#the new movie will be terrible but i will endure for them

[home-of-renn]

One thing that I wished they kept throughout the franchise was Hiccup being the smallest Viking. I wish they kept him scrawny and stringy and shorter than Astrid and the rest of the gang.

Hiccup was ostracised by his entire community for many reasons, one being his weak build and small stature.

Snotlout may be shorter than Hiccup in the movies, but he's got bigger muscles and puffs himself up. He makes up for it by acting like a proper Viking, being loud and obnoxious and always ready to start a fight - that and he can actually lift a weapon.

The name Hiccup is meant to mean small and frail - the runt of a litter or the black sheep. I want Hiccup to be the absolute epitome yet antithesis of his name. I want Hiccup to be small and unassuming and shorter than the rest. But I also want him to be Great. I want him to be brave and stubborn and hard to kill. Awkward and sarcastic at the worst of times but still kind and friendly and always dependable.

I want him to be everything a Viking is and isn't. I want him to be a peacekeeper and a warrior, an adventurer and an inventor, the son of the chief and the hiccup of his tribe. Someone who can't wield the same weapons as his tribesmen so he makes his own. Someone who wants to uphold the traditions and culture of his people yet always thinks outside of the box. The representation of this new age that's fast approaching, the line in the middle where old and new clash.

I want Hiccup to dress like a Viking, talk like a Viking, eat, sleep and walk like a Viking yet be the very last thing anyone ever thinks of when they think of a Viking. And most of all I want there to be absolutely nothing wrong with that.

I wish they hadn't made him tall and appealing in the end. I wish they'd kept him the way he was. A Viking born too early and too weak in the middle of one of the harshest winters ever experienced by the barbaric archipelago. A Viking who beat the odds and survived. He's braved every terrible winter since his birth and lives in a place where it snows nine months of the year and hails the other three. He can endure bone-freezing chills and frozen oceans but never fails to catch the common cold. He's always been a bit sickly, ever since he was a child, but he always bounces back. He's got scars and a missing leg and his hands are filled with callouses, cuts and burns, but he's soft-spoken and loves to read and never skips a meal yet can never seem to get any bigger.

I wish they could have kept Hiccup the way he was. I wish they didn't have to change him in order to have him become a worthy hero.

I wish the entire village could look at their little runt of a chief and still crack jokes about his long-overdue growth spurt. I want them to look at him and be filled with pride, cause despite the fact that he hasn't grown an inch since he was sixteen, there isn't a single person on Berk who can look at him without seeing just how far he's come.

[rabidaly]

Ok one more update from a shark in the water? Please???

Here’s the first 1k(roughly)! Keep in mind I haven’t edited and I had like. A three-month long writers block for this fic so I’m not super attached/happy with this intro— it may change when I go back next weekend!

Hopefully it’s enough to wet your appetite tho ;)

—

Stiles had friends.

Lydia was his friend. Erica. Danny and Kira danced the line between acquaintance and actual friendship, but gun to his head, Stiles would count them as the latter. And Scott. God knows they'd been inseperable for over a decade.

It's just—

Stiles didn’t text his friends the way he texted Derek.

Or as often.

It wasn’t anything serious. Just lots of little, trivial things: pictures here and there, Stiles blinking doe eyes at the camera, biting his lip. He texted Derek about his annoying professor, the chronological order of the Marvel movies, his attempts at latte foam art. Stiles rambled and vented and altogether talked too much, but—

Derek always answered.

Even if it was a simple, one-word reply. Even if sometimes it took a couple hours. Stiles wasn’t sure he’d have been able to stop even if he didn’t; every little thing that popped into his head came with the companion thought of, oh! I wonder what Derek would think about this!

ive never seen you play a video game, he texted on Thursday evening.

I don’t. What are you playing?

COD

with scott

R u home?

At the gym.

Stiles had figured as much, but he still caught himself sighing. They were in the Hale-McCall living room, playing on Scott’s family Xbox, both sore and tired from their shifts at work. From his spot on the couch, Stiles could hear Peter humming in the kitchen, most likely prepping for dinner. Melissa was still at work.

And Derek was at the gym. Snooze.

how much can u lift? Stiles texted, before his character on screen ran into a wall and he had to put his phone down. Scott side-eyed him, hard.

Stiles caught the tail-end of Scott taking incoming fire before his phone buzzed again. He looked back down.

I can lift double your weight, easy, Derek had typed, cutting to the heart of the matter.

Stiles pinkened.

for how long?

For as long as it takes. Derek replied. it’s your endurance we need to work on, if anything.

Stiles could taste the sharp edge of Derek’s condescension on his tongue. Something inside him went molten-hot, liquified, like the liquid wax of a burning candle.

maybe you should take me to the gym with you, he typed, squirming at just the thought of it. Derek all sweaty, the graceful arch of spine, muscles flexing as he lifts himself. we could be workout buddies.

Would you wear leggings?

Stiles readjusted on the couch, his leg coming up against his chest.

in public? no.

but I could sit on you.

on your back. while you do push ups

A bit too daring. Stiles bit his lip when Derek didn’t respond. He focused back on the game, hoping to distract himself.

It didn’t help much.

Scott huffed, throwing down his remote when they both died.

“What is with you, man?”

“What do you mean?” Stiles said, peeking at his phone again. No new messages.

“I mean, you’re not even watching where you’re going. You just got us both killed!”

”I’m just—“ Stiles felt unreasonably grumpy. “Bored. Can’t we play something else?”

“Like what?”

Like Mario Kart, per Stiles’ suggestion. The best part about Mario Kart was that Scott was—

“Awful, man. Just terrible,” Stiles laughed as Scott swerved off the road, twisting his remote uselessly, as if that were going to do anything while he wasn’t holding down the gas. “Honestly, it’s embarrassing to watch. You should just stop. You’re bringing shame to your family name.”

“I used to beat you at every game!”

“Yeah, in like seventh grade.” Stiles shook his head. “How’s it feel, Scott? To have peaked in middle school?”

“I haven’t peaked, I’m just—“ Scott threw down the controller as the track completed, screen flashing the stats. Scott in tenth place, Stiles in first. Just like the last time. And the time before that. “Out of practice. God, screw this. I want to play Skyrim.”

“Skyrim is god-awful on the Switch.”

“Well, then, I’ll bring the PS4 down here.”

“But it’s single player,” Stiles scrunched up his nose. “I’m not going to just sit here like your girlfriend and pretend watching you play video games is interesting.”

Scott looked offended. “Allison isn’t pretending. She said she loves watching me play.”

Right.

“Sure she does.” Stiles rolled his eyes. "We can just put on a horror movie or something, play fuck, marry, kill." A weird little tradition of theirs, any time they break out the b-rate horror films.

"Which one do you wanna watch?"

Stiles shrugged, "You pick."

He checked his phone again. Sighed for the millionth time.

Scott noticed.

“Who are you texting?”

Fuck.

”No one important,” Stiles said quickly, and put his phone face down on the side table.

Scott stared at it. “Is that a new phone?”

”What? No.”

”It’s pink," Scott pointed out. "Your phone's not pink.”

Stiles really needed to get a case for the thing. “Okay,” he conceded. “It’s a new phone. I splurged.”

The reaction was immediate.

”Stiles! We’re supposed to be saving up for an apartment!” Scott shook his head. “You’ve got to stop spending money, dude.”

Scott was definitely right about that. Stiles might not have bought the phone, but he'd hardly saved a dime since he’d started his job. He’d been too busy buying— well. You know.

As if summoned by the thought of his underwear alone, Stiles' phone (finally, finally) buzzed. Stiles had moved before his brain had fully processed the sound, snatching his phone up from the table on reflex.

Stay put. I’ll be there in 10.

Stiles’ cheeks darkened to a fire-engine red. Uh-oh.

[nrdmssgs]

You weren't supposed to laugh

Masterlist

My submission to @glitterypirateduck 's Alex Keller Challenge November 10-19 Promt used: №27 You weren't supposed to laugh Pairing: Alex Keller x Reader TWs: no Friends to lovers, fluff, confession.

"You're an egoist, Alex Keller," he mutters irritated to himself, fastening his pace, almost running, ignoring cold heavy water drops landing on his head.

How long did he knew her? Five years? Or seven? How long does he have this hopeless crush? Five years? Or... Yes, he was done for from day one. She had this certain warmth surrounding her, a serenity that contrasted sharply with the intensity of Alex's work. The world could descend deeper into a chaos, but she remained a constant in his life, a pillar of support, he selfishly was afraid to lose. So Alex Keller, the devoid of fear Echo 3-1, kept his mouth shut, just holding on to her, even as a friend only.

"A coward!" His insults are spilled through gritted teeth. Alex was ready to risk his life again and again, but didn't have the courage to confess his feelings. The stakes seemed too high, his chances - almost non-existent. Why would ever decide, he was the right guy for her after all?

He was almost never there, when something bad happened to her. Alex didn't hold her, when she had to put down her old dog - he was on the other part of globe, fighting. He didn't distract her with a movie night and snacks, when she had to wait for a result of a quite serious medical test - he was sleeping in a transport between two missions. He wasn't even there to cheer her up, after her project, she worked on so hard, got rejected - he has just taken the car to a service station and was walking out of it on his two. She didn't specify in the first place, when would the presentation take place, but Alex feels terrible for not asking her every week, every day, if necessary, when is the D-day for her project. And because of that, he found out the bad news per phone call.

She sounded exhausted. She was never a whiny type, but this time Alex heard tears in her voice. Too much effort was put into this work, too many sleepless nights. It broke his heart to hear her like that, and he panicked.

"...Useless dumbfuck." He stops for a moment, replaying their call in his mind.

For some reason he decided, he needs to make her laugh at any cost. Maybe it was the pain in how her 'hey, can you please talk to me for a few minutes?' sounded. But Alex was lost. At first, he tried his stupid jokes. As many as he could remember. When it didn't help - he switched to imaginary scenarios.

"Hey, you know, what would be funny? If you brought a soldier on your presentation! So that every time, your clients interrupted you or paid more attention to a view outside their windows - the soldier would harshly snap at them. 'Following every single letter of this debriefing could save your life, private!' or something like that..." Alex doesn't really control the words leaving his mouth as long as they make her laugh. And he actually succeeds, because in a few moments she starts to chuckle. So he goes on, telling her, how would her day would go, if she was followed by a military guy in a full gear and a death stare ready for anyone, who is about to cross her path.

"He would scare others off, you know?"

"With his glare or with his guns?"

"With his bizarre hairstyle. You know how your hair start looking after a week of constant sandstorms?"

Her laughter is a light, tinkling melody to his ears, reminiscent of wind chimes on a breezy day - light and refreshing. In reality, its the only thing on his mind every time, he has to endure through another sandstorm on deployment.

"... and at the end of the day he would escort you home and salute you."

"Wait, and a payment? I wonder, how much would it cost to hire such a guy for the day."

"Payment? Don't turn a beautiful act of an altruism into some banal deal! Dunno, maybe a forehead kiss?"

For the next ten minutes they discuss military payment strategies, barely containing laughter. When they say goodbye, a random phrase escapes his lips.

"Love you so much."

She laughs once again. Something deep inside Alex shrinks. He doesn't even hear her saying 'bye' - every other voice around him get silenced by a sinister noise - a symphony of shattered hopes and distant echoes.

He's an egoist to keep her in the dark, not shoving her his true feelings for ages. A coward, who could never open his mouth, even when the moment was right. A fool, who just blurted this confession out of nowhere in the middle of a joke. She didn't understand, he meant it, and Alex can't blame her honestly.

And now he runs to her place like a dog, running after a car carrying away his favorite person. He is desperate to the point, that he can't even start thinking, what would he tell her, once she opens the door.

So when he sees her tired, yet surprised face, his first phrase comes out as awkward as the confession itself.

"You weren't supposed to laugh."

She looks at him startled and confused for a few painfully long moments. As Alex understands, how puzzling that sounded without the whole context from his mind, he runs his hand through his wet hair and shakes his head.

"Alex? You're ok? I-I wasn't expecting you!" She drags him in her house and takes off his wet jacket, so calmly, as if he hasn't just said some complete nonsense.

And at that moment Alex understands: for two long he stayed in his very own trail of thoughts, his own context. She definitely deserved to know more about what was going on in his head. He no longer had the right to keep everything quiet for years and then dump such strange conversations on her.

So he touches her shoulder softly.

"Hey, don't bother hanging up my jacket. I might need it in a moment, if I sre-"

"Alex, you're scaring me! What is happening, why are like this?" A worry in her voice stings him with guilt. But he proceeds, ignoring raindrops still rolling down his face and under the collar.

