#NOT ONLY DO I HAVE A THING THAT BARS ME FROM ESSENTIAL LIFE SHIT

[spicyicymeloncat]

One of the most growing up experiences and discovering you’re neurodivergent ever is just

“There’s a word for that!” tm

The second most experience is

“Oh I’m not terrible, I’ve just got this disorder that I either cannot help or currently don’t have the right support to mitigate”

[sp0o0kylights]

There were a lot of things Mike hated in life.

The demogorgon, and how it had essentially destroyed his life.

 Brenner, and the madhouse laboratory El had survived. 

How each and every one of his friends now did something weird--were weird, because flashing lights or fireworks or some stupid tune a toy horse played dragged up memories that made their eyes flat and faces hollow. 

Most of all though, Mike hated how much they relied on Steve.

There was no reason he should be the person to call when it started pouring and no one wanted to bike home from AV. 

Steve wasn’t Nancy, or Jonathan, or a parent--he wasn’t even dating anyone related to any of the Party anymore so what excuse did he have to keep hanging around? 

(Even if Jonathan was always working, and Nancy was always busy with some club or homework, and everyone’s parents all seemed to be in a race of who could get back to normal the fastest…) 

They should at least try to get a hold of other people, instead of constantly going to Steve first.

“Why?” Dusitn had scoffed at him the last time this had happened, feeding quarters into a phone and staring at Mike like he was the one being unreasonable. “I’m not gonna waste money just to hear your sister tell us no again when we all know Steve will do it.” 

Which was perhaps the most infuriating part of it all.

That Steve would do it. 

Show up and help them, even if he bitched the whole time. 

Hell, Steve Harrington knew more about Mike’s life offhand than Nancy did, and that made him want to punch a wall more days than it didn’t. Why the hell was Steve so involved? 

It was stupid. 

Weird, even! They weren’t friends, (even if Dustin and Max and El of all people said the opposite) he wasn’t being paid to babysit, (Mike had double checked; going round to ask Ma Henderson and Mrs. Sinclair, only to get an earful of how wonderful Steve was from both.) he had no reason to hang around! 

It didn’t make sense that Steve could be harassed into picking them up from school. 

Would take them to get ice cream, or hand over extra quarters for the arcade. He even gave out advice like some kind of--brother that Mike had never wanted. 

Above all?

Mike hated that when he needed someone, the number he punched in on automatic was Steve’s.

“I need you to come get me.” He said into the receiver, mad at himself and the world, but mostly mad that beyond the normal amount of squawking Steve did, he shut up and came. 

Drove up in his rich boy car, stepping out and herding Mike into it like the rain hadn’t already seeped into his bones. 

“You wanna tell me why you snuck into a bar two towns over?” Steve asked, long after Mike had slung himself into the passenger seat, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

“No.” 

One of Steve’s hands went right to his hair, running through it before adjusting the mess he’d just made. 

It was a nervous habit, and Mike hated that he knew that too. 

“Okay, well.” Steve’s hand fell back to the steering wheel, clenching tight around it. “Next time you want to do something dumb could you at least come talk to me about it beforehand?”

“What the hell would that do?” Mike bitched, staring firmly out of the window. 

“Not waste my gas for starters.” Steve bitched right back. “But I dunno man, we could have taken some bats and gone and wailed on cars in the junkyard and talked or some shit, not--whatever this all was.”

‘This all’ was accompanied by a wave of his hand, indicating not just the bar Mike had been standing in front of, but his general sopping wet state. 

“You’d actually go to the junkyard with me?” Mike challenged, doubtful. 

Steve made a face. “Did you lose your hearing in there? I just said--.” 

“Why?” Mike interrupted. “Why the fuck would you come out with me?”

Matching his entire aggressive tone, Steve said; “Because it’s better than trying to sneak into the one local gay bar when you’re barely fourteen, Michael.” 

And that? 

Steve being oddly aware of shit he really shouldn’t have?

Mike hated that too. 

“You knew what the bar was?” He asked, his voice coming out much smaller than he intended. 

“Everyone knows what that bar is, except it’s more of a biker bar than a gay bar.” Steve shot back--which did actually explain about ten different questions Mike had about the place. “Also, language you little shit.” 

