#It was actually Space Oddity that I was listening to when I got hit with feelings

[angst-fairygodmother]

Ground Control (Luther Hargreeves x Reader)

A/N: I was just minding my own business, listening to a little David Bowie, and my brain suddenly made me feel Luther Feelings...so I figured why not. Word Count: 1315 Content Warning: none Now cross-posted to AO3: here

Your first communication with Luther Hargreeves had been an accident. A solar flare had scrambled some signals and redirected his call somehow to your line, reaching a non-emergency medical helpline instead of his father. At first you thought he was having some sort of delusional episode and tried to carefully guide him through it, following the script you had been taught in your much-too-short training only a few weeks before. When you finally realized who he was, and that he was not in any distress, your misunderstanding had led to a moment of awkward laughter and what you thought might have been clumsy attempt a pickup line (“Well if I was delusional, at least I still would have gotten to talk to you”) and you staying on the line with him well into your lunch break, only for him to disconnect abruptly as a result of whatever tinkering he had been trying to do while you chatted.

The loss of the connection made you unexpectedly sad, but you tried to shrug it off and forget the odd encounter. Instead, you couldn’t get the sound of his voice, his laugh, out of your head. You found yourself writing him little notes and letters, just talking about your day or news events, or something you saw that made you smile. They were meaningless and obviously, you never sent them, and if you were being honest, they made you feel a little silly, but they were something to pass the time.

On a rainy, slow work day a few weeks later, you were fiddling with a pen, bouncing it off the desk repeatedly and trying to catch it in the air, when one of your coworkers popped their head over the top of your cubicle.

“Hey, there’s some guy on the line asking specifically for you. Says you helped him pass time on the moon before?”

You shot straight up in your chair, grabbing at your receiver a little too quickly and insisting they transfer him to you, but luckily they took it as concern for a ‘patient’ and nodded.

“Hello?” you asked, heart racing in your chest.

“Hi,” came his shy voice, a little awkward but sweet and you tried to imagine what he might look like. “It’s uh, it’s Luther Hargreeves.”

“I figured by the mention of the moon,” you teased. “Did something happen with the connection again?”

“No. I was…I wanted to try and call you again. I felt bad about how our last conversation ended.”

“It was rather…abrupt.”

“And also, I liked talking to you. It’s pretty lonely up here on the moon.”

You felt your face grow hot with a blush and thanked your lucky stars that he couldn’t see the stupid grin that spread across your face at his words.

“Oh,” you said lamely.

“Yeah. I hope that’s okay. I didn’t even think about how it’s probably creepy. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s very sweet actually. But I am at work so I can’t really…look I’m not supposed to do this but I can give you my home number and if you ever want to talk, you can reach me there?”

“I’d like that a lot, Y/N. Thank you.”

~

That conversation marked the beginning of something between you and Luther Hargreeves, though you weren’t rightly sure what to call it. Every two weeks or so, you’d get a call, usually late at night, and you’d make a cup of coffee and sit on the sill of your window, as far as the phone-cord could stretch, looking up at the moon while you talked to him about everything, anything, nothing at all. Sometimes he would just reminisce and tell stories about his childhood. Others you would tell him about your day and how utterly unfulfilled you were feeling at your job, and then later that you quit it to go back to school and learn to do something more proactive and about your classes. Your unsent letters and imaginary correspondence quickly became real conversations, and the feelings you had been resisting continued to develop.

Your favorite nights were the ones where he just described the view: how blue the earth was from up above, the pattern of the swirling clouds, and the mapwork of lights whole cities that were just tiny points, even smaller than the stars.

When you said you wished you could see it, he agreed, that it would be nice for you to be there with him instead of so far away.

“Oh really?” you felt yourself smirk as you teased him.

“Yeah. I mean, I’m all alone up here, it might be nice to have someone else with me.”

Your heart dropped. Was he just desperate for companionship rather than wanting you specifically?

“And I feel like I really know you, and I can trust you. I’m not actually good at talking to people most of the time, but with you, Y/N, it feels so easy.”

“Well, I’m glad I make you feel comfortable,” you said, smiling. “Because I really enjoy talking to you, I look forward to it a lot.”

“My life is so much better because of that solar flare you know,” he said. “I think the universe wanted us to meet.”

“Luther…”

“I’m serious, Y/N.  I don’t have a lot of people in my life, besides my family. I never have. But I can tell anyway that you’re special. And when I come back to Earth, I’d really like to meet you, maybe take you to dinner? But even if I can’t or you don’t want to, I…planning all the things I want to tell you the next time we talk has made being up here bearable.”

You felt your eyes welling up with tears. “Oh Luther…” you fell silent as you tried to wrap your head around everything he was saying. You found yourself listening to the gentle crooning of a radio from one of the apartments below, focusing in on it as if it was all that was anchoring you in place, and it filled you with an overwhelming certainty.

There’s a starman, waiting in the sky, he’s told us not to blow it, ‘cause he knows it’s all worthwhile…

‘Don’t blow this,’ you told yourself.

“Y/N?” Luther’s voice pulled you back to yourself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come on so strong or scare you or anything…”

“No, Luther, it’s okay. It’s not that…I mean you didn’t…I just never expected you to maybe feel the same way I did. I mean, I’ve been falling for you for months, and I thought it would be one-sided, some unrequited crush. You are incredible, both your past and the things you’ve done with your family, and what you’re doing now. I mean…I’m just an ordinary person, I can’t compare to space or saving the world or…all that.”

“You don’t have to Y/N. I don’t want you compete with my life, I just…want you to be part of it.”

“I think I’d like that, a lot.”

“It’s a date.”

Your heart fluttered at the thought and you fought down a girlish squeal, determined not to devolve into a teen with a crush on a popstar, even if that was the way he made you feel.

“I have to go soon,” he admitted reluctantly.

You pouted at the phone even though he couldn’t see it before a devilish idea. “Well if you really must…hey, you said you wished I was up there with you right?”

“Yeah, I did. But really I just meant that I wished I was in the same place as you instead of hundreds of thousands of miles apart.”

“I dunno, I think I like the sound of it. The two of us, up there. All alone together. Imagine the things we could get up to.”

You heard him choke back a groan and your smirk broadened.

“Anyway, goodnight Luther. Have…pleasant dreams.”

[thelemoncoffee]

So, this is an Au i found in the trash on my writing app, i have no fucking clue why i trashed it cause it's actually pretty fucking decent.

!!TRIGGER WARNING: Contains attempt of suicide, unintentional starvation, Overworking, Family death, and general self destruction!!

Shuichi Saihara has been brinking suicidal for ages, he couldn't rememer the last time he ever wanted to live, but recently it's gotten much worse; as joining Hopes Peak as the Ultimate Dtective took a massive toll on him. He's a perfectionist, and as such, he feels the need to be the best in a sea of teenage geniuses; doing that is no easy feat, and that realization definitely hits him hard.

As he stresses over everything, his life slowly slips from his control; his sleep schedule deteriorates into 2 hour naps at 3am, he looses his appetite, he shuts himself in, the only reason he takes baths and changes clothes is because he fears his friends will call him out for reeking and make a fool of him. Overall it all hits him like a truck, and the dark thoughts start to talk more the furthur he spirals. He actually tried to overdose on some random pills he found in the bathroom one night, but ended up throwing them back up.

After his suicide attempt, somehow, for whatever reason; the class clown, Kokichi Ouma, got Shuichi's adress and showed up at his door on a saturday morning. Shuichi tried to shoo him off in favor for attempting to write an essay he knew he'd just eventually shut down on, but Kokichi insisted they spend time together; They made a compromise and Shuichi let him chill in his room while he was working. After an hour of Kokichi mindlesy flipping through the pages of Shuichi's book collection, and Shuichi attempting to write, the stall finally happens, and Shuichi finds himself struggling to write. Kokichi seems to take this as "he's done" and uses it as a way to drag Shuichi out with him on a walk.

The walk was interesting to say the least; Shuichi never spent much time with Kokichi in class, let alone outside of class; but even with what little time he did spend with him, he could deduce that Kokichi was not behaving the same way he did in school. Shuichi was use to malice and arrogant trickery from the little leader, but throughout the walk, he saw a more innocent side to the trickster. sure, he still lied, but there's no negitive intent, their nature was more akin to shitty jokes that people laugh at and don't get why they did; he skipped around like a little kid, picked up random shiny items he found, and at one point they even found themselves wandering down one of the park trails that went through the local forest.

For several weeks this became a regular ouccurance; on an unpredictable day twice a week, Kokichi showed up at Shuichi's door, let him tire himself out on his work, then drug him out on a walk around the neighborhood. Shuichi had no idea why Kokichi was doing this, but he started to enjoy it, even finding himself looking forward to Kokichi's walks. It wasn't until when Shuichi stepped out of his house consiously and accepted the walk before his work did this routine suddenly alter; while walking, Kokichi seemed happier than normal, but in a very calm manner, this odd shift both confused and worried Shuichi. When they walked through the forest, Kokichi became even weirder by insisting Shuichi followed him off the trail.

While heisitant, he listened and followed him into the unknown, and they happened upon somthing beautiful; a low hanging treehouse, no more than a foot off the ground, with a fireplace and logs in the clearing infront of it, a clothes line with various mismathced cloths on it went from the treehouse window to another tree. The inside was cozy and welcoming, multicolored lights hung up inside that Kokichi turned on after going in, feeling like a little fairy home of sorts. Kokichi revealed that this was his safe space; he made this with his big sister after their older brother died, and he comes here when he wants to feel better or to simply be alone, and now Shuichi was the first non family member to know about it.

Shuichi was shocked that Kokichi let him see this, welcomed him into his safe space; and it shocked him even more when Kokichi gave him permission to come out here any time on his own. Kokichi was so reserved at school, sticking to his lies and mind games; but here he was, openly inviting Shuichi into his most honest domaine, one that was created due to the loss of a loved one, lettin him use it. He felt almost honnored that he let him see him so vulnerable.

As time when on, more walks were taken more often, sometimes they'd retreat together to the treehouse and start a small campfire, or sort through all of Kokichi's trinkets he collected and stored there; Shuichi even brough the extra copies he had of his mystery novles to keep there for entertaimment, and Kokichi added boardgames and card decks to the entertaiment hoard. it became a practically every other day thing; they enjoyed their time together, on the walks, in the hideout, telling life stories, playing cards, sharing dreams, together in general. Shuichi could see how truely fake the mask Kokichi wore at school was now, how thick it was, because he saw the real Kokichi in their hideout, that's where he resided, that was his purest form. And Shuichi hadn't realized it quite yet, but he had slowly began to fall in love with the Dork behind the mask of lies.

His uncle one day noted Shuichi had changed; that he seemed happier, relaxed, and less tired. The comment had momentarily confused him, but it quickly clicked how right he was. Shuichi forgot all about his anxiety, his perfectionisim, he forgot to worry about school and if his grades were striaght A's, and instead opted to seek the best feeling he ever had by going back to that hideout, his little leader by his side. It felt so good to relax, he didn't even realize such a tranistion had happened.

Kokichi had fixed him; he gave him something to live for, and saved him from himself. And then it hit Shuichi; that's why Kokichi was doing all this. Kokichi had seen his decline, seen the lack of life in the detective, decided to rekindle a flame that had been out for years, and succeeded; he cared enough to save him. and Shuichi would be lying if he said that didn't make him realize how hard he fell for Kokichi

Time keeps passing, their routine became daily, practically walking together from school to make a beeline for the hideout, maybe stopping by their houses to change into comfortable clothes. They became closer and closer, time seemed to just not exist in the hideout, and before they knew it, three months had passed them by. three months made a difference for Shuichi; three months ago, he was trying to find release from his stress and trauma in the form of death, three months with the class clown in his hair later and he was in a tangle of limbs on a saturday night with said teen, cudding (sadly platonicly) at sunset and talking about whatever oddities came to mind.

Shuichi had hardly noticed that school was almost out for the summer, and he didn't pay much mind the the brand new A's that littered his reportcard, each earned without stressful study sessions; it didn't matter. All that mattered to him was his Kokichi, his sweet angel, the boy who saved his life and stole his heart in the process.

Kokichi at this particular hideout meeting, compaired himself to the monsters from Where The Wild Things Are, and Shuichi not only loved the compairison, but internally wondered if he himself was Max. He wondered if they were just one "let the wild rumpus start!" away from tumbling around in the grass out side; howling at the moon, fencing with sticks, romping around like some sort of feral animals, and laughing together almost the whole time. Kokichi brought out Shuichi's wild thing, and he wanted so desperatly to just indulge in it with Him

[aricazorel]

12 from the fluffy prompts for f!shenko please!

Thank you so much for the ask!

“This reminded me of you.” from this list

Rebecca Shepard x Kaidan Alenko; ME3, Citadel DLC; 1548 words

Spending the first few days of mandatory shore leave chasing your own clone and recovering your stolen ship was not how Rebecca Shepard had envisioned the time off. She hadn’t expected Anderson to give her his apartment either, but she wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead she decided to spend the time as ordered: off duty while she caught up with friends, took it easy, and spent quality time with Kaidan. Granted her shore leaves had always been hit or miss on whether other people enjoyed them with her but Kaidan was different. She knew him. Really knew him and thought she might be able to find things they both enjoyed doing.

That’s why she stopped into a random store in one of the lower wards market districts. It screamed Kaidan Alenko. The ward itself was home to a mixture of races and was a prime area for tourists to frequent. And that was what she was at the moment. Not the Commander, not the Savior of the Citadel, not the galaxy’s beacon of hope against the impossible. Just a tourist looking for a gift for her nerdy boyfriend and did that shop fit the bill. Thankful she actually listened to his random facts at all hours of the day and night, she was sure to find something he liked.

The whole concept of the store was based on interesting and unique things from Earth’s past. As one of the newer species on the galactic scene, humanity was still a curiosity to some. The oddities of Earth’s pop culture from past centuries permeated the shelves, racks, and display spaces in the specialty shop.

Shepard roamed the aisles looking for a specific pop culture icon from the late 20th-early 21st centuries. Surely they had something related to his nerdy obsession. After all he had been through and all he did for her, he deserved something familiar, something comforting, something distinctly Kaidan.

Finally at the very back of the store, she found it. All sorts of items: tee shirts, hats, figures, plushies, OSDs with movies and TV series, models, and much more. But one thing in particular caught her attention. A box containing what looked to be a collection of several items. Ones she knew Kaidan would love.

Her target acquired, the Commander- turned- tourist quickly paid for it and made her way back to the apartment. If she were lucky, Kaidan would still be out with Cortez, Vega, and Joker at the arcade. She could wrap it and surprise him.

