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#this is why you just start writing folks. you make enough bullet points and eventually you'll get some poetry out of it
billlydear · 1 year
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BASIC BIOLOGY - BILLY HARGROVE X READER (PART ONE) | PART TWO | PART THREE
word count: 4926 // masterlist | inbox (please request) | WIP list
Summary: you're paired with billy for a biology project. you only visit his house once, but it's enough for you to understand why he doesn't want you to come over again. when he starts showing up more and more in your life, you realize that it's basic biology: you were made for him, and he was made for you.
Contents: gn!reader (let me know if i made a mistake on that anywhere!), the climax is a scene that's based on 2.8 (?) where billy finds out that max is missing, and neil shoves him into the closet and slaps him. it's not word-for-word, it's about a different scenario, but it's the same fight. please don't read this if it'll trigger you. fluff, angst, eventual happy ending.
A/N: i hope that you enjoy this! it's been a brainworm of mine for a while, and i'm thrilled to have the first part finished. let me know what you think! I honestly think that this could just be read as a one-shot, so don't let the 'part one' deter you 😅
reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)
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To say that you’re not thrilled about your partner assignment for this biology project is an understatement. Billy Hargrove, said partner, is smoking out the window, and you’re not even sure if he’s heard that you’re partners yet. The most he gives you is a steady glance from across the room, but you think that he might have just felt you burning a hole in the side of his head with your imploring gaze. 
When you’re all released to plan with your partners he makes no move to stand. He only curls his lips tighter around the cigarette and sucks down smoke.
You bite the bullet and stand, clutching your assignment sheet in your hands that are growing sweaty with nerves.
“Hi,” You supply lamely, taking the seat next to him that’s been vacated by his previous seatmate, “I guess we’re partners, then.”
“I guess.” He drawls, tilting his head towards the window to let smoke billow from between his lips. “So, what, you wanna come to mine?”
You freeze. He’s more forward than you’d expected. “Uh,” You thumb through the notes you’d taken, the project rubric, “Like- like today? After school?”
“Yeah,” He hangs his arm out the window to snuff the cigarette out on the sil, “My folks won’t be home ‘til late. We’ll have time to work.”
“Okay,” You agree cautiously, glancing over at his empty rubric sheet, concerningly devoid of notes, “Uh, what’s your address?”
“I’ll just drive you,” He glances at the clock, showcasing three minutes to dismissal, “I’ve gotta take my stepsister home too, though, so we’ll pull into the middle school first.”
“Oh. Thank you,” You blink, fingers curling tight around your papers, “I’ll, uh- go get my stuff.”
You rush back to your seat to pack your bag with a strange haze over your thoughts. Everyone knew Billy, what he wanted, what he did. He was notoriously forward, and though he had been straight to the point, you hadn’t felt like... prey. Still, something tugged at the pit of your stomach, a warning to be careful.
The bell rings and you turn, finding a pair of worn boots in your line of sight. You glance up at the wearer, finding Billy already waiting for you.
“Uh, sorry,” You stammer, rushing to stand and subsequently hitting your head on the desk, “Fuck-!”
“Jesus,” Billy chuckles, and you’re worried you’ll analyze the sound and find components of mockery in it, “Careful.”
“It’s fine,” You hiss, but before you can rub at the spot you’d hit, Billy’s hand is there, mussing your hair and pushing you forwards, towards the door of the class. It’s something you’d do to your clumsy younger brother, and it feels odd coming from the chain smoking California kid everyone talks about.
“My stepsister’s out in twenty,” He informs you, a presence on your left as you walk out the front doors of the school, “So we’ve got, like, fifteen minutes to talk about our plan, if you want.”
“That’s good,” You hum, trailing after him to an impressively flashy car, “I think we should just draw everything. I know she said we could use clay, but that costs more, and I’ve already got colored pencils.”
“Fine by me,” He makes for the passenger door first, throwing it open and gesturing for you to get in, “You can put your bag in the back.”
When you’re seated, he shuts the door for you, and you’re oddly grateful for the gesture. It’s kind, and once more, out of character for the stereotypes you’ve heard about him. There’s a tense few seconds of silence in the camaro as he crosses to the other side, and your cheek finds its way between your teeth. But once he gets in and starts the car up, the stereo blares to life with a mixtape you’re sure he’s made himself.
“Sorry,” He grunts, reaching for the dial, “We can talk.”
“It’s fine,” You shake your head, “I don’t mind music.”
Though he cranks the dial back up, it’s not all the way, and the music becomes background noise to the shuffling of papers in your lap.
“So,” You start, thumbing through notes and ideas, “Like I said before, clay is difficult to work with, and messy, plus we’d have to model it and let it dry, and I think leaving clay unattended in my house would result in a disaster. And if we just draw it instead, they’re simple shapes and there’s nothing too complicated to draw, whereas clay would be harder to sculpt. And-”
“Okay, okay! Let’s just draw it,” Billy chuckles again, checking his rear-view mirrors for oncoming cars as he peels out of the parking lot, “If you wanna draw it then we’ll draw it.”
“Oh. Okay.” You sit back with a huff, unsure whether to be indignant because you were cut off or grateful that you seemed to be getting along.
“If you don’t have your colored pencils with you I’m sure my stepsister has some,” He theorizes, “But maybe you should ask her. If I ask her I’ll get one jammed into my eye.”
You let out a breathy laugh, “She’s, uh- spirited, then?”
“Mean-spirited.” Billy drawls, turning a bit harder than he should down a residential street on the way to the middle school, “She sucks.”
You’re sure that Billy wouldn’t be going out of his way to pick her up from school if she sucked. Or at least, if she sucked all the time. You’re well aware siblings have their feuds, but when she runs up to the car with a skateboard in her hands, you know he’s bluffing. If he really disliked her, she could have skated home. Now you know he’s softer than he lets on, but you keep it to yourself, smiling awkwardly up at her when she pulls open your door without looking first.
“Backseat, dipshit,” Billy scoffs, “I’ve got company.”
Company. It sounds like a dirty word, at least, coming from Billy who’s company typically consisted of girls spread eagle over the hood. But you reach for your seatbelt, “I can sit in the back, if you want?”
“No.” He pushes your hand away from the buckle, nudging it into your lap, “She’s younger and she’s annoying. Backseat, dipshit.”
With a huff she slams the door, and you’re suddenly not sure that you’ll avoid a colored pencil to the eye, either. Billy’s peeling out of the parking lot before she’s even buckled her seatbelt, and she sends him a nasty glare through the rearview mirror, one that you’re sure has the power to burn a hole through his head.
“So, uh,” You turn slightly in your seat, meeting eyes with the disgruntled middle schooler, “What’s your name?”
“Maxine.” Billy drawls, at the same time she snaps, “Max,”.
“Max?” You echo cautiously, and she snaps out of her glare at Billy to size you up. She seems relieved, almost taken aback that you’d listened to her instead of her stepbrother. She nods, and her lips curl in something that you’ll take as a smile, even if it’s barely perceptible.
“I think I’ve seen you around,” You muse, “You go to the arcade, right?”
“Yeah,” She nods, “You... you wear the green converse, right?”
“That’s me,” You laugh, raising your leg and lifting the hem of your pants to showcase the olive green sneakers.
“You know what shoes they wear?” Billy sneers from the front, glancing back at her through the mirror. 
Her face flushes as she ducks it down to stare at her lap, and you’re quick to swat gently at his shoulder, “Be nice!”
He looks at the hand you’d used bewilderedly, and Max bites back an amused smirk.
You’re nervous for a moment, afraid you’d cracked some ancient rift between the two, but Billy just clenches his jaw, shooting her another glare through the mirror and turning down a side street into a residential neighborhood.
Though he’s entered new territory, he doesn’t slow down. He’s going fast enough to pummel any unfortunate child playing in the street, and your stomach twists uneasily as he only speeds up.
“Billy,” Your voice is cautious, anxious even, “Can you... slow down? There’s too many kids here, it’s making me nervous.”
“I won’t hit anyone,” He assures you, though it does little to calm you, “I know what I’m doing.”
“Maybe you- don’t!” You tense as a toddler veers too close to the street where he’s playing with a ball on his front lawn, your heart racing as he wobbles safely back towards his house, “Please, Billy?”
He doesn’t grace you with a response, and honestly, you think you’re lucky he doesn’t snap at you like he does Max, but he eases up on the gas, finally within the speed limit as he curves through neighborhoods in pursuit of his own.
He pulls into their driveway with ease, and it makes you question how often his parents are gone. Surely their cars would take precedence over his in terms of parking, and you worry about him and Max being left alone more often than not. You’re so caught up in pondering the stability of their home life that you run straight into Billy’s back as he wrestles with his keys, stumbling backwards and apologizing bashfully.
“Clumsy,” He labels you, but it sounds more like a nickname than it does an insult. A mere observation, not a crack.
Max is off to her room before you even step over the threshold, and ignores Billy’s shouts of, “Maxine, we need colored pencils!”
She slams her door in response, and his shoulders slump.
“Shitbird.” He mutters, and an involuntary laugh slips from your lips. He looks back at you with a sly grin, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over a chair.
“Inventive,” You bend down to unlace your shoes, but Billy waves you off, so you keep them on. “I’ve never heard that one before.”
“We’ve got a whole list of ‘em,” He boasts, and you admire the rare mention of the two of them as a duo instead of opponents, “I think her favorite is dickwad.”
“Oh, that’s even better,” You chuckle, “I’ll have to use that.”
“She usually pairs it with another insult,” He speaks as though he’s describing the plating process of a budding young chef, “Something like insufferable or shit-for-brains really gives it an extra kick.”
You fall into a comfortable silence while he points you to his room and while the rest of the house you can see seems lifeless and sterile, his room is definitely his. Posters on the walls, laundry on the floor, a discarded shirt, a belt, and- boxers, that you only notice as he kicks them into the depths of his closet. You try not to think about them as he tosses his bag on his bed, prompting you to do the same. You rifle through your papers again, watching as he arms himself with a single pencil.
“We should plan out what we’re drawing first,” You propose, hesitant to sit on his bed before he tells you that’s where you’re working. It feels too personal, you’d almost rather sit on the floor.”
“Okay,” He nods, taking the plunge and sitting on the bed with his back against the wall, “So we’re drawing…”
“Mitosis,” You freeze, glancing up at him apprehensively through your lashes, “Have you been paying attention in class?”
“I’ve been trying to dump enough ashes onto the flowers outside the window to kill them,” His head jerks upwards to look at you instead of your bag as he drawls sarcastically, and the earring in his left ear dangles, shining in the light streaming in from the windows. You heave a sigh with raised eyebrows, ducking your head to continue searching through your bag.
“Here’s a diagram,” You offer up a recent class handout, one that you’re sure he’d used to spit his gum out in, “This isn’t the order the steps are in, though. So we have to reorder them, then draw them all and write about them.”
“There’s only four,” He reasons, “That won’t take too long.”
You neglect to break the news to him that you’re a perfectionist. 
“You start with prophase,” You point to the corresponding picture, “And I’ll do metaphase. Then whoever finishes first can divide the last two.”
He nods once in acknowledgement, “I’ll get colored pencils from Max later. She won’t stab me if I offer her pizza first.”
You can’t blame him for his apprehension towards the redhead. She’s definitely fiery, but you have a sneaking suspicion she’s equally as sweet. You suppose siblings are always at each other’s throats, and Billy and Max are no exception. You get to work sketching out your diagram, and after it's formed, without a ruler to make straight lines, you attempt your own freehand ones. They’re supposed to be arrows, pointing to each part of the drawing to label them, but they come out lopsided and shaky. 
Billy glances up from his sketch when eraser shavings fly over it, peering concernedly at you as you nearly rub a hole through the paper with your eraser.
“Jesus,” He frowns, looking at the array of gray shavings on his comforter, “Are you trying to bury us?”
“Sorry!” You groan, sweeping the shavings away into your palm and dropping them into the trash can that he’s got by his nightstand, “I can’t get these lines straight.”
“Uh,” Billy straightens from where he’d been slouched against the wall, lost in his drawing, “I don’t think I have a ruler..”
“I figured,” You rub your eraser clean of pencil lead, “It’s fine, I can just-”
“Here,” He cuts you off, lunging for a record sleeve that he’s got propped on a milk crate by the foot of his bed, “You can trace it with this.”
You freeze with the sleek, stiff sleeve in your hands.
“Are you sure?” You glance cautiously at him, ghosting your fingers over the edges, “I don’t want to ruin it.”
“Don't, then.” He snorts, “Just trace the edge, you won’t get pencil on it.”
You carefully line the pencil up with the side of the sleeve, peering around his room once before tracing the line you need, “Do you have a record player?”
“Not anymore,” He shakes his head, his curls bouncing, “It got- uh, broken when we moved.”
You hum sympathetically, “That sucks. Maybe you can find a cheap one somewhere, like a yard sale, or something.”
“Yeah, maybe,” He glances up at you with a soft smile, but you don’t catch it, too immersed in your task. He takes the time to admire you curiously, his eyes tracing your features just like you do the arrow.
“There,” You breathe, handing the sleeve back to him once all of your lines have been drawn, “That’s perfect.”
“Mine’s done too,” He decides, tipping his folder so that you can see his final product, “That okay?”
“Looks good,” You nod, scanning the page for any possible mistakes, “That’s... A lot of detail. Wow.”
He chuckles, and you think it’s sheepishly, “Yeah. I draw fast, I guess.”
“I guess,” You parrot, “Okay, next?”
“Actually,” He slides the paper off of his lap, glancing at the clock on his wall, “It’s getting kind of late. If we want pizza delivery, we should call in now, that way it gets here before we get too hungry.”
“Oh!” You stiffen slightly, “Uh, I’m- I’m sorry, I don’t think I have money for pizza.”
“It’s fine,” He waves you off, “I got it. You’re probably the only reason I’m gonna pass this class anyways, I think I owe you more than two slices.”
“Bio’s hard,” You laugh lightly, “I think I’m doing worse in math, though.”
He groans, running a hand down his face, “Fucking math.”
“This unit is so confusing,” You gush, hearing the crunch of tires on gravel from somewhere outside, “I just can’t wrap my head around-”
“Quiet.” Billy demands, eyes wide.
“Uh- what?” You glance nervously at him. You’d started to let your guard down, to forget the rumors about Billy Hargrove, the basketball player with a whole lot of fire inside of him. You’d been comfortable on his bed, chatting about classes and drawing diagrams. But now, when he hears voices outside, he snaps.
“-parked in the damn driveway,” One grumbles, a man’s voice that makes Billy shoot out of his seat when it’s paired with heavy, thumping footsteps across the walkway.
Billy lunges for you, and you don’t have time to scream in shock before his hand, rough and large, slams itself over your mouth.
“Get in the closet,” He hisses, brow dipped in a ferocious frown, “Now!”
There’s no other way to describe how he moves you than manhandling. He grabs you tight by the arm with his free hand, dragging you up and off of the bed as you try fighting him on instinct. When you hear the front door open your brain catches up to you, and you rush to help his progress, not hinder it, so you stand from where you’d been limp in his arms and dart into the closet.
He’s barely able to slide the door shut on you before a series of knocks fall heavy on his door. They’re the type of knocks you’d only ever heard before in cop shows, the FBI banging on people’s doors ready to tackle them to the ground.
You’re petrified in the closet, squeezed between a series of shelves behind your back and the door pressed to your front. Your breathing is erratic, short, sharp intakes of breath warming your face as they hit the door in front of you and bounce right back.
“Yeah?” You hear Billy swing his door open, the hinges squeaking, “Oh, hi, dad.”
“Hi.” The same voice from before sounds, and it sends a shiver down your spine from how icy it is, “There’s a blue camaro parked in my spot. Any idea who’s that is?”
The question is sarcastic, of course, but your nose wrinkles at how unnecessary it is, not to mention condescending.”
“It’s-” Billy tries, but his dad cuts him off.
“It had better not be my son’s, whom I have told repeatedly not to park in the driveway. My driveway.”
“I’m sorry, dad.” Billy keeps his voice low, guilty, and you think it sounds earnest enough. Your breathing is calmer now, not normal but not panicked. Sure, it’ll be awkward listening to Billy get lectured by his dad, but you’d survive.
“The next time this happens,” Billy’s dad’s voice grows eerily venomous, “I will get your old baseball bat from our garage, and I will smash that car to bits, you understand? I don’t give a damn if you bought it, you’re parking it on my property and that means you’ll do it by my rules.”
“Yes, sir.” Billy recites, and your heart sinks at how impersonal their relationship seems. You’d had your concerns from the beginning, because everything about Billy’s home life seemed to indicate that it wasn’t the most conventional, but you pity the boy for his dad’s lack of human decency.
“Move it. And where’s Maxine?”
“She’s in her room,” Billy supplies readily, “She’s doing homework. And I was just about to order us pizza.”
You breathe easier knowing it’s over. That the danger has passed, that you’ll be out of the stuffy closet soon. But only silence ensues, there’s no acknowledgement from Billy’s dad. Not until-
“What?”
“There’s no spaghetti left,” Billy tries reasoning, “We finished it all last night. I just thought that pizza was-”
“Son,” Billy’s dad spits, “It is 6:30. That is well past our family’s dinnertime. And you haven’t fed your sister?”
“I was about to grab the phone, dad! To call the pizza place, and order so that they wouldn’t be later than seven. I know it’s later than we usually eat, I just thought that she’d tell me if she was getting hungry! And she hasn’t,” Billy huffs, “She’s been quiet since we got home from school.”
“You thought she’d tell you? Billy, it’s not her responsibility to run this household when we’re away, it’s yours. I’ve told you that time and time again. And she’s been quiet since you got her home from school? How do you know she’s even in her room? Do you? Have you checked on her?”
“No, dad,” Billy argues, “I haven’t checked on her. I’ve been doing my own homework, and you’re the one that left, so I don’t know why it’s my fault that-!”
You thought things were fine. Sure, it was an argument, but that’s all it was. Until it wasn’t. Until the door in front of you shakes, nearly snaps, as a colossal thud rattles its frame. You’re not sure how you managed to stay quiet, the door warping in its hinges and pressing tight against your front. You slam a hand over your mouth to muffle your newly-frantic breathing, eyes shut tight as tears bead in their corners.
“How dare you,” You hear that voice, the rough, hateful voice of Billy’s dad, only inches away from you. But he’s speaking to you, not away from you, and you come to the terrible realization that he’s slammed Billy into the closet door. You’d managed to keep up hope, imagining his stereo thrown across the room towards your location, but there’s no denying now that it’s Billy’s weight against your front, only a flimsy closet door between you.
“How dare you insinuate that this is my fault? How dare you tell me that I can’t leave my own home, and how dare you shirk your responsibilities to your sister. As if you’re not a grown man,” Billy’s dad spits, “You are more than capable of looking after a 13-year-old girl. You just choose not to, and I don’t know how else to get it through your head, Billy! This is your family, she is your sister, and when we are gone, you are her parent! She needs food, she needs attention, she needs care, she’s not a goldfish. Why don’t you care about her, Billy? Why do you keep acting like you are not a part of this family?”
There’s a moment of silence where Billy tries thinking of something to say. You use it to answer the question for yourself: because he isn’t. This isn’t a family, you realize, your chest still compressed by Billy’s weight, this is a broken home. The three of them, Billy’s dad, his stepmom, and his stepsister, they’re a family, but Billy isn’t. Not with the way they treat him, not with the things they expect of him. It’s no wonder he doesn’t like his family, because they really aren’t that.
It’s too late. Billy takes too long to answer (which you think is unfair with such a loaded question), and your stomach churns as you hear a sharp smack. You’re unfortunately certain that it hasn’t been Billy’s father on the receiving end, but your biology partner himself.
Thankfully, Billy’s dad doesn’t hear your gasp. Or maybe he does, but he thinks it’s Billy’s. Nevertheless, you know Billy hears it, and you hope that he takes some comfort in the fact that you’re still there, that you’re not selling him out and revealing yourself to get yourself out.
“You are her brother.” Billy’s dad breaks the silence, and you try matching your haggard breathing to Billy’s so that he doesn’t hear you, “You are responsible for her. And if you disobey me again, you will be punished. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.” Billy mumbles, and you hate how thick his voice sounds in his throat.
“I’m sorry,” Billy’s dad drawls, and you have the sudden urge to leap from the closet and punch him in the teeth, “I couldn’t hear you. What did you say?”
“Yes.” Billy repeats, voice strong this time, “Sir.”