Under his breath, Steve continued in a muttered; “I swear I’m going to start carrying around soap.”

“You cuss more than we do.” Mike responded, and if his own voice was a little strangled as he fought back the sudden swell of tears, then that was between him and God. 

He was not crying in front of Steve Harrington, he outright refused. 

“The point I’m making is that there are way better bars to sneak into. That one’s not nearly as welcoming as people make it out to be, probably because they’re sick of all the rumors.” 

Steve seemed to realize what he was implying because he quickly added; “Not that you should be sneaking into any bars at all!” 

“You’re not my mom.” Mike’s voice turned wet as he lost his battle with his throat, voice cracking as he failed to choke the tears back.  

“No shit Wheeler.”  Steve said, and at least he was good enough not to call attention to Mike’s crying. 

If he had, Mike was pretty sure he’d just up and die of embarrassment, right there. 

“I don’t get why you care.” He muttered, angrily swiping at his eyes. 

“I didn’t keep you alive this long just so you could die of something stupid.” Steve countered easily.

Which was kinda fair, if you thought about it.

Mike very much did not want to think about it. 

Any of it.

Ever. 

“Are you gonna tell my parents?” He asked after a painfully long moment. 

Long enough that Steve had begun fiddling with the radio, trying to find a station as they drove back that wasn’t wailing country or gospel music. 

“I’m not a narc, so no.”  

“Not about the bar.”  

Now Steve just looked confused. 

Probably because he was, because he was without a doubt the stupidest almost adult Mike knew. 

(Not that he could say that out loud--last time he had, Max had made one of her pissy faces and then El got mad because Max was, which led to a break up, which led to Mike having to beg his way back into his girlfriend’s good graces while explaining that he hadn’t meant it like that.

“How did you mean it then?” Max demanded, and Mike wasn’t sure how he managed to dodge that entire conversation but he had, on grounds that untangling his own emotions regarding stupid Steve made him want to pull his hair out and scream.) 

“What about then?” 

 “You know. Don’t make me say it.” Mike absolutely didn’t plead, even if it did sort of, kind of, sound like pleading. 

Steve flicked his eyes away from the road to give one long, weird look at Mike. The same one he gave Dustin when he went off on a rant about Cerebro or Lucas when he started discussing the stats of different D&D weapons. 

Unlike those times, Steve’s face cleared. 

“Oh.” He said, blinking, and Mike could practically see the light bulb flash above his head.

Then; 

“Nah.” 

Mike waited.

And waited.

And kept waiting as Steve went back to searching through radio channels, as if that was the end of the conversation.

It couldn't be the end of this conversation.

Not when this was the part that was eating Mike alive.

He didn’t know if this was Steve repressing it on purpose or if this was what he had to look forward to for the rest of his life if he kept trying to figure his own head out, but either way, he knew he had a choice to make. 

To let the unspoken part of today die quietly. Go unsaid, and remain unsaid, for all eternity--or he could let it out. 

Shove the “gay” part of “gay bar” in Steve’s stupid, jock face. 

Make him acknowledge it, even if it got Mike kicked out of the car, and who cared if it did? 

Steve wasn’t the person who should have picked him up anyway. 

The anger climbed higher and higher in his chest, tears and rage combining until Mike spat it all out, furious. 

“You’re not going to ask if I’m gay?”  

Steve didn’t turn to face him, but Mike saw his eyebrow cocking anyway, given how he was currently glaring a hole in the side of the older teen’s head. 

“Do you want me to?” 

“No.” Mike bit out automatically. “Yes. I don’t know!” 

Steve’s hand found its way back into his hair. 

“Okay then.” Steve paused, clearly fishing for something to say. 

Gleefully, Mike watched him struggle. 

“Do you like guys?” He managed finally, looking like he was navigating a minefield more than just talking.

“I don’t know.” Mike stressed, sinking lower in his seat. “Why do you think I was at the bar? I was trying to figure it out!” 

“Honestly I assumed this was some sort of stupid dare--but!” Steve held up a finger, before Mike could interrupt, “But let’s--shit, hold on, I had a speech for this but I kinda wasn’t expecting to use it this soon. Um.”

“You have a speech for me being gay?”

“Not for you.” Steve rolled his eyes. “For--in general! It was an in general, just in case speech!” 