Hopefully…

~~~~~

“Hey, Becca! I’m back,” Kaidan’s voice called from the living room.

“I’m in here,” she shouted from the bar area. The large box sat on the coffee table in front of her as The Battlespace played on the large vid screen but muted.

The Major rounded the wall partition as he commented, “Joker still wants to have that party. Tried all evening to get Steve, Vega, and me to convince you to agree to it.”

“I told him I’d think about it,” Rebecca groaned from the couch.

“Yeah, well you know Joker. He gets an idea and won’t let go until he gets his way,” Alenko replied as he came to stand by the couch, the artificial fire crackling behind him.

“Yeah. I know but all I want to do right now is spend time with you,” she said tossing her red hair over her shoulder. “Alone.”

“I’m all yours tonight, Becca,” he assured her as his whiskey-colored eyes flickered to the coffee table. “I promise.”

Shepard grinned. “Something catch your eye, Major?”

“You always have my eye, Shep,” he said with a lop-sided grin.

“You’ve gotten better with your flirting,” she noted as he approached the table.

“Who said I was flirting? I thought I was simply stating a fact,” Alenko commented, winking at her.

“Kaidan,” the Commander murmured as she felt herself blush lightly.

“It’s true,” the L2 biotic said as he pointed to the box. “But what it that?”

“It’s a box.”

“Becca.”

“It’s a wrapped box.”

“Shepard.”

“It’s a wrapped box with something allegedly inside it.”

“Rebecca Jane Shepard!”

The Commander laughed as she held up her hands as if in surrender. “Okay! Okay! No reason to sound like my dad.”

Kaidan made a face. “Don’t ever say that again. That’s just…weird.”

Rebecca laughed again as she motioned towards the box. “It’s for you.”

“Me?” the Major asked in surprise. “From who?”

She frowned as she replied indignantly, “Me, Alenko. Unless you have other women gifting you things behind my back.”

“Hell, no,” the second human Specter exclaimed as he reached for the box.

“No guys either?” she teased as he sat down on the couch beside her.

With the box in his lap, he gave her an incredulous look. “Sweetheart, while I do like both men and women, I only love you.”

Shepard was left speechless by his honesty as he quickly kissed her cheek. He gave her a grin and began to unwrap the box. Her once emotionally reserved Lt. was not so any longer, and it suited him. It suited him very well.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“You always say that, and you know I’m gonna do it anyway.”

“Yeah, well I still think you don’t have to…”

The Commander grinned as he went silent. His fingers traced over the edges of the box as his eyes flickered from one image to another on the side facing him. She leaned forward to look at him better. His expression was one of surprise and something she couldn’t place.

“I found it at an Earth novelty shop in one of the wards,” she said softly.

Kaidan nodded as she continued to look over the box.

“This,” Rebecca said motioning to the focus of his attention, “reminded me of you.”

“I had some like these when I was a kid,” Kaidan murmured as he opened the box. “My mom found them somewhere. Used to put them together to distract me from my biotics when I got frustrated with them.”

Shepard smiled as he pulled out several smaller boxes, each of a different model kit. She watched as his smile widened as he told her the name of each ship the model was supposed to build. A look of fondness for a childhood memory on his handsome features the entire time.

“This one’s an X-wing—Red 5. Luke’s ship…This is the Millennium Falcon—a YT-1300…Ummm, this is a TIE Fighter and a…TIE Advanced—Vader’s I think…A Star Destroyer—Venator class used during the Clone Wars and a…Oh wow! It’s the Ebon Hawk!”

Shepard recognized all the ships except the last one from binge watching the Star Wars movies and series with him in the hospital. “Come again?”

He turned to her excitedly. “It’s the ship from a couple of Star Wars video games. I had an emulator for them growing up. I might still have it…”

“So it’s a good thing?”

He nodded with a broad grin. “It was a fun couple of games. I can show them to you some time but…”

“But what?”

“Well, my mom used to say the pilot of the ship sounded a little like me,” he said rubbing the back of his neck, clearly a little embarrassed. “It might be weird.”

She looked at him thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s just one more thing that can remind me of you. You are weird in a special kind of way.”

Kaidan gazed at her happily. “This mean a lot to me, Becca. Just like you do. Thank you.”

“I’m glad,” she said looping an arm though his.

He went back to inspecting the model kits as she laid her head against his shoulder.

“You know,” she began, “when you get those put together I think there might be enough room to display them in the case in the loft.”

He turned to her. “You’d put my model kits from Star Wars with your models of real ships?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Umm, because they’re not—”

“Not what, Kaidan?” she asked. “They are important to you and you are important to me.”

He looked at her with cynically. “While that does sound sweet and sincere, is that really the only reason?”

“Well, of course it is,” she replied. Shepard paused and winced. “Welllll, that and I think most of them look badass…except for the TIE. It looks like a messed-up eyeball.”

Alenko laughed. “Oddly enough that was a nickname the Rebels and New Republic pilots gave them. The TIE/LN starfighter and the TIE/D Defender specifically. I—”

“Alright, my handsome nerd, I get you are excited and I’m glad you like them, but I thought we were spending the night together. Alone. Do I need to be jealous of the model kits?”

“No, Becca. I’m all yours,” he said setting them aside as he leaned over. Kissing her, he suggested, “We could watch the movies though.”

“Hmmmm,” she said. “We could as long as it isn’t too distracting.”

“If you want my full attention all you ever have to do it ask.”

“I know. And I love you. You and all of your nerdiness too.”

“Oh good. I was worried…”

“Kaidan.”

“I love you too.”

She smiled. Rebecca would always love him. Everything about him. Everything.  

[calico-valley]

Hello!!! Just wanted to say how much I love your fanfiction "Mates", it's def my favorite one in the fandom and I'm always reading it all over again. It's so amazing and well written that I want to cry most of the times! Cam wait for the next chapter haha

Just a question: does Billy or Steve likes David Bowie? I was listening to "Heroes" and I couldn't stop thinking about how fitting that song is for them!!

Anyways, love your work ❤

Thank you! Reading this made a frustratingly unproductive day a little better. 

Billy initially pretends he doesn’t like David Bowie, of course, since he’s got this denim-and-leather, ‘Rock You Like a Hurricane’, tough-guy image to consider. He’ll even say bitchy things about him, like “Hasn’t that dude made enough money to afford a little dental work, by now?”  Steve, on the other hand, likes him a lot, even though he really only knows the radio hits and this one cool instrumental track called ‘A New Career in a New Town’ that an ex-girlfriend put on a mixtape for him a hundred years ago. 

I like to think that the boys’ tastes rub off on each other the longer they’re together. It’s not immediate; it takes months, maybe even a couple of years. Steve might never grow to understand how anyone could genuinely enjoy thrash metal à la Anthrax and Slayer, which to his pop-accustomed ears sounds more like bottle caps being dropped down a garbage disposal than actual music, but he DOES develop an appreciation for hair metal (he especially approves of Ratt’s ‘Round and Round’ and Saxon’s ‘Bad Boys Like to Rock n’ Roll’). And Billy? He’ll eventually drink too many cans of Schlitz one night and when ‘Space Oddity’ comes on the radio he’ll surprise both Steve and himself by NOT reaching for the tuner knob. Instead, he’ll sit there with heart-eyes listening to Steve, who is at this point tipsy and uninhibited enough to start singing along (he fudges a few of the lyrics but he's got a voice like the Archangel Gabriel, as far as Billy’s concerned). Then Steve will admit that he “used to think ‘Major Tom’ was a Beatles song for, like, an embarrassingly long time” but instead of laughing at him or telling him that he’s got his song titles screwed up again, Billy will just lean over and give him a blow job.

In the summer of 1986 Steve convinces Billy to see ‘Labyrinth’ with him and they both get uncomfortably turned on during all of Bowie’s scenes. Afterwards, Billy grudgingly acknowledges that “the thing he does with the crystal ball is pretty rad, I guess” and Steve begs him to dress up as Jareth the Goblin King for Halloween.

Anyway, yes! Heroes is a great song, too. Many thanks for your kind words :)

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 146: The Secret Riddle

It was a small room, but they'd all been crammed into worse recently. There was one bed, one chair next to a window, and a large dresser.

The view was a nondescript muggle neighborhood, but all they cared about was the sun trickling in. The silver book sat on the chair, but they were all still barely on their feet and beyond exhausted, just taking a moment to breathe in this new air that wasn't layered with dark magic.

James, Remus, and Sirius started speaking gently to each other by the bed at once, but she turned away to run her hand over Frank's hair one more time in concern for this newest landing, even in such tight space, for if he'd hit his head again. He caught her hand with a smile and kissed the back of it. "I'm fine darling, honestly."

"Still, can't say I'll ever try to get you on a broom again," she sighed as she squeezed his hand, Lily still watching analytically as well. Her potion had worked perfectly and the poor girl still didn't seem to trust herself.

He smiled and began to say, "since when do you give up so easily on-"

"What am I missing?" James said in such a sharp voice, the others turned to watch, cutting off Regulus and Peter opening the cupboard, but they hadn't even gotten the lone box down yet.

Peter had been able to tell Regulus wanted to investigate this muggle place but had been restraining himself, sadly neither were going to get to find out as they watched in dread too for that tone.

"Nothing," Remus watched the two with a plea in his voice, there was still dried blood under his healed nose and the scabbed scratches under his eyes made him look even more exhausted than usual. His voice sounded hoarse, but whether from his recent bout of screaming or something else wasn't entirely clear. "Old memory, they clearly stopped doing it! You heard that guy in the ward, they weren't doing anything to him-"

"Congratulations!" Sirius' voice was anything but congratulatory as he made some odd wild gesture while they all watched in concern.

Remus sank onto the bed and put his face in his hands while the other two seemed to realize for the first time they were not alone. Sirius leaned in and said something just to James. That didn't last either as Potter shouted, "that's great, now we have to figure out a way to burn down a hospital!"

Sirius grabbed his arm tight and whispered something else, a needed gesture when he looked murderous but said nothing more and turned away.

Lily at once made for the door with an apologetic look at Alice, she wasn't going to get in the middle of one of their arguments. She'd play nice with them in the meantime, but she wasn't getting involved in that.

Alice still hoped she'd done well enough to at least try with James first, "is everything-"

"Nope!" He stated in a voice of cold fury as he threw himself into the chair.

The door opened, and they certainly weren't going to argue the point at the clear dismissal and blessed relief. The hallway felt like a cold draft, but it was better than the rising heat in the room they'd just left. Only Peter hesitated in the door, but he turned with them quick enough as they began exploring.

It was like an odd form of a hotel, each room the exact same as all the others they'd left, and the book's chapter title gave no clear answer to where they were. Riddle had lots of secrets. Down the stairs to the second floor, the next door they tried looked like someone's office, a bottle next to some blank papers the only thing of interest.

"What's an orphanage?" Alice asked as she found the name of this place repeatedly on a few signed papers by some woman named Mrs. Cole.

"Um," Lily looked so confused for a moment, Alice thought she didn't know either before explaining, "ah, a place, kids without homes go to. Wizards, don't have anything like that?"

"Not that I know of," she said back in fasciation. She frowned as she wondered not for the first time what would have happened to Neville, or Harry had they not ended up in unsuitable homes. "Wizards struggle having kids a bit, if you didn't know, the Weasley's are a bit of an oddity in that way. I guess it's just never been a concern."

"Ah," she said in mild fascination, already wanting to ask a dozen questions and do a whole study on this if she knew how without putting her foot in her mouth, again.

Regulus kept shooting glances back up the stairs with worry and biting his cheek, but seemed to decide rather than going back to ask after his brother to pick up one of his bad habits as he made for the adult beverage. "Who wants to bet this has something to do with another of Dumbledore's memories to Harry? Bet a shot he still doesn't answer a single worthwhile thing."

Peter looked at him with concern but didn't try to stop him. Frank let out a resound sigh that nobody was going to do so, and in a pitiful attempt to at least reign the kid in said, "only if I get the first." He was a lot bigger, hopefully he'd get the majority before the kid was inebriated.

The chapter didn't get far in before it abruptly stopped, causing Peter to quietly back out of the room and go back up the stairs. Regulus noticed, but he just didn't have the heart to get into any of it right now. After Potter had actually thanked Peter for once back there, he wasn't going to butt his nose into their mess if they didn't want him, which Sirius' look had clearly said.

"Merlin Sirius, were you just going to leave him like that?" James had asked in concern as he first got a proper look at Remus' face now that he wasn't on the floor. Their landing had not been kind, his nose was still bleeding fresh, with the foggy sunlight trickling in making him look sicker than usual. "Episky," he continued before either had even answered.

"Didn't exactly get a chance to notice," Sirius said with chagrin, grabbing Remus' chin and tipping it in the new light to see even though the charm worked perfectly. "He wouldn't get off of me."

He pushed Sirius' hand away and rubbed at his now healed nose with a light smile of thanks, the scratches under his eyes were starting to itch a bit and he fought the urge to pick at them. "I thought it made me look rather debonair Prongs."

"You've been spending far too much time around Padfoot," James told him sincerely.

"Relax, I'm fine." Remus insisted as both kept watching him with real concern. "I panicked, just like Pete, sorry I was-"

"Don't bother Moony," Sirius sighed, resisting the urge to brush at his gray bangs. "I know, okay, and I'm so sorry. I'll kill whoever did that to you if you ever tell me."

Remus jolted a step back in surprise towards the bed, feeling more embarrassed by the second now, "what, he told you-"

"He who?" James asked in further concern.

"My parents have mentioned some shit Remus, you know that," Sirius grimly reminded, unintentionally ignoring Prongs' very valid question as he answered Moony's focus. "My dad's sent letters to St. Mungo's recommending they use silver ones instead. Do not ever make me repeat what Walburga's said on the matter, and I'll kill Regulus if he has to you."

"What am I missing?" James demanded with rising hostility as Remus just looked dejected, maybe even embarrassed still as color rose in his face.

"Nothing," Remus tried to insist. "Old memory, they clearly stopped doing it! You heard that guy in the ward, they weren't doing anything to him-"

"Congratulations," Sirius mockingly threw confetti about for a moment, before he saw James mouthing with peak anger but no clear direction, but it was obvious he knew he'd missed something. Sirius winced and looked back at Remus, who had sat on the bed and now wasn't looking at anyone, because they had all attention, and none of them were quite sure when it had started. Kicking himself furiously for putting Remus on the spot, but there was no backing out of this now, he leaned in and whispered to Prongs for a few seconds the vile words of what he knew was done to werewolves during their stay in St. Mungo's, at least in their day and age.

Remus didn't look up, and was glad not to have done so as James sounded apocalyptic with fury, "that's great, now we have to figure out a way to burn down a hospital!"

The others turned to him in genuine fear for whatever the hell they'd been talking about, but Sirius grabbed James' arm hard and hissed in his ear, "I shouldn't have brought it up Prongs, I was being an idiot. We'll boycott the place and make someone pay, trust me, but-" he didn't need to keep going, James looked over and saw how miserable Moony looked.

"Err, is everything-" Alice tried to ask, but James grabbed up the book and threw himself into the chair.

"Nope!" He answered her casually enough as if his voice wasn't still laced with homicide when he read, "The Secret Riddle."

Evans tried the door, and was clearly relieved when it opened and they could escape his wrath. Sirius watched them all slowly depart, only Peter hesitated at the door to watch in concern before leaving with a look of some regret, but it was clear as he watched Sirius he was not invited, and the other two just did not notice. Each obviously hovered in the hall as they looked around, but the strange environment felt almost like the safest place in the world to be after what they'd just left, so nobody lingered to close. Sirius sat himself on the edge of the bed and glared after each, still trying to figure out in his head who Remus had meant and violently chastising himself for forgetting the audience all at once.

Remus only let James get far enough in to affirm Katie was on her way to St. Mungo's and how harshly he said that before he couldn't take it anymore and reached out to gently tug on the book so James had to look at him. "You both need to relax," Remus said with a constricted throat for how grateful he was for their anger, but he tried his best to push past that, it would only encourage them he was sure. He gently touched the back of Sirius' hand to make sure he was listening when he reminded, "it was a long time ago, okay? Just a stupid thing that happened when I was a kid-"

"Wasn't your dad's idea was it?" James suddenly demanded, watching him for several moments before an odd flash of regret lit his eyes and he frowned at the door.

Remus barely registered he'd been interrupted, he'd never cared when they had. He hesitated before answering, which didn't feel encouraging. "I don't, think so, just standard procedure-"

"But he could have-" James cut in hotly, before he realized he'd done it even sooner this time and forcefully closed his mouth.

"Listen," Remus repeated sternly now. "Don't make this a thing, please? The memory came back to me when we were in St. Mungo's, Peter found me and promised he wouldn't tell. I wake up face first on my pillow most days and don't even flinch, the staff was being cautious and ignorant, will you two please relax?"

"I'll get back to you on that," Sirius said stiffly, looking out the window now. If Remus got mad at him for forgetting about his privacy Sirius couldn't even blame him this time; between that, his furious mental imaginings of ripping some unknown person's face off and realizing Remus would never actually let him do it and still all the while the cold dread eating away at him he'd been absolutely useless to help either, he was far too strung up to concentrate on any one thing.

James breathed past his boiling blood for a few more moments before offering Remus the book with a very forced smile. "Alright Moony, but I need to blow something up first, you know that!" Then he blasted the wardrobe up without further warning, watching without concern as the contents scattered around the room. A yo-yo smacked into the ceiling and went skittering away to the hall, a silver thimble smacked against the window, and a tarnished mouth organ fell onto the foot of the bed.

He took care of his tread as he went to the door and shut it behind him, giving them their peace, well aware Sirius had always been better about Remus on nearly every aspect. If he would admit there was a problem, it would be to him. It didn't dissolve his bloodlust as he imagined his friend suffering something like that and nobody caring! He stalked across the hall, and found a mirror room of the one he'd just left. He transfigured the chair into a bat and vented like everything was a bludger for several moments before exhaustion caught up with him and he sat on the floor, probably getting a few splinters in his ass.

It only helped to release the worst of his feelings, the brutal images in his mind felt justified now that he'd turned this room into the hospital in his head, but he didn't know what else to do to make this go away.

There was the softest of throat clearings, and he turned wearily to see Peter hovering in the doorway.

"Wrong room mate," he smiled because he just had to make a joke about something right now or he'd start screaming. "Serious Bites is across the hall."

Peter laughed, just like he always did. James grinned in relief and chucked his bat one last time, watching with some satisfaction as it hit exactly where he'd wanted, breaking the last leg off the wardrobe on its side.

"Sorry," Peter whispered, again. "Is Moony okay?"

"Pretending he is, as usual," he sighed, starting to rub at his temples. "Don't know why you didn't stay." Peter didn't answer, and James looked up in further exhaustion to see the now familiar look on his face. "Padfoot wasn't going to make you leave. Merlin, I thought you two were working it out?" It was more a wistful statement than an actual question though, Sirius had made himself perfectly clear...and now he felt left with a choice he did not want to make, because he already knew the answer.

Wormtail was up here though, hadn't even flinched when he'd thrown the bat. He shrugged noncommittally, and James thumped his head against the wall. He was half tempted to grab Peter and shove him into the room, drag Remus back out, and lock those two in there until they worked themselves out. He probably would have if Remus hadn't just gone through that.

"Thanks Wormtail," he said instead, "for being at the hospital with him. I know the Wing at school bothers him, but I never knew it was that bad."

"How bad, exactly?" Peter asked in concern. "He was having a panic attack, but he just asked me not to tell you two so I-"

"Muzzles and shit," he answered, not exactly listening to the rest, before slamming his head as he realized he did it again. Damn, Regulus had been right. "Sorry," he muttered quickly.

Peter looked at him like he'd spontaneously turned into a unicorn.

The book finally started again, but James had a headache and didn't feel like getting back up even though Remus sounded reasonably calm and content now. "Padfoot works his magic again," he muttered to no one in particular, but Peter still snickered softly. "You don't have to hang around Pete, go find Regulus or the others or whatever. I'm still plotting how to overthrow the most needed hospital in Britain."

"Don't have to do it alone," Peter said softly. "You're the one who taught us that."

James swallowed past a lump in his throat as he offered his hand. Peter grinned and kept his balance as he got to his feet.

"Regulus found a bottle of gin," Peter told him with something far too close to Padfoot's level of exasperation when speaking of his brother as they went back to the hall.  It was extremely disconcerting and not his highest concern right now. "Guy decided to challenge Longbottom to a shot contest every time Dumbledore doesn't properly answer someone's question, I wouldn't be surprised if they're drunk by now."

James stopped him before he went down the stairs though. "Did you tell them about the hospital?"

"No," Peter said instantly.

"Well I'm not either," he said calmly. "We'll bring it up with Moony when he wants to, but it's still his business Pete."

Peter began with such a weary look. "Prongs I'm not going to-"

James opened his mouth in protest, caught himself on the first syllable, and forcefully closed his mouth back.

Peter looked like he'd been struck on the head as he finished, "say anything, promise."

James scrutinized him for a moment before Peter whispered softly, "but they obviously noticed, what are we going to say?"

"Tell them to mind their own business," he shrugged. "I'm glad none of them hate Remus, really, but just because Harry's life is an open book for us doesn't mean all of us have to join in."

"Yeah," Peter said softly, "let's see if that lasts."

James sighed but followed him back to the others, still watching the door over his shoulder in concern.

Prongs got casually to his feet and gently closed the door behind him, but they could still hear a few things getting demolished in the hall.

"Better than chasing down one of the others to curse them," Remus muttered absently, eyes now on Sirius. He reached out and tentatively touched his face, turning his chin until they were meeting eyes again before Remus gave him that coquettish smile he knew Padfoot loved so much, finally easing the tension there in both of them. "I don't hate everything that covers my mouth," he promised before leaning in.

Sirius always snogged like it was his last breath, a fire in him he put into everything. Remus eagerly drank his fill in now as he pulled Sirius on top of him with a deep hunger for the endorphins released. He'd swear on his life Padfoot tasted like puppy breath and pure heat, an intoxicating addiction. Sirius did not encourage farther though, instead Remus could feel as his fingers brushed gently along his eyes where the self inflicted scratches lingered, one hand steadily on his neck, and then Sirius pulled back panting with longing but still not even hinting he was going to ask for more.

Remus blinked and glanced at the door to make sure it hadn't opened without his noticing.

"Would you hate me if I asked, not right now?" Sirius asked hoarsely. He felt an extra hard flair in his chest that he stubbornly ignored for now when Remus answered.

"Would you love me if I agreed?" Remus grinned back, knowing he'd proven his point as he rubbed the bottom of his own lip with want. His heart was still fluttering erratically when he realized Sirius wasn't going to answer, even in the joking way for not meaning the same, he still loved to hear it. James had good timing though, as something else was loudly destroyed, and it was more than likely someone was going to come back for the book. He hated being the logical one sometimes, it was nice that Sirius was agreeing for whatever his reason. Until he realized what that might be.

Sirius pursed his lips to hold onto that feeling a few moments longer and force himself not to chase after more as he sat back. "Maybe we should, get some sleep," he offered, eying the door again. "Plenty of beds here-"

"No," Remus grabbed him before he could get up, eyes wide and desperate again, and Sirius cussed aloud he was helping nothing. If Moony still wanted his company he wasn't going to deny him. So Remus wasn't mad at him this time, but he still wanted to talk to James about Peter.

Remus didn't know why Sirius wanted to tell James about them right now, wasn't one catastrophe at a time enough! "Honestly Sirius, can't we just, keep going with this?"

He snatched up the book as if he didn't have a care for the color, which in itself showed how off he clearly was. Sirius quietly nodded, moving so that he was laid out on the bed, and pulled Remus so that he could lay on his chest and read. He knew delaying when he saw it, and whether it was Moony feared having a nightmare or he just wanted to really change the subject and hoped explanation of where they were would do that, Sirius forced himself to begin relaxing.

He played with the little white tag inside Remus' shirt and read it, tucked it back in, let his nails and knuckles graze the back of Moony's neck until he saw goosebumps, and then started over. Remus never scolded him, and it let his mind wander.

What he wouldn't give to get lost in the best kind of release he'd ever felt being with Remus to get rid of the lingering anger in him for too many things again, fall asleep and wake up pretending nothing had happened, but the last few times he'd done that it had all come back on him hard. He would tell James he was done pretending, but like Prongs had offered on Regulus, he wasn't going to stop him keeping Peter around. It was a simple solution to him, honestly thinking it would just go back to normal when they got back to school as far as he was concerned.

He'd ignored his own little brother for years in that castle, he could effectively do the same to Peter even if they did share a dorm. He should really just stop trying to pretend he had any right to siblings, James was more than he'd ever deserved anyways and he felt no desire for others.

It didn't feel good to acknowledge, but it was sure a lot better than anything else he'd been forcing on himself lately.

He only waited long enough to hear the explanation for where they were, Voldemort's own orphanage, before he decided to interrupt. "Wouldn't you know, we're in the place of his very first torture ground! Surely there's a plaque around to commemorate the event!"

Remus chuckled lightly and flipped the page, his voice was so relaxed now it was starting to drag with sleep, only the disquiet for what he was reading keeping him awake Sirius was sure, but he tugged on a few of the hairs at the base of his neck to keep his attention until he looked back up and Sirius asked curiously, "you miss having Peter around?" It's not like it was just his decision. He'd made it pretty clear recently enough Sirius didn't even know why he'd been bothering to try.

Moony frowned though, and Sirius let his hand rest, cupping his neck when he guessed the answer right before Remus admitted. "A bit, yeah."

He turned back to the book but didn't keep going, instead fidgeting with the corners of the page before offering, "I, talked to him more than you though, I think. When you and James are out at Quidditch practice, or detention or whatever, it would just be us in the dorms. Hasn't really hit me yet, but I suppose he'll be gone from there himself now as much as he can."

"Not necessarily," Sirius said quickly, doing his damndest to figure out how to make it so Peter didn't feel unwelcomed, he still didn't want him actually turning to the Dark Arts anymore than Regulus. He didn't like Peter's instinctive use of spell, but James was okay, it hadn't been unforgivable. The fact that he'd kept his mouth shut about being there for Moony in St. Mungo's actually felt in line too, hell he could learn something about keeping his mouth shut on occasion.

He was just going to stop forcing them to constantly be around him, clearly it was helping no one but Remus, and he was starting to question that with how flippy he'd been on even touching him lately. He regretted stopping this time so much his chest was starting to ache, what if Remus changed his mind again!

"It's okay Padfoot," Remus reached up and squeezed his hand still in place, only now realizing he hadn't continued the fidgety movement. He'd have thought Remus would be relieved to go on without it. "Nobody likes change, but we'll all work it out. This shits had a pretty big impact on him, on all of us, so whatever you're worried about happening, just please let it go?"

Sirius kissed his forehead in quiet admittance, but he still held Remus much closer than was really called for when they weren't explicitly doing anything and resumed the absentminded strokes, relaxing back and just forcing himself to pay attention to Harry now. He really, really hoped that wasn't Moony trying to tell him he was still thinking about pulling away too. He tried to go back to his last blossoming issue and figure out why Remus had agreed to stop now.

At least he hadn't tried to be alone this time, had in fact encouraged Sirius to stay like he hadn't before. There was just something so off though that he wasn't saying, and clearly a sexual release wasn't helping like it did with him. Remus always got quiet around full moons and wanted to be alone to sleep, but he'd even denied that this time!

The way he leaned comfortably in his arms let him think otherwise for now. He didn't say anything else as the chapter concluded, not even as Dumbledore promised all these memories and this strangest one of all where Voldemort apparently was a kleptomaniac had some end goal. Damn, Evans was right, but he'd discuss this with them both later. Who knew he'd ever value silence so much.

