disease of the body, disease of the mind

The Parkourist and the Scarab

Warnings: cursing, mentions of homeless children, violence, a gun, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Marc Spector x teen reader, Steven Grant x teen reader

Requests: Could you do a marc/steven x teen!reader where she's pretty good at parkour so when they're running after the thugs in Egypt (or some other scenario) she's always calling him old and telling him to keep up and he's just so over it- I can imagine him being lowkey impressed by also like "stop going where I can't see you. No I couldn't care less about you just just up and stay behind me"

hi!! was reading some of your fics and i gotta admit im loving it :D i was asking to request a fic with teen!reader with marc & steven, where r gets taken in by them, but then harrow (being the glass-shoes asshole he is) takes the r in a sad attempt at trying to get the scarab? bonus points for promt 10. its chill if you dont want to :D <33

(Sorry I had to combine both of your requests but I hope that this is what you two were looking for and I hope you enjoy)

Requests by: @foggy-isnt-here @raylan-c

*not my gif*

Summary: It started out with parkour, and it’s safe to say that things escalated from there

A/N: The bolded words are Steven when he is not fronting and the dialogue prompt

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

“Marc! Watch this!” Your gleeful voice shouted to the man, not slowing your run as you propelled yourself towards a wall, using the force you had to run up it a little bit before falling backwards and doing a backflip, landing on your feet.

The man let out a huff, still running behind you and rolled his eyes slightly, “I’m not impressed… nor is Steven.”

On the contrary, mate, that was actually quite impressive.

This time you rolled your eyes, turning around and facing him as you ran backwards, “Oh come on, we both know that you think it’s cool.”

“Not cool.” Marc grumbled under his breath, watching as you scaled a seven foot wall with ease and ran along the rooftop and did a small front flip off of it at the end, “Okay, kind of cool.” The man admitted, making sure you were out of hearing rang before he actually said it.

“Did you see that?” You whipped around with an expectant grin, hoping that the man had seen your cool trick.

Again, he rolled his eyes, but playfully this time, “Come on, just keep running. We’re still chasing after those thugs, you know.”

Your grin didn’t falter as you wiggled your eyebrows at him, “Just keep up, old man.” You teased.

Ha! I knew I liked her!

“We’re the same age, dumbass.” Marc muttered to his alter under his breath angrily, listening to Steven let out a sound of realization.

… well that’s just rude then.

As you kept running ahead, Marc felt his heartbeat pick up and it wasn’t because of all the running, “Kid! Hey, kid! Oh for Christ's sake, stay behind me!”

He watched as you slowed down and looked at him quizzically, “Why?” Then a large smile slowly spread across your face, “Are you worried about me?”

Once again, he huffed and rolled his eyes, finally catching up to you due to you slowing down to tease him, “No, I don’t care about you. Now shut up and keep running.”

A couple months ago, Marc and Steven had dropped by Cairo because it aligned with both of their works and they thought it would be a good idea just to stay for a couple of months.

On their second night there, they had stumbled upon a group of men running away from and screaming as a young teen girl chased them, yelling curses that neither of the men had heard before, and it terrified them to hear them coming out of the mouth of such a young person.

Turned out they had been trying to mug you, but you had stood your ground and instead scolded them very harshly, proceeding to yell at them like a mother would to a misbehaving child.

They had found you later and once they began talking to you they learned that even if those men had succeeded in scaring you and mugging you, there would be nothing to steal because you were in fact homeless and broke.

It took Steven about five minutes to convince Marc to take you in and give you food and a place to say. Safe to say that you were very concerned during those five minutes about why that man was talking to himself in the mirror.

Once he was convinced though, Marc told you all about Steven and Khonshu and everything else. He half expected you to be the one running away screaming, but you just shrugged and moved onto the next thing, accepting them for who they were.

They quickly learned as well that you had been doing parkour from a young age and were actually quite good at it. And because of this skill, you had begged Marc to let you help with all he does to protect people, and he reluctantly agreed, resulting in Steven screaming at him for ten minutes straight. But both men knew that you could handle yourself.

So there you were, you and Marc running across the city in a frenzy (coming from the man) to get the thugs that had just robbed a nearby market, and you were doing parkour.

“Now is really not a time to show off your skills, kid.” Marc’s gruff voice grumbled, making sure you were behind him before running off again in the direction that the thugs went.

You felt your shoulders sag a little and your exterior crumple, the smile falling from your face and you took a minute to compose yourself before jogging after Marc, no longer doing parkour.

You had just rounded a corner that you were sure that he had turned just a second ago, and came to a skidding halt as a small and confused frown took over your features as you looked around.

He nor the thugs were anywhere in sight along the wide and deserted street, causing you to huff slightly when you realized that you had to have taken a wrong turn.

But as you turned on your heels to try another way, you felt something sharp and cold prick the back of your neck, and your hand flew up towards the spot and you whipped around in confusion.

A woman stood behind you with a wicked smile on her face, but you didn’t even have time to process that as dark spots began to dance in your vision and you began swaying, feeling the world spin at an abnormal rate around you.

You tried to fight the dizzy and tiring feelings as you stumbled to lean on a wall for support, breathing picking up exceptionally.

The last thing you felt before your eyes closed fully were your knees buckling out from underneath you, but you were out before you could even feel the impact of the hard pavement.

-•-

With a groan, you slowly opened your eyes and tried to let them adjust to the harsh beam of light that was shining down on and practically blinding you, not doing anything to help the feeling of your brain pounding out of your skull.

You could feel something digging into your wrists, binding your hands together behind you in the chair that you were sitting in.

From the side of you, you heard a deep and most definitely fake chuckle, causing your eyes to snap open fully and your head whip to the side to face whoever had just made that noise.

Your eyes were greeted with the sight of a man resting against a desk with his head tilted slightly, studying your every move carefully with a hint of amusement playing into his features.

“Hello, Miss. L/n.” He said smoothly, hands still resting on the desk behind him.

“Hi.” You said back in an equally smooth tone, allowing yourself to look bored as your eyes scanned the room. You wouldn’t let this asshole know about the fear that was bubbling in your stomach, you knew he would see it as a weakness.

A small flash of surprise passed over his features, causing you to do everything in your power to bite back a smirk, but he quickly replaced it with a smile that sent chills down your spine, “I’m so glad you could join us. To be honest I didn’t know if my men would ever be able to lead you away from Marc Spector.”

At the mention of the man’s name, your eyes snapped back over to the stranger and you regretted it immediately when he let out a grin at the reaction he got out of you.

“Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Arthur Harrow. And I believe that friend of yours has something that belongs to me.” The long haired man bowed down slightly, as if he were a celebrity talking to his fans.

Recognition immediately passed through your brain as you realized that this was the person who was trying to get the scarab from Marc and Steven, someone who so far had gone through great lengths to get it.

You let out a laugh, which was also clearly forced as your facade began to once again crumble, “Well I don’t know how well you know Marc, but having me here sure as hell won’t do anything for you about that little scarab of yours.”

If possible, his grin widened even more, “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Miss. L/n. Perhaps you don’t know the man as well as you think you may.”

Then you rolled your eyes, annoyed, “Did you not just hear me you long haired asshole? Marc isn’t-“

Right on cue the door to the office that you were in burst open, causing both you and Harrow to jump, and in walked a very angry looking Marc Spector in all his glory.

“You get the hell away from her.” Marc snarled, his deadly glare never once leaving Arthurs form.

“Oh, I will.” The man replied, but strode over to you nonetheless, pulling a gun out of his pocket and resting it on the back of your head, “Once you give me the scarab.”

You felt yourself involuntarily stiffen as the cool metal touched the back of your head and the sound of a gun cocking filled the room.

Marc finally paused, a flicker of emotion and hesitation briefly passing over his face as you watched him glance at you.

His rage filled eyes finally locked onto Harrow once again and despite the circumstances, he smirked slightly, “Yeah… I don’t think we’re gonna let that happen.”

Still tied up in the chair, you could only watch helplessly as Marc ran forward as fast as he could and kicked Arthur in the chest when he wasn’t expecting it, sending him stumbling back and into some bookshelves that were behind you.

He ran right past you and proceeded to start kicking the man over and over again until he was no longer fighting back, instead laid there limply. Unconscious.

Once Marc saw that, he immediately let Steven front, knowing that the man would be better in this kind of situation, and he right away ran over and untied you.

You let out a ragged breath, rubbing your sore wrists as you looked anywhere but Steven, refusing to let him see your tear filled.

The British man gently took your face in his hand and turned your head to look at him with a soft expression on his face, “You’re okay now.” He said gently.

And that was all it took for you to break down in sobs, collapsing into his arms in a way that normally would have made you feel weak. But at that moment you didn’t exactly care.

He shushed you softly, running a hand through your hair, “You’re all right now, love. We’ve got you…we’ve got you and we’re not letting go. Not ever again.” He comforted, knowing that he didn’t even need to ask Marc to know that he agreed wholeheartedly.

As Steven caught Marc’s eye in a nearby reflection, they both shared a look of sadness, knowing that it was their fault that you were dragged into this mess. But also knowing that if they ever said something like that to you, you would be too damn stubborn to admit it and just wave them off, saying that you were fine.

They both knew in that moment that even if you could handle yourself and do some pretty sick parkour, there were some things in the world that they still needed to and would protect you from.

MCU Taglist: @lovanitu @jvdethirlwall @ineedmorefanfics2 @sambucky8 @spidyyparker @irethepotato

Whenever you have time, I’d love some dvd style commentary on Spiced Black Tea.

What struck me about it when I read it way back, was the atmosphere. Having done a lot of hiking to small shelters and bothies myself, it was instantly familiar. Thought you captured the cosiness of such places really well, and how they invite confessions/intimacy. Maybe because they’re temporary, liminal spaces, with a certain kind of magic— the things that happen there have a different weight. (Or so I think anyway lol).

Maybe not a snippet exactly, but it was hard to choose a specific section!

Thank you for sending this, my dear! That is absolutely the atmosphere I was trying to go for, and since I don't actually have experience of a hike that takes more than one day yet, I'm really glad I was able to recreate that for Elena and Yuffie on vibe alone.

I ended up just sort of running with this where it took me, and I'm cutting it because it features discussion of attempted sexual assault, the sexualisation of underage girls, and the experience of being on the receiving end of a predatory gaze in general. Nothing graphic but be careful of your limits.

You've very much right that what transpired in that cabin was facilitated by the liminality of the space – temporary passing-through places, the small hours of the morning, the internet, all these ways you can end up feeling a little removed from reality and the allowance this grants for vulnerability that might never express itself in daylight. I think Yuffie and Elena would've gotten there eventually, but the snow definitely helped expedite the process a bit.

What I hadn't quite realised until I received this ask was that the fic was kind of a liminal space for me as well. Sexual violence isn't a topic I handle unless canon necessitates it, simply because I feel like I have very little of import or distinction to say on the matter. But if I was going to write these characters, I needed to address the whole of their stories, and I'm pretty proud of the fact that I managed to turn one of my least favourite scenes in the game into an opportunity to deepen both characters and talk about some real stuff.

Partway through the quest, the FFVII adventuring party is sidelined when Yuffie (who's sixteen) and Elena (who doesn't have a canon age but reads to me as around the same) are kidnapped and threatened with sexual slavery. It's played for laughs and never brought up again afterwards. On the one hand, it's clear in context that neither of them are at any point in any real danger, but on the other... there's more than could have been done here if it had to be included at all. The scene as a whole redeems itself somewhat and works as a fantastic “Hands across the aisle” moments for the protagonists and a squad of secondary antagonists, hinting at a lot of interesting characterisation for the latter – but almost none of that is extended to the girls who are suffering here, and I wasn't about to let that slide. They're both young people with a staunch, black and white view of the world and the conflict they find themselves on opposite sides of – I would've loved to see both of them reconsidering a few things in light of having a terrible experience in common with one of the enemy. In addition, they both hold themselves to very high standards, and very masculine standards at that; it's all about winning, dominating, besting, might making right. There's no way both of them aren't acutely aware that this never would've happened to them if they were boys, and no way it wouldn't haunt them in deep, self-image-shattering ways afterwards.

There's a lot of my experience in there, too, as a queer woman terrified of externalising and perpetuating a gaze that's predatory and invasive, no matter how unfounded that fear might be. I was twelve the first time I noticed an adult man taking notice of me; horrifying enough on its own, but as I grew older and heard more and more harrowing experiences from other women, I learned just how lucky I was to receive nothing more than a look, and to reach such a relatively high age when I did. The idea of having to consider myself fortunate for this is a black mark of shame across the whole world, and on a personal level, it made admitting and embracing my own attraction to women carry a lot of shame and guilt. Again, not as bad as many people from more actively homophobic backgrounds would have it, but enough to weigh on me. Of all the responses I've gotten to my writing over the years, I'm really proud of and touched by the comments from people with some similar personal histories to me and to the girls that said they felt comfortable reading, in the presence of and in a story concerning other women who understand. That's a badge of honour I'll take to the grave.

Somewhat relatedly, but another layer of the fic is its exploration of the hole Yuffie's barely remembered late mother left in her life, and the difficulty she has interfacing with other women because of it. If I recall correctly it's not something any comment I've received has really remarked on but I think I did a good job of weaving that aspect into the subtext, informing the main plot quietly. She's a character who isn't taken seriously or delved into by the fandom at large, at least in my experience, so I like to think I did my small part to contribute to that.

I'll take this opportunity to recommend the fic Scratching the Itch, which is the only one I've found to cover some similar territory. It's not romantic (though it is briefly gay) and it doesn't end with any sort of release or resolution, but it does a remarkable amount with a little.

Hii can I request a deleted scene for "if I could keep cool" that tells chapter 2 from Shouto's POV? I would absolutely love to c what was going through Shouto's head when he figured out that Y/N was just a cleaning lady and what was the moment that made him want to ask her out when he saw her at his house afterwards! Thank u!!

I accidentally got carried away, so this bad boy is 1.9k!! My apologies lol. I hope you like it!!

It wasn’t every day that someone told Shouto Todoroki to go fuck himself. 

Particularly not quirkless civilians, and never those he’d rescued. 

There was usually a lot more breathless gratitude, some bowing and scraping, and—mystifyingly—a lot of phone numbers, handkerchiefs, and very unsubtle attempts to get a hand or two around his biceps. Shouto didn’t really know what his biceps had to do with it, but he’d seen the same thing happen to Midoriya and Kirishima as well—and Bakugou once, before he’d nearly gnawed the woman’s hands off—so he assumed it was just another social cue he’d never understand.

As little as he cared for social cues, however, he was certain that there was usually a lot more thank you and a little less go fuck yourself involved in the whole rescuing process.

But then, he’d also never told off a civilian for having been kidnapped before. 

A civilian who, he’d come to realize almost immediately afterward, hadn’t deserved it.

When he’d asked his mother her advice over the phone, she’d told him the best thing to do was to be honest and try to start fresh. “White flowers mean forgiveness—tulips new beginnings,” she’d advised him.

So Shouto had ducked into the nearest florist and brought back an apology in hopes that you would accept it. 

He might have known, however, that you’d manage to turn even a simple apology completely on its head.

The clatter of cleaning supplies in his kitchen on Thursday afternoon told Shouto you’d let yourself in for your usual shift. He followed the sound, only for it to halt at his approach, the kitchen seemingly empty as he drew nearer.

He stopped short, fighting down a surprised swell of amusement when he realized you’d ducked down, hiding yourself behind his counters as if anyone, especially a pro hero, might be fooled by that.

“I know you’re there,” he said, keeping his tone even.

He heard a muttered swear word, and then you were rising slowly to your feet, wearing a sheepish expression, and clutching a bottle of windex like a weapon.

You looked just as you had the day of your rescue, though obviously a little less harrowed by a kidnapping. You were dressed casually in jeans and a simple shirt, no indicator that you were an employee of a cleaning service—Shouto felt at least a little justified in his mistake from last week.

You were clearly a college student, the backpack dumped at his kitchen island was evidence of that much, overflowing with textbooks and notes as it was, and you looked just slightly disheveled, like you might have come straight from class.

It was part of some nebulous, unassuming appeal to you, now that he had occasion to notice. He’d remembered your features twisted up in disdain, but they were open in surprise now, your eyes wide, fixed on him. His own eyes were drawn to the scrunch of your nose, a little curl of embarrassment that he suddenly found himself unable to tear his gaze away from.

“I, uh, thought you weren’t supposed to be here,” you admitted to him with a visible cringe.

Shouto almost laughed. He didn’t know much about you, but it was clear to him now that you weren’t anything like a crazy fan. You looked like you’d rather be anywhere but here at the moment. In fact, you looked rather like you might bolt any second.

A strange feeling shifted in his chest, and Shouto cut right to the chase.

“I owe you an apology,” he said simply.

You startled so violently that you dropped the windex. “W-what?”

Shouto sighed, admitting, “My manager schedules the cleaning days. I didn’t realize that you were—that is to say, I thought you were a fan who had broken in and managed to get kidnapped while you were at it.”

You gaped, another confused little expression that Shouto found himself fixating on with an intensity that surprised him. The weird feeling in his chest shifted, burning a little hotter. 

He wondered absently what other expressions he could get you to make.

“Oh, I, um...nope. Not a fan,” you said, and the feeling grew more insistent. 

He paused over the phrasing—not a fan. 

It had never bothered him before, when someone was a bigger fan of a classmate than they were of him, or weren’t really a hero fan at all. Shouto honestly did not quite understand why hero work was so tied up in fandom in the first place, and only attended fan events because his manager’s temper was not a thing to be trifled with. 

He wanted to be a hero who put people at ease, but ease was the last thing he felt with people clamoring all over him. Fighting villains was infinitely more preferable.

So why did your admission that you weren’t a fan of his niggle at his brain, like a particularly insistent parasite?

Who were you a fan of, if not him? 

“...Well, glad that’s cleared up now. I’ll just, uh, go then,” you said, grabbing an armful of the cleaning supplies and shoving it back under the sink hastily.

Shouto had moved before he knew what he was doing, getting himself in between you and the door out to the hallway. 

“Wait,” he said, feeling uncomfortable. “I want to make up for what I said to you. You...didn’t deserve that, especially not right after you’d been kidnapped by a villain.”

He watched you eye the space between his hip and the counter, like you were considering making a break for it. As he watched your face, he felt some strange hope that you might try it, a certainty he would catch you. 

...Why did he want to catch you?

You waved a hand. “It’s fine. You saved me, we can call it even.”

Shouto’s mouth turned down minutely. He’d behaved badly, but surely you’d credit him better manners than that. “It’s my fault you were taken in the first place. I’d like to apologize properly.”

Your face did something weird, then, another distracting little curl of the nose. “You don’t actually have to go fuck yourself,” you blurted.

Shouto stared at you, caught off guard.

“Uh, I mean. You saved my life,” you babbled suddenly. “And yeah what you said to me was super rude, but what I said to you was also super rude. So, um, I’m sorry too. And I really would just like to call it even and forget about it because it’s super embarrassing for both of us and I could literally die thinking about it.”

You stopped suddenly, looking self-conscious like you’d realized you’d been rambling. Shouto almost wished you hadn’t.

“I hadn’t really planned on it,” he said quickly.

“Hadn’t planned on what?”

“Fucking myself,” he clarified. You choked on a shocked laugh, and he let a small smile tug at his mouth—there.

Finally.

Finally you looked a little more comfortable with him. 

Shouto tried hard not to look too pleased with himself.

“Oh, well that’s good, then," you said. Then you puffed up a little, adding, "That’s probably a job for your actual secret lover.”

Good lord. “Not you, too.”

You threw him a smile, and Shouto’s heartbeat tripped over itself. “But I have evidence. I saw that homemade soup in your fridge once with the love note attached.”

It took him a moment to focus on what you were saying, but Shouto recalled the soup in question. It had been quite good, even if Bakugou had spent almost a half an hour ranting about what a weak ass little bitch he was for catching a cold. It had almost been worth it, the soup was that delicious. “Ah yes. That secret lover.”

“Cute pet name, too,” you said.

Shouto let out a low laugh, recalling the note. “You fucking fuck, was it?”

You laughed too, tension easing from your shoulders. Shouto’s eyes hungrily traced even that small movement.

A dawning sense of what was happening finally settled over him as he pronounced, “As it happens, however, I did already plan more of an apology.”

You looked up at him, your brow furrowing. “You planned...more of an apology?”

He gestured to a tall vase of white tulips on the kitchen counter. Your eyes went a little rounder as you observed them. You looked like you weren’t sure if they were for you, as if there were another previously kidnapped cleaning girl lurking about, who might be in need of an apology.

What a fascinating thing you were.

“I’ve been told that they mean forgiveness and new beginnings. I had hoped that we might...start over,” Shouto explained. He couldn’t help but feel self-conscious.