“Move your fucking car.” Billy’s dad spits, leaving him with another shove to Billy’s shoulders that pushes you even further back into the shelves. Your back is going to ache tomorrow, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not while Billy stands petrified against his closet door.
The heavy footsteps recede, and there’s two pairs, a much lighter one there now, too. But Billy hasn’t moved, and you come to the sickening realization that Billy’s stepmom had been lingering in the doorway the entire time. Or just outside it. You must not have heard her light footfalls when they were so consumed by her husband’s earth-shaking ones. She had to have known what Billy’s dad was doing to him, why wouldn’t she stop him? Why wouldn’t she say anything?
You don’t have time to prepare for the closet door flying open, and for a split second, you’re afraid it’s Billy’s dad. But it’s not, it’s Billy, and he meets your eye for only a split second. It’s enough for him to notice the withheld tears in your eyes, and for you to notice his own. He gulps, swallowing a lump in his throat, and his eyes drop to the floor. There’s a glaring red mark on his cheek, one that looks like it stings.
“Climb out the window,” He mumbles, gruff and secretive, “Take your bag, it’s under my bed. Wait for me down the road, I’ll drive you home.”
You don’t have it in you to argue with him, not when he looks like he’s about to burst into tears. You creep past the open door carefully, even though the footsteps have receded, both pairs, down the hallway and into a different room. You don’t have a difficult time climbing out the window, and you shoulder your backpack after your feet are firmly on the ground. 
Billy shuts his window behind you, and you’re alone now, in the darkness.
The side of their house is somewhat overgrown, twigs and leaves snapping beneath your shoes as you trek off-property. You follow the path of the street until you’ve passed other houses, and don’t seem to be lingering near theirs. Then the roar of Billy’s car travels your way, and his headlights bathe your stiff form.
He’s gripping the wheel tightly as you open the door, and he doesn’t look at you as you get in. It’s awkward, tense, and you have to sit on your hands to stop yourself from fidgeting with them and setting him off.
The drive is quiet; he’s shut off his radio. He drives fast, and this time you don’t have the heart to stop him. You’re still worried, but you think you’ve figured out why he drives fast, and you’re not sure you blame him for it anymore. He’s controlling what he can, because he can’t control most things.
You’re only five minutes out from his place when you first speak up, clearing your throat experimentally beforehand, “Do you... wanna talk about it?”
You glance over at him subtly, watching his knuckles turn white on the wheel. 
“No.”
“Okay,” You breathe, and bite your tongue to stop from speaking for the rest of the ride.
He pulls into your driveway with a rough turn, and you’re sure he only knows which house is yours because he’d seen you getting the mail two weeks ago while he was cruising through your neighborhood. On a different occasion, you’d commend him for his memory, but it seems inappropriate now.
You unbuckle your seatbelt without prompting, careful not to annoy him. But you can’t stop yourself, before you shut the door you peer down at him. Of course, he doesn’t look at you.
“Billy,” You start, carefully, cautiously, “You don’t have to talk to me about it. Or- or anyone. But if you ever need a place to stay, a safe place for the night… you can come here.”
You think he’s going to yank the door shut himself and speed off. And you wouldn’t blame him, either. But to your surprise, his eyes shift, no longer on the road ahead but on you. He glances at you through the mirror, still too timid to meet your eyes unobscured, but his gaze shatters you. It’s broken itself, and inside of his pretty blue irises is a child screaming for help. Pain pools in his pupils and threatens to drip down his cheeks in tears you wish you could wipe away before they even start flowing. 
“I mean it,” You promise, “Anytime.”
He holds your gaze, lips parting to whisper shakily, “Thank you.”
You leave him with a soft smile, throwing your bag over your shoulder lightly. You shut the door and watch him leave, much slower and more controlled than when he’d peeled in. When he’s completely out of sight you turn with a sigh, trekking up your front steps and fumbling for your keys. It takes you a minute to get in the door because of how distracted you are, and in your frustration you slump against the wood, remembering the feeling of Billy’s closet door nearly choking you.
You’re shaken up, you can’t imagine how Billy feels. And there’s no telling how often his dad does this, after all, it barely took anything to set him off. You hope he’ll be okay for the night, and for his own safety you wish he’d stayed with you. You wish he’d parked his car on your driveway, without fear of anyone smashing it, and settled on your couch for the night. But he didn’t, and when you crawl into your bed that night, you hope he’s safe in his own.
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reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)
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sonickitty · 3 years
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hey so if someone thought they might possibly be slightly less cis than they assumed would you have any resources you'd wanna point them to, asking for a friend, the friend is me
Hello Friend! It would be my absolute pleasure to point you in a less than cis direction! First off, I’m going to get a little sappy and say your own thoughts and feelings are a very valuable resource! But I also know that’s probably not what you mean, SO - let me try and list out a few things that helped me as I was questioning my gender, and things that continue to help me to this day. 
1. The first thing I did was a lot of thinking about the stories and characters that meant a lot to me throughout my life - especially characters I modeled myself after. What was it about them that I liked, and why were so many of them men? Why did stories about transformation scare/fascinate me so much? Why was I obsessed with ladies in disguise as men when I was a kid? Sometimes your questions are your answers. 
2. Get exposure to trans and gender non-conforming people. Youtube, bloggers, your friends, anyone. Put yourself in the same physical or virtual space and see how you feel there. Are you comfortable? Does it feel right? 
3. Talk to trans and GNC people. I volunteer myself! Just being able to have conversations with other people who were somewhere outside the gender binary really helped me contextualize myself. 
4. I’m sorry I don’t have like, specific links apparently. I feel like there must have been articles that I read, but I’ve lost track of all of them. I remember liking Jack Monroe’s quote about still “being on the girl’s team,” which made me feel confident about supporting and celebrating women while stepping away from them. 
5. I’m trying to think of books I read early in my transition, but damn, I have to admit...there was a lot of Captain America fanfic. I also read Gender Trouble, Orlando, Les Guerilleres, Zami: A New Spelling of My Name, The History of Sexuality and then a lot of Drarry fanfic. I do remember reading a lot about women and lesbians as a sort of cat-in-the-hat “find out what it’s not” technique. I read about lesbians and queer women and knew I wasn’t one. (Years later, I read Maurice and freaked out like a kitten seeing its reflection for the first time.)
6. I wasn’t kidding about you being your own resource. This thought came from you. Your brain, filled with all the thoughts and experiences you’ve processed, came up with this idea of who you might be. So while you’re collecting resources and thoughts from other people, check in with yourself and see how those new ingredients make you taste. 
7. Sorry for suggesting you taste yourself??? But what I mean is - the way you think of yourself is significant on its own. Your questions have their own value, and simply asking them is significant. In other words that I found helpful early in my transition, “cis people don’t just sit around wondering if they’re cis.” 
8. I’m not sure the above is true? I think it’s good and constructive to question yourself, even if you end up back where you started. Cis people should feel free to question their genders and still wind up cis. But the difference, as far as I can tell, is something like this: 
My sibling and I go on a lot of walks together and sometimes we hear frogs or birds in the woods. I hear the sound, but I don’t need to know what it is. It melts into my atmosphere, and that is enough for me because I find the walk itself more edifying that stopping to investigate. My sibling always stops, and says “I think that’s a bramble-throated burbler!” or somesuch, and then creeps off in the direction of the sound to get a closer look. 
I think trans people are like my sibling. Cis people can have these thoughts in a way that melts into their existing realities and identities without disturbing their foundations. Trans people have to know. We have to wander off into the woods and name what sings to us. 
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ssa-babygirl · 4 years
Text
Out of My League [Part 1]
Pairing: High school!Spencer Reid x Popular!Reader
Word count: 3.7k (god i don’t shut up do i)
Summary: Spencer begins tutoring you in chemistry, and the two of you bond (I would say no pun intended but fuck it that was GOOD so I’ll say pun intended)
Warning(s): Mentions of bullying, mental illness, some swearing, I made one joke about herpes??? sorry if thats a sore spot with anyone, light angst and pining, Reader POV
Author’s Note: Here it is, folks!! The first official part! I’ so grateful for all the feedback I got on the prologue, I’m glad y’all are liking it, I hope you like this part just as much!! Next part I’m gonna have some baby spencer, and by that I mean whole ass adult spencer that just looks baby
[Previous Part] [Series Masterlist]
You absolutely despised chemistry. It’s boring. It’s simultaneously stupid and ridiculously complicated. You weren’t dumb, you were a decent student in all your other classes, but science was never your strong suit. You preferred literature over litmus paper any day. Unfortunately, your failing grade was bringing down your entire GPA, just below the requirement for you to stay on the cheerleading squad. Your coach recommended you get a tutor, or else you were off the team. So you went to the library to see the peer tutoring program, and all of them were booked. The next best thing would be the kid genius in your class. He was probably a better first choice, honestly, but you figured he’d be booked with other students too.
He wasn’t like other kids in your class, not just because he actually cared and was a good student, he was also twelve years old. The kid was a prodigy. He was bullied a lot because of this because no one really understood him. That’s probably why he looked so terrified when you approached him after class one day.
“Hey, Spencer!”
His eyes grew wide as he stared back at you, saying nothing.
“I was just wondering if you were available for tutoring?”
“Oh, uh, um, y-yeah, in chemistry?”
“Yeah, what are your rates like? Like say we do an hour every other day, how much would that be?”
“Oh! N-no charge.”
“Really?”
“The first couple of sessions can be a trial run, I don’t want your money if you’re not benefiting from it.”
That made you smile, this kid was so nice and you just wished that people actually cared about that instead of the dumb shit they bullied him for. Sure, he was skinny and short and dorky and you know, a literal twelve-year-old boy, but if someone would take time to know him, they’d see he’s a good kid.
“That’s sweet of you, but I don’t wanna waste your time if you have other students.”
“I don’t, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Great! Are you free after school today?”
He nodded and avoided all eye contact before scurrying out of the room to his next class.
~~~
You met up later in the library. You greeted each other politely with simple hi’s and hey’s and nothing more. Then it was time to pour over your books for an hour and try to force the puzzle pieces into place and hope something finally clicked. Balancing molecular equations physically hurt. Just when you thought you got it all right, Spencer reminded you that you still had to balance the oxygen, which was always bonded with something else, which threw off the whole equation. Every time you made a mistake you just let out a groan and set your head on the table.
“It’s a lot of math, a lot of people have a hard time with it, don’t feel bad.”
“I’m so fucking stupid.”
“You’re not! It’s an easy mistake.”
“You don’t make mistakes like that.”
“That’s because I’ve been taking advanced math classes for the past two years, I’m good at this stuff.”
“You’re good at everything, you're a literal genius.”
“There are people who aren’t geniuses who are good at this sort of thing, just look at Johnny Abrams in our class. He answers every question Mrs. Gustin asks and I once saw him put his backpack on his car’s roof and start driving ‘cuz he forgot it was there. He’s just been practicing. That’s why we’re here, right?”
He always reassured you. Always told you that you weren’t stupid. You weren’t dumb. He always smiled when you got questions right and told you you were doing a good job. When your hour was up, you said goodbye and went home. 
Spencer’s mini lectures aside, most of your sessions were sparse in the conversation department. The first time he went off on a side about some chemistry facts, you couldn’t keep up. You just sat there, jaw hanging while he went into detail about saponification, which wasn’t even in this lesson.
“Sorry, I’m rambling.”
“Did we learn that in class? Cuz if we did, I’m screwed.”
“No, not yet at least.”
“How do you just… know that?”
Spencer avoided your eyes once again, something he did more than spouting random facts, “I read a lot.”
That’s how it happened the first time. All it took was you asking one question about different types of reactions for him to launch into another spiel. You figured you’d have to know it at some point, so you started writing down whatever you could catch from his fast-paced speech, taking notes in bullet points.
“And that-- Oh. Y-You don’t need to do that, that’s not even on the curriculum.”
“Well, I gotta keep up with you somehow, right?” You glanced up from your page and flashed an almost challenging smirk as you saw him stifle a smile as he avoided all eye contact with you, as per usual. He then cleared his throat and got back to the actually assigned chapter.
The more he went off on tangents, the more he realized you weren’t stopping him. He was actually able to make chemistry sound interesting to you, which is strange, but it was easier to understand through how he explained it all. Something told you that he wasn’t used to having someone listen to what he said, because he just lit up when he talked about this stuff. He was clearly passionate about it, so why would you make him feel bad about it? He always apologized, but you always reassured him it was no big deal. 
You didn’t know it at the time, but the kid was falling hard. This pretty, older girl was paying attention to him and didn’t think he was annoying? The bar may have been on the floor for young Spencer, but you were perfect to him. Eventually, he was able to look you in the eyes when you spoke to one another, he even smiled at you when you joked with him. That was another thing: you joked with one another now. You both warmed up to one another as your sessions continued. You said hi to each other in the hallways, you ruffled his hair as a greeting, he accepted your high-five requests every time you got something right.
You still didn’t talk outside of class much, which is why he was caught so far off guard by you calling his name from across the cafeteria as you approached his table.
“Hey, dude! Is it cool if we squeeze in an extra session today? I got a test tomorrow.”
“Y-Yeah, no problem, but, uh, it’s Thursday. Don’t you have practice after school?”
You did. And you had to be there because you had a competition this weekend.
“Yeah, I was wondering if we could meet after?”
“When does it end?”
“Five.”
“Library closes at four.”
“I know, but would it be too much of a hassle if I just… Pick you up tonight and we head back to my house to study?”
You could physically see his brain shut down in his eyes. After he realized he needed to respond, he picked his jaw up off the floor and gulped hard.
“Or you can stay after and hang out at practice and I can just drive you home?”
“Y-Yeah, um, yeah, tha-that works, I can, uh, yeah, we can do that.”
Spencer brought his books and homework and tried his hardest to not make it obvious he was staring at you while you danced. You looked like you were having so much fun and he loved seeing you happy and smiling with your friends like that, it was hard for him to look away and focus long enough to read a sentence, which is saying something, considering it does not take him long to read a sentence. 
After practice wrapped up, you told him to go wait by your car while you changed out of your uniform. The girls in the locker room were talking just as loudly as always, only this time, it was about something you actually cared about hearing.
“I mean, really, what was that little creep doing watching us today?” You heard one girl sneer.
“So fucking gross, I don’t wanna know where his prepubescent head was.” Another girl laughed.
You had to step in. You had to say something.
“I’m his ride home. He’s my chemistry tutor and I have a test tomorrow, so back off the kid, he didn’t do shit to you anyway.”
The squad learned to watch their mouths around you after that.
~~~
The neon glow of the golden arches shone through your car’s windows as you pulled into the McDonald’s drive-thru line.
“This isn’t your house,” noted Spencer, sounding confused.
You grinned, “Oh, shit… no way! Wow! I’m so glad my tutor is a genius! I would have never guessed this was not my family home!”
He let himself laugh for a moment, “Okay, okay, fine. Why are we here?”
“Uh… to get food? Duh.”
“But what about your food at home?”
“My mom’s visiting my dad, he works in D.C., and I haven’t gotten a chance to go grocery shopping this week, so I can’t cook for you. What do you want?”
“You don’t have to get me anything.”
“No, I insist, it’s almost dinner time. Lemme get you something. As a thank you for squeezing in an extra cramming sesh?”
“It’s fine! Really.”
“Hey, Reid, come on,” you attempt to stifle a stupid giggle as you gesture to the rather large window displaying the playroom inside, “you are a guest in my home!”
Spencer shakes his head and chuckles, but doesn’t dare let you think he found you funny, “I’ll have chicken nuggets.”
“Happy meal?”
He tried to look offended at your clarification, but he quickly dropped the facade, “Yes. Extra fries, please.”
“Of course, buddy.” You pulled up further to the ordering station, catching a glimpse at the menu and the ads they had displayed on it, “Oh no way! They have Strawberry Shortcake toys! I used to collect those when I was a kid!”
Spencer saw the look on your face and couldn’t help but smile at your childlike excitement, “Do you want my happy meal toy?”
You bit your lip and hesitated before throwing all shame to the wind and saying yes. Because it was Spencer. He got excited over chemistry, he had no right to judge you on your old Strawberry Shortcake doll collection.
After you got your food, you drove back to your house, and you ate together at your kitchen island while Spencer quizzed you on the last chapter. He had asked you eighteen questions so far, and you had answered all of them correctly. 
“Okay, this last one is for the Strawberry Shortcake--”
“Her name is Orange Blossom.”
“Whatever, this last one is for the Orange Blossom toy: Which type of reaction is represented by this equation?” He showed you his notebook where he had written a molecular equation.
“Substitution.”
“Correct! Now balance it.”
Your shoulders slouched as the pride drained from your body.
“Please don’t make me.”
“This is going to be on the test, Y/N, you have to know it.”
“What’s one wrong question, really?”
“You and I both know she’s not going to put just one balancing question on the test.”
“Fine.” You grumbled, grabbing a pencil and sliding his notebook closer to you. You worked it out after a few minutes, but everything looked right, and judging by Spencer’s proud grin, everything was.
He reached for the figurine, still in the plastic bag, and handed it to you, “You’re gonna do great tomorrow, Y/N.”
You took Orange Blossom from his hands and danced around the kitchen with it, overwhelmed with the sudden feeling of confidence you gained from nailing this practice session. You heard Spencer’s small laugh from behind you, causing you to turn around and face the boy as he lovingly mocked you.
Studying at your place became a regular thing after that, even when your mom was home. She loved him. She always invited him for dinner if she was home. He rarely took her up on the offer, but it was nice having him around the house with you. Study sessions turned into just plain hanging out. You spent more time bonding over Doctor Who than chemistry some nights, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
~~~
When Alexa Lisben invited him to meet her at the football field you were skeptical. You had good reason to be. She was never very nice to you or Spencer. You were able to be civil with her for the sake of the cheerleading squad, but something about her just didn’t sit right with you. You tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen. He seemed offended at the notion that Alexa would do something horrible to him. How dare you imply that the only reason someone would be interested in him would be to pull a fucked up prank?
“I’m not like you, Y/N, I don’t have a line of people waiting around for a date, no one’s ever had a crush on me before, and-and now that someone other than you is being nice to me, you’re telling me that they have some sort of ulterior motive?”
“Spencer. I know these girls, I’ve seen the guys they go for--”
“And I’m not like them?”
“No! You’re a sweet kid, you’re nothing like those guys and they’re gonna take advantage of that.”
“I really wish everyone would stop saying I’m just a kid!”
“You’re not! That came out wrong--”
“Listen, Y/N, I’m going whether you want me to or not, so if you really want to keep babying me, by all means, stay after and wait with me.”
“I don’t wanna baby you!”
“So stop it!”
You didn’t want to fight with him anymore, you weren’t his mother. “Ok, Spencer, fine. I’m sorry. You should go. How about you meet me in the library after and you can tell me all about it over McDonald’s? My treat.”
He warmed up and agreed.
So you waited in the library until four, and then you started to get worried. You went to grab something from your gym locker before you left to look for him and heard some girls from the squad gossiping about “the little dork.” Your blood started to boil as you heard the way they talked about Spencer. Your jaw only clenched harder as you recognized one of the girls’ voices as Alexa Lisben’s.
You poked your head around the lockers that divided the aisles and tried to manage a calm voice, “Hey Alexa? Spencer actually said he was meeting up with you today, do you know where he is?”
She just laughed and said, “I can’t believe you actually care about that loser.”
“He’s my friend.” All attempts to remain level-headed were tossed aside, “Where the fuck is he, what did you do to him?”
You could feel yourself starting to cry. It’s your fault, you weren’t there, you tried to warn him, but now you don’t know where he is or what he’s thinking or--
“Check the field.”
You sprinted out to the football field and saw him stripped down to his briefs, blindfolded, and tied to a goal post. You could kill Alexa. You actually considered turning right around and unleashing hell on that locker room, but your friend needed help. He was crying so hard he didn’t hear you coming until you called his name. You immediately went to untie him and grab his clothes from the fence beside him.
“You were right.” He sniffled, “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, I’m not mad, I’m sorry, I should have been there, I could have helped you--”
“No, you couldn’t. There were too many people.”
“How many were there? Who did this?”
“Y/N, please--”
“No, Spencer, tell me what happened.”
“I don’t wanna talk about it!”
You know when to stop, so you just shut your mouth while he got dressed, “Get in the car, I’m taking you home.”
You didn’t say a word to him as he buckled his seatbelt and you could tell he appreciated it. You just drove to McDonald’s and got him his usual. You parked in the parking lot and ate your food in almost silence, save for the radio in the background.
