#when in REALITY HE WENT LAST YEAR JANUARY

[nectarinesalt]

Cornflake Girl

...he showed up all wet on the rainy front step wearing shrapnel in his skin and the war he saw lives inside him still...

pairing: drafted/military/PTSD Eddie Munson x reader (whose brother died in the same war)

warnings: war, language, angst, death. terrible childhood, poverty. talk of domestic violence. eventual PTSD, eventual smut.

word count: 1k

author's note: slightly thinking about making this into a multi-chapter. tell me what you think.

~~~

The exhaust from the line of buses in the road choked you like the clammy, stone grip of Death himself. You found yourself in a trance - staring at the weeping mothers, the trembling young men - the only thing to shake you back to reality was a familiar firm grip on your own shaking fingers.

“...before you know it. Trust me, Wink.”

You stuttered over a response. “W-what?”

Your older brother Zeke raised an eyebrow at you with amusement. It’s the exact look that he had been giving you for weeks, and quite frankly, it pissed you off. How could you be so fucking casual about being drafted, Zeke?

In simple terms, the world as you knew it was ending. Your best friend, your big brother, your savior - he got that goddamned letter in the mail. 

Of course, Ezekiel Elliot Winkler didn’t bat an eye. Did he expect it? Well, you were sure he did. The newspapers talked about nothing but war. But… did Zeke want this? Your mind suddenly ran past all of the memories of the previous years; him and your father shoving each other around, Zeke ripping bottles of wine out of your mother’s frail hands. 

Your brother, only eleven months older than you, covering your ears in the stuffy closet you shared as your parents smashed dishes in the kitchen during a fight. You recalled how bad you shivered in the closet that night - probably because the furnace went out again, and no one had fixed it in months.

Probably as much as you shivered now. Zeke’s chocolate brown eyes were different from yours, lighter almost. His gaze flickered between your pathetic scowl and your hand, where your anxious thoughts manifested into a severe cuticle picking problem.

“C’mon, quit the picking, sis. How’s an engagement ring ever gonna look on a chewed up finger like that?” Zeke winked at you, knowing all too well that you swore off marriage over a year ago.

His sense of humor didn’t fade one bit, not even as the heavy bag slung over his shoulder. You helped him pack it the night before, last minute as always. 

You really want to pack this much? 

He smiled that toothy smile of his, dimples catching the shadow from the bare bulb above you both.

It’s all I got, Wink.

A deep gasp rose in your throat and you squeezed your eyes shut. Your memories escaped you suddenly, but then came rushing back with the enveloping squeeze of Zeke’s long arms lifting you a few inches off the cold pavement. He had always been at least half a head taller than you.

Ignoring the scrutinizing gaze of your mother, Zeke mumbled in your ear. “Just… hang in there. Please? Someone needs to take care of her while I’m gone.”

You fought the urge to argue, to protest. You didn’t want to watch over your drunken mother. You’d be eighteen within six months - who’d be responsible for her then? After all of the nights you both went to bed hungry, the narcissistic comments as puberty hit you like a semi truck. What the fuck did you owe her? 

She didn’t attend the funeral of your father when her car wrapped around a tree… only for her to walk away with nothing but bruises.

You were shocked that she had the motivation to leave the couch to send off Zeke. Hell, right now, you were stunned she was even slightly sober in the parking lot of Hawkins High School. But that was probably for her reputation's sake, not for her only son being drafted like a pig to the slaughter.

A sudden flash of silver caught your eye.

Snapping like a twig in the middle of a dry Indiana January, your neck craned instinctively towards the sight: two buses down, the flicker of a silver chain on the strap of a man’s duffel bag. 

Eddie. Your best friend.

Well, your former best friend. Before you had to start wearing a bra. Before your PMS and family stress turned you into a hormonal monster. Before he popped boners every time you smoked behind the bleachers with him during cheer practice. Before… before he did nothing but obsess over Chrissy Cunningham. 

You sighed.

Eddie Munson, born the same year, nearly the same damned month, as Zeke, got the letter in the mail, too. Duty called to him like a whisper in the night, beckoning him with a curling finger, looking at all of his failures, insecurities; Eddie didn’t think he truly had a future in Hawkins. So why not embrace the draft?

At least, that’s what you imagined it was like. Now, your puffy eyes drew to him like a magnet. Eddie looked drastically different, yet all the same. His hair was buzzed like it was when you were in 5th grade. He kept his back awkwardly straight as he spoke silently to his uncle, Wayne. That tiny family was always so good at trying to make life easier for each other. 

You silently begged them to let the walls down. Shed tears. Hug deeply. But no, nothing like that happened. 

Zeke said his farewell to your frigid mother as you focused on the sparse Munson family. Eddie held a firm grip on his uncle as he pulled him in for a brief embrace. As your childhood best friend turned for the bus, he immediately froze at the sight of you across the parking lot.

Fuck.

A whistle sounded nearby, tearing you from the invisible silver chain that connected you to Eddie.

“Zeke!” you choked out, refusing to let go of the strap on his bag. “Write to me. Please tell me you’ll write.”

“I thought you hated my handwriting?”

“Shut up!” You gripped his strap harder, pulling him forward in a gut-crushing hug, trying to ignore the feeling of Eddie’s eyes on you. 

The last thing you remembered was the easygoing smirk on Zeke’s face as he waved through the bus windows.

[kanmom51]

Please help 😅 I think there is something or some conversation l have missed in JIKOOK’s timeline. Something about our Jimin getting so upset that he left the members and went home to heal from some trauma caused by V & Jk ?? The next we heard about him was when he was hospitalised suffering from covid?? Please fill in the blanks for me if you know any deets.. l would be grateful. No pressure though😂🫶🏽

Idk what fan fiction this is from, but WOW.

JM healing from trauma caused by V and JK?

The next was when he was hospitalized with covid?

Bull bloody shit is what I can tell you.

But let's look at the timeline why don't we?

At least what we know of it.

JM was hospitalized end of January 2022. Not because of covid but because of his appendix, and when in hospital tested positive for covid.

This followed the group going on a break after their 4 concerts in LA in November 2021.

Last time we had all three together was in their live on 28 November 2021. That was a chaotic super happy live. Only bullying I can think of, jokingly, would be Tae constantly mentioning brand names he wasn't supposed to, lol.

You can find many links to posts I wrote about that live here:

Then JK and JM returned to Korea with Jin. Just the three of them. They were supposed to go into quarantine as they returned, separately, as the government rules stated, and yet JK waited for JM at the airport upon their arrival thinking that they will be sharing a car only for the two to be separated.

There is absolutely, and I repeat absolutely NOTHING to show that there was anything wrong between JM and JK at that place and time!!!

JM and JK were fine, and there was no bullying going on from Tae and JK. What AO3 fanfic is that even?

As for the stupidity I've been hearing of since Ep. 3 of Are you sure? JK and V bullying JM, like wtf is wrong with people?

Every time I think people have reached the limit of being the worst they just prove that they can surpass themselves.

I think people lack basic ideas of human interactions if they claim that the playfulness we saw in that episode can be called bullying. If that's bullying then every single time those three played throughout the years would also be. These are 3 young men who grew up together and at times roughhouse. Like men do.

I've kind of lost hope in trying to explain to these people, who love to see JM as a victim, and therefore think they are his knights in shining armour, that JM is a grown ass man who knows exactly how to put both JK and Tae in their places if he wanted to!!! He's got the physical strength to do so, not to mention the personality too. He's known to have done both, when he wanted. And here's the news flash. Maybe he didn't want to! JM knows how to be assertive. Being such a nice human being doesn't make him a weak human being. I think that many of those that claim to love him and want to protect him either don't know him at all or want him to be weak so they can show up as his great protectors against the big bad JK, whom they would love to get rid of, cause he's just not good enough for JM, in their warped reality. Perhaps because they want JM for themselves.

JK is the person that JM loves most in this world.

The person that stood by JM's side and supported him when he was going through the turmoil he was experiencing during the pandemic.

The person that JM wanted to go on these trips with and came up with the idea to create this show so that they can go on these trips together.

The person that he flew from Korea to NY to be with for his solo debut.

The person that he can't stop talking about and bringing up in conversations that have really nothing to do with him, like during the Minimoni album exchange.

The man he chose to write a song for and write these lines to:

Baby, don't leave Just stay by my side, yeah To you, who see me bigger than what my little self is (to you) So that I can give as much as I’ve received (oh-oh) So that I can keep my word (oh-oh) Don't worry, just stay by my side, yeah (Yeah) We don’t know what the future holds (holds, yeah) And that’s scary and makes us afraid (oh-oh) But don’t forget that we’re always together (don't forget)

The person he chose to enlist with and be with for the 18 months of their military service, even though it meant a more difficult placement, even though it would raise eyebrows and questions marks seeing that the two are the first ever idols, both in their late 20s to do this!!

I've said this once I've said this a thousand times. People need to go live their lives and stop looking for drama where it doesn't exist in JM and JK's life.

They are together.

They are good.

Even if they are idols and public figures.

Even if they are two gorgeous young men who happen to love each other and are, god forbid, in a queer relationship.

Even if being in a queer relationship in their industry and society is frowned upon.

All those don't mean that their relationship isn't just a normal stable long term relationship with everything that such a loving relationship entails, including the struggles.

Enough with trying to insert drama where there is none.

[flanaganfilm]

Hey, Mike! Did moving to Los Angeles at the start of your career turn out to be all that you thought it would be? It’s a big step that a lot of people take, and I’ve never really heard you talk about those early years before. Did you ever contemplate quitting? And if so, I’m glad you stuck to it - we love your work!

Oh, I contemplated quitting many, many times.

I moved to Los Angeles in January, 2003. I had just graduated the previous summer from Towson University, and a group of five of us moved out together. Some wanted to be filmmakers, some wanted to be actors. We shared a 3-bedroom apartment in Glendale. The adjacent apartment was occupied by four other Towson alums. Between the two apartments, we called it "Little Towson." I didn't own a car at the start. I had no health insurance. I'd saved a few thousand dollars to get me through the first six months, but none of us had jobs at the beginning. I remember applying (and being rejected) for a job at Walmart. I combed Craigslist looking for non-union editorial gigs.

I had told myself I'd give it five years, and if I hadn't gotten any traction, I'd move back to Maryland.

People started dropping out pretty quickly. One of my roommates (and one of my best friends) had moved out here to be an actor, and only lasted a few months before he decided to go back. It's overwhelming and terrifying to take a leap into a city as expensive as LA, and you're surrounded by people who all want the same career that you want. But it feels like there is a thousand foot wall circling the industry, and it seems impossible to scale it.

I found work doing odd editorial jobs before working as a logger, than an assistant editor, then an editor on a few reality shows. I shot and cut those local car commercials you see on late night cable. And I frequently ran out of money and overdrafted my account. As more and more of our original group gave up and moved back East, I started to feel more and more crazy. A lot of my friends from school were getting married, buying houses, having kids. I felt pretty delusional as my 5-year deadline came and went, and I still hadn't found any way over or through that wall. When we started to talk about making Absentia in 2010, I had been in LA for more than 7 years. I was working two jobs as an editor. I found out I was going to be a father. It felt very much like whatever I'd wanted to happen by moving to LA was not going to happen. Absentia was kind of last-ditch effort. Ultimately, the five year plan I'd allowed myself when I moved to LA turned into a 9-year plan. I started shooting Oculus - my first "real" movie - in the fall of 2012, just shy of my 10th anniversary in Los Angeles. That movie wouldn't come out for a while after that, so by the time I actually had a career as a filmmaker, well over a decade had passed struggling in LA.

For most of that time, my refusal to move back to Maryland looked (and felt) like a delusion. Only afterward did it start to look like "tenacity." And it never felt like "persistence" or "determination"... it felt insane. It felt like constant, daily frustration and rejection. And when I couldn't pay the bills, or couldn't land a job, it felt downright embarrassing.

For what it's worth, the only difference I've seen between people who "make it" out here and don't are that the ones who made it all stayed long past their expiration dates. I've seen wildly talented people pack it up and head home. Talent helps a lot once the door is open, but really the only thing that opens the door is persistence. To the point of feeling insane.

[anim-ttrpgs]

Some History of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy

Brandon and I have played a lot of TTRPGs, from nearly every edition of Dungeons & Dragons to half-finished playtests of things you’ve never heard of. Our history with TTRPGs is a love story, but one pockmarked with frustration. We found ourselves enjoying D&D 3.5’s vast character creation options, but wishing it focused more on  grounded characters and historically informed combat; being drawn in by Call of Cthulhu’s horror and existential dread, but disappointed in its investigation mechanics for actually getting the investigators to those moments of horrifying revelation; being intrigued by Monster of the Week’s juxtaposition of both normal and supernatural PCs (for horror and/or comedy), but finding its lack of character options and reliance on genre tropes a hindrance; being unable to find anything that would be good for a S.T.A.L.K.E.R. inspired TTRPG campaign. We eventually found the OSR movement and AD&D1e and 2e to be far closer to what we wanted on the medieval fantasy front, but we still had nothing on the modern horror or urban fantasy front, and Shadowrun is… Shadowrun.

So, with around 20 years of TTRPG experience between us, we set out to make the game we wanted a reality.

The story of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy’s creation really starts in late 2021, when Brandon asked me to help playtest a very early rough draft of an investigative horror game he thought up. Living isolated, impoverished, and unable to find work in England at the time, I readily agreed. Noticing that the game didn’t have a combat system and desperate to set my mind to something constructive in between tedious job applications, I offered to write a combat system for it. I soon had to use the last of my money to move back home to Louisiana where I eventually did find work despite a variety of health issues, and continued to work on Eureka as a system for our personal use.

As 2023 drew near, it became clear that my current job wasn’t going to be a permanent career, and I needed a fall back plan. Work towards making Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy a professional release began in earnest, with Brandon and I founding A.N.I.M. a few months later. It was initially set to go to Kickstarter in April of 2023, then May, then June, but each time we realized it just wasn’t ready. No one had ever heard of us, and we wanted to break into an industry and customer base increasingly financially hostile to any TTRPG that wasn’t D&D5e compatible. We needed to build an audience, and build a greater appreciation for independent and small-budget TTRPGs within the community at large.

Thanks to some assistance from one of the team members from Tuesday Knight Games (makers of Motherhship), the first beta copies went public in September of 2023 to a splash of instant (relative) success, and the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club was founded on Discord two months later, a community dedicated to buying, playing, and analyzing less well-known TTRPGs - which includes almost everything except Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition.

Ash became friends with us through the book club, and after offering an increasing amount of assistance, joined the team proper in January of 2024, adding much needed copy-editing skills as well as another 15 years cumulative TTRPG experience.

The Kickstarter campaign for Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy launched on April 10th, 2024, was fully funded within 3 hours, and by the end of the campaign had reached a total of $15,455, 486% of the goal. That is where we are at now, working every day to put the finishing touches on the game and complete the stretch goals to the best of our ability before our tentative deadline of January 2025.

This is a far more ambitious project than a super-small team like ours should have attempted for our debut game, but with a mix of talent, luck, skill, and a whole lot of help, we have somehow managed to pull it off. We think the resulting game is a deep, robust, professional-quality TTRPG that provides a one-stop shop and extensive toolbox for any investigative or mystery game you’d like to run. A dark and moody noir, a classical British whodunnit, the lighthearted sleuthing hijinks of Scooby-Doo, Eureka does it all.  (You can also get the latest PDF for FREE for a limited time by joining the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club!)

Elegantly designed and thoroughly playtested, Eureka represents the culmination of three years of near-daily work from our team, as well as a lot of our own money. If you’re just now reading this and learning about Eureka for the first time, you missed the crowdfunding window unfortunately, but our Kickstarter page is still the best place to learn more about what Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy actually is, as that is where we have all the fancy art assets, the animated trailer, links to video reviews by podcasts and youtubers, and where we post regular updates on the status of our progress finishing the game and getting it ready for final release.

Beta Copies through the Patreon

If you want more than just status updates, going forward you can download regularly updated playable beta versions of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy and it’s adventure modules by subscribing to our Patreon at the $5 tier or higher. Subscribing to our patreon also grants you access to our patreon discord server where you can talk to us directly and offer valuable feedback on our progress and projects.

The A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club

If you would like to meet the A.N.I.M. team and even have a chance to play Eureka with us, you can join the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club discord server. It’s also just a great place to talk and discuss TTRPGs, so there is no schedule obligation, but the main purpose of it is to nominate, vote on, then read, discuss, and play different indie TTRPGs. We put playgroups together based on scheduling compatibility, so it’s all extremely flexible. This is a free discord server, separate from our patreon exclusive one. https://discord.gg/7jdP8FBPes

Other Stuff

We also have a ko-fi and merchandise if you just wanna give us more money for any reason.

[weirdbrothers]

Stranger Things Fic Rec

Let me get one thing out of the way: absolutely nobody asked for this. But I love these pairings and stories so much I had to share it with you all. This is heavy on Steve/Billy with some Steve/Eddie sprinkled in.

If you've never read Stranger Things fic, or when you saw this post thought "oh yeah, that 80s kid monster show" I encourage you to give these a try! You don't have to know much about the show besides the bare bones of the plot. (And my ask box is always open for Qs!) If you like angsty teenage boys who are in denial about their feelings and hate their hometown, read on.

Now, on to the porn and depravity!

if i stare too long by @brawlite & @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger | Steve/Eddie/Billy

After the end of the world, Billy Hargrove is a mess. But at least he has company.

Notes: Literally one of my favorite fics of all time, I will never shut up about it. Gay threesomes. Angst. A sweltering midwestern summer. Homoerotic undertones that builds to filthy gay porn. The vibes are all there.

Pressure by Yellow_Blue_Books | Steve/Eddie

"You never did tell me your name," he called at Munson's back. The older man was already in the trees when he turned back around and stated his name, eyes bright and grin wide. Steve never heard it; he couldn't read his lips from so far a distance between them. So instead, he watched Munson walk away; the teen, now wide awake, went to sit on the hood of his car to wait for Hopper to show. On that crisp, cold January night in 1985 - Steve Harrington heard the sound of Eddie Munson's voice for the first and last time. He never even knew his name.

Notes: The only WIP on this rec list, and totally worth the wait. Great characterization. So many little tidbits of information that have me squealing with joy. But also dark and grounded in reality.

chokechain by @brawlite | Steve/Billy (and Tommy is there)

Tommy H. invites Billy to a party at Steve's house. Billy expected hot chicks and booze, but when he shows up, there's only the latter. Steve and Tommy teach Billy that in Hawkins, sometimes you just gotta make do.

Notes: When I think of this fic I literally start sweating its so sexy. The fic that got me hooked on Steve/Billy and gay Steve in general. Its so subtle and gritty and grimy and hot. And Tommy is egging everyone on, yet oblivious, just how I like him.

so good at being in trouble, so bad at being in love by @the-copperkid Steve/Billy

Steve's sophomore year, Billy showed up.

Notes: A fandom classic. The perfect example of Steve/Billy getting together in world, and dealing with their feelings (+ porn, because I'm me and I need porn in all my fic).

We'll Go Down in History by @eternalgoldfish | Billy/Steve

Hawkins High takes a field trip to Baltimore to see historical sites and Steve would rather jump out his hotel window.

Notes: So much teenage angst and tomfoolery in this one! A little more lighthearted than others on the list. Gets to that theme in ST that I love: the idle hands of teenage boys are the devil's playthings.

Dom 4 Hire by @lazybakerart

Steve is naked, on his hands and knees, in the apartment he shares with his high school sweetheart for a man he only just met in person five minutes ago.

Notes: From the second I saw Steve Harrington on screen I knew that boy was a sub dying for someone to call him a good boy. And Billy is just the dom for the job. My only complaint is that I wish this was longer!

Maybe we're something uncool by desert_dino | Steve/Billy

It’s only noon; Billy knows neither of them have work that evening, and their shitty gen-ed biology lab was cancelled. They’ve only been hanging out for an hour, and maybe Billy isn’t quite done fucking around with Harrington yet. Maybe he’ll indulge him.

Notes: Cocky Billy is what the world needs! Great banter and dialogue. Just a snapshot of what I imagine their afternoons would look like, and the teens of Hawkins would be like "why the fuck are they always hanging out?" totally oblivious.

slipping through by sightetsound | Steve/Billy

It was the weed, and the pilfered whiskey from Steve’s daddy dearest they passed back and forth. It was actually how Steve’s eyes caught the moonlight. How his mouth moved when he spoke, and how it curved on a grin Billy would call relaxed when they were alone. Admitting as much felt too much like giving ground, and so it was the weed and whiskey.

Notes: Really bittersweet, heartfelt, and sincere. A different kind of pace for this pairing.

You Get Too Close by @trashcangimmick | Steve/Billy

Steve sits at the back of the bus on the way to a basketball match in Gary. Billy Hargrove sits right across from him.

Notes: Be for real- when we saw that basketball and shower scene we were all hoping it would go in the direction of this fic. Gives me the vibe of an 80s porno in the best way.

Reflecting on the Longest Wavelength by @trashcangimmick | Billy/Hopper

Billy’s heat hits early. Jim Hopper happens to find him before anyone else does. 

Notes: This pairing is a little rouge, I don't see it often and its hard to pin down for me past all the basic tropes. I really like the A/B/O world-building here and find myself returning to it.

[fortheunsungheros]

Out of curiosity- How much do you know abt ur fav character in The Outsiders?? My fav is Dallas, who was the sixth character to be introduced by pony in the book- hence my blog name lol

Dally’s full name was Dallas Tucker Winston (as we know)

was 17 (also as we know) and died just two months short of his birthday, which is November 9th, meaning the book begins in September on a Friday

got his disc memorized- you know the drill with him so I’ll keep it shortish: described as tow-headed with an elvish face, with high cheekbones and a sharp chin, small sharp animal like teeth and ears like a lynx, his hair was almost white it was so long, but he didn’t like haircuts or hairpins either so it went over his forehead in wisps and kicked out in the back in tufts along the nape of his neck and curled behind his ears. The shade difference between a greaser and a hood wasn’t present in Dally, he was a wild as a brumly boys, like Tim Shepard’s gang. He had pale icy blue eyes, cold with a hatred for the whole world- he didn’t have anything specific to hate. (So much for short- Read it 217 times since 7th grade)

gave pony the letter from soda and didn’t want to get beat tf up by Darry for giving pony the money and the gun

bought pony and Johnny food at Darry Queen :D

he showed up to the rumble with his arm burnt tf up and fought anyhow

Took Ponyboy to see Johnny because he knew he was dying in the hospital and wanted pony to seem him one last time too

he was born in 1948- since the book was finished in ‘65, I just subtracted 17 from there- so he would’ve been 76 this year :,(

on a lighter note, S.E. Hinton confirmed that he was most likely out of the gang to be scared of spiders- had me rolling 🤣

Lmao it got to the point where I gaslit myself into thinking he lived and Johnny lived based on a fic I read years ago and when I reread it this past month my whole reality with him shattered- please send help I can’t be the only one obsessed with a character to this degree🫠

Wow I think you’re more obsessed with this book than me 😭 HOW HAVE YOU READ IT 217 TIMES? I’m on my 3rd reread in the past 8 months or so.

