon in Eddie’s bowl and stealing a bite. “If you didn’t want a second round, all you had to do was say so. But don’t go complaining because I was making sure you were having a great time while Christopher’s at camp.”

“Oh, no,” Eddie shakes his head, grimacing, “please don’t quote my son’s card while we’re talking about sex.”

“You started it,” Buck smirks, pointing with his spoon. “Your fault if you can’t handle the heat.”

Eddie shoves at him, jostling the milk and spilling some onto his shirt. A soggy Fruit Loop dove from his bowl and landed on his foot, near his big toe. Buck retaliates with a push of his own, although Eddie catches his wrist and drags him into a kiss that makes him forget about the milk stain, dropped Fruit Loop, and Eddie’s teasing.

They break for air, foreheads pressed against each other. “We should really be eating.”

“Yeah.”

It’s another five minutes standing there. Balancing bowls of cereal and trading kisses. When they finish, Eddie guides Buck into the living room. They cuddle on the sofa, Buck crossing his legs under him and flicking the television on. Flipping through channels until he finds a cartoon he likes. Halfway through the SpongeBob episode, he feels a heavy stare. Buck turns, cheeks stuffed with cereal, to find Eddie watching with a small grin. “What?”

“Maybe I should have sent you to camp alongside Chris,” Eddie says, “that way you could have had fun with all the other kids.”

He swallows, glaring. “Shut up…” Eddie leans forward and brushes his lips across Buck’s cheeks, halting any further protest. Unwilling to let Eddie win, however, Buck redirects his attention elsewhere. Namely his blinking cell phone, resting on the coffee table since last night. Buck must have forgotten it sometime between Eddie kissing him and Eddie carrying him out with Buck’s legs around Eddie’s waist.

Buck opens it, wincing at the number of messages.

Eddie peers over his shoulder, spoon in his mouth. “Popular?”

“Something like that…” He scrolls through the notifications. At the tagged pictures on Instagram and the missed calls, choosing his texts first. Sees five from Chimney asking about where his is and if he can come over. Then twenty from Maddie progressively growing angrier the longer Buck didn’t respond. Buck types back on the last message. Answers her ‘Buck I am not kidding you better answer me asap we need to talk’ sent at one-twenty-three with a ‘Sorry b there soon’ at three-thirteen. “I gotta go to Maddie’s…”

“What for?”

Buck scans through the texts again, shrugging. “Doesn’t say. But it must be important if both her and Chim were on my case.”

Eddie knocks shoulders with Buck. “Want me to tag along?”

“I’d appreciate it,” Buck tells him, “but if we’re supposed to keep this low-profile, I doubt showing up together will help.”

“But we always show up together,” he argues.

“Not after having fantastic sex.”

“You’re right,” Eddie concedes, thoughtful expression transforming into one more devious. His fingers tickle Buck’s thigh before he squeezes Buck’s cock. “I’d rather show up after mind-blowing sex.”

“Eddie, you’re killing me,” Buck whines, “I’m too tired.” Except he lays his bowl on the table alongside Eddie’s and happily relaxes onto the couch. Lying underneath the other man while he licks at his collar bone. Buck giggles while his friend’s stubble rubs against his skin. Absentmindedly Buck looks at his phone, scrolling through more apps. He opens his e-mail and sees the message from Athena labelled: ‘May’s Graduation Party Photos’. “Hey Eddie, the photos from May’s party are here.”

“What?” Eddie asks, rising momentarily for air.

“Pictures!”

“Another time, Bucky…” he presses a sloppy kiss at his jaw, smirking. Toying with Buck’s shirt. “Be with me now.”

“Let me take a quick look.” Buck ignores Eddie’s pleading, opening it. Downloads the file and clicks the icon, switching apps. He opens the first folder, a photo of Buck and Maddie greeting him. “Oh, these came out nicely…”

Eddie continues dropping kisses on different points of his body while Buck scrolls through each picture. “Really, Buck,” he gasps after sucking a mark onto Buck’s hip. A feat that usually leaves him panting, sweaty, and writhing in Eddie’s embrace. “Can’t this wait? Feeling unappreciated…”

Buck threads his hand through Eddie’s hair, patting it. “Almost done,” he tells Eddie, “There’s another file here… looks like it’s only two –“ He cuts off, eyes widening.

Startled, Eddie raises a brow at him. “Buck? You okay?” Nothing. Eddie crawls up and forces Buck’s gaze away from the phone and towards him, tilting at his jaw. “Speak to me. What is it?”

He cannot speak. So he shows Eddie his phone, watching the blown pupils retract as the mood shifts.

It’s a photo from the party, one they hadn’t realized was captured. Their first kiss. When Buck was so overwhelmed with happiness and warmth and, staring at Eddie, crossed the divide without thought. A quick peck that left them stuttering and blushing and unsure where they stood. Buck ran away, not waiting for Eddie. Moving until the other man dragged him into an empty room to explain himself.

Buck had nothing. No reason why he kissed Eddie except that it felt right. Which he proved by pressing him against the wall and kissing him again. Eddie answered in kind, flipping him around and hauling his leg up. Thumb brushing his kneecap.

They broke, muted sounds of the party filtered through the door. Eddie cleared his throat, “We still need to talk about this.”

“Definitely…”

Both men said their goodbyes, five minutes after the other. Promises that when Christopher left for camp, they would restart their conversation. Eddie drove straight over, card still in hand when he knocked on Buck’s door.

Buck hung it on the fridge before they tripped up the stairs in hurried excitement, shedding clothes and tumbling on the bed.

Talking came after the sex.

“What do you think it means?” Buck asks, “Why would Athena send this?”

Eddie shrugs, mouth flapping worriedly. “I don’t know,” he finally says, “Maybe she… maybe she sent without looking?”

Buck rolls his eyes. “Karen and Hen had their photos taken but I don’t have any of theirs. She definitely saw this.” His mind works double time, connecting loose threads into a makeshift sweater. “Wait,” he says, pushing Eddie off him and onto his knees. “Wait, hold on… do you think this is what those texts were about?”

“Texts? What texts?”

“Chim and Maddie,” he reminds Eddie, “the urgent texts that – that didn’t mention what made them so damn urgent. Do you think… Athena sent this photo to them, too? To Hen? Everybody?”

Eddie sighs and runs his hands up and down Buck’s shoulders, added warmth like a candle fighting an iceberg. “Athena wouldn’t do that,” he says, “I’m sure this was nothing. Maybe even a… a simple way of letting us know she knows and she supports us?”

“Still…”

As if seeing the smoke billowing out his ears, Eddie stands and offers a hand. “Come on.” Buck squints up at him, curious. “You think Maddie and Chimney know about us. You won’t know by sitting here spinning out. When we get there, we can see what they have to say.”

Buck fights his smile, but a tiny smirk still appears. “We?” he asks.

“Yes, we,” Eddie tells him, “So let’s move. I think I have a shirt that’ll fit, but it might be a little short?”

“What about my clothes from yesterday?”

“Please,” Eddie matches his smirk, “we’re not sure if they know about us. Why make it obvious by doing that.” Most of the tension from moments ago disappears with their laughter, Eddie ridding him of the rest by hauling Buck into a tender kiss. “Hurry,” he whispers, “because if we stay here any longer, I won’t want to leave the house until tomorrow.”

“Tempting…” Buck pushes off, smiling. “Very tempting, but I already promised Maddie. She’s mad enough at me as it is.” Eddie tries catching his wrist one more time but Buck, aware of this trick, dodges at the last second and bounces off. The other man chases with great speed.

The playfulness helps distract Buck from the impending appointment with his sister and their friend. And leaves him grateful that he and Eddie crossed over in their relationship, onto the next level. Into what it was always meant to be, what it kept building towards over the years. Abby’s return the final push giving Buck the clarity he needed in understanding his feelings.

When the hurt finally stopped, the loneliness he expected to follow didn’t. Because Buck had his sister. The one-eighteen. Christopher and Eddie.

Especially Eddie. Especially when his lips tickle his neck, and delays them further.

-----------------------------------------

Maddie paces the floor, chewing on a bite of pickle. “What’s taking him so long?” she asks Chimney, her boyfriend watching from a nearby couch. “I swear, if he isn’t in this room in the next five minutes…”

Chimney stands, walking towards her. “I’m sure he has his reasons,” he tells her, “he didn’t answer his phone until – what? Three? Maybe he was busy.”

“Too busy to answer a text?” She pokes his chest, huffing. “Too busy to get his ass over here and learn that he’s about to be an uncle?”

“Well, you didn’t tell him he was going to be an uncle in the text so he probably didn’t think it was that urgent.”

She glares, readying another onslaught. Luckily for Chimney they hear the buzzer for his apartment ring. Maddie shoves the rest of the pickle in her mouth, nodding at the door. “Let them in and bring them into the dining room.”

“Anything else, my queen?”

Maddie ignores him, setting at the table with her hands folded. Listens while Chimney speaks into the intercom and lets Buck up. In the minutes between that and Buck arriving, she thinks. About what it felt like seeing both plus signs appear on the pregnancy tests and the cocktail of emotions erupting within like a volcano. Happiness and excitement, but also fear. Worry over whether she was ready, or if she would be a good parent. Memories of her own childhood flooded and distracted Maddie until she broke free from their chains and realized Chimney spoke to her in the living room.

He tried, but in the days that followed Maddie’s party her nerves only shredded further. She needed her brother. And when Maddie mustered the strength and reached out, he kept her waiting.

Anger won out when she laid eyes on him, incised further when she notices Eddie. “Is that why you weren’t answering me? Too busy ‘hanging out’?” The exaggerated quotes make Buck flinch in a way he hadn’t in years. Not since he was a little kid. And she finds herself back in Hershey once more. And Maddie’s doubt in her skill doubles.

“Sorry Maddie,” he says, stepping into the dining room, “time just got away from us and… we came as fast as we could?”

She glances between them, both men with reticent expressions. As quickly as it arrived, the fire inside fizzled into embers. “I’m sorry,” she says, kneading at her temple, “I’ve just been… a little stressed.”

“Stressed, why?”

Chimney answers, “Because of recent developments. Recent developments that we wanted to speak to you about.” He glances at Eddie, frowning. “Eddie…”

Eddie points at the living room, shrugging. “I can wait in there while you talk –“

“No,” Maddie stops him, “no you can join.” She looks at Chimney, smiling. “I don’t see why he shouldn’t be here, right?”

“I guess.”

Buck and Eddie share a cryptid look, slowly sitting across from Maddie and Chimney. Her brother fidgets, tugging on his fingers in the nervous way he would when mom or dad lectured him after landing in trouble. Although why he did it now, Maddie was unsure of. She reached across and grabbed his hand, waiting for when their eyes met to speak. “There’s something we need to tell you.”

His brows scrunch up, “Yeah… I get that.”

“It’s about,” Maddie searches for an entry point, unsure where she should start. “Well… you know at May’s party?” He tenses in his seat. “How we left a little early? That’s because Chimney noticed something and I – I put things together, and we had to go –“

“Maddie I can explain –“

“Because all these signs added up and,” Maddie stops, blinking. She pulls away from Buck, “What?” Buck stares at the table, shoulders hunched high. “Look, I was going to tell you but, well, we know what would’ve happened if this came out so soon after Abby showed up. And the party was the worst place if we wanted to keep this secret, I didn’t mean for it to happen there it just did! We thought it was better to take it at our own pace and – and let people in when we were ready, y’know?”

“Slow down Evan,” Maddie grabs his hands again. Squeezes until he gives her the floor. “What are you talking about?”

He pouts. “I was… you brought me here because you and Chimney saw us, right? At the photo booth?”

“No,” she says, “I wanted you here because I found out I’m pregnant.” Buck chokes, seizing under her grip. “But what are you talking about? Us? You and who else… and why should it involve Abby?”

“You’re pregnant?” he asks, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Buck tries closing his mouth but he cannot force his jaw shut. “I’m… I’m gonna be an uncle?”

“Yes, Buck, you are,” Chimney adds, leaning over the table. “But can we go back? What happened at the photo booth?”

Maddie studies her brother slowly shed his shock. Replaced with cheeks redder than his birthmark, failing at subtlety when glancing at Eddie. Eddie hides his face, Maddie imagining it in a similar state. With nothing there, her attention drifts and latches onto the first clue she finds.

A circular bruise on his neck near his collarbone. There’s no mistaking what it was.

“Oh my God,” she says, “Oh my God!”

Chimney sighs, “What? What is it!”

“Buck. You and Eddie?”

“Buck and Eddie – oh,” He sees them in new light, understanding dawning. “Oh my God, you two are dating!”

Eddie reveals his own ruddy cheeks, hands switching tactics from shielding to squeezing Buck’s shoulder. “And you thought they knew!”

“I, I – uh…” Buck splutters, cornered. He points at Maddie, “You’re pregnant! I think that’s more important!”

“But you and Eddie,” she insists, “you and Eddie!” Maddie laughs, stress from the past few days seeping out of her. “I can’t believe – you and Eddie!”

“Yeah, yeah, me and Eddie…” Buck slumps into his seat, glaring. Clearly uncomfortable with the attention.

She sees where his thoughts drift, though, and tosses a lifeline. “I think it’s great, Evan,” Maddie says. Waits for when their gazes lock again. “Really.”

His stiffness eases the longer they stay like that, until a gooey smile spreads across his face. “Talking about great things,” Buck says, gesturing at her and Chimney, “a baby? You’ll be a mother and – and you have to tell me how it happened.”

“I think you know how it happened, Buck,” Chimney chuckles, “Plus, I think we should be asking that of you two.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, slinging his arm over Buck’s shoulders and pulling him closer. Buck instinctively leaning into Eddie’s side. Maddie pauses, stunned by how well they fit together. Hindsight makes everything obvious but she should have seen this coming. “We can compare stories,” Eddie says, “but since baby trumps new relationship, you two can start.”

Maddie nods, sliding one hand free from Buck’s hold and to Chimney’s. Tangling their fingers together. Uniting their family as they take their next steps into unfamiliar territory. Maddie expects the next nine months will be difficult and taxing. Not only with the baby but working while pregnant and then planning what comes after.

With her family at her side, Maddie feels confident in handling whatever challenge comes her way.

#911 season 3 #911 on fox #athena grant #bobby nash #michael grant #athena x bobby #athena/bobby #evan 'buck' buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #buddie fic #buck/eddie #buck x eddie #maddie buckley #howard chimney han #maddie x chimney #maddie/chimney #911 on fox fanfic

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carsonshawson · 4 years

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(i became obsessed w the idea of villanelle going manic and losing control after the kiss and getting shit faced like she did in 2.04 so here you guys go)

“eve.”

her voice is soft and gentle, so much so that, at first, eve thinks it’s from a dream. unfortunately, it’s a common occurrence to dream of assassins at night in the eve polastri residence. an occurrence eve does not take kindly to, thus she rolls over and buries her head further into her pillow in order to make it go away.

however, the voice doesn’t stop like it usually does.

“eve.” it growls again, urgent this time.

fuck, she’s really not appreciating the realism aspects of her dreams lately. although, her brain is probably proud of getting how annoying villanelle is almost exactly right. it’s hard to grasp her character accurately. but, she supposed, if anyone were to capture villanelle the right way, it would be her.

“eve, get up, we need to go.”

a hand nudges at eve’s shoulder, and she becomes suddenly and terrifyingly aware this is not a dream.

she shoots up, nearly knocking the assassin in the face for the second time in two days.

villanelle stumbles backwards. “jesus christ,” she mumbles.

eve can only see the dark outline of her tall and lithe body, but she can smell her presence. knows it’s her. the moonlight seeping in from the window catches on the loose strands of her blonde hair to create a terrifyingly beautiful shadow.

“what the FUCK,” eve goes to scream. however, villanelle is back in her space, pressing her hand over eve’s mouth.

“shh,” she hisses. “we need to leave right now you’re in danger.”

eve’s heart seizes. villanelle watches her as she leaps out of bed and grabs the gun from her night table, where it was placed haphazardly in a drunken fit of paranoia.

or, apparently, not so much paranoia.

when her feet hit the floor, she realizes how cold the air is against her legs. right, she went to bed without pants too. she stumbles around blindly searching for them. before she collapses in a state of panic, villanelle shoves a pair of sweats into her hands.

“second drawer in your armoire.” she reminds her, and eve doesn’t have time to question it.

villanelle is already moving for the door when eve is able to fit them on her legs, and she’s pretty positive they’re on backwards too.

“come on!” she urges, whipping the door open. eve follows after her, and they step into the quiet and honestly sad looking apartment hallway. villanelle clasps eve’s forearm, and the movement almost seems clunky. but again, she doesn’t have time to question it because villanelle is dragging her to the stairwell, down the stairs, and into the alley behind her complex.

the stop against the back wall, both breathing heavily. eve is able to observe villanelle more clearly now. she is in a state of disarray of which eve has never seen her. even post stab. her hair flies out of a loosely constructed bun, and she wears only a loose white tee shirt, tucked into a pair of faded jeans.

jeans.

something is wrong.

eve furrows her eyebrows. “are you going to tell me what’s going on or—“

she’s not allowed to finish the question. villanelle has crashed their lips together with a fierce determination. she’s hot and heavy and sluggish, and eve can’t help but to give in for just a moment, relishing in the feeling of her long fingers moving across her body.

if this is what the bus kiss was, they probably would have ended up on pornhub.

it only lasts maybe less than thirty seconds before eve tastes the alcohol on her tongue.

she pushes villanelle away, who stumbles backwards as she did in her bedroom.

“are you drunk?” eve says, and she can hardly believe it, she was so caught up in the rush out the door she didn’t notice how off balance the other woman was.

villanelle blinks. “no.” but the smirk that follows is devilish. she moves into eve’s space again, leans down. it takes all of eve’s willpower to push her off. she’s angry now. she’s got to act like it.

she pushes her off again. villanelle stumbles once more, and it appears like she nearly falls over.

“you’re drunk,” eve says, certain this time.

“so?” is the response, and, honestly, she should have expected it.

eve folds her arms. “is someone after us? or did you wake me up in the middle of the night and scare the fucking shit out of me just to execute whatever poorly made drunk plan you came up with.”

she purses her lips, pretending to think. “uhh, the second one. except not poorly made. pretty well made, if you ask me. i am a great genius.” winking for emphasis, she presses closer to eve, who shrinks against the wall but is nevertheless defiant. she reaches for the gun in her waistband, ready to push against her abdomen.

it’s not there. of course. it’s real location is dangling from villanelle’s fingers as her lazy grin grows wider.

“looking for something?” she teases, eyes twinkling in the delight of watching eve squirm.

she sighs dramatically. “eve, it’s not very nice to attempt to hurt someone after they kiss you. actually, some might consider it rude. i would do me the same courtesy i did you on the bus. a courtesy you lack.” she touches the bruise along eve’s brow with gentle and precise movement. despite her clearly inebriated state, she still has some grace.

it’s not fair. and makes eve angrier.

“is there a fucking reason we’re outside? couldn’t we have done this thing inside where it isn’t cold, wet, and rainy?”

villanelle squints. “well, i suppose, but this was more fun.”

“your definition of fun alarms me.”

“it should,” she breathes and leans down to press a soft kiss against her neck. eve shivers, which she attributes to the temperature.

“why are you drunk?” she asks and is surprised to hear her voice come out rough and gravelly. the result of too many cigarettes, perhaps, not a russian assassin’s lips on her skin.

villanelle does it again, closer to her pulse point. “why did you kiss me?” the question is an answer in itself. she doesn’t need to see her eyes to know the wide breadth of emotions playing across them. she’s seen it many times before. she drags her tongue lightly on the underside of eve’s jawline.

“i don’t know,” she responds. and it’s true. she doesn’t.

villanelle stays where she is, and eve can really smell it now. the vodka. how stereotypical, she thinks to herself. just the other day, she pondered if her drink of choice, besides champagne, would be scotch.

she also thinks they must be an eyeful to passerbys right now. although late, the streets of new malden are typically bustling at all hours of the night. it would be a sight to see a tall and leggy blonde woman pinning a smaller curly haired one against a wall.

she doesn’t know how long they stay like that, villanelle’s face in her neck, hands on her waist. at some point, eve begins stroking the loose hair that wisps around her ears. a surprisingly intimate gesture that she wants to believe is sheer reflex.

villanelle’s breath begins coming out in short huffs, and her weight leans heavier on her. eve soon realizes she’s falling asleep.

“villanelle,” eve whispers, and the assassin stirs.

“hm?”

“go to your hotel. go to bed. take some painkillers. you’re going to need them.”

villanelle moves back, still tired and heavy.

“okay,” she says simply. her eyes are half-lidded under the poorly lit streetlight, and eve doesn’t know if she can trust her not to pass out in the middle of a road somewhere.

however, inviting her to stay would almost be too much of an admission. it’s one she’s not ready to make yet.

she turns to leave, and eve watches her go, but before she rounds the corner, she spins back.

“sorry. perhaps not a good plan.”

eve smiles, shaking her head. “go home.”

villanelle takes it as an order and mock salutes her. “bye, eve,” she croons as she disappears past the brick.

eve doesn’t even notice that she took her gun until she crawls back under her sheets, ready to let sleep claim her.

that’s going to be annoying to explain to carolyn tomorrow. really annoying.

“fuck it,” she groans and buries her head in the pillow for what she hopes is the last time that night.