“You don’t have to tell me what exactly happened, you could pretend none of this ever happened, I won’t mind, it’s okay, but I just need you to know, Spencer, say the word and she’s dead. I have so much dirt on her, you have no idea, I can destroy her.”
“Don’t.”
“Okay, I won’t. At least give me names. I will personally make sure none of those boys ever get a date again.”
“Y/N, please.”
“I’m serious, I’ll tell everyone they have herpes.”
“I know you are and that’s what scares me, please don’t, I don’t wanna make things worse.”
You decide to drop it because if he doesn’t wanna talk about it, he needs a distraction.
After you finish your food, you ask him “Your house or mine?”
“Yours. Please.”
You drove back to your house and got yourselves set up on the couch in front of the TV, turning on an episode of Doctor Who that you had recorded. You made him popcorn as he curled up on your couch, clutching a pillow. You were mostly quiet for the rest of the night, but when you did talk, it was to ask him a question about the show or if any of the science was accurate. It was the best you could do to keep him mind off things. Eventually, he fell asleep and you felt too bad to wake him. He got up by himself around midnight, jolting awake as if from a nightmare, and considering how the last few hours had been for him, it probably was one.
“Hey, bud, I’m here, it’s me.” You didn’t touch him, knowing he got overstimulated sometimes when he got really stressed, but he felt around for you on the couch next to him, needing to know you were really there this time. You patted his hand when it reached across the cushion for you.
“What time is it?”
“Way too late for you to be here, let’s get you home.”
He nodded, slowly rising to his feet and looking for his backpack, which you reminded him he had left in the car. Your hand hovered above his head for a moment before he lazily drifted into you as he walked. You took this as an okay to touch him, so you ruffled his hair before loosely slinging an arm around his shoulders as you guided him to your car.
The drive back to Spencer’s wasn’t too long, thankfully, because you were sure his parents would be furious with him and the kid’s been through enough today. You wanted to take all the heat without making them think you kidnapped him. The lights were still on when you pulled into the driveway. They were probably worried sick about him.
When you knocked on the door, a frantic woman with short blonde hair opened it. When she saw Spencer, she grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him into the house, never breaking eye contact with you.
“Who are you? What are you doing with my son?”
“He didn’t do anything wrong, Mrs. Reid. I’m Y/N, he’s been tutoring me.”
“How do you know me? Spencer, what did you tell her?” She looked at him and back at you, “Get off my property and stay away from us!”
“Mom, she’s a fr--”
“Go up to your room, don’t come out.” She didn’t sound like an angry parent reprimanding her son, she sounded almost... scared.
A million alarms were going off in your head, and you needed to try to get through to her, “Ma’am, I’m sorry, he was helping me study and we lost track of time, it’s not his fault.”
“I don’t care, I don’t know you, get off my property!”
You decided it was best not to argue, so you hurried back to your car and drove home as quickly as possible so you could shower and go to bed and pray that Spencer would be okay tonight.
~~~
Your phone rang early the next morning. You rolled out of bed to answer it, sprinting to the hall table to take it off the stand. Checking the caller ID, you realized it was from a number you didn’t recognize. Answering it, you heard Spencer’s voice on the other side.
“Hello, this is Spencer, is Y/N home?”
“Yes, you woke me up on a Saturday morning, where else am I gonna be, kid?” Your voice was scratchy as you struggled to fight off the sleep still clawing at your throat.
“Sorry about that. I was just calling to apologize for last night.”
“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”
“N-No, I’m not in trouble, I just wanted to explain why my mother was all--”
“She was worried, I get it.”
“N- she… My mother is a paranoid schizophrenic, she doesn’t do well with strangers. She doesn’t even remember what she said to you last night, she was having one of her episodes. She was just confused.”
You didn’t know how to respond. You were so shocked by his sudden revelations, you just stayed silent. You didn’t want him to think he scared you, so you had to say something. And apparently, that something was “Oh.”
“She wanted to apologize, but she’s just a bit embarrassed, so I called for her.”
“N-No, it’s okay, I…” It was suddenly so hard to say you understood because while it made sense to you, you wouldn’t fully understand what he or his mom was going through, you didn’t understand it, but Spencer didn’t seem to mind. He was just glad it didn’t bother you. After the events of yesterday, he couldn’t afford to lose you.
“Tell her I’m sorry I scared her.”
“Will do. She said you could come over so she could apologize personally and meet her if you want.”
“I’d love to. And Spence?”
You felt him take pause. You never called him that before, “Yeah?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t wanna scare you.”
“You wouldn’t scare me, dude, you can tell me anything.”
“Really?”
“I promise. I’ll see you Monday?”
Spencer nodded, but you couldn’t see him, so he spoke up through the lump in his throat, “See you Monday.”
Taglist ~~~~~~
(Lmk if you wanna be added!!)
@lawnmoa @ellvswriting @reidsmyhusband-emilysmymistress @baby-pogue @rottenearly
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fallout-4-freak · 3 years
Note
Hi, Winnie! (Cute name, btw!) I was wondering if you could write Fallout 4 reactions to a Sole that is BOUND AND DETERMINED to clean and fix up every single road she encounters - clearing up debris, chopping up fallen trees for resources, making bridges, filling in large cracks in the tarmac with cement until a better solution comes along, making signs and setting up better lighting/security points with Minutemen guards. This is basically me with mods and console commands, lol. It's a pet peeve.
Are... Are you me?? Half my mod load order is settlement/cleanup/etc mods...
(Also thank you! I’m honored you think it’s a cute name~)
Ada:
She’s quite pleased with Sole’s efforts to beautify the Commonwealth. It’s ridiculous that most folks haven’t bothered to tidy up their homes-- especially considering how much useful stuff can be found in the debris. She’s also proud of Sole for trying to make things safer for the people of the Commonwealth.
Ada will help Sole clean up, picking up the bigger items. If there’s something good that can be repurposed, she’ll make sure to let Sole know!
Cait:
It never bothered Cait, the state of the world. It’s what she grew up with, after all. She gets annoyed when Sole spends so much time picking up trash and fixing stuff. Cait will complain and beg Sole to move on, wanting to do literally anything else.
If Sole insists on cleaning the Commonwealth, Cait will wander off to make her own fun. Or trouble.
Codsworth: 
He’s over the moon. Frankly, he’s sick of his cleaning subroutines firing off every time he and Sole explore the world. It’s about time somebody did something! How could people live like animals in such filth?
Codsworth will congratulate Sole on their efforts, and do everything he can to help them! 
Curie:
She didn’t think much of the state of the world, until she noticed how Sole would go through an area and clean it up. Perhaps she was just too preoccupied with her research, or maybe she didn’t realize how the dust and grime affected her non-body. But Curie sure took notice of how nice things looked compared to the rest of the land!
If Sole wants/needs help, she’s glad to do so. Otherwise, she’ll just keep them company and discuss research or other interesting things to pass time.
Danse:
He admires their dedication to improving the world. As long as Sole doesn’t get sidetracked during missions, he’s fine with it. Most civilians don’t seem to have the discipline to keep things tidy, which annoys him... It’s a bit of a pet peeve, if he’s honest. After all, life is terrible enough. Why make it worse with piles of garbage and broken structures?
Danse will help Sole keep things clean, using his expert organizational skills to do so. 
Deacon:
He’s always joked about starting a maid service after he retires from the Railroad. So naturally, when Sole began fixing and cleaning everything they could get their mitts on, he was fully supportive.
Granted, he doesn’t have a lot of time to help Sole... But he’ll try and keep them company if he’s free. Deacon will also find a way to put a team together for Sole, to help them get more done.
Dogmeat:
Any time spent with Sole is good time! He’ll happily run about as Sole works tirelessly, chewing on a baseball or teddy bear occasionally. Dogmeat will occasionally beg for pets or attention, but tries his best to keep out of Sole’s way. 
He’ll bring Sole some cool treasures he finds in the trash, too-- a colorful hat, a stuffed animal, a locket, and whatever assorted goodies catch his eye.
Hancock:
Another companion who’s fine with the state of things. It never bothered him much before, but he understands why it would bug Sole so much. Hell, post-war America must feel like a totally different dimension to Sole. He’s supportive, though, and hangs out with Sole while they do their thing. 
He also tries to keep his residence a bit cleaner from then on, out of consideration for Sole. 
Longfellow:
He doesn’t get it, and he’s ‘too old’ to start caring at this point. While he might tease Sole about their penchant for home improvement, it’s all in good fun. 
Longfellow will usually make use of the downtime and hunt, or drink. If Sole requests help, though, he’s kind enough to give it.
MacCready:
The guy lived in a cave town for years. Does he really care how things look? 
No. 
That being said, he eventually learns to appreciate the changes. It’s nice to not trip over huge cracks in the road every five seconds, y’know? MacCready will also help Sole pick through more promising piles of junk for ammo or valuables, earning the nickname ‘rat man’ in the process.
Nick Valentine:
He vaguely remembers what the world used to look like, and appreciates it immensely. So, when Sole decides to bite the bullet and improve the world, he’s pretty happy! It seems to mean a lot to Sole, so he does whatever he can to support them.
As long as there’s no active cases to work, Nick will help Sole and chat with them to pass time. He hopes that their work inspires others to take better care of the Commonwealth.
Piper:
Initially, she thinks that Sole is just trying to bring the old world back... Which is a clear waste of time. But Piper comes to realize that they aren’t trying to revert the Commonwealth-- they’re simply trying to improve the lives of others. She feels a bit ashamed, that she had so little faith in them. 
Piper would never tell them that, of course. She’s happy they’re trying to move on, and that they’re making the world a better place. 
Porter Gage:
Can’t be assed with this. It’s annoying, especially considering how many other things Sole could be doing. They’re the Overboss, for fuck’s sake. The safety improvements and raider checkpoints are the only thing he appreciates, because they reduce the chances of dying. That’s it.
He’ll take care of business while Sole is busy... Or spend time cleaning his weapons for the next job. 
Preston:
He’s inspired by Sole’s efforts. While he’s never really had a chance to clean things up himself (considering how he and the last Minutemen were on the run for months), he’s wanted to for awhile. Preston never liked how dirty things were... Plus, the cracked roads and unsafe structures were pretty bad.
Preston is happy to help Sole, and organizes spare Minutemen into shifts to help them out. He’s hands-on, too, though. What sort of friend would he be if he had Sole do all the work?
Strong:
Bored to tears as Sole works their magic. Super Mutants don’t exactly care about how the land looks. Their living areas are full of trash and gore, after all. And safety??? Who cares???
Strong wanders off, and doesn’t understand why Sole is enjoying this.
X6-88:
He must admit, Sole’s work definitely improves the Commonwealth. It’s not nearly as clean as the Institute, but it’s something. While X6-88 doesn’t necessarily enjoy the Commonwealth, he has to spend plenty of time there whether he likes it or not. So, he’ll take what he can get. 
X6-88 isn’t keen on helping Sole, but if they ask him to, he’ll obey. Usually, he spends the time tinkering with tech or, surprisingly, reading. 
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elliewan · 3 years
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Boom Boom - Behind the Scenes
Hi everyone! As hinted in Chapter 14th notes, here is a (long?) tumblr post for some behind-the-scenes trivia about Boom Boom! I’m sorry it took me some time, but I’ll probably develop my HC for Thermite and Ace in another post :]
So. Here’s a small table of contents for this post. And of course, massive spoilers incoming! haha
Origin of the Title
Chapter and Rhythm building
Thermite’s friendships
Interviews with Harry
IQ/Kali’s background relationship
HC Timeline
In a nutshell
1. Origin of the title
The initial placeholder title was “Norwegian Dynamite”, then “From Texas with Norway”, then… “Boom Boom”. I’m still not happy with the title, but I think it’s good enough. And funfact, it’s kind of a mistake, but not so much. In French, my native language, heartbeat’s onomatopoeia is “Boum Boum”, while I read that in American English (the English I tended to use for my fanfic), it’s supposed to be “Thump Thump” or something like that. But I also read than in most of Norwegian dialects, “Boom Boom” could be understood as a heartbeat too. So anyway, Boom Boom refers both to the beating of their heart and to the explosions of their hard-breaching gadgets. It’s also dual, meaning that each of them is a “Boom” haha And it’s also a cute Mika song about two people being totally in love despite what their families think, and making love everywhere haha (cause in French “Faire crac crac boum boum” [“doing crac crac boom boom”] means “having sex” haha)
2. Chapter and Rhythm building
Unlike most of my fanfics, Boom Boom wasn’t written “as it goes”, I didn’t “discover” the fic while writing it. In fact, I hadn’t contemplated writing a multi-chapter for them until some comments on my Siegetober Ace/Thermite one-shots where people showed interest in the ship and a potential multi-chapter or longer story for them. 
So after the Siegetober rush, while I had several wips ongoing, I started working on it. The first blank page was basically: Ace/Thermite – how do they get together for real and a series of bullet points for potential scenes. Then, I opened a PowerPoint file and started filling the following diagram:     
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Though this is now a bit obsolete, this was the first foundation. Thanks to this diagram, and the several bullet points for potential scenes I had brainstormed, I started building the story in a (ugly) board. Once again, several things are obsolete and I never really updated it – it was more of a working document for the “pre-writing” of the fic, to see if the story really made sense:
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And one thing that really didn’t help was Ubisoft releasing the cutscene about Aruni out of nowhere haha. At the beginning, I panicked a bit because I thought it changed several things in my Thermite HC, but it happened to eventually fit quite well and even help adding more drama haha
And once I was ok enough with the board, despite it having several plot holes, I tried to measure the intensity of “love” and “dramatics” to see what kind of rhythm the fic was going to follow and check if I found it entertaining enough:
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3. Thermite’s friendships
In the initial draft, Castle had a MAJOR part as Thermite’s best friend. He would help him sort his feelings, see the evolution of his relationship with Ace, and even go to Texas with him to help him face his family. But when re-reading for the umpteenth time Thermite’s file, I realized there was not a single mention of Castle, contrary to Hibana, Twitch and Thatcher. Not to mention Harry’s board where it’s written Thermite has a “sibling” relationship with Ash.
And that’s when everything ticked: Thermite is surrounded by great women. Sisterhood is part of who he is, how he was raised, how he lives. And this is why those women should have a stronger place in the story. So Hibana, Twitch, Aruni and Ash became real sisters to him. Hibana and Aruni being more like the big sisters – they’re reliable, sturdy and coolheaded, they provide him with advice and comfort; Aruni especially is quite similar in temper to his biological sister in my HC. Twitch is more like his same-age sister (though she’s younger), they see eye-to-eye but there’s no authority nor “big sister” feels between them; she’s the confident. As for Ash, she’s more like that distant sibling that has evolved a lot in life to the point where they don’t talk as mush as they used to… but who could move mountains just to get to him if she hears he’s in trouble. This is what I tried to convey :’)
4. Interviews with Harry
Honestly, interviews with Harry were my ultimate cheat code to give more information regarding Ace and Thermite’s psychological statuses, and various hints regarding their mental health. Though I sometimes prefer to bring this sort of nakedness and vulnerability throughout conversations with close friends, it wasn’t very possible here because: 1. Ace had no close friends with whom he could be this vulnerable, and he’s still new at Rainbow. (and he’s not even aware of his coping mechanisms and insecurities) 2. I kind of wanted Thermite to be incredibly good at clouding his issues, changing subjects and rejecting any kind of help, meaning that only Harry could get him to openly talk (or so he thought haha) about his mental health.
As for Harry’s behavior, I tried to render him as this kind of smooth, yet not evasive, therapist. One that wouldn’t be in the judgement, and who could wait whole minutes for the person to take their time to open up, and slowly but gently poking at the aching spots, and providing various resources to help them :)
Also, since in most of his psychological reports he seems to be very aware of friendships at the base, and to push some operators to meet some others, I tried to convey this vibe too. Just like when he says that he finds similarities with Ace, Dokkaebi and Sledge. Or when he offers Thermite to ask Lion and Meghan about their tattoos etc.
Also, here’s a bit of HC on how each of them deals with Harry haha
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5. IQ/Kali’s background relationship
I have to admit I may have accidentally mirrored a lot Ace/Thermite’s relationship with IQ/Kali’s. Thing is that I wanted Kali to change too! I wanted her to be this impartial and authoritative bossy businesswoman that would slowly change into someone, though still sharp and arrogant, more human. I wanted Jaimini to show up a bit more. I have given veeery small hints to offer some glimpses at her true self, at what’s behind that mask. For instance, there is that moment in the fic where Ace and Kali argue, and he tells her:
“Jai, you and I both know very well that you didn't take this contract just for the money.”
Which makes Kali pale a lot, because he’s hitting a good nerve. In fact, I kind of headcanon Kali having softened enough around him, throughout their collaboration, to have confided a tiny bit about why she created Nighthaven, and all the frustrations she had grown up with. And thing is, Kali created Nighthaven because she wanted to be a hero too, just like him. She wanted to be at the heart of the battle, to protect people, to save lives, and she dreamed of a soldier life, of self-sacrifice and heroism. She just slid the wrong way, and her childhood dream turned into a private corporation of which she became a ruthless tycoon. Just like Ace, I think things went out of control at some point for her, and she just lose connection to reality and morals.
And the thing with IQ happened quite naturally. At the beginning, once I was okay with the three main squads (especially Alpha and Bravo), the relationship just happened on itself. While Montagne and Twitch were just those lovely and patient sweethearts, IQ was the one that had the hardest time with the Nighthaven folks, whether it were Ace or Kali. Both because she didn’t trust them and their secrecy, and because she has very little patience for people with difficult tempers in general haha
So, Kali being that bossy and defiant puzzle, refusing to let her see Nighthaven’s gadgets’ blueprints, things were just meant to sparkle between them. And Kali just couldn’t resist teasing IQ and reminding her she was untouchable. And through the teasing, the premises of a relationship were born. But unlike Ace/Thermite, I don’t think it followed a Colleagues to Friends to Lovers progression, but more an Enemies straight to Lovers progression haha
So anyway. I wanted to give a little boost to Kali, so that she opens up a bit more with Rainbow, and to bring a truce between Rainbow and Nighthaven’s disputes. And love just happened, once again, to be the perfect last push <3 
Another thing that could have helped her would perhaps have been some true challenging from an authority she does respect, but I found it difficult to stage and Kali wasn’t the focus of the fic anyway – perhaps another time ;)
6. HC Timeline
And here is the ugly timeline I worked with haha It’s still probable that there are some inconsistencies, but I tried to avoid them as much as possible and I’m sorry if you find some! I’m horribly bad with figures, years and stuff haha
I used most of the canonical dates, except for Jordan’s mother and sister deceases, which weren’t accurately dated in his biography and which I reinterpreted a bit to fit my story.
Also, isn’t it absolutely lovely that their birthday is only 1 day apart? u_u #ProudPisces!
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7. In a nutshell
So, those were my major documents that helped me build the foundations of the fic. What happened next was some drafting and pure writing, following the publishing tempo. I think the gist of what I wanted to convey through the story is still there, even if I reworked some chapters entirely. The journey (and the destination <3) is still the same.
+ I want to once again give a proper shout out to all the wonderful readers of the fanfic, whether they’re anonymous or not! I had never received so much feedback, and so many sweet words on any work before, even back in my time on fanfic.net. I feel so grateful for that, and though I already answered to everyone who commented, and wrote many notes, I still can’t find the way to properly translate just how much it means to me. So once again THANK YOU :’D
And thank you for reading this post too, if you did haha <3
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dindjarindiaries · 4 years
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Oooo how would Pedro's characters react to a selectively mute character? How would his characters react hearing their voice for the first time when they're finally comfortable enough to speak to them?
I absolutely love this concept. Let’s go. (These are gonna be long, folks.)
Din is no stranger to being mute. I mean, come on, this is his specialty. He’s always been known as a man of few words—but with you? He’s met his match. Sometimes, he’ll try to ask you something, but you can always answer with a gesture rather than with words. He understands why you’re so guarded, it’s the same reason why he’s done the same thing himself for so long, but he wants you to be able to trust him enough to speak in front of him. So, slowly but surely, he starts opening up to you—knowing you’re not going to answer and not expecting you to. He’ll even tell you his name, just because he thinks it’ll make you feel closer to him. When it’s been a while, he’ll feel discouraged. Maybe you can see how bad of a person he truly is, or at least how he’s always thought of himself. But his entire body will freeze up when he returns long overdue from a job to see your panicked form on the hatch, calling out to him: “Din! You’re okay!” It’s like the Maker sent some sort of divine being down to him to sing in his ears. The slouch in his shoulders from the hard work of the mission will disappear, and he’ll walk faster to the ship, ready to finally get to know more about the beauty with such an angelic voice.