But seriously wow! I’m glad I found someone who is as obsessed - if not more than me lol. Dallas is probably my 3rd favorite character (ik don’t come and find me lol) behind 2. Johnny and 1. Darry

Darry has always been my favorite character ever since I read the book for the first time. He just stuck out to me and I love his character so much. He also is played by Patrick Swayze and he is the finest man to ever walk the earth sooo. (Like seriously I’m obsessed with this man I’ve watched almost every movie he’s in please send help)

Even though Darry’s my favorite character I don’t know everything about him off hand lol. I’m just gonna make a list of everything I know off the top of my head about my favorite character (yes out of every book I’ve read he’s my favorite character, secondly being Katniss Everdeen if you would like to know lol)

• He’s 20 years old

• His full name is Darrel Shayne Curtis Jr (I say this at least twice a day idk don’t ask why)

• Don’t quote me on this but I think he was introduced last in the book

• He works as a roof repair man person

• His birthday is January 5th

• He’s the oldest brother (obviously)

• He is said to not be a greaser if it weren’t for his brothers and the rest of the gang

• Darry was a MESS when Johnny and Pony were at the church (DARREL STAYS UP ALL NIGHT LONG, TILL HE FINALLY FALLS ASLEEP BY THE TELEPHONEEE - Sodas Letter from the musical)

• Also he was the football captain in high school and was voted boy of the year

• Don’t ask me how I know this offhand (I need a hobby) but in the book Darry is one of the tallest if not the tallest greaser but Patrick Swayze isn’t crazy tall so in some of the photos you can see him standing on bricks to make him look taller lol

Okay that’s all I remember right now but I know more will come to me later lol. And also I sincerely believe also that the events in the book are fictional (well no shit) but like FICTIONAL in a FICTIONAL way. Like Ponyboy definitely just needed a good grade so made up a bs story lmao. I really have tricked myself into thinking both Johnny and Dally are alive and well and the gang is still partying in Tulsa.

ALSO thank you for this ask it was really fun to do!

[odinsblog]

Arnold Schwarzenegger, MAR 17, 2022

Full transcript below the cut

Hello everybody, and thank you for sharing your time with me. I'm sending this message through various different channels to reach my dear Russian friends, and the Russian soldiers serving in Ukraine.

I'm speaking to you today because there are things that are going on in the world that are being kept from you—terrible things that you should know about. But before I talk about the harsh realities, let me just talk about the Russian who became my hero.

In 1961 when I was 14 years-old, a very good friend of mine invited me to come to Vienna to watch the World Weightlifting Championship. I was in the audience when Yuri Petrovich Vlasov won the World Championship title, becoming the first human being to lift 200 kilograms over his head. And somehow a friend of mine got me backstage.

All of a sudden, there I was, a 14-year-old boy standing in front of the strongest man in the world. I couldn't believe it. He reached out to shake my hand—I mean, I still had a boy's hand. He had this powerful man's hand that swallowed mine, but he was kind, and he smiled at me. I will never forget that day. Never.

I went home and I put his photo above my bed to inspire me when I started lifting weights. My father told me to take down that picture and to find a German or an Austrian hero. He got really angry, and we argued back and forth.

He didn't like Russians, because of his experience in the second World War. You see, he was injured at Leningrad, where the Nazi army that he was part of did vicious harm to the great city and to its brave people. But I did not take the photograph down, no. Because it didn't matter to me what flag Yuri Vlasov carried.

My connections to Russia didn't stop there, by the way. Oh, it actually deepened when I traveled there, with bodybuilding and for my movies and met all my Russian fans.

And then one of those trips I remember I met Yuri Vlasov once again. It was in Moscow during the filming of Red Heat, which was the first American movie allowed to film in Red Square. Now, he and I spent the day together. He was so thoughtful, so kind, and so smart. And, of course, very giving. He gave me this beautiful, blue coffee cup. And ever since then I've been drinking my coffee out of it every morning.

Now, the reason why I'm telling you all of those things is that ever since I was 14 years old, I've had nothing but affections and respect for the people of Russia. The strength and the heart of the Russian people have always inspired me.

And that is why I hope that you will let me tell you the truth about the war in the Ukraine and what is happening there.

No one likes to hear something critical of their government. I understand that. But, as a longtime friend of the Russian people, I hope that you will hear what I have to say. And may I remind you that I speak with the same heartfelt concern as I spoke to the American people when there was an attempted insurrection on January sixth last year, when a wild crowd was storming the U.S. Capital, trying to overthrow our government.

You see, there are moments like this that are so wrong, and then we have to speak up. This is exactly the same with your government. I know that your government has told you that this is a war to denazify Ukraine. Denazify Ukraine? This is not true! Ukraine is a country with a Jewish president. A Jewish president, I might add, whose father's three brothers were all murdered by the Nazis.

You see, Ukraine did not start this war. Neither did nationalists or Nazis. Those in power in the Kremlin started this war. This is not the Russian people's war. No. As a matter of fact, let me tell you, what you should know is that 141 nations at the U.N. voted that Russia was the aggressor. They called for it to remove its troops immediately.

Only four countries in the entire world voted with Russia. That is a fact. See, the world has turned against Russia because of its actions in the Ukraine. Whole city blocks have been flattened by Russian artillery and bombs, including a children's hospital and a maternity ward. Three million Ukrainian refugees—mainly women, children, and the elderly—fled their country, and many more are trying to seek to get out.

It is a humanitarian crisis. Because of its brutality, Russia is now isolated from the society of nations.

You're also not being told the truth about the consequences of this war on Russia itself. I regret to tell you that thousands of Russian soldiers have been killed. They have been caught between the Ukrainians fighting for their homeland and the Russian leadership fighting for conquest.

Massive amounts of Russian equipment have been destroyed or abandoned. The destruction that Russian bombs are raining down upon innocent civilians has so outraged the world that the strongest global economic sanctions ever taken have been imposed on your country. Those who don't deserve it on both sides of the war will suffer.

The Russian government has lied, not only to the citizens, but to its soldiers. Some of the soldiers were told they were going to fight Nazis. Some were told that the Ukrainian people would greet them like heroes. And some were told that they were simply going on exercises—they didn't even know that they were going into war. And some were told that they were there to protect ethnic Russians in Ukraine. None of this is true.

The fact is that Russian soldiers have faced fierce resistance from the Ukrainians who want to protect their families and their country. When I see babies being pulled out of ruins, I think that I am watching a documentary about the horrors of the Second World War, not the the news of today.

Now let me tell you, when my father arrived in Leningrad, he was all pumped up on the lies of his government. And when he left Leningrad, he was broken, physically and mentally. He lived the rest of his life in pain. Pain from a broken back, pain from the shrapnel that always reminded him of those terrible years. And pain from the guilt that he felt.

To the Russian soldiers listening to this broadcast, you already know much of the truth that I've been speaking. You have seen it with your own eyes. I don't want you to be broken like my father. This is not the war to defend Russia that your grandfathers or your great-grandfathers fought. This is an illegal war.

Your lives, your limbs, your futures, are being sacrificed for a senseless war condemned by the entire world.

Now, to those in power in the Kremlin, let me just ask you: Why would you sacrifice those young men for your own ambitions?

To the soldiers who are listening to this, remember that 11 million Russians have family connections to Ukraine. So every bullet you shoot, you shoot a brother or a sister. Every bomb or every shell that falls, is falling not on an enemy but on a school, or a hospital, or a home. I know that the Russian people are not aware that such things are happening.

So I urge the Russian people and the Russian soldiers in Ukraine to understand the propaganda and the disinformation that you are being told. I ask you to help me spread the truth. Let your fellow Russians know the human catastrophe that is happening in Ukraine.

And to President Putin, I say: You started this war. You are leading this war. You can stop this war.

Now let me close with a message to all of the Russians who have been protesting in the streets against the invasion of Ukraine: The world has seen your bravery. We know that you have suffered the consequences of your courage. You have been arrested. You have been jailed. And you have been beaten. You are my new heroes.

You have the strength of Yuri Petrovich Vlasov. You have the true heart of Russia. My dear Russian friends, may God bless you all.

(source)

[cerenemuxse]

Like Snowflakes in December

💗 December 1968

CW/TW: Swearing (like two words) and Injuries (no graphic details)

The story can be found at @eosr-by-muxse for easier access.

It��s been years since Edward last felt the sensation. He thought it wasn’t anything important. Perhaps it was this entire time.

Thank you @nightsinfoxx15 and anon for beta-reading for me!

~

One winter morning, Edward scuttled about in Wellsworth Yards. He was searching for the brake van that was usually there.

The engine questioned himself multiple times if someone had taken it, if he misplaced it, or if he simply overlooked it. No matter how many times he looked, though, it was nowhere to be found. Not even a spare could be found, and he was running late.

"Bother," he huffed. With no time to spare, Edward coupled up to his train of empty trucks and took them down to the very end of his branch line. All the way south was Brendam Docks. At the west end of the docks, going a bit up north, was a junction that led in two directions. One led engines back up north and the other led them to the Sodor China Clay Pits.

This was nothing out of the ordinary for Edward. It was his usual morning routine. Pick up any empty trucks at all the Main-Line stations and gather them in Wellsworth, ready to take the following morning. When morning arrived, he'd get a brake van and leave for the clay pits. That wasn't the case today, and it bothered him for a while—though not as much as what else was bothering him recently.

The concern was that the train of empty China clay trucks was usually very long, between twenty to thirty trucks. Today, he was pulling twenty-six. Even with the amount of experience the elderly engine had with trucks, Troublesome or not, it was still concerning. It was important to have a brake van for any sort of train, so he was taking a risk.

Though the absence of a brake van was concerning, the cannily familiar, daunting feeling he felt that had resurged within the past few weeks made that seem like nothing in comparison. Whenever it came, Edward became distracted, spacing out from the world around him. His pipes felt like they were being pulled on and thumping against one another like a heartbeat, building huge amounts of steam that he couldn't even force himself to make. Sudden waves of heat rushed to his face from his firebox.

This wasn't the first time this happened. It went away just as soon as it happened that first time, so he never said a word, brushing it off as something else.

Two months ago, that feeling came right back with full force, throwing the engine off. It was much more intense than the first time, which made him worry that something could genuinely be wrong.

When the odd feelings started, it was getting closer to the winter season, the season when he started to have problems with his parts. He knew his crew would already be on the lookout for any signs, in hopes of preventing a nasty piston accident. His mending back in 1952 had fixed it for a good while before it came back. Since then, it took much longer to happen, typically late December to early January. Ma crew already has somethin tae worry aboot, he thought, on the day he chose not to tell them as soon as possible. I can wait for it, he reasoned.

Now here he was, strolling down his branch line and barely noticing that he passed Brendam, the point where he should start paying attention and keep an eye out for the signals up ahead. There was a small junction entering Brendam Docks, which led to the loop in the area. He had to go straight ahead on the tracks heading south, not on the west tracks.

He should tell them.

No’ now thouch, he figured. Maybe later.

The trucks needed to be there on time, and he was running late already. Or at least he thought he was.

In reality, Edward was able to make up for time as he hadn't realized that he was going faster than normal. His crew had been tapping on his cab for a while, trying to get his attention, but he wouldn't respond to them.

Despite their engine's attempts to hide it, his crew was fully aware of Edward's recent odd behavior. It became more prominent when they entered December. His fireman, Alf, had assumed it had something to do with the expected chance of breaking down, but his driver, Rhett, knew it was something else. Edward had initially been weary about going out in the winter until he realized that the breakdowns would just happen inevitably, but that was years ago. The elderly blue tender engine had simply accepted it.

Tapping wasn't getting Edward's attention, so they started hollering, calling out his name. It worked, only to send them flying forward and into Edward's backhead as Edward pulled on his brakes, thinking something was wrong. The empty trucks bashed against each other and pushed towards him. Thankfully, these trucks weren't the Troublesome ones.

"Whit? Whit happenit?" Edward exclaimed. His warm brass eyes darted around, searching his surroundings.

Both men collected themselves. Rhett peeked out through Edward's cab windows. "Nothing's happened, old boy," reassured the Welsh man. "We just want to know what's going on with you."

"Yeah, you've been acting odd recently," added Alf slowly. "Is something on your mind?"

"Um…" I did say later. "I think," Edward began slowly. "I micht be havin’ some problems wit’ ma boiler."

"Think?" said Rhett as Alf peered out of the other cab window.

"Ma pipes. It feels like I'm forcin’ oot more steam than I can make."

Alf winced. He pulled away from the cab window and examined Edward's gauges and firebox. Not sure if what he was seeing was what he suspected, Alf tapped on Rhett's shoulder. Rhett looked at him swiftly as Alf pointed at their engine's gauges. Taking a glance, he noted that Edward's steam pressure was… fine. It wasn't abnormal. It hadn't been abnormal when Edward had been rushing down the line.

Edward could sense his crew looking at his gauges. "It's no' all the time. It happens oan and aff…"

"So it just happens?" asked Rhett with a concerned expression.

The old iron pondered for a moment. "Aye."

His crew looked at one another. They had two choices. The final choice was ultimately up to Edward.

"We can either go to the Steamworks or continue the day as normal," prompted Rhett. "What'll it be, old chap?"

Of course, Edward quickly responded.

"Continue the day as usual. The lads at the claypits need these trucks as soon as possible, and we've got a busy day o’ passenger and guids trains."

"Very well," said Rhett. He adjusted his hat and pulled off Edward's brakes to continue their journey to the clay pits.

…

The journey to and from the clay pits went rather smoothly. At no point did Edward's steam pressure rise to a concerning level. His driver hummed peacefully once they reached Wellsworth Junction, stopping since their signal was red. Molly swiftly passed by with her five honey-yellow coaches, the Honeypot as the train was called. The blue engine blew his whistle, greeting her. He got a response, and once she was out of the way and down the Main-Line his signal turned green. Releasing his brakes, Edward headed for Wellsworth Yards for a quick rest before the first passenger train.

Or at least he would've if he hadn't remembered something.

"Och, I've nearly forgotten!" he exclaimed. "Today's scrap collection, innit?"

"Yes, it- Whoa!"

The modified Larger Seagull suddenly jerked forward. His movement startled his crew, nearly knocking them off their feet. "I need tae get tae Tidmouth, quickly!"

Before Alf could speak, Rhett stopped him as he looked at Edward's steam pressure gauge. Once again, it was normal, though a bit higher to make up for his current speed. They were starting to doubt what Edward was supposedly experiencing, had anything to do with his boiler.

…

The first run of scrap collection, starting from Tidmouth and ending at Wellsworth, had gone rather smoothly. Much to Edward's relief, he finished a bit earlier, giving him enough time to get his snowplow fitted—having skipped it that morning—and collected his coaches.

As Edward pulled out of the yard, going east with the five branch line coaches, he quickly did a rundown of his day's work. Trucks huv been deliverit tae the clay pits and the first half o’ scrap collection is done, he thought as he lightly hummed a tune. Now all thon's left is the passenger runs up until midday, which is my break. After thon, I huv a few passenger runs, and then the train o’ China clay tae Vicarstown- Och! Maybe James will pass by this time-

"Edward, you've gone too far ahead!" exclaimed his driver.

As soon as Edward heard him, he snapped on his brakes, quickly shutting his eyes in the process. Again, his train bashed against him. Once his eyes opened, he was shocked as he found himself all the way near the level crossing, shortly before Wellsworth Junction.

"Sorry!" he quickly exclaimed, embarrassed as he backed down to the station.

Rhett patted his engine's cab. "It's alright, Edward. Just be a bit more careful."

"O' course!" Edward replied. "I will."

Once Edward reached the station, passengers quickly boarded the coaches. Rowdy schoolchildren climbed on board after saying their goodbyes to their parents. Teenagers and young adults either strayed behind to let the children on or rushed to get on board to beat the children, hoping to get a decent spot. Very few elders climbed on board, some with the assistance of the stationmaster and Edward's guard.

The elderly blue engine couldn't help but chuckle with a warm smile at the children's energy. He could feel the coaches jostle slightly as the children got rowdier. It would die down eventually, typically early on in the run, so he wasn't worried. His crew was, however, though not about the children. Rhett hadn't called out for Edward just because he was getting closer to the level crossing.

"Your steam pressure went too high there, old boy," said Rhett. "Your brakes wouldn't work either."

Immediately, Edward's warm smile faltered. "It did? I didnae feel it thon time." I wid've if I wisnae distractit, thouch, he scolded himself.

"You didn't?" That raised a bit of an alarm to the two men. "It went up fast, and the lever was stuck. You didn't feel me trying to pull it?"

"Naw, I didnae." How oot-o'-space did I go?

Rhett hummed. "We should call for another engine to take this train while we take you to the Steamworks."

Edward panicked. He didn't want to have another engine pull his train. Not at a time like this. It was the early winter, when passenger and goods services were heavy in preparation for the winter holidays, especially in the morning. Unfortunately, "like minds think alike" was the way to describe how busy it got. Traveling was typically planned for the morning so goods trains were pushed to the afternoon. This made it so that traffic wouldn't cluster up during the day, and Edward wasn't about to disrupt that.

"I can take this passenger train just fine," insisted Edward. "I took those trucks tae the clay pits wit’ naw issue."

Rhett and Alf looked at one another. Their engine wasn't wrong.

“Alright, we’ll give it another go,” Rhett relented. “But if anything is off, you need to let us know, alright?”

“Aye, Mr. Driver,” agreed Edward.

When the guard blew his whistle, Edward let out a bright whistle before departing the station.

…

The morning went by with no further issues. During the midday break, Edward’s crew checked him over. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. His pistons were fine, his side rods weren't loose, and his smokebox was clean. There was no blockage in the firebox from the look of things, so Edward was fine.

When they finished the afternoon passenger runs, before heading for the China clay, everything was normal. The Victorian engine went on with the day, humming about, as the worry about the problem slowly faded from his mind.

Humming a slow-paced, upbeat tune, Edward headed down his branch-line to pick up the trucks of China clay waiting for him at the dockyard. This particular train was heading to the Mainland, but would be dropped off at Vicarstown so Murdoch would take it from there. Once he arrived, Edward was promptly coupled up, leaving as soon as he had arrived.

The early December cold air stroked against his boiler, sending waves of chills throughout his frame. The steam spewing from his pistons, cylinders, and funnel wasn’t doing much for him.

Edward was switched onto the Main-Line and headed directly towards the goods tunnel cutting through Gordon’s Hill. With grace, he picked up speed, streamed through the tunnel, and came across Rebecca, who was hauling a long goods train on the other line. They pipped a quick “Hullo!” as she passed by. Edward greeted with a different warm smile, his eyes creasing together as his snowplow completely covered his mouth. Whistling in the tunnel was forbidden, due to concerns of triggering a possible collapse. The tunnel was stable enough to withstand the racket the engines made thundering through, but not enough if they added in the shrill of their whistles.

Once the ex-SR West Country passed, Edward didn’t find anyone else in the tunnel. He came out to clear tracks right as his signal turned green. Edward pushed through the junction, switched to the track right of him, decreasing his speed, and continuing down the Main-Line.

It took a while but eventually, Kildane came into view, and so did a certain scarlet tender engine, bringing a smile to Edward’s smile. As Edward passed the station he whistled brightly, and James reciprocated. The red engine’s signal changed and he was soon off, chasing after his blue friend.

“Edward! It’s been a while!” exclaimed James once his smokebox lined up with Edward’s, his buffer beam being ahead of Edward’s.

“It certainly has!” Edward agreed. “Whit’ve ye got this time?” he questioned, noticing the stone dust amongst the snow covering the bright red medium-sized tender engine.

“The complete Shen Valley package,” James replied smugly, to which Edward laughed, before huffing. “Though I’d like to know why people want so much stone at this time of the year. It’s cold outside! How do they build in these conditions?”

“People ur truly somethin’,” hummed Edward. “But then again, they work around us.”

“Touchè,” playfully pouted James. “How’s that tank engine on your line doing? Ryan, was it?”

“Aye. He’s been such a great help since BoCo wis put oan the Main-Line.”

“At least they’re not being a bitch about him anymore.”

“James!” Edward reprimanded, knowing very well who “they” were.

“You know it’s true!”

“Still, you should never speak like thon! Please dinnae tell me Jacqueline is learnin’ any o’ this.”

James gasped, faking offense. “Now, I would never teach my own daughter such things!” He dropped his voice to a low whisper. “Though I doubt she doesn’t know a few in French.”

“Dinnae get her tae teach ye.”

“No promises~!” James sang.

Edward rolled his eyes humourously.

The two continued their conversation, jumping around from subject to subject as they chuffed down the Main-Line. At one point, James said something humorous and Edward began to laugh. Years ago, the mogul Class 28 had come to learn that the Larger Seagull’s squawking wasn’t just restricted to being frightened out of his frame.

So he pressed on.

“James, patch aht!” huffed Edward, trying to control his laughter as it got worse and worse. He saw this coming the moment he started laughing. Oh, curse James’ good humor.

“Nu-uh!” teased James. “I’ll get that squawk out of ya, Seagull.”

That broke the dam.

“Sto-op!” squawked the flustered engine, continuing to laugh.

It felt so good to laugh. The warmth boiling within him was enough to overwhelm the feeling of his piston rod cracking.

…

Once Edward and James arrived at Vicarstown they both dropped off their goods trains, which were promptly shunted away by Rosie and Dennis, preparing it for Murdoch. Both tender engines left as soon as they had arrived, heading for Tidmouth Sheds as a day’s work came to an end.

They were having a peaceful conversation and were going up Gordon’s Hill with the winter sunset approaching when James started huffing heavily.

“James?” asked Edward worryingly. He took notice of James’ chubby cheeks starting to burn.

“Shit,” hissed James. “I’m low on water.”

The blue engine steamed off the profanity, focusing on the issue. “Maron is’nae too far. Wid ye like me tae shunt ye?” he offered.

“No, no! I’ll be fine,” reassured James as Maron came into view. “I’ll stop here. You go on ahead.”

Edward felt a bit on the edge. “I can wait wit’ ye.”

“How full is your water tank then?”

“Halfway, but-”

“I insist. Besides-” James chuffed a humourous huff. “I can catch up to you just fine. I am-!”

“Yon fastest red engine oan Sodor?” hummed Edward with a teasing smile. “I ken thon all too well, James.”

“As you should!” puffed up James. “Now, you go on your merry little way, and I’ll catch up to you. D’accord?”

“O’ course,” replied Edward with a giddy chuckle as warmth rushed to his freckled cheeks. James took no notice, as Edward’s snowplow covered a good part of the warm-brass-eyed engine’s face. Both engines pulled into Maron, with James switching lines to get to the water tower. Edward bid his temporary farewell and went on his merry way down the hill.

The bubbling and boiling grew gradually but Edward didn’t think much of it. How could he? It was warm and comforting, wrapping Edward in a loving, invisible embrace. An intoxicatingly, inviting feeling that the ex-Furness Railway engine reveled in more and more.

That feeling was snatched away when his driver started smacking his cab side. “Edward, slow down!” warned the English man. “Your steam pressure’s gone up again!”

“Do you hear that?” questioned Alf. “Do either of you hear that?”

Edward focused on the noise of the world around him. He heard it, and he felt it.

Loud groans and creaking could be heard from his chassis as a soreness started to spread from his cylinders. He felt the cracks on one of the piston rods, which had grown drastically.

With a loud CRACK!, the damaged piston rod broke off. He screamed in agony as the pain shot through him. Hot steam spewed furiously from his piston and cylinders. The rod dragged on the tracks, repeatedly hitting the sleepers before breaking off. Edward ran over it before he screeched to a halt, managing to avoid further damage to his chassis. Once Edward came to a complete stop, his crew immediately jumped out of his cab to inspect the damage.

The rod lay across the tracks, posing a danger to any other oncoming engine. The crew quickly resolved to grab the rod and throw it into Edward’s tender, letting it sink into the coal. Rhett rushed to the front, finding Edward in a state of despair. Tears of hot water mixed with coal dust streamed down his cheeks, staining his face and the edge of his snowplow. His sobbing, muffled by the snowplow, was interrupted with hiccups.

Gosh, it hurts, he thought as he cried. It hurts so much.

“We’ll call for help, Edward!” Rhett exclaimed frantically. “Just hold on!"

"I think I see an engine coming!" hollered Alf as he began to frantically wave down the approaching engine. "Stop! Stop!" he chanted.

The engine screeched to a halt on the track and behind Edward's tender, in time to not bump into Edward with his snowplow.

"Edward?" the engine called out, peering over from the right of the cerulean iron horse.

