#Erica was the flower girl but she through flowers at people instead of on the ground

[rollerskate2theface]

Robin: Two years ago I married my best friend

Robin: Nancy’s still mad about it, but Steve and I were drunk and thought it was funny

[2broschlininahotub]

Here is a story for Sumeru and an introduction to three groups in Sumeru. Vara, Mardel and Nahida were asking Nahida if she wants to be adopted. Nahida wants to be adopted by Vara. Vara was delighted called Hela and Loptr. They spent the rest of day talking to each other. The rangers were sending tighnari reports about a giant serpent in the forest. He went to investigate with Collei. They arrived and Tighnari saw a bunch of tiny sprights, two bird people, two giant women and the world's biggest snake all of em eating cookies. They approach Mardel. Mardel the ever so motherly person asked if they want cookies. The group of them got to know each other better and Cyno joined in later. The discussion comes about Collei's sickness. Vara mentioned that they can perform a ceremony that can cure Collei and grants her a bit of power that makes her gain fairy like traits.

In snezhnaya, the Rikka are sensing something that makes her want to go somewhere so teardrop asked if Snowdrop and Hellebore to take care of the others so Strenna, Teardrop, Mudan and Kanzashi went to look for it. Erica went to Zapolyarny Palace to look for Capitano and gave him a letter from Mudan. It explain where they are going but told him not to tell anyone else where they are going as to not worry anyone.

The ceremony was preparation was complete. Cyno and Tighnari were watching. The ceremony was about to be done Collei was wore a plain white dress. Collei started to float and green light appeared and two portals opened up. Cuillein-Anbar started to float. The creatures from the portals were that of the naturia forest and The denizens of Mount sylvania. Teardrop, Strenna, Mudan and Kanzashi appeared. A blue hue started to glow from Collei. Collei then went through a magical girl transformation sequence. She then appeared in a very green dress with a brown corset with leaf like pattern on her dress. Her hair grown very long around hip level then a bow with with thorn like details. Then Cullein amber transformed into something like this but with a more green and brown color scheme. (this is spirit blossom teemo from league). Then a letter says for a new form you must say these words Crystalis heart. Collei said the words then had another transformation which lead to her transformat into a dress that a flower girl wears with a basket fruits and nuts and a teardrop bounqet with a Blue rose. You know the phrase guns and roses well. The bounqet contains a rifle, a machine gun mode that shoots thorns and a third being a whip sword. In her crystal form, Cullein amber has the outfit but has more whites and blues with a Blue rose oon his hat. She has this ability in this form. The ability to force someone to relive their saddest moment in their life. Example if used on diluc, Diluc would have to relive seeing his dad die in front of him. He would then have thorns slowly start covering him. Then blue roses would appear on his mouth and then his head. It would place him under this curse for an entire day. The reason why she has this ability cause teardrop has this but much stronger. She has the ability but instead of thorns; they become ice sculpture for 10 years.

Meet the naturia

The naturia's are based on forest creatures but the three at the top represent the four gods of direction in Chinese mythology. We have Barkion who represents the Azure dragon of the east. Landoise represents the black tortoise of the north. Beast represents the white tiger of the west each are the guardians of the naturia sacred tree which keeps is a giant seal of the qlifort. Beast is the smallest out of the three. Landoise is the biggest around the size of an island but can shrink to the size if a location. Barkion is the longest. Beast has the ability to induce an aura of respect from anyone and force them to follow you commands. Landoise has the ability to carry a new world on its back. While barkion has the ability to force someone to pull them towards gravity effectively locking them in place. In shot Barkion has the ability to make anyone heavy. Camellia Is the gossip girl and info broker of for plants and antjaw can command small insects to help them in this case ants. The reason why they left cause their forest was being invaded by aliens.

Meet the sylvans

Each "Sylvan" monster is based on various plants and take on a variety of occupations, with touches of various aspects of Shinto, Japan's chief religion.

Alsei is based of the baihu and he has the power of fear. He has the ability to control someone life force. He has the ability to instantly make someone old or make someone young again.

Orea is based on the vermillion bird. She has the power to return one to dust. Imagine the ability to turn someone's cells into dust them then blow them away. They will reform but they will be very sent to where the wind goes. From Oreas current position, she can send them all the way from avida forest to mondstandt and khaenri'ah border.

Bladefender comes Blade of grass/Defender he works as princessprite's guard and protector. Power level equal to diluc and keaya combined to defeat him. He is that good with a sword. He is actually mutated grass that became to look human.

Meet Princess sprite, She was once a little princcessprout but know she has become a grown woman. She is around Ayaka's age. She works to deal with relations with other creatures. She doesn't have much physical power but has the ability to increase diplomatic relationship with people. The reason they left was a war that was happening in their area.

In short, Collei is now strong enough to beat zhongli. There are know multiple spirits in Sumeru. There was a giant pillar of light that erupted from avida forest and Cullein amber is now alive.

[mermaidenisaacs]

isaac is bad at feelings

it goes like this: you get sad, you text isaac, he comes over and makes it all better. 

feat. stiles, who knows the vibes

🎶 telepatía - kali uchis 🎶 

The morning afters were always the same. 

I usually woke up first. Sometimes I climbed out of my bed and carefully tiptoed into the bathroom, where I sloshed a bit of mouthwash, rubbed the gunk out of my eye, and slipped back underneath my sheets before Isaac woke up. The first face he’d see was mine. I did what I could to make it look kind of okay.

It’s not that I thought he would judge me if I looked bad. He wasn’t that kind of friend. He was just the kind of friend I fucked on occasion, when we both had nothing better to do and found ourselves lonely and a little unloved. 

We both had a bad habit of avoiding the heaps of repressed childhood trauma that lurked in the dark corners of our minds. Some days were harder than others. On those days, sometimes the only comfort we found was in each other. And what were friends for, if not that? 

Isaac stirred awake. He blinked twice, clearing the sleepy haze shrouding his eyes. His eyes focused on me and his face broke into a marshmallow sweet smile. He looked adorable, and I was as fond of him as ever. 

He was laying on his side. The morning sun peeked through the blinds, reflecting off the floating stardust in the air. The light landed on Isaac, his sandy brown curls and his sporadically freckled skin. He was golden. In the moment, he looked younger, warmer, unburdened, happy.

“Morning,” he said. The sound of his greeting came out deep and gravely. His morning voice was, as always, a bit much. 

“Morning,” I hummed.

“How long have you been awake?” 

“Not too long.” 

“That’s good. I guess it’s not as creepy to watch someone while they’re sleeping if you do it for not too long.” 

I laughed. “I wasn’t watching you. Just, casually observing. You look really peaceful when you’re sleeping, did you know? Like, peaceful and serene and beautiful.” 

Isaac raised his brow playfully. “Beautiful? Are you trying to be romantic? Is that what we’re doing now?” 

I snorted and rolled over to face away from him. “No way.” 

The weight shifted on the mattress as he scooted closer and his soft lips brushed against my shoulder. Isaac’s chest was warm and solid, protective behind me. 

“I’m just kidding,” he said softly. “Anyway, you’re the one who looks beautiful when you’re sleeping. Also when you’re awake. Anytime you’re existing, really.” His lips trailed up my shoulder and he brushed my hair away from my neck to kiss me there. A hand snaked around my torso and turned me over to face him. 

I playfully rolled my eyes. “Whatever. You’re just complimenting me because you have morning wood and you want to fuck.” 

He tsked disapprovingly. “Way to ruin the moment. You’re always so quick to doubt my motives. It’s not my fault you don’t know how to take a compliment.” 

I shoved him back lightly, flipping us over so I was straddling him around his waist. “It’s not your compliments that I want.” 

Pushing Isaac’s boxers down his thighs, I positioned his already swollen cock at my wet entrance and slipped him inside me. Isaac emitted a shuddered breath as I took in all of him. I pushed up and brought my hips back down, creating a slow rhythm.

Isaac sucked in his breath. “Fuck, fuck, come here.” 

He tangled his fingers in my hair and brought down my forehead to rest against his. I braced my hands on either side of him and rolled my hips. Isaac pinched one of my nipples, twisted it between his fingers and kneaded my other breast. 

I sighed in pleasure, arching into him as a familiar sensation pooled underneath my stomach. I moved my hips faster. Isaac steadied my urgent movements with his arms locked around me. He held me still so he could pump into me from below. I sighed in pleasure. From this angle, I felt him deep inside me, felt every ridge, every vein on his cock against every inch of my walls. 

“Oh god, fuck, Isaac, please,” I moaned pathetically. My nails dug into his shoulders while he slammed into me. It was a lot. It was always a lot, in the best way. I still wasn’t used to the fact that my fuck buddy was a teenage wolf-human hybrid with lots of energy to expend in the morning, or really at any point during the day.

In the corner of my eye, I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. If we took too long, we’d be late for school. Reaching under me, I rubbed my clit and moved my hips with Isaac’s. 

“Isaac, please I’m so close, please don’t stop, right there…” 

Isaac rutted his hips and sank deep into me, and then we were both coming with strangled groans. I felt his smile against my skin, mirroring my own that he couldn’t see.  

~*~*~*~

Later that morning, I drove us to school, rolling my eyes when Isaac said that it’d be faster if he just carried me on his back and ran there. 

“You can’t carry me,” I said. “I’m not skinny.” 

“And what of it? Your body’s amazing,” he replied without missing a beat, “and I would, and could, carry you anywhere.”

I chuckled. “Whatever, wolf boy.”

“Your car really is a piece of shit.”

I lightly punched Isaac’s shoulder. “My car’s fine. You’re free to get out and walk your ungrateful ass to school.” 

Isaac rubbed his shoulder and chuckled. “So um,” he said hesitantly, “thanks again for letting me come over last night.”

I frowned. “You know you don’t have to thank me for that.” 

“Yeah, I do. I just don’t ever want you to think I’m using my nightmares and my issues as like, a pick up line to get into your pants or something. I would never take advantage of you.” 

Briefly, I glanced over. He was looking at me with a peculiar expression. He looked sincere, and because I was emotionally stunted, it made me uncomfortable. I chuckled to dispel the tension in the air. 

“Don’t worry,” I said. “You’re not taking advantage of anything. I do what I want, nothing more or less. You don’t have to treat me like I’m a virginal princess and you’re like, some big bad wolf stealing my flower.” I laughed at the idea that Isaac could ever be predatory in any way. “And it’s not like I don’t need you too. We’re there for each other because we’re friends. We’ll always be friends.” 

“Friends. Good, that’s good…” Isaac trailed off. 

“Um, is there something else you want to tell me?” I asked. It sounded like there was something unsaid lingering in the air.

After a few beats of silence, Isaac casually replied, “Nope, that’s it. Just wanted to make sure we were alright, that’s all.” 

That wasn’t all. I could detect the slight uneasiness in his voice. I knew in my gut something was off, but I was a coward, and I hated confronting people, so I didn’t. Instead, I decided to turn up the radio and pretend everything was fine, while a tiny little knowing voice in my head mocked me the rest of the car ride to school.

~*~*~*~

The ominous feeling from the morning stayed with me throughout the day. At noon, I waited for Isaac to show up in the cafeteria at our usual lunch table with the pack. After waiting fifteen minutes, I started to get a little concerned.

I turned to Erica. “Have you seen Isaac? He’s not answering my texts.” 

Erica smirked. “Worried about your boyfriend?”

I rolled my eyes. “He’s not my boyfriend.” 

“So I’m just supposed to believe you sneak a boy into your room every night to chit chat and do homework? Are we that innocent?”  

I shrugged. “I can be innocent.”

Erica laughed. “You haven’t been innocent since we were fifteen. But I think I saw Isaac earlier headed to the boys’ locker room.”

With that information, I left to go find Isaac, briskly walking through the hallways. I turned a corner and stopped dead in my tracks, suddenly wishing I’d never left the safe confines of the cafeteria. 

I was about twenty feet away from the locker room entrance where I saw Isaac standing in front of a girl, his hand on her waist, her lips near his ear giggling and whispering, his face buried into her neck. And then he kissed her. In the middle of the hallway in front of everyone, not caring who might see them. Not caring if I might see them. 

I stepped backwards until I was shielded behind the wall. I was hurt, but I didn’t even feel like I deserved to be. Isaac and I weren’t together. He was free to do whatever he wanted. We were just friends. I told him so this morning.

I mentally smacked my forehead. My own stupidity always came back to haunt me. This was what Isaac was trying to tell me in the car. 

I returned to the cafeteria and sat next to Erica and stared blankly at my lunch tray. I didn’t know how to feel. There had always been this unspoken rule between me and Isaac that we wouldn’t keep secrets from each other. He had told me he didn’t want to take advantage of me but that’s exactly what it felt like. 

He was messing around with another girl. For all I knew, there were many other girls. And he had kept it a secret. His withholding information by default made the scales uneven. Before, everything felt balanced and fair, but now, the dynamic felt different. I trusted him and he didn’t give me the same trust back. 

If Isaac was just a casual friend, it wouldn’t hurt this much. I naively thought he and I had something different. I thought he was different.

Erica gently shook my shoulder. “Babe?” I felt too embarrassed to even look at her. “What’s wrong? Did you find Isaac?” 

“Oh um, no I didn’t uh, I didn’t see him.” Erica soothingly raked her nails across my back and I relaxed into her touch. There was no way she bought my bullshit lie, and I loved her for not pressing me about it. “Hey um, remember last week when you said I should start dating again?”

“Um, yeah. You said you weren’t interested though, right?” 

“I did say that, but I am now,” I said. “But I’m not exactly interested in dating someone. I just need a distraction, you know?” 

“Hm,” Erica said. “That can be arranged too. But what changed your mind?” 

I shrugged nonchalantly. “Nothing really. My old distraction isn’t working for me anymore. I need something new.” 

~*~*~*~

Erica suggested I meet up with one of one of her old casual hook-ups. When she first told me who it was, I was flummoxed. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense when Erica told me I should go out with Stiles Stilinski. 

Since Erica pre-approved him for me, I knew he was someone I could trust and someone who probably knew what they were doing. I wasn’t super close to him either, which would help with avoiding another Isaac situation where I was too enmeshed with the person. Overall, Stiles was a pretty ideal distraction.

It turned out that he was also pretty into the idea of us linking up. My phone kept vibrating with his texts the whole time I drove home from school. As I walked to my room, I opened my unread messages, except ones that were from Isaac.  

3:20 pm: Hey, this is Stiles. Well you probably knew that. Unless you don’t have my number saved 

3:22 pm: Which isn’t a big deal considering we’ve never really talked that much

3:25 pm: Anyway Erica just texted me and told me that we’re hanging out tonight? 

3:25 pm: We as in you and me, not me and Erica. That’s been over for a long time 

3:26 pm: We didn’t date or anything don’t worry 

3:26 pm: Anyway what I’m trying to say is that I’m totally down. I’m just a little confused

3:30 pm: Are we going out, like out out? Or are we just hanging out? Or is it like what Erica and I used to do?

3:34 pm: Sorry I’m making this weird. I’ll just pick you up tonight around 8 for dinner. Cya then :) 

I was reading his last message as I opened the door to my bedroom, chuckling at Stiles’s messages, when I jumped backwards and yelped at the sight of Isaac laying casually on my bed. 

“Jesus, you scared me,” I muttered. He simply grinned. 

“Sorry, but I think it’d be fair to say you’re easily spooked.” 

I stared back impassively, ignoring his playful quip. “What are you doing here?” I crossed my arms over my chest. 

Isaac shrugged. “Had nothing to do after school.” 

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, so it’s just a convenience thing? You just show up whenever you want when you have nothing better to do?” 

Isaac frowned and sat up. “You never had a problem with me showing up here unannounced before. What’s wrong? Are you mad at me?” 

“Nope,” I lied. “I just don’t have time to deal with you right now.” 

I knew why he was here. To him, I was just an easy fuck. No different than the girl he was pressed up against at school and probably the countless other girls who gave him full access to whatever he wanted. “I need to shower and study.” 

“Okay? I’m not stopping you. I need to study too. We can study together.”

I turned on my heel and lifted my shirt over my shoulder, walking topless to my hamper to discard the garment. “I don’t have time to study with you. I’m going out later.” 

After unzipping my jeans and pulling them down my legs, I threw them on top of the pile of dirty laundry. Standing there in my bra and underwear, for the first time, I truly felt naked in front of Isaac. I’d grown so accustomed to him seeing me without clothes on that it stopped phasing me, but I couldn’t get the image of Isaac kissing another girl out of my head. 

I always used to feel so safe around him. For once, I felt vulnerable in front of Isaac.

“You’re going out?” Isaac rose to his feet. “With who?” 

“Stiles.”

Isaac blinked. After a few moments, he said, “Oh I’m sorry, are you not kidding?” 

“Why would I be kidding?” I challenged.

The corners of Isaac’s mouth turned down in a thoughtful, indifferent frown. “I just didn’t know you two were close like that.” Isaac scoffed again. “Wait, I’m sorry, I can’t get past this. Stiles? How the hell did that happen?” 

I chuckled, remembering that Isaac and Stiles hated each other. “He’s cute, and I like him. He texted me earlier, so we’re going out.” 

Isaac shook his head. “I feel like you’ve lost your mind, but I suppose I can’t stop you.” 

Just like you couldn’t stop yourself from shoving your tongue down random girls’ throats, I thought bitterly. 

“So, are you gonna fuck him?” 

I snorted. “Excuse me? How is that any of your business?”

“It is if we’re fucking.” 

My jaw fell open. “Holy shit, you’re unbelievable. You know what? We’re not anymore.” 

“Seriously?” When I didn’t respond, he laughed in disbelief. “You’re joking. You can’t be ending this over Stilinski.” 

“I’m not. I just don’t want to do this anymore.” 

Isaac blinked. “You know I can tell when you’re lying right?” 

“Whatever. I don’t care if you’re listening to my heart rate or reading my perspiration levels or my scent or whatever. None of that means anything. What matters is what I’m telling you, and I’m telling you this is over. You should leave.”

For a brief moment, Isaac looked taken aback, hurt evident in his slightly wide eyes. “Come on, you don’t seriously mean that.” 

He stepped forward and I stepped back. He looked surprised again. He walked us backwards until my back met the wall. He lifted his hand and with his pinky, gently brushed a stray lock of hair from the side of my face. I turned away and placed a hand on his chest. 

“Isaac, I don’t…” Faintly, I tried to protest. I really did. But Isaac Lahey was not someone who made it easy to resist. He lifted my chin and softly pressed his lips to mine. I kissed him back, a sudden impulse fueled by longing and self-loathing overriding my will power. I pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt, groaning when his hand slid down my back and squeezed my ass. 

Somewhere in the room, I heard my phone send out a loud text notification ding!. Oh right, reality. 

I shoved Isaac’s chest and pushed him away. He stumbled slightly, his face full of confusion and sadness. I felt a twinge of remorse. At the end of the day, I didn’t want to hurt him. There was a soft spot in my heart and Isaac had made it his home a long time ago. But I couldn’t do this anymore. It was too painful.

“Just go please,” I said quietly. This time, he listened. 

~*~*~*~

At 8 o’clock, I saw Stiles parked outside my house. I knocked on the window of his jeep, and in doing so, inadvertently scared him. Stiles jumped and hit his head on the roof of his car. I heard a muffled “what the fu-oh hey!” I gave him a guilty smile and a small wave. He rubbed his cranial injury and fumbled with his door handle, finally managing to step outside. 

“Hey,” he said. “Sorry about that. I was on my phone and I wasn’t paying attention and… you look really pretty.” He cleared his throat. “Is that okay to say? Because we’re sort of friends and now we’re going… out…? But not like, going out, not like that. Unless um, are we? Because Erica kind of implied that this was just to... you know... I mean, it’s totally possible that I misconstrued her words and we are actually going out? Or… fuck. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying.” 

Poor kid. 

He’d texted me about 10 minutes ago to tell me he was in front of my house. He was early and I was nowhere near ready. After I had finished combing mascara through my lashes, I looked at myself in the mirror, mostly indifferent at my reflection, but a little disgusted. I wasn’t thrilled by the idea of using Stiles to distract myself from Isaac, but it’s not like Stiles was naive. He was Erica’s fuck buddy once upon a time. He knew the vibes. 

Erica was supposed to tell Stiles this was purely a hookup, casual and unofficial, but considering he wanted to pick me up and take me to dinner, some signals might’ve gotten crossed. 

I laid my hand on his shoulder and smiled. “Hey, Stiles, relax. It’s only me. I just needed to get out and have some fun, no pressure. We’ll figure things out as we go, okay? And thank you! You look nice too.” 

I reached up to adjust the collar of his flannel button down. He smiled at the gesture, and I noticed for the first time that he had a really nice jawline. There was also a cluster of moles on his face and his neck, sixteen in total. Cute.

“Thanks,” he said shyly. “So, shall we?” He jogged to the other side of his car and held open the door, beaming back with a toothy grin. 

I giggled, and the tension in my shoulders unfurled. There was nothing to fret over. This was Stiles, the least intimidating person ever.

Everything was going to be fine. 

~*~*~*~

My “date” with Stiles was going surprisingly well. He let me play my music in his car, lovingly calling my playlist a “pretentiously indie softcore mess.” I pretended to be offended and played three more Bon Iver songs just to spite him. 

At dinner, we slid into a booth at a colorful diner. He ordered a hamburger, a chocolate milkshake, and curly fries, then made fun of me for ordering a veggie burger, water, and sweet potato fries. I playfully punched him in the arm when he tried to steal some of them. 

“What kind of self-respecting woman would I be if I just let you steal my food right after you made fun of it?” I quipped. 

“First of all, I was making fun of you, not the food,” I gasped in mock offense. “And second of all, I just wanted to understand how you could give up meat and dairy for something that looks like dog food and cardboard. Now I’m making fun of your food.” 

I snorted. The thing about Stiles was that even when he was roasting you, he had the unique ability to put you at ease, just by virtue of treating everyone the same way. He could be sarcastic and blunt and unnervingly confrontational, but he was that way towards everyone. Maybe if I hung out with him enough, those qualities would rub off on me. 

“How dare you?” I said. “Just for that, I’m stealing some of your fries.” I reached across the table and snagged the biggest curl of greasy potato from his plate. 

Stiles stared at me blankly. “If you wanted real fries, you could’ve just ordered them.” 

“Hmm, it’s more fun this way,” I said cheerily. 

“Wow, I have half a mind to out of this diner right now, but you’re cute, so I’ll allow it.” He leaned back against the booth and grinned. I smiled shyly at the unexpected compliment and stared down at my lap. “So, what’s your deal?” he asked. 

I looked up. “My deal?”

