#Full disclosure: this is supposed to be dramatic and not serious

[leos-regression-cove]

I hate writing why do I do this to myself. Die die die work. pain and suffering on the planet earth. (⬆️ didn't plot a chapter properly and now it's 20 pages and the complex themes and symbolism and stuff in my head is not translating and the plot isn't even happening yet)

[krovav]

07•07•16💉// 06•18•18 🔪

5 years on Testosterone // 3 years post-top

----

[he/him] | Instagram

Ok, full disclosure, it feels so bizarre to be at this point in my transition. It took me a while to get HRT, and even shortly before I started testosterone, I was half-convinced I would never manage to get to even 1 month, let alone 5 years.

I figured I would take some selfies with facial hair for this milestone because I hardly ever show any of the hair growth I got from T—largely because I'm not a fan of it, but I think these came out nicely.

[CW: dysphoria, suicide ment. etc from this point on]

Transitioning has been a bit of a rollercoaster, but definitely one of the best decisions I've made in my life. While I still have my struggles, I have never been more at home in my own form than I am now.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about my identity, and some of the final puzzle pieces of "self" have been falling into place. I have always been a very feminine person; I do not fit the mold of trans guy who did all the "boy" things as a child. I was stone-cold serious about my dolls, I regularly got mani-pedis, I wore dresses and heels as if they were a second skin.

That changed dramatically when I hit puberty and the dysphoria (tm) started to set in, and suddenly I was overcompensating with hypermasculinity. Masculinity was my armor, the only thing keeping away the suicidal storm cloud invading my brain at all times. I didn't care if I hated how I looked if it meant that a cashier every so often would call me "sir".

But that was the most stifled time of my entire life. Not only was I lacking the knowledge that trans people existed and so also lacking the ability to define my own experiences, I was in turmoil over the clash of my interests and my need to feel "like a man". Sexism is a hell of a drug.

I've been working for years to shake off the chains placed on my self-expression by society's definition of being a man. I would tell myself that, sure, I wanted to do x thing, but if I do that, I'll never pass. And, sure, T and top surgery would magically make it so that I always pass, as long as I follow all these strict rules and never enjoy my life ever again. Passing is very much presented as the end-all-be-all to transitioning, so it's understandable that many trans people, myself included, have little set as a higher priority than being the "most" of their given gender.

But the reality of my transition has been that I don't always pass, even when I'm performing masculinity to the nth degree, because everyone (particularly uninformed cis people) has their own idea of what women and men are "supposed" to look like. And for a while that really plagued me. I was so happy and fulfilled with the changes I was seeing, I felt so much less dysphoric, so why were other people still seeing me as female? And that would push me further into feeling the need to be masculine, and over and over again I would just have it confirmed that I needed to work harder to be seen as a guy. That the dysphoria I was going through was somehow my fault for not working hard enough to pass.

What I've realized over the course of a year or so has been that it isn't and has never been my job to validate my identity to other people. If I'm making myself happy, if I'm relieving my own dysphoria, it does not in any way matter that some random person at the grocery store thought my long hair equaled girl, or that I get stared at in public restrooms, or that other people find it awkward when they get my pronouns wrong.

It is my job to take care of myself. It is my job to wear things that make me feel good about myself, either because they are simply comfortable or because I love the way they look. It is my job to make myself happy.

It is my job to learn to cope with my dysphoria in whatever way works for me, and to never let someone who doesn't even know me dictate who I should be to be valid as a man. I know who I am, and I always will.

Anyway, if you want to throw some spare change my way, it would greatly help me achieve my next transitional step (getting a hysto). I will link some payment options below, but even if not, interacting with my posts helps too.

https://ko-fi.com/nekromancy

https://venmo.com/krovav

https://cash.app/$Krovav

[pastelpaperplanes]

Quick question about shading, I know to never shade with black, but does that mean that the shading color should not be darkened? Also, what lighting would cause a shadow to be saturated, and what lighting would cause a shadow to be more gray-ish? Thank you in advance (^_^)

I should have been more specific my bad! I didn’t mean NEVER shade with the color black, just it’s not visually appealing to shade every single color with it.

like here’s a few examples of with alternatives to just black that work well with the flat colors shown (yellow, purple, and pink)

of course this is just a visual and there’s nothing wrong with choosing pure black as your shade, it’s just other colors can work well with different palettes. You’re not just limited to one, experimenting is FANTASTIC practice to figuring out what works/looks good to you!

The color you choose to shade can absolutely be darkened! Again just be sure you look at what kind of mood you’re trying to put out if you do choose to go with darker toned colors instead of vibrant ones.

To answer your question about ‘What lighting could cause a shadow to look more saturated?’ I’m gonna refer to a lighting practice thingy that I did a while back to try and help explain! ((Ft. The Beloved German Boy 🙏✨))

looking at numbers 2 & 4, both settings use vibrant AND dark colors to put off more saturated shadows.

For 2, I was trying to mimick what would be a shadow cast of neon lights or colored spotlights, like ones you’d maybe find on a stage or a club! Here I chose both a completely saturated color (red and pink) and two solid but stark darker colors (blue and royal blue) to mimick this kind of vibe.

For 4, I mimicked the style of tfa’s ep1 lighting on the Nemesis. I chose a strong dark blue and purple to cast the main shadows, and a fully saturated almost neon violet for the highlights. This lighting puts off an eerie, but also classic cartoony evil villain lair kind of look.

In both of these cases, vibrant and fully saturated colors were used to cast shadows. While yes, I chose to explain the direct situation these kinds of shadows came about, the purpose of this practice was supposed to allow the viewer to imagine for themselves what kinds of senario Blitzwing was in, ALL BASED ON COLOR!

For you question on ‘What lighting would cause a shadow to be more gray-ish?’ I’m gonna focus on numbers 3 & 5

3 was supposed to mimic a dramatic situation, like maybe telling a spooky story with a flash light to the face, or having an interrogation spotlight cast down on Blitzwing. The gray-ish shadow was created with using black!! I REALLY wanted to let the viewer focus on the parts with the most color (where the highlight shines on the face) so black was my best choice in directing that attention to that place. The bleak shadowed areas allow for a strong scene, maybe something that is suspenseful or solemn, less saturated colors for shading helps to achieve those kinds of moods.

For 5, I was trying to create a night-lit scene. Here I did NOT use black to shade, only a very dark blue, and pure white for added highlights. Again, less color into your shadow -> starker lighting difference. This kind of lighting can be used for a more serious kind of scene, then again the shadows aren’t casted SUPER SUPER dark, so it can be used for other moods as well.

In summary: saturated colors are nice for spunky lighting, darker colors work well with more dramatic lighting!

haha full disclosure right here: I have not been taught/trained in color theory let alone professional art classes. All of these tips are regurgitated information from tutorials I’ve studied/my own experimentation with my work and mimicking others styles of art! I apologize if these tips are disagreeable, this ask was directed towards me and my own opinion/recommendation so I just went for it.

Please feel free to comment/add on any tips you’d like so share :D

[thosedaysthatwill]

YES I would like the Miracle rant if you want! Full disclosure, I've always loved it because I watched the bonus features that said it was super historically accurate (which could be biased, I suppose) and I was (am) obssessed with the Olympics. I guess it's long past time that I found a dissenting opinion, so I'm all ears! 💚

Okay, you did ask...

There was no “miracle”. The whole thing was a bunch of bullshit propaganda. 

The Russian team that they beat was the Red Army team. They were young men that were (essentially) drafted onto the team. Every Russian male must do military service, and these boys were allowed to their service by playing hockey for Russia. So they were moved into barrack (away from their families) and they trained. And they trained. This was Soviet Russia, dissenting views had a serious possibility of being sent to a “work camp in Siberia”. They were not “professionals” in the sense that people make it sound like. They want you to think it was a rag-tag group of college students that beat a team full of Drago from Rocky. They were kids on the other side too, and they had been (rumor has it literally) beaten into shape and were made to practice all the time. (From Wiki: Tikhonov was known for his dictatorial coaching style. He exercised nearly absolute control over his players' lives. His teams practiced for 10 to 11 months a year, and were confined to barracks throughout that time. CSKA was sponsored by the Soviet Army during the Soviet era, and Tikhonov was a colonel.) And they were not allowed to lose. They were told they could not lose. This was 1980, the height of the Cold War. It would be a National Disgrace if they lost. And they were honestly afraid of what would happen to them when they went home. The American players had no such fear, life would have gone on just fine if they lost. The Russian players didn’t have that luxury. Slava Fetisov, among others, left for the NHL pretty soon after, but other players had much more dramatic exits from behind the Iron Curtain. (That’s another story if you want to hear it.)

Tikhonov was... I don’t want to say “a terrible person” but I do think that. He was awful. He blamed the players for HIS MISTAKE in pulling (arguably) the best goalie in hockey at the time because he let up two goals. (From Wiki: In the Soviet locker room, Tikhonov singled out first-line players Tretiak, Kharlamov, Petrov, and Mikhailov, and told each of them, "This is your loss!" But that’s the light version.) The Soviets won Silver but that was a national failure. 

It becomes a story of how good old American boys beat the Evil Soviets to insure the American Way Of Life and Apple Pie and Capitalism For All. 

The US team beat Finland to win Gold. The game against Russia did not guarantee them anything actually, but it’s not a Feel Good Cold War story to say they beat Finland and Sweden. But if it was really about winning Gold, it would be the Finland game, not the Soviet game that would be the “miracle”. Clearly it’s not about that, it’s about beating the Evil Communists. 

So yes, there was no “miracle” and I hate that movie. 

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Juice Box || Morgan & Cece

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @thebickedwitchoftherest & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Oh, right. The box. The box from Roy. The box stolen specifically from Roy. Roy’s box.

CONTAINS: ex-roomie shenanigans

Morgan would have gone to see Cece after she was out of the hospital anyway. She felt awful about what had happened at the morgue, and how it had probably cost her a friend, at least for a while. And then there was whatever weird pain and damage a banshee scream would have on human ears. Something like guilt twisted in her stomach as she adjusted in her old spot on the couch and set her water glass on Cece’s coffee table. This wasn’t anything directly to do with her, but she could probably afford to be a better friend than she had been lately. But maybe a little magic research would be a good distraction from the awfulness around them. They’d had enough adventures like this before, maybe Morgan was just feeling nostalgic for earlier times. “So,” she said, nodding at the box, which sat perched on a stack of books she’d brought over. “Any ideas?”

After the morgue incident, Cece was happy to relax at home with something to distract herself. She had felt a surprising amount of guilt following the incident in the hospital. In her less than 48 hour stay she had managed to piss off Grace and steal the memories from Janus the janitor. Both in an attempt to cover the tracks of a woman who refused to talk to her. Maybe Regan had been right, trying to build a friendship with a coworker or boss was a bad idea. It certainly seemed overrated at the moment. Morgan had enlisted Cece’s help to study this magic box. Cece didn’t have all the details yet, but was slowly pressing for more before attempting to open it herself. Before, when Morgan and Cece had discovered a magical artifact used when those lobsters were hanging about the artifact that drained magic. They had been able to quell it by working together and sharing the magic between the two. If this were a similar situation, Morgan didn’t have the same magical abilities she had before. “Well I’m sure it’s magically locked. Probably needs a spellcaster to open it. But I don’t know exactly how to open it. Or if it’s boobytrapped. What context can you give me about the box?”

Morgan laughed uneasily. “Uh, promise not to hate me?” She flashed Cece a sheepish look as she brought it onto her lap and ran her fingers over the markings on the surface again. “It belongs to a crime boss. Some undead asshole named Roy something or whatever. He’s after a friend of mine and she’s hoping to figure some stuff out so he can’t, you know, bump her off so easy. It’s important to him, enough that it was kinda hard to steal. This sigil here--” Morgan pointed to one and held it out for Cece to look at, “Gets used a lot in containment rituals, like when you’re trying to seal something up. It’s a little intense, so maybe whatever’s in here is volatile, or rare, or ephemeral somehow. Problem is, I can’t figure out these--” she pointed to the row of markings along the lid. “Are. Probably if I had done my homework a little more in grade school, I could read it. But I thought I’d ask my genius witchy friend instead of renting a time machine, you know?”

“A crime boss eh? I feel like I’m in a heist movie or something.” Cece wiggled her eyebrows and leaned around the box to study the sigils as Morgan pointed them out to her. She discarded the wine glass she had been holding, abandoning it on the coffee table as she studied the signs closer. “I guess I don’t want to know what a friend of yours is doing pissing off a crime boss?” Actually, Cece very much did want to know. As much as Cece had seen, a crime boss wasn’t something that she had spent a lot of time around. Cece loved trying new things. “They’re a mixture of things from the looks of it.” Cece slid off the couch and onto her knees on the floor, pressing her face close enough to the box that her breath fogged up the silver of the box. “Please, Morgan. Flattery will get you everywhere. Some of these are more containment spells, but some-” Cece pointed at the symbols as she described them, “Are hexes. I can’t tell exactly what they’re supposed to do. But my guess is that it’s a last ditch effort to keep the contents safe in case someone got it open.”

“Uuuuhhhh…” Morgan’s voice lilted up shrilly. Cece had enough mischief in her to pass for fae. It wasn’t hard to figure that she did want to know, but the whole criminal justice system thing was still...a lot for Morgan to wrap her head around. “I could tell you, but you definitely can’t tell your boss. I don’t think she’d be happy knowing I’m a corrupting influence. I’ve lost count of how much weird shit we’ve gotten up to together by this point. You’d think the whole me being dead thing would mean less trouble, but I think we’re getting worse.” She smirked as she spoke, and angled herself in as many weird ways as she needed to look at the hexes Cece had identified. “You ever wish people would just print out a nice label on these things? Like, beware, magic dynamite inside! Or, angry bloodclingers within! But, that looks kinda like some Irish curses I’ve seen in this book… Doesn’t it feel weird to you how light it is?”

Morgan set the box between them and reached over for the book in question, flipping through the pages too quickly to find what she was looking for.“Hey--” she said, turning the pages slowly now. You’d say if you weren’t okay, right?”

“Yeah, well. My boss and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms right now anyways.” And by that, Cece meant that Regan was not on speaking terms with Cece. Despite the repeated attempts on Cece’s part. The whole thing was bullshit. Especially considering that despite this, Cece had still gone out of her way to make sure that no one poked their heads around Regan’s business or questioned her abilities to do her job. “That being said, I love the idea that you’d be able to corrupt me. I for one cherish every moment we share getting dragged into some crazy shit.” Cece laughed. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Morgan had died. Especially since she hadn’t seen it for herself, “Well there’s nothing like the afterlife, am I right?” Cece had to admit that Morgan had a point. It would sure make things a hell of a lot easier. “Witches are way too dramatic to do anything as simple as that, unfortunately. They can never make anything easy.” Morgan pointed out how light it was and Cece had to agree, leaning in closer but not being able to tell anything further. “This whole thing feels weird to me. What would a crime boss need with a magically sealed box? There must be more than meets the eye with this guy. If I’m careful, I should be able to strip the hexes before I start working on getting the box itself open. But keep reading to see if you find anything I don’t know.”

The distraction wasn’t enough, since Morgan decided now was a good time to dive into the personal questions. “Me? Almost certainly not.” Cece laughed the question off. After a moment, she decided to not completely brush the question off, “If you’re asking about the morgue then I’m fine. I’ve had worse done to me than some exploding glass and an earache.” Cece hadn’t told anyone about her days with the coven but figured Morgan would be one of the few she would trust with the information. At least some of the information. Cece didn’t need all of her skeletons dancing around the house. “Nothing that a few glasses of wine and solving a mystery with you can’t solve.” As far as not talking about issues went, Cece wasn’t the only offender, “What about you?”

