#squalor is what we live in now boys | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

silverfoxstole · 10 months

Text

I came across some old interviews and things I'd typed up yonks ago the other day, so I thought you lot might be interested in reading them. 😁

THE JENNIFER SELWAY INTERVIEW

DAILY EXPRESS 11TH OCTOBER 2001

“IT’S NICE TO HAVE BROTHERS. WE STAND IN FOR EACH OTHER ON ACTING JOBS AND IN THE PAST WE HAVE EVEN SWAPPED GIRLFRIENDS”

Paul McGann was burgled a couple of weeks ago.

“Oh, no,” I coo, like you do. “It was just stuff,” he says casually, sounding like an old hippy, which is not unfeasible. After all, he’s 41 now, which surprises me when I think about it. 41! I had assumed he was younger, something to do with those boyish, studenty looks – something to do with being immortalised in Withnail and I.

The really bad thing about the raid on his home in Bristol was that the thieves made off with his wife Annie’s computer, and she (a writer) lost several weeks worth of work.

“There are some scumbags in the world,” says Paul mildly. “They came through the front door at night. The kids and I were in the house asleep. Though apparently – I asked the policeman about this – the real rush hour for burglaries is two o’clock in the afternoon. It makes sense when you think about it. You wouldn’t look twice at someone hanging about the house at that time. There are always people round our house.”

“Like who?”

“Mates, musicians…you know.”

No, I don’t know really. It sounds lovely. Mates and musicians chilling out at your house all afternoon, the twang of an acoustic guitar, probably joss sticks and instant coffee.

The funny thing about Paul McGann is that it’s difficult to tell whether he is really very intense and energetic or as laid back and ordinary blokey as he makes out. Take his face, which can look somewhat grey and severe one moment and then all young and smiley the next. He can switch from headmaster to naughtiest boy in the class by just lifting the corners of his mouth.

He is the second oldest of the McGann brothers, the Liverpudlian acting family. No one (I’ve enquired round the office about this) can ever remember how many there are though most people seem to throw in a few names like Mike [eh?], Joe and Steve.

Paul – he ought to be reliable on this one – says there are five McGann siblings including one sister. Mike [She means Joe] is the eldest by just 16 months. Amazingly, there don’t seem to have been any rifts or feuds over the years. Paul thinks that being part of a clan can be a positive advantage to an actor. “It’s true that if people don’t see you on screen for a while they forget about you. But if you’re a McGann you get four times the opportunity of being seen. We are pretty interchangeable.”

He pauses for a moment and studies my face for a reaction. “You think I’m joking, don’t you? But it’s true. We’ve stood in for each other on acting jobs. The last time was a couple of years ago and no one was any the wiser.” He says he can’t remember what TV show it was. But I have the suspicion that this may be a diplomatic memory lapse.

Boys will be boys. And being so close in age the McGanns have also shared, not only jobs, but girlfriends. “I don’t remember us exactly passing girls around. It was more a case of the girls taking themselves around under their own steam,” explains Paul.

Quite so. “Women love the McGanns,” said Richard E Grant, Paul’s co-star in Withnail and I, adding, “while my admirers are mostly old men in trenchcoats.”

Withnail and I, directed by Bruce Robinson in 1987, is one of those films that brings a smile to people’s faces at the mere mention of the title. A low-budget surprise hit, McGann and Grant played a couple of out-of-work actors living in majestic squalor who spend the entire film veering from one bender to the next.

“It’s one of those films which just cheers people up. It’s always a laugh if someone comes up to me and talks about it. I’m always glad to meet Withnail fans. The funny thing about Richard is that you can’t think of a better drunk act than him but in fact he is allergic to alcohol and never drinks. He can’t metabolise it. But you know almost everyone has had their Withnail era, lived in a terrible flat, endured the squalor, we’ve all met that drug dealer, we all stayed up too late. It’s great to have been in something that has got into folklore in the way that Withnail has.”

Not all of McGann’s projects have been so happy. In fact he has been dogged by the most awful bad luck. In the mid-eighties he was very much the bright young hope of British TV, starring on BBC1 as First World War soldier Percy Toplis in Alan Bleasdale’s controversial Monocled Mutineer. A move to Hollywood seemed on the cards and off he went in 1987 to appear in Steven Spielberg’s Empire of the Sun, though most of his screen time disappeared on the cutting room floor. A similar fate awaited his role in Alien 3.

And there was more bad luck to come, including a car crash in Spain in 1991. Three years later he was in the Ukraine filming Sharpe for ITV. “We had a day off and were out on the beach playing football when I ruptured my knee. It was horrible, it swelled up like a balloon and I just wanted my mum. I tried to soldier on but in the end I had to be flown back to London.”

Sean Bean took over the coveted role of the dashing Sharpe and McGann found himself embroiled in a protracted court case concerning his contractual obligations. “Let’s just say that none of us was aware how badly injured I was. It was tough because I needed the dough at the time – and there would have been a lot of it – and that would have got us out of a domestic hole. It sent me into a bit of a spin, to be honest.” McGann’s next doomed project was as Doctor Who in the Hollywood-produced version which became the centre of another lawsuit between the BBC and a consortium of backers. The film, made in 1996, was a flop.

“I can’t regret it. It was a laugh. If it had gone ahead I would have been committed to five or six years in the US and I’d have had to move the family there. I didn’t want to be Dr Who at first – it’s a bit like taking over the responsibility of becoming the Pope – and I thought it was a silly idea. After all, I’m a po-faced dramatic actor.”

Last year McGann starred in Fish, BBC’s off-beat legal drama which was pulled because of dismal audiences. Recently he filmed The Biographer, playing Andrew Morton at the time when he was writing his celebrated book about Princess Diana. The film has yet to be released.

“I’m glad I did it. The scripts might have been salacious and awful but they weren’t. You don’t see Diana at all – just a fleeting glance from a distance with her back to us.”

Now, finger crossed, he’s back in another new BBC drama, Sweet Revenge, playing Patrick Vine, an “expert” in revenge whose clients want more than the old tried-and-tested methods involving “cutting up clothes and dead fish”.

McGann himself has toyed with the idea of revenge in the past. In 1996 [Actually 1994] he was spotted kissing Catherine Zeta Jones and became the subject of intense media interest. That Catherine was an old friend and the kiss no more than a mwah-mwah peck did not prevent the McGanns’ lives being made a misery. “It caused my wife Annie and I – and Catherine – huge distress. It’s very upsetting to be at the centre of that kind of attention. And did I want revenge? Too right I did. I wanted to get out there and throttle someone. Rightly or wrongly, I chose to do nothing. I didn’t want to dignify it by making any kind of statement. In the end the whole thing petered out because it was a non-story.”

Together for 20 years, Paul and Annie have two sons – Joe, 12, and Jake, 10. Annie studied acting at the Bristol Old Vic and their move from London happened over a long period of time. “We were in our own Withnail phase and felt we had to rejuvenate and get out of London, so we used to go to Bristol for weekends. We created a kind of bolt hole and eventually just forgot to leave. Then, when Annie was first pregnant we had to be grown up and buy a house. It was at that time in the late eighties when houses were a ridiculous price. That’s the real reason we stayed on in Bristol – we just couldn’t afford to live in London.”

He lives in Bristol almost by accident and he is an actor almost by accident.

“I never wanted to be an actor. I never went to Stratford-upon-Avon, or kept scrapbooks or had pictures of – I don’t know – Alan Howard on my bedroom walls. I would have liked to have been a musician. It was almost obligatory growing up in Liverpool – you kick a ball around and play in a band. But what I really wanted was to be a track and field athlete. I would have been perfectly satisfied with that – an athletic career or even teaching sport. But I didn’t make the Olympics which I wanted to do. It just didn’t happen. It was something to do with being 16 and highly sexed like all 16-year-olds and discovering the inside of the bar. So in the end I just slipped into the acting.”

McGann may have the ability to go with the flow but it’s clear he is not always so easy going. “I’m mellowing a bit. But there are times when I’ve wound myself up in knots, and in egotistical terms I think I was a bit of a bastard. I have thought about revenge in childish moments and temperamentally if I was going to get back at anyone I’d do it long after the event. That’s not nice, is it? I don’t forget but I’m reaching the stage where I can forgive. I’ve been a very jealous person as well. I’ve been jealous of my wife, jealous of my brothers and I’ve been jealous of people I’ve never met. Anyone who says they haven’t felt the same is a liar.

“I’ve reached the slow realisation that no one is really looking at me. You know how when you’re a kid you think you’re the centre of everyone’s attention? Discovering you’re not is refreshing, especially for an actor.”

McGann’s mellowing process is the result of hard experience. And he seems remarkably sanguine about his woeful luck. And old (well, middle-aged) hippy that he is, he quotes Sanskrit at me.

“You find what you should be doing through your mistakes. I really believe that. And so much depends on luck. There’s a Sanskrit saying: ‘Where you stumble, there your treasure is’. Do you like that? It’s good, isn’t it?”

#paul mcgann #interviews #how did this woman manage to write this without checking some simple facts?#poor mark whose name is apparently difficult to get right #headdesks #mcgann monday

15 notes · View notes

thedivinelights · 1 year

Text

Who Leaves a Wedding Early?

Jacob Marley was a fool.

There. He said it. That was what he was: A complete, utter, baseless fool. He should have followed his own advice and just kept to himself. Attachments were for those who wanted to get hurt, he should have known that better than anyone.

So why… why did it hurt so much?

He remembered the day he was told of the engagement. It had been a crisp autumn evening — early November, tenth or eleventh, he couldn’t quite recall — when Ebenezer burst into their shared office with the giddiest grin upon his face.

“She said yes, Jacob!” He had called out, rushing to Jacob’s desk and clasping his hands. “Lord above, she said yes!"

“I…” Jacob had been at a loss for words. He had known that Ebenezer had been courting Belle for quite some time now, of course. He was not blind to the obvious affections the two had. But they had been friends for so long, and Jacob had grown to cherish Ebenezer’s company more than anything else in the world. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.

Even still, he had to pretend to be happy. At least for Ebenezer’s sake.

“Congratulations, ol’ boy.” Jacob had replied, giving him a smile that never quite reached his eyes. “I could not be happier for you.”

“I want you to be my best man.” Ebenezer beamed, still oblivious to the way his joy was like daggers to Jacob’s heart. “Will you?"

Jacob had almost laughed and scoffed the idea away. Best man? Him? He was the last person who should be standing beside Ebenezer on his wedding day. But he had nodded anyway, because he couldn’t say no to Ebenezer. He never could.

"I would be honoured."

He forced himself into the preparations. He arranged the venue, the menu, the seating. Everything they ever needed, he gave it all and then some. It was slow going at first, but soon business at the counting house was booming.

“I want to give Belle the future she deserves.” Ebenezer had stated once in a moment of respite when Jacob asked why he had been continuously postponing the wedding. “I need to be able to provide for her needs. She does not deserve to live in squalor.”

And with every year that passed, a part of him — the stupidest, goddamn part of him — was still holding on to that tiny sliver of hope. Hope that Ebenezer would wake up one day and realize that the love he was searching for was right there in front of him. Hope that they could have something more than just a deep friendship sprinkled with 'my dearest' and 'old chap'.

But hope was ever the cruel mistress, and she never granted his wish. She teased him with stolen glances, secret touches, soft whispers in the dark. She made him long for a life he so desperately wanted, but never could. In another lifetime? Perhaps. But not here. Never here.

He watched as Belle walked down the aisle. He watched as Ebenezer looked to her with such reverence. He watched as they exchanged their vows. He watched as they kissed and danced.

Until finally... he could watch no more.

He had planned a toast as the best man. He put on his finest suit and practiced it in the mirror. Over and over, writing and rewriting it a thousand times until it was perfect. It had to be perfect. Because what else could he do?

Yet as he stood to deliver his words, he found himself unable to speak. It was ironic, was it not? This famously — or rather, infamously — charming man, able to sell ice to the Inuit and convince the Devil himself to turn the other cheek, now at a loss for words. Rendered speechless by his own feelings.

But he had to try.

"Ebenezer." He began, and he mentally cursed himself for the crack in his voice as he spoke his name. "My dearest friend. My partner in both business and in life. We have seen each other through thick and thin, and I... I would not be the man standing before you today without him. Without his wit and his cunning, his tenacity and his ambition. Ever is he the logician to my romanticism, the yin to my yang. The..."

Jacob trailed off, clearing his throat and fighting back the lump that had formed there. "But today, I stand before you not as a partner, but as a witness to the love that you and Belle share. A love that is pure and true. Times can change, people too. But love is the one constant that I know will endure the tests of time."

He raised his glass, looking to the couple with a smile. The kind that looked more like a grimace than most. "Ebenezer has been the light of my life. The one uniformity in a world that is ever-changing. He has been my rock, my safe harbour, my everything. And I know that he will be the same to Belle, who is a kind and wonderful woman deserving of all the love in the world. So... So I toast to you, my dear friend. May your love be everlasting, and may you both find happiness in each other for all of your days."

He downed his champagne in one go as the applause roared in his ears. It would not be long before the dance would begin, but he could not will himself to stay a moment longer.

He muttered his excuses about work, before grabbing his coat and slipping away. The chill of winter was cold and uninviting, but it did nothing to the man who had a blizzard of his own raging within.

He barely remembered stumbling into his apartment, fumbling with the keys and collapsing on the couch without even beginning to undress. He sat in the darkness, his expression numbed. Grown men shouldn't be crying. He wanted to hold it in for so long. He almost did.

Until he realised that Ebenezer wouldn't be returning to the apartment they had shared for years. He would be going home with Belle, and not sitting with him, sharing a bottle of scotch as they talked and laughed late into the night.

And that was when the dam broke.

Jacob let out a sob, a gut-wrenching sound that echoed through the empty sitting room. He clutched his chest, feeling as if his heart was shattering into a million pieces. It was a pain that he had been trying to ignore for years, but it had caught up to him at last.

He loved Ebenezer. He had loved him from the moment they met. He loved him for his kindness, his intelligence, his sharp wit. He loved him for the way he could make him laugh even on the darkest of days, for the way he always knew the right thing to say, for the way he had always been there for him. He loved him for everything he was, and everything he could never be.

