#Flames for All 1998

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

"HEAVY, TWISTED SONGS ABOUT THE STICKY PLACES INSIDE YOUR HEAD, THE BAD TASTE IN YOUR MOUTH."

PIC INFO: Spotlight on "Flames for All" on CD format, the third album by American desert/stoner/jam rock band FATSO JETSON, and released on the legendary Man's Ruin Records in 1998. Sleeve art/package design by the late, great Frank Kozik (1962-2023).

ALBUM OVERVIEW: "Every one of you is by now familiar with "THE DESERT SESSIONS" and the emerging scene coming out of the sun and brightness of the high wasted south… but the desert has a dark side as well… a side that emerges from the dusty shadows, from beneath the sagging hulks of rotting trailers. Snuffling along cinderblock walls, nosing thru the debris of fast food dumpsters. The asphalt cooling beneath its feet… Welcome to FATSO JETSON territory… Heavy, twisted songs about the sticky places inside your head, the bad taste in your mouth. Peyote-tinged sadness inherent in the vocals, gritty yellow crank coursing along the instrumental veins… File with KYUSS, VALIS, PINK FLOYD."

-- MAN'S RUIN RECORDS (R.I.P.)

Source: www.discogs.com/release/1693198-Fatso-Jetson-Flames-For-All.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Happy Public Domain Day 2025 to all who celebrate

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/17/dastar-dly-deeds/#roast-in-piss-sonny-bono

In 1976, Congress set fire to the country's libraries; in 1998, they did it again. Today, in 2024, the flames have died down, and out of the ashes a new public domain is growing. Happy Public Domain Day 2025 to all who celebrate!

For most of US history, copyright was something you had to ask for. To copyright a work, you'd send a copy to the Library of Congress and they'd issue you a copyright. Not only did that let you display a copyright mark on your work – so people would know they weren't allowed to copy it without your permission – but if anyone wanted to figure out who to ask in order to get permission to copy or adapt a work, they could just go look up the paperwork at the LoC.

In 1976, Congress amended the Copyright Act to eliminate the "formality" of copyright registration. Now, all creative works of human authorship were copyrighted "at the moment of fixation" – the instant you drew, typed, wrote, filmed, or recorded them. From a toddler's nursery-school finger-painting to a graffiti mural on a subway car, every creative act suddenly became an article of property.

But whose property? That was on you to figure out, before you could copy, publish, perform, or preserve the work, because without registration, permissions had to start with a scavenger hunt for the person who could grant it. Congress simultaneously enacted a massive expansion of property rights, while abolishing the title registry that spelled out who owned what. As though this wasn't enough, Congress reached back in time and plopped an extra 20 years' onto the copyrights of existing works, even ones whose authors were unknown and unlocatable.

For the next 20 years, creative workers, archivists, educators and fans struggled in the face of this regime of unknowable property rights. After decades of well-documented problems, Congress acted again: they made it worse.

In 1998, Congress passed the Sonny Bono Copyright Act, AKA the Mickey Mouse Preservation Act, AKA the Copyright Term Extension Act. The 1998 Act tacked another 20 years onto copyright terms, but not just for works that were still in copyright. At the insistence of Disney, Congress actually yanked works out of the public domain – works that had been anthologized, adapted and re-issued – and put them back into copyright for two more decades. Copyright stretched to the century-plus "life plus 70 years" term. Nothing entered the public domain for the next 20 years.

So many of my comrades in the fight for the public domain were certain that this would happen again in 2018. In 2010, e-book inventor and Project Gutenberg founder Michael S Hart and I got into a friendly email argument because he was positive that in 2018, Congress would set fire to the public domain again. When I insisted that there was no way this could happen given the public bitterness over the 1998 Act, he told me I was being naive, but said he hoped that I was right.

Michael didn't live to see it, but in 2019, the public domain opened again. It was an incredible day:

https://archive.org/details/ClosingKeynoteForGrandReopeningOfThePublicDomainCoryDoctorowAtInternetArchive

No one has done a better job of chronicling the fortunes of our fragile, beautiful, bounteous public domain than Jennifer Jenkins and James Boyle of Duke University's Center for the Study of the Public Domain. Every year from 2010-2019, Boyle and Jenkins chronicled the works that weren't entering the public domain because of the 1998 Act, making sure we knew what had been stolen from our cultural commons. In so many cases, these works disappeared before their copyrights expired, for example, the majority of silent films are lost forever.

Then, in 2019, Jenkins and Boyle got to start cataloging the works that were entering the public domain, most of them from 1923 (copyright is complicated, so not everything that entered the public domain in 2019 was from that year):

https://web.law.duke.edu/cspd/publicdomainday/2019/

Every year since, they've celebrated a new bumper crop. Last year, we got Mickey Mouse!

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/15/mouse-liberation-front/#free-mickey

In addition to numerous other works – by Woolf, Hemingway, Doyle, Christie, Proust, Hesse, Milne, DuBois, Frost, Chaplin, Escher, and more:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/20/em-oh-you-ess-ee/#sexytimes

Now, 2024 was a fantastic year for the public domain, but – as you'll see in the 2025 edition of the Public Domain Day post – 2025 is even better:

https://web.law.duke.edu/cspd/publicdomainday/2025/

So what's entering the public domain this year? Well, for one thing, there's more of the stuff from last year, which makes sense: if Hemingway's first books entered the PD last year, then this year, we'll the books he wrote next (and this will continue every year until we catch up with Hemingway's tragic death).

There are some big hits from our returning champions, like Woolf's To the Lighthouse and A Farewell to Arms from Hemingway. Jenkins and Boyle call particular attention to one book: Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury, its title taken from a public domain work by Shakespeare. As they write, Faulkner spoke eloquently about the nature of posterity and culture:

[Humanity] is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance…The poet’s voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail.

The main attraction on last year's Public Domain Day was the entry of Steamboat Willie – the first Mickey Mouse cartoon – into the public domain. This year, we're getting a dozen new Mickey cartoons, including the first Mickey talkie:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mickey_Mouse_(film_series)#1929

Those 12 shorts represent a kind of creative explosion for the Disney Studios. Those early Mickey cartoons were, each and every one, a hybrid of new copyrighted works and the public domain. The backbone of each Mickey short was a beloved, public domain song, with Mickey's motion synched to the beat (animators came to call this "mickey mousing"). In 1929, there was a huge crop of public domain music that anyone could use this way:

Blue Danube, Pop Goes the Weasel, Yankee Doodle, Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush, Ach Du Lieber Augustin, Listen to the Mocking Bird, A-Hunting We Will Go, Dixie, The Girl I Left Behind Me, a tune known as the snake charmer song, Coming Thru the Rye, Mary Had a Little Lamb, Auld Lang Syne, Aloha ‘Oe, Turkey in the Straw, My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean, Habanera and Toreador Song from Carmen, Lizst’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2, and Goodnight, Ladies.

These were recent compositions, songs that were written and popularized in the lifetimes of the parents and grandparents who took their kids to the movies to see Mickey shorts like "The Barn Dance," "The Opry House" and "The Jazz Fool." The ability to plunder this music at will was key to the success of Mickey Mouse and Disney. Think of all the Mickeys and Disneys we've lost by locking up the public domain for the past half-century!

This year, we're getting some outstanding new old music for our public domain. The complexities of copyright terms mean that compositions from 1929 are entering the public domain, but we're only getting recordings from 1924. 1924's outstanding recordings include:

George Gershwin performing Rhapsody in Blue, Jelly Roll Morton playing Shreveport Stomp, and an early recording from contralto and civil rights icon Marian Anderson, who is famous for her 1939 performance to an integrated audience of over 75,000 people at the Lincoln Memorial. Anderson’s 1924 recording is of the spiritual Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen.

While the compositions include Singin' in the Rain, Ain't Misbehavin', An American in Paris, Bolero, (What Did I Do to Be So) Black and Blue, Tiptoe Through the Tulips, Happy Days Are Here Again, What Is This Thing Called, Love?, Am I Blue? and many, many more.

On the art front, we're getting Salvador Dali's earliest surrealist masterpieces, like Illumined Pleasures, The Accommodations of Desire, and The Great Masturbator. Dali's contemporaries are not so lucky: after a century, the early history of the works of Magritte are so muddy that it's impossible to say whether they are in or out of copyright.

But there's plenty of art with clearer provenance that we can welcome into the public domain this year, most notably, Popeye and Tintin. As the first Popeye and Tintin comics go PD, so too do those characters.

The idea that a fictional character can have a copyright separate from the stories they appear in is relatively new, and it's weird and very stupid. Courts have found that the Batmobile is a copyrightable character (Batman won't enter the public domain until 2035).

Copyright for characters is such a muddy, gross, weird idea. The clearest example of how stupid this gets comes from Sherlock Holmes, whose canon spans many years. The Doyle estate – a rent-seeking copyright troll – claimed that Holmes wouldn't enter the public domain until every Holmes story was in the public domain (that's this year, incidentally!).

This didn't fly, so their next gambit was to claim copyright over those aspects of Holmes's character that were developed later in the stories. For example, they claimed that Holmes didn't show compassion until the later stories, and, on that basis, sued the creators of the Enola Holmes TV show for depicting a gender-swapped Sherlock who wasn't a total dick:

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2020/dec/22/lawsuit-copyright-warmer-sherlock-holmes-dismissed-enola-holmes

As the Enola lawyers pointed out in their briefs, this was tantamount to a copyright over emotions: "Copyright law does not allow the ownership of generic concepts like warmth, kindness, empathy, or respect, even as expressed by a public domain character – which, of course, belongs to the public, not plaintiff."

When Mickey entered the public domain last year, Jenkins did an excellent deep dive into which aspects of Mickey's character and design emerged when:

https://web.law.duke.edu/cspd/mickey/

Jenkins uses this year's entry of Tintin and Popeye into the public domain to further explore the subject of proprietary characters.

Even though copyright extends to characters, it only covers the "copyrightable" parts of those characters. As the Enola lawyers wrote, the generic character traits (their age, emotional vibe, etc) are not protected. Neither is anything "trivial" or "minuscule" – for example, if a cartoonist makes a minor alteration to the way a character's pupils or eyes are drawn, that's a minor detail, not a copyrightable element.

The biggest impediment to using public domain characters isn't copyright, it's trademark. Trademark is very different from copyright: foundationally, trademark is the right to protect your customers from being deceived by your competitors. Coke can use trademark to stop Pepsi from selling its sugary drinks in Coke cans – not because it owns the word "Coke" or the Coke logo, but because it has been deputized to protect Coke drinkers from being tricked into buying not-Coke, thinking that they're getting the true Black Waters of American Imperialism.

Companies claim trademarks over cartoon characters all the time, and license those trademarks on food, clothing, toys, and more (remember Popeye candy cigarettes?).

Indeed, Hearst Holdings claims a trademark over Popeye in many traditional categories, like cartoons, amusement parks, ads and clothes. They're also in the midst of applying for a Popeye NFT trademark (lol).

Does that mean you can't use Popeye in any of those ways? Nope! All you need to do is prominently mention that your use of Popeye is unofficial, not associated with Hearst, and dispel any chance of confusion. A unanimous Supreme Court decision (in Dastar) affirm your right to do so. You can also use Popeye in the title of your unauthorized Popeye comic, thanks to a case called Rogers v Grimaldi.

This all applies to Tintin, too – a big deal, given that Tintin is managed by a notorious copyright bully who delights in cruelly terrorizing fan artists. Tintin is joined in the public domain by Buck Rogers, another old-timey character whose owners are scumbag rent-seekers.

Congress buried the public domain alive in 1976, and dumped a load of gravel over its grave in 1998, but miraculously, we've managed to exhume the PD, and it has been revived and is showing signs of rude health.

2024 saw the blockbuster film adaptation of Wicked, based on the public domain Oz books. It also saw the publication of James, a celebrated retelling of Twain's Huck Finn from the perspective of Huck's enslaved sidekick.

This is completely normal. It's how art was made since time immemorial. The 40 year experiment in life without a public domain is at an end, and not a minute too soon.

You can piece together a complete-as-possible list of 2025's public domain (including the Marx Brothers' Cocoanuts, Disney's Skeleton Dance, and Del Ruth's Gold Diggers of Broadway) here:

https://onlinebooks.library.upenn.edu/cce/

[shapelytimber]

And at last !! the baddies

Finaly they are all here !!!!!! The full recap/height chart will be ready soon :3c

ALSO ! I modified Padme's one a little (redid the portrait a bit and some other minor details), and added Sabé :)))) dw about it <3

[COMMISIONS]

[PART 1] - [PART 2] - [PART 3]

Yapping below vvv

Had a lot of fun with Palpatine's outfit !! She gets to dress dramaticaly like the rich influencial nabooian (?) woman she is (the gown is heavily inspired by a 1998 Dior dress) ! Of course after the creation of the empire she doesn't do that anymore :( evil old lady in a bathrobe didn't bother to brush her air for 20 years... Good for her ig

I must admit.... Dooku's design is the most indulgent one here, it's targeted to *me* specifically fjfkdk like this outfit (minus the cape...for now) would be something I would wear, the dracula vibes because it's christopher lee and I have no problem what so ever with the hammer draculas, the feminine tall older woman- so yeah maybe I pushed the sith vibes a bit, and gave her the shadow the hedgehog color palette... But this is one of my faves design here sue me

For Boba I redesigned the og trilogy look a little bit, by taking some elements from disney's design and adding a bit of my own flaire to it :) and giving her a *big gun*

And for the first time..... You can trully appreciate how tiny Boba is jdndk big gun for tiny butch

Vader is just Vader- what do you want from me this is one of the best designs ever created djdk I'm not changing anything here (but this *is* one of the best Vader I ever drew jfkdkd don't know what I did different but he looks great !)

And Sabé is here now !! nothing to do with the fact I stumbled upon the Sabédala ship and it has occupied my mind ever since jfkfj Anyway ! Had a lot of fun with the flame dress (I know it doesn't contrast well with Padmé's, but I really wanted to do this one :(( the over handmaiden's outfits weren't as iconic imo)

PS : link to a post explaining why Vader uses he/him and Anakin she/her

[animusrox]

I am so very glad you could come. There are so many things I want to show you, all kinds of marvelous science and invention and tools and technologies, all of which you sparked with your little flame, so I bid you welcome. Welcome to Dexter's laboratory!

Dexter's Laboratory Season 2, Episode 28a “Old Flame” Air date: February 25, 1998

[so-mordor-itis]

Eye on You

“give peace a chance, let the fear you have fall away, i’ve got my eye on you. say yes to heaven, say yes to me.

if you go, I’ll stay.. you come back, I’ll be right here. like a barge at sea, in the storm I stay clear, cause I’ve got my mind on you”

I told you I'd write a drabble but uhhhhh this ain't no drabble- @unhealthy-leon-brainrot

1998.

Leon loved differently back then. He loved in a way a 21 year old man freshly graduated from college could. He was giddy whenever the person in his interest would smile at him, would give him any time of day. His hands would become clammy, and his heart would race as if he were still a teenager. Sometimes, he truly felt like one at heart. That his soul was trapped in that time period, and it wouldn't ever leave.

It's why when he met you for the first time, and when you smiled at him as if nothing could go wrong, his face burned, and his heart almost burst right then and there. You were a brilliant flame, and he felt like a small candle stick awaiting to be lit.

He asked you out in a sputter of words, hating himself immediately after listening to them tumble. Leon didn't want his nervousness to show. He had been practicing for weeks in front of bathroom mirrors and sometimes in the Officer's Academy shower, hoping nobody overheard him. He wanted it to be perfect because that's what you deserved.

You giggled, and somehow, his heart both fluttered and sank. Your eyes glittered with an emotion that made him slightly hopeful. "You want to take me out on a date?"

"Yeah," he replied, all too quickly. "If you'd like to that is--only if you'd like to." He wished he could stop himself from talking, but he couldn't.

You smiled at him, and dammit there went the last of his coherent thoughts. "You know what? Sure. I don't have anything interesting going on." You laughed again, looking away shyly. "I can't say no when you're looking at me like that."

"Like what?" Leon asked, though he fully knew what you were talking about.

"Like I'm the only thing on your mind," you responded. You were fidgeting with your shirt, and Leon wanted nothing more than to grab your hands and hold them.

You weren't incorrect, either. You were on his mind a frightening amount. This affection for you was a buzz in the back of his mind, a throb in his chest.

You still said yes.

"So it's a date?"

"Yes, it's a date."

He swore he grinned from ear to ear, and he saw you return it.

--

The day he was supposed to pick you up, he never did. You were more worried than disappointed. Leon didn't seem like the type of guy you ask you out, gazing at you as if you created the sky and the stars, and then drop you like a hat. Despite the bitter part of you wanting to think he ditched you, the rational part knew better.

He called you hours later, apologetic and broken. "I'm so sorry. Something... something came up."

"Forget the date," you quickly muttered, surprised at how swift the words left your mouth. "Are you okay?"

He was silent for a bit. "Not really."

"Where are you? I'm coming to you."

