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writesowhatnext · 4 years

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game, set, match // oliver wood

Summary: Slytherin!reader is a complete flirt. Oliver Wood hates it; he promises. He’s sure.

Request: heyyyy! how about oliver wood with a very flirty slytherin!reader, where she's the seeker in the slytherin team? thanks!

A/N: I loved this request oml but also Y/L/N is your last name bc quidditch... sorry this took me so long to write bc this is like my dream request so I don’t know why I struggled so much but I really hope you like it

Reader: female, Slytherin

Warnings: flirting, innuendo, suggestive themes, making out

“We’re gonna train earlier, harder and longer,” Oliver said, completely unaware of the eye rolls of his teammates. He’d never been too good at noticing things like that, especially when his mind was so preoccupied with quidditch plays and quidditch teams and how he could get out of Potions faster to practice for quidditch.

You were quite observant, though, and even from across the courtyard, the Gryffindor captain caught your eye. Everyone had always said he was an excellent captain – obsessed, mind you, but brilliant all the same - but no one warned you about how handsome he’d be. You watched with poorly disguised intrigue as his face soured when he spotted Marcus Flint approach, a gaggle of green-cloaked students trailing behind him across the stone slabs.

“What?” Oliver huffed, scowling. “I don’t believe it.”

You couldn’t help but smile as his frowned deepened. You and Oliver Wood did not know each other: you weren’t in the same circles and you didn’t often stoop low enough to associate with Gryffindors, but his cute pout and angry brows made you rethink that rule of yours.

“Where do you think you’re going, Flint?”

Flint grinned; either he didn’t sense Oliver’s anger, or he didn’t care. Your money was well placed on the latter.

“Quidditch practice.”

Both teams edged closer to each other, each captains’ dull irritation turning the air stale. You regarded the tension with a rather amused grin.

“I booked the pitch for Gryffindor today.”

“Easy, Wood,” Flint said, his tone mocking. Oliver ground his teeth together. “I’ve got a note.”

Oliver snatched the scroll from his hands, peeling it open. His eyes scanned the words quickly, Fred looming over his shoulder to get a better look. You listened with equal parts smugness and intrigue as he read it out, his accent like music to your ears.

“I, Professor Severus Snape,” he said, his annoyance growing by the second. “Hereby give the Slytherin team permission to practice today owing to the need to train their new seeker.”

His eyes darted to Flint’s.

“You’ve got a new seeker,” he said dryly. “Who?”

The sea of green cloaks parted and you stepped out, your head tilted to the side slightly as you smiled at him.

“Hi,” you said lightly, wiggling the fingers of your free hand at him, the other clutched loosely around your broom.

You smirked as Oliver’s brows drew down, his team simultaneously sizing you up behind him. He recognised your face from Charms, or perhaps Defence Against the Dark Arts, he wasn’t sure. He tended to avoid Slytherins and looking at your teasing expression, he realised why.

“You’re the new seeker?” he asked, unable and unwilling to hide the incredulity of his tone. His eyes trailed over your face critically.

“Yes,” you said lazily, more amused than insulted. “Seems I’ve got a knack for it.”

“Right.”

“If I was more sensitive, I’d be offended, Wood,” you said slowly, wetting your lips. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

As you followed Flint towards the quidditch pitch, a renewed sense of excitement flooded through you. Sure, being on the quidditch team would be fun anyway, but now you had Oliver Wood to play with and so, the world seemed just that much brighter. You were more than pleased when you glanced back to see the whole Gryffindor team watching after you. With a wink and a wave, you disappeared down the hallway towards the pitch, grinning at the frown pulling at Wood’s brows.

“Blimey,” Fred said as they returned back to the common room, tails between their legs. “That new seeker’s definitely got the hots for you, Wood.”

“Did you see that wink?” George snorted. “She’s got balls, I’ll give her that.”

“What?” Oliver said shortly, stopping just before the Fat Lady’s portrait. He told himself that he was irritated about not being able to practice, but he couldn’t ignore the strange frustration he felt at hearing Fred and George speak about you as if they were impressed.

“Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t notice,” George said, rolling his eyes as he dipped through the portrait hole.

“She was eyeing you up the whole time.”

“What are you two on about?”

Fred and George shared a look as Wood retreated to his dorm, his thoughts plagued by your silly little wave and cocky little grin, his cheeks pink.

He found himself noticing you everywhere after that; a strange turn of events for him given his usual inobservance. At first, it was in Potions, listening to you laugh across the classroom, and then after that, he caught your eye in the Great Hall and yet again, you shot him a wink that had him frowning. He even met you waiting for the same staircase.

“Morning, Wood,” you said with that same teasing smile. He pursed his lips together, exhaling sharply out of his nose.

“Morning,” he said reluctantly, shuffling from one foot to the other. You stood there in silence for a moment, shoulder to shoulder as the staircase swung around.

“Are you a snitch?” you said conversationally, biting your cheek. You turned to face him, watching his expression contort in confusion.

“Am I a-“

“Because you’re quite the catch.”

He watched you walk leisurely up the stairs with his mouth open and his brows knitted together. Were you hitting on him? He swallowed, clearing his throat as a first-year thundered past him to reach the stairs before they moved again. He followed them up, feeling somewhat of a first-year again himself, before he huffed and annoyance ran through him at your audacity. Who exactly did you think you were?

He got his answer next time he saw you on the quidditch pitch. You were flirting, apparently. Gryffindor vs Slytherin games were always a struggle; it was hard to beat a good team as it was, but beating a good team that also cheated felt next to impossible. It didn’t help at all that you were so distracting as you hovered near him by the goalposts, watching for the snitch.

“You’re looking rather dashing today, Wood,” you said, balancing your elbows on the broom to rest your chin against your hand.

He rolled his eyes at your words, blushing slightly as he eyed your laidback position.

“And I know a fantastic way to make it up to you when you lose,” you said, amusement ringing through your tone.

“Don’t you have a job to do, Y/L/N?” he asked, feigning irritation. You grinned, pleasantly surprised that he even knew your name.

“I do, actually,” you replied softly. “I’m a hell of a seeker, you know. And I think you might be the one I’m looking for.”

His head shot up, his shocked eyes meeting your ever-present smirk.

“What exactly are you trying-“ he began, desperately trying to hide the way your words rattled him.

“Sorry, Wood, gotta run. Apparently, I have a job to do. I’ll definitely catch you later.”

You shot after the snitch towards the Ravenclaw stand, leaving Wood thoroughly confused in your wake, a strange stirring in his chest.

Gryffindor lost that game.

Everyone could tell that Wood was more irritated than usual at the loss, but nobody knew that it was because you were right and that he hated that you were right. It irked him that you were a hell of a seeker. It irked him that you were so cocky. It irked him that you flirted with him so brazenly. More than anything, it irked him that he found himself undeniably and unfortunately attracted to you.

His team could guess, though, the link between your flirty remarks and Oliver’s recently extra-aggravated mood. The twins specifically were fans of seeing Wood so flustered, and because of a girl no less. What they weren’t particular fans of was losing and Wood’s distracted state seemed to be the main contributor to Gryffindors recent streak.

“Okay, Wood,” Fred said, sitting on one side of him as George sat on the other. Never a good sign, Oliver thought.

“We need to talk.”

The Transfiguration class was filling up; they wouldn’t have long to talk some sense into their captain before McGonagall arrived.

“About?”

“The Slytherin.”

Oliver raised his eyebrows, busying himself with shuffling his parchment and trying not to let his feelings leak onto his face.

“Which Slytherin?” he replied, his words deliberate.

“You hear that George?” Fred snorted. “Which Slytherin, he says.”

“Oh, just the Slytherin that you’ve been flirting with for the past three weeks.”

“That Slytherin.”

“I’m sure you remember her.”

“She’s the one flirting with me!” Wood snapped loudly, defensively, drawing the attention of some Ravenclaws from the row next to him.

“So, you do know who we’re on about,” George said smugly, tilting his head to the side.

“Very well, it appears,” Fred nodded, smirking.

Oliver rolled his eyes and groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“What of it?” he said, his voice strained.

“You need to talk to her,” George said.

“Or tell her to stop,” Fred continued.

“Anything so we can start winning again.”

“You could hex her…”

“Or snog her…”

“Maybe you could just shag her in the broom-“

“Alright, alright,” Oliver said, his eyes narrowed as he scowled, unable to keep his cheeks from blushing. “You’ve made your point.”

“Excellent,” they said with matching grins as they walked over to their seats across the room, pushing each other on the way.

Even though Transfiguration was already ruined for the day, Wood was pleased that that particular conversation was over with. He didn’t think there was anyone he wanted to talk about you less with than the twins with their ruthless taunting. There was no way he’d be able to keep his thoughts from straying to you during class, but at least with Professor McGonagall teaching, his daydreaming would be kept to a minimum. The last thing he needed was the wrath of McGonagall; his recent performance in Quidditch was not helping him stay in her good books as it was. She hadn’t arrived yet, though, and so he let himself wallow a little bit, his head falling pitifully into his hands.

The first poke he felt at his shoulder he ignored, writing it off as an accident. The second had him sitting up straighter. The third time, he tutted, swearing quietly under his breath before he whipped around to see you, of all people, sat behind him. His eyes went wide at the sight of you and all of his frustration frustratingly melted into a puddle of nerves.

“Yes?” he asked, trying not to show it under your steady gaze. “Can I help you?”

“Well,” you said, your smile immediately filling him with regret at his word choice. “There’s a lot of ways you can help me…”

You trailed off as his expression turned guarded and your lips twitched. You leant forward onto your elbows, pleased when he didn’t recoil at the close proximity of your faces.

“I just wanted to say hi, though, for now.”

Oliver frowned; his suspicion obvious.

“…Hello, then,” he said hesitantly, his sweet little scowl making its way back onto his face. Surely you had to have some sort of remark planned, ready to fluster him once again.

“You seem rather stressed today.”

Oliver paused again before responding, not sure how to process your first proper conversation. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to share his current woes with you, especially given you were the cause, but your eyes seemed sincere for once and that incessant smirk seemed a little less hostile this close.

“I’m not everyone’s favourite person at the minute.”

“Ah,” you said, nodding knowingly. “Because of quidditch.”

He hadn’t expected you to be so blunt, but he was pleasantly surprised by it.

“Seems I’m a bit distracted.” He said, shocked by his own boldness.

His words hung in the air between you for a moment and he watched with wary interest as a smile lifted at your cheeks. He was struck, really, that he’d never seen you smile properly before. You had an excellent smirk and you portrayed vague amusement like an expert, but the way your eyes were crinkling had him doing the same. Your flirty remarks died on your tongue at the way he grinned at you, and you found yourself feeling more and more like a silly little school girl by the second. Flirting with him had started out as a bit of fun, especially when you caught his irritated glances and flushed expression, but by the way your stomach had turned into butterfly house, it was suddenly something else entirely, something actually quite nerve-wracking.

“I can give you a tip if you like,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “An old wives’ tale about brooms. Might help you with your quidditch playing.”

He pursed his lips, enjoying talking to you more than he’d have liked. He doubted, looking at your face, that what you were about to say would help him, but he didn’t really care.

“Go on, then.”

Your smirk returned, but you were more nervous to deliver your line than you ever had been, hopefully, he didn’t notice.

“Don’t you think broomsticks have it bad?”

He frowned.

“They have to carry someone around all day, constantly destroyed by bludgers-“

“Is this going somewhere?” Oliver asked almost playfully, his brow raised. You shushed him, pushing his shoulder gently in scolding, an oddly informal gesture for the two of you.

“So, what they say is: save a broom, you know; just ride a quidditch play-“

“Ms Y/L/N.”

Your blood ran cold as Oliver turned around, Professor McGonagall somehow appearing right in front of him.

“Perhaps it would be a good idea to save your quidditch tips for outside the classroom, hm?”

Oliver realised with a healthy amount of surprise that, for the first time since meeting you, you were nervous, embarrassed even. Despite the scolding from McGonagall and the fact that this would land him even further away from her good graces, he couldn’t help but smile at your softness.

“Of course, Professor,” you replied, your voice uncharacteristically small. He bit his lip as he faced the front, struggling to contain his grin and struggling to ignore the funny feeling in his chest at seeing a different side of you.

Oliver was more stunned than anybody at how much he enjoyed your company. What surprised him the most, though, was how much he needed to see you again. How much your face plagued his thoughts.

“Oi, Y/N!” he yelled across the quidditch pitch, jogging over to you. He didn’t have a plan, per se, as you turned around and grinned, watching him stride towards you in his school robes. The closer he got to you and your teammates, all dressed in dark green, the more flustered he felt and he cursed you for a second for being so attractive in the sunlight.

“You alright, Wood?” you asked, folding your arms over one another and wetting your lips.

“Good, yes, yeah, you?” he said, slightly breathless from his run. You pursed your lips to contain your laughter at his flushed face.

“I’m fine,” you said, tilting your head to the side quizzically, an unspoken question.

“Can I- uh- borrow you?” he said, swallowing the tightness in his throat. “Alone.”

You turned to Flint with a raised eyebrow, your jaw clenched to suppress your smile.

“Only be a few minutes,” Oliver said, trying to appeal to Flint’s non-existent better nature.

“Please?” you said, beaming when Flint rolled his eyes, nodding reluctantly.

“What’s up, then, Wood?” you said, walking away from your teammates, your shoulders almost touching.

“Uh,” he said. What was up? What was he doing? Why didn’t he have a plan?

Looking at your amused expression and bright eyes, he floundered, not at all sure of what he was doing. He let out an uneasy chuckle when you waved your hands in front of his face.

“You seem… distracted,” you said, echoing his words from before, quietly pleased when he smiled.

“I am, actually,” he said, nodding with newfound confidence. “You’re very distracting.”

He hummed.

“All this flirting is awful for my quidditch performance, you see. Just can’t stop thinking about you.”

You paused, pulling your top lip between your teeth.

“Is that right?” you said, feeling your cheeks heat up as you raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, it is,” he said, stepping closer to you, his hands hovering just over your hips. “I suppose there’s only one thing to do about it.”

“Oh?” you said, swallowing apprehensively as he leant towards you. He smirked.

“You’re looking a bit nervous there, Y/N.”

“Me? Never, I-“

Before you could finish your unconvincing protest, you were interrupted by his lips on yours. Your stomach flipped at the feeling, but only a second passed before he pulled away.

His expression was panicked as he looked at you, your faces so close you felt his breath on your face.

“Oh,” you said softly, reaching your hands up to play with the lapels of his robes. “I always knew you were a keeper.”

He scoffed, throwing his head back and barking a laugh.

“Shut up,” he said, tilting his head to kiss you again, this time properly.

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#Oliver Wood x reader #Oliver Wood imagine #Oliver Wood #imagine #writing #Harry Potter imagine #harry potter

751 notes · View notes

lover-of-trash-and-people · 3 years

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shadow and bone rewatch s1e6 while drinking mid-range scotch

I wish I have a face that is as unlined and pretty as Ben Barnes' when I'm 39

Arken you dirty dirty liar

the face Alek is making at his lies that he knows are lies firstly because he knows the art of lying so well and also because he can read people very well

okay Ivan is kind of a bad bitch with his smirk at Arken's lies

alek's eyes narrowing and his little smile when Arken says 'im an entertainer' bitch I love this show

*grabs hand, pulls up sleeve, and discovers Arken's hand is full of marks indicating successful passages through the fold* 'well, that is certainly entertaining' I love this man with all my heart

him screaming is so fucking hot, is that weird for me to say

Nina being the Darkling's spy is quite interesting

Ben giving the Darkling crazy eyes when Arken owns up to his guilt is so cool

also wtf is Arken a fool trying to negotiate with possibly the strongest man in the world

kind of loved the darkness literally eating him

also love Alina learning to use her powers better when she is alone than when she is with anyone else, wish we got to see the cut in this season as per the books, ah can't have everything I guess

the camera pan to Jesper's gun at his side, amazing

god Jessie is literally so beautiful I need to see her bring Alina to the peak of her power so bad

netflix you better renew this series to let the plot run to its completion

HOW THE FUCK DID THEY CAST THE CROWS SO PERFECTLY

INEJ FUCKING TREMBLING JUST THE TINIEST BIT AS SHE BOWS SLIGHTLY TO ALINA SGSHSBSJJSJSSJ MY TWO QUEENS

'And where is my Summoner?' my little Darklina heart ouchie I really wish you hadn't used and manipulated her like this Alek it was incredibly fucked up especially considering you actually caught feelings

'Ivan and I won't fail you' oh Fedyor my baby, my angel, you don't deserve what is coming

Helnik literally recreating Titanic lmao stop this is a joke

I too would jump off the raft if I came to consciousness to see a gorgeous woman with magical powers with her hand on my back

omg but why is ryevost so pretty though

'I know exactly how she felt. The King's soldiers treated me the same way... I'm not myself today.' why must you do this to me, why must you fuel my darklina soulmates agenda idiocy

I don't quite think I have a problem with the Zoya Darkling relationship as much as I have a problem with the line they chose to reveal it to use with.

my drink's over and I don't know if I should have another, considering that it's 7 am

the tenderness with which he looks at Zoya and takes her hand and then when he says 'I shall relax when I have Alina' makes me believe more that the man that is reduced to tears time and again in front of Alina could in fact be the master manipulator I know him to be

god I can't wait for Zoya's character arc

'I speak six languages, it's part of my job' why is Nina literally the fucking coolest

Alina blinding the oprichniki was so hot, I can't wait to see more of her power and her ruthlessness

I know I've said it before but good god is Jessie Mei Li gorgeous

HER LITTLE SMILE AMONGST ALL THE PANIC AS SOON AS SHE SEES MAL, THE AUDACITY OF THIS SHOW TO MAKE ME FEEL THIS WAY

THE SCORE COMING IN AT THE RIGHT MOMENT, THEIR HANDS MEETING, HER SMILE AGAIN DHDHSBSNSNSNSNAN IM IN PAIN

REALLY?! YOU'RE GONNA GO DIRECTLY FROM MALINA TO HELNIK WITH NO CONCERN FOR MY HEART?