Morgan scrunched her face up in a way Cece was long familiar with. “I didn’t just mean that,” she said. “But that is good to know. I just… I mean as much as I can’t imagine leaving here anytime soon, I know it can be really cruel sometimes. And you’re all Miss Tough Gal with a smile, but you don’t have to be like that all the time, you know? I just don’t want you to slip through the cracks just because I’m not here so much anymore. I’ve been kinda swept up lately, but I do care about you, tough gal and all. And not just because you do so many nice favors. But if you’re good or you wanna say you’re good, then that’s…good. And, oh, you know me. Cursed or not cursed, apparently there’s always something. Lots of gory details we didn’t make it to sharing on the dash.”

It took Morgan a few more pages to find what she was looking for, but she hesitated before showing the witch, just in case there was more to say.

Cece supposed there was no better time than now to discuss this, though Cece usually preferred any serious conversation be prefaced with a lot of alcohol. More than Cece had drunk so far. More than Cece probably had in the house. “Honestly? I’ve always been like this. Full disclosure, I was in a coven before I came to town. Things didn’t end so well with them and it always keeps me a bit on edge. Even before joining the coven, I wasn’t really one to take life super seriously. I had a pretty laid back childhood with a surprising lack of trauma so I guess when I turned eighteen life decided I had to make up for it.” Cece talked with an airiness, trying to show Morgan that she was trying to be sincere without trying to sound too much like she was whining about her past. “I have plenty of things that should keep me up at night, but I promise the injuries from the morgue aren’t one of them. I’ll seriously be okay. But trust me, even living apart I know you’ve got my back. Same to you.” Gory details didn’t exactly inspire confidence. “Yeah, what the hell? I thought you were done with the whole curse and ghost bullshit? Because ‘gory details’” Cece made finger quotations to match with her tone, “doesn’t sound very fun.”

Morgan listened thoughtfully, smiling wistfully at the thought of a good or ‘before’ times that lasted longer than eight or twelve years. But how awful, still, to know exactly the stability you were losing. To never be able to exhale or relax. Well, that part Morgan  knew too well. Maybe that had something to do with why they got along so easily. You had to keep things light when you had one eye on the present and one over your shoulder. “Those are some pretty ominous Sparknotes. I’m starting to take back all those times tiny me wished for a real coven besides just my parents. If any of them come knocking, you’ll holler though, yeah? Partial magic immunity makes for a great zombie perk in a pinch.” Morgan smirked at Cece’s question to her. Fun was...definitely not a word to use for this. “You’d be right,” she said. “I...honestly don’t know what the sparknotes version of that is. So maybe you’ll have to drag me into a sequel session just to find out.” She huffed and held out the book. “Found our guy. Check out the common uses. What does ‘source’ even mean? Like...power source? Is that a real thing?”

“I’ll keep that in mind. But fingers crossed I never see any of them again.” Cece laughed, although the idea of any of her former coven members finding Cece’s location and showing up in town was anything but a laughing matter. Something told her they wouldn’t want to catch up. And if they did, Morgan wasn’t who she would want to get involved although she made a good point about the magical immunities. Cece had always figured that her best bet if any of them were to show up in town would be to count her losses and cut and run. As the two had talked, Cece slowly worked on rubbing the hexes away from the box. It was more exhausting than it looked, a constant string of magic being poured into her fingertips in order to break the seals without cursing herself into oblivion. Whatever those hexes did, Cece didn’t want to find out. “You’ve got yourself a deal. You. Me. Pick another night and get drunk off our asses. You can give me the sparknotes version of your story and I can try to elaborate a bit on mine. It’ll be a good time.” Morgan found something in the book and leaned over to see what she had found. A power source? It didn’t mean much at first, until she remembered that Morgan had mentioned that he was undead. Cece still couldn’t be sure, but suddenly something started to make sense. “Holy shit.” Cece let go of the box for a moment. “You said undead, right? Do you know what kind?” If they didn’t then…. “I think this is a fext. And if I’m right- yikes.” Cece didn’t know how else to describe it. Cece had heard of fext from the coven. To witches, they were a sort of horror story or monster under the bed type. A monster whose special power was stealing the magic from witches. Was there any fate worse than that in the eyes of a coven? “If he is a fext- then I have a feeling that I know what’s in this box too. I think I have all the hexes cancelled out. Now I just have to pop the thing open. Give me a minute.”

“A--a what?” Morgan stammered. She hadn’t thought about fexts in a really long time. Some old witchy wives tales, stories her mother would tell her to scare her into behaving one day and dismiss as folklore the next. It was never anything to devote a lot of headspace to. “Those are--real? They’re like what...witchy-vampires?” She searched Cece’s expression. Her friend looked very serious and certain. “What’s the big yikes? Can he do weird creepy magic things to normal humans? I mean, I know he set her house on fire, but does this mean there’s worse things? Magic things? Wait--” She gaped, mouth dropping as the pieces aligned themselves in her mind. “Is that--does mean there’s just...raw magic in there?” That definitely explained why it was so light for something that was supposed to be important. “Are you sure you want to open that? Is it going to--- do something?”

“Exactly. Or something like that at least.” Cece couldn’t speak with any certainty. She had never seen one for herself. “The coven used to talk about them. Supposedly they can drain magic from spellcasters and then use their magic.” No word on whether the witch lost their magic completely or not, but all the horror stories claimed they did. Could just be a part of the chill factor, though. “Exactly. Chances are that fire was taken from another witch.” Cece nodded her head. Chances were that it was. The problem was, without seeing for themselves they had no idea what kind of magic it was. That wasn’t going to help Morgan’s friend. “I don’t know. Things could go bad. But knowing what kind of magic is stored in here might help your friend.” She couldn’t guarantee it. For all the things that didn’t scare Cece, this one at least made her a by apprehensive. “Moment of truth. Do we open it or not?”

“Shit.” Morgan took the box for herself, looking it over. “Why couldn’t I be a dead witchy vampire?” She grumbled. “I mean, obviously: very spooky. That is some dark, sketchy shit and a hard diet to work with sustainably. I’m just saying, it wouldn’t be the worst thing if I could work some magic after death. Why do things like this have to happen to assholes who light funeral homes on fire and run underground organ trading rings? That’s just not fair, is all I’m saying.” She examined the markings and little groove the lid depended on. “I’m a little worried about what would happen if we did open it. Hypothetically, I have the least amount of risk of getting whammied by something, but what should I be on the lookout for?”

“You’d make the coolest dead witchy vampire.” Cece agreed, “And you’d definitely use your power for much better than Roy uses his for. What a prick.” Cece didn’t know the man but just from the bits and pieces she had learned she had to say that he didn’t seem like a stellar dude. In fact, he seemed like an ass. “You got the short end of the stick for sure.” It wasn’t surprising that Morgan was offering to open the box and take the brunt of the spell for the two. Morgan was selfless like that. And although Cece was worried about it’s contents, she had a list a bit of confidence that things would mostly be okay. “Well- what the coven explained to me once was that spellcasters and artifacts acted as a sort of conduit to magic. Without it, there’s no where for the magic to go. Using that same logic, it might be that raw magic is just that. If we open it it’s just a mass of magic until someone that can use magic channels it.” The logic wasn’t exact, but based off of what she did know about magic this at least seemed semi plausible. “On the flip side, if this is some sort of summoning spell, it could already be activated and take effect as soon as the box opens. Hypothetically opening it could literally summon a demon. But the chances of it being that are pretty low. Probably.”

“Probably?” Morgan squeaked. “Okay, come on, grab something powerful, we’re doing this outside.” She took the box, held out in front of her and pressed between the tips of her fingers like it was hazardous waste. “I really don’t want to punch a demon or chase one into the woods, but I think our evenings together have taken weirder turns, so--” Morgan opened the back door with her elbow and walked out into the yard. She couldn’t tell if she was overreacting (because who would seriously leave potent magic just in a booby-trapped box? There had to be other layers, right?) or if this was the most reckless thing she’d done yet. “Maybe, uh, stay back--?” She called, looking sidelong at Cece.

Come on. Waiting wasn’t going to change what’s inside. They had to know for sure if they wanted to correctly identify this asshole. One eye pinched shut, Morgan thumbed the lid open.

No flashing lights, no demon. Morgan finally risked a look inside. “Oh. That’s a little anticlimactic.”

“Well I can’t see the future Morgan!” Cece defended herself. She very rarely spoke in absolutes. She couldn’t be blamed or held responsible if shit went south if she told them probably or most likely. “Divination is not one of my skills.” Nor one of her interests. For all of the planning that Cece liked to do- her escape from the coven had taken more than a year to pull together- Cece had no interest in seeing her future. At Morgan’s request, Cece hopped onto her feet and began following her outside, only to spin back around and grab her wine glass and falling behind Morgan again. “You said grab something powerful.” She shrugged, taking a sip and standing with her former roommate out in the backyard. Now it was time to actually open the damned thing.

When Morgan did it was… well it was boring. Morgan was right, that had been anticlimactic. She stepped closer to Morgan and leaned in to get a look at the vial. “Can I squeeze in real quick?” Cece reached her arm in, running her hand over it without actually touching it. Magic was different. In some ways it felt alive or like an aura. And every aura was different. If someone was familiar enough with a certain branch of magic they may be able to pick it out just like someone could look at someone and see what color their aura was. “Well, bad news is that I’m pretty sure this actually was summoning magic. Whoopsies.” Cece sucked air through her teeth and slid away from the box again, “But on the plus side it didn’t summon whatever is in there! So another point for the former roommate dream team!”

Morgan’s stomach turned. There was no consciousness in the box, no traces of who the spellcaster had once been, but after what Roy had done to Erin’s home, she felt pretty confident that they were dead. She knew, on one level, that it was the same as the stock of brains she kept in the fridge. But thinking of his cruelty, the way he crushed people for nothing more original than gain, she felt disgusted. Morgan snapped the box shut and turned back to Cece. “Thank you for this. You’re a really good friend, you know?” She pulled her in a one armed hug. “I’ll make sure this guy get’s destroyed, okay? Do you want to hang onto this, in case you need it someday? I’d rather it be with a real witch than with Roy.” She squeezed her friend carefully. “But definitely, definitely another score in our dream team column. We are, without a doubt, the most badass pair in the Crest. Maybe we should start charging the town for all the favors we do them, huh?”

“I’m supposed to be holding up my tough girl reputation Morgan. Don’t expose me. You know this unbeating heart only flutters now and again for you.” Cece playfully shoved Morgan’s shoulder, careful not to do it hard enough to jolt the vial resting in the overdramatic box. “He sounds like a real dick, so I can’t say I’ll be mourning his loss or anything. But you and your friend need to be careful. If Fexts are even half as scary as the stories are, you don’t want to underestimate this guy. He’s going to be dangerous as hell.” Cece had no idea what kind of nightmare fuel this bottle could summon. Keeping it around probably wasn’t the greatest idea. But if Cece could figure out what it was, she may be able to use it someday. “I will happily take this little container of evil. What could go wrong, am I right?” What an awful question to ask. It’s like she was begging for demons to fuck up her life. Good luck trying to screw up something that was already so royally fucked, demons. “We really do. I’ll brainstorm some business titles. Double bubble, toil trouble? Never mind. We’ll keep workshopping.”

[squidbatts]

your funny mouth to the clouds

Or: Fabian stresses, confesses, and gets some kisses in

((The last couple of Fantasy High episodes have been Buckwild but IN THIS HOUSE we ignore current canon happenings to write about fabian wanting to kiss ragh and then getting to kiss ragh!!! because i crave ragh/fabian content even if i have to Do Everything Myself))

{ao3}

Fabian Aramais Seacaster, son of Bill Seacaster, knows he’s hot; it’s kind of his whole thing, being a charming, roguish pirate, as dangerous as he is dashing. So, obviously, it makes complete sense that he and Gorgug would be Ragh’s dream makeout partners. They’re all hot athletes and they spend a decent amount of time together, he gets it.

It shouldn’t even be a thing.

Except that Fabian can’t stop thinking about it. When Ragh lances a demon through the eye and then turns to grin at Fabian, manic, muscles straining his letterman jacket, he thinks about it; when Fabian’s trying to teach the party literally anything about the sea and Ragh slides in right next to him, body a point of warmth on Fabian’s left side as he points at completely the wrong part of the map, he thinks about it; when Ragh tears off his shirt and leaps into the water with Fabian, throws a glistening and sea-wet arm over Fabian’s bare shoulders, tugs Fabian into his sculpted chest as he laughs-

The point is, Fabian keeps thinking about it.

Which is why he thinks he should be excused for asking Kristen for advice; she is, after all, their “token gay friend"; the rest of his close friends are straight, so she’s really the only one he can ask.

“Kristen,“ Fabian starts one afternoon when it’s just the two of them on the roof, “You know about gay stuff, right?“

Kristen lights up. “I don’t know if you know this-“

“I do, you say it all the time-“

“-but I’m gay!“ Kristen finishes like she doesn’t come out over breakfast every morning. “So yeah, I do.“

“Awesome, great, listen, I have a question. Have you ever- hm.“ Fabian cuts himself off with a hum as he attempts to word it correctly. He decides to try another route. “Do you think Ragh is attracted to me?“

“Oh, for sure,“ Kristen says and, even though he already knew that, Fabian chokes on air in surprise at her surety. “He’s really into the whole ’straight boy jock’ thing and, I’m a lesbian, but even I know that you’re objectively the hottest person in our party. You and Fig are the hot ones.“

“Obviously,“ Fabian replies, kneejerk.

“Yeah, so, duh. Why do you ask?“ Kristen asks, and Fabian-

Fabian falters because, obviously, he wants to get to the bottom of why he can’t just forget about Ragh’s proposition like Gorgug has, but the idea of talking about it, of telling Kristen makes his stomach twist. Something about it makes him feel weird, the same way he feels weird whenever he thinks about Ragh wanting to kiss him.

“He just said something and I-“ Fabian waves a hand dismissively. “Nevermind, it doesn’t matter.“

Kristen’s eyebrows furrow and she places a hand on Fabian’s arm, firm but still kind. “If you’re uncomfortable with a gay man simply being attracted to you, you’re the asshole here. But listen, Jawbone has some pamphlets about it and we can totally work this out-“

“I’m not uncomfortable, I just wanted to know if he had said anything to you,“ Fabian says, the words quick and awkward in his mouth. Maybe I am uncomfortable, He considers. Maybe the twisting how of his gut and the heating of his face are merely symptoms of his discomfort. He’s always been fine with Kristen and Tracker, he was fine with Ragh when he told them about Dane, but maybe he just thought he wasn’t homophobic until it directly affected him.

Kristen stares at him silently for a second, tilting her head as her eyebrows raise. “Huh. Never would’ve guessed that.“ She says, then, “Well, actually, I maybe would’ve because you’re like, supernaturally obsessed with your appearance, but stereotyping is bad and all that.“

“What are you talking about?“ Fabian snaps, irritated with her vagueness. He realizes that he should’ve just gone to Adaine for help, she reads books and knows about a great many things, not to mention that it certainly would’ve been less of a tax on his patience than dealing with Kristen at her… Kristen-est.