But life wasn't fucking fair, was it? It wasn't fair. It was never going to be fair, not for him. It was cruel and unforgiving. Life was a bastard that ripped your heart out and left you on the streets to pick up the pieces. Life was a game of chance where the odds were never in your favour. Life was... just life.

He did not know how long he sat there, or how red his eyes appeared to be. All he knew was that he had to let Ebenezer go. He was a selfish man, but for Ebenezer...? He wouldn't dare.

Because that was the hardest thing about love. It wasn't always about getting what you wanted. Sometimes, it was about letting go. It was about putting someone else's happiness above your own, even if it tore you apart inside.

Jacob Marley was a fool. But he was a fool in love. A pathetic fool who was willing to stand on the side. He wasn’t sure what the future held for him, but he knew one thing for certain: He would never be a fool for love again.

#ebenezer scrooge #scrooge a christmas carol #2022 scrooge #scrooge netflix #netflix scrooge #scrooge: a christmas carol #ao3 #jacob marley #unrequited love #belle #a christmas carol #charles dickens #scrooge 2022

17 notes · View notes

spookyspaghettisundae · 11 months

Text

I Got Plans for Tonight

In the hot and dusty winds of the desert, dead fields surrounded the ranch. Where the setting sun cast its dying rays, shadows danced inside the decrepit remains of a chapel.

Old rusting husks of cars lined the dirt road and circuit before the ranch’s house. It sometimes felt like they multiplied in number on some days, thinning out on others. Today, it felt like half of Nevada’s old wrecks had gathered here to attend court. A graveyard of cars to celebrate a strange king.

Unlike the myriads of metal carcasses, picked clean for spare parts, one single vehicle stood out, intact, parked near the porch. The Way King’s beaten-up old pickup truck rested there, cooling in the shade, caked as always with layers of dust.

Sand and stone crunched underneath the wheels of Michael’s van as he pulled up into the circuit, riding the gentle curve until he parked his chariot next to his King’s truck.

He remained sitting still for several moments, surveying the quiet ranch. He peeled a stick of chewing gum from its wrapper, then popped it in his mouth. Artificial strawberry flavor exploded against his taste buds, and he slapped the outside of his door twice before exiting the vehicle.

Halfway to the ranch house entrance, he paused. Stared into the distance. The recent grave on the dead fields no longer looked fresh, even though the shovel used to dig it still stood staked in the dirt like a simple headstone.

Where Klemens and Michael had buried one of the Way King’s victims alive.

“How does that make you feel?” Klemens asked.

The gaunt silhouette of his master stood in the shadows of the porch, rubbing his hands with a rag.

Michael had not heard the old man emerge from his house.

“Pleased?” asked Klemens again. As Michael dithered to answer, Klemens’ words kept cascading out. The German refugee’s accent surfaced more with every word. “I always wondered how you feel about your handiwork, my boy.”

Michael paused from chewing his gum, shielded his eyes against the blinding light of the red sun, and smiled.

“Would it surprise you to hear that I don’t take pleasure in taking lives?”

The motion of rubbing wizened hands against a greasy rag froze.

“No,” said the Way King. “It is common for men to do work as a means to the end. Lucky is a man who finds joy in his work, but not all men are so lucky.”

Michael turned fully to face his king, and bowed his head in reverence.

“What about you, my King?”

The silhouette shook his head.

“I take pride in some of the things I accomplish, but I do not cherish every difficult decision I make.”

Michael gestured to the dust on the road, and the metal husks behind him, and the recent grave.

“How did it get this way, my King? Is this the world you envisioned when you took to its throne?”

The floorboards thumped as Klemens descended from the porch. Gravel crunched underneath his boots as he neared.

Brows furrowed amidst a roadmap of wrinkles, and the Way King’s eyes glistened with sorrow.

“We envision many things to be better than they turn out to be. When I did what I did, I was not afforded the luxury of youth, or idealism. I always knew there would be a cost.”

Michael shook his head this time. “Forgive me for asking, but did you choose this squalor for yourself?”

Klemens stared him in the eyes. A burning gaze.

Magnetic.

Powerful.

“I was inspired by the great Jesus Christ,” said Klemens. “Now, please, do not misunderstand. I do not see myself as he, or as some kind of saint. But the principle of one man shouldering the burden for all the others, for suffering for all of them to alleviate their suffering—it made sense to me at the time.”

Michael flinched at the thought.

Not one for religious beliefs, he nevertheless felt a brief pang of regret. Some part of Michael liked Klemens. And he here he stood now, having done almost everything he needed to do to become his personal Judas Iscariot.

Chewing the gum a few more times as he chewed on an answer, he masked his regret by playing with fire.

Risking to expose his true intentions, hoping to bury his true feelings underneath a philosophical rebellion.

“I don’t know if the world needs another martyr. And I wonder if the way the world is going is because when you bleed, the world bleeds. You fathered this world, and I’m starting to think it has… inherited your suffering. As above, so below.”

Klemens stood frozen still, like a statue. Half a head shorter than Michael, old, and with what felt like only years left till his end, the Way King nevertheless exuded a majestic and overwhelming presence.

He smiled. Michael felt compelled to mirror it.

Klemens said, “I am very grateful for what this great country has done for me. I decided to change very little, and only weed out the… criminals who escaped justice. Do you feel I have steered you wrong in killing some Nazi-Schweine to bring about a new world?”

Michael shook his head again.

“No. The people you had us execute… I don’t question your judgment.”

“But you question my judgment over the world I dreamt up?”

A pit formed in his stomach. Michael paused from chewing, licked his lips, and pointed down the dirt road again.

“I think your dreams are distorted, my king. Blinded by faith, blinded by… I don’t know. Just look at all the potholes on your HIGHWAY, look at… look at all the trash and all the filth piling up. The plastic and metal refuse, and the human garbage we snatch up and dispose of to power our rituals. How many people go missing, never to be found again—not for sake of searching, but… because people are hopeless? Nobody cares anymore. Everything is ruled by the almighty dollar, and all dreams go to die in the growing poverty of this country.” Michael took a deep breath, and Klemens did nothing to interrupt him. “Like your homeland in the past, America has committed its own genocides, and I have seen a future in which there are more to come. If this is the world of your dreams, my king, then we need to do something about your dreams.”

Klemens listened with the patience of a saint. Even allowing for several beats and breaths to be taken after Michael had concluded his torrent of disapproval.

Michael shuddered.

Did he know? Did he know of the betrayal he plotted? Could he sense it? But there was no such thing in the stories of such kings.

Klemens smiled again, sending more shivers down Michael’s spine.

“You are not wrong, my boy. Even ascended as I have, I am but a man. You may think me blasphemous to compare myself to the savior, but it is a limited comparison. I am no savior. I am only a man. We are all but men in this vast cosmos, and no matter how desperately we try to shape the world into a better place, we are all prone to mistakes. Prone to… delusions.”

One of those wizened old hands—with dirt under the fingernails, and stains of grease from endlessly working on the clockwork heart of THE HIGHWAY—clapped down on Michael’s shoulder.

“I am not much more longer for this world, my boy. One among you will take my place, and bring about a world I couldn’t even dream of.”

A fat lump of nothing formed in Michael’s throat. He swallowed, accidentally swallowing the tiny lump of chewing gum with it.

He shook his head. Placed a palm on Klemens’ hand.

“I said it before and I will offer it again—I can extend your life like I have for others,” Michael said. “Just say the word and—”

“No,” said the Way King with the gravity of the moon. Thunder clapped from the cloudless sky. It continued to rumble in Michael’s heart for the next few seconds. “You are not wrong about the state of this world. That is why we need Agent Parker and that book. With her on our side, one of you will use the jade book to change the world for the better.”

Tears welled in the corners of Michael’s eyes.

He had been working so long to undermine and usurp the Way King that he never thought to consider Klemens might invite someone to ascendence—to take his place without conflict.

Michael had sacrificed so much. So many.

People he cared about. All in the way of his necromancy, all for the purpose of shaping a new world. A world of his dreams.

The tears tasted salty when they met his lips.

Klemens smiled again; that eerie knowing smile. A callused thumb wiped a tear from Michael’s cheek.

“I believe Jericho would be suited to dream up a world we cannot even imagine. And he would need someone of your wisdom, patience, knowledge, and visions, to guide him,” Klemens said.

Michael swallowed again and the pit returned to grip his stomach.

And twist. Mercilessly twist it.

“Jericho?” Michael’s face contorted with unmasked disbelief as he repeated that name. That damned name. “Jericho?”

“I have given this a lot of thought,” Klemens said. “If I am to abdicate, I would want to pass on the torch to someone of radical thought, of someone who is not afraid to let the past burn down when fire takes, to guide people around him to safety, and build a new future upon the ashes.”

The pit kept twisting, churning, until Michael almost felt sick to his stomach.

Jericho?

Jericho Kane?!

Was he out of his fucking mind? That fuck-up?

Almost as if he had heard his thoughts, Klemens continued. An almost musical tone mingled with his words, as if the very thought amused him. “He is unwise, still, and impulsive. He will need all the advice and help he can get, but my belief is firm, he would make a good king. He has seen many hardships that shaped the way he is. For him, a crown would be no greater burden than the ones he already shoulders, but a new opportunity. Trading one weight for another, and understanding the depth, the gravity of his decisions. Unlike men like us—men with visions—he has no delusions about himself or the world. He could make the next one… a better one. Such is my belief.”

Michael burned. Invisible hellfire scorched his body, searing the sweat away from his pores. A silent fury smoldered, deep within, but he knew better than to give in.

He never gave in to such impulses.

He took a long, deep breath. He exhaled, venting some of that anger.

Then he remembered: Jericho was trapped in the House of Change, together with that insipid woman, Karma. They would lose their minds.

And Michael… well, his puzzle pieces were all locking into their proper place.

He took another long, deep breath. As he exhaled, he vented the rest of all that sudden anger.

And the fire was gone.

In its place, a cold and calculating void remained. Where the shadows roiled.

Michael smiled. A genuine smile, smiling to himself—knowing his plans would come to fruition soon, his visions a reality awaiting eager hands to shape it—

And he lied.

“You are… you… it’s strange, a truly strange choice I never would have considered. But you are right. Jericho might just be the right choice to continue where you left off.” He stared at the metal husks of the cars, and the dirt road. As he let the smile fade from his mien, he added, “I will do my best to guide him to where he needs to be. To where the world needs to be.”

Klemens returned that smile and patted Michael on the shoulder—like a father, proud of his obedient son.

Michael spoke again, “This is a most fortuitous time for us to speak about this, because I have very good news, my king. Why I came here…”

Klemens’ weary brows lifted. His bleary blue eyes sparkled with expectation.

“Yes, you guessed right,” Michael said. “I have finally located Agent Parker again. She is currently at the Molly Stark Hospital in Ohio. Shall I arrange for us to deliver her here?”

Klemens swiveled with an energy that defied his age.

He slapped the rag against his own palm and shook his head as he met Michael’s gaze anew.

“No. I will summon her here myself.”

Michael nodded and dug around in his pocket to retrieve a tiny red plastic bead.

It looked like something broken off a cheap toy or piece of children’s jewelry, but it thrummed with power. It teemed with the wrath of eleven ghosts, bound to it by Michael’s magick.

They silently screeched in anticipation, dreaming hate-filled dreams of release.

Yearning to find her.

To find Agent Parker. To her, they reached out to, pin-pointing her precise location.

The tiny red bead dropped from Michael’s fingers into Klemens’ palm. It weighed almost nothing, yet it disobeyed the laws of gravity. It did not bounce in Klemens’ hand.

As if it bore the weight of a boulder.

The old man’s fingers closed around it. He stared at his own fist in disbelief.

Kicking up a dust cloud in the distance, a black Lincoln town car neared, trailing down the endless alley of vehicle carcasses.

Both Klemens and Michael only paid it a passing glance.

The Way King said, “I will use THE HIGHWAY to bring her and her companions here immediately. The time for letting others do my work for me is over. This is such an important moment that I must do it with my own two hands.”

Michael smiled.

He had foreseen this event.

In visions, he had seen Klemens in the backrooms of his ranch house, deep inside the labyrinthine heart of THE HIGHWAY, where intricate meshes of copper and steel and brass parts made up the living walls. Where occult machines hissed and ticked away as they clicked and churned in their indecipherably complex operations. Shifting and changing the network of roads with each pull of a lever, each pressing of a switch, shortening paths, and elongating others, all in perfect mathematical balance.

Aided by his automaton homunculus Fritz, Klemens toiled away in that vision, hovering over strange clockwork mechanisms, operating his Magnum Opus in a final ritual, with the homunculus clone of Parker sat upon his throne in the center, to channel the summoning with complete precision, and deliver the real Agent Parker to his doorstep.

That very vision… it still stuck as clearly in his mind now as it had a year prior.

Michael had been counting the days, wondering when everybody would finally conspire to turn his visions into a reality.

The Lincoln had almost reached the circuit. They glimpsed FBI Director Collins as the man behind the steering wheel.

“Will you need me here?” Michael asked.

Klemens cocked a brow.

“Things should go peacefully. But you are kindly invited to stay and witness this incredible moment. I would have thought that you of all people would have wanted to bear witness. We are standing on the precipice to a new world, after all.”

Michael feigned a sigh. He shed another genuine smile, knowing his plans were all falling into place. All visions coming true.

At least the ones he desired.

“Unfortunately, I got plans for tonight. Many people seek the counsel of the Oracle of New York, and the personal sacrifice it takes to power such sorcery is endless toil, I’m afraid.” Staring Klemens in the eyes, he added, “Besides, I’ve all seen it already, if you catch my drift.”

Klemens emitted a raspy chuckle. He clapped Michael on the back.

Gravel crunched under wheels where the Lincoln rolled up to them. Collins cut the engine and emerged from the vehicle.

Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. Even with his jacket off, he looked miserably hot in the rest of his suit.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “I’m sorry to say, we’ve learned nothing about the whereabouts of the House agents.”

The Way King replied, “No matter, Anthony. I had almost forgotten about those pests.”

Collins adjusted his glasses and cast a skeptical glance in Michael’s direction.