#killing eve #killing eve spoilers #villaneve #fic talk #soft!villanelle

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pressedinthepages · 4 years

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Pivot

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Ciri & Eskel (Platonic/Familial), Geralt/Eskel, Ciri/OFC

Rating: T

Masterlist

a/n: deadicateddeath on AO3 gave me this lovely prompt for this next installment :) [ Could a future installation be Ciri weaponizing her abilty to get Eskel to talk to her about anything to make him indirectly talk about his pining and waiting for someone for a lifetime, and asking how you KNOW if someone likes you back and then hitting him with, on the way out the door, "Then how come you don't see it when someone shows it to you?" and LEAVES so Eskel has to unpack that on his own. Ciri digging right into Eskel's traumas is very very very good and I enjoy it very much. ]

thanks to @sometimesiwrite for being a great beta/idea machine/friend :)

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: language, softer than that really good whipped frosting that comes on bomb ass cupcakes, ~yearning~, eskel gets to borrow the brain cell for a sec

Ciri lends a hand.

Eskel wiped his hands on the soft knees of his pants as he turned away from the cutting board. It was littered with various vegetables that had been peeled and quartered in preparation for supper. He turned and walked up to the window, peering out at the snow falling lazily to the ground. Eskel could feel the chill atop his forearms and the heat blossoming from the fireplace at his back.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose, reveling in the peace that hung in the air. The sun hung high in the sky and glinted off the icicles dripping from the ledge and Eskel could hear the gentle crackling of fresh snow freezing and sticking on the ground. He thought that he may be content to stay in this moment forever, and it was blissfully quiet.

Well, maybe too quiet.

As if summoned by the mere thought of shenanigans, a deafening *boom* shook the old stones of the castle and Eskel merely sighed and turned back to his vegetables. This was not a new concept for Eskel, having grown long used to his peace being disturbed time and time again by the same old culprit.

“Shit, kid,” he heard Lambert growl and scurry to his feet a floor up and a bit over to his right, precisely where the alchemy lab is situated.

“No, no,” Eskel hung his head when he heard Ciri whisper back, fully recognizing them both for the agents of chaos that they were. “This is great! The dimeritium dust worked perfectly, so now we just have to stabilize the mixtu-”

Eskel’s heart skipped a beat when he heard familiar footsteps heading in his direction and he grinned to himself right before the door swung open. Eskel always appreciated how Geralt looked, but his ‘start of Winter’ look just may have been his favorite. Tight black trousers and a dense tunic, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and contrasting drastically with his pale skin. Silver hair spilling onto his shoulders and just the hint of stubble coming in, topped off with a pair of thick woolen socks and not a boot in sight.

Geralt padded into the kitchen and slid up next to Eskel, bumping his shoulder and staying close at his side. Eskel tried not to breathe in too deeply or else he would get caught up in the heady musk that surrounded Geralt. He snatched up a carrot and gave Eskel a shit-eating grin and Eskel just couldn’t find it in himself to care. Geralt could wreck his entire garden and give him that stupid smile and Eskel wouldn’t be able to be mad at him if he tried.

Geralt leaned back against the wall as Eskel turned back to the table of vegetables. He let his gaze wander up the strong forearms exposed by the rolled-up sleeves, lingering on the sheer breadth of his shoulders that flex with every chop he makes.

“Anything I can help you with, Wolf?” Eskel asked, not even looking up. If he had, though, he would have caught the blush creeping up Geralt’s neck at being caught.

“Ah-well, I was uh…” Geralt floundered, but he breathed a sigh of relief when he heard footsteps running towards the kitchen. “Incoming.”

Two young women burst into the kitchen in a flurry of laughter, bright silver hair and dark waves catching in the light. “Ladies,” Eskel greeted, still keeping his eyes trained on the chopping in front of him.

“Master Eskel,” the dark-haired one replied. Geralt snorted as Eskel turned round to her, blowing with his lower lip in an effort to tame the hair drooping into his eyes. It never worked.

“Sala, I’ve told you. Eskel is fine.”

Sala flushed and reached out for Ciri’s hand, which was easily given with a soft gleam of the eyes. “Sorry, Eskel.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Eskel reassured her, returning to his task. “Just want you to be comfortable here. I know Ciri does too, and it took her forever to not call me anything other than Sir Eskel. And I never have been, nor will I ever be, a knight.”

“But you’re just so noble and good,” Ciri argued, leaning against Eskel’s shoulder. “Why would I use anything other than a fitting title?”

Geralt hummed in agreement, pulling Eskel away from the vegetables once more. He met Geralt’s eyes across the kitchen and raised an eyebrow. Geralt shrugged in response, glancing over to Ciri and jutting his chin in response. Gods, they’ve known each other for too long.

By the time the two of them had finished their silent conversation, Sala had left, and Ciri walked over next to Geralt. “Would you work with me on sword training this afternoon?”

“Won’t Sala be bored?”

“No, silly,” Ciri giggled, “She’ll be joining us.”

Geralt sighed and nodded, pushing himself away from the wall and turning to walk out of the kitchen. “Care to join us, Eskel?”

“No, need to finish this.” Eskel groaned inwardly, for he longed for nothing more than to see Geralt all sweaty and strong under the winter sun.

“Could I borrow you in the library after supper?” Ciri asked after Geralt left the room.

Eskel looked up at her, noting the way her hands wrung themselves and hearing her heartbeat flutter in the air between them. “Of course. Always, Swallow.”

Ciri nodded and spun on her heel, striding out of the door with a well-practiced confidence that ran down to the bone. Eskel smiled before chucking the vegetables into the pot over the fire.

***

Lambert was getting old. Eskel watched as he settled into a chair by the fire in the main chamber of the keep, grunting under his breath as he got comfortable. And then, by the Gods, he was snoring and drooling not more than half a minute later. Vesemir was puttering around in the lower portion of the castle, in the damp greenhouse situated next to the hot springs where they all bathed. Geralt was probably out in the stables, and Sala had excused herself to take a warm bath in peace. Which meant that Ciri was probably already waiting for him in the library, glass of wine in hand.

Once he shouldered the heavy oak door to the library open Eskel toed off his boots, leaving the thick socks on as he crossed over to where Ciri was sitting cross-legged by the fire. While she did already have a glass in her hand, it wasn’t filled with wine. It was a heady, spiced apple cider that Geralt loves more than almost anything.

As Eskel kneeled down beside her she held out another glass filled with cider, which Eskel gratefully accepted. He grinned into the cup before taking a long drink, feeling warmth pool in his gut that had nothing to do with the alcohol. It felt like one of Geralt’s low laughs, or the bolts of lightning that explode across his skin when they bump into each other.

Eskel sighed as he peered into the fire, and Ciri reached out to place a hand on his knee. “You alright, Uncle Eskel?”

Eskel smiled, nodding his head. “Yeah, Swallow. I’m fine. Now, what did you want to talk about?”

Now it was Ciri’s turn to sigh and turn away, and Eskel watched as the light from the fire danced over her silver hair. “I-well. How do you know if someone loves you in return?”

Eskel tilted his head, letting his mind find those fuzzy edges where his love lay. He thought back to how he watched Ciri and Sala together, how it was blindingly obvious for anyone on the outside to see their love. But it’s always harder to see from inside.

“When she’s hurting, whether it’s physically or mentally, who does she seek out first?”

Ciri thought for a moment, “Me. Bu-”

“And when you’re happy, what does she do?”

“She-she’s happy too. Esk-”

Eskel shook his head. “Wait, Ciri. Let me finish. What about when you’re apart. I know you write each other. Does she miss you?”

“Well, of course, but I wasn-”

“And does she seek you out when you return?”

“Yes, sometimes she finds me first, Eskel can I ju-”

“And doe-”

“Eskel. Stop.”

And he did. He blinked and snapped his mouth shut, looking over at Ciri with bewilderment in his eyes. She was gripping the cup in her hands with enough force to turn her knuckles white. “Ciri?”

She drained the last of her cider and stood, nodding to herself as she strode to the door. “Thank you, Uncle Eskel.”

Eskel stayed seated on the floor, trying desperately to wrap his mind around the change in direction. “Ciri, I-I wouldn’t worry. Sala came up here with you. Of course she loves you.”

Ciri smiled, almost a little bit sadly. “I wasn’t talking about me and Sala. Maybe you should talk to Geralt.”

And with that, she was gone. Whisked away by a stray breeze, leaving Eskel gobsmacked on the rug before the fire. He took inventory of his surroundings before leaning back against the chair behind him, sipping his cider as his brain played catch-up.

‘When he’s hurting, who does he seek out?’ Eskel remembered all of the times he had patched Geralt up, whether it had been as young boys before the Trials or as seventy-year-old men after getting his ass handed to him by his adopted daughter. He remembered holding Geralt in the dark as he shook with sensory overload after a second batch of mutagens, and cupping the back of his neck and pressing their foreheads together after the nightmare of Blaviken.

‘When I’m happy, what does he do?’ Geralt smiled the brightest when he saw Eskel with Lil’ Bleater snuggled in his jerkin, or whenever he reached a new level of control over his signs. He never looked that happy when it was his own successes, but looking back, Eskel wants to reach out and keep that smile tucked away next to his heart.

‘Does he miss me?’ Fuck. Well, of course, Geralt missed him, Eskel assumed. He could always note the turn of Geralt’s scent from something mellow and just fine to abruptly happy and content when they found each other again. Every. Single. Time.

‘Does he seek me out?’ More times than Eskel can count, especially in recent years, Geralt had found him on The Path. Sure, Eskel had done it before too, heard rumors about another Witcher running about not too far away. And when he would head that way and he picked up Geralt’s scent, he chased him further until finding him nudged up against a tree looking all the world like he had just dropped there from some other plane. But now it felt like Eskel was the one being stumbled upon more often than not, and suddenly it all clicked into place.

Fuck. When did that kid get so smart?

#uncle!eskel #eskel & ciri #gereskel #fluff #ciri/ofc

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the-odd-job · 4 years

Text

Up in Flames chapter 14 - Tear Into You (Ashes Part 2)

Warnings: Major Character Death, Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sunstreaker, Megatron Additional Tags: Dubcon, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 5342

Am I beautiful As I tear you to pieces? Am I beautiful? Even at my ugliest, you always say I'm beautiful As you tear me to pieces You are beautiful Even at your ugliest, I always say You're beautiful and sick like me

— In This Moment – Sick Like Me

( Previous )

It turned into a public event, as little of a surprise as that was. They were gladiators. Fighting for show was what they did, even if the glory days of the Pits were long gone, brought down by Megatron himself.

But gone or not, their world was still familiar to most of the Decepticon army. There were many among their ranks that could appreciate a good showdown between skilled fighters—and Sunstreaker quite enjoyed providing shows of that nature. Didn’t he deserve to be the center of attention, both for what he was and what he could do?

And Megatron as his opponent only did him justice. Could he win? Probably not. Megatron had beaten him every time they had ever fought, rightfully proving himself superior no matter the circumstances.

Would he still give it his best go? Pit yeah. Anything less would’ve been nothing but an embarrassment. As much as winning was the goal, so was entertaining, and testing yourself, pushing yourself to your limit in front of so many appreciative optics.

And this side of the war definitely could appreciate real fights like the Autobots never did. The Autobots were more concerned with not going overt with the damage inflicted during sparring, and real fights were supposed to be off the table entirely, as little as Sunstreaker had ever followed that rule.

The Decepticons didn’t have such concerns. They were a violent bunch and seemed to only consider the injuries racked up as inevitable, without seeing any reason to change their actions because someone or other got hurt and required repairs. Part of life, no? Nothing more, nothing less. No reason to make a number out of it. With continued access to Cybertron, they didn't even need to worry about resources—aside from the ever elusive energon—as the Autobots did.

That suited Sunstreaker just fine, as did the fact no one thought twice about him suffering injuries the same as everyone else, despite the fact he was carrying. The only reason anyone spent time having second thoughts before fighting him was his sheer proven prowess. He could scrap most of the mecha on either side of the war. Did you really want to mess with him?

Megatron didn’t need to worry about things like that, though. Sunstreaker could provide him with a good fight, and he would do so, but Megatron’s strength and ability exceeded even his own. Everyone knew that.

Didn’t stop Sunstreaker from immediately agreeing to the suggestion of another no holds barred fight, and that saw them here, in the training room with the majority of the Decepticon army on Earth standing aside, optics sharp on them. Megatron’s sword was extended and Sunstreaker held his own thermal sword, ready to carve his fragging name in the warlord’s armor. As much as they were both weapons just by existing… Well, additional aids were damage multipliers, weren’t they? They evened the odds a little, allowed for greater damage on both sides. That came in quite handy.

Especially now. Megatron was, in frame, more of a weapon than he was. Once upon a time Sunstreaker would have considered them equal as far as their armaments went, but since then, he’d lost his claws, his fangs, his edges—things Megatron still retained because who would dare try to take those from him.

Didn’t matter. Sunstreaker still knew how to hit and how to tear, blunt digits or not, and he damn well knew how to handle a sword. Maybe he was at a disadvantage, maybe he was the underdog—then let it be so. It wouldn’t stop him from giving as good as he got.

“Haven’t we done this enough times already?” Sunstreaker asked as Megatron nodded at him, inviting him to make the first move. He did, rushing the warlord, dodging the blade that moved to intercept him, although he couldn’t break through Megatron’s defense enough to actually land a hit. Neither did he receive a hit either, though, dancing out of the way of Megatron’s attack on light pedes.

“Do you complain?” Megatron asked in return, moving on him, but Sunstreaker moved with him, staying just half a step ahead. Enough to save him until he could try to take an opening.

It didn’t work. Megatron blocked him, and wasn’t it satisfying to feel like his skill was truly matched, like he’d be made to work for every attack he could possibly land.

Sunstreaker’s mouth tugged into a smirk. “No. Why would I ever say no to a chance of slagging you? Fragging well deserve it, at least.”

“Do I now?” the tyrant rumbled in amusement, sending Sunstreaker stumbling back with a strike of his sword, cutting too deep into his plating. Megatron moved to a follow up attack in one fluent motion, but Sunstreaker wasn’t there anymore when it was supposed to reach him, moving out of the way like quicksilver.

“Damn well. Or did you forget everything you’ve done?” Sunstreaker’s sword connected with Megatron’s side, too shallow, a second before he had to dodge again. There was no way it would’ve been that easy, anyway.

He’d be disappointed if it was. Megatron was supposed to be better than that, and he was.

“How large of a scale are we talking about, here?” Megatron humored him. Sunstreaker could surmise what he meant. There was many a mech who would take an issue with the whole war Megatron had thrust Cybertron into—the atrocities he’d committed in the name of his cause. Genocide.

Did Sunstreaker think he deserved an ass kicking for all that? He should have. He had been an Autobot, a faction whose entire purpose was to oppose Megatron and everything he did and wanted to do. It was that insignia that still painted his chest, scratched out now. Why was he ever one of the red faction if he didn’t think Megatron deserved to pay for his supposed crimes?

They knew already.

What, then? Did he think Megatron had been right all along, justified in what he did? All the death he’d caused, the innocent he’d killed? What did he think of that?

“Scale of my goddamn life,” Sunstreaker growled, jumping out of the way of Megatron’s slash that would have beyond hurt had it connected, and taking his chances with an attack of his own. It landed. Muted satisfaction burst in his spark. The sparklet in his chamber vibrated, its excitement joining his own.

This was right. Fighting, testing his mettle, against its sire too, proving to it and to himself once again that Megatron was powerful enough to be considered beyond desirable for the role.

“Hm. And everything else I’ve done?” the tyrant asked from him. Why? Was he genuinely curious?

Or was he testing him? Megatron wanted him to fight. Not just like this—blades clashing against each other before one broke through, sharp cuts from Megatron’s, searing slashes from Sunstreaker's—but in the war. For him. Was this an attempt at gauging his current stance on the whole matter?

“You didn’t do any of that to me,” came Sunstreaker’s answer. He dove past Megatron’s defense again, and this time his sword sank deep into Megatron’s side, as much as the warlord knew how to angle himself to reduce the severity of the damage. Getting out of the way of the retaliation was as important as delivering hurt, but he only managed that with a hair’s breadth away from the harm Megatron wanted to inflict on him.

Good enough, all the same.

“Selfish,” Megatron commented, but it didn’t sound like an accusation as it would’ve been coming from any Autobot. More just an… Observation.

“You know it,” Sunstreaker grinned, unrepentant. As if it wasn’t common knowledge Sunstreaker didn’t really give a crap about anyone but himself. More reasons for the Autobots to dislike him. They put so much weight on altruism, Optimus in particular. Oh, all the talks he had gotten for putting himself first, at the cost of others.

Hadn’t really worked, any of those chastisements. He was yet to see the error of his ways.

“And what of all the good I’ve brought upon your life?” Megatron went on to ask. Sunstreaker frowned a second before he was too slow and received a strike that sliced clean through his armor. He ignored the ache of the cut in favor of dodging to the side, away from Megatron’s follow up attack. But, if he’d hoped to take the chance to deliver an attack of his own, Megatron was quick to squash those dreams.

“What fucking good?” Sunstreaker growled after he’d gathered his bearings and they were back to their scheduled dancing, injuries, wounds on both of them slowly piling up. “You destroyed it.”

“As was necessary. I freed you from the Autobots,” came Megatron’s argument, delivered in time with a feign Sunstreaker didn’t recognize as such, followed by a fast attack that landed and had him reeling and scrambling out of the way for a precious second that ended with a cut on Megatron when the tyrant was a little too slow to turn to face him.

Sunstreaker couldn’t really disagree with Megatron on this one, though. He growled again instead, veering to the side quickly enough to deliver another attack that landed almost as it was intended to before Megatron could force him away.

“Ends justify the means, huh?” Sunstreaker asked after he’d dodged again, diving right back in the next moment to deliver a vicious strike upon the larger mech. “Waltz right in, announce my crimes to the whole damn world, but that’s fine because it would roast me out of the Autobots?” Fragger.

“Do you disagree it was for the best?” Megatron asked from him, then moved far faster than he had any right to. Sunstreaker couldn’t get out of the way quickly enough and Megatron’s blade sank into his armor, leaving yet another gaping tear behind.

But not deep enough to bleed. Yet.

“What does it matter? A little too late to go back, now,” Sunstreaker hissed back. Whatever he thought of it wouldn’t change things anymore. There was no fixing what Megatron had done.

“But not too late to move forward,” the tyrant said—and why the slag did Sunstreaker feel like they were again circling back to the matter of would he or would he not fight? He couldn’t go back to being an Autobot, not after everything… Not that he really wanted to, either.

Did he want to be Neutral, then? Denounce his planet and his species for the sake of being outside the fight, picking no side?

Or would he rather continue fighting?

“You’re not really winning me over,” he growled at Megatron all the same, performing one attack, another… But the third was blocked and countered. Sunstreaker was forced to backpedal fast as he could manage, his engine revving in aggravation.

“You’re as stubborn as they come,” Megatron snarled back at him. Sunstreaker chuckled, twice so when he managed to turn the tables for a moment and jam his sword into a gap in Megatron’s armor.

“You’re only now noticing that?” he purred at the warlord even as he was forced to take a step back again, then another, and another before he could slip to Megatron’s side. But no, even that didn’t work. This time there was blood when Megatron swept his sword into him, deep enough to nick fuel lines. Sunstreaker could feel the wetness running down his internals, but he made damn sure Megatron’s plating melted under his own sword before he dodged out of the way. Wouldn’t do to give Megatron a chance to do something even worse, but there was no fragging way Sunstreaker was going to get the bastard get away with slag, either.

Now all he needed to do was return to the favor for real and have Megatron’s blood drip along his frame as Sunstreaker’s was.

“Hardly. Headstrong—it’s one of your more attractive qualities.”

This time Sunstreaker laughed outright, although he didn’t let it distract him from the fight, weaving his frame out of the way of Megatron’s attacks. The sparkling was pulsing urgently, growing even more excited at the feeling of his amusement.

And it was amusement. Pleasure, too, though no surprise. Maybe there should’ve been some, with the trouble his stubbornness had caused Megatron. Lack of cooperation and whatnot.

But Sunstreaker was a creature of confidence that some said he took to a sick level. True to that form, “Do I even have any unattractive qualities?” Sunstreaker asked.

“I think you answered that question yourself,” Megatron responded, his field flaring with faint mirth of his own. Sunstreaker growled at the suggestion behind the words—that his self-regard went over the top and that wasn’t a positive quality.

Well, frag that. The insecure wastes of space just couldn’t understand the comfort of loving yourself.

Sunstreaker dismissed Megatron’s opinion entirely with, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And nearly got his arm cut off for not reading Megatron’s movement fast enough. That, though, wasn’t enough to distract either of them from their conversation.

“I won’t claim it’s not refreshing, as well,” Megatron conceded in time with Sunstreaker moving in, dodging past the tyrant’s attempted block and– Ah, now there was blood from Megatron too. His blade cut deep and true before Megatron could jerk out of the way. Sunstreaker didn’t let him go so easily, even if he paid for his second attack with a deep groove on his own armor.

But the pain was rewarding. He’d earned it.

And now that they were both bloodied, it felt like the fight was really starting. No Pit fight should be dry; it just wasn’t entertaining without spilled energon tainting the ground. Sunstreaker vowed that Megatron’s blood would pool on the floor before they were done—and acknowledged that his own would likely join it in no small amount. If it didn’t, what were they even doing this for?

