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trikadekaphile · 3 years

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Excerpts from one of my favorite Han/Leia fanfics

Dant Solo once wrote a fanfic on the now-defunct TATS website, which was posted in three parts. It was titled "Oblivion" and focused on the missing moments from the period during the NJO (New Jedi Order) where Han and Leia were separated, then when they got back together. Dant Solo did what Kathy Tyers had neither the talent nor the decency to do: gave Han and Leia a proper reunion.

Now, it is no secret that I do not care for the pre-Disney EU, now called Legends. (For the record, I don’t care much for the Disney EU, either.) I flat-out hate much of the NJO, particularly the way it crapped all over Han/Leia's relationship -- not only separating them, but gypping them out of a reunion, and instead giving all the love/personal scenes to the red-gold pestilence and the penis on life support it married Mara and Luke...in the book that was supposed to contain the Han/Leia reunion. Tyers poured salt on the wound by offering a fake mea culpa where she said -- heck, gloated -- that she could have written some Han/Leia scenes, but she wanted to focus on the red-gold pestilence and the penis on life support it married Mara and Luke.

Han/Leia fans, justifiably outraged, began a campaign to get their couple better treatment. It took three years before Del Rey finally delivered something more than a half-assed stopgap measure: "Tatooine Ghost," set after Han and Leia were married, and thankfully retconned some of the most egregious and nauseating parts of the travesty called "The Courtship of Princess Leia."

Anyway, I feel a rant about the red-gold pestilence coming on, and I choose to quash it and refocus on the aforementioned excerpts from Dant Solo's fanfic. The whole fanfic is good, but I have some favorite parts, which are the ones I will post.

Without further ado, here are my favorite excerpts from "Oblivion":

*******

[Han] came to a lift and entered it with half a dozen other beings, traveling downward to an entertainment level. He found a familiar cantina, one that had been renamed but remained, nevertheless, the same sort of dive it had always been. He swaggered through the doorway, hand resting casually above his blaster in an old, customary habit. His senses were immediately assaulted by a musty, hazy smoke that filled the crowded, dimly lit room. Loud conversation filled his ears, and he suddenly hoped that no one would speak to him. He wanted a drink and he wanted to be alone.

He ambled to the bar and sat on a lone stool at one end, waving a hand to the bartender, a shiny headed Bith who greeted him enthusiastically. Grumbling, Han ordered Alderaanian ale, noting the way the bartender slunk away after he provided it.

Gulping the brew greedily, Han's thoughts returned to Leia. He couldn't remember the last time they had exchanged pleasant words. He supposed it must have been some time shortly after Sernpidal. Again, as had been the case for so long, despair flooded him at the thought of his friend and co-pilot. His eyes closed without him even realizing it, his mind remembering the final moments of the Wookiee's life, recalling the horrible, shattering events against his own will.

Chewie! No!

Dammit! His fist clenched around the cold, hard mug of ale, but almost as quickly, it unclenched with a weak, sorrowful acceptance, eyes opening reflexively.

Ahh, Chewie...What am I supposed to do here? I wish you could tell me.

He knew what the big lug would say...he would tell him to get off his ass and pull himself together. That there was no use beating himself up over it and that he had wasted enough of his time already.

And he would probably tell Han to go back to his family. If there was one thing Chewie had always felt very strongly about, it was family.

Maybe if he hadn't been running around with me, he'd be with his family right now.

A futile thought, but Han couldn't help but think it anyway. He sighed, feeling a shudder pass through him with the release of that breath. This was why he'd always been a loner. Granted, Chewie had been in his life for an incredibly long time before he'd lost him, but he remembered vividly the kind of pain that loss of any kind imbued, and he had vowed, as a much younger man, not to risk such loss ever again.

But first there was Chewie and then there was Leia, both taking on a tough edged scoundrel who really wasn't worth it.

Surely, Leia had recently drawn that conclusion in earnest. He thought of her trip to Hapes, of her time with the dashing, regal Prince Isolder. If she'd married him instead of Han, she wouldn't be alone right now; she wouldn't have to wonder what would become of her husband, her marriage. With a distant darkness, Han wondered what had passed between the Prince and his wife. He was still a handsome bastard; certainly Leia would have noticed that. Han had left her alone all these months, had in truth mostly left her alone for months before, all the while existing in the same home as her, drinking himself into oblivion.

The idea of Leia with Isolder inflamed Han with a heart clenching, smoldering jealousy that consumed him for a long, violent moment, tempting him to hurl his mug across the room, shattering it against the wall as concretely as the thought shattered his soul.

He pushed the agonizing thought from his mind, forcing it into a quiet corner of his brain, along with all thoughts too painful to bear.

He tried not to think of anything at all, and was barely aware when someone sat on a nearby stool and slid it beside him. He glanced over to find a tall, curvaceous woman with close-cropped, sun colored hair smiling at him in a flirtatious manner. He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, smiling inwardly at the realization of who he had turned into since he'd met a young, idealistic would-be Jedi. Then he returned his gaze to his drink, dismissing the young woman.

"Hi there," she said, turning to face him.

With a tired sigh, he looked at her again, smiling politely. She was very attractive, he had to admit that.

"Buy a lady a drink?" She smiled impishly.

Why not? It couldn't hurt. "Yeah, sure." He gestured to the bartender, who hastened over. "A drink for the lady," Han said with a gesture.

The woman smiled at the Bith. "Tagorian Tellder wine." As the bartender reached for the appropriate bottle and began to pour, she turned back to Han and extended a delicate hand. "I'm Shayna."

Han shook her hand briefly. "Han. Nice to meetcha." He took another long swig of his ale, watching the woman carefully as she received her drink from the bartender and sipped it slowly.

She raised an eyebrow at him before saying, "You look lonely, Han."

Han raised a brow in return. "Nah, I'm just fine. I like bein' alone."

"Really? You don't ever like company?"

Against his will, his thoughts turned to his family. It had been a long time, up until Chewie's death, since he had genuinely enjoyed being alone. Now it seemed the only option left to him. "Maybe sometimes. Not often."

She smiled coyly. "I don't like to be alone. I'm always looking for company." She leaned toward him and the loose front of her blouse slid forward enticingly, capturing Han's gaze for the briefest of moments.

He looked away quickly, guzzling down the last of his ale and signaling the bartender for another.

Without warning, Shayna placed a warm hand on Han's thigh, just as his second ale was placed before him.

"You want to go someplace more private and talk some more?"

Han looked at her for a long moment, holding his mug in suspended animation halfway to his lips. It could be so easy....to go with this beautiful woman and forget everything for a little while. His body was certainly willing. No one ever had to know. There was no way for anyone to find out. And in truth, he wasn't sure what was left of his marriage to begin with, so how wrong would it be, really?

Sighing mentally, Han realized that he would always know. And if he ever had a chance of fixing things with Leia, he wasn't sure he could live with that knowledge. Without warning, his mind assaulted him with an image of the hurt that would become present in Leia's eyes if he were to betray her. Trust and fidelity had always been in large commodity between them, something each had always counted on, perhaps even taken for granted. He could easily imagine how deeply this would cut her; how devastated and disappointed in him she would be. Hadn't he disappointed her enough already?

It wasn't worth it. A night with some stranger was not even remotely worth his wife and family, no matter what state those relationships were in.

He reached down and removed the woman's hand from his thigh, squeezed it gently for a second, then replaced it on the bar, noting her confused look of disappointment. "Sorry, not interested." He turned back to the bartop.

"You married?" She asked knowingly.

"Yeah. You could say that." He closed up, pulling back inside himself.

"Hmm....you don't look like the faithful type," she said mischievously.

Han glanced at her, eyebrows shooting heavenward. He supposed she was right, he didn't look the type. Funny how things changed. "Yeah, well, you'd be surprised." He stood up, took one last gulp of his ale, tossed a few credits on the bar, gave the woman a mock salute, and then swaggered away. *******

Han dug into the travel pack he had stashed in a compartment over the sensor console on board the Falcon. He was still undecided as to whether or not he was going to give Leia what was inside the pack.

He missed her already. Their time together had been far too short. After all the nights he had imagined holding her, he was still being denied.

With resigned uncertainty, he pulled out the gift he had purchased for Leia at the Abregadoe-rae spaceport. It had almost seemed a sign at the time. He had expected to see her when he arrived at Duro, and when he had seen this, he'd been uncharacteristically compelled to buy it.

The old fashioned book-- the actual flimsiplast sheets bound in a cover of burgundy with gold writing-- contained Alderaanian poetry. He had stood in the small shop, holding it in his hands almost reverently, trying to decide if he should purchase it.

In a hasty decision, he had done just that. Now he wasn't sure if he could bring himself to give it to her. He felt somewhat foolish about the gesture.

He stood and placed the book on the holochess table and removed a bottle of Corellian brandy from a nearby compartment. He went to the galley and grabbed a glass, filling it halfway with the amber liquid. This drink was different from the ones he had taken this past year. He didn't feel he needed it. He simply wanted it. The rumble of the hatch opening surprised him, and he went to investigate, hand reaching for his blaster. It was probably Jacen, but in such desperate circumstances, he couldn't take a chance. As he hurried, he heard the sound of the hatch closing again, and when he rounded a corner, he saw what had to be Leia, removing the helmet of her chem suit. He holstered his blaster and stared in disbelief as the helmet revealed her lovely face, surprising him yet again. Around her now shaven head, a white scarf was tied.

She smiled at his dumbfounded expression, enjoying it immensely. She knew she would have to be processed again in the morning, but she didn't care. It was worth it. She had dreamed of being with Han again for too long. "Surprised to see me, Captain?" She dropped the helmet to the floor and began removing the chem suit.

He just stared as she pushed the suit down her legs and stepped out of it. With her hair gone, she looked thinner, the dark circles under her eyes more prominent. It brought home to him what he had put her through, and guilt gripped his heart.

And here she is, doing everything in her power to be with me, yet again. What did I ever do to deserve this woman? He couldn't imagine.

Feeling awkwardly ashamed, he stuck his hands in his pockets and looked to the floor.

Leia picked up the suit and helmet, stashing them in a nearby compartment. She was absurdly nervous. Her stomach was fluttering in anticipation of spending time alone with Han. In an effort to calm herself, she reached out through the Force to touch Han's essence and found him as nervous as she. It was a comforting realization, and her tension decreased almost instantly. She turned back to Han and they lapsed into silence.

He returned his gaze to hers. "You want a drink?"

She nodded. "Sure." As she moved to follow him to the galley, she passed the holochess table and spotted, of all things, a book. "What's this?"

Han stopped and saw her fingering the book on the table. I guess my decision's made for me, he thought dismally. "Um...well, I got that for you." He felt his face warming.

She looked up at him in sharp surprise. He had gotten her a book? That was certainly unexpected. She smiled tentatively, sensing the sudden increase in awkwardness that permeated the air around Han.

Han crossed his arms over his chest, looking around the hold, everywhere but at Leia. "I just...saw it, and...well, it made me think of you. So I got it for you." Did he sound as stupid to her as he did to himself?

She picked up the book gingerly, almost lovingly. She fingered the cover, tracing the title with a fingertip: The Heart Of Alderaan. The old, familiar pain surfaced, competing with the pounding of her heart that was caused by Han's presence.

Han watched her, his heart churning. She opened the cover carefully and turned to the first page.

Han cleared his throat. "There was one poem..." He grimaced at the sound of his own voice in the quiet of the ship, shrugging sheepishly. "I thought it was pretty good. I marked it. It really reminded me of you."

Leia glanced up at him for a moment before flipping carefully through the pages until she came to the one Han had marked. Lead Me Back To You. Warmth washed over her, and in a voice choked with emotion, Leia read the poem aloud.

"Blind and running, not knowing to where

Burning sorrow, from what isn't there

Eyes could not see, you were there for me."

Leia's voice faltered a moment, the words he had so carefully chosen cutting her deeply. "Despair held reign, keeping me empty.

"Through the dark haze, your light strong and true

Ever shining, leads me back to you

Starlight so bright, a beacon in black

Filling my soul, completing my lack

"Worlds fall afar, hearts cry out breaking

Desperate need, my arms are aching

Moments are lost, lifetime spent running

Lovers are hurt, even the cunning

"Love and beauty, you brought to my life

Soothing comfort, an end to the strife

Further I fall, deep in your embrace

Hearts breathe in time, tears fall from your face."

Tears gathered, blurring the words. She looked at him, speechless. This was the most wonderful gift she had ever received. Just knowing he had thought of her, as she had thought of him, almost continually, filled her with joy.

He stared back, his own expression grave. "It's probably not the best poem you've ever seen," he began. "But--"

"It's beautiful," she whispered. "Thank you."

They stared at each other for a long, emotionally charged moment. Han wanted to take her in his arms, but felt oddly unable to move.

She offered him a teary smile of encouragement and it was all he needed.

"C'mere," he whispered roughly, reaching out a hand toward her.

With a small sigh, Leia took his hand in hers and stepped close, her eyes never leaving his, feeling the unique way his life force called to her. She wrapped herself up in it, drank it in with her senses.

With an almost inaudible whimper, Han's arms were suddenly around her, clutching her to him convulsively. His breath near her ear was harsh as he whispered, "I missed you, Leia. Gods, I missed you."

A waterfall of tearful emotion washed through her. She held him more tightly and returned the whisper. "I missed you, too. Every moment. Even when you were at home."

Her words stabbed at his heart, but he understood her need to say them. Eyes closed, threatening to overflow, Han breathed reverently, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

She pulled back just enough to look at his closed eyes. She thought she could almost see a trembling to his chin, but was not quite sure in the dim lighting. "I understand," she said, meaning it.

And he realized she did. Because she knew him so well, better than he even knew himself. He opened his eyes and brought up a hand to remove the white scarf from her head.

Her hand flew up protectively. "Han--"

"Shhh..." He removed her hand, then followed suit with the scarf, dropping it to the deck. He ran a hand along her scalp, humbled by the gesture she had made for a few simple minutes with him. He could barely release the heartfelt words that bubbled to his lips. "I don't deserve you. I never have," he breathed.

She shook her head slowly, eyes filling with bright tears. "Just kiss me, you nerfherder," she said around the tightness in her throat.

His mouth bent to hers, kissing her with all the loneliness, loss and desperation he had felt for so long. His arms held her tightly once more and he lifted her to dangle above the floor.

It was like coming home, for both of them. Almost forgotten passion mingled with the joy of rediscovering each other, to carry them away to a haven where nothing else mattered, at least for a little while.

He swung her more fully into his arms, cradling her lovingly. As he carried her to their cabin---their cabin, he thought with a soft squeeze to his heart--- he was almost moved to tears by the gentle touch of her hands surrounding his face.

They reached the cabin and he placed her in the center of the bed, staring into her eyes for long, grateful moments. Then they kissed again, softly, deeply, burrowing into each others' souls, erasing the pain and sorrow and replacing it with understanding and trust.

Their clothes were lost hurriedly, and when they were bared to each other, physically and emotionally, all else was forgotten. Their mouths sought comfort, their caresses sought solace. Forgiveness was understood, love granted unconditionally.

Too moved for words, they comprehended each other perfectly without them, sharing thoughts on a level of intimacy that left them both weak.

Crying out in a release that was as much emotional as it was physical, they clung to each other, trembling together, soaring on waves of passionate eternity.

Breath calming, Han held Leia in a gripping embrace, wanting to never let go. He was overwhelmed by his feelings for her, in a humbling way he knew not how to express. It permeated his soul, turning him inside out. The past year had taken a toll on him, and now those feelings surfaced in the most profound way, filling him up, overflowing from within him. He was unable to contain them, and felt the tears choking his throat, unstoppable now.

Leia sensed the deep emotion in her husband and reached out through the Force to touch his soul. When the first sob wrenched from his throat, Leia held him close, stroking the damp hair at the back of his neck with excruciatingly comforting fingers, feeling his tears trickle a damp trail down her neck. She reached out to him spiritually, felt him grip her mental touch almost reflexively, as if he did so without even realizing it. She stroked his mind, doing her best to comfort him in every way she knew how.

He cried as he hadn't been able to since Chewie's death. Not just tears now, but huge bursts of grief that emanated from his chest, obscuring everything but the soothing embrace of his wife. He allowed her, finally, to hold him, to share his sorrow, to see just how much the past year had affected him. He sobbed until he was too weak to continue, finally, blissfully, falling into a deep, exhausted slumber, the first of such in a long, long time.

Leia held him still, her aching heart at last peaceful in the knowledge that Han and she had made sense of themselves. The simple act of sharing his pain was proof that he was healing. It might take a bit more time to make him whole again, but they could do it...

Together, they could do anything.

*******

Leia watched her husband lying on his side, facing her. She was filled with relief and serenity. She had dozed on and off for the past two hours, while Han remained entrenched in sleep. She snuggled close to him, her thirst for his nearness not easily quenched. After all was said and done, they had found each other again, both equally unable to sever the bond they had shared for so long. Pride and arrogance set aside, there really was no reason for them not to be together.

Leia waded in the warmth of Han's sleeping thoughts, like a gentle current. His mind hadn't been so calm, so at ease, since before Chewie's death.

She sighed at the thought of the big Wookiee, so prominent a part of their lives. After all the loss she had suffered in her life, she was surprised at how hard Chewie's death had hit her. Certainly, not as hard as it had hit Han, but hard nonetheless.

She pushed aside that pain as she felt Han's consciousness stirring. She pulled herself closer to him, the skin of his shoulders so blissfully warm under her palms.

Stretching his legs before wrapping them around hers, he let out a low breath as his eyes flickered open and his arms surrounded her. She brought her face to his stubbly cheek, making a soft sound of contentment from deep within her.

They held each other for a long silence, until Han pulled back, a somber expression etched into his features. He leaned into her and kissed her lingeringly, then looked into her eyes once more, his expression growing slowly sheepish. "Sorry to fall asleep on you," he admitted, looking up at her with raised eyebrows, face tilted downward.

"That's okay," she whispered. "It just feels so good to hold you again."

"Yeah." Han swallowed against the sudden lump that rose to his throat. "I know what you mean." He leaned against the pillow, raising a hand to stroke the smooth skin of her shoulder, just above where the blanket fell over her. Her arms felt so good around him, too good to be true. But it was true, thankfully. Feeling mildly ashamed at his earlier display of emotion, he watched his fingers caress her skin and forced himself to speak. "And, uh...sorry 'bout losing it before, too. I don't want you to think it was anything bad about you--"

"I know what it was," she said softly, understandingly.

He looked back at her, nodding, resisting the urge to ask her to explain it to him. He felt better now, more in control, more like his old self. As if he had purged himself of some parasitic demon that had been eating away at his soul. He relaxed and pulled her down to rest against his chest, tenderly amused by her lack of hair. He rubbed her head gently, grinning. "I bet you can't wait till I shave mine, huh?"

She raised her head to look him in the eye. Happiness bubbled within her at the familiar sight of his charming, lopsided smile. "Well, we might as well match," she said with a smirk.

The amusement in his eyes slowly faded to reveal a deeper emotion, as his gaze roamed over well loved features that had only come to endear her more to him with the passage of time. It didn't matter to him if her gorgeous hair was gone, she still took his breath away. "You're still so beautiful, Princess," he whispered. He smiled wistfully. "Too beautiful for an old pirate like me."

She laid her palm across his cheek, an unnerving thought creeping into her mind. It was something she had thought of over the past few months, but had been afraid to truly acknowledge. She forced a smile. "You know you're still gorgeous," she said. Her eyes fell from his to study the hair on his chest. "I'm sure plenty of women told you so in your recent travels," she added quietly, unable to do more than imply her concerns.

His fingers lifted her chin, firm but gentle. "Hey," he said fiercely. "There was no one else."

She gazed into his eyes with hopeful uncertainty.

His lips pressed together before he spoke again. "I swear it. No one."

Their eyes held for a long, searching moment, and Leia didn't need to touch him through the Force to know he was sincere. She kissed him softly on the lips before returning her head to rest on his chest.

They lay quietly for a time, while Han tried to think of a way to tell her all that she meant to him. He had caused her so much pain, forced her to put up with far more than she should have had to. "Leia...," he began tentatively. "I don't want you to think I ever stopped loving you--"

Her head rose quickly, meeting his eyes with her own. "I never thought that. I know you too well," she said softly.

He bit the inside of his cheek, eyes at her chin. "Yeah, well..." After a brief pause, he continued. "The things I said to you, when I was drinking...I didn't mean them, not any of them."

"I know."

He sighed in a rush of defeated breath. He closed his eyes and tried to force the words that did not come naturally to him. "I just couldn't...I couldn't--"

"Shhh." Leia placed a finger to his lips, stilling the awkward sentiment. "Don't," she whispered, voice vehement. "You don't need to explain anything." His lips moved beneath her finger, his voice heavily laden with pain. "I hurt you, Leia, everything I did this past year--"

Her lips replaced her fingertip, kissing him softly. After a brief hesitation, he kissed her back. When she broke away from his lips, she gazed at him with large, soulful eyes. "Your fault, my fault...it doesn't matter. Not now."

Han's brow furrowed. "My fault. It does matter."

She shook her head, smiling gently. "No. It doesn't."

He stared at her, eyes softly dubious, lips parting as if to say something else. Then his mouth firmed into a thin line and he leaned up to enfold her in his arms. He spun her to her back, holding her to him in a powerful embrace. "I was selfish," he whispered into her neck.

She stroked his hair, thinking of how she would miss its softness. "You were hurting, you couldn't help it."

He held her more tightly, felt her heart beating a steady rhythm with his. "That's no excuse."

Gently, she pulled away from him, looking into his eyes with a grim expression. She didn't want him beating himself up over this. There was no point to it. "Han, sometimes circumstances happen. And we can't help how we react to them. We cope the best way we know how."

Alderaan, he thought. It should have broken her, but it hadn't. Her inner strength was too tenacious. He always knew she was stronger than he was. Where he had crumpled, she had only grown stronger. In the early years, once they had gotten past the nasty taunts and sarcasm, her strength had probably been what he admired most about her. He nodded to her finally, unable to argue when she would not allow it. He would carry this guilt for a long time, regardless of her lack of blame. He almost wished she would tell him off, give him what he knew he so justly deserved.

Leia watched Han's features settle into resignation, then something resembling tender disbelief.

He shook his head very slowly. "How is it that you still love me so?"

She smiled, equally tender. "How could I possibly stop?" She asked softly, eyes wide and sincere.

He grimaced slightly, feeling so undeserving of her love and trust. "I love you, Leia." The words were barely a whisper.

Even if Leia hadn't been able to bask in the beauty of Han's emotions flowing freely through the energy of the Force, the look in his eyes would be enough. She kissed him with a fervent passion that they hadn't known since their younger years, and they surrendered to the growing need to drown themselves in the intimacy each had existed without for far too long. Their bodies moved together in a timeless rhythm, strengthening their hearts and fortifying their souls.

All around them, oblivion slowly faded.

#han and leia #fanfic which is better than profic #kathy tyers can kiss my ass

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muthaz-rapapa · 3 years

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HealPre Final Review: Not terrible but not entirely laudable either...

*sigh* Where do I start?

Well, one thing I’m pretty sure of is that COVID definitely affected production somehow. By that, I don’t just mean the show needing to go on hiatus, resulting in a shorter run compared to previous seasons. I’m also talking about any possible changes that might’ve been made to the original narrative, if there was one.

Much like how Suite’s story had to be altered in the wake of the 2011 Tohoku earthquake and tsunami disaster, I believe Heal underwent a similar treatment in response to the pandemic becoming more widespread as 2020 went on.

Especially since it dealt with health and nature, HealPre is probably the season that has come the closest in relevancy to real life events.

Frankly, that can be quite scary because this virus was and is still a fucking nightmare on a massive global scale. From that view, I can understand why the writers/producers would be concerned of the anime hitting too near home. At least for their main demographic’s (children) sake, maybe they were compelled to shift to something lighter and less edgier so that the kids could find some comfort and enjoyment in the midst of the world’s current crisis.

So I can’t fault Toei for that, if that’s really the case. Going through a pandemic is terrifying, infuriating and exhausting and UGH. We could use something that can help ease our worries or momentarily distract us even a little bit.

Though would it have killed them to dedicate one episode to the importance of wearing a mask or washing hands? (-_- ;;)

HOWEVER! Seeing as I am not a fragile child, I’ve still got several (oho~) criticisms to air out before I put this season behind me. This review isn’t particularly scathing but...there is a lot of discontent so you’ve been forewarned.

