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maxbegone · 4 years

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AND WE ARE BACK!

Part two of the Schitt’s Creek Community Fic Rec is here! This time, we focused on celebrating our favorite AU’s! Once again, this is dedicated with love to the the authors of this community! Every participant chose one AU (which was a little hard to do for some) to share and why they enjoyed it.

Thank you to everyone who submitted!

@bestwisheswarmestregards // @brighter-than-sunshine // @danieljradcliffe // @devilstelephone // @fishyspots // @imargaery // @justwaiting23 // @patrickbrewsky // @rockinhamburger // @roguebabyinyourstore // @rosebuddsmotel // @stuck-on-your-heart // @the-13th-wheel // @thedidipickles // @thisbuildinghasfeelings // @yourbuttervoicedbeau

And a very special thank you to anyone who has ever written anything in this community!

Everything is posted below the cut, and you can check out part one here!

**As always, if I missed an author’s tumblr handle, please let me know!

@bestwisheswarmestregards

Odd Man Rush by @samwhambam

It’s David and Patrick and Hockey! Three of my favorite things! Also the ending is one of my favorite endings. It’s so sweet! It’s part of the series score and all of the stories are so cute but this one is my favorite!

@brighter-than-sunshine

Thanks For Choosing Bagged! by dinnfameron

I love this one because the dialogue is so adorable, and true to David and Patrick! I can totally see the characters getting involved in something like this, like a different version of a rom-com.

@danieljradcliffe

Going Down by concannonfodder

This is one of the best stories of NYC!David and recently out Patrick while they're both trying to find themselves. It's beautifully written and my favourite part is that each chapter switches between David and Patrick's POV. It does a great job of highlighting the aspects of their personalities that we know and love but shows them to us in a new light.

@devilstelephone

sustineo by @rockinhamburger

The contemporary art discussions between Patrick and David are interesting and important to the story. Patrick still cares for and emotionally connects with David In a world that is so different than Schitt’s Creek. I liked that Sebastian Raine was the evil force without being included as a character.

@fishyspots

Welcome to Cabaret by @vivianblakesunrisebay

It's lovely from start to finish! In this 'verse, Christmas World didn't pull out, so David didn't get the lease for the general store. Instead, he gets roped into helping Moira with Cabaret, and meets Patrick (kind of) through that. I love the way this author writes. The dialogue is in-character, and the plot is wonderful and pulls out moments from canon and reimagines them in some truly inspired ways. I'm such a fan of all of this author's works; this was the first one I read, and it remains my favorite.

@imargaery

David.; or, a Tale of Misapplied Sense by Siria

A Jane Austen D&P AU and it is BRILLIANT. If you're an Austen fan, you will be able to immediately pick up on how well this author adapted Austen's style, wit, character descriptions, and ability to whack you over the head with romance when you're not even ready for it yet. Siria is a very experienced fanfic writer, but writes for many fandoms, so I think that's maybe why it doesn't have that many hits? I'm so glad I clicked on it. I want to wrap myself up in this story. I want to make a podfic out of it. I want to put it on a t-shirt and wear it every day. Also, it's in a regency AU where homophobia isn't a thing, so you don't even have to worry about that. I want to tell you more, but that would spoil it. Just read the damn thing and thank me later.

@justwaiting23

You Were the Ocean, I Was Just a Stone by @al-ex-an-d-er-hamiltons

The image of a curly haired fisherman Patrick is enough but this whole fic is such a sweet concept. Their interactions in this are so reminiscent of the show but also so different because they already know each other vaguely, and I come back to this fic over and over just because it's the perfect mix of angsty miscommunication and fluff.

@maxbegone

Known and Be Known by ahurston

As someone who tends to lean toward canon/canon-divergent stories, this was a refreshing take on an AU. Beautifully written and wonderfully raw, ahurston conveyed the vulnerabilities between both David and Patrick so wonderfully. “The mortifying ordeal of being known,” personified in fanfiction format. With humor and some wonderfully hot scenes peppered throughout, this fic was just brilliant from start to finish. I love when authors explore Patrick's insecurities and vulnerabilities - they aren't written about as often as David's are. I implore you to read this, if you're able.

@patrickbrewsky

Bound by Symmetry by barelypink

They say write what you know. I instead read what I know. David is the accidentally fantastic teacher we all wished we'd had in high school, and some of us wish/hope we are or might be one day. This fic is a great exploration of combining everything David knows he is (creative, bright, v.knowledgeable about art) and all the things he thinks he's not (empathetic, a role model, great with kids, selfless, kind, & big hearted) The selling point quote: "And it feels good, David realizes, to have a job that means something, a purpose beyond himself. A place where he feels like he belongs, just like his students." (David Rose proves he is both a good and nice person).

@rockinhamburger

Blackbird, Fly by distractivate

This is a post-apocalyptic story about love, connection, and hope, with a central theme of growth from destruction. I could not put this one down; I read it feverishly in one sitting, desperate to soak up every word. I love this fic because it is what I like to think of as an exemplar for transformative works (one of ao3’s top values). I love the way the fic stretches toward the light in the dark. It makes me think: about the quintessential elements of these characters, what remains the same despite changed circumstance, and what inevitably shifts when these characters we know and love are faced with a situation far outside their experience or comfort. This story likely hits differently in 2020, when post-apocalyptic narratives feel much less distant than they might have just a year ago. And yet, all the more reason to read an incredible work about hope and resilience and transformation.

@roguebabyinyourstore

Fifteen Hundred Miles by MoreHuman

Where do I even begin with this fic? I was at first skeptical about what reason David Rose would have to willingly subject himself to a trek through the wilderness out of his own volition. Well I’m so glad I ignored that admittedly stupid part of me because this is one of the mostly beautifully crafted stories I have ever read. Patrick and David are individually on their own journeys of self-discovery, but the way they help each other find what they sought... It’s breathtaking. Their feelings for each other bloom so organically over their time together that despite the circumstances laid out before them, the miles that they stumble and walk and run bring them miles closer to each other. Closer to the love that they both didn’t know they needed. The characters come alive and are identical to their canon selves. The dialogue and banter are spot on David and Patrick. The writing itself is superb. The tropes are incredible, the pining and *oh no there’s only one tent.* The slow burn is tantalizing but in a way that feels true to a genuine love story. The way the setting somehow breathes in tune with the characters, the way they leave messages behind in the trail register—conveying more than they can utter aloud— and the way their families communicate with them throughout their time on the trail through letters. All of the elements of this story ground it in universal truth, in feelings that are not only relatable, believable but demand to be felt. I can wax poetic until I am blue in the face, but really... Read this story. And then reread it a million times.

@rosebuddsmotel

I Carry These Heart-Shapes Only to You by @ladyflowdi and @ships-to-sail

There are over 180,000 words in this WWII AU, but not one of those words is wasted. It is gorgeous in its prose, and incredibly romantic without romanticizing the very real pain and tragedies of the era in which it exists. It's not an easy read by any means, but it's the kind of cathartic emotional journey that is more than worth it in the end.

@stuck-on-your-heart

kiss from a rose by mihaly ( @davidroseshusband )

What can I say about this very special fic that would do it justice? In this story, Alexis stars in a Bachelorette-style dating show and it’s every bit as brilliant as it sounds. On top of the incredible characterization, there are little surprises at every turn, there’s pining, and of course, there’s love. Secret love, even. This fic is truly addicting – I promise you won’t be able to stop once you start reading, and it will leave you feeling so satisfied (and if you’re like me, a little misty)!!!

@the-13th-wheel

Hold Me Like You’ll Never Let Me Go by @mooodlighting

It is a wonderful short AU where Patrick and David where they meet at an airport after they get snowed in. It is cute, there is longing and pining that just make it a wonderful read!

@thedidipickles

Beneath the Winter Snow by Distractivate

The writing is so utterly gorgeous all the way throughout that I frequently needed to take breaks to breathe. The author *perfectly* builds an Olympic world that I can totally see my favorite characters inhabiting, and the resolution is gorgeous. All of Distractivate's AUs are amazing, but this one still stands out.

@thisbuildinghasfeelings

How Do We Get Back by @unfolded73

This one deals with a literal alternate universe, which is the first thing I loved about it because I had never read a fic quite like it before. It's a beautifully written 60,000+ word masterpiece that definitely makes me feel ALL the feelings. In addition, it is absolutely riveting. I could not stop reading until I got to the end.

@yourbuttervoicedbeau

Make It To Me by figmentof ( @rosesdavid )

Epistolatory fic is SO hard to pull off and the author does such an incredible job with the way the characters shine through even though we only see them interact via text message. This fic is my comfort food and I reread it regularly <3

Anonymous Recs:

Just Breathe by olivebranchesandredwine

I love this one because it's got Patrick as a yoga teacher (hot!) and shows David being proactive about anxiety and it's just such a lovely story.

Shall I Stay? by alladaydream ( @maybewecandreamalittle )

This is so worth the 100k wordcount. 18-year-old David and Patrick sweetly leaning into first love, a lot of angst and pining in the middle that allow them both to heal and grow, and a heartfelt reconciliation. Plus, two bonus cherries on top with artist!David and a beautiful epilogue in which they (spoiler) live happily ever after. The tone and pacing of this fic is so good, and I always go back to it when I want to read something comforting.

Your Heart is Keeping Time with Me by @yourbuttervoicedbeau

I haven't seen 50 First Dates, but this fic is better than the movie could ever be. The author's writing is so beautiful and her David who has amnesia and her Patrick who wants to help him are just PERFECT. I want more and more and more of this.

Once again, thank you to everyone who participated and thank you to every single person who has written something in this community! It would be wonderful to do a part three, but for now, enjoy some alternate universe fics!

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arcane-aspirations · 3 years

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The Frustration of the Experienced or, When Nothing is New* Anymore

I’ve recently picked back up attempting an active practice of daemianism. This form of daemianism is inspired by the animal-formed, corporeal representation of human souls in Phillip Pullman’s His Dark Materials series (best known book is The Golden Compass). I first read the series in 2005 or 2006 or so, and I am very sure I imagined what it would be like to have my soul beside me as an animal then. That’s the sort of person I was then - to imagine and bring forth what I experienced in stories that inspired me to my daily life - and indeed, hope to regain a powerful sense of being again.

I first encountered others who were daemians on the internet a few years later. I didn’t remain an active member, but I found The Daemon Page Forum and was fascinated with this community that developed detailed profiles for what sort of person would have what species as their daemons. It was like personality typing, with varying levels of commitment to an imaginary friend or what I would now recognize as a thoughtform.

Let me come back to that. “What I would now recognize.”

Over the years, although I didn’t post on TDF, I would check back every few months as I remembered daemianism and read over various species’ profiles that interested me. I have always been fairly obsessed with representing myself; I never felt like I had to explore or understand myself though - that felt intrinsic and obvious.

Though I always found it deeply frustrating that often the most common “default” characters and teams were the ones I related to the most, genuinely. I considered myself for a wolf-formed daemian for a very long time. That was also an issue for me being Gryffindor, an Autobot, Thunderclan... My archetype gravitated towards that that was popular, which often was annoying in that many who claimed the popular affiliation with something were frequently the ones just claiming an affiliation with the fandom or the popularity, rather than the soul behind it.

I digress. Mostly. That context of something being popular affecting my relationship with the thing itself isn’t completely irrelevant.

I would say the most important and active time in my beinng a daemian was a rough patch in my life around 2015 into 2016. I was lonely and had became my own worst enemy too, given that a precious friend turned enemy makes for the worst sort. The comfort of my daemon, this entity which was supposed to represent the real, true self, was incredibly valuable. Setting aside the slight reprieve it gave from ‘being alone’ - although of course, it was still unforgettable to me that, my daemon being me and all interactions coming from and only being perceptible by me, I was still alone - the sense that I valued, saw, and still was myself at a time where I had very much lost all of that elsewhere was invaluable for getting through that.

My daemon had a name, mostly, and a gender, mostly, and a few forms that were right, mostly. He didn’t do much but provide imagined cuddles from an animal companion friend - I really remember something I did regularly where I’d imagine leaning our foreheads together - but I remember feeling at least sometimes happy and content as a result of the whole thing. But he wasn’t quite what people on TDF would’ve called a daemon.

Firstly, as much as I liked the idea of having an animal to identify my persona, my self, by, I didn’t like the idea of “settling” in one form. “Settling” indicated being an adult in Phillip Pullman’s series, which I have always reviled becoming and now being. That is, perhaps, a story for another time. Beyond that, it felt limiting - let’s put a pin in that one, too, though only for later in this post.

Secondly, my daemon occasionally wasn’t an animalic shape. In one vivid memory, I danced in my aunt’s kitchen when I was home alone one evening with my daemon in the form of N Harmonia from Pokemon. Is N Harmonia even someone I think is close in personality to myself, and thereby a fitting depiction of myself? Not at all, although I do think we’d be excellent friends.

Thirdly - here’s the woo warning for folks who’ve missed that my blog is witchy - I started having the sense that my daemon wasn’t “just” this thoughtform expression of my soul. I remember feeling like having this thoughtform that was me projected was sort of this... shell of my own self, that then this entity from very far away - in space, in time, from another life, who knows, it’s complicated, I never even felt comfortable saying whether it was real or not - I felt very connected to because we were of similar soul energy could inhabit. That was very much not related to daemianism. A pin here for later in post, too.

I don’t totally remember why my focus on daemianism waned for a bit after that. Things didn’t really get better for me, but my fixations do tend to move around. It may well just be that I got better enough to start playing video games again, and was checked out from my surroundings where a daemon would be projected to remind me where he was. Or it might have just started bothering me too much that he wasn’t “real” in so far as he couldn’t/didn’t exist outside what I projected.

It bothers me that I have to create and maintain so much of the things that bring value to my life myself. It’s exhausting. And those things don’t feel as real as things that exist independent of me and my influence. There’s power in “I invented that” and there’s a kind of resignation about one’s world in “I had to invent that, because it wasn’t there but I wanted so very much for it to be”.

And while there’s others out there, obviously, doing this whole daemianism thing, was that what I was doing anyway? Clearly I was taking it my own direction... or at least, combining it with other non-daemianism things that made it distinctly not quite exactly daemianism.

So while I’ve off and on projected my daemon back into the space around me - that’s the term for imagining and “seeing in your mind’s eye” your daemon existing in and interacting with your environment around you - since then, I haven’t done nearly as much.

I’m picking it back up recently and finding it rather difficult.

Some of the things I established as fitting and suitable back then, while still suitable and true in some lights, are hidden under a complicated tangle of things that don’t make them untrue but certainly obscure or make the way to the situations and perspectives where that truth is apparent difficult. There are roads I don’t walk anymore, even though those roads and how I’d walk them are still important to me. There are many roads I walk now that ...could? should? be acknowledged now that mean nothing to me but resentment that they’re where I walk. I still feel I am the same person I was; I just feel like I never get the same sorts of opportunities to be myself.

So the forms’ fittingness to my personality feel a bit tangled in the context of my life I can’t control, where embracing that tangle feels like a near final step of losing myself. The name is roughly the same; I want a name that feels right and conveys something, and anyone who’s ever named anything to convey a meaning probably has experienced that problem.

And I can’t focus on forms suiting myself entirely, because I’m still bothered by knowledge of how a form is perceived popularly - or because of an animal’s popularity. That in and of itself feels like misrepresentation or miscommunication; I’m not able to communicate why I really feel that is right because there’s an assumption it’s what I chose consciously or unconsciously because it was popular; I’m not able to communicate through that sense of the popular thing that I feel incredibly different and disconnected from others; I’m not able to communicate what I’m saying because the most accurate denotative and personal connotative vocabulary I can find to communicate is full of connotations I don’t mean to others.

Let’s not even start with pronouns, alright?

But I think something in particular that’s frustrating is that daemianism is not the only thing on my mind when I think:

1. representation of the self

2. a form to indicate the self on an entity with malleable form

3. thoughtforms

4. animal representations of the self

I neither want to compartmentalize nor combine daemianism & daemons with witchcraft/paganism familiars/fetches, my polymorphic shapeshifter Otherkinity, souls, thoughtforms, and entities I may or may not share some kind of special soul-energy-woo bond with.

I don’t want to separate what has a resonance - except that resonance, frustratingly, sometimes shifts.

I don’t want to combine what could be varied and interesting, because now any community or representation of that thing is no longer what I am doing or can speak about and find any sense of connection through - or worse, what I am now taken to be misrepresenting or ill-informed about.