“I think… I think you should talk to Ragh,“ Kristen says, and then continues on quickly before Fabian can get the horrified Absolutely not out of his mouth. “No, listen, this is really something that would go best if you just, like, talked to Ragh about it, I think. And like, I rolled a seventeen on persuasion, so you kind of have to.”

Fabian, not blessed in wisdom, fails his saving throw and has to admit that Kristen’s point is pretty compelling. Still, “I don’t even know where Ragh is right now.”

Kristen gives him a look that clearly says We all live in the same vanboat, you have to know that he’s less than three minutes away. She leans away from Fabian and, still holding eye contact, yells into the van, "Hey, Ragh, Fabian wants to talk to you!"

"Kristen, no," Fabian hisses. Kristen just grins back at him.

"Kristen, yes!" She says, "You will so thank me for this."

Fabian is still cursing Kristen's name when Ragh climbs up to join them on the roof. He's wearing his normal jeans but has elected to leave his letterman jacket in the van. Probably a good idea, Fabian thinks, eyes involuntarily drawn to the sheen of sweat over Ragh's biceps as Ragh stretches before he sits. It's been hot all day, but Fabian would bet gold that it's gotten hotter in the past five minutes. He certainly feels rather feverish, suddenly.

"What's the problem, bro?" Ragh asks when he settles down. Kristen makes a face at him from behind Ragh's back and mouths Take my advice!!!! When he pretends not to notice and instead stares pointedly at the sea, she huffs loudly.

"Well, I'm going to go back into the van, I'm real tired," She says, obnoxiously obvious. Fabian makes a face back at her when Ragh turns towards her. "I'll, uh,see you guys later. Don't even worry about everyone else, I'll keep 'em down there."

Fabian tries to infuse enough That is absolutely not what I want! and Don't leave us alone! into a single glare to make her stay, but she just winks at him, like she's a bard or something, which of course makes Ragh turns back to Fabian, puzzled.

"What was all that about?"

"It's nothing, really," Fabian says, forcing lightness into his voice as he waves a hand, as though all this awkwardness could be as easily dispelled as Fig's cigarette smoke. "Kristen is just being dramatic."

Ragh frowns, his dark eyes are stormily serious. Fabian's heart skips a beat. "We're bros. And bros don't have to lie about their feelings, right?"

"... Right."

"Dude." Ragh says as he punches Fabian's arm, clearly about to get started on the Jawbone taught me emotional vulnerability and now I think everyone should do it spiel. Fabian's already heard it at least one time apiece from Kristen and Adaine, and he still thinks he's good on the emotions front, thank you very much. Still, his stomach flips even now with nerves, and he thinks of how Kristen thought that talking with Ragh would sort him out. As truly awful as he imagines it will be, he wonders if Kristen has a point, just this once.

"Alright, alright!" He concedes, "I suppose we can talk about my feelings."

"Awesome!" Ragh grins lopsidedly, shifting to sit lotus style, his full attention on Fabian. "Now, what's up?"

A feeling rises in Fabian's chest, like his ribcage is stuck in a vice, and he feels nearly sick with guilt. Here Ragh is, so kindly and sincerely devoting his attention to Fabian, and Fabian's body can't even relax enough to appreciate it.

"I think I owe you an apology," Fabian says, and before Ragh can respond, he rushes on with, "I think I might be homophobic, but I'm going to work on it and be a better friend for you and Kristen, and I'm very sorry."

Ragh's opens and closes his mouth wordlessly a few times, tusks catching on his upper lip. "I- what?"

Fabian sighs huffily and explains, how he's felt weird and off-kilter since Ragh's proposition and Kristen's offered explanation. Ragh listens thoughtfully, brow furrowed and a hand on his chin. He's still frowning as Fabian finishes his tale and Fabian fights the urge to fidget under the scrutiny.

"I don't think you're homophobic, dude," Ragh says, eventually. He sounds like he's choosing his words carefully, like he's walking on eggshells, and Fabian aches to think that he's made Ragh think that he has to do that.

"Of course I am, what else could it be?" Fabian asks, and Ragh screws up half of his face. "See! I made you uncomfortable with my- weirdness. I'm sorry."

"No, no, I'm not uncomfortable, I'm just trying to… Reconcile some things. Sort stuff out in the old noggin." Fabian tries not to look too doubtful but Ragh must've aced his insight check because he sighs and continues, "Listen, this has got to be weird for you too, I mean, obviously it is if you think you're a homophobe, but I think there's a pretty easy way to figure out what your discomfort means."

"And what would that be?" Fabian asks snipily, turning away. He doesn't like apologizing in the first place, much less when the other person won't just accept it.

"Feel free to say no, but I figured you could just try kissing me." Ragh says, and Fabian’s head whips back to him. Ragh lifts up his hands defensively. “Full disclosure, I think you’re super hot so I'm definitely getting something out of this, but if you can't stop thinking about it… It couldn't hurt, could it?"

Ragh shrugs as he lays his offer down and Fabian-

Fabian's heart pounds like he's in the middle of a Bloodrush play as heat pools in his face and his stomach. He hadn't ever considered actually kissing Ragh, but now that it's on the table, something deep within him twists with want.

"One kiss?" Fabian asks, trying to will away his blush, "I wouldn't be… Opposed."

"Uh-uh, none of that. I need a definite yes or no, bro," Ragh says, "I don't want to pressure you into this."

Fabian feels his flush flare hotter and squeezes his eyes shut. The deep buried part of him has rapidly expanded and spread throughout his body, leaving his fingers twitching towards Ragh and his lips tingling with anticipation. He can't imagine saying no, but to say yes also seems almost insurmountable. He opens his eyes, sees how softly Ragh smiles and the patience in his eyes, and it feels like someone's reached into Fabian's chest and twisted. Fabian nods, excessively, embarrassingly, then says, "Yes, yes, I'd like to try it-" before Ragh is upon him like the tide on a beach.

It's different from kissing Aelwyn; there's no bitter taste of alcohol or sticky-sweet lipgloss, no, Ragh's lips are chapped and he tastes of salt from days at sea, but it's still so much. Ragh cups Fabian's head, gentle, but presses his mouth insistently forward, easily leading Fabian through the sweeping movements of a makeout. Fabian's heartbeat still thuds in his ears, but he can also hear Ragh's slow and steady breaths, feel how he nips Fabian's lips and smiles against Fabian's mouth. When it's over, when Ragh pulls back and Fabian embarrassingly chases after him for half a second, Fabian is breathing like he's been near-drowned.

"Still think you're homophobic?" Ragh asks, teeth flashing in the ocean sunlight, lips slick from Fabian. Fabian burns brightly.

"I have," Fabian clears his throat awkwardly. "A few other theories now."

Ragh laughs, full and perfect, throwing his head back. Fabian looks at the vast muscled expanse of his neck, realizes that the twist of his gut just means that he wants to press a kiss to the juncture of Ragh's jawline and neck, and thinks, Huh.

"Well, that was super fun," Ragh says, clapping Fabian on the back, "Always down to help a fellow Owlbear with a sexuality crisis, dude, just let me know if you wanna do that again."

Ragh heads back into the vanboat, whistling cheerfully, and Fabian waits until he's absolutely out of sight to raise a shaking hand to his lips. He feels a smile giddily crawling over his face and he buries his face in his hands rather than risk someone seeing him like that. He wonders, in a corner of his mind that's not fully busy simply rejoicing over getting his kisses in, if having a boyfriend is much different than having a girlfriend.

[beauzoleils]

ABIGAIL  COWEN ,  CISFEMALE ,  SHE / HER    →   according  to  the  school  records ,  NATALIE  LUCILLE  BEAUSOLEIL  has  been  attending  sacred  heart  for  the  past  three  years .  i  last  saw  them   hanging  around  the  john  bracken  library  ;  i  think  they  were  working  on  writing  her  novel .  at  twenty - one  years  old ,  natalie  has  been  studying  english  literature  and  get  this ,  i   heard  that  she’ll  zone  out  while  writing  papers  for  class  and  come  to  surrounded  by  pages  and  pages  full  of  archaic  languages  she  doesn’t  speak   —   figure  it’s  true ?  everyone  around  here  always  associates  them  with  a  moonlight  sonata  echoing  through  empty  halls ,  seats  in  the  back  row  at  the  opera ,  and  dead  flowers  pressed  between  the  pages  of  an  old  book .  in  the  time  since  these  strange  happenings ,  they  have  encountered  unexplained  occurrences .     

HI ,  hello .  i’m  hannah  n  this  is  like .  the  only  thing  i’ve  been  thinking  about  recently ,  aka  i’m  so  excited .  ok  anyway !  i’m  20 ,  kickin  it  in  the  est !  i’m  a  full  time  student  ( majoring  in  being  a  dumb  bitch  n  gay  rights  and  i’m  at  the  top  of  my  class  baby . . )  and  i’m  ALSO  a  preschool  teacher  so  if  i’m  ever  Not  here ,  i’m  with  my  babies  ! !  but  that  isn’t  the  reason  why  ur  all  here . .   ur  here  for  an  intro  post !  so !  

let’s  talk  abt  my  girl . . .  𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐄  𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐈𝐋 !

okay .  so .  first  thing’s  first .  i  have  some  Real  Things  prepared  for  my  girl ,  including  but  not  limited  to :

a  pinterest  board !

a  stats  page !

and  what  i  call  NATALIE :  A  TRAGEDY  IN  THREE  ACTS .  it’s  kind  of  a  bio ,  mixed  in  with  some  stage  directions  here  and  there .  it’s  a  quick  read  n  rly  gives  you  that  Natalie  Flavor  if  you  know  what  i  mean . .  so  if  you  feel  so  inclined  n  wanna  take  a  look . .  but  full  disclosure  it  rly  does  hit  different  than  just  reading  this  intro 

anyway !  i’ll  give  a  more  condensed  version  of  her  bio  here  n  some  info  abt  her  personality  n  some  random  headcanons . .  etc !

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓  𝐈 :  𝑨 𝑯𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀

alright  SO .  our  girl  natalie  was  born  on  april  13 ,  1952  to  michel  and  colette  beausoleil .  it  was  a  thursday ,  and  it  was  ALSO  eleven  weeks  before  colette’s  due  date ,  so  we  all  know  that  can’t  be  good 

( spoiler  alert :  it  wasn’t )

natalie  was  supposed  to  be  a  twin ,  but  the  other  baby  ( a  boy  named  pierre )  didn’t  survive .  they  didn’t  think  that  natalie  would ,  but  she did !  unfortunately ,  her  parents  were  too  wounded  by  the  loss  of  their  other  baby  and  it  was  all grieving  and  no  celebrating .  

also .  there’s  more  info  abt  her  parents  n  how  they  met  in  the  bio  but ,  a  sparknotes  version  is  that  michel  was  a  playwright  in  paris  and  colette  was  a  ballerina / his  muse  and  they  rushed  into  a  marriage 

michel  made  it  rly  big  a  couple  yrs  after  natalie  was  born  and  so  they  decided  to  use  that  $ $ $  to  send  natalie  away  to  an  expensive  boarding  school  in  london  called  our  lady  of  sacred  suffering .  it  was ,  of  course ,  a  catholic  girls  boarding  school  and  natalie  hated  it  there

but  they  hated  natalie  there  bc  she  was  just  the  WORST  catholic  school  girl  of  all  time ,  so  it  was  mutual

meanwhile ,  her  relationship  w  her  parents  is . .  very  complicated .  her  dad  is  just  kind  of  The  Worst  across  the  board ,  very  reliant  on  drinking ,  definitely  got  into  drug  use  at  some  point ,  had  lots  of  affairs  with  the  young  actresses  in  his  plays .  and  colette  was  just . .  very  sad  and  very  absent  so  the  support  was  Minimal

natalie  has  a  lot  of  issues  that  are  all  rooted  in  her  childhood  tbh .

somewhere  along  the  way ,  she  found  a  deep  passion  for  Writing  and  developed  this  sense  of  purpose  and  for  a  minute  things  were  going  very  well 

which  we  all  know  means  things  are  about  to  get  WORSE . 

on  her  eighteenth  birthday ,  natalie  receieves  a  card  in  the  mail  from  her  mother  for  the  First  Time  Ever .  and  she  immediately  is  like .  huh .  well .  something  is  Wrong .

she’s  right .

( tw :  nondescript  mentions  of  car  crashes  &  death )

a  week  later ,  she  receives  word  that  her  parents  were  involved  in  a  serious  car  accident  at  the  pont  de  l’alma  tunnel  in  paris  and  her  did  not  survive  the  accident .

( end  tw )

her  mother’s  family  is  not  convinced  that  michel  should  walk  away  from  this  without  blame  and  decides  to  take  legal  action  against  him  and  get  him  convicted  with  a  more  serious  charge  than  just  manslaughter . 

they  promise  to  keep  natalie  out  of  it  as  much  as  possible  but  when  it  comes  time  to  testify  as  to  whether  or  not  michel  had  a  history  of  not  caring  about  colette’s  life  and  well - being ,  the  only  one  who  can  speak  to  it  is  natalie .

so  she  testifies  and  it’s  her  testimony  that  is  the  metaphorical  nail  in  the  coffin .  

( tw :  suicide  mention )

michel  knows  it ,  too .  that’s  what  natalie  thinks .  he  turns  up  dead  in  his  jail  cell  the  day  before  he’s  supposed  to  be  sentenced .  she  never  knows  if  he  deserved  the  life  sentence  he  was  going  to  be  given .

( end  tw ) 

so  then !  she’s  an  orphan !  but  she  does  gain  control  over  everything  that  her  parents  left  behind ,  which  turns  out  to  be  a  lot .  

she  sells  their  house  in  paris ,  goes  to  wales  to  begin  university ,  and  hasn’t  gone  back  since  then .  but  like ,  she  grew  up  in  london  for  the  most  part  so  she’s  not  exactly  sad  about  being  away  from  paris  and  all  the  ghosts  there .

and  now  she’s  at  sacred  heart ,  working  on  writing  her  debut  novel ,  which  is  the  ( albeit ,  dramatized  and  fictionalized )  story  of  her  parents !