“Yeah. Erica hits me up out of nowhere and tells me to take you out, which I don’t mind at all. We’ve just never been particularly close.” 

I nibbled on a fry. “What do you want to know?”

“Just tell me why we’re really here.” 

I paused. “You’ll judge me if I do.” 

Stiles tilted his head to the side and crossed his arms over his chest. “Unless the reason you’re with me right now is that you need an alibi for a murder scheme, I probably won’t judge you, but even then…” I gave him a small smile and shrugged. “Here,” he extended his pinkie, “I promise I won’t judge, okay?” 

I laughed and twisted my pinkie with his. “Okay.” 

I told him about the casual arrangement I had with Isaac, getting jealous after seeing him kiss another girl, asking Erica to set me up with a distraction, getting into a fight with Isaac, and finally ending our whole arrangement. 

“Wow,” he said. 

“Yep.” 

“First of all, Isaac Lahey? Doesn’t deserve you. You could do way better. Second, should I be offended or flattered that I’m just being passed around to different girls as a distraction? And third…” Stiles reached forward and laid his hand over mine, “I’m sorry this is all happening to you. I know what it’s like to see the person I’m into be all over someone else.” 

I was nodding along until he said the last part. “Wait, what? I’m not into Isaac,” I said incredulously.  

“Yeah, you kinda are. Why else would you be upset that he kissed someone else?” 

“Um, because he hid it from me?” 

“Nah, I’m not buying it.” 

“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes and tried to retract my hand from his. 

Stiles grinned and gripped my hand tighter. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay to have feelings for him. Just don’t fall in love with me too, kid.” He winked. 

I tried to give him an unimpressed stare, but I couldn’t help the giggles that bubbled out of my throat. “I’ll try.” 

“I know, I’m pretty hard to resist.” Stiles looked me dead in the eye, grabbed his milkshake, opened his mouth to take a sip and missed the straw completely, aimlessly moving his head and searching for it with his tongue. I laughed at him so loud that people gave me judgmental stares.

~*~*~*~

After we left the diner, we climbed back into his jeep. I graciously allowed Stiles to turn on the radio. In the spirit of our mutual dislike for Isaac, we loudly sang along to “I Don’t Fuck With You.” I realized I hadn’t felt sad about Isaac the entire time I’d been out with Stiles. Erica was right; he was the perfect distraction. 

We were still parked outside the diner. I looked over at Stiles. Suddenly, I had the overwhelming urge to lean over the console and kiss Stiles on the cheek, so I did. I started moving away, but before I could, he surged forward and connected our lips. We were kissing for about four seconds before he pulled away. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t know why I did that.”  

“It’s cool,” I said, licking my bottom lip. Stiles tasted like the strawberry from his milkshake. “Wanna do it again?”

His mouth parted slightly. He looked surprised. “Really?” Without answering, I closed the distance between us and kissed him again, on his lips this time. 

I grabbed the back of his neck and mushed our mouths closer. His lips tasted sweet. His sugar-coated tongue slipped into my mouth. He placed his hand timidly on my bare thigh where my dress had ridden up. 

Stiles was a good kisser. I liked the feeling of his hands on my body and his lips on my lips, but even in the midst of all this, I couldn’t help but be reminded of Isaac, kissing him just this morning because we had woken up in the same bed together.

I tried to get my mind off him and focus on what Stiles was doing. Stiles kissing the corner of my mouth, Stiles grazing his lips against my jaw, then my neck, every once in a while tasting my skin with his tongue. He was sucking on my collarbone when my phone started buzzing in the cup holder. 

I tried to ignore it, but against the plastic container, it was rattling obnoxiously. I pulled away, despite Stiles’s little whine of protest. “I’m sorry, let me just turn it off-oh.” 

“What?” Stiles asked. 

“It’s Isaac. What do I do?” I asked, a little panicked.

“I want to give you unbiased advice,” Stiles said, “but I currently have a boner, so my interests are a little biased at the moment.” 

I ignored the call, but the moment was already ruined.

~*~*~*~

Since I couldn’t get back into the mood, Stiles offered to just drive me home. The car ride was silent and awkward and sexually frustrating all at once, and it was all Isaac’s fault. 

“I’m sorry,” I said as Stiles pulled into my driveway. 

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault your ex boy toy takes every chance to screw me over.” 

I chuckled. “Guess we’re both getting screwed by him.” I nervously picked at chipped polish on my nail. “Hey Stiles?” 

“Hm?”

“Do you maybe wanna come inside?” I asked before I lost my nerve, hoping Stiles would understand what I was really asking him.

Stiles licked his lips. “Really?” Seemed like he understood pretty clearly.

I shrugged. “Offer’s on the table.” 

Stiles pursed his mouth and squinted at me. “Do you wanna do this just to get back at Isaac, or are you actually into me like that?” 

“Is it bad if I say both?”

“Maybe, but I’m no better, because I do want to come inside. Your house. Not-” I clapped my hand over my mouth to muffle my laughter. “Shut up,” he muttered, which only made me laugh harder.

I reached for the door handle, but Stiles stopped me. I was confused until he jogged around the front and opened my door for me again. “If this is how polite you are on all your dates, you must get laid all the time.” 

“You know how I do,” Stiles said, making me snort. He wove his fingers through mine, and we walked towards my front door. When we arrived, I nearly tripped and fell, because the last thing I expected to see was Isaac sitting on my doorsteps.

“Jesus fucking christ Lahey, are you kidding me?” Stiles said, grabbing my arm to steady me. “You’re creepy as hell, you know that?” 

Isaac remained expressionless. He stood up and dusted off his khakis. “Really, I’m creepy? You stalked Lydia for years and she didn’t even know your name.” 

“What did you just-” Stiles sputtered. 

“Alright,” I interrupted before they started throwing fisticuffs. “Isaac, what are you doing here?” 

He frowned. “I was waiting for you. I didn’t think you’d bring him back with you.” 

“He is my date, which I told you before, and we had a great time, so I invited him in,” I said in a clipped tone. 

“To get back at me.” I froze. “That’s what you told him in the car, right? Why are you getting back at me? What did I do?” 

I looked down. “Nothing,” I mumbled. “I don’t know.” The silence stretched on. Beside me, Stiles was impatiently tapping his heel. He exhaled loudly. 

“Really?” he said. “You’re both gonna do this now, right before I was supposed to get laid?” 

Stiles was fed up, which became abundantly clear when he cursed our “unnatural capacity to be stubborn little shits.” He grabbed our arms and led us inside. He marched us up my stairs to my bedroom and told us to sit down. He stood in front of us with the authority and sternness of a school vice principal. 

“We are going to resolve this right now,” Stiles stated. 

“Resolve what?” Isaac mumbled. “I didn’t even do anything.” 

I snorted. “Yeah right.” 

Isaac turned to me. “What’s your problem?” he asked. The fact that he had the audacity to ask like he still didn’t know was infuriating. I was over it.

“Your face,” I muttered. I was aware I sounded like a child. I didn’t care. 

“Oh, that’s mature. My face is your problem?”

“Yep.” 

“Well your face sucks too.” 

“That’s not what you said this morning,” I retorted. 

“That’s because you weren’t acting like this this morning.” 

“Well your face was better this morning.”

Isaac looked absolutely vexed. It was almost funny. “What does that even mean?”

“Holy shit,” Stiles said. “She’s mad because you kissed another girl. And many others possibly, but she saw you with someone at school today. That’s why she’s mad.” 

“Stiles, what the fuck?!” I sputtered as he exposed me.

I felt my face get hot. I turned to Isaac, who was looking at me with his mouth parted in surprise and awe. This was so fucking embarrassing. 

“Look,” I said, “you don’t have to explain yourself, okay? We never set any rules for what this was, and I just assumed we wouldn’t be seeing other people. So it’s fine. I’ll get over it.” 

I scooted backwards on my bed until I reached the stack of pillows near the headboard. I locked my arms around my knees and hid my face. In the silence, I heard faint mumblings and harsh whispers. Lifting my head, I watched Stiles and Isaac engaging in an inaudible argument of accusatory finger pointing and other frustrated hand gestures. I ducked my head again. I couldn’t face the mess I’d made. 

The weight on the mattress shifted. I felt a presence to my left. A hand rested gently on my arm. I looked up. It was Isaac, looking at me with a guilty expression on his face. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you. I wasn’t messing around with anyone else in the beginning. That started a few weeks ago.”

“If you wanted to mess around with other people, you should’ve just told me. I thought we were close enough that you could tell me anything,” I said, unable to keep the sadness out of my voice. 

“I didn’t want to mess around with other people. I only did it because I started having feelings for you.” 

I froze. “You what?” 

Isaac sighed. “I like you. A lot. I couldn’t tell you because I know you only think of me as your friend. I did try at one point to stop what we were doing, but I wanted you too much. But it was killing me not to tell you, so I got sad, like really sad. I couldn’t tell you I was basically in love with you, and I didn’t want to deal with how depressed it was making me, so I started messing around with other people. I fucked up.”

“You’re in love with me,” I repeated in awe. Of all the things I expected him to say, that information was nowhere on the list. “I can’t believe it.” 

Isaac winced. “Look, you don’t need to address it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or feel obligated to comfort me or anything. I’ll deal with it on my own. I don’t want things to change between us just because of this.” 

"But things have changed,” I said, thinking out loud. “Because I love you too.” 

Isaac blinked. “You do?”

I nodded. “Yeah,” I laughed in disbelief. “I think that’s why I was so mad. I didn’t even realize I had feelings for you until today. Stiles figured it out first. Oh shit, Stiles.” 

Stiles raised his hand like a teacher just called on him for attendance. “That’s me,” he said. 

“Oh god, I’m sorry you got caught up in the middle of all this,” I said.

Stiles shrugged. “No worries. Erica said there was a possibility I would get laid, and it was with you, so I was down for whatever. Actually I’m still down if you two are about to fuck.” 

I sputtered. My entire face felt like it was on flames. I laughed nervously. “You’re still down to what?” 

“To fuck.” 

“Fuck who?”

“Fuck you. And Isaac.” 

My eyes darted back and forth between the two boys currently on my bed. What did he just say? “What did you just say?” I squeaked.

Stiles blinked. “What? Haven’t you ever had a threesome before?” 

“Haven’t I-? No, of course not! That’s freaky, even for me.” 

“Really? Oh. I just thought, considering you have a reputation for being kinda promiscuous, no offense.” 

I glared at Stiles. Full offense.

“No seriously, it’s not a bad thing at all. We all have an inner slut and there’s nothing wrong with expressing that. I’ve had lots of threesomes before. I’m sure Isaac has too.” 

I snorted. “No way. Isaac’s too vanilla, right Isaac?” 

I turned to Isaac. He grinned guiltily. “Uh, actually.” 

“See,” Stiles said, smirking.

My jaw dropped open. “How did I not know this about you?” 

Isaac shrugged. “Never really came up. It’s honestly not a big deal.” 

“Wow, I feel like such a prude right now. Who’d you even do it with?” I asked.

“Scott and Derek,” Isaac answered.

My jaw fell open again. “And you, Stiles?” 

“Scott and Erica.” 

“Wow, Scott really takes care of his pack huh?”

Stiles laughed. "He takes his true alpha status to heart. But anyway, you don’t have to do it. I’m just saying, it’s fun, and I personally am horny and down for whatever.” 

“I…” Thinking about being with Stiles and Isaac at the same time made something flutter in my lower stomach. I glanced at Isaac, questioning him silently. He smiled and shrugged casually in an I’m-down-if-you’re-down kind of way. 

I inhaled. 

“Okay. I, yeah. I’m in."

Isaac grinned. “Well this is a surprising turn of events. Just to clarify,” Isaac gestured at the empty space between us, “we’re together right? Now that we’re both in love and all?” 

“That is correct, yes,” I said matter-of-factly. 

Isaac leaned forward and kissed my shoulder. 

Stiles clapped his hands. “Alright, alright, congratulations to the happy couple. Just a reminder: I made this happen. You guys owe me.” 

“Was your 3-way suggestion not your way of collecting?” I asked sarcastically. 

Stiles shrugged. “Only if it goes really well.” 

“Jesus,” I said, rolling my eyes. “So uh, how do we do this?” I wiped my palms on my bed sheet. Starting off sweaty. Less than ideal.

Stiles stood up and walked around my bed towards us. He unbuttoned his flannel with each step and discarded it on the floor. Okay, straight to the point. 

“Don’t be so shy,” said Isaac sarcastically, but watched Stiles with anticipation. 

Stiles grinned before cradling the back of my neck and leaning down to kiss me. “Oh right, acting shy to get girls is more your style,” Stiles replied, with no real malice in his tone. It almost sounded like they were flirting with each other. 

Isaac rolled his eyes. He turned to me, caught me watching him. His expression changed, becoming softer. He leaned forward, his lips gently trailing down my neck. Stiles laid me flat on my bed. They both laid on either side of me. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Isaac asked.

“Yes,” I answered breathlessly. “I want you. Both of you.” 

part 2 is coming.

[warpedless]

Until You / e.d.

Summary: Shelly and Ethan go to a wedding. Shelly wants to smash cake in Ethan’s face and Ethan wants their wedding to be a rager.

Warnings: just a little stranger things spoiler

 A/N: this concept came to me when i saw this picture so of course at three am i had to write this dumb thing. i wasn’t sure about whether to use a name or y/n, but i really like how this turned out. i hope this isn’t garbage!!

Wordcount: 5649

It’s the perfect day for a wedding. There’s not a cloud in the sky, the breeze is cool and refreshing, and Shelly’s always been fond of the idea of a summer wedding. It’s the end of August, meaning the air is warm without being suffocating and the nights are perfect for grabbing an extra blanket and snuggling on the couch. 

Shelly’s never been huge on weddings. She’s never been the kind of girl to plan her wedding in journals, cut out pictures of dresses, or fantasize about cake tastings and flower arrangements. For the longest time, she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to get married. 

But, things changed when Ethan came into the picture.

No, Shelly’s not looking at bridesmaid dresses or wedding venues. But, give or take ten years, it’s not something she would be opposed to. Especially with Ethan by her side. 

When her mom called her over a year ago to let her know that her cousin Sabrina had gotten engaged to her longtime boyfriend, Shelly was in Ethan’s dorm room. They had just started dating, using the term dating loosely. Neither of them were interested in seeing other people, both too consumed with each other to even look at anyone else, but neither of them had made the move to define the relationship.

“Was that your mom?” Ethan asked when Shelly hung up the phone, pausing his videogame to look over his shoulder. “Everything okay?”

Shelly nodded. “Everything’s fine. Great, actually. My cousin just got engaged, I guess.”

Ethan only raised his brows and smiled. He didn’t know about cousin Sabrina, had never met Shelly’s parents, and had only heard about Shelly’s sister and said hi to her on Facetime once or twice when she called Shelly. “Cool.”

*

A year later, about four months before the wedding, Shelly received Sabrina’s wedding invitation in her dorm mailbox. Shelly hadn’t thought much about her cousin’s wedding since the date was announced. She hadn’t even thought about what she was going to wear. The last wedding she had been to was her aunt’s when she was eleven, so she wasn’t even sure where to start when it came to outfit preparation. 

She didn’t bring up the wedding to Ethan. He saw the invitation on her desk one night while they were studying for their art history final. “Hey, I forgot about this.” He had said, holding the invitation in front of his face as Shelly looked up from her notes. “Sabrina, right?”

“Yeah, the wedding’s in August,” Shelly replied before looking back at her notes. “I haven’t even figured out what I’m gonna wear.”

“Isn’t there supposed to be like, a color theme? Or something?” Ethan asked as he looked over the invitation.

Shelly laughed and shook her head. “Kind of. But, I’m pretty sure the theme or whatever only applies to like, the bridesmaids and groomsmen. I’ll probably just wear the dress I wore at my high school graduation.”

In the middle of studying, Shelly took a detour and started looking for wedding outfits online. She had found a few promising ones, but what really caught her eye was a pretty yellow dress with a flowy skirt and off the shoulder sleeves. She imagined herself wearing it as she made sure they had her size and added it to her cart. As she envisioned herself in the dress, she imagined Ethan by her side. Her sweet, handsome Ethan. If there was anyone she wanted to be with while in that dress, it was Ethan.

“What’re you doing September twenty-second?” she asked, breaking the silence that had fallen around them.

Ethan smiled knowingly, his eyes not leaving his textbook. “Not sure, I’ll have to check my schedule.” Finally, he looks over at Shelly. “Why? Have something in mind?”

*

Four months later, on September twenty second, Shelly’s sitting in her mom’s room letting her mom do her hair. The pretty yellow dress - which fits perfectly, by the way - is laid out across Shelly’s bed across the hallway, not a wrinkle or stain in sight. 

“He should be here any minute now, right?” Shelly’s mom asks, looking at her daughter in the mirror. “I want to iron his shirt beforehand. If he’s anything like the rest of the men I know, he’s probably blind to wrinkles.”

Shelly rolls her eyes and laughs. “He’s less than five minutes away. You’ll have more than enough time to iron his shirt. Maybe even his underwear too, if you feel the need.”

Her mom cringes and shakes her head. “I’ll leave that to you.”

Sure enough, not even three minutes later, Shelly’s getting a text saying that Ethan’s in the driveway. Her mom sends Erica downstairs to let him in so she can finish Shelly’s hair.

“Knock, knock.”

Even after a year, Shelly’s stomach still does somersaults when she hears the boy’s voice. She’s had feelings for other boys. Cared for other boys. But, none of those boys can even compare to Ethan. When he peeks his head around the door, his eyes meeting Shelly’s instantly, her heart starts beating rapidly in her chest.

“You look so beautiful,” he says before greeting Shelly’s mom with a polite smile and gentle hug. He lifts up the white button down and black blazer he has on a hanger. “I remembered my clothes.”

Erica laughs and looks at her sister. “Where you worried he’d forget them?”

“You never know,” Shelly explains as she accepts the kiss Ethan plants on her warm cheek. “You look handsome,” Shelly whispers to Ethan, knowing her mom and sister won’t appreciate any excessive PDA.

“Hardly,” Ethan chuckles. He’s already wearing his fitted black slacks and one of his university hoodies until Shelly’s mom is pleased with the appearance of his button down. Summer looks amazing on Ethan, giving him tanned skin and soft hair. Even with the hair gel and product that he insists on using, Shelly still has to resist the urge to run her fingers through the deep brown strands. “Wait until I’m all suited up. I’m gonna be like Bruce Wayne.” He hesitates. “Or Men in Black. Or another other hot guy in a suit.”

“You’re much more than another other hot guy in a suit,” Shelly retorts with a laugh, only for her mother and Erica to pretend to puke.

They don’t get any alone time until Shelly’s hair is done and Erica is reminding their mother that she needs to get on her way. They would all be driving separately; Erica with their mom and Shelly with Ethan. Their mom was supposed to be helping the planner with the flowers and making sure that everything was in its place, meaning that she would be arriving at the venue a little earlier than everyone else. 

Once Erica and her mom are backing out of the driveway, Shelly gives them one last wave before she’s turning around and jogging up the stairs. She hasn’t seen Ethan in nearly three weeks and she’s been craving alone time with him since she laid eyes on him. They haven’t even kissed properly for Christ’s sake.

“You decent?” she asks as she opens her bedroom door. Shelly hopes the answer’s no.

“Somewhat.”

On the other side of the door is an image Shelly wishes she could keep permanently in her brain. Ethan has his white button down tucked into his slacks, displaying his slender hips, and the buttons revealing his tan, smooth chest and sparse hair leading down to his navel. He’s looking at himself in Shelly’s mirror on her bureau, applying her deodorant to his underarms. It’s the most mundane thing; Ethan putting on deodorant. But, it’s a view that Shelly wants to see for the rest of her life.

When she doesn’t say anything or move from her place in her doorway, Ethan lifts his head and looks over at her. “What? Do I not look like Bruce Wayne?”

Shelly shakes her and walks forward, running a hand from Ethan’s shoulder to his elbow. “I love you.”

Ethan grins, the same grin that was on his face the first time those words left Shelly’s lips months ago. He leans forward and presses a small, warm kiss to her lips. “I love you more. So, do I look good? Are all of your aunts and cousins gonna want to jump my bones?” He looks back at himself in the mirror and sets her deodorant back on the bureau.

The kiss was far too quick and simple for Shelly’s liking. Not when she’s gone weeks without Ethan’s mouth and now he’s standing in her childhood bedroom looking like this. Instead of answering, she takes his chin and turns his face back to her. “Everyone already wants to jump your bones.” 

“I only care about one person jumping my bones,” Ethan says with a smirk. He welcomes Shelly’s lips against his own, instinctually wrapping an arm around her waist. She’s still wearing one of her oversized sleep shirts, one that Ethan is pretty sure belongs to him. He fists the back of her shirt and presses Shelly against him, loving how she feels right here in his arms. It’s all he’s wanted since they last saw each other what feels like a lifetime ago. Call Ethan dramatic, but it’s been hard going from seeing his girl every single day to only everything other weekend or less. “I can’t believe your mom didn’t care about leaving us alone.”

Shelly shrugs and presses another short, yet lingering kiss to Ethan’s pink mouth. “We’re nineteen and spent the entire school year together without parental supervision. She’s not dumb, E.”

Ethan cringes. “Ugh, our parents know we fuck.”

“Okay, we don’t have to verbalize it,” Shelly laughs, cringing as well. “Way to ruin the mood. Now, all I’m going to think about is my mom.”

“It’s probably a good thing,” Ethan sighs as he looks at his watch. “We have to leave soon anyways, and I don’t want to be late and have everyone hate me. You’re not even dressed yet.”

“It’s been three weeks,” Shelly whines, trailing her fingertips down the exposed skin of Ethan’s chest until they land at his belt buckle. She doesn’t make a move to undo it or reach beneath it; she knows when Ethan’s just feigning maturity and when he’s being real. And Shelly doesn’t think he’s going to budge.

“I know, Shell, but this is important,” Ethan explains. He wraps his hands around Shelly’s wrists and brings her hands to his lips. “This is like, your entire family. If you’re late, or there’s a hair out of place on your head, that’s on me. I don’t want to mess anything up.”

On any other occasion, Shelly would persist until Ethan at least let her go down on him. But, she can see how serious he is. When it comes to family, regardless of who’s side, Ethan is always serious. Family is important to him and Shelly knows that, she respects that. So, instead of trying to get Ethan to let loose and undo his pants, she just nods and starts buttoning his shirt. 

“I’ll get dressed if you start the car with the AC on high.”

Ethan smiles and kisses Shelly’s forehead. “Sounds like a plan. Be downstairs in five.”