“I didn’t bring you any flowers,” you blurted.

He covered up a surprised laugh with a cough, the feeling in his stomach burning hotter. “I hadn’t expected them.”

He watched you turn back thoughtfully to the bouquet, certain now.

Over the phone, his mother had also said white flowers carried connotations of honor and purity. Two notions, Shouto realized with a growing sense of curiosity, that may be entirely inapplicable to his feelings about you.

He didn’t know much about you, but he knew for certain that he’d like to know more. And as he watched you reach out to pluck at a petal, wearing a shy little smile, he thought that yes, honor and purity had very little to do with his intentions at the moment.

You thanked him for the flowers, and Shouto made it clear to you that he hadn’t meant what he’d said about you being unwelcome here. He wanted—no, desired your return now. 

“That’s good to hear, thank you,” you said. Then your smile went a little mischievous. “As you can see, though, it didn’t really deter me.”

Shouto let himself smirk. “If I hadn’t seen the cleaning supplies already on the counter, I would be concerned that you’d come back for revenge.”

“There’s still time,” you joked. “Maybe I was going to play the long game and fill all the bottles with Sprite.”

The mulish statement surprised him into another laugh. “I hope the flowers are enough of a deterrent.”

You looked over the flowers again, then smiled up at him. His eyes caught on your mouth.

“The bribe has been accepted. Your countertops are safe from me.” You paused, then added, “For now.”

The hot feeling was everywhere now, simmering just underneath Shouto’s skin. He left himself lean towards you, relishing in the way your breath caught in a tiny hitch. “Be warned that I will do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of my countertops.”

You complained that he hardly used them, but complied nevertheless. Then you bullied him out of the kitchen, that tiny little scrunch back on your nose.

Shouto let you have your way, making his way over to the couch and settling on it with a book he had absolutely no intention of reading. Instead, as he watched you clean, he considered things.

He had always been straightforward about his goals. Once he’d chosen heroism as his dream, he’d let nothing stand in his way, working diligently all through UA, shooting nonstop through the ranks before breaking into the top five this year, one of the youngest to have ever done it. 

He was deliberate about what he wanted. He worked hard for what he wanted.

And as he wandered back towards the kitchen, questions ready in his mouth, he knew what else he wanted.

He wanted to know more about you.

He wanted to spend more time with you.

He wanted…

Well, he rather thought he wanted you.

I was going to edit this but every time I went to touch it, I made it worse. I hope you liked it anyway!

Garbage Fest masterlist & schedule.

Spotlight: Ties That Bind

This one’s a doozy folks! If you missed the last spotlight you can go read it here, but strap in for The Ties That Bind, an absolutely brilliant take on humanformers. It’s hosted here at @tiesthatbind-tf​ created by @artsy-hobbitses​!

Q) Give us a run down of your cont! What's it about, what's it called, what's it like?

Ties That Bind is a humanformers-based original continuity which is part Science Fiction and part Alternate History where the invasion of Quintessons and introduction of their technology to Earth in 1920 sets the world and humankind on a completely different trajectory. The active narrative spans a period from 1920 to 2070, covering the First and Second Quintesson Wars, the interplanetary Antillan War (leading to the creation of Unicron on Mars) and the Great War which involves the Autobots, Decepticons and Functionist stalwarts, and how it affects the characters.

The cast is pretty sprawling and the narrative is mostly centred around human drama with bits of humor interspaced and a dash of horror (mostly centred around how the previous government often chose to utilize the technology left behind from the Quintesson Wars to create new systems of oppression, which affected many of the characters, in the name of worldwide rebuilding efforts).

Q) What characters take the lead here? Any personal favorites?

I will admit to this continuity being very much heavy on the relationship between Old Bastards  Optimus Prime and Megatron, which is given considerable weight as they were best friends who had known each other since childhood and were deeply intrinsic to each other’s growths as individuals, which makes it all the worse when guilt and betrayal enter the party. Despite being captains in two corners of this battle, there’s a part of them that just cannot let go of their pasts together and they need to reconcile with how this will affect their agenda (Megatron) and how they lead their team (Optimus) who don’t necessarily share their history.

Other characters with significant development include:

Starscream, a Cold Construct in a toxic working relationship with Megatron with whom he is hiding a dark secret, who struggles to balance the underhanded viciousness he believes he needs to gain power and his innate desire from his Senate days to make the world a better place. 

Windblade, a Camien native who fights her government’s apathy concerning the situation on Earth which they see as unsalvageable compared to their more Utopian society. 

Prowl, a Cold Construct raised from childhood to be a cop in a police state, who finds out that he was brainwashed several times  to ensure his obedience and efficacy as a government asset and is now working to reclaim some semblance of the humanity he was never allowed to feel and figure out how much of him is who he really is and how much is programming.

Hound, a sheltered Beastman who joined the fight to ensure that Beastmen the world over would have the same rights he did in his homeland of Shetland Isle, but is forcefully stripped of his humanity and faced with his animal side during the war and has to relearn what personhood means amid his trauma.

Q) Is there a bigger point to this, like a theme or some catharsis? Or is it just fluffy fun?

God with the amount of time I spent sleepless trying to figure out how the logistics of this or the semantics of that were supposed to work in universe, I cannot for the life of me say it’s fluffy fun, but I can’t exactly say it hasn’t been pretty engaging either!

There’s elements of war being messy for everyone involved where there doesn’t seem to be a clear line between friend and foe at times, but I think for most part it prescribes to  Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s belief that people are inherently good, but are corrupted by the evils of society. Despite its dark themes (Including but not limited to child abuse, torture, illegal experimenation  and brainwashing), love and friendships do prevail, kindness does beget kindness, found families are made, even the smallest actions matter, and things do get better because there are people on both sides who genuinely want to, and strive to make it better.

With Cold Constructs and Beastmen, it also delves heavily into what it means to be human; to have agency and personhood.

There’s also a strong undercurrent of taking responsibility for one’s actions, even if they were made with the best of intentions (Avoidance of this is what eats up Starscream and Megatron from the inside, and what Starscream eventually embraces).

Q) How long have you been working on it?

There’s two answers to this!

I’ve had a Humanformers-related universe going all the way back to 2007 around the time the first Bayformers came out---basically I had a choice between learning to draw cars or draw people (I was an anthro artist back then) and I immediately chose people.

The 2007 draft however had no worldbuilding or connective storylines and was mostly a fun little venture into character design and practice which were actually instrumental to me experimenting and learning how to draw humans properly.

I left the fandom for about a decade and when I came back to it in late 2020 around September via the War for Cybertron series on Netflix, I immediately got hooked on the 2005 IDW comics I missed out on and wanted to get around to updating my old designs as well find a way to translate several of the concepts I wanted to explore in a human sense, so the 2020 update became its own full-fledged original continuity with detailed worldbuilding and history.

You can see the artistic evolution of several characters from their original incarnation below!

Q) It’s incredible to see your artistic improvement too! Give us a behind-the-scenes look! Show us a secret ;))

Say hello to my workspace! I’ve been working exclusively on the Ipad Pro since late 2016, which is fantastic because I can basically whip up concepts and sketches on the go anywhere. Nowhere is too out of bounds to work on TTB!

Also, do enjoy this sneak peek at true!form Rung, whose synthezoid human body took years to perfect.

Q) YESSSSS alright I must admit this is one of my favorite Rungs, and certainly my fave within TTB. Amazing. Phew, anyway. Where did you draw inspiration from? What canons, what other fiction, what parts of real life?

TTB was initially conceived as a faithful retelling of the IDW 2005 narrative before it was transformed into its own continuity and as such, it borrows heavily from concepts and mirrored plot lines introduced in that run! I chose to have the series inspired off it specifically for the amount of history and worldbuilding it introduced to the franchise.

Anime like Gunslinger Girl and Beastars inspired the depictions of Cold Constructs, especially the more harrowing aspects of their upbringing as government assets instead of children, and Beastmen (Beastformers) in TTB.

I haven’t depicted the world itself in my art all too much, but the architecture from Tiger and Bunny, which has sort of a futuristic Art Deco feel to it, is what you’d usually see in major cities. There is an in-universe reason for that---with a Point Of Divergence set in 1920 followed by 25 years (an entire generation) of progress basically being kicked to the curb due to the Quintesson wars, mankind was basically in a time-locked bubble until the end of the wars, and by then their heroes were 1920s-style rebellion leaders, which lead to 1920s fashion (especially among the Manual Working Class---Megatron, Jazz and Optimus all rock 1920s fashion at some point of their lives) and architecture being celebrated and retained as sort of a reminder of how things were before The Invasion. This anime’s background design is also where I adopted the tiered system TTB’s major metropolises are often built on (with each tier being designated to a different working class) from.

The main artistic style itself is a love letter to 90s cartoons, in particular Gargoyles’ deep and drama-driven character narratives and designs as well as The Centurions’ take on body armor logistics.

I also take inspiration, especially armor-wise, from the characters’ given heritage and background. As an example, Hotrod who is depicted as Irish has the flames on his armor done up with Celtic knots. Welsh aristocrat Mirage’s armor bears olden knight-style filigree and has his Autobot logo designed as a coat of arms. Indonesian Soundwave’s armor and Decepticon logo takes cues from Batik and Wayang Kulit while their mask is based off the Barong.

Q) They are absolutely gorgeous! Show off something you're really proud of, a particular favorite part of your cont.

The worldbuilding in general! Most Humanformers I’ve seen tend to treat it like a fun exercise which it is and is definitely valid, but I found myself wanting a full-fledged world to lose myself in and I sought to try and make that world myself by drafting a detailed history and timeline of events which would affect ongoing narratives, having indepth worldbuilding to include almost all societal aspects of the universe and  expanding on the concept of Beastmen and Cold Constructs existing in a human setting.

I’m not so secretly proud of the research and diversity included to make the cast look like the multicultural, globally-based team that they were meant to be instead of being locked to a single region! My original draft from 2007 was, to put it simply, quite culturally monolithic and I wanted to improve on that aspect with TTB.

I’m also proud that I’ve kept to it this far! I’m a notoriously flaky person jumping from one idea/fandom to another and to have kept at this continuity for the better part of ten months is honestly a personal feat.

Art-wise, this scene depicting a young Megatron working alongside Terminus and Impactor (cameo by @weapon-up-wallflower​‘s OC Missit!)  is definitely one of my favorites since it helps build up the world they live in and plays to familial bonds and comfort found in one another despite their less than ideal circumstances.

Q) Everything has come together so beautifully, you absolutely should be proud. What other fan canons do you love and why? Would you like to see them interviewed?

I am dying to hear more from @iscaredspider​’s Sparkpulse continuity! Her designs are MIND-BLOWINGLY GORGEOUS and I want to hear more about what inspired her to work on it!

Also YOU. Yes YOU BLURRITO. LET ME HEAR MORE ABOUT SNAP.

Q) [wails and squirms away in the mortifying ordeal of being known but in a very flattered way] I WILL SOMEDAY I PROMISE aflghsdjg thank you QwQ

Well that was fantastic, Oni, thank you muchly! A magnificent continuity with so much to look forward to! Coming up next is another personal fave of mine, the first inspiration for SNAP, so stick around...

73. “I missed you.” Gideon/Harrow

Took me a bit to get my head around this one, but I think it worked out well enough in the end. Consider this an AU where the Emperor never summoned the heirs of the Houses and Gideon therefore successfully escaped to the Cohort. Contains some mild spoilers for Harrow the Ninth, I guess? Kind of?

---

In the opinion of Private First Class Gideon Nav - rising BARI star of the Cohort, dirty toenail of the Emperor, ladykiller in her own mind - closing time is the best time. As much as she loves the hustle and bustle of the mess hall during its peak hours - chatting up all the uniformed honeys, filling three or four elaborate orders at a time like the coffee rockstar that she is, showing off her sick coffee-slinging skillz with style and flair rivaled by none - there’s something soothing about the quiet at the end of her shift that speaks to her soul. The mess hall empty save for a handful of stragglers and night owls. The slow work of cleaning the machines. The pervasive near silence in which every move she makes echoes in the cavernous space. 

It reminds her a bit of nights in Drearburh spent jogging in the recyc mist with only the sound of her own footsteps and breath for company, and enough time has passed since those lonesome nights that she can feel a tinge of nostalgia for them even as she internally celebrates her successful escape. She thinks of the Ninth House rarely enough these days that she can indulge in some light nostalgia without immediately feeling salty about the absolute shitshow that was her entire childhood and adolescence. 

Gideon’s got her back to the counter, wiping out a portafilter and whistling a jaunty tune, when she hears someone step up to the counter. She’s about to tell her unfortunate customer that she’s all closed up for the night - technically she’s still got ten minutes on her shift, but she’s already cleaned out the coffee urns and wrapped up the pastries so seriously fuck off already - when she makes the mistake of turning around. She is immediately and viscerally reminded of the Ninth House again the second she locks eyes with the young woman before her, and it’s not just because she looks like a skeleton.

Harrowhark Nonagesimus looks different, of course. She’s almost a year older, for one thing. For another, her face isn’t covered with ten pounds of ancient paint, revealing an awkwardly ferrety visage that Gideon would hardly recognize if it weren’t for the bottomless black eyes in them and how deeply they stare into her golden ones. There are dark shadows under her deeply set eyes that render her face at least partly familiar, as they echo the sockets of a skull. Her mouth is pinched, as if the stick up her ass has finally penetrated all the way to her cranium and jammed her lips shut. Her nose is thin and sharp as a knife. Her chin looks like it would put someone’s eye out if they were fool enough to try to embrace her, assuming Harrow didn’t slit their throat first for the very attempt. She’s wearing Cohort whites rather than her familiar billowing black vestments, and the uniform makes her look sallow and somehow even more painfully thin.

“Griddle,” she says before Gideon can start to wonder if she’s somehow stumbled into an alternate reality. For how different she looks, clearly Harrow hasn’t changed. Gideon rolls her eyes and returns her attention to the portafilter. “Is this how you treat all of your customers?” 

Beneath her typically peevish tone there’s something unfamiliar in Harrow’s voice, something it takes Gideon a good twenty seconds to decipher. Holy shit, Harrow’s nervous. Gideon’s seen Harrow be nervous before, but previously it’s always been buried under considerably more makeup and Gideon generally hasn’t been the cause of it.

“Customer, huh? Sorry, I naturally assumed you were here just to make my life hell again. Drag me back to Drearburh kicking and screaming, something like that. I didn’t think you might actually be here for a cup of coffee.”

“Yes, well, as usual you are mistaken. I was informed that on this deck’s mess hall I would be able to find a coffee adept who’s considered something of a genius with BARI. I certainly didn’t expect it to be you. I thought surely you’d be on the front lines on some distant planet by now.”

Gideon scoffs. “You don’t expect me to believe you joined the Cohort just to get a decent cup of coffee, do you? I mean, I know it’s all ice cold sludge on the Ninth, but damn, girl.” She fetches a porcelain mug (the darkest one she can find: it’s charcoal gray, but that’ll have to do) despite the fact that Harrow has yet to place anything remotely resembling an order and begins preparing her special extra-dark brew. It’s bitter enough that it’s unlikely to overwhelm Harrow’s stunted palette, and she should appreciate its blackness. 

“Of course I didn’t join for the coffee,” Harrow snaps. It’s funny: her face is much more expressive without her skull paint, but Gideon finds it harder to read. “If I’d known you were the so-called BARI star the others keep rattling on about, I wouldn’t have bothered with coffee at all. I was lured into a false sense of security by the word ‘genius.’”

Gideon grins smugly as she flips the mug expertly into place in a daredevil move that usually earns her at least a smile if not a room number. “I guess some folks appreciate my brilliance.” She braces the triple-shot portafilter against the counter with one arm and effortlessly tamps the espresso grounds with the other.

Harrow scowls, and it nearly makes Gideon homesick. “Your brilliance remains to be seen.”

Gideon locks the portafilter into place and hits the brew button, counting off the seconds in her head. “That’s fine; you’ll taste it soon enough.” As the espresso streams beautifully into the mug, Gideon adds a liberal sprinkle from the jar she’s marked Gideon’s Special Dark Mixture of Doom and Ecstasy.

“I must admit, I didn’t expect to see you here so long after your… departure from the Ninth. I assumed you would have been deployed by now.”

“I was,” Gideon says with a shrug as she flicks the espresso machine off, trying not to sound butthurt about it. “Served for nearly a week before I got injured. Caught a leg full of shrapnel defending my commanding officer. I wanted to stay in the field - it was only a damn limp - but they didn’t want to risk me losing the leg to infection.” She removes the portafilter and bangs the wet grounds out into the garbage. “They started me behind the counter here while I was recuperating, found I had a knack for it, and I haven’t been redeployed since.”

Harrow’s face cycles through several dozen expressions that Gideon can’t quite parse before settling on ‘carefully neutral.’ “How is your leg now?”

Gideon stirs the brew with a wooden swizzle stick to help the BARI blend dissolve. “I’ve got some gnarly scarring, but it only hurts first thing in the morning.” And by the end of her shift most days. And if she walks too much, or stands too much, or sits too much. “Don’t worry, though; I look even hotter with the scars.” Gideon winks while Harrow groans, and for a moment feels like old times. She sets the steaming, fragrant mug down in front of Harrow. “So. What’s your story? I didn’t think anything short of a summons from the Emperor Undying himself would lure you out of Drearburh.”

Harrow eyes the drink as if she expects it to bite her. “I have no story,” she says without affect. “I am here to bring honor to my House.”

Gideon wipes the portafilter with the rag at her hip and locks it back into the machine, then hits the brew button to run hot water through it. “That’s some classic Harrowhark Nonagesimus evasive bullshit if I ever heard it. Why are you really here? The congregation finally all die out?” She jabs the button again and the water dribbles to a halt. “Oh, shit, did they finally figure out about your parents??”

“No and no,” Harrow says firmly. She leans in and gives the cup an experimental sniff. “I have simply decided that I can serve my House better as a Cohort necromancer than as the Reverend Daughter. What better way to disseminate the gospel of the Ninth and expand our congregation than by showing the universe what the Ninth House is capable of.” She attempts to take a sip of her drink and promptly scalds her mouth. 

“Careful, it’s hot.” Gideon studies her and shakes her head. “Y’know, you almost had me, but no. Maybe that’s how you rationalize it to Crux and Aiglamene, and maybe even to yourself, but that’s not why you enlisted.”

Harrow looks strangely vulnerable with her pale and naked face and her seared lips. “Would you believe I wanted to test my mettle and prove that I am indeed the greatest necromancer of my generation on the field of battle?”

“No,” Gideon replies bluntly. Harrow’s studying the steaming beverage like she can’t figure out how to drink it without injury, and she probably really can’t. Gideon still remembers how steep her learning curve was when she first encountered hot drinks after nearly two decades of nothing but cold. “Here,” she says, taking pity on her old nemesis. “You’ve got to blow on it to cool it off. Like this.” She bends and purses her lips, cascading cool air over the surface of the hot BARI drink.

The outer edges of Harrow’s ears turn pink. Gideon realizes all at once that Harrow’s not looking at her like she’s a nemesis at all. If Gideon had to classify the look Harrow’s giving her, it’s more akin to how the handful of fellow Cohort recruits she’s hooked up with since enlisting looked at her right before they hooked up. The idea of that look coming from Harrowhark of all people makes her palms sweat. “Harrow,” she says tenderly, as one peels the hard rind from a soft fruit, “Why did you join the Cohort, really?”

Harrow worries her lower lip between her sharp, bone-white teeth until it starts to tear and bleed. “I missed you,” she confesses, dredging the words up painfully like vomit.

Gideon nods as if this were a perfectly normal and comprehensible thing for her oldest - and only, really - enemy to say and not the most unfathomable thing she’s heard in her entire life. “You should aim better next time.”

Harrow turns livid at that. Rather than using her words like a normal human being (because when has Harrow ever done anything like a normal human being?), she snatches up her mug with the expression of someone who’s just taken a step out onto a tightrope only to end up tredding in flaming dogshit. She pivots with a dramatic whirl that doesn’t quite work without her flowing black robes and takes a sip of her coffee as she goes. She stops short and her eyes widen in the universal expression of ‘holy fuck that’s way more delicious than I expected.’

Gideon grins as she heaves herself up onto the counter, sliding across and landing lightly on the other side in a super cool move that would sweep any girl off her feet (even if the girl in question were a dessicated bone witch). “Oh, fuckin’ get over here,” she says, pulling Harrow into a hug that nearly causes her to drop her mug in alarm. “I missed you, too.”

Marinette Vs Santa: The Rematch

Seven people requested a continuation of the Part 1 and I just gave in. I hope you like. I’m not big on writing sequels. So please let me know if its good.

When the news broke that billionaire Bruce Wayne’s daughter Marinette was dating the Roy, the son of billionaire Oliver Queen, it was like the world paused.