"I know, we were playing around on the phone today. And I was incredibly happy to cheer you up. But the last thing I told you... You weren't supposed to laugh. Because I meant it. And before you slap my face for being such a mess - I know, it sounded as a part of a joke. But it wasn't. It wasn't for the last I-don't-even-know-how-many years. And if you give me a chance - I am ready to confess it properly. But if there's no need - I'd better just take my jacket and see myself out."

As he fell silent, the world around them seemed still. His eyes, always so attentive and kind, when she was around, looked deeply worried. Alex felt vulnerable, everything in him screamed to keep her by his side at any cost, to turn this all into yet another joke, so that she calms down and stays his friend at least. But Alex didn't let these feeling get better of him. He waited patiently and obediently, not daring even to breathe in.

She turned away, and hung his jacket on a hanger.

"You won't be needing this anytime soon, Alex."

[rhetthammersmithhorror]

Is this a rant? This feels like a rant. Please pardon any bad grammar.

Tumblr glitch and my archive isn't showing up —

My usually empty message box had two messages (lacking any introduction or greeting) from the same person demanding to know why I'd turned my archive off. This person proudly displays their 80,000+ instagram following next to their name.

They'd followed me in the last 24 hours, obviously just to dm.

I'd never heard of this person so I checked out their Insta. It's loaded with my gifs (turned into bad looking pixelated videos). There's no mention of my tumblr (Rhett Hammersmith's International Haus of Horrors — Hammersmith Horror for brevity).

This happens a lot on other platforms and sometimes tumblr. It's just the way it is.

So I explain to this individual that it takes time to select frames from a two minute sequence and condense them into a two second sequence. It's a skill—a useless skill—that I've developed over the years.

It's not as simple as just "recording the screen".

I like to make gifs with a beginning, middle, and end. Or, if possible, a nice seamless loop. I'll make several versions until the timing is just right. I sometimes combine elements from two unrelated scenes to create a new scene. I also color correct the frames, tweak the contrast, and sharpen the details, etc.

You get the picture.

But it's not just about the creation of gifs. I have to hunt the films down, buy dvds, watch the films, do the research, etc.

Some of these movies are truly terrible. You have no idea the amount of agony that's endured while trying to extract a bit of art from them.

Just kidding — I honestly love "terrible" movies.

So anyway, this person was none too happy when asked if they just wanted access to my archive for content. They angrily called me a stalker (the irony was lost on them) and stated they're a professional video maker who uses $300 software!

A whole $300?! Wow! They must really be a pro!

So yeah, I make these gifs out of a love for weird little movies. People like the content and they share it. That's what it's about. But, would it hurt them, would they lose followers, if they gave the original content creators a little credit?

I've made gifs for years and have never asked for anything but a little credit. Is that really too much to ask?

Oh well.

C’est la vie, I guess.

Thanks for reading all this.

Rhett

[specialagentartemis]

Public Domain Black History Books

For the day Frederick Douglass celebrated as his birthday (February 14, Douglass Day, and the reason February is Black History Month), here's a selection of historical books by Black authors covering various aspects of Black history (mostly in the US) that you can download For Free, Legally And Easily!

Slave Narratives

This comprised a hugely influential genre of Black writing throughout the 1800s - memoirs of people born (or kidnapped) into slavery, their experiences, and their escapes. These were often published to fuel the abolitionist movement against slavery in the 1820s-1860s and are graphic and uncompromising about the horrors of slavery, the redemptive power of literacy, and the importance of abolitionist support.

Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass - 1845 - one of the most iconic autobiographies of the 1800s, covering his early life when he was enslaved in Maryland, and his escape to Massachusetts where he became a leading figure in the abolition movement.

Running a Thousand Miles for Freedom by William and Ellen Craft - 1860 - the memoir of a married couple's escape from slavery in Georgia, to Philadelphia and eventually to England. Ellen Craft was half-white, the child of her enslaver, but she could pass as white, and she posed as her husband William's owner to get them both out of the slave states. Harrowing, tense, and eminently readable - I honestly think Part 1 should be assigned reading in every American high school in the antebellum unit.

Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl by Harriet Jacobs writing under the name Linda Brent - 1861 - writing specifically to reach white women and arguing for the need for sisterhood and solidarity between white and Black women, Jacobs writes of her childhood in slavery and how terrible it was for women and mothers even under supposedly "nice" masters including supposedly "nice" white women.

Twelve Years a Slave by Solomon Northup - 1853 - Born a free Black man in New York, Northup was kidnapped into slavery as an adult and sold south to Louisiana. This memoir of the brutality he endured was the basis of the 2013 Oscar-winning movie.

Early 1900s Black Life and Philosophy

Slavery is of course not the only aspect of Black history, and writers in the late 1800s and early 1900s had their own concerns, experiences, and perspectives on what it meant to be Black.

Up From Slavery by Booker T. Washington - 1901 - an autobiography of one of the most prominent African-American leaders and educators in the late 1800s/early 1900s, about his experiences both learning and teaching, and the power and importance of equal education. Race relations in the Reconstruction era Southern US are a major concern, and his hope that education and equal dignity could lead to mutual respect has... a long way to go still.

The Souls of Black Folk by W.E.B. Du Bois - 1903 - an iconic work of sociology and advocacy about the African-American experience as a people, class, and community. We read selections from this in Anthropology Theory but I think it should be more widely read than just assigned in college classes.

Darkwater: Voices from Within the Veil by W.E.B. Du Bois - 1920 - collected essays and poems on race, religion, gender, politics, and society.

A Negro Explorer at the North Pole by Matthew Henson - 1908 - Black history doesn't have to be about racism. Matthew Henson was a sailor and explorer and was the longtime companion and expedition partner of Robert Peary. This is his adventure-memoir of the expedition that reached the North Pole. (Though his descriptions of the Indigenous Greenlandic Inuit people are... really paternalistic in uncomfortable ways even when he's trying to be supportive.)

Poetry

Standard Ebooks also compiles poetry collections, and here are some by Black authors.

Langston Hughes - 1920s - probably the most famous poet of the Harlem Renaissance.

James Weldon Johnson - early 1900s through 1920s - tends to be in a more traditionalist style than Hughes, and he preferred the term for the 1920s proliferation of African-American art "the flowering of Negro literature."

Sarah Louisa Forten Purvis - 1830s - a Black abolitionist poet, this is more of a chapbook of her work that was published in newspapers than a full book collection. There are very common early-1800s poetry themes of love, family, religion, and nostalgia, but overwhelmingly her topic was abolition and anti-slavery, appealing to a shared womanhood.

Science Fiction

This is Black history to me - Samuel Delany's first published novel, The Jewels of Aptor, a sci-fi adventure from the early 60s that encapsulates a lot of early 60s thoughts and anxieties. New agey religion, forgotten technology mistaken for magic, psychic powers, nuclear war, post-nuclear society that feels more like a fantasy kingdom than a sci-fi world until they sail for the island that still has all the high tech that no one really knows how to use... it's a quick and entertaining read.

[ojcobsessed]

Few actors have endured as fraught a journey as Oliver Jackson-Cohen. Few actors are more in demand than the star of The Haunting of Hill House and Jackdaw

by Maeve Ryan

OLIVER JACKSON-COHEN HAS been doing this a while. He decided to act at the age of six. Joined a theatre troupe and began to climb. He continued until university but didn’t get into any drama schools. Throughout our conversation, he tells me there were no signs pointing him in this direction, no surefire chance at success. But he’s found it, and then some.

He rose to prominence with his highly acclaimed portrayal of Luke Crain in Mike Flanagan’s The Haunting of Hill House. 

A character that battled a heroin addiction to cope with past traumas, though addiction was the least interesting thing about him. The show featured stars of the past, and launched new ones into the present, Oliver Jackson-Cohen being one of them. The role of Luke changed the course of his life – for more reasons than one. 

It was the first time in his life he no longer had to hide, he tells me. “I could be as fragile as I felt.” He took his newfound Netflix fame and began to carve a path that finally aligned with who he was, not who the world wanted him to be.

Now, he takes centre stage in Jamie Dobb’s new film Jackdaw. When he read the script, he thought he was the last man for the job. When Dobb explained the hyper masculine lead needed someone to bring softness behind it, he signed on.

Jackson-Cohen’s career, and presence, proves that the strength of a man lies in his ability to go beyond society’s standards. He breaks the stereotypes like bread over a long conversation in Soho. We discuss his entrance into the industry, facing traumas, and finding a safe place to land.

sm: What was the first movie you ever saw that made you want to act?

o-jc: Home Alone. I remember seeing that film and saying, oh whoa, so a kid can do this? I remember telling my dad, ‘I think I want to do that.’ I was six or seven. 

But it gets dark. So, my mum and dad’s house had a bay window that was on the street. And when I came home from school for a week, I just sat in the window thinking, any minute now, someone from Home Alone is going to walk past, and go, there’s a kid! Let’s get him! I was willingly wanting to get kidnapped. Which is so fucked. My dad came home and was like, ‘What are you doing?’ And then he was like, ‘Yeah, that’s not how that works.’

We found a theatre program – I started going there when I was eight. I was never the golden kid. In the drama clubs, I was always like the snake in the background. Or just the scenery. We used to put on terrible plays. I was such an insular kid. I found a safe place to feel where it’s real, but it’s not. So you can experience it all. I did that for three years, and then I was kicked out.

sm: What! Why?

oj-c: I had an attitude or something like that. I got suspended so many times. I genuinely was not looking for trouble. I was always the one to get caught. Like, I was the kid who someone handed the knife to, and I’d be standing above the dead body, and then the next thing I knew it was 20 years in prison. It was always stuff like that. But it was time to move on anyway.

I found this drama school at Riverside Studios. It was a small group, maybe eight or nine people. It was so interesting, because I’m going to do a gross name drop, but in the group was Carey Mulligan and Imogen Poots. It was incredible.

sm: Those were the kids that were just there? Did you have to audition?

oj-c: No, but I did a trial. It was a lot of devised stuff, like improv. A guy named Andrew Bradford ran it. He really supported kids. It was all day Saturday. We were all teenagers. It felt like another life. It grew and grew and by the time I left I was 17 or 18. It wasn’t one of those places that you were beaten down. No fake bullshit. It was a safe place to try stuff. We’d put on plays and we all got agents from that as kids.

sm: Is that the moment you look back on and think of as the beginning?

oj-c: I think so. But it was such a long period of time. Career wise, it was quite stagnant. I did one job when I was 15 that was some late night soap. Then I didn’t do anything until I was 18. I wasn’t like this is real until later. It started to snowball when I finished school. I went to get a French lit degree, hated it, dropped out, and applied to drama school. I didn’t get in anywhere.

In the meantime, there was a job at the BBC for a silly period drama. I did that, took the money, and went to do a foundation in New York at Strasberg.

sm: Tell me about the audition for drama school. You didn’t get in anywhere?

oj-c: Yes. I’m telling you there were no signs that pointed to me saying, yeah, you’re quite good at this. It felt like everyone was saying, ‘don’t do it.’ Which is a really interesting place to start from. If no one around me believes in me, how do I? And I just keep going? It was a mix of delusion and stupidity.

sm: Did you think about doing something else?

oj-c: When I was still in high school, I worked as a runner on productions, mainly at the BBC. I was revolving through that so when I finished school, that was kinda my job.. I got to see the inner workings of how sets worked, rehearsal periods. I got to see the writers and the actors, how they would construct a joke, and adjust things.

When I was 17, I started doing the European Music Awards. I would go and work in the costume department, I didn’t fucking know anything about how to sew on a bun but it was amazing. I got such a solid understanding of how a production office works, how a schedule works.

Tragically, you see a lot of how an actor is a small cog in this machine. Everyone is working so diligently. This whole idea of superiority that can go on, it was important for me to witness early on. Because when you go onto set and someone says five minutes, it actually means five minutes. But it was also hard because I was watching people do what I love. I didn’t get into school, so I said fuck it, I’m gonna do a foundation for a year and reapply to drama school from New York.

sm: Why choose the Strasberg program?

oj-c: Someone told me about it. I thought I needed to go do something that gives me a playground, a space in the meantime. But when I got there, I was with this small agency, and they started sending me out on auditions. The first or second one I went on, they flew me to LA to do a screen test and I got it. This was six weeks into the program. I was like: what do I do?

sm: What did you decide?

oj-c: There were three or four movies I got, but then the financial crash happened and it all fell apart. So I went back to New York to continue with the program. But meanwhile, I had been signed to WME and my agents were like, let’s go down the studio route because that’s going to be fun. I got an audition for this Drew Barrymore movie, got that, and then I dropped out. Then got another job that moved me to LA. I was there for a year shooting and doing the prep for that.