"No, wait," Leon called your name almost in a plea. "I don't want you to drag yourself into this."

You weren't backing down without a little bit of a fight. "Leon, please."

He paused before stating he was in a hospital outside of Raccoon City.

--

Leon knew he loved you after that. He never admitted to himself until he was sure, but he couldn't prevent that innocent crush from growing into something more powerful.

You became a firework, blazing in his lonely, starless sky. You had always been.

2004.

He liked to believe he still loved the same. Wanted to love the same as he did all those years ago. His heart pounding and his palms becoming clammy, blue eyes full of innocent love.

He knew he didn't.

Leon was reserved now, awkward with his affection, hesitant with his touches yet still craved it. He hated that you had to watch him develop--no, perhaps devolve was the better word here--this trauma response. This training, this work, it all collapsed on top of him, and sometimes he felt as if it would eventually crush him.

Yet, some part of you still saw his old self. That stupid, lovesick boy who craved your attention the way a puppy would a scrap of food. You still gave him love, still kissed his scars, still told him sweet nothings when he broke down crying because the pressure was too much.

He once asked you if you were okay with all of this still, okay with him. You gave him your usual smile, the one that made him weak and touched that lovesick boy deep down. "You're stuck with me, Leon. I gave myself to you the day you asked me out. I'm staying. No matter what happens, I'm here."

He kissed you hard that day. Harder than he ever had. Placing a promise against your lips that he would always come back to you. No matter what.

--

You often wondered what he would do without you. If he would crash and burn the moment you turned around, if the night terrors would claw at his throat and suffocate him.

It was hard, watching him suffer mentally when all you could do was give him words of affirmation. Reassure him that the nightmares weren't real and that you were truly there with him and not bloodied up and dead.

Those moments made the good ones feel like precious gifts. Not just for you, but also for him. You carried them in your heart and held on to those when the bad days would storm over his head.

You remembered one of those good days so clearly, so vividly it never failed to make you smile. One day, while looking over some files, Leon had fallen asleep. His glasses--the ones he usually only used whenever he was reading important work files--were scrunched against his face, pushing up against the bridge of his nose. You remembered walking into his office, snickering a little at the sight. You sighed, shaking your head. "What am I going to do with you?"

You approached him quietly, as if the smallest movement would ruin his peaceful slumber. You grabbed the rims of his glasses carefully, pulling them off his face so he'd be more comfortable. As you did, you caught a feel of his soft locks and couldn't help but lightly smooth between your fingers. You took note of his facial features; his cheekbones were more rigid, and the shadows of his eyes were sunken in. His hair was even a bit darker, looking dirtier blond than it had when you first met. Still handsome, that would never change.

The urge to kiss his forehead had you twitching, but you didn’t want to disturb him. Especially since he had probably been staring at documented words for who knows how long.

You moved to quietly nudge yourself away before his sleepy voice mumbled. "Gonna go so soon?"

You blinked, looking down to see his eyes were now open. Still hazy from his rest. You practically beamed at him. "Didn't wanna wake you."

Leon sat up, stretching a little before putting his glasses back on. "Guess I must've passed out. These reports practically put me to sleep. I can't believe this is part of what they pay me for."

You attempted to catch a glimpse of whatever was on the document, but he placed them flat on the table when he caught you.

Leon snickered. "Classified. Sorry, baby."

You pouted a little. "Can't I help my boyfriend out a little?"

He stood up and stretched more, popping his back. "Not if it means you getting in trouble by seeing the reports. I'd also get in trouble, and we definitely wouldn't want that."

"Man, and here I thought I'd be able to see the famous missions Leon Kennedy goes on," you teased.

Leon just rolled his eyes as if you two had had this discussion before. You have. You just like to see him smile. Distract him as much as you could.

"Become an agent, then we'll talk." He took off his glasses and put them back on his desk. He placed his gaze upon you, and you could feel the adoration in his eyes. He still looked at you as if you had created the sky, the moon, the stars. As if you were his sun and he orbited around you and only you. You would never get over it.

Leon mimicked the action you were doing earlier and parted your hair from your cheeks so he could kiss your forehead.

His work phone rang loud, interrupting the moment. Leon sighed and kissed you quickly against the lips before the obligation to his duty forced him to go answer it.

"Kennedy. Yes, sir."

You observed his body language as he discussed with his superior. His shoulders went rigid, his eyes focused as if he were already on the field. He was prepared for whatever they were about to tell him because he had to be.

He hung up after a minute of giving affirming hums and a variety of yeses. Leon plopped his phone on the documentations and gave you an apologetic look.

"Don't worry about it." You shook your head. You knew what he was about to say. He didn't even need to tell you anything out loud. His eyes told the whole story.

"I really don't deserve you," he mumbled. "Makes me wonder how you do it."

"Because I love you." You said simply. "I'm here to stay, remember?"

--

|Tags:|

@seraphiism , @uhlunaro , @izuniias , @honeyfict , @konigbabe , @leonskillshot , @airanke , @muffimtv , @justonemore-fic , @mandalhoerian , @tosuckmyweenis , @boundinparchment

[draco-dormiens]

FOR ALL THAT IS RIGHT AND JUST - Flashback

auror!draco x auror!fem!slytherin reader / post-war au

warnings: strong language, angst, implied mental struggles, negative self deprecation, alcohol use, mild descriptions of wounds

wc: 2162

tags: @yeolsbubbles @send-me-styles @shinytalent @malfoylover4l

tag list open!!

masterlist

Draco's Story

Late July, 1998

"I've decided, Dray." Your voice is soft but laced with determination. He sits beside you, on the roof of his parents mansion, the window to his room just below your dangling feet, a cool night breeze licking his skin as the July heat still lingers in the air. "I'm going to become an Auror. After everything I've seen, after uncle Travers..." you pause for a long moment, staring up into the dark navy sky, dotted with glimmering white specs where, thousands and thousands of lightyears away, stars burn; big, bright, dazzling orbs, "I can't let it happen again. I can't allow other children to go through what we have, what you have. Even if it just a small change, I want to help make it."

He's silent for while. The bottle of Fire Whiskey you'd both been sipping on rests just between his knees. Bringing it to his lips, he takes a long drink before setting it back down. There are bruises on his knuckles, cuts on his arms, a nice gash to his forehead from where he'd managed to make contact with the floor outside of the Room of Requirement. If not for the boy he'd spent the last seven years envying with a seething jealousy, he would no doubt be dead. He owed Harry and his friends his life, and that, although a cold hard fact, did not settle well in the young Malfoy's stomach. He was bitter, scarred, and lost. Where did he go from here? All he had come to know, everything his parents had made him believe, was nothing but blind faith and complete ignorance.

Once a bully, preying on the weak and snarling insults at those he deemed lesser. Once a boy of great talent and expectations. Once the seeker for his house. Then a Death Eater, a coward and no better than those who tore the school to pieces.

He was no better, and he was no one. Not anymore; but he feels now, despite his prejudice over the years, that he wasn't really anyone to begin with. When the mark, that now is nothing but an ugly scar on his milky skin, was first placed upon his arm, he really had believed he was to be granted power and protection. All he had to do to bring his family glory was follow instructions. He thought he wanted this. He thought he was doing his parents proud. When he realised his misjudgment, it was far too late to change his mind.

Draco tried to murder. He tried to - but as much as he told himself it was his duty, the small flicker of who he really wanted to be started to burn a little brighter, a little hotter, until he smothered the flame and hexed Katie Bell and cast an unforgivable curse on Madame Rosmerta. Until he was face to face with his one mission, just to fail at the very last second and become the laughing stock of a group of rotten-minded wizards.

He can still hear you - sometimes in his sleep, sometimes when he wakes in the night.

"Please, just tell me what's wrong, Dray." You cried in the hallway that night, his wand tight in his grip. The sound of a happy, joyful Slug Club Christmas party was well underway further down the corridor. You, in your stunning emerald dress and diamond earrings he had gifted you the other year for your birthday, had begged him to confide in you multiple times. Daphne had written him off, Blaise and Theo told you he had changed and wasn't coming back. Pansy had a small amount of faith left, but it was fading quickly. Your sixth year was already turning out to be a monstrosity, and now the boy you would have called your very best friend had changed; he wasn't Draco anymore, he was colder, more bitter and worryingly paler. Albeit, his personality wasn't the warmest nore the most endearing to begin with, but since your childhood he had been a constant in your life.

And now he was anything but that.

"I've already told you," he says, lifeless and empty, "I don't want you getting caught up in anything. Just go back to the party, alright?"

"Why are you shutting me out?" You almost whimper, and the white knuckle grip on his wand only gets tighter, threatening to snap the wood in half. He hates this. He hates it.

But he must do it. To protect what he cares for.

"Please," he mutters helplessly, turning his head slightly to look over his shoulder at you. He fears if he looks at you fully, he might crumble into a million little pieces, "I'm trying to protect you. Let me at least do that. Please. Go back inside."

"Draco?" Your voices brings him out of his daze, his eyes landing on yours. A kindness had dwelled within them since you were children; a kindness that, even after all he's done, still shines through and touches his skin like warm sun. He stares back for a long while, not fully understanding why you still came to visit him. More than two months since the war ended, since his family faced trial after trial and escaped with their dignity hanging by a mere thread. He hadn't heard from the others; Blaise, Pansy, Goyle. Not that he particularly cared. It appeared they would have rather saved what reputation they had left than mingle with fellow betrayers like himself.

He can't say he blames them.

"Are you okay?" you ask him, brushing some of his white-blond hair from his face, "you can talk to me, you know. I'm here for you."

"Why?" he simply asks, and you almost look surprised at the question.

"Because you're still you, Dray," you whisper, a ghost of a smile at your lips, "many things have happened. I know now why you couldn't talk to me about... well, everything. But you can now, and I'm here to listen. Please, don't try and battle this on your own."

The warm summer air ruffles the hair around your familiar, comforting face. He thinks that someone up there might not think so bad of him, to keep you coming back even when he's troubled you more than anyone else. A slight smile cracks on his face, something you hadn't seen in many, many months. The sight of it almost brought you to tears.

"You know," he says quietly, "I'd have kicked my sorry ass to the curb if I were you. I haven't exactly been kind to you; or anyone, over the last few months. I've done some really fucked up shit. Yet, here you are, drinking my Dad's Fire Whiskey on the roof with me." He shuffles a little closer to you and wraps an arm around your shoulders, as you willingly accept his embrace, cuddling into his warm and familiar body. You liked to believe he was still in there, the real Draco. The one that sometimes, unknowingly, allowed you to see little glimpses into his life. He's a collector of sorts; not like his father, but in a more sentimental and valuable way. Many a time have you caught him putting a rather nice looking pebble in his pocket, thinking no one had seen him take a shine to such a trivial thing. He enjoys the piano, and although he never plays for anyone, you had caught him mid song one summer during a visit to his home. You can still hear him scold you for sneaking up on him and making you swear not to tell anyone. He reads - not your typical story books or novels, but educational books about Astrology and Alchemy. Sometimes, when you had met in the library, he'd been so invested in a book, his eyebrows pierced together and a look of pure concentration on his face, that he hadn't noticed you standing beside him until you nudged him slightly. Another scolding, but something about the way he grumbled that he was 'just passing the time because you took so long' had you convinced there was no malice in it whatsoever.

Draco never had a heart of gold. He was never a shining example of friendship, or the best at expressing his feelings, or had the best attitude towards things he found unbefitting of him. Throughout the years you had argued about his mean streak, about his nature towards certain students, but as if joined at the hip, you had remained close, and his brashness was ever so slightly tamer with you. His words weren't as sharp, or as jarring, and he often made a point of saying 'if you go, I will' or 'as long as you think so.' Despite his blooming admiration for you, he still remained a little hesitant to treat you completely different.

And he was still in there. You were sure of it. He was in there - the Draco you had come to love.

"I wouldn't be a very good friend if I did that, would I?" you say lightheartedly, and you feel him squeeze you a little tighter, "you will get passed this Draco. You will heal; inside and out, and you will go out into the world and make a good name for yourself. You will make yourself proud - it doesn't matter about anyone else. Just do what's right for you."

He ponders for a moment, stroking your hair gently, calming himself as he leans his chin on the top of your head. The world made no sense; his place in it seemed none existent, but as if a small glimmer of hope had pierced his heart, he starts imagining the future.

"Do you think they'd have me?" He then asks you, and you pull back slightly to look up at him.

"Who?" You say.

"The Aurors," he then responds, matter of fact, "do you think they'd... accept someone like me."

"You want to be an Auror?" You say excitedly, and his heart, for the first time in a very long time, begins to feel lighter at the look on your face. All this time and you're still the prettiest girl he'd ever laid his eyes on. He shrugs and looks away.

"I dunno, I was just thinking out loud," he said, fingers still playing with the ends of your hair. Then he laughs, a shallow and bitter laugh, "like they'd want me. Imagine me showing up to help someone - they'd asked for someone else. It'd be fucking joke."

"It might not be," you say in all seriousness, "why does it have to be like that? As much as you may think things are set in stone, they are not, Draco. You decide how the future goes. You decide what happens from now on. If it starts that way then change their minds. Your past does not define you. It's what you do, how you learn, that does."

"Sure you don't want to be a therapist or something?" He jokes lightly, and you giggle. Draco truly believes that something holy keeps you around a mess like him. Once Voldemort's threat was over, you were the first person at his door. The first and only person to check on him. A ray of light in the deep, dark hole he was falling into.

"I've made up my mind," your giggle comes to a holt, and you look at him with a sheer determination sparkling in your eyes, "it's time for you to do the same, Dray."

The reception he received was nothing short of foul. Minister Shacklebolt treated him the same as any other new recruit, but his fellow Auror's did not feel so welcoming. He mainly stuck by you throughout the training phase, and kept his distance from Potter and Weasley. There were whispers, odd looks and uneasy feelings, but with your guidance, he found himself at the Ministry. After the first year, he had become accustomed to people's shock once they saw him, and even more so from how tolerable he can be when he wanted. Sometimes he even made little jokes about it, and your heart soared at the difference in him. The higher ups soon discovered his talents and willingness, and his career, much like your own, began to blossom.

So, when you barge into Potter's office ten years later, raging about the travesty in the foyer, he thanks Merlin, Salazar and anyone who'll listen when you grace him with that same presence he finds himself missing like a limb when you're not around. An Auror in his own right, a gifted and talented wizard who's knowledge in Occlumency had boded well in his profession, a better man, but still the same whiny, mischievous Malfoy he's always been. He may be a dashingly handsome young man, but his childish ways, short temper and bad attitude never quite left him - and yet he's your heart and solace all the same.

Harry may have saved his life, but without a shadow of a doubt, you saved his soul.

disclaimer: i do not own harry potter or any of the characters or storyline associated with it

[their-we-go]

50+ Queer Movie Recommendations

Hi! I'm Ray, and I love queer movies. Here are all of the ones that I've seen that I can think of, including some favourites and some not-so-favourites.

Please feel free to ask me about particular movies or to recommend new ones that aren't on here yet—I'd really love to hear your suggestions!

Comedies & Rom Coms

D.E.B.S (2004)

But I’m a Cheerleader (1999)

Big Eden (2000)

The Birdcage (1996)

Happiest Season (2020)

Imagine Me & You (2005)

Latter Days (2003)

In & Out (1997)

Booksmart (2019)

Victor/Victoria (1982)

The Watermelon Woman (1996)

Horror & Thrillers

Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975)

What Keeps You Alive (2018)

Fear Street Trilogy (2021)

Jennifer’s Body (2009)

The Handmaiden (2016)

Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy’s Revenge (1985)

Rope (1948)

Arthouse Films

Mulholland Dr. (2001)

Tropical Malady (2004)

The Duke of Burgundy (2014)

Documentaries & Based on True Events

The Celluloid Closet (1996)

Disclosure (2020)

A Secret Love (2020)

Pride (2014)

Historical

Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)

Carol (2015)

The Favourite (2018)

Desert Hearts (1985)

Maurice (1987)

Sci-Fi & Fantasy

Born in Flames (1983)

All of Us Strangers (2023)

Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022)

Coming of Age

The Way He Looks (2014)

The Half of It (2020)

Bottoms (2023)

Edge of Seventeen (1998)

Shelter (2007)

Boys (2014)

Do Revenge (2022)

Summer Storm (2004)

Handsome Devil (2016)

Beautiful Thing (1996)

Get Real (1998)

North Sea Texas (2011)

Heartstone (2016)

Drama

Denied (2004)

Moonlight (2016)

Call Me By Your Name (2017)

Brokeback Mountain (2005)

You & I (2014)

God’s Own Country (2017)

The Boys in the Band (1970)

Weekend (2011)

Thanks for reading, and happy watching!

[bridenore]

Author rec : wolfpants

Wolfpants is one of my favorite authors. Here are a few recs, listed in alphabetical order.

August by @wolfpants [3k]

Summer, 1998. Harry Potter arrives at the Manor to return Draco's wand. The problem is, he keeps coming back.