It was bigger than Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie.

Bigger than the royal wedding; both of them.

Bigger than the twilight love affair.

The Angel Marinette, the newfound princess of Gotham, dating the wayward Bad boy Roy, the prince of Star City.

Roy was handsome, really smart, funny, had a kickass attitude, played guitar and soccer, and loved animals; at least that’s what Jason told her Because Marinette had never met the guy.

People were betting on when they’d get married, have kids, what they’d name them…

And Marinette doesn’t even know the guy. I never had a single conversation with him.

Now Jason wanted her to… What?

“Come on!” Jason begged. “Just let him take you to the ball.”

           Marinette sat at her desk, with arms cross, glaring furiously at her brother, as she contemplated murder. “No.”

           Jason tossed his hands up in the air, “He’s really great. You’d like him.”

“I don’t care if reveals he’s actually Tom Holland ala Hannah Montana style,” Marinette growled. “No.”

“He’s in a bind,” Jason pleaded with his sister, giving her the biggest puppy dog eyes, he could muster. “His dad’s been giving him a lot of grief lately about him going to college and taking over the company one day and the bad press he’s been getting. Once Roy said he was taking Wayne’s princess to the ball, it stopped.”

“Why did he even say it?” Marinette yelled.

“He’s a moron!” Jason yelled back. “But he’s my best friend. He’s rich. He’s handsome. He comes from a great family. He’s strong. Gotta nice bad boy thing going on. A motorcycle. Sorta mysterious. How could you not want to date him?”

Marinette chuckled, “Maybe because I’m starting to think you might be.” She eyed him. “If this you two using me as a beard or whatever, cool. But Bruce Wayne and Oliver queen both been seen with Male lovers, I don’t think they’d mind…”

Jason glared at her, “I’m not dating Roy. Redheaded dudes are a little creepy.”

“Are they now?” Yeah, Marinette thought, really selling.

           Jason pinched his nose, “Didn’t you ever wanna be Cinderella? Go to the ball with the Prince? Roy is that prince. The only one above him would be an actual prince. I thought all little girls did? Can you do it, please? For me?”

           That’s when Marinette remembered the first time she saw Disney’s Cinderella. She had been six. It was Christmas. She had fallen instantly in love with the movie, the dress, the songs, the prince so much so that she talked about being Cinderella to her parents. Her dad just laughed and told her to write Santa. Ask him to make you Cinderella.

           And so six-year-old Marinette did.

           And now nearly ten years later, staring at her brother, she now knew… Santa had a hit list. It was the only explanation. Santa was gunning for her. Seeing what it took to break her. Finally, get her on the naughty list. Be careful what you wish for after all.

“I want to meet him,” Marinette said slowly with a defeated sigh.

“Yes!” Jason cheered. “I know the Cinderella thing would work.”

           Marinette glared, “You know I know at actual prince right? Prince Ali.”

“No! Wait! We can talk about this!”

“Kidding.”

“Thank god,” Jason sighed in relief. “Oh, you can’t tell Bruce its fake.”

           Marinette closed her, counted to ten, and stopped herself from screaming the only thing on her mind: FUCK SANTA.

           The Tsurugi house had been tense since Kagami returned from school. Her grandparents had expressed their approval of her befriend Wayne’s youngest daughter. Kagami’s mother had been pleased that they would be receiving an invitation to the Wayne New Year’s ball.

           They had been waiting all day for the invite to come. Both mother and daughter anxiously doing all they could to avoid waiting by the door.

           When the doorbell rang, Kagami had to force herself not to run for it.

Discipline, she thought, control.

           Her mother’s assistant announced, “Miss Wayne is here, Lady Kagami.”

           Yes, she was. Marinette Dupain-Cheng-Wayne curtsied gracefully, “Mrs. Tsurugi. Kagami. I hope you are well this evening.”

           Light, polite, took place after that. Her mother almost smiled in approval at Marinette.

           When Marinette finally handed the invitation over, “I do hope you can attend,” She said. “I apologize for the short notice.”

           Mrs. Tsurugi bowed. “It would be an honor to attend.”

“We look forward to it,” Kagami added.

“I… admit I have always wanted to go the Wayne’s Ball,” The older woman admitted the barest hint of a smile on her face. “One thing off my Christmas list, I suppose.”

           At this, Marinette beamed, a vindictive pleasure coursed through. Yes, she wanted to his, Kiss my ass, Santa.

           Going to Chloe’s was… interesting for Marinette. She hadn’ t even had the chance to knock on the penthouse door before Chloe had ripped it opened.

“Mama,” She called. “Marinette’s here.”

           That was all the signal needed, for Audrey Bourguis to throw opened both doors of her office, “Ahh Marinette. How lovely to see you, darling.”

           If Marinette had been a little meaner, she would have admitted that the scene was felt oddly similar to what it was like to see the stepsisters in Cinderella get the invitations to the ball. Chloe had been her bully, and she hadn’t changed all that much.

“Thank you for having me,” Marinette said easily. She presented the invitation. “I hope you can go,” She told Chloe and her mother honestly. “I could use more friends there.”

           Chloe’s eyes softened despite the look of the annoyance on her face, “Of course we’re going.”

“Agreed,” Audrey said. “Everyone who is anyone is going. And we are most definitely anyone. The question is what are we wearing? Classic ball gown. Or a modern princess. What are you wearing? Everyone wants to know.”

“Roy Queen on her arm,” Chloe giggled.

           Audrey smiled, her first real smile of the day, “Now that is quite the handsome accessory, bravo.”

           They discussed fashion choices and who is supposed to be wearing who. All while Marinette dodged every attempt from Audrey to design her dress for the ball. And the older woman had been determined.

           It was a harrowing experience. If Chloe hadn’t been her new best friend, Marinette would’ve given in to the desire to rip back the invite and tear it shreds.

           As she was living, Audrey said, “I was always dreamed about it; the Wayne New Years’ ball,” It was said with a lovingness and dreamy voice that neither Chloe or Marinette had ever heard her use before. “When I was a little girl, I would watch every year and just dream about it. I envied and critiqued over dresses. When I was really little, I used to ask Santa to go every year. I’d even design my own dress; every year. Its why I got into fashion. I was a little girl who dreamed about her own ball gown.”

Marinette would leave the penthouse, walk outside where her driver waited, and before she got into the car, she stared at the Christmas decorations. At the robotic Santa waving, and whisper lowly, “We’ll call this a tie.”

But the fight wasn’t over.

           Luka had no idea what to do with the invitation. Neither did his mother. Sure, they had heard about the Wayne ball but Juleka had Rose whispering in her ear so she made sure that her brother accepted.

“This is a favor to me,” Marinette pleaded. “Father will pay for the trip, for the expenses. Luka is my friend, and I would like him there. With you all of course.”

           Juleka begged her mother, “Please! Rose said this a once in a lifetime experience.”

           Luka eyed his sister but shrugged, “I’m in. What are friends for? He is your brother Tim single?”

What did you just say to me, punk? Marinette nearly snapped. She knew, of course, that Luka always had a celebrity crush on Tim Drake-Wayne. He even put jokingly put a kiss under the mistletoe with Tim Drake on his shopping list. But it was different now that Tim was her brother. Marinette needed her friends on her side; her family was insane. And she swore if Luka spent the entire Ball mooning over Tim, she was going to fly to the North Pole and shove her foot right up Santa’s…

“I won’t know anyone,” Anarka finally said interrupting Marinette’s thought. “It’ll be all boring people listening to classical music.”

“Oh!” Marinette straightened up. “Jagged Stone will be there,” She said brightly.

           The glare she got from Luka’s mother could’ve been weaponized.

           Marinette left their house feeling a bit shook.

“Ho! Ho! Ho!” She heard and saw Santa impersonator walking on the street.

           Marinette’s eyes narrowed. A less person would’ve just taken him out, she knew. But Paparazzi was everywhere, and for once that was the only thing stopping her. Not being nice or polite.

No, Marinette raged inwardly, that time was over.

           Instead, she shot him a glare, “Score one for you.”

           The next day at school was even worse than the day before… Paparazzi wise.

“Marinette! Marinetti,” A lady from seventeen magazines yelled. “What was your first date like with Roy? Was it Romanic? Did you kiss him? Is he a good kisser?”

           Marinette ignored them all as her father walked her into school again; this time with Tim and Cassandra.

“Bruce! What do you think of your daughter dating someone two years older than her?” Bruce stiffened.

“How long have you been dating the Queen heir?”

“Have you had sex yet?”

“What is he wearing the ball?”

           The questions went on and on.

           Marinette got to class and all but collapsed in her seat with a huff. This was too much. Her papa had assured her it would calm down soon.

“It will get better,” Kagami assured.

           Chloe patted her back comfortingly, “Paparazzi are so invasive.”

           Alix snorted, “What do you know about it.”

“Her mother is Style Queen,” Marinette answered before Chloe could. “One of the leading faces in fashion today; she can make or break a designer; start trends and end them. Everyone knows her name. Her face. She is the Devil’s Wears Prada: Miranda Presley of our world. Chloe was born with paparazzi wanting to know if her diaper was designer.”

           Her classmates were shocked at her defense of the blonde.

“And for the record,” Chloe said sounding pleased. “They were.”

“What’s it like dating Roy Queen,” Rose asked excitedly, ignoring the tenseness of the room like she was always doing. “He’s so dreamy. Did you know I have him on my bedroom wall?”

           Yes, Marinette did know. She helped decorate.

“Like a dream come true,” Marinette said with a forced smile.

Because like the most dreams, some crazy person made it up, She thought. Jason. Jason made it up.

“Do you think you’ll get married,” Mylene asked giving heart eyes to Ivan who blushed.

           Marinette was about to answer when she noticed Alya’s phone was out, and she looked way to interested what Marinette was saying.

“I didn’t give permission for an interview,” She said. “Or for permission to have my conversation recorded as is required by law.”

“You never minded before,” Alya pointed out. “This could be huge for my blog.”

           Marinette rolled her eyes, “No one knew I was a Wayne before. I have to be careful now.”

“Someone who knows you should give an inside scoop,” The glasses-wearing girl said. “Let people know what you’re really like, what you’re really thinking. We can do an interview right now!”

“Class is about to start,” Chloe sneered.

           Kagami glared, “Delete it or hear from our lawyers.”

           Adrien stood up, “Don’t you think you’re being a bit harsh.” Some of the other students nodded. “She doesn’t mean it harm.”

“I don’t care what she meant,” Marinette snapped. “I will not have private conversations on display for the world to hear. It's an invasion.” She told him and looked back at her once best friend. “Delete the recording from your phone.”

           Alya crossed her arms, a petulant look appeared on her face, “I already posted it on my blog,” She said smugly. “Too late now.”

“Delete it,” Kagami and Chloe chimed together.

           Alya stood her ground and sent them a look similar to what Rena Rouge sent Akumas, “No! It’s my private property,” She snapped, and she sent a smirk at Marinette. “You can’t make me.”

“Are you sure about that?” Marinette asked. “It’s your last chance.”

“This is my blog,” Alya said.

“Then prepare to see it burn.”

           All Marinette wanted for Christmas last year was for Chat Noir to leave her alone and for Alya to wake up, stop listening to Lila and reporting false news about Ladybug.

           Before the bell rang for lunch, Alya’s screech could be heard for miles. The Ladyblog was gone. Her mom had deleted it. Well not deleted the website but deleted everything on it. It had been an accident. Alya’s mom had been desperate to delete the interview of Marinette as quickly as possible. After realized what she had done, she quickly went to school to talk with her daughter.

“Why?” Alya had demanded in tears.

“Why?” Her mother shouted back. “Do you even know what you’ve done? What could happen to you? To your family?”

Her parents were furious. They had gotten a cease and desist Bruce Wayne’s lawyers, a notice that the Ladyblog was being sued for invasion privacy. Officer Raincomprix had shown up to let the know Alya was being hit with criminal charges; it was illegal to record a private conversation without permission for public use; even more so if it involved a minor.

Four hours. It took four hours for the Ladyblog to go up in flames.

The akuma had not been pleasant to deal with. But surprisingly, it wasn’t Alya. It was her mother; scared to death that her daughter had pissed off one of the richest family’s in the world and might have destroyed her own.

           Alya left school early that day, and wouldn’t come back for the rest of the week.

           Marinette counted that a win in the “Fuck Santa” Category. She could get her own freaking Christmas presents.

           Marinette had been sitting with Kagami and Chloe, enjoying lunch in the cafeteria when suddenly all the noise stopped. A needle dropping would be heard.

“Babe,” A voice shouted.

           Every hair on Marinette’ s body froze. What were the chances that an overly loud voice that sounded so familiar, so like how Roy Queen sounded in every video she ever saw of him, wasn’t actually Roy Queen?

No. It couldn’t be, she thought, Not even Santa’s that cruel.

           She glanced behind her and tried not to groan. It was Roy Queen alright. Red hair, handsome face, smug ‘kick me in the teeth’ smile. He was gorgeous. The exact type she’d been into. He had a bouquet of red roses and what looked to be expensive chocolates.

           That was when suddenly she remembered how much she wished for the same scenario. For her boyfriend, imaginary at the time, to surprise during school just because. When she was eleven, it was a Christmas wish on a star. (all her friends had boyfriends at the time; even if they only last two weeks at most.)

Another point for Jolly Saint Nick, she thought glumly.

           An arm went around her shoulder, “Miss Me,” Roy smirked as he pulled her into a hug.

           Marinette hugged him back tightly, a pleasant grin on her face, masking her true feelings, “I’m going to kill you,” She whispered. She kissed him softly on the cheek. “And I’m not even going to make it look like an accident.”

           She wasn’t entirely sure if she was talking to him or Santa Clause; maybe both.

           The smile was on Roy’s face as he pulled away, “You are definitely Jason’s sister.” He looked her up and down. “So… want to ditch school?”

           Marinette sighed, “Fuck Santa.”

           She didn’t care who heard now.

           Marinette did not skip school. Roy did pick her up from school, on a motorcycle. The pictures were being recycled on the news.

           All three of her parents were furious. Marinette had barely managed to get out of being grounded.

Santa would not beat her. She would not end up on the fat guy’s naughty list. Unless the reason was that she was standing over his cold, dead corpse.

“Okay,” Marinette said as she paced her bedroom. “I’m losing it.”

“You’re fine,” Tikki promised. “This time year gets to everyone. It will get better.”

“He’s persecuting me,” The bluenette.

           Tikki sighed at her chosen’s antics, “Santa is not after you.”

           Suddenly, there was a loud crash. Her bedroom door swung open, Tim rushed in looking a mess and beyond frazzled, “Tell me you can sing?” He shouted. “Doesn’t matter. I told everyone that you’re singing at the ball. It’s gonna be great.” And then he ran from the room.

           It went silent.

“Coward!” She yelled after him        

Marinette recalled her desire, her wish to finally overcome her shyness, her stage fright. She recalled the time fainted during a choir rehearsal for the Christmas pageant. She had been eight-years-old and vowed to never sing publicly.

“…Maybe Santa is out to get you,” Tikki said bluntly who knew all about Marinette’s fear of singing.

           Tim suddenly ran back in the room, “You’re having dinner with Roy and his parents tomorrow.” He said. “And Dad wants you to meet the Justice League. Have fun.” And he was gone.

“Fuck. Santa!” She screamed.

Two Halves - Chapter Eight (Zuko x Reader)

Part Seven

Word Count: 3,000

Warning: This chapter gets violent - there are mentions of death and assault. I'll include a recap at the beginning of next week's chapter for those who choose not to read for the sake of their mental wellbeing. No harm done in not reading; I appreciate you taking care of yourself ♥

Author’s Note: .......... yeah idk what happened either. oops there’s actually a plot here lmao

~ Muerta

Your tour of the city the following day is rained out by mid-morning, leaving you cozily stranded at the Jasmine Dragon until the weather decides to clear. Iroh gives you a private room to relax in while you wait, coming by every hour or so with a new menu item for you to sample. Since the weather is quite chilly, he’s converted the table in the room into a kotatsu, which you’re curled up under with Toph leaned comfortably against your shoulder. From where you sit, you have a perfect view of not only the street from the room’s window, but the rest of the tea shop, your gaze shifting between watching passerby avoiding the downpour outside and customers milling about inside, smiling to yourself each time you catch a glimpse of Zuko darting between tables; He insisted on working the rush that day, all of you changing out of your ceremonial robes and into something more low key so as not to attract attention.

Regular customers are happy to see Zuko, greeting him excitedly and asking how his “travels” have been; he nods over to you a few times while speaking, multiple people coming up to meet and congratulate you. Toph smirks at you, teasingly nudging your arm.

“I think you’re more popular as Lee from the tea shop’s wife than you are as Firelady,” she observes. “Not one person who’s come over here has said anything about the royalty sitting next to us.”

Kuei looks up from his reading, shrugging his shoulders as Bosco - whose head rests lazily in the king’s lap - lets out a grumbling yawn.

“I’m not meant to be noticed,” he states. “Besides, I come here all the time; regulars are used to seeing me here.”

“Are they also used to your guards taking up every table within twenty feet of you?” you joke. You’re only half kidding - plainclothes guards are stationed at three tables beside the room’s open door, all tensing up and ready to pounce every time anyone who isn’t Iroh or Zuko approaches.

Kuei grins sheepishly at you, offering another shrug.

“Not all of us are warriors,” he excuses.

“We need to teach you to fight,” Toph comments. “Having a scrawny Earth King is embarrassing.”

Before Kuei can retort, Zuko appears at the threshold, sliding the door shut behind him with urgency. Kuei stands immediately, instantly alert.

“The Dai Li were just spotted in the refugee district,” Zuko announces. “A customer told me they're staging some kind of protest.”

“Does it really count as a protest if they're facists?” Toph mutters. “Seems like the kind of thing they'd be opposed to.”

“A protest against what?” Kuei asks. “They don't typically operate so boldly.”

“I don't know,” Zuko answers, “but we should go there and stop it. They're too powerful for the regular guard to subdue.”

He turns to you, eyeing you sternly.

“Stay here,” he orders. “Toph and I will handle this.”

“Oh, the hell you will,” you quip, standing so abruptly that Toph tumbles over. “I've already told enough imperialist assholes that I don't answer to you - you shouldn't have to be one of them.”

Zuko shakes his head, ignoring your harsh comment.

“Darling, please, I'm not trying to boss you around,” he explains. “The Dai Li are dangerous and I want to keep you safe.”

“I'm not even safe in my own home, Zuko,” you counter. “We’re a team - we face danger together.”

You cross your arms, challenging Zuko with a determined, defiant glare. He sighs frustratedly, furrowing his brow but eventually giving in.

“Alright fine,” he caves. “We don't have time to argue. Let's go.”

You leave the Jasmine Dragon through a hidden panel in one of the private room’s walls, installed for just such occasions when Kuei needs to make a hasty exit; his guards are already assembled on the street, perched on ostrich horses with two steeds empty for the Firelord and king.

As Kuei mounts, you help Toph onto the back of his saddle, where she takes hold of your forearm and pulls you close so she can whisper in your ear.

“Did Sparky call you ‘darling' just now?” she marvels.

You blush, realizing that yes, he most definitely did.

“I think so,” you mumble in response.

Zuko calls for you and you part from her, noting the smirk that spreads across her features. You climb into the saddle behind him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist as he digs a heel into the ostrich horse’s side, sending you speeding through the streets of Ba Sing Se; you hardly feel the rain biting at your cheeks and hands against the firmness of his back.

The refugee district scatters in chaos, people scampering like ants separated from their colony as they attempt to flee the terror the Dai Li have inflicted.

Agents prowl up and down the streets, raiding homes and businesses seemingly at random and interrogating their owners, many of them beaten or bound in stone cuffs. You ride past an agent looming over a man and his young children, his hand raised to strike; as you pass, you pull Zuko’s sheathed katana from its slot in the saddle, holding it out so it hits the agent in the throat and topples him, incapacitated; the man wails, tears streaming down his face as he lifts his children and carries them away from the scene.

You arrive at the source of the bedlam, where the heads of the Dai Li have gathered in a market square and bark out commands, taking prisoners and making displays of their battered, comatose bodies. Zuko reins the ostrich horse to a halt, leaping off before fully coming to a stop and removing his dual swords from the horse’s pack, strapping them onto his back. He hands you the reins, roughly taking your hands in his and leaning in close to you, shouting over the din.

“Can you ride?”

You nod as you settle yourself into the center of the saddle, squeezing his hands tightly.

“Go with Kuei and take out as many Dai Li as you can for the guard to arrest,” he tells you. “Toph and I will go for their leaders.”

He places both of his palms on either side of your face, bringing your head down so he can press his lips firmly against your forehead.

“Be careful,” he says in parting.