The whole idea was that I’d do that and reapply to drama school. Then I kept on booking. It’s only in the past couple years I was like, thank fuck I didn’t stop. There were moments that I thought I needed to stop and do three years of training.

sm: Did you feel like you were missing something that other people had?

oj-c: I felt like I was back-footed. Like I had no idea what I was doing, then I realised no one does. There is no arrival point where you’re like, ‘I know how to act!’ A lot of it was becoming comfortable with learning and making mistakes. Some will hurt and some don’t matter.

sm: So you start booking jobs, and then it just keeps going? No break?

oj-c: There’s obviously periods where you’re out of work. Or you really want a job and you do 50 auditions for it and you don’t get it. A lot of that went on. But I was 22. I ended up staying in New York until I was 28. I felt like a deer in the headlights. I was just so grateful that I was working and that people wanted to hire me that I never stopped to ask if it was actually fulfilling.

I listened to a lot of people early on. I needed guidance. I needed someone to say, do this job, this will lead to this, or it’s important you work with this person. Then I woke up one day and was like, is there anything here that I’m actually proud of?

That comes with experience and maybe a little bit of delusional confidence where you go, I think I want to try and do something here that is more aligned with me. It was a weird time to be in LA. I’m six foot three. I look a certain way. People wanted the product. I thought that was how I’d get there. I’ll pretend to be confident, I’ll be a version of what these people want. Keep my mouth shut and pretend. I reached a point where I was like, I cannot keep going this way.

sm: Did you feel that you’d abandoned yourself? Or was it a slow realisation?

oj-c: It became harder and harder to pretend to be this chill guy. I’m not chill. But when you’re handed something, you go, this is fun. Then the more you read and become accustomed to the environment you’re in, you start to feel entitled to have an opinion. To feel entitled enough to say: I actually don’t like this, I actually find this quite soul destroying. Having to make myself small, or block myself off and not be as vulnerable as I feel. To not show that.

It was an interesting time – in the late 2000s, men were men and what I was being asked to do was be an idea of what a tall, white, masculine man was that sort of never really sat. I actually feel really fragile. So I took a break for six months. I was like, I’m just going to say no now and try to re-shape the direction of what I want to do. Then The Haunting of Hill House came along.

sm: How did that audition happen?

oj-c: I’d done a film with the producer before. They sent me a conversation that happens in the show between Luke and his twin sister, it was him asking her to get him drugs. They asked me to read that and literally the following day, they called me and were like yep, you.

means something to people. It was an amazing thing to be a part of.

sm: Did you immediately recognise that Luke was the kind of character you were looking to play on the page?

oj-c: Sort of. If I’m honest, I did quite a lot with the role. Mike was very open to collaborating. I put a lot of stuff in there that wasn’t necessarily there originally.

All of the siblings were there but they were sort of blank canvases for anyone to put whatever they needed to put in it. We all came in and made bigger choices to create this family dynamic. They brought on this incredible writer, Scott Kosar, who wrote The Machinist, to tackle the Luke character because he was in recovery at the time.

sm: The writer was in recovery?

oj-c: Yes. He tackled all those monologues about staying clean and everything. That was him. You know, you’re talking about a family that lived in a haunted house, that’s sort of a silly premise but all the substitutions that everyone did, it was all about trauma. Living and being followed by things unless you face them. 

sm: What did you bring to the Luke character that wouldn’t have been there if somebody else played it?

oj-c: Someone else would have brought something amazing to it. But Mike Flanagan had so many tapes come through of people playing the addiction, and you can’t play the addiction. When I first looked at Luke I was like, okay, he’s a heroin addict, but then I was like, actually, to put a label on that, to label him, does such a disservice.

So it became about what he was running from, and what was terrorising him. For me, it became about childhood sexual abuse. How do you escape this thing you don’t want to feel? And if you can’t keep it at bay, it will take over. It became about that struggle, not ‘I need my fix.’ It became about this terrorising thing that’s always present, which translates into the show. We all have things that follow us. It became about trying to humanise it and make it real by using that as a way in.

sm: You’ve been open on social media about the sexual abuse you faced as a child. How did you navigate acting something so close to home?

oj-c: I’m of the school of thought: use whatever is real for you. That’s why I do the job. A lot of us use our own personal experience, but we bring it to a safe space where it’s okay for us to experience it. In a way it calls for that, and it felt important to do for the show.

I come back to this idea of needing to stop and reassess what I wanted to do, where I wanted to go, and what I wanted to say in the work that I do. I felt like I couldn’t keep hiding. We’re all complicated, we’ve all had complicated upbringings. That’s just part of life. It’s unfortunate, but it’s sort of always going to be a mess. I needed to put everything that I felt into something. I do that all the time.

We use the parts of yourselves. Including the darker parts, and some of the stuff we don’t want to look at. I’ve never been one of those people to go half on something. You either do it or you don’t. There’s no middle ground. I’m not going to half step in, or pretend.

sm: Did you have any practices while filming to help you not carry the hurt from that world into your own?

oj-c: What was interesting was that all of that sadness was in there anyway. I wasn’t generating any of it, I was just opening it up. I didn’t whip myself up into a frenzy. It just felt like I didn’t have to hide, or pretend it wasn’t there.

sm: Would you say acting has been healing for you?

oj-c: I don’t think the word healing is correct. But it’s been incredibly helpful in helping me understand myself better. It’s probably not the healthiest but I’ve said this before, I feel like I need the job to lay out all my neuroses and vulnerability. I keep myself so closed off in real life. It’s an outlet that feels necessary. That’s why I go off to work every couple days.

sm: You are cast in a lot of thrillers and horrors. Why do you think you mesh well with that genre as an actor?

oj-c: You know, after I did Haunting of Hill House, it was sort of this big thing where the amount of horror scripts that came through was crazy. The amount of, ‘do you want to play a drug addict?’ It’s incredible how desperate people are to put us into boxes.

After Hill House, I did The Invisible Man. That was a horror but the messaging - we’re talking about gaslighting, we’re talking about toxic relationships to an extreme. It was so much more than a scary film. It felt like it had something to say. That’s the thing about horror. When it’s done well, it’s incredibly impactful.

sm: After Hill House, did you feel you had agency when choosing your roles?

oj-c: To a certain extent. But no matter where you’re at: the job you want, they don’t want you. You can be Julianne Moore, but they’d rather have someone else. It’s constant. But it did change quite a lot. In terms of becoming Netflix famous, which is the strangest, most intense thing ever because you’re the most famous person on the planet and then something else comes out. I felt like I was in a fortunate space where I could choose more, but there were films that I really wanted that I didn’t get.

sm: I heard that when you first read the Jackdaw script, you didn’t think you were right for the role?

oj-c: Yes. I called the director Jamie Childs and told him he was nuts. Because again, here’s this hyper masculine man that felt quite robotic on the page. I met Jamie on the set of Wilderness. He was telling me, ‘I’ve written this movie. I’d love to get your feedback on it.’ So I read it. It was still an early draft. Then he said, ‘Do you want to do it?’ I genuinely thought I wasn’t the right fit. I thought it was just out of convenience that he wanted me.

He said to me, ‘It needs someone to come in and make it human. To give it vulnerability.’ He said the film is about how this man readjusts his life following the death of his mum, and I was like, sold! You need some tears? I’ll bring you tears! I’m never leaving my sad boy era. It happened so quickly. We wrapped Wilderness, and then started filming three and a half weeks later. We were up north in January.

sm: You go swimming in the North Sea quite a bit in the film…

oj-c: Oh yeah. It got to like minus nine. It ended with me getting hypothermia. I think I’m a bit too delicate, that’s why. I had this amazing stunt guy called Jamie Dobbs who’s this gold motor-cross champion, and we had to shoot all this stuff of us in the night. They’d get me on a rig, and then they’d get Jamie and it got to minus 12. He got frostbite on his face. It was unbelievable. It was all night shoots. I am so surprised we all made it out alive.

sm: Had you ever cold plunged before?

oj-c: Not at all. I’m one of those people in August that’s like, I don’t know if I want to go in the sea, it looks a bit cold. We did three days on the water. Some of it was in a kayak. The underwater stuff, that’s where it got brutal. We were all eating every 25 minutes because we were so cold. There was a boat just for food. I couldn’t name one thing we ate. It was just fuel. We were going to work at 5pm, and then wrapping in the morning.

sm: Do you often try new things on film sets that you’d never do otherwise?

oj-c: Yes, all the time! That’s part of the allure of it. You get to learn all these weird things that you’d never do. You get to experience these amazing things. I’ve been doing this for so long, because I’m 150 years old, and someone will bring something up and I’ll be like, oh I’ve done that! But then I’m like wait no I didn’t, the character did.

sm: Was there anything else you learned on the set of Jackdaw? Motorcross?

oj-c: Yes! I fucking loved it. If I’m honest, a lot of it is me jumping on and starting up and then getting out of frame. Insurance-wise, I couldn’t do any of the jumps or anything. But it is so great. There is nothing quite like it.

sm: Do you ever think you’ll get into the writing side of film?

oj-c: I have. I just don’t know what I have to say yet. Everyone reaches a point where they think, I don’t want to forever be a product. It would be nice to be part of the creative. I have a lot of opinions.

You go into a job with the best intentions. This is what they’ve told us, this is what’s been sold and then you’ll see the final product and be like: that’s not at all what I thought it would be. The more you do it, the more you feel like you know what you actually like and what you want to be part of. I’ll get to it at some point.

Jackdaw is in cinemas now.

[tastybluesprite]

Provocation and Motivation (Blue Lock)

Ahhh I love this duo so much. I cannot wait for the new Episode Nagi movie. I hope things work out between them in the end after what happened in the anime lol… anyway!!! Hope you guys enjoy this one.

Warnings: This is a tickle fic so if that’s not your thing just keep scrolling. Also some cursing lol.

Summery: When Reo tries to annoy Nagi, in attempt to make him be more reactive instead of lazy, it backfires heavily.

Reo was doing some stretches that night as he got ready to go to sleep. Being in the Blue Lock dormitory was something he’d need to get used to, since he only ever slept in his own bed at home.

At least Nagi was here. Having a familiar face around really helped.

“Hey Nagi come do stretches with me!” Reo called out ti the white haired boy who was laid on his bed, playing video games on his mini hand held system.

“Nah… sounds exhausting~” he mumbled back.

Reo huffed. He wished he would at least put in effort every once in a while. To do something actually productive.

Reo shrugged and went back to his stretching exercises. Suddenly an idea came to him. Maybe he could try provoking the boy somehow?

It wasn’t a terrible idea. Even though he’s known Nagi for quite a bit of time, he didn’t know if he was the type to get mad or upset. Angry even.

“Hey Nagi.. you know, if you keep sitting around like that and eat too much at the same time, you’re going to get all fat.” Reo told him teasingly.

Nagi merely shrugged. “Meh.”

Reo frowned. Well that was all he got. Truth be told he didn’t know what could possibly annoy or rile him up.

His eyes found the gaming devise he was using. It was then an idea came to him.

He snuck over to the side of Nagis bed, making sure Nagi was too absorbed into the game to pay attention.

He waited a moment, then swiftly reached over to grab the devise.

Before Nagi had a chance to react, the devise was plucked out of his hands.

Reo stuck his tongue out at the white haired boy, grinning mischievously as he hid the devise behind his back.

He finally saw a true look of annoyance on Nagis face, as the much quieter of the two slowly started to get up from his resting position.

“Reo! That’s not cool. I’m going to lose!” Nagi complained.

“Should’ve thought about that before you decided to be lazy and annoying.” Reo reasoned playfully.

“So I’m the annoying one here?” Nagi mumbled. He reached out to grab the gaming devise, but Reo, despite being shorter, managed to keep it out of his reach.

They were like this for a bit, Nagi trying to grab the game while Reo cheekily dodged.

Nagi was starting to get seriously irritated now. As he put more effort into grabbing the game, he managed to accidentally land a poke at the purple haired boys rib.

To his surprise, Reo shrieked and fell backwards onto his butt, dropping the game in the process.

Nagi grabbed the device and looked down at the boy who had just fallen. “What was that Reo?” Nagi asked, knowing full well what happened.

“U-uh nothing! I’m fine. I’m sorry for messing with your game.” Reo said quickly, already feeling tingles of anticipation.

“Don’t worry about it. To be honest I’ve lost interest in it for the moment anyway.” Nagi said lazily, throwing it aside onto his bed.

“O-oh.. why’s that?” Reo asked.

Nagi just stared down at him for a moment. “Because I just found a new toy to play with.”

With Nagis choice of words and how he said it, Reos face immediately flooded with color. He watched as the white haired boy walked closer and closer towards him, unable to do much to stop him at the moment.

“Wait.. wait Nagi.. NO!!!” Nagi leapt onto Reo suddenly, and had him pinned to the floor almost immediately.

“Is there anything I can say that would convince you to let me go right now?” Reo asked nervously.

“Nope.” Nagi replied simply.