But first, let’s tediously review what structure means in Precure.

We all know that there are certain things that will forever (?) remain fixed in the series formula.

The plot is always going to be “magical girls fight evil doers threatening to ruin the world”.

There are plot points to indicate story progression but in reality, are put there to correspond with toy releases which are usually marked by these five: introductions, first power up, midseason Cure, second power up, and build-up to the climax + finale.

There is usually a specific message (a theme) to be told with every season and motifs (narrative tools) to aid in getting that across. For HealPre, the theme is “living is fighting” and its motifs are “health” and “nature”.

I left out “animals” b/c 1) it didn’t hold as much significance as the other two did, 2) animals are part of nature anyway and 3) let’s be real, it’s just a synonym for “mascots” which we already get every year. :P

Right. I’m probably forgetting something but for the most part, these are immovable pillars of Precure.

Story, on the other hand, has more variables you can work with.

Story is how you tell the plot, how you convey the message.

Precure, as a tv series, is unarguably carried by its main stars, the Cures. So it only makes sense that a huge percentage of a season’s success owes itself to how much of an impact its characters had on the audience as well as how effective their individual story arcs were as sub-plots tying back to the bigger picture (the message/theme).

Ideally, these arcs would shine the brightest in the filler episodes, where the plot (“good guys vs. bad guys”) is less of a focus so there is more space for personal development and growth.

Also, not all character arcs have to be directly related to the plot but they ought to be written well in order to support the overarching message (the theme).

Now, has HealPre done that? Has each girl’s story demonstrated a good example of what “living is fighting” means?

...nnnnnnyyeeee... look, even I can’t give a straightforward answer on that because while technically they did, by virtue of Nodoka’s observance in ep 44 recounting it as such, there’s also actually not enough to make it feel substantial from a viewer’s standpoint.

At least, that’s what I thought while watching HealPre.

With the exception of Nodoka’s, there was a lot of saying but not much doing to convincingly back the other girls’ arcs up. The fillers themselves were very weak, loosely composed in relation to the motifs and, if I may be so blunt, downright boring that if Nodoka didn’t phrase those episodes as things that counted towards the theme, I probably would put up more of a fight on disagreeing. so shoot me, I’m soft for her :P

And I know that sounds confusing right now but I will elaborate as I continue.

Before that though, to be utterly fair, some seasons keep their respective themes shrouded in vagueness until they’re given a more concrete form in words around the finale. So it’s not like we can do much except make educated guesses on what they really are. Most of the time, we’re just measuring everything against our perception of a standard in the fog. Or maybe that’s just me?

Nevertheless, you can just tell, y’know? By simply watching and observing the whole show, you can tell if the characterization, the development, and the outcome (essentially the content given) really live up to what the season claims is endgame.

So let’s go through that first then. The characters, starting with our lead Cure...

Nodoka being the only Cure in her team to have an arc deserving of the praise “exceptional” should come as a surprise to no one.

She was the most solid in terms of direction on how her story was going to proceed. Out of all the girls, her journey had the greatest connection to the subject “health”, repeatedly delved into it every time the spotlight was on her and fulfilled everything it seemed to promise from her debut in episode 1.

Her struggles on the road to recovery from a long-term illness and the strength she’s drawn from that traumatizing experience as well as her time as Precure did more than establish her as the strongest character in HealPre.

She has also rose to become one of the most memorable Pink Cures in the entire franchise (personally, I rank her in the top 5).

And it’s not hard to see why she’s earned such high regard in a lot of fans’ hearts.

The writers clearly worked a lot on her character composition to the point where she can pretty much embody the theme of “living is fighting” all on her own.

She came into HealPre fresh out of the hospital and full of earnest desire to make the most of her newfound freedom but she also wasn’t without knowledge on what hardship is. From there, she only got stronger, even when she was stumbling and trying to figure things out along the way. She grew more fortified in her beliefs on what it means to be truly live a healthy life.

She bravely defied the ones who attempted to take advantage of her and twist her cause against her. And she learned that taking care of herself is equally as important as wanting others to be safe from harm.

It was never about winning or coming out on top. It was about protecting a fundamental yet precious truth. That one thing any decent human being should never have to concede: the right to live well.

Honestly, Nodoka is absolutely inspiring all around, as a fictional character, a heroine and a normal everyday person.

Everything about her arc went satisfyingly right like it was meant to and the best thing is, we don’t need to question it because we saw how it all happened with our very own eyes.

I sincerely wished I could say the same for the others but sadly, they were just too flawed.

And Pegitan can throw flippers with me all day if he wants but as undeniable as the above statements are about Chiyu, her arc failed to leap over the increasingly mounting disappointment I had with every episode that’s been assigned solely to her.

Two of which weren’t even about Chiyu. One centered on Pegitan’s admiration for his partner and the other focused on her brother, Touji. Which, while nice to give to supporting/secondary characters, is a fat waste of valuable screentime and not what I’m here for.

It also didn’t help that the conflict of her arc (the indecision over choosing between two dreams) started really late in the game and was resolved so quickly within two episodes. There was no time for me to get invested into it, there was no powerful sense of conviction like how Go!Pri or Hugtto handled theirs and really, it just felt like Chiyu was only following what the script dictated for her rather than genuinely awakening to her own competitive passion towards track and field.

It was almost like it didn’t matter. Almost as if the writers procrastinated in thinking up something worthwhile to further her development...but then settled on grabbing an old idea off the shelf without refining it to suit Chiyu when they ran out of time.

This happened similarly with Minami in Go!Pri and Elena in StarPre, both of whom left me angry at how their arcs were executed. Yet theirs don’t compare to how pissed off I am about Chiyu’s. Because while Minami’s took a while to arrive, it wasn’t done poorly and linked back to Go!Pri’s theme well enough. And while Elena’s was over crammed last minute, at least it was unique to her character and had lots of potential ways to play out if they actually started it earlier on in StarPre.

Chiyu’s arc is like a discount version of the former with hardly any of the intriguing qualities of the latter. Sure, she had two early episodes that laid out the two most important aspects of her life (her family inn and her dedication to her sport) but after that, they weren’t brought up again until we were only weeks away from the ending. Y’know, just to fill up episode slots and meet the minimal requirement of saying they did give Chiyu some issue to resolve.

It was not engaging at all.

Furthermore, the fact that her arc had very little to no relation with either “health” or “nature” hurt my appreciation of her character somewhat. I just...don’t think her kind of story really matches with the central topics of HealPre?

...but maybe I’m being bitter about this all wrong and that’s screwing up my rational thinking on this matter.

Because Chiyu’s arc is valid under the logic of the overall theme, I would never say it isn’t. And again, character arcs don’t have to be close to the plot nor is it necessary to employ the “suffering builds character” method to make them interesting.

Chiyu always does her best every day. That’s sufficient argument on why her story does fit within the frame of HealPre’s premise.

Guess I’ll just have to wrangle my resistance into acceptance somehow.

...still, her arc could’ve been done so much better than what we were given. Chiyu at least deserved that much.

Next, Hinata.

Since the beginning, I knew she was gonna be runner-up to Nodoka for having the (for lack of better term atm) “best” arc because it was heavily implied that she has ADHD and therefore, immediately checked off the “health” trait. She was even more obvious about it than Nozomi was.

Difficulty paying attention, hyperactivity, impulsiveness. Hinata didn’t just display all those signs, she also showed how hard it was for her to deal with the downsides to them on a regular basis.

She kept apologizing and put herself down excessively for inconveniencing her friends even though they never blamed her for her condition. Got them annoyed a few times, yes, but didn’t stop them from staying friends with her and definitely didn’t make them hate her either.

Everybody was understanding of Hinata...except Hinata because she always took her failures to heart and considered quitting several times to avoid the crushing dejection of making mistakes over and over again.

She got better, though, and no one could have summed it up more heartwarmingly than Nyatoran with the encouraging words he gave her at the conclusion of her arc.

But it still feels like there’s a huge chunk of development missing between the start and finish. Or rather, it seemed like all of it occurred offscreen and we were only informed later that it did in fact, happen.

To recap, iirc, Hinata had around 5 episodes that focused on her (ep 9, 13, 23, 35 and 40). Ep 18 doesn’t count because that was a Nyatoran-centric filler more than anything.

Ep 9 and 13 did their jobs of introducing and highlighting the details of Hinata’s troubles while also suggesting she will eventually learn to overcome her insecurities. The ones after, though? They pushed those issues to the backseat.

In Ep 23, she had to share the (uneven) spotlight with Asumi. Hinata’s improvements were briefly mentioned but the majority of the ep went to teaching Asumi what “cute” meant and how to get along with puppies. I mean, I get that Asumi recently joined the group and bonding with her was mandatory by tradition. But since each Cure only gets a limited number of eps to herself, it would’ve been more beneficial for Hinata if she didn’t have to split screentime with someone else’s growth schedule.

Ep 35 is slightly better but not by a whole lot. Sure, Natasha was able to reconcile with Elizabeth which was very sweet and heck, it was the goal for that episode. But again, nothing was really done or addressed about Hinata’s main conflict. She tossed it back with the rest of her homework to deal with later. ahaha, a TroPre hint

Then ep 40 came to formally close the curtains on her story and apparently, Hinata screwed up lots of times since...whenever but she picked herself up every time after and kept on trying. Awesome. So WHY didn’t we get to see that?

I’m not asking for the impossible here. I’m not asking for Hinata to be cured or anything miraculous like that. There is treatment available for ADHD but it is not curable.

Also, forcing Hinata to find a way to get better at studying, the thing she struggles with the most, is not the solution either because that would only make her more stressed and anxious over her own disorder.

What I want is to see how she moved from wailing “I can’t do it! I don’t wanna! I’m so scared of failing so why bother?!” to determinedly declaring “So what if I failed 1 or 100 times? So what if I fail another 1000 times? What matters is that I don’t let that stop me!”

That confidence is not something that can be built up overnight. It’s gradual and it takes numerous tries to reach from where Hinata was to where Hinata is now.

Telling me she grew emotionally stronger can only allow me to believe so much. I need to actually witness the changes as well.

If it weren’t for that, Hinata’s arc would have been a lot more impressive. Shame.

Finally............... Asumi.

Asumi, Asumi, Asumi, Asumi, Asumi, Asumi, Asumi... *sighs & drums fingers*

...she has no arc, ok? Seriously, what story is there to speak of, much less write a hefty analysis on?

A spirit born for the sake of Latte who just went along with the Precure ride because Latte didn’t want to abandon her duty. She made friends with those who aren’t Latte, extended her knowledge and understanding and gained valuable human experience during her stay on Earth. But ultimately, she will always define her entire existence around a puppy.

Nothing is more important than this puppy.

...... to be honest, Asumi not having a storyline isn’t what bothers me. It’s her lack of depth that does.

Hell, even the giant burger she ate had more depth than she did!

Oh, Asumi does have a personality alright. She’s consistently and unfailingly polite, utterly devoted to her raison d’être and in crucial moments, gives pearls of wisdom when the girls are in a pinch. She’s good.

But if that’s all she is, then she’s also painfully dull.

She has nothing to contribute to the discussion of health or nature, despite being created through an element of the Earth so you’d think she’d have an opinion of her own. At least worry about the planet that gave life to her as much as she frets over Latte all the time. But nope.

She shares the exact same face as Teatine’s past Precure partner so you’d think we’d explore that connection to see if it would influence or affect her in any way. But nope.

90% of the time, her role was just being Latte’s constant, fawning satellite.

Not only did that irritate the hell out of me but it just reinforced my stance that this type of character is one of the worst you can ever insert into any narrative.

Because if someone keeps reiterating how much they’re obsessed with this one thing and seldom talks about anything else without bringing their obsession into it... then what’s so special about them on their own?

You’ve practically surrendered the different qualities you could have had for worship of something else. That’s not a fair trade-in.

Asumi’s character is so packed with Latte-related stuff that there’s not much space left for anything that can be considered uniquely Asumi.

I mean, maybe it’s because I can never see myself or any normal person comfortable with living like that.

Living for the sake of being together with the one you love? Okay. But living with your whole universe revolving around that one thing? Making most if not all decisions based on this one thing?

No. That’s absolutely crazy, alright? Nobody with a healthy amount of awareness and self-worth would live like that.

And you can counter that Asumi’s just born like that. That she can’t help her origins because Teatine’s wish to protect her daughter is essentially what brought Asumi into existence so of course, her biggest concern would be Latte. At least, she wasn’t forced into it, right? As long as Asumi chose of her own will to follow Latte, it should be fine, right?

You can even use the fact that Asumi isn’t human. That she’s a spirit and we shouldn’t apply our human standards too strictly to her.

Yea, but those are feeble defenses in the face of her being a good main character, a good main heroine.

There are many ways to make a decent MC. The way Asumi was written proves she certainly does not possess traits that can classify her as true protagonist material. A protagonist has to be more than one amplified feature, which Asumi is not.

For the record, I don’t hate Asumi (she’s not interesting enough to generate a feeling that intense). I'm just severely let down because even if I don’t end up loving the midseason Cure for whatever reason, I can usually count on them to bring something intriguing to the table to dissect and analyze. At least I should find something to care about them.

Didn’t happen with her. :(

Oh god, I’ve been working on this post for days now and I’ve got a headache and with the baton pass happening in less than a few hours as I type this, I just really need to get it done and over with so please forgive me for speeding up through the rest, I’ll try to keep it as coherent as possible. NYARGH! (@_@ ;;)

Mascots.

Would you be surprised to hear that I’m not surprised that they were actually written very well?

Like I said early on, I suspected the return of fairy partnerships were going to improve the mascots’ significance in the story and, well, I was right.

This time, they didn’t just fill in the usual expectations of relaying exposition, serving as the Cures’ transformation devices and looking cute for the merchandise. The Healing Animals had to make progress on their own training to become doctors as well.

And they did through their relationships with their human partners.

It was a refreshing take on the mascot aspect of the series because the friendships felt really symbiotic. When the trainees arrived on Earth, they relied on the girls to help them perform their jobs as well as provide them with shelter, food, the occasional peptalk about their trainee status, etc.

Then as the story continued and they got to know each other better, the mascots were able to return the favor by giving support when the Cures needed it. Rabirin when Nodoka was frightened and confused about how to deal with Daruizen, Pegitan when Chiyu was having trouble choosing between two dreams and Nyatoran who made sure to always lift Hinata’s spirits up when she got upset at herself.

In short, they achieved their objectives of learning what it means to be good doctors by being there for their friends! How wonderful! :D

My memory for Latte is hazy, unfortunately, since she’s coddled by everyone all the time (can’t blame them, she’s friggin’ adorable! <3) but I’ll never forget how she stood firm on the battlefield to see things through, to fight for the Earth like she promised her mother. She started out so babie but showed us all there was enormous bravery behind her cute face and ugh, we should all be very proud of her! <3

The only major issues I had about the mascots were these:

1) Too many irrelevant fillers went to them. They only needed a maximum of two for their entire mascot group.

2) Latte kept getting sick even after she acquired a Precure partner of her own. I was hoping it wouldn’t hurt her as much as it did before Asumi arrived or that she would build up a stronger immunity but noooo, they insisted on torturing the poor pupper! T_T

Villains + Finale Battle

Not a lot needs to be said for the first part. We’ve had mediocre antagonists before. HealPre’s just happened to be extra annoying as they were despicable.

Which is worse because jerks you can just leave in the trash but assholes won’t stop harassing you unless you pummel them into their graves, set fire to their corpses and leave no trace of them behind! >:(

Y’all know who I’m talking about. Opinions on him continue to vary depending on who you talk to and if they’re avid fans of his face or not but whatever. The son of a bitch served his purpose and is dead now. That’s all that matters to me.

Anyway, the King was flat like his two lesser generals. He was neither intimidating nor distinguished enough in the brand of evil to really make us think of him as a serious threat and because of that, it ended up making the boss fight look like any run of the mill boss fight.

I know, they tried so hard with all that shiny animation but it just didn’t have that glorious sense of vindication that previous seasons (or ep 42) gave and I blame it all on this Rumiko Takahashi reject.

Also, this strategy was pretty useless?

They built it up like Earth was gonna sacrifice herself and die or something (she wouldn’t and even if she came close, deus ex machina would’ve kicked in to prevent that and COVID-induced caution too I guess).

But there were no signs of pain (well, that’s a relief) after absorbing Shindoi-ne and they really pissed King Byogen off more than they did any damage with the absorbed byo-gen power.

...so yea, this tactic was just to kill some time and budget, nothing more. Meh.

By the way, did Asumi eject Shindoi-ne’s pathogen out of her body yet or did they just leave it in there to bounce around until it eventually dissolves on its own?

Because that’s eww. I mean, it’s obviously not gonna hurt Asumi they can both relate on hyperfocusing their affection for someone so maybe the compatibility helps :P but still, ewwwww.

Fillers + Underused Motifs

In hindsight, perhaps HealPre didn’t exactly promise the content we I wanted about “health” and “nature” if their objective was to teach that any manner of “fighting” can count towards “living”.

......but fuck you Toei, you’re still cowards! >:/

Fillers will be fillers but it’s always better to try and make some of them as meaningful as possible. And they wasted the opportunity to inform an impressionable audience (during a very crucial period of our time, I must add) on a lot of things related to the HealPre’s motifs. Especially about the environment which for some ridiculous reason, they chose not to touch on for the main stretch of the overall story.

Proper hygiene, good diet plan and sleeping habits, regular exercise (already done by the girls a few times but could use another example), meditation, counseling/therapy (especially for mental health!), etc.

Real life pollution, climate change/global warming (IMPORTANT!!), deforestation, preservation vs conservation, endangered species, recycling, volunteering to clean up your community, etc.

These just came off the top of my head but yes, there’s more and no, I’m not saying that the writers need to cover all of them in extreme detail or replace the slice-of-life episodes.

But they should be able to mesh both serious and light-hearted together in harmony somehow. Like those fillers where the mascots saw people cleaning up littering at the park or that interaction with that arborist who taught them about wild animals and trees when the group went to visit a lake.

For health, maybe let the girls visit patients with chronic illness in the hospital or have them converse with a medical professional on some matter. Particularly if it’s got something to do with mental illness because stigma in Japan on those who are afflicted with such conditions is still prevalent and has caused a number of sad and shocking tragedies that could have otherwise been avoided if people didn’t have such outdated, judgmental mindsets.

That last part might be too dark for a children’s anime but there’s a lot more out there that is doable.

Do that without reducing it into a footnote, Toei. It is so necessary for your target audience to be aware of these issues at the age they are now. You have an almost 20-year old franchise to serve as a very effective platform. Make better use of it if you truly care about the message you’re conveying through your show!

Also, what the fuck.

The last episode was a mess. Why are you only mentioning this now when the season is already over?

This should’ve been brought up months ago!

All the things we could’ve seen the Cures done to protect the Earth without magic.

The excuse of “I didn’t know humans were so horrible!” is a shit one because everybody knows humans are deplorable trash when it comes to abusing the Earth. All the more reason why you have to persistently drill it into people’s heads that they should not be like those who don’t care or choose not to care.

One crack episode isn’t going to cut that.

God, I so want to unsee this ep just so I don’t have to end HealPre on a more sour note than it already was. *big aggrieved sigh*

Lastly (and this really is the end of my long ranting, I promise), the missing undisclosed lore.

There are few Precure seasons without a past lore of its own in the recent years. Is it a wonder, though?

Lore is mysterious and fascinating. If it involves a past Precure, even more so.

Sometimes fans might just hang onto a show because they’re curious about what happened before the main story. We’d never get the full tale of those adventures but at least, it’s fun to imagine the “prequel”.

Also, past Precure are just badass. Fact.

Strangely enough, we didn’t get that for Heal. All we know is that she was called “Fuu” and was very close to Teatine.

Hmm. Probably one of those changes caused by COVID interference cuz I can’t imagine the writers choosing not to tell her past in the original draft.

With all that finally off my chest, I’m ready to part ways with you girls until the next All Stars (Nodoka, I’m gonna miss you so much! T_T)

HealPre wasn’t the worst and it was nowhere near the best that it had the potential to be. But it’s passable. At least for those who loved it even with its flaws, I’m genuinely glad it was good for you.

For those who are thinking about picking it up (although why you would read this spoilery post before watching, I have no idea), if you’re looking for a standard magical girl anime to enjoy casually, then this is a safe pick. If you really want to invest your attention and heart into it, though? Then perhaps it would be in your interest to ask someone who saw it already to help you filter out the episodes that are worth watching. You don’t need to worry about the rest, they’re inconsequential. :P

Ok then! Thanks for reading as always, brave souls who have reached this point.

Stay healthy and safe out there and I’ll see you at the beach next week! Tropic underwater paradise here we coooooommmmmeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!! xDDD

#i rage quit two drafts and an outline before i got anywhere with this #now if you'll excuse me i gotta catch up on my workout and play pokemon and eat pho later #and catch up on the ccs manga #livin' the healthy life oh yea~#healin' good precure #cure grace #cure fontaine #cure sparkle #cure earth #hanadera nodoka #sawaizumi chiyu #hiramitsu hinata #fuurin asumi #rabirin #pegitan #nyatoran #latte

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capevans3000 · 4 years

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Love triangle - Part 3

Summary: You and Chris had always have feelings for each other, but were too afraid to let each other know. That was until Sebastian came along and a love triangle was quickly formed.

Featuring: Chris x Reader x Sebastian Stan

Warning: Just fluff stuff

Note: Hi everyone, here’s part 3 of the installment of Love Triangle! Hope you guys like this one! As usual, comments and feedback are super appreciated! Stay safe! <3

Gif not mine!

Part 1

Part 2

Check out my Masterlist

The next morning you woke up to the smell of freshly cooked pancakes and maple syrup. Your stomach growled as you walked into the kitchen, passing Dodger on the way and giving him a morning pat. You bent down and started hugging Dodger and constantly calling him a good boy. Dodger’s tail wagged happily as he enjoyed your company.

“Someone In the house is really lucky to have all the attention.” You looked up and saw Sebastian in the hallway looking at you playing with Dodger. You laughed. “Someone in the house is really lucky to have such a handsome boy to give attention to.”

“Wait. Do you mean Dodger? Or me or Chris?” Sebastian joked.

“Please. No one is as cute and handsome as this boy over here. Come here my handsome boy!” You called Dodger as his tail wagged faster and more excitedly.

“Ouch.” Sebastian feigned hurt and turned his back towards the kitchen. It was strange. Sebastian had only spent one evening with you, but somehow he felt so drawn and attracted to you. You were so different from other girls he had met. You were funny, extremely witty, and so uninhibited. You didn’t care if you didn’t have perfect make up on during the day, or that your hair was up in a messy bun when you were washing the dishes the night before. You looked beautiful in all that naturalness. You were so refreshing and genuine, and your personality was amazing. Sebastian had found himself almost instantly drawn to you, no matter how crazy and impossible that was.

“So, are you and Chris like, together?” Sebastian asked when the both of you were in the kitchen. He was adding the batter for another pancake he was making.

You stopped in your tracks when you heard that question. It was complicated and you didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Chris, but there were just some circumstances that were in the way. It was too early in the morning for you to discuss this with Sebastian so you replied him plainly. “We’re not together.” It was the truth, yet, with many underlying factors to that truth.

“I see.” Sebastian replied as he tossed the done pancake onto the plate. It was a quick answer, but you could almost hear a happy tone behind it. Before you could process further, you heard Chris’ footsteps approaching the kitchen. You smiled naturally as you prepared to greet him.

“Good morning Y/N.” He smiled brightly at you. You greeted him back with a smile on your face.

“And good morning to you, Seb. I see you’re making pancakes! I’m hungry.” Chris reached towards the plate to pinch the pancake with his fingers and popping it into his mouth like a little child.

“Use a fork, for God’s sake. No one wants your fingers on their pancakes!” Sebastian chided.

“Fine, you’re such a dad sometimes.” Chris laughed.

You offered to bring Dodger out for a walk around the park after breakfast. Because of the pandemic, it was socially responsible to wear a face mask when out, so that was an added anti-surveillance measure for you. It was harder to recognize people with their face mask on. You just hoped no one would recognize Dodger, who had become quite a celebrity himself.

