#this may be wordy and well-known for someone but still I wanted to clear up Sebastian's name

[phantom-17]

Recently I've been coming across more and more posts which say different, but unite in one, the following: Sebastian is a perverted amoral beast that makes Ciel a torturer, greedy and heartless proud fellow in order to make his soul a delicious treat, lost in sorrow and sins and dark as darkness itself can only be. But I have certain thoughts that allow me to say that I'm not quite agreeable with this point of view. And let me explain why.

Actually, this might really be true. There's no denying that Sebastian leads Ciel's soul deeper in sin, even Yana had claimed something similar to that statement during one of her old interviews. BUT I see in Seb's purposes and aims something more specific than just his starvation issues: even though he says that he has genuine interest in Ciel's soul only, I believe that deep inside he feels what Ciel feels, he shows his empathy during random facial expressions that aren't even suitable for a devil - a creature with no sense of loyalty and love. There are MYRIADS of tiny catch phrases of Seb that can proof that he doesn't make Ciel a bad person, but silently follows his orders. Attention, his OWN orders. It's well-known that Ciel imagines himself (and he truly is) as a magnificent gamer. He, and only he is responsible for the actions that take place in his fate, just because Sebastian never does something that wasn't a particular order, and every time he somehow deviates from Ciel's plans a little, he gets reprimanded. Have you ever seen a single time Sebastian seduced Ciel to kill someone? Moreover, Ciel is quite an adequate and mature person for his years, even when Sebastian at the very beginning of their contract suggests a simpler way of a game and rushes out of the table to kill everyone who had ever hurt him, Ciel stops him and says that there's no need to kill everyone who, in his subjective opinion, might be involved in Phantomhive fall. See the difference? Ciel isn't becoming a brainless killer with Seb. He sees his own goals over Sebastian's methods of acting and keeps being a Human even despite he had come through hellish experience.

MOREOVER

Sebastian isn't just a weapon in Ciel's hands. He's his patron and mentor. Sebastian, not someone else had taught him sciences and art, Sebastian, not someone else had enough patience to teach him manners, horse riding and hunt. Sebastian helped him to gain back his manor and title, to get rid of inconfidence and believe that he isn't a helpless tiny worm that's good for nothing. Thanks to Sebastian Ciel had become at least somehow socialised and made his dream of creating a toy factory true.

There also wasn't a single case when Sebastian gave Ciel a piece of advice or made a remark that turned out to be bad for him. He teaches Ciel how to behave properly, he broadens his knowledge, moreover, he always trains his wit and inner powers by purposely putting him in those peculiar situations when Seb can't help! Look at these pages and cuts:

You see? Sebastian teaches him wisdom. He understands that Ciel's highly convinced that Sebastian will come and save him whatever happens. He sees that Ciel is still a bit non-independent, because there was no one who could teach him to be so. So SEBASTIAN does it himself to make Ciel understand that it isn't the world whirling around him, but he is the one who's whirling in its incomprehensible, tangled algorithms.

That's why I'm strictly persuaded that Sebastian is definitely something more than just a future taster of Ciel's soul. He's a person that leads this tiny fragile creature through his hard burden-like life. The gloomy shelter to hide, a prudent adviser, anyone, but not a straight foe for him. Yes, one may say that Sebastian does this all just because it's mentioned in their contract - to protect, to obey and so on. But, you must concede that despite this, Sebastian invests much more in the performance of his duties than he really ought to, and makes Ciel's life a part of his own one.

And I really want to believe, that even though this story can't have a happy ending, it would end up with happiness and peace in Ciel's soul, who'd finally reach his goal and close that cursed circle of endless challenges, grieves and losts that fell to his lot.

UPD: browsing through the last pages of Book of Murder ark I noticed one more thing that is controvercial to the statement that Sebastian doesn't care about Ciel.

This doesn't even need any comments, I think :)))))))♥

[kaminobiwan]

lost in translation

pairing: captain rex  x  engineer!reader

summary: an off day doesn’t always mean a bad day.

a/n: this one was very sweet to write :-) it’s part of my follower milestone celebration, and came from a request from an anon. the prompt was “catching someone doing something they’re not supposed to”, and I really didn’t expect this to take the form that it did! it’s a good thing, though. I really loved writing the fluff and rex deserves the entire world.

finally, here’s something new: my freshly made taglist form is done! as always, enjoy!

He finds you crouched outside the barracks with a datapad in your hand.

It’s not something he’d usually consider abnormal, given everything that happens on the front lines in a single day of wartime, but the way you peek from behind the wall like you don’t want anyone to see you is noticeably out of the ordinary. 

He sneaks up on you pretty easily. It’s in his training, after all.

“What are you doing?”

You let out a surprised yelp, juggling the datapad for a few precarious seconds before catching it and shooting him an annoyed glare. “I could have dropped that.”

Rex tucks his helmet underneath his arm, shrugging indifferently. “Not like you couldn’t have fixed it.”

You shake your head at him the same way a teacher would to a misbehaving child, holding up a finger in correction. “I fix starships, not electronics.” Your voice drops conspiratorially. “It’s a completely different area of engineering.”

It doesn’t really matter that much to him. The math, or physics, or whatever you try to teach him always goes over his head, anyways. The way you’re glancing over your shoulder to see if any of the men can hear you, though, is something he’d like explained to him.

“Are you spying on them?”

“Shh!” You free a hand to clamp over his mouth, and Rex flinches at the sudden contact. Your hand is warm, no doubt from holding the datapad for too long. But he’s thankful, lest you feel the heat rising in his cheeks from your touch. “You’re gonna blow my cover. I’m on a mission.”

Rex’s voice is muffled, but his words come out clear enough. “What mission?” 

You usher him back down the hallway from where he came, dropping your arm from his face. “Can’t tell you,” you reply, gazing up at him with an intrepid grin. Even without your expression, it’s easy to see through your jest with your overtly joking tone. “It’s top secret. Goes all the way up to the top.”

Rex raises an eyebrow. That is new. It’s not often you’ll hide something from him. You’ve always been an open book around the 501st, saying it helps the boys comfortably emote after the trauma of the battlefield. You’re naturally trusting, and it encourages reciprocation without force. Even the General had noticed and enjoyed the calming presence you’d had on his men, hence your current station as head engineer of their mobile base. Good thing, too — Rex is pretty deep in his feelings for you. Has been since the moment you’d stuck out a surprisingly calloused hand and introduced yourself to him. To the benefit of everyone, his command is noticeably more effective after a late night in your private quarters or his separated bunk.

“I think I’d know if you were assigned on a mission,” he holds the door open for you as you duck inside your room. “Seeing as how I’m your C.O.”

“Is that the case?” you tuck the datapad on a bookshelf next to your bed. You turn to speak over your shoulder, obviously attempting to conceal the information you’d been recording from him. “Didn’t realize I’d be dating my boss when I got involved with you.”

Rex stumbles on his own two feet at that, and you laugh at him outwardly.

He’s still not the best with confronting the relationship between the two of you, as under wraps as it may be. After losing so many brothers to the war that birthed them, it’s hard to be vulnerable the way you ask him to be. He wants the same thing you do, but being open about how he feels is almost impossible for him.

Thank the maker you’re patient, though, and can put up with his inability to call himself your boyfriend. It doesn’t stop you from showering him in affection.

“Well, I do outrank you, even if you are a civvie tech.” Recovered from his blunder, he eases himself down on your cot, undoing the straps of his armor. “So, I could just order you to tell me what you were doing.”

A pout materializes. “You’re no fun.”

“Got me mixed up with Fives if that’s what you’re looking for.”

You sigh dramatically, plopping into your favorite sitting corner next to his feet. The stool you usually prop your feet up on is missing, though he suspects it’s in the refresher since you seem to be too short to reach the cabinet there. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Rex lets a corner of his mouth rise in a half smile. He enjoys the way you let your reactions show, exercising the full range of your emotions. You pick up the slack he leaves in that regard, and he braces as he turns, leaning his elbows on his knees as he tells you, “You do know you were holding the datapad backwards earlier, right? I clocked the screen in the hall.”

Your frown deepens, and you cross your arms at him. “Rex.”

“What’re you lookin’ up Mando’a for, anyway?”

He’d immediately recognized the script of the language on your pad. You blow a strand of hair away from your face, the remnants of your so-called mission story falling away with the conversation. “I wanted to learn it, obviously.”

Rex casts his eyes to the ceiling. “Obviously. My question was why.”

You fix him with a thoughtful stare that lasts a second longer than normal, and he extends a hand to you in your corner. When you take it, he guides you to the bed next to him, resting your legs in his lap. His fingers tap your ankle in impatient waiting. 

“Does there have to be a reason?” You flex your toes, wiggling them as you speak. “Maybe I just want to understand you better.” 

“Sweetheart, you understand us plenty. Jesse said you gave him a hell of a therapy session just last week.”

You raise a brow at him, mimicking his expression from before. “I want to understand you, Mr. Brooding-and-closed-off,” you sit up from leaning on your hands, and poke him in the shoulder pointedly. It’s true that he relies on his mother tongue much more than the rest of his brothers. He’ll sometimes unknowingly switch from Basic, to your endless confusion. “I seem to be able to help everyone but you.” You purse your lips before peering at him amusedly. “And I think you mean psychoanalysis, not a therapy session.”

Rex makes a dismissive face. “Whatever.”

You drop your gaze, absently trailing your hand down his shoulder, and he grimaces internally. He can tell you’re already used to him pushing you away. You’re visibly preparing for it, even now.

He’s really bad with words — it’s ironic, considering how efficient he can be when he assumes command. Although he’s known for thinking on his feet, that doesn’t necessarily transfer to his communication skills. He’s never had the patience for conversation like Cody, or the power to convey his thoughts with threatening glares like Wolffe.

But he is good at taking action. And he’s tired of disappointing you.

He takes your hand, squeezing it gently as he brushes his thumb across your wrist. Hopefully, his intentions are obvious enough by the way he pulls you closer and looks you straight on. “You know you can always ask me what stuff means,” he says, “instead of trying to listen to Fives’ annoying voice.”

You laugh, and his heart flips in his chest. His brain reminds him to get it together, but he allows himself to relax into your touch. “He does speak too fast for me to decipher,” you wrap an arm around his waist, almost chin to chin with him. “Though it doesn’t take a protocol droid to figure out that haar’chak is a curse word.” You imitate the foreign word with decent accuracy, Rex notes. Maybe he really could teach you.

“It is. And kaysh mirsh solus is ‘he’s an idiot’.” He pauses. “Well, it actually means ‘his brain cell is lonely’. But that’s a little wordy.”

Your eyes light up, both at his seamless transition into the language and his correct anticipation of your first question. It’s his most used phrase, especially around his brothers. Though, the sincerity and circumstance in which he uses it varies wildly.

“There’s another one similar to that,” you press on, and he drinks in your excitement. It’s awfully endearing, even to Rex. “Hardcase says it a lot. It ends with ‘kee-rah-mood’?”

“Kaysh mirsh’kyramud,” Rex grins at your attempt. “‘He’s a brain assassin’. It just means someone’s boring.” A realization dawns on him as you giggle at the literal translations. “Wait, when has he said that?”

You shrink back a little, suddenly more conscious amidst your amusement. “Um…”

He looks at you flatly. “It’s after my briefings, isn’t it.”

“Yep.”

“Or’dinii.” After a beat, you nudge him. “‘Moron’.”

Another laugh breaks past your lips, and you lean your head against him. Despite his grumbling, he tucks you under him and kisses your temple, his face dissolving into a contented expression. You’re happily indulging him with the physical contact he’s always craving, and he silently offers you the first concession he’s given since you kissed him for the first time in the hangars before battle all those months ago. Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.

“What’s that mean?”

Rex jerks up in surprise, angling his neck down to see you watching him curiously. He hadn’t realized he’d said it aloud.

It’s not like him to be so out of his head, but then again, this hasn’t exactly been a regular day. He sucks in a breath, committing fully to the sentiment. He’s never made the first move with you. You’ve had to elicit every last moment from him, breaking down wall after rebuilt wall.

Not this time.

“I love you,” he murmurs, but you hear him, loud and clear. “It means I love you.”

Your eyes blaze with something he can’t get a read on, but you respond with an alarmingly straight face. “Is that what it means literally?”

Rex blinks. “Um, no. It means — ”

“I’m joking,” your facade drops immediately, and you break out into that wide, face-splitting smile he loves so damn much. “Rex, I love you.” You reach up to gather his jaw in your hands, and drag him down into a sweet kiss, and he swears he’s never felt happier. “I love you too, Rex, stars.”

Against your lips, he mumbles it again, the words glistening on his tongue. “I love you.”

Nothing he’s ever said has sounded better.

[kindest-way-to-say]

okay so. i’m just gonna rant. about some pain i’ve been experiencing for a while. like, we’re getting into it

if anyone would like to put in their two cents, feel free. im kinda just yelling about my problems into a void, but im definitely not gonna stop people who might know what this is from giving me advice.

idk. my brains shutting down a bit.

TDLR: my left arm has been in constant pain for three days. it’s probably nerves or something. i’m very addled rn. i hate the world i want to sleep for a millennia. i also have had similar, smaller pain issues over a course of 4 months. i hate it here. i would very much like this to not be a thing, please.

so this story starts the mid may. my last month of school. i’m suffering through just to end this bullshit. but i notice that p much every time i have to do some slightly more than normal walking, some random body part of mine will just be in this sort of dull pain.

and i just kinda go. huh. okay. ow. and brush it off. this continues. it’s pretty minor, (like barely a 1/10 on a scale) but enough for me to be mildly annoyed by it on occasion.

go to two weeks before my school lets out for summer.

i get appendicitis and have surgery for it. i’m fine. that situation went better than expected, i was just not the most comfortable.

appendicitis pain traditionally presents in the lower right quadrant of the abdomen. right next to a shit ton of nerves. and the pain i’m going through starts to affect my leg. can’t really walk without alarms going on.

it gets better. i’m not like. comfortable, but i’m just taking ibuprofen a few times a day and managing decently. 3.5/10 pain level average.

but then, as i start going out and living life as a teenager in the summer (hanging out with one person semi-regularly, and doing weird family lunches), i start to notice that most times i leave the house, i’ll come back home with some pretty decent pain in assorted parts of my body.

like my back will hurt, which i just blame on my shit posture. but then it’ll be a weird muscle connected to my ankle or some shit when i am very well known for hating any and all sports except for hockey. which i don’t play.

so i’m not doing things to pull muscles, but i’m feeling twinges of pain kind of a lot. which sucks.

but i brush it off, now consciously keeping an eye on it and taking ibuprofen when needed.

pain levels steadily rise over time, but it’s still at about a 4/10 for the most part. there’s the occasional spike to a 6, but that’s not frequent.

keep going on to mid-july. every time i leave the house, i’m feeling dull ache/twinges in multiple places and my knees feel really fucking off a lot of the time. almost like if your knees were crooked or something?? idk.

but it’s still 5.5 on the worst day. so i just kinda hesitantly mention this to my mom. who’s used to me complaining anyway, but i make it clear that it’s been going on for a while, and it feels like somethings wrong.

and she says “oh yeah we can think about seeing a doctor.”

and i just. okay! cool. fun. rad. sick. vague pain. that’s my favorite activity. i love everything about this.

but i just grit my teeth and bear it. still doing the ibuprofen thing when my ignore it and distract yourself strategy doesn’t work.

now, end of july. trucking along. i’m at least in mind discomfort pretty much all the time. sucks. hate it. i’m concerned.

go to the 31. i pull a crazy all-nighter because i have chemical imbalances in my brain and shit just happens. i stay up for like 44 hours. wild. i sit at my desk for a while, drawing and i notice “wow my left shoulder doesn’t feel that great. huh. i have been sitting here for a while.”

so i go do something else but it doesn’t feel fantastic. almost like a buzzing in parts of my back and my upper arm. on my left arm. i am right handed. don’t know what that’s about.

go to sleep sunday night, i wake up to it just being worse. (also i have some weird circulation problems because of genetics. just random shit. no pain whatsoever. just funky.)

like wtf that’s a 4 right as i’m waking up. what the actual fuck. don’t like that.

but i was raised catholic so none of us talk to each other. so i just joke about my body organizing a shitty coup d’état to a friend and chalk it up to a fucked up muscle. but it’s like kind of moving?? a bit?? weird as fuck. don’t like it. still dull pain, but certainly something that pops up into my conscious mind like 10 times a day.

i didn’t do anything would result in a pulled muscle (trust me. my school is really intense about theatre and show choir. hard core choreography in everything that i practice 3 times a week during school+whatever play/musical) so i’m really just making excuses to soothe my brain and i know it. full denial.

i took ibuprofen the first and second day. can still tell it’s happening, but it sucks less.

yesterday i play a shit ton of guitar, and i can feel my upper arm cramping up and shit (which. oW. 5.7/10. WHAT THE HELL.) even though there is no strain on my left arm except for pressing my fingertips into some strings. no shoulder shit going on.

so i try to stretch out. no help.

and then the adhd medication instead of sleeping medication debacle happens and i don’t go to bed even though i actively tried to multiple times. i write a poem instead.

hurts mildly the whole time. it starts kind of limiting the functions of my arm. which. what the actual fuck. stiff, a bit seized up in especially bad pain moments.

i get focused on writing a poem and shit i only 20 minutes to get ready to leave for my appointment.

i forgot to take any ibuprofen, and it was already reaching 5.85 levels from sitting in my room.

in the car and in the orthodontist office, my left arm is completely fucking useless to me. half of my brain at all times is focused on like “oW OW OW OW OW” because it’s reached a point where i can’t really ignore it. it’s just there now. moving it isn’t great, it sitting in place isn’t fun either.

i’m at 6.5 levels. from the round trip of like 20-ish minutes, it’s raised that much. a lot of internal dialogue about it.

on the way to the orthodontist, i’m talking to my mom about it. she, sounding kind of annoyed, asks “what, do you want to see a doctor?”. i say “honestly? yes. it’s been 3 days nonstop. steady rise. there’s something genuinely wrong. i’m concerned about it.”

it feels like someone is poking around inside my arm with electricity or some shit. whole arm. shifting localizations and slight fluctuation in pain level. rapid escalation even just today.

i explain what it feels like in less wordy terms. and she says “that’s sounds like it could be nerve-related.”

it’s been three days. i’m exhausted. this has already taken a pretty significant mental toll, let alone discomfort level.

i have a high pain tolerance. i only started actively complaining about appendicitis pain the night before it exploded. that shit festers longer than overnight. i had been i pain for half the week before i said shit. and i just kinda sucked it up until i felt like i couldn’t walk without needing hella support.

but it’s really fucking getting to me. shit ton of weird tension, buzzing. just. constant painful buzz moving around.

i express this. “it’s a non-stop pain bad enough to be something i am fully aware of at any given second. if i stare off, im probably thinking about my arm.” and she kinda dismisses it.

it’s been like an hour, and i’ve gone up to 6.8 levels multiple times. based on patterns, it’s not just gonna stop any time soon, and i’m really good at working around weird problems like this.

like i said. pain every time i go out.

i’m good at hiding when i’m not 100%, but this is beyond me. it’s like someone’s just stabbing me with tacs over and over again. on my entire left arm and on the rare occasion, part of my leg.

i’m so genuinely uncomfortable, and i would this to not be a thing anymore.