He then grabbed his sides, squeezing them. Reo sealed his mouth shut. If he was being forced to endure this, he might as well save the last bit of pride he had by not breaking.

Maybe he could convince Nagi that he was mistaken, and that he was wasting his time.

This was not the case however. He broke immediately when Nagi went for his ribs, digging into, and squeezing them.

“A-hAhah!! Nohohohoho Nahahagi!!!” Reo cried, squirming around helplessly as he uselessly attempted to push his arms away.

Unfortunately his strength seemed to have left his body.

“Wow Reo. You really are super ticklish, aren’t you. I can’t believe I’ve known you all this time and you never bothered telling me?”

“Whyhyhy woohohould ihihihi tehehell yohohOhOhoUhuhu!??!!” Reo protested, squealing, much to his embarrassment, when Nagi found a particularly sensitive spot on his ribs right under his armpits.

“Do you have a particularly bad spot Reo? One that’s the worst of them all?” Nagi asked conversationally. Pretending as if he wasn’t currently tickling the purple haired soccer prodigy to pieces.

“LIHihiHinikE iHIhiHid teHEHEhehEll YOHOhohu!!!” Reo cried, still struggling under his teammates weight.

Nagi frowned. “Bummer. Guess I’ll have to find it myself. At least I have confirmation that you have one.”

Reo didn’t expect Nagi to find it so quickly. As soon as he felt squeezing at his hips, he immediately knew he was done for.

“NOHOHOHO PLEHEHEHAHASE NAHAHAHAGIHIHIHI!!!” Reo threw his head back in hysterical crackles, kicking out his legs behind Nagi. Seriously, what did he even do to deserve this?

Nagi ignored him as he poked, prodded, massaged, and even spidered his fingers on his hip bones.

“Wow, this seems to be like a pretty sensitive spot for you.” Nagi commented. It wasn’t even meant to sound like teasing, which made it so much worse as teasing.

When Nagi then pressed his thumbs into the dips of the hip bone, massaging and vibrating them into the spot, Reo full on screeched, bucking his hips to hard he damn near threw Nagi off.

“FUHUHUHUCK NOHOHOHOHOHO!!!”

“Woah! Looks like I hit the jackpot, huh.”

Reos laughter soon turned into silent hysterics, batting weakly at his attackers hands. At this point all he could do was lay limp on the floor and take it. He was also having difficulty breathing.

Nagi picked up on it and knew he should give the poor guy a break.

Reo lay gasping on the floor, struggling to catch his breath as he curled up on the floor, hugging himself protectively.

“Sorry about that Reo… I just really wanted to do that.” Nagi told him apologetically.

“Hah… hehe.. y-yohohu suhuck…” Reo managed.

Nagi stared at his face. His cheeks were flushed, a grin unable to leave his mouth, his chest rapidly rising and falling.

“Heh.”

“Nagi did you just laugh at me?!” Reo bursted out. Eyebrows furrowed with annoyance.

“Sorry. You’re just really cute like this.”

It took a moment for Reo to process what Nagi had just said, a confused expression taking over his face, until his face began to turn a deep shade of red.

“Sh-shut up you jerk!”

Nagi just poked at his side again, which made Reo squeak and fall back again. Yep, truly adorable he was.

Thanks for reading!

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: Divine Restorations & Repairs

While it's unfortunate for one’s car to break down in the middle of the countryside, the pretty-as-a-postcard Tadfield could hardly be considered the worst place Anthony J. Crowley has ever been. Of course, it doesn’t help that it looks like it hasn’t yet seen the turn of the millennia, let alone this decade, but perhaps that’s just what he needs as he crawls his way out of the Hell he’s endured for the past fifteen years. Maybe the last thirty, if he's honest with himself. Though he could do without the rain. When Aziraphale Fell happens upon him and offers him shelter from the storm in his little family-run antique repair shop, neither are expecting it to change everything. The angel with his white umbrella and his tartan bowtie doesn’t expect this mysterious stranger to be able to fill the timely vacancy in his shop or the quiet of his life, but they’ve both had experience in restoring once-beloved items back to their full glory. Perhaps Crowley hasn’t fallen quite so far that he wouldn’t fit in with the rest of Aziraphale’s ragtag team of eccentric restoration experts. And perhaps they may be able to turn that talent on themselves and each other, and seal the cracks in their own hearts.

Length: 315,275 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit/ Spice Level 🔥🔥

Best for: Long sitting or with breaks, mostly safe in public, slow burn, found family story, pick-me-up

Triggers: Murder Mention (not graphic), Minor violence

Read it here, fic by skimmingthesurface and SylWritesStuff

*Minor Spoilers* I spent an entire Sunday lazily reading this one, and I highly recommend trying that out! This is satisfyingly long, enough of a slow burn that you fall into the world easily. But it doesn’t tease and keep our couple apart more than absolutely necessary. Plus the setting is really enjoyable, it’s a Human AU that I liked living in. Aziraphale runs an antique repair shop, and when the Bentley breaks down nearby, Crowley finds more than just a temporary shelter from the rain. And of course, miraculously, Crowley has the technical skills Aziraphale was looking to hire for. Yeah, sure, there are a couple plot points that are bordering on too serendipitous. But isn’t that just like the Good Omens canon anyway? I’m willing to accept a bit of divine intervention or whatever it is that pushes them together.

A couple things I particularly loved: the shop itself and their projects, Crowley’s backstory and Jewish traditions, the Tadfield community/found family, the absolute romance of it all. And one particular scene where Crowley performs a magic trick on Aziraphale. It had me screaming, crying, throwing up it was so stupidly romantic.

Heaven, or rather Aziraphale's family, are absolutely terrible people. Which parallels the canon well, but in a human world a couple parts seemed a little much for the setting. Like Aziraphale, my love, how can you defend them? I get abusive families but he really is delusional about it. That's the intended point though, and what I love is that this story gives him a way to finally come to his senses by seeing how Anathema is treated by them. He just needed an outside look! Crowley has a past that I won’t spoil here, but it’s very engaging and easy to see how he fell down such a path. It’s a unique take at Crowley, and probably one of my favorites. There's still the hard edge to him we know, but a unique softness that extends to all his new found family. Not just Aziraphale. A little action movie at the very end, but stays on the side of enjoyable rather than cheesy. 

This is truly a story you should make time to read. It’s long yes, and I liked doing it in one sitting, but it lends itself well to breaks. You don’t need to scarf it down like I did. The smut is also later in the story and easily skippable if that's not your thing. So for the majority of this, it's definitely something you can enjoy in public comfortably.

Read it here, fic by skimmingthesurface and SylWritesStuff

[farfaripol]

Have a nice evening, Mister Potter!

Here you are! Take a tkl Harry Potter fanfiction. I'm sorry, I recently watched movie and died at Harry's cuteness. So here you go, enjoy with Lee! Potter;))

Summary: Harry goes to Snape's evening detention, but Mrs. Umbridge has added new conditions for punishment.

Lee: Harry

Ler: Severus Snape

Warnings: Tickling. Magic?

Harry reluctantly dragged himself along the dungeon corridor. Snape's detention had ruined his plans for the evening, which, coupled with the prospect of scrubbing boilers all evening, made his mood especially foul. Approaching the audience, Harry knocked and pushed the door, entering. Snape greeted him with his signature grin and pointed to a pile of dirty cauldrons:

"Your detention for today, Potter."

Harry walked up to the cauldrons and Snape's voice was heard from behind him.

"Oh yes, I must warn you that Professor Umbridge has introduced new penalties for offending students."

"Sir?" Harry turned back in surprise.

"Just a little spell cast on the boiler brushes. You will see." Snape was clearly enjoying his student's confusion.

Harry walked over to the table on which the brush and detergent lay, and with some apprehension took the tool. Nothing happened. Harry glanced quickly at Snape. he sat leaning back in his chair, clearly anticipating something with a nasty smile on his lips.

Harry quickly turned away from applying the detergent and resolutely grabbed the brush tightly. Maybe if you deal with it quickly, there will still be a little evening left for yourself...

Harry began to quickly rub the cauldron, but almost immediately doubled over with giggles: the sensations from the friction of the brush were transferred to his stomach and it was terribly ticklish!

Holding his breath, he carefully ran the brush along the wall of the cauldron and involuntarily giggled when the invisible brush just as slowly and carefully stroked his side. "Ah! Aheheh.."

Taking a deep breath, as he would before jumping into cold water, Harry resolutely began scrubbing the cauldron with a brush. This time he even managed to continue washing the cauldron, when the spell transferred to his feet the feeling of hard bristles scurrying across them, but he could not contain his laughter.

And, as if the tickling wasn't enough, Snape began to taunt Harry in his usual manner:

"What's the matter Mister Potter? What's so funny?"

"Nohoho, s-sihihir. Ahahahh.."

"Then what are you laughing at?"

"I'm ticklihihish!"

"Oh, so are you ticklish?" Snape is clearly teasing.

"Yeheheas.."

"I think I should give you additional punishment for your behavior."

"Yes, sir." He still couldn’t stand it and stopped cleaning the boiler. Snape might be angry at this, but he didn't have the strength to take the tickling anymore.

Are you tired already, Potter? - Snape said mockingly. - You give up quickly!

Harry gave him an angry look and leaned over the cauldron again. More than half still needed to be washed. Will he be able to withstand?..

Meanwhile, Snape took out his wand and cast a spell, apparently slightly changing the magic of the brush. Harry started scrubbing the cauldron again, but then dropped the brush with a yelp. This time the invisible bristles targeted the stomach, and Harry's stomach was Harry's most ticklish spot. On top of that, this time the tickling sensation didn't go away immediately, but rather concentrated in his navel, causing Harry to wrap his arms around himself and double over, laughing desperately.

His legs gave way and he almost fell to his knees, but then, fortunately, the tickling finally stopped, allowing the unfortunate guy to catch his breath.

Yes, Potter, now the tickling won't stop as soon as you stop. And each time the delay will be longer and longer, so that you are not tempted to rest too often - Snape said mockingly.

Will this sadist really force him to tickle himself continuously all evening? He squeezed the brush in his hand and clenched his teeth, preparing to endure. This time he even managed to endure it in silence for a couple of seconds. Invisible bristles crawled in Harry's left armpit as Harry washed the cauldron with his right. Quiet chuckles escaped from his throat. But I still managed to endure the tickling

But as soon as I thought about it, the tickling went down and played with the left side, causing Harry to squeak.

"Eek! Ahahahh.." Harry was all twisted, involuntarily pressing his right elbow to his side, but continuing to wash the cauldron with sheer stubbornness.

"The spell will change the location of the effect, Mr. Potter, so that you do not get used to the tickling." Snape commented kindly, apparently guessing what had happened. Harry did not answer him, completely focused on one goal: despite the hellish tickling, to clean this damn cauldron!

Finally, after a painful half hour of twitching, laughing and occasional squeals, the boiler was cleaned. The tickling stopped and Harry could catch his breath. Not for long. Snape pointed him to the next cauldron, and Harry had to obey.

And again the bristles scurrying over the body, the laughter that Harry can no longer contain, and the ever-increasing despair. This boiler will never get clean! Harry had practically no thoughts left in his head except the all-consuming tickling.

He desperately rubs the walls of the cauldron, twitching his left leg, the foot of which some unknown sadist tirelessly rubs with a terribly ticklish brush. But this sadist gets tired of the Gryffindor’s foot and the tickling bristles are transferred under the knee, making Harry giggle shrilly and shake his head.

And after a while, the stomach is tickled, and Potter convulses, laughing at the top of his lungs. The brush falls out of the naughty fingers, and after fifteen seconds the tickling stops.

He is ready to beg to stop the torture, but he no longer has the strength to do so: everything disappears into laughter. Finally the tickling stops and you can catch your breath.

–continue Mr. Potter.

–"I can't" Harry screams desperately "Professor Snape, I beg you, I will go crazy!

–Okay then, – Snape suddenly agrees – You can go, Mister Potter, your work is completed, I will deal with the rest of the boilers myself.

Harry looks in amazement and takes a timid step towards the door. Had Snape really let him go? looks in amazement and takes a timid step towards the door. Had Snape really let him go? At this time, Snape makes a careless wave of his wand, and the brush thrown by Potter rushes towards a pile of dirty cauldrons. Its bristles begin to vigorously rub the wall of the cauldron... and their invisible counterparts are Harry's stomach!

— NO! — Potter manages to shout out before he collapses on the floor with a laugh, wrapping his arms around himself.

— NOHOHOOHO! S-SIHIHIR! PHPWAAHAHA!! PLEHEHEHAHAASE!!

The tickling moves to his armpits and Harry is able to gain some control over himself. But only partially. He almost cries from this painful sensation:

- Professor Snape! Hah... Plehease no mohore!..