Aurora by @wolfpants [5k]

Eighth Year at a half-built Hogwarts, and Harry is not following Draco Malfoy anymore. At least, that's what he's telling himself.

Everybody Hates a Tourist by @wolfpants [51k]

On a stag do in sunny Brighton with the Gryffindor lads, the last person Harry expects to run into is Draco Malfoy. After a glimpse of Malfoy’s Muggle life in Britain’s gay capital, Harry’s curiosity gets the better of him and he finds himself returning to the seaside again and again, drawn to the city, drawn to this new version of Malfoy that Harry barely recognises from school. Meanwhile, Draco’s just trying to live his big and best queer life: working for the weekend, chasing hot men, getting lost in Brighton’s nightlife, and making friends with the neighbourhood cats. Why does his former school rival and crush have to show up and spoil everything?

Look For Me In The Sun by @wolfpants [8k]

Harry and Draco are on the run in America after a mysterious string of werewolf-like attacks in the Muggle community causes the Ministry to  impose new and harsh anti-werewolf legislation. Giant trees, crashing waves, seedy motel rooms, and the long and winding coastal road awaits them, but will they ever be able to go back home?

Summer Place by @wolfpants [14k]

Draco has the perfect life: a perfect house on a perfect street with his perfect husband. It’s all he’s ever wanted. So why does something still feel wrong? 

Thickets by @wolfpants [17k]

When Draco returns to the UK after two decades of building his career as an internationally-renowned artist to look after his ailing, estranged father, he crosses paths with his former flame, Harry Potter, in the most unexpected way.

Under Giant Mountains by @wolfpants [33k]

Harry doesn’t know where he’s going. Everyone else has  their life paths figured out; he doesn’t even know where his map is.  Who’d have thought Draco Malfoy bathing in a Norwegian forest would be  the guidepost Harry needed? In which Harry’s trip to Norway to  visit dragon-wrangler Ron introduces him to hikes from hell, mysterious   natural magic, foraging, magical bathing, a new and bizarre friendship, and the frustrating, heady allure of his former nemesis turned sexy   globetrotting field researcher.

Waiting for the Moon to Rise by @wolfpants [8k]

When Harry and Draco move into Grimmauld Place straight out of Hogwarts, the last person they expect to find taking up residence is Bill ‘divorced, dishevelled, and dangerous’ Weasley. But what if their new, furry little problem is the help they need to finally bring them closer? Stranger things have happened, Draco supposes.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

[jesncin]

The potential of Ma'alefa'ak; a comics retrospective

Ma'alefa'ak J'onzz, Martian Manhunter's evil twin brother, is considered the most iconic villain of the martian's rogues gallery. Aside from the white martians (which are arguably more often used as Justice League rogues), Ma'alefa'ak is the most frequently revived and adapted rogue to go against J'onn. Readers tend to remember Ma'al as "the Darkseid cultist who genocide-d the entire martian race", and while that's true for his first iteration, I don't believe that's the reason he's persisted as long as he has.

As with much of Martian lore, Ma'al's character and origin has been reinvented many times in both comics and adapted media. I would like to take a retrospective look into how Ma'al has evolved and shifted from his initial origin story, what I find compelling, what works, what doesn't, and where I'd like to see this character moving forward. This post will cover the comics and a separate post will cover his film and tv adaptations.

As we go through these iterations, I want to dig into what the through line of Ma'alefa'ak's character is. What do writers decide to keep and reinvent about him? What makes Ma'al, Ma'al?

disclaimer: Ma'al is frequently coded and sometimes even explicitly written as a disabled martian. While it's not a one-to-one comparable marginalization to any human disability (it's more of a fantasy disability or thematic rather than true representation), I figured it's still important to disclose that I am not a disabled reader. These are observations from an outsider perspective with no personal authority. Additional content warning for discussions of sexual assault (not directly, more like an act likened to rape- with the exception of a brief analysis on Brightest Day), genocide, and ableism.

Let's start with Martian Manhunter's 1998 solo run, issue #0 Pilgrimage. In this storyline, Ma'al is introduced as "the only martian born without telepathy!", and is therefore the only martian immune to fire (famously the weakness to the martian race). He admits to creating the telepathic virus that caused the martians to combust into flames, thereby killing them. Notably Ma'al is described as a "priest / scientist", and he explains that his goal is to wipe out all telepathic martians so that he can no longer be "the freak". The twins fight, presumed they killed one another, and went on their separate paths: J'onn is teleported to Earth, while Ma'al just kind of. Takes the world's longest nap in martian rubble. J'onn takes a pilgrimage to Mars one day, which alerts Ma'al that his quest to eliminate all telepathic martians is not complete.

Ma'al continues to appear as an overarching villain on issues #3-9, infiltrating J'onn's human life as John Jones and eventually impersonating the Martian Manhunter to get the Justice League to turn against his twin. In the process, Ma'al also impersonates several League members, sporting a signature Joker-esque smile to let the reader know it's him. This act of impersonation and trickery becomes a popular staple in future incarnations of Ma'al, as is often the case for shapeshifting villains. Ma'al adopts the "human" name Malefic.

In issue #7 we're given a flashback to a once living Mars, where Ma'al is being tried for the crime of "mind rape". It isn't specified who the victim of his crime is, unlike other iterations would later elaborate on. The reveal here is that Ma'al wasn't born disabled: he was punished to be by the martian council. His memory was wiped to make him believe he was disabled by birth.

[I know I could share other more informative panels of this flashback but I have to share what I consider, as a twin, the funniest panel ever]

In issue #8, it is revealed that while Ma'al's memory was wiped, his hatred was so strong that even though he doesn't remember why he hates he knows that he just does. So he secretly orchestrates the genocide of telepathic martians. J'onn notably defends his brother from the martian council initially, telling them that Ma'al deserves a chance as a new person, only to be proven wrong. By issue #9, the twins have a final battle with each other in the present. J'onn reinstalls Ma'al's telepathic abilities and memories, reactivating Ma'al's weakness to fire and letting him burn in the sun.

And that's Ma'alefa'ak's first debut! A standard trickster evil-twin villain who dies in his very first story. He does show up later in this solo run, but it's with a rebooted origin. So they're kind of like two different Ma'al takes in the same run.

Let's talk about this first version! We're dealing with a very typical evil twin character; he's described as the evil parts of what was supposed to be a whole person, while J'onn is all the good parts. There's a semblance of themes surrounding disability and destined good/evil, but it's only touched upon in this first take. One of the core flaws to Martian Manhunter's longevity as a solo character is his underdeveloped moral code and themes. It's the reason why J'onn doesn't have a stable rogues gallery, because he just kills them. He will SAY he has the basic moral high ground of "killing is bad, life is sacred" but he has no problem tossing his villains into the sun before acting upset about it later. J'onn lets his brother burn, but the narrative feigns him to have concern afterwards over how he couldn't save his poor brother. It's an odd read.

J'onn's "killing is bad" moral code also doesn't bounce off against his evil brother in a meaningful way. Ma'al wants to kill all martians so he won't be the freak martian anymore, but then what? He could go to a planet like Earth with no telepathy where he'd be normal, but instead he just,,, buries himself under some rocks to sleep until he realizes J'onn is still alive- which gives him purpose again. It's funny in a petty way, but meaningless considering he is now 50% of the martian population. While I consider this iteration of Ma'al's motivations to be shallow ("focused hatred" as a core motivation is short lived and unideal for the longevity of a recurring rogue), I do find Ma'al's shenanigans impersonating both J'onn and League members very fun to read.

He's a true equal to J'onn and while his immunity to fire wasn't explored as much as it should have been, it's no wonder this first impression gave Ma'al his iconic status as Martian Manhunter's arch nemesis, there's a personal connection between them as brothers. It's a familial short-hand for a deep relationship between hero and villain, but it's something to work with. Because even after death, Ma'al is still a revisited character.

Honorable mention time! The "DCU Villains Secret Files and Origins" (1999), featured an exclusive short comic on Ma'al's section that foreshadows the shapeshifting shenanigans he's about to pull on the League. His character page describes him as being born without telepathy even though that's proven to be untrue. We'll discuss the ableist narrative of having a disabled martian seeking to destroy all able-bodied martians in detail after looking through more of his backstory. Also, in the Secret Files information, Ma'al's marital status is left ambiguous for some reason. In case any of you were wondering if he was single.

Up next, Ma'alefa'ak returns in the 3-part flashback arc, In My Life (issues #33-35)! This story contains the most extensive characterization of Ma'al in the comics. In this storyline, we get to see J'onn and Ma'al's twinly birth. Sha'sheen and M'yrnn (J'onn and Ma'al's mother and father respectively) give J'onn a blessed name, while Ma'al is given a cursed name that prophesized darkness within him. Great favoritism on the parents, there. As the two grow up, J'onn is treated better than Ma'al-who is ostracized as someone vaguely "difficult". Despite this, J'onn cares about his twin dearly, constantly defending and giving his brother the benefit of the doubt. J'onn confronts his precognitive mother, and asks why she gave his brother a name that alienates him from martian society. Sha'sheen avoids answering directly and instead explains that before J'onn was even born, she had visions of a terrible future where a martian champion who would "embody the very best aspects of our race" will be needed. "Ma'al's name serves as a warning", Sha'sheen says.

J'onn grows up to be a manhunter like his mom, while Ma'al becomes a theologian and quantum physicist. At a big council meeting, Ma'al opens a portal that allows the people of Apokolips to visit Mars. The Apokolips people are friendly at first- asking around for an anti-life equation- but then quickly attack with an army and kidnap a bunch of Martians! They've taken Ma'al and M'yrnn too! J'onn goes on a quest to rescue his friends and family from Apokolips.

In the next issue, J'onn traverses Apokolips to free the kidnapped Martians and meets his love interest: M'yri'ah. He finds a traumatized Ma'al, whose mind has been experimented on by the people of Apokolips. J'onn also finds M'yrnn, who has been so horrifically tampered with to the point he is beyond saving. J'onn manages to save a group of Martians and head back home to Mars.

In the last issue of this arc, it's revealed that Ma'al is feigning being messed up by Apokolips. He's actually working for Darkseid and is snooping around for the anti-life equation! Meanwhile J'onn gets happily married to M'yri'ah, but before they can get-funky-Martian-Style, M'yri'ah feels her mind is being intruded on and is traumatized. An emergency council meeting is called, where we learn several Martians have been telepathically violated. Sha'sheen asserts -because the narrative didn't set up any other suspects- that the perpetrator is Ma'al. J'onn continues to be defensive of his brother and tells his mom they need more evidence before they can accuse him. Meanwhile he orders the manhunters to do a mental patrol while everyone sleeps.

In a sequence that is cosmically funny, J'onn goes to his home where he has it Martian-funky-style with his wife only to hear a cry for help from his mother who turns out to be dead. As a funeral is had in her honor, Sha'sheen's ghost materializes to J'onn. She reveals that she intruded into Ma'al's mind and confirmed her suspicions; Ma'al is Darkseid's servant. Angry, J'onn confronts Ma'al on Venus where the two fight.

J'onn proposes to take some of Ma'al's darkness and offer some of his lightness to heal Ma'al (some sort of Martian fusion I guess?). Ma'al is disgusted at the prospect of being more like J'onn so the two battle it out. I respect an identical twin that wants individuality. Anyway Ma'al loses and is brought back to Mars where his telepathy and memory are wiped away as punishment. J'onn goes home to have it Martian-funky-style with his wife which results in his baby girl K'hym. The ending is very abrupt.

There is a lot to dissect with In My Life. This is personally my favorite Ma'alefa'ak comic because while it's silly, predictable, and really slows down in issue #34 on Apokolips, it has some compelling characterization moments for Ma'al.

"But what am I, dear brother, other than what our mother made me? And what she didn't do to me, Darkseid and Desaad surely did. Am I the villain or the victim in all this?"

Let's discuss! Ma'al is set up to be the dynamic opposite to J'onn. While J'onn is "the best aspects of the Martian race" and is a duty bound to the point he is a law enforcer, Ma'al is an authority-questioning, faith-doubting, anti-establishment, outsider. There's a scene where M'yrnn is teaching young martians the ethics of telepathy: while Martians can read each other's minds, they are still entitled to privacy. To this, Ma'al calls out a double standard: how come manhunters are allowed to break these rules? M'yrnn essentially responds "it's tradition, don't question it." Even J'onn challenged this notion later when the Martian council accuse Ma'al of being the perpetrator of Mind Rape: "in investigating a mind rapist, you propose we rape Ma'alefa'ak's mind as well?". Yet that's exactly what Sha'sheen does to confirm her suspicions. She's allowed to after all, she's a manhunter.

Ma'al's entire reason for opening a portal for people of Apokolips to visit is because he's lost faith in Martian gods- something considered blasphemous by the Martian council. J'onn tries desperately to get Ma'al to assimilate into a society Ma'al doesn't identify with, going out of his way to propose how he could infuse his brother with parts of himself so that Ma'al could be more like him.

"I will not be you! I will not give up who I am! If I am flawed, then I will be flawed! I am Ma'alefa'ak! I will not be you!"

We all yass'd in quick succession. After their fight, J'onn's rebuttal is "You are as you are. Perhaps the only way to change that is to take it all away from you." Absolutely wild that J'onn and the Martian society are the good guys here. There's a story in here about someone who has been Assigned Ostracized At Birth and then dares challenge society's double standards. It's a far from perfect story, Ma'al absolutely victimizes himself as having no agency in following Darkseid's orders- but he came to this point as a result of a society and religion that shunned him. His punishment is to have his rebellious tendencies and memory stripped of him, and in the words of the comic:

"he would be mamed. He would be crippled. He would be given a new identity so that he would become a useful member of our society again. But he would never be fully trusted and he would never know why."

Dystopian!! He's been Martian Unperson-ed like it's 1984 by George Orwell. Of course this doesn't work and continues the cycle of Ma'al feeling shunned by society, this time because he's disabled, causing the destruction of Mars through H'ronmeer's Curse. Maybe Sha'sheen should've just named him something nice.

Immediately I know what the criticism to this is- Ma'al is a Darkseid cultist and telapthic rapist (and eventual perpetrator of genocide), why is it a question whether he is a victim? To this I say, we need to look at the bigger picture: how often are we treated to narratives that frame a rebellious and marginalized character who Has A Point About How Unfair Society Is, but "their methods are just too extreme"? It's the classic MCU villain and respectable-hero dynamic. Villain challenges the status quo, Hero upholds it.

Within the context of In My Life and Ma'al's lore, none of Ma'al's worst actions make any sense. In his first appearance, Ma'al is tried for the crime of "mind rape". However we, as the reader, are not privy to why he did these things. M'yria'h wasn't even written as his victim yet at this point. As she's consoling J'onn over Ma'al's trial, she says "I know how hard this was for you" "he cannot hurt others again". In My Life is meant to show us why Ma'al did those crimes. Ma'al was looking for the anti-life equation for Darksied, which My'rnn explains earlier to the Apokolips guests that "neither me nor my people have any desire for them {the anti-life equation}". Yet Ma'al violates M'yri'ah's and several martians' minds to fruitlessly find the anti-life equation when Ma'al should know that no one on Mars is interested in it. M'yri'ah is re-written to be his victim in this story, because it sure would be messed up for Ma'al to hurt his own twin's wife! Ma'al is oddly unmotivated in his origin stories, was he collaborating with Darkseid all along before opening the portal? Or was he indoctrinated by Darkseid after he was on Apokolips? What about Darkseid's ideas does he find appealing as an outsider?

Then there's Ma'al creating H'ronmeer's curse to wipe out the Martian race so he wouldn't be a "freak" anymore. This is also unmotivated. He had his memory erased, and all that remained was that he may not know why he hates Martians, he just does. So the next logical step was genocide? His motivation is watered down to "vague hatred".

Let's look at the optics of a story about a disabled character seeking to destroy the able-bodied population. Although I don't think Ma'alefa'ak's origin story is as intentional in its implication as some MCU propaganda perpetuates in its "respectable hero" narratives, the story of Ma'al is still the result of something so ingrained and unquestioned. It's reflective of the privileged fear that fights for equality will only result in the oppressed group oppressing the privileged-by doing unto them the same kind of oppression the privileged are used to doing to the oppressed. The privileged cannot comprehend what making space for others looks like, all they know is what it looks like to have that taken away.

No disabled person would go to the lengths a fictional Martian does in their frustration against an ableist society. Historically, it is able-bodied people and ableist society that's sought to wipe out disabled people and their culture. Everything from enforcing laws that ban the use of sign language in schools, discouraging disabled people from marrying each other, and the forced sterilization of marginalized people among many things, all exist with the goal of erasing disabled people. You've heard of fantasy reverse-racism, now get ready for fantasy reverse-ableism.