When you came back thirty minutes later, you saw Chris working on his laptop in the living room while Sebastian was reading in the dining hall. You brought Dodger into the toilet to wash his paws, set out his morning snack for him and went to wash up yourself. You passed by Chris in the living room and waved at him. He looked up from his laptop and smiled at you. “Thank you for bringing Dodger for his walk. He’s been choosing you over me ever since you moved in and I can’t say I’m not hurt.” Chris laughed. “How was Dodger, was he a good boy?”

“The best.” You smiled. “I’m going to grab some tea, do you want some?”

“No I’m actually good. I just got some work to catch up on right now. Let’s hang out with Sebastian later when I am done?” Chris asked. You nodded and stood up.

As you made your way towards the kitchen, you passed by Sebastian and saw the book he was reading. He was reading the book that you had been reading for the past few days.

You greeted him and asked him if he would like tea. Sebastian looked up from the book and nodded appreciatively. With two mugs of hot tea in hand, you sat down in front of Sebastian and pushed a mug towards him.

“I see you’re reading my book.”

“Oh sorry! I saw it on the coffee table and took it to read. Don’t worry, your bookmark is still safe where you left it. You can have it back.” Sebastian replied, closing the book and pushing it across the table to you.

“No worries. You can read it first. I have other books to busy myself with at the moment.” You smiled and took a small sip of the tea and pushed the book back to Sebastian. Unknowingly, you had spent about an hour chatting with Sebastian over tea about the books you’ve both read. The more Sebastian talked to you, the more his feelings for you became apparent to him. He knew he was beginning, if not already had, fallen heavily for you. There was just absolutely no possible logic needed to have feelings for you in such a short time. All those cheesy things he’d seen in movies about love at first sight was real, because, as illogical as it was, you’d become his love at first at sight.

The next thing you knew, Chris walked in to the dining room and greeted you and Sebastian with his hands on his tummy, gesturing that he was hungry. You were so engrossed in chatting with Sebastian that you hardly realized it was lunch time. Again, Sebastian had offered to make lunch for everyone.

“Are you having a good time hanging out with Sebastian?” Chris asked as he took the seat that Sebastian had just vacated.

“Yeah, in fact, yes. We talked about the books we both like.” You smiled.

“I’m glad you get along well with Sebastian. He’s one of my best friends and I’m glad you two hit it off.” Chris smiled genuinely. He wanted to tell you how much he appreciated that you and his best friend hit it off, because both you and Sebastian were two of the most important people in his life and it meant so much to him.

After lunch, Chris, Sebastian and you went ahead and did your own things in the house. Chris retreated to his study room to work on his laptop, while you and Sebastian each took a couch to read. Sebastian had decided to stay for another evening. “I’m quite lazy to drive. Mind if I stayed another night?” He’d asked during lunch. Only Sebastian knew it was a lie. He was looking for excuses to stay so he could spend more time with you.

That evening, Chris suggested to have dinner out in the deck instead. It was nice out and the weather was cool. Despite having planned to play a card game after dinner, Chris had to attend to a phone call so he left Sebastian and you out in the deck while he went back to the house to take the call. While waiting for Chris, you walked towards the ledge of the deck and took a deep breath of the cold air. You grew up in a very warm place, so you loved cool weather like this. You loved it, but your body was hardly able to withstand the frigid wind. The wind suddenly got stronger and you felt it beginning to bite your skin. From the corner of your eye, you saw Chris through the glass door gesturing to you and Sebastian that he needed a couple more minutes on the phone. He waved apologetically and disappeared into his study.

You turned back to admire the night sky, the stars now more evident than ever. It was a quiet night, only the humdrum sounds of crickets and the wind could be heard. You were about to turn back into the house to grab your sweater when you felt something warm on your shoulders. You turned your head and realised that Sebastian had taken off his jacket and placed them on you.

“Put this on, or you’ll catch a cold.” He said gently. You smiled and took his jacket gratefully. He helped you put on the jacket and made sure you were covered. The wind was coming towards you and you felt a chill. “How about you, then?” you asked Sebastian between shivers.

“My shirt is pretty thick, don’t worry.” Sebastian smiled.

You nodded your head and giggled to yourself.

“What’s so funny?” Sebastian asked quizzically.

“Nothing. I am just thinking, this is like a classic scene from a movie.”

Sebastian raised his eyebrows in question and you continued, “The guy offering the girl his jacket, and maybe the guy is indeed cold but he doesn’t want to admit it. Classic scene, no?” You chuckled.

Sebastian laughed with you. At that moment, Sebastian felt his heart tugged even further towards you. “Oh yeah? And what usually happens after the guy offers his jacket to the girl?”

“It depends. Is it a Rom-Com? An action movie? A thriller? It could spin into many different versions depending on the movie.” You pondered seriously, thinking back to all the movies you’d watched.

“I think, the stars are really beautiful tonight, and this seems such a perfect moment for a dance in the movie.” Sebastian said and he put out his hands in front of him into a dance position. He nodded at you and gestured you to take his arms.

You were surprised at his gesture, but you felt comfortable enough with Sebastian. You let out a laugh and spontaneously reached out and took his arms. You were not much of a dancer but Sebastian was a good leader. He led you in a slow dance, his arms strong and safe to be in. He was such a good leader that even with your two left feet, you didn’t step on him or yourself once. Your eyes met, and his gaze was earnest. Never mind the fact that more than 48 hours ago, Sebastian didn’t even know you, yet now all he wanted was to freeze this particular moment in time and burn it in his memory. Mid-dance, Sebastian pulled you in an embrace so that your face was buried near his chest. Again, surprisingly, you felt comfortable and not at all awkward with Sebastian, despite dancing to nothing but only the sound of nature.

Sebastian closed his eyes as he embraced you. He wanted to savour every moment of this impromptu dance with you. His heart was pounding so hard with excitement and deep attraction for you, he wondered if you could feel it. It felt as if the stars above were aligned and everything in that moment was perfect.

He wished and wanted more than ever that he could kiss you on your lips, like the characters in the classic movies would. He wanted to kiss you so bad that it hurt. It was crazy, Sebastian thought to himself. He had never felt so attracted to someone in such a short span of time before that it scared him. He had never met someone as special and genuine as you before that he felt scared to lose you before he could even have you. In the most innocent way, Sebastian had found himself irrevocably fallen for you.

Let me know if you want to be tagged! :D

Go to Part 4

#chris evans x reader #sebastian stan x reader #chris evans jealous #love triangle #chris evans fluff #sebastian stan fluff

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saudadeonly · 4 years

Text

let’s start in the middle

Posting this here as well because I am desperate for validation. You can read it on ao3 as well. This work is part 1 of a series in a world three degrees north, the rest of which can technically be read in any order.

Death Eater! Sirius Black AU

On a cool night in June, Minerva McGonnagall receives a visitor. What he has to tell her is less than pleasant.

(or, Sirius doesn't run away in the summer after 5th year, but instead makes a deal with his mother, and this is a consequence of it)

Word count: 2377

___

June 1978

The last person Minerva McGonnagall expects to knock on her door on a cool summer night is perhaps not Sirius Black because he’s made it a habit over the years to come by her office at least once a fortnight, but he is certainly not very high on the list as of right now. Come to think of it, Minerva can’t remember the last time Sirius Black was in her office. He’s been remarkably well-behaved in the past couple of years.

“Mr Black,” she greets, looking him up and down to make sure he is not injured in some way. He looks very put together if a bit fidgety so her worries move on to his troublesome friends. “What’s the matter?”

“May I come in, Professor?” he asks, uncharacteristically soft, and the sheer surprise of it is enough to make her step aside.

He walks into the room, back straight, shoulders drawn up, every inch the Black heir he so despises to be. But when he sits down in the in front of her desk, he seems to become liquid, all long limbs and slumped shoulders.

“Have a biscuit,” she says, pushing forward the tin of biscuits she keeps on hand for her students, usually some very distinctive ones, like the one in front of her.

He shakes his head, looking distinctly pale, and she notices, not for the first time this year, the dark smudges underneath his eyes. “No, thank you, Professor.”

She hides her surprise and smoothly closes up the tin, then turns around to her kettle and boils the water in it. “Tea?” she asks, back still to her student.

“I—” He huffs a breath, then says, “Please.”

Minerva doesn’t ask what kind and how much sugar and if he wants milk, because he’s been in her office enough for her to know how exactly he drinks his tea and that he actually prefers coffee, anyway.

He stays silent and unmoving for the time she pours the tea into two cups, which is strange in and of itself, but he doesn’t even say anything when one of the cups slips from its saucer and she barely manages to flick her wand in time to catch it before it spills its contents onto the floor.

Safe to say, Minerva is quite worried now.

Only when she hands him his cup of tea—black, two spoons of sugar, no milk—does he murmur, “Thank you.” He deposits the saucer on the desk and hugs the cup with both hands, blowing softly into the tea to make it cool down faster, his eyes downcast.

Minerva does put down the saucer as well, but she grips the cup by the handle instead and brings it to her lips. She prefers her tea hot. “What’s the matter, Mr Black?” she asks again, patiently, but she doesn’t miss the way his fingers tighten around his cup at the use of his last name. “Sirius,” she amends gently, and he does look up at that, his grey eyes startling. “I can’t help you if you don’t—”

“I’m getting the Dark Mark tomorrow,” Sirius says before she can finish, eyes like steel in their determination.

Out of all the things—Minerva hadn’t expected this, not one bit. She shrieks, but stifles it with a hand before it can fully escape, and the motion sends her tea flying all around.

Sirius seems to have been prepared. Quick as a flash, he has his wand in hand and flicks it, directing the tea back into the cup and the cup itself safely onto the saucer on the desk. He pockets his wand as soon as the cup rattles, and looks at Minerva with a rather sheepish glint in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” he says, looking like he doesn’t know what exactly he’s apologising for but meaning it all the same. She thinks it must be the first time since he was sorted into Gryffindor that he’s genuinely apologising to her. “I made a deal with my mother two years ago and if I don’t honour it—” He bites his lip, takes a sip of his tea. He clears his throat and when he continues his voice is stronger. “I’m not doing it because I choose to, but because I have no other choice, not if I want everyone I love to live. I know this won’t absolve me of anything I may do, being of sound mind—or, as much a Black can be—but I wanted somebody to know that in my heart—” He swallows, shaking his head, and doesn’t go on.

“May I ask why?” she asks, but she has an inkling anyway.

His Adam’s apple bobs. “You know why,” he says.

Of course she does. She’s seen Sirius this past two years, talking in hushed tones with Regulus, a boy of slighter build but by no means any less talent than his older brother, the strain in their frighteningly straight postures obvious as they exchanged words. And she’s seen the Marauders, her foolish boys, less troublesome and more tight-knit than ever but with inevitable cracks growing between them, what with Sirius’s more—well, serious demeanour.

“And you’re willing to give up the life you’ve built here, with James, and Remus, and Peter, and the others, for this?”

He smiles, though it’s hardly a smile, and more of a grimace of self-deprecating amusement. “The life I’ve built here, Professor—it’s only an illusion, seven amazing years I got to have before I have to be who I was burdened with the day I was born. Perhaps if I had been brave enough two years ago, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now.” He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “But I wasn’t. So now I will be what my mother expects of me, because that’s the deal we made—I get to finish Hogwarts, doing what I want, then I do as she sees fit and Reggie and my friends remain untouched by her hand.” He blinks, his grimace pulling up into what almost looks like a wry smirk. “I can be a good pureblood when I have my motivations.”

“Don’t be daft, Sirius,” she snaps. He flinches and she softens her voice. “You could choose differently, you could, the Potters would—”

“The Potters,” Sirius says over her with a strength that makes her forget he’s just spoken over her, “are good people, who have been beyond kind to me since the day they met me, but they are old and have enough on their plate as it is, and it would be a piss-poor thanks for their kindness to inflict Walburga Black’s wrath on them.” He puts down his cup and looks at her directly. “I have thought this through, Professor, more than you can imagine. No matter what I do, no matter how I rebel, someone will end up getting hurt. This option predicts only my hurting. This option allows me to protect Reggie and Jamie, Remus, Lily, and Peter. And their hatred, the destruction of my soul, is a small price to pay for it.”

Minerva is left speechless for a second. She has to admit she didn’t expect such an impassioned speech, delivered with such determined force, but then again, Sirius Black always has had a flair for dramatics.

“I—you realise what this entails?” she asks.

“I do.” He clears his throat. “It will hardly be a surprise for the wizarding world, Professor. I am a Black, after all—my soul is as dark as my name.” He pauses, the upturn of his lips almost reminiscent now—he must be enjoying using the joke he’s used so many times already. He sobers only moments later, saying quietly, “But I was hoping it might help you, too.”

Minerva raises a brow. “How will having one of the most gifted students of his age on the side of You-Know-Who help us?” she asks, taking a sip of her tea to calm her nerves.

He doesn’t even react to the hidden compliment, which tells her that the world truly is turning on its axis.

“I know about the Order,” he says calmly. “I won’t join—I have no desire to be a double agent, or a triple agent, as it happens—but I want to…” He licks his lips, placing his elbows on his knees as he leans forward, his hair framing his face—so, so young he is, she realises suddenly. “I would like to pass information to you, whatever I find out that will help you win this war.”

Minerva straightens. ��If you want to spy for the Order, Sirius, you should talk to Albus. I am not a part of—it,” she says.

“No.” His answer comes almost too quickly, enough so that she looks at him over the rim of her spectacles. “I don’t trust Professor Dumbledore,” he explains, wringing his hands together. “Not enough to do this with him.” His eyes are almost imperceptibly wide now, grey and earnest, as if willing her, pleading with her, to understand. “But I trust you. And I know you would never—” He doesn’t finish his thought and Minerva thinks that is for the better so when she feels something pricking in her eyes.

She quickly swallows another mouthful of hot tea and smooths down a wrinkle on the leg of her night robes. When she looks back up at Sirius, he’s biting the inside of his cheek. She gives one nod, curt and quick, and says, “Very well.”

He doesn’t exactly brighten but there’s a new ease to his movements as he sips his tea. “Thank you, Professor.”

They drink their tea in silence for the next few minutes, until Minerva dares to ask, “When will you tell James and the others?”

He shrugs. “I won’t. They’ll find out eventually, but until then—I don’t know, I’ll make them hate me.” He huffs a breath of air that might be able to pass as laughter if it weren’t for the way it breaks. “They’ll probably think she has me under Imperius or something.”

“You’re being braver than any Gryffindor I’ve ever met.”

He offers her a small smile. “Thank you, Professor, but perhaps save that for the time after I manage to pull this off.”

They are silent again.

Sirius leans back suddenly, all vulnerability gone from his face, replaced by sky-high confidence, giving her one of his signature lopsided grins and there he is, this brave, troublemaker of a boy she’s known this past seven years. Her heart aches with the thought of that bright boy dying. “So how hard will it be to pretend to hate me if you see me out there?”

One week, later she watches as he throws up his pointed hat, roaring in joyous laughter along with the rest of his class, the words they’re shouting at each other lost in the applause of the spectators and the students themselves.

She sees him grab Lily around the waist, spinning her round and round as her dark red hair streams behind her, then draw in Marlene and Dorcas with each hand as they stumble into him and embrace him each on one side. She sees him reach Peter next, digging his knuckles into the shorter boy’s scalp with a wide grin and laughingly step away as Peter bats at him. He runs right into Remus and as he grabs him, one hand fisting in the back of Remus’s robes and the other cupping the back of his neck, Minerva feels the need to look away, to give them privacy, even if they’re embracing so emotionally in the middle of a crowd.

When she looks back, he’s already found James, their arms around each other as they jump up and down, the colour of their hair almost identical, the grins on their faces almost duplicates of each other’s, and her insides ache because they could’ve been brothers, they could have been, they could have—

But Sirius’s real brother comes along then, slow and unsure, but with a small smile on his face, and Sirius steps forward to catch his forearm with his hand, briefly pressing their foreheads together. He says something to him, something even she can guess is beyond private, but before Regulus can reply, Hagrid calls for the graduates to go to the boats. Regulus breaks away and goes back up to the castle without another glance, leaving Sirius to pick up his hat along with his classmates.

Minerva, along with all the other Professors, walks the graduates to the lake and stands a few steps away from its bank as they start to climb into the boats, Lily wandering towards Marlene, Dorcas and Mary to let the four boys clamber into one boat together.

It is heart-breaking to think that in just a few days, or perhaps even hours, Sirius will be as alien to them as Severus Snape a few boats away is.

As if sensing her thoughts, Sirius Black looks back at her and grins. “Alright there, Professor?” he shouts. “You won’t miss me too much, will you?”

She doesn’t have it in herself to hold back a small smile. “I think I’ll manage just fine.”

He favours her with another grin and then he’s jostled back as the boats disembark to glide over to the Hogsmeade station. He nearly topples over into Remus, but regains his balance, turning his now much softer smile on the other boy.

They’re nearly in the middle of the Black Lake, when he looks back again, this time no hint of laughter in his face. Their eyes meet, both expressions carefully impassive, but Minerva doesn’t think she imagines the tremble in his body as he lifts his hand—is that the arm that’s been Marked, she wonders, or is it the other one—and tips his hat ever-so-slightly towards her.

Minerva watches toward them until Albus takes her by the elbow and gently leads her inside. “They’ll be just fine, Minerva,” he says, blue eyes gentle as he pats her hand.

She presses her lips together and closes her eyes, thinking back to that night, imagining those grey eyes staring up at their owner’s namesake in the night sky, blank and unseeing.

#harry potter #sirius black #minerva mcgonagall #hogwarts #death eater sirius black #not really #but technically #first war with voldemort #james potter #lily evans #remus lupin #regulus black #peter pettigrew #in a world three degrees north

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hydrospanners · 4 years

Photo

DARK ROMANCE

an interview with @meonlyred‘s Lucwayn Tal Sivron for Port & Planet Magazine

(click images for full size; full text of interview under the cut) Thank you to @meonlyred for collaborating with me on this project. She is responsible for the character, and posing for the pictures, and the answers to all the interview questions. I had the time of my life making this with you.

You may know him as a Wrath, as a warrior, as the handsome shadow behind the Alliance Commander -- Sith Lord Lucwayn Tal Sivron is all of these things, but as I learned in the peculiar intimacy of a hangar bay photoset one early autumn afternoon on Odessen, he is not only these things.

The secretive Alliance base is a place where legends come alive, and Lord Lucwayn is no exception. Shrouded as he is in stories of battle and bloodshed and some of the most salacious gossip this side of the Perlemmian, it’s easy to be surprised by the raw, seductive humanity of the man who met me in that hangar bay with a lazy smile and a bottle of Zakuulan wine.

Already styled for his later photoshoot, Lord Lucwayn arrives to our interview harnessed in gold and draped in luxurious scarlet, a tantalizing garment perfectly designed to accentuate the hard planes and ripe swells of musculature across his exquisitely sculpted form. He is a vision of temptation, a forbidden fruit you can’t help wanting to taste, and the coy glint in his eye suggests he knows it.

He is a man who drips with confidence, whose every languid movement is full of promise--a promise that could be for pain just as easily as for pleasure. I am immediately captivated by him, as is everyone on the set that day..

For a Sith, Lord Lucwayn is patient with me as I remember how to form words so I can ask about the human being and his very human (or Twi’lek, as it were) connections beneath the glamor and the legend. The following interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

PORT & PLANET: It’s been a busy couple of months here on Odessen. Do you and your wife have big plans for the Festival of Love or are you going to keep things lowkey this year?

SIVRON: Vette and I take every opportunity we can to have celebrations. The Festival of Love is a particular favorite of ours. Since we had to be apart for so long, there is a lot of celebrating to catch up on.

PORT & PLANET: How are the two of you planning to celebrate?

SIVRON: [Smiles devilishly] Music, wine, and fine food. Then a very long evening privately, maybe with an extra friend or two.

PORT & PLANET: So the rumors about you two having an open marriage are true?

SIVRON: It's funny how many people assume we're kidding. It's been part of our relationship since the beginning. Something we have communicated with each other extensively. I might have been with many but I have only ever loved one, my wife.

PORT & PLANET: Do the two of you have any… frequent guests?

SIVRON: Not as many as you might think. And not the ones you might think. Usually it's one time appearances.

PORT & PLANET: Anyone in particular you’re courting for The Festival of Love?

SIVRON: [Winks] That remains to be seen. Have to talk it over with Vette first.

PORT & PLANET: There are lots of rumors that you’ve had the Commander of the Alliance in your bed. Any truth to that?

SIVRON: The Commander is a lovely and bold woman. Anyone would be lucky to be invited to her bed. But I won't sully the reputation of a Jedi or that of our leader by answering that.

His words may be coy, but the smile that creeps across Lord Lucwayn’s face as he speaks of the Commander is so genuine I’m almost moved by it. It’s clear to see where the rumors of their sexual relationship come from--there’s a deep fondness there, an even deeper respect--but it seems he would be playing a different kind of coy if there was any truth to them. If the Commander is sleeping with someone on her staff, it probably isn’t Lord Lucwayn Tal Sivron.

PORT & PLANET: Then what about her rumored lover? People say you’ve had him in your bed too.

SIVRON: [Mutters into his wine glass] Not for lack of trying. [Aloud] Our spymaster seems to be too in love with his work to have time for extracurricular activities.

He gives the spymaster’s “work” such a particular emphasis, with such a twinkle in his eye, I can’t help wondering if this is yet another thing Lord Lucwayn is trying to say without saying. I can’t help wondering if he cultivates this air of secrecy for his own protection, for the Alliance’s protection, or merely because he knows how much more irresistible the air of mystery makes him. I find the reasons don’t matter; I’m drawn in by all the things he isn’t saying and desperate to hear him not say more.

PORT & PLANET: Any names of note you can drop that have been guests in your bed? Before or after your marriage. You’ve got quite a reputation.

SIVRON: If you know my reputation then you probably already know that answer. Some like to brag and some like to lie. Allow them to keep their boast.

PORT & PLANET: Alright, alright. Point taken. But I’ve been speaking with some of the former Imperials around the base and they tell me you were married once before Vette. Is that true?

SIVRON: Not entirely correct. I was engaged to be married. My family was very traditional even among the Sith and arranged a marriage between the Sivrons and the Novarrs for political and lineage purposes.

PORT & PLANET: But then you met Vette?

SIVRON: I met Vette on Korriban. She was instrumental in helping me complete my trials there. I don't think I would have succeeded without her.

PORT & PLANET: That’s a pretty powerful statement for a Sith. When did you first realize you loved her?

SIVRON: As with all good things it took time. It was a gradual realization that came from a thousand little things.

PORT & PLANET: When did you tell her you loved her?

SIVRON: Short answer: when the moment was right. With the position I'm in, I wanted to make sure it was something I was ready to say and she was ready to hear.

There is a weight to his voice as he tells me about the history of his romance with his wife that suggests yet more being left unsaid, both things that trouble him and things that delight him, but pressing Lord Lucwayn for details doesn’t make him any more forthright. And there’s probably a reason Vette declined to join us for this interview.

PORT & PLANET: Did you ever worry about your relationship being used against you?

SIVRON: Within the Empire there are many things that can be used against you. I didn't get in the position I’m in by being unable to circumvent or quell such obstacles. I also know that Vette is more than capable.

PORT & PLANET: Which one of you proposed? Did either of you have cold feet? What was your wedding like?

SIVRON: [Chuckles] I proposed but it was Vette who told me to do so. No cold feet, only swept ones. As for the wedding, Vette wanted a traditional Twi'lek wedding. It's a long ceremony that took most of the day, consisting of a ritual bathing, tea service, and a sermon given in Ryl. Truly I think the Twi'lek take the honor of having the most elaborate weddings.

If the sudden sincerity in his smile when he discussed the Commander was a surprise, then the way Lord Lucwayn seems to melt when he speaks about his wife is downright shocking. His words about Vette are tender, but cannot even begin to capture the softness in his eyes or the earnest affection in his smile. It’s an incongruous sight on a man who ripples with barely restrained power and drips with sexual energy, but it’s no less magnetic than anything else he does. I can’t look away.

PORT & PLANET: So what are your favorite things about Vette? What makes her the match of a Sith Lord?

SIVRON: [Grins] Vette is as adventurous as I am both in the bed and out. I can always count on her to get us into the most delightful trouble.