Mr. Potter, you must receive your punishment to the end. But I'll tell you a secret: The effect of this spell weakens with distance, so I advise you to quickly get to Gryffindor Tower, — Snape replies and grins, watching as Harry, undermined by these words, hurries to get away. — Have a nice evening, Mister Potter!

[kuriipi]

I need you guys to stop lying and pretending like all Lanthimos' movies are some form of high art.

The guy is literally every greek film bro that went to cinema school.

I do believe he genuinely believes he is revolutionising and combining the greek mythos with modern philosophical ideas. A harsh critic of the fickle and contradictory human nature. But that's where the problem mostly lies. He's not in the slightest bit subtle.

His earlier stuff is seriously just a bunch of pretentious one liners masked as some big profound truth.

"oh you don't like a killing of a sacred deer bcs you don't get the original myth" like no. I get it. And I also know that the greek myth wasn't really a much about divine punishment as it was about facing the reality of your actions. Agamemnon didn't want to sacrifice his daughter to stop the punishment that fell upon them all, after he had killed the sacred deer. He is forced to do it after outside pressure, forced to move past his denial and recognize that it is his only way of atonement. And then the gods still ultimately decide to save Ifigenia because after all she was faultless in all this.

Making "the killing" a medical malpractice is honestly brilliant. Agamemnon hadn't known it was Artemis' sacred deer that he had killed. He only found out after his punishment had already begun. Colin's character hadn't meant to kill the man either, hadn't known of his identity either. But this is as far as the briliance goes.

It is a deeply dark story about a man's desperate attempt to escape fate, to find a loophole, but ultimately it falls flat cause there is not an ounce of sympathy for the characters. You can't feel anything for them or their struggle because they are , intentionally, written so uncannily. Most if not all of Lanthimos' characters really lack the human element.

And although I get the thought and it really does work for a story on human connections like 'the lobster ". The unnatural and completely "un-human" way the characters are portrait adds more layer, a greater punch. Honestly it's extremely well fitted and executed. But for "the killing of a sacred deer" a story whose point really is about the despair, the cruelty of actions and events one is far too powerless to prevent it's...well I think it's a pretty terrible execution.

"you don't like the lobster because you simply can't see the point" Yes it's about society, everything is, it's about forced intimacy, the fear of loneliness, societal pressure and they way we would rather lie to ourselves and our potential partner if it meant we won't be alone. It's about dating for the sake of dating, about children being reduced to nothing more that accessories. About the reactionary solitude, the loners being just as cruel as the hotel enforcing the same strict rules but at the opposite direction. (It doesn't even matter if that is the actual point of the movie because if I talk long enough with enough buzzwords, throw enough ideas at the wall, you'll believe I know exactly what I'm taking about.)

And it's still not really that good.

The premise falls flat. The macabre aspect of being turned into an animal, if you fail at forming a connection, the horrifying depersonalisation, dehumanising the characters is hardly explored.

Ok fine, it was just the premise, just to set the scene (arguably it's the most interesting part of the story, but I digress.)

It's all about human nature. Yes, but it's nothing more than a cynics caricature of it.

But you see the loners are treated like animals but we see how they function and enjoy mundane things like shampoo and going to the mall, and are actually human. Yes me playing with my barbies at 10 had more depth than that. On other news water is wet.

The humans are complex, and actually human and also just as bad as the other humans isn't deep enough of a point to make me watch 2 hours of a stagnant film, and endure like five separate dialogs about ass fucking and masturbation. And how you need a partner to protect you from being sexualy assaulted (like from whom, if that's the case why not just simply turn the entire male population into animals, they seem to have ways of procuring children out of thin air so that doesn't seem to be a problem)

"You can't ask things like that. It's about philosophy and human nature not mechanics plot holes" yes but they're still part of a rather drawn out movie.. if he didn't want me to comment on the plot wholes he should've made the film one hour shorter and avoided them all together.

Like I'll be honest what annoys me the most in his films is the way he forces you to watch these scenes that can only be described as pretentious if not outright bad, that are so meticulously woven into the story. How deep how profound all sex is rape, humanity is cruel and uncaring, detachment is the bain of our modern society. I'm going to add 50 one liners about ass fucking because then it's just about sex, depersonalised. It's really not deep at all.

Like I'm so sorry that not wanting to watch Colin Farrel fuck a woman cosplaying as a corpse multiple times in a movie makes me unappreciative of high cinema. But I guess it is what it is.

(That said, his newer stuff is getting better at keeping up the engagement and evoking more sympathy for the characters. There is far more space to connect to them. The ending of "The favourite" let me feel the despair, the hopeless and absolutely miserable situation the characters found themselves in at the end of the movie.)

[artist-issues]

Star Wars: The Last Jedi is a great example of fandoms ruining their own movie experience. Often fandoms are right when they think a movie doesn’t deliver on their favorite franchise. But in The Last Jedi, the Star Wars fandom kind of proved that their heads are in a terrible place.

I will explain.

Movies are meant to reach in and grab your emotions. You’re supposed to get out of your own head, and the story is supposed to get under your mental defenses, so that you not only suspend disbelief, but suspend your inner film critic and enjoy an experience/learn what the movie is trying to tell you.

If a movie has terrible form and repellant content, like bad acting or a message like “cold-blooded murder is neat” then people generally don’t get to have that experience because the movie couldn’t reach in and grab your emotions.

The Last Jedi was not a bad movie. I know for a fact that it one hundred percent DID what it set out to do, in the theaters. What happened was, you Star Wars fans enjoyed the movie while you were watching it. Then you got home and got in your own heads and read what some other people thought and watched some Mark Hamill interviews and retroactively decided you actually didn’t like it.

I know you liked it because I was in the theaters with you. I saw TLJ on opening night, in a packed theater of dressed-up fans. Then I saw it three more times in theaters. I heard fans clap when Luke fought Kylo Ren and said “see you around, kid.” I heard them laugh when he threw the lightsaber over his shoulder. I heard them applaud when Snoke got cut in half. I heard no groans of disbelief during Holdo’s Hyperdrive ramming—you could’ve heard a pin drop, exactly as the filmmakers intended. I heard fans holding their breath or whispering, “please please please” when Rey said to Kylo Ren, “Please don’t go this way.” I heard, all four times, thunderous applause during the ending shot, when a kid with a broom is revealed to have the Force.

‘When the lights came on and everyone was leaving the theater, I heard NO ONE saying:

“I can’t believe they ruined Luke.”

“What was with Holdo? Hyperdrive doesn’t work like that.”

“I hate Rey, she’s a Mary-Sue.”

“What was with that casino planet scene, that was useless!”

I heard people excitedly talking about how awesome the film was. I heard them repeating the jokes to each other, or sharing their favorite parts. I heard them hoping Ben Solo would be redeemed for the next movie. The closest I ever got to anything even approaching negative was, “What was with the blue milk alien?” Which is fair. But my point is, even when the movie was over and we were leaving the theaters, the fans loved it. At the time. When the movie was all they had to base their opinion on.

I sat next to a young man who is now the loudest Internet Proclaimer of TLJ’s supposed failure, on opening night. But at the time, when the movie ended, he said, “that’s what The Force Awakens should’ve been! That was so great.”

Then he went home and watched EFAP and came back and said, “yeah I liked it at first but that’s because I was stupid and didn’t know any better. Now I know it’s terrible.”

What? No, you’re not stupid! It was a good movie. It said exactly what it wanted to say, and it had your attention and your emotions the whole time. It even set up the next film for great, new, unexpected success (regardless of how ROS squandered that opportunity.)

But this is how a lot of fans are.

They have pre-set expectations of what they want. Or they don’t have any expectations and they wait for their favorite influencer to tell them what to think. And then, even when a movie is good, they change their own minds about it later to line up with what they thought they wanted.

Not what made the most sense. Not what made the best story. Not what could be an enduring classic. Not what grabbed the emotions most effectively. Just “I want what I want.”

Guess what, at the end of Casablanca, the hero doesn’t get the girl. He loses her. But he becomes a man who takes risks and goes back to living life because of his experience, as sad as it may have been. If audiences back then could complain loudly enough on the internet and get what they want, Casablanca would have had a crappy sequel where the guy gets the girl, and the whole first movie is ruined. Or the filmmakers wouldn’t have been brave enough to do what the story needed in the first place.

TLJ is the perfect example of a good movie ruined by it’s own supposed fandom, who just want what they want, and can’t admit when a movie was good, or even that it moved them, because it’s not what they wanted, in hindsight.

[yandere-sins]

I just got some thoughts after that step-yandere ask. Imagine step-bro miya twins. That would be awful but, also amazing. (I'm sorry, I love the miyas)

Hehe, I love this. Those are step-brothers I'd like for myself :P

They are lowkey wholesome together but terrible apart. The twins are always hovering behind you, protecting you and claiming you whenever you are out together. One of them is always with you while the other goes off, or they drag you to where they want to go together. They don't even ask if it's okay that they join you when you have friends over. They simply barge in. Your friends probably think it's super cool to have twin step-brothers (that are also pretty handsome) and don't really notice the way they take over the space beside you, their knees touching yours, hands on the ground behind you so that when you lean back, you could rest against their arms, that's how close they are. Around you, they are a constant presence, but in everyone else's eyes, they are cool, handsome dudes that are getting along well with their new step-sibling.

Until you want just a little privacy. Sometimes you can be lucky if you manage to shut the bathroom door in their face, hearing their bodies crash into the barrier you put between you before they start to complain and rattle the doorknob. Somehow, even if you have company, they are the ones breaking up the gathering, so they can instead drag you away to watch a movie with only them. If you shut them out, they will whine and complain until they get their way because you cave in or your parents force you. Buying a new game to play yourself is a big no-no as they want to experience everything by your side. Sharing is the new caring, but your new step-brothers don't care enough about your wishes when you ask them for just five minutes of peace to breathe or one night alone in your bed.

It also becomes creepy really soon. The way at least one of them catches you going to the bathroom at night, standing in the dark hallway silently, asking where you are going. Sometimes they just stand in your doorway or the one to the kitchen, not making themselves known until you see them and jump in surprise, which causes them to smile and giggle. Or them hiding under your bed and in your closet to come out and sneak under your blanket at night just before you were falling asleep, so you still feel them. Them refilling your toiletries or buying you clothes that you said you liked seems nice until you realize they haven't been using their own toothbrushes in weeks and know every one of your sizes from the top of their heads, even knowing if an item won't fit though it is your size.

There are perks, of course. If you are desperate for late-night snacks, either of them will run to get them for you, and they will always offer to spoon-feed you their pudding, coming to your room with snacks or gifts to 'appease' you. But there's a price to pay for good deeds, like cuddles, a peck on the cheek, sleepovers in their bed(s—when you get to their room, they rearrange the furniture with their beds in the middle so you can sleep between them. They learned quickly that the one twin that didn't have you for the night was going mad while the other was in heaven, so they opted to all sleep together. Team effort!). However, sometimes you think you can endure one hug in favor of keeping the peace, but it's just so suffocating to be held captive in their arms for half an hour straight, only to be passed to the other. Back and forth.

And, of course, there are also punishments. If only that meant they'd leave you alone, but with the excellent reputation they earned with your parents, they start doing things to anger and annoy you even more. Just... no one believes you it was them. Eating from your plate when no one is looking is your least problem, as they also frame you for misdeeds around the house. Even if you did the dishes, when your parents come home, they are still dirty in the sink. You could be swearing up and down that you did not ruin the cake your parents baked, but they caught you eating a piece in your room after the twins gave it to you nonchalantly, without telling you where they got it from. And once you are taken down to the kitchen for scolding, your brothers rummage through your room for your phone and computer, checking your plans and deleting photos, numbers, and chats of people they don't want you to interact with. Even making fun of those that try to get closer to their step-darling and sending nasty messages to anyone you seem to have fun with.

The less distraction, the more time you have to spend with your step-bros. Any insults you throw at their heads, or attacks you try to do on them, are at some point forgiven and forgotten, especially when you were forced to apologize. They might show themselves a little jealous if you bring up the people they deleted from your contacts, but hey, at least you are all together again, the twins taking over your room now that things are resolved. It's when you learn that having both of them around is exhausting beyond measure, but having only one is even worse. Once separated, they always go up and beyond to be closer to you - since there is no one there to hold them back, not even their brother - whether physically or mentally. Intrusive questions, unwanted touches, demands, whining, threatening to tell your parents how badly you treated them.

Atsumu likes it when you push him away or even hit him, seeing how it gives him the leverage of blackmailing you into doing what he wants, like cuddle with him, sit on his lap, or else he'll tell everyone else. It's also nice to feel you in any way possible, he keeps telling you, even if you sink to their level and abuse them. Osamu, on the other hand, is known to bury you under him, laying on top of your legs or leaning onto you from behind so you can't get away while he bothers you with intrusive questions about your life, adding himself into it with ideas akin to daydreams.