The thumping of Edward's boiler tubes and the rush of warmth to his freckled cheeks returned as the recognizable Cockney Londoner accent rang bells. “James!” Edward cried out immediately, frightening his driver, who had kneeled to inspect Edward’s chassis. Despite the intolerable pain that began to haze his smokebox, Edward noticed and quickly murmured an apology. His driver gently stroked the front edge of the matte black running board to comfort the hurting engine.

"He's broken a piston!" exclaimed his fireman to James and his crew. "Could you take us to the Steamworks?"

“Of course!” replied James with haste, beating his crew to a response. Engines interacting with other engine crews weren’t common, so Edward’s fireman was thrown off. With two huffs and a whistle, he backed away. “I’ll turn around at Maron! I’ll be back, Edward! I promise!”

Typically Edward would be fine with that, but with the pain becoming unbearable and hazing his thoughts, he didn’t want him to leave. Dinnae go, dinnae go! Come back! he thought as he sobbed harder, Please come back! Tears continued to trickle down his freckled cheeks as James quickly chuffed away.

…

As promised, James returned, and quite quickly at that. Regardless, it felt like an eternity to Edward as the pain continued. When James backed down on him, his thoughts were swimming. He couldn’t concentrate on his driver’s voice, who was trying to warn Edward that James would buffer up to him. So when James did just that, Edward let out a startled squawk, and the thumping of his boiler tubes increased. It felt like a smokebox ache within his boiler.

Was it a boiler ache? He wasn’t sure. He never had one before.

“Boiler…” he murmured to his driver, who perked up from watching James buffer up his tender to Edward’s. “Boiler ache.”

This seemed to have frightened his driver. He couldn’t tell too well as his eyes felt heavy, letting his eyelids droop. “A boiler ache?”

“I think…” replied Edward.

“What do you feel?”

“Tubes ur throbbin’…” Edward let out a heavy huff of steam, startling the others. “Like a smokebox ache.”

Worry crossed his driver’s face who quickly rushed to Edward’s cab, where his fireman was. Edward could barely hear the conversation.

“...boiler ache…?”

“...was flushed…throbbing.”

“...a boiler cleanout.”

James began to haul him. It was a gentle tug of his rear coupling, yet it was enough to startle Edward. “Does it hurt more?” he heard James holler.

“Naw!” he cried out. Edward continued huffing out sobs, and let his hiccups take over.

“We’ll get there, I promise! Just hold on!”

Edward would’ve if passing out hadn’t been so enticing, letting the haziness of the pain take over.

…

“...Edward? Edward!”

“Keep it down, James!” scolded another engine.

“Well, I’m sorry for worrying!” huffed the red engine.

“Again, I don’t think I’ll ever get over that.”

“Victor!” whined James.

The pain was gone, replaced by light soreness. Edward furrowed his eyebrows at the noise before gently cracking his eyes open with a soft hum. It was enough to get the other two engines’ attention.

“Edward!” exclaimed James, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Thank goodness!” rejoiced Victor. “You had us worried, Edward.”

“Worrit-? Och!” Edward perked up. “I-I’m sorry!”

“Sorry?” inquired James, with Victor eyeing him. “For what? Passing out? Worrying us?”

“Er- aye?” Edward replied, flustered as his freckled cheeks burned.

“Well, don’t,” huffed James. “It’s not your fault that you were in pain.”

The smaller engine hummed. He twitched his nose to wrinkle out the stiffness from wearing his snowplow, which was when he realized that it was gone. They must’ve taken it off, he thought, letting his vision wander. From the nearby windows, he noted that it was dark outside, no sunlight could be seen. “How lon’ wis I oot?”

“From when you got here, about an hour,” replied Victor. “We’ve gone in and taken off what was left from your broken piston. We don’t have any spare rods, so you’ll have to wait for the shipment to arrive.”

With a heavy huff, Edward spoke. “I should’ve jist come here in the first place,” he admitted. “I think somethin’ might be wron’ wit’ ma boiler, too.”

“Ah. About your boiler. There’s nothing wrong with it,” Victor noted. “We’ve checked multiple times while you were out, but we haven’t found anything wrong.”

“...Sae I’m fine?” Edward asked, not completely convinced.

“You’re fine,” Victor insisted, who slowly looked over at James. Edward followed his direction, confused.

“Fine, I’ll be leaving,” huffed James as he began to leave. “I just wanted to make sure he’s okay. There’s no harm in it.”

“We know, James. We know,” sighed Victor.

With another huff, James looked over to Edward. Again, a rush of warmth came over Edward’s frame. “Bye, Edward! Get well soon!” he exclaimed before letting out two cheerful whistles.

Edward couldn’t help but chuckle. “Bye, James!” he replied with a warm smile. James smiled back as he left, and Edward’s eyes followed.

Once James was gone Victor glanced over at Edward. “We need to talk about your boiler.”

“But I thoucht-”

“That was just to get James to leave,” interrupted Victor. “He’s been bothering everyone since he got here, and I don’t think that would do you any good if he stayed any longer.”

“He did whit? Why?” inquired Edward, confused.

“My friend, it's because James genuinely cares about you. He was frantic about you,” Victor replied, his words full of perplexity. “Are you two close friends? I don’t remember you both being on such healthy terms.”

“Aye, we huv. We’ve been since thon runaway incident a few years ago.”

“You mean back in nineteen-fifty-two?”

“Aye.”

“I don’t think sixteen years is ‘a few years,’ my friend.”

.

.

.

"Looks like the auld iron caught ye after all," teased Edward with a chuckle. With rope tied from one buffer to the other’s, the two engines gently strolled down the Main-Line. Edward expected James to retort back with something more teasing, an insult even, but no. James said something else.

"I'm sorry I said all those things about you, Edward," James replied. Lacking the ability to pop open his smokebox door, no thanks to his glasses, Edward couldn't see the other’s face well but with what little he could, Edward could see and hear the sincerity of his apology. "Thank you for saving me."

It took a bit for Edward to reply as he processed what James had just said. He apologized and thanked him.

That was new.

"It's alricht, James," Edward replied after a few odd seconds of silence as the pair continued down the line. "And ye're welcome."

"You were splendid, Edward."

A rush of heat flashed throughout Edward’s frame to his already-burning freckled cheeks, turning them pitch black as they journeyed to-

"Wait, where are we going?" asked James after a bit of silence.

"Och! Um-," Edward panicked. The little “old iron” wasn't used to being complimented by anyone, even from the Fat Controller. He was just an engine who did his work as told to, or when he knew it was right. So to say that James' words had flustered him would be a big understatement.

It's not that they were enemies or co-workers who hated one another. No, what happened between them was far from it. They were mostly friends. He and James had gotten along as years went by, facing a few ups and downs in their friendship, and they were able to get through just fine. He didn't expect much from the bright red medium-sized tender engine, though. Anything more than a simple "Thank you," really, which was the usual response he got that he was very content with.

But a compliment? Edward couldn't remember the last time an engine had said such a thing.

Realizing that he hadn't properly answered James, Edward shook himself, a shake light enough that it wouldn't jostle his crew around before he said anything. The rope holding them together shifted around. "Tae the next station!" he huffed out quickly. "Surely ye're low oan water."

James hummed, which only made Edward panic a little more. "My tank does feel rather light," James eventually replied. The exhaustion of going down the line without any stops could be heard in his voice.

"Then tae Kellsthorpe we go," replied Edward.

His response was soon followed by light conversation between the two, as both engines were exhausted, one running low on water and the other on the brink of falling apart. How James hadn't gotten into more trouble going down Gordon's Hill was beyond Edward's comprehension, which he expressed to the other. James expressed the same.

But then James asked, "You don't sound alright. Are you okay?"

And much to Edward's relief, they pulled into Kellsthorpe Station, or Kellsthorpe Road as the engines like to call it, where Sir Topham Hatt II was waiting for them.

.

.

.

“Sixteen?” gasped Edward. “Och my…” He gave his frame a shake. “Whit aboot ma boiler?”

“That’s the thing. It’s perfectly fine, Edward,” replied Victor, receiving a perplexed look from the warm-brass-eyed engine. “What concerns me most is what you felt. Your crew told me that you felt your tubes were throbbing and that your face was flushed.”

“Ma face wis flushit?”

“Was and still is,” indicated Victor as Kevin came over with a mirror. It was typically used when engines wished to see how they looked, either after a paint job or an accident. “Would you-?”

“Aye,” Edward interjected, growing worried. Kevin veered a quick “Hello” at Edward as he positioned the mirror next to him. Once Edward’s reflection came into view, he was a bit startled. His freckled cheeks were burning furiously and stained with streaks of dirty water. “Is ma fire still goin’?”

“No. It went out about a few minutes ago after we ran checks. Your boiler is still warm, however. I don’t mean to insinuate anything, but has this happened before?”

Edward grimaced as Kevin drove away with the mirror, being extremely cautious with it. “Um, aye, actually. When James and I were headin’ tae Kellsthrope Road, tae meet wit’ the Fat Controller oan the day o’ the runaway accident.”

“I don’t remember you mentioning it.”

“Thon’s because I never did,” the elderly blue engine admitted nervously. “It went away oan ma way here sae I figur’it wis nothin’. Thon, maybe, it wis jist the rush o chasin’ James. I huvnae had it since until this September.”

Concerns overcame Victor’s face. “Since then? When exactly did it start?”

“When…”

.

.

.

It was late into the evening, way past the time when the engines normally ended their day. For Edward, this hadn’t been the case. He had been up since last night in the late hours of the evening, delivering a goods train to the midlands on the Mainland. The yardmen there had been kind enough to let him sleep for about an hour before leaving for Sodor. He hadn’t gotten enough sleep before the journey. Hell, he had gotten more of a nap at Wellsworth Yards after having taken the Mayor of Sodor home from the dinner party at Vicarstown.

Maybe doing the special job wasn’t such a good idea.

“Och, well,” he had told himself when picking up that goods train. “Anythin’ tae help a friend.”

Especially when that friend was in need, he thought as he headed to Wellsworth Sheds.

James had been so excited to do the special after a hard day’s work, resulting in being covered in mud, coal dust, and sticky sugar from wheel to dome. His well-deserved washdown was meaningless when he found out about a tiny scratch on his paintwork. It seemed like the world was against him that day as his plan, evidently not foolproof, to dry his new paint job had failed.

He hadn’t expected James to ask him to take the special instead. Edward would’ve said something, knowing that it wasn't fair. But seeing James desperately not wanting to disappoint the Mayor and make the Fat Controller seem like a fool, he’d agreed with delight, hoping his positive energy would cheer up James for just a moment. The same way James would for him.

It worked.

He could only wonder what the next day had in store for James when he told the Fat Controller of the issue that evening. Looking back, Edward wondered if he had done the right thing. What if instead of helping James, it only made the situation worse? His nose twitched as he grew worried.

Edward came to a stop at Wellsworth Junction, just east of his home. Despite his worries, he wanted to just sleep in for a good while. The trip back home was pleasant, but without enough rest it was exhausting as well.

Rhett patted his cab when he let out a yawn. “We’re almost there, old boy. Just a bit more and then you’ll be sleeping in your shed in no time.”

“Sleep wid be nice,” hummed the Victorian with mild humor.

And that’s when he heard that splendidly bright whistle.

Edward immediately perked up. What was James doing up so-? He let out a gasp when he saw a pair of red and cream coaches streaming behind James’ tender.

“Och, ye dae look splendid taenicht, James!” he praised without another thought as the bright red medium-sized tender engine passed by him on the adjacent line with the coaches. He was surprised to see the Mayor inside the coaches, who waved at him once he saw the engine.

“Thank you, Edward!” James boasted. “I know~!”

It was a brief moment when warmth rushed to his freckled cheeks. It wasn’t acknowledged until his crew pointed it out when he settled down in his shed that night. All parties brushed it off as being caused by his exhaustion. That Edward had been pushing himself a bit more to get home and it was enough to make him exhausted.

.

.

.

After some hesitation, Edward replied, “When I came across James when he took the mayor tae Vicarstown.”

Victor eyed Edward with suspicion. “What about the other- No, answer this instead. Think about every time it has happened. Is there something in common with all those instances?”

This drove Edward deep into his thoughts as he looked ahead at the setting sun. Before now, he had it happen twice. Once when he went through his mental checklist that morning, and once again when he was traveling with James to and from Vicarstown before Edward went ahead.

When James and he were heading to Kellsthrope once the chase was over? The day he returned from the works, working better than before, and the engines blew their whistles, James being the loudest of them all? The evening he returned from the Mainland and came across James? The times he spent with James, either taking their respective goods trains to Vicarstown or pulling one together? The times he wondered if he would come across James?

James. James. James. James… “James…”

“Pardon?” inquired Victor.

“James is always there,” Edward whispered nervously, before looking over at Victor. “What diz he huv tae dae wit’ this?”

The small red narrow-gauge engine cleared his pipes. Just that was enough of an indication that Victor knew or at least—had an idea of what was going on. “I don’t want to pry, but if we want to figure this out, we’re going to need to talk about your relationship with James. I think I might know what it is, but I don’t want to jump to conclusions, my friend.”

“Och, um… O’ course.”

“How does James make you feel?” Victor bluntly asked.

The forwardness caught Edward off-guard. He fumbled with his thoughts. “Well… he makes me feel…”

How did James make him feel?

.

.

.

“I’ll turn around at Maron! I’ll be back, Edward! I promise!”

“We’ll get there, I promise! Just hold on!”

.

.

.

“...he makes me feel safe,” he began slowly. “He cares aboot me, and he shows it.”

.

.

.

“Nu-uh! I’ll get that squawk out of ya, Seagull.”

“Sto-op!” squawked the flustered engine, continuing to laugh.

.

.

.

“He makes me feel joy,” he continued as the warmth of his cheeks grew. “The minute I start laughin’, he diz whit he can tae keep it goin’.”

.

.

.

“Could you take the Mayor to the ball for me?” James sputtered out frantically. “Please?”

“Och!” Edward perked up. “I’d be happy tae, James.”

“Oh, thank you!” James sighed with a smile of relief.

.

.

.

“He makes me feel reliable. He trusts me enouch tae rely oan my help. I ken I am but its thon reassurance frae others thon helps.”

.

.

.

“Whit happenit yesterday?” Edward inquired. It was the day after he had returned to the Mainland and he had managed to come across James at Kildane. His worries and curiosity got the best of him.

But instead of answering the question, James smiled warmly. “Thank you for that.”

This slightly confused Edward. “Whit for?”

“For sticking up for me,” replied James. “I didn’t even ask you, and yet you did it anyway.”

“Och, well, he wid’ve askit, sae I thoucht I’d tell him. It wis jist the most logical thing tae dae-!”

“No one else would’ve done that for me,” interjected James, making a point. “Maybe Toad, but no one else has done it when I couldn’t be there. Thank you, Ed.”

“Och! Y-Ye’re welcome!” he quickly replied. And then that throbbing sensation in his boiler happened, and the blue engine couldn’t shake off why.

“You were always splendid.”

.

.

.

“He makes me feel appreciatit. I’m still surprisit he callit me splendid, twice even!” chuckled Edward lightly, letting the giddiness slip out.

.

.

.

Pumping his piston with excitement, the newly mended Larger Seagull engine rushed down the Main-Line in the early hours of the morning. He felt amazing, gliding down the tracks with his mended parts.

“How do you feel, old boy?” prompted Charlie as they neared Tidmouth Yards.

“I feel amazing!” chortled Edward. “I feel new!”

“That’s the spirit!”

And once Edward came into the yards, he was unexpectedly welcomed with a barrage of bright cheerful whistles. The loudest amongst them all came from the very engine he saved all those weeks ago. The one who missed his driver very much, but had missed Edward more, as Edward would come to find out a few days later.

.

.

.

“Lovit,” Edward noted. “He makes me feel lovit. Maybe thon’s why he’s ane of ma closest friends.”

Victor hummed. “Friend, or something more?” he questioned.

“Somethin’ more?” inquired Edward. “Whit dae ye mean?”

“Do you know what it is between a couple?”

The question confused Edward. “I dinnae understand…?”

“Love. You are in love with James, Edward. And not just as a ‘close friend’. The same way a human does for someone else, for the same reasons you’ve felt that way.”

His eyes widened behind his brass-framed glasses. “But he’s a close friend!” Edward insisted, as if Victor’s conclusion was a scandalous discovery. “Engines-! We-!” the Victorian sputtered, becoming a furiously flustered and burning mess, though managing to suppress his squawks. Sure, he’d seen it between the passengers. He wasn’t oblivious to it. He just never questioned it, like the others did. Brushing it aside as “a human thing.” “How dae-?”

“I may be in the workshop most of my time, but I’ve heard enough from the men to know about these things,” hummed Victor. “They tend to put up a front, but when they know each other well enough, they’ll talk about their partners to each other as if they’re the most precious things in their lives. I don’t fully understand this specific concept, but I understand it enough to see when someone is in love. You’re not the first engine to deal with this, from what I hear, I can promise you that. But you are the first engine on Sodor to do so, as far as I know.”

“Sae it's… normal?” Edward inquired with hesitation.

“You remember how people acted when they began to realize us sentient locomotives have feelings?”

Edward could remember that all too well. “I dae.”

“It’s normal,” reassured Victor. “But we, locomotives, believe it isn’t, because of what people say. I’ve learned a lot since I came here to work in this place, and that was one of the first things I learned when I got here. Other than English, of course,” Victor added humorously.

A small laugh managed to slip from Edward’s lips. “Sae I’m fine. As in, actually fine? Other than ma piston rod, thon is?”

“You’re fine, Edward. There is nothing wrong with being in love with another engine, especially when they’re someone close, from the sound of it.”

With a modest burn, Edward smiled warmly. “Thank ye, Victor.”

“You’re welcome, my friend,” replied Victor. “So will you tell him?”

“Naw!” Edward squawked suddenly. “He diz’nae ken whit love is! I cannae jist dae thon tae him!”

“But you can’t keep hiding something like this,” reprimanded Victor. “It might make it awkward for you both if you do.”

“I cannae jist drop somethin’ like this oantae him, Victor!” argued Edward frantically. “Thon’s selfish o’ me, and I cannae dae thon tae James.” Warm-brass-eyes looked away and down at his buffers. “He diz’nae deserve somethin’ sae sudden tae be droppit oan him, somethin’ thon could scare him aff. I dinnae want tae lose him because o’ ma wants…”

Victor relented. He was prying much further than he wanted and intended to. “My apologies, Edward. I’ll leave it to you. It is your decision. I didn’t mean to poke any further.”

“I-It’s fine, Victor. I’m sorry, too, for ma outburst. I ken ye mean well, but I dae need time tae process… this,” Edward emphasized.

“I think you’ll find that you will have plenty of that while you wait for your piston rods,” reminded Victor humorously.

“Touché,” replied Edward with a chuckle.

“Alright, it is getting late, and we can’t do much for your repairs until your piston rods come in, so we’re calling it a night,” noted Victor. With a double whistle and a wheesh of steam, Victor bid his farewell. “Good night, Edward. Get a good night's rest.”

“Guid nicht, Victor!” exclaimed Edward as Victor left for the shed, leaving the elder engine alone with his thoughts. He stared off into the night sky as the workmen shut the doors of the Steamworks. At least these doors had windows at the top, so he could still see through them.

His warm-brass eyes followed the snowflakes that fell, dancing in the chilly air. For once, he could agree with Thomas that snow was light, fluffy, harmful nonsense, or it was from a distance.

From what he understood, love sounded like the way snow worked. At first glance, it’s sweet and oh-so-lovely—Edward’s seen it multiple times—but when one first experiences it or even begins to question it, love becomes more than a concept. It becomes a rabbit hole of questions, ones that Edward couldn’t answer, despite his age and being known as someone to seek guidance from.

He was like a snowflake falling from the sky, wandering and not knowing what, or why. But one thing was certain, and he knew Victor was right. He kept rethinking the times he spent with James for the past few months since that day. The more he did, the less doubts there were about Victor’s conclusion. Just like a fluffy and delicate snowflake in the early days of December, Edward had fallen into a pile with many others who had gone through… this. He had fallen in love with his close friend. The thought still shocked him.

As Edward let sleep take over, he let out a soft but nervous sigh. “I’m in love wit’ James,” he whispered with a yawn. The weight of reality sunk within him as he dozed off to sleep.

…

The following morning was quiet when Edward awoke in the back of the Steamworks, where he had been left last night. He yawned as Kevin approached him.

“The Fat Controller is coming to see you, Edward!” he announced frantically. “He’ll be here shortly.”

Edward perked up from his slumped frame. “Och, thank ye, Kevin!” he pipped with gratitude.

Kevin giggled as usual before rushing off to find Victor.

About an hour passed when he heard the sound of that familiar, splendidly bright whistle shrill throughout the Steamworks. Warm-brass eyes went wide, and he became nervous. In an attempt to push it away, Edward was about to whistle back when he realized he couldn’t. He didn’t have any steam in him. How silly of me, he thought as James approached him with the Fat Controller in his cab.

Once James came to a steady halt, which the Fat Controller praised momentarily, said man climbed out from James’ cab with the help of his two assistants. Once he was on the ground, safe and sound, the Fat Controller walked up to Edward. “Good morning, Edward. How are you feeling?”

“I’m feelin’ fine, sir,” Edward replied, giving his full attention to his owner.

“No pain?” he inquired further.

“No’ anymore, sir.”

The Fat Controller let out a heavy sigh. “Thank goodness, Edward. You gave us a bit of a fright there.”

“Well, I’m alricht noo, sir,” Edward reassured before peering over at James, who was simply smiling and observing the interaction. “I never did thank ye yesterday. Thank ye for bringin’ me here, James.”

The vain iron horse puffed up with pride, but his cheeks burning didn’t go unnoticed by anyone present. “It’s the very least a splendid engine like me could do!”

Edward chuckled softly before returning his attention to the Fat Controller. “The others oan ma line ur’nae dealing with more than wit’ they can, ur they?”

It was the Fat Controller’s turn to laugh. “Oh, don’t worry about it. They’re doing just fine. Ryan’s covering your passenger duties and I’ve put Donald there to do his work while you’re gone.”

A sigh of relief left him. “Thon’s guid.”

“You just rest, old friend,” reassured the Fat Controller as he patted Edward’s left buffer. “You’ll be back in service in no time. Let’s just hope we don’t run into delays this time. We don’t need another- ahem- incident to happen again.” He emphasized as he looked over to Victor and Kevin, who had approached the three moments prior.

Both James and Edward looked at the pair in confusion as Kevin chuckled nervously and Victor laughed with a warm smile directed to his co-worker. “Let’s just say that Kevin’s learned about the snow,” suggested Victor.

“Snow really is trouble!” chirped Kevin with a shudder, convinced by the incident that took place last year.

“I would like a word with both of you,” prompted the Fat Controller. “Preferably somewhere else.”

“Oh, of course sir!” agreed Victor as he led the Fat Controller and Kevin to another area of the workshop.

That left Edward and James alone.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” asked James quickly before the silence established itself between the pair.

“Positive,” replied Edward. “I assume ye’ve told the others?”

“I panicked!” huffed James in defense. “It’s just odd, that you’re not there Saturdays and nothing’s said about it.”

“Ma-”

“Don’t,” interjected James. “It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault that your piston rod broke off yesterday. You couldn’t have known, so don’t argue with me about it.”

Edward just stared at James, starting to focus intensely on said engine, before saying anything. "Mmm… Are they doing okay?”

“Are they doing okay?” repeated the vain red engine, to which Edward shot a quizzical look. “Jeez, Edward. You’re asking about the others yet you’re the one injured,” he lightly chastised with good intention.

“Ye’ve seen how Thomas, Emily, and Percy get,” reminded Edward. “I dinnae want tae distract them frae their work.” Edward paused for a moment. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine. Was I scared yesterday? Yes. But I’m feeling fine now,” James insisted.

“You almost fell into the turntable this morning,” his fireman, George, whispered hastily, loud enough for both engines to hear.