[aion-rsa]

The Public Enemy Solidified Gang Rule Under James Cagney for 90 Years

https://ift.tt/3vfQifQ

William Wellman’s The Public Enemy (1931) turns 90 this weekend. When the film first came out, a theater in Times Square showed it nonstop, 24 hours a day, seven days a week. The movie marks the true beginning of gangster movies as a genre. Mervyn LeRoy’s Little Caesar may have hit theaters first, but The Public Enemy set the pattern, and James Cagney nailed the patter. Not just the street talk either; he also understood its machine gun delivery. His Tommy Powers is just a hoodlum, never a boss. He is a button man at best, even if he insisted his suits have six buttons.

The Public Enemy character wasn’t even as high up the ladder as Paul Sorvino’s caporegime Paul Cicero in Martin Scorsese’s Goodfellas. But Cagney secured the turf Edward G. Robinson’s Rico Bandello took a bullet to claim in Little Caesar, and for the rest of his career Cagney never let it go.

Some would argue genre films began in 1931. Besides mob movies, the year introduced the newspaper picture with Lewis Milestone’s The Front Page and John Cromwell’s Scandal Sheet; Universal Pictures began an unholy run of horror classics via Tod Browning’s Dracula and James Whale’s Frankenstein, with the two turning Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff into household names; and Howard Hawks’ Scarface would land the knockout for the gangster genre, even if it didn’t get released until 1932.

Sadly, the classic “Gangster Film” run only lasted one production season, from 1930 to 1931, and less than 30 films were made during it. Archie Mayo’s The Doorway to Hell started the ball rolling in 1930, when it became a surprise box office hit. It stars Lew Ayres as the top mug, with Cagney as his sidekick. For fans of pre-Code Hollywood, it is highly recommended. It includes a kidnapping scene which results in the death of a kid on the street. Without a speck of blood or any onscreen evidence, it is cinematically shocking in its impact.

Both Little Caesar and The Public Enemy earned their street cred, defying the then-toothless 1930 Motion Picture Production Code, which preceded the Hays Code. After New York censors cut six scenes from The Public Enemy to clear it for release, the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America (MPPDA) set further guidelines for the proper cinematic depiction of crime.

Public Enemy director Wellman was an expert in multiple genres. He spit out biting satires like Nothing Sacred (1937) and Roxie Hart (1942), and captured gritty, dark realities in The Ox-Bow Incident (1943) and Story of G.I. Joe (1945). He won his only Oscar for A Star Is Born (1937). The Public Enemy is the first example of what would be his trademark: stylish cinematography and clever camera-work. The dark suspense he captures is completely different from the look of German expressionism. It captured the overcast shadows of urban reality and would influence the look of later noir films. His main character would inspire generations of actors.

“That’s just like you, Tom Powers. You’re the meanest boy in town.”

Orson Welles lauded James Cagney as “maybe the greatest actor who ever appeared in front of a camera.” Will Rogers said watching Cagney perform was “like a bunch of firecrackers going off all at once.” The New York City born performer explodes in this movie. Even in black and white, Cagney’s red hair flares through the air like sulfur on a match. It turns out to be a slow burn, which will reach its ultimate climax in 1949’s White Heat. The Public Enemy is loaded with top talent, but you can’t take your eyes off Cagney. Not even for a second. You might miss some tiny detail, like the flash of a grin, a wink, or a barely perceptible glare.

Cagney had a simple rule to acting: All you had to do was to look the other person straight in the eyes and say your lines. “But mean them.” In The Public Enemy, the characters communicate without lines. When Tom and Matt Doyle (Edward Woods) sneak a peek into Larry the Limp’s casket, we understand this is the first time the two young thugs lost someone their own age. The scene barely implies how fortunate they are not to be in that box, but their curiosity is as palpable as the loss of their last shred of innocence.

Cagney was originally cast as Matt, and scenes were shot with him in the role. The parts were switched mid-production, but they didn’t reshoot the flashback scenes, making it look like the pair swapped bodies between 1909 and 1915. It’s a shame because Frankie Darro, who plays the young Matt, made a career out of playing baby face Cagney, and later joined the East Side Kids franchise.

Former “Our Gang” actor Frank Coghlan Jr. took on the role of young Tom. He takes the lashes from his cop father’s belt, backtalking him the whole time. Tom Powers is reprehensible. He never says thank you and doesn’t shake hands. He delights in the violence and sadism. Powers doesn’t go into crime because of poverty; he just can’t be contained. Cagney’s mobster mangles, manhandles, maims and murders, and still needs more room in his inseam. 

Dames, Molls, and Grapefruits

Besides defying the ban on romanticizing criminals, both The Public Enemy and Little Caesar broke sexual codes. There are explicit signs that Rico Bandello represses his sexuality in Caesar. Scenes between him and his friend Joe, and his gunman Otera, thinly veil homoerotic overtones. Public Enemy’s Powers, by contrast, subtly encourages the gay tailor who is openly hitting on him.

There are strong indications Putty Nose (Murray Kinnell) is grooming Tommy and Matt for more than just fenced goods. Look at the way Putty sticks his ass in Powers’ face while he is shooting pool. Putty Nose’s execution at the piano is creepily informed by the unspoken sins between the men. Tommy relishes the kill.

However, Tommy doesn’t relish being manhandled when he’s too drunk to notice. While the gang goes to the mattresses in the movie’s gang war, Tommy is raped by Jane (Mia Marvin), his boss Paddy’s girl. Powers protests the best he can, but the camera angles leave no doubt. Tommy wakes up hungover, horrified, and feeling impotent. Matt, however, has no trouble getting “busy” with his girlfriend Mamie, played by Joan Blondell, in one of the scenes trimmed by the censors.  Blondell, Jean Harlow, and Mae Clarke, who plays Tommy’s girlfriend Kitty, represent a glitzy cross-section of white Roaring Twenties glamour. In the opening credits, when Harlow and Blondell smile at the camera, male audience members of the time blushed.

Harlow was Hollywood’s original “Blonde Bombshell,” starring in the movie that coined the term. Her earthy comic performances would make her a major star at MGM, but she was a dud to critics of The Public Enemy. Hers was the only part which was criticized, and the reviewers were brutal, declaring her voice untrained and her presence boring.

Harlow’s greatest asset had to be contained within the Pre-Code era. Straddled with a wordy part as a slumming society dame, she is directed to slow her lines to counter the quick patter of the rest of the cast. Yet Harlow uses that to her benefit in the film’s best moment of sexual innuendo. While telling Tommy about “the men I’ve known,” she pauses, and appears to be calculating them in her head before she says, “And I’ve known dozens of them.” When an evening alone with Tommy is cut short, Gwen’s exasperation over the coitus interruptus is palpable. Members of the Catholic Legion of Decency probably had to go to confession after viewing the film for slicing.

Most people know The Public Enemy for the famous grapefruit scene where Powers pushes a grapefruit into his girlfriend’s face. “I wish you was a wishing well,” he warns, “so that I could tie a bucket to you and sink ya.” Tommy treats women like property. They are status symbols, the same as clothes or cars. Kitty’s passive-aggressive hints at commitment get on Tom’s nerves. He can only express himself through violence. There are rumors Cagney, who would go on to rough up Virginia Mayo in White Heat and brutalize Doris Day in Love Me or Leave Me, didn’t warn Clarke he was going to use her face as a juicer. According to the autobiography Cagney by Cagney, Clarke’s ex-husband Lew Brice loved the scene so much he watched it a few times a day, timing his entrance into the theater to catch it and leave.

Both actors have said it was staged as a practical joke to see how the film crew would react. It wasn’t meant to make the final cut. Wellman told TCM he added it because he always wanted to do that to his wife. The writer reportedly wrote the scene as a kind of wish-fulfilling fantasy.

The screenplay was written by Harvey F. Thew. It was based on Beer and Blood by John Bright and Kubec Glasmon. The unpublished novel fleshed out press accounts of the bootlegging Northside gang leaders, Charles Dion “Deanie” O’Banion, Earl “Hymie” Weiss, and Louis “Two-Gun” Alterie. Cagney based his Tommy Powers character on O’Banion and Altiere. Edward Woods was doing his take on Weiss. The book reflected the headlines in the Chicago papers, which reported Weiss smashed an omelet into his girlfriend’s face.

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By David Crow

The Trouble Squad

The Public Enemy borrowed from the day’s headlines in other ways too. Hymie Weiss was assassinated in October 1926. It was the first reported “machine-gun nest” murder. It is recreated in the killing of Matt Doyle. While shooting the sequence, Cagney ducked real machine gun fire to bring authenticity to the scene. Also taken from real life is the fact that after O’Banion was killed in ‘24, Alterie’s first reaction was to do public battle with the killers. This is similar to Tommy’s final shootout at Schemer Burns’ nightclub headquarters.

Leslie Fenton’s dashing mob captain Nails Nathan (“born Samuel”) flashes the greatest grin in mob movie history. He is based on Samuel “Nails” Morton, a member of O’Banion’s mob. Both “Nails” were driven to their coffins the way it is depicted in The Public Enemy. The real Morton died in a riding accident in 1923, and “Two-Gun” Alterie and some of the other gang members went back to the stables, rented the horse which kicked Nails in the head, and shot the animal. Mario Puzo may have been inspired by this scene when he wrote The Godfather. It is not only tie to the Francis Ford Coppola movie. Oranges have as much vitamin C as grapefruits. Another similarity between the two films is the threat of being kidnapped from the hospital by a rival gang.

The Powers brothers’ relationship vaguely echoes the one between war hero Michael and Sonny Corleone, who believes, as his father does, soldiers were “saps” to risk their lives for strangers. Donald Cook, who played Mike Powers, didn’t pull any punches on the set. In the scene where he knocks Tom into the table before going off to war, he really connects. Wellman told Cook to do it without warning so he could get that look of surprise. Cook broke one of Cagney’s teeth, but Cagney stayed in character and finished the scene.

“It is a wicked business.”

After the stock market crash, get-rich-quick schemes seemed the only way through the Great Depression. The gangster was an acceptable headline hero during Prohibition because the law was unpopular with the press. But after 1929, the gangster became the scapegoat villain. The Public Enemy was the ninth highest grossing film of 1931. But the genre lost its appeal after April of that year, as studios pumped out pale imitations and audiences got tired of the saturation, according to the book Violence and American Cinema, edited by J. David Slocum. Religious and civic groups accused Hollywood of romanticizing crime and glamorizing gangsters.

The Public Enemy opens with a dire warning: Don’t be a gangster. Hoodlums and terrorists of the underworld should not be glamorized. The only MPAA rule the film didn’t break was portraying an alliance between organized crime and politics. The studios passed the films off as cautionary tales which were meant to deflate the gangster’s appeal by ridiculing their false heroism.

Through this hand-wringing, however, Cagney turns false heroics on its head with the comic brilliance of a Mack Sennett short. Stuck without a gun, he robs a gun store armed with nothing but moxie. Powers never rises in the organization. He takes orders and whatever the boss says is a good cut, only asking for more money once from Putty Nose. Unlike Rico, who rose to be boss among bosses, Powers has no power to lose. This is just the first gig he landed since he was a regular “ding ding” driving a streetcar, and it connected with audiences like a sock on the button. They identified with the scrappy killer, and it surprised them.

Even Gwen notices Tommy is “very different, and it isn’t only a difference in manner and outward appearances. It’s a difference in basic character.” Strict Freudians might lay this on his mother (Beryl Mercer), the greatest enabler Cagney will see until White Heat. Ma Powers’ little boy is a budding psychopath knocking off half the North Side, but look at the head on his beer. For audiences at the time, Tom was the smiling, fresh-scrubbed face of evil. He is consistently unsympathetic but likable from the moment he hits the opening credits.

Like Malcom McDowell’s Alex in A Clockwork Orange, he is the fiend’s best friend. Even if it is Tommy’s fault his best pal Matt gets killed. While Cagney spent his career ducking his “you dirty, double-crossing, rat” line from Taxi, the actor wasn’t afraid to play one in Powers. He’s not a rat in the sense he’d snitch on anyone. He’s the last of the pack who sticks it out for his pals when his back is up against the wall.

A Hail of Bullets

Tommy Powers goes by this credo: live fast, die young, and leave a corpse so riddled with bullets, not even his mother can look at his body when he’s done. But then, no one can end a film like Cagney. He’s danced down the White House stairs in Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942), been rolled across the concrete steps of a city church in The Roaring Twenties (1939), and was blown to kingdom come in White Heat. He gets two death scenes in The Public Enemy, a rain-soaked climax, and a denouement as scary as The Mummy. Tommy only brings one gun to the gang fight, and by the time he hits the pavement, he’s got more holes in him than the city sewage system.

“I ain’t so tough,” Tommy says on his final roll into the gutter. Cagney’s first professional job was in a musical drag act on the Vaudeville circuit, and he called himself a “song and dance man” long after retirement. For The Public Enemy, conductor David Mendoza led the Vitaphone Orchestra through such period hits as “Toot Toot Tootsie (Goodbye),” “Smiles,” and “I Surrender Dear.” But the song “I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles” is the one which lingers in the memory. Martin Scorsese has cited it as a reason his films are so filled with recognizable music.

Street violence comes with a natural soundtrack. Transistor radios accompany takedowns. Boom boxes blast during shakedowns. Car stereos boost the bass during drive-by shootings. In The Gang That Couldn’t Shoot Straight, mobsters feed quarters into a jukebox to cover up sounds of a beating.

In The Godfather, Part II, a street band plays traditional Italian songs while Vito Corleone puts bullets in the neighborhood Black Hand, Don Fanucci. The last thing we hear in the abrupt close to the mob series The Sopranos is a Journey song. The first thing Tommy’s mother does when she hears her boy is coming home from the hospital is drop a needle on a record.

The ending leaves us with two questions: Who killed Tommy, and what’s his brother going to do about it? We figure whoever did the job on Powers was probably a low-level button man from Schemer’s rival outfit. Probably even lower down the ladder than Tommy, and on his way up, until another Tommy comes along. Crime only pays in the movies, Edward G. Robinson often joked.

Mike’s reaction to the bandaged corpse is ambiguous. He’s already shown outward signs of the trauma following the horrors of war. Is he clenching his fists in anguish or anger? Is he broken by the battlefield or marching off in vengeance, a soldier on one last duty? Cook’s exit can go either way.

After 90 years, The Public Enemy is still fresh. It’s aged better than Little Caesar or Scarface. Cagney wouldn’t play a gangster again until 1938, but the image is etched so deeply in the persona, audiences forget the vagaries of villainy Hollywood could spin, and the range of characters Cagney could play. He and the film continue to influence filmmakers, inform culture, and surprise audiences. Tommy Powers was just a mug, but those streets are still his.

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[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Another plus size reader x Jaskier request for you, you amazing writer you! What if the reader hates going to balls and dances and fancy soirees because she never really gets asked to dance and just sits there watching everyone else. But she goes to this one on the behest of her friend and Jaskier finishes performing early to ask her to dance and basically actually gives her attention? Hope that's not too wordy!

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 1,326Rating: GTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miraclea/n: You’re too sweet. Hope you like it!

“Y/N you must come tonight, it will be intolerable without you,” Yennefer insisted. You’d turned down every other invitation to the many soirees you’d been invited to by virtue of your social station but your oft traveling friend’s pleas were compelling.

“Yennefer why are you even going?” you asked.

“Someone will be there and I need to talk with him,” she said simply. You quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Him? Will I finally meet the mysterious witcher?” you teased.

“Not if you’re not there,” Yennefer answered, a smile on her lips as she realized she’d won.

So you stood in the grand hall of Lord So-and-So’s house, drinking an exceptional wine and watching a ludicrously attractive man perform. He worked the crowd with practiced charm and you marveled at the beauty of his voice. The beauty of all of him, really, from the chestnut hair jauntily brushed to the side and the loveliest, bluest eyes you’d ever seen that caught the light and seemed to glow. Down to the mouth that quirked into the loveliest smiles between words. You had also noticed the beauty of his hands as they nimbly worked the lute in his arms. When his eyes caught yours he gave you a wink and though you knew better than to assume it was genuine, you blushed. Yennefer had disappeared, so much for her promise of having you meet the witcher, and when you heard the bard end quickly you sighed into your cup of wine. The one part of the evening that had been somewhat diverting now gone.

“Hello,” a slightly breathless voice said and you turned to find the bard standing before you, breathing a little hard as he had evidently run the whole length of the room to get to you.