Javier is going to be so frustrated with you at first. It’s hard for him to work with someone who won’t even talk to him. Steve will have to calm him down at many points, especially if he starts his rants in front of you. Eventually, he’ll learn that he’s being an asshole when he does that, and it doesn’t give you any more of an incentive to speak to him. So, he finds a loophole: notes. He’ll toss one your way every once in a while, and you’ll write your reply on the back of it. These notes go from being something casual to something sacred—almost to the point of love letters, pointing out the sparkle in the other’s eye, the curve of their jaw, etc. Javi comes to love your strong sense of privacy, the way you guard yourself, because it’s made you a mystery to figure out—and now he’s trapped in you. You’ll still refuse to say anything until you nearly die out in the field, finding yourself on the floor of a sicario’s house with a bullet mark on your vest. Javi’s the first one to run over and make sure you’re alright, and upon seeing him, you can’t help croaking out a, “Javi?” that makes his eyes instantly meet yours as his jaw drops. “Don’t leave me,” you’ll plead, hands shaking from the quick brush with death. All he can do is nod and take your shaking hands in his, still in awe that the voice he’s hearing is yours and not some divine sound from the heavens.
Ezra is used to dealing with mute people. He’ll stay entertained by talking to himself, reciting some random facts he’s learned from a book or observing the surrounding terrain as you trudge through planets for a harvest. He won’t mind your silence, he really won’t, but he’ll still ask you yes-or-no questions here and there that you can answer to with a nod. At night, when you’re camped out, he’ll just tell you stories, reaping his benefits from the look in your eyes that tells him everything your words wouldn’t have even been able to say. But you know he really needs your voice when he’s trying to reap a necessary harvest and he can’t. He’s still learning with his left arm, it’s been so hard without his faithful friend of so many years on the right side of his body, and he’s starting to get not only flustered but also emotional. The corner of his lip twitches, his brow furrows, his intelligible vocabulary is exchanged for curses. You, standing by his side, watch as he butchers another one and nearly throws himself away from it. You place your hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention, and say: “It’s going to be alright, Ezra.” And God, does he really feel like it’s going to be okay now, because your words just reach right into his very soul and cleanse it. If he didn’t have tears before, he definitely does now, but he blinks them away to turn back to his work and live up to your words, telling you later when he’s not so speechless about how exquisite your voice sounds.
Whiskey has a goal to get you to laugh before anything else. If he’s being honest with himself, Whiskey likes to talk and be in control. So, even with someone who’s mute, he’s not going to dull his nature down. He’ll talk you up a storm, and if he asks a question and doesn’t get an answer, he’ll pretend like he knows how you’d answer it and goes along with that. “You’re awful quiet, darlin’,” he’ll remind you, just to earn a shrug in response. After a while, he’ll even go to Ginger Ale, asking if you’ve got some sort of medical condition. “Maybe she just doesn’t want to talk to you, Jack,” she’ll scoff. And ouch, that one’s gonna hurt him. He’ll try to hide it, but he’s not used to someone being so—what he thinks is—repulsed to him, and when he sees you he’ll panic. He’ll start stuttering, struggling to find the right words to say, and then he’ll ultimately give up. He’ll start to become just as quiet as you. This concerns you so greatly that you know you have to say something. So, knowing his upbeat and hearty nature, you decide to do it by cracking a joke. You come across him being flustered and rather sad as usual, and you tap his shoulder to get his attention. When his dark eyes are on you, you’ll ask: “You seem down. Was it something I said?” Whiskey will be so shocked at first, but after a few moments, he’ll crack up with laughter. Afterwards, he’ll shake his head, his eyes sparkling as he says, “Your voice is so beautiful, sweetheart.” And you’ll blush and just continue falling hard for him.
Frankie (Catfish) will like the silence—at first. For much of his life, he’s been surrounded by loud sounds: unending gunfire, flying helicopters, shouting from various leaders that’s just made his ears crave some sort of peace. He finds that in you, and he absolutely loves that. He doesn’t mind that you’re not seeking conversation. He’s got enough shit circulating through his head. After a while, though, that darkness starts to build up, and he needs to let it out—he needs to talk to someone—but he knows you’re unlikely to answer. Still, he can’t bottle it up. He’ll excuse himself, and you’ll hear him go into a nearby room and start talking to himself in a rush, rustling around and increasing volume. Your heart will pound as you realize that he’s locking himself away because he needs to talk, and you need to do more than just listen now. You’ll go to hesitantly knock on the door, and when he opens it, you’ll notice the desperate glint in his dark gaze along with the purple rings under his eyes. Swallowing hard, you’ll give him a nod. “I’m here for you, Cat,” you’ll assure him. Utterly comforted by your voice alone, he’ll practically collapse into your arms right then and there, holding you close like you’re something he’ll lose all over again—and you’ll realize that he’s been the one you can trust this entire time.
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TRANQUILITY BASE
Here’s my @coexchange piece for @that-bi-bliophile! 
I hope it’s okay I stretched your prompt to fit an entire album. I listen to the album Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino by the Arctic Monkey a lot and it’s inspired countless daydreams so I figured I’d fit a Snowbaz bullet point fic into this universe. If you don’t want to listen to an entire new album (which is understandable) but want a feel for the album and the vibe I’m going for, I’d suggest listening to the songs Star Treatment, American Sports, and/or Four Stars out of Five.
For some background, in this AU Tranquility is an out of date game from an out of date console made as promotion for the real and still existing hotel on the moon. Simon lives on earth, which is currently a weird mix of waste land and advanced technology. Basically global warming isn’t fixed, all rich people just moved to the moon and left everyone else on earth to do the jobs they don’t want. Baz is the child of some of those rich moon people. They’re both like 18 when they “meet” for the first time.
Tranquility The Game is Simon’s way of escaping the reality of his shitty father and taxing job. The old gaming system is one of the few things he has that matters to him. He’s build up his own imaginary life in this digital hotel, where he’s a successful musician with a band, rich enough to afford stays in fancy moon hotels.
Baz’s dad, head of Grimm Co. is the new owner of the real TBHC. Baz goes to the hotel for a business meeting because Malcolm wants to teach him how to run the company. Baz is bored and finds an old copy of the game and console in some storage closet. He takes it home and boots it up.
He’s surprised to find it works, and even more surprised to find someone else already in the game.
Simon is confused and furious that someone else is in HIS game. He immediately shoves virtual Baz against a wall and demands he leave the game.
Baz is like “what the fuck how does anyone even still play this” but he’s intrigued by the attractive angry game boy so he insults him and keeps coming back to the game.
The relationship is hostile at first (because Simon doesn’t want Baz ruining his virtual world and Baz looks down on Simon for living on earth) but Baz, despite himself, is desperate to get to know Simon, this weird kid clinging to an out of date, boring videogame. And Simon secretly likes having someone to share this game world with, even if he “hates” him.
They get into petty fights a lot and call each other names that are supposed to be insults but are really just thinly veiled pet names. Baz’s favorites are “earthling” and “freckles boy” Simon’s are “fucking posh space boy” and “bastard”.
Baz tries to goad more information about Simon out of him but Simon is very committed to holding on to the fantasy life he’s made up for himself, he won’t even tell Baz his last name.
Despite all their “fighting” they start to warm up to each other.
One day Simon gives Baz a tour of the virtual hotel and Baz explains how different everything is in the real hotel. Throughout the tour Simon starts to open up about his father and his friend Shepard and the crumbling state of planet Earth. (Cue discussion about capitalism and class and how fucked up it is that billionaires just left the Earth and all the poor people to die.)
Baz talks about his life and how isolated he feels because his father and all his “friends” are very emotionally closed off. Simon sympathizes but teases him a little.
Simon: Like you’d rather be anything but a posh moon business man.
Baz: I would. If I could be anyone I’d be an astrologist. What about you, Earthing? Who would you be, if you could be anyone in the universe?
Simon, suddenly somber: My father says dreaming isn’t for folks people like me.
Baz shows up in the game one day to find Simon playing a guitar, he’s quite good at it.
Simon learns Baz can cook after Baz asks if there’s a way to get in to the game hotel’s kitchen (there isn’t). Simon likes Baz about ten times more when he explains how to make the perfect shepherd’s pie. Baz realized he might be in love when Simon starts explaining how good sour cherry scones are and how they should be their own food group.
They go star gazing together on the roof of the hotel. Baz knows a lot about constellations and explains them to Simon.
Baz: You know that isn’t how they look tonight?”
Simon: No?
Baz: No. it takes the light ages to get to us, so what we’re seeing is years behind. Like, look at that star there, it’s been dead for twenty years.
Simon, pointing up: There?
Baz: No, *takes Simon’s hand to readjust it* there.
Simon: Oh… yeah.
Neither of them are looking at the stars at this point. Cue gay thoughts about Simon’s freckles being constellations and some EXTREME pining.
Baz learns they can write in the notepads left in each virtual hotel room. They start leaving notes and little drawings for each other in game when they play and the other isn’t there. Sometimes Simon leaves chords to songs he’s writing. Baz will add lyrics to the songs sometimes. Baz will also flirt in the notes but Simon can never tell if he’s serious or if it’s just Baz being sarcastic and dramatic.
One day Simon’s playing guitar and invites Baz to sing with him. Baz is nervous about exposing his feelings for Simon with the romantic lyrics. Simon gets so wrapped up in listening to and watching Baz sing that he stops playing before the song is finished. They do the classic routine of staring until the other person stares back then quickly looking away and blushing. Again, Major Pining.
At this point they both think the other might be interested romantically, but they’re too nervous to take the next step into actually talking about romance.
One day Baz insists on teaching Simon to dance. They move some furniture in the hotel lounge and figure out how to use the futuristic jukebox in the corner of the room. Simon is clumsy but happy to follow Baz’s lead. (It helps that he can’t physically step on Baz’s toes. However, a few times he does bash into furniture in his real life bedroom). Baz’s hair is loose and falling in his face. Simon can’t stop smiling. Baz is still pretending like this is purely a teaching moment but he can’t hide the faint blush on his cheeks. The music shifts to a slow song. They lock eyes. Simon reaches for a phantom cheek. Baz leans into the imagined warmth of a digital palm. All they hear is their shared breathing and heartbeats until someone speaks.
Simon: If I could be anyone, I’d be someone who kissed you right now.
They can’t really kiss, it’s a videogame. But they finally admit they have feelings for each other.
They daydream about meeting somehow. Simon sneaking onto a cargo ship to travel to the moon. Inventing a way to fully convert themselves into part of the game so the never have to leave. The two of them hijacking a spaceship and enough rations to last years, then flying out somewhere in the Milky Way to live out the rest of their lives together. But they know these are just fantasies. They won’t say it out loud, and sometimes, when staring into pixelated eyes and making elaborate plots they forget the impossibility of it all, but they know they can never make these dreams reality.
Any spare time they have is spent in the digital hotel with each other. Simon starts carrying the game console around with him everywhere, even when he knows he can’t play. Baz has stopped showing up for anything he’s supposed to in the evenings, he just locks himself in his bedroom with the game.
“What would you do if I was really there?” becomes a common question.
“It’s a crisp evening here, so I’d pull you in close, keep you warm. Kiss you underneath the sliver of moon.”
“I’d hold your hand. Kiss every freckle I can find on it until I have to push up your sleeve to find more.”
“I’d mess up your hair. It looks better messy.”
“I would punch that stupid look off your face. You can’t seriously think the sun used to revolve around the Earth, that’s fucking insane!”
“I’d tell you… I- I, I never want you to leave.”
Are some of the answers.
One night they’re in the game and Simon’s struggling to stay awake. It’s adorable but Baz tells him he should go to sleep. Simon says he wants to spend more time with Baz. He asks Baz to tell him about space so he’ll stay awake. Baz knows that will put Simon to sleep rather than keep him awake, but he does it anyway. Simon fights as long as he can but falls asleep “next to” Baz within minutes. Baz realizes he’s sleeping but keeps talking about black holes while stroking the digital version of his boyfriend’s hair. And when he’s sure Simon isn’t going to wake up, Baz whispers about how much he loves him before falling asleep as well.
The next morning Simon wakes up alone in the game. Baz wakes up to the sound of his headset cracking under the weight of his skull.
Frantically he tries to turn on the console, reattach a piece of electronics that came off the headset, plead with a god he doesn’t believe in. Nothing works.
He searches for replacement pieces, a new headset, ways to convert the Tranquility game to newer systems, but there’s nothing. It’s a shitty game on an outdated console that no one cared about. He’s heartbroken.
Simon doesn’t realize anything’s wrong at first. He thinks Baz is just really busy for the first few weeks. Then he worries he did something to hurt him. Then he’s angry Baz never bothers to talk to him about why he left. Then he’s scared something happened to Baz.
For a few years he returns whenever he has the time, searches for Baz, or clues that Baz was there while he was away. But he’s never there, and there’s never any notes revealing he just missed Baz. Eventually he can’t stand to keep coming back to the deserted hotel. Whatever happened to Baz happened, deep down they both knew they couldn’t live this fantasy life in an old game forever.
Baz continues searching everywhere in real life and online for a way to get back to the game hotel, to Simon, but all he can find are parts he already has, or headsets that don’t work anymore like his.
Soon enough Simon can’t stand to even look at the gaming console. And he could use the extra money, so he decides to sell it. A local pawn shop takes it for less than Simon was hoping to get, but they said the name scratched into the side really devalues the piece.
After years of searching, Baz finds a full working console with headset for sale online, from an Earth seller. The interplanetary shipping is expensive, but worth it. When the console arrives Baz finds “SIMON SNOW” carved into the plastic exterior. He cries for days.
He boots up Tranquility The Game but he knows he’ll be the only one there. The hotel looks the same as it was the last time he played. He finds a note from Simon addressed to him, angrily asking why he left without a word, then another apologizing, saying he was just hurt but he knows things had to end at some point. Those were three years old. Simon never left anything else.
Baz decides to leave a note of his own: “Simon Snow. I wish I could tease you for carving your name into an electronic device; it’s extremely childish, and probably quite unsafe. Still, in a way I’m glad you did it. If you even found your way back here I’d hate for you to know the depth of my feelings, even after these long years. But I doubt you will. Knowing that is bittersweet. I will admit sometimes I still fantasize about you, about impossible ways we could still be friends, more than friends, anything other than ghosts haunting each other’s memories. Simon Snow, I loved you.”
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darkanachronism · 4 years
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Keziah Mason Meets the Whateley’s
"Who 're yew an' what're yew doin' in my lab?"  Wilbur demanded, looking down at the old woman.
"Depends," she started, "on why you smell like Yuggoth."
~~~~~
What’s this, me posting writing on main?  More likely then you think.  Anyways have the Lovecraft crossover no one asked for. 
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Wilbur had been preparing the shed for some time now.  He didn't have to yet, but he would eventually with Twin getting as big as it was.  
For now though, he just wanted a bit of space.  A little respite from his mother, from his brother.  From the Byhakee it had upstairs.
Just a quiet place to read, to write, to study.  
Admittedly it was a rather sad little makeshift lab, but it was his nonetheless.  The chairs and tables fit him, he barely had to stoop to get in the door, yes this was as comfortable as he could hope to get.  
Wilbur was just about to enter with another armful of books when he heard a crash from inside.
The crash, and accompanying string of curse words belonged to an old woman stumbling out of a corner, tripping over a pile of books and face planting onto the floor.
Keziah Mason has taken a wrong turn on her trip back to Arkham.  Something she immediately decided not to tell anyone about, in a rush or not this was an amateur mistake.  
She rolled onto her back and cussed again.  Being fairly certain she'd heard some bone or other make a noise it shouldn't.  And took in her surroundings, digging in the pockets of her robe for something to throw at whoever owned the place.  
The door creaked open and Keziah was staring down the barrel of a revolver.  
Fuck.
"Who 're yew an' what're yew doin' in my lab?"  Wilbur demanded, looking down at the old woman.  She looked harmless.  
So did lots of things.
Keziah blinked in surprise, trying to take in all of the massive figure that loomed above her, to place the unearthly stink that came off him, and come up with an answer to his questions all at once.  
"Depends," she started, "on why you smell like Yuggoth."
She managed two out of three, and to stall for time on the third. The gun lowered just a little, Wilbur's brows furrowing in surprise.  Not the answer he’d been expecting. Or for that matter one he’d accept.
"I’ll answer yew once yew answer me seein’ as I asked first an' I've got the gun."
No point in distracting himself.
"Both valid points.  I'm Keziah Mason, and I took a wrong turn.  Now you."  
Cryptic and sort of a non answer, but in certain circles her name preceded her, and in others bothering to explain that you were not just a common burglar but an fiendishly intelligent witch who could use her knowledge of advanced physics and arcane secrets to travel long distances via interdimensional shortcuts, well that sort of talk was just as likely to earn you a bullet as keeping quiet.  Even if the man towering above her could barely pass for human himself.  
" 's just how I smell is all."  He answered her first question.  "And I'm Wilbur Whateley."  She hadn’t asked for a name, but it seemed polite to give one.
Whateley, of course, everything clicked into place.
“Yog-Sothoth’s kid then?”  She asked quirking a wiry brow.  She’d expected more...Tentacles?  Maybe a tail or something.  Still, something around the eyes put her in mind of the fathomless space beyond spaces.  
The revolver dropped to Wilbur's side as he tried to puzzle through how to respond to being called out so casually.  He nodded.  Not sure what else to do.
"Help an old lady up would you?"  
Wilbur did, hauling Keziah rather artlessly to her feet, still baffled into silence.
"How'd yew know that?"
Keziah shrugged. “Your family’s been at this for a while.  Honestly I’m surprised things lined up."
"Yeah, guess et were a bit 've wurk on granpa's part."  Wilbur trailed off mumbling, scratching the back of his neck and looking around for something else to discuss.  The topic of his conception was awkward, he imagined that was one of the few things he had in common with any other teenager.
"Sorry, didn't catch that.  Tinnitus."  Keziah said, adding the explanation with a grimace.  It was a small price to pay for visiting The Court of course, but a deuced nuisance most of the time.  
"Uhh, Nuthin'."  Wilbur said, before changing the topic abruptly.
"Yew still didn’t explain why yer here."  
"Told you I took a wrong turn.”  She was trying to sound casual, but perhaps came off as a tiny bit defensive.  “Just a tiny miscalculation on my part.  We are in New England aren’t we?"
"Dunnich."
Keziah pulled a face and Wilbur laughed.
"Take et yew've visited before?"  
"Not if I can help it.  Is it still as painfully backwoods as it was in...1786?"  
Wilbur quirked a brow, sure, she looked old, but not that old.
"Nah, et's wurse."  
"You poor thing."  Keziah patted him on the arm, it was about all she could reach.
The condescension wasn't appreciated, nor was the physical contact, Wilbur pulled away from that, but since she evidently loathed Dunwich, he let it slide.
"Where were yew tryin' t' get then?"
"Arkham."
"That ain’t far,” Wilbur started helpfully.  “Yew culd take our horse, Long as yew return et."  
It’s not that he was a particularly generous man, he had no natural inclination to help a stranger out.  But it wasn’t as if he was planning to ride anywhere any time soon.
Keziah chuckled.  
"Thanks for the offer, but I can get there faster."  Keziah glanced around the makeshift magical laboratory, looking for something.  
"Do you have some graph paper I could borrow?"  She asked after a moment.  
"Uh, yeah I c-" Wilbur was cut off by a tentative knock on the half opened door.  
"Wilbur, dinner's rea-," Lavnia called out, opening the door as she did so.  Ordinarily she wouldn't but in like that, Wilbur had been so insistent on his privacy lately.  But he’d left it ajar, so she didn’t see any harm.
She paused mid step to stare. In what world did Wilbur have company?  And how had she missed the woman showing up in the first place.  
"Who's yer friend?" .
Wilbur looked between the two and stepped out of the way to make introductions.
"Uh, hi Ma, this is-"
"Keziah Mason.  One of Nyarlathotep's Thousand Favoured."  she said, brushing past Wilbur and offering the other woman a hand to shake.  No need to be cagey about who she was now.  
Lavinia very quickly wiped her hands on her skirts before accepting, clearly flustered by the title drop.  