PORT & PLANET: And if we asked Vette, what would she say she loves most about you?

SIVRON: I think she would tell you that I have the best ass in the galaxy.

PORT & PLANET: The two of you spent five years apart while you were held prisoner by Zakuul. What was it like seeing each other again after so much time?

SIVRON: [Smiles fondly] I had tried to be romantic, launching into something about crossing the span of stars and time to be by her side again. But my love had other plans for me.

PORT & PLANET: So you like making grand gestures. What’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for Vette?

SIVRON: Vette has a passion for reclaiming Twi'lek artifacts. There have been many times I have helped her "persuade" art dealers to part with some of their ill-attained collections.

PORT & PLANET: What’s the most romantic thing she’s ever done for you?

SIVRON: I'd like to give a vague answer about everything she does being romantic to me. It isn't too far from the truth. It is a wonder that she has chosen me.

PORT & PLANET: It sounds like the two of you have a really great relationship. Any advice for the newlyweds out there?

SIVRON: Communication is always the key to any relationship. Talk and be honest with each other about every preference you have, from food to sex. They say the Force brings people together, but it takes work to stay together.

It isn’t until the interview is long concluded and the dazzle of watching him pose for the holocams has finally faded that I realize how little new information I actually got out of Lord Lucwayn Tal Sivron. He is a master of half-truths and distraction, wielding that charming smile and alluring gaze as expertly as he wields his lightsaber.

All his powers of misdirection and secrecy still are not enough to overcome his passion for his wife. I can’t know if he meant to let me see the depth of his love for her, but it was impossible not to see it as he spoke of Vette. It was so present, so apparent in his every look and gesture, I could swear I fell a little bit in love with her myself.

It’s reassuring to know that beneath the power that swirls around him like a storm, beneath the stories and the gossip and the duties of his position in the Alliance, Lord Lucwayn Tal Sivron is a man with a heart that beats for love, just like the rest of us.

#swtor #sith warrior #lucwayn tal sivron #swtor fic #swtor edit #hydrostuff #hydroswstuff #hydroedits #hydroswedits #hydrofic #hydroswfic #port & planet

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fifteenleads · 4 years

Text

amīcitia

Chaos amidst order, like fire burning water itself.

All in all, a dire situation, Osamu muses. He means not to wax poetic, but there is a certain beauty, too, in sheer madness.

His grip on the floating plank tightens, willing his weakened biceps to work with him, even as the rest of his submerged body shakes in earnest in the freezing river water below. The dark clouds overhead thicken as lightning strikes the distant altar; the Hydraean is not pleased with Ryuunosuke, and the result of that displeasure is the destruction of Altissia.

While First Secretary Ango had promised protection for the Oracle for the Rite of the Summoning, he did not extend the same to the fallen Prince and his deplorable retinue, who will actually face the Trial and receive the Astral's blessing for it. It was an unfair deal Ryuu accepted, regardless— nothing else mattered to him, so long as his betrothed is kept safe.

A laughable sentiment— Ryuu never considers Lady Kouyou as anything but an estranged older sister, yet he remains utterly devoted to her, nonetheless. Their shared grief over the loss of Kyouka during the Siege of Tenebrae had bonded them in a twisted but tragic understanding to do everything it takes to survive.

It was the only principle Ryuu swore to live by as they embarked on their journey to reclaim Lucis from the Empire— his last order to them, in fact, before everything began and went to hell.

An order, it seems, he won’t be able to see through to the end, as Imperial soldiers stare him down, like vicious hunters to helpless game, trapped without any form of escape.

Osamu considers his limited options at this point— the most logical one would be to swim away, let himself get swept by the unnaturally strong current down the major canals into the open bay. Ango had mentioned something about boats in the briefing; maybe he could commandeer one of them and make his way to the altar post-haste. The other, more impulsive one, is to muster the little strength left in his thin, untrained arms, and teach these glorified lapdogs a lesson in humility for daring to underestimate a half-dead Crownsguard with only raw intellect and an uncanny secretarial experience to show for it.

To be fair, though, he did take combat training with Kunikida seriously— or, at least, as much as what was expected of him at bare minimum. Those lectures on ‘ideals’ and ‘expectations’ didn’t rub off him as much as they both would have wanted, but who needed physical prowess when he had aptitude for harnessing the King's magic?

That sentiment now bites him hard in the back, with the King long-dead and the Prince, too, now feared dead. ‘Don’t blame me when you’re all alone out there, Dazai.’

A small voice in his head tells him to just let go of the plank and let himself sink— a lot easier for everyone, by far.

Osamu levels his would-be executioners with an unnaturally serene gaze. With more than half of the city destroyed by Divine Wrath and the remainder plunged in utter chaos, it wouldn’t be surprising if a member of the Lucian Prince’s entourage winds up dead or permanently incapacitated at this point. Atsushi would probably sense it— he did always have the strongest affinity with the Armiger, probably more than its actual owner, Ryuu himself. Kunikida, who’s always had his back since they were children, would just know — theirs was an unconventional partnership, enough to overturn propriety and station twice over, and then some.

And Ryuunosuke— His Royal Highness, whom he is tasked to protect and mentor— Osamu feels genuine regret at the prospect of leaving his young charge to face the rest of his life alone, all because of a fleeting moment of cowardice. He had been looking forward to teasing Ryuu at his wedding as one of the royal groomsmen, too, but that certainly isn’t happening now.

He closes his eyes and lets go, one finger at a time. Everything around him slows down— the rumble of explosives, the clap of thunder, the sound of gunfire, then—

— the shrill of a drawn blade, followed by two thuds and a loud splash, and Osamu feels himself being pulled to safety and roughly thrown onto the pavement. He barely has time to process the dead soldiers beside him before he feels a strong kick to his gut.

“I’ve always heard that the brat Prince’s shady advisor is an impossible man, but I never expected him to be this much of a mess,” intones a cocky, nasal voice from above him. Osamu looks up at his unwilling savior by instinct, and instantly resists the temptation to laugh. It seems that the rumors about the High Commander of the Imperial Army being a Napoleon are actually quite accurate, after all.

Osamu immediately rises to his full height, dispensing with any courteous gestures right off the bat; his head bows and knee bends to no one else but his own Liege. “I suppose this is the part where I express my deepest gratitude for saving this worthless life, Lord Chuuya Kashimura Nakahara, High Commander of the Imperial Army of Niflheim, First Prince of the Imperial Province of Tenebrae, younger brother to Lady Kouyou Tokutarou Ozaki, Venerable Oracle of the Six.” He cocks his head to a side, as if to ask if he had missed anything.

The recitation of his full title elicits the desired effect, and Lord Chuuya comes at him with full force, roughly grabbing Osamu by his dress collar and yanking him down to his level. “Do not speak Sister’s name with that plummy voice of yours, Lucian scum. It is your royal brat’s selfishness and naivete that brought her into this whole mess.”

A mess which, until now, he still has yet to forgive, Osamu does not say, looking directly into those clear eyes, blue as the sky, yet burns brightly like fire. For a moment, he thinks he is looking into Lady Kouyou’s eyes, deep red as the sunset, yet calms gently like water. It is the only differing trait between the two half-siblings, as they share everything else like copies of each other, from the bright salmon of their hair to the sharp angle of their jaw, down to the unwavering pride with which they carried themselves as heirs to the Royal House of Tenebrae, even as they were abruptly orphaned, deposed, and held captive as political prisoners, acting in the interests of the Empire against their will.

Lord Chuuya, it seems, still retains that fire of rebellion within him, just as Lady Kouyou still holds the quiet spark of revolution close to her heart. It makes Osamu relieved, in all honesty— ‘He still holds you in high regard, Your Majesty.’

“What are you grinning about, Advisor?” The Crusading Prince spits out at him, his voice dropping several octaves as the grip on his collar tightens in all earnest. Osamu widens the space between his lips a little further in response, before finally deigning to reply, “Nothing at all, Your Highness. I am merely amused at how the Imperial Raiment hardly suits your frame at all.” There is no lie in this, either; the stiff, white robes marking one to be from the Empire are made to appear large and imposing— neither of which befits Lord Chuuya’s lithe form at all. Still, he manages to make it work, somehow, and make the outfit his own, in more ways than one.

There is a short silence as Lord Chuuya considers his words, before Osamu feels the tight sensation around his throat loosen and he remembers to breathe once more. “Enough of this farce. We merely waste time here,” the Prince huffs indignantly before brusquely turning in the other direction. “You are coming with me, Lucian Advisor. We find my Sister and that royal brat of yours.”

Lord Chuuya does not give Osamu time to assent, instead trudging ahead along the ruined walkway, angrily kicking the stones along the path. Osamu could sense palpable anger from his hunched form, and the growing urgency and desperation from beneath it. He is reminded of Kunikida’s forcefulness for a moment, and it makes him want to hold on to his life just a little longer for now.

‘You must survive,’ Ryuunosuke had told each of them, coal eyes burning with grief and rage as they watched Insomnia be consumed from the far outside, with no way back in. ‘Promise me.’

“As you wish, Your Highness.” Osamu puts his hands in his pockets, slowly moving forward until he falls into step with Lord Chuuya. Time, too, flows normally once more— the rush of the river current, the crackle of boots on gravel, the howling of a far-away tempest, then—

— a slight pause, followed by a deal to start a partnership, as unconventional as the last. A temporary truce, too, for so long as they have loved ones they cherish and wish to keep safe. “If we’re doing this properly, Your Highness, you might want to know your companion’s name as early as now, just so we can coordinate our attacks properly later, should the need arise.” Osamu follows with a smirk, for added measure— surely, someone who serves in the military should recognize the benefit of the practical suggestion.

Lord Chuuya merely raises an eyebrow incredulously. “What the hell are you talking about? Of course I know your name, Osamu Dazai,” he says in a much more relaxed tone, the sudden use of informal language momentarily throwing Osamu for a loop. A snort leaves his lips before he could stop himself, which soon blows into low, controlled chuckles as he turns away, clutching his sides with one hand and covering his mouth with the other.

Annoyance creeps into the Prince’s voice once more as he questions the sudden fit. “What’s so funny, Dazai?” It takes Osamu a full minute to calm down as he wipes tears of laughter from his eyes. “Nothing at all, Your Highness— or, should I call you Nakahara instead?” he offers, as if to return the unexpected courtesy granted him.

There is hesitation in Lord Chuuya’s stilted movements as he raises a hand to the back of his head, absentmindedly threading the long, red mane there, still dripping wet from the rescue earlier. “... Call me ‘Chuuya’,” he asks instead, looking away, a slight flush on his cheeks. “Only the Niffs call me Nakahara. It makes me feel… quite uncomfortable.”

‘Do forgive him his rudeness,’ Lady Kouyou had apologized for him long before. ‘He is actually quite a gentle child.’

Osamu smiles at the memory, noting all of these things in Chuuya and more. ‘Indeed, he is. You must be proud of him, Princess Kouyou.’

It was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen, befitting only her alone: ‘I indeed am.’

“Very well, Chuuya, since you doth insist so much,” Osamu complies, raising his tone to that of the plummy impersonation the Napoleon Prince hates so much, “but blame me not if I end up calling you names you might dislike. Consider yourself warned.”

The well-placed taunt elicits the desired effect, and Osamu merrily skips on ahead, effortlessly dodging Chuuya’s attempts to stick his daggers into his back. It’s a much easier feat than drowning himself, by far, and surviving seems a lot more bearable now.

Hope amidst despair, like sunlight dispelling the darkness.

All in all, a fortunate circumstance, Osamu muses. He means not to wax poetic, but there is a certain beauty, too, in subdued contentment.

#bungou stray dogs #soukoku #skk #dachuu #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #final fantasy xv AU #episode ignis AU #ignis!dazai #ravus!chuuya #first meeting #platonic / romantic compliant

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bluepenguinstories · 3 years

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Remoras Full Chapter XVIII: Ray of Light

There I sat in the same hospital bed that I had been in for the past few weeks. There wasn’t much to the room I was in; the counter by the wall had sparse medical equipment lying around. In the middle of it was a sink, with a soap dispenser overhead. Truth be told, I could have left a week ago, and the dreary gray ambiance of the room left a lot to be desired. Last week, Shirley came to check in on me, just like she had done each day prior.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” I greeted her as she opened the door to the hospital room.

She was not amused, and I never expected her to be. That same tired expression, those bags under her eyes, that glare like “why are you still here?” It’s funny to note how I’ve heard her interactions with other patients, and how soft and patient she sounds. Of course, that was her job, and seeing others in such poor health could take a toll on her. ‘Emotional labor’ they called it. Of course, such a thing also happens in any other job, but especially in such positions where one had to care for another. Compassion burnout could have been another word for it. No matter how much she put on a smile, and no matter how much she meant it, no doubt it got to her, just as it would any other.

“I’m discharging you. You should go home, see your wife, tell her the good news,” she informed me without any hint of glee or celebratory cheer.

I recall how I turned my head toward the window, where the snowy barren landscape lay. Yes, the hospital was not my home, yet I treated it like a retreat from home all the same. It was an oddity to think of how much I had grown to love the atmosphere of the hospital. Whether that be a certain feeling the hospital food brought me with its lack of imagination, or the fact that it was so short staff, and yet what little staff there was did their damnedest to improve the lives that entered.

“What about my physical therapy?” I asked and hoped she would take the bait.

“You’ve been receiving that as part of your care. Have you not gotten used to your prosthetic?” She saw right through me. Of course she did, she’s probably dealt with others like me in the past.

Truth be told, I didn’t think I would ever get used to it. Yes, in time it would give me no trouble, and maybe I would just accept it as part of my life, but it wasn’t the physical aspect of it I wouldn’t get used to: it was that it served as a reminder that all of my antics had caught up to me. I slipped up, I underestimated someone I knew better than to have and I paid the price for it. No, the worst thing about it was that I could have avoided the issue altogether, but I just stopped caring about my own life.

“Tell me, doc, is it possible to have phantom limb when I technically have a limb?” I held up my arm (a rather brilliant thing in its own right. One would be hard pressed to tell it was a prosthetic and not the real thing. If not for all the fancy wires on the inside, I would have believed it myself) as I spoke those words, the question rather irrelevant. It was just my usual tactic: talking to fill space.

“Yes, I have heard such cases. Your turn, Ray: why are you so insistent on staying here longer?”

“I don’t really know,” I closed my eyes. My words sounded so sprained, despite there being no pain attached to them. There wasn’t so much of the sly smile like I had sported for so long. If I had an answer, it was buried somewhere else in a folder I refused to open.

Exhausted, she let out a sigh of defeat. It wasn’t ideal for her, and doubtful I benefited much from it.

“I’ll give you another week here. But you can’t just stay in bed doing nothing and have all your meals in bed. I’ll give you physical exercises and watch to make sure you’re doing them. Flex and grip exercise, things like that.”

“Have I really been in bed this whole time?” I asked her, rather coy, and this time the familiar smile returned to me. Glad to see it hadn’t left completely.

“Pacing about the room is not what I consider walking around. Come on, what have you been doing this whole time, anyway?”

“Mostly reflecting. It’s been a good opportunity to think some things over,” I replied in earnest.

“And? Has it helped?”

I shook my head and smiled.

Her blank expression shifted to a near frown.

“That’s a shame.” “Isn’t it?” I more mouthed than spoke. If she heard me, it didn’t show. She motioned toward the door and before she turned to me and said:

“By the way, if you’re going to complain about the hospital food being bland, either go home already or make your food yourself. I know you’re capable.”

Throughout the following days, she had kept her word, as did I.

My strolls through the halls netted me some treasures I wouldn’t have found otherwise. One patient lent me a book to read, one of the head nurses gave me some blank sheets of paper and a pen, and I did as Shirley suggested and helped out in the kitchen.

With the book, it was in Danish, which despite how useful it would be to learn given the region (also given the region, I could have tried learning some of the Inuit languages at one point in time or another), I never did. But I still tried to read through it and parse through what few words I could discern.

One thing I could have done with the pen and paper was try to write a letter to Sunny, as she was always sentimental about those things. I could have also jotted down the steps to the strategy Remora and I had talked over, that could have helped. Rather than either of those things, I tried to practice drawing. Simple things, like birds and foxes, but the way I saw it, the things I did with the pen didn’t matter so much as the fact that I was testing out my new hand.

Nothing about it struck me as odd until I helped out in the kitchen. Somewhere that should have been my habitat and yet I felt myself in a foreign environment. I tried to hold a large pot full of boiling water and I felt my new hand shake as I lifted it up to transfer to a different burner. It was as if I was just as well off trying to lift it one-handed. My theory for the whole thing was that my body wasn’t yet consistent with registering that I had two hands again.

Even with the physical routines and little tasks I gave myself, there were still gaps of time scattered throughout which plagued me. I would ponder aloud such things like, “I miss everyone, don’t I? So why doesn’t it feel like I do? For that matter, what am I avoiding?”

No answer came. It didn’t need to. I was sure I knew, somewhere anyway.

When the week passed, Shirley, or as I ought to call her, Dr. Cole-Slaw entered the room once more, and found me seated at the desk.

“What have you been up to?” She asked, skipping past the “hello” and “how are you?”

I looked up from the paper. Little lines were drawn here and there. Nothing too fancy.

“Examining my psyche,” I told her, then folded my hands behind my head and grinned. It was a grin in the same way a popped balloon floated.

“What did you find?” She asked, and I thought I caught a hint of playfulness in her own voice. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

“Air,” I told her. “Nothing but air.”

She put her hand on her chin and looked down, then squinted as she shook her head.

“Maybe if my own brain was at full capacity, I’d know what you mean, but I’ve been swamped with more things than I’m sure you’re willing to hear.”

I closed my grin, then pushed up my glasses.

“You don’t know that for sure. If nothing else, I’m a listener.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure you’ll have plenty on your plate once you get back home. Speaking of, are you ready?”

I lifted myself out of my chair and drifted over to the window. Beside the hospital was a small body of water, a pond. Skies were clear, the sun shone over the snowy landscape. Even barren, it could be a thing of beauty.

I put my hand over the glass and murmured.

“Do you think they missed me?”

“I’m sure of it,” she replied, the same softness I’ve heard her use on patients.

“Do you know who I’m talking about?”

“No,” she admitted. “But even as air, your presence is pronounced enough that I’m sure the place has felt different with you missing from it.”

“Yeah. You might be right.”

I turned around and smiled, not even sure what for.

“I suppose with this, we’re even. Or, now I’m the one who owes you a favor.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she met my smile with her own, and hers seemed more genuine.

I made my preparations to leave the room, and soon I would wait in the lobby for one of the hospital vehicles to take me back to my diner. For whatever reason, the silence of the in-between seemed to give me more excitement than my destination. No, there wasn’t a journey to be had. There were only resting periods.

When we arrived, I thanked the driver, slipped them some cash as a tip, then headed toward the door. There was a fog which had taken shape outside, obscuring all shapes around me, save for the modest restaurant without a name. From that fog, I felt a strong gust pull me forward, and I made my careful steps toward the door. As I opened the door, I looked back and the fog was gone. As if it were never there.

I shook my head. Little tricks of the mind like that were the last thing I needed. Call me superstitious, but something like that struck me as a bad omen. Then again, there was no fear which accompanied the vision (or lack of), and instead there was just the observation. Casual notation. If it were more out of the ordinary, I might have been my usual self and felt the obsessive need to explain or understand the how’s and why’s. Instead, I just walked through that door and into the place I called my home.

Slow and deliberate was my entrance. As I entered the diner and took in the scenery, a series of thoughts greeted me before any familiar face did.

What will I encounter? How much has changed since I left? Have things changed for the better, or worse? Has everyone gotten closer, or gotten along better? Or is there further friction? What of mystery? And intrigue? What developments, if any, have transpired? If there was a mess, will I need to clean it up?

During my time at the hospital, I never once believed anything would change when I returned. Why would I? It wasn’t like I was expecting much to happen while I was away. What with how little activity there had been over the past year or so.

So imagine my surprise when I walked in and saw people seated at the tables. Actual living and breathing people. Not many, mind you, but just the fact that they were there, and that I didn’t know them, was astounding enough. I was used to being familiar with everyone who walked through those doors. Ah, but maybe that wasn’t fair of me. Those days seemed long gone.

“Here’s your menu,” were the first words I heard spoken. They came from someone familiar, with that rough, but mousy voice, but her appearance was a little different. Her hair was tied into twin-tails with little braids in the back of her hair.

Menus? I wondered. Even when my diner thrived, I never had those. I’d just let people order anything that came to mind, and more than likely, I’d have the ingredients.

Nobody else seemed to notice me yet, nor did I notice Sunny or the other two anywhere. I made my way over to the table she was serving.

“Hey, who might you be?” One of the customers asked, a shaggy looking fellow with thick, brown hair going every which way and a bit of a stubble. I was about to open my mouth to introduce myself, but the words didn’t seem to want to come out. Demetria turned to address me as well.

“I’ll be right with yo-o-o –!” She just about jumped in place, startled at the sight of me. “Ray! Didn’t know you’d be back today!”

As out of place as I felt, no, more out of body than out of place, it was easy enough to act like my old self. Besides, it wasn’t like I was really all that different than the version of me that she knew. I gave her a chuckle in response, then cleared my throat before speaking.

“Well, I haven’t informed anyone that I would be coming back today,” I explained.

I wonder if that’s okay with you all. If that’s okay with Sunny, I thought, though the thought was rather ridiculous. Sunny couldn’t care less about things like advance notice. Hell, she might have been happier with the surprise entrance.

“Hello,” I faced the customer. “My name is Ray Sunshine. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I extended my hand (the new one) toward the customer and gave off the closest I could to a warm smile. He looked at my hand, then up at me.

“Sorry, man, but my hands got sauce on ‘em,” he informed me with a pile of food in his mouth. Probably a good call on his part, as I didn’t know where else his hands might have been. On his plate were enchiladas as well as biscuits and gravy. Outstanding.

I returned my focus toward Demetria.

“We have menus now?” I asked her.

“Oh, yeah. I’m no designer or anything, but I stayed up all night making little paper menus. Figured I’d make things easier for Tigershark, so I put down some things I know she can make and put random prices on them. I’m not that good at figuring out how much things should cost, so I just guestimated here and there,” she explained.

“May I take a look?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” she handed one to me. I scanned through the folded paper. There wasn’t a whole lot, and nary a selection of drinks, but what was there impressed me. Some breakfast food (good diner staple), some French and Italian cuisine, as well as a few good desserts to cap it off. I found some of the prices on the food to be a little too low, and some a little too high, but I could make adjustments to it.

“That was real nice of you,” I commended Demetria’s handiwork, even if it was rather rough around the edges.

“Nah, I just figure if it makes Tigershark’s job easier, it makes my job easier,” she waved off the compliment.

“And we have customers now?”

“Well...I wouldn’t say we’ve gotten popular, but there’s been a few people here and there.”

“Even still…”

...That’s impressive, I was about to say, but instead faced the gentleman with the messy hands.

“How did you come about this place?”

“So I’m, like, a cashier at this general store. Or I was until Aurora B. She robbed the place and I was like ‘go ahead, I hate my boss, anyway’ and before I ran out, I asked if she knew any good places to eat and she recommended this place.”

Why anyone would ask for food recommendations after getting robbed was beyond me, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t used to people acting in unusual ways. What astounded me more was the name he said. ‘Aurora B’. I’ve heard rumors and stories about her. How ruthless her and her gang of bandits could be. I’ve considered trying to meet her at times, but then other things would always take up my attention instead. Still, it wasn’t hard to connect the dots.

“Aurora. She was here?” I asked, and waited for either person to answer.

“Yeah! But it’s okay because we recovered all our losses!” Demetria was the one to fess up. Odd, too, seeing as she was the one who would sometimes recite the motto “snitches get stitches.”

I put my hand over my face and shook my head.

“Shame she’s not here. I would have loved to meet her,” I muttered.

“Oh, by the way!” The guest reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. “Aurora told me to return this to you.”

Demetria swiped the knife out of his hand and sheathed it in her pocket, then laughed a nervous laugh.

“Jeez, I can’t believe I forgot about this!” Despite the nervousness on display, there was a definite delight and excitement to her voice as well.

...Just how much have I missed?

There was more I needed to see.

“Do take care,” I bid the messy gentleman. “I hear things have been rather dangerous as of late.”

