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silverrstarrr · 3 years

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Normal girl (2)

Note: i just edit this chapter a bit and added more dialog. Someone messaged me and helped me out with a few things, thank you!

Chapter 2:

Walking side by side down the stairs, you took a sip of your coffee and place your herd of keys the side of your book bag. yume was scrolling through her phone on tik tok, drinking from her coconut Carmel ice coffee. You didn't understand why she was drinking ice coffee in mid February, it was cold. It was surprising their wasn't any snow.

Grinning like an idiot, she shaked your shoulder, positioning her phone in front of you–you both watched the tik tok. You didn't laugh at first only smiling, yume kept gesturing you to keep watching, waiting for the punchline. Finally it came up and you both started laughing, you slowly shaked your head placing your hand over your mouth.

"NOOO, nooo. That was so wrong, yall are going to hellll" you whined out.

Yume wiped the tears from her face and continued down the last step. She opened up the door and slid out, you trialing behind her. You both proceeded to walk down the street, where all the park cars were out.

"We riding in rich today girlie, jump in," she lifted up her arm that held her drink, her other reached into her purse and grabbed her car keys.

"I thought we were gonna walk there? It's only 10 minutes." You headed towards her car as she unlocked it and sat in the driver's seat. She had a 2018 dark Grey Nissan altima. You remember her having this ever since junior year, you recalled her talking about getting a newer model since this one was old. Like girl what? Old your ass, if the car still functioning there ain't no problem. White people shit, man.

"Well, it's the first day of sweet college life," she dragged out the last few words, adding a sarcastic tone. Yume tossed her bag in the backseat through the open space from the front, She dropped her drink in the little cup holder as well. Catching up with her, you open the backseat's door and chucked your bag in there–immediately closing it after. You pull the passengers door open and sat down, closing it behind you. Yume did the same–letting out a large sigh as she used her long sleeve to rub her legs, which were freezing.

"Bruh, you were just cold. Shouldn't have wore that skirt knowing it was this cold. Your mother would be disappointed," you moved your head side ways, pretending to be disappointed. You dropped your dunkin' drink in the other cup holder next to hers.

"Y/n, shut upp." Rolling her eyes jokingly, She grabbed the buckled next to her seat and puts it on. You placed your seat belt on too. Automatically, her phone connected to the car, you check over at the screen in the middle. It had the time, the degrees outside and all that other fancy things.

"Wanna play something?" she inserted the keys into the ignition and started the car.

"Yeah, I'll type it in,"

You grabbed her phone, showing the screen to her to unlock it, automatically recognizing her face– the lock screen slid up, revealing all her apps. You went to spotify and played "C U Girl" by Steve lacy.

"OKAAYYY, MS. INDIE TIK TOKER." Yume said nodding her, jamming to song. It was only going to be a 5 minute drive, or 7 if you guys couldn't find parking. She swerved to the left, leaving her parking space and pulling off. You whipped out your phone and paused your music, rapidly switching to snapchat–you heard yume's loud singing.

"I WANNA SEE YOU GUURRLL, I WANNA PLEASE YOU GIRL....GO AHEAD AND BE YOUR GIRL," This girl was jamming her out heart out, steve lacy was her favorite along with Brent faiyaz and many others.

In response, you started cackling as you hit the record button—swiftly turning over it to the driver. Her black ponytail moving as she sang and motioning her head in all different directions. Eyeing towards your direction she sees the phone and leans towards the camera flashing a smile, moving her head side to side—still singing through the lyrics. Yume returned back to the road as she lightly taps the steering, avoiding the horn of course.

Once the quick little vid was done, you added a caption,

"I swear if we crash😭😭💕"

Your thumb jolted between posting it on your private or public. You decided to post on the public story because why not? The song was over pretty quickly as the next one played.

"Who knew white people had rhythm?!" It was obviously sarcasm. You knew she was half Asian but it was fun always calling out her white side.

"Naaahh, white people don't have any rhythm. What you saw there was my miki matsubara pop out". She eases down her breaks– the traffic light turns red. Miki Matsubara? Oh yeah, it's that woman who sung "stay with me". It was a good song, you were obsessed with the chorus mostly.

You giggled a bit at her remark, you checked your socials once again.