*

The venue is what Shelly would equate to the country club where High School Musical 2 takes place, sans the desert, early 2000’s fashion, or Zac Efron. After an hour and a half of fighting with Ethan for control of the aux cord, they’re driving onto the grounds. They’re instantly greeted by white and yellow balloons until people begin coming into view.

“Jeez, this place is huge,” Ethan says with a low whistle as they drive further down the dirt road. As the building that Shelly assumes to be the lobby comes into view, Ethan turns the music down. “Where do I park? Is there like, a specific place for me to park?”

Shelly can feel the anxiety radiating off of Ethan like steam off of hot pavement. She reaches over and wraps her fingers around his own, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Look, baby. There’s a sign over there for family parking.”

“Oh, true,” Ethan mumbles before following the signs to where he can see Shelly’s mom’s car already parked.

Just as Ethan had planned, they were on time. If anything, Shelly would even say they were early. As soon as they entire the wedding hall, Shelly’s hand wrapped tightly around Ethan’s, it’s all polite smiles and ‘long time no see!’ or ‘haven’t seen you in so long!’. There are a few more distant relatives that Ethan is introduced to, but for the most part, it’s small talk and light kisses on the cheek until Shelly spots her mom.

The actual wedding is fairly monotonous. One of Sabrina’s best friends is officiating the wedding. She keeps things very light and fun, making sure to not drone on. But, for the most part, all Shelly can think about is the man beside her. His arm is strewn across her lap, his fingers tucked between where her legs are crossed. Shelly loops her arm through Ethan’s and rests her head against his shoulder. She feels him turn his head and press a kiss to her forehead. He’s soft and gentle, as if he’s trying not to catch attention from the people seated behind them.

The vows are beautiful. Shelly’s not surprised; Sabrina’s always had a way with words. She wouldn’t even be surprised if Sabrina had helped her fiance with his vows. Finally, the couple says ‘I do’, and everyone is standing and clapping. 

Ethan laughs as everyone starts clapping, like one does at a graduation ceremony or when their favorite team makes a touchdown. “Is this normal at weddings?” he whispered in Shelly’s ear as Sabrina’s dad starts hollering ‘that’s my girl!’

Shelly shrugs and watches her cousin walk down the aisle hand in hand with her new husband. “I have no clue. Probably not.”

The reception hall is much more Shelly and Ethan’s speed. It’s large and open, with glass doors and windows overlooking the large pond behind the building and the trees surrounding the property. Towards the back of the room behind the large dance floor is the open bar that Shelly can already assume Ethan will be frequenting and sneaking drinks from for Erica. 

They’re seated at a table with Shelly’s mom, Erica, Shelly’s mom’s sisters and their husbands, and a few relatives that Shelly isn’t particularly close with. As soon as they’re seated, Ethan is picking up the menu in front of him and pursuing it as if he hasn’t eaten in days. 

“Are you starving or something?” Erica asks as she picks up her own menu from Shelly’s other side.

Ethan doesn’t even look up from the menu as he says, “Yeah, I haven’t eaten all day!”

Shelly lightly smacks him in the chest with the back of her hand. “Why didn’t you eat breakfast? You knew we wouldn’t be eating until later.”

The boy just shrugs. “I wanted to make sure I was actually hungry. I feel like food at weddings is like, supposed to be really good. What’re you getting? They have chicken and salmon. Which one do you think I would like more? What’s a chimichurri sauce?”

In those brief few seconds, Shelly couldn’t feel more at peace. She’s missed Ethan. For the entire year that they’ve been together, aside from their first summer together, they’ve only been a dorm building away. Shelly wouldn’t say that they’re codependent - they’re capable of surviving without each other for periods of time - but three weeks is a long time. It’s not even about the sex. Yes, sex with Ethan is some of the best sex that Shelly’s ever had. But, there’s so much more to Ethan than his dick. Sex is just a small percentage of what Shelly loves about this boy. 

Ethan notices Shelly’s silence and starring. “What? Did you get makeup on my shirt? Please tell me you didn’t.”

Shelly laughs and shakes her head. “No, you’re shirts clean. I just missed you.”

“I missed you more,” Ethan says before pressing their lips together lightly. “Now quit staring at me and help me decide on what to eat. You can tell me how sexy I look when I’m not hungry.”

*

It’s not long before Shelly finds herself at the bar ordering drinks for her and Ethan. She’s relieved when the bartender accepts her lousy fake ID. Back at the table, Ethan, Erica, and their cousin Jackson are busy arguing over the ending of the latest season of Stranger Things. She figured it was time for her boyfriend to have a drink when the conversation began to get heated.

“Shelly, honey, how are you?”

Shelly turns to see her Nana coming towards her with open arms. “I’m good.” She lets the older woman squeeze her tight, the way she has since Shell was a little girl. The familiar scent of orange blossom and sugar cookies makes Shelly smile. “How are you? I’m sorry I didn’t come see you earlier. I didn’t want to take you away from Sabrina.”

“Sweetie, don’t apologize. I knew I’d eventually run into you.” Nana turns to the bartender. “I’ll have a glass of white zin, please.” She turns back to Shelly with a knowing look, spotting Ethan just over her shoulder. “So, how are things going with him? You’ve been together for a long time now.”

Instantly, Shelly knows exactly where this is going. But, it’s her Nana. It’s not her mom or her sister just trying to push her buttons. So, Shelly entertains her. “Yeah, over a year. We’re really happy.”

“You have, what only a year of college left?” Shelly nods and takes the two drinks being handed to her. She takes a sip of her gin and tonic. “What are you two doing after college? Are you going to live together?”

It’s in this moment that Shelly wishes she had just cut the conversation at its root before it could grow. Over the last semester, long before summer break, Ethan, Shelly, and their parents had all discussed the couple renting out a house on campus instead of paying for housing for another year. In fact, the last time Shelly and Ethan saw each other, they had met with their new landlord and signed the lease with both of their moms as cosigners.

As if sensing her daughter’s distress, Shelly’s mom is ringing an arm around her shoulders. “What’re you two doing over here? Hogging all the booze?” She orders herself a gin martini with dirty ice and squeezes Shelly’s arm.

“Just asking your eldest about her plans after graduation,” Nana says innocently before taking her glass of wine from the bartender. “Is that a crime?”

“Mom, didn’t I tell you? Shelly and Ethan are renting a house for their senior year. That way we don’t have to pay for housing.”

The look on Nana’s face is almost comical. On one hand, she looks incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of her grandchild living with a man, even if that man is Ethan, who Shelly’s been with for over a year. But, on the other hand, it is Ethan, who’s incredibly respectful, kind, and always makes it a point to compliment her cooking whenever he goes with Shelly for a visit. Nana likes Ethan and she likes Ethan with her granddaughter. She also loves the sound of saving money.

“Well. That’s nice. I must’ve forgotten.” Nana takes a sip of her white zin. “You’ll have to show me pictures.”

“Thank God I didn’t have to be the one to break the news,” Shelly whispers as her mom leads her back to the table.

Her mom chuckles. “Ethan and Erica noticed you and said that you might need some assistance.”

The looks on Ethan and her sister’s faces only confirm her mom’s words. Shelly sits back in her seat and sets Ethan’s drink down in front of him. His hand finds her knee as she sits beside him. “Everything okay? You looked a little ambushed.”

Shelly nods and drinks from her g&t. “I’m fine. Just the usual kind of questioning one gets at a wedding.” Ethan raises a brow. He doesn’t follow. Shelly rolls her eyes fondly. “She was asking about. Like, if we’re getting married after graduation. The usual grandma inquisition.”

Ethan just stares at her. If. If they’re getting married. He can’t help but laugh. “When, you mean.”

“Huh?”

“You mean, when we get married,” Ethan explains.

Now, they just stare at each other. This isn’t a conversation Shelly was expecting to have. At least not today. She can feel her cheeks getting warm and hopes her face isn’t giving away her emotions. Before she can reply, Erica is pulling Ethan back into their previous debate. “Remind me again why you think Hopper isn’t dead?”

Just like that, Ethan is heated in discussion, only pausing to take sips of his drink. But, his hand never leaves Shelly’s knee, not even when the food comes. Ethan had decided on the grilled chicken after much deliberation and Shelly opted for the salmon. She had only chosen the salmon because she knows that Ethan will end up eating half of it and leave half of his chicken for her.

After everyone’s eaten and gotten at least two drinks into their systems, the music gets louder and Sabrina appears on the dance floor with her husband. It’s sweet, watching them dance to a cheesy song that every girl wants as their wedding song. Eventually, more people join them on the dance floor, and it’s only a matter of time before Ethan is squeezing Shelly’s knee and smiling the way he does when he wants something.

“Dance with me?” he asks sweetly. “Pretty please? I want to twirl you around in that dress so bad.”

“Only if I get to twirl you around first.” Shelly laughs and lets Ethan lead her to the edge of the dancefloor towards the back where there are less people. Shelly rests her head against Ethan’s shoulder as he wraps his arms around her waist. The song playing is slow and sweet - not exactly the kind of song that one is twirled to. “Are you having a good time?”

Ethan nods and presses his lips to Shelly’s forehead. “Of course. I love your family. And I love you.”

Shelly presses her lips lightly to the side of Ethan’s neck, just below his ear. It’s so light that he hardly feels it. “I love you too.” She hesitates before she speaks again. “Should we talk about what you said before or should I just let is slide?”

“What? About wedding food being bomb? Because it was. I have to find out how they cooked that salmon and make Grayson make it for me.” He smirks. He knows exactly what Shelly’s talking about. He also knows that, the second the words left his lips, Shelly wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about them. 

“Oh, shut up,” Shelly mumbles. She tries not to found amused by her boyfriend’s teasing. “Nevermind, forget it.”

“No, no, not ‘forget it’,” Ethan replies and a squeeze to Shelly’s waist. “I know what you’re talking about. We can talk about it. If you want. I meant it, if that’s what you’re worrying about.”

“Meant it? Meant what?” Shelly looks up at Ethan.

“‘When we get married’,” Ethan says, repeating his earlier statement. “I wasn’t joking. I meant it. We’re getting married someday.”

Again, Shelly feels all of her blood and emotions fill up in her cheeks. She presses her face into Ethan’s neck. “Straight to the point, huh?”

Ethan instantly feels the warmth of Shelly’s skin and the tension in her muscles. He just wraps his arms tighter around her, so tight that he almost lifts her off of her feet. “We’ll talk about it later, okay? Don’t get all-”

“All what?”

“All Shelly and shut down,” Ethan states with a knowing smile as Shelly pulls herself away from where she was hiding in Ethan’s neck. He presses a long, warm kiss to her forehead. “Everything’s fine. We’re having fun, right?” Shelly nods. “Don’t let a small, simple conversation ruin your night.”

“E, marriage isn’t a small and simple-”

He interrupts her as the sound of clapping fills the room. “C’mon, they’re cutting the cake.” He looks down at her and kisses the frown off her face. “I love you, Shelly Bell.”

As frustrated as she may be, it’s impossible for her to not absolutely melt at the way he looks at her. Or when he uses that dumb nickname that she used to hate, but has learned to love. There are so many thoughts swimming through her head, but when she looks at Ethan, and when he looks at her, all she can think about is how much he means to her. 

The cutting of the cake is just as cheesy as Shelly imagined it would be. Cake gets everywhere, everyone laughs, and all Shelly can think about is her and Ethan in Sabrina’s place. It would be so fun to shove cake in Ethan’s face. To have him laugh and press his frosting covered face against hers. Everyone around them would be laughing, taking pictures, talking about how beautiful of a couple they are. When she looks to Ethan, only to see him looking back at her, she knows that he’s thinking the same thing. 

*

After hours of dancing and laughing, Shelly’s legs and abs feel the equivalent to the days when she would let Grayson lead her through one of his and Ethan’s workouts. Her feet ache and all she wants is to get naked, have Ethan beside her, and to sleep in until noon. She voices this to Ethan as they walk up her driveway. Erica gags behind them.

“I had to hear enough sappy shit on the ride home,” she complains as they wait for Shelly to unlock the door. “Please, please keep it down tonight. Save it for when you actually live together.”

Ethan and Shelly laugh as they all walk through the front door. They give Erica a quick goodnight before they’re making their way up the stairs to Shelly’s room. She’s quick to kick her shoes off as Ethan shuts the door behind them.

“God, I can’t wait to get out of these pants,” Ethan practically moans as he undoes his belt. “I can hardly feel my balls.”

“Want to unzip my dress?” Shelly asks, turning around to give Ethan access to the zipper. She can feel his fingers against the center of her upper back as he fumbles with the zipper. While it’s a gorgeous dress and she felt gorgeous wearing it, it feels even better falling town her waist and collecting at her sore feet. She groans as Ethan goes that extra mile and unclasps her bra as well. “You’re an angel.”

Ethan snorts as he begins to unbutton his shirt. “Says you.” He carelessly looks Shelly up and down, admiring the curves of her hips and the soft skin of her stomach. But, nothing beats the sight of her face. Her beautiful face that he can’t wake up to in the morning. Soon, every morning. The thought makes his smile spread wider across his face. He tosses his shirt onto the chair that Shelly uses in place of her laundry basket that’s always notably empty. “Can you take my pants off?”

He asks in the way that one asks ‘do you want waffles or pancakes?’ Shelly nods and watches as Ethan lays back on her bed, his head cushioned by the dozens of pillows. She yanks off his shoes, one by one, before yanking him down the bed by his ankles. It’s easier said than done, what with the boy weighing nearly two hundred pounds, but she manages to get him close enough so that she can reach his fly. 

“Damn, babe, was today arm day?” Ethan asks with a laugh as Shelly unzips his fly and starts tugging his pants down his legs. “I have to say, that was somewhat impressive.”

“It’s all your brother,” Shelly jokes as she manages to pull his pants over his feet. She tosses them in the same direction as his shirt and her dress. “He was teaching me how to like, bench or lift or whatever.”

“You’re cute.” Ethan yawns and crawls back up the bed. He curls his arm around one of Shelly’s pillows. As he gets comfortable, he reaches behind his back and shakes his hand in order to get his girlfriend’s attention. “C’mere. I’m cold.”

That’s a lie; Ethan’s always warm. It’s one of Shelly’s favorite things about him, especially come winter. In Ethan-speak, ‘I’m cold’ means ‘hold me’. So, Shelly does just that. She comes up behind him, knees tucking right behind Ethan’s, with her cheek against his rounded shoulder blade. Shelly takes a deep breath as she wraps her arms around Ethan’s torso.

“So, about what I said earlier,” Ethan mumbles. He’s so close to sleep; Shelly can practically hear it in his voice. She’s surprised that he’s bringing this up considering how tired he is. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I was just like, putting it out there.”

“You didn’t freak me out,” Shelly mutters stubbornly. “You just, I don’t know, caught me off guard.” 

Ethan snorts. “You lowkey got freaked out.” He gently takes Shelly’s hand and presses the back of it to his lips.

“I didn’t freak out,” Shelly demands. “We’ve never really talked about our future like that, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting it. It’s not like I’m against marrying you. Obviously I’m not against it.”

“I’d hope not,” Ethan replies before pressing another kiss to the back of Shelly’s hand. “We don’t even have to get married. I just want to be with you forever. If marriage isn’t your thing, I mean.”

“It’s not not my thing,” Shelly starts slowly. “I’ve just never met someone that made me want to get married. I’ve never been with someone that I could see myself marrying.”

After a few moments of heavy silence, Ethan turns over, careful not to crush or bend Shelly’s arms the wrong way. He stares at her for a moment before he gently runs his thumb under her eye, across her cheekbone. “Are you about to get all cheesy? Should I get some crackers? Some wine?”

Shelly rolls her eyes and smacks her boyfriend on the arm. “I won’t say anything, then. No cheese for your wine and crackers.”

“That’s fine, I’m dairy free,” Ethan teases, earning himself another smack on the arm. This sets him off. In a flash, he has Shelly trapped in his grasp as he tickles her sides. It’s her tickle spot, her sides. She regrets ever telling him about her tickle spot.

“Stop, E, please,” Shelly begs. She’s laughing so hard that tears are streaming down her cheeks and into her hair. If her abs didn’t ache before, they certainly do now. “Please, please, please. White flag, enough.”

“Okay, okay.” Ethan surrenders. He’s laughing nearly as hard, despite him not being the one getting tickled. “But, only because Erica’s going to think we’re fucking.”

For a moment, Shelly wants to point out that fucking wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world. But, then she remembers her sore abs and the feeling of sleep quietly calling her name. Instead, she pokes Ethan in forehead. “You’re so annoying. I’m never talking about feelings with you ever again.”

“Just admit that you want to marry me and you never have to talk about your feelings ever again.” Ethan grins from where he’s still planked on top of his girl. When she doesn’t budge, he lies down, letting all of his weight fall on her. “C’mon, just admit it, Shelly Bell.” 

Shelly grunts as her body is squeezed between her heavy boyfriend and her mattress. “You’re so obnoxious sometimes.” Her hands instinctually run up and down Ethan’s sides, feeling goosebumps grow beneath her fingertips.

“You love me even when I’m obnoxious,” Ethan points out. Shelly won’t admit it, but he’s not wrong. “You love me and you want to marry me. I already know it, so just say it and I’ll let you sleep.”

“If you know it, why do I have to say it?” 

Ethan raises a brow. “So, I’m right? You want to marry me? We’re gonna get married someday?”

Finally, Shelly gives in. With a sigh and a sleepy smile, she says, “Yes, okay, obviously I want to marry you. You and your stupid cute face. Now get off of me and let me breathe.” As Ethan rolls over onto his back, his face looking up at the ceiling, Shelly can’t help but start laughing. “I can’t believe I’m going to be stuck with your obnoxious ass for the rest of my life.”

“You’re stuck with me.” Ethan grins. “God, I can’t wait to marry you. Our wedding is gonna be so sick. A fucking rager.”

“Let’s try furnishing our apartment before we start planning a wedding, baby,” Shelly says as she pulls her duvet up her and Ethan’s bodies. “Want to be little spoon or big spoon?”

“Mm, can I just lay like this?” Ethan moves closer to Shelly, resting his head on her chest, throwing his arm across her stomach, and throwing his leg across her thighs. “I like when you’re my pillow.”

“I’ll be your pillow for the rest of your life, baby.” Shelly smiles and wraps her arms around broadness of the man’s shoulders. Ethan lifts his head and puckers his lips with his eyes still closed. Without speaking a word, Shelly ducks down and kisses the man that she’s somehow gotten herself stuck with. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

[michelles-garden-of-evil]

Episode 33 Review: The Gentle Zombie

{ Not available on YouTube }

{ Synopses: Debby Graham | Bryan Gruszka }

{ Screencaps }

And now, following our over-4,000-word-long sojourn into the eerie, isolated estate of San Rafael on Tuesday, we at last return to the even eerier and even more isolated locale of Maljardin, THE DEVIL JACQUES ELOI DES MONDES’ Garden of Evil! *sting*

Once again, Colin Fox has the day off to recover from his spinal injury the year before, meaning we get another Foxless episode. Unlike some of the previous Foxless episodes, however, this one is a real treat. We get the first centered around the mysterious Quito, Jean Paul Desmond’s silent manservant, Raxl’s closest companion, and owner of the adorable Chalcko, mascot of this blog. We also finally get payoff for my least favorite Maljardin-era subplot, the saga of the Holly portrait--which, if you ask me, is long overdue--and it’s good.

The Lost Episode summary for this episode indicates that it was always intended to focus on Quito. As usual, the Cleveland Plain Dealer provides the most detailed and best summary (and I am not at all biased, despite living in Cleveland):

Source: Cleveland Plain Dealer (October 24, 1969). The “Repeat” part is a misprint, as the episode only aired once on WKBF.

Interestingly, we already saw Quito give Holly the gift of a sparkling stone three episodes ago in the aired version of Episode 30. For whatever reason, the executives and/or Ian Martin himself decided to have this event occur earlier in the series’ timeline, possibly with its original importance to the overarching story decreased. The second sentence of this summary, however, remains accurate, as you will find in this review.

Quito kissing the cryonics capsule.

The episode begins with Quito visiting Erica Desmond's capsule and bringing more flowers for her. Both the way he kisses the capsule and the fact that Jean Paul doesn’t make him give Erica flowers show that he, like Raxl, truly loves her.

After leaving the crypt, he visits the Great Hall following a painting/bickering/recap scene between Tim and Holly, to stare at the portrait of Erica--or, rather, the roughest possible approximation of her appearance, because Jean Paul has done everything in his power to make Tim’s project as difficult and frustrating as possible for him (see also my post on Episode 24). A drum pounds for suspense, he turns to face the portrait, and, just as he reaches out to touch it,

HE COLLAPSES!

Fortunately, Alison and Dan come in from outside at just the right moment for her to check his pulse. She believes him dead at first because he has no heartbeat, but then hears him breathing despite him continuing to have no pulse. She concludes, much to pragmatic lawyer Dan’s shock, that Quito must be a zombie as he once said (this is another instance where I can’t recall which episode, unfortunately).

This is what the Holly portrait looks like now, by the way.

A close-up of the face. Still looks approximately halfway between Holly’s face and Erica’s in Tim’s original sketch of her.

They leave Holly and Tim alone with Quito while they go to the lab (in Alison’s case) and the crypt to search for the missing cyanide (in Dan’s), when they hear Holly scream! Dan, who was so close to making friends with Chalcko, bolts upstairs to find the mysterious servant previously thought to be dead (un-undead?) has once again come alive. He starts to pursue Holly, but Alison stops him, so he turns around and tears the cover off the Holly portrait. “Is it Holly, or my sister Erica?” she asks herself out loud. “I can’t tell!”

The rest of this scene suggests that perhaps Quito, too, can’t tell, or at least sees too much of Erica in Holly to ignore. Most likely, that’s why he’s drawn to her and waits on her as though he were her servant as well as that of Jean Paul and Erica. Dan attributes Quito’s fainting to the shock of seeing a portrait that so captures Erica’s likeness that the uncanny resemblance between her and Holly frightens him.

Two and a half months ago, Curt of the Maljardin Blog wrote that the production crew did not cast an actress to play Erica at the beginning of the show, as evidenced by their use of crew member Lara Cochrane to play Erica’s corpse in Episodes 1 and 4. But now I wonder, what if Ian Martin originally intended for Sylvia Feigel to play Erica as well as Holly, given his frequent mention of their alleged resemblance? It seems like an odd decision, especially because I believe that Sylvia was originally destined for a dual role as both Holly and the blonde girl whom Tarasca sacrificed in her nightmare. But, if Sylvia Feigel was supposed to portray the living Erica, would that mean that Erica’s past incarnation was not Jacques’ wife Huaco, but the sacrificed girl? It wouldn’t make sense for Erica’s past counterpart to be her instead of Huaco, unless he decided to also give Sylvia her role, which would have made her Huaco’s third actress. But this is all extremely unlikely, especially because such a quadruple role seems like far too much for a single arc of a live-action series. Even Dark Shadows didn’t make its actors play four roles in the same arc.