At least you're not alone anymore while you're on house arrest, but you wish you were.

(Sorry if this is a bit disorganized, I just tried getting my ideas down, but there’s definitely so much more potential for them, I agree ♥)

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 4/5

Book Blurb:

Everyone thinks Helen Grey is mad but, despite ten years imprisoned in a crumbling Yorkshire asylum, she’s managed to cling to sanity. When a new doctor arrives, she sees an opportunity. William Carter may seem like an honorable man but she's sure he'll prove easy to seduce…and trick into helping her escape.

Will would never bed a patient, no matter how tempting she might be. But once he realises Helen's been imprisoned for no good reason, he's determined to save her. They need to work together but freeing her won’t be easy, not when her mysterious benefactor is determined to keep her locked up and hidden from society forever.

When Helen is entangled in her own trap and begins to fall for Will too, she must fight not only for her liberty but for her right to love.

Review:

Helen Gray has been held captive inside an asylum for ten years yet when a new doctor comes he might be her only chance at finally escaping... what she didn't expect was to fall for him. Helen Grey is the bastard daughter of a wealthy lord, she was raised by her actress mother and was on her way to becoming an actress herself... until her mother died and her "father" put her in an asylum stating that her "grief" mad her "unstable". Helen has been trapped here for 10 years, being abused by the staff and undergoing terrible treatments. She's tried seducing her way out, tried running, tried everything to escape, yet when she runs into a new doctor during her latest attempt she never expects him to want to help her without getting anything from her in return. William Carter is an honorable man, he's someone who wants to hep people with his whole heart and takes being a doctor seriously. When he meets Helen he is surprised by how she is being treated in the asylum, how everyone in the staff is determined to keep her imprisoned her despite her completely sane mind. Helen hopes to seduce Will to help her but finds that she is falling for him and he doesn't want to be seduced, he just wants to help her. Working together they must find a way to free her but things are not easy, especially when the staff is working against them and former doctors come back into Helen's life. This was definitely a historical/gothic story that was giving Eliza Graves (movie with Kate beckinsale) vibes. I did enjoy the romance and was scared for Helen throughout this book, she had to endure so much and honestly I can't fault her at all for doing whatever she could to escape. I loved how the romance was handled between Helen and Will, they both loved each other so much and I was happy with the ending that they both got. It's a sweet read and definitely would make a fun book to read during a cold day with a hot cup of tea!

*Thanks Netgalley and Julia Bennet for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[princeresnikov]

it's in my nature {Tangerine} // 4

four. tangerine: ego death at the venn diagram intersection.

Chapter Summary: it appears hard to convince The Son of the severity of their situation, though he just seems worried that their concerned about the wrong thing. because everyone knows about the woman who lost her arm for a late payment, but The White Death is capable of far more cruelty when he truly cares about the payload. and The Son proves himself to be far more observant and cruel when it comes to making sure his bodyguards are focused.

{ Masterlist }

A/N: 4509 words. i know this took a while but we're finally at part 4!! we get a lot of shit happening here, some implications, some accusations, as well as a whole flashback to New York!! the book is very liberal with it's flashbacks so we get one here. writing Tangerine's POV is sometimes a bit of a struggle characterisation-wise, considering everything that he has learned in literally five minutes, so please let me know if there's anything i could be doing differently/better, i love suggestions and i love feedback. have fun!!

Warnings: Don't be surprised when the OC is a terrible person and is implied to have done terrible things along with the rest of them. There will be smut in the future chapters.

Chapter Warnings: Discussion of how The White Death takes fingers as punishment, but a little more extreme than in the movie. impied smut at the end but its not explicit.

Taglist: @venusthepirate @malar-region @tangerinesgf @esmaada @sarcastic-sourwolf @djjskfkskjf @justshutupmars @somikesoc @chachadelight @andydre4m @evangelineflowers @darkchai @basementsoup @bellatrix124 @kunikidaswhore @thewinterschildren178 @felhomaly @perksofbeingamultifandomm @aniglio18 @geeiz @mimidior @justicex101 @ltlthetrifecta @salsasadd @tongerines

[ always open, just message or comment! ]

----

Lemon would probably call her a Diesel, and he'd be bloody well right to, Tangerine catches himself thinking with a scowl. The world outside slips by in the darkness, nothing more than scattered lines of light, disorientating anyone who tried to keep up, like Tangerine with his thoughts in this moment.

"My father hired the two of you," The Son's implied question of 'instead of her?' rang out infuriatingly clear. The audacity this kid has to look at his designated guards with disdain of all things, after everything they went through to make sure he was safe was almost enough to tip Tangerine over the edge and smack him after the series of revelations he'd just endured. But he's not. I'm not going to smack the son of The White Death; he wasn't the kind of person who had personal mantras, but this one was sounding pretty good right now.

"Yeah he did; your daddy hired us to get you out of the trouble you got yourself into, naughty, little frog," Tangerine's tone turns infuriatingly chipper, using the only non-violent way he can think of right now to get under The Son's skin. It clearly works, judging by the venomous look that's now being focused on him, "and we've all heard what tight a leash he keeps Miss Clementine on," there's something malevolent in his voice that he doesn't fight to hide, leaning in to make sure the other passengers can't hear his disparaging anger, "so I think if he wanted her on your case, he wouldn't have hired us." 

There's definitely more to read into this if he wanted to think about the implications of it all for even a few seconds, but he did not have the time or mental energy in this moment to spiral like that. Sitting up again, he finds once more that The Son's practiced flat expression irks him more than he ever wants to let on, like he's subconsciously hoping for a reaction, for proof that he holds even some power over this asshole.

"Is that why Tangerine?" This, the smugness, the look in his eyes like he's evaluating Tangerine across the table, this is worse than no reaction, even if Tangerine doesn't quite understand what he's asking or implying.

"What?" 

"If I were you," The Son shifts forward, oozing unwarranted condescension, "I wouldn't keep Tangerine knowing Clementine was alive." The mocking implication calls back to the stupid argument about whether or not Tangerine feels guilty about New York, which is a bloody moot point now all things considered, and the rest is nothing but an inaccurate guess meant to rile him up. I'm not going to take the bait, I'm not going to smack The Son, with each careful, controlled breath.

"Now seeing as the decisions you've made lead you to a place where you were able to be kidnapped as ransom bait by the Triad, despite you assumedly - well I bloody hope - knowing who your extremely psychotic, fucked up father is," Tangerine knows he's smiling by technicality only, to keep the surrounding passengers unaware of his sharply mounting frustration, "so I'm going to ignore your suggestion, considering, one;" holding up his hand with one extended finger for emphasis, "'s been my name for five years, and two," his smile grows wider, his tone grows brighter, the anger in his eyes still remains, "the decisions I've made are why we were hired by your dear, old dad, and why despite leaving seventeen dead bodies behind, you made it out with only a couple of scratches."

Finally a reaction from The Son, now petulantly scowling out the window, but thankfully keeping his mouth shut. It was enough to satisfy Tangerine's building frustration, letting himself breathe for a moment, ease the tense set of his shoulders, gazing back and forth down the aisle, refocusing, reassessing their carriage and their situation. No immediate threats. No Clementine. Relative peace, at least for a moment -

"Actually, it's sixteen." 

"What's that now?"

The second Lemon tries to correct him, there's that pesky twitch of his eyelid that he can't seem to repress no matter how hard he tries. No, it was seventeen. Seriously, how does he not remember all seventeen? Sure it's been a long day, they haven't exactly had much time to rest, and things have taken several turns for the unexpected, but - 

Christ. They're going through them, all seventeen. Each kill lines up in their memory as far as it seems, the order, the precision, the visceral feeling in close quarters. Memories fresh enough that he can almost smell the iron-rich blood splattered amongst the fish, neither brother is squeamish about taking pride in their work. But Lemon forgets the civilian. The one who exploded.

"Shit," as if it was so easy to remember once reminded, as if were so easy to forget in the first place, "that wasn't our fault," he adds, reiterating it to The Son beside him almost immediately, dodging any kind of accountability before he could even consider it.

"No? Well what would Thomas the Tank Engine say, Lemon?" Tangerine had no such need to avoid the truth of the matter; if he didn't acknowledge it, he wouldn't be able to learn from it, at least that's what he tells himself.

"That's really mean," Lemon had never liked how Tangerine would pick and choose when to indulge him in his interests, as it was more often than not used against him. Tangerine, however, was tired of having to use a children's animation to get through to his brother half the time. 

"He'd say 'take responsibility, mate'," case and point; Tangerine's mocking impression of the cartoon train does it's job of ruffling his brother's feathers, who's already defending the cartoon to The Son, as if he cared, as if that were the most important part of this all.

"He doesn't sound like that." 

Tangerine makes a mocking train horn noise. Okay, that bit was just to be an asshole.

Lemon chalks it up to compartmentalisation, quick to imply that Tangerine's insistent need to take on the responsibility of their collateral damage might be making him more volatile. There it is again, Tangerine's 'fixation' as Lemon calls it, on collateral damage, the implication of guilt. They could bicker in circles forever if they tried, Tangerine is sure of it, both knowing each other too well to ever have the upper hand for too long. Tangerine calls him childish for wanting to ignore an unavoidable part of their job that could be learned from as a profession, right up until Lemon crosses his arms and snaps -

"What'd you learn from Clementine then?"

"Clementine's clearly fucking different, don't do that -"

"She wasn't. Until today, she was collateral damage like all the rest of them -"

"Hey listen," The Son interrupts their argument with a mumble and an attempt to get up, "I'm just gonna get off at the next stop."

"Oh let's have a seat then," Lemon, beside him, eases him back into his seat without leaving any room for argument. However visibly annoyed The Son may be, he still sat, still was able to acknowledge when he was outmatched.

"You know that they call your papushka, little frog?" Tangerine can definitely see why Clementine used this nickname like a weapon; there was something so pleasing about seeing the exact grimace The Son makes every time he hears it.

"Fuck you," under his breath in Russian, like he thinks they won't understand it, then, quieter, "of course fucking I do -"

"The White Death," Lemon interjects pointedly, "not exactly a fruit." 

"No," Tangerine agreed, carefully fidgeting with a zip tie he'd fished from his pocket, both for something to do with his hands, and to keep The Son's attention off of Lemon securing his free hand to the other arm of the chair, "there's a story - stop me if you've heard it," he continues, keeping his tone light despite his words, "where this woman found herself in the unfortunate position of owing your father a tidy sum of money," of course The Son looks almost bored by the story, but Tangerine forges on ahead; even if The Son didn't take his father seriously, he needed to know that The Twins certainly did, "now the issue was it took her some time to acquire this money, but," he smiles sharply at The Son, "she did pay it back, five minutes late, didn't she?"

"Yeah, what'd he do?" Lemon, somehow unfamiliar with the story, asks. At least The Son seemed to be paying enough attention to know the story and how it ends. 

"Cut her arm off."

"Fuckin' hell!" Lemon sat up straight, wearing a look that fell somewhere between shock and horror. Hopefully he'd treat the assignment with more of the severity it deserves now that he apparently understands the full stakes.

"Yeah, said she owed him a finger for every minute," Tangerine explained, which did very little to improve his brother's current state, so he thought to clarify, "yeah, well, he's not a monster, he didn't make her sit through it five times, he just cut once, didn't he?" Immediately Lemon tightens the zip tie around the Son's wrist, securing him in place firmly, barely an ounce of wiggle room. "So our job is to keep you safe," Tangerine continues to his now properly captive audience blithely, "and to recover the briefcase with the ransom money inside-"

"You shouldn't worry about losing your hand," The Son tells him with almost the hint of a warning in his voice. Still, he tries to tug his arm free. It doesn't budge. So while Tangerine is about to say that he isn't, so long as The Son stayed put and didn't wander off, The Son, now cornered like an animal, doesn't give him the chance before feeling the need to lash out, "because the money didn't matter."

"What?" Lemon voices confusion for both brothers; did The Son not consider that enough motivation for his wellbeing?

"In that story, it's the principle that matters, not the money itself," there's something in his eyes that hadn't been there before, something about how his gaze darts to his hands and between both Lemon and Tangerine, something wild and even a little bit afraid, "my father has money, and actions have consequences; borrow from The White Death, you should know to expect serious repercussions if it is not paid back in time." It's different from his earlier paranoia, that had been veiled with arrogance; it finally felt like the reality of his situation had hit him, "I've seen it before, cruel on paper, but it's a routine punishment; it's why he takes them all at once," Tangerine thinks he saw a flash of this intensity in The Son's eyes when Clementine first called him a frog, but The Brothers let him speak, if only because it was refreshing to see him giving a shit about their mission, "but you speak like you think I also don't matter; talk all the shit you want, I am still The White Death's son." 