"If this light doesn-" Yume sentence was cut off by the light turning green. She pressed her foot on the gas and carried on with attending class.

~~~

Pulling up to the parking lot, yume leaned towards her wheel, searching for a place to park. She slowly went down each isle searching for a vacant lot she could snag. You had your drink in between your lips, you took the last sip and shook the plastic cup trying to get a little more. All you heard was ice rattling against one another, dropping the cup back in the holder. You peer out the window looking at the campus, there were a ton of kids, like a lot. Anxiety began spiking up through your veins, this really is the college life, huh? Maria University. It was a school for literally anything, it was one of the biggest universities in the country as well being highly diverse. Yume would be allll the way on the other side of campus while you're slightly in the middle.

"Uggghhh! I regret not leaving earlier, I don't see any open slots." She whined. This was her 2nd time driving around the parking lot looking for a space.

"I said we should walk but nahhh, you wanted to be lazy and take the car." You rolled your eyes as yume, exaggerating, throwing your hands in the air. But you weren't going to be late on the first day. As the generous queen you are, you aided your roomie with looking a space to park. After analyzing for a few moments, you spotted a space and immediately tapped at the window, pointing towards it. Yume car swerved to the left, sliding right into the parking. Taking her keys out the hole, she grabbed her drink and headed out.

"No leaving trash in my car, miss L/n!"

You grabbed your plastic cup and opened the passenger door.

"Yes ma'am," you opened the backseat and grabbed the two bags and closed the door. Beep yume locked her car. She was sipping her coffee but gave a bitter expression when her sweet drink was watered down because of the ice. You looked at your phone, checking the time:

8:38 am

Monday, February 18th

38m ago

Kittykiller27, prettygirlnene liked your photo

45m ago

[Andyhas]: CRONA BECK started following you and 48 others.

Your phone was blowing up from insta notifications. It was time for class and you weren't sure how long it'll even take you to find your classroom. Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you handed yume her own, which she grabbed. You both were speed walking, despite her coffee being ruined she still continued to drink it. It was for the caffeine you guessed. Reaching the sidewalks, it was time to part ways. Yume turned her face towards yours pouting.

"We're leaving each other nooww," she stuck out her bottom lip staring at you. You grabbed her arm, pulling her closer to you. Her arms slithered around your waist, resting her chin on your shoulder–giving you a warm hug. You returned the hug by grunting and holding her tightly.

She started giggling and patted your back a few times, you released your grip and she started to jog in the other direction while looking back, waving at you. You waved back hollering a "BYEEEE!" A trash can was next to you so you dumped your empty dunkin' there.

It was now time for your own adventure, to find this damn classroom. You click the play button on your phone's lock screen, "baby powder by Jenevieve began playing. (Play the song whores👩🏾‍💻)

Walking downwards to the left side of campus, you searched for a pair of doors to go inside of. At this moment, you regretted not going to orientation. That day you were busy setting up your website for your makeup line. You haven't released any products yet, but you had plentiful of ideas and themes you wanted to do. Since it was black history month, maybe you'll drop something as simple as a face cream to help clear and brighten up the skin. But you discarded that thought because you weren't anywhere near ready to start your own small business. Plus, you had bigger things to worry about.

Standing in front of double doors, you grab the handles and pulled it back, you stepped inside while students behind you did the same. You came in slowly, admiring the interior. It was hella spacy with paintings and photos hanging along the walls. Students were roaming the hallways going back and forth from classrooms. Most of the students seemed to be in some sort of costume, or they were dressed fairly well like they were models. You didn't know the directions to your designated class, so you took up the courage to ask someone. You turned to search for someone who didn't seem busy, since most people were rushing to class. Finally you laid eyes on q girl leaning against the wall, typing on her phone. She had long pink acrylic nails, her blonde hair tied into a low ponytail, which complimented her pale skin tone. She had a gold nose piercing on the right nostril.

She seemed nice enough, so you decided to approach her.

"Um excuse me, do you know where Mr. Fargo's class is at?"

The blonde girl averted her eyes from her phone, now focusing on you.

"I'm not really sure—um, I believe it's down that way." She pointed to the right of her.

"Mr. Fargo, he's teaches cosmetic right?"

"Yeah," you replied

"Then I think it should be down there." She scrunched her face in a confusing manner, meaning not to take her word for granted. But you couldn't care less, it was worth a try.

"Ight, thank you." You bid her goodbye. Oop. You accidentally switched your lingo. You were used to speaking in AAVE but you knew how to change your tone and wordplay around others who weren't African American. The girl didn't seen to notice so you just continued down the hall.

"Down... here right..? Yeah this is the way," you murmured to yourself while you strut down the hall. Then turned left as the lady told you. You were now at a hall with multiple doors. Out of all them, you forget the most important, class started in five minutes. You looked to the left as your braids swayed with your movement, then searched to the right. You walked down the hallway, stopping at the fifth door on the left. You were hesitant with grabbing the door, you didn't want to make a fool of yourself walking into the wrong room as all eyes are on you. You pulled out your phone and texted yume.

(I did a different message format just in the previous was confusing)

colonizer but times 2🧑🏻‍🦲

I'm so lost, this is embarrassing.

Lost? What happened

Idk where my class is

& its starting in a few

You don't know where?? Bruh

Ask someone, im sure they'll help you

I did...but she didn't tell me

which class it was😭 all.

she said was "down the hall"

BYEE LMAOO

Uhh

Just open the door you think it is😋

UH- HUH🧏🏾‍♀️ YOU SETTING ME

UP FOR FAILURE.

Imagine going into the wrong class and

all you see are eyes 👁👁

Girl, half of the people won't even see you again on campus👩🏻‍🏫

If you don't recognize the teacher, try to ask a student close to the door for direction

Okay, im blaming you if I make a fool.

outta myself 😟

Read at 8:43 am

(Play quicksand by SZA rq 👩🏾‍💻)

You decided to take your roomie's advice and pick a class, which you already did.

You dropped your phone back into your jacket pocket and swung open the door–you were prepared for the stares. The classroom was vacant, not even a teacher in sight. Just a bunch of stools and white pull down screens. You saw a few cameras standing in front of these screens. "Was this the photography class or sum?" You mumbled to yourself.

And well, eyes were on you but it wasn't a herd as you expected, just one. Sitting on one of the stools in front of the door, was pale skin boy with long brown hair. It rested at his shoulders, some of it covering his face even. He seemed around 6ft, or 6 ft 2? You couldn't really tell since he was sitting.

He had on some black jeans with a black long sleeve sweatshirt as well with a beige greenish short sleeve unbutton shirt rested on top of it– a long golden key necklace dangled from his chest. His hands were sitting between his lap, you noticed sliver rings on them.(his outfit for people who need help visualizing) The teal eyed boy was also rocking black & white air Jordan 1 retro, literally the same as you.

You screamed internally at how fine this man looked and he had shoe gang? Uggghh. Class been started and you were going to be late on your first because this OBVIOUSLY wasn't your class. You decided to break the awkward silence and speak,

"Hey, um, is this Mr. Fargos class?" You stepped more into the classroom for the brunette male to hear you.

"Wrong one, babe. His class is in a totally different building." A different building?! You wanted to die right there and then, especially after hearing him laugh after his statement. Not just the wrong class but the wrong building? Bye–you're so stupid. His eyes scanned your body, his eyes lingered a bit longer at your shoes–it seems he noticed. A smirk appeared on his lips after finishing his quick outfit interrogation–wait, did he just call you-? I-, yes he did. You tried your best to hide your smile and not react.

"O-ooo, I got it. Thanks" Eren released a small chuckled seeing your reaction, he could tell you were caught up with the little pet name.

"I'll walk you over there." He got off his stool and walked towards your direction.

"I-, nah it's good, I got it." You said in defense not wanting to bother him. He didn't respond and just passed by you, exiting the classroom. He held onto the door, looking at you.

"You coming or no?" He was so nonchalant with it everything. You smiled a bit and walked out the class alongside with him. He released his grip once you were out and started trialing behind you.

You paused for a moment because you didn't know where you were going. You turned back to look at him, he caught on and let out an "ah". He quickly got in front of you as you proceeded behind him.

"So," he said.

"What?" You replied. Why did he start a sentence and not finish it? Was he expecting you to start the conversation, weirdo. You just wanted to get to class l.

"Oo, sassy are we?" He raised a brow.

"What—? boy, say what you wanna say."

Once again, he let out a chuckle, flashing you a small. God, was his laugh attractive.

"You're into makeup and stuff?" He questioned.

"Yeah, I'm into 'makeup and stuff' " You said the last few words in the mocking tone, referring to what he called cosmology.

"That's good, at least I'll be seeing you often."

"Often? Oh, are you in that major also?" You said.

"No...Do you really not know anything?" He made you feel dumb by his response. How were you suppose to know what he meant? You clicked your teeth and started walking ahead. You pushed back the door that lead to another hallway and walked towards the end to push the second door that lead to another building.

The brunette boy watched as you left him behind in the dirt, waiting for the moment you'll turn the wrong corner—so he could tease you about it then correct you.

It wasn't too long till you reached your destination, you both stopped in front of the class's door.

"Well, see you. I hope you don't make snarky remarks to every girl you meet."

"Nah, only you princess." He had a smirk on his face, ooo! You wanted to wipe it off.

You glanced at him and his eyes were already on you, you broke eye contact and reached for the handle.

"Wait–" you whipped your heard back.

"Yeah?"

He cleared his throat

"Name's Eren," you let out a small giggle, did he really just stop you to say his name? Puhleasee. Hearing your laugh, his face brightened up and kept his eyes on you.

"Okay, Eren~. Thank you for walking me, I gotten get to class now."

You opened the door and stepped inside. Eren didn't even get a chance to ask your name. Luckily for him, your major mingled a lot with his own, he could only hope to see you again around campus.

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

Authors note: UGHHH, I STAYED UP ALL NIGHT FOR THIS just to pass out a few hours before school started. 🥲 I wasn't even paying attention in English and math class, but hope yall enjoyed <3.

Pt 3

#x reader #attack on titan #eren headcanons #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager #anime #eren yeager x y/n #eren x black reader #eren yeager x you #aot x black reader #eren jeager #eren jaeger x reader #connie springer #aot season 4 #eren smut #fanfic #anime fanfic

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omegangrins · 3 years

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A Rant on the End of Tremors 7: Shrieker Island

As the main man said,

Throwing caution to the wind because this blew up elsewhere.

If you can do it with Justice League, fuck it, let's do it for every shitty movie we've got.

While we're at it, can we change the ending of the 7th Tremors movie so *MAJOR FUCKING SPOILERS* Burt Gummer doesn't die or at least bring Jamie Kennedy back, or Marvel style recast Jon Heder, so he dies saving his son instead of a random-ass person who could have easily saved themselves. Or cut the forced montage of Burt clips at the end so his death is at least ambiguous. Seriously beyond pissed about that one. THAT is no way for him to go.

I would also like to point out that the next Tremors *HAS* to be titled Tremors 8: Ouroboros and bring everyone back for Burt's funeral . Otherwise, what's the fucking point?

I have feelings about it, people. *FEELINGS!!!*

One of my favourite childhood memories is picking out Tremors 2 from the local gas station's movie rentals and forcing my parents to watch it. I was probably 5-6 at the time.

Let's say that it's been a lifelong love affair ever since. It took me another 10 years before I even watched the 1st. Probably why I hold good sequels in such high regard.

I didn't even know about the 1st until it played as a trailer in front of 2 and never thought to watch until years later. That's a testament to its filmmaking if I ever knew one.

So seriously, that's how they chose to kill off one of the most well known and prolific characters in a movie/TV series known around the globe? With an unnecessaryily needed death and a montage of clips from all the other movies that are obviously better than this one.

And I'm saying that as someone who defends Chibnall/13th Doctor...

...and I'm fucking fuming because THIS is how you *actually* destroy something people love and hold dear to their hearts. It's like the ending of Game of Thrones. His shitty ass death has made it a loooooot harder to rewatch. And they are one of my favourite series!!! Not flawless but fun. But I will defend every other movie and all the episodes except this. Honestly I'll still defend 7/8ths of this one as well.

Like I said, it's easily fixed too. Fucking vice versa swap out Jon Heder for Jamie Kennedy, who the movies have been building up for the last two, and have Burt save his son in front of his old flame. Boom, you won't even need the montage of clips cause you can just have Travis and his mom reminisce about Burt instead. Show not tell. I don't even care he died by Graboid (although in all honesty, I've allways wanted El Blanco to take him down or Burt kills himself from the PTSD. It would have AT LEAST MADE SENSE. Hell, the best would be a heart attack to callback Val's "Yeah, Burt, the way you worry, you're gonna have a heart attack before you get a chance to survive World War Three.". But none of us ever get the best death.). And it's not even about Burt sacrificing himself to save a nobody. Cause that could work too. BUT YOU NEED TO BUILD THAT SHIT UP. Not just fucking drop it like it's hot.

Like I said too, the first 7/8ths ain't bad but it's an entirely different story than a swansong for a hero.

It's all about some billionaire scientist/cowboy hunter dude who likes to get his jollies off hunting the biggest and the baddest who ends up inviting people to this island so they can hunt down Super-Graboids he designed for shits and giggles. But then some Shrieker-fy....

And the pretentious douches come and die one by beautiful one while Burt tries to save them anyway and it's all spectacularly dumb fun until it comes crashing down in the final 10 minutes. Fuck, they should just cut the last 10 minutes. Then it's a perfect little Tremors ditty.

#RELEASETHE7THTREMORSWITH10MINUTESFROMTHEENDCUT

This isn't even about Jon Heder either. He's just doing his job. Hell, do what /u/VoiceofRonHoward pointed out.

"It is clear that Jon's character was just pasted in over Jamie's, the artifacts of the father-son relationship are all over it. They should have gone full Marvel and just replaced Jamie with Jon and acted like nothing happened."

CAUSE FUCK YES!! The only time a story sucks is when they don't commit. Commitment makes all the difference. Now, I'm pissed double-pissed they didn't do that instead since Heder and Kennedy are similar in terms of white-boy-ness.

Even Michael Gross agrees:

"Yes, yes. Now I can't presume to speak for Jamie [Kennedy]. My understanding was they asked him and he said no. And so that's why they went with somebody else. So I had nothing to do with that decision. I just heard the stories. I missed him for that reason. You begin a relationship with the character, and you want to continue it....

...As you build a relationship with this son, we had two, it would've been nice to have three, but that was the hand I was dealt."

One of my favourite bits of Tremors lore comes from the 5th too so it's not like I hate sequel changes out of hand:

"This is a warrior dance. Our ancestors hunting the lnkanyamba and the Impundulu.

"What's that?

"Impundulu. It's what you call the Ass Blaster.

"Ass Blaster.

"Yes.

"Hey, you know, you make Ass Blaster sound good.

Primitive cultures fighting Graboids, Shriekers and Assblasters. I just love that thought.

Hilariously, my meta opening to the 8th movie would be a flashback to 10,000 years ago and a Neanderthal-like Burt Gummer teaching others how to drive Graboids off cliffs like they did with mammoths.

Thank you for giving me the space to rant. Cause fuuuuuuhhhhhhhhuuccck!!!

Here's Michael Gross' own words from his AMA that prove the people making Shrieker Island didn't know their shit.

"The Tremors series is one very close to my heart and I want you to know how appreciated your continued effort is for your core fan base.

My only question would be were there ever any studio decisions made for Burt that you refused to comply with? Or was everybody pretty much always on the same page on what to do with the character?

Thanks again for your dedication.

- Josh"

"Thanks for the kind words, Josh. As regards the first four films, with Wilson and Maddock as the writers, we were very much on the same page. 5,6, and 7 were a bit different, because there was a 13-year hiatus between 4 and 5, and we had to refresh our memories while "reinventing" the franchise for a new audience. I will give you one example: in an early draft of Shrieker Island, a new writer wrote a draft where Burt threatened to shoot one of the bad dudes, and I had to tell him—this is true—"Burt never intentionally points his gun at another human being."

And his own thoughts on Burt's "death" and how to bring it all back together again.

Universal and the director [came] to me with this idea, and they said, 'This could be emotionally very powerful, if we have to say goodbye to this man after 30 years. And I hemmed and hawed, and I thought about it a little bit. And I said, 'You're absolutely right about the emotional gut punch this can be.' And I said, 'You're going to hurt a lot of people's feelings.' And I said, 'But I thought this franchise was over after four. So I could certainly live with it being over after seven.'

"What we negotiated -- well, it wasn't really a negotiation, we all agreed on this -- is that we kind of left the door open. >!Because although Burt is gone, we never see a corpse. We never see his remains. Everybody assumes he's gone. Is he buried somewhere? Is he unconscious somewhere? We never see Burt dead. We see Burt gone. We see Burt not returning. What does that mean? Has he been knocked out? Does he have amnesia somewhere? Does he wander off? Is he in a kind of coma? So yes, the way it ends is pretty profound."

"As regards to the end of Tremors 7, let me just say that while people ASSUME Burt is gone, we never see his remains, do we? Just sayin.'

"The only reason he has become the main character is that everyone else in the original cast moved on to other things. I NEVER thought of him as the central figure, but it just worked out that Michael Gross, like Burt Gummer, was a "survivor." :0) "

"No one would like to see it more than I!!! One of my greatest regrets is that so many other cast members fell away over time. Reba was on to other things, Kevin said no to a second, Fred said no to a third. I would LOVE one last go with all of them, but it is not up to me. :0( "

"There are no guarantees, but for those who wonder aloud if this is the final film, I will say what I have said before: SALES drive sequels, Show biz is 5% show and 95% business, so if this latest addition to the Tremors franchise, sells well, [Universal] will follow the money, and Universal Pictures Home Entertainment may will be back for more."

/u/ActorMichaelGross, the bell has been rung and the song sung. Get the producers on this ASAP!!

I was also the first person to discover the symbolic foreshadowing of Stumpy's end with Earl's sleeping bag in the original movie.

Let's just say, I really *really* love these movies. So if anyone knows anyone, hook me up to the producers of this series and I'll Justin Lin in the Fast and Furious out of this shit.

Since I don't think it's good to critique without proposing either, I say we can make up for this fuck up with the next movie. We'll call it Tremors 8: Ouroboros. After the snake which eats its own tail.

We find out Burt faked his death to get the Proudfoot Corporation to let down their guard and when everyone from the previous series comes back for Burt's fake funeral they give him ever loving shit for being such a paranoid whack-job that he would fake his death to fool a government agency. Why would he do this? He found an old photo of Hiram Gummer with a Graboid warning on the back and asks himself why this valley, why these things, why allways me? And we find out, it's not Burt. It's that lifestyles of extremes will end up in places of extremes. Burt and the Graboids are survivors of different species. Sure the Proudfoot Corporation IS using Mixmaster to combine Graboids, Shriekers, and Ass-Blasters into one super creature for the military but it pales in comparison to Burt looking at his life and wondering in shame how many ancient giants like himself he has killed. And with that, he actually dies, and we keep the ball rolling with the rest of the characters trying to stop what they allways thought was just another one of Burt's crazy conspiracies.

That's why it's Ouroboros. Everything comes back around. We could end/start the movie with Grady, Earl, and Jodi opening a Monster World in Perfection Valley a la Desert Jack's Graboid Adventure. I don't know. I'm fucking trying harder than the people they paid to do this already.

It ain't perfect but I'm building on sand here so changes are gonna get made.

Like if the makers of Tremors notice this,

Then DM me because fucking A you guys need some help.

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anythingandeverything1d · 4 years

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Not in the same way

A few months ago:

You were sitting cross legged on Harry’s bed while he was on the phone. You were scrolling thorough pictures of the two of you and smiling thinking about how great the past year had been together. You had fallen completely head over heels in love with him in that time and he genuinely made you the happiest person on earth. You had been wanting to tell him that for quite a while you just didn't know how to make it special and memorable. So, with the help of some friends, you had painted a map onto a small wooden board with all the places Harry had toured and in each area that was filled in was a picture of the two of you. The bottom had your initials carved into a heart with the date you had started dating. You were so excited to show him the finished product. He walked back in the room with a slight frown on his face, not looking up from the phone but you smiled, patting the bed next to you “Harry..”

“Yeah love?” he mumbled still looking down.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” his head finally glanced up from the phone and looked at you curiously.

“Mhm...come sit down.”

He sat next to you with his hand on your knee and his eyes curiously looking into yours. “What kind of surprise are we talking here?” He leaned over kissing your ear, causing you to slightly smile.

You looked down, feeling a little nervous to how he would react. You pulled the board out from the pillow it was sitting under and handed it over to him. “I just wanted to do something to commemorate making it through this past year together and let you know that I love you.” You looked at him looking at the gift but he remained silent so you nervously continued on..”I love you so so much Harry and I’m grateful for every moment we have together, whether we are FaceTiming late at night when I can't sleep or if we are just having a lazy day in bed. I know that you will be leaving in a few weeks to do your next tour so I thought you could take that with you. To give you a little piece of home while you're gone.” Your cheeks had blushed red and you had looked down.

“Oh.”

You looked at him a little confused and hurt. “Oh?”

He set the board gently down and looked at you running his fingers through your hair with a pained expression on his face. “It’s just that, you know with me leaving and everything and I’ll be gone so much longer this time that I thought maybe it would be a good idea to take a break.” His lips pressed together and he watched you carefully. You just stood up from the bed and looked at him before turning away to hide the tears.

“Oh.”

“(y/n) I mean I just think-”

“No I get it.” you grabbed your jacket from his floor and walked out the door mumbling goodbye, and that was the last you had heard from Harry Styles.

Present Day:

It had been a few months since the break up with Harry. At first you had taken it really hard but eventually you moved on with life and tried forgetting about the curly haired boy you once knew. “Hey beautiful.” Luke said wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. “Ready for the award show tonight?”You had only been dating Luke for around a month but it felt good, and he did make you really happy. Tonight 5 Seconds of Summer would be performing at the AMAs and Luke had invited you to be his date, which meant getting red carpet ready of course. You smiled and nodded.

“Of course I am!” You pressed a kiss to his lips. “Im really excited to see you guys play.”

“Im really excited for you to watch us and for me to see you in this dress.” You rolled your eyes and laughed at him. Your dress had been specially designed. It was a sleek black dress with a slit up the side to show off your leg, and Luke had been eyeing it since you originally got fitted.

“Speaking of which” you grabbed the dress from his hand. “I need to actually get dressed so mind leaving?” He stuck his lip out and pretended to pout.

“I could help you get into the dress you know.” He wiggled his eyes and bit his lip.

“Oh I’m sure you could, but something tells me that I would end up with less clothes on then when we started..”

“I wouldn't complain..” his kissed your lips, lingering a little longer before you smiled and pushed him softly away.

“Go.” you laughed. “Before I change my mind and you miss your performance and the award show all together.”

“Anything for you.” he said with a wink. “I should probably be getting ready as well. See you soon beautiful.” He kissed your cheek once more before leaving the room. Your stylists luckily came in as he was exiting and sat you down in the chair.

You spent the next few hours getting ready. From getting into the gown, to getting hair, makeup, and nails all done. It was quite a process but the end goal was totally worth it. You spun in the mirror admiring yourself before heading out to meet Luke and the other guys. They were huddled in the corner by the car and all stopped dead when you walked over. Their mouths dropped and Luke stepped forward taking your hand and slowly spinning you. “(y/n)...uh” he stumbled while his face turned bright red. “You look absolutely stunning.” The other guys nodded their agreements and you smiled thanking them all before climbing into the limo after them.

You were nervous..you hadn't been on a red carpet since Harry and you didn't know what to expect from tonight. Luke held your hand tightly and squeezed, assuring you that everything would be perfect. He helped you out of the car and held onto your waist as the paparazzi flashed their cameras, pushing closer to ask questions and get the best shot. Luke looked forward and guided you to the next camera location and smiled kissing your cheek as you posed with a smile. You had taken nearly a hundred pictures with him when an interviewer came over asking for some news on their new album. You backed up, giving them space and watching with a smile as they teased new hints and what song they would be performing. You were about to join them when a guy with a camera stepped in front of you, causing you to stumble backwards and trip into the person behind you.

“Sor-” you stopped dead as you looked up into the face of person whose hand had stopped you from falling. Your eyes were looking into the emerald green eyes of none other than Harry Styles. Your heart was pounding and you shifted your feet taking a step back from him. Harry was surprised too. His eyes traveled your body slowly from head to toe, leading your face to turn a very dark red color. His eyes made their way back to yours and he smirked seeing the blush on your cheeks. “Sorry..” you awkwardly continued, trying to step back from him.

“(y/n)....” Harry breathed. “Uh- its, you look um” he stumbled with his words. You stumbled with your thoughts as you looked him up and down. He was wearing a white floral suit with a black button down shirt. His hair in soft curls. You could barely look away, he looked like a god. “You look-wow” he breathed out again. You shuffled away and looked down, he noticed and grabbed your hand again. “Look (y/n)..there’s something I’ve wanted to talk to you about...I just didn't know how to go about it..and Ive been meaning to call or text or just show up on your door ste-”

“Harry-”

“No seriously. Look I was an idiot. I never shouldve let you leave that night and I’m sorry for that. I just had some things going on and-”

“Please...Harry just stop.”

“No because I’m in love with you. I always have been..” He looked at you and stepped forward. You willed your legs to move but nothing happened except for your heart rate rising as he got closer. Luckily, Luke, Ashton, Calum and Michael had finally made their way over. Luke looked from you to Harry with a concerned gaze as he followed your hand that was resting in his. You awkwardly pulled it away and took Luke’s instead. Harry looked disappointed and then upset watching the exchange happen and you just looked at your feet.

“Everything okay?” Luke asked noticing the tension.

“Yeah, Harry had just stopped me from falling. I tripped over the guy with the camera.”

“You always are a clumsy one.” Luke laughed pulling you close. “Thanks for helping Harry, its always a pleasure.”

“Same to you guys. I look forward to seeing your performance tonight.” He said, his eyes leaving you and focusing on the group.

“Yeah it should be a good one, but we have to get going to sound check.” Luke turned to you, “Ready?” you nodded and he smiled kissing your nose and pulling you along. “See ya later Harry.” Harry didn’t answer, just watched with a murderous look in his eyes as Luke pulled you away.

You sat in a chair listening to sound check, or partly listening. Your mind had been stuck on Harry since the encounter and it was driving you to distraction. All of the emotions that you had shoveled way down after the breakup were making their way up to the surface. Hurt, confusion, disbelief, and lust. Did he love you, did he not? “(y/n)?” Luke asked concerned. You shook your head and looked at him.

“What?”

“We asked what you thought...”

“Oh...I thought you guys sounded great” you lied. You hadn’t actually listened to a thing they had just sung but your answer had satisfied them. He smiled and nodded taking the guitar and setting it down.

“Well then boys, we should probably get out to the awards then and find our seats.” You followed slightly behind the boys trying to get your brain focused on the show ahead, but when you came to your seats you were surprised to find Harry in the row directly behind yours.

“Well isn't this exciting.” he said looking at you with a devilish grin. “Just like old times right guys?” You thought you were going to be sick. No one else seemed to notice the tension or anxiety Harry had caused within you and you were grateful for that and annoyed. Luke should've been able to pick up on the shift... The awards started and luckily that meant no distractions..or so you thought. Harry touched you at every point he possibly could. A tap with his foot on your leg. His fingers brushing against your neck as he leaned forward to comment something to one of the boys. Every touch was driving you deeper into your thoughts and deeper into your feelings.

Luke seemed to finally notice something off so he put his arm around you, leaned in and whispered a “are you okay?” against your ear.

“Yeah, just a little hungry” you lied. He didn’t look fully convinced so you placed a kiss on his lips, earning a smile from him, and an angry look within Harry. Unfortunately the boys all had to leave to prepare for their performance. and get on stage, which meant you would be alone with Harry for the next 20ish minutes at least. You had wished the guys all good luck, hugging them tightly before they walked away. You then nervously settled into your chair as Harry walked around and took Luke’s seat.

“So. You and Hemmings?” Harry mumbled leaning extra close, his hand resting lightly on your thigh.

“Yeah.” you said distractedly, playing with the bracelet on your wrist and avoiding eye contact with him.

“When did that start?”

You looked up annoyed. “When do we break up again?” you said sarcastically. Harry also looked annoyed and he sat up straighter before leaning in closely again.

“So you just move on like that?” he said pointedly.

“Like what Harry?” he was getting a rouse out of you and he knew it.

“I just find it a little suspicious that you tell me you love me and then move on so quickly, that’s all.”

“Fuck you Harry.” He smirked and pressed on.

“Does Hemmings know about us? Does he know about how you felt, all the nights we spent together?”

You rolled your eyes. “Leave me alone Harry.”

“Ahh so he doesn't know which is why he didn’t seem to notice the reaction you had to me earlier.”