He rounded on Mike, for longer than the younger was comfortable with given Steve took his eyes off the road to do it. “Okay--you can like boobies, you can like, uh--not boobies, and that’s fine! It’s all totally fine!” 

“You are not making it sound like it’s fine.” Mike said, feeling like he’d been taken out by hearing Steve say the word “boobies.” 

Gross, gross, gross. 

“Well it is.” Steve said, in a tone that felt like he was two seconds from adding in a smarmy ‘so there!’ at the end. 

“But I’m dating El.” Mike whined, which really, was both the heart of the matter and the eye of the storm that had been growing in his head for months now. “I can’t be gay if I like her.” 

“Don’t you guys break up and get together like four times a week?”

“No, that's Max and Lucas, El and I are stable.” Mike scoffed. “Or we--we were stable.” 

Before he started to have thoughts about people that weren't his girlfriend. 

Or women.

“Stable for being in middle school, sure.” Steve snorted. “You don’t just have to like one or the other you know. You can like dudes and chicks at the same time.��

Which Mike did not know, on account of being fourteen. 

He did his absolute damndest not to show that realization, instead adding that to the list of reasons why he hated Steve Harrington too.

Steve shouldn't be the one teaching him about who you could like!

“The point is that who you end up loving isn’t a problem.” Steve finally looked back to the road. “Other people might be an issue, and those people we can punch in the face so long as the cops aren’t looking, which isn’t part of the speech so let’s not tell people I said that part, but whatever you do choose, there’s nothing wrong with you.” 

Steve’s voice went firm, as he apparently recalled his speech or something close enough to it because his next words sounded a little rehearsed. “You have people who are here for you, no matter what. Okay?” 

Oh God, Mike was crying again. 

He wanted to punch Steve in his stupid face.

Wanted to hold onto the fury he'd built inside himself. Thrash around, throw himself out of the car, get away from the emotions that felt too big for his chest to contain. 

Instead he felt it all break on Steve's acceptance. On word's he didn't know he needed to hear until they'd been spoken, and sniffed out a quiet; “Okay.” 

Steve of course had to take it too far by reaching over and patting his knee, which they both regretted judging by how quickly Steve took his hand back and the face Mike made at his hand--but it…

It was appreciated, even amongst all Mike's rage.

Steve was appreciated. 

Not that Mike would ever, on pain of death, tell him that. 

Neither said a word for a while, Steve finally landing on a radio that was playing some Top 40 hit, Tears for Fears singing about ruling the world while Mike found himself trying to rebuild his own once again, tired of it having shattered so many times over. 

At least he finally felt better, even if he refused to admit Steve was the reason for it. 

He wasn’t quite done though.

 There was a piece Steve had skipped over, that Mike felt was critically important, if only because it was partly the reason he was having thoughts about being gay in the first place. 

He had to know if Steve saw it too. 

That it wasn’t just him and his stupid head, making up things that weren’t there. 

“Hey Steve?” 

“Yeah?”

“Who was the speech for?” 

Steve sighed. 

“Rule one of the whole queer thing Wheeler, you don’t out other people.” 

Like there were written rules or something.

(Maybe there were, it wasn't like Mike knew.)

“Was it Will?” Mike asked, and pretended like he didn’t desperately want the answer to be yes. 

 Steve didn’t say a thing, but the fact he nearly took the car off the road was a pretty solid answer in itself. 

“We’re not playing guessing games about other people’s sexualites!” He yelped, hands gripping the steering wheel as Mike felt a wave of relief crash through him. 

Will was--maybe, possibly, also--queer too. 

Which didn’t make this any better but it--wasn’t the not preferred outcome, either. 

(It wasn’t just Mike struggling alone, trying to figure out if his best friend wanted to be more than that, if El was breaking up with him and more and more because she wanted to be less than a girlfriend, if things were changing and he would have no one--) 

“I’m not out here picking Will up from a gay bar dipshit, I’m picking you up, and this is your reminder that next time, you should just come talk to me!” Steve ranted. 

Mike snorted.

He absolutely hated Steve Harrington, but--

“Fine.” He said, talking so low he could barely be heard. “I will.”

--maybe Mike did have someone in his corner after all. 