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓  𝐈𝐈 :  𝑨  𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀 .

so  basically ,  she’s  got  issues .

fictional  character  inspo  includes :  jo  march ,  alaska  young ,  cheryl  blossom

if  you  know  anything  abt  astrology . .  she’s  an  aries  sun ,  mercury ,  and  venus . .  and  a  scorpio  moon  and  mars . .  and  a  gemini  rising . .  i’m  so  sorry JKDSFM

she’s  very  emotional  but  does  a  super  good  job  of  hiding  it  and  keeping  all  those  emotions  ( esp  the  intense  n  darker  ones )  buried  away . .  deep  down  where  no  one  could  see  it

the  minute  that  ppl  kind  of  ? ?  but  two  and  two  together  n  realize  who  she  is  ( bc . .  in  my  head . .  her  dad’s  whole  trial  was  kind  of .  A  Thing  that  the  public  knew  abt . )  they’re  probably  rly  concerned  w  Little  she  shows  any  real  emotion  to  the  whole  thing . 

rly  she’s  just  the  queen  of  compartmentalizing  n  repressing !

she’s  very . .  Assertive .  like ,  when  she  wants  something  she’s  going  to  do  whatever  it  takes  to  get  her  way  

very  Very  reckless .  she’s  like . .  so  fucking  impulsive  that  it  physically  Pains  me  sometimes .

she’s  very  smart  but  like .  More  So ,  she’s  very  clever  and  very  sharp  with  her  words .  a  very  fast  thinker  and  a  very  loud  talker 

someone  please . .  tell  her  to  stop  yelling .  she  needs  to  Relax . 

she’s  very  charming  i’ll  say  it .  n  like ?  seems  cool ?  the  kind  of  person  that  you  meet  and  immediately  want  to  hang  out  w  them .  

very  flirty ,  has  always  used  that  charming  smile  of  hers  to  get  ppl  in  her  corner  and  she’s  not  gonna  stop  now !  she’s  very  good  at  making  ppl  feel  special  

but  like .  she  means  well  most  of  the  time  sdkfj  her  heart  is  in  the  right  place  okay

big  time  trust  issues .  big  time  commitment  issues .  painfully  independent  and  refuses  to  let  anyone  know  how  much  she  cares  about  them  until  she’s  like . .  Really  sure  that  they  aren’t  going  to  hurt  her

also  very  afraid  of  hurting  people ,  which  is  another  reason  why  she  struggles  to  get  attached  to  people .  she  definitely  has  this  deep - rooted  fear  that  Bad  Things  follower  her  and  she  doesn’t  want  to  drag  ppl  into  that

it’s  literally  a  toss - up  as  to  whether  she’s  going  to  seem  like  she’s  demanding  ur  attention  or  entirely  disinterested  in  it .  bc  she’s  all  over  the  place . 

but  like .  i’m  an  emotional  BITCH  so  she’s  probably  going  to  end  up  being  100000%  softer  than  i  intend  bc  i  project  too  much  soft  bitch  energy  onto  my  characters  Always .

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓  𝐈𝐈𝐈 :  𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑵𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑺 .

so  many  things .  literally ,  anything .  just  a  disclaimer ,  if  u  read  thru  this  and  had  An  Idea  then  like .  yes  Pls  tell  me ,  i  want  it  xoxo 

but  here  are  some  i  have  up  in  the  old . .  noggin .

EXES .  please ,  please . .  for  the  love  of  GOD  give  me  some  angsty  exes  nonsense .  do  you  need  someone  who  broke  ur  characters  heart ?  consider  natalie  UR  GIRL .  she’s  Emotionally  Damaged  and  has  the  capacity  to  be  the  angstiest  ex  of  all  time ,  okay ?

give  her  a  weakness .  she  needs  someone  who  she’s  Actually  vulnerable  around  and  actually  sees  her  have  emotions  and  knows  she’s  not  just  this  huge  Mess  all  the  time

i  rly  want  someone  that  is  like .  from  the  same  ( ish )  bg  as  her  in  the  sense  that  like . .  they  also  were  surrounded  by  nice  clothes  n   expensive  private  schools  n  Luxury  but  like .  they  Thrive  in  it  the  way  natalie  used  to  wish  that  she  could .  n  just .  i  think  it  would  b  a  super  interesting  dynamic  bc  they  would  just !  clash !  so  intensely ! !  n  tbh  nat  would  probably  b  lowkey  jealous  Still  n .  spicy !

@ all  those  ppl  who  are  into  theatre :  i’m  Dying  for  some  connections  of  ppl  who  knew / knew  of  her  father  n  would  know  what  happened  w  him  perhaps  on  a  deeper  level  than  ppl  who  read  it  in  the  newspaper  a  few  yrs  ago . .  ( bonus  points  if  they  lowkey  idolized / looked  up  to  her  dad  bc  thats  a  Big  Mess  and  could  b  spicy  as  fuck  to  explore ,  u know ? ) 

idk  if  any  of  y’all  have  characters  who  grew  up  in / around  paris ?  but  if  there  are . .  then  Perhaps  someone  who  knew  her  in  her  youth ?

okay .  not  to  be  Trash  but  like .  i  rly  want  her  to  have  a  dynamic  that’s  jo  x  laurie  adjacent ?  do  they  have  to  be  in  love  w  her ?  no !  i  just  want someone  that  has  that  genuine  bond  w  her  and  they  care  abt  each  other  n  goof  around  n  like . .  i’m  already  getting  soft  on  main ,  huh , ,

she’s  soo  fucking  messy  that  like . .  all  the  messy  fwb / frenemies  with  benefits / one  night  stand  type  of  plots . .  yes  pls 

i  always  want  there  to  b  a  badass  girl  squad  like .  a  group  of  ladies  n  theydies  that  take  no  shit  n  get  in  fights  for  each  other  n  rly  truly  ride  or  die  w  each  other . .  we  can  workshop  the  name  ok  but  for  now ?  my  girl  squad  is  open  for  applications 

okay .  let  me  cut  myself  off  right  there  but  i’ll  leave  you  with  my  WANTED  CONNECTIONS  TAG  n  also  again  i’m 10000%  okay  to  just  brainstorm  out  something  else  completely  if  its  what  ur  feeling !

if  u  read  all / any  of  this . .  i  love  u . <3  either hmu on discord ( let's go 𝓁𝑒𝓈𝒷𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓈 ! #6227 ) ksdjfskm  OR !  like  this  n  i  will  come  to  u !  okay ,  that’s  all ,  bye 

[sam-lives-story]

⭐

Fanfic Writers: Director’s Cut

Reblog this if you want readers to come into your ask box and ask for the “director’s commentary” on a particular story, section of a story, or set of lines.

Or, send in a ⭐star⭐  to have the author select a section they’ve been dying to talk about!

The Livestream.

Oh my god the livestream.

So, full disclosure, let me say something that I know I’ve told friends about but haven’t necessarily made a post on just yet. This story was intended to be a oneshot about Jack accidentally letting the world see that Sam was, in fact, alive. This was supposed to be a oneshot. Clearly, it has become much MUCH more than that lol. In fact, the concept of Anti being alive at all wasn’t even a thought in my head until I got to Chapter 3: “Belief”.

When I decided to continue #SamLives past the first chapter, I knew I wanted Sam to eventually meet Tiny Box Tim. I wanted Mark to come forward and say “HEY JACK LOOK I HAVE ONE TOO!” and for them to all hang out and be buddy-buddy and have fun adventures together. (Again, things have changed lol, but that’s where it started.) When I got to Chapter 3 I got a little bit of writer’s block....and I couldn’t figure out how to end the chapter. So I thought “What the hell, maybe the call gets dropped” and started writing that in...only to add a static shock and glitches.

A friend who read it freaked out and asked if Anti was showing up, and though I hadn’t been PLANNING on it, my writer’s brain lit up like a damn firework and I was like “YES DEFINITELY ANTI IS COMING WOW I LOVE THIS”.

So...the Livestream.

The Livestream was fun to write for so many reasons. First of all, I wanted Anti’s entrance to be dramatic as hell. It was dramatic on Halloween in real life, so I knew he would have a dramatic appearance in this story too. The concept of Anti appearing slowly, building up his strength, and basically haunting Jack until he exploded into the public eye was just so cool. I mean first of all, thinking you’re alone in your house only to suddenly realize you’re not so alone is a scary thought. But then thinking you’re going crazy and pretending everything is fine so you don’t freak out too much, only to THEN find out you really should have been freaking out more from the start? Yeah. Loved that.

Also, in trying to figure out how Anti would work - how he would move, his abilities, his glitching - I thought about Vanellope from Wreck-It Ralph. She, like Anti, is/has a glitch...and every time they animated her “glitching” in her movie, it always looked like she was turning into little cubes of light. Pixels. (And figuring out how to write that out and give it the feel and appearance I wanted was a process in and of itself, and a ton of fun once it was finished.) The whole pixels concept is one I’ve been slowly building on and (as you’ll see in the next update) I actually put some more in depth thought into recently. Jack still hasn’t fully explained what Anti actually is, so until then I’m gonna have fun with it!

And of course, what would any writer be without a questionable search history?

I actually did quite a bit of Google-ing and researching to figure out (A) what damage can be caused if someone tries to strangle you, (B) how long it would take for bruises like that to heal, (C) if somebody would lose their voice from it and for how long, and (D) how far can I take it for it to be serious enough of an injury that it requires recuperating, but NOT serious enough that Jack would need a damn ambulance, because I didn’t even WANT to bother writing a hospital scene. (Plus I don’t actually want to hurt our irish coffee bean that badly lol.)

I could also go on for ages about how the whole concept of Belief Brings Characters To Life actually works, but I’ll save that for another day unless somebody specifically asks about it. ^^

[piccolina-mina]

If you're a multishiper what all do you ship? You have to think something is going to be endgame so what's your endgame?

Hmm. I'm going out on a limb and guess this is about Roswell New Mexico? Timely and curious, but I'll bite.

This sounds like, "oh really, what's their greatest hits?" 😂

It's weird. Multishipping isn't usually my thing. I don't know, this show is very character driven, which makes it very relationship driven. So I can be easily enticed by so many different dynamics. And shipping for me on this show is so casual and can range from platonic to romance and anything in between. Sometimes I just see certain interactions and 👀 I see the potential.

Echo - they're the main love story. It took me a bit to get over the thing with Rosa, and I don't like how that was handled, but I just surrendered to it so I could continue enjoying the show. And Nathan and Jeanine have really great chemistry. They're nerdy babies, and I actually enjoy this version of them more than in the OG. And they're both so pretty, and I just feel the love there.

Miluca - the survival kids. Barter and banter. I also love this rendition of Candy. I like their banter and flirting. I love how supportive and protective Michael is of Maria. I love how Michael is relaxed around her. They're kindred spirits.

Malex: they're so deliciously ANGSTY. I love angst. They have this really dramatic type of romance that feels like it's ripped from the pages of classic literature, and I just really love that, especially with a same-sex couple because of how rare that is.

Kylex: Full disclosure my two favorite characters are Kyle and Maria and I kinda ship them with almost everyone. I love everything about their adult relationship. Kyle is such a good, supportive, intuitive guy, but also Alex let's his guards down around Kyle, and he shows him parts of himself he can't quite bring himself to show to anyone else and it's because they just have this connection that the others don't. I love it. I like that Alex gets Kyle too and I think they communicate well with each other.

Kyliz: they have great chemistry all around. They also get each other. They're so similar to me now. They're like the moral compasses of the group. They're very moral driven and ethical and just pure. And I love that they have that same energy. And their friendship gets me in the feels but so does their sexytimes.

Alright, now we get fun. 😜

Max and Maria (DeLevans)- Maria can get Max to do things he wouldn't normally do. I think she's so open and lively and he's such a big dopey nerd, and I love them balancing each other out a bit. He's compassionate and kind and tries to do right by people, and she's nice and supportive. And I just think they are two givers.

Max, Maria, and Liz - Oh yes. I'd ot3 the heck out of them. 😳

Maria and Kyle (Kyluca) - They are my favorite characters so obviously I'm game for this. Once I got my interaction it was 😍. No, but they're so cute. Max and Maria have karaoke, my karoake cuties, but Maria and Kyle have movie nights. I think they are both really open supportive caring people and I would love that shared energy redirected to each other. The surgeon and the mystic. Like dharma and Greg or something. Gimme.

Kyle and Max- two hot cowboys. The begrudging respect/hate sex would be awesome.

Max and Alex - they were totally on the same wave length back in high school. The airman and the cop? The hacker and the cop? Sullen pining babies? All I'm saying is it would be awesome. Don't @ me.

HS Rosa and Maria - if Rosa and Maria were back to being the same age. Just, yes. I LOVE them both. Besties to friends. Fk me up.

Maria and Liz - just look at them. Look at how precious they are and tell me they wouldn't be a cute af ship!

Michael and Liz - now Michael is still an asshole and all around shitty person to Liz and never apologized. He didn't deserve her forgiveness without it. But I do understand the appeal of the science bros. And michael sometimes gives her those bedroom eyes (which is apparently just vlamis default face sometimes bless his heart). And the only way I envision this ship is like really good hate sex that kinda leaves him wanting more and Liz like "Nope"

I also think Kyle and Cam would have been cute. And Cam and Maria would have been cute. And Isobel thirsting after Kyle but him not being interested is my jam. And Kyle, Michael, and Alex getting their hardy boy on ...

And I'll be remiss if I didn't mention Kyle and Mama Evans. 😂 Truly crackedt. Kyle be flexing on them.

Ahem.

I don't have a set endgame. I don't really care enough about who ends up with who to pick an endgame. I'm just here for the drama and the ride, tbh. It really isn't that serious to me. So whatever makes the story good and as long as it makes sense in the end, I can't say I'm invested enough to care. I suppose that's the extent of me being a shipper.

Anyway. Does that answer your question? 😊

[frcmashes]

arrest :   your  muse  finds  my  muse  arrested  in  cuffs  with  swarming  police  everywhere. - Bex

FULL DISCLOSURE:   i read this ask as being for damon and posted it before i realized the error of my ways. i’m not reposting / rewriting though so please forgive me.  FT  @wrckhvck

he’s  sitting  at  the  curb,  arms  cuffed  behind  his  back.  the  steel  cuts  into  his  wrists  and  he  grimaces,  yells  in  the  direction  of  the  closest  officer.  “  this  is  just  one  big  misunderstanding.  ”   in  a  way,  it  is.   the  window  had  misunderstood  that  it  shouldn’t  break  upon  contact  with  the  brick  he’d  thrown  at  it.   unlike  mystic  falls,  the  police  department  in  san  francisco  seemed  more  than  happy  to  actually  do  their  jobs  and  had  shown  up  within  minutes.  officer  smartass  was  quickly  replacing  matty  blue  eyes  as  his  least  favorite  law  enforcement  officer.  

he  sees  rebekah  out  of  the  corner of  his  eye,  turns  his  head  and  beams.  yes  someone  who  can  do  something  about  his  current  predicament.  “  well  if  it  isn’t  my  favorite  blonde  haired  original.  ”   he  smirks,  gives  his  hands  a  little  shake  to  draw  attention  to  the  handcuffs.   “  a  little  help  would  be  nice.  ”  

 “  and  deny  myself  the  joy  of  watching  the  great  damon  salvatore  be  read  his  rights?  oh,  i  don’t  know.  ”   she’s  laughing  as  she  approaches,  eyes  moving  from  his  face  to  the  smashed  window  behind  him.   “  let  me  guess.  ”   she  hums.   “  you  decided  ‘  last  call  ‘  was  optional  and  tried  to  break  your  way  into  the  bar  ?   seems  just  dramatic  enough  to  be  something  you’d  do.  “

      he  scowls.  “  no.  ”    he  pulls  a  face.   “  i  left  my  keys  inside.  then,  when  i  tried  to  go  back  in  and get  them,  daria  over  there  said  no.  ”    he  jerks  his  head  towards  one  of  the  officers  who  was  speaking  to  a  dark  haired  girl  with  round  glasses  on.    she  did,  in  all  fairness,  resemble  daria.  the  comparison,  however,  hadn’t  done  him any  favors.   “  i  wasn’t  planning  on  driving.  i  just  needed  my  keys  to  get  in  the  damn  house.  elena’s  at  caroline’s.  ”   he  also  couldn’t  call  her  to  get  a  spare  key;  that  had  already  happened  three  times  that  week.     

                 rebekah  pauses  before  starting  to  laugh,  prompting  him  to  scowl  which  warranted  more  laughter.  she  holds  up  a  hand,  trying  and  failing  to  dim  the  smile.  she’s  enjoying  his  misery  in  the  slightest.   think  of  it  as  karmic  justice  for  the  days  when  he’d  once  said  she  would  make  a  terrible  human.   “  right,  well  i  suppose  i  should  get  you  out  of  this.  ”   her  gaze  turns  serious.  “…but  you’ll  owe  me  for  this.   “     he  nods,  rolls  his  eyes.    she  beams.   “  brilliant.  you’ll  be  babysitting  your  godson  every  saturday  night  for  the  next  month.  ”   she  claps  him  on  the  shoulder  as  his  visage  shifts  into  a  look  of  horror.   his  blunders  are  certainly  her  gain.   she’s  quick  to  snap  a  picture  with  her  phone,  sends  it  to  elena  with  a  string  of  emojis.   she’ll  help,  but  she’ll  make  him  suffer  too.  that’s  the  makings  of  true  friendship. 