“How about you just go back to your seat now?” you ask but he has other plans. “And there was no reaction.”

“Now you never have been a good liar love. Are you going to tell him or should I?”

That led to the snap. You hadn’t mentioned Harry to Luke before because you didn't want questions about your feelings. You didn’t want the memories of him. You had kind of just assumed he already knew since it had been a public relationship in the past. Your eyes locked on his and you leaned in close. “Harry. I swear to god. Don’t you even dare. Its my relationship and I’ll decide when I want to tell him things about my past, so read my lips and leave me the fuck alone”

Harry grinned and whispered, “I thought you would never ask.” He pressed his lips to yours, cupping your cheeks with his hands and pulling your face closer. You reached up, your hands on his chest. You meant to push him off but he gently bit down on your lip and your body gave in. You moaned softly into the kiss and your hands knotted into his black shirt, wrinkling the once ironed fabric. Your brain was telling you no but everything else in your body was telling you yes. Harry’s kiss left goosebumps running up and down your body and when he pulled away, you were gasping for your breath while your body begged for more. Harry look satisfied with himself and sat up straighter with a smile on his face. “Tell me love, how's that kiss compare to the ones you have with Luke?” You groaned annoyed with him and scooted a seat away as the lights dimmed and the music played. The boys had chosen to perform Not in the Same Way, one of your favorite songs on their new album. You hummed along to the words, trying to ignore the very smug face Harry had sitting next to you. The words of the song really hit you differently at that moment. “I love you, you love me, but not in the same way.” Did you love Luke? Did you love Harry? Did either of them love you? There was so much you were confused on. The song ended and you hadn't really noticed. You were still distracted by the fact Harry was sitting near you, the smell of his cologne intoxicating you as if it were a drug. Your brain felt fuzzy and you were feeling off balance. Harry seemingly saying what you were thinking whispered, “He loves you, you love him but its not the same because you, my love, still love me.” Your mouth dropped open and you looked at him as he smiled before moving back to his seat, crossing his arms as he sat back down behind you. Luke and the guys made their way back over and you dramatically grabbed him, kissing him hard on the lips and giving Harry a look behind you. The other guys whistled and clapped Luke on the back before sitting down again.

“Did you like the show?” Luke asked with a smile.

You nodded, your brain was comparing the kisses. Harry’s was knee weakening. It made you want to drown in him forever. Luke’s was gentle and comforting. Everything going on in your brain was making you feel sick. “Uh I’m going to run to the bathroom” you told Luke who nodded and turned the other guys to talk about the performance. You stood up and wobbled grabbing the chair for support, causing Luke to turn to you with a look of concern.

“You okay?” he went to stand up and help you.

You stepped back. “I’m fine, just tripped.” You turned again, making a point to not look at Harry and walked out to find the bathroom. Once you made it to the bathroom, you gripped the edge of the sink and looked in the mirror. You had tears threatening to spill out of your eyes from frustration. You weren't even mad Harry had kissed you. You were mad that you had enjoyed it. You wanted to hate him. You wanted to never see him again. You looked up again and jumped when you saw Harry standing behind you in the mirror. You took a deep breath and slowly turned hissing “What are you doing in here?”

He sighed and looked at his feet. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay...you seemed a little off when you left.”

“And you had to come into the women's bathroom to do that? Aren't you a little worried someone will walk in and freak out?”

“I locked the door behind me. Its just me and you.” he stepped forward and ran his fingers across your cheek. You weren't sure how to feel about this situation and you tried to step away but your body willed you forward leaning into his touch. He sighed and opened his arms. Unwillingly you walked into them, your head against his chest and your arms tightening around his torso. “(y/n)...”

You shook your head and stepped away looking at him. “Please don’t Harry. I really can’t.”

“I can’t live without you anymore.”

“You seem to have done well the last few months without me.”

“You don't even know. I’ve been a disaster. The only thing keeping me from rushing to you was the fact that Louis and Liam talked me out of it. They said just to wait until tour was over. That there was no point to put stress on you while I was away. But then of course you had to go get yourself a new boyfriend.”

“Oh I’m so sorry I didn’t just continue to let the break up ruin my life. I’m sorry I found someone who actually wanted me.”

“I want you more than I want to breathe. I don't know what else I need to do to get that into your head.”

“There’s nothing you can-” Harry cut you off. His hands tugging you hard against him, his lips crashing into yours. His hands slid down your back and gently squeezed your ass. You didn't even pretend to not enjoy it and soon you were matching his energy. Your arms tangling up around his neck. He picked you up and sat you on the counter by the sink, his body between your legs. His tongue ran down your neck and your head tilted back in response. He continued down, pressing gentle kisses along the soft skin on your chest and he laughed softly. “What?” you asked partially annoyed and partially willing him to continue.

“I just wish this dress was easier to get off..” He kissed you again, biting your bottom lip and tugging before slipping his tongue into your mouth where it tangled with yours. The taste of Harry was overwhelming and what you had been missing more than anything. After another minute Harry pulled away, gasping for air. Your head leaning against his shoulder while catching your breath. He hugged your body tightly and your arms snaked around his ribs where you squeezed hard, hoping he would never let go. The two of you sat like that for a few minutes before Harry reluctantly pulled away. You looked at him and he looked back and smiled.

“What’s that look for?”

“You mean my smile?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m just happy I have you back. I feel like I can breathe normally again, I-”

You sighed and looked down. “Where do we go from here Harry? What happens next?”

“You break up with Hemmings.” “I can’t do that.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because...it-it wouldn’t be fair to him.”

“And it’s fair for me to just sit back and let you walk away again, knowing how we both feel?”

“You pushed me away the first time Harry. Lets not forget who's fault that was.”

He shook his head. “I know. I know it was my fault, which is why I won't back down now. I don't care if it hurts him. I need you. Look I’ll give you till the end of the night.”

“Or what? You’ll tell him? That will hurt me too Harry you know that right?”

“Or I’ll leave. And you will never see me again.” Harry turned and walked out without looking back at you and your heart dropped as you were faced with the hardest decision you may have ever needed to make.

----

Part 2

Hope you all like it! xoxo

#one direction #directioners #one direction imagines #one direction fanfiction #5 seconds of summer #luke hemmings #luke hemming imagines #Harry Styles #harrystyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #5sos

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365days365movies · 3 years

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February 7, 2021: Emma. (Review)

Y’know, I remember nothing of this book. Really, I genuinely remember nothing from it, but the movie?

I really liked the movie! Not that it’s perfect, but I genuinely thought that this movie was excellent. Various reasons for that, primary of which would be that this movie looks absolutely fantastic. And again, I’ll get into that in the breakd won but...I mean, LOOK at this movie!

LOOK! (in Gordon Ramsay)

LOOK!!!

WHAT THE FUCK

DONKEY

On to the Review, yeah?

Review

Cast and Acting: 9/10

First things first: my favorite character in this film is BY FAR George Knightley, and Johnny Flynn is a GREAT actor in the role. Seriously, he manages to hint at his feelings and affections for Emma, far before even HE truly knows them. It’s just a great performance. But hey...I gotta talk about Anya Taylor-Joy, who...WOW. She’s amazing. Might not have been my favorite character in the first haf (which, to be fair, is the point), but she definitely sold that character transformation by the end! Just a legitimately amazing performance, and the chemistry between Taylor-Joy and Flynn is...MMMMMM, chef’s kiss! Oh, also, full credit to Mia Goth, whose Harriet is a great understated performance, and also deserves a chef’s kiss. Seriously, she’s also absolutely fantastic.

And everybody else...is good. They’re great, even, but they aren’t my favorites. Even then, they aren’t exactly always as fitting tonally with the lead performances. It’s not really distracting at all (oh, and Bill Nighy is a goddamn treasure, by the way), but some clashing performances are enough for me to take away a single point. Yeah, that’s it, because the ensemble is still strong, and it’s still fantastic in general.

Plot and Writing: 8/10

Just like the last entry, kind of hard to judge this one without judging the original, but...I don’t remember the original. So on it’s own efforts, it’s great! Credit to Jane Austen for the story, of course, and to Eleanor Catton for the screenplay. So, why not perfect? Because, uh...this movie’s complicated. It’s REALLY convoluted, and the likelihood is high that I’ll forget specific details of it...now, I[ve forgotten some of them now. THIS is why I don’t remember the book! And, no there isn’t much to be done about that, but not much seems to be done about it So, yeah, taking off a couple for that.

Directing and Cinematography: 10/10

Um...it’s amazing? It’s also Autumn de Wilde’s first movie EVER, and she had a background in music album cover photography before this and it looks...amazing? Like, what in the shit? Cinematographer Christopher Blauweit also gets that no slouch award, because he’s goddamn great at his job. And the 10′s don’t stop there, folks!

Production and Art Design: 10/10

Because NO EXPLANATION IS NEEDED HERE. THIS MOVIE IS GORGEOUS. Just pastel cottagecore beauty splattered all over the goddamn screen. gain, I’m not goddamn explaining this shit, it’s amazing.

Music and Editing: 8/10

OK, so here’s the deal with this: it’s fantastic, it really is and all the credit in the world to Isobel Waller-Bridge and David Schweitzer for that. But...it doesn’t perfectly pass the playlist test for me. I would look this up on Apple Music (yeah, I use an iPhone, I’m sorry), but I probably wouldn’t end up downloading it at the end of the day, to be completely honest. But was it good? Of course it was good! And hey, let’s not forget the end credits song sung by Johnny Flynn himself, which I genuinely think will be nominated for Best Original Song.

94%. I really liked this movie!

Might not remember the book very well, but I will remember how much I liked this movie! Might not be perfect, but it’s highest scorer so far this month! Granted, does that mean I like it personally the most? Eh, I just think it’s the best movie, not necessarily my favorite Real talk, Pretty Woman is still winning that fight at the moment.

Anyway, this was fun, but no more Jane Austen for a hot sec. Period pieces, though...I could go for more period pieces...so let’s get NUTS.

February 8, 2021: The English Patient (1996)

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 3 years

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Is It Really THAT Bad?

Cats has been a divisive show ever since it opened in 1981. Some people hate it for being a plotless spectacle that focuses more on the visuals than on music and story, while others love it for those same reasons, as well as for being utterly campy and fun. I’m firmly in the latter category, to the point I can’t really comprehend the opposition to the film. Stuff like the jab at this film in The Critic or the mockery of it in Hey Arnold just seem weird to me; what is it about this fun, silly musical about cats that makes people’s blood boil so much?

Perhaps all these people saw into the future where the film was released.

Cats had a long, troubled history getting from stage to screen. In the 90s, Amblimation was set to make an animated version of the movie, set during the Blitz of WWII. Unfortunately, the inability of writers to find a way to turn this episodic showcase of random singing cats into a cohesive narrative combined with the failure of Amblimations films caused the project to dissolve, leaving behind nothing but some really cool concept art.

But see, this perfectly demonstrates the problem with adapting Cats: the musical is a spectacle, a showcase, it’s all about the dancing, costumes, and the songs. It doesn’t have a story to speak of, instead contenting itself with showing us a bunch of different cats and having them sing about themselves for a bit before moving on to the next cat. Sure, there’s a bit of continuity and whatnot, but this really isn’t the sort of show that’s trying to deliver a deep narrative. It just wants you to have a good time, nothing more, nothing less.

No one told any of this to Tom Hooper, apparently. This director of the grounded, gritty, realistic adaptation of Les Mis was tapped to utilize this same style in a musical about magical singing cats, all while not even knowing what catnip is or how animation works. Hooper was apparently constantly butting heads with the VFX team due to his lack of understanding of how animating works. He tried to get the team to watch videos of cats performaing the stuff he wanted and forced them to give 90 hour work weeks, cementing Tom Hooprt as one of the biggest douchebags imaginable. On top of all this, the guy tried to weave this plotless showcase of felines into a cohesive narrative, and tapped a bunch of talent of various degrees of questionability to play parts. And what was the result?

An absolute disaster. The film was savaged by critics, with most positives being that the film was so bad it’s good. The film (of course) won a bunch of Razzies, and was the subject of mockery and memes before, after, and during its run in theaters. Hell, as soon as the trailer dropped, the film was mocked to death. Not helping was the rushed VFX which, again, was due to the team being under pressure from a draconian idiot who had no idea what he was doing. The film received an unprecedented bug fix, so to speak, in the form of an updated version with slightly better VFX that was shipped to theaters after the initial negative reaction. This obviously did nothing to help the movie’s reputation, of course. Hell, even in my initial review, I wasn’t super keen on the film. Most damning of all, though, was Andrew Lloyd Webber himself calling the film ridiculous, and even said "The problem with the film was that Tom Hooper decided that he didn’t want anybody involved in it who was involved in the original show."

But after ruminating on it, and after watching the film once more, I’ve decided to ask the usual question: Is it really that bad? It’s weird to ask this about a film that’s so new; I usually wait for hindsight to kick in, and look at older films considered bad. But even now, Cats is building up a reputation as a campy cult classic, with such figures as Martin “LittleKuriboh” Billamy watching the film with alarming frequency. And after reading the nightmarish behind the scenes and considering everything… yeah, I think this film deserves a re-evaluation.

This is going to be a little different, though: I’m sort of going to go through the film part by part, since this film has an interesting issue where, generally speaking, the first half is where the worst problems are, and the second half is where things start to pick up. So let’s get the bad out of the way first, then move onto the good.

THE BAD

So, I’m actually not going to pick on the VFX too much, and not just because of the horrible treatment of the VFX artists. In all honesty, the weird human/cat people, while not even remotely as cool as the insane costumes of the stage show, eventually stop being super distracting and kind of just become something you accept. Like, I’m not gonna pretend like this work is amazing, but I dunno, I think it gets harped on too much. There is some stuff that stands out as noticeably bad, though, and we’ll get to that.

A consistent problem with the film that I can’t even try to defend is the problem with the scaling. It’s seriously hard to tell how big these cats are supposed to be in relation to anything else. They honestly seem to change size from scene to scene. It’s seriously weird and baffling and there’s never any way to get a good sense of scale. Even when the cats are alongside mice and roaches, it just boggles the mind what size anything is actually supposed to be.

Mr. Mistoffelees, one of the most flamboyant and enjoyable characters of the stage show, is one of the biggest character issues with the film. Gone is the tricky, confident magician who prances and dances, and here is a meek, sniveling twerp who can barely do anything without tripping over himself. This is because the actor who plays him had a terrible audition that left him miserable due to a lack of singing and dance background. So, rather than find someone who could, you know, sing and dance, they decided to rewrite Mr. Mistoffelees into comic relief, which is just an insulting slap in the face. The cherry on top of course is how they straightwash the character and excise his homoerotic tension with Rum Tum Tugger, instead making him completely and totally straight and giving him a thing for Victoria. Out of everyone in the entire film, they did Mr. Mistoffelees the dirtiest.

Now, let’s get onto the actual “plot.” The film actually starts out fairly well, with some cool shots, good dancing, and some setup for Macavity, whose intro has a neat little nod to the fact he’s based on Moriarty. The issues don’t really start showing up until we reach the first of the Jellicle choices… Jennyanydots.

Jennyanydots is portrayed by Rebel Wilson, which is the first issue. Rebel Wilson is probably one of the worst actresses ever. She is just a horrendously, relentlessly unfunny human being, and she brings that exact quality to her role here. For her song, the vocal talent is secondary to the cringeworthy comedy Wilson puts on display. And yet, somehow, Wilson isn’t the worst part of the scene. No, that would be the horrendous CGI human-faced mice and roaches, which look like they came out of a PS3 game.

This horrendous spectacle is followed up with the appearance of Rum Tum Tugger, portrayed by Jason Derulo. I’m of two minds about this. On the one hand, I do think Derulo has the necessary egotistical celebrity swagger to play Rum Tum Tugger (especially when you consider he responded to negative criticisms of the film by calling the movie “one of the greatest pieces of art ever made”) and his design is actually one of the better ones in the film, but on the other hand, his singing and the musical choice for his song are not very impressive and really just doesn’t work all too well. It’s at least something of a step up from Rebel Wilson and her CGI abominations, but that’s not really saying much, is it?

Next up we have Bustopher Jones, played by James Corden and, if I’m being totally honest… he’s not quite as awful as he could be. Corden is basically the male equivalent to Rebel Wilson, but at least while he’s singing he manages to be somewhat amusing, whimsical, and enjoyable even. The problem comes when he throws in jokes, including one where he claims to be self-conscious about his weight… a joke that occurs in the middle of his song where he is bragging about how fat he is. Talk about sending mixed messages. I wish I didn’t have to be so harsh on Bustopher, but sadly he is bogged down by really bad shtick.

Bustopher Jones also highlights a problem with the cats in this first half. These minor roles – Jennyanydots, Rum Tum Tugger, and Bustopher Jones – are all being played by relatively big celebrities, and as such they’re going to want a lot of time to sing. As a result, songs that were ensemble numbers on stage become more one-man songs here, with Bustopher Jones being the most egregious example, turning this positive fat character into a walking James Corden fat joke as he sings his own praises rather than having his praises sung.

Following him up we have Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer, who are usually fun characters with a fun little pseudo-villain song, but alas, they manage to screw that up by using a slow, jazzy version of the song originally used in earlier London productions rather than the more up-tempo version from later productions, making the song sound awkward and forgettable. Topping it all off is the bargain bin Mr. M popping in at the end for some wacky shenanigans, but at this point, the movie takes a turn towards…

THE GOOD

So as soon as Dame Judi Dench shows up as Old Deuteronomy, the film gets a sort of inverse of what happened at the start. Where the film starts somewhat awkward and promising, it slowly gets stupider and stupider when Rebel Wilson, Jason Derulo, and James Corden botch their scenes in the ways described above. Here, things start a bit shaky and unsure, but Dench is a sign things are about to pick up. What makes her so enjoyable is how, despite how utterly silly things are, she treats her role with the dignity and gravitas of something out of Shakespeare. The only thing as good as an actor in a silly movie like this going full-on ham and cheese is an actor treating their role dead serious and injecting it with such class and dignity you can’t help but enjoy it. Thankfully, Dench isn’t the only person to take her role seriously.

Jennifer Hudson as Grizabella technically appears briefly in the earlier portions of the film, but here we get to hear her belt out “Memory,” and by god does she do a fantastic job. The raw emotion and passion she injects into Grizabella is phenomenal, and it’s even more powerful when it comes back for its reprise in the finale. Victoria gets a sort of response song to “Memory,” called “Beautiful Ghosts,” and it’s a decent song in its own right, but you can tell it was a more modern composition and it just doesn’t gel super well with the rest of the songs. Still, all this is good stuff, and the “Memory”/”Beautiful Ghosts” scene is a nice, refreshing bit of emotion after the incredibly weird and silly extended dance number that is the Jellicle Ball.

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The movie doesn’t stop pulling punches; shortly after Grizabella we are given Gus the theater cat, an elderly actor whose number is all about reminiscing of the old days of theater and his many stellar roles from days gone by. Naturally, the only actor who could possibly perform this role properly is Sir Ian McKellan. I am completely unironic when I say this: This is to McKellan what Patrick Stewart’s performance of Xavier in Logan is. This sounds ridiculous, but think of it: Gus is an aging thespian, clearly a bit senile and desiring to be reborn because he has reached the end of the line, and McKellan fills him with this genuine, incredibly honest performance that really makes you feel emotional. It’s powerful. It feels so personal and resonant, like McKellan has inserted some of his own feelings into his performance, which may very well be the case. Oh, and after his song Macavity kidnaps him with a big autograph book and apparates away while saying his name, which gets me every time.

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And now, my friends, the lord and savior arrives: Skimbleshanks.

This is, hands down, the best scene in the entire film. Everything comes together here: the music is absolutely fantastic, the dancing is choreographed extremely well, and it’s clear that everyone involved is having a blast. This is a concentrated essence of what Cats should be, and it’s really a shame Hooper didn’t understand that this is the energy needed for the entire production. The most crucial element, of course, is Steven McRae, who not only has a lovely singing voice and looks dapper as all hell in his red suspenders, but is a tap dancing maniac. This man has feet of fire, and his tapping adds a whole new layer of fun to the song. Overall, this is a perfect scene, and probably one of my favorite scenes in any film ever. For a brief four minutes, everything about this film works. I literally have no idea why this cat wants to be reincarnated, he is straight balling in this life.

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But the hits don’t stop! Right after this song, Taylor Swift descends from the ceiling, and we get “Macavity.” In the stage productions, this is a song sung by Bombalurina to describe how nasty Macavity is, since she’s traditionally a good cat; here, she’s reimagined as a villain, and so this song is basically her acting as Macavity’s hype man, singing his dastardly praises, and best of all, Macavity joins in at the end! I’m certainly not a Taylor Swift fan, but she really kills it here, and definitely makes this one of the best songs in the movie with her hilariously forced accent and insane energy. It’s just a shame that from here on out Macavity ditches his villainous pimp coat and is now a nude Idris Elba, but I suppose this is equivalent exchange for Skimbleshanks being so amazing.

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While not as incredible as the previous two songs and not quite as good as the stage version due to the removal of the latent homoeroticism, Mr. Mistoffelees’s song is actually okay. It’s nice that he gets to sing his own praises here, but it’s just nothing compared to the stage version, even if it has a fun little finale and it actually is genuinely heartwarming when Old Deuteronomy returns and sings along. It’s a sweet moment that almost makes up for how much Mr. M has sucked the whole movie. Oh, also, all of the Jellicle choices Macavity kidnapped fight back against their captor Growltiger, with Skimbleshanks aggressively tapdancing at him and Gus using his acting skills to make him fall into the Thames. This is so goofy that it wraps back around to being awesome.

The movie winds down in the goofiest way possible after the gorgeous reprise of “Memory,” with Macavity being caught on a big sculpture and apparently running out of magic, leaving him stranded like a regular cat. Then we get one final fourth-wall breaking song where Judi Dench directly addresses the camera that has the music swell up to the point where it seems like the song is ending numerous times without actually ending, and each time is funnier than the last. Really, what better way could you end such a silly film than with this?

Now, a general thing that’s great about the film is the choreography. The dancing in the movie is spectacular. I don’t really have a bad thing to say about it. And, in a broad sense, the music is good too, even if the singers aren’t always perfect, the backing tracks are great, and there’s a lot of fun in the tracks in the latter half of the movie. McRae and Taylor Swift’s contributions in particular are great, and Hudson’s version of “Memory” is incredibly powerful, as is McKellan’s take on Gus’ song.

Is It Really THAT Bad?

No.

Look, it’s hard to be like “Wow this is a fantastic masterpiece of film” or anything like that, because the movie has blatant and evident problems. But this is literally the reason I made this review series; I’m asking if the movie is really as bad as people say, and in this case, no, there’s too much genuinely enjoyable in the film for me to say it’s deserving of several Razzies and a spot on the Bottom 100 of IMDB that places it above Master of Disguise and The Emoji Movie. Like, seriously? This is worse than the 90 minute commercial starring the abusive dick who called a bomb threat on his girlfriend? Hell, this movie is rated worse than Artemis Fowl, which is definitely a contender for the worst film ever made (and amusingly enough also features Judi Dench in it). Artemis Fowl has next to no redeeming qualities in it, and it certainly doesn’t have Skimbleshanks, whereas Cats has several fun scenes and also has Skimbleshanks.

I definitely think there’s more of an argument for this film being so bad it’s good or camp at best, but it’s definitely more enjoyable than you’d think it would be. If you can learn to live with the weird CGI, it’s a fun, goofy romp that you might find yourself feeling for at times. After my second watch, I have to say… I’ve started to unironically enjoy this movie. It might even be one of my favorites of all time. I can’t even deny that it has a lot of stuff I don’t like, and it falls flat in a lot of ways the 1998 film soars, and it screwed up some of my favorite characters… but there are so many moments where the fun and heart of Cats shines through brighter than it has any right to, and all the failures of Hooper and Universal seem distant for a just a few minutes.

So yeah, is this movie good all around? No way. But is it fun, does it have value, and is there more redeeming qualities than the critics let on? Oh yes there is.

#Is it really that bad #IIRTB #review #movie review #Cats #Cats 2019 #Andrew Lloyd Webber #musical #so bad it's good #Tom Hooper #Judi Dench #Rebel Wilson #James Corden #Jason Derulo #Taylor Swift #Idris Elba #Sir Ian McKellan #Steven McRae

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oniisamaes · 3 years

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Interview With Robert Plant 1977: https://www.interviewmagazine.com/music/new-again-robert-plant

You can find the interview in that article but I cut it down to just the interview.

[April. Late afternoon. On a double bed in Swingo’s Celebrity Hotel, Cleveland, Ohio.]

ROBERT PLANT: [gazing out of the window at a parking lot] Oooh! Is that a Mark V? That is one isn’t it? It’s very nice, I like that. Can you get those in New York? [Shouting to a man with a camera on the street] It’s not worth the pictures! It’s not worth the pictures—forget it!

VOICE: [from the street] You think so?

PLANT: [laughing] Nah—

VOICE: Then I’ll get some tonight at your show.

PLANT: Never heard of it. I’m not going.

VOICE: No?

PLANT: I hear they suck. [to me] So what is your story then, Sir? Or in fact—

MARK GINSBURG: I want to know what yours is…

PLANT: I have no story. My story goes from day to day.

GINSBURG: Okay. What’s today’s?

[silence]

JENINE SAFER: [publicist] Seven Up is great for hair management!

PLANT: Mmm. Well, I just found out that Seven Up left in the hair for 12 hours is the greatest hair conditioner. I mean all this shit on the TV that you see—I don’t believe it at all.

SAFER: But it has to be applied properly by John Bonham [alias Bonzo, Led Zeppelin’s drummer]

PLANT: Where are you going to be?

SAFER: I’ll have to get a schedule off you. Then sit down with Jonsey [John Paul Jones] as well because we’ve got to do the plan. [mumbles]… got to do the plan.

GINSBURG: What’s the plan?

PLANT: Well… discretion is the better part of valor. How to let the family have a wonderful time without knowing it’s all programmed. I might as well tell you that there’s not a lot of towns that I can go to and take family—too many incongruous knocks on doors—”Hello, honey. Have you missed me?”

GINSBURG: So where do you go then?

SAFER: Not Dallas!

PLANT: North Bend, Indiana is rather scenic in August.

GINSBURG: North Bend, Indiana?

PLANT: Ah, well you see I know a lot about the colonies.

GINSBURG: Who colonized them?

PLANT: ‘Twas us! We Redcoats.

SAFER: [after a pause] Last night was so much fun.

PLANT: My jaw’s hurting from just giggling. Now that’s a good sign young man after nine years of rock-‘n’-roll. That you can still laugh at each other for about eight hours ’till you have to go to bed holding your head.

SAFER: [leaving room to re-sew the spider-web design on Plant’s concert shirt] Same time next week—

PLANT: Well, it’s going to be the big one tonight. Now, did you come to another town? I was supposed to see you in Chicago, right? What happened?

GINSBURG: Do you really want to be reminded?

PLANT: Yeah.

GINSBURG: You had a strange afternoon…

PLANT: [screams] Ohhhh! There was nothing strange about tit. It was regular, but…

GINSBURG: Typical strange afternoon, then. It all depends on your point of view—

PLANT: …which angle you lie.

GINSBURG: Right. Well then, what would you like to lie about?

PLANT: No! I was meaning “lie” as in what I’m doing now—lying down.

GINSBURG: And get high?

PLANT: No. I made a vow after two years of not working, because of the accident, that I should, uh, take care of my health 100 percent. With two years of living not quite sure whether you’re going to rock-‘n’-roll again, the build-up to this tour was tremendous. The inspiration was flowing, ’cause when I knew that I could go back onstage again with my foot, I just said, “Right. Now, if I am going to do that, if I’m going to dance again, perform again, then I’m going to sing better than I’ve ever sung before. There’s nothing that’s gonna stop me.”

GINSBURG: You would not have settled for remaining in the studio rather than onstage?

PLANT: Oh, no. When I started all I wanted to do was get out in form. I just wanted to sing. A simple thing. I loved the feeling of letting fly, of pushing as far as I could go with my voice. The only way you can really graduate how you do it is by doing it regularly to people who don’t have to be super impressed. You can do it in the studio all day long but you don’t get the flashback that you get onstage.

GINSBURG: Do you still get the flashback as much each time?

PLANT: More now. Much more now, this tour.

GINSBURG: You realized you’d miss it then.

PLANT: Oh, essentially there’s a very serious aspect underneath everything now for me. Well, not serious but one of relief, I guess. There is nothing that will stand in the way of the fact that I’m going to put out 199 percent every night. So, I’ll leave the pot alone for a bit, ’cause it only clogs up my vocal cords, anyway. You get tar up them. [demonstrates hoarse sounds]

GINSBURG: Any favorite Zeppelin albums?

PLANT: I don’t have any favorites. Each album comes from definitely a different period in the evolution of each of us individually as creators and the role that we take in life. The external stimuli changed… so the songs are full of lots of different meanings. Each album has a different atmosphere. The third album and Houses of the Holy seem to be the two albums that people didn’t get off on quite as strongly as the other ones. But I think they contain the basic ingredients for the further pursuance of what we’re doing… the turning point to relieve the tedium of repetition.