Even if it was just Steve. 

xXx

Bonus: 

“Between you and me, that kid is gayer than a two dollar bill.” 

“Wow Robin,” Steve teased, “Isn’t that like, a slur or whatever?” 

He snickered when she rolled her eyes and threw a roll of stickers his way. 

“I’m just saying. Did you see the way he was looking at you when you were showing off your stupid biceps?” Robin said, nudging her shoulder into Steve’s. “Will’s gonna have a rude awakening later if he hasn’t already.” 

Steve nudged her back, but kept his gaze on the Party as they trooped their way from Family Video to the arcade next door, the realization that they now had connections for free rentals making them downright gleeful. 

Will was the last one in, and Steve watched him hurry so as to not be left behind. 

He didn’t like to worry about the dipshits, but Robin was just putting voice to a thought Steve knew he wasn’t the first person to have.

And if he noticed it, then it didn't exactly bode well as being kept a secret. 

“Should we like…talk to him about that?” He asked after a long moment, turning to face Robin.

“Us?” She pointed at herself, before turning her finger on Steve. “Why us?” 

“Well you’re into girls.” He gave her a pointed look, glad that the store was empty of everyone but them so he could actually voice all this. “And I’m fine with it.”

“Yeah I’m sure he wants to know you’re fine with it.” Robin taunted, but she had her thinking face on, eyes out to the middle distance. “I barely know him. You barely know him--he’s the quietest out of all your kids.”

“They’re not my kids.” Steve argued automatically. “They're like a weird cross between shitty siblings and that kid in your class who never leaves you alone.” 

A fact Steve no longer took for granted, even if he made it sound like the worst thing ever.

“I just think it’d be nice if he knew that he had people in his corner, you know? Who supported him and shit.” 

“Steve, you compared my crush to a muppet, that wasn’t supportive.” Robin countered, but it too was on automatic. 

Softer she admitted; “You’re right though. If I had known other queer people, if I had known people would accept me...it would have made things a lot easier.”

A very long pause, in which both of them stewed for a moment, before Robin abruptly slapped her hand down on the table.

“Okay, you got me. We're doing it, and I'm making us a speech.”

“A speech?” 

“Yes dingus, a speech. I know you, you’re terrible when you’re put on the spot with this kinda thing, and trust me with things like this the moment will be spontaneous.”

“It’s Will, how spontaneous can it be?” Steve challenged back. “Getting a dinner order out of him is a chore.” 

“Stop whining and hand me that notepad. Im telling you its gonna happen when you least expect it and then you're gonna thank me later.”

“It better not happen without you.”  Steve sighed, but passed the notepad over.

God the things he did for those stupid kids. 

Bonus x2

Steve would later go on to use the speech on himself, in a gas station bathroom mirror, eyes wide and freaked out after Eddie Munson called him Big Boy in a van they stole, while Robin snickered behind him. 

He would turn on her, snapping that she; “Help me with this dammit!” 

In return she’d remind him that Tammy might sing like a muppet but Eddie  was the guy who stepped on lunches while giving speeches at lunch and sticking his tongue out, and “Really Steve, I think I won best gay awakening, here.” 

Which would promptly start an argument regarding how it wasn’t a competition, which would continue for another fifteen or so odd years before finding its way as a reference into both of their speeches as each other’s best man. 

Nancy and Eddie wouldn’t get it at either wedding, but Mike would.

[thatneoncrisis]

Sorry to keep dragging you through Arcane hell (the new season is... oof) but I am curious what your thoughts on silco are? Realising more and more that silco and sevika are the only part of the show I gave a fuck about and my love of season one was really just those two.

i keep putting things under a readmore so if ppl dont want to see me go "damn this was good i wish it was better" they dont have to

i think silco on paper has potential to be one of my favorite characters on the show, and barring that at least one of the most layered and well crafted. his and vanders dynamic is by no means unique, its very professor x and magneto, which is already something i can take or leave. "oh we were childhood friends and allies fighting for a better future but one of us got soft while the other became hardned and radicalized" the narrative of the terrorist freedom fighter, one corrupted by power is done a Lot bc of a general apprehension in shows like this to endorse violence on the behalf of the oppressed class BUT i think his relationship with jinx was a good addition and if like one or two changes were made it could have been some of the best the show has to offer

for the sake of this post, im going to ignore the reveal that silco knew jinxs mother before her death i think that was dumb and bad. essentially, the show begins with silco and vander at odds- they both are doing what they believe needs to be done in order to secure zauns future, and both of them are ultimatrly hurting zauns people; silco is flooding the streets with shimmer and vander is working with enforcers. silco is primarily motivated by power, but vander is motivated by his love for his kids, this is the only way he has even the slightest assurance that he can keep them from run ins with the law, a law that has a precedent for tossing children in maximum sexurity prisons.