"I'm Lavinia Whateley, pleased t' meet yew."  
Wilbur wasn't half so impressed, actually he had to wonder what she did to earn the Crawling Chaos' attention.  Or if she wasn't just full of shit like so many magicians turned out to be.
 "I'm sure it's mutual.  Don't let you keep you from Dinner though, I was just about to leave."
"Yew dun half tew, ef yew dun want. I mean, yew culd stay fer diner ef yew'd lak.  We dun often have guests, 'specially 'un so destingished."  
Wilbur winced at his mother's gushing and hand wringing.  She was special enough in her own right that she shouldn't be tripping over herself to impress some witch who couldn’t even keep her angles right.  
Admittedly Wilbur’s understanding of interdimensional travel and the mathematics involved in them were shaky at best. But he could make an educated guess as to what a wrong turn meant.  
Keziah considered the invitation, taking a quick look at each of the Whateley’s to guess at how much of an intrusion she’d be before answering.
“Why not, I don’t really need to be back until Sunday.”  She gave a casual shrug.
Lavinia positively beamed when the older woman accepted her invitation.  A reaction that made Keziah question the other woman’s sanity just a bit.  
“Well, house es this way ef yew tew want t’ follow me.  Sorry ‘bout the house bein’ in a state, et’s ain’t usually this much ‘ve a mess.”  Lavinia gestured for the other two to do just that, before backing out of the door way.  
Wilbur let Keziah go out ahead of him and locked up behind the trio.  
Dinner at the Whateley house was usually an awkward affair, consisting of strained attempts at small talk from Lavinia and increasingly successful attempts to avoid that small talk on Wilbur’s part.  So a third party was appreciated, and it really didn’t take much to set Keziah off.   
An idle question about how exactly she knew the Whateley’s from Lavinia prompted wild stories about Wilbur’s great great grandparents, questions about Yuggoth from Wilbur earned an even more energetic response.  All the while Keziah displayed the kind of table manners that startled even Wilbur.   
It was increasingly difficult to imagine the hunched old woman tearing into a drumstick with clawed hands and trying to explain the Dho Formula through a mouthful of chicken rubbing elbows with The Outer Gods, acting as a messenger for Nyarlathotep himself.  
But she did know things.  Gods did she know things.  His grandpa has known some and read some, and Wilbur had done his best with that meager tutelage and a plethora of crumbling books.  But Keziah, she rattled off facts and incantations and corrections to his magical theory like other people talked about the weather.   
The conversation was beyond Lavinia’s grasp, she nodded when she thought it was appropriate.  And was quickly forgotten by the other two.  She didn’t mind though.  It was a rare treat to see Wilbur so animated.   
Dinner ended with everyone in a good mood, Lavinia offered to clear up and let the other two retreat to Wilbur’s lab, Keziah still had to work out exactly where she’d gone wrong in her calculations earlier, and Wilbur was eager for a crash course traveling the space between spaces.
“Don’t worry kid, I’ll work slow so you can keep up.”  
The teasing earned her a sour look.  Even as Wilbur bent over the desk to see what she was working on.  
“I’m sure I’ll manage just fine, I’m sharper ‘en most folks.”
“So am I.”  
If Keziah made things a little unnecessarily complicated just to show off who could blame her.  Wilbur was a nice enough kid.  But she couldn’t let him think he was smart just because his dad knew absolutely everything there was to know.  
Still, she helped.  More than slaving over his books alone could.  And after some untold hours.  Keziah stood up, stretching and cracking her back and knuckles as she did.  
“I think that’s enough for the night.  I’ve got to get back to Arkham, and I really hate to travel when I’m tired.”  
Wilbur looked down at her with a frown.  
“S’pose ef yew’ve got tew.  Like ma said, yew can come back whenever yew like.  Jus’ use a door next time.”  
Keziah let out a low scoff and rolled her eyes.  “Absolutely not kid, doors are for people with no imagination.”  
She traced a quick sign in the air,  lines lingering that glowed a shade no human eyes could really appreciate, and without another word Keziah stepped through the corner of Wilbur’s laboratory and was presumably back in Arkham.  The space she just occupied tilting strangely before folding in and righting itself.  
Wilbur stared and wished he’d had his better eyes out to watch that.  Probably would have been quite impressive to see in five dimensions.
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forestwater87 · 4 years
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Ok this is super embarrassing but you’re one of my favorite writers in this uh.. whatever this blogosphere is so!! I wanna try and take a crack at writing my own fanfic but.. I got no idea where to even start. Any advice?
Oh man, I feel awful about this! I didn’t know my inbox had any new messages, so some of these asks have been sitting here for . . . some time. 
Anyway, first off thank you very much! Secondly, the most obvious advice is just, you know, “do it.” But that’s infinitely easier said than done. I started writing fanfic when I was around 10 years old, so overthinking it wasn’t an issue, since I thought I was the world’s greatest writer. Assuming you’re not 10 years old and as blind to the concept of literary criticism as I was . . . well, the first step is obviously getting an idea. EDIT: Holy shit, this is long. I’m gonna have to break this bad boy up with headers, like it’s a real blog post or something.
Getting Ideas/Inspiration
I don’t know if you already have something you’d like to write about or if you’re still at the “gee that looks like fun” level of fanfic ruminating, but if you’re having trouble coming up with ideas, turning to the existing fandom is a great place to start! 
1: Filling in fandom gaps: I’ve found a lot of my best fic ideas by looking through what already existed and seeing where there was something missing; when I first started writing for Camp Camp, literally only @raenbowsofficial created anything for Gwenvid -- it didn’t even have a ship name yet, and I’m pretty sure the 3 people into it were still throwing “daven” and “gavid” around as well -- so there being zero other fics for it meant that if I wanted it to exist, I’d have to be the one to write it. (That’s also nice if you’re kind of insecure, because when no one else has tried the idea you’re interested in, you have no pressure to compare it to anything else.) 
Also, you could take a popular/already existing concept and write it the way you’d like to see it, if the existing fanfics do something with the story or characters that you’re not thrilled with. That’s handy because it gives you a general blueprint to work off of in terms of tropes and broad story beats, while letting you explore something new. Obviously, don’t rip off someone else’s fic note-for-note, but being inspired by someone else is a great way to kickstart your creativity! If you do have a specific author or story that you’re using as a jumping-off point for your own writing, I would strongly recommend linking them in your author’s notes at the beginning or end of the fic, and maybe gifting the story to them! You don’t have to, since the creation is entirely your own, but it’s still always nice to acknowledge the people who inspire you the most.
2: Fandom inception. If you want to be a little more direct and literal, there’s always the option of writing fanfic of a fanfic or fanart that you really love, if there’s a universe or story idea that you like, and you want more of it. As long as you give credit and notify the original creator, I think you’d have no issues in terms of fanfic etiquette, and I imagine they’d be honored to have inspired your own writing. Fandom is a very collaborative experience, after all, and we’re all in this together! :)
3. For more general “I have a vague idea of what I want to do (the ship, or maybe a tiny plot bunny) but I’m not sure where to go with it,” my biggest recommendation is music. Especially folk indie-rock music, which is 90% angst and 100% haunting. And again, looking at fanfic/art is a great way to get inspired -- I have a tendency to put up a particularly good or emblematic piece of fanart/fic in another window when I’m working on something tricky to write, just for something to stare at when my ideas start running dry (shoutout to @doritofalls, @ellohcee, and the aforementioned RA for being my go-tos when I need to stare at something pretty to feel inspired; there are absolutely others, because this fandom is filled with absurdly talented people, but those 3 are my heroes of inspiration and if you SOMEHOW don’t already know them, fix that immediately). 
Wow, that’s a lot and it’s literally just all about getting an idea . . . which you might already have. Yikes. For the sake of people who have to scroll past this, let’s put the rest under a cut:
Fleshing Out the Idea: An Ode to Outlines
Some people are able to just sit down and write something incredible from a vague idea, and the story just builds on itself without any sort of planning or organization to guide them along the way. These people are named Cipher/Campernetics, and we hate her for being unfairly talented.
For the rest of us, outlines are essential.
My outlines tend to be insanely specific, because I’m very afraid of letting a single idea slip through the cracks, and I build on them over time as I get increasingly sure of where the story’s going. The early outlines tend to be extremely vague, with lots of “and then something happens” connecting major plot points. An example for a current WIP I’m doing right now:
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(Seriously, “Julia and everything”? Future Forest is going to be so pissed at current Forest when she reaches that point and realizes she has no idea what she’s doing)
And as the story starts to take shape and a plot eventually forms -- they tend to take at least 10 chapters to materialize, but they do generally show up! One of the great things about fanfiction is that plot is largely optional, though, so no worries if you’re starting without a full story idea -- I find myself writing more and more details down, if for no other reason than that I want to make sure I remember what I was thinking when I finally get to that scene (because I have absolutely gotten to a point in a story and forgotten what I’d had planned. It sucks). Here’s an example from another fic with pretty significant spoilers if you can figure out which one it is oops:
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I’d recommend keeping your outlines pretty simple, at least to start with: words and phrases, rather than whole-ass sentences like the above. The complexity will develop as your ideas do, so no need to wrack your brain trying to write out the entire story in bullet form.
I use the bolded ideas as stepping stones, more or less; I’ll write out the piece of the story that each line represents, which can be as little as a sentence or as much as 4 or more chapters (RIP my most recent long-running fic), then delete that line and move on to the next. 
Bolding them isn’t necessary, but it does make it easier to differentiate at a glance what needs to be written. If you keep everything in the same hundred-page Google Doc like I do, this is very important.
Your outline doesn’t have to be well-written, and you can 100% use fillers like “and then something happens here.” I do that all the time -- again, another completely different story:
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Now, the vaguer things are, the more annoyed Future You will be when it comes time to write whatever it’s bulleting -- there’s a reason I haven’t updated this fic, and it’s because I have zero idea what the everliving fuck “Pinky-and-the-Brain-ing all over the place” means -- but it’s really good for when you’re first getting started sketching out the vague outline of your fic. The more you panic trying to figure out all the twists and details at the very start, the less likely you’re ever just going to sit down and write the damn thing.
(This might be why I don’t write plot-heavy stories, to be fair. Mystery writers very well might have to have it all planned out from the get-go, and I’d recommend chatting with someone who’s a bit less “coffeeshop AU” and a bit more Agatha Christie for that kind of advice.)
Knowing When to Post
There are people that exist, who have amazing self-control, who can wait until their entire story is written and then release it in sections, at regular intervals, until the story is completed.
I am not one of these people, though I try to be with literally every single fic I’ve ever written.
Personally, I do this until I reach a point where I get stuck and need validation, and then post what I have in a giant chunk and then don’t update it for several months. This is almost universally known as the worst way to write fanfics, both in terms of getting interaction from fans and keeping readers from wanting to kill you, and if you have the ability to write the entire thing and sit on it until it’s ready to be shared, you are a hero.
Alternatively, if you can actually stick to a set schedule of writing it as you go and still update with a new chapter every X days, you are not human and I’m terrified of you, because if you find a way to weaponize this power you will rule the world.
Honestly, a good rule of thumb? Post it when you’re ready for people to read it, whether it’s done or not. Not all works will get done, and it seems mean to deny people the delicious little stub you’ve written even if you’re not going to finish it. When you’re happy with what you have -- or are so tired of looking at it that you need to post it or you’ll throw your computer out the window -- just do it and let out a sigh of relief, then either take a few days before going back to writing or just jump in immediately like a goddamn masochist.
(I have tried to get far enough ahead that I can start posting the already-written stuff on a schedule, figuring by the time I’m caught up I’ll have completed the entire story and won’t have any awkward gaps. Ahahahahahahahahaha that has never once worked.)
If you’re not certain about your writing, get a beta! The fandom is full of talented people who’d be happy to read over your work, and if the person you ask doesn’t have the time or spoons, they probably have a few ideas of other people you could reach out to. You don’t need a beta, but it always makes me feel better to have another set of eyes look over my writing before posting, and my beta always catches things I completely missed. Plus, you get a nice taste of that sweet, sweet validation we all crave.
This . . . is a bad guide. Just in general. The advice is . . . not good, and I think it’s largely useless. But I keep trying to think of useful things to add to it and coming up empty, so I hope something in here helped, and if you’d like to bounce your ideas off of someone, feel free to shoot me a message! Talking ideas over with friends is a great way to flesh them out as well, and I am happy to be anyone’s fandom friend.
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auntynationalsblog · 4 years
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5 Netflix Films for the Week, set before the 21st c.
How’s quarantine going? Yeah, same here. But it’s Monday after all, and you still have over 150 hours to kill if you’re dealing with this quarantine via a week-by-week approach. I can help you kill around 8%, 12 of those hours. Here are five must-watch films set before the twenty-first century. Don’t watch them all at once, that’s lame. 
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No spoilers. 
5.  The Revenant (1823)
Main Cast:  Leonardo DiCaprio and Tom Hardy 
“Revenge is in the Creator's hands.”
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Many of you will know of this film as the one which finally gave LDC his first Oscar, for Best Actor, at the 88th Academy Awards. Unfortunately, you would have stopped at that information and not bothered to watch the film. Released in 2015, the film is based on a novel of the same name. The definition of ‘Revenant’  is “a person who has returned, especially supposedly from the dead.” The story-line does not deviate from the title, as an American frontiersman named Hugh Glass is engulfed in a bear attack and is left for dead by his hunting crew. But he survives. And he’s fucking pissed. The novel is called The Revenant: A Novel of Revenge, and yeah, the film is pretty vengeful too. Interestingly, even though Hugh Glass was indeed a real person, and it is mostly believed that the film and novel are based on a story, there exist no writings from the man himself to verify the description of his story. His story was first published in a Philadelphia literary journal known as The Port Folio. Some say that it is no more than a legendary tale. Nevertheless, a brilliant film, don’t miss out. 
4. Before Sunrise (1994)
Only Cast (LOL): Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy
“If there's any kind of magic in this world…it must be in the attempt of understanding someone.”
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If you’re a fan of love stories/romantic films, and if you haven’t come across the Before Trilogy, I don’t know what kind of love stories you watch. Why is this film unique? In technical terms, it’s minimalist. In simple words, there’s no real plot. There’s no action or drama or horror. These two just walk and talk. Then they talk some more while walking, and when they’ve nothing to talk about, they just walk quietly. So why watch the film? For starters, it’s very peaceful and relaxing, unlike The Revenant, which is fucking intense. Secondly, the conversations in the film constitute some of the best dialogue-exchanges in the history of cinema. Their characters are very carefully crafted, as their varying perspectives on living and loving bring out some deep AF points throughout the film. It is a slow film no doubt, but I promise you that the blandness is worth it, and the ending is too nice. Don’t get bored, give the film some time and thank me later. 
3. Django Unchained (1858)
Main Cast: Jamie Foxx, Christoph Waltz, and Leonardo DiCaprio
“Sold! To the man with the exceptional beard and his unexceptional nigga!”
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Django Unchained is Tarantino’s highest-grossing film ever, for good reason. Although it has been criticized for historical inaccuracies, violence, and unprecedented high use of the N-word, Tarantino delivered one of the most dramatic and entertaining films from the era of plantation slavery. While the image above portrays Foxx, a slave, and LDC, a rich plantation owner, the highlight of the film was the German dentist-turned-bounty hunter, Dr. King Schultz, played by Christoph Waltz. Waltz’s performance is impeccable, only matched by his portrayal of Standartenführer Hans Landa in Inglourious Basterds (also directed by Tarantino). While the film starts off with Dr. Schultz hunting for his bounties, it eventually goes on to become a rescue mission, where Django and Schultz look for the former’s estranged wife, Broomhilda von Shaft. TW; extreme cursing and racism. But the film is a work of art. In fact, Jamie Foxx has revealed that LDC was pretty uncomfortable on the set, as his character had to use extremely racial slurs. But boy, he pulled off that role brilliantly.
2. Zodiac (1969 - 1980s)
Main Cast: Jake Gyllenhaal, Mark Ruffalo, and Robert Downey Jr.
“I wanna report a double murder. If you go one mile east on Columbus Parkway, to a public park, you'll find kids in a brown car. They were shot with a 9mm Luger. I also killed those kids last year. Goodbye.” 
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What happens when Iron Man, Hulk and Mysterio gang-up against one of America’s most notorious serial-killers? For now, I can only tell you that it was a pretty uneven contest. Based on a true story, this film depicts the useless San Francisco Police Department’s hunt for the Zodiac Killer, led by Dave Toschi (Ruffalo), and aided by political cartoonist Robert Graysmith (Gyllenhaal) and crime reporter Paul Avery (Downey). In case you’re wondering if they’re fictional characters, they’re not. They became pretty famous while the Zodiac Killer was running havoc, and have multiple articles and Wikipedia pages dedicated to all three of them. The Zodiac Killer remains unidentified by the way, and the cases are still officially open. Why watch the film then? Because the mysteriousness of it will blow your mind. Note that the film is directed by David Fincher, the same guy who directed Seven, Fight Club, Gone Girl and Mindhunter, among many other murder mysteries and thrillers. Don’t be surprised if you spend the rest of the day investigating the case yourself, happens to the best of us. 
Consolation Prize: The Irishman (1950s - 1970s)
Main (legendary) Cast: Robert De Niro, Al Pacino, and Joe Pesci
“I work hard for them when I ain't stealing from them.”
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I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking how can a film with a cast of three actors who redefined cinema in the late twentieth century earn only a consolation prize on this list? The truth is, that such crime/mafia/gangster films, no matter how legendary the cast is, only appeal to a particular audience. A lot of film buffs who truly appreciate cinema and actors are simply not enticed by this genre, which is okay. Nevertheless, this film, which spans over 200 minutes, is one of Martin Scorsese’s best works, along with other mob movies like Goodfellas and The Departed. Based on a true story, it follows the adventures of ordinary truck driver-turned-assassin Frank ‘Irishman’ Sheeran (De Niro), who gets mixed up in some extraordinary business with mobster Russell Bufalino (Pesci), his Pennsylvania crime family and American labor union leader Jimmy Hoffa (Pacino). The punchline of the film is “I heard you paint houses” - a mob code implying: I heard you murder people for money, the paint being the symbol of the blood that splatters when bullets are riddled into the target. Typical Scorsese, mesmerizing direction. The punchline is also the name of the novel the film is based on, in case you love reading about organized crime. 
1. Dallas Buyers Club (1985)
Main Cast: Matthew McConaughey, Jennifer Garner and Jared Leto
“Sometimes, I feel I'm fighting for a life that I just ain't got the time to live. I want it all to mean something.”
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On the day of the 86th Academy Awards, Facebook and Twitter erupted in outrage. LDC had not been awarded the Oscar for Best Actor for his portrayal of  Jordan Belfort in The Wolf of Wall Street, also known as The Film You Must Never Watch With Your Family. I merely asked every hot-tempered schmucks who posted that LDC had been snubbed, “Have you watched Dallas Buyers Club?” Either the answer was no, or the answer never came. The point being, Dallas Buyers Club is one of the best films ever made. Based on the true story of Ron Woodroof, a once homophobic, junkie cowboy diagnosed with AIDS, co-starring Jared Leto (who won best supporting actor) as Rayon, a fictional trans-woman with HIV, this film tells us an extraordinary tale of friendship, hope and empathy. When Ron discovers that the Federal Drug Administration has been systematically banning cheap drugs that can improve the condition of existing HIV-AIDS patients, he opens a ‘buyers club’, that enabled sick people to make drug purchases at lower prices. Things get more interesting with the role of  Dr. Eve Saks, an AIDS doctor, who recognizes the villainous role of the state, but wants to remain within the ambit of the law. Ron’s character development might be the highlight of the film, as he transforms from a selfish, homophobic asshole to a dying man waging war against the American government, fighting for the healthcare of the underprivileged. Very few equally magnificent films have come out post Dallas Buyers Club. Don’t miss out. 
So that’s it folks. Make good use of your quarantine by immersing yourself in good quality cinema. I’ll come up with some more suggestions on films and TV shows soon enough. Till then, Netflix and Don’t Chill. 
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What if Alfred was Batman...
So I had this thought that wouldn’t leave me alone and maybe one day I’ll write it but for now I’ll just bullet point it here and if anyone wants to write it, let me know and we can bounce ideas off each other.
Alfred is absolutely the most under-stated badass in the DCU and DC are cowards for not acknowledging it.
