#The Wrong Earth: Night and Day 4 Review | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kashimos-hajime · 4 years

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dear... whoever | b.b.

summary: a mandated series of long and short diary entries from the new head of R&D for Stark Industries.

WARNINGS: swearing, LOTS of fluff, mentions of drinking and sex and hospitals and guns, general fun and witty attitude, small angst, big jealousy, obviously au after civil war. everything after does not exist. pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader word count: 9.5k

a/n: written for @softbiker and 100% inspired by @sunmoonandbucky with the format. my prompt was let me love you by rita ora and i wrote it from the perspective the singer is singing it to rather than the actual singer. this was super fun to write. enjoy!

July 31/20

Dear…

Whoever is going to read this. So… me, in the future probably. So, it should be dear WHOMever, I think, but it sounds wrong.

Is it too cliché to say dear diary? I don’t know. After all, I don’t WANT to be writing this but unfortunately I am because it’s mandated. Apparently, the psychiatrist that works for Stark Industries thinks it’s necessary that I write down my feelings and show that I’ve adjusted to working part-time superhero, full-time head of Tony’s stupid R&D department.

Something about how that much stress can cause psychotic fractures in the worst case scenario.

Cute.

Anyway, I don’t know what to write. Currently, it’s 4:23AM. The only reason I’m awake is because I have trouble sleeping on the best night. I heard Barnes messing about and because I am the Hermit of the Rec Room Couch (catchy, I know), I can hear him just walking about.

What the hell is he even doing?

To be honest, I’ve never talked to Barnes besides the occasional greetings because he’s the sort to keep to himself, I guess, and, valid. I’m not saying it’s not, considering his history, but you know.

I think I’m a friendly person, and I’m bored. He’s eventually going to hear me writing noisily because of super-soldier hearing or whatever, so I might just get up and introduce myself.

Not that I’ve been working here for years, but whatever.

I’m really bored and hungry, honestly, so a trip to the kitchen would be considered normal (and warranted) in such circumstances.

Fuck it.

Time to make a new friend or die trying. If you never hear from me again, you’ll know why.

Aug. 1/20

Dear Jane,

I finally got the time to write in here and you may be wondering why I have named you. Well, after the conversation at roughly 4:30 AM, here are things that’ve changed in a disorganized list. None is more important than the other. I'm just writing what comes to my head.

One: Barnes said he doesn’t really let anyone call him James. I called him James once because I forgot. Profuse apologies followed. He said it was okay and didn’t mind me calling him that. Now, in my mind, I think he’s just saying this to be polite and really just wants me to call him Bucky but he seemed sincere. We’ll see how it goes.

Two: Barnes was awake because his cat woke him up. I didn’t even know he had a cat but it’s a gorgeous white cat named Alpine that Barnes carries around in his half-zipped up hoodies sometimes. It’s adorable. He’s super soft and friendly and I love him already. He showed me all the tricks Alpine could do. Amazing.

Three: Barnes’ favourite movie is the Godfather. Totally surprising there. Please tell me you understand sarcasm.

Four: He said he liked the name Jane when I told him what I was doing up and also in the rec room (couldn’t sleep, writing in my diary) and that I didn’t want to say “Dear diary”

“Why don’t you just give it a name?” he eloquently suggested and Jane was his answer to my question of “Which name?”

Five: Barnes, or James, I guess he is now, is my friend.

Six: We said we’d meet up at 4:30AM or earlier again because I told him I wanted to show him my s’mores dip recipe.

Seven: Wish me luck. Hope I don’t get murdered.

Eight: I think I might be in love with him.

Bye.

Aug. 5/20

Dear Jane,

In an effort to summarize what has happened in the past four days, I will open with the fact that James Buchana Barnes is the cutest motherfucker on the planet. He’s super old fashioned, but that’s a given. He opens the doors for me, offers to take my bags up, and in the past four days, we’ve met up at around midnight to just eat and chat. Then he walks me back to my room with a glass of water and I’m left fanning myself because it’s so sweet and he’s so sweet and OH, MY GOD, I am a child.

This feels like a crush. Like, butterflies in my stomach, self-conscious every time he looks at me, can’t stop staring, and wanting to impress him at every turn sort of crush.

AKA, a middle-school crush and I feel completely ridiculous but that is besides the point because he’s just the loveliest person.

Someone should tell him chivalry is dead. Steve thinks he’s just being sweet on me, and Sam says I should flash some ass just to get a rise out of him which would be funny. He’d look absolutely adorable blushing his head off.

We’ll see. I am considering it.

What else happened? I’m drawing a huge blank.

As explained in a previous entry, I was to show Barnes my s’mores dip recipe. Huge success. Crowd loved it. That’s how I learned he has a huge sweet tooth like me. Got an email from Pep about a board meeting which I ignored. If it’s really important, she’ll see me in person. Went swimming with Sam. We started planning Tony’s big Christmas party even though that’s MONTHS away.

But, you know. We’re so busy all the time, it might be worth it planning ahead.

As head of R&D, it’s vital to me that this goes well because they’re fun when they do go well, and a chaotic disaster when they don’t. Also, I have to find a date but details will follow.

I think that’s it.

If there’s more to follow, then I’ll just come back but there really isn’t.

Oh, Alpine found my room. He’s in here right now and he snores. It’s cute, just like his owner.

Okay, goodnight.

Aug. 7/20

Dear Jane,

Sam, James, and I went swimming.

Pro of the day: James is ripped and that man was GLISTENING.

Con of the day: I AM STUPID in front of hot ripped men.

Pro of the day: We got ice cream together. Strawberry for me, mango for James because he wants to try new flavours, and Sam ordered some monstrosity with vanilla ice cream, chocolate and raspberry syrups, and a bunch of banana slices. A swirl of whipped cream to finish it off. It looked like diabetes in a cup and that’s coming from me.

Con of the day: James used his thumb to wipe the ice cream off my lip and my brain short-circuited. Sam teased us about it, but James very stubbornly and convincingly said we’re just friends.

Con of the day x2: We are just friends and that is NOT going to change. I cannot explain how much my heart literally fell out of my body in disappointment.

God, and James and I are meeting up at 2AM tonight so he can show me this new stupid stuffed celerey recipe he learned.

It’s not stupid.

It’s really, REALLY cute he researched it.

This sucks.

Aug. 11/20

The worst day ever. I don’t want to talk about it but might as well make a note on it. More on it later, I guess.

Aug. 15/20

Dear Jane,

Sorry, I’m dramatic. Must get it from working with Tony for so many years.

Let’s just review what occurred on August 11, 2020, at approximately 3:23 in the afternoon.

I learned that James went out on a date. A DATE. From SAM. When James had ample opportunity to tell me at our regular meeting at witching hour over celery sticks.

EXCUSE ME? WHO IS THIS WOMAN?

I’m not even mad. I’m just angry that the man I became friends with only 2 weeks ago and caught feelings immediately for is seeing other people.

I sound like a raging bitch. I promise you, Jane, that I am not. I’m just the insanely jealous type.

No, I’m not.

God, what is happening to me and why does it have to be James.

I never get crushes and the instant I do, it’s for the most emotionally and physically unavailable person ON EARTH.

Also, work was work. I was distracted, drank soup from the canteen, and generally accomplished nothing. Alpine came for some snuggles while James was out. That’s the only good thing.

Thanks, universe.

Aug. 16/20

Dear Jane,

So, I brought up this mystery lady over homemade sundaes.

James seems pretty serious about her because he a) apologized for not telling because he wanted to keep it private and asked me not to tell anyone and b) has a second date with her later today.

Oh, GOD. There is no point to this.

Aug. 19/20

Dear Jane,

What’s the point of asking someone intimate, personal questions if not because you guys are best friends?

James called me his best friend today. He says he knows me, but if he did, he’d know I feel like throwing up whenever he’s around and that his stare burns through every layer of clothing until I feel like he just knows my secret.

I told him we’ve known each other less than a month, but he said something stupidly charming about “intuition” and feeling and that this feels right and how he knows he can tell me anything and that I was an easy person to talk to.

I should’ve been a shrink.

At least, my trip to Wakanda is going to give me distance. A solid two months of no one else but me, tech, and new faces. Going there to collaborate with Shuri is definitely exciting and taking up more space in my brain than James these days.

Maybe I’ll fall in love with some soldier over there because apparently, I’m catching feelings willy-nilly these days.

See you on the plane, Jane.

Aug. 23/20

Dear Jane,

On the quinjet, it’s fairly quiet. It’s one of the things I love about it. The silent yet soft engines that can lull me to sleep. We should be arriving in a few hours so I thought I’d write. I’m getting the hang of this, I think.

There's a press conference later, too, in the trip with the UN and it’s not that I can’t handle it, but that I could’ve done this in my sleep and wished Tony sent someone else. I hate the press, not gonna lie.

Anyway, this gives me time to be introspective.

Is it just me or James always Okay, is it just my imagination that whenever I try to get close to James, he just kinda pulls away? Not in a romantic way. I’m not stealing anyone’s man because girl code, but he won’t even let me just stand near him anymore. It’s like I have an infectious disease only transmitted through physical contact and it’s just weird.

I don’t know.

Before I left, he said he’d miss me and that we should keep in touch through calls (Obviously, I would) and that he hopes I won’t forget him.

So, you say those things but you won’t even let me even hug you?

You’re a manipulative asshole, Barnes.

Oct. 20/20

Dear Jane,

I am so sorry that it has taken so long for us to reunite.

In hindsight, I’m a fucking idiot.

I left you on the quinjet which went back to New York and a different quinjet came to pick me up. I came back like two days ago so these past few days have been spent searching for you.

James offered to help, and he seems normal again.

Weird. Guess he was just in a mood with the new girlfriend and adjusting to having me as a friend, too. Guys go through that, I guess.

In Wakanda, I did not, in fact, fall in love with a soldier or anything. I curse every day that I didn’t, trust me. I’m just as disappointed as you are because I just want to get over this stupid crush. For the two months I was gone, it was like I didn’t like James at all like that. Even during calls, I could pretend we were just two teammates keeping each other in the loop. He talked about his girlfriend, I listened, I explained science because he’s a nerd, and he asked questions like he was interested.

It was FINE.

Then, he was waiting for me when I came back to NYC and it slammed into me like Bruce in Hulk-mode.

James asked if I wanted to meet his girlfriend because she’d be coming around for the Halloween party anyway, and he thinks we’ll get along swimmingly.

He really said swimmingly. He is stuck in the wrong era, but we all knew that.

I said yes, to be polite.

Here’s to hoping she’s a vindictive bitch and I am justified in hating her entire being.

Oct. 22/20

Dear Jane,

I met her. She’s small and pretty and mature and normal.

If I wasn’t stupidly in my feelings about James, I’d love her, too.

She’d treat him right, give him a good home to come back to.

Best not to notice the people fighting beside you in that way, I guess.

Oct. 25/20

Dear Jane,

God is dead and NO ONE has eyes on the road.

Jesus isn’t even taking the wheel on this one.

It’s a fucking disaster.

I do not want to describe in every little detail the intricacies of dreaming about James Buchanan Barnes fucking my brains out, so I won’t, but this is for the record that it happened and how the fuck am I supposed to come back and see him in his probably gorgeous attempt at his recreation of Brendan Fraser from the Mummy AKA my favourite movie (which HE KNOWS THAT IT IS?? GOD, the audacity.)

Girlfriend (his girlfriend. “Girlfriend” is the name which she shall be henceforth known as in these entries because petty wins are all I have right now) is dressing as Rachel Weisz. Because “couples goals” or whatever.

I wouldn’t know. Sam and I are dressed up as sexy salt and pepper shakers (his idea, not mine) and he made me take the salt stick because I think he knows. Steve’s not dressing up because he’s more focused on handing out candy as Captain America.

Tony is… Tony. Iron Man and all that.

Anyway, I’m out of town in DC for a meeting with the Secretary of State for a few days, but I’ll be back in New York on the 30th so I’ll have a few hours to adjust to being around James again before he dons on that outfit that I know will be totally hot.

He called me his best friend again in his latest email.

Made me smile like an idiot, but I digress.

Nov. 1/20

Dear Jane,

Halloween was killer. Sam and I won best duo for costumes because we’re that good. Ate a lot of candy and it seems to be looking up.

I dunno. I didn’t mind James and Girlfriend on the couch that much in the after-party. Mostly stuck by Nat and Sharon and Tony. An ood trio, but a fun one nonetheless.

It was fun, but I still have to go to work no matter how many jello shots and vodka gummy bears consumed.

Wish me luck, not that I need it.

Why do you think Tony hired me?

Nov. 4/20

Dear Jane.

Natasha said I smile at James in a way that utterly betrays every emotion I want to hide in my chest.

Note to self: Don’t smile at James, or at his jokes, or at anything he ever does again. Avoid him. Put a stopper on this friendship.

Note to note to self: I can’t. He just makes me smile whenever he’s around and he’s always around. There’s no simpler way to put it.

I’m gonna try this hiatus thing, though. Distance myself a bit. We’ll see how it goes.

Nov. 13/20

Dear Jane,

Day nine of this hiatus business and it sucks. I miss my best friend.

We’re scheduled for a mission together, and we’re leaving tomorrow so I was going to have to talk to him during the briefing and the op either way.

Well, glad to know this didn’t work.

Nov. 15/20

Dear Jane,

Guess who just got fucking shot!

ME!

Guess even scumbags can’t take a holiday because some stupid arms dealer got a cheap shot on me while I was downloading their whole computer system and other tech mumbo-jumbo I am too high to write about.

James left a few hours ago with the rest of the team, but not before he got me a bunch of ice chips and said he was worried and that he hopes I get better soon. He even promised to get me some flowers to spruce up the room and to say my HEART went CRAZY is an understatement.

He came to my rescue, essentially, as soon as he heard I got pinned. He carried me to the quinjet the instant he cleared the area and stayed by my side the whole time even though the bleeding stopped and I was in good hands. He was just so protective, barking at doctors and nurses. It was embarrassing but also really, really sweet.

Is it weird of me to say that I want him to stay by my side forever?

I’ve never fallen in love before.

Is it always this fast and this hard? I feel like I’m crashing instead of gently and wonderfully falling. Everything is dumb and awful.

Is this what love is like? Because it hurts worse than getting shot because I think I’m going to vomit flowers or butterflies or something.

God, he’d never love me. We’re just friends and even though we have a lot in common, he’d never. It’s just too much of the past in the present or whatever.

Also, he has a girlfriend but it seems very surface-level. God, that makes me sound like a “one of the boys” type of girl who’s a bitch to one of the boy’s new girlfriends, but I don’t know. James told me they don’t really talk about the deep stuff like we do. But she makes him happy, I think.

In hindsight, one may ask what the deep stuff is.

More on that later. I’m tired.

God, why him?

I HATE THIS.

goodnight.

Nov. 16/20

Dear Jane,

James visited again today. He sat beside me and we talked until the nurses had to kick him out. He also brought the flowers.

I asked about Girlfriend casually. I said I liked her.

He said he did, too.

I don’t know why I think he’s lying. No, I do.

It’s because jealousy is the green-eyed bitch from highschool who still shows up in my life because she thinks she’s relevant to society.

That was mean. Unrequited love makes you mean. Side effect noted.

P.S. The deep stuff includes his past, his arm, his memory, his favourite colour. I dunno why that matters. It just does.

Nov. 17/20

Dear Jane,

Got out of the hospital today because of advanced technology and all that. Nothing’s left but a scar and residual soreness. James helped me to my room and said to call him if I had a problem.

I joked that he has a girlfriend and for some reason, he got really weird about it. It’s hard to describe. I dunno. Nat dropped by for popcorn and movies.

It’s 2:32AM. I’m wondering if he’s in the kitchen but I’m confined to bed rest so I don’t know. Also, Nat is asleep beside me and I don’t want to bother her.

Hopefully I can get up and move in a few days. Life is boring.

Nov. 24/20

Dear Jane,

Sorry we haven’t caught up in a moment. Work’s been hectic and I’ve been working overtime trying to make ends meet. Most days I’m in the office or lab, just trying to get enough things done so I can take time off come Christmas.

James stopped by tonight with Chinese takeout and some sweet buns.

He broke up with his girlfriend, too.

Guess that’s why he was being weird about it.

I tried being as casual as I could asking why, but he didn’t want to talk about it, so I asked why he came by. Couldn’t be for the company because when I’m in work mode, I just don’t talk and he knows that.

He said something about his arm feeling funny so I gave it a quick diagnostics check.

I think both of us knew his arm was feeling fine.

Everything is stupid, life is meaningless, and James’ lips are the prettiest shade of pink in the ugly lights of the lab.

I would very much like to have kissed him, but I didn’t.

Girl code.

It’ll probably be a while before I get another chance to actually have time and energy to write another diary entry. Christmas season’s coming close and Pepper is gonna need help with the party.

Yay, me.

Dec. 4/20

Dear Jane,

Morgan asked me in less eloquent words if I had a boyfriend (it was more like “You boyfriend?” But whatever. Who even taught her that word?) and I swear to GOD Nat could not make it anymore obvious looking at James.

Remind me to absolutely throttle her. I don’t care if she’s the infamous Black Widow. She has clearly never seen me hopped up on nothing but a negative amount of sleep and rage/embarrassment/spite/all of the above.

On another note, Pep asked if I was bringing a plus one for the party. I said I’d think about it. Normally I’d just take Sam but he has his eyes on someone at the VA and I like my friends getting laid so no go there.

Might just go alone. I don’t know.

Pep said I should take James, but I don’t really think she knows the truth about that situation. Luckily, Tony instantly rejected the idea and said he’d find me a date if I couldn’t.

Thank the universe for at least placing me in the close circle of the most well-known and richest man in the world because he also gave me his card and said go wild.

He knows me so well. I’m thinking about Christmas shopping when I have another free day, and I’ll pay for that with my own money, of course, but clothes shopping is a free market.

I cannot wait.

Dec. 12/20

Dear Jane,

I wish I could show you my haul, but I got so much stuff Happy had to drive to help me. Besides obvious gifts, I also managed to snag a gorgeous dress for the party.

Thoughts on black and gold?

I think it’s beautiful. Hopefully Nat and Sharon think so. We’re having a girls night tonight and showing off outfits, so that’s exciting.

James asked if we could meet up tonight.

I told him I had plans and he looked so downcast.

I dunno. Everything feels weird between us. Like we’re fine, we’re best friends still, but something’s changed when no one was looking. He’s single now. I guess that energy is different because I had gotten used to his energy with ex-Girlfriend.

I don’t exactly mind but it’s not ideal either. I miss summer. It’s much less complicated than winter. Winter, one has to worry about wind and chills and snows blocking roads, black ice, dry skin, freezing fingers.

Summer: there’s just a lot of sun, wind, bugs, and the vaguest notion of being bored.

Look, I love winter. It’s my favourite season. It’s quiet and gorgeous and dreamy, even though it gets dreary in New York. The snow falls slowly sometimes, Christmas is gorgeous here, and I’d rather be cold than sweating buckets, and there are no bugs to bother me. Also, it gives me a good reason to stay in the labs or in my room where it’s warm and toasty.

I just miss the relative simplicity when James and I were just strangers on the edge of being friends, which is, in retrospect, a selfish reason to like one season and hate another.

Well, some philosopher somewhere probably said something about humanity being selfish.

Dec. 16/20

Dear Jane,

T-minus nine days until the party.

No date in sight.

Maybe I’ll ask Anderson from HR. We had coffee together a few times and he’s nice. Good catch: smart, not too bad looking, and really nice. I’ll head down tomorrow and ask.

Alpine had purred when I told him my plan and headbutted my hand, so I guess I got the Alpine-Seal-of-Approval.

Dec. 17/20

Dear Jane,

Operation: Ask Anderson from HR to Tony’s Christmas Party failed. Granted, it could’ve been because that was a god awful title and that that name, in itself, prophesied catastrophic failure, but also because I was accosted by my best friend.

I wish I meant Sam.

Nope. James caught me in the elevator and we made small talk. Sounds fine, right? Then we turned the topic to the party. Talked about clothes and prospective celebrity appearances and drinks and food. Just about everything, so might as well turn to talks about dates, which meant I had to explain why I was in the elevator in the first place.

Going down to ask Anderson ended in James revealing that he didn’t have a date either.

He doesn’t know who Anderson is, which I thought would be the case, and he popped the question before the doors opened.

Notice how I said “didn't” have a date.

Guess who’s going to the party with James, clearly stated as friends, platonic soulmates, etc.?

Me.

Yippee.

Dec. 18/20

Dear Jane,

It’s 3:42AM and I’m in the rec room as usual. I was gonna not write here today but it normally helps me sleep to just write a bit, get what little thoughts are in my head out. Yeah.

I hear James in the kitchen talking to Alpine and it’s making me smile like an idiot.

Oh, shit, he knows I’m in here. He’s making milkshakes.

I am morally obligated by best friend duties to join him.

Goodnight, Jane.

Dec. 24/20

Dear Jane,

I’m not sleeping with James Buchanan Barnes tomorrow night.

This is a resolute promise. An early New Year’s resolution.

Dec. 25/20

Dear Jane,

Merry Christmas!

In between jovial festivities, I’ve finally found a little nook that’s quiet enough to write in. We opened presents, had a big family breakfast, went skating and just lounged around, and frankly, I’m exhausted. Need to recharge the old social battery.

Among the assortment of gifts is one that stands out to me. James got me a gift that said “Open When Alone” and I did before I started this entry and it was a fucking necklace. Like, a gorgeous one. It’s gold and thin and it feels wonderful. There’s a little cat paw charm on it and it’s so pretty because he has a matching bracelet for himself and I have still not yet recovered.