So why did the writer choose to make Ma'al do these nonsensical things? It's simple; J'onn is the best parts of the Martian race, and Ma'al is the worst parts. In a blogpost, Martian Manhunter writer John Ostrander discuses what went into Martian worldbuilding:

"Tom and I decided we would investigate and explore Martian culture in our version. He [J'onn] was telepathic; his race was telepathic. What did that mean? What were the societal rules? Rape, for example, would not only be physical; it could be emotional and mental. On the flip side of the coin, sex would involve a melding of minds as well as a melding of bodies. With his race dead, J’onn would be forever denied that. He could never again experience physical love on so deep a level."

Yeah their first thought about Martian worldbuilding really was "dang what's sex like for Martians, I guess it's super personal for them". Ma'al telepathic violation of M'yri'ah is not meant to be a deep look at rape culture or how something so vile can happen, it's just a demonstration of what the worst thing someone in a telepathic society could do. It's not even a sexual violation, Ma'al did the equivalent of looking for a secret pie recipe in someone's head, but it's framed as sexual assault by the narrative. That's why it's so unmotivated. Genocide is the next worst thing a person can do, and so that's all Ma'al is known for to most people. These narratively unmotivated actions, detached from a story about marginalization and challenging an unfair society.

And despite all that, telepathic violation and genocide are not what end up being the things future writers keep about his character. So let's continue.

Honorable mention time! In the 2006 comic run: Martian Manhunter The Others Among Us, it is revealed that the Cay'an (a surviving green martian and villain of the story) hates J'onn for letting his brother live! She wishes he was harder on Ma'al so that Ma'al wouldn't have destroyed their home. Ma'al doesn't appear in this story at all, but his influence on Martian Manhunter lore is so strong he still gets a mention and inadvertently spawns another rogue for J'onn.

It sure is weird how the narrative keeps punishing J'onn for caring about his brother. I would understand if In My Life was a story about giving an abusive family member too many chances or how some people are a lost cause, but that doesn't work when Ma'al is marked as an alienated outcast since birth. J'onn caring about Ma'al isn't a flaw to me, it's the one thing no one else in Martian society would do for Ma'al.

Moving along we have 2007's JLA: Classified: The Ghosts of Mars (issues #42-46). So if Ma'al's debut story was about impersonating J'onn and Justice League members to get everyone to mistrust and eventually kill the Martian Manhunter, The Ghosts of Mars is about Ma'al doing all that again but this time he's a dream ghost. Ma'al just possesses J'onn now. The writer, Justin Gray, really did his homework on both Martian lore and Ma'alefa'ak's origin story as there are some very specific callbacks that I enjoyed reading in this run. Rick Leonardi and Sean Philips's art is so appealing too! I love that they committed to Ma'al's edgy design.

So the reason J'onn is seeing Ma'al's Force Ghost (essentially) is that back when J'onn and Ma'al were kids, they partook in the G'amal'Khul ritual- which bonded a portion of each other's souls within themselves. Ma'al has a bit of J'onn's soul within him, and vice versa. What's notable about this incarnation of Ma'al is that despite the fact it heavily calls back to Ma'al's history in the In My Life storyline, it makes one key difference: Ma'al is explicitly labeled as disabled.

Textually it's more like a late-bloomer situation, where Ma'al can't hear The Great Voice in the way J'onn naturally could, but I think it's telling that the writers were willing to label that as a disability. Whereas In My Life and Pilgrimage never even used the word "disability"- Ma'al was only coded that way. You'll notice a still continuing theme of Ma'al needing to "overcome" his "flaws" in order to become a "useful member of society" or "a complete family". This ableist mindset and language is never called out or explored as something flawed in Martian society. It's just a given, acceptable thing.

Ma'al does eventually develop Martian Telepathy enough to hear The Great Voice, and then In My Life events remain the same in their briefly summarized retelling. Except!! For when J'onn is having a ghost-argument with his brother and calls out Ma'al by listing his crimes, J'onn does not mention Ma'al's violation of M'yri'ah or any other Martians. Later on, the ghosts of K'hym and M'yri'ah don't bring it up either. Possibly implying a small but noticeable retcon. Contrast this with his original incarnation, where that was Ma'al's defining crime that led to him being mind-wiped.

[these are from 2 separate pages that I fused together to save up space but please appreciate Ma'al peeping over J'onn's shoulders twice]

However there are some choices in characterization for Ma'al in this arc that are at odds with Ma'al's core themes and origin as a marginalized martian. His goal in this mental-ghost-argument with J'onn is to convince his brother that the Justice League will never accept J'onn as one of them because of anti-alien xenophobia. And in doing so, Ma'al weirdly props up Martian Superiority talking points.

Ma'al talks about how humans can never be faithful to their partners because humans can't shapeshift to keep the relationship spicy and interesting (I'm not joking). Unlike Martians who can change it up every now and then. Ma'al even says that because they're not telepathically open to each other like in Martian cultures, their sense of family "pales in comparison to Martian sensibilities". Having Ma'al flex abilities Martians can do as superior because humans don't have those abilities, in the same arc that explicitly labels Ma'al as disabled, is a bizarre characterization choice. While this version of Ma'al appears to have kinder parents raising him, the larger story beats of In My Life play out just the same. And those story beats rely on Ma'al being ostracized from his family since birth. The entire premise in this arc is J'onn being ostracized from human beings, who judge his more alien-appearance compared to Superman. J'onn even calls this out as racism. Yet no introspection is given over how Martian society oppressed Ma'al as a disabled Martian. So there's a bit of a dissonance in themes here.

Overall while I did enjoy this iteration of Ma'al (his ghost-aura pettiness continues to amuse me), I felt that a better version of this story was told through Martian Manhunter's Brightest Day arc. J'onn is tricked into trapping himself in his mind where he fantasizes about the Justice League sequentially dying off and is given cryptic clues in order to wake himself up. This arc deserves a shoutout because it also continues this Martian ableism tradition, but it's vilified this time!

The villain of this storyline is D'kay D'razz, and she's some kind of Martian scientist who seeks to cure Martians whose minds can't be read but are able to still telepathically read the minds of others, or "cerebrally isolated Martians" as D'kay puts it. She even proposed purging disabled Martians, which the Manhunters didn't like so they imprisoned her for hundreds of years in isolation. We don't get any named disabled Martians, they're mostly props to D'kay's belief and desire to breed the perfect Martian race with J'onn. It's odd that this time ableism is something Martian society and the manhunters disapprove of, since it was something they enforced in Ma'al's origin.

The Brightest Day Martian Manhunter storyline is also another prominent recurrence of Martian telepathic assault. Only for D'kay, unlike Ma'al's telepathic violation that was framed as rape, her goal with J'onn is explicitly sexual. "Rape" by term isn't mentioned at all in D'kay's plot, yet it's absolutely what she did to J'onn: deviously tricking him into hopefully giving her a Martian child. Yet J'onn as a victim isn't something fully recognized by the narrative to the extent that M'yri'ah was for In My Life. There's a larger conversation over the treatment of male victims in DC (and mainstream at large), but I think it's particularly clear in the case of J'onn versus M'yri'ah's treatment.

So our next two versions of Ma'al are more Elseworld takes on his character and they're much shorter to dissect. While I believe Ma'al is at his thematically strongest in these previous comics, I think these are still worth looking into because they continue some interesting staples to his character that we'll see in future adaptations of him. Also this is a Ma'alefa'ak retrospective, we're being thorough.

Get a load of this guy! Ma'alefa'ak appears in 2010's Batman The Brave and the Bold: Invasion from Mars! (issue #18) In this story, Ma'al is reimagined as a white martian. That's right, contrary to popular belief, Young Justice was not the first to make Ma'al unrelated to J'onn and turn him into a White Martian. Oh no, no no. Batman Brave and the Bold paved the way, my friend.

In this version, General Ma'al is trying to bring Martians back by destroying humans on Earth. Even though it can be argued this character only shares a name with Ma'al and little much else, there's some semblance to his character here. Ma'al possesses Batman in the later half of the story, even sporting his Joker-esque smile as he tries to take over Batman's mind. That's just about it, though!

Ma'al being reimagined as an Alien Invader seeking to wipe out humans and replace them with an alien race is a really generic villain motivation (for Kryptonians but especially Martians) so it doesn't stick. This does already show writers trying to freshen up Ma'al as a rogue by changing his Martian race. This Ma'al is the cutest design in the world.

Our last prominent Ma'alefa'ak comic appearance takes us to the infamous New 52, which features a red Martian variant of Ma'al who is once again, not J'onn's twin brother. The New 52 is a reboot where the DC universe gets an overall edgy makeover. For Martian Manhunter, this meant the 12-issue solo Epiphany. While it's easy to write this take off as a dark Elseworld interpretation with no connection to the characters' history, the Epiphany run actually has a ton of call backs to Martian Manhunter history. I like to describe this series as taking all those references and throwing them in an evil, twisted blender. So let's discuss. Since this series relies on a lot of time skips and twists, I'll be describing the relevant plot points as they happen chronologically in the universe.

Long ago, Krypton-uh I mean-Mars, was a technologically advanced society whose people became so arrogant of their progress that they didn't realize their planet was hurting. So the cosmic Spirit of Mars itself decided to psychically send the Martians a vision; a cry for help. Instead, most Martians interpreted this vision as a threat. Many just saw the vision of a large cosmic monster coming for them. Martians like Ma'alefa'ak, weaponized the growing fear and paranoia for his own gain. He convinces the Martian council that they should make a Martian Manhunter; a fusion of all the best Martians to be their weaponized champion against the coming threat. J'onn volunteers to be the soul vessel of the weapon. At the last minute, Ma'al betrays the Martians by slaughtering some of them to perform "Ancient Long-Banned Black Martian Blood Magic" to turn J'onn into a monstrous hybrid.

J'onn is betrayed, but decides to make the most of it by challenging the cosmic monster to a fight. The Spirit of Mars takes the form of J'onn's son and shames Martiankind for responding to its cry for help with violence. It punishes Mars by sucking the planet dry and spitting J'onn off-planet. Ma'alefa'ak seemingly escapes with his troops.

As millions of years pass by, J'onn goes insane and out of loneliness, splits himself up into a bunch of Martians with consciousness of their own and spread them throughout the planet (and the universe I guess). Out of shame, J'onn hides from his past and convinces himself he's a hero with false memories. Eventually in the present day, all of the split parts of J'onn decide they want to return to him as "our god", and they do that through...a fake alien invasion.

The invasion consists of a fake Ma'alefa'ak (constructed by J'onn) and his team of fake White Martians (also constructed by J'onn) who seek to put J'onn into a giant magical beam that would supposedly bring Mars back. J'onn splits himself into 4 new identities to make himself harder to find, but he's found and brought to the beam regardless.

The magic spell goes wrong and instead sends him to a universe where Earth and a resurrected Mars are about to collide into each other. J'onn tries to save both the resurrected Martians and the people of Earth by taking the Martians through a portal back to before the spell happened. Which he does. But as he makes it back to normal Earth, he is treated to the plot twist that none of the Martians (neither the ones that attacked him nor the ones he was saving) were real. J'onn realized he orchestrated the whole thing. And before the reader can think too hard about all the innocent people J'onn killed in his weird roleplay game, the comic ends with a little girl basically telling him "well, at least you tried to do good." J'onn quickly flies away because- yeah I don't think he was convinced by what she said either.

And that's a very brief summary of the New 52 Martian Manhunter arc. I'll go into more detail in the analysis since the story is so overloaded and convoluted that it would take forever to explain every plot point as its presented to us in the comic. So let's talk about themes and how Ma'alefa'ak fits into this story.

One of the other foundational flaws of Martian Manhunter as a superhero character is that he is in many ways, a creatively redundant variation of Superman. Whenever writers try to flesh out the world of Mars, they often end up accidentally re-creating Krypton. In J'onn's limited Rebirth solo run Identity, he's basically a more corrupt Jor-El figure. When both Superman and Martian Manhunter are the last of their kind and powerful, an exciting villain means bringing out another Martian or Kryptonian that seeks to take over Earth to bring their lost planet back. What Epiphany tries to do to differentiate J'onn from Superman is to dip into the cosmic horror idea that J'onn is not who he always thought he was. He's not a hero, he's a weapon designed to attack the Spirit of Mars. The new identities J'onn split himself into are convinced they have fully lived lives and are horrified to learn they're a part of something else. The full horror comes around when J'onn realizes he's constructed all this alien-invasion destruction himself. It's a very unnecessarily edgy end to a story with potential. But how does Ma'alefa'ak fit into it?

Outside of the origin story, the Ma'al we see in this arc is mostly a fabrication of J'onn's mind. Sure he has his own consciousness and we can only assume he's an accurate re-enactment of what the real (probably dead) Ma'al was like, but he's still an extension of J'onn at the end. Ma'al is characterized as a paranoid, violent egomaniac. He casually uses forbidden Martian magic to fuse Martians against their will, and his ultimate goal is to recreate Mars in his image. I highly doubt the writer of this run was referencing Ma'al's more generic re-imagined motivations from the Batman Brave and the Bold comic, but it's interesting that making Ma'al into discount General Zod is a thing that happened twice. So how does this fit into older takes on Ma'al outside of being overly edgy? It's all in the details.

The first time J'onn (as one of his new human identities) meets Ma'alefa'ak in the story, Ma'al and the many White Martians have disguised themselves as humans on Earth. Ma'al takes the form of Leo Chandler, a disabled, wheelchair-using boy paralyzed through motor neuron disease. Out of all the throwbacks to Ma'alefa'ak's disability, this one is the wildest. Leo is introduced as having been kidnapped by his own mother before murdering her himself.

But eventually J'onn learns that Leo is not who he seems. He is Ma'alefa'ak in disguise, and Leo's human "mother" was another Martian in disguise. Ma'alefa'ak's "mother" grew to like humans and decided she didn't want to go through with the invasion. She paralyzed Ma'alefa'ak with her powerful telekinesis into a form he finds disgusting and inferior. Once J'onn's many identities get close to the magic beam, Ma'alefa'ak regains his true form again. This is a surprising mix of many things from Martian Manhunter lore. Ma'alefa'ak being disabled by another Martian, finding humans inferior to Martians, even the part where he kills his own mother, are all callbacks to his original iterations. The missing thematic piece is that Ma'al is not marginalized by the Martians or humans in any way, so we're left with only the cartoonishly evil and generic "bring Mars back in my image" through genocide ritual sacrifice.

This is further contrasted against how J'onn is reimagined in this run. Remember how when J'onn's mother tells him she foresaw how he would become a martian champion who would "embody the very best aspects of our race" way back in In My Life? Well in Epiphany, J'onn is now the ultimate able-bodied best Martian. He is a magic-made mix of the greatest warriors and intellects Mars has to offer. Part of the themes of this run is the way J'onn's unique existence dehumanizes him. After witnessing Ma'alefa'ak slaughter Martians with forbidden magic to complete J'onn's transformation, J'onn tells Ma'alefa'ak "You murdered me!". His new identities have personal crises upon finding out their lives are fabricated. So even though J'onn is Mars' ideal champion, the transformation is a burden on him.

In terms of J'onn and Ma'al's dynamic, we're not given a lot to work with. They're basically council associates until J'onn is betrayed by Ma'al turning him into a hybrid fusion monster. The fabricated-by-J'onn's-mind-version of Ma'al hates J'onn for resisting his destiny as a weapon to bring Mars back. There's something about how Ma'al's hatred of J'onn is characterized in this series that feels strangely familiar. Sure, Ma'al is defined by paranoia and ego, but the hatred almost feels like classic Ma'al's vague and petty hatred. It leads to amazing instances of dialogue like "COME DOWN, MANHUNTER! AND MA'ALEFA'AK WILL RIP OUT YOUR TRAITOR'S HEART AND EAT IT AS HATE FUEL FOR BLACK BLOOD MAGIC!" along with the classic "I HAVE HATED YOU SO MUCH I THINK I LOVE YOU, J'ONN." A real tsundere moment for Ma'al.

There's many other nods to Martian Manhunter lore- but to keep it Ma'alefa'ak centric, I have to point out that the series does end with J'onn talking to Ma'alefa'ak's force ghost. And I find that so amusing as an arguably intentional reference to their JLA: Classified, the Ghosts of Mars arc.

So that's New 52 Ma'alefa'ak. My main criticism for Epiphany as a Martian Manhunter take is that it feels less like a story with a unique voice and more like an amalgamation of annotations, references and citations to other Martian Manhunter stories. There's a great premise at the center of Epiphany; the cosmic horror of realizing you're not who you thought you were, that your existence is fabricated and fake, but it's bogged down with an edgy convoluted story that loses what it wants to say. This is reflected in their take of Ma'al. If you remove all the strange quirky references, he's just discount general Zod of Krypton.

Epiphany is a symptom to a larger core flaw to Martian Manhunter's as a superhero character. If Superman is an allegorical immigrant that symbolizes hope and Batman is vengeance initially motivated by grief that eventually evolves into hope, then what grounds J'onn J'onzz as a character? He may be an alien, but stories exist to describe human experiences. DC recognizes J'onn is a survivor from planet-wide destruction, but its writers don't know what to do with him after the fact. What is heroism motivated by? Why does he choose to protect his new home?