All right. Enough of a theory that I myself don’t completely believe, even if it is possible (if improbable) that Ian Martin intended it. Matt-- who, naturally, hurried down the steps when he heard his stalkee screaming--thinks that the reason why Quito fainted upon touching the portrait was because he "sees something of Erica Desmond in [Holly]." I believe there’s more to it than that, though. There must be something supernatural going on that made him faint, something like Erica’s ghost exerting her power over him. But they never did explain this bit, so--like most of this show--it’s up to interpretation.

Tim: “Quito, I thought you were dead!”

Quito touches the portrait and then his heart. “Only Raxl can tell what he’s trying to tell us,” Matt claims, but Alison, too, understands the message. Quito, whom Dan calls “a soulless man,” loves Holly.

This horrifies Holly even more than Matt’s affections. She shouts “NO!” and Quito retreats to the crypt. She throws a fit, disgusted by the thought of “a monster who lunges at people” wanting a romance with her, and even accuses him of pushing her down the staircase, even though Quito was in the temple at the time.

For the Serpent’s sake, Reverend Stalker, leave her alone! The last thing she needs is your “comfort” when we know that what you really want is to get in her pants!

Holly: “Drag, drag, drag, the Reverend Matthew Drag!”

I’m dying of laughter at this terrible line.

Dan suggests that, if Jean Paul can’t bring Erica back to life, he may decide to replace her with Holly. We know that Jean Paul would never do that, but that his ancestor Jacques almost certainly would--at least once he got bored with his lovely witch Elizabeth/Tarasca. (I’m still not convinced, though, that he doesn’t want to make her sacrifice Holly, either just for fun or so that she--and, after their marriage, he--can get her fortune.)

Tim begs to differ about the painting’s resemblance to Erica, once again lampshading the absurdity of the whole situation. You have an artist painting a portrait of a dead woman, using a living one as his model who may or may not resemble the show’s current image of Erica Desmond. He took on this commission to save his life, but, now that he is on Maljardin, he’s in more danger than he ever was while the Mafia was pursuing him. And now a zombie passes out, and the other characters blame it on Erica’s likeness to Holly, which Tim must know is a completely ridiculous explanation. I’m telling you, someone’s spirit--either Erica’s or Jacques’--made him collapse. And if it was the latter, most likely Jacques intended to kill him a second time.

Quito in the crypt.

I want to shift focus now to the subject of zombies and their portrayal on SP, as well as what we know of Quito’s past. This section will contain references to slavery and suicide, so, if those subjects trigger you, you may wish to skip ahead to the next section, beginning with another copy of the photo of Quito looking into Chalcko’s birdcage.

Before I got into SP, I was long predisposed to dislike zombies because of the clichéd way that most horror movies and shows depict them: namely, as mindless creatures focused solely on eating human brains. Hordes of walking corpses who go on living only to consume and destroy are a useful metaphor for the effects of things like consumerism and social media addiction, but they don’t make for interesting characters; in fact, they make for rather dull ones, in my (highly unpopular) opinion.

But Quito was shown from early on to be a very different kind of zombie, almost the opposite of the Dawn of the Dead type. We see hints as early as Episode 12 that he has thoughts and feelings and now we have confirmation that he even has the capacity for love. He appears mindless, soulless, and unfeeling to some other characters, but those who know him well like Raxl and Jean Paul know that, despite his silence and his undead state, he has a mind, a personality, and even a heart. It doesn’t hurt that Kurt Schiegl gives Quito a great deal of expression and personality through his body language; we may not know exactly what thoughts are going through Quito’s mind, but we can get an idea. (And he never once expresses an interest in eating brains, which is another plus.)

The reason why Quito is so different from most modern portrayals of zombies is because he is based on an earlier conception of who zombies are and how they are created. In the traditional beliefs of Haitian Vodou, a zombie is created when a Vodou sorcerer or bokor resurrects a corpse to serve as his personal slave. While there are many theories as to when these legends originated, the most likely theory (which Mike Mariani argues in The Atlantic) is that they began during the period of French colonialism. During this period, which stretched from 1625 to the Haitian Revolution at the turn of the 19th century, most of the population of the island of Hispaniola (then known as Sainte-Domingue) was enslaved on sugar plantations, which required back-breaking, often deadly labor. This, combined with the other indignities of slavery, drove many enslaved Africans living there to commit suicide in an effort to return to their home countries. The idea that those who ended their own lives would be stuck on Sainte-Domingue eternally as zombies came about as a way or Haitians to discourage suicide. “Death was better than slavery for many – the suicide rate among Haitian slaves was very high. It was bad to be a slave,” Amy Wilentz writes in her review of the Vice documentary I Walked with a Zombie. “Worse would be to die and discover that, rather than returning to Africa, you continued to be enslaved as a dead person, run by a master, doing his bidding – and this is the fear that created the ‘Americo-normative’ zombie, as we know him.”

According to Mariani’s article, zombies did not become associated with bokors until after Haiti won its independence and subsequently abolished the institution of slavery. He calls this “the post-colonialism zombie, the emblem of a nation haunted by the legacy of slavery and ever wary of its reinstitution...The zombies of the Haitian Voodoo religion were a more fractured representation of the anxieties of slavery, mixed as they were with occult trappings of sorcerers and necromancy.” Wilentz associates this with “the fear of re-enslavement,” for “no one wanted to be dead, consciousness-less, and working for free for a master,” especially in a country that had fought so hard to rid itself of its shackles.

The show canon for Strange Paradise has not given--and will not give--much information about Quito’s backstory. What we do know is that he is a native of somewhere near Maljardin, descended from an indigenous Central American culture related to the Aztecs, and that was alive during the same period as Raxl. He was Jacques’ “servant” (more likely a slave) in the 17th century and, at some point before Jacques’ death, became a zombie. We also know from his reaction to the Conjure Man’s name in Episode 13 that the Conjure Man did something to him at some point that traumatized him, which may or may not have included the spell.

The Paperback Library novel Island of Evil, however, gets far more detailed about Quito’s backstory and shows his transformation into one of the undead. In the novel, Jacques forces Raxl to relive a particularly painful memory from the 17th century in order to coerce her into doing his bidding in the then-present. In her memory, Raxl visits the pregnant and bedridden Huaco des Mondes during a dinner party, although Jacques has forbidden them from meeting with each other. When he catches her returning from Huaco’s room, Jacques gets revenge on Raxl by stabbing Quito (who is her husband in the books) and then forces an African Vodou priest whom he recently purchased to resurrect him for his guests’ entertainment.[1] It’s worth noting that, like the zombies of Haitian folklore, the Vodou priest tells Raxl not to allow Quito to consume salt: “Should he eat either [salt or meat],” he says, “he will know he is a dead man.”[2] Thus the book canon connects Quito both to the horrors of slavery in the colonial-era Caribbean and to early zombie folklore, before zombies became the brain-eating monsters they are usually portrayed as today.

Quito checking on his adorable bird. Curt recently mentioned the possible connection between Chalcko, Huaco (Jacques’ “pigeon”), and Erica (Raxl’s “little bird”) in a post on his Tumblr, which was a piece of possible symbolism that had never occurred to me until then.

Dan reveals to Matt that Jean Paul has a Stanford-Binet IQ of 187. I’m noting this only because I’ve referenced it before in regards to Jean Paul’s alleged intelligence juxtaposed with his tendency to make stupid decisions. He may have an IQ of 187, but that only applies to his book smarts, not to common sense decisions like the knowledge that you should never make a deal with the Devil unless you are absolutely certain that the Devil won’t screw you over, or that you can defeat him through loopholes or some other, similar means. Even the smartest people--even those with an IQ of 187--can be manipulated, and that is true of Jean Paul, whom THE DEVIL JACQUES ELOI DES MONDES has successfully outsmarted. I wonder if he even suspects that Jacques has no intention on bringing Erica back to life, as he revealed fourteen episodes ago?

Holly talking to the cryonics capsule.

At the end of the episode, Holly visits the crypt to talk to Erica’s capsule. “ Mrs. Desmond,” she says, her hands on the capsule, “I want to say something to you. I don't know if you can hear or not, but I'm so afraid. I’m afraid of Quito, I’m afraid of my mother, and also of the Reverend. Mrs. Desmond, I’m so afraid somebody wants to kill me. But not your husband. I love him the way I love my father, but I'm so lost and so alone. Please help me...I want to know what it was that Quito and they saw in the picture.” 

Quito catches her talking to the capsule and approaches her, his arms outstretched. “No, please!” Holly pleads, finally screaming and running from him, leaving the zombie with a heart alone in the crypt.

Upstairs, Holly calls for everyone to “see what you’ve done,” and the camera cuts to the portrait, which now bears a slash across the middle:

The end of the ill-fated saga of the Holly portrait.

“There is your spirit of love,” she cries, “or is it hate?” Alison, Matt, Dan, and Tim stare on, shocked and appalled by the slashed portrait and forever unaware of the identity of the culprit. The episode implies that the responsible party is Jacques Eloi des Mondes by showing a shot of his portrait glowing shortly before this scene, but this episode’s trivia on StrangeParadise.net indicates someone else. As with the trivia for Episode 30, it has to do with plot points that ultimately remained unexplained on the show, but nevertheless contains spoilers for the true nature of one character, so read at your own risk.

The first time since the pilot that Jacques’ portrait has glowed.

Coming up next: The characters react to the slashing of the portrait and we learn a telling bit of backstory about Elizabeth Marshall.

{ <- Previous: Episode 32   ||   Next: Episode 34 -> }

Notes

[1] Dorothy Daniels, Island of Evil (New York: Paperback Library, 1970), pp. 92-99. I will cover this book and the other two Paperback Library novels in more detail in a future series of posts.

[2] Ibid., p. 100.

[unholyhelbig]

Based on the anon ask, prompt: “Aubrey Posen believed in lots of things, but love was not one of them. That is, until she met Emily.”

SEND ME PROMPTS HERE

Aubrey Posen believed in a lot of things. When she was ten years old, she started to believe in ghosts. Her mother was driving down a long-winded path and fog seemed to take up every inch of spare expanse that North Carolina had to offer. It was cliché, really. But the man she saw standing on the side of the road dressed in a slate grey uniform convinced her that ghosts were real, as real as the clothes on her back and the blanket that was covering her lap. She didn’t’ say a word, but she knew her mother had seen him too.

When she was sixteen she believed that things happened for a reason. A letter coming in the mail stating that her father was going back into the infantry. He would travel and see the world. He would write, and he would stop writing. And she would sit between her two older siblings, blindly reaching for their comforting touch when they got the news that he was coming home. But only to pack his things.

She crashed a car when she skidded on black ice at nineteen, learning to believe that it was okay to make mistakes. Her older brother pulling her into a minty embrace instead of screaming about his wrecked jeep. He wasn’t angry, instead, he squeezed her shoulders and hastily warned her never to scare him like that again.

Aubrey Posen believed in a lot of things, but love wasn’t one of them. That is until she met Emily.

She had felt the light like never before that day; a star that hung high in the sky pressing heated rays against exposed skin. It was a warmth that she couldn’t ignore, the atmosphere clear despite the musty scent of rain taking up home in her lungs. Aubrey loved the smell of the rain and the even sharper scent of incoming snow. That thankfully didn’t present itself this early into October.

Booths lined her on either side, some of them boasting signs that were carved expertly. They advertised peaches and corn. Sweetgrass baskets that had been so expertly woven in the spare time of their crafters. Aubrey bit into an apple, her teeth pressing past soft green flesh as sticky juices dripped down her chin. This was home, for her, this had always been home.

Aubrey didn’t’ miss the stuffy suits or the smog that coated New York Cities risen air. The cases that stacked against her desk were long forgotten as her mind buzzed with nothing other than making her way carefully through the farmers market. Everything was muted and enhanced all at once. She loved her visits home and loved the stillness of them even more.

“Oh, shi-“The voice pulled through the low buzz of the market, not many people looking up from examining their tomato’s, poking and prodding until it looked bruised enough to beg for a discount. But there she was, struggling to lift a case of mason jars from the back of a rusted old ford.

They dripped in a golden syrup, bubbles catching a certain aim of lighting from the very sun that warmed Aubrey’s cheeks. She could practically taste the sweet substance as it barely sloshed around. The booth simple stated: Honey. Little symmetrical combs were slathered in yellow at the corner of the board. It was simple, and at this rate, it was going to lose all of its merchandise.

“Here, let me help you,” She said.

Aubrey wasn’t one to rush towards a stranger. She wasn’t one to try and show off by lifting something that was a little too heavy, even for her. She could feel the subtle burn in her arms, and the moisture that collected against her collarbone. None of that could make up from the bright, almost impish, smile she received in return.

She set them down on the shaded countertop, rolling her shoulders back as she looked at the stranger. She was tall, even with mud-stained converse on, sporting a worn t-shirt and a flannel. The girl’s features were soft and kind, and damn, did they feel like the sun. The flower that bees were drawn to driven by the very nature instilled upon them.

“Thank you so much,” She panted, pulling the red baseball cap from her forehead, she dragged her forearm against it, smearing dirt and sweat. “You have no idea how much trouble I’d be in if I dropped those.”

“It was really no problem.” Aubrey just chuckled at the girl’s frantic words, she was still panting in the heat. Watching as the stranger ripped into the box that she had just set down. “What are you-?”  

“Here,” She produced an amber colored jar. “It’s on the house. Assuming that you actually like honey, this here is the best stuff. Homegrown. Well, home harvested.”

“Thank you,”

Aubrey absently ran her fingers over the printed label. It had that soft yellow background that her booth occupied. The same logo too, but up close, Aubrey could see the tiny script of Emily’s right above the bulky text. She glanced up, Emily suited her. She started to take the rest of the mason jars out of the cardboard box, humming along to an odd tune that the lawyer couldn’t quite place.

She walked away that day, the weighted glass of honey still prominent in her hand as she shifted its contents. There were little flakes of yellow pollen swimming in the stagnant warmth. A certain heat pressed against her abdomen, an odd place for the sun to reach, but she swallowed it back.

The coffee coated her throat, it’s bitter edge never too strong. Willow Heights was never known for an intoxicating brew. Instead, she settled for the burnt flavor and the washed-out white mugs that used to have logos sprawled against them. Now it was just little black spots where the paint hadn’t exactly faded yet.

Still, Aubrey gulped it down hungrily to wash away the taste of the pie that she had eaten, nothing but crumbs were left on her plate and the waitress dressed in a sickly mint green ensemble took that as enough of a sign to clear it and refill the mug with little conversation. She almost liked it that way, the quiet.

There was a mother watching her son destroy an ice cream Sunday in the corner of the diner. He was missing his mouth, coating his fingers in a sugary mess of black syrup and cherry juice. She winced at the thought of how sticky he would be, but the woman seemed not to fret too much. She gave her a knowing glance. It practically screamed kids will be kids.

There was, of course, the cook, but his focus was on spraying clean dishes in the back of the house. The waitress smacking her gum like the blood that rushed past Aubrey’s ears. It was rhythmic in a gross kind of way. The bell above the door was accompanied by the deadpan cold that ran through town when the sunset.

The girl from the farmers market.

It had in fact rained. She was quick to peel off her soiled jacket and hang it on the small coat rack by the door. An unused umbrella rested against the glass door frame. A missing cat poster with eminent water damage dog-eared at the excess of wind.  

“Hey, Em” The waitress mustered a sunny disposition. “The usual?”

“You bet,” She rubbed her hands together in the heat of the restaurant. Aubrey couldn’t help but stare, her expression was soft and captivating all at once. She had seen beauty before, really, she had. But Emily had a certain rawness like unsweetened honey. It was smooth but had a bitter kick that she craved the taste of. “Oh hey,”

Aubrey blinked dumbly for a second, licking her lips. They tasted burnt, the coffee still lingering as she registered that she was actually being spoken to. “Hi”

“Mind if I?”

Emily gestured to the stool next to hers. There were other seats available at the counter, but Aubrey had the feeling that if she had taken any of those, she would be caught staring violently at the girl. Not out of lust (Not entirely anyway) but out of pure captivation. She gulped down the sour taste in her mouth as she nodded.

The waitress eyed Aubrey as she set down a big glass of what smelled like root beer in front of Emily. The girl denied a straw before downing a quarter of it in one fail sweep.

“I’ve never seen you around before, stranger.”

“Stranger? Oh. I’m not from round’ these parts.”

She laid on the southern accent thickly, a hint of a smirk pulling at her lips. Emily seemed to redden at this. Aubrey supposed they did sound a little too dramatic for her taste, almost as if she could reach into her belt and find a pearl embossed pistol at the ready. All she would have to do is spin the barrel and hope she didn’t’ load it.

“Very funny,” Emily nudged her shoulder. She smelled like rain. “I just don’t know what a girl like you is doing in a town like this one.”

“I’ll have you know, I grew up here.” Aubrey straightened her back and raised her own mug to her lips, taking another long gulp of stale caffeine. “What gave it away?”

“That you haven’t been home in a long while?” Emily quirked a brow “No one in Willow Heights has a manicure.”

Aubrey’s grey stare flicked to her nails instinctively. They were painted in a nude color, but they had been done professionally. Half of her wardrobe was pressed and trimmed and tailored just to fit the standards of a courtroom. A small farming town like this one didn’t’ even have a nail salon. But Aubrey liked it that way.  

“You’re very observational for a beekeeper.”

“Thank you,” she straightened her stance, drawing in another gulp of her soda like the heat of the carbonation didn’t bother her at all. “You kind of have to in my position.”

Aubrey could only imagine. One false move and little insects with sharp stingers would find their way past a strong suited woman. It wasn’t like dealing with slimy defense lawyers who had slicked back hair and venom dripping past their teeth- no, this was something delicate.

The waitress chewed her gum silently as she set a large plate of chocolate chip waffles in front of Emily with some silverware. Whipped cream was stacked to the very top, a few strawberries made dents in the mountain. “Thanks, Erica!”

She hummed in response and filled up Aubrey’s cup once more, earning a grateful nod in response before she went back to playing some matching game on her phone. The mother in the corner of the diner hastily tried to wipe away the syrup on her sons’ fingers.

“Oh my god, how can you eat that?” Aubrey chuckled into her cup.

“What? You mean this?” She shoved a strawberry into her mouth, chewing happily “Easy. Breakfast for dinner is the best.”

Aubrey cocked a brow, sitting back in the bar stool as she watched the woman slather her food in a coat of maple before cutting it into small little pieces. Breakfast was something that was limited to a protein bar, lunch a lack-luster salad, and dinner was something from the vending machines at the office. Certainly not a mountain of cornstarch and syrup. Emily didn’t’ seem deterred in the slightest as she shoved her fork into the bite she had just cut.

“Open.”

It was a demand, not a question, Emily holding up the fork as she watched Aubrey expectantly. The blonde let out a heaving sigh, close to rolling her eyes as she leaned forward and took the bite that Emily so easily offered. She could barely stop the moan that slipped past her lungs, blood rising to her cheeks as she got a triumphant smile in return.

“The secret is the honey in the batter,” Emily wiggled in her seat, letting the fork drop onto the plate as she beamed “Technically it’s mine so I’m biased but-“

She was interrupted by a fit of giggles, her body turning to face Aubrey, almost completely. Emily beamed, covering her mouth to muffle a snort. “What? Seriously?”

“Nothing, it’s just” She leaned forward.

 This moment wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot. The chairs that they were sitting in creaked and groaned under their weight. The light in the far corner of the restaurant was buzzing away like the very moths that they attracted. The rain was pressing against the window and blurring the downtown streets. And Aubrey had whipped cream all over her nose.

“Here, let me get it.”

Emily’s touch was soft. Her fingers cold against Aubrey’s cheek as she brushed her thumb easily against the whipped cream on Aubrey’s nose. The sugary substance coated the pad of her finger. She brought it to her lips, licking it clean with a stray smile and a simple shrug.

“Thank you,” Aubrey rasped.

Aubrey Posen believed in a lot of things. The ghost that she saw on the side of the highway in North Carolina. The way her father still sent Christmas cards every other year, still containing blatant wishes and a twenty-dollar bill. How her older brother still laughed at the wrecked jeep that he let her borrow for one night too many.

Most importantly, Aubrey Posen believed in Emily.

The way she would tell the story of how they met for years to come. The box of honey would grow in size and the jars in weight. She would change the small storm outside to a monsoon and the kid in the corner digging into an ice cream Sunday had vanished altogether.

She had bought Emily a bouquet of sunflowers. Then a waffle maker, even a dog. But the most important thing was a ring. A simple gold band with two green stones and a flashing diamond. Because she made Aubrey believe enough to drop down to one knee, to envision a future never imagined.

Yeah, Aubrey Posen believed in a lot of things, but love was not one of them. That is until she met Emily.    

[planetsam]

Omg could you write a prompt about the snow ball??? Like maybe after the kiss? Or maybe just all the kids hanging out together b/c it feel like it would be magical lol

Eleven notices after her third perfect dance with Mike that Dustin is dancing with Nancy.

She also notices that his eyes are red.

Eleven frowns and looks down at her feet. Something is wrong. She’s spent a long time dreaming of the Snow Ball and it being perfect. And it is. Mike is sure and steady, they are figuring out dancing, they’ve kissed. But Dustin’s eyes are red and she can hear girls laughing across the room. She looks up at Mike whose watching her curiously.

“I know you don’t dance with your sister at Snow Ball,” she says, “but those girls are laughing at Dustin. We have to switch.”

Mike cranes his neck and glares when he sees.

“Okay,” he says instantly and Eleven falls for him even more, she thinks. He goes over to where his sister and Dustin are dancing and looks at her, “when I spin you, keep twirling okay?”

She nods and he does, she spins as her skirt twists and she winds up right in front of Dustin who catches her immediately. He’s so surprised his arms lock around her and she immediately puts her hands on his shoulders like Mike showed her.

“We match,” she says, looking at his suit. Is face cracks into a grin.

“Yeah, we do,” he says, “where’d you learn how to dance?”

“Mike taught me,” she says, then drops her voice, “I watched Erica Kane dance too.”

“You watch Days of Our Lives?!” Dustin gasps, “my mom watches that show every day.”