I simply cannot get over Calahan's accent lmao it's really funny

'im not afraid of you' he says to the insanely gorgeous girl with magic

HIM HANGING HIS HEAD IN DEFEAT TO INDICATE NINA HAS MADE VALID POINTS YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND I CAN'T BREATHE

'You're just a man. Like all the others.' she says and then forgets her train of thought looking at him as he strips. god I love this

not sleeping all night and then scotch is not a good idea, I think

'I promise not to ravish you' 'I hate the way you talk' her hand on his chest, his hand gripping hers, my fucking heart feels like it's about to explode

good god these shooting locations and sets are so beautiful

Alina throwing the flask at Mal and Mal going 'OI!' I fucking can't, I guess I am a

simp for childhood friends to lovers, give me more of that banter and childhood friend energy, I am thriving

wow it literally seems like they took book! Mal sl*tshaming book! Alina and made show! Alina sl*tshame show! Mal, hmm, interesting

'They would have split us up!' MAL'S LITTLE SMILE AT THIS, and the 'You wrote me letters?' Mal's nod, the Malina yearning stare, the Malina hug, 'thank you for finding me' 'always. I'll always find you.' NO MALINA YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND YOU HAVE MADE ME ABSOLUTELY FUCKING FERAL

I understand they had to split time between my ravkan babies and the crows and that is why there were several aspects that were sort of not reflected on enough but Alina's training at the Little Palace, Alina's cut, Mal's personality, a teensy bit of backstory for the crows, maybe one lockpicking scene from my boy Kaz

random note: we have far too many idols and paintings and pictures and whatnot of Hindu deities in our house apart from the specially designed temple (we are Hindus, so maybe it's not that weird but it's a little weird)

Kaz's cane is a literal star, it's so beautiful my heart wants to explode

'Why would Heleen get the Crow Club?' *literally fucking gets up and walks aways instead of answering the fucking question* I LITERALLY CAN'T BREATHE I'M LOSING MY MIND

'I know that voice' WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO MAKE ME FIGHT FOR PLATONIC SHIPS IN FANDOMS

'We won't starve' omg get you someone who packs food for you when you go on the run together hiding from your ex who wants to capture you and use your powers as a weapon against your consent

Mal looking surprised at her summoning sunlight, Alina looking cautiously at him waiting for him to disapprove or run for the hills in fear or smth like that, 'I'm sorry it took me this long to see you... But I see you now' my dumb little shipper trash heart ouch

they really said we're gonna feed you this part asian couple as the protagonists in this show in 2021 and guess what I'm eating it's really tasty I'm very satisfied as a south asian

NINA'S LITTLE SMILE WHEN MATTHIAS WAKES UP WITH HIS ARM AROUND HER

'I can feel how much you hate sleeping next to me' 👀👀👀 BITCH SAID IMMA SPILL THE TEA AND THEN SHE DID

it's 8 am and guess what I'm getting another drink my parents have c*vid and are in govt qu*r*ntine centres there is nobody to supervise or stop me

I too say 'Why do you have to say things like that?' to my pretty crush when she flirts with me

Nina smiling at Matthias bragging about his conservative ways is my aesthetic

'No, it's not natural for someone to be as stupid as he is tall and yet, oh, there you stand.' MY FUCKING QUEEN

Matthias laughing uncontrollably at Nina saying something which isn't even that funny is a whole ass vibe

Kaz Brekker saying 'The Black General' ooh fuck yeah

YESSSS STEP OUT OF THAT CARRIAGE ALL SEXY BLACK GENERAL

isn't alcohol supposed to like kill germs? well, the amount in my system definitely will

I love my crows so much (always but this time particularly for setting that alarm in the stolen carriage)

ooh Polina recognising Inej by the knife yesss let's go writers

this Ivan Jesper showdown is all I needed from life and yet did not know about

Ivan taking off his cloak was, um, sexier than I wanted it to be

I just realised how thirsty I am going to sound in this post

'Has no one told you that keftas are Fabrikator-made and resistant to bullets, hmm?' 'Oh, I do love a challenge' LITERALLY EVERYTHING

im sorry to be pointing out flaws in a perfect show and adaptation but the line delivery on 'You robbed me of my brother, now I'll rob you of your life' from Polina was kind of weak

'You're a-' *gets knocked out with the back of a gun* LMAO we love the hints

got excited at the prospect of kaz v. zoya until I realised they will not be letting the opportunity of kaz v. darkling pass up

my goodness is Amita Suman a splendid actress

I AM NOT KIDDING WHEN I TELL YOU I SQUEALED WHEN I SAW DARKLES EMERGE OUT OF THE SHADOWS IN FRONT OF MY BABY BOY KAZ

THERE BEING ACTUAL FEAR OR ATLEAST DOUBT ON KAZ'S FACE, THE LITTLE BACK STEPS AS

THE DARKLING WALKS TOWARDS HIM, AAAAH I CAN'T

THE DARKLING STOPPING AT KAZ SAYING 'SHE FLED ON HER OWN' AND THE HINT OF TEARS THAT WE SEE IN HIS EYES

'IT WAS PRETTY CLEAR SHE WASN'T INTERESTED IN BEING A CAPTIVE ANYMORE' YOU TELL HIM, KING

*ACTUAL FUCKING TEARS IN THE DARKLING'S EYES AS THE SHADOWS APPROACH*

NOT ME YOWLING LIKE A HYENA THAT THIS CHILD OUTSMARTED THE MOST POWERFUL MAN IN EXISTENCE WITH A FAKE MAGIC TRICK

'Are you sure you added enough cloves?' literally warranting a wide ass smile from my queen Alina making my entire fucking day

for some reason, no matter how much I push it from my mind, Ben Barnes dressed up as the Darkling, dancing to 'push it' keeps coming to mind, it's absolutely ridiculous

I got somehow distracted with interviews but good things came out of that as it gave my body the time for the booze to kick in

and I would just like to say that I love Leigh for all she has given me

Alina is so fucking compassionate, I have no much love for her. I can feel her guilt and her sorrow as Mal talks of Mikhail and Dubrov

don't particularly like how the stag plotline is woven in, could have been executed better

'You're afraid you might start to like me?' *flaps furs like a bird's wings in frustration*

'I DO like you' my fucking heart you idiots

the sexual tension is so palpable and the moment is so intimate I simply cannot

OMG SHE FUCKING FELL

that moment where you think he might let her fall despite having read the books and he doesn't and he tells her his name I- <3

YOU DARE TRANSITION FROM A HELNIK SCENE TO A KANEJ SCENE YOU REALLY HAVE NO MERCY FOR MY HEART HUH

people have talked about this endlessly but Freddie's little jaw tic after he says Inej because Inej is wounded and he can't physically bring himself to help her I fucking cannot

THE MUSIC PICKING UP AS KAZ LOOKS TO THE DARKLING'S CARRIAGE I CAN'T WITH THIS SHOW ANYMORE

and now for one of my favorite scenes in television and cinematic history, David Kostyk throwing a book at Jesper Fahey without even knowing who he is merely because he opens the door of his carriage and says hello to him before getting knocked out by Kaz Brekker while trying to run away

Immediately followed by another, the scene with David Kostyk raising his finger to put forward his point in front of the Darkling and the Darkling trying to let him know he doesn't have to before obliging is one of my favourite scenes in the world

also sir please stop being devastatingly attractive in your glorious appearance with your face and your black kefta and cloak because all that comes to mind is Ayesha Erotica's Emo Boy and I'm afraid that is terribly inappropriate.

'No, you look great.' *literally looks down from embarrassment or blushing* MALINA RIGHTS?

THE LOOK ON THE DARKLING'S FACE BEFORE HE SAYS 'NO ORDINARY TRACKER, NO ORDINARY GIRL' BITCH IM OUT OF BREATH

'ORPHANS OF KERAMZIN, REUNITED.' 'ADORABLE.' HE FUCKING SNEERED IRL I FUCKING CANNOT

GOD IT'S SO GOOD

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prongsisabadger · 3 years

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TWP Chapter 27

The fact that the extraction team was in orbit didn't mean we would be getting out of Felucia right away. The separatist forces had blockaded the system and the fighters would have to punch a hole in it first. I would have worried about it if it hadn't been the 104th that had been sent. The pack had incredibly talented pilots, most of them reassigned to him after their former squadrons had been destroyed.

Very early on, Master Plo had decided he would take in any troopers who had lost their entire squads and needed to be reassigned. According to Ahsoka, some Masters thought it silly. Why want a battalion made up of whichever troops death hadn't claimed? None of them had worked together before, they didn't know each other's dynamics and would probably be an inefficient group of traumatized misfits.

Turns out they weren't. Scarred and burdened with survivor's guilt, the members of the Pack got very close, very fast because they had a lot in common: they all yearned for comfort, a place to belong to. That is what the Pack was. In addition to that, Master Plo's caring yet imposing nature made for an incredible leader to rally behind. That, and soldiers who survive the loss of an entire squadron are either lucky or skilled, either way they were both good things to have in battle.

So you could see why I wasn't concerned, the best pilots in the GAR were coming to break the blockade, and break the blockade they would. There were brothers to save, Generals to aid and their very own Commander to get back. I will not lie and say I thought myself unimportant to the Pack, no, I knew I could count on them to have my back whenever I needed them because they knew I would give my life to protect them too.

Still, with the two droid battalions approaching fast from the northeast, and the possibility of the divided forces in front of us overwhelming Ahsoka, I had no time to waste keeping my eye on the sky. I had the 212th to protect too. I put all my worries aside and focused on the battle at hand. It was amazing how fast I could force my mind to compartmentalize things in the heat of battle. I realized it all came crashing down on me once the adrenaline abbed away and I found myself in a safe environment once again. It made sense, in my mind, to be able to do it, I had been Plo Koon's padawan for a few years before the start of the war and most of that time I'd been training in Dorin. The only real action I ever saw was as a member of the GAR and I'd been surrounded by soldiers the entire time. It was only natural for me to learn from and adapt to my environment.

"Commander!" it took me a second to realize it was T.H. over the comm who was trying to reach me. "Commander, do you read me?"

"Yes, T.H."

"Commander, the enemy to the northeast is five minutes out. We'll be outflanked any minute." There was distress in his voice, urgency, but not fear. He believed we would get out of there no matter the cost. but it would cost.

I turned to my master and started to back away and towards T.H's position before I yelled, "Master! I'm off to reinforce the northeast, the enemy is almost here."

He nodded, never taking his gaze away from the droids marching towards us.

"Make sure the men are ready to leave at a moment's notice."

I crossed the clearing as fast as I could, jumping over ammo crates and sprinting full speed to where I could feel T.H. As I approached the like of firing troopers, I switched my saber ona and took my stance right at the front. This was going to get ugly.

"Alright, boys, the 104th is trying to break through, we better stay alive until they arrive!" I said in as light a tone as I could manage. "Whoever kills more tinnies gets free drinks!"

"You heard the Commander, Fellas" chuckled Waxer over the comms. "She's buying my drinks tonight!"

"Yeah right, you have the aim of a geonosian bug, Waxer. I'm getting those drinks!" answered another clone.

Suddenly the commlink was alive with light hearted banter and renewed morale born of healthy competition.

"If I win though, you boys are buying for me, and I'm planning on hitting Coruscant clubs hard once we head back." I chuckled, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. We were all trying not to lose our cool as we waited for the next wave of droids to arrive and it showed.

"I never thought you were the type, Commander." Teased Boil.

"I'm not, but one's 18th solar return happens only once, trooper. And I didn't have my Age of Responsibility celebration last year, the war kinda got in the way." I laughed.

The commlink went wild, and all of a sudden I had half a platoon making arrangements for when we went back to Coruscant. The battle started, but no one seemed to notice, they were all too excited planning a bar hopping route and picking who was in charge of what for each of them. Was it unprofessional? Very much so, yes. The entire situation seemed almost fictional: troopers staring death in the face while excitedly planning a celebration. But I hadn't been aiming for professionalism, I had wanted to give them something to look forward to. I wanted them to have something to fight for other than their lives, as trivial as a solar return celebration seemed at the moment.

We had little time left on the battlefield anyway. The Pack had managed to create an opening in the enemy's blockade of Felucia and now the gunships were landing all over us to get every single soldier, Jedi and Padawan off the Force forsaken planet. I almost didn't realize the clone that came up behind me and started to lay cover fire had his armour painted gray. It was only when I felt Art through the Force that I realized we were going home.

The entire force that had been guarding the north east boarded the gunships without a second's hesitation.

"Double time, Boys. We still have to make it up to the cruiser!" I encouraged them as they all moved.

Once every last man was on board I ordered the pilot to take off. After getting clear of the foliage, I made a head count and found every trooper was present and accounted for. I reported to Master Kenobi of our situation and took the liberty of asking about Ahsoka.

"Your friend is following her Master's teachings," Said Obi-Wan with what sounded like a frustrated sigh in my ear. "I hope her habit of disobeying orders isn't contagious. I'd hate to have to go through this again with you, Kriari."

I chuckled, thinking of all those stories he had told me about Anakin as a Padwan.

"Don't worry, Master, I think Master Skywalker's made your hair go gray enough."

"Careful, young one, Anakin might be offended." He retorted with a light tone. I assumed Master Skywalker was somewhere around him and listening to every word we said.

I cut the link and focused on the rising tension around me. The gunship was swerving violently from side to side as the pilots attempted to keep us all airborne and alive. I felt the need to reassure them, tell them everything was going to be okay. But I didn't want to lie. My connection to the Force was strong, but not strong enough to see the future.

"So, who's paying for drinks tonight?"

...

"And then there was this huge argument -mid flight- about who had had the most kills and who hadn't because apparently the Commander thought alcohol was the best encouragement for the 212th. And now we need to coordinate this big ass Solar Return celebration because both battalions got excited and wanted in." Explained Headfirst trying not to laugh at how ridiculous the situation had been. "I mean the pilot was trying not to get shot down and still he went 'If I get us all on board the cruiser, do I get free drinks too?'"

The entire table burst out in laughter as we had our first meal post battle. I had left both Master Kenobi and Skywalker to deal with Ahsoka and what I assumed was a major fuck up judging by how serious they all were being about it. AfterI finished my meal, I left the men to their own devices so I could get cleaned up.

It took the Pack no time to welcome me back. I got salutes, pats on the shoulder, on the back and even a few "good to have you back, Commander" as I walked down the corridors and to my quarters to shower.

Scrubbing the dirt and grime of the battlefield felt better than I had anticipated. I was sore from the explosion and the rough landing that followed, but nothing seemed to be broken. I waited for my clothes to dry after washing them with an old robe wrapped around me. I had missed my quarters aboard the ship so much. The walls had been decorated by a few of Art's creations, a mirror and a few pictures of the Pack and I after missions. The sheets had been changed from their original grey and white to more earthy tones -I had been missing the Temple quite a lot at the time- and the closet had most of my clothes in it, if not all of them. The lingering smell of incense I'd burned the last time I had been on board still stuck to the walls and sheets. This had become my home after the Temple had been flooded by force sensitive children escaping the war. And the cozyness and familiarity of it all put me more at ease than I had been in a very long time. Not that I didn't like the 212th or my quarters there, but it was definitely not the same, even if I wore their colors on the armour for my left arm.

I got re-dressed and dried and styled my hair in its usual side part before re-braiding the longer strand on the back of my neck. I -of course- put my armour back on, but not without polishing it first. A Jedi must always look their best, they are a symbol and a representation of the Republic in the war. If we were roughed up, disheveled and dirty then it didn't do any good for morale.

As I finished smoothing away my robes, someone knocked on my door, which was odd in itself. I had already given my report and spoken to the hologram of the Council before heading for the mess hall. I hadn't had the chance to speak with either Master Plo or Wolffe because they were both engaged in post-battle protocol and I hadn't wanted to disturb them. I would get to see them later anyway now that my tour with Master Kenobi had come to an end.

I opened the door to a stone faced Wolffe. His posture and demeanor only seemed to have gotten colder and rougher during the time we'd been apart, but I still could feel how uneasy and unsure he was as he stood there, proud and strong as someone of his rank and experience.

"Commander, I wasn't expecting visits, I was on my way to the bridge to greet you and Master Plo." I said with a smile and just a smidge of confusion in my tone.

Wolffe only grew more uncomfortable with each second which was very unusual of him. I knew we had been on almost friendly terms when we last saw each other so this sudden change puzzled me greatly.

"Would you like to come in?" I asked finally, a little lost on what to do at his lack of an answer.

This seemed to startle him because he rejected my offer right away, like the idea was preposterous -which it might have been but I had a mute soldier in front of my quarters so what was I to do?

"I was-" he started before clearing his throat, his cheeks tinting slightly. "I was here to deliver something to you on behalf of the 104th." he said, pulling out a sheath from behind him.

It wasn't longer than my forearm and the sheath was the exact same grey color as my utility belt and lightsaber. Unable to say anything I took the weapon and unsheathed it. It was a beautifully crafted vibroblade. I looked up at Wolffe, grateful, confused, and a little giddy. He didn't return my gaze, in fact he was purposefully avoiding it. I didn't mind, he wasn't the type to show he cared, this was very new to him.

"Thank you, Wolffe. It's beautiful," I said, securing it horizontally on my belt at the small of my back. "But to what do I owe this amazing gift?"

Wolffe's face colored even further as he steeled his resolve and turned to look me in the eyes.

"Your armour has too much orange in it. We felt a little more gray was necessary."

#TWP #clone wars fan fiction #star wars the clone wars #plo koon #obi-wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #commander wolffe #captain rex #padawan!oc

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anhed-nia · 4 years

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BLOGTOBER PRE-GAME 9/30/2020: 30 MILES FROM NOWHERE/CONFESSIONAL (2019)

Spoiler alert. Or whatever. It’s not going to matter, you don’t care.

So, I've been away for a minute. Just about any reason to be away from Tumblr is probably a good reason, but I have an especially good one. I'm finally working on a "real" writing project, which demands, and deserves, all of my attention. My social media abstinence isn't just a matter of time management, though. Once I had a long term obligation on my plate, I became very aware of how the short term satisfaction I get from posting mindless rants was eating away at the fuel I have available for sustained efforts. When I wind myself up with a 500-1000 word blog post, it generates a lot of electricity, but I blow it all as soon as I experience the catharsis of posting it, and I'm further pacified by ego-stroking likes and reblogs. Not to sound like a sanctimonious luddite--I mean, I'm still here, after all!--but it turns out that the staying focused on the long haul has been surprisingly revivifying. In fact, I haven't been talking about my big fancy project for the same reason; I don't want to lose any of the juice I've been storing up by wasting it on the shallow pleasure of describing it. Also such things should probably be somewhat confidential until they're approaching the publishing stage, but I digress! There is an actual reason I'm saying all this, that has more to do with this blog.

(Don’t get all excited, I’m not doing EVIL ED right now, I just need a relatable image.)

As I got deeper into my experience of "real" film writing, I started to reflect on the meaning of my personal writing. Like, the point of it. I tend to write in a sweaty, compulsive, sadomasochistic haze, in which I'm sometimes hyperbolically generous, and sometimes--perhaps more often, unfortunately--as nasty as humanly possible. Sometimes the movies deserve it, when they're lazy, pretentious, or otherwise demonstrate an open contempt for the audience aka ME. Often, though, I'm just creating an opportunity to vent my generalized rage and frustration. That can be very entertaining for myself and (hopefully) my teensy-but-devoted readership, but lately I've asked myself whether there isn't some negative tradeoff for all this amusement. In this phase of my life, it's reasonable to assume I'll make more and more friends and acquaintances who create things I don't always care for, but I don't necessarily think they deserve to be abused for it. As much as I have a right to say whatever I want, technically, I'd be embarrassed if I were caught just jacking myself off by making fun of their work in public. And more to the point, I don't necessarily want to contribute to the growing atmosphere in which people feel more afraid to try and fail, because the public so commonly misidentifies sarcasm and mean-spiritedness as intelligence and superiority, and that form of petty darkness spreads across the internet a lot faster than a movie can reach a wider audience. After all, I'm in the process of potentially turning myself into one of those well-meaning failures right now. I could stand to be a little more deliberate about how I speak, and about what, in general.

My father is an art critic, and once in an extra petulant moment, teenage-me asked him in an accusative tone what he thought the point of his profession was. He replied calmly that he wouldn't publish any comment that he didn't think the artist could make use of somehow. I don't know if he always stuck to that policy, but the thought sure stuck with me.

So anyway, over the last few months I've been giving myself a bit of an attitude adjustment, through a combination of personal reflection, and hard work on something meaningful/not for the internet. I've been feeling all proud of myself and shit, but today reminded me that any path to enlightenment is always marked by setbacks, doubt, and temptation. For today, in complete innocence (or at least a melange of innocence and ignorance, as I very much invite this type of problem), I managed to watch TWO (2) movies about an academic film-cum-psychology project, focused on a gang of college buddies who inevitably reveal what bad people they are under the unique conditions of the project, and then the project turns out to be run NOT by its presumed-dead originator, but by the originator's even-crazier lover. It's amazing how particular something can be, and still be utterly obvious and cliche. In my defense, I really tried to turn the second movie off, because it was...just instantly terrible, but the seed of suspicion had taken root--is this randomly selected movie ACTUALLY EXACTLY THE SAME AS THE PREVIOUS MOVIE?--and I just had to find out if this could be true. I suffered, deliberately, for another hour and a half, to confirm my awful hunch. I don't know how I would have felt if I had turned out to be wrong (better? worse?), but I don't have to worry about that now. Now I just have to worry about my overpowering impulse to be as ugly as possible about what I have personally subjected myself to.

(The completely deceptive poster for our not at all witchy or eerie opening feature.)

In need of a passable time-waster this afternoon, I put on 30 MILES FROM NOWHERE. Released in March of 2019, Caitlin Koller's claustrophobic black comedy feels oddly like a product of 2020. A group of estranged, middle-aged college pals of the BIG CHILL ilk--which one of the characters calls out, out loud, just so ya know--come together for a fallen comrade's funeral, only to find themselves trapped in his widow's increasingly creepy cabin in the woods. Said comrade was driven to suicide by the failure of a psychological experiment he conducted that plunged its subject into madness, and if you don't realize right away that the obnoxious and unstable cast are the new subjects of their not-quite-dead friend's renewed project, then you're firing a lot slower than 24 frames per second. The dialog is often decent, aiding a handful of funny, natural performances...but it's hard to forget that you're just waiting for the conspicuously crazy widow to reveal that the "unexplained events" in and around the cabin are part of a controlled attempt to get the guests to devolve into their worst selves, which isn't such a difficult task considering the undesirable state they all arrive in.

It just made me ask myself, what was the point of this? Why do people make movies that are entirely predicated on the shock of the twist, knowing that if the twist isn't so shocking--or is baldly obvious from the start--then the whole experience just falls apart? Why not hedge your bets with a little more depth, or purpose, or style, or really anything more reliable than a smug attempt to prove that your script is smarter than your audience? Even if you do manage to pull off this dubious accomplishment, it reduces your movie to something like the experience of having somebody jump out of a closet and scream in your ear to "get" you. I've always felt concerned that if somebody ever tries to "get" me like that, I might just automatically punch them in the face. But anyway, whatever shred of good will this movie could have accrued with its plucky performances is blown away by the final insult, when the cops arrive to clean up the inevitable bloody mess. The responding officers are hilariously unimpressed and unsurprised by the byzantine scheme that has resulted in a shocking act of violence, because the cabin's "guest book", which our heroes all filled out, was actually the signatory page of a complicated waiver form granting full permission to the hosts to, like, do whatever the hell they want to everybody. Presumably this shit just goes on all the time, leading the local law to shrug off anything that happens to or because of the dumbassed lab rats who frequent the cabin? I dunno. I mean, what can I say? ACAB, I guess!