“The turntable?” inquired Edward worriedly, unintentionally raising his voice.

“He didn’t need that!” hissed James before he sighed in defeat. “I… wasn’t paying attention, but I’m fine!”

“Thank goodness nothin’ happenit!”

James huffed before laughing. “Look at you. Worrying about others when you’re the one sitting in the Steamworks waiting for repairs.”

“I-!”

“It’s what makes you a great friend,” reassured James. “I’m glad we’re friends.”

If Edward’s fire had been lit, the smaller engine would’ve been burning and wheeshing about. He was about to speak when the Fat Controller’s voice boomed from the nearby. “Alright, James. Time to go!” he announced as he approached the bright red tender engine. Once he and his assistants climbed into James’ cab, James reversed. “Let’s hope that piston rod comes in sooner rather than later, Edward. Good day!”

“G-Guid-bye, sir!” Edward managed to squeak out. “Guid-bye, James!”

“Goodbye, Edward! See you around!” James hollered as he left the Steamworks.

Edward stared off into the distance, once again watching the larger scarlet engine rush away before disappearing from his view. It was then he took notice of his shakiness. It wasn’t noticeable from what he could tell as nobody had said anything. Why am I shaking? he pondered before his brow furrowed, eyes following in the direction his close friend had gone. It can’t be because of James just being here, is it? Maybe I’m just nervous, but whatever for?

His mind tried pushing away the thought that it was James’ presence setting it off, but it came right back. It worsened his state of mind as he began to worry about how he might act the next time he came across the splendid red engine.

What if James notices and it makes him uncomfortable? To the point where he may not want to be around anymore?

With a deep breath, Edward let out a sigh, recollecting his thoughts before he went off the deep end. I have plenty of time to think things through, just like Victor said, he thought. I have time.

~

ka-chow

Ok, my bs aside! Literally smiling so fucking big rn. Mentally squealing, giggling, and kicking my fic. God, I love these mfs so much. AUGH-!

Edward's piston popping was inspired by the episode "Surprise, Surprise!" so go put the blame of Edward's pain on that thing. Sad that this screenshot is the only decent shot we get of these two in snowploughs :(

Had a sudden spur of ideas for this fic so I sat myself down and JUST WROTE. Went back and edited once my mind calmed down as i had my beta readers go over it. again, ty you both.

If it's the cheesiest shit you've ever read, then i've won. /j

Gonna be honest for a few seconds. I kept cringing as I wrote this, and not for a bad reason. This is my first fic dealing with the "catching feelings" trope. I've written fics (99% of which were never published) dealing with romance before but it only explored the "after getting together" period. Even then, it was very little of what i wrote.

Hope you enjoyed this fic! Thank you so much for reading. Comments, reblogs, and kudos are appreciated. 💙

[use-your-telescope]

When Everything's Made to be Broken - Chapter 15: The Sky Turned Black

Summary: When a mission goes wrong, Theo helps Loki navigate the aftermath.  

Author's Notes: Hello hello - I’m back with another chapter (and an actual header image)! Thank you to everyone who shared thoughts/theories/reactions to the last two chapters - I loved reading everyone’s perspectives! Whether or not you commented though, if you’re reading this fic, I appreciate you for giving me/this story a moment of your time. <3

A million thank-yous to @sarahscribbles and @the-lady-amphitrite for giving this chapter a read through and giving feedback <3

Next Chapter will be posted Sunday, January 28th!

Also, If you'd like to be added to the tag list for this fic, let me know!

Content Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of a bombing/attack and the destruction that follows, medical whump, and some discussions about death. I recognize that with current events, the bombing and destruction stuff might be a bit tough for folks to read - if you’re in that camp, you can skip ahead to the third chunk of the story (after ‘but this time I admit I really felt I’d start to slip’). 

Word Count: 9,264

Read on AO3 | When Everything's Made to be Broken Masterlist Song: June - Florence + the Machine

The show was ending And I had started to crack Woke up in Chicago And the sky turned black You’re so high, you’re so high You had to be an angel And I’m so high, I’m so high I can see an angel

Unbeknownst to the general public, the Avengers (and the SHIELD agents that supported their work) went on hundreds of missions a year. Missions varied in location and purpose - Budapest for an assassination, Manitowoc for reconnaissance, Madripoor for hacking, London for retrieving highly valuable artifacts - but they always contributed to the overall safety of Midgard.

 As the Avengers were public figures, they often stuck to relatively short missions, or developed plans so any eagle-eyed observers, whether nefarious or benign, would not notice an extended absence. This was carefully calculated to ensure civilians would not panic about potential threats while ensuring the Avengers had intel to destroy any potential threats before they turned into reality.

As such, missions only made the news when something went horrifically awry.

Nothing about the day had been noteworthy. If anything, it was the epitome of a ‘typical’ day, at least for Loki. His morning consisted of reviewing a series of reports that Heimdall and Valkyrie sent him, detailing the economic impact of certain trade agreements that New Asgard would soon have the opportunity to renegotiate. He sparred with Barnes in the early afternoon, focusing on his dagger technique and sharing tips with the Winter Soldier. Afterward, he joined Dr. Banner in Stark’s lab to assist Banner with research on the physics of Seidr, remaining in the lab until shortly after dinner.  

Banner remained in the lab when Loki excused himself, unable to ignore his rumbling stomach. Loki returned to the residential quarters, casually waving at the assortment of Avengers in the living room and receiving a collection of greetings in return as he passed them on the way to the kitchen. 

In the midst of assembling a sandwich for a late dinner, the shrill voice of a reporter on the nearby television caught Loki’s attention.

“Breaking News: A bombing just outside Chicago has thrown the city into chaos–”

Chicago—

Thor was in Chicago.

Loki sprinted to the sitting room, abandoning an assortment of condiments and toppings on the counter in his rush to learn if his brother had been amidst those impacted.

He arrived to find Maximoff, Barnes, Wilson, Parker, and Belova glued to the television, eyes wide and mouths hanging slightly agape as rising flames and rubble flashed in front of them.

No one uttered a word; Hel, they barely offered Loki a wayward glance as he collapsed into an empty seat and struggled to ignore the festering unease gnawing at his chest as he too became entranced by the breaking news.

On the screen in front of them, a horrifying scene unfolded: innocent civilians, coated in ash, blood, and debris as they ran for their lives, crying out for loved ones. Individuals draped from head to toe in black firing weapons that did not look like anything the Avengers had seen before, beams of octarine light tearing through solid rock and steel like a hot knife through butter. The shrill wail of sirens clashed with the voice of the television reporter, solemn-faced as they recounted the details.

“—massacre — multiple casualties — suspected terrorist attack —“

Amidst the chaos, glimpses of the Avengers who had been sent into the field did little to quell anyone’s anxiety. Barely recognizable beneath shredded armor and the grit of war, they attempted to evacuate civilians while fighting back against the attackers.

At a brief sighting of a bloody, ragged Thor fighting off an adversary, Loki’s blood turned to ice. Of the many times Loki fought alongside Thor, he rarely, if ever his brother in such a haggard state from fighting, which elicited its own special sort of dread. What if this threat was too much for Thor to survive? 

Even after confirmations that the Avengers had prevailed and the attackers were no more, breaking news alerts flashed across the bottom of the screen with headlines that only increased in severity. Emergency rescue crews struggled to control the fires that came from the explosions, dragging unrecognizable bodies from smoke-filled shells of buildings. 

With shaking hands, Loki retrieved his mobile device from his pocket and dialed Thor’s telephone number.

“You’ve reached the voicemail—“

The damn thing didn’t even ring before the automated greeting began.

With a growl, Loki ended the call and threw his phone against the sofa cushion. 

It was foolish to worry; Thor was a God. He was a warrior. He survived far worse than a simple Midgardian bomb. Of course Thor wouldn’t answer his mobile phone; he was in the middle of being the hero that everyone expected him to be. 

And yet, with every minute that passed, with every flame that rose on the television screen, with every new death count, the coil of dread tightened in Loki’s chest. 

Loki buried his face in his hands, fighting to steady his breathing.

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Belova attempted to reassure Loki, though her constant glances at her own mobile device, as if checking for a response from the elder widow, did not escape him. 

Any other plans for the evening had long been forgotten. Wilson and Barnes monitored government and SHIELD communication channels for updates on agents who were at the scene of the attack. Maximoff searched for additional news coverage on her laptop, while in the background survivors shakily recounted the moment that changed their lives forever. Belova and Parker took to social media to find first-hand accounts and updates from ground-level, announcing anything they found to be noteworthy.

In the midst of everything, Loki exchanged messages with Val and Heimdall. While early messages from Heimdall provided reassurance that he could still track Thor’s presence, that reassurance fell away with time; when Heimdall no longer felt Thor’s presence, the conversation changed to implementing the protocol for ruling in Thor’s unanticipated absence, incapacitation, or, though Loki prayed to the Norns it was not the case, Thor’s death.

Every once in a while, an Avenger appeared on-screen, providing at least some reassurance that perhaps circumstances were not as dire as initially thought. When the cameras focused on an area cordoned off for medical care providers to triage and transport victims, they caught sight of Theo. Though she appeared a bit weathered and her armor had torn in the fighting, Loki recognized the way she directed the staff around her from the many times he visited her while she worked. 

Rogers had appeared multiple times, often carrying victims from the rubble and comforting distraught bystanders, appearing equally haggard but still maintaining a steely resolve. Civilian-recorded video of the Vision and Stark lifting up massive sections of concrete to free trapped victims quickly took over social media, subsequently appearing on the news. 

At two separate points, a surge of hope stole Loki’s breath away as he thought he saw Thor, only for it to be a civilian. Belova experienced a similar sensation with potential sightings of Romanoff, though she seemed less concerned for the elder widow’s safety.

Nearly four hours after the news of the attack broke, an announcement blared through Avengers Tower, drowning out the doomsday scenario on television: “We need all available medics to report to the hangar immediately; we have a quinjet arriving in t-15 minutes with twelve level-1 trauma patients.” 

I hear your heart beating in your chest The world slows ‘til there’s nothing left And skyscrapers look on like great, unblinking giants In those heavy days in June When love became an act of defiance

In the moments leading up to the quinjet’s return, the tension in the hangar could have been cut with a knife. 

Through the hangar’s glass and steel door, the darkest of nights loomed. Not even the glow of lights from the city below could dispel the darkness, creating an expanse of endless obsidian sky that Loki recognized from his time in the void.

Inside the hangar, harsh fluorescent lights left nothing to the imagination, their light so bright and jarring against the black sky that Loki’s eyes burned. The stench of motor oil and gasoline filled the air, only amplifying the churning of Loki’s stomach. 

Multiple stretchers waited with teams of medics at their command. Someone Loki recognized as one of Theo’s colleagues spoke on the comms with the returning jets and with the infirmary staff, alternating between briefing the medics about the patients they would receive and preparing for the influx of injuries. Despite Loki’s best attempts to glean even the smallest of details that might inform him of his brother’s condition, other conversations and background noise drowned out the doctor’s voice. 

The Avengers who had not been sent to Chicago congregated in relatively close proximity, waiting with bated breath for any news of their peers. Banner, who had been in the lab until the announcement of the jet’s return, paced back and forth, glancing between the hangar entrance and the ground. Barnes stood at attention, arms crossed against his chest and fingers tapping against his vibranium bicep impatiently. 

Belova leaned against a metal wall, flipping her mobile phone in hand as if it were a dagger. Parker mirrored Belova’s stance, though he placed all of his weight upon one leg, restlessly bouncing the other at a frantic pace until Loki had to look away before he snapped at the spiderling. Maximoff and Wilson distanced themselves from the group, discussing something in hushed voices while glancing back and forth between the group and the hangar’s entrance.

A familiar voice rang out through the hangar’s intercoms, abruptly stopping all conversation. “Agent Romanoff to Air Control, we are five minutes out. Are we cleared to land?”

“Air control to Agent Romanoff,” the reply came through, “Hangar door is opening now.”

The mass of steel and glass which constituted the hangar door groaned as the mechanics which propelled its movement activated. As if weighed down by the heaviness of everyone’s attention, the door slid open at a pace which made a snail seem like an olympian sprinter. The scraping of metal wheels against metal tracks echoed through the hangar. 

All the while, everyone remained frozen in place; even Parker refrained from bouncing his leg. No one spoke. If it weren’t for Loki’s location, which placed the majority of the hangar’s occupants in his line of sight, he might think the hangar completely empty.

When the door finished opening, the medics sprang back to life, arranging themselves in preparation for the jet’s imminent arrival. 

“Agent Romanoff to Air Control - we are in final descent. T-one minute out.”

A wave of relief collided with a storm of fear at the first glimpse of steel and turbines. Loki’s heart rate careened out of control, the pounding in his ears drowning out all sound. He ran a trembling hand through his hair and tugged at the curls, desperate for news that his brother was alright while dreading the possibility that his brother was among those who needed immediate care. 

Though Romanoff landed the aircraft quickly, the exit ramp’s descent was anything but quick. The first teams of medics brought gurneys forward, but upon looking into the rear of the jet, stepped aside to clear a path. For what, Loki didn’t know, nor did he have time to inquire – the steel ramp touched down on the concrete floor, and the hangar roared into a frenzy of organized chaos. 

Theo leapt off the side of the ramp to stand beside the medics, ushering another pair of medics carrying a patient on some sort of stiff board down to the first team of medics. Like Theo, the patient could barely be recognized beneath dust, ash, and blood, though their unusually large stature made Loki’s heart stutter and his breath catch in his throat. A glimpse of blond sullied with dust, ash, and blood that matted itself in long locks did nothing to ease the festering dread that had settled into Loki’s stomach. 

While the medics transferred the individual onto the gurney, Loki crept closer, only to confirm his worst fear: Thor, unconscious and beaten within an inch of his life, laid before him, his fate at the mercy of mere Midgardians. 

No.

“What happened?” Loki rushed forward, pushing through the medics crowding the gurney so he could get a better look at Thor. Some sort of monitoring device flashed numbers upon a screen, while the medics relayed a series of data points that made no sense to the prince and only incensed him further. “What happened to my brother?”

One medic attempted to explain as they whisked Thor out of the hangar, but none of the words registered in Loki’s mind; all he could think about was the looming threat of losing Thor, the only brother he had. They hadn’t even reached the hangar’s exit when the shrill cry of an alarm interrupted and the collection of medics, along with the gurney, jolted to an abrupt stop.

“Dr. Amaris,” one medic shouted back towards the aircraft, “Thor’s coding!”

Not understanding what the medic meant, Loki turned to the monitor for answers.

No, Thor–

All Hel broke loose. 

“He’s bleeding out!”

Medics tore the remaining scraps of Thor’s armor off his body, shouting instructions at each other. 

“Start compressions!”

“What is happening?” Loki snarled. They ignored him, instead applying pressure to wounds and repeatedly pressing on Thor’s chest as they continued shouting commands among each other. “I demand you tell me what is happening!”

It was as if Loki was not even there; no one even acknowledged his presence. One medic glanced past Loki and towards the aircraft, calling out a series of terms that Allspeak could not translate. 

“Please–” Loki pleaded, desperate for any answer he could receive, “This is my brother—”

“Out of my way!”

The command boomed through the hangar, barely reaching Loki’s ears before someone shoved him aside and leapt onto the stretcher. They straddled Thor as if it were second nature,  seamlessly transitioning into pressing on his chest while barking orders at the individuals around them. 

Loki stumbled, caught off guard by the strength of the shove - never had a Midgardian managed to move him with such ease. The stretcher raced towards the infirmary before Loki could regain his footing, though he gave chase and quickly caught up to the entourage of medics surrounding his brother while they waited for the elevator. As he arrived, he realized just who happened to shove him aside as if it were child’s play: 

Theo. 

Black tendrils of smoke surrounded her blue-gloved hands and trailed up her forearms, forming runes that floated just above her skin. She continued to instruct the other medics, her focus razor-sharp as the runes moved down her arms and enveloped Thor.  

“What is wrong with my brother?” Loki demanded once more. His frustration at the lack of acknowledgement intertwined with his desperation and fear at the grievous state his brother returned in, fueling Loki’s ire until he teetered dangerously on the edge of explosion.

“Loki, your brother has some pretty serious injuries,” Theo calmly replied, glancing at the monitor as she continued her work. “We’re taking care of it though - I’ll fill you in later, but right now I need to focus on Thor!”

The lack of panic in Theo’s response only further incensed Loki. Did she not care about Thor’s well-being? Did she not realize who it was that needed care? This was no Midgardian - this was Thor. Thor, the King of Asgard. God of Thunder!

And yet, she treated him like any other patient.

“You act like he’s a simple Midgardian!” Loki bellowed, the torrent of fear and anger unleashing itself upon anyone and everyone around him.” You know nothing of how to heal the Aesir— he will die at your hand!”

“Rather than argue, I’m just going to prove you wrong.” Despite her infuriatingly calm tone, Theo leveled a blistering glare at the younger Asgardian. What were previously the whites of Theo’s eyes had turned pitch black, her irises white and her pupils a pale, smoky gray. “He’s not dying at anyone’s hand today - especially not mine. Now, please be quiet and let me do my job.”

Loki froze, stunned. No one had ever had the audacity to speak to him in such a way - and yet, she didn’t even think twice.

Theo didn’t notice Loki’s surprise - she continued to direct the other medics before returning her attention to the God of Thunder. Theo recited an incantation under her breath, causing the runes trailed into Thor’s open mouth and down his throat. Once Theo uttered the final words, a flash of light shot from Theo’s hands and into Thor’s chest. 

With a jolt, Thor’s chest shot up and he gasped for air; his chest rose and fell, and the monitor ceased to scream. 

Thor’s revival brought Loki no relief, however - the possibility of needing further revival ensured Loki remained just as on-edge, even as they descended upon the elevator, then careened down the halls in a mad dash to the infirmary. 

Just before Loki could follow his brother into the Emergency ward, someone restrained him with an iron-clad grip and dragged him back towards the waiting room.

“Unhand me!” Loki roared, whipping around to find Sergeant Barnes had taken hold of him. “I need to be with my brother!”

With a growl, Loki attempted to free himself from Barnes’ grasp, but against the vibranium arm it was useless.

“They don’t have room for you back there.” Barnes’ flat affect, combined with the infuriatingly stoic expression he wore, only served to further flare Loki’s temper. “You’re only going to make it harder for them to work.”

“They know nothing of the care an Aesir requires!” Loki spat his protest at Barnes, who didn’t even flinch.

“I’m pretty sure they do, given Theo just saved your brother’s life.” The Winter Soldier arched one eyebrow at the Asgardian in a subtle challenge. “If you get in their way, a lot of other people might be losing their brother or sister.”

Loki clenched his jaw, scowling as he once again attempted to wrestle himself free from the Sergeant’s inescapable grip.

“I get it.” Barnes continued to stare at Loki with such unwavering intensity that made Loki’s skin crawl. “I lose my shit when Steve gets hurt too.”

“You truly believe your friendship with the captain is remotely close to that of a brother?”  Incensed by the thought of comparing Thor to a simple friend, Loki sneered. “You could never understand.”

“Steve may not be my brother in blood, but he is in every way that matters. Just like you and Thor.” Barnes replied, ice-blue eyes locking onto Loki’s. “When no one else believed in me, Steve did. When everyone was convinced that I was nothing more than a monster, that I was past redemption, Steve still saw the good in me and he fought for me. Everyone else we grew up with, our real families - they’re all dead. The world we knew is a distant memory. Steve is the only person I have left. No one else has been through what we’ve been through; no one else understands what it’s like to suddenly wake up and everything has changed.”

There was a certain vulnerability in Barnes’ eyes that Loki hadn’t ever seen before, and a conviction in his voice that Loki had only heard a handful of times. The combination proved to be enough to disarm Loki’s most barbed retorts, allowing the Sergeant to continue:

“Thor always believed in you and always saw the good in you, even when you didn’t see it yourself. Your entire realm was destroyed, your family is gone, and no one else lived through being Asgardian royalty - Thor is all you have left, and he’s the only one who understands.” Barnes let out a tense breath, still locked into Loki’s gaze as he released Loki from his grasp. “I get it.” 

All the while, the stream of medics and stretchers heading into the emergency department remained steady, validating Barnes’ previous argument: there would not be room in the ward for Loki to accompany his brother.

“Theo’s good at what she does. Dr. Cho and Dr. Harper are world-renowned. They will make sure Thor’s just fine.” Barnes slapped a hand on Loki’s shoulder, to which Loki flinched. “Let them do their thing.”

Begrudgingly, Loki nodded and let out a sigh, running one hand through his hair and then tugging on the ends. 

“I suppose you are correct.”

“I know I am.” Barnes smirked; the urge to remove the smirk from Barnes’ face struck with such intensity that Loki barely managed to restrain himself. “And Loki?”

“What?” The snippy tone was all too obvious.

“You should probably apologize to Theo for what you said…” When Loki’s response was a sour glare, Barnes steeled himself and locked eyes with the Asgardian yet again, undeterred. “She’s your friend and she saved your brother's life. Even if she wasn’t your friend, that was a shitty thing to say to someone who was helping. Swallow your pride.”

With that, Barnes departed, and left Loki with nothing but his spiraling thoughts as he waited for any scrap of news regarding his brother’s wellbeing.

You were broken hearted And the world was too And I was beginning to lose my grip And I have always held it loosely, But this time I admit I really felt I’d start to slip

The Emergency Department may as well have been ransacked.

Wrappers for medical supplies, towels stained a deep crimson, discarded gloves, and protective gear covered the once-charcoal floor. With such a high volume of patients, they didn’t even have time to properly dispose of their protective gear in a bin, too-focused on putting on fresh gloves and gowns to ensure they could keep up with the relentless stream of victims needing care. Theo lifted up one foot, cringing as the sole of her shoe stuck to the floor from the residue of congealing blood.

She would have to bake the janitorial staff a cake as a thank-you for cleaning up after such a busy day. 

Glancing at the clock, Theo let out a heavy sigh.

11:37 PM. 

Twenty-nine hours earlier, a deafening crash rang out amidst the skyscrapers of Chicago, and with it the city turned into something from Theo’s worst fears. What was meant to be a simple reconnaissance mission turned into fighting off an attack from insurgents that made Theo’s hair stand on the back of her neck. She didn’t recognize the attackers because of their masks and outfits of all-black, but the artillery they brought with them seemed unnervingly familiar.

The hour that followed was a waking nightmare spent evacuating innocent people while fighting off the mystery attackers. For the three hours after, Theo worked alongside rescue crews to enact mass-casualty protocols, her heart breaking all over again with every black tag she had to assign to a victim. Theo may have been a powerful healer, but it would have been impossible for her to save everyone; instead, she had to conserve her energy for absolute emergencies. 

Though she had every intent of remaining on-scene to continue rescue efforts, SHIELD had other ideas. In order to allow all of Chicago’s medical resources to be diverted towards caring for victims of the blast, SHIELD would transport all injured agents back to New York for care at Avengers’ tower, starting with the most severely injured, which meant Theo would be needed at the hospital in New York. 

She returned to New York with the first jet, scrambling alongside SHIELD medics to keep the nearly twenty injured agents on the jet alive and stable until they had reinforcements.

From the time Theo landed to when she took in the aftermath, twenty five hours had passed. Multiple jets followed the first, each with more patients who needed a level of care that couldn’t be found in other hospitals. Those twenty five hours passed in a blur of organized chaos: triage, treat, send off to surgery or a ward depending on the injuries, rinse and repeat. Theo barely had time to clean herself up enough that she wouldn’t be considered an infection risk from the ash and dust that had practically become a second skin.

In what both Helen and Julie described as a miracle, all of the patients who hadn’t died before arriving in New York survived. It wasn’t a miracle, though; Theo spent the entire time darting between gurneys, magically treating the worst of the wounds and reviving patients as needed. She had to revive three separate agents, which left her with a bloody nose, a throbbing headache, sore muscles, and more nauseous than she cared to admit - but everyone lived, and that was what mattered.