And this is the frustration of the experienced, visible here but far from exclusive to daemianism, spirit work, et al in my life: what I know I cannot but help connect to what else I know.

Connecting what I know to what I know alters forever what I do and feel about what I know and what I learn next. I have opinions and feelings about so many things, and everything I encounter is layered upon my opinions and feelings about it all.

And I feel like that connection isolates me from ever being able to appreciate and participate in something new and fresh.

It isolates me from being able to connect to the experiences of someone else who doesn’t have the connections and syncretic perceptions that I do.

I never wish to be someone I’m not, but I frequently wish to be less experienced than I am.

*I don’t think ‘new’ is the word I wanted here, but I couldn’t find it. After the post, I feel fine recording that what I wanted to reflect was not just that something was new and exciting, but also that something was able to be fresh and untainted; able to be its own thing viewed on its own terms without being conflated, connected, or tied to anything else.

#daemianism #experiences recounted

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ratcandy · 3 years

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UHHH THE SECOND IDEA FIRST

OKAY Time's disastrous universe let's get it boys

Below is a VERY long personal-story related ramble because a lot happens here and there's a lot to explain and I'm being enabled (c/w death, a LOT of memory erasure, Gods being idiots, and. If I need to add anythin else here someone better let me know hehehe)

feat some dumb lil doodles here n there because i felt like it

Exposition time first!

At the beginning of everything, eight universes were created, each differentiated by color. A Universe Owner is assigned to each universe, and that entity is then responsible for their universe's laws of reality, the lives of the characters, and... whatever else they decide to mess with. This is so I can allow myself a lot of freedom in making stories in many different areas n such without worrying about it following another story's rules >:)

Okay exposition time done! for now!

One day out of the blue, the God of Time decided that they wanted a universe all for themselves. They wanted to create life!! They wanted to make a world!! It'd be fun! It'd be a whole vibe!

So, against the wishes of the God of Balance, Time made a ninth universe and fruitlessly tried to keep it hidden from everyone else. This backfired instantly. A huge argument broke out between Time and Balance, as the latter was pissed, but Time won in the end and was allowed to keep their universe. Balance is just upset there's not a nice even number anymore. He'll get over himself eventually.

Straight up having a great time now, the God of Time went hogwild and fleshed out their universe to the best of their ability. Beautiful lush forests, stunning pink skies as if it were in a continuous sunrise, crystal-clear waters that glimmer ever-so-brightly!! Yes!! Pretty!! And immediately after, they created creatures!! And people! To inhabit their world!

Elegant flying beasts, colorful people of all shapes and sizes, bustling towns with trade and life and energy and!!! Yes! Yes!! Vibes!!

Time was living their BEST life.

But. Well. This is my story. things gotta go wrong now

SO! First, something to note about how the God of Time works:

Time's primary job is to keep the Time Fire from ever going out or touching the ground. The Time Fire is an eternally burning flame, forever shifting from vibrant color to vibrant color, getting bigger and burning stronger with every passing millennia. It also... y'know. Allows time itself to function. If it goes out, time will stop. If it touches the floor, time will go NUTS and parallel/alternate universes will go haywire, clashing into one another and messing up reality.

The God of Time, luckily, has powerful psychic abilities.. The tall mans just put the Time Fire in a sort of protective bubble, constantly floating above the ground, and left it in a temple at the center of their universe. Epic. All works out

Well. All SHOULD have worked out.

At some point, Time left their universe to have a meeting with the Gods, and on their way to Oblivion - often a meeting place for deities - they witnessed something Very Unfortunate.

One of the Universe Owners, Hesit (white universe), was being torn to pieces by an intruder in the higher realm. By killing and consuming Hesit, possession of the white universe was transferred to said intruder: a big asshole named Vexis. Time tried to confront Vexis immediately after. This was a mistake, as Vexis panicked and attacked Time. Seeing as Gods cannot die, Vexis instead trapped the god in his newly-acquired universe - binding him there forever.

So now Time is imprisoned in the white universe, lost and confused, not knowing how to get back out. And Vexis doesn't plan on telling anyone about this.

The other gods soon realize that Time has gone missing. Very soon, actually, because... well. With Time being swept away into the white universe and being held prisoner there, uhm. A certain something important isn't being held suspended anymore.

The Time Fire.

It hasn't fallen yet, but it's gradually sinking toward the ground, and sometHING has to get a hold on it soon!! Or HELL WORLD!!

Balance loses his MIND!! We have to do something about this before time becomes a catastrophic, unfixable disaster! And also we're missing a god!! This is not good!! At first, Balance goes looking for Time, but realizes he doesn't really uh... have the time to be doing that

So, in desperation, he searches his mind for possible solutions. He gets one, crazy idea, and practically begs the God of Death to help him pull it off. Death agrees, because this is the one (1) time Death acknowledges that the mortal realm being in danger might be a bad thing.

To put a long plan short, Balance used Death to turn the Goddess of Pain into a pseudo Goddess of Time.

Pain had previously been wreaking HAVOC, and Balance was NOT happy about it. Way too many mortals were dying, then not dying, then losing their sanities, then losing control of themselves, and it was just. Very messy. He didn't feel great about using her to replace Time, but he didn't have many options. And he needed someone to take over. So, he and Death worked together to erase Pain's memories and turn her into a Goddess of Time.

They couldn't give her psychic abilities, though. So, how'd they deal with the Time Fire? It now permanently rests on Pain/Time's back. As in, the flame is constantly burning her spine for all of eternity, steadily searing her flesh but never allowing her to die. She's grown progressively numb to it over many, many years, but that doesn't make it any less unfortunate for her.

Balance feels awful about this. Especially since Pain/Time doesn't remember who she was, and believes she's always been Time. This is how it's always been. The universe around her is one she made, one she owns. Anytime Balance stops by to visit (as Time cannot move now from the temple with the fire), she greets him so kindly, so happy to have company... and he just feels terrible, knowing what he's done to her.

Well... at least that's settled. This cannot possibly go awry in any way shape or f----

The new Goddess of Time is trying her best to make creations for her universe. After all, that's what she's always done! These are her children, essentially, and she needs to have more. This, uh... well, the Goddess of Pain was not made with creating in mind, rather destroying. So, despite her valiant efforts, half of her creations come out... a Lil Messed Up. But she loves them all the same and keeps them around!!! Even if they're... worse for wear, or not quite like the rest!! They're her children. Yea!

At some point, however, her creating takes a bit too much from other universes' energy, and a mortal from another universe just ends up appearing in Time's. His name is Dustivan, and he is reasonably confused. One moment, he was vibing with his sister and her wife, and the next-- where the hell is he. why is the sky pink. who is this block man approaching me

The block man in question is named Maurice, and he is a sort of guardian for Time's temple. The Time that's always been here. The Time that has always looked like that and never been any different! (All of the Original Time's creations had their memories wiped, too. This Goddess of Time is the only one there's ever been! That's your mother, see. There is no other Time. She created you. Don't worry about it)

Maurice greets Dusty under the assumption that this man is just another new creation, and is soon told that "Uh, no, I'm... from some place else? I have a family? And a home, elsewhere?" M. Maurice is a lil confused. But he asks Time about this.

Time has no idea what he's talking about, either, so Maurice just... calmly escorts Dusty away, promising to get back to him later. We'll figure this out, man, don't you even worry about it

Now, there's a bit here that's only loosely developed! That being Dusty's stay in Time's Universe! Lil man meets a lotta folks, gets used to this weird world he's living in, makes good friends with Maurice and Maurice's maybe-more-than-friends-:flushed: friend Arin, aaand has a great experience! Because Time's universe is incredibly serene and peaceful, even with the new management!

Straight up vibi--- oh no wait what's this

Somehow, Maurice, Arin and Dusty find out about the whole... thing that happened with the original Time, and Pain being turned into the new Time. Maurice and Arin get their memories back and freak out a little while Dusty is just standing there like "big rip on you guys I guess"

Shenanigans ensue and Maurice goes back to Pain/Time, thinking it'll definitely work out if he tells her everything that happened so her.

Hey so it doesn't work out

Pain regains her own memories, and becomes ABSOLUTELY PISSED OFF, shedding the form forced onto her and returning back into the Goddess of Pain. In her transformation, however, she shook the Time Fire from her back, screaming in the agony that caused her, and. well.

she hit the floor (she hit the floor) next thing ya know, time fire got low low low low low low

Time itself was sent into disarray. The God of Balance felt it happen, FREAKED OUT, picked up the God of Death and just BOOKED IT into Time's Universe, dashing toward the temple. But it... was no longer a temple! It was very much destroyed. Balance is faced with the rubble of the former temple, the Fire just chillin on the ground, Arin bleeding to death after being attacked by Pain, Maurice fretting and trying to keep Arin alive, and Dusty aboutta also fucking die because Pain is angry. Alongside the bodies of whatever other poor creations/people just happened to be nearby the temple when this went down. Which was probably quite a few, as the temple was almost always open to visitors.

Death and Balance did the exact same thing again, though with added struggle. Pain was reverted to Time, the Time Fire was yeeted right back onto her spine (followed by a shriek of... pain), and Balance practically collapsed onto the floor hoping to never get up again

Death, however, forced him up, gesturing to the creations around them and uh. hey. their minds. wipe 'em Balance was very tired by this point, but began wiping the survivor's memories, running into Dusty and realizing "hey wait a minute. you're not from this universe" and just kicking that idiot back to where he's supposed to be. might've forgotten to wipe that one's mind but uh i'm sure that's not important

And that's essentially the end of that plot thread! Life continues as if nothing happened, afterwards. Time was restored (though a fuckton of "discrepancies" are now notable throughout the universes, as if time went Wonky or something), the people are thriving, and Maurice & Arin... the latter of which did indeed survive... are wondering if there's something important they were supposed to remember.

nah. probably not

there's a few side stories with characters in Time's universe, including another survivor of the Pain Realizing Who She Is incident... though he got the hell outta dodge and managed to keep his memories. making him a sort of fugitive as Balance has to track that idiot down and fix that problem but!!! this is already a very, very long post, so. WOO

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lichbarry · 3 years

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A host’s perspective on Molly, Lucien, and approaching identity (spoilers for c2e117)

This is NOT going to be as eloquent as I want it to be and I can only speak for myself and my own opinions, but this is for @creativside and anyone else who wants to hear this particular perspective. Again, I’m speaking only for myself, not for every single system, especially not for Molly or Lucien fictives. I’m also referring only to DID systems here but OSDD systems, I see you.

I don’t really advertise it on this blog (or anywhere), but I’m the host of a DID system. My relationship with the system is not quite the same as other systems we’ve gotten to talk to but nevertheless communication has greatly improved since our diagnosis and I dare say that I feel “valid” enough to try to sludge through how I’m feeling about the whole situation with Molly/Lucien. Put under a cut b/c it’s long

For anyone who might not understand the connection I’m trying to draw: a situation where there is one body that has been inhabited by two different consciousnesses who are not otherwise aware of each other and who have different personalities, abilities, and ambitions is a situation that directly parallels the textbook DID experience. Having people call you by a different name, talk about things you supposedly did with them but have no recollection of, and having people ask or expect that they will be able to talk to this other person in your body whenever they want are all things that pretty much every system goes through. I’m not saying that Lucien has DID, but there are a lot of identical and/or incredibly similar terms and concepts being thrown around regarding him, so for the sake of this thinkpiece I’m essentially going to be acting like he does.

I’m going to make some bullet points and just try to give my two cents on how everyone is approaching this situation:

Molly was a real person, just as much as Lucien. This was discussed by some of the characters, but I’m just validating it. Lucien called Molly a “fragment” of himself-- fragment is a term systems use to describe a certain “type” of alter. DID fragments are alters who typically aren’t as “developed” as some of the others in the system, meaning that they may only exist to feel a particular emotion, store a certain memory, or carry out one very specific function. In my experience, fragments do have names just like any other system member, but likely don’t have much distinguishing personality beyond that. From what we know about Molly when he first “woke up”, calling him a fragment would be accurate. He was, originally, a consciousness who only knew a singular feeling-- emptiness. That’s all he was. But he was still his own consciousness, his own unique person, and as we all saw, he was able to grow beyond his emptiness and develop into a fully realized creation (to borrow a term). His being a fragment wouldn’t have invalidated him as being his own separate person in the first place, but the Molly we knew was no longer a fragment; he was just... a person! By the time we parted ways with him, he was just as complex and unique of an identity as Lucien is. He is not as simple as Lucien is making him out to be, we know this.

Lucien implied that Molly integrated into him and is not dormant. What do these terms mean? Dormancy (or becoming dormant) is experienced a little bit differently for each system, but generally an alter becoming dormant means they no longer appear in the headspace/inner world, cannot communicate or interact with any system members, and will not be able to front/switch out (take control of the body). In our system, becoming dormant is equivalent to becoming comatose. Due to the way our inner world is constructed, we do know where the “body” of our dormant alter is, but we cannot interact with her in any way, nor does she interact with us or appear anywhere else in the headspace. Integration, on the other hand, is better explained in the context of fusion from Steven Universe. A few years ago, I (the current host) integrated with our gatekeeper & primary protector (basically the one who managed the functioning of the system). Where once we were two separate consciousnesses who inhabited the same headspace, we are now joined together into someone who is a little bit of both of us, just like when two gems fuse in SU. I also happen to be the core (the consciousness who was in the body when we were born), so it could be seen as her simply “returning” to me, or fusing back with me after having broken off during her formation. Complete system integration is the end goal of some therapies, but there are some alters who view integration to be the same as dying, since the alter as a singular unique consciousness no longer exists but is instead “merged” into the consciousness of another system member. Lucien said something along the lines of his soul having been fragmented but now fused back together. He appears to believe that he is the only consciousness currently in his body. This means that Molly is not “trapped” inside somewhere waiting to be set free. It also implies that it would not be possible to “get Molly back” as we remember him without finding a way to fracture Lucien’s soul again. Depending on your view of integration, you can view this two ways:

Molly is Lucien, and/or Molly is dead. Matt’s slips of the tongue in continuously calling him Mollymauk further supports the idea that Molly is integrated, not dormant, and therefore is Lucien in one way or another. Molly was, after all, a part of Lucien all along, and despite having developed into his own personality in the wild 2 years he was fronting for, all that he was are now part of what Lucien is. That being said, it is clear that Lucien, just like Mollymauk, is his own person with his own goals, quirks, abilities, and personality traits. Aspects of Mollymauk do live in him, but being fused does not mean that we’re going to recognize all parts of who Molly was in who Lucien is now. Lucien (we’re assuming) is the core, the original consciousness of the body, and is thus far more developed than Molly ever had the chance to be. They’re the same person in the sense that Molly is no longer a separate entity, but not the same person in that Lucien has any of Molly’s memories or would suddenly feel compelled to start acting more like him just because they integrated.

Mollymauk is not back; Lucien is. The Mollymauk we knew is not there anymore, and it’s a good time to mourn him. I don’t know what kind of DND fuckery Matt or the cast might be able to do, but from my perspective of what’s going on, Molly isn’t going to suddenly pop out or break free or anything like that. Mollymauk as an individual died when we saw him die, and I think the Mighty Nein are at least starting to realize that. Lucien even genuinely offered his condolences. Again, it’s DND, there’s always some chance that they might find a way to talk to their friend again, but by this point the idea is making me uncomfortable. Trying to separate Molly from Lucien again at this point feels... unnatural and disrespectful. No one has ever sought to de-integrate the alter that I integrated with, but I would be very disturbed if they did, and the idea of doing that even in this context unsettles me. Find hope in the possibility if you want to, but I’m probably never going to support it. Molly is a part of Lucien now and I think both we and the Nein need to accept that. Lucien may be evil, but he has just as much right to be in control of his own body as Molly did (arguably more, but I’m not getting into that debate). Whether you like Lucien or not, it’s his body, now only his, and no one has any right to take that away from him. I know it’s not exactly the same and it’s probably not how people mean to come off, but I can’t help imagining me in this position. If someone was very close with the alter I integrated with and did everything in their power to try to make her split off again, even if it meant harming me or making me lose autonomy over my mind & body... you can see how that’s a very uncomfortable thought, at the least. Again, I’m not saying anyone is inherently bad for wanting Molly back or missing him, I’m just saying that the situation we’re being presented with is that it’s only Lucien now and we & the m9 should respect that. If you want to mourn Molly, now’s as good a time as any. You even have Lucien’s blessing. That being said...