How it all goes down:
- Martha and Thomas Wayne die. It’s much the same as in the current continuity. There’s a fateful trip to the theatre, a thief after some pearls... a gun. 
- Alfred Pennyworth is the Wayne’s butler and an ex-SAS soldier/actor/MI6 spy/anything he needs to be. He’s not much older than them and agrees to take their son, Bruce, in.
- Bruce is understandably traumatised by everything that had happened and Alfred is the Ultimate Dad™ but he’s out of his depth. 
- He sends Bruce to a therapist. It solves a lot of problems before they begin.
- The Gotham PD work the case for a few weeks, a month maybe, then give up. They take Bruce’s statement, they do some half-hearted police work, they find “no leads”. Alfred talks to Jim Gordon, a young police sergeant, who tells him there’s nothing to be done. No amount of money will make the police open the case again if they don’t want to and he doesn’t have enough sway with the higher-ups in the department to make them.
- The Wayne’s killer vanishes like he never existed.
- Alfred has to tell Bruce that his parents’ murderer will never be brought to justice and it breaks his heart. He is not satisfied
- Alfred still tells him bedtime stories and he particularly enjoys mysteries and adventure, stories of Alfred’s old spy days or british detectives. They’d been replaced by more fantastical stories recently, Alfred unwilling to poke at the healing wounds, but now they were slowly returning.
- It is the stories of old folk heroes and vigilantes that starts Bruce asking questions Alfred can’t answer. Mainly ‘why don’t we have heroes like him?” and it gets the beginnings of an idea wiggling in Alfred’s brain.
- The idea won’t go away and he thinks of Bruce in the police station the night of Thomas and Martha’s death, dwarfed by Jim Gordon’s coat, shivering, face wet with tears. He thinks of the other children who don’t have parents, or who’s parents shouldn’t be their parents. He thinks of his old army mates, fighting for justice, for freedom, against all the odds.
- Alfred has to do something. He talks to Jim. He puts on a mask and steps onto the roofs of Gotham.
- Batman is born
- Alfred’s Batman is different to the one we know. He’s the most functional of all the functional adults and it shows. He knows how to compartmentalise, how to be mentally healthy, how to keep it a secret from Bruce so he doesn’t try to join him (he knows his pseudo-son). He’s good with kids and adults alike, polite and kind and he lets poor old Jim finish his sentences.
- He is also the biggest drama queen known to man. 
- He doesn’t brood like Bruce-as-Batman does but Batman is still a role to play and Alfred was an actor once. (I have a vivid image of Alfred in a Bat-suit monologuing Shakespeare and it’s beautiful)
- He solves the Wayne murder first
- Bruce finds out eventually of course but he’s an adult and he’s mentally stable enough to understand that just because your guardian dresses as a giant bat to solve crimes doesn’t mean you should to.
- The Justice League is still a thing and Batman’s there but it’s strange because Alfred’s so much older than all these young heroes that have cropped up. Most of them are Bruce’s age and he takes advantage of that to get his son some friends.
- He takes on a kind of mentor-ish role to all of them and they appreciate his wisdom
- Bruce still takes in Dick, Jason and Tim because he’s a child hoarder at heart.
- Dick goes out as Robin exactly once and then Bruce and Alfred tag team him so he never does it again.
- Bruce finds Jason on the anniversary of his parent’s death, trying to break into his car. He takes him home.
- Tim shows up to a fancy party that the Drakes were invited to alone and tells Bruce that he knows the truth. No one knows how. Tim doesn’t explain.
- Damian is... complicated. Talia is a public figure in Gotham and their relationship and break-up (because Bruce discovered that her father was Ra’s who is literally Alfred’s arch nemesis and that was too much to take but the media don’t need to know that) was very publicised. Damian was born after Talia moved back to the middle east to be with the league and he was kept away from Gotham for years.
- Alfred discovers him when he’s fighting Ra’s in his stronghold and steals him for Bruce.
- Talia comes for him but Bruce got attached so he just...keeps him.
- Alfred is a grandfather of 5 and he loves it
- He’s also their butler still but they forgot about that years ago and it’s mostly so he can keep his visa anyway.
- They all know he’s Batman
- Everyone knows
- But shhhhh it’s a secret
6 notes · View notes
wannawrite · 5 years
Text
not my type
who?: Wanna One’s Ong Seongwoo genre: 🌸 type: bullet point
blog navigator.
University! AU 
you don’t date younger guys
but you just might ;)
thanks for requesting! this was quite difficult to write since I am a child still lol. Do note that Seongwoo is 20 in this work of fiction. ⁃ admin l
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disclaimer: pictures used do not belong to me and credit goes to their original owners everything that is written here is purely fictional DO NOT READ IF TRIGGERING
~
so,,,your love life 
not that exciting 
in fact, it is facing a drought at the moment 
reality is harsh huh? 
or maybe it is because of your high standards 
1. No younger guys 
2. Must be a nice person 
3. Someone I could foresee marrying 
but none of your blind dates left you impressed
and then there’s this kid from the music block called Ong Seongwoo 
he’s just one of the guys trying to worm his way into your ‘possible boyfriend’ list 
scarily enough, his tactics were working
~
we gon throw this waayyy back when y’all met 
frat parties were never your thing
in fact, f*ck linda and this stupid party, I just want to go home and sleep 
you love your roommate and all but you couldn’t help but curse her out 
after all, she had dragged you to this party thrown by one of the music department frat guys 
and left you stranded 
in a hallway with at least 3 couples passionately making out 
tonight was not your night at all 
you hated the loud, shitty music and the smell of sweat and liquor 
appalling 
but linda was your ride here and there was a slim chance of hailing a cab right now 
you had no choice but to suck it up and rough it out 
Another issue
you needed to finish that essay on sustainable fashion before the 6am deadline 
shit 
gr8 job prof 
all-nighter? 
borrow a laptop from someone and do it now? 
what the hell 
which person would bring a laptop to a frat party? 
unless you can break into one of their rooms and take one??1?1?11
you almost slap yourself at the idea
dumb worried bitch energy 
sis is out of ideas and just wants to graduate be a little empathetic, folks 
you want to sit down on the floor and sink into a puddle of goo 
oh no 
there’s no way you are going to maintain this 3.9 GPA lmaoo
you move to wrestle Linda away from one of the frat guys 
but hollers and cheers stop you
a group of guys block your path as they welcome yet another friend 
but get this! the newcomer has a laptop case in his hands!! 
he appears to have just come from a lecture or meeting 
bUT HE HAS A LAPTOP YAYAYAYAYA
now, all you had to do was to stalk him, suck up to him and steal borrow the device 
sucking up to one of these frat boys was easy 
their brains had been bruised with bud lights so they weren’t the brightest of the bunch 
before you know it, he’s whisked away by his friends and dissolved into the crowd 
crap 
you really, genuinely, wholly, need this laptop 
They would help a fellow college student in need, right?
left with no choice, you elbow your way through  
I suppose your efforts pay off 
bc you catch him as he’s headed upstairs 
barely 
“hey!” you yell over the noise. “I-I...” 
the mystery guy only stares, quizzically 
suddenly, you’ve lost all ability to form coherent sentences 
this is embarrassing!
hE JUST LOOKING 
sis gotta calm down 
remember the real reason: laptop
“c-can i borrow your laptop real quick? I have a d-deadline tonight” 
mystery boy says nothing 
...
“What’s it in for me? If i lend you my laptop?”
he tries to remain serious but the corners of his mouth are tugging up
sneaky
desperation is pretty much flooding your body 
you wld say f*ck it but you can’t 
“I’ll owe you a favour!” you blurt out thoughtlessly. 
*crickets chirping* 
hope is slowly beginning to fade and your brain is coming up with extension excuses 
just crumbs,,,anything
Orbits gg thru with the drought
when he goes 
“okay”
JESUS THANK YOU 
he beckons for you to follow him 
oh?😏😉
“I know a better work environment than here.” 
oh. 
“What’s your name? I’m y/n, it’s my third year.” 
“Woah, third year? my name’s ong seongwoo. I just got here.” 
huh, freshman 
seongwoo doesn’t say much after
he leads you to a common study area in the enormous fraternity house 
you turn away as he sets up the laptop and everything bc privacy!!!
but the number of brain cells you have left won’t allow you to remember his login details anyway 
“thanks,” you murmur bashfully 
well, this is an expected and rather awkward situation 
seongwoo plants himself in the chair a few seats away from yours 
he pulls out study materials from his backpack 
??? hello? sis, u shld be enjoying the party downstairs ???
you try to shift your fullest attention on your project 
but!! his presence alone is so loud prominent, it’s giving you a hard time keeping your eyes off😔🤧
anyway u manage to suck it up and finish paper and submit it just in time! 
a miracle 
maybe he is your angel ;)
you turn to face him and,,,seongwoo has fallen asleep!! on his books!! 
his hair is slightly tousled and his glasses rest askew on his face 
papers flap in his face but he’s too gone to care 
the poor child is tired 
💓💖💕soft hours💕💖💓: open
gently, you tap his shoulder 
“seongwoo? hey, um, your laptop,” 
he only stirs the 2nd time you call him
Cute
groggily, he covers his face and speaks into his hands 
he mumbles something about ‘dealing with it later’
you figure it would be best if you left him alone to nap 
suddenly, seongwoo grabs your arm 
at least, he reaches for it
“I need your number to claim that favour.” 
my number ????
for half a second, your heart does pitter patters 
he’s only being objective though...
and it was you who suggested it in the first place 
sighing, you punch your number into his phone 
“okay, but use it wisely and...try not to...call or text so much...”
that sounds rlly mean >:( 
“yeah i’ll keep that in mind.” 
there’s an underlying layer of...cheekiness? in seongwoo’s tone 
your brain jumps to the first conclusion it can think of 
“I don’t date younger guys, Seongwoo,” 
rEGRET FILLS YOUR ENTIRE BEING IMMEDIATELY AFTER 
now, Seongwoo looks up and beams broadly 
“Bold of you to assume I’m interested,” he taunts playfully 
red sinks into your face and you defend yourself in splutters 
“I’m not interested in general! I’m prioritising my studies and everything else! It was just to make sure you know where we stand-“ 
futile, really 
“relax,” he replies. “Just saying, I could change your mind.” 
Cocky 
but true lol
an amused scoff leave your lips and your arms go akimbo
“I’d like to see you try, freshman.” 
~
*back to the present* 
You: really, Seongwoo. I don’t see why you can’t drop by the printing station yourself 
Seongwoo: you are seated RIGHT NEXT to it. Just fold the papers into aeroplanes and fly them over 
You: a 15-page research paper ?? That clearly says ‘do not bend’ 
Seongwoo: ignore it. Throw it over 
you never predicted this was where life would take you 
here you were, sat in the library, the table by the printing room 
and Seongwoo was seated a few tables away, texting you to collect his freshly printed document
just because 
You: Oh my god shut up you’ll get points deducted if your paper is the least bit crumpled 
You: i’ll just bring it over 
so,,,you did 
you brought seongwoo’s papers over to his table 
he had been watching from afar, lips pulled into a dumb smile
“thank you, senior.” 
boy had the audacity to say that in front of your salad 
just to tease him, you reply: 
“yeah, senior, just how I like my future boyfriend.” 
with that remark, the smile slips off seongwoo’s face and his jaw clenches
but he tries to play it off all cool😎🤧
you shoot the sweetest smile you can muster before skipping back to your table 
*beep beep*
I nearly put vibrate -
Seongwoo: that doesn’t count as using my favour card! 
your head shakes, but your mouth smiles 
it was no secret that seongwoo had a small! crush on you 
even if it was, everyone knew 
his whole frat and most of his seniors 
your friends and roommates 
the whole bloody campus 
this relationship started out with seongwoo following you on ig
then occasionally dropping a text and wishing you well 
he also hyped up all your pics 
and said hi whenever you bumped into each other 
it escalated to meeting up for brunch or a movie 
just...as friends, casually 
but you enjoyed his company and goofing around much more than some blind dates 
now, texting him was a regular 
going out was common 
and you haven’t even counted the number of times you guys met at social events 
sometimes, he made you feel so✨ special, precious, wanted by doing the smallest things 
like a tea on your table 
or going the extra mile to cheer you up 
most of the time at the expense of his handsome face 
he was always,,,there
you did find out about his feelings, though he never addressed them fully
it was fun!! to press his buttons as a friend 
“yeah idk abt dating someone younger. Wbu?” 
“Hmm. Senior year makes everyone 10x hotter.” 
thOSE WERE JOKES 
BANTER, PEOPLE, BANTER 
but...you weren’t certain if that would turn into something more 
you know, you hadn’t given dating someone younger a thought 
it never crossed your mind 
maybe it was a subconscious deal breaker 
you were always quick to bring age into making deals 
old broken deals could be made new 
the concept was incredibly foreign 
my boyfriend? younger? 
Personally, you could never see that happen 
b-but seongwoo made you sO DAMN HAPPY ALL THE TIME 
there was sunshine in his smiles
and starlight in his eyes 
ᵕ꒳ᵕ
uGh fEELINGS 
but is this attraction? 
Eventually, after many sleepless nights, up thinking about this, you made up your mind
If he made a move first, 
bc ur scared 
you would be hella open to dating him 
f*ck that ‘older people only’ rule 
(⁄˘⁄ ⁄ ω⁄ ⁄ ˘⁄)♡
[3.06am] seongwoo leaves a voicemail. He says, “hey, will you go on a date with me? I like you.”
[3.14am] seongwoo leaves another voicemail. “I’ll use my favour card if I have to. Just give me a chance.” 
anD HOLY F*CK YOU DON’T knOW HOW TO ACT AFTER HEARING THOSE 
RIGHT WHEN YOU WAKE UP 
yOur heaRT IS FLUTTERING AND YOU CAN FEEL THE BLUSH COMING 
UGH SWEETHEART YOU GOT IT BAD 
so u jump on this bandwagon and call him asap 
it goes straight to voicemail but you don’t leave one 
hehe
you know,,,to build suspense 
all day long, that’s all you can think about 
SeoNGWOO LIKES ME?
~
[8.17am] seongwoo wakes up to a silent voicemail from you 
he doesn’t know what to think of it 
he dials your number with shaking hands and before you can utter a word, he rushes, “meet me at xxx cafe at 11am” 
then hangs up 
Tumblr: 101 cafe date outfit ideas
Seongwoo arrives early and orders a drink while waiting 
he also picks out a window booth to sit at 
his nerves could eat him alive if they teamed up 
what would you say to him? 
how badly did you react to his 3am confession 
getting mildly intoxicated on Daniel’s stash was a horrible idea
he spilt all his secret uwus
the bell chimes 
and all his attention is focused on you 
your eyes land on him 
a smile graces your face as you walk over 
“I like you too.” 
“Damn, you better not be messing with me right now,” seongwoo nervously chuckles. “I know I sent you th-“ 
“Oh my god! I like you!” 
For a moment, his smart mouth runs dry, surprised 
“Oh wow, what happened to your older guys only rule?”
You smack his chest in mock annoyance
“Rules are made to be broken! Let’s not talk about that.” You turn various shades of red 
Grinning like the Chesire cat, Seongwoo teases, “And that’s the beauty of it.” 
34 notes · View notes
welcometoteamz · 5 years
Text
verse.    »    canon
Blaine as presented in the iZombie canon. Willing to write him at any point in time during any season. open to all.
verse.    »    i don’t think he’s faking
So there was a year long hiatus between seasons 2 and 3 where I wrote Blaine’s amnesia as being a legit and lasting thing, and he forged new dynamics and relationships with folk. i didn’t want to throw all that out so. he has Blaine’s history, but basically he becomes a new character with the same name/face . selectively open to mutuals.
verse.    »    new and improved version
Blaine tells Peyton when his memories return, and he makes a genuine effort to turn his life around. In her words, his memories come back, but he stays this new and improved version of Blaine. who is honest and doesn’t let his own fears and insecurities and accountability skirting fuck things up for himself. selectively open to mutuals.
verse.    »   bye bitch Blaine never feeds Angus and he’s left to turn Romero and eventually decompose at the bottom of the well.
open to all
verse.    »    untitled DuBeers verse
Rita survived getting shot in the head, and due to having no where else to turn went to Blaine. The two struck up a partnership/kinship/cute yet mischievous little dynamic. pretty much exclusive to @fairisfair, but if anyone wants threads set in that verse they can let me know.
verse.    »    teenage dirtbag
Blaine prior to the iXombie series, where he is a high school/uni student who eventually turns to selling underage kids beer which turns to him pushing drugs which leads to works for Boss after Angus cuts him off. open selectively to mutuals.
verse.    »    untitled au where blaine never started up meat cute
Yeah by this point he had turned Angus and carelessly turned Jackie but in this verse liv confronts him after seeing him with Dougie and Hutch. in this verse blaine didn’t know he could turn someone via sex, but after the confrontation at the morgue and being unable to get drunk he needed to feel something and turning jackie was an accident. so now liv is keeping a close eye on him which means no criminal activities. exclusive to certain mutuals.
verses under cuts bc their descriptions are too long. 
»    the blaine didn’t steal the cures au/rob thomas is inconsistent
» the latter half of s3 and all of s4 were lackluster imo and i wanna ignore it them
verse    »    the blaine didn’t steal the cures au/rob thomas is inconsistent
bc i’m bitter. Blaine tries to turn his life around, but get caught in a lie and fuck it up for himself due to his own insecurities and fear of rejection. it’s more tragic if he still tried to behave himself even after his lie was exposed, and it was the hit from Angus that dragged him back into his old life after he got his retribution. like he was all angry but also defeated when don e showed up and told him they were taking his clients. he was just resigned to his miserableness. he was that devastated over losing his new life, nothing mattered to him anymore. and yeah. the fact he was with Peyton while lying is no doubt problematic and i’m mad at them for getting me on board with that and then pulling the rug out from under me…
But in my mind, he was still going to try and start anew even if she chose Ravi. even after his lie was exposed, and he knew he wouldn’t change how they saw him…he knew he was capable of doing good, and would have kept doing it. imo. He stopped caring about the business when he was in his depressed funk. Candy had to get on him about the orders. He wouldn’t have stolen the cures, because in that state, he didn’t care. he was so apathetic about everything. it took nearly getting killed for him to have a sense of what to do with himself. and yeah, they showed him with the blue juice recipe. that’s what i mean by inconsistent. one episode he’s all “well at least i have this and i can be dastardly” and the next he’s drunkenly singing love songs and moping and neglecting the business. You’re telling me that Blaine stole the cures, went shopping for the blue juice ingredients, and then went to get drunk and sing his set? nah son.
Which goes into the whole “i think there was more to the Natalie situation than we got, but they changed it bc she left the show for a new one and they were reduced back to 13 eps.”
Not just the inconsistency of her having money, and of Oates not finding her like she said he would. esp. when she was amnesiac…but they had the bodyguard see Ravi’s ID, and note where he worked. There had to have been a reason for that.If she told him about the cure and used it to barter her freedom.If she sold the information to them or something…because if she said she got it from Major, and his friend Ravi, then they’d know to ransack the morgue. For that matter, when she escaped, you don’t think they’d go looking for her with the guys who tried to save her from them? but like. if Ravi hadn’t slept with Katty Kupps and if pavi had sailed in s3. Blaine would have kept working as a lounge singer while also doing shady plots stuff, and he would have been content.
Which goes to ways Blaine could have gotten out of his lie, that someone like Blaine would have thought about. Like.
Why not just get out of his lie with another lie? It would have been in character. Lie and say Ravi’s memory serum works. Major is injected with both at the same time, no one thinks anything of it when his memories come back. then do the same thing when a cure is able to be mass produced. Blaine gets to be happy and be with Peyton. Yes he loses the brain business, but I think he’d be willing to give that up for a fresh start and someone who loves him. Even if he gains it through bad and shifty/dishonest means.
Let’s not forget that was the episode where he had to sign the millions in inheritance back to Angus. if he that had not happened and he had all that money to fall back on? my trashy lil dude is set. so yeah. that was inconsistent and Lazy and this verse ignores that. open to all.
open to all.
verse.    »   the s4 was lackluster and i wanna ignore it au
S4 was all over the place and Not Good imo. idk if that is due to the episode count or if they changed things when they realized they had promoted a predator... but you have the Renegade stuff, the FG stuff, and the angus stuff.
Which wound up being all filler. like. why not tie it all together and have Angus as the ultimate big bad? not that i wanted fuckface to get more screentime. but like. how about Angus’ cult his plan to team up with FG from S3? if Blaine or don e tell them?