At the time, I managed to resist the urge to take to the internet and decry the crimes of this lame-o party joke. I really don't like the sensation that a movie is just trying to trick me into thinking something that isn't true. But, this isn't, like, an affront to cinema. People make annoying, below average movies all the time, and maybe you kinda have to, if you eventually want to make better movies. I imagine myself in the shoes of the people who actually put some elbow grease into this production, having to wade through the rantings of internet ghouls like myself while they're trying to see how their efforts are paying off. Making a movie is probably a lot harder than I think it is.

But that's part of the point I'm heading toward. I'm always amazed by people's willingness to pour huge amounts of energy and capital into something to which there is ultimately very little point. I mean, I have bad, unoriginal, boring ideas every single day of my life. But I almost never DO any of them. I have a hard enough time convincing myself to just get out of bed in the morning, let alone devote blood, sweat, and money to deliver unto the world material evidence of my personal mediocrity. I can't imagine thinking it would be worth it, for myself or the unfortunate people who are subjected to my project, to actually execute on my bad ideas. I'm being judgmental, but honestly, I don't even know if my attitude makes me better or worse than someone who accomplishes the task of completing and selling a movie that's mainly a waste of time. Movies are so complicated, and realizing them requires the consensus of so many people, that it's sort of incredible that there are people capable of making one that doesn't have a powerfully compelling motivation behind it. People who are able to do such a thing obviously have something that I don't, and it isn't just "consideration for the audience."

So, I could probably stand to be more forgiving--or just, less eager to absolutely flay someone alive on my dumb little blog because they so opened themselves up to my arsenal of elaborate insults. But like...not all the time. Sometimes, a movie really fucking asks for it, and in revealing itself to me, it has effectively signed a waiver giving me patent freedom to do whatever I want to it. CONFESSIONAL is the latest movie to give me such a gift. After the final credit rolled in 30 MILES FROM NOWHERE, I looked for a little palate cleanser. As little as I like movies that put their single egg in the motheaten basket of a "shocking twist", I also have a problem with what I identify as canned theater. Not that I think all movies have to be lavish productions, but I think they should try to do something that is natively cinematic. It's very rare that I'm impressed by anything that is literally all talk. So, I went in search of some more familiar form of trash to help me recallibrate, and trash is definitely what I got.

(Me crying over my own bad decisions.)

To be fair, I kind of should have known that I was in for a challenging experience. The 2019 found footage thriller CONFESSIONAL is more or less based on the "confessional" part of sleazy reality TV shows, isolating each cast member in a soundproof stall so they can spill the rotten contents of their guts. Unfortunately, I spotted a review suggesting that the movie succeeded, against all odds, at remaining visually dynamic despite the unchanging scenery, and I was intrigued. The reviewer was correct, impressively; the monotony of the coffin-like environment with its dark foam walls was the least of my concerns. Other problems superseded that threat, immediately. The plot concerns a group of college pals who come together to remember a recently deceased friend--a filmmaker who expired mysteriously while completing a psychology-tinged project in which she recorded all of her friends' most shameful personal secrets. Now, somebody else has taken over the project...someone who "has never been identified", according to an early title card in this movie-within-a-movie (EVEN THOUGH THIS PERSON WILL BE EXPLICITLY IDENTIFIED AT THE END OF THE MOVIE SO LIKE WHY), but who seems likely to be the decedent's ex-lover...who continues to expose their subjects' most shameful secrets on film. I mean, what the fuck? Did I somehow manage to pick a second movie with almost the exact same plot??? I couldn't believe it. I didn't know if I could take it. My prospects only got worse when the cast showed up and started talking. I tried to turn the movie off. I backed out and walked away from it, twice. But I couldn't leave it alone. I had to know if it was really the same movie.

CONFESSIONAL concerns characters who are contemporaneously in college, which actually goes a long way to making everything worse. Each of these walking cliches is connected in some way to Amelia, a film student whose mysterious death has created a campus scandal, leaving shattered hearts and lives in its wake. The living have each received a blackmail-flavored invitation to speak about the deceased in a tiny "confessional booth" somewhere on campus, where, predictably, they find themselves locked in until they confess whatever they know about Amelia, and their classmates. I don't know why practically every single movie about young people has to be so miserable, but this is one of those. I assume that it has something to do with the fact that youth is simultaneously so desired and so ignored. People in their teens and early 20s are so sexually coveted, yet so easily dismissed as individuals, that we wind up with all this media that panders to them relentlessly (or at least, panders to the legions of ticket-buying perverts who enjoy watching them prance around), without almost any consideration of how they actually think and act, and look. Movies like FAT GIRL and WELCOME TO THE DOLL HOUSE may be accused of their own form of pandering, a venal form of voyeuristic schadenfreude, but at least they reflect something of the awkwardness, isolation, and incompleteness of adolescence; something more than the dissociated, pornographic fantasies of adults who have long since forgotten what it was like to be powerless and ignored, or desired by people who don't even like you.

Not that CONFESSIONAL is supposed to be a work of grim realism, but it is most definitely rooted in a fantasy about college life that makes its contrived, message-y plot a lot harder to take. With almost the sole exception of "the nerdy one", every single character looks like a Bratz doll, oozing an exaggerated indecency that belies the movie's pretentious insistence on addressing the sex & gender Issues of the Day. What you get is a really good example of what happens when millennial characters are modeled, not on any actual millennials, but on other forms of marketing that are aimed at millennials, which are themselves just based on other preexisting youth-targeted commercials, et al ad nauseam. Even setting aside the deliriously slutty wardrobe choices, makeup appears to have been laid on with a trowel, coating each actor in a thick creamy layer of spackle that only makes any scars, pits, or other evidence of individuality look utterly bizarre. Accordingly, everybody preens, pouts, and generally behaves as if they're about to take off their clothes, which might be a huge relief given the profusion of chafing, cheapo mesh and straps they're laboring under.

So, ok, not every movie can have a great costume department, but the dialog here is a perfect match for the disastrous aesthetic decisions. Actually, this is the real reason I almost walked out on CONFESSIONAL. If I may ramble briefly, without substantiating any of my broad-ranging claims: Sometime in the late 90s/early 00s, horror cinema seemed to suffer a degenerative slide away from genuine thrills and chills, and into a version of the genre that is best characterized as the Slutty Halloween Costume approach. Any sense of existential dread, revulsion, or bodily vulnerability was widely replaced by a cutesy, Hot Topic-y preference for fast fashion and sex appeal, in which bloodshed more facilitated an informal wet teeshirt contest than any real fear induction. Horror's new mall goth look came with an equally shallow, boring verbal affectation: a sullen, sleazy, tooth-sucking sarcasm, that ushered in a new era in which, instead of making fun of the scummy coked-out dialog in porno movies, we now expect everybody to just talk like that, because it's hot. There's probably a line to be drawn between this unfortunate development, and the boneheaded real-world trend of identifying "sarcasm" as an important personal selling point on dating sites, but I won't try to prove that here. For now, I will just say that as soon as I heard the CONFESSIONAL characters start to speak, with their sneering, insinuating tones, with the vocal fry, with the head wagging, the jutting jaws, the smoldering gazes, the juvenile dragging-out of horny grownup words like de-bauch-er-y...I almost lost my nerve. Listening to these little creeps hissing and spitting for 84 minutes is a lot like being hit on by some barfly who continues to bludgeon you with his hot breath and corny lines without ever noticing that you've thrown up into your pint.

Uh, anyway. So what actually happens in the movie. Why would anyone ever allow someone to record video of them revealing the ugliest, most embarrassing parts of themselves? Especially a kid, for whom popularity and reputation are often a matter of life or death--literally and specifically, in the case of this story. The flimsy reason is that the late filmmaker, Amelia, was the most awesomest girl ever. Everybody loved her, because she was so sweet, and so smart, and so cool, and so nice, and so deep, and so original, and so talented, and so sexy, and just like, the bestest most perfectest girl in the whole wide world. N.B. "The greatest of all time" is, perhaps counter-intuitively, a really bad quality that makes for really shitty, boring characters. For better or worse, Amelia is rarely on screen (and when she is, she's no Laura Palmer, frankly), so it's up to the viewer to just sort of imagine a type of person who could make you act against your best interests on account of you just like them so much. After all, so many of the characters were obsessed with her in some way, that it's like they're here to help you clap your hands and believe in this seductive, compelling part of the movie, that just isn't actually there on the screen. The anonymous antihero behind the confessional booth scheme slowly extracts from each character the selfish, destructive behavior that in some way contributed to the tragic loss of the most amazing person of all time--and part of the result is, if not a very interesting excuse for Amelia's death, then a story so wacky that I really wish they had centered the movie on it, instead of on the tawdry soap opera we're locked into. Even if that imaginary movie had been really bad, and it probably would have been, at it would at least have been entertaining.

Part of what leads up to the death of Amelia is the existence of a secret school fight club, led by a stereotypically sleazy gender studies major, named Major, who is out to prove men's inherent superiority. The club is called CFB, or Cock Fights Back, which is somehow a garbled pun relating to cock fights, and Trump's famous line of "locker room talk": "grab'em by the pussy" > "pussy grabs back" > "cock fights back". CFB is different from your ordinary fight club in that the fights are always between girls and boys, and the boys are always blindfolded, in order to prove that a fully-abled female is no match for even a handicapped male. To complicate things, a new designer amphetamine is gaining popularity on campus, called "odds-on", meaning that it makes you the odds-on favorite in your CFB fight. As awkward as that is, it also seems that men are never the guaranteed winners of these fights, which makes you wonder why Major insists on continuing to host them. As much as I would have preferred to watch a stupid movie about this stupid idea, I'm stuck instead with a movie in which Major is such an aggressive MRA because he's secretly gay, and he thinks that hating women is a great way to hide that...as if that isn't what we all openly suspect about aggro MRAs. Secret gayness is a big part of this movie, involving multiple characters, although it amounts to very little other than the perpetuation of some stale, harmful cliches about how unfulfilled homosexual urges lead to suicide, sexual abuse, and murder. CONFESSIONAL is just as reliant on this grim vision of gay life, as it is on its weirdly obtuse discussion of drug addiction, for the suffocating sense of self-importance that it uses to try to elevate itself above its porn-y trappings. None of the movie's hot button issues are given any real thought, but are only dragged through the mud to create the illusion that there's a point to all this, thus relieving the film of any sense of innocence that could have made its condescending sleaziness forgivable.

Admittedly, I can't really remember all the details of the film's tortured intrigue anymore, even though I basically just saw it. A lot of its meandering revelations just left me thinking, "Why did I need to know that? Why should I care?" I do know that about half way through this ordeal, I became really anxious about whether it would turn out that CONFESSIONAL did NOT have exactly the same plot as 30 MILES FROM NOWHERE after all, and I put myself through all this for nothing. But no, I was right to begin with. The wonderful Amelia's ethically dubious film project has been picked up by the unhinged lesbian character who loved her so much she wanted to become her, and killing Amelia and usurping her confessional project was apparently the best way of doing that. I guess exposing all the dark, violent secrets of all these tangentially involved characters was just an added bonus, or whatever. Ultimately, this ugly, ignorant PSA about something-or-other only deals itself further damage by relying so heavily on the potential of its clumsy twist to blow your mind, which it does not at all.

So that was it, that's how I burned a whole afternoon allowing my mind to implode-not-explode under the ponderous force of TWO (2) movies about exactly the same exhausted cliche that is still being peddled by certain pretentious assholes as fresh and exciting, and beyond the capacity of the audience to anticipate. There's probably a whole slew of other movies that employ this overly familiar "surprise", but I don't have it in me to dig them out of my long-suffering brain. Feel free to contribute in the comments. For now, I must prepare myself for the ordeal of Blogtober, during which I will *hopefully* choose my screening selections and words more thoughtfully than I have in previous years, when this blog was motivated by just as much abject misanthropy as these movies, which do nothing but willfully insult the audience's intelligence. Maybe today's detour into degradation will help me go forth toward more additive experiences, having purged several lungfuls of meaningless venom from my system, and this season will bring with it more interesting, provocative posts than the last. Or maybe not! In any case, I promise to keep trying my hardest to make it funny.

PS I actually love both FAT GIRL and WELCOME TO THE DOLLHOUSE. I’m “just saying”.

#blogtober #2020 #confessional #2019 #30 miles from nowhere #horror #thriller #black comedy #found footage #brad t gottfred #jennifer wolfe #jennifer bosworth #caitlin koller

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nad-zeta · 4 years

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hi there! I’m a new follower but oml I love your blog already. umm may I request a match-up? I’m an infj, super introvert. I love to read and write; I’m not very social at all. very anxious and I have some medical conditions that hinder me from going out. I adore animals though, and soft music. and I surprisingly have a temper and a protective streak. thank you so much 🙈❤️

Hi, there love! Welcome to my blog, thanx so much for the follow! Awww you are too sweet *blush*. Thank you so much for the matchup request! I hope you didn’t have to wait too long .^_^

So I match you with..................... Kenshin

The first encounter the two of you had with each other was a local teahouse in Azuchi. You are just quietly sipping on tea minding your own business when some creepo starts hitting on you. Hideyoshi had insisted you get out a bit despite your medical condition. He thought a change of scenery might do you some good. You were too shy to refuse, so now here you sat book in the hand, warm tea on the side and peaceful music playing in the background. You hated to admit it, but Hideyoshi was right, the change in scenery definitely sparked some inspiration. You pulled out your journal and started to write! But now all that was ruined… Hideyoshi had stepped out for a moment to sort out some dispute, which gave this creeper the perfect opportunity to make his move. The more you tried to get away from him and ignore him, the more he pestered you. You lost your temper cause you were feeling scared and uneasy at the whole situation. Plus, you thought if you created a scene, maybe Hideyoshi would hear and come help you out! Things were getting out of hand, and when all of a sudden, a sword was at the creepo’s throat. “What shall you do to make up for spoiling my drink, I know perhaps you could pay with your life.” All the blood drained out of the creep’s face. Heterochromatic eyes narrowed to look at you. You were breathless, he was beautiful, he looked like an ice sculpture cold and sharp, yet graceful, a true work of art. “You, woman, are you okay.” You only managed to give him a small nod. The creep was now begging for his life, Kenshin simply took him by the collar and threw him outside, while threatening to kill him if he ever came back to the tea house. You could only manage a small thank you as he walked back past you back to his own table. It was around this time that Hideyoshi returned, and you kindly asked to be taken back to the castle. Kenshin noticed that you had forgotten your writing book on the table when you left. He paged through it, grunted, and placed it in his pocket while leaving to go back home.

In the days to follow Kenshin much to his frustration couldn’t get you out of his head. At times he could be found reading your writing journal completely in awe. You had such a rich imagination, and the way you were able to bring a story to life had him hooked. The others had noticed the shift in Kenshin and his behaviors, he was more aggressive and frustrated. He would look for fights more often, drink twice as much, yet nothing helped. His mind still kept wandering towards you. Twice as much now that he has found out you were the princess of the Oda forces. His first instinct was to kidnap you and lock you in a dungeon, but he thought better of it. It was now Shingen’s turn to intervene once again for his old friend. He sent Sasuke and Yukimura to go and retrieve you from Azuchi, and within a few hours, you were now resting comfortably in one of the castle’s rooms.

The next night you were invited to one of their banquets as a surprise to Kenshin so he could calm the hell down. When he saw you sitting there, the room immediately dropped by 20’C., “what is this woman doing here,” he demanded. Shingen used your status as a motivating factor to the reason behind having kidnaped you, although no demands were made to Nobunaga for your return. You sat there quietly, observing everyone and everything. You were feeling pretty anxious at everything happening around you. Kenshin low key noticed this and started talking to you in his own clumsy way. He shared his most precious pickled plumbs with you, cause you like him hadn’t eaten anything yet for the day. You looked so small and fragile he couldn’t help but be overcome with the feelings of wanting to protect you. As conversation flowed you slowly started opening up to Kenshin to the point of being able to consider him a friend. You found out he loved pickled plums, fighting, and sake. You spoke about the books you’ve read, your writing and all sorts of little hobbies you had. He confessed to you that he had found your journal the first day you met. And that he was enchanted by your writing style. You could see the reluctance in his eyes when he gave it back to you. You couldn’t help but blush at the compliment. You pushed it back towards him, saying, “if it manages to brighten your day even a little bit, then please keep it.”

In the days to follow Kenshin started taking quite a liking to you. The two of you would work in his room together. You would read and write, and he would work on the boring admin parts of being a warlord. When he was with you, he let his guard down, and his usually hard sour expression turned soft and gentle. One day while you were reading in his room, a little rabbit hopped it’s way up to you and started sniffing you. Your eyes went wide in surprise. You loved animals. Trying not to scare him off, you stayed super still. That is when Kenshin entered the room with what looked to be a mountain of fluff entering behind him. Are those all BUNNIES. You died and went to heaven at that moment. Kenshin explained that the little creatures just started following him around. He proceeded to sit next to you, and his full army followed suit. Before you knew it, you were covered in soft fluffy bunnies. Kenshin’s heart was racing at the sight of your radiant smile and excited energy. He had fallen in love with you long ago, but seeing you in moments like this made him fall in love all over again. You and Kenshin spent the afternoon playing with the sweet little rabbits, stroking them and naming those without names. Kenshin couldn’t help but think how much you reminded him of a little rabbit. You were cute and sweet yet protective and quick-tempered, just like a bunny. At that moment, he couldn’t stop himself. He slowly leaned in with one hand on your cheek, giving you time to pull away. And then, he kissed you. It was a small gentle kiss, but it sent butterflies to both your stomachs. As he pulled away, you just gave him the brightest smiles that he had ever seen. The bunnies must have felt jealous of your sudden shift of attention from them to Kenshin, cause next thing you knew they started nuzzling you and giving you small bunny kisses. You giggled at the small gesture, never have you felt so much love in one place before.

You were incredibly protective, a quality that Kenshin really loved. You protected him from the demons in his mind. You protected him from those dark thoughts and insecurities. And you protected him from his fear. The two of you made a pact to protect each other from all the evils of this world, both the seen and unseen. You two were an incredibly affectionate couple. He loved it when you would help the maids to bring tea to every during war councils. He loved how you would always serve him last and then give him the smallest kiss on the cheek before you left. It would provide a sense of renewed energy. You loved to spend time snuggling and cuddling him while reading. Your most favorite spot was sitting in his lap, his arms wrapped around your waist, reading while he would occasionally nuzzle into your neck. The two of you could often be found outside in the shade playing with the little rabbits. Occasionally you would let him rest his head on your lap to give him some much-needed rest while you would just pull your fingers through his hair. You would always laugh at the little buns that would get jealous and jump onto Kenshin’s face as if to say that only they were allowed to be petted by you. He would glare at the small animals nuzzling you. You would just smile, give him the brightest smile, kiss him on the nose, and break out into giggles at how cute he was.

Other potential matches................... Mitsunari

I hope you enjoyed it! <3

#uesugi kenshin #kenshin uesugi #kenshin route #kenshin ikemen sengoku #ikesen kenshin #kenshin matchup #ikesen matchup #ikemen matchup #matchups #ikemen sengoku matchup

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egoiistas · 5 years

Text

may i feel, said he (18)

first | tag | ao3 | ffn

[co-written with @tsaritsa]

Can you guys believe May I Feel turned one last week? Its been such a CRAZY YEAR. And we thank you guys who read us for making our hearts brim with fuzzy goodness. Honestly. We wanted to get this out quicker than usual because it was also @colonelhotstuff‘s birthday on the 30th! Happy belated birthday!!

Super special thanks to @b-griveros whose commissioned art is featured in this chapter >:3c hope you guys like it! <3

Warnings: Cursing, Suggestive themes Words: ~12k || Rated: M - Royai

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

soften the parts that we have lost / kiana azizian, infinite

Central City is cool and breezy the following morning despite the bright sunshine beating down, and the air is even cooler in the underground levels of the parking garage. Riza swings in her backpack into the trunk of the rental car with the rest of their belongings. Her eyes feel puffy from the early rise and tired, but she looks forward to sleeping in her own bed - or, rather, a bed that’s familiar to her. They had said their goodbyes upstairs and poor Elicia didn’t want to let go of Roy until she was swayed with good parenting. She even waved a goodbye to Riza in between tears that Gracia assured was her developing melodrama.

“Is that everything?”

“I believe so.” Roy answers after the slam of the trunk door. He gets into the driver’s seat and her into the passenger seat when she sees Maes in the wing mirror flailing an arm and carrying a medium-sized cardboard box with him.

“Roy,” she says abruptly to catch his attention and points to the rear-view mirror.

“What the-” He gets out, leaving the car door open. “I’m sorry, mister. I don’t have any change.”

From where she sits, she can clearly see the Maes’ red face from making the trip and running to find them. He scoffs and shoves the box he carries into Roy’s arms with one swift gesture. “These, forgotten trinkets, are yours.”