It’s just so sweet and it reminds me why I love him.

Yes, love has made me unbelievably sappy. I just heaved the biggest sigh in history.

Unfortunately, I have to go earlier tonight. To the party, as written in previous entries. I remember my oath of one-night celibacy and I intend on keeping it, despite how fucking endearing this gift was, because he said it best: we’re just friends. I’m not about to coerce my best friend into sleeping with me out of a piteous, unrequited love. That’s just gross.

You will either see me hungover tomorrow, or very drunk later tonight. It’s all very depending on how this night turns out.

Dec. 26/20

Dear Jane,

Fuck.

P.S. He REALLY does not mind me calling him James. Take that as dirtily or as clandestinely as you wish.

Dec. 27/20

Dear Jane,

I spent the entire day in bed with very pleasurable company.

I am SO GLAD we haven’t gotten called in because James doesn’t leave unless to go to sleep in his own bed or to eat, and I do NOT want to explain to the team that James fucked my brains out for two days straight because my heart is bursting.

He’s a good kisser. His lips are soft.

Intimate knowledge of that is now burned into my memory for future reference.

God, this is a dream come true. He doesn’t even question it, he just

It’s like I’m a goddess to him. He treats me like one, at least, and it’s like he’ll do anything I ask. And we act like it’s normal, too. Midnight trips to the kitchen included.

Best Christmas ever.

Dec. 28/20

Dear Jane,

I feel like I’m ignoring you but I’m also having the best sex of my life. He’s just… so fucking good and it’s a holiday and holy shit my mind is blown.

Love at first meeting isn’t real.

Well, maybe this one time, it was destiny.

Dec. 29/20

Dear Jane,

It isn’t just the sex, you know? It’s the pillowtalk, too. He just makes me laugh so much and everything is so easy between us and it feels real. Popcorn and chips in bed, some mojitos, just each other’s presence. It’s enough like that, you know?

Some quote about how the one you love should be both your lover and your best friend is in my head but I’m too lazy to look it up. James’ head is in my lap and he’s just reading while I’m writing and everything seems perfect.

He doesn’t ask what I’m writing because he knows it’s private and I trust him.

This is perfect.

I think I really am IN love with him.

Jan. 1/21

You know that cliché/tradition of New Year’s kisses?

WELL THEN.

Best (and worst) New Year’s ever. I’ll explain more later. I’m too tired and too angry and also sore and bruised.

See you when I’m not hungover.

Jan. 5/21

Dear Jane,

I’m finally stable enough to write.

In a crazy turn of events, Barnes and I got into a fight because of what happened after New Year’s Day’s events: I caught him leaving before I woke up and at first, curious questions ensued, and it wasn’t a fight but then it became one and I don’t even know how it happened. I wasn’t even mad. He just started being weird and I got annoyed and we tried and failed to keep our voices down. Luckily, my room is pretty soundproof.

Things just got out of hand and I feel like tearing my hair out. I wanna storm up to him and just yell some more.

Tony came into my room and didn’t say shit about my hickies and the fact that James is avoiding me like the plague. He gave me a really good hug, though and then gave me a few weeks off extra. I don’t know how he knows, but then again, it’s Tony.

He just said love’s tough sometimes.

Yeah, tell me about it.

I’m thinking about just taking a long vacation and disappearing. It seems like a good route to take at this point.

Jan. 6/21

Dear Jane,

James is looking at me right now as I write this. I wonder if I should look back or if he’s going to come up to me. We’ll see.

I’m only writing this so it seems like I’m busy. I’m running out of things to say, honestly. Can he just go? What’s the point in staring like that? What’s the point?

I could ask myself the same question. What’s the point in loving someone who’ll never love you? Yeah, he’s sleeping with me but he pulls away every time I try to do something more. Outside the bubble of my room and the small time frame of post-11PM to around 4:45AM, he acts like he’s allergic to intimacy.

It was never like that with ex-Girlfriend.

Maybe it’s something to do with me.

I don’t know, but he keeps looking and I want to get up and leave, but I won’t. I’m not gonna let him win.

Jan. 6/21

He didn’t. He just went out. Sam and Steve asked if I was okay because as soon as he left, I got up for the bathroom and screamed into a towel.

I don’t think either of them knows what’s going on, but they have a notion.

Jan. 9/21

Dear Jane,

He apologized. Still no explanation as to why, but it feels weird.

I told him I’m going on a vacation to Switzerland. Go skiing or something and asked if he wanted to come.

It was stupid to ask, but he said yes.

Shit.

Jan. 14/21

Dear Jane,

Switzerland is lovely.

No work is relaxing. Awkwardness between me and the other traveller on this vacation. Weather’s supposed to be nice when we get there. Sunny snow days, pretty mountains, other Swiss things.

No other comment.

Jan. 21/21

Dear Jane,

I lasted all of a week.

Yep, I slept with him again, and yes, he was back in his hotel bed come sunrise.

I dunno. I’m over it. We don’t apologize and hope everything gets back to normal because neither of us want to say anything to ruin it any further and we both have a major fear of the complicated. To be fair, he said he didn’t want to sleep with me if I was completely against it.

Also, I tried calling him Bucky at dinner like ex-Girlfriend (and everyone else) does and he made the most disgusted face.

He said, and I quote, “Bucky? When did I stop being James?”

I told him I was trying something out and he said it failed. Snarky bastard.

I guess if he’s still James, that must mean I’m still special.

That’s the Tony-inherited ego talking.

But it does make me exceptionally happy to play with the idea that I’m special to him. Best friend with convoluted benefits. Sounds like the title of a very long-winded self-help book that doesn’t really help much but that does sound like the story of my life so I can’t complain too much.

We’re going home in a few days.

I’ll probably sleep with him again. Bet Steve’s shield that I do.

Jan. 24/21

Dear Jane,

I get three Steve’s shields because I was right every single fucking day.

He’s like a habit I can’t quite kick and don’t really want to.

We snuggled afterwards last night. His arm was around my shoulders, we were naked, I was resting my head on his chest. For a moment, it felt like something couples do and then I fell asleep and woke up alone.

Quantum physics is easier to understand than this but I think we’re being mutually exclusive right now, so it’s almost dating.

I dunno. I don’t mind it anymore. It’s better than nothing.

Feb. 2/21

Dear Jane,

I’m absolutely miserable.

I’m still getting laid, but that’s not related. Correlation and causation or something.

Why is New York so dreary and when can everything just stop?

I don’t know. Winter is ending and now it’s in that awful transition phase between seasons and it’s mucky and rainy and disgusting. Tony got these limited edition ice cream flavours though so I’m gonna ask James if we can make milkshakes out of them or something.

He doesn’t like the muck either. That’s not really relevant, I guess.

Feb. 14/21

Dear Jane,

I got flowers and chocolate from the department because I think they can sense I’ve been in a bad mood since forever. Then, there was an anonymous delivery and inside was this gorgeous chain bracelet that matches the necklace sort of. I lied and told the department it was from Pepper.

What a wretched holiday.

Yours truly.

Feb. 18/21

Dear Jane,

Normally, when boys get their haircut, they look ugly for a day or two after.

Not James.

He got his hair cut shorter and he looks really good. Like unbelievably good. Short hair fits him just as much as long hair does.

No other observations.

Feb. 25/21

Dear Jane,

It was Morgan’s birthday party today. James came in one of those brown jackets with the sheepskin wool inside and he looked so good. We mainly stayed apart to prevent any dalliance because one does not disappear from the Madame Secretary’s birthday party and the team doesn’t really know what’s happening behind the scenes except for Nat and Tony, really.

I really wanted to kiss him in front of our friends. I caught him staring a few times, and every time, the smile seemed to vanish off his face.

I’m lying in bed and it feels pretty empty.

It occurs to me that I’ve been in love for a pretty long time and I’m not even in a relationship with the guy.

Energy could’ve been devoted to so many other things and I’d hate being in love if it weren’t for the fact that it’s James.

Again, love making me sappy and all that.

Feb. 28/21

Dear Jane,

Jane is such a common name. Some would call it plain yet it means gift from God.

I wonder if James knew that.

Mar. 10/21

Dear Jane,

It’s James’ birthday. Birthday sex is a requirement and a desire. I also got him a gift which is a pair of new black Timbs. I hope he likes them. I’m excited for cake, I guess. Morgan did my makeup but I’m gonna have to wipe it off for the small little party tonight.

I think, ordinarily, I’d be in knots because it’s James’ birthday and I love him and he’s my best friend, but I just don’t know. March is fairly boring and contemplative and rainy. Work is work. Helen Cho did a presentation on her Cradle technology. Very cool.

Mar. 20/21

Dear Jane,

It’s raining and doesn’t feel like spring. Alpine vomited on my bed a few days ago because he’s not feeling well. James and I took him to the vet and he’s on antibiotics. Poor boy. He’s sleeping in the corner of my room right now while James is away on a mission. I think I’ll just work from my room for a bit until he’s feeling better.

Nothing much to report, which is why I didn’t write anything. The month passed by too quickly. James should be back by the end of the month. I miss him and not because of the sex. No one else who doesn’t work for me or pays me listens to me ramble on their own free will. Talking to screens just isn’t the same.

April 1/21

James got back really early this morning and I, by tradition, was awake. I sort of wish I wasn’t though. In true April Fool’s tradition, I made fun of him for being a day late to which he genuinely apologized. I told him to shower and get to sleep but he was in that mood where you’re so exhausted you’re wide awake.

James suggested we make really strong cocktails for each other as a celebration for an extraction mission completed successfully.

Who am I to say no to celebrating?

He really likes grapefruit juice so I made a REALLY strong Grapefruit Paloma. He made this really interesting drink that was purple and tasted like oranges and cranberries. A lot of blue curacao was in it so it was pretty bitter but it hit like a fucking truck which is probably why I didn’t understand anything he said at first.

He told me he loved me.

I think, somehow, he managed to get drunk after the Grapefruit Paloma and two more bottles of vodka. Don’t ask me how because Steve NEVER gets drunk. Maybe HYDRA-brand serum is faulty? I don’t know.

I asked if he knew what date it was. He laughed really loudly, said no, realized, stuttered apologies and then said it again.

It was the most perfect sound in the world and it was the best moment in recent history.

Or, the sickest practical joke.

Consensus not yet reached.

April 2/21

Dear Jane,

I asked if he remembered what happened yesterday morning.

He did not.

Sickest practical joke confirmed.

April 9/21

Dear Jane,

I’ve been avoiding writing because I’ve felt a whole lot of nothing. Everything is abysmal and James’ confession is all I can think about. Tony’s on my ass about slipping and he has half the mind to put me on paid leave until I get my shit together, both as the head of the department and as an agent.

Drunk words are sober thoughts, all that garbage.

I wish I could live my whole life drunk and honest. Maybe then I wouldn’t be in this situation where I’m stuck in eternal limbo with my best friend whom I’m in love with. Minus the drunk part.

Duty demands I return to this weathered journal until it’s finished so we’ll see. I might be back this month. Maybe not.

May 1/21

Dear Jane,

It rained a lot in April so now the flowers are blooming early. April showers bring May flowers. Guess it has some merit to it.

Limbo sucks. Its inescapable nature, its terrible facade of everything seeming fine when it really isn’t.

Of course, James still makes me smile, but nothing seems really okay when I let myself stop for a second.

I’m going out with Steve to a charity thing tomorrow. Should be a few hours worth of not thinking and free booze. Oh, and James and I made out in one of the quinjets after dinner today.

Felt weird considering we aren’t a couple, but it happened spontaneously as that is the nature of our relationship, it appears.

The cause also happens to be the cure of melancholy. Weird.

May 6/21

Dear Jane,

For context, it’s 5:23AM.

Went for a walk in Madison Square and then Central Park with James yesterday, although in my head it’s still today. We met up with Nat for some training at the gym. Got a bit mobbed by fans and the paps who asked if we were dating like we’re the tabloid’s biggest scoop.

We weren’t even holding hands, but I guess it’s just another reason why we shouldn’t be TOGETHER together in public.

We had another deep stuff talk again in bed after the usual business. I wanted to ask what this is between us and if he’s pursuing other options, because I’m not and I wanted to know if I should, but I also didn’t want to ruin the vibe.

He was in a good mood today, and seeing as sometimes he has nightmares, I thought it was best I don’t ruin it. He thinks I don’t notice but how do I not notice? He’s my best friend.

I kissed his cheek when he got up to leave and he kissed me goodbye on the lips.

I guess that means something.

May 17/21

Dear Jane,

In a moment of complete boredom, I listened to Imagine Dragons’ new album. It wasn’t too bad, to be honest, but Sharon thought it could’ve been better. Whatever.

May 22/21

Dear Jane,

Ran into ex-Girlfriend today. She still has that whole sunshine thing going on still. We had coffee and she asked if I got together with James yet.

I choked on my coffee and nearly died on the spot.

That’s how I learned that James apparently broke it off softly and ex-Girlfriend had, very wisely and knowingly, said that he should chase the apple of his eye before I (the apple) rotted alone and forgotten at the trunk of the tree. Or, as any sane person would say (and ex-Girlfriend DID say), get picked from the tree by another hand.

She said it was quite obvious that I was in love with James even months ago. She also thanked me for being so nice, anyway, and that it must’ve been difficult. What a fucking SAINT.

I set her up with a date with Steve because they have the same energy, honestly, and that’s going down on the 26th barring any emergencies.

Call me Cupid, but I think I just constructed the perfect match made in heaven.

Mentioned this meeting to James minus the apple detail. He asked if she was doing okay, which she was, and seemed glad for that. Between kisses and his sneaking hand beneath the covers, he also asked if there was anything else. Not really much to say on that front.

June 3/21

Dear Jane,

It’s starting to dry up consistently, now. It’s getting warmer, too. Sam brought me flowers and told me to at least turn the air-con on if I was gonna be stuck in the lab all day. Oh, the simplicities of summer are hopefully returning. Got out early and hung out with Morgan at the park in the evening.

It’s nice to hang out with someone so blissfully unaware with the stupidity of love. All Morgan cares about is grass and buttercups she grabs from the ground. She doesn’t have to worry about how to tell the guy she’s in love with that she loves him.

Oh, didn’t you hear? Nat said I should just buck the fuck up and tell him.

And Nat is scary when not listened to.

Much to brainstorm about.

June 14/21

Dear Jane,

Just here to brainstorm some ideas for future Stark Industries projects and thought I’d preface it with a small diary entry. Nothing really happened. Work’s catching up for some reason and bad guys are acting up. I’ve pulled a few all nighters, not gonna lie.

Really tired, but in a good, productive way. Haven’t thought much on the James front. Gonna have to focus on that after everything calms down.

June 20/21

Dear Jane,

It’s officially summer and yet today was awful with only subtle hints of being okay.

So much for simplicity.

In the evening, I read on the hammock on the balcony. No one really bothered me except James, but he’s never a bother.

Steve and ex-Girlfriend (who will now be reidentified as Girlfriend) are pretty cute, and she meshes well with the group. There’s nothing really awkward between her, James, or me, so I guess two people’s summers are going well. Bully for them.

Didn’t really eat. Was too busy working. James got me dinner. Didn’t feel right and just kept working. This whole agreement between us has been very flexible but we really need to fit in a session soon.

I’ll make it work somehow.

June 22/21

Dear Jane,

I got my wish and didn’t at the same time. We spent the whole day in the sheets (very blissfully relaxing) and I, stupidly and with very little sleep, let it slip.

In less elegant terms, I told him I loved him. It felt very real and genuine and very-out-of-a-movie, but his reaction was less so.

What did I say? Allergic to intimacy.

He tried to play it off as best friends and even that was uncomfortable, but I, very seriously and very foolishly, corrected him that “no, James Buchanan Barnes, I am IN LOVE with you.”

He left a few minutes ago, saying something about heading down to the gym, but I know he’s just trying to avoid me.

God, how am I so stupid?

June 25/21

Dear Jane,

I haven’t seen James in a few days. I thought he was avoiding me but turns out he’s out of the country. Something about protection for whatever dignitary is travelling at the end of the month. I don’t know.

I wasn’t assigned to that op so the details weren’t shared liberally. Sam just said it’d be a while during the ambassador’s entire stay. High threat level which is why the Avengers were contracted.

I just hope he stays safe. I know he probably took off to take his mind off things, but I don’t know how he’s focusing when all I can think of is those three little words.

I love you.

Seems so fake the more I hear it in my head, but his reaction was so real that I think I might’ve just irreversibly messed things up.

July 12/21

Dear Jane,

It’s been a hectic couple of weeks. If future me finds this with blotted words, it’s because I am indeed crying while writing this.

James was medically evac’ed last night and transferred back to New York. Helen Cho was flown in from her medical conference in Minnesota where she was showcasing the newest version of the Cradle.

There was an assasination attempt and James is fucked up bad.

Holy shit, I’m so scared. I’ve never been so scared in my life. It’s like an invisible demon has my heart in his claw-like hands and he’s squeezing with all his might. I think my heart might explode.

I just want to hold his hand but he’s so high risk no one’s allowed to see him right now.

The waiting room is too quiet. Steve’s holding on to Girlfriend’s hand so hard I think her bones are broken but she’s taking it like a champ. Nat’s pacing, slowly patting a sleeping Morgan who she’s carrying. Sam and Tony are talking about stuff.

It’s too quiet.

I’m so scared.

July 13/21

They got him into the Cradle. Thank God. I think I might cry some more out of relief, but he was conscious for a few minutes earlier and he’s stable now.

It’s really late at night but they extended privileges to me to stay with him so I’m just sitting here, writing. Listening to the Cradle do its thing and the monitors do theirs.

When he was conscious, I was with him. He said some stuff under his breath but the one thing I could make out was “I’m an idiot.”

Granted, he’s right. It was supposed to be Steve or Tony on that mission. You know, people with more defense op experience, but he had to go out and volunteer himself.

I feel sort of guilty.

It’s partially my fault, isn’t it?

I think I’ll try to tuck in for tonight. I wanna be awake when he wakes up, too.

July 14/21

Dear Jane,

James woke up today. He’s still in the Cradle (lots of internal damage spread throughout the body) but he’s conscious. He saw me and immediately tried to sit up which was sweet, but when he couldn’t, he just told me to come closer and then told me that he loved me.

I called him an idiot for running away. I told him he really scared me. I told him that I loved him so fucking much. I told him that I feel so guilty and he just held my face and said that it will never be my fault.

He’s so fucking romantic, even when he’s lying down with a wound being stitched closed live in front of my eyes.

Oh, and he kissed me. I don’t think I noticed how much I actually missed him until that moment.

I don’t know how to describe the feeling in my chest. It’s a mixture between super happy and super scared and super, super warm inside. Summer might be looking up.

July 18/21

Dear Jane,

We got home today. James is staying in my room. The team doesn’t say anything about it. We’re best friends, after all, but I think they’ve known for a long time that there’s something more. Some of them are just too polite to say so.

I won’t have much time to write over the next couple of days. James has to be kept on a strict, extremely healthy diet and medicine regime.

I don’t care. I’m just glad he’s home.

He’s kissing me a lot more, now. Alpine likes the fact that his two humans are now in the same room. He purrs so loudly, I can hear him from where he’s dozing, curled up underneath James’ chin. He (James) is resting after his second round of antibiotics for the day while I work from my room, and sometimes I catch myself looking back just to make sure he’s okay.

I’m going to go kiss him now.

Be right back.

July 21/21

Dear Jane,

It’s almost Nat’s birthday (the 26th). Super exciting. James is back on solids and I’m helping him around with walking. Even with the Cradle and the healing factor, he’s still super banged up, so it’s better safe than sorry.

We had a really long talk about love and stuff. It’s good to finally have it out in the open. It was mostly me talking about my side of things and he just nodded a lot. I know he was listening though.

We also kissed a lot, like seventeen year old couples who are heavy on the PDA, but within the privacy of my room. I dunno. I like the heat of his arms and the way he kisses the shell of my ear when he’s bored or it’s a commercial break.

It feels very natural.

I am very much in love with him.

I tell him that and he always looks skeptical, but whatever. He doesn’t have to say it back (I tell him that there’s no pressure) and he’ll get it through his thick skull eventually that he’s now stuck with me.

July 25/21

Dear Jane,

We made cookies in the early AM as tradition for the party tomorrow and I told him that I love him (again, but this time he didn’t run, nor has he the past few times. Fantastic).

While the cookies were baking, he explained everything on his side of the story: how he was scared to be vulnerable, how opening up to me is just different and new and scary and I get it. I really do. I know how it feels to think you don’t deserve good things and sabotage feels like the only way to save everyone from hurt.

He smiled a lot more after that. I guess he’s just glad I get it.

One day, I’ll successfully convince James that he deserves everything good this world has to offer.

Until then, I’ll just keep trying.

P.S. He said, with less hesitation than the first time, that he loves me, too. Best. Day. Ever.

P.P.S. The cookies are so good and I want to devour them all. I could barely stop James from eating all of them. Again: Best. Day. Ever.

July 26/21

Dear Jane,

In summary of today:

Happy birthday, Natasha.

James has been given the clear bill of health which is exciting. Also, I asked him about the Jane and gift of God thing.

He knew. “Intuition” and all that. He also said I looked “like a royal dame” in my swimsuit. Smug idiot just trying to be charming.

I love him and that’s the only reason it works.

Back to the festivities.

July 27/21

Dear Jane,

Good morning to you and to James who’s still in my bed at a ripe 6:23AM, fast asleep.

Progress. Now, back to sleep.

July 27/21

Dear Jane,

It’s now 9:49AM and James greeted me with orange juice and waffles. He said I was cute when I slept. Creep.