"It's fucked up, we're acknowledging that, but that's why you can't just hop off and wander 'round the city on your own," Tangerine, unsure of where this was all going considering he thought his own story was pretty well motivating for them all, crosses his arms expectantly.

"You should hope I simply arrive late and you lose a hand than what would happen if I do not arrive at all, because I have a story - stop me if you've heard it before -" he mocks Tangerine from just moments ago, glowering at him, projecting frustration to veil his fear, "the first and last time my father's precious, favourite associate failed him with something much more valuable than money," there's resentment in the way his lip curls into a sneer of disgust, the malice he spits the recollection, "because her unforeseeable, unavoidable failure was still failure. So he made an example, gave her an audience; four fingers were taken, but he made her take them herself, one at a time." As the memory settles over him, some of the frantic energy seems to leave The Son, who sits back in his chair.

"What the fuck," Lemon muttered under his breath, clearly sharing his brother's sentiment, "he made her cut off four of her own fingers?" Every new thing Tangerine learns about The White Death has him regretting taking this job on, because now that he'd heard it, Tangerine realises he did know the story, though he never believed it. It was like a myth, something too cruel to come to pass, something he assumed most would rather die before they endured as a spectacle.

"He told her he would kill her if she complained, so she didn't, ever again," expression drawn, the kid couldn't bring himself to make eye contact with either brother, looking instead at the tabletop in front of him, "it was an effective lesson for someone too useful to kill, and he likes her far more than he likes either of you."

"What did he care so much about that it was worth that kind of torment for the unlucky bastard who failed?" Tangerine frowned. Something about The Son's demeanour was clearly off, as if he hadn't anticipated being so shaken by his own recollection of the events. When he looks to Tangerine, his gaze is guarded again, bordering on hostility. 

"My mother," with The Son's harsh words came a sinking sensation in Tangerine's chest as he reads into the implications. There's the horror that comes when he considers the mother's bodyguard's 'failure' had simply been surviving the drunk driving collision that killed her client, "so even with my father's money," The Son looked back out the darkened window, as if trying to re-establish his aloof air from before, "you should know that your chances of leaving intact lower with each moment The Scorpion and I remain on the same train. You're fucking stupid to let her walk off."

"So we're not only in danger from your crazy ex, but because she's your crazy ex?" Lemon deadpans; he seems perturbed by it all, but not nearly as much as Tangerine had been expecting. It's here Tangerine starts to realise that Lemon may not even be away of the full context, either of the story of The White Death's wife, or The White Death himself. Never been the detail-orientated type for anything other than trains, Tangerine doesn't know why he still expects more, Lemon leans on him for that kind of focus.

"I think this is about the time you clue us in on what exactly the fuck went down between you and Clementine?" Tangerine scowled, trying to move on from the story and into comparatively less distressing topics.

"You honestly believe she's a real threat to you?" Lemon adds, just as sick of the clear doubts The Son kept voicing about them.

"As if that's any of your fucking business," the prick sits back, clearly feeling defensive all of a sudden.

"Considering it's kind of come down to kill-or-be-killed because of it, I think it's definitely worth knowing why she's so passionate about offing you," Tangerine refuses to back down, wearing a mean little smile as he needles the kid across from him. It takes an excruciatingly long time for The Son to finally find his voice again, refusing to relent on his defensiveness. 

"Like The White Death, it takes very little for The Scorpion to justify her own violence," he says very carefully, deliberating about each word he spoke, "what I had to offer her would never be enough and so she felt disrespected," it practically curdles on his tongue, whole expression turning nasty, "do not underestimate her capacity for cruelty just to prove a point. She could have left New York quietly but she orchestrated her own violent death in front of you both; she poisons everyone she touches in one way or another, it's in her nature." He sits back, clearly desperate to leave the conversation but bound to this moment against his will.

There are holes in The Son's story that are big enough to be craters, his victim mentality neon and obvious enough that Tangerine kind of wants to reiterate his mocking impression of Thomas from a few minutes ago; take accountability, mate. Because what he's saying and the way he and Clementine had been interacting for only a few minutes clearly indicates he's not nearly as shiny and blameless in their altercation as he wants to imply. Perhaps it's the last of his bias for the Clementine he remembers from New York, but The Son talks about Clementine like she's an unfathomable monster, despite how he clearly once liked her well enough to want her. 

"Oh, I get it now, like that fable," Lemon lights up with understanding, looking to Tangerine, "The Scorpion and The Frog." 

"You poor, little frog," is all Tangerine can say with a derisive shake of his head. Just to make sure they've got all their bases covered, however, he does find himself searching their immediate area for the briefcase of money. The Son may have been his priority, but he still wasn't keen on losing an arm over some money either.

"We'll keep you safe from the big, mean Scorpion," Lemon assures, patting The Son on the arm. As much as he tries to jerk away from the touch, making a face at their mockery, there's very little space for him to go. But The Son's feelings are once again the least of Tangerine's concerns.

"Lemon, where's the briefcase?" Having finally looked everywhere he could think of from his seat twice, Tangerine finally caves and asks his brother, hoping for a simple, pleasant answer despite the discomfort rising in him.

"Oh, I stashed it," Lemon's answer is far too casual for someone who assumedly would also like to end today with all limbs and extremities still firmly attached.

"The case, Lemon," he hisses, leaning forward as his hands are clasped on the table in an effort to mask his frustration, "go get me the fucking case." At least Lemon takes him seriously enough in this moment to stand and see about collecting the case. The minute he's is out of earshot, however, The Son turns on Tangerine.

"He doesn't know you have shit taste in women too, does he?"

Tangerine's blood runs cold.

"Fucking excuse you?" Tangerine tries playing dumb and defensive, but there's nothing teasing nor hesitant in the cold look The Son gives him. Too specific, said with too much confidence; it's not an accusation, it's a fact of which The Son is certain.

Obnoxious bastard, Tangerine is furious to think to himself, immediately followed by how the hell could he be so sure? In the brief few minutes they'd spent with Clementine, he was sure they'd been on the same wavelength considering the situation, both so careful to not even so much as imply a less than platonic history, making only incidental or purposefully discrete contact if any. Nothing had been incriminating in hindsight, Tangerine's hand on her thigh completely hidden, perhaps even something of a power play given the situation, an attempt to keep her in line, like his touch would remind her what he was capable of. It had worked; if nothing else it had worked to keep her from making a scene, but that left only one conclusion to be drawn. Because The Son had seen in minutes what Tangerine can tell Lemon has always been oblivious to. Despite all the half-truths and obvious contempt he now held for her, The Son knew Clementine better than either of them would ever let on, and it had left Tangerine compromised.

Fuck.

"You're a liability," The Son continues maliciously, like Tangerine's inner monologue was shouting loud enough to hear, "to my father, to your partner;" he doesn't pull his punches, "Clementine preys on weak links."

"Suppose that's why she got with you in the first place, huh frog boy?" Even Tangerine's biting use of the nickname doesn't seem to faze The Son in this moment. I'm not going to smack The White Death's son.

"Your denial makes you a fucking idiot," he spits in response, "how have you not realised you were set up?"

"If this is a little test from your daddy dear, Lemon and I are more than up to the challenge."

"New. York." The Son overemphasises his words as if speaking to a child, but the beginnings of a realisation flicker to life in the back of Tangerine's mind. New York; the month with Clementine, she died in front of them, she's actually alive and here and is actually a deadly operative. Three thoughts he knew revolved around each other, but part of him didn't want to think about connecting just yet. 

"It has a name," The Son continues when all the reaction Tangerine gives is to frown, "I can't recall, but my father liked to give these contracts to Clementine. Delicate matters; thieving, killing, blackmail, all sorts of variations with one commonality that made Clementine especially effective," he's dancing around the idea by now, waiting to see how long it takes for the dots to connect, "sweet-something, I think. Like honey."

"A honeypot?" Tangerine deadpans. It hasn't quite clicked yet; denial is a hell of a drug, "you think Clementine was running a honeypot while we were all in New York? What, on our target? I highly doubt it; The Scorpion kills her competition, always has, everyone knows that." 

For a very long moment The Son gives Tangerine a calculating look, eyes narrow and disparaging. Whatever it is he may be looking for in Tangerine, he seems to come up with something he doesn't like. When he smiles, however, it's cold and cruel.

"So you think Clementine fucked you in New York because she loved you?"

Because there's the obvious answer; no, fucking of course not. Because they knew each other for a month, and it was never anything serious, and the hurt- the anger is easily justifiable given the context. There's the scathing 'is that what you believed? Is that why you're like this?' but even in his mind it sounds too defensive, too much at an attempt to deflect. He won't lash out, it's too telling, he's better than that. So he also finds himself considering; no it wasn't bloody love, but frankly I've never been able to explain why I gave a shit about her, since I can't say that for many people who aren't my brother, and to find out that it was all by some malicious design is taking some time to sink in.

Tangerine's expression is carefully neutral, refusing to give any sort of reaction to the question despite how close he was internally to strangling The Son himself. 

And then there's the truth. The ego-shattering truth. If he'd never seen her again, Tangerine knows he would have gone to his grave believing in everything Clementine had said and done in New York. 

It had felt like Clementine would have done anything he asked, which, in hindsight, makes Tangerine feel sick to his stomach. His ego had soaked up her attention, her praise, her willingness to fall into bed with him without asking questions about the blood stain on his shoes. The way she'd looked at him, eager to please, always ready to help him the moment he walked into the hotel and spotted him from the front desk, she was charmingly innocent, full of puppy love and useful information; he'd taken advantage of one to get the other. Leading her on was merely resource management, testing how useful she could be; information was one thing, but Tangerine was nothing if not resourceful.

It only takes a week for him to be sure, the first week of a month-long delicate operation. The fight wasn't part of that operation, the fight was a point of pride at a local pub that wasn't any real threat beyond some superficial wounds. Still, the pretty hostess whose been unexpectedly warm and eager to accommodate him looked concerned as he'd made a frustrated beeline for the elevator, looking markedly more dishevelled than when he'd left that afternoon.

"If there's anything you need, sir, please let us know!" She'd called, while he'd thrown her a tight smile, stepping into the elevator and rapidly jabbing at the button for his floor.

But fine, he'd reasoned upon getting back to his infuriatingly mild hotel room and poorly stocked medical kit, he calls the front desk. If he's making choices to suit his own pride and ego today, he could start on properly securing an informant. 

Clementine had her own medical supplies and a steady hand. Clementine never took off her gloves because she claimed her prosthetics were cold to the touch without them. Clementine's laugh was as bright and refreshing as her namesake. Clementine had blushed when she admitted to wearing nice underwear since she'd first seen him in the hotel as a form of wishful thinking. Clementine had been pliant and willing beneath him, and Tangerine, who spent his whole life taking orders and making sure his partner's needs were seen to, if only to keep up his reputation, had finally felt as if he'd met someone whose joy came from pleasing his every desire. It had been unfamiliar, but not unpleasant.

In the end, Tangerine had been happy as the bad guy in Clementine's story, the bastard who lead her on, manipulated her, used her, and gotten her killed, it was a role he was comfortable in at the end of the day. It had been safer. She hadn't been a loose end. He didn't have to think about if she had survived and he had just left --

Yes, he would have thought she fucked him in New York because she loved him, but that was the point! That was always the fucking point! The distrust weaving through his memories grows thorns. He need to stop thinking about it; The Son, across the table, can probably see in his eyes that he's gone to New York, just as Lemon had pointed out before. He hates the look in that bastard's eyes; Tangerine's thoughts are a mess, growing traitorous, jealous teeth when he thinks too hard about The Son and his questions and his fucking history with Clementine.

The truth really did make him feel like a liability. 

And he has no real answer.

When the phone goes off it feels like an actual godsend. Thank fuck. Thoughts on more immediate, less loaded things. 

Unknown caller; undoubtably one of The White Death's associates checking in, making sure everything was under control. All things considered, The Son was secured in his seat, Lemon would be back with the case in a moment, and Tangerine was optimistic that he and his brother were more than capable of stopping Clementine if she did end up trying anything. 

Tangerine answer the phone. It's an excuse to get up, get even a few feet away from The Son even just for a few moments. If he ever sees that smug, knowing look on that bastard's face again, it'll be too soon.

[woofety]

I was tagged by @sirtadcooper - thank you!! 😃

Tag someone you want to know AND/OR some of your besties.

(mandatory under the cut because I'm an idiot who can't keep it short to save her life 😅)

Favourite colour: this is an easy one, I'm in an established relationship and still madly in love after so many years with practically every shade of violet/purple that exists! 💜 Maybe I'm slightly more drawn to colder hues, but I'm not really that picky when it comes to this family of colours!