Roy digs around the box and raises his eyebrows, recognition cresting over his face and impressed with seeing his old things. “Where’d you dig these up?”

“We started,” he wheezes, needing a moment. “Shut up, your shit is heavy. We started clearing out the extra study room and we found these buried away.”

Roy’s tone is teasing. “Clearing out the study? Hopefully to make way for a gym. Or at least a treadmill, buddy. Cardio goes a long way.”

“No.” Maes glares at him and straightens up from bending over his knees. He pushes his glasses back up his nose. “Nothing’s set in stone yet. Elicia’s barely turned three, but we’re trying.”

Roy opens the car door behind his and the box is hastily shoved into the seat. The contents shift and the poorly closed box shows her a bunch of papers. Journals, she suspects. When she looks up, Roy is patting his best friend encouragingly. “That’s really good news,” he says; the pride suffuses through his tone. She can’t see it but she can hear the smile on his face. “And know that the offer still stands, should anything happen.”

Maes gives him a humbled smile in return. “I appreciate that. I think this time we’ll be better prepared; no, we are better prepared. Knowing is half the battle. But don’t let me hold you up. I’ll keep you updated.”

Riza smiles as they hug goodbye, again.

“Stay safe,” Maes tells him, before ducking his head into the car and winking at her. “Be good, Riza.”

She waves back. “No promises there.” She moves to figure out where the AUX port is on the radio when she hears Maes speak again.

“She called. Last night.” His tone is quieter. It doesn’t resound off the concrete like it was a minute ago but the open car door lets the sound flow in regardless. “Just wanted to give you the heads up in case of, well, anything.”

Roy sighs. “I’m sure she has. I’ve made myself as clear as I can.”

“I know you have. Just be careful, mate.”

The silence stretches on, almost to the point of uncomfortable. “I’ll do my best.”

The door shuts swiftly as he gets in. Maes knocks the metal frame of the car as they drive off, arm raised in a final farewell.

“What was that about?”

Roy has this dazed look on his face, unfaltering even as they reach the blinding rays of the morning sun as they exit the garage. It takes him a moment to ground himself. “Oh, nothing. It’s just that…” As he says it, he almost looks like a kid himself. “They’re trying for another kid.”

She thinks he looks adorable. “Oh! That’s nice. You must be so ecstatic to be a godfather again.”

He shrugs, trying to downplay the smitten smile on his face. “I just think it’s exciting for them. There were difficulties following Elicia’s birth and it’s admirable that she’s willing to go through that again, knowing the risk.”

Riza holds her tongue on the thoughts of adoption and foster care, reminding herself a single couple do not have the power to change the entire system. “Yes, it sounds very brave,” she replies. “And I think Elicia will be happy to have a little brother or sister.”

“I think so too. But, how are you? You sound a little down.”

Riza looks at him warily and deflects just as quickly. “I think I’m still tired, I don’t think my night was very restful.” In anticipation to his response, she amends, “And please don’t say that it was because of your “hot lovin” that kept me up.”

He snorts and laughter laces his words. “I wouldn’t have used that exact phrase, but you caught me. Why don’t you nap? We’re ways away from home yet.”

“I think I will.” She leans the seat back, getting herself comfortable. “And I know how you operate...sir.”

She wakes up and there are pastures passing them by. Cow, windmills and craggy hills in every direction. The Eastern provinces might be simpler than their neighbours, but there’s a simple kind of beautiful that exists here and Riza wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Good morning.”

Riza inhales deeply. “How long was I out?”

Roy hums. “I’d say hour-and-a-half, two hours tops.”

She blinks, trying to rid herself of the sleep in her eyes. “Where are we?”

“We’re about to cross into the Eastern section. Moomoo cows as far as the eye can see for another hour or so.”

Riza raises an eyebrow. “Moomoo cows?”

“Do you...not… call them that? How do you know what kind of noise they make if you don’t preface it with that?”

She snickers as she peers out the car window. “I think your nickname for them is very valid, Professor. Does your colleague Elicia call them that too?”

“Now you’re just being mean.”

Riza’s face scrunches up when the topic of Aerugo suddenly crosses her mind. She figures now would be a good a time as any. “So… Aerugo.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she spies him perking up in his seat. “Yes?”

“Are they getting married again? What’s the whole deal with that?”

“Yes, that’s basically what constitutes as a vow renewal.”

“But I thought vow renewals were something you did when you’ve been married for decades. Not after a few years.”

Roy snorts. “You underestimate what excuses people will give to justify a pachanga. Er, fiesta, party.”

“Wait, what was that first word you used?”

“Pachanga. Fiesta just doesn’t have the right emotion behind it. Anyway, parties like the ones for children’s birthday, like Elicia’s, aren’t rare. The same people would be at another relative’s kids’ communion, baptism, kindergarten graduation and nobody is going to want to be the person tearing down a declaration of love. It’s quite ingenious, really.”

“Sounds like you guys just like to...pachanga?”

“Yes, in some instances it can be used as a verb.”

“So, it’s just the ceremony?”

Roy’s head tilts side to side, considering the question. “No. Well, kind of. It’s a long weekend on an island, getting together with a group of close friends. The amount of people there won’t be as many as they had at Elicia’s birthday party. Obviously not everyone can drop what they’re doing at the drop of a hat to spend a week on vacation but most are gonna try for a few days at least.”

“Will you?”

“I’d like to. The last time I visited Aerugo was for their wedding. I doubt a lot has changed but it’s a beautiful place. The colors are vibrant there and pictures cannot do it justice. From what I remember, at least.” He smirks at some memory. “There was a lot of wine involved last time.”

Riza hums thoughtfully. “Sounds like it will be a good time.”

His eyes slide to hers. “It should be. Even more so if you accompany me.”

She can’t help it - the incredulous laughter leaves her before she has a chance to consider how that could sound. “Right. I’ll just find the spare two-hundred thousands cenz lying around, shall I?”

He does a good job of keeping his face neutral, but Riza knows a hurt tone when she hears it. “I’m only heartless when it comes to grading, Riza. You would be my plus one.”

“No, that’s - that’s too much money. I couldn’t let you waste- spend that kind of money on me.”

Roy lets out a frustrated sigh that pushes the hair out of his eyes. “This isn’t about me trying to shame you because I have disposable income and you don’t - I want you to come with me. I don’t like that I can’t just take you out for a nice dinner whenever I like, or even go catch a movie with you. Y’know - the things that every other couple gets to do without fear. But then opportunities like these come up, and it’s like some big neon sign telling me that here’s the chance you’ve been waiting for, take it. And even if we could go out on dates like normal people I’d still want you to come with me anyway.”

His impassioned response gives her pause. It’s resolute, adamant, but there’s something that burrows at her, disallowing her to be swayed. It takes her a moment to find her response.

“Is it really about the money?”

“Yes! And… no,” she admits ruefully.

“Gracia mentioned Aubrey.”

Riza nods slowly, letting him fill in that space and going with that flow. “It was quite the ambush, for lack of a better word. And I wasn’t about to monopolize your time simply because I felt uncomfortable amongst people I didn’t know. As tempting as it was to do.”

“I know it can feel intimidating and people were just interested because I’ve lost contact with a lot of them. You were a symbol as much as an explanation as to why that was.”

It pains her to admit that he has a solid argument. “Surely there was more talk than that.”

“Quite possibly. I wasn’t interested in hearing it.”

She falls silent.

“Shall I paint you a picture?”

She turns her head to look back at him. “Of what?”

“Aerugo. What you’ll be missing out on.”

“What could I possibly be missing that I can’t find in East City?”

He doesn’t vocalise it, but she knows he's thinking then let me take you. “The ocean, for starters. The miles and miles of vineyards. It’s an island, actually - off the coast. The place is dotted with old churches tucked away. The food is to die for, and the views even more so.” His voice takes on a reminiscing lilt, the corners of his lips turning up in memory. “We’d hire out one of the old villas overlooking the bay. Freshly pressed coffee and fruits for breakfast. Go sailing in the morning and drink ourselves silly in the afternoon.”

“You can sail?”

“I’d teach you - you’d be a natural at it, I’d wager.”

Riza bites her lip. “I don’t even have a passport.”

“Then we’ll figure that out once we get back home.” His free hand reaches for hers and she takes it. “I mean it when I say I’ll pay for what you need.”

He makes it sound so simple.

She starts slow, trying to sort out the muddled threads in her head into an articulation that is cohesive. “I know classes won’t take much of my time now that the semester is over…”

He nods once and slow as he elongates the i in “Right”.

She purses her lips and twists her fingers together tightly. How does she explain what waits for her at a psychiatric facility? “But I don’t think it would responsible of me to simply drop everything and not expect there to be consequences waiting at the end.”

“Consequences like?”

“I do have prior commitments that I can’t just rearrange just like that.” She waves her hand, out of his grip, for emphasis.

“Which commitments?”

Maybe she’s imagining it, maybe she’s wanting to imagine it, but Roy’s tone cuts through harshly. She can’t understand his line of questioning - why he needs to question her at all in the first place.

“I’m not outright saying no, Roy, but I can’t just give you an answer and then let the chips fall where they may.”

“I agree and I’m not saying you should. Just,” He adjusts his tone. “I’m only curious about these arrangements you have. It’s caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

She looks out the window. “Just because I spend a lot of my time with you, doesn’t mean I don’t have a life outside of you.”

From the corner of her eye she can see his jaw drop. “Riza, that’s not, that’s not what I- why are you being so cagey about this?”

“Cagey how?” She bites her tongue, feeling the guilty pleasure of her pettiness.

Frustration seeps into his voice. “Dancing around answers, being particularly defensive about this. Like you’re hiding something.”

“You’re one to talk.” Riza hears the creak of leather from the steering wheel as its gripped harder in his hands. She wets her lips and sighs, because he has a point. This is something so hurtful that she’s bore alone in the past. She doesn’t want anyone to use it against her; as if her father’s failings or his state of mind reflects directly on her. “I can’t just drop plans to see my father. Not…not when they take weeks to plan out. You’ve known about this for a while, so when were you going to ask me?”

Roy frowns. “I wanted to wait until your grades were released. If this ever comes back to bite us I didn’t want there to be any insinuations from anybody that I used an overseas holiday as a means to tempt you or buy your silence.”

“Then tell me what the game plan is, Roy. I should know.”

He clears his throat. “If, at the bottom of all this, this is something you want to do, to come with me, then I’ll help you get it handled.”

“How do you mean?”

He words it carefully. “If your worries are missing an opportunity to visit your father and if it’s within the scope of things you want to do, then perhaps you could reschedule? Maybe see him sooner then, before we leave, than push it out until after the fact.”

She falls silent again, not having considered the option. The visits were usually so static, so concrete in her schedule that changing the dates seemed inconceivable. Anxiety and trepidation clouded her whenever thoughts about visits came up. There were so many variable to consider and this sporadic invitation was creating uncomfortable waves.

“I won’t badger you about it again, but I will ask about it later this week, just so I know where you are in your headspace. Does that sound fair?”

She nods and concedes for now. “I’ll give them a call.”

The rest of the car ride is quiet until the pastures turn into housing developments and suburbs. It’s just past noon when they finally reach his place, and Riza is utterly grateful. The nap, while nice, had given her an awkward crick in her back and it isn’t until she extends her body out fully that she can feel the tense muscles relaxing. They had picked up some Xingese takeaway once they had reached the city limits, and she is more than ready to demolish some quality fried rice.

Roy has barely opened the front door when his phone lights up and it’s kind of hilarious how quickly his face loses colour. “Oh, fuck.”

“Who is it?”

He shakes his head, swiping to answer. “Madre,” he says distractedly, and then amends, “My mother” as if he meant to say it in Amestrian all along.

He walks away further into the apartment and the sounds of a very sharp voice starts talking in a volume she can hear from where she’s standing. The caller is chastising him, judging by the way he pulls the phone away from his ear. Riza figures he’ll be distracted for a while, and motions for the car keys, which he hands her absentmindedly, jabbering away in Spanish.

She leaves the takeaway on the kitchen island, sneaking one of the spring rolls as she drops back down to the carport to pick up the rest of their luggage. It’s a tight squeeze, but she manages to do it in one trip, Roy trying to stifle a laugh as she waddles down the hallway, her fingers protesting as the leather straps of his bags cut deep into her skin.

The dismount is inelegant in the bedroom. She sets down the worn cardboard box atop the bed and then drops the bags next to it without considering how close it is to the edge. The box topples off the bed and spills papers, envelopes, and folders as if it was trying to reach the sunset washed window in one final, desperate bid for daylight.

Riza kneels to the floor to gather it together and stuff them back inside the box until she gets a better look at what she’s handling. Her curiosity piques when she sees a well worn front cover of a PhD thesis with his name on it, gold embossing worn down after years in storage. Looking closer, she sees receipts and old bills mixed in with scholarly journals, dog-eared and faded.

It’s a box of things he left behind.

One of the envelopes tears from seams that has met its limits. Paper of thicker stock spill over her lap, colorful and glossy as it cascades out before she can catch it. Then she recognizes the faces. Military uniform, graduation, candids featuring a younger Maes and Roy, another with youthful optimism, and a sleeping Roy with a scraggly, marker-drawn mustache and Maes grinning at the camera with the marker in question. It’s a handful of them, but there’s a signal going off in her head, telling her this only features people she already knows. Sure, there are pictures of pictures with buddies. It’s strange that she can’t see any that feature his mother or his sisters, she thinks as she reaches for the broken envelope. Or even -

There’s a photo that remained inside, folded in half. “for when u miss me xoxo” it reads on the back in handwriting that is somewhere between half-cursive and half-print. The imprint of a red lipstick kiss is perfectly preserved right below it.

She weighs the decision of looking at this photo in her head for a full minute and her index finger slides in between the folded sides for another. The note left behind clearly implies something suggestive, but she’d get a face to this enigma she’s been placing in the back burner for months. The other photos are returned to the box, and Riza leans back, fully resting her weight on her legs, deliberating.

Her curiosity gets the better of her and she flips the photo open. She breathes out in relief when it’s not a full nude or anything sexually explicit and private. However, Riza studies the photo and acknowledges she has come across something still incredibly intimate.

The photo is casual in nature. A capture of a singular moment in time with two people in their early twenties, set in a tropical backdrop. Roy in his younger years is only discernible by the short cut of his hair. He holds a cigarette and has a smile across his face, eyes bright and youthful like all the others. He’s wearing his standard button up shirt in pink shade that looks exceptionally and surprisingly stunning on him, popping out more than anything else in the photo. And it’s also the first of any photo where he’s pictured holding a cigarette between two of his fingers. His hand is tucked into his front jean pocket. He looks carefree, confident with a cocky smile on his face. Completely unperturbed by the arms wrapped around him.

The woman standing behind him is shorter than him in stature. Half her face hides behind Roy’s shoulder, but just over the crest reveals her brown smiling eyes. She bears a glowing café au lait complexion with brown curls short and soft enough that would make Rebecca envious. Her arms coil over his tailor-fitted shirt and she’s tucked a hand into the unbuttoned portion over his sternum and slipped it well into his shirt, undoubtedly to feel the well-defined muscle under the fabric. Her other arm is wrapped around his waist. If Riza were to guess, she imagines the image was only supposed to be a shot of Roy until she slipped into the picture and under his shirt.

For months, this woman has been an enigma with only a nickname. It’s one thing to hear stories, to be given little fragments and try to piece together an entire person. Only a nickname and now, a name and half a face. Greta, Riza surmises, stares at her, speaks to her and anyone else who would look at it with body language to corroborate the message she’s sending. It strangely transcends the time from when the picture was originally taken.

She is saying, he is mine.

It’s a sick fascination for her, studying the way Greta’s arm snakes across his chest, catches on the open fabric of his shirt. Logically, Riza knows she’s getting upset over something… not insignificant, certainly, but firmly in the past, and delving further into this Pandora’s box will not make her feel any better.

All her contemplating eats up her time as his footsteps sound in the hallway and in a panic, she stuffs the picture into her back pocket. The lid of the box is hastily folded back over and she pushes it to the side of his dresser, half obscured by the shadow cast from laundry hamper.

He appears in the doorway just as she shrugs on a sweater. “Hey,” he starts, awkwardly hovering. “Look, I’m sorry about earlier in the car. That was dickish of me.”

Riza nods. “You’re okay. I was dickish too.”

Roy’s smile is small, but genuine, and he holds his phone up. “What did you want to do for dinner?”

Riza shakes her head. “I think I’ll go back to the flat after I eat. ‘Becca wanted to give me my present.”

His smile falters for a moment, clearly disappointed, but he nods. “Let me know when you want to go. I’ll drop off the rental at the same time and enter in final grades.”

The trip to her flat is subdued. Roy kisses her forehead in the goodbye, and Riza feels the photograph burn a hole in her back pocket.

When Riza opens the door, the sweet aroma of hot chocolate wafts through the air of her apartment. Rebecca is sitting on the couch, nursing a steaming mug, and is so heavily engrossed in her cellphone she doesn’t hear Riza come in. Her footsteps are light as she approaches. She’s almost succeeds until her friend realises and jerks in surprise.

“Shit, Ri-” Rebecca’s fingers slip against the mug, but manages to get a grip and sets it down quickly. She curls her body to face Riza properly. “You could have killed me,” Rebecca admonishes, dramatically placing a hand over her chest. “Is that what you want, a dead best friend?”

Riza grins broadly, feeling a sudden gratitude for her antics, and she leans down to hug her. Rebecca’s hair is still faintly damp, curls not quite suffocating her like they usually do, and fragrant. “Sorry,” she mumbles, releasing her after a moment. “I did text.”

“Did you? I got up like twenty minutes ago,” Rebecca explains after letting Riza go. “My day so far has consisted of me standing in the shower for ten minutes and another five remembering I needed to turn the kettle on if I wanted to have coffee.”

Riza checks her phone; it was quarter past four in the afternoon. “Don’t forget zoning out so hard an intruder could just walk in. Rough night studying?”

Rebecca shrugs and slides over to make room for Riza on the couch. “You could say that.” She says this with a strange quality to her voice, like the question is inherently funny.

Riza deposits her duffle bag on the sturdy coffee table they nabbed from a yard sale, mindful of the still-steaming mug, and sits on the couch. “Was your last exam today?”

“Yesterday,” she answers quickly.

Riza scrunches her brow. “Yesterday was Sunday.”

She stammers, wrinkling her face to remember, “I meant this morning. I went back to bed after it. Cut me some slack, I’ve only just woken up.”

“Here I thought this was you regularly.” Riza ignores the cutting look from her friend. “Did you have to take a lot of them this semester?”

“Yep,” she says with a slight pop to the end of her reply. “Not matter how easy exams are, it’s always such a relief when they’re completely over." Rebecca gets an equally strange smile on her face. “The exams went fine. I wasn’t too worried about them. Me and Alyssa and Emma - you’ve met them before, Hayden’s twenty-first - we decided to go hit the town last night to celebrate.”

“The night before an exam?” Riza questions as she grabs the mug of hot chocolate, refusing to leave it unattended any longer.

“I was drinking that,” Rebecca frowns and Riza evades a swipe from her mid-sip. “And yes, Mother Hawkeye. I think only the med students have anything left now, rest of the campus is in a constant state of partying.”

Riza moves the cup out of Rebecca’s hands as she reaches for it. “But I thought you swore off partying for exam week. You haven’t done it since-”

“Since that first semester as freshman, I know. But it was a special occasion.” She presses down at her eyes and rubs them. “I could sleep for another week.”

Riza hands the mug back to its original owner. She sighs, relating to her friend’s sentiment. “You and me both.”

“Mm!” Rebecca protests with hot liquid still in her mouth. “And excuse you, you were off enjoying Central!” She swats playfully at Riza’s knee. “Less about me, more about you. How did it go? I was actually dying to message you but I figured I had better let you have your fun.”

Riza lets the topic shift. Whatever Rebecca had going on would come out in due course. Besides, her tongue pokes through her teeth as she reminisces. “It was a good time,” she begins, unzipping her ankle boots to kick them off. Her arm mirrors Rebecca’s as she pushes against the back of the couch, tucking her legs under her. “Had a bit of a crash course in birthday parties.”

“There was a birthday party for you?”

Riza laughs. “Hell no. I think Roy might’ve tried that if he had more time - no, I texted you this, didn’t I? We stayed with some friends of his, their daughter had just turned three. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that much screaming before.”

“And… ?”

“And what?”

Rebecca gives her an exasperated look. “You wouldn’t be looking so smug with yourself over a kids birthday party, novelty or not. I know that expression.” She sighs deeply. “Can’t believe I got kicked out off the ‘best present-giver’ throne after seven years.”

“And what expression is that ‘Becca?” It’s difficult to keep her face neutral while remembering the very vivid events of last night.

“That is the face you get when you’ve been fucked silly. I hope he put in a bit more effort than just whipping his dick out.”