You kick into the ostrich horse’s side, turning back the direction you came and following Kuei through the streets, Zuko’s katana strapped at your hip.

Despite Toph’s teasing, Kuei is actually a skilled rider; though weaponless, he maneuvers his steed with ease, steering headlong into members of the Dai Li and trampling them, the beast lashing its long, razorlike talons until they fall unconscious. You ride close behind, sweeping the surrounding area whenever he overtakes a target and stunning anyone who tries to interfere, driving the edge of Zuko’s katana into their stomach or back; the only time you unsheath the blade is when you come upon an agent with a young girl pinned beneath him, her dress hiked above her hips and his body far too close to hers for your liking.

The image sends rage coursing like fire through your veins, and you remove the katana from its casing, riding up swiftly behind the man and drawing the blade across his neck, slitting his throat before he has a chance to react; his blood splatters across your legs and the face of the girl he attacked, causing her to shriek and crumple into tears. You reach down and lift her into the saddle behind you, riding her to the nearest area of relative safety you can find before returning to Kuei’s side.

“Is there anyone else?” you ask, looking around. Things seem to have calmed, the guard already arriving to take their prisoners and the citizens of the district starting to collect themselves, those not harrowed by shock either coming to the aid of their neighbors or starting to tidy the buildings that were raided.

Kuei shakes his head, panting heavily as he attempts to catch his breath.

“I passed the head of the guard a moment ago,” he tells you. “She said they have most of the situation under control - they're having trouble getting the leaders to surrender.”

“Let's go back,” you suggest. “We might be able to help.”

Kuei nods, trailing beside you as you gallop back to the market square, stumbling into a standoff between the Dai Li and the guard, Zuko and Toph in the middle of the fray - they have the leaders cornered, Toph having bent the earth around a few of them and Zuko with a flame ready in hand, one of his swords in the other. The scene is still but tense, and you sit with Zuko’s katana drawn.

“It’s your choice,” Zuko booms, approaching one of the captured Dai Li with predatory grace. “Either you come peacefully, or your entire troop will be killed.”

The bound man gives Zuko a wicked smirk, rolling his head to the side.

“Wouldn’t your father be proud,” he drones deeply. “His disgraced son, meddling where he doesn’t belong and threatening death when he can’t get his way - just like daddy. Even after you defeated him, you’re still seeking his approval, aren’t you Firelord Zuko?”

The man grunts as Toph’s fist closes, the rock around him compressing his chest.

“Watch it,” she snaps. “Zuko might be above squashing a slimy little roach like you, but I’m not - and he’s not the one who has you in a vice right now.”

“The Firelord is merely following Earth Kingdom law,” Kuei interjects. He rides into the center of the circle the guards and seized Dai Li have formed. “Dai Li have been considered highly dangerous by my guard since a child was found murdered in the catacombs under Lake Laogai preceding the end of the war; any members who resist arrest are sentenced to death once taken into custody. It’s your choice - be found responsible for the death of your men, or let them face fair trial.”

You don’t hear the man answer. One of the apprehended Dai Li nearby takes hold of the knife from the belt strap of the guard who holds him, stabbing her in the stomach to free himself; he makes a beeline for you, shoving his shoulder into your ostrich horse’s side and knocking you out of the saddle, sending you to the ground at his feet.

The Dai Li grips you by the hair, hoisting you up by the scalp and pressing his arm forcefully into your chest - the knife, still wet with blood, digs into your neck, so rigidly you feel a sting as its blade slices through the top layer of your skin. Zuko, who’d rushed forward the instant the man lashed out, pauses, his stature braced and eyes wide with terror. The Dai Li chuckles evilly, running a blood-soaked hand through your hair.

“Not so high and mighty now, are you Zuzu?” he mocks. “Let’s see if your no-killing rule applies when your pretty little plaything is up for grabs.”

“Don’t hurt her,” Zuko snarls. “You already face a death sentence just for touching her.”

“Then I might as well go out with a bang,” the Dai Li hisses.

You feel your skin start to split as the knife cuts deeper, and you squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for your lungs to fill with blood.

Before the worst can come, a metallic snap cuts through the strained silence, the arm flattened to your chest going slack as the man it belongs to slumps into a heap beside you.

You fall to your knees, limbs quivering as a quiet, heaving sob escapes your chest. Zuko sprints to your side, scooping you into his arms and immediately taking you away, carrying you into the back of one of the guard’s wagons and ordering to return to the palace.

“Kill them all,” you hear Kuei gravely command as the cart rolls away. “None of them can be trusted in trial.”

You don’t realize it until you arrive at the infirmary, but you’re soaked. Healers strip you of your wet clothes and assess you for injuries, finding only a small laceration on your neck from where the Dai Li threatened you. They clean the wound thoroughly, draping you in a large blanket and serving you sweet, calming tea, keeping you there for a few hours before allowing you to return to your suite.

Rain streaks down the sitting room window in sheets as you ghost through the threshold, thanking the healer who escorted you in a whisper as she assuringly touches your shoulder, then shuts the door behind you.

Zuko stands from his place by the pane when he hears your voice, swallowing heavily as he watches you enter.

“What happened?” you rasp, blinking drearily.

Zuko approaches you slowly, gingerly lowering you into the nearest chair.

“Toph snapped the knife and shot the tip through the Dai Li’s forehead,” Zuko recounts. His voice is dark, roughened with gravel. “They’re all dead. There are more still out there, but their numbers are significantly less after today.”

You nod, your gaze directed away from him, eyes unfocused as you stare into nothing.

“The guard who was stabbed is okay,” Zuko continues, taking one of your hands and clasping it between his own. “She apologizes for letting her duties slip.”

You shake your head, pressing your eyes tightly closed as you try to force the image of the day’s events from your mind.

“She has no need to apologize,” you murmur. “I’m okay; she’s the one who got hurt.”

Zuko sighs softly, reaching up to rest his hand on your cheek.

“This is why I wanted you to stay with Iroh,” he chides. “You’re not trained to defend yourself. It’s too dangerous for you to go everywhere with me.”

You pull your face away from him. From the corner of your eye, you shoot him a glare.

“Don’t scold me,” you mutter. “I defended myself well enough.”

Zuko retracts his hand, leaning away as if you struck him. He lets out a frustrated huff.

“Seriously?” he quips. “That’s all you have to say for yourself? You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

“And so you could you,” you retort. “I’ve had a price on my head ever since I came to the Fire Nation; I don’t think I have to remind you that a man was murdered for the sake of making a threat towards us. Everyone’s after both of us, so we might as well stick together.”

“No,” Zuko snaps. “I won’t allow that. You’re my responsibility and I have to keep you safe.”

You jump to your feet, glowering down at him. He stands in return, taking a step back as your eyes meet his in a heated stare.

“You won’t allow that?” you challenge him. “What the fuck happened to treating me like an equal? You said in your damned wedding vows that you wanted to give me freedom. Did that only mean when it was convenient for you? You only want me as an ally when it looks good? Need I remind you that you were perfectly willing to let me ride out into battle when I was doing so under your command? You know that I’m capable of standing up for myself - I don’t need you playing savior whenever you think I can’t.”

“I’m not trying so suppress you,” Zuko counters. “I’m trying to make sure that the people who want us dead don’t actually achieve it. I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you because you were following me. You need protection.”

“Zuko, I killed a man today.”

You make the statement plainly, in a deadpan, looking him directly in the eye. He pales, his face going completely ashen.

“What?”

“I killed someone today,” you repeat in a hiss. “Before today I’d never even held a weapon, let alone used one on another person; that didn’t stop me cutting a Dai Li’s neck open because he tried to rape a teenage girl in the street. I feel like a monster, Zuko, but don’t you dare tell me I need protection - what I need is your help. I don’t need a knight in shining armor. I need my husband.”

Zuko’s expression falls, your brows still arched together as you realize you’ve been shouting. You take a deep, shaky breath, crossing your arms and clutching the sleeves of your robe.

Zuko crosses the room to you, resting one of his hands behind your head; his other arm curls around your waist, pulling you in and pressing you flush against his chest.

You didn’t notice before, but your whole body is trembling, tears starting to pour down the sides of your face. You wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him tightly.

“I’m sorry,” Zuko breathes. “You’re right. We need to stick together. I just… I hate the idea of losing you. I… care… I care so much about you…”

You bury your face in his shoulder, your fingers knitting themselves into the fabric of his robe; the shock of the day finally hits you, and you feel as if you’ll crumble in his arms.

“I know,” you whimper. “I care about you, too.”

Zuko lifts you into his arms, cradling you like a child as he carries you into the bedroom. He lays down beside you, and for a while that could be minutes as much as it could be hours, he holds you, rocking you gently and rubbing your back as your body heaves with sobs, tears soaking your face the way the rain beats against the walls of your room. When you’re finally calm, he leaves only as long as it takes you to change into your night clothes, returning once you’re dressed and taking you into his arms again, comforting you as the sound of thunder trembles somewhere in the distance.

You fall asleep with your head on his chest, clutching him tightly through the night. You dream of nothing, and for that, you’re thankful.

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Careless Intimacy

Notes: Me? Writing a soft fic for Declan instead of all the requests I have lined up? More likely than you might think. 

I’m sorry your honor, I simply love him. 

Summary: Declan never allowed anyone to enter his life—until Jordan came along. 

An invitation to dinner with the Lynches was a harrowing affair. Few came and even less were allowed to stay. One Lynch was manageable enough, considering you had the proper fore knowledge. Two at once and you walked the razor’s edge. Putting three in a room together was a death wish.

Yet Declan had asked Jordan to come. It was the first girl—the first person, really—that he had ever deigned to bring home. There had been many before Jordan, but Declan had never allowed himself to grow fond enough of any of them to breach that particular gap. There had been an attempt made to do the same with Jordan, but for some reason he had found it difficult not to give into that vague yet dangerous grin, the lingering touches that left him wanting more. Even after he discovered what she was, a dream, an imitation, he found it didn’t change anything. She was still Jordan to him, even if the name ended in Hennessy.

Now, pulling anxious fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth out the already perfect curls, he wondered why he had decided to put himself through this.

“It won’t be nice,” he warned her. “Ronan can be—”

“I know,” she responded with a wry grin. “I have met the boy before.”

He kept sneaking glances over at her where she sat on the bed. She wore a shirt she had cut holes and stitches into, making it hang dangerously high, and a skirt that cascaded in waves down her legs, parting in moments so that he could see the sudden flash of an ankle or a kneecap. He swallowed, forcing his gaze away.

“I don’t mean like that,” he corrected, needing her to understand that while Ronan was the cutting edge of a knife while alone, he became a bombshell when cornered. “We don’t exactly get along.”

“Family can be complicated.”

“No, family is complicated. Lynches are catastrophes waiting to happen.”

“And you are dramatic,” Jordan replied with a roll of her eyes, stretching her body from the bed in one fluid motion and coming to stand besides him. Together they stared at Declan’s reflection in the mirror. Two sets of eyes, one cautious, one amused. “Whatever it is, I’m certain I can handle it.”

Declan couldn’t find the same conviction in himself.

Surprisingly, Ronan had shown up. Or rather stayed. Every month or so Declan liked to arrange a family dinner between the three of them, and seeing as Ronan refused to come to Declan’s loft, it was usually held at the Barns. Despite this, Ronan often found excuses to get out of the dinners, or simply skipped with no explanation. Declan had failed to mention the fact that he would be bringing an added guest to him, worried it would make his constant absences worse.

Throwing open the door with a wild abandon that only he could accomplish, Ronan raised his eyebrows as he was met with the sight of them.

“Declan.” His gaze slitted over to her, calculating. In the background, Declan could hear the vague sounds of music, though the words and rhythm were unidentifiable from their position in the doorway. “Hennessy.”

“Jordan,” she corrected swiftly. “The double, or fake, if you will. I would ask that you make an effort to remember it. I might be here a while.”

Her tone implied here was more than just that dinner, that night.

“Jordan,” he adjusted with a grin. “I thought we weren’t supposed to bring guests.”

“We never specified,” Declan cut in.

“It was implied.”

“Didn’t you bring Adam to the last one?”

“Adam isn’t a guest.”

“Neither is Jordan.”

The two held eye contact for a tense moment. Jordan watched their dance, pride and amusement flickering over her expressions. For some reason, the sight made Declan’s heart skip a beat in his chest. He cleared his throat, unnecessarily, and moved past Ronan. Jordan followed, patting Ronan lightly on the shoulder as she went. Declan choked on a tiny laugh that he quickly swallowed down, remembering that this night was supposed to be civil.

Declan had not expected dinner to be prepared as Ronan rarely deigned to set foot in a kitchen, but he had clearly miscalculated for the involvement of Matthew. The kitchen itself was a tatterdemalion of ingredients and forgotten, dusted off baking tools. There was flour scattered over the counter, a bowl of poorly mixed batter sitting in the center of it. The oven was on, but whether or not anything was actually cooking inside of it was unclear. The music was coming from a radio in the kitchen, though radio was a vague term for what it was. It was one of Neill’s inventions, an old-timey radio that played the desired music of its user, regardless of genre, era, or existence. Right now, it shrieked something upbeat with a pounding bass that Matthew merrily danced around the kitchen to. His eyes widened when he noticed them, a wild and infectious grin taking over his features.

“Declan!” he exclaimed, moving to hug him but not entirely stopping his dance so that he half swung the other around when he did. He noticed Jordan with a smile. “Declan’s friend!”

“What are you… doing?” Declan asked slowly, disentangling himself and examining the scene.

“I’m making scones.”

“Scones?”

“Scones,” Matthew agreed.

“For dinner?”

“He wanted to help,” Ronan interjected, swinging around into the kitchen. He leaned on the counter, plucking a strawberry from the mess and swallowing the whole thing in one bite, his words coming out slightly muffled as he continued. “Is there a problem with that?”

Declan could feel the crease of exhaustion between his brows, but before he could speak, Jordan moved forward, her presence easy and light. “I love scones. Sometimes Hennessy would buy some for us when she was feeling charitable that night, or to be more specific, guilty. Do you mind if I help, Matthew?”

Matthew’s grin grew wider if that was possible. “Yeah! I’ve already started on a batch—it’s in the oven right now.”

Jordan leaned down cautiously, opening up the oven to reveal a tray of black, gooey clumps. “No offense Matthew, you seem nice, but these are shit. There is no way we could possibly ingest this into our bodies.”

Declan’s stomach dropped to the floor at her words, words that in a million years he would never have the confidence to reveal. He stepped forward to intervene, but Jordan was already continuing, taking the tray out with a towel in place of a missing hot pad. “Why don’t I help you make some new ones? Ronan here can help.”

Ronan made a disgusted noise at the idea, but Matthew merely shrugged, dumping the burnt tray into the trash. “Alright. I’m terrible at cooking anyway. So, where do we start?”

Declan watched as the three of them set into motion, bustling about the kitchen and grabbing out proper ingredients. Even Ronan helped clear the counters, with a moody reluctance. Slowly, a weight on his shoulders lifted and he allowed himself to let out a soft sigh of relief, grabbing out plates for the table.

The scones turned out halfway decent due to Jordan’s involvement; it had quickly became clear that she too possessed minimal knowledge of baking, but with the three of them combined everything had turned out alright. Sitting around civilly at a table eating scones had certainly not been the way Declan had predicted the night to turn out, but he couldn’t say he minded it.

As Ronan and Matthew chatted idly between the two of them, Jordan nudged his shoulder subtly. “You should smile,” she whispered, her lips quirking into one herself as she spoke the words. “I know you’re enjoying yourself, despite what you would like to think.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Declan recited, his face smooth except for the telltale twitch of his eyebrows. Deep down he knew what he was doing, but he refused to wise up to himself the game they were playing.

“Oh?” A quick tap against his leg that he recognized to be Jordan’s foot. “And what if I force you to give up this little charade of yours?”

Declan’s breath caught in his throat. Ronan glanced across the table at them, catching onto to their little whisper fest. “I’m trying to eat my dinner here, if you don’t mind. I’d prefer if you didn’t discuss your fucking plans at the table.”

Jordan snorted. Matthew’s eyes were wide with delight at the use of the word fuck at the dinner table. Declan kept a cool tone as he replied, “Last week I caught Adam with his tongue halfway down your throat at the supermarket, I hardly think I’m the one who needs to worry about decen—”

His words broke off into a strangled yelp as he felt Jordan’s foot once more, gently tracing a line up his leg. Her shot her a questioning glare and she simply shrugged, playing the innocent. Again her foot, dragging up and down, and quite suddenly Declan was aware of her play as his nerve endings sprung to life.

Declan was an amalgamation of secrets and Jordan had a tendency of discovering them. Last week had revealed one he had been hoping to hold on to for much, much longer, possibly forever—Declan Lynch was ticklish. Horridly ticklish. Unfairly ticklish. Ticklish in places that had no right to be so. And thusly as her foot traveled a lazy path along his calf and ankles, Declan found himself gripping his glass tighter, his lips screwing together into a repressed smile. He had hoped she had forgotten about this particular factoid of his person, seeing as she had left it alone for this long, but evidently she had simply been biding her time.

“Did the exorcism finally work?” Ronan asked, raising an eyebrow and reminding Declan that there were others still in the room with him. “Is the devil finally leaving your body for good?”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Declan gritted out. “Choked on water.”

“Damn.”

“Damn,” Matthew repeated solemnly, wanting to be included.

“As I was saying,” Declan continued tensely. “I hardly think you have any room to talk with the way you and Adam have been going at it like r-rabbits for the past week.”

Ronan leaned back in his chair, taking a large bite of scone off of Matthew’s plate. “My house, my rules.”

“Our house.”

“But you don’t live in it,” Ronan pointed out.

Declan was finding it difficult to concentrate as Jordan continued to circle this one spot on his ankle. A giggle was trapped in his throat, and he clamped down on his next sentence in an effort to keep it there.

Fortunately, Jordan saved him from having to respond but in the process presented him with a whole new realm of problems. “You know, you guys are always talking about Adam, and yet I still don’t know the first thing about him. Would you care to enlighten me on the subject?”

This last sentence was directed at Ronan, who found himself caught between the oppurtunity to discuss Adam and the mortifying ideal of being nice to a stranger. Meanwhile, Declan was quickly realizing just how long this dinner might take and weighing that against his ability to hold in his reactions. It wasn’t difficult to see he was fighting a losing battle.

He managed to last another couple minutes after Ronan gave in, the urge to brag about his boyfriend ultimately too strong to resist. Declan remained silent throughout the conversation, his fingers tapping out an anxious melody against the table as he fought to avoid the sensations. It was when Jordan swept a teasing touch up the underside of his shin suddenly that his resistance finally broke.

“Jordan,” he said firmly, launching suddenly up from the table and interrupting whatever Ronan had been about to say, a fact the other seemed less than pleased with. Even now, with annoyance ringing through his words, Declan still felt a strange thrill at saying her name. “I need to discuss something with you in the other room.”

The sparkle in her eyes said she knew exactly what he was doing. “Something you can’t say here at the table?”

He fixed her with a look. 

She smirked. 

He sighed and stalked from the room, knowing, in the end, that she would follow him. 

She did.

“Get a room,” Ronan scoffed as they left.

Matthew gasped as he glanced down at his plate. “You’ve been stealing my scones!”

Meanwhile, Declan frowned down at Jordan as she pressed him against the wall the minute the two had retired upstairs. They had quickly found their way to a bedroom, though whose it was Declan couldn’t be certain. “That was entirely uncalled for.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replied, hands already moving to his sides where they remained curled preemptively.

“Jordan,” he warned, his lips tugging up at the corners as he tensed under her touch. “Please.”

“Is the great Declan Lynch begging?”

“Of course not,” he scoffed, but then her fingers dug in with a light but vicious glee and his held-in laughter escaped him all at once in a startled burst. His legs weakened as he doubled up against her attack, his hands circling her wrists but doing little to stop her.

“W-Wahahait!” he protested, his words tripping over laughter. “Thihis ihihis—”

“Begging and giggling?” she exclaimed, not even attempting to hide the delight in her voice. “And I was certain this night couldn’t get any better.”

“Johohordan!”

“Declan,” she mocked teasingly.

His name spoken between those lips felt like a fatal misstep on the stairs, his stomach dropping and rising quickly in succession. A flush scattered across his cheeks, tinging the tips of his ears pink. He wasn’t used to feeling like this. He wasn’t supposed to lose control like this. It wasn’t supposed to feel like waves crashing inside him when he looked at her. It wasn’t supposed to be wild, uncontrolled laughter and fingers that wrenched any power he might have had away from him.

Despite this, as she led him to the bed, the two crashing gracelessly into it, he found he didn’t really mind the loss. There was something freeing about the sensation, unbearable and euphoric all at the same time—he wanted to hold onto that feeling for as long as he could. And so, despite the fact that he could stop her at any time, he fisted his hands in the sheets, closing his eyes and giving himself over to the moment. It was delightfully vulnerable and he wouldn’t have exchanged it for anything else in the world.