GINSBURG: Presence seems to be a turning point, too.

PLANT: Presence was our phoenix.

GINSBURG: Yours mostly?

PLANT: Well, I know I’m talking so it’s coming from me, but when you sit in a wheelchair and sing the whole album, the very fact that you’ve sung it is fantastic. But for everyone, in that we got it together in such a short space of time under such odds not knowing what the outcome was going to be—not of the album but of the future of the band.

GINSBURG: Why not knowing?

PLANT: Because the doctors could never really quite tell me, all that time, about how inactive I might have been left from the accident. So we were just kicking it from the very depths of our determination.

GINSBURG: Could you have stayed on top without performing live?

PLANT: Oh, I don’t think anybody would have want to. I guess we could have made it cutting studio albums, but it takes shows and tours for, uh—

GINSBURG: Energy?

PLANT: Yes, and inspiration! Events like last night. Silly times, and….

GINSBURG: You used to sing on rather simply about a girl—always one that you couldn’t have but wanted badly, for instance. Now the description is more colored, complex.

PLANT: Sure. Well, I’ve tried to do that on things. Like with Celebration Day, going back: “Her face is cracked from smiling” and that sort of thing. The impression of a free world all the way through. It could still have been greyed but it could have also had that natural effect that time gives it.

GINSBURG: But everything you sang about early on—the open spaces, the beautiful women, the dreams—aren’t these all things you’ve now had—goals you’ve reached?

PLANT: I’ve touched, that’s all. You have nothing. One should never allow themselves to think that they have, one can just touch—to have is to lack appreciation, to touch is to want to touch again.

GINSBURG: So some things are still inaccessible to you now?

PLANT: Definitely. I’d like to think that’s the way it should be. That’s what keeps me going on and on and on. Like that bit in our movie, [The Song Remains the Same], the princess thing. Everybody thought I was out to… well, “There’s Plant after another chick…” But there, the whole thing is that in the end the chick disappears before my eyes. You must just get in reach so that you know you’ve made the effect—the primary effect. And you mustn’t grab it too hard… so the most basic things can still remain a pleasure.

GINSBURG: Ten years ago did you want to become a rock star?

PLANT: Well, I didn’t look at it like that. I just wanted to sing. Nobody ever looks at it like that. Didn’t even know what one was then. Still don’t.

GINSBURG: Well what happened?

PLANT: I’d already played with people who’d got the same amount of adrenaline and drive as I’d got and it just so happened that Jimmy [Page—LZ’s lead guitarist and former member of the infamous Yardbirds] had got more than I’d got. He could channel it. He knew which way to let it go. And that was the best thing that ever happened to me, musically. I’d found someone whose tastes were basically along the same lines. Who’d got the patience to allow me to—it’s like dangling your foot in a swimming pool to see how deep it is or how cold—accustom myself to everything that would come along that he was already aware of from the Yardbirds. Perfect relationship.

GINSBURG: Has it changed much?

PLANT: Yeah, because I’ve grown up. My experiences of course now come up to the same ones as his. I guess we’re both sort of trotting together rather than him showing me the way as he did in the early days.

GINSBURG: Where are your musical roots?

PLANT: In anything that’s done wholeheartedly from Edith Piaf through to Howlin’ Wolf. From anything that comes from that point. Some people say I sing from the groin. In the early days it was Howlin’ Wolf and Muddy Waters, Ray Charles, Drown My Own Tears—stuff that was ultimately sincere. And some wild, wild rock, too: Little Richard, early Presley stuff—before he went into the Army. Presley was definitely a great inspiration to every guy who ever had a hard-on in the whole of the Western world, I should think. He shook everybody well and true, and we just kept on shakin’. But he started it.

GINSBURG: And now, Led Zeppelin is left to carry the ball…

PLANT: I don’t know… I’d like to go to more concerts to see the overall effect of an audience because I like to see excitement. But I like the excitement to be contained. In the early days when we used to play everybody was bangin’ their heads on the stage and going completely crackers. Now they sit down and absorb. There’s a sort of transfixion between ourselves and the audience, which is wonderful. It’s a great level to have reached with people who you don’t know by name. That is my idea of the ultimate sort of communication level.

GINSBURG: How far away do you feel from an audience when there are tens of thousands of people watching you? How can you see or hear?

PLANT: You pick it up without sight or sound. I suppose for a vocalist it’s super built-in because if I talk, I do the talking. I think I can feel better than I can see.

GINSBURG: What music do you listen to at home when you listen to music?

PLANT: Uh, I like Little Feat, Fleetwood Mac—obviously. That little lady ought to come and sing on one of our albums. If she were to come sing on one of our albums—it would…What’s her name?—Stevie…

GINSBURG: Will you or any LZ member play onstage or record with anyone else?

PLANT: Well, no, I think it would only be impromptu. On other albums maybe just guesting for a track—on a very light-hearted level. I can’t see any serious turn one way or another. We just enjoy playing with each other. I wouldn’t like to go and sing with anybody else at all.

GINSBURG: Why not?

PLANT: I just don’t. When you’re singing we all phrase each other in the most remarkable ways. I might hit some sort of thing I’ve never done before—some vocal pattern. Bonzo will pick it up—he’ll phrase with me instantly and then Pagey may join in or start some other phrase—it’s like a quadrant.

GINSBURG: Where did Kashmir come from?

PLANT: The rhythm came from Bonzo. The sort of striding majestic element really came from Jimmy’s and my leanings toward the East. I wrote the lines after driving into the Sahara Desert because I knew that I was on my way to the Spanish Sahara and there was the war on between Morocco and the Spanish. I kept bumping down a dusty desert track—nobody for miles except, occasionally, a guy on a camel, waving his hand in the most nonchalant Arabic way. And I thought, “Well, this is great but one day—Kashmir.” And the sun was beating down upon my face…

GINSBURG: So your ideas spring from place you’ve been or want to go?

PLANT: Well, Kashmir is my last resort. I think, if I truly deserve it one day, I should go there and stay there for quite a while. Or if I really need it at any point, it should be my haven, my Shangri-la.

GINSBURG: Any place else?

PLANT: Well, the whole point of “Achilles’ Last Stand” is that, though the story builds, it’s centered around one spot on the top of the high Atlas Mountains. One tiny little spot on the side of a track 10,000 feet up—looking down over half of Southern Morocco.

GINSBURG: “Achilles’ Last Stand”—I would have thought the title had something to do with your accident.

PLANT: It did. It did because I fell over when I was singing it in the studio and I was rushed to the hospital. They thought that I had fucked it for good. [moves his leg up and down in the air] So I spent two week yet again with it up in the air. I still hadn’t walked—which is after four months without walking and I’d put all my weight on it—went down, bang! Pagey virtually carried me to the hospital. And when it got to a point where I could lower it gain off the bed without touching the ground, I was wheeled to the studio while the others were asleep and did the whole vocal track all over again from start to finish. I said, “Right from the top, I’m going to do it again and I’m going to call it that.”

GINSBURG: What about the song “For Your Life?”

PLANT: That’s a sarcastic dig at one person in particular that I know, who was a really good person but got swallowed up with the whole quagmire of the downhill slide, the L.A. syndrome. You know the sort of thing. “Hung on the balance of a crystal pane through your nose…”

GINSBURG: But you must see so much of that—

PLANT: Yeah, but when it affects people who I love then I sort of snap back at them—”Don’t you understand that you are now immortalized—The parody of it all… is there for you to behold.”

GINSBURG: And why do you think that happens to people?

PLANT: It’s the way… these aren’t people in the immediate surroundings but they’re people who come and go who we know—usually of the opposite sex. People get carried along with the whole momentum and the adrenaline of a rock-‘n’-roll band. We’re in one that’s been going for nine years, ’cause we can still shake it better than anybody else. Then when you leave people behind in a situation you say, “Bye, see ya next time…,” and they sort of slide into the L.A. syndrome, and New York. You come back, and they don’t look as well as they should do, you know, the smile has changed a bit. And this [“For Your Life”] is sort of waving your finger and saying, “Now you watch it.”

GINSBURG: You think they put too much stock in it all?

PLANT: Well, I think it carries them away.

GINSBURG: It wouldn’t carry you away?

PLANT: It carried me away but I carried me away, because we are it, the thing that rolls.

GINSBURG: So then where can you get carried away to now?

PLANT: Well, it’s entirely up to me how far over the top I want to go, you know.

GINSBURG: Have you peaked?

PLANT: I don’t think there is such a thing as peaking. Because if there is so much change, then how does one know when one’s reached the pinpoint?

GINSBURG: How do you measure your success?

PLANT: By my own satisfaction. If I doubt what I’m doing then I’ll go about putting it right—readjusting. Time is too precious to… dance with half-measures.

GINSBURG: You have kids?

PLANT: Yep. A boy and girl and there’s no compensation for children. You can never compare any elation at all to watching a child… because the child is only the reflection of yourself and those of the people who surround it. So really I guess I prefer to be with them. But, you know, when you can’t take this out of your blood…

GINSBURG: What do you do, more or less, when you aren’t singing?

PLANT: [smiles] Wish I was… I don’t know… I have a great love for the more atmospheric parts of Britain. The parts that contain true atmosphere. The days of Albion, the Dark Ages, if you like.

GINSBURG: You must have a more manic side, too.

PLANT: Oh yeah. I’m a total soccer freak. I total soccer freak. Absolute total.

GINSBURG: Will you be able to start up again, at all?

PLANT: I can’t play anymore. I can play touch soccer where I could tap the ball around and do tricks and things like that. But I couldn’t go in, or tap hard. I spend every weekend, every possible moment with the soccer team that I support. Get involved with them, goin’ to see them and having sort of discussions with the management and chairmen how to project a soccer team in the ’70s—on a parallel on how to project rock-‘n’-roll, I guess.

GINSBURG: Any projections for rock ‘n roll?

PLANT: Yeah. Do it good. And do it so nobody’s going to forget it—and that’s what I say to them—play like fuck and people will never stop talkin’ about you.

GINSBURG: We are so stepped in technology. Someone can listen to a studio record, then go to a concert by the same group and expect the music to come out the same.

PLANT: Well, I don’t know whether they do or not. I know that I go about with the voice, which is the hardest thing to sort of play around with and yet the most enjoyable, obviously, because I’m a singer. I have my little machines that I like to play with. I like to make my voice sound like a piece of tin that’s been stuck on the side of a chair, lifted up as far as it would go and then let to spring—”doooiiinng.” I like to make it into a piece of metal from time to time and I can do it, both with the movements in my throat and with, uh, my little toys… So I like to take it beyond just a voice, more into the realms of a weapon.

GINSBURG: A weapon?

PLANT: A sharp spear.

GINSBURG: Do you care at all what the concert critics and writers get printed up in the papers?

PLANT: Not really, because the proof is in the pudding. I mean the people who come are the people who care.

GINSBURG: And the people come!

PLANT: And if they come and I see a smile on their faces, I know that it’s all right.

#led zeppelin #robert plant #classic rock #jimmy page #ledzep #70s #interview #history #robert plant interview #70s rock

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carewyncromwell · 4 years

Photo

Welcome back to the POTC AU! Sorry for the day-long delay -- I was out and away from my computer almost all of yesterday, so I wasn’t able to finish this up until today! XD; But yeah, moving on to the notes...

The information about the Chest and its locking mechanisms, honestly, was all stuff I had to kind of surmise and research, since to my utter shock, there were just about no sources I could find online discussing the process of designing the original Dead Man’s Chest for the Pirates films. There is concept art for it, showing some possible decorative designs for the outside, and there are prop replicas showing the different angles and the inside of the lid -- but there is NO discussion made about the Chest’s construction/locking mechanism or what kind of 18th century or earlier chests may have inspired it. And that kind of blows me away as -- for all of the films’ flaws -- I have to applaud them on taking a lot of historical influences for things, especially in the costume and prop design. I apologize in advance if any of my research on 18th century locks and lock-picking is flawed or incomplete, but I did try my best. XD;

The song “Fifteen Men on a Dead Man’s Chest” was originally featured in the book Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson, which was written in the late 1800′s, over a hundred years after the end of the Golden Age of Piracy, but it has since become entwined with the idea of pirates in pop culture, to the extent that it’s also referenced in Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest, where it’s sung by Joshamee Gibbs and of course it inspired the core concept that the movie is named after. The original song was likely about Blackbeard or a similar pirate marooning a bunch of his crewmates, but I changed the meaning slightly to better fit with this narrative.

This version of Davy Jones, who is in truth an AU!Finn McGarry, belongs to @theguythatdraws Ican’twaittotrydrawinghimsoon, while Juliette “Jules” Farrier-Weasley belongs to @cursebreakerfarrier...and the previous part of this AU is here, while the entire tag is here! Hope you all enjoy! xoxo

x~x~x~x

Cutler Beckett did turn out to be just as unpleasant as Skye and Orion had suggested. Pretty quickly Carewyn could suss out that this so-called “businessman” had no loyalty to or caring for anyone or anything besides himself and his vested interests, namely his own wealth and status.

Unfortunately Percy was not as quick to catch onto that, presumably because of Beckett’s stated interest in supposedly bringing all pirates to justice and (Carewyn suspected) the fact that Beckett had spoken on Percy’s behalf before he was named a Captain himself. Part of Carewyn wanted to chastise Percy for letting himself be blinded by Beckett’s attempt to manipulate him, but she knew she couldn’t risk doing so. Not only would it make Percy and therefore Beckett suspicious that she was more sympathetic to their enemies (namely, Orion, Bill, and other pirates), but she also didn’t want to come down too hard on Percy. She knew that Percy, being the youngest Weasley brother in the Navy, had a lot to prove, especially considering that his “older brother” (namely, Carewyn) was a well-respected Commodore and war hero. Even his real older brothers had gotten their fair share of glory while they were enlisted in the Navy and now were seen as wanted criminals...so it was little wonder that Percy was determined to stand apart from them, not just as great in his own right, but ultimately better because he didn’t “fall from grace” like they did.

Cutler Beckett stayed at Governor Farrier’s mansion for the next week and visited the fort just about every day in that time. Whenever he was there, he pretty frequently sought Carewyn out, engaging her in conversation and asking her about her experiences fighting the Spanish and in escaping from the crew of the Revenge. Carewyn didn’t enjoy his rather pointed attention, but she hid her discomfort and mistrust as best as she was able. As much as she really found herself disliking the man, she knew that Beckett trying to get to know her better could give her the opportunity to get some information on him too. And ultimately, her polite, charming affect did help her learn a few things.

“From there, it was simply a matter of applying the proper pressure to the cylinder with one of the hat pins, while pushing the pins into the proper alignment with the other,” Carewyn explained. “Once the padlock on my chains was properly unlocked, I was then able to adjust enough to still look like I was locked up, wait for one of the enemy soldiers to enter my cell, and then overpower him so I could take his uniform, weapons, and keys and escape.”

“You truly are quite an escape artist, Commodore,” said Beckett, his eyebrows raising approvingly. “I’m impressed.”

Carewyn offered a casual smile. “Thank you -- but I only learned those things out of necessity, Lord Beckett.”

‘Jacob and I knew we’d both have to know how to pick locks, if we ever had to escape the Revenge’s brig. And even before that, it helped keep Grandfather happy, for us to be able to open chests of loot we didn’t have keys for.’

“It’s not a skill set I like to use if I can help it, considering I’d much prefer to be the one locking others up, not vice-versa.”

“Yes,” said Beckett, “I suppose for one with such a strong moral compass as yours, it would be only natural for you to wish to enforce justice, rather than fight against it.”

“Just as I’d say it’s only natural for a gentleman such as yourself to work toward the protection of our realm and interests -- am I right?”

“Of course,” said Beckett airily. “Someone has to make sure that people get what they pay for and that business remains profitable -- make sure the world turns properly, as it were.”

“A difficult proposition for any one man to do,” said Carewyn lowly, “considering this wild, untamed world we live in.”

Beckett smiled -- unlike Carewyn’s, however, there was no warmth in it at all.

“Fortunately, Commodore, the world we’ve been saddled with will soon be a thing of the past.”

He and Carewyn looked out over the wall of the fort. Down below, at the western dock, several rows of newly arrived red-garbed militia were disembarking from a Man o’ War and marching into Port Royal.

“As the map is filled in, our hold around this world becomes better defined,” said Beckett. “Its treasures are collected, its value assessed...and with that, a new sense of order begins to take hold.”

Carewyn looked down at the Man o’ War, her eyes narrowing slightly. She hadn’t seen such a strong military presence in Port Royal since the War against the Spanish -- and yet, here they were, being used not against foreign countries, but against individual people -- some of them even British citizens. As much as she knew that there were plenty of pirates that weren’t as goodhearted as Orion, it still seemed bizarre to her to unload all this firepower to destroy and kill, as opposed to capturing.

“And hopefully, peace,” said the Commodore softly.

Beckett glanced at Carewyn with a discerning eye. “Indeed. Peace and order do go hand-in-hand, wouldn’t you say?”

‘Not if the order is being instilled by a tyrant,’ she thought, as Charles Cromwell rippled over her mind.

“Definitely,” she lied instead.

Carewyn glanced at Beckett out the side of her eye, before turning her gaze out to the ocean.

“...I only profess as much knowledge to this matter as one can acquire, fighting against the likes of Orion Amari and being in the captivity of a pirate crew like the Revenge’s,” she said in the hardest, least sympathetic voice she could, “but it seems to me that pirates know their existence is unsustainable. Regardless of how renown they are and how much they can terrify merchant sailors, they’re still only men, facing off against Empires and kings. And as the world is plotted out -- as you yourself pointed out, Lord Beckett -- there will soon be less and less havens where such criminals can hide...”

She then looked at Beckett with a cold look in her eye.

“...From the way things stand...it seems to me that it would be in their best interest to stand down while they still can.”

'It would be, if there was any true justice for those who turned themselves in.’

Beckett’s lips spread into a slightly wider, cold smile as he inclined his head in agreement. “Well said. There could always be clemency, for those who embrace that wisdom -- it’s just good business.”

With this conversation, Carewyn had gotten a proper fix on Beckett, and it made her feel more disconcerted. It only got worse when later that week, both she and Percy were summoned into Carewyn’s own office at the fort for a meeting with Beckett. Some might have been offended at the idea of someone coming in and stealing their office just to demand a meeting with the office’s owner, but Carewyn honestly couldn’t make herself care too much about that. She couldn’t help but think that Beckett being so forceful could only be a bad thing, and when she arrived in her office, Percy right behind her dressed in his shiny new Captain’s uniform and powdered white wig, she immediately got the feeling she was right.

Beckett had already made himself very at home in Carewyn’s office. A crystal decanter filled with red wine and several glasses had been laid out and an entire map complete with tiny soldier pieces plotted in different positions covered nearly all of Carewyn’s desk. There was also an even larger map that had been applied to the back wall, which an employee was currently adding more details onto with his paintbrush. Standing in front of Carewyn’s desk across from Beckett was a middle-aged woman with hair as ginger red as Percy and Carewyn’s -- when the two officers first entered the room, her sharp-lidded dark blue eyes ran over both of them, lingering on Carewyn critically.

“Ah,” said Cutler Beckett, his lips spreading into a smile as his eyes narrowed upon Carewyn, “Commodore and Captain Weasley. Good of you to come.”

Carewyn and Percy both saluted.

“Lord Beckett,” Carewyn greeted formally.

She glanced at the older woman out the side of her eye, to find that she was likewise still looking her over with narrowed eyes. Carewyn couldn’t help but look at her suspiciously in return -- Percy had said Beckett had a female associate...and, if Charles Cromwell was to believed, then this woman had to be --

“Allow me to introduce my associate, Patricia Rakepick,” said Beckett smoothly. “Madam Rakepick -- this is Captain Percy Weasley, and his elder brother, Commodore Carey Weasley.”

Carewyn’s blood ran cold. Being face-to-face with the woman who tried to kill Jacob was like a dose of cold, shuddering poison to her system. It took everything in her to not look at Rakepick with wrathful, vengeful hatred -- instead, she tried to hide the bile she felt by bowing respectfully, her head slightly bowed to obscure her expression.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Madam,” she said softly. Somehow her voice came out levelly, despite the rage pulsing through her blood.

Rakepick’s eyes narrowed a bit more on Carewyn’s face.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Commodore,” she said, but she didn’t sound quite so convincing -- she almost immediately turned back to Beckett, looking noticeably impatient, “Lord Beckett, you can’t think that these -- ”

Beckett held up a hand to silence her and turned to the employee working on the map. “One moment -- Mr. Elliot, you may stop there, for today. On your way, now.”

The employee bowed his head respectfully, before descending from his ladder and quickly leaving the office. The door shut with a SNAP behind him.

“Now then,” said Beckett, as he rose to his feet, “Commodore...Captain...I invited you here to request a favor of you. Madam Rakepick has recently uncovered a rather unique and valuable artifact.”

Carewyn’s eyebrows furrowed. Even Percy looked startled.

“What artifact is that, your Lordship?” he asked.

Beckett poured some red wine and offered a glass to Carewyn. She accepted it to be polite, but did not drink it. He then similarly offered a glass to Percy, who took a sip, even if he still looked a bit confused.

“How familiar are you both with the legend of Davy Jones?” asked Beckett.

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed slightly. “The captain of the Flying Dutchman?”

“Well, I’ve...heard the stories, of course,” said Percy, glancing at Carewyn uncertainly. “We both have -- the silly things the soldiers would pass around, at sea...ghost stories, you know...”

Rakepick scoffed, crossing her arms. “‘Ghost stories’ -- and these two are supposed to be sailors? Any sailor worth their salt knows that these things are hardly just stories -- ”

“Madam, please,” Beckett cut her off very coolly, as Percy frowned deeply, clearly offended. “I’m afraid the stories are indeed real. We now have the Chest to prove it.”

He reached under his desk and placed an intricately carved iron treasure chest on top of Carewyn’s desk.

It looked older than anything Carewyn had ever seen, and yet also oddly beautiful -- the inset lock framed by the moon’s phases and stylized flames, and iron tentacles clutched at the lid as if keeping it shut.

Carewyn immediately put down her full wine glass on a side table so as to walk up to the chest, trailing a hand along the heart-shaped lock.

“This is the Dead Man’s Chest?” she whispered.

Percy glanced at Carewyn. “The Dead Man’s Chest? Like in the song?”

Carewyn shook her head. “‘Fifteen Men on a Dead Man’s Chest’ was about this Chest, Perce. It’s said that Jones was so determined that no one know where he buried this treasure chest that he abandoned the entire crew who knew of its existence on that island with nothing but a bottle of rum to sustain them.”

“Leaving them to take the secret of its location to their graves,” said Beckett. He was idly playing with a silver piece of eight in his right hand as he spoke, his eyes resting on Carewyn. “Alas, it seems that the key needed to open the Chest may be in a location we cannot reach -- ”

He shot a cool look at Rakepick, who looked very affronted and opened her mouth to say something, but couldn’t before Beckett spoke again.

“ -- so I’d like to ask for your expertise on the matter, Commodore. Can this Chest be opened, without its key?”

Carewyn looked from Beckett to down at the Chest, unable to hide the trepidation completely from her face.

“...I can’t say for sure,” she said slowly. Her mind was working very fast as she regarded Beckett with a cautious look. “Were it an ordinary chest, I daresay it’d be easy enough to find a way to open it...but if there were any kind of curse placed on it or, more importantly, the treasure inside it...it might not be wise to try to break it open.”

“Curse?” repeated Percy disbelievingly. “Carey, you can’t be serious -- ”

“I saw the curse of Isle de Muerta with my own eyes, Percy,” she reminded him sharply. “If the Dead Man’s Chest has such a curse on it, it would not be worth the risk to open it, no matter how valuable its treasure is.”

Percy immediately quieted, looking a bit uncomfortable. Rakepick once again looked Carewyn over with a critical eye, even as she gave another light sniff.

“The treasure inside is not magical, so it would have no chance of hurting us, that is for certain,” said Rakepick dryly. “And from all the evidence I’ve gathered, I found nothing hinting that Finn McGarry -- pardon, Davy Jones -- was particularly adept at curses. All of the abilities he has now were a result of the role bestowed upon him by Calypso, as ferryman of the damned.”

Her face then turned much more serious.

“I will agree with the Commodore on one thing, though: Jones’s Chest will be too strong for the likes of a single man to break open. Look at the lid -- there are dead bolt locks around the entire Chest. The only way we’ll be able to unlock it is if I fetch the key from Jones myself -- ”

“And yet the Commodore thinks it’d be easy enough, to find a way to open the Chest without that key,” said Beckett rather coolly, raising his eyebrows as he once again shifted his gaze to Carewyn. “Commodore -- if you would?”

Carewyn looked from the Dead Man’s Chest to Beckett again, before glancing back at Percy. Percy gave her an encouraging nod, but it didn’t make Carewyn feel any better. She wished beyond reason that Charlie or Bill had been there instead -- they’d understand why she was so hesitant to help someone like Cutler Beckett.

But at the same time...she couldn’t refuse. She was put in the position that she had to open the Chest, if she wanted to stay on Beckett’s good side and keep the position that allowed her to protect Bill, Jules, Charlie, Jacob, and Orion. Even if she did refuse to open the Chest, then Beckett would no doubt find someone else who would...and would also likely not trust Carewyn enough to let her overhear any more information that could help her protect the others.

'If the treasure inside isn’t cursed, then there isn’t much reason to refuse,’ she thought grimly. ‘And lining Beckett’s pockets with a bit more gold would only help me help the others that bit more, by earning his trust.’

And so, swallowing back the ball of fear in her throat, Carewyn started looking over the Chest. She turned it around a few times, examining the hinges and the dead-bolts lining the base of the lid.

“What do you think, Carey?” asked Percy anxiously.

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed upon the Chest as she ran a hand over the top and pushed down on each of the iron tentacles one at a time.

“Its construction most resembles an armada chest -- some of the Spanish captains used them to hold their valuables during the War, and I’ve seen some pirates use them too, to hold their loot,” she murmured to him, though she could feel Rakepick hovering over her other shoulder as she worked. “On armada chests, the locking mechanism is actually built into the inside of the lid -- that explains the dead bolts around the edges. It also would prevent you from just unscrewing the hinges on the back of the chest and opening it from the back, like you can on a lot of wooden chests. But armada chests usually have a false keyhole on the front, with the real keyhole being hidden under a flap on the lid. This one does not. Judging by the construction of the keyhole, there looks to be a double cylinder design -- one that requires pressure on both sides of the keyhole, as well as the pins inside both cylinders to be in the proper position...”

She looked up at Beckett.

“...It’s easily the most complicated locking system I’ve ever seen on any chest,” she said grimly.

“Can you open it?” asked Beckett.

Carewyn steadied her jaw, her face blanching slightly as she inclined her head in a short nod.

“I think so.”

Beckett got Carewyn the tools she needed. Due to the two-sided nature of the keyhole, she enlisted Percy to help her -- he had far less experience with opening locks, but he followed Carewyn’s directions as closely as he could.

After almost an hour, there was a loud, booming CLICK as all twelve of the dead bolts around the lid popped out and the lid opened a crack, letting off a small gasp of dust.

“You did it!” said Rakepick.

Despite the seriousness of her expression, there was a slight echo of excitement and awe at the back of her voice. She was clearly impressed.

Carewyn stared at the slightly open Chest. Her heart was slamming up against her rib cage anxiously.

Nothing had happened, when she’d opened it -- so had the Chest not been cursed, after all? That was a relief. And Rakepick had said the treasure inside wasn’t cursed, so...

Tentatively Carewyn reached out a hand and slowly eased the lid open.

When she saw what was inside, though, she couldn’t hold back a sharp intake of breath.

The Dead Man’s Chest was devoid of any of the gold or jewels she’d envisioned. Instead, all it held was a slimy, reddish, pulsing, thumping thing about the side of a coconut.

It was a human heart, still beating lowly despite no blood rushing through it.

Percy squeezed Carewyn’s shoulder as he looked down at it too, visibly taken aback.

“Is...that...?”

“The heart of Davy Jones,” finished Rakepick darkly, “first cut out when he was named captain of the Flying Dutchman -- for the Dutchman must always have a captain who’s left his heart behind in the world of the living. Only then can he truly be a subjective judge of the dead and dying at sea...and thus the souls of the damned will not haunt the seas and terrorize all those who sail it.”

Carewyn’s eyes were very wide. ‘Then...the treasure Jones locked away was his own heart?’

Rakepick’s dark blue eyes flickered down to the heart rather pitilessly.

“Not that Jones hasn’t done a fine job of terrorizing those who sail those seas all on his own, over the years,” she added very dryly.

“All the more reason for us to bring Jones into our enterprise.”

Beckett rose from his desk again. Taking a sip from his own glass of red wine, he came around to purposefully take a step between Percy and Carewyn and look down at the heart himself. His lips curled up in a dark smile as he reached out a hand and picked up the heart to get a better look at it.

“Whoever controls the heart of Davy Jones...controls the sea,” said Beckett.

He gave it a rather tight squeeze. Carewyn couldn’t stop herself from flinching.

‘If that thing is still beating,’ she couldn’t help but think, ‘then does that mean that it’s the only thing keeping Davy Jones alive? If so...’

She felt like her own chest was being squeezed.

‘...Beckett’s holding Davy Jones’s life in the palm of his hand.’

For all of the terrifying stories Carewyn had heard about Davy Jones over the years, both on the Revenge and in the Navy, she found herself feeling nothing but righteous anger and pain at this thought. What a disgusting, terrible thing to do to anyone -- no matter how awful a person they were...

There was a loud splash outside the window of Carewyn’s office.

Carewyn, Percy, Rakepick, and Beckett all looked up, to see a giant, terrifying ship erupting out of the waves just outside the fort. It was a sickly gray with torn sails and a bow cut into a set of massive, jagged jaws like a crocodile.