“He did,” Riza answers, well aware of the blush staining her cheeks. “Bought me an outfit, bought me dinner, apparently visited like three bookshops to find my present… it was literally perfect.”

Rebecca makes a grabbing motion with her hand. “You took pics right?”

Riza whips out her phone and starts searching for the location of the photos. “He apparently took some candids while I wasn’t looking.”

“Oh shit I would have been maaaad.” She shakes her head.

“I would have too, but they’re actually not that bad.” She hands her the phone.

“Holy fuck.” Rebecca whistles low, and fans herself dramatically as she inspects the photos closely. “I’m definitely gonna borrow this. Your man has taste. You know I recognize this collection, right? Olivier would have a meltdown if she saw you all dolled up in that.” A sly grin grows on her face. “Please tell me you’re gonna post this up. She deserves to be put in her place. She’s not the only one who can pull off current-season Pronovias.”

“The last thing I need is people sticking their noses into business where they don’t belong.” Riza shakes her head, swiping her phone back. “Not that I’m any better.”

“Semester’s over now! Are you worried about her coming back to strike?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Rebecca tilts her head to the side.

The hastily-stuffed photograph in her back pocket comes to the forefront of her mind’s eye, and Riza wonders whether her best friend can offer an unbiased view. She’s not used to this; a jealousy for a person that’s entirely in the picture. Both figuratively and literally. Especially the kind so fixated on one person, rather than a situation as a whole. She can’t tell if it’s merely nerves at the fact that she will probably have to meet this woman in the flesh at some point, or if it has unearthed a deep-seated insecurity. “Now that the semester is over, he’s invited me to go on a trip with him.”

“Go where? Judging by your tone, you’re making me thinking he’s invited you to a funeral.”

“Roy’s friends…” she begins, trying to think of the simplest way to explain this, “for reference, they’re loaded. Our flat could probably fit in their living room and kitchen alone. Probably as rich as Olivier, to be honest. They’re just a lot nicer about it.”

Rebecca taps over her mouth as she says, “Go on”

“Roy’s friend, Maes - I don’t think I’ve ever met a more devoted father. Family is everything to him… and he likes making grand gestures. They’re throwing this big party for their wedding anniversary and Roy wants me to go with him.”

“And you think you don’t want to go? Why?”

“It’s in Aerugo.”

Rebecca chokes. “Oh fuck!” she manages, furiously wiping away what spilled onto her chest. The mug is placed back down on the table, and Riza passes over some takeout napkins. “Where in Aerugo?” Rebecca asks after a few frantic moments of trying to save her top.

Riza scratches an itch on her brow. “He said they own the island or something? I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s called San Clavel or something.”

“Oh, Riza.” She says with a wagging finger. “You’re going on that trip. That’s final. Like, he’s paying for you, right?”

“He’s offered, but I mean-”

“But what? You know that in Aerugo absolutely nobody is gonna recognise you. You two could commit bloody murder there and all of us back home would be none-the-wiser.”

“I don’t know about that. The problem is that I’d need to reschedule with my father.” Riza knows she’s using this excuse, but she needs time to prepare for these kinds of visits, just as much as the facility that cares for him needs time to prepare him for her.

As painful as it was with every visit, Riza couldn’t cut him out of her life. The father she loved as a little girl might be nothing more than a husk now, but sometimes she’d catch glimpses of the person he used to be.

Rebecca hums sympathetically. “That’s rough. I’m sure if you call them up and explain they might be able to rearrange his schedule a little, right?”

“I suppose.” Riza doesn’t mean to sound as churlish as she does, but Rebecca merely links their fingers together and squeezes comfortingly.

“I think you should. Do you want me to go with you? Maybe if I annoy him enough he’ll snap at me just like the old times.”

That effervescent, irreverent humour is what she needs right now, though Riza might be loath to admit it. Rebecca’s grin is genuine as much as it is teasing.

“No, no,” she tells her, slumping to rest against her: Rebecca’s arm curls around her and draws meandering patterns through her sweater with manicured nails. “It’ll be easier if it’s just me. You should be celebrating your freedom.”

Rebecca hums in a non committal sort of way, and reaches for an thick envelope on the coffee table and passes it to her - to dearest, darlingest Riza is emblazoned on the front in Rebecca’s familiar loopy script. “Happy birthday, Ri,” she tells her. “I thought it’d be better if I let you choose rather than me getting you something you didn’t like.”

She thumbs open the envelope, prying away the glue with care. A gourmet chocolate bar - the kind that Riza knew she’d never bother to buy herself because the price was absurd, and a gift card for the university bookstore. “Thank you ‘Becca. Ten thousand cenz though? You spoil me.”

Rebecca laughs. “Considering the last book I had to buy for my economics class cost me twelve thousand, I’d be surprised if this even gets you an entire book at all. Maybe I should’ve invested in a bookcase for you instead. Not that it was ever gonna compare to lover boy though. I can’t believe he wants to whisk you off to Aerugo.”

She keeps quiet, until Rebecca pinches her.

“Ow! The hell ‘Becca!?” Riza sits up clumsily, rubbing at the reddened skin of her neck.

“I get being antsy about your dad. Really, I do. What I don’t get it why you seem so mopey about it - location notwithstanding, don’t you want to spend more time with him?”

“No - I do-”

“Because this isn’t the kind of reaction any guy would want to get. Hell, if you’re so on the fence, I’ll just don a blonde wig and go in your place. He wouldn’t notice, right?”

Riza snorts. “I think he might. I still don’t think he’s over the little stunt you pulled-”

Rebecca jabs an accusing finger in her face. “There! It is about him! You’re telling me you just had a spectacular birthday with the guy but don’t know about a trip away?”

Riza bites the bullet, and fishes out the hastily-folded photograph out and passes it to Rebecca. She frowns as she accepts it, the corners of her full lips pursing. “What’s this?”

“His ex. His best friend had some old boxes of his. This was in them.”

The eyebrows of her friend almost disappear into her hair. “And you went snooping?”

Riza groans. “I didn’t mean to! I knocked it over by accident and it all just fell out.”

“But… you took this. I assume he doesn’t know.”

“He doesn’t.” Her voice is small, and Riza tucks her knees under her chin. “Logically I know I shouldn’t care but…”

“But what? Should you be concerned?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. She just always seems to be popping up even though they’ve been broken up for two years.”

“Talk me through it. You might be too close to the situation - and don’t make that face at me Riza - you can’t not be biased against her. You nicked a photo for crying out loud.”

“Okay, okay.” Riza holds up her hands in acquiescence. It stung having Rebecca - sometimes flighty, occasionally impulsive Rebecca - be more grounded than she clearly was at the moment.

“Roy told me that they’d dated for… seven years. They were engaged too, at one point. Apparently they broke up because he wanted kids and she didn’t.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah. I didn’t expect that either. I don’t think it was the only reason they broke up, but it seemed like the biggest one. What makes it more complicated is that she’s kind of… related to Gracia, his best friend’s wife. But Maes, the best friend, Gracia’s husband - I get the impression he doesn’t like her. Like, at all. Apparently he was the one who gave her the nickname Axe-”

“Wait, wait wait - the Axe you were telling me about who was drunk texting him?”

Riza nods.

“Disparaging nickname or not… a guy who keeps an ex in his phone like that-” Rebecca sighs deeply, and rolls her shoulders back. “That’s generally not a good sign Riza.”

“I don’t know. I’ve seen the texts - it’s just late night drunkenness.”

“So why doesn’t he just block her number?” Rebecca takes a long sip of her hot chocolate. “Any way you look at it is pretty damning in my opinion. An ex who won’t stop clinging to a relationship that he ended?”

She hates to admit Rebecca has a point.

“Not all affairs are physical, Riza,” her friend warns. “Emotional cheating is very much a thing. And considering you guys weren’t… a couple from the beginning, it’s not a great foundation to build from. A random hookup? I wouldn’t give a shit. An ex? That’s far murkier territory.”

It would be foolish not to admit that the circumstances aren’t great, but neither were the ones their relationship originated from. Maybe she’s refusing to see the forest for the trees, but Riza finds it difficult to think Roy capable of managing two significant secrets in his personal life not interfering by this point. “Sure, but that wouldn’t explain why he had no qualms about introducing me to all his former colleagues at the party. I got the impression that Greta runs - or did run, at least - in similar circles to his. It wouldn’t make sense to even want to bring me to Central if that was the case. If she didn’t know back then, I bet anything that she knows by now.”

Rebecca’s face scrunches up, considering. “I guess,” she says slowly, “...and I guess none of your relationship is really typical either. Nobody made any comments about it?”

“About us?” Riza throws her mind back to the party, and the people she talked to. Most didn’t seem overly interested in her - not to her face, certainly, but she wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t murmurs about the person Roy brought with him. “Most of the interest stemmed from the fact that Roy had lost contact with a lot of them and so they wanted to know how he was getting on. Gracia was the only one to actually bring up Greta in any serious capacity… and she’s her cousin or something so maybe she’d heard a different story of how things went down.

“It’s weird though; Maes genuinely dislikes her, from what I gathered. But the way Gracia talked made it sound like she was still in contact with her? I don’t know.” Riza buries her head in her hands. The more she thinks about it, the more she becomes confused.

“Okay, okay.” Rebecca sets down her empty mug, and pries Riza’s hands away from her head. “In simple terms, you’re jealous of a woman who still has some connections in Roy’s life. Whether those are through his own actions or not I can’t definitively say. What I can say, is that he’s invited you to go to Aerugo with him, for - what did you say, a wedding anniversary?”

“Vow renewal.”

“Okay, so at the very least he wants to spend more time with you, yeah? And it might be a case of him trying to kill two birds with one stone, but I don’t think you should write off the fact that he’s actively trying to involve you into the other parts of his life as best he can.” Rebecca flips the photo over, and makes a disgusted face at the note she finds. “For when you miss me? Is she anticipating that he’ll go back to her? Bleurgh. Clearly he hasn’t, if it was stuffed in a box that he forgot about.”

Riza rings the psychiatric facility the next morning, and speaks briefly to the doctor in charge of her father’s care. The doctor couldn’t make any promises that she could fit in a visit earlier than what they had decided on months beforehand, but she promised to at least try. It was all Riza could really ask for.

It isn't until Saturday morning when she finally gets a returning call, the familiar number of the facility emblazoned on her lockscreen.

“Doctor Cassidy,” Riza answers after a moment. “How are you?” She desperately wants to know whether her request has been accepted, but she can’t bring herself to be completely dismissive of the woman who has ensured the care of her father has been successful. A call on a Saturday, however, is unusual: Riza feels her gut sinking despite her best hopes. It was a lot to ask, in hindsight.

Evelyn Cassidy has been a constant point in Riza’s life since the accident, and her familiar, husky voice brings with it a rush of comfort and reassurance that Riza finds herself in surprising want of. “Can’t say it’s been a great week, Riza - your father certainly gave me a run for my money,” she barks a laugh, “But I was able to wrangle your visit nonetheless. He might not be very happy about it, but he has agreed to see you. Might I know why you’ve changed the date?”

The relief is palpable: Riza feels a line of tension aligning tightly against her spine dissipate into nothing. “I’ve been invited on a trip that was going to conflict with the visit next month. You know I’ve never missed an appointment, and… I don’t know, this seemed like a better compromise than cancelling.”

Doctor Cassidy hums down the phone line. “I’m glad you did call. It’s good for Berthold to have some change in his routine, especially when the result is still overwhelmingly positive. It’s good for you too, you know.”

Riza doesn’t know. “What do you mean?”

“You’re a good kid Riza, the epitome of a devoted daughter. I’m just saying that it’s good that you are putting your own life and commitments first as well. You might have a duty to your father, but he has one to you just as much.” Riza hears the shuffling of paper down the line. “I’ve arranged for you to come in at two-thirty this afternoon. Does that work for you? I know this is last minute, otherwise we can arrange for the following Saturday. He’s just in a relatively stable mood as far as I could tell this morning, and your request seemed urgent.”

Riza leans back in her chair, craning at her makeshift paper calendar pinned to the bottom of her mirror on instinct. It stares back at her blankly: quite literally so. She’s not used to her schedule being so lenient. “Yes, I can make that. Thank you, Doctor.”

“Good! Good. Unfortunately I won’t be here this afternoon, but the nurses know you’re coming. I don't think anybody else has got visits scheduled, so you should have the visiting space to yourself. He’ll appreciate that, I’m sure. I’ll leave you to it then, Riza - the nurses will let me know how it goes.”

Riza utters a quick goodbye, and then stares at the picture on her lockscreen - a view from the guest bedroom, Central gleaming in the afternoon sun like a well-polished gemstone. Their little… spat, she supposes, had left a lingering sour taste that she hadn’t felt able to wash away completely yet. It wasn’t like they weren’t talking to one another, but to Riza at least, she felt like there was a feeling of awkwardness that still clung to her.

However, that wasn’t going to stop her seeking him out in spite of that. Her thumbs drift over the touchscreen, and she navigates to his number. If she was going to visit her father this afternoon, she wanted to be in a good mood when she did - one of them needed to be, apparently.

It rings a few times before he picks up. “What’s up?” Roy asks, after a moment.

“Nothing much, I - where are you?” There’s… music in the background, if she had to hazard a guess, though it’s a stretch.

He laughs, the pleasant, deep kind that travels from the speaker and straight into her bones. “I’m at the gym right now. Did you need something, or is this just for pleasure?”

Riza snickers, shaking her head in bemusement. “The latter, actually. I just wondered if you wanted to have lunch. I’ve got to bug out this afternoon, that’s all.” She had planned on doing some more work for him - Roy had given her his login key and she was going to spend all afternoon down in the bowels of the library, photocopying and printing off an absurd amount of chemical literature, but that could wait until tomorrow morning instead.

“Yeah? I could manage that. Do you want me to pick something up?”

“If you wouldn’t mind. Whatever you feel like, I’m not too hungry.”

“Okay, I shouldn’t be too much longer,” he answers her after a slight pause. “Just let yourself in if I don’t beat you back home.”

Roy is in the kitchen freshly showered when he hears his front door open, debating whether another cup of coffee is a good idea when it’s only lunchtime. A large part of his morning had been spent pouring over the notes Elric had ever-so-helpfully scrawled in the margins of his new paper on organic compounds. The guy might be a real pain in the ass to work with - even distantly - but Roy couldn’t deny that his critiques didn’t have merit. The other part had been spent at the gym, which was the healthier way to work off some steam instead of lighting up.

He wouldn’t consider himself a chain smoker, more social than anything, but he’s struggling to remember the last time he had actually smoked. He had come across a half-used pack of Parliament's while searching for some shorts, and the thought had given him pause. Maes had always been banging on to him about quitting - he had to help be a role model to Elicia, after all - but it was hard to give up after all these years… slight nicotine addiction notwithstanding.

Perhaps it was foolish to be looking for meaning where there might not be any, but Roy was sure that she had something to do with it. She had never made any opinions known about this habit, but there always was a lingering feeling of guilt regardless.

He’s pleasantly surprised when he feels her arms slip around his torso, pressing her head against the expanse of her back. “Hello,” he greets her lightly, reaching for the cupboard with the mugs. “Can I interest you in some coffee?”

He feels her shake her head slightly, feels the heavy exhale she lets go that heaves her shoulders up and down. “No, thank you.”

Roy is quiet as he sets up the machine, only turning in her arms once his espresso is done. His fingers hover over her fringe, delicately pushing it out of her eyes. “Que tienes?” The food he had picked up from the bistro lies forgotten next to the stove, still steaming through the paper bag. This is more important right now - and, he realises, could account for her funky mood earlier this week.

“I’m okay,” she tells him, though he doubts that is accurate. “The clinic finally called back yesterday and said this afternoon would be the best time to visit Father. Apparently he hasn’t been doing so well recently.”

His arms wrap around her firmly and he presses his lips to her hair. “I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps your visit will be a good influence.” The information she’s given freely about her father is scant, but Roy knows that this is quite possibly the only topic that she’ll never truly feel comfortable talking about, no matter how many years pass. He empathises with her deeply - while now he’s come to terms with the ways in which he was treated in foster care, he had the privilege of coming out the other side with not only his blood family, but all of his adopted siblings too. He has had years to build up relationships again, to learn how to trust freely once more.

Riza is not so lucky in that regard. He sees a lot of himself in her behaviour, in how she processes these things. Grief, and the process of grieving, is not as clear-cut and linear as people posit: and for hurts that go as deeply as theirs do… it’s never easy.

Riza makes a strange little snort, and sighs deeply once more. “I don’t think that’ll ever happen,” she says, her voice muffled a little by the way she rests her head against his chest. “It’s always the same with him… silence, and maybe a nod if he’s feeling up to it. Some days I wonder why I even bother.”

She sounds so jaded, and it cuts deeply that there isn’t really anything he can do to help her. Unless -

The epiphany dawns over him slowly. “Would... would you like me to go with you?”

Riza blinks and pulls back to look at him properly. “What?”

“You said so yourself - these visits aren’t nice for you. They’re stressful - and I see that Riza, hell, I experienced it firsthand.” He feels his lips quirk upwards at the memory. “I know they’re important for you, but I don’t want you feeling like you’re having to… I don’t know, get them over with? In order to come to Aerugo with me. The last thing I want is for you to feel like you’ve gone about this the wrong way.”

Riza takes a step back, arms unconsciously curling around herself. “Why would you come?”

“Moral, emotional support. Unless you don’t want me there.” He keeps his tone light, like they are discussing the weather, not an incredibly private part of her life. He knows she can’t have a fuss made of this, or she’ll clam up. This behaviour alone - it’s worrying. There is a difference between debelibrately prying and poking at issues that should be left well alone, and then there’s purposeful pushing away.

She told him mere months ago that it was just easier to keep people at arms length than admit any kind of sentiment, that she had learned long ago from the actions of others that her feelings were inconsequential in the bigger picture. It runs deep in her, and Roy thinks his heart might break at the walls she’s rapidly putting up, even to him.

“I don’t-” she stops, frowning. “No, I-” she exhales harshly, and presses her lips together firmly. “These visits… they’re not nice, Roy. Really. I wouldn’t wish them on anyone.”

“And I don’t want them wished on you.” He steps towards her, fingers sliding under her chin to examine her closely. At this distance he can see flecks of gold in her warm, brown eyes. She is so, so brave. “Not alone, certainly.”

Her eyes widen, her lips part, and she looks like she might cry. Riza’s gaze lowers from his, but Roy keeps quiet, fingers steady on her jawbone. If she moves away, he won’t stop her from doing so.

She speaks up after a few minutes of unsettling silence. “Do you want to meet my father?”

“Yes,” he tells her honestly. “But it’s not a demand. If you’re not comfortable with it now, then we can table it for later. I’d like to at some point, though.”

Riza chews on her lower lip thoughtfully. “And if I said I wanted to meet your foster mother?”

Roy snickers, leaning down to kiss her forehead. Every reaction has an equal and opposite reaction. “Then I would organise that. Not before preparing you for the Spanish Inquisition that will undoubtedly happen.”

Her eyebrow raises disbelievingly. “I doubt I’m that interesting.”

He turns to his espresso on the counter and takes a careful sip. “I beg to differ, avecilla. Besides, it wouldn’t just be my mother you’d be meeting. My sisters will want to meet you as well.” All fourteen of them goes unsaid, but Roy can only imagine the chaos of that environment.

“Do they know about me?”

Ah - the million cenz question. “Yes,” he answers truthfully. “They know you exist. Remember the phone call I got when we got back?”

Riza nods, her eyebrows creasing together. “Your mother wasn’t happy with you, if I’m remembering right.” She seems to hold herself tenser here, but he dismisses it.

“Yes, well… she had found out I had been back in Central and I hadn’t visited her, so that was strike number one. But word got to Vanessa that you had joined me as well, and I was told in no uncertain terms that if I didn’t bring you around immediately I would be disowned.” Well, that was the sanitised version. The actual words that were spoken were a lot more intimidating and involved all sorts of colourful threats directed at his person - the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on Roy. Of course he wanted to introduce them all to Riza: he merely wanted to make sure she’d survive the encounter as well.

“They must care about you a lot.” He doesn’t miss the wistfulness in her voice, however hard she tries to bury it.

Perhaps it is a bit presumptuous of him to be thinking this far ahead, but given time, he could see her becoming close with his sisters. Not all of them, but the quieter ones; Roy thinks she would find in them kindred spirits. He has no doubts that she will be welcomed with open arms, treated as one of their own - but it’s more a matter if Riza would let herself be… well, adopted in such a manner.

His foster mother is another issue to navigate entirely, and deep down Roy knows no amount of coaching on what to expect will actually prepare Riza for the formidable woman that is Christina Mustang. He’s been careful in what he’s fed to her; enough to keep her placated, not to dig too much - because god knows what his mother would do if she found out the exact circumstances in which they met - but even still, he finds her intimidating, after all these years.