Of the many patients Theo treated upon landing, one lurked in the back of her mind: Thor.  Physically, the process of re-starting Thor’s heart was taxing, but not as bad as a full revival. Mentally, it was one of the less pleasant moments. However, the memory that lingered was less about reviving Thor and more about Loki’s remark as she worked on Thor that twisted her stomach into knots: “You act like he’s a simple Midgardian! You know nothing of how to heal the Aesir— he will die at your hand!”

The statement could easily be attributed to the heat of the moment, but that didn’t make it sting any less. If it was a field agent that she didn’t know who was freaking out about their partner, that was one thing - she could shake that off, and she had plenty of times before.

But Loki? 

Loki knew about her fears and how much losing a patient impacted her, even if she didn’t know the patient before. And to have him question — no, not question, outright doubt — her capabilities?

Well, his words cut far deeper and were much harder to shake.

When the final patient was stabilized and transferred out of the emergency department, Theo was the only doctor who didn’t immediately change out of her scrubs and go home to sleep. Not that she wasn’t looking forward to burying herself under a mountain of blankets and sleeping for the next two days, because she was. But she knew herself well enough to know she wouldn’t be able to rest without checking on Thor first.

Maybe she was after the reassurance that Thor was, in fact, recovering. Maybe she just needed to end the night by coming full-circle, checking on the first patient she took care of. Why she needed to check on him wasn't important; as long as she knew he was alright, that was what mattered.

Theo slipped through the halls of the hospital, making her way to Thor’s room. Unlike the emergency department, which constantly bustled with people coming and going, the halls of the ward were almost eerily quiet. After the bustle and chaos of the last 24 hours, the quiet and relative peace was refreshing. 

Other than a nurse sitting at the nurse’s station in Thor’s unit, Theo didn’t run into a single person. That was probably for the best, because Theo could guarantee that she looked like a mess. The nurse offered a tired smile and nod, to which Theo nodded back. The nurse pointedly glanced at an open door a bit further down the hall, then nodded again. Following the nurse’s gaze, Theo realized the nurse had been pointing her to Thor’s room. 

Theo gave the nurse another smile and nod, then closed the remaining distance to the open door. She stopped in the entrance and leaned against the doorframe, taking in the sight before her.

The bed had been tilted up at the waist, giving Theo a better view of Thor, who slept peacefully… At least, as peacefully as someone could sleep after nearly dying. Freshly washed golden blonde locks fanned out across his pillow. His skin already regained a somewhat healthy flush - probably something to do with the enhanced healing of the Aesir, but as one of the first patients treated, he had a bit of a head start on the whole recovery thing. 

Though he slept, Thor had a visitor who wasn’t Theo. Despite sitting with their back to the door, the perfectly erect posture and inky curls could have only belonged to one person: Loki.

Loki’s presence nearly made Theo turn on her heel and high-tail it out of there. She just stopped in to check on Thor; facing Loki was something she wasn’t sure she could handle at the moment. With how tired she was, Theo didn’t trust herself to avoid saying something that would make an already awkward situation worse. Loki needed someone to support him, not someone to piss him off. 

“You need not lurk in the entrance,” Loki spoke up, not even turning around to look at Theo as he addressed her. “If you wish to enter, do so.”

Whether he knew it was Theo or not was a mystery, but he must have at least sensed someone’s presence. Regardless, it wasn’t like she could sneak away anymore.

Pushing away from the doorframe, Theo sighed. 

“I didn’t mean to intrude.” She hesitantly stepped into the room, but stayed close to the door. If the conversation went south, she’d at least have a quick out. “I just finished working, so I thought I’d see how Thor was doing…You know, make sure he was still alive and all… Still Aesir, not a midgardian zombie or something.”

Damn her lack of filter. 

A breathless puff of laughter escaped Loki, sounding almost surprised. Before Theo could turn and run, Loki twisted in his seat to face her, his narrowed eyes trailing up and down her body. His expression gave away no clues as to whether he was laughing because he found her comment amusing or because he was shocked she had the guts to speak to him like that, or anything to tell her where his mind was at.

“He remains alive and Aesir,” Loki finally replied, offering a tired smirk. “Though you, mortal, look a bit too close to a zombie for comfort.”

Theo rolled her eyes, but cracked a smile. She should have known something like that was coming. Beyond having bags under her bloodshot eyes and the inevitable loss of color in her skin from the revivals, Theo was almost positive her hair resembled a rat’s nest… But that was typical after a normal shift in the emergency department. After 24 hours straight, not to mention coming from a literal battle ground, she could only imagine what she must have looked like. 

“We just finished triaging and stabilizing everyone…” Theo shrugged, keeping her smile from Loki’s observation. “It's not for the faint of heart.”

“No, but you are nowhere near faint of heart,” Loki murmured, offering a small, hesitant smile of his own. “For that, I am grateful.”

Theo nodded, uncertain of how to take his remark. She shoved her hands in her pockets, glancing around the rest of the room. Assorted bouquets of flowers and cards stood on display, covering the majority of the room’s surfaces. The whirring and beeping of monitors and machines filled the silence between them. 

“Thank you for caring for my brother.” Loki’s attention returned to Thor, who still slept. “I apologize for my remarks earlier - I let my emotions overtake me. It was inappropriate for me to speak to you in such a harsh manner.”

The simple fact that she didn’t have to prompt him for the apology made it seem genuine, but the underlying distrust remained hard for Theo to shake. After all, wasn’t there something about how the things people say in the heat of the moment are what they feel deep down?

“It’s no problem,” Theo bit the inside of her cheek, glancing at Thor before returning her attention to Loki. “Sorry for my less than professional response… I uh, get a bit intense in the heat of the moment.”

“You need not apologize - your reaction was justified.” Loki nodded, still focused on his brother’s face. “I trust you with my life, and I do not doubt in the slightest that you would fight tirelessly to save any life you could…” He faltered, drawing in a sharp breath before letting out a weary sigh. “If I am entirely honest, I am not certain as to why I stated you would not be able to care for Thor, as I know better.”

The knot in Theo’s chest unraveled a bit more.

“I get it,” Theo reassured him, stepping closer so she could rest one hand on his shoulder. “Thor’s your brother. If I were in your position, I’d do the same.”

Loki covered her hand with his own, finally meeting Theo’s gaze. Red rimmed his eyes, making his seaglass green irises stand out even more than usual; combined with his disheveled curls, Theo realized that this was the most distressed that she had ever seen Loki before.

“He’ll be alright,” Theo murmured, squeezing Loki’s shoulder, “And he’s lucky to have a brother who cares as much about him as you do.”

Theo caught the slightest quiver in Loki’s lip and the way his eyes briefly glistened, but she didn’t say anything. Frankly, she didn’t know what she would even say. Blood never scared her, but the second someone she knew started crying her heart hammered in her chest and her palms grew clammy; forget trying to carry a train of thought, much less a conversation. 

“Thank you,” Loki whispered, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He tightened his grip on Theo’s hand, pressing it more firmly onto his shoulder.

With a quiet sigh, Theo shifted her weight between her aching feet once more. No longer running all over and fueled by adrenaline, the physical toll of going at full speed for so long started to make their presence known. 

Still, she didn’t try to remove her hand from Loki’s shoulder. Loki obviously needed the support, and he didn’t seem like he was about to ask for it. Besides, if her silent gesture stopped any potential tears, she could handle the aching feet that came with standing.

“You mentioned that you recently finished stabilizing the other agents…” Loki’s brows drew together as he returned his attention to Theo. “It has been over twenty four hours since they returned. Have you taken any breaks to rest, or to eat?”

“I worked straight through.” Theo shook her head. “We had lives to save. That’s the nature of what we do; it doesn’t wait for anyone’s lunch break to finish.” 

Loki replied with a displeased hum and a frown. He removed his hand from Theo’s, the cold air in the room a crisp contrast to the warmth of his skin. With a flick of his wrist, he used some seidr to move one of the  chairs from the other side of the bed to sit beside him. “You ought to take a seat - you’ve certainly earned the opportunity to rest.”

With a timid, grateful smile, Theo sat down. Relaxing her muscles brought instant relief, though the motion reminded her of how much her entire body ached after reviving people.

“How are the other agents?”

“Barring any complications, they’ll be alright,” Theo slouched back in the chair, arms resting on the sides as she settled in. “Recovery times will vary, but the fact we were able to save everyone who made it back to New York is a miracle in and of itself.”

If there were complications, well… Theo lived in the building. They knew where to find her.

“That is excellent news,” Loki remarked, resting his hand atop Theo’s as it sat on the arm of the chair between them. Though Theo did her best not to acknowledge the gesture, it certainly caught her attention. “You seem truly exhausted.”

“When you’re running on adrenaline, it’s easy to go for a long time and feel totally fine,” she shrugged, “but now all the adrenaline is wearing off and I’m definitely feeling the consequences.” 

“The consequences?”

“Fatigue, sore muscles, all that good stuff.” Theo softened the remark with a hint of a smile. Loki already had Thor to focus on; he didn’t need to hear Theo complain. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m used to working long stretches - normally my shifts are twelve-plus hours at a time. The only time I work twenty four hour shifts are when I’m on call, and I usually get to nap somewhere in there. But with the number of SHIELD agents impacted and the volume of casualties, we needed all hands on deck.”

“Seems it was quite the undertaking,” Loki murmured.

“Yeah — By the time we were done it looked like a tornado came through and destroyed everything. I can’t imagine what the hospitals in Chicago are dealing with right now.” 

Loki arched an eyebrow at her as if asking her to elaborate. 

“Up until I had to come back to New York, I was working with rescue crews to implement mass casualty protocols; essentially, we search through the rubble for people, triage to get a sense of how badly they are injured, then assign a colored tag based on how severely they are injured.” Theo let out a tense breath. She looked down at the floor, lowering her voice when she continued: “I’ve never triaged so many patients in such a short period of time, and they still had so much work to do when I left. The hospitals there are probably still drowning with patients, despite all the black tags.”

“… Black tags?”

“Victims who were dead or were about to die, regardless of medical intervention,” Theo quietly explained. “I gave twenty two people black tags today, and not all of them were dead on discovery.” Admitting the truth aloud made Theo want to vomit. “Making that call never gets easier.”

If anything, it only got harder to make that call.

With an absentminded hum, Loki nodded. He brought his attention back to Thor, who slept soundly. “Will you have time to rest and recuperate before your next shift?”

“I’m supposed to have the next two days off,” Theo answered with a halfhearted shrug, the black tags still lurking in her mind. “but if I’m needed I’ll be in to help.”

Loki frowned, narrowing his eyes at Theo.

“What?” 

“You spend all your time caring for others,” Loki observed, “Yet caring for yourself seems to be an afterthought.”

“I appreciate the concern, but I’ll be fine.” Theo rolled her eyes, but forced a half-smile. “I just need a nap and I’ll be good to go.”

It wasn’t entirely true. If Theo didn’t need to use any more magic, she’d technically be fine, despite a headache and some queasiness that would probably last for a few days. For the moment, though, the explanation would suffice. 

Besides, aleve and pepto bismol were available on Earth, so she could always resort to pharmacological solutions to keep her going. 

Though he responded with a skeptical glance, Loki didn’t push the subject. His hand remained atop Theo’s, but he slipped his fingers between hers and squeezed.

“What about you?” Theo glanced up at Loki. “I’m guessing you haven’t left that chair since you were allowed to see him?” 

“Guilty as charged, I suppose.” Loki’s head wobbled slightly from side to side, but he didn’t look at Theo. 

“There’s nothing to feel guilty about.” Theo squeezed his hand back, holding it tight for just a moment longer. “He’s your brother - it’s normal to want to be here.”

“I suppose it depends on who you ask,” Loki muttered, letting go of Theo to scrub his face with both hands. “There are those—“

“The only person whose opinion matters is you.” Theo gently interrupted, ducking her head to lock eyes with Loki. “At the end of the day, it’s your brother—“

“That is not how one operates when responsible for a nation and its people.” The interruption was sharp, almost irascible. As if to emphasize his irritation, he dropped his arms to rest on the sides of the chair and threw his head back towards the ceiling. “One’s personal desires are of negligible importance in the grand scheme of the realms.”

Oh, he did not just go there. 

Theo bit down on the inside of her cheek so hard that the sharp tang of iron filled her mouth, and it was all she could do so she wouldn’t say something she would later regret. 

In Loki’s defense, he had no idea why that remark would rub her the wrong way, and he was obviously stressed. 

“Just because you are a ruler does not mean you have to sacrifice your emotions,” Theo quietly challenged, wringing her hands in her lap. “There are many who would argue that feeling and acknowledging those emotions makes you a better leader.”

Loki fell silent, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. The tendons along his clenched jaw shifted as if trying not to unleash a flurry of barbed words on Theo. If Theo was lucky, Loki was simply working through how he wanted to reply, but the slight narrowing of his eyes as he kept his attention facing ahead did little to reassure Theo that he wasn’t about to verbally eviscerate her. 

After a prolonged pause, he let out a tense breath and ran one hand through his hair. He leaned forward in his seat, taking hold of Thor’s hand.  

“From previous experience, sentiment has only led to suffering.” The concession was hushed, barely audible amongst the background noise. 

“And yet, you still care. That’s worth something.” Theo pointed out, attention trained on Loki. “From experience, it only hurts worse if you try to ignore it.”

He pointedly avoided her gaze, instead focusing on Thor’s hand, the tan skin contrasting against his own. He brushed a thumb against the back of Thor’s hand, a delicate gesture in contrast to his hardened expression.

As silence stretched between them once more, questions of whether Theo pushed too hard swirled in her mind. Who was she, after all, to make him confront such a sore subject? Sure, it started with an attempt to reassure him, but it went south embarrassingly fast.

Theo really needed to learn when to shut the hell up.

This time, it was too late to shut up, so that led to a new series of questions: would it be awkward if she left? Or was it more awkward if she stayed? 

Theo brought her attention to her sneakers, noticing the scuffs along the once crisp white soles. Flexing her toes back and forth, she watched how the scuffs bent with each movement of her foot. The longer she watched, the more meditative the motions felt, allowing her mind to fall somewhat quiet.

“Forgive me. I should not have snapped at you.” Loki broke the silence, startling Theo so she jumped in her seat and jerked her head towards Loki. He regarded her with a sheepish curl on one side of his lips, somewhere between apologetic and amused.

A sharp throb between Theo’s temples, the consequence of moving so quickly, forced a wince from her. She grimaced, massaging her temples in a feeble attempt to lessen the discomfort. 

“Sorry,” Theo countered, her voice straining ever-so-slightly with each pulse against her skull. “I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“Ah, I beg to differ.” Loki chuckled, almost to himself. The smile that had initially started as sheepish curled up further, taking on a glint of something else that Theo couldn’t quite describe. “If left unchallenged, who knows what chaos might ensue.”

Despite the headache, Theo managed a weak chuckle and nodded. The movement left her oddly unsteady; she closed her eyes and waited for the sensation to pass.

Lightly calloused fingers curled around Theo’s wrists, gently tugging her hands away from her head. Theo opened her eyes to find the smile had fallen from Loki’s face, replaced instead by a furrowed brow and a frown. “You’ve a headache?”

“Yeah,” Theo admitted, before quickly adding: “It’s not that bad though. I have stuff for it, I just need to take it.”

Loki released Theo’s wrists; Theo found herself missing the warmth. “Though I will admit it is nice to have company, you really ought to take some medicine for your head and rest.” 

He was right, but it also felt wrong to leave him alone.

Theo sighed. “You should get some rest too, you know.”

“I doubt I could sleep, even if I were to lay down.” Loki shook his head. “If Thor were to need anything and I wasn’t there, I–”

“It’s alright, you don’t need to justify it to me.” Theo cut him off, though not unkindly. She rose to her feet, pausing to blink away the static that clouded her vision from the head rush that followed. “Text me if you need anything, okay? Even if it’s at a weird time.”

To Theo’s surprise, Loki also stood; he closed the distance between her and embraced her, clutching her to his chest. She didn’t have to think twice before wrapping her arms around him, returning the gesture.

“Thank you,” Loki whispered, his breath warm against the top of Theo’s head.

“Of course,” Theo replied, her voice muffled by his chest. She inhaled and caught the familiar scent of his cologne - warm, spicy, woodsy - and smiled. That smile stayed when they both finally pulled away, hands brushing as they lowered their arms; a nervous chuckle slipped out of Loki, and if Theo didn’t know any better she would have thought his cheeks grew pink.

“Good night, Theo.”  Loki lingered for a moment, gazing at Theo with a shy smile.

“Good night, Loki.” 

The halls of the hospital were emptier than a ghost town as Theo made the trip back to her suite; the chill of the filtered air clung to Theo’s skin, even through her clothes. Theo shivered, her muscles aching with each tremor of her limbs. She folded her arms across her chest and tried to ignore it, but she wasn’t warm like Loki, so it did little to ward off the cold.

When she finally got back to her suite and climbed into bed, the space beside her felt especially empty. But after such a long day, the observation was fleeting; she barely closed her eyes before she was already drifting to sleep.

Choirs sang in the street And I would come to you To watch the television screen In your hotel room I’m always down to hide with you

Though years had passed since Loki made Midgard his home, there were elements he had not grown accustomed to… Chief among them were Midgardian healing methods.

Ever since Thor returned to him bruised and bloodied, Loki found himself thinking back to Eir and missing the Soul Forges of Asgard. Asgardian healing was without a doubt far superior to anything the Midgardians could muster. The longer Loki stared at the tubes and wires attached to his brother’s body, the more he considered the possibility that it might have been for the best if he had conquered Midgard all those years ago, if for no other reason than it would have resulted in Soul Forges on Midgard.

Sure, Thor had made considerable progress while infirmed; if the doctors were to be believed, Thor’s injuries were healing nicely. 

That didn’t mean Loki had to like seeing his brother in an infirmary bed for days on end. On the contrary: the sight grated him like none other. Sitting in a stiff, metal-framed chair day in and day out, only able to offer meager comforts to his brother, was its own kind of Hel. 

And to see Thor - Thor, who was always the stronger brother, the protector, the warrior - to see him reduced to being weak as a kitten?

The more Loki considered the reality of the situation, the more his blood boiled.

However, each time his temper neared a breaking point - when he was about to snarl at the slightest inconvenience, Theo just happened to appear. She always claimed she was simply ‘dropping by to see how the patient was doing,’ but the knowing glance shared between the nurses whenever she arrived told Loki there was more to the story. 

Regardless, she was there, and her mere presence stilled the constant storms brewing in his soul. 

Sometimes she calmed the tempest by answering Loki’s burning questions - why certain treatments were more effective than others, the purpose of various tests, what the results of those tests meant. It was not that the doctors in charge of Thor’s care withheld information; they were quite forthcoming with Loki and seemed more than willing to answer his questions. Loki recognized they truly put forth their best efforts to assuage his concerns, and though it was not always effective he appreciated the effort. However, for whatever reason Theo’s answers contained some unknown element that put Loki at ease, even if they were almost identical to the answers from Thor’s doctors. 

Other times, she offered a distraction from the discord brewing within. On the days when she visited after concluding her work in the infirmary, the distraction typically came in the form of a film or television show. Though the shows and films varied in genre and premise, there were elements in common: they all involved some element of comedy and varying degrees of mischief. Whenever she suggested something to watch, Theo always took time to explain what it was about the selection that she thought the brothers would enjoy, though it did not escape Loki’s observation that there were always details which she felt Loki specifically would enjoy.

Thankfully, the end of the nightmare was near. Though not fully recovered, Thor had been cleared for discharge that afternoon - his condition no longer required care from the infirmary, so there was no reason for him to remain. 

While Thor changed out of his pajamas and into comfortable clothes, Loki busied himself collecting the various gifts and belongings that had accumulated throughout his brothers’ stay. 

“It was quite kind of Lady Theo to visit so often.” 

Loki glanced over at his brother. Thor sat on the edge of the bed, watching his brother with a twinkle in his eye. 

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Yet, I suspect her visits were not solely to check on my progress.” The comment was lighthearted, jesting in its delivery. 

“There is a Midgardian saying about assumptions, brother.” Loki flatly replied, turning back to continue packing so Thor would not see the heat rising on Loki’s cheeks. “I would not dare to presume her intentions.”

“I am not assuming anything, dear brother. Simply pondering…” Loki did not need to look to know Thor wore a smug grin. 

“Pondering, are you?” Loki turned back to his brother with a smirk of his own. “Are you certain you are well? You aren’t one to spend much time thinking.”

Thor laughed, tossing a pillow at Loki. Loki smacked it down to the floor, his own laughter echoing in the room. The sound of Thor’s laughter loosened the knot that had tangled itself around Loki’s chest for far too long.

“Well I’ve not had much else to do as of late,” Thor chuckled, “as I’m sure you are aware.” 

“Well, thank the Norns you will no longer be cooped up in this room—” Loki’s laughter quieted, though a smile remained. “— If for no other reason than you shan’t be forced to think; that is a benefit to us all.”

“Ah, you’ve wounded me!” Thor clasped one hand to his heart, feigning hurt despite the grin that lit up his face. 

Loki’s teasing seemed to be enough to deter further conversation on the matter, at least for the moment. With perfect timing, a nurse came by with the paperwork Thor needed to sign, and after a few signatures the pair were finally free to leave.

Just when the elevator closed, Thor turned to his brother with a pensive smile. “Jesting aside, I am glad you have someone like Lady Theo in your life.”

“Thor–”

“It is obvious that she truly cares for you.” Thor rested his hand on Loki’s shoulder and locked eyes with his brother. “Knowing there is another who will be there for you whenever you need gives me great peace. She is a good friend to you.”

A faint smile crept up on Loki’s face, and he nodded slightly. “She is.”   

Not long after ensuring Thor was settled in his quarters, Loki returned to his own quarters,  content to spend some time basking in the peace and quiet with his latest selection of literature... 

…At least, he had been content to bask in the peace and quiet until a knock on his door threatened the solitude he’d long been craving. 

Internally groaning, Loki set aside his book and pulled himself to his feet. Despite the overwhelming desire to ignore whoever dared to disturb him, Loki dragged himself to the door, rolling his eyes before twisting the knob and pushing it open.

The sight of Theo, a slim glass bottle with amber liquid in one hand and two lowball glasses in the other, wiped the scowl right off Loki’s face.

“Is this a bad time?” Theo asked, the smile on her face dissolving when she caught Loki’s expression. 

“There is never a bad time for you, darling.” Loki stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. 

“Good, because I am not about to drink this whole bottle myself.” Theo sauntered in, plopped down on the sofa, and poured two glasses of what smelled like whiskey. “Figured you’d want to celebrate having Thor home.”

Warmth bloomed in Loki’s chest. He took a seat next to Theo, retrieving one of the glasses and clinking it with hers. “I most certainly am not sad about the development.” 

“I can tell.” Theo leaned back, taking a sip of her beverage. “You look way less stressed.”

“Is that so?”

“Well yeah,” she said, “but it’s understandable that you were stressed. I mean, now that he’s doing better, I will admit your brother did get pretty fucked up. But still, I wasn’t worried about him...”

“…You were worried about me?” Loki ventured, unable to stop himself from smirking at Theo.

She blushed. “I mean…“

Loki couldn’t stop himself from chuckling at the sight of Theo, attempting to hide the pink of her cheeks behind her glass. “So you weren’t visiting to check on Thor.” 

“No…” She shook her head and let out a sheepish laugh. “Thor already had plenty of people checking on him, but you needed someone in your corner too.” Theo fiddled with the glass in her hands, her attention focused on the amber liquid swirling around inside. “I didn’t like the thought of you trying to deal with all that on your own.”

When Theo finally looked at Loki, he saw something new in her bright blue eyes. 

“I am grateful for your support.” He slid over until the sides of their legs pressed together, then wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Though I must apologize for forcing you to spend the little free time you had fretting over me.”

“You didn’t force me to do anything.” Theo fiercely shook her head. “I wanted to be there.”