Lucien doesn’t want to know about Molly, and that’s fine. As someone pointed out (I think Jester?), Molly didn’t want to know about Lucien either. As is the case with a lot of systems who don’t have well-developed communication, they’re practically strangers to each other. All they knew about each other is what was on their body when they woke up and what other people (also strangers) told them they supposedly did once. Again, parts of Molly exist in Lucien, and I’m sure aspects of Lucien existed in Molly, and even now there are some similarities to draw. But neither Lucien nor Molly have any obligation to feel kinship towards each other. In their eyes, they are two completely different people who have never interacted. Systems only start to feel like families after a long time of having good communication, of developing relationships, of working through trauma or the complications that come with having DID. From what we’ve been told, Molly and Lucien likely never even developed a headspace or been in a situation where they would’ve had the possibility of actually meeting. People are just talking to them about someone they didn’t know and honestly the typical response is to just nod along in the moment and decide if you really want to unpack that later. And not wanting to explore who this stranger who inhabited your body was is a completely valid response! Especially given that Lucien doesn’t explicitly have DID-- he doesn’t have the goal of trauma recovery, nor does he have any reason to find out more about who Molly was given that he’s now supposedly fully integrated. Again, it’s more a matter of autonomy. Lucien is his own person, and to him Molly might as well have been something he called himself when he spent 2 years blackout drunk (which, let’s be real, is a pretty accurate comparison). Sometimes it’s fun to hear accounts of what other system members got up to when they fronted, but that’s only after years of therapy and working through my own feelings about having DID. Before that, there were times when it felt like a frustrating invasion of privacy, or an unnerving sense of losing control of not only what I did, but what it meant to be me. I don’t really see Lucien struggling with these things, but I’m just saying that there’s only so much he can be expected to care about who Molly was given his circumstances.

This got super long and I’m never sure how to conclude these things, or if that’s even all my thoughts on the matter. Send me asks if you want to I guess, just please be respectful. I’m not trying to start any arguments, I’m just giving my perspective/how I feel about this situation as a system host.

tldr; Molly integrated with Lucien and it’s more respectful/probable to assume that he’s not coming back the way people wanted him to. Getting Molly back the way people expected is incredibly unsettling to me because it takes away Lucien’s autonomy and basically says that Molly is more important than Lucien’s control over his own body because we like Molly more. Their situation does resemble the experience of being part of a system in a lot of ways and I don’t know how to feel about it besides just kind of awkwardly going “ahaha” and looking around to see how singlets are approaching this.

Again, not saying there’s a right or wrong way to feel about this, nor am I “diagnosing” Lucien with DID. Just talking about connections I’ve made and the things that I relate to/make me uncomfortable. Whether Matt is aware of how much this situation resembles DID or not, I think that he’s handling it incredibly well and have no complaints about Lucien or Molly’s characterizations.

#cr spoilers #did #dissociative identity disorder #mollymauk tealeaf #lucien #the nonagon #cr c2e117 #c2e117 #spoilers #not sure how this post is gonna go over but here it is

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ephemerlskies · 4 years

Text

in the stars tonight | pjm

⇢ pairing: jimin x reader

[other members - seokjin, taehyung, namjoon]

⇢ genre: series, ANGST, enemies to lovers au, actor!jimin, actor!oc, (eventual) fluff if you squint

⇢ word count: 8.4

⇢ genre: Landing a role that might launch your entire career as an actor had come with the most unpredictable and daunting circumstances: grappling with the tragic loss of your boyfriend, Namjoon, and co-starring in a film with the vexing yet enchanting (and famous), Park Jimin.

⇢ warnings: explicit language, themes of grief/loss, themes of depression, (many) mentions of death, mentions of driving under the influence (please stay safe!!), themes of alcoholism, themes of escapism, mentions of alcohol, mentions of marijuana, unhealthy coping mechanisms, lots of internal dialogue with one deceased boyfriend, arguing/bickering, seokjin being seokjin, eventual love triangle (ish) feud

♪ playlist: dynamite - bts, move! - niki, saint nobody - jessie reyez, through the night - iu, ilomilo - billie eilish, the truth untold - bts, slow dancing in the dark - joji ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 (coming soon)

a/n: i, and i cannot emphasize this enough, can't believe this came out of me.... it was just a lil idea in my head, but then it expanded into this entire story that was way too long to fit into a one shot. so, here's me serving up a hot plate of enemies to lovers with a generous side of angst and longing!!! i hope y'all enjoy (and hate) arrogant jimin as much as i did hehe <3 ps i have no idea how long i want this series to be i'm lowkey winging it

The world does not slow down for anything. Not for catastrophes or miracles or even something as devastatingly common as death.

When your boyfriend of three years, Namjoon, lost his life due to another's drunken mistake, you realized this. The world revolves on a scheduled orbit, and not even your tragedy wedged a wrench big enough to halt life just a moment. Just to let you breathe and grieve without feeling left behind. However, you were left behind, both by the world and him.

Every sun and moon, every skipped meal, every unfulfilled rain-check, every isolated Saturday night, and every cancelled audition that came as quickly as they left paid tribute to this merciless phenomenon. It seemed you now existed just to watch the days pass, just to balefully relive the moments before Namjoon's passing. And that seemed to have been the only way you could have survived. To make a recluse of yourself because if the world was careless enough to let someone as amazing as him go, then what held it back from spilling even more wreckage into your life? For the past six months, you stuck to the cold, dead past. It was all you had to hold onto; letting go meant plummeting into a depth far too unknown and inescapable.

You and Namjoon were steadfast. You were still steadfast, or more appropriately, stuck now that you had no one to be loyal to anymore.

You and him were one of those couples other people saw and wished they could replicate into their own lives, but when it came down to it, rooted for your happy ending with him. The type similar to that of highschool sweethearts who beat the odds, or the type whose encounter fell along the silver lines of fate. Something beautiful that automatically made all the love poems authenticated by you and him. And when he held you, the idea of worry or evil seemed like concepts that did not exist past fictional tales. So warm, so loving, now gone.

The way in which you and Namjoon grew over the three years you were able to love him was in a convergent manner.

Your branches and vines were woven into his, and his into yours. Even your roots, the elements of your past, began to entangle beneath the soil. To root between each other meant there had been a foundation from which you grew, a stability that was once neat. There was no boundary of which would discern your life from his. And at one, more favorable, point in time, your life did belong to him. Namjoon was someone you only knew for a mere fraction of your life, however the moment he wandered into it, you had unlearned how to continue without him.

You didn't think you would have to relearn.

But then one decision forced you to do so. One person, who decided paying fifteen bucks for an Uber was not a wise enough investment, ripped out the plant of his body from your shared soil by means of inebriated judgment and a missed red light. You had no choice but to absorb the cruel sustenance of the sun completely alone. Most of your branches of life were left barren, with torn twigs where your body once borne fruit and leaves and beauty. But the roots were where most of the pain inhabited. A stubborn, sharp ache resided in your chest, deep enough that you might have had to be cut open and searched through to find the source.

It had been six months of 'Sorry for your loss' and 'Gone too soon' and your personal least favorite 'He's in a better place now'. It made you angry, because was there a place better for him that didn't have you in it? How could anyone know what was better for him when they didn't experience something as tender and gentle and loving as your relationship?

But none of the sympathetic smiles or half-hearted condolences made you quite as angry as the monster who was too selfish to call someone to drive them and consequently punctuating the eternity you were meant to spend with Namjoon. You always followed the virtue that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. Forgiveness was a sweeter release than anything else, but if you could, you would take that drunk driver's life in a heartbeat. You would have gauged out your own eyes if the chance fell into your reach.

Though, no matter how hard you screamed at the universe for hurting you, despite the countless pleas to somehow retrospectively tell Namjoon not to go out for something as trivial as toothpaste so he might be alive today, holding your hand in this waiting room, telling you that you're going to do great, you knew the world wouldn't stop for you or your sorrow.

It revolves, waits for no one, and you had to pace yourself to jump back into the turning carousel of life.

"___. We're ready for you!" His voice was ten notches above a volume that wouldn't irritate you. The only hint you let slip that his tone made you want to throw this script at his crotch was the muted sigh.

You knew this audition was going to play out like the rest. They would ask you to read, stop you in the middle of your monologue, then say something like 'Thank you for your time, we'll get back to you soon' which was show business code for 'We are not giving you the role'. The only reason you were here was because you had been out of work for too long, the piles of overdue bills on your kitchen table a cruel reminder of that. Plus, you knew Namjoon would have told you to go.

He would have said something like, 'Get your lazy ass out of bed and go to that audition! You don't want Hollywood to miss out on a star just because you want to sleep in fifteen more minutes'. And it would have worked. It always had. Now, the only motivation that came to your aid was the echo of his voice, and even that had begun its slow descent into forget. Other than that, guidance of your own volition was as fleeting and disarrayed as a violent wind.

"Hi, my name is ___, and I will be auditioning for the lead. Jordan." Your hand must have been fielding its way through a nervous tick. The person you assumed was the director was eyeing the way it had been contorting at your side, and you hated showing that you were nervous.

"Perfect! We've already casted the other lead role. This audition will mostly be based on whether we think you'll have good chemistry with him." Him. So your possible running mate was a man. Before a list of names engraved on rows of stars cemented into the Hollywood walk of fame ran through your head, you lifted the script and collected all the air your lungs would allow.

Maybe, you thought, my courage and passion might come with it.

And when you opened your mouth, something magical that you credited to talent claimed sovereignty over your body. Now, you were Jordan. Jordan didn't have a dead boyfriend, now ex boyfriend, or luggage enough grief to sink a depression into the crust of the Earth. Jordan was a kind, low-energy, and sentimental artist coming into an age of overwhelming success and fortune —and love.

That's what alluded you in acting. For a moment, you could escape your life, leave your pain on the back burner while you emerged into someone who was unacquainted with the pain of losing the love of your life. It was akin to a drug, administering an intoxicating fill of temporary serotonin. Instant relief, and if you got this job you would have your fix of this twisted sort of high that tempered the Namjoon-sized void in your life. And Jordan's life definitely seemed to have, quite literally, all the things yours lacked.

"Wow, ___, was it? That was absolutely incredible!" The hand-covered whisper that followed this appraisal gave you time to begrudgingly peel of the Jordan mask. Within a half second, all the pain seemed to compound into your body. If you hadn't already shaped your entire life around that weight, you would have fallen over. Though you had done this, and even worse, you had been shouldering it for so long, you would have felt naked without such a burden. "Okay, well, we have a few more auditions but I think we have our Jordan! We'll send your manager the full script along with the schedule for the first week of shooting in about two weeks."

"Uh-" If you had not said something quick, the opportunity might have slipped away all too fast, the way Namjoon had. You vowed to grab hold of anything remotely good that arose into your life, giving you more than late nights of choked sobs and transfixed gazes out of half-curtained windows. This offer was clutched tightly in your fist. "Oh... Th- thank you! Thank you! Fuck, thank you so much. This means so much to me, thank you!"

Before you proliferated the meaning of the words thank you and the director's smile turned into rolled eyes, you stumbled your way out of the door. Waiting on the other side was a world that might strike against you with partially docile cruelty. The wind pressed against your skin, almost blowing away all your grief with the help of this successful audition.

That feeling, as always, was as comforting as it was fleeting. Because the scars of your past would not have budged for any brash current. Because your next thought disrupted the scant flourish of joy. It was the thing that came easier and sooner to you than eating and blinking; telling Namjoon any news of both good and bad ranks, sharing your life to celebrate or stress over. One of the many things that remained by an undissolvable adhesive along your mind. You tried to soak it away with liquor or smoke it out with weed, but there was no breaking of habits you loved almost as much as Namjoon.

I did it, Joon. I landed my first role. You thought, because that was the closest you could have gotten to relaying the news.

Your heart began to physically hurt. Heartaches were literal in your case. Literal and grim. You felt the grip of loss pierce its sharp thorns into your flesh. It had nearly been as painful as all the times your words were met to deceased ears, speaking to someone that had not belonged to you anymore. Six months had passed and pain cannot tell time in the way people can. So, you knew the marathon of your grief was one that followed its own metaphorical clock. You just had to keep running in hopes you could make it out alive.

Though, being Jordan for the next six months would help momentarily satiate your grief. If there were a remote for your emotions, this role would be the mute button. Your pain would still move as it usually would, but now it would be silent. You wouldn't have to listen to its unforgiving taunts and crippling obscenities. It was only just that you were paid reparations for six months of utter misery with six more months of narcotic, soundless distractions.

Two Weeks Later

If the universe had given you one good thing, it was skill and dedication to your craft. The script was memorized in just short of four days, and even a sizable amount of lines of the other characters had been stacked atop your memory. Doing an acceptable job at this role wasn't something that was worried you. In fact, the idea of wearing another's life on your body and on your heart was something you looked forward to.

It was a bit difficult to convince yourself how good this natural born gift was when the universe took something that felt a thousand times more crucial to your existence. Acting, or anything else that planted joy in you, was a consolation prize for merely participating in life. Namjoon was the reward you were meant to win in the end.

And you had no idea what the hell to do when the prize becomes in all of the sense of the word unattainable.

You hadn't driven in six months, despite the run-down Honda parked in front of your street, desperate to be given some sort of purpose. It was too much. Ever since the accident, the idea of manning a wheel that could take away more than it could ever offer was a responsibility you felt entirely too daunted to assume. Even though seat hogs, missed busses, and overcrowded walkways had been inconveniences of an indescribable level, it wasn't enough to put your body into the same vehicle that derailed your life.

Luckily, the bus stop was only three blocks away from the studio. It gave you plenty of time to get into character, however it also nestled in a span of time for Namjoon's voice to filter in and out through running your lines.

He talked to you a lot. As much as it made you want to cry, you held onto it, feeling as though it might be the last of his voice you'd be able to recall. If Namjoon's internal commentary were to suddenly disperse, you might forget his voice entirely. And you wouldn't admit this to anyone else, but you would always answer back. Sometimes out loud, and sometimes, when company forced you into sanity, you responded mentally. It kept you separate from life and any form of interaction with actual people, but it felt better than living in a world without him. Additionally, it helped keep his voice alive, which when you thought about it, was such sick irony. His voice, alive, his heart and mine and soul, dead.

And that was the only downside to acting. When there was another mind you had to engage in, Namjoon couldn't have broken the barrier and his voice wouldn't even register as an echo. Perhaps that was why you waited so long to dive back into your job. It felt synonymous with betrayal to do anything that would sever your connection already hanging by a single, fragile thread.

"___? Hello?" You were immune to every condescending gesture or vernacular weaponized in Hollywood by now. Your makeup artist's snaps fell into the base of annoyance you had grown used to. "Did you hear me? You're all ready."

Her voice wasn't too abrasive. If anything, you should be the one apologizing for dazing in and out of consciousness. Though, Namjoon's sweet compliments about how beautiful you looked with your stage makeup should have been the one to acquire this remorse.

"Sorry. I'm, uh, tired. Not used to waking up at six in the morning quite yet."

"Well, get used to it, or you'll have a rough few months ahead of you." Her laugh had shed whatever shell of pretentiousness once veiled her previous impression. "I'm Nayeon, by the way. I've heard many great things about you, ___. Let's hope you live up to the hype."

Nayeon's nudge was friendly, and it comforted you that within the first day you hadn't pissed off the person who could easily turn your face clown-like with a few heavy strokes of her brush. She was beautiful, too. If she hadn't been dressed in a black T-shirt strewn with foundation and powder stains, then you would have mistaken her for an actress.

"Let's hope so... I guess the director was selling me better than myself." Your eyes scanned the area, though no one seemed a fitting candidate to be your lead. "So, who's the other lead?"

"Park Jimin. I'm surprised they didn't tell you yet. I guess it's some obscure, artistic director decision to keep you in the dark. I’m lowkey fangirling right now… But, don't tell anyone that." Before you could respond, let alone react, Nayeon had collected all the products she needed for her next subject and was about a yard away from you. "Good luck, rookie!"

Park Jimin. You've definitely heard of him, but it surprised you that someone like him accepted a role in a romantic, indie, coming of age film that had not the budget to pay half of what he usually made in his repertoire of previous movies. He was certainly what one would consider an 'A-list' celebrity. The type paparazzi actually cared to stalk, and fans recognized in public, but were too shy to approach due to his sheer intimidation. It hadn't eased your nerves that he was notoriously withdrawn when it came to the behind the scenes portion of shooting a movie.