Maybe it’s selfish of him to ask this of her so suddenly, to meet her father who won’t have the capacity to respond in any meaningful way. But he needs to know the truth of her situation, and Riza has been very good about deflecting the issue. He understands that it’s difficult to talk about, especially considering the way in which she had to become an adult… but if he’s being honest with himself, he also wants to meet the man that by all appearances treated his daughter as an afterthought. The two of them might have plenty of parent issues between them, but Roy knows that she’s still coming to terms with her own.

Besides, Chris didn’t raise him to be disrespectful. The man deserved to meet him, even if he wasn’t able to give them much of an opinion or even his blessing.

“They mean well. Perhaps we could drop in for a visit on the way back from Aerugo - bringing them some food back from there would go over well.” It’s not a bad plan, when he actually thinks about it: Cecelia was due literally any day now, and she would be more than willing to run a little interference for him when they visited. Having a new grandchild present as well as Riza would keep his mother from focusing too much on either of them - meaning the visit would be less likely to end with Riza swearing off his family forever. It’s a little strange for him to recognise that he is somewhat nervous for her to meet them, but then again, it’s been years since he’s brought someone home at all.

Riza nods thoughtfully. “I guess that would be… fair.” She rubs at her eyes roughly. “If you’re gonna come with me then you’ll need a sweater or something long-sleeved. The softer the better.”

“Dare I ask why?”

A bitter smile grows on Riza’s face. “Normally he’s fine, but when I was first visiting he’d have… outbursts I guess. Scratching, tearing at his hair… they said it was because it was a new environment, and I was a new face for him after so many months in hospital. He might not even acknowledge us.”

The place is bleak, and Roy has spent a significant part of his childhood in interview rooms waiting for overloaded social workers to remember they had an appointment with his fosterers. There’s an overwhelming feeling of forgottenness here, from the peeling paint on the edifice, to the way the weeds grow in the cracks of the path to the front door. The inside is only marginally better - twenty or even thirty years ago, Roy would have agreed that this hospice was state-of-the-art.

Now it just feels horribly dated, a relic of the past that had been left behind.

Riza approaches the front desk, and speaks in low tones with the woman there. He’s staring at a painted mural that has definitely seen better days when she calls him over.

“Write your name here -” she tells him, indicating to a sheet of large white label stickers, “- and then she’ll go over the rules.”

The list of rules the nurse explains is exhaustive. No raised voices. No sudden or surprise touch. No electrical equipment. Nails to be filed down. No belts, rings - earrings - he realises her ever-present pearls are missing as she hands over her hair clip. The reality of this situation is even more harrowing than he could’ve imagined. Roy briefly debates writing in a pseudonym on his name tag, but considering he had to hand over his wallet, it wouldn't have made much difference anyway.

“We were surprised to hear from you again,” the nurse tells Riza as they turn down another long corridor. “Quite so soon, certainly. I think Berthold will like it.”

Riza makes an discontented noise. “Doctor Cassidy told me he hadn’t been well when I spoke to her on the phone this morning. I don't think this visit will be very long.”

They pass through the metal detector and the nurse - Gladys, Roy gleans from the embroidered section of her uniform, shrugs. “Even if it is, it’s still a good thing Riza. I know your father likes his routine but Evelyn did believe that this… disruption would be worth the momentary tantrums. Healing isn’t always so linear.” She guides them through another shorter hallway, and slides the door open to the visiting room. “Fabian will be here to take you back when you want to leave.”

Riza nods and thanks her, before squeezing his hand tightly. “Ready?” she asks him.

Roy nods. “Of course.”

The visiting room is a sparse affair, but it strikes Roy just how normal it looks. That is, until his eyes are drawn to the way furniture is bolted to the ground, to the heavy grate across the unlit fireplace, to the way the windows are barred and reinforced. The security measure reminds him of one of the rougher foster homes he was placed in while awaiting long-term fostering.

Riza gives him little time to get his bearings, instead pulling him over to a man sitting in a plush armchair near the fireplace.

“Roy, this is my father, Berthold Hawkeye,” Riza says, uncharacteristically chipper, like a customer service employee. Forced smiles and high pitched. She kneels down in front of the man and Roy takes a seat in the chair opposite. “Papa, I’ve been told you’re not happy that I rescheduled,” she continues carefully, like this quiet, catatonic man will maul her at any given moment. “But I’ve brought someone that I’d like you to meet. He’s a chemist, like you.” The man moves his head subtly. Riza glances at him apprehensively, but only for a moment. Her voice certainly doesn’t betray her. “And... also, my boyfriend.”

Slowly, Berthold looks up, and a brief smile appears on Riza’s face. “I had hoped that’d get your attention. This is-”

Roy put his hand up to stop her and he moves to the edge of his seat, nearly off the cushion it as he inches closer. He extends his hand out to her father for a handshake. It stays there, suspended in the air as Berthold’s blue eyes look at them listlessly, then to Riza and then to Roy, before he just as slowly takes the offer on the handshake. He can hear Riza’s breath shudder in relief.

“My name is Roy Mustang and it’s a pleasure to meet you... sir.”

Later that evening, they lie over his sheets in a pensive, post-coital stupor. Both of them naked from the heat that’s beginning to settle over East City; late spring giving way to early summer. It’s been five minutes since either of them has said anything. He’s on his side, head propped up by his hands. She’s lying on her stomach, face turned away from but he knows she’s not asleep from the way she’s breathing. At the moment, Roy is silent to simply be there for her, to let her process. She was in a peculiar mood following the visit with her father; an in-between of being glad that it went well and confusion. Even if she doesn’t wear her emotions like he does, he would be remiss if he didn’t suspect this required a substantial amount of emotional energy.

He also notices that she doesn’t flinch when he traces over the texture of her scars.

Berthold Hawkeye was quiet throughout his daughter’s abridged version of their relationship. This version of the story focused heavily on her job as his assistant and he didn’t fault her for it. Occasionally Berthold had nodded, but largely his head was turned away from the two of them, seemingly transfixed on his left hand, fingers flexing and relaxing every so often.

All the way through her retelling, he had been keenly aware of her bravado. She was so tense next to him, even more so than when Maes was grilling them. Who the act was for, he wasn’t sure: for her father, for him? For herself? In the end, he supposes it was a mix of them all.

Finally, as if reading his mind, Riza says, “I haven’t seen him respond like that in a-” she breathes in, her back just barely cresting to touch the moonlight and then back down into the shadows “-long, long time.”

Her father only given them simple responses, grunts, and nods; very rudimentary social gestures. He feels for her dearly if that had been a vast improvement. “How long?” he asks simply.

“Years.”

Roy breathes out slowly and nears to kiss her bare shoulder. “I’m sorry that’s something you had to deal with on your own.”

Her shoulder blades move in a shrug under his fingertips. “It is what it is,” she says softly.

From the way she’s still looking away from him, into the shadows of his room, he suspects she’s crying or trying really hard not to. He admires her for her fortitude. It must have taken years and years to build up that shell of hers, to keep what she feels hidden from plain sight. Roy remains silent, letting her talk through this.

“My mother, she passed when I was a baby. Growing up, I had a theory that he wasn’t always so distant like he was; that when my mother died, a part of him died with her. I can’t even resent him for that. And then, the accident… that was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“He spent day after day locked in his study whenever I was home, for years. It was his life’s work and to this day, I still don’t know what he was trying to do. I was simply too young to understand and even if I did, I don’t think he would have let me in.

“He was very traditionalist. Everything on paper. Nothing electronic. That way he knows it’s real, he’d say. Then something went wrong, some problem that had been giving him grief for weeks on end. He was always frustrated, muttering, banging the walls - he’d been in his study longer than ever, not coming down for meals, and leaving the food I’d bring him to get cold. I shouldn’t have been in there, in his lab. I was only bringing him some tea when he miscalculated and set off something incendiary. All of his research burned the day I got those scars.” She sighs. “He has some too, but not as severe.”

He lacks the words to appropriately respond. She’s unloading a childhood trauma that he knew was severe, but she’s dishing it out so nonchalantly, like it was just another story.

“Did you know I only majored in Chemistry for him?” She sniffles so quietly he almost misses it and his fingers stop.

“To have something to bring up to him for these visits. To engage with him in conversation he’s historically responded to. It would work at first, when I started getting past the general education requirements and then his reactions started to dwindle down again. I had thought I was just going to have to be patient until I got further and further. Career-wise, it wasn’t a bad decision either.

“In the end, it got me to you.” Her head turns to him with her eyes are bright and her mouth smiling. “And today, you helped showed me he’s not all the way gone.”

“I’m glad I can talk nerdy with your dad then.”

“It was good for him. Or at least, there’s some hope that it was.”

“Of course.” He kisses her forehead. “And since we’re exchanging war stories…”

“Is that what we’re doing?” she teases.

“Sure,” he smiles back. “It’s actually very similar to yours. But you have to promise me you can keep it a secret.”

She looks at him from her pillow, and purses her lips. “I believe I kept one all semester. I’d say my record is pretty good so far.”

“I have to cover my bases,” he says with a laugh. “My team in Research and Development were tasked with creating a very specific type of wearable weapons. The simplest explanation for the prototype would be… pyrotechnic gloves, I guess. The idea was that it would be able to pass by unscrutinised by anybody looking closer, so it could be smuggled in by spies and double agents to use at close range. The eventual goal was to be able to make a movement as innocuous as a snap of the fingers, and you’d be able to make a sizable explosion from the resulting fire.”

“This is what you got your doctorate for?”

“Well, hold on a minute, let me finish,” he says defensively. “You don’t have to tell me that what I was doing was morally wrong. It was something I thought about nearly every day. The military doesn’t create this to warm the beds of children, trust me I know. But like your father, it was my work, I had a team and because of what I was doing I was providing a livelihood for others. Or at least, that’s what I was telling myself.

“I was sleep-deprived and stressed and on a deadline. It felt like the walls were closing in on every front. I slipped up. Maybe it was a decimal point in the wrong place, or something else that I should’ve picked up on. The explosion knocked me back, but I had been impaled by - I don’t even know what it was with all burning debris falling on me. I came to a day later to discover that one of my team had died in that fire. An Ishvallan scientist, eager and as willing to learn as I had been. I was in the hospital for weeks, thinking the worst of myself, and Greta…” he swallows down the hard lump in his throat. “She was only making it worse. As far as she was concerned it wasn’t that big of a deal, that it didn’t matter that Heathcliff died because of me. I should’ve ended it there.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. I didn’t. It was a confusing time and I didn’t give myself time to think straight.” He sighs. “I realize now that how she was treating me during my convalesce, treating our relationship. It was never going to be sustainable, not the way we were heading. We were young, immature, and didn’t know how to communicate honestly with one another. Mix in a near-death experience and I know exactly why we stayed together.”

“How long ago was this?”

“I believe I was twenty-five, if not closer to twenty-six. Almost four years ago”

She doesn’t regard with pity, but understanding when she places a hand on his arm for physical comfort. It was a different and new kind of response. “I suppose I should be grateful for your change in career,” she says after a moment. “Worst injury I need to worry about you getting is a papercut.”

“The hours are a lot more lenient too. There’s never a complaint if I cancel class. But there’s still that missing element. I wonder from time to time what would have happened if I had been more vocal about the research I did for the military. The University is great but...” He trails off.

“But it’s not enough, I understand. And there’s only so much you can do with grants.”

He smiles somberly. “Exactly.”

Riza looks at him for a while. It’s a rare thing to see her so peaceful while she’s awake, no underlying tension present in her expression. “Maybe Aerugo would help clearing our minds.”

He lifts his head, to look at her face. “Are you saying you’ll go with me?”

She nods her head against the pillow and takes a deep breath, like she’s preparing herself. “I do have something to confess, though. That box that Maes gave to you before we left - when you were on the phone the other day, I accidentally knocked it over. And I found a picture, of a younger you. And Greta.”

Ordinarily he’d expect himself to be more uneasy at the revelation, but perhaps her candid honesty - so quickly after the fact - keeps him composed. “Did you? I’m surprised. When we separated, I left all the photos with her.”

“I only bring this up, because I’m curious: do you think she’ll be there?” She sounds so calm, but Roy would be a fool not to know that there is a thread of concern woven within her words.

Greta is a fleeting creature, letting whims and tempers make her decisions. Roy can’t possibly know for sure and yet he still answers, “No.”

#royai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #fma #*may i feel

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renaroo · 7 years

Text

Wednesday Roundup 15/6/2017

So this is a day late but in my defense I had a ridiculous amount of comics to get through with no one to blame but myself here. And you know what? I genuinely enjoyed almost everything. But does that mean every comic was good this week? And even so what did I think was the best?

Honestly I don’t know how to write these intros for people who wouldn’t be here to read my opinion anyway so let’s just jump into it.

Marvel’s All-New Wolverine, Marvel’s Amazing Spider-Man: Renew Your Vows, DC’s Detective Comics, DC’s Gotham Academy: Second Semester, DC’s Justice League of America, Image’s Motor Crush, DC’s Superwoman, IDW’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, DC’s Titans, IDW’s Transformers: Salvation, DC’s Wonder Woman

Marvel’s All-New Wolverine (2015-present) #21 Tom Taylor, Leonard Kirk, Cory Hamscher, Terry Pallot, Michael Garland

Okay I need this issue to reread a million times over because there are just so many things I love all at once. Like, oh my gosh. I was almost in tears multiple times because relationships! Healing! Supporting each other!

Wade and Gabby alone could just about make this issue perfect, but then you have Laura and Daken hugging and worried about each other, and Old Man Logan being likable for the first time in any of my readings of him. There’s so much I enjoy, though I find the cover rather deceiving. This is much more of a Howlett family reunion than anything else, though I did enjoy Riri’s parts in it.

I just eriously adore these characters and it meant a lot to see them all come together like they have here and that cliffhanger HURT so much more for it.

I will nitpick the art a bit because we’ve been doing so good about keeping Laura in the Wolverine costume which is much preferred to her X-23 wardrobes, for sure, but this issue it pretty much looked exactly like one of her old costumes without the midriffs and it was kinda weird. I know she took off a lot of her armor for skin contact but it’s... idk. It was weird.

The main thing I’m happy about though is that as we go on, I realize that literally all of the Marvel books I’ve kept are going out of their way to not involve themselves in Secret Wars and it’s kind of beautiful. Laura and Gabby are stuck on an island that’s quarantined (and I can pretend Wade’s there with them instead of whatever’s going on since I dropped Deadpool for the summer crossovers, thanks Tom Taylor!), Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur are literally off world, and the rest are non-616. So yay me!

Marvel’s Amazing Spider-Man: Renew Your Vows (2016-present) #8 Gerry Conway, Ryan Stegman, Jesus Aburtov

For those who don’t know, Mary Jane Watson is genuinely one of my favorite Marvel characters and is easily one of the reasons I ever stuck with the Spider-Man comics for as long as I did was because of my interest in her and wanting to see her and Peter.

I can also thank her for my genuine attraction to redheads probably.

But one of the main reasons that I’ve loved this book so much is because, as written by Gerry Conway, this is the Peter and MJ of my dreams. I love them so much, and the complications that comes from their relationship and from growing older, raising a daughter, and MJ’s desire to continuously be the glue to keep both Peter and Annie together logically causes her to seek out a way to continue being Spinerette without syphoning off Peter’s powers.

It’s almost like growing old, having a stable relationship, trying to keep things fresh while raising a kid, are all dramatic and worthy of good storytelling in their own right or something HMM.

Anyway, yes it’s completely on the nose where this is going and it’s a little curious how MJ’s not immediately aware of the connection between what’s going on with her right now and the horrible, arguably traumatizing experience she and Peter had, but who knows what’s canon anymore lol

Basically, I sideye a bit from a story point of view, but this series continues to make up for it with the real thing that matters to me: these characters and their development.

DC’s Detective Comics (2016-present) #958 James Tynion IV, Aluaro Martinez, Raul Fernandez, Brad Anderson

Honestly I really love the slower issues where Tynion takes more time to make moments for the relationships between the characters and give us interractions we didn’t know we wanted -- Kate going with Luke and Jean Paul to a basketball game, Cass and Clayface being adorable by reciting a play, Bruce at a poker game with a bunch of assholes in homage to Almost Got ‘im!? It was a lot of fun honestly.

...

Okay I take issue with Cass’ dialogue. I know she was repeating lines from a tape and such but it’s weird to see her make so much progress when just two issues ago she was almost monosyllabic. Like... I want to see Cass gradually learning, I want to feel her frustration with hitting walls, I want to see her struggle and achieve despite the struggle because that gradual progression was honestly something we weren’t delivered in the former canon. We have a great opportunity for it here.

But y’know. I’m particular with Cass and it’s hard to say where her baseline for reading and speech even is in this canon because her dyslexia may be in tact but her circumstances growing up are completely different. So I don’t know.

Now. I’m a sucker for Bruce and Zatanna team-ups because I’m a schmuck but I’m really excited for next issue. Had a lot of fun with this one. This feels like a decent pace for Tynion -- at least in my opinion.

DC’s Gotham Academy: Second Semester (2016-2017) #10 Brenden Fletcher, Becky Cloonan, Karl Kerschl, Adam Archer, Massyk, Sandra Hope

This comic is speeding toward an end and I’m not sure if I’m ready!

From the beginning, for me at least, the selling point for Gotham Academy has been just how much these kids felt like real teenagers and real friends with all their various relationships and connections, platonic or romantic or something in between. And it’s powerful to see that coming to play as an advantage to completing Olive’s arc, but also as a disadvantage since the consequences of many of her actions hurt that much more.

I’ll save a lot of my thoughts for a complete wrap up of the series but overall, very happy and very grateful for the continuously good read that is GA

DC’s Justice League of America (2016-present) Volume 1: Road to Rebirth Steve Orlando, Jody Houser, Ivan Reis, Andy MacDonald, Stephen Byrne, Jamal Campbell, Mirk Andolfo

WE GOTTA GET THE BAND BACK TOGETHER. WE’RE ON A MISSION FROM GAD.

In all seriousness, I’m a huge fan of Vixen and Ryan Choi as well as a big fan of Justice League International, as it was in its 80s glory. So my interests with this particular lineup were piqued from the beginning and I made myself wait for the first volume to dive in.

For the most part, this is a team gathering exercise. Characters that have lacked the spotlight in the last few years -- Vixen, Ray, Killer Frost, and the Atom -- were given whole issues to reintroduce them to this continuity. And honestly those issues were great. I really, really love the updated origins for them and feel that they’re a good blend of honoring the past of the characters as well as adapting them for a new world.

Lobo, Batman, and Black Canary took back seat, but considering that there were already tensions showing within the group, I think it’s safe to assume that giving the spotlight to the rest of the team won’t always last this long. Things are nothing if not explosive among these members.

I really did mean it when I said this is a team gathering exercise, because there’s no first case to unite everyone. There’s not any real antagonists or team-ups we see to speakof. It was just getting hte jLA together.

And for me it’s enough to get me intrigued, though I’d completely understand if people told me it was far from enough for them.

Now they just need to add Big Barda, Booster Gold, and Ted Kord and I’ll be satisfied.

Image’s Motor Crush (2016-present) Vol. 1 Brenden Fletcher, Cameron Stewart, Babs Tarr

I was not the biggest fan of this team’s Batgirl team though I appreciated the aesthetics and what not. There just never seemed to be a storyline that really interested me and I couldn’t be sold on the characterization for Barbara. So I kept hearing about Motor Crush for the last year and was really itnerested in it so I wanted until this volume came out and.

Well, quite simply, I’m in love.

Tell you what, those biker gangs that kept coming up really confusingly out of place in Batgirl make a hell of a lot more sense now that I can see this team’s actual passion project.

So I love Motor Crush a lot, I’m really invested in Domino, the mystery that is her origins and the powers of Crush itself. I love her relationship with her ex, Lola, I love her father -- I love just about everything and the cliffhanger really surprised me.

I will say that while I love having a world that speaks for itself rather than constant narration, it’s a little hard to follow this world entirely, I’d like a bit more explained than what has been, but at the end of the day I’m very excited to see more.

DC’s Superwoman (2016-present) #11 K. Perkins, José Luís, Ray McCarthy, HI-FI

You know, I have made it clear that I’ve been worried about this title for a while now, really just hoping it was going to find its direction and wow us with the great potential that is the Super Family outside of the main Kent triad. And I feel like that’s for good reason -- the end of Jimenez’s run let a lot of people feeling justifiably scorned, there was a mishandling of a lot of heavy and important subjects that were raised, and at least the initial stuff with Perkins taking over kind of left one wondering if they had a fully formed direction to go toward next.

But I am really glad that I stuck it out for this long because the family of John, Lana, Nat, and everyone else is so important and so fundamentally different from the dynamics found elsewhere in the new familial renaissance of the DCU that I needed it. And I hope it continues to emphasize these relationships and how important they are to each other.