“Ohohoho mihihi gohohod!” he gasped, squirming as her fingers danced a waltz along his ribs. He was giggling, he realized, the sounds escaping him suddenly and not of his own volition. “Ihihit, ahaha—”

“Tickles?” she guessed.

“Y-Yeheheah!”

“That’s kind of the point here.” Her touch traveled carelessly along his torso which twitched and jerked helplessly underneath her. “You know, I’ve decided I like seeing you like this. We’ll have to do this more in the future.”

Declan huffed indignantly, but the sound was soon lost to a sudden yelp as her nails found their way to his hips, protected only by the thin dress shirt he had worn to the dinner. He lurched forward, grasping her wrists and pulling them away.

“No,” he said, his words breathless with a nervous smile. “Not there.”

Jordan appeared unbothered by her trapped hands, giving him a knowing look. “Is that a bad spot, then?”

“Possibly.”

“Then I think there is exactly where we need to explore.”

“Why do you insist on tormenting me in these ways?” he moaned, his words light as he dropped his forehead against hers. She leaned in, accepting the gesture and tilting her neck up to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Was that a no?” she whispered afterwards, her words a dare left hanging in the air. Declan had refused many a dare in the past, and prided himself on resisting their temptation. He knew if he wanted to, he could call this all off and go back to dinner once more.

But Declan was feeling reckless that night.

Moments later, laughter roared from his lips as he thrashed on the bed, wanting to crawl out of his own skin as thumbs pressed deviously into the divot of his hips. His hands fisted in his hair, stopping him from doing anything to prevent it. He didn’t protest for he had long since passed the ability for words. He had never needed anything to stop as bad as he did then, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to end it yet, not now, not when electricity soared in his veins. 

They stayed like that for a while, just fingers on skin and laughter spilling helplessly from his lips in that forgotten bedroom. Dinner had quickly been forgotten by the both of them. Eventually Declan would return downstairs, hair disheveled and face flushed with Jordan at his side, as he fought for some explanation for their absence. Yet for now, he was content to lose himself to the moment and the intolerable sensations coursing throughout him.

Declan couldn’t imagine how he had ever thought this night would end badly.

January 10th, 2021

Action Button Review

Review

Tim Rogers reminds me of Hank Green. They are about the same age, they look about the same age which is a combination of young and old that feel eternal. They also have the same length of experience in writing in online spaces, interest in Japanese media, and apparently have Crohn’s disease? In summary, he might be the closest equivalent to Dave Green that exists in the real world. Well, I guess Dave Green is not apt, as Dave Green is not special in a way, while Tim Rogers is special, but his speciality comes from his failures rather than his counterparts' success.

Tim Rogers is a hypothetical Green brother who did not decide to publish that book. He’s a hypothetical Green brother who went to Japan instead of Alabama or Florida. Whose project crashed and burned rather than a surprise success. He’s forged in fire while the Green brothers are eroded by water. Both are wonderful people, but with a different ground of intensity and differing wealth of wisdom.

I encountered this series because I found a twitter post about a six hour review of Tokimeki Memorial, and a white middle-aged man talking about a dating sim for six hours with laudatory blurbs would always pique my interest, but since I didn’t know the guy, I went ahead and looked if he made other videos, and found he has four other review that were all about three hours or more. Now I knew that I had to watch all the reviews to prepare myself for this six hour review of Tokimeki Memorial.

Now, I wasn’t a stranger to three hour reviews of video games. I watched Joseph Anderson, Raycevick, Whitelight, matthewmatosis, and Noah Gervais-Caldwell. In fact, in the comments below Action Button Reviews, many people talked about a comparison to Noah Gervais-Caldwell (and Brian David Gilbert) and that was quite funny since I actually watched a recent Noah Gervais-Caldwell video.

His first two reviews were perfunctory, him opening himself up and trying out new things and polishing his review style, as he went through the Final Fantasy VII remake and The Last of Us. While I watched The Last of Us, I distinctly remembered and contrasted Noah’s The Last of Us Part 2 review with Tim Roger’s The Last of Us review. I liked Tim Roger’s defense of interactive movies (although he denies it!) contrasted with more cynical but ultimately positive connotation in Noah’s review. And Noah’s thesis pairs nicely with Tim’s observation that Ellie was the main protagonist all along. That fact makes Part 2 much more understandable, even the bad parts.

When I finished watch his first two reviews, I went ahead and also watched several of Tim’s videos on Kotaku, which were slightly shorter, the longest being just over an hour, which is a review of the best games in 1994, and does contain a short segment about Tokimeki Memorial, which his six hour review was my destination. To put in context, Tokimeki Memorial was #3. #1 was Earthbound, #2 was Final Fantasy VI, and #4 was Super Metroid. And I just watched a playthrough of Super Metroid basically on a whim, because it’s a monumental and a great game to play and watch.

And while the segment of the games that I knew to be great and monumental in my absorption of knowing video games was deeply personal and rightly claimed its stake that it deserved its spot, his segment of Tokimeki Memorial never got there. It was almost as if he was deliberately hiding behind something. In the end of 1994 review, Tim pitched an idea about a three hour Earthbound review, which probably was Tim’s idea of floating a departure from Kotaku, which would happen two months later, and I wonder if he was trying to deliberately throw a curveball by making a video of Tokimeki Memorial instead of the promised Earthbound review. This may be a far leap, I admit.

I went back and watched the video about Doom. It was much better in quality and in darkness. I was reminded of Film Crit Hulk’s writing of The World’s End and James Bond, another very long essay that was deeply personal and chapter for easier consumption. Few commenters noticed that Tim Rogers was just doing a dramatic reading of his written reviews on Kotaku and Action Button dot net, and how they liked that approach, and I found myself liking that approach as well. You might believe a video review needs more than just reading an essay out loud, but just the act of reading an essay out loud in the correct intonation and inflection adds ton to experience. And Tim Rogers sounds like he has decades worth of experience to present a dramatic reading of his essay very effectively, much like Hank Green.

I continued scaling the mountain to my goal. I went through his review of Pac-Man and was delighted by his reading of Namco games, and was impressed by the opening sequence, and just generally enjoyed it. I was getting excited to set a day aside and let the six hour review of Tokimeki Memorial watch over me and reduce me to dust.

And it sure did. That six hours was a harrowing experience. What Tim Rogers is best at is telling a story, and so to go through a let’s play was a wish I never made, fulfilled. In the end, I was left with nothing and everything. It was like finishing a really good book.

I wanted to watch it again, then again I never wanted to watch it again. It was almost a traumatic experience. Tim talked about there being endless variation of love, and the love Tim Rogers went through was not the fluffy yet melancholic one that I craved, but one akin to a devotion of an eldritch god. Love made in justification for one’s efforts in attending and maintaining a relationship. A love stronger than most kinds of love, but most draining and taxing as well. Tim Roger’s synopsis of Tennis Monster reminded me of Asking for It by Louise O’Neill, which is also about empathizing a quite hateable character because we kind of have to. Apparently one person knows the full plot because Tim Rogers rambled on about it as he was couch surfing in his house, and unbelieve as it usually is, I fully trust that the commenter is telling the truth.

I was like a heroin addict, who really wanted a different hit, like talking to friends or hiking, my mother wanted me to go hiking with her, and I didn’t because, after the pandemic started, all I wanted to be was inside. Outside felt diseased. The air outside felt contaminated to me, hard to breathe. I was stuck in this place.

Tim Rogers is an exceptional figure. He seems to be a movie protagonist, he reminds me of The Librarian, played by Noah Wyle. Tim has eidetic memory, as he has access every single autobiographical memory formed, but not other types of memory. We know that those types of memory are different because of people like Tim and people who are opposite of Tim, someone who has no memories of autobiographical memory but otherwise fine. These people tend to have very few emotions and have a hard time deciding things. Lack of emotions is correlated with difficulty in decision making.

So Tim is the opposite of that, Tim is full of emotions, complex emotions and he can make decisions and carry it out in a snap. He would be good at school, and he was, but he would be too focused on his grandeur to be under some authority, which is how he became who he was. His anti-authoritarian nature rings throughout his reviews, highlight the general Generation X vibe that Tim exudes but also the modern socialistic movement of Generation Z, which adds to this odd mix of old and new.

Not only does Tim have eidetic memory and intense work ethic that he never seems to move away from, therefore making a three hour video masterpiece at a clip that seems unbelievable for a seasoned viewer, he also has exceptional skills in fast math and language, he seems to be at least familiar with dozens of languages, and of course Tim’s experience is bounded by his decade of living in Japan.

I think this is why Tim naturally gravitates towards video games. When Tim says ‘welcome to video games’ there’s a natural supposition that Tim Rogers is the protagonist of video games, and I think he is. Tim wants to be in video games, because he needs to be in video games, instead of some almighty god cruelly deciding to plop him into a real life. He should be an video game adaptation of The Librarian and go on world-spanning adventure and romance impossibly beautiful girls instead of toiling the grime of what real life portends to. His life is dramatic, but impossibly mundane as well. It’s a simulacrum of a movie or a video game, which is pretty cool on its own.

But of course Tim Rogers isn’t the only part of Action Button Reviews. In the ensuing five videos, Tim Rogers tries to do something. Video games are a wide net. There is so much to video games, something like Gone Home and Geometry Dash are included alongside Wolfenstein The New Colossus and Farmville. What makes a video game? Actually, the more interesting question is, why do we have the term ‘video games’? Why do we put all of this mess into a single category, as if there is some throughline.

Tim Rogers starts to do that. Tim Rogers boldly states that things like Doom and Tokimeki Memorial are intimately connected to each other. And that all video games are in conversation with each other, through deep and complex meta-narratives. Tim Rogers is a cartographer, trying to map out how video games are made whole.

I’ve always strived to be that kind of a cartographer, to showcase the weave of reality, of connecting two seemingly unconnected parts, and showing to a profound implication both existing, instead of one or the other. If you don’t know, I have been trying to write something out of my current obsession with Virtual YouTubers, and mostly Hololive, and while I think I stumbled upon the six hour video review of Tokimeki Memorial outside of my interest in virtual YouTubers, this video, as I expected in the back of my head, gave me plenty of thoughts about Hololive. Its rumination of cyberpunk and idol culture is so directly connected with the peculiarities of Hololive that I was quite astounded.

From the very beginning, I wonder how Tim Rogers thinks about Hololive, especially after he has done that six hour review. I’m sure he will have a lot of interesting thoughts about the prospect. I want to get in contact with him, maybe work under him. But then I don’t want to hang out with him. I want to be near him as he talks to a crowd at a party, but I don’t feel safe to be near him when there’s less than ten people nearby. I think below ten, I would be swept in some danger that I won’t be prepared for.

Tim Rogers and Action Button Review is a fascinating review series and if you have the time, I suggest you should take the journey. It’s well worth it, just to get a different perspective on video games and the world around it.

Strangers

Part 3 - Grand Illusion (S1E1+S1E2)

Nathan Young x Reader Words: 4k Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex and nudity, drugs  Songs:  Too Much On My Mind - The Kinks I Won’t Hurt You - The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band

“Where are you going, I don't mind I've killed my world and I've killed my time”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Masterlist | Ao3

--

    You’re just about done changing, closing your locker and stepping away to zip up the front of your jumpsuit and fix your hair. It’s just you, Nathan, Curtis, and Simon remaining when Nathan whistles and motions for everyone to huddle up. “So…” he begins seriously, an emotion one does not typically expect from Nathan. “If anyone asks what happened yesterday, we say nothin’, right? It’s just a completely normal day.” You nod in agreement as he looks at each of you in turn.     Having left the locker room, you are now all standing together to await whatever new probation worker was sent to replace Tony after his mysterious disappearance. You try to look as normal as possible, leaning casually against a pillar and definitely not making any sideways glances at your fellow young offenders. It‘s hard to resist the urge.