“The Flying Dutchman,” breathed Carewyn, hardly daring to believe it.

Beckett’s smile broadened, actually showing some teeth. “A rather fine addition to the fleet -- especially considering that it can go just about anywhere and travel in record time...”

Rakepick turned to Beckett sharply.

“If that’s the case, the first thing we should do is have him hunt down Black Jack Roberts. I know he made a deal with Jones -- he’ll have a way to track him down and kill him once and for all -- ”

Carewyn’s heart spasmed in horror, but fortunately no one else in the room noticed the fear flashing through her face.

“Didn’t you say you already destroyed the Tower Raven?” said Beckett coolly. “One can hardly see a pirate with no ship as a real threat.”

“Don’t underestimate Black Jack Roberts,” said Rakepick lowly. “By all accounts, he should’ve died, and he would have, if he hadn’t somehow managed to recruit a merman to his crew -- ”

Percy sputtered in disbelief. “‘Merman’ -- you mean, like mermaids? Those are real too?”

“Afraid so,” said Carewyn.

Her mind and heart were both racing, but she tried desperately to keep her cool. She couldn’t let them go after Jacob...or Duncan, either, if he was the merman who’d helped him like she suspected. Now that she knew the true power Beckett now had, thanks to her opening that Chest for him, she couldn’t stand by and let him use it to hurt her brother --

“...I can’t say I know much about Black Jack Roberts, aside from him being captain of the Tower Raven...” she said slowly, “...but it seems to me that attacking one man would be a poor way to use the weapon we’ve acquired.”

All three of the others looked at her. Beckett raised his eyebrows in keen interest.

“And what would you say would be a better way to use it, Commodore?” he asked, sounding intrigued.

Carewyn’s eyes drifted away from the others as she walked up to the window of her office and looked out, her arms crossed behind her back as she went. She tried to keep her face as stoic as possible, even with how scared she truly felt.

‘In order to pass up the chance to hunt down and kill one of the most wanted pirates in the world,’ she thought, ‘I have to offer an even more enticing option...’

The idea forming in her mind made her feel ill.

‘It’s been over two weeks since I saw Jules, Bill, and Charlie,’ she thought very quickly. ‘That’s more than enough time to have made the repairs to the Revolution and get some new crew members, especially if Orion and the crew of the Artemis is helping them. And...whether they’re just leaving or have already left...this way, they’ll know the true extent of the danger. All pirates will know what the Navy’s new weapon is...and can prepare for it.’

She closed her eyes solemnly.

“...I say we send a message to all pirates -- one that makes them tremble in their boots, the way they’ve made merchant sailors tremble at the sight of their black flags...by attacking them where they’ve always felt most safe. By arresting them somewhere they all gather together, in one place.”

She opened her eyes again, her gaze blazing as she turned back to Beckett.

“I say...we sack Tortuga.”

#potc au #au #pirates of the caribbean #carewyn cromwell #patricia rakepick #percy weasley #jacob cromwell #duncan ashe #charlie weasley #bill weasley #jules farrier #finn mcgarry #my art #my writing #my fanfiction #oooooh boy carey #this kind of feels like when you were stuck at the ministry under the death eaters in your canon #having to stay in line while secretly biding your time to try to find a way to defeat the enemy #and also trying to find a way to help the people you love at the same time #she's going to hate herself so much after this whole thing is over though given how paragon she is #she knows practically speaking this is the best way she can help #but it doesn't make it any easier for her to keep her head down even if it is ultimately to try to help others #carewyn has impossible standards for herself as the resident paragon slytherin #she'll hate herself no matter what path she takes honestly #of course rakepick's already giving carey the side eye #wonder why... >>#also percy isn't just wearing the wig because it's a symbol of the 'upper-class' status of his position #but also because remember redheads are considered bad luck at sea?#so he figures people will treat him slightly differently if they don't immediately know he's a ginger on first meeting #and -- yeah sad to say he's right

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heatherfield · 4 years

Text

More than you could ever possibly want to know

I had a bunch of these to answer in my drafts and realized most of them were so similar so I combined them into one massive post. Given the sheer amount of questions I won’t tag anybody but feel free to answer any of these and let me know your responses!!

Tagged by the lovely @storyinmyeyes, @cartoon-heart, @thatdamnokie, @honestly-wilde, @bookwormchocaholic, @heterocosmica, @notations, @apictureofspace, @panalegs27, @swanfireouat and @queenofglassbeliever. Thank you!

rules: answer 21 questions and then tag 21 people who you want to get to know better

name: Heather

nicknames: none

zodiac sign: Aquarius

height: 4′11″

nationality: Canadian

Hogwarts house: Hufflepuff

fave fruit: peaches

fave scent: lavender

fave animal: cats

coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: coffee first, but I love all three

last movie i saw: “The King”

last thing i thing i googled: actress Sarah Macrae

fave musician: Umm.... hard to pick one, but Mandy Moore is a serious top contender!

song stuck in my head: “Right on Time” by Dawes

other blogs: nothing active at the moment

following: 1186 (I’m sure many are inactive lol)

do i get asks: every now and then but not often

amount of sleep: probably average 6 hours

lucky number: Hmm—13, or maybe 26?

what am i wearing: t-shirt and sweat pants

dream job: I think I’d still love to do something with design and books (or magazines)

dream trip: easy—England and Scotland

fave food: pasta <3

instruments: a bit of piano, and I used to play clarinet in school

languages: English (and the teeniest bit of French)

fave songs: I have so many and my mind is going blank!

random fact: aside from university dorm rooms/etc. I have lived in the same house my entire life

aesthetic: 19th century English cottage with some modern elements for balance

relationship status: single

favourite colour: purple

top three ships: Red Cricket (Ruby and Archie) from “Once Upon a Time”, Anne and Gilbert from “Anne of Green Gables”, Abby and Connor from “Primeval”

fave fictional characters: too many

fave book: “Pride and Prejudice” by Jane Austen

lipstick or chapstick: chapstick

last song: “Spanish Eyes” by Clanadonia

when blog was created: 2011, I think, but I didn’t started really using it until about 2015

why blog was created: I followed people over from Livejournal and then really started using this blog when my love for “Once Upon a Time” was revived between seasons 4 and 5

meaning behind URL: I thought it was a pretty/poetic/floral take on my name and it sounded like “Netherfield” aka Jane and Bingley from “Pride and Prejudice”.

fave candy: gummy bears

fave holiday: probably Christmas :)

fave season: summer

fave flower: lavender

cat or dog person: I love both but cats are my super favourite <3

number of blankets you sleep with: 1 big duvet

ever had a poem or song written about you? don’t think so, unless my ex wrote a poem at one point *shrugs*

last time you played air guitar: can’t remember, but I got my little brother to play it in the car a few months ago which was awesome!

celebrity crush: Raphael Sbarge <3

sound you hate and sound you love: I hate ticking clocks and I love the patter of rain on the windows or roof

believe in ghosts: no

believe in aliens: no

do you drive: yes

ever crashed: no, thank goodness

last book: “Where the Crawdads Sing” by Delia Owens—which I recommend :)

currently reading: the complete works of Shakespeare and “A Breath of Snow and Ashes” by Diana Gabaldon

last TV show: “The Home Edit” on Netflix

currently craving: chicken fingers haha

do you like the smell of gasoline: um... sometimes a bit (so weird but it reminds me of some family members and activities I think?) but not really

worst injury: I’m pretty careful so I can’t remember... although I banged my chin pretty bad when I was about 7 or 8

current obsession: well I’m reading through all of Shakespeare’s plays so that’s been fun, especially tracking down as many adaptations and stage versions I can get my hands on

do you hold grudges? I’d like to say no but I’m realizing it can be hard to let go of the emotions that came with certain hurts/betrayals even if I don’t necessarily hold grudges...

sweet, spicy, or savoury: savoury

* * *

Tagged by the lovely @bookwormchocaholic and @mariequitecontrarie. Thanks!

How old are you: 32.

Surgeries: yup, quite a few

Tattoos: none, but it appeals to me more and more

Ever hit a deer: no, thank goodness

Sang karaoke: I don’t think officially...

Ice skated: Yeah—I’d love to do more

Ridden a motorcycle: nope and I can’t say I want to

Ridden in an ambulance: yes

Skipped school: yeah, probably when I wasn’t truly sick

Stayed in the hospital: yes

Broken bone: nope! I’m too much of a fraidy cat so I’m always super careful (and not particularly sporty)

Last phone call: my mom, I’m sure

Last text from: my mom

Watched someone die: My pets.

Pepsi or coke: Coke.

Favourite pie: I worked at a farm/farmer’s market baking (frozen) pies for yeeeeears—my fave was “bumbleberry” which was actually just a mix of apple, raspberry, blueberry, and rhubarb I think it was, ‘cause why choose just one flavour?

Favourite pizza: margherita or hawaiian

Received a ticket: Nope.

Sunset or sunrise: Either, both are beautiful.

Favourite Christmas song: "O Come All Ye Faithful” sung by Pentatonix

Cupcakes or cookies: um, cupcakes!

* * *

Tagged by the lovely @bookwormchocaholic. Thank you! Turns out I filled this out and kept in my drafts ‘cause I’m just crazy.

1. Are you named after someone? No, my parents just liked the name. (My middle name is after my paternal grandmother, though.)

2. When was the last time you cried? Probably a week or two ago, lol.

3. Do you have kids? No.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Not often, but sometimes.

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people? How kind they are.

6. What’s your eye color? Brown.

7. Scary movie or happy ending? Definitely happy endings.

8. Any special talents? Writing, graphic design, singing.

9. Where were you born? Canada.

10. What are your hobbies? Reading, writing, sometimes crafts like knitting and card-making…

11. Do you have any pets? I used to have a cat for over 20 years, but we had to put her down 2 3 years ago. My mom and I would love to get another cat, but my dad doesn’t want a pet right now. Plus, I just miss my cat a lot…

12. What sports do you play? Nothing.

13. How tall are you? 4′11″.

14. Favourite subject in school? English.

15. Dream job? Honestly, I’d love to be a graphic designer for books and be involved in putting them together and then do writing as a hobby to take the pressure off. I think it would balance out the creative aspects if that makes sense. (I was so close to getting my dream job, too!)

#about me #tag meme #it was cool to see how these memes have clearly branched off from each other :D #long post

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tackyink · 4 years

Text

Still holding onto the hope of running out of steam soon so I can work on other fics. In any case, this has a title now. It’s Degrees of Separation.

I hate this chapter solely because in my mind it was supposed to be one, then it got long and turned into two awkward chapters, and by splitting them I was left with this thing in which nothing happens. Why would you want to read this? I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to read it, even though I did. Repeatedly. To edit out all the typos I’m sure I’ve left in. I’m going to put a Golden Sun stream on the background, play Animal Crossing and drown my frustration in Coca Cola. It’s been a long week.

One last detour before Sabaody. Alex is bored, the Heart Pirates reenter the scene, and Law has an “if it isn’t the consequences of my own actions” moment.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

— — — — — — — —

Chapter 3

There was a storm.

Alex didn’t know if it was related to the Aqua Laguna that the ship had set out to avoid or it was simply one of the Grand Line’s meteorological whims, but two days after departure, the noon sky went so dark it was like a moonless night had come down early, the winds picked up, and the waves started to beat against the ship’s hull in an uneven rhythm.

The crew was all over the place, trying to steer the ship and reef the sails as they ushered the passengers inside to keep them from falling overboard. Alex had been caught in bad weather travelling before, but never to this extent. She had a hard time thinking of anything scarier than being at the mercy of a windy sea. Nowhere to run, nothing to do except wait and pray that the waters would take pity on you and let you live another day. Alex wasn’t the praying sort, so while she waited below deck with a group of people as scared as she was, if not more, she couldn’t even do that.

The nervous chatter of the passengers and the parents’ attempts to console their children were muffled by the deafening sounds of the wind, the waves, the creaking wood, and the crew’s rushed footsteps on the deck.

Alex stood the entire time in front of a porthole in the dining hall where they had gathered. It helped with the seasickness from the violent rocking of ship, it was better than to look at the other people, and, ironically, storms were her favorite kind of weather. She wondered what would be worse if they sunk, getting caught on deck and risking being swallowed by the ocean, or waiting for the insides of the ship to become a water tomb. For a long time, or at least it seemed like it, that was the main thought that repeated in her mind, until the possibility of dying felt so remote that she wasn’t even registering. Like when you picked a word and turned it around in your mouth and mind so many times that it lost all meaning. Of course she couldn’t die there. She had never done so before, so why start now?

It was absurd, but it helped. And it turned out to be right, too.

After a while, the storm subsided, and an hour later, the crew let them out on deck again. The ship wasn’t intact, but they hadn’t lost anybody, and that was as much as one could ask for when dealing with an angry sea.

In the end, there was only one major inconvenience: due to the damage, the ship had to change its course in order to dock somewhere safe to undergo repairs.

❦

Her hair had gotten longer to the point of annoyance. The tips brushed her shoulders already; long enough to get in her face whenever it wanted, but too short to tie it in a decent ponytail. Sure, she could have done it anyway, but she was vain and would have rather dealt with the hassle than solve the problem in an aesthetically suboptimal way.

The sunspots on the left side of her face were getting more noticeable, as were the dark circles under her eyes and the shy wrinkles that were attempting to come out. For someone who could spend so much time picking her appearance apart in front of a mirror, she didn’t look particularly healthy or well put together. She supposed that was part of the appeal, in a masochistic way: to find as many faults as she could, and invent some if needed.

Applying concealer under her eyes and red lipstick just for the sake of having some color on her face, she thought she needed to find herself a headband and a healthier pastime posthaste. Porta Bella was a quaint town, but there wasn’t much in the way of entertainment, and she’d had only her thoughts for company for too long.

She had been stuck there for two weeks. After narrowly avoiding disaster, the ship had been moored in the harbor for several days, and by the time it was fit enough to sail, the captain decided to go back to Water 7 to have proper repairs done. The passengers had been given the choice to remain in Porta Bella and find another ship, or to return to Water 7 with the crew. Going back wasn’t an option for Alex when Sabaody was so close that it felt like she could have seen it if she climbed on a tall tree, she didn’t trust a half-baked repair job to keep her safe, and, most importantly, someone had tried to kill Iceburg and Enies Lobby had kind of blown up in the following days of her departure from Water 7.

She didn’t want to think that the tracksuit shipwright had something to do with it, but the conspiracy theorist in her told her that it was totally his fault. That nose? Could totally be used as a murder weapon and nobody would be none the wiser.

The few passengers aside from Alex who had decided to stay in Porta Bella were already gone, leaving the inn she was staying at delightfully empty, but also making her wonder if she had messed up by not taking the first random ship that would let her sail away from there.

The island was small, so much so that Porta Bella was the only town in it, and much of it was empty. For many years there had been a migratory tendency pushing young people from nearby islands to the Sabaody Archipelago, and this one seemed to have fallen victim to it, too. The moderately long recording time of the Log Pose didn’t play in its favor, either. Five days and a half was a long time to wait when the Red Line was only a couple of days away, so not many ships stopped there. An abandoned watchtower in the outskirts of town was the only other notable location.

She left her inn room that morning, picking up a tea to go, and hoping that a good slap of early morning breeze in the face would wake her up.

Every day since she arrived, she went to the port to look for any newly arrived ships and talk to the sailors. Every time, if there was a new one at all, she was told that there were reports of increased slaver activity in those waters, and that they were headed anywhere but the Sabaody Archipelago until Marine HQ got its shit together and stopped the kidnapping crews sailing rampant. Given that the Marines must have been scrambling to recover from the loss of Enies Lobby, nobody thought they were going to get on the case anytime soon.

These series of unfortunate coincidences didn’t surprise her. Her life was often comprised of really small strokes of bad luck that were nothing more than inconvenience on their own, but that added up to really grate on her nerves. This was business as usual, so she just had to keep trying. The temporary finish line was only a stone’s throw away.

Not that human trafficking stopped at any point of the year, but she hadn’t taken into account the seasonal opening of the archipelago’s biggest auction. Thinking that not even the schedule of the Human Auctioning House had changed during her time away gave her a twisted sense of familiarity. That son of a bitch kept finding novel ways to fuck her over without even being aware of her existence. It had to be a gift, for sure.

As she walked to the half empty docks, she hoped that that was the day she lucked out. She had already decided that, if she couldn’t find a direct ship to Sabaody in the following three days, she’d take the roundabout way and sail to a bigger island with, hopefully, a wider variety of ships. She would go completely broke in the process (and there she found the thing that was as terrifying as being caught in a storm at open sea), but one had to crack eggs to make an omelette.

Ten minutes and an empty cup of tea into her stroll, she stopped in front the single newly arrived ship and thought that maybe she hadn’t lucked out, but that sure as hell life was full of weird coincidences. Because there were few submarines sailing the Grand Line, even fewer painted yellow, and she guessed that only one with that particular Jolly Roger plastered on it. Her wish of seeing it up close had been granted when she least expected it, and it didn’t disappoint. It had a curious design, half ship and half submarine. A shipmarine.

Feeling revitalized by the pun, she craned her neck and got on her tiptoes to accomplish nothing at all. She couldn’t see any of the pirates on the deck, at least from where she was standing, and what else was she supposed to do, walk closer to find a friendly face and say hi like a functioning human being would? Yeah, no. She simply stood there and stared like a creep.

The paint job of the thing was hypnotic, and she didn’t mean it as a compliment. It looked like the idea of a man who thought the peak of design was making his vehicle look like a wasp with a decal of the word ‘DEATH’ instead of stripes to look extra edgy. And okay, they were pirates, pirates killed people, it was something that came with the job – but plastering it over the ship like that was a little heavy handed, and she didn’t have any doubts as to which guy with matching tattoos had come up with those brilliant design choices. Come to think of it, wasn’t there a song about a yellow submarine? The one from those singers her mom liked when she was young… Maybe the captain was a fan, too. Maybe they sung it on board. She laughed at the thought.

It didn’t leave her indifferent, that was for sure, and that could count as a compliment, since she had seen a ton of ships throughout her life. Props to Trafalgar Law for standing out among the crowd.

If the pirates weren’t around at the moment, it had to mean they were inside of the ship or already out in town. It was early still, but she was sure it was a matter of time until she ran into them – the town was pretty small, around a hundred, counting sailors, on a good day, news travelled fast, and these guys didn’t dress unassumingly.

With that in mind, she kept an eye out for familiar faces and resumed her unfruitful rounds around the port. Another day, another set of rejections. She tossed her paper cup in a trash can and made her way to the coffee shop where she always had the second tea of the day, sometimes even the third, if she was feeling particularly down about her current predicament.

She placed her order at the counter and waited for it. The owner, a balding middle aged man whose name she didn’t know but who had started to get chatty after she showed up a few days in a row, tried to strike up a conversation while he heated the water. “Did you hear? A pirate crew arrived in town last night.”

Alex wasn’t much for conversation in the mornings, and usually her replies to his attempts were rather apathetic, but the owner had struck gold with this particular topic. “I just saw the ship,” she repeated. “Have they done anything?”

“Not yet,” he replied with the clear implication that they soon would. “But it’s a Supernova’s crew, from what I’ve heard. Their captain’s a scary guy – how do they call him…?”

She had mixed feelings about that. She’d seen scary first hand, and in her experience it came in the shape of kidnapping crews, bubble helmets, or suits and fedoras. And ultimately, it was the fedoras’ fault she was in that coffee shop in the first place.

“Surgeon of Death,” she replied. There was no doubt that with that price on his head he was a walking danger, but after their first encounter, she had a feeling he was more the selective type than the let’s wreck everything in our path kind of guy. Not that his list of attributed crimes would lead anybody to think that. “Do you have trouble with pirates often? Being close to Sabaody and all.”

“Sometimes, but they usually go to more interesting places. It used to be as easy as calling the garrison to get rid of ‘em, but with Marineford so close it’s no wonder no one wants to be here any longer.”

“There used to be Marines here?”

“Yes, at the watchtower in the outskirts, but they left after some of the rooftop caved in. Building’s condemned now. A pity, ‘cause the watchtower’s been there forever, and they’ve let it fall apart.”

“That’s a shame,” she said. “How old’s the tower?”

The water started boiling then, and he turned around to remove it from the fire and make her drink. “Tale goes that it’s old as the stone entrance, but who knows,” he said with his back turned to her. “It’s not like we have any experts to come check.” He slid her the drink over the counter. “In case, try to avoid those guys. A woman traveling alone is an easy target for criminals.”

“Yes, I know,” she replied, putting a few belis in the counter and taking the cup by the handle. “Thanks.”

She chose to sit on the terrace, next to the railing that separated it from the sidewalk, to have a good view of the street. She was in a sort of commercial district, if a main street with a dozen of shops could be called that. Most people who stopped at the island had to pass by sooner or later, so it was the busiest place in town. Not so early, though. It wasn’t opening hours yet.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched like a hawk the man who was monopolizing the only issue of the World Economic Journal and snatched it as soon as he got up to leave, so fast that it turned the heads of the other two people on the terrace.

News of the assault of Enies Lobby had been filling pages for a week already, and that day wasn’t an exception. The Straw Hat Pirates had done the unthinkable, and while in other circumstances Alex might have been watching the situation with amusement from afar, she was also pretty annoyed at them, because their stunt no doubt played into the poor supervision in the waters near Sabaody. On the other hand, she hoped that this also meant that neither Marines nor Cipher Pol would be very invested in finding her in the near future if she ended up a suspect.

She was also a little worried about Iceburg’s condition, but the newspapers hadn’t reported his death, so she had to assume he had recovered from the attempt on his life.

She skimmed over the usual columns prattling about the lack of security at sea and how worrying it was that a whole new generation of rookies with astronomical bounties were about to set foot in the Sabaody Archipelago at the same time. She didn’t think having a handful extra menaces sailing around mattered anymore, considering the state of the world at large, but the pearl-clutching sold newspapers, and she wondered about her sense of self-preservation when she realized with disappointment that, at the rate she was moving, she was going to miss the Supernova meetup in Sabaody. Her curiosity was going to bite her in the ass one day, she thought, before remembering that it already had, and that was the exact reason she was in her current position.

She skim read a few pages looking for interesting headlines, getting to the less important news that didn’t warrant spreads, editorials and pictures that took up half the page, and paled when she read the contents of an unassuming text box.

An unfortunate accident in the island of Harlun had blown up the local library while it was undergoing renovations. Nobody had been hurt, said the write-up, but the building had been destroyed in the ensuing fire and an investigation was still ongoing to determine what had happened. At least she guessed that the last part of the article said so, because she choked on her tea as she read it and spit some of it on the paper, making the ink run.

It couldn’t be a coincidence. Well, it technically could be, but no way she was buying that. The real question was if they’d be able to link the Poneglyph to her, and considering she that she was the person who spent the most time in the archive and she had conveniently left right before construction work took place, she had a pretty good chance to win that lottery. Oh, God, what if her coworkers mentioned that she used to go to the archive on Sundays, alone?

Her first impulse was to bang her head on the table and hide it between her arms, but the surface was sticky, so she ended up regretting it immediately. Instead, she put her elbows on the table, and covered her face with her hands. Her heart was beating loudly and her mind was running wild thinking of possible courses of action. She was on a timer. Getting to Sabaody as soon as possible was a necessity now. If there was a place she could hide, ironically, it was there.

“I see life’s treating you well.”

Alex’s heart tried to leap out of her mouth when she heard someone talk to her from so up close, but one of the perks of being born with a stick up her ass was that she only tensed up when she was startled, so she saved herself the embarrassment of yelping or jumping on her chair. She removed the hands from her face to look at the person, and the sight of a spotted furry hat and a yellow and black hoodie punched her in the eyes.

“Oh, hello,” she said, feeling more relaxed when she realized it was the Surgeon of Death leaning against the balustrade, not law enforcement. Her life had taken a turn for the surreal in a very short time, had it not?

His smirk faltered. “You aren’t surprised?”

“Saw your ship,” she said with some difficulty, and she drank some tea to swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat. Of all the times for him to appear... “Town’s small, we had to run into each other.”

“Hm.”

If she exerted a bit of imagination, she’d say he looked a bit disappointed. Why would he? No idea, but it was funny to think he was, and she was in dire need of funny.

He asked, “What are you doing here? This is far from your island.”

Farther than he knew, she almost said, but that was a can of worms and not relevant in the situation at hand. Feeling too overwhelmed to give long explanations, she handed him the newspaper open by the page she’d been reading. Talking could happen once she arranged her own thoughts, and only then.

“That’s…” He took it from her hands and read for a few seconds. An inscrutable expression gradually morphed into a look of pure indignation. “What’s the meaning of this?”

She was taken aback by the unexpected display of emotion. It was odd to see him react so strongly to something that didn’t concern him. “It isn’t that surprising, considering—”

“How is it not?” He retorted, annoyed. “Sora can’t lose against these weaklings!”

She stared at him in confusion. “What?” she blurted out, realizing afterwards that he was talking about the comic strip at the bottom of the page. And to be fair, she was going to tell him to look further up when the meaning of his words sunk in, but then she was the one leaning over the railing to look at the paper he was holding. “Wait, really? That’s impossible!”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

Upon reading the message under the strip, she complained, “On break until next month?” She sat back on the chair, mumbling, “I don’t even know if I’ll be alive next month,” before taking a sip of tea.

“Summer vacation cliffhanger,” he replied. “And you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

“Read the news above.”

He looked at the paper again, and his eyes widened the smallest fraction as recognition dawned. That reaction was more appropriate. “Do you think it was…?”

“I’m sure of it. It’s too much of a coincidence.”

“Are you wanted now?”

“I don’t know. They have reason to suspect I knew it was there.” And she added with a bit of humor that she wasn’t really feeling, “If I get a bounty, I’ll say it was your fault.”

“I don’t think that’s going to do you any service.” A smirk returned to grace his features as he passed her the newspaper back. He was clearly amused by her misfortune, and that was the only good thing that had come out of it. “What do you plan to do?”

Alex let out a long exhale through her nose. She wanted to say that there was no plan, but there always was. Planning was something she did obsessively. “I need to get to Sabaody as soon as possible.” It was the only option. She could have elaborated, but again, she didn’t feel like it. Too early, too stunned to talk about serious stuff. Reality hadn’t fully sunk in. “You’re on Sora’s side? Really?”

He frowned at her. He did a lot of frowning, she thought. He was going to get wrinkles young. “Of course I am.”

“But he’s a Marine,” she said, a smile growing on her face despite herself. “Aren’t you one of the bad guys?”

“The Germa are vile,” he retorted, and perhaps realizing he was getting too much into the conversation, he went back to the other, much less fun topic. “Sabaody’s going to be full of Marines in no time, though.”

She was internally screaming, but it came out as a drawn out sigh. “Thanks to you, no doubt.”

“The merit isn’t all mine.”

“I know. You lot have been all over the news for weeks.” He looked awfully self-satisfied when she said that. “I guess you’ll be heading straight there after this place?”

“That’s the plan if there aren’t any stops in between. By the way, do you know how long until the Log Pose sets?”

“Five days, ten hours and twenty-six minutes,” she said blandly, repeating the number she had been told by several people when she first arrived to Porta Bella. It made her miserable, so of course she wasn’t going to forget it anytime soon.

“And the seconds?”

It took her way longer than necessary to realize he was messing with her. “Oh, fuck off.” She returned her attention to the newspaper so she didn’t have to look at his stupid face while he thought he was so funny. “Fishman Island’s right around the corner. Try not to drown.”

“We have a submarine.” He sounded amused still. Alex couldn’t tell if annoying her gave him that much joy or if he was having an exceptionally good day. He was pretty cranky for a while back in Duster Town, but now that she recalled, his mood seemed to improve every time he got one over her. “I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

“Regular submarines can’t reach Fishman Island.”

He frowned again. “Why not?”

“It’s too deep. They can’t endure the water pressure.”

She could sense the levity from moments ago was gone by the way his jaw set. “But we heard ships can traverse the Red Line through an underwater route.”

“That’s why you go to Sabaody first.” She was exerting a considerable effort to give these really boring explanations that no one was going to thank her for. “You find yourself a good coating engineer to put a resin bubble around your ship and that’ll protect it.”

He seemed to study this new information from several angles before he spoke. “That’s good to know.”

“You’re welcome.”

He gave her a pointed look, but didn’t say anything about the jab. “Is it easy to find one?”

“There’s an entire section of the archipelago dedicated to it. It’s going to cost you, though. And depending on who you choose, there’ll be a waiting list.”

“Really?”

“Good coating engineers are few and far in between, and nobody wants to find out someone did a half-assed job on their sheep five kilometers underwater.”

“That’s…” He made a meditative pause. “…Reasonable.”

“I thought you were going to say something completely different.”