He immediately moves so that one hand is around her waist and the other is holding hers. Eleven puts her hand on his shoulder and straightens up so that they look more like the couples do on tv. The song isn’t right but they make it work, trying to stay serious but not exactly succeeding. At the end he dips her and she sticks her foot out dramatically, letting out a sigh like she’s going to faint like Erica Kane.

By the end of the next dance, a few of the girls are looking slightly more interested. Eleven looks for Mike who motions and Eleven turns as Lucas appears in front of her. He also looks very good but in a different way. A more mature way. He even bows and offers his hand. Eleven looks back at Dustin in time to see Max skip over.

“My turn. I’ve been waiting forever,” she says loudly, instantly wrapping her arms around him. Eleven is surprised because everyone looks as she steps close. Everyone looks at Max a lot, she realizes, feeling that stab in her gut.

“She’s pretty cool, actually,” Lucas offers. Eleven looks down, nodding, “hey, we wouldn’t have let her into the group if we hadn’t met you.”

“What?” She asks.

“Yeah,” he continues, “you made girls cool. She’s heard about you, she think you’re cool,” he continues.

“Oh,” Eleven says, still not sure.

“Come on, would I have let her in if she wasn’t cool?” He tries and Eleven thinks hard. Lucas barely let her in. Finally she’s forced to shake her head, “could you maybe try to get to know her a little?”

“I can try,” she says finally, “if you like her.”

“I do,” he agrees readily.

By the time their second song is done, one of the girls has come out of nowhere. Eleven sees her looking at Dustin and Max. She gives Lucas a kiss on the cheek and motions to Dustin. He gives her a confused look and she motions again. So he does the same spin trick and Eleven catches Max, immediately putting her hands on her waist because she is tall. Max is stunned and looks at her, so Eleven puts her hands on her shoulders. She can be nice.

“Lucas says you’re cool,” she says.

“I am cool,” Max says, “I stole a car.”

“I hitch hiked to Chicago,” Eleven says.

“No way! That’s awesome!”

Eleven looks at her suspiciously and frowns when she sees Max’s smile falter. It makes her feel bad. Like she’s the scary one. Her throat tightens before she looks up at the taller girl.

“How do you get people to call you Max?” She asks.

“Oh, I just tell them I don’t like to be called anything else. And if they don’t listen I just don’t answer until they do.”

“That works?”

“Yeah,” Max assures her. They look over to see Dustin talking to the girl, “I think it was really cool that you helped Dustin.”

“Okay, I’m cutting in.”

They turn to see Will there. Lucas swoops in on Max and Eleven starts to dance with Will. Eleven is still kind of impressed by him. Will has survived longer than anyone she knows who isn’t like her. Twice. There’s something familiar in his eyes, an understanding that makes her settle easily into the dance. They don’t even need to talk.

Next is Nancy.

“Hi,” the older girl laughs and Eleven grins up at her.

“Hi,” she says.

“Worth the wait?”

Eleven nods enthusiastically. Nancy grins and twirls her like Mike did. Instead of Mike though, she winds up with Jonathan. Of all the people she’s danced with he’s the tallest. And the oldest. And even if he doesn’t look like he does much dancing he’s actually quite good. Like he knows the beat.

“You smile like Mike does when he sees me,” she observes.

“I do?” He seems surprised but when she keeps looking at him the surprise goes away, “yeah I do,” Jonathan says, “thanks for helping to get Will back.”

Eleven smiles.

“You’re welcome,” she says.

“I’m gonna twirl you now, okay?”

She nods and Jonathan twirls her, right back to Mike who catches her easily. His hands fit around her waist and Eleven gasps because of all the people she’s danced with tonight, he’s still above and beyond her favorite. She settles her arms around his neck. This time they get closer.

“That was really nice of you,” Mike says, “and smart, I think every girl’s wised up now.”

Eleven grins because they both know every girl should want to dance with Dustin. But they needed some help seeing it. Now he’s dancing with one girl and Eleven can see others waiting for their turn. Dustin doesn’t seem to have one girl he wants to dance with so Eleven is glad there are so many to choose from.

Will seems not to mind whether he’s dancing or not. Actually the only song where he looks really happy is when some un-dancable song comes on and he grabs Jonathan and drags him out to the dance floor. Mike takes the opportunity to grab her hand and tug her away from the crowd. Eleven follows him. Everyone’s hung their coats up on a long rack and he digs through his before coming back with a foil packet.

“You brought Eggos?” She gasps.

“I thought you’d like those better than flowers,” he says.

Eleven beams at him and unwraps the Eggos because dancing makes you hungry. She gives him one and takes the other. They hide behind the coats like it’s their own secret spot. Which it is until Dustin finds them.

“I found them!” He announces.

“We saw you guys leave,” Lucas says.

“It’s boring in there without you guys,” Will adds.

Eleven grabs Mike’s hand and pulls him with her as they head back inside. She immediately wraps her arms around his neck, smiling up at him through her bangs. He puts his hands back around her waist. She sighs happily, even as the others crowd together. Mike looks at her curiously.

“I like being here. I like dancing with everyone, but,” she says and looks at him, “I like dancing with you best.”

Mike’s smile is the widest it’s been all night.

[aliviachan]

Valentine's Day Fails

Hey! So I wrote a V-Day fic that went along with my 100 Prompts Challenge thing! It was for: #1 “That’s starting to get annoying.”

Summary: 

Derek does his best to survive at his job. He does. Hell, he even refrains from ripping out customers throats with his teeth when the situation clearly warrants it. The only thing that makes it all worth it is a pair of honey eyes and a splattering constellation of moles. Oh, and it’s Valentine's Day. 

AO3

Derek hated his job. He hated the people. He hated his boss. And above all, he hated having to spend his Saturday mornings standing in front of a cash register while pumpkin spice forced its way into his senses. Although he hated everything associated with the little coffee shop, there was one thing that made it all worthwhile. 

“Uhm…mornin’,” the beautiful specimen with honey eyes and a constellation of moles dotted across his face muttered as he approached the counter. His hair was disheveled, and Derek had to resist the urge to shove his nose against his neck. “I’ll have the double chocolate chip frappuccino with white cheesecake, one shot espresso, no two. You know what? Might as well make it three.” And as if on cue the man tips his head back as he let out an almighty yawn.

There’s a story there, but Derek doesn’t know how to ask for it. Instead, he takes the crumpled five dollar bill before dutifully beginning to work on the sugary drink.

By now it was almost part of Derek’s routine to make this drink. He’d pour all the liquids into the cup to make one sugary concoction that would leave his fingers and palms sticky until he got the chance to wash them. The line would build up by three people, and maybe one or two would start getting pissy. Derek would scribble the name ‘Steve’ on the cup unceremoniously, and carefully slide the drink toward the man, as he tried to ignore how fast his heart was beating. It would all be worth it, however, once the man took his first sip, only to let out a moan that would even be too sinful for the devil himself to hear.

Derek’s mind would go blank for the splittest of seconds before his boss would yell for him to hurry up with the line.

What could he say? Derek was a weak man.

+

Steve came to the coffee shop every Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday from noon to near close. He’d read his thick textbooks, or type a mile a minute on his laptop while consuming his beverage of choice.

Derek, being the creeper that he was, watched with flushed cheeks as Steve’s pretty pink lips wrapped around the straw. His cute little cupid’s bow would thin out as Steve savored every drop of the frappuccino.

“You're gross,” Isaac said from beside him, causing Derek to startle at his presence. Rolling his eyes, Isaac wiped down his counter a few times before huffing. “You smell like a high school’s locker room. Knock it off and go clean something you perv.”

Glaring at the curly haired teen, Derek snatched the towel from his hand as he made his way to the kitchen. He spared a glance over his shoulder at Steve and promptly ran into the pull door when a little bit of the creamy colored drink spilled out from the side of his mouth. +

‘Today was the day!’ Derek chanted to himself as he fussed with the single rose and small box of chocolates that he stealthily hid behind the counter. Boyd and Erica were both out for the day, and even Isaac had a date planned for Valentines Day. Meaning, Derek was left all alone to hold down the shop, which also meant he could freely put his plan in motion without the fear of being teased by his friends.

The front door chimed open, and in came Steve and a pretty redhead.

"I mean, who needs that many flowers?” Steve exclaimed with his arms flailing each and every way. “That’s starting to get annoying and let's not forget desperate. Who even agreed to invite Valentine's day? Where they all just like, ‘I know, let's have a holiday to mis-teach young people what love is, entice them to be greedy and inculcate insecurity. It's a great idea, and we'll sell more crap they never needed; think of the economy. All those cards, chocolates, sweat-shop lingerie items in chemical dyed tissue’!"

The both of them get in line, and Derek was building up to a freakout as the customer in front of narrowed her eyes and repeated her order to regain Derek’s attention. Snapping out of his haze, Derek quickly typed in her very pricey drink and took her card before dealing with the next customer, until the only people left where another girl then Steve and his friend.

“Derek! Have you seen my phone? I must have left it here last— oooh, what is this?!”

Turning around, Derek stared wide-eyed at Erica as she held up the flower and box of chocolates. He paled and nearly died from embarrassment as Erica crooned as she dug around in search of a card or something else equally as embarrassing.

“Is this for Steve? You finally grew some balls when none of us are here to witness it? That’s low Derek, and I’m going to tell Laura on you.” Erica threatened and glared at him warningly.

Derek thinks that would be the end of it, but of course, it wasn’t. He watched with horrified eyes as Erica’s nostrils flared before a mischievous look glinted in her eyes. Reaching out the grab her, Derek growled as the blonde slipped past his fingers. Blushing would have been no problem, but what Derek did was go as red as a beetroot and radiate heat like a hot pan. You could have cooked a three-course meal on his face. No-one could have missed it. He wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole. He wished to 'do a Daphne' and drop through a scooby-doo style trap door in the floor, but there was no rescue from this embarrassment, it was absolute. Torture. Utter humiliation. The memory would be seared into Derek’s brain forever, ready to pop up and torment him again when he’s ever in a quiet moment.

“Yo, Stevie!” Erica singsonged. “My best friend in the whole wide world is smitten with you, but very socially awkward. He was going to give you these, but I could tell that he was going to chicken out, so I’m doing it for him. Happy Valentine's day!”

Bright brown eyes looked at the rose as if it had suddenly grown wings. “That’s...not my name?” It came out like a question, but Derek watched in mortified amazement as Apparently-Not-Steve took the gifts. “I’m Stiles.”  

“You’re not...what do you mean you’re not Steve? He’s been calling you that for months now!” Erica exclaimed. “Derek, how could you not know his name?” She directed the last question to Derek without taking her eyes off of Ste-Stiles.

Derek opened and closed his mouth a few times before scurrying off to make the drinks that the other customers were still waiting for. Happy for the escape, Derek avoided eye contact as Erica talked to ‘Stiles’ and his friend.

“Uh...hey,” Stiles said, pulling Derek away from his frazzled tasking. “So...you want me to be your valentine?

A range of emotions passed across his face before he stops on a guarded frown. He didn’t think that SteveStiles would be the type to make fun of someone who had a crush on him, but Derek wasn’t a fan of being this vulnerable. Stiles seemed to realize that Derek wouldn’t be saying anything anytime soon and decided to power through.

“Well, that’s cool. I mean I've been crushing on you for awhile, and I thought it was painfully one-sided, and now that I know it’s not, I’m very much relieved, but at the same time I have no idea what to do.”  Stiles confessed with a troubled pout on his face. “I mean I’ve been coming here for weeks and all of this coffee is really cutting into my budget, but it’s just been an excuse to come see you again, and now that I say it out loud I realize how pathetic that sounds. Then there’s that fact that—”

“You like me?” Derek’s face was filled with awe as a smile slowly pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Like, seriously?”

“Dude, have you seen you? Plus you wasted your hard earned money on capitalist bullshit, and based on that, I’m just going to assume that you are a secret softy.” Stiles said with a lopsided grin on his face.

“I’m not a softy,” he said a bit too petulantly to be believable. A permanent smile was on his face by now, and any chances there were of him killing Erica were slowly fading.

“Mmmm,” Stiles leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on Derek’s cheek. “Whatever you say, big guy.”

A blush was on both of their cheeks, and Derek kind of felt disappointed that Stiles had kissed his cheek instead of somewhere else. “We could...I mean..if you wanted to we could go...somewhere.”

“Are you asking me on a Valentine's date?”

“Trying to at least.”

Stiles smiled brightened up the room, and Derek felt himself being gravitated towards him. It’s strange – frightening even – how you can go from someone being a complete stranger to then being entirely infatuated by them and wondering how it ever was that you were able to function without them because you sure as hell couldn’t imagine being without them now.

Side Note: If anyone has a request for anything don’t be afraid to send it in. Just give me the number from the list you're interested in and then, if you want to, add whatever other requests you want it to have in the fic (i.e., if you want it angsty or werefox!Stiles, etc.) (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

[marwritesgood]

Late Apologies | I. Lahey

Pairing ; Isaac x BestFriend!Reader Timeframe ; Mid-S2

Summary ; In which, even with his newly gained werewolf abilities, he is still too late.

He had been avoiding for nearly a month, which was far beyond unusual, because they had been inseparable since birth.

At first, Y/n tried to brush it off. She didn’t want to seem like the kind of person that obsessed over little things such as her best taking some time away from her. But then she caught him hanging out with people she had never even recognised. Eric, Boyd and Derek, she found out their names were. Two of them went to Beacon Hills High School with her and Isaac, but the other one finished about two years ago.

Isaac started wearing black leather, joined the lacrosse team and began treating other people in a very un-Isaac-like behaviour. She almost didn’t recognise him when she marched to his locker, fed up with his attitude and ready to confront him.

“Hey, there, stranger,” Y/n greeted him, slamming his locker shut to get his attention.

It takes him a small moment to actually look her in the eye, but even then he didn’t seem like he wanted to talk, let alone to her.

“Hey,” he says, reluctantly, not looking at her directly in the eye, which, as you could imagine, only made her more annoyed.

“Hey?!” Y/n repeated in anger. “Is that seriously all you can say to me right now? Hey?!”

“What are you-”

“Stop it with the bullshit, Isaac,” she snaps, crossing her arms to emphasise just how pissed off she was. “You don’t get to ignore me for nearly a month, and play stupid. You were supposed to help me with my english homework yesterday… or did you forget? Just like you’ve been forgetting for the past four weeks!”

“Y/n, please, let me explain-”

“What explanation could you possibly have for blowing me off? If hanging out with me is something you’ve grown out of… if you’d rather be seen with the people your hanging out with, now, and acting the way you’ve been acting lately, then, for crying out loud, you could’ve just told me four weeks ago, instead of leaving me to be constantly stood up.”

“That’s not it, Y/n,” he cries, his heart slowly breaking as he realised how far this went. “C'mon, you know that’s not it.”

“Then what is it, Isaac? Tell me… please, because I really hate this… feeling like an idiot.”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

Y/n can’t help but scoff at this, which only frustrates Isaac, because he was really, truly, telling her the truth. But, of course, when someone you care about ignores you for so long, and their reasoning for that was something so vague, it’s not surprising Y/n reacted in such a way.

“I can protect myself, thank you very much, try another excuse.”

“No, you understand, Y/n,” Isaac says, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to their argument. “This… thing. It’s bigger than you and me, and it’s capable of hurting you… really badly. As long as you’re not associated with me, you’ll be out of harm’s way, and I can’t let anything hurt you.”

“W- What is this… thing?” Y/n questioned, deciding to entertain his excuse, even if it was still very vague and didn’t make much sense to her quite yet.

“I… I can’t tell you.”

“Well… isn’t that convenient,” Y/n muttered, her eyes suddenly turning ice cold.

“Y/n, I wish I could tell you, you have no idea-”

“Then just tell me, for heaven’s sake! We used to tell each other everything, Isaac, why is it that you’re all of a sudden hiding things from me. We don’t do that.”

“Y/n, if I tell you,” he begins, licking his lips as he tried to collect his thoughts. Tried to make sure that he wouldn’t say the wrong thing… again. “If I tell you, you’ll want to know more, and I know that, because I know you, but… But once you know about what we’re up against, you’ll be at risk of getting hurt, and I can’t let that happen… I can’t loose anymore people.”

“So, your solution is to pretend I don’t exist in your world,” she says, tears gathering along her waterline. “You know… you keep telling me that this… whatever thing, is going to hurt me… That all you’re trying to do is keep me from being hurt, but the only person doing that is you.”

Isaac is at a lost for words. Watching her cry, because of him.

Her, the girl who’s mom was his mom’s best friend.

The girl who asked her mum to pack extra lunch for him in kindergarten. The girl who left her window open, so he could climb through if he ever needed to escape for a small bit. The girl held his hand at his mother’s funeral. The girl who held his hand at his brother’s funeral. The girl who stormed into the sheriff’s station and was willing to lie, just so he would no longer be a suspect on his father’s murder case.

He hurt her.

“Y/n…” He whispers, feeling defeated because he knew there was nothing he could say, not without putting her harms way or making the situation even worse than it already was.

“Your friends are waiting for you, Isaac,” Y/n responds, emotionless, wiping away her tears as she gestured towards the blonde girl and the bulky guy standing at the end of the hallway. “Just go.”

Before he can turn around, Y/n is the first to walk away, leaving Isaac fully and completely broken inside.

‘Meet me at the pool. I’ll tell you everything.’

Y/n was in the middle of trying to figure out what the hell her English homework was about, when her phone went off and she saw this text from Isaac’s number.

She had just finished sobbing in her bed, and tried to do something to distract her, but once she read his text, she did not hesitate to grab her mother’s car keys and head straight to their school.

The pool area in their school building was gloomy at night, which gave Y/n goosebumps as she walked through the entry doors to the indoor pool.

“Isaac?” She called, getting more and more nervous when there was no response.

“Isaac, are you here?”

She made a lap around the room, before giving up and deciding to head out, but just as she did a large creature came down from the ceiling and blocked her from leaving.

“Well, well, well…” Y/n quickly turns around to see a guy making slow steps towards her. He looked familiar, she definitely remembered walking past him a few times in between classes. “I’m glad to see you got my text.”

“Who are you?” Y/n shakily asks, afraid to make any sudden moves due to the unnaturally large reptile standing behind her.

“You don’t know me,” he begins, stopping once he was just a couple of steps away from Y/n. “But, boy, do I know you.”

“What do you want from me?” She questions, trying to speak calmly, but failing epic-ally. “I swear to god don’t know you… Why did you trick me into coming here?”

“It’s not what I want from you,” he explains. “In fact, I’ve got absolutely nothing against you, personally, but, you see… All I want is to see the Lahey’s suffer. To have them beg me to stop. I guess I could just stop now… Now that I’ve made sure Coach Lahey is dead… but, in my mind, as long as one of them lives, there’s a chance it might happen again… to someone else just like me.”

She is thinking now, trying to figure what it is he is referring to and why he had such a grudge against the Laheys. Sure, she knew Camden and his father weren’t very great people, but what did they do to him that made him like this?

She is watching him stare off into space for a moment. She studies the way, in which he is avoiding looking at the pools. He is fully clothed, and he seems to be leaning towards the opposite direction of the water, ever so slightly.

Now she has an idea as to what it is that caused this, but before she can speak, he beats her to it.

“But, I tell you, it is so hard to catch that boyfriend of yours, now that he has a pack. So, I thought to myself, the only way to get my hands on him is to make him vulnerable. And, after weeks of watching him, I now know that you’re his only weakness. So, I wish I could say I hate doing this, but, hey, it’s what must be done.”

“No, plea-”

Before she can reach out to the boy, and try and talk some sense into him, she is tossed into the diving pool by the creatures tail. Her eyes are open as she sinks in the water, and she tries as hard as she can to move, but she is paralysed. Whatever it was that came off of the creature’s tail kept from moving.

Her eyes, then, close.

“I don’t know if this’ll work, guys.”

Erica rolls her eyes, and hands him the basket of flowers, chocolates and more chocolate, while Boyd keeps an eye out just in case someone in the neighbourhood was watching them, contemplating calling 911.

“Helping people is out of character for me,” Erica says, straightening Isaac’s tie and fixing his hair. “So, just be grateful I made the basket and that Y/n is one of the only people I don’t have anything against.”

Isaac ignores her, his mind more set on getting Y/n back than anything else. She always kept her window open for him, not only for the nights he needed to escape from his home for a little while, but she had done so recently in case he ever came back.

He felt like a real asshole for blatantly ignoring her. She kept his window open, sent him good morning, good night texts, and even made an extra copy of her notes for the classes he missed due to werewolf business.

'I’ll win her back,’ he thought to himself. 'I’ll tell her everything and never do anything like this again. I’ll get her back.’

He pushes her window open, feels the beating of his heart speed up at the thought of surprising her, and finally being on good terms with her, which fades when he sees her empty bed, sheets of paper still scattered on the top of it.

“What the hell,” he whispers to himself, which Erica and Boyd hear clearly, making them keep a close eye on the open window, worried about what was going on in the teenage girl’s room.

Isaac is staring at her room, feeling lost for a moment, that is, until his eyes land on her cell phone, half buried beneath her pillow.

Without thinking too much about it, he grabs her phone and unlocks it. He knew Y/n nearly as well as she knew herself, so figuring out her password was anything but a brain teaser.

'Meet me at the pool. I’ll tell you everything.’

He would’ve shrugged it off, assumed the message was sent from a classmate or a teammate from her swim team, but it wasn’t.

It was sent from his number, but Isaac was not the one who sent it.

So, once again, without thinking too much about it, he raced out of Y/n’s room and headed towards their school as fast as feet could take him, Eric and Boyd not too far behind him.

“Y/n,” he called, pacing around the pool.

It wasn’t until he began looking around that he found his cellphone, just a few steps away from the diving pool.

Erica and Boyd busted through the door, following Isaac as he walked slowly around the pools, arms out as though he felt like something was going to jump out.

“Y/n?” He called once again, sighing when there was no response.

He walked further on, past the diving pool, until he heard Erica gasp and both her’s and Boyd’s footsteps stop abruptly. They were staring into the diving pool, expressions as though they had seen a ghost, prompting Isaac to quickly see what the fuss was about.

“No,” he whispered underneath his breath.

It wasn’t clear as to what it was at the bottom of the pool, at least not clear enough to be certain it was a body, but Erica and Boyd could smell the scent hidden beneath the chlorine, the scent Isaac was too distracted to catch.

They all knew it well.

“I’ll jump,” Boyd insisted, knowing true and well that Isaac was in too much of a state of emotional vulnerability to be able to retrieve the body at the bottom of the pool.

Isaac nodded, as Boyd dived into the pool. Erica placed one hand on his shoulder as they waited for Boyd to come back up. When he did, Isaac collapsed, pulling the body of his- now deceased- best friend closer to him.