And whether or not he was ready to admit it out loud, he could at least admit to himself that he wanted her there, too.

Hold onto each other Hold onto each other Hold onto each other Hold onto each other…

[betterthanyalls]

I finished it! It’s so late but a friend gave me the idea of why not make it a New Years gift? Jeez, I can’t believe we are in 2024 already! Time flies so fast. Anyways, here ya go! Eat up! I am seriously so sorry this took forever, I didn’t mean for it to take this long but most all my family came over for Christmas Break and then I went on vacation so it took a while. But I still got it done, that’s good right? So uhh here it is!! I hope you like it :D I worked really hard on this:) ALSO RQ, this won’t follow the plot of the og Nutcracker exactly. I had to make changes here and there but I mostly based it off the Sweden Ballet and the Boston Ballet plots. Ok that should be all, enjoy!!

The Nutcracker

Words: 4.9K

Published: 12:00 AM. January 1st 2024

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

Laughter and chatter could be heard from the mansion up on the hill. Snow fell calmly outside, the soft winter breeze whisking snowflakes into small spirals before gracefully setting them upon the frosted ground.

Inside the mansion, there was a grand party taking place at the ballroom. Within the party, the host and hostess were walking throughout the Christmas party and welcoming guests. Their only child, Y/n, was talking with the other kids her age. The young 17-year-old was about to turn 18 just a few days after Christmas. The hostess, M/n, waved her daughter over.

When Y/n reached them, M/n handed her an ornament and gestured to the tree. The young girl smiled brightly, nodding and taking a box of ornaments from nearby. Walking over to the tree, Y/n showed the ornaments to the other kids her age. They all took a few ornaments and ran around the tree, trying to find a good place to put theirs.

After a good 20 minutes, the tree was glistening with ornaments, lights, tinsel, and garland, with some random nick-nacks here and there. Y/n and the others took a few steps back to admire their work until a giant gust of wind and the sound of slamming doors caught everyone's attention. All heads whipped to where the sound and wind came from—the grand front doors. Standing in the doorway, shaking off snow, were two people.

Unwrapping their scarves and taking off their hats and coats was revealed to be Y/n’s favorite, and only, uncles. Hector and Ruck Vendolez. The famous adventuring brothers. A glimmering smile enveloped Y/n’s face as she ran up to her two uncles, jumping up onto Hector.

Hector was at first shocked, almost falling over, but after regaining his balance, he hugged his only niece back. Hector spun them in a circle, boisterous laughter arising from the duo. Ruck backed up a little, not fond of physical touch, but had the ghost of a smile.

After hugging for a little bit, the duo parted ways. Y/n turned to Ruck with a much more gentle smile. Ruck rolled his eyes and sighed playfully, opening his arms for the girl. Her gentle smile grew, and she rushed into a hug, holding her cold uncle close.

The hug only lasted a few moments, but it meant the world to both of them. Finally breaking the hug, Y/n grabbed both her uncles hands and dragged them to see the tree that she and other kids helped decorate. Ruck looked at the tree and ruffled Y/n's hair before walking over to her parents. Hector seemed to be lost in thought when gazing at the Christmas tree. Y/n looked over to him with a slight confusion written on her face. She raised her hand and slowly waved it up and down in front of her uncle's eyes. Flinching, Hector came back to reality, offering his only niece a close-eyed smile.

Only now did Y/n notice that Hector was carrying something—a box, it seemed. Y/n gestured to the box, as if asking what it was. Hector took a glance at the present and crouched down, putting it under the tree. The tag on it clearly read, ‘To: Y/n. From: Your favorite uncle’.

Standing back up, Hector noticed Y/n hiding her quiet laughter behind her hand. He tilted his head, making Y/n point to the tag. A chuckle left his mouth. The older one made his way over to his brother Ruck and his sister, M/n, the hostess. Y/n, having nothing better to do, walked back to her new acquaintances.

~~

A few hours passed with games and food and many conversations, but now it was finally time to open the gifts. Everybody found a gift for themselves, and they all sat or stood around the great ballroom.

It took a little while, but all the gifts had been opened. All but one. A simple box that Y/n recognized as the one Hector had earlier sat in Y/n’s lap.

M/n raised her hands to quiet everyone down, then looked to her daughter. Y/n felt all eyes on her, and she wouldn’t lie; she was getting a little uncomfortable with all the attention, yet she powered through. Slowly, she unwrapped the present dedicated to her. A soft gasp left Y/n’s mouth when she saw the gift.

A nutcracker.

And not any nutcracker. It seemed to resemble the demon toon, Bendy, from the popular show Bendy, The Dancing Demon. But instead of his normal attire in a classic tuxedo with suspenders, he is wearing a noble soldier suit.

Y/n had stars in her eyes, moving Bendy’s arms up and down a little. She was in absolute amazement at the gift, like a trance had overcome her. She hugged the gift tightly with a bright smile. This present meant the entire world to her. A younger girl next to Y/n held her hands out for the nutcracker; her body language read that she wanted to hold Bendy. Y/n being polite, let the girl hold her new friend. But alas, it seemed the younger girl didn’t know what manners were.

Showing her friend next to her, the girl passed the present around the circle, not asking for Y/n’s permission. Shocked but too scared to say anything, Y/n was peeved with a valid reason. That was her gift! And these kids just messed with it like it was an old, rotting, cheap toy.

About halfway through the circle, a boy and a girl got into an argument about who got the toy. Their voices grew over the chatting adults. Another boy joined the first boys side, resulting in two girls joining the original girls side. It didn’t take long before every kid in the circle, excluding Y/n, had gotten on a side. Boys are on the left, and girls are on the right. The boy and girl who started this whole ordeal both took part in the nutcracker and pulled.

Underestimating how well it could hold together, the nutcracker flew from both pairs of hands, and the head snapped from the torso of the toy. The entire ballroom became deathly quiet. In shock and panic, each kid backed away from the now-broken gift. Y/n emerged from the crowd and covered her mouth with her hands.

Tears began to well into her eyes, and terror and grief screamed from her body language. Walking forward and kneeling down to her ruined present, she took the head and body in her hands. Looking over to where Hector and Ruck stood, Y/n was about to cry. This was a handmade gift from her uncles; after all, thought and tedious effort went into it, and now it was ruined all because she couldn’t say no.

When Hector made eye contact with his near-sobbing niece, he felt his heart shatter into billions of pieces. He quickly rushed over to Y/n, Ruck following close behind. Hector crouched on Y/n’s left, with Ruck on her right. Ruck placed a hand on her back to help soothe her while his brother took the nutcracker. Hector gently took the gift from his niece's hands and turned away so Y/n didn’t have to see him brutally put the pieces back together.

Hector pushed and twisted the head and torso together until they were firmly connected. He tipped the toy upside down and shook it, making sure the head wouldn’t come off again. Turning back to his niece and brother, Hector gracefully handed Y/n the gift back.

Her expression went from shock to tears and laughter mixed together. Rubbing her eyes, she wrapped her arms around Hector in a giant bear hug. Ruck stood up with a faint smile and began walking back to his sister and brother-in-law, with Hector soon following.

~~

Hours had passed, and everyone had left now. Y/n and M/n were in the hallway to the bedrooms, bidding goodnight to each other. Once the two parted ways, Y/n walked into her bedroom with the nutcracker in her grasp.

When she reached the bed, she set the nutcracker down on her nightstand and turned off the small lamp that illuminated the room. Dozing off almost immediately, she woke up just as abruptly. After waking up, she heard the grandfather clock in the ballroom strike 12. And judging by how dark it was out the window still, Y/n guessed it was 12 a.m.

Shooting herself up into a sitting position, Y/n heard noises coming from the ballroom just down the hall. Slowly creeping out of her bed, Y/n hadn’t noticed that her nutcracker wasn’t on the nightstand anymore.

Walking over to the door and opening it slowly, Y/n peeked out to make sure nobody was there. After seeing nobody in the halls, Y/n tiptoed as fast as she could to the ballroom. When she finally reached the doors, Y/n slipped through them quietly. Making sure she shut the doors behind her. Y/n walked into the room, looking around for what could have made the noise. A scurrying noise sounded behind her, startling the poor girl. Y/n whipped around to see what could’ve caused the scritches on the hardwood floor but found nothing there. Suspicion wrote itself into Y/n’s expression as she raised an eyebrow and slowly turned back to her original position. Another scurrying noise was heard from her left, and Y/n swung to face the noise. Again, there was nothing there.

And with the distraction, she felt clawed hands wrap around her waist and mouth, muffling her yells of protest. Kicking, hitting, and flailing did no good against her attacker. Y/n felt herself being thrown into a metal confinement. Getting up quickly, she saw that she was in a large metal cage that resembled that of a bird's cage. It looked like the one she used to have for her red parrot so many years ago. She missed Panchito, her parrot, so much. But now was not the time for memories. Y/n looked around through the bars of the cage, seeing large humanoid rats partying around the ballroom.

Her parents were going to kill her if they saw this mess! Y/n tried to bang the bars and shout to get the rats to stop, but her attempts at attention were drowned out by the volume of the rats. Y/n felt helpless; no one was there to save her. Loud footsteps could be heard walking towards the ballroom. All the rats heard it and instantly got down on their knees, bowing in pure silence. The girl was frozen in her spot, petrified at what could make the rambunctious rats stop their antics so suddenly.

From one of the side hallways emerged a humanoid rat, taller than any of the others. It had a crown adorning its head and a giant faux-fur cape. The rat was dressed in kingly attire. How the rat seemed to acquire these garments was beyond Y/n. Referencing its physical appearance, Y/n opted to name it ‘The Rat King’. The Rat King strutted in with his head held high, pride radiating off of him. When the Rat King was in the center of the room, he lifted his clawed hands and began a party of his very own. Cheers from the rats that sounded the shrills broke out amongst them.

The rats' cacophony noises bellowed throughout the ballroom, and it made Y/n wonder how none of the servants or her parents had come in yet. A loud banging of a knock was heard at the doors Y/n entered through, and hope glimmered through her—maybe her parents had woken up? Every creature in the room went dead silent, confused or scared. The Rat King tilted his head in confusion but didn’t move. Another knock was heard, a little harsher this time. After a few seconds passed, the knocker must have realized nobody would answer. At least that’s what Y/n was guessing when the doors flung open with a mighty kick. Standing in the doorway was a human figure, and Y/n let out a gasp, recognizing who it was immediately. Her eyes widened, and all her breath left her lungs in a state of horror and shock.

There he was. The Nutcracker. Walking towards the Rat King like it was a daily affair. Y/n pressed her back to the furthest bars in the cage, trying to get away from the whole ordeal. She watched as the Nutcracker, whom she named Bendy for his appearance, stalked towards the Rat King. No expression was written on Bendy’s face; for being alive, he looked to still keep all his wooden attributes. She watched with an open mouth as Bendy stopped walking and reached to his side, pulling out glistening metal. The steel blade pierced through the light of the glowing candle embers that decorated the ballroom graciously.

The wooden toy gripped the handle of the blade firmly. His painted eyes could only stare lifelessly at the creature in front of him. And with a sudden spark of life, Bendy slashed his sword at the Rat King. Stunned, the Rat King jumped back and swung his sharp claws at Bendy. The two fought as Y/n and the other rats watched in awe.

Sharp clangs from claws on metal rang throughout the room like church bells. The Rat King and Bendy fought like a dance: one step forward, one step left, two steps back, one step right, repeat. The males moved in a circular formation during the dance. Neither seemed to have the upper or lower hand at any time; it was a well-even match. That was until the Rat King wrapped his tail around Bendy's leg and dragged him to the floor, pressing his long claws against Bendy’s wooden neck and beginning to split the wood. Frightened, Y/n reached down and took off her shoe, throwing it through the bar gaps and hitting the Rat King on the back of the head. Distracted and furious, the Rat King let go of Bendy and looked to Y/n. This gave Bendy the chance to drive his sword through the Rat King's back. A shrill pierced through the air, and the Rat King fell to the ground lifelessly.

The rats screeched in panic and ran around the ballroom in disorganized chaos. Amongst this chaos, Y/n couldn’t see her nutcracker anymore and closed her eyes tight as a bright light filled the room for a split second. When the light had vanished, Y/n slowly opened her eyes to see Bendy, who was no longer wood but now a living being in prince attire, offering her a hand to help her out of the newly broken cage. Taking his hand carefully, Y/n hopped out of the cage. And in the moment of pure impulse and gratefulness, Y/n placed a soft kiss on Bendy’s cheek.

In shock but with a giddy smile and a flustered expression, Bendy put a hand up to the cheek Y/n had kissed. Shaking away his embarrassment and fluster, he held his hand out to Y/n as an offer. Y/n tilted her head in confusion, not knowing what he was offering. Bendy made a sweeping motion with his hand behind the two of them, as if to offer a journey. Y/n looked behind her to the doorway that led to her parents bedroom. She turned her attention back to Bendy and nodded slowly, putting her hand in his.

The nutcracker prince led the two of them to the grand entrance doors that would lead them outside. When Bendy opened the doors, Y/n shivered at the cold air rushing inside. Y/n just realized that she had been wearing her pajamas this whole time. Feeling a little embarrassed, Y/n covered her body with her open arm. In front of the duo was a sleigh, all decked with decor, with reins holding onto two pristine white horses. Their coats gleamed in the winter moon, and snow fell invisibly upon them. Her eyes widened in surprise. When did this get here? Bendy led the teen to the passenger side of the sleigh and helped her into it. When Y/n was situated, the prince walked around and got into the driver's side. He made sure Y/n was sitting comfortably before shaking the reins with a low-medium force, signaling the horses to begin trotting forward.

Not expecting the sudden movement, Y/n fell back a little into Bendy’s side. But he didn’t seem to mind. While still keeping a hand on the reins, the nutcracker helped his companion back to a proper sitting position. Embarrassed once more, the teen looked away with a sheepish blush covering her upper cheeks. Eventually getting over her self-shame, Y/n took a chance to look around.

Through the darkened night, snowflakes danced down in a waltz. The wind sang its winter song, and the moon shone down in the spotlight of the snowy stage called Earth. The horses strode undisputed through the snow, letting the sleigh glide effortlessly across the snow. As they rode onward, the quartet of beings entered a forest. Y/n was in awe of the beauty of the trees. She couldn’t tell what type of trees they all were with how dark it was, but Y/n noticed the Willow branches drooping near the path. Only the bioluminescent mushrooms made the trunks of the trees known. Sparkling icicles on the branches reflected the moon's loving gaze.

Soon they arrived at an open area within the center of the forest. The horses directed the sleigh to the edge of the clearing and stopped there for a break. As if on cue of the horses stopping, soldiers in blue and white clothing and snowflake designs stomped into the clearing. The soldiers stood in two perfectly parallel lines. Bendy stood up in the sleigh and put one hand on Y/n’s shoulder, holding her tightly, and his other hand was placed on the hilt of his sword, which was sheltered in its scabbard. But thankfully, before any fighting could happen, two other figures walked between the soldiers. The two figures had their arms linked to each other. Like the soldiers, they were wearing blue and white attire with snowflake patterns.

The two figures, male and female, looked like a king and a queen. It would fit in with the soldiers if they were the rulers. The king and queen walked up next to the sleigh and introduced themselves, adding that they meant no harm and did not mean to frighten Y/n and Bendy. The nutcracker in question slowly sat down and released his grip on his hilt, keeping his hand on Y/n’s shoulder as he kept a close eye on the royalty. Y/n smiled brightly and greeted the monarchs, introducing herself and Bendy since he was too busy watching them with a glare to try and be friendly.

After chatting for a bit, the Snow King and Queen (as they were named) offered Y/n and Bendy to dance. At first, Y/n and Bendy were both going to decline. Y/n declined for the fact she was still in her pajamas and the cold, and Bendy had to ‘uphold his dignity’. But his mind changed the moment he took a glance at Y/n, seeing how her face was illuminated in the moonlight. Quietly and unknowing to his female friend, Bendy exited the sleigh and walked around the back of it so as not to disturb the horses. When he finally reached the side with royalty, he nodded in agreement for a dance. Turning to face Y/n, he held his hand out to her as an invitation. Taken aback, Y/n tilts her head slightly with a nervous smile. Bendy returned the smile, but with a more welcoming feel. He kept his hand held out, and Y/n stared at it for a few moments before letting out a sigh and taking his hand.

Bendy helped Y/n out of the sleigh as the two companions and the royalty made their way to the center of the clearing. With both duos in the correct stance, the dance began. The soldier snowflakes had taken out some instruments and began to play music to help accommodate a waltz. As the music began, the prince led the unlikely duo into a beautiful waltz. Soft music glimmered around the icicles and flowed around the two dancers like a calm stream not yet frozen by the winter. Being so distracted by each other, Y/n and Bendy hadn’t noticed the king and queen had stopped dancing to watch the young love.

As the music went on and on, Bendy couldn’t help but get lost in Y/n’s eyes. Her eyes dazzled in a beauty that was lost to the world. Dancing with her was something he would have never expected to do. Y/n was simply mesmerized throughout the dance. She couldn’t explain her feelings based on how fast they were going around inside her. It was only a few minutes of dancing, but it felt like an eternity that neither of them wanted to leave. Alas, the music soon stopped, and Bendy dipped Y/n down. They stayed like that for a moment, taking in the moment and staring at each other like there was nothing else important in the world and only this mattered. After a few seconds, Bendy cleared his throat and brought Y/n up and out of the dip. Y/n rubbed the back of her neck and looked away in embarrassment. It took a bit, but eventually they both got over their fluster. When they did, both Y/n and Bendy thanked the king and queen for the dance invitation and the peace before getting back into the sleigh.

When both were situated in their spots, Bendy took the reins and whipped them softly. Y/n turned and gave the king and queen a farewell wave, with the royalty waving back. Now facing forward, Y/n took a few side glances at Bendy to see what he was doing. The prince in question had a look of focus and deep thought in his expression. Not wanting to disturb his mind, Y/n just looked at the scenery around them. It was still clearly night and would stay like that for quite a while, but that didn’t take away from nature's delightful view. The way the frost laid itself upon the passing tree branches so gracefully was simply angelic. It didn’t take long for Y/n to notice all the snow turning into what looked like cotton candy. Confused, she looked around more. The tree trunks were replaced by candy canes, and the branches were taken over by licorice. Rocks became gumdrops, and all the ice and icicles became frosting. A smile broke onto Y/n’s face as she looked over to Bendy. He was looking around with a smile, too. Looking back to the scenery around, Y/n reached out carefully to take a handful of the cotton candy snow. When she got her desired amount, she turned to Bendy and showed him. Nodding to each other, the two of them shared the cotton candy. The sweet was delectable and scrumptious to their sense of taste. Being distracted by the candy, the duo hadn’t noticed that the sleigh had stopped in front of a grand palace.

At the whinny of one of the horses, Y/n finally looked around. Her lips parted slightly in awe as a small gasp left her mouth. Y/n stood up from her seat on the immobile sleigh to get a better view. A luxurious castle was only a few paces before her. But just as she was taking it in, a large group of guards—who looked like an assortment of candies—surrounded the sleigh and held up sharp spears. Her initial awe turned into immediate shock. She took a step back as much as the sleigh would allow. Y/n felt the sleigh shift from behind her, and she immediately whipped around, afraid it might be one of the guards. But to her relief, it was only Bendy standing up. He had a look of determination on his face as he stood. Raising her hands out slightly, he gestured for the guards to stand down. Now it was the candy guards' turn to be shocked before every one of them fell into a kneeling position. In confusion, Y/n stared at Bendy with furrowed eyebrows. Said nutcracker looked to his female friend and grinned at her before exiting the sleigh.

Bendy walked over to Y/n’s side of the sleigh and grabbed her arm gently, guiding her off the vehicle and to the large, fanciful doors that led into the palace. Without even having to touch the doors, they swung open, and a great gust of wind from who knows where swept the duo into the main room, the throne room. Sitting gracefully on the only throne in the room was someone Y/n could only describe as an angel. Words couldn’t describe the magnificence and beauty Y/n felt radiating off the person on the throne.

The Sugar Plum Fairy.

Y/n could recall faint memories that seemed to flow around her of her mother telling Y/n of the fairy tale. Stories of the Sugar Plum Fairy’s gentleness and kindness to all things living and nonliving. Stories of how the fairy could make anything into candy or sweet by the single thought of it. The legendary fairy now simply sat on her throne with a skeptical expression pointed towards Y/n. But before the Sugar Plum Fairy could say a word, Bendy stepped in and began explaining how Y/n saved his life when fighting the Rat King. He went into great detail about how his neck was almost split in two until she managed to distract the rat and give the nutcracker enough time to get back up and slay the beast. At this revelation, the Sugar Plum Fairy’s expression became one of joy, shock, relief, and thankfulness. In her gratitude, the fairy rose from her throne and threw her arms up in the air, signaling all the happy servants to come forward with celebration decor. The Sugar Plum Fairy walked down the throne steps and over to the teenage girl in front of her. When the fairy was only about a foot or two away from Y/n, the Sugar Plum Fairy turned to her left and waved her hand for a servant to walk over. The servant, who looked to be a peppermint, scurried over with a pillow.

A crown that could make the Imperial State Crown ashamed was set on the pillow. Cautiously yet deftly, the fairy picked up the crown and nodded to Y/n to bow her head. Y/n, unsure of what to do, bowed her head down with patience. The Sugar Plum Fairy set the crown delicately upon Y/n’s head and lifted the young girl's chin with two fingers. Y/n searched throughout the fairy’s expression as the cryptid creature analyzed her. To Y/n’s own joy and reassurance, the fairy looked in wonder at the younger. To Sugar Plum, Y/n resembled true royalty and looked almost identical to anyone who deserved the spot of a monarch. Nervously, Y/n turned to Bendy to see his reaction. The prince was in absolute awe. His friend looked as good—no, better—than any princess or queen to have reigned.

Bendy was shaken from his thoughts when Sugar Plum ordered two thrones to be placed next to hers immediately. And it was done as she commanded. Sugar Plum looked to the human and prince, inviting them to come sit next to her. Y/n sat on the fairy’s right, and Bendy sat next to his teenage companion. And before they knew it, festivities began all around. Dancers spun, and musicians trumpeted their instruments beautifully. Singers sang sensationally and show horses pranced among it all. Y/n was astonished, and Bendy was in mere awe at the celebration. But throughout the loud and joyous gathering, the prince couldn’t help but steal glances at the girl next to him. The party went on for what seemed like hours, and Y/n was fighting to stay awake. But, like all humans, she needed her sleep. Slowly but surely, Y/n fell onto Bendy’s shoulder, completely knocked out with exhaustion. As much as he didn’t expect it, Bendy wasn’t startled. He simply let the girl lay there.

As the sounds and lights faded out of Y/n’s senses, she felt herself fall into a dark yet comforting abyss. Then, as fast as she fell asleep, she woke up. Shooting herself up into a sitting position, Y/n rubbed her eyes and looked around. She was back in her bedroom. Soft morning light streamed in through her curtain shades. Her room was decorated in the soft hue of the sun's loving embrace of the world. Covering a yawn with her hand, Y/n crawled out of her bed and looked at her nightstand. Standing in the same position her uncle had carved was the nutcracker. The girl smiled tiredly at the wooden toy before turning and walking out her bedroom door, planning to tell her parents all about her dream at breakfast. All is well. All is peaceful. Everything is beautiful. Even you.

[houseofbrat]

https://twitter.com/alexlarman/status/1658822509209214978

https://www.spectator.co.uk/article/meghans-lecture-on-service-is-hard-to-take/

Meghan’s lecture on ‘service’ is hard to take

17 May 2023, 1:06pm

Alexander Larman

Since the publication of Prince Harry’s memoir Spare in January, Meghan has kept an unusually low profile by her standards. Her non-appearance at the coronation earlier in the month was widely interpreted as a snub to the Royal Family, whom she has missed no opportunity to castigate.