Because they're unable to answer this, we get story after story of J'onn grieving Mars like he's your best friend who can't get over their ex. It's why they constantly revisit his origin story, because they don't have anything else to say about J'onn outside of his grief. This affects his villains too, most of them reverting to just tempting him to bring back Mars. Testing nothing else about his character. This isn't a bad plot to have, but it's J'onn's ONLY plot most of the time. So unless Martian Manhunter gets a major revitalization of his entire character, he can't grow into a self sustaining property. Speaking of revisiting his origin-

It's time for our last honorable mention! With the Rebirth reboot across the DC Universe, we get yet another Martian Manhunter origin retelling. This time, in the form of a limited 12 issue solo series Martian Manhunter; Identity (2019) written by Steve Orlando with art by Riley Rossmo.

Ma'al gets but a single mention in this series, but it's crucial to point out for many reasons. For one, Ma'al is revealed to be a slut. And while I'd love to stick to that one point alone, it's the broader implications of this reimagining that are important to consider in terms of how Ma'alefa'ak has evolved as a character. As of writing, Identity is the most thorough characterization of J'onn's wife and daughter in all of comics canon. It is the first time M'yri'ah and K'hym are fleshed out to have personalities, motivations, occupations and lives. Before this, they were props for J'onn to love and feel sad about. Yes, these two are what Jor El and Lara are to Superman and what Thomas and Martha Wayne are to Batman, but they only got fleshed out all the way in 2019.

In Identity, M'yri'ah works as a nurse who has suspicions about the growing fire virus infecting Martians. After learning J'onn is a corrupt cop who tried to sneak her and their daughter K'hym off-planet before the fire consumed them all, she dies by opening her mind to K'hym's and getting infected. So how does this come back to Ma'alefa'ak? The true origins of the fire virus remain a mystery in this interpretation, so we don't know if Ma'al is still responsible for burning all the Martians through Hr'onmeer's curse. But what we do know is that he's no longer involved with M'yri'ah in any way. Sure she knows who he is, but there's certainly no hint of a violation that occurred between the two. Much like with the JLA Classified: Ghosts of Mars comic, we're seeing the more controversial parts of Ma'al be removed in newer iterations of the character. Because it was never integral to either his character or J'onn's origin story.

I'd love to do a thorough analysis of Identity, since it is both an earnest attempt at revitalizing Martian Manhunter into a solo character while also being a showcase of common pitfalls writers run into when developing his character and world. BUT since this is a Ma'alefa'ak essay, that would be a huge tangent. So that concludes all of Ma'al's current comic appearances, time of writing. Just know that all the stuff we mentioned before about J'onn's lore accidentally recreating Krypton, Superman and Jor El are in this limited run as well.

Earlier in this essay I posed a question about Ma'al as a character; "what is the through-line of Ma'alefa'ak? What do writers decide to keep and re-invent about him? What makes Ma'al, Ma'al?" With the way Martian Manhunter struggles to get a footing in DC comics, it may look like we have an unsatisfying or incomplete answer to that question. When you look at the timeline of Ma'al's comic appearances, it's basically his initial origins, one revisit in a JLA comic, some mentions in other comics, and 2 Elseworld takes. That's not a lot of substantial iterations to see the character properly evolve past a reference. So what now?

This is where we must head into adapted media, because Ma'alefa'ak's story doesn't end with the comics. I think it's crucial to examine the way Ma'al has been adapted because we get to see writers look at the source material and decide which parts of him resonate with the stories they want to tell. It's where we can truly see what aspects of Ma'al endure with time. So join me as we look into the 3 cross-media adaptations of Ma'alefa'ak to finally figure out what is it about J'onn J'onzz's evil twin character that keeps him coming back. In another post!

[sgiandubh]

Flaunting the narrative

I just came back from a nice dinner & drinks in town, with friends who visit from Athens. Lo and behold, my DMs are on fire again, but my (in)famous Inbox is, as expected, resoundingly quiet. [Later edit: not for long].

It would seem S's latest interview for yet another one of those glossy magazines one usually spots untouched in any random Main Street dentist's cabinet or real estate office did manage to raise a couple of eyebrows, after all. With very few data publicly available, Flaunt Magazine is the kind of media outlet with four times less Instagram followers than S, so this begs the question to whom the murder interview really profits:

There is very little out there about Flaunt Magazine, indeed. Other than it was founded in September 1998 by three amigos (Alex Barajas, Jim Turner and Long Nguyen), all of whom were also part of the editorial team of the (now defunct?) Detour Magazine, there is virtually nothing else. This does or should ring a bell about the real importance and relevance of this media stunt - not much to add here, either. Other than that, past issues of Flaunt seem to be traded between fans of celebrities who (more or less) regularly grace its pages, in what I do think are paid/in kind op-eds written by people with no clear professional print, in agreement and by prior arrangement with the talent's PR:

Compared to Flaunt, a real lifestyle press behemoth such as Harper's Bazaar (this blogger has subscribed to for many years, ahem) has a quite different audience level and marketing approach:

Six times more Instagram followers and a clearly more friendly pricing policy:

[Sorry, what I managed to find is the UK offer - blame it on their regional settings, I suppose: however, I think the US offer might not be that different].

In other words, I am beginning to suspect more and more Flaunt is that kind of vanity/hybrid press product, where costs and risks are more or less evenly split between the printer/publisher and the client. Therefore, you would be naive to expect anything else than some tightly controlled, neat-o narrative aligned content. Especially considering the targeted audience, which is (of course) the American fandom, albeit with a tinge of 'sophistication' and a totally artificial 'whimsical twist' (California, here I come).

Onwards to the candid bullshittery.

The article opens with a precise timeline reference:

[Source: https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/cy0g2p47xd5o]

Therefore, the interview happened somewhere between 11 and 14 October 2024, just about the time S was overseas and C was spotted having dinner in London with the Rothschilds and no Tracula in sight. And there is another thing that immediately screamed at me from that pixelated page: George Mallory. Which brought me exactly here:

Yes, absolutely. The Golden Goose that never was. That still hurts, judging by the melancholy with which S talks about Everest, not climbing it after all, still planning to visit next December:

Perhaps with Jake Norton, a reputed Scottish American mountaineer (I think you were right on the money, darling - you know who you are, 😘😘❤️), S met and stroke a friendship with since 2023:

The December reference is not innocent at all. It is there to sparkle endless speculation about what S will be doing on Xmas and Hogmanay, too (and with whom, of course - and there you have all the factions dutifully served with an extra side of bullshite to dissect). Fan wars galore, fuming and flaming DMs and inboxes to boot. He/his PR know that and apparently they still need that Idiotenspiel at play for a while. Also, December's got 31 days, something that Stans worldwide seem to suddenly ignore.

Once the proper tone is set and given, the rest flows almost naturally: zero reference to C (1500% expected) and what is a clearly tailored, yet fizzling, bomb:

'I'm really on the precipice': now that is some extraordinary choice of words, isn't it? This and the 'I don't know' are probably the only authentic reactions in the very strange quote I underlined.

'Being on the precipice' is almost always negatively connotated. It logically has nothing to do with the idea of starting a new journey, but it has everything to do with the idea that he is now confronted with the lack of security and comfort and with the potential loss of notoriety the end of OL might bring. Something he very clumsily tries to disguise as 'I feel I'm no longer tied by Outlander', which must also be the counterfactual understatement of the year, really. There is legally and factually no way he wouldn't still be tied by Outlander, irrespective of how tedious that might feel. He still needs the Mommies' hardcore clientele pool, while he is commendably trying to diversify his sales and marketing strategy. These things do not happen in the blink of an eye and he knows it very well. However, he also really needs to portray himself as something else than a one trick pony, in order to remain bankable in Hollywood and elsewhere. Hence the 'I am not tied to OL anymore', I am able to do bigger and better things, and in the long run I would also like to make a springboard, not a dead end out of it.

Finally, there is no way he would be legally untied from OL. Contracts are still contracts. They include clauses and obligations that will be enforced most probably until after the show's last season will be aired. There is very little to zero leeway around it, for the time being. By the time those clauses and obligations will be rendered obsolete, very few of those Anons and Stans and Mommies and Onlies will still be around to even give a flying duck about the whole life situation.

And then, we have the 'maybe I'll start a family'. Despite what all of my Anons are shrieking right now in my inbox, this is not even the first time he hints at it, and I seriously do not understand why the sudden hysterical surge. Anons probably think I am amnesic, or something:

That is a direct quote from Waypoints. He announced nothing. It's been there, in plain sight, for a long time already and if anything, it is consistent with the narrative.

The rest is borderline irrelevant, visually and conceptually incoherent ('nude scenes are difficult and even dangerous to shoot, when dealt with in a non-professional way, but here is a shirtless bucolic pic that will make my Onlies drool and buy collector's issues at extortionate prices'). The overall impression it gave me was of a hastily cobbled and not very clever circumstance paper. Nothing more, nothing less.

There is no amount of wishful thinking that is going to immediately and magically change the current state of play. Reasonable people should expect mild, but constant turbulence ahead, with a sprinkle of cuteness and innuendo just to keep all the fandom's factions engaged and present, which translates to S/C/SC being relevant for potential employers, agents, the press, etc. In a nutshell, absolutely nothing new. You can screech, you won't change an iota of what I know is true and my position is firmer than ever, no matter how ridiculously hard you try to intimidate or harass me. That's all.

[mandalhoerian]

ghost to its haunt, I | leon kennedy x reader

read part 1: moth to a flame pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader summary: Even if it is full of love, all a ghost can do is haunt. But this time, it has to be different. word count: 6K warnings: angst, hurt no comfort, peppers of fluff as a treat, smut (blink and you'll miss it), leon being feral from day one like seriously he's unhinged, his negative self-talk notes: this installment comes in two chapters. chapter two is still being written and will be published and linked here when i'm done. header template can be found here. we're nearly at the end besties, thank you for sticking with me until the end, and please enjoy.

🌀 read on ao3! 🌀 NEXT CHAPTER

i. Leon knew right from day one when you’d breached the solitary safety of his shadowed corner in the bar of his unusual drinking choice, that you were tempting and twice as dangerous as a mirage to a parched man lost in the desert. 

In the pleasantly neon-lit sanctuary of a bustling bar, amidst the cacophony of clinking glasses and spirited conversations, he stuck out like a sore thumb with the air of melancholy around him, making people near his booth uneasy with the way he was observing everything — to them, he was not to be approached, as if one look to his way would be enough for him to start a fight, but in reality it was his inability to relax in crowds, subconscious calculating for unlikely scenarios to unfold and contingency plans on how to get away. Yet he’d wanted to come here just once anyway, see what made here one of Major Krauser’s favorites, it was psychological torture, but Leon did it to himself anyway, knowing so.  

You came to Leon first when nobody would approach him, setting a starting point of the pattern in your relationship where this’d be repeating over and over again. 

The stifling hot humidity of the South American forest and how heavier the stench of blood stuck at the back of his nose still followed him around months after, and you tracked the trail like a shark in the water, it was in the way you’d been openly watching him upon spotting him in his corner, in the way you slid towards him in the booth, eyes glinting, seeking, curious, expecting — giving straight away of how fresh you were to this compared to the poor unfortunate soul before you chasing after Operation Javier. 

You looked young, around his age, but had a certain softness and eagerness that reminded him of an unprepared rookie back in 1998, so before you could get a word in, he’d said, “I suggest you walk away for your own safety. You know how this ends.”  

You know how this ends. 

Such first words. What a way to doom an entire relationship and a person. 

If Leon knew how his words had shaped the reality he’d chosen, he’d have gone with something promising, more open, like, “How’d you know I wanted company?” — he’d expressed himself more, made his attraction more prominent, secured you to him better, but he was always about safety and protection, wasn’t he? Paranoid beyond belief, self-sabotaging. Of course he’d warned you about taking caution so you wouldn’t get hurt, especially given what had happened to the previous journalist looking into the operation. 

Your reaction to this was opting to buy him a drink instead of getting intimidated. Leon had made it clear over and over again he wouldn’t tell you anything and to go your own way. You didn’t know anything about him other than being a connection of the White House to Operation Javier somehow and he certainly wouldn’t be the one reporting this back to the base, so he made sure this was about saving one more person’s life from being ruined in vain even after this brief encounter had led to a hasty hookup in a bathroom stall and eventually to a hotel room like he was some teenager with no control over his dick —

You had ruined everything. 

Unabashedly interested in him and just pushing, eager, genuine, passionate as you kept talking about your job in wanting to expose corruption the more he kept things dry and silent, and he just saw the same spark in you that he had once; how naive, how idiotic, how endearing — such respect-worthy dignity and enthusiasm and drive that you had managed to find him of all people in your pursuit. He’d never been attracted to anyone quite like this, not the same way with Ada, not in that elusively mysterious and alluring, dangerous and unapproachable, thrilling distance, but the other end of the spectrum, the sort that fed on kinship and admiration that made him want to protect you from what he knew would happen if you kept going like this. 

Jesus, it should have been discouraging you from this path and nothing more, instead, Leon had been randomly snapped out of years of dissociation and autopilot since Raccoon City, and for what? Mind-blowing sex he didn’t even know was coming for his throat on a random fall night in 2002? 

Really, it was his routine being broken that had done it.

His life was meticulously governed by strict routines and unwavering habits, as if each day were a precisely choreographed fight, a paragon of order and structure. Leon’s world thrived on meticulous organization, where every document, tool, and weapon had its designated place. Even the symmetry of his living space mirrored the precision of his mind, with every item aligned flawlessly, punctuality eventually becoming second nature to him, his internal clock a finely tuned instrument, ensuring he was never a moment late, not at all a result of being late in his first day as a cop. Time was a precious commodity, a resource he safeguarded fiercely, as he understood that even the smallest delay could have dire consequences. This devotion to structure allowed him to remain laser-focused on his objectives, and also avoid hellish punishments back at Offutt Air Force Base located near Omaha, Nebraska where he had spent quite some time as a special agent trainee.

Military would make a clockwork out of anyone, but being trained under Major Krauser had turned him into a well-oiled machine that only had training and mission objectives in mind. Leon used to be highly adaptable and open to surprises before, but his encounter with you had revealed just how unprepared and anxious to impulses he’d been molded to become. Spontaneity had ended up a stranger to him, an unwelcome disruption that threatened to dismantle his carefully constructed world, and as an extension, anything else was regarded as losing control — which was, an unthinkable notion; he had been trained to maintain composure in the most chaotic of situations. 

There wasn’t even the semblance of composure in how he handled you. 

Never in his wildest dreams would he entertain the thought of someone managing to unbelievably, randomly, turn him on so uncontrollably one day that he’d lose his mind enough to risk public indecency in a fucking bathroom stall with pants around his ankles not only once, but twice. 

Sitting on the toilet with your back to his chest, one leg spread wide open over his knee and the other hiked up in the air from his elbow, you basically limp in his arms as all you could concentrate on was shutting your mouth tight enough not to make noise as he wildly bounced you up and down on his lap — and the next thing he knew after blowing his load right after with no rest whatsoever was that he had you flat against the graffiti-stained door separating a bunch of girls from what the two of you were doing, one hand clamped on your mouth, having you press your thighs together so he could languidly slip back and forth against the tight crevice of your wetness and the plushness combined that he had to use all his control for the door to not rattle and feeling your pussy spasm each time he grazed your clit, his head buried in the crook of your neck whispering filth he didn’t know his mind was capable of conjuring right to your ear with no filter —- how much of a pervert you were to be enjoying this when all it had to take was a peep from you for people right in front of you to discover you were getting off to the thought the humiliation of being looked at while getting fucked from behind, all the while it was Leon who was dying to explode from how horny he was that it was unbearably painful. 

And the only thing he could think about was to hell with it all and the hammering of his heart to hear you moan uncontrollably, he could just plunge inside you right then and there, had to bite down on your clothed shoulder to hold back the impulse, hell, it took everything in him to keep his breathing steady and not heave, every second the girls didn’t leave was dragged torture, his legs were trembling from holding back and the sheer excitement, but holy shit was it concentrated ecstasy that had his eyes rolling behind his head when they had finally left and he’d rammed himself in to the hilt so forcefully that the hinges of the door had almost broken off.

You had consumed him whole, your skin, your scent, your taste, wrapping him in a cocoon of warmth and pleasure and just digesting his whole being that he didn’t even have one grain of logic or common sense as a pea brain or nothing — just that he wanted to keep fucking and it was so soft and everything just felt so good and good god Leon was going to have an aneurysm from overheating because of you.    

The post-nut clarity after all that was interesting to say the least. 

A blood clot had to have shot up to his brain for his sanity to have snapped like that … And for him to think this wasn’t enough and he wanted more as you rested in his embrace — in a fucking bathroom stall. He wasn’t a people person. He simply didn’t do this shit in the first place, what was even happening?

Leon didn’t know what to be embarrassed about: of himself for doing this kind of thing in a place like this or disrespectfully exerting a woman to this degree, he had no idea whatsoever where all the talk about getting discovered had come from, didn’t that make Leon the pervert? Good lord. 