“Good gods,” you said, uncertain what to do with yourself. Now that he stood closer you noticed other details like the soft shock of dark hair on his chest, peeking through the undershirt you could see now that he’d loosened his doublet. His eyes were even more beautiful up close, the color of the sea on a sunny day or the sky after a rainy day.

“Jaskier de Lettenhove,” he said by way of introduction, unphased by your outburst and extending a hand in greeting. You placed your hand in his and he raised it to his lips.

“Y/N,” you replied.

“Y/N,” he repeated in a breathless, starstruck sort of way, “Would you do me the great honor of accompanying me in a dance?”

You stared at him for a moment and then your eyes squinted suspiciously. You looked around the room, expecting to see Yennefer standing somewhere close by watching you. She was nowhere to be seen but you were still unconvinced.

“Did Yennefer tell you to do this?” you asked.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg?” Jaskier asked, utterly confused, “Gods no, why? Is she here?”

“Right you just didn’t notice the most beautiful woman at this dance,” you said sarcastically.

“I think I’ve made it clear that I noticed the most beautiful woman at this dance immediately. I would like her to dance with me, if she’d consent to it,” he said insistently. He didn’t look like he was being disingenuous and you agreed to it though you weren’t totally convinced this wasn’t a trick. He spun you around the floor with ease and grace, making you feel weightless as he dipped you low without exhibiting any sign of strain or worry for his back unlike some unfortunate dance partners you’d had before you’d given up social events.

“Tell me about yourself,” he asked.

“Oh not much to tell I suppose. I’m a lord’s daughter though it’s a courtesy title, truly. We have no grand riches or lands,” you said, carefully testing to see if this was what he was after. He nodded, thoroughly unaffected by the announcement and eagerly listening to all you had to say.

“What do you do for fun? What are your primary amusements?” he pressed.

“I… enjoy reading? I’ve been known to draw at times, though very poorly. I am totally unaccomplished,” you said, another test that he sailed past with ease.

“I wouldn’t say that you are unaccomplished,” he argued, “Everyone has a talent.”

“Well yours is very obvious. You are a brilliant musician,” you said. He glowed at your praise and it made you smile to see him so happy. You thought briefly that you could spend the rest of your life making him smile and never tire of it, but you quickly shook the thought from your head. This was a brief, courtly flirtation. Best not to read too much into it. Still he stayed by your side the whole evening, fetching you a drink between dances and making you laugh with anecdotes and laughing at yours in turn. You were surprised when Yennefer found you sometime later to leave.

“Already?” you asked, a little disappointed.

“We’re among the last to leave, Y/N,” she said. “What’s made you so eager to stay?”

At this Jaskier reappeared, a plate of cheese cubes in hand. He paused as he saw Yennefer and you saw a look of recognition pass between the pair.

“Jaskier,” she said flatly.

“Yennefer,” he replied, just as enthusiastically.

“I see you’ve met my friend,” she said, gesturing to you.

“I have had the honor it is true,” he said. She looked back at you and the way you looked at Jaskier.

“Well I have had an offer to stay nearby that I could take up if you are… otherwise engaged,” she said.

“I could see you home!” Jaskier offered immediately.

“Is that what you want, Y/N?” Yennefer asked, not acknowledging Jaskier’s offer.

“It is,” you said, taking only a moment to consider it.

“Very well,” she said and then she turned to Jaskier and leaned in close, whispering something in his ear that made him blanche and rankle all at once.

“I would never!” he argued. She fixed him with a disbelieving look and then gave you a parting smile before she walked off towards a tall man you barely got a glimpse of but felt certain must be the witcher. Ah well, another time. You were much more interested in the bard who offered you an arm. You took it happily and the pair of you walked into the night. He asked more questions the whole walk home, everything from your favorite fairytale as a child and if it was still your favorite to your favorite constellation. He seemed insatiable in his quest to learn more about you. You’d never had anyone exhibit such a sustained level of interest and you saw no sign of it waning. Even as you reached your doorstep he lingered, asking you what your plans were and whether you would be attending the ball the week after which you hadn’t planned to but suddenly found yourself saying you would be there. When your talking faded to quiet, your fingers brushing against each other’s shyly, he took a step closer.

“This may be a bit bold of me to request but I wonder if I may k—”

You pressed your lips against his before he could finish his request and he quickly moved to scoop you into his arms and return the kiss. You sought to deepen it and he responded in kind. After a breathless minute you forced yourself to break apart.

“Thank you for your company this evening, Jaskier de Lettenhove,” you said, smiling the biggest you had in a long time and certainly more than you ever had after a social event.

“The pleasure was all mine,” he insisted fervently, taking up your hand to offer it a parting kiss. He stepped down from the steps and you both lingered a bit longer until you finally shook your head and opened the door.

“Until next time!” he called to you, blowing you a final, parting kiss.

“Until next time,” you promised.   

[justjessame]

Babysitting Butcher Chapter 9

Files, files, and more files. Billy and I worked through box after box as the days passed. We filled one notepad each, and then a second. We were on the third book each, and still have four boxes left. The dead files, as I called them internally, weren’t of much use other than to show how many babies, children, and adults died for Vought’s urge to create supes. The successful, but whereabouts unknown boxes were helpful in the sense that they offered the scope of how many supes were in mingling in the world without any way to trace them, but none of the files we’d gone through so far had proven fruitful in the quest to name our unknown spree killer.

The other files were successful and whereabouts known, and they were even less helpful. The names we’d found were ones that were easily verified. Through the supe pageants and Vought’s countrywide placement of supes in each state. Even without the chips that The Seven were given, and the other placed supes, the others tended to be known simply because a great deal of them craved attention.

I moved to open the next box, but Billy stopped me. “We’re not working through lunch, Ronnie.” He pulled me to my feet and smiled down at me. “Here or-” Shrugging to show that I didn’t have a preference he smiled. “Out, then.”

I was slipping into my shoes, rolling my eyes at his gaze focused on my toenails again. They were pale pink, I’d tried clear, white, purple, so I was giving this ‘natural’ one a try. So far, nothing forced his attention away. “I swear to God, one day I’ll find a color to make them boring to you.” He was chuckling as he led me to his car.

 Over the course of our work, and our mealtimes, we took turns picking the take out or restaurants. Today was Billy’s turn and he pulled into a diner that may have made my mother pause and grab some sanitizer. I’d been here before, so I knew that looks were deceiving, because they had the best burgers in the city. And the fries? Don’t get me started.

Tucking into our meals, because I swear the owner could see us coming a mile away and it took no time to get our orders, Billy brought up a subject I’d just as soon forget.

“How many days til you go up on the block?” His eyes, as always, were locked on me. I groaned, and took a long drink.

“Three,” the auction was on Saturday. And trust me, I’d tried everything to get out of it, including calling the club and threatening to cancel my membership. Didn’t work, since the very smug and condescending woman who answered informed me that my parents paid my membership fees and would never stop. Fuck. “Hey,” I brightened up and smiled. “Why don’t you ‘accidentally’ shoot me?”

He snorted and spit a little of his own drink out thanks to my idea. “You always do that when I’m eating or drinking, Ronnie.” I handed him some napkins and he shook his head, but he was smiling. “I’m not gonna shoot you, even if there are days-”

“Oh, please,” I waved him off. “Our days aren’t anywhere near the irritating level they used to be, back when I wanted to throw my stapler at your head.” My tone sounded wistful and his eyes were twinkling. “Throw me a bone, Butcher, shoot me so I don’t have to go through with this archaic bullshit.”

 Friday came too soon, and I would have worked through the entire day and into the next night if I could have. Sadly, Billy seemed to be working against my hopes. “Up you get,” he said, right on the dot of the time I’d usually quit. Fucking traitor. “You got to get beauty sleep so you get the highest dollar, right?” I flipped him off as I slipped into my heels. “Is that ladylike, Veronica?” It was the first time he’d used my full first name and the sound of it made my heart thump harder.

“Maybe if I’m not ladylike, they’ll kick me out,” I sounded breathless and sighed. “Then again, it might make me more alluring to these assholes.” He chuckled. “You could still shoot me.” Shaking his head, he led me out to my truck. He’d parked closer to me, as he started doing after the first week we worked together.

“Go, try to enjoy yourself, and for fuck’s sake, Ronnie, fetch the highest price would ya?” I rolled my eyes and he grinned. “Woman like you should get it easily.” And then he was walking away, still not saying goodbye.

 The next evening I was putting the finishing touches on my hair and makeup when my phone rang. I knew who it was before I glanced at the screen, but it didn’t stop my sigh. “Yes, Mother?” I answered.

“Veronica, is that really how you answer the phone?” No, when it’s someone other than my mother, I’m polite, I thought. “We’re sending a car for you,” I started to protest but she cut me off. “That vehicle,” said in the same tone as one might ‘that dog turd’, “you drive is far too high up and I think a lady should exit a car with grace, not a jump.” My eyes were going to get stuck in the top of my head, I just fucking knew it. “Don’t rush, I just wanted you to know that the car will be there soon.”

“Duly noted, Mother.” I used the tip of my finger to wipe away a speck of mascara that dared to smear. “I’m almost ready anyway.”

“I do hope you chose a suitable dress, and please tell me your toenails are a normal color?” I glanced down at my toes, the polish bottle called it ‘mermaid green’, so normal for The Deep? “Especially if you plan on wearing open toed shoes.” I glanced at the strappy heels I’d chosen and grinned. “I’ll never understand-”

“If you don’t let me hang up, Mother, then I won’t make it within the required ‘decent’ arrival window.” She sighed, loud and long, but let me hang up. I rolled my shoulders and prayed against prayer that I would be one of the first on the block and that I could leave early.

A final look in the mirror once I had my shoes on confirmed that I looked presentable. The dress code for these things were always the same. Evening dresses, updos, and heels. Boring, boredom, bored. The dress I had on would make my mother sigh, but it looked good on me, and if I had to dress up then why not pick something flattering?

Held up by one thin strap, form fitting to the floor, with a slit showing ample leg (even if mine were short, they were toned). Black, because it was classic, and satin because I loved the way the fabric felt on my skin. The shoes I was happy to see, showcased the glittery green of my toenails. My makeup was only slightly more dramatic than I wore to work, my hair was twisted in contrasting waves into an updo. No jewelry, the dress needed no enhancement, but a small clutch with the usual necessities, including my house key, badge, office key fob, and cellphone.

The driver was waiting in my driveway, and he quickly opened the door for me while I locked up. And even with all the attention I put into my appearance, I really fucking hoped the evening would end quickly. Really truly, please.

 The club. What could be said about it? Pretentious. That was one word for it. Filled to the brim with smug, condescending assholes with too much money and not enough empathy worked too, though a bit wordy. The driver got to stay behind the wheel as a valet rushed forward to open my door. Stepping carefully out, I sighed. This was going to be a long night, I just knew it.

 John Alan Erickson was the highest bidder for my company during a meal that I was more than certain would be more torture than a root canal without anesthesia. He looked exactly how every other man who had won the bidding for me in the past, just a touch older than the ones that came before.

Tall, thin, wearing a well cut suit, and looking for all the world like a banker or something that would make my ears bleed as he inundated me with all the ins and outs of it during the meal I was now forced to share with him in the near future. I smiled through the introduction, knowing that I had at least two avid stalkers. My parents, standing just out of slapping range, watched as I nodded and smiled. Smile, nod, nod, smile. John didn’t need my active participation in the conversation, or monologue he was giving. I nearly danced out of my shoes when my cell phone rang loudly inside my clutch. Thank the fucking-

“Hello?” I answered, holding a single finger up to shush John who looked like he was going to tell me how rude I was to take a call during his speech. It was Billy Butcher and I felt like hugging him for telling me that I was needed at the office, pronto. “I’ll have to ask the driver my parents hired, but I should be there-”

“No need, Ronnie, I’m outside.” My smile grew. My fucking hero. “Tell those cunts that you have a prior engagement and get your ass outside.”

“I’ll be there in a moment.” I offered the slimmest of excuses to John and my parents who had come over to smooth his ruffled feathers. “Work calls.”

“Honestly, Veronica,” my mother admonished, but too bad. “Couldn’t you just-”

“No, I can’t.” I was firm. “I have to go, it was nice meeting you, John. Mother will give you my number so we can finalize dinner plans.” And then, without another word, I left.

I didn’t run, although it was a fucking close one, and seeing Billy Butcher waiting in a car that was making the valets take second looks at make my grin grow. I didn’t wait for the valet to make up his mind about the car, yanking open the passenger door and getting in, I told him to get me out of there.

[leeuwchen]

Can you write the 14 for Angst and Fluff for Ringsy? Thank you.

This one took a while but here it is (including minor spoilers)

“Can you shut up for once in your life?” –

“Am I your lockscreen?” “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

 If Easy Winter had to rate the different versions of Richard Beckmann, this one would be particularly difficult to put a number on. Sleepy Ringo for example is shockingly cute in 8 out of 10 times and therefore easily a candidate for a high score.  Hungry Ringo on the other hand is almost always unpredictable and can go from weirdly hot to downright annoying within a split second but would still nick 9 out of 10 points because he looks so content when being fed that one can’t help but falling in love with him all over again. And then there is Smug Ringo, like the one standing right in front of him inside the kiosk now, who is clearly meaning no harm but saying all the wrong things, nevertheless.

“Sorry, but can you please repeat, what you did to my place?”

“I reorganized it.”

Easy takes a look around and sighs.

“Reorganizing, you say? Reorganizing is putting the chocolate bars from the right-hand to the left-hand side because they are easier to grab for you from there but this…”

He has no idea how to finish the sentence without sounding too annoyed. There are new shiny price tags on all of his products and a plastic-coated list with new “buy together - combination deals” that Ringo probably would call improvised but is still looking more professional than most of the stuff Easy has put up here lately. It must have cost his husband a great deal of his working day to come up with this concept.

“How long did all of this take, Ringo?”

The tall guy in front of him shrugs nonchalantly.

“Ahhh, don’t worry about that. I had your numbers before-hand since I did  your taxes yesterday, so I knew your price calculation was a bit…”

“A bit what?”

Ringo furrows his brows tentatively.

“A bit… not so good?”

“Meaning?”

There is a long sigh coming from very deep-down Ringo’s chest before he calmly tries to answer the question, clearly feeling that they are at the verge of a fight now.

“Bärchen…”

“Don’t you Bärchen me now, Hase, I mean it. The kiosk is doing just fine without you meddling with my calculations.”

“Exactly, Easy. It is doing just fine. But it could do so much better. Here… take a look at today’s earnings and you’ll see what I mean.”

Ringo opens the cash register and yes – no need to count there – this is more than Easy would have made on an average Sunday, he has enough experience to see that right away. So why isn’t he happy about it? Why does he feel like picking a fight? He knows Ringo is the smart one… he always has been… and normally it doesn’t bother Easy. He knows Ringo is unchallenged at the moment, having no job and no real perspective for once in his life. He should just let him have this… but he can’t, and he doesn’t know why. Meanwhile, Ringo is still looking at the money he made proudly. “Oh”, he suddenly exclaims, “and Leni still owes us 2 more Euro since she didn’t have enough money to pay for her soft drink and chocolate sugar rush…”

“Leni doesn’t have to pay more than before… she’s family!”

“First rule when owning a business: No family favours!”

“Bit rich coming from someone who never pays.”

Ringo chuckles softly and helps himself to some wine gum.

“Okay, let’s say I am the one exception you are allowed to make.”

“Allowed to?”

There is a warning in Easy’s voice but Ringo seems completely oblivious to it. In his world, showing his husband the money clearly is enough to prove himself and his arrangements right.

“Well, I won’t write a penalty scale or something like that but you should really listen to me. I’ve studied business administration after all. I know how to avoid suboptimal calculations. Just don’t worry about it if you are not interested in doing the mathematics yourself. It’s peanuts to me, really. And you know what else? I must admit… I never thought of this place like that, but it does have some potential. If only you would - ”

“Can you shut up for once in your life?”

The words are out of his mouth quickly and they are not even true. Sure, they both can get wordy at times (who in this street can’t?) but they are also good at finding the exit, giving the other one some space and getting back to their respective points calmly after a while. So, this whole shut up for once-stuff is hell of an unfair thing to say and Easy knows that but it’s too late now as Ringo has indeed shut his mouth and nods silently before turning around to leave.

“Honey, I…”

But his husband is out of the door already and for a moment, Easy waits for the door of the kiosk to slam shut behind him but it doesn’t and somehow he doesn’t feel relieved by the silence.

                                                        *

“Sorry, but I think, you gave me too much change. The tag says 2.50 - There.”

The young woman points at one of Ringo’s new signs and shows Easy the money in the palm of her hand. He raises his shoulders defensively.

“No, no. It’s still 2.25, forget the sign. My new temp mixed up some of the prices.”

She smiles at him.

“Okay, cool. I was just wondering and didn’t want to trick you.”

“Don’t worry. Everything around here stays the same.”

The woman walks away and grinning Leni steps up to the window holding up a coin.

“So, I don’t have to pay you the 2 Euro?”

“Of course not… just forget it, please.”

Leni puts the money back into her pocket and takes the wine gum Easy is handing out to her. “Good, but don’t forget to tell, Ringo”, she says while chewing, “out of all of my dads around here, he is the strict one.” Easy smiles.

“He didn’t mean it like that. He just wanted to help my business.”

“And did he?”

Sighing Easy helps himself to a chocolate bar and narrows his eyes thoughtfully.

“He did.”

“But?”

“He might have been a little bit… overachieving.”

“I’m shocked and surprised… since normally he is known as such a laid-back person.”

Easy chuckles quietly.

“I know, I know… you can’t hand him a project and expect him not to act on his business instincts. But you know what’s really bad?”

“What?”

“I acted like a complete asshole.”

Reaching through the window to get some more sweets Leni eyes him suspiciously.

“Well, now I’m really shocked. Shall I set up a fake photo shooting a bit outside of town to get you two to talk things over or would it be enough to take over your shift here so you can go and apologize?”

“Would you do that?”

“What do you think?”