“Why, then, did you summon me here?” asked the FBI director.

Michael answered. “I could use your help on something. An extracurricular task, really. The good news is, we can forget about the House of Change. In a vision, I saw them die. We—”

Collins groaned. “Ah, great—thank you for letting me waste all those resources on unnecessary legwork.”

“I’m sorry, Anthony,” Michael said. The FBI director squinted at him, clearly in disapproval over hearing him refer to him by first name. “It was a very recent vision. If I had seen it any sooner, I would have let you know.”

“There’s this invention called the telephone, and I’m easy to reach by it thanks to another marvel of technology called a pager. But I guess you sometimes forget about basic technology when you have the occult on your mind 24-7.”

Michael nodded and said, “Again, I apologize. If it’s any consolation to you, we now know where Parker is, and our king will summon her here personally. Our work is almost done.”

Collins squinted at him again.

Klemens patted Michael on the back one last time.

“If you hurry with your plans for the night, you might make it back in time. It would otherwise be a shame if you are all absent for my first meeting with the elusive Agent Parker.”

Michael nodded and cast another radiant smile towards Klemens.

All good things come to those who wait.

To Collins Michael said, “Then we’ll have to step on the gas. Come on, we’ll take my van.”

Without as much as a farewell, Klemens shuffled off towards the ranch house and Collins followed Michael to the side of the van, where someone with serious artistic talent had airbrushed on a glorious image of a wizard on the moon, whose fingertips projected a ball of lightning to engulf the planet Earth.

Looking over his shoulder to assure they were out of earshot, Michael intercepted Collins’ questions by saying, “We’re headed to the Castle on the Cumberland.”

Collins stopped dead in his tracks.

“Come again?”

“Supermax. Kentucky State Penitentiary. There’s someone there we need to visit, and you being able to pull some strings would make things a lot easier for us.”

Collins frowned. “You know, if you keep stretching my strings thin, they’ll eventually snap.”

Michael smiled again. Felt another pang of anger creeping up on him.

He exhaled sharply. Vented it again.

He stepped up to the FBI director, whose posture turned as rigid as a statue in response. Gingerly, Michael straightened Collins’ collar.

“Now’s hardly the time to turn uncooperative, Anthony,” he said, letting his name drawl out with subtle shades of contempt. “Unlike Klemens, I will never blackmail you for your… past deeds. When I have that tome, and I use it, I will not just remake the world. I will make all your troubles go away. They will all be buried in the past.”

Anthony Collins’ frown twisted into a grimace and he averted his eyes in shame.

Michael wiped some specks of dust from the man’s shoulder and then opened up the van’s sliding door for him.

The stench of methamphetamines billowed out from the vehicle’s bowels.

“Step into my office. It’s a long ride from Vegas to Kentucky.”

Collins hesitated. Thumbed over his shoulder to the Lincoln. His grimace shifted, cycling between different shades of grief, regret, and defeat.

“Hold on. I’ll get my stuff.”

Michael leaned against the airbrushed wizard on the van’s sliding side door. He crossed his arms as he waited, smiling to himself.

Jericho witnessed all this through a television set. The grainy image showed enough for him to understand it all.

Even so, he slapped the top of the device in growing anger and despair.

“Why are you showing me this? Huh?”

Karma banged against the tall black door, rattling at it as it refused to open, still shouting for someone to let them out of their strange prison within the House of Change.

The room around them offered no response. Mirrors made up every wall from floor to ceiling, reflecting them in a vast infinity of reflections.

Jericho’s face was red with rage, veins popping, spraying spittle at the yellowed screen. He helplessly watched as Collins joined Michael in the wizard van. They drove from the Way King’s ranch, riding into the sunset.

“Why the fuck are you showing me this? Do you want me to do something about it? Stop it? I can’t do anything in here! Let me out! Let me the fuck out! What the fuck do you want?”

Where he smashed the television set, sparks and shattered glass scattered across the marbled floor.

5 notes · View notes

gayfilmbro · 2 years

Photo

All for Pete- an excerpt of an article featured in The Spectator on 31st January 1964, written by Isabel Quigly.

transcript below:

The Leather Boys. (Em- pire; 'X' certificate.)— Zulu. (Plaza; 6U'. certifi- cate.)

As every film-goer now knows that the English

proletariat lives on baked 3 beans and bingo, there are no surprises in the social facts of The Leather Boys. Arthur Seaton's home-life may have caused a few eyes to pop but We were greenhorns then; and British films have since been putting across a way of life we have come to accept as widespread, if not quite universal. Indeed, it would take a brave film-maker now to show working-class people who actually cook, make beds, don't stack the washing up from week to, week, don't sit glued to telly/ racetrack/bingo and don't scream or swear at each other. Sidney Furie's much delayed -film has all the factual cliches that even a few months ago may have looked, like bold realism, and so suffers from the surfeit of similar bold realism we have had in the meantime.

Yet The Leather Boys comes out of it very much better than, from its well-worn air,, one might suppose. For one thing, among so much dogged, damp conformity of eye and mind as you

find among our new wave directors (all sticking cigarettes behind well-washed ears to show how proletarian they've grown), Mr. Furie's dash and individuality stand out. For another, he seems at home in his milieu; he has none of the touristic scenes and airs of the sociologist slumming, and the film's social setting isn't really its raison d'être, aggressively plugged, but a background to a story of character, a story not so much about social beings as about that most a-social of them all—a homosexual.

Pete is the film's hero and reason and charm. He is played with such accuracy and pathos by Dudley Sutton that no one and nothing else have much of a chance of getting our interest and sympathy; or by the look of it Mr. Furie's either, for everything is weighted in his favour— dialogue, looks, personality and the sheer awful- ness of his female rivals. Large, curly-headed and pug-faced (weirdly like Ettore Garofalo, the boy who played Anna Magnani's son in Mamma Roma two weeks ago), with a tough, skylarking manner and a glorious jingle of gags you almost miss (Gillian Freeman's excellent script gives him all the best lines), he is the antithesis of the general notion of a homosexual as frail and sissy. His chum, a simple-minded teenage mechanic baffled by domestic squalor and the crafty witlessness of his wife (Rita Tushingham), doesn't realise what's fairly plain to the audience from the word go; and his final awakening in a sailors' bar sends him back, wifeless and friendless, to the empty world he's left. Yet what we're left to wonder about is the long-shot figure of Pete and what he's to make of his loneliness. Between them Mr. Furie and Mr. Sutton have made a film about loneliness so acute that it spills over from the particular to the universal rather than vice versa, as generally happens in pictures with a 'problem' (like Victim, for instance). But then the best quality of The Leather Boys is the fact that it doesn't strike one as 'having a problem' any more than it strikes one as being 'about the proletariat': it grows out of character, out of faces, moments, people.

#the leather boys #‚#movies #the spectator #the leather boys 1964

4 notes · View notes

three--rings · 3 years

Text

Word of Honor: Watch It Already

Yeah it’s time to do a rec post for real. Because seriously, y’all, join me.

NOTE: All gifs in this post were made by @jingyans, who very graciously allowed me to use them. Please do not repost and go see her blog for all the gorgeousness!

What is it?

Word of Honor/ Shan He Ling/ 山河令 is a Chinese drama series with 36 episodes currently in the process of airing. It is based on a danmei/BL webnovel by Priest called 天涯客/ Tian Ye Ke/ Faraway Wanderers. (Which I have not yet read, so everything in this post will be based solely on the show as aired up to ep 11.)

It’s set in Fantasy Ancient China, much like previous popular series The Untamed and is part of the same general genre.

What’s it about?

Okay. So Zhou Zishu was the leader of the Window of Heaven/Tian Chuang, an organization of spies and assassins who worked for a prince.

He saw basically everyone he cared about/his entire sect killed for the organization, and he decides he wants out, but there’s no leaving alive. He essentially manages to find a loophole by using a cruel fantasy method to basically slow poison himself, guaranteeing his death in three years. But he’s free.

Cut to six months later, when he’s living his best life being completely drunk in a gutter, disguised with a fake tan, terrible beard and general squalor. He draws the attention of a mysterious gentleman, our love interest Wen Kexing.

Wen Kexing completely fixates on Zhou Zishu (or Zhou Xu, as he introduces himself), declaring him incredibly beautiful, despite his rough state, and starts a bit of light stalking.

These two have a lot of humorous bantering around, before eventually stumbling into the plot in the form of a young teen boy who is the only surviving member of his brutally murdered clan. They are tasked with taking him to someone trustworthy and thus the two equally mysterious warriors now have an adopted son together.

That’s the basic set-up, and the show is pretty much evenly split between really adorable flirting, wacky hijinks, and operatic political drama plot. All of these typically involve fight scene choreography. Though, to be fair, I’ve seen less than a third of the show at this point, though I have something of a feel for what is coming from people watching it without English subs.

So...about that romance?

Look, there’s no beating around the bush here, I really can’t imagine being into this show if you’re not into the idea of a prominent romance between two male characters. The novel, being danmei, is blatantly a queer romance, but this is China, which means censorship.

**And I’m only saying this because this is tumblr, and no one cares what we think here, but, look, it’s a freaking miracle this show passed censorship because it is NOT subtle at all in its gayness. The plot...really doesn’t make sense without a romantic aspect, and it’s really hard to miss. It’s so blatant, that it’s hard to watch without remarking on it, which means a lot of people are afraid of the show being pulled or edited by the government before it’s done airing. There’s precedence for that happening. Seemingly even the makers are concerned, hence them releasing 9 episodes a week, up from the original 4. So please, if you do watch it, don’t go yelling in the comments or on twitter or wherever about how it’s showing up the Chinese government’s censorship or whatever because that’s putting people’s careers in real danger, not to mention harming the show.**

ANYWAY. The romance involves a HUGE amount of flirting, mostly initially from WKX to ZZS, but fairly soon they start throwing around the word “zhiji” aka “soulmate” to describe what they mean to each other. If this seems very blatantly romantic, it IS, but it can also describe a platonic connection, which is how they manage to get away with this. Still, it’s swoon-worthy honestly. The mood for me is a very good period romance, because I’m wildly flailing about their sleeves touching or hands brushing over here, so if that’s your jam, please join us.

I’m going to get into slightly more spoilers under a cut, because I think it’s very fun to watch the show without knowing ANYTHING about it, but if you need further convincing/specifics please follow me.

The show also seems to involve a lot of alternating fluff and angst, which, let’s be honest here, is kinda what we like right? It seems like they don’t want to keep us in pain for more than an episode or so without some resolution, but then new pain happens again. These two break up and get back together a lot, is what I’m saying.

Why should I watch it?

Like most good danmei, the show balances deep romance with interesting and exciting plot, but the characters are the real stand-outs here. Both male leads are older than your average drama protagonists, somewhere close to 30. And they are both essentially villains. Not just characters with dark pasts, but really the bad guys of other people’s stories. The novel is actually a sequel to a totally different romance, and at least ZZS was an antagonist in that story.

(Above: Evil is a good look on Wen Kexing.)

But here we have two very morally dubious characters: one who has given up that life and one who is still actively causing harm, and the story is about how they connect and change as a result. (Again, I’m drawing slightly on what others have said of where the story is going and also just making assumptions.)

If you have a moral problem with loving and shipping dark characters, this isn’t the show for you, no matter how cute it may appear. This isn’t a “pure” couple, no matter how little on-screen sexuality we will get. But if you love exploring morality and complicated characters who don’t always make the right choices, like I do, this is Your Thing.

Thankfully, the scriptwriter has come out and said there will be a happy ending for the main couple, at least. So there’s that to hold on to as we face the angst and pain that is inevitably coming. (From the novel I hear, yes, there’s some serious suffering in store.) A lot of us thought the show looked light and fun and now...we’re gonna be in pain. So consider this fair warning as well.

There’s also a cast of very easy to like side characters, in particular the “kids” A-Xiang (WKX’s servant) and Cheng Ling, the boy they rescue. There’s also a colorful cast of villains that have huge amounts of style if nothing else.

Downsides?

So the show was made on a VERY limited budget. Overall I think they did a fantastic job. But the seams DO show from time to time. There’s not a lot of CGI (which is a good thing imo) but sometimes there are very obvious places they didn’t have the resources they needed, like crowd scenes made of the same 4 actors cut and pasted again and again, lol. However, I think they did a great job on the costumes for the most part, and the sets look nice.

There’s also been some criticism for the makeup which ZZS wears in eps 2-5, his disguise. He’s meant according to the novel to look totally different and ugly. But in reality he has a tan, some small scars, a painted on beard, and is dirty and disheveled. Making his skin darker and calling that “ugly” is an unfortunate trope. I think the criticism is valid to an extent, but I hope it won’t destroy anyone’s enjoyment of the show. The makeup is gone forever midway through ep 6.

Where can I watch it?

I’m going to assume most people reading this will be looking for a version subbed in English. That is available on Youtube on the Youku official channel. As of this typing, they have released 11 episodes with subs. There are no fansubs otherwise available. The Chinese language release is somewhere around ep 20-something? That is available through the Youku website. I believe their release schedule has the last episode coming out around March 23, but we’ll be weeks behind for the English version. (Pardon the lack of a direct link to YT, but just search Word of Honor and you’ll find it. If I have links tumblr will disappear my post.)

So please, come join us in this hell. It’s been a while since a ship hit me so incredibly quickly and a lot of people have the same feeling, it seems. Give it a few episodes, and see if you’re not WILDLY in love by episode six. (Before that I was in like. After episode six I wrote emergency fanfic.) (Episode six pictured below.)

#word of honor #shan he ling #山河令 #threerings' recs #cdrama #danmei #faraway wanderers #long post #threerings recs TV Shows

1K notes · View notes

writing-in-april · 3 years

Text

Dressed in Crimson

Spencer Reid x Female Reader (Royalty AU)

Summary: Spencer is a stable boy with a passion for learning and Reader is the princess of the palace that he serves in. They’ve been in a secret relationship, the two grow restless about not being able to be out in the open.