So he pressed his attack, no matter how Megatron gave no quarter—no matter how he had to work to evade the injuries that would’ve otherwise piled on him in truly painful amounts. But frag, what else was he supposed to do? He didn’t want to do anything else. All he wanted was to dance on that blade’s edge, feel it every time he was too slow and it scraped along his body.

But also every time Megatron wasn’t fast enough and it was Sunstreaker’s sword that dug into him. Blood, they both wanted that—and they both got it.

“So what you’re really saying–” Sunstreaker continued, bringing his sword to block Megatron’s when it came down at him, and taking just that moment to meet the warlord’s optics. Sunstreaker smirked. “–Is that I have no unattractive qualities.” Even the one Megatron named he only rescinded by calling it refreshing in the next moment.

What surprise was it, though? He was beautiful, physically—but he also embodied so many of the things their city had admired, in his behavior and personality. The Autobots had never appreciated his spirit. He was unyielding, ruthless, comfortable with himself, oft violent, temperamental. He wasn’t a pushover. He knew his worth and demanded others acknowledge it too.

He wasn’t a meek little thing like the Autobots would’ve wanted him to be. He wasn’t humble, he wasn’t good.

He was everything an Autobot shouldn’t be, but everything a Kaonite should be—and could it be that he was what a Decepticon should be, too?

Maybe.

“You love to flatter yourself, don’t you?” Megatron rumbled. Slice, cut. Sunstreaker could feel the pain, relished in it.

Ignored it. Delivered it. Megatron ignored it too, showing no signs of feeling his injuries any more than Sunstreaker was. They both possessed well trained pain tolerances, and when nothing vital had been severed yet… Well, there was no reason to act on the pain they were both feeling, and that was multiplying with every moment, with every time one of them couldn’t block or dodge and paid for it.

Blood was beginning to flow faster, attacks on old wounds cutting deeper than the first pass had. Hurting more, too, as their frames informed them of the mounting damage.

Fragging right. Bring it on, give more, back down none.

Sunstreaker’s fans were running faster as the exertion began to build its effects, excitement and emotion only adding to the mess. He could hear the murmur of the Decepticons watching them, but ignored it with age old professionalism. Distractions weren’t acceptable.

Especially not now, with Megatron as intent on bringing him down as Sunstreaker was on not allowing that.

“Is it flattery if it’s just speaking the truth?” he asked, twisting his frame out of the way and into Megatron, bringing his sword to where it would fragging well hurt. And he was hurt in return, and so it went.

Had he still had his claws, he would’ve used those on the tyrant too. He could picture all the ways he could’ve employed them in tandem with his sword, dig them in preexisting wounds, tear every time he was within reach, accentuate the use of his blade and add to the damage he could deliver.

Because Megatron was definitely putting his claws to use, and every time they scratched into him, Sunstreaker envied him for still having them. They drew more blood from him, tore at his armor, bent it, built atop the wounds already littering him.

More and more blood, but it wasn’t just his. His sword damaged near as many lines on Megatron as what were being cut in his own frame. Pink was dribbling from the seams of their armors, all the way to the floor it began to slick.

Better not lose your footing.

“Do you truly think yourself flawless?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Megatron growled at him, and it was just insanity when the warlord stepped forward, right where Sunstreaker could drive his blade through his abdomen–

Only to misread Megatron’s intent and have the back of his helm grabbed. “You’re lucky you have your looks. Your attitude would be very tiresome otherwise,” Megatron growled lowly at him. Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if anyone else could even hear him—or if anyone else was meant to hear him.

But where Megatron could have caught him tight enough to crush… He didn’t. In fact, Sunstreaker was able to pull himself free and retreat a couple of steps away. “I don’t think you mind my attitude as much as you say you do,” he grinned before he dove right back in. Their swords clashed, then they didn’t, then they cut—more blood joined the mess on the floor, more armor was mutilated. Char from the heat of Sunstreaker’s sword tainted the edges of Megatron’s injuries; the edges of Sunstreaker’s wounds were ragged where Megatron’s had torn deeper into them.

Deep, shallow, it all hurt, all piled on top of each other and itself until important parts were reached after all this time, when even their thick plating wasn’t enough to protect them anymore. The engine in Sunstreaker’s left arm suffered under Megatron’s sword—Sunstreaker switched his sword to his right hand. Megatron’s engine was rattling where Sunstreaker had managed to sink his sword into it. Something in his leg was severed, giving the tyrant a limp.

Yet that wasn’t enough to noticeably slow either of them down—not enough to end their fight so soon.

But it was entering its twilight phase all the same. They could only carry on for so long at the pace they were building injuries on each other. Their ventilations turned more ragged, both from the heat that built in their systems, as well as the damage their vents suffered along with the rest of their frames. The floor was painted in pink; it was harder to not slip on the steps they took, back and forth. Harder yet for Sunstreaker as the one who had to move more, when he couldn’t possibly accept the same amount of damage Megatron could put up with if it meant hurting Sunstreaker worse.

And oh, he was hurting. His injuries throbbed at him in time with the rapid pulse of his spark—his excitement, the sparkling’s excitement, his thrill, the sparkling’s thrill merging together until there was more emotion than Sunstreaker could have ever managed on his own. His frame was on the verge of lagging dangerously, too, as much as he could force it into full cooperation for now.

Megatron was only doing better to an extent, but it was still becoming obvious he was gaining the upper hand, his size and durability simply surpassing Sunstreaker’s—and Sunstreaker couldn’t make up for it by causing more damage than what was being caused on him. Quite the opposite.

Didn’t matter. What mattered was that Megatron had a limp, there was terrible grinding coming from his right arm with every motion he forced it into, and he was bleeding more than just a little. Sunstreaker had done that to him. His armor was split in so many places. He could almost feel Megatron’s injuries as phantom sensations on top of his own.

Never let it be said he had gone down easily. Never let it be said he hadn’t hurt Megatron.

But go down he did. Megatron drove his sword through his abdomen first when Sunstreaker made just one mistake, too slow to get out of the way. Blood gushed forth when energon lines were cut well and proper, but that alone wouldn’t have been enough to down him. No, Sunstreaker merely backed away from his impalement, fast as he could, but before he was free… Megatron yanked his sword sideways.

Sunstreaker gasped when it tore through far too much machinery, his armor barely enough to stop Megatron’s strength before he would have halfway cut him in two.

Even that wasn’t serious enough to bring him down on its own, but it forced him to reorient himself from the damage warnings that, along with the simple pain, clued him in on quite a few parts that stopped working entirely, and others yet that were verging on that point.

He took too long with that, was distracted for too many precious seconds. He jerked away when Megatron kicked at him, but that only put him in the path of the blunt impact of the hilt of Megatron’s sword to his face.

Was he steady on his pedes, he may have been able to overcome even that much.

He wasn’t.

His footing didn’t keep on the blood slicked floor and Sunstreaker came crashing down, landing hard with a grunt as nearly every damn part of his frame complained about the impact. Still, he would have tried to get to his pedes if Megatron hadn’t knelt on his fragging abdomen. Sunstreaker’s vocalizer glitched to static at the agony, thoroughly distracting him from the sword that pressed to his throat.

Decapitation. Not deadly, but more than incapacitating. Sunstreaker’s vents heaved as he tried to push the pain aside enough to focus on his predicament.

His optics eventually found Megatron’s, finding the tyrant staring down at him, his expression unreadable.

Everyone knew he had won, though. Sunstreaker only confirmed that with, “I yield,” spoken loud enough for the observers.

At once the gathered Decepticons broke into cheers and jeers, whooping for the high of a good fight, laughing both for the victory of their leader and for Sunstreaker’s loss. The sparkling shook along with the thrum of the cacophony of noise, dancing to the rapid rotation of Sunstreaker’s spark, asking for more still.

Was nothing enough?

Megatron’s sword disappeared back into his arm and his knee rose from Sunstreaker’s abdomen. Sunstreaker sucked in a sharp ventilation as the damaged parts were again realigned by the lack of pressure. Distracted by it, he jerked when Megatron’s servo came to his chin, taking a hold of it. Sunstreaker met his optics again as the tyrant traced his thumb along his lower lip. “Blood looks good on you,” Megatron commented.

Sunstreaker huffed a laugh. “Ditto.” It was what Megatron deserved, and no doubt the warlord thought the same of him. You know, for his attitude.

But here he was, with Megatron above him, straddling his frame now. Sunstreaker’s optics brightened and Megatron’s optical ridges rose inquisitively in response, right before Sunstreaker forced his aching frame into motion and arched up against the larger frame. Megatron didn’t need any time to understand, his optics coming to glow a little brighter too. His engine rumbled even as Sunstreaker had to fight his ventilations that wanted to again come fast and hard and ragged. Something to do with the pain in his frame, that he dedicated himself to ignoring in favor of locking into a staring contest with the tyrant.

Whose servo slipped between their frames, brushing against his valve cover. “In front of everyone?” Megatron growled at him.

Sunstreaker growled back. “You object?”

“Hardly.” He wasn’t given a chance to retract a damn thing this time. Megatron claws hooked into the seams of his valve panel as they had who knew how many times already, and like who knew how many times before, the cover was torn clean off.

The sting of that was completely eclipsed by everything else his frame was going through. He didn’t give a frag about it, he only cared about the digits that pushed into his valve without the obstruction in the way. It was as slick as the floor, lubricant making the entrance of Megatron’s claws a smooth glide. The headiness of the preceding fight wasn’t lost to either of them, and Sunstreaker’s ventilations were quick to speed up for reasons that had nothing to do with the aches of his frame.

The Decepticons had quickly caught on to the shift, and their cheers had rather changed in nature. Catcalls filled the air as well as dirty encouragements and lewd laughter. Clearly, they weren’t the prudish lot in the slightest.

Sunstreaker didn’t mind being the center of attention in this, either. Fighting, fucking, was there so much difference? Both were raw sports that laid you bare for others to see. Blood, internals—lubricant and transfluid, retracted covers. They weren’t so far removed.

Megatron was all on board with this, by all appearances. His digits thrust in and out until Sunstreaker was well and truly ready—as if he hadn’t been so all the while—only for the tyrant to release his spike and replace his digits with it.

Sunstreaker hiked his hips up for better angle as Megatron pushed into him, despite the pain of his midsection. He wasn’t about to let that stop him, no matter how the way Megatron fetched his spike only to slam back in made his vents hitch and vocalizer produce some more static.

Primus, it hurt. His abdomen loudly told him all about how it hated him right then, even as his valve sang its praises as Megatron set up a pace that was no less punishing than usual, only this time made all the more so by the multitude of injuries they both sported.

Megatron had to feel it too. There was no way he was unaffected by forcing his frame into motion like this, this fast, this violent, right after the bloodshed they’d just inflicted on each other.

But he didn’t let that slow him, and pits, Sunstreaker fragging well didn’t ask him to slow down, to go easy on him just because he was hurting.

No, Sunstreaker arched into him. Sunstreaker wove his arms behind the warlord’s neck and pulled him down as his damage warnings piled in even greater numbers on his HUD. As his frame informed him of how much more it was breaking under Megatron’s administrations, Sunstreaker pressed their lips together, moaning—no fake—when Megatron overtook him, his glossa slipping into his mouth, lips pressing tighter, and his hips pistoning harder, if that was even possible. It was stretch and fullness like always, the abuse of what felt like every last sensor in his valve.

Sunstreaker shuddered from pleasure and agony both until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. The sensations melded together until one only added to the other, and he fragging hurt, but he felt spectacular, his valve clenching as his frame was brutally driven towards completion.

He could taste Megatron’s own pain in his field. It was gratification, proof that he had fought well and true, but also, even more proof that Megatron wasn’t weak in any sense of the word. It didn’t matter he was aching, he was still willing and able to take his prize.

Neither of them was weak. The sparkling wouldn’t be weak either, not with creators like them.

And if it was despite that… Well, would they have any need for it? This wasn’t a world for the feeble. He wouldn’t accept that.

But it was unlikely to come to pass. It wasn’t weak in spark, not now, not ever, pushing at him, riding every exhilarating emotion, demanding that he feed it more of it. It was lively, it was gaining more mass with every passing day—it was thriving, healthy. Why would it change that course all of a sudden?

It wouldn’t, he was certain of that as it spun faster in its own rotation in time with the pleasure growing in his frame. He rocked into Megatron’s thrusts no matter the pain, bit down on the tyrant’s lip to another growl from him. A sharp jab of Megatron’s hips had Sunstreaker’s vents seizing when it jarred his injuries.

He wouldn’t have it any other way. His servo grasped the back of Megatron’s helm, locking him in place as the pleasure crested and he groaned against the warlord’s lips. Charge released from his frame and he tensed, further hurting himself, more warnings popping up on his HUD.

Fucking worth it. This was the way to feel, this was the way to live, and he was fragging done having anyone tell him otherwise.

By the continued racket around them, he was no further from his kin here than he had been in Kaon, in the Pits. The noise only increased when Megatron growled his own overload, jerking his hips into Sunstreaker to another pained hiss from him—whooping for their completion, for the sight of charge crackling across both their frames. It was a show from start to finish, all of it.

Never let them forget where Sunstreaker had come from—the very same place as so many of them.

He loosened his hold on Megatron and with another graze of sharp denta across his lips the tyrant pulled away from him until there was enough distance for their gazes to meet, amusement in Megatron’s optics… As well as something else. Sunstreaker couldn’t quite name it. Approval?

Ugh. Frag him and opinions. “Done already?” Sunstreaker growled at him, jabbing his digits into a deep gash on Megatron’s side and relishing in the jerk of the tyrant’s frame. Did that hurt?

Megatron responded by rather meaningfully tracing his damaged midsection, and just the threat of what he could do to injure him further had Sunstreaker snarling some more. “Mercy is so overrated, isn’t it?” the tyrant asked from him in return–

Before driving his claws into the gaping wound of his abdomen, in time with a harsh thrust into his valve. The dual pain on that one area of his frame had Sunstreaker’s helm snapping back against the floor, but he didn’t scream, only ground his denta together and groaned.

“Frag you,” he panted once he could will his optics open again, glaring at the tyrant now sporting an entirely benevolent smile. Megatron drew back… Thrust back in, and his claws remained in his abdomen. It was pain, plain and simple—but also satisfaction, the knowledge of what Megatron was ready and willing to do clouding Sunstreaker’s good sense.

“Backing down already?” Megatron wondered with an innocent tilt of his helm, as if he wasn’t aggravating already severe injuries.

Sunstreaker yanked on Megatron’s wounds a little harder this time, bending his plating until the tyrant was growling a warning at him.

The twin grinned. “Keep fucking dreaming.”

( Next )

#transformers #maccadam #sunstreaker #megatron #megasun #fic #2020 #ashes #up in flames

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ladywindrunner · 4 years

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Unconquerable | ao3

For the lovely and precious mel ( @windrunnerrs ) ❤︎

There was a sense of anxiety when someone entered uninvited into her private chambers. Even if she knew it could only one person, the only soul who earned the privilege of seeing the Banshee Queen at her most vulnerable.

She stood unbathed from a wandering gone awry. Her figure drenched in blood, and grime. Hands coated so thoroughly that still they dripped. Every little speck of flesh and bone caught under her fingernails were so acutely felt – it felt as it did when she was alive.

The eeriness was that of her lack of movement. No breath was drawn, muscles so perfectly still as if time itself had forgotten Sylvanas Windrunner. She faced a cold, darkened fireplace that’d not once been lit. A bath been drawn, though those who’d tended to it had long vanished. She expected they feared for their pathetic lives.

Tonight, they were wise to flee before her.

Earlier, It’d struck her as suddenly and unexpectedly as an assassin’s blade. A horrendous over pour of emotions, violent, savage, and twisted. In the wilds of Lordaeron, in the little spare time she had, her hazy memories and near forgotten emotions of her former life overtook her.

The undead steed beneath her crumbled, bone and decaying flesh exploding as if the poor beast had been struck by a spell. The Queen of the Forsaken tumbled, rolled over and over along the dirt and grass until her body came to rest in a ditch.

There she struggled, forcing herself onto her hands and knees as tears rolled down her face. A silent gasp escaped her, mouth ajar as her abdomen ached as if Frostmourne once more was plunged into her. The terrible chill of the ancient blade gnawing into her form.

For the briefest moment her eyes saw the beautiful Silvermoon, standing proud. Her skin felt warm and alive, graced by the sun that always shined above her beloved homeland of Quel’Thalas.

The recollection fell short. For through it all, her chest ached. Her heart longed to beat as it once had, it screamed within her.

But it never overcame Frostmourne. It never conquered the unconquerable.

Unholy fury turned her eyes a shade of red scarcely seen. It seeped into her face.

Arthas was dead. Frostmourne was shattered. How dare she think that he and that infernal blade unconquerable.

What happened next was a blur to her. She’d flown through the forest as a spectre, wailing and weeping and searching. Her mind nothing but malice, the air turning cold and heavy as she approached. The Banshee Queen lost herself to the loathing the Lich King spun into her soul.

Scourge, or Forsaken.

Alliance, or Horde.

She’d kill anyone or anything before her. She cared not.

It was by some miracle she found humans. Alliance men, and she only knew of their allegiance by the colours they’d flown. Their stench had drawn her to them, carried by the breeze. They smelt of the living. Of sweat and metal. Sylvanas had killed them with her bare hands, tore into them. Gutted them one by one.

Each dead man had brought forth a flash of someone she’d known.

Alleria, who she admired so, now gone. Lost to the cosmos and its infinite cruelty.

Vereesa, who’d betrayed her. Who ran away and never came for her.

Lor’themar, the fool who’d trusted Dar’khan. Who dared now to regard her as a stranger, even after everything she’d done for him.

Kael’thas, the arrogant prince who’d lost himself to demons. Imbecile.

Anestarian, it’d been her sworn duty to protect him, even if he was a xenophobic fool. She failed.

Nathanos, he—

Blood covered her face. She spat sinew from her mouth.

Now back in the moment, in her chambers, she turned to face her Champion. Before him was her flesh laid bare. Moonlight bathed her lithe form. The magic that blessed her with hollow perfection struggled against whatever internal turmoil befell her. Her abdomen was marred by an ugly gash, scar tissue unnatural and blackened, veins spilling out, bleeding into pale, lilac-tinted skin.

His militaristic precision wavered. She couldn’t blame him. The Dark Lady, his Queen, was nothing but a fiend. While she did not value the living, what she’d done, the evidence all over her body, was reminiscent of the Scourge and mindless ghouls. She’d slaughtered them and ate.She could sense the strange, ugly strength their matter gave her. How if the men had managed to wound her, she’d be healing right now.

His gaze softened.

Her lips curled into a snarl, almost feral.

She abhorred pity. She didn’t want it.

Violent wisps of smoke began to ebb out her form. That fury his memory had vanquished returned a hundred fold.

She charged, nails growing long and cruel. The talons of a banshee, she’d rake them across his face for the insult!

He didn’t move.

A hair’s breadth from him, she faltered. Terrifying fangs bared still, she touched a nail to his cheek.

Nathanos did nothing. There was no fear in his gaze, nor on his face. Only pity.

Sylvanas hissed.

She couldn’t think of the words to spew at him. The fool he was, he’d left her, gone to his home rather than being at her side. He’d died out there, alone. Became an hideous undead monster. She’d saved him! She’d brought him back! She’d given him a form worthy of his prowess! And he dared to regard her with—

“You’re not what you think you are.” His voice was softer than it should have been. It spoke of something Nathanos shouldn’t feel.

Compassion.

Yet he spoke words that somehow struck true to what she believed. She was an abomination.

Her expression dwindled to uncertainty.

The hateful crimson that had engulfed her gaze diminished to nothing. Grey eyes flicked down to her hands.

Her voice was naught but a whisper.

“I am,” her answer pained her to admit.

“No, Sylvanas,” He did not want her to feel as he had when she first found him. Unworthy, an abhorrent creature beyond meaning and purpose. She was a queen, hisqueen. Queen of the Forsaken. “You have undone him.”

Him. Arthas. Bastard prince who’d brought ruin to them all. Sylvanas stared at the man before her, for he barely mentioned Menethil. It was a cursed name to all of them.

Her gaze fell to her hands again. Her claws receded, her figure became that of an elf. Still though, the scar ran up her abdomen, its tendrils refusing to recede.

Unconquerable.

Her eyes narrowed. She felt shame, a biting sense of horrid failure.

“I have not undone what he did…” she murmured, not for the Forsaken, not for Nathanos.

“You can’t.”

Her gaze rose as a sharp, offended glare. It was met by a strange calm in the man’s eyes.

She recognized it moments after.

Acceptance.

“You think I speak of undeath?” Her words are spat with venom. She pulls her hands away. “Ha! I hadn’t thought you so foolish!”

“I think you speak of pain.”

She is stunned by his words. She’s silenced, the sensation of abysmal defeat returning. Sylvanas turned away from him, intent on hiding her expression.

Though he cannot see her face, he sees the gloom in her body. Her shoulders slump. She continues to stare at her blood-soaked hands instead of facing him.

He says nothing as he takes gentle hold of her arm and guides her towards the bath. Marris imagined it was once hot, with steam rising from it. Now it was hardly warm, but it didn’t matter to dead. There was nothing for Sylvanas to gain from hot nor cold.