“It sucks too.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. Her life would be so much easier if one didn’t have to jump through thirty hoops to cross that chunk of rock. “In a hurry to get to the New World?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to, either, because she was busy contemplating a new idea that had sprung in her mind. One that she’d rather avoid if she had other options left, and she wouldn’t know until a few days passed, but... this coincidence could prove to be useful yet.

“What?” He looked at her with suspicion.

“Nothing.” And just to get on his nerves a little, she added. “Yet.”

He fixed his gaze on her face, most likely gauging her intentions. Alex was incapable of looking at people in the eye, but she was good at faking it and not flinching under pressure, so she stared back.

“Do I want to ask?”

“I don’t know. Follow your instincts.”

To her surprise, he dropped it and took a step back from the railing. “I need to go back to the sub and see if the others are up already.”

Good. “For someone with a target so big on you, you wander a lot without them.”

“I like taking walks alone,” he said, like he didn’t think much of it. Like he could not fathom how he of all people could possibly be in danger from anybody else. “See you around?”

Was that a wish, a threat, or a pleasantry? “Without a doubt,” she replied, not bothering to hide the tedium in her voice. Damn empty town and damn slavers. “This town isn’t big enough for the two of us.”

She could have sworn he smiled a little at that, but Law shoved his hands in his pockets and made his leave too fast to see.

He was far enough that he wouldn’t hear her if she spoke in a normal volume when she remembered something important, so she resorted to raising her voice before the Heart crew did something they could regret. “Go to the Old Brewery if you don’t want to die! The Silver Fountain serves piss for drinks!”

He turned to look at her with the same curiosity back when she’d told him weapons weren’t allowed in the library, but this time he nodded in acknowledgement before making his exit.

The other customers on the terrace stared at her warily, but honestly, she couldn’t bring herself to feel bad for them even when the owner immediately came out to ask if she was okay and if the scary surgeon had said anything bad to her. At least something interesting was happening.

❦

Alex had a love-hate relationship with heights.

She inevitably got queasy when she was somewhere high up that didn’t have barriers or anything she could hold onto, but that didn’t stop her from going up there, anyway. It was like a very stupid magnetic pull that one day would end with her skull split open.

(It was the wind and the view. She knew that. It was also one of the few options she had to feel taller than most people.

But mostly the wind.)

The stone arch at the entrance of the town that gave Porta Bella its name was surrounded by the remains of a stone wall. First century, she guessed by the roughness of the stone blocks and the bit of mortar she scraped from between when she inspected it for the first time. It was easily over two meters, and only because the topmost part had fallen off. The blocks that hadn’t been taken away for use in newer constructions were still next to the wall, inviting anyone who’d dare to step on them to use them to climb.

She knew she wasn’t the only idiot who had felt the temptation, because the stone was worn from use. She’d also seen kids running at the top of the wall and no one had tried to stop them, and there were worse ways to channel all the nervous energy she had from reading that newspaper article.

She wasn’t a very proficient climber, but the blocks were positioned in such a way that getting to the top was easy as pie. No doubts someone had moved them for that exact purpose. When she was high enough, she threw a leg over the wall, then the other one, and sat facing the harbor.

The wind was nice up there.

She wouldn’t stand on the wall for all the money in the world and getting down was going to be an ordeal, but that was a problem for the Alex of the future.

That day had woken up to four ships in the harbor, counting the pirates’ submarine. Two would go away at the end of the week. The third was leaving that night. No vessels on the horizon.

She sighed. If the pirates were on an adventure, they sure had the shittiest of lucks docking only in the most boring islands the sea could offer.

With nothing better to do at the moment, and trying to delay as much as possible the moment she’d regret climbing that high, she moved towards the shadow of the arch without lifting her butt from the stone and rested her back against it.

She was at a loss. Sailing further away from the Sabaody Archipelago was counterproductive, but so was staying in the same island for too long, since she had no means of protecting herself if something happened. Then again, if she ended up broke before she got to Sabaody, she’d have to stay in whatever island she was to earn money to keep travelling.

All the options sucked. Maybe she needed to sleep on it to see what the lesser evil was. She had, after all, a few days to make a decision.

She looked at the sea, tinted dark green by her sunglasses, in what she assumed was Sabaody’s direction. So close, yet so far away. The skies were clear and the water calm, and though there weren’t any sailors to be found in the harbor, she could see the shadow of a couple of fishing boats in the distance. Wasn’t there a song that went like that? I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay, wastin' time…

She hummed, looking at nowhere in particular and letting her thoughts drift with the waves.

❦

She knew better than to cut through the lawless areas alone when it was getting late, so she had no one else to fault when she split from her group of classmates after spending their free day in Sabaody Park. It was only her and her stupid pride that didn’t allow her to admit that she didn’t think this was a great idea and that she didn’t want to go back to her room alone.

She broke into a sprint as soon as she heard the smallest rustle behind her, and that advantage proved to be essential, because someone started chasing after her. It sounded like more than one person, but she didn’t have time to look or tell how many sets of footsteps were behind her – she just ran like her life depended on it in the direction of the bridge that connected to the next grove, hoping that there would be other people there, and then—

—then she saw an open bar, a lone building in an even lonelier grove.

She rushed inside it, gasping for air so hard that she couldn’t speak, no matter how much she tried to explain to the bartender why she had barged in like that.

It wasn’t necessary.

“Don’t worry, dear, they’ve been hanging around these parts for a while,” she said, leading her to a chair with a gentle hair. “You’re safe here.” Her warm black eyes turned to someone else, and though Alex had trouble focusing on what was going on, she saw an old man with long white hair. “Why don’t you go take out the trash, Ray? They’ve driven off my clientele enough.”

“Sure,” the man replied, getting up from his stool and going outside.

Alex thought it was a horrible idea to send an old man to fight off a kidnapping crew, but that was because she didn’t know these people yet.

“Don’t worry about him. Here,” the woman gave her a glass of water. “Name’s Shakky. Rest all you need.”

❦

Footsteps approached. She shut up immediately.

“I like that song.”

Singing helped when she had too much anxious energy. It was probably related to breathing control. She had stopped anxiety attacks in the making like that sometimes.

It didn’t help at all when someone had been listening in and she hadn’t noticed.

“Oh. Thanks. Um, hi.”

“Hi,” Bepo said smiling. “I heard from Captain you were here.”

Even though she was sitting on top of the wall, Bepo’s head went past it. If he stood on his tiptoes, he could have rested his head on her legs. On one hand, it was a little aggravating that she had to climb so high up only to be marginally taller than him. On the other, Alex was filled with the urge to scratch his ears.

“Yeah, I’m stuck waiting for a ship,” she told him. “Ideally, you wouldn’t have found me here.”

“Oh? Where are you going?”

“Sabaody.”

“Isn’t that very close? How come you haven’t found a ship?”

“There’s kidnapping crews infesting the waters. You know what those are?”

“Uh… isn’t it in the name?”

Alex blinked. “Right. Don’t mind me.”

He fell into thought for a few seconds. “Why are they kidnapping people?”

“To sell. They get auctioned in the archipelago.”

Bepo frowned. “I see.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” she said, smiling for his sake. “Nothing’s going to happen to your crew. You’re strong.”

He beamed with pride. “Yeah, we are! We’ve been training for years to come here!”

Alex mirrored his expression without thinking. “Your Captain said you’ve been friends since you were kids. Did you—”

“Bepo!” Someone called out. “What are you doing?”

“Ah, sorry!” Bepo said, turning around to see the newcomer. “I was catching up…”

A woman with curly hair and a severe expression walked up to them, hands on her hips, and she looked a little confused when she laid eyes on Alex. She was struggling to place her. “Have we seen each other…?”

“On passing. I’m the Duster Town dumbass that opened the library for your Captain.”

“Oh, yeah, now that you mention it—” The confusion was back. “Isn’t this place a little too far from there?”

“I’m running away from justice.” She didn’t offer further explanation.

Bepo didn’t need it. “So are we!”

A barely contained laugh made it past the woman’s lips. “Oh well, if you’re a fellow criminal…” She extended a hand towards Alex. “Name’s Ikkaku. What did you do, keep too many books past the return date?”

“I wish.” She shook her hand. “Alex.”

“So that’s your name?” Bepo asked.

She turned her attention towards the bear. “I never told you?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Wow, I am rude,” she said to herself. “Anyway, hope you’re ready to take it easy, because you have five long days ahead of you.”

Ikkaku groaned. “I don’t mind, but some of the guys get so jittery after a couple days on land. I don’t suppose there’s a very active nightlife in this place?”

“Actually, there are two taverns in the entire town.”

“Oh, that sounds like something to keep ‘em busy.”

“I don’t think you want to go to one of them, though.” She wondered if the captain was going to pass the message or they would come to regret their choices. “There’s also an abandoned Marine outpost right outside of town, if they don’t want to be drunk 24/7.”

“Might be worth checking out, but I’m pretty sure they’ll take the ale.”

“Can’t blame them.” She was tempted to drown her sorrows in alcohol, and she barely ever drank.

She took a look around the desolate harbor, the small houses and the half-fallen wall with a disappointed look. “Well…” she began, “Bepo, we need you for the crates. He’s been waiting and he’s cranky enough already after—”

“Ah! Sorry!” He said, bowing at her and looking more upset than the comment would suggest. Maybe they didn’t treat him as well in the sub as she had assumed. When he turned to Alex, he also bowed repeatedly. “I’m really sorry, but I need to go!”

“Sure, no problem!” she said, making an effort to sound lively. She felt so fake when she did that. So customer servicey. “See you!”

As the pirates left, she tried to look at them in a different light. While it wasn’t too difficult to believe they would be mistreating the mink of the crew, even if they hadn’t been unkind while she was watching. He seemed shy. Maybe that was all there was to it? But the reaction seemed a little extreme. She would pay closer attention from then on.

❦

Her privileged observation point let Alex see a lot of things that day. She saw more of the crew coming and going, though they didn’t seem to recognize her, she watched one of the docked ships depart, and she met a cat that tried to get food from her, but after a good back scratch realized she didn’t have anything else to offer and walked away, leaving a lonesome Alex staring at the hand she’d used to pet it, wondering how many parasites it had come in contact with.

She immediately went back to the inn to wash her hands and get dinner.

The rest of the evening was spent looking at her Poneglyph folder and her mostly blank notebook. She had carried with her the transcript of the stone and copied some documentation from the library that could prove useful in deciphering it, but she wasn’t making any headway yet. Very little was known about the ancient language, even less was published, and she wasn’t a cryptographer. So far, she had identified what she thought were punctuation signs separating sentences and one of the names in the text.

In her years working in Harlun, she had seen centuries old coins from a currency before belis, and some of them had the legend around the rim written in different languages. Meaning, she knew how to write the name of the island in that ancient language. That was about it. She had a feeling the script wasn’t pure phonetic, either, and that wasn’t something she could attempt to tackle without cross-referencing.

Porta Bella was a nice place to spend a short vacation, sure, but it was impossible to find any books that might help. She had tried. The local bookstore only carried best sellers, and she would have bought that vampire novel that was getting so popular if money wasn’t so tight and she had space in her bag, but as things were, she had to fight frustration and boredom alone.

She had to face the fact that she wasn’t going to do anything useful that night, either. She took off her reading glasses, thinking that trying to sleep sounded like the best idea. Maybe next morning she’d finally have some good luck and find a ship that wouldn’t carry her too far from the Red Line.

❦

Too early for words, and wearing a flannel shirt as a jacket because it had gotten windy, she strode out of the inn with her paper cup and a new challenge. She had thought herself immune to monotony before this, but she had clearly overestimated her brain’s capability to get distracted by anything.

Instead of walking to the docks following the main road, like every morning, she made for the wall again. Stepping on the fallen rock, she reached up with her left hand to the top of the wall and placed the paper cup as far as she could from her, and then she climbed up like the previous day. Well, she tried to, because for some reason early in the morning she didn’t have a lot of hand strength, and she felt a stabbing pain in one of her knees when she stretched her leg to reach the wall.

It took two tries and the fear of having lost her first morning tea, but she got where she wanted.

Cross-legged, she sat on the wall and took sips of her drink while inspecting the docks. No new ships in sight. That time there was someone walking on one of the submarine’s decks, but she couldn’t make out their face, and she didn’t know most of the crew anyway.

The wind had driven all the clouds away, and the dark shadow on the horizon reminded her of how close she had been to getting to the New World before she had to reconsider the entire strategy.

She was about to sigh, but she sensed someone near her vicinity even before she heard the crunch of gravel, so she kept it to herself and looked over her shoulder.

That silly hat was becoming a familiar sight. Trafalgar Law looked up at her from a reasonable distance, having just noticed her. Please don’t get any closer, please—

He changed course and went towards Alex, who didn’t bother to hide how little she appreciated the company less than an hour after waking up.

“Morning walk?” she asked, or grunted, depending on who you asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, annoyingly awake. “What are you doing there?”

“Wasting time.”

Someone with a little more tact, or at least who cared about having it, would have taken a hint and left, but this was not the case. “I want to hear more about Sabaody.”

Oh, she wasn’t nearly awake enough for this, but she made an effort to not be outright rude. “Okay,” she relented. “But you ask me questions, I don’t want to think.”

That was good enough for him, it seemed. With irritating ease, and without having to step on the fallen stone, he boosted himself up against the wall and climbed it in a matter of seconds.

Something caught his attention when he looked up, and he stood up on the stone like the concepts of acrophobia and losing one’s balance were but a faraway ping in his radar. Alex’s mood was souring by the second, granted, a likely thing to happen at that hour. It wasn’t personal.

“Is that…?”

She turned to look in the same direction he was.

“Yeah. Red Line.”

“I didn’t think it was so close.”

“It’s a few days away still. It’s just that big.” She thought of the times she’d been at the base. It was impossible to see the top from its bottom. And, considering what lay up there, perhaps it was for the better. “You saw it from the other side, I guess?” North Blue was adjacent to the New World. In a sense, both of them were from the same side of the Line. How weird to think that they had anything in common.

“Yeah. We entered the Grand Line through Reverse Mountain.”

Expected, but incomprehensible to her unless he had a death wish. “Ships sink there every day. What do you want so bad that you’d risk that?”

“Wasn’t I the one asking the questions?” he shot back.

She gave him a deadpan look, then looked at the cup between her hands. It wasn’t doing much to drive away the numbness of her fingers. How many people had gone out to sea since the Great Age of Piracy began and failed because they bit more than they could chew? And they weren’t the only ones dying. For every decent man that got a ship and called himself a captain, there were ten whose only interest was pillaging villages and getting rich. Was that massive chain reaction what Gold Roger had intended with its final speech? Had it been a final fuck you to world order, or was there something else behind it?

She had contradicting thoughts about it. Roger’s last words had unarguably made the world worse, but…

Well.

The guy had been a badass. Even she wasn’t immune to seeing that. With every new pirate crew that sailed to Reverse Mountain to test its fortune, he kept proving how much bigger than life he had been. Twenty years down the line, he had become as much of a legend as the tales of gods from islands in the sky. The kind of legacy a regular person only dreams of having.

He said, I will never die.

He had been more right than he knew.

She looked at Trafalgar with renewed curiosity. “Are you trying to become Pirate King too?”

He didn’t give a clear answer, despite how easy of a question it was. “What if I am?”

It wasn’t a no. A straight yes would get many pirates laughed out of town even in a place like the Grand Line. There wasn’t a lot of room for romantic ideas of piracy when civilians lived in fear of black flags showing up one day at the port and taking away everything they had.

“Just curious.” She wasn’t feeling articulate enough to explain where she was going to herself, much less him. “Nothing wrong with dreaming big.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt like she had called herself out. Where was she going? After Sabaody, after crossing the Red Line, after getting to her hometown? Those were only checkpoints. But where was her purpose? Inside the bag she had in her room at the inn, or somewhere else?

An awkward silence stretched along with the horizon. For some reason, he decided not to press her for answers and sat down. A small mercy for Alex’s neck.

“After the Log Pose sets, it will point to Fishman Island. How do we get to Sabaody first?”

It was a relief to be able to give an answer she didn’t have to think about. “It should be visible when you’re close enough to the Red Line. It looks like a random cluster of trees popped up in the middle of the ocean.”

“That’s it? Is it safe to dock anywhere?”

“Mostly. The archipelago is made up of 80 groves. 60 to 69 house a Marine garrison, and that’s where the ferries to Marineford and Mary Geoise leave from, so you don’t want to be there. Other than that…” She had to strain to remember the range of numbers. “20 to 29 is the only lawless area open to sea, so you know Marines won’t go there, but since no one’s keeping watch, the competition might try to sabotage you. I don’t know, I never had to worry about that sort of thing.”

“I’m not afraid of other crews,” he said with that devil may care attitude that got pirates killed left and right. “We haven’t come this far without knowing how to defend our ship.”

She wasn’t going to argue his point. “I’m just saying what I know. You do you.” But she took note to keep her opinions to herself, lest he had the urge to express how full of himself he was again.

He looked at her like he was trying to figure out what sort of hidden meaning her noncommittal response held, but little did he know that behind the sleepy façade her prevailing thought was it’s too early for this shit.

“You said you spent some time in the archipelago.” It wasn’t worded like a question, but it was a way to probe for info. She supposed that she would have wanted to know the credentials of her sources, had she been in his position.

She hummed. “I lived there a few years.”

Taking a sip from the cup, she returned her attention towards the outline in the horizon. It had been a constant part of the scenery back then, always peeking out from behind the trees and buildings of the groves closest to the shore. A grim reminder, on one hand, of those who lived above the peasants, but at the same time, Sabaody had been… fun. There was always something happening. Moderately dangerous, but always entertaining. She had forgotten how that felt after the years of routine in Duster Town.

A question brought her out of her thoughts. “Are you from this area?”

“Oh, no,” she said, surprised that he had even entertained the idea. “No, I got a scholarship to study in one of the World Government’s academies. I’m from the other side of the Red Line.”

“From the New World?” He said with surprise, and mulled over this new piece of information until it fit satisfactorily in whatever picture of her he had constructed in his mind. “So that’s where the accent’s from.”

It was unexpected comment after unexpected comment. “Excuse me?” she replied in an incredulous tone. “You are the one with a heavy accent.”

Now it was him who got caught off guard. “That’s not true,” he retorted. He looked like he was trying to determine if she was pulling his leg.

“Yes it is,” she insisted. “Everybody has an accent. You and your crew have that typical northern one that sounds like you’re about to shank the person you’re saying hello to.”

For a moment, she thought he had offended him to the point of silence. Just for a moment, because he didn’t take long to counter with, “You sound like you’re trying to whisper through a megaphone.”

She snorted with laughter as soon as the words sunk in. It was true that she spoke in a low voice most of the time. “If that isn’t the best description of Dressrosan I’ve heard—”

She felt an immediate change in atmosphere, like an electric current shooting through the air, and shut up as a precaution.

Trafalgar has tensed up all of a sudden and was staring at her like she had grown a second head, like she was trying to set her on fire with a glare, or both. “What did you say?”

She found herself tensing up in return, even though she didn’t know what she had done. But when a dangerous guy scowled at you like that, survival instincts kicked in. Goodbye sleepiness, and welcome life danger. “Um… Dressrosan?” She eyed him warily. “My mother tongue?”

His eyes grew wider, but other than that, his expression didn’t change much. “You’re from Dressrosa?”

She suddenly understood. It wasn’t the first time she got odd reactions when she said where she was from, but it had been a while. “Oh, right.” She sighed. “You’ve heard of the whole Doflamingo thing.”

Or… maybe she was wrong. He seemed a little out of it, like he was looking past her at… who knew what was in his head.

After a few seconds without a reply, she deemed it safe to speak. “Did I say anything wrong?”

“…No. I was just surprised.” After that, he seemed to go back to normal, though his voice sounded a little strained. He was still tense. “It’s a long way there.”

Suspicious. Did he know someone from there? “It’s not so much the distance as having the Red Line in the way. Getting permission to cross it takes time.” And she figured that she had run out of it.

“How’s the country?” He asked in a way that tried to sound casual, and maybe, maybe would have worked if he hadn’t made clear already that he had a particular interest in it. “Being ruled by pirates and all.”

She made a disgruntled sound. She had signed up to answer questions about the Sabaody Archipelago, not Dressrosa. There was a reason why she hadn’t been home in ages. “It’s doing fine. Better than fine, in fact. Economy is booming. People are happy.” She delivered each sentence in a quick, clipped tone. “It pisses me off.”

“Why?”

Because she always had to be the odd one out, she thought. And this guy wasn’t getting the message that she didn’t want to talk about it. “Doflamingo doesn’t deserve that kind of credit. He and his crew should go back to the hole they crawled out of.”

He huffed. “North Blue’s had enough of him already.”

Animosity was dripping from his words, and that made her feel a little less displeased and a lot more interested in what he had to say. He could’ve seen firsthand the repercussions of Doflamingo’s actions there.

“That’s true.” She didn’t know much about the specifics, but there was a reason the North Blue was considered the most dangerous out of the four cardinal seas. “I guess he did a number there before he moved onto the Grand Line.”

“You don’t sound very fond of him either.”

Look at that, a flat out admission of having feelings about someone.

“He’s scum,” she said with more venom than she had meant to. “He dethroned the king only to take over himself, reinstated gladiator fights to death, and he has a trafficking empire. The Human Auctioning House in Sabaody displays his Jolly Roger openly. But he’s a Warlord. As long as money keeps flowing and the Celestial Dragons can buy new pets, nobody seems to care.”

“And you do? You say your country’s doing well.”

She didn’t know whether to reply honestly or not. He was trying to dig deeper than she was comfortable with answering, but she was on a roll already. “Dressrosa used to be a very poor country. I’m not blaming the people who have a better life now, but I don’t think you can build anything stable from corruption. Someone will topple Doflamingo one day, and the country will go down with him.” Her tone was increasingly becoming more determined. “And when the time comes, I hope they get rid of kings once and for all.”

“You lost me at that last part.”

“Monarchy is an obsolete form of government. How’s the world going to get rid of the Celestial Dragons if we can’t even get rid of the pests at home?”

He stared at her blankly, and that was when she realized she had talked too much and looked away from him. Ah, to be a life form capable of fusing with granite and dying in the spot…

She heard a short, muffled laugh, and glanced at him. Great, a pirate making fun of her was exactly what she needed to start her day.

“Can’t say I took you for an anarchist.” He was smirking.

“What part of ‘fuck the government’ was unclear?” she replied, still avoiding to look at him. “The more time you spend near Mary Geoise, the more you realize everything has to burn down. Then there are the Marines.” A lost cause. “It’s even their combined fault that I’m stuck here.”

“What do you mean?” He sounded relaxed again. It was like he hadn’t been acting like a weirdo through the entire conversation about Dressrosa. “Aren’t you just waiting for a ship?”

She took a long breath in preparation to give the same explanation she’d been getting every time she spoke to a newly arrived sailor. “Kidnapping crews are infesting the waters ahead. Normal ships don’t want to go near Sabaody because there’s going to be a human auction next week. Marines aren’t helping because the government benefits from the slave trade, and I assume the Enies Lobby debacle has hit them hard. I already told Bepo you don’t have to worry about it, though. They only attack pirates if they think they’re weaklings.” And trying to change the subject to something that didn’t force her to wallow in her misery, she asked, “How much was it already, Mr. Supernova?”

He looked awfully satisfied with his title. “It’s not Trafalgar anymore?”

“I’ve always liked stars.” And speaking of Bepo, she remembered something from their conversation the day before. “By the way, I don’t think I introduced myself. I’m—”

“Bepo told me. I like Librarian-ya better.”

She had an urge to fling what was left of her tea at him, but she held back at the expense of looking away and letting a strained smile show. Not worth the loss of beverage. It wasn’t going to stop him from being an early morning smartass.

The silence that ensued this time didn’t feel as uncomfortable as before, but that bar was so low, it might as well have been underground.

#degrees of separation #tried to post this draft from mobile and the formatting imploded #why is tumblr so

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princecupcakee · 4 years

Text

Park Bench | Reddie

Read on AO3

Rating: E

Pairing: Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak

Word Count: 3,320

Chapter: 2/8

Past Chapters: Chapter 1 (AO3)

Next Chapters: Chapter 3 (AO3), Chapter 4 (AO3)

Summary: Recently divorced and ‘incapable of love’, Eddie Kaspbrak moves to Los Angeles for work and a small, small hope of a fresh start. Broken up and never dated again, Richie Tozier tries to get back into love with help from his love of music. Quickly meeting eyes and one concert later, they think that maybe love isn’t that bad. So they try it one more time.

Chapter 2: What If Eddie Kaspbrak Was?, What If Richie Tozier Wasn’t? & Richie Tozier And Eddie Kaspbrak Have Breakfast

Tags/Warnings: Angst / Unhappy Ending / theres only one sex scene but this is explicit anyway / Bisexual Richie Tozier / Gay Eddie Kaspbrak / Post-Divorce / Implied/Referenced Cheating / Inspired By Remembering Sunday (All Time Low) / Inspired by The Book Ninja by Ali Berg / Implied/Referenced Child Abuse / Implied/Referenced Abuse / Implied/Referenced Manipulation

Tag-list: @richietoaster, @s-s-georgie, @mikeuris, @gazebobullshit, @that-weird-girls-blog, @tozierking, @thoughtfullyyoungduck, @s-onora, @bellarosewrites, @lermanslogan, @ambitiousskychild, @ghostnebula, @vanillaredvelvet,

(Ask if you wanna be on the tag-list!!)

Chapter 2

What If Eddie Kaspbrak Was?

He loves Beverly, he really does, but right now, in this gigantic crowd of people, he hates her. Really, really hates her. He thinks that everything and everyone (mildly excluding Ben, Beverly, Bill, Mike, and Mr. cute-Hawaiian-shirt guy-with-huge glasses-who’s-name-is-apparently-Richie) is out to kill him. Two groups of teenagers tried to sell him drugs, or something —he wouldn’t know. He ran away before they could say anything.

It was loud, and hot, and made Eddie, really, really uncomfortable. As much as he tried to avoid the touches of every person jumping around to whatever incomprehensible song was being shouted —yes, he meant shouted — it was too cramped. “You okay there?” Eddie heard a voice behind him ask, loudly. As he looked in that direction, Eddie decided that speaking would be useless, so he simply shook his head. He let Mr. cute-Hawaiian-shirt guy-with-huge glasses-who’s-name-is-apparently-Richie or, simply, Richie, take his hand and lead him out. “You looked really uncomfortable,” Richie smiled, laughing a bit.

“Uh, yeah, don’t do that well with big crowds and everything,” Eddie shrugged, attempting to look ‘cool.’

Richie laughed, “Lets go.”

“But, the concert?”

“I’ve seen ‘em before,” Richie shook his head, “I’ll take you back home, its pretty late anyway.”

“Thanks,” Eddie smiled as he took Richie’s outstretched hand.

“Where is your place?” Richie asked him, crossing the pedestrian.

“I uh, live with Ben and Bev.”

“That mansion? Well, I guess when the husband is an architect and the wife is a designer you get the Buckingham fucking Palace.” Eddie laughed at that (as much as he tried to hide it.)

“But, yeah, I’m staying at Ben and Bev’s while I’m here.”

“While you’re here?” Richie nods

“I don’t live in LA, I’m from New York,” Eddie replied.

“I didn’t think you were from here,” Richie smiled, walking backward to face Eddie.

“That’s dangerous.”

“And thats,” Richie points at Eddie “no fun.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, moving away from the topic, “Its like you guys have your own planet here,” he says, scanning the scenery.

“Says the New Yorker,” Richie said sarcastically.

Eddie gave him a questioning look, trying to hide a smile. “You know, all the big pretty buildings and broadway, and all the big movies,” Richie jokes in a horrible Brooklyn accent.

“Don’t-don’t do that,” Eddie shakes his head.

“Thats my career.” Richie grinned walking into the subway.

Eddie ignored that, “I thought LA was all cars?” He asked.

“It is. I’m doing a kind of project thing though,” Richie smiles talking Eddie’s hand. That slightly throwing Eddie off. “See?” Richie points to a vinyl (yes, Eddie learned the word) with their intertwined fingers.

“I don’t think I understand,” Eddie says looking at Richie.

“I don’t think you need to,” Richie winks, seating Eddie further from the vinyl.

“For a comedian, you’re not funny.”

“Come to one of my shows then. Got one tomorrow night.” Richie winks.

“Sure.”

Richie stops himself before he says ‘its a date.’

“Where did you go?” Beverly asked Eddie as he walked into the kitchen where the rest of the group was standing.

“I went back here,” Eddie says, avoiding eye contact with anyone in the room as he holds back a ‘and kind of got a date. Kind of. Well, no it isn’t a date. I’m just gonna watch his show-’

“Richie ‘went back here,’ too?”

“Oh- no, he just… it was really late and he-he walked and rode the train with me back here.” Eddie replied. Ben, Beverly, Bill, and Mike all exchanged looks while he wasn’t looking. “I uh- speaking of Richie though, what does he even do?” He asked, trying to be subtle. Keyword: trying.

Ben tried to hide a laugh, “Besides working at the shop he does some comedy, I thought we told you already?”

“Yeah, yeah, uh anyway, does he even have shows?”

Deciding that he didn’t want this conversation to last too long since Eddie would never bring up what he really wants to say, “He’s got a show tomorrow n-night, I think,” Bill says looking at Ben and Beverly, “Think we can watch it?”

“Totally, its at a bar not too far from here,” Ben smiles.

“Yeah, sure, why not,” Eddie says quickly, thankful that his friends ‘didn’t’ notice how much he wanted to go.