He also said he tried so many times to stay in my bed after, before we were like we are now, but he never could, and now he’s upset that he missed out on my cute sleeping/waking up for the day face every time he did so.

He is exceptionally cute when he’s pouting.

I think we’re officially boyfriend-girlfriend, but we’ll work out the semantics on that later. For now, it’s another summer day together. He suggested Chinese takeout for dinner because I have to go dip back into the lab later today to check on some samples.

I agreed and he kissed me in promise like it was our “thing.” I can’t stop smiling like an idiot.

Massive progress.

July 28/21

Dear Jane,

He told me I was the only one for him.

Also, he kissed me in front of our friends for the first time. Natasha yelled “FINALLY” and pushed us into the pool. Sam laughed and then I grabbed him and threw him into the pool. Ensuing: a water fight for the ages.

For a day: 10/10

July 31/21

Hey Jane,

I think I’m happy.

I’m sorry I ever doubted the effects of writing down my feelings.

James has a romantic trip to uptown planned for our first date and he said it’ll take the whole day so I thought I’d get this entry in the morning. I dunno. It’s really early and the happy thought was the first thing that came to my head.

Weird, but it’s a good weird.

See you in a bit.

517 notes · View notes

beneaththetangles · 3 years

Photo

Reader’s Corner: The Girl Without a Face, In the Land of Leadale, and Rascal Does Not Dream

Ascendance of a Bookworm: Part 3, Vol. 4

The newest volume in Miya Kazuki’s Ascendance of a Bookworm series dropped yesterday, and there’s a lot to take in this time around—from printing presses to prancing trees to turbulent politics. As the archduke’s daughter, Rozemyne is finally able to make use the printing press she had made many volumes ago, and with a visit to Illgner on the horizon, the bookworm’s horizons shine brightly. But there are dark clouds looming in the distance. And while I don’t want to spoil any details about the particulars of the book, I will say that I did not expect the stakes to rise so quickly. Still, Kazuki’s talent for illuminating the little things continues to shine. I loved the interactions between Rozemyne and Ferdinand, and I appreciated the trace details about magic; I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of both of those things in Part 4. In any case, expect to rejoice with Rozemyne as her inventions continue to prosper, and to be dragged along with her friends as she ascends to greater heights. ~ sleepminusminus

Ascendance of a Bookworm: Part 3 Vol. 4 is published by J-Novel Club.

In the Land of Leadale, Vol. 2

I felt the first volume of this isekai’d-to-a-world-based-on-a-game story was somewhat underwhelming, but I’m glad I still tried volume two because it was a lot of fun. The highlight of the story is still protagonist Cayna’s family interactions. Back when this world was a game she played on Earth, Cayna had been able to designate certain NPCs as children or other relatives. Mentally and emotionally, Cayna is still an inexperienced seventeen-year-old, but now’s she a centuries-old elf with (so far) real children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren (plus a niece). Her struggles to adapt to this reality are entertaining, as are her progeny’s efforts to keep up with their eccentric, overpowered matriarch. Another highlight of this volume is learning that Cayna isn’t the only isekai’d person in this world—there are others (including one from a world other than Earth!). I found this volume a striking improvement on its predecessor, and happily recommend it. I’m eager to see where this lighthearted adventure goes next. ~ JeskaiAngel

In the Land of Leadale (Vol. 2) is published by Yen Press, who provided a review copy.

The Girl Without a Face

This one-shot manga centers on a guy and his noppera-bou girlfriend, a youkai that looks like a human girl, except, well, without a face. The manga is basically just slice-of-life snippets of their days together. It’s 100% fluff, with no real deeper themes or major drama, just the two of them trying to find ways to show their love for each other when one of them can’t use words or facial expressions to do so. Surprisingly enough, despite how the two live together and spend basically half the book clinging to each other, the manga is completely chaste, with nothing even resembling fanservice or a sexual relationship. It’s just a lot of cuddling, hand-holding, some kisses, and a whole lot of diabetes-inducing sweetness. Look elsewhere if you want something actually serious, but sometimes you just want to indulge in some pure cuteness, and in this regard, this manga is sure to put a smile on your face. ~ stardf29

The Girl Without a Face is available from Yen Press, who provided a review copy.

Rascal Does Not Dream of Bunny Senpai (Rascal Does Not Dream Vol. 1)

Since *ahem* someone got distracted and kind of didn’t finished reading in time to contribute to the recent LNC discussion of this volume, I figured maybe I could belatedly say something here. If I had to summarize this volume, I’d say it’s The X-Files + Bottom-Tier Character Tomozaki: half paranormal mystery and half high school romcom, with a dash of sociology (especially as a related to the dynamics of a Japanese high school classroom). The real highlight of the volume is the banter between the leads, Sakuta and Mai; they have distinct voices and make great foils for each other. As an added bonus, I felt the light novel explained a few points more clearly than the anime adaptation did. The story also has some truly excellent messages, which I’ve highlighted before. Notwithstanding my lamentable failure to finish this volume in time for the Light Novel Club, I quite enjoyed it and intend to continue with the series. ~ JeskaiAngel

Rascal Does Not Dream of Bunny Girl Senpai (Rascal Does Not Dream vol. 1) is published by Yen Press.

Neon Genesis Evangelion: Campus Apocalypse, Vol. 1

One of many alternate universe takes on the Evangelion characters, Neon Genesis Evangelion: Campus Apocalypse opens with Shinji seeing two classmates from NERV Academy (Kaworu Nagisa and Rei Ayanami) chasing after some form of monster in the night. The first volume then follows Shinji as he learns from Kaworu about the creatures known as angels who take on human form by possessing corpses. The angels in this AU are, in effect, vampires. Long story short—Shinji basically joins them to become a vampire hunter with the “Eva” being an internalized weapon that he can summon at will to defend himself against the vampires: Shinji Ikari, Vampire Hunter. I’m sure there’s more depth coming in later chapters, but that’s the vibe I get from volume 1. Honestly, it’s not bad. ~ MDMRN

Neon Genesis Evangelion: Campus Apocalypse, Vol. 1 was published by Dark Horse Comics, but is currently out of print.

My Youth Romantic Comedy is Wrong, As I Expected, Vol. 3 (manga)

What’s most notable as I make my way through the manga adaptation of my favorite light novel and anime series is that the early parts of the story—in all three platforms—march toward a distinctly different direction than where it ultimately ends. The appearance of a typical love story is heavy early on, and is presented particularly well in the manga format. Naomichi Io, the mangaka behind “Comigairu,” finds his strength in adapting and sometimes creating new scenarios that focus on romance and humor. His close-ups of the characters, particularly Yukino and Yui, are stunning—if Hikki’s defenses remain strong against the girls, readers won’t be able to prevent themselves from falling in love. And this particular volume is full of panels highlighting the girls as it focuses on the romcom aspects of the series, rarely falling too far down into Hikki-talk and instead, following him through a quandary that upsets his relationship with Yui and allows him to become more intimate with Yukino. Volume three is a transitionary part of the story, but a lovely one, regardless, both for fans of Oregairu and those who simply love a good romantic comedy.

My Youth Romantic Comedy is Wrong, As I Expected, Vol. 3 is published by Yen Press, which provided a review copy.

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starryeyes2000 · 3 years

Text

An Unexpected Love - Part 5

Part 4 | Part 6

Second story in the Very Long Distance series.

Pairing: Christopher Pike x OC

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Can there be a future for an Earth-based civilian and a Starfleet Captain?

ooooo

“As anticipated, Ms. Delano will be released from quarantine today,” Phil reports as part of his daily briefing with Chris.

“You mean Lilly?”

Phil’s eyes narrow slightly; he hesitates then decides to let it go. “Yes.”

“Any relapses when the ship went to warp eight last night?”

“Not even a tremor.”

“Permanent effects?” Chris asks.

“None. She’ll be more than usually susceptible to minor illnesses like colds for the next three months while her immune system fully rebounds, we’ll augment her immunizations as a precaution before Bob’s team beams down to N’shara for treaty negotiations. But that is nothing to worry about.”

Chris nods, his expression is briefly downcast with a creased brow, a slight tick in the corner of his mouth, and a faraway look. Phil notices but dismisses it as his imagination when Chris’ face quickly morphs to imperturbable Captain. “Anything else?”

“A robust game of Parrises Squares left one of Spock’s new crop of computer scientists with a sprained back. I released him to quarters this morning but he’s off duty for the next three days. Otherwise it was a quiet night in Medical. Oh, Bob and Sarah are calling in that rain check for dinner. But I assume Sarah has already cornered you?”

“No. Not yet. Ah … I … I have … plans.”

Phil harumphs. “Completing crew evaluations and reviewing maintenance schedules are not real plans. You need a little human to human interaction and are dining with me, Bob, and Sarah tonight. Any protests and I will log it as an order from your CMO.”

ooooo

“Alright everyone, that’s a wrap. We’ll touch base again later this week,” Bob ends the meeting. “Lilly, stay behind please.” Once the others file out, he motions to the chair at his side. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. A little tired.”

“Keep it light for the rest of the week. If more time for preparation is needed when we arrive at N’shara, so be it.” He chuckles. “I see by your expression you understand arguing is pointless.”

Lilly dips her head in acquiescence. “Very well. I surrender gracefully. I really am OK.”

“Yes, but with your brother off-planet it falls to me to look after you. I don’t understand why there is no one special and permanent in your life. If not for Sarah, I’d be camping on your doorstep.”

“There are not enough Bobs to go around,” Lilly replies with a fond smile. “Perhaps, if I am fortunate, one will find his way to my doorstep.”

“Ah, that reminds me, Sarah is expecting you for dinner tonight in our quarters. 7:00 pm.”

“That is kind … I … I have … plans.”

Bob shakes his head. “Curling up with a pot of tea and a boring book are not plans. And I won’t take no for an answer.”

ooooo

“For heaven’s sake, what is the matter with you? You are acting like a teenager getting ready for her first date,” Lilly mutters to herself. Every piece of clothing she brought on this trip was tossed on her bed. Nothing looked or felt right. She went through the pile again pronouncing judgement before discarding, “Too dressy, too revealing why did you even bring that, too casual, wrong color under these lights, too clingy, too lawyery, oh good grief …”

After Bob’s insistence, a conversation with Chris revealed they both were invited to dinner with the Aprils. Chris’ solution was simple. “Afterwards we’ll have a nightcap and push our original plans forward one day.” She could picture his slight smile and sideways glance when he added quietly in a husky tone of voice, “When I’m going to make you forget all your other lovers.”

Deciding on dark pants, a soft white cotton shirt with French cuffs, and high-heeled, ankle strap closed toed sandals for a bit of sexiness, she asks out loud before leaving her quarters, “How in the hell am I supposed to not spend the entire evening watching and appreciating his every movement?”

ooooo

“Tell me again, dear, why you invited Mark to dinner as well when your, our, intention is paving the way for Chris and Lilly to get together?” Bob asks for a second time. “You know Mark is attracted to Lilly.”

Sarah walks through from the bedroom area. “Really, at times I despair of you. And question how one of the prides of Starfleet, a highly decorated officer, can be so … so … what is the word I am looking for?”

“Baffled? Befuddled?”

“Simple,” Sarah pronounces.

“Perhaps that is because my gender tends to deal in a straightforward manner rather than subterfuge,” Bob retorts in a tone of mock superiority.

“Un-huh. Which is why you need us to get things done,” Sarah informs him. “Basic rules of attraction my dear. A man’s desire for a woman is stoked when he senses competition. And I will make it up to Mark, I have other plans for him … hmmm, he really does work too hard and a little diversion while we are on board Enterprise wouldn’t be amiss … now that’s an intriguing possibility …”

“Sarah …” Bob starts in a firm tone.

“What? Oh, just thinking out loud.” Sarah says innocently while moving to stand in front of her husband. She straightens his collar. “How do I look?”

He takes his hand in hers and raises it to his lips. “More beautiful than the day I first laid eyes on you.”

Her emerald-colored eyes sparkle with pleasure and she favors Bob with a beaming smile full of affection before reminding, “Make sure Chris sits across from Lilly and Mark sits beside her.”

ooooo

Chris tunes out Bob and Phil’s conversation while he watches Mark subtlety maneuvering Lilly into a corner of the room. Lilly nods as Mark talks; Chris begins to wonder how close she and Bob’s chief of staff are. As if reading his mind, Lilly flashes Chris what she believes is a discrete smile and shakes her head almost imperceptibly. He relaxes a bit, but his annoyance remains, and he thinks, every time I try to get close to Lilly, Mark is there before me, greeting her first when she arrived, fetching her a glass of wine, wrangling a private conversation with her.

And true to the evening’s pattern, Mark is holding her chair out when they sit down to eat and then claims the open space at her side. Swallowing a huff, Chris takes a chair on the opposite side of the table.

“Mark is the youngest chief of staff in the ambassadorial corp,” Sarah remarks. “And one of the best.”

Lilly chuckles, “It’s like herding cats, but Mark manages to keep us on task and mostly on time.” She steals a peek at Chris.

“And Lilly is one of the most promising attorneys assigned to the Federation Council,” Mark brags. “She’ll be general counsel one day.”

Chris flashes Lilly a ghost smile, one so quick and faint she believes it is imagined. “I am one of a couple of hundred,” Lilly reminds all at the table.

Mark raises his glass, turns to Lilly, and says in a collegial tone which belies the seductive hints in his smile, “We are so pleased you are well once again.”

“Here, here,” the others chime in with their glasses raised.

Chris is last to join the chorus. Narrowing his eyes at the man who wants to be competition, even if it is unknowingly, Chris weighs his options and decides, Let it go. There is no need to mark your territory.

As if guessing Chris’ thoughts, Lilly’s cheeks pink and she discretely moves a hand over her mouth hiding her reaction. The others at the table label this as shyness after Mark’s toast. She tilts her head and murmurs, “Thank you.”

Mark fixes Chris with his laser focus and says in a pleasant complimentary voice, “Captain, this is an impressive ship. I understand now why it is one of the prides of the fleet. Running it must consume all your available time and attention and then some.”

Maybe not unknowingly after all, Chris thinks before replying, “I have a lot of help.” Chris returns Mark’s steady gaze. “Enterprise is technologically advanced; my crew is impressive. It is the people who are important. They are the difference.”

“Of course, my apologies,” Mark replies with sincerity.

Sarah abruptly changes the subject. “I’m sure Lilly wants to see the bridge. You should give her a tour Chris. She is most likely unaware you have served on Enterprise longer than anyone else.”

Lilly quickly points out, “That’s not necessary. I’m certain the Captain has other, more important tasks.” She risks flashing him a brief sympathetic smile.

“Yes, he’s been on board since its maiden voyage, starting as my first officer then serving as its Captain,” Bob adds helpfully. “I’ll tell you the story of how I convinced him to accept the post …”

Chris clears his throat and interrupts, “Definitely not. Not tonight. And it would be my pleasure to give Ms. Delano a tour of the bridge. Tomorrow morning? 10:00am?”

Sara shoots her husband a triumphant look.

Lilly replies, “Yes, thank you.”

Mark is quick to interject, “May I join that tour as well?”

“Of course,” Chris agrees graciously.

Bob stares at his wife’s sudden head movements in his and Mark’s direction. “Sarah, darling is there a problem? You are jerking your neck.”

She rolls her eyes heavenward. “No dear, I was working out a bit of stiffness. And I was going to remind you about that call tomorrow with the Federation Council subcommittee. For you and Mark.”

“I don’t remember seeing that on the schedule,” Mark says with a confused expression as he pulls out his miniPADD and scrolls through the messages.

Bob looks equally perplexed.

Phil adds softly in an effort to help, “Bob, perhaps you arranged it yourself and forgot to tell Mark?”

“Perhaps …”

“Should I sit in as well?” Lilly inquires.

“No dear, Bob said it is a budget meeting,” Sarah answers for her husband.

Catching on, Lilly pinches the bridge of her nose and mouths ‘sorry’ to Chris. Before she can protest to Sarah and the others, Chris shakes his head at her.

Phil leans in and has a quiet conversation with Bob who then bellows out, “OH … right … I see. Yes, I remember now. Tomorrow, 9:45 a.m. via subspace link.”

Sarah beams. “Well then, that’s all nicely settled. Chris, I hear Mr. Spock is standing in as temporary XO while Una is on leave.”

“Yes, he is quite earnest and on top of everything,” Phil answers. His gaze is drawn again and again to Mark who is good looking in a subtle classical way.

“Yes, there is little left for me to do,” Chris adds and then realizes he has walked straight into Sarah’s trap.

“Perfect. This run to N’shara is an excellent chance for a little shipboard R&R. It’s just what the doctors ordered,” Sarah replies with a grin.

“And before you protest, your CMO concurs,” Phil adds with a stern expression.

OK, I’ll deal with that later, Chris firmly decides not realizing he has already lost control of the situation.

As the evening ends and the others depart, Sarah puts the pieces together. Chris and Lilly glancing at each other when believing no one is looking, they deliberately avoiding those gestures otherwise. Both communicating silently across the table. Both smiling at the same time as if sharing a private joke or memory. Lilly brushing a hand across Chris’ arm when she walked past, He placing his hand on the small of her back when they left. Sarah gleefully thinks, Sometimes the gods actually are on the ball and get it right. Chris and Lilly already have an intimate rapport. But is it chaste friendship; or … further along? Well, even deities need an assist now and then.

She turns to Phil and her husband. “Boys, stage one is complete. Strategy session tomorrow at breakfast.”

ooooo

Once inside her quarters, Lilly turns to Chris and apologizes. “I’m so sorry. I think Sarah and Bob are trying to fix us up.”

He steps closer and loosens her hair from its ponytail, letting the tresses cascade through his fingers as they fall to her shoulders. “My CMO is on it as well. But as we are already ‘fixed-up’ it doesn’t matter.”

“I never would have slept with you if I were involved with someone,” Lilly’s words came out in a rush.

Chris shushes her with a kiss. “I know.”

“Mark really is a good guy, but I don’t go out with coworkers, and I think he is more attracted to …”

“It doesn’t matter,” Chris assures as he trails kisses down her throat. He sighs and steps back. No, tomorrow.

“Don’t stop,” Lilly encourages as she runs her hands down his chest.

He cups her chin in his hand and tilts her head up gazing into her eyes. “Tomorrow. Now you need rest. After all, it’s only your first day out of quarantine.” He takes her hand in his. “I’ll tuck you in.”

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nhkamira · 3 years

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MY SPRING 2021 ANIME WATCHLIST🌼🌈✨

Spring is officially starting and what a marvelous season we have ahead. Full of great anime continuations and some news that I’m really looking forward to. Since I post practically every review (only Horimiya left) here I present you my Spring 2021 watchlist:

1. Boku no Hero Academia 5th Season (27/03). Can y’all hear me screaming?😭 Finally, our heroes are back and I couldn’t be more excited. Many friends told me this season would be really amazing and I can’t wait! Bones studio is still in charge of the series so we will continue having a great animation. Genres: Action, Comedy, Super Power, School, Shounen.

2. Koi to Yobu ni wa Kimochi Warui (29/03). A strange encounter spurs the meeting of Amakusa Ryou, a high spec businessman, and his high school sister's best friend, Arima Ichika. From there, he falls madly in love and tries to approach her, while she responds simply disgusted, insulting him without hesitation. Can this be a nice shoujo anime? We’ll see. Studio Nomad is doing the work, I haven’t seen their previous work but the trailer animation looks nice. Genres: Comedy, Romance.

3. Jouran: The Princess of Snow and Blood (31/03). An original and first series by Bakken Records. Set in alternate history Japan in 1931 the anime will follow the activities of "Nue," an organization of shogunate executioners who enforce the government. The dissident organization Kuchinawa strives to overthrow the administration, while the Nue of the Tokugawa regime, which was entrusted with its extermination, is in conflict. Sawa Yukimura, whose family was killed when she was young, continues to search for Janome, the executioner of the Nue. I don’t usually enjoy historical anime but hopefully, this would be good. Genres: Action, Historical, Supernatural.

4. Shaman King - 2021 (1/04). Can believe this actually got a remake, which I’m really really excited for. In a brief, Shamans are extraordinary individuals with the ability to communicate with ghosts, spirits, and gods. To life circumstances You befriends Manta due to his ability to see spirits, they set out to accomplish You's goal of becoming the next Shaman King. Studio Bridge is in charge, the ones behind my all-time favorite “Fairy Tail” ^^. Genres: Action, Adventure, Supernatural, Comedy, Shounen.

5. Mashiro no Oto (3/04). Lowkey I’m expecting this to be as good as “Kono Oto Tomare. Shin-Ei Animation is the studio behind this and they’ve worked in the Doraemon and Shin-chan movies. The story follows Sawamura Setsu, since their grandfather's death, he dropped out of high school, moved to Tokyo, and has been drifting, not knowing what to do besides playing his Shamisen. That's when his successful and rich mother, Umeko, storms into his life and tries to shape Setsu up. She enrolls him back into high school, but little does Setsu know that he is about to rediscover his passion for Shamisen. Genres: Music, Drama, School.

6. Hige wo Soru. Soshite Joshikousei wo Hirou (5/04). Project no.9 the studio of Jaku-chara is bringing a more dramatic story this season. Office worker Yoshida has been crushing on his coworker, Airi Gotou, for five years. Despite finally scoring a date with her, his confession is promptly rejected. Drunk and disappointed, he stumbles home, only to find a high school girl sitting on the side of the road. The girl, needing a place to stay the night, attempts to seduce Yoshida. Despite rejecting her advances, he nevertheless invites her into his apartment. Genres: Drama, Romance

7. Fruits Basket: The Final (6/04). If I started talking about this anime and how excited I am I will never stop talking. I’m ready to cry, get flustered, angry, and be happy. I’m sad but at the same time happy that the story is ending I’m dying to see the zodiac members at least feeling peaceful. Genres: Slice of Life, Drama, Romance, Shoujo, Comedy, Supernatural.