[firefield]

David Bowie - Reality (2003)

“The thing, probably, that keeps me writing is this awful feeling that there are no absolutes. That there is no truth. That we are, as I’ve been thinking for so many years now, fully in the swirl of chaos theory.” DB, 2003

I always learn new things about David Bowie whenever I listen through his complete discography chronologically, and this run through is no different. As I get close to the end here, I’m reminded how much less I know about these later works, due simply to the fact that they have existed for a much shorter time, and my experience with them is more limited. “Reality” rocks more than I realized on release day, especially coming off the heels of “Heathen” with all its layers and mystery and subtleties. An empty house afforded the opportunity to really crank this one up, a vinyl pass, and CD pass, and finally the 5.1 surround sound edition - and yeah - DB said he wanted a simpler sound, and wanted a record that could be translated into a live show easily and effectively and he got that in spades.

As with all his post-80’s work, and especially his post-heart attack material, “Reality” embraces the darker and more cynical side of DB’s many characters - from the irony of the album title with album art portraying a very cartoony space-man Bowie looking about as unreal and non-Reality as possible and still be recognizable - to DB’s insistence that he made a “positive!” record despite themes of aging and death, loneliness and anonymity, geopolitical strife, day-in-day-out mundanity and the creeping threat of urbanization to nature. Regarding the subject matter of Reality he told Interview Magazine, “This is probably a period when, more than any other time, the idea that our absolutes are disintegrating is manifest in real terms. Truths that we always thought we could stand by are crumbling before our eyes. It really is quite traumatic.”

I read quotes like that and I think, for a guy that is largely known for (and criticized for) his ability to synthesize the past and his surroundings into something entirely David-Bowieingly unique, he certainly shows skill at synthesizing the future as well. Beyond things like financial chicanery like Bowie Bonds and the impact of the internet on the creation and distribution of music, Bowie often hit at the very essence of what unites as well as divides.

The seeds of this malleablity of truth that DB describes had been planted in my country during the civil rights movement and the tragedy of the Vietnam War, but began to flower and bloom after the 9/11 event - affecting Bowie’s home turf and his family profoundly. Heathen is prescient, Reality is a little angry about things. DB took time to specifically say what Reality was not: it was not an angry album, it was not a response to 9/11, it was not his “New York Album” - but then he’d spend just as much time gently walking back those claims, almost wondering aloud if it was, in fact, all of those things and more. He speaks around this time about how naturally writing music came to him. Unforced, calmly. I think this “flow” is why you can glean so many little contradictions about Reality and it’s intentions and meaning. He’s letting it happen, not dictating the plot; the tensions of that city and that moment in time allowed to mold and shape the work. Polar opposite to the Heathen recording environment at Allaire Studios in the Catskill Mountains, Reality was recorded in the cramped Studio B of Philip Glass’s Looking Glass Studios in NYC and both those disparate studio choices impact their respective products acutely.

Reality is Bowie’s most “hands-on” record since Diamond Dogs, employing all his multi-instrumentalist abilities, and it’s also one of his most thoroughly demoed. Most all of Reality was demoed out in Studio B by DB and Tony Visconti playing all the instruments, with Mario McNulty (the same engineer DB would later trust with the posthumous reimagining/re-recording of Never Let Me Down) as studio assistant. According to Tony, he had a feeling that many of these “demo tracks” would not ever actually be re-recorded, so they were laid down at a useable fidelity. Consequently, much of the demo material survived on the final album. The band brought in for final overdubs was chosen with the live show in mind specifically. This was a smaller, tighter unit of BowieLive veterans and by all accounts recording was smooth and productive.

New Killer Star opens the record, and is also Reality’s debut single (that contained one of his more surprising B-sides, Sigue Sigue Sputnik’s ‘Love Missle F1-11’) and is a spectacular Earl Slick led hazy, woozy guitar statement.

This is followed by The Modern Lovers - Pablo Picasso - recorded in 1972 but delayed until their 1976 debut. This track mimics the space occupied by the Pixies cover Cactus - the second track on Heathen - DB pulling tracks from his past that he enjoys and placing them where they give the record momentum. Quite a different interpretation if you have heard the original - DB took liberties with both the lyric and the arrangement and it’s a cool little track.

Never Get Old follows and addresses the common theme of time and aging in DB compositions…. (Cygnet Committee, Time, Hearts Filthy Lesson, Changes, Fantastic Voyage, and many more) and the composition itself references much of his past in Space Oddities countdown, the elongated guitar strands of Heroes, bits of melody from Crack City, the four-walls-closing-in sense of Low and some of Hunky Dory’s ominous moments. A pounding live favorite.

…and seamlessly right into The Loneliest Guy. Anyone who saw the Reality Tour knows the captivating power of this piece, and it’s honesty and fragility was one of a few reasons why I thought this would be DB’s final album.

Looking For Water. Man, I *love* this song. It’s one of my favorite vocal performances on Reality and would certainly end up on my list of “underrated DB songs” were I compelled to make one. I like repetition in music, and it’s hypnotic and mantra-esque qualities - and this is one that always gets a significant volume boost.

She’ll Drive The Big Car - a supercool stab of Bowie sash and swagger, and a killer vocal performance, masking some seriously sad lyrics. Bowie manages to sound defiant, tired, funky, deferential, sexy and soulful all in the course of a single song. He’s such an effortlessly great singer, that’s it’s easy to become so accustomed to it that you almost miss it. It’s just “him.”

The exceedingly sweet “Days” fits nicely with all of Realities reflections, and has for me become a song I pay much more attention to since we lost the man to cancer.

Fall Dog Bombs The Moon is one of DB’s most overtly political songs, and was apparently written very quickly - under a half and hour - and directly addresses the Iraq War and the profiteering involved. Relatively bleak with murky lyrics, it’s a interesting and unique DB composition.

Try Some, Buy Some is just beautiful and I think one of Bowie’s most interesting and genuinely heart-felt covers (along with Waterloo Sunset, also from these sessions.) The inspiration to do this song comes directly from the 1971 Ronnie Spector version and the impact it had on him personally. DB seems to be absolutely sincere when he claimed that he had completely forgotten that it was a George Harrison composition until he sat down to work on the album credits.

Next up is the sizzling rocker Reality that has one foot in Tin Machine and one foot in The Next Day. Love Earl’s guitar sound here. Like New Killer Star, the guitar layers in this one sound amazing on the 5.1 surround mix.

Ahh yeah. Another in an amazing number of fantastic Bowie album closers. I’ve made it a point in my life to quit ranking art into “good/better/best/sucks categories and hierarchies and see art as an experience, not a competition. My friends know this about me, and consequently tease me and attempt to prod me into breaking this creed. Under unrelenting pressure to name a “favorite David Bowie track” I named Bring Me The Disco King.

I could give many reasons why this would be the one…. The repetition I mentioned earlier, here found in Matt Chamberlain’s drum loop (interestingly snagged from ‘When The Boys Come Marching Home,’) the overwhelming sense I had when I first heard it that this was DB’s final record, the sense that the threat of jazz that had always pounded on David’s door in his chord structures and harmonies had finally broken down the door… the very tangible sense that this was a composition that had already had a long life but stayed tucked into the shadows by its unsatisfied creator, only to be given life and light on this great album after it had been stripped down to almost nothing - simplicity being the sought after key to its finally being allowed to soar. If it’s not already obvious, I think this song is magnificent. Literally. The fact that David knew it was deep inside there, he just had to mine it out over the course of a decade or so is extraordinary.

Couple of thoughts about a track that didn’t fit well on Reality but made it to bonus/B-sides…

How cool is his cover of The Kinks Waterloo Sunset? In the years after his death, when I feel that loss in my heart, it’s Waterloo Sunset I turn up to 11 and allow it to yank me back out of that murk.

“People so busy

makes me feel dizzy

but I don’t feel afraid

as long as I gaze on Waterloo Sunset

I am in paradise.”

[fangirleaconmigo]

Keep Me Forever

Chapter 6, Infinite Resource 4154 k.  By: Descarada. The fic overall is explicit but this chapter is not. Also on AO3.

This is written in my Eskel and His Angel universe, where Jaskier is a sex worker who goes by Dandelion.

Eskel saved Dandelion’s niece from a basilisk as a child so the young man had his heart (and other things) set on bagging that witcher as soon as he could lure him in as an adult.

Not only did he achieve that dream, but now he gets to see Kaer Morhen for the first time.  This is the chapter where it FINALLY happens, he lays eyes on the old keep. Geralt has come out to escort them the rest of the way, and there are the first attempts at trust because this is going to be poly. 

---------------

Dandelion

Dandelion loved to attend bardic competitions. He was reminded of them now, riding the trail behind Geralt and Eskel.

He’d seen bards jump on stage with the festival band, never having played with them.  They would wait a few cords, eyes cast to the ceiling, feeling the rhythm and pace of the band. Then they would jump in with their voices, usually triumphantly, though sometimes it took a few bars to get the tempo and pitch correct.

The band of brothers riding in front of him had been playing together for almost a hundred years. And he was the warbling newcomer. 

And every thudding step the three horses took up the mountain road brought them closer to Kaer Morhen where he would be even more than a newcomer. He would be an oddity. Hopefully he wouldn’t be seen as an intruder.

Figuring out how to interact with Geralt, and with Eskel when he was with Geralt, had been a bit of a challenge, but he’d just followed Eskel’s lead. That strategy had seemed to be working well enough. 

Eskel had told him to tend to Geralt’s wounds so he had. Eskel had directed Geralt to take care of Dandelion at the shop, so Dandelion had found something for Geralt to do. He’d delighted in it, in fact. Watching the two of them together was wonderful.  They shared gestures, speech patterns, and seemed to communicate without words.  He felt honored to be a welcome spectator.

But soon they would be in Kaer Morhen with the rest of the wolves. It felt like a chasm of the unknown. Dandelion stood on the edge of it, hoping for the best.

However, the uncertainty didn’t taint the thrill for him. 

“So, when you said your lifelong dream awaited,” asked Geralt. “What dream was that?” 

 The witcher turned his head so that his voice travelled back to Dandelion.  He rode on his brown mare, and the muscles of his back tensed and bunched in response to the jostling of the rocky road.

 “Oh, you know,” Dandelion shouted ahead. “Just a bit of hyperbole. I’m excited is all.”

 Dandelion still felt vulnerable exposing how much this actually meant to him. 

What could he say? I’ve been studying you and Kaer Morhen for ten years? That meeting Eskel was one of three moments that changed my life forever?

Because Dandelion had counted them. 

There were three events that he could point to to say... and after that, nothing was the same. After that, I felt like I was living in a new life, for better or for worse .

 The first had been when his parents and brother in law Lucas had died. That one had obviously been  for wors  e. Dandelion (Julian then) was orphaned within the space of a week. His sister Sarah had been orphaned  and  made a widow.  

 Sarah had been a giddy newlywed with apple cheeks, a doting young wife with her entire life planned out. After having her family and her future ripped from her, she became a shadow of her former self. She didn’t eat, she didn’t sleep. She was practically a wraith.

 And they had lost almost everything material. They’d kept their titles but that was about it. Their hopeful, full life turned bleak and lonely. They moved out to the small farm that used to be occupied by their workers. They ate and drank and worked in silence, just the two of them. Sometimes an aunt or a cousin would come around to visit. They would sit on the porch and make stilted, polite conversation drenched in grief and exhaustion.

 The second event that had changed everything was the day Sarah found out she was pregnant. She and her Lucas had been trying to conceive before he fell ill. But she didn’t know that their efforts had taken root until after he was gone.

 There is nothing like the bright beam of new life to cut through the despair of loss. They became determined to survive. When Lety was born, Julian took pride in stepping into the role of a father figure for the baby, even at his young age. It meant he was needed. They survived on every gurgle, every gummy grin, every clasp of grey eyed Lety’s chubby fingers. She gave them the love they needed to get up each morning and greet her with kisses.

 The third day that changed Dandelion’s life forever was the day he met Eskel. That was the day they almost lost the only thing that had delivered them from total despair. Their little Lety.

 Some people think that healing from grief is a linear process. It isn’t. You can live your life in grief for ages.  You can walk on bloody eggshells around its remains, edging around the ragged and painful bits forever. You can avoid anything that reminds you of what you used to have. You can survive by cradling your injured limbs and keeping them from hitting doorways. You can survive without healing. Without turning your face to the world once again.

 That was what Sarah and young Julian were doing, the day Lety wandered off into the path of the basilisk.  They were caring for each other, but shutting out the rest of the world that had wounded them. Shutting out their own grief. 

 If Lety had died that day, Dandelion couldn’t honestly claim that he would be here today. At minimum, he would not be in the state he was in, healthy and passionate about living.  He was almost certain Sarah wouldn’t be here at all. 

 Almost losing Lety had been a shock to the system. Those terrifying moments where Julian tore through the woods screaming for her still lived in a corner of his soul. They would forever. Those terrifying moments where Sarah waited, growing more frantic, changed her too. It had reminded both of them that there was still life left to be fought for. It transformed them, and thus their lives.

 They both manifested this change in different ways. They both would have described it using different words. But this was essentially what both of them understood that day.

 It was time to set aside the despair for what they had lost. It was time to fight for what they still had.

 They had found the strength to fight again, thanks to Eskel.

 It was fitting that the first fight Julian ever got into was over Eskel.

 Some kid in town ran up to him the day after Eskel rescued Lety,  and asked if it was true - if they were so poor that the witcher who had saved Lety had ravaged Sarah for compensation.

 The crack when Julian’s knuckles hit the kid’s jaw had been satisfying. He had expected Sarah to chide him when he came home bruised with the kid’s mother dragging him by the ear.  But his sister talked the woman down and when they were once again alone, had smiled at him and pinched his cheek. He protested as always.  He was too grown up to have his cheek pinched. But he listened to her words.

 “What people believe about us matters,” she had said. “People give you what they believe you will accept. And now people believe that we will defend each other, and our friends.”

 She wasn’t the same Sarah as before all of their losses, exactly. But she wasn't the one who grimly survived. She had new vigor. She started laying a plan for how to get back their property and position. It was for Lety, she said. She would lay the groundwork with powerful nobles and once Julian was of age and had legal standing, they would be unstoppable.

 For the first time since losing them, they talked about their parents at meals, remembering the pie their mother had cooked, or the toys their father had carved for them. Julian even overheard Sarah telling stories about Lucas to Lety. “You get your ridiculous sense of humor from your father. Once we were watching a play, and —“

 And Julian, for his part, had found new life as well.  The only two lives he had lived until then was first his childhood in the safe embrace of his parents. Then he had known a lonely life when the world was cruel and frightening.

But meeting Eskel had planted a seed. He still had life to fight for. And meeting Eskel had given him his own passion. Something that he could disappear into, a haven.

 At first, when Julian began his study of witchers, he was truly only looking for things like mating rituals, anatomy studies (sketches preferably) and ways to seduce the man who had saved Lety. At fifteen years old, he very much thought with his cock. And Eskel was spectacular. 

 But as he studied, he became fascinated by the history and stories of all witchers. He read about the different schools and their respective training techniques. He read about decoctions and weaponry.  He was captivated by the ancient keep at Kaer Morhen and its secrets. 

 Sarah didn’t chide him for his fixation. In fact she found ways to add to his collection of books and relics that they found at Oxenfurt and Aretuza estate sales. She would do his chores when he rode to Oxenfurt for public lectures. Even though she didn’t share his passions, (she was much more interested in palace intrigue and regaining their property), she let him ramble on at dinner and at bedtime. She let him tell Lety bedtime stories about the latest tales of witcher contracts and monster slaying.  

 She was just happy to see her younger brother excited about anything again.

 One of the books she sold her combs to afford, Ancient Sea Keeps, was packed away in his saddle bags. On its way to Kaer Morhen.

 He had sent her a letter before he left, so she would know by now that he was on his way.

 He imagined what she would say when she read it.

 She would say,  you scoundrel, you’ve done it .

 Dandelion looked around at the towering pines and inhaled the crisp mountain air. He listened to the occasional chatter of the two witchers riding in front of him. Their voices drifted back to him, entwined with the other sounds of the mountains, with birds and rustling branches.

 At the moment they were arguing over who would enter the cockatrice into their journal.

 “That was my kill. I had it.” Said Eskel, in the clanging rough voice that was already beginning to sound like home.

 “Ahhhhhh,” grunted Geralt in his deep purr, “you had nothing. If I hadn’t come into the clearing you’d still be fighting it, wishing for me to deliver you.” Geralt clutched his chest and delivered an uncanny impersonation of Eskel. “Where is the white wolf? If only he were here.”

 Eskel snorted derisively.

 “You wish,” he laughed. “I let you kill it to help build your confidence. If anything, you slowed me down.”

 Dandelion smiled to himself and absently patted Butterscotch, who was a real trooper on this trail. Come to think of it, so was he.  His riding had come so far in a matter of days, by necessity.

 As they ventured deeper into the mountains, the shadows grew longer. Dandelion finally began to feel the cold. He knew the witchers were probably still fine, so he tried to forebear.

 But when Eskel called for a break and they slid from their horses, the witcher noticed him rubbing his hands together.

 Eskel came over to him and slipped an arm around his waist.

 “You good?” Eskel asked, and he leaned his forehead against his. The feel of his body so close, comforted every part of Dandelion by its mere presence. To be near Eskel meant love. It meant protection.

 Dandelion shivered and Eskel pulled him tight against his barrel chest. The witcher rubbed his back and arms briskly and kissed his temple.

 “C’mon,” he said, and he led Dandelion over to Scorpion.  He rummaged in his bags and pulled out a few rolled up garments. 

 “That isn’t enough for the trail up. You’re going to borrow my things,” he said.  “Take off the cloak.”

 Dandelion slipped off the cloak and laid it carefully over Scorpion.

 Eskel first held out a thick knit sweater, and Dandelion pulled it on.

 Geralt walked over.

 “Everything good?”

 Eskel nodded.

 “Can’t have him freeze on his way up.”

 Dandelion pulled down the sweater. It looked rather dashing actually.  

 Eskel leaned in for a kiss.  Dandelion melted against his warm lips.

 When he pulled away, Geralt was there, holding out a pair of gloves.  Dandelion shot his sweetest smile at him. He even batted his lashes for good measure.

 “Thank you, darling,” and he pulled them on.

 “Can’t have our first human visitor in years say we weren’t good hosts,” Geralt grunted.

 Then Eskel settled the cloak over his shoulders and tied it again.  And lastly, he slipped a soft hat onto Dandelion’s head and pulled it down over his ears.

 “Ooo, cashmere?” asked Dandelion, reaching up to run his fingers over it.

 “Made it from lil bleater’s wool,” he said. Eskel kissed Dandelion’s nose, then his lips.

 Dandelion preened inwardly, but outwardly he looked puffed and layered. If he fell over, he could probably be rolled up the mountain.

 “I think we’d better take the rest on foot,” Said Eskel, looking around.

 Dandelion looked over the trail. It seemed wide enough to continue on horseback.

 Eskel gestured towards a thinning area in the branches to their left.  When they neared, Dandelion realized it was the trail. Witcher’s Trail. They had arrived. He would have never seen it if Eskel hadn’t pointed it out.

 He had pored over the maps, he knew the basic route. But he also knew that witcher trail was enigmatic and didn’t show itself to non witchers or non magical humans. He knew he would only find it, and find his way to the end of it with the guidance of Eskel and Geralt.

 Even after they squeezed through the branches, this offshoot trail seemed to blend into the surroundings.  Dandelion was sure he would have been lost in moments without the witchers there to guide him. They crossed creeks where Dandelion would have lost the trail, but they picked it up instinctively without hesitation, and climbed.

 They climbed and climbed.  Dandelion’s ears tingled with the cold, and his hands gripping Buttercup’s reins became stiff and sore despite the gloves.

 Wind whipped around them, and sometimes branches twacked his cloak as he passed. The sound of his own breath grew louder in his ears.  He made sure to keep Scorpion and Eskel in his sights at all times.

 He kept his head up and strained to see all around him. He walked a trail few non magical humans ever got to see. This was special. He would imprint every sensation into his memory banks.  

 He would remember the green of the pine, the fresh smoke smell.  This was the scent he always sensed on Eskel. He was on an adventure, but Eskel was returning home. He would see Eskel at home, which meant he would truly know him, as much as a person can know another.

 Hours past, and the sun lowered in the sky. But Dandelion wasn’t weary.  He was exhausted, but not weary. He pulled the cloak tight. His legs burned. But he rejoiced, and strained to see the first glimpse of that ancient, legendary keep he’d dreamt of for so long.

 When Kaer Morhen jutted out before him above the peaks of the trees, he didn’t even see it at first.  The gray stones of the keep practically blended into the mountain, and gray mist hung around its turrets.

 It wasn’t until they came to a stop and Eskel shouted back, pointing, that Dandelion’s gaze materialized and his mind interpreted what he was seeing.

 Kaer Morhen.

 Caer a'Muirehen

 Keep of the Elder Sea

 When he knew what he was looking at, the pieces of it suddenly sharpened.  The outer and inner walls. The balconies and parapets.  

 It was like seeing a mystical place.  A legend.  A secret, only unlocked for the magical and mutated. And it was being opened for him. Sex worker of Sodden, Viscount of Vice, and now, Eskel’s angel.

 He gazed in wonder. It was only after his throat began to feel sore that he realized his jaw had dropped and he’d been breathing the cold air through his mouth.

 He’d stopped momentarily and Eskel had waited patiently. He licked his chapped dry lips and mouthed the word,

 “Wow!”

 Eskel smiled proudly.

 The book Dandelion had stuffed in his bags to keep his drawing for Eskel safe had been his main source of information about the old castle.  He wasn’t sure why he’d brought it with him. He was trying to keep his witcher fixation subtle after all.  But he hadn’t been able to resist. And of course sketches cannot do the real, actual thing justice.

 The sketches in the book were from its infancy, when it was shiny and new. Before the attacks. The majestic, crumbling architecture was everything he had imagined and more.

 After allowing him to gape for a few moments, Eskel urged them on.

 The air grew thinner, and his head lightened. Eskel began to stop often to check on him and offer him water. Buttercup was showing remarkable stoicism. So were Roach and Scorpion, but that had been expected. They’d taken this road many times.

 When they emerged from the last line of trees before the keep. Dandelion stopped cold, face tilted up to take in as much of it as he could. It was more stunning than he could have imagined.  Now he could make out the balustrades, the walkways atop the walls. This was a massive keep, with few equals outside of royal domains.

 He vaguely heard Eskel murmuring to Geralt, asking him to wait.

 After a few moments, he reminded himself that he would be here all winter. He would have all the time in the world to stare at Kaer Morhen.

 “You ready?” Asked Eskel.

“I’m ready,” said Dandelion.

 The first part of the keep that they approached was the outer defensive wall.  It was bordered by two barbicans and in its center was a massive wooden gate. 

 The moat lay in front of it, ringed in dark green moss.  The muddy banks around the top of the moat hinted that it had once been deeper. The water shimmered dark and the moon sparkled off of the ripples where minnows poked up their heads. 

 The bridge was a stone path that was bumpy in places. In the twilight, it would require some amount of concentration to cross.

“Are you ok,” asked Eskel. “Not too light headed?”

 “I’m good,” nodded Dandelion.

 “Walk in front,” said Eskel. “We’ll have Butterscotch follow Scorpion.”

 Dandelion took the first few steps.  He kept his eyes carefully on the path in front of him, intent not to trip on any rocks.

 But when he was about halfway across, the gleam of something white in the shallow water on his left caught his eyes.  He quickly glanced, and the shape of the white object brought him to a swift stand still.

 It looked like a bone. 

 It couldn’t be. But in the dimness of dusk it looked as such. Dandelion couldn’t help but stop and stare. Eskel and Geralt came to a stop behind him with the procession of horses. Dandelion pointed.

 “That looks like a bone,” he said, and he felt stupid as he said it. Why would it be a bone?

 “It is, love,” said Eskel, drawing closer and placing a hand on his lower back.

 Then other sparkles of white emerged from the water, once Dandelion knew what he was looking for. It dawned on him slowly that there were white shaped objects all over the floor of the moat, resting quietly.

 “Yes. Well,” said Dandelion, voice unsure. He knew about the attack on the keep.  As disturbing as it was, these men had done this to themselves, attacking the witchers and slaughtering them. This was the best they deserved.  “I supposed it’s a good reminder to your enemies. Never again.”

 Eskel leaned in to kiss him on the temple. Dandelion smiled bravely. He didn’t consider himself a coward. But a watery graveyard of bones still wasn’t something he relished.

 “No, those are mostly the witchers we lost,” said Eskel.

 Dandelion’s heart sunk. “All of your brothers-in-arms are in there?”

 Eskel squeezed him tight by the waist.

 He slid out of Eskel’s arms and knelt by the water, sweeping his eyes over the water, making out different kinds of bones: skulls, femurs, hands. The passing of clouds obscured them, then cleared, and they glistened at him once more.

 Dandelion realized that every time Eskel walked in and out of the keep, the bones of his people watched him quietly. They were posed as they had fallen, in violent death, betrayed by the very people who had created them, who had needed them, until they didn’t.

 Dandelion couldn’t help picturing the bones of his parents in there. Could he walk by them? Bare and exposed? 

 Eskel knelt beside him, leathers creaking.

 “Are you alright?”

 Dandelion sighed and swallowed. He looked for his voice and was grateful to find it.  “It’s not about me, I know,” he said distantly, unable to yank his eyes from the scene before him. “It’s just. They weren’t buried. Or burned. Why not?”

 “Vesemir said it was so we wouldn’t forget,” Eskel said gently.

 “But. Did you do anything for them?” He asked softly. “To honor them?” He couldn’t, wouldn’t, shame the very people most traumatized by the siege. But he couldn’t understand it. 

 “No,” said Eskel. “I suppose at the time we didn’t think about it. We were all--”

 “In shock?” said Dandelion. “Numb?” He understood that. He’d been numb and had avoided properly grieving for years. Until Eskel had burst into his life. Until Eskel had sliced the light of his life out of a basilisk belly.

 “Yes,” said Eskel. “We mostly tended to Vesemir. He was here you know. We found him under the corpse of his mentor. It’s how he survived.”

 “Oh,” said Dandelion.  He gazed, now unseeing, over the water.  “That’s awful.” There weren't any words for it, really. “And you just get used to this?” 

 “It doesn’t help to dwell on something you can’t change,” said Geralt. It was only then that Dandelion realized that Geralt had come up to stand next to them.  He loomed above, with crossed arms.

 “That’s true,” Dandelion said, looking up at Geralt. “But. Ah it’s just—” He stopped. “Nevermind. It’s not about me.” His voice faltered, and he clenched his fists. He blinked and bit his tongue.

 “I’ll see you two inside,” said Geralt abruptly. His voice sounded husky. He stepped around them and trudged towards the keep without another word. Roach clomped lightly around them too, following his witcher.

 Dandelion turned to Eskel. His eyes were adjusting to the darkening sky. The patience and tenderness in Eskel’s eyes almost undid him. This was Eskel’s tragedy. Why was he holding Dandelion’s hand through  his  shock?

 “I’m sorry,” said Dandelion. “I upset him. I. Was just surprised.”

 Eskel took his chin and pulled him to look into his eyes.

 “It’s ok,” he said. “If he’s upset, it isn’t your doing. I’ll check on him later.”

 Dandelion smiled ruefully. “And he was just getting used to me.”

 Eskel chuckled.

 “Used to you?  Is that what you think happened here these last few days? He got used to you?”

 Dandelion nodded. “He let me braid his hair.  He laced the bodice for me.”

 “Oh sweetness,” said Eskel, pulling him in for an encompassing, tight hug. “Geralt doesn’t just let people touch him. He doesn’t just loan out his clothes.  That was him shouting affection.”

 Dandelion pulled back enough to look into Eskel’s sparkling eyes.

“Really?” He asked.

Eskel nodded. “Really.”

 Dandelion nuzzled back into his neck. There they were, sitting on the stones in a pathway surrounded by gleaming bones, and Dandelion had never felt so safe.

 “I’m proud of you,” whispered Eskel. 

 Dandelion had a deficit of people saying they were proud of him. It happens by nature when you don’t have parents.  So he tucked that feeling away in his heart.

 “So. About Geralt,” said Dandelion. “If lending me gloves, and allowing me to touch him without violence is affection, then he worships you.”