He had to be thankful that you were coming down from a high and had no energy to turn around and look at his face, because you surely would see him transition from all shades of red out of shame. What the actual hell had come over him?  

Leon was made aware that night that it’d been such a long time since he’d felt such a visceral physical response to someone that his whole body was in a flushed flurry — the kind of intensity that hadn’t even scraped the top of his heated need, he couldn’t even think before suggesting you two take this to somewhere else better that he could drown in this feeling some more. 

The man who said this basking in your afterglow and the man who warned you about how this ended were two different people. 

The man at the very beginning of this would have known better than to let himself indulge in you. 

But your pull was worse than that of a black hole’s, and in Leon’s mind, him taking you to a hotel room was equivalent in his mind to tossing you over his shoulder like an impatient caveman foaming at the mouth, and he knew he’d looked so constipated and unenthusiastic about it back then because he was trying to keep his shit together and not let his libido rush straight to his head, it was absolutely batshit crazy that his mouth was fucking salivating over you and he had to physically fight not to get hard where he stood, especially after having a taste of how you melted in his arms and he just couldn’t keep his together and — this was unreal, Leon had never went into a frenzy over someone before and you’d just taken it. 

He wanted to be gentle, enjoy it, savor it, and you weren’t even going anywhere, but even after he’d gotten him and you a room, Leon had taken you like he hadn’t fucked in his life before, like his dick had gotten hard for the first time in his life, and pathetically like he was desperate for his skin to touch another human being’s — and you… 

You. 

You had made everything worse. 

He still remembered that exact moment when your hands found his hair, the gentleness of the caressing contrasting his rough rutting, he remembered how the rhythmic squeaking of the bed stuttered and gave it right away that he was caught off guard even though his head was buried in the cushion of your tits — embarrassing, utterly disgraceful, all that you’d done was pet his fucking head and his heart had purred like a goddamn cat, and even more shameful was that he’d come right on the spot when you’d started pulling on his strands, Jesus fuck, he wanted to die on the spot. 

One condom change and a carry to the bed later (because Leon had shattered upon passing the threshold of the hotel door and he’d wrapped your legs around his hips and had you against the door, again) things had finally begun to become mellow and sensual as he’d started enjoying you, significantly calmer and more collected compared to before, paying more attention to how you liked it and what you liked, where you liked better, putting those observational skills to more gratifying uses. 

Somehow this was the most satiated he’d been yet, actually taking in the sight of you struggling against the pleasure brought him the unexpectedly superior fulfillment to chasing his own height. He was alerted and awake, sensitive to the very last cell watching you, endeared, wanting to give you every last drop of euphoria he could just to see how you’d react to it. And the more he explored, the more he couldn’t get enough, so adorable, so sexy, so hot, how could he take pleasure in making someone cry? How and why the hell couldn’t his dick stay down for five minutes? 

By the time he’d finally become downright spent and quenched the fire inside, the sun had already risen, the floor was just littered with ripped condom packets, you were covered in hickeys, bite marks and bruises that he’d questioned if he was a feral animal, and the sheets were… disgusting. 

Leon was a repenting sinner with an imaginary tail between his tails when he’d wrapped you in clean linen and laid you on the sofa, changed the sheets, and straightened the pillows, getting you to pee and drawing a bath for you afterwards, it was mortifying he’d made you basically unable to walk for the time being, and he surely didn’t deserve your insistence that you two share the bath together, twice as horrified and disturbed at the tender intimacy with which you’d washed him, warm fingers massaging his scalp almost lulling him to sleep.  

Sharing the room service breakfast, streaks of golden sunlight of the early hours washing your face and making the white of your bathrobe glow as he tried not to make it obvious he was ogling, you’d tricked him into promising you a date for all that he’d put you through that night, you’d be calling in sick; and Leon was covering his face in guilt and embarrassment inside even though all that he’d presented you was an abashed grin and an, “As the lady wishes.” — stupidly giddy enough to have lowered his guard (like that idiot in 1998) that you hadn’t suggested this because you wanted information out of him but were genuinely interested in his company, in him. 

He wasn’t overthinking it back then, just reveling in your presence, luxuriating in the fluffy, satisfied, peaceful feeling, new to him, not afraid of how it could be ephemeral. He was drunk, and not conscious about the fact just yet.  

The withdrawals had hit right after parting ways with you — this was a mistake, this was a huge mistake, he shouldn’t have promised anything, he shouldn’t even have done this in the first place. Leon had no time for this, couldn’t even keep a plant alive if he committed, didn’t know how it’d work, nobody was allowed to know about the kind of work he did, the world of bioterrorism was a secret kept so tightly it became nooses around the necks of nosey individuals. 

He just couldn’t allow himself to loosen the leash around his normal because if he did let go of himself, he would make a mistake. That mistake could doom you. 

More importantly than it not being fair to you, he’d be putting you in danger just by being in your proximity. 

All that fretting around, putting the stress of wishing to see you again but the garbage feeling he mustn’t (that he hadn’t expected to make him this moody) into exercising more intensely than before, and ending up scaring the folks around the office unintentionally in work, only to feel immediately like spring had come at the drop of a hat when you’d called saying because he hadn’t, apparently, and you were waiting for him. 

This was terrifying. How you made him feel... It was entirely out of his control. 

I suggest you walk away for your own safety. You know how this ends.

Leon should have kept telling this to himself. 

ii. The date was at your place, planned from start to finish by you, an attentiveness and special treatment he didn’t deserve, but Leon got warm inside anyway, especially after you said this seemed like the better option since he didn’t seem to do well in crowds. Something about him being noticed on this kind of personal level had caused him to confuse his right from his left and he was sure his palms were sticky just from that and the way you smiled. 

You’d said you wanted to get to know him, and Leon unfortunately didn’t have enough going out experience to decide if cooking together and then sitting down to solve a murder mystery game was the most creative thing ever or not, because he thought it was. 

At the end of this, he knew you much better, and had shown you himself in a way that wouldn’t be possible by answering questions. 

Leon had approached the murder mystery solving game with a calculated and analytical mindset, trained to think strategically, he had diligently assessed every clue, scrutinizing them for hidden meanings and connections. He hadn’t meant to get invested this much, but he had ended up approaching the game like a covert operation and a blast from the past to his police academy days, examining evidence with sharp attention to detail and requiring evidence instead of just a hunch like you kept hitting him with. Each clue was like a piece of intel, and he’d taken the murder of Mrs. Huntington very seriously. Relying on his instincts, leveraging his experience in decoding complex situations to unravel the layers of the mystery, his logical thinking and ability to tackle every single thread of this one by one had brought structure and organization to their investigative process.

In contrast, you had embraced the game with innate curiosity and unlike him, a childlike interest — like a game should be perceived. As an investigative journalist, he’d seen that you had a natural knack for delving deep into stories and uncovering hidden narratives, embarking on the game with a keen eye for the human element, looking beyond the surface level clues to understand the motivations and emotions of the characters involved. You thrived on the adrenaline rush of piecing together the puzzle, always seeking out the next lead or breakthrough, and brainstorming on the possibilities, which clashed with Leon, leading to a sort of bickering that was entertaining, really. Your inquisitive nature and intuition led you to explore alternative perspectives, constantly questioning assumptions and seeking out overlooked details.

When was the last time he’d had this much fun? Leon didn’t remember. 

All that you’d given him that night was a kiss, he hadn’t minded you halting things before the heavy makeout session that had his brain melting like jello could escalate into something more, and he definitely didn’t mind being hypnotized into saying yes for doing this again sometime in the future — when he should have cut things off. 

Leon really couldn’t seem to think coherently around you.

And, despite his better judgment, there was a third time. There also was a fourth. A fifth. A sixth. Seventh. Until he forgot it was a matter of numbers and he simply kept seeing you — that was it. 

Amidst the unlabeled dates that unfolded between you and Leon, there was an undeniable disparity in your cooking styles. While he considered himself a decent cook, you couldn't help but find his dishes lacking in flavor and spice, often describing them as bland. Nonetheless, there was a silver lining to this culinary discrepancy: Leon's competence in the kitchen ensured that all ten of his fingers remained intact, a feat that seemed elusive whenever you attempted to prepare a meal.

Your culinary misadventures had reached a crescendo one fateful day, as Leon returned home to a scene of chaos. The kitchen lay in disarray, food scattered about, a bloody rag, and a knife ominously present. Heart shooting up to his throat, he practically shouted, "Oh my god, what the hell happened?"

It was then that you revealed your mishap, a deep and severe cut that required stitches. Despite the severity of the injury, you had opted not to seek medical attention to avoid the burden of an exorbitant bill. Unbeknownst to you, Leon possessed exceptional suturing skills, honed through the necessity of tending to his own wounds after the hazards of his missions. He hadn't disclosed this fact of course, but rather emphasized his meticulousness when it came to first aid that he’d taken a course on it in the past.

He kept on boomeranging back to you every time he regretted the previous entanglement the morning after, dreading this was bound to end badly and he should leave you alone. He could… He could get sex elsewhere, he was a dog on a leash because stumbling on physical compatibility on this level had made him an idiot, that must have been it, he thought.  

But that wasn’t the issue at all. Nothing had thrown him off and even affected his daily life the way your absence did. It wasn’t craving the skin contact and fantasizing about the next affair that did Leon the damage, it was simply wanting to see you and be by you that even his appetite was lost along the way — he had been scared of what this was. The utter enormity of it made him panic. 

In the depths of his soul, a bubbling longing simmered up and up, getting close to the surface the more he deprived himself of you, taking over him with an intensity that defied description. His heart echoed with the fading echoes of your laughter, a melody he yearned to hear once more and came back to him when he least expected it — in the field he could chase away all thoughts and concentrate, but in the waking moments devoid of action, his thoughts collapsed toward you, unable to escape the gravitational pull of your absence. A hunger, primal and unyielding, gnawed at his core, a hunger for the touch of your hand in his hair, the warmth of your embrace, the nightmare-free, cloud-soft sleeps by your side. He’d come to find solace in fragments of memories, savoring the remnants of your presence, like faded polaroids etched in his mind. It was unbelievable to notice the world around him grew muted and colorless, as if drained of life's vibrancy, each passing day intensifying the ache, searing his heart with an inconsolable longing, fueling he urge he kept resisting to bridge the chasm of his own making that separated him and you. 

Leon had to accept he liked you despite himself, liked you to the point of no return, and that he was afraid to admit the stronger word. 

iii. He couldn’t tell you who he truly was and precisely because of that, couldn’t fully let you in. 

Countless reasons came up to defend why this was for the best — it not only protected his heart but also protected you by keeping you at a certain distance from all of this ridiculous baggage…

And he took notice of you noticing and being accepting regardless, settling for whatever you could when you shouldn’t. 

He was such a selfish man to keep taking advantage of that to stay however he was able to, a hedgehog’s dilemma. 

Leon had managed to find boundaries of your unpredictability and had managed to establish a routine, an ebb and flow of some sorts, entirely dependent on the volatile schedule of his missions that you had no idea of and tried acting nonchalant about — the absences, the bruises, the emotional unavailability after losses he had to keep to himself. He had to be wearing you down, crawling back through the dirt and the blood and the undying monstrosities only to be mute about everything and go straight for your embrace in search of a moment's peace. 

And what about you?   

The part of himself that was still sane knew he was making you suffer because of his selfishness, stringing you along in this unlabeled affair with the excuse it was with your eventual well-being in mind when it was easier for him — in the sense that if it came to the worst, you’d be able to come out of this on top and just hate and keep blaming him so you wouldn’t be hurt in the long run. 

But it was selfish, he still wanted to keep being around you, though, didn’t have the right or face to say he wanted you, so orbiting you was the best he could afford to do. 

Just for a little longer. A bit more. 

Leon wished you would be done with him and tell him to leave you alone so he could finally get out of your life for good, but in all his returns you welcomed him coming back with open arms. It was the garden of Eden and he didn’t belong there, feeling like a pillager sneaking in and getting whatever he wanted and fucking right off afterwards, each and every time leaving you with less and less and a faded viridescence. 

But he couldn’t stay. Not for as long as he wanted. Never in the way you deserved. 

And before Leon knew it, he and you had toppled two years of his bullshit — and you were still here throughout it all.. 

In 2004, the truth of bioterrorism and the existence of monstrous abominations with no regard for human ethics were thrust upon the world, and wiped yet another Raccoon City off from the map of the mediterranean — and things got so much more confusing in regards to what was allowed to be secret or not.

Unbeknownst to you, it was this incident that unknowingly contributed to the growing rift between you. Leon carried the heavy burden of witnessing the President's decision to deny AUPIT’s assistance to the FBC, leaving him as a mere bystander while hundreds of lives were lost due to the incompetence and inexperience of those involved. Even Terrasave, an organization not known for its extraction expertise, fared better in their efforts.

The Terragrigia Panic became a turning point, a catalyst for Leon's introspection, the weight of the world he couldn’t lift one finger to help pressed upon him, driving him towards self-destruction and an ever-deepening spiral of despair, soul scarred by the consequences of inaction and the haunting memories of present lives lost and a past city long in the dust. He questioned the system that bound his hands, preventing him from making the difference he so desperately yearned for. It was during these tumultuous times that you stood by him, unaware of the inner battles he fought and the toll it took on his well-being, and it made him feel so much worse about everything. 

His heart trammeled with the inevitable conclusion he could no longer ignore, he made the painful decision to set you free from the grip of his own shortcomings. Overwhelmed by a sense of unworthiness and consumed by his own greed, he knew he had to release you, unable to bear the weight of his own inadequacy any longer.

The timing, eerily close to the anniversary of the day he first met you, held a bitter irony. It was as if fate had conspired to test the limits of his resolve, presenting him with the most challenging mission of his life just as he made this life-altering choice. Bound for Spain, his path was paved with uncertainty, fraught with danger — but he’d sworn that things would be different this time and he could actually return, reformed and squeaky clean, somehow this mission could be his saving grace and actually wipe his brain clean of grime and rust.

The break-up had loomed before Leon like an impending storm, and he had steeled himself for the emotional turbulence that would surely follow, however, what caught him off guard was the resignation from you, as if you had anticipated his intentions and thoughts, ready to release him with open arms — eager to say yes the moment the words would slip out of his mouth. 

Devastated would be an understatement to describe him — he’d sat frozen on the kitchen chair, his mind a tempest of confusion and disbelief, the composed and scripted nature of your words waterboarding him as you continued to speak, nonchalantly expressing your expectations of this inevitable departure. You seemed braced, almost as if you had been reading his mind, as if you knew this day would come. The nonchalant manner in which you spoke of his leaving, seemingly devoid of any emotional attachment, tore at his heart. It was like time itself had paused, and Leon felt the dissociation creep in, his mind unable to process the scale of what was happening, the world around him blurring, finding himself lost in a void of numbness. How could it be that you were so ready to let him go? How could you speak of no hard feelings when his heart was shattering into countless fragments?

Yeah, right. 

Betrayal was it. 

He’d felt betrayed by you when he had no right to be angry like that — because he had warned you right from the start. 

You know how this ends. 

You’d taken his advice. Leon should have, as well. 

iv. It wasn’t only his jacket that’d got taken away by the village freaks, but also the watch you had given him as a gift — which the loss of was more personal and lethal to him.

And he had no time to look for it between saving and taking care of Ashley and trying to navigate a much bigger conspiracy. 

Coming to terms with the fact that it was gone, just like you, seemed poetically fitting, a form of karma that he should lose a memento of you when he hadn't proven himself deserving of it in the first place.

At the back of his mind was the memory of you trying to act like it wasn’t for anything special when Leon knew it was the first anniversary of the day you and he met, you just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, walking around eggshells around him with the vaguest boundaries and definitions unspelled so he wouldn’t run away — Leon knew all too well. 

He had mentioned going for some type of Casio G-Shock when recounting he’d been meaning to buy a new one, and you’d apparently paid attention to that, not at all questioning why he would want a solar powered watch with 1312 ft. of water resistance — and had given him another much more sporty Longines stainless steel chronograph watch on the side, absolutely humbling him on the spot with just how much money you had to have spent on these two — and the amount of thought you had put into it. 

Modifications on both watches were specifically allowed by him, he'd gotten your initials and the Roman symbols of that day in the fall of 2002 engraved at the back of them to deceive himself, interchangeably using them, the Casio one in the missions, and the Longines in casual days, not bothering to buy any other watch for himself after that. You would see him wearing it all the time, but fortunately for his abashed pride, never commented on it, having no idea just how important they were to him. 

And it was Ada who casually reunited him with it, her throw of the watch certainly gentler than that of the jet ski key’s, as she was walking away with the Amber, a mysterious, knowing glance in his way, a perfectly shaped smile on her glossy lips. “Here. Consider this an equal exchange. Learn to take better care of special things, Leon.”

Somehow she wasn’t just talking about the watch and it irritated him, but she was right. 

v. The depths of Leon's feelings for you were intertwined with an overwhelming sense of terror. 