God damn, that sounded like stock dialogue for a fantasy setting. How distasteful. At least I could hold out hope that something would be done soon enough. That was, if I could put my trust in Remora, which I wasn’t sure I could. Hell, part of my initial excitement from hearing her plan was the simple fact that she had hints of a schemer in her as well.

Well, of course. She’s a sniper, not a dumb muscle. Maybe she’s not so good with understanding people, but forming a strategy must come as second nature to her.

I put such a note in the back of my mind. Everything in time, at its own pace. For now, I took my stride over to the kitchen, where Tigershark stood on a stool and stirred a big pot.

Despite it already being open, I gave the kitchen door a good knock.

“Hello? I’d like to speak with the manager,” I called over to Tigershark. She looked over and a big grin spread on her face. She jumped down from the stool and ran up to hug me.

“Ray! You’re here!”

“It would appear that way, wouldn’t it?” I gave a playful reply.

“Why were you gone so long?” She demanded to know.

What a good question. But what can I say? She must know that I was at the hospital, but that doesn’t explain the extended stay. Then again, what would? Usually someone like me would know what to say to anyone, but here I am with a loss for words.

“I was sick…” I tried to explain.

“I know! But I didn’t think you’d be sick for that long! You’re better now, right?”

Such energy. She wasn’t much for saying things quietly, was she? Still, she was perceptive and resourceful. Was it Remora’s doing or my own? Or maybe she had learned such traits from her parents, whoever they might have been. If only I could have met such people.

“I’m better now...I’m better now…” I muttered, and broke away from the hug. Maybe in some ways, I was, but in others, I had gotten worse.

“Are you sure?” Tigershark asked.

Oh no. Worrying a child was the last thing I wanted. For her sake, I smiled.

“Yeah, in fact, I’ve decided to give you a promotion.”

“What?!” Her eyes grew all wide, her hands balled into fists.

“Yes. I’ll be promoting you from manager to head chef. How does that sound?” I hoped she wouldn’t realize that was actually a downgrade.

“Yay! I’ll be the best head chef!”

That I’m sure. And I’m more suited to be the manager, anyway.

“By the way, best head chef, have you seen Sunny anywhere?” It was due time for a reunion, after all. My heart was in more of a rush than I was. No, I think I was misinterpreting signals. Instead, it might have been my continued hesitation. Was it a fear of facing her? Whatever it was, I felt like a schoolboy having a first crush. I loved to make others cringe, but with the way I felt, it was like I was getting a taste of my own medicine.

“She’s upstairs!” Tigershark told me while pointing up at the ceiling.

Let’s just get this over with, growled an impatient thought. That wasn’t me at all; if I was nothing else, I was a patient person.

“Thank you,” I smiled and softened my voice for Tigershark. “I’ll catch up with you later. I’d like to speak with the love of my wife. Err...my wife.”

If I made any more slip ups like that, my head would surely fall from my shoulders, and they didn’t make prosthetics for that.

So I made my way through the back of the diner and down the hall to the attic. Each step heavy with trepidation. Once I made my way up, I stood in place at the end of the bed: she was resting.

I let her rest. Nothing was urgent.

Unsure what to do next, I walked over and sat at the edge of the bed.

“I’m back. I’m still alive. Trying to live. Got a new arm and everything. It hurts sometimes. Like a swollen ankle hurts. Stings, less like a bee sting, and more like a failed operation. But the operation was a success. I think I feel out of place in my own home. I feel like I’ve lost my sense of self, but I know the version of me that people are familiar with. I feel like I can act like that person, even if it doesn’t feel as natural as it used to,” I recited, a low mutter. Though it was addressed to her, it was spoken in such a way that I hoped for her not to hear, so that she could continue to rest.

Instead, I heard a stir. There was a rustle in the blankets, then arms wrapped around me from behind, a heavy press of warmth. I took Sunny’s hands into my own.

“Mm. It’s good to see you again,” she yawned in her sleepy voice. Yet just as energetic, if not more, than Tigershark’s.

“Even if you heard all that?” I asked, not even sure if she had.

Her head was on my shoulder and I felt her nod.

“Sometimes the self comes and goes like waves, the tides pulling in, then back out to sea,” she mused.

I closed my eyes and thought of the ocean, but that only helped for a couple seconds, as thoughts turned to trying to figure out which ocean. Then my imagination conjured up images of a shipwreck, being lost at sea, and a lighthouse obscured by a fog.

“I feel like a fog,” I croaked out the words.

“Then can I be the sun to clear the fog?” Her voice soothed in my ear.

“You ask to be the sun, but can you handle its rays?” I retaliated in a way which was meant to sound romantic, but it didn’t really come out that way. To save face, I fell back and landed on her lap.

We both laughed and I turned to her.

“What’s wrong with us? You’re napping and I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“Even adventurers need to take breaks,” she said all matter of fact, like I needed such a reminder. “How’s your arm doing, by the way?”

“It’s like I never lost anything. See?” I lifted up my arm and pulled down my sleeve to show her. “Looks just like the real thing, even has fake hair particles on the ‘skin’. If not for the fact that it detaches, it may as well be considered the real thing.”

“Does it hurt?”

I paused and pondered the question.

“Sometimes. Mostly, it’s an adjustment. I can do most of the things I could before, and feel every action, as well. Yet at times I feel disconnected, like I’m detached from the things I’m doing.”

“I wonder what it’s like. Trying to discover your own skin again,” she mused. Once again, I returned the favor.

“I’d rather discover yours again,” I teased.

“Oho?”

I closed my eyes.

“But for now, I’d like to just lay here and rest.”

When I awoke, I was the only one on the bed. At first, I thought that I had returned to my old self, as I didn’t seem to have much of a care in the world and I was eager to solve a few mysterious, or at the very least, find things to amuse myself. Maybe none of those things were true, but I wanted to believe that for as long as possible.

I got up, showered, then donned a tuxedo without so much as a second thought. Once I had gotten myself all ready, I made my way to the kitchen up front and met up once more with Sunny and Tigershark, who were busy preparing meals.

After a good yawn, I greeted the two of them.

“How goes Sunny Delight and Best Chef?” I waved my hand as I addressed them. They both looked over and had wide grins on their faces.

“Hey hun, how was your nap?” Sunny asked.

“Simply splendid,” I replied, my hands in my pockets. I trotted over toward the open window of the kitchen and saw two ladies with a blanket over them. One with long, red hair, with lanky arms and a slight scrawny appearance. The other was shorter, and a little chubbier. She had short, blue hair in a pixie cut and looked rather full of herself.

“I see we have customers again,” I noted. “I wonder. Everyone’s got a story to tell, right? What’s theirs?”

Tigershark was the one to answer that.

“Demetria told me they were in a blizzard outside and nearly froze to death!”

“Oh, so that blanket must have come from her room?” I asked.

Tigershark shook her head with the fury of a tiger. “No! Remora’s! She said she knows what it’s like to be cold!”

“Oh,” I was just a little taken aback. To think Remora would do something nice like that. Well, maybe it made a bit of sense.

Despite the commotion in the kitchen, I was able to lean into the window and listen in on their conversation. At the moment, the red haired one had struck a conversation with Demetria. Something about Demetria’s cousin and unrequited love. It became clear from how exaggerated the story had gotten that the redhead was just making things up as she went, yet Demetria was captivated enough by it to keep asking questions, and each answer would turn instead to insisting on knowing where said cousin lived. It didn’t even seem like she was that interested in the cousin, herself, so I couldn’t understand the importance of such a story.

Still, I continued to listen. Then the kitchen door opened, and my attention shifted toward who was at the door: Remora. I didn’t recognize her at first because her hair had grown a little longer, and it was now in a near black color. Still, her typical posture and always-freezing demeanor was hard not to recognize.

“Ah, I was wondering when I would see you again,” I greeted. Something welled up in me. Anger, or bitterness, perhaps, but I did my best to push it down. No matter what it was, I refused to stop treating her like a guest and more than that, a friend.

At first she stood tall, then she slouched over and began to shiver.

“Hi. Yes. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my room. Brr…” She chattered her teeth and groaned out the words as she pointed her thumb to her left.

“Wait!” I called after her. “Before you go, I’d like to know what you can tell me about those two out there.”

Her head swayed and shifted from one end to the other and then she looked back at me.

“I don’t trust them,” she stated. “Might have something to do with their hair…”

It took me a second to register what she meant, but then it clicked and a laugh slipped from me. Rather unintentional, too.

“What? Are you worried they might be alternate versions of you?” I joked. It didn’t come out with the same sly tone that I would have made the same comments with in the past. What replaced it was a bitter, dry voice. I really didn’t know what to make of myself. Perhaps lucky for me, she returned with a dry statement of her own.

“Ha. ‘Alternate-version-of-myself’? Am I a joke to you?” She bore her teeth and growled out the words. Yet her tone of voice was still so sterile and icy.

“Only endearingly,” I replied. “However, I do apologize if I took it too far.”

“I’m not mad, if that’s what you mean...I’m chill. Just chill.” Her knees shook and she began to rub her hands together. “I’m mostly wary because they talked about different timelines and versions of Earth. Forgive me if I’m just a little on edge.”

That surprised me. I was used to her being on edge, but not her apologizing for it. Had something changed for her as well to make her act in such a way? Or could it have to do with her plan?

“Understandable,” I told her. “I am surprised, though, that you gave them a blanket. That was rather nice of you.”

She blinked. “Was it? I just don’t like the idea of others having to go through the same thing I do. If anything, I’m only thinking about myself.”

“Whatever the reason, I’m sure they appreciated it.”

Then, I watched as she clenched her fists, before releasing them and taking heavy breaths.

“I...I’m trying. To not come off so abrasive. I don’t know why it’s so hard to be a person.”

I smiled, then looked back out the window and closed my eyes. I didn’t want her to see in case a tear were to fall. Same thing went for the other two in the room. Maybe Sunny could be privy to it, but the rest? I didn’t want to know.

“I don’t know, either.”

It was a solid few seconds. Less silence, more of a buzz. But when I turned around, my frigid friend was gone. Ah, was it even fair to consider her a friend? For my current state, it was hard to define what constituted that and what didn’t. I decided not to pursue an answer, as I believed no matter how I would chip away at the answer, I would come up fruitless. Instead, I let myself be swept in the idea that I could play at being my old self and strike up a conversation with the two.

I headed out the kitchen and when I got out the door, Sunny called to me.

“Where are you going?” She asked.

“What kind of manager would I be if I didn’t ensure guest satisfaction?” I turned to her with a smile and a suave little short nod.

My heels tapped against the floor and each step was a careful one, as if I were preparing for a dance. The one with the red hair turned to face me and I just about cleared my throat when I realized I was missing my glasses. So I reached into my pocket, took a cloth and cleaned off the lenses, then placed them on.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” my greeting a natural (imitation of a) cordial tone. I hope your meal has been well. I am the owner, Ray Sunshine. Please let me know if you need anything.”

Said redhead waved her hand away as if she were working up a rude customer broadway act. I could only imagine what she would say next.

“Yeah, Raymond? Can I call you Raymond? Look, this meal has been fab,” I looked down at her plate and noticed she hadn’t even touched it. Either she wasn’t really hungry or she just got too distracted talking things up with my waitress. “But I’ve got a lot on my plate. Some bloke stole my rental car, and I was only renting it to get to the airport. Now, my body’s built pretty tough, I’ve eaten my spinach, but I’m hopeless without a GPS, so I’m a little unsure how I’m going to get to the airport now.”

Again, quite a ridiculous string of dialogue, and I would be remiss to say I wasn’t used to hearing such things, but with the two pieces of evidence I had beside me: the name of the city she had managed to extract from Demetria and that Remora mentioned them hopping timelines. What was I dealing with? Some kind of cosmic drifters? Whoever those two were, I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle.

“You guys can’t hustle me,” then I squinted my eyes. What are you two really after? I refrained from asking such a question out loud. There was reason enough to be suspicious and yet, I found myself unable to care about the whole thing. “Not only that, but it’s unnecessary.”

Then, I did something rather uncharacteristic of me:

“There’s a hatch in the kitchen which leads to our basement. That’s where we brew all our ales. You’ll find a load of barrels down there. In the back of the basement, there’s a door which leads to a tunnel. You follow that tunnel all the way through and at the end of the tunnel is another flight of stairs and another hatch which leads to the airport,” I recited the words, eyes closed. To think I would disclose such a secret, to strangers no less. Whatever their motive or reason, I found I couldn’t care less.

“Why do you have something like that in your basement?” She asked, rather puzzled at the notion. Didn’t she know that most diners had a basement? Or maybe just the few I’ve visited.

“Let’s say it’s come in handy when a few deals have gone sour,” I stated.

“I see. And you’re just gonna let us go through there. I mean, I appreciate it, but why?”

I put my hands in my pockets and shrugged.

“Maybe I’m feeling generous,” I walked away after that. I didn’t really have a good reason. Maybe I never had a good reason for any of the things I did. I shook my head and retreated to the back. Back to that familiar desk with all those stacks of papers. I know what I said to Remora, about her being in charge of it. Call it selfish of me, but I hoped she would return that position to me so that I may have some semblance of my old life.

I held the stacks of paper full of requests in my hands. Each one I read through, I set aside in frustration. Most were junk, and the ones that weren’t seemed like obvious traps. What ever happened to the interesting ones? Or the ones where the deceit wasn’t so obvious?

Fingertips of my new hand met their way to my forehead as I looked down and shook my head. Back down at the papers, I noticed how some of them were interesting. Requests for heists in dangerous locations, recovering ancient artifacts, investigating rumors of certain monsters in certain regions. Those kind of things. But maybe that’s why they weren’t appealing to me – they were all the kinds of things I’ve dealt with in the past. Once, I would have found them interesting.

Most of the so-called “monsters” would usually have mundane, albeit weird, explanations. There were the heists and other dangerous endeavors, but after years of smooth talking, cutting deals, and infiltration, I found it all too tedious.

I set the stack of papers down and leaned back into my chair. I just about took a nap in it until I remembered those two visitors. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, then dialed Cybele’s number. After a few rings, she picked up.

“Hello?” She sounded just a bit tired, like I had woken her up.

“Hello, Cybele. Sorry if I woke you,” I replied.

“You didn’t. I just always sound tired. Anyway, how have you been? I tried to check in a few weeks ago, but you weren’t there. I met your accountant and she said you were shot and had to go to the hospital. Are you okay now?” Sill asked, still sounding tired, but a hint of worry as well.

“Yes, I’m all better. What’s this about an accountant?” I asked, though I already had an idea what was going on.

“You know, Rae Morris? She looked pretty official, anyway.”

I didn’t know why I always had to learn from secondhand accounts that Remora went and introduced herself with made up identities, but it was obvious ‘Rae Morris’ had been her.

“Right. I forget about the people I hire sometimes. Anyway, I just called to let you know that two people are going to show up to the airport.”

“Oh? You want me to take them somewhere?”

“No, I…” I wasn’t sure what I wanted to tell her. If there was anything I really wanted. Those two could have been bad news, or they could have been honest-to-goodness down on their luck folks who needed a place to go.

“Oh. Then what about them?” She sounded disappointed. Hell, when was the last time I gave her work?

“Yes. Take them to their destination and keep a close eye on them.”

“All right, do you want me to report anything to you afterward?”

“No, unless you find anything worth reporting.”

“Oh, okay! It’s good to hear from you, by the way.”

“Yeah. You too.”

I hung up the phone and I was surprised to see Demetria sitting in the chair in front of me. She had her arms folded and pursed her lip with a worried look on her face.

“Yes? Can I help you?” I asked and wondered how much she heard of my conversation. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t anything too private.

She pointed her thumb behind her in the direction of Remora’s room; the door was open, something I wasn’t used to seeing. I couldn’t get a clear view of the rest, so I didn’t know what I was supposed to notice.

“What about it?” I asked.

“She’s shivering,” Demetria informed me, as if she had just learned that water was, in fact, not a dry substance.

“And?”

Her eyes widened, then her brow creased and a frown formed.

“What do you mean ‘and’? What if she’s sick? Shouldn’t we try to help her?”

“There’s nothing we can do to help,” I informed her.

“Why? What do you mean?”

“I think it’s better to ask her yourself.”

“I would, but she doesn’t like talking about herself and I try to respect that.”

“Have you never noticed her shivering before?” I really was dumbfounded, something I thought was no longer possible.

“I have! But I just figured it made sense, given the setting. But it’s hot in here, isn’t it? And there’s times it’s really hot in here, so I don’t know. Like, I think she messes with the heater, which, if it helps, fine. I can manage. I just think one of us should try something to help, it can’t just be that there’s nothing we can do. If not me, someone else.”

“You must really care about her.”

“Maybe? But it’s not like I want anyone else here to get sick.”

“What about when I was sick?” I asked, and it seemed like my bitterness was really starting to show, yet I meant no malice.

“I never noticed, and next thing I know, bam. You’re in the hospital.”

I see. I really didn’t need to hold it against anyone, seeing as I kept it a secret until it got bad enough that I had to be admitted.

“I’m curious. Is it still a crush or something else?”

She lowered her head.

“I...I don’t know. Sometimes I get these ideas about her and I, like being pinned to the wall, or being kissed all over, or being put in a headlock, but then I’m not really sure if I want those things or if I just think I should want them. It’s really weird, like, I know I can be a lot sometimes, and I’ve been trying to ease up, but I don’t know how to act sometimes and it comes out bad. I really am trying, but it’s hard when I don’t know what I want.”

That she found herself able to admit such a thing to me, I couldn’t help but feel just a little bit proud.

“Just be patient. Some things take a while to figure out,” I replied, not sure if that was the right piece of advice.

“I know I admire her, though. I really don’t want to disappoint her and I’m really hard on myself when I feel like I do.”

If anything, you may find yourself being the one disappointed, I thought. One of those things that was better left unsaid.

“Like I said, be patient with yourself, and with her. You may not think so, but there are things she finds difficult as well.”

“I’ll try…”

Of course, after such an honest conversation, Remora walked out of her room. Demetria looked up and the excitement she must have felt must have outweighed anything I tried to get through to her in conversation. I would say “ah, to be young again,” but I don’t think I ever acted in such a way toward anyone.

“Remora! Are you doing okay?! I can get you a warm towel! Or rub your back, if you need me to! Maybe you’ll warm up if we hold hands!” Demetria jumped up and down and all the while, Remora just stood there with a blank expression on her face, unsure how to respond.

“I know I’m not really good at cooking like Tigershark, but I could make you some soup! My mom used to do that all the time when I was sick!”

“Uh…” Remora was, without a doubt, at a loss for words.

“We could wrap ourselves in blankets! And hold each other real close! And –!” Then, Demetria stopped, and shook her head. Her voice lowered to an ashamed whisper as she said, “sorry,” before running off to her room.

Remora continued to stand, speechless, before she turned to me and asked, “why is she like that?”

For some reason, it never occurred to me that Remora didn’t see the signs. After all, it was so obvious to anyone else.

“You mean you don’t know?” I leaned forward and asked.

“Know what?”

“Do you not know what a crush is?”

She made a gesture where one palm of hers was flat, while the other was folded like she was about to claw at someone, then squeezed the flat palm.

“No, not literal. Like...infatuation?”

“Oh. Of course I know that.” She blinked, then asked. “So that’s what her deal is?”

I nodded.

“If that’s all it is, then if I just have sex with her, it’ll go away, right?”

I…I sure was glad I never brewed myself some tea, because otherwise I would have spat it all out.

“What?! How do you figure that?!”

“I mean, get it over with, problem solved, right?”

“That would just wind her up more!” I was exasperated. Sheesh. “Right when I thought I had your thought process figured out, you go and floor me with this.”

“Floor...you?”

I shook my head, my palm against my forehead.

“I don’t see what the problem is. If I don’t have anything going on, as long as the other person is satisfied, I don’t mind. It’s not like I feel anything from it, anyway.”

Huh. Learned something new, I guess. Even so…

“I don’t think that’s the right idea for this situation,” I informed her.

“Why not? I can’t have this keep going on. She does all these things that I don’t understand and it frustrates me. She always tries to get my attention and wants me to be impressed by simple things and sometimes thinks I’m mad at her, when I really just don’t want to talk or am just confused. Then, the rare moments she says something serious, it’s also something I don’t understand because I’m not used to being questioned. I’m not used to it.”

After all that, she was in a huff, but she continued.

“I’m used to not understanding people. But I’m not used to being told things that permeate my thoughts for days on end as I struggle to find the answer. I can’t deal with the constant focus on me. Those weird requests and reactions. It’s too much.”

“Please be patient with her,” I tried to reason. “She’s a little lost in life right now and doesn’t really understand what she wants. I know it can be hard to deal with, but I don’t think she means bad.”

Whatever my intention was with that, it was lost on her. She took a second, then replied:

“Maybe in other cases, I could be patient. If she were a target, I could bide my time, as long as the job was done. This is different. I need this dealt with now.”

She then walked toward Demetria’s room. Before I did, I called to her.

“Are you really going to...err…?”

“No. I’m just going to talk. I need to make sure this is resolved.”

I watched her approach the door, give it a few knocks with the back of her hand, and then the door opened for her. As it closed, I too began to think of the both of them, but with a different matter:

Now that I was back, the plan would soon be in action. I knew Remora intended all of us to be a part of it, and while Demetria survived that mansion incident, and there was the ‘girls night out’ with Sunny, I still wasn’t sure it was a good idea for someone like her to be involved in such a dangerous excursion. That went for Tigershark, as well. No matter how strong she was, she was still a kid, and I just couldn’t imagine the idea of putting a child in danger. Especially considering…

I’m going to have to discuss this, won’t I?

Maybe that’s what I had been avoiding, but that didn’t make sense. I was excited to hear about it at the time, and it seemed like it would benefit all of us. No, I think it had to be something else. Just like what I had told Sunny. There was a disconnect, and I too no longer knew what I wanted.

So I waited. It wasn’t that I had always exhibited patience throughout my life, but I saw things as a nice cup of tea: in order to get the desired flavor, it needed to sit for a little while.

That was a nice sentiment, but after a while, and them still in that room, my desire to find out what their conversation was about took over, and I got up out of my seat and motioned through the hallway. I stood in front of the door, unable to hear anything. I was sure that if I leaned my ear closer, I could have caught something, but I decided against it.

This feels voyeuristic.

More than that, I found I had no real interest in listening in aside from a mild curiosity.

I turned back and headed toward my desk, when I heard laughter from the two of them.

Oh. That sounds...positive?

Before I could reach the desk, I heard the door opened and out stepped Remora.

“Were you listening in on us?” She asked, and I turned around.

“I only heard laughter. I assume it went well?” I replied with a softened voice, and tried to work in a smile. In turn, she looked away.

“It was uncomfortable.”

“Oh? Why? Did she say or do something to make you uncomfortable?”

“It’s not that. I just don’t like to talk about myself in such a revealing manner. Which I did, that is, if she picked up on enough things, anyway.”

“Well, if it was so uncomfortable, why did you do it?”

“Because it needed to happen.”

As I sat back in my chair, I addressed Remora, which I was sure she was tired of having any kind of conversation.

“At the risk of possibly making you more uncomfortable, may I speak with you for a bit?” I inquired as I motioned for her to sit. She took her seat in the swivel chair in front of my desk.

“Is it important?” She asked.

“I believe it is,” I replied. “It’s about the mission we’ve discussed at the hospital.”

“Yeah? What of it?”

“I don’t think we should take Demetria along,” I began. “I don’t think she could handle something like that.”

“She’s more capable than you realize. We already discussed it, too. As long as all of us work on protecting each other, there should be no problem,” she explained. I still had my concerns.

“Nor do I think we should bring Tigershark along.”

“Fine. She’ll stay here,” she was quick to compromise. But that wasn’t what I was getting at.

“I don’t like the idea of her being by herself, either. I doubt much harm would come to her within the diner, but I still don’t feel comfortable with it,” I argued. By now she must have thought I was just being difficult to work with. Oh well. Same could be said about her.

“Then what do you propose?” She asked, and I got to thinking. Once I figured out a solution, it really was a contradiction.

“We all go together, but after a certain point, probably once things get too bad, one of us heads back with Tigershark. It doesn’t matter which of us does so, I’ll even volunteer if I have to, but I think it’s better that way.”

“How will that work without being noticed?”

“First, nothing is certain. But, worst case scenario, I don’t think she’d want to be there to see or hear it. Second, I’m sure you can work up a distraction.”