It was a habit from life.

One of the thousand needles that jabbed at the undead constantly. That their existences were still determined by the essence of life. Habits, hardships, memories, and wants – all created and dictated by what they could no longer cherish nor appreciate.

His queen sunk down into the bath, her face unreadable save for the notion she was displeased. Crimson had returned to her gaze, but it didn’t burn so brightly.

He took a cloth and began to clean a hand.

Nathanos wouldn’t dare touch her face.

“What am I if I’m no better than the bastard who forced this fate upon us?” She poses the question quietly, though her voice wavers with frustration.

This was what troubled her. That she could not mend the wounds Arthas delivered unto their people. That she commanded them to slay the living, but not as the fallen prince had. She did it because they’d labelled the Forsaken monsters.

His reply was hard, and unwavering. He would not hear this talk from her. Not Sylvanas. Not the woman who’d saved them.

“You believe yourself as monstrous as Arthas?” Marris took her other hand, and began to wipe it clean. “He was an arrogant boy made a fool by necromancers and demons. He commanded the Scourge through sheer domination, making his people mindless thralls and ghouls. His power did not come from his own being, but from Frostmourne.”

She turned her gaze upon him, but he did not waver.

“The Forsaken choose to follow you. I do not recall a moment where the Lich King offered such freedom to the Scourge. Do you?”

She let out an irritated exhale and took the cloth from him. She began to clear the blood from her face.

“What happened?” The man’s question was decidedly softer than his former words.

Sylvanas found it hard to speak about.

“I had a moment,” she began, wondering how best to describe it. “Where I could remember clearly what I’d lost. And clearer still, I recalled how I lost it.”

She hinted at the terrible scar on her stomach.

“It was fortunate I happened across enemy soldiers encroaching on our lands, rather than our own,” she admitted as she cleaned away the last of the blood. “I don’t believe I would have been able to stop myself.”

“You didn’t harm me.” Nathanos pointed out.

“You’re different.” The words escaped her so quickly it surprised even herself. Forsaken could not feel as the living did. There was no love, no affection, nothing beyond falsities and sultry fabrications.

It was a lie they told themselves often. A lie they worshipped and adored as if it were a god. It saved them from the agonizing truth of their circumstance.

She leant towards him, not surprised when he falters. He stared at her in confusion.

It was rare she wanted to express the truth.

Something inside her chest ached.

Wet fingers grazed his cool cheek, the red in her eyes vanishing and for a moment, he swears there is a flicker of blue beneath the grey.

“Indulge me,” her whisper is quiet and vulnerable. “Just for a moment…”

He does. He kisses her, lips pressing against hers. They’re damp from the washcloth, taste nothing of blood or death. Their eyes drift shut—

Sylvanas breaks the kiss, resting her forehead aginst his.

Such affection is for the living. For the weak and feeble. For those that dally and waste their time. She is none of those things. She never will be.

She doesn’t open her eyes right away. There is pain in her chest and she’s forcing it away.

Nathanos watches as a cunning smirk grows on the Dark Lady’s lips. Her eyes open and they’re a blaze with sinister intent. His eyes faintly narrow.

“My Champion,” she speaks his title in a sultry, clever voice. “Find out why soldiers of Stormwind were in Lordaeron. The High King wouldn’t send them north without a purpose – and I want to know what that purpose is.”

He stood quickly, bowing his head.

“As you command, Your Grace.”

She watched him leave, not rising from the bath until he was gone and the door was firmly shut. When she stood, she ran vain fingers over the scar, and found she felt nothing.

The elf moved to the mirror and admired her reflection. The scar was nearly gone; the veins were fading. The spells weaved into her being were functioning properly once more.

Good.

Wallowing would not see her goals achieved. She’d already wasted precious time losing herself to despair.

Sylvanas paused as Nathanos came to her mind again.

Her lips curved into a gentle smile.

#blightrunner #sylvanos #sylthanos #Sylvanas Windrunner #nathanos blightcaller #// what even is this ship called #// drabbles for days #tw blood

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xoruffitup · 5 years

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The Report & Marriage Story: Adam Driver at TIFF

(If you just want to skip down to one/both of the film recaps, scroll on down to The Report and Marriage Story bolded headings. :)) There are some pics and vids down there too!)

So my friend Sarah and I spent just over 24 hours in Toronto, and it’s no exaggeration to say that during those 24 hours Adam made us feel the entire spectrum of every single possible human emotion. The Report was a nerve-wracking, intelligent, quick-witted political drama set at a break-neck pace of horrific headline after shuddering truth after sickening revelation. Marriage Story was nothing short of a masterpiece - delivering laughs, heartbreak, emotional turmoil, tears, and aching poignancy. I’m not usually one for romantic or real-life dramas like Marriage Story, but damn if that film wasn’t literally one of the most moving and powerful pieces of cinema I’ve seen in recent memory. The Report rises to the same standards, but for completely different reasons.

The films themselves are so incredibly well made in terms of writing and production, but seeing Adam in two major leading roles back to back that couldn’t have been more utterly different in tone or persona was nothing short of flooring. I know this, and of course most of you reading this also know, but GOD it isn’t even possible to fully describe the breadth and sheer force of Adam’s talent. The performances were light years apart, and yet both seared with completely unique energy that just radiated off the screen. I’ve watched almost everything Adam has appeared in, I know he’s the best actor of his generation, and yet he still manages to completely stun me with his seemingly never-ending ability to reveal an entirely different way of being in a new role. Beyond simply an accent or posture, Adam has this unparalleled ability to not only embody a completely novel persona each time, but to then completely naturally reveal that persona’s deepest, truest essence with the smallest facial twitch, turn of his head, or break in his voice. Watching him in a fresh role is literally like discovering a new facet of the human experience.

Watching these superb films in a setting like this massive film festival, where the audience was riveted and excited to engage with the content, elevated both of the viewing experiences to monumental heights. THEN, there was the fact that before and after each screening, Adam and the rest of the main cast members would come on stage with the director to speak about the film and answer questions. This of course meant – being me – that even the slightest glimpse of him would send me into silent fits of glee and awe. So combine being in Adam’s presence repeatedly and for rather long stretches of time with the emotional hurricane powerhouse of not just one but two film epics, ANNND yup it was a recipe for Biggest Emotional Rollercoaster Trainwreck Ever Known To Man. :’)

I did (somehow) manage to keep myself together! Enough so that I asked Adam a question during the Marriage Story Q&A! ;_____; (Sarah was trying to film covertly so needed a second to achieve that zoom action!)

vimeo

I couldn’t even tell you how it’s possible to string two coherent words together while speaking to 6’2” of well-dressed Talented Babe who’s fucking radiant in person, because it’s literally like an out-of-body experience where some alter ego screaming ‘TALK! TO! HIM!’ just takes over my body while the rest of me is floating off into the stratosphere!!!! (Skip on down to the Marriage Story movie analysis for more info on what I was asking about.)

Okay so let me back up and go through the day chronologically so I have SOME organization for my fangirl thoughts!

I got into Toronto from a 14-hour bus ride at 8:30 AM; Sarah got in on a flight at 9:30. We met up at our hotel and went straight to the theatre where the premium screenings would be taking place. We were able to get front barrier spots along the street and who soon arrived but none other than….!

Our lord and savior Rian Johnson, all hail! He directed the movie Knives Out that was playing at 11 AM in the same theatre. We took turns grabbing coffees because brrrr the Toronto morning was a bit nippy. The Report screening was scheduled to start at 1:45, but none of the cast had shown up yet as of 1:00. Shortly after, big cars started to pull up and Annette Bening and Jon Hamm arrived! We started nail-biting a bit at this point, because we needed to get into the theater 15 minutes before the movie started otherwise they might give our tickets away to people in the Rush Ticket line, but Adam hadn’t arrived yet and there was a chance he would sign for the barricade when he did. But once it started ticking below 15 minutes and still no sign of Adam (tension was real – the whole crowd would go quiet every time a car pulled up, then all sigh in disappointment when someone other than Adam got out), we called it and went to join the Ticketholder line to enter theatre.

WELL, good thing we did! Turns out Adam arrived late and had to rush inside right away, and we had the very serendipitous timing of walking past the secret elevator entrance up into the theater RIGHT when the elevator doors opened and Adam appeared, walking out and into the theater auditorium!! My heart slapped me in the face a bit (a lot) when we caught that glimpse of him so close up. I know there are plenty of pics now but he looked sO striking and sleek in that understated, classic blue suit. He’s SO taLL and still so massive when he’s a few feet away, don’t worry guys he looked plenty healthy even if without the Kylo Ren bulk <333 IT WAS GREAT. I COULD CRY ABOUT JUST THAT MOMENT. God help me with everything that would follow :’’’’’)

Before The Report started, Director Scott Z Burns came on stage to give a brief introduction. This was the first time the film was screening outside of the US and he was very much looking forward to the response and a wider dialogue about the issues raised in the film. He introduced the cast, and was joined on stage by the producer, Jon Hamm (who came on stage in a very silly fashion – see vid below), Annette Bening, and then Adam. And damn if that man didn’t look even MORE drop dead beautiful up there in stage lights. Be still, my heart.

…fat chance of that happening, because my heart was about to rev up into breakneck pace for the following 2.5 hours of the film.

The Report (We’re about to get very spoilery, fair warning!)

Movies are often called “important.” This one is more than that; it is imperative. The tragedy that will plague this film is that much like the staffers of the Senate and CIA that bicker back and forth throughout the decade chronicled in this movie; unproductive bickering will continue between those who appreciate a difficult truth-seeking film like this, and those that will disparage it knowing only the bare minimum of its premise. The latter will do so because of their unswerving understanding of American Patriotism to mean that America comes first, that there’s no justification more ironclad and unquestionable than national security, and America wins no matter the cost.

But. If by some miracle, the people of that latter group could be corralled into watching this film, it just might change their minds.

This movie is difficult. It is horrifying, at times nauseating. It challenges you as the investigations and counter-investigations build over each other, as the conflicting characterizations of the Enhanced Interrogation Techniques (EIT) program multiply, and yet even for all that, its takeaway hits you with clarity that is both sobering and impartial.

“National security” rationales were a chimera for barbarisms that achieved nothing. The US government tortured, degraded, and murdered prisoners at its mercy for no demonstrable reason or result. One of the most on-the-nose scenes where all the many moving parts of this complex, dirty history come together is when Dan meets with a New York Times journalist in his car towards the end, as he debates giving his report to the press to release when he fears government red tape will never let it see the light of day. The reporter asks him something like, “Why did the CIA keep doing it, if it wasn’t working?”

After two head-spinning, sickening, revelatory two hours, Dan compresses it all down to something like: “After 9/11 everyone was scared, and the CIA used that fear to act with impunity. They resorted to illegal means to try to keep some control of the situation. They knew it was wrong, and they knew it wasn’t working, so they became more desperate for results to justify it. And it was easy, because the detainees looked different than us. They spoke a different language than us, with different values.”

And so it spiraled to darker and darker depths, in which one failure to produce information by dubious means was taken to justify the next escalation in interrogation techniques.

This is where I need to warn everyone that this is not easy viewing. This film doesn’t let you shy away from what these interrogation techniques really meant. It doesn’t sanitize. You will see waterboarding happening. You will see people naked and chained in cells. You will see glimpses of even worse depravities. And then you will see the psychologist contractors who came to the black sites and claimed with utterly clueless, infuriating impunity that no, they’d never interrogated a terrorist before; no, they didn’t know anything about international law or the rights to trial and legal counsel. (“You think he’s getting a trial?” one said skeptically when his techniques were questioned.) But what they did know was the human brain and how to break it down. Then, you will see the CIA top brass back in DC who never saw with their own eyes even an instant of the abuses they were blithely and sanctimoniously sanctioning.

This film poses the question of how one defines American Patriotism. Chances are, you’re not going to be much moved by the CIA staff’s understanding - who say in defense of their tactics, “It’s only illegal if it doesn’t work.” Then when it doesn’t work, who go on to baselessly credit their EIT program with the intelligence that led to Bin Laden’s capture.

Then, we have Dan Jones/Adam. Dan Jones, who spent literally five years of his life in a basement bunker researching and scraping details together about a program the CIA did everything they could to keep under lock and key. He persevered when the CIA refused to provide any documents, communications, or witnesses; when the CIA denied that they themselves internally questioned the effectiveness of the program; even when they accused him of stealing the documents he finally managed to get his hands on. When the real Dan Jones was brought on stage after the film ended, he received a minutes-long standing ovation that couldn’t have been more deserved.

Most of the audience would probably find it difficult to identify with that understanding of patriotism that claims “It’s only illegal if it doesn’t work” and “Shouldn’t we be grateful just for the fact that we live in a country where a report like this can be written?” (claimed by Jon Hamm as Obama’s Chief of Staff, when pressed by Bening’s Diane Feinstein about releasing the report before the mid-term shift of the Senate going Republican.) What’s much more moving is Feinstein’s rejoinder that “I want to live in a country that publishes this report.” Or the coup-de-grace scene towards the film’s end that incorporates real footage of John McCain’s speech on the Senate floor against the EIT program, when he introduced the McCain-Feinstein bill that would ban the practice. When McCain called on the US to be better than its enemies, and to maintain a standard of honor worth defending.

Dan puts it painfully aptly in the full monologue teased in the trailer: “They say they saved lives but what they really did was make it impossible to prosecute a mass murderer, because if what we did to him ever comes out in a court of law, the case is over. The guy planned 9/11… (continued from memory) … but instead of spending the rest of his life in jail, we turned him into the strongest recruiting tool for our enemies.”

These moments of Dan’s desperation to make others see the truth so glaringly, shamefully obvious to him are when he delivers his most biting rejoinders. As he questions John Yoo’s legal justification in the Torture Memo of the interrogations not amounting to torture so long as they don’t cause “lasting harm”, Dan points to the detainee who died under the conditions of his confinement and demands, “So how long is he going to be dead?!”

Okay so FINALLY, here’s where I turn to Adam’s oh so stellar performance. Adam mentioned in both the Q&A after this screening and in a previous interview that he had to learn the appropriate sense of “decorum” from Dan Jones that would befit a Senate staffer. Adam nailed it. He was playing a relatively low-ranking staffer, grappling with issues of abuse and mismanagement that would have incriminated all manner of public figures miles above him. He had no real power to do anything about the horrific truths he was unearthing, and yet there were too many moments when he seemed to be the only one who truly understood or cared for the truth. Adam played this tight-knit, occasionally fraying sense of necessary professionalism with just the right amount of restraint and understatement. His performance was never boisterous nor melodramatic. And yet, the ever more desperate edge to his dedication couldn’t have been more palpable. Adam’s performance delivered every bit of impact commensurate to the towering gravity of Dan Jones’ investigation.

And yet, for every bit that Adam’s performance remained appropriately understated (it never felt like anything but a true-to-life depiction; hardly ever making you aware you’re watching a dramatization), the depth and nuance in its subtlety was nothing short of masterful. His brief but singeing moments of frustration are short-lived but strike deeply. What really struck me though were two particularly powerful #King of Microexpressions moments.

When the threat of criminal charges for hacking into CIA records is raised against him and he sees a lawyer for the first time to assess his options. After he has to face the fact that this is more complicated than his repeated assertion that “I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it.” He’s quiet for a moment, then asks in a soft, defeated voice, “How long could I go away?” The camera zooms close on Adam’s face when the lawyer responds “twenty years.” Adam’s face barely changes, and yet you can see that number settling into him with pained horror alongside incomprehension. It’s one of those moments where without saying anything, without barely even a gesture, Adam renders his character so desperately empathetic. As the viewer, you realize at that moment you’ve been building an irresistible and compelling emotional connection to him since the second you saw him the first time, and he didn’t even make you aware he was doing it.

The shot in the trailer of him sitting at a desk between the two giant stacks of his report papers. This is when the Senate Intelligence Committee is taking a vote whether to recommend the investigation for further action. I’m pretty sure Adam didn’t say a single line in this scene. Senator Feinstein called the Committee to vote, and as the voices around the table chime “aye” or “nay,” the camera does a slow pan on Dan sitting there, listening with his hands folded. You can barely trace the shifts in his expression. You can barely see anything discernible in his face, and yet simply by the way his shoulders move, the way his jaw shifts every so slightly, and the way he blinks – you’re right there on the edge of your seat with him. You can feel in your very soul his repressed, barely-controlled sense of desperation as the report that’s become his life’s work is put to a vote of either life or death.

Guys, just in case you didn’t realize this by now… Adam is a wonder and it simply defies my understanding how everyone in the whole world hasn’t come to consensus by now that he invented acting and everyone else can just go home and let him play every role ever.

Okay now the one kind of amusing bit in the film! Sadly most audience members won’t get the same kick out of this that we will, but Joanne is in the film playing a CIA staffer. She and Adam share one scene, in which she walks up to him and says, “Your face and your report are bullshit.”

INCREDIBLE. Roast your man, Joanne.

Although the movie tries to tie things up with the McCain-Feinstein anti-torture amendment that ended the EIT program and shows a quote by George Washington before the credits (in what to me seemed a bit of a forced attempt to put a comforting lid on everything) what left me feeling most helpless and frustrated was seeing how partisan politics repeatedly derailed meaningful action against the EIT program throughout the entire span of the film, and knowing full well that that’s exactly how DC still operates. There’s a scene where the timing of publishing the report is being debated. (“If we push this now, the Republicans will pull gun control. What if they pull healthcare?”) And to me, the most infuriating part is seeing the ethics by which our government runs constantly reduced to mere bargaining chips.

It seems there are no absolute lines of the permissible and impermissible. As we see, the CIA got away with torturing unarmed prisoners for years because they disguised it behind code words, wrapped it in nonsensical legal jargon to authorize it, engaged in some serious doublethink and called it a day. Constant debates that twist and manipulate the issues at stake can reduce every law to subjective application. Fallacies in logic and gruesome vengeance disguised as national security measures are defended without shame. The same modes of thinking that started the EIT program and sustained it for year upon shameful, unsuccessful year continue spinning the wheels of today’s destructive and shortsighted policies of self-interest and American exceptionalism.

OKAY, I’m off my soapbox now. Promise.

But last thing. Think about this for a crazy minute: Dan Jones’s report in full was some 7,000 pages. The only version that was ever published was heavily redacted down to a few hundred. What an incredible feat of scriptwriting that a five-year investigation that produced 7,000 pages worth of text was condensed down into a 2 hour movie.

((Also – I kept thinking at regular interviews during the film that holy shit this is giving me such strong vibes of my Presidential staffer Ben in my modern politics AU and I LOVED IT. I’m so extra inspired to press on writing!!))

End Spoilers: The Q&A afterwards! After the audience spent a few minutes giving Daniel Jones his much-deserved minutes of applause, the panel moderator started with a few questions, and here Jon Hamm and Annette Bening immediately started messing with Adam. (It’s clear they’re all buddies who love each other and I appreciate it so much :3) Whenever questions were posed generally to the cast, they would both immediately start passing the microphones down the line towards Adam, knowing full well that he wouldn’t want to talk but nudging him to do so anyway >:)) At one point he wound up with two microphones at the same time and started desperately shoving one back at Annette! For one question, before the microphones could be thrust upon him, as soon as Jon looked over towards him Adam sidestepped back behind the group and turned to start feeling the screen like he was looking for a way out. Lskdjflaskj DORK <3 Annette immediately teased him like “There’s no door, Adam!” and then on a later question that was also posed to “the cast,” Jon and Adam both started pretending to look for a door together. :’)

When responding to a question about what drew him to the role, Adam made a really interesting comment about Dan as a character who “gets the instructions for something to build, and it turns out he was building his own gallows.” (Video below!) He also spoke a bit as to the fact that he was intrigued to create a clear depiction of the internal effort to fact-find and implement accountability about such a contested, tangled issue for which a whole PR campaign existed to defend, even with misinformation.

vimeo

Have I mentioned how GOOD he looked in that suit?! Somehow he looked extra tall, I thought. And again, I know people are concerned about how thin he is right now, but he really looked fine!! His face is definitely a bit thinner, but his face shape has often changed along with his physique whenever he’s buffed up or down. He still looked plenty solid and very very damn pretty. >:3

Being the adoring fangirls we are, we’re well familiar with Adam’s ~discomfort or stiffness when he’s forced to be in public and speak at things like this. (We love one (1) awkward antisocial man.) During this panel, even though his answers had his usual introspection and self-deprecating, unconscious charm, he seemed to have an extra air of seriousness/attentiveness to him when listening to others’ comments or to audience questions. While he was giving the serious topic every bit the gravity it deserved, he also seemed to be conscious of not seeming partisan to any particular political outlook? I mean, the audience would often clap when someone on the panel said something about how the takeaways from the film are still relevant to the dysfunction and hypocrisy in today’s political climate. Adam would join in the clapping, but something I’ve always respected about him is that he never infuses his persona opinions – whatever they may be – with discussion of his work or his approach to it. I think it takes a lot of hubris and self-awareness to maintain that distinction, and resist the temptation to use a public platform to advance your own opinions. But he never seems remotely interested in any such thing. AITAF advocacy is maybe the closest, but even in that context he remains very restrained.