And, like any decent person, you did your very best to refrain from placing judgments without the opportunity for them to fill in their own narrative. Most of what you ‘knew’ of Jimin had been hearsay. However, you had some hunch Jimin wouldn't qualify as one who labored tirelessly for the roles he had landed or authenticated any sort of compassion with his rising fame.

See, acting and snagging a big role in a movie was characterized as a tall building for you. If one reached the top floor, then they would assume a wealth of opportunities and Oscar nominations and acclimation. Of course, this film industrial structure had various modes of climbing to the top. Some had stairs which called for more excretion and effort but still, all you needed were persistent legs, then each step would eventually get you where you wanted to be.

You had more of a ladder. Each wrung was slanted at an angle of which only deepened your brawl with success and had not been sanded down enough to save you from a generous supply of splinters. After a while, your hands began to ache and the fear that some high-society type would kick the base of your ladder always stalked the forefront of your worries. It certainly had not been a choice means of arrival to whatever awaited you on that top floor, however it was the only one available.

And while you had a ladder to overcome, Jimin had an elevator. The most he'd ever expend to reach that coveted floor was a few presses of a button. And perhaps his only sacrifice would be sharing the elevator with one or two others. Things just worked out for people like him. And an elevator’s delivery was always in a manner that was quicker than the likes of a staircase or a ladder.

When he arrived on set, dragging himself like his own body was a weight he shouldn't have to carry himself, you fought that instinct of yours to assume everything you needed to know from him.

Just because he's wearing sunglasses inside doesn't mean he's some arrogant asshole, even if that is the most cliché character trait of one. This internal lecture was certainly of Namjoon's doing, since he was always one to never run out of allotting the benefit of the doubt.

Yeah, I guess. But, come on, he looks like a fucking idiot. You replied as if he were really there before walking up to the callous man with your gauntlet thrown down by default. No need getting on Jimin's bad side, because you were sure it's complement was being blacklisted from the film industry. Instead of sharp edges you offered him a non-threatening smile and handshake.

Play nice. Namjoon reminded you before you had the chance to decide what you wanted to say.

"Hi! It's such an honor to be working with you. I'm ___." Jimin looked at your hand like you had filled it with mud and were intending on smearing his Gucci jacket, which you assumed was worth more than your monthly apartment rent. "Um, wanna touch base before we start shooting or..."

If his admonished glare at your hand wasn't encouragement enough to retract it back into yourself, then what he said, or more fittingly, what he didn't say next was.

The way his sigh infused a scoff within it made you feel small. It felt like fire, how thoroughly it burned you into a pile of ash, but then it felt like a gust of prickled wind that would scatter your remains completely. If it had not been for the way his head shifted from your head to your toe, you wouldn't have known that his shielded eyes were trailing the length of your body. Such a glare seemed like a calculation of your worth; it must have totaled out to that of a fly he had to swat away because the second you stood on the outside of his peripheries you stopped existing in his world altogether.

His back made a longer impression on you than his eyes, and that was your que to huddle yourself in the corner and stick to the two things you were best at.

Imaginary conversations with Namjoon and rerunning through your already memorized lines.

Before you say anything, I already think he's a prick. It might be pathetic to have instigated theoretical conversations with your dead boyfriend, but the world wouldn't know he would have scolded you first for already constructing an agenda to avoid Park Jimin whenever you could. You just felt an itch to lay down the first word.

You never know, maybe he had a bad day.

Yeah, well people like him don't need to be professional unlike the rest of us. I mean, I'm on the verge of openly conversing with you and I'm the one that has to turn the other cheek? Your script was decorated with a number of wrinkles. Proof that your anger was sleeping from your insides in the form of tightly gripped hands that were pretending to pinch Jimin's skin instead of the script. For once, you felt some grain-sized semblance of luck for having a grasp of acting to pull off pretending to love Jimin.

"Hey." You weren't quite thrilled to meet the person you had imagined pushing down a staircase standing over you. Without his glasses, it was difficult to remember why you had been so angry with him and you hated that. His eyes consisted of more than just irises and pupils, though you would not have been able to place what exactly accompanied these features. They were just eyes, after all, parts of a body. Functional. Mechanical facets of being. And yet, his seemed more than that. More than just sense mechanics. Perhaps beauty.

But for him to have been beautiful, it would have tainted the very idea of beauty.

"We're about to start shooting. Don't make this difficult, I'm trying to leave on time."

"Okay... Sure." Those were the two words you substituted for the 'fuck you' itching to crawl from your throat.

"I'm Jimin, but you know that already." The way he spoke was punctuated as though it was a waste of his time to spend any attention on you. If you weren't already drained of your strength from that tube of toothpaste that was some sort of paraphernalia of the night Namjoon became an article of your past, then you would have rolled your eyes or retorted with something that would knock him down a peg.

"I do." Your own weak will bothered you more than Jimin. "Um, I-"

"Let's not." Though he had no idea what you were about to say, a part of you agreed to not even indulge in small talk with him. It would be too forced and uncomfortable and that might leak into your performance on camera. Still, he had an abrasive way of going about it that made you want to disagree with him just to be able to lie contrary to him.

"Fine." It rolled off your tongue easily, like silk. His lingering eyes had you wondering if you somehow impressed him with your passive agreement or insulted him for not groveling for his approval. Either one would have satisfied you.

"Alright! Looks like you two got acquainted. We're jumping right in." The director, Kim Seokjin, was chirpy. Even if this project wasn't necessarily mainstream or highly anticipated, he was the type to salvage all his passion and pour it into anything he created. It comforted you knowing someone other than you found this to be somewhat life changing. "Please, Jimin, ___, on your marks. This is the scene where you two meet, so we're hoping you two can infuse that feeling of being slightly awkward but nevertheless enthralled in each other's presence. Got it?"

"Yessir." You said, and Jimin only produced a nod which seemed generous for him. Fighting the urge to snarl or squeeze your brows together came as a difficulty you had to practice at.

"Slate! Quiet on set..." Seokjin’s voice filled the empty space of the entire studio.

"Scene one, take one." Just as the snap of the slate reverberated through the room, your eyes changed just as abruptly. Your gaze upon the set transformed it into your reality. You looked at Jimin and now saw Laurie, a young soul filled with enough dreams and kindness one could have mistaken him for a cloud; the kind that spoke in loving whispers and gentle caresses. He reminded you a lot of someone else you knew.

You tucked Namjoon's voice away with the rest of your grief and became Jordan.

Amazing things seemed to happen when you least expected them too. You guessed that was the nature of amazing things, for if you expected them then they probably wouldn’t feel so amazing. About halfway through the scene, after a number of cuts, re-shoots, directorial notes, you noticed something. Or more so, this something willed you to notice.

Once you fell into stride with your character, it became easier to pick up on the person acting opposite of you. Maybe you hadn't given Jimin enough credit before. You knew maybe was an understatement, though you felt a sting admitting talent had fallen into his hands just as all his accomplishments had.

Jimin's acting rested on the side most polar to your own. You replicated, he revolutionized. You became your character, shrinking yourself enough so that one wouldn't have been able to tell who you were beyond who you were playing. Jimin, however, made the character his own. There was no minimizing his own body to fit into the mold of the character. Jimin was the mold, and he sculpted the character to fit along himself. He forged his movements, voice, and confidence into whichever role he played and brought life to someone strewn with a signature of his own soul polishing said character. All the while, he was inventive with each intention and emotion that were strung into his lines.

It was difficult to pull this off, being that you could easily begin to just play yourself in a movie and neglect any character mannerisms that you were supposed to portray, however Jimin seems to slip in and out of his role with ease. And with each take, he peppered in more dimensions to a character. He gave meaning and depth to a person constructed onto a paper script until you couldn't believe this person didn't exist in real life.

That was the amazing thing that kept your well-rehearsed lines behind an impermeable wall of reluctant admiration.

What hadn't helped, though seemed to have been timed to a tee to unwind your sensibility, and timing had always worked against you like you had done wrong to it, was the part when Laurie was written to sneak his hand along your waist after Jordan stepped backwards into his body.

His palm felt so warm. So warm that the entire world felt too cold for you to be anywhere but apart from his touch. Then, all your lines spilled from your recollection. He was standing close behind you, the plush of his cheek tickling your ear and sending the entire world away so you and he could reserve this moment just for yourselves.

"Your line." His whisper wouldn't be picked up by the mic, though it had no trouble debilitating the rest of your senses. Did he intend for it to blur any sort of attraction his character felt for you into the life beyond the camera?

The director called cut to the scene, and it felt like a lifetime before you were released from the entrapping heat of Jimin's body. When you spun around, hoping you could at least dig through your throat to pull out a deflated apology, the smirk laced along his lips illustrated every bit of his arrogance and once again shut you up.

From the way his eyebrow was arched, you assumed he must have read your mind. He knew what he did to you, and it reminded you of everything you disliked about Jimin. Presumptuous, prideful in his taunts. It also reminded you that he stood many floors above you in this architectural competition of acting. You were grabbing hold of each wrung as you went, unprepared for something as disarming as Jimin. All he had to do was peer down at the sight of you to make you feel a hundred times lower than him.

“___? What’s wrong?” You looked over to find Seokjin’s half worried, half irritated expression.

“No, nothing. Sorry, I just blanked for a second.” Jimin’s snide chuckle at your confession to a faulty performance didn’t help simmer the burn of embarrassment.

"It’s okay, I get it.” The director offered a smile as a peace offering, and since he looked not seven years older than you, it had you assuming he was the laid-back type. “Let's take five. We'll block a few of the scenes and finish the rest of this and we'll call it a day."

You made your nest over at the snack bar. Shoving half of a donut into your mouth had almost resurged your energy. Nayeon made a swift return to pat your face with more powder.

"Hey, you're pretty damn good." You were stuck with a mouthful of donut to null any chance of responding. "Except for when you kinda just shut down at that last scene."

You would have felt embarrassed, or rather more embarrassed than you currently did, if it weren't for the light laugh that followed. All you had to reply with was a shrug.

"I mean, I don't blame you. Jimin's pretty hot and if I were cozying up to him during a scene I'm sure I would also fuck up my lines." Nayeon finished applying whatever touch ups she felt necessary, not without a suggestive eye arch. This either meant she was going to shuffle over to another actor in need of visual repair or she would stay and talk. Her continued monologue advocating for Jimin's talents and good looks proved the latter was what you had in store. "I mean, damn. Also, I'm pretty sure he's got abs under that shirt. So, are you into him? Is that it?”

"It's not like that." The harsh delivery gave an impression contrary to what you said. "I mean, I just... He's just really good at this. I guess I got kinda intimidated."

Normally, you would have sought Namjoon's voice ringing in your head about how you could do this, reminding you how he believed in you. It would have gotten you through the scene however, Jordan didn't know Joon.

"Well, he won an Oscar for a reason, babe." You finished the rest of your donut and begun a prowl for another savory comfort food. "I mean, damn, twenty-five and already winning Oscars and getting nominations. It ain't for nothing."

"Yes, this is helping so much, thank you." You twisted in sarcasm as if that would make you seem any less intimidated. Again, Nayeon laughed off any shroud of roughness coating your words.

"What, do you want me to lie? Is that how you want to start this friendship, with lies?" Her elbow nudged you, and that alone communicated more than the brief exchanges you two shared. Now, you had a friend. Someone else to talk with that wasn't a figment of your own imagination.

Look at you, already making friends. Your smile was not as hidden as you attempted for it to be. Namjoon's little encouragements had that effect on you.

"What's that smile for?"

"Oh, nothing." You scarfed down the mini muffin, turning towards Nayeon. "Just happy my makeup artist goes easy on the blush."

She winked, and you felt ready to be sent back into the throes of this film. You weren't keen on Jimin feeling closer to a competitor than a partner in this project, however if that is how he wanted it to be, you were never one to submit so easily. You were determined to level this playing field, and your communion with victory felt like a well-deserved birthright.

"Thought I told you I wanted to go home on time, rookie." You watched his lips shape such venomous words, since his eyes, the unnamed, nearly beautiful presence, might have sunk you back into that state of speechlessness.

"I take it you're not a method actor, since Laurie is so sweet and you're a fucking ass." It felt good for all of one second before a series of reprimands fueled by none other than Namjoon now had you on the brink of apologizing.

"Feisty, huh?" Again, his lips eased out sharp words as if they would not nick the plump skin as it went.

You hoped Joon had nothing to say about how you were now tracing the lush of Jimin's lips. And yes, it had been six months, though you knew your love-ridden heart had yet to free its hands from grabbing hold of Namjoon, still, the feeling of attraction, no matter how brisk it might have been, felt like you were committing adultery. Adultery, over someone who was dead. You weren't the one who left him behind, and at the same time, you never got that shiny patent of closure. There was no break-up, so perhaps that was an explanation as to why your heart was foolishly stuck in love, never realizing its oath to loyalty was graced upon the deceased.

You thought of love now, while you were supposed to be getting into character. You thought of the one thing you once had held worn so easily, and now you had been chasing it knowing your legs weren’t enough to catch up.

There was a well in your eyes, supplied by the same source which fossilized a ragged lump in your throat. And you must have blinked twice as many times as you normally would since Jimin's eyebrows met halfway between his forehead as he watched you. Or, more disappointingly, he might have noticed your tendency to grow red in more places than just the whites of your eyes when you were about to cry. Holding those tears in hadn't helped with keeping your skin less flushed.

It frustrated you that he might have noticed, which only twisted you tighter into the verge of crying. You knew it was unlikely that his watchfulness of your pre-breakdown expression was due to a lapse of genuine concern. For all you knew, he was subtracting even more value from your worth, plummeting you into negative integers.

And if you weren't so dedicated to your craft, then you wouldn't have the ardor nor the ability to pull off acting like you loved him.

Nayeon is a good makeup artist, I think you have a thick enough cover of foundation and powder to hide it. That of course, along with any sliver of light in this dark tunnel, had always been attributed to Namjoon. He was the reason you kept going, the reason you had been able to get out of bed to drink a glass of water once in a while, the reason you did not completely break down every time a tube of toothpaste fell into your line of vision. Him and the memorialized voice was what chipped the lump free from your throat and dried your tears before they had the chance to spill.

"What-" Whatever motivated Jimin to ask you something had been gone almost immediately after it sprouted.

"Quiet on set!" There was no way you'd figure out what he was going to say if the director had mandated pre-shooting silence.

The rest of your day went accordingly. Nothing too devastating happened that cleared away the momentum of excitement of this being your first big role. Though, not that you weren't beyond grateful for this chance, you made a chore of reminding yourself to be aware of your good fortune.

And, with the help of a few well-placed improvisations that made you seem somewhat of a visionary in your craft, your previous mistake had been washed with water under the bridge in the director's eyes. It escalated your ego and confidence to watch Jimin scavenge for an unpracticed reaction to go along with the slight details or lines you infused into the scene. At a certain point, you could almost describe him as impressed with your acting. Maybe enough to bump your worth up a few decimals, not that that should be occupying your worries.

"Wow, ___! Look's like we hired the right thespian. Great work! By the looks of it, things will flow easier from here." The director, who you finally felt on a first name basis with, approached with a hug. Though, usually this would have sent red alerts, you could tell Seokjin had no ill intentions of the predatory type. "Also, you two have chemistry, but it's not quite there yet. I want this to be believable. There has to be some real life element of camaraderie if this story is going to be genuine."

"So, what exactly are you asking of us?" Jimin, of course, sounded all but thrilled with whatever Seokjin was suggesting even when it hadn't been specified yet. And though you hadn't expressed it outwardly, this aversion for what Seokjin has been suggesting was shared.

"I don't know, get to know each other? Method acting works usually. I mean, Jared Leto did it for that movie and he seemed pretty crazy." The attention was never yours to claim once Jimin had already pressed his phone to his ear and Seokjin was off reevaluating the shots taken today.

You were alone again. Surrounded by an entire crew and cast, but alone nonetheless. Your version of escapism was never as consistent as you needed it to be. All it took was a moment of stillness for you to drift into some place much darker than your current reality. Jordan was sealed away for now, and you were trapped in your own body. It felt horrible. Being you without the man who loved and cared for such a kindred soul felt no different than writhing in pain. Being you without him was empty. Before long, you might have fallen faint in front of your coworkers.

The only target you could acquire as of now was Jimin, taken away from the world for reasons much less burdensome than your own. Where you had a plight of grief to sift through, Jimin had a phone and most likely a supply of friends to text and busy himself with. Seokjin wanted you to get to know him, try your hand at method acting so to speak, and that was the excuse which allowed you to walk over and try to kindle some sort of conversation.