IT DOESN’T EVEN COME INTO PLAY AT ALL IN S4 WHEN FUCKFACE RETURNS. NO ONE CALLS HIM OUT ON HATING FILLMORE-GRAVES, REMINDING HIM OF HIS PLAN. HOW AWESOME WOULD IT HAVE BEEN IF THIS WAS EXPOSED TO HIS CHURCH AND THEY TORE HIM APART LIKE THE HYENAS DID SCAR IN THE LION KING?
And they never mention Blaine killing chase’s brother/Vivian’s husband Harrison. Now there are two tangents I could go into here. the first is how Blaine storyline in the back half of S3 may have suffered due to Andrea Savage leaving the show for her own series, I’m Sorry.
It’s possible we would have seen her and Blaine face off if she learned he presumably killed her husband Harrison.  but like. they still could have done that with chase. chase is Harrison brother. he worked with Blaine. he is smart enough and would easily be able to figure out that Blaine was the OG brain supplier and would have been the one to kill his brother.
Once he no longer needed Blaine, i.e. was done with his blackmail? He would have but him in the guillotine. I expected this. I expected Blaine to pull the same card he pulled on Liv in S1. That without him, they have a zombie apocalypse on their hands. There was a brain shortage prior to the outbreak when Blaine approached him in the S3 finale. In S4 it’s even worse. There’s even a plot about Major tracking down watered down brain tube dealers.
Chase is a proud man, he wouldn’t have gone back to Blaine automatically… but after the US Government cuts off the brain supply in the finale, Major enlists Blaine to increase his operations.You don’t think that in the middle of the brain shortage crisis, Chase would have bitten the bullet and remembered Blaine’s proposal?
Ok, at this point, you’re probably asking yourself. “Mmhm, okay, so maybe that’s a better plot for Blaine… but then who did steal the cures?”
Again, see the last verse. Osborn Oates. Don’t remember him? Yeah, neither do any of the characters, apparently. He was the guy who was Natalie’s captor. Who apparently had the the influence to bribe Max Rager guards under Vaughn Du Clark’s nose. He was described by Ravi as being like a Bond villain. Natalie warns Major that wherever he goes, he’ll find her, but then… he doesn’t.
She travels the world. He doesn’t track her down. Even when she herself would have been vulnerable and amnesiac.
He doesn’t even try to track down Major and find out what he knows… if he was responsible for her escape. We know he is aware of Major. Major and Ravi followed he and his body guard.His body guard even checked Ravi’s morgue ID, and would have known where the cures were kept had he known about the cures.
Which… I think, Natalie might have told him about, in an effort to barter her freedom. Remember when we first met her? She said that since she was paid in brains by Blaine, who had become her pimp after turning her, that she ran through her savings and was broke. Yet… when she returns in S3, she tells Major that she traveled the world and had a place in Italy that she got thanks to her savings earned as sex worker.So… what is the truth?
I don’t want to speculate about a villainous Natalie. I actually liked her character, and she was certainly victimized and I don’t want to take away from that at all. Given her desperate situation though, might she have made some choices out of self preservation? Her own best interest?
I think there was more to the Natalie situation than we got. I think it suffered because they went from 19 episodes in season 2 back to a 13 episode order. I don’t know if her exit had more to do with propelling Major’s character’s decisions, or if because Natalie’s actress Brooke Lyons had gotten work as a series regular on the show Life Sentence. Maybe a bit of both? Maybe they did plan to kill her at the end of the arc, but the arc happened sooner than anticipated due to the shortened season? Knowing that they’d be losing her, they couldn’t carry that thread over to S4?
So instead they just dropped Osborn Oates, and over the summer Rob Thomas decided to change it to Blaine in S4 because no one would question it? Sorry Rob, I question it. You said in post S3 interviews that you planned to reveal who stole the cures in the finale, but there was no time so you’d get to it in S4.Really? That’s why? No time? If you had the time, how would it have come into play? The way it did come into play was Blaine seeking out Mama Leone, because Chase was blackmailing him. Are you telling me Chase would have done that in the S3 finale? That you would have seeded Renegade as a plotline even then?
I’m calling bullshit .I think it’s far more likely that plans fell through, and you needed the time to do a rewrite.
Even if Natalie had nothing to do with the cures being stolen, if it was planned to be Blaine all along…
You kill her off, and she doesn’t even get to confront Blaine? They never have a scene together? He’s responsible for her being a zombie, which led to her being kidnapped, and then held hostage.Yet he helped Major find her when he could have pleaded ignorance. He gave him Oates’ address and let him know when he was back in town. He didn’t have to do that. He could have said that it’s not the address on record, and Major wouldn’t have questioned him.
He could have elected not to tip Major off that he was back in town, and he wouldn’t have been able to find Natalie and give her the cure when he did.I’m not saying this excuses Blaine of what he did to her at all, or that the two would have been “even” or made peace. Not at all. There is no retribution for what he did to her.It does however, go back to my belief he was legit trying to change. open to those who are interested.
2 notes · View notes
league-of-light · 6 years
Text
Week 4 Pick’em
Look, I know I’m late on the picks this week.  I wanted to get them in yesterday, but other things came up and I didn’t get to it.  I’m sorry, ok?  To make up for it, I have written quite the long pick’em for this week.  I’m not entirely sure if I will be able to make them this long every week, but I think I should be able to. 
Why would I spend all this time writing the pick’em? Great question.  Isn’t there a more productive use of your time? Probably.  Will, you’re moving next week, shouldn’t you be packing or something?  Are you just spending way more time writing picks as a means to delay the inevitable anxiety you’re going to feel about starting a new job and moving?  Do you think this is the healthiest way to deal with that? Psh, you’re not my therapist. 
Anyway, here goes
Yerboi vs Brenner? I hardly know’er
This Will vs. Brenner bout, should be promotionally billed as “Chronically Injured and Underperforming” vs “Complete Lineup Ineptitude”. Both teams come into Week 3 at a resounding 0-2, and are looking to get their season on track after some of high profile trades in the first couple weeks of the season.
There are always big expectations when you make a trade in Fantasy Football.  Typically speaking, you hope and expect that the players you got are going to outperform whomever you traded away (or at the very least perform somewhat similarly). Unfortunately, that won’t always be the case.  Sometimes there are weeks like last week, where JuJu outscored T.Y. Hilton and I am forced to sit there and reflect on how I would have won if I just kept JuJu.  Other times, there are weeks like this week, where Brenner ensures he doesn’t have to deal with the emotional trauma of a trade gone awry because he benches the players he traded for. (No there aren’t, this literally never happens)
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I pick myself, simply because I don’t think I’ve actually ever seen a team projected to score as few points as Brenner.
Story To Watch: How quickly it will take Drew Brees to score more than the 3 points Brenner got from Tyrod Taylor.  My guess is 4 plays.
Tangiphil vs Hewie and the Hashslingers
After a fairly explosive first week of the season, we can all finally exhale — Phil’s team is bad again. Shockingly, his 3-headed Running Back Monster is down a head.  Unlike the legend of the Hydra, instead of another head growing in it’s place, Phil decided to chase last week’s bench points and play Nelson Agholor.  If you check his bench this week you may notice Joe Mixon outside of the IR slot, Isaiah Crowell’s wasted 18 point TNF total, and another Jets receiver.  That’s right folks, it’s week 3 and Phil is already in midseason form.
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But enough about Phil. Steve is 2-0 and I expect his win streak to continue this week.  In my humble opinion, his team is underprojected with only 98 points, as Big Ben, Melvin Gordon, and Marvin Jones all look poised to be playing catchup in potentially high scoring games.  Look for Steve to hopefully rise in the power rankings after squashing Phil.
Story To Watch: He may be the second head of a three two-headed running back monstrosity, but Adrian Peterson is going to look more like Mike Wazowski than James P. Sullivan this week.  The Packers offense comes to FedEx Field with an offense that looks like two-day expedited shipping, while the Redskins offense has been looking like the Pony Express. Game script gets away from the ‘Skins and they abandon the run.
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Kyle vs Sean
Close to half of this league isn’t from Rockland, so I’m going to use this opportunity to tell a story.  To the hometown heroes - some of the overarching details may be incorrect, but I don’t care I have the talking stick. If you want accuracy you can write the damn blog post next week.  Anyway, in sixth grade every middle school student has to take World History.  The curriculum is geared towards ancient civilizations, and a decent chunk of time is spent on Egypt.  As such, every year there was (is?, not sure if they still do it) a grade-wide Egypt project where students had to use their knowledge of Egypt, make something, and showcase it to the class.  Think of it like a science fair, but with crappy Egyptian dioramas instead of baking soda volcanoes.  Since I was a bright eyed ambitious young man who loved art and mythology, I knew I would do great on this project.  I chose the ambitious task of making a sculpture of Horus, the Falcon-headed man prince of the Egyptian pantheon. It wasn’t long before I realized my doodling skills didn’t translate well into making 3D models, but I was in far too deep.  I molded the clay as best I could, and then “accidentally” left it in the oven too long so it burned to a crisp and was nearly unidentifiable.  Needless to say, I didn’t do very well on that project.
Why am I telling you this? Because look at Sean’s team.  Does it look real good on paper? Sure. Does that mean he is likely going to win this week? Probably.  But has his overconfidence blinded him into creating a team made of glass with absolutely no depth in a 16-team league? 67%, yes.  (Because that is the grade I got on the project.)
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Story to Watch: Alex Collins has become the running back equivalent of Hillary Swank.  Hot or not? Stay tuned this week and find out…
You Guys Again vs. Johnson Ertz
The moment you’ve all been waiting for is here folks.  I…..I can’t believe it’s finally happening.  After almost two full years, the day has finally come.  Dylan Feldman vs. Dylan Costa are facing off in a fantasy football matchup which I am officially dubbing “The Battle for the Right to be Called Dylan in the Fantasy Football League Group Chat” (and since we love our acronyms here, aka TB4TR2BCDITFFLGC).  Two Dylans enter, only one Dylan leaves. This matchup is arguably one of the most important matchups we have ever seen in this league, and has a chance to change the history books forever.
Unfortunately for Dylan Costa, his squad isn’t exactly striking fear into anyone these days.  I’ll have to go with Dylan Feldman, but his lineup has more red letters than Hester Prynne after an all weekend slumber party at Arthur Dimmesdale’s Dimmesdale Dimmahome.
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Story to Watch: With the return of Aaron “I smoke Marijuana so Bowers thinks I’m a bad person” Jones coming back to Green Bay, Jamaal Williams’ usage should be monitored. As the kids say, he hasn’t been very good over the past two weeks, and Aaron Jones is ready to come in blazing *~!420!~*
Bearkley vs. Watch Me
Imagine my shock when I saw I won the bidding war for Ryan Fitzpatrick.  I immediately rushed to find the owners of the Tampa Bay WRs so I could celebrate our good fortune as Fitzmagic showers us all with fantasy points.  Now imagine my shock when I saw Samantha has benched Chris Godwin, not only a rookie (we all know my irrational hype with rookies), but a rookie whose name is lit a combination of God and Win.  I don’t know about you, but doesn’t it feel like Samantha has renounced God and doesn’t want to win this week’s matchup?
On the flipside, Nico runs our Dungeons and Dragons group, and if the 80s taught me anything it’s don’t feed weird aliens after midnight, and that D&D is for devil worshipping heathens.  With any hope of good Christian fun squandered for this matchup, it really is anybody’s game.  I want to believe in the underdog, but more favorable matchups lead me to believe that Nico will pull out the W.
Story to Watch: Saquon Barkley caught 2 of 6 targets week 1 against the Jags.  That number increased to 14 of 16 targets last week as Eli Manning completely lost interest in holding on to the football for more than 1 second.  Is it possible that Saquon receives 28 targets this game as Eli Manning has to look JJ Watt and Jadaveon Clowney in the eyes?
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Washington vs. Walshington
I want to take a second here and pour one out for Walsh, who didn’t answer my trade offer or my text message regarding Dalvin Cook and Allen Robinson.  Walsh, you took an injury bullet for me and I will forever be grateful.  It’s appropriate that I mention taking a bullet, because rumors have it Frank Gore was actually there when the first metal bullet was shot in 1425.  Between Gore and Kerryon Johnson, Walsh will be lucky if he gets 14.25 points from his running backs this week.
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Andy surprisingly continues to ride or die with Andrew Luck, despite Luck being unable to throw the football more than 15 yards. At this point I assume he is just taunting Arielle with Bortles on his bench, and we have to assume that if Bortles continues putting up 30 point games, eventually Andy might start him.  The biggest story on this squad is how Andy managed to get two of the best big play boom or bust WRs with John Brown and Will Fuller, while also having Amari Cooper and Mike Evans.  That’s a solid receiving core you got there pal, and I just want you to know I see it and appreciate it.
Story To Watch: C’mon, it’s Philip Lindsay.  Every week it’s Philip Lindsay. Everyone loves a hometown hero and I have greatly enjoyed watching this kid ball out.
Bowers v Arielle
I’m high on Dylan Leone Arielle’s team this year.  How could you not be? It was drafted by a man who has $45,000 in fantasy football great young woman who has shown her commitment to the league.  For whatever reason, ESPN’s site stopped working just as I was going to look at this matchup, so unfortunately I am going to have to give an abridged write up of my pick.  I have played these teams back to back so you would assume I know who is on their rosters, but I can’t remember anything other than Russell Wilson and James Conner on Arielle’s team, and Golden Tate and Kirk Cousins on Bowers’.
Based on this limited memory alone, I suppose I am going to pick Bowers in what will likely be another close matchup for the Reikland Reavers
Story to Watch: The story of life as I take this momentary absence from ESPN’s Fantasy Football to reflect on the finer things in the world.  Like Yahoo Fantasy Football.
Jason v Harnsowl
ESPN is still not working for me, neither on my phone nor my computer, so I can’t really give much analysis here.  However, not much analysis is needed.  Unlike his godless sister, Jason is a man of faith. And if George Michaels taught us anything, it’s that you gotta have faith.  You gotta have faith, faith, faith.  Carson Wentz returns this week and I don’t care whoever Harnsowl is playing, it doesn’t really matter.  I mean, as far as the matchup is concerned it might matter, but emotionally speaking, Jason has already won this week. 
I can’t be expected to pick a winner in a matchup that already has a winner, so instead I’ll take this time to remind you to spay or neuter your pets.  Bob Barker used to do a fantastic job of reminding the American people to do so, and if I am being completely honest I just don’t think Drew Carey delivers the message with the same panache. Like sure, I know Drew still says it at the end of the show, but does he really even believe it? Only Drew can really answer that question, but if I had to guess I would bet $100 $101 Drew.  While we’re on the topic, if any of you ever manage to go on Price is Right and you do that thing where you bid one dollar higher than someone else did, you can consider our friendship over.  Not only is it the worst strategy ever, it’s also rude as hell to the other contestant.  In some cases I’m sure the people legitimately don’t know what to bet after someone else bet around the same thing they did, but for the love of God at least bet like $10 higher so there is some tension in the room.  
But yeah, back to football, I pick Jason
Story to Watch: The next episode of Price is Right, Monday September 24th
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voidkraken · 6 years
Text
Hunting Days
My major creative work for my creative writing course this semester.
“Ireland used to be covered in forests.”
The farmhouse sits in the fold of the low green hills, shrouded by a fog that lays heavy on the ground. It’s squat and old, and most of the stonework is covered in ivy that has been left to grow rampant. It engulfs the house in a vibrant green, as if the hills around it, having grown sick of its presence, are trying to smother it in their embrace. A thin trail of smoke reaches towards the sky from one of the chimneys, rising from the fire Tierney has been poking life into for the past ten minutes. She’s squatting in front of the old fireplace in fuzzy slippers and sweatpants, and swaddled in a thick flannel shirt she stole from her girlfriend’s side of the closet. Her short black hair is mussed with sleep.
Reagan and Morna – her daughter and her girlfriend’s mother respectively – sit across from each other at the kitchen table, trying to keep warm. Morna hunches over the mug of coffee clasped between her hands, her eyes still heavy with slumber. Her voice as she weaves her story is rough and heavy, like the hewn wood piled next to the fireplace. It scratches uncomfortably at Tierney’s ears in the early silence of the countryside.
Reagan, bundled up in the quilt she’d pulled off her bed, is already fully awake and ready to face the day, despite the cold, early hour. Her attention is wholly focused on Morna and her big brown eyes are round with excitement as she shovels spoonfuls of porridge into her mouth.
“Pines and oaks and elms as far as you could see,” Morna continues.
Outside, across the other side of the farm, crouched in frost-covered grass and half-hidden in the brush, Síun shoulders her rifle. Her sharp eyes track a ruddy buck that picks its way across an open field. She had left early that morning, wrapped in three layers and a camo windbreaker. Her rifle had been slung across her shoulder and Saorise had nipped at her heels. The rifle clicks as Síun chambers a bullet and flicks off the safety, loud as a gunshot itself in the silence of the misty morning.
 “That was the Ireland where the aos sí lived,” Morna says as she rises from the table, taking her coffee mug with her. As she stirs so too do the others. Tierney tosses another log onto the fire before deeming it healthy and standing with a groan. She’s getting too old to be spending long minutes crouched in a cold room.
“That was what the sons of Mil inherited from Eriu. You remember who they are?” Morna asks.
“The sons are the Irish that sailed over from Spain,” Reagan replies, “And Eriu is the goddess of Ireland.”
Morna stands next to the sink and swirls the dregs of her coffee around. “Good enough.” Her mug is dropped into the sink before she lowers herself into a kitchen chair near the door, putting herself within arms-reach of the wellingtons lined up against the wall.
 A deafening shot rings out in the empty silence, scattering birds into the air. Síun swivels and chambers a new bullet, the old casing landing on the trampled earth next to her boot. It’s unnecessary, the shot having hit the deer behind the shoulder. It manages to jump into the cover of the trees before dropping. Saoirse is off like shot before Síun’s sharp whistle pulls her up. “’Ere,” Síun gruffs, pointing at the ground at her feet. She waits for the young dog to return to her side before making her way down the hill.
 “That’s why the aos sí are so few,” Morna continues, tugging on her pair of mud-covered wellies, “We destroyed their land and they died with it.”
Reagan’s eyes widen with horror and she runs to Tierney’s side, “Omma, no!”
Tierney gives the older woman an unimpressed look and bites back on the desire to assure her daughter that it’s all just a story. Reagan has never believed in Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny, but she does believe in fairies, and even Tierney – raised Catholic on her mother’s side and Buddhist on her father’s – has a begrudging respect for the invisible inhabitants of Ireland. “It’s okay little black bird, that was a long time ago. We’re fixing it. We’ve got all those trees planted at the back of the farm.”
The front door creaks as Morna pushes it open. Cold air rushes into the house as she stomps out. Reagan and Tierney scramble to pull on their own wellingtons and coats before they follow her outside.
The front yard – which had been overrun by brambles and wild rosebushes when Tierney first moved in with Síun – has been tamed into a respectable vegetable patch. Separate from the rest of the farm, it supplies the bulk of Tierney’s vegetarian diet.
“When are you planning on putting in raised beds hm?” Morna says as she lowers herself to the ground among the root vegetables. Reagan takes it upon herself to rush off towards the squash vines in search of the best fruit for harvest.
“Soon.  Probably.”
Reagan’s voice rises into the air as she starts a rough rendition of the Cranberries’ Stars. Her voice is not developed enough to hit all the notes.
 Síun runs her knife from the groin of the buck up to its sternum and then back down to cut through the skin, flesh and membrane holding in the guts. Caution is taken so as not the split the stomach – that would ruin the whole kill. She splits the pelvis with a bone saw and cuts out the testicles and oesophagus so that the innards can be spilled onto the tarp she’s laid out. The stomach, bladder and intestines are rolled onto the ground, to be left for the scavengers, and the remaining offal is packed into a cooler.
 “I’ll take you just the way you – Jessie’s mam says I’m a changeling,” Reagan says suddenly, interrupting herself mid-chorus. She’s standing under the persimmon tree, a large butternut squash cradled in her arms. When both women turn to look at her in shock she continues, “She says that’s why I’m weird.”
“You know a stór,” Morna says, “They used to call Síun a changeling too?”
Reagan’s eyes widen and she shakes her head.
“It was nonsense. She’s the same babby I popped out of my vagina alongside her brother,” Morna emphasises the pop with a burst of beetroot pulled from the ground. Tierney groans while Reagan shakes with suppressed giggles. “It was just ‘cause they didn’t understand her autism. Folk always attribute things they consider weird to the fairies.”