Did I mention he looked Beautiful like a damn vision? ;____;

Okay so leaving the theatre, my and Sarah’s heads were reeling. There was SO much to process and discuss from the film, we were grabbing onto our favorite lines and moments to recall, which launched us into discussion about political affairs today, interspersed with the occasional “Can you BELIEVE Adam’s Power in that one scene?!” and basically it was my absolute favorite kind of impassioned conversation ever. <333

Time was ticking though, and just before 5 we needed to head back to the theater entrance before Marriage Story started at 5:30. Okay and here – as if we hadn’t already endured enough emotional walloping today – came two massive emotional rollercoasters right after the other! With how little time we had between the films, it was difficult for us to get into the red carpet crowd just beforehand. But as we turned the corner, we heard shouts of his name and !!!!!! there he was outside signing!! Bless his heart, he was across the street from the theatre signing for the long line of people on the other side who I hadn’t seen anyone go over to that morning. :’) Sarah and I ran over to try to join the end of the line and he almooooost got down to us, but it was a little too dicey with the line being kind of chaotic where the barrier ended. But WE WERE SO CLOSE TO HIM. HE WAS RADIANT EVEN WHILE LOOKING ADORABLY SLIGHTLY GRUMPY WHILE HE UNCOMPLAININGLY TOOK PHOTOS AND HE’S THE BEST AND MOST EXQUISITE EVER

I can just imagine in his head like halfway down that line: “oh god this was a mistake. Adam what did you do.” <3333

Emotional rollercoaster moment #2: Because Adam and ScarJo were both out signing, the sidewalk right in front of the theater had been barricaded off. This meant that we weren’t allowed to enter the theater until they both went inside, which only left us a few minutes to spare! We rushed to the entrance, but alas there was a problem with scanning our tickets, so we were told to go to the Box Office to get them reprinted. We’re already on edge, afraid we’re going to miss the beginning of the film, when the woman at the Box Office tells us she can’t reprint the tickets because the name on them doesn’t match ours. (We bought them from a resale site so of course it didn’t…)

Even after showing her every email we had documenting payment and that the tickets were transferred through an official sale site, she remained adamant it was policy that she couldn’t print the tickets. Clearly, we were kind of devastated for a moment there, thinking we’d just paid way over face value for these tickets that weren’t even going to work. But Sarah, bless her soul, had the idea to leave, then go back in through a different door with a different ticket scanner person. The tickets still didn’t scan correctly, but we told the woman scanning that we’d already ambiguously “checked” with the box office, and honestly I think she was just a very nice person and could sense our Desperation, so SHE LET US IN. Woman – wherever you are right now, know that we love you and are forever indebted to you. ;___;

By the time we got to our seats, Noah Baumbach was already on stage introducing the film. But luckily we were in our seats, we had caught our breath and clutched each other in rejoicing relief before Noah introduced the cast and brought Adam and Scarlett on stage. Queue lots of enthusiastic applause! Someone in the audience yelled, “We love you Scarlett!” There were some whoops through the theater, then someone else yelled, “And we love you too, Adam!” and he did an adorable awk wave of appreciation and have I meNtiOnED this giant of a man is the softest and most precious being to ever grace this world????? And I’m not sure if it’s come up yet or if maybe I haven’t mentioned? But I really really really love him? ;____;

Thank gosh Sarah caught it! Painfully presh video of our painfully presh man!

Marriage Story: (Again, there will be spoilers)

Oh god, okay. This one was a beast of massively epic proportions that I was not nearly prepared for. It takes you on an intense fucking ride that spans every possible angle of passion between two people, ranging from love to hatred. To be entirely honest, I had gone into the day more excited for The Report because the subject matter was of such interest to me, and because I’m not usually one to really enjoy real-life dramas all that much.

But this fucking movie was Exquisite from the very first shot. The film opens with the “What I love about Nicole / What I love about Charlie” voice overs, and within the span of mere minutes you already feel deeply for these characters. You already feel as if they’ve been your close friends all your life, and instead of just entering your awareness abruptly – they’ve lived entire lives with ups and downs, mistakes and successes for as long as you can remember.

The movie is a sweeping epic, and yet remains achingly resonant and relatable. Charlie and Nicole’s relationship is passionate, fiery, and riddled with both miscommunications and repressed resentments. You rarely see a (doomed) love study played out with such complexity and fireworks. And yet, their frustrations, desires, and victories/losses both large and small are completely credible. Relationships are messy, and this film doesn’t shy away from their absolute darkest and even cruelest corners - even while maintaining sparkling moments of human connection that somehow survive alongside even the most difficult challenges.

The film is a brilliant study of contradictions. As Charlie and Nicole move through the divorce process, their control over it and the very narrative of their own lives becomes appropriated by their respective lawyers. The beginning of the film showed us the tenderness and deep understanding that exists between these characters, so the stories the legal teams spin seem ridiculously far afield from reality. The beginning of the film brought us into a rich world between these characters that was natural and so effortlessly believable (long, uncut monologues of dialogue; characters wandering from room to room as they talk – It’s masterfully and deceptively purposeful filmmaking that completely hides all trace of itself). Then later, listening to the lawyers concoct disingenuous legal narratives to “win” rather than tell any truth of reality is a towering contrast. The lawyers seize on the smallest tiny things Nicole or Charlie did in previous scenes (Nicole finishing a bottle of wine in one night with her family; Charlie forgetting to strap in their son’s car seat once) to paint them as habitual alcoholics or neglectful, absent parents. As the divorce proceedings escalate, things become distorted past recognition – twisted into abstracted and even absurd depictions of these two characters, between which we simply can’t decide whom we feel more sympathy for.

And then, following a gloves-off divorce hearing couched in legalese where neither side gives any quarter, you have a scene that’s quiet and effortlessly heartwarming. Nicole calls Charlie because the power’s out at her house and could he try to fix the power box in the front yard? He comes over, he works on the box, they pass their sleeping son between them (“Maybe he should just sleep here?” “But it’s my night.”), and then they both have to manually pull the gate on the driveway closed from either side – Nicole inside, Charlie outside. They look at each other as they pull the gate, perfectly in sync and their gazes locked, until the gate slides closed in the inches just between their faces. The movie is littered with these tiny gorgeous moments that just tear at your heart.

Or, the moment in the middle of negotiations between their lawyers when everyone decides to pause and order lunch. Charlie is handed the menu and he simply stares at it helplessly, uncomprehending because he’s still trying to work through the shock of their new reality that was just being argued over by the lawyers with such casual cruelty. Everyone stares at him for a long minute, until Nicole gently takes the menu from his hands and says, “I’ll order for him.” She knows just what to order – a salad with a specific type of dressing – and he quietly, almost absently agrees, “Yes, I’ll have that.”

The film takes pains to be even in presenting both sides of the story, and giving Nicole and Charlie equal screen time. I spent the entirety of the movie switching my sympathies back and forth between the two of them. By the film’s end, I understood both of their positions and experiences completely, as well as how much their perspectives on all they shared had come to oppose each other. Even though it’s impossible for either us or the characters to understand how they developed such divergent perspectives on their marriage, all parties involved have to face just how irreconcilable their grievances have become and how differently they each view the fundamental shortcomings of their marriage.

Being the annoying feminist viewer that I am, I was completely absorbed by Nicole’s monologue early on, the first time she meets with her lawyer (Laura Dern). She comes clean with the whole account of how she feels no control over her own life, and the longer she spent with Charlie and living in Charlie’s world, the “smaller” she was becoming. She felt that he didn’t respect her interests or her undertakings, when they weren’t connected to his theatre company. In essence, she feels she never got to be anything other than what he made her.

With that background of her position, I absolutely wanted Nicole to build her own life apart from him and find her own sense of personhood. One where she makes her own decisions and follows her own passions. In her recounting, she keeps saying that she’s used to part of her feeling “dead inside,” in terms of not feeling truly engaged with or in control of what she’s doing with her life. Taking a television acting job in California – separate from Charlie’s theatre company where she was the star under his direction, where he called the shots and she supported “his genius” – was the first time she did something bold for herself. This was also after repeatedly expressing to Charlie that she wanted to spend more time in California (where her family live), and Charlie never seeming to seriously consider the idea. Nicole felt she didn’t really have a voice, living shrouded in Charlie’s shadow.

But also being the annoying Adam fangirl I am, I was drawn in by Charlie’s charisma, by his effortless and guileless charm. I may have “sided” with Nicole towards the beginning of the story, resenting the small ways we could see that Charlie might have unconsciously been controlling (“Did you change your hair? I like it better long.”), but as the story progresses, so does Charlie’s unraveling. His world begins to crumble and fall apart before his very eyes, and even though he tries his best, he’s unable to do a single thing to stop it. Once Nicole gets her high-powered, cutthroat lawyer involved, things escalate beyond all control at breakneck pace. Suddenly he finds himself having to hire lawyers he can’t afford just to prevent the possibility that their 8 year old son Henry might move permanently to California with Nicole and Charlie might not get any custody; or that Nicole will take most of their shared assets and he’ll have nothing left to fund his theatre company with.

Neither of them mean for the negotiations to reach some vindictive heights, but suddenly they both find themselves fighting just to be able to live the life they each think is theirs.

Charlie finds himself having to move temporarily to California and rent an apartment so he can see his son and so Nicole’s lawyers can’t try to depict him as neglectful. We know he’s anything but. The first scenes in the film showed him being so patient and good with Henry that we could just about cry at the injustice.

(There’s the most darling scene at the beginning where little Henry comes into their bedroom, pokes Charlie saying “Dad? I had a nightmare.” Charlie gets up and comes to lay down in Henry’s bed with him. When he tries to get up, Henry asks him to stay, but there’s not really enough space for both of them in the bed so Charlie shifts to sleep on the floor. Queue a shuffling sequence where Henry goes to sleep on the floor next to his dad, Charlie goes up into the bed when it’s empty, then shortly thereafter Henry climbs up on top of Charlie so they both fit in the bed and fall asleep there. Yeah, MY HEART.)

As the accusations start flying when things are on the line during the divorce proceedings, this huge element of performativity comes into play. In a way it’s fitting, since they both work in theater, but these roles of enemies they suddenly have to perform is also terribly heartbreaking. (Also going back to the contrasts I mentioned earlier between the true essence of their relationship and their easy, ceaseless intimacy; vs the cold-hearted narratives forced on them both through the divorce proceedings.)

But in some ways, they’re not just playing the roles. There are two sides to passion, and just like they once cared about and loved each other so intensely (in some ways, they still do), there is also a shadow side to emotions of that intensity. In a catharsis that is much-needed after the austere, inhumane ways their relationship problems were discussed through their lawyers and absolutely devastating to watch in its destruction, their belated attempt to “talk” escalates into all-out war. “Talking” was the route Charlie first wanted to take – no lawyers involved – but which Nicole spurned. I was frustrated with her throughout the film for never fully communicating with him her expectations regarding their separation, but upon further reflection I understand that she might have feared that if they managed it on their own, it would turn into him managing it and her voice would once again disappear. Something along these lines rushes out during this scene of purging their demons and years of budding resentments and secrets all in one near-fatal blow.

(I’m about to quote a few sporadic lines I remember, but I have to say watching this scene with no idea of the savagery that was coming delivered absolutely lethal power, so I kind of advise not knowing the specific lines? Plus they’re a hundred times more powerful on screen, with these top-tier actors delivering them with every bit of feeling they possess. Skip to after both sets of ///// if you don’t want to know! But quoting here for those who don’t know if/when they’ll see the film ☺ These are definitely not in order and they jump around but whew, every moment when they were screaming these lines is simply unforgettable.)

/////////////////

Charlie: “Oh you just like to play the victim. We were happy. YOU were happy. Until you decided you weren’t anymore.”

Nicole: “You are just like your father!”

Charlie: “Don’t you EVER say that! Don’t you ever compare me to my father. You’re the one just like your mother. And your sister - you’re the worst of all of them combined.”

Nicole: “You slept with Donna!”

Charlie: “One time! Because you stopped having sex with me! For a whole year you shut me out and I didn’t know what to do. And after I gave up so much for you.”

Nicole: “Oh what you gave up?!”

Charlie: “I was in my 20s! I had my first solo work, I was successful, I wanted to fuck everyone but I didn’t. Because I loved you and I didn’t want to lose you. But I- I missed out on so much.”

Nicole: “You are SO selfish, you can’t even separate anything else from your own self-interest! You can’t even see me as something separate from yourself!”

Charlie: “So you hate me! You wish you’d never married me, fine, but god this last year it’s like you hated me!”

Nicole: “And I did! I do! (Screaming helplessly) I can’t believe I have to know you for the rest of my life!!”

Charlie: (Savagely snarling) “Maybe you don’t because I hope you get sick and die. I hope you get hit by a car tomorrow!”

///////////////

This scene escalates and escalates until they’re both in these uncontrollable, violent piques of rage. Charlie punches a hole in the wall, and things simply get uglier and uglier until they are screaming at each other the most horrible things each can think of with every bit of vitriol they can possibly muster. The build up in the scene is masterful, and the performances are simply stellar. You can feel that they are pissed as all hell at each other – that this is literally years of unspoken, repressed feelings all being torn out. But you can also feel that both of them are in such awful pain. Both of them are actively bleeding as the scene progresses, but it’s because both of them still care so much. It’s because there are still feelings there, and there always will be no matter what either of them do. That’s why the emotions are so desperate and searing off the screen.

After Charlie spits the final horrific line in her face, he sinks to the floor and weeps for it. It ends with her comforting him, and him putting his arms around her knees.

And – just fuck me up completely, why don’t you – if you thought that scene was the biggest beating your heart would have to take in this movie, THINK AGAIN BUDDY.

Because. Whew. My god. Words are going to fail me in describing this scene but I’ll do my best to go for it.

Months have passed since their fight, and grab every box of tissues in existence, because here’s the rumored scene where Adam sings “Being Alive” from Company. Now, I had somehow completely forgotten about this going into the film. So when Charlie stands up in the cabaret restaurant with his theatre group back in New York and starts jokingly singing the words when the pianist starts the song, I was just like ‘oh haha he’s singing! Wow!’

Charlie moves to sit back down after the first verse, still mostly fun and games…. But then the words draw him back as the song continues. He gravitates towards the small stage and the microphone, and little by little the joking edge melts away. Emotional gravity rises behind his voice little by little, until suddenly the words are loud and ringing and gorgeous, and there is palpable heartbreak in his eyes as the words begin to take the exact shape of all he has lost.

Now, we’ve heard snippets of Adam singing in Hungry Hearts and Inside Llewyn Davis and even briefly in Burn This. But. People…. You have never heard or seen anything like this. I don’t even mean from Adam. I mean… in your life. I mean: This scene literally stirred such a profound reaction in me; I didn’t know it was possible for an actor to evoke feelings like this. And imagine, this was on-screen performance. The entire theater applauded when the song ended, and I was in tears.

The song encapsulated in truly heartbreaking beauty the revelation Charlie was having of all he once had – every part of love that is both good and bad; cherished and difficult. And in possibly the most tragic contrast of the whole film: He is singing about love making it worthwhile to be alive – of how he’s now essentially left searching for what will now make his life worth living; while across the country Nicole is finally feeling “alive” for the first time, after years of being plagued by the feeling of part of her being dead beyond reach.

Yeah. I could spend thousands of words just trying to describe the devastating power and beauty of this scene, but no matter what words I use or how I phrase it, I’m going to come up short. It’s simply beyond description. Adam is beyond description. You’d think because I literally couldn’t love him more if my life depended on it that I couldn’t be so stunned by new demonstrations of his talent??? But jesus CHRIST. This man is a force that defies comprehension. To my ear, his voice sounded strong but untrained, and that was what made it so heartrendingly magnificent. In the held notes, his voice will crest into the gentlest vibrato as his emotions build, and I couldn’t tell you whether it’s the song that Adam disappears into, or if it’s Adam purposefully weaving every single element at play here into the most moving minutes of performance you’ve ever seen. Either way: The scene will ruin you utterly, and you will love it beyond comprehension.

I know a clip of this scene will certainly hit the internet as soon as the whole film becomes available, but god I almost wish that everyone has to watch it in context with everything that’s come before it. Because knowing every bit that Charlie has suffered along the way, understanding the way his heart is continuously breaking with each of the words-…. God, it’s too much.

Next up on Adam Driver Eviscerates Your Heart And You Thank Him Profusely For It: The scenes where he cries are just as painful as you think they’d be. Probably even more so, because he’s a talented jerk like that who takes no pity on us at all.

The first major crying scene is when he and his lawyer go off into a side room during a break in the first meeting on divorce terms. It’s just dawning on Charlie that Nicole probably has no intent to bring Henry back to New York, and unless Charlie does something serious, Henry might never live there with him again. While the lawyer’s talking, Charlie silently lowers his head, and suddenly the tears just rise up over him. It’s quiet and he only shakes slightly, but god do you feel for him.

The second time is…. lord, yet another moment that’s utterly heartbreaking and yet one of the most beautiful moments of film you’ve ever seen. This is the final scene in the film, and it references back to one of the first, where Charlie and Nicole try to go to a divorce counselor, who requests that they each write down the things they love about the other and then read them aloud. These are the lists each of them voiceover in the trailer and that play at the film’s very beginning. But during this session, Nicole refused to read her list aloud, because she didn’t “like what she wrote.” So Charlie never heard her list about him.

In this final scene, Charlie hears Henry reading something aloud in his bedroom. Henry had been struggling with reading, so Charlie immediately comes in to listen and help him. Charlie sits down on the bed with him, and realizes what it is Henry’s reading. Charlie helps him with the words he can’t pronounce, and then halfway through Henry hands him the list. “You finish reading it, Dad.”

Charlie continues reading the list, and it goes on much longer than the version we heard in Nicole’s voiceover. As Charlie’s reading aloud, Nicole appears in the doorway and begins to listen without Charlie realizing. He manages to read it all relatively evenly… until he reaches the end.

“I fell in love with him…” Charlie stops suddenly, and in an instant his mouth is trembling, the tears are brimming over, and he is fighting desperately to hold back the onslaught of tears in front of his son, even as it overtakes his entire body. Finally, he is able to finish: “I fell in love with him seconds after I saw him, and I’ll always love him. Even if it doesn’t make sense.” In the door, Nicole fights off her own tears.

This film is cinema at its very best. I know this is an incredibly bold statement, but: It just might be Adam’s best role to date.

End Spoilers: Q&A!

I WAS STILL SO STUNNED BY THE SINGING SCENE THAT I ASKED ADAM ABOUT IT AND JUST TO ROUND OUT FROM THE HAND TAKEN VIDEO ABOVE THIS IS THE OFFICIAL ONE AND THAT’S ME YOU CAN JUST BARELY HEAR AT 17:45!!!!!

youtube

CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT HAPPENED??? BECAUSE I CAN’T AND I WAS THERE. BYE I think I’m having an out of body experience taking in the fact that I’m watching this vid of Adam WATCHING ME OMG HE WAS SQUINTING INTO THE AUDIENCE TO SEE ME AND LEANING FORWARD TO HEAR ME SOMEONE HOLD ME I’M WEEPING HE WAS TALKING TO MEASKDFJALKSFJ

Ahem.

From Noah’s comments throughout the panel, it was amazing to hear how much of this movie was truly a collaborative process between him and Adam. In many ways, Noah built this role and film around Adam. He said that he and Adam had focused on the scene of him performing “Being Alive” very early on, and Noah structured the script to work towards that vision. Though he already had the idea of working in themes of performance and theatre, it was Adam’s idea to make Charlie a theatre director. I absolutely love hearing that Noah essentially wanted to make a film where elements of who Adam is in real life or his interests in what he wanted to play in a character were built into the heart of the script.

Someone asked Noah why he likes dysfunctional families so much and he replied “What other kind are there?”

Most of the other things said during the Q&A had already been echoed in other interviews. Plus I sometimes have trouble processing memories while Adam’s talking/standing in front of me because slkdjflsakjfdklsf just taking in the sight of him is a fucking lot to process :’’’’’’’)

“A fucking lot to process” is actually a perfectly apt summary of the day in its entirety! When Sarah and I got back to the hotel, we discovered it had a jacuzzi on the rooftop! That was truly the best soak ever, to soothe away the emotional overload and talk through all of our many, many thoughts on the two stellar films we’d just had the privilege of seeing.

Writing through this entire massive thing was also a huge help to work through all my complex feels about these films. As you might have gathered, I can’t recommend them highly enough. And as you also might suspect – Adam is an absolute force to be reckoned with in both. Seeing two of his most powerful performances ever back to back (and then getting to hear him talk about each in person!) was truly an experience I’ll never forget.

A massive thank you to anyone who persevered through reading all that!! I love writing analyses not only to work through my emotional response to sweeping works like this, but also to remember every bit of the impact. Give it a share if you don’t mind helping a girl out? :) I’m not on twitter at all so it’d be much appreciated!

(...have I mentioned I love Adam and I’m in awe of every single thing he does? Shower this man with Oscars already?!)

#Adam Driver #TIFF #driverdaily #Toronto International Film Festival #The Report #Marriage Story #TIFF 2019

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yanderemommabean · 5 years

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Yandere Dark Brotherhood idea part 3 - anon submission

Since my rubbish seems to actually be appealing, might as well regale you all with some more :). Maybe someone will find it inspiring. Enjoy part 3 with Veezara and Gabriella.