                                                         *

 Tobias and Vivien are standing in the kitchen cooking together when Easy enters the flat share.

“Oh, hi. Is Ringo in our room?”

Tobias shakes his head while putting his hands around his girlfriend.

“Do you really think your hubby would voluntarily stay away from food? Unless… were the two of you fighting?”

“No! Well… not proper fighting… I… I said a pretty stupid thing. Really, really stupid.”

“Well, then”, Tobias says calmly and points to the ceiling with his index finger, “I would have a look around the roof top terrace if I were you and hope that my brother hasn’t picked up a hot blonde on his way up there… hey.” He rubs his rip cage with indignation as Vivien has forcefully pushed her elbow there. “Don’t be an ass!”, she tells her boyfriend who gently puts his face against her shoulder holding her closer and with a small trace of jealousy Easy leaves them alone, heading to the roof.

Ringo is sitting in the small hut, his laptop in front of him. Carefully, Easy knocks on the door frame.

“Can I come in?”

Ringo looks up from his work.

“Well, there is an entrance fee but since you are family I am not allowed to take it - so be my guest.”

His words don’t sound like a real invitation so Easy decides to lean against the door frame instead.

“I’m sorry I told you to shut up when you weren’t saying anything wrong… and even if you had been saying something wrong that wouldn’t have been an acceptable way to handle a dispute.”

Ringo nods and hums approvingly.

“I only wanted to be helpful and the new prices weren’t unreasonable. They were still fair offers.”

“I know”, Easy mumbles and pushes himself away from the hut’s frame to slowly walk inside.  “It’s me, really. I am really emotional when it comes to the kiosk, you know?”

Ringo chuckles.

“I might have noticed. But I meant no harm. Nothing would have happened to it.”

Strolling around the inside of the hut, Easy tries to find the right words.

“As a photographer I do like all the different locations, the weird customers, the constant change… the challenges… but when it comes to the kiosk, I want everything to stay the way it is. The same people coming back there every day buying the same stuff, having a nice chat, mostly about the same two or three topics. It’s home. Well, no… you are home… but it’s still something very emotional and to me the kiosk doesn’t need to do more than provide for a fair living so when you made all these changes it felt like you were belittling what I have built there and that striked a nerve. I’m sorry, I know you only meant well.”

He is looking down at the man sitting on the old worn-out sofa. Ringo is looking grave, fumbling around his nose bridge with one finger for a few moments before clearing his throat.

“I see. Well… we all have our soft spots, I guess. You see, whenever you tell me that I meant well it reads to me that I may have meant well but still acted like same old evil Ringo.”

“Wait? What?”

Easy is sitting on the couch next to his husband before even realising.

“That’s not what it means. Not at all. We have left that behind for good, okay? You don’t need to prove yourself to me and you are allowed to make mistakes like everyone around here does without being judged harder because of stuff you did in the past and it wasn’t even a mistake, it was… wait… Am I your lockscreen?”

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

With a swift movement Ringo pushes the screen of his laptop down but Easy is still grinning at him when he turns around again.

“Why am I your lockscreen? I thought your lockscreen was supposed to be something you envision for your future or something you identify with like this ridiculous picture of a shark Huber has put up in his office.”

“I think, you kind of answered your question yourself”, Ringo mumbles softly, putting an arm around Easy’s shoulder, pulling him closer to his side.

“Getting rejections to all of my applications isn’t the nicest experience so from time to time I like to look at something that makes me feel better about life… myself… the future.”

“And that’s me?”

Ringo rolls his eyes.

“Now that’s fishing for compliment but yes – if you must hear it – it’s you. Always you… well, almost always. I sometimes have a look around Saskia’s bakery webpage to decide which pastry will cure my poor unemployed soul but I guess that’s the kind of cheating we both can live with, right?”

Smiling, Easy nudges his nose against the soft skin of Ringo’s neck.

“Maybe. But better not tell me too much about it, I can be unreasonably at times and I am again very sorry for how I acted today.”

He gently kisses his husband’s cheek, waiting for Ringo to turn around for a proper kiss but the other one just sighs and lets his finger run through some of the curly dark hair in Easy’s neck.

“Don’t worry about it anymore, okay? It gave me a business idea after all.”

“It did? Well, let’s hear it then!”

Easy frees himself from Ringo’s hug and sits up excitedly. Ringo seems to be a bit unsure for about one second but when Easy nods at him encouragingly, said insecurity vanishes visibly.

“Well, I thought… not all small businesses are against change… and there have to be tons of people who just started or took over a business and don’t adapt numbers as quickly as I do so they would be thankful for someone going over their calculations pointing out flaw- I mean, not so well designed strategies. I have already emailed someone I know from university about it who went into that direction in Frankfurt… not that I really need the advice.”

“Of course not, you are Richard Beckmann after all.”

“So, what do you think?”

Ringo is looking positively excited now and Jumpy Ringo is a solid 10 in 10 out of 10 times so Easy can’t help but kiss him hard before he answers his husband’s question.

“It does sound like the perfect thing for you to do.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.”

There is a sigh of relief coming from Ringo and his upper body kind of slums back against the sofa’s backrest.

“Oh good, because I wasn’t sure if I might be losing it.”

Contently, Easy rests his head on Ringo’s chest, putting his arm around his slender waist.

“I really think, you would do well as a freelancer. Huber was always holding you back and claiming the glory for all your hard work.”

“Yeah, getting some appreciation would be nice for a change.”

For a while they are sitting there in silence, huddled together until suddenly Ringo’s cell phone beeps and he wiggles around a bit helplessly because Easy is not willing to give up his comfy sleeping position on his chest. When he finally manages to get his mobile and checks the message, he chuckles triumphantly. “What is it?”, Easy inquires drowsily and the telephone’s screen is pushed in front of his nose showing a picture of Leni who has put up today’s earnings in little towers of coins on the kiosk’s desk. “You have to read her message as well”, Ringo demands. Easy scrolls down to the picture’s caption. 

“RICHARD BECKMANN, BUSINESS GOD!”, he reads proudly.

[queenofallthewrongchoices]

And He Lets the Chips Fall Where They May

Series: The Freshman  

Synopsis: This fic takes place in The Freshman book 1 in between chapters 15 and 16. I’ve been replaying The Freshman over for the hundredth time and always wanted a better glimpse at what the conversation between Chris and Becca was like when he suddenly realized that he wanted to go to the winter formal with the MC instead of her, so this is my take on that conversation. 

Pairing: Chris x MC (Nadia)

Characters: Chris and Becca with mentions of the MC

No real age restrictions but there is some very mild suggestive language

Author’s Note: While writing has been a long-time hobby of mine, this is the first fanfic I’ve ever written and the first time I’ve written a piece work featuring characters that aren’t mine. I know it’s both lengthy and wordy but I tend to write how I talk so forgive me. 

Chris walks up the steps of the large sorority house he’d been residing in for the past couple of months, he can’t help but notice an uneasiness weighing down on him. While his heart was never truly in any of his dealings with Becca, he had convinced himself it was inconsequential because it was all in the name of having a good time. It was his first semester of freshman year, after all, and he was only interested in cutting loose, unwinding, and forgetting she who shall not be named. Trying his best to avoid anything serious at all costs. Admittedly so Becca, in a lot of ways, provided that for him. She was a little older and more experienced, so she often took the reins in their “relationship” in all aspects, which was new yet exciting. Or at least it had been.

Any other guy would’ve been overjoyed at the prospect of shacking up in a sorority house with a bunch of beautiful carefree college girls, and at first, he himself was quite delighted by the notion. But for some reason Chris couldn’t shake the thought of one specific girl who had charmed him from the very first moment he had laid eyes on her. He kept telling himself that it was for the best that he kept his distance. He wasn’t ready for a relationship and he didn’t want to hurt her any more than he already had. That was all true, and yet his mind continued to wander to what seemed to be a far-off reality of them being happy together.

He decided to put those thoughts to rest for the time being as he knocked on the large oak doors of the Kappa house. Becca had texted him excited about the dresses she had purchased for the big winter formal scheduled for that weekend and wanted his opinion since he was her date. “It’s important that we make a statement together as a couple.” She said. A concept that he thought he left behind in high school but he didn’t question it. He didn’t question much, as of late. He was just going with the flow. No expectations. Just fun. But his lackadaisical attitude seemed to be leading him towards real relationship territory with Becca and that was something he didn’t like. Although he had made it quite clear to Becca that he wasn’t interested in defining their relationship now or any moment in the future, she still felt an ownership over him. And could he really blame her? He had been sleeping in her bed on and off for the past several weeks, he had drunkenly admitted to her some heavy things concerning his dad he hadn’t told anyone, and they’d been engaging in all manners of hooking up over that time frame. So yes, she wasn’t wrong to have expectations of what they were becoming. But still the whole thing was uncomfortable for him. Here he was, Mr. Hypocrite, doing all the things he said he didn’t want with a girl he knew he didn’t want them with.

Suddenly the door swung open, pulling him from his thoughts as he was greeted by a familiar redhead who he saw regularly during his visits to the Kappa house. She was a sophomore who was dating one of the upperclassmen football players named Reggie. Her name was either Amber or Cassidy. He could never seem to remember despite her constantly reminding him. He was ashamed to admit it but all the Kappa girls sort of meshed together these days, none of them having any real distinguishable personalities, at least not to him.

“Oh, hey Chris. I should’ve known it was you. Becca’s upstairs in her room.” She said in a loud sing-songy voice. She seemed tipsy undoubtedly pregaming for some party, kickback, or another.  “Hey, thanks.” He said as he walked in. She answered with a smile and nod then returned to her awaiting pre-party cocktails and friends, more members of the sorority he recognized, all huddled around the island in the kitchen.

Her familiar greeting was another thing that didn’t sit right with him. He had become too much of a staple in the house. Football players frequenting the Kappa house wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Oddly enough it was sort of tradition at Hartfeld. The politics surrounding the dating scene amongst the Kappas and the football team reminded him of that of the Pink Ladies and the T-Birds from Grease. The Kappas were the football players’ girls and vice versa. They had first dibs on one another and everyone else, meaning the rest of the Hartfeld population, had to get in line. Even with that knowledge he still felt conflicted. Was Becca at her core truly a cool girl to be around and very different from the off-putting stuck up persona she portrayed to the general public? Yes, unbelievably so. But his heart just wasn’t in it. A fact that was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. Regardless there was no point in dwelling on it. He turned and closed the door before heading up the winding stairs leading to Becca’s room.  

And before he knew it there he was. Standing outside Becca’s bedroom door glancing at the jewel encrusted “B” that adorned it. It was so regal and so Becca. Hanging from the doorknob was a yellow sign fashioned after a yellow light indicating to anyone seeking entry into her room that they should “Slow down and knock first”. She also had a green one that read “Go ahead and come in” and a red one that read “Stop. Don’t even think about it.” The red one was only used if she wasn’t in the mood to deal with whatever petty squabble her sorors had found themselves in or when she was trying to set the mood with someone in particular, that someone being him as of late.  

One knock was all it took before he was greeted by the stunning leggy blond. He couldn’t help but admit that Becca was indeed gorgeous. She was attractive in an obvious and conventional way. When he first met Becca, he couldn’t help but think that she looked like your typical mean girl that served as a foil to the female lead in a classic young adult comedy film. She immediately pulled him into a hug and gave him a quick peck on the lips before she ushered him into her room. “There you are. Finally. I’ve been dying to show you the dresses I picked out.”

The room that was normally so neatly put together looked like a department store after a huge weekend sale. Scattered around the room were a different assortment of dresses of varying lengths and colors.

“I admit that I may have went a little overboard at the mall but they all looked so cute on me. Luckily you get to watch me model them and help me decide which one best compliments my amazing body.”

“Can’t wait.” He chuckled to himself. Becca was definitely the most high maintenance girl he’d ever met. He didn’t mind though. It was something he found charming about her believe it or not.

“Good. I’ll try this red number on first. Red always looks good on me. Something I’m sure you can agree with.” She says flirtatiously. She gives him a devilish wink and scurried to her closet to change.

While he waited, Chris pulled up his Pictogram account mindlessly scrolling to pass the time. His fingers landed on one post from Nadia that cost his attention. The caption read, “Throwback to last summer visiting family in Miami. The sun was good to me that day.” And there she was, sporting the most brilliant smile he’d ever seen on her. Her eyes were closed, face tilted up toward the setting sun as it cast an angelic glow across her features. Her brown skin was a couple shades darker than usual undoubtedly tanned from being out in the sun. Her wavy hair was longer here. It cascaded in waves over her shoulders and down her back with a complimentary red flower tucked neatly above her right ear. She looked breathtaking. That was the only way to describe it. He stared at the picture for what seemed to be an eternity memorizing every little detail. Completely and utterly captivated.

“Ahem. Chris I said what do you think?” Becca said in a familiar annoyed tone. He was so distracted that he hadn’t realized that she had returned to the main room let alone that she was talking to him.

“Oh, my bad Becca. You look great.” He said slightly embarrassed sitting up a little straighter in his seat. And she did honestly. The dress was an off the shoulder long flowing gown that hugged her figure in all the right places. Although Chris’ compliment was mostly genuine he still couldn’t help but notice how flat it sounded to his own ears. He only hoped that Becca didn’t notice.

“Boys.” She said in a dismissive yet playful manner. “I know you’re only interested in what’s underneath it.” She said. “Oh well I still have an assortment of gowns to try on so you’re just going to have to fake interest Mr. Powell. I promise I’ll make it worth your while later.” She gave him a smirk that otherwise would’ve been sexy if his mind wasn’t elsewhere and grabbed a strapless black dress to try on next.

While she changed, his thoughts began to wander once more. This time he thought about the formal and wondered if Nadia was going and if so with who. James no doubt. They had been spending a lot of time together lately and they were obviously attracted to each other. James was indeed an attractive guy. He was secure enough to admit it. Honestly James was an ideal match for just about any girl especially Nadia. He was good-looking, studious, a real gentleman, slightly older so more mature, and rich. What’s not to like? They seemed to have a lot in common. Way more than he had with her anyways.

This whole line of thinking made him feel guilty and a little hypocritical because here he was making plans to go to the formal with Becca and he was worried about who Nadia, a girl he rejected, was spending her free time with. But he couldn’t help it because deep down he knew that she was the one he wanted to be with. The chemistry they had was undeniable. Anyone who had ever been around them long enough commented on it. But he was afraid. Of what at this point? He was no longer sure. All his past reasons now seemed like mere excuses.

Becca modeled gown after gown each one more gorgeous than the last but her indecision began to set in as she started to retry on certain dresses that exuded the right amount of elegance and sex appeal. Or so she phrased it.

“There all cute I suppose but it has to be perfect.” She says in a huff becoming annoyed with her own indecision. “Have you already rented your tux? You don’t seem to be concerned with what you’re wearing.”

“Yeah. I still have the one from the sorority ball.”

She scoffs and shakes her head. “Boys. I swear you guys have it so easy. Here I am indecisively picking through a dozen dresses to wear and you’re simply settling on a tux that you’ve already worn. Luckily it looks so good on you.” She says flirtatiously once more.

At this point, Chris had grown tired in both a literal and mental sense of this entire conversation. It had been two hours of watching Becca model dresses for him and the more he thought about it the less the whole idea of going to formal with her interested him.

Nadia had been consuming his thoughts all night long. Her smile, her laugh, the way she cocked her head to the side when she talked to him. He could no longer ignore what he was feeling. It was quite simple. He wanted to go to the formal with her.

He wanted to see her in a beautiful gown with an expertly made up face just for him. He wanted to hold her on the dance floor, swaying to some romantic R&B hit while the world faded around them, and he wanted to close the night out with her peacefully laying her gorgeous head on his chest as the collective sounds of their heartbeats lulled each other to sleep. And it pained him to think that James or anyone else could possibly experience those things in his place.

Becca continued to make mindless conversation regarding the formal in the background as he finally came to the realization that he had known all along.

“Becca, I can’t do this.” He said.

“Oh fine. I’ll just ask Madison to help me. I should’ve known that as a guy you wouldn’t be all that interested. It’s fine. Just help me out of this dress and maybe we can go grab a bite eat.”

“No. I mean…” He hesitated. “I mean I can’t go to formal with you.”

His words seemed to echo shortly followed by an immediate uncomfortable silence as they stared at one another. Becca’s expression was completely unreadable. No trace of sadness or anger. Just completely blank. Maybe there was a taste of confusion mixed in but he wasn’t completely sure. He began to avoid her gaze.

She eventually broke the silence with a long and exasperated sigh saying, “Well are you going to at least give me an explanation or continue sitting there with that dumb look on your face? And please don’t tell me this has anything to do with that skinny, fashion-challenged freshman.” And there it was anger and annoyance perfectly mingling together across her features.

He hated having to admit that her assertion was correct but lying would be an insult to them both at this point.

He nodded with an apologetic look and began to say, “Sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you or anything. I just…”

“Oh please.” She cuts him off. “Just go. Whatever pointless thing you’re about to say next you can keep. Your energy is better spent on whatever crackpot apology you’re going to run by Nadia.” She gives him an unfazed look undoubtedly to mask the hurt and embarrassment she feels and walks back towards her closet to change out of her gown.

Chris stands there a little while longer debating on whether he should go try to apologize once more or leave. He settles on the latter. Becca’s anger was justified and he felt like crap doing this to her, but more than anything he felt a greater sense of urgency to get to Nadia and try to salvage what was left of their relationship. If he could even call it that.

He hurriedly dashed down the steps and out the door towards his car. He drove as fast as the speed limit would allow towards the parking lot of the freshman dorms. All he could do at this point was hope and pray that he wasn’t too late.