"Hey, so, uh..." The pause came to no avail, since it seemed as though you could have said nothing at all judging from his reaction. "Hey."

It took a fictitious clearing of your throat and three more seconds of unwavering silence to lure his eyes from his phone.

"What?"

As it had been for this entire day, everything involving Jimin was made to be some sort of challenge. A feat you had to overcome without an ounce of reprieve, just to remain standing.

"Seokjin said we should, like, get to know each other. Or, at least get along. I think that's a good idea." His eyes gave absolutely no clues to anything below the exterior of an expressionless face.

"Why are you trying so hard?" You waited for him to laugh, or even for a laugh of your own to slip and loosen the tension. A laugh to make what he just said a joke, victimless banter, because it would have been wildly insulting if that were the most genuine thing he had said to you all day.

"What the hell does that mean?" Your arms were crossed as if that would keep your heart safe from his cruel tactlessness.

"I'm not taking this shit seriously." He laughed, but it wasn't the one that you wanted previously. It sunk wounds deeper, with such a dull edge too. "It's just a side job so people think I'm humble, or whatever my manager said."

The puzzle began to piece together, it took this admittance from Jimin for the picture to emerge from ambiguity. This movie was some form of damage control for his reputation, and that might be because your accurately placed criticisms of his lackluster humbleness did not stand solitarily. Your big break had been reduced to a convenient plot of image reconstruction. You were familiar with anger, it was one of your trickier stages of grief to surmount, but it still affected you to the same degree as before.

He didn't expect a response. You could gather that much from the way he instantly turned back to his phone, rendering you nonexistent once again. Namjoon would have told you to remain civil. But Namjoon was gone. It hurt to think that way, but if his voice hadn't emerged to mitigate this situation now, then Jimin was yours for the taking.

"You're a fucking ass." It seems brash was the only approach to seize immediate attention from Jimin. His eyes widened as if you had grown twice as large and the vision of you wouldn't fit in his narrowed, judgmental glare. "This may be a joke or a throw away gig for you, but this means a lot to me."

"Wanna back off, Jesus. I only-"

"No, I don't wanna back off. I haven't had the best year, and having a co-star that treats me like shit isn't really helping either. And, I get it, you're some sort of elitist who thinks they earned their success." You scoffed, tethering his eyes with yours as though there were a string tying them together. And with each step closer you took, the knot only secured tighter. "But people like you, men like you, don't do shit to earn where they are. But it's so cute the way you think you did! Truly, it's embarrassing watching you flaunt your ego around like you actually have something to be proud of."

"So it's like that, huh? You know, I was almost starting to respect you." The fact that his delivery suggested this was some sort of badge of honor made him all the more pathetic. You should not have put it past Jimin to boast over paying a fundamental level of respect where it's due.

"Wow," You doused a generous layer of sarcasm over your throat so the words came out so. "Basic human decency? From you? How can I ever repay you for such kindness?”

"I said almost."

"You're pathetic."

"Like you're one to talk."

"Yeah, well at least I don't pretend I'm hot shit." The tip of your shoes finally closed the gap between his. Again, you were snared in his warmth, however it didn't feel as tranquil as before. Now, it was closer to a pot of boiling water, evaporating flesh and bone until you were steam floating along the air, bendable and displayed out thinly.

"You don't pretend because you're just that bad of an actor, huh?"

It suffocated you, being this close with him; the blurry details of his face became sharp this way. His eyes were hypnotically watchful of your lips, preparing for your next gambit. You surrendered only a smirk, hoping it would antagonize him. And you could have sworn standing at the furthest point of the Earth from Jimin wouldn't appease this invasive thronging. The universe had yet to expand wide enough to provide an acceptable distance away from him. Until then, you were left with shallow bouts of breath tasting of metallic hatred, hoping those would alchemize into words that would make you seem more intimidating that you really were.

"Please, I could act circles around you. Your performance is transparent. Anyone with a scope of the basics of acting could see through you."

"Is that so?" You hated how quick you had been to notice his tongue slip along his lower lip. He must have found this delicious, patronizing someone who only had 'friend number five' or 'cashier' as proof of their employment. Jimin was greedy, devouring all the blood spilled from his wounding retorts.

In some perverse way, being the focus of his attention had you feeling fulfilled. Jimin, the man commonly sought after among the demographic of teenagers and middle-aged women. Not only were you proving your merits of qualification to act alongside him, but you had something to prove to yourself. You weren't going to let Jimin push you around without pushing him right back. You were strong enough to fight. It seemed to have come natural to you to enjoy provoking anger in him. It felt as if you were finally accomplishing something that was unattainable to anyone else.

And even if you wanted to retreat, his gaze guaranteed your obedience. It was a battle, along with every other exchange you have had with him. Even when silence was the only parcel between you two, when the only semblance of noise was heavy, jaded inhales, it felt as though you and he were at wits to gather more air than the other. To see who would fall breathless first.

"You're pathetic." His words hit like physical blows, and you might have had to check for bruises along your ribs and torso from the churning sensation in your stomach.

"If I'm pathetic, I don't know what that makes you." You wanted your rebuttal to feel like fire. You wanted to scorch and sear blisters along his flawless skin for proof of any successful hit. “A privileged boy with enough of daddy’s money to get him any job he wants. But, I’m the pathetic one?”

He appeared unscathed, with one end of his lips rugged upwards, mocking you without needing any of the words to do so. Perhaps he'd gotten the best of you, as you were searching through your arsenal of refutes only to find it overspent. It would not have surprised you to discover his supply of acidic insults piling without a visible dent.

His eyes looked fully employed in studying you, and you felt disrobed to be under such scrutiny from a stranger. Jimin seemed to have been reading you like words on a page, armed with a twisted smile that was unnervingly addictive, but you tried your hardest to keep your book closed. You didn’t want him to know how weak you really were.

"God, you're so-"

"Oh, great! Both of you are still here." Seokjin's voice reminded you that there was a world of events beyond you and Jimin. For a moment, you had felt secluded into a universe constructed especially for any collateral destruction that might have come of whatever war was about to be waged. "I have some notes for you two. Go home, read, digest, and come prepared tomorrow! I have full confidence in the two of you."

"Thanks." Succinct yet not lacking any tonal sentiment, Jimin got the first word in with the director, leaving you scrambling to find yours.

"Thank you." You were frustrated in how recycled your responses felt after Jimin handled them. Actors like you always fed on scraps of the higher-ups, and they were never as appetizing or filling as you would hope.

"See ya, ___." Your name sounded awful on his tongue, like his voice had filtered out the good parts of it and the waste remained spilling from his lips. Like dirt or decayed flesh, or both, and saying your name was akin to saying a slur.

"Fuck you." Those words couldn't sift through your screwed jaw or muffled throat, but it gave you satisfaction that it had been said in the slightest.

It wasn't until you were halfway to the bus stop that the realization pummeled you down a hole you hadn’t recollected being dredged. That whole time, what might have been the product of a mere ten minutes, was the longest segment you had gone without thinking of him.

It was the most intimately you had ever engaged in a conversation with someone other than the late, imagined voice in your head. And it was the most you've gone without consulting with said voice before speaking. You simply spoke, and listened, and responded; like you were normal. You couldn't tell whether that was good, because maybe you would finally be able to move forward with the world, perhaps catch up with the life you were supposed to be living. But, at the same time, the guilt festering something acrid in the pit of your stomach had you convinced this wasn't entirely sunny skies and bright futures.

"I'm sorry." What frightened you, besides your mental slip to keep the words meant for Namjoon in your head, was the unreturned sound of his ringing through. It took the longest ten seconds of your life for the mental silence to be furtively trimmed by your own train of thoughts.

Jimin had done this to you, that you were entirely sure of. Jimin and his carnivorous tongue and greedy glare had drained your head of its second conscious. The one it had adopted when Namjoon's body could no longer harbor it. And that's how he lived on, through you.

Jimin took that away, somehow. You could almost kill him for it, but you had not favored a life in prison nor tabloids that headlined the Park Jimin being murdered or 'Crazy, Jealous Co-star On Murderous Rampage Targets Jimin'. So, for the time being, all that was accessible was quiet hatred.

And you took that over nothing. You hated Park Jimin.

#bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #bts fanfic #bts writing #bts angst #bts x reader #bts series #jimin fanfic #jimin angst #jimin enemiestolovers!au #actor!jimin #jimin x reader #jimin series #bts enemies to lovers #in the stars tonight #rubycoast

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hqprotectionsquad · 4 years

Text

Spin the Bottle (Iwaizumi x Reader)

hello! this is my submission for the HQWN’s summer fic exchange! this fic is for sabrina, @iwaqchan ! sabrina, i hope you enjoy this! i tried to combine spin the bottle and 7 minutes in heaven to make it ~extra~ cliché!

summary: Was it painfully obvious that Iwaizumi has a crush on you, or is it just common knowledge amongst the third years on Seijoh’s boys’ volleyball team? Either way, you’re going into a closet with him and he’ll see if he’ll act on his feelings. tw: cursing, alcohol word count: 2130

“Holy, now this is a party! Oikawa, did you organize this? I bet you did,” Hanamaki smirks when he enters the basement of Oikawa’s house, as if the location wasn’t already indication enough of the owner. The parents are away, the juice has been acquired, and everyone’s here. Seeing everyone so casual stirs something in Iwaizumi’s heart and a small grin curls on his lips as he sips from his cup. It won’t be long until this get-together gets rowdy, so he’ll be enjoying the somewhat tranquil nature while he has it.

Iwaizumi leans against the wall and his first instinct when he sees you is to stick his tongue out at you in between drinking. “Hey.” You go in for a hug because you’ve been friends long enough, but Iwaizumi doesn’t see you that way. He lingers in your touch before pulling away. “Good to see you, thought you were going to ditch?”

“Like I’d miss Oikawa drunk off his ass for a night. Believe me, I’d switch around any plans for this party.” You laugh. “I mean, we just graduated, of course I want to party with my friends.”

Iwaizumi twirls the air with his finger. “You’d consider us all friends?”

“Dumby.” You punctuate your sentence by shoving his shoulder. “Yes, of course I consider us all friends. I wouldn’t have gotten through high school if it weren’t for this friend group. This really large friend group, now that I’m thinking about it.”

“You can blame Oikawa for that.” For as long as Oikawa has lived and breathed, he has never not gathered people together. It’s one of his redeeming qualities, not that Iwaizumi could count that many. Oikawa’s found his place in many groups and he’s never upset when he’s cut out because he can always return to the volleyball team. He always has a home there, and so does Iwaizumi. Oikawa is a cool guy at times.

“He’s a funny person, that’s for sure.” You laugh to yourself. “Are we starting something? Oikawa seems to be running all over the place trying to rearrange things.”

“I try to not look at him.” Iwaizumi chugs the rest of his drink. “Hey, do you need another drink? Or a drink in general?” He asks after noticing your hands are empty.

“I’ll just come with you.” You both grab your drinks with light banter flowing between the two of you, and Iwaizumi can’t get this small smile off of his face. You’re just so funny, and so wonderful. Being drunk with you is wonderful.

There’s something about your flushed cheeks and your hair in a messy style that makes Iwaizumi think of things that he should not be thinking of his friend, but he just wants a pass for once. He wants to allow his mind to run wild while he can. When he’s in university, across the ocean, he won’t have anyone like you to keep him company. He’s sure he’ll find friends, maybe even friends who speak his native tongue, but at the end of the day, Hajime fears it will be a lonely experience when he’s away across the sea.

“Hey, hey, we’re starting spin the bottle now!” Oikawa announces in his drunken stupor. Iwaizumi can tell this stupid man can barely keep his own after he arranged the couches so that the center could stay empty for bodies to inhabit it. For once, Hajime wants all of them to have a carefree night. He doesn’t want to worry about his overbearing parents, volleyball training, or homework assignments. Hajime just wants to be here.

The two of you rejoin the group, crossing your legs when you connect the circle. Hajime purposefully sits across from you because it seems unlikely that the bottle will spin towards him if he’s sitting right next to you. His narrow gaze is on you for most of the game, only leaving when Oikawa ends up kissing Makki without complaints.

“Oikawa!” Makki brushes his lips with the back of his hand, but there’s a grin on his face nonetheless. “We should make this more interesting, not that Oikawa kissing me wasn’t interesting enough.” He taps his chin as if ideas will come about by this physical action. “I think...we should spin the bottle, but instead of kissing, seven minutes in heaven?”

The rest of the cohort yells in approval.

It’s your turn to spin the bottle, and for some reason, Iwaizumi’s heart pounds against his ribcage and it’s incredibly distracting. For the most part, the other third year boys tease him about his crush on you, though he’s only really told Oikawa about it. Even just telling Oikawa is enough to spread it far and wide, so he’s surprised that you don’t know about it. Nonetheless, Iwaizumi looks around the circle. Would it be justified if he said he was jealous of how everyone’s waiting to see how the bottle will land?

Would this situation be different if Iwaizumi sucked it up and told you how he felt before today, before everyone got so drunk that their only choice is to sit down? His lips curl into a pout. At least Iwaizumi’s thought process hasn’t been taken over by the alcohol; his ability to overthink is still golden.

The girls form circles with their mouth as they glue their eyes to the movement of the glass bottle and the boys all try to look in different directions, so that if they aren’t chosen, there’s no hard feelings.

Iwaizumi’s knee bounces and all he’s staring at is his lap and his fingers that tightly clasp around his own bottle of beer.

Again, the yelling starts and Iwaizumi snaps up to look at everyone’s faces, then looks down at the bottle.

Him.

It landed on him.

The neck of the bottle is facing straight towards him. There’s no dispute about that.

“You guys know what to do!” Oikawa’s words pulls Iwaizumi’s head from the clouds. His best friend nods his head toward a closet. “That should be big enough for you guys.”

Mattsun, who sits beside you, gently taps you over and over again before you roll your eyes and get to your feet and reach out toward Iwaizumi.

“I’m not going to wait all day, Iwa,” you tease and pull him up as best as you can, but he’s definitely a big guy. Iwaizumi doesn’t mind that when he’s also on his feet, you’re still holding his hand. Your hand is small in his grip and he loves the fact that your fingers are on display in this position at least. He can see all the folds of skin on your knuckles and your neat fingernails too.

The other boys cup their hands around their mouth and howl in support. Iwaizumi turns his head and he’s really glad you also aren’t looking back because he glares at the third year boys. By now, everyone at this party must know why his heart is on his sleeve.

“I’m putting the timer on now,” Makki’s voice is heard behind the two of you as you enter the closet. Could this even be classified as closet? Besides the racks of clothing, it’s a spacious room.

Iwaizumi settles down on the floor, knowing he won’t be able to take anything if he continues to stand and you follow suit.

“So,” you smile as you break the ice. “Did you actually want to do something, or, um, should we make sounds to pretend like we are? Because I don’t really know how you feel about that.” You play with your hands when you say this and you can’t look up to his face.

“Why are you so serious, (Y/N)?”

“Because,” it’s hard for you to continue. “You’re one of my greatest friends.”

“So are you saying you don’t want to kiss me?” This comes out a little rougher than Iwaizumi expected, but he opts not to say anything more.

“No, I’m not saying that, I’m just saying—”

“Then let’s kiss. It’s not a big deal, you know. We’re not going to see each other for a long time after this summer, so we might as well make the most of it.”

“You’re being for real?” You mutter and he doesn’t even take a beat before pressing his lips onto yours. Always been precise and never afraid to dive in deep. You respond as any sane person would and kiss him back. Hands are quickly added into the mix and you didn’t quite expect his tongue to come in too, but are you complaining? Not when you’re the one moaning into his mouth.

“You’re so hot,” Iwaizumi breathes out his words when you disconnect and there’s even a bit of his saliva that you wipe off your mouth. “(Y/N), where’d you learn how to kiss like that? I should’ve told you that I liked you a long time ago if we’d be kissing like that all the time.”

“Hajime, you like me?” This has to be the product of having one-too-many drinks. Iwaizumi can definitely keep his own weight, but the more he drinks, his mind goes wild. “Like you’re not kidding?”

“I know I’m drunk or whatever. I like you so much.” For once, Iwaizumi has allowed himself to be off his game, but even now, he’s conscious of his decisions. Maybe two more shots would have prompted him to act and throw away his inhibitions. His hand still is squeezing your waist, pressing his fingers into your flesh. His head is reeling and the way your lip is between your teeth, biting down so lightly, is only contributing to his intoxicated cloud.