Veezara – The Dark Brotherhood is all this argonian has known since he first hatched. His whole purpose is killing, serving Astrid and serving the Sanctuary. The DB becomes an equally indispensable and vital purpose to his own life in time.

First thing with Veezara is that this guy is lonely. Lonely with a capital L. He’s the last Shadowscale, the last of an extinct order and is acutely aware of it. He even admits that serving the Falkreath Sanctuary is the only thing that gives him purpose in the world. Before the DB showed up, his social circle was a grand total of six people. Six people who were at high risk of walking out the door one day and disappearing forever.

His loneliness is made more painfully obvious by how joyful he is in welcoming his new sister/brother. If Astrid deemed them worthy to join, then as far as Veezara’s concerned that’s the end of it. They’ve proven themselves, they’re family and he is determined that they know they have a useful, reliable brother in him. That’s how it starts.

Quickly he begins growing attached. It’s nothing for anyone to be concerned about. The DB has proven their mettle; the argonian had no concerns about them being able to handle the Muiri contract, only basked in their triumph and Astrid’s obvious pride in them. They’re clearly a part of the Sanctuary now. So what if he is getting a bit attached? It’s only natural with what a tightly knit group they are. It’s only when Veezara’s sharing his truthful feeling of conflict about the clash between how Astrid runs the Sanctuary and the Old Ways, that these feeling may be different to the ones he shares for the rest of the Family.

It comes to a head after the DB is discovered to be the Listener. Veezara’s as shocked as any of them. But mostly horrified. It puts him in a terribly precarious position. There is no way Astrid would not see this as a direct threat to her power in the Sanctuary. The position of Listener supersedes all save the Night Mother and Sithis, something Astrid will not tolerate. Yet surely, she wouldn’t do something rash? The DB has proven to be nothing but loyal to them and their Family. It’s not as if they asked to be chosen and it doesn’t truly have to change anything. Astrid led and they followed, and they stuck together above all. He made sure to remind the DB of that when asked of his opinion and did the same with Astrid behind the scenes.

He had no idea what it would all lead to. The contract to kill and Emperor. Veezara is exalted and ready to keel over from apprehension. When the contract to kill the Emperor’s cousin, during her celebratory speech, at her wedding was first put to the DB, he nearly had an aneurism right then and there. It was almost as high profile a murder, with a massive security presence and everyone present would be out for blood. It was an honour and a suicide mission given that they were planning the assassination and escape themselves, he didn’t care if they were sneaky enough to be one with the shadows and lift someone’s clothing of without them noticing, it was too dangerous.

Trips over himself volunteering to cover their escape from Solitude when Astrid asks for volunteers. Hearing reports and second-hand accounts of their kills is one thing, seeing them in action is another. Immense pride for his breathtakingly skilled sibling flows with the new rush of adrenaline that washes over him as the crowd realise what has happened. Keeping them safe is his mantra when he’s slashing out at the crowd, trying to hold them off as best he can. As long as the make it back to the Sanctuary.

It’s a gruelling task but the argonian perseveres before making his own escape to meet up with them at the Sanctuary. Veezara will see the DB at the Sanctuary of course, they have to be there. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if they’re not. In those few moments after Vici’s corpse hit the ground and the crowd began baying for blood, he stood back to back with them and knew that there was nowhere he’d rather be at that moment, and he needed them to survive this, to be there when he opened up the Black Door, because they were Family, and he needed them and he lov-… the Septim drops at last.

His heart rate doesn’t drop down again, until after the overpowering relief hits, when he sees them back at the Sanctuary, their Family tending to their own business while Astrid and Gabriella assign the DB with their new task. It’s everything he’s ever wanted. What he’ll stop at nothing to preserve.

When Cicero snaps and moves to bury his knives in Astrid’s body, sheer instinct has Veezara throwing himself in their path to protect the matron of his Sanctuary. The heart warming concern from her and his siblings is only beaten by the elation that fills him, when his favourite brother/sister walks in from their successful mission and is immediately sparing no time to be at his side.

The idea of sending them after Cicero leaves him with a sickly fearful feeling barely numbed by Babette’s tonic. He bears with it. The idea that Arnbjorn will be there to protect them in his stead, when it should be Veezara, gives him some measure of peace.

Though it was Astrid’s order that was given and, rightfully, being followed, a foolish, sentimental part of the Argonian he thought he’d rid himself of, can’t help but imagine that they’re doing it for him. That they’re running across the wilds, hunting down the traitorous quarry for Veezara. That perhaps they too felt something similar in Solitude to him and this was a non-verbal confession of sorts.

It could hardly be considered an overreaction that he nearly puts his sword through Arnbjorn’s face when he shows up, alone and wounded, leaving their brother/sister alone to hunt the wily, dangerous, traitor in said enemy’s own territory. Veezara nearly stabs him twice for that. Fortunately, the DB’s arrival prevents him from breaking any of the Tenets he still respects.

Veezara still has the utmost faith in Astrid and her leadership no matter how erratic she’s been lately, and in the skills of his brother/sister, he knows they will succeed in their final task in killing the Emperor. Astrid says she’s ensured their escape, so they will. They’ll come home, everyone will celebrate and Veezara will finally have them both acknowledge what has been growing between them because it can’t be in his head, they haveto feel it too, before ensuring that no harm will come to them ever again. Astrid will still lead the Family, the DB can listen for and dispatch them on contracts while staying in the Sanctuary where they belong and Veezara will be there to protect them.

A future worthy of celebration.

Gabriella – for this Dark Elf mage, being part of the Brotherhood is not a desperate attempt to belong somewhere or an outfit that appreciates a good killer. For her, it is a sacred calling. A noble occupation to serve the Dread Father and be a part of the cycle of death. Her approach to her feelings is much the same, a fated inevitability that must be embraced.

Gabriella is pleased to meet a new initiate to the Sanctuary. Their numbers are too slight as it is, and with their reliance on hearsay to get contracts and their abandonment of the old ways, any positive addition is a welcome one in her eyes. She is cordial and welcoming but keeps to her own quiet existence in the Sanctuary, keeping to herself for the most part, practising her alchemy and enchanting, occasionally conversing with her brothers and sisters. It does warm her heart somewhat whenever her new brother/sister takes time to seek her out and ask after life or advice. They have a energy about them, something significant if unnameable. Gabriella may not have Olava’s sight but she knows someone marked for great destiny when she sees them and she can’t help but let her eyes follow them through their shared home, call a greeting whenever they pass her by, and just be so aware of their very presence around her.

The dunmer takes notice of Astrid’s fondness for them and notes how determined she is to test the breadth and depth of their capabilities with just their first contract and she can’t help but feel the slightest bit wary of her sister and leader.

Astrid’s attention was a dangerous and fickle thing after all and Gabriella wished for her new sister/brother to reach their fullest potential and know that they had a reliable ally in her. She warns them as such when they come to her for advice and it pleases her immensely when they repay her, confiding in her about Astrid’s renewed paranoia in believing that the Keeper and a member of their Family was conspiring against her leadership.

She had welcomed the arrival of the Night Mother and her Keeper to their Sanctuary. The Unholy Matron was the physical representative of the Brotherhood and she deserved their reverence and unwavering support. The Keeper is a sacred position in their organisation and the holder of it was equally deserving of their respect, whatever their personal opinions about him. While many of their Family disappoint her in their reactions to the presence of the Night Mother, she is pleased to note that, despite how recent their membership is, the DB pays proper deference to the Unholy Matron and welcomes the Keeper to their home. Less pleasing is the too intense interest the jester takes in them in return.

The depth of her anger when she realises that Astrid was using their new sibling to find something to fuel her suspicions, surprises her. Before she can do anything to possibly intervene, the demented Keeper is shrieking and dancing in delight, Astrid is holing herself up in her chambers looking more panicked and angrier than the dunmer had seen in a long time, and her brother/sister is out the door with a new set of contracts from Nazir. It’s not long before the news spreads like wildfire throughout the Sanctuary. The silence has been broken. A Listener. Finally, the Night Mother chooses to speak and it’s to the DB. Gabriella finds a wry sort of humour in realising that Astrid’s constant suspicion was finally justified, as was her own sense of destiny that followed their sister/brother. Sithis was the Dark Brotherhood, the Night Mother conveyed the will of Sithis to the Listener and the Listener was to be the mortal leader who guided the Dark Brotherhood and saw her will done. Before Astrid was a leader in a time when they were leaderless, eschewed the tenets because there was no way of truly enforcing them and but now they had a rightful leader. A Listener to hear the Unholy Matron and see her will done. And it’s Astrid’s own little protégé.

The humour quickly fades when Gabriella realises how much danger this puts them in. The Listener is supposed to listen for the contracts and hand them out to the rest of the Brotherhood to fulfil. They are far too precious to be risked and yet that is exactly what’s happening now. They should be the rightful leader but there isn’t a sing chance that Astrid would step down of her own accord and there are too many in the Sanctuary who would support her if she chose to make a stand. And finally, the idea that Astrid is right to be afraid, that there is someone in their Family whose power she should fear and what Astrid usually does to things that make her afraid. Gabriella know instantly what she must do, The Listener must be protected and the contract the Night Mother spoke to them must be answered.

The dunmer helps the others coax Astrid out of her paranoia, remind her that the DB has been nothing but loyal to her and that they might as well hear this contract that the Night Mother has chosen for them. Gabriella watches over the Listener, reminds them to keep on their guard and waits eagerly for news of the contract. It was well worth the effort. The contract to kill the Emperor would give the Dark Brotherhood a towering reputation of dread and terror they hadn’t seen in centuries. No longer would they be common mercenaries and it would be through the efforts of the Listener. When she tells the DB of when she scouted ahead the wedding reception and left a little something for a long ranged kill, she didn’t mention that the bow in question had been a valuable acquisition from a former contract. That the dunmer had slaved for hours over an arcane enchanter, using hard to find Grand Soul Gems to imbue it with as much power as she could. How hard her heart beat at the thought of her Listener lining up the shot and using Gabriella’s gift to kill the first target that would lead to the resurrection of the Dark Brotherhood. How warm she felt at the idea of them keeping it afterwards, thinking of her each time they held it.

Gabriella takes special care when coordinating the next part of the contract; killing and incriminating Gaius Maro. Partially to keep an eye on Astrid who wasn’t hiding her dissatisfaction with the situation well enough for Gabriella’s sharp eyes. She wanted to trust her sister, truly she did, but she doesn’t. Mostly however, she wants this contract to be one truly worthy of their Listener. She slyly adds in a token to give to Olava as the bonus, hoping that not only they would find use in it but that they would share their knowledge of the future with her and that she would occupy a crucial part of it.

Her joy at their triumphant return is marred at Cicero’s betrayal. And as far as she’s concerned it is a betrayal regardless of the circumstances, to have wounded a Brother in pursuit of a Sister. Yet no amount of justifications alleviates her shame. She may not have directly taken part, but she didn’t stop any members of the Family from mocking the Keeper or disrespecting the Old Ways and not to mention Astrid’s disrespect of the Night Mother, that shocked even Gabriella with its audacity. And now they were disobeying the tenets once more in the worst possible way; assigning their Listener to murder a dark brother who had acted in defence of the Unholy Matron. She doesn’t worry after them when they are sent after Arnbjorn and Cicero, they are favoured by the Dread Father, they will succeed and be forgiven of the consequences; the rest of the Family is expected to know better and be better.

Gabriella knows then that she must choose her side. Live heretically with Astrid remaining leader or follow the Listener, repent for her misdeeds and truly serve Sithis as she once did. When the time comes for their Listener to have the honour of the grandest assassination of the era, she knows it’s a sign. Gabriella will serve and guide the Listener, wholly, to whatever end and protect them at all costs. Being at their side will restore her favour in the Void and perhaps earn something from the Listener that only they can provide.

Gabriella was a tough one, not sure if I got it across well enough. Only Cicero, Nazir and Lucien Lachnace to go. Hope you’ve enjoyed :)

#female yandere #yandere #male yandere #Skyrim #submission

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haloud · 5 years

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tuck my hair behind my ears and touch my soul

ao3

It starts at the Wild Pony, that breeding ground for bad ideas.

It starts at the Wild Pony, where Kyle rarely goes, preferring to do his drinking at home with a book or the game on and his feet up rather than sticking to the floor of a bar. It starts with Michael’s finger hooked through his belt loop, and Kyle’s not stupid enough to follow Michael Guerin into an alleyway, but Michael puts his chin on his shoulder and grins that cowboy grin and says,

“So, Doc, you ever think my man deserves a little something special?”

Kyle rolls his eyes and takes a gulp of his scotch. The faster it goes down, the faster he can get away from whatever scheme Guerin’s concocting. “Talk to Liz or Maria if you’re trying to think of a gift for him. God knows you owe him one,” he says, unable to stop himself from firing that shot.

“Oh, trust me, I’m workin’ real hard on forgiveness.” Michael tugs his finger sharply, hauling Kyle in by the hip, making his chair scoot across the floor. “And I ain’t the hearts and flowers type. I already know the number one thing on his Christmas list and I’m gettin’ an early start.”

“So what exactly does this have to do with me?”

“You’re gonna help me give it to him, Doc. That is…if you’re feeling adventurous tonight.”

Kyle’s not drunk, and Kyle’s not stupid. The warning bells are ringing loud and clear. But he can’t say he’s never been curious, late at night, in his long-buried, hottest dreams. Michael runs his finger around the rim of Kyle’s glass then holds it up to the light, admiring the way a single drop of liquor reflects the neon.

Kyle swallows. “Define adventurous,” he says.

Michael licks liquid courage off his finger, eyes shining with triumph.

It starts when Alex answers the door all brittle and angry.

“Guerin, you’d better have a good explanation for disappearing instead of doing what—” he cuts himself off mid-rant, eyes going almost comically wide when he notices Kyle standing off to the side, hands shoved in his pockets.

“If you guys have unfinished business, I can hit the road,” Kyle says. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“No need for that, Doc. I think Alex would agree that you’re right where you need to be right now.” Michael rocks on the balls of his feet, a little smile hovering on his face. He won’t quite meet Alex’s eyes, not until Alex strides as quickly across the porch as his crutch will allow to grab his chin and force him to. A long moment passes, Alex’s eyes searching Michael’s face as Michael stares steadily. Finally, Michael nods, and Alex drops his hand to his shoulder, closes his eyes, and takes a deep and steadying breath.

“Okay,” he says, blowing the air out in a huff. He turns to Kyle, something unknowable swirling in those well-known eyes. “I guess you should come in.”

It starts when Kyle’s back hits the mattress with a whump. Alex is standing above him, head cocked to the side, just watching. Kyle props himself up on his elbows and lets his gaze drag his childhood friend from head to toe, taking everything in. The strength of his jaw, the column of his neck, the breadth of his shoulders…is Kyle really doing this? Can he do this? Like, okay, he’s enough of an adult now to admit that sometimes guys are hot, that his youthful dickishness was mostly insecurity about his own identity with a heaping helping of ego. But actually being with a guy isn’t something he’s seriously considered…

Not until Michael Guerin found him already acting uncharacteristic, with determination in his swagger.

Not until he found himself on his back for Alex Manes, dick growing harder by the second just from being pinned under his studying soldier’s eyes.

“Michael, you’re going to sit in that chair and behave for once,” Alex says, not looking away. “And you’re going to remind the both of us what you did to deserve sitting out while I enjoy my gift.”

Michael’s lower lip juts out in a pout, but he says with shockingly little shame, “I broke my promise to stay in contact if I needed space, and I made you worry. Then I went out again without telling you after we hashed it out. To get Kyle.”

“Communication is key, after all,” Alex replies, smirking. “It’s a learning process for both of us. I’m not mad anymore, but this is going to help the lesson stick. Now take your seat, and I expect you to keep your comments to yourself as well.”

With a long, dramatic sigh, Michael snags a beer waiting on the end table and folds himself into the corner armchair sideways, long legs hanging off onto the floor, head propped on the arm of the chair so he can watch what happens on the bed.

“Now.” Alex leans his crutch against the wall, then gives Kyle his undivided attention. “Stand up. I want to see what I’m working with.”

Kyle slides off the bed, stuffs his hands in his pockets again. Wonders what the hell he’s doing here, in his father’s old cabin, about to—

Alex’s voice pulls him out of his head. “Well, you’re no Max Evans, but you’ll do.”

Kyle jerks his head up at the same time Michael makes a scalded, gagging noise from the corner. Alex cackles at his own awful joke, and Kyle shakes his head, unable to keep a smile off his face himself now that some of the tension is gone.

“How about you take your shirt off, Kyle? Let me see the body you spend all that time working on.” Alex sits down on the edge of the bed, reclining back on his hands. His eyes narrow as he waits for Kyle to react—to argue, to storm out?—and a faint smile still tugs at his lips. Like he could start laughing at any moment, and Kyle is torn between getting defensive (didn’t come here to be laughed at, don’t know why I came at all) and a rip current of fondness (always smiling, so strong, the Alex he always thought of as his Alex in the quiet of his own mind, even after he lost that right).

Instead of picking either of those two options, he jerks his t-shirt over his head in one fluid motion.

Michael whistles appreciatively, and Alex ignores him. He spreads his knees and curls a beckoning finger, reeling Kyle in until he’s standing between his legs, all close enough to touch.

“Good to see that vanity has its perks,” Alex quips, eyes stroking Kyle’s chest. He feels them in the hollow of his throat, against his ribs. His stomach clenches under their weight. “Now tell me. What are you doing here, Valenti?”

What a fucking question.

“Well, Guerin came to find me, and—”

“I know how you got here. I asked you what you’re doing here.”

Kyle’s stomach clenches again; Alex’s tone brings unexpected heat to the surface of his skin. His nipples tighten, exposed to the air, and he fights the urge to fold his arms to protect himself, like a virgin.

Alex is still expecting an answer. He arches a single eyebrow, and Kyle breaks.

“I don’t know where this is going or how far I can go, but I figured ‘what the hell,’ you know? And to be honest, this kind of feels like it’s been a long time coming. At least for me.”

“Well, it’s true that I’ve had a long time to think about what I’d do to you if I ever got you here. I am, officially, way ahead of you.”

Everything about Alex is wicked. Smirking mouth, dark eyes, the little hint of skin peeking out from his collar that Kyle has a wild urge to taste. Temptation. It only gets worse when Alex stands up. The inch between their heights could be a foot for all Kyle wants to curl up under Alex’s sheer presence.

Alex continues, “Lucky for you, I’m in a pretty good mood. And you’ve been on your best behavior lately, haven’t you?”

He pairs his words with the first, faintest touch—a fingertip skimming the crease where the v of Kyle’s groin begins. Kyle’s hips jerk forward like he’s been electrocuted, and a throaty chuckle from Michael’s corner fills the room. Blood rushes to his cock; blood rushes to his cheeks. The contrast makes his head spin. He has to look away from Alex before he passes out, so his eyes fall on the other person in the room.

Michael’s mouth curls sinfully around the lip of the bottle and he takes a long pull of his beer, Adam’s apple bobbing once, twice, and again in the long column of his throat. All the while, he watches Kyle through lidded, glittering eyes. His mouth pops off the glass, the tip of his tongue chasing the lingering wetness on his lower lip.

Alex’s thumbs dig with brutal precision into the dimples of Kyle’s lower back, forcing a gasp into his lungs and a sharp arch into his spine. His ass grinds into the unmistakable hardness of Alex’s cock—and then, helplessly, he rolls his hips back again, chasing that brand-new sensation. Alex’s hand flies up to press against his stomach, anchoring him with its heavy heat, encouraging each little movement. Forward motion brings delicious friction between the callouses of Alex’s palm and the Kyle’s sensitive skin. Backward motion makes him blush so hard his ears are ringing; makes muscles he can barely bear to think about catch and release. He’s so hard it makes him ache.

He can’t stop. Doesn’t even want to. This should be weird, right? He should be weirded out by this? It’s not something Kyle’s ever spent much time thinking about, being with a man. The logistics of it, the practicalities, the visceral, physical difference in how a man’s body would feel running against his. And it’s all happening so fast, he’s hard as a rock, he wants all these things he barely even has words for—he’s grinding on his childhood friend’s crotch like the school slut on prom night and all he wants is more.

“Aren’t you just full of surprises?” Alex murmurs. He grabs Kyle’s hips, forces them to still so Alex can frot directly where Kyle wants him, right against the crack of has ass. It sends a bolt of both apprehension and pure pleasure right down his spine, even through multiple layers of cotton and denim. It feels so good it forces Kyle to bend at the waist, to go onto his tiptoes, to give Alex all the space he needs to do whatever he wants, as long as he doesn’t stop. Kyle can feel pre dripping from the head of his cock, a sopping wet spot forming in his boxer briefs, but he doesn’t even care if he comes in his pants as long as he gets some relief and soon. The only sound in the room is stuttered breathing, little ah ah ah desperate sounds, and they’re all coming from him. The realization just brings a whole, full-throated moan to his lips. Michael gasps when he lets it out, and Alex croons a wordless, soothing sound that Kyle wishes he could wrap around himself at night.