 Eskel made a tsking noise. “Eh, it's complicated. We were kind of something more for awhile...but then...” there was a pause. “It was his choice. I understood. He can have anyone.”

 “He said himself that he makes terrible choices,” said Dandelion.

 Again it was silent.  Dandelion watched a crawdad skip across the water.

 “I’m with you now,” said Eskel softly.

 “Darling,” said Dandelion. “Love is an infinite resource.”

 “What do you mean?” asked Eskel.

 “I mean...” now Dandelion was searching for words. “I mean that, while I would not like to share you with just anyone, there are people who only increase the amount of love available.  Geralt is a part of you. And I don’t believe in a love that requires you to cut off part of who you are.”

 Dandelion forced himself to look out over the moat again. “Different people give you different things. He anchors you. He was there. I’m the lark who gives you new wings. We can both matter.”

 Eskel squeezed him again.  “I don’t even know what to say.”

 “You don’t have to say anything,” said Dandelion.

They held each other long enough to shake the cold of the trail. They held each other until Scorpion and Buttercup began complaining. The horses must have sensed Roach inside, eating oats without them.

 “Let’s get you inside and warmed up,” said Eskel. “And now that you’ve spent a week puffing me up, let’s see if I still fit in the door.” 

 He stood and held out his hand for Dandelion to take.

 "Very good. Any advice for making a good impression on the rest of your family?" asked Dandelion.

 "Sure," said Eskel. "Ignore Lambert."

 -----

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Black Cloth and Star Systems- Fusion AU

Ao3,   MasterPost,  More of This AU

Legally speaking this is the second installment in my fusion au, and u should definitely read the first one!! but it is not necessary to understand this one.

Relationships: Romantic Analogical, (briefly) mentioned romantic Royality

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, minor insecurity (it is Logan after all), one (1) kiss, excessive cuddling, Virgil and the Logan/Virgil fusion both have monster-like traits (big teef, pointy ears, nocturnal eyes, etc.), the fusion is also agender because I said so, and seriously lots of flowery descriptions cuz I was really having a good time with this one. Oh, and lack of sleep/unhealthy sleep schedules, brief mention of paranoia (very very minor), and I think I accidentally implied that Virgil has ADHD but that’s par for the course. 

Word Count: 3,797

Logan stared at the ceiling of his room, tired eyes tracing over the patterns etched into it. They were irregular, scrawls and lines that bumped up from the plaster and stretched on and on. If he squinted, they could almost look like maps- charting and directing the reader across a very foreign land, and in addition the reader might not be good with following maps, which would explain why this one seemed so vague. Or maybe it wasn’t showing a place at all. Nowhere real, at the very least. 

Oh, what the fuck was he talking about. The ceiling was a goddamn ceiling, and Logan was exhausted.

Sleeping would be the ideal solution, and it was something he definitely wasn’t opposed to, but by this point it was borderline impossible. Logan could shut his eyes, but he knew all he’d see would be that blinding flash of pink light. He could try and try to relax beneath his blanket, but still he would see double-set of eyes, swirling between emerald green and cinnamon brown, set behind big cutesy-framed glasses. He’d picture those two pairs of arms, that staggering display of height, and the body that was decorated with gold and crimson and sky-blue. 

What he was seeing was beyond understanding, and it was all that he could think about. His friends had fused. Patton and Roman, out of pretty much nowhere, had become one being right before everyone’s eyes. One burly, talkative, and endlessly fascinating being.

Like any person who persistently sought knowledge, Logan had taken to investigating the new creature at once. He’d had questions, burning questions, but Patron- as he’d named himself- had requested some alone time in his new form. It was a perfectly reasonable ask, so Logan resolved to postpone his interviewing until Patron was ready. But then, just as he was looking forward to finding out more about him that next morning, he was back to being two sides. Two sickeningly sweet sides who were way too caught up in their new relationship to answer any of Logan’s questions copacetically (All their answers had been full of purple prose, talking about how fusing was just the most amazing thing, and providing no real insight into it at all). 

Logan, presented with bizarre occurrences and offered no explanation, was understandably restless, abuzz with curiosity, and frustrated. And, if he was being honest, he was interested in the topic beyond what could be considered objective study, as well.

Very interested, in fact. He found himself wondering that… perhaps… Was he also capable of fusion?

Yes, the best way to learn about it would be to experience first-hand, so that would solve that problem. But that was hardly Logan’s entire reason for wanting to try it; Patton had soundly reported that forming Patron helped his and Roman’s communication by miles. Specifically vis a vis their more affectionate emotions, which really ended up being the thesis of the whole ordeal. It was, fundamentally, a very affectionate thing. 

Logan sat up abruptly, shooting a glare at his door from across the room. This was getting ridiculous; it would be a horrible idea to try something as significant as fusing with so little information on it. Just because it seemed self-explanatory didn’t mean that it was, and the results could be unstable and catastrophic!

But. 

But it wouldn’t be. There was the side he knew- the side he trusted- well enough to believe that it wouldn’t really go so awry.

Logan was making excuses.

What was there to be explained verbally that wouldn’t be much easier to just experience? Patron had proved two things: 1, fusing could happen, and 2, fusing could un-happen without issue. Any of the specifics would be figured out best by firsthand experience, that was pretty evident.

So Logan was making a few excuses, and maybe he was a bit scared about the whole thing, but so what? It was a moot point anyway, because Virgil would never want to participate in it, anyway. The idea of fusion would only upset the anxious side, maybe send him spiraling, and that was the last thing Logan wanted. 

With a groan, Logan flopped back down onto his bed, resuming his studious observation of the popcorn-patterned ceiling.

… 

Yeah, it wasn’t working.

Logan dragged himself up yet again, flinging the covers off of his legs harshly. He sat, immobile, glaring down just past the foot of his bed for an uncertain amount of time. He then heaved a very over dramatic sigh, kicked his legs over the side of his mattress, and stood. He set his feet down as though the carpet had personally wronged him, trodding across the room and throwing his door open with the same temperament. 

 The hallway was pitch dark, but Logan barely noticed it. He made his way down the stairs, the map of the Mindpalace splaying out in his head and directing him as well as light would. As soon as he hit the bottom of the stairs, his (moody) stomping ceased, for the time being. He tipped his head to one side, confused, as he listened out. 

There was a perfect silence.

An abrupt perfect silence. The very specific type of quiet that was too clearly manufactured. Such a- a tense hush could only be brought about by someone deliberately holding their breath. 

Logan shuffled his feet, peering into the blackness. Something shifted over by the couch, and the gleam of two reflectively-paneled eyes made themselves apparent. Logan yelped in fright, stumbling over his legs and bumping his back into the wall. 

There was a thump from across the room, a curse of ‘oh, shit’, and another shimmer from those eyes, animalistic and narrow. 

“Logan?” A gravelly voice asked, “Is that you?”

Logan blinked, staring at the dark silhouette that had come to stand before him. Animalistic, perhaps, but very very tall, and very very person-shaped. 

“Virgil?”

A lamp clicked on, washing the room in low and orange light, revealing that the creature was indeed Virgil. He looked considerably more human, now that he could be seen past his imposing outline- and he also looked more tired. 

Somehow, despite all of the other oddities in their situation, Logan found himself preoccupied by the smallest detail.

“Your eyes, Dear,” he drew forward for a closer look,  “How haven’t I noticed? They’re reflective!”

Virgil shrugged impassively, leaning down to let Logan hold his head and examine the unusual feature. 

“You can’t really tell unless it’s very dark out, or if you know what you’re looking for. I guess it just never came up.”

“But you can see in the dark, then?” Logan asked, perfectly aware that he sounded more than a little awed. Virgil just snorted, looking endeared. 

“Yup,” he popped the ‘p’, “Is it that big of a surprise?”

Logan turned the question over in his mind, but after a moment he shook his head, no. Virgil already had a multitude of unique attributes- his fangs, his claws, and a few more distinct things that only appeared when he got particularly stressed. (All of the sides had traits like those, actually. Of them, Logan was certainly the most average- the only discrepancy had to be his slightly exaggerated proportions, and even that couldn’t compare to some of the others’.)

Virgil hummed vacantly, shifting his weight a few times over. He kneaded his shoulder, glancing down at Logan with sudden interest. 

“So, what’s up with you? It’s like, three in the morning.” 

Logan stiffened, but tried to disguise the worry. 

“I could ask you the same question,” he deflected, ineffectively. Virgil only smirked in response. 

“I mean, I guess you could: paranoia, pent up energy, general inability to focus- you know, the stuff that keeps me up every night. You, though,” Virgil hovered over him, making him tilt his head back to keep eye-contact with their height difference. Logan felt his face flush, though it was only partially due to embarrassment. “You don’t stay up late, L, like ever.”

“I’ve just been thinking a lot,” he once more evaded. 

“You’re always thinking,” Virgil responded with a laugh, but he stood up straighter and gave Logan his space. Logan glanced up, confused, only to get a shrug by way of reply. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, babe. I’m not gonna, like, interrogate you. I just… wanna make sure you’re okay, is all.”

“Oh,” he smiled, “Yes, I am. Thank you.”

Virgil gestured to the couch, returning the smile.

“Wanna stay up with me? Might help you get your mind off whatever it’s on.”

Logan relaxed at that, nodding a bit sleepily as he followed his partner to the sofa. 

Virgil’s arm was twined around Logan’s waist, holding him into the taller trait’s side as they sat comfortably on the couch. In the near pitch dark, Virgil’s laptop was propped up against the coffee table, the screen lit up by slightly unnerving YouTube animations. 

Truth be told, though, Logan had paid attention to exactly none of them. He had a few reasons for this: one, he was very sleepy. Two, Virgil was warm- much warmer than himself, as Logan had always had strangely cold skin, and the heat was calming. And three, he was still caught up in his own thoughts, albeit less frantic and frightened versions of them by this point.

He knew that Virgil could easily sense his anxiety, but still, Anxiety did not pry. Add that to the many-paged list of reasons why Logan appreciated him as much as he did. 

Appreciate him he did, yes, and he also- he trusted him. Completely. To such a degree that, in the serene partial-silence between the couple, Logan found himself wondering what would happen if he just… told Virgil? If he explained what was on his mind, would it really upset him as much as he feared? The idea of fusing, well, just talking about it couldn’t be too much of a disaster. They were too strong, too stable for that.

“Virge?” Logan didn’t turn to look at him as he spoke. The name was really just a murmur on his lips, uttered noncommittally and with the hope that it might just go unheard.

With a soft click, the video paused, and Virgil shifted. 

“Yeah?”

Oh. He was really doing this.

“Could I ask you about something?” Logan would’ve left it at that, but feeling Virgil tense up beside him, he hurried to elaborate: “It’s nothing bad, my love, I just- it’s what’s been worrying me, this evening.”

“Uh- ask away, I guess..”

Logan took a deep breath, feeling his heart rate increase concerningly. He was thankful for the lack of light in the room; if the embarrassed heat spreading across his face was any indication, he likely looked just as nervous as he felt.

He exhaled, trying to focus on Virgil’s arm around him instead of the worries. Everything would be alright.

“You remember when Patton and Roman fused, I trust?”

There was an almost subtle intake of breath from Virgil. 

“Yeah, I wasn’t about to forget something like that, L.”

“Right, of course,” Logan found Virgil’s hand and wound their fingers together, fiddling with them. “I just wanted to know your thoughts on the situation.”

There was a beat.

“Um. I’m just relieved that they could get back to normal, I guess. I was sorta worried they’d get stuck- which doesn’t make a lot of sense in hindsight, but with how clingy they both are, I mean…” 

Logan hummed, encouraging him to go on, despite the intelligent side’s swiftly fading hope.

“But, like, now that I know they’re okay, I guess it’s not really any of my business?” Hesitation laced Virgil’s voice, as though he wasn’t sure what he was meant to say. “Other than that, though, I just think it’s kind of weird. Like, the whole idea of it. Fusion.”

“‘Weird’ in a negative sense?”

“I don’t know, man,” Virgil huffed, “I mean, I’m not a big fan of cartoons but- it’s weird like it’s interesting, weird like I wanna know more. If that makes any sense.”

Oh. That was promising.

“It does make sense,” Logan whispered, desperately emphatic. The glow of Virgil’s eyes turned to him, wide enough that they looked like little full moons.

“Did you-” he stopped short. Inhaled sharply. Then asked it all in a rush: “Are you asking because you wanted to try it? With me?”

Logan stayed silent, gripping too-tight to his boyfriend’s hand. He sounded… surprised? But maybe not upset? 

Oh, who was he kidding, he’d never been able to read tones, really, and it was too dark to try and figure out Virgil’s body language. He’d just have to go blind on this one.

“Yes,” Logan blurted, immediately holding his breath for a response.

Virgil was as stiff as a board. His hand was frozen in place, his gaze boring into Logan. 

“Are you sure?” 

His tone was soft, sweet, and so so careful. Logic blinked. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from Virgil, but he knew that it wasn’t something so… gentle.

“I- maybe? It’s not necessary, if you don’t think you’d be comfortable with-”

“That’s not what I was asking,” Virgil interjected, “I wanna know if you’re sure that you want this, not how you think I feel.”

Logan mumbled an apology, feeling oddly chastised. He collected his thoughts and tried again.

“Yes, I’m sure. I- I trust you, Virgil.”

Virgil relaxed considerably, his head dropping to rest in Logan’s hair. 

“Okay. Good.”

And with that, he went quiet again. The show was not unpaused, though. Logan wondered if he was meant to say something, and if so he wondered what it was. But in the end he couldn’t make any sound at all.

Virgil’s hand slipped out of his, instead moving to the back of his neck. Logan instinctively leaned forward with its direction, letting himself be held close. In turn, he wrapped his arms around Virgil’s waist, turning sideways into him. He was close enough now to hear the beat of the anxious side’s heart, which was always rather quicker than anyone else's. This time, though, it was like a hummingbird’s, hammering loud and excited.

Logan tilted his head (as much as he could) in confusion. Had the conversation somehow affected Virgil more than it first seemed? Was something about the situation that spiked his anxiety? But that didn’t add up, either, because his breathing was completely even, and he wouldn’t let anyone be this close to him if he really was panicking.

Before Logan could ask what- if anything- was wrong, Virgil nestled his face in his hair, holding him impossibly tighter. And at that point, they were pressed flush together head-to-toe. And that was what made it click. 

Oh, they were doing this now. This- this was Virgil’s way of attempting- 

Logan hooked his ankle around Virgil’s, clumsily attempting to reciprocate the- erm, the Thing That They Were Trying. Heat rose in his cheeks at even the thought of it. 

What was he supposed to do? Was there some way to activate it? Was it enough to simply touch, or was movement required to fuse? What if they couldn’t get it to work at all? That would make plenty of sense, Logan was logic and what was the possibility that he’d follow the same rules as, say, Roman-

“Hey.”

Logan glanced up, his neck straining at the angle. Virgil was gazing down at him, pupils expanded with fondness, his fingers easing through the hairs at the back of Logan’s neck.

“Calm down, okay?” 

Logan might have commented on the irony of that, but Virgil was leaning forward and pressing their lips together oh-so gently, and all his thoughts flew out of the proverbial window as he kissed back. 

It was soft, light, maybe a little clumsy. The touch was barely-there, really, just ghosting. And then it wasn’t there, at all. The feeling faded, as did so many others, but neither of them were moving apart- or at least, they didn’t think that they were. If anything, they seemed to be getting closer, and closer, but-

Closer to what, exactly?

They opened their eyes. Wait, no, they blinked a couple of times- ah, there, they opened all- five?- of their eyes. Not only was it no longer pitch black, but it seemed that lights had been conjured above them, dozens of tiny purple and blue tea lights that cast the living room in a pleasant glow.

Had- had they caused that? Somehow?

Conjuring on accident- how did they manage that? And what else could they do? What couldn’t they do, though, in this new form? Something like them was bound to have limitations.

They stood up sharply, and immediately cracked their head against the ceiling. They yelped in pain, silently amending that standing up straight while indoors was the first limitation to note. They hunched over, managing to keep upright if they just bent their knees and tilted their neck. And that brought on a much more important investigation into themself: their new physical form.

They were obviously very tall, but also sort of- long in general? Their limbs, their fingers, their face, every feature was very narrow, almost spider-like. And, on the topic of spider-like limbs, they had two sets of arms; one in the usual place, but another placed behind that, curving around from just under their shoulder blades. In addition, their fingers, lithe and spindly, were six on each hand. Despite the unordinary length to many of their appendages, though, they were still noticeably muscular. Wide shoulders, a defined abdomen, and sturdy legs.

With a sharp wave of their hand, they conjured a full-body mirror to hang in front of them, promptly leaning over to examine themself.

Their face was made of edges; sharp cheekbones, pointed ears, and blocky glasses that covered all of their eyes but the middle one. They ran their fingers through their shaggy, curled up hair- a good deal of which fluffed forwards past their forehead and into their face. It was mixed colors, swirls of purple and blue blending together in soft, bouncy locks. 

They had interesting features aplenty, but one thing stood out dramatically. One thing that drew their attention at once. 

The mouth.

Their lips were dark- almost black, with hints of color toned under it. They dragged a finger along it, but it didn’t wipe away like makeup. They opened their mouth, revealing long needles of teeth, dozens and dozens of them top and bottom- all except for the upper canines. Those were thick, overly large, and tinted with purple. They ended in dangerous looking points, shoving out past the new side’s lips even when they closed their mouth, appearing much like an arachnid's venomous mandibles. 

They took a step back from the mirror, experimentally poking their big fangs. To their surprise, the teeth moved; just a wiggle, but enough to show that they were mobile, that they could be flexed and retracted. Well, that was...

That was sick as hell.

Now, to investigate their outfit: they were a little monstrous, sure, but also very smartly dressed. They wore a navy blue plaid waistcoat, laid overtop of a pastel purple sweater, which in turn was beneath a plain, black, short-sleeved button-up shirt. Their tie was a simple white with subdued flecks of violet and sapphire, dotted to look intentionally asymmetrical. 

Their lower half also bore a layered aesthetic: sheer lavender leggings beneath strategically ripped black jeans. They also wore a short, tight skirt over it, the color and pattern matching that of their waistcoat. A few chains dangled from the belt loops on their hips, clinking a little as they moved. They had sleek black shoes with small platforms, something vaguely Demonia-style. Altogether, the look was a strange blend of elegant and alternative. Strange, but very, very, very… becoming, to say the least. 

They couldn’t help staring at themself. Actually, ogling might be the more accurate word. They were hot, was that vain to say? If it was, they didn’t particularly care, because it was true. Of all the things they could have been together, confident wasn’t expected, but it was more than welcome. Because- damn.

Five minutes of gawking at their own reflection wound up being enough, in the end, and they forced themself to wave the mirror back out of existence. There were so many more things to consider about themself, after all, and that just couldn’t wait any longer. There were infinite things to know, God, they were a new creature entirely.

It was… it was overwhelming. They had so many questions. They had so many concerns, millions of them, and millions of thoughts that didn’t fit into either of the aforementioned categories, thoughts that existed just to fill up space in a head that suddenly felt overpacked. Too many minds in such a reduced space.

It’s okay, they thought, sucking in a deep, slow breath, One at a time, Dear.

There’s too much. I can’t see it all. I can’t explain all of it.

Which half of them was that? Was it… both? Both of them, comforting and receiving comfort? What an impossible creation they’d become! Wait, no, they had to focus on calming down before they gave that any thought. 

We can’t get to all of it, they agreed with themself, Some of it, though, certainly.

Like what?

They thought for a moment.

We could start with a name?

Oh. That’s probably important.

Yes, just a bit. 

They let their breath out in a laugh, pulling their sleeves past their hands and curling their fingers in the fabric. It took only a second of contemplation before, quite promptly, they knew what they were going to be called from now on. They knew their name, and everything else began to click into place from there.

Livril.

They sighed, contented, and sat back into the corner of the sectional. They didn’t exactly fit, curling up on the couch as they had before, but they were easily flexible enough to find a way. Now that they knew their name, they could really start learning who exactly Livril was.

There was so much they could learn from this, so many things they could enjoy this way. What music did they like? (Probably sad. Most certainly folk punk.) How did they speak? (sharply, they would guess.) How did they move? (Quick, startling, definitely fidgety.)

And that was hardly all, though it was a good start. There was so much more to get to, and they intended to answer all of it as soon as possible.

...But that ‘as soon as possible’ would probably be in the morning, because Livril fell asleep exactly two minutes after their head hit the couch cushion.

Taglist: @shrimp-crockpot @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob 

[feathersandpaintbrushes]

Entye

ENTYE -  “Debt”

— Chapter 3: Partnership

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 4,

Summary: The Mandalorian and Kas learn how to share a ship.

Warnings: mild injury, language, combat (should slow burn be a warning?)

Characters: the Mandalorian (Din Djarin), the child, original character

Disclaimer: Slow burn is an understatement. Don’t worry, it’s worth the wait! Also, I took a long break (almost a year) without posting more of the story. I didn’t stop writing though and have about 15 chapters saved up. Oops.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her new life on the Razor Crest wasn’t the most ideal, but it worked more naturally than the solitude of Hoth, despite the many oddities and complications.

There was only one bed, for one.

The first week had passed in a sleep deprived blur for Kas, though she suspected the Mandalorian suffered as much as her.  The fact was that they simply did not trust each other.  Sure, she’d saved his life and he’d offered her a place on his ship, but she was slow to trust anyone anymore.  Especially a masked bounty hunter.  And she couldn’t blame him for not trusting her either.  It had taken days for Kas to not unholter her blaster every time the Mandalorian entered the room, and she was certain this did not encourage him to trust her in return.

But they’d gotten used to each other.  The child was closely attached to the Mandalorian, and for a few days he’d regarded Kas with wide eyes.  But he’d relaxed around her first, crawling onto her lap or chewing on the hilt of her dagger.  And slowly, steadily, she’d gotten more comfortable around the Mandalorian.  Stopped flinching when he reached for something near her.  Stopped freezing with a racing heart as he passed her in the narrow spaces of the ship.  Eventually she’d grown so exhausted by lack of sleep that she’d caved, collapsing on the small bed fully clothed and passed out for hours, not even reaching for her blaster when a gloved hand had shaken her awake.  She’d watched, bemused, as he stumbled headfirst into the bed the second she was out of it, muffled snores coming out all metallic under the helmet he never took off.

Strangely, the single bed was the easiest barrier to hurdle once they got over the fear of being vulnerable while asleep.  The simple fact was that it didn’t make sense for both of them to sleep at the same time anyhow.  One of them had to be up either steering the ship or watching the child.  Kas wasn’t the best pilot; while she was able to keep an eye on things while the ship was in hyperspeed, or man the ship during long stretches of empty space, she was quick to call for the Mandalorian when asteroids or another ship blipped on their radar.

And so their routine became established, sleeping in shifts, spending their waking hours in comfortable silence, slowly learning to speak easily in front of each other.  Their conversations always danced around safe topics – the past, his helmet, personal questions of any kind really – were all subjects they avoided out of respect, and fear that the other might ask similar questions in turn.  But the Mandalorian had a sense of humor that was surprising, and more enjoyable because of it.  Dry sarcasm and gentle teasing were languages they had in common, and when all else failed they could talk to or about the child.  The first morning she found herself humming under her breath as she prepared food for the child was the first morning she realized that she liked it on the ship.  Enjoyed this life, despite the inconveniences and oddities. 

It wasn’t ideal; the bathroom was small and cramped and the sonic shower didn’t always work, forcing her to use the incredibly unreliable real shower; the water sputtered out smelling of sulfur and even gas on one occasion.  But, Kas reflected one particularly annoying morning as the sonic shower refused to turn on even after repeatedly hitting it, and the water pressure left her trying to rinse shampoo out of her hair with a gentle mist, it was better than breaking off chunks of ice to boil in her one small pot and shivering violently while cleaning one small part of her body at a time.

Food was tricky.  The child was nearly always ravenous, and the Mandalorian refused to even sip bone broth in front of her.  This left him crankier than normal and her exasperated to no end until she put a foot down.  A shouting match ended in an uneasy truce that saw her banished to the cockpit with the child for a half hour three times a day so the Mandalorian could hastily gulp down food before the child inevitably escaped her grasp and made its way to the Mandalorian again. 

No, Kas thought to herself as she watched the stars wiz by in hypnotic lines as the ship hurtled through space, the only part about the last month that she couldn’t handle was the feeling that she was trapped.

There really was no escape in a ship this size.  While showering that morning she’d listened sleepily to the muffled shouts and bangs as the Mandalorian tried to stop the child from tearing the ship apart.  She’d eaten her rations on a cramped stool with one hand while gripping the child’s smock in another.  She’d smacked her head so hard on the Mandalorian’s helmet while they both reached for the same fallen tool that her vision had gone black for a moment and she’d gripped to the ship while listening to the Mandalorian’s poorly muffled laughter.  She woke up to the sound of the Mandalorian animatedly discussing the passing stars with the child, despite its inability to speak Basic.  She fell asleep at night to the smell of a stranger on her pillow and the sounds of the Mandalorian fiddling around with the ship’s constantly needed repairs.

Kas missed walking and running and riding the Tuan Tuans.  She missed the stretch and burn in her arms as she climbed a rocky crest in search of something to eat.  It had been three weeks since they’d left the desert planet.  Her arm had ached and itched and burned at intervals, but she’d gently moved it and strengthened it each day, doing pull ups on the ladder or pushups in the narrow hallway, often with the child clambering on her.  Still, she was antsy.  She wished she could work on maintaining and modifying weapons, but still didn’t feel comfortable with the Mandalorian to ask to mess around with his weapon store yet.  She was bored and stir crazy and tired of smelling the same air every day.

“Kas.”

She jumped, fingers automatically reaching for the hilt of her blaster, though she’d long since stopped wearing it around the ship.  The Mandalorian stood next to the captain’s seat, and she cursed him internally for his soft footedness.

“I thought there was another hour left before you got up at least,” she murmured, rubbing a tired hand over her eyes.

“We’re running low on fuel,” the Mandalorian murmured softly; the child must still be asleep then. “I actually came up to see if there was any planet in particular you’d like to stop to refuel at.”

Kas blinked, trying to force her brain into linear thoughts after hours of allowing them to drift aimlessly as she did the monotonous task of “keeping an eye” on things when the ship was on autopilot.

“Somewhere with rain,” she said, surprised at the sudden longing that swept through her.  How long had it been since she’d seen rain? Or something green?

“Rain with cliffs or rain with forests?”

“Cliffs,” Kas said firmly, arms flexing unconsciously as she thought of climbing one until she was higher than the clouds.

---

“Is this what you were hoping for?” Slight skepticism and maybe, if she was right, just a touch of amusement saturated the Mandalorian’s normally crisp words.

“Yes,” Kas breathed, unbuckling her seatbelt quickly and skipping the last few rungs on the ladder in her haste to get to the downpour that was echoing like hail inside the metal ship.

Outside was cold and crisp and clean and Kas stumbled slightly in her eagerness to get out from the sheltering confines of the ship’s entry.

Rain showered against the bare skin of her arms, plastering her thick hair to her neck.  She laughed as she raised her face to the clouds and opened her mouth to let sweet tasting water cover her tongue.  It was elixir.

Opening her eyes she saw the Mandalorian crouching under the safety of the ship’s awning, watching the child splash in a small puddle nearby.

“It’s good for him to be outside like this,” Kas puffed as she jogged over to them.  The Mandalorian lifted his helmet from the child and looked her up and down, taking in her dripping hair and saturated clothes. 

“It seems like he’s not the only one enjoying it.”  The Mandalorian’s voice was as dry as a desert, and she laughed. 

--

They’d parked in a small space port attached to an equally small town.  After paying the alien who owned the port and maintenance shop to refuel and run some minor repairs on the ship, the three of them set out in the rain in search of new supplies and food.