[sheikah]

I am cautiously optimistic about The Witcher! I loved the games, I am reading the books right now and I love them too. What do you think is the most important part to get right in the TV adaptation? I absolutely think it's the relationship between Geralt/Yen/Ciri. If they nail those relationships and they bring some of those moments from the books to life I will be a happy little fanboy! :) Still love your blog btw! You are a genuinely fantastic person and I feel your anger/hate for s8!

I’m very excited and optimistic about The Witcher :) I am new to the fandom but everyone has been really nice and welcoming, and I’m also really enjoying the books! I’m on Time of Contempt right now, and about halfway through playing Wild Hunt (not my first time, but first time I’m really invested and dedicating time to it and finishing it haha). So just based on what I know so far I have to agree with you that the most important thing is the Geralt/Yen/Ciri dynamic. They’re a very unique sort of family and I love all three characters very much. I’m not a mother, so parent-child relationships in fiction don’t always get me all that emotionally involved just because I don’t have a frame of reference and I don’t have my father in my life. But Geralt and Ciri are the sweetest thing ever and it’s really important to me in the adaptation that Geralt’s protectiveness and care for Ciri comes across the way it does for me so far in the books and game. And, of course, I really want the juicy, dramatic, angsty, swoon-inducing Geralt/Yen romance haha. I think my favorite thing about them is that while it’s this serious, sweeping fantasy love affair, it’s also got a lot of genuinely funny humor mixed in too. 

Idk, while The Witcher does employ a lot of oft-used fantasy tropes, I’ve never encountered anything exactly like it before so I hope the show is able to nail the loving relationships and the peculiar mix of dread, tragedy, and scary stuff along with funny and lighthearted bits that comes across in the game and books (though full disclosure--I haven’t played Witcher 1 or 2. That being said, the show is supposed to be based on the books anyway :P). Thanks for sending this and for the kind words

[stevenuniversallyreviews]

Episode 90: Restaurant Wars

“Thanks for calling Fish Stew Pizza, we do fries now.”

After a streak of episodes about neglect, mourning, disability, consent, and harassment, I think I’m ready for a goofy one.

Restaurant Wars is the stupidest episode of Steven Universe, and I don’t say that with an ounce of ill will. I do say this with the knowledge that Say Uncle exists: non-canon goofs are what they are, but this story takes place in continuity so it is official that Steven once saved the boardwalk by turning his house into a restaurant and making better food than two food professionals. That will never again be a thing that didn’t happen in his life.

From the start, there’s no attempt to hide the silliness. The conflict begins with Fryman and Kofi screaming “RESTAURANT WAR” at each other and cutting to black. The episode is presented in a series of titled vignettes and never stops treating the Fryman/Pizza feud as seriously as a...

...I can’t even finish that sentence, the principal characters here are named Mr. Fryman and Kofi Pizza. We don’t even know Fryman’s first name, and Kofi’s last name is the word “pizza” and he runs a pizza shop. This is so, so, so dumb. I love it.

A huge strength of this series is its ability to balance depth with humor, the big term serialization with the normal daily life of a magical kid. It sometimes swings hard at plotty episodes, but rarely does it swing this far in the opposite direction. I’m not talking about Restaurant Wars being a townie episode, because plenty of townie episodes affect the overall plot and develop important characters. Steven’s connection to humanity is critical to his status as a child of two worlds, so while alien stuff might be cooler, there will always be a place for the mundane in the actual plot. 

This is a matter of tone, and Restaurant Wars is the tonal opposite of a plot-heavy story that expands the characters and lore. Uncle Grandpa and Log Date 7 15 2 and Kindergarten Kid have a similar devotion to comedy, but we still get arcs for the characters within them. Nobody grows in Restaurant Wars. The conflict’s resolution is about returning to the status quo we saw at the beginning of the episode, not moving forward or learning critical information. The single consequence is that Ronaldo gets dumped by a girlfriend we didn’t even know he had until moments before it happens, which is just deliciously cruel. 

This might actually be my favorite Ronaldo episode, if I’m including episodes featuring him on top of episodes where he’s the focus: it’s not that I revel in watching him suffer (not fully, anyway), but Zachary Steel is really good at making that suffering funny, from his livid “Do you know how much BLOGGING I haven’t been able to do!?” to lasting despair after his surprisingly real girlfriend breaks up with him. It’s a welcome change of pace from his smug buffoonery, and it’s such a surprising and mean joke for the episode to end without throwing him a single bone. This subplot alone is worth the price of admission.

The breakup, like everything else in the episode, borrows its tone from the cheesiest anime melodrama anyone could ask for. There may be a reference to a more specific show, but I’m frankly not huge on slice of life anime, and despite how much I love writing about Steven Universe I draw a line at doing extensive research about friggin’ Restaurant Wars. Regardless, we get the drawn-out gasps, the kabuki emoting, the dramatic camera flashes, the works. It’s not just anime stuff—the vignette titles evoke the sort of Ken Burns parody you’d see in a show like Community, let nobody say Lamar Abrams and Katie Mitroff don’t have eclectic comedy tastes—but even a casual like me can see the Japanese influence here.

This is the sort of episode that only works every once in a while, because it’s so much compared to the general mood of the series. I understand anyone who dislikes Restaurant Wars, because it’s really different and nothing happens and it’s unbelievably stupid. But dammit, I can’t stay mad at it. Its timing is perfect, in the middle of a stretch of Beach City episodes that have been varying levels of stressful. It’s not interrupting anything or wasting your time for a second by pretending to be anything it’s not. The crew just wanted to tell a stupid story about grown men feuding over who gets to make what food, and that’s okay.

It helps that we get a better look at Fryman and Kofi, two adults that Steven understandably doesn’t hang out with very often. We already know Kofi has a temper, but Fryman until now has been defined by his gruff acceptance of how weird the world around him is, and it’s fantastic to see him revved up. My favorite joke of the episode has Steven explain that Fryman’s supposed to do fries by acknowledging his name and absurd hair, only for Fryman to not realize his hair is shaped like fries. These ridiculous names and his ridiculous character design already exist, so they might as well be used for a ridiculous story.

To be clear, this better look doesn’t actually mean much for their characters, because in a normal episode I doubt Kofi would try branding people with an iron. Again, this isn’t an story about growing, so at best we understand by the end of it that these two take their jobs seriously, but that’s something we already knew. Perhaps it would be funnier to use more established characters for something this zany, but I think we benefit from the flexibility that comes with relative blank slates: Restaurant Wars was never going to be believable, but it would be even less believable if people we knew acted this out of character. 

Their kids get a nice amount of focus as well. I love finally seeing Jenny and Kiki hang out with Ronaldo and Peedee, even in this situation. I get why they wouldn’t normally interact, as Peedee is an anxious kid and Ronaldo is Ronaldo, but these are neighboring families that each have two siblings who work in their dads’ food shops. Add in the fact that both families seem to have single fathers (although Jenny and Kiki are lucky enough to have the world’s greatest Gunga) and the Frymans and Pizzas have a lot in common. 

Unlike their parents, we get grounded character moments here that show these four probably have some history together. The highlight is Jenny stage whispering her doubt about Ronaldo’s girlfriend to Peedee, who immediately agrees; these are people who are able to stand the guy enough to hang out with him, but know he’s usually full of it. Jenny gets a sweet moment supporting Kiki, and Kiki’s people-pleasing attitude might be “helpful” here, but her focus on the needs of others above her own will be addressed in our very next episode.

There’s really nothing else to talk about in an outing like Restaurant Wars, but I have two stray thoughts for this stray episode. First, I’m glad it happened after Greg got rich, because even if it’s not mentioned it at least adds some realism into the conversion of Steven’s home. Second, I’m baffled by the pairing of the mundane pizza bagel with the revolutionary fries filled with ketchup, but I’m not exactly gonna be taken out of the moment by a strange plot point here. I’m glad I live in a world where this episode exists. But I'll also be glad to get back to the actual show. 

We’re the one, we’re the ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!

This is by no means a favorite, and it’s not an episode I’m ever gonna rewatch outside of a binge or for reviewing purposes, but come on. It’s not hurting anybody.

Top Fifteen

Steven and the Stevens

Hit the Diamond

Mirror Gem

Lion 3: Straight to Video

Alone Together

The Return

Jailbreak

The Answer

Sworn to the Sword

Rose’s Scabbard

Mr. Greg

Coach Steven

Giant Woman

Beach City Drift

Winter Forecast

Love ‘em

Laser Light Cannon

Bubble Buddies

Tiger Millionaire

Lion 2: The Movie

Rose’s Room

An Indirect Kiss

Ocean Gem

Space Race

Garnet’s Universe

Warp Tour

The Test

Future Vision

On the Run

Maximum Capacity

Marble Madness

Political Power

Full Disclosure

Joy Ride

Keeping It Together

We Need to Talk

Chille Tid

Cry for Help

Keystone Motel

Catch and Release

When It Rains

Back to the Barn

Steven’s Birthday

It Could’ve Been Great

Message Received

Log Date 7 15 2

Same Old World

The New Lars

Like ‘em

Gem Glow

Frybo

Arcade Mania

So Many Birthdays

Lars and the Cool Kids

Onion Trade

Steven the Sword Fighter

Beach Party

Monster Buddies

Keep Beach City Weird

Watermelon Steven

The Message

Open Book

Story for Steven

Shirt Club

Love Letters

Reformed

Rising Tides, Crashing Tides

Onion Friend

Historical Friction

Friend Ship

Nightmare Hospital

Too Far

Barn Mates

Steven Floats

Drop Beat Dad

Too Short to Ride

Restaurant Wars

Enh

Cheeseburger Backpack

Together Breakfast

Cat Fingers

Serious Steven

Steven’s Lion

Joking Victim

Secret Team

Say Uncle

Super Watermelon Island

Gem Drill

No Thanks!

     5. Horror Club      4. Fusion Cuisine      3. House Guest      2. Sadie’s Song      1. Island Adventure

[bellsybuilds]

[Overwatch] Blink first (G, Akande/Lucio, 1k)

So, back when I first started taking prompts, I rugby tackled people in the Doomcio discord server and made them choose a number between 1 and 75 so I could practice off the drabble list. Many humoured me, bewildered and patient. One of those was @yoitsmars

This is the first of the drabbles making it explicit that I’ve been drawing a line between many of them into a loose series. Writing things out of sequence is a lot of fun. I recommend it. You can see the full Masterlist for this series here.

Blink first (Can also be read on AO3) for @yoitsmars

Doomfist | Akande Ogundimu / Lúcio Correia dos Santos (G)

Part 7 of Ceasefire.

Fluff #3 "I just feel safe with you. Like nothing bad can happen."

It takes half an hour of stonewalling and, at last, Fareeha snarls in disgust and frustration. The former stings for the hot look of betrayal she throws at Lúcio before she storms from the room. Lúcio can understand. In their line of work, and the story he's heard of how Fareeha lost her mother. A traitor would be the highest of enemies on Commander Amari's list.

Lúcio is barely left alone five minutes before Hana Song barrels into the room in a huffy storm of solidarity.

"I don't believe her," Hana flips her hair, arms crossing tightly over her chest. She throws herself against Lúcio's side on the bench and the force of her glower boosts his spirits. Just how did she convince them to let her in?

Under the shared spotlight, Lúcio glances from his friend to the one-way reflective glass before them and wonders which of their leaders is conferring with Fareeha's suspicions.

Well, Overwatch leaders. He still hasn't decided if they're his leaders yet.

"Which part?"

"Oh, I know you're having sex with the big guy with the fist." Hana flexes her right hand like she's donning a glove. She pouts at him dramatically and raises a conspiratorial eyebrow.

Having sex. The clinical disclosure makes Lúcio flinch on the inside and a thin laugh bubbles up, weak as any defence he could mount. He expected more slang from Hana, eight years his junior; something to soften three months of stolen nights and early mornings being exactly where he wasn't supposed to be.

"So-- you-- um...."

She isn't angry?

"I warned you, right?"

Lúcio sighs, glancing away.

Hana follows his gaze, scanning the narrow concrete walls of the not-interrogation room. "I didn't think you'd take it this far. Three months is longer than any of my relationships."

Lúcio snarls gently under his breath and tangles a hand in the loose fall of his dreadlocks, wishing he tied them back this morning. Is she trying to help him right now or not? "Could you--" He glances meaningfully at the reflective window.

Tell me what they're saying in there. Run some interference. Help me out here.

Hana elbows his shoulder to stop his flustered stammering. "Did you tell him anything?"

Lúcio straightens from his slump, swiping a hand as if he could clear the mere suggestion from being breathed into existence. "No way."

"Are you sure?"

"Hana."

"Yeah."

"Girl."

"You know -- the second right before you're about to lose it, and he gets you to spill a few state secrets, too."

"'State'--" Lúcio squints at her. Is she really pulling that analogy? What's in her head?

"Okay, Overwatch secrets." Hana shrugs at his evident confusion, then throws her head back in a theatrical moan, back arched in parody of a blissed out orgasm. "'The password is password!' Like in the movies."

Lúcio blinks at her, bemused because they both know it's nothing like the movies -- and Hana, especially, a film star and decorated soldier knows it better than most. "Of course not. We're not like... we never...." He stumbles because even though Hana pulls him towards mirth, her insinuation and its charges make his heart race.

He hasn't. He hasn't betrayed them.

He closes his eyes. Calm comes in a short, deep breath of chilled air, and he exhales.

"We don't talk about that kind of thing."

Hana's dark eyes glitter at him as she adjusts the pink headphones slung around her neck. "What do you talk about?"

"Just...." He wrings his memory through the low hum of distress in his ears. His chest tightens thinking of Akande's hand on his thigh, gentle kisses atop a marble counter top and careful fingers behind his neck. Akande receiving him at the end of a mission in the long shadows a closed cafe, at the end of the summer games on his back in a hotel room. That one time Lucio snuck him onto base. "We mock each other a lot."

Truth be told, they hardly speak about anything of substance. It was the implicit agreement.

Hana nods slowly with a noise of interest, pout comically dubious as she searches his face, and it clicks. Lúcio's shoulders straighten and he pulls back, offended. He looks again at the gaming headset around her neck, keenly suspicious of its microphone.

"Are you working me? For them?"

Nineteen years old, and already a servicewoman. Hana Song would go places.

“Aren't you one of us, too?” At his friend's shrewd look, he can understand now where she pulls the depth of her acting ability. She is unbothered by his revelation, shrugging with a shake of her head. "Like I said, I don't believe that you're a threat. No matter who you sleep with."

Lúcio eyes her warily, disbelieving. "Why?"