“Is that all you wanted to discuss?”

I gave her a short nod, which prompted her to tilt her head.

“Sorry, I guess I’m not done after all,” I added.

“That sounds like you, all right.”

Ha. As if the rest of what I was about to say would.

“I thought over many things while I was in the hospital,” I told her. “I don’t expect you to understand as I hardly understand, myself. But I’ve been evaluating how I’ve been, all the things I’ve done, and I have to ask, do you think of me as a clown?”

“No,” she answered. “I’ve managed to dig up some of your history, and through all your schemes and resources you’ve acquired through manipulation, it would leave some to think that you were building up something, or that there was something complex about you. But I think I understand now that that’s not the case. Rather, you seem to do things just to see if you can. You’re neither a clown nor a court jester, because you don’t seek to amuse anyone but yourself.”

Ah, there it was. Funny how the one who understood people the least would be the easiest one to talk to.

“You may be right about that,” I admitted, without a hint of amusement. “You know, when I was younger, I would make myself busy with little things I didn’t really need to do, all to make myself seem busy. There were men who I dated, or had relations with, anyway, who I would have them wait for arranged dates and ‘schedule them in’. I suppose that’s not too abnormal for someone busy, but I would also demand that they call to confirm our arrangements. As I told them, the reason behind it was that I always had something going on, and I never knew when something important might come up. The truth was, most of the time I just wasn’t interested in them, no matter how attractive I found them or how much I meant to them.”

“Why does that matter? Dwelling on those things doesn’t matter considering you’re much older now,” she replied, and she was right to say so. None of those relationships lasted, through no fault of them, and just the fact that they often caught on to how little I cared for it.

“That’s the thing: I don’t think I’m all that different now. Aside from Sunny, my daughter, and to an extent, Tigershark, I feel I care little for others.”

“Not even me?” She asked, and I found it odd. Just as odd as her earlier statement about how to deal with Demetria.

“Why do you sound disappointed? I thought you didn’t care about others.”

“I don’t, but it’s just that you’ve tried to be accommodating toward me, so I just thought that you did.”

“You don’t have to care about someone to be nice to them. I try to be welcoming toward everyone I work with.”

“I see.”

Although there wasn’t really any emotion behind her voice, she still seemed disappointed by my answer. I just didn’t know what else to say about it.

“Look, it’s not that I can’t or won’t ever. It’s just a strange feeling I have. It’s just like you said, I had no particular reason behind the things I did, except for that they provided me amusement. But now they do nothing for me. I’ve started to feel a sense of emptiness about it all and I wonder how I managed to keep up such a carefree facade for so long. It’s like I’m trying to put on an act like I am how I’ve always been, but I don’t think I’ve ever been genuine. I feel like it’s growing harder to mask my bitterness and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with my life, if anything.”

She wasted no time in her response, as she leaned forward, her elbow on the desk, and her hand covering the right half of her mouth, as if she were about to tell me a secret and she didn’t want anyone else to know.

“I’ll be honest with you, this isn’t exactly the happiest place on earth,” she rasped, and any other day, I would have let out a chuckle. I think I had reached my quota.

“No, I suppose it isn’t.”

“If anything, I’m surprised it’s just now starting to affect you,” she continued. “I mean, the harsh weather conditions, the isolated area, the many deaths that have occurred, it’s enough to make anyone bitter.”

“That’s why I I admire Sunny so much. See, her carefree attitude is genuine. We’ve had hardships and she can be fairly rational at times, but through it all, she’s kept a positive attitude.”

“I imagine it helps to have someone like her around to get you by,” Remora concurred. I felt a dizziness befall me and I no longer desired to remain on the subject on hand. Or rather, I no longer desired to be the subject at hand.

“By the way, what made you choose this place?” I asked instead. She shrugged in response.

“It seemed the most fitting place to be, given my condition. That, and...this feels like the closest to a home that I know. I believe I was born in the area, or at least, I was found somewhere close by.”

“I think I can see the logic in that,” I replied after some thought. Then, one last question came to mind. Something that I never thought to ask, but felt like I should have been curious about.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but I’m just curious, why Remora? There’s no pun associated with it, and not to mention, you never changed your last name along with it.”

She scoffed. Or chuckled. It was hard to tell, really.

“Yeah...real careless on my part. There’s a funny story about that, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“It was sometime when I first arrived in this timeline, I wasn’t yet recognized, I had just changed my hair to red, and I felt free to go wherever I wanted. So I walked through a random city one day and came across an aquarium. There was one large tank with sharks inside, and next to those sharks were these weird fish with suction cups. Next to the tank was the name of said fish, and it said ‘remora’. I found it odd how those things latched on those sharks, and how the shark just...let it. I knew it wasn’t that interesting, but I couldn’t bring myself to look away, either.”

“So that’s why?” I asked.

“No, otherwise I’d have walked into a sandwich shop long ago and decided my name was Turkey Club. Rather, I was about to move on to the other creatures on display, but then this young woman approached me, rather out of the blue, too. She said hi, and I didn’t know what to say. Like, she asked if I liked fish, and I told her that they tasted good. Then she started to ramble on about if she were a fish or something, I don’t remember. But I do remember her stomach growled, and people do act weird when they’re hungry, so I offered a bit of money.”

“Did you ever learn that person’s name?” I asked, already having an idea who the mystery person was.

“No. It was a random encounter, anyway. I’m surprised I even remember that much. Anyway, she asked for my name and I just drew a blank and said the first thing that came to mind, which was the name of that weird fish attached to the shark. After a while, I just decided the name would stick, since after all, I didn’t plan on meeting anyone, anyway.”

“About that young woman, what do you think you would say if you ever saw her again?”

Again, she shrugged in response.

“I don’t know. ‘You better have been eating well’ or something? Like, I know I for one don’t like being hungry, so I’d hope she’s been taking care of herself. But otherwise, I don’t know if I’d really have anything else to say, seeing as I doubt we’d run into each other again.”

“Yes, but hypothetical speaking, I think it’s interesting to imagine such scenarios. Those ‘what-ifs’.”

“Heh. I suppose so. Sometimes I think it’s a rather small world, even though I know the opposite’s true. Like, there’s so many people, but somehow you end up finding others who are connected to you in some way. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Indeed. That’s a good way to put it: small world. Short, even.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, never mind,” I told her. “It’s getting late and I know we all have many things ahead of us, so I should try to get some sleep.”

It felt odd, but I thought I could see just a hint of a smile on her face. I wondered if it was genuine, or if I even saw a smile at all.

“Yes, I agree. Rest, then,” and then she stood from her seat. I did the same.

“One last thing, Remora,” I added.

“Yes?”

“You seem different from how you were before as well,” I remarked, then headed toward the staircase to the attic so I could meet the one sunflower in this tundra. As I made my way up, I heard Remora’s voice from behind me.

“I don’t see how,” was her reply, and though there wasn’t so much of a warmth to her voice, I didn’t quite catch the same iciness that I was used to.

Then again, I still wasn’t quite sure if I was correct on how I perceived anyone to be anymore, let alone myself.

#writing #slice of life #melancholy #fiction #ray sunshine #velvet and coriander cameo #remora #sunny #tigershark #ray is back #lots of talking #long chapter #story

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taronunwin · 4 years

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Can you rate everything that Taron has been in from your most fave to least fave? And giving your reasonings why for each eating. I know this might be hard to do since all of his work has been exceptional. I’m asking just because I need more Taron content to watch!

OH GOODNESS. Anon, this is a bit cruel, like making me pick my favourite children. Except I have no children. And I do not like children. I digress. I’ll do my best.

I haven’t seen most of the voice projects Taron’s done so I’ll just list what I have seen and I’ll rank it by things I love/need to watch vs. things I’m okay with watching less often, sort of thing. This is mostly spoiler free but there are a few things that dance on the line. I’m sorry, but it’s really hard not to explain what I love without getting into that territory.

Deep breath. Here goes.

1: Rocketman

When I watched Rocketman for the first time, it was one of the last of Taron’s films I had yet to see because I was the least interested in it. I wasn’t an Elton fan, I don’t care for musicals usually, and I’m not really keen on movies set in the 60′s. So there were three strikes against it and I honestly expected just to start it, click through, and move on because Taron didn’t look hot (I thought then). But by the time he got to the ‘My name is Elton Hercules John’, I was invested. Wholeheartedly. Even when Taron wasn’t on screen, I cared deeply for the young Elton. I was rooting for him, grieving with him, and feeling his pain and triumphs. That movie is an experience unlike any other and by far the best movie I have ever seen in my life. The pure joy that radiates from it… it’s hard to explain.

2: Kingsman: The Secret Service

I’m not a Bond fan myself, I’m not really an action spy genre fan, so, again, I didn’t really think I was going to love this movie. But when Lee Unwin jumped on that grenade, I sat up in my seat a bit. That wasn’t the beginning I expected. And then when his son showed up later, stuck in a life that was so miserable and far from what he wanted, my heart broke. Eggsy had so much depth and went so far beyond just a ‘kid from the wrong side of the tracks’ kind of backstory. The details about him being in gymnastics and giving it up because his mum had married a good-for-nothing creep who influenced him more than he wanted to admit, being borderline brilliant and doing so well in school, only to give that up, too, because what was the freaking point in even trying when he was stuck in a world he wanted desperately out of. And then, when that opportunity presented itself and he was able to join the Marines, the first time in his life he really felt like he had some control and could follow in his dad’s footsteps, his mum wouldn’t allow it because she couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. So Eggsy was utterly stuck. Until…

3: Robin Hood

Oh, Robin. I think we all have a very special soft spot for the first character we fell for in an actor’s filmography and Robin is it for me. I had seen Testament of Youth in early 2019 with my teary eye on Kit Harington but I loved Edward. However I had no idea that Robin was Edward when I started watching, I just like historical movies and thought Robin Hood looked interesting. When I started, I was pretty smitten by Rob right away but as the movie progressed and the story got more convoluted, I became less interested and actually turned it off. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Robin. So I started watching it again and boy did I fall hard. The movie itself? A stupid, fun, absolutely enjoyable ride. Robin? Well, that beautiful boy is the love of my life.

4: Billionaire Boys Club

I’ve seen a lot of negative things about this film, not just in regards to a certain cast members, but in general and frankly? I don’t get it. I know I’m probably watching it through rose-coloured glasses but honestly, I really, genuinely love this movie. I love Dean’s charisma and charm, how much he loved Joe and wanted the best for him—for both of them. I love Dean’s darkness and how his character gradually yet drastically changed over the course of the film; how he started as just a passionate, excited, enthusiastic young man and ended in such a different place, even willing to give up something and someone that meant so much to him because desperation drove him to do something he would have never imagined himself doing in the beginning. I loved watching the relationships fray and bonds dissolve and I especially loved watching Taron play Dean’s darkness so realistically, paying special attention to how he portrayed Dean’s growing drug addiction. Also? Dean is really hot. There’s no way of sugarcoating that.

5: Kingsman: The Golden Circle

I love Eggsy Unwin. I mean I love him. Like I-would-take-a-bullet-for-him kind of love. And though the charm of the first movie being his transformation from street kid to Kingsman isn’t really in this film, it’s still such a fun ride. My favourite parts are mostly the quieter moments, the little scenes where we see Eggsy, less as a Kingsman and more as himself. His struggles, his doubts, the times where he’s shaken and isn’t really sure of anything anymore. But what I love about Eggsy is how fiercely he gets back up every time. Doesn’t matter what is thrown at him, he will take it all and become stronger.

Also… “Let’s make this fair,” Eggsy says, tucking his right arm behind his back and effectively evening the playing field with his one-armed opponent before he engages in a to-the-death brawl with the man he trained with until snapping his neck with one. hand. still. tucked. behind. his. back.

6: Testament of Youth

I hate this movie so much. But I also love this movie so much. Edward is one of the sweetest angels there ever was and I adore him with every fiber of my body. And watching his story… well… it makes me more unhappy than I’ve ever been. Does that stop me from watching it? No. But it does limit the number of rewatches. It’s one of those movies that’s so perfect for a sad mood. Like when I need a good cry, oh my goodness, I need look no further. But looking beyond just the emotional nature of the movie, Taron’s performance is so so beautiful. Watching Edward’s boyish innocence peeling away to show the more hardened, deeply hurt and disillusioned young man as the war’s grip on him tightens? Honestly, it’s stunning.

7: The Last of the Haussmans

A play? Really? What’s that doing on this list? Well, let me tell you. Taron’s character, Daniel, affected me very deeply and I’m not even being silly. This list is already too long so I’ll spare the details but Daniel… he got me. He’s such a sweetheart, so genuine and pure and good and earnest and wonderful and the kiss scene, well, I don’t even know how many times I’ve watched it. The tenderness he displays, the sweet uncertainty and awkwardness yet visibly bolstering himself so he can do what he’s so unsure about… oh, Daniel. For it being one of his first public roles, I am consistently amazed by how good Taron is. Daniel’s awkwardness does not feel like Taron’s discomfort. Daniel is entirely his own person with his own story and struggles and watching his story unfold is a really lovely thing.

8: Eddie the Eagle

This sweet, fun, encouraging, uplifting, charming movie, oh, how I love it. Though I have to be honest, it isn’t one of those movies I just need to watch like every month or two. I love enjoying it with other people and seeing their reactions but it’s not one that I crave at any given time. Even still, Eddie is a pure sweetheart and I love him and his heart-filled, passion-fueled, wonderful story.

9: The Smoke

I’m actually kinda surprised where this landed on the list, but let me explain. Dennis Severs is so much like Eggsy in terms of being a very layered, three-dimensional, incredibly deep and fascinating character. I love him. Nay, I adore him. I loved watching his ups and downs, his gut-wrenching revelations and triumphant success as he strove hard to free himself of the bondage of his past. But the show itself? It’s, same as Eddie, not something I feel drawn to watch at any given time. It’s intense, very intense, and asides from Dennis’ story, I didn’t really connect with any character, other than Kev. So in terms of watchability and enjoyment of the project overall, this ranks lower, but in terms of Dennis and his importance to me? Well, he ranks much higher ❤

10: Legend

So the first time I checked out this movie, I skipped through, searching for Taron. Next time, I skipped through again. Then I bought the movie and actually watched it, and I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it. Ignoring the obviously impressive feat that was Tom Hardy playing both main characters, I loved the relationship between Reggie and Frances and found myself caring quite a lot for them. I don’t know that I’ll ever watch it in full again but I do skip through every so often for Teddy and thoroughly that little psycho.

11: Sing

I’ve mentioned that I don’t really watch much of Taron’s voice work because I find it annoying to hear him but not be able to see him. That’s my ultimate problem with Sing. While a very enjoyable movie and one I’ve watched a few times all the way through, I don’t necessary care enough about the other characters to want to watch it from start to finish. I’m happy just skipping through for Johnny’s story, but there’s always that nagging feeling of knowing Taron is back there somewhere, looking breathtaking, and I can’t see him. And for that, I must place this sweet movie at the bottom of this list.

This honestly took hours for me to write and perfect but I think I’m good with it now. Phew!

I’m so sorry, anon, I’m absolutely certain you were looking for like two sentences to explain what I liked or didn’t like about each of these but instead you got a mini review. Whoops.

#Anonymous #Tracy's thoughts #Ask #Taron Egerton #If I got paid by the word...#No one signed up for this and I'm sorry #Believe it or not I tried to be brief

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citialiin · 4 years

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THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme.

fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm. tagged by: @forseenclade thank you ! man i am so bad at doing memes. tagging: @blossomingbeelzebug @zhrets @lupichorous @dansiere yayayayayayayaya

My muse is: canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless / complicated [ z/iggy stardust is DEFINITELY not my original character, but 683 is, and every single part of how i rp ziggy from his backstory to his personality was made up by me. that being said, ziggy is still a character that exists in media. ]

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO. [ im pretty sure ziggy is tied with the thin white duke as one of b*wie’s most famous fictional personas? ]

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom? YES ? / NO / IDK.

Is your character considered strong in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK.

Are they underrated? YES / NO / IDK. [ maybe a little overrated ]

Were they relevant for the main story? YES / NO.

Were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG.

Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO.

How’s their reputation? GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL. [ celebrity rock god of limitless talent vs inevitable overrated washup. most celebrities are polarizing anyways ]

How strictly do you follow canon? — there isnt much canon to go off of i think? the album barely even states if ziggy is an alien and b*wie himself got really wishy washy about it (sometimes saying z is a human who was contacted by aliens, he was an alien himself, etc). i dont think we know anything about him besides what he looks like (red hair / weird eyes / pale / “well hung” lmao) and he has a band called the spiders from mars, he plays the guitar left handed, he’s bisexual + androgynous, and he’s charming and popular with the teens but inevitably is a victim of his own ego. and he dies. that too. but that’s literally it! we know Nothing else about him. so i filled in all the gaps because my brain has worms. theres a little bit of the story that verges on fantasy (that he’s some sort of messiah messenger for “the infinites,” whatever the fuck THAT means, david) so i nix that because i prefer hard scifi. and theres one BIG part that i just ... deleted out of his canon, in that the world is ending in 5 years in his timeline, and he’s like ... aware of this ? but that’s dumb and confusing. i legit dont care anymore. my OC now.

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals. — im so embarrassed i know i could be genuine and actually try but i have brain blockajjolajlakala33lak33klak333ak3jka3akjj323j3 i guess it’s like ... ziggy is truly the ultimate expression OF humanity because he reveals everything both wrong and right about the human condition, he literally embodies the best of humanity and the worst at the same time, he’s a really interesting critique on the idea of genuineness/earnestness vs commercalism in art, the perils of fame, and also how humans are so inherently corrupting? a lot of thematic stuff i like exploring is like what is innate to humans vs what is learned behavior, what are things that humans do naturally that ziggy mimics out of his desire to be like us? i think he has a really good story arc -- he went from being a literal nameless CLONE in a society full of pragmatic forward thinking science-oriented people to a sell out rockstar celebrity in a society of people that value individualism and self expression and art, but in the process completely lost his mind and himself and gave into the worst that humanity has to offer like rampant selfishness, drug abuse, self destructive tendencies, etc. characters changing is always interesting and ziggy truly changes for the worse -- but he is never just black and white, he was never good and then suddenly evil, he just was always the same person putting on different facades and trying to be himself by constructing an identity that maybe was who he wanted to be versus who he actually is. i dont know what im talking about. hes just an alien trying to be too hard to be human in all the wrong ways. i just like how “gray” ziggy is. he isnt good or bad, he can be very nice and he can be very mean, he’s overtly showboating confident but at the same time deeply afflicted with self-consciousness (why tf else would anyone be So obsessed with how they present themselves?). hes an icon of individualism but also commercialism. he’s freakishly alien but is almost more human than humans themselves. he struggles as lot in his head -- which makes for interesting writing, i guess !! Im so emabrrased im not going to go back and read what i wrote so if i typoed dont look at me

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?). — i think ziggy comes across as really mean and nothing else. his horrible bitchy rudeness comes across as hee hee hoo hoo sassy isnt he a rascal when it’s supposed to be more like ... he’s so far gone into the celebrity delusion he’s conflated aggressive rudeness with charmingness because no one told him otherwise and everyone worships him to the point where he’s just given into the delusion that he can do no wrong. i think theres the general simplification problem that happens with a lot of fictional characters, it’s easy to see him as just a whacky sassy glittery quirky rockstar when i guess it avoids the inherent tragedy of like ... everything else about him. his totally fake and false sense of identity built up from superficial things like fame and labels and stardom. maybe my version of ziggy is just too weirdly depressing and sad when i know his original iteration wasn’t quite so ... grim. im not very sure tbh.

What inspired you to rp your muse? — hmmm ... a lot of things! i just really got into b*wie stuff in early 2019, i’ve ALWAYS loved aliens and sci-fi, and i was really shocked that db sets up such great visual storytelling potential but does it through music. i just really liked ziggys “story” and i like any chance to think about aliens so i just got invested into piecing together a little backstory for him using, like, the cumulative knowledge of literally every other piece of science fiction ive ever consumed in my life. this was summer 2019 when i was making initial pitches for my thesis film, and so i just randomly decided to pitch “animated version of ziggy stardust” as one of the potential ideas. shockingly everyone liked it a lot and so did my professor who thought it was really cool, and then i just ended up sticking with the character and working on him for an entire year. ziggy became my hobby but also my homework. he was such a fun character because everything about him was interesting to me and i had just enough source material to have a starting point but so much room to take him in any direction i wanted to.

What keeps your inspiration going? — honestly, yooooou guyssssss. i have some really amazing fwends that ive met thru here .... and some of our dumb stupid stories have literally become NOVEL length. it just self generates inspiration because you realize the limitless amount of stories you could tell with this one single character when your character enters his story or he enters their story and etc. etc. ive drawn endless amounts of comics and stuff for him ... ziggy is just so endlessly interesting ... cringe be cringed bro but recently (i know this sounds dumb bear with me or die.) ive kind of realized a lot of how i rp z comes as some metaphor for the experience of being an asian immigrant/being asian in the US -- his home “culture” is a lot stricter than the rampant selfish individualism of the usa (he only lives in the uk and usa, so he thinks the whole planet is like this), he’s dissuaded from standing out from his community and his selfishness becomes a community burden rather than a personal flaw, and when he does come to earth, he goes through such awful culture shock, literally nothing makes sense to him and everything is Different. and while some things are different in a Nice way, something things are different in an Awful way, and he’s given the option between losing his true personal identity as an atominan and giving it up to be a human. the allure of being a human is a little too much but losing yourself like this is traumatic, in a way. obvs like ... a little silly and definitely not something that i actively intended to put into his story arc, its just something that fell into place cuz i guess i worked so closely with my own personal experiences and feelings of “alienation” (pun intended) to try to understand how he would feel being a literal alien an shid. its cathartic to write about him. but he also has a lot of my own personal interests just thrown in -- 70s fashion, scifi, science, tryhard implications about human nature, art history, whatever dumb nonsense i get into

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice? YES / NO / SOMETIMES?

Do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO [ i would prefer information to spring up organically in the story but cuz threads always get dropped i end up just telling people outright. i didnt want anyone to know his home planet/his old name but barely anyone writes enough with ziggy to get to that point to reveal it (i legit managed to do it organically Once) so i just had to write it in a post lmao orz ]

Do you sometimes write drabbles? YES / NO [ wrote a ton of drabbles ! drew a ton of comics! ]

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day? YES / NO

Are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO / I DUNNO?

Are you confident in your writing? YES / HAHA NO.

Are you a sensitive person? YES / NO. / IDK ?

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal? — definitely! like i said ... my version of ziggy ended up being the protag of my thesis film and for 1 yr straight his characterization, backstory, design, and even how i wanted to animate his fucking movements (ziggy stardust timing charts.) were beaten to death in a classroom environment, torn apart and rebuilt into something better. had i stayed with what i originally wanted to go with, ziggy would be so different than how i write him 2day. amazingly my pre production professor is a literal two time emmy award winning storyboard artist and animator so he definitely helped me design him (my version of ziggy is meant for ... a cartoon, obviously, not real life) and give him a better backstory? and my post production professor is a retired disney animator who worked on hercules and a bunch of old disney channel shows? had i gone wah wah wah i dont want to hear ur critiques i wouldnt have made him better. if you ever think ziggy seems inconsistent or poorly written ... tell me !! i literally major in ... animation. cartoons. entertainment. my job is to entertain you. if you are not entertained, there is a problem. ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED ????

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character? — I LOVE QUESTIONS? i love ... answering questions ... if you ask me something ill come kiss you.

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why? — sure! i dont know why that would happen, though, because i mean ... he’s an OC. but i gues someone could be like “i feel like this is incongruous to things you’ve previously established in his character” or somethin

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it? — i feel like a lot of b*wie stans would find my version of ziggy weird but i mean thats fine! i guess my goal is to have a well written character, not necessarily an accurate version of ziggy

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it? — if you hate MY version of ziggy thats fine but if u hate ziggy stardust in general (like the bowie concept) then u need some taste what the fuck is cooler than a egomaniac genderless bisexual rockstar alien with red hair? nothing. go back to watching your CW shows you dirty filthy normie

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors? — yes! dm me though. dont clown me on the dash like that. i usually write your replies 12 AM - 4 AM so it’s expected.