The rain still hadn’t let up, and while Kas and the child delighted in it, the Mandalorian seemed less enthusiastic.  Could a helmet have a sour expression? Kas wondered, smirking as the man’s shoulders rose up high as a stream of water from the roof above splashed against him.

She wasn’t sure how it was possible for a man to look half drowned when he was fully clothed and covered in heavy armor to boot, but she’d never seen someone less enthusiastic about rain before.  The relief coming off the Mandalorian in waves was palpable as they ducked into a small building with a sign out front identifying it as a sort of trade center.

Inside was a maze of spices and ration packs and weapons and medical supplies.  Kas’s fingers twitched and she started towards a particularly lovely display of daggers when a movement around her knee distracted her.  She turned in time to see the child waddling quickly back to the open door and caught up to it in a few quick strides.

“Not so fast you little womp rat,” Kas murmured, snatching him up and settling him on her hips.  “Your dad would never forgive me if you got lost.”

The child’s eyes narrowed and its huge ears drooped, making her smile indulgently at it.

“Want to look at some pretty knives?” she cooed, walking over to the display shelf.  “See this one?”

Kas picked up a slim dagger with an arching cross guard and pommel and offered it to the child, who scrunched his little face up in apparent displeasure.

“You’re right,” she said with a laugh.  “Far too fancy.  And so thin! If you didn’t get it exactly between the ribs it’d snap at the first thrust.  How about this one?”

The continued on for several minutes, Kas handing the little one dagger after dagger to inspect with an intent expression.  After several fairly staunch rejections by them both, they finally came across a promising blade.

It was fairly simple, but elegant despite that.  Deadly sharp, with a horn handle and strong crossguards.  No fancy grooves or patterns marred the blade, but the surface seemed to glow slightly. 

“Careful of this one child,” Kas murmured, cautiously placing the hilt in the reaching hand of the little one in her arms.  The child regarded the blade for a long moment, the slightly iridescent surface reflecting in it’s large eyes.  Then, as if in approval, the child turned the blade over and stuck the rounded pommel in its mouth.

“Your girl chose a good blade there.”

Kas spun around to face the shopkeeper, extracting the blade from the child’s grasp in the same movement.

“Not my girl.” The Mandalorian said firmly, stepping out of the shadows with rations piled in his arms.

“I’m not his girl,” Kas laughed, rolling her eyes.  “I’m my own girl.  What do you know about this blade?”

It was songsteel.  Allegedly.  A valuable, strong weapon if it was true.  Kas frowned at the dagger and then the shopkeeper incredulously.  If it was truly songsteel it was invaluable.  And Kas couldn’t afford invaluable.  Besides, she already had a good dagger. 

Feeling only the slightest pang of regret, Kas handed the songsteel back to the shopkeeper and pulled her own dagger from its customary spot on her waist.

“How about this one, little tauntaun?” she murmured, holding her own old dagger out to him.  The blade was chipped in places, and the handle covered in old blood.  But it was freshly sharpened, and the handle fit her hand like a glove.

The child touched it gently and cooed at her with big eyes.  It was with this dagger she’d save the little one’s life.  She wouldn’t trade it for a new one.

--

The rain had left off slightly, leaving the planet green and feeling so alive Kas imagined it was breathing.  The ship still wasn’t ready so they hiked to a small hill overlooking the port, carrying the child and some of the more spoilable rations they’d picked up.

“You’re good with him.”

Kas turned to see the Mandalorian watching, leaned casually against a tree as she threw her knife at targets, to the child’s obvious delight.

“He just likes the chaos,” she said with a laugh, watching the little one wander excitedly after a frog who’d been unlucky enough to catch its eye.

“Sorry about the shopkeeper.”

Kas blinked and then laughed.  “People see what they want to see.  To him we looked like a nice little nuclear family.  No harm done.  Besides, no one would remember a family stopping in, but a bounty hunter and a little green child and a –” she stopped, and then forced out another laugh.  “It really isn’t a big deal,” she assured him.

“Oh, good.”

“Are you sure?” she teased.  “Because it seems like you’re the one who’s upset by it.”

“I’m not – “ The Mandalorian broke off and she could feel him glare at her from behind the helmet.

“Right.  Got a jealous girlfriend or something? I promise not to tell her we’ve been using the same bed.”

That really riled him, and he stood up straight, posture stiff.

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Good,” Kas said, then broke off with a confused laugh.  “Wouldn’t want her to stab me over a little misunderstanding by a shopkeeper.”

Kas turned around and threw her knife back at the target, smiling only slightly when it hit the center again.  She walked to fetch it slowly, feeling confused by the whole interaction.  It was by far the most personal conversation they’d had so far – which was really saying something because in her experience, most men were very keen to tell her how very single they were.  Of course, she thought with more amusement as she wretched the knife out of the log, a Mandalorian was not ‘most men’.  In fact, she still wasn’t convinced he wasn’t a droid.  He stood so stiffly, and a modulator could hide a multitude of sins.

--

They left the planet the next day, to Din’s relief.  They’d spent a little more time in the small town, and Kas had even wrangled the child and himself up a small rock outcrop, passing out fresh bread and meat and some vaguely alcoholic drink when they reached the top, declaring it a ‘fine day for a picnic’ with a wild sort of glee on her face that was only accentuated by the wind that threw her hair around in tangles around her head.  They’d eaten, prevented the child from falling off the cliff, and then climbed back down sore, muddy, and – in Kas and the child’s case – elated.

For Din, watching the planet fade into the distance as he aimed the ship back into space was a relief.  As for Kas…

The woman was in turns solemn, irritated, cheerful, and listless.  She wandered around the ship, moving objects around, poking around in the storage areas, and generally being so distracting that Din ground his teeth behind the privacy of his helmet.

Eventually she’d wandered back into the cockpit and stood over his shoulder until Din thought he might snap.

“Do you want to fight?”

The woman’s voice was… not casual exactly, though it was clear that was the tone she’d been aiming for.  No, Din decided.  It was cautious and a little hopeful.  He looked over his shoulder at her.

Her face was slightly pink, but it was the same look she’d had when examining the knives.  He sighed.

“Sure.”

And so, for several minutes before he got his wits about himself, Din had his ass thoroughly kicked.

Once he got over the initial shock of having a small berserker throwing her entire weight at him, Din got his feet back under himself and started concentrating.

She was small, and very quick, but she lacked armor and therefore really couldn’t afford many direct hits before tiring – her tactic was to get in, get a punch in, and then skitter away.  After noticing this, Din quickly had her back against the side of the ship, his forearm pressed against her throat.

Surprisingly, the woman didn’t look discouraged.  On the contrary, her eyes gleamed and a wide grin split her face.  There was a scar on her lip, he noticed suddenly.

“Oh, this is going to be fun.”

And so it was that they began to spar for a half hour or so before they ate their evening meal.  More and more often they found themselves at a draw, a fact which alarmed Din, but also drove him to fight harder.  And Kas had been right.

It was fun.

[qhostqizmo]

A Well Earned Break

Amon couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been to a pub as dynamic and energetic as this place. Every bench and seat in the building was occupied from one end to another. A few women even boldly took it upon themselves to sit at the edge of bar’s counter. Row after row of table tucked from corner to corner, wall to wall, were covered in dishes and empty tankards; leaving attendants and maidens to hustle swiftly in and fetch them for cleaning. It was messy, it was loud, and it smelled like sweat, liquor, and strong perfume.

Beneath his boots, peanut shells crunched. A few surface-spots stuck to his heels, causing them to peel up from the floor with a sticky squeak. A young woman caught his wandering eye as he stood uncomfortably off the side. She slanted him a smile; her ruby-red lips puckering into a kiss she blew his way with a wink. He quickly adverted his eyes upon spotted the jade beaded bracelet on her wrist. Many individuals throughout the tavern appeared to be wearing the same piece of jewelry, and the symbolize didn’t go without his notice. Different places did different things: sometimes earrings, or neckties, or bracelets, or tattoos; but he recognized a pattern such as that in a venue such as this. It he wanted a ‘good time’, at least he knew where to look.

Face and Penimra already found laps to occupy instead of stools. Even wearing masks, both appeared to be in the same state of bliss: hooded eyes, heads tilted to lean forward with intent, curious hands exploring the surface of the gentleman’s chests they sat on. Their company’s wrists each had the same glistening beaded bracelet as the lady who had previously been giving him a lingering gaze.

He grimaced and looked to his side where Sulhadur stood. The red Dragonborn wasn’t that hard to pick apart. Young; almost innocent, Sul kept his own eyes fixated on the floor and quickly turned away from any approaching curious individuals. If he’d been human, he’d probably have a face as crimson as his the scales on his body were.

Pitying the poor lad, Amon placed a hand upon his shoulder. The sprouting Paladin turned his snout quizzically towards him.

“We don’t have to stay here, Sul. You and I can go, if you’re not comfortable.”

They swallowed nervously. “Maybe-” he choked, turning to shake his head at a Tiefling who begun  sauntering over. She had a lovely figure; no bracelet, and a sullen expression to be so quickly shot down.

Amon snorted back laughter. Tall, youthful, and clearly in good physical health; Sul had caught a lot of eyes rather quickly. They were fresh faces to this region, and a great many intrigued local gazes were trying to size them up for a snack. Sul however seemed more content to be a solitary fish rather than school in the haze of breeding swarms. The ex-nobleman wasn’t sure if he was simply naive, shy, indifferent to the art of sensuality; or all of the above.

“Let’s move around the room,” he offered, “Face and Lord Korvis appear to have this area covered.”

“Good idea.”

Exhaling with relief, Sul trailed at his side as they roamed through the tightly people-packed spaces of the room. A couple of men they passed were being torn apart from a drunken brawl, and there were was an intense beginning of an orgy between a handful of individuals at another table they passed. Some girls giggled; shamefully young for the crowd of old men they were giving their attention to, but the fellow’s looked well-off in their wealth, and women were wearing the jade wristlet as many others. They hit the proverbial jackpot.

Squeezing around a chatty group, Sulhadur’s shoulder collided with Amon’s. He looked up to say something, seeing the eagerness in the Dragonborn’s expression as he looked off. Training his eyes in the same direction, he looked upon a group of individuals who managed to lay claim to a rickety table. The various races were all snarling and chuckling, a board game in front of them Amon recognized as seeing a few times: jump chess.

“I haven’t gotten to play in ages,” the Dragonborn whisper-shouted, his gaze glittering.

Amon winced internally, dreading the idea of pacing around alone. That was his selfishness talking though…

He indicated with a wave towards the group. “Go, introduce yourself. See if they’ll let you in their next game.”

“Why don’t you join me?”

“Jump chess isn’t a particular favorite of mine; besides, I’d probably end up somehow swindled out of coin. You should enjoy yourself now though, like everyone else. Go, I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe you should go look for Pri’cha and the ladies?” Sul offered, something mischievous in his tone. He tilted his maw down; eyes wide and teeth bared in what should have been a grin, but appeared more like a menacing and sadistic smirk. He turned tail; quite literally whacking the tip against the ex-nobleman’s shin, and parted his way through the crowd to the table.

Taking a moment to rub his leg, Amon glimpsed around the room. An older halfling man; probably around his age, wearing jade licked his lips as their gazes jumped to each other. Finding the others sounded like a safer option than standing awkwardly around, alone.

He shuffled his way into the throng; going in the opposite direction of the flirtatious individual. A foot stepped on the edge of his cloak, snagging him backwards as he grumbled and cursed. A half-slurred apology with whisky-scented breath acknowledged him as a shoulder jammed into his ribs. This place was miserably busy; how on Earth did anyone enjoy this sort of atmosphere? And was that the smell of urine coming from the corner of the room? Revolting.

Sure enough, a young lady came whisking by him, trying to balance a full bucket of water and not slash too much of it as another followed with a bristly old mop. The duo cursed and spat at some of their pedestrians, swatting a few towards the door for their behavior. They were about to have their hands full.

Amon sucked in his chest, pulled up his cloak, and slid along the wall to avoid a few drunken fellows to scout along the other side of the pub. His eyes boggled for a moment, spotting Ravamora of all people arm-wrestling a line of folks. A small stash of coin had stacked up in her favor; bets it looked like, and people were howling and hooting as the young elf finally managed to slam down a beefy half-orc’s arm. They growled, shoved back their chair, and immediately the next contestant was taking their place.

Always after a bit of cash, that one. He wondered if she was still somehow cheating to earn it like she had tried on him all those years ago. He sighed, shaking his head.

“Nister Anon!”

Now that was a recognizable voice. Amon strained to listen for its speaker, peering around others knees.

Pri’cha poked a man, squeaking a polite request for them to move. They did, to the ex-nobleman’s surprise. Sometimes he forgot how startling it could be to see a large, sentient bug-like individual in Etheron. When someone such as Pri aimed for your attention, if it wasn’t their wholesome politeness that got you, it was the sheer wondrous oddity of their presence.

“Hello Pri’cha,” he greeted warmly, “having any fun?”

The golden Thri-Kreen’s antenna wriggled. “I an learning a lot about this location’s culture,” they admitted a bit nervously, mandibles twitching. “I do not see Sul, Face, and Pen nith you anynore, nister Anon.”

The ex-nobleman smiled sheepishly, swallowing. “They all found their niche things to do, Pri. What are you doing by yourself? Where is Essie, and Adela?”

“I have been trying to find a barkeep to get drinks! Niss Essie and niss Adela are over there, if you’re looking for them?”

“Do you wish for me to go with you?”

“No thank you, I have enough arms to carry the drinks. I’ve been making friends along the way too, krr.”

A soft smile tugged at his lips. “I’m sure you have Pri.”

“Would you like ne to get you anything?”

“I’m fine, but thank you.”

“Of course. If you’d excuse me-”

“The bar’s that way actually, Pri’cha!” He piped up, pointing far to the left.

The little cleric bounced happily at his aid. “Thank you, nister Anon!”

Chuckling merrily, Amon followed the general direction Pri’cha had pointed to. The bodies of strangers began to thin out and disperse; giving room to more and more space. He began to wonder why, until a few people began to sway around him. Instead of shouting, he could make out a noise he hadn’t paid more attention to or picked up a lot until now: music.

It had a wild swing to it; almost a festival sort of jig. The instruments collided and crashed; they coordinated and collected into a collage. It was certainly an entertaining tune that even he found his foot tapping to as he pushed through the group. Some were stomping their feet and clapping their hands, forming a wall around the band.

Amon poked his head around an elf to see what everyone was staring at.

His jaw dropped wide open.

It wasn’t a sophisticated choreography performed before the orchestra; not like the kind he was often used to, but he’d seen versions of it before. It was wild; a routine not learned, but following the improvisation of the beat. The symphony of the song swelled, and arms raised; feet spinning, hands interweaving and crossing in some foreign move he didn’t know, but immediately was transfixed by, like magic.

He was immersed in how Essätha moved; her rhythm striking with different unexpected cords to create a painting. He blinked as Adela hopped to the forefront; intruding on his vision. He blinked a few times, capable of finding his breath and smiling to himself. The pink Tiefling twirled and spun; gemstones and precious metals flashing in the light of the room radiantly. The noise they gave off almost seemed to add to the music, although was mostly drown out by the cheering and sound of the instruments themselves.

The duo was graceful as they spun towards each other; greeting palm to palm. They ladies grinned; feet gliding around in a circle and drumming against the floor like the beat of the drums. Amon felt a creeping heat in his cheeks as his eyes soaked in Essie’s movements; the sensual twist of her hips as she curled her body away from Adela’s and then back in to bump her hip against hers, laughing.

Her laugh stole the air from his lungs in a pitiful wheeze.

The Yuan-Ti woman swayed and hopped, pivoting and dancing away from some of the more eager individuals of the crowd trying to leap in on the two sorceress’ frolic. She laughed, grabbing Adela’s arm and spinning around and around again as someone reached for the pink Tiefling, dragging her safely away from a boisterous young man eagerly trying to leap in.

Essie was elegant and poised as she moved from heel to toe, drawing the eyes naturally along the flow of her body where the light and shadows broke as she turned the opposite direction. Her movements were not simply dancing, it was an adventure’s storytelling in motion. A chasse turned into a journey to new lands, and her playful heel-turns fleeting from playful outreached hands were both a tease and a sense of character. It said:  I am my own first.

Prancing around each other; sweat on their brows, the two women panted for air as they stopped, facing each other, to swing their hips and drop lower; raising back up to the whooping approval of the crowd. Amon joined a few of the bystandards in clapping. Gods knew dropping that low on bent-knees was probably agony; he’d probably end up on his ass trying anything similar.

Adela swung to the left, and Essätha the right. As they turned, Essie’s shining eyes met his.

Amon felt his heart stutter as his breath stilled. He swore for two heartbeats, he stopped hearing the music altogether as her gaze rounded, and her mouth hung open.

Waving an arm, Essie tip-toed around Adela to bounce his way. “M’lord!”

The color quickly spread over his features. Should he feel guilty and shameful caught staring? There was certainly enough people watching. His throat tightened, and his hands felt clammy and sweaty as he fidgeted stiffly.

“Sorry if my uh, watching ruined your dance.”

“Nonsense, we were trying to encourage Pri to join earlier too but they weren’t interested; something about not knowing the dance?” She laughed weakly, trying to catch her breath. “I tried explaining it’s not really something you learn, you just feel it, but I’m not sure they got it.”

Amon smiled stupidly, his heartbeat galloping. He could feel something just watching her. There was emotion in her movements; passion; joy, happiness, beauty. She made dancing seem raw and intense and damn sensual. He hadn’t been able to tear his gaze away.

It was simple. It was spontaneous. It didn’t make sense; it didn’t necessarily have an order, or a reason, or a professional’s years of study. But when she moved, she was breathtaking.

“You should join us,” Essie encouraged, grabbing at his sweaty palm. She raised her eyebrows suggestively, grinning at him. “You could show off some of your noble moves for me.”

The tightness in his throat increased. The ex-nobleman cough-wheezed, feeling heat and tension gripping his body in a rigid line. Was she teasing him, or flirting with him? Or both?

“I um- I’m okay,” he fumbled, nerves on edge and sweat beading up beneath his clothes. Pelor it was hot in this building. Stuffy. Humid. His skin was growing terribly flush, and he was beginning to feel an uncomfortable amount of sweat between his legs. If his thighs chafed, he was not going to be happy.

She pouted out her lower lip, tugging gently on his arm. “Please?”

How was he supposed to say no to that? His heart ached, even knowing she was messing with him.

“I-” he took a step forward helplessly, “what do I do?”

“You know, just- grind your hips a bit.”

“What?”

A different, more complicated heat and stiffness began to form between his legs. Even worse, the way he moved, the more it rubbed against his inner leg; stuck unpleasantly in place. Hidden, but annoying; and the friction was not helping.

Adela eyed him as Essie encouraged him into the middle of the crowd. She looked him up and down like he was a hair in her drink.

Amon deflated more. So much for confidence.

Giggling warmly, Essätha grabbed for Adela’s hand. The Tiefling instantly brightened a bit, and whirled around with her dance partner with a laugh of her own.

If he could blush and deeper, he’d probably look a lot like Sul; or maybe even darker. He shimmied in a fixed position, uneasy and fearful of his erection becoming noticeable. A couple of individuals in the surrounding semi-circle whispered and outright laughed at him. This was borderline mortifying.

Still…

With the fingers of one of her hands still clasped with Adela’s, Essie reached out for his hand, offering him a dazzling smile.

Yet again he was awestruck; automatically reaching for her hand without thinking. He wanted her touch. He wanted her hand, and the promise of salvation that came with it. Take me with you.

Her dance moves were simple and delightful; lacking a little of the complexity and alluring quality as before. She pulled all three of them into a sort of child-like merry-go-round before bumping her hip to each of theirs; making him grunt and swallow the frog in his throat. She twirled Adela around like she was a princess, and tossed his arm back and forth like they were talking an afternoon walk.

As he waved his arms awkwardly and jumped from leg to leg; certainly the worst excuse for a sober dancer this tavern had ever seen, Essie released his hand, and once again Adela and her began to form their integral duet. He watched more than moved, and then moved even less as they used him as a center-point to spin around. Not the best view from any angle, but gods he wished this was a private session for two instead of room filled with dozens of drunk, loud, rambunctious strangers and the rest of his companions.

Essätha shifted closer; her waist rocking from side to side dramatically, her body dancing to the beat. Amon felt her hip hit his; and she didn’t move as the heated grating of her clothes rubbed against his. He could smell the lavender on her skin; the sweat, the shampoo in her hair. She was close, and warm, and bright and golden and flush…

He began to pray; his lips twitching as his nostrils flared, trying to control his breathing. She made everything intimate and sexy and he was so gods-damn thirsty-

“Niss!! Niss Adela, niss Essätha! I have brought back drinks!”

Perfect timing.

Some of the mass groaned as the cleric presented themself proudly, holding up a tray filled with four mugs.

“I got you a nater too, nister Anon. I thought you night nant a refreshnent.”

Not exactly the sort of thirst he had, but bless that Thri-Kreen and their good life.

“Thank you, Pri,” he grunted, inching forward. Each shuffling movement caused his hard-on to brush against his inner thigh. He pulled his cloak around his frame, hoping to hide the inevitable tenting that was going to start forming.

“Your nating naneuvers were nost superb,” they encouraged, holding up the tray.

“Thank you, Pri,” Adela echoed in a sing-song voice, raising her volume over the ongoing song.

Amon bent a bit to grab for his drink. Essätha, not paying attention as she began to string out a ‘thank you-’ bonked her noggin against his as they huddled close to the cleric.

“Ouch-!”

“Fuck- I’m sorry-”

“You’re fine, it was my fault,” Essie mumbled, tenderly rubbing at her head. She smiled into his gaze warmly.

His brain fritzed out.

He watched as her gaze shot past his face to his trousers. At the slanted viewpoint they were at, she was nearly face-level with them, and his cloak had fallen aside…

The color in her face instantly deepened as she looked away, snatching for her drink.

If she hadn’t been so quick to advert her gaze, he could have convinced himself she saw nothing. As it was, he shakily picked up his water; slopping some onto the floor, and rearranged his clothing, hoping it was mostly an inconspicuous gesture. Fuck he d give anything to fling himself into the void for just a few minutes right now to scream.

“We should go find the boys,” Essätha bluntly announced, clutching her drink close after chugging most of it in a few gulps. “Make sure everyone’s okay.”

Adela eyed her quizzically. “If you’re sure?”

She nodded. “We should see about getting a meal- right Pri?”

“Oh-? Yes, dinner would be nice.”

A curt nod. “Good.”

Offering a gesture, she invited Pri’cha and Adela to take the lead; pushing through a disappointed looking crowd of onlookers. Amon downed his entire glass of water, sweating bullets.

Turning to look up at him, their gazes locked. The heat in his lungs was almost unbearable.

She offered out her hand to him wordlessly. A shy, nervous smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “You comin’?”

He couldn’t resist taking her hand, mutely nodding. Her golden butterscotch eyes were more addictive than the treat they represented.

Her fingers curled; finding the spaces between his. She guided him forward; parting the crowd like a deity’s chosen vessel to speak through. More importantly, assisting him; leading him. To where, he didn’t know, but he was willing to go anywhere, as long as she would be there, too.

[frankpanioncube]

Karaoke Night - I did this whole thing on one of my Discord Servers

So basically - it was the 7 main guys and what they’d do on Karaoke night.

I said I’d put it on my Tumblr...but it was going to be when I could do some linking to stuff: So I have put music vids, links to songs wherever they are and if nothing else - enjoy this

Lucifer: Can sing like a...well (fallen) angel. Is a lyrical baritone but can get up to some Tenor stuff.

Karaoke night is a hard thing to get him involved in because (and he recognizes it) he will be asked to do STUPID stuff.

They make him do Weird Al covers, Eminem...the lewdest crap they can imagine because...well..also - he can pull off a lot of stuff it's like 70 percent to irritate him and 30 because ....well...they all want to have him sing "Friend of the Devil" by Adam Jensen.

MC/Lucifer - they're doing Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman. "Time to Say Goodbye" and  mC can't keep up with him...it's his show.

Lucifer/Mammon Duet: Mammon willl make Lucifer sing X Gonna Give it To ya (specifically the Deadpool version) and Mammon does most of the work here but but he is so invested int getting Lucifer to rap it's actually quite amazing.

Lucifer/Leviathan Duet: Carameldansen - Levi will pull off all the dance moves in the background and will back up Lucifer. Who will be stock still otherwise.

Lucifer/Satan Duet: It's Shia LaBouef. Satan is no singer but pulls off those spoken word  bits - and Lucifer is ...okay until he realizes what he's singing about. It's an odd vibe - it's awesome and also very strange to watch.

Lucifer/Asmo Duet: It's "Mad World" but the live version from the Adam Lambert concert. Asmo is the vocalist and Lucifer does back up and by GOD it works.

Lucifer/Beel Duet: I'd Do Anything for Love - and it doesn't go how you'd expect - Vocally it's Beel's show - Lucifer turns off the kareoke player and plays the piano. It makes everyone watching very hot. it's a dangerous combo.

Lucifer/Belphie: I Hate Everything About You by Three Days Grace. And BY GOD. It lands.

Karaoke Mammon:

Is the guy who figured out you can make dying whale noises in rockband to pass levels. And does it unappologetically. As a singer - not bad when he's trying. He could pull off something if he practiced. He has a good range but it's not refined. He can hit some contralto notes occasionally and some baritone stuff but very much lacks the practice.

Mammon on his own: Picks villain songs from musicals. He can do "Gaston" or "All you Wanna Do" from Six (much to Asmo's disgust).

Mammon and MC Duet: It's Tough to be a God from The Road to ElDorado. He'd love to do that and he makes a great Tulio to MC's Miguel.

Mammon and Lucifer: They do a duet of "Not a Common Man" - Mammon does a lot of musical stuff and he HATES Lucifer takes this one over. Cause the lyrics are him. Lucifer likes that he does the legwork on this.

Mammon and Leviathan: Butterfly by Crazy Town - to be fair - Levi thought it was Butterfly from the DDR game. However - between Mammon's voice and Levi's aptitudte for rhythm they manage this shockingly well.

Mammon and Satan: This duo isn't nearly as vicious to Lucifer as Belphie and Satan but - oh it's gonna get messy. Rage Unrestrained  by Excessum and they're all going to the ER. Including Mammon. It's worth it.

Mammon and Asmo: THey do a duet of David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust. It gets chaotic. Both can't wait to be the centre of attention.

Mammon and Beel: Sex Bomb - Because even if it makes everyone feel sorta...weirdly sexual (and probably because he wants to stick it to Asmo) - Getting Beel to do some Tom Jones is a great idea.

Mammon and Belphie: The Real Slim Shady - Eminem - and they they can do it. And Belphie can pull that nasal stuff.

Karaoke Leviathan:

On his own: Does lots of anime and idol stuff of course. He's mediocre as a singer but pulls off all the dance moves well.

Levi on his own: Does exclusively stuff from his fave idol groups - not that he nails the vocals but he's not intolerable. He does nail the chorography.

Leviathan and MC - gets as many people invovled as he can and they do TRI-ANGLE feat BOA and the TRAX - They know if they flatter Mammon enough he'll do the break down.

Leviathan and Lucifer - Real Emotion - The idol song from FFX-2 - but Lucifer doesn't find the song that offensive and Levi can do the background dance stuff.

Leviathan and Mammon: X Japan's Rusty Nail. And if you haven't seen the music video to that - it's the epitome of 80ies/mid 90ies anime music vids. (plus I am in love with Hide and cried my eyes out over his suicide.) - they'd manage this one. Not without Mammon remembering the music video and SOBBING.

Leviathan and Asmo: Hey, they do this one song: Sinful Indulgence. It's from a popular Otome game. It's Asmo's show but Levi can keep up.

Leviathan and Satan: THey do the Local Butterfly Guy rap from Devilman Crybaby. It's best not to have Satan sing but he can get away with spoken word and raps quite well.

Leviathan and Beel: Has him doing Evil Food Eater Conchita from mothy. It's hard outside of his range but actually Levi pulls off the background vocals really well. He does some higher vocals well. Beel feels bad for the subject of the song...but sympathizes.

Leviathan and Belphie: Lizzy Hale and Lindsey Sterling's Shatter Me - Belphie can be convinced to do the ballet here and it's BEAUTIFUL. Neither Belphie nor Levi are the best of singers but they manage it together.And Belphie doing ballet is something to behold.

Karaoke Satan 

He's just NOT a singer - It doesn't matter that much - He know it drives Lucifer nuts because Lucifer is lovely to listen to. But he's in two minds. He's either sober and refuses to embarrass himself or is three sheets to the wind and WILL embarrass not himself but Lucifer rather. 

 Satan on his Own: Will do William Shatner's spoken word version of Rocket Man. Can be convinced to rap but doesn't get into it too much. 