8. Shadows House (11/04). CloverWorks is doing this one and it would probably be beautifully animated. The story is about faceless shadow nobles living in a vast mansion, attended by living dolls who spend much of their time cleaning up the soot endlessly emitted by their mysterious masters. It's not horror but I like the creepy vibe. Hope is good. Genres: Slice of Life, Supernatural, Seinen.

9. Edens Zero (11/04). My Fairy Tail heart is singing of joy. J.C.Staff is animating the series so we know it would be good. Ever since the manga came out I started immediately. It’s really good so I hope people enjoy it without being too critical about the resembles of Fairy Tail. Here is a brief: At Granbell Kingdom, an abandoned amusement park, Shiki has lived his entire life among machines. But one day, Rebecca and her cat companion Happy appear at the park's front gates. Little do these newcomers know that this is the first human contact Granbell has had in a hundred years! As Shiki stumbles his way into making new friends, his former neighbors stir at an opportunity for a robo-rebellion… And when his old homeland becomes too dangerous, Shiki must join Rebecca and Happy on their spaceship and escape into the boundless cosmos. Genres: Action, Sci-Fi, Adventure, Shounen

10. Tokyo Revengers (11/04). I really don’t know what to expect from this since LIDENFILMS has done some pretty awful or uninteresting works, but the trailer looked very cool. Our mc is Takemichi Hanagaki, his life is at an all-time low. Just when he thought it couldn't get worse, he finds out that Hinata Tachibana, his ex-girlfriend, was murdered by the Tokyo Manji Gang: a group of vicious criminals that has been disturbing society's peace for quite some time. Wondering where it all went wrong, Takemichi suddenly finds himself traveling through time, ending up 12 years in the past—when he was still in a relationship with Hinata. Realizing he has a chance to save her, Takemichi resolves to infiltrate the Tokyo Manji Gang and climb the ranks in order to rewrite the future and save Hinata from her tragic fate. Genres: Action, Drama, School, Shounen.

11. Fumetsu no Anata e (12/04). I think this is the most expected new anime for this season, and one of the most visually beautiful this season. Follows the story of It, a mysterious immortal being, is sent to the Earth with no emotions nor identity. However, It is able to take the shape of those around that have a strong impetus. Acquiring the form of a boy, It sets off on a never-ending journey, in search of new experiences, places, and people. Genres: Adventure, Supernatural, Drama, Shounen.

12. Marimashita! Iruka-kun 2nd Season (17/04). Yes yes yess. So we finally are going to find out what happened to Iruma-chi at the end of the first season. I’m really excited to see everyone again ^^ if you haven’t seen season 1 I invite you to do it and you can also read my review under this anime hashtag ^^ Genres: Comedy, Demons, Supernatural, School, Fantasy.

This season looks very promising!

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

HASO, “Indicted.”

Working on a new arc for the story. I hope you enjoy :)

Dr Krill was up late, but then again, he was usually up late. Unlike the humans he didn’t sleep, and that left him at least eight hours of the day to himself to be engrossed in his studies, a time which he cherished. Granted there were occasions when emergencies would happen and he would be forced to attend to them, but those were few and far between these days.

Ever since the Burg war had ended, there hadn’t been much danger to the galaxy, and the Omen spent most of its time fulfilling its exploratory duties.

He spent a good portion of his time hunkered in the back office of the medical bay, but on occasion he'd like to take walks around the ship at night comforted by the darkness. The days had long since past when he was afraid of the humans, and he actually found the ship to be comforting and safe during the night. Granted Conn was sometimes a nuisance, but nothing that he couldn’t handle generally.

He was just walking past the command deck when he heard footsteps on their way down the hall.

He assumed it was one of the night crew coming down from fixing a problem up on the bridge, but was surprised when light passed over a familiar face. The two of them stopped staring at each other.

Admiral Vir paused in the hallway a duffel bag in one hand, his neatly pressed uniform glittering dimly in the light above. A few colorful swatches on the left hand side of his chest was the only color that distinguished him in the middling darkness.

Waffles -- the dog -- sat quietly at his side, panting softly.

“Admiral….”

“Doctor…”

“Going somewhere?”

Krill watched as the man’s fingers curled slowly around the bag, “I have some… business to attend to back on earth.I already talked with Simon about it, and I am going to allow her to take command of the ship while I am away.”

Krill took a long hard look at the human.

There was something strange about him, something you could only understand if you were another human or if you had spent hours and hours studying them and spending time with then.

“Is something wrong?”

The man shook his head, though his single eye was… sad.

“No Krill, everything is fine.”

“Would you…. Like sme company?” he knew it was a longshot. If Adam really wanted some company, than surely he would already have asked Sunny to come with him.

The man opened his mouth, closed it and looked round. Krill was surprised that the man actually seemed to be considering his offer. Eventually he sighed,

“I would…. Appreciate it…. Dr.”

Krill was surprised, but nodded and simply requested a few minutes to leave a note for Dr. katie. The Admiral willingly obliged the request, and efoe long they were on their way, stepping out of the cargo ramp and onto the -- mostly quiet-- cargo deck of the Europa station.

For the longest moment it was only the sound of feet echoing over the metal flooring before Krill finally had to speak up, “What is all of this about Adam, leaving secretly in the middle of the night, leaving your ship in the hands of a rookie officer… not telling Sunny. I think you can see why I am worried.”

Admiral Vir sighed and then inclined his head, the gold threading on the top of his officer’s cap glittering in the dim overhead light.

“There is something I need to do… and I don’t think Sunny would understand. I also don’t think that it would be a good idea to bring her.

Krill tilted his head in curiosity and concern, “Are you two ok?”

Adam shrugged and sighed, “I…. well…. I don’t know. Most times it feels like we are, and at other times we just…. Aren’t. I think that is supposed to be normal, but there are things about each other that we just don’t understand sometimes.”

“That would make sense considering your species.”

He shrugged, “I guess. Either way I needed to do this myself, and I… needed a break…. That sounds horrible, and now how I meant it but I…. well whatever.”

The two of them walked down the nearest hallway to the launch bay on the other side of the hall. It was a little more crowded here, mostly officers and other crew members with their suitcases and bags, wearing their uniforms and standing in line to board a smaller ship. The ship would be a class D-1 ship with a small warp core on board.

As he approached, eyes fell on them as they usually did. Men and women in uniform saluted and parted ways to allow the two of them to pass as they made their way towards the shuttle. The Admiral refused to head to the front and stopped at the back of the line to wait patiently. No one spoke to them, but there sure were plenty of staring eyes.

The admiral handed his bag off to one of the cargo officers before boarding the ship with Krill. Waffles was taken with them too, and placed into a crate. She didn’t seem pleased about it but went willingly. It was likely that she was going to have to be put to sleep for the warp, which Krill almost envied. It was a cramped fit, though due to his status, they were allowed to sit in the roomier seats at the front. Bright lights beamed down on them from above as the pilot came over the intercom preparing them for warp.

“Thank you for boarding the trans-space flight to Lunar 1. Our approximate flight time will be ten minutes arriving at 12:45 local time. Please make sure to fasten your seatbelts. Officers and passengers with cardiac dysfunctions, lung disease, or high blood pressure are advised against taking this flight. If you fit into any of these categories please let a flight officer know for your safety and comfort. To the front of your seat you will find airsickness bags, and a safety card. Please take a few minutes to review the safety card before the launch.”

Admiral vir pulled the straps tight over his shoulders and pulled off his cap to rest it gently in his lap.

On the other row beside them another officer already had their eyes closed and was taking a few long-deep breaths.

“One last warning before launch, we will warn you that this is a D-1 Class warp core and does not have any internal dampening. Side effects of launch include, vomiting, dizziness, confusion, blackout, loss of bladder control and heart palpitations. These side effects are expected and the cabin has been designed to deal with these issues, however if you do not feel comfortable continuing we advise you to exit the aircraft immediately.”

Adam leaned back in his seat eyes shut.

Krill gripped the harness waiting for the moment to come.

Adam almost looked peaceful. No one got off the ship and after a few more minutes of waiting, the cabin lights dimmed and the ship rose into the air. As soon as they were shot out of the airlock, the gravity field was gone, and he could feel his body beginning to float against the harnesses. Admiral Vir had to hold his hat in palace as they accelerated into the night.

They traveled for a good five minutes before warning lights began blinking overhead.

“Prepare the cabin for warp.”

All around him the humans were preparing themselves for the violent folding of space. A few leaned down to tuck their head between their knees in a crash position.

He sort of wish he hadn’t agreed to come.

Adam just took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat.

“Launch in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.”

Krill fet the universe around him collapse inward and then suddenly expand outward. Things that were far away seemed close and things that were close seemed far away. He jerked against his harness, and just like that it was over.

That didn’t mean his head wasn’t spinning, and all around the cabin he could hear the groaning of the other humans.

Once he could finally see and tell what he was seeing, he looked over at the Admiral who looked none the worse for war in comparison to some of the other officers.

One poor woman was as white as a sheet and holding a bag in front of her for dear life. Some of the others were in similar states of distress.

Admiral vir just smiled and leaned over to Krill whispering, “Not nearly as bad as the first interstellar warp. I thought I was going to die.”

Krill believed him

Just outside the window they watched as the Earth’s single moon drifted closer and closer, growing large in their field of vision as they stopped to land on the glowing white lunar surface. They disembarked inside the atmospheric bubble and were ushered onto another shuttle that headed down for earth. Despite earth being closer, this trip took much longer, about an hour longer, warping past the worst of the debris field which was still being cleaned by drag ship.

They landed at two in the morning local time at Fort Harmony.

As they stepped off the shuttle, bags in tow, there were already two military men waiting for them on the platform with a mat black hover car. Waffles’s crate was rolled out with them, though it seemed as if she was still asleep.

They saluted as he approached, “Admiral.”

He nodded to them, “Gentlemen.”

One of them opened the car door, and the Admiral stepped inside, while the other took his bag to place it in the back.

Krill floated up to sit beside him watching as the vehicle slowly accelerated and rolled through the darkness, lights of the nearby city and civilization glowing in the darkness. Streetlights passed overhead, casting the human’s brooding face into sharp relief one moment and into almost complete blackness the next.

“Are you going to tell me where we are going?” krill wondered

The admiral didn’t look at him, instead looking down at his hands. There was a long pause where Krill thought he wasn't going to answer, before, “I got a call from Admiral Kelly last night.”

Krill waited.

“Last month, extend documents on Operation Steel Eye were leaked. The UNSC tried to declassify them before it became more of an issue, but by then it was too late. The files were leaked onto the web by some unknown source and that included all video, Audio and written footage of the testing as well as documentation from the war itself.” Krill was surprised, extremely surprised that he had not heard more about this, and sooner,, but he stayed quiet as Adam continued, “UNSC officers in term during the project and a few members of the Steel eye team are being indicted on counts of torture, massive ethical violations, and potentially, war crimes… I was asked to be a witness at the trail of The People Vs The United Nations Space Corpse.”

Krill stared at him in shocked silence, “You,.... what?” He looked away, “Why didn’t you tell anyone, why didn’t you speak with someone!”

He sighed and leaned back in his seat, “What was I supposed to say? Hey everyone, the people who almost ruined my life are being put on trial and I am in need of some serious moral support because I expect I may have to watch some of it over again, and I don’t think I am ready for it.” His hands clenched in his lap, and krill saw. He looked back at the back seat to where waffles was still sleeping in her kennel.

Adam took a couple of deep breaths, “I have come as far as anyone can be expected when it comes to recovering from what happened to us, but that shadow, these scars will NEVER be gone. I’ll always have dreams. I will always wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat just remembering what happened to me. I will always hear the hissing of those machines in the back of my head. And I will always have some sick and twisted need to put the suit back on again because not once in my entire life since then have I ever felt so powerful…. Some days it feels like the only thing I have that can protect everyone, like putting it on will make me invincible, even though I know that logic is flawed. I hate it more than anything at the same time that I NEED it.”

Krill paused looking down at his arms and hands, “And that is why you got the Iron eye implants.”

He nodded and sighed, “Yes, yes it is.”

Krill didn’t know what to say, so they drove in silence.

“WHere are we going then.”

“We are heading up to one of the rehabilitation facilities between Arlington and the Ruins at Capital hill. From there we are going to be shipped over to Geneva where the trail is going to be held.”

“A rehabilitation facility…. For who?”

He looked down at his feet, “You’ll see.”

The nit went silent and krill was forced to wait in the darkness with light zipping by the windows as they headed into the night. The Admiral fell asleep during this time at some point with his cheek pressed against the cool glass of the window, his ribbons still glittering in the darkness. A soft whimpering came from the back of the car, and Krill took some time to let Waffles out of her cage, pressing himself up against the door as she crawled over the seat and sat between them curling up in a tight ball with her head resting on her master’s knee.

Adam seemed to relax in their sleep.

Krill watched out the window and took some time to think as the trees spd by in a dark blur. At one point it began to rain, and he tried not to think about the water pelting down on them from the sky above to obscure their vision.

Outside the sky lightened though the day was cloudy.

Adam awoke groggy and despondent, unusually quiet and unresponsive in comparison to his usually cheerful self.

They continued to drive in the silence, the only sound being the occasional whimper from the dog who sighed deeply, and stood to move to manuver into a more comfortable position. It was well into early morning by the time they made it to their next location, and their shadows were cast long and low across the ground.

Their vehicle was ushered through a large metal gate and onto the lawn of a restored Victorian mansion. Admiral Vir shifted uncomfortably as they pulled up the gravel drive and stopped before the wide porch and its white painted support pillars.

The door opened for them, and the Admiral stepped out with Waffles leaping onto the gravel behind him, taking a few moments to sniff around at the grass and the bushes.

Admiral Vir straightened his uniform and pulled on his cap as Krill floated out to join him.

A man was waiting for them on the porch and walked down the stairs to greet them with an open hand and a wide smile.

He was a small human, a bit older with greying hair and a nice suit. He clasped hands with the admiral and looked him over with a critical eye.

“A pleasure to meet you Admiral.”

“And you as well doctor.”

The man took a step back eying up the admiral as he did. Adam shifted uncomfortably, “Forvie my scrutiny, admiral.” The man said a bit sheepishly, “I have been working with the steel eye veterans for so long, and you are….. The first I have seen in such good condition.”

Adam tugged at the collar of his shirt in mild embarrassment, “Uh, I suppose I am extraordinarily lucky, doctor.”

The man held out a hand and motioned to the door, “Please come inside, there is much to show you, and the others have been expecting your arrival.”

He turned to look at Krill then and smiled,”Dr. Krill I assume?”

Krill was more than a little surprised to hear his own name spoken, “Have we met.”

The man laughed, “No, no, but I am familiar with your work. It is so interesting to see how other species view humans. I find it enlightening and entertaining.” The big white doors opened before the, and together they stepped into a large room with a spiraling staircase and a bustling room crumbs wearing attendants.

Somewhere in the distance, they could hear the sound of a piano playing.

“Welcome to Machinaw Hall, sounds a little more pleasant than the UNSC sponsored state rehabilitation facility.”

“Less of a mouthful for sure.” Adam responded.

The man waved a hand about the room, “I started all this about three years ago when my Nephew died during the steel eye operation of meningitis.”

“I...I’m sorry to hear that.”

The man sighed, “My family was obviously devastated, and I couldn't let it go, so I thought there was something I could do. At that time my wife and I flipped houses on the side and we came in possession of this old rundown Victorian. It's already been refurbished a couple of times since it was originally built. It was in such disrepair that no one wanted it, but I bought it for cheep and renovated it, and then set it up for other members of that same group. Unfortunately things were not completed until a few years after the incident, and it took us a while to find those who remained from participation in the trials and… well as well as from the war itself.” He sighed, “I only wish I had started this sooner. Who knows, we may have been acquainted earlier in that case.”

Krill watched Adam’s expression from the corner of his eye. He knew how the man felt about these sort of facilities.

“Perhaps. But what’s past is past.”

“True.”

They made their way up a checkered hallway and through a large doorway into a sunny and spacious living room. Despite how old the house was, the furniture was all well kept and in good condition. The people on the other hand were… less so.”

One or two of them were sitting on the floor in the sunny day room rocking quietly back and forth. Others sat on chairs or sofas with grim expressions on their face, and only one or two managed to appear as functioning humans.

One of them was playing the grand piano in the back.

As soon as he stepped in the room went mostly quiet, even the ones sitting on the floor looked up, and with surprise their eyes widened and they smiled. More than a few came over to meet him reaching out their hands and clasping his with firm grips.

“Admiral Vir!”

“Admiral, so good to see you.”

“You look well.”

“Glad you could make it.”

He smiled easily despite his unease, “Thank you. Glad to see you all up and about.”

“Mostly functional.” one of them piped up.”

Looking around Krill noticed the tell-tale hitch in their steps, and even the glittering of silvered metal on a robotic arm.

“Adam!”

The two of them turned quickly and krill was surprised to find a dark haired young woman appear from up the stairs jogging down and throwing her arms around him hugging him tight. He had to step back at the force of her greeting but hugged her bak with some shock and pleasure, “Jane!” He stepped back beaming, “You look good…. I’m a little surprised to see you.”

“Well after the… incident, I was able to get in contact with some people who pointed me to this place. The Doctor was kind enough to let me stay while I get back on my feet.”

He sat dow, offered a chair by one of the other steel eye members, and they sat around him.

He rubbed Waffle’s ears and let her off leash, giving her permission to go around the circle sniffing at hands and arms that were offered towards her.

Eventually she took a seat next to one of the soldiers sitting on the ground, and shoved her head into his space forcing him to pet her. A smile cracked over his face fr the first time since they had arrived .

“And getting bacon on your feet, how is that going.”

She sighed, “ I have found some temporary work at a mechanic shop, though its only temporary until I can find something that I really want to do.” She glanced at him with a look of guilt on her face, “I can’t go back to the UNSC not after….”

He nodded quickly in understanding, “I get it.” One of the other soldiers looked at him, his mouth turning down into a frown, “How could YOU go back to them after everything they did.”

The Dr. Scooted closer over the floor and rested a hand on the man’s shoulder in a warning sort of manner.

He relaxed a bit, but the anger was still plain on his face.

Adam kept his face still and neutral, “Some people say I’m a little too forgiving. But honestly, they gave me a spaceship which, all things considered, is good enough compensation for me.”

A few of the people in the room laughed, others didn’t seem so satisfied with that answer but let it go.”

“So…. are you ready?” Jane wondered

Adam tilted his head up slightly.

One of the men leaned forward, “Ready, for what?”

Another hand on his shoulder, “Admiral Vir is going to be representing you all during the upcoming trial.”

A few of the group members frowned, ‘Wait, I thought we were all going to testify as witnesses.”

The doctor sighed, “We have gone through this before, not everyone is ready for something like that, but Admiral Vir has graciously offered to help and be the representative.”

“I am not having a UNSC lover represent me at the trail! He’s going to try and get them off easy.”

Krill scooted to the side a little watching as a sharp light flared in the man’s eyes, “You better watch-your-tongue BOY!’

The room went very silent.

“You act like I didn’t go through the exact same thing as you. Well tell you what I remember choking on the ash as my blood seeped into the moss, and I remember the pain, and I remember wishing I could just die, and afterwards, I remembered months and months of hopelessness wondering when it would all be over. I remember the drug withdrawls. YES i chose to go back, but that's because I am rational enough to realise that most people in the UNSC had no idea what was going on, and the people who ran things back then are either retired, pending investigation or already in prison.” He leaned forward in his seat, “So go ahead, question my motives one more time.”

The room was very silent, and the man who had first spoken up sat back in his seat sulkily.”

Someone cleared their throat in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood.

“So what are the rest of us going to do.”

“ I am putting something together with the courts, and will be using interviews from you as evidence with your permission. I think that that will be more constructive. Admiral Vir will be there as a live witness, and due to his status, his testimony is likely to have the kind of pull we need to convict.”

There was a murmur of approval around the group.

“That makes sense, I guess.”

“Plus as a member of the UNSC himself the testimony will be more accepted especially considering his track record. Furthermore, he also has the most experience speaking in public and we want to make as good an impression as we can.”

The room was quiet now as the group thought about the points the doctor was making.

A hand reached across the circle, and he looked down to See Jan’s hand resting on his shoulder, “Are you sure you can do this…. I… Well I don’t know if I could were I in your shoes.”

He sighed, “It won’t be easy, but someone has to do it, and as of right now, I am about as operational as we are going to get.”

There was nodding from around the room.

This was going to have to do

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drarry-we-meet · 4 years

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Valentine’s Day Sucks

Part 1

Draco grit his teeth as another wave of ooohs and ahhhs sounded across the small collection of cubicles. He tried to ignore the outbreak of distinctly feminine chatter and focus on the report he was currently writing. After reading the same paragraph three times, he was finally able to get back into the flow of things. He was halfway through drafting his next sentence when a loud bang followed by assorted squeals and giggles broke out, and he couldn’t help but sneak a peek.

Longbottom was currently surrounded by a cloud of glittering pink smoke that smelled strongly of roses, and there on his desk was a humongous box of chocolates. Draco sighed, he was more than ready for this Valentine’s Day nonsense to be over with. It was bad enough hearing all the witches in his department cooing like a pack of wild doves each time one of them received a flower delivery, which of course was every few minutes. But to make matters worse, this year the wizards seemed to be getting just as many gifts thanks the Wheezes new ad campaign which insisted that witches must also get soppy romantic trinkets for their gents.