"You're Lúcio." The young soldier throws a hand at the mirrored glass, uncaring of their audience. "They don't get it. They're old. They haven't grown up with this." She makes a fist, drums it from his heart to hers, not a shade of the selfie sly gamer in her sharp gaze. "We're the future. And I know what you stand for -- we all do. And I just feel safe with you. Like nothing bad can happen." Lúcio's stomach sinks with guilt as Hana's hand drops to her side, dark eyes holding his intently. "As long as you stop this right now. Or you continue, and you report to 76."

Is she serious?

Lúcio stiffens and stares at his reflection in the glass. "They want me to be an informant?"

"You might know more than you think," Hana offers, leaning in to his shoulder in solidarity, voice quiet, almost kind. "But this can't keep going, Lúcio, come on. It's dangerous for all of us. And for all the people who look up to you. Think about it."

Lúcio bites his tongue. He's spent the last three months keeping their meetings in the latest, darkest corners of his schedule so he hasn't had to.

But she isn't wrong.

"It's not what you think," he says, swallowing thickly.

"I don't know what it is, but I know what that long face means." Hana's lips brush his cheek, sweet and conciliatory. "Listen to Fareeha. Make up your mind. Then make the call."

[shamelessnerd]

First Cosplay Experience

SO! It’s taken me too long to do this, but.... here we go.

On November 9th of this year, it was announced that Gail Simone (one of my favorite writers, mainly because of the awesome goodness and miraculous character save she did for Huntress after years of other writers slowly driving the character into the ground would be at the New Jersey Comic Expo.

I.

Freaked.

Out.

Such little warning and it just so happened that an online friend called Cali lives about 5 minutes away from the expo center. Cali was more than happy to let me crash on her couch and we’d go to the expo together. I was thrilled.

And then I despaired.

My cosplay was nowhere NEAR ready for this. Ever since a drastic turn of events in my life in late April of this year (greatly inspired by Huntress herself), I have been on something of a personal crusade -- to make the most accurate, badass, awesome and amazing Huntress cosplay the world has ever seen. I declared to everyone that I would construct this most true-to-character portrayal, I would live off myfitnesspal and I would appear before Simone and get on bent knee asking her to campaign for the return of the REAL Huntress. The Helena Rosa Bertinelli that had such a dramatic change on my life, who was unlike any other character -- fierce, independent, fearless, funny, and passionate as hell. I wanted to show that people out there still remember Helena, that she is still deeply loved, and that she is, above all, sorely missed. I wanted everyone to remember who Huntress is, what she is, and stand defiant in all attempts to consign her to forgotten archives.

I vowed I would do this.

And here I faced my last opportunity to see Gail in person and I thought for sure that I would not be ready. My representation would fall flat. The impact of the meaning, of appearing as the deadly vigilante (not a sexy portrayal, though she is that too -- but I wanted badass armor) as true-to-life as could be, would be too little for what I hoped to achieve.

But then I had an idea. And, hilariously, this idea came from a kind of little-known comic called Gotham City Garage. Basically, this is what would happen if Mad Max tangled with the DC universe, giving characters fast motorcycles and lots of leather and tattoos and absurd amounts of studs. A little mental checklist informed me that I had most of the materials on hand already. So I set to work.

A leather jacket and purple t-shirt (from the Salvation Army), a fake tattoo, and a lot of help from my friend and her husband to make the armored bracers, I had a costume. We walked in like badasses. We weren’t there for 3 minutes before a vendor asked for our picture.

DREAM TEAM RIGHT THERE, BABY! #RedHunt 

I. Felt. AWESOME. I felt like I was Huntress! And let me tell you -- that feeling was addicting. I never wanted it to end. According to my friend, I walked in there like I wanted to kick teeth in and that’s pretty much how I felt. Like a badass.

And of course, I got to see Gail.

(That’s the smirk that says, “Please fight back. I love it when they fight back.”)

So, full disclosure here.

I SWORE to myself that I would not cry and gush when I met her. I wouldn’t. I. Would. Not. I would be dignified and composed and erudite. I would say everything I wanted with precision and eloquence and I would convey just how deeply her contribution to Huntress had influenced me and saved me from an abusive relationship. I saw it play out in my mind a thousand times. It would be profound and serious and meaningful.

I breathed deeply. I mentally chanted, “You are Huntress, she doesn’t cry. You’re a badass. Huntress doesn’t let anyone see her weaknesses. You are Huntress. Now make her proud, dammit.”

I stepped up to the booth.

My friend (who had gotten a gift for me signed by Gail at New York Comic Con weeks prior) introduced me.

Gail looked at me. She had this expectant look, a friendly smile.

I took a breath and....

I started freaking crying.

Chernobyl melted down more gracefully than I did.

I got ticked off at myself, actually, because I SWORE this wouldn’t happen. Hoping to distract myself from the critical meltdown that was going full steam ahead, I tried to squeak out my speech I had written prior.

I think I got out a fifth of it.

My mind has kinda blacked out the memory of what happened. Out of self defense, I think. I wasn’t mortified. I was soooo past mortified. But I had to go through, because know what? I’m passionate about this. Huntress means a HELL of a lot to me and I had to say something to make sure someone knew, that they truly Heard The Voice Of The Fans. Not just for me but for others I know love Helena Bertinelli, such as @purpleladyofthenight and @thelastofthebertinellis and so many many others out there that have yet to be found or heard. I (stupidly) had decided I’d be at least one voice for Helena’s fans, someone who is crazy and idiotic enough to walk up to a famous writer and say, ‘Hey, we really love this character, mind undoing this injustice and bringing her back?’ No one asked me to do it, not everyone is gonna want the same writer, but I just had this idea (and I still do) that at least the message is heard. That it might get passed on up the chain. Someone noticed. And maybe that’ll give us some hope to getting her back.

Except I was nowhere NEAR as composed and erudite as I wanted to be. Not. One. Bit. I babbled. I gushed. I gushed like the damn Niagara falls during snowmelt times. (I hail from the land of Michigan, I know these things.) I was actually afraid the Pros-Aide stick the mask onto my face might get compromised from my stupidly crying idiot tears. And I think my friends ushered me away before I could gush TOO much. Damage control and all that.

Like I said, I really cannot recall a lot of it. I think back and get choked up. It’s all a blur muddled with a faint tinge of horror and embarrassment. I don’t pry too deeply. I think my brain is protecting me and I’ve read enough comics to now that can be an immense blessing. I am Genre Savvy. Cannot fool this chick!

But yes, horror and gushing aside, it was wonderful! ^_^ She’s a lovely person and DEEPLY forgiving of my determined attempts to wear my pants on my head or something. I did get her to sign my Wonder Woman journal and it’s something of a mission of mine to gather the signatures of the artists and writers I simply adore. (Nicola Scott and Matthew Clark’s names are proudly inscribed on the inside cover.) 

It’s really a whole new experience when you cosplay at a con. I’d been to a few of them, but never in character. There’s this... I dunno. VIP feel, I suppose, but that could’ve just been me. I loved getting stopped for pictures! I think we were stopped about 6 or 7 times for pictures and I loved each and every one! KNOW THIS: I want everyone reading this to swear, “I, who am about to go to a con, will not hesitate to ask a cosplayer for pictures, because that is why they do it and it makes them feel awesome.”

Good. Now I expect ya’ll to abide by that.

Amusingly, I heard someone say, ‘Oh look, it’s Batgirl!’ I turned around to see a dad pointing at me and talking to his young daughter. I cheerfully said, ‘Nah, not anymore. I had the gig for a while but I don’t need the Bat or the symbol to do what I want. What has to be done.”

The guy just looked at me and said after a minute, “Oh! Huntress!”

I felt AWESOME.

Perhaps the most memorable moment is when a teeny widdle Wonder Woman (probably 6 years old??) wanted to take a picture with me and Red Hood, but was too shy to ask. Her father did on her behalf and I was thrilled. She had a little stuffed monkey toy and I, channeling Huntress ENTIRELY, asked the monkey’s name. He didn’t have one yet because she just won him at a booth, so I suggested Minksy. (I swear to god I do not know where that name came from.) This was acceptable. Then we posed for a picture.

So somewhere out there is a stuffed monkey doll owned by a Wonder Woman that was named Minksy by Huntress. Real life stories here alone, peeps.

You can check out another group picture of myself, my friend Cali and her hubby on Dinner And A Podcast over here: https://www.instagram.com/p/Bbr7giAFN1O/ The trivia questions weren’t really trivia. They just asked the real name of the character you were cosplaying as and I, being a DEVOTED Helena Bertinelli fan, said Helena Rosa Bertinelli.

The guy was stumped as to what to ask next. He scrambled for a JLU question which I answered no problem and got a free comic. Woot!

I’ve been unable to find any further images of the expo, sadly, but it was amazing. I never wanted to stop being Huntress and I’m sure as hell gonna do it again! 

~COSPLAY STUFF BELOW~

Just a bit of info on the Bikerpunk!Huntress cosplay I whipped together with cheap deals and a lot of help from my friends!

1. The boots are Volatile Combat Boots for women, available on Amazon for about $58. I do recommend you get a half size up. I usually wear 8 to 8.5 and I got a size 9 to accommodate for my insoles. They fit beautifully! I had to get these puppies because any good Huntress pic shows she don’t screw around with no damn high heels. She wears big, bad, stompy combat boots to deal damage. These boots fit the bill and they’ll be great for many other cosplays as well.

2. The leather belt is from Cabela’s. I painted it purple using Angelus Leather Paint. It’s very dark here because the belt itself was dark brown originally, but it really shows beautifully in the light.

3. The belt pouches are lifted directly from the tutorial from furiescosplay for the Batgirl belt. These are just phone cases I got from the Dollar store, painted purple, and slipped on. Done.

4. The GORGEOUS Huntress mask I’m wearing is from TigerStoneFX. I used Pros-Aide adhesive to keep it snug. However, there’s some finagling with the strap that I have to do to make sure it fits really good and snug.

5. On my blog you can find a short video tutorial on Batgirl bracers. These are essentially how we made mine as well.

6. The fake tattoo. WHY the fake tattoo? Glad you asked! It’s because Huntress has a cross motif (we all know this) that’s formed by the white stripes down the front of her uniform and across the hem of her cape that crosses her chest. However, considering how tattered my shirt was for that BikerPunk (tm) feel, there wasn’t really... space to get that cross shape. So I had a lightbulb moment. Let’s make a fake tattoo!

I put my graphic designer skills to use, found an image I liked, outlined it to a vector image, blew it up to fit on an 11 x 17 paper, and then spent about two hours cutting out every little detail with my Xacto knife. Then, with some help of my friend and rather inconveniently placed papercut, put the stencil on me and started coloring in with a black Sharpie. Rub on some baby powder, LIGHTLY spritz with hair spray, you got a fake tattoo. It fit the biker-y feel (and Gotham City Garage has a very similar thing with Nightwing so I didn’t feel bad about it at all) and got the cross image in, too! 

7. Make up I’m still working on. But for any aspiring Huntress cosplayers out there, I recommend the lipstick color Amethyst by Nyx Cosmetics. Make sure you get the lipstick AND the lipliner! It lasted all day and I even had trouble getting it to come off in the shower! The other color I had toyed with getting, Oh, Just Put It On is actually an extremely dark shade of purple, nearly black. So unless that’s the palette you want, use Amethyst. It’s also a helluva lot more affordable than Kaoir (the only other lipstick seller I could find with such a vibrant purple) and I can attest to its staying power.

8. The gloves were also Salvation Army finds. I cut off the fingers (and had to use a teensy dab of E-6000 at all the seams to seal them off because the stitching was unravelling -- oops!) and also painted them with the Angelus Leather Dye. That stuff goes a long way and gets great color in just a few coats.

So that’s it. My First Big Adventure in Cosplay! It only gets bigger and better from here, right? Wish me luck and remember -- don’t get stuck on the details. Just GO for it!

[strainingfororiginality]

Chapter 4.2 - Knowledge

If heaven's a prison

Then I am your prisoner

Yes, I am your prisoner

I messed up, oh

I know now

There's no room for me to play now

Nowhere to dig my way out

Quintus was half agony, half hope. He saw her safe but broken. Though his heart soared with undefinable joy, he also witnessed her in unimaginable anguish, but still, he regretted nothing.

As he opened his eyes, he knew he’d be back in that damned cell and as he pulled himself up, he smiled, deciding that he was actually filled with more hope than agony. If he had seen her once, he could see her again, repeatedly. He was sure the Governor would make it increasingly difficult, but he would not be deterred any longer.

He had been freed from any guilt that might have been holding him back, and as many had learned in the past, there was little one could do to sway him from his desires. As even his Poet pointed out, few can prevent him from taking what he wants.

"I honestly didn’t expect to see you again … well, at least not so soon." The voice rang out from the cell across the way, chuckling at him and Quintus cracked his neck to the side, touching the incredibly tender spot on his head where Michael had struck him with the end of his staff. It was nearly the exact spot where Dawn had downed him in that factory room and he found himself laughing lowly at the memory of it. His feisty little warrior.

But … Damnation. His head hurt badly and for a moment he was shocked at the intensity of the pain. This was the first time he’d actually felt anything so strongly since he’d arrived. It hurt, but the sensation reminded him of what it had been like to be alive again.

"Actually, scratch that … I’m completely shocked it took you this long. You’ve always been a trouble maker, my hairless one."

Hairless One? Ugh. A new nickname. She was full of them. Of all the ones she’d used so far, this was his least favorite to date. Upon seeing the flinch of his face as he gingerly palpated the spot, Ozyrel spoke again, chortling at his discomfort. "Smarts doesn’t it?"

Sighing heavily, he poked the spot carefully. Damnation. "How is it that it hurts? I thought there was no pain here?"

"You got smacked with the staff, didn’t ya?" She was at the bars, grabbing them as she shoved her face through as far as she could, grinning madly at him.

"Indeed." Quintus confirmed.

"Yeah. That thing can bruise even the spirit. It’s composed of pure divinity, young one. I’d steer clear of it, if at all possible."

That was stating quite the obvious, wasn’t it? Yet it didn’t matter. He didn’t care. Even being in the presence of this detestable thing again could not break the joy that overwhelmed him at the moment. He leaned back against the wall as he closed his eyes, picturing what he had just seen as the smile crept back upon his mouth.

"What did you do to warrant such a strike from my younger brother anyways?" It was obvious she had been lonely in his absence and she was eager to chit-chat. Though Quintus hated to converse so colloquially, he opened his eyes and as his anger towards the creature entirely faded, he decided to use the opportunity to gather some information instead. She had been more than willing to show off how much she knew before and he realized he should have been using that to his advantage this entire damn time.

It had been utterly useless to harbour resentment towards a creature that was obviously no more. The Master, he accepted it fully now, was gone. Destroyed. It no longer existed in any form; after thousands of years, he had actually won and his smile widened further.

"I disobeyed him." The answer was curt and he followed it up with another question quickly so that she couldn’t pry further. He wished to steal the time for his own queries. “What is it made of? How did it hurt me?”

"What?" Cocking her head to the right like a bird, she squinted at him. “The staff?”

"Yes." She was indeed eager to talk and she grinned crazily when he stood and came to the bars right in front of her, giving her his full attention. In all the months they’d spent together, he had never been so open to communication and her eyes grew big at the gesture.

"What is it?" He wished to know its purpose and perhaps then understand why his Poet had felt the subconscious need to recreate it, and why he, as he realized it now, had also felt the need to take it from that room when he had taken her. He remembered thinking about how precious it was when he had taped it to his back.