 Satan and MC: David Bowie's 'Space Oddity’. He's off key the whole time but no one cares - they manage to do the acting for it.

 Satan and Lucifer : Here Comes the Snake by the Cherry Poppin' Daddies - It's rough but but Lucifer does the hard notes and Satan isn't pretty by any means but he does it a tad more spoken word. Lucifer does this like champ however. It winds up being way more attractive than it should be. 

 Satan and Mammon: Mammon does 'Every Last Motherfu*cker should Go Down' from Jerry Springer the Opera...and lets Satan choose if he wants to actually play Satan. He usually plays Jerry as a matter of fact. Up to the second half. After that Satan chokes it out. Because he'd love to stick it to Lucifer like that

Satan and Leviathan: An odd one - "Hell" By the Squirrel Nut Zippers. Levi would groove to it but everyone would enjoy joining in.

Satan and Asmo: (And everyone) Somebody to Love - Queen - and everyone shrieks it along. Cause Asmo would simply get in every one all in and that'd be that. Asmo's gonna hit that high note but Satan doing the song on his own isn't fabulous but he's backed by the whole group in the end. 

 Satan and Beel: Royal Oil by the Mighty Mighty Bosstones - Ska stuff works with Satan and Beel's rumble works with this song - it...didn't hurt that Satan explained what the song was about sometime LATER. 

 Satan and Belphie: Dark Personality by The Planet Smashers. Mammon gets to join in on this one - this is dedicated by that trio PERSONALLY to Lucifer. It's VICIOUS. Mammon is DEFINITELY in on skanking. He dances like a true rudeboy. Oh and so does Satan.

Karaoke Asmo

Is quite possibly the best Kareoke singer out there. It STINGS with him that he loses out to some of his brothers - Asmo's got charisma and sex appeal and a great voice...and well, that's actually where he loses. He's got this record quality voice and it tend to miss out on some of the kareoke appeal. Like that's the one place you're not supposed to be PERFECT singing and he IS. No fair!

Asmo on his own: Quite apart from this little ditty you may or may not of heard of "Sinful Indulgence" Asmo would do Marina Diamandos' alter Ego Electra Heart's "How to Be a Heartbreaker"

Asmo with MC: The Devil's Son by The Creepshow. It'd be verrry sexual. Asmo would however take over the song and be the singer - because it'd be right up his street.

Asmo and Lucifer: Nobody's Side - from CHESS. Lucifer does the intro to it just to get to get out of it - He plays the American (and does a fair job of it - he is after all quite vocally gifted) with Asmo as Florence.. Asmo is content to do the rest of the song. He's got the whole dramatic prodouction going on with it

Asmo and Mammon: If Mammon goes for Bowie, Asmo goes for Lady Gaga. They are going to do Applause and it's just as messy. They step all over eachother. Asmo's got the vocals to do it, Mammon's just simply not going to sit down for it and really won't outdo him on stage. It's a miracle they can throw it together.

Asmo and Leviathan: They're doing Pinball Wizard by the Who. They are actually a great team up for this song. Levi's got the moves and also digs the subject matter but Asmo gets to shine doing the lead singing on it

Asmo and Satan: Shut Me Up by Mindless Self Indulgence - Asmo is well aware that Satan can't carry a tune in a basket but is shockingly good at tempering him - Asmo is a great singer and can work with a lot. Satan's shrieking is actually quite awesome when paired with Asmo doing a sort of screechy emo/goth/metal thing himself. Asmo's the one you WANT  paired with Satan should you not want to visit the emergency room later. 

 Asmo and Beel: They are doing Cab Calloway's Minnie the Moocher and Oh GOD is it fun. Beel's still a little stiff as a performer but Asmo gets everyone into it - he covers (and gets everyone to do) the scatting...but absolutely lets Beel do the low notes at the end. Even he makes happy noises when he can get into those low registers and it turns out to be fun for all involved. 

 Asmo and Belphie: Funnily enough - it's Belphie who pulls this one off. And of all songs? It's Wonderboy by Tenacious D. (Seriously just imagine "How about the power of flight, that do anything for you? and Belphie just doing a straight up "That's levitation, Holmes." It's not Asmo's style but he's got the chops to back Belphie up on this one so it turns out fun.

Karaoke Beelzebub

Beel on his own: Can't be bothered much but bribe him with food and he's got this incredible baritone, and can get down to a bass. He sings what other people want him to so there's a bit of a dichotomy about the fact that people want him to do the Beast Song from "Over the Garden Wall" - it’s not Beel’s style to sing that but god he could do it if you asked. and also Barry White's "Can't Get Enough of your Love"

Beel and MC: Dearly Departed by the Creep Show. It's MC's show and Beel does the backups but there's a lot of onstage chemistry. Everyone feels a ...way afterwards.

Beel and Lucifer: Where the Wild Roses Grow by Nick Cave and Kylie - and yeah - Lucifer does the female part. It was sort of a joke that went in a really wildly sexual direction, but also it is capable of shutting down the whole night. Thankfully it was done at the end of the night.

Beel and Mammon: Mammon's got a bit of a penchant for musicals so he kinda is into doing a lil' bit of Little Shop of Horror's "Feed Me/Git It" Especially because he knows he could explain the concept and well yeah. Beel gets a LITTLE into it. "just pretend I ate your custard" And it's a done deal. Mammon also does a great Seymor. Beel and Leviathan: They're doing Zu Ende from Dracula Musical (Incidentally: if you want to know what my own voice is like - Wao Yoka is very close to me - if Wao was wite chick) - but Levi is doing Wao/Drac's part and Van Helsing's part is Beel's.

Beel and Satan:  Poe - Control - Satan lets Beel do this - but it's not melodic enough that he can pull some weight here. Beel backs down if Satan's managing it. But he more or less just lets Satan do the second verse.

Beel and Asmo: Sweet Tooth by Scott Helman - It's Asmo's song really but Beel doesn't over take Asmo and they really pull this off. Beel joins real hard at the end and it gets very good.

Beel and Belphie: Slumber by Bad Religion. This really is a duet. They both sing this together. Beel does the bridge however. Belphie does air guitar occasionally. It’s rather potent - they are twins and they use this distinctly to their advantage.

Karaoke Belphegor

Belphegor isn't much for this whole kareoke thing but can be convinced into it. Hey - his twin's great, why does he have to put in the effort? However - when the situation calls for it - hes got a variety of tricks up his sleeve.

Belphegor on his own: Picks the classics. Just whatever the place has in the book mostly. But paired up then this guy is a little shit. As a singer he's not the strongest but he's not bad either. When he's trying he's quite interesting when he's bored he's just...meh, knows it and does not care. I want Candy? These Boots were Made for Walkin? Yeah those are Belphie's stuff

Belphie and MC: Belphegor's still trying too hard with MC and so they're doing Strange Disease by Prozzak. He thinks it'll help. He's not bad at doing the recieved pronounciation accent either though at that.

Belphie and Lucifer: Belphie ain't letting Lucifer get away with SHIT. Belphie is making him full on do Aqua's Barbie Girl and that's that. It's...ridiculously funny as a matter of fact. Belphie's plan may have backfired a little given that everyone really likes singing along. On the other hand, he DID make Lucifer say "Come on Barbie, let's go party."

Belphie and Mammon: Corey Hart's Sunglasses at Night - with Mammon indeed wearing his sunglasses at night for maximum effect. Mammon's way more into it than Belphie but it's an entertaining performance nonetheless.

Belphie and Leviathan: The ODDEST combo but - Dionysos (F. Olivia Ruiz)' 'Tais Toi Mon Couer' - Levi likes the animation in the video and Belphie can pull off the french and the vibe. it's actually much more effective than Belphie's attempts to do anything with MC (and if you haven't seen the vid and don't speak French there's some vids with subtitles - see above!) Belphie and Satan: (with Mammon) When You're Evil by Voltaire - Dedicated FULLLY to Lucifer. And they all get into it. Mammon's particularly good at this - but while Satan isn't much of a singer he's just willing to keep up. Mammon carries this but it's this lot very much singing directly to Lucifer. It's honestly terrifying but man the Anti-Lucifer Club pulls this one off like champs.

Belphie and Asmo: They do Four Chord Song by Asis of Awesome - it Belphie's brain of 'easy' with Asmo's need to show off. They can do this very well. Asmo does wonderful masterful work but Belphie does the stuff that Asmo can't reach. They just do a medley.

Belphie and Beel: Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeplin - and oh - Belphie will turn off the kareoke machine and bust out his accoustic and put in the effort - So it's Rodrigo Y Gabriela's cover. Beel is all in for it. But it's really Belphie's talent with the guitar. In almost any other story Beel's voice is the thing but here? No it's him.

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 31/10/2020 (Ariana Grande, KSI, Little Mix)

I haven’t heard that Ariana Grande album yet as of writing this but the lead single – and title track – “positions” has just debuted at #1 on the UK Singles Chart, her seventh song to hit the top and second this year after “Rain on Me” with Lady Gaga. Hence, that’s today’s #1 and we have a busy and pretty chaotic week of new arrivals. Welcome to REVIEWING THE CHARTS.

Dropouts & Returning Entries

A lot of their debuts from last week were completely wiped out on this week’s chart which surprises me, especially for songs I thought would hit it big like “One More Time” by Not3s and AJ Tracey. Our notable dropouts here range from bonafide smash hits like “Roses” by SAINt JHN and remixed by Imanbek, which hit #1, although I always preferred “Swoosh” from the same album, to pretty easy and quick fall outs from songs I’ve reviewed in the past few weeks. We’ve got songs that peaked in the top 10 like “Rover” by S1mba and DTG and “I Dunno” by Dutchavelli, Tion Wayne and Stormzy but otherwise that’s mostly it as a lot of these drop-outs are just songs that didn’t really reach their charting potential or have mostly had their day in streaming, like the surprisingly quick drop for “my ex’s best friend” by Machine Gun Kelly and blackbear, as well as “Destiny” by D-Block Europe, “Tap In” by Saweetie, “FRANCHISE” by Travis Scott, Young Thug and M.I.A., “OK Not to Be OK” by Marshmello and Demi Lovato, “Airplane Mode” by Nines and NSG and even “Outta Time” by Bryson Tiller and Drake. If you’re worried about the loss of MGK’s song being too soon for whatever reason, don’t fret as “forget me too” with Halsey, a much better song, is here at #72, our only returning entry for the week. I might as well run through the biggest gains and falls, those both being last week’s debuts. “Train Wreck” by James Arthur absolutely surged up to #24 whilst “Hold” by Chunkz and Young Filly absolutely purged down to #59. To be fair to the general public, I think I’d rather listen to something from four years ago than that song as well. Anyway, let’s start our new arrivals with a couple really interesting choices...

NEW ARRIVALS

#75 – “Sofia” – Clairo

Produced by Rostam

Clairo is one of those artists where I feel completely out of the loop on, especially with all the recent buzz from TikTok, and I was not checking for that album last year, and whilst I didn’t mind her feature on Wallows’ “Are You Bored Yet”, I’d never been intrigued enough to check out the solo work until I guess here we see it on the chart, which is big for the genre of bedroom pop, which again I know next to nothing about. Now, I like lo-fi indie rock fine, but I’ve never really tried to look into the bedroom pop micro-genre – if anyone has any recommendations, that would be appreciated – so this will pretty much be a first gaze into not just Clairo but the entire scene surrounding her. I’m not a Vampire Weekend fan by any means but Rostam on production just give me hope, even if the mix here is a bit too drowned in reverb and echo to give the guitars any more impact when they really should have, at least I think so, they’re pushed back in a way that makes an already pretty calm, fleeting indie single even more lacking sonically. Clairo sounds great on this instrumentation, admittedly, albeit kind of uninterested, but it really is about that fuzzy distortion in the drop that feels... oddly anti-climactic and seemingly pointless considering how little progression is made before or after it. Maybe this genre just isn’t for me, but I feel myself turned off from how Clairo’s pretty beautiful vocal harmonies are not reflected by the production here, whether it be the stiff percussion, abrupt ending or overall lack of substance. This is kind of disappointing as I really wanted to like this. The song is a pretty vague but longing ballad mostly revolving around her crushes on people she saw in the mind, particularly Sofia Vergara and Sofia Coppola, hence the name, and I think it’s actually really well-written. I especially love how the chorus seems to acknowledge that not only are these crushes clearly out of her reach as a teenage girl just discovering her sexuality but also mentioning how afraid she is to really develop on any of these feelings because of how it’s prejudiced against and in some countries outlawed, but the song easily works as just a confession of love without really realising the statement, so it doesn’t feel forced or unnecessary. Sadly, I guess Rostam had to put his prints on this one, but the song itself isn’t bad at all. Hey, I’m not going to complain about a song where I can look at pictures of Sofia Coppola for “research”.

#74 – “All Girls are the Same” – Juice WRLD

Produced by Nick Mira

It’s so odd and kind of heartbreaking to see the Genius comments for this track where they say Juice is “up next for 2018”. It’s also pretty amusing to see some of these annotations...

God, I love Genius.com. This is a 2017 Juice WRLD track from the late rapper that was released as a single from his debut album, Goodbye & Good Riddance. I don’t really understand why this had a resurgence – again, I’m going to assume TikTok or some kind of remix – but it is funny to see a bitter, immature and sloppily-written song about heartbreak and how “all girls are the same” next to a lesbian love ballad on the chart... and above said ballad because we clearly live in a society. I’m not going to mince words here: this is a pretty bad song, at least in my opinion. All respect to Juice but he’s clearly not on top form here, with an uninterested and badly-mixed vocal delivery over a really dull, jingly trap beat with awful bass mastering. In fact, the whole song is mixed awfully and sounds really muddy which may have been the point but it doesn’t complement Juice at all. The lyrics here are purposefully immature and at times stupid, especially when he compares himself to John Lennon and is so desperate for a rhyme the dude says this unnamed girl is from Colorado. I’m not going to deny some of the lyrics here are kind of haunting now due to tragic circumstances but I still get a chuckle out of the vocoder on his voice after massive empty spaces in both the beat and vocal track that makes the song sound clearly amateurish (to be fair to Juice, he clearly didn’t have access to the best studio equipment but it doesn’t excuse the major-label streaming release sounding this sloppy), as well as that opening line.

Broke my heart, oh, no, you didn’t!

Yeah, I’ll take “Robbery” over this any day, or even “Righteous”. Sorry.

#73 – “Martin & Gina” – Polo G

Produced by Hagan, Lilkdubb and Tahj Money

It seems we have two melancholy trap-rappers from Chicago appear consecutively on the chart. I love those types of oddities. If you don’t know Polo G, you probably should, at least from his hit “Pop Out” with Lil Tjay last year, and this is his most recent hit. I typically find his brand of mournful Auto-Tuned crooning about life on the streets remarkably genuine in comparison to most rappers but also admittedly really boring, at least for now. I can see this guy becoming a lot bigger and better but as of now he releases so much music and the quality and effort seems to fall by the wayside more often than not. In typical 2000s bling-rap fashion, this hardcore street rapper’s biggest hit from the album The GOAT (perhaps a bit early to call there, Mr. G) is a guitar-based R&B love jam for the ladies, except it’s not a sex jam...

Girl, I can’t wait ‘til I get home to f*** the s*** out of you

Okay, well, that’s one line.

Man, I’m tryin’ to get to know you sexually

Okay, but at least he’s trying to get to know her. The song’s lyrics do have a genuine heartfelt sense of love and companionship with his unnamed woman, and some of these lyrics are pretty funny and pleasant, albeit shallow. I love how in the first verse he says that even on her worst days she still looks “kind of cute”, in a way that makes this song more down to Earth than other thugs-need-love-too songs, especially when he acknowledges the troubles in their relationship, which may be undermined by the unfortunate implications that come with that “Martin & Gina” comparison but that’s really not the focus of the song, even if it is the title. He may talk about the shopping sprees now but there is evidence here that Polo G genuinely wants to live his life with this woman, especially when he says he wants them to move out to California and live in a mansion. There’s flexing there for sure but it’s less out of a desire to sound “cooler” than the other rappers or the audience, and more out of a desire to make the most out of this relationship in case, as he knows he might have to, he should “pull the stick out and shoot” to protect her. It helps that this is a damn good song with Polo’s catchy flow in both the verses and that infectious chorus, as well as a really slick guitar lick behind that trap knock. Yeah, this is pretty great. Check it out.

#71 – “Spicy” – Ty Dolla $ign featuring Post Malone

Produced by Ty Dolla $ign, Westen Weiss and damn james!

It seems that Ty Dolla $ign has finally clocked that people like him for his features and not his solo work as he has released his most recent album fittingly named Featuring Ty Dolla $ign, following a trend of recent massive collaborative albums in pop music. This particular album features the likes of Kid Cudi, Kanye West (twice), Anderson .Paak, Nicki Minaj, Big Sean, Future, Young Thug, FKA twigs because, well, sure, and obviously, Post Malone. I haven’t listened to the album yet, I mean it sounds exhausting but I don’t necessarily like what I’ve heard. “Expensive” with Nicki Minaj is soulless, “Ego Death” with Skrillex, Kanye and FKA twigs is chaotically misguided and a massive disappointment, “Track 6” with Kanye, .Paak and Thundercat is way too boring for these four artists, and that’s all I’ve heard, except that “Dr. Sebi” interlude with Young Thug that I thought was actually pretty damn good for a one minute snippet. I did brief through some songs on the album right now as I was writing this and I wasn’t really a fan of any of it, not even the songs with Future and Young Thug, artists I actually really like. The song with Kid Cudi was pretty amazing though, which I pretty much expected, I mean it is Cudi after all and he’s really felt revived this year, even if he feels out of place on a sex song. The serpentwithfeet interlude definitely adds to that song though, and it actually leads into this track with Post Malone. This is their second collaboration after their #1 hit “Psycho”, but it’s a lot less interesting, replacing the serenity and smooth flows with more fast-paced trap skitters, hit-and-miss flows that only make Ty$ sound all that great in the tail-end of his verse. Post’s verse is out of place and feels like a regression for him, with the verse sounding like it was taken straight out of the Stoney sessions. The guys have no chemistry and Post doesn’t even contribute to a final chorus, which feels particularly odd as there’s not a bridge to round any of this out properly as it just transitions awkwardly to the sixth track, titled “Track 6”. At least Ty$ isn’t facing 15 years in jail for cocaine possession now, which is something I brought up a disproportionate amount of times in older episodes of this show, because, well, sure.

#69 – “Whoopty” – CJ

Produced by Pxcoyo

CJ is an “up-and-coming” rapper with only one song that pretty quickly went viral. There’s something fishy about this. The only other song by CJ on Spotify and I assume other streaming services is this CashmoneyAP-produced trap song called “On Me” that is completely garbage. It does sound pretty odd that while he doesn’t sound dissimilar in “Whoopty”, this uninterested Auto-Tuned mumbler took three years to get another song on streaming and now he’s an energetic New York rapper using a beat that was literally uploaded to the producer’s website as a “Pop Smoke type beat” weeks before “Whoopty” was released, which, by the way, was an immediate viral hit on YouTube. Very strange, very unusual but not very worth talking about as the one thing “On Me” and “Whoopty” have in common is lack of quality. Sure, I like the Indian sample but it’s quickly drowned out by the booming 808s and pretty rote drill beat. Somehow, CJ sounds too energetic and excited to the point where he’s out of place on a beat this menacing. He sounds like a joke made by a record label to create some kind of popular generic drill track and it does not help that there’s a single verse, with part of it repeated as a bridge, and two repetitions of the same over-long chorus. When Pop Smoke rapped over beats, he was aggressive, sure, but had a smoky voice and a lot more charisma than this flat tonal sandpaper CJ brings to the table. It’s almost offensive to Pop Smoke’s legacy that this was rapped over his “type beat”.

#57 – “SO DONE” – The Kid LAROI

Produced by Omar Fedi and Khaled Rohaim

I figured I’d have to talk about this guy at some point, well, what better time than in the midst of a lot of mediocre American hip hop, although this isn’t American, rather it’s actually an Aussie at it this time, with this 17-year-old kid propped up by Internet Money and Lyrical Lemonade and mentored by the late Juice WRLD. This kid really likes capital letters, and naturally I listened to his last hit “GO!” with his mentor Juice... and, yeah, it’s not good. That hook is stupidly infectious – and the pre-chorus is actually more so – but his delivery is obnoxious and unconvincing, especially in comparison to Juice on the same song. Man, I wish that entire song was as good as its pre-chorus. Anyway, this is a new song, not taken from his debut mixtape aptly and rather politely titled F*** LOVE. It uses an unorthodox ukulele loop as its main sample but once again I’m not a fan of this guy’s immature delivery. Maybe in a few years this Kid LAROI will sound less like a Kid LAROI and more like a genuine rapper but right now he is just barely keeping on beat with a jangly pop beat that would sound really interested if accentuated by the right rapper but here it doesn’t work at all. I do actually appreciate some of the lyrics here, even if they are repetitive and vague. Hey, at least they’re family-friendly PG clean for the most part so he’ll get that radio push, but it’s not like it’s matters here in the UK. I’m sure this lad is the hottest thing to come from Australia this year... okay, well, maybe the second hottest – but I’m not a fan, even if some of these melodies are promising. In fact, I really like some of his ideas, especially in the chorus, I just think that tragically, Juice could have done them more justice than this Kid LAROI ever could. Sorry.

#47 – “Bad Guy” – Morrisson and Loski

Produced by BKay and Harry James

Duh. Okay, so these are both UK drill rappers who I’m not very familiar with although I’ve heard of Loski before. Morrisson is a complete unknown to me. They’re both from London, as one would expect. Is the song any good? Well, I do like that chopped violin sample but Morrisson is only vaguely convincing when he claims to know Vinnie Jones and to be Stone Cold Steve Austin, and when he mentions getting “white-boy wasted” with a woman sniffing coke, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but that’s actually the point. I mean, the chorus says this:

You need people like me so you can point your f***ing fingers and say, “That’s the bad guy”

The issue here is I’m not convinced. Morrisson’s double-tracked vocals aren’t intimidating or menacing and are mostly overshadowed by a pretty great beat. His delivery is also something I’m not a fan of and while I can’t say he’s uninterested or not putting his all into it, it just sounds weak, especially when pitted against this beat. Loski is here too, but he doesn’t add much to the “bad guy” idea, especially when he starts talking about The Simpsons and Family Guy. Not Mr. Burns or even that angry chicken that fights Peter, just Stewie, Brian, Bart and Homer. Admittedly, “shell out the whip like Mario Kart” is a pretty fun line and I appreciate his flow more than Morrisson’s... but, yeah, I’m not really a fan. I like the concept but it misses the mark on execution.

#44 – “Golden” – Harry Styles

Produced by Kid Harpoon and Tyler Johnson

So this is the opening track to Styles’ sophomore effort, Fine Line, an album I thought was mildly entertaining pop rock at best and lazy, absolutely worthless trite at worst. I don’t mind Styles’ take on classic 70’s pop and glam rock but I’ve also never found it interesting, and the songs are at times disjointed and at most times just plain boring. I understand I’m probably alone in this but I really disliked this album and I’m not excited that he’s pushing yet another single. The beeping keys that start the song are immediately met with the crash of a drum beat that sounds as flat as Harry’s singing in that obnoxious, sloppy intro refrain. The verse is equally as awkward, with the song lacking in any kind of substance other than that one line of “You’re so golden” which has been overly annotated by fans on Genius to mean a lot more than it does and should. It’s a confession of love but unlike “Sofia”, there’s very little to grab onto in terms of compassion for the singer and I quickly lose interest in what little story there is to the track. The bridge with the high-pitched guitar squealing and squeaky pitch-shifted murmuring is over and done with as slowly as possible and that refrain of nonsense vocalisations just continues without fear or even self-awareness of how annoying it is. This is probably ultimately harmless but it annoys the hell out of me and whilst I predict success for the track, I really hope against it as I absolutely do not like this at all.

#39 – “Teadrops” – Bring Me the Horizon

Produced by Jordan Fish and Oliver Sykes

Yes, that Bring Me that Horizon. Yes, the metalcore band. At least they used to be metalcore and definitely on that heavier side of Kerrang!-core, but what I’m more amazed by is how they continue to ditch the sound and continue to get bigger as they do so. After 14 years, you’d think these guys would stop getting Top 40 hits – hell, the only other hit they had before 2020 was “Drown” – but this is their third this year! I’ll admit I’m not really up to speed on Bring Me the Horizon – I listened to their last record (which was just fine but honestly probably worth listening to for “wonderful life” alone) but not this EP that the singles have been from, and definitely not their older stuff. For the sake of REVIEWING THE CHARTS, however, I did listen to their earlier singles – you can’t say I don’t do much for this show – and I’m overall not really sure on how to feel about this stuff. I still like “Drown” – and always have – but I’ve never been too big on metalcore so I’m actually surprised how much I really enjoyed the Linkin Park rip on “Sleepwalking” (which I’m impressed I remembered the chorus for). I remember liking the practically nightcore track “ouch” and, yeah, it still slaps. Some tracks are very heavy on the electronic, and “Can You Feel My Heart” is reliant on that vocaloid drop, about two years before that became the norm in pop. Just from a skim of their biggest singles, I’m honestly kind of a fan, especially “Throne”, even if I feel like the EDM influences just kind of go nowhere. Also, none of this screams “metalcore” to me but I don’t know, these guys seem to change their style a lot with the only thing staying consistent being Oliver Sykes, and his tone that shifts between nasal pop-punk-style crooning and chopped-up Auto-Tune growling. I talked to a friend about them and they like their earlier stuff mostly, although he “wouldn’t recommend” their debut album to anybody at all. Another friend said he refuses to listen to their music based on the pretentious title of their third record and honestly I think that’s a pretty fair decision. This song sounds like pretty standard BMTH, or at least from what I can gather from the singles and the formula they follow. It starts with a funky and cute, chirpy electronic groove before it’s drowned out by heavier drums and heavy metal guitar riffs, but this time said electronic groove is less integral to the instrumental and the shift to a funkier bassline in the verse might honestly be for the best, although I do love the way the instrumental is chopped up a bit at the end of each repetition of the chorus. It makes the song sound a lot more unique and even if it sounds just as 2012 as their 2012 stuff, I honestly think that’s fine, especially with that abrupt sharp contrast of his raspy yelling over breakbeats quickly followed by some crooning with light piano backing, which may make the song feel messy or structurally disjointed but honestly it works for the chaotic tone of the track and the angst that is presented in the lyrics. Also, although I haven’t evaluated this band since I watched a couple videos on Kerrang!, this feels oddly nostalgic. Huh. Some additional musings: That falsetto Sykes hits in the chorus is great. My friend said that he couldn’t finish the last album they put out which isn’t a good sign but to be fair to them it was an hour-long IDM record, because, well, sure. I’ve written way too much about Bring Me the bloody Horizon at this point so I’ll just move on but I’ll make sure to check out some of their stuff after this.

#37 – “Loading” – Central Cee

Produced by HARGO

Now back to normality, at least I think so. This is another UK drill artist I’ve never heard of. I like this beat, especially that sample of the horns that I’m surprised wasn’t found by crate-digging but it works pretty well under the drill beat; it sounds like a menacing “gangster” song, especially because of how that sample reminds me of 1930s Chicago. I’m not good on my American (or gang) history so that might be nonsense but you know what I mean, right? Black-and-white footage of men in suits gambling whilst women surround them and they all got their money from drug trafficking and they send out hits. Something like that, I don’t know. The song is kind of boring though, this Cee guy has zero charisma and the references to COVID make this immediately dated (not that this song is lyrically all that interesting anyway), and by two minutes the beat has run its course and just starts getting annoying. Yeah, not much to say about this one at all, but it could have been better.

#8 – “Sweet Melody” – Little Mix

Produced by Peoples, MNEK, Morten “Rissi” Ristorp, Oliver Frid and Tayla Parx

I wonder if now that I listened to Bring Me the Horizon for half an hour straight that the last four songs all sound worse, or at least less interesting, in comparison. Well, I doubt that really, I think these songs will just end up being less interesting. I mean, five separate producers on a simple three-minute pop track? This’ll be as market-tested and manufactured as possible, as one would expect from Little Mix. I didn’t mind their last couple promo singles but this song seems to have some actual traction and even a high-budget video behind it and hence it debuted as high as #8. Well, is it any good? Well, it’s no 2013 Bring Me the Horizon, that’s for sure. Jokes aside, the nonsense vocal refrain is kind of awkward and the R&B production here is kind of minimal and just... off, particularly in the first verse and refrain, where the singing and hard 808 is met with only accompaniment from one stray snare that is just... there? The drop doesn’t feel like it has a proper build-up either, and doesn’t even feel like it lives up to that non-existent tension. I do love the harmonies towards the end of the track and the “he would lie, he would cheat over syncopated beats” line is kind of a bar, I suppose, but yeah, this production is awkward and I’m not sure if it really does the girls’ talent justice. I would have preferred something more dramatic and with more of a climax than the skittering hi-hats and vaguely dancehall-inspired bass grooves, but alas, here we are with a pretty mediocre, uninteresting track, which wasn’t exactly unexpected.