    A woman walks up to stand before you all, she looks to be about in her early thirties and is dressed simply but well. Her hair is dark, long, and some of it is pulled away from her face. She’s pretty, but by all accounts, a remarkably normal person. You assume she’s the new probation worker, and you’re right. “Gary and my colleague Tony have both been reported missing. Their families are very worried about them. Have you seen anything unusual? Anything at all?” Nathan raises his eyebrows and holds up a finger to catch her attention. “You saw something?” she asks. You desperately want to stop this. Nathan has just told you, moments ago, that you should act like nothing happened yesterday, and yet here he is. He probably isn’t going to tell her the truth, you can’t imagine him ratting everyone out like that, but you can’t imagine him saying anything that would make the situation better, either. “A few days ago…” Kelly shakes her head slightly, trying to get him to stop, and you try to catch his eye to send him a harrowing gaze, but he just barrels on. “I go into the toilets, Tony and Gary were in there. They’re butt naked.” You breathe a sigh of relief that luckily sounded remarkably close to exasperation, which is probably because it was. “Tony has Gary by his hair, like this, an’ he’s just doin’ him, doggy style!” He starts to thrust and grunt, and you put a hand to your cheek, half over your mouth to suppress your involuntary grin. What he’s doing was disgusting, but oddly entertaining. It’s like watching a trainwreck. “And Tony is like ‘Aaagh! Who’s your daddy? I’m your daddy, I’m Big Daddy!’” It’s vulgar, honestly. Nathan gets really into it, making crude motions and grunts, chanting, “Oh yeah, oh yeah, ooooh yeah!” before calling out “I’m daddy cool!” Tony would have presumably finished then, because Nathan stops thrusting to put his hands on his hips and return to his normal posture. “So I’m guessing they’ve ran away to continue their illicit homosexual affair. And I ask you, in this world of intolerance and prejudice, who are we, who are we to condemn them?” He’s on point with the social justice, but now is decidedly not the right time, place, or circumstances. The probation worker says nothing and just walks away. You reach out and shove Nathan. “What the everloving fuck was that?” He gasps indignantly. “I was just trying to act normal!” “If that’s your idea of normal, then there’s somethin’ seriously wrong in your head,” Kelly scolds. “I thought we already knew that,” Curtis agrees, earning a giggle from Alisha.     You all congregate on the roof, standing together, overlooking the lake and office buildings on its far side. Ah, the charming sights of Wertham, an army of identical fifteen-story grey blocks. Nathan takes a drag from his cigarette before smiling, “Well, I think we got away from it.” “Do you actually believe that, or are you just really dumb?” Curtis asks sarcastically, and you snicker. “I actually believe that!” Nathan insists. You had just laughed at him, but there’s something in Nathan’s earnest voice that makes you want to believe it, too. “I mean I was there, right? I should have one of these bullshit powers.” “You can have mine,’ Kelly gripes. “You want to hear what people are thinkin’ about you?” “Not so much, no. I want something good, you know? Something from the A-list.” “Maybe you can fly,” Simon offers quietly. Nathan’s face lights up. “He’s not going to be able to fly,” Alisha reasons. “Yeah, there’s always someone who can fly, check it out!” His confidence in this proposition seems inordinately inflated. “We don’t need you trying to jump off buildings like superman to test it,” you add, knowing full well that Nathan could and would. “Ah, I won’t!” He walks over to a nearby chair, far away from the roof’s ledge, and climbs up. “This has no chance of working, right?” You lean in to whisper to Kelly. “None,” she agrees. Nathan leaps into the air, raising his arms up hopefully, but he just falls to the ground like a sack of bricks, except with the addition of a nasty smack. “Ow! No, that’s not it,” he groans, picking himself up with a childish expression of annoyance on his face. “So what happens now? Is this it?” Curtis asks, turning to look at everyone. “Are we gonna be like this forever?” “What if we’re meant to be, like, superheroes?” Now, you really do want to include Simon more, he seems like a genuinely nice, if chronically shy, person, but his suggestions today are horribly lacking. “You lot, superheroes?” Nathan asks, sounding more jealous than anything. Kelly looked worryingly contemplative, and you’re bothered by how well the story seems to fit. “No offense, but in what kind of fucked up world would that be allowed to happen?” “This world is pretty fucked up,” you point out. “I did not sign up for that,” Alisha exclaims. “Superheroes!” Nathan continues with the thinly-veiled jealousy. “I love this guy, you prick!” “What if there’s loads of people like us all over town?” Kelly askes, and she has a point. It had been a pretty large storm, you couldn’t be the only people who had seen or experienced it, right? Are there other people going about their normal, daily lives discovering their powers right now? “No,” Nathan scoffs, cigarette smoke billowing from his nose. “That kind of thing only happens in America. This will fade away. I’m telling you, by this time next week, it’ll be back to the same old boring shit.” Needless to say, this would not prove to be at all true.     Your task that day is picking up litter, each of you are given a large plastic bag and trash grabber before being set loose on the city, to collect trash with reckless abandon! In reality, you probably won’t even stray far from the community center. As you follow along the edge of the lake, Nathan continues to complain about his lack of a cool new superhero ability. “And what? Because you’re all special and I’m not? Yeah, well I doubt it. You can think what you like, but I have a ‘superpower’” he uses air quotes and says the word in a comically high-pitched valley-girl voice. “I just need to find out what it is.” “Maybe you’re just super retarded!” Alisha proclaims, and a cursory glance at the rest of the group would tell you she isn’t the only one growing annoyed at him. “Maybe I’ve got a whole Spiderman vibe going on, you know?” he continues unabashed. “Maybe I can climb stuff and do spider shit.” “Yeah, cuz that makes perfect sense,” Curtis cuts in. “Why would you be able to climb stuff?” “I don’t know!” Nathan calls back. “How is it that you can turn back time, apparently? And weird kid can turn invisible?” He pokes Simon in the back of the head with his grabber. “It’s not like this whole situation is backed up by a wank-load of logic.”     Later in the morning, you’ve moved all the way from right outside the community center to a tunnel under a nearby bridge. It’s a disturbingly gross place, but its inordinate abundance of trash has led you there, calling to be picked up and sent away to landfill. Curtis peers curiously at something he’s picked up with his grabbers, some sort of melted hunk of plastic. But as he peers, he notices something tucked into a corner not that far away. Something that looks fleshy and pink and remarkably human. “What is that?” he asks, voice dripping with disgust. You scrunch up your nose and move in to get a closer look. “Oh, god…” you groan. It’s a human man, completely naked, lying face down on the pavement. You are suitably disgusted. “Is he breathin’?” Kelly asks. Alisha strides forward without much hesitation and pokes his bare ass with her grabber. “Hey, nude guy!” she calls. “You’re naked!” Your eyes widen and everyone, yourself included lets out cries of protest as he rolls over to reveal himself, full-frontal. It’s not a pretty sight. Simon snapps a photo, you’re not exactly sure why, but documentation seems to be his response to everything so far. “Good lord!” Curtis protests, turning away. “Oh my god!” Alisha laughs, finding it funny more than anything else. Kelly actually turns around completely to avoid seeing any more of it. Nathan’s jaw, however, drops. Realization spreads over both of their faces and Nathan points an accusatory finger at the naked man before crying out, “You?!” The man stands up as fast as he can and bolts, but Nathan is outraged. “Hey!” He tries running after the man, but it’s too late. “Do you want to tell us who that was?” Curtis questions through a chorus of laughter. “He’s my mum’s– He lives with my mum.” He eyes everyone defensively. Alisha chuckles before proclaiming matter-of-factly, “Your stepdad has got a massive cock.” You snicker, even though you don’t want to have to think about it much. It was quite a disturbing image, even more so now that you know he’s close to Nathan’s mum. But… it was true. “Jesus!” Nathan cries in objection. “And he’s not my stepdad, alright?” You hold up your arms in mock surrender, “I assure you, I’m completely ready to forget about that picture, it should be purged from my mind.” Alisha leans closer to you and Kelly, guffawing. “Did you see that thing? That was like monster big!” She locks eyes with Nathan and hisses as if in pain, lowering her voice suggestively. “Your mum will hurt.” “La, la, la! Shut up!” He closes his eyes and literally sticks his fingers in his ears to block out her nasty comments. “Why’s he naked?” Kelly asks, turning to Nathan for the answers he doesn’t have. He gapes, trying to piece it all together, but Alisha speaks up before he can be given the chance. “Well he’s obviously some kind of pervert. Or he’s gay.” You wince at the presumptive, nay, offensive comment, not exactly fond of how it perpetuates harmful stereotypes. Curtis scoffs at her remark, “That follows.” “Well, he was cruising for rough trade!” she explains indignantly. “They love that shit!” “Oh, a little light homophobia? Go for it!” You have to agree with Curtis’ sarcastic reply here for a multitude of reasons, one of which being because you highly doubt Natha’s stepdad is secretly gay. “Or he could be a rapist,” Kelly muses with far too much nonchalance. “There’s loads of ‘em ‘round here.” “Maybe he’s a werewolf,” Simon posits seriously. Everyone sort of sneers at the idea and Nathan certainly isn’t pleased, exclaiming, “Twat!” “It’s what happens in films,” Simon tries to elaborate, growing visibly more nervous by the second. “You turn into a werewolf, you kill someone, an’ then you wake up somewhere naked… Like a zoo.” “He’s not a werewolf, alright?” Nathan protests hotly, defensiveness creeping into the edges of his voice. With the recent storm and all these odd powers, it’s all too likely that Simon’s right, or at the very least eerily close. “This guy is such a pussy, he needs my mum to open jars for him. I’m sure if he was a werewolf, he’d be able to open a jar of peanut butter for himself!” “What happens if the storm messed him up?” Kelly interjects. “Yeah,” you add, agreeing with her not only because it does make some sense, but also because you really want to bother Nathan, “he’s probably only been a werewolf for two days.” “What do you mean probably?” Nathan proclaims. His growing look of disbelief is incredibly amusing. “Well, Alisha had a point…” You look away and raise your eyebrows to insinuate what you mean. “Oh, fuckin’ hell, y/n! You, of all people?” he gapes, and you try not to laugh at his expression. This is far more fun for you than it should be. “Thank you!” Alisha cries, feeling vindicated by your agreement. It isn’t fun to say, but she wasn’t wrong. “That’s bollocks, the storm didn’t do nothin’ to him,” Nathan insists, but it’s starting to sound more like he’s trying to convince himself than you. “What are the chances?” The question hangs uncomfortably in the air. No one answers, and Nathan ends up just rolling his eyes and scoffing before stalking off and getting back to work, picking up trash.     You take a quick shower at the community center before heading home, feeling pretty grimy from searching for and collecting trash all day. Toweling off and gathering your things, you wonder if Nathan’s still around. He walked home with you the past few days and you really did enjoy his company. You decide to take a cursory look around, running into Sally in the process. “Oh, y/n, why’re you still here?” She’d looked to be pretty nice, so you’re surprised by the scrutinizing and cold tone you can hear creeping up behind her words. “I decided to shower before heading home,” you explain, trying to keep your voice as level as possible to allay suspicion. “Have you seen Nathan around?” “Yeah, he was by some vending machines a few minutes ago,” she tells you. “Okay, thanks! Have a good one.” You give her a small wave as you turn down a nearby hall, wondering why her smile doesn’t feel genuine. After about five minutes of searching, you enter a large common area with a raised loft in one corner. It’s there you find Nathan, sitting on the floor with arms resting on the railing and legs dangling over the edge. He’s surprised to see you, suddenly sitting up straighter and adopting the expression of someone caught in a nefarious act. “Oh, Nathan! There you are.” You approach him on the ground below, looking up with a smile. “Y/n!” He looks pleased, but notably apprehensive. “I was just wonderin’ if you wanted to walk home with me?” you ask, growing increasingly suspicious. “Uuuuh, well, I don’t know...” It’s then that you notice the duffel bag and mattress behind him. “Wait, why do you have a mattress? And a bag?” You start to piece together a few pieces of this puzzle. “I’ve only known you for three days, I don’t think we really need to know the intimate details of each other’s personal lives,” he stalls, leaning back to push the bag out of your view. But you aren’t about to give up that easy. “Screw that, what about being bonded by our shared traumatic experience?” You thought you were becoming friends with Nathan and don’t want to give that up so soon. And besides, you feel like you’ve known everyone in your service group for far longer than three days. It’s probably the superpowers and experience of burying your probation worker and fellow young offender together, but you want it to be more than that. Nathan gives in, “Alright, fine, come on up.” He patts the space beside him and you grin, turning to walk up the stairs and join him. Once up there, you have a better view of things. Not only is there a mattress, but also a pillow and blanket, and his half-unzipped bag, which appears to be full of clothes. You sit down next to him, dangling your legs over the edge beside his own. You don’t speak, allowing him to open up when he wants to. A few tense moments pass. “My mum kicked me out after our first day of community service,” he finally admits in a small, defeated voice. “I’m sorry, that sucks,” you murmur in response. While you’ve never actually been kicked out, you always felt that it was just about to happen, and you’ve used up all your chances with your dad and stepmum, once you move out, you know you’ll never be able to live with them again. He nods, “It does. I’ve been sleeping here.” “That’s why you were sneaking out of here yesterday morning,” you realize. “Yeah,” he chuckles, remembering how you caught him climbing out of a window. Then you recall what Nathan said when Tony was taking everyone’s phones. “Is that also why you were expecting a call from your mum?” He nods wordlessly. “Well, did she?” “No,” he shakes his head bitterly. “She’s cut me out.” “That’s bullshit,” you counter. Nathan turns to look at you, perplexed. “She doesn’t know what she’s missing out on.” His face lights up in a worrying surge of confidence. “Yeah! I mean look at me,” he holds his arms up in a strongman pose and grunts while trying to flex. You cannot for the life of you tell if he’s being serious, but he looks absolutely ridiculous, so you burst out laughing. “I don’t know what you’re laughing at,” he continues, unphased. “It’s pathetic!” you wheeze between laughs. He almost snickers, half a chortle making it through his poker-faced veneer. “This’s one’s smasher,” he nods to his left bicep and you snort. “This one’s basher,” he nods to his right bicep. It’s redundant to say that you devolve into a fit of hysterical laughter. “And this one…” he points to his crotch and you shake your head, already wheezing, “is The Destroyer!” That absolutely does it in for you, and Nathan can’t hold it in any longer either, he breaks down laughing with you. After a while, the laughter dies down and you’re simply sitting beside one another in amiable silence. Nathan jumps to his feet and holds out a hand to help you up. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.” “But what about…” you motion to all his stuff, but take his hand anyways and stand up. “I’ll walk back later. Now that you’ve become acquainted with where I live, I’d like to see your humble abode.” He grins and begins to walk down the stairs to the room’s main level. “Alright, but beware, my stepmum’s a bitch,” you warn, following after him. “Well, have you ever found her butt naked in a dark alleyway and come to the sudden and disturbing realization that she has gorgeous tits?” You cringe at the thought, “Can’t say that I have.” Nathan is curiously silent for a few moments. “Does she, though? I’m curious,” he muses with a cheeky grin. “Nathan!” you gasp, punching him in the shoulder. “Ow! Point taken! Why do you keep punching me?” he curses, glaring at you with playful indignance. You smile to yourself, pleased. “Because you deserve it and someone has to.”     Together you walk to your house, entirely unsure and uneasy about what will happen next. You grow increasingly anxious as you approach your house. There isn’t really a nice side of Wertham, but your stepmom likes to think you live there anyways. She is wrong, suburban Wertham is just as grungy and seamy as the city itself, it just looks marginally more pleasant. Once you’re at the front door, you stop and turn to Nathan. “Okay, here’s the plan. We go in, we try to get upstairs as quickly as possible. If we see my stepmum, we stay civil and try to get away without offending her. Sound good?” You exhale a deep breath, unsure of whether you should be amping up or calming down. “Yeah, but why do we need a plan?” Nathan asks innocently. “You’ll see,” you explain, opening the door. You aren’t really sure what to expect, to be perfectly honest. Your stepmum barely even wants you there, so you never really push it by bringing home anyone else. In secondary school, the only people you had over were friends you’d made before she married your dad, and thus people she had no real control over your relationship with. But once she was in the picture, you suddenly preferred going over to other people’s houses rather than having them come to yours. Hopefully, things would be different now, with you being an at least semi-autonomous adult. But probably not. You lead Nathan inside the front hall, so far so good, and turn to go up the stairs when things go south. “Ah, ah, ah! Who’s this, y/n?” your stepmum stops you, rushing out from wherever she’d been to literally stand between you and the stairs. “Hullo!” Nathan perks up, smiling broadly and sticking out a hand. “I’m Nathan.” Ah, so when you said ‘civil,’ he’d heard ‘unnervingly polite.’ “He’s from community service,” you explain. She glances down at his hand with mild disgust, and so he drops it. “Well, I would appreciate it if you didn’t bring those people to his home,” she sneers with a fake smile. “I’m those people,” you point out. Talking back hadn’t been in the plan, but the plan was never going to work anyways. She casts a derisive glance between you and Nathan, “Evidently.” Your dad walks in, then, from the kitchen, holding a casserole between oven-mitted hands. “Oh, y/n! Are you gonna have dinner with the family?” his tone is cheerful, but the insinuation behind his words stings you. “No, I’m clearly not a part of this family,” you murmur, hoping someone will contradict you, but your dad just squirms and looks sort of uncomfortable. No one says anything, even Nathan remains gloriously silent. “Wow! Okay, so we’re going. Bye.” You grab Nathan’s hand and he lets you drag him away. Once outside, though, you drop it and stalk down the street, just trying to get away from your house. Tears prick at your eyes as you allow yourself to break down. It hurts. It hurts to not be included, even if you expected it. That woman had taken so much from you, had pushed you to become what you were and live the life you’d lived just because she expected it. There are people around you, of course, saying that you’re more than that, but when she looks at you like you’re nothing, you feel like nothing. Nathan follows after you, “Hey, y/n, where are we goin’?” “Away!” You call after him. He catches up to you soon after that, when you’re about a block away from your house, grabbing your arm to get you to stop. Neither of you say anything, but he sits down on the curb and motions for you to join him. You do. He puts his arm around your shoulder and you lean into him. He smells like cigarettes, bandaids, and sharpies, and you wonder why, but it distracts you, and so you revel in it. This is the closest you’ve ever been, and even though you’ve only known each other for three days now, you seem to fit perfectly there. Nathan leans his head in closer to you, “You know, if it makes you feel any better, she had really wack tits.” You laugh despite yourself, “It does, actually.” You smile and close your eyes, allowing yourself to become lost in the feeling of his arm around you and the smell of his clothes, which remind you of the community center and of him. You sit there for a few moments, in comfortable silence. “What’re you gonna do now?” he asks. “I’ll just sneak in through my window, the lock’s broken,” you murmur in a quiet voice. He nods but doesn’t move. Eventually, you say your goodbyes and sneak back into your respective living spaces, but for now, you remain in his arms. For now, you’re together.

Rock n Roll Thack

Spoilers ahead for the season-one finale of The Knick.

As The Knick kicked off this past summer, Dr. John Thackery (Clive Owen) reminded those around him that “We live in a time of endless possibility.” Unfortunately for this brilliantly unhinged surgeon, that potential boundlessness got him sentenced to a hospital bed on this weekend’s season finale. Turns out shooting liquid cocaine into your veins before surgery is bad for both you and the health of your patient! Thankfully, Thack will get himself cured with a new drug called, uh … heroin, which was considered safe at the time. “It’s from the Bayer Aspirin Company,” says the prescribing doctor.

My Week In New YorkA week-in-review newsletter from the people who make New York Magazine.

A fitting way to end the poetically harrowing first season of Steven Soderbergh’s 1900s medical drama — with its antihero hitting rock-bottom. What will Soderbergh and the rest of The Knick team have in store for us in season two? Vulture spoke with Owen to discuss those possibilities, the finale, and the unlimited energy it takes to play a cocaine addict.

So let’s start right at the end. Thackery is finally able to get the help he needs … [Laughs.]

… only to find out he’s getting weaned off of cocaine and onto heroin. Exactly! I always thought that was a pretty brilliant ending. And apparently it was true. There were a lot of people getting addicted to cocaine at that time, because it was a new wonder drug and they didn’t realize its addictiveness. So they prescribed heroin as a kind of antidote. Out of the frying pan, into the fire …

It feels like you need a tremendous amount of energy to play a cocaine addict. It’s true. It was very exhausting, simply for that reason. It was exhausting anyway because it was a very intense shoot and Steven [Soderbergh] worked so fast and we were doing a lot, but you do realize that every single scene takes a lot of energy. Especially those episodes towards the end because there’s the [cocaine] shortage, and then when it comes back, he’s taking more than ever. [Laughs.]

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And you guys shot the scenes out of order, almost like a movie. Yeah, [Soderbergh] boarded it like a ten-hour movie, so when we were in [Thackery’s home], we shot everything, from the first episode to the last episode, in just two days. So that was quite a challenge. I made a visual white board on my wall, which just plotted through all the episodes and all the scenes in the episodes, and part of that was to graph my drug intake. That this was a period where you need more drugs, or this is where you were on too many. In some ways, that needed to be charted throughout the whole ten hours.

So you were filming those scenes where Thackery is self-destructing early in the shoot? Exactly. It was all location-based. At first I thought, That’s fine. You always shoot anything out of sequence. But it wasn’t until we started that I realized what a challenge that was. It’s a big undertaking, especially with a part like that.

One of my favorite — though certainly horrifying — aspects of the show is to see all the medical procedures and techniques that are shunned now. Obviously there’s the cocaine, but then there’s the fact that doctors aren’t wearing gloves or that people need to stand in front of an X-ray machine for like 45 minutes. The great thing is, not only were the operations really well-researched — when we did them, they were incredibly faithful to how they were being done at the time — we go into discoveries that were made. But also there were a number of crazy ideas and crazy notions that they were exploring. I am sure in 20 or 40 years from now, we’ll look back and think, Did we really believe that?

I understand you went through a brief medical-school crash course with the show’s medical adviser, Dr. Stanley Burns, before you began production. Yeah, he was an unbelievable source of research and information. It’s almost like this show was his fantasy come to life, because his place, he has hundreds of thousands of photographs from this period, he had medical instruments from the period, he had booklets that were handed to doctors at the turn of the century. He was just an unbelievable resource to have.

What was the hardest procedure for you to do onscreen? Really, the first one was in some ways the most shocking, because we did everything we could, but we had never seen it with all the blood and everything. We had rehearsed it thoroughly, we shot everything up until the point where we make the first incision, and then the blood was pumped through and we just did everything in real time, and Steven kept his shot going. The blood just kept coming, and by the end, when he shouted “Cut!,” we were all covered. It was all over the place. It was a real moment of “Welcome to 1900!” [Laughs.] That was quite shocking. So we knew from then on that this was the direction we were going in.

I read Steven was looking for that “David Fincher” level of blood. Yeah, and again, Dr. Burns was there for every single procedure … He would be like, “More blood,” “Less blood” — that was what he asked for.

I assume you’re not too squeamish in general, right? It would probably be pretty difficult to play the role to begin with. Um, no, and also the scenes were so technically challenging. They work on such a number of levels. You’ve got the technical side of the operation, you’ve got to know what you’re doing, you’ve got the dialogue with the other doctors, and the whole element of performing it in front of an audience. So they were just very challenging scenes generally, and there was no real time to get squeamish. You just wanted to look like you knew what you were doing.

There’s a pretty brutal scene in the finale where you’re doing a blood transfusion and cutting your wrist open. Could you walk me through that? Well, first I thought, throughout the whole show, but specifically that one, the prosthetics guy did such an incredible job. Even to the naked eye, just as an actor standing there, some of the stuff that we were looking down and working on, it was so convincing. And that’s without doing any CGI. But I do remember that one, with the little girl lying on the bed, and wondering if the veins are connecting, and looking at Steven and saying, “How are we ever going to come back for the second season? How are we ever going to bring this guy back? He’s irredeemable!” [Laughs.] So that felt like a scene where we pushed him as far as it was possible to push him.

We don’t know much of Thackery’s background. He made a brief speech about his father slaughtering Indians, but that was about it. Had you and Steven come up with a backstory? There was actually, in earlier drafts, there was an element of him going back to see his father. So there was some stuff there that in the end Steven took out, which I think was a wise thing to do. So there was kind of a rough outline there, but we may find out more about that in the second season.

You’ve mentioned before that there’s something that strikes you as very rock and roll about Thackery. That came out of a conversation with the costume designer, who did such an excellent job. I went to a fitting and she pitched me the idea of these white boots. It was such a strange arrogance about it. And as we were looking at clothes — I have done period things before, and very often, a costume designer will say, “Oh, no, you can’t wear that because they never did that.” But Ellen would say to me, “Well, you can do what you like. You’re Thackery.” He’s the 1900 version of rock and roll. He can wear anything. There’s something about the way he carries himself, and his attitude, and the fact that he’s brilliant also helps him get away with it. There’s something so edgy and visceral about him.

I think one of the most interesting aspects of him is that he’s able to transition seamlessly from an uptown lifestyle to a more downtown decadence, where he goes to these opium dens. Yeah. And it’s also a lovely flavor of what New York must have been at that time. You get the broad spectrum. You get the real rough areas, where disease has taken a grip; you get the wealthy areas, where people are funding the hospital. It gives you such an opportunity to experience a broad palate of life at that time.

Did filming the first season feel more like a movie than a TV show, since Steven directed every episode? For sure. It didn’t feel any different. It felt longer, obviously — though I say longer, we shot the thing in 73 days. It was like the length of a really big movie. Apart from the amount we were getting through each day, which was an awful lot. We moved so quickly. I think our record was 13 pages of dialogue in one day. Apart from that, the pace of it felt absolutely no different from doing a movie. At the end of the day, Steven Soderbergh is a movie animal. And also the fact that we didn’t shoot it episodically. He did board it like a movie. It didn’t feel like television.

Is 13 pages a day a lot? That seems like a lot. It’s a hell of a lot. You try learning that and knowing you need to get up the next day and do another one. [Laughs.]

That’s what’s so great about the show and how insane it must have been to shoot. You’re not only playing an interesting character, but you have to learn all these medical terms that you’re not that familiar with. They are hard to learn, those scenes. And we did occasionally shoot one operation after another, but you have to really put time into them. You’ve got to look and sound completely convincing. I really thought so highly of the writers — the rhythms were often good. Oftentimes when the writing is good, even if it’s technical stuff around the operation, the rhythm is easier to learn. And it’s really difficult to learn if it’s stilted.

How much rehearsal was involved in shooting the actual scenes? There are some really long takes during those surgery sequences. He’s very, very quick, Steven. Those operation days, I’d say yes, the first hour or two of that day were crucial, because that’s where you’d dictate how everything plays — the technical side of it, the rhythm of the dialogue. But genuinely, we’d go and rehearse the scene a number of times, and Steven would have a look at it from a number of perspectives and make a very clear decision and take a very strong perspective on where he wants to shoot the scene from, and then shoot it fairly quickly.

Have you and Steven talked about what’s in store for season two? Yeah, I’ve got five scripts in front of me here. It’s just very exciting because it was such a bold take on a period genre in a way. I thought it was so visceral and edgy. It’s brilliant to be able to come this far. The exciting thing is we can hit the ground running. We’ve already done so much work in taking it to very interesting, unusual and dangerous places. It’s really exciting.

Are you worried about being able to top the first season? No, we’ve got such a wealth of opportunity. It just goes to really interesting and crazy places, and there is still so much there. We are lucky [the writers] literally immersed themselves in the time. There was stuff they were trying to cram in the first season that they can go to. It’s just really great stuff. There’s an awful lot still.

Books I read in quarantine: Part 1

So on Friday, March 13, 2020 something not that chill happened. We all know what that was. Anyway for me the silver lining was that I got a lot of my TBR knocked out by not being at work. I read over 150 books from mid-march to mid-october.

1. We Should All Be Feminists by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: yes, it had been on my list for a while, yes it was awesome, yes, its still worth the read

2. Dragonquest by Anne McCaffrey: eh. listen. she’s one of the most prominent women in fantasy/sci-fi writing and that’s great. and maybe some the later books aren’t quite such a product of their time. but there are some aspects to the dragon “bonding” that feel especially uncomfortable and there’s a lot of violence toward women. so.

3. Briar’s Book by Tamora Pierce: I was in the midst of a Circle of Magic reread. Unfortunately for me, this one is about a plague. It’s still one of the best CoM books and I enjoy it immensely. Its definitely going to be harder to read from now on

4. The Tiger’s Daughter by K. Arsenault Rivera: loved this. empress and ruler of the steppes as lesbians that also battle demons? i needed a family tree, but that’s normal for me. still need to get to the next one in this series.

5. Fablehaven by Brandon Mull:  middle grade fantasy novel. i hesitate to say lighthearted because there are definitely some heavy themes, but all the fantasy creatures you encounter are cool AF and this one at least doesn’t end on a cliffhanger.

6. Magic Steps by Tamora Pierce: less strong than some of the others in the Emelan series, but has some cool worldbuilding that got better fleshed out in the Beka Cooper Tortall books. featuring UNMAGIC. v dark. also dance magic. and romance between two older characters

7. The Bookshop on the Corner by Jenny Colgan: delightful romance, not super explicit, very wish fulfillment if your wish is to run away from your life in london and live off the proceeds of a mobile bookstore in a tiny town. which. is not unappealing.