“You’re okay being weird, though?” Tierney asks.
“Yeah. I’m okay,” Reagan replies.
 ***
 Behind the farmhouse sit two squat sheds. One has been converted into an art studio for Tierney, and the other shed, typically referred to as the butchery, is where Síun prepares and stores the meat butchered on the farm. Grass and clover cover the ground between the three buildings, sprouting from cracks and gaps in the stone paths. Fairy lights still adorn the eaves of the buildings, left up after Síun and Tierney’s wedding a few months earlier.
Síun brings the deer home in the back of her weathered 4x4. Reagan, who was brought along for the first time this year to watch Síun’s rifle and dog work, hangs her arm out of the window to catch the wind. A familiar routine follows their arrival. Morna grabs the cooler full of guts and takes it to a stool by Tierney’s shed where she cleans and separates what can be eaten and what can be given to the animals. Tierney remains in the house and prepares the vegetables harvested in the morning for lunch, dinner and preserves. Síun takes the deer to the butchery where it’s hung up on a gambrel by its back legs for skinning.
“Sick.”
Síun turns from where she has been slicing skin away from flesh. Reagan and her acid green hair stand in the doorway of the shed, staring down the gaping chest cavity of the hung deer. One eyebrow is cocked in feigned disinterest.
The teenager makes her way over to investigate what Síun is doing. Usually Reagan would be helping Tierney or Morna, but after a few minutes Síun realises that she isn’t planning on leaving. Síun gestures for her to brace the doe.
Reagan’s face scrunches up in disgust, “Do I have to?”
Síun nods.
Once Reagan is securely holding the buck by its flanks so it doesn’t twist and swing on the gambrel, Síun begins to silently demonstrate how she tugs the skin away from the meat of the deer and separates them with her knife.
“This is way less fun than the chickens.” Reagan has learned the habit from Tierney – or maybe it’s a skill – of filling the silence that Síun leaves in conversation. “Hey is there a machine that can do this? Like in that chicken movie.”
Síun’s deadpan stare is enough of an answer.
Once the hide is worked from the thighs and the buttocks, Síun slices through the tailbone and gestures for Reagan to take the hide in hand.
“This is gross,” Reagan informs her as she digs her fingers in.
Síun answers with a roll of her eyes. “Pull,” she instructs, and demonstrates the motion.
Reagan has to stand on her tippy-toes to reach, and with bad leverage and a slippery grip she only manages to shift an inch of skin. “Well I think that went well. I’m sure you can take care of the rest.”
Síun laughs and gently grabs Reagan before she can escape, setting her next to the deer again. This time Síun grips the hide and tugs it down to the ribcage in two quick pulls.
“If that’s supposed to impress me it’s not working.”
Síun flashes Reagan a smile before she starts humming the familiar chords of Never Grow Old. She holds her arms out to the deer, eyebrows raised.
Reagan’s eyes flick between the carcass and Síun before she scrunches up her face and whines, “That’s bribery. You know I like listening to you sing.”
Síun laughs and quietly starts singing the first verse.
With a huff Reagan takes up handfuls of the skin again but Síun stops her. Gently she takes Reagan’s hands in her own and repositions them from the right side of the skin to the left. “This is my perfect day.”
It takes more time – and more whining – than it should, but eventually Reagan manages to tug the skin down to the doe’s jaw. A few seconds with a bone saw are all Síun needs to separate the head from the body.
“Ok, well, this was fun. I’m going to go help granny and omma with lunch,” Reagan says, before she disappears and leaves Síun to butcher and store the deer.
 Síun enters the farmhouse to find Reagan and Morna pressed shoulder to shoulder at the kitchen bench and Tierney reclined on the couch in the living room, a book in hand. A pot bubbles away on the stove.
“Did I ever tell you about the time I met the fairies who live in our sídhe?” Morna, Síun sees when she peers over her shoulder, is cutting the heart of the deer into thin slices.
“No.” Reagan’s hands hover over the kidney’s she’s cleaning, attention focused on Morna.
“Here, a leanbh, if you have time to spy over my shoulder you have time to feed the chickens.”
A bowl of sinew and fatty offcuts is shoved into Síun’s hands. She grunts and takes it out to the front yard while Morna resumes her story.
“This was back when Síun and her brother were little snappers.”
Outside twenty chickens scattered about the paths and stone-wall garden beds of the yard look up at Síun’s arrival. It takes but a second for them to notice the food in her hand and swarm around her feet.
“I’d been out with a sheep that was birthing and it was dark by the time I headed back,” Morna’s voice is still audible through the glass of the window at Síun’s back, “I was tired and exhausted when I saw these light. Pretty little things, leading me up the hill.”
“But you didn’t follow them,” Reagan said, “Because you’re smart.”
The chickens scatter in a flurry of feathers and dust as Síun tosses the scraps over their heads and into the garden. Dust and dander float about in the air, sticking to her clothes and getting in her face.
“Oh no a stór, brains did not help me against these aos sí. I followed them up that hill.”
“What happened?”
“Síun started wailing.” Morna shot her a daughter a quick wink as she returned to the kitchen, patting dust off herself. “Lungs like bellows that one. I could hear her kicking up a fuss all the way across the farm. Snapped me out of the spell. When I realised where I was I got out of there right quick. That’s why I wear this,” Morna taps the iron pendant hanging around her neck, “Best not to tempt fate.”
Síun kisses the top of her mother’s head, before leaving to join her wife on the couch.
“Yes,” Morna’s voice follows her out, “Thank you for saving my life.”  
 ***
 The smell of spices and roasting vegetables fills the farmhouse. Síun and Tierney crowd around the kitchen bench while Reagan sits on the couch with Dolores, Saoirse’s replacement, on her lap, trying to get the stereo to play music from her phone. Morna sits on a rocking chair by the fire, a bowl of peeled and cut potatoes in her lap.
“A stór,” Morna calls dropping the last potato into the bowl, “Come put these in the pot.”
“Okay, hold on, I just-,” a burst of loud music from the speakers around the living room interrupts Reagan’s mumbling and causes all four women to jump. Potatoes scatter across the ground as Morna jerks in surprise.
“Reagan!”
“Sorry,” she replies, quickly turning the volume down to a more acceptable level before she gives Morna a meek smile, “Sorry.”
“Potatoes.”
Without further argument Reagan jumps off the couch and quickly collects all the spuds from the floor. Dolores lies down by Morna’s feet with a huff. The potatoes are quickly rinsed in the sink before Reagan reaches between her mothers and drops them into a pot of boiling water.
“Little black bird.” Tierney catches Reagan’s arm before she can disappear back to the couch. “Go help your mam.”
“Sure thing.” Reagan skips away from her mother to the other end of the bench where Síun’s begun preparing par-cooked ribs for grilling. “Need some help?”
Without a word Síun presses a bowl of spice rub into Reagan’s hands.
“Yay,” Reagan deadpans as she begins to sprinkle handfuls of spice onto the ribs, before massaging it in with her palms. When she’s finished Síun takes the ribs and drops them onto a grill pan. They sizzle enticingly.
“Smells good mam,” Reagan says as she quickly dips her finger into a bowl of sauce left by the side of the stove, gracefully dancing away when Síun makes a swipe at her, “Tastes good too.”
“A stór.”
“Yes granny?”
“This music is awful, change it.”
The look Reagan gives Morna is equal parts offended and horrified, “This is Carly Rae Jepsen!”
“It’s screechy, auto-tuned noise,” Morna replies, “I could die any moment now and I refuse to be subjected to this.”
Tierney laughs, “Don’t be so dramatic Morna. The songs almost over anyway.”
Morna huffs and sinks back into her chair. She spends the next few torturous minutes listening to Tierney and Reagan chat about the young woman’s life in Galway while Dolores shuffles until she’s lying entirely atop Morna’s feet. Finally the sound of synths echoes out and the strumming guitar of Saving Grace begins to flow from the speakers. Morna’s eyes flick to Síun.
Her daughter, usually so full of song, had not sung once since the news earlier this year – Dolores O’Riodan dead at 46. Morna assumes that now Reagan will take it upon herself to skip a song, but instead she watches as Reagan takes Síun’s hand in her own and tugs her away from the stove.
“Dance with me.”
Síun hesitates, her free hand hovering above Reagan’s shoulder.
“This is a terrible song for dancing,” Tierney laughs.
“That’s quitter talk,” Reagan replies. She moves both her hands to Síun’s waist and tries to sway the two of them in a circle. Síun finally relents, laughing at the awful pace they keep. Shyly she starts to sing, her voice growing as she continues into the chorus.
“You’re just a little thing-“ she croons, leaning down to kiss the top of Reagan’s shaved head.
“That’s not fair! Everyone’s a little thing compared to you. You’ve got giant’s blood in you or something.”
“-my saving grace.” Síun laughs at Reagan’s grievances as she spins the two of them around until she stops suddenly, causing Reagan to stumble into her arm. A quiet “oh” leaves her mouth before she rushes back over to the ribs.
“Shit. They’re not burnt are they?” Reagan attempts to peer around her shoulder.
Síun shakes her head and waves Reagan away as she flips the ribs over and douses them in sauce.
Reagan turns away just in time for Tierney to shove a bowl of boiled potatoes and a jug of milk into her hands.
“Get to mashing.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Reagan settles herself at Morna’s feet, handing the milk jug to her to keep out of Dolores’ reach. “So, you know how Jessie, Charlize and I moved into a shared house together?” she says as she begins mashing the potatoes.
“Yes.”
“Well that’s a fairy ring growing in our yard.”
“That’s bad news a stór.” Morna reaches down to pour some milk into the mash.
“Yeah, I know. Jessie and I haven’t gone near it. But Charlize, she’s from South Africa, doesn’t believe in our ‘superstitious nonsense’. So she went and kicked up some of the mushrooms.”
“Eejit.”
“Yep. So the next morning she starts shrieking so Jessie and I go check what’s up and a cup of water had fallen on her laptop. Completely ruined it, all her files lost, no fixing the damn thing. She says she wasn’t anywhere near it when it happened too.”
“Serves her right, disrespecting the aos sí and tempting fate like that.” Morna places the empty jug on the ground.
“Right? So anyway, now I gotta get Charlize to make it right with the fairies or else Jessie swears she’s gonna kick her out.”
“Ah! The drama. Just get her to leave them a couple of gifts. And leave out some of your own. And wear more iron.”
Reagan stands, bowl of perfectly mashed potatoes clutched in her arms. “Yeah that’s what I figured. Thanks granny.” She presses a kiss to Morna’s cheek before returning the bowl to Tierney.
 The dinner spread includes the grilled ribs and mashed potatoes, along with roasted vegetables, fried mushrooms, toasted homemade sourdough, and a chickpea and squash stew. Síun assists Morna to hobble over to the dinner table and then everyone digs in. Dishes are passed back and forth and the best servings are enthusiastically fought over. Reagan packs in a frightening amount of food for her size, eating half the ribs and the stew by herself.
“Do they still call you weird, Reagan?” Morna asks, watching the young woman shove another mouthful of stew-covered toast into her mouth, “Jessie, and the others.”
“Hm? Oh yeah.” She’s all shaved hair, bony limbs and mile-a-minute conversations.  “But I like it that way.”
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tinyglowingsharks · 6 years
Note
Answer all the asks please. If you don't have the mental spoons for it then that's ok
lmao sure, thanks friend!
moon: what is your astrological sign?
Sagittarius (not avery good one)
gingerbread: your moral alignment
Neutral good
birdseed: family or friends?
Friends,probably.  All the family I have time for are my friends anyway so
sheets: your sexual orientation
Bi if I’m with gaypeople or people who ‘don’t believe in labels’, queer with everyone else.
warm milk: when do you usually fallasleep?
About11:30-midnight, usually.  I do not function well without enough sleep so Ihave to go to bed earlier than I would like, but then it takes me an hour or soto get to sleep anyway. 
pot of honey: your gender identity
oh, it’s [loudnoise from passing truck obscures answer]. Gimme those they/them pronounsthough
snow: what is your favorite time ofyear and why
I like very earlyand very late summer.  I like the end of spring where the days arestretching out and weather starts being consistently (ish, it’s still scotland)not awful, and everything feels optimistic and brighter. And then I like theends of summer when the air starts smelling of bonfires and the days are warmbut the evenings grow cooler and everything feels like snuggling and settlingin
yarn: what are your most enjoyablehobbies?
Love me someknitting, it’s really relaxing and gives me something to do with my hands andalso you get cool stuff out of it.  Also I’m getting more into folkmusic/dancing recently - i was gonna say morris dancing but actually i don’treally like morris dancing as an art form, but I really like playing the musicand I love singing (hit me up for some filthy folk songs) and have gone to afew sessions and such which were really cool. And I really like folk danceslike ceilidh, bal and contra - I like the fact that each time I do it I’m lessshit. I am a bit of a baby on the scene but it’s still good, there’s usuallyalcohol to numb the embarrassment, and the people are really nice.
bicycle: what are you talented at?
Words. I am good atword-ing.  Writing stuff, reading stuff, copy editing, etc.  I am agood person for words.
folktale: what stories remind you ofyour childhood?
I read so much as achild and have so few memories of being a child in general that actually mostof the memories I have are mixed up with reading. But I guess some of thesignificant ones are Harry Potter (of course), Lord of the Rings, the VeryHungry Caterpillar (we did that as a school play and I was a strawberry), we’reall going on a bear hunt, His Dark Materials, the Earthsea trilogy, and Redwall.  Also the Houndsof Morrigan and the myth of Niamh of the Golden Hair.  Also, my dad was ahuge story teller.  He used to do stories more or less on demand - I’dgive him prompts and he would make them up to order.  Notable onesincluded one about a snail whose name I forget, one about the Penalty Fare, afunfair where people who committed civil misdemeanours went for punishment (ina masterful anticipation of Final Destination 3), and an ongoing series calledLittle Miss Good, Little Miss Bad and Little Miss Tries-to-be-good.  Idon’t remember any of them clearly, but they are wound firmly in with memoriesof my dad and my childhood.
woods: where do you feel at peace?
The sea. Always, the sea.  Anywhere quiet outdoors with big skies. GlasgowNecropolis.
chicken feet: what is your emotional“flaw”?
so many
red cheeks: what makes you nervous?
Was gonna say SOMANY but actually, not that much really? I draw a distinction between nerves and anxiety, which I have for daaaayyys(though not badly enough to be a major Thing). Mostly I get nervous about talking to my mum about difficult stuff, honestly.
sunflower: what do you love and cherish?
My friends, my mum, my Victorians, myPhD, my bisexuowls shawl, sharks.
bells: what sounds are your favorite or calm you the most?
The sound of the sea.  The sound of wind chimes.  The sound of the rain and wind.  I struggle to listen to music because itmakes me think too much but repetitive, soothing nature sounds shut my brain upat least a little.
turnip: what is a food you could eat everyday?
Garlic.  Doesgarlic count? it’s more an ingredient than a food but i’d happily eat it inmost things. As a first year in uni I ate so much raw garlic in a few days (cosI worked out how to make bruschetta) that I made myself sick, but these days Iwould garlic differently.  Not just eating clove after close of crushed garlic.
spit: do you get jealous easily?
Not really
mushroom:list unique things you like about yourself
This is really hard – especially the ‘unique’ bit.  I like that I’m an excellent speller and thatI have synaesthesia and that I have terrible handwriting. 
cupboard:a good childhood memory
We used to occasionally go to the Snowdon region of Wales as a family, cosmy mum’s best friend at the time had a cottage there so it was free, and weinherited a lot of their traditions, one of which was this hill that the friend’shusband used to race up and down with his friends from a nearby (now long-gone)hostel before breakfast, giving it the name Breakfast Mountain (its actual nameis Brin Brith in case any of you know it, it is a fairly unremarkable hill inall respects except it is cherished of my family).  We used to climb it whenever we visited,though not before breakfast.  I have alot of good memories of climbing it but in particular one time I rememberstanding on the top with my dad and he did that thing where you hold a child bytheir arms and spin so they like fly out, on the edge of the mountin, so Iremember the warmth of the sun and my laughter and my dad’s hands on my wristand the flashing alternation of the estuary, far below, and the mountain top grass,a few feet from my face.  I realise I’m talkingabout my dad a lot but I don’t remember a lot of my childhood and much of whatI do remember that is happy is either books or my dad.
eyebags:what do you think makes a person attractive?
God, it’s such a cliché but confidence can make a person attractive.  Being a nice/good person makes themattractive too.  So does beingfunny. 
fallenlog: something you’ve gotten over that you never thought you would
Coincidentally, I have just accidentally stumbled over an email chain ofthe aftermath of a fairly messy breakup – the end of a major, 3 year, late-teens,unhealthy, rite of passage, heartbreak and drama, serious relationship.  At the time it was a pretty big deal involvinglots of crying and a fair amount of drama, and thinking it would never end and I’d never be over it, but on looking back at the emails, Idon’t remember a lot of the gory details they allude to, and I have no feelingsabout it except relief that I ended it, albeit about two years too late. He’san MRA now so, bullet dodged
dagger:your worst fear
being completely unloved/losing everyone I love
whisper:do you have any secrets?
Yup.
wildboar: which person do you feel closest to?
I have a small collection of four people who are Very Important. Theyaren’t all friends with each other but they’re all people I’ve met in Glasgowand they are excellent in very distinct ways.  I’m not gonna name them but I like to thinkthey know who they are. The one I feel closest to at any point varies but it isalways one of those people.  
sweet:what candies or cakes are you fond of?
I like chocolate eclairs,  I likelemony things, and I like werther’s originals cos I’m a grandad
footprints:do you remember your past lives?
Not a thing, sorry
fur:name an animal you feel connected to
I feel very connected with rodents. Especially guinea pigs.  (aren’tyou surprised I didn’t say sharks)
vodka:do you drink?
Yeah!  I didn’t really drink regularlytill I got to Glasgow, then after a couple years I mostly stopped cos I was TooSad to drink and didn’t have fun drunk. But then I started again when I joinedMorris dancing because I got over the thing I was sad about and Morris is avery alcohol-oriented sport. The people I hang out with are really fun to drinkwith and it’s drinking as socialising rather than drinking to get drunk which feelslike a Better Choice.
sourcherry: an obscure tradition from your family?
We aren’t a huge family for traditions, honestly, but one that me and mymum do (mostly at my behest honestly) is get a Christmas decoration to remembermy dad every year.  He’s been dead almost20 years and we’ve been doing this consistently for about 15, so eventually thetree is going to be entirely eclectic stuff I’ve picked up over the years formy dad.
pineneedles: what is your favorite scent?
I really like rose, and I really like vanilla.  I am about as boring as can be. I do notcare.
heart-shaped:do you believe in love? are you in love?
I think it’s hard not to believe in love. There are people I love, inlots of different ways
home:where do you dream of living?
Honestly, I want to stay where I am now. While being by the sea or going to the Netherlands appeals, I love mycity and the life I have built here.
spice:list your favorite herbs
I actually tend to prefer spices to herbs – gimme all your paprika andVanilla (is vanilla a spice???) and pepper – but I like basil, rosemary,lavender, lemon balm and sage.
mud:something you’re insecure about but trying to love
My entire self honestly.
tobacco:do you have any addictions?
Nope
sock:how would you describe your clothing taste?
Predictable.  Give me a colourfulprint on a mid-thigh or knee length fit and flare or skater dress, and some blackleggings, and that is me happy.  That isalso the entirety of my wardrobe.
cuckooclock: are you a morning, a noon, or an evening person?
Depends on what youwant me for.  I’m best at productivity early in the morning, but terribleat social skills. I’m best at like, physical tasks and walks and stuff in theafternoon when I’m properly awake and feeling restless, and best at socialisingin the evening (but not too late cos my brain falls out at about 10pm).
woodenfence: a favorite memory
When I was in undergrad I fell, predictably, into the DnD crowd, and Ihave lots of really nice memories of that time. Including: sleeping over after dnd, which was basically not sleeping butstaying up talking quietly about the sort of thing you can only talk about onsomeone else’s floor at 4 in the morning, and not sleeping over after DnD, butwalking the 3 miles uphill from the town to the university, again quietlytalking, and if you timed it right you’d get to the top of the hill just atdawn and you’d see the sun rising over campus like a promise,  Seeing dawn from the ‘other’ side, going tobed after it rather than waking up before it, still feels really special to me.
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