A/N: Guys I’m so excited for this one I really really loved writing it- it’s my fourth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April and it’s also written for @omgbigfluffwriting !!! I kinda immersed myself into this quite a bit- and it’s my longest oneshot I’ve ever written 🤭The specific historical period theyre in is not specified and the world that they’re in is entirely fictional and not based on any specific point in history- if you’ve ever watched Merlin that’s kinda the vibe I was thinking of just without the magic lol (please still ignore that the gif does not have an accurate clothing choice from Spencer I just wanted a good shot of his hair that I thought of while writing this) i feel like it’s becoming so obvious how much I love historical fiction lol 😂 I’d like to hear from you guys also so if you want to drop me an ask here! It can be about anything 🥰 hope y’all enjoy!!!

Warnings: 18+, Reader has a horrible Father, subtle hints about sexism, Classism, Period typical clothing, Reader and Spencer fight for a little bit, Smut, Dom Spencer, Fingering, Handjob, Unprotected Sex, Day dreaming about fucking in public, Spencer’s possessive as hell, Ignoring the potential consequences of a creampie

Main Masterlist Word count: 4.7k

My day started out like any other with my corset made of whalebone being cinched tightly around my figure with my chemise underneath of course. Every time the ends of the laces were pulled taught on my body I thought of the days where I could get away with not having this wretched piece of clothing cutting off my breath. Those days had been so long ago, when I was just a small child, almost so long ago that I had to strain my memory to recall it. It wasn’t even until I was done clutching my mother’s skirts before I started to be forced into the confines of the worst invention in history. I would have rather muck in the mud in pants like the men, unless there was a reason for me to actually want to wear a dress.

Today, I had chosen a crimson colored gown, one of my only favorites. The front of the bodice was adorned with embroidery, one embroidered with a glistening gold thread. The sleeves were long and ever so slightly off my shoulders, ending just at my wrist. It had been perfectly handcrafted just for me, a seamstress being hired to slave away at each detail with precision. If it had been up to my father the seamstress would have been paid little to nothing for this masterpiece, but you had your own coins stashed away from your allowance to give extra to anyone that gave you goods and services.

The dress was my favorite almost solely because of someone else’s appreciation for the lush fabric, no one needed to know about that though. I did like to look nice on certain occasions, but only special ones. There was no special occasion scheduled for me to have a reason for wearing it, well none that the greater majority of the court would know about.

Only my maid Emily knew what my excursion would be today, why I dressed up so nicely. There was no feasible way for me to hide my dalliances from her, especially the one I was about to go to as it required some higher levels of stealth to be able to evade my father’s guards.

His name was Spencer, one of my father’s stable boys. I loved him more than anything, definitely more than any potential match that was arranged for me.

I gifted him whatever I could without raising suspicion, though I often hid my purchases if someone asked by excusing them as more frivolous in nature, such as a new dress. Spencer had no real need for pretty things as he’d said before, except from myself- those were his past words not mine. And, he did express to me how much he loved the dress I was wearing right now, which was tied to how we had first met.

When I first met him I had been looking for a fabric in the market stalls. I hadn’t really wanted to, I was content with all the dresses that I owned right now, they had no ornament on them, just how I preferred. However, my father demanded I get something fancier for some sort of frivolous ball that was coming up that undoubtedly had no reason to take place besides bleeding everyone else dry.

I brushed hands with him for the first time as I was looking for the material I wanted, something just fancy enough to appease my father. The stall filled with fabrics bordered one that had stacks of books, I would have much preferred to be looking at that one. My hand had gotten close to the edge while I was inspecting a fabric and it had bumped into a man who was looking at one of the books.

When I had looked up to see who had brushed my hand I was met with frantic eyes filled with apology. His stuttered apology had covered my attempt to assure him that it was fine, it had taken me grabbing both of his hands to steady him for him to listen to my reassurance.

When he had introduced himself to me after I asked it flowed into a long conversation. I could have talked to him forever, I would be content to never talk to anyone else. For a stable boy he was exceptionally smart, which I learned was from his mother who had made sure he was educated even in poverty, specifically through having him read anything she could get her hands on. From then on our blossoming friendship had flourished, and had eventually developed into more.

I slung a shawl over my shoulders made out of a fabric of similar color to my gown and also grabbed a purse filled with coins with a smile due to my reminiscing . It wasn’t cold enough for one of my velvet cloaks just yet and most of the walk down to where Spencer was housed was indoors.

The walk from my rooms in the main part of the castle to the stables on the lower floor towards the East end was longer than I would have wanted. Truthfully, I wished I would not have to live in a castle at all, I’d rather live in the small house that Spencer lived. It was just past the castle grounds at the edge of the surrounding village adjacent to the stables so he did not have to walk far for work in the mornings.

My feet tiptoed down the corridors carefully, I was lucky that I had figured out to be somewhat light on my feet otherwise I’d be caught swiftly for sure. I passed by the rooms of most of the lords and ladies staying at court, I always wondered why some chose to stay here, it was positively suffocating here. The door I used to go outside was through the kitchen, that had a myriad of breakable things strewn about that I had to stealthily avoid. Luckily, I knocked nothing over that would have woken up the cooks who slept just a room over. Turning the handle of the door had to be a slow process so no one would hear the creak of the knob while it was turned, but I did successfully make it out with no disturbance.

Beginning the stretch of my journey that was outdoors was perhaps the most risky. Guards were stationed around the perimeter of the castle in greater numbers compared to the ones indoors which were only stationed by important rooms. I weaved my way through, in some aspects it was even more confusing than the inside of the castle. Hiding behind each of the pillars was the most effective way to avoid them, the construction of them making a series of small blind spots. I had just snuck behind one of the last ones when one of the guards nearest to me moved forward a little. I stopped breathing immediately, holding it tight in my chest while I plastered myself as close as I could to the back of the pillar. My nails dug into the stone of the pillar in fear, if I was ever to be found sneaking out at night or worse in the presence of Spencer, I would either never leave my rooms again or be whisked away into marriage even earlier than planned.

When the guard did not move to investigate further I let go of the breath I was holding, still making sure to let go of it slowly so he could not hear me. Moving swiftly forward after I had taken a breath was a bit of a challenge, my knees had gone weak with fear. I pushed myself to take each step even with the weakness in my knees, there was no way I could linger any longer.

Finally I was no longer walking on stone, I was walking on the muddy earth now. It was nice to feel the ground under my feet instead of the harsh stone, it told me that I was now only a handful of strides away from Spencer’s home.

The leaves littering the ground mixing with mud crunched under my feet even as I tip toed carefully. The guards may be in the distance now, but I didn’t feel keen on testing how good their hearing may potentially be.

Passing the stables was the last marker for my journey, then I would be able to see his home too. As I passed the sleeping horses by anticipation began to replace the fear inside me. It had been a while since I had been able to come see him, making me yearn for his touch even more.

His home came into view, even in the dead of night I could make it out if I squinted my eyes hard. My pace picked up exponentially when I landed my eyes on his humble abode. It was a quaint home, fallen into disrepair as he could not afford to fix it on the meager salary that my father paid him. The purse of gold that I had brought with me was exactly for that, the repairs. He would most likely protest the gift just like any other thing I had tried to gift him. From my experience the most effective way to get him to accept anything was to leave it there with no conversation about it. I think it made him feel less guilty even though in my opinion he was owed the money in the first place, no one should have to live in squalor when they did their job every day without question or complaint.

When I finally was at the entrance of his home I entered through the door swiftly, too impatient to wait or knock. Stress melted from my shoulders when I caught sight of him, hunched over one of the books I had given him, candles strewn around to give him enough light to read.

The candles he had lit to be able to read in the night illuminated us both with a glow. He would always compliment me whenever we found ourselves in similar lighting such as this, but in my opinion there was no rivalry. Each time the candle flickered it brightened up every highlight of him, letting me see his wild curls, brown eyes deeper than any others I had ever seen, and a body that I had no doubt was crafted to perfection illuminated in a beautiful glow.

I went to compliment him just as he always did with me, but I became mesmerized when he stood up, then moving his way closer to me.

“It is nice to see you, it feels like it’s been an eternity.” It may seem dramatic for him to say that it felt that long, but I echoed his sentiment willingly.

“It is nice to see you too, Spencer. I agree it’s been far too long.” I was sure it had been at least a full moon cycle since we had the pleasure of being alone with one another, our duties to my father keeping us separated.

It had been painful whenever I would go out for a ride on my horse, to see him hand me the reins of my mare and be unable to reach out to touch him. There had been one day, about a week ago, that I had let my hand brush against his own for a moment while he handed the reins to me. It was an innocent brush of a touch, that also had a barrier in the form of my leather gloves. To anyone else it had meant nothing, but to me and him, it meant everything.

His eyes were blown wide with desire, as I suspected mine were as well. We let ourselves take in the sight of each other for a minute longer before Spencer broke the silence with a request,

“Drop your shawl, so I may see you better.” A stable hand commanding someone of such a stature such as I would’ve seen him whipped if it was any other person before him. His boldness was not unexpected, it had taken a while for him to grow so comfortable with my company. In truth, he had been quite scared when I had first met him. It was perfectly understandable considering his employer was my father, who was not known for his kindness. And, even then after his fear had faded he still had a shy exterior for a while, it only had been lifted when we began to become extremely comfortable around each other. We were each other's only form of solace in this world, we could only escape our reality when we were together.

Instead of having malice in my voice like other nobles would I simply pulled the shawl more taught around my shoulders and teased, “Why should I?”

The expression on his face was one of the ones I loved seeing on his face the most, a sly smirk. He came closer to me, with careful steps as if he was waiting for the right moment to pounce. We were so close together when he stopped moving, but still not touching. He was playing a game with me, not touching until I obliged him. As he leaned in to speak into the shell of my ear he was careful with the way he tilted his body forward so I could only feel his breath on the small portion of my skin, “Because you like it when I look at you.”

My arms fell to my sides releasing my shawl to fall from my shoulders onto the floor at his words, as they rang true. I did want him to look at me and also, of course touch me.

“You wore your favorite dress.” He observed, still not quite touching. I didn't need to answer the statement he made with the thought in my mind ‘I wore it for you’ because I knew he had already figured that out. His observational skills were keenly honed in by his constant reading whenever he had the chance, often reading books that I had gifted to him. He even sometimes read well into the night, straining his eyes in the darkness when the candle was almost merely a wick. I had found that out the first- and sadly, only time I had the opportunity to stay overnight. Since then I had pushed him to get more rest as I knew how hard he was worked to the bone during the day, courtesy of my father.

His eyes were staring at my dress, pupils blown wide, his mind seemingly off in another world maybe thinking about all the things he wanted to do to me.

“Please, touch me.” I didn’t need to speak loud, only a soft whisper for him to hear me because of how close he already was to me. So close, yet so far.

He raised his large hands, calloused from working so hard day in and day out. My own hands were soft from the expensive creams I had been pampered with since I was just a small child. I liked his hands better, they showed the hard work he used everyday to cultivate his beautiful mind and body.

I subtly licked my lips in anticipation of his touch, wanting to feel every inch of his hand roaming my body, from the tips of his fingers to where his palm met his wrist.

His fingers then started to trace over the top of my corset, just a hair away from touching the swell of my breasts. My chest was rising and falling with each breath, each inhale pushing it slightly closer to his fingers. With each fall of my chest I felt the need to quickly let go of my breath, so I could once again inhale and be brought closer to his touch.

“Please touch me.” I repeated, breathless from forcing myself to breathe into his touch.

“I am touching you.” His fingers still did not move to touch my skin, only the crimson accented in gold. It was his turn to tease me now, I was at his mercy, ready and waiting for it.

I could beg again, though quite obviously I could not convince him with it. As he was running his fingers over the cloth for what felt like the millionth time, still not touching me, I teased him back instead of begging, “No you are touching my dress.”

A mere ghost of a touch from his fingers then floated across my skin. What should have calmed my heaving chest from my gasping breaths only served to make my breathing even heavier. The slight touch was still not enough, only making my desire for his hands to roam every inch of my body even more severe.

“Perhaps I should take your corset off, to help you breathe better.” He said, as if he read my exact thoughts.

“I like your thinking.”

I was then spun around so my back was pressed into his chest. It soothes my desire for his touch some, but we both had barriers of cloth preventing me from fully feeling him. I could feel some of the warmth that was hidden underneath his shirt, which was made up of a much billowing white linen that compared to his trousers.

If my skirts were not so large I wondered if I were to push back if my behind would come in contact with his cock and whether or not his desire would be as prominent as the slickness dampening the bottom layer I was wearing. I’d have to find a way to find a pair of trousers then, sometime soon, so I could try to grind into him at a later date. There was no doubt that we’d surely find ourselves in a similar position again.

As his hands started to undo the laces of my corset with care, despite both of our desperation, a thought slipped out from his lips that I’m sure he intended to keep to himself, “I wish I could call you mine in public.”

“My father would kill you!” The taste of my voice would have been bitter in anyone’s mouth, quickly spat out in the same way I said those words. Perhaps my quick anger to his innocent thought would be insane to some, most would probably consider it a sweet thought. However, he knew from previous conversations that when those sweet thoughts were expressed that all I could feel was a heavy sadness sitting inside me, instead of desire.

Tears clouded my vision, so much so that I did not see Spencer’s arms come around me to envelop me in an embrace. I flinched a bit at first, but then melted when I realized it was him. We held each other for a while as I sobbed softly into his billowy white shirt.

He stroked my shoulder with his large hands that I loved, but the corset he had not taken off fully yet was blocking me from feeling his touch the way I wanted.

“Take it off please.” I begged softly, I wanted to feel his skin on mine, and not just his lips or his hands. I wanted to feel every inch of him.

The laces of my corset were already half undone because of his previous attempt at getting it off of me. He finished the job, pulling the corset off of my body, tossing it down to the floor. He may have loved the dress, but he was showing me through his actions that he loved what was underneath more.

Turning me around was his next step, so he could properly kiss me. The pressure was soft at first, as if he was testing the waters to see how I would feel. Feeling his soft lips on my own just made me want to pull him in further, and I did so. My fingers tangled into his curls as the kiss devolved into pure passion, we were both throwing ourselves fully into it, trying to express our feelings nonverbally.