It terrified him to realize how much he needs you, how your presence has become an integral part of his existence, that you were now the surface he swam up to breathe after hours in the dark of the ocean, and the desire for reciprocation, for you to need him just as deeply, and knowing that you do but unable to bring himself to do anything about it, all filled him with longing and apprehension, both holding hands hiding behind the walls of his own making, pulling each other back as they kept watching you from afar. 

He feared that he may not be enough for you, that his flaws and past were going to inevitably cause harm and ruin.

The emotions that surged through him when you were near, the way his heart raced and his thoughts became consumed — it was new, it was unknown, it was exhilarating, it was petrifying. The spotlight of the vulnerability he’s put in was a double-edged sword, for it exposed him to the potential for joy, but also, immense pain. 

He could lose everything and it would lay waste to his soul, yet in the face of this fear, he couldn’t bear the thought of pushing you away completely, because the terror of being without you somehow had become equally paralyzing that he couldn’t breathe in the PTSD-rooted nightmares of them anymore.

Thus, you had found yourselves trapped in a state of limbo, unsure of where to go or how to proceed, but it was his fault, he thought of himself as a flightless bird sitting up on a roof with you, who could obviously fly; if he attempted to follow you he could fall, if he let you go you would migrate to warmer lands and would never come back. so you were both stuck there, and none of the scenarios involved — what if he could also fly? What if he could do what he thought he wasn’t capable of?

The thought of losing you now, after experiencing the depth of how far he could go with you; the promise, the mirage, the illusion, the dream, was a sense of impending devastation. And yet, he was plagued by the fear that it may already be too late to salvage what he once had with you. What he could have with you, if he allowed himself to surrender — 

Leon had changed, he wasn’t the same person, but he also hadn’t changed, hadn’t lost himself no matter the cost, hadn’t strayed from the original path he was treading on — he was capable of saving people, capable of changing the ending.  

Spain was as traumatizing as it was eye-opening and life-changing, through the reunion with Ada, the betrayal of Major Krauser, the loss of Luis and the successful extraction of Ashley, one single thread of hope had been holding Leon up and running:

He had to get back to you. 

He would come back to you, no matter what, even from the grave, even knowing there was a chance you wouldn’t take him back. To hell with taking comfort in a self-defined ending, to hell with the facade of protecting you when it was just protecting him, to hell with everything. 

This time, it had to be different. 

[oldmanpeace]

My favorite album from each year, 1960+.

1960. Blues & Roots - Charles Mingus 1961. Blue Hawaii - Elvis Presley 1962. Jazz Samba - Stan Getz with Charlie Byrd 1963. The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan - Bob Dylan 1964. The Times They Are A-Changin' - Bob Dylan 1965. Bringing It All Back Home - Bob Dylan 1966. Blonde on Blonde - Bob Dylan. 1967. Are You Experienced - Jimi Hendrix 1968. Beggars Banquet - The Rolling Stones 1969. Let It Bleed - The Rolling Stones 1970. Bridge Over Troubled Water - Simon & Garfunkel 1971. Led Zeppelin IV - Led Zeppelin 1972. Harvest - Neil Young 1973. Pronounced - Lynyrd Skynyrd 1974. Pretzel Logic - Steely Dan 1975. Born To Run - Bruce Springsteen 1976. Turnstiles - Billy Joel 1977. Rumours - Fleetwood Mac 1978. Excitable Boy - Warren Zevon 1979. Rust Never Sleeps - Neil Young 1980. Heartattack And Vine - Tom Waits 1981. Moving Pictures - Rush 1982. The Number of the Beast - Iron Maiden 1983. Kill 'Em All - Metallica 1984. Purple Rain - Prince 1985. Hounds of Love - Kate Bush 1986. Graceland - Paul Simon 1987. Appetite For Destruction - Guns N' Roses 1988. ...And Justice For All - Metallica 1989. Doolittle - Pixies 1990. People's Instinctive Travels and the Paths of Rhythm - A Tribe Called Quest 1991. Nevermind - Nirvana 1992. Rage Against the Machine - Rage Against the Machine 1993. Enter The Wu-Tang - Wu-Tang Clan 1994. Weezer (The Blue Album) - Weezer 1995. Jagged Little Pill - Alanis Morissette 1996. Beautiful Freak - Eels 1997. Either/Or - Elliott Smith 1998. Mezzanine - Massive Attack 1999. Californication - Red Hot Chili Peppers 2000. Heartbreaker - Ryan Adams 2001. Toxicity - System of a Down 2002. Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots - The Flaming Lips 2003. Deja Entendu - Brand New 2004. Hot Fuss - The Killers 2005. Takk... - Sigur Rós 2006. One-X - Three Days Grace 2007. Oracular Spectacular - MGMT 2008. 808s & Heartbreak - Kanye West 2009. Man On The Moon: The End of Day - Kid Cudi 2010. My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy - Kanye West 2011. Watch The Throne - Jay-Z 2012. Born To Die - Lana Del Rey 2013. Pure Heroine - Lorde 2014. Ultraviolence - Lana Del Rey 2015. To Pimp A Butterfly - Kendrick Lamar 2016. Puberty 2 - Mitski 2017. Cult Drugs - Blood Command 2018. Goodbye & Good Riddance - Juice WRLD 2019. Norman Fucking Rockwell! - Lana Del Rey 2020. The New Abnormal - The Strokes 2021. The Horses and the Hounds - James McMurtry 2022. It's Almost Dry - Pusha T 2023. World Music Radio - Jon Batiste 2024. The Past Is Still Alive - Hurray For The Riff Raff

[poppitron360]

Jason knelt by the memorial. He kept his face solemn and stony, the way he was taught by Lupa to hide his emotions. Never cry. Never show weakness. He laid the flowers across the base of the tombstone, the red and orange petals rustling ever so slightly in the breeze. He took a deep breath, and silently willed his body to stop shaking. He reached out, and traced the indentation of the name and date with his fingers, the tips slightly grazing the rough stone. The light from the candles shone in the bronze lettering, making it glow a fiery orange.

Leonidas Javier Valdez

July 7th 1998 - August 1st 2014

A true hero.

Jason felt the air shift around him as someone knelt next to him. He didn’t look at the person, instead he looked down at the concrete base of the memorial. On the floor by his knee, Piper’s hand crept closer across the stone. She was reaching out for comfort, Jason could see. But he couldn’t take it. If he let himself need her, then he’d break, and that would be weak. He looked back up at the gravestone.

“I-I can’t believe it’s been ten years…” He croaked, trying to string enough words to fill the trembling silence.

“I know,” Piper said, softly.

“He’d be twenty-six now.”

“I know.”

“Did- did you know his real name was Leonidas? before…” he gestured to the headstone.

Piper smiled weakly, “No, I didn’t. He kept that one from us.”

They turned back to the glowing bronze markings on the stone.

“Y’know…” Jason mused, “I think he’d really hate that epitaph. “A true hero” like what does that even mean?”

“It’s way too serious for him,” Piper agreed, “He’d want something funny, lighthearted. Maybe a bad pun, or a cheesy joke.”

“”Leonidas Javier Valdez- Inventor of the Valdezinator, Repair Boy, Taco-miser Extraordinaire!!”” Jason announced, waving his arm in an arc across the sky to deliver his point. Then he looked down, sadly. “He really was a hero, though… He saved so many lives that day. But… I don’t think that’s how he’d want to be remembered.”

“He’d think it was hilarious that they put that on there,” Piper said, “Painting him out to be this big martyr. He’d constantly tease us about it. Oh gods, we’d never hear the end of it.”

They laughed a little. Jason watched as Piper reached out a brushed a small clump of moss off of the stone.

“You’re getting a bit grubby there, bud,” She whispered, “Oh Leo, always covered in dirt and grime…”

She sniffed and wiped her eyes.

It was all Jason could do to keep breathing. Every day, for the last ten years, ever since Leo’s death, Jason hadn’t been living, he’d just been carrying on. He’d lost everything that day. But he had to keep going. He could not stop, could not break.

Leo was not here as a whole anymore, Jason knew that. But in the hush of the midsummer evening, Jason could see that parts of him were everywhere. He saw it in the candles. Their heat like the warmth of Leo’s skin. The dancing, restless flames like those busy eyes, constantly moving, scanning, making calculations. Jason listened to the crackle and pop of the burning wicks, and he could almost hear his shrill, raspy laugh. The shadows the candles cast were dark and inky, like motor oil and soot that covered Leo’s calloused skin. Around them, the flowers placed against the memorial rippled in the soft breeze, and Jason could see the bounce of a stray curl, the wind in his hair as Festus soared. The creak of the tree branches were the boards on the deck of the Argo, Leo atop the crow’s nest, looking out at the world. The beat of Jason’s heart was the thrum of the engine, Leo’s rhythmic tapping out in morse code to quiet the pistons. A bird chattered in the trees, and Jason could hear Leo cursing in rapid-fire Spanish, frustrated at another clogged toilet or broken mast. It was like the world was flashing Jason that infectious, cheshire-cat grin. All of these parts made up Leo. Jason could feel them. He was here. He was with them. The three of them were together again after all.

Jason watched the sparks from the candlelight dance into the sky, and he felt Leo’s spirit around them.

“Oh, Leo…” Jason spoke to the candles. He spoke to the flower petals. He spoke to the trees, “Stay with me… please.”

Piper put a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Do you think he’s in Elysium?” She asked, “We never found a body, never got to do the proper burial rights…”

“We can hope,” Jason replied, “But wherever he is… I think he’s happy.”

Jason closed his eyes, and listened to Leo’s whispers in the air, “I wait for you…”

Held back by the barriers of life and death, Jason waited too. He kept carrying on, waiting for him to reach the end of the road. Waiting out his life, before he could re-unite with his best friend again. His everything.

But Leo had died so that Jason could keep living. Jason was gonna use that gift to do as much good as he can, be the person everyone needed him to be. But when it came to an end, Jason knew he’d be content.

“I will wait for you, Leo…” Jason whispered, almost inaudibly. He hoped Piper wouldn’t hear. “I will wait, I promise. I swear it on the Riven Styx. I will keep breathing, keep going, keep waiting. It won’t be long now.”

Warm summer winds grazed Jason’s cheek. It was like he could feel Leo’s hands cupping his face. “I wait, Jason.”

“Are you in Elysium?” Jason asked to the sky, “Are you happy?”

To Jason’s horror, the voice took on a bitter, more saddened tone. “I wait for you.”

He suppressed a sob. He had to keep it together. Ten years hadn’t made it easier, but Jason had to try. He couldn’t let himself break. He had to keep going. He had to keep breathing. He had to keep waiting. For Leo.

Piper put a hand on Jason’s shoulder. They both looked up at the night sky. Ten years ago today, a fiery explosion had flashed across that patch of the heavens. A boy atop a bronze dragon had given his life to save the world below.

He was only sixteen…

“Hey,” Came a voice behind them. Jason turned, and saw Hazel and Frank climbing up the small hill.

“Glad we could make it,” Frank said, a little breathless from the climb, “Percy and Annabeth are coming, they’re just parking the car.”

Hazel knelt the other side of Jason, Frank next to her. She lay her own flowers on the pile. Frank brought out a candle, and lit it, placing it carefully amongst the others.

“Hey, Leo…” Hazel greeted the headstone, fondly. She gave it a friendly wave.

Frank sat cross-legged. “Good to see you, bud,” He whispered.

The four of them sat around the place in silence. Soon, Percy and Annabeth came and joined them. Percy put his arms around Jason and Piper’s shoulders, and squeezed them, tight. Piper put hers around Annabeth, so they sat in a line, linked. Hazel wrapped her arm around Frank. Frank reached a meaty hand out and placed it on the top of the grave. He held it there, gripping the stone. Jason took the message, and linked arms with Hazel.

They bathed in the heat of the candles. They listened to rustle of the leaves and the creak of the branches and the chattering of the birds. Jason knew they felt, just as he did, the spirit of Leo all around them. The warmth. The laugh. The restless energy. They heard him whisper, and giggle, and tap out a message. They held him in their circle of arms, felt his soul join with them.

“I wait for you all… one day, we could be re-united for realsies. I will enjoy this moment until then.”

Jason let out one, strangled sob. “I will wait for that day, Leo.”

But for now, he was here. The seven of them, together again, for one night.

————————

Happy Leo’s death day, everyone!!!

Enjoy a “What if Leo had actually died” AU- ft. much Valgrace.

@lavenderfairiez @keefessketchbook @sleepyycapybara @imnoturfriend-im-a-swiftie13 @euryvices @ottpopfic @123letsgobestie @kaleidoskuls

[haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll]

Tracklist:

War Of Wrath • Into The Storm • Lammoth • Nightfall • The Minstrel • The Curse Of Feanor • Captured • Blood Tears • Mirror Mirror • Face The Truth • Noldor (Dead Winter Reigns) • Battle Of Sudden Flames • Time Stands Still (At The Iron Hill) • The Dark Elf • Thorn • The Eldar • Nom The Wise • When Sorrow Sang • Out On The Water • The Steadfast • A Dark Passage • Final Chapter (Thus Ends...)

Submitter's Note: Nightfall in Middle-Earth is a concept album that follows parts of the Silmarillion, from Tolkien’s legendarium.

Spotify ♪ YouTube

[igetnosleep]

Comfort

My attempt at a Leon Kennedy x reader fluff angst fic I hope people like it??? give me some pointers if you can I'd really like to hear people's thoughts on this (I imagined Rookie Leon and Vendetta Leon for this one)

Leon couldn’t stand the thought of losing you, of seeing you go and leaving him, vivid nightmares that stuck with him since that night in raccoon city, that hope of starting a new life, went up in flames as he had to survive a city that was practically falling apart around him. 

He met you in the police station. He had his gun up hearing a noise around the corner only to narrowly dodge a pipe being swung aimed for his head. Leon found you there standing fearfully holding a pipe in your hands. 

“Hey it’s okay.” He put his gun back into its holster and held his hands up. Maybe it was the smell of desperation or the hope that you would put your weapon down but you relaxed somewhat at the sight of him. “You’re normal?” You had asked with a distrustful look in your eyes. He nodded “I just got here.”

He watched as that hope died in your eyes and you rubbed your face “You’ve got to be shitting me.” He tried not to take it personally. “None taken.” he muttered.

You had ended up in the police station during the outbreak and now sat next to him holding your throbbing head in frustration “It was insane my friend was just normal then some crazy fuckhead bit her then all of a sudden everyone started going batshit insane!” as you vented he couldn’t help but take a hold of your hand mostly to make sure you wouldn’t start swinging the pipe all willy nilly but you seemed surprised that it managed to shut you up.

You just stared at him like he just told you a weirdly personal fact about himself. “What?” he questioned “Nothing just…I’m not used to that.” He prodded your reaction when he squeezed your hand and you didn’t pull away. He was glad at least he could hold your hand.

You did look cute in your own right maybe because you look like you hadn’t hit a growth spurt since your junior year of high school and now you are left at a head smaller than him. It made him feel a bit better about himself. 

Finding a way out of the police station and hearing you complain about “Stupid puzzles” made him think you weren’t the brightest person out there. “It’s not my fault.” you would argue “I like mysteries, I just don’t have the patience for puzzles.” 

He smiled and took your hand. 

You both came out different. Him too broken and paranoid and you clingy and fearful the both of you always looking over your shoulder. He wanted to keep you safe.

September 30, 1998. The day he’d never forget. 

The day his life went to hell.

The day he met you.

Waking up in bed always felt welcomed and safe.

What he’d do to keep it that way maybe burn the world down but that would ruin how you’d see him. The endless amount of booze and his need for your comfort was almost pathetic you’d told him yourself. 

He didn’t want to give it up.

The nightmares become fuzzed out from the burn of the liquor in his throat. He could take his anger out on you and you and your endless patience would always step barefoot on broken beer bottles just to hold his face in your hands staring at him like you would at a useless object that you would keep for the sake of keeping it.

He’d always apologize “‘m sorry.” he’d murmur into your neck while hiding away from the peeking sunlight, “I know.” you’d say in a small voice holding onto him and kissing his cheek. Then would come the usual talk.

“You need to quit.” 

“I know.” “I mean it Leon.” Leon, not Le or Leo. Leon. You were using his government name.

He couldn’t be mad at you. This was coming from a place of love. He sighed, kissing your cheek watching as you crinkle your nose at the smell of booze in his breath “I know you do, sweetheart.” He watched you pout and sigh feeling you stroke his cheek feeling the stubble on face.

Leon could remember how you were when he first saw you. Ready to swing at the first sign of danger. Ready to tug at his arm and point the other direction “It’s a shortcut!” or “No, we're going this way.” you’d say. If he’d protest you’d tap your foot impatiently until he relented.

You do the same thing waiting for him to stop looking at the clothes at a Walmart store. You’d huff in an exasperated voice “You don’t need another shirt, Le, you’ve got dozens!” you were right but you liked to use them.

“Think I need to shave?” he asked, a small smile playing on his lips as your thumb traces over his bottom lip. “No.” You seemed to shuffle closer despite the smell of liquor in his breath, you kissed him softly. “I like it.”