Now the Duchess of Sussex is making a comeback – but her vapid speech at an awards ceremony in New York last night shows little has changed. Meghan was in town to accept a ‘Women of Vision’ award at the Ms. Foundation for Women’s 50th anniversary event. The Duchess declared that:

‘It’s just never too late to start. You can be the visionary of your own life. You can charter a path in which what you repeat in your daily acts of service, in kindness, in advocacy, in grace and in fairness, that those become the very things that are recognised by the next wave of women, both young and old, who will also choose this moment to join the movement and make our vision for an equitable world reality.’

If Meghan’s talk of service sounded oddly familiar, there’s a good reason. In April 1947, Princess Elizabeth made one of the most famous public statements of her life, half a decade before she became queen. In a speech that she made from South Africa on her 21st birthday, she said:

‘I declare before you all that my whole life, whether it be long or short, shall be devoted to your service and the service of our great imperial family to which we all belong.’

The speech is now regarded as the beginning of a pact the Queen made with her people, and which she assiduously followed until her death in September last year. Whatever you say about Elizabeth II, you cannot accuse her of not being dutiful. Meghan’s speech appears to be an attempt to emulate Elizabeth’s sentiments, albeit with a decidedly 21st-century spin.

What Meghan appears to forget, however, is that Elizabeth is remembered for her words, not merely because she said them, but because she went on to dedicate her life to service in the way in which she promised. As Meghan says herself, ‘it’s never too late to start’ – but if Meghan really is hoping to follow in the Queen’s footsteps, she has a long way to go.

Meghan’s address sounded like more of the platitudinous sentiment that has gone down well in certain quarters of American opinion and on the Duchess’s ‘Archetypes’ podcast. But it will leave the average person shaking their head in disbelief. Her exhortation that ‘daily acts of service’ will be the means by which people will seize their emancipation is hard to swallow: among her own ‘acts of service’ have, so far, included making a fortune from Netflix and Spotify and railing against her husband’s family. Self-service would seem a more accurate description when it comes to Meghan.

The ongoing psychodrama (the unkind would call it a soap opera) of the Sussexes’s lives might seem to have been temporarily becalmed by Harry’s dignified and correct appearance at his father’s coronation; he did everything he needed to do, did it well and did not overshadow the day in any regard. Meghan might, of course, declare that her appearance at last night’s gala was nothing to do with the Royal Family. Instead, she may say, it represents another chapter in her being a self-described visionary of her own life. Yet in the appropriation of the Queen’s famous words in a tawdry fashion, it seems that, rather than being a true woman of vision, Meghan is stuck in a self-regarding spiral that she shows no desire to drag herself out of.

[mariacallous]

U.S. President Joe Biden delivered one of the most political—and politically significant—State of the Union addresses in memory on Thursday night, laying out in the starkest of terms the stakes of the forthcoming election for the United States and the entire world.

Considering that the United States is not under direct threat of war, perhaps what was most striking about the speech was that Biden opened it by invoking President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s State of the Union from January 1941, ahead of America’s entry into World War II. “I address you in a moment unprecedented in the history of the union,” Biden quoted FDR as saying.

“Now, it’s we who face an unprecedented moment,” Biden said. And then, without ever naming him, Biden cast his almost-certain 2024 opponent, former President Donald Trump, in the menacing role of Adolf Hitler and the Nazis. If that were not enough, Biden immediately went on to identify Trump and his “Make America Great Again” (MAGA) movement with the Confederates who seceded from the union.

“Not since President Lincoln and the Civil War have freedom and democracy been under assault at home as they are today,” Biden said. “What makes our moment rare is that freedom and democracy are under attack both at home and overseas at the very same time.”

In other words, the president seemed to be saying, the nation faces in Trump an even more perilous threat today than FDR and Abraham Lincoln—generally considered two of the greatest U.S. presidents in history—did individually. Biden then proceeded to lambaste his “predecessor”—as he repeatedly called Trump—over and over. Biden accused Trump of “bowing down” to Russian President Vladimir Putin over his Ukraine invasion; fomenting political violence at home (“You can’t love your country only when you win,” Biden said); sounding like a fascist by saying immigrants are “poison in the blood of our country”; and shrugging his shoulders over endemic gun violence.

Biden repeatedly sounded the theme of the combined domestic and foreign threat posed by Trump: that is, peace in peril abroad, democracy undermined at home. “If the United States walks away, it will put Ukraine at risk. Europe is at risk. The free world will be at risk, emboldening others to what they wish to do us harm,” he said. “History is watching. Just like history watched three years ago on Jan. 6, when insurrectionists stormed this very Capitol and placed a dagger to the throat of American democracy.”

One thing is clear: Biden and his team were intent on overcoming, all at once, the cascading doubts about his age (81) and his record that have left him with grim approval ratings, virtually turning him into an underdog against Trump with just eight months to go. The president waited until the end of his nearly 70-minute speech to confront the single biggest issue of his reelection bid—his age—but he did it forcefully and without any obvious flagging of energy.

“I know I may not look like it, but I’ve been around awhile,” Biden joked, giving his big, white-toothed grin. “When you get to my age, certain things become clearer than ever before. … My fellow Americans, the issue facing our nation isn’t how old we are, it’s how old are our ideas. Hate, anger, revenge, retribution are the oldest of ideas. But you can’t lead America with ancient ideas that only take us back.”

Will it work to save his presidency? Biden’s 2023 State of the Union, despite getting rave reviews, didn’t affect his low approval ratings much. This address, however, landed at a very different moment. Coming only two days after Biden’s big wins on Super Tuesday and the departure of Trump’s last Republican opponent, Nikki Haley, from the presidential race, the speech also served as a harsh reality check for the American electorate. For the first time, it is apparent that Biden isn’t going anywhere and that Trump will be his opponent eight months from now—that only this halting 81-year-old man stands between disaster and the continuation of American democracy, in the eyes of many Americans.

The obvious bet of the Biden campaign is that the threat of a would-be autocrat—much like an imminent hanging—concentrates the mind wonderfully, in Samuel Johnson’s formulation. Suddenly, people no longer have the luxury of wishing they had someone 30 years younger, or more inspirational, to vote for. It’s just Joe and Donald now. People are clearly not excited about a Biden second term, even most Democrats. But if that is all they’re left with—if the choice is a bad cold versus cancer—then the course suddenly becomes clearer.

“People always like to say that they have to choose between the lesser of two evils,” Norm Kurz, Biden’s former Senate communications director, said in an email. “Biden’s refrain that voters should not compare him to the Almighty but to the alternative will begin to resonate.”

His speech recalled past moments when U.S. presidents sought to clarify the stakes at an existential level. None more so than Lincoln’s 1862 State of the Union address, when he said, “The fiery trial through which we pass will light us down in honor or dishonor to the latest generation.” Or John F. Kennedy’s warning in January 1961—at the height of the Cold War—that the nation faced “an hour of national peril and national opportunity” when “we shall have to test anew whether a nation organized and governed such as ours can endure.”

Yet it was also a measure of the delicate balance that Biden has been forced to achieve in his presidency—restoring America’s traditional global cop role while playing to the neo-isolationist sentiment that Trump has awakened—that the president deferred to the millions of voters who believe the United States is overextended in the world. He touted his “Buy American” neo-protectionist approach to national security, saying, “Past administrations including my predecessor … failed to buy American”—and even as he pushed again for a $60.1 billion aid package to Ukraine, he repeated that American troops would not get pulled in.

Biden also sought to stamp out a brewing progressive insurgency over his pro-Israel Middle East policy—hundreds of thousands of primary voters registered their discontent with him on Tuesday, and protesters Thursday sought to block his motorcade to the Capitol—by announcing the creation of a pier off the coast of Gaza that would “enable a massive increase in the amount of humanitarian assistance” going to besieged Palestinians.

Here, as well, Biden pledged, “No U.S. boots will be on the ground.”

Biden spent the majority of his speech in more traditional State of the Union fashion, spelling out a positive agenda that contrasted with Trump’s “ancient ideas” and reminding voters of his greatest accomplishments. Among them, “the most significant action ever on climate in the history of the world”—cutting carbon emissions in half by 2030 and creating tens of thousands of clean-energy jobs—and his Bipartisan Infrastructure Law, including 46,000 new projects “moderniz[ing] our roads and bridges, ports and airports, public transit systems,” as well as a spate of new gun laws. Biden boasted about preserving NATO—“the strongest military alliance the world has ever seen”—and introduced the prime minister of Sweden, the alliance’s newest member, who stood up grinning and waving in the gallery.

The president also announced plans to increase taxes on corporate wealth; remove tax breaks for Big Pharma, Big Oil, and executive pay; and noted he has signed into law a bill that dramatically reduces the cost of prescription drugs. He also hit Trump hard on reproductive rights, which polls show have hurt Republicans badly, saying abortion opponents have “no clue about the power of women” in America. Biden declared, “I will restore Roe v. Wade as the law of the land again.”

On the issue that has most frustrated him, the economy—which polls show a plurality of voters believe Trump would be stronger on despite strong growth numbers—Biden continued to insist that it’s just a matter of time before voters realize how good they now have it. “I inherited an economy that was on the brink. Now our economy is literally the envy of the world. Fifteen million new jobs in just three years—a record, a record. Unemployment at 50-year lows,” he said. “Wages keep going up. Inflation keeps coming down. Inflation has dropped from 9 percent to 3 percent—the lowest in the world.”

The rhetoric was rousing, even incendiary, possibly a little desperate. But Biden, let’s face it, will never be a great speechmaker. The stiffness, slurring, and occasional stutter that seem to make every Biden speech a breathless high-wire act—one never knows if he’ll get all the way through a sentence without stumbling—were all there Thursday night, accompanied by an occasional coughing spell between applause lines.

Yet the president also didn’t commit any major gaffes and finished as strong as he started. The president was effective, too, in repeating his tactic from last year’s speech in mocking GOP lawmakers who shouted out insults, especially given how ineffective and obstructionist the Republican House has been. Without quite saying so, Biden came close to emulating President Harry S. Truman’s successful 1948 tactic of attacking the infamous “do-nothing” Congress. Over and over, Biden challenged the Republican-led House of Representatives to pass long-stalled legislation, especially the Ukraine national security aid. In any case, the Republicans were repeatedly drowned out by chants of “four more years” from Democrats, which also gave the whole affair the flavor of a campaign rally.

Biden’s State of the Union address was always going to be less about what he said than how he said it—how he spoke, how he walked to the podium, how he responded to his hecklers—and by that measure he succeeded. Above all, Biden was plainly showing his confidence that American voters will come to see, finally, that his programs are working.

The challenge for Biden—and Americans—is that his opponent, the previous president, is now deploying similarly apocalyptic rhetoric. In a speech in late February, Trump also drew comparisons to World War II, saying, “This time, the greatest threat is not from the outside of our country, I really believe this. It’s the people from within our country that are more dangerous. They’re very sick people.” And following his victories in 14 states Tuesday night, Trump said that under Biden the United States had been reduced to “a third-world country.”

The data of accomplishments are clearly on Biden’s side. Even so, Biden can no longer be as confident—as he was after the 2022 midterm elections—that it’s just a question of time before voters appreciate his policies. The day after the midterm elections, Biden projected confidence in the country’s direction, responding “nothing” when asked what he will do differently in the next two years.

That tactic didn’t work. It remains to be seen whether the president’s new one will.

[kathryndaily]

Cole Sprouse and Kathryn Newton Are the Screen Duo We've Been Waiting For (via WhoWhatWear)

Full interview under the cut.

When I click into my Zoom meeting with Cole Sprouse and Kathryn Newton, they're already debriefing about the SAG Awards Season Celebration party they attended the night prior with their Hollywood peers, dishing on who left when and how the night ended up. In that moment, I wished I could toss out the questions I'd prepared for them and just be a fly on the wall listening to their banter. If I didn't know any better, I'd assume the two have been working alongside each other for years based on the inside jokes and heartfelt compliments being tossed back and forth. In reality, the forthcoming comedy horror flick Lisa Frankenstein (in theaters February 9) marks the first time the actors are sharing the screen, and it's a duo so good it hopefully won't be the last.

The two have had parallel paths in the industry, something they admit to bonding over on set. Both came up in Hollywood as child actors, Sprouse from age 1 and Newton from age 4. They're each well-versed in the YA genre: Sprouse, of course, is a Disney Channel alum who starred in The Suite Life of Zack and Cody before graduating to a high schooler in the hit CW series Riverdale and featuring in rom-coms Moonshot and Five Feet Apart. For her part, Newton played the lead in Amazon's The Map of Tiny Perfect Things and a teen in Netflix's The Society. Whether because of or despite their career longevity, both have noteworthy side hustles outside of acting—Sprouse's esteemed photography portfolio and Newton's successful golf career. The commonalities run deep, yet in many ways, the two are opposites. Sprouse is cerebral and loquacious, while Newton strikes me as bouncy and lighthearted. Newton is perched in a pink sweat set with bow-adorned Ugg boots, her three poodles tip-tapping lightly in the background. Sprouse wears backless New Balance sneakers that he refers to as "dad mode" and admits to playing the video game Rogue Trader at his desk before our call. Despite these differences, their chemistry as co-workers and friends is palpable both on and off the screen.

This immediately became apparent a few scenes into Lisa Frankenstein, which has all the makings of the next cult horror flick. Set in the '80s, the classic coming-of-age story follows an angsty teen (Newton) and her love interest (Sprouse), who just so happens to be a corpse from the Victorian era. The film was written by Diablo Cody, the mastermind behind iconic camp titles such as Jennifer's Body and Juno, and directed by Zelda Williams (her dad is Robin Williams—maybe you've heard of him?) in her directorial debut. Lisa Frankenstein is 120 minutes of belly-laughing, jaw-dropping ridiculousness—a guaranteed wild ride from start to finish.

When they weren't dressed in '80s prom and Victorian-era attire respectively, I got caught up with Newton and Sprouse fresh off the set of our January cover shoot and on the precipice of a booming post-strike award season. The mid-20s actress and early-30s actor collectively have more TV and movie credits under their belts than some career actors double their age but none of the pretentiousness. They were eager to discuss their longevity in the industry and express gratitude toward the high school–aged roles that got them to where they are now. Whether it's '80s fashion, careers outside of acting, or getting to work with your best friends, it's impossible not to get excited by Sprouse and Newton when they're geeking out about what they love.

—

First of all, I'm so excited about the whole vision of this cover shoot with the retro car, the trunk luggage, and the Bonnie and Clyde references. How do you think the shoot went? 

Kathryn Newton: First of all, Cole is the consummate professional because he's always just down to play. He doesn't say no to anything. [He does] the "yes, and…" thing. So together, like you see in the movie, we really go there. We just had a lot of fun. We leaned into the clothes, the sets, and the creative direction. Cole and I were just fully in Bonnie and Clyde mode, looking over our shoulders and pretending to be in love.

Cole Sprouse: I always geek out when I get to work with photographers [I admire], too, because we just sit and chat about cameras and whatnot. It's easy when you're working with someone like Kathryn, who's also just capable of pulling out the character stuff immediately. I think being an actor on that side of the camera is always a lot of play. It's always a collaboration between the people that are being shot and the photographer—the subjects have to push themselves a little bit if the shots are really going to turn out well. It's easy when you already have a rapport with the person you're being shot with, to just push it a little.

—

Cole, you've also built a photography career for yourself, so being that you're often the one behind the camera on fashion shoots, has that altered your experience of being the subject when it comes to promoting your own projects?

CS: I'm a big believer in every department just doing what they're trained and good at. I find the more that you try to be hands-on if your role is a bit more passive, the worse the shots turn out. If you're in front of the camera, just play and go. If it doesn't work, it doesn't work, and the photographer will know almost immediately. For me, it doesn't really feel weird. It's just the difference between if I want to be in a more passive or a more active role.

KN: I was wondering if being a photographer helps you create a shot. With some of these pictures, if the composition is right, the way you're posing is right, and the angle is better, it makes the image better. I feel like there are no guys who know their angles. You know how to make a shot a photograph. It was cinematic. There's an energy there. You're telling a lot of a story in the pictures with me but also in the solo ones I saw of you, like the one of you running. I love that one.

CS: Look, I don't hold back anything for the photo. It was hot out that day, and they put me in some shorts, which is a rare occasion. It's very rare to see Cole Sprouse in some shorts.

—

See that, people? You're getting an exclusive on Cole Sprouse's knees! Well, I'm excited to dive into Lisa Frankenstein because the movie had me laughing out loud. I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. How did you both get involved with the project to begin with? What were your initial thoughts?

KN: I had a Zoom with our director, Zelda Williams, and I remember being really inspired after getting off the phone with her. She sounded like she was a risk-taker. She was encouraging me because one of my biggest fears of the movie is the fact that my amazing co-star Cole Sprouse doesn't speak. I was like, "What are we supposed to do here? How are we going to make a movie?" Then it was pretty much a no-brainer after reading screenwriter Diablo Cody's script. She can do no wrong, and it was just so exciting and delicious and fun. It was nothing like what I thought the movie was going to be, nor was it anything like what we shot, so I was pleasantly blown away.

—

What would you say surprised you the most?

KN: I would say it was about how big my character became. I thought my character was the quiet one and soon realized you can't be the quiet one since Cole's character doesn't speak. It changed everything. I watched She-Devil and Death Becomes Her to get some inspiration and learn to take up space. But I wouldn't have been able to do it without Cole. It felt like we were all one—Zelda, Cole, and I. We were all on the same page.

—

Cole, you basically have zero lines in the movie save for a few animated grunts. In fact, your character isn't even granted a name. You're only referred to as "Creature" when the credits roll. You've known director Zelda Williams for a while, and with this being her directorial debut, what were some of those early conversations like? 

CS: Those [grunts] weren't even part of the original [script]! Those were [improvised] on the day of. For me personally, I was excited to shut the hell up. I was like, "Damn, I've done a lot, a lot of talking over the last five, six years. What would happen if I didn't do any of that?" The script presented the challenge of needing a really strong female lead and a strong female lead that had a solid sense of humor. Kathryn came up because I had known Kathryn for a couple of years. Zelda and I put our heads together and were like, "Alright, are we going to beg? What are we going to do here to try and secure the Kathryn bag?" When she got on board, we knew that this was really going to work. Diablo's writing is like bubble gum. It's really big, but it requires delivery that is authentic and genuine in order to work, so you need someone that has a sense of timing and a sense of humor. Kathryn immediately brought the life that we needed with it.

—

Had you been a fan of Diablo Cody's work for a while?

KN: Jennifer's Body was the first horror film I ever saw. It blew my mind. It's still one of my favorite horror films. I've seen it a million times, and the soundtrack is on my phone. I was really nervous to meet Diablo because she's the mastermind behind it, and I didn't want to let her down. But she really handed it off and gave us the freedom. Even though Cole doesn't speak, the way he had created this character, no one could have done it the way he did with such care and grace. It's a really big honor to be a part of her Diablo universe.

—

Was there anything that you both had to do specifically to prepare for your respective roles? For you, Cole, it seems to be a lot of body language. For you, Kathryn, it feels a lot more about hitting the right tone with the lines and bringing that lightheartedness into it.

CS: I worked with a movement coach for three months. He was a mime, which I thought was a fun way to play with [my character's] voicelessness. He is a great dude. He drives a car that has a license plate that just says speechless, which I thought was really hilarious. We built on a lot of Buster Keaton, the old silent-movie stars. The groaning came later when we were on set. That felt like a character that was really desperately trying to speak.

So the grunting was something you just improvised?

CS: Yeah, after many years of smoking cigarettes, I can croak. Gravelly voice? I was like, "Alright, cigarettes are gonna make you some money. Silver lining. Let's go."

—

I know that you two had worked with each other prior to Lisa Frankenstein when Cole shot you, Kathryn, for a spread that ended up in Interview magazine in 2020. Was that the first time you two met?

KN: I actually met Zack and Cody ages ago. I was probably 8, and they must have been, I don't know, 12. I was at Bob's Big Boy, and they were in their booth, and I got a picture with them. [As for the shoot,] it was actually just a shoot we did in my house. That's when we made magic. We got couture gowns from Valentino. My amazing hairstylist Renato brought all these wigs. I really think it was a precursor to Lisa Frankenstein because it was a very camp shoot. I had all these ideas about how the character was a woman who kills all her husbands, and she's really wealthy now with all her poodles. The photos are some of my favorite photos ever taken of me. It was just [Cole] and his camera—really low-key.

CS: When Kathryn went, "I have three poodles," I thought, "I can go with this."

KN: He didn't ask for my dogs' availability call. You can't afford them, but they would have done it for free.

CS: Next time I need three poodles, I'll let you know.

—

In general, you're both used to playing these younger characters who are often in high school. What is it about these kinds of roles that draws you in? Do you feel nostalgic for your own high school experience? Do you feel like you get to go back and rewrite the script a bit?

KN: I think that there is an element of rewriting the script to do things you wouldn't have done in your real life. For me, though, the young audience is the most important one because they're going to continue to grow with me, and I want to continue to grow with them. I do projects because I feel like no one else can do them. I just hope that the audience does like [Lisa Frankenstein]. It's a coming-of-age story, but something that we haven't seen in a while. This one, in particular, gave me a lot of nostalgia for the movies I grew up with that are colorful and bright—[the movies where] you lean in and you don't ask too many questions. You just go on a wild ride and are entertained. 

CS:  I think I've just aged. For a while, yeah, for sure. But at 31 and playing a teen? It's just not as believable as it once was. I would be so lucky, though. I would be so lucky to play high school my whole life!

—

I think that's a good point to bring up. Cole, you just wrapped seven seasons of Riverdale, where you were on location in Canada for many months on end and many seasons on end. Do you feel ready to "grow up" as far as your next characters are concerned?

CS: I get this question a lot. To be honest, I don't think about it too much. I think there are really compelling parts all over the age map. The more that you build an idea and aim for it professionally, the less it comes true. The one thing I will say is that I would love to shoot in California. Yeah, that's the manifestation I'm trying to put out. Right down the street at the studio complexes. Come home for lunch to my own house. 

—

Do you hear that, universe? Manifesting it for you, Cole. Well, I'm curious. Age aside, what are the things about the projects you take on that you're like, "Oh my gosh, yes." Is it something in particular or more of a gut feeling? I feel like for you, Kathryn, you've had such a great breadth of projects, from critically acclaimed titles like Three Billboards and Big Little Lies to Marvel movies. Is there anything that stands out in the process of choosing the roles?

KN: The thing that stands out to me is, What am I going to get to bring to this role? Who are the people I'm going to surround myself with? What kind of conversations are we going to have on set to make this story? My process for roles hasn't really changed much. It's always been, What can I do for this movie? The second thing is, Who am I gonna get to hang out with every day?

—

I want to get into the fashion in the movie because I feel like it's so good. Your looks really capture the '80s perfectly, but I also feel like you are so comfortable in this aesthetic. What were some of the references that you brought forth? Do you create a mood board before a project like this?

KN:  [The costume designer Meagan McLaughlin] brought along actual vintage from her own closet, but then to supplement, we went to Hot Topic, obviously. I like a fit-and-flare on camera. I find silhouettes beautiful from old movies like Bringing Up Baby and Breakfast at Tiffany's, so I wanted that kind of silhouette because I thought that was very camp to have me always in a shirt and a skirt cinched at the waist. We see her character progress from wearing big gaucho pants to leaning into her powerful femininity. … When she becomes the most monstrous is when she's in her cutest outfit, in my opinion.

—

Both of you have these amazing creative outlets that you've cultivated outside of your acting. Kathryn, you are an avid golfer working with the LPGA and R&A, and you're competing and crushing it, which is so amazing. Cole, your photography, I would say, seems to be your biggest focus outside of acting. I see that a bit more with you two than with other actors in your peer group. Are these passions as necessary to your creative life as acting is?

KN: In life, you're always told you can only be one thing. I'm a golfer who acts, and sometimes, I'm an actor who golfs. If I'm not working, I go play golf with my dad on the weekend. … I just did a movie in Ireland, and one of the producers was a big golfer, so every other weekend, I got to go to these beautiful places in the country and play these incredible golf courses. I'm trying to create a space in this golf world for more accessibility for young people not to just start playing but to continue to be golfers their whole lives because it's been such a gift [for me]. It's given me a lot of confidence. 