His own hands moved to cup my breasts as he backed me into the cot he slept on every night. I did not let him push me down on the bed so he was on top of me like normal, this time I wanted to be on top for a while. When I straddled his hips the first thing I felt was his cock straining in his pants. I unbuckled them so I could wrap my hands around his cock, I wanted to feel his thick and heavy length in my hands. Precum was already dripping down his hard cock as I pumped his length with my hands. My own arousal was dampening the underneath of the skirt I still had on. Spencer confirmed it himself when he snuck his fingers underneath the fabric to play with my pleasure spots. We both groaned as his fingers entered inside me while he rubbed circles into my swollen pearl.

My skirt was bunched up in his hands, pulling up all the way to the tops of my thighs. He soon got fed up with the skirt being in the way though and maneuvered me to shuck it off of me as fast as possible. Being bare before him did not make me wither in self consciousness, it made me lean into his touch even more.

He leaned up to kiss me again while I grabbed his length and restraddled him. I was definitely wet enough to have him enter me, my separation from him making me desperate, it had been so long since we had the chance to be together like this.

I then sunk down on his length slowly, it was for me to adjust to his size and to relish in the feeling of him sliding inside me. I stilled on top of him as the back of my thighs hit the top of his, he filled me with perfection. Spencer only let me be still for a little while before his hands gripped my hips and started to guide me to roll my hips. The pace I set- well Spencer was the one who set it, was slow and deep, I was languidly rolling my hips while he thrusted up into me at a similar pace.

My face twisted in pleasure as his thrusts became more powerful, still at the same pace but with more force behind them.

“Fuck- I want everyone to know that you’re mine!” It was the exact same thing he had spoken to me earlier that had sparked anger and melancholy inside me. This time it caused a spark of pleasure instead, making me think about him fucking me in front of everyone claiming me as his.

“My father would kill you.” This time when I said it it was gasped into his mouth with little to all anger disappeared from it.

My words made Spencer growl which was swallowed by a possessive kiss. He then flipped me over roughly, my back now pressed into the cot. A high pitched squeak had escaped my lips unintentionally in surprise, it was quickly changed into a moan when he entered me again. This time the pace did not start off slow as I did not need to adjust to him inside of me.

“I don’t care.” His speech was agitated as he pounded into me, holding my legs open with both hands spreading me out for him to see everything, “No matter what anyone says or does, you’re mine.”

Pleasure sparked through me at his possessive words, I grabbed desperately at the cotton sheets trying to hold onto something as my finish was fast approaching. When the cotton sheets were not enough of a stabilizer for me I lifted my hands up to wrap around the back of his neck and pull him close.

“Come on I know you’re close, I’m close too baby.” My nails dug into his neck and back during the latter half of his sentence causing him to slightly wince. I knew he enjoyed it though because of the question that he groaned out next, “Can I cum inside you?”

Biting my lip hard was painful as I nodded my head in response to his question that had me falling over the edge. The consequences of him finishing inside me danced in the back of my head, I chose to ignore them as he did. I did not care as he filled me and I rode out my release, even if I was to somehow get pregnant because of our recklessness it did not matter. I’d gladly have his child, even if it meant I’d have to go on the run.

Instead of falling on top of me directly after finishing like I’ve heard most men do with their wives he gently removed himself from my entrance and laid down beside me on the cot. Bliss was mingling in the air between us, both unburdened by any of our problems that would become a reality as soon as I left for the night. For now we would just hold onto the bliss until it was cruelly snatched away from reality.

Spencer had a solution as always to our problems, and seemed to be thinking about the same thing I was with his next suggestion,

“Run away with me.” We were both covered in sweat that had cropped up from our activities, a contrast to the chilly air outside and in the castle. It was nice to feel warm every time I was in his arms, It was hard to resist being greedy and deciding to stay in his arms forever. It had crossed my mind more than once, but there was always something stopping me from going through with it fully. I opened my mouth to point out all the reasons why that would not be possible when he added, “And, before you say no I want to ask- what’s stopping you?”

His reasoning was sound, as it often was. My mouth opened and closed, struggling to find a reasoning before I accepted that he was right. The only potential downfall was my father’s forces searching everywhere to find me, but it would be worth it. We could also easily cross the border into nearby lands ruled by someone else that was not in alliance with him. I already felt lighter thinking about being free from the confines of the castle- and hopefully my corset. Though I would have to keep the crimson dress I wore today, even if I only wore it around him, It was his favorite and it symbolized the day that we met. He glanced over at me just as I did the same, looking right into his eyes as I spoke,“Alright.”

The light that sparked in his eyes made my heart soar, I could feel just from his gaze how ecstatic he was to spend his life with me. I didn’t need any words to know how much he loved me.

We basked for a moment in the presence of our love, Spencer broke the silence again when he started planning,“You need to go pack!”

I moved myself to sit up even though my limbs protested, wanting to sleep after our post coital bliss. A soft smile was exchanged between the two of us, “I’ll pack light, only the stuff I need.”

The purse of gold I had brought for him would no longer be used to fund his repairs, but to fund our life together. I climbed on top of him again leaning forward to capture him in a kiss that was much more chaste than the ones earlier in the night.

“I. love. you.” He whispered in between kisses making my eyes wet with tears. They weren’t born out of sadness, but of happiness that I had someone to love me as much as Spencer did.

“I love you too, I will see you soon.” I pulled myself away from his lips even though I did not want to, I then got up to leave reluctantly. Though it was easier than previous departures as I knew that it would be the last one that I would have to complete. My whole being was lighter and happier than I had ever felt before as I snuck back with a spring in my step. The only hint of what I was about to do, where I was about to go, was the mud stained at the hemline of my crimson dress.

Ask me anything

—-

Tag lists (message me if you want to be added):

All works:

@shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith (why wont tumblr let me tag you😭

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics @jareauswifey

Dom Spencer: @rainsong01 @evlfknb @jakobsdump

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #matthew gray gubler x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #mgg #matthew gray gubler #mgg x reader #mgg smut #matthew gray gubler smut #30 fics in 30 days

362 notes · View notes

dutchdread · 3 years

Note

Bruh, we don't want to hear about your negative views about cleriths. Cloud loves Aerith and he always has. He lives in her church because he loves her. He thought of Aerith a lot in OG , On the Way to A Smile, and AC. He went to live in her church. Why tf would he go live in her church if it wasn't for Aerith? There are millions of places he could've gone but he chose the church. You don't have to believe our way of thinking if you don't want to, but don't tag clerith in your posts.

Thanks for your question. I think it's important to have these conversations so we can clear up these misunderstandings. Clouds motivations have been well documented so it's unfortunate that large swaths of the fandom seemingly are still in the dark about something that has been known for quite a long time, and I blame lack of communication. Before I answer your question though I'd like to address the style of it, since I find it amusing that in response to my article concerning productive conversation styles you not only used one of the styles I described, but even the same exact argument. This is a nice confirmation for me that I am right on the money. In my article, I said that the "dishonest inquiry" is the Clerith conversation style of choice. The example I gave was as follows:

The dishonest inquiry: “Why don’t you admit that Clouds actions in AC show that he doesn’t love Tifa?”

You mirrored this approach by saying "Why tf would he go live in her church if it wasn't for Aerith?". The defining characteristic of the dishonest inquiry is that the question isn't asked with the goal of seeking clarification, but as an offensive tactic meant to attack the others position, you're not trying to evaluate your position, you're trying to get others to re-evaluate their position under the guise of a question. If we look at the rest of your post we can see the indicators I described for someone who has reached the last stage of the debate style. "Cloud loves Aerith and he always has. He lives in her church because he loves her". As I noted in my article:

If assertions are backed up, they are backed up with other assertions designed to dissuade rebuttals, rather than investigating veracity.

This "argument" had no actual arguments, it was a meaningless assertion. Stating that you are correct in an attempt to avoid having to actual show that you're correct. "Cloud loves Aerith and he always has. He lives in her church because he loves her": This is what you're trying to prove, you can't state what you're trying to prove as your starting premise.

If you're honestly interested in learning more about FFVII then leave out the baseless assertions, they literally just waste peoples time and makes them less willing to engage with you.

If I had to rephrase your question in a way that's more inviting for a productive discussion it would be something like this:

"Why do you believe Cloud chose Aeriths Church as his hiding place in AC? He thinks about Aerith a lot, what do you think the reason is for that if it's not love?".

The answer to this is pretty simple of course, it's been restated several times, this is not something that is some grand mystery, it's not even an aspect of FFVII that's particularly ambiguous. The reason he stays in Aeriths church is the same reason he's seen lingering at Zacks "grave", it's guilt. As stated in the 10th anniversary ultimania, and several other times:

when Cloud contracts Geostigma he disappears. Behind these actions lies feelings of guilt towards his past failure to protect people who were important to him

While this is an element of the story that has been explicitly confirmed through ultimanias and quotes, this is not an element of the story that was ever in any way unclear, its a direct continuation of Clouds character arc in FFVII. Infact, Clouds mental health issues are the central part of the fake persona storyarc, and is arguably the core of the story. The rough order of events shown in FFVII, on the way to a smile, and Advent children (and also CC) concerning Clouds mental health is as follows. 1: Cloud as a boy want to protect Tifa. 2: Cloud fails to protect Tifa. 3: Cloud and townspeople blame Cloud for Tifas injuries. 4: Cloud internalizes this and beats himself up over his failure to protect Tifa. He develops a fear of failure. 5: Cloud starts acting up, starts wanting to prove himself, and decides to join Soldier to impress Tifa. 6: Cloud fails to get into Soldier, develops an inferiority complex. 7: Cloud is too ashamed of his failure to face Tifa. 8: Cloud fails to save his mother. 9: Cloud fails to save Nibleheim. 10: Cloud fails to save Tifa, again. 11: Cloud fails to save Zack. 12: Cloud develops a soldier alter ego that is everything that he isn't, as a defense mechanism. He hides from his own weakness. 13: Even as a soldier, Cloud fails to save Aerith. 14: Cloud regains his memories in the lifestream, and discovers he did fulfill his promise to come save Tifa. Here we basically end FFVII, and go into on the way to a smile. At this point Cloud has overcome the alien parasite messing with his mind by establishing a stronger sense of who he is. However, now that he's lost his fake soldier defense mechanism he's forced to deal with the past. His past failures haven't been fixed, he doesn't suddenly think he's a great person now, he simply can no longer use his fake persona to hide from his own weakness, and is forced to confront it. 15: Cloud still blames his own weakness for the deaths of Aerith and Zack, he thinks that he needs to atone for his sins, and thinks that the only way to do this is through living* 16: Cloud starts living with Tifa and experiences happiness and peace for the first time in his adult life.** 17: Cloud develops cherophobia and survivors guilt. He feels ashamed for being alive and happy while Aerith and Zack are dead because of him.*** 18: Clouds mental health deteriorates because of these feelings.**** 19: Cloud finds Denzel and sees him as a way to atone, having found a pathway to redemption, Clouds situation improves.***** 20: Cloud is unable to save Denzel from geostigma, and contracts it himself. 21: Clouds mental health worsens again, he failed again, he is unable to save Denzel, he is even unable to save himself, he won't be able to atone for his sins through living. He potentially brought an infectious disease into the house and as a result of his actions Tifa and Marlene will now lose him. 22: Depressed and ashamed, Cloud runs away. He thinks Tifa and Marlene are better off without him, he doesn't want them to see him waste away and die, he feels like he doesn't deserve to be happy and should instead die alone, Etc. Classic depression. (Some quotes concerning the *** are at the bottom of the article)

As for why he thinks about Aerith and Zack a lot, and hangs around the places that are connected with them, what else do you expect? Of course he's thinking about them, they're the people he failed, they're DEAD because of him. Cloud is a caring man, he beats himself up over it, of course he'd be thinking about them. And where else would a man wallowing in guilt and self-pity go than to those places? But the important thing to remember is that none of this is supposed to be seen as romantic. It's supposed to be viewed as sad and negative. Every internal character arc has something to overcome and this is what Cloud has to overcome in Advent children.****** Tifa to Cloud: "have we lost to our memories?" Cloud to Sephiroth: "Stay where you belong, in my memories" A well written story has internal and external obstacles to overcome, and ties the two together. In the case of advent children, the return of Sephiroth is the physical representation of Clouds internal character arc, which is that he should stop living in the past, and should move on. The past here isn't a positive thing he wants to get back to, Clouds past has always been a thing he's ran away from, but then is forced to accept. The past in Clouds case is a bad thing, his failures, and is something he should stop dwelling on. If you've ever seen the lion king, this resembles the scene where Rafiki hits Simba with a stick. "What does it matter, it's in the past", "yeah but it still hurts", "Oh Yes, the past can hurt, but the way I see it you can either run from it, or learn from it".

When Cloud returned to his normal self, he stopped running from the past, but as a result, he started dwelling in it. That's what he's doing in Aeriths church; dwelling in misery.