Draco would have admired such a brilliant marketing strategy, that had surely doubled their profits this year, if it didn’t cause him to have double the annoyance at the same time. While the witches gifts were more traditional and quiet; flowers, chocolate, jewelry. The men’s gifts were far sillier; singing heat shaped telegrams that burst into miniature fireworks at the end of their song, stuffed bears that did cartwheels across desks before exploding into a shower of confetti, and large boxes like Longbottom’s that went off like a bomb, leaving behind chocolates once the smoke had cleared.

Of course it didn’t help matters that Draco knew he wouldn’t be receiving anything this year. It wasn’t that he was alone, at least not technically. He had been seeing, or at least sleeping with, Harry-savior-of-the-whole-fucking-wizarding-world Potter, for just over 4 months. Not that it counted though, probably. They had never discussed whether or not what they were doing was exclusive. For Draco it was, and he was fairly certain it was for Harry as well, seeing how he barely had any free-time as Deputy Head Auror and all. But a lack of time to see other people, and actually wanting to date someone were two very different things.

Case in point was the Mountain of gifts that Draco could see steadily growing in the office across the room filled with their cubicles. Witches and wizards from all over the world sent Harry gifts each holiday, but this one always seemed to be the worst. Two curse breakers were currently stationed in the room sorting, screening, and vanishing questionable gifts, while Harry himself was still out meeting with the muggle liaison of Interpol for some reason or another. He wasn’t due to return until Monday, and by then his office would be clear once again.

The safe candy was set aside to be distributed to various departments in the ministry, particularly those inconvenienced the most by this whole fiasco; the mailroom, the janitors union, the curse breakers, and of course the aurors. All of the mail was piled neatly for his secretary to review. The majority of it would be vanished of course, but a few of the most polite ones would be answered eventually.

In fact, now that Draco thought about it, his willingness to always be available to Harry no matter how last minute or weird the hour was, in order to be able to see Harry in between his many meetings and trips abroad might be the only reason Harry even bothered with him at all. It was that thought, paired with the reminder that so far whatever ‘this’ was between them had remained a carefully guarded secret from even their closest friends, that caused a sharp clenching pain inside his gut. Draco determinedly pushed all thoughts of the idiot-who-lived far from his mind and tried once again to focus on work.

By lunchtime, the continuous loud bangs and rose scented smoke that accompanied them, had the beginnings of a migraine forming behind Draco’s eyes. He decided to escape the ministry for a bit and get some fresh air at the cafe across the street. He had just finished, and stood up to don his coat when a shadow appeared across his desk. He looked up into the sneering faces of Zacharias Smith, his well-endowed girlfriend, and a couple of brand new trainees whose names he didn’t care to remember.

"I was just about to head to lunch Smith so whatever it is you need will have to wait till after I return,” Draco kept his most impassive face in place, but his voice was firm. He knew the only thing Smith wanted was to start trouble and he wasn’t in the mood for any of it.

Smith smirked, “I just wanted to ask you where your Valentine’s Day gift was," he asked with a faux sweet voice.

That threw Draco for a loop for a minute, “What are you talking about?"

Smith and his group immediately started laughing, Draco wasn’t sure what the hell they found so funny or why on earth they were asking him about Valentine’s gifts of all things.

Smith’s smile had only gotten wider, “Well Malfoy, he emphasized, maybe it has escaped your notice, but you’re the only person in the entire department, possibly even the entire ministry who hasn’t received even one measly card.”

Draco could feel his heart rate picking up, but he hadn’t lived with old-moldyfarts for nothing, and was able to keep his face blank and posture relaxed. Smith was just getting warmed up though, pointing out how ‘of course’ they shouldn’t be so surprised that he hadn’t received anything, since he was death eater scum and all. By this point they were attracting the attention of the rest of the office.

Draco could see out of the corner of his eye that Granger was heading their direction, but Draco would rather die than have someone he once allowed to be tortured in his house defend him from a spineless git like Smith.

Draco carefully rolled his eyes and shook his head at Smith, “is that really the best you could come up with today Zachary?” Because he knew how much Smith hated people using the shorter form of his name, "you must be having just such a fulfilling Valentine’s Day yourself if you would rather spend all your time talking to me than your girlfriend, what are you 12?” He then swept out of the office before Smith could reply or Granger could reach them.

He was waiting down the hall for the lift when a fierce grip grabbed his arm and spun him around. It was Smith’s girlfriend, and Draco was fairly shocked to be manhandled by her. She, unlike her slimy boyfriend, had always seemed like a genuinely nice person. However her face right now was twisted in fury.

"No one will ever love you," she spat. "You can look down on us all you want, but in the end you will be a bitter old man and die alone. You don’t even have any friends!” She spun on her heel and left then.

Draco was left reeling in the hallway, his vision swimming a bit and his breathing a bit too fast and shallow. As the room came back into focus he locked eyes with Granger. Of course she had followed him out into the hall, of course she’d probably seen the whole thing. Fuck. The lift chimed and Draco stumbled back into in, jamming the door close button to stop her from pursuing him any further. He knew that look, that look of pity, and it made him sick to his stomach.

Draco ended up skipping lunch, he walked aimlessly around the nearest park until his face and fingers were numb with cold despite his gloves and warming charms. The words, “no one will ever love you,” played on endless repeat in his head as he fought to direct his thoughts toward anything else. He didn’t know why he let their words get to him like that, he didn’t give a shit what Smith or his girlfriend thought.

But the words had cut him to the bone, mainly because it was a very real fear he had held onto since the end of the war. His friends had all fled the country after the trials, some even before, and his dating life had been pretty nonexistent for the last 6 years. Nothing they had said was technically wrong. The men Draco had been with were ok with fucking him as long as no one ever found out. He just wasn’t the type of person anyone could ever take home to meet their parents.

And Draco had been ok with that, or so he thought. Relationships were just messy, unnecessary. Until Harry. Harry was the first man Draco had ever been with who took him to dinner, (at muggle restaurants), who always spent the night, who held him after sex, who made breakfast for him the morning after. Harry made him watch muggle films on his couch while giving him neck rubs or foot rubs and always made sure he had Draco’s favorite tea on hand. By the second month Draco had begun to think that maybe, just maybe they were something more than just sex.

But then one day they had been interrupted mid-foreplay by one of Harry’s friends visiting unannounced, and Harry had quickly shoved Draco into the closet and told him to be quiet. Draco had died a little inside that day. It was an unspoken agreement after that. Draco was a secret, a dirty little secret, just like always.

Draco returned to the office a few minutes late, half frozen and despondent, but as always he didn’t let any of it show on his face. He had considered skiving off the rest of the day, but wouldn’t give Smith the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten under his skin.

He buried himself in his work and carefully ignored any whispers or glances he felt come his way, but he was still attuned enough to the atmosphere of the room to notice as everyone was wrapping up their tasks at the end of the day and loudly discussing their romantic plans for the evening, when a ripple of silence suddenly overtook the room. It was so quiet and still that Draco looked up, wondering if everyone had somehow been stupefied simultaneously.

His jaw dropped as his eyes met green. Harry was standing just in front of his desk looking so very fit in his deputy head uniform. His brass buttons shining, his hair tousled just right, his brilliant eyes unobstructed since he’d finally ditched his horrid specs long ago. He was holding a garment bag in one hand and the biggest bouquet of long stemmed roses in the other. They were wrapped in white silk with a dark red bow, each petal had gold filigree on the edges.

"Are you ready to go darling?” He asked with a warm and inviting face, a fair bit of mischief in his eyes.

Draco, who had no idea what was going on, but was pretty sure he must have passed out from all the fumes and was dreaming just nodded.

Harry smiled brightly and laid the garment bag over Draco’s desk. "Well that’s good," Harry said, handing the roses to Draco, who took them dazedly, "Hermione told me you were too busy to pick up your suit today, so I went ahead and got it for you. We don’t have much time until the Portkey to Paris leaves so we’ll need to hurry home and change. I don’t think Le Cinq will let us in without the formal wear.

Draco who had decided he was definitely dreaming, simply nodded again and stood. Harry wasted no time walking around the desk to meet him. He placed a chaste, but lingering kiss on his lips, grabbed the bag and steered Draco toward the door with a warm hand on the small of his back.

The entire trek to the doors no one moved, Draco wasn’t sure any of them were even breathing. He wasn’t sure he was even breathing. Harry had just publicly outed them. Every face in the room was stricken with shock, except for Hermione who smiled at them both and Ron who gave him a curt nod. Draco realized neither of them were surprised. They know, he thought, oh gods they already know. He looked at Harry again and Harry gave him another dazzling smile and kiss on the cheek.

As soon as they were outside the doors a cacophony of noise sounded behind them and Harry turned to wink at Draco, but instead of heading toward the lifts, he simply wrapped his arm more firmly around Draco’s waist and apparated them on the spot.

-gift for @mothermalfoy

Link to Part 2: https://drarry-we-meet.tumblr.com/post/190868463275/valentines-day-sucks-warning-this-2nd-half

#harry x draco #drarry #draco and harry #harry potter #drabble #my first time sharing my writing online #yes it’s messy i was really tired when i proofread it #this turned out a lot longer and angstier than intended #Valentine’s Day #giftfic

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thecrownnet · 4 years

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October 3, 2020

Series four of The Crown takes on Princess Diana: exclusive pictures and interviews Charles has found a wife, Andy’s got a racy new girlfriend and Thatcher’s coming for tea... Megan Agnew gets an exclusive tour behind the scenes of the most wild and lavish series yet

Lasers. That’s what helped Emma Corrin understand Princess Diana in the latest series of The Crown. When the cameras were rolling, she imagined that lasers were pointing at her, as if she were in a spy film or a bank heist drama. It was her way of imagining hundreds of people staring right at her. Lasers helped her with the iconic Diana head tilt. She pretended she was shying away from them.

Corrin could also draw on her own trajectory as a 24-year-old actress. Before landing her part in The Crown, she was an unknown. Suddenly “there’s a huge amount of pressure”, she says.

When I visit the set at Winchester Cathedral, which is pretending to be St Paul’s, the paparazzi arrive to catch Corrin pretending to be Diana. She’s dressed in a replica of the outfit they papped at the actual royal wedding rehearsal almost 40 years ago. Every time she moves between buildings and trailers, Corrin has to be shielded with umbrellas. Life imitates art imitates life.

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Almost every person Corrin has spoken to since getting the role has their own “Diana moment” — they might once have waved at her car in the street, been a pupil at a school she visited or knew someone who sat next to her at a dinner. Diana was one of the first celebrities to whom people laid claim. “Everyone has this ownership,” says Corrin. She was, and still is, the People’s Princess. But Corrin is trying not to think too much about it. Public expectation has been “overwhelming since the beginning”, she says. She wants to do Diana “proud”. “I know that’s strange and cheesy, but I feel like I know her.”

Emma Corrin as Princess Diana/ NETFLIX

The first television series of The Crown, which aired in 2016, was at the time the most expensive in history. Each series since has been estimated to have cost upwards of £50 million. The first two covered the first decade of Elizabeth II’s rule to wide acclaim, but series three — in which Her Majesty Claire Foy was succeeded by Olivia Colman — had mixed reviews. “The jewel in Netflix’s tiara has lost its shine,” said one. It was “okay”, said another.

Now, with series four’s reported £100 million budget eclipsing the Queen’s own sovereign grant last year of £82.2 million, The Crown is barrelling straight into the Eighties era of celebrity glamour and modern party politics grit. Peter Morgan, the show’s creator, is taking on two of the most controversial public figures of the past 50 years: Princess Diana and Margaret Thatcher. “The word ‘iconic’ is overused, but in the case of these two women quite justified,” Morgan says. Both have passionate fans and detractors. “Writing them was a bit of a high-wire act, but it was exhilarating.”

We meet Diana as a teenager, scampering around her huge family home in Northamptonshire. She is young and apologetic. The Prince of Wales, at that time dating her eldest sister, is rather distracted. A number of years later, Diana is leaving her relatively modest flat in Earls Court and her job as a nursery school assistant to move into Clarence House — but finds herself in solitude. Bored and lonely, 19-year-old Diana rollerskates down corridors to Duran Duran and sits all by herself in her chamber. One night, after finding out about Prince Charles’s affair with Camilla Parker Bowles, she gorges on puddings and makes herself vomit them back up.

Behind the scenes: the latest series of The Crown/ NETFLIX

*Spoilers*

It is a dark moment that Corrin wanted to get right. She listened to real-life accounts of people who had suffered from bulimia and talked with experts from the eating disorder charity Beat. Diana herself said that it was the most “discreet” way of harming herself: “Everyone in the family knew about the bulimia,” she said in recordings from the 1990s later made into a Channel 4 documentary.

“Drawing on my experience,” says Corrin, “not that I’ve experienced that kind of self-harm, but mental health in general, it can lead you down a very dark path when you’re struggling to cope, when things feel out of control. Diana very much doesn’t have the love and comfort and attention she needs from the man she loves or the family, who aren’t really acting as a family to her. There is a build-up of emotion she can’t deal with and making herself sick is a way of taking back control.”

When Josh O’Connor, who plays the Prince of Wales, first read the script for this series he thought: “Oh God, how can Charles be like that to Diana? But he feels wronged. He feels like she has an addiction to the spotlight,” he says. “I have to feel sympathy for him in that world. This is a family who have an intense inability to be emotional and he has inherited that awkwardness. In this series there’s an awful lot of Charles trying to explain himself and not being allowed to. He’s trying to say that if he can be with Camilla, then at least two of the three people can be happy. As it is, there’s three miserable people.”

The Crown works differently to other shows in that the “writers’ room” is not made up of writers but researchers, who constantly feed back to Morgan, the king of The Crown. It means that for each word eventually spoken on film, there are pages and pages of briefing notes. Annie Sulzberger, head of research, started this series by hiring a young team. “I wanted people who did not grow up believing one or the other [Diana and Thatcher],” she says. “You have to be curious enough and ignorant enough, I suppose, to write the kind of work we need.”

This series will span the Thatcher years — 1979 to 1990 — and will include the assassination of Charles’s great-uncle, Lord Mountbatten, by the IRA, Charles and Diana’s wedding, and the Falklands War. Once the team has laid out a timeline, Morgan picks out the events he wants to feature. The research team starts to hone in on each, getting increasingly “micro” in their investigations. In the making of this series, one of the team spent two weeks researching the label on a bottle of wine from which a character briefly swigs.

Dress rehearsal: Josh O’Connor and Emma Corrin act out Charles and Diana’s wedding run-through/ NETFLIX

As the show has progressed, the fact-checking work has multiplied, thanks to the tabloid journalism of the 1980s. “It’s not just about words being printed,” Sulzberger says, “but who wrote it. Diana will become very close with a journalist called Richard Kay and feed him information, and Charles’s team will do the same. So you need to start unpicking the biographies of all the writers in order to know that what you’re doing has some objectivity.”

Did the team speak to any of Diana’s family or friends? “No.” Do the producers give any material to the Palace to see beforehand? “No. We have no connection to them that would result in editorial shifts. These are real people, these are real stories and we are filling in the moments that aren’t recorded — private conversations, moments of reflection, philosophical moments.”

When I ask Morgan if it’s true that he meets high-ranking courtiers four times a year, he is keen to clear up that he doesn’t. “I have never had any discussions with anyone actively working at the Palace,” he says. “The two worlds, the royal household and The Crown, exist in a world of mutual deniability, which I’m sure is every bit as important to them as it is to us.”

Corrin, though, did speak to Patrick Jephson, Diana’s private secretary, who appears as a fictionalised character in this series. “I got a sense of her joy from him,” Corrin says. “He said she was so naturally happy. When she joined the royal family, she had come from living with flatmates in Earls Court and she was a very normal girl. Patrick said she was still full of that girlish silliness, very down to earth.”

The couple themselves at the real thing in 1981 MIKE LLOYD/SHUTTERSTOCK/REX

The executive producer Suzanne Mackie says that “particularly now” The Crown team feels a sense of responsibility “to living people, people’s children, people’s parents. Obviously what we don’t do is engage on a fact level with the royal family. We have a tacit understanding that they need distance from us and we need distance from them.”

It is a cold day in January and I am watching Charles and Diana’s wedding rehearsal in Winchester. About 75 per cent of the show is filmed on location around the world, over the course of seven months. The rest is filmed at the show’s base, Elstree Studios, just north of London.

Today in Winchester Cathedral there is a crew of 78 and a cast of almost 200. The sight is as epic as the show’s budget would suggest. Between takes, Corrin sits on the stone steps by the altar, scrolling on her iPhone with one hand and biting her fingernails on the other. Even before the clapperboard snaps shut, the resemblance between her and the princess is uncanny.

Sidonie Roberts, head buyer and assistant costume designer, has a timeline of photos of Diana covering the wall of her studio at Elstree. Roberts is devoted to the cause. She travels to Paris to buy buttons from the same shop the Queen’s dressmaker uses (it sells more than 30,000 types of button) and to Soho to rummage in basements for fabric. Last year she was in a Bangladeshi fabric shop in Brick Lane, east London, when she saw a roll of material right on the very top shelf. “It was still in its plastic, but I just knew — that’s Diana’s colour,” Roberts says. She got a ladder, climbed to the top, pulled down the fabric and bought it for £3.50 a metre. When Roberts got back to the studio at Elstree, she unrolled it and saw a stamp at the bottom: “The Lady Diana Collection, made in Japan.” Roberts did some research. It was real silk, from a collection made in the princess’s honour.

In the corner of the studio an assistant is gluing tiny pearls to Diana’s flat wedding shoes. She has been decorating them, exactly like the originals, for a day and a half. “We’ve had a long conversation about the size of those pearls,” says Roberts. David and Elizabeth Emanuel, who designed Diana’s original wedding dress, donated patterns to the show, which were used to make the new version. With its 25ft train, it took ten people to get Corrin into the dress. In the show it is seen in full, and only from behind, for no more than 15 seconds.

Paying their respects: Olivia Colman as the Queen and the rest of the royal family at the funeral of Lord Mountbatten/ NETFLIX

Corrin is masterful at inhabiting Diana’s coyness — hunching her shoulders towards her ears as she walks, the smirk, her intonation. Diana’s voice was the “polar opposite” of the royals’, says William Conacher, The Crown’s dialect coach. “She moved her jaw twice as much, so her voice was more forward, open, easier to access, and I don’t think it’s especially revelatory to suggest accessibility was her shtick,” he says. “She used a minor key that made her seem vulnerable. Despite the Queen’s and Prince Charles’s accents being ‘stiffer’ to listen to, I think it comes entirely naturally, whereas I find Diana’s voice more studied. I think she spoke to have an effect.”

What sort of research did Colman do for series four’s Queen? “Yeah, I don’t do research,” she says when we speak on the phone in the summer. “The research team on The Crown is a bit like the British Library. It’s extraordinary, and when they kick in, your computer can’t really cope with the amount of stuff they send you.” Was there something in particular that the team sent her that made things click? “No.” There is a longish silence. It seems Colman’s royal duty is waning. “They’ve got every image and film of the Queen ever made. I’ve also got three kids, so I can’t spend all my time going through all of it.”

As she wraps up a second series of The Crown — Imelda Staunton will take over for five and six — Colman knows that she would “really not like” to have the Queen’s job. “There are very few people who are forced into a job and have no choice about it,” she says. “She’s done it with dignity, for decades, bless her. It’s amazing.”

The funeral of Lord Mountbatten took place in 1979 BENTLEY ARCHIVE/POPPERFOTO/GETTY

If there were rumours of Elizabeth II being unhappy about the last series of The Crown, I can’t imagine she’ll be too chuffed about this one. Series four’s Queen is colder and more distant, and the effects of her duty on her children more obvious: Charles is heavy with melancholy, Anne feels unheard, Edward is portrayed as a spoilt bully and Andrew is dangerously arrogant.

Speaking of Andrew, there is a subtle nod towards recent events. At one point the prince discusses a young American actress he is dating. The actress had recently played a 17-year-old who must entertain several “old predators who seduce the vulnerable, helpless young Emily”. The real prince dated the actress Koo Stark in 1981, who had starred in The Awakening of Emily, which had a near-identical plot.

In series four, the pivotal relationship between the Queen and Margaret Thatcher begins well. They are respectful of one another as no-nonsense working mothers, but tensions arise — not least, over tea etiquette at Balmoral.

In preparation for her role as the Iron Lady, Gillian Anderson met Charles Moore, Thatcher’s biographer, as well as secretaries who worked with her. “The only way for me to go about sitting inside of her was to find the reason behind her actions — growing up, what she learnt from her father, how much she truly believed that she was the answer and as long as we all took the sour medicine now we’d be able to turn around this country, completely shutting her eyes to the people that she was turning out on the street.”

Anderson eventually “settled into” the body of Thatcher. “She walked very fast, always up ahead,” Anderson says. “She would power forward in front of presidents. With [Ronald] Reagan she would supposedly be alongside him, but was walking ahead. Always walking ahead of [husband] Denis, telling him to catch up.”

Thatcher’s barnet also features. In one scene she spends an asphyxiating four seconds hairspraying it in preparation for a showdown with the Queen. The hairdo took endless camera tests before Morgan was happy with it. “It essentially meant destroying it so it had an overprocessed ‘frothy’ quality,” says the hair and make-up designer Cate Hall. “To treat a wig so badly was against all of our instincts — they’re so expensive — but I’m grateful now that we went through the process with Peter, with him saying no, more, it’s not right, try again.”