[onewhoturns]

6-1

So. Chapter 6 (7 on AO3) is going to have a lot of technical stuff. I’m a sucker for the imagery of magic control so... it may be wordy and potentially clunky... Though that’s mostly 6-2. A little in this section too, though, so if you’ve got feedback on if/how to clean it up and make it more concise, lemme know. Always looking for comments. ^^ Previously: Prelude, 1-1, 1-2, 1-3, 2-1, 2-2, 2-3, 2-4, 3-1, 3-2, 3-3, 4-1, 4-2, 4-3, 5-1, 5-2, 5-3. Elsewhere: AO3, FFnet, ko-fi (for 6-2 preview).

“The key to resisting enchantment is an unwavering surety in one’s own self.”

They’d paused mid-afternoon by a stream Emily had never been aware of before. Then again, they’d been traveling far from any path she’d known, the forest parting to let them pass. While she’d taken a moment to rest, the Outsider had slipped silently into the trees, melting down to shadow again, and returned a few minutes later with an update about the witches’ progress in their search. Satisfied that they had a substantial lead, with the witches searching west instead of east, he’d initiated her first lesson.

“Doubt is both necessary and disastrous. You cannot doubt the tenets of your will, but you must doubt what you are being asked to do.”

She found his direct attention a little off-putting, especially while he stood, unfazed, knee-deep in water she’d considered almost too cold to rinse her face with.

“The most successful enchantments are not presented merely as orders but as suggestions, complete with reasoning. Unfortunately, while slightly easier to cast, those are also harder to resist.”

It was a relief to break eye contact as he stepped a few careful steps toward the side of the stream where she sat with legs dangling off the edge of an overhanging rock, but that relief was quickly gone once he was only a few feet away, almost perfectly eye level with her.

“So we will start with the more clear-cut, less elegant enchantments.”

One moment she was staring into those golden eyes...

...And the next she was watching him frown.

“What-”

It came to her in a rush, even as she looked with surprise to a hand she hadn’t chosen to raise. She snatched it from the air, an unpleasant shock clanging at the base of her spine. Her skin crawled just knowing that it had happened. That he’d asked her to do something, even something as trivial as lifting her hand into the air, and her body - her mind, even - had done it without a second thought.

She stared at her hand like it belonged to someone else, feeling her pulse stutter. Her chest felt tight, strained, and she swallowed hard.

“Emily.”

Brown eyes were wide as she met his gaze, unable to hide that touch of fear that had seized her, squeezing tighter and tighter. Deep breaths. Calm down.

But before she could calm herself it happened again. Another skip and rush of memory, this time the simple motion of closing her hand, turning it over--

She yelped, scrambling to her feet, blood rushing in her ears. “Stop it--” Her voice was too loud, but she couldn’t turn it down. “Stop, I changed my mind-”

Fingers trembled, her whole body shaking - too hot, too cold - and she clenched her hands into fists, letting her brain gradually assimilate what could have only been a few seconds of time out of her own control. Her mouth was dry, throat tight. She must’ve stood still for a solid two minutes, staring at the ground, before she forced herself back to the present.

When she finally looked back to the stream, she realized the Outsider hadn’t moved an inch. He was watching, brow ever so slightly furrowed, with that expression that was becoming almost familiar: something between concern and curiosity.

Counting her breaths, Emily stared down at her hands, flexing them experimentally. She could feel how red her face was, and instead of being embarrassed just felt angry. No, not quite angry… frustrated. Frustrated with herself, and him, and magic in general-

“I apologize.”

His voice was so smooth, moving like the water he stood in but with none of its chill, his tone instead subdued. Still standing in place, his palms were turned toward her in a manner that immediately reminded her of approaching a skittish animal. Was that how she seemed to him? Thinking through her own actions… perhaps.

“I haven’t tried to teach anyone in-” His eyes flicked aside for a moment, as though racking his memory for the answer, before he inclined his head slightly. “It’s been a very long time.”

Emily sighed, glancing down at her own clenched hands and letting some of the tension leave her body. “I’m sorry.”

When she looked back up, she saw the smallest of smiles on his lips. “No you’re not. And you have no reason to be.”

Admittedly taken aback by his words, she gradually felt her mouth curving ruefully. “...Fair enough.” He still hadn’t moved, and she took a few slow steps back toward the bank.

There was a moment of hesitation as he watched her, seeming to weigh words on his tongue before he spoke. “...If you would rather, charms work far more efficiently. I just thought… Well, unless the curse is suspended…”

Brown eyes narrowed and Emily’s lips pursed.

“I could not continue suppressing the symptoms if you wore a charm to counteract the spell.” It wasn’t voiced with the intonation of a warning, yet it clearly was one.

Scarcely did anyone hold her gaze so brazenly. Too often eyes were lowered courteously, or she would give a gracious nod and avert her own eyes - but he so rarely looked away. And more often then not when he did it was more for her sake than his own. Now he watched her with something she thought might be forced casualness - a bizarre expression to see on him - and she very briefly wondered why.

“Or we can set aside resisting enchantment entirely.”

She shook her head, glancing down at her feet for a moment. “No, no, I still want to learn. I was just… shaken.” Gradually she returned to where she’d been perched, but made no attempt to sit again. It felt more secure making him look up to meet her eyes. Having the upper ground. “I don’t suppose there’s some other way to start?” The question was straightforward, no wheedling or whining on her part. It wasn’t even particularly hopeful. If there wasn’t… well, there wasn’t. She’d figure out a way to handle it.

He nodded, though it seemed it was more in consideration than confirmation. “We may be able to come up with some alternative.” He stepped through the water slowly, watching his steps, and leaned his elbows against the rock shelf once he reached it. Again, it was markedly odd to see something so regal behave so casually. She glanced down at him, the way his chin rested on clasped hands as he watched her, but she made no move to retreat. “First, though, I think we need to discuss boundaries.”

She scuffed a boot against the rock absently, considering. “How so?”

He raised an eyebrow, but seemed to take a moment to choose his words, folding his hands before him as the casual demeanor melted away. “Do you trust me, Your Majesty?”

Mirroring his expression, she stopped herself from answering with the first thing that popped into her head. Yes… and no. Her life was valuable to him, he’d proven that. But he’d also stated quite plainly that he… how had he worded it… “I only have so much time I can invest in you.” Yet this whole endeavor seemed quite an investment of time. It very clearly wasn’t going to be easy. She very clearly wasn’t going to be an easy person to work with. But he still offered. Still intended to put in the time.

“I caution you to think before you answer.”

Doubt trickled into the back of her mind. She was leaning toward yes. Why would he steer her away from that answer?

“Consider your admission earlier, Majesty.”

It was such a clear warning. She didn’t try to hide her confusion at the statement, but she heeded his advice.

Earlier...

As they’d ridden. When she’d voiced her unintended question. Words had left her mouth before she’d chosen to speak.

And in the palace. (That familiar creeping prickle along her spine returned, but she forced herself to set it aside.) In the palace she’d been mindless, compliant. And when he’d arrived and questioned her she’d been confused. Because he asked her to do things she thought were wrong -- but not wrong to her, wrong to the enchantment. And all she’d wanted to do in that moment was to make him happy. To do what he’d wanted. To do what he asked.

Oh.

Oh.

“Will you swear your service?”

She would’ve said yes. In that state? She wouldn’t have hesitated.

Emily’s stomach rolled. “Ah.” A muscle in her jaw tightened.

“I ask you again, Your Majesty: Do you trust me?” There was an edge to his voice.

She couldn’t help it; she stared, utterly perplexed. “...You want me to say no.”

He stared right back, but remained silent.

“Do you want me to say no?” It wasn’t quite a demand, but it was close.

His reply was quiet, and she was once more reminded of how one might approach a particularly wild animal. “A smart woman might.”

She had no subject-granted titles. She wasn’t Emily the Wise, or Emily the Cunning. She was just Queen Emily. And at this point, with Delilah on her throne, some may not even consider her that.

Her eyes were sharp, though not quite a glare, more an expression bordering on exasperation as she crouched before him, bringing her face mere inches from his. “Do you promise not to make me agree to the contract under enchantment? Not to swear my service not of my own free will?”

There was a long pause. His look was cool. He didn’t seem angry per se, but he didn’t look particularly happy about the direction this conversation was going. He seemed to answer grudgingly. “...Yes.”

They were awfully close, weren’t they? She watched the slight frown on his lips for a moment before she spoke, her words softer than she’d intended. “Then I trust you.”

If she were to lean just the slightest bit forward… if she were to lay her hands flat on the stone and move just an inch or two toward him…

How had it felt, her lips against his? How would it feel again? If she let herself explore him, would he taste the same? The ideas floated through her head lazily as she stared. When she spoke it was a quiet murmur, politely inquisitive. “Are you affecting me right now?” She hadn’t taken her gaze from his mouth.

After a moment of hesitation, his response was just as soft. “No.”

Her eyes flicked to his, in an instant reading a wariness in them. Wariness and something else… something she wanted to believe was restraint and not regret. For a second neither breathed. Finally, with a distant interest, she let out a contemplative, “Hm.” Another pause. “You wanted to discuss boundaries?”

[clarasghosts]

RULES: List the openings of the last ten stories you published. Look to see if there are any patterns that you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any! Then tag some friends.

tagged by @leaiorganas sorry it took so long, i’m so bad at responding to tags!

10 is going to be like nearly half my work on ao3, haha

1. i’ll wander home - whouffaldi

The burn begins to ebb, or maybe that’s what Clara wants to believe.  Her vision dims so that water around her appears more like blue static, all the shapes losing their edge.  She doesn’t try to free her arm anymore, having long given up on trying to understand how it got stuck in the first place.  Her lungs weigh her down, like they’re reaching to the seaweed below.  Maybe I should just let them.

2. Rosemary by Your Garden Gate - whouffaldi, platonic clara x amy

Eleana Ravenwood Pond

Beloved Wife and Mother

Born

11th September 1960

Died

5th March 1992

That was all that was left of their mother.  Clara and Amelia held hands staring down at the words engraved on cold stone.  They could hear the chilly breeze blow through the grass and rustle the leaves above them, but they could not make themselves budge even for the wind.  In Clara's left hand she clutched to her chest her mother's childhood book of 101 Places to See; Amelia's right hand was wrapped around the rings hanging from a chain at her neck - their parents' wedding rings.  They had lost both parents in less than two months.

3. this year i devour - garashir

The first time Garak saw Julian was a mess of discomfort and endorphins leveling out that discomfort, excitement at seeing such a beautiful, intriguing, Human face among the crowd, and the thrill of thinking that he may be able to use the young doctor in his efforts to return home.  There is something important and valuable about that first moment, he knows, but it isn’t really the one that he counts, because the first time Garak saw Julian without the effects of the implant altering his perception was well over a year later.  He still remembers what that moment felt like, standing just outside the Replimat, looking for the first time upon a young man who was already a part of his life.  Julian had dug his way in, trusted him, accepted him without even knowing the whole truth, and planted himself firmly within Garak’s existence, so that when he woke up with a clear head, Julian was already there.  And as Garak watched him in the Replimat, he came to a decision.  When he entered and sat across from his friend, it would be a first in its own way, but he would treat it like a continuation nonetheless, like something without a beginning.  Something that always just was.

4. eat it whole - vicbourne

There are monsters in this world.  She learned this when she was a child.  She learned this in the hardest way.  And as she stares out at the gathering of important men before her, she knows that monsters don’t always look like monsters.  Any one of them could have their secrets, any one of them could be plotting her downfall.  Some of them are smiling in that awkward way that betrays how displeased they are with their new monarch, most of them aren’t smiling at all.  It makes her falter at first, this knowledge that none of the men in the room have any faith in her, not even her own blood.

But there is one face among them, as she glances at it, that shows only warmth, a small nod of encouragement.  So she steels herself, speaks up, and tells them how capable she knows she is.  The Prime Minister may not know all that much about her, she is aware, but if he can already believe in her ability, then others may do so as well.

She has no need to fear monsters anymore.

5. i’m not afraid of running away with you - clavioli

The lab in the backroom had been pieced together with whatever resources he had managed to bring with him and pieces scavenged from a high school classroom in the nearest town, which was over thirty miles and an hour’s drive along barely-traveled-roads away.  It had to be good enough because there weren’t any other options short of breaking back into the zombie capital which now considered them traitors.

The backroom also doubled as both a laundry room and a pantry.  The top shelf on the wall, above their food, were vials and bottles that he had managed to smuggle out with him.  The cabin they’d found was small, but it was livable.  The main room was split into a living space, a kitchen, and a bedroom.  They had a front porch that locked shut, which really only protected them from people who respected locks.  Glass windows and screens were easy to break, and the porch door was light enough that it rattled in the wind.  Still, the added sense of security did a little to ease his mind; felt safe enough to step out onto the porch at night and look out at the stars.

6. She Sought Death - whouffaldi

The letter is unexpected, to say the least.

Clara and Me don’t typically get any post.  Even if their home wasn’t a nomadic American diner, most of the universe has considered them dead for a while now.  Me doesn’t notice the letter, lying flat on the ground near the door, until they’re already in flight, and she considers the possibility that it was dropped their by a customer from their last stop – the 23rd century, several lightyears from Earth – though she can’t guess why someone would, or why they would find an impossible room in an otherwise simple diner, and just leave a letter.  It’s possible that it’s a plea for help, so she opens it.  Inside the envelope she finds only a folded advertisement and nothing else.

The Glover House

A Safe and Quiet Retreat in the Countryside

Space for twelve guests.  Rooms available beginning October 1st, 1940.

Please call and make a reservation.

7. Time to Turn it Over - whouffaldi

It was a natural disaster. On Arawn it was natural for the earth to shake and split, not along one fault line, but along nearly all of them.

The Doctor internally berated himself as he flipped switches and turned dials as fast as he could. This was supposed to be a relaxing, sight-seeing kind of trip, nothing too exciting, but somehow he ended up landing them fifty years off and just in time for one of the biggest tragedies in the planet's history. In fact, there wasn't much known about this planet afterward, they just kind of dropped off the map for a few centuries before quietly reconnecting with the rest of the universe. Whatever the exact extent of the damage, the number of casualties that far outweigh the survivors, he and Clara weren't going to stick around to find out

8. Changeling - garashir

He looks up at the sky often, the large never-ending expanse of blue, and traces the nonsensical shapes of the clouds with his finger, his other hand dragging Kukalaka behind him.  Turning to look at his mother beside him, he bends his head back so he can see her properly and asks, “How far away is the sky?”

She sighs loudly.  “That depends, Jules.”

The answer means nothing to him, so he looks away and back up at the sky.  Only a moment passes before he feels the small pressure of a hand on his back, rotating him slightly and leading him up a ramp.  The world around him darkens as they enter the ship.  “Where are we going?”

“It’s a planet called Adigeon Prime,” his father answers.

9. Life Implies Death - wellenore

The first time it happens, Lenore is 8 years old.  A large, black beetle takes up residence just outside her bedroom window.  For two days she watches it walk back and forth, but making no move to leave.  On the second night she opens her window to greet it, only to find it lying on its back, legs curled in toward its belly.

She leaves the body where it is, sparing it a glance every so often until, finally, it disappears.

10. darling one, just live - vicbourne

“You were happy too?”  It is both a question and a statement, a truth that belongs only to them.

So he answers.  “You know I was,” and he hates the way past tense tastes in his mouth, the loss of possibility as it passes through his lips.  He is sitting so close to her, but the distance he has put between them stretches, expands.  He could close it with a word, he knows, but it isn’t the right choice to make, so he doesn’t.  And every second that passes where he doesn’t is another inch, another piece of the path between them torn away, and soon he will be an island.

Patterns?

1. I seem to always be either setting the physical scene or setting a mystery. the only exception is “darling one, just live” in which i was jumping off of the show’s dialogue.

2. i’m honestly really wordy in my intros, whoops.

3. at least two of these begin with someone reading something - once a tombstone, and the other time it’s a letter

if you guys see any others, let me know! and i’m inviting anyone to do this!!! i want to see what you’ve written and what you have to say about it!

[kenzieam]

Lost Girl - Chapter 2 (Eric and Fox)

Rating: M (swearing, violence, smut, blah blah)

Genre: Drama/Angst

****Trigger Warnings - mention of torture, abuse****

Thanks everyone for the re-blogs and support!!! IT IS SO AWESOME!!!

@emmysrandomthoughts @beautifulramblingbrains @iammarylastar @tigpooh67 @bookwarm85  @badassbaker @captstefanbrandt  @treeleaf  @beltz2016  @girlwith100names @gaia25 @readsalot73 @slayer0507 @stone-met @lostinthebeans @lauraaan182 @girlslovestorys  @lacy-love @fuckthatfeeling  @sparklemichele @vitaevandal  @micolegg @frecklefaceb @jaihardy  @bookgirlthings @queenara4  @bluelassbird @mom2reesie @pathybo @letmagichappen @shaunarcanine @equalstrashflavoredtrash @itschibi @elaacreditava @lilu46 @tonyt1995 @jojogoo65 @littlesouthernrebel @sterek-foreverandever

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A huge thank you to my beta and Jai-sister @iammarylastar ! Quelle equipe!

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What happens if Fox disappears, and is returned to Eric two years later, but is not the same woman he loves???

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This chapter is a little wordy and technical, but I wanted to establish the challenges Eric and Fox are facing, thanks for reading my lovelies!

Eric paced restlessly in the conference room, too on edge to even try to relax or sit down. His nerves were raw and painful, the scab he’d managed to build over the great gaping hole in his heart had been ripped away and he felt weak from the fresh blood loss, sticky with the arterial spray.

It was mid-morning and Eric was waiting, none too patiently, for the Erudite doctor’s report. Max sat nearby, and had given up telling Eric to relax hours ago, when the water bottle Eric had been drinking from had exploded against the wall near Max’s head. Neither of the remaining prisoners matched the description of Dawson, but Max had received word that one of the bodies back at the bunker did and he had just returned from informing Dawson’s new widow to find that Eric’s stalking had remained unchanged, if anything, it had become more frenetic. Deciding he liked his head attached to his shoulders, he had said nothing and sat again, crossing his arms over his chest and tipping his head back against the wall. Eric’s ceaseless pacing providing a constant, if morbid white noise.