“No… no, it can’t be,” he mumbled hopelessly, holding onto Y/n’s body as though she had any chance coming back to life.

She did not.

It would be useless to describe all the pain and anger Isaac is feeling in the moment he realised Y/n was dead. But it should, most definitely, be noted just how much of his world vanished along with Y/n.

There would be no more of her.

Her, the girl who’s mom was his mom’s best friend.

The girl who asked her mum to pack extra lunch for him in kindergarten. The girl who left her window open, so he could climb through if he ever needed to escape for a small bit. The girl held his hand at his mother’s funeral. The girl who held his hand at his brother’s funeral. The girl who stormed into the sheriff’s station and was willing to lie, just so he would no longer be a suspect on his father’s murder case.

Her body was there, in his arms, but she was long gone. To say that Isaac was heartbroken would be far beyond an understatement.

He was a spectrum of every terrible emotion one could think of. Angry that he didn’t climb through her window to apologise earlier, because, maybe she would still be there if he had. Frustrated that anyone would commit such a terrible crime upon someone like Y/n. But, most of all, lost, for he did not just loose a best friend.

He lost a soul mate.

Let the record show just how lucky we all are to be anyone but Isaac Lahey in this very moment.

[bibliosexxual]

the valentine’s day showdown

Alternately titled: “A Mistake of Epic Proportions (With a Happy Ending)”

Sterek high school Valentine’s Day AU, a little over 4k words, rated T. :)   

So Stiles and Erica have this competitive flirting/wooing thing going. This totally-mutually-agreed-upon-to-be-platonic competitive flirting/wooing thing. Every Valentine’s Day Eve, Erica gets him good, and every Valentine’s Day, Stiles gets her back, thoroughly.

It started out pretty tame back in middle school, but with every passing year it's gotten gradually more explicit and cheesy as they try to out-embarrass each other. It's kind of like gay chicken, except hetero and strictly no-touching, and without any of the UST...

Okay, so maybe it's not that much like gay chicken, but it's definitely something. Something Stiles always relishes.

He's pretty sure he and Erica have a better time every Valentine's Day than a lot of the actual couples at their school.

It probably only works as well as it does because he and Erica have known each other since they were little kids, so they've grown up pranking and teasing each other at every opportunity and seeing each other in a bunch of decidedly unsexy moments. Like that time they were kicking around a soccer ball in Erica’s backyard and Stiles face-planted in the mud and chipped a tooth. Or that memorable afternoon when Erica's pyromaniac phase after watching Avatar: The Last Airbender culminated in her accidentally setting her hair on fire. (She had to get a buzz cut shorter than Stiles'.)

It also works out pretty well because at this point they really have no boundaries and no shame.

Oh, and because Erica is very, very gay.

(Stiles, meanwhile, is bi. However, he's never even for a moment thought of Erica romantically, which is fortunate because he's pretty sure that would be extremely awkward, not to mention unreciprocated.)

They got the idea for the competition around the hundredth time someone around town asked them, in all seriousness, if they were dating and when the wedding was going to be. (They were thirteen years old. Thirteen. Stiles wasn't thinking about romance at all at thirteen. He was thinking about Star Wars, and curly fries, and whether his and Scott's latest unintentionally disastrous science experiment was going to get them grounded and, if so, how to get out of it.)

He and Erica still get asked if they're dating on a regular basis, by the way, even though Erica has been very publicly out ever since she kissed Heather on the playground back in elementary school.

In short, the temptation to play off people's heteronormative assumptions is overwhelming.

This year, Stiles opens his locker the morning of February 13th with absolute wariness. It's a good instinct to have, because when he does, a cloud of pink and red glitter explodes outward all over him as a singing card buried deep within his locker starts belting out "Careless Whisper" by George Michael. All down the hallway, everyone bursts into mingled laughing and clapping and cheering.

Covered head-to-sneakers in glitter and probably being recorded by several phones, Stiles turns to face his audience and grandly takes a bow.

Mentally, he promises Erica that he's going to get her back so hard for this tomorrow.

That's not the end of it, though. Of course not.

He opens his pencil case in Econ and a generous handful of XXL condoms spills out all over his desk. There's a chorus of whoops and wolf-whistles from around the room, and Stiles is never, ever going to be able to look any of these people in the eye again.

He goes out to his Jeep that afternoon to find it practically buried under red streamers and balloons and heart-shaped graffiti in pink paint. It's completely garish, and if Stiles were actually dating someone who pulled something like this, he'd probably be scrambling for a restraining order.

Stiles loves it.

After Stiles cleans off the windshield (gathering a bit of an audience of curious students in the process), he heads straight to the Hallmark aisle of the drugstore, where he spends close to half an hour reading every single Valentine's card in stock. Let it never be said that Stiles is not thorough.

The one he settles on is museum-worthy levels of terrible, in Stiles' opinion.

"You've been on my mind a lot lately," the outside reads, innocent enough. The inside finishes, "And you wouldn't believe what you've been doing up there. ;)"

Stiles buys it on the spot.

Back at his house, he puts on some Stevie Wonder and smooth jazz for inspiration and gets down to work, filling in practically every blank space in the card with flower doodles and cartoon hearts and the kind of lurid, overflowing love letter that would make poets weep.

(In horror, that is.)

He makes sure to mention the XXL condoms, too.

On the back, just under the card-maker's logo, he leaves a generous square of blank space, then goes back and fills it in with the pièce de résistance: huge bubble letters in pink highlighter that spell out: "PROM?"

At the bottom, he signs it in shaky cursive with, "Lots of <3 from your not-so-secret admirer, Stiles."

Then he texts Scott, Kira, Boyd, and Isaac: dudes, I will literally pay you if you serenade Erica tomorrow at lunch for me. I'll bring the boombox.

He specifies “at lunch” because he figures that's when there'll be the biggest audience. Public humiliation, or at least public lighthearted embarrassment, is after all a cornerstone of this tradition.

Extra money if you dress up as cupids, he adds on impulse. Extra EXTRA money if your costumes are so ugly/cheesy that people can barely stand to look at you with a straight face.

There's a bit of haggling, but it turns out all of them except Boyd can be bought. (Boyd was a long shot anyway, but he had to try. That would have been comedy gold.)

As for the song, Stiles picks Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On."

What can he say, he likes the classics.

Okay, so he was sorely tempted to choose Boyz 2 Men's "I'll Make Love to You," which in his opinion is one of the most cringeworthy love songs ever recorded in the history of time and therefore perfect for this, but he didn't want to run the risk of any teachers cutting his singing troupe off mid-serenade for inappropriate lyrics. Erica isn't going to get out of this that easily.

So Marvin Gaye it is.

No rehearsal necessary, he makes sure to specify. The more off-key the better!

You're so weird, Isaac texts back.

Stiles elects to take it as a compliment.

*

Valentine's Day dawns bright and full of promise. Stiles gets to school a whole thirty minutes early (it's a personal best), hands off the boombox to an amused Kira, and then heads straight for Erica's locker.

The thing is, Stiles knows in general where Erica's locker is: down the hall from Mr. Harris' classroom on the second floor. But he always relies on the "Save the Wolves" magnet on the locker to the left of Erica's to guide him to the exact spot, and today that magnet is gone. Probably stolen. Or maybe Erica temporarily stole it to throw him off his game? If so, it's definitely working. Erica's locker is lost in a sea of bland sameness. He knows it's somewhere towards the middle of the row, but... Crap.

Stiles closes his eyes. Think.

The number was definitely in the late teens; Stiles would bet his Jeep on it. He thinks a little more. He's getting an 8 kind of vibe from his subconscious. Boom. 118. Yeah. 118 it is. Totally. Crisis averted.

He shoves the card through the vent in the locker and heads off to his first period class, whistling.

*

Stiles waits and waits through one class after another for Erica to text him about the card. There's nothing. Either she hasn't been by her locker yet or she's been rendered speechless by the card's sheer perfection. That would be a historic moment. Usually Stiles hears about it at length the instant a prank goes off. Stiles is getting kind of antsy, to be honest.

Stiles means to tease her about it in Chem, which they have together right before lunch (and, his brain adds gleefully, right before the serenade). Before he's even fully sat down, though, and definitely before he's had time to say anything, she's smirking at him and saying, "What, did my public displays of affection yesterday leave you speechless? I thought for sure you'd retaliate."

"Uh, but I did." That's about when the foreboding really kicks in. "Haven't you been by your locker today?"

"Yeah, several times. Nothing amiss," Erica says, with apparent total sincerity. “I was kind of disappointed in you, to be honest.”

"But..."

There's a panicked moment of silence just as Harris is starting class, and then Stiles hisses, "What is your locker number?"

Erica says, "117," and Stiles feels all the blood in his body turn to ice in an instant. Oh god.

"Who the fuck has 118, then?"

Instead of answering, Erica doubles up laughing so obnoxiously that Harris kicks her out of class.

Not good.

***

“I swear people get ten times more predatory than usual on Valentine’s Day,” Derek mutters to Cora as they near a group of freshmen girls in the hallway.

A hush falls over the group, and every single head turns in their direction. Most of them seem to be watching Derek, but he suspects a few of them are eyeing Cora, too. They’re like piranhas, Derek thinks uncharitably.

“Tell me about it,” Cora agrees. She shoots a withering glare at the freshmen, and they hastily scatter and regroup and move away as a pack down the hallway. “It makes me just want to punch something, you know?”

Cora is the only person Derek knows who hates Valentine’s Day as much as Derek does. (She subtly protests it every year by wearing her PIZZA IS MY VALENTINE t-shirt.) But they hate it for admittedly very different reasons.

Derek hates it primarily because it stirs up all his usually-repressed hopeless romantic feelings. Especially his hopeless romantic feelings about Stiles. That’s inevitably a bad idea.

Every single year, Derek gets assigned the locker next to Erica Reyes’. That means that practically every day of Derek’s high school life, he’s had to endure watching his crush hang around in Derek’s general vicinity while completely failing to notice Derek’s existence. It stings. Derek gets asked out all the time, so he knows it’s not like there’s something inherently uninteresting or unappealing about him, but it doesn’t do any good when the one person he wants to be asked by just... doesn’t care.

Derek has mostly accepted that Stiles isn’t into him, or at least he’s trying very hard to accept it, but every Valentine’s Day he can’t help the little flutter of hope that follows him around all day until it’s inevitably crushed for another year. Fuck any holiday that makes him feel like that.

Cora, on the other hand, does not have a Stiles of her own, at least not that Derek knows of. She hates Valentine’s Day for the simple reason that she’s exasperated by everything to do with romance. She can’t even watch people kissing in movies without rolling her eyes and making barfing noises.

(Her favorite holiday is Halloween because it’s “the least touchy-feely” and it centers around scaring the bejeezus out of the neighborhood kids.)

They stop off at Derek’s locker, and Derek sighs because someone has stolen his magnet again. The people at this school have no boundaries.

Speaking of no boundaries... There's an unmarked red envelope sitting atop his pile of textbooks when he finally jimmies his locker open. Did someone break into his locker? Do people not understand the concept of locks existing on lockers to keep people out?

“Ooh,” Cora says, filled with apparent schadenfreude. “Looks like somebody got a valentine.”

“Shut up,” Derek grumbles, tearing it open. A shimmery cloud of pink and gold glitter falls out of the envelope and all over his hands. Great. He yanks the card out, ignoring Cora’s amused snort.

It’s a Hallmark card. Derek reads aloud incredulously, “You've been on my mind a lot lately, and you wouldn't believe what you've been doing up there… winky face.”

Behind him, Cora laughs so hard it sounds like she’s in danger of spraining something. “Oh my god,” she wheezes, “that’s so awful.”

Derek skims the rest of the card. It’s covered from top to bottom in tiny scrawl bordered by meticulously hand-drawn hearts and roses, and on the back the word “PROM?” stretches boldly across the page in an eyesore of vivid pink.

It’s signed… it’s signed from Stiles, holy shit.

“Stiles? Who is Stiles?” Cora asks, hooking her chin over his shoulder. “Is that a girl or a boy?”

“Boy. I thought maybe you would know him. He’s in your grade.”

“Nope. How do you know him?”

“I don’t,” Derek answers absently, because now he’s actually gone back and started reading what Stiles wrote, and “holy shit” doesn’t even come close.

It’s kind of rambling. There’s a lot about the unparalleled beauty of Derek’s eyes and his “stunning physique” and how many years Stiles has longed to kiss him, which is kind of mindblowing considering that Derek has never so much as seen Stiles glance at him before. There’s also a flattering little limerick about Derek’s intellect and good humor to balance out the physical stuff. Under the part where Stiles asks him to prom, the note ends with a detailed list of all the places they could make out around school and—Derek blushes—then there’s a “P.S.” mentioning that Stiles will “bring the XXL condoms” if Derek will “bring the love.”

“Ew,” Cora says. “Whose dick are those condoms supposed to be for, anyway? Yours or his? No, wait, I don’t want to know. Please tell me he’s just making some kind of joke.”

“Probably,” Derek says. He finally manages to tear his eyes away and shut the card. “I mean, it’s probably some kind of pop culture reference. Stiles is always making pop culture references.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know him?”

Derek winces. “I, uh,” he fumbles. “I don’t? But I see him around a lot. I overhear him talking to Erica.” He opens the card again, just to confirm to himself that this really exists. It’s almost too over-the-top to believe.

Maybe that’s because it’s both a valentine and a prom invitation? Derek knows prom invites can be pretty elaborate sometimes. Still… “Do you think this is a prank? I mean, who writes this kind of stuff to someone they’ve never even talked to?”

Cora looks doubtful. “Why bother pranking someone you don’t even know? Half the fun is seeing your friend’s reaction to being pranked.”

That sounds reasonable enough. There’s no reason for Stiles to target him specifically for this kind of prank, if it is a prank. Unless, that is, he’s somehow found out about Derek’s crush. But Derek can’t see how he would. Derek’s been careful. He hasn’t told anybody about it or written anything down. He’s just pondered it in private. Extensively.

“Besides,” Cora goes on, “if it is a prank, then it’s a little mean, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” If it is a prank, Derek is probably going to spend all weekend in bed, morosely eating peanut butter cups and rewatching the entire Star Wars series, even the prequels, from within a blanket burrito.

If it’s not a prank, though…

As a declaration, it’s definitely more than a little weird, but he’ll take it. Fuck, some of the things Stiles says about him, and says to him, in this letter… It’s so outrageous it almost comes back around to charming. It’s like Stiles is flirting with him through the words.

The more Derek thinks about it, the more sense it makes. As far as Derek has seen, Stiles is playful and never does anything by half measures. This note just represents the kind of person Stiles is—attentive to detail, funny, sweet, unique, creative, the kind of guy who goes all out for someone he likes…

Maybe someone else would be turned off by a card like this, but it just makes Derek like him that much more. Most people, in Derek’s experience, would never have the guts to do something like this to ask Derek out. They’d never take the risk. They’d never try to make Derek blush or laugh like this.

The bell for first period rings, interrupting his thoughts. Cora shoulders her bag and says, “Gotta go, but tell me how this works out. I’m intrigued now.”

“Okay,” Derek says, and focuses on carefully stowing away Stiles’ card in his homework folder so it won’t get bent before he heads off to Spanish class.

***

So Locker 118 is Derek.

And not Derek Greenberg, either. That might’ve been survivable. Derek Greenberg is the lacrosse team waterboy as well as one of the stupidest and most irritating, but also least threatening, people Stiles has ever met. Stiles could probably just stride up to him, snatch the card right out of his slack, sweaty grip, and walk off with his head still attached to his body, no sweat.

But nooo, it had to go and be Derek Hale’s locker.

Derek Hale as in, one of the gorgeous yet aloof Hale siblings who all give off practically identical back-off-or-I’ll-eat-you vibes.

In the past, Stiles has adopted an avoidance strategy with the Hales, and it’s worked out pretty well for him; his high school experience so far has been happily free of any maiming or marring or good old-fashioned terror. That’s all going to end today. The worst part is that Stiles has no one but himself to blame.

Stiles can’t even fully appreciate the gloriousness of Erica’s serenade at lunch, or the fact that the cafeteria ladies have scattered handfuls of Valentine’s candy over the lunchroom tables in an attempt to be festive. He’s too busy scouring his brain for every shred of knowledge he has about the Hales and about Derek in particular.

It’s not much.

He knows Derek is on the lacrosse team, and by lacrosse standards (which Stiles knows very little about), he’s really good.

He’s pretty sure Derek is a senior.

He knows Derek is a whole other level of attractive and owns a lot of leather jackets.

He’s seen him and his sisters driving around in a black Camaro that looks like it would be a better fit in an action hero movie than in a high school parking lot.

And according to Erica, Derek has a bit of a reputation for turning down every girl who asks him out, but that doesn’t stop them from trying. In fact, in a bizarre twist of logic, it seems to encourage them to keep trying.

That’s about where Stiles’ knowledge runs out. He doesn’t know, for example, if Derek is into guys. That suddenly seems like a very important thing to find out. Giving a horrendous romantic declaration—a horrendous, signed romantic declaration—to one of the scariest-looking people at Beacon Hills High is bad enough; Stiles is willing to bet it’ll be even worse if it turns out he’s given it to a straight guy.

*

Stiles doesn't manage to catch up to Derek. Instead, Derek catches up to him.

It happens like this: Stiles is headed to his Jeep after a truly harrowing day of quietly freaking out when Derek suddenly appears in front of him from between two cars and corners him against his Jeep. It's pretty terrifying.

"Derek!" Stiles squeaks, flailing and whacking his hand on the side mirror of his Jeep. It's not his most dignified moment.

Derek takes a step closer, looming right up into Stiles' space, and softly (dangerously softly, Stiles thinks) says, "Hey, Stiles. I got your card. Happy Valentine's Day to you, too."

Stiles whimpers.

He'd kind of been hoping that if he didn't manage to get the card back from Derek, then Derek at least wouldn't know who "Stiles" was and wouldn't be curious enough to find out. A lot of people don't know who Stiles is. It's great. But of course Stiles isn't that lucky.

Derek is actually smiling now, which is a facial expression Stiles didn't know Derek was even capable of. It's admittedly a small smile, but it's there. He smiles at Stiles and says, "My answer is yes."

"Your answer... to..."

"Prom?" Derek prompts, raising an expectant eyebrow. "My answer is yes. I'll go with you." He ducks his head, then glances up at Stiles through his eyelashes almost shyly, which is the weirdest thing yet. "You know, I thought your card was really bold and creative..."

As Derek talks, Stiles tries to subtly glance around to see if he's being punk'd, but he can't see any cameras or even any onlookers anywhere. There's just the occasional student hurrying past while shooting them a confused look—probably wondering why Derek Hale, Lacrosse God and Gorgeous Human Being, is talking to some nerd nobody.

As far as Stiles can tell, Derek is serious.

Which doesn't explain anything, really. Why the hell would Derek say yes? That's, like, social suicide.

"Okay, look," Stiles interrupts, "I think you might've gotten the wrong idea here. I wasn't actually, you know, um..."

He expects Derek to look relieved, maybe. Instead, Derek's face goes startlingly blank, and his whole body visibly tenses up. He suddenly looks a lot more like the familiar, menacing version of Derek that Stiles sees in the hallways, complete with the signature Derek Hale Death Glare(TM). Crap.

"It was a prank, then," Derek says flatly.

"Yes!" Stiles says, glad Derek gets it. "It was a prank. But not for you. For my friend Erica. I made a slight mistake. She has the locker next to yours? Blonde hair, brown eyes, wears a lot of corsets and lipstick—"

"I know who Erica is," Derek snaps.

"Oh. Okay. Cool. Very cool."

Derek turns away, scowling. "I should've known it was too good to be true," he mutters, so low Stiles barely catches it, and oh. Wait. What?

"You wanted it to be from me to you?" Stiles blurts, incredulous. "You wanted me to say all that creepy stuff and ask you to prom? Seriously?"

Derek doesn't say anything, but his jaw clenches and his Death Glare(TM), which is currently aimed at the asphalt by Stiles' feet, intensifies.

"But—but why?"

Derek rolls his eyes with his entire head. It's pretty impressively sassy. "Why do you think?"

"Wait." Stiles holds up a hand, trying extremely hard not to burst into shocked, inappropriate laughter. He feels like that wouldn't go over too well. "You're saying you—you, Derek Hale—have a crush on me."

Derek hunches his shoulders. "Why are you acting like that's so funny?"

"How about, because people like you don't get crushes on people like me."

"Says who?"

"Uh, the laws of the universe? The laws of society? The laws of the high school pecking order? Take your pick."

"That's stupid."

"Did you even know my name before today?"

"Yes," Derek says.

"Oh."

Derek looks uncertain, and maybe a little hurt. "Did you... did you not know my name?"

That's the moment it really sinks in. Derek likes him. Derek has feelings for him. Derek Hale like-likes Stiles Stilinski and wants to take him to prom. And, against all odds, it actually matters to Derek whether Stiles of all people knew who he was.

Wow.

This has never happened to Stiles before.

"Of course I knew who you were," Stiles says, and Derek's shoulders relax minutely.

"Oh," he says. "Okay."

They just look at each other for a minute then. It's kind of awkward but also kind of... not, somehow. Stiles has never really looked at Derek up close before. He has beautiful hazel-green-blue eyes and beautiful cheekbones and beautiful everything, really, but he also has kind of cutely small stick-out ears and a cowlick and kind of adorably buckish front teeth, and he's blushing harder than Stiles has ever seen outside of cartoons. He's gripping the straps of his backpack so hard it looks painful, like it might be cutting off the circulation to his fingers. He looks nervous, and unsure, and out of nowhere Stiles gets hit with a wave of... something. Tentative affection, maybe. Derek suddenly doesn't seem so unapproachable.

"Do you want to go on a date with me?" Stiles blurts.

Derek eyes him warily. "I thought this was all just a prank for Erica?"

"Well, yeah, it was, but... Listen, I don't know you that well, but I'd like to try. I mean, I'm game if you are." And he's pretty sure Derek is.

"When would this date be?"

"Well," Stiles grins, "are you doing anything right now? It is Valentine's Day. Perfect time for a date. I know for a fact the diner has a special on strawberry milkshakes."

"That sounds good," Derek says cautiously. He relaxes his grip on the straps of his backpack. He smiles.

Something fluttery starts up in Stiles' stomach at the sight, and, well. That's new. "Okay, then. Let's go."

"One thing first," Derek says, stopping him with a hand on his chest. "I think we need to clarify a certain claim you made in your letter."

Oh no.

Derek grins evilly. "Do you really need to wear XXL-sized condoms?"