Clash of the titans: Margaret Thatcher, played by Gillian Anderson, is filmed meeting the Queen, played by Olivia Colman, in a memorable scene from series four/ NETFLIX

Series five will have a whole new cast. Colman says she is “not the sort of person who keeps the shoes of a character they played 20 years ago”. But Helena Bonham Carter is going to miss Princess Margaret. “She does pop out [in everyday life],” she says. “The other day I was at some public event and there was the normal scramble of people and I just told them, ‘No, shut up.’ The finger came out, which is very her, and I said, ‘Shut up and wait. Don’t get hysterical.’ So I’ve got the bossy side of her.”

Originally Morgan said there would be two more series after this one. Then he changed his mind, describing series five as “the perfect time and place to stop”. Now there are two more again (“To do justice to the richness and complexity of the story,” he reneged). The show is creeping closer to the modern day. It is now said to be ending in the 2000s, spanning, perhaps, Charles and Diana’s divorce, the deaths of Diana, Margaret and the Queen Mother, the marriage of Charles and Camilla, and the teenage and twentysomething princes. “I want to end it close enough to present day to feel that we have completed a long journey and distant enough to feel historical,” says Morgan. “I have a specific incident in mind, but until I’ve actually written it and seen if it works, I can’t commit to discussing it.”

On set with Mackie, I mention Harry and Meghan. “Too often,” the couple posted on their Instagram page that month, “we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring.” Is it possible, I ask Mackie, for the royal family to humanise themselves while still justifying their existence as something mightier, more important, regal? “That’s where you go wrong, as a public figure, letting light in on the magic, especially as a monarch,” she replies. “You have to be an ideal. After years and years of that subjugation of self in order to put duty first, you, the essence of you, is buried somewhere. The Queen is a tiny little person inside many, many Russian dolls.”

Series four of The Crown is available on Netflix from November 15

#olivia colman #helena bonham carter #gillian anderson #the crown #the crown spoilers #tobias menzies #josh o'connor #emma corrin #princess diana #ben daniels #erin doherty #emerald fennell #charles dance #marion bailey #the crown netflix

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crhinge · 3 years

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I guess this is a book blog now

Since I work in education, I get the delightful treat every summer of having extended time off. Time to relax. Time to explore. And time to read. Reading is currently what I am spending most of my time doing, so instead of writing a mediocre post about my love life (extremely boring & uneventful), I’ve decided to write about my current love: reading.

I must admit: 2020 was not my year for reading, and as I continue to grow, reading has become a priority to me. About a month ago, I reached out to all of my favorite people in the world to find out what their favorite books were. What better way to get back into reading than reading everyones favorite book, right? Wrong.

See heres the thing: everyone’s “favorite” book, is usually some dense, long, intense novel that requires a high level of concentration and time.

Some examples of what came up:

Shantaram - 936 pages, the story of an escaped convict who flees Australia and enters Bombay.

Pillars of the earth - 976 pages, the tale of a 12th century Monk building a gothic cathedral.

Atlas Shrugged - 1078 pages, I’ve read the synopsis three times and still have no idea what this is about.

The Bible - My God

You get it. While I hope to read all of these eventually, these are not some easy reads to pick up by the pool. What I discovered after attempting to dive into one of these books is that I need to ease my way back into reading. I need to start with some easy, fun, summer reads, before diving into the Shantarams of the world. So what is the easiest, and most fun genre to read: YA.

I love YA. At 26 years old, I am a YA feen and I don’t care who knows it. Over the past two weeks, I have devoured six YA books and I’ve never been happier. There is something so hopeful and joyous about a classic coming of age story. I love reading from the adolescent perspective which is so innocent and charming. So without further ado, here is a belief review (that no one ask for) from the books I have read so far:

All the Bright Places - 4/5. Trigger warning for anyone who struggles with mental health or suicidal ideation. The story of two teenagers falling in love in the midst of trauma. Violet recently lost her sister in a car accident, and Finch is struggling with (what I assume to be) undiagnosed bipolar disorder. Very much enjoyed this book, but the character of Violet fell a little flat to me. I found myself only wanting to read from Finch’s perspective.

Simon vs the Homosapien Agenda - 4/5 It was a rainy afternoon, and I wanted to pick up an easy read that was predictable and could be read in one evening. This did not disappoint and was exactly what I was looking for. Story of a closeted teenager as he falls in love with a boy over email that he has never met before. 100% better than the movie.

They Both Die at the End - 2/5. Okay I have to be honest, I didn’t finish this book. I was so excited to read it based on the premise: A world where you find out you’re going to die the night before it happens. Two boys get the call and spend their last day together. Unfortunately, the characters are just flat and unrealistic. I didn’t care much for either and ended up choosing to put the book down 200 pages in because it was causing me to avoid reading and I just wasn’t excited to pick it up

Eleanor & Park - 4/5. An adorable story of two misfits and first love. I found myself smiling this whole book, and I truly can’t describe this book as anything but adorable. However, if you like your endings perfectly concluded with a pretty bow on top, I would avoid this book.

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe - 5/5 YALL. This. Book. I don’t think I’m going to dive too far into it right now because I want to write an entire blog post about this. However, I will say that this is turning into one of my favorite books of all time. I opened it up with zero expectations, not knowing what it was about, and it was the most wonderful surprise. Super easy and fluid read that you can tear through in a day.

Firekeeper’s Daughter - 3/5. If you like suspense and mystery, you will probably like this book more than I did. I enjoyed it, really! It just wasn’t my genre. I am a very character driven reader, and while the characters were fun, I wasn’t drawn to any besides the main narrator. Basic premise: early 2000s, 18 year old Daunis is a native American girl who is staying in her hometown on an Ojibwe reservation after graduating from high school. She slowly learns about the meth industry destroying her community. An exciting story where you learn a lot about an underrepresented community.

Well until next time. I’ll either give another book update, or perhaps an in depth review of Aristotle and Dante. Go read it.

#firekeepersdaughter #firekeepers daughter #Aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the universe #aristotle x dante #eleanor and park #they both die at the end #simon vs thsa #love simon #all the bright places

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davidmann95 · 3 years

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Comics this week (3/10/2021)?

cheerfullynihilistic said: Comics this week (03/10/21)??

adudewholikescomicsandotherstuff said: This week’s comics?

Anonymous said: Comics?

Anonymous said: 3/10 NCBD?

Non-Stop Spider-Man #1: The lead story was fun, the backup was dopey, I’ll give it another issue or two to see where it goes.

The Immortal Hulk #44: While it was too late for this week I’ve taken Hulk off my pull list, so the store won’t order any copies specifically for me and therefore my future purchase of the book won’t support Joe Bennett’s presence, just the store. This issue is typical of some of the books’ weaker installments of the last year or so - feels like well-done regular superhero comics instead of Immortal Hulk - but those last couple pages bring it back around.

Daredevil #28: Holy cow, those King In Black issues actually mattered. God this book is still so fuckin’ good in so many ways, everything every dumbass street-level superhero ‘deconstruction’ wants to be when it grows up.

Children of the Atom #1: Sucks real bad! This weird combo of ‘hip new young Marvel heroes!’ trappings and soulless X-Men lifer comics execution that feels certain to appeal to neither group.

Eternals #3: Of the listed Deviants I imagine I’d relate most to Annoyed Veug.

Commanders in Crisis #6: While I remain without the ability to weigh in on this objectively, this is the issue that to date most feels like it lives up to the promises of the series premiere.

The Wrong Earth: Night & Day #3: Little disappointed personally with the reveal of what the third world is - I assumed it was going to be more of a straight take ‘modern’ version to the other two’s flavors of throwbacks - but this series still rules. And that ending.

Home Sick Pilots #4: Okay, I think I can follow what’s happening at this point, still enjoying it.

Proctor Valley Road #1: I review these books in the order I present them to my dad since he likes DC/Marvel/Other to each be lumped together, but make no mistake: this is the last of the three Morrison books to read this week, because this is what comes next for them. A return to their roots - 70s kids way into music and dealing with the weird, girls adventure stories of the kind they apparently grew up reading - this feels like a refinement of their mid/late-00s Vertigo work in the same way they’ve been iterating on their superhero material for decades. The horror is sold excellently, whether by their own efforts or thanks to cowriter Alex Child this is their most fluid, ‘real’-sounding dialogue perhaps ever, and Franquiz with Bonvillain are instantly among their all-time best collaborators, perfectly capturing the shifting tone and character acting necessary to best put Morrison’s big ideas over in a way a number of their collaborators haven’t lived up to over the years (and speaking of the visuals, Jim Campbell does the lord’s work with that lettering trick near the end). Ritesh Babu and Sean Dillon have a lot more to say about the book and how it already acts as a darker, more honest take on your Stranger Things and the like as a commentary on its times, but I’m already loving to see this particular return down to Earth for Morrison and company and I’m glad to hear this is selling really well compared to their previous indie work.

Dead Dog’s Bite #1: This actually came out last week, but Ritesh recommended it so I figured it might be worth a look. A so far intensely low-key missing persons mystery with a touch of surreality around its edges, this already looks to be the best “look! A nine-panel grid! Fancy!” comic since Mister Miracle, really lived-in and emotional for as little happens in this debut. Very curious where it’s going.

Rorschach #6: I continue to like it.

Batman: Urban Legends #1: Glory be, a good Jason Todd comic - at last, you noble stubborn weirdoes living off of like six nonconsecutive panels all these years, you may lay down your burden. Not all you’d necessarily hope from Zdarsky tackling Gotham after what he’s been doing with Daredevil but rock-solid work regardless; the Harley story is fine, Outsiders is a letdown after Thomas’s shockingly good showing for them in Future State but it’s still fine, and the Grifter stuff is fun.

The Joker #1: I thought the advertised ‘a Joker story from Gordon’s POV’ angle was an interesting one even if I was concerned this book would in practice be pure editorial mandate, but in reality? Tynion has managed to pull the wool over DC’s eyes and do a full-on Jim Gordon book (one predicated with him being off the force to make it reasonably comfortable read in 2021) with Joker as the barest of pretexts to get it out the door and selling for as long as he wants to continue it. He even said in interviews that when the book was first pitched to him that his response was that a Joker solo book was a dumb unworkable idea until he had an idea for a ‘different way to approach it’, he knows exactly what he’s doing and I salute him. And it’s a darn good Gordon book even if the Punchline backup is predictably tepid, I’m in the tank for Gotham’s perpetual whipping boy dealing with weird noir international crime with Joker sort of hanging around in the background menacingly to justify the nominal premise.

Anonymous said: Hey, so I figure one random anon won’t change your mind, but like you I was disappointed by New Frontier’s immortal Wonder Woman, but I still got the new issue of Wonder Woman cause Wonder Woman at Valhalla still sounds great and I actually liked it! I think I’m gonna get at least the next issue, so there’s at least one recommendation for it

Wonder Woman #770: This combined with the store still putting it in my pile prompted me to give it a try after all, and whether because something here clicks better or if they’re simply not trying so hard without the pressure of doing a ‘final’ story for Diana, Cloonan and Conrad do in fact do substantially better on the main book than they did with Immortal Wonder Woman. Some fun, some fights, some mythology and intrigue, gorgeous landscapes and generous servings of beefcake from Travis Moore - this isn’t going to be sweeping the Eisners, but this is as enjoyable as a Wonder Woman comic has been in a good long time. My only concern is that the joyousness on display here might dissipate somewhat once Diana fully returns to herself, but in the meantime this was a very pleasant surprise (especially with the the Young Diana backup by Bellaire, Ganucheau, Goode, and Carey).

Superman #29: PKJ’s Superman thus far has been a story of overcoming initial worries of mine - in this case, my concern that he’d have a bad Scott Snyder-ey case of “if you’ve read the interviews you’ve pretty much already heard the dialogue of the comic verbatim”. In practice here most of what he’s had to say about these issues are distilled down really succinctly and poignantly in the midst of a fun little upper-atmosphere adventure portending something grimmer, and while I know it didn’t click with everyone I thought Phil Hester’s work here was a perfect accompaniment. The Tales of Metropolis backup wasn’t nearly as enjoyable, but hints at some interesting worldbuilding I’m hopeful will pay off in the main run.

The Green Lantern Season Two #12: The final Grant Morrison DC comic. One of two anyway, but if the next story I discuss is their broader final (non-Klaus, hopefully) statement on the superhero subgenre and a bridge to what they’re doing next, this is the one that’s about being The Final Grant Morrison DC Comic. A mélange of pretty much all their other DC finales into a shamelessly self-reflective meditation on the limits of what they can accomplish in shared universe storytelling where Green Lantern saves the universe through collective action and then fucks off to do his own thing elsewhere while the kids take over the ongoings. Weird and kinda perfect, and if nothing else this series took Liam Sharp from “really? This dude is drawing the last ever Morrison DC ongoing?” to “HOLY FUCKING SHIT LIAM SHARP”.

(The panel folks blew up over I think can be read multiple ways, but not in a ‘it’s open to interpretation!’ way so much as the storytelling/framing being unclear. I personally read it as ‘this is what neighbor versus neighbor looks like now’ rather than ‘calling someone a TERF or a Nazi is as bad as anything the other side does’, because oldster and out of touch though they may be I can’t see Morrison seriously saying that, especially after coming out.)

Wonder Woman Earth One Volume 3: At long last, after a hideous misfire kicking the series off and a second installment best described as ‘well, at least it wasn’t the first one’, this while not without elements I want to see femme and nonbinary critics discuss critically lives up to what you want to see out of ‘Grant Morrison’s Wonder Woman’. Big utopian fiction breaking the typical boundaries of superhero stories with aplomb in implicit conversation with a ton of their previous work, a bridge from what they’ve done to what they’re doing next, it’s an imperfect (especially with Paquette’s art, which while gorgeous and majestic in the way this story demands really doesn’t living up to the ‘acting’ necessary here in a way thrown into sharp contrast by Franquiz in PVR) but shockingly passionate statement of intent - if the last two volumes felt like Morrison struggling to have something to say with Wonder Woman in the same way they did with Superman and Batman, this feels at the close like them at last finding in her a way to do everything left with the cape and tights crowd they wanted to but couldn’t manage anywhere else under the Big Two umbrella. Odd and lovely, a fine sendoff.

#Week's Comics #Opinion

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gloster · 4 years

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FAVORITE FANFICS OF 2019

HAPPY NEW YEAR’S EVE & HAPPY 2020 TO YOU ALL.

So this was a fun post I did last year, inspired by the dozens of Favorite Books of 2018 by the booktubers I followed and I thought to myself: why not do a little something something for the fanfics that stood out to me, stuck me with throughout the year.

Last year I read insanely amazing reads, and if you’re interested to see what were my favorite fanfics of 2018, here’s the link: past favs

For this year, I read sooooooo many incredible fanfics that it was hard to narrow it down to just 10. And the funny thing is, a good portion were from the same author, so it was insanely hard picking the top one.

I implore all of you reading and following me to try the tag-and please tag me. Always on the hunt for fanfic recs. I also am curious to hear the favorites from the following people: @kila09, @sebbies, @bookstakeyoutootherworlds, @scarlet47, @fleetofshippyships, @eyelashesandentropy, @tired-luxis, @dreamydrarry, @mothermalfoy, @profoundfelicity & @goldentruth813

Without any further ado, here are my top 10 favorite fanfics for 2019:

1). Soup-pocalypse and The Great Curry Cataclysm by SqaudOfCats/ @norelationtoatticus (drarry)

Summary: Eleven years after the war, Draco Malfoy leads a quiet, boring, and perfectly respectable life, thanks very much. Or, at least he does, until a sudden and very unexpected veela awakening causes him to throw soup all over Harry Potter in the middle of the Ministry cafeteria.

If the summary alone doesn’t get you to immediately click on the link and read, I don’t know what to say. But I can say this. SqaudofCats has become my new drarry favorite author period. I read all of her drarry stories, loved them all, and am hoping she does more.

This story, in one word, was a GEM. A FUCKING GEM. It was so so so good.There were so many good elements: Veela Draco, Dad Harry raising Teddy, Draco learning how to cook, a strang but HILARIOUS courtship involving food that I didn’t realize how much I needed until this story. It was also a perfect blend of fluff with so many cute moments and angst, which thankfully didn’t involve the couple but had to do with Harry’s mental health and PTSD post-war.

I read this story back in May and I still think about it. Have to stop myself from reading because I have so many fanfic tabs. But it is so good. It’s so addicting. Highly recommend.

Honorable mentions from this writer:

*Gift for Draco

*Nearly Lost Things, Carefully Tended

2). Cinderfella by @goldentruth813 (sheith)

Summary: Takashi Shirogane is exactly the kind of man Keith likes; built like a brick house with a smile sweet enough to rot teeth and a heart of gold. Of course he’s also YouTube famous and worlds out of Keith’s league. The closest he can get to his pseudo-celebrity crush is when he watches Shiro’s videos from the safety of his bed. Or so he thinks.

This incredible bean of a human being, this incredible writer is the reason I was pulled into the sheith ship long before I finally got into the show-and then had me drag @kila09 into the incredible maddness that is Shiro and Keith and the crew....and the disappointing season 8 that I am still pissed about. But yes @goldentruth813 is the reason why I got pulled into this ship, and this fanfic is the story that sealed my love for sheith and made them my 3rd favorite ship of all time.

This story is a fun, hilarious modern twist of Cinderella that obviously involves two guys, one is who a popular Youtuber and the other who is a hardcore super fan who meet in the most surprising circumstances and come back together in the most hilarious of ways. With our classic glass slipper being a beloved leather jacket.

It’s so stinking cute. It’s so hilarious. And it’s so weird since, while I do appreciate the fairytale, Cinderella isn’t one of my favorites but I’m a sucker for a good retelling of it. And this was so good.

Honorable mention by this writer:

*Safe Haven

3). Burn the Witch by @lettersbyelise (drarry)

Summary: When Harry Potter is sent in to investigate Draco Malfoy’s successful potions company, posing as Draco’s bodyguard, he doesn’t know the case will launch a series of events that will change his life — and Draco’s. A story about choices, scars, Chopin piano pieces, and finding all kinds of love in the most unexpected places.

Let’s be honest here. At this point, are we really surprise to see this story here , featured in a favorites/rec list? Are we honestly surprise? At this point, I feel every drarry-shipping reader has read it. Devoured it. And praised it.

This story pretty much took over the drarry community the way Red, White & Royal Blue took over the book world. There wasn’t a day when I didn’t see Burn the Witch featured in a drarry fanfic recs post, saw posts praising it. Fanart of it, edits for it, and several mood-boards. It was THAT STORY. And I am proud to say it was worth THE HYPE.

Because it’s so well-known, I’m not going into too much detail but I can say it involves Daddy Draco and Scorpius who is precious, Harry in an undercover mission, and has one of the BEST post-war, slow-burn to the point of excruciating drarry relationship I’ve read all year. READ IT.

Honorable mention by this writer:

*Draco Malfoy’s Stupendous Seduction Seminar

*Love Me (Four Times)

4). Evitative by Vichan (drarry)

Summary: In the summer before his fifth year at Hogwarts, Harry is drawn to a room in Grimmauld Place. Like the Gryffindor he is, he enters the room without fear. The room is a library, and Harry is surprised to find that he’s eager to learn.Then he gets the bad news: he’s been accidentally expelled from Hogwarts, and he needs to be sorted again. Everyone is confident that he’ll go straight back to Gryffindor, but with what he's been learning, Harry’s not so sure.

Out of all the stories I have in my list, this is the only one that is currently a WIP. I know some are hesitant with WIPs but this one is so worth it. Another hidden jewel found by chance. This story has to be one of the best slytherin-Harry ever and that shows the Slytherin House and the Slytherins in a positive light while still remaining true to their cunning ways.

5). Up We Go by Oh_Hey_Tae (BTS: Taehyung x Jimin x Yoongi)

Summary: “If you’re a witch that works with plants, then why are all of yours dead? That can’t be good for business.”

The room dims again, and Jimin lifts a hand to flip off the ceiling. Taehyung knows he’s sad and that’s why the shop darkens and he shouldn’t find it funny—but he can’t help it. Because this is ridiculous. The good kind of ridiculous. The amazing kind.

(Or: Taehyung has a green thumb, Jimin runs a magical store, and Yoongi can kind of see dead people.)

Oh my goodness, where on earth do I even begin with this one? I am loss for words. It’s been months since I read it and I am still lost for words on how incredible it is. This story reads like a fairytale. Who am I kidding? This is a fairytale. A beautiful fairytale that is of loss, grief, friendship, family, love, and magic. And a beautiful fairytale that features a poly relationship

I was broken at the last word of the last chapter. Broken. Broken and put back together again.This story was so heartbreaking and heartwarming and I couldn’t think of anything else the whole damn week after I finished it. It was that good.

Honorable mention by this writer:

* Tell Me Again

6). Silence by the Night by @parkkate (drarry)

Summary: After a spell goes horribly wrong, Harry has to deal with the loss of his eyesight. It’s such terrible timing, too, because how is he supposed to find out what Malfoy has been up to in the Room of Requirement? It’s not like he can ask the git, not only because it’s Malfoy, but also because the Slytherin has suddenly lost his voice. While they’re both trapped in the hospital wing, however, Harry discovers there’s so much he didn’t know about Malfoy, and it’s highly intriguing, but also a bit alarming. Where did all these confusing feelings come from all of a sudden? And what is Harry going to do about them?

See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil. That is the best way to sum up this story. The themes of it certainly tie with the story. This story....there is a certain chapter and @parkkate knows what I mean if she remembers my reviews that shattered me. That made me sit down with a gasp because the angst just cut through me in a way that no other drarry fanfic had do to me. @parkkate I hope you know what I mean.