CS: You're talking to actors that were also kid actors, right? I think that comes along with a perspective on acting that is understanding it's a job. It's a financial pursuit alongside a kind of artistic pursuit. For me, the photography thing was one area where I could flex my own creative control in a much more active way alongside an acting career that you can't predict the future of and one where there's not a lot of security. I need to do something outside of this other arena if I'm going to have a healthy relationship to work. I'm a huge proponent of actors having another career alongside acting.

—

To your point, you've both been acting from such a young age. Cole, you've been vocal about the fact that it wasn't always a choice. It was often out of financial necessity. Kathryn, you've likewise been in the industry since you were 4. How does that influence your current approach?

CS: When a lot of people talk about acting, they talk about the beauty and the passion of acting, and they forget that it's also a job. The healthiest relationship is somewhere in the middle, where you can go, "Alright, I ideally want to do one for me and one for the coffers."

KN: We found a lot of common ground, and we had some amazing discussions about it on [the set of] Lisa Frankenstein. I felt like I was so similar in my approach, where we take it seriously, but we don't identify with it. I've been an actress since I was 4. Every experience I had has been like candy. It's just been fun. I went to real school my whole life, so there was this experience of "Is school real, or is the job that I'm on set for real?" Neither one of them felt like reality. I was class president, and I did the commencement speech and everything. I loved school and being a kid who was super uncool and then going to set and shooting 15-hour days and then going back to school and having to take five tests. These are the things that have made me who I am, and I wouldn't change anything.

I can't help but think that this mindset is really unique to folks like you who have been doing this job for so many years. It's essentially the defining experience of your life. Did you ever look back and maybe feel any type of resentment or regret about the way that the industry made you grow up quicker and faster than kids your own age?

CS: Great question. I don't hold resentment. It comes with an incredible amount of privilege, and also, you do kind of know what you're signing up for. I might not have had as much agency over career decisions as a kid, but it made complete and logical sense at the time as to why we were doing the thing that we were doing.

KN: What's funny is I feel like I'm just getting started all the time. Every time I finish a project, I feel like I'm never going to work again. To piggyback on what Cole is saying, the longer you do it, the less you need to do your job. I don't need anything to do my scene. I don't need a coffee. I don't need five minutes to get ready. If you say "action," I'm ready. [Cole is similar to me in that way.] I wonder if it's because we did grow up as child actors. The roles have required more of me as I've matured simply with age and material. Now, the material just asks more of you. I feel like I'm just getting started because now I'm at a new level. 

—

I want to pivot a little to the topic of your relationship to the fashion world. You're both regulars at fashion week—Kathryn, I know you're a Ralph Lauren girl, and Cole, you attended your fair share of spring/summer 2024 shows during Paris Fashion Week as well. Is this a world that you are actively trying to further yourself in?

KN: I'm just constantly inspired. Cole is someone who I think has an amazing personal style. He says something with his looks. I don't think any of it is on accident.

What are some of the brands that you would say you have the best relationships with and that are the ones you keep coming back to in terms of your personal style?

CS: I like brands that are … unabashedly moving in a very particular direction. I think Versace leans into decadence and opulence in a really cool way unashamedly. I think Demna with Balenciaga is doing something really fun by not taking itself too seriously and creating a self-awareness that can be self-deprecating, which is so on-brand for me.

—

I am so excited to see what you both will pull out for the press tours for this movie. What are some of the conversations and themes that are being thrown around? Are either of you working with a stylist for your press outings?

KN: I know Zelda and I are contemplating if we all wear the same suit to the premiere or whether I should dress up as Lisa or if we should both dress up as Lisa and wear the wigs. I have a lot of vintage archival pieces that are from either the Versace 1997 collection or Chanel 1984. I'm in constant flux of whether I should just be myself and wear my own stuff or wear what's new. But I think vintage for this movie is where my heart's at. I think it's time to pull out the big pieces.

CS: I don't normally [work with a stylist], no. That's the first time on a press tour that I'm not working with a stylist. I actually feel way more confident when I'm just going into my own personal closet and throwing on what I wear. 

Wait, I'm honestly shocked by that. I was expecting both of you to say that you work with a stylist—if not in an everyday capacity, then at least for red carpet outings.

CS: The beauty of the relationships that I think Kathryn and I both have to these certain brands now is that we can go, "Hey, I have this thing coming up."

KN: When I was 14 for the Bad Teacher premiere, I used all my money and bought a Valentino dress. I didn't know the rules that you can ask a brand for an outfit, right? So the person I bought the dress from was like, "You need to know [publicist] Katie Goodwin." So then, Katie met me, and she invited me to the Valentino show, where [Creative Director] Pierpaolo [Piccioli] knew the dress. I wore it again to my prom. It paid off so much that I just liked fashion and Valentino. Well, you've seen my looks. Valentino has been a huge part of my fashion story.

—

What a full-circle moment. I love how genuinely that relationship started for you. Clearly, you have such a good eye. Well, as much as I could keep chatting with you two for another several hours, I realize I've kept you way over our allotted time, and you've let me!

CS: You have some really great questions. I feel bad for you because you're gonna have to find a way to condense all of this.

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

For all the talk of the “Twitter Files,” as we’ve detailed, they’ve mostly been, at best, misleading, and frequently actively wrong. One of the big reveals, we were told, was that the Files were going to expose the political machinations of how Twitter banned former President Trump. And, indeed, Bari Weiss’s “Part Five” of the Twitter Files, back in mid-December, purported to reveal the big secret reckoning. But if you haven’t heard much about it since then, it’s because… they were a complete flop when it came to anything of interest. Basically, it was exactly what some of us said the day it happened: a difficult decision with a number of competing factors going into it. One that could have gone either way, but recognizing the gravity of what happened on January 6th, and the genuine concern that Trump would continue to whip his fans into an insurrectionist frenzy, one that you can see a reasonable argument for making.

And while Musk (falsely) insisted that the big reveal was that Trump didn’t actually violate Twitter’s policies, that’s also a misreading of what happened. What we’ve learned is that Trump and other Republican leaders were actually given special treatment over the years, because they tended to violate policies way more often than Democrats. But, knowing that Republicans would flop to the ground and fake injury any time they were faced with even having to take the slightest bit of responsibility for violating policies, all the big social media platforms went above and beyond to better protect the high profile accounts of Republican rule breakers.

And while many people tried to paint the decision to finally ban Trump as some sort of “proof” that the company leadership was a bunch of left-leaning censors, the reality seemed to be quite different. Even Weiss’ big reveal was simply that there was strong and heated internal debate about what to do, with many employees (mostly not directly engaged in content moderation issues) calling for the company to ban him, while executives and trust & safety folks questioning whether or not that would be appropriate.

Right at the end of last year, though, as the House Select Committee investigated January 6th was wrapping up, some of the details of what they discovered about Twitter’s debate was leaked to Rolling Stone, and presents an even more detailed picture of how the company strongly resisted calls to ban Trump.

"In the draft summary, written by the Committee’s 'purple' or social media team, staffers were more pointed about what they saw as the failures of big social media companies.

‘The sheer scale of Republican post-election rage paralyzed decisionmakers at Twitter and Facebook, who feared political reprisals if they took strong action,’ the summary concluded."

The report shows that, again contrary to the public narrative pushed by Musk and friends, Twitter’s leadership wasn’t as deeply engaged in the various political happenings:

"And even days after the insurrection, former Twitter employees told the Committee that executives were still slow to recognize the risk Trump could pose in inciting future violence. After Trump tweeted that he would not attend Joe Biden’s inauguration, Safety Team employees testified that they saw ‘the exact same rhetoric and the exact same language that had led up to January 6th popping underneath’ his tweets, leading to fears of another act of mass violence."

Some of the people who worked on that social media report, separately wrote an article for Tech Policy Press, talking about some of what they saw, which didn’t make it into any public report. They note that their research debunked the widely held notion that the social media companies acted with their bottom line in mind in refusing to limit disinformation, and again found that fear of angering Republicans was a key motivating factor:

"At the outset of the investigation, we believed we might find evidence that large platforms like Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube resisted taking proactive steps to limit the spread of violent and misleading content during the election out of concern for their profit margins. These large platforms ultimately derive revenue from keeping users engaged with their respective services so that they can show those users more advertisements. Analysts have argued that this business model rewards and incentivizes divisive, negative, misleading, and sometimes hateful or violent content. It would make sense, then, that platforms had reason to pull punches out of concern for their bottom line.

While it is possible this is true more generally, our investigation found little direct evidence for this motivation in the context of the 2020 election. Advocates for bold action within these companies – such as Facebook’s ‘break glass’ measures or Twitter’s policies for handling implicit incitement to violence – were more likely to meet resistance for political reasons than explicitly financial ones."

As the report’s researchers found, Twitter was extremely resistant to putting in place policies that might make Republicans mad:

"For example, after President Trump told the Proud Boys to ‘stand back and stand by’ during the first presidential debate in 2020, implicit and explicit calls for violence spread across Twitter. Former members of Twitter’s Trust and Safety team told the Select Committee that a draft policy to address such coded language was blocked by then-Vice President for Trust & Safety Del Harvey because she believed some of the more implicit phrases, like ‘locked and loaded,’ could refer to self-defense. The phrase was much discussed in internal policy debates, but it was not chosen out of thin air – it was frequently invoked following the shooting by Kyle Rittenhouse in Kenosha the previous summer. But the fact it appeared in only a small fraction of the hundreds of tweets used to inform the policy led staff to the conclusion that Harvey’s decision was meant to avoid a controversial crackdown on violent speech among right-wing users. Ironically, elements of this policy were later used to guide the removal of a crescendo of violent tweets during the January 6th attack when the Trust & Safety team was forced to act without leadership from their manager, whose directive to them was, according to one witness, to ‘stop the insurrection.’"

The authors noted, explicitly, that people reading the Twitter Files to say that Twitter was controlled by a bunch of coastal liberals trying to silence conservatives have it quite backwards:

"One clear conclusion from our investigation is that proponents of the recently released ‘Twitter Files,’ who claim that platform suspensions of the former President are evidence of anti-conservative bias, have it completely backward. Platforms did not hold Trump to a higher standard by removing his account after January 6th. Rather, for years they wrote rules to avoid holding him and his supporters accountable; it took an attempted coup d’état for them to change course. Evidence and testimony provided by members of Twitter’s Trust & Safety team make clear that those arguing Trump was held to an unfair double standard are willfully neglecting or overlooking the significance of January 6th in the context of his ban from major platforms. In the words of one Twitter employee who came forward to the Committee, if Trump had been ‘any other user on Twitter, he would have been permanently suspended a very long time ago.’"

None of this should be a surprise to anyone who has been reading Techdirt throughout all of this. For years, we’ve pointed out that the whining from “conservatives” that social media was biased against them was nothing more than an attempt to “work the refs” and basically lean on the decision makers to make sure the opposite was true. It was designed to make sure that the trust & safety teams at these companies were so frightened about the potential for politicians and the media to make a big deal out of any decision that it effectively gave them free rein to ignore the rules and push the boundaries, and the companies (beyond just Twitter) were too scared of the potential reaction to react.

This is especially ironic, given all the nonsense we’re hearing now about how the FBI was supposedly “censoring” people via Twitter. The truth is that it was actually Republican politicians, media, and influencers who scared Twitter away from taking actions against rule violators who were deemed to be prominent conservatives.

[blowflyfag]

WORLD WRESTLING FEDERATION MAGAZINE :  JANUARY 1996

THE WRITER, THE OWNER, THE COWBOY, AND THE HITMAN

Athlete, Actor, Entrepreneur & Columnist, Hart Has It All Goin’ On

By Keith Elliot Greenberg

The beard itched and made Bret Hart uncomfortable in front of his fans. “I don’t know about this,” he said about the stubble on his face as a doctor checked his blood pressure in the dressing room prior to a match with Isaac Yankem D.D.S. at New York Madison Square Garden. “You sure you want to run a picture of me with the beard? I mean, people might get the wrong idea.” Bret’s main concern was that his followers would think he was trying to change his image. In reality, he was simply slated to play a bearded character in the television western Lonesome Dove. “I want to make someone clear,” he stressed. “I’m not going for a new look–I’m the same guy. Plus, my 7-year-old daughter won't kiss me as long as I have this beard. So as soon as I’m finished with Lonesome Dove, it’s coming off. I just want to be me again.”

[Bret the Writer : Bret, the artist and writer, has a weekly column that is published in his hometown paper the Calgary Sun]

That’s a difficult challenge for Hart. As one of the Federation’s most sought-after personalities, he must divide–and then subdivide–his time. THe morning of our Madison Square Garden conversation, he attended a benefit for disabled youngsters. The night before, he wrestled in Boston. His schedule for the next few days was dizzying: A morning autograph session in Washington, D.C., followed by an afternoon match in Providence, Rhode Island, On Saturday–the same day his weekly column was published in his hometown paper, the Calgary Sun, accompanied by a Hart-illustrated cartoon. Then there was Lonesome Dove on Tuesday. On Monday, Thanksgiving in his native Canada, Bret combined business with pleasure. He and his family were going to watch the Calgary Hitmen, the junior hockey team he co owns.

[Bret the Owner : Bret has been playing hockey since he could barely walk. Today he skates with pride as part owner of the Calgary Hitmen.]

Two days after our conversation in New York, Bret and I hooked up again in Calgary at the Hitman’s office. Trying to make the most of his time in his hometown, Bret brought along his sons Dallas, 11, and Blade, 5. I talked to Bret about watching wrestling as a kid with my father and grandfather and noted how a night at the matches drew the family together. The Hit Man thought about my statement and seemed a little sad. While other families were growing close, cheering him on night after night, he was often far away from his own children. 

As we chatted, a family walked into the office to purchase tickets for the day’s hockey game. As they evaluated the location of their seats, they spotted the two-time Federation Champion standing in the lobby with his sons. Each member of the family jumped back in disbelief. Bret responded with a smile and handshakes for everyone. 

Two other sports celebrities, hockey players Theoren Fleury of the Calgary Flames and Joe Salic of the Colorado Avalanche, are shareholders in the team, but the Hitman takes its name—and much of its inspiration—from the World Wrestling Federation superstar. 

“When Bret shows up at a press conference, we get double the media,” said Assistant General Manager Rusty James. “He adds an emotional element to the games. When he went on TV before we played the Red Deer Rebels and promised to run them out of town, it fired up the whole city of Calgary.” Incidentally, the Hitmen won that game 7-1.

The Hitmen are in their inaugural season in the Western Hockey League (WHL). Most of the players on this level are between 16 and 20 years old, and all have put everything else on hold for a chance to be recruited into the National Hockey League (NHL). The pressure is enormous, and the pace is hard; but in last year’s NHL draft, 55 WHL players were chosen. 

Like most Canadians, Bret has been playing hockey since he could walk. His father, legendary Calgary promoter and wrestler Stu Hart, owned a resort in Clearwater Beach, Alberta, and when the lake would freeze up, all 12 Hart children—boys and girls—would choose up sides and go at it on the ice. “If someone had told me at the time that one day I’d own a hockey team named after me, it would have seemed quite unbelievable,” the Hit Man says. 

Two years ago, Hart was chosen to drop the puck before a game between two Saskatchewan teams, the Regina Pats and the Saskatoon Blades, with the proceeds going to lupus research. “There was something about that experience I can’t explain,” Bret says. “I guess something from my childhood came out. You know, I grew up watching the WHL because we didn’t have an NHL team in Calgary, I wanted to get involved.” 

At the Corral—an arena on the Calgary Stampede fairgrounds where he once broke a record for selling wrestling programs (1,000 in one night)—Bret met up with his wife, Julie, daughters Jade, 12, and Alexandra—better known as “Beans”—7, and a niece, Annie, 10. Players were jogging around the circular building, while hockey stickers were being prepared and blades sharpened.

On the way into the Corral, Bret was stopped by a radio reporter from Regina, birthplace of Julie Hart and home of the Hitmen’s opponents, the Pats. Bret answered every question, even though his mind was on other matters. Afterward, he asked the reporter if the interview was up to par and whether they should do it again.

“Don’t worry about it,” the journalist answered, surprised by Bret’s perfectionism. “You were great.” 

Now it was time to have some fun. Hart suited up in the locker room and clowned around with such Calgary players as Mike Piersol, the 20-year-old left defenseman from Arlington Heights, Illinois–the only American on the team; Ukrainian right wing Boris Protsenko, 17; and Rod Branch, the 20-year-old goalie from Fort St. John, British Columbia. When he passed the locker of “Sugar Ray'' Schultz, 20, the Edmonton-bred right defenseman who’d later get into a scuffle on the ice, Bret joked, “He could probably teach me how to throw cheap shots.”

Some 3,800 fans turned out for the game–an incredible crowd for the WHL on a holiday afternoon–but the Pats would come out on top. Nonetheless, the Hitmen waged the same type of noble battle Bret was known for during his early days in the ring. 

Schultz actually drew a parallel between the team and the man called the “Excellence of Execution”: “We’re not a big, bruising team. We’re a finesse skating team. We care more about skill than acting like meatheads.”

[Bret the Cowboy : Luther Root, alias Bret Hart, seems to be making Curtis Wells another home as he rides high in the saddle on “Lonesome Dove.”]

This is the same ethic Bret brings to his acting career. “All athletes talk about going into movies and television,” he said later as we sat in his trailer in the foothills of the Canadian Rockies, waiting for the director to call him for his scene in Lonesome Dove. “But how many are really good at it? I just didn’t want to do this for the money. I wanted to give my heart to it.” 

Last year, Lonesome Dove watchers met Bret’s character Luther Root, a mountain man in the town of Curtis Wells in Montana Territory 115 years ago. This year, Luther returns for several episodes. The discovery of copper has changed the town forever. Workers and desperadoes have flooded into Curtis Wells. The roughshod Luther Root no longer lives in the wilderness. Now he has a job riding shotgun on the stagecoach and regularly interacts with onetime bounty hunter Newt Call (played by Scott Bairstow), former Confederate Colonel Clay Mosby (Eric McCormack) and the passionate Amanda Carpenter (Tracy Scoggins). According to Lonesome Dove’s promotional material, Luther is “as quick with a joke as he is with a gun–a good man to have on your side.”

“I find my character easier to play each time,” Bret said. “Last year, he was a snarly, unfriendly trapper, but now he’s learning to have fun.” 

The show has particular significance for Bret, since part of his father’s family lived the life of the characters as pioneers in Dakota Territory. In the cowboy city of Calgary–where the yearly Stampede draws spectators from all over the world to rodeo events–young Bret read western fiction and history fantasized about meeting such legendary figures as Davey Crockett and Jesse James. 

While the Hit Man relaxed in the “circus,” a collection of trailers and motorhomes serving as the cast and crew’s headquarters, I took a tour of Curtis Wells with photographer Chris Large and assistant Matt Paler. This is one of the most extensive western towns in Tv history, with about 70 houses and buildings  stocked with a million dollars’ worth of antiques from the Old West: 25 cast iron stoves, 100 oil lamps, enough tables and chairs to seat 150 people in the saloon, 20 beds, a functioning blacksmith shop and a newspaper with a working press.  None of the buildings are heated. As it gets cold in this part of Canada in the fall, some actors have had to suck on ice cubes before scenes so their breath wasn’t visible on camera. 

Bret fit right in. He has an iron-clad memory and rarely forgets a line. Plus, his years with the Federation have made him comfortable in front of the lens. “For someone without acting experience, he’s done a great job,” Palmer said. “He’s not just an athlete getting a role because of his name. He definitely has some natural talent there.” 

Bret found out about Lonesome Dove through his friend Mitch Ackerman, a vice president at Disney. When Ackerman discovered the show was being filmed near Calgary, he put him in touch with producer Steven North. “I went for one interview,” Bret remembered. “I thought they’d say, ‘See you later,’ but three days later they called to say, ‘We wrote in a part for you.’”

On the day I visited the set, Luther Rott was engaged in a tense exchange with Sheriff Austin Peale (Paul Johansson). Although Luther is a man of few words, every sentence from Bret’s mouth had its desired effect. It was easy to understand how–after just two appearances on the show last year–Bret’s name was submitted for a Gemini Award–or Canadian Emmy–for Best Actor in a Guest Role in a Dramatic Series. 

[Bret the Hitman : Writer, owner, actor, wrestler–Bret may be the best there is, the best there was and the best there ever will be.]

“It’s great to get this kind of recognition,” he said. “It’s also tough being busy with so many different things at once, but I believe in doing the most you can while you have the opportunity. When this all ends, I want to be remembered as a guy who made as many inroads as possible.”

[deiongill]

Today I am 8 days into quitting vaping after 4 years. To be honest, it was a lot easier than I expected. I’ve done my fair share of googles on what quitting vaping and nicotine all together is like, so I assumed that I would be in a constant state of panic for 2 weeks straight with some of the worst symptoms known to man. Was I being dramatic to think that? Yes. Was I crazy to think that and also be so down to white knuckle it and quit semi-cold turkey? Maybe. Now I’ve had a few days in the past week where the motion sickness, irritability and constant background headaches were a lot to handle, but I honestly made it through pretty smoothly.

It was a very simple and quiet decision that I made to quit entirely, and it was in 3 steps that I made it happen and got to the point where I’m typing this without the urge to pick it back up again after only 8 days. The first step was no longer buying new vapes, so I could only hit the near-empty ones I had lying around the house. Not a very glamorous thing to say out loud seeing that I had about 15 of them hiding in random places in my apartment and car, but nonetheless it helped to get the process started. The faded and worn out flavor, plus the disappointing lack of “smoke” exhaled from each hit felt like it was training my brain to no longer rely on vaping to give me the same sense of satisfaction that I once received from it. The experience was now a lackluster excuse for a bad habit. Did I continue to do it? Absolutely. I reluctantly used up all 15 of the near empty vapes in about 2 weeks, and by the end of it I was almost glad to be done with them.

Step 2 was a huge jump, but somehow it felt easy. Here’s what happened leading up to it in reality… I cheated the process, but not without good reason. I finished my last used vape on the way to the airport to fly out to Atlanta to see my family for 2 days during Christmas. When I landed and got picked up, I had already decided in my mind that I was going to buy one last vape for this trip, because I couldn’t bear to let the withdrawals kick in while I was with my family. That was just something I didn’t see going well. So I purchased myself a cheat day vape and went about my holiday before throwing it out as I left for the airport to head back to LA. Step 2 was now in effect. This was the rule of no longer having any vapes to myself, and only being able to take 1 hit of my best friend and roommate Crispin’s vape per day. Luckily I was in the studio for the majority of my time during this phase, so I would either come home around 9pm and hit it once after a full day, or, if I wasn’t in the studio, wait until about 3pm after I had already worked out or hiked before allowing myself to knock on his bedroom door and be met with his answer before I even asked the question.

Step 2 lasted for about a week and some change, and on January 5th, something miraculous happened in perfect timing. I was in an all-day session until 10-11 pm that night and returned home to take a nap before needing to drive Crispin to the airport early in the morning. He was already asleep and I didn’t want to wake him up with my nicotine junkie tendencies, so I refrained from knocking on his door. Somehow, without even noticing it, the clock had struck midnight and I had officially made it a full 24 hours without vaping at all. Not even a single hit. It didn’t occur to me until I was getting back up out of bed to leave for the airport, but when it did I was surprised and proud. I decided that there was no turning back from it, and I would go without my Elliot Smith-esque last hit moment. There was no fond farewell to a friend. I had officially quit vaping for good. It was time for step 3.

This past week has been strange when it comes to the specific experience of completely quitting. I remember moments of nausea, headaches, lack of focus, and compulsive eating, but never once did I feel the urge to make all the discomfort disappear by taking the easy way out. I stood on the word that I gave to myself and refused to budge. I gained a lot of respect for myself this week, respect that was earned by choosing my future over my present. I showed myself tough love, real care and kept a promise. I don’t know what version of me is going to be able to see that promise come full circle and be able to say “I’m so thankful I made that decision”, but I’m looking forward to being that version of myself, no matter how far away that is. I proved that I’m worth being looked out for, taken care of, and respected, even if only by myself. I showed myself that I matter by doing this, and I set an example for all the other parts of me that I want to work on and improve. If I can do this, what else can I do?