"Oh god."

"Because I'm going to be very disappointed if that part wasn't true, Stiles."

Stiles groans and hides his face in his hands. Derek is never going to let him live that down, Stiles can already tell.

*

The day after Valentine's Day, Derek's wolf magnet mysteriously reappears on his locker.

(end)

[smilesandstarlight]

SR: 1x6 Stage Left for Two

"Kaoruko fails to make the cut during class auditions and lashes out in indignation. Having earned a spot on stage, Futaba's patience with Kaoruko reaches a boiling point."

Omgah - this is the tea I’m here for! Futaba coming into her own? Yaaaas I do hope they're still friends though.

More art - yes! :D

I think it's very interesting that they do a different beginning scene for each ep.

Their voices are so cute.

All these children are so adorable!! :3 I'm def getting gym leader Erica vibes :D

Oooh harsh. Also, wow what a baby tantrum.

Wow, 'Just give me yours" again.

Team purple eyes!

LOL "Why don't you go be with Claudine instead?" "Yeah, I'll do that!" Claudine:...what about me, guys? I'm with Maya. rofl

Ah, Maya's sipping tea again :D

Claudine is being a good sport, letting Futaba stay.

Stop crying, Karen.

Oh, Karen's leaning on Mahiru instead of Hikari.

They've been through so much together...don't let your friendship end because of one audition!! Yaaaaay Futaba's here!

Man, the giraffe has long eyelashes.

“I will dash.” Yes, you dash, Futaba!

I will make you follow me till the very end?! What is she smoking? Her head is bigger than Maya's. So entitled!

You wouldn't be comfortable with someone doing all of that for you, Futaba. It's all nice to say, but you wouldn't like it if Kaoruko did all that for you. You like to be the one to take care of people. You just want a little appreciation instead of being taken for granted.

Revue of Promise (this would've worked for Hikari and Karen's promise too)

"These auditions have become increasingly personal (well, gee I wonder why - you are picking the girls with beef to pit against each other)...I understand." XD This catchphrase has become increasingly funny to me lololol

Kaoruko def needs an attitude adjustment.

"I trained till my fingers bled." #dedication

"You made me a promise didn't you?... I want to be the one closest to you so we can see that shine together." D'awww :')

"I will make another flower shine." Yaaaaas, it's not all about you, cupcake. ;) Relationships are about lifting one another up, not just a one way street.

Hahahahaha Futaba's response when seeing Kaoruko ready to go. XD I'm so proud of you, grasshopper.

[nightmareonfilmstreet]

Mother Knows Best: The 13 Worst Mothers of Horror

The horror genre has explored a variety of themes, and often times the complexities, mothers face from conception through death. It’s an analytically heavy topic that can provoke the most fundamental of thoughts, draw out the most genius symbolism, and shape our beloved characters down to even the most minute detail.

Mothers’ Day is the one day out of the year we use as a time to celebrate the most wonderful of idols we have been given. If not for the nurturing care, strong, fertile bodies, and ongoing evolution of women all over the world humankind would cease to exist. The colorful flowers, corny cards, and midday brunches are our attempts at offering a ‘Thank You’ to the ones who raised us, biologically or not, as we’ll do this Sunday, the 13th.

With that, what the horror genre has done so obviously well is show audiences that motherhood might not be as rewarding as it’s cracked up to be. Sometimes motherhood is scary. Sometimes motherhood is not about laser-cut flower petals, warm hugs, and relaxing pedicures. Sometimes motherhood is a bitch. Horror shows us that the most horrifying realization we can come to terms with is that the ones who bring us into this world can easily take us out of it.

Below are the 13 Worst Mothers of Horror. Directly or not, these women prove that parenthood can be a real mother-you-know-what and they’re not here to deal with it.

  Margaret White in Carrie (1976)

    Our titular character, Carrie White, is a shy, quiet, high school oddball who is constantly the victim of her classmates’ taunts and pranks in the novel Carrie written by Stephen King and the film adaptation directed by Brian De Palma. Instead of finding solace when she returns home from school each day she is faced with the Christian-saturated hellfire at the hands of her crazed mother, Margaret White. A mother, especially a godly mother, should use moral and powerful guidance to build Carrie up, but instead she wields that iron fist – clutching a kitchen knife – and spirituality as a device to literally drive her only daughter straight into the ground. Whether she is locking Carrie in a prayer closet for hours or purposely keeping the truths about a normal menstrual cycle from her, Margaret White is the epitome of a hypocritical, overly religious, and everything but Christian mother. Always watch out for the extreme ‘bible thumpers’. I know what I’m talking about, I live in the south.

    Mommy in The People Under the Stairs (1991)

    One of my earliest memories of horror film imagery is straight out of Wes Craven’s campy The People Under the Stairs and it’s one of those snapshots that will never leave my mind. Alice is a young girl kept as a prisoner in her home by her hedonistic parents promptly named Daddy and Mommy. After Mommy, played by fan favorite character actress Wendy Robie, murders an intruder, Alice, clean and nicely dressed, slips and falls in an enormous puddle of his blood at the bottom of the stairs. It’s just one of those scenes that fueled my love for the genre. The contrast of the gore and the beautiful home surroundings is absolutely perfect. Mommy is equally unforgettable as both a character and a portrayal of some real parental evil that exists in the world. Alice, along with many other ‘children’, are isolated from the outside world, physically (and suggestively sexually) abused, and either neglected to the point of death or smothered, well, to the point of death. If Mommy isn’t scary enough for you, check out the documentary The Turpin 13: Family Secrets Exposed for a real, all too recent example of how a mother, and father, like this can torture their children for well over a decade without anyone knowing. The scariest part: this film was released in 1991, the Turpin children were found just this year.

    Rachel Keller in The Ring (2002)

    You know those silly ‘Keep Out of Reach of Children’ disclaimers you see on common, but obviously dangerous, household items? Someone, somewhere was stupid enough to leave a bottle of bleach out on the floor in easy access for their toddler to take that one fatal sip. Rachel Keller of Gore Verbiniski’s The Ring is that mom. After the incredibly strange death of her niece, Rachel comes into possession of a videotape haunted by the spirit of a little girl, Samara, that murders the viewer seven days after watching it. Rachel, of course, watches it and receives the foreboding call from Samara giving her the countdown. Does she destroy the tape or even make an attempt at it? No. Does she hide the tape from her young, curious son, Aiden? No. Does she at least rid the house of all VHS players and leave him to endure cable over dying a horrible death? No. What she does is casually leave the tape out allowing the precocious boy to view it alone dooming him to the same terrifying fate of all of Samara’s victims. Rachel attempts to put all the pieces together to rid her and her son of this curse, but do you think she would ask Aiden, who obviously has a sixth sense when it comes to Samara, a single question as to the girl’s vengeful motive? You guessed it. Nope. Way to go, Rachel.

  Mother in Mother’s Day (1980)

    Acts of murder, rape, and physical abuse should not be impressive to anyone, least of all your mother unless you are Ike or Addley of the cult classic, occasion-appropriate titled Mother’s Day. Mother played by Beatrice Pons, pretty much changes the entire trajectory of motherhood in this extremely campy 1980 film. She encourages her two sons to commit heinous acts against others with the same gusto and enthusiasm as a mom cheering her son on during a little league baseball game. Ike and Addley are basically human trash she has raised into adulthood and the worst part is that she is proud of her unique parenting skills and her sons. The more brutal their acts are, the higher the praise she gives them. Mother certainly has her own twisted spin on the whole positive reinforcement technique. There is absolutely nothing redeeming about this mother nor her revolting offspring. Although, I can’t help but wonder what B.F. Skinner’s thoughts would be on this type of parenting. Operant Conditioning at its best, right?

    Nola Carveth in The Brood (1979)

    One of the bitter pills we must digest as we age is that in ways obvious and subtle, we slowly become our parents. There is always a certain vicious circle that evolves when it comes to our parents, ourselves as parents, our children, them as parents, and so on that is natural and basically unstoppable. In David Cronenberg‘s body horror The Brood, Nola Carveth, played by Samantha Egger, learns just how truly vicious that circle can be. Nola is the product of an abusive mother herself and is being accused of abusing her own daughter, Candice, by her ex-husband causing her to seek therapy. The psychoplasmic methods (and possibly the unexplained discolored bumps she has growing on her arms) produce a handful of strange, dwarfish, creatures that extract revenge out on others based on Nola’s anger and psychic connection the litter has with her. Of all the mothers on the list, Nola isn’t exactly the worst as her story is really a metaphor for hereditary productivity, but we can’t let that be an excuse here. The creatures do attack Candice in the third act proving Nola has some resentment and animosity toward her daughter, proving her inner mentality as a mother is not exactly kosher. The inevitable circle spins on as we see Candice escape the attack fairly unscathed… except for some unusual discolored bumps on her arms.

    Erica Sayers in Black Swan (2010)

    If Dance Moms has taught us anything it’s that stage parents are the absolute worst. Living vicariously through your children is both selfish and utterly creepy. However, the subject of a stage parent is intriguing by an analytical standpoint and simultaneously horrifying to observe. Take Erica Sayers played by Barbara Hershey in Darren Aronofsky’s ballet horror Black Swan as an example. She is the mother to dedicated ballerina Nina, played fantastically by Natalie Portman, and she is about as manipulative and controlling as they come – if you can catch it. Mothers like Erica are masters at using words and seemingly kind gestures to guilt their children into loving them when they really should be running away from them. So much is suggested and hinted at in dialogue and setting to suggest Erica’s control over Nina and her domineering push forcing her to be obsessed with perfection, that if not payed attention to one might think Erica is caring and protective of Nina. The reality couldn’t be further from the truth. I mean, the way she rewards Nina with a cake knowing very well the girl won’t eat it and that she would shame her for it later if she did, then makes her feel guilty for not eating it, is enough to give anyone a bout of bulimia. Mothers like Erica appear perfect and act perfect, but that’s all it is: an act.

    Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest (1981)

    Speaking of horrible mothers in the entertainment industry…

One of my favorite notions to use is that real life is scarier than any film out there. Nothing could support that more than Joan Crawford and the exploitation of the abuse she inflicted on her two adoptive children throughout their whole lives. While Mommie Dearest is not exactly a horror film, the emotional and physical torment her children suffered under her is sadly the standard by which we measure bad mothers against. Faye Dunaway played the role so well she is almost synonymous with the notorious actress, minus the child abuse, and her image still comes to most of our minds when we think about terrible mothers. The woman was basically the queen of outrageous punishment for minor indiscretions that children tend to make. The accounts from those around her, including the hired help, co-workers, lovers, and her children, Christina and Christopher, are pure parental nightmare fuel. It’s hard to believe this is not a made-up genre story, but it did happen unfortunately, exaggerated or not. I still cringe at the thought of her cutting off Christina’s hair as a distrubing penance for a simple mistake. That wasn’t even the worst of it. Hair grows back. The mental psyche takes a bit longer to heal.  No wire hangers, kids.

    Marge Thompson in A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984)

    The mother of one of horror’s favorite final girls, Nancy Thompson, can be considered both a good mom and a bad mom depending on which one of her actions you’re observing. Marge, played by Ronee Blakely in Wes Craven’s A Nightmare on Elm Street, is part of the original cul-de-sac lynch mob of Elm Street that burn Fred Krueger alive after learning he is behind the series of child murders in town. While we understand the parents’ revenge on Krueger and would gladly light the wick on the molotov cocktail thrown into his warehouse, the nightmarish ongoing result of Krueger returning to murder the kids of Elm Street in their dreams for a number of films is more than likely not what the parents expected the outcome to be. Marge goes on to be a full blown alcoholic and mostly absent minded mother to Nancy. She continuously takes the easy way out by either ignoring the fact that this monster is hunting her daughter and her friends or she drinks reality away being of no help nor support. Our final girl has to maintain her gumption and find her own courage and strength from within to escape the razor-bladed grasp of Krueger all on her own while Marge remains in a pathetic liquor infused stupor. It’s almost a relief when she is pulled through that tiny front door window at the end of the film. Thanks for nothing, Marge! Saddle up for the long haul or leave it to the judicial system.

  Beverly Sutphin in Serial Mom (1994)

    Being a perfect homemaker in the suburbs can be absolute murder and that is exactly what Beverly Sutphin, played by Kathleen Turner, is driven to when those around her get in her way in the dark comedy Serial Mom. Though her bloodlust is born from good intentions (an instructor makes a rude comment about her son), Beverly goes on a spree murdering anyone one she deems as a threat or just a nuisance to her or her family. For the most part, I get it. I actually debated on including her in this list at all. Ultimately, I decided that while annoying, none of Beverly’s victims really deserved to die and her own family remarks, in the humorous way the film is crafted in, to remind themselves not to piss her off for fear of her going on a murderous rampage again. What good is a mother if everyone around her is afraid she’ll put an axe in their head? Beverly best take a chill pill, wash it down with a tumbler full of white wine, and come to terms with the fact that most of us have to deal with on a daily basis: you can’t go around murdering everyone that annoys you whenever you feel like it. That’s what Purge night is for.

    Norma Bates in Psycho (1960)

    Most times no matter how irritating or intrusive our mothers can be, deep down inside we love having them around us. Always. However, should you want your mother to stay with you as long as Norman Bates does you may want to seek some help. The famous slasher’s mother, Norma Bates, is a special case on this list as she never makes an actual living appearance in Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho. Her voice and actions are all manifested from her son Norman himself who, it is suggested and pretty obvious, is severely dependent on her in all aspects of life whether she is alive or deceased. Norma’s emotional antagonism and violence towards him and the women he encounters paints us a picture of how bad the woman must have been when she was alive, though that is always up for debate. Was she as awful as the voice coming from Norman is or is it something he’s made up himself? Regardless, the psychological haunting linger of Norma is enough to drive Norman into the most serious identity crisis resulting in murder and Norma completely taking over him, mind and body. Life lesson: Stay away from the mama’s boys. Believe me when I tell you: this specific relationship portrayal isn’t too far off from what those guys are truly like.

    MU-TH-UR 6000 in Alien (1979)

    Many would think the Alien Queen would be on this list, but I can hardly count her as a bad mom. If anything, the Queen is a great mom who uses all of her genetic instincts to grow and protect her young when a handful of human incubators make themselves available to her throughout the series. Natural selection is also a bitch.

The real bad mom here is the space ship Nostromo’s mainframe system MU-TH-UR 6000, referred to as ‘Mother‘. The crew relies on MU-TH-UR for information, protection, and most importantly, survival. It is one of many analytical elements in the Alien series that relates back to the theme of motherhood. However, while the crew sleeps and operates under the trusting care of MU-TH-UR, the system is monitoring them to relay details on their activity back to Weyland-Utani and is in cahoots with the highly untrustworthy AI, Ash, on carrying out Special Order 937: collect an alien xenomorph specimen and deliver it back to earth with the crew members being completely dispensable. It’s an unfortunate lesson the crew members learn, but don’t trust technology no matter how long it lets you sleep in its womb.

    Mother in Mother! (2017)

    If there is ever a film so overtly saturated in motherly symbolism, it’s Darren Aronofsky’s Mother! Jennifer Lawrence’s mother character is pure, wholesome, and nurturing. She is all of the things a mother, including that of ‘mother nature’ and ‘woman’ should be. However, when random intrusive guests begin showing up and inviting themselves in to wreak havoc on the beautiful home mother is creating for her narcissistic poet husband Him, and their unborn baby, mother remains so passive to the point that a full on world of war explodes tearing down the establishment from the inside out. She only puts her foot down and embraces her protective instincts when it is far too late for everyone. The fate of her baby is gruesomely tragic and results in mother literally destroying herself and her surroundings only to be born again anew in the name of love for Him. Like any strong mother archetype would destroy themselves for the weak man that betrayed her and caused the death of her firstborn? I think not. This is a pretty sad portrayal of actions not taken by a mother, a wife, and a woman. mother really should have destroyed Him. However, given the subtext of who and what these characters personify, we should be grateful that mother doesn’t really hold a grudge nor seek apocalyptic vengeance… yet.

    Rosemary in Rosemary’s Baby (1968)

    Similarly to mother, Rosemary Woodhouse of Roman Polanksi’s Rosemary’s Baby, adaptation of the novel written by Ira Levin, is another character you just want to grab by the shoulders and violently shake into sense. As beautiful, sweet, and delicate as Mia Farrow is in the iconic role of Rosemary, she is painfully dependent, weak, and totally naive. She is blindly trusting of her pushy neighbors and self absorbed actor husband, Guy (eye roll) all of which have made some deal with the devil and are part of the geriatric cult that worships him. Pregnant with her first child, unknowingly the antichrist, Rosemary falls ill many times, complains about threatening symptoms in her breathy voice, and takes advice from everyone but a trustworthy doctor who isn’t connected to the cult’s inner circle. Of course she isn’t aware of her husband’s involvement and the promises made to the underworld at her expense until it’s a trimester too late, but all of the suspicions and signs are there as plain as day for her to see. Thank goodness mothers and wives, women in general, have come a long way since the 60’s.

  So, kiss your mothers this Sunday and appreciate them for the wonderful women that they are, unless they are anything like the characters in this list because, well, they are the worst. If your mothers are anything like this lot, you might want to start running…

    The post Mother Knows Best: The 13 Worst Mothers of Horror appeared first on Nightmare on Film Street - Horror Movie Podcast, News and Reviews.

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[fashiontrendin-blog]

Why I Believe in the Power of a Good Curly Haircut

http://fashion-trendin.com/why-i-believe-in-the-power-of-a-good-curly-haircut/

Why I Believe in the Power of a Good Curly Haircut

Solange Franklin is a New York-based fashion editor and freelance stylist who knows the power of a good curly cut. “Once you have that, 90 percent of the hard work is done.” Below is everything you want to know about her hair, from routine to dream hairstyle (it involves flowers). And if you’ve caught the hair bug, not to be confused with a hairball, you can read about Sarah’s hair, Amelia’s hair, Erica’s hair, Nell’s hair, Shiona’s hair, Simone’s hair, Arabelle’s hair and Megan’s hair after that.

How often do you wash your hair and when?

Ideally once a week. Realistically, whenever I feel like it or my coils are on the verge of lockage.

What’s your hair approach in the shower? What products do you use?

I’d love to be loyal to specific brands but I’m lazily cycling through different options to see what’s really working for me. Right now:

1. Soak hair 2. Apply maybe ¼ bottle of Shea Moisture Coconut and Hibiscus Curl & Shine Conditioner 3. Depending on motivation level, separate hair into quarters or eighths 4. Comb each section, starting from the ends, with Ouidad double-tooth comb 5. Massage scalp 6. Rinse and re-apply dollop of conditioner as leave-in product

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What’s your daily routine and how long does it take? Do you do something different for special occasions?

I let the steam from the shower penetrate my hair because it loosens the curl enough that I can reshape and fluff my hair once I’m getting dressed. Maybe three times a week, I’ll put a dollop of conditioner in as a leave-in moisturizer for the ends.

A special occasion is the best motivation for the full comb-through routine, but otherwise I follow the daily: allow the hair to feel dew-covered, pull it to stretch and shape, then dash out the door.

How often do you get it cut?

Once a season.

Tell me about a standout hair-related memory.

I think I was eight when my mom told me I was going in for a trim and secretly told the hairdresser to chop it all off instead. She did the same thing to my older sister; I was naïve to think the household shaming would’ve preempted her from doing it again. She had short hair at the time and wanted us to be fuss-free, too. I’m still bitterly amused by her boldness.

Have you gone through a bunch of hair phases or had the same hair your whole life?

There was the unfortunate pageboy-ish chop. Following that, I vowed never to let anyone cut my hair again, which I think I stuck to until ninth grade. As an athlete, it was hard for me to maintain a cute hairstyle that I liked, so I pretty much always had a ponytail. I did love box braids with extensions. I had a perm, probably from ages 10 to 16, and I’m still in disbelief that I tried to wear a different hairstyle every day in middle school. I’d press it with a hot comb and sometimes set it with rollers but I never developed a talent for hair styling.

Then, at 16, a hairdresser who claimed to be Aaliyah’s stylist told me I didn’t need a perm. He said it would grow faster and I should never let someone give me a middle part. I was shook. And I’ve been natural since then. I kept pressing it until 2011, I think, when a visit to the salon left me with heat damage and my curl pattern was bizarre for so long I promised to never to straighten it again. Since then, I’ve been committed to curly hair.

When do you hate your hair?

Never. That’s not to say in the past I wasn’t utterly confused by it, or didn’t wish for a seemingly simpler answer to the question, “How do I get my best hair?” Once I embraced my hair and went through some trial and error, though, I just accepted that I didn’t need perfectly uniform curls or other ideas we’re sold to dislike ourselves. I do hate that there aren’t more products to accommodate my hair. (I’m down to be an angel investor for an Afro helmet company!)

When do you love it?

Every day. Thanks, Mom and Dad.

What’s the worst hair-related decision you’ve ever made?

For a swim team initiation in high school, the seniors raided the freshmen’s beauty cabinets to humiliate us with tacky glam and costumes. When they showed up at my house, I was sleeping in my older sister’s room instead of my own, so they put her hair product in my hair.

Her hair product happened to be dreadlock cream — my hair started to lock after a few hours. Long story short: I ended up having to cut my hair off again (and this time my mom wasn’t whispering in anyone’s ear). The unkind rumor mill at school churned out the false story that my hair had “fallen out” because of a chemical reaction between a perm and chlorine. It was very traumatic at the time.

Have you ever cut your hair yourself?

I know folks who do it to save money and to feel that they can control something in their lives, but I’ve just never had the confidence. I think it’s a good goal for me to learn how to do a basic trim, though. I get too busy to go to the salon and I don’t prioritize timely cuts!

Have you ever stopped a stranger with great hair and asked them what they did to it?

I was doing a pull at Kiki de Montparnasse in my early assisting day, and this drop-dead gorgeous girl had the most perfect, modern Afro. I shyly but firmly asked her for advice and she said, “You know what. Don’t judge, but this Italian man at Ion Studio really knows what he’s doing.” She wrote his name down on the back of a receipt and I immediately booked an appointment. I couldn’t afford the haircut but I happened to know one of the salon owner’s wives, a casting director, and she generously offered a discount. It was a turning point in my hair story because I realized the power of having a good curly cut. Once you have that, 90 percent of the hard work is done.

What does your hairdresser tell you to do that you routinely ignore?

“Rinse with cold water.” I refuse because I hate being cold.

What misconceptions do people have about your hair?