8. Street Magic by Tamora Pierce: features 9 cats, street urchins, and a VERY TERRIFYING wealthy widow straight up murdering kids for fun and games, stone magic

9. Scythe by Neal Shusterman: okay so take our world and then solve all physical ailments and have everything run by the cloud. except that death is still a thing but only if you are picked by a Scythe. first book in a trilogy. fast paced, amazing, violent (someone gets their head cut off), standard dystopia stuff. you’ll want to have the next two books ON YOUR SHELF

10. Wink Poppy Midnight by April Genevieve Tucholke: there is definitely someone out there who will like this more than me. one of them is my roommate. it was just too dark of a friendship/enemyship for me. lots of unreliable narrators. and like, they were just kind of horrible to each other? the actual plot was kinda cool and i definitely would have liked it more if it ended lighter

11. The Word for World is Forest by Ursula K. LeGuin: a giant of fantasy and science fiction. this was my first of her sci-fi stuff and the first of the hainish cycle that i’ve read. quick read. definitely makes you think.

12. The Haunting of Tram Car 015 by P. Djèlí Clark: number two in a series, but i didn’t know that going in. absolutely going to read the others. a cairo where all sorts of spirits and demons exist and actively interact with the “normal” world.

13. The Girl Who Reads on the Métro by Christine Féret-Fleury: i’ve never been to france but this feels VERY french. magical realism about bringing the right book to the perfect reader. super cute.

14. Fire Starter by P. Anastasia: first of a series. i wanted to like this better based on the magic system. romance felt forced. also it turned out to be aliens. which like, not a problem, but don’t spend 100 pages telling me its magic and then boom alien virus. maybe the others are better, but i’m not going to find out.

15. The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros: i had to read this in middle school and definitely didn’t appreciate it enough. highly recommended.

16. A Witch’s Guide to Escape: A Practical Compendium of Portal Fantasies by Alix E. Harrow: a fantastic short story about reading, libraries, magic and supporting teenagers who need it. you can read it online or as part of Apex Magazine Issue 105 from Feb 2018.

17. On a Sunbeam by Tillie Walden: really long graphic novel about a found family in space trying to do a good job repairing various buildings and stuff. enough queer content for anybody really. gorgeous art.

18. Doughnut by Tom Holt: book 1 in the YouSpace series. very discworld-esq except that its our own world plus a pocket dimension that’s only accessible with a lot of math and a prayer. hilarious at times, but a decidedly darker tone than discworld so just be aware if that’s not what youre looking for

19. The Girl Who Could Move Sh*t with Her Mind by Jackson Ford: teenage girl in california has powers that let her move things with her mind. works as part of a government program with a whole band of misfits. she thought she was the only one and then someone else starts doing crime (TM) and murder with telekinesis and she has to stop them. found family toward the end. graphic violence toward the end. wildfires.

20. Ballad of the Whiskey Robber: A True Story of Bank Heists, Ice Hockey, Transylvanian Pelt Smuggling, Moonlighting Detectives, and Broken Hearts by Julian Rubinstein: what it says on the tin, basically. NONFICTION. this dude in europe had way too many day jobs that were actually crime and his story is WILD. last update i saw was that he was still alive, paroled from jail, and making pottery??

21. The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon: 800+ pages of epic eastern fantasy. some dragons. a witchy big bad. betrayal. queer romance as a main plotline. magic. seriously good.

22. Transcription by Kate Atkinson: flashback within a flashback within a flashback and reversing that path as you move through the book. woman just wants a secretary job during the war. somehow ends up as a spy??? i liked it, i keep meaning to get more of her books

23. Every Heart a Doorway by Seanan McGuire: first in the wayward children series. under 200 pages if you’re looking for a quick read. what happens to kids that have gone through a door, had an adventure, and then forced back into our world? they don’t quite fit. and when that happens they go to Eleanor West’s School. fantastic series that is still being added to (number 7 comes out next year). can be very dark/sinister at times. but theres a lot of queer representation and found family stuff to balance out.

24. Down Among the Sticks and Bones by Seanan McGuire: book 2 in the wayward children series. focuses on Jack and Jill’s backstory of their time before book 1. they are from The Moors where a Vampire Lord and a Mad Scientist are battling against each other to keep the balance of the world with a village of innocents between them

25. Go Fish by Ian Rogers: short story published on Tor.com about a group of paranormal investigators. there’s a fish factory that no one will go in because it’s haunted and/or cursed and people have been dying from going in there

Runeterra Retcons: Ruination Episode (Ionia)

Ionia Part I

After discussing it heavily with your comrades, you all agree that your next destination should be Ionia. The light of the Wayfinder encompasses you all as it carries you across the sea to the Ionian Sentinel outpost, where you are surprised to find that nothing seems amiss on the shores.

“Looks like the Black Mist hasn’t gotten here yet.”

“Wow, so this is Ionia? It’s beautiful!”

Riven response 1: “I can’t say I’m surprised. Ionia’s always been resistant to invaders…”

Riven response 2: “Yeah… But it wasn’t always like this…”

Gwen: “Oh what an absolutely splendid place! I’ve never been anywhere this majestic before!”

Senna: “They call Ionia the First Lands, and some say it’s the birthplace of magic itself. I guess it’s no surprise that this place is a sort of safe haven against the Harrowing.”

Olaf: “Wait! Look there!”

Olaf points further inland, where you see a great cloud of Black Mist descending onto a vibrant forest.

Vayne: “So much for a safe haven…”

Senna: “No time to stand around and gawk! Let’s move, Sentinels!”

Senna takes the lead as you all charge ahead, ascending the winding mountain path. All around you, wild animals scatter and flee as the Black Mist pours through the forest. The once-vibrant flora withers and distorts around you while the very air seems to linger with malice.

Suddenly, you feel a gnarled tree root spring to life and wrap around your leg, pulling you down. A shrill scream fills the air as you hit the ground and feel yourself being dragged back down the path. Before you vanish completely into the brush, however, Lucian frees your leg with a well-timed shot.

Lucian: “You alright, rookie? That was, uh, quite a scream just now.”

“Thanks, I owe you.”

“That, uh, wasn’t me.”

Lucian response 1: “Don’t mention it. Now let’s keep moving.”

Lucian response 2: “Heh, sure it wasn’t...”

Before you can say anything more, another identical scream cuts through the air. You all turn to see a peculiar figure bounding through the forest. Her upper half resembles that of a young woman, but her lower body is that of a fawn. She holds in her possession a branch with a peculiar bloom attached to it.

???: “Oh dear, oh dear!”

“Is that a person?”

“Is that an animal?”

Vayne: “Whatever it is, it’s heading right for us.”

Sure enough, the strange figure is bounding toward you at an alarming rate, looking back over her shoulder. She turns her head just in time to see the Sentinels and comes skidding to a stop.

???: “Eep!”

“Eep!”

“Woah, that was close!”

“She… Is… Adorable!”

Lillia: “W-Who are you!? Ah, wait, no! Just… Pretend you can’t see them, Lillia! If you can’t see them, they can’t see you.”

Vayne: “Sorry to lay this on you, but that’s not how it works.”

Riven: “Hang on, something else is coming!”

You look up to see the Black Mist descending toward you, carrying with it a swarm of wraiths.

Lillia: “Oh no! They’ve followed me!”

Gwen: “Please, stand behind us, funny fawn person! We will make short work of these fiends!”

Ionia Part II

The Sentinels charge into the fray, cutting and blasting their way through the swarm of wraiths. As they fight, however, you notice more of the local wildlife succumbing to the Black Mist, warping the surrounding forests beyond recognition.

Lillia: “No… Stop! Please stop!”

“Are you OK?”

“Hey, everything’s going to be alright.”

Lillia: “No… Can’t you feel it? The dreams of the trees, the animals… It’s like… One very bad dream is blocking out all the others!”

Lucian: “Rookie, what’s she talking about?”

Senna: “Nevermind, just stay focused! We need push deeper into this forest and find that fetter!”

The Sentinels quickly resume their fight, though Lillia’s ears perk up when she hears Senna’s words.

Lillia: “What? You’re… Going DEEPER into the forest? B-But it’s dangerous!”

Vayne: “Exactly! Where monsters go, so do we!”

Riven: “If the Black Mist is here, that must mean another one of these fetters is too, right? Then we have to find it and get it out of here, or all of Ionia will be in danger! That’s… Not something I want to see again!”

Gwen: “Quite right! Fear not, funny fawn girl! We shan’t let a few wraiths impede us!”

Lillia: “But… Why?”

“We’re Sentinels. Fighting ghosts is what we do!”

“We’re here to save Ionia, and the world, from the Black Mist!”

Lillia: “You… You aren’t afraid?”

“Not in the slightest!”

“Quite a bit, actually, but I can’t turn back now!”

Lillia: “That’s… That’s quite brave of you. …Alright. Everyone, please follow me! I think I know what the ghouls are after!”

Lillia suddenly darts off into the forest, waving her branch to clean a path through the Mist.

Riven: “Should we follow her?”

Senna: “Well… If she can lead us to the fetter, it’s a risk I’m willing to take! Move out, Sentinels!”

Ionia Part III

Lillia guides you through the forest, using the branch in her hands to keep the hostile wildlife at bay. You follow her into a cave, where your only source of light comes from Lillia’s bloom. Though it’s dark and damp, you’re surprised to find that the Black Mist seems to linger about the entrance, refusing to step inside.

Vayne: “Are we sure about this isn’t a trap?”

“We’ve already come all this way…”

“Hey, she’s cute! How can you say no to those big eyes?”

Olaf: “Hmph. If this is a trap, there had better be a worth foe at this tunnel’s end!”

Lillia: “...”

Lucian: “Hey, fawn girl!”

Lillia: “Eep! O-Oh, you mean me?”

Lucian: “Yeah. Are you sure there’s a fetter in here?”

Lillia: “Uh, well… I’m not sure what sort of ‘fetter’ you mean, but I think… I know that the ghouls want what’s up ahead.”

Vayne: “And just how do you know that?”

“Come on guys, have some faith in her.”

“The Mist didn’t want to come in here, so there’s gotta be something special about this place.”

Riven: “Wait, do you see that?”

Up ahead, the path widens out into a grotto illuminated by giant crystals in the cave wall.

“What is this place?”

“It’s breathtaking…”

Riven: “Yeah, Ionia really is beautiful. It’s a shame that some people would destroy that beauty just to take it for themselves…”

Up ahead, you see that the cave floor turns from stone to grass. Somehow, a small meadow has bloomed in the heart of the mountain, illuminated by the glow of the crystals.

Gwen: “Goodness, these gems would make for a marvelous addition to a dress! Oh, but I suppose that would ruin their natural beauty. A shame.”

Lucian: “It’s pretty, alright, but where’s the fetter?”

As if on cue, the light in Senna’s chest starts to glow, as does Gwen’s. Nearby, you see a single flower near the heart of the grotto begin to glow with the same calming light.

Senna: “There it is! That’s the fetter!”

“A rose? How can a rose be a fetter?”

“So Isolde’s soul has been hiding in a flower for centuries?”

Lillia: “This flower is very old. It was brought here long ago from a far-away land. I can see its dreams too, you know. Dreams so pure, full of love and light… Happy memories. It dreams of man and woman who cherished each other more than anything. Isn’t that… Such… A lovely dream?”

You watch in horror as a ghastly crown forms around Lillia’s head. Suddenly, Black Mist fills the cave, engulfing Lillia and transforming her in an instant.

Lillia: “Such a lovely dream, and you all are trying to ruin it! How… How could you!?”

“Lillia, wait! Let’s talk this out!”

“Aw man! Why is it always the cute ones!?”

Vayne: “I knew we couldn’t trust her!”

Vayne takes aim with her crossbow, but before she can fire a single shot, Lillia waves her branch in a wide arc. A mysterious, glittering dust washes over you and the other Sentinels, as does a strange sense of drowsiness.

Olaf: “Argh! What… Is this…?”

Gwen: “Oh my. Suddenly… So… Tired…”

“So… Sleepy.”

“Can’t… Stay… Awake.”

Despite your best efforts, you soon succumb to the effects of Lillia’s dream dust. Soon, you and the other Sentinels fall onto the floor of the cave and descend into a deep slumber…

Ionia Part IV

You find yourself wandering the streets of your hometown, alone. Wherever you go, the people have locked their doors and refuse to open up. You are cold and scared, and those feelings only grow as you notice the ominous Black Mist coursing toward you.

You try to run, but the Mist is faster. You hear inhuman screams behind you, and look back to see vaguely humanoid figures emerging from the haze. You force your legs into overdrive, only to wind up tripping and following on a loose stone. Your cry out in pain as you hit the ground, but your scream is drowned out by the wails of the undead behind you.

Dread hangs over you a like a pall. Death seems inevitable, though you know that death is not the end if these creatures take you. You will become one of them, hunting other poor souls to join the ranks of the undead. You close your eyes and wait, only for the sound of gunfire to fill your ears.

You open your eyes and look up. The wraiths cry out in pain as bolts of light pierce them, driving them back. You find yourself surrounded by figures in strange uniforms, carrying weapons unlike any you’ve every seen.

“W-Who are you?”

“Where did you come from?”

Though their face is hazy, you see one of the figures turn to look at you.

???: “We’re the Sentinels of Light. Don’t worry, we’ll handle the undead. You just find a safe place to hide and wake up.”

“Huh?”

“What do you mean?”

???: “Wake up. Come on, Rookie, nap time is over!”

Your eyes slowly open as you regain consciousness. You see Lucian and Senna standing over you.

Senna: “Good to see you’re still with us.”

“How long was I out?”

“What happened?”

Lucian response 1: “Too damn long. That deer girl made off with fetter while we are all dozin’ off.”

Lucian response 2: “That deer girl put us all to sleep then nabbed the fetter, that’s what.”

Gwen: “And she seemed so nice! What an awful turn things have taken.”

???: “Indeed. The future of the realms hangs in the balance.”

“Uh, who is this?”

“Is that a freaking ninja!?”

Shen: “Apologies if I have startled you, child. I am the Eye of Twilight, but you may call me Shen.”

Vayne: “After Deer Girl put us all to sleep, this ninja’s the one who came to wake us up. I don’t like being in debt, but I guess we owe you now.”

Shen: “You owe me nothing. I acted as needed to maintain balance, nothing more.”

Riven: “Apparently, he’s part of the Kinkou. I’ve heard of them. They’re a group devoted to maintaining order in Ionia, though from what I understand, they didn’t do much when Noxus invaded these shores.”

Shen: “The Kinkou protect the balance between the material and immaterial realms. Mortal wars are not our concern… But this Harrowing threatens to consume Ionia itself.”

Shen gestures outside and, to your horror, you see that the Black Mist has nearly complete covered the forest. The once-vibrant colors of the trees are now faded and lifeless and the sounds of nature are replaced by the cries of wraiths.

“It’s awful…”

“How did this happen so fast?”

Shen: “The spirit of Ionia is tainted, and the land is a reflection of that spirit. What’s more, azakana will feed on the negativity brought forth by this, granting demons more power than ever.”

Senna: “This is what’ll happen to the entire world if we don’t stop Viego. That’s why we need to find that fetter, and quickly!”

Gwen: “But… That Not-so-Funny Faun took it! How are we supposed to find her amidst all of that?”

Vayne: “Hate to say it, but she’s right. If we have to fight through all of that, then Deer Girl will be long-gone by the time we catch her trail.”

Shen: “Fear not, for the Eye of Twilight sees all, even through the darkest shadows. The Dream Faun makes for the coast, though I sense an even greater darkness approaching. You, who are sword to defend the light, will you accompany me to confront this darkness?”

Gwen: “A greater darkness? You couldn’t possibly mean...”

Lucian: “Viego! We gotta get the beach, now!”

Riven: “But how are we going to get there through all this Mist?”

Shen: “Fret not, for I walk the space between world. Gather close to me.”

Though uncertain of his meaning, you and the other Sentinels do as asked, stepping close to Shen as he makes unusual gestures with his hands. Suddenly, you are all engulfed in violet light as Shen whisks you through the spirit realm.

Ionia Part V

You feel formless. Weightless. All around you are sights and colors your mind can scarcely comprehend. Some set your mind at ease, while others terrify you. This sensation lasts for only a moment before you reemerge in the physical realm, surrounded once more by your comrades.

“Hey, long-distance teleporting is my thing!”

“That… Was awesome!”

“That was… Bizarre!”

Riven: “Ugh… I think I’ll stick to the Wayfinder from now on, thanks.”

Shen: “Gather yourselves! The Dream Fawn is just ahead!”

Sure enough, you see Lillia standing on the beach, staring out at the ocean. She clutches the fetter tightly in one hand and her branch in the other.

Lucian: “She doesn’t know we’re here. I say we take her by surprise and-”

Olaf: “RETRIBUTION AWAITS!”

Suddenly, Olaf rushes ahead, screaming at the top of his lungs. Lillia leaps in surprise and turns around to see the berserker rushing at her. Instinctively, she launches a seed from her branch that rolls along the sand, growing large in size as it travels.

“Olaf, look out!”

“Don’t let it hit you!”

Olaf utterly ignores your warning and runs into the seed head-on. To your amazement, he just keeps running even as the seed explodes into dream dust.

Lillia: “W-What!? T-That’s not possible!”

Lucian: “That’s a berserker for ya. Once they get riled up, nobody can stop them.”

Olaf is just about to reach Lillia when, suddenly, the tide behind her swells to life and comes ashore. Olaf is swept back in a massive wave of darkened away, though Lillia somehow remains completely dry.

Lucian: “The ocean, on the other hand…”

Shen: “The Spirit of Ionia is tainted. The trees, the air, the waters… They now bend to HIS will.”

You look ahead to see a familiar figure emerging from the Black Mist, the sea itself parting to make way for him.

“Viego!”

“The Ruined King!”

Olaf: “Pfft! Pah! So, he’s the one who bested the Barbarian King? I thought he would be… Bigger.”

Viego: “Ah, what a pleasant surprise! I travel all this way to find that my prize is already waiting for me.”

Lillia: “Y-Yes, sir. I am here to help your dream bloom.”

Shen: “Stop! You have desecrated the balance, and now you shall pay for your transgressions!”

Viego: “Balance? Fool. Without her, there is no balance. She is the light to my darkness, the joy to my anguish. If you would stand against me, then YOU are the one who shall pay the price!”

Shen and Viego dash across the beach toward each other, their blades ringing out as they clash.

Senna: “Let’s back him up, Sentinels!”

You and the other Sentinels quickly rush to aid Shen, but find yourself impeded by the corrupted Spirit of Ionia. Fierce bursts of wind repeatedly knock you off your feat while rocks along the beach form together into twisted constructs.

Riven: “Ngh…”

“Are you alright?”

“Riven, what’s wrong?”

Riven: “Fighting on the beaches of Ionia, pushing back against the will of the land itself… This whole scenario is bringing back a lot of unhappy memories.”

Senna: “Shake it off, Riven! We need to push past this!”

The Sentinels continue to struggle against the will of the land, but only Shen seems undeterred by it. The Eye of Twlight engages the Ruined King in a fierce battle, both of them vanishing and reappearing all over the beach.

“I can barely keep track of them!”

“This isn’t working!”

Viego: “See how your homeland bends to my will, Ionian! Your allies can lend you no aid. Mine, on the other hand…”

Lillia leaps into the air behind Shen, slamming her branch down on the beach. Shen staggers as Lillia’s dream dust washes over him, falling to one knee as he struggles to stay awake. Meanwhile, Viego turns his attention to your group, his gaze fixing itself upon Senna and Gwen. They fail to notice, too busy fending off the endlessly-regenerating stone constructs on the beach.

“Gwen, look out!”

“Senna, look out!”

Option 1: Viego rushes toward Gwen, but thanks to your warning, she manages to parry the blow and push Viego back her Hallowed Mist.

Option 2: Viego rushes toward Senna, but thanks to your warning, she manages to evade his strike and fire a back in retaliation.

Viego grunts in annoyance and vanishes into the Black Mist once more. To your surprise, he reappears before you, lifting you up by the throat.

Viego: “Such a peculiar child. Your little band is strange enough, but you… You do not even carry a weapon. Still, you seek to defy me, all the same.”

Vayne: “Put the kid down, creep!”

The Sentinels all rush to your aid, but soon find themselves impeded by a wall of sand rising up around you.

Viego: “Many choose to stand against me and my noble quest. Some do it to ‘save’ this cruel world. Others merely resent me, though their hearts are as dark as my own. So tell me, child: why do you oppose me? Justice? Righteousness? Contempt?”

“…”

“What you’re doing is wrong!”

Viego: “Hmph. A predictable response. No matter. Whatever your reasons, you will serve as an example!”

Viego raises his sword to impale you, but another blade suddenly manifests above your head: an ephemeral weapon that lingers in the air. A pulse of spirit magic frees you from Viego’s grasp and destroys the sand barrier. Viego vanishes into the Mist once more, and in his place stands Shen, grasping the shimmering blade.