The bed dips under Alex’s added weight, and Kyle turns his head to look at him. He forces his lips to form words and says, “Is this alright? Your leg—”

A flicker passes over Alex’s face, but he takes a deep breath and just kisses Kyle on the temple. “It’s fine. I’ve been using the crutch more around the house again, keeping weight off it…not for situations just like this, but hey, whatever works.” He winks, then gets serious again. “Just figured that hey, what do I have to prove? There’s no sense in acting like it didn’t happen, like pretending will make it go away, so it’s time to live with it. Your concern is touching, truly—”

Kyle cuts him off with a kiss, a real one, their first. It’s an awkward angle, but that doesn’t stop him from opening his mouth to swipe his tongue across Alex’s for the first, intoxicating taste of him. Alex grips his hair firmly to regain control, and Kyle has to break away to gasp for air, his every muscle trembling and weak.

Alex tastes like the same beer Michael’s drinking, and Kyle would love for the three of them to be drunk together. Collapsing face down on the duvet, Kyle breathes in the clean scent of lemon detergent and Alex’s skin and tries to regain his equilibrium.

Michael groans loudly, insistently, and Alex says, “I should remind you to be quiet, but honestly I have to agree.” Alex shucks his own shirt and tosses it to the side, then approaches Kyle’s prone body. “You’ve always been hot, Valenti, but I had no idea you had this in you. Do you like a firm hand, is that it? I guess now we know what you saw in Liz—or, rather, what she saw in you.”

Medical science is for assholes, Kyle rapidly decides. Spontaneous combustion is totally possible and should, in fact, happen right now.

While Kyle squirms, Alex rearranges some pillows to support his knee. “Lift up,” he says, tugging Kyle’s hips into place and slotting the remaining pillow beneath them.

A long moment passes, and in it Kyle searches himself again for any hesitation, any lingering freakout, but there’s just…nothing. Nothing but lust, nothing but the ache low in his belly and between his legs. Nothing but rapidly-growing need for Alex hard and hot behind him, above him.

“It’s time to get these jeans off,” Alex says. He pauses for a protest with his hand on Kyle’s belt buckle, but when nothing comes he doesn’t hesitate to strip Kyle down to his final layer of protection.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The snap of Alex’s fingers makes Kyle jump, and the snap in his voice draws the barest, embarrassing vibration of a moan into his throat. He dares to raise his head from the mattress just enough to see Michael frozen half-risen from his chair, muscles in his arms trembling lightly as he holds his position.

“I was just trying to see better—” Michael’s voice goes soft and whiny and, shock of shocks, Kyle dick throbs in sympathy. He’d find it hard to sit still too if all he could do was look and not touch.

“Stay right there and behave. I’ll deal with you later,” Alex says. Kyle shivers in pure relief, goosebumps prickling on every inch of his skin. Thank god he’s not the one being made to wait, not now, not when everything is so raw, so new, so real.

Michael’s throat bobs one more time, like he’s still got a mouthful of liquor. Slowly, he lowers himself back down and drawls, “Aye aye, Captain,” like the insolent little fuck he always is. He settles down, draped like a cat and just as observant.

A muscle ticks in Alex’s jaw, and that little show of anger and restraint is so fucking hot it makes Kyle’s toes curl. Maybe if Kyle’s good Alex will let him watch later like he’s letting Michael watch now. His ears burn at the thought, but honestly the prospect of a repeat performance of this…whatever this is…is looking better and better all the time.

Alex notices anyway. Kyle snaps his gaze back to the plain gray duvet only a millisecond after Alex’s molten-dark eyes spot him watching, but it’s still too late. Alex bends languidly until his chest brushes the skin of Kyle’s back and his lips caress the overheated shell of his ear.

“Something you want to say, Valenti?” He purrs, hips beginning a teasing roll against the meat of Kyle’s thigh. “You starting to feel neglected? Well, we can’t have that.”

God, it’s so fucking hot, the only air to breathe searing his lungs like a car that’s been baking in the sun from dawn to dusk. This time, for the first time, Kyle’s answering moan is loud and shameless and just inches shy of begging, and Alex laughs just as shamelessly, nipping his ear before straightening up and increasing his rhythm. Kyle moans again, quieter but no less desperate, nuzzling into his own folded arms to hide his face. From across the room, Michael lets out a harmonizing hum.

God, what is Alex doing to him? What’s he done to Michael? How is it that he can keep the both of them dancing on strings by barely lifting a finger? Alex has always had presence—and sure, there’s been a girl or two capable of bringing Kyle to his knees, he’s not ashamed of it—but Alex like this? He’s a goddamn maestro, and Kyle and Michael are nothing but instruments bent to his will.

“Are you ready to lose these?” Alex snaps the waistband of Kyle’s boxer briefs. Despite the inevitable direction things have been heading, the question still catches Kyle off guard, and he stills, unsure.

Does he want this? He’s crossed a hell of a lot of lines already this evening, but this is the first one that feels like the point of no return. It’ll be hard enough to go to work tomorrow still feeling the scratch and burn of Alex’s calloused hands on oversensitive skin; it’ll be hard enough dealing with Michael ever again and not going shivering and open at his smirking mouth and whiskey-light gaze. If they go any further, Kyle’s gonna come out changed, and he just…he just needs a moment.

“If you’re not comfortable, all you gotta do is say so,” Michael interjects. “Trust me, Alex’ll make it good no matter what.”

“Hush,” Alex replies, but there’s a smile in his voice.

Turning his attention back to Kyle, Alex drags his hands firmly from the top of Kyle’s spine to his tailbone, leaving two blazing, trembling trails of sensation behind. Compared to what Kyle’s known before, Alex’s hands feel massive, inescapable, spanning almost the whole width of his back in sweeping, spine-tingling caresses. Kyle grits his teeth as, helplessly, his hips twitch and the muscles of his ass contract.

“What do you say, Kyle? You’ve already been humping the pillow, moving your ass like you’re hungry for it. Don’t you want to know what it feels like to rub your skin against my cock with nothing in between?” He presses a hot, wet kiss to the back of Kyle’s neck.

Kyle surrenders the only way he knows how, nodding jerkily, letting his legs fall open and easy. His voice is lost, but all he wants Alex to know is yes, yes, yes, yes.

“I need you to use your words, Kyle.”

“God, yes! Yeah, ok, yes, just do it, god—”

“Good.” Alex says, following up his words with his tongue licking a filthy swipe across Kyle’s ear. Kyle gasps and twitches away from the sensation, only to wind up frozen like a rabbit in a trap when Alex runs a fingertip across the skin at his waistband. The contrasting sensations are driving him out of his mind; if Alex so much as touched his cock right now he’d come in his pants like a dumb kid.

“Hurry,” Kyle whines, trying to drag his hips against the bed, both for the delicious friction on his aching groin and as an attempt to squirm out of his clothes.

“You know, I’m glad you’re so eager,” Alex says conversationally, rolling Kyle’s waistband until the curve of his ass is exposed. He shudders at the caress of air and expectation. “You’re sweet,” Alex continues with a low, throaty chuckle, “and it’s a nice surprise. I was afraid you’d pull some throwback machismo bullshit, but no, you’re so well behaved. Maybe Michael should be taking notes.”

“Fuck!” Kyle’s shout drowns out Michael’s angry hiss. The words of praise send an unexpected ripple of heat through Kyle—heart-pounding, belly-clenching heat that forces him to scramble to get a hand around his cock, to hold off his suddenly imminent orgasm. Alex is faster, though, and before Kyle knows what’s happening he’s spread-eagle and immobile, Alex’s knees bracketing his thighs, his hands pinioning his wrists. And Kyle can’t do anything but sob—it’s too overwhelming, he’s trapped and he’s throbbing and he’s probably disappointed Alex which for reasons Kyle can’t explain makes him want to throw up and hide.

But no. Instead of—any of those things that make Kyle sick with fear, all Alex does is loosen his hold and say, “Everything alright, Valenti? If we need to slow the roll a little bit, It’s okay. It’s whatever you need.”

Kyle sucks in a watery breath. Everything still feels more wrong than it did just moments ago, and before he can stop himself he says, “It’s just that I was about to come. I…didn’t want to end things before they really got going.”

Then it’s Alex’s turn to hiss. His hands tighten briefly, almost enough to leave little bruising rings around Kyle’s wrists. If he pushed up against that grip, they wouldn’t budge at all, and something about that thought sends another pulse through Kyle’s groin. Then the tight hold disappears, and Kyle is left clenching his fists and wishing he could have it back.

“Roll over.”

Alex’s voice is kind but still firm, still in control. Kyle doesn’t want to argue, wants to keep riding this headspace where it’s so easy just to follow orders, just to lie still and be what Alex tells him to be. But he’s not sure he can do this—let Alex see every inch of him, bare his face to Alex’s endless gaze.

“I’d rather not,” he chokes out, wiping his face on the bedsheet to remove the worst of the mess—the tear tracks, the thin line of drool.

“I want to check in with you. Switch things up a bit. It’s okay, Kyle.” Gentle hands wrap around his hips and nudge them to turn.

“Don’t be shy, Doc,” Michael says. And it’s actually the fact that Kyle can tell Michael hasn’t moved—that he’s still following Alex’s orders too—that gives Kyle the strength to obey.

“There you are,” Alex says, and—

God.

He’s so fucking beautiful. It’s all Kyle can think—it bundles up his breath inside his chest and then shakes it all loose at once. His mouth, pink and full, curved into a warm smile. The way his skin glows in the low light, impossibly even and smooth. Those dark eyes; his hair, sweaty and tousled and—Kyle knows now, he’s kissed that mouth, he’s had that skin against his skin, he knows how soft that hair is through his fingers.

No wonder Guerin’s addicted.

“Seriously, are you okay?” Alex’s head tilts adorably, but his smile fades a bit. He brushes his thumb across Kyle’s cheek, and Kyle instinctively turns into the touch, pressing a kiss to the pad of his thumb.

“Y-yeah. I’m okay.” His voice breaks; he clears his throat. “This is all kind of a lot, but,” he bucks his hips, bringing attention back to his still-hard dick, “I can handle whatever you can dish out, Manes.”

Michael whoops in triumph from across the room. It’s just this side of mocking, but when Kyle glances his way, he sees that Michael’s just as hard as he is, with no hope of relief. Their eyes lock for a moment; Michael winks at him and licks his lips suggestively.

“Eyes on me, Kyle.” The steel has returned to Alex’s voice, and his weight resettles on the tops of Kyle’s thighs. “If you encourage him, it’ll only make it worse for him later. You know, if we keep doing this, he’ll try to get you in trouble.”

“You love it,” Michael drawls, blowing them a kiss.

“Not tonight. Tonight is all about Kyle.”

“No arguments here. He’s giving me plenty to think about.”

Alex massages a soothing hand against Kyle’s shoulder and leans their foreheads together for a kiss. “What do you want now?” he asks when they part: “What do you want to do next?”

Kyle gulps, but having Alex so close, it’s—there’s no way to not be honest. He’s unstoppable. Forceful, just in his breathing, in his smiling. Magnetic.

“I…I kind of liked how it was before. Me on my front. I-I also liked you holding me down, it was…” Kyle’s voice dies out, but from the fire ignited in Alex’s eyes, he’s already said plenty. Alex’s strong hands flip him over again, readjust the pillow to force his ass up at an angle. Kyle arches his back to force it up even higher and grinds his cock into the soft surface as part of the bargain. They both went a little soft during the check-in, but that situation rapidly reverses as Alex runs his hands over Kyle’s ass and the backs of his thighs. The muscles of Kyle’s thighs twitch and jump at every touch, and he whines.

“You really are made for this. It’s incredible.”

Kyle hears the sound of Alex’s jeans hitting the floor. His fingers are starting to cramp where he’s clutching the sheets.

“I’m not fucking you tonight. That was never in the cards,” Alex says, running a finger down the crack of Kyle’s ass all the same. Kyle muffles a sob with his teeth sunk into his own arm. “But even then, I can get a head start on the planning, what do you say?”

What Kyle says is something along the lines of mgmphl, which is honestly eloquent considering his circumstances.

“Yeah, I think there’s a lot we’re going to explore, Valenti. However long it takes, we’re going to see how deep this need of yours to present your ass and beg goes. Will it be enough just to get my cock, or will you need Guerin’s too?”

Kyle rolls his hips into the pillow without rhythm, just chasing any release he can get, but it’s not good enough, not anymore, not without Alex pressing back against him.

“Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, though. Someone as untouched and needy as you—you’d go to pieces with a single finger, wouldn’t you? Just a little stretch, until you get used to it and have to find something bigger to satisfy you. Does that sound good?”

“Alex, Alex, please,” Kyle groans, trying to wave his ass to get him to do something other than drive him crazy with promises. He only succeeds in losing his balance, one knee slipping out from under him and leaving him splayed without any leverage to get friction at all, and all he can do is whine.

And Alex pounces. Kyle doesn’t know when he dropped his own underwear, but finally here’s all of him—every muscle, all that skin, and his cock dragging between the cheeks of Kyle’s ass like they were made to fit together. Kyle releases the sheets to yank at his own hair instead, squirming helplessly back against Alex’s weight, unable to do anything but gasp and cry out and beg for a hand on his cock to help him out.

Alex finally shows mercy, wrapping his wonderful, amazing palm around Kyle’s shaft and jerking it in time with the roll of his hips. But it’s just as much the next words Alex growls in his ear that tips Kyle over the edge—

“I’ll get you a toy just for you, something you can stuff up inside yourself when you’re feeling hot and lonely and needing this, needing cock, needing me—I’ll send Guerin out looking for you and bring you back here to me already open and ready, sink inside you and stay there for hours and send you back home stuffed again—”

Kyle comes with a choked cry, hips jerking clumsily, every muscle in his body clenched for a long, glorious moment before he melts back into the blankets and pillows, utterly boneless. Alex abandons his words in favor of fucking himself against Kyle’s ass and thighs, until he raises himself up and brings himself off with his hand, come striping scalding-hot and claiming against Kyle’s lower back.

They collapse together, panting harshly, Alex kissing and licking at Kyle’s shoulder blades while Kyle tries to come back down to earth. With a gloriously open laugh, Alex rolls off of Kyle’s back and pulls him into his arms. Kyle joins in on the laughter, butting his forehead into Alex’s shoulder, breathless and giddy and young.

“Get over here, Guerin,” Alex says, reaching out his other arm to make room. Predictably, however, Michael swaggers over and flops himself fully clothed right in between Kyle and Alex, worming his way into both their embraces. It puts him squarely on the wet spot, though, and his hair is soft, and he smells just the same as Alex. So it’s not like Kyle is complaining.

At least until he opens his mouth again, that is.

“Next time you do that to me, I’m making a porno,” Michael says, and Alex shuts him up with a kiss.

#roswell new mexico #mylex #malex #kylex #kyle valenti #alex manes #michael guerin #it's basically 5k of kylex getting it on while michael watches #if that's your kind of thing #this is VERY self-indulgent

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robotnik-mun · 7 years

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Ok, now I think I'd like to ask: What about the Iron Dominion Arc was so bad? (Also, if you have the time how do you feel Flynn mistreated Rotor?)

In my opinion? The following reasons, which will probably get repeated/elaborated upon when @robotnikholmescomicblog finally gets around to reviewing the arc.

They are as follows-

1) Snively handing over the reigns to The Iron Queen and her group feels out of character for Snively given how long he has wanted his uncle out of the picture and to take control for himself. Particularly given how quickly he was dispatched after Endgame (ugh), it feels like his character got cheated out of finally having a go at being the man in charge for an extended amount of time, all so that a one shot villain barely remembered by anyone could get pushed to the forefront, all at Snively’s own expense as a character.

2) Monkey Khan getting strawmanned for being ticked off that the FF’s won’t even consider executing Eggman. Given that Monkey Khan was literally flayed alive and had his internals replaced with machinery after witnessing his entire village killed by the same way, only to lose yet another village thanks to Eggman, having Sonic telling him he was in the wrong felt… achingly tone-deaf, and I didn’t appreciate that Khan received this treatment given what he had suffered at the hands of Robotnik and later Eggman. Having someone like, oh say, Bunnie talk sense into him would have made a great deal more sense, but the bottom line is that Sonic was essentially telling Monkey Khan he was wrong for wanting the person who had heinously wronged him dead. I’m not the biggest fan of Khan, but I felt it was kind of messed up.

3) The Iron Dominion got pushed way, way too hard- early on they were virtually unstoppable. Not helping matters is that they were hyped IN-Universe as well, at one point having things mentioned as ‘being worse’ now than it was under the Original Robotnik. Given thatl Robotnik 1.0 came within a hair’s breadth of killing ALL of them, with only sheer dumb luck by way of Snively to save their lives, it felt like there was too much effort going into convincing the readers that these were a legit big threat. It’s not helped that not long before that, Eggman had succeeded in obliterating Knothole and very nearly condemned EVERYONE to perish in the Egg Grapes. That’s two instances of things being way more dire, so again, it felt like a point only brought up to insist upon the idea of the Iron Dominion TOTALLY being THAT dangerous, u gaiz.

4) It dragged on way, way too long. The novelty wore off quickly and after a point it just felt like a chore to slug through everything.

5) The revelations regarding Espio’s backstory and his subsequent re-acceptance into the Chaotix afterwards. While I know it was done in order to justify him suddenly being a ninja, there were better ways to go about it than revealing that his entire life he’d been lying to his friends and gathering information on them, and was so good at it that he was privy to all their secrets and keeping information from them. It throws everything about him into question, and I can’t accept that the rest of the team would be so willing to let bygones be bygones.

6) The prominence of the Ninja Clans. The clans are not something in of itself I object to, but I’m not too fond of the whole ‘China and Japan are Interchangeable’ thing rearing its head again. Furthermore, I found the idea that ESPIO’S clan just HAPPENED to be the ‘good’ clan to be an eye-rolling development- Ninja at heart are thieves and murderers for hire, and trying to pretty things up in such a way left me with a bad taste in my mouth.

7) Regina’s laugh. This isn’t a ‘real’ criticism, I just feel an unspeakable rage when I try to envision how it sounds.

8) Making Sally and Khan an actual thing. While it only happened briefly, this still felt like a baffling decision given the circumstances under which the two originally met, and the development of the moment felt way too rushed for them to reconcile and actually kiss each other. While it mercifully didn’t go anywhere, it still brought back shades of the Love Triangle nonsense that had plagued the book pre-Flynn, as well as gave fresh ammo to those jackasses who screamed about Sally being a Mary-Sue.

As for Rotor, I don’t think ‘mistreated’ is the right word, so much as Flynn not knowing what to do with him and his solutions not really being all that helpful. Flynn seemed to struggle with the notion of Rotor being a fairly peaceful and sensible member of the FFs, and him being taken out of commission via the back injury and the council felt like a cheat, and the power suit he was later given was just ill conceived, especially since there had to be a bullcrap reason for why he couldn’t build another for Bunnie after she’d been De-Robo’d.

Post-REboot wasn’t much better for me, given his ‘upgrade’ into a brawler and his new design (which to this day I despise with the fury of a thousand suns)- while the developments with Tundra were quite excellent, at the end of the day it felt less like he actually wanted to write Rotor and refused to really work with what made the character who he is. The fact that it was stated that one reason Rotor was taken off for a while was due to there being ‘too many tech guys’ likewise fell flat when Muttski was arbitrarily updated to be a Mobian lab assistant to Chuck, yet ANOTHER tech guy.

So yeah, the Iron Dominion arc is easily one of my least favored arcs for those reasons, and I really don’t appreciate all the stuff that happened to Rotor. I’m not a super huge Rotor fan, but to me it’d be like if Big were to suddenly become a svelte melee-monster who quipped all the time because a writer didn’t really want to use Big as he was or try to make the character work with what he had. It misses the point, very badly.

Hope that answers your questions.

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coalitiongirl · 7 years

Note

ive been watching your scenes to rewatch and ive been crying at literally all of them. out of curoisity, what are your favourite ouat scenes? either sq or general? also side note, i love your latest fic, such an interesting premise. i get so scared every time someone says an order and emmas forced to comply, that scene with the trolls had me on edge. and the fact that cora must suspect something about emma now - im so scared but excited ahah :D have a nice day :)

OH I super dropped the ball on those omg, i have so many others!! but i haven’t been able to rewatch in a long time, it hard 😩

of course i LOVE almost every swan queen scene!! it’s hard for me to pick favorites because nearly every one pings something else inside me omfg. I don’t think there’s a single sq scene I couldn’t write an essay about WHOOPS. so lemme try to answer this with just some of my favorite non-sq scenes 😅

Emma in True North: hoo boy, this is probably in my scenes to rewatch but that scene on the road, MAN. there’s so much careful buildup with emma’s abandonment issues and how much she sees herself in nick and ava. and they have a chance she never does and dammit, she fights for them!! she fights for two kids just like her and they get their moment and jmo turns that realization into agony with sheer artistry in emma’s FACE in their final moment. god.

Regina in We Are Both: this was the episode that sold me on Regina! tbh i’d marathoned s1 as soon as they announced mulan was going to be in s2 so i hadn’t been focusing much on thinking before that?? and then suddenly there’s Regina, in all her rich and layered stories, and i fell hARD. the whole narrative of the episode- Regina resisting parental abuse until she becomes what she’s always feared to be free!! and that translating into her saying ‘no, this isn’t going to continue to the next generation. even if i lose the only thing that matters to me.’ do u ever stan!!! I DONT KNOW HOW TO LOVE VERY WELL. END ME.