“I like you too.”

“Will you go out with me?” Now, it’s his turn to bite his lip and he’s really trying to be sober right now because he wants to remember every single moment of this conversation. Tomorrow, he might remember bits and pieces, but he wants to replay this whole movie when he wakes up with his hangover. He wants to remember how you’re one of the best kissers he knows and he’s glad he knows that firsthand. He wants to remember how you told him your feelings in four words and how your lip biting is driving him absolutely crazy.

You don’t know what to respond and you’re sure Oikawa will swing the door open, looking to each of you for evidence that you actually accomplished something behind this closed door.

“Fuck, I know that we’re seniors and we only have this summer, but I’ve liked you since first year. I have, I swear to God, and I’ve never liked anyone the way I’ve liked you because you’re just so perfect.” He doesn’t even know if his words are making sense at this point but Hajime hopes that the more he speaks, he’ll be convinced that this is the only way he could have truly confessed to you. “I hope you’re not going to reject me, but if you do, can you just still be my friend, because I swear I’ve heard people get awkward when someone tells them how they feel—”

His words are cut off but nothing other than a hard kiss. He doesn’t know if you wanted him to just shut up or maybe you feel the way he does. Maybe you feel the same butterflies he does, the same ones that are flapping their wings against the walls of his stomach.

When you release with a popping sound, you press a hand against your lips, feeling the swelling across the expanse of your skin. “I like you. I don’t think I would’ve kissed you like that if I didn’t.”

Before Hajime could get a word in, the rest of the partygoers peer into the closet, their eyes glowing and questioning. “Alright, time to get out!” Oikawa announces, holding out a hand for you to get up. Well, Hajime’s not going to lose to his best friend this time and he also holds out a hand, expecting yours to match it, and you do. You get up together and out of the door, making your way back to the circle.

Oikawa stops Iwaizumi in his tracks and you’re still holding onto him as he’s stuck in place. “So, Iwa-chan, I’m guessing everything went well?” He cups Iwaizumi’s ear to whisper words that everyone else is left guessing on. Iwaizumi doesn’t even have to look at Oikawa to know that he’s smirking.

Iwaizumi looks down at his hand, considers his balled fist, and sails it right into Oikawa’s bicep. Nothing hard, but Oikawa makes it out to be as if he’ll die from the punch. “Shut up, Shittykawa.”

Still, when you lead Iwaizumi back to the human ellipse, there’s an undeniable smile on his face that rivals the twinkling stars.

general haikyuu tag list: @dorkyama @kingkags @clowninfortodoroki @ykchaos @kingkagss @alienvarmint

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#haikyuuwritersnet #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu writing #haikyuu one shot #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu iwaizumi #aoba johsai #seijoh #iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi hajime x reader #hqwn secret summer

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theradioghost · 4 years

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I don't know if you're still doing podcast recs, but if you are, I really like dramas, horror, sci-fi, honestly anything that gives you the feels (especially if it has lgbtq+ rep). I am not much of a comedy person though unfortunately. The only podcast I finished was tma and I really loved it.

The recommendations are always on tap here, whenever my askbox is open! You might wanna check out:

Archive 81, for a found-footage horror about mysterious archives of tapes full of encounters with otherworldly horror, dark rituals, cults, and a long-suffering archivist with the same name as the show creator who plays him, which despite all that could not possibly be more different from TMA and yet easily matches it as one of the best horror stories I have ever enjoyed. The sound design on this show is basically unparalleled – where TMA has fairly minimalist sound design, A81 goes all out. Quite a few lgbtqa+ folk also.

I Am In Eskew, for a surreal, Lynchian horror about the city of Eskew, where it’s always raining and the streets are never the same twice, as narrated by a man who is trapped there and the woman hired to find him. Take the most viscerally disturbing episodes of TMA as a baseline for how intense this show is, then imagine the Spiral built a city and invited all the other fears over for a party. Also right up there as one of my favorite horror things ever, and recently ended, so you can listen to the whole thing right now.

Within The Wires, for a found-footage scifi dystopia, telling stories from an alternate-history world. Three of the four seasons focus on lgbtqa+ leads, and the first season, a set of instructional meditation tapes provided to a prisoner in a shadowy government institution, is still some of my absolute favorite creative use of medium and framing device ever.

Kane and Feels, for a surreal noir-flavored urban fantasy/horror hybrid, about a magically-inclined academic (and sarcastic little bastard man) named Lucifer Kane and his demon-punching partner with a heart of gold, Brutus Feels. They share a flat in London, they bicker like an old married couple, and they fight supernatural evil. This show WILL confuse the hell out of you and you will enjoy every second of it.

Alice Isn’t Dead, for a weird Americana horror story about a long-distance truck driver, criss-crossing the US in search of her missing wife. Along the way she discovers that both of them have been drawn into a dangerous secret war that seethes in the empty and abandoned expanses of America, and that inhuman hunters have begun to follow her. Also finished! And as the title kind of gives away, the lesbians do not die!

Janus Descending, for a sci-fi horror miniseries about two scientists sent to survey the remains of a dead alien civilization on a distant planet, only to learn all too well why the original inhabitants have disappeared. You hear one character’s story in chronological order and the other in reverse, with their perspectives alternating, which is done in an incredibly clever way so that even technically knowing what will happen it still holds you in suspense right to the end. Also, it made me cry, a lot.

SAYER, for a sci-fi horror with a touch of dark comedy, and probably the single best use of the “evil AI” trope I have ever seen. Tells the story of employees of tech corporation Aerolith Dynamics living on Earth’s artificial second moon, Typhon, in the form of messages from their AI overseer SAYER. The first season is great, the second season is okay, and the third and fourth seasons are fucking amazing.

Tides, for a really interesting sci-fi about a lone biologist trapped on an alien world shaped by deadly tidal forces. It’s different from just about any other sci-fi I know, focusing more on the main character’s interactions with and observations of this strange new world, where she’s very aware that she is the alien invader. (Also I don’t think any of the characters are straight.)

Station to Station, for a thrilling sci-fi mystery where a group of scientists and spies on a research ship (the ocean kind) discover that the time-warping anomaly they’re studying might be causing people to vanish from existence. Corporate espionage and high-stakes heartbreak abound. (And once again I’m not sure anyone is straight.)

The Strange Case of Starship Iris, for Being Gay And Doing Crime IN SPACE! Or, decades after a war with an alien species leaves humanity decimated and under the control of totalitarian leaders, the lone survivor of a research mission joins up with a ragtag crew of rebels and smugglers to figure out why the very government she worked for tried to kill her, and to stop them from inciting a second war. 100% lgbtqa+ found family in space heist action and it’s glorious in every way.

Unwell, for the horror-ish Midwestern gothic story of a young woman who returns to her hometown to help her estranged mother after an injury, and discovers that there is something just a little bit wrong, not just with her mother, but with her mother’s house, and with the whole town. Subtle and creepy. The protagonist is a biracial lesbian, one of the other major characters is nonbinary, the cast in general is super diverse.

The Blood Crow Stories, for an lgbtqa+ focused horror anthology! The four seasons so far have been the stories of an ancient evil stalking the passengers of a WWI-era utopian cruise ship, a dark Western mystery about a group of allies trying to stop the mysterious killer known only as the Savior, a 911 operator in a cyberpunk dystopia who starts getting terrifying phone calls from demons, and strange and deadly goings-on at a film studio in the golden age of Hollywood. Everyone is Very Gay and anyone can die, especially in season 1.

The Tower, for a melancholy experimental miniseries about a young woman who decides she’s going to climb the mysterious Tower, from which no one has ever returned. Quite short and very, very good.

Palimpsest, for a creepy, heartbreakingly sad and yet incredibly beautiful anthology series. Season one is the story of a woman who suspects her new home is haunted, season two is a turn-of-the-century urban fantasy about a girl who falls in love with the imprisoned fae princess she’s been hired to care for, and season three is about a WWII codebreaker who begins seeing ghosts on the streets of London during the Blitz.

Mabel, for a part-horror, part-love story, the kind of faerie tale where you feel obliged to spell it with an E because these are the kind of faeries that are utterly inhuman, and beautiful, and dangerous. Anna, the new caretaker for an elderly woman, leaves messages for her client’s mysteriously absent granddaughter Mabel. An old house in Ireland has a life and desires of its own, few of them friendly. Two women fall in love and set out for vengeance against the King Under The Hill. Creepy, strange, and gorgeously poetic.

Ars Paradoxica, for a sci-fi time travel Cold War espionage thriller. Physicist Dr. Sally Grissom accidentally invents time travel, landing herself – and her invention – in the middle of a classified government experiment during WWII. As the course of history utterly changes around them, she and what friends she can find in this new time must struggle with the ethics of what they’ve done, and the choices they’ll have to make. An aroace protagonist, Black secret agents, time-traveling Latina assassins, Jewish lesbian mathematicians, two men of color whose love changes the course of time itself, this show says a big fuck you to the idea that there’s anything hard about having a diverse cast in a period piece and it will break your heart, multiple times. Also finished!

The Far Meridian, for a genre-bending, poetic, at-times-heartwarming-at-times-heartbreaking story about an agoraphobic woman named Peri who decides to begin a search for her long-missing brother Ace after the lighthouse in which she lives begins mysteriously transporting to different places every day. I can never forget an early review that described this show as “the audio equivalent of a Van Gogh painting.” Suffice to say it is beautiful, and fantastically written and put together.

What’s the Frequency?, for a Surrealist noir horror mystery set in mid-20th-century LA. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I can really explain what goes on in this show, but it features a detective named Walter “Troubles” Mix and his partner Whitney searching for a missing writer. Meanwhile, the only thing that seems to be playing on the radio is that writer’s show Love, Honor, and Decay, which also seems to be driving people to murder. Fantastically weird, deliciously creepy.

Directive, for a short sci-fi miniseries about a man hired to spend a very, very long trip through space alone, which doesn’t seem all that sad until suddenly it hits you with Every Feel You’ve Ever Had, seriously I don’t want to spoil it so I won’t say anything more but listen to this and then never feel the same way about Tuesdays again.

Wolf 359, for honestly one of the best podcasts out there, containing all of the drama and feels, seriously this show ended over two years ago and I still cry literal tears thinking about it sometimes. It has definite comedic leanings, especially in the first season which reads a bit more like a wacky office comedy set in space, but it takes a sharp turn towards high stakes, action, and feelings and that roller coaster never stops. Take four clashing personalities alone on a constantly-malfunctioning space station eight light years from earth, add some mysterious transmissions from the depths of space, toss in some seriously Jonah-Magnus-level manipulative evil bosses, and get ready to cry.

or, may I suggest Midnight Radio? It’s a lesbian-romance-slash-ghost-story completed miniseries about a late-night 1950s radio host in a small town who begins receiving mysterious letters from one of her listeners, and I have been assured by many people and occasionally their all-caps tweets that it provides ample Feelings! (also I wrote it.)

#holy fuck when did this answer get that long?#anyway I uh. hope at least one of these sounds good to you!#podcast recs #bobbie recommends things #Anonymous #asks #my posts

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joeinfurnari · 4 years

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My Dinner with Andre

My Dinner with Andre might be one of the most difficult movies for many viewers to watch. The artsy crowd would call it minimalist while the more lowbrow among us would say it’s boring! There’s just so little to it that there is a valid case for both. The story is simply a struggling young playwright, Wally agrees to meet an acquaintance, Andre, for dinner at a nice restaurant in decaying New York city and conversation ensues. The end. But like so many things in life, My Dinner with Andre gives you so much more if you really listen closely. I recently watched it again and I forgot just how great it is and how it continues to speak to us today.

It’s so stark and unapologetic about being without plot that it’s become the subject of many pop culture parodies. I know there is a Simpson’s reference to it but I most enjoyed the episode of Community that spoofs it. You may think that this comes from a place of common dislike for the movie but it’s actually the opposite. The parodies just prove how influential and beloved it is. Why? For me, the appeal is the conversation itself. It’s been celebrated for being a complete fiction that does a great job at coming across as a documentary but that’s just appreciation on a formal level. It’s not just that they had a conversation that’s important, it’s what they talk about that matters. The content of that discussion is so important, the writers and filmmaker felt it merited being the subject of a film without any distraction. To say that Louis Malle created My Dinner with Andre for the iconoclasm alone, misses the point.

The two men seated at dinner are artists/playwrights and catch up on the long period since they last encountered each other. They’re not really friends and Wally even debates cancelling the dinner before ultimately opting to go. He’s a working writer and artist making ends meet in New York City while Andre has had a long hiatus from creative life spent on travel and self examination. Wally confirms their community speculation that Andre has money that allows his adventures. Andre at first spends dominates the conversation with anecdotes about mutual acquaintances and talks about some of the retreats and workshops he’s attended recently. Andre has dropped out of the arts and has been on a personal quest to find himself after becoming disillusioned with his life.

In the time since they last spoke Andre describes a crisis in his creative life. He left the theater and traveled to Poland where he spent time with strangers in the woods creating experimental theater. He didn’t speak or understand Polish and they didn’t understand English but the time spent together was transformative. What began for him as creative exploration in the woods forced him to act as himself and in so doing he was forced to examine his life and how he acts when he plays himself:

So, you follow the same law of improvisation…which is that you do whatever your impulse, as the character, tells you to do…but in this case, you are the character. So there's no imaginary situation to hide behind…and there's no other person to hide behind. What you're doing, in fact, is you're asking those same questions…that Stanislavsky said the actor should constantly ask himself as a character:

Who am I? Why am I here? Where do I come from, and where am I going?

But instead of applying them to a role, you apply them to yourself.

Andre tells more stories of his spiritual and creative adventures. For him, his journey to this dinner has been full of magic, mystery, serendipity and travel to exotic locations including India and even a Saharan Oasis. The restaurant is quite nice but it is still remarkably banal compared to Andre’s monstrous hallucinations and descriptions of his process of personal exploration. It culminates in a description of being buried alive in Montauk, NY. From that point on, Andre becomes surprised by his own reactions to things in his life. He even begins to look at himself and the sort of person who would spend his time the way he has. People in his life who he called friends, repulse him. Figures on television appear to be objectively horrible people. He says,

And I suddenly had this feeling I was just as creepy as they were…and that my whole life had been a sham…

…

I mean, I really feel that I'm just washed up, wiped out. I feel I've just squandered my life.

Moments later he goes on to say,

Well, you know, I may be in a very emotional state right now, Wally.…but since I've come back home I've just been finding the world we're living in…more and more upsetting.

It’s as though Andre has a new perception of the world that is in stark contrast to his former self. He’s alone in this perspective until he sees a woman working in the theater who recognizes the trouble on his face. Where everyone else he encountered commented on how great he looked, this woman somehow knew by looking at him, the emotional state he was in. Because of this woman’s recent loss of her mother, she was able to see him clearly. Andre says,

She didn't know anything about what I'd been going through. But the other people, what they saw was this tan, or this shirt…or the fact that the shirt goes well with the tan.

So they said, " Gee, you look wonderful." Now, they're living in an insane dreamworld.

They're not looking.

That seems very strange to me. Right, because they just didn'ts ee anything, somehow.…except, uh, the few little things that they wanted to see.

All of this has resonated with me very personally. I similarly feel as though my perspective on the world has shifted and it has made me incompatible with things as they are and people who aren’t looking. It’s as though my prior life was a dream, honestly. When I think of how I thought about the world and other people for most of my life, I also hate that prior self. I agree with Andre that that earlier version of myself inhabited an insane dreamworld. Andre describes it using the example of his dying mother. Although she was terminally ill and appeared only minutes away from death, the specialist was beaming at all the progress she was making. For this doctor, he had so narrowed his goals/perception to her arm that any healing on that front was cause for celebration. Insane.

I mean, we're just walking around in some kind of fog. I think we're all in a trance. We're walking around like zombies. I don't…I don't think we're even aware of ourselves or our own reaction to things.

We…We're just going around all day like unconscious machines…and meanwhile there's all of this rage and worry and uneasiness…just building up and building up inside us.

And later, Andre continues to describe this state of mind:

Isn't it amazing how often a doctor…will live up to our expectation of how a doctor should look? When you see a terrorist on television, he looks just like a terrorist. I mean, we live in a world in which fathers…or single people, or artists…are all trying to live up to someone's fantasy…of how a father, or a single person,or an artist should look and behave.