vanders death and silcos subsequent acqusition of jinx flips the coin. there is now something in his life to love, to protect, to care for. he is falling into the same behavior that vander was, even if he is far worse at it bc hes a terrible father whos also a drug lord and just kind of lets his unstable daughter sit in a. ave and build bombs all day. hes not *good* but he *cares* evidenced by him literally needing to be sedated when jinx gets surgery so he didnt flip the fuck out

in a straightforward narrative, this is a story about a man having to choose between his daughter and his passion project. zaun is something he has given his life for, hed do anything to have it succeed... except one thing. that one thing. "there is nothing so undoing as a daughter" is probably one of my favorite lines in the show. i really do wish we had gotten More of them, especially at the beginning when she was a baby and silco doesnt really know what to do with her, which brings me to my next bit-

i think sevika is an indespensible part of the triangle of silco and jinx triangle. i find her position interesting as she is not only second in command, but second to jinx, a literal child. she can be the best right hand man a guy could ask for, she is so dedicated to his cause she betrayed vander, she has given her life and limb for this shit. but she will never be jinx. and i think the conversation of like, how far will silco go before he is forced to choose is kind of awesome. the ultimatum jayce gives him is good it is the breaking point of him trying to do both. he is directly responsible for the "monster" piltover is hunting, he didnt try to keep her in line, he let her do whatever she wanted and he is now directly reaping the consequences. frankly, i think sevika should have been present for that choice in some capacity, eavesdropping or something, so certain that hell make the right choice, its just a girl. and she sees him falter. him not choosing is a choice, he cannot actually make the sacrifices required to get shit done. hed orphan a thousand children to build his utopia, but he cant let go of his girl

anyway all of that was really cool and interesting so you imagine my frustration when his choice is taken from him via jinx flipping out, kidnapping him then shooting him. it was so. anticlimatic. it *feels* like its supposed to be a tragedy, oh she assumes the worst when he was actually going to choose her, but those conclusions feel too. private. like he dies with basically no one knowing he was this close to selling zaun up a river for his girl. i dont think he should have died i think he should have been disgraced for daring to have it all. anyway i think instead of jinx overhearing him talk outloud and coming to the wrong conclusion sevika should have deliberately led her there 1. to piss her off on purpose and 2. prove a point to silco that jinx is unstable and a liability, but not assume shed go far enough to kill him, bc they both still care about him.

overall any of my issues with how his story goes is just a combination of my distaste for that particular archetype, where he is so incredibly comically evil i cannot take a single one of his points seriously even though they Are correct (killmonger. its just killmonger again) and the show just once again not having time for anything with him that is not The Plot. the fondness he has for jinx is apparent i just wish it could COOK longer i wanted MORE, i wanted to see him foster that love of inventing in her, even though it is clearly just because the weapons she makes are helpful to his cause, i want to see her genuinely give input on his ideas, i want to see them talk about vander. his human elements are like too sparse for me to latch on to its like the Idea of them, i go oh i see what you guys are Trying to do. there is too little of him i see him cooing over his daughter then going back to his crack cocaine mines staffed by orphan children and i ask does the show jave anything to say about this cognative dissonance? no? i find it really telling that one chem baron was pissed at the enforcers for her son dying, and yes they were Definitely a factor but WHY DO YOU HAVE YOUR SON WORKING IN THE CRACK COCAINE MINES MAAM. YOU WERE KIND OF ASKING FOR IT. theres no like, conversation about what the corrupting influences of power does to the next generation even when the best of intentions are had. jinx constantly taking shimmer in season 2 for power ups, a direct product of her fathers worst tendancies, and it having NO ill effects on her, shes not reduced to the animalistic state of the drug addicts we