Do you think you are easy going as a mun? — hmmm ... maybe! i do like to talk to people and i am VERY nice, trust me, if youre ever sad ill do everything i can to make you feel better. but im quiet! i dont really reach out to people and i tend to just keep to myself. im not very social or extroverted at all haha i barely can make ooc posts without feeling like god’s coming to beat my head in with a brick. im sitting here at 5:30 AM with this meme feeling like if i post it i will die (BUT I MUST)

#a lot of it is under the readmore because these always get so long and mine is long long long long long long long long long long long #ooc #KEEP YOUR 'LECTRIC EYE ON ME ; queue #and thakn you for tagging me ! i like to mkae Words

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noconcernofyours · 4 years

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Pinning Down My Kind of Movie

Warning: Wanky, self-indulgent ramblings about Hollywood auteurs to follow

A couple of days ago, I sat down with my housemate to watch Miami Vice (2006) directed by Michael Mann (Heat, Collateral) and starring Colin Farrell and Jamie Foxx. Since we moved into our place, my housemate has gradually been exposed to my taste in movies, and the other day, sat in front of a strung-out Colin Farrell ordering mojitos to ‘Numb/Encore’ during an undercover sting, he finally confronted me with a crisis-inducing statement: “You know, I can’t figure out what your kind of movie is.”

If I am to be totally honest, it doesn’t take much to send me into an existential tailspin, but this observation got me thinking enough to want to sit down and write about it, so here we are. My name’s Daniel and I love movies! When I was a teenager, I was certain I wanted to be a film critic, so I started writing in earnest. The problem was I wasn’t that well rounded as a viewer. I confined myself to the world of comic book movies and Disney animation. I turned my nose up at pretty much everything else before realising that I didn’t actually know much or have much to offer about film. Instead, I turned to music criticism because that’s where my knowledge base is.

That being said, I still loved movies, and as the years have gone on, I have been rapidly expanding my film knowledge and broadened my horizons extensively. I got called a “film buff” for the first time recently, which really shocked me. I still don’t feel well-watched enough, or knowledgeable enough to fit a moniker like that. Maybe it’s imposter syndrome, but I really feel like I have a way to go yet.

My Letterboxd bio includes the phrase “admirer of film nerds”, and I think that admiration informs the entire way I look at the world of film. I read a lot of reviews and listen to a lot of podcasts by smart, unpretentious film obsessives like David Sims, Griffin Newman, Katey Rich, Karen Han and Bilge Ebiri, but that same admiration also informs the kind of films I enjoy the most. In confronting the statement from my housemate, I realised that while there are some genres I gravitate to more than others, my taste in movies is largely defined by the extent to which I can pick up on a single authorial voice driving the film. A director, writer, actor, composer or cinematographer who has a real, obsessive love for their craft whose influence and personality can be felt in every layer of a film’s construction. Franchises are a different beast, but it’s usually the entries in a franchise that feel like passion projects for individual filmmakers that I love the most, which is why Iron Man 3 is by far my favourite Marvel movie.

Over the last few months I’ve started building a fairly extensive Blu-Ray collection. I love physical media because I like to have a tangible representation of the art I love, but it also allows me to physically organise my thoughts about film rather than moving things around on a spreadsheet or in my head. It has also had an effect on how I watch films. Spending money on a film makes me feel more obligated to watch it through to the end in one sitting, to not be on my phone at the same time and to pay closer attention. It’s also made my approach to picking the films I watch more considered. I’ve been hunting down the films I haven’t seen by directors I love, fuelled by newfound completionism, and I’ve been subconsciously prioritising this kind of auteur-driven mindset in a way that has revealed, over time, who my favourite filmmakers are.

So, with that in mind, let’s transform this meandering, self-indulgent think piece into a meandering, self-indulgent listicle. Here are the filmmakers that have changed the way I watch movies:

Christopher Nolan

I know this is a bit of a film bro cliché, but I promise I’m not one of those film school douchebags who’s convinced they’re going to be the next great big budget auteur. Like a lot of other people my age, I discovered Christopher Nolan through the batman movies. I was taken to see The Dark Knight by my parents when I was 10 years old, not having seen Batman Begins, and it blew my mind. For years after that, I was one of those arseholes who had a terrible Joker impression that I whipped out at parties, until I became aware of the cliché and never did it again.

In the years since I’ve watched all of his other movies and gained a new love of Interstellar and The Prestige – movies that taught me a lot about the authorial voice and interweaving a central theme into every element of a film. I also learned that just because I find it annoying when the same tropes turn up in every Quentin Tarantino movie, recurring tropes throughout a filmmaker’s catalogue aren’t universally a bad thing.

The Coen Brothers

Representation is important. The tough thing about watching films from an auteur-driven perspective is that so many of the most important filmmakers in Hollywood are approaching their films from a white, Christian, male perspective. Scorsese is a particularly difficult director for me to appreciate because so many of his films are overtly informed by his Christianity. My Jewish identity is the most significant aspect of my identity, so naturally I’m always looking for films made from a Jewish perspective, overt or otherwise.

Whilst the Coen brothers don’t always make movies about explicitly Jewish characters or subject matters, their Jewishness always comes out in their writing, particularly in the totally undidactic way they approach the subject of faith in almost every film they’ve made. Their approach to God, fate, spirituality and religion is never one of moralising certainty, but rather a questioning one, which is a fundamental aspect of Jewish existence. I feel represented on multiple levels in the films of the Coen brothers, particularly in Inside Llewyn Davis which is my favourite film of the last decade, in ways that other directors could never manage. For the same reasons I will forever be excited about the potential of the Safdie brothers.

Stephen Spielberg

Whilst the Jewishness of Stephen Spielberg is a major attraction for me (Catch Me If You Can, his moody Christmas movie, comes across as weirdly Jewish to me), the thing that has solidified the guy as one of my favourite filmmakers is his approach to telling true stories. Unlike the Coen brothers, it’s Spielberg’s self-assuredness and didacticism that fuels my love of his work. His spate of recent, politically switched-on, historical dramas (Lincoln, Bridge of Spies and The Post) are all incredible achievements in effectively giving quiet dramas about people talking in rooms the tension and stakes of great action movies.

It’s the obvious thing to say at this point that Spielberg is one of the few genuine masters of the cinematic language, but while most will point to his massive, populist movies of the 80s and 90s as the definitive examples of that, I would point to his spottier late career with its moralising and earnestness as where his most exhilarating work lies.

Michael Mann

I like that Michael Mann is uncompromising. He makes films which, based on premise and star power, should be commercial knockouts, but they almost never are. He has an incredibly clear sense of self, and like Nolan has a lot of frequently recurring tropes in his films. Michael Mann makes films about Men Making Tough Choices™. He builds detailed, intensely researched worlds and he loves crime!

There’s something special when a filmmaker can tread the same ground over and over again and never convey the same central message twice. Nearly all of Mann’s movies are gritty, neo-noir thrillers with an obsessive attention to detail, but all of them deal with a totally distinct existential question which runs through every element of the film, from meta casting to set design, to music, to Mann’s pioneering use of digital photography. I’m just obsessed!

Stephen Soderbergh

Soderbergh is a hill that I’m going to be climbing for quite some time, I think. This is a guy who is relentlessly prolific, taking on a ridiculous number of roles on set himself, and working so fast that he often churns out multiple films in a year. With limited funds and a determination to watch movies legally, my progress through Soderbergh’s filmography has been slow, but I’ve loved every one I’ve watched so far.

As much as I love the guy’s mastery of the heist movie, and the way he slips those story telling devices into a lot of his non-heist stories, I think what really gets me about Soderbergh is the way his filmmaking style always seems to feel tooled towards portraying his characters with as much empathy as possible. Often his films are about people working or learning to empower themselves and coming to terms with their own identities. Anyway, go watch Out of Sight! It’s a damn masterpiece!

Kathryn Bigelow

Kathryn Bigelow’s career is full of insane ups and downs, but as far as I’m concerned, despite the difficulties she’s had getting her movies made and seen, she has three unqualified masterworks: Point Break, Strange Days and The Hurt Locker. On this list of directors, Bigelow has perhaps the most stylistically varied body of work, but her best work, much like that of other directors that I find myself drawn to, is largely concerned with obsession. Her characters are deeply flawed, but unwaveringly driven. What I love is that despite her drastic genre change from pulpy action thriller to hyper-realistic docudrama, she’s managed to hold on to that fascination with obsession, and an acute, outsider’s understanding of masculinity and its fragility.

Kathryn Bigelow has had to adapt to keep working, but because of that, she’s managed to develop a voice and a personality that is versatile enough to withstand her career shifts, but strong enough that it hasn’t been chipped away at by the difficulties she’s faced as a woman in Hollywood.

So, what was the point of all this?

Honestly, there wasn’t one. This was a piece of self-indulgence that allowed me to navigate an idea over which I was obsessing for a little while. That being said, I think if I had read something along these lines a few years ago, I would have delved into the world of director-focused movie watching far sooner. It’s hard to quickly and easily define the role of a director in contemporary film, particularly due to the ever growing influence of studios, but in the world in which the above filmmakers operate, the director has final say over all the creative decisions involved in putting together a movie. For me, the most exciting films are the ones that clearly and effectively communicate a single creative voice. Sue me, I love auteurs.

#miami vice #auteurs #christopher nolan #the prestige #the coen brothers #inside llewyn davis #stephen spielberg #the post #michael mann #collateral #steven soderbergh #out of sight #kathryn bigelow #the hurt locker #filmmakers #Jewish film #wanky bullshit

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dreamdaddydutch · 5 years

Note

omg aaaa, thats great to hear! i genuinely love your writing and was wondering if you could write something for Dutch and the reader, where he’s robbing them at gunpoint but little does he know the reader is kinda into gunplay ;) and things go off from there! ty so much in advance! i hope you have an awesome day! ❤️🖤

Hey thank you for the request! I would like to apologise in advance as usually I try to keep things gender neutral unless specified or if it’s a specific idea I’ve had… But after finishing writing this one I realise i’ve done it as a fem reader. However I am more than happy to change a few bits to make it gender neutral or male if you would prefer! Where I’m writing very little for the fandom I don’t have a lot of time to write this kinda thing so when I’m on a roll I don’t stop and it was only when I stopped I realised what I’d done. I hope that’s okay! But again, please let me know if you’d like me to change it.

Word Count: 2,278 I Warnings: 18+, Gunplay

There was only one person left in the room now, the others had handed over their money, their belongings and scampered from the room. You tried to steady your quickened breath but found it near impossible, this wasn’t the first time you’d witnessed something like this, but this was different than usual…There was something about the man with the gun that made your knees go weak.

He watched as the others left then turned back to you, his eyes had met yours several times whilst robbing others, stealing glances and grinning clearly having no idea what he was doing to you. Finally he turned his attention to you, your back was up against a pew, knees pulled tightly into your chest.

You knew you should have followed suite with the others, but something stopped you, echoes of voices telling you how plain you were and how you always played it safe. Not today.

“Fine place to rob people,” you scoff.

The dark-haired man just stared at you, “God and I…. we don’t exactly get along,” he shrugged.

You found yourself sheepishly smirking a little, you knew you should have handed everything you had over and run for your life, but there was something about the way he held his gun, the way he looked at you. Something irresistible about the situation. You’d always cursed yourself for living a life too ordinary and not taking any risks, so now…

You cannot hide how you’re feeling inside. You know it’s ridiculous, how could it not be? In front of you was a stranger, a stranger who was threatening you with violence, a stranger making demands of you. A stranger with a gun… But oh that gun. The way he held it. So instead of complying, you find yourself blushing, legs tightened together.

The closer the stranger gets the faster your heart pounds inside your chest. There’s something in there, begging to get out and you swallow it down, but it hardly makes matters any different. He looms above you, his shadow casting you into darkness.

“My, my my…what are we to do with you?” He asks, one hand on his hips the other slowly turning the gun over in his hand.

Your eyes don’t leave his, staring upwards you say boldly, “You’re hear to rob me, so rob me…”

The man stops playing with his gun momentarily, “Well it’s hardly any fun if you just let me take your belongings now is it?” He crouches down as he speaks so that his knees are just touching you. One hand goes to his chin and strokes as if in thought.

“That’s what you did to the others,” as you speak you become aware of how long you’ve gone without blinking.

The man gives a shallow laugh, “Ohhh but you’re special aren’t you?”

For a moment you’re confused, no one has ever thought you special before, “I don’t think so,” you answer matter of factly.

The man leans in and whispers in your ear, his breath so hot that you shudder, “Would you like to be special?”

You swallow hard and bite your lower lip as he pulls away, raising his gun as he does so and pointing it at you. Staring down the barrel of a gun didn’t seem nearly as frightening as you’d imagine it would have been, no screaming, no long drawn out pain… If the worst was to happen and he killed you at least it would be instant and in the mean time you could at least have some fun.

“Yes…”

As he presses the cool barrel of the gun to your hot cheek, you let it out, a low, stifled moan. Your eyes flutter close for just a moment.

He lets out a chuckle, amused at your reaction.

“My my is this what you like?” He asked.

You gulp, hands tightening on your knees, inching up towards your thighs and there’s no point denying the heat that is building there.

You take the risk, nod, what’s the worst that can happen? You’re already being robbed at gunpoint, there’s no real going back from that.

“You can call me Sir.”

You nod, “Yes sir,” your thighs widen as Sir brings the gun slowly along one of your legs, you can barely feel it until it gets to your ankle and he slides it back up your leg under your skirts. Your knees part a little, but within seconds you’ve allowed them to fall either side of you.

“So keen,” he muses.

“I figure we don’t have long,” you say straight faced and in earnest. This moment is yours, you must have it before the law turn up.

But you want the gun back on your face, you want the cool metal dragging, you want it in your mouth pumping in and out slowly as you wrap your tongue round the barrel. You want him to see just how obedient you can be in the hope that he’ll allow you to wrap your tongue around other parts of him.

The gun reaches your hot thighs and you move your knees back up so you can squeeze it between your legs a little. He watches with a curious and dark fascination. He angles the gun slightly so that the end of the gun is touching your undergarments, he presses against you and moves the gun up and down, rubbing your clit through the material as he does. It’s fast, you haven’t kissed or slowly undressed, he has decided to go straight for his goal and for that you are grateful.

You raise yourself a little from the ground, trying to wiggle to garner a little more friction.

He chuckles, “Patience, I’ll be fucking you in no time but you must do as I say or else, I won’t.”

You pout at this and he pulls the gun away from between your legs, you want to cry out that it isn’t fair but you know this is all a part of his game.

Then the gun is pressed against the side of your face again and you can smell your scent on it, hot and heavy. The pressure is harder than before so that Sir is literally pushing your face away, turning your head. He snorts in disgust, your mouth hangs open, so desperate to show him what you’re willing to do for him. Like a bitch in heat you’re begging for him now, eyes close to tears but you remain silent apart from the small moans and whines which you are unable to control.

Your eyes are closed as he continues to push the gun against your cheek and then you feel it tracing the outline of your lips.

“Open,” he commands.

You obey, your lips parting with just a small string of spit left to keep them connected. The metal on your soft skin reminds you of blood, the taste alone is enough to make you want to gag but your thighs are damp with your juices, your chest is so tight and hot and so you take it, your tongue working as if you had his dick in your mouth.

“Open your eyes,” he says, and when you do he’s looking sultry, eyes hooded and his spare hand has worked at undoing his belt and jeans. You watched as he palms himself through the material and your eyes widen when he pulls his hard erection free. He’s thick, veiny, a little curved and slightly longer than other men you’ve been with.

You watch his face contort in pleasure as he touches himself, the head so red and swollen and for a moment you’re afraid he’ll finish himself off without fucking you first. But there’s a connection between you and him, you can feel it, as he continues to stroke himself matching the rhythm as his other hand pumps the gun slowly in and out of your mouth.

When he removes the gun you gasp for air, your legs sliding out onto the floor, still spread wide. You realise in this moment you resemble nothing more than a rag doll as your chest rises and falls and your hair sticks to your face you continue to watch him touch himself.

“Please,” you beg.

He continues to stroke himself not breaking eye contact but with his other hand he pushes your skirts up, using the gun to do so and exposing your soaked undergarments.

“Filthy girl,” he presses the gun against one thigh and then the other before pointing it between your legs, “Want me to take aim and fire my load inside of you there then?”

It’s ridiculous the way he’s talking, you know that, you know you should laugh at how prosperous and cheesy what he is saying is but none of these words come out. Instead you nod, “Take aim.”

He placed the gun down momentarily and pulls a knife out, “No time to undress,” is all he says before he leans forward, letting go of his leaking cock for a second.

He presses the tip of the knife against your undergarments, your breath hitches and you daren’t breathe out as he cuts the material. You can hear it tear, you know how close the sharp knife is to your most sensitive area and should you sneeze, well… You finally exhale when he places the knife down. It is replaced by the gun, he pushes it through the small tear in material and wiggles it round, ripping so there’s a larger hole. The second the gun touches you you moan and buck your hips a little involuntarily.

“Oh sweetheart if we had longer I’d fuck you good and proper with this,” he teases.

He pushes it in just a way that where you angle yourself and are so wet you feel the very tip enter you. Within a moment he’s withdrawn it and it’s back against your face, “Taste yourself.”

You do so and then he’s pulling you up, you don’t even know how it happens but suddenly you’re on all fours and he’s behind you lining himself up. You can feel your skirts all ruffled up on your back where he’s lifted them up there and the gun is pressed against your ass. He smacks you once hard across your left cheek with it just once making you cry out.

You feel his other hand grip your flesh tightly and then press the tip of his cock against your entrance. He slams into you in one quick fluid motion. Your eyes widen and your go to cry out but Sir is one step ahead, one of his hands has clamped around your mouth so you don’t alert anyone.

Your vision goes blurry as he fucks you, hard, fast and deep, slamming into you with such force on each thrust that you feel weak as unimaginable pleasure surges through you. After a minute he pulls you up so you’re on your knees arching backwards your back flush against his. His fingers are in your mouth and you’re sucking on them.

And then you feel the barrel once again, it’s pressed to your temple, “Are you enjoying this?” He asks.

“Yes.”

“What a filthy mind you must have,” he almost says it with venom.

He continues to pound into you, the barrel is hardly pressed hard against your flesh anymore, clearly his hands are trembling too much to enable him to keep up the charade.

One of your own hands goes between your legs but just as you’re about to touch yourself he swats your hand away. Before you have a chance to protest, he’s placed the gun on the floor and is using that hand to rub your clit, small circular motions and applying just the right amount of pressure. With the way he’s fucking you at the same time you know it won’t be long before you reach climax.

The orgasm you experience is different to any other you’ve had, it’s rushed and messy… His other hand is gripping you in a way you know will leave bruises and you’re unable to cry out. But feeling him tremble behind you as he shoots his seed deep inside you, as he squirms and twitches you feel yourself go over a few moments later as he pinches your clit softly.

He pulls out unceremoniously and you collapse to the floor, trying to regain your breath.

“Do not open your eyes understand?”

You nod, “Yes sir,” you lay panting on the floor and can feel him move around you, hear him as he sorts himself out. Buckles and zips and a purse full of coins.

He presses one long kiss to your lips, you can taste him for a second and he leaves saliva glistening on your lips as he pulls away.

When you opened your eyes after having recovered from what just happened you realised that you were alone. Sir had left the vicinity but had left you with most of your possessions. Only a bracelet was missing from your wrist, he’d left a note pinned to your coat ‘to remember you by.’

Being robbed at gun point was not something you would have ever wanted to experience and while you knew if it happened again it could be nothing like today, the memory made you pleasantly shudder.

The room was dark, several streams of light came through the windows where there were cracks in the blinds. You watched dust dance in the sunlight, a perfect stillness surrounded the room. Afraid to move, afraid to disturb the peace, you laid there on the floor, skirts spread around you and waited for someone to arrive.

#Dutch Van Der Linde #dutch x reader #dutch x fem reader #reader insert #mine #requests #lemon #nsft #gunplay #knifeplay #take me to church

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bubble-tea-bunny · 5 years

Text

a painted lady

[carol danvers x reader]

author’s note: i started watching iasip and it’s so funnyyy i love it so much. anyway, here’s something short and sweet for my girl carol. hope you enjoy <3

word count: 2,737

Spring announces its arrival with the melting of the snow and the crisp mornings which give way to a sunny afternoon and a gentle breeze not nearly as harsh as the winter gusts that makes cheeks flush and stings the sensitive skin. Warmer weather begins popping up on the forecast. The days grow longer. The flowers bloom. There are many telltale signs to the changing of the season, but this year, they’re joined by a rare spectacle that has become the main topic for news stations and strangers making small talk in the coffee shops or at bus stops.

Channel 2 is on mute, but Carol hasn’t bothered un-muting it or even looking at the screen, since the view outside the bedroom window is exactly the same. Butterflies flutter past the glass in great numbers, taking their time with the plants on the front lawn. The neighbors’ houses aren’t bound to be any different, nor would anywhere else in town really. Seeing butterflies isn’t out of the ordinary when spring is approaching, but what is out of the ordinary is just how many there are. They’re everywhere.

Carol catches the sight of orange wings with black bands on them, and speculates aloud. “Monarchs?” To an outside observer, it might appear as though she’s asking this to thin air.

“No. Painted ladies,” you respond from the ensuite bathroom. After you’ve combed the tangles out of your hair, you set the brush down and walk back into the bedroom. “A little smaller than monarchs.”

Carol hums in acknowledgment, and takes a few more seconds to study the bright swarm before she lets her hand drop and the curtain shifts back into place. She turns around and grins when she sees you across the room putting on your watch. You’re wearing your usual lip color today: a bold red shade that brings out your eyes. “You’re a painted lady.”

That color hadn’t always been a staple in your makeup routine, and Carol has the sneaking suspicion it had found its way there after she had mentioned how much she liked it on you the first time she saw you in it. You’d been so unsure of it then, but she genuinely liked it. While she had told you as much, she’s sure you also could tell by the sincerity in her voice and the earnestness on her face. Not that it’d be difficult for you pick up on what she is thinking. You read people like books and she’s your favorite novel, one you know from front cover to back.

Even at this distance, you notice her gaze lowering to your lips and you roll your eyes but you’re smiling too. “I guess I am.”

Carol had closed the gap between you as you made your comment, and she leans in close. You’re about to take a step back and tell her At least give it a minute! but it’s too late. She steals a kiss and laughs at your expression of playful incredulity.

“It hasn’t even dried down!” You reach up to wipe the bit of lipstick that had transferred to her mouth, then grab the compact on the dresser to check if you would have to re-apply any on yourself.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”

“That’s what you say every day.”

“Well, it’s true.” She shrugs matter-of-factly.

And you can never even fake being irritated for too long. Once you’ve confirmed that your lipstick is finally completely dry and transfer-proof, you kiss her. This one lasts a little longer, and she meets you with equal enthusiasm. She smells the lavender perfume you wear—every morning, two small spritz, in the soft spots behind your ears. By now, she has your routine memorized, but that’s no surprise because you’re her favorite book too.

The butterflies are immortalized in a small piece you create for your art class. You wave it off as nothing special, but just as with every other instance Carol has had the opportunity to see your finished art sitting on the easel, oils still setting and your familiar signature with its trademark loops and elaborate flourishes (“My signature is not that fancy!”) tucked away in a corner, she shakes her head and says, “It’s amazing.”

You stand side by side, surveying the canvas like you’re in a museum studying a painting on the wall. You’re mulling it over, considering her compliment and staring at the butterflies and she’s right, you think. It’s not so bad at all. You can’t help smiling because of how supportive she is, has been, and would continue to be, for it’s in her nature to pick you up when you’re down, and a warmth bubbles in your chest.

“Thanks.”

Carol’s watched your artistic endeavors from the sidelines, which she has been happy to do. She doesn’t have much to complain about when she has the front row. As such, when you come home one day and ask if she’d help you with your newest project, her brows raise at the unexpected request.

“I don’t know how much help I can be, but sure. What is it?”

“I need a model.”

Her eyes light up and her grin is big. “How should I pose? Maybe something dramatic?” She rests her wait on one foot and juts out her hip, setting her hand on it and angling her head slightly downward so as to look up at you in mock seduction. “Or maybe something fancier?” She stands back up straight and reaches over to grab an apple from the fruit bowl, then holds it up as if scrutinizing it closely, her other arm folded neatly behind her back.