Leon felt himself melt in your arms breathing in the smell of the soap you used. He kissed your shoulder squeezing you closer. “I have work, you know?” “No you don’t.” he denied you that freedom for now you were his in this warm bed. You weren’t going anywhere. He’d tie you up if he had to.

You didn’t seem to fight it, only playfully rolling your eyes and snuggled closer burying your face into the crook of his neck.

Maybe he would give up drinking for you. You were worth everything and more to him.

He didn’t want you to sit there and watch him waste away.

The DSO and the government hurt him more times than he can count making him work through every bit of hurt that made him turn to the bottle and shout at you more times than you could handle.

Yet here you were gaze always on him soft and too understanding, holding his hand like your life depended on it because it did.

You needed him more than you wanted to admit. You couldn’t leave him. He was every bit of ugly and hurt like you were having been through hell and understood what he went through. 

Many nights spent holding on to one another amidst the nightmares, the ones that had you waking up in cold sweat, breathing heavily like you’d just run a marathon, and chugging a bottle of water like you’d never had water before in your life, he was there. 

Placing a kiss on your forehead, moving the hair out of your face and rubbing soothing circles on your back.

There to stay.

[loversofthegrave]

teenage sammy grappling with his intolerable attachment to his big brother one shot<3

1998, South Carolina

Summer hits full on like a hammer, shrivelling the last spring grass into whiskers of pale straw. John has them situated this time in South Carolina in the middle of a buttfuck nowhere trailer park. Sam huffs out a whoosh wafting a strand of his shaggy, greasy hair and scuffs his knock-off beat up converse into the dry dirt, the path leading up into their new home for the next week or two.

John recites his customary speech, Dean nods, ‘Yes sir’ as Dean always does. He’s John more often than dad these days. John gave Sam a name when he was born then left, like a background actor in a movie, cut from the film roll. The rumble of the impala and he’s gone.

Spider plants hang from pots on the wide trailer porch. Chipped ceramic ornaments of butterflies and lizards were placed outside. Inside, the shabby floral wallpaper and checkered armchair. The tattered cotton curtains blowing gently, and the cross hung on the wall, wonky. It was like a polaroid from the 70s, all orange hues and clashing patterns.

“What a dump,” he said gritting his teeth.

“It’s not so bad,” Dean shrugs “Kinda cozy,”

Dean’s eyes like hawks observing their new home, finding quick exits, salting the windows and doors. Safety first, look out for Sammy, like the good toy solider that he is.

Sam knows Dean can’t help it, the urgency, the attentiveness, to keep safe, guard his little brother. Sam would be lying if he said he wouldn’t want it any other way, he hopes it’s a two-way street.

Truth is, being in each other's pocket is all they’ve ever known. Dean is Sam’s brother as much as he is his only friend, his father, his mother, all rolled into one. Dean's hands being a caress and a fumbling worry of a mother’s. Dean who changed Sam’s diapers, who soothed teething pains with nimble fingers, tender rocking's and forgiving scoldings. It was all him, not a woman with satin blonde hair and porcelain skin nor the man with the grief-stricken furrowed brows and whiskey sighs. No, it was the kid with the goofy grin and the shoulders weighed down heavy with more liability than a kid should ever know, now turned leather jackets and calloused hands, felon fingers, summers caress dotted upon the bridge of a nose. Summer has always been extra generous to him, he thought, kind of face that weighs heavy on a teenage boys heart.

Looking at Dean is like hallucinating like looking through the lenses of kaleidoscope, soft orange and pink hues from the sun dipping into the horizon of the late summer dusk framing his head like an angel but an angel in the flames. An angel that could be Gabriel but an angel that could be Lucifer too, like he would readily delve into the deep, dark hell as he would fly up to the lofty, illuminated places. And Dean would for Sam.

Dean was Sam’s first everything, and it’s no surprise Sam would want that forevermore.

Sam can’t help it, this craving, it’s insatiable, like an itch irritating him under new stretched teenage skin. If he itches and itches, scratches with blunt anxious bitten nails until he draws blood. But the blood he revels in, the curving, cutting and slaughtering himself to fit into the groove of Dean’s heart, he would do anything, and he knows Dean would do the same but not in the ways Sam yearns for. Sam knows, he knows it’s twisted, he knew as soon as he was enrolled in school and how not everyone else feels that way about brothers. But he doesn’t care, not when Dean is the only grace he was given in his world of destruction and ruin, his pure drop in an ocean of chaos. Damn it if the lord doesn’t forgive him, heaven and hell are just words to a hopeless boy like Sam. When his brother looks at him, he decides to wage holy war.

But Dean doesn’t know, not really, he knows Sam loves him but no more, no less, too frightful Sam would scare him fiercely, that he would leave Sam here, loose his grace, and what is Sam without his grace? Just an empty vessel, an angel damned from heaven, forever. Think he’s sick, corrupt, disgusting. Only Sam can be the one to know this about himself, swallow the key if he must. He tries his best to shelter away these parts from Dean, distancing ever so slightly, it just makes the craving worst, he thinks, withdrawal.

So, he lives with Dean, in his shadow. Watches him, envies him, wants to be him, wants to be with him, under him. Watches him waltzing around the kitchen with sultry hips after this week's easy fuck. Probably some white trash bimbo Sam thinks harshly, doesn’t know what it truly means to have him, a boy, a man, like Dean. He goes for anything with legs and a mouth in a 1-mile radius, puts it out to anything, anyone but Sam.

“You stink Dean,” Sam mumbles under his breath

“That’s the smell of champions Sammy” Dean grins, easy and careless, throwing a wink over his shoulder. Sam shoots daggers into his back.

This is their dance, Dad goes on a hunt for a couple of weeks, Dean and Sam are holed up in a shack and they pretend that this is their normal, habit, but it’s not, they we’re and forever born in motion. Dean enrols Sam into the local (another) high school, Dean gets a short-term job working with his hands to hold them over until Dad gets back, this time at the garage. They make small talk with strangers when necessarily and act according to their roles, relocates the suspicious eyes on Sam’s stitched up hand me down t-shirts and Deans violet blooming bruises from training and hunts, keeps social services off their back. But they fit in OK around this truckers town so Sam holds it rigid, this vexation, lewdness, this jealousy brimming. Puberty is fucked, Sam likes to blame it on that.

~

It’s Friday, the shutters of the trailer are open and wide. Sam’s in makeshift shorts that were once jeans that he cut at the knees one town ago. The radio is static, and The Mama’s & The Papa’s is being carried through the thick-cut air, ‘you've got everything I need, and nobody can please like you, you baby and who believes that my wildest dreams and my craziest schemes will come true?’

Sam’s growth spurt mixed with food stamp fed spindly legs are propped up on the coffee table barefoot, toes wiggling, as he shovels spoonfuls of store brand cornflake knock offs in his mouth. Dean comes in wafting of oil and summer sweat after being outside tinkering with the ford pick-up truck Dad sorted out with a local hunter before he briskly left. He slaps the bottom of Sam’s foot with his greasy rag. Sam grunts.

"Up and at 'em or you're gonna be late" Dean lectures, parenting.

Sam rucks on an old 1975 Black Sabbath tour shirt that used to be Dean's that used to be Dads, now faded grey and bobbling. Pokes his feet into socks with his right toe sticking out of the hole, laces up his shoes and climbs into the passenger seat of the pick-up. Dean drops Sam off at the Pine Springs High and told him he'd pick him up, told him to ‘give ‘em hell’.

Pine Springs High was full of scraggy kids, Beavis and Butt-head boys, girls busty and leggy. Sam befriends one friend, a skinny freckled boy with thick rimmed glasses. His name is Davey. They were sat next to each other in science, dissecting a frog. Sam figures cutting open this frog is harder than the ghouls they slaughter. What did this frog ever do to anyone? Davey was informing Sam on the anatomy, pointed out the chambers of the heart, the ventricle. He seemed interested in trying to impress Sam with how smart he was. "You know a lot," stated Sam.

He smiled. He was a boy who wanted to be seen. Sam suspects with certainty he’s not in these careless halls of teenagers reeking of hormones and wariness of social status.

High school is not as gentle with kids like Sam and Davey. But Sam can tackle it, give as good as he gets. That’s what he’s been trained to do, what their dad trained him to do, those sparring sessions with Dean every other day doesn’t go to waste, as much as Sam likes to grumble and whine. The decomposition ghost of a girl in a tatty white dress with fine needlepoint lace trimmings from the 1820’s has more oomph in her thump than any of these teenagers.

Even in a Gas-mart town like this one full of greasy kids with dirty fingernails Sam still is stared at by clusters of kids. Maybe it’s the adequate collection of bruising on his body from said sparring and Victorian decomposition, or maybe it’s the fact he’s an outsider (he’s always the outsider) but Sam doesn’t mind. Cleanliness and godliness are deceptive, he’d rather wear his wounds, his ugliness. No fooling, he was torn and stitched.

~

Dean picks Sam up, sees the mop of brown hair and downcast face amongst the sea of chattering high-spirited kids. It reminds Dean of when he encouraged him to go to a classmate's birthday party in kindergarten, timid little Sammy protested but Dean encouraged his little brother to go, nervy on all he was missing out growing up. When Dean went to pick him up at McDonald's he spotted him, dejected, eyes glazed over. Other children around him screaming and sliding into pits filled with coloured balls. It splintered Dean to his core.

When Sam is in arm reach Dean tousles Sam's hair, and he gets a whack of the hand and a gruff in response.

“How’d it go Sammy?” Dean asks, hefting himself up into the driver's seat.

“Fine.” Sam replies, quick, sharp. “And it’s Sam,” he stresses.

Dean doesn’t know what it is these days but there’s a slight ache, a gnawing. Sam used to look at Dean like he hung the stars just for him. That Dean was God’s own reflection but now there’s a distance, an interspace and he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. At first, he thought maybe it’s teenage hormones or pheromones or whatever the fuck, but Dean never remembers being that sulky as a teenager. Maybe he never got the chance. When he tries to touch Sam, he flinches, scurries away like he just spooked a rodent. Used to revel in it, they practically grew up in each other's arms. Was still sharing a bed in the motels until two years ago.

Dean would never admit it out loud to him, but he misses Sam. Misses that constant comfort of touch and affection.

They stop off at a local diner on their way back to the trailer park, Sam questions if they have enough money for the month to eat out, Dean tells him not to worry. All wooden panels, red and white checkered table clothes, a sign that reads, ‘lumber jack pancake special for $5.95!’ Dean eyes it up, breakfast at dinnertime, their lives never have rhythm or reason anyways. They slide into a booth of worn leather, Sam on one side, Dean on the other.

Sam orders a panini with ham and cheese and fries, Dean the lumber jack pancakes. When they arrive by a shy petite waitress with inky dark eyes and blushing blotted cheeks, Dean swipes a fry off Sam’s plate just to receive another swat. Any touch is better than no touch, bad attention better than none.

Sam doesn’t miss the way the waitresses' eyes linger on Dean’s profile. If he shoots a frosty glare her way Dean doesn’t have to know.

~

The sun with no forgiveness, a parched sky, the hillsides with purple wilting drifts of milkweed, dotting the cracks of the gas-station and garage. It was Saturday, Sam was at the garage while Dean worked. Tucked in a corner sheltered from the suns ruthless beat with his library copy of Catcher In The Rye he couldn’t return when John dragged them out of the motel inn at dawn a town back. Sam said he felt guilty, Dean told him to stop being such a law-abiding citizen.

He gazed at Dean, could smell his sweat, sharp and strong, a man, Sam’s brain applied helpfully. He was wearing overalls, wiping workman sweat from his forehead. Sam wanted to lick him, taste the salt and summer kissed skin. He knows he’s disgusting. At this rate Sam thinks he should stab his eyes out, so he can’t look. Burn his skin off, so he can’t touch.

~

The next Sunday, Sam sleeps in late. He finds Dean slouched on the floral couch, stretched out like a housecat watching TV. It’s always a rarity to see him in a relaxed stance, undisturbed, a recess to the constant chaos of their lives. It settles something steady and peaceful within Sam with just a hint of sadness. He mumbles a drowsy good morning and trudges to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

He pisses in the toilet, sluggish, holds himself up steady with a hand against the tiles. The splash of his piss hitting the water too loud in the quiet murmur of their trailer.

Washing his hands, he moseys around in the medicine cabinet above the sink. Inside, aimless trinkets left behind by previous owners. Tweezers with a single gemstone on them, antibiotic ointment, outdated eyedrops.

Sam finds a small capsule behind an empty bottle of aspirin. He reaches for it, revealing a lipstick, the cheap kind you pick-up at Walmart for $5.

He holds it in his hand, stares. Turns it in his palm, opens the lid with a subtle click and rotates the base.

The lipstick itself is a cherry red, obscene kind of red. The type he sees on hookers lingering around the corners at motels when he slips out at dusk to buy Dr Peppers from the vending machine with the quarters Dean made him pocket.

The garish fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, whirring like insects as he watches them showcasing their chests and unveiled legs. They always look cold, Sam thinks.

Sam looks up and scans his face in the mirror, holds the lipstick close to his nose, sniffs it. It smells like wax and chemicals, half suspected it to smell like strawberries and an angel's kiss or something, screws his nose up.

Without much reflection he smears the cherry red lipstick onto his lips, it's messy and askew not as neat as he sees on the girls in Dean's skin mags. He sets down the lipstick onto the sink and looks at himself, really looks.

The glaring red on such a boyish face like Sam's feels lewd and indecent. He feels slightly silly, embarrassed, his cheeks stain a weak scarlet. He wonders what others would think of him like this, Dean, his dad.

God, dad would probably be appalled, call him a sissy, punish him by making him do triple the training. Make him run for miles under the blazing sun.

But Dean, what would Dean think of his little brother like this? If Sam just waltzed right out of the bathroom now and stood dead in the line of Dean's vision. Would he stammer? Get all flustered and struck-dumb? Would he look at Sam and think of him as those girls he promenades to the impala, the motel room when he thinks Sam's asleep and not hanging onto every grunt and sigh coming from Dean's throat. Stores them in the hollow of his heart, imprinted on it just as sacred as the Holy Bible is to a priest.

Would he want to tenderly caress the shape of his mouth, smear the lipstick, make Sam looked wrecked? He inspects the long plains of his body, like scorched landscape, bronzed from June’s boldness.

Sam’s been trying to get used to it, his recasting body. Finally losing his baby fat, almost catching up to Dean in height much to Dean’s dismay. Just he doesn’t carry the newly stretched limbs well, feels like a puppet and someone else is yanking the strings. He hasn’t thought about it much, how others perceive him, how Dean perceives him.

Sure, Sam’s had his first kiss and fumbled under a girl's shirt in Indiana last year, let him touch her boobs. She wore lots of eyeliner, wore black bulky boots and liked Alice In Chains. Sam creamed his pants as soon as he got a soft plump handful, she didn’t seem to mind so he tried not to feel too embarrassed. He couldn’t wait to tell Dean (lied to a reasonable measure) for him to be proud of him. Dean let Sam have his first beer after he told him, “Since you’re a man now,” Dean announced, “Don’t tell Dad,” He winked. Sam never tells John their secrets.

But other than that, he’s a bit clueless, still bashful when girls look his way. Isn’t fabricated like Dean, heavied bottom lip into effortless grin that make’s girls drop and fractures their porcelain hearts, little unconsciously brutal but never intentional to be so. Sam would let Dean smash him into smithereens, shards of broken ceramic all over the tiles, if he’d wanted.

He thinks about the woman who supposedly left the lipstick here, he decides it’s an older woman, barefoot in a simple dress in the tail end of summer, her feet and the palms of her hands showed pale pink against her sunburnt skin, looked ornamental. He decided she had many lovers, wore it for them, wonders if Dean would be one. Wonders what she would think finding out a gawky teenage boy was trying on her bygone lipstick.

Wonders what it would be like to wear this for Dean, his lover.

Dean compulsive, gluttonous with the want of Sam, gushing his hands over the sides of his body, the pull of his rutting teenage hips. The neediness he sometimes gets in that platonic brotherly way bordering on hysteria whenever Sam’s hurt. All his senses submerged entirely by Dean Dean Dean, his touch, his smell, his hot breath.

Sam shoves a frantic hand down his pyjama pants and briefs, wrenches his dick with crazed tugs. Comes that exact same time there’s rough banging on the door, Dean shouting, “Come on Sam, you’ve been in there forever!” rattling the door with his presence.

Sam leaps, grimacing at the mess he made in his pants, swiping a towel and cleaning himself up in rapid motions. Rubs off the lipstick with the back of his hand, scouring his mouth.

“You jerking off in their little brother?” Dean calls out, muffled slightly through the thick wood of the bathroom door, amusement laced in his tone.

When Sam is sure he’s cleansed himself of any misdemeanours and removed all crucial evidence he swings the door open and shoulders past Dean muttering, “No Dean, I wasn’t jerking off.” How much of that Dean believes is out of his control. He pockets the lipstick.