Funny thing is about this fanfic is that it took my lazy butt forever to read it, like months after it was done. And mind you, I’ve seen so much praise and incredible fanart for this fanfic as well. So yeah, I was cursing myself for not getting to it sooner. And it was so so so so damn good that I literally said to @parkkate THIS IS CANON. This is canon. This happened 6th year after the bathroom scene and no one can tell otherwise.

7). You only Live Once by @dreaming-fireflies (viktuuri/victuuri)

Summary: It's when the man is soaring in mid-air under the full moon that Victor gets a good look at him: he's Japanese, with black hair slicked back in a styled look, and a lithe body covered in tight, tight, leather under a navy blue coat.

And when the man lands on the ground again, Victor sees the final piece that captures his heart absolutely and thoroughly – a pair of brilliant, golden eyes.

Victuuri supernatural AU in which Victor is a Western demon hunter and Yuuri is a Japanese half-youkai exterminator.A cross-cultural romantic comedy/drama, with Japanese mythology, shounen action, and slice of life elements.

Literally the summary itself said everything you needed to know, everything that should AND MUST intrigue you enough into reading, that I don’t know if I really have anything to add. But I’ll try to add some of my own input.

Like the summary said, this is a Supernatural-au YOI story, infused with Japanese mythology. Two different shows that shouldn’t work together but somehow did, creating such a fantastic read. I loved it. From beginning to end. I even knew first chapter it was going to be an ultimate favorite of mine. This fanfic just reminded me of my great love for Vikor and Yuuri-and my need for a fucking season two. As well as reminded of the glorious prime days of Supernatural, which in my opinion were seasons 4 & 5. There was action, there was angst, there was mutual and insane pining from both sides, and so many incredible moments to put into words. Seriously, what more could you want?

@dreaming-fireflies, you seriously did the damn thing with this story.

Honorable mentions by this writer:

*Entwining Fates

*Zanka

8). your sharp and glorious thorn by @arahir (sheith)

Summary: To end the war they inherited, Keith marries the King he lead an army against.

“You know, we met once,” the king continues, voice closer, and Keith almost turns. They met many times on the field—but then the king clarifies with a single word. “Before.”

Before he was a king. Maybe before he was a general. Keith has traced his rise like the growth of a seed he planted in clay and never expected to see again for how poorly he sowed it. None of this would have been possible without Keith—not the war, not a line soldier's battlefield promotion, not the end of it all, tied up so neatly by all Keith’s best mistakes. Not the killing, either. The king is right about that much, at least.

This is an arranged-marriage AU story, a trope I don’t love too much unless it’s really well done, and had very strong Game of Thrones vibes. And please note when I said Game of Thrones, I mean Game of Thrones back in its incredible prime, not the shitty season 8 we all agree was a nightmare never to be thought of again. But yes, this story was so good. Arranged marriage, enemies-to-lovers, slowburn. Please read.

9). Your Constellation Prize by rosegardenlake aka @whoalookingcooljoker (sheith)

Summary: Akira is Hollywood's biggest celebrity. He sings, he acts, he models, he does it all and he does it perfectly. That's what Shiro thinks at least, but what would he know? He's just a tired office worker whose dreams fell through years ago. ...But when he sees Akira, oh god, when he sees him - Shiro's world fills with light again.

When Shiro lands an interview to be an assistant at Akira's company, he has a hard time believing it's reality. Though Akira's rarely around, meeting everyone is like a dream. Especially meeting Keith, Akira's shy sweet dorky cousin (OR IS HE?!)

I didn’t realize how much I would liked-love in fact-or needed a celebrity-AU until I read this story. And that’s about all I will say since I feel anything else will probably make things spoilery. But I will this say: these two can be such idiots, but they’re our lovable idiots and they’re so sweet, so soft. Also that this story definitely well-portrayed the dark side of fame.

10). That Old Black Magic by @bixgirl1 (drarry)

Summary: Centuries ago, marriage contracts were the norm — ready-made alliances between families, expected and complied with, without complaint. But norms have a way of changing, and when a long-dormant contract flares to life, Harry has to navigate an unexpected splintering of the path he'd thought would be easy after the war... with Draco Malfoy.

Least but certainly not least: an incredible, incredible drarry story done by the impeccable @bixgirl1.

I know I said that I’m not the biggest fan of the arranged marriage trope since I’ve been let down by so stories that started out promising but disappointed in the end. However, there are a few authors who I can always count on to make this trope into a great story. Such as @beatitudinembty, and also @bixgirl1.

This being is pretty much....I wanna say Sarah J Maas, one of my fav authors, in the drarry community. Everyone knows her. Everyone loves her. Everything she writes always turns into gold, and this latest story by hers was no except. Arranged marriage brings Harry and Draco together in the most infuriating, excruciating, incredibly-done slowburn.

Honorable mentions that I seriously wanted to add to the list but this post is already lengthy. All amazing, all greats reads by various writers y’all should check out:

*Moon-Eyed by @l0vegl0wsinthedark (Veela Draco, werewolf Harry, done by another star in the drarry community

*Expectant by @l0vegl0wsinthedark (drarry mpreg with Veela-Draco & werewolf-Harry)

*Where There is Tea by @bafflinghaze (drarry + bookstore+ tea=goodness)

*The Rules of Matchbreaking @nerdherderette ( drarry: match-maker Draco, oblivious Harry, what more could you want?)

* Come For Me by Frayach (drarry; STEAMY STEAMY smut and disabled rep)

*I Want Your Touch (And I Want Your Love) by @awjiminie (yoonmin with bad boy Jimin, good boy yoongi. What more could you want?)

*Seasons of Love by mucha (BTS; Jimin x Tae x Yoongi; incredibly well-done poly relationship)

Lovely people, that concludes my favorites of 2019. So many fantastic fanfics that I could spend hours gushing over them. To the writers who created these incredible stories. I applaud you. I thank you for creating and sharing these wonderful stories. Anyone interested in doing the tag, please do.

HAPPY NEW YEAR, GUYS.

#favorite fanfics of the year #best fanfics of the year #although they were many #drarry #drarry fanfic recs #drarry recs #sheith #sheith fanfic recs #BTS #BTS fanfic recs #harry potter #voltron #bangtan boys #fanfic recs #fanfics #yoonmin #vmin

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kvetchlandia · 3 years

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Richard Meltzer Lester Bangs Passed Out on Meltzer’s “Highly Uncomfortable Living Rm. Chair,” 104 Perry St., Apt. 4, West Village, New York City 1972

On December 14th, this December 14th, Lester Conway Bangs, while probably not the greatest writer of his generation, arguably its most vital so far to die, would have been 36. Haunted and driven by demons, so- called, a cheerless many of whom/what/ which — or their kindred ilk — he directly sought, found cum stumbled upon, or was inadvertently ensnared by on the demon picnic grounds of Rock and Roll, he never made it to 34.

Following the lead of a handful of babes in the rock-critical woods, one of which I'll admit (if sometimes reluctantly) to having been. Bangs at the dawn of the seventies played as prominent a role as anyone in both expanding the expressive boundaries of rockwriting as a form and giving it a voice that played the newer, more mannered and cautious, mass-market rockmags like Rolling Stone and Creem — the latter of which he even edited for awhile — as on the dime as it had played the catch-as-catch-can, limited-edition fanzines whence it came. Though he also served as the burgeoning genre’s most prolific scribbler, a mission he sustained with relative ease for the bulk of his days, it is to the man’s lasting credit that he rarely delivered copy on anyone’s dotted line. In fact, he probably “got away with more’’ in major- publication print than all his rockwrite brethren combined, conceivably (however) because it merely simplified matters to have a single Designated Outlaw, one entrusted with a blanche enough carte — and unmonitored options galore — to spike with “authenticity ’’ a rock-media stew of bogus Freedom and ersatz Candor.

Retrospectively cliched or not, there was an existential purity to the sheer commitment evinced by Lester’s prolonged wallow in (and about) the rock- and-roll Thing-in-itself. It was, in many ways, the critical headbang to end all critical headbangs; it would be hard to even imagine, for instance, a professional art-film bozo, a jock-sniffing sports jerk, or a food-review lunatic more uninsulatedy gung-ho vis-a-vis x — either as primary experience or typewrite wankery. His patented shameless multipage gush, coupled with an unswerving advocacy of certain conspicuously over- the-top rock genera (Velvet Underground offshoots; Heavy Metal; Punk Rock), made him a must-read favorite with both cognoscenti and dipshits alike, and he came as close to encountering idolatry per se as any non-musician in R&R. A good deal of which — natch —could not help hitting the self-consciousness fan, but while a man’s life was ultimately undone in the process (“I’m Lester — buy me a drink! ’’), the integrity of his art/craft was essentially unaffected. For, while he might have been a tad too glib-messianic those last couple years, he was by no stretch of things an opportunist, never really giving a hoot for what in squaresville would be known as a career. (Or, perhaps, unlike his role model Kerouac, he simply didn’t live long enough for that, too, to be strenuously tested.)

In any event: dead, cremated, literal ashes. California born (Escondido ’48), bred (El Cajon, ages 9-23), and traveled (I first hung with him in San Francisco, last in L.A.), Lester bought the big one on the opposite coast — his final home, the fabled Apple — April 30/82, ostensibly from a hefty pull of darvon employed, in lieu of aspirin, to placate the flu. Since his death, variously interpreted as a mile-radius teardrop’s once-in-a- lifetime terminal burst, a joke and a half on both himself and his precious chosen whole damn Thing, and — by occasional uncouth louts — the final glorious triumph of his excess, the spectrum of Bangs-in-ongoing-print has dwindled from monochromatic /sparse to colorless/ nonexistent. Of the two books in his name which appeared during his lifetime, quasi-coffeetable numbers on Blondie and Rod Stewart, neither a particularly representative Lestorian effort (or even particularly good: the former admittedly hacked out “in two days on speed,’’ and looking it, i. e., ad hoc and forced; the latter disowned as a clumsy, if innocent, foray into “writing as whoring’’), both are either out of print — officially — or on the back burner of barely having ever been in same, at least as regards this coast, where I’ve yet to see either in bookstore one. Nor have two posthumous whatsems. Rock Gomorrah, cowritten (early ’82) with L.A.’s Michael Ochs, and a projected collection of unpublished fragments scrounged from Bangs’s apartment a day or two after his death, gotten more than inches off the publishing ground — the former for reasons which if herein revealed would get me sued but good, the latter because, in the words of editor Greil Marcus, “the stuff is less tractable than I thought at less than 5000 words or so.’’ Also stalled, and/or abandoned (and/ or nonspecific pipedreams to begin with) : all known plans to reissue out-of- print Live Wire LP Jook Savages on the Brazos, recorded, Austin, TX, Dec. ’80, by Lester Bangs & the Delinquents, lyrics and vocals by guess who. In fact, the only anything by L. C. Bangs readily available where availables are sold is his liner copy for The Fugs Greatest Hits Vol. I, released by PVC/Adelphi some months after he’d croaked, for which he (or rather his atoms) later copped a Grammy nomination, and for which, reliable word has it, he never was paid.

Well, I’ve been proven wrong; it hasn’t been easy recollecting Lester in even half a toto in so much tranquility. Didn’t seem like such a bad idea back when obits were appearing left & right and at least two- thirds of ’em smacked of revisionism at its well-intentioned worst; having ridden the range with the guy, having been as intimate with his daytime/nighttime revealed essence — I would bet my boots — as anyone in or out of various possible beds with him, I had fiery goddam galaxies to say in his behalf that were simply not being said, at least not in print by his designated peers; and, although my no longer living in New York couldn’t help but delay my shot, remote and after-the-fact seemed like the ticket, y’know anyway, for some major necessary rerevision.

But here it is two, two and a half years gone & more, and whuddaya know if all the raw goddam pain (at the loss of, yes, a brother) and jagged fucking anger (at a waste of life, life-force, and relative inconsequential like “talent” and “genius”), an unbeatable duo which for weeks, weeks, months gave the Lester totality so cosmic a shape, scale and intensity, have by their own inevitable burnout given way to the contemplation of standard-issue mere data, of the skeletal remains of a larger-than-life life which have come to make sense (or not) in too neat, too linear, a manner. Well — hey — fuggit: Even if grocery lists, chalk diagrams and hokey storytellin’ are the forms ongoing life-as-life has imposed on the mission, there’s still a heap of essential Lester information that could use, uh, exposure to printed-page light.

What too many write-biz intimates sought to do in the wake of his death was debunk the Lester Legend (solely) by reciting evidence that his bark was worse than his bite. While I’m sure he’d have “wanted it done” (i.e., have the saga-as- litany scraped of treacherous barnacles, or at least of their treacherous vogue), I can’t imagine the projected post-life intent of such a wish as in any way entailing cosmetic overhaul, especially in the service of moral/experiential object lessonhood. Lester’s day-to-day transaction with post-adolescent life-as- dealt was — let’s be conservative — 94 % anything but pretty. If he’d have wanted his entire whatsis to serve up viable scenarios for intimates and non-intimates alike (gee, would the Pope prefer to be Catholic?), there’s no way the deal’d come out even provisionally Lester-functional without interested non-intimates having retroactive access to as hefty an eyeful of the not-so-pretty — in all its hideous, non-Clearasiled blah blah blah — as intimates galore regularly managed to cop and, in their various personal ways, have already learned from. To deglorify an earlier incarnation of shit (which the man himself was clearly hellbent on doing in his waning days on earth) you’ve got to at least speak its name — loudly! — for the whole entire planet: c’mon now, one & all. A solemn responsibility (I call it) which, credibly/incredibly, the smelly sumbitch’s closest associates have, to this day, all but refused to consider.

To wit: For every time anyone saw the defanged, declawed Lester teddy bear rear its cuddly li’l head (see obits 2, 3, 5 & 7) the man was uncountable times the asshole, the buffoon, the sodden tyrant; been those things myself — in semi-prior lifetimes — so I know. Back in ’73, for inst, the soon-to-be-dead Lillian Roxon gushed shameless love for the s.o.b., in New York on Creem business, ordering up a Lester button and leaving it in his hotel box; response to this purest of offerings was “What’s that fat cunt want from me?” About a year later I get this call from Nick Tosches requesting that I please take Lester, who’d shown up at his door on acid, “off my hands”; took him to a party at John Wilcock’s place, during which he verbally brutalized Wilcock’s wife (in green Fingernails) for being a “hooker,” snapped at an affable Ed Sanders for being “the only alkie in the counter-culture,” and had nothing more to say to Les Levine’s Asian girlfriend (wife?) than “Yoko is a lousy gook”; further into the night, at Vincent’s Clam Bar in Little Italy, he literally bellowed ( more than twice), “There’s a lotta tackin’ wops in this joint.” And how can I forget the way he treated me and Nick, his closest approximate friends f'r crying out loud, as our wonderful editor while at Creem? He’d call us each up at 3 a.m. to urgently solicit various (rather specific) reams of pap, needed via Special D toot sweet; we’d climb outta bed, peck away bleary-eyed to whack out the closest possible takes on what he’d claimed he wanted, whereupon he’d reject ’em with a vengeance (“I won’t print beatnik shit”), then run thoroughly like-minded i. somethings — under his own byline — or with our words, usually verbatim, laced throughout. Just a few “examples,” dunno if they sound like big stuff or small, in any event typical Lester, with plenty, plenty more where they came from — y’know times n-plus-many.

In spite of such anticommunal upchuck, or quite possibly because of it — post-adolescent of a post-summer-of-love feather & all that — I did have deep affection for the bastard during my final years in New York; he could really piss me off (and I, I’m assuming, him) but bygones were always eventually ditto. In those days I generally shared his affection for The Edge, and might even’ve gone extreme slightly ahead of him; in January ’72, this is true, he actually dubbed me “the Neal Cassady of rock and roll.” But by fall ’75, when I split New York to at least simulate an escape from the Frantic and Hyper (and he subsequently arrived, ostensibly to embrace same), I was feeling the first stirrings of apprehension re my own prolonged massive intake of Edge Substances (emotional, cultural, but above all chemical) and was on the verge of an early series of attempts to, y’know, cut down, to maybe get off my collision course with all sorts of walls, both metaphoric and real. Lester, meantime, seemed on a rapid upswing in the intake dept.; what had so far served as mere horizon or frame for his trip, or at most been its semi-essential fuel, was now lunging headlong for the foreground of his life ... or should we call it the twin foregrounds (life as Mythic Construct; life as physical/emotional/cultural Hard Mundane Reality).

Hey, the guy was beginning to scare me. Certainly as an advanced — or rapidly advancing — version of what I no longer wanted to be and could (possibly) imagine once again becoming, but more as this vivid, palpable spectre of specialized human decomp not just out there but right there: a pal & a buddy headed (willy nilly?) for the sewer. From late ’75 immediately onward, on those unlikely occasions when separate coasts — underscored by far fewer rockwrite junkets — any longer allowed for it, I was usually unable to handle being in the same room with him, knowing I’d have to witness whole new increments of what could really no longer be passed off as anything but (gosh) misery and (dig it) horror. Where in the earlier ’70s it was almost cute — once in a while — the way Lester would stumble into classic self- directed drunk jokes (like the time he called me from the Detroit airport to tell me he was headed for an Alice Cooper show in London, presumably England, only he’d drunkenly got it wrong and was on his way to London, Ontario), there was this half-week in ’79, for inst, during which he hung out at Michael Ochs’s house in Venice with no daily design but to get skid-row-calibre gone and stay there, that was just fucking grim. Looking an unhealthy as I’d ever seen him, basic shit-warmed over with an ngly bump on his forehead (which he claimed he was “treating with Romilar”), he refused to eat without an Occasion. When, one evening, Michael and I pretty much dragged him to a Mexican restaurant, he refused to actually step inside until he’d fortified himself with the cottons from six Benzedrex inhalers — the local pharmacist was out of Romilar — busted open on the sidewalk with a shoe.

Washing down their remnants with a Dos Equis as his enchilada sat there staring at him, he quoted (or claimed he was quoting) Sid Vicious: “Food is boring.”

So, inevitably, when Billy Altman rang me up from N.Y.Clearly on a California morn, to let me hear it straight from a friend — “instead of from a creep” — my immediate response to no more Lester, steps ahead of all the pain & anger & whut, was holy fucking shit, the fucker finally did it; it’d been in the real-world cards for long-long times for Lester to cease to be. Though even on his gonest days he was no way a classic cornball suicide-romantic — heck, I don’t really think he was all that clinically suicidal (big-sleep fantasies never overtly/covertly lured him, not even metaphorically, from the darkest sub-basement of his World of Dread; nor was Danger, though he often nonstop lived it, itself the merest tickle of a ripple of a thrill for him, a context before the fact) — he’d sure staged more corny, frightful dress rehearsals than Jim Jones plus Judy Garland (squared) for simply ending up dead.

Biggest of which I ever saw was January ’81. I’m at Nick’s place in New York, en route back to L. A. from Montreal, when who should pay a surprise visite but Mr. Bangs, cassette in hand. It’s a tape of these tracks recorded during an Austin romp I’d heard about second or third hand (he’d planned to “live there forever,” it was said, ’til a night in the local drunk tank — on top of who knows what else — totally changed his mind), and in the course of the next 12-15 hours he played it, for us and at us, many times. Also during this stretch, after boasting, rather proudly, that he no longer drank, he managed to ingest at least 36 cough- suppressant tablets (three 12-packs of Ornical — we weren’t always watching) washed down with sizable slugs of bourbon, as there was nothing else but water to wash ’em down with.

All stages of this ordeal, in which Nick and I were little more than foils for surge upon surge of what we’d come to regard as typical Lestorian bathos, were hardly bearable in the state we were in (after far too many “nights with Lester,” going back to the days when we even could dig it, we’d opted for a change to take this one straight), but the morning-after phase was literally one for the books. On the umpteenth playback of what was soon to hit the racks as the Jook Savages LP, Lester insisted that one particular vocal was pure Richard Hell (in Lester’s cosmos an a priori yay); my dogtired no-big-deal of a response was it sounded existentially neater than that, more on the order of Tom Verlaine (a Lester nuh-nuh-no). Suddenly hair-trigger sensitive — in a performance-trigger vein — he tapdanced back with “Then I might as well go sell shoes in El Cajon.” Next cut he compared himself to somebody (very contempo) else, prompting me to comment, for non-pejorative, sleep- denied better or worse, that his vocals (across the board; in general) had the same basic flavor as those on such country-western parodies as Sanders' Truckstop or the Statler Brothers’ Johnny Mack Brown High School LP. Affecting grievous offense, as if any of his b.s. actually mattered (the Lester of ’73/’74 — in any chemical state — would merely’ve giggled), he took things up a full notch of indignant/sarcastic: “Well I guess I’m just no fucking good. ”

But he wouldn’t stop playing the crap, not with every cut looming as a supercharged occasion for kneejerk call- and-response, a challenge for him to goad Nick and/or me into goading him, in turn, into mock-self-deprecatory one-liners ad nauseum — a dress rehearsal, as it were — his puke-stained sweater seemed appropriate — for his triumphant appearance on Johnny Carson, which he had no doubt the worldwide success of his Blondie book would imminently require . . . along with a shot of his mug, cleanshaven, on the cover of People (over which he whined “fear” of besmirched personal image).