You laugh at the various poses she strikes, and she breaks character quickly, laughing as well. “No, nothing like that, although that would be pretty fun.” You take a deep breath as you calm down. “I’ll have to get back to you on pose ideas. I’m not really sure what mood I’m trying to go for here. The prompt was really vague.”

“But that’s good right? More open avenues.” Carol sets the apple back down and leans back against the counter with crossed arms.

“It is, but it can be overwhelming too… The key is just to let the inspiration come to me. If I try too hard to come up with ideas, I might just get more frustrated than anything else…”

While waiting for this inspiration, you fill your time with sketches, thumbnail drawings of people in motion and positioned this way and that. You also draw Carol quite a bit. It’s your warmup for when you move onto the real piece, and if she hadn’t noticed whenever you stared before, she definitely does now, catching your eyes as you look up at her then back down at your sketchbook.

You draw her over and over again, pages of your sketchbook filled with her face at different angles and wearing various expressions. Even if the drawings are hasty, the care behind each is apparent. You ache to understand every detail, the natural sway of her hair as she turns her head whenever you call her name; the crinkle of the corners of her eyes when she flashes you a wide smile; the high points of her cheeks that catch the sunlight just right. And Carol peers over your shoulder at these pictures and she knows exactly what you are trying to do and she understands that you don’t just see with your eyes. You see with your hands.

One slow morning you’re doing it again, sketchbook in your lap and pencil in hand. Carol’s still laying down, drifting in and out, her body trying to cling to the last bits of sleep but she can’t tune out the scribbling and scrawling and the erasing. She’s not mad about it though; she probably shouldn’t be trying to sleep this late into the day anyway. So she rolls onto her side and props herself up on her elbow to look at you better—you’re sitting cross-legged facing her, which means she can’t see the page.

“How many times is this now?” she asks to break the silence.

You glance up at her but don’t answer immediately, your eyes tracing the line of her jaw, which you then replicate on the paper. “I dunno. Haven’t been keeping count. But I need to make sure I get everything… perfect…” You trail off, enamored with your task.

The fact is, you don’t draw many people. Portraits aren’t your forte, and that’s the main reason you’ve had to draw Carol as many times as you have before you take out your paints. Still, she can’t resist teasing. “You’ve never drawn me before this, have you?”

“No…” More scribbling.

“This isn’t quite playing out like those romance movies where the artist draws their partner all the time.” She tries to sound disappointed, but it falls apart the moment you look at her with a raised brow, and she cracks a grin.

“Since when have you wanted one of those storybook romances?” you shoot back, playing along.

“Hm…” She purses her lips pretends to be deep in thought. “Ever since you started drawing me I guess. I have to admit, it’s flattering, and you make me look good.”

You chuckle. “While by this point I’m confident I could draw you from memory, drawing from reference is always better.” You grow quiet again, presumably putting the finishing touches on your newest study, then set it off to the side as you turn your attention back to Carol. “And for the record, I only draw what I observe, so if anything, you make you look good, not me.”

Carol’s not one for bashfulness, but there’s something about your tone and how you look at her that prompts her to avert her gaze as she suddenly finds the white bedsheets very interesting. She only ever reacts like this to compliments when they come from you because you’re the artist and you can find the beauty in everything so when you say that you found it in her, well, that’s the highest honor, isn’t it?

Her eyes slide back up and you’re grinning because you know what your words can do to her. You want her to love herself like she loves you. Plus, you won’t lie: you like having this power. Shy Carol is a rare sight (and a sight, she would tell you, is reserved solely for you).

Deciding the space between you is too great, you crawl forward into Carol’s bubble to kiss her and she welcomes you because really, her bubble’s got enough space for two.

When you paint, you tie your hair into a bun and use paintbrushes to hold it in place. Carol won’t admit it but she really likes when you do that. You also change into clothes you don’t care about getting dirty, like a ragged and flimsy shirt with loose threads and a pair of sweatpants with holes. They’re well-used and paint-stained, much like the plastic storage cabinets in your art room.

The designated art room of the house is organized chaos, but there’s a certain charm to it. It’s the physical manifestation of all the ideas you have in your head, and Carol feels privileged that she’s able to take a peek into your mind via the drawings taped to the walls and the sketchbooks stacked on the desk. It’s the room with the largest windows and she’s not surprised you’d created more butterfly paintings since the first one; you can see them all the time.

She’s seeing them right now from the glass sliding door leading to the backyard. It’s dark out, but a few painted ladies remain exploring, not yet ready to turn in for the night. Her cup of coffee has been empty for a few minutes now, and her attention only shifts when she hears your footsteps padding through the hallway.

“You okay?”

It’s late and the darkness always seems to warrant lowered voices. Your enquiry is gentle and fatigued, and Carol turns to look at you rubbing your eyes, an attempt to fight off sleep but that’s a losing battle.

“Yeah,” she replies, speaking quietly in turn. You join her in staring outside. “There’s been so many of those butterflies.” While the painted ladies have been around for a few weeks now, she, as well as many others in town, still like to reiterate the peculiarity of the occasion. The subject hasn’t gotten old, and it might not anytime soon. It’s too special to gloss over that easily.

You hum and smile sightly, and Carol spots it in the reflection on the glass. Then you tell her you’re going to clean up and go to bed. You sound faraway, evidence of sleep finally taking over, and she grins as she nods okay. She kisses you quickly and says good night.

As for her, she lingers for a short while before following your lead, taking her time washing her mug and setting it on the drying rack where it would be ready for the next day. One of your sketchbooks is on the dining table, so she picks it up and walks to your art room to return it. The only light on in the house is that in the bedroom, visible through the crack at the bottom of the door, but she needs none to find her way to her destination.

The moonlight pouring in from the windows is enough to illuminate the canvas sitting on the easel. After Carol sets the sketchbook down with the others, she walks over to inspect your current work in progress. It’s not finished, but you’ve completed enough of it that she recognizes herself staring back, and she understands that you don’t make paintings; you make mirrors.

This is your final draft, she realizes. It’s the culmination of all your studies, in which you’ve enshrined the planes of her face on paper and on canvas and in your mind because your soul will live forever and you carry the thought of her like a rabbit’s foot tucked into your pocket.

One of your sketchbooks is open on the desk next to the easel, and she picks it up so she can see the page more clearly. It’s from the morning you’d drawn her while in bed, the picture she hadn’t seen at the time. This is the reference you’re using. She’d been wondering why you hadn’t yet gotten back to her about pose ideas, or announced that you’d be starting the final piece so she’d better clear her Saturday to be your model. She just assumed you wanted more time to practice and to settle upon the perfect pose for the mood you wanted.

And the perfect pose, it would seem, was no pose at all. Carol’s posture in the drawing and the painting is relaxed, half her body concealed by the bedsheets she’d struggled to untangle herself from that morning (they’d just been so comfortable). She’s propping herself up on her elbow and the hand of her other arm rests atop the blankets. Her eyes stare directly ahead, like she’s watching the viewer, and even she’s unable to deny the sense of intimacy this affords. It makes the viewer an active participant rather than a mere observer, which appears to be your goal—you want the viewer in your shoes. You want them to feel what you feel.

Carol’s eyes switch back and forth from the sketchbook to the canvas, comparing the details. The painting is still missing a date and signature, but they’re present in the drawing, at the bottom and off to the side so as to be non-invasive. There’s a title too, in quotation marks: My Favorite Place. Her chest blooms with warmth and her lips curve in a fond smile. You want the viewer to feel at home.

There’s a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach, an inexplicable mix of heaviness like there’s something there and an airiness like she’s about to sprout wings and lift off from the ground. Her heart wrenches hard enough she swears it might shatter—for you, always for you. She loves you with every bone in her body and perhaps the town’s influx of extraordinary visitors these last few weeks has been her doing because every time she thinks of you, she gets butterflies.

#captain marvel x reader #captain marvel imagine #carol danvers x reader #carol danvers imagine #captain marvel #carol danvers #marvel imagine #bubble-tea-bunny

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waywardsignns-moved · 4 years

Text

Making a Deal with the Devil

Drabble ft. Tiffany through the years

The young red head had been confused why the man was approaching her at all, admittedly nearly running him off as she had all the others that had tried to come for her for glory. Though it had been the earnest and almost hopeful expression on the man’s face that stopped Tiffany, opening the door to hear what he had to say to her … though that certainly didn’t mean she wasn’t ready to act, a fact she so happily informed him off. She didn’t trust him… she couldn’t trust him … and yet his words stopped her cold in her tracks.

“I heard that you were the person to come to for … certain problems … they said you were the perfect one to go to, to make a deal with the devil.”

Blinking almost stupidly at the man as he continued to talk and explain just what it was that he needed her particular brand of help with, it was genuinely shocking to the young woman to come to a full realization of just what it was all these people thought of her. To know that they thought her to be so truly evil that he would say such a thing… how could he say that!? She was only 16 years old!

Feeling her frustration build, she was entirely unaware of how her power built along with it, “I am not the devil! I’m just a girl!! I’m not evil!!!” practically screeching at the end, she moved to shove him back … and sent him on his knees howling in pain, scrambling to get up as soon as he was able to regain movement of his body … and ran for the town. Feeling her heart sink, Tiffany knew full well that this moment was when she would have to run … she would not survive the night should she stay.

•• some years later ••

Oh … oh this poor pathetic fool … looking down to the creature before her, Tiffany didn’t feel a single ounce of remorse for how the coward shook in fear, the sent of their own urine filling the space around them. She knew full well that they were reacting to how their fear was being fed by the very aura that surrounded her, could feel it in how the emotion radiated off of them. Quite frankly it made her want to take a bath … but watching it for now was fairly amusing for her, even if it was taking fuck knows how long to get to the person’s point.

She never had been a fan of stutterers, after all

“Alright alright, I’ve heard enough-” waving a hand through the air to get the person to stop, Tiffany took a moment to look them over, considering her options before a slow smile grew on her face … that had nothing to do with joy. “-now what is it you’re supposed to say?” she drawled, sauntering closer, wickedness radiating from her form.

“I-I want …. I want t-to make a deal with th-the devil…” stuttering through the words, the being was clearly still terrified beyond reason as Tiffany reached out, holding her hand for them to take.

“Well?” arching a brow, she waited … and as soon as they took her hand, she drug them closer, her smile one of pure evil intent as her eyes glowed a haunting violet color, “…And I will show you exactly what making a deal with the devil means, you poor unfortunate soul…” drawling the words, all it took was her placing a single hand on their head to push her way into their feeble mind, drawing out their worst and darkest fears, manipulating their greatest joys … and making them suffer for as long as she saw fit.

•• sometime during the black plague ••

There wasn’t a chance in hell that she cared about a single person other than herself … she was out for number one only, and she didn’t give a damn who fell in her path or who she walked over to make sure it stayed that way. Though … these were certainly special circumstances, and even she couldn’t deny that. Even she, a woman born of darkness and fear, had a heart, and to see a child suffer was nothing that she ever wanted to see… and she was lucky enough to run into another that was of the same mindset.

Hearing his terms and giving her own right back to him in return, she couldn’t help but look down to him as he knelt before the child, her posture and her expression radiating superiority … all to cover the lingering concern for the child that grew closer to death every moment that passed.

And to hear the acceptance of her terms that were offered? She couldn’t help but be just the slightest bit smug, reaching forward to clasp the hand that was offered. “Never thought I’d make a deal with the devil.” with the man speaking the words, Tiffany admittedly never thought that she would hear it come from this man’s mouth … and yet that certainly did nothing to stop how her smug smile grew all the more, a slow laugh building and spilling past her lips as she kept hold of his hand in a vaguely threatening gesture that she had no intentions of truly acting on.

“…Oh sweetheart … you have no idea …” drawling the words, she watched him work, finding herself almost a bit too amused over the words that had been spoken.

•• mid 1800′s ••

She hated this place … genuinely she did. No matter where she went in the world it was the same shit, different sob story … though this certainly was a much different set of circumstances than she had seen before. She always had been drawn to the chaos of things, and while others were off fighting their own wars … she had found one particular woman fighting something entirely different. Tiffany was no healer … she was not known to be honorable or kind or anything of the sort .. and yet there was simply something here and now that she couldn’t pull herself away from.

“Please … I beg of you-” hearing the woman’s pleas, Tiffany couldn’t help but sigh as she looked away, her arms crossing beneath her breasts as she mulled it over, thinking about what was needed again and again. She could easily walk away and never look back … quite frankly take her back a couple hundred years she would have without hesitation. So what was different now? What made her want to give into the hope that she saw in the woman’s eyes?

Hope … what a foolish and pointless emotion.

“Please… I’ll make a deal with the devil if I have to … just … all I ask is you help us…” Unable to help how Tiffany heaved a sigh at those particular words, staring off to the side at nothing in particular for a moment longer before she finally looked to the woman.

“..A deal with the devil is what you might need … because this is no job for any hero…” and the dark shit was what she was good at … and that was all she was good at, right?

•• current day ••

Same people as everywhere else … same acts of passion being begun, same moves being made as they were everywhere else, and as they had been through countless generations. Where was the pleasure in all of this … where was the fun? The thrills? She could find it nowhere despite the laughing and happy faces, the sexual vibes that practically radiated from 70% of the people there … and certainly the female that sauntered up to Tiffany’s side. There was no doubt that Tiffany let herself be caught in the web, letting herself go along with the game despite how robotic it was, despite how the liquor in her system did nothing to drown out the noise.

It was no surprise to Tiffany when she was led up a flight of stairs, no surprise to find the woman’s lips on hers as Tiffany sought to drown herself in the woman’s taste. To find pleasure in a world she could no longer find it in, in the hands of this woman. Stumbling their way through whatever room they had come to, Tiffany didnt’ waste no time in stripping her down, pushing her down none too gently on the bed that … well she hadn’t entirely been positive wouldn’t be a table, but whatever.

Hearing the woman’s husky laugh, Tiffany admittedly should have expected what came next. “Oooooooh baby, did I just sign a deal with a devil with that kiss?”

Feeling her blood run cold with the words, at first all Tiffany wanted to do was kill this woman on the spot for uttering words she had heard all her life … and yet taking a long look at her … she was simply too tired to try. Staring down at the woman for a long and lingering moment, she found it harder than it should be to command her own body to turn away … but once she did? She didn’t look back.

Not even when the woman began to call out for her, not even when the cursing began as Tiffany shut the door behind her. She didn’t care … she didn’t want this life anymore. She didn’t want to be what she was … she didn’t want to be a walking, talking embodiment of evil …

She honestly … didn’t know what she wanted… but it certainly wasn’t this

#drabble #long post

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the-reader-to-my-hero · 5 years

Text

It’s Raining Somewhere

Note: i think Candy and Rain are homonyms in Japanese? Feel free to correct me!

A sequel to Voice

Tears fell onto his phone screen, magnifying little splotches of the dead chat. Tomura grinded his teeth, trying to bite back the sob in his throat. He shook like porcelain china in an earthquake, rattling further and further toward the edge until finally he’ll—

“Hey…” a soft voice whispered into Tomura’s left ear, sending his muscles coiling and his body whirling around to face the intruder. Yet all he saw was empty space, and he tried to gulp down air, tried to make sense of the disembodied voice from beneath the howling winds of his emotions.

“Hey, hey ssssh it’s okay, it is me. It is Rex,” the voice soothed as it shifted around to stay in both earbuds. It sounded like...a girl. “It is okay...I am here. I am here.” Her Japanese, while not as obvious as some, had hints of an English speaking accent. Her words were slow and carefully thought out.

“R-r-rex?” Tomura warbled, before clapping his hand over his mouth like a child after saying a bad word. God. He sounded pathetic. He was pathetic. He was supposed to be the horrific prodigé of All for One himself, to be the most notorious villain this damn hero society had ever seen. And yet...yet here he was, blubbering like a weakling, to a person he’s never even met.

“Yeah, yeah it is me,” she replied rather breathlessly. “Sorry, I know I do not speak Japanese very well.” Was that why she didn’t talk before? “But I am...I am here for you I—“ there was a huff of breath, an awkward chuckle “I did not...think this through. I am sorry.” Another chuckle.

“Why are you apologizing?” Tomura snapped irritably while he tried to absorb her voice into his head. This was a bit of a game changer simply put. It shouldn’t have been, but could he really be blamed for assuming that his friend was a dude or some non binary blob? But Rex’s voice was soft, husky, sounding like she was relaxed even though her words were all over the place.

“Habit,” was her curt response. If Tomura could strain his ears he would. He listened to the muffled sound of footsteps that slowed with creaking wood like she was climbing stairs. There was a squeal of a door opening and the faint tell-tale slam that it shut with behind her. A twinge of jealousy shot through him. He would have been berated by Kurogiri for slamming the door.

It struck him she mentioned living all alone. He wondered if she was lonely. He decided that if she was it was her fault. That didn’t stop the fact Tomura was… feeling things. Things that scared him more than any pro-hero or plan going wrong; this warmth blossoming in his shivering body.

“Oh,” she remarked with insightful commentary “it is candy*”

“Candy??” he blurted, thrown both by the tone and the statement. What was candy? Why did she just realize whatever it is was candy? He didn’t hear the sound of something being opened, no creak of a door, or a box.

If Tomura hadn’t cranked up his volume he would have missed Rex muttering “candy...candy…” under her breath. Suddenly RaticalRex exclaimed: “Oh! Rain!” forcing her friend to rapidly turn his volume back down.

Tomura scoffed, “You say you speak japanese, but you can’t even distinguish candy and rain?” She was silent for a few long moments, making him wriggle impatiently. What little patience he had rapidly dried up in just a few seconds. “Seriously?? Are you that slow even understanding it?!”

He just got an awkward chuckle immediately in return. Her comprehension seemed fine… Or maybe she just thought he sounded funny or something. He already felt like a joke.

Just when it seemed she spontaneously dropped dead, Rex replied, “Well. Not….exactly.” There was the sound of light footsteps. What was she doing? “I—uhm…. I am not used to talking...out loud.” Another awkward half-laugh. “I can’t even speak in English, and that’s my first language.”

“That’s your fault. I told you to go outside…” Tomura hissed sourly.

“Mhm. You diiid” she recalled nonchalantly. She seemed completely unphased by his hostility, but that wasn’t anything new. Infact, it was like his biting remarks comforted her, her Japanese loosening up like muscle memory was kicking in. “Doesn’t mean I talk to strangers.”

“You’re talking to me,” it was an automatic response that flew right out of his mouth. There was a pregnant pause. Shigaraki sat back in his bed with held breath, the springs of his mattress creaking loudly.

“Heh! Yeah…” she hummed, before falling into silence. Tomura swore he heard the faint drumming of a downpour. “But you’re not…

really a stranger… a-at least not to me,” there was a quiver to her matter-of-fact tone, a subtle wavering of confidence. Did it really matter to her that much?

“Hm,” Tomura grunted, not knowing what to say to that. They’ve known each other for… about a year now? They didn’t even play games that often anymore, they just… talked. Talked about… things. Things like video games, movies, and trends. They had discussed anything and everything, like it was natural, like one of them wasn’t a dire wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing.

Tomura glanced at his bedroom door. He felt thrilled, like a kid sneaking out under their parent’s noses. Nothing had changed, but then again that wasn’t true was it? Rex spoke,something they (or she) had always made up excuses for not doing.

“Hey,” Rex called out of the blue, her voice so quiet it was barely above a husky whisper like she was afraid she’d scare him. Damn, he wasn’t some skittish rabbit. He was Shigaraki Tomura...not that she knew that.

“What,” he snipped, instinctively lifting his chin as he stared at his phone like she could feel his glare.

“Is it raining where you are?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

There was a faint snicker, and a shift of feet. “By looking out a window silly goose.”

Silly goose?? What were they 12???

Yet for whatever reason, Shigaraki still got to his feet with a displeased groan, and slunk toward the tightly drawn blackout curtain. He shuffled with the blinds, squinting at the light, before letting his eyes adjust. Lo and behold, it was pouring outside, water falling in thick sheets with the wind howling.

“Yeah it’s rainin’, why?” he muttered impatiently, staring out over flickering city lights as the lights bounced off the water. Huh. It was almost kind of pretty.

“I just… I-I like the rain,” her tone was a little shy, unsure, clearly hearing just how odd that sounded. “I live outside the city… so I can’t really see it that well but it's...its nice. I think so anyway.”

“Hm…” There was another pause, but Tomura waited, pressuring her to say something else. She was just spouting nonsense like she always did (her speaking voice practically an exact match to her texts), but she just… intrigued him.

Rex snorted “Y’know, I don’t get out all that much, gotta listen to a lot of ...noise when I’m working,” there was the faint sound of footsteps. “Nice to hear the rain for a change.”

“You’re fucking weird Rat,” Shigaraki flopped back onto his bed, starfishing out and staring up at the ceiling.

What followed was a genuine guffaw, an outburst that sounded like a bootleg Godzilla scream. Tomura’s eyes about popped out of his head at the bizarre sound, and the series of giggles that followed afterward. Before he could as so much as open his mouth, she had already opened hers.

“Sorry sorry it’s just!” she couldn’t finish her sentence before devolving back into senseless snickering. God, her laugh was weird, like someone with a faulty spray bottle.

“Why are you laughing at me? The fuck is so funny?!” Paranoia seeped into Decay_God’s skin like he was soaking in a bath.

“No no! I’’ not—I’m not laughing at you!” Rex tried desperately to reassure him. “It's just—what you said was true and it just—!” She laughed more, and Tomura sullenly folded his arms and stared at his decrepit ceiling, counting the seconds it took her to pull herself together. “It’s just something that you would say.”

“What is that suppose to mean?” Decay drawled with a curl to his lip.

“N-no! Thats not—“ she caught her breath “It’s just...Cool that you don’t treat me any different cause...I probably wasn’t what you were expecting.”

“Why? Cause you’re a girl?” she didn’t reply. Bingo. “I couldn’t give less of a fuck. You kick ass in the arena. You get results. That’s what matters to me, not if you have fucking tits.” He heard her snort, the sound muffled like she was covering her mouth. Tomura smirked a little, caught off just a tad how she laughed rather than strangled him.

‘It's just something you would say’. Did she think about him? How often? What other stuff did he “say”?

“Thanks Decay,” jesus was she trying to murder him with kindness?

“For what?”

“Being a good friend.” The gentle tone was so earnest, it single handedly shut down Tomura’s 2 working brain cells. Him??? A good friend? No. No that wasn’t right…

“Huh?” he grumbled, feeling his eyelids drooping. He was crashing, the exhaustion of the day and his breakdown creeping in slowly. Chances were he hallucinated that statement.

“Well, like, you’ve done a lot for me a-and… I dunno…” cue another nervous chuckle, “I’m glad...we’re friends.”

Tomura didn’t know what to say, how to reply, he never did. RaticalRex had thrown these curve balls at him before, but hearing the warmth in her voice was...a whole different ball game. In times like these, Tomura’s brain would shift gears, try to take control of this situation by throwing out whatever came to mind first.

“Why were Amaria’s tits so fucking big?” was what won the lottery for his emergency slot machine of words to say. He was too tired to even kick himself over the shitty

There was a beat of silence, 1, 2; “Amaria’s tits were one hundred percent fanservice and it’s bullshit. She was actually so well-written too! Someone clearly put a lot of work into her but hur dur someone thought that she looked better with double-d titties to slap around and—“

RaticalRex kept talking, audibly moving around with the clink! of dishes and running water following her. sounding like she was making dinner. Decay_God quickly sank into the purgatory between dreaming and waking realm, listening to the sounds someone he never met but felt like he knew.

He was so tired, that he thought he heard RaticalRex whisper a soft “Goodnight Tomura,” before he sank beneath the waves of sleep. Yet when he awoke 8 hours later, the words had not evaporated with the foggy dreams.

“Goodnight Decay, get some sleep” lied in the chat from around 6 hours ago. It was a dream. It had to be his subconscious and conscious intertwining xXDecay_GodXx and Shigaraki Tomura. It was just a dream.

...Right?

#bnha oc #ready player two #olive #raticalrex404 #omega404 #tomura shigaraki x reader #eventually shigaraki x oc #shigaraki tomura #bnha tomura #bnha shigaraki #mha tomura #mha shigaraki #character x oc #olive x tomura #olive x shigaraki #my art #mha oc #oc x character i guess

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