(This is a picture of a portion of wall in my bedroom I have asked to be painted with this shade of violet - which is a bit darker in reality but y' know, artificial light, that corner is way too dark to photograph otherwise... the whole room has various hues of purple scattered around: curtains, decorations, blankets, pillows... here's a special appearance of my beautiful boat lamp! ⛵💕)

Last song: thanks to a suggestion from Youtube, which probably hates me, because I'm still recovering from a flu and generally weak so it would be wise to avoid any kind of unneccessary emotional outburst:

Not technically a song, but still... I'm not sure if I was crying while watching this because I haven't had the chance to listen to them live yet, since they made a European tour twice but never touched my country and I couldn't travel abroad to see them, or because of... whatever it is that is going on with this performance and these artists, "epicness" to me barely covers it, I know I'm exaggerating but that's how much I love Two Steps From Hell, what can I say... In any case here I am being even more of a mess than I already am, you'd think I have had enough of using handkerchiefs these days! 😭❤️‍🔥

Last movie: I think it was Imagine me & you, which I finally watched after seeing a lot about it here (unpopular opinion no one asked for, I thought I would have enjoyed it more... ☹️)... It was either that or Bros (which I actually enjoyed it more than I expected instead 😁), at the moment I don't remember exactly which came last...

Currently watching: Fellow Travelers as for new shows (fuck me, seriously, what am I doing to myself 😭 - I'm crying quite a bit in this post 😅), rewatching Blackadder after having finished A bit of Fry and Laurie 😆, and sports as well, mainly tennis, padel and basketball atm!

Other stuff I watched this year: Oh my, I didn't watch an awful lot of things, but I'll surely forget something - I'm terrible remembering this kind of stuff (if only it was just these things 😅)! Let's see, in no particular order, I can recall Minx (so far this year the most pleasant surprise in terms of TV series I've watched for the first time, silly [affectionate] little show), Wednesday (it was a bit meh for me, not sure if I'll watch next season), Red, white & royal blue (likely one of my favourite movies this year ❤️... yeah, it's not certainly a big deal of a movie ofc and I'm not even a rom com gal, especially for those Hallmark style movies, like this kinda is, but idk, it was cute and warm and brought good feelings and probably I watched it in the right moment for me, or one on which I just needed good vibes, what can I say), Call me by your name (even more than watching the movie reading the book was... quite an experience - I'm not saying it an entirely bad way, but I'm still so utterly confused about my feelings about this novel), What's love, The kissing booth (don't ask me about this one, the things I do to watch an actor I like 😅 - there's a whole trilogy of it but I only watched the two movies that had in the cast the actor I was interested in, really can't be bothered to do more than that, it was enough suffering I endured 🤣), Only murders in the building, The witcher, National treasure: edge of history (I don't care what anyone says, this show deserved at least another season, it was far from perfect but there has been way worse that still sticks around, and I'm speaking as a fan of the movies foremost, especially the first one, which is one of my comfort movies, as absurd and silly as it is 😊), Shadow and bone, The witcher (as for these, I'll probably keep watching an eventual next season only for some of the cast, because both were an utter disappointment and I wouldn't bother continuing otherwise), let's see, what else, oh yeah, Smiley (this was another nice show tbh, and in this case I could also train my ear a bit on the language since it's in Spanish and I'm trying to learn and improve it 😝) and two other Spanish shows (guilty again for watching mainly for an actor I wanted to see ah ehm), Merlì/Merlì: Sapere Aude and Alguien tiene que morir, and Érase una vez��� pero ya no, all pretty much forgettable... I don't know what else, probably there is something more, but I'm making it lenghty already, I should stop anyway!

Shows I dropped this year/didn’t finish: damn, I should make a sheet about tv/movies as I do with books, it's honestly hard remembering what I watched or dropped! I can recall not going through the second episode of Warrior nun: again, another show I was curious about having seen things here on Tumblr, but I didn't feel it after the first episode, I'm not even sure exactly why - it's possible I'll try again someday, it's way too early to have an opinion after only one episode! I also didn't finish Lockwood & co., this one wasn't really for me tbh... I'm not even mentioning something I've been watching only and exclusively because it's a sort of joke I have with a friend of mine... All right, I'll say, it's High School Musical: The musical - the series 😅 Truth is, my friend likes the movies and low key also the series, whereas I hate them all, and she knows they piss me off and she has fun hearing my comments and teasing me about it... I have a bit less fun submitting myself to this "torture" but whatever! 🤣 I try to watch the series when I'm particularly willing to waste my time, because the only reason I'm doing it is to have a laugh with said friend, anyway rn I'm at the last season and it's so bad, sooooooo bad (mind you, meaning it's just not for me, I'm likely too old and too millennial to watch this kind of shows anymore), I don't know how I am supposed to endure any more of it lol!! I guess at some point I'll force myself to finish it to end my suffering and hoping my friend and I will finally close this questionable chapter of our watching experience, but damn it's hard! 😝 As for shows of which I completed a season but didn't watch the next, I could say one was Abbott Elementary: pretty bummed about it because it was actually cute and was enjoying it, I finished the first season when the second didn't air yet and when it did, I had moved on and lost interest a bit and wasn't in the mood to continue my watching (happens to me a lot)... I think at some point I will resume this one, just have to find the right inspiration! 😛 (I'm rather complicated and picky about my watching/reading experience in general, ops) And I have to mention as well, even if it will surely grant me some disapproval from the person who tagged me in this game 😆, I couldn't pick up Our flag means death after the first season as well, and for now I don't think I will resume it: I didn't really feel this show, I don't know what to say... 🤷 Should I mention that I also tried rewatching The Terror but I was like "oh hell no!" after the first episode?! 😅 In my defense I watched it at night, and the show is A LOT and nearly killed me the first time, yeah ok I'm making excuses but I have to be in a certain state of mind to watch certain things and The Terror is one of those cases - I already mentioned I'm complicated with my watching experience, yes?! 😜 Anyway it was a rewatch so it shouldn't count sssshhhh 🤫😁

Currently reading: more like, the books I've put on hold atm, ouch! True that this year, especially in the first half, I've read way more than I expected and definitely way more than I usually do, but that's not an excuse to make a pause - still, I'm realizing that it's been few weeks since I've picked up my readings! Anyway, what I've been reading is Mercanti avventurieri by Attilio Brilli, which collects stories about merchants and their travels and trades through the centuries; Columbus by Lawrence Bergreen, the account of Cristoforo Colombo's voyages in America - not happy enough of ending up horrified and outraged by the chronicle of Magellano's expedition (by the story and events, not the author's writing, which I actually appreciated a lot), I decided to educate myself more about another so called "pioneer" who thanks to his hubris committed terrible atrocities in the name of "progress" and "religion" and "civilization" and so on 😡 , since the little knowledge I have about Colombo comes mainly from my years at school... Despite the fact that my respect for this man is nowhere to be seen, I'm still somehow fascinated by the narration of sea voyages, which in the end are actually my main interest when reading this kind of stories; Atlante delle fortune di mare di Cyril Hofstein, an account of tales about (mis)fortunes at sea, involving incidents, lost treasures, mysterious events, discoveries, disappearances, disasters and so forth - btw, in the book there is this particular chapter:

The disappearance of the Erebus and Terror is the title - the real story is terrifying enough even without creating a fictional horror show inspired by it jfc!

And lastly, this is definitely the less "serious" reading, The Lawrence Browne affair by Cat Sebastian, one of my first attempts at reading "proper" (meaning they're not fanfictions, not that I don't consider those "proper" literature, on the contrary many of them are written far better than some published books I've read, so yeah, I should say "published" instead) erotic novels lmao 😝 This was a whim really, I felt I wanted to read something light, "wicked" and not to be taken seriously (it also was probably some sort of "knee-jerk reaction" to many of the queer books I read this year, which were sad, depressing and/or tragic 😔)! Romance novels are not really my jam in general, but every once in a while they don't hurt, since I'm doing it just for fun! This one is actually the second book of a trilogy, more disappointing than the first book I have to say, which was more "juicy" and entertaining! 😁

Currently listening to: ah, this is a tough one to pinpoint, because lately my Spotify is on shuffle most of the time (I have a folder literally called "Miscellanea" that keeps a bit of everything, it's a glorious mess lol), and my music preferences are rather varied... Let's say that if I have to consciously choose something at the moment, there would certainly be Poets of the Fall, Gaelic Storm, The Irish Rovers, Santiano (in general celtic folk/punk songs, especially if inspired by sea and sailors stories- those are good for all seasons 🥰), Two Steps From Hell, J2 and "epic music" in general, and dance-pop music from '70 to '00, original or remixes, especially when I work out in the last case!

Currently working on: do crosswords count? It's my newest pursuit lol 😆 Because otherwise I'm afraid I'm not working on anything in particular at the moment (and I should start, since I had a couple of ideas for gifts for Christmas that alas, have to be handcrafted in order to be created, and if I want to have them done I am the one who must work on them, ugh can you believe it, outrageous, what has the world come to 😂)... I occasionally do a bit of calligraphy, create costume jewellery or create little macramè things, again usually trinkets but this summer I bought thicker yarns so I could have a go at something a little bigger like coin purses, wallets and little bags, and all in all it didn't go that bad:

The problem is, at least with the purses, that with these dimensions I can't fit half the things I usually bring with me when I go out because "you never know what might happen I might need this thing", so these purses were more like first tries and will likely not be used by me very much because they are too small for my necessities! 😅 In any case, I had to put this activity on hold for a bit because I lacked some time to dedicate myself to it!

Oh, wait, does trying to repair a porcelain ornament that fell on the floor (not because of me, I want to clarify, for once that I don't accidentally bump into stuff and make a mess - which happens more often than I'd like 😅) count? Hardly but whatever, anyway it's going to be complicated to glue the pieces back, some have shattered in such tiny fragments, sigh...

Current obsession: I'm almost shocked to report that at the current moment no particular obsession has consumed my every waking hour 🤣 I mean, even the flame of padel, which I've been following almost religiously all year, has dimmed a little, but it is the end of the season/year, everyone is tired and so am I apparently, rooting for couples who almost never have significant results (story of my life lol), so I guess I'm recharging the batteries for another round of hopeless cheer next year, yay! 🥳 For the rest, in terms of media I believe there is nothing of significance to report in terms of proper "obsession" for the time being, so yeah, that's it 😌 (the times of Black Sails or even Agents of SHIELD are far behind me, I miss being that "obsessed" tbh ☹️)

Tagging @thelifeinmyshadesofgrey , @whitestnoise , @lives-ruined-and-bloodshed, @valentinaonthemoon , @mednay , @tirairgid (ofc if you want to and haven't done it before) and whoever wants to give it a go really!

[streetslost]

“Hey babe, you feeling sick?” (Worried Scott!)

fran bow sentence starters

                 HE WAS GREETED BY SILENCE.  she was fairly still, chest a slow rise and fall.  eyes were open, staring upward.  there seemed a vacancy.  for days now had the ENERGY to rise from bed felt worse and worse.  a fact she held like a secret in her chest, hiding its existence behind grumpy morning smile and teasing complaining.  that she wanted to sleep in, that she was s o r e, didn’t sleep well, just enjoying being wrapped in the embrace of the blankets.  but now she couldn’t even muster up much of a response.  not right away…

         mind pondered upon the time.  her life, their lives.  the kids, the pets.  the little puppy she had waiting for scott.  a gift.  a goodbye.  she needed to go get the furball…  a surprise for her beloved.  she knew him.  loneliness was an ache, a trap, a terrible state.  he would be in a fairly empty house, he would need a new companion, something to keep him on his toes.  the kids, the grandkids… they’d all be around.  but the halls of a mansion echoed louder when there wasn’t anyone to rattle them with noise.

                 whenever he had been a w a y on movies, cat had learned that intimately.

         suddenly, he was near, and the inquiry was registered as it was repeated.  head turned upon her pillow and frail hand reached up to press to his cheek. not that old but also not that young.  it still shouldn’t have been her time, but her body had endured too much, and now it craved to give in.  in the end, cat had gotten to have something good.  love.  a family, a home.  pets, friends, jobs, companionship.  her suffering had become BEARABLE, her heart had been full.  even now, though her entire being twisted inside with heavy sorrows, there was a happiness.  cat knew it wouldn’t be so bad.

                  it wasn’t time yet, though.  a bit left.  not much but.  each day was a music box reaching the end of its dance; a key long lost and nowhere to be found.  the music was struggling, the gears clicked slowly.  long inhale, feeling the air trapping in her lungs, trying to use it to help her sit up.

          “no… not sick, honey…  just a bit tired.  but nevermind that…  i have a surprise for you today.  why don’t we check it out after breakfast… yeah.  i think you’ll love it.  just… help me stand.  please.  getting old sucks, huh?”

@storybounded