I’m still unhappy with how anxiety and mental illness is being handled in the title and find it lacking since it was brought up to begin with and now being ignored. That subject alone is making me rethink my disinterest in Green Lantern books as a whole because I have loved and felt inspired so far by what I’ve seen of Jessica Cruz and their handling of anxiety, and it’s why I picked up Silk at the high recommendations of a close friend.

So I’d like for mental illness to be treated better in this title -- the least it can do after bringing it up and treating it the way it did at the end of Jimenez’s run, but there’s so much value in the non-nuclear family dynamic of the Irons household and of the uniqueness of Lana’s powers and her approach to fighting crime that it’s worth it. For me anyway.

IDW’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2011-present) #70 Kevin Eastman, Tom Waltz, Mateus Santolouco, Ronda Pattison

I knew the end of this storyline was going to be, at the very least, explosive but wow, WOW I had no idea how many twists and turns it was going to take in that time. That was a phenomenal ending to the Mutanimals storyline for the time being, and I just feel so bad for Slash, down to my core. I’m so worried about him, and whenever he will be allowed to recover.

At least I hope he’ll recover.

This series is seventy issues strong and i’m just so blown away by the way they still manage to keep me on the edge of my feet while so many different storylines and character developments are happening at the same time.

I mean, I even feel for Old Hobb here!

I do suppose a complaint I could hold here is that the titular turtles themselves have ultimately not been very front and center throughout this storyline, and that really showed in the conclusion, where for the most part they were lost to the colorfulness of the huge, colorful supporting cast that has been developed over the years.

For me, personally, I think that’s honestly okay. We can’t have the same story over and over again with only the main four characters driving the narrative, and it’s been a long standing tradition in TMNT for a good 30 years now to sort of embody the concept that our main guys don’t really look for situations to get involved with but sort of fall into them naturally.

Not to mention it’s probably a strength that 70 issues in, we haven’t once repeated plots or stories or put any of the characters on a loop of development to end up right back where they started. I don’t think the achievement of that can be understated, especially as we near that landmark #75!

DC’s Titans (2016-present) #12 Dan Abnett, Kenneth Rocafort, Dan Brown

Bleh. BLEH. I was holding out judgment on the twist of Wally and Donna and Roy ending up in some kind of love triangle because I wanted the context but honestly the context is kinda... bleh. It would be awesome if we lived in some world and time where Donna’s origins were not constantly retconned and thus the source of her characterization in every run of every thing she showed up in. Which is by no means a new problem but still.

And my opinion is... Wally and Donna are both going through a hard time and Wally is having to accept that his life is fundamentally different from the previous world he knew, that he can’t just badger people into returning things to the way they were -- especially Linda, who he loves but it’s a very one-sided relationship as a result of the parallel universe paradox and stuff. It makes sense to me that in a ploy to gain some sense of control over that, he and Donna both would try to take fate in an unexpected direction, into their own hands.

But making it a love triangle with Roy just kinda keeps my eyes firmly rolled into the back of my skull.

I overall like Lilith, Dick, Garth, and Karen’s development and characterization in this issue. I think they’re taking Lilith in interesting directions and I’m really curious about what her omen means for the future, since apparently there’s a traitor among them. And they set up plenty of reasons for various members to be that traitor in this issue but I can’t help but assume already that it’s going to end up being a twist. Good twist or not remains to be seen.

IDW’s Transformers: Salvation (2017) John Barber, Livid Ramondelli

I’m going to be completely “original” here and say that I’m not a fan of Ramondelli’s at for the various Transformers comics. i know! I know. Shocking, never said before, completely going against the general fandom consensus. I’m such a brave soul. I know.

Okay, joking aside though... I didn’t think the art was bad in this one-shot. Actually! I’d argue a lot of it was even good. He may not be my favorite artist and I’ll think that his colo gradients are butt ugly most of the time, but there was better handled action sequences than usual, the characters looked like they had weight, and we even got a range of expressiveness in the characters that is... well, frankly, not usual for Ramondelli.

So other than that shocking revelation, I thought Barber performed good once more on tying the TF universe together again, answering some prior plot points and nicely knotting off loose ends. Trypticon being a Titan is not the biggest revelation in the world, but the development of Sandstorm and the Dinobots was great, and I loved just how devious Starscream truly is under Barber’s pen even though I’ve fully been enjoying the characterization for him in Till All Are One.

But the most important thing of all: SPARKLINGS. SPARKLINGS. All I’ve wanted for years is baby transformers so I am HAPPY BEYOND BELIEF. THEY’RE NO LONGER A DYING SPECIES AND THESE PRECIOUS BABIES COULD BE BORN WITHOUT EVER KNOWING THE CIVIL WAR AHHHHHHHH

DC’s Wonder Woman (2016-present) #24 Greg Rucka, Bilquis Evely, Romulo Fajardo Jr.

WOW! I mean, just wow! What a resolution to everything. I have so many emotions for Diana, for Barbara Ann, for even Veronica Cale of all people. Etta and Steve were great, the art was amazing.

It’s just such a relief and such... honestly just an amazing feat that Greg Rucka is beginning to wrap up this just phenomenal run of Wonder Woman

I really enjoyed how everything turned out and it was so remarkable to see Diana’s resolution to save Veronica but also to not turn her back on her friends and loved ones as well as the torment it is for Barbara to not be able to get into Themyscira after all her life’s work.

And I liked Diana’s assessment of Veronica at the end, it was true and also blunt to the point of cruelty. But fitting also.

It’s amazing what a turn around I’ve personally felt when it comes to Veronica’s character because in all honesty I was not a fan of her most of the time in the preboot, but Rucka really has fleshed her out and done something unique with her perspective now. There is tragedy but there’s also less deniability for her fault in all of it.

I’m sad to be coming toward Rucka’s end on the run, but I’m also so happy to see the love and passion he’s put into everything culminating to what it is now.

This is a genuinely hard choice but I think if I go by what tugged on my heartstrings the most, what gave me the most joy overall and just feelings unrelenting from start to finish, I would have to say that my pick of the week is All-New Wolverine. I adore this series and I couldn’t be happier with this issue and how they’re keeping my precious Marvel girls faaaaaar away from Secret Empire. A close second would be Wonder Woman but really I would happily recommend my entire pull this week. It was a geat week for comics.

But that’s just my opinion! I’d love to know your thoughts. Agree? Disagree? Think I missed something I should’ve picked up this week? I’d love to hear from you!

#Rena Roundups #SPOILERS #Wednesday Spoilers #All New Wolverine (2015 )#Amazing Spiderman: Renew Your Vows (2016 )#Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2011 )#Detective Comics (2016 )#Gotham Academy: Second Semester #Justice League of America (2016 )#Superwoman (2016 )#Titans (2016 )#Wonder Woman (2016 )#Motor Crush #Transformers: Salvation

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heymiss-miss · 7 years

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I am a quitter

I believe in quitting but quitting for the right reasons. I know became a science teacher because, at two key points in my life, I decided to give up a dream, which in turn, changed the path that I took my life.

I remember as a child playing with my cousin, brother, and the neighbor kids. Even though we went to school all day, when it came to play time, we only did pretend school. And since I was the eldest and bossiest, I was always the teacher. My cousin often reminds me that when it was someone else's turn to play teacher, I would often decide to lose interest and further boss them around to play something else.

It was never a goal to become a teacher. Sadly, for a good part of my life, I thought that I was supposed to do "something more." Now that I am a teacher, I really hate my past self for belittling the job because it is hard, it is rewarding, and it has a huge impact. It was weird, I knew as a teenager and college student that I wouldn't have gotten where I was without the teachers I had in high school, but I still didn't respect the profession.

So becoming a teacher was never originally in my cards. When I was sixteen, I either wanted to be an artist or scientist. Polar extremes and people are still a little surprised when I say that I 'almost went to art school.'

Junior year in American high schools is very important. It is the second to last year and that's when you start taking the SAT and the ACT tests. At that point, you are also looking into universities so you can determine what subjects and scores you need to get for the various colleges. Since I either wanted to be a scientist or artist, I decided to take two AP (Advance Placement) classes my junior year. For those that don't know what AP classes are, they are first-year university-level courses that are taught at the high school level. The test is scored out of 5 and depending on the university, if you get a 4 or 5, you can get college credit.

So I took AP Biology and AP Studio Art my junior year of high school to hopefully help me decide the path to take my life. I had support from friends, family, and teachers for both paths, along with advice from people that were artists and scientists of the lifestyle of each career. I was a well-researched kid, but an indecisive one. So I decided that whichever exam I got the higher grade on would be my major at university.

The summer before my final year of high school, I got my results back. AP Biology - 5. AP Studio Art - 3 (a VERY average mark). AP American Lit - 2 (haha, no surprise).

I was heartbroken over the AP Studio Art grade. It said to me that I couldn't make it as an artist. Even with my art teacher telling me that he thought my grade should be higher and not to worry about it because it is subjective, I couldn't shake that feeling. So I gave up.

I do regret it in some ways. I do wonder if I could have made it. I get frustrated when I realize that I'm not as creative or patient to do art. I remember telling myself that I could always do art on the side, but that obviously hasn't happened. But on the flip side, the more I studied science, the more I feel in love with it.

So when I was seventeen, I locked into my head that I wanted to become a scientist. I looked at the top schools in the country to study biology (a pretty pointless activity because I ended up moving to New Zealand, but that's a story for another post). For six years of my life, that was my plan. Becoming a scientist was an internal part of my identity. It was the story that I told my extended family and friends' parents when they asked me how school was going and what I wanted to do in life.

Then, came my masters year and it was awful. Not awful in a sense that I regret doing it. I'm glad I did because it changed the way I think about science and also I made some wonderful friends. It was awful because of who I was that year.

I felt like that year of my life, I was just a walking ball of anxiety and depression. I was depressed from the isolation of lab work and the long hours I was working to collect my data. I was so scared that my experiments would fail and I would fail my masters. I hated that I didn't have control when I was doing research. My personality is not built for research.

On top of that, I thought a lot about my career path in science. I decided early on that I didn't want to go into industry because I didn't agree with the ethics of industrial toxicological research. Yes, they do the toxicological questions that are required and some extra. But they also avoid doing some tests to be able to later plead ignorance if a drug needs to be recalled.

The masters exposed me to the path of academic research and when I saw my postdoc friends worry about their jobs, it really put me off being a scientist. I remember the advice that I got in high school about how most scientists work on 1-2 year contracts, which may or may not get renewed because of grant approval. At sixteen, I thought that wasn't a big deal. But when I was twenty-two, that wasn't something I wanted to do. I realized that I was very much a home body. Moving to New Zealand was difficult and I was finally adjusted, so I didn't want to move again. I also thought about the other things I wanted to get out of life like a family and I didn't want to have to ask my future family to move around for me to chase my dream. A dream that I wanted less and less.

I kept trying to tell myself that it eventually it does get better because good scientists do find a permanent position at a university. But I saw supervisors spending of their time worrying about grant money and again a lot of time alone working in their offices. As that year went on, the more I realized that I didn't like my options and I was very unhappy with research.

Demonstrating the undergrad labs was the only thing I did look forward to that year. Well, that and my weekly bakes, which I started mainly to keep my sanity. I found that I loved sharing my knowledge of science and life advice about research. At that point, I started to flirt with the idea of becoming a teacher.

But to become a teacher meant I needed to quit a dream that I held onto for six years of my life. I remember balling my eyes out when I was processing that decision because at the same time I was processing my grief. I was giving up a part of myself and a path I thought my life was going on. I was also very scared to tell people my decision because I thought they would be disappointed in me. The saying, 'If you can't do, teach' was in my head a lot and I felt like a failure.

But in fact, I was generally met with positive feedback. My students were excited because they thought I was a good teacher. My friends were happy for me because they could see the toll research was taking on me and it was like ending a bad relationship. My family thought it was a better fit for my personally and were relieved that I changed my mind.

The only one that I fought with over my decision was my dad. He thought I was quitting because I thought it was too hard and that I was scared of failure. My dad always wants me to be the best and wants me to rise to the challenge. He had it in his mind that to be the best at teaching was to be a professor at a university. He thought the ultimate rise to the challenge was for me to get a PhD.

But what my dad didn't see was how unhappy I was with my life. He didn't see that I lost my bubbly personality during that year. He didn't see how withdrawn and short tempered I became. I didn't think I could do a PhD, but it had nothing to do with smarts or ability. I didn't think I could handle the unhappiness.

I was a quitter. But I quit for the right reasons. I was unhappy. I think it's weird that I can love a subject, but hate doing it. At times I do miss it because it was so exciting to be at the frontier of new information. But at the end of the day, you need to do what makes you happy (and hopefully provide you with enough money to survive).

I absolutely love teaching and I know I wouldn't have gotten here if I didn't quit, it was never originally in my cards. I am really happy with the path that I have taken my life on because now that I am a teacher, it is great advice for kids when they are making the first decisions in their life path. It shows that your path is not set in stone and it is okay to change course.

I am generally not a quitter. But I think at certain times, it is the right thing to do.

#teaching #science

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sunkissis · 6 years

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Salut!

Well, in the blink of an eye, we have lived in Paris for six months. We are at the halfway mark of our year abroad and those 183 days went by in a flash. 183 days is a significant number for our family because that happens to be the number of days Antz company has allowed him to work remotely. We discovered this just two weeks before our departure date last February. This added to our stress and anxiety but since we put in so much hard work to get approved for our visas, set up a home exchange, took Olivia out of her French school in LA, and we set everything up to be in Paris for an entire year, we just left not knowing what would happen with Antz job.

Let me explain what the 183 day rule is. There is a treaty with France and the US so that either country can collect income tax from residents living there past 183 days. So in our case, if Antz were to continue working past six months, he would have to start paying into France’s tax system (paying for social services, income tax, etc.) while also still paying income taxes in the US because he is employed by an American company. This article explains it better than I can. To me it sounds like double taxation but there is an exclusion up to the first $100,000 of income in the US. Which for us means he would pay 45% of his income in taxes in France but only 28% past $100,000 in the US. So basically 63% of his income would have gone to taxes for our 2019 tax return. This was not the best case scenario for us financially. Also, his company was not able to set him up as an international transfer employee on a work visa due to the high expenses to add him to European payroll. We even requested to have him work freelance as an independent consultant but that didn’t work either. So his company gave him two choices, return to the US in 183 days or separate from the company. He did both. It was the hardest choice to make, Antz has worked for this incredible company for over 18 years. He was at the top of his career as a Senior Art Director. His company had premium benefits, generous salary and bonus, 401k, profit sharing, traveling to industry events and parties, summer Fridays meant he had every other Friday off, and he worked with some amazing people. I can’t tell you how difficult the decision was. I mean, France is rad but it’s not perfect. We are renting here which feels unstable, but in LA we owned our house and we put so much work into making our house lovely. Every month I worry about the currency conversion which varies so much that sometimes we pay $50 – $70 more depending on the day I pay rent. There is also a language barrier that makes simple tasks challenging. Liv is a wonderful translator but even she can’t help with adult things like setting up our cell phones or making an appointment to have the heat turned on in our apartment. There is crime here like any large city, and if I walk through certain parts of town alone, I feel vulnerable. I had a car in LA so I never had a guy follow me making lewd comments like here. Once I to call Antz to meet me on our street because a guy wouldn’t leave me alone. There is terrorism here so when we walk in crowded spaces, I can’t help but feel tense or worry about trucks driving by. There are more grumpy, rude people in customer service than I ever dealt with in LA. I recently tried to make an appointment over the phone but six out of ten people hung up on me when I asked if they spoke English. That is on me, I need to step my French up. I hate the constant smoking, I get I am in a foreign country but blowing smoke directly in my face is infuriating. I also have to deal with renewing our visas every six months which is a headache. However the benefits still outweigh the cons for us. Liv attends a wonderful French school that is only a ten minute walk away for FREE! This is our number one reason for being here. She is attending such a great school here, her French is impeccable and I love that she gets a hot lunch everyday in a cafeteria and after school activities are included in her daily curriculum. She gets a half day on Wednesdays so she can go to ballet, which frees up our weekends for travel. That is our other major reason to stay. Traveling here is so easy and affordable I can’t see going back to LA only to wait all year for Antz to get a few weeks off of work so we have to cram a vacation in a short time and spend half of our travel budget on a long flight from LA. We have traveled more in the last six months than we have in six years. My main goal is to visit 20 countries and they are all just a train ride or a short flight away. I also am looking forward to having actual weather!

Living in sunny Los Angeles for 40 years was nice, but we rarely had thunderstorms or more than a few days of cold enough weather to bundle up. I have never been in Europe during the fall so I am excited to wear coats and scarves. I am also excited for the lovely Christmas markets coming soon! Well, it’s not like I need to sell living in Paris, my point is moving here comes with huge sacrifice. The first was leaving his job but finding a new job here in Paris won’t be so easy. Everyone I know keeps telling us that French jobs do not pay well. So we had to have a back up plan to keep us going financially. We used most of our savings to move here in March and even though we are saving a lot by not paying tuition or a car payment, it’s still expensive living in Paris. In the end, we realized we weren’t happy in LA and that is most important to us. The bottom line is he made great money in LA but he was working long, stressful days and we only had weekends to spend time together. Most of his salary went towards our bills and tuition so even if he made less here in France, our expenses are less. We also spent all our time in our cars which caused our lifestyle to be toxic and unhealthy. Since moving here, we spend so much more quality time as a family (I am sure it’s mostly because we don’t have a TV!) and walking everywhere is pretty awesome. So, we agreed we would stay in Paris as long as possible!

So a month ago we decided to sell our house. It was heartbreaking to do but really I couldn’t think of any other options. Our tenant was only renting during the summer and she was paying $1,000 less than we listed it for because she was able to pay cash in advance. We couldn’t live here and not have a stable long-term renter. There are also so many expenses of being a landlord which would have been difficult to handle from abroad. Our house has increased in value so much, I met with our real estate agent who happened to be in Paris on vacation with her family to discuss the idea of selling. She was so positive about it we put together a plan just to see how things would work out. Antz was going to fly back to LA at the end of August due to the 183 days deadline being Sept 1st so we decided that if the house sold in a month, we would stay. If the house didn’t sell (my worst case scenario), I would pack up our apartment in Paris and return to LA with Liv. Thirty days is an insane timeline but our agent was confident we could do it. This meant that Antz had to begin the process of getting our cat Lola legally documented to travel to Europe. He had to take her to an USDA accredited vet for an exam and she needed an official microchip implanted. Then she needed a rabies shot and there was a 21 day mandatory waiting period. We had to keep the house furnished so it would be staged for the open houses. We had four dates scheduled and a deadline of Sept 17th to accept offers. I was super nervous because after two open houses we only received one offer for an insultingly low amount. In order for my crazy plan to work we had to get a magic number and I was sweating when the final day arrived. The offers slowly began to come in that afternoon. All of the offers were over our asking price but nothing was close to our magic number. The good news was since there were multiple offers we could counter everyone and ask for over our magic number. We only got one person to agree to our counter offer but we got a little over our magic number!! I had to go to the US Embassy to sign the escrow paperwork with an American notary. The visit was intense, many French guards were quite mean at the entrance. I had to go through several security check points and they took my phone and held it during my visit. I managed these shots before they confiscated my phone.

My poor husband had the daunting task of selling all the things we no longer needed, (we felt like we gave away most of our furniture for next to nothing but this was our cleansing period) cleaning out the house (he must have donated and thrown away one hundred bags) and garage of twelve years of overwhelming stuff in two freaking weeks! Then he had to pack up the house, move our stuff into storage at my Mom’s house and ship our remaining items to France in a storage cube.

Our entire lives worth of stuff had to fit in this 7 foot storage box. It will be shipped to France via boat and won’t arrive until January! I will loose my mind if my breakable stuff gets damaged.

I can’t tell you how stressful this was for Antz, all while he was still going to work everyday and dealing with Lola’s stuff. The sad part was we were apart for a month which seems short, but he missed Liv’s first day of school.

To add to our agony we discovered that Antz cell phone wouldn’t make calls in LA so we could only communicate by FaceTime calling on wifi and texts for thirty days. This guy wins at life. We both had our moments of doubt, frustration and sheer panic but he rose to the occasion physically and mentally in a way I never could. He was running on two hours of sleep by the end of the month. He also had to contend with flying back to Paris with our not so friendly cat Lola. I took two wise precautions for her flight. The first was ordering her these claw nibs (her pink fake nails) so she wouldn’t be able to scratch Antz or the carrier. The second was booking Antz in a premium economy seat on his flight with Air France. It was double their normal fare, but he had more room for Lola and fewer people around to disturb.

Anyone interested in flying a pet from the US to France? This is a long, tedious process and we didn’t have a day to spare to get everything done. The first step is taking your pet to an accredited USDA veterinarian. Our regular vet wasn’t accredited but there was one nearby that they recommended.