If we juxtapose Aeriths church with the 7th heaven, we can start to see where peoples misunderstandings are taking place. When some people look at the events of ACC they think that 7th heaven is a place of sadness, which Cloud leaves to be happy at Aeriths church, the place of happiness. The "have we lost to our memories" is then seen as a confirmation of this and that the memory, which they think corresponds to Aerith, is better than life with Tifa. This character arc then concludes with Cloud being happy by finally leaving Tifa behind, and riding off in the sun-set in search of Aerith at the end of the movie. But this interpretation falls apart as soon as you apply context to it, both narratively, and factually, it doesn't fit with with developer quotes, as well as the fundamental story themes of FFVII. 1: If 7th Heaven/Tifa is a place of sadness, then why has Cloud been consistently quoted to experience happiness there? 2: If 7th Heaven/Tifa is a place of sadness, and Cloud leaves at the end of the movie, then why has it been stated to be his promised land, aka, his land of supreme happiness (the reason it's literally called 7th heaven), and why is he stated to return there? ******* 3: If Clouds "memories" are positive, why is the plotarc resolved by Cloud telling the villain to "stay there"? 4: If Cloud is happy at the church, why is he living in self-deprecating squalor? 5: If Cloud loved Aerith and thought Denzel was sent to him by her, why did he abandon him? 6: Do you really think SE would write a story about a "hero" whose main emotional hurdle concerning the past comes down to. "I am sick of the girl I am with, I prefer the one that is dead, so I will get over the past by letting go of the girl I am with, as well as my adoptive children, to go chase the dead girl"? 7: Don't you think this would do Tifas character a tremendous disservice and do you think SE would be that preferential in their treatment? I could go on, but I think the point is clear. While the "Aeriths church is a happy place" interpretation is semi-coherent when looked at in isolation, it becomes exceedingly bizarre as soon as you place it in context. As I am fond of saying, this is not a matter of personal interpretation, it's a matter of lying to yourself vs not lying to yourself. I also suspect that this is the reason why SE changed the ending to advent Children, because people were misinterpreting it in this bizarre way, so they made it more in your face. In context, the following interpretation is much more fitting. Aeriths church is a place of sadness that Cloud runs to because of his guilt and depression. The "memories" line refers to Cloud dwelling on his past mistakes, as evidenced by his constant quotes about needing forgiveness. The character arc of moving on from the past is then resolved when he forgives himself, and as a result, defeats sephiroth, the metaphorical demon of his past. This allows him to return to his place of joy, his promised land, the 7th heaven, with a more positive outlook on the past. Instead of tarnishing Aerith and Zacks memories by wallowing in the past he instead moves on from it, thereby allowing it to become beautiful, which is represented by him planting Aeriths flowers on Zacks grave, and placing Zacks sword in the church. Instead of Zacks grave being the place where Zack died, it is now the place where a hero was born. Cloud has moved on, he has let his mistakes go, and has learned to come to terms with himself. I think it's hard to argue that this version of events is much less shallow, and much more meaningful than the story of a lovesick guy who abandons his partner and adoptive kids to go chase after a dead girl, but that's just me, what's more important is that it's the only version of events that's corroborated by the evidence. Thanks for the question. __________________________________________________

Corroborating quotes (not comprehensive)

* from case of Tifa: "“I’m going to live. I think that’s the only way I can be forgiven. All sorts of things…"

** Nojima in AC prologue: "“Cloud never had a candid personality to begin with, and although he started living with Tifa and even started working, he obtained a peaceful livinghe’s never experienced before, and this conversely made him anxious. And in the midst of this he contracts Geostigma himself, and rather than being able to protect the people dear to him, he instead was forced to face his own death, and so ran away.” (among other quotes)

*** 10th anniversary ultimania: "when Cloud contracts Geostigma he disappears. Behind these actions lies feelings of guilt towards his past failure to protect people who were important to him"

Aeriths 10th anniversary profile : Aerith still lives on in the hearts of her friends who saved the planet. And in particular to Cloud, as a symbol of his failure to having being unable protect those dear to him, she was a major factor in causing him to close himself off. -Aerith’s 10th anniversay profile.

And more, really this is reiterated constantly.

**** From case of Tifa: "During that time, it was Marlene who noticed a change in Cloud. She told Tifa how Cloud would sometimes space out and not listen to her.

Transporting mail around the world meant he was traveling around his past too. She knew that Cloud was in great pain because he couldn’t protect Aerith. Cloud was trying to overcome that and live on. But, going back to the place where he parted from Aerith might mean that his sorrow and regret was going to tear his heart again.

It was night, and they had closed the bar. Cloud was drinking alcohol even though he rarely did. He drained his glass. Tifa thought about it before going over and filling his glass.

***** From case of Tifa: "Tifa wondered if they became a real family after Denzel appeared. Cloud was clearly taking less jobs. At night, he would always make sure he had time to spend with the children. The silly little conversations he had with Tifa were also back."

****** Reunion files, page 58: "As long as Cloud blames himself for Aerith’s death, he won’t be able to move on with his life. One of the first ideas we had for Advent Children was to have Cloud overcome and resolve that immense feeling of guilt. For Cloud, no one other than Aerith can solve that problem for him."

- Takahiro Sakurai pg. 15 reunion files: After Cloud was told, “Which is it? A memory or us?: by Tifa, he tells Sephiroth, “Stay where you belong. In my memories,” just before he defeats him. I think Cloud finally becomes free at this moment. Deep down, Cloud knew that he shouldn’t be so hard on himself, but at the same time he couldn’t let go of those feelings of guilt for what happened to Aerith and Zack, or the thought that he could never forgive himself for it. But then his companions made him feel better by telling him to let go. ******* "The place where he awakens—- That is Cloud’s Promised Land As he sleeps, Cloud hears two voices. The voices of two people very dear to him, who are no longer with him. Playfully and kindly, they give him a message: he doesn’t belong here yet. When he awakes, there was his friends. There were the children, freed from their fatal illness. Tifa and Marlene, and Denzel asking for Cloud to heal his Geostigma— his family were waiting. Engulfed in celebration, he realizes where he is meant to live."

"Aerith lends her power to the people suffering from Geostigma in Edge, and personally provides for Cloud’s recovery. Geostigma is cured. Cloud returns to Tifa and the children."

- FFVII 10th Anniversary Ultimania Complete Timeline

#Cloti #FFVII #ffvii remake #cloud strife #advent children

123 notes · View notes

capn-schmazz · 3 years

Text

edgar wright being my new favorite director:

i have to admit that after watching the cornetto trilogy I’ve become more than a little obsessed with Simon’s work and Edgar’s as well, which means I’m forcing my friends (who all have a similar interest in either film or geek/sci fi shit so they aren’t too upset with my dragging them along) to watch them with me. Rewatching the trilogy just reminds me of how much I love certain sequences so here are (some of) my top Edgar Wright directorial moments from each movie.

some spoilers (no major ones though)

Shaun of the Dead:

The Opening Shot

I absolutely love the intro to Shaun of the Dead. The song behind it (Ghost Town by The Specials) starts off on a black screen, the intro chords playing us into our first shot of Shaun where the music, just as it’s hitting its melody, switches to the background sound of the scene with the ding of the “last orders” bell. Shaun sits in the pub, staring vacantly as he sips his pint and smokes his cigarette, disconnected from the current scene. His girlfriend jolts him back to life with the first line of dialogue, and we begin that scene. What this is is a great bit of writing made even better by the cinematography of that shot (one of my all time favorites to be honest). On top of that, it immediately characterizes his actions for the rest of the movie in a really interesting way. His girlfriend’s nudge is what pulls us into the actual movie, and it’s the love he has for her and the drive to stay with her that motivates the majority of his actions in throughout the rest of it.

A Day in the Life and Shaun Being Ignorant of the Apocalypse

Three things I love about these sequences: the things they accomplish, the visual comedy, and the recreated shot. At first, the shot is really an establishing shot of how Shaun lives his life. It introduces us to his surroundings (which we’ll need to know well as it’ll become a warzone), the people in the area (more specifically, the people he’ll be fighting), and the way he as a character interacts with the world around him. As we see from that first shot, he strolls through, interacting passively with people, but still engaged in his surroundings in a sort of muscle memory way. In the recreated shot, we see that muscle memory, definitely helped along by his hangover, and he completely misses all the obvious signs of the coming end of the world: smashed car windows, someone running for their life, zombies stumbling in the street, the blood on the fridge door in the shop, etc. Now we know that even though the apocalypse is here, our homeboy Shaun isn’t actually aware of it, making him an incredibly unlikely hero, as we continue to see throughout the movie. There’s also the joke in it. The original shot is the set up, the recreation is the punchline. There’s also the fact that all throughout ‘a day in shaun’s life’ we’ve had normal people acting like zombies, including Shaun, as an obvious foreshadowing to when they actually will be zombies. So it’s also funny that after all that build up to the zombie apocalypse, and us knowing it’s coming, when it comes Shaun doesn’t notice until it quite literally lunges at him.

Honorable mention: The ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ zombie beating because Edgar’s musical direction is also killer.

Hot Fuzz

The ‘Village Green Preservation Society’ and Slasher Run

So, we go straight from the aggressive, signature Edgar Wright quick-cuts, intense zoom action sequence of Nicholas Angel arresting a load of teenage boys, to a shot of him in his bed that night exercising his grip (in a great visual innuendo). The action of that first bit is immediately killed by the stillness of that shot. Then, queue ‘the village green preservation society’ by The Kinks, and Nick’s bed is made and we get that establishing shot of the country town and all its greenery. What follows is a perfect following of Nick’s morning jog through the town, introducing us to the lay out of the town (that we’ll need to know for when it becomes a warzone later on -- sound familiar?) as well as the new characters we didn’t meet during Nick’s late night pub arrests (because we’ll need to know them well once they’re...the people he has to fight-- de ja vu again). The new characters, they greet Nick with friendliness and little bits like “good morning Sergeant!” and such, that are each in time with the music. The music is perfect for the scenario as well as aligning perfectly and it tickles me just the right way and I love it.

It ends abruptly with the appearance of Mr. Skinner who essentially issues a threat and acts very weirdly, making Nick on edge, and has a sort of uneasy villain music tone behind that moment. Then we’re cut completely out of the sequence by a signature Edgar move of making opening the door to the police station as action-y, zoomed in and quick as possible.

A Big Cop in the Model Village

“If you want to be a big cop in a small town, fuck off to the model village” (or something to that extent) is a line one of the detectives says to Nick earlier in the movie. So, this moment is not only a great shot but a terrific writing moment. Also the fact that the model village itself is a pun. Sandford likes to fancy itself as a ‘model village’ with perfection, a dream world, a perfect haven that wins village of the year award every year. Not only is he a big cop in a small town (as is literally demonstrated by this shot) but he has destroyed the town (both the real town and this one), both of which were ‘model towns’ in different ways. It’s just so brilliant.

Honorable mention: Nick Riding into the Village on Horseback all Dramatic-Like because it’s dope and also really funny

The World’s End

Most of my love for this movie is about the writing, which is why I only have on massive directorial hard-on for this:

The Entire Fucking Intro to The World’s End

It starts with a basic expositional story telling us exactly who everyone is, where they’re going, what they’re doing, and what stopped them from doing this before. But it’s not just exposition. That’s the beauty.

Gary King’s in a group therapy session telling them this story. So the exposition is justified in a characterization way. But this isn’t about the brilliance of the writing, this is about the directing and cinematography. So I present to you:

That shot. Such beauty in that shot. It pulls out and out, running the production company logos with the incredible music of Primal Scream’s ‘Loaded’ in time with the movie title. The letters of the title even go out in time with the drum riff thing in the song. Then we go into a never ending shot going from left to right, following the action, as we see each of those characters of Gary’s friends and their modern lives with comparisons to Gary’s institutionalized squalor. It’s magnificent. This intro, from 0:00 to the bit where Gary hides behind Peter’s bushes and Peter drives around to see who it was, is probably one of my favorite sequences in any movie I’ve ever seen, and certainly the best introductory/exposition/characterization/title sequence I’ve ever watched.

I could go on about it for longer, but I have homework I’ve been procrastinating on with this post. Once my classes are done I’m planning on bingeing Edgar Wright’s work as well as Simon and Nick’s.

fun fact though: That opening shot of Shaun of the Dead, I saw it on youtube, just that opening shot, and immediately I knew I had to watch the movie.

peace out.

#the cornetto trilogy #shaun of the dead #hot fuzz #the world's end #edgar wright #directing #simon pegg #nick frost #cult film #movies

79 notes · View notes

iammistressofmyfate · 2 years

Text

The Alchemist and His Wife Chapter 2

Roy and Riza reunite under challenging circumstances after his time away.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35220490/chapters/87769504

See below for a sneak peek of this chapter!

Roy stood in front of the Hawkeye Estate, the wind getting sucked out of his sails as he looked up.

The large house had fallen back into disrepair over the two years that he’d been gone and he felt his heart sink at the sight.

The overgrown yard, the cracked stones of the path leading to the front door, shingles missing from the roof.

It had been challenging to correspond with Riza while he had been traveling and they had fallen out of touch by the time he had returned to Central. She would still be in school, finishing up her last two years there, but it saddened him to see that things had returned to the way they had before he’d started his apprenticeship.

He should have been better about keeping in touch, especially upon his return to his aunt’s home. He would have moved faster to return to the village.

It had always been his intention to come back, to talk with his master and Riza about…helping. He could stay at the estate, assist his master in his research, take on students, and help to keep up the house.

It wasn’t possible for her to do it all, especially while she was in school.

He felt now more than ever, that his assistant could be greatly beneficial.

It was the fall, so she was most likely not home, but he couldn’t make heads or tails if anyone else was in the house, as all of the curtains were drawn over the windows.

He walked up the path to the front door and let himself in.

There was definitely no one there since all the lights were out, and he turned on a lamp. He left his suitcase by the front door, hanging up his jacket, and went upstairs in search of his master.

He found Master Hawkeye in his bedroom. He didn’t look well. His skin was pale, his face sunken, his blond hair lank. His master had always seemed like a slightly sickly person, but Roy had always attributed that to his time spent mostly in doors.

He was starting to wonder if something else was going on.

“Sir,” he said.

“Ah…Roy Mustang. So you’ve returned.”

Roy stepped into the room, standing at the foot of his master’s bed, hands behind his back. He was older now, just having turned twenty, far more experienced than he had been the last time he had stood before his master, but as his master’s blue eyes surveyed him, he felt like the boy he had once been when he’d first started his tutelage.

“You’re not a soldier then,” his master said.

“No, sir. I took the last two years to travel. I went through to the south, into Aerugo, down to the coast, and around to Xing by sea. I spent the majority of my time there, learning Xingese alkahestry, and understanding their culture and history. My mother was of Xingese descent, so it meant a lot to me to learn more about that piece of my heritage.”

Master Hawkeye nodded, a very small smile curling his lips.

“I will say, this is a pleasant surprise. I was expecting you to return to me asking about my alchemy in a military uniform. I am impressed and relieved to see that you decided on a different path.”

Roy nodded.

“Thank you, sir. I have learned quite a bit about the world and myself on my travels and I have thought long and hard about what I wish to continue doing with my life. I am interested in learning about your flame alchemy, but I also want to help. I am more than happy to take on apprentices under your guidance and do what I can for the estate. It saddens me to see you and Riza living in such squalor and I want to help…”

Master Hawkeye opened his mouth, coughing rather violently. Roy made to go to him, but his master held up a hand, halting him.