#3 – “Really Love” – KSI featuring Craig David and Digital Farm Animals

Produced by Digital Farm Animals and Mojam

Ah, the trio we all didn’t know we wanted but definitely deserved(?): YouTuber KSI, legendary R&B singer Craig David and a couple virtual elephants. KSI is more than a YouTuber or prankster now to be fair to the guy, with songs like “Lighter” he has cemented himself as a genuine pop star and not in the way that songs used to get viral or even back in 2017 with Jake Paul. KSI is taking this stuff seriously and having fun with it, and, hey, he beat up Logan Paul once or twice so I guess I respect the man to some extent. I’m honestly surprised he got Craig David to be on the song with him. I mean KSI may be popular but I never put much thought into his music or even think it’s any good although the song has clearly debuted this high for a reason. Craig David has a janky hook that just plopped onto the track for a chorus and bridge, with pretty generic lyrics about love, which KSI develops on in some oddly specific ways. He’ll buy this woman Amazon Prime – I hope you enjoy the Borat sequel, guys – and she’ll “wreck his balls like Miley”. Classy. Honestly, the song is mostly fine – KSI’s flow is kind of awkward and stiff still but it’s a lot smoother than it usually is and he does deliver a pretty convincing performance here, as does Craig David, who sounds as great as he did 20 years ago over this groovy house instrumental, with a great bassline that really does fit Craig David more than it does KSI. The trap breakdown is pretty well done as well, which surprised me as I assumed the song would lose all momentum afterwards but, no, it keeps on chugging. This is listenable and far from bad but it’s mostly just a serviceable pop tune. I have no issue with this sticking around as it probably will. Now for the big one:

#1 – “positions” – Ariana Grande

Produced by TBHits, Mr. Frank and London on da Track

Man, I’ve just reviewed 12 songs, I do not feel like talking about the biggest and most important one now. Well, maybe it’s not that and instead the fact that I have this conflict with Grande’s music where someone so unbelievably and obviously talented sounds so incredibly disinterested in the songwriting and production, to the point where her performance is irrelevant. Sure, sweetener and thank u, next had their highs but the former is a complete mess and the latter feels so dull and oddly characterless. Again, these albums aren’t all bad but I feel like they’re still so rushed and infuriatingly so, with Grande having very little involvement, or at least it sounds like that in these albums. Regardless of how much she contributes to each record, it always comes out the other end sounding impersonal, so I’m actually glad she dropped the pretence and is now just doing purely sexy R&B stuff. I haven’t listened to the full album yet but with song titles like “34+35”, I can kind of expect what I’m going into here. That said, I’m not really a big fan of the title track and lead single here, although I can understand why it debuted at #1. Firstly, the video where she becomes the President of the United States for practically no reason is great. Secondly, the beat is pretty good and produced by London on da Track, who I’m kind of disappointed didn’t put his producer tag here. It would have at least been kind of funny hearing it transition into Grande’s sweet whispery vocal tone. I like the slick trap percussion, cricket sound effects and that chirpy guitar pluck, and especially those strings in the second pre-chorus which sound genuinely awesome. Ariana’s a great performer but the chorus is kind of weak, especially lyrically – I don’t mind the opening and main line about switching positions, hell, it’s kind of clever, but “I’m in the Olympics the way I’m jumping through hoops”? Really? The bridge is also pretty short and lazy; I feel like it could have actually been done away with or put as an intro and would have worked just as well replacing the second chorus with that final chorus, background whistle notes and all. That said, the song is a solid lead single and I am kind of excited to hear the rest of the album, even if this is at least somewhat of a retread.

Conclusion

What a mixed bag. I’m generally pleased with what we have here though and I am going to give Best of the Week to “Teadrops” by Bring Me the Horizon with an Honourable Mention to Polo G for “Martin & Gina”, although Clairo would have gotten close without Rostam on the boards. There’s nothing all that bad here except “Golden” by Harry Styles which does get an easy Worst of the Week, with a Dishonourable Mention to CJ’s “Whoopty” for just being lazy. Here’s this week’s “spooky” top 10 – it is Halloween after all:

You can follow me on Twitter @cactusinthebank for political ramblings if you so wish but I wouldn’t recommend it, especially if you like Keir Starmer, but all politics aside, thank you for reading this far and I’ll see you next week.

[dvp95]

quiet on widow’s peak (1)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up  tags: paranormal investigator, youtuber phil lester, dan howell is not a youtuber, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.2k (this chapter & total) summary: Phil's got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story. Bingo squares: met on tumblr

new wip? NEW WIP.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

The wind is loud in this one. That's frustrating, and it makes Phil's job a lot harder, but he can't control the weather. Be cool if he could. He does his best to level out his voice and the background noise of Mother Nature before he settles in with his good headphones and really cranks the volume.

It's even more annoying to listen to the alternating crackle and whistle right in his ears. Phil has dealt with worse during this whole process, though, so he finds the strength to power through it. He listens to the full thing three times, scribbling a few timestamps down on a Post-It pad as he does. He takes a break after that, does some stretches around his tiny bedroom and tiptoes out to get a snack without waking the whole damn house, and then he's right back in his apparently ergonomic office chair to subject his ears to more of this nonsense.

Wind, wind, and more wind. And sometimes just Phil's own voice. Nothing of note.

Phil is about to give this video up as a loss altogether when he hits one of the final timestamps and... can't figure out what that noise is.

For the first time since he opened this file, Phil grins. He exports the clip and plays around with it in Audacity. Some videos are always more fun than others, and Phil had felt like he was slogging through this one until now.

"Do you hear that, Theodore?" Phil murmurs. The tiny cactus on his desk, thankfully, does not respond.

It sounds like a person. It sounds like a person, whispering, and it definitely isn't the wind, and it isn't Phil's own voice, because he's in the middle of a question in this clip.

Phil might just be going crazy from sleep deprivation or wishful thinking, though. He pulls out his phone and texts the only group chat that doesn't cause him anxiety, which is comprised of the housemates that he actually gets along with. Anyone up? he asks, adding a single eye emoji for good measure.

Even though it's gone two in the morning, he gets immediate responses from all of them. A string of vaguely dirty emojis from Chris, a simple yeah from Sophie, and a cheerfully morbid did you know that insomnia leads to an early death? from PJ.

Wanna listen to a noise for me?

Within three minutes, Phil's bedroom is full of people in various states of sleepiness. All of them are in ridiculous pyjamas - including Phil - and PJ's hair in particular has taken on a mind of its own. Phil's room isn't really big enough for all of them, so there's some awkward shuffling before PJ claims the office chair. Phil sits at the foot of his bed with Sophie and Chris on either side of him, pressed close against each other's shoulders. It's a good thing he likes these people.

"I mean, it isn't the wind," is PJ's confident opinion. "Did you have anyone with you?"

"No, it's just me and my camera against the world," says Phil.

"No need to be a twat," Chris informs him. He taps at PJ's upper arm, impatient. "Let me have a go, then, if there's something there."

Chris is famously bad at hearing things in white noise, but PJ acquiesces the seat easily enough. Phil laughs, watching them do a weird step dance around each other in the small space between Phil's bed and desk.

"I can't hear any specific words," PJ says as he flops down across Phil's pillows, making himself comfortable. Phil just nods, because neither can he.

"How d'you know it's a person, then?" Sophie asks. Her voice is probably the only one soft enough for the hour. Their other housemates hate them for their frequent all-nighters, but Sophie is kind and quiet enough that she slips under the radar.

"You'll see for yourself."

When Sophie goes to respond, Chris interrupts in a hilariously loud voice, as if he's forgotten that having headphones on doesn't mean they can't hear him. "It's some kind of ghoulie or ghostie! I can barely fucking hear it, Philly, why didn't you mic it?"

"Why didn't I mic the ghost?" Phil asks, bewildered. Naturally, Chris doesn't hear him.

Sophie taps Chris on the shoulder and stands, leaning over his shoulder as she takes her turn listening to the sound clip over and over. Chris spins in the chair a few times and gives Phil an unhinged sort of grin.

"You got something this time," says Chris. He sounds like he's having just as much fun as Phil is, now that there's actually a thing to listen to besides his own voice and the loud, loud wind.

"I think so," says Phil. "Why didn't I mic the ghost?"

"I'm saying it would make your job a lot easier if you mic the ghost, yes."

"If I could mic a ghost, I'd be a millionaire."

"Then you better get on it, eh?" Chris laughs, spinning a bit faster. Phil has never seen the man sleep. It's a little bit worrying.

"Sure," Phil says, giving up on trying to teach any logic to someone who's clearly long lost their hold on it. "Next time I spend all night in a graveyard, I'll mic any spirits that might be hanging out."

"Shut up," Sophie tells them, mild.

Chris mimes zipping his lips, wrapping an easy arm around her waist, and PJ laughs.

For the first few months they all lived together, Phil had struggled to keep up with whatever dynamics were going on between the three of them, but he's long since given it up as something he's not going to understand.

After a moment of quiet, Sophie nods. "I hear it," she tells them. Even with the headphones on, she's quiet. "It's not words, I wouldn't put any subtitles over it."

"Yeah," PJ agrees. "Just let your audience duke it out in the comments like they always do."

"Thanks, guys," Phil says, feeling a sort of warmth sink into his shoulders. He notices that Chris is pulling up another application and half-heartedly protests. "Chris, you don't need to edit this one for me. I still haven't paid you for the last video." Or the one before that. Or the three or four previous. Phil has it written down somewhere.

"Don't be stupid," Chris hums, already clicking around erratically. It makes the editor in Phil want to scream, but he has to admit that Chris manages to find more weird visual stuff to isolate than he could on his own.

"I feel bad," says Phil, chewing his lip.

"I've told you," says Chris, "you can pay me back in chores and sexual favours."

PJ's slippered foot knocks against Phil's hip, and he grins brightly when Phil turns to him. "You know, I do have a bit of a laundry backlog."

"Funny thing, that," says Sophie.

Biting back a laugh, Phil shakes his head. "Alright, alright. Everybody leave their laundry in front of my door tomorrow."

"That's a no on the beej, then?" Chris asks, raising a single eyebrow and pointing dramatically at Phil. It has been near two years of this, and Phil is still too afraid to ask if it's a joke.

It's not as if Phil's answer would change if it wasn't a joke, because he's not interested in Chris, and he's especially not interested in becoming entangled in whatever nonsense his housemates have gotten themselves into. But, still, he might be kinder about letting Chris down if he were being genuine.

"That is a no," Phil confirms. "But I will wash your pants."

"Kinky," says Chris. He turns back to the screen and makes an incomprehensible hand gesture. "This is pretty shit. You know that, right?"

Yeah. Phil does know that. It's getting harder and harder to have the same optimism in every video that he'd had when he first started recording his wanderings around the supposedly-haunted places of Rossendale. He'd brought the camera with him when he left, but might have left that optimism behind. Phil only kind of believes in supernatural things - the way he only kind of believes in giraffes or true love - but it's been more fun than anything else to pick up a camera and try to find some evidence.

He's been doing this since he was nineteen, though, and he's getting a little bored by the formula of it all. Go into a haunted place, try to communicate with the spirits, pick up some garbled words or creepy noises, highlight visual oddities like orbs, and let the internet tear it all to shreds. Honestly, he'd have more fun making proper horror at this point in his life.

Phil shrugs and pulls his knees up to his chest. He wants to hide away from the sympathy in Sophie's eyes, from Chris' blunt words. "Yeah. I'm getting kind of... I don't know. Restless."

"Maybe you should ask people to submit things again," PJ suggests. "That went well last time."

It had, actually. Phil had needed to sort through a lot more ridiculous stories and obvious hoaxes than usual, but he'd found some nuggets of gold in all that hay. Or however that saying goes.

"People did like having their stories read out," Phil says slowly. "I'd just need to be extra sure that nobody's, like..."

"Ripping off r/NoSleep," says PJ.

"Yeah, exactly."

"We can help," Sophie says, and Phil could cry at how easily PJ and Chris agree with her.

He really doesn't deserve to have such great people around him. They've got work and lives of their own, but they're always happy to spend time crowded around Phil's computer listening to weird noises together. Phil sometimes wonders what they get out of it. Do they just like helping him, the way he has fun holding the boom for PJ's films or testing Sophie's concoctions? Or are they just as fascinated as Phil by the weirdness of it all? Do they want to see the cool instances of paranormal activity, too? At this point it feels nearly impossible to ask.

"That's going to be a lot of washing pants for me," Phil sighs. He doesn't know how to thank them, not when they always just wave it off.

"Sure is," says PJ. "But you should... ask the audience!"

"Your Chris Tarrant is pretty good," says Phil, only a little surprised by it. PJ's voice is as much of a tool to him as the rest of his body, and it's one he's always been skilled with. The impressions still tend to catch Phil off guard sometimes.

PJ tips an invisible hat. "Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week."

At his friends' not so gentle encouragement, Phil makes a few posts on his socials to ask his followers for new creepy things to explore. It might be the middle of the night in Brighton, but he has a feeling that Chris isn't leaving his desk until he's found every instance of an orb or strange shadow in the fifty minutes of currently uncut footage.

It seems like Sophie is on the same page, because she excuses herself to make tea for everyone. PJ leans over Chris' shoulder and watches the clips without sound, his lips moving as if he's murmuring to himself.

Sometimes this feels more like a group effort than Phil is comfortable with. He's never been very good at asking for help. As grateful as he is, he still itches with the need to take back control of the situation. He uses the slow trickle of fan submissions to distract him from that feeling, because all three of them do make his videos better when he stops being so possessive over his footage. Phil flops onto his back and scrolls through the incoming emails, tweets, and Tumblr messages to see if there's anything promising.

For the most part, the answer is a resounding no. Some things are blatant lies - there are countless ripoffs of films or novels that Phil happens to be familiar with, a few things swiped from creepypasta or subreddits, and his usual amount of conspiracy theorist fans insisting that some high profile person or other is a lizard - but most of it, to Phil's dismay, just doesn't grab his attention the way he wants it to.

Sophie comes back with tea and snacks. She leans her head against Phil's shoulder and watches him cycle through his apps, fact-checking idly and sighing every time something easily proves to be a hoax. Her hair smells like coconut and she makes a soft humming noise every time she lifts the mug to her lips. Her presence alone, small and warm and supportive, is enough to keep Phil from throwing his phone across the room and having a right sulk about how his career is in a tailspin because nobody makes ghosts like they used to. At some point in the night, Sophie's breathing evens out to the point that Phil thinks she's asleep, but then she reaches out to tap a tiny finger to his screen.

"What's this, then?" she murmurs.

Phil has been zoned out entirely for at least fifteen, and he blinks back into reality. There's a new message in his Tumblr inbox, one that seems like it must be over the character limit for asks. He must have submissions turned on or something, that's the only possible explanation for an actual essay being sent to him. It's barely broken into paragraphs with very little punctuation and no capitalization, and Phil has been staring at screens for far too long to try and parse this on his own.

"Can you please make sure this isn't, like, the entire Bee Movie," Phil asks, handing Sophie his phone with only a slight twinge of anxiety. He trusts her not to go snooping, but. Still. "I need to pee."

"Mhm," Sophie hums, already apparently lost in whatever stream-of-consciousness has been dropped into Phil's inbox.

The floorboards in this old Brighton house creak, and Phil has always envied some of his housemates for being able to sidestep the noises. It doesn't seem to matter how long he lives here, how much he tries to avoid making any noise, it's like the floorboards are determined to creak under Phil's weight. He winces as he passes two bedrooms whose occupants surely don't appreciate creaking outside their doors at such an ungodly hour.

At least he doesn't run into any walls this time. The nightlight in the bathroom at the end of the hall is the only thing lighting Phil's way, and he tends to stub his toes on absolutely nothing in this kind of semi-darkness.

When he makes his - very, very creaky - way back to his own room, he's bewildered by the scene that greets him. PJ and Chris have joined Sophie on his bed, and all three of them are poring over Phil's phone as though they're looking at a map to the Holy Grail.

"Hello," Phil says slowly, closing the door behind him. It creaks, too. "You aren't going through my pictures, are you?"

"No," Sophie and PJ chorus without looking up.

"You got nudes on here or something?" Chris asks with a mild sort of interest, clearly also too engaged in Phil's phone to put his all into the flirting.

"I don't," says Phil. It doesn't sound convincing, even though it's true, and he waits for Chris to tease him about it some more. When he doesn't, Phil has to admit that he's curious. "So I guess it isn't a meme or something?"

That makes them look up, in almost comedic synchronicity. Sophie blinks a few times, as if she's coming back to herself. She holds out Phil's phone and shakes her head.

"It's not a meme," she says. "And near as we can tell, it's genuine."

Phil joins them and takes his phone back, adjusting his glasses. His bed really wasn't made for four people, but his housemates have never had any personal space amongst themselves, and Phil isn't one to say no to human contact when he isn't getting it anywhere else.

The message is just as hard to read as it was at first glance, but Phil puts his brain to work. If his friends are reacting like this, it usually means he's in for something good.

hi ok so the thing is that this is completely ridiculous and i dont think its what youre looking for at all but theres a building near my uni thats got a ton of stories around it and it only started happening like this year like it isnt an old obviously haunted type of place but theres a lot of weird shit that goes down there so i found all the references to it online that i could and ive summarized them here (w/ sources ofc im not a dick) and its all just this side of strange so it seems like the sort of thing you might be interested in ok here we go SO

And it goes on like that. Phil feels his eyebrows raising as he clicks the provided links in the following walls of text, which are exactly what they're advertised as. Not a single rickroll in there. Just a handful of posts on Reddit and Facebook and independent blogs about various experiences people have had with a particular abandoned building in -

"I know this place," Phil says, surprised. He looks up at PJ's grin, Sophie's wide eyes, Chris' palms rubbing together in exaggerated interest. "I've been to parties here. Well, okay," he corrects himself before his friends can do it for him, "I've gone with Martyn to parties here and left early."

"Yeah, it isn't far out of Manchester," PJ hums. He bounces in place a bit, like he's suddenly energized enough to go jump on the soonest train up north.

"It didn't seem that weird," says Phil. "It's been a few years, I guess, but it wasn't even that scary."

"Sounds like it's only just started, though," Chris pipes up.

Phil isn't sure how much he likes that. The idea of a place he's been a few times, half an hour from his childhood home, being so suddenly full of haunted activity feels... weird. Still, it's catching his interest in a way that nothing else has in months, so.

"I'll look into it some more tomorrow," he decides, glancing at the time. His brother is probably still awake, to be honest, but Phil doesn't want to be that guy asking 'hey, do you remember the Wilkins place?' before dawn has even broken. Again. He has definitely done that sort of thing in the past. "I'll have plenty of time while I do, what, seventeen loads of laundry?"

"Something like that," PJ laughs. "Want us to clear out?"

As nice as the company and help has been, Phil still feels a rush of relief at the concept of being left alone again. He nods, still scrolling idly through the Wilkins place submission.

It hits him, very literally, too close to home to ignore. He wonders if his fan knows that, if this is somehow an elaborate prank that will end up just wasting Phil's time, but he's too curious to leave it alone. He'll just have to ask around, see if anyone else has heard these murmurings.

Til then, maybe he ought to try and get some sleep. Phil's computer, still open on the editing software, tempts him.

Well. What's another couple hours at this point?

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @vyxynheartssterek!

Happy Holidays! Hope you enjoy :)

Read on AO3

*****

Soulmates and Coffee

Beacon Hills, it seemed, hadn’t changed at all. It took Derek twenty minutes to make it from the airport to the town limit. He watched as the buildings of the bustling city merged seamlessly into trees; their long shadows cast against the road from the occasional streetlight.

If he tried hard enough, he could smell the familiar scent of home through the dirty air filter of the rental car.

The car lurched as it hit the first pothole.

Derek smiled at the familiarity. He could still hear his mother cursing up a storm when she had hit the same one and got a flat tire. He and Laura had been stranded in the back seat with nothing but a yo-yo to keep themselves amused as she tried to figure out how to put on the spare.

No matter how many times the darn pothole was paved, it came back each year with a vengeance and had become an unfortunate landmark amongst the Beacon Hill community.

He merged onto the main street.

It was still dark this early in the early morning. The redeye flight had been the only one available on short notice. His eyes burned, but the thrill of home kept him going.

It’d been a long time since he last drove these streets. Four years at a university in New York with mainly phone calls and Skype to keep in contact with his family. Of course, they all came out to see him graduate last spring, but that seemed like a lifetime ago.

Laura had stayed with him for a couple weeks a few years back. He had showed her around the city, taken her to all his favorite places, and even some that weren’t his favorites but that he thought she’d enjoy. She liked the city in a distant sort of way, saying that it was pretty but not for her, and that she was needed back home.

He flexed his fingers around the unfamiliar wheel of the car.

Laura’s trip was the first time he’d heard about their new emissary, Stiles. She told him he was nice, and friendly with a mischievous streak a mile wide that kept everyone on their toes. She was supposed to spend time with him since she was to be the next alpha. She needed to trust him and his judgement, and he her.

He was looking forward to meeting this new person. Having been born and raised out here he felt like he knew everyone, at least in passing. But the name Stiles didn’t ring any bells. And no one in his family elaborated on who exactly he was.

He smiled, gently weaving between a string of potholes, proud of himself for remembering where they were. Maybe he could save a little bit of damage to the poor car.

The clock on the dash flicked to the hour. 4am.

He tapped his thumbs against the wheel.

The pack wouldn’t be awake yet. Even Peter wouldn’t be up for another hour. But, he supposed, that just meant he’d have time to unpack in peace before getting ambushed with attention. Cora was convinced he was bringing her something back from New York.

He smiled, imagining her face when she opened the bag containing a T-shirt stating that someone who loved her went to New York and only brought back “this shirt”.

He passed the high school on his right. It looked the same, yet off at the same time. He squinted for just a second longer as he placed the oddity; the building had been extended. He could see the off color brick where the new portion started.

Just past the school, a building complex came into view. This one hadn’t been there when he was here last. He frowned, trying to make out which signs were posted above the doors when the car lurched.

Derek swore, gripping the wheel and jerking it to keep the car straight.

The steady thumping of a flat tire filled the air.

He slapped the hazzards, pulling into the parking lot of the complex he’d been examining.

The cruel irony made him grimace. He sat, listening to the hum of the engine and the chirping of crickets. He’d have to put on the spare.

He tugged the key from the ignition and brushed his thumb across the soulmark on his left wrist. It was a habit he’d developed when the mark appeared, a romantic at heart, the slight touch calmed him, reminding him that someone special was out there, somewhere. It was a couple shades lighter than his skin tone, the triple spirals he knew represented him were tucked inside an explosion of lines, each one fanning outward in a different direction. He used to call it a firework.

The mark had appeared when he was sixteen, like it did almost everyone else in the world, and he would be blatantly lying if he ever said he hadn’t hoped of meeting his soulmate in New York. Beacon Hills seemed like too small of a place to meet anyone that significant, and a part of him believed by moving to a bigger city the chances of running into them were greater. But here now, nearly ten years later, he still hadn’t met them. Which was fine, he supposed, some people didn’t meet their soulmates until they were older. His mom was in her thirties when she met hers.

He opened the car door, stepping out into the cold air. Whoever his soulmate was probably wasn’t out at this hour anyway and he wanted to get home.

He walked to the back of the car and popped the trunk, levering out his rolling suitcase so he could access the compartment that held the spare. He lifted the flap, and stared into the empty space.

The jack was where it should be, tucked away in the crevice that looked designed to hold it, the tool to loosen the bolts was also there, and even some reflective cones. But there was no tire.

He sighed and tugged his phone from his pocket. He didn’t want to wake anyone up, he’d specifically told them all that he was familiar with the area and was more than capable of driving himself home. He glared at the back tire.

With only a second’s hesitation, he called Peter. He frowned as the phone continued to ring. More than likely Peter had his phone on Do Not Disturb. Even the gentle vibration of phones would wake any of them up, but Peter was usually up before sunrise anyway and would get the message soon enough. If he were desperate, he could always walk.

The phone kicked him to voicemail, Peter’s voice told him to leave a message if it was something that couldn’t be sent through text.

He smiled. “Hey, Uncle Peter. I hit one of the potholes on Main and apparently a spare tire is extra in the car rental industry.” He chuckled. “But, uh, yeah, I’m in the parking lot outside-” he squinted at the closest sign on the building. “Merry Meet Coffee and Tea, if you wouldn’t mind picking me up when you wake up, that’d be great. Thank you!”

He hung up and looked back at the sign. Merry Meet Coffee and Tea was new, and the blue and red neon sign proclaimed they were open. Sitting inside and drinking coffee sure beat sitting in the car for an hour.

He loaded his luggage back into the trunk and shut it, then began his way across the lot.

A bell tied to the inside handle jingled when he pushed the door open.

The cafe was simple with a woodsy feel. Wooden tables sat scattered throughout the room, their legs twisting and reaching out and down to the floor like tree roots. The tall back chairs were styled similarly. Plants hung from holders on the ceiling, and a few paintings of forest scenery decorated the walls.

It was a fitting theme for Beacon Hills.

A short haired young man looked up from a stack of books at a corner table. His brow twitched just slightly as he tried to orientate himself back to his surroundings, having been yanked from his thoughts at Derek’s entry.

“Hello,” he greeted from habit. Then his expression lightened and he smiled, rising from his seat. “What can I get for you?” He left his books on the table, careful to check the page number of the book he was on before closing it.

Derek watched as he made his way around the counter and over to the register. He could now see the small logo of a tree and the name of the shop embroidered on the chest of his shirt.

“Just a cup of black coffee, please.” Derek smiled, pulling his wallet from his back pocket. He handed over his debit card and looked around again. “This is a nice shop, it wasn’t here last time I was in town.”

“It’s my mom’s, I help her out sometimes and come in early.” The young man swiped his card, then looked back at him. “Where are you from?”

“Here.” Derek smiled, watching the way the man’s eyes narrowed in thought as he tried to place who Derek was. “I was born and raised here, but I’ve been studying in New York for the last four years. I’m Derek Hale.”

The man’s eyes widened sightly in surprise, then a smile lit his face. “I can see that now. I knew you back in grade school.”

Now it was Derek’s turn to frown; grade school had been a long time ago.

The grin slowly widened across his face. “Back then I went by Mischief.”

“Scott’s friend!” Derek announced, sudden memories of the two boys hanging out with Cora coming back to him. They had come to a few of her birthday parties, and if he remembered correctly, had been suspended together at some point for disrupting class with a prank on April Fools Day.

“That’s me,” Mischief grinned, reaching down to grab a cup.

“How’s your mom doing?” Derek asked, stepping down the length of the counter out of habit; it wasn’t like there was anyone behind him.

“She’s great! She’ll actually be in shortly, I have a class that starts at seven.” He grabbed the carafe and filled the cup. “She’s excited to see you again. The whole pack’s excited you’re home.”

Derek nodded. “I’m excited to be home.”

Claudia had been Talia’s emissary since before he was born; the two had been childhood friends growing up and once Claudia came into her spark it seemed only natural for her to take the roll.

Mischief held the cup out to him.

Derek took it, then jolted back when their fingers brushed, a shock reverberating through his soul, causing all the hair on his arms to stand on end. There, on his outstretched wrist, his soulmark flared silver.

Mischief leapt back as well, gripping his left wrist in shock.