Shen: “Stand up. Your role is far from over.”

The other Sentinels quickly reconvene around you as you climb to your feet.

Gwen: “Rookie! Goodness, are you alright?”

“I’m alright, thanks to Shen.”

“Still shaking, but otherwise fine.”

Viego: “You think you are safe? None of you shall escape my grasp!”

Suddenly, you notice several giant crabs erupting the sand around you, their eyes flickering with the ghastly light of Ruination.

Senna: “This isn’t working! Sentinels, I’m calling a tactical retreat! We can’t fight Viego AND the damn beach at the same time! Rookie, get us out of here!”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you raise the Wayfinder and let its light wash over you just as the crabs begin to close in. In an instant, you and your allies vanish, leaving Viego alone with Lillia on the harrowed beach.

Lillia: “Oh dear. They got away, sir…”

Viego takes the flower from her grasp and sniffs it longingly.

Viego: “No matter. I am one step closer to realizing my dream, little fawn. Come, let us resume our search elsewhere.”

Viego turns and walks away into the Black Mist with Lillia behind him, leaving a Ruined Ionia in his wake.

Back as Sentinel headquarters, you breath a sigh of relief to have narrowly escaped the Ruined King.

Senna and Olaf: “DAMN IT!”

Senna: “We almost had him!”

Olaf: “I almost had my glorious death!”

Riven: So that was the Ruined King… I can’t believe he has that much power.”

Vayne: “He didn’t the last time we faced him. Somehow, that monster’s gotten even stronger.”

Gwen: “Goodness, are you alright, Rookie? That was quite fright!”

“Honestly, I’m still shaking a little.”

“Y-yeah, I’m t-totally fine!”

Shen: “Overcoming fear is the first step to attaining inner balance.���

Everyone: “…”

Senna: “Hang on, how do you get here?”

Shen: “The same way you all did, naturally.”

Shen gestures to the Wayfinder.

“Oh, guess he got caught in the light too. My bad.”

“Huh. I, uh, totally meant to bring you back with us too.”

Shen: “I am here because Balance wills it.”

Riven: “Hang on, are you saying that…”

Shen: “I… Was not strong enough to defeat this imbalance on my own. Ionia has been consumed by darkness, but its spirit has not yet been wholly subsumed. I will do all that I must to preserve it, even allying with your order.”

Vayne: “You want to be a Sentinel? I guess we could do worse, though I don’t know if one ninja will make that much of a difference.”

Gwen: “Oh, another new addition to the team! How wonderful! Please, come with me, and we’ll get you fitted right away!”

You all watch as Shen departs with Gwen, emerging moments later with his new Sentinel attire.

Gwen: “Tadaa! I present to you: Sentinel Shen!”

You can’t help but note that her display lacks the same level of enthusiasm as usual, but opt not to comment on it.

Shen: “It is an honor to fight alongside you.”

Lucian: “Right… Well, let’s get you sworn in, I guess.” (But after that, we’re all gonna need to rethink our plan.)

Final Fantasy Writing Challenge Day Twenty-One: “To succeed in life, you need three things; a wishbone, a backbone and a funny bone.” -- Reba McEntire

Day Twenty -- Masterpost -- Day Twenty-Three

The courtyard emptied quickly now that the citizens of the Crystarium were well assured that their Exarch, the Scions and the Warriors of Darkness were well. Or, at least, as well as people who had been through a harrowing experience and a long journey back to the city could look like. As usual, no one asked any probing questions. With all of the details that would have needed explaining, such a lack of outright curiosity was a relief.

Y’shotla let loose the breath (and tension) that she had held practically since the final confrontation with Emet-Selch. The other adults were doing much the same. Lara and Roger’s souls were completely fine, even after all of the damage that had been done from the corruption of Light. No aether leaked from their beings, and the brightness they projected was at far more ordinary levels when it came to the two of them.

(She likened the sudden repair of souls to filling in the cracks of a near-shattered vase with more clay, and fusing with heat. 

Perhaps that wasn’t the best of metaphors, but it made the most sense to her.)

Even the Crystal Exarch (now known to the Scions by his true name G’raha Tia) had fully recovered on the journey back. Being this close to the Crystal Tower had turned his sickly pale skin back to its healthy color. His aether was also back to levels that she was far more used to seeing it in him. 

She still had many a question about his side of the mess, but an interrogation held when the four youngest members of the group were practically unconscious on their feet would be in poor form. Perhaps she would ask later. When she herself was also less weary.

“We should be off to rest,” Thancred suggested. “Now that we know that there will be a morrow, there’s plenty more we can get up to.” He nodded at Ryne. “Not the least of which is seeing what lies beyond the Flood of Light.”

That snapped the red-haired girl out of her tired daze. “Really? You’re serious?”

He cracked a grin. “Absolutely.”

Just before Ryne could give her quite obvious answer, a hand fell on the girl’s shoulder. She stopped to blink and look towards who the hand was attached. The owner was Lara, looking as if she could sleep for a week. Perhaps she would, if given a chance. Still, she smiled back at Ryne’s confused expression before turning to Thancred with a resolute proclamation. “Actually, Roger and I have plans for Ryne first.”

“You do?” “We do?”

Both Roger and Thancred spoke at the same time, with much the same amount of confusion. The young man clearly hadn’t been paying attention--he was just as tired as his sister, and the sudden talk of plans had left him high and dry. Or so Y’shtola could tell just from watching his expressions change. 

From the corner of her eye, she could see the Leveilleur twins and Urianger give each other equally perplexed expressions. G’raha Tia’s ears had lifted up and his head tilted in curiosity. A curious thing, to see his full expression. She made a mental note about it before tuning back into what was happening. 

Lara, thankfully, was not so tired as to be impatient with her brother. “Remember the other day when we made plans for a day of just us younger folk?”

Roger still had a blank expression.

“Where we wanted to invite Ryne, Alphie and Ali over to our apartment after...?”

It took a few more seconds than it probably should have, but he eventually snapped out of his fugue state. “OH! THOSE PLANS!” His voice echoed around them as he clamped his mouth shut with his hands. A scarlet blush covered his entire face and Y’shtola could help the chuckle bubbling in her chest. The nicknames and the reaction was just too adorable. She managed to cover her mouth with a hand just in time.

Alisaie was the first to respond. “You seriously had to wait until just after nearly dying for the umpteenth time to invite us over to your place?” Her words and tone were harsh, but the quickly growing smile on her face betrayed how pleased she was at the prospect. “You’re not even going to sleep first?”

“To be clear,” Lara held up a finger with the hand not currently on the utterly shocked Ryne’s shoulder. “This invitation is for at least the day after tomorrow. When I lay down in my bed later I’m not getting up for a whole day.” 

“Hah, I’m already pretty much asleep…” Roger commiserated. 

“So.” She turned her attention back to Ryne. “I know you want to explore what’s out in the rest of the world, but I would like to officially invite you to join Alphinaud, Alisaie, Roger and I on a day of nothing in particular but being friends, followed by a sleepover at our apartment. Want to come?” 

“When did this turn into a sleepover?” Alisaie mock protested.

Alphinaud was mumbling to himself. A quick readjustment of one of her ears helped Y’shtola hear the quiet words, “I don’t think I’ve ever been invited to a sleepover…” 

Ryne’s entire face, along with some of her neck and shoulders, went about as red as her hair. Her voice was about as quiet as when Y’shtola first knew her as Minfilia. “I...um…”

Seeing the girl’s distress, Lara let go of her shoulder and lifted her arms in panicked surrender. “Whoa wait, you don’t need to--that is…” Her eyes darted around, not meeting Ryne’s. “You don’t need to answer right now! I don’t even know when we’ll get to it! Don’t feel obligated to say yes if you don’t want to go!” Her words were turning jumbled and rambly. The tiredness did not help on top of Lara’s natural way of showing nervousness.

“I thinketh that what young Lara means to say is that thine invitation is open regardless of thine answer.” Urianger smoothly inserted his conclusion as the ramble was becoming too high pitched for even Y’shtola to hear. Lara shut her mouth and nodded quickly. “She only wishes to inform that thine company would be most appreciated whilst also enjoying the company of the Leveilleur twins.”

“Wh-what he said. Sort of.” Lara mumbled.

“And perhaps it would be best to ask and answer when all have been well rested.” Y’shtola announced, giving a significant look to Thancred. He at least had the wherewithal to narrow his eyes back at her. “Not to sound like a mother hen, but it’s well past time for all of you to sleep.” she shooed the children off in the direction of the apartments. “Let’s worry about all of this later.”

G’raha Tia cleared his throat, having spent the past conversation nervously running his hands up and down his forearms. “Fully agreed.” He gave a timid smile. The friendliness he was trying to portray was offset by how nearly flat his ears were on top of his head. “Though when plans of any sort have been finalized, I will be full glad to offer any assistance or supplies that the Crystarium can spare.” 

“The offer is seconded.” Y’shtola used her Master Matoya voice to make her point. Only the Leveilleur twins seemed to have been listening. It was only a little disappointing. 

“W-we should, probably go. Sleep that is.” Lara still wasn’t looking in Ryne’s direction. “We’ll let you know when the sleepover is happening. C’mon, Roger.” She turned and grabbed her brother with one arm. He was so tired that protesting was out of the question.

“We should be heading off ourselves.” Alphinaud yawned. Alisaie rubbed at an eye and nodded sleepily.

“I shall accompany thee.” Urianger volunteered and followed once the twins had set off for their own sleeping quarters.

Thancred waited until Ryne had recovered before gently saying, “Let’s sleep on that, eh? Give yourself some time to think about what you wish to do.”

“Okay…” She mumbled. Satisfied, he walked ahead while the girl kept a somewhat slower pace. It looked as if she had been handled an overly difficult puzzle to work through. Y’shtola hoped that the rest would help her.

Then it was herself and the Crystal Exarch. His ears were still fairly flat, but they lifted a little as he smiled at her. “I suppose I should bid you goodnight, Y’shtola.”

Instead of returning the farewell, she responded, “You’re no longer obligated to keep the Warriors of Darkness at arm’s length anymore, you know.”

His ears rose as high as they could before falling back even flatter than before. G’raha Tia clutched his staff closer to him, as if anticipating an attack. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.” The lie was as obvious as the white in his red hair or the nose on his face. She kept her eye roll to herself. 

“If that’s what you wish to tell yourself, then fine. Just replay this scene in your memory when you try to put Roger and Lara on your high pedestal again.” She turned a heel towards the aetheryte. “Blessed night, Exarch.”

She didn’t have to look to know that he was staring at her until the light of the crystal carried her off back to Slitherbough.

-----

Y’shtola didn’t hear much about the slumber party until a while afterword. All of the participants had kept most of the details close to their chest. She didn’t blame them. The whole point of the endeavor was to spend time away from the adults, and divulging would have been against the point.

Still, she managed to glean some information. 

Ryne had decided to join. Her reaction had come from being overwhelmed by both the trip that Thancred had suggested and Lara’s invitation. It made sense. The poor girl had been raised as a weapon and a tool. Family and friends hadn’t been a part of her life until very recently. Having a choice between one or the other? Utterly mind-boggling. Thankfully (and wisely) Thancred had postponed their plans to travel past the Flood of Light til after the slumber party.

Lara had insisted that it was to be a casual event, and so made certain that armor and weapons were put away the entire time. When Ryne had brought up that she only had the one kind of dress to her name (she had several copies in case of damage), apparently Lara had balked and then let the girl have a set of her own clothes that she hardly wore anymore. Y’shtola, under the guise of needing to secure supplies from the Crystarium, had even witnessed the girl wearing it. If one wasn’t aware of Ryne’s status as the Oracle of Light, they would know it instantly from how much joy she was radiating at that moment.

More details had yet to be uncovered by her, but the next day after the slumber party all five of the young people sported changed hairstyles that went back to normal far too soon for Y’shtola’s liking. 

Other than the obvious moral increase in the young ones, a secondary positive effect happened thanks to that night. After having the Scions meet up with the Exarch for a standard extolling of information, he asked Roger and Lara to stay behind. Y’shtola wasn’t so untactful to stay behind and listen...but if she lingered but a moment as the door shut behind her and so happen to overhear G’raha Tia start to apologise to the both of them, then it was a happy coincidence that such a thing had occurred.

Why Tom Holland Was Terrified of Playing a Bank Robber in Cherry

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All of a sudden Tom Holland is everywhere. He’s got two movies out right now–the sci-fi thriller Chaos Walking and the drug/crime drama Cherry–and the latter is making its premiere on Apple TV+ this weekend after a limited run in theaters. He also recently wrapped production on the long-developing adaptation of the Uncharted video game franchise, and he’s currently working with director Jon Watts again on their third standalone Spider-Man adventure together, Spider-Man: No Way Home.

In Cherry, based on the best-selling semi-autobiographical novel by Nico Walker, Holland stars as the title character, a young Cleveland man who joins the Army after his girlfriend (Ciara Bravo) announces she is going away to college. He returns home from Iraq with PTSD, develops an opioid addiction, and eventually turns to bank robbery to support his habit.

The often harrowing film is directed by Anthony and Joe Russo, making it the first motion picture directed by the Cleveland-born brothers since 2019’s Avengers: Endgame. Cherry marks Holland’s fourth collaboration with the Russos, following Endgame, Captain America: Civil War (2016), and Avengers: Infinity War (2018), but his first time working with them without a superhero costume.

Cherry is also one of two recent movies, the other being last year’s grim The Devil All The Time, in which the British actor steps away from his generally sunny, innocent demeanor to take on a darker, more tormented character. We touched on that, working with the Russos, researching the world of addiction, and more–including little nuggets on No Way Home and Uncharted–when we hopped on Zoom recently with the young Mr. Holland.

Den of Geek: What did you respond to in the character of Cherry, as well as the script? What was your emotional and visceral response to his story?

Tom Holland: I think my initial response was that I was terrified of the idea of playing this character. It’s the type of role I’ve definitely never done before, and I was a little sort of apprehensive and questioned whether I could do it. Knowing that the Russo brothers were going to be there to support me through the job is what kind of tipped me over the edge into saying yes. But my initial response was, “I don’t think I’m the right person for this job because I don’t know if I can do that.”

You probably had a level of trust established with the Russos from working on the three Marvel pictures you did together. Did that make you feel comfortable right away?

Yeah. Absolutely. Still, I had that element of awe when it came to the Russos because they were the directors of the Avengers films, and I was still very much the new kid on the block when I was making those films. It was really nice for me to get to know them both on a more personal level and, obviously, that level of trust grew as the film progressed. It grew and it grew and it grew, and it’s now to the point where Joe and Anthony could ring me up, and I would be on set for them in a heartbeat. The trust between the three of us definitely grew.

How is their style of directing different on this? Was there more of a personal rapport because of the fact that they’re not dealing with the same kind of visual effects as in the Marvel movies or servicing 50 different characters?

I felt a little spoiled to be honest, because I was getting their utmost attention. But I mean, their direction style didn’t change in the way that they spoke to people, in the way that they addressed people, in the way that they treated people on set. But the style in which they would use the camera or the way they would get you to portray or work in a certain scene is very different because, obviously, it’s a very different type of film.

But from a logistical standpoint of how they made the film, they were basically the same two guys, just having fun. It’s nice to see two people who are so in love with cinema just having a good old play and figuring it out as they go along.

Was it interesting and maybe refreshing for you to do a film where you’re not in the Spider-Man suit for so much of the movie, and you’re not acting against a green screen?

Absolutely. Working on green screen and blue screens and wearing a spandex Spider-Man suit is amazing, and it’s awesome and I love it, but there’s something freeing about everything on set is what is in the shot, what is in the story. I don’t have to imagine anything, because everything is a tangible asset and is right there in front of me. It’s a different process, and I love both equally. But it was nice to kind of have a change of pace and dive into something a little bit smaller.

How was it working with Ciara on her first feature film? Was it easy to establish the rapport with her?

We were so lucky with Ciara. I remember when I watched her audition tape, when the boys had cast her, and they sent it to me just to say, “By the way, this is the girl who’s going to play Emily,” for the first time in my career, I was so intimidated. She just has this gravitas that she brought to the character in her take that was so amazing.

I was really excited to work with her and I was really happy when I found out that her and I were very similar and had a lot in common. We became very, very good friends, which was so valuable for us, because this film was such a difficult film to make, physically and emotionally. The fact that we got along so well meant that we could help each other through the process. She was like my emotional support person, and I was hers, and it was great. We were a little team.

Do you take a role like this, or something like The Devil All the Time, knowing that these are going to not just challenge you as an actor, but show a whole different side of you to an audience that maybe only knows you as Spider-Man?

I love playing Spider-Man, and I think it comes with its own set of challenges. I think sometimes people overlook that superhero films do require performance, a character arc, building up a backstory, an objective of where you want to go. It’s just these films are very different. They’re very different in style, but they’re not very different in the way that you make them. The process of making a film is pretty similar. They just spend less money, and it’s less blue screen. But, yeah. I enjoyed the sort of creative freedom of making a film a little bit darker.

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Did you get to meet and talk with Nico Walker? I know you did meet with some people with addiction problems, as well as some veterans.

I’ve never actually met with Nico. We were supposed to meet a few weeks ago, but for some reason, our schedules kind of got a bit jumbled up, and we couldn’t get together. But I hope to meet him. He’s obviously the one person that I’m really nervous about watching the film, because we took a portion of his life, and we turned it into this piece of art, and I hope it’s something that he likes.

But we did loads of research when it came to speaking to veterans and people suffering from PTSD and substance abuse, and it was so valuable in the making of this film, because I couldn’t have made this an authentic experience for the audience without having that information from those people. I’m very grateful that the men and women I spoke to were very open to talk about the things that they’d been through, which were sometimes very harrowing.

What did you learn that maybe you hadn’t known before and were able to apply to the part?

Wow. I could go on and on. I think one of the biggest things for me that helped drive a lot of the motivation in the scene was that once you’re hooked on heroin, all you can think about is getting more heroin. It was a really good kind of catalyst to tell these stories authentically. I think that was one of the most valuable things I took away from my research.

What was the most physically challenging aspect of the shoot?

The most physically demanding portion of the film was dope life, when I was losing all the weight, and I was skinny, and I was having to starve myself. And robbing the banks was tiring, because I was so weak from being so skinny and frail, I guess. So that would easily be the more physically demanding aspect of the film.

Apple TV+

You also play this character as he ages over 15 years. Is it fair to say this is the first time you’ve actually played a character who’s aged over that kind of span of time?

Absolutely. On The Lost City of Z, a James Gray film I did, there was quite a large progression in age, but I was no way the lead of that film. A lot of my stuff sort of happened off camera. Obviously in Cherry, you are with this character from the beginning to the end. That meant that I had to do a lot of the growing on screen, and it was difficult. It was tricky, because trying to play older, to me, felt very fake. That’s where I was so lucky to have my amazing makeup artist, Rachael Speke. She did a wonderful job of aging me up throughout the course of the film.

It was difficult, and I just had to trust the Russos and that they knew what they wanted and they were happy with what they were getting. But it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to do.

Is that something that you would like to apply to other characters? As you continue to play Spider-Man, would you like to see him age a little more noticeably, if it’s appropriate?

Yeah. Peter Parker is a character that everyone knows and loves. It would be really interesting to sort of find a side to him that people haven’t seen before. Whether or not we do that, I don’t know.

What can you say about Spider-Man: No Way Home in terms of how it expands the MCU and how it evolves Peter’s character?

Well, there’s not really much I can say, obviously. What I can say is that I’m having the time of my life making it. It’s so fun being back with Jacob [Batalon] and Zendaya, and [director] Jon Watts. The film is incredibly ambitious, and I’m delighted to say that we’re succeeding in making it. It’s going really well. We watched a fight scene that we had shot a few weeks ago, and I’ve never seen a fight scene quite like it in the MCU. I’m really excited for audiences to see that.

You also just recently wrapped Uncharted. What do you think people will see in that if they’re not fans of the video game?

Well, an interesting idea and one that I really think lends itself to our film, is that when you watch a video game film–if you’re a fan of the games–I often wonder, “Why would you watch the film?” Because it’s less immersive. You can go and be that character. Why would I just want to watch that character?

But what we’ve got is we’re telling the prequel story of how the character, Nathan Drake, became this worldwide known character. For the fans that love the games, they’re getting an aspect of the story that they’ve never seen before. And the people that haven’t played the games are getting a really nice introduction to a character. It kind of works for everyone.

It’s a really fun film, and the action is amazing, easily some of the coolest action I’ve done so far. I had a lovely chat with Tom Rothman, the chairman of Sony, he saw the film, and he’s over the moon with it. If the boss man is happy, then everyone is happy. We’re really good.

Cherry premieres on Apple TV+ on Friday, March 12.

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