Los Feliz Small Animal Hospital 3166 Los Feliz Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90039 (323) 664-3309

I made our appointment online before Antz flew back to LA. The first day he returned he picked up Lola from my best friend Aimee (who was happy to say bye to our cranky feline) and he got her an official microchip inserted. Even if your pet has a microchip in case they get lost, this is a special chip that is registered with the US to track pets abroad. Then she had to wait a mandatory 21 days before getting a rabies shot. It’s important to know that even if your pet has been vaccinated for rabies (like Lola has) they must get another rabies shot 21 days after the microchip has been implanted. We were happy to find out Lola lost weight since her last appointment so she was just under the 8kg restriction. So this put our timeline right on schedule. I made an appointment with APHIS which has an office in Los Angeles to get Lola’s health certificate endorsed. You must make an appointment, no walk-ins.

Los Angeles Animal Import Center 222 Kansas Street El Segundo, CA 90245

No pet can travel abroad on a commercial airline without this document (this doesn’t apply to service animals). If you have a dog, it is also mandatory to show a test for tapeworms and flea medication. There is the choice of flying with your pet in the cabin or the cargo. Air France said they only allowed pets up to 8 kg on board. Well 8 kg means 17.6 lbs and our chunky Lola was 18 lbs at her last vet visit! I am a member of a Expats in France group and I read many horror stories about pets in the cargo of airplanes so I was very worried about Lola’s flight. I was confused when it came to finding an airline approved carrier. If she was going in the cargo of the plane, she had to be in a hardshell crate with very specific measurements. However if she was flying in the cabin, she could travel in a soft-carrier but the measurements varied by airline. I ended up ordering this backpack carrier from Amazon. I knew with all the luggage Antz was bringing and having to carry Lola’s paperwork and his passport, it would be easier for him to be hands-free. I was so worried she wouldn’t fit comfortably in it but a week before his flight, the carrier arrived and he sent me this.

She fit snug as a bug and I also ordered these pet pads in case she had an accident. Antz was smarty pants to use a large safety pin to keep the pad in place when the carrier was upright.

I ordered a harness in case Lola tried to escape at anytime. Antz had to take her out of her carrier when going through security and he held her while they did a thorough check. Luckily, our vet gave him calming medicine to give her on the day of the flight. Antz had a couple of hiccups the week before his flight. He had an appointment with the APHIS to endorse Lola’s health certificate at 8:30 am. Because it was near LAX, he had to leave the house before 6 am to be on time. He was the first person there and when he went to pay the $38 dollar fee, they told him that the vet filled out the wrong form! Antz was livid. I never seen him so angry. Turns out the vet gave Antz the form for pets traveling in the cargo hold but Lola was going to be inside the cabin. At least they were sympathetic and allowed him to return the next day with the correct paperwork, or else we would have needed to make another appointment a month later. So this meant that Antz had to drive to the vet’s office, pick up the correct health certificate and drive out to El Segundo the next morning. This all took place during his last week he was working in his office so you can imagine his level of stress. Once he had the endorsed health certificate you have exactly ten days to leave the country. This is important that you already have your flight set up prior to getting all the forms completed. I booked his return flight only two weeks before his departure since we were waiting to make sure our house sold and he would be able to sign all the escrow paperwork before returning to France. Luckily, there were a few premium economy seats still available. I had to call the airline and let them know we were bringing a pet on-board and they charged us $150 fee at check-in at the airport. Most airlines only allow a few pets on-board so it’s a good idea to let them know in advance. The day of Antz flight home was crazy, remember, his phone didn’t work unless he was connected to wifi, so I was only able to hear from him if he was on Starbucks wifi. Terribly frustrating! Lola decided it would be fun to run outside on the morning of Antz flight. He had to ask our neighbors to come help look for her all morning while he was still packing and needed to take a shower before his ride to the airport showed up. We were down to a few hours before he found her under our neighbors house. He had to crawl under there to get her, merde!

My Mom flew to Paris a few days before Antz so I was hosting her all while he was going through the worst of the drama. It was wonderful to have her here as a distraction from all the stress. She has been amazingly supportive of our decision to stay abroad even though that means she will see us less.

Antz somehow managed to pack up and clean the house with the help of his sister and nephew (Merci Clinnie & Justin!). We sold as many pieces of furniture that didn’t fit in our shipping cube. We gifted special items (our plants, and items I couldn’t bear to sell) to our friends and family.

It’s a hard choice to leave the comforts of our home and move to a different country for such an uncertain future but we can always return. We left Antz Honda Element at my Mom’s house and we are renewing our visas in January. I hope this helps anyone thinking of making the move abroad. The past six months was a great test to see if we could make a life in France viable. It’s challenging, frustrating (more so because we don’t speak French yet) but rewarding beyond all expectations.

I am happy to answer any questions in the comments below.

Bisous.

Moving Abroad: Six Months! Salut! Well, in the blink of an eye, we have lived in Paris for six months. We are at the halfway mark of our year abroad and those 183 days went by in a flash.

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tinymixtapes · 6 years

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Interview: Alex Cobb

Since 2005, Alex Cobb has mined the depths of drone, noise, ambient, and modern composition on his venerable label Students of Decay. Originally begun as a means of releasing his own work (both under his name and as Taiga Remains), Cobb’s imprint has unleashed some of the best work from the likes of Natural Snow Buildings, Billy Gomberg, Anne Guthrie, En, Mark Banning, and Secret Pyramid, to name a few. Students of Decay has achieved a longevity based on following Cobb’s exceptional curatorial instinct rather than on trends. Recently, Alex’s life changed dramatically, as he and his wife celebrated the birth of their son this past year. In addition to that massive life event, Alex has been working on a new imprint, Soda Gong, which incorporates “a sense of playfulness and a sort of willful naivety” not heard on Students of Decay (which will continue running). The first Soda Gong release is, appropriately, a new solo project, dubbed Etelin. The inaugural release, Hui Terra, is slated for release November 9. In the interview below, we’re excited to premiere the track “Water the Ferns,” which highlights the record’s musique concrète-inspired tone. Over Skype and a few email follow-ups, Alex and I caught up on the origins of Soda Gong, his ethos on curating releases, and how he keeps himself motivated after nearly a decade and a half spent releasing records. --- I just want to start off and say congrats on being a dad! Tell me about this new project. Did this experience influence your approach to the new album? Thanks! Yeah, this record is certainly bound up in the experience of being a new parent. I was playing it for a friend somewhat recently, and I realized how certain pieces are almost conceptual to that end, though unintentionally and probably only discernibly so to me. One track in particular features processed samples of my son’s voice right after he was born, and as I’ve realized after sitting with it for almost a year now, it actually kind of obliquely articulates a specific nurturing experience that I remember from the first few weeks after the birth. There’s a part of me that very definitely does not want to explain the record in this way though, as a “new dad” record or whatever; I’m reticent to do that. Overall, I’d say there’s a sense of playfulness and a sort of willful naivety going on that wasn’t present in my work as a musician or curator in the past, as well as a rejuvenated excitement for discovery and true experimentation. Anyone making work that falls under the rather unfortunate umbrella of “experimental music” will understand what I mean here, I think. Essentially, just like with any creative pursuit, sediment accumulates: go-to techniques and sounds (and album art and press release verbiage…) emerge, and, generally speaking, then comes stagnation or just a reiteration of the status quo. Recently, I’ve found myself just very fatigued with sort of po-faced quasi-academic drone music. It asks so much of the listener at the level of being taken seriously, even reverently, and very often doesn’t actually articulate much in the way of ideas, new or otherwise. I just want more spontaneity and dynamics in the music I’m making and curating at present, so I’ve been steering away from monochromatic ambient stuff and finding myself drawn more towards rhythmic or at least very dynamic music — so lots of dance music, ethnographic recordings, and musique concrète. With this new imprint I just want to open things up a lot — produce a body of work culled from a wider range of genres, including a lot of work that I feel is sort of post-genre, or at the very least tough to pigeonhole. I’ve always contended that running a label is an art of putting together something cohesive first and foremost, something that has an articulate sensibility. To that end, it doesn’t make any sense to me to start putting out certain types of records on Students of Decay so many years into the label’s trajectory. So, I’m trying to afford myself the space to curate more freely, though still with an eye towards making something that has a defined identity. I want to have a catalog that’s very diverse, but comprised of releases that still feel of a piece with one another. That’s the goal for me. At the risk of over explaining everything, how did you come up with Soda Gong as the name of your new label? And at what point did you decide that Hui Terra would be the starting point of a new imprint? Soda Gong is the title of a poem by Clark Coolidge. I think it does a pretty good job of evoking the sensibilities I want to explore without being too literal or on the nose. Coolidge’s work definitely informs some of my own recent practice — his playfulness, his treatment of rhythm and repetition, his aggregation of detail and detritus into constructs that are somehow both wonky and balanced. The Etelin record makes sense to me as the first release because it also embodies a lot of these concerns: naivety, experimentation, spontaneity, etc. I guess it’s almost like a thesis statement. Running a label is often thankless work, so much so that for a little while I had lost sight of what makes me continue doing it. This feels like a way to maybe get back to where I want to be. You’ve mentioned that you’re still fleshing out the details of the new label, but when you talk about that, I’m reminded of the interview we did a few years ago. You talked about building up Students of Decay to where people can blindly buy whatever new release you have. Is that something you want to pursue with Soda Gong, or do you see it as something where more people may flock to a house record or instrumental hip-hop versus musique concrète? I think, at their best, labels are clearing houses or organizers of music, and much like other cultural productions — textiles, books, films, coffee, tea, alcohol, etc. — if you find that your taste accords with the person who’s piloting the ship, you’ll likely feel as though you’re in good hands and want to follow along on the journey. I quit drinking alcohol, but I drink a lot of tea. In the puerh market, certain vendors cultivate a sort of house profile, much like a brewery might, so you can drink across their catalog — material from different regions, of different ages and processing techniques — and feel confident about following them out on a limb, stepping out of your comfort zone. So maybe there’s someone who never listens to house music or techno or musique concrète, but they like what the label put out previously (or what SOD puts out or they have some faith in my curatorial tendencies), so they check out a record that they wouldn’t otherwise. Maybe that leads them to the realization that there are in fact a lot of similarities between dance music and drone music, in terms of detail accruing over time or how the art of it often lies in subtle or microtonal gestures. One of the main conceits that is driving this label is a desire to focus less on genre and more on feeling and sensibility. There are a couple dichotomies that I’ve been thinking about lately that also get at what I’m after: naivety vs. refinement, autodidacticism vs. formal training. I’m interested in music that, at first pass, might seem quite naive, but when you listen to it more you realize that the person or people who made it have really worked out a vernacular of their own and there is a strong degree of refinement to their ideas and techniques. I’m looking for music that is startling, that creates a mythology or world for itself. So Students of Decay has been around for 13 years now, is that right? Yeah, since 2005. I know that you read about it in other places, about the pros and cons of running a record label right now. We’ve kind of touched on how it hasn’t necessarily gotten better, but there does seem to be a renewed interest in vinyl, so I don’t know if that’s making it better for smaller labels. I don’t mean to get too deep into the logistics of vinyl pressing, but do you plan to continue Students of Decay’s vinyl only format aesthetic with this new label? Yeah, it’ll be digital and vinyl. It’s what makes the most sense right now. Regarding SOD, I think it’s because I got sort of buried in production difficulties and certain difficulties with artists, but things started really feeling like a chore to me this past year or so. Lots of frustration and tedium with little in the way of satisfaction. While that’s to be expected with your day job or whatever, it’s not what one looks for in a passion project or hobby. And while I’m happily keeping SOD going, and I have records coming out that I’m really quite excited about, I felt I needed something else — something new and in some ways less defined by time and expectation — to help me actually enjoy putting out music again. So this will be quite a bit different in how it’s executed at the levels of things like curation, visuals/design, orienting/promotional language, release schedules, and notions of what constitutes a “proper release.” Running a label is often thankless work, so much so that for a little while I had lost sight of what makes me continue doing it. This feels like a way to maybe get back to where I want to be. The label has been around for a long time. Do you ever come across any upstart labels, or does anyone hit you up for advice? Do people come to you about longevity in the music world? Yeah, for sure. People who are thinking about starting a label will email me and ask anything from “should I do this?” to “what should I expect?” or “is this stupid, what am I doing?” My attitude with respect to running a label is pretty much the same as it has been since the beginning. First and foremost, I don’t think anyone should try to rely on it for income, because I don’t think it’s viable and it prioritizes the wrong things. I really believe that art should be separate from capitalistic concerns; the notion that anyone de facto deserves compensation for wanting to play a synth or write a song is wrongheaded. If you go about it from that angle, odds are you’re going to be frustrated and probably end up with a discordant mess of a label. In a lot of ways, I feel like we’re in a very strange climate for releasing music at present. I confess I find it a bit tough to navigate sometimes. What made sense in 2005, 2010, and 2015 doesn’t make sense now. I think a lot about what the truly imperative things for a label owner to do are and lately I come up with a lot of blanks. For example, the landscape of editorial coverage has changed so much. There used to be so many great sites that people authored just because of their interest in music… you know, the “blogging era,” but that’s not really the case anymore. I actually think it’s pretty weird that with the proliferation of technology, with how welded to our phones we are and how unthinkable it is to ever be without the internet, music blogging has basically died. It probably says something about our collective priorities and diminishing interest in sustained cultural criticism… So anyway, the question of how to get yourself/your musicians heard or considered — and what that even looks like and what effect it will have if any — is kind of in flux. Put simply, my advice to people considering doing this is to try to make something that is authentic, that is distinctive, that is not derivative, that you can stand behind. Do that and have faith that people will get interested if you are persistent and committed to making beautiful/engaging/exciting things. If you’re chasing a trend, that trend will end and you’ll have to find another one to chase and your label will seem perpetually outmoded and disjointed. So don’t do that. Cover art for Etelin’s Hui Terra The Etelin record makes sense to me as the first release because it also embodies a lot of these concerns: naivety, experimentation, spontaneity, etc. I guess it’s almost like a thesis statement. Do you still make any of the music in the style of Taiga Remains or under your name? Or are you taking a break from that kind of music? I would say taking a break, though I don’t know if I’ll return to it. Making those three records under my own name, which kind of feel like a loose, heavy-hearted trilogy, strikes me as a nice way to move on from that type of very minimal, very sad ambient music. I actually sold my guitars, and in truth I’m pretty tired of guitar-based music. I bought a sampler and a digital synthesizer, basically equipment that I felt would give me a lot of versatility and force me to reevaluate my process from the bottom-up. Having run a label for so long, what continues to drive you, and to be rewarding, in running a label? Do you still see frustrations or drawbacks? I’m mostly interested in what continues to drive you in a time when it seems harder to get people to pay attention to an album. The impetus behind doing it is that I don’t know how not to do it. It would be really strange for me to not have a record in production, to not be talking to someone about working on a new project, listening to demos, etc. I’ve done it since I’ve been an adult, and I’ve done it through some crazy and destabilizing shit in my own life where it really functioned as a sort of ballast. I’ll always value it for that if nothing else. Going off of that, I wanted to bring up the Anne Guthrie record that you just put out [Brass Orchids]. I don’t want to lump her and Billy Gomberg together just because they’re married, but it’s interesting to listen to his last record [Slight at the Contact], and then her last record that you put out, and to hear this new one. They all move in this direction that, as a music journalist, is supposed to be my job to describe, and I can’t do that, but it’s a compelling sound. Anne was pregnant during the making of that record, and I think it bears marks of that major life change. It maps a sort of volatile emotional topography and mines familial history in interesting ways. There’s an argument to be made, of course, that every record has its roots in the biography of the person making it, which gets at something that I am interested in: the question of artistic honesty and the problem of how to be earnest in one’s creative work. There’s a David Foster Wallace quote in which (I’ve been reading a fair amount of alcoholism recovery literature recently) in reference to writing during his own recovery, he talks about how he’s trying to write “single entendre” sentences. I think this gets referenced a lot when people talk about the New Sincerity movement. I really like this phrasing and am attracted to the impulse to attempt to consciously reject guile and artificiality in one’s practice. This is Wallace decidedly not trying to be the smartest person in the room or to do the most interesting subversion of x, y, and z — it’s him saying “this expresses a feeling or an experience, warts and all.” So much capital L literature, arthouse film, institutionalized art, and, indeed, experimental music is so self-aware that it’s actually deeply frightened of honest, emotion-on-the-sleeve expression. This is, of course, because the work might come off as saccharine or cliche-ridden. Those are the stakes. So, anyway this all to say I guess that right now I find myself drawn to things that endeavor to strip away artifice. Yeah, I like that idea of the single entendre sentences, and not only thinking of your music, but as we’re talking I’m looking at my record shelf, and thinking about how there doesn’t need to be a meaning behind the sound you hear. You don’t necessarily have to know, and that’s interesting. In my line of work, you get lots of press sheets that try to over-explain a record, or go overboard on the narrative, like you said earlier, or trying to hold your hand while you’re listening. Yeah, it’s like the culture of RIYL or “for fans of __________,’” you know? Of course, there is a lot of very good music that is heavily dressed up and marketed. I find myself in this conflicted space of being fatigued by being hard-sold on things, by having onesheet narratives pushed on me, but also recognizing the importance of cultivated mythology and narrative crafting as they apply to being a musician and running a label. SOD just released its latest, Daughters of Time, from Blue Chemise. How did this project find its way to you and the label? Where did you first hear about Mark Gomes’ work? I reached out to Mark after really enjoying his record Influence on Dusk and a subsequent 7-inch. His work sits quite well with the SOD catalog — it’s distant, elusive, and a bit mysterious while also sort of willfully against au courant compositional/production techniques and aesthetic touchstones. He’s got a great ear and editorial sensibility, and I’m always attracted to ambient music that prioritizes concision. You mentioned that you got rid of older equipment from previous releases, and you’re working with a blank slate, so to speak. Can you tell me about how it came together and pared everything down to an album? My wife Melissa and I had our son, Casper, in September of 2017. There’s this term called “newborn haze” that I learned the meaning of firsthand. Your sleep is completely derailed. You don’t leave home for like a week at a time. You’re totally in your own world, which is now a radically altered place. It’s kind of terrifying! The notion that the world is still going on per usual seems crazy, oddly unthinkable. I remember going out to pick up food at one point and seeing people doing their everyday routines and thinking how alien all of it seemed, this outside world. I didn’t think I’d be making music during this time. In fact, I wasn’t making music at all then, I hadn’t for some months. I had however made some recordings of things during Melissa’s third trimester, just as a way of marking time, things like thunderstorms at her parent’s country house, a conversation she was having with my mom right as she went into labor — both of those recordings actually show up on the last track of the record. And then, after the birth, spending time with Casper as he was becoming ever more aware of things, I would be listening to records, naturally, and with certain albums — I recall Nuno Canavarro, Bernard Parmegiani, and Luc Ferrari specifically — I noticed him very interested, like paying close attention in a way that was distinct from how he seemed to at other times. They say that babies’ sense of hearing is the most defined at birth, after touch. He would make sounds when signals panned across the speakers, or look surprised, or even scared, if the music went to a particularly intense place. So I found myself inspired to make some music that would give him those kinds of engaged experiences, but be just ours. I started working with a Waldorf synth and some old granular computer patches and a sampler — really quite haphazardly and at all hours of the day. Pretty quickly, I’d amassed a bunch of recordings. I arranged them in ways that would result in interesting pieces for Casper to listen to with me, playing them back over studio monitors, through bluetooth speakers, in the car, etc. Pretty soon, I had an hour or so of music that I felt good about, so I started to fine tune things and make edits. I really limited myself in that regard, more than I ever have before. It’s ironic, because this album sounds more detailed and produced than my other work, but it’s actually much more spontaneous and has a lot more restraint at the level of editing than anything I’ve done before. I decided to leave things in that rubbed me the wrong way, “mistakes” as I might think of them normally. I chose to view them as giving character rather than detracting from something I’d idealized. I made a point of deleting the work sessions themselves, all the stems, as soon as I bounced the audio tracks, and I arranged big chunks of exported sound instead of having tons of tracks that I could modify, you know, tamper with or overcook. I’d say this record is defined for me by a sense of personal renewal. Obviously becoming a father is a huge life change. I also quit drinking at the beginning of 2017. I feel great, very lucid. I started to recognize that alcohol had become a problem for me and that it had a negative effect on a lot of aspects of my life, effects that I’d been trying to ignore but which had become unavoidable. I knew I was blunting my nervous system, but I didn’t know I was blunting my creativity as well. I recently read this book The Recovering by Leslie Jamison, which I highly recommend; it’s a sort of hybrid memoir/critical work dealing with alcoholism, both personal and within creative writing communities. She addresses her concern that by quitting drinking, she would cease to have a creative identity or make compelling work. This was a very real fear for me. I thought that by getting sober, I wouldn’t have anything to say anymore. But really the exact opposite is true. I feel like I am more able to collect and articulate my thoughts now, and I’m more open to experience and discovery. For me, alcohol just dulls everything, and now I want the ragged raw stuff of life, the unfiltered light. http://j.mp/2oYFu5C

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