“I must say, my apprentice, that I am impressed and pleased to hear about your decision to forgo a military career. As alchemists we are constantly seeking knowledge and it seems that you have done just that. My research has been completed…and I have allowed myself to grow complacent. I suppose it was good timing on your part, to return here, to take on my mantle…”

His master began coughing again, far harder this time, slumping over. Roy went to him, calling his name, finding blood pooling on the floor.

“Master Hawkeye!”

“I wanted to see…with my own eyes…that you were ready for…my research,” his master wheezed. “You have done well…my apprentice. You are ready.”

He coughed again, more blood spilling to the floor.

“My daughter…is in possession…of my research. If you have…the right intentions…like I believe you do…she will show you my notes. Protect her…look after...my daughter. Riza…I’m sorry…I couldn’t do more…for you…”

“Master! Please! Someone! Call a doctor! Is anybody here?!”

Roy looked up, his master’s lifeless body in his arms, blood all over his hands and clothes.

“Riza!”

She stood in the doorway, looking frightened, amber eyes wide. She was here. He hadn’t been expecting that.

“Riza! Call a doctor! Quickly!”

She gave a little nod, edging into the room, going to the phone on the other side of the bed. She picked up the receiver, dialing a number with shaky fingers. Roy moved his master back into bed, feeling for a pulse…but he was gone…

“P-please, come quickly. M-my father, my father, he’s…”

Roy looked up as she set down the receiver. She looked pale and fragile, her eyes locked onto her father’s body, before moving upwards to meet his. She looked terrified and pale.

“Roy,” she whispered.

“Riza…I’m so sorry…”

The local doctor and coroner came, pronouncing Berthold Hawkeye deceased.

They took his body away to be stored at the mortuary until funeral arrangements could be made.

Riza looked shaken and ill and he was concerned for her.

Mrs. Marshall, the neighbor who had brought meals by once or twice a week when he had been staying with his master, was making tea and dinner.

He changed out of his blood stained clothing, finding Riza curled up on the couch in the living room. She looked so small, the blanket wrapped around her like a shroud, a mug of steaming tea in her hands.

“Riza…?”

She looked up as if slightly startled, focusing in on him, and he saw her visibly relax.

“Roy,” she said, her voice soft. “I got your letter. I took some leave from school because you said you would be arriving around this time.”

He saw a ghost of a smile on her lips and he smiled back.

“Oh good…I’m glad.”

She nodded and he sat down on the couch next to her.

“I’m sorry that this wasn’t under better circumstances.”

She shook her head.

“You couldn’t have known,” she replied. “I knew father was sick, but…you know we never spoke much. He didn’t tell me how sick…I didn’t realize that…”

She went quiet and he watched her, his heart heavy.

“I’m so sorry, Riza.”

She shook her head again.

“Please…don’t be. I mourned the loss of my father a long time ago…but such a death is still shocking.”

“Yes. It is.”

They fell into a slightly stilted quiet, she took a tentative sip of her tea.

“So…you’re going to stay, then?” she said, looking up at him.

He nodded.

“Yes. If…you’re amenable to it. I don’t wish to impose, but I would like to help out however I can.”

She smiled again, nodding slowly.

“Of course. It’s been lonely here without you…and I could use the help if I’m being honest.”

He was even more saddened to hear this. He could only imagine what she had been managing on her own.

“Well…I’m happy to stay as long as you’d like me to and help in whatever way I can.”

She hummed softly.

“Do you need help with making arrangements for your father?”

She nodded and he smoothed a hand up and down her back once, before resting his hands in his lap.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

#young royai #royai #alternate universe #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #fma #fmab #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fullmetal alchemist

12 notes · View notes

crossdressingdeath · 3 years

Note

Seeing your post about how JYL has a 'ranking system' in her head when it comes to WWX and JC hits so hard, but honestly, the more I read into the Jiang family dynamics, the more I agree. JYL obviously loves WWX, but I don't know if she's capable of putting him above JC. And we see her defending him, and she obviously gives her life for him, but she was also reacting in the moment. Not to speak lightly of her sacrifice of course, but I just feel like there are certain limits to how 1/7

far she's actually willing to go for him. I was initially one of JYL's staunch defenders, and always said that, unlike JC, she didn't have the same amount of political power as him, wasn't in a position to do anything about the Wens, ect. But...I'm starting to question if that's really true. JYL may not have had much direct political power herself, but she was the sister of a sect leader, and even if JC was unwilling to help, JYL had just married into the richest and most powerful sect 2/7

at the time. It was a love marriage, JZX adored her and would've done anything for her if she'd just bothered to ask him for it. Madam Jin also cared for her and respected her, and between her and JZX, had JYL actually bothered to tell them anything, I'm sure they would have been able to sort something out. Or she could have had it as a condition of her marriage - I'm not marrying into the sect that's trying to kill my brother unless you tell your father to stop. Had it been reversed and 3/7

The Lans were calling for JYL and JC’s deaths, no way in hell WWX would’ve just married into the sect, regardless of LWJ’s involvement. Instead she just doesn’t really do anything. We see no proof that she ever tried to see WWX after the wedding dress incident, which — god I instantly saw it as a sweet gesture, but now it just bothers me, because your brother is living in squalor, and you decide to show if the expensive dress that you’ll be 4/7

wearing when marrying into the sect that's trying to kill him, you bring along one bowl of soup for him, and don't even try to explain WHY you're marrying into said sect. Beyond that, we don't see a single moment up until her death where JYL actually seems concerned about WWX, puts in effort to try to see him - she doesn't even ask him how he's doing the one time she does come to see him. When we compare that to how WQ treats WN, yeah, she's outwardly not as loving or sweet, but she 5/7

goes to the ends of the earth for her brother, even going as far as to betray her sect and risk WRH's wrath because he asks her to. And now we come back to that ranking system you mentioned before - yeah, it really does seem like JYL places her blood family first, which definitely hurts, but in comparison, despite only knowing him for a shorter amount of time, WQ truly grows to think of WWX as a second brother. And she treats him as such, at an equal level with WN - after JZX dies 6/7

WQ doesn't attack WWX for what happened. She doesn't try to come up with a way to sacrifice WWX instead and let WN survive in his stead. She and WN, two people who have become WWX's family, both give their lives to protect both him and the rest of their remaining family members. And it's just frustrating to think that the one member of WWX's adopted family who we all thought treated him like an actual brother, might not have really been on his side after all. 7/7

Yes! To start with the wedding dress thing, because it drives me nuts when people treat that like some super sweet act of love: JYL shows up in the Burial Mounds with no money, no sign of having tried to talk the sects around, no news outside of her own, no food beyond a couple bowls of soup (one of which she gives to the guy who can’t eat), and doesn’t so much as ask WWX if he’s okay. She literally came all that way to have a family meal, ask WWX to name the future nephew it’s becoming increasingly clear he’ll never meet, and tell him about her impending marriage into the family that’s currently doing everything in its power to destroy WWX’s life. Like, if you think about it that entire visit is such a slap in the face; “Here’s a bowl of soup while the people under your protection are starving, oh by the way I’m going to marry the son of the guy actively trying to get you killed, okay bye”. All you can say in regards to her helping WWX is that she does potentially manage to persuade JZX to invite him to JL’s one month celebration, but if memory serves the novel never actually specifies whose idea that was and it was JZX who decided to go get WWX after JGY told him about seeing JZXun heading in the direction of the Burial Mounds. And even then JZX does the same thing JYL does; sees WWX outnumbered and surrounded and tells him to stand down. At least in JZX’s case you could argue that the actual fighting hadn’t broken out and JZX probably trusted in his authority to be able to sort the situation out so long as WWX wasn’t actually acting aggressive (or defensive, rather), and he’s also physically strong enough that he may well have been able to intervene if the cultivators had attacked. JYL, when she does the same thing, has no authority and no physical power to defend WWX with. And yeah, both JZX and Madam Jin adore JYL, and neither of them seem super fond of JGS (JZX respects his father, but I don’t get the sense he loves him); if JYL had asked them for help it’s entirely possible they would’ve started at least circulating her version of events and demanding a proper investigation into what happened. But there’s no mention of her so much as trying, and she doesn’t offer to ask them when she visits WWX.

And yeah, compare WQ to JYL and it’s... well. WQ is so quick to offer WWX her love and care? She’s harsh, but she loves him and views him and WN on such equal footing that she and WN willingly hand themselves over to the Jins for WWX’s sake without her so much as bringing up the possibility of saving WN instead. There’s no ranking for WQ; WWX and WN are her brothers, and she loves them, and she’d do anything to protect them. When it becomes clear she can’t save WN (like hell the sects would let him live, and by this point it’s pretty clear that WWX won’t be able to protect them forever) she throws her whole weight behind defending the brother she thinks she might still be able to save, even if it means bringing WN with her to die. WQ knows WWX for... a year or two? Maybe? The timeline is a little hazy. Not long compared to JYL, anyway. And yet she’s willing to walk all the way to Lanling to die in the hope of saving him. It’s for her whole family, yes, but she makes a point of including him. Basically, I think this fandom needs more stuff wherein the Jiangs and Wens survive and the Wens are fully like “Our brother now, you don’t deserve him”.

The thing with JYL is... she loves WWX, she genuinely does, but he is never going to be first for her. To the point where she outright enables JC’s abuse, in places; she always expects WWX to be the one to grin and bear it. Hell, one of their first conversations involves JYL cheerily allowing WWX to cover up JC locking him out of his bedroom and scaring him out into the woods by threatening to set dogs on him! Let me rephrase that: she allows a traumatized nine-year-old to hide the fact that the kid her dad expects him to share a room with locked him out of said room on his FIRST NIGHT and threatened him with his LITERALLY WORST FEAR, and as far as we know makes no attempt to tell JFM herself. To keep JC out of trouble. That is such a thing! WWX was scared to the point of running away and JFM expects him to share a room with the person responsible for that and JYL goes along with him promising not to tell JFM so that JC won’t get in trouble! And from that day forwards everything is just “Boys will be boys” to her. Like, let me put it this way. Before LWJ (and arguably the Wens before that, although WWX saw himself more as protector than protected there) JYL was the person WWX trusted to protect and care for and comfort him above all others, yeah? She’s the one he thinks of as having his back? He doesn’t tell her about JC trying to kill him. JC tries to kill WWX three times before JYL’s death, and WWX doesn’t say a word to her about any of them. You could argue that he doesn’t want to involve her, but... JYL pretty clearly takes JC’s side every time JC starts having a go at WWX. When he chases him out of their room, when he starts snapping about how annoying WWX is, when he stabs WWX... She never outright says it, but there really does come a point where by staying neutral you’re siding with the aggressor, and she reaches that point a lot. Hell, the stabbing is one of those aforementioned near-murders! JC stabbed him! According to WWX (who downplays serious injuries, he never exaggerates them) he had to hold his guts in! WWX is talking about a pretty fucking serious injury (and JYL grew up in a cultivation sect, I don’t believe for a second she doesn’t at least know what constitutes a serious injury) while JC whines about a broken arm like it’s worse than having to physically hold your guts in until you can reach a doctor and JYL acts like those are equal! JC could easily have killed WWX and has enough training with the sword to know better than to go for a blow like that in a staged fight and JYL doesn’t even suggest he should apologise.

Honestly? The more I think about JYL the more it pisses me off that she’s treated like WWX’s best sister more than WQ is. Imagine WQ seeing one brother stab the other in the gut and take the former’s side because the latter broke the former’s arm. Imagine WQ so much as considering allowing a child to cover up the kid he’s supposed to share a room with locking him out and scaring him into running away. She wouldn’t! Because WQ sees her brothers as equals. She won’t pick WN over WWX just because they’re blood siblings; she loves them both, and will choose based on who she thinks is in the right. And she wouldn’t just stay neutral to avoid rocking the boat, oh no. If WQ heard WWX say that WN stabbed him and did enough damage that he had to hold his guts in... oh boy would WN have a bad day. The thing with JYL is that she seems like a good sister in comparison to the rest of the Jiangs; stick canon JYL into a family that genuinely loves WWX and sees him as equal to their other children, and she would not look anywhere near as good.

#mdzs #lotus sister #i still love jyl but... well #she's not actually a good sister to wwx despite being the only jiang to claim him as family #she looks good in comparison to the rest of the jiangs #but i'd pick wq over her any day #anon #asks

84 notes · View notes

drazzilder · 3 years

Text

A Hellish Encounter

By Drazzilder

Chapter 7: Getting Better

It has been one year since you first meet Endeavor. It only took you a few weeks to find an apartment. You use the word apartment loosely. Not many people would want to rent to a wanted criminal, let alone one with a demon living inside of him. It was only one room, with chipping paint, stained floors, cracked windows, dim ceiling light, but it was yours. The only reason you put up with it is because you couldn’t stay in Endeavor’s house forever and it did have 2 windows.

Living with Endeavor was awkward to say the least. Even though it was a family, no one acted like it. No one talked to each other unless it was required. Everyone just lived their own lives under one roof, it was very uncomfortable for you as you could sense the emotions were tense.

However, once you moved out, the paperwork finally was in for you to start your training. Endeavor personally trained you on combat training. He was quiet surprised the first time you took over his body, but his will power was stronger than your power at the time and he was able to break free. You also helped Enji with a lot of office work and you often went to lunch together. There was also the basic training of hero work, how to handle paperwork and deal with the rules and regulations. The one non-hero help you got was a therapist. You saw him every week and it did seem to help you with your emotions and memories. They might not go away, but at least you could keep them managed when they did come to the surface.

Speaking of feelings, you try to keep your feeling for Endeavor under control. At first you thought it was just because he saved you but every time your around him, your heart begins to flutter and you’re an emotional wreck. You get excited when he asked if you want to go out to lunch with him even if it is for business. Red is your favorite color and his crimson hair drives you wild. The way his muscles flex under his hero suit, the way the flames frame his face makes you want to just feel him all over. The first time you saw him without his fire mask, you practically passed out, that jaw line of his, the facial hair, everything was too much. Even thinking about him starts to make you feel all warm inside. That’s the best part about him, warmth. All your life you only knew cold and that man is the epitome of warmth. Just being near him was enough for you to relax. Oh, how you wonder what it would be like to be in his arms. You quickly stop your emotions as you know it will never happen.