The door opened and Max opened his eyes to see the head Erudite doctor, flanked by two more white-jacketed staff enter the room. Eric stopped, eyes blazing and watched them with a predator’s gaze until they sat at one side of the table. Only then did Eric move to the other side and stiffly sit, back straight, hands gripping the arm rests.

The doctor waited until Max was seated before clearing his throat and beginning his report.

“We have positively identified the subject as the missing Dauntless woman, Fox Phoenix LaRue.” He paused and Eric scoffed, his voice hard.

“And? We already fucking knew that!”

“Eric.” Max snapped. The doctor cleared his throat nervously and continued, eyeing Eric uneasily.

“She is extremely malnourished, as evidenced by her gaunt appearance. I have ordered a massive multivitamin/mineral infusion to combat and treat the deterioration her body has already experienced, as well as started her on a nutritionally complete meal regime. Based off of previous medical records, the patient has a vast amount of new scarring and healed injuries; including some broken bones that fortunately were set correctly and have healed properly. Visual inspection revealed suspicious scarring on the patient’s lower abdomen, which we recognized as striae, more commonly known as stretch marks. This led us to an internal examination and the realization that she has given birth recently, I’d say within the last two months. Based on the varying ages and appearance of the striae, I estimated she has carried a baby to full term and given birth once before as well.”

“She has children?” Max asked, glancing at Eric, who stared blankly.

“She refuses to answer, so as of right now, we don‘t know if either offspring have survived.”

Max swallowed hard. “What else?”

“She remembers nothing beyond the past two years. The presence of scarring on the back of the subject’s scalp suggests a brain injury. We believe she is suffering from severe Post-Traumatic Retrograde Amnesia. However, I believe she has also, to a certain extent, been forcibly indoctrinated, or brainwashed. There may also be a degree of Stockholm Syndrome at play as well. Psychology is not my field, I have asked a colleague to evaluate her for a more complete mental diagnosis.”

“Amnesia? Stockholm Syndrome? Brainwashing?! What the hell does all that mean?” Eric demanded, his heart beginning to pound with dread.

The doctor focused on him. “You were the patient’s….?”

“Fiancé.” Eric spat.

“Fiancé, yes. Well, pending my colleague’s evaluation, it means that the Fox LaRue that you knew is no longer the Fox LaRue behind that door. There is a chance, and again I will have to consult with my colleague, that massive doses of healing serum may help reverse some of this, coupled with practical therapies and time.”

“Fox might come back?” Max asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

“Perhaps, I can make no guarantees right now. My colleague needs to thoroughly examine her first.”

“When will your colleague arrive?” Max asked.

“I expect him momentarily.”

“I want to see her.” Eric growled.

The doctor shook his head. “I want my colleague to evaluate her first.”

“No fucking way-”

“Your presence, especially agitated like it is now, will not help her. I want a clean assessment from my colleague.”

“Eric, he’s right. We need to wait.” Max said lowly, tensing to react if Eric exploded.

Eric exhaled sharply, clenching and unclenching his fists. The doctor sat farther back with a wary gaze and Max could feel the warring energies in Eric right now, battling each other for control. Finally, Eric nodded.

“As soon as he’s done, I’m going to her.”

“Acceptable, provided you do not upset her. If you agitate her, I will have you removed.” The doctor warned and Eric nodded tightly.

Pushing away, he spun the chair he sat in around, turning his back to the doctor and effectively ending the conversation. Max glanced at him then rose to walk around the table, speaking lowly with the doctors as they left the room.

Nagging thoughts gnawed at Eric’s mind and sanity. Did Fox have living children somewhere? If so, did she have a mate, a partner? If she remembers nothing about Dauntless, has she started a whole new life? Eric knew for a fact that he would not survive this intact if the answer to the last two questions was yes. The last two years had been utter misery, pure hell; and Eric’s soul had withered to the point that he questioned it’s continued existence. Fox’s reappearance, alive and functioning was balm to his agonized heart, he could feel it reawakening, absorbing Fox’s presence like water to parched ground. But Eric had been so damaged by Fox’s absence that he knew with certainty he would not survive losing her again, at least not with his sanity, heart or soul intact. His body might continue on, a bitter shell, but little more.

He ached to touch her again, curl her into his arms and bury his head in her hair, inhaling her scent, green apples and grass, sunny skies and gentle rain. Fox’s body comforted Eric like nothing else, her presence and natural fragrance the things he had come to depend on after a hard day of leadership. When it had become clear that Fox wasn’t returning, Eric had tried to escape into alcohol, but becoming blackout drunk almost nightly hadn’t taken away his pain and he’d stopped trying after sobering up one morning and discovering that he’d accidentally broken his favourite picture of Fox the night before in a slobbering haze.

Eric was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear Max calling him until the older man reached the chair and spun it back around. Eric started, blinking away the memories and the tears they’d brought and levelled a glare at him.

“The psychologist has finished his evaluation. He’d like to meet with us.”

Eric nodded tiredly. He didn’t give a flying fuck right now, he just wanted Fox. He scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, rubbing hard.

Max nodded at someone in the doorway and Eric lifted his head to see the doctor from before walk in, a tall older man beside him. The older man’s face was lined with other people’s troubles, his brow sporting a permanent worry line.

Again, Max took the seat beside Eric and the doctors sat across the table.

The doctor spoke first. “Gentlemen, this is my colleague, Dr. Young. He has spoken with the patient-”

“She has a name,” Eric snarled, tired of this ‘patient’ business. “It’s Fox.”

“Excuse me,” the doctor’s cheeks darkened slightly. “Dr. Young has spoken with Fox and is ready to present his findings.”

Dr. Young began to speak immediately. “Fox’s case is unique. She does indeed suffer from Post-Traumatic Retrograde Amnesia, to a severe degree; she remembers nothing beyond the past two years. I am concerned however, there is usually some degree of regained memory by now and Fox still remembers nothing. This may be a deliberate, if subconscious act on Fox’s part, a survival mechanism is you will, but I tend to favour another theory. Amnesiacs need stimulation to spur their memories, submersion in their past environments to trigger the brain to re-establish the connections between recall and stored memories that have been damaged. Fox has been isolated from her home and past life, confined in a new and harsh environment. Her memories remain locked but I am curious to see what returning to her home faction will trigger.

Based on specific analytical questions, I can also say with certainty that Fox has been forcibly indoctrinated, or brainwashed. The blank slate that was her amnesiac mind has been rewritten to favour a factionless view of life and authority. She immediately shows hatred towards Dauntless, blames them for cruelly treating the factionless, raiding their stores and the like, but by asking carefully worded questions I can see the traces of her previous morals and viewpoints. She would not cling to these if she had willingly adopted the beliefs of the factionless. Therefore, I can say with confidence she has been forcibly indoctrinated and continues to fight it, which is nothing but encouraging.”

“What about Stockholm Syndrome?” Max asked quietly.

Eric sat up straighter, waiting. What he knew of the phenomenon was that the victim falls in love with their captor; had this happened to Fox? Was this person the father of her children, an obstacle in Eric’s way?

The doctor shook his head as he began to speak. “No, I see no real evidence of Stockholm syndrome, she has been indoctrinated and remembers no other life to contradict that. It is as if she was born factionless, has never been part of Dauntless.“

“Is it reversible?” Eric’s voice was low, his hands white-knuckled on the chair arms. His face had grown paler and paler as the doctor had continued speaking, his hope growing fainter with each word.

“I believe it’s possible, with time and certain therapies, as well as infusions of healing serum.”

“What types of therapy?” Eric’s stomach clenched, he did not want Fox to be doped up on medications.

“Practical therapy, cognitive, occupational. Basically just immersion back into her regular life, once it’s determined she would not be a threat to others. I strongly recommend she stay here in Dauntless, there is no need for her to be transferred to our psychiatric centre at Erudite.”

“You mean returning to her shared apartment with Eric, going back to her job?” Max was leaning forwards, listening intently. Fox had been like a daughter to him, and his private agony at her absence had been deep.

“Not right away, perhaps a shared accommodation with a female friend; tasks and chores to be done rather than the immediate responsibility of her previous occupation. Too much all at once would be overwhelming, she needs gradual reintegration into her previous life.”

Max sat back, glanced over at Eric and raised his brow to the younger man. Eric leaned back as well, crossed his arms over his chest.

“I want to see her now.” Eric said flatly.

The doctor sighed then nodded. Standing he said, “I’ll take you there.” He looked over at Max. “When I return we can discuss the specifics of Fox’s treatments.” He looked back up at Eric as he started to walk away. “Max can fill you in when you return.”

Eric was hardly listening, his full attention focused on Fox, so close to him now. He reluctantly tuned back in when it became obvious the doctor wasn’t going to stop talking.

“Fox is restrained right now. Currently she is confined to a bed, with the IV therapies I ordered being infused in numerous lines. She has been bathed and cleaned, all her current wounds and injuries treated. She has been relatively uncommunicative so far, beyond answering our questions. Two guards will remain outside the room, for as much her protection as yours. I will not tolerate you agitating her. Do not attempt to continue your previous relationship, she does not remember you. Answer her questions, feel free to ask your own simple ones, but do not force her in any way. Do not touch her, do not assume she will tolerate any form of intimacy from you.”

“I’m not going to try and fuck her!” Eric growled angrily, partially enraged that the doctor would think him low enough to try and partially because every fibre in his body screamed to touch her, reassure himself that she was alive and real. He just wanted to hold her hand for Christ’s sake, maybe stroke her cheek. To hear this doctor talk, anything Eric did would set Fox off, he’d need to sit on his hands.

The doctor stopped in front of a closed door, an armed guard stood on either side. He nodded tightly to Eric, then reached forwards and turned the knob, pushed the door open.

Eric stepped through the door, barely hearing it close behind him. His whole being was focussed on the woman in front of him.

Fox looked up and met his gaze. Eric recognized fear amidst the rage and hate in her eyes, but she didn’t look away or cower. She was almost unrecognizably gaunt, her cheekbones sharp blades in her face, her collarbones fully visible. The treatment gown she wore absolutely dwarfed her scrawny frame. Her skin was pale with ill health, marked with fresh wounds and freshly healed scars. Her wrists were wrapped in thick, padded leather restraints, with enough slack she could sit up or lay down at her leisure, but short enough that she wouldn’t be able to grab at Eric. The head of the bed was raised, Fox almost sitting upright. She watched him carefully as he approached, her expression remained guarded, almost belligerent.

Slowly, partly not to startle Fox and partly because he was so overwhelmed with conflicting emotions, Eric sat in the empty chair near her bedside. He inhaled unsteadily, licked his lips.

“Fox…. hi baby,” he offered tentatively.

“I am not ‘Fox’,” she snapped back, no trace of the woman he loved in her raspy voice and Eric felt his tenuous hope flare and die.

[adventureis--out-there]

A Few Words For You

"Is it cool that I said all that?

'Cause I know that it's delicate."

- Taylor Swift, Delicate

I'm not a religious person. I'm not going to pretend I am. While I may not be religious, I do believe that there is something bigger than this world. Whether that be a God, fate, or some kind of magic, I firmly believe there's something there. Why? Simply put, some things are too strong of a coincidence to be just a coincidence. I'm a believer that the universe gives you exactly what you need when you need it. I remember recently, when I was going through a heartbreak the guy behind the breaking of my heart told me "it may not be clear now, but there's a reason for everything and someday that reason will be clear." I hate to admit it, but he was right. I needed to have my heartbroken by him to learn how to make myself happy without needing someone else. So yes, the universe does give you what you need when you need it. It knows.

Somehow, the universe knew I needed you.

I remember the day I met you pretty well. It was the Friday of the first week of school - don't be flattered just yet, I remember that exact day because I woke up entirely pissed off I couldn't keep my shit together for one whole week. But, that's just who I am -- a mess; a mess you seem to be okay with dealing with. It almost seems fitting I met you in that way. I often think about moments like this because the universe never ceases to amaze me. So many things could've kept me from meeting you: had I been on time, had I decided to just skip class because I was late, had I not found a parking spot closer to campus than I usually park. Let me tell you, the way it worked out was more than just luck because I'm not lucky like that. The universe was doing me a favor that day.

To be quite blunt, I really didn't notice you when I met you. Like I said, don't be flattered just yet. I was stuck in my own world and my own head and I didn't notice much of anything. What did stick out to me though, was the way you asked me to stick around. This took me by surprise, I wasn't used to anyone asking me to stick around. I'm awkward, I'm a mess, I'm loud, I'm all over the place -- all qualities I've learned to be proud of, but most people look at me like a hurricane and move on rather quickly. You said "You should stay there. Keep me from getting lonely." Listen, I thought that was odd. It certainly was never a way I tried to make friends, but I appreciated the oddness, so I decided to stick around and I'm quite glad I did.

I don't think you know this, but I was completely damaged when I met you. I've only told you a fraction of the story. I remember one of our first real conversations, you were trying to get to know me better and asked me how I was -- how I REALLY was. I didn't know you that well and so I faked it and said I was great. I faked it until I trusted you and was able to tell you I was a bit broken when I met you. I was downplaying it then. It was hard for me to articulate it -- honestly, it's hard for me to put a lot of things into words properly when it comes to emotions. I'm a writer, so the words come to me best when I write. Speaking though, I tend to have trouble with. I had actually never told anyone about how damaged I was when we met. Some people knew about as much as I had told you but it wasn't until very recently that I opened up about the shit I was going through.

I wasn't really a person when I met you -- let me explain. I had lost myself and I had gotten in a bad habit of pinning my happiness on others. I had reached the final straw soon after we met. I remember sitting next to you in class one day, fighting with the same guy over text. You probably didn't know I was ten seconds away from crying. I had been making excuses for him for over a month and that fight struck the last nerve I had. I had texted him and told him that I was tired of being hurt by him and I was tired of the back and forth. I was tired of getting hurt and having him apologize only for him to turn around and do the same thing he had apologized for again. I was cutting a tie that day and it hurt. I don't give up on people, that's not who I am -- but I finally came to a point where I had to end it for the sake of who I was. I was lost and I finally decided to find myself again and make my own happiness.

You probably don't know this either, but you've made it rather easy. Don't take this the wrong way but I'm not going to credit you for my happiness. I've learned how to be happy on my own, but I do credit you for continually making me happy. It never hurts to have someone around who can make you smile and make your day. I'm still working on making myself happy, some days I struggle and I think that's apparent but you do a pretty good job of putting a smile on my face with little effort. When I tell you you're a ray of sunshine, I mean it. You found me when I was broken and shed some light back into my life while I figured out how to make myself happy again. It hasn't been easy and you have no clue how much of a supporter you have been because I haven't told you.

There's no arrangement of twenty five letters that can accurately depict how much you've impacted my life and how much you mean to me.

I was used to people constantly being upset with me. I was used to disappointing people and fighting with people. I was used to being brushed off. I had just gotten done being told by that same person that he didn't have time for me. That had become my normal. I cannot tell you how shocked I had become by your actions. You wanted to talk to me. You wanted to be around me. You even complimented me. It still amazes me, to be quite honest. I keep waiting for the day you decide to peace out; but I don't think that's who you are. My past experiences just tell me otherwise; which is why sometimes I get overly emotional. There's a part of me that's absolutely terrified by the attachment I've formed with you. It was -- and still is -- amazing to me how well you fit into my life. It doesn't feel like I've only known you for three months. It feels like I've known you for much much longer. Truth be told, when I met you, it never occurred to me that your heart could be in the same condition as mine.

I never thought to look deep enough into those bright blue eyes to see the loneliness you were asking me to keep you from upon our first meeting.

You opened up to me and I realized we aren't all that different. I had just assumed you were this cool guy who was friends with everyone campus and super outgoing and super happy. I guess this is why we don't assume things, but you probably could've assumed the same about me. We both did a pretty good job at putting up a front at first. When you did open up to me, I understood where you were coming from and I wanted to lend you a hand in helping you find your way back to happiness. This, I tell you all the time. I try my best everyday to make you smile at least once because you've done more for me than you'll ever know and you deserve the same -- probably even more.

If you could see yourself through my eyes, I don't think you'd even recognize yourself.

I understand this though. When you're beat down by life like that, it's hard to understand what you're worth and what you deserve. Let me tell you, you deserve the entire world and you're pretty damn priceless. I'm not sure you remember this, but in the speech I wrote about my grandpa that I shared with you, I talked about how there are very few people in this world who are lights and they just brighten up whatever room they're in because of who they are, I firmly believe that you're one of those people.

Maybe it's the way we connected through a mutual unspoken loneliness that bonded us so quickly. I know this is long and wordy, and hell maybe this doesn't even make any sense, but this is me doing my best to thank you for being you. Thank you for sticking around even though I can be entirely crazy and all over the place a majority of the time.

My muse to write always comes from other people and this time the muse is you.

I'm writing this because I always find myself trying to tell you how important you are to me but I never feel that I get the point across. I feel like I always miss the mark, but this is my best attempt to articulate it. I'm writing this to give you a painfully honest insight into how you've impacted my life and who I was - or wasn't - when I met you. I'm writing this to tell you I believe you deserve the world and I believe you're going to become someone even more incredible than you are now. I'm writing this to tell you that I know it's hard to find your footing again, but I'm here to help you in anyway that I can because you deserve happiness more than most people I know and if there's anything I can do to help you find, I plan on doing so.

So yes, the universe does give you what you need when you need it. The fact that you're around is enough proof of that for me. I think I owe the universe a rather large thank you for this one. I'm not really a lucky person, I typically have the worst of luck but I got lucky enough for the universe to decide I needed you around.

[gudlyf]

Hallowhen [Short Story]

(Edited photo by Brandon Warren)

Something I’ve been wanting to do since the first @thenosleeppodcast live tour is write something the voice actors would read on-stage. I’m told the following story might be making its way around the 2019 tour, though I won’t know for sure until it hits Boston in October. If you’re hearing this elsewhere, please let me know!