As Ozryel answered, he looked into the cell around and behind her, eyeing a number of new things that were in it. She had a chair and a desk now, as well as dozens of books, all strewn everywhere, as well as various other trinkets.

"Originally, it was a gift from Our Creator." Ozryel said with hints of animosity. “Well … gifts. All four of us received a gift. It’s different than how I remember it though. It has been changed … merged. Combined, if you will. It’s no longer the two things that it once was.” God, she was long-winded often and instead of asking her to explain, he just stared at her with a raised eyebrow, which provoked a simple and innocent shrug from her before she continued.

"You see … It used to be both The Staff of the Traveller and The Horn of the Messenger. But now they have been made into one, it seems."

This made perfect sense to Quintus. He knew much about history as well as religion and Raphael was usually depicted carrying a staff and Gabriel was attributed as the trumpeter, was he not? He nodded in acceptance of the information, qualifying it more simply to her. "Raphael’s staff and Gabriel’s horn?"

"Yes!" She smirked. “Very good, Quintus!” He shook the feeling of accomplishment that her praised had welled within him. No. He didn’t like appreciating her pride and he turned his face into a serious glare. “Very good.”

"But … If they were for Raphael and Gabriel … as gifts … then why does Michael wield them … it ... now?"

He could tell the question brought her significant unease and when she didn’t answer right away, he knew that she was mulling over exactly what or perhaps how much she should tell him. There was power in whatever the answer to this question was and he grinned at her unintentional disclosure.

"Very well … “ He began to turn and move to sit back on his old, faithful bench as he waved a dismissive hand. “Nevermind then. I would prefer you to keep your game of secret to yourself. I do not mind waiting in silence."

"Wait!" She called out as she reached through the bar and he grinned to himself as his back was still to her. Turning to face her again, the smirk vanished from his face. He replaced it with a distinctly serious expression as to not give away his … manipulation. “I … it’s …” He raised his brow and she giggled slightly, unable to mask her hunger for his attention. “It’s a matter of power … to retain control.”

"Control?" He asked as he stepped back to the bars, putting his hands through them and resting his elbows on a cross section of perfect metal. “Does he not control everything anyways?”

"Well … Yes and no. The Four are supposed to work as checks and balances on some level. Each having their own dominion of power." She hesitated again and he sighed, giving the slightest movement that he would retreat again causing her to pout significantly. “You are going to get me in trouble, Quintus. Or rather, you are going to get us both in trouble.”

He scoffed playfully, his ability to manipulate in full swing as he looked around at the cell, waving at the bars dramatically as he grinned slightly. "I am not sure if there can be more trouble than we are both already in, no?"

"My dear boy …" She sighed. “There exist punishments far greater than just being locked in these cells.” She waved her own hand around at all of her trinkets and new books. “I’m getting along just fine. See?” He was sure she wasn’t as she was obviously starved for interaction.

"I only seek clarification. I was told you … were … a great proponent of knowledge." Ozryel was always the smartest. “Ozryel … the smartest of the--” He began an attempt to fan the flames of her ego but she interrupted quickly.

"Remember where you are now, pale one." Always with the nicknames and he bit back the smallest of snickers at her annoying habit. “Knowledge is not something given here without a cost. And it is normally a heavy price to pay. Do not forget the past, Invictus. Never forget the beginning.”

"Very well." He sighed, eyeing her carefully. He might be able to back into the subject from another angle and she watched him pondering his next words. They were clearly playing each other at this point. Clever angel. “So … Raphael and Gabriel were not the only ones to receive … gifts?”

"No. Not at all. All of the first were given gifts." She loosened up and gave something away that she had not intended. Before, she had said four, but now she said all of the first. Of this batch, Quintus knew there were five. “As the Right Hand, I was given the Celestial Blade. A weapon so divine and terrifying that it can rend souls apart.” This was the blade he’d seen at Michael’s side. Watching her carefully, he waited patiently as she continued. “Michael, as the Left Hand, was given the Binding Ring.”

"Binding?" He remembered the conversation he had with the professor. A conversation about the symbols of power detailed in the Lumen. A conversation regarding how one binds an angel and he remembered his Poet’s wrist. “What exactly would he need to bind?” Quintus fished and Ozryel squinted at him as she smiled and shook her head at his poor attempt to be innocent.

"You can bind lots of things, dear boy. Mostly though ... it is used for punishment."

"Punishment of ... whom?" He prodded. “Angels?”

"Quite right. Yes. But … I believe you already know this, don’t you?" She winked at him slowly. She pushed into his mind now, desiring ultimate secrecy for her next statement.

"Oh please. You’ve seen a bind before, youngling. You��ve actually removed one, haven’t you?"

Youngling. Ugh. It was still better than the earlier name and he shrugged. When it seemed like she was done, he carried the conversation forward. "And … what about the fifth gift?"

"Fifth?" Feigning ignorance, in this moment Quintus realized just how good she was at lying. If he had not already learned of the five from the Lumen, he might have actually believed her. Sneaky.

"You said each of The First, and of that batch, there were Five."

"Oh yes." She hummed with a fake smile. “There were Five, were there not?” She was both pleased with him and annoyed at the same time. “Sorry. We don’t like talking about The Fifth much.”

"Lucifer, you mean?" He asked and her delightful face fell to an expressive frown.

"Do not utter his name here, unconquerable." She warned carefully and slowly and very deliberately.

"Is it yet another rule by which I must abide?" He asked playfully but when her demeanour remained intense.

"The past shall not repeat itself. Ever. Because of this fact, there are ears everywhere. Do not let the peace of this place fool you, my child. To speak of that past is a dangerous thing, especially for the divine."

There were few things that had caused such a reaction out of Ozryel. As Quintus pawed through his memories, he could actually think of nothing that they had discussed which had actually caused this type of reaction. He would heed her warning for now and he filed the trigger away for use later before circling back to his previous question. "So … The fifth gift?"

"Earth." The answer was short and almost curt, as if that disclosure had no meaning.

"Earth was a gift?" Quintus breathed. “And it belonged to … him?”

"Indeed. It was. A terrible gift if you ask me, but The Oh So Benevolent Creator hadn’t planned on a fifth to be born." Ozryel confessed candidly. “The little one was a mistake, you see.” Her eyes flashed down to her palms as she fiddled with her hands and he watched as he tried to decipher this mood. It wasn’t sadness. No … It was something else entirely.

"You fear him, don’t you?" He realized suddenly as the words escaped his mouth and Ozryel looked slightly shocked for a moment.

"Do not be absurd, hairless one. Remember … I fear no one." She scoffed as she used his most hated nickname again, but even she wasn’t buying the fake confidence she attempted to puff herself up with. “Anyhoo …”

Another button and he smiled. This conversation was turning out to be fairly useful, he felt. She was giving him far more than she had when they were locked up earlier and he realized that wasn’t due to her being different though, it was him. He was back in control of himself in nearly every way that mattered. No longer unsure of where he was or what was going on, he could now settle back into his familiar state of planning and preparing.

"And the staff?" He asked next, pushing along slowly.

"What about it?"

"The blade destroys. The ring binds. The staff …" He trailed off to allow her to finish the sentence and she bit immediately.

"Travels." She said quickly as she smiled to him, seeing his eyes widen. “And no, you cannot use it to return to Earth. It requires an incredible amount of divinity to power and you are not that … hmmm … ” Looking him up and down, she giggled. “Well equipped.”

If that was meant as an insult, he didn’t understand the slight enough to even care. He wanted information now. "The horn …"

"The horn commands." She offered simply.

"Commands what exactly?" He asked. “Angels?”

"Basically, but not that specifically. Not on an individual level. It commands the army of Heaven, dear boy." She pressed her face against the bars as she smiled. “And you have never seen an army like this, Quintus. It is vast and powerful … completely unstoppable. Savage to a degree that would even shock you.”

It was an odd concept to wrap his head around and he quickly asked for clarification. "Why?"

"Why what?" She furrowed her brow.

"Why does Heaven have need for an army as you’ve described?" He cocked his head to the right inquisitively. “Who do they fight? Have they ever fought?”

"That’s a good question, cursed one." Pursing her lips together, she laughed at the query. “They have most definitely fought … but mostly just themselves.”

"Mostly? That implies there exists other threats. Outside of Heaven, perhaps?" He pushed carefully prodding the subject.

"No, not anymore. Our Supreme Flawless Creator has taken care of that." Snide animosity leaked into her words and he could see the anger on her face for a moment before she tried to hide it with a weak and fake smile.

"You hate him, don’t you." He conjectured and when her smile faded away as her brows furrowed, he saw hurt behind those red eyes. “You hate him for what he did to you …”

"The Creator did nothing to me." She stated plainly, pulling her arms from the bars and crossing them against her chest.

"Then … for allowing it to happen?" Yes. He could see the effect these words had on her and she flicked her chin out as she swallowed deeply.

"It doesn’t matter, does it? The Creator is gone … again. Off to muck with something, leaving us all to suffer in it’s neglectful wake. Perhaps we will be so lucky that it does not return this time at all." The pain was incredible and for the first time since he’d met her, he could see the human side of her leaking through as she turned from the bars, making her way to take a seat at her new comfortable looking chair. As she slid down into it, she turned to face him again, throwing her hands up in defeat.

"I did everything it asked. Without question. Michael … Michael questioned all the damn time. He argued and defied and … but I did as I was told. The good little soldier. The good Right Hand." She shook her head as she wiped at her nose and the moisture that was forming within it as he saw the tears starting. “And I was chosen to suffer. I was felled … I was forsaken. I should have realized that God was Left Handed.”

"I’ve found that fathers can be as infuriating to their sons as the reverse." He wasn’t sure why he was offering any consoling words to her, but as she looked up, he could clearly see the tears that had started to well in her eyes and he needed to get her back on track with releasing information. “Sometimes that disappointment is justified, but occasionally … “ He paused as she watched her face lighten. “What you have chosen to assume about them turns out to be quite wrong.”

A flicker of hope danced across her equally pale face with his comforting words and she stood quickly, wiping her cheeks with a passive smile. Good, now they could continue. "And … The Earth creates."

"Creates? Creates what exactly?"

"Perhaps creates is a bad word. How about harvests?" Quintus remembered Hathų’s words earlier that day about how the garden was made to cultivate souls and he squinted at Oz.

"Harvest what from where?"

"It pulls power from the well of souls and presents them to us for consumption." Her words were carefully planned and she stared at him with a raise eyebrow, knowing she would pique his interest.

"Consumption?" He gulped at the thought of that word. Consuming souls? What that what she had intended to say? He pushed with great concern. “What do you mean? You … Heaven … consumes the souls?”

"Hmmm … consume is a poor word choice as well. My apologies. How about power. Perhaps charge?"

Quintus squinted with scrutiny rich in his eyes. "Are you are implying that Heaven is powered by the souls that reside here?"

"Or perhaps you are just inferring that from my words, cursed one." She shrugged, obviously pleased with her non-answer and without answering his question fully, she asked her own. “Tell me … how did you come to learn of The Five?”

"The Lumen taught us many things." He confessed simply.

"Oh did it now?" Ozryel purred with intrigue. “Did you unlock its hidden secrets, clever boy?”

"The Professor did more so than I in that regard." He deflected the compliment and used the question to ask something that he’d been curious about for months now. “But tell me … why did the Master even desire it? We found nothing that would have been of use for him hidden in its pages. Did he simply wish us not to possess it?”

Ozryel raised her eyebrow and looked confused for a moment, before grinning madly, as she always did. "If you read it, then surely that is obvious? It is how The Seventh found the place that I was felled and the ritual to restore the lost divinity." Quintus didn’t remember anything like that in the Lumen and though his face gave away nothing, his silence belied too much to her. “Ah … then you did not unlock all of its hidden secrets after all, dangerous one.”

This was the nickname he liked the most so far, and he was picking up on her own manipulation techniques in the use of her names to him. Quintus hated riddles, so he asked very plainly. "What other secrets were there? What is it we missed?" Although, before she could answer, a familiar voice spoke from the side, just a ways down the hallway.

"Quintus?" It was the calm voice of the Traveller, but there was a hint of concern laced in it and as both prisoners turned to face him. Quintus spied the book he carried in his right hand and he understood suddenly where Ozryel was getting all of the things in her cell. “What are you doing back here?”

"Getting into trouble, it seems." Ozryel laughed out loud as Raphael swiftly approached Quintus’ cell, staring at his bruised forehead through the bars.

"Did Michael … strike you?" Raphael point at his temple and his tone was ripe with annoyance. “What did you do to warrant such childish behavior from my brother?” He pushed and Quintus smiled, shrugging innocently, still quite proud of himself over his defiance.

"I broke the rules." Quintus said, his smile only growing larger as Raphael grinned slightly at Quintus’ uncharacteristically positive mood.

"And which rule is this?"

"I visited Earth."

If Raphael had been facing Ozryel, then he would have seen her smile fade away as she stared at Quintus while her mouth fell agape. Shaking her head slightly as she rushed into his mind.

"Wait … You did what? Oh no, stupid boy. Tell me you didn’t visit her--"

"There is no such rule. That is preposterous. And for that he struck you and put her in here?" Raphael sighed heavily, waving his hand at the bar as a blue spark arced across his cheek and hand. The bars vanished and Quintus found himself unsure if he should actually leave the cell or not. Michael was the one who placed him here, was it he not? Did Raphael really have the authority to just release him like this?

"Don’t worry, Quintus. I’ll speak with Michael. This is unacceptable. You still have loved ones on Earth and I have seen how much you long for them. You should be allowed to visit as much as you wish." Raphael waved a hand down the hallway and smiled warmly at him. “You are free to go.”

He hesitated. "I was told Celestial Beings aren’t allowed to visit." Quintus explained, still standing in the cell and Raphael shook his head.

"I will have words with him. There has never been a special case like you before. I know you long for those you left behind and there is no reason to torment you with their absence." He waved his arm for Quintus to leave the cell again and the dhampir did so slowly, unsure if he really wanted to provoke The Governor further. Besides, the conversation with Ozryel was actually getting somewhere interesting …

"Quintus, it is important that you do not visit her again. Do not. Michael is not just a mean fool and his rule wasn’t for your punishment but rather for her protection."

"Thank you." Quintus said as he bowed his head to the violet-eyed archangel. As he turned to take his leave, he smirked to Ozryel. “Until next time, crazy one.” He gave her a nickname and she smirked at it. As he walked down the hallway, he felt her intrude into his mind one last time, even while she spoke to Raphael concurrently.

"My dear boy, all visits are logged and catalogued, and you … you are being watched. Don’t you understand … you bring her unwanted attention. No one can see her."

Quintus’ mood crumbled into concern as he absorbed Ozryel’s words and he caught one last sentence from Raphael as he rounded the corner to leave the detention center.

"I am unsure why Michael is showing him so much animosity. I will have words with our brother." It was rare to hear such frustration in the mocha-skinned man’s voice.

Perhaps he regretted his actions after all ...

And I never meant to cause you trouble

And and I never meant to do you wrong

And ah well if I ever caused you trouble

Oh no I never meant to do you harm

Hathų sat very patiently at her table, spinning the cup of warm liquid in her hands as she breathed deeply. She knew he’d come eventually and now she just had to wait. Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to hours. She patted the head of the dog that also waited patiently next to her and she sighed heavily when the beast got up and ran to the door moments before the handle turned and Michael entered, his face both tired and sad.