You look at yourself in a full-length mirror leaning against the wall. All of the training has managed to put some weight on you, but your still only 160lbs, just under 6 foot. Your still covered in scars. Thanks to Zaheer, you are much stronger than you appear. As you continue to look at yourself, you feel a presence behind you and you look in the mirror. A 9 ft tall muscular body appears with red skin, golden mane with beard and golden horns. His face isn’t entire human, complimented with small white tusks. You see a large hand grip your shoulder as the claws dig in ever so little. He kneels down to match your height.

“Are you ok?”

“I’m fine Zaheer.” You look over to him instinctively but you just find yourself in an empty room. You look back to the mirror and he is there again.

“We have a big day ahead of us.” He smiles with a toothy grin. His pure white eyes shut with excitement.

“I know, we finally get our hero costume. I wonder how it will look.”

“I’m sure it will look great.” The demon goes to hug you. You look in the mirror and see he is but you only feel a vague presence.

“We better get going, we don’t want to be late!”

You walk for a little while until you reach your destination. It is one of the best hero suit makers in Japan, of course Endeavor would get your costume from there. You are working for him so he wants you to have the best. Once you enter, you see the man himself waiting in the lobby.

“Good Morning (Y/N), how are you today.” He sounds almost tired but you let it go. He is a hero after all and probably tired from everything he does.

“Good morning Endeavor, I hope you were not waiting too long.”

“Not at all, only a few minutes. Are you ready?”

“Yes!” not at all hiding your emotions.

Right as you said that, a woman approach. “Sir, we are ready for you in the fitting room. Follow me.”

You follow her to a hallway with many rooms. Luckily, because of the help you have been getting this doesn’t bother you at all. Once in one of the rooms, you find a hanger with the costume hanging. “Try it on and come out when you’re ready so we can make any adjustments needed.”

It takes you a few moments to get everything one but once you do, you exit and see Endeavor and the tailor sitting quietly. You step out with black boots most of the way up your calf, with straps to hold them tight. Next there are slate gray cargo pants with a red belt holding them up. You have a black tee shirt on with a demonic symbol on the chest in red. A red hoodie vest over that and the hood is down but there are dark red goggles over your eyes: partly to protect them, partly to conceal them. Finally, you have red and black fingerless gloves that go almost to your elbow. You don’t have any weapons as of yet, but you’re not really a combat hero. Endeavor looks over you as the woman gets up and checks the fit of everything. She is going to have to take make some adjustments as you grew a little since she took the measurements, but overall, she is happy with how it turned out.

“Do you like it?” You ask Endeavor.

“Well, I think it looks great, but how do you feel?”

“I like it!”

“And you Zaheer?”

“As long as (Y/N) is happy, I’m happy.”

“Well,” the tailor interrupts “if your happy with it, I’ll go ahead and take it and have the final adjustment for you by tomorrow. Just one last thing, what is your hero name for the records”

“My hero name?” You thought. You never have given much thought before but one name does come to mind. “Don’t laugh, but I think I have one.”

“What would that be sir?”

“Hellboy.” You state quietly almost expecting a laugh from both of them. “Hell for Zaheer and boy for me. The only reason I thought of boy is because I get called that all the time.”

“I only call you that when I’m angry.”

“Your angry a lot because that’s all you call me.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with it.” Endeavor chimes in. “I kinda like it, it’s short and to the point.”

“Thank you.” You almost sigh with relief.

“Well, that takes care of that. If you could change out of your costume, you can be on your way.”

You both start heading out. It’s around noon now after everything. You start to get hungry.

“Did you want to get some lunch, Endeavor.”

“That’s fine, and you don’t have to keep calling me Endeavor, you can call me Enji when we are not working.”

“Oh, alright Enji. Did you want to get some katsu?”

“Hmm, that does sound good right about now.”

“Great! I know of this great place we can go.”

You walk for a little while until you round a corner to a back ally and go into a small restaurant. “(Y/N)! I haven’t seen you in almost a month, I was getting worried about you.” The older man greets you and Enji. You sit down at the long bar and look over the menu. You get your favorite pork katsu while Enji goes for chicken. You two have some continue small talk. Even though you have seen Enji without flames on his face and in normal clothes, you still find yourself looking at him more. You find him so attractive. You internally try to push the feelings down: he is your boss, the person who trains you. You can’t have feeling for him, but he notices you staring at him and he raises and eyebrow while looking at you. You quickly look back to your food and jam a huge amount in your mouth to distract him from your stares.

After you pay and leave, your about to head to the agency but you forgot your phone at your apartment.

“Can we go back to my apartment real quick, I forgot my phone.”

“You’re always forgetting that phone of yours. Very well, we can go get it but make it quick.”

“Alright, follow me, it’s not far from here.”

You walk about a mile more. As you get closer to your building, you two start going deeper into the more dangerous part of the city. Enji knows that this is where more of the crime happens, he doesn’t believe that you live near here.

“Just a little further, it’s that building there.”

The building has half of the windows broken or cracked, the walls are starting to fall apart and the building overall looks like it should be condemned. Enji is still silent as you enter the building. The smell of chemicals and vomit fill the main lobby. He almost gags as you head up the crumbing stairs and was you walk down the hall, the doors of each apartment slam closed as each resident sees Enji. You open your door and he sees your room. He takes a good look at it as you grab your phone, you turn around and see the shock on his face.

“You can’t possible live here.”

“This is all I could get, not many people are going to rent to a fugitive.”

“How is this building not condemned?”

“I didn’t ask, I just wanted to get a place to live. I didn’t want to stay to long with you; I felt like I would be imposing.”

“You’re coming back with me. I can’t have you living here, it’s not safe.” He grabs your arm as he pulls you out of the apartment.

“But I still have a month…..”

“We are leaving now! I’ll have someone come get your things.”

You two quickly leave the apartment faster than you entered. Enji almost seems mad that you have been living in suck squalor. Secretly, deep in your heart, you’re glad to go back to live with him.

Next Chapter

#A Hellish Encounter #endeavor x male reader #enji todoroki #enji x reader #enji x y/n #my hero academia enji #endeavor fluff #endeavor #endeavor stan #endeavor mha #enji x you #bnha endeavor #todoroki enji

20 notes · View notes

newtonsheffield · 3 years

Note

I have to imagine that Greg meeting Lucy's brother and uncle would be the most awkward experience but absolutely hilarious at the same time. Also, after they got together, did Greg and Lucy ever talk about him liking Hermione first/any insecurities Lucy had about that?

Oh I assure you, the night that Gregory met Lucy’s uncle and brother was truly, and astonishingly horrific: and it ended with her Uncle Robert storming out of the restaurant, Richard and Hermione nervously flitting between Lucy who was staring stony faced after Robert, and the door Robert had exited through, while Gregory had his face in his hands. Do you want to see a little snippet? It’s under the cut if you do!

Lucy knew, when she told Richard that she was now dating Gregory, exactly what he would say. It was, she thought idly, the problem with having asked him to keep Gregory’s indiscretion out of his papers. Not that she regretted that, she’d do it again in a heartbeat.

“Luce...” Richard trailed off a little tiredly, “Gregory Bridgerton, really?” Lucy had sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Yes. Gregory Bridgerton, Richard. And I’m not asking for your permission. I’m telling you that I’m seeing Gregory as a courtesy. You know, so we don’t show up to an event and completely blindside you.” Lucy finished pointedly. She heard Richard sigh on the other end of the phone. “I just want you to be smart Lucy, I don’t want you to get stuck with some hot head, that’s constantly getting into trouble. And what if he loses his temper with you? I just worry about you, Luce.” Irritation flares through Lucy at the implication.

“Gregory would never touch me, Rick. I told you, that what happened that night was an accident, and he was just defending himself. You don’t even know him!”

“I don’t need to know him, Lucy. I know a million guys just like him. And I know he’s probably very charming but-” Lucy could tell he was getting angry now, and they’d both always been stubborn

“We aren’t talking about this anymore, Rick! Let’s just... pretend I didn’t say anything!” Gregory had come to her flat later that night, looking adorable in his Star Wars T-shirt, his hair disheveled and she didn’t care what her brother had to say. She loved Gregory and that was the end of it.

Six months later she’d had a call from her Uncle Robert.

“Lucinda,” He’d started, and Lucy had barely suppressed a tut at the use of her full name. “This has gone on long enough. Richard tells me you’re still seeing this Bridgerton wastrel.”

“Gregory’s not a wastrel, Uncle Robert!” She’d shot back irritatedly, feeling all of 15 years old.

“I’ll be the judge of that. I have reservations for us on Thursday. You will bring Bridgerton with you, and that’s final.” And he’d hung up he phone before Lucy could protest. She’d hesitantly told Gregory, later that night as he lay sprawled on her living room floor, playing Super Mario Bros on his Nintendo that her brother and Uncle wanted to meet him. Gregory had stilled and started fiddling with his glasses.

“Well, you’ve met my family, So I suppose that’s fair.” His voice was even, though Lucy knew he was nervous.

“You have nothing to worry about Greg.” He’d nodded, chewing his lip. “I love you, you know” Lucy said lightly because she could tell he needed to hear it. She was rewarded with his crooked grin, his eyes shining up at her from the floor and her stomach clenched a little.

“Love you too, Luce. Always.”

Lucy knew this was going to be a disaster the moment she stepped into the restaurant, her hand holding Gregory’s tightly, rubbing soothing circles into the back of his hand. Her brother was seated already, Hermione at his side, Uncle Robert grinning across the table at them. As Lucy approached the table, Robert Abernathy had stood up, and squared his shoulders, as had Richard.

Uncle Robert, dropped a kiss to her cheek and greeted her tersely

“Lucinda.” And then he turned his attention on Gregory, eyeing him carefully. Lucy could tell he was unimpressed. Irritation flared in her chest. Richard cleared his throat

“Gregory isn’t it? Richard Abernathy.” He said, holding his hand out for Gregory to shake, Gregory let out a breath and took Richard’s hand gratefully.

“Greg, if you like. Pleasure to meet you.” Gregory said smiling his charming smile, and Lucy felt her lips curve upwards. Gregory then turned his attention to her Uncle as Richard returned to his seat. “Mr Abernathy. Gregory Bridgerton. Pleasure to meet you, Sir.” He held his hand out for her uncle to shake.

A nasty sneer dropped to her uncle’s lips as he said “Are you going to stop hiding behind my niece?” Gregory’s brow furrowed, confusedly in response trying to connect the dots. Lucy sighed.

“Uncle Robert’s just trying to scare you, sit down Greg.” And tugged him down into the seat beside her as she sat as she tossed an irritated look at her uncle. Hermione greeted them both happily and they settled in for the worst meal of her life, Her Uncle’s gaze watching them carefully.

Surprisingly, Dinner went fairly smoothly until the main course was being cleared away and her Uncle turned to Gregory, after a story from Richard about some charity polo match or another.

“So Gerald,” He started

“Gregory.” Lucy corrected, her temper instantly flaring. Robert continued as though she hadn’t spoken.

“When are you going to wise up and get a real job? Lucinda says you work as your brother’s gopher.” Gregory’s shoulder’s stiffened, Lucy narrowed her eyes and sighed irritatedly. Gregory took a deep breath and started

“Sir, I’m studying Law. I work for my brother because I thought it would be good to get a feel for the office, and how the business works.” Robert laughed humourlessly.

“So you’re just going to continue your little work-a-day life? Do you not think she deserves more than that, Gerald? Her mother’s father was an earl.” Lucy clenched her jaw, and gripped Gregory’s hand more tightly under the table. Gregory was getting flustered, colour rising in his cheeks, his other hand fiddling with his glasses.

“Sir, I think Lucy deserves the best of everything. I think she’s incredible, I love her and I will try very hard to make sure she’s happy, for as long as she’ll have me.” Lucy saw Richard nod approvingly, he and Hermione smiling their matching smiles. Lucy felt her heart ache at the earnestness in his voice. Uncle Robert was unmoved.

“Oh I’m sure you will, Gerald, working your meaningless little job, never finishing your studies, jumping from job to job, I know exactly who you are, boy-” Lucy’s patience snapped

“Enough, Uncle Robert!” Lucy snapped, “His name is Gregory! And he works very hard, in exactly the same job I do by the way-”

“Don’t even get me started on the ridiculousness of that, Lucinda.” Her Uncle cut across.

“I’m still talking!” She could feel her voice rising, feel the eyes of the other diners on her “You come here twice a year, and tell everyone how to live their lives. It’s ridiculous! Gregory is sweet, and Kind, and I love him, and honestly I don’t care what you think!” Everyone at the table was silent for a second. Her uncle Robert was practically purple, fury rolling off him in waves.

“Well, in that case I’ll leave you to it, Lucinda. Seeing as you can make your own choices, but don’t come crying to me when you’re living in squalor with this wastrel.” He stood from the table looming over them, Gregory was staring open mouthed, starting to apologise, his head in his hands. Richard and Hermione were both wide eyed.

“Oh You’ll cut me off will you? I should be so lucky!” Lucy snapped, stony faced. And she knew she’d gone too far, as soon as she’d said it. Her Uncle was furious now, his hand clenched in a tight fist,

“Richard, we’ll talk about this later!” He said finally, and then he was gone.

On the way home, Gregory finally spoke, in his smallest voice that made Lucy’s heart ache.

“Luce, I’m really sorry. I just... I don’t know what happened.” Lucy sighed loudly, and met his eyes, so sad, so disappointed.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I don’t even like my Uncle, and I certainly don’t care what he thinks. I love you, and no matter what he says that’s not going to change. Do you understand?”

Gregory gave her a small smile. And when her Uncle called her three months later with a terse

“I understand you’re still with Gerald.” Lucy took great delight i saying

“Yes, I’m living in sin with Gregory in a cardboard box.”

(I’m so sorry! This went for much longer than I thought)

#bridgerton and sons au #Lucy x gregory #lucy abernathy #gregory bridgerton

53 notes · View notes