They stared at each other over the spilled coffee.

“Well,” Mischief said softly, eyes still wide, “I certainly wasn’t expecting that.” He uncurled his fingers, twisting his wrist to see his soulmark.

It was the same triple spiral and firework that marked Derek’s own skin.

“Same,” Derek nodded. He righted the cup that had fallen and tipped when they’d jerked back, and looked around, scanning the room for napkins.

“I got it,” Mischief said.

Derek looked back at him in time to see him raise his hands. The spilled coffee shifted, beading into hundreds of droplets, and rising into the air. He watched as they hovered across the counter to a sink and splashed inside.

“You’re magic?” Derek asked, belatedly chastizing himself; what else could that have been? A stage trick?

“A spark.” Mischief swiped the cup off the table and into the trash, reaching for a fresh one. “Like my mom. The class I’m going to later is about control, hopefully I’ll be learning more complex spells soon, but magic is tricky.” He poured Derek a cup and reached for another for himself. “It’s like magic has a mind of its own, that’s why it takes so long to learn.”

Derek nodded. “My family just took on a new emissary, he’s supposed to be Laura’s emissary when she becomes alpha. Magic is a lot of responsibility.”

Stiles stilled, his head tilting just slightly as he set the kuraff back. “Do you know who it is?”

“No.” Derek took a tentative sip of the drink, wincing when it burned his tongue. It was good, it made the airport coffee taste like swamp water. “I didn’t recognize his name, and I’m pretty sure I know everyone in Beacon Hills. He probably moved here recently.”

Mischief chuckled. “What’s his name?” He stepped out from behind the counter, motioning Derek over to his table of books.

“Stiles. Do you know him?”

Mischief’s eyes gleamed. “I’d like to think I do.”

“You’re close then?” Derek asked, ready to seize the moment and ask about what his family’s new emissary was like.

“Oh yeah.” Mischief stacked his books and placed them on the table behind them. “Scott and Cora are friends with him.”

“What’s he like?”

Mischief hummed. “I think he’s pretty smart, and clever. According to Laura sometimes sarcastic.” He sipped his coffee. “You planning on staying in town just long enough to meet him?”

Derek shook his head, running his thumb along the leaf pattern on the cup. “I’m home for good now. Living out there was a good experience, but I’d like to be home for a little while now.”

Mischief nodded, setting his cup down. “I’ve thought about traveling.”

Derek looked up quickly. He wouldn’t dare ask his soulmate to not pursue his dreams, but the thought of him leaving soon after meeting stung. He wanted a chance to get to know him. He made sure to keep his voice even when he asked, “Why don’t you?”

“I’ve got a lot of things going on here. Someday I’ll travel, but for now I’m happy learning magic here.” He smiled, flashing just a hint of teeth.

Derek relaxed, relief flooding him, quickly followed by guilt at his reaction. If Mischief wanted to travel, he could damn well travel. Maybe Derek could even go with him.

The jingle of the bell made both of them look up.

A lady walked in, her long hair pulled back into a ponytail.

“Hi Mom,” Mischief said, then motioned at Derek. “Derek’s back.”

Claudia’s eyes lit up, a smile creasing her face. She stepped up to the table, wrapping Derek into a warm hug. “Welcome home.” She released him and turned to Mischief, hugging him as well. When she was done, she looked back at Derek. “You’re mom invited Stiles and I over for a pack dinner tonight, but if you don’t feel up to it let us know and we can do it another night.”

Derek nodded. “I’m sure I’ll be fine after a nap, I just had an incident with the rental car and that slowed me down getting home.” He smiled. “It’ll be nice to meet him.”

Claudia frowned, casting a glance at Mischief, who looked up at her with total innocence.

“Would you mind if Mischief came as well?” He turned his wrist over to expose the soulmark. “I’d like to catch up with him.”

Surprise flooded Claudia’s face, quickly replaced by a grin. “Congratulations.��� She looked at Mischief, her expression dropping into a scowl. “And you should have told him.”

“Told me what?” Derek asked, glancing between them in confusion.

Mischief wilted under her look. He looked up at Derek, smiling slowly. “I go by Stiles now.”

“You’re Laura’s emissary?” Derek blurted.

Mischief- no, Stiles held his hands out. “Surprise?”

Derek opened his mouth to reply when the bell jingled again, and Peter stepped into the cafe. His button up shirt and slacks made it look like he was on his way to a meeting rather than to rescue his nephew from a flat tire.

“You said you could get from the airport to home without incident.” Peter frowned only half-jokingly as he crossed the room to their table.

“On any normal day, I can. I’ve had a long night, Uncle Peter, just take me home please.” Derek shook his head slowly.

“Are you alright?” Peter asked, concern rising in his tone.

“Of course.” Derek shrugged. “I hit one of the legion of potholes on Main, reconnected with a friend of Cora’s only to find out he’s my soulmate and Laura’s emissary, and now you’re being all Peter. But I’m good.” He smiled, trying to joke back, but his muscles were aching and tired; the sun was now creeping through the windows and he didn’t even want to look at a clock in case it confirmed he’d been awake for over twenty four hours. He needed sleep.

“Go get some rest, I’ll see you at dinner.” Stiles rose, holding out a hand to him.

Derek stood, taking it in his own. “Looking forward to it… Mischief.” He winked and sauntered past Peter; he had a feeling he wasn’t going to be bored anytime soon.

[residentgoodgirl]

Chances are that you know what made Lorena Bobbitt famous in 1993, even if you aren’t old enough to have experienced it in real time. Just over 25 years ago, Lorena — who now goes by her maiden name, Lorena Gallo — cut her husband’s penis off in the middle of the night, driving away with it and throwing it into a field. The trial and media coverage were sensational, as you might expect them to be around any penis-chopping case — and Lorena’s story became a punchline, an oddity, a way to consider supposedly hotheaded Latina women.

Amazon is now premiering a four-part docuseries about her, aptly called Lorena. The documentary, produced by Jordan Peele, covers the trial, of course, but also explores the context around it that people have largely forgotten, or never learned to begin with: the ways Lorena’s husband, John Wayne Bobbitt, allegedly abused her; the cruel treatment she received from the media, her tender age (she was 24 years old); and how this case brought the issue of marital rape to the forefront for the American public.

The timing is excellent, if a total bummer. The embers of the #MeToo movement are still burning, marital rape continues to be a surprisingly controversial topic for the courts to grapple with, and everyone is still afraid of immigrants. Lorena is compelling and well-made, a narrative that focuses both on the salacious details of the case (wanna see a severed dick? Girl, you got it) and Lorena’s activism in preventing domestic violence and sexual assault. It acts as both a historical primer for those who didn’t live through Lorena’s trial and a rectification for the way she was treated, not just by her husband but by late-night talk show hosts, journalists, and the public. “The media was focusing only on the penis, the sensationalistic, the scandalous. But I wanted to shine the light on this issue of spousal abuse,” Lorena told Vanity Fair in an interview this past summer.

As a documentary that reassesses a notable ’90s scandal with the benefit of a couple decades’ hindsight, Lorena is one among many recent examples. And these retrospectives tend to fit a similar pattern: We are asked or encouraged to reconsider a woman whose public image was linked inextricably with a man’s bad behavior, whose reputation was destroyed while the man got away relatively consequence-free.

2013’s Anita was a reconsideration of Anita Hill’s allegations of sexual harassment against then–Supreme Court nominee Clarence Thomas. The documentary recast her not as an angry black woman trying to keep a man from his deserved job, but a reserved, smart attorney who merely told the truth about a man about to be given a tremendous amount of power. (Sound familiar?) 2014’s The Price of Gold gave Tonya Harding room to tell her version of the story of her career and the 1994 attack on Nancy Kerrigan, replete with class context and details about her own abuse.

The 2016 documentary O.J. Simpson: Made in America, though primarily about Simpson, also forced audiences to rethink how his murdered ex-wife Nicole Brown Simpson was treated by him and by the press. And 2018’s The Clinton Affair included an interview with Monica Lewinsky herself about her affair with President Bill Clinton — long considered a salacious sexual scandal, with Lewinsky cast as a slut trying to fuck a powerful man — and reframed the incident as one in which a young intern was seduced (and then thrown under the bus) by the goddamn president, who should’ve known better.

These reconsiderations aren’t limited to documentaries. In June, journalist Allison Yarrow published the book ’90s Bitch: Media, Culture, and the Failed Promise of Gender Equality, which includes Hill, Harding, Lewinsky, and Lorena in telling “the real story of women and girls in the 1990s, exploring how they were maligned by the media.” Podcasts like Sarah Marshall and Michael Hobbes’ You’re Wrong About… also serialize reassessments of history, often focusing on women mired in scandals. They’ve done episodes on Amy Fisher (the “Long Island Lolita”), televangelist Tammy Faye Bakker, Lindy Chamberlain-Creighton (the “dingo’s got my baby” woman, who never actually said that), Courtney Love, and Lorena herself.

“America is going through this period of realizing how much we misread what was right in front of us,” says Marshall. “We came to the realization that we elected a reality TV president. We elected someone whose image was made by reality TV. That kind of understanding can allow us to go back and say, “What else did I just swallow that I was sold?”

Documentaries that revisit scandals are no doubt valuable in that they can profoundly change the way we consider the past and hopefully, the future. But they also pose a certain temptation to get too comfortable: There is some risk that we might watch something like Lorena, pat ourselves on the back for figuring out who the bad guy really is, and walk away thinking that the past is the past and we won’t make the same mistakes again. But what Lorena Bobbitt’s story meant in 1993 “is not that different from what it means today,” says journalist Kim Masters in Lorena. “It’s the same story.”

Then, too, there’s the reality that these reconsiderations tend to revolve around trials or public hearings, which provide a clear way to revisit the past through criminal records and court transcripts and recorded interviews. These were big, splashy stories that now get big, splashy reappraisals. But the world is filled with smaller, more mundane injustices and oversights, and most of those who suffer will never make it to court or Congress, or receive a high-profile opportunity to seek vindication.

Watching something like Lorena feels important, but it also feels lousy, because not enough is different now. Reconsiderations like these can’t be antidotes if we ignore the cure — if we continue to dismiss women and other marginalized, vulnerable people when they’re being abused, or taken advantage of, or otherwise maligned. Lorena receives a tremendous amount of empathy in Lorena, as she should. But why can’t we extend that kind of empathy to more people like her today, instead of waiting two and a half decades to rethink how we’ve behaved?

Apology tours for sexual misconduct are practically rote at this point: Transgressors get plenty of airtime to beg for forgiveness for touching butts, to come out of the closet, to recommend a supposedly great pizza dough cinnamon roll recipe. Meanwhile, victims or survivors are largely forgotten after the accusation becomes public. It’s relatively new that women like Lorena or Hill are getting some space to tell their stories on their own terms, and still rare that the opportunity is afforded to women of color in particular.

Lorena is timely not only in the sense that conversations about sexual abuse and assault have taken center stage over the past year, but also because anxiety about immigrants taking advantage of the system and of poor, unwitting white Americans is currently at a fever pitch. When Lorena and John Wayne Bobbitt got married in 1989, she was 20, and in the US on a student visa. “There’s women who are opportunists, gold diggers, they use you as a stepping stone to advance their career,” Bobbitt says, referring to his ex-wife in an interview in Lorena. “These women, they know that their backup is [to] use law enforcement to their advantage by saying, ‘You know what, if you leave or you fuck up this relationship or you don’t get my citizenship, I’ll call the cops.’”

Despite Bobbitt’s own laundry list of arrests — many of which are for domestic violence against past partners — he still uses Lorena’s citizenship (or lack thereof) as supposed proof that she was unstable, demanding, and manipulative. “She was obsessed with having her American dream, her American dream, her American dream,” Bobbitt told Vanity Fair. “She just wanted too much, too fast.” And even in a supposedly silly reality series like 90 Day Fiancé (a show about bad American people marrying other, noncitizen but still-often-bad people), it’s clear that many of the same biases against immigrants that were at play in the Bobbitt case are alive and well today.

Lorena takes great pains to draw similarities between then and now, reminding viewers that domestic violence is still a secret shame for countless women, and that it’s still incredibly challenging to get away from your abuser. The last episode of the series is called “The Cycle of Abuse” and opens with a slideshow of women’s bruises and scars from domestic violence. “This is about a victim and a survivor and this is about what’s happening in our world today,” Lorena recently told the New York Times.

And that may be true of what Lorena experienced at the hands of the media, as well as her husband. “If Lorena’s story hit today, Fox News would take the place of Howard Stern, and the 24-hour news cycle would focus on what she did, rather than what he did,” says Kim Gandy, the president of the National Network to End Domestic Violence. Documentaries like Lorena are timely for a reason — a bad reason — and instead of feeling smug for finally listening, 25 years later, it’s worth taking the opportunity to see what we can do better now.

While the outrage around Brett Kavanaugh’s confirmation to the Supreme Court this past fall might have sounded deafening depending on who’s inside your political bubble, the result is ultimately the same as it was for Clarence Thomas after Anita Hill’s testimony. He’s in, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. Meanwhile, Christine Blasey Ford, the woman who came forward to detail Kavanaugh’s alleged assault, was left unable to work and in need of a security detail.

I was 3 years old during Lorena Bobbitt’s trial. I was 7 during the Clinton–Lewinsky scandal. I was a few months old for Anita Hill’s hearing. When Blasey Ford testified late last year, I was 27. And yet somehow her testimony still felt like unbearable déjà vu, as if I had lived through this already and already knew the inevitable conclusion.

Today, though entertainment industry figures like Harvey Weinstein and Les Moonves are facing some long-overdue music for accusations of sexual assault and harassment, it’s taken decades for that to happen. For figures like Bryan Singer and R. Kelly — both the subject of recent reporting that details sexual abuse allegations stretching back many years, both of whom continue to deny any wrongdoing — it remains to be seen what lasting consequences, if any, they will suffer. Their accusers, like Lorena, have been vulnerable people from already marginalized groups — in these cases young, primarily queer boys and black girls — who have been either painted as liars and manipulators or outright dismissed.

What’s upsetting about these stories is not just the abuses they describe, but the public indifference they often get in response; the rumors and allegations around Kelly, for example, have done astonishingly little to tarnish his celebrity or dim public affection until very recently, following the release of the Lifetime documentary series Surviving R. Kelly. And it’s taken 10 years since Michael Jackson’s death for a significant documentary about the allegations of child molestation against him, HBO’s Leaving Neverland, to crack through the surface.

Ten or 20 years from now, will we be watching a heartbreaking five-part docuseries on the alleged victims of Bryan Singer? On the many accusations against him, on how they were ignored for years, on how they sort of broke through in early 2019, how they quickly petered out, and how he continued to get work — and watch his movies win awards — even after the allegations were made public? (Hopefully not.) Is years or decades of hindsight the only way any of us can begin talking about things like domestic violence or sexual assault? The distance might make it feel safer to discuss, especially when powerful people are involved, but it also means the conversation starts far too late.

Lorena also reminds audiences that she was the subject of wild cruelty from the media and comedians during and after her trial. “David Letterman used to call me his girlfriend,” Lorena says in the docuseries. “The jokes did bother me, because I didn’t know to handle it. People were talking about my background. They were saying I was just a hot-blooded Latina woman. It hurts my heart. It hurts my brain. It hurts my whole body.”

Howard Stern practically made a career out of promoting Lorena’s ex-husband — he had Bobbitt on his show repeatedly and during his 1994 Rotten New Year’s Eve Pageant special, raising money for Bobbitt’s medical expenses. During the pageant, Stern airs a mocking reenactment of Lorena’s crime. “A penis is a terrible thing to waste,” Stern says, holding two pieces of a fake member, cut in half, aloft. The Bee Gees performed a parody song that included the advice “Don’t ever piss off your wife.” The metaphor is so blatant it’s embarrassing: A man’s penis is his power, and this woman had the audacity to try to take it away. She needed to be put in her place. “To me it was just cruel,” Lorena told the New York Times. “Why would they laugh about my suffering?”

In hindsight, jokes like these may seem to be in such bad taste that it’s a wonder Stern still has a career. But jokes at the expense of victims and marginalized people haven’t gone away, and neither have most of the comedians who make them. Amy Schumer used to crack jokes about Mexicans being rapists; she apologized for it years later. Sarah Silverman did blackface in 2007; it took her until 2015 to apologize for it (sort of??). Louis C.K. is, currently, mocking the Parkland shooting survivors and joking about his history of masturbating in front of nonconsenting women, all to applause from comedy club audiences. Every Saturday, Michael Che and Colin Jost turn Saturday Night Live into a Statler and Waldorf sketch where they complain about having to learn a few new gender pronouns. None of this will age well, but even in the moment, plenty of us don’t find these “jokes” all that funny to begin with.

The only tangible thing to learn from watching Lorena, besides the full facts of her case, is that the strongest advantage people like Lorena have on their side is time. You just have to wait. You have to wait out the cruel late-night jokes and the sexist media coverage about you and the gossip and conjecture and slut-shaming and mockery. You have to wait two and a half decades, and then maybe, if your case was a big enough deal, someone will make a movie about you, and you’ll get a chance to wear a nice blouse and trousers and sit on a couch and tell your story from the beginning, without interruption, for the first time in your life. The world will turn in your direction, and your abusers will look worse and worse with every passing day (even if they’ve evaded any concrete kind of consequences), but first — you have to wait.

Scandalous stories like Lorena’s are also undoubtedly complicated by the fact that they don’t only boil down to a bad man and a woman wronged. Even in light of widely publicized and well-produced reconsiderations, not all viewers will be on board with Lorena, who did commit a crime, just as Lewinsky is far from a fully redeemed figure now in the public eye. And both women will always be punchlines to some people; even for the few who do get their turn to reframe the stories of their own lives, not everyone is going to listen.

“We always want to find a victim, a villain, and a hero,” says Marshall. “We accept the story we’re told. Having everyone filed away as a certain kind of person and every event filed away as a certain kind of story is how we impose order in the world.” But if you’re able to turn away from that tidy story, and hear what the people who lived it are really saying, “you get closer to the truth.” ●

CORRECTION

February 19, 2019, at 6:34 p.m.

The name of the Michael Jackson HBO documentary Leaving Neverland was misstated in an earlier version of this post.

[teddy-feathers]

look my problem with the au megamind where Roxanne is the alien and megamind is the reporter is i cant stop thinking about what i want out of that and how its probably not what other people want out of that which should mean 'oh shit i gotta write it' but really means 'in the next couple of months im going to rewatch megamind and be extremely frustrated because idk how to write these people as is let alone in an au'

but here are some thoughts

Itd have to take place on megaminds home world so like. have to develop that culture and frame it as the usual and other things as oddities

metroman still shows up at the same time the baby human does

roxan richie and metromans rivalry is less of a game and more of a metroman one up'd her ome to many times so now shes gotta take him out

its fine not because shes incompetent- in fact her death rays and pointy sticks are ingenious and have 0% public property or civilian causalities - but because metroman is not only impossible to kill, he adapts to anything that gets close (anything that doesnt kill him makes him stronger literally)

i guess this means theres a good chunk of the story that is centered around human adaptability vs perfect hero dudes adaptability

Roxanne Ritchie is actually a noted scientist or something at the local research facility - i figure blue people planet is really advanced and everyones at least a little technosmart but while it doesnt come as easily or naturally to Roxanne her way of thinking is really unique n shiz and shes an asset to every team....

but if you see her in a mask with some project from the lab macguivered into a gun trying to kill metroman well, no ones getting hurt and humans need hobbies and everyone respects the mask desptie the fact shes the ONLY human on the planet so its not like its hard to figure out who she is

she does spend a lot of nights having to rebuild projects and apologizing and such but basically everyone plays the plausible deniability card and asks her questions abiut what went wrong and okay so the masked menace failed after you let them steal our project but lets pretend for a moment the goal was to fix crops how would you say this did? and grumply shed revamp the guns weird side effect into an alien pollinating crop duster or whatever

got carried away when REALLY all I WANTED to say was

Whille Roxanne Ritchie is adaptable ingenuity and gets away at the last minute NOT because no ones trying to catch her but shes just that CLEVER and thinks ahead and shiz....

Megamind is the guy trying to interview her in the middle of a fight like he thinks he's cute - i mean he is but shes chasing after metroman and skids to a stop because this jerk stepped in for a comment. or shes lining up the perfect shot but theres a close up of megaminds reporter bag in the way

the thing is that maybe... blue people arent violent. a natural disaster hit recently and theyre coming back from it and if the two adopted alien kids want to play extreme tag well no ones getting hurt and Roxanne Ritchie will grow out of her competitiveness no doubt caused by just how superior EVERYONE on the planet is by finding her own niche and metroman will grow up and stop bating her because maybe he IS still better than everyone else and thats met with "oh very nice we're proud" but it doesnt really validate him or make him feel special because its just treated as a special thing he can do by everyong but Roxanne Ritchie and once he's found something that makes him feel good regardless of the attention or lack of it he'll stop playing too

but megamind? megamind has an imagination that loves drama and blowing things out of proportion and thats part of why his reports are so popular? like yeah everyones treating this super hero showdown with indulgence but megamind is good at framing theatrics so that this news story is actually a compelling narrative? and also everyone can see the tension is going to have one of these three "kids" confessing live someday

and maybe he gets carried away. one of those 'aw well next time you could do x or y' or has some technological creation that accidentally actually makes Metroman flinch during an interview

and Roxanne Ritchie starts paying attentionto him for the first time.

and minion warns him but he doesnt listen. minion is lower class and is afraid of being replaced like a pet like some people do but Roxanne Ritchie Ritchie doesnt have a minion and even if she did theyre Best Friends not like those other blue people minion uperclass people.

and he carelessly says something unforgivable and Roxanne Richie uses his ideas and actually succeeds in killing metroman

so she goes to prison - a place they had to build just for her because this hasnt happened since stars knows when

and somebody else is doing the camera because minion left just is gone and megamind looks defeated but testifies against her and is quiet and subdued and stpps being a reporter for a bit

and.... idk. i feel like we'll have to resolve the whole class system so minon goes underground and finds other minons who are unhappy with the way of things and if theyre ALREADY rebuilding society after that huge natural disaster that DIDNT blow up their planet thanks TO a minion well ehy cant they fix this too?

so theres a rebellion going on and theyve got a secret weapon to make blue people listen and idk but i feel like it's Metroman

and... how do stories like this go ive forgotten

minion wouldnt tell megamind or he would

metroman would break Roxanne Ritchie out of prison during the first riot of the minion revolt?

they talk and compare why they hated eachother and slowly work together and are actually a great team?

and then they need a reporter to make themselves heard as something other than minions going crazy

and so of course they go to megamind for help getting the story out

something something megamind is minions sidekick for this adventure

"Roxanne Ritchie was raised by the planet and turned against it and instigated civil unrest and killed a person who was also the good child etc etc instead of just growing up to face your problems"

"actually im alive and i finally found my place? helping out the real heros?"

"i mean i did try to kill him, but he forgave me and we're kinda working together because planet of moms and dads that raised us? yall actually are the ones who need to grow up and let go of the traditions that dont serve etc etc"

and megamind does a huge public apology to minion

and... uhhhhhhhhh fuck i really dont know how these storyies go

the blue people start making amends

metroman basically becomes a social worker for minion childern because finding their original families is a bit hard and most of these kids are just going to end up being raised by super dad but at least the rebellion minion families are actually geting to be their own family units and in a couple gens thatll be normal

Roxanne Ritchie goes back to being the token human in the lab and hangs up her super suit and is generally dissatisfied with this

until one night a hero breaks into her apartment to make her answer for her crimes and so for a legit hot second theyre fighting and megamind says something and Roxanne apologizes and then fighting stops being an argument and goes into banter flirting

the worss "where theres evil good will rise up to fight it" peob comes up a lot in this fic in different iterations

anyways megamind isnjust basically like hey wanna do this like. for the rest of our lives dramatic battle showdowns like its entertainment but like no theyre doing this for real?

the answer is hell yeah

and its a polyship and sometimes Roxanne is helping with the kids and then Megamind bursts in to "save" the family from her evil clutches and 90% of the time everything is improve

megamind kidnaps Roxanne to make metromind save her and a good half of the conversation is that hes an idiot for coming shes tried to kill him three times this week and hes bitching because do you know how hard it is to find a sitter for 30 odd minion kids this short notice and they better make it up to him

Roxanne is not superdad but the 30 odd minion kids adore when she comes over because they mob the villain so hard until finally mega comes to save her because hes actually very good with the kids

of course this poly ship isnt complete without minion and at some point minion and mega realize theyve actually been married for years and Roxanne and metro tease them shamelessly for it

minion and his race need a real name obviously

when Roxanne was a... graduate her senior project theses thingy was essentially "im going to go back to planet earth itll be great ive figured out were im from and how to go there in a reasonable amout of time" and everyone had to sit her down and explain that unlike metroman they knew where she was from the planet was just destroyed.

they never figured out where metroman was from because his direction sharply changed to follow baby Roxannes course and mirrored her coding despite very obviously how he had originated from elsewhere

this is important because his race is basically coming to conquer the blue people planet soon - the group finds out - and will download all the survival upgrades metroman has gotten to become unkillable and then just come down to the surface and be unstoppable taking the place over and whiping out the planet like theyve done many many times

a good chunk of the time trying to figure out how to stop them when this planet is REALLY against murder war and violence for good reason and even if they WOULD do that its impossible over looks some alone time that leads to megamind and metroman figuring out how to like kill him so when the bad guys show up theyll go "whelp better not fuck with them" and leave but between roxanne and minion they manage to not only stabilize metroman (Roxanne blood transfusions maybe???) but they manage to scare the aliens so bad they tuck tail and leave speading rumors that these are the scariest mfs in space (go minion)

metroman never lets Roxanne live down saving his life

eventually space humans show up to check the place out

megamind loves everything human despite most of the planet thinking theyre primitive and showing it

roxanne is reluctant to meet them at first but then really relates to them?

for a good long while it REALLY seems like megamind and Roxanne are just going to go on space adventures with the humans leaving metroman and minion - who really doesnt like them and also they kinda rub him the wrong way because he's non bipedal and they kinda make fun of him in a 'we totally dont mean anything by it lighten up' sort of way.

they don't go of course but they may have stolen a lot of atar charts n shit and who hasnt wanted to take a road trip through space with 30 odd childern who will need names and personalities and may be chopped down to a slightly more reasonable number by this point?

metroman loves space karaoke and his natural abilites mean he learns languages fast but no he still cant carry a tune

megamind and Roxanne still duke it out on various alien cityscapes

minion usually breaks them out of jail if theyre not to be let out the next day because nothing was actually damaged that didnt belong to them.

one memorable occasion it was metoman in a fight with megamind and they wont say what its about but both look very put out and minion looks smug

it doesn't matter in the end because Roxanne teams up with the childern to propose to them first

apparantly i had a lot more ideas about this then i meant to? i mean its not well thoughout out and despite the drama a good half the fic is just going to be cute relationship building stuff between the four of them