Emma in Firebird: listen. never follow ur idols to ur next fandom or you’ll suddenly realize they actually hate women and then get ‘’’muted’’’ for ‘’’yelling at her too much’’’ but jane espenson did a GOOD with the flashbacks in this one (present day still literal and figurative hell tho!!). The concept of Emma’s jacket as armor isn’t an original one, but the execution was honestly stellar. Emma forging this connection with an older hardened woman who can’t let go of the past either!! emma destroyed and remade into the lady we met on her twenty-eighth birthday. GOD. SHE FINDS HER DAUGHTER. and i gotta say, the vulnerable-tearful-young thing jmo was doing w emma in s5 didn’t work for me in terms of what present day was trying to convey, but it’s a perfect fit for that flashback, i WEPT.

Regina in Quite A Common Fairy: Lana OWNS the cave scene with Tink, god. The depth and breadth of emoTION. The episode and the narrative itself builds it up from episode one! because this regina on the road to redemption but finally giving us a glimpse into the emotional and mental state she was in as the young queen- she has all this rage and she’s SUSTAINED by it, it’s her only real truth and constant and she’s terrified of what might happen if she lets it go for even an instant and chooses hope instead. (Lana’s voice when Regina says she’s afraid that without rage she might just ‘—float away’ is something that has stayed with me for a long, long time.) REGINA PULLING OUT HER HEART TO MAKE A POINT. far from the last time she will, but how affecting!! god!!

Emma and Snow in S1: There are a few moments i’m thinking of (and i’m literally writing this on the treadmill so pls forgive the lack of episode names) and all of them are so stellar, god. The moment when Snow finds Emma living out of her car early on. Snow and Emma sitting at the table at the loft holding hands. Emma lying down next to a crying Snow. Snow yelling at Emma for being so selfish when she tries running off with Henry?? EMMA SHOWING UP AT MARY MARGARET’S DOOR SEARCHING FOR A ~PERSON~ AND MARY MARGARET SILENTLY LETTING HER IN. Snow and Emma work best in S1 in the silences and the fights, where they’re allowed to just care and be family, and I treasure each of those moments as much as they do.

Regina and Zelena in the Kansas: There’s a lot of effort put into this dynamic right near what seemed like the end, playing with how exactly Zelena perceives her happy ending to go- and then Regina strikes it all down by being different, by changing, by being someone Zelena hadn’t believed either of them capable of. And then Regina goes to Zelena’s cell and offers her!! sisterhood!! my god. i instantly fell in love with the dynamic in that moment and i’m forever pressed that the ‘it’s nice to have family in town’ line was cut. because you can tell that regina craves family and craves unmaking this second monster of her mother’s and zelena was going to TAKE that second chance and hey! this seems the perfect time to go off-message and

Belle in Family Business and Heroes and Villains: imma be honest, i like belle just fine in the early seasons but i have zero interest in rumbelle, which means a lot of fast-forwarding through her scenes. But these two scenes were ENCHANTING. Mirror Belle preying on Belle with the truth that she’s afraid to face! Emilie does such a fantastic job conveying so much cruelty in that scene, I was gaping and enthralled and hoping shattered sight was going to work exactly like that (and tbh props to ginny for doing a hella creepy snow at the start of Shattered Sight). And that town line scene!!! What a stunning, evocative scene. Belle reclaiming agency and taking action in such a 100% cold-blooded but necessary way!! that’s my ravenclaw babe!!!

Mulan and Aurora: I was young, and I Believed, and I Believed for a very long time. I am appalled at my naïveté too, don’t worry.

Regina in Enter the Dragon: LOOK it’s not about the leather but it’s a lil about the leather!!! I really appreciate both Regina in the past and present in this one and also how gay it is, and I’m most charmed by lil evil pep talking nugget Regina who just wants you to be the very best villain you can be! It’s such an artful melding of the exuberance of young!Regina and the delight in chaos of eq!Regina and i, for one, am a fan.

Emma (and Henry) in The Stranger/An Apple Red as Blood: my gOD. Okay I think one of the first times I cried while watching this show was in Emma’s desperate, hysterical denial to August about the curse. She’s so clearly hit rock bottom and she’s TERRIFIED of believing and it’s breaking her. SHE DIDNT ASK TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR EVERYONES HAPPINESS. SHE DOESNT WANT IT. THAT IS CRAP!!!! i love her!! i love emma swan!!! i do!!!!! and then moving into the end of the next episode when she tells henry she’s leaving and just!! ‘henry! life isn’t a story!’ man this show had some incredible early work. sigh. emma kneeling in front of henry begging him to listen! my god.

Regina in the Cricket Game: so i’m leaving out all my fave sq moments which severely limits the number of regina and emma scenes i can talk about here but the flashbacks in this one SURE ARE SOMETHING. regina has hit rock bottom in this set and you feel it in every moment, in her REGRET THAT I HAVE NOT CAUSED MORE PAIN and frickin stABBING snow and that dark scene with the candle oh god. this is a regina who doesn’t think about looking back anymore but who doesn’t think about looking forward, either, and she’s terrifying. it reminds me a lot of the scene later this season in Welcome to Storybrooke where she takes out snow’s heart and ‘see? i can have everything’ but there are tears sliding down her face. regina in enraged despair is something to behold!!

Henry (and Emma and Regina) in Operation Mongoose: Henry doesn’t often get lengthy times to shine that aren’t about other characters, but he was literally a YA hero in the author’s universe! man! what a kid! and his scenes with bandit Regina are some of my all-time favorites, as is that heartstopping moment when he reaches the top of that tower and flings the door open and Emma KNOWS him. reader, i wept. i wept hard. talk about your earned moments!!!

Emma as Dark Swan: posture! clothing! positioning! voice work! dark swan was a revelation i’m still rightfully bitter about, because she was EVERYTHING in those early episodes. the way she caressed snow’s face in first episode of 5a. the faux-innocent with the calculating eyes on the ship with whats-his-name. every interaction with henry where she was trying to be a PERSON. the way she moved! the way she felt more reptilian than human! i wanted to know everything about her!! (then i did and quit the show lol) honestly some of jmo’s best acting to date, i’m forever in awe.

That Still Small Voice: look, this is an episode about a cricket and it remains one of my favorite quality ouat episodes. Archie sells it best as an adult influenced by his past without quite knowing it, and Archie and Henry make for a really engaging dynamic in here. There is nothing about Archie’s professional behavior that doesn’t make me want to scream but this remains a very, very good episode.

Emma in Sympathy for the De Vil/Lily: okay this is cheating a little because so much of this is also Regina but!! Emma individually shines in this narrative and throughout 4b. From the moment she finds out about what her parents had done, you can watch it slowly draining a part of her?? yes her eyes got redder but there was also this kind of apathy about EVERYTHING. And tbh the Cruella episode is pretty awesome on its own (I love the slow revelation that Cru is the villain, what a stellar execution of a fave trope) but WHEN EMMA KILLS HER. In the exact moment that Cruella says ‘heroes don’t kill’. that’s what pushes emma over the edge!! and then emma ready to kill again the next episode because she feels like she’s sliding into an abyss, i couldn’t BREATHE. emma is incredible when the narrative lets her be angry, and i wanted So Much More. Speaking of which, Emma getting angrier and angrier and almost losing it in The Snow Queen was more of that anger!! i am HUNGRY for it.

Regina and Snow in The Evil Queen: This episode is messy af but damn did my heart skip a beat when a hooded hero saves Regina and tears off her hood and it’s SNOW. This episode does so much of what makes Snow/Regina so fascinating and frustrating, both in the present and the past. Their interactions in the woods moved me! changed me! and Regina had already crossed the point of no return but oh man, oh man, the way they’d almost gotten somewhere for a minute there.

Regina and Henry in Save Henry: A classic, a work of art, and I’ve said so much about it in the past that I’m exhausted just thinking about expressing it all again now. But what a STORY of an evil queen who falls in love with a little boy. What a narrative!! The promo pictures from this episode came out when I was sitting in the hospital for a checkup while I was expecting my daughter, and I was tearing up and the nurses thought it was about the ultrasound. I’M NOT PROUD. This is a love story!!! And it culminates again in A Curious Thing, by the way, which put another ten years on my life, an Epic !

Emma and Henry in New York City Serenade: boy was this a journey, but I was absolutely spellbound omg. This was a love song to a fantasy but it’s a fantasy that never unmakes Emma– she’s afraid of commitment and happiness and everything permanent in her life that isn’t Henry, but she’s still going to take that leap despite herself. It’s a wonderful character study that captures Emma’s essence in a new world, with a new past.

Snow in The Miller’s Daughter: Snow is at her best when the show isn’t painting her with rose-colored glasses and we get to see her darker side, and I don’t think she ever gets quite as dark in the first three seasons as she is when she’s standing there, smiling earnestly at Regina as she tells her that the key to Cora loving Regina is in the poisoned heart she holds. My god. It’s so incredibly cold-blooded and vile, and it’s absolutely the kind of manipulative pragmatism that suits Snow best. I am enthralled and horrified.

Neal and Emma and Henry and Gold in Manhattan: This is one of those really cool scenes where even though I don’t particularly care for half the characters within it, everyone acted the hell out of it and it’s so GOOD. There’s so much tension and you’re holding your breath through the squabbling, and then Henry shows up and you KNOW. You know what’s going to happen and you’re terrified for Emma and it’s so visceral, right up until the instant when Neal demands Henry’s age and Henry shouts ELEVEN and my god, my god. What a reveal. What a scene.

There are more!! so many scenes and moments i’ve loved over the years. Emma and young!Lily! Snowing in Snow Falls! Anna of Arendale!! Snow and Emma in Lost Girl!! Ruby in Red Handed! The David/Emma dragon fight in A Land Without Magic! Regina tearing out that heart in The Doctor and meeting Daniel again?? Regina and her father in hell. all of Hat Trick. i think twenty is a good place to stop, but hoo boy, when this show was good, it was GOOD. alas.

#ouat #Anonymous

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fllint · 7 years

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hello, hello! this is my dEmoN son demian flint. i had a lot of fun writing up his intro, especially because i rarely play non-cinnamon-roll characters. please like this post if you’re interested in plotting with him and i’ll come to you, or you can pm me if you have any ideas already.

( park jimin. ) – is that ( demian flint )? according to witch weekly, the ( 23 ) year old ( half-veela ) is a ( hitwix ). they are notorious for being ( manipulative ) and ( two-faced ). but according to the other ( ravenclaw ) alumni, they’re ( affable ) and ( ambitious ). it’s no wonder the ( wizard ) is referred to as the ( janus ).

BACKGROUND: marcus flint has always been a surly bastard with shitty luck, but 2003 had been a particularly troublesome spot. he’d barely kept his position on the Falmouth Falcons (the shittiest team in the league) and consequently lacked the money to feed his modest booze habit. like a charm, life chose that moment to place a baby at his door—this is some harry potter bullshit, marcus thought to himself—the note clenched in the boy’s fist indicating that this was his son by that beautiful veela he’d shagged one night while at an exhibition game in antwerp. circe forbid he be lonely and not face any consequences, eh? a mediocre man in nearly everything besides the sport he loved, marcus flint approached raising his child with the same rigor (and pragmatism) he did quidditch.

CHILDHOOD: demian joined marcus at all his games as soon as he could walk. as a result, he breathed and lived quidditch the first eleven years of his life, and no one could really resist babying the beautiful, ethereal boy (flint, is that even really your kid?). as soon as he entered hogwarts, however, demian soon grew interested in charms, hexes, and everything in between, delighting in the sheer breadth of utility magic afforded. he sweet-talked his way into the restricted section of the library, all while burning through all the muggle forensic books he could find—sunday morning radio pulp fiction was a staple in the flint household, marcus nursing his weekly hangover and demian trying to guess at the murderer before the reveal.

OCCUPATION: aurorhood seemed destined for demian, but the ministry refused to certify a half-veela, citing some incidents in demian’s past (the quidditch hoop had been nearly broken anyway, and demian’s well-placed hex hadn’t done any permanent damage) as proof of his unstable temper. they were happy to let him be a hitwix, however, and demian took the job with a cold, polite smile. he’d show them, he thought, slowly compiling the resources to bring down the old, species-ist fogies in the ministry. it’ll take a while yet, but demian can wait; every time he gets impatient, his targets get manhandled more than usual, but nothing out of the ordinary.

PERSONALITY/WANTED CONNECTIONS: demian is a scorpio ISTP, making him both ambitious and secretive. demian rarely lets anyone in, and most people perceive him as a mysterious, if friendly, presence in their lives. i think demian would enjoy having a partner-in-crime, someone who doesn’t need the emotional attachment of a relationship to appreciate his talents. i’m also open to writing flings, one-night-stands, and fuck buddies of any gender—demian has a voracious appetite in general, and he’s not one to deny himself. as for friends, for now he’s a bit too closed off for me to visualize that happening, but i think he’d appreciate allies in the fight to allow more flexibility in the jobs available to non-human beings. (feel free to hit me up if you have any ideas you want to throw my way, btw!!! i’m v open to talking about things, hehe.)

#wwhqintro #about;#[ demian my favourite asshole ]

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cescalr · 7 years

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Fic idea: musical Stalia AU

Y E S

with like, drummer/guitarist Stiles and singer malia who wants to learn how to play an instrument like - I dunno, drums do seem her style, and like - yes yes.

Or musical, as in musical show? with Stiles and Malia playing the lead roles or Stiles playing a lead role/mal paying a lead role and they start something behind the scenes and the other has to fret about the main having to pretend feels for someone else (Lydia, Scott) ??? y e s

Snippet idea:

Malia has a gig coming up in a few weeks, and she -

Well, okay. Maybe she lied, a tad, about knowing how to play the drums. But this band she's in - it had been her one chance at something bigger than singing at Kylie's birthday party, and though Malia loves her sister - truly - Cora, well, she's a good bio-cousin, and she put in a word with some guy called Stiles, who put in a good word with some girl called Erica, who got her a spot in a band she sort-of manages. Her boyfriend Boyd plays bass, aparently.

Unfortunately, Malia had just found out that her spot was mainly drumming and a little singing - which, fine, except Malia hardly knows how to play the drums and she's a singer, first and foremost. So that's a thing.

"Stiles knows a thing or two," Cora had told her. Erica had repeated much the same sentiment. "He's not part of a band, really, just substitues in for drummers and guitarists on occasion as a favour to me." Erica says. "As an apology."

Apology for what, Malia can't say. Anyway, Kylie's friend Hayden's boyfriend Liam's mentor/personal lacross coach Scott is best friends with Stiles, so he's driving her round to Stiles' on his motorbike.

Man, if her dad knew. He'd go balistic.

Anyway. Malia hears the knock at the door and breezes on past her mother, who winks and smiles in a way that says 'I won't let your dad know, go have fun' because apparently her mother is great. Nice.

Her dad's been a little overprotective ever since that scare a few years back when the roads were icy and the car crashed into a tree on the side of the road. Luck had it that they weren't injured - nobody was in the front passenger seat - and they laughed it off, however uneasy they felt, because - well, they were fine, really.

Malia still hadn't gotten her driver's liscence, but - well. That's a whole other thing entirely.

"Hi, you must be Malia." the guy she assumes to be Scott says. "Yeah," Malia replies. "That's me."

Scott grins at her, nods in the direction of the road out from her house. Living in the middle of the woods isn't bad, really, except for shitty wifi, shitty road access, and it being really cold, like, all the time except for when it's unbearably hot.

Malia rather thinks of herself as a little cold blooded. It's only the tail end of summer, but she's already in autumn clothing - a tank-top, longsleeve shirt, hoodie, jacket. Leggings and shorts and boots and argyle socks.

Malia has her own kinda style. So what if Lydia's a little snide about it sometimes? Malia can deal with the Queen Bee so long as she keeps tutoring her. Not that Lydia would ever let her tell anyone she tutors Malia, but that's neither here nor there.

Anyway, Lydia spends most of her time with the new guy in town who was forcibly resigned from the army after suffering some severe injuries from an explosion. It was all over local news a little while back, but as it stands - Malia hasn't heard gossip about the guy for a while. He works at the Station, even if he isn't an official deputy - Malia thinks it might be pity, but she's not sure. Either way, the Sheriff makes sure he gets a paycheck.

Malia thinks this Stiles guy - who's home from college for the summer, as is Scott and Lydia (Malia goes to the local community college, mostly because her dad would freak if she didn't. Either of her dads.) - is the Sheriff's kid. Cora thinks he's alright (they were a thing a while back, back in high school) but Malia reserves judgment.

"Come on then." Scott says, cheerful and bright - Malia knows why some of her friends gush about him; he's like the fucking sun given human form or some other such poetic bullshit. Kind of her type, but not quite, and besides - he's dating Allison, even if she studies in France. She's learning to take over the family buisness, as far as Malia knows; they're weapons dealers for the government, the Argents, and Malia thinks you need to know quite a lot about guns and the rest to be any good at that. Because - well - the govenment. Fucking hell.

Malia hasn't seen Allison around this summer. Malia sometimes wonders - in that gossipy way teenagers always wonder - if there's a strain on Scott's relationship with her, because Scott's always around this Kira girl and Allison spends a lot of time with this Isaac character, but Malia knows very little, so she can't really say either way.

Malia nods and follows the other young adult (eighteen - he's almost a year younger than her; Malia's one of the oldest in her yeargroup) out onto the dirt path. She takes the offered helmet and mounts the bike behind Scott.

"Hold on," He advises, and they're off.

Malia isn't sure how much she likes motorbikes, really. They're cool to look at, and all, but it feels like you're always a hair's breadth away from crashing and being crushed to death, so Malia rather thinks she doesn't like them - but then, there's the rush of wind on her face and the sheer speed you can get to (although they are staying safely below the legal limit) and there's the fact that they can get places easier than cars can, and Malia returns to being wholly uncertain.

Once they're there, Malia dismounts and returns the helmet. She pats down her hair and says "Thanks," to which Scott nods, grins like he's fucking sunshine personified and says "No problem." Malia's almost glad when he's gone, because goddamn. You could get blinded by that shit.

Malia turns and walks up to the door - and then, she's suddenly nervous. She doesn't really want to seem like a utter idiot, but then Malia did lie about being able to play the drums so quite honestly she kind of is, but it was one of those lies you blurt out and immediately regret but will defend 'til your dieing breath.

Malia steadies herself and knocks. Whoever this Stiles guy is, she hopes he's not like some of the other drummers and gutarists she's met - the freelance ones who generally stick to only indie bands and have that god awful over-one-eye emo fringe haircut and about ten death metal t-shirts they switch between regularly, but likely have never actually listend to the bands or songs printed across the front.

Thank fucking god, she thinks when she first register's the appearence of the about-her-age guy who answers the door a few moments later. The next thing she thinks is fuck, he's good looking, because Malia isn't adverse to these sorts of thoughts. Malia doesn't and has never seen why registering a person's level of attractiveness in your own head before anything else could be considered rude - she rather thinks its a compliment (if you think they're pretty, that is) - but whatever. It's not like you're gonna share it immediately anyway, so what's the harm in a little appreciation?

He's a pale guy, but not in the I-never-leave-the-house-wow-so-emo way, more the naturally pale, mole-speckled skin kind of pale. His hair is gelled, because of course it is - Malia doesn't know one guy in Beacon Hills that doesn't do that when their hair is long enough (aside from Liam - but again, the kid is still that; a kid. He'll do it eventually) it's kind of weird - and it's not a bad look, quite frankly. He's got a fairly strong jaw and a lean but - well - strong build, and Malia definitely gets why Cora smirks a lot when she talks about him.

Damn. She's a lucky lady, her cousin.

(They broke up more because they didn't want to have to deal with distance and besides, they weren't the kind of relationship that wanted to last beyond high school. Cora was Stiles only girlfriend, as far as Cora's aware, but she wasn't the only person he'd been with in one way or another.)

"Hi," He says - belatedly, Malia realises he's on the phone. "Hold on - Theo, yeah, man, I get it, your sister's a bitch sometimes, yada yada, this is literally always your fault she's an actual sweetheart - go apologise you ass - Look, there's someone at the door, I gotta go. Bye, dude."

He hangs up and smiles awkwardly at her, rolling his eyes. "My friend's a bit of a jerk sometimes," He says amicably. "Sorry about that. You're Malia, right?" "Yeah." Malia nods. Cora's not the only one Malia knows stories of Stiles from - Heather's an infamous oversharer and Erica was never much better (neither was Catilin, for that matter... but, then, that's what Malia gets for having no tact herself) - but Malia wants to make her own judgment of this guy.

Then again, he is friends with actual saint Scott McCall, (Malia's heard of him saving kittens from trees and volunteering at the hospital and working at the veterinary clinic), so he can't be that bad of a guy.

But then, Malia's pretty certain Theo is Theo Raeken, and Stiles is right; he can be a total jackass. So Malia will hold judgment until she gets to know the guy a little better.

"Come on in," He jerks his head to the side slightly as a gesture for her to follow, then turns and walks inside. Malia enters and closes the door behind herself, before following him upstairs and into his room. It's a little messy, but not that bad, and a lot of the space is taken by his drum kit, while some of the space on his wall is taken by his guitar.

"Make yourself comfortable. It's drumming you need to learn asap, right?" Stiles asks, and Malia nods. "Yeah." "Alright then." He claps his hands and grins at her, infectious. "Let's get started."

#stalia #generally-fantastic-things #ask-answer #fic idea #!!!#fic prompt #ideas #fanfiction #stalia music au #i l o v e this idea

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