~~~

Eddie was alone on Sunday morning, tired after the concert the night before, —despite not being there for half of it—and he woke up at around 10. His four other momentary housemates were out for the day on whatever they were planning on doing on a Sunday morning in Los Angeles —he wondered what there is to do. Which made Eddie feel painfully single, but also made him feel a little better. An abnormal creek came from downstairs he shut the door to his bedroom, ‘I must’ve just imagined it, I need coffee.’

A loud crash sound rang inside the house and followed Eddie to the first floor. He ran into the kitchen, grabbed the first thing he could find, and rushed toward the direction of the sound, prepared to hit. “Holy fuck, please no!” Richie shouted, hands above his head, dropping the coat rack he was trying to put straight back up. Eddie dropped the pan in his hands and sighed, relieved. “What the fuck is this? Tangled?” Richie laughed, breathlessly.

“Asshole. I thought there was some, I don’t know, a psychopathic- killer- clown that broke into the house out to kill me.”

“I- I’m not even gonna fucking ask.”

Eddie sighs and rolls his eyes, ”why are you here anyway?”

“Just picking up something, what are you doing here?” Richie asked, ‘well shit. Now I look like an idiot.’

“Told you. I’m staying here.” Eddie answered returning the pan to the kitchen.

“Uh, right,” Richie awkwardly said, wanting to fill the silence. As much as he wanted to ask, ‘are you coming to my show tonight?’ He didn’t and instead, “so, how’s your mom doing? She okay after last night?”