They all act as if they know exactly how they ought to conduct themselves…at every single moment…and they all seem totally self-confident.

For two men involved in theater, they are approaching the idea that who we fashion ourselves to be, is selected from clearly defined character behaviors and appearance. For an actor, it must be disturbing for there to be no leap between the actor and the character. Why is it that someone who adopts the role of artist in real life, chooses to look like what we expect? As average people in our world, we’re acting our roles as they have been defined for us by someone else. This should be alarming to everyone and not just Andre and Wally.

I mean, we just put no value at all on perceiving reality. I mean, on the contrary, this incredible emphasis that we all place now.…on our so-called careers…automatically makes perceiving reality a very low priority…because if your life is organized around trying to be successful in a career…well, it just doesn't matter what you perceive or what you experience. You can really sort of shut your mind off for years ahead, in a way. You can sort of turn on the automatic pilot.

How many of us are doing this right now? I did it for many years, always overlooking the here and now for some future reward that all of it was building towards. I also think if your focus is on a career, it’s less on the experience and wisdom needed to fully embody that role. This is why this is such a great film. It may not wow you with realistic explosions but it challenges you to question your view on your life and your world. You shouldn’t be content with the way things are. If you are, you are part of a very fortunate few and you may be overlooking much of the world to do so.

people's concentration is on their goals.…in their life they just live each moment by habit.

…

And if you're just operating by habit…then you're not really living. I mean, you know, in Sanskrit, the root of the verb " to be".…is the same as " to grow" or " to make grow. "

This is something I think about a lot. I live as a cartoonist dedicated to writing and drawing and designing and promoting and tweeting and posting and editing etc. in a driving need to produce, produce, produce. Am I really living? I don’t think so. It’s okay to admit it. This wasn’t a world of my creation but if I’m alive and active in it, I can change it. This film gave me a way to understand the things that I’ve gone through over the last few years. Without art, I wouldn’t have evidence that others have been where I stand. I feel less alone and more hopeful.

Wally talks about the need for escapism and comfort from art against the harsh reality of every day life. The choice is to create art that is comforting but for all its warmth, fails to acknowledge reality and might contribute to a collective disengaging with reality and most importantly, each other.

…we're starving because we're so cut off from contact with reality…that we're not getting any real sustenance,'cause we don't see the world. We don't see ourselves. We don't see how our actions affect other people.

This is heady stuff, for sure. All of this is to get us thinking about the nature of our lives and really see the things we’ve chosen for ourselves. To truly be free is to be able to think outside the characters and roles defined for us…even the ones we think we chose but didn’t create. Only by looking at ourselves honestly and as objectively as possible can we see how far from our own humanity we have come. Andre went through a personal crisis in which he went through a dramatization of his own death and rebirth. The fresh eyes this has given him as illuminated a very dark reality. There are no fancy distractions in this film because it is a battle cry for humanity’s future. Under the guise of a polite conversation about things most average people would discount as having no bearing on reality is actually about a fundamental reality that has changed without our conscious consent. His advise:

Get out of here.

…

the 1960s.…represented the last burst of the human being before he was extinguished…and that this is the beginning of the rest of the future, now…and that from now on there'll simply be all these robots walking around…feeling nothing, thinking nothing. And there'll be nobody left almost to remind them.…that there once was a species called a human being…with feelings and thoughts…and that history and memory are right now being erased…and soon nobody will really remember.…that life existed on the planet.

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guerilla935 · 4 years

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Review: Persona 4 Golden

On July 10th in 2008 North American audiences came in contact with Persona 4 on the PlayStation 2. After the success of Persona 3 it sold an easy 193,000 copies in its first week. This game is undoubtedly up with Final Fantasy X and Dragon Quest VIII as one of the best RPG’s on the PlayStation 2. Then on June 14th of 2012 on the PS Vita, Atlus releases Persona 4 Golden, a definitive version of Persona 4 that boasts two new social links, new difficulty levels, new music, improved voice acting, new cutscenes, more persona, new events and areas, motor scooters, the SOS Vox Populi system, trophy support, improved skill inheritance, and a new epilogue and ending. So if you were to play this game then obviously you would play this one. The disadvantage being that you probably don’t own a PS Vita and buying the system and the game will run you about $360 USD new and $160 USD used. The following is why this game is easily worth paying either of these costs.

Like A Dream Come True

Persona 4 is set in the rural town of Inaba located in the Japanese countryside. As the anime protagonist you play as a city boy staying with his detective uncle and kid cousin in this town while attending school, keeping up a social life, and solving a supernatural serial murder case. Inaba is not large, it is maybe 5 or 6 segmented open world areas that open at various times of the day. But each area is lit up with Shoji Meguro’s soundtrack, an epic rock and J-Pop composition, and is populated with familiar faces and beautiful 3D backdrops that bring the small town alive. The ambient air of Inaba bleeds its small town aesthetic and creates a believable home for you for the one in-game year that you are visiting. From every time you hear small town gossip and drama to having to avoid people that you know or make plans with unexpected acquaintances you are always engaged in the town and its inhabitants. The upbeat music and gorgeous anime visuals blend to make a 2008 small video game town feel more alive and natural than most 2019 open world action epics.

I’ll Face Myself

The Persona 4 formula creates a fool proof way to make sure that the player gets emotionally connected to each and every character with enough development to keep you coming back to play the game way more than once. The main story allows you to peer into the teens brains and see vivid and sometimes even frightening representations of their inner struggles. It takes incredibly personal topics like gender identity, society imposed masculinity, female objectivity, and narcissism and lets you cut through it with a huge katana and then validates the feelings. The life that is breathed through each of persona 4′s characters is overwhelming at times and you are always completely engaged in the story because of it. This isn’t just true of the main cast but also of every side character. Throughout your year you’ll meet a gritty detective hell bent on solving a hit and run that killed his wife, a basketball player afraid of losing his family, a rich and pretty girl who uses an ugly personality to mask her fears, and a flirtatious nurse whose loneliness and depression broke her passion. This isn’t even half of them and they are all incredibly gripping stories to attach yourself to. If Persona 4 had one big selling point it would be the individual character development, where the main story stops and starts again at the end of every month the individual characters stories constantly keep you coming back for more. The Persona series is known for its relatable and likeable characters but I fully believe that Persona 4 does this the best. In Persona 3 you see a more niche theme that is more geared toward loss and Persona 5 is very youth centered with a very strong cast, but Persona 4 has the widest range of its cast and the strongest appeal that I doubt we’ll see from the series again. The golden version of Persona 4 adds 2 new characters, original character Marie and fan favorite character Tohru Adachi which are both excellent and add a lot of value to an already stellar crew of characters.

Reach Out To The Truth

The combat in this game is a celebration of the genre, a mash-up of what makes Pokemon, Final Fantasy, and Dragon Quest special. The persona system allows for a full range of customization for the main protagonist. Being able to on the fly change your elemental affinity and move set is a game changer and adds a certain amount of forgiveness for lack of preparation necessary in a game where you might not have another day to go back and change things around. The shadows are all designed in very interesting kind of circus horror type of ways and each is easily identifiable by its visual representation. The dungeons designs become kind of bland after 5-8 floors but thankfully none of them overstay their welcome long enough to be something to make you want a break from the game. The combat follows normal RPG conventions, normal attacks, elemental spells and a few weird ones thrown in there, buffs and heals, its all pretty standard. The set up for combat when all the characters are either surrounding the enemy or are being surrounded doesn’t give you a particular advantage but looks so much better than if they had lined them up for battle like other RPG’s or even against Persona 5 which did away with this feature in favor of the battle line up. This game is before the days of experience sharing so you will have to take multiple trips into dungeons with each of the party members to level them which is something that has kind of been done away with in the past few years and if you are against a grindier experience you could always set the difficulty to the lowest setting (only available in Golden) (This is also how I played my first run of the game) and there is no shame in playing a game on very easy. The addition of new persona in the golden version of Persona 4 will probably go relatively unnoticed by most players just because there are so many in the game already and it doesn’t really give a huge incentive to “catching them all” like a certain other game. You are also not allowed to keep personas past a certain point, you have to fuse or dispose of them in order to catch more so there is no real “getting attached” to them as they come and go so if you were looking for the very popular catch and train method this is not it, you use the persona then throw it in a blender on high till you get something better. And I believe that this approach puts a bigger spotlight on the characters instead of random deities and creatures that don’t add anything to the immediate experience, just the overall mythos and lore of persona which is probably another post in itself. And the characters are where the combat shines, voice lines that don’t become over bearing and cute idle animations with well voiced attack lines give combat a nice touch of personality that feeds into the aesthetic of the rest of the game with its emphasis on its cast.

Verdict

Persona 4 is good by itself but Persona 4 Golden is definitely the way you want to experience this game, I would not even know half of my options for each day without the SOS Vox Populi system. The new events, areas, and characters are just extras but I’m telling you that you SHOULD feel like you are missing out without these. And the new epilogue added is emotional if you’ve never cried after finishing something then you will here. We talk about video games and movies being an escape from real life for some people and Persona 4 not only does that but gives you a home and a life in Inaba that is brief but intimate and rewarding. The 70-90 hours you spend in this game are extremely memorable and unique, if you have the means to play this masterpiece then you are wasting time reading this review when you could be playing Persona 4.

#persona 4 #persona 4 golden #shoji meguro #yaso-inaba #yosuke hanamura #chie satonaka #yukiko amagi #yu narukami #rise kujikawa #kanji tatsumi #naoto shirogane #p4g #p4

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missorgana · 4 years

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that’s how you get the girl (more or less)

pairing: han solo/leia organa

fandom: star wars (original trilogy)

rating: teen and up

word count: 4881

warning: swearing

summary: Han's kind, and he's an idiot. What a combination. (newspaper reporters!au inspired by nickie’s gorgeous aesthetic. happy very belated birthday @ladyeowyn ♥ really hope you enjoy this love!!)

read on ao3

Han Solo might possibly be the stupidest person on the face of the earth.

There are many things in this world Leia can’t be certain of, but this one, she just knows.

And she definitely didn’t expect to meet him at her job, of all places.

About five years ago, Leia got an intern spot at Cloud City Times, along with her lovable, strangely connected twin brother, Luke.

She didn’t even know he applied til they got their acceptance emails.

Regardless, they did everything together, so Leia didn’t complain.

Their mother always had a fond look in her eyes when checking on them after their bedtime, in their younger years, scolding them with no real irritation when she found them reading Lord of The Rings, flashlight in hand, hidden in a fort of blankets.

She could never really get angry with them, no matter how much trouble they managed to get into.

So, of course, she was over the moon when the twins told her the news.

On their first, they were reminded by her to work together, and not get into their ‘usual squabbles’, a comment that made Leia scrunch up her nose.

She still kissed them goodbye, though.

And Leia worked hard to impress their boss, she really did, and she can’t really speak on Luke’s behalf, but she’s sure he did too.

She knows him too well to think anything else, her brother doesn’t do anything half-assed. They are Skywalkers, after all, as their father always said.

The internship eventually earned them both an actual, stable job, and six months ago, the boss appointed Leia as managing editor.

And she held a lot of pride in that, you know?

This essentially means she was put in charge of hiring and promoting, or in worse cases, firing staff.

Luke teased her for being his boss, he was proud of her, but also loved pushing her buttons every once in a while.

And if Leia didn’t know better, it might look like her brother is doing just that to her now.

Yesterday, Luke asked her to take this guy in for an interview, someone he apparently met in his weird board game club or whatever.

He insisted that this new friend of his needed a job, insisted he had some good ideas, too, and Leia decided to put her faith in him.

Oh boy, was she wrong to do so.

Because in front of her, he’s sitting, Han Solo, the man her brother said was practically born to have this job.

If Leia has to be completely honest with herself, cause her mother always valued honesty, her first thought when she saw him made her rather flustered.

But can you blame her, really?

He was polite and shook her hand, his own wearing rings on every finger, and showcasing a smile that could almost cross the line to being a smirk,

This guy proceeded to shower her with compliments, rambling about how he’s a huge fan of hers, highlighting the pro-abortion piece she published a couple of months prior, and even saying her office was comfortable, not crammy and dull like those in the movies.

Him being insanely attractive doesn’t help Leia’s professional and social ability, either.

She never thought herself as one to swoon over someone she just met, yet here she is.

Leia had always liked her partners tall, her ex-girlfriend Amilyn was more than a head taller than herself, and so is this Han, and he still has some sort of sparkle in his eyes she doesn’t really know what to do with.

All polite greetings and various compliments aside, Leia has to retain some level of authority, so she starts the interview, the usual questions of past experience, ambitions, strengths and weaknesses, you know the drill.

And, well, the conversation turns out interesting, to say the least.

“So, Han, you got any past experience in the field?”

He blinks at her, pulls a lock of hair behind his ear before he replies, “Ah, well, not exactly.”

Leia waits expectantly but the man in front of her seems done with his sentence.

Man of few words, huh. This is going to be a long interview, then.

“Would you care to elaborate?” she asks, already impatient. His good looks are one thing, but not a basis for employment.

He smiles again. Dammit, Leia, pull yourself together.

“You talk just like in your writing, I’m impressed,” he tells her, reaching out to presumably take a closer look at the framed picture of her parents on her desk, “I, uh, how much did Luke tell you about me?”

Before Leia can answer, a shattering sounds, and Han’s face in a state of shock.

He fumbles his fingers where he dropped the photo.

“Jesus, that, uh- wauw. It’s real glass?”

She just has to do a double a take. Leia’s not surprised as much as confused, switching her gaze to the photograph and shards of glass now inhabiting the industrial Ikea rug.

Han looks embarrassed.

He still tries a smile, this one most likely one he uses to charm himself out of possible incidents, she bets, or accidents, as in this case.

Leia just huffs. She can’t help but give him a smile back and a simple shrug.

He’s an idiot.

With this realisation, Leia relaxes in her seat once again, while Han runs a hand through his hair anxiously, “Oh f- I mean, damn. I’m so sorry. I’ll get you a new frame, I really thought I had this, of course my dumb luck-”

“Don’t.”

She puts her hand up to further get her point across.

“It’s a frame, Han. The photo’s still intact. Don’t worry about it.”

Still, he picks up the photograph and hands it to her, appearing to hold further apologies back, and she nods a thanks.

“Look, uh, to answer your question - I got experience a couple years back. Thing is, well, I exposed… some stuff. My rep ain’t the best cause of that.”

His hand gestures are large, vivid, quick, and Leia wishes he would catch his breath.

“He deserved it, though! And Luke’s trying to help me out, honestly, he’s the nicest, ever. Please believe me.” he finally finishes, adjusts his wristwatch and just… looks at her.

It’s silent for a while, because Leia doesn’t really know what to answer, and she wishes she could go against her gut feeling.

This kind of charm sucks her in and she scolds herself mentally. Will never admit to it. At least she’ll have someone pretty to look at.

“Luke believes in you.” she tells him simply, “And I trust my brother. If you got a portfolio, I’ll look it over. Just, please, stop looking like you’re terrified of me.”

And Han releases a breath, nods decidedly, “Hell yeah I got one. Okay, you won’t regret this. Seriously.”

Leia gives him a smile, exceptionally warm for someone she’s only known for about thirty minutes. Don’t even think of judging her right now.

“I’ll hold you on that.”

…

Two weeks pass by since Leia hired Han, and she has to admit, she’s positively surprised.

Han’s an exceptional writer, she thinks, after having three published pieces so far, and she feels a sense of pride, almost.

Thing is, well, he needs a metaphorical kick or two when it comes to work.

Not actually working, it’s not like he’s lazy, but let’s say Leia wonders if his definition of a deadline is something different than hers.

Every piece so far, the first draft comes into her hands at least two days after she told him to. And his charm aside, it’s getting on her nerves.

She doesn’t want to act over powerful, but warnings are given where warnings are due, and he always apologises profusely, trying to lighten the mood with one of his bad jokes.

Oh, the cluelessness of him.

The way Han has that smile permanently plastered on her face, it’s a weird combination of someone having the looks of a cocky bastard that makes every swoon, and the personality of a clumsy high school dropout who somehow always ends up saving the day.

And he definitely doesn’t have a problem making friends.

Han’s way too nice.

Everyone’s nice here, don’t get her wrong, but Leia finds it strange, almost.

It’s come to a point where he tells her of his adventure to another department when their own printer broke down, and he casually mentions someone named Boba, Leia ultimately hiding her confused unknowing of who he’s talking about.

How does he even have the time to meet so many people?