I had this idea of someone knocking on a door for Halloween, only it not being Halloween. The original idea was quite different than this, but when I thought of something that might do well as a live reading, this is what I came up with.

I still think I should tighten up the idea some day. I saw comments that I may have spoon-fed the twist a bit too much toward the end. I get it: I’m a wordy sumbitch at times. Most times? It’s how I roll.

Bill left the den air conditioner on again. I’m sure I will never understand why that man insists it be as cold as an icebox on the North Pole every blessed moment in this house. And my lord is it noisy. The quiet night air is just fine without it this time of year, so off it goes. Well. He will just have to settle with being a tad “stuffy,” as I seem to recall him putting himself. Better stuffy than catching your death, I say. 

It’s just as well, with him busying himself with lord-knows-what in the cellar again while I’m left to my lonesome upstairs. 

Lonesome. I can’t say why, but I feel as though I should be saddened by the thought. I love Bill dearly and all, but the man can be quite nonsensical at times. Most times, that I can recall, I say. An enigma, he is. Never can understand him. 

There is what sounds to be a light knock on the porch door. At first I think the sound to be Bill again, messing with his doo-dads and what-nots in that hellish place down below. But sure as snowflakes, there it is again. A light tap-tapping sound, just outside. 

I think to myself, “what an odd hour for a visitor.” Here, at the end of this farm road that’s sure to be a clear half-mile long. A neighbor, perhaps? I hope they’re alright. It is quite late. 

Bill usually likes to answer to visitors these days, so I wait for him to head on up. But again the knocking, and I’d say with a fair level of some insistence for an answer now. 

Oh, to Hell with Bill. I call out, “Coming!” As the the last knock falls. Though the porch light is on, its door is without windows, so I cannot see who might be outside. I think to open it before my wits overcome me. 

“Who is it?” I ask. It seems a dog’s age before there’s a reply. “T- Trick. Or. T- Treat.” I cover my mouth to stifle a laugh, and I shake my head in sheer disappointment in myself for having not known what day it was. Of all the blessed days of the year, how could I have forgotten that today was Halloween? 

I’ve had no time for decorations! No candy! Why, no costume of my own! How could Bill have not reminded me? That scoundrel of a man. 

Without further hesitation, I pull the door open to its widest. There on the front porch is a solitary figure: a child, who couldn’t be but ten. A little girl, or so I believe, as her costume is by far and wide one to behold. 

“T- Trick-”

“Oh, would you look at you!” I exclaim. “That is a scary costume you have there. So ... gruesome!” 

And indeed it is gruesome. Delightfully so. While she wears an adorable blue fairytale-like dress with a white smock, it is near-fully soiled by soot and costume blood. The mask she wears is indeed a terrifying sight, the appearance of what was once a beautiful girl, now a ruin of flesh and bone so much as to be unrecognizable. There is only but one eye I can see, precariously dangling from what appears to be fine thread. Only half of what would be gorgeous locks of golden hair cover her head, the rest a mass of reddened scalp beneath exposed skull. An elaborate piece that, I must say, I do admire. 

“Tr-” Her speech is but a gurgle, what with all the flesh parts of her mask covering her mouth. 

“It’s a wonder you can speak! Tell me, did your folks help you put that together? Your mum?” 

At this she falls silent. Her breath ragged. Only her empty bag hangs open before her. It, too, as soiled as her garb. 

“OhMyGoodness. I’m so embarrassed. Sorry, my ... mind is not so sharp these days. I don’t have any-” 

But I do. I do, and I may just about jump for joy if I could at the recollection. I hold out a finger of wait to the girl and rush back inside. 

Bill has forever had a sweet tooth. I and his dentures could not forget this unfortunate fact. Reaching the kitchen, I open his cabinet nearly clear off its hinges and reach inside. A Hershey’s chocolate bar. It’s the only one left, with two squares already taken. I suppose I will just fault Bill for not thinking so clearly himself, in that it is he who’d kept his own stock so light and will now have to go without. 

I arrive back to the porch. The girl remains, seemingly swaying to an unsung song, patiently awaiting her bounty. Her costume, it appears, has gotten the best of the remains of her dress, it now more red than not. 

“Here we are. I’m so sorry, it’s ... opened. My husband has a way with candy, I guess you could say. Hope you don’t mind.” 

I place Bill’s last bit of indulgence into the girl’s bag, careful as I can not to have it covered in the mess that continues to issue from her mask. 

“M...M...” She speaks, but for the life of me I can’t make sense of what she is trying to say. But there ... is something ... 

“Where did you come from, dear? Where are your folks?”

“M...M...”

Again, there is ... something.

My mind. God damn, my mind.

“Have I ... seen you around before, sweetie?” I’m not sure what I’ve done to cause it, but she turns and walks away. Down the porch steps. Down the pebbled driveway. Out into the night; a night cold enough to bring my own breath to a fog before me. Much too cold for air conditioning, and far too dark for a little girl to rightfully be traveling in alone. I motion to call out. I stop something that compels me to run off after her. If there is nothing else I know, it is that my frail, God-forsaken legs would not carry me far, least of all down the stairs. 

Just as I close the door, Bill is in the kitchen. He’d come up and I hadn’t noticed. 

“Irene?!”

At first I don’t answer. There is something within me that has something to say yet ... it just will not come. Something.

“Irene. Did you eat my Hershey’s?”

“No, Bill. I ... Bill, why didn’t you tell me it was Halloween?”

“What?”

“Halloween! Halloween! You didn’t ... you didn’t think to remind me it was Halloween!” 

“Halloween? Well what gave you that idea?”

“There was ...”

Bill’s concerned. He has that face again. He doesn’t care about the chocolate anymore and comes into the living room, pulls me into his big arms. He smells like the old boxes of things we store our photographs and memories in. Sometimes the entire house smells like him. Sometimes — like now — I think I like it. 

“Honey. Honey. Halloween. I know. Your favorite ... holiday, you used to call it. Used to wonder why the station didn’t give me the day off.” 

“It ... was my favorite day, wasn’t it?” I say. And then I remember. “It is my favorite day.” 

He laughs a little, like he’s remembering something too. “You could say that, yep. Used to have this whole place decked out in spiderwebs. Had me play scary music from the stereo. Lord knows nobody came up to this neck of the woods for candy, but that didn’t stop you.” 

He laughs again, but it seems different now. “You used to dress up to scare the Devil himself, I swear. Last time ... Lord, it was so long ago. I think I recall you and Bonnie dressed up as fairytale characters. You were ... Oh! You were The Mad Hatter, only with his head cut off. You held a bloody melon with a hat in your hands! You were mad, alright! But not Bonnie, she-”

“Bonnie?”

His hug gets tight. It feels good, but I know there’s something not quite right.

“Yeah,” he says, and swallows hard in my ear. “She ... she just wanted to be Alice in Wonderland. Nothing scary. Just ... so pretty.” 

“Who’s Bonnie?”

Bill pulls away and hides his face from me, wiping cellar grime from his face and eyes. 

“Our girl, Irene. Our Bonnie. After all these years, I still miss her. It’s why I’m downstairs all the time. Looking at the old pictures we have of her. And today ... today, of course ...”

“Halloween?”

He laughs, sounding a bit more like himself. “Today she would have been forty years old. Her birthday. Forty, can you believe that? Christ, are we old.” 

He holds me again. “Twenty-nine years. I thought I’d lost you both.” He lets me go and starts into the den. I still can make no sense on what he’s going on about. 

“Y’Know, there aren’t a whole lotta blessings I can come up with these days, but there are three in particular that help me sleep at night.” 

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Well. One — and sorry to have to admit this — that the accident made you unable to ever drive again. And two, that ... horrible thing you went through the last time you drove ... with Bonnie ... it did something to your mind where you can’t remember what happened to our little girl. Sometimes I envy you of that. And I thank God you’re mostly okay.” 

Little girl. Bonnie. I feel at any moment my Bill is going to hop right into the Halloween spirit unlike he’d ever done and tell me this is all some scary story — some awful, awful nightmare of a story — and that Halloween is as special of a time to him as it’s ever been to me. 

“And the third?” I ask. “What’s that?”

He presses the button on the air conditioner, and the silence of the night is as gone as my recollection of why we are having such an odd conversation in the first place. 

“Air conditioning. Sweet, sweet AC. My god, is it stuffy. It’s the middle of July, Irene.”

[zehturtle]

Fanime experience, merch, autographs, and more. Quick info blurbs if you click on the images!

Quick and wordy thoughts of the event after the jump. (Warning there’s a lot)

Quick takes: -I had a good time. -Spent too much money. -Met some great artists/people. -Missed out on a few autographs/merch(notably Shigeto Koyama & Hiroyasu Kobayashi...). -Cons aren’t really what they used to be for me anymore. -Sorry I missed a few names for recognition.

Long takes/thoughts:

Overall I had a pretty good time. I usually just go with one of my old friends I’ve known since forever and almost only see maybe once or twice a year due to various reasons. Fanime has sort of become an annual trip now, possibly, maybe. We did discuss it after going this time around since it’s our I think 3rd or 4th time. If it does become our annual trip it’ll be interesting once I talk about other stuff later. It’s hard to describe since I enjoyed my time there due to hanging out with my friend and then other friends who came along after so the day was good but the convention itself I’ve got some mixed feelings about.

I went there mainly to hang out with my friend and going there I figured I’d be spending money since when I go I tend to try to support artists I like or just when I find something I find interesting. I told myself, “I’ll only spend up to this much but I probably shouldn’t” and then ended up spending it all anyways with the only thing stopping me from spending more was the fact that the vendor’s hall and artist’s alley closing which was both a blessing and a curse! Also later on in the day my friend’s brother and his friends also joined up for more shenanigans. Bought lots of merch as you can see posted today, play or watched a few of them play some video games, went out for some food late at night, and had some good conversations before, during, and after the event.

Some things I found for the first time at the convention in the vendor’s hall at a booth were animation cels from various old school shows! There was Ranma animation cels, Ronin Warriors, Tenchi Muyo, Macross, and a bunch of others. I was totally surprised and it was one of the things I found early on that I wanted to come back through after we went and explored the event first, but sadly I ended up missing out on because of waiting in line for autographs that I didn’t even end up getting. T_T   I also missed out on some prints for the same reason as the animation cels and because I did the wait and see, go browse everything then come back for it later which gotten sold out. That’s entirely on me though and realistically not that big of a deal since I have so many posters I’ve no clue what to even do with them at this point.

So, thanks to all the artist who talked to me, signed my sketchbook, or that I bought merch from. For the most part I don’t think I had any problems with anyone other than a little too shy to their customers but that’s a typical occurrence. I know some didn’t seem very enthusiastic about signing my sketchbook so for that I’m grateful that they were still willing to do so. It’s always a bit of a tough deal because I know sometimes people don’t want to do it and I do make it a point to say they have to sign it at all but I understand that feels like added pressure too. I’m just honestly a fan and like to collect things from people I find of some interest in. One could argue I’ve become a bit of a hoarder because of that but that’s something for another time. There’s a few notables that I met and had a good to sizable conversation with at the con, and even more surprising was how long I had one with someone who was super busy manning their own booth. I did feel bad but he kept telling me it was ok. I hope I do meet him again in the future be it at another convention or just outside. 

On to the not so great part(s). I was waiting in line for the  Shigeto Koyama & Hiroyasu Kobayashi ‘s autograph session but sadly it was cut off before I could get there. About 2/3 of the way through, which was about 45-50min into the session they had decided that doing both drawings and signings at the same time was too time consuming so the staff announced that they had to cut off the drawing portion and see if they could get to everyone. At the time only maybe about 10-15 people got to meet the both of them, and then only about another 10-15 people got only autographs at the time. The thing that I was a little upset about was that the time for only signatures portion wasn’t that much different from people who got drawings and signatures. I thought to myself once it was announced that we’d only get signatures, “well at least it’ll be going faster since it’s just signatures” but then I don’t know what went wrong. I don’t get it, were the ones that went in for only signatures allowed to talk to them for nearly the same amount of time as those before who got drawings to go with the signatures? I’ve no clue and I couldn’t tell either because the line was blocked off by a wall to the signing so you had to walk passed the wall to go into the signing section and since I was in line I couldn’t check it out. It killed 1hr-1hr30min and around that time it was close to closing time for vendors and artist alley. That was probably the worst part of the adventure since I was really anticipating this autograph session. It’s fine though, can’t win them all.

Now onto probably a bit of something else a tad more negative. The event itself was kind of lack luster and felt kind of like just a straight up cash grab. There wasn’t anything spectacular on Sunday going on that you wouldn’t really see anywhere else. To be more clear on that point, I meant there wasn’t anything over the top or anything that stood out like “Ah, this is why you should have gone this year or you don’t want to miss out on this.”. It felt kind of watered down to me as honestly a lot of conventions have been recently, at least to me. It’s great to meet artists, it’s great to go to panels, vendors, etc., but I felt the vibe wasn’t there that would have made this one this year really special. I know after you’ve gone to a few it can start to feel like more of the same o’l, but isn’t part of the point of these events to make them memorable and exciting? I can go on about this a lot deeper but I’m just going to leave it at that for now. I’m a little disappointed as far as how the event itself was, but I still enjoyed the people I met and the things I got. It might sound completely weird to some for me to say that at the same time, almost hypocritical but it honestly felt like the effort to make it a show was not there. This is just my opinion so anyone out there that went and would say otherwise I’m ok with that. 

I gotta apologize to the artists that I missed giving credit to who signed my sketchbook. Yesterday was a long but eventful day and I truly do appreciate everyone who signed the sketchbook. Next time around I’ll keep better track of everyone. Til next time!

I know there was a significant portion of this post that was ranting but I honestly had a good time and I’m glad to have been able to go with my friend and others who met up with us later on in the day. Also it was great to see and talk to everyone I met. Thanks for anyone who read this far!

[artificialqueens]

New Man Part 3 // Rolling in the Deep (Biadore) - Fucking Awful.

A/N: Back with Part 3 of the New Man saga! Another 3500 words of Biadore angst that I swear is going to get happy in a chapter or so. I think there will be 5 chapters, maybe a 6th. Few things:

First, funny story: “Fucking Awful” was actually supposed to be the name of Chapter 2, but because I’m a dumbass and don’t understand the naming conventions it ended up as my author name. AND I AM SO HAPPY ABOUT IT because you know what, I am fucking awful.

Second: This is back in Danny’s POV. I like switching back and forth, but I feel I get Danny (or the version of him that lives in my trash brain) a little better. There are few train of thought moments, designated by italics. 

Third: Back to song inspiration, this time from a different British redhead – the goddess Adele, and “Rolling in the Deep.“ (Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYEDA3JcQqw) No one is singing, its just a soundtrack to what happens here. Lyrics are in italics AND indented. 

Fourth: Let me know if these are too long and wordy. It’s something I get critiqued on professionally, so I’m keen to reel in unnecessary words in my creative/for fun writing.

Alright that’s it, hope you enjoy this! XOXO Fucking Awful

 “Oh shut UP!” Danny yelled at no one in particular, grasping blindly for his phone to shut off the alarm. “Fuck! Shit! Balls!” He finally managed to quiet the Marimba. 10:12am. An hour and 33 minutes until Johnny would be there to pick him up. Just enough time for a run – Danny was into fitness now – and a shower before brunch with his friends and…oh God.

Danny remembered he had to see Roy today, and out came a full body groan. He had spent the last 2 weeks telling his crew how excited he was for them to meet Roy – his Willow and his best friend, not just that guy from TV. But now everything was so utterly fucked, and after last night he could barely look at Roy let alone fawn over him at a bottomless brunch. Dragging himself out of bed and into workout clothes, Danny mentally prepared for what was coming.

Roy is cheating on his boyfriend. Roy is trying to cheat on his boyfriend with you. You basically told him to fuck off and that you don’t want to know him anymore. Now you are going to spend the whole day with him. Party.

He was now fully awake, partially from the blast of cold Seattle air but mostly from seething anger. What in the fuck did Roy think he was doing? The Haylock he knew wasn’t a cheater, he wasn’t even into open relationships. Moreover, he knew infidelity was the ultimate sore spot for Danny.

They’d talked about this a million times, and Danny had probably cried about it a million more. Adore’s free love persona had made a lot of guys think they could take advantage of Danny, both cheating on him and using him as an instrument of their own cheating. Every time it crushed Danny, made him feel worthless. A committed relationship is a committed relationship, and stepping out on a partner is the ultimate sign of betrayal and disrespect. Fuck that guy (Kyle? Tyler? Who cares.) that Roy was dating, but he still didn’t deserve to be cheated on.

And Danny didn’t deserve to be treated like a whore. That Roy thought Danny would be ok with being the Other Man was what hurt and angered him the most. Danny could feel his heart racing as he stretched. He had to calm down and play this afternoon all flazeda, so his friends wouldn’t ask questions. He knew they saw Roy making out with the stranger, something they were sure to ask about, but there’s no way they saw the 7 seconds in Heaven outside. If Danny could just act normally, he could help Roy deflect uncomfortable quest –

“Oh fuck THAT!” Again, to no one in particular. He knew what he was listening to for the next five miles, on a loop…

There’s a fire starting in my heart Reaching a fever pitch, and it’s bringing me out the dark

—

An hour and a half later, Danny was showered and getting ready – still blasting “Rolling in the Deep” on repeat.

Finally I can see you crystal clear Go ‘head and sell me out, and I’ll lay your shit bare

The “chill” plan was no more. Some combination of Adele and adrenaline transformed hurt and disappointed Danny into a pissed off, vengeful queen. He was rocking an all-black look to brunch – hair tied back under a beanie, long sweater and t-shirt, jeans and Docs – but he painted on some red eye shadow for a little extra fire.

In the years he had known Roy, Danny had never been really and truly mad at him. Annoyed or frustrated, sure, but never angry. So this full-body heartburn of rage that was coursing through his veins and shooting out his fingertips was strange to say the lest.  