“Ew. That’s disgusting,” Eddie said his face scrunching up, “I, uh, I’m going.”

As if he read Richie’s mind he clarified, “I’m going to your show.”

“Neat.” Richie smiled widely, “uh no. Not neat. No! Not that is it’s ‘not neat’ for you to come to my show, I mean not neat. Like, not the word ‘neat’. Jeez. Uh—“

“Yeah, neat.” Eddie laughed, “weren’t you going to get something?” He knew he was winning this.

“Oh right, uh,” The man in glasses began to walk towards the library —it wasn’t actually a library just an extra room Ben and Beverly filled with books and music things (Eddie honestly didn't know what they were). Again, their house is fucking like a mansion— and Richie came out with vinyl in his hands, “they borrowed it,” He said shaking it.

“Have you heard it before?”

“I don’t think so,” Eddie says walking closer.

“Lets go then,” Richie smirks going back into the room, putting in the vinyl. ‘Sittin' in the kitchen, a house in Macon’ rang the player, ‘Loretta's singing on the radio’

"Smell of coffee, eggs, and bacon” Richie sung.

“What is that?” Eddie asked.

“‘Car Wheels On A Gravel Road’, Lucinda Williams,” Richie replied just as the same line played.

“What kind of song even is that? Its all guitar but not-”

“First, its country and rock. Alt-Country. Second, not all songs with guitars have to sound like ‘The Carpal Tunnel Of Love’ or something,”

“I don’t even wanna what that is,” Eddie rolled his eyes, looking at the player —he didn’t actually know what it was called.

“You live under a rock. Not even a single rock— you-you live in a fucking cave.”

“Half the people I know don’t know what that is.” But Richie was already picking up a new vinyl — ‘is that a fucking sheep?’ Eddie wondered once he saw the cover.

Richie set the —‘what the fuck is that’ Eddie thought— on a place over the vinyl. “We take sour sips from life's lush lips” Richie sung, smiling at Eddie.

“Its so loud. What the fuck is that?” Richie just kept on singing.

“Whoa-oh, we're so miserable and stunning,” Richie sang. As, much as Eddie didn’t want to admit it, he sounded amazing.

“This is so loud. I’m not doing this,” Eddie said walking out of the room. The song being loud was the reason, he promised. It wasn’t because he knew he would lose it if he kept going, it was just loud.

“Hey, what? Eddie, wait!” Richie said stopping the music and tripping over himself to get to the door. “Have you been walking through life with earplugs on? Jeez,” Richie checked his watch, “shit, I’m gonna head back to the store. I’ll see you tonight?”

Eddie thought his heart stopped for a moment, and then he remembered he was going to Richie’s show. Nothing more. Because it shouldn’t be anything more. “Yeah,” Eddie said, watching as Richie walked out the door.

~~~

Eddie was alone in his room Sunday night, (or Monday morning? He couldn’t tell) tired of laughing, tired of being so far away from Richie. His set was amazing (not that Eddie would tell him that.) So maybe he was feeling something. Maybe he was feeling a lot. That doesn’t mean he must fall into Richie's arms. Or should fall into his arms —he thinks that Richie definitely can his hands and shoulders and just his arms are so big. He knows he shouldn’t fall in love again. The last time didn’t do well for him, and he had known her for years before they even started dating. And much longer before they got married. He shouldn’t be feeling this. But what if he was?

What If Richie Tozier Wasn’t?

As he walked out of the door from the Marsh’s house, he headed for the trains once again. Something in his head was pulling him away, not wanting him to continue the project, but what if its what’s good for him? What if Eddie didn’t like him the same way? This might continue to be like Connor. I mean, they saw each other in the store and started talking after ditching a concert? Is that how love was supposed to go? How is love supposed to go? On the other hand, Ben and Bev seem to like him. He trusts Ben and Bev. He trusts Eddie. But what if Eddie shouldn’t be trusted? This was something all too fragile.

Richie walked into the train, looking down on the vinyl he played Eddie. He took out the Sharpie from his pocket prepared to write on ‘Car Wheels On A Gravel Road’ but then his phone let out a ‘ping’ He opened his phone to a group chat with Stan, Patty, Ben, and Bev called: ‘The Four Hets Who Help With The Vinyl Project Thing’ —Richie was also surprised that it fits there.

Patty: Good luck on your date today!!! Stan: Yeah, have fun, rich. Ben: Tell us everything once its done :) Ben: By the way, Stan and Patty, we’re almost there. Stan: See you guys. Bev: Thats great and I absolutely love that for you. But I thought you were with [redacted] [Bev Deleted a Message.]

Richie didn’t catch what Beverly had written, but if it was deleted it probably wasn’t important. Richie opened the mail app on his phone to see the email that got him this date again. He had gotten it the day after he left Hot Fuss on the train, and he, Patty, and Stan had eaten out that night.

Subject: I found your vinyl From: Adam Wilson <@AdAmWIlsOn> To: Richie Toz <@Remembering_Records>

‘Hey, Richie. My name’s Adam. I found the Hot Fuss album you left on the train a few weeks ago. I used to love listening to The Killers but work took so much of my time that I didn’t get to listen to them much anymore, but when I listened to your album, I felt like I finally relaxed, you know? I absolutely love Mr. Brightside but Somebody Told Me is still running through my head (Smile Like You Mean it doesn’t even need to be said. Its perfect. Oh man but then there’s also All These Things That I’ve Done. The Killers are just perfect.)

I should probably tell you somethings about me. I’m a doctor. I moved here from Manchester, UK, around a week ago to start a new job. I also volunteer at animal shelters in my spare time.

If I don’t sound like a serial killer and you’re interested, I really would love a date.

P.S. Mr. Brightside or Miss Atomic Bomb?

Richie had replied to him simply and fairly quickly (he chose Mr. Brightside.) He was heading there now, over to a restaurant downtown. He looked back down at the vinyl in his hands, just as he remembered Eddie smile and laugh awkwardly when he didn’t know what was going on. There was something about Eddie. Richie had no clue what it was, or what it made him feel, but there was definitely something there. He’s never felt this way before. Not with his friends, not with his hookups, not with Connor. It isn’t that he didn’t like it. He just had to be careful with it.

On second thought, maybe he shouldn’t leave them in the subway. He has time to bring them home first, right?

~~~

Richie walked into the restaurant, almost an hour late. By the time he had gotten home, he and Adam were already supposed to be meeting up, since the train he was previously on was going in the opposite direction. He then decided that riding his car would be faster than taking the trains, but the traffic was unbearable. He had taken a few wrong turns heading to the restaurant, too. Not that he didn’t know the place, there was a concert a few streets away that blocked some of the streets. So, exactly 53 minutes and 20 seconds late for his date, he stood there. As expected, Adam wasn’t there anymore.

Richie walked into the backseat of his car, kicking the chair in front of him. Of course, he messed up his first date in years. Fucking years. The one guy was interested in him, now gone, because he- what was he even doing? If he just dropped the two pieces of vinyl, he could’ve gotten this date and would’ve had two or more possible other ones. He wouldn’t blame Eddie for this failed date. He couldn’t. That was all on him.

At least he picked a restaurant close to the bar he was doing his show at. Richie wiped at his tears and climbed into the front of the car. Driving down a few streets, he walked up to the ‘Golden Rookie’ sign at the front of his favourite bar. Taking a deep breath, and willing himself not to puke, he jogged backstage to see Riley rolling her eyes at him.

“Failed date,” Richie smiled jogging on to the stage.

“Hello and goodnight, everybody!” he began, earning applause from a few of the regulars. "So, I checked Twitter this morning and..." he began slightly walking around the stage. He scanned the room, and there, far at the back was Eddie Kaspbrak, slightly smiling at the stage. Eddie was still in his work clothes, a suit and tie. His grin somehow both left and widened the moment they caught eyes.

When Richie got home that night, he thought that his set was the best one he’s done in a while. He wondered why.

Richie Tozier And Eddie Kaspbrak Have Breakfast Eddie wondered what that sound was. It was loud, he didn’t think it was loud for anyone else. It sounded- it sounded like if a pebble hit glass without breaking it. Weird. Eddie looked around the room, the continuous clattering waking him up. “What the fuck is that?” He muttered, walking over to the window. Richie Tozier was standing outside his window, waving at him like a maniac. “What the fuck are you doing here? Its the middle of the night, Richie!” Eddie whispered loudly (he wondered how that worked) once he opened his window.

“Its actually Tuesday morning,” Richie smiled, “C’ mere!”

Eddie rolled his eyes, “go to the front fucking door.”

He changed clothes quickly, trying not to look like he fixed up before seeing Richie. What was he doing? Its the middle of the- its Monday morning, and he's going to go with a stranger to who knows where. He's probably going insane. This was probably a dream, why would this happen if he were awake? Though, a part of him wished it wasn't a dream.

Down the stairs and out the door on to the porch, “What the fuck Richie? Its,” he looked at his phone, “its five in the morning.” He saw a guitar around Richie’s shoulders, (huge shoulders) deciding not to ask.

Richie hummed in agreement. “Yeah, we’re getting breakfast,” Richie said as he locks fingers with Eddie.

“Its five in the morning,” Eddie repeated.

“We’re getting breakfast.”

“At… five in the fucking morning?”

“Yup. There’s a nice diner somewhere here, we can walk.”

“I hope you know I think you’re crazy. The sun isn’t even up.” Richie just nodded.

The two walked to the diner together in silence. Eddie wasn’t uncomfortable, just, surprised. There was a ‘comfortable’ silence between the two, Eddie never really had that before. He was always used to the controlling words, and reminders and the arguing with Myra. He didn’t see his friends much because of work, so when they would meet up, there was never silence. And now there’s Richie, who he barely knows anything about, holding his hand at a time too early, as they walk towards a diner in a city Eddie doesn’t even live in. ‘Its nice’ he thinks, as they walk into the diner. It surprises Eddie, how much it looks like the diners in movies. But everything (and everyone- some more than others) in Los Angeles surprise him. ‘Most things surprise me’, he guesses, ‘I don’t go out much.’ But he knew better than that.

The two took their orders hands still intertwined under the table. “Why are we here?” Eddie asked, now sitting across from Richie.

“Ask that again in,” Richie looked down at his watch, “In 32 minutes, and 19 seconds.”

“Thats weird, but you aren’t going to tell me anything about that until then.”

“Right. So, lets talk about something else. How’d you like my show?”

“You like your praise. Its not that bad.”

“Just ‘not that bad’?”

“Yup, just ‘not that bad.’”

“I had a clear view of you from the stage. I didn’t know you could smile, Eds.”

“Don’t call me ‘Eds.’ Not my name.”

“Whatever you say, Spaghetti,” Richie said as Eddie rolled his eyes, “Do you have work today?”

“Actually, no. Bill and Mike are doing all I need today since I covered them a few days ago. Why?”

“Mind if I borrowed you for the rest of the day?” Richie smirked. (Eddie wanted to hate that smirk, he really did, he just couldn’t.)

“Yes. I do mind. I need a break.”

“Exactly, I’m giving you the world’s best break.”

Eddie sighed, “Please don’t. I’m scared.”

“Come on, I know you missed me.”

“I didn’t. I really didn’t.” He did. “You know what, whatever. Just- why am I here?”

“Look out the window,” Richie nodded.

“Look out the- what?” Eddie said, confused. He turned his head and, "Woah."

Eddie saw, through the trees and the buildings on the horizon, a soft sunrise. Whoever painted the sky in the early mornings, Eddie praised them. “Its pretty, right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie stuttered, looking over at Richie, who was grinning widely.

“You should see the sunset after it rains. Its beautiful,” Richie held back, ‘kinda like you’.

#reddie #reddie fic #it #it chap one #it chap two #remembering Sunday + The book ninja au

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thevirtualcanvas · 4 years

Text

You don’t really know someone until you go on a desert island together ~

Steven's birthday aka the time Connie lured Steven to Watermelon island because I don’t want Steven to be sad anymore.

Yesterday was a really angsty piece. Today we get to see how he gets his first kiss. Hope you’re all ready for some proper fluff.

“Cmon Steven! We're almost there!”

They were on Watermelon Island, he knew that much. The first thing that gave it away was, well, he was the one that warped them there. The second was the split mountain that hung over his head behind the now fixed warped pad. The third thing was the party of Watermelon-Stevens that welcomed them with a bubbly joy, dragging him by one hand as Connie took the other.

“Connie, where are we going? There's so much to be done before little homeschool opens. My itinerary is clogged,” he thought of the planner on his phone, full of meetings, and jobs and far too many things to do.

Her laughter was infectious, her bright eyes warmed Steven's cheeks. “Well, Mr. Itinerary, I cleared your calendar for the day. Little home-world will just have to do without you, for a couple of hours anyway.”

“Connieeee,” he whined, haphazardly. It was so nice to see her, between his work orchestrating repairs after Spinel, integration of the gems, and meetings with his space Aunts; and Connie's high workload from school and her Mom they saw each other in glimpses. Mostly through video chats and the occasional moonlit jaunt via Lion. So holding her hand, and being led through the crystal jungle of the watermelon island – he could think of worse days to spend his birthday.

The palm trees gave way, the grass turned to sand and a beautiful cacophony of blues decorated the horizon, Steven had forgotten how nice it was here, relaxing even. On the sand sat a banner – Happy 16th Birthday Steven in Connie's lovely cursive handwriting. Beneath that was a picnic basket, blanket, his ukulele, and her violin and another batch of Watermelon-Steven's completing the finishing touches. He wasn't going to cry. Probably.

Connie held her hand out-stretched. “Ta-dah! Happy Birthday, Steven! You didn't think I'd forget, did you?”

“Connie, this is...this is incredible, thank you.”

He walked, enraptured by his surprise. The Watermelon-Stevens scampered to give them some privacy and peace. Steven kicked off his sandals, wriggled his toes in the sand, plonked himself down on the blanket and picked up his ukulele. The instrument had been sat in a stand on the shelf for months. Since the events of Spinel and her injector, he'd lost his child-like wonder, concerned that another attack could happen any moment, Steven had focused more on growing-up; putting away anything that would deem him childish, expanding little home-world, dealing with actual home-world and the Diamonds. His passion, his music, that had taken an unfortunate back-seat. He plucked at the strings, the sound reverberating through his fingers and up the length of his spine. Steven shivered, he missed this.

He took a deep breath, the first one in a long time, he listened to the sound of the ocean, the rustle of the palms and relaxing sounds of Connie breathing next to him. She plucked her violin first, playing and humming along to a creation of their own design.

The sun is bright, our shirts are clean.

Connie smiled brightly at him, loose strands of her pinned back hair danced among the breeze.

We're sitting up above the sea

Was her voice always this beautiful? It sounded like silk in his ears.

Come on and share this jam with me.

She looked at him expectantly, nodding her head as she strummed and hummed the tune. Carefully, slowly, Steven strummed along. In the back of his mind, he was worried he forgot, or worse, didn't want to. But that worry melted away at her sweet harmony, and sweeter face. As the mismatch of ukulele and violin merged tunes, Steven hummed in time with Connie, pulling up the unforgettable lyrics from his mind.

Peach or plum or strawberry.

Any kind is fine you see.

Come on and share this jam with me.

They played together, the simple chord a testament to their friendship, their devotion to one another and the memories of a simpler time. Playing again with Connie, it was the best present he could have ever asked for. To be in her presence, to forget about his responsibilities for just a little while – sure, her laugh, rich eyes, brilliant smile, lithe dexterous hands, and lean figure, made Steven a tad nervous and weak at the knees but it was Connie, his Connie and that was perfect.

I'll do my best to give this jam the sweetness it deserves ~

He sung at her, waggling his eyebrows in time to the vibrato, causing her to laugh, scrunching her nose.

And I'll keep it fresh.

Jammin' on these tasty preserves!

She sung back with enthusiasm, the fine strings of her violin plucking hard at her rocking out.

Steven's heart was racing, he hadn't felt this happy in months. Not true joy, not like this. Connie picked up her bow and slowed the rhythm down, ready for the climax of the song. Waiting on his queue, she watched her best friend carefully.

Ingredients in harmony.

We mix together perfectly.

Come on and share this jam with me.

The tune faded naturally, petering out in the ambiance of the ocean. They both breathed heavily, the duet taking more out of them then it would have done nearly 3 years ago. Steven placed his ukulele down, content, and Connie followed suit, keeping her eyes firmly on him. She moved closer, so their knees and hips were touching as they looked out onto the ocean.

“Jam buds, back in action,” Connie laughed, nudging him in the side. “Not bad, Mr. Itinerary.”

Steven snorted and nudged her back, taking off his sports jacket and wrapping it around his waist before leaning back into her. “I thought you're supposed to be nice on my birthday.”

“I am being nice,” she responded with a giggle. “Besides, this isn't the only thing I've planned for you. We're gonna have dinner with my parents, your dad and the gems later. Peridot is 'constructing' the birthday cake, my present for you is at the beach house and – ” She hummed and cleared her throat. A dusky hue rose on her cheeks.

“And?” Steven asked, curious.

Connie twiddled her fingers, puffed her cheeks and risked a glance at him. Steven had grown so much since dismantling the Diamond Authority. He was taller, give it another few months and he'd be taller than her for the first time in their friendship. His shoulders were broader, the material of the band shirt he wore stretched over his shoulder blades. His arms and legs had elongated, but she loved the way they felt around her. Connie felt a smug satisfaction whenever he would sit behind her, legs outstretched, arms around her neck. He would rest his chin against her shoulder as they watched a movie marathon, or Connie would read her newest book aloud to him. Steven's jaw, while still soft and round showed signs of a beard under the surface, the slightest five o'clock shadow discoloured his lower face. He would scratch absently, as if not quite used to this newfound adulthood. And what could she say, she'd noticed. Her jam bud was growing-up, and so was she.

“And...I have one more surprise. If you want it.”

His eyes lit up. “A secret present, what is it?” Steven pursed his lips and shook with joy. “Where are you hiding it? Do the Watermelon-Steven's have it? Oh man, I love surprises!”

She chuckled at his enthusiasm, this would make the next part of her surprise so much easier. He made everything easier. “Good to know you're not too old for surprise presents. Steven, do you trust me?”

He creased his brow, what kind of question was that. “Of course I do, Con. You're my best friend.”

Not for much longer if she had anything to say about it. This was a turning point in Connie's life. She loved Steven. She'd tell anyone as much. But recently a lot of mature thoughts crossed her mind; and between the trips in the Dondai, visits to the beach house and increasingly more tense sleepovers, Connie realised something. She loved Steven. Which didn't change much overall; she would do anything for him, want to be in his life for the rest of hers and, jam on the beach whenever possible. But she also wanted to kiss that adorable face of his.

“Good, so face me, and close your eyes. Keep 'em closed too. No peaking.” He complied, swiveled around, knees crossed, hands-on lap, and eyes locked tight.

Connie leaned forward, taking a sallow breath. She reached out of him, fingertips connecting with his cheeks warm at her touch. She could feel his cheeks dimple as he smiled, turning his head into her fingers. Connie brought her face closer, seeing the pores on his skin, his long lashes, and his soft pink lips.

His eyelids trembled a bit, like he was trying to search for her behind them. Connie, what are you – ”

“Don't peak,” she whispered, wetting her lips, running her fingers down to his neck and feeling as Steven hitches and freezes.

“Connie...” His breath felt hot against her lips, and name danced across her skin.

“Happy birthday, Steven.”

Her lips met his, certain, lacking confidence but wanting. They trembled against one another, this was new, scary and exciting all at once. Steven's hands mirrored hers, buried into the hair at the base of her neck, terrified to explore and desperate to hold. He turned his head, pressing his face further into hers. Button nose pressing into her cheek, tight curls brushed against her brow.

Connie pulled back, flustered, gasping for breath, hands around his neck, playing with the curls at his hairline. She licked her lips, tasting him against them.

Steven opened his eyes and touched his lips, feeling where Connie had just kissed him. He was shocked, giddy and he really wanted to do it again. He pressed his forehead against hers, interlocked his fingers around her back and grinned. How long had he daydreamed about this moment?

“Connie?”

“Yeah, Steven?”

“That was definitely a surprise.”

She snorted, rubbing her forehead against his. “I'm glad.”

He bit his lip, deep brown eyes reflected into hers. “Can we do it again?”

Their stomachs grumbled in tandem, Connie opened the picnic basket and reached for the sandwich on the top of the pile and shoved it into his mouth. “Maybe, after our picnic, and away from prying eyes.” She motioned to the sheepish group of Watermelon-Steven's half-poking out of the brush behind them. Some gave a little wave, others blew a kiss of their own.

“R-right,” Steven said with a mouthful of jam and bread.

Connie waved back to them before taking a sandwich of her own. She shuffled back up to Steven, her Steven and they enjoyed their picnic in peace and quiet. The tension was gone, replaced by a fondly remembered quiet comfort between them. His hand around her waist, her knee against his thigh, watching as the crystals danced in the shallow waters and the sun changed colour in the sky.

“Thanks for dragging me away from gem stuff,” he said after a while.

“You're welcome, it is your birthday, y'know.”

“I know... Connie?”

She turned to him, mid-afternoon light bringing out the warmth in her skin. “Yeah, Steven?”

His hands found her, connecting perfectly. He should just say it, he'd thought about it a million times before.

“I love you,” it was barely above a whisper, and he couldn't look her in the eyes. But he said it. He'd told her. He was holding his breath and going pink in the face. Thankfully not that kind of pink.

He watched as her face turned the same shade of pink as him, she reassured him with a squeeze of his chunky fingers and gave him the exact answer he needed. “Love you too, Steven.”

Maybe he could keep celebrating his birthday after all?

#steven universe #suf #steven universe post movie #connverse #connie maheswaran #connie x steven #fanfic #first kiss #fluff

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