But Leia can’t lie about the fact that she enjoys this weird dynamic they’ve started.

He teases her, in a professional manner that is, always guessing, and always somehow hitting it spot on, what her newest piece is about.

He also knocks on her office door more than anyone else, untimely or not. When she tells him she’s in the middle of something he takes the cue, thankfully, but she suspects he’s waited outside for whatever call she had to end.

Three weeks pass by and it’s like Han’s living in her mind.

She’d suspect of him being a mind reader, if she believed that sort of stuff, and if Han wasn’t so impulsive and strangely dim in certain areas.

Basically, she’s seeing, and hearing, a lot more of him than she expected to.

And whether this is a curse or a blessing, well, Leia is troubled.

Because more than anything, Han is turning out so incredibly annoying.

She hates that thought, because what she finds annoying is not, per say, annoying, not in a traditional sense.

He’s late to everything, yes, but he’s extremely genuine.

Discussions with him is always something Leia looks forward to, and his feedback to her is honestly excellent. It’s almost like he changes personality when he’s deeply concentrated in work, always has to the right constructive criticism, always the missing word you’re looking for.

He works most nights late, he casually told her of that fact, and if she shows even a hint of annoyance towards him, he leaves whatever the case is be and greets her the next morning with coffee.

How’s he learned how she takes her coffee so quickly, anyway?

What shifted their dynamic even more was that Leia and Han both started working late at the office.

First happened on a Friday, where she went to the coffee machine and spotted him still staring at his screen.

This evening encounter ended up as a routine, and eventually, Han more or less moved into her office, until they were both done with whatever task at hand.

And, after five weeks, Leia has now found the most annoying thing about Han Solo.

She likes him.

Leia supposes this is a natural progression, after the weird first job interview, finding he possesses charm in spades, and where she definitely couldn’t deny that he is, in fact, attractive.

Actually, he fits her type completely. And that can’t be happening.

Leia keeps trying to look for signs that he’s actually a douche, but, tragically, not the case.

Han cares about this job, minor flaws aside, and if his interactions with Luke is any indication, he cares about people, too.

He’s kind, and he’s an idiot. What a combination.

Tuesday morning, Han knocks on her door as usual, which is why Leia just yells for him to come in, zero surprise in her tone.

“General,” he greets her, a nickname he came up with on his first day and never explained, and it makes Leia roll her eyes, “You eat breakfast yet?”

Well, that was new.

Leia looks up, Han holding a brown paper bag in his arms, along with the carefully balanced coffee cups, as per usual.

She leans back, trying to hold a smile back but probably failing, “No, now that you ask. Tell me, what would’ve you done if I had?”

Han laugh and sits down, clearly already at home, and starts presenting her with the meal, “We could’ve eaten it for lunch, of course. Multipurpose, right?”

Leia scoffs back at him, but grabs the coffee with a nod as a thank you.

“I do have to take a phone call, though. You wanted to discuss your piece for next week?”

He smirks at her again, “You must be a mind reader, General. But yes, it can wait though. You’re a busy woman, I’ll just take my half of our splendid meal and leave you be.”

Han works a fake cry of despair into his words, and walks out the door, the sulky look way too dramatic for anyone to believe it, but there’s no point in telling him that.

“That’s appreciated.” she tells him, shaking her head fondly at his act, “Remember the deadline this time, now would you?!”

“Of course. It’s me.”

His look of disbelief is given no more than a raise of Leia’s eyebrows.

This man will be the death of her.

…

Out of the many discoveries Leia’s made about Han, her latest is that he’s, in fact, a clingy person.

Very clingy.

This is not something bad in her mind, maybe because he’s so likable.

She’s had to remind him and Luke of their duties a few times, when they were too occupied looking at photos of Han’s dog - Chewie, another thing she has no idea what means - on his flip phone.

Han’s simultaneously the first and last person she expected to still have a flip phone.

And, turns out, Lando and Han dated back in high school. Not that that’s something to think about too much. Leia doesn’t overthink.

Regardless, Han tends to hang around other people for as long as humanly possible.

To begin with, she didn’t have the heart to say something, maybe, possibly, because of her crush, but not really.

Stupid crushes. Leia shouldn’t have crushes.

Now that they’re comfortable with each other, Han clings even more, believe it or not, only difference is Leia is not afraid to tell him to back off when she’s going to a meeting.

And she did figure she’ll have to, well, keep her distance and let whatever she’s feeling go away.

Dating a coworker would be extremely unprofessional, at least in Leia’s mind.

She doesn’t know really if there’s any rules about it. Might be some restrictions, she figures.

And dating Han would require some more patience than what she’s capable of, she thinks, and also that the feeling was mutual.

Han Solo is incredibly hard to read.

During their late night work sessions, they’ve had some, what can you say, heartfelt moments. Honest, raw perhaps?

It surprised her when they happened.

Here, Han’s smirk disappeared, and a relaxed smile took its place. His smirk seemed, sometimes, as something forced, but this, Leia somehow knew was genuine.

He seems more thoughtful about his words, it seems, when they’re one on one.

It’s weird. Not that it means anything.

To begin with he told mostly of Chewie and his car, and he then keeps on telling her on a semi-daily basis how she definitely has to see it, maybe go for a drive because he assures her it has the best motor and perfect glossed paintwork and other car stuff she pretends she cares about.

One conversation went to his high school girlfriend, Qi’ra, and eventually of his more or less absent parents.

Han’s been fending for himself since the age of sixteen, and honestly, that doesn’t surprise Leia at all.

He’s clumsy, an idiot, yes, but he seems like someone who can feel at home anywhere, or with anyone.

She might be imagining that maybe, possibly, he could feel at home with her, but when the thought crosses her it’s stupid. Just because they’re more comfortable than someone should be with their boss doesn’t mean anything.

And well, about these unexplainable feelings of hers towards this dummy, Leia suspects he might be interested in someone else.

Someone else being her twin brother. Now listen, Leia’s not jealous, okay? She hates thinking that way.

Because Han takes a liking to everyone, but especially to Luke.

They’re seeming, at least, to get into a lot more trouble lately - not anything major, just with her, because a common interest is teasing her, apparently.

And Han hangs around Luke’s desk a whole lot, no matter how many times Leia points it out with a raised eyebrow.

He does go when she’s told them a third time, sending a salute her way.

Come to think of it, they’re practically attached by the hip by now.

Luke’s board game club meets twice a week, so Leia can only wonder how much time the two spend together, outside of work.

And her brother always mentions some anecdote or movie or weird fact Han’s told him, excited as always, and as much as Leia gets a pit in her stomach, it’s adorable.

“Have you seen Han’s car?” and when she shakes her head, he looks bewildered, “Leia! You need to see it! He’s like, customized almost everything. It’s some old classic car, can’t remember the company, wait, let me look it up...”

Her brother’s tales of him frame him as close to the standard of a greek god, or something, and it’s hilarious, to be honest.

Like, Leia can tell his idolisation of Han’s clouding his judgement. He’s definitely not as wise as he’s making her brother think, at least.

Similarly, Han talks of how Luke constantly beats him in everything, despite his fine tuned skills he otherwise loves to brag about.

“I let the kid win in chess, though, like, that’s my homefield, you know?” he tells her with a wink, and Leia just laughs, because she’s pretty sure Han isn’t protecting her brother’s dignity with this one.

And Leia has to, finally, admit to herself that she needs to do something.

She has to get over this crush of hers, because she doesn’t have a chance. And she values her brother’s happiness higher than her own.

Leia figures Luke has more patience for Han’s shenanigans than herself, and maybe just a more similar personality, really.

She’s a lot more organized, she thinks, maybe she’s a bit uptight, okay, but that isn’t bad, is it? Why’s Han Solo making her doubt herself so much?

The irony, twins falling for the same guy. Ridiculous.

Anyway, Leia decides to text Han, asks him if they can talk the next morning. Before working on her own heartbreak, she’s gotta make sure he knows she’s got her brother’s back.

And yes, she’s got his phone number, she’s got all the staff members’ numbers, though. Don’t you dare get into that right now.

And Han, like the weird, dreamy guy he is, answers with the usual “‘Course, General”, followed by a winky face. Dear God.

The sooner this is out of the world, the better.

…

Before Leia knows it, the following morning comes and she’s finishing an email when the usual knock sounds.

Han doesn’t even wait for an answer this time, just appears and fumbles with the door handle, trying his hardest not to spill their coffee.

She simply gives him a look and the “You know, usually, regular human beings wait for an answer after knocking.” question.

He raises one eyebrow.

“I’m not even close to regular, General. How could you underestimate me like that!” he cries out with a laugh. “And you did say you wanted to discuss something.”

Leia sighs, yeah, she can’t cover it up with a joke, in the end. Han settles in the seat opposite her desk, giving her a suspicious look.

“I’m not in trouble, am I?” She sips the coffee, way too hot, fuck. Her burnt tongue’s halting her words, but she speaks up again regardless, “Not exactly, no.”

His brows furrow. She can’t really tell if he’s confused or worried or disbelieving, he’s always doing that frown whenever something bothers him, though.

“I know I got my piece to you late last week, I- again. I’m learning that, uh, time thing, you know. Just, please don’t fire me. I really need this job and-”

“Han!” she has to outburst, because he’s rambling.

He visibly has to catch his breath, puts on a semi good smirk on again, Jesus, and straightens his back a little.

“Sorry. I’m all ears.”

As much as she’s gotten to know him, she still wonders how many of his mannerisms are put on and how many are genuine.

He certainly flails with his arms a lot whenever he tries to explain something. That can’t be faked, right?

It’s the amount of charm that, well, sometimes seems plastered on.

Not that it’s not working, because boy, it sure does, but if Leia’s being honest, she’d much rather have their solemn, relaxed late conversations.

There, she feels like he’s being more himself, whatever that may be, because she actually doesn’t know this man very well.

She wants to. Maybe. Yeah, no, she does, is that embarrassing? Sue her.

He’s not even the mysterious kind of guy she saw in those stupid shows when she was fourteen, he’s just the right amount of off, compared to her current social circle.

Leia could spend ages trying to describe him, still wouldn’t justify her feelings for him to herself, whatever.

“I didn’t want to see you because of something work-related.” she finally tells him, and the frown reappears on his face, but Leia continues, “I just want to make sure we understand each other.”

Han rustles a bit in his jeans pocket but pulls nothing out, slicks his hair back like he does way too many times than someone should, probably.

He tries an unsure smile again, “I’m not sure I know where you’re going with this, General.”

And he turns a couple of rings on his fingers, presumably because he’s still nervous about where this is going, so Leia has to cut the chase, already, dammit.

“Okay, well, you and Luke hang out a lot. Seems like you like each other.”

Now Han’s mannerisms seems to slow down, he gives her, once more, a slightly lifted eyebrow, replying, “I mean, yeah? Luke’s great. You wanna talk about Luke?”

Leia nods. “I know this is weird, but honestly, since I don’t, really, know you outside of here I might as well get it done here.”

She leans back in her seat, searching for any clues that he wants to say something, but he keeps quiet.

“I love my brother, and I can tell you’re making him happy, but just because I like your work, and well, I like you as a person as well, doesn’t mean that I’ll give you any mercy if you even think about hurting him.” Leia nods to herself, thinking she got that out alright - right? Han, however, seems even more confused than before.

He tilts his head a bit and looks at her for a while.

She doesn’t really know what to do, then, leaning forward again and resting her arms on the table. “You understand where I’m going with this?”

“I think so, General.”

“Good.”

“Tell me, you think I’m flirting with your brother?”

Leia blinks at him, “I- I do. That’s what you’re doing. I hope this isn’t too personal, you really are a friend to me, but as I said-”

“No, no, no. Leia.” he says, and she has to admit she’s taken back by that, because when’s the last time he’s not called her by a nickname? First time they met, probably.

“Fuck.” Han suddenly exclaims, and his face quickly changes, “F- I mean, excuse my language. Anyway. Damn, I’m really bad at this, aren’t I?”

And honestly, Leia now has zero idea what he’s saying. It’s like they’re speaking two different languages, because she’s never been this dumbfounded, she thinks.

“Bad at what?”

Han shakes his head, scratches his neck, almost in despair, “Seriously, I didn’t think this would happen. Shit, this is my fault. I’m so sorry for the confusion, but Luke’s just my friend.”

She fights not to narrow her eyes at him, half suspecting his statement to be a lie, out of embarrassment.

“Han, I know you tell me I’m intimidating sometimes, but I’m serious.”

“But I’m serious, General.”

Leia’s almost getting frustrated, and throws up her in despair, because what? What’s he trying to say, or run from, maybe? This man’s impossible.

“Leia- I’m sorry. You know what, I’ll go, okay? Sorry. I just- Luke’s advice didn’t work, but please don’t blame him-”

“Advice?” she’s afraid she snaps at him at that, but he seems unfazed, half out of his chair and stopping his movement.

What on earth is he talking about, now?

“I, well. I asked him about you, and tried to spend more time with you, because he said you’re not that big on, you know, elaborate wooing, or whatever. And coffee!” Now, excuse Leia’s language, but what the fuck.

“What?”

Han sits down again, ruffling his hair, looking at her with what seems like a million thoughts running through his head, and honestly, that’s exactly how Leia’s head is right now.

“You like coffee, right? Or did I mistake that, Jesus. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so forward with coming into your office, I-”

“Han, are you telling me you asked my brother for advice on how to… woo me?”

And the man in front of her nods, a few too many times, looks down and up at her and around the room and out of the window, and fuck, Han’s a mess.

Leia leans back. This cannot be happening.

Well, she’s not complaining. No, not at all.

She didn’t expect this for the life of her, though, and that’s why she’s at a loss for words at the moment.

By some unknown force in her life pulling this idiot into her life, making him so goddamn likable, making her have a crush after being comfortably single for a while, he’s been spending time with her brother because he wants to know her?

She almost wants to laugh, it’s ridiculous, laughable, if she wasn’t so lost for him. And there’s nothing wrong with that, she’ll have to get her brain to stop fighting her.

“Are you angry at me? Please don’t be! I, okay, Luke’s so great and like, dammit, I feel bad- If you’re offended I understand, believe me.” he says, finally settles his eyes on her again. “I know it’s unprofessional to flirt with your boss, anyway, so-”

“Did you ask Luke to hype you up?”

Han looks embarrassed. “Well, uh, maybe. A little bit?”

Leia nods, and now, she has to smile. Genuinely, getting continuously warmer, “You know I’m not that into cars, right?” and damn, she’s never seen him look so beat.

She almost, immediately, regrets those words, but continues regardless, because surely this situation can only benefit them, now. Screw whatever dating policies that may or may not be existing, she’ll look them up after this whole mess is cleared.

“I’m into you, though. Like, you didn’t have to enlist my brother to help you, but I appreciate the effort.” she tells him with a laugh.

And Han morphs into a look of shock. It’s almost like he’s going through every state of emotion at the same time.

“Are you serious?”

“Why else would I say it, Han?”

“Well- good point General.” he fumbles with this rings again, looks at her in that pondering way again, like he’s expecting this to be some sort of practical joke.

She finds his utter confusion adorable, almost, and scoffs at herself.

It’s stupid, this way he thought of wooing her, in his own words, but she gets it, somehow. This is unprofessional.

She’s stupid, because she shouldn’t be swooned by him so quickly, but also she’s not stupid, because this dumbass likes her and she likes him, and this one time, Leia decides not to argue with her own head.

Why would she do that, anyway, when Han’s admitted he tried to flirt with her, and they shared most of their life stories with each other, and seriously, they could, well, get on with other activities?

Not here, though. Obviously not.

Leia’s still a professional, mind that. She doesn’t have to be that after work, though, right?

She wants to shake her head at Luke for agreeing to Han’s schemes, but that can wait. That can for sure wait.

Screw her idea of professionality, then.

“I don’t know anything about the company’s policies on… this. You mind if I come back to you on that?” she asks him, still smiling, and the way he’s smiling back to her, now, he’s turning on all his charm, but also, probably, realizing that he doesn’t really have to.

He’s almost acting like an excited puppy, God, Leia’s not sure how complicated this will be, but she’s prepared to take that fight.

Han’s to the point of almost dancing in his seat.

Her patience is practically bulletproof by now, anyway.

“Not at all.”

“And- well, are you doing anything after work?”

Han shakes his profusely.

Leia bites her lip, nods certainly in her confidence.

“You got something we can do? Like, I guess, a date? Other than car talk?”

“Oh, you bet.”

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