That it’s difficult to maintain. It annoys me when white people say it, but it breaks my heart when women of color say it. Everyone’s hair is different, but the assumption that it requires painstaking maintenance can be so tied up in internalized hatred that I always take the time to tell black women that a) it gets easier and b) I spent way more time agonizing over my hair to make it straight, or achieve so-called perfect curls. It’s one thing to have trepidation about change, but I hope the messaging we receive about our supposed difficult tresses does not motivate that fear.

Who has your favorite hair in the world and what’s your personal dream hair?

Minnie Riperton with baby’s breath is on my perennial mood board.

Photos by Edith Young. 

[marykenyon-blog]

Day 5

This morning felt like heaven because I got to sleep in until 9:30, but also not so good because we stayed out until 3 am. We ended up checking out a place called De Kroon which we had heard about before. When we got to the bar we were a little surprised by how many men there were. While we were ordering drinks we met two boys from California that are our age and traveling through Europe like we are. It was nice to meet some people that spoke fluent English. While we were talking to them we all started to get the vibe that it might have been a gay bar. Either that or European men are just very touchy with each other. The bouncer at the door had given us free passes to another club down the road so we thought we’d try that one out instead. They boys came with us. The second place, Escape, was much cooler than the first. There was a big dance floor and flashing lights and a live saxophone player and singer along with the music being played through the speakers. Luckily it wasn’t super crowded but some of the guys were strange. I’ve been noticing that Europe has sneaky ways of making money. Yesterday I mentioned being charged for a bag at the store and last night and today we had to pay 50 cents each to use the bathroom. Other than that the night was a success and we were glad we got to experience what Amsterdam is like at night.

Using the groceries we bought we made ourselves scrambles eggs and toast and then headed out the door for our bike tour. Mikes Bike tour was about 15 minutes from our place. The whole walk there we were commenting on how nice the weather was because the sun was out and it wasn’t rainy like London. Well, we jinxed it. Five minutes into the bike tour it not only started to pour, but we got pelted by hail. The guide stopped and called his coworker who brought us ponchos. The tour continued on. It was cool to experience getting around in Amsterdam like locals do. There are more bikes than cars and the guide told us that cars respect cyclists and will always yield to them. It’s crazy to me seeing some of the people biking with babies. One woman had a plastic milk crate tied to the front of her bike and just put her baby in that while she rode her bike. It seemed so dangerous to me but that’s just their way of life and what they are used to. We almost got hit by other bikers a couple times but we survived. The guide took us all around the city and showed us different areas and districts. Every so often we would stop and he would give us some information about what we had passed and where we were stopped. The group was about 10 people. I think that was an alright number. If it was any bigger it would have been too hard to get around. We definitely looked like a bunch of stupid tourist biking around in giant ponchos blowing in the wind but it kept us dry so I wasn’t complaining. One plus about doing the bike tour was that we got to see so much in the three hours and if we had tried to walk it would have taken forever.

That tour ended around 3 pm so we walked back to the area of our Airbnb and got lunch at the Old Bell which we had looked at before coming here this weekend. The menu was small for lunch but had options we were interested in so it was nice. Sadly, we didn’t sit outside because we were still damp from earlier and the wind was picking up but it was nice inside as well. We went back to the apartment to change and warm up before heading back out. We walked to the area of the I Amsterdam sign. It was literally crawling with people. There were people climbing on top of the letters and hanging off them. Some street performers decided to set up right in front of the sign which drew a crowd and we couldn’t get any pictures which was kinda frustrating but oh well.

One of the things we wanted to do the most was see the Anne Frank House so that was our next stop. The line was ridiculously long and we walked 35 minutes to get there but it’s something you can’t miss. While waiting in line we were outside of a ticket sales agency and we ended up buying fast track tickets for the Van Gogh Museum tomorrow and for something called the Ice Bar which is a bar that is -10 degrees Celsius and everything is made out of ice. The deals were really good and we figured we were already there so we may as well get the tickets in advance. Once we were inside the Anne Frank House we were given a device that you hold to your ear and plays audio for each room of the museum. The whole time I was there I kept having to remind myself that that’s actually where Anne and her family hid for two years. It’s not just some recreation. There are still pencil markings on the wall to show how much Anne and her sister Margot grew while in hiding. There were also pictures on the wall that Anne had put up. In one of her diary entries she talks about how plain the rooms were until she plastered the pictures on. She also wrote an entry about wanting to grow up and publish a book. She literally says she hopes her diary gets published and is called “The Secret Annex”. Crazy to think that it actually happed and she wasn’t able to be the one behind it.

During the walk back from the museum I kept trying to picture me and my family hiding for two years. They weren’t allowed to run the water or talk or walk about their hide out during certain times of the day because the neighbors might hear them. It’s such a terrible way to live but the alternative was even worse. I liked having the audio guide because you could move at your own pace and everyone was listening to their device so there wasn’t much chatter.

By the time we made it back to the apartment I thought my feet were going to fall off. We traveled over 12 miles in one day. Since we were all exhausted we just sat and relaxed for a while and then Erica started to make us dinner. She cooked barbeque chicken, rice, sautéed vegetables, and an amazing focaccia and herb bread. It felt good to eat a meal at home and not in a restaurant.

We had one more adventure after dinner and that was to the Red Light District. I don’t think I’ve ever had a more mind boggling experience than tonight. The streets are packed with people. I don’t even know how to explain the experience because it was so wild to me that this is what happens every night and that its legal. I was sad to see the girls in their windows trying to entice people to come in. It was also interesting to see some girl who just weren’t interested, they would be on their phones or just chatting with each other. We got to witness several men enter one of the rooms and the curtains be drawn. It’s something that I’m glad to have seen because it’s part of their culture and part of the Amsterdam experience but it also made me value myself so much more than I ever have.

Tomorrow we are going to the Kuekenhof flower gardens before we do the Van Gogh museum. It’s a little over an hour away so it’ll probably be another early morning for this girl. Hopefully there is no hail tomorrow but wait we’ll see. I’ve learned my lesson and I will now bring my umbrella everywhere, no matter the forecast.

[mebell01]

Project 5: Women’s Rights Campaigns Throughout History

Since the mid-nineteenth century, women in the United States have been fighting for their rights. From the right to citizenship, to the right to vote, to reproductive health and the fight for equal pay for equal work, women of various backgrounds have banded together to voice their opinions and demand fair treatment.

In the 1960s, a second wave of feminism began a new fight for the modern woman. The creation of The Commission of the Status of Women by President John F. Kennedy uncovered that the fight for equal rights was not over, and many women felt they were not treated equally and discriminated against in most areas of life, from the home to the workplace. In 1963, the book “The Feminine Mystique” was published by Betty Friedan. The book documented the various oppression middle-class women faced. It inspired many women to search for fulfillment outside of being a wife and a mother (Eisenberg).

Today, many are hesitant to call themselves feminists due to stereotypes and backlash. Some people feel the struggle is over and women need to “get over it.” Unfortunately, many injustices and unequal treatment still exist, from sexual harassment not being taken seriously to many far-right groups trying to take away abortion rights. Large and small scale problems still plague the everyday modern woman’s life all over the world. However, those that don’t keep silent are expressing their thoughts and opinions through various channels. Graphic designers and artists are bringing these visions to life through their work.

Perhaps the most well-known image of women’s rights is the “We Can Do It!” poster created by J. Howard Miller in 1943 for the manufacturing company Westinghouse Electric. The poster is considered propaganda to get people to join the workforce during World War II. Many women began working outside the home in manufacturing and other non-traditional jobs. However, this was not because of this campaign as the poster itself was intended to boost employee morale for Westinghouse Electric, not as a battle cry for women’s rights. In fact, it was hardly seen during this period. After the war ended, things went back to how they used to be and women were still expected to be homemakers. It wasn’t until the 1980s the image was rediscovered and became a symbol for feminism (Herold).

Although it was not the original intention, the poster is a strong symbol of women’s rights. Rosie the Riveter (there is controversy whether this supposed to be her name) rolls up her sleeve to show her strong bicep and clenched fist. She stares directly out at the viewer with one eyebrow raised. The colors are the patriotic red, white and blue, with a yellow background that makes Rosie pop out.. Her expression is serious but determined. The words “We Can Do It!” are a white, bold san-serif font in a dark blue speech bubble that take up a good portion of the top of the poster. Immediately the viewer reads these words and looks back down at Rosie’s face, then her fist and arm. It is a very powerful image because of this composition and strong use of type. In fact, although the painterly illustration style is dated, it is very modern looking with the san-serif font and minimal color palette and composition. Today, many variations of this poster have been created with the faces of various women taking the place of Rosie. This iconic design resurfaced and was repurposed to become an icon of empowerment and feminism, and rightly so. This image of a strong woman, although beautiful, is powerful. Rosie is not posing for the purpose of looking attractive, she is ready to get to work.

In 2013, UN Women launched a series of ads that showed real Google searches about women. The ad shows the Google search bar across the mouth of a photograph of an unknown woman, with beginning phrases such as “women cannot” or “women should” and shows a dropdown of Google’s autocomplete that would complete the search. The finished phrase suggestions are negative and sexist, showing previous real searches performed on the search engine. These searches were all taken from one day in March 2013. The ad campaign is called “The Auto Complete Truth” and was created for UN Women by Memac Ogilvy & Mather Dubai, an agency in the United Arab Emirates (“UN Women Ad”).

This ad campaign showcases the disgusting sexism and hatred of women displayed on the internet on a daily basis. Whether it is on popular social media sites such as Facebook, Twitter or Instagram, or in specific circles on sites such as 4chan or Reddit, men (and, surprisingly, women as well) express their sexist opinions, troll, and brag about their real-life mistreatment of women. This particular campaign not only shows these actual searches made by real people, it does so in a dramatic and eye-catching way. A series of unique-looking women were photographed close up and in great detail. Their eyes all peer out at the viewer, challenging them. As mentioned, the search bar is over their mouths, as if they are reciting these auto-completed phrases themselves. Typography is small and minimal. A white phrase appears below the search bar that says the opposite of the auto-complete phrases. The UN Women logo and URL for their site are also small and white, placed in the bottom left hand corner of each ad. The small typography and the large, detailed photography contrast well to make drama and create a successful ad campaign.

After the election of President Donald Trump, people across the country were outraged and disgusted. Out of this disgust came the Women’s March on Washington, a large gathering of women and men marching the streets of DC and other participating cities across the country. It is said to be “one of the largest single-day demonstrations in recorded U.S. history” (Chenoweth). While many created their own signs on poster board, cardboard, or anything else they could find, artist Shepard Fairey created signs of his own, available to download and print for free on his website. Like “The Auto Complete Truth,” images are more powerful than words, in that faces of illustrated women - young and old and of various ethnicities - are displayed large and dramatically in the center of the composition (Abrams).

In the style of his 2008 Obama Hope posters, they are patriotic with their red and blue color scheme. Instead of white, Fairey uses a yellow tone that warms up each design. One of the posters features a young African American girl who is not looking straight on, but rather a three-quarters view. Her eyes still look directly out at the viewer with a stern, but powerful expression. Another poster shows a Muslim woman with an American flag hijab. Unlike the previous design, she is looking head-on at the viewer, head slightly turned down as if to challenge you. Interestingly, she is wearing bright red lipstick, and heavy eye make-up, which may go against her religion but still suggests she is strong in her faith but is still in charge of her body and choices. The last image shows a Latina woman. Unlike the other two, her expression is carefree and happy; she has a slight smirk and and isn’t making direct eye contact. Her hair blows in the wind and she wears a flower in her hair. This last image suggests that even though these horrible things are happening, we will not let it ruin our lives. On each design are the words “We The People” with a different phrase below that on each poster. The font is a strong, capitalized serif that provides a nice base - reminiscent to the words at the base of a monument for statue - for each illustration. The “We The People” portion is a dark blue and larger than the lighter, smaller phrase underneath. It coincides with the rest of the color scheme without distracting too much. What is successful about this poster series is that is shows three different women, not only in ethnicity or age, but in the way they are showing their feelings. Each represents the mixed emotions and feelings of uncertainty, anger, and pride the country felt after the election. Instead of displaying only anger or sadness, the subtle differences in the facial expressions of the women show varying levels of determination and a call back to the “We Can Do It!” attitude.

Throughout history, women have fought against discrimination and for gender equality with protests, conventions and art and design. The discussed ad campaigns, posters and illustrations have all served as visual representations of the opinions and thoughts of the members of these efforts. From “We Can Do It!” to the Women’s March on Washington, the effort is not dissipating and art and design will continue to be a large part of this social cause.

Works Cited

Abrams, Amah-Rose. "Shepard Fairey Releases 'We The People' Series." Artnet News. Artnet News, 20 Jan. 2017. Web. 01 May 2017.

Chenoweth, Erica, and Jeremy Pressman. "This is what we learned by counting the women’s marches." The Washington Post. WP Company, 07 Feb. 2017. Web. 01 May 2017.

Eisenberg, Bonnie, and Mary Ruthsdotter. "History of the Women’s Rights Movement." National Womens History Project. The National Women's History Project, 1998. Web. 01 May 2017.

Herold, David. "We Can Do It! The Story Of Rosie the Riveter." War History Online. N.p., 12 May 2016. Web. 01 May 2017.

"UN Women ad series reveals widespread sexism." UN Women. UN Women, 21 Oct. 2013. Web. 01 May 2017.

[thesylvalining]

The last supper — in the morning. So that would be… breakfast. Left to right: Lauren, yours truly, Ashton, Bonnie, Noah and Brandie.

To be exact, it’s been 103 days — and we’re not talking about the anniversary of a certain tangerine-tinged President. No; it’s been 104 days since January 9th, when Tyler and I officially filed for divorce. As I write this, he’s just arrived in Panama with his new girlfriend (and it’s not exactly breaking news). His new girlfriend is an old friend of mine, someone I once trusted with my doubts and fears and formerly one of my good back country skiing and bike touring buddies.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel angry, hurt and doubly betrayed. I’d also be lying if I said I hadn’t given into my anger once or twice and said things I might regret in time. But what’s the saying? I want to be nobody, because nobody’s perfect.

I’d also be lying if I said I wasn’t grateful for those eleven years. Or for the countless adventures — local and international, on a bike or on skis. It would be a giant fib to say I didn’t learn, grow, laugh and even thrive with Tyler.

But the end of it all isn’t what I want to dwell on as I sit waiting for the dishwasher and the dryer to stop on my last morning in Dillon. Instead, I’d like to gnaw on the nuggets I’ve unearthed in these eleven years, the seeds of wisdom the Universe planted in me.

I’ve had long enough… so what have I learned?

The Universe wants us to be happy.

Over and over through these hard times, as I made myself available to and asked for reassurance from whatever up there knows what’s going on, I have been given what I petitioned for and more.

Take Friday as a shining example of what I mean. I’d spent weeks packing up all my sh*t (how on Earth or whatever dusty corner of the galaxy did I accumulate so much? I landed in CO in 2005 with a bike and a suitcase, for goodness’ sake). Friday, April 21st was the culmination of Operation Move Sylva: we’d hitch up Lindsay’s trailer, head down to Denver, drop my car off at the mechanic for new brakes, unload the trailer at the storage unit, eat some lunch, drive the trailer over to Lindsay’s wholesaler and load up flowers (she owns her own increasingly successful flower biz, Pots and Petals), retrieve my car, unload it at the storage unit, drive back up to Dillon, unload flowers and crash face first on our respective beds.

So — after weeks of weather so unseasonably warm and nice it was almost boring — it snowed heartily the night before. And those wicked, cold little white things persisted from the skies into the morning.

Just a few last minute adjustments…

As the wind whipped snow in our faces, Lindsay and I loaded up the last bits of furniture I needed four arms for. When Ashton arrived we headed down to the Dirty D.

Everything went smoother than Justin Timberlake’s hip-hop harmonies (I had to work that in since a hungover Jizzy Tizzy and Jessical Biel visited the Arapahoe Cafe yesterday morning) until we departed the Yardhouse in Arvada with full bellies. Back on 1-70, Lindsay merged left to prepare for the joys of I-76. A blue CRV in front of us slammed on their brakes for no apparent reason. Lindsay slowed down abruptly but she had more than adequate room between us and Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb. The lady behind us did not; a sharp bang and a solid impact was quickly followed by the sound of dragging metal on pavement.

“We lost the trailer,” said Lindsay matter-of-factly, pulling over to the left shoulder.

Then ensued the joys of insurance swapping and waiting for police on the side of a very busy Interstate. Semis whizzed by like stinky comets as I eyed the Jersey Barrier I leaned upon, ready to jump it like an Olympic hurdler if anyone else on I-70 decided to cause mayhem.

In my periphery, I see two figures running up the road — one tall and dark haired, one curvy and shorter, with shoulder length hair tousled by the chilly breeze. I blink; it’s Matt and Erica, two good mutual friends of mine and Lindsay who live in Summit County, too!

Zagorstmans to the rescue!!!!!!

“I saw your rainbow hair!” Erica said, wrapping me in a burrito hug. “I was like stop! That’s Sylva!”

What are the odds Erica and Matt would be zipping by just after (a very sweet girl in cowboy boots) rear-ended us?

And furthermore, what are the odds Erica would have ample nylon webbing for Matt to produce a series of adept knots that looked more like hyacinth blossoms than anything that would, in the end, get us, the flowers and the trailer all safely back up to Dillon? Without that fortuitous roadside rendez-vous, Lindsay, Ashton and I would probably still be waiting on the side of I-70 for a tow…

Shortly after Matt finished his roadside art project, one of the police officers walked by with an amused glance and said, “Good ’nuff for me!” HAHAHA.

2. Learn to let go

The other day at the doctor, the physician’s assistant who took my vitals asked me if I was a professional athlete — my oxygen saturation was 98 percent. I laughed but she was serious. I mean yeah, I skin the Basin semi-obsessively these days but I also eat cream cheese-infested bagels like tomorrow’s my last day on Earth and practically soak in a pool of stress (which is ending once I get on the plate to Italy this evening!). I told her I think maybe it’s because I have never taken so many deep breaths in such a short period of time — it’s how I manage most of my tough emotions in the moment. It’s how, breathing out, I can start to let go.

For a lot of us — myself included, and those of you who know my extensive wardrobe know the truth — even parting with stuff is hard. We always mean to go through our closet and give away enough unused clothing to cloth a Laotian village. Or part with our back up pair of beat up early season skis, the books growing ant-sized, dust stalagmites… and do we really need seventeen jackets? Maybe…

Rar! Shoulda got rid of more crap!!!!

Material crap aside, try letting go of an eleven year chapter of your life, a life partner, a best friend. It’s not entirely easy and like many hard lessons, it occurs in painful increments. Occasionally, I feel like I’m emotionally stuttering, unable to move past anger, or sadness or pain. But I know if letting go is all I can master through this, it will be worth it. And even the little whiffs of letting-go-ness I catch are oddly uplifting, stabilizing and above all: freeing. Especially with a lot of deep breaths!

3. We are never alone — but we are enough.

Popular culture would suggest to be complete, we need another. Look at every Disney movie ever penned, listen to the radio where the singer croons about having found a reason to live after meeting the girl or guy of their dreams. Take “All I’m Asking” by Band of Heathens, as an example (a ditty, incidentally, that is catch enough to have made it to my road trip playlist — Sylva’s Free Bird Mix)

“My mind is right for the first time

I found a reason, I figured out the round

If you let me, I’ll do better

Maybe next time, we’ll be together”

After awhile the tune gets lodged in your brain like a treble-cleft shaped dart — and so does the insinuation that we’re not whole until we are in a couple. Being with someone can be magical, but it’s not paramount to our sense of self.

Newsflash: We are already enough. I am already enough.

Even for an independent soul like myself, after more than a decade with someone, I had to wrap my little pea brain around a few key points: I am capable of accomplishing anything I set my mind to and even if I felt lonely sometimes that didn’t mean I was alone. Au contraire; during these 104 plus demanding days, people have literally sprung from the woodworks to help, encourage, listen and be there in ways I could not have appreciated if I were in  another space in my life.

Teamwork makes the dreamwork!

4. Nothing is Final

On a recent trip to Moab, Utah with the parental units, I was given the opportunity to say my goodbyes to the desert — at least for now. Thanks to my parents’ Old Fogie Pass ($10 for the whole year), we flitted around Island in the Sky National Park for a whole day. I sunburned my calves and took a billion pictures (which, incidentally, I just accidentally deleted — I had to take a deep breath and practice letting go!).

Viewpoint one at the somewhat mysteriously formed Upheaval Dome — the meteor theory is currently winning.

Heading towards the second viewpoint at Upheaval Dome.

Stopping to “admire” the world’s most obnoxious rock cairn :)

The parental units at a windy Mesa Arch.

As I looked across the endless vista, past white sandstone rims, red Kayenta cliffs and Moenkopi waves, I got a strong whiff of cheese. Why? Because I happened to be thinking, as I often am these days, that time heals all wounds (and produces breathtaking desert landscapes). I was also pondering how change is the only thing that stays the same  And therefore, nothing at all could be final — so all the goodbyes rolling constantly off my tongue were more like catch-you-on-the-flip-sides. I’d see the desert again if I wanted to; heck, I could even move back to Slummit if I felt like it (which, I have an inkling, is a nudge closer to improbable).

None of us is ever stuck or nailed to the floor by any decision. Our futures are reversible, malleable. Even the most gargantuan problem can be solved, if only we are able to see it as solvable — which brings me to:

5. Everything is possible — even the “impossible”

During the last four plus months — going through a divorce, suddenly alone, moving to Oregon, packing, trying to stay in shape and connect with friends, working six days and a night or two a week, fighting sinusitis and food poisoning — I began to feel the cold fingers of despair creeping up my pasty legs. This was impossible! Especially faced with a to-do list that looked more like the US Constitution:

If feeling brave: see reverse for the other half of The List…

But as of last night, I climbed A Basin in 54 minutes (just four minutes shy of my record), my crap is all packed in storage, my list is checked off, my catch-ya-on-the-flip-sides are said (mostly via a kickass party on Wednesday night), I’ve saved as much money as possible and I feel strong, independent and free!

It’s like they say — small steps to a big goal. I’ve never been one for goals, except in the rare occasion I kick a soccer ball. But then again, nothing is impossible: I’ve just accomplished more than I ever imagined several months ago!

  Although I have more to share, I’ll leave it there in order to cruise down to Denver and hang out with my uncle Benjamin. This evening, I’m hopping aboard a plane to skip the pond. Tomorrow, I’ll be standing in the rain, growing webbed feet with my friend Lisa as we hike and camp in Northern Italy’s Apennine mountains…

Ciao for now Summit County!

Ski ya later…

100 Days… And Counting To be exact, it's been 103 days -- and we're not talking about the anniversary of a certain tangerine-tinged President.