Ultimately Nick and I, weary of further compliance in so shoddy an interpersonal number, old buddy or not (and/or old bud in particular), found ourselves laughing in his face; enough was enough, and the sight of this bumbling mammal going gaga for an audience of two-who-knew- better was kind of otherworldly amusing. The object of our yuks, however, took it as us laughing with him: Great Moments in Standup/Audience Rapport! Swollen with illusory (or whatever) whacked-out self, Lester then proceeded to announce his program: (1) to save Rock & Roll; (2) to become president (presumably Oi the U.S. of A.); (3) to move to England and in turn save their Rock & Roll. As mere dipshit goals, nos. 1 and 3 meant topically little to either of us — geez, we’d all but buried the Anglo-Am mainstream as even an idle, y’know, sometime hobby or whatnot — but (2) hit us firmly, instantaneously, in the breastplate.

Lester’s neurons, no recent model of health to begin with, had made the short-circuit of Lester Bangs . . . [tenor saxophonist] Lester Young . . . (latter's nickname] Pres . . . Pres/U.S.A. per se!!!

Guffaw, guffaw — we guffawed — though I guess we could've gasped (or shuddered). Then: a heavy silence, as cosmic (or whatever) as it was awkward, filled presently by the man himself:

"Hey! I'm gonna buy some import albums! I'll get a whore I know to lend me her charge card! Cab fare too!" And he was off; no amiable nudging, no “Get the fuck out of here" could take the place of timeless vinyl hunger. Gone at last — and we gave him (in all solemn, empirical, non-jive reckoning) six months to live.

But of course he fooled us, by (nearly) a whole damn calendar year. Surprise, surprise: but an even bigger surprise was the extent to which he managed to actually turn things around — well, almost — during that extra annum, especially during its. and his. final months. Not only was he still among the living, not only did he no longer seem conspicuously earmarked for premature exit — the Lester with whom I spent a rather refreshing week in February '82 gave every indication of having already gone beyond mere survival (as an issue) and appeared, astonishingly, to be thriving on the theme.

In L.A. following his mother's eventually fatal stroke and staying with his 56-year-old half-brother in Studio City, he accompanied me one night to a low-stakes poker game attended by members of the Blasters, the perfect setup, you’d figure, for Lester to revert to type. But no, he just minimally fun-&- games'ed it like anyone else — no lookin' for opportunities to “be Lester," no showing off for rock-roll peers either verbally or intakewise. no diving for the evening's jugular and letting 'er rip — and after two beers (!). without so much as a grimace, he declared he’d had enough. Postgame he engaged Phil Alvin in a lively musical dialogue, but at no point did fightin' words fill the air, or were axes even poised for grinding. The pair agreed to exchange tapes — a wholesome friendship in the making — and next day Lester complained (true, true) that reefer had been smoked.

As the week wore on in consistent, low- key fashion. I was struck by the fuckload of inner capacities the guy was perceptibly calling on, left, right and center, to extend his defiance of Death to the domain of just plain living, capacities I hadn't caught sensory evidence of — all previously told — for more than 11 minutes total. A far cry from anything as cheaply benign as, let's say, more frequent eruptions of "Lester washes the dishes" (see obit 04), what I got to witness was kind of on the order of a whole new Lester, one who'd finally found a non-lethal, functionally less jagged (though in no way “benign") rhythm for his life. Engaging him in tight quarters with more open-heartedness per se than I*m sure I’d ever mustered (sharing an Edge does not always make for brotherhood-by-numbers. let alone by pure, unedited inclination), I willingly submitted to his rap/rant and bought its tenor if not its verbatim transcript; by the time he returned to New York, his mother still hanging on. I’d seen and heard a New Lester series pilot that could credibly have played — prime time — on the Pro- Life Network.

For starters, he’d learned to slow down, to proceed apace through a given experience without easy reliance on everpopular on-off switches. He'd gotten far more selective about the company he kept, seeking out, for the first time in his known adult life, social interactions stressing soulwarming interpersonal comfort over thrash-trigger me-you tribulation. A good deal less insistent upon strapping each day to an emotional chopping block (as recalled, for inst, in that old chestnut of his, “I need to be in love!"), he'd begun to let his life embrace emotional motifs of greater duration and resiliency. And. as stuff like this fed back to his theoretic apparatus, even Lester's ideas (as stated) began to display an unexpected day-to-day congruity; no longer, it seemed, would he write an anti-racist wowser for the Village Voice in one breath and scream, "Fuckin’ niggers!” at Village Oldies the next. Lester-as-flux had had its thoroughly engaging run. and for this to give way to a “maturer” unpredictability was not the worst of possible outcomes.

Even the drastic reduction in Lester’s intake of physical poisons bore little trace of on-the-wagon-or-bust — y'know, as if any day, minute, second the tension of it all would cause him to snap right back with equal vengeance — particularly with its status as but part of a whole-body package that included both eating at regular intervals and a radical olfactory modification: He now took baths. (One afternoon in ’74 Nick and I met Lester at some ritzy midtown hotel. Though he’d been in the room all of an hour, the smell was like a dog had died there, and been left to rot, weeks or months before. Consequently, we vetoed his offer to call down for drinks on Creem’s tab, suggesting, to his consternation, that any dump of a bar would be more, uh, whatever. Many of his heterosex liaisons had foundered on the rocks of precisely this issue.)

In terms of cultural orientation, no longer was he monomanically enslaved to rock & roll (-or-perish). For virtually the first time since the sixties he didn’t need, burningly, brand new Big Beat LP’s in his mail slot each (and every) day; the state of the Art, wobbling on a multi-year terminal gimp, no longer served as his external psychic barometer, his armband of first-person pride (or shame); having finally produced Music of his own, to severe personal specifications (regardless of the giggles it inspired in jerks like me), he no longer needed to prove anything with it or through it. Crucially, though some would probably like to deny it. he no longer saw Rock’em-Sock'em as a viable metaphor for his (or any, kindred or otherwise) state of being, viewing it as the all too easy — and ultimately, revoltingly, unsatisfactory — crystallization of (mega-numerous) blank and scattered lives. Lester's break with rock-roll mythos as his be-all/end-all of etc., which I have no doubt (had he lived) he’d've sooner rather than later made official, was as profound, and profoundly moving, as his break with the Myth of Lester. As one committed jackass who’d made the same painful transition — goodbye, Rock-Automated Self! — I knew how tough a bond the chronically intermingled personal/cultural can be to crack (and my heart went right out to him).

It also warmed my cockles, considering his record in the mere civility dept., to see him relate (graciously) to his half- brother’s wife, this unaffectedly pretty 21- year-old rural Mexican the macho blusterer, a stuntman by trade, had recently acquired, maritally, while on location Down South. Though she knew pun near zero English, my first sight of her she was watching some random English-language crap, while hubby rested for a shoot of the Fall Guy series, on the tiny TV in her fussy suburban kitchen; materially cozy for the first time in her life, she seemed lonely, disoriented, far from home. Silent and solemn, she visibly stiffened — shyly? menially? — at the intrusion of Lester, my girlfriend Irene and me. only to be put at ease by Lester introducing us, without missing a beat, as, well, friends of the family. Like it mattered to him that she feel like family — and thus shared in all aspects of etc. — and for a moment the loneliness left her face; she smiled broadly, shook (or at least took) our hands, went back to her tube.

But what came off as so genuine when he was dealing with his family, his friends, kind of sputtered into the ether when he tried to branch it to the family of Man. Whenever he got to talkin' Hard Humanism, which had all the earmarks of being his preoccupation of (Rock- replacement) record, he’d make these broad, lecture-ish, relatively flavorless statements which often didn't wash.

Never wholly credible 'cause once again he seemed to be performing — without booze/etc. but surely with a script — he’d say thus & such about human courage and folly that not only had an artificial ring, it tended to run in direct opposition to what had clearly been his experience. Even his word choice sounded stilted, alien, not his own; when he spoke of "women" he could easily have been reading straight from a column in Cosmo.

A lot of which suggested a Lester so hellbent on being a good boy once and for all that to merely work overtime cleaning up his own act was scarcely sufficient; he had to render a transpersonal commentary that made his good intentions “universal,” even if the topical universality he’d taken an option on was simply the first he found it comfortable song-&-dancing a provisional connection to. There were moments when his bill of particulars made me uneasy, realizing that to intellectually challenge any of this would be like kicking mud on some kid’s newest/truest pastime, 'specially when it was one so socially redeeming, so non- self-destructive. one which, for all intents and purposes, I basically shared with him anyway. What really counted was the miracle of Rock Tough Guy #1, after 15 years of rocknroll plug-in and little else, during which he'd come to thread that needle upside down (and asleep), to the point (even) of smugness, flipness, pomposity, out on a goddam limb over something else: a neophyte at last! (I could dig it.)

Anyway, finally, on the last night of Lester's stay — which worked out as our last time together, period — we did something we’d previously never found the appropriate nexus for: trading rants (in earnest) with blank tapes a-rolling.

For something like five-six hours we went apeshit re such topics as: the sellouts & prejudices of mutual colleagues; novels and novelists; New York as (quite possibly) the coldest outpost on Emotional Earth; the usual standard rockish garbidge (plus some un- and some non-). We also hit on shrinks-we- have-known, with Lester's rap on this rooty-toot of a subject being the single one, from the four-and-a-half hours I’ve so far transcribed, which most tellingly nutshells the excruciating self- examination he had to've undertaken — and undergone — just to be sitting around discoursing as fluidly as he was, to’ve transcended whatever the fuck en route thereto:

“Like I went to a psychoanalyst, one in New York and one in Detroit, for a total of, I dunno, three-and-a-half years. I finally concluded, I mean yeah I’m insane, I’ve got my problems, my sicknesses are fucking me, yeah, I’m sure they both probably helped me, y’know, I know the last guy in New York, it's like everybody I know was totally appalled by my drinking and drugging, well like you, right, and everybody else had the same reaction, y’know, except my shrink. He’d say, ‘No, that's alright.’ I went out to this, he had a country retreat, a whole bunch of us would go out there on weekends. And the first time I went there like I got drunk on Friday night, and Saturday morning I got up and washed down a bottle of Romilar with a bottle of beer while sitting on a slick rock by the stream. I got this great idea for something I wanted to write, I stood up on the rock in boots like these and whoosh, went like that and smashed, see it, the scar on my nose? That's how I got it, smashed my face open.

“And he thought my druggin' and drinkin' was great, y'know? He said, in fact he kind of told me I'd be not as great of a writer if I gave all this stuff up. And I said, 'Yeah, but look at all these people, they rot away, they end up like self- parodies like Kerouac and Burroughs and all that sort of shit.' And he said. 'No. no, not everybody's like that.' I said, How could I someday be 55 years old and have to take a handful of speed to sit down at the typewriter?' Well he said, 'People do it. heh heh heh!' Well both my shrinks, especially this guy, they had real great humanist compassion and empathy and all that, but I know what both of 'em did, and in the long run in essence they were no good for me, because they were getting off on me being there. It’s like they’re so bored, one housewife alter another, 'I don’t love my husband, I don't know why.’ Then they get someone like you or I that's actually interesting, that has ideas, and so it's fun time for 'em. I mean if I hadda follow this guy’s advice I’d be dead, uh, pretty soon.”

Hmm: one effing eery end-of-quote as, alas, all is now dust — reactively acquired caution or no. Possibly possibly possibly, any tonnage of prudence would inevitably have proven insufficient for the autopilot courses he was still, evidently, all too capable of flying. Or, reversing horses and carts, maybe his tortured shell was already jus’ too beat-to-shit, with even a radical lessening in his scale of abuse being too little — archetypally — too late. And then there’s this pharmacological biz about purified cells succumbing to doses they’d have been more than up for when poison was all they knew. (And can we ignore the Wrath of Influenza?)

Even if, to some bitter-enders, his death remains as shrouded in formal “mystery” as those of Eric Dolphy and Warren G. Harding, all-of-the-above can't help but provide a not-unlikely profile of how Lester came to die. Throw in a few more mainline Causalities (cultural: rock-roll glut, esp. coupled w/ too literal an intoxication with Kerouac, Celine, et al; primalpsychological: a childhood more woeful than most, his Jehovah's Witness mom — pushing 50 when she had him — mind-setting, almost singlehandedly. a chronic “inability to cope"; geographic: the Apple, even when it wasn't absolute Edge Central, affording him. given his makeup, scant opportunity for inner peace) and you'd easily have an explanation that 'd hold up in a court of his cronies/cohorts/camp followers.

But if Lester was the pawn, victim, and (indeed) fellow traveler of such easy- Aristotelian a-implies-b, he was also, in those last fitful months, a scatterer of all such shit to the winds, a man who showed his true destiny muscle by throwing all the elements out of on-the-head mythopoetic sync just when they threatened, conspiratorily, to reduce him to merely another Jim Morrison. Jimi Hendrix. Mr. Kerouac. Screamingly, courageously, he committed himself, as wholly (really) as possible, to a counter-causal gameplan which even if flawed — and accidents, y’know, happen — did actually manage to defuse (at least where I live & breathe) the mythic oompah of any time-delayed rat-trap he may subsequently (or previously) have fallen in. If there's anything almost pleasing about the timing, the anti-drama, of Lester's death, it's the monumental Mythic Disjuncture factors he'd set in motion were thereby — implicitly, explicitly — to forever effect.

LESTER’S (WRITERLY) LEGACY — “One of rock’s most colorful characters, Bangs made his reputation as a pugnacious, participatory journalist who was not above picking fights with rock stars in pursuit of a good interview." So wrote one voice of prevailing wisdom, Patrick Goldstein, in the May 9/82 L.A. Times; nothing — latter part — could be farther from the truth. If Lester (the writer) more than once battled Lou Reed into (and beyond) the wee hours of etc., it was not to get a story, it was to live a story: to encounter all the rock-related being his writerly credentials (as a wedge) were able to afford him (as a person)'. Nor was he in any way enthralled by the sickening spectacle of stars being stars; artists, maybe, but stars, fug 'em. When he as mere citizen found himself face-to-face with the pose, pretense, and professional guardedness of such gaudy, extraneous creatures, Lester could not (for the life of him) deal with such crap but to cut right through and speak, directly, to the mere citizen in them, or (failing that) force the situation into functional self-destruct — before the fact of anything so dispassionate as actually “writing it up."

That his eventual write-ups tended to display utter contempt for the entire food chain of music-corporate life, often biting, intentionally, a grimy hand that could not’ve been more willing — his mighty Credentials & all — to feed him, heck, fatten him, was but half the take-no-shit of Lester's essential statement as a writer de rock; forcefeeding the stuff, his stuff, the stuff-as-writ, to the only marginally less corporate (or grimy) running dogs of rockwrite publishing was at least as pugnacious a gesture of this-is-what-I-am/this-is-what-I-do/take-it-or-be-fucked. Since the extent of his success in shoving it down so many otherwise unyielding editorial throats may have had less to do with his willful intent than theirs — camouflage, for inst, for their being life-deep in major-label record company pockets — its significance at this juncture is, at most, merely ironic; the reciprocal influence, in any event, of his ease at getting published upon subsequent moments of raw critical-expressive spew was procedurally nil. In fact, what may most enduringly matter about Lester's approach to his chosen profession, way ahead of dandy journalistic touchstones — "courage," “integrity,” “pride in craft" — that he ate for breakfast like so much broken glass (but which, really, you can still get from Nat Hentoff and Howard Cosell), is the “anti-professional," forcibly non-dehumanized square-one struggle he by design submitted to — and could not. with any kernel of his humanity, avoid - in order to pump out critical prose of any scale of note. (Pugnacity with form; with ritual creative context; even — especially — with roleplaying writerly/critical self.)

That he was ofttimes a great writer/critic, so-called, was but icing on the cake. That scant few others, on the hottest days of their lives, have even approached him — or particularly cared to, considering the requisite gravity and passion of the chore he’d set — probably says as much about their investment in lesser quals of cake as it does about the relative inadequacy of their writerly follow-through. Rockwriting is, and nearly always has been, the trade of simps, wimps, displaced machos, brats and saps; of, in Lester's own words, “ass-kissers of the ruling class”; of fuddy-duddy archivists with cobwebs on their specs; of pathetic idealizers of a lost youth no one has ever (even approximately) experienced or possessed; of sycophantic apologists for chi-chi trends, musical and extramusical alike, without which (so they've always claimed) “rock is dead”; of binary yes/no cheeses with the cognitive wherewithal of vinyl, shrinkwrap, the physical column- inch. Rockwritin' Lester, like anyone else in the trade, was certainly each of these things from time to time, though (probably) none of 'em, singly or in tandem, for longer than the odd off review. Sadly, though his untradelike comportment surely tantalized mere tradefolk while he lived — at least in terms of Style — and even begat a not-half-bad (early-’70s) clone in “Metal Mike" Saunders, his actual abiding sway among such clowns, beyond the occasional liftable riff, was — as it continues to be — infinitesimal.

Finally: the twin silly questions (1) where a still-living Lester might hypothetically've taken it (i.e., beyond the rockwrite fishpond) and (2) what such imaginary newstuff could/would conceivably’ve meant to his basic audience. Second one first. Okay, that Lester's rockstuff generally read so hot as personal testimony is one thing; for it to have been perceived by so many as being eminently, genuinely about something — something rather specific, in fact something "rear’ — is something else. When you get down to it, the gospel of Lester's radical about-ness rested largely on a big hunk of readerly illusion, the illusion of a functional one-on-one between the guy’s fertile imaginings and the psychic infrastructure of rock & roll as dealt; there could be harsh discordance, of course, but as long as a firm relationship could (for whatever readerly vested interest) be consistently inferred between Lester’s mindgames and rock’s g-g-games per se, you at least had the stamp of a viable — if totally simulated — one-on-one. But, really/truly, while Lester’s psychic playground may surely have been one drastically twisted maze, its actual correspondence (sympathetic, hostile, whatever) to rock's own labyrinth, one so airtight and dank as to make his seem like wide open etc., was far too often naught but a matter of readerly convenience. Everyone loves a cipher, a living/ breathing anagram or two. even some — hey — with flaws more rampant than Lester’s, but for the man’s writerly service to’ve been gauged (almost solely) vis-a-vis his reliability as a stand-in cipher-of- x, y’know for readerfolk too lame — or lazy — to suss out x themselves, is the real tragedy of the trip, particularly when the first-&-final glue of most folks’ attachment to his writing was never much more than their own desperate attachment to an x they could, and should, have been accessing more independently (and less desperately) to begin with.

So, anyway, here's the rub. Had Lester lived long enough to both sever his own desperate rock connection — officially, in sheets read by his fuckheaded fans, simply by writing other stuff — and, furthermore, to back it up with an equally official rejection of the Fount of Neurosis from which he'd sung its tune (and they'd listened), it ain't really much of a longshot to imagine him losing a huge percent of the fuckheads — certainly the most gung-ho among 'em — in, well, no time flat. And, c’mon, how much of an immediate, uh, new audience was he likely to yank in writing up (as he insisted he would) such transcendently pivotal mere-humanistic trifles as the dearth of love (as we know it) in scene X or Y . . . how this set of new-age culture jerks uses that set of new-age culture jerks as props in regards to bluh . . . New York editors who pull rank (pshaw!) along collegiate lines [a hard-hitting exposé] . . . or, I dunno, something about shams and follies in clothes and/or grooming?

Plus, well, though, um — (even if) — then again: Aside from loss of ad hominem authority due to the fickle scumbait nature of the pop-world Beast, aside from the fact that many of his generic partisans would prob'ly now be targeted, topically and even personally, in scathing printed-page rants, aside from the limited run such goulash (Sensitive Ties His Laces, w/ Brass Knucks & Footnotes) has ever had — hey — can ever/will ever have . . . aside, aside, aside — the most glaring fact fact is how few times, as of his death, he'd as yet even aspired to the heights (or whats) or non- rock journalism. Four-five-six, some number like that, in the Voice and wherever else, all of ’em still pretty much rockwriterly appendices to the rockwrite “adventure," meaning he had a good ways to go before he'd’ve got the wings/chops/ legs for a total-pulp plunge (or at least a regular shift) at full oldtime capacity (but with newtime thrust and content). Which would’ve been no fall from grace no matter how you scope it — give the boy time (for fuck sake) to stumble and bumble and get it right — but how would any possible Lester have dealt with a (previously amenable) shithook book co. like Delilah telling him not now, sonny when he handed ’em a ream of copy on (let’s imagine) friends who’re fuckups? Personal persona limelight Lester had learned to live without — but writeperson limelight? (It would not’ve been easy.)

Okay, he's dead. All this brand new grief and hardship never befell him; never will. But words on pages remain: What is their lot? Lester's standard fare was so paradigmatically “of the moment" that he was the rockmag shootist. But books of the stuff? Nah; it’s kind of nebulous how even his best mag outings will wear when inevitably (??) anthologized. For someone so public in his orientation, both as input and output, he was — don't laugh or even smirk — one of rock’s more precious and fragile "private moments.” Private moments you can always document — coercively, of course — but try and play ’em back and. well . . . we'll all see, I reckon.

LESTER LEAPS IN — Y’all know all by now how Lester leapt out of New York; lemme just finish with how he leapt in. His first night in town, just a visit, fall "72, he stayed with me and my girlfriend Roni, West Village, 104 Perry St., apt. 4. Arriving semi-direct from JFK, he split pretty quick for the nearest grocer, returning with three six-packs of Colt 45. What he did for the next day and a half — all he did — was wade through 18 big ones, half quarts, as follows: start can, drink fast, get tired; fall out, dropping remainder; awaken following can’s impact with floor; stagger to fridge for fresh one; repeat cycle. What he mumbled or muttered during any of the 18 pre-fallout phases I simply do not recall.

So like hey y’know wo hey hey wo-wo hey, OLD SPORT: love ya, hope I didn’t cramp yer style, g’bye.

--Richard Meltzer, “Lester Bangs Recollected in Tranquility” Dec. 6, 1984

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