There were no words spoken as he walked over and took his seat, petting the large animal on the head and smiling at it. This was only the second time he had been home since she told him to leave. The last being a day earlier when he came to request her to direct Quintus to his past love.

When neither spoke, the dog got up and approached the door, scratching at it to be released and Michael’s words to it were harsh. "No, Thunder! Come!"

Hathų sighed. "He does not like being locked in here."

"He has to remain here until eyes have unfocused on the ripples that were caused." Michael said calmly. The dog had always hated to be confined, but even the minds of spirit of animals were not immune to the investigative crawling of the Traveler, and this animal knew secrets that needed to be hidden well.

"Does Raphael still search for answers?" She questioned. There had been months of quiet, but the purple-eyed angel was still curious. He take an interest in Quintus unlike Michael had ever seen from his little brother.

"Very much so." Michael sighed as his shoulders fell in defeat. “It is unlike him to be so … aggressive about things. I thought he would have given up by now.”

"I’m sorry about Quintus, I didn’t know that he would--" She started to apologize and he shook his head, placing his hand over his face and touching his scar while he interrupted her.

"It’s not your fault. That was my idea."

"I told you it was a bad idea." She said plainly, reminding him of their previous argument over the plan. “The heart cannot be controlled in such a way …”

"Yes. I know you did. I should have listened. I just thought …" He trailed off as he stared at the rune covered walls of their sanctuary. They burned with golden light only in his presence, enabling them to live in privacy.

"You thought you knew best." She stated and took a drink of her angelica infusion. The smell of it so close to her nose made her miss Michael deeply, even though he now sat mere feet from her.

"No … It wasn’t that. I thought I knew him, Hathų. I was sure I did." His hand fell to the table again as he tapped it with his thumb while he pondered what had happened. “I thought there was nothing in the world that he cared about more …”

"I am not sure why that is so. You have complained so often. He has always continued to surprise you … constantly."

"No. It's not that. It’s not that I underestimated him … I overestimated his love … for her … for his wife." Michael’s sigh was profound and he shook his head at the confusion of it all. “He pined for her for nearly two thousand years. I watched him do it. She was always his reason, she was …”

"No." She reached out and grabbed his tapping hand, halting the nervous action. For the first time in months, she touched him and he stared at her dark hand as it stroked the top of his spotted one. “You underestimated his love for her … for our child. Do you not understand it yet?”

He looked up into her and his face contorted with frustration. "Understand what exactly?" He was desperate to know, desperate to comprehend how this might be fixed. How he might be able to stop this … determination.

"You of all people should understand their pain." She squeezed his hand in her soft grip. “You are one of the only beings who truly can.”

"I don’t understand your meaning, Hathų." He was so tired of the worry that Quintus being here had inflicted on them and their relationship. “Please … Just be straight.”

"I saw it in his eyes when we were speaking today, just as I have seen it in your eyes so very many times." She smiled. “Don’t you see?” She paused slightly. “They are both Hayyoth, Michael. It is The Ache.” Hayyoth were born in pairs and the Ache to which she referred was the pain that Michael felt when he had lost his Other. When he had lost Ozryel.

"No." He dismissed her accusation sharply. “They were both born alone. They have no Ache. They have no Other--”

"My love." Her soft grip turned firm. “You and your brothers already know that being born alone doesn’t prevent that pain, does it?” There had been one other who had felt it and his pain had nearly destroyed all of creation.

"Then there is nothing I can do to sway him." The sigh was even more dramatic than the last one as he placed his hand back up to his face as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger before his fingers found their meandering way to his scar again and he thought of Ozryel. “He will cause all of our downfalls.”

"We should tell him the truth then." She had said this to him yesterday and he denied her yet again.

"No. I know that bast--" He halted the insult as he remembered what Raphael had revealed about the dhampir during the case. “I know that son of a bit--” He halted again as he remembered Honoria. He quite liked Honoria. “I know that little shit. I don’t want him to have any leverage over me … or you.” He looked at her longingly now as he flipped his hand over and gripped hers tightly. “I will not put our fate … or the fate of our entire line at risk so foolishly.”

"Then what will you do?" She questioned and he pulled his hand back, removing a small crystal from his pocket and setting it on the table as he stared at it.

"What is that?" She furrowed her nose and he smiled.

"It is the record of his visit." Michael tapped it with his index finger before picking it up. He considered for a moment before squeezing it tightly in his grip as golden lightning sparked into it and the crystal turned to ash in his hand. He opened his palm and blew it away into the air.

"But …" She looked shocked at first … “Won’t someone notice it is missing?”

"Perhaps. But missing is still better than them knowing." He was mostly worried about Raphael being overly curious but he shrugged as he looked at her. “But, I cannot worry about both brothers at the same time and he’s not the one I need to appease right now.”

"Gabriel?" She questioned. She had been out of the loop for too long and she regretted their fight more than ever.

"Yes." He frowned significantly. “He wishes to find the child who sparked. I will have to …” It was hard for him to even utter the words that escaped next. Disgust washed over him as he considered it the only option. “I will have to provide him with a nephilim to … destroy.”

Hathų shook her head at even the consideration of it. "Michael, no. A child? No. No."

"It is either our child or another. What would you prefer?"

Both sat in silence as the gravity of the situation settled in and the dog returned from the door, nudging the archangel on the leg to provoke a gentle petting. He smiled as he stroked the animal’s head with his free hand while he gripped his wife’s hand even tighter.

"I should go now." But he hesitated and she returned the firmness of the grasp, not letting him go.

"No. Please, don’t go again." She was so relieved in this moment. “Stay. I am sorry.”

They had missed each other so very much.

[dubsism]

Today’s Movie: A Few Good Men

Year of Release: 1992

Stars: Tom Cruise, Jack Nicholson, Demi Moore

Director: Rob Reiner

This movie is not on my list of essential films.

NOTE: This installment of Movies Everybody Loves That I Hate is being done as part of something called the William Goldman Blog-A-Thon being hosted by Taking Up Room.  Her premise for this event is rather simple.

In 2018, film and letters lost the great William Goldman. As far as movies go, he’s remembered best for The Princess Bride, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and All the President’s Men, but his filmography also includes such classics as Heat and A Bridge Too Far.

Mr. Goldman was a master of dialogue, and anyone who’s seen The Princess Bride or Butch Cassidy knows that the lines are endlessly quotable. His prose style was colorful and direct, embodying what Mark Twain said about words: “The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between the lightning and the lightning bug.”

Goldman wrote with lightning.

Frankly, I think he wrote with the whole fucking thunderstorm.  This movie is a great example.

You can see all the participants in this blog-a-thon here.

The Connection to William Goldman:

William Goldman did an uncredited re-write of Aaron Sorkin’s original screenplay for “A Few Good Men.” There was a time when before Sorkin snorted half the gross domestic product of Colombia that I considered him to be a talented writer, this film helped end that.  If it weren’t for Goldman’s re-write, It would have taken Marine Corps-level discipline to sit through this movie.  I can’t imagine what a hot mess this script must have been before the application of Goldman’s lightning.

Goldman’s re-working of this script made the finished film only flawed, not completely unwatchable like the original draft would have been. The film pulls this off because Goldman made the flaws he couldn’t fix almost imperceptible to the untrained eye. However, I can see them, because I spent the first half of my life around the military; I grew up on U.S. Air Force bases, then served myself as evidenced by the most recent blog-a-thon hosted by myself and RealWeegieMidget Reviews.

The problem isn’t that “A Few Good Men” isn’t a bad movie; it’s actually pretty good. For purposes of full disclosure I can’t stand Rob Reiner, Demi Moore, or the multi-talentless Tom Cruise, but they somehow managed to make a pretty damn good movie despite each other. That’s all about William Goldman; his re-write saves this movie from a lot of Aaron Sorkin’s “land of make-believe” crap. The remnants of that are what really chap my ass about this movie.  It goes out of it’s way to be anti-military, so much so it so at times it doesn’t make any sense.

1) Don’t Even Try To Tell Me Colonel Nathan Jessup Isn’t Supposed To Be Oliver North

In America, people of a certain ideological persuasion made Marine Lieutenant Colonel Oliver North a political boogey-man because he was involved in a bunch of clandestine shenanigans during the Reagan administration.  The problem was as much as they would have liked, the American Left couldn’t hang anything criminal on the guy. The Iran-Contra hearings dominated the news when I was in college in 1987, and the way they played out didn’t give the left ending they wanted; largely because they never been able to tell the difference between unethical and illegal.

They wanted those hearings to end just they way “A Few Good Men” did, North was supposed go apoplectic and rat out everybody while simultaneously falling on his own sword. n 1987.  That didn’t happen, which is exactly why Sorkin and the Hollywood fantasy machine cranked out a Marine colonel they could convict.

2) Colonel Jessup Would Have Been In Deep Shit Well Before The Courtroom Scene

There’s two things Jessup says during the “breakfast” scene in Guantanamo which which have had his hide on a high rack curing in the Cuban sun. First, the comment about the Navy and their “faggoty white uniforms” would have certainly landed him in some hot water; there’s no way two Judge Advocate General (JAG) officers aren’t going to fill in Jessup’s superiors about that.  But what would really brought him some heavy weather was the comment about “there’s nothing quite like getting a blow-job from a superior, officer but until a woman gets elected president, I’m going to have to settle for cold showers.”

1992 may have been nearly three decades ago, but it wasn’t the stone age. A comment like that directed at a female JAG officer would have had Jessup at the very least getting a formal reprimand, even possibly facing a formal charge of conduct unbecoming  an officer, which under the Uniform code of Military Justice is a very serious charge.  Don’t forget the Department of the Navy had just endured the “Tailhook” scandal the year before, so there would have been a dramatically heightened sensitivity to any untoward behavior directed at a woman.

3) Colonel Jessup’s “Boss” Would Not Be The President

In other words, Jessup had delusions of grandeur if he thought he needed to go all the way to the Oval Office to get his horn honked. You have to understand that after 9/11, the role of Guantanamo Bay changed dramatically.  Before then, Guantanamo Bay was a back-water for the USMC; the commander of the Marine security regiment there would not report directly to the president.  There would have been a chain of command up through the Marine Corps, the Department of the Navy, and the Pentagon.  In other words, there would have been a lot of brass between Jessup and the White House.

That brings us to the first part of this movie which makes no sense.  According to the movie, Colonel Jessup is about to me named the Director of the National Security Agency…oh by the way, that’s the organization Oliver North worked for…I’m sure that’s purely coincidental.  In any event, a guy like Jessup about to be given such a plum appointment wouldn’t be waiting in the wings in Guantanamo, he’d already be a staff officer at Quantico or the Pentagon.  In 1992, the guy commanding  the Marines in Guantanamo likely would have been a colonel who scored some major points in 1991’s Gulf War and just needed one last “cush” assignment before retirement.

4) That’s Just The Beginning

Throughout this movie, there’s a fundamental misunderstanding of how the chain of command works.  It all starts with the assertion that PFC Santiago broke the chain of command in an attempt to get transferred out of Guantanamo.  At this point, Jessup orders Santiago’s commanding officer, Lieutenant Kendrick to train Santiago to become a better Marine. Meanwhile Jessup’s executive officer Lieutenant Colonel Matthew Markinson believes Santiago should be transferred, but there’s some links missing in the chain…

5) Where Are The Sergeants?

This movie needed Gunnery Sergeant Thomas Highway, who would have had this situation squared away in no time.

In the trickle down from Jessup to Santiago, we’ve skipped a few people. As a lieutenant, Kendrick would have been a platoon commander, and the standard Marine rifle company is commanded by a captain and consists of three platoons.  In other words, Jessup and Markinson should have been talking to Santiago’s company commander, who in turn would address the issue with platoon commander Kendrick.

But the most glaring omission is the complete lack of a sergeant.  The rifle squad is the fundamental component in the construct of Marine infantry; every rifle platoon consists of three to five squads, each of which is led by a sergeant.  The sergeant is the rank of leadership closest to the men, which is why there’s an old saying about wars being planned by generals, but are won by sergeants.  Think about it…how many other movies about the Marine Corps have you seen with no mention of a sergeant?

The point here is that the ultimate responsibility for training and/or disciplining Private Santiago would have fallen on his squad leader, not some Lance Corporal and dimbulb Private First Class.

6) Speaking of which, PFC Downey Is Easily The Dumbest Fictional Marine EVER

First of all, that’s quite an accomplishment considering he has to beat out Gomer Pyle and his his equally-dunderheaded squad leader, Sergeant Carter. At least Pyle has an affable southern charm to him, but the bristle-headed Carter can’t figure out how to out-smart Pyle.

Then there’s the matter of Downey.  If it weren’t for him, they would have all skated on all the charges, because he’s the one who can’t keep his story straight.  Under cross-examination, Downey spills the beans that he wasn’t actually present when  Lance Corporal Dawson received the supposed “Code Red” order.  That admission leads to a series of events which not only starts the unraveling of cover-up surrounding Santiago’s death, culminating with Markinson admitting that Jessup lied about ordering Santiago’s transfer.  However, since Markinson feels guilty about failing to protect a Marine under his command, rather than testify he commits suicide.

But the worst part comes at the end when Downey can’t understand why after being cleared of the murder charge, he still found guilty of “conduct unbecoming” and ordered to be dishonorably discharged.  Even after Dawson explains it to him, you can tell he still doesn’t grasp the severity of his own actions.

7) Markinson Doesn’t Make Sense Either

Before he eats his pistol, Lieutenant Colonel Markinson pulls a disappearing act during which it becomes known he was trained in counter-intelligence.  That means he knew how to pull of some sneaky shit (again, just like Lieutenant Colonel Oliver North…again I’m sure that’s coincidental).  That also means he could have done several things rather that waiting to be swirled into Jessup’s problems.

He could have used back-channels Jessup would have never known about to get a transfer for Santiago from levels above Jessup. He could have dimed-out Jessup in ways that would not have required him to testify and admit his role in this mess.  Most importantly, as Jessup was about to be named the Director of the National Security Agency, Markinson’s whole raison d’être as Jessup’s executive officer (who just so happened to be trained in counter-intelligence) would have been to make sure problems like Santiago never rose to the level of taking down a guy like Jessup.

8) This Movie Could Be The Epicenter of the “Six Degrees Of Kevin Bacon” Universe

We all know the game “Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon” which postulates that any actor can be linked to Kevin Bacon by forming a chain from movies in which they’ve appeared, then through movies somebody who appeared in the original movie, and so on and so forth using less than six links in the chain.

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There’s really no denying there’s no shortage of familiar faces in this film, some of which have impressive IMDB pages.

9) There’s No Way That Ending Happens In Real-Life

I’m sorry, but as for entertaining as it is, the scene of Colonel Jessup snapping a bolt and charging like a bar-room brawler just wouldn’t happen.  Once of the central components of the training of military officers is impulse control.

In battle, impulsiveness can be fatal. Not to mention, nobody who makes it to the rank of colonel is dumb enough to hand over his own head on a platter like Jessup does. Despite what you may want to believe, nobody is egotistic enough to sentence themselves to a dishonorable discharge and  life imprisonment.

Conclusion:

Watching this movie with a Marine is like letting your wife look at her wedding ring with a jeweler’s loop.  Once the flaws are seen, there’s no putting the genie back in the bottle.

You can see all the movies I hate here.

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Movies Everybody Loves That I Hate – Episode 6: “A Few Good Men” Today's Movie: A Few Good Men Year of Release: 1992 Stars: Tom Cruise, Jack Nicholson, Demi Moore…