See how I leave with every piece of you Don’t under estimate the things that I will do

“If you’re going to listen to music about a woman scorned, shouldn’t you at least play Lemonade?” Johnny let himself into the apartment, sneaking past Danny who was too wrapped up in belting along with the track.

“Beyoncé may be the queen, but Adele is still good shit.” Danny didn’t even glance up, finishing the smoky rust around his lids. “Plus this track fucking goes.” He turned up the stereo louder with one hand, swiping on mascara with the other.

Johnny reached over to stop the music. “Speaking of going, we have to. Jinkx is picking up Roy” – Danny flinched imperceptibly - “and everyone else is already there. If we don’t leave now we’re gonna be…Oh, I’m sorry. Is heroin chic a daytime look now?” Johnny raised an eyebrow.

Danny smirked and chucked his mascara at his cousin. “Fuck all the way off, let’s go.”

—

Baby I have no story to be told But I’ve heard one on you and I’m gonna make your head burn

Much to Johnny’s chagrin, the Adele fest continued in the car. The full 20-minute drive was spent listening to the thumping kick-drum and haunting chorus, Danny swatting his hand away anytime he tried to switch the music.

“Dude, c’mon. This is the eighth time; can we please listen to literally anything else?”

“No. I need to feel…empowered.” Danny didn’t want to elaborate.

“Empowered to do what? Look, I know some weird stuff happened last night – great job making it awkward, by the way, don’t think we didn’t all notice – but can we please not make a scene today? I have people to impress.”

Danny knew that Johnny was trying to date one of his new friends, and he was fully in support of his cousin getting it in. “It wasn’t me who – I didn’t – ok.” Instead of turning it off, Danny reached over and cranked the music louder.

Think of me in the depths of your despair Make a home down there, ‘cause mine sure won’t be shared

If he wasn’t going to say anything to Roy, at least he could feel the revenge fantasy for the rest of the drive.

–

The table of 15 was taking up the back patio of a little hipster spot in Capitol Hill. Johnny had almost immediately broken off to make romantical moves, so Danny settled into the open seat opposite Roy and Jinkx.

“Hey Danny! Doesn’t someone look nice today!” Jinkx had a smile plastered on his face, while Roy sat next to him looking more than a little sullen.

Danny reminded himself to keep it together, for Johnny’s sake. “Thanks! Felt pretty chill when I woke up this morning, but it wouldn’t be me without something a little ratchet.” Good, normal conversation.

“Well jeez, way to assume he was talking about you queen.” The words flew out of Roy’s mouth so fast, he almost looked like he was surprised he said them out loud. Danny reacted sharply, brow furrowed and lip curled as he shook his head ever so slightly.

“I was, of course I was!” Danny heard a muffled THUD under the table, and saw Roy flinch. “I love it. Seattle looks good on ya, kid. Doesn’t it, Roy?” Danny thought it was strange that Jinkx was speaking to Roy like he was scolding a toddler.

“Of course, I’m kidding.” More strangeness, Roy sounded almost sheepish. “You look great. You always look great.”

We could’ve had it all Rolling in the Deep

As angry as he was, Danny couldn’t help smile at the complement. How did Roy continue to have this effect on him?

You held my heart inside your hand And you played it to the beat

“Yeah well, adopting the finer points of your clown makeup has its perks. Color can be a good thing.” Roy smiled a bit at that, melting Danny like ice in the desert.

What the fuck are you doing? Remember how you feel!

Danny snapped out of it. “I’m fucking starving, what are you guys getting? Jesus, what food could we even fit here? There’s no space.” He made a show of feeling cramped, and hollered across the table. “Katie, can we try to –“

“Well hey there bitches, room for one more?”

Danny whipped around, as if he needed to see who it was to know the voice. Entrance sisters are forever, after all.

“Not for you, you sneaky little shit! You’re back early!” He jumped out of his seat to hug DeLa, who wasn’t supposed to be back from Australia for another three days. God, Danny was happy to see Ben.

“Yeah well, for a penal colony the Land Down Under is surprisingly low on eligible dick. I think I’ve made my way through the entirety of New South Wales at this point.” DeLa waved to the rest of the table before making his way over to Jinkx and Roy.

“Did you borrow my sailboat to get back here, you twat? Come ‘ere.” Roy stood up to hug the queen, too. Danny was surprised how happy Roy was to see Dela, they were friends but he didn’t know they were that close.

“No grandma, we have planes now. I left the Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria safely in your boat house,” Ben quipped back as he went to hug Jinkx.

“Not bad, fruit fly. Not bad.” Roy sat down and Dela rounded the table back to Danny, who had made space for him.

“So, catch me up. How’s it going?” For half a second, Danny swore he saw Ben look meaningfully at Roy and then Jinkx. “Isn’t this just a great little reunion –” THUD. There was that muffled sound again, but this time it was Ben flinching.

“Sorry guys, I know it’s cramped and we keep hitting each other.” Danny apologized.

“It’s fine Danny, really. Everyone just needs to be a little more careful.” Jinkx smiled tightly. Now the pointed looks were coming from him, Danny was sure he saw it.

What’s going on? Why are they being weird?

Oh well, nothing a few Bloody Marias won’t fix.

—

An hour later the whole table was on the spectrum of tipsy to trashed, with the notable exception of the stone cold sober Roy. Danny’s sense of weirdness was replaced with the warm buzz of micheladas, tequila and good friends. There’s a reason the Lord blessed us with bottomless brunches on the Sabbath. Listening to the laughter and seeing the connection between friends new and old, Danny started to think maybe he could be chill.

Their food plates had barely hit the table when that image shattered, again. Poor Dela, he knows not what he does.

One of Danny’s new girlfriends, Sam, was telling him and Ben about her upcoming couple’s vacation. “So yeah, 5 days in Cabo to celebrate our anniversary, or month-iversary I guess. 5 days alone – I think I love that woman, but pray for me.” Sam took a drink.

“Damn, Sam. I didn’t realize you and Charlotte had been together for two months already. That’s rad.” Danny liked Sam a lot, and was glad to see her happy.

“Two months, that’s a big one.” Ben paused for a beat before winding around to face Roy and Jinkx, who were shouting across the table at Johnny and his new ‘friend.’

“That’s about the time you figure out if a relationship is going to work,” Ben continued. Another pause, and there was that damn pointed look at Roy again. Jesus, was he drunk already?

“Speaking of which – Roy, you’ve been with Sky for about 2 months now. How’s that going?”

Ben shouted the question loud enough to disrupt Roy’s conversation, which had the unfortunate effect of getting the whole table’s attention. The whole table who had been at the bar last night and witnessed Roy’s and Danny’s little display. Silence washed over them like goddamn Hurricane Katrina, leaving Dela very clearly confused if only for a second.

Danny immediately saw red. It wasn’t just the eye shadow creeping into his corneas, or the deep scarlet brunch cocktails – he was pissed. “Yeah Roy, how is Sky?” Danny asked, nearly shouting. He could feel the anger building.

You’re gonna wish you Never had met me

“Why didn’t you bring him with you? Didn’t think he would have fun?” The power of angry Adele was rising in his chest.

Tears are gonna fall Rollin’ in the deep

“I mean, what about this trip wouldn’t be fun for him? Jinkx has never met him. Dela hasn’t met him. In fact, neither have I. Wouldn’t he want to meet your sisters? Your best friend? Why wouldn’t he want to meet me, Roy?”

Johnny interjected. “I’m sure he was busy. Danny why don’t you switch over to water?” God bless him, like any good cousin was trying to stop the train of destruction. Danny was too far down this hill to pull back.

“Nah, I’m good man. Tell me, why didn’t he come here?” He focused all his attention, staring at Roy with enough intensity to clear his blurring vision while burning a hole in eyes of the man looking back at him. 

Now it was Jinkx’s turn to try. “Danny, drop it. You’re yelling.”

“No I’m not. And you’re not my mom, Jinkx. I just want an answer to my question.” Danny never took his eyes off Roy, who’s body seemed to wilt while his eyes stayed locked.

“I didn’t mean to cause a problem guys, I –“ Dela looked totally panicked.

Fire. Heart. Fever. Scars. Breathless. Tears.

The combination of hurt, alcohol and electricity clashed like lightning, and Danny couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Is it because you came here to cheat on him, Roy? You told him you were coming to visit your friends, but really you just came here to fuck some other guys and hope he wouldn’t find out?”

If he wasn’t yelling before, Danny sure was now. 

“You think that’s who I am, that I don’t care about other people’s feelings and that I’ll help you hurt them? You think I would be a part of that, that after all these years of pining for you I’d be so goddamn happy for your scraps of attention that I’d do it? That I’d let you jam your tongue down my throat in back alleys and fuck me in secret like your side piece?”

Well, so much for keeping that kiss a secret, Danny thought as he caught his breath. Might as well bring it home.

“You’re a shitty person, Roy. You’re a bad, mean, hateful person. You don’t care if you hurt people, do you? I never saw it before, but that you would do this to your boyfriend – to me…”

Shit, shit. Don’t cry. Do. Not. Cry. Danny couldn’t understand why Roy, who had never been at a lack of words for a moment in his life, was just sitting there silently while he railed on. The indomitable Bianca del Rio just sat there staring, and increasingly – he thought, maybe – like he was actually biting his tongue.

“You don’t have anything to say? You can’t even defend yourself because you know it’s true. I don’t know if you’ve always been like this, if something changed, or what the fuck is going on.” Danny paused, starting to feel self conscious about the volume of his voice and the lack of chiming in from any of his friends.

“Jesus, Roy. I thought Bianca was an act but the real you is so much worse. I would say I hope Sky’s off fucking someone else too, so you know what it feels like, but you’d have to be a human with emotions to get it. You’re just a heartless evil cunt.” And with that, Danny was out of steam.

—

The next seconds crawled slowly and quietly enough to hear a pin drop. Danny knew this for a fact, because he literally heard the waitress drop her pen at molasses speed. Then the world slammed back into focus, with the same jarring effect as an astronaut getting ejected into space in a Star Trek movie.

Danny felt all eyes on him – 26 silent, unblinking eyes. The only person not still basking in his impassioned speech was Roy himself, who had finally broken the stare; his eyes were closed, maybe even squeezed together, while he rested his forehead on wringing hands. Danny had never seen this body language before, which was strange because Roy was a true creature of habit.  

Feeling totally exposed – a feeling he wasn’t totally in love with at the moment – but still high on righteous indignation, Danny violently stood up to leave. He threw his credit card down on the table and walked towards the exit, speechless as a silent movie…until he heard a mumble.

“What did you say to me?” Danny turned on his heel, sure he heard Roy say something under his breath. He was ready to fight.

“I said he did, Delano. Sky did. He cheated on me. I walked in on him fucking someone. Two weeks ago.”

Danny didn’t go to school for fucking math, but something was clicking. Two weeks ago, cheating, no more Sky…damn the tequila fog.

“You guys have something in common after all – he said I was too cold to fall in love with. Didn’t think I would even care, I can’t feel anything anyway.” Roy wouldn’t look up as he spoke, his voice was calm and controlled. That was really freaking Danny out – this was his somber voice, the same one he used in the days after Danny’s dad died.

What’s going on? Danny was starting to wonder if he’d miscalculated something here. Fucking continuation school.

“You should be happy, turns out you already got what you want. I got cheated on, Danny.” Roy paused and finally looked up.

In one fell swoop, Danny realized he was so very wrong. The eyes Roy had been hiding were as red as his own, but colored instead by broken blood vessels and tears. Danny realized why he didn’t recognize the body language – he’d never seen Roy cry before.

“Happy, even if you’re wrong. I promise you I feel it.”

In that moment Roy’s voice wavered ever so slightly, and Danny felt his whole body come undone. He had to sit back in his chair to keep from falling over, seeing Roy like this turned him to actual human Jell-O.

Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuck. Fuck. Danny’s mind raced, trying to figure out what to do. How he could fix this.

“I think I should go,” Roy said to Jinkx, who started to move in response. His voice was back to the unnerving calm. “No, stay. I’ll get an Uber, you guys have fun. Let me know how much I owe you.” Roy stood up. “Everyone, it was a pleasure to meet you in the daylight. Glad to know my friends are so well taken care of in Seattle.”

No no no, don’t leave. What is happening? What are you doing? Danny was screaming internally, but he couldn’t figure out what words to say or at this point how to even make sounds come out of his mouth.

“Bye, Danny.”

Roy said those two words with such a tenderness and finality, Danny started to panic. He needed to do something but he was immobilized, his brain fried by his earlier surge of emotion and the overload of new information.

The scars of your love, they leave me breathless I can’t help feeling we could’ve had it all

And just like that Roy was gone.

[livingwithfoxesblog]

4 Cycle Fat Loss Solution Review

4 Cycle Fat Loss Solution Review

4 Cycle Fat Loss Solution Review

4 Cycle Fat Loss Solution Review

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D9SxZDuvuzc

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5PcC9wGvS3Y

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6hoHmNf-CTU

The 4 Cycle Fat Loss Solution may be a fast and economical weight loss program designed by Shaun Hadsall. Shaun has years of expertise in health and fitness matters, is a Certified Personal Trainer, has won several awards and even worked extensively with Wendy Chant (of the Crack the Fat Loss Code’ fame). In fact, Chant’s Macro Patterning’ diet is one amongst the four cycles and Shaun has the exclusive rights to it. The four Cycle Solution could be a precision-based, dieting focused program. The human body has a capability called adaptive response and this program’s theory works on resetting it. The adaptive response means that that your body adapts to the changes to you are doing it. So if you scale back your caloric intake, your body stores a lot of fat as a counter live. Your body essentially thinks you are starving. If you have got tried dieting and ended losing a few pounds and then stalling or even gaining additional wait, this can be most likely one in every of the explanations why that happened. This program works by resetting the metabolic rate allowing your body to burn through the fat that’s been stored. This permits you to burn fat faster and your metabolic rate will go up allowing you to incorporate higher calorie foods as you progress with the program. The 4 Cycle Fat Loss Solution Features The program comes as package that may be bought off the four Cycle Solution website that contains the 4 Cycles Solution in eBook format. It is also comes with a video version of the program along with four different guides to help you thru your weight loss journey. As the name suggests, the 4 Cycle Fat Loss Solution is broken into four phases. The cycles need to be followed in the correct order however you'll be able to repeat the full program again and again till you reach your ideal weight or dimensions. The four cycles are:     4 Cycle Fat Loss Review     7 Day Carb Depletion – This can be the first cycle of the program and starts by prepping your body for the changes that are concerning to come. When we have a tendency to don’t burn the carbohydrates we have a tendency to consume, they're stored as glycogen which will overtime turn into body fat. Step one in all this program is empty your carbohydrate stores and this will force your body to turn to burning body fat for energy. This cycle lasts only per week and from now on will have a negative result on your body. The meals during this cycle are low carb, high protein and high veg. There's additionally a workout element involved in this cycle.     Macro Patterning – In this cycle you re-introduce carbs in your eating regime since your body is now using body fat as its energy source. This tried and proven technique was developed by weight-loss guru, Wendy Chant. It covers the right preparation, combination and timing of carb based mostly meals. It can conjointly optimize your hormones to speed up most fat loss. The fantastic thing about Macro Patterning’ is that you just don’t expertise the muscle loss that's known to happen when you follow an occasional-carb diet.     Accelerated Fat Loss – This cycle is intended to counter the adaptive response that body can start to expertise. This cycle concentrates on working the blood sugar, glycogen, calories and nitrogen levels. It beats the burden loss stagnation and weight gain some people expertise when they diet.     The Diet Break – This is the ultimate cycle and you finally have a get a reprieve from the strict dieting. Primarily, you're able to gradually come back to your regular diet while not packing on the pounds. It permits you up your caloric intake back to traditional without any adverse effects. This means that that you may be able to restart the program if you haven’t reached your desired weight goal. It lasts for two weeks. It even permits you to incorporate small amounts of alcohol which was completely cut in the primary 3 cycles. Benefits     Terribly quick results! The full program shouldn’t take additional than six weeks. And therefore the results don’t go away once you’re back to normal diet.     No weight loss plateau or rebound that some dieters experience.     one hundred% cash back guarantee. You get a two month trial during that you can request for a cash back guarantee if you’re not glad with the results.     None of the muscle loss that you would possibly experience with low-carb diets.     It’s an all-natural weight loss program! No pills or supplements needed.     Affordable pricing. The commonplace package goes for $37, the equivalent of a month’s gym membership or a meal at a good restaurant.     Suitable for each men and girls.     The Macro Patterning’ diet that forms the core of the program could be a time tested dieting method.     The Diet Break’ cycle allows you to return to regular diet and doesn’t leave you with the I’m-watching-what-I-eat’ line at social events.     Well packaged and clear presentation.     On-line support Disadvantages     It will get a little technical and jargony. This may be a touch confusing for newbies. Conjointly, while there are several pictures in the program, it’s still very wordy.     The program should be strictly adhered to to figure. You'll’t skip a cycle or alternate cycles. Don’t begin the program, if you have got to take a trip.     Whereas there is a workout element, this program is diet serious and you would possibly have to feature your own workouts if you're feeling you’re not obtaining enough of a burn. Strive Shaun’s ’fourteen Day Rapid Fat Loss Arrange’. Conclusion This is often a great program from a man with a great health and fitness pedigree. Shaun has previously done ’14 Day Rapid Fat Loss Set up’ and coupled together with his work on Macro Patterning’, you get a program from someone whatever works. It’s nice for those that want a plan that is diet oriented. The results are quick, noticeable and last even once you’re off the diet as half of the program is readjusting your body back to your traditional meal arrange. You don’t suffer extreme hunger pangs and cravings and the program can be comfortably implemented into your regular schedule. It is this author’s opinion that anyone trying to lose weight and/or cut back inches ought to definitely attempt the four Cycle Fat Loss Solution. The 4 Cycle Fat Loss Solution may be a fast and economical weight loss program designed by Shaun HadsallYou will get more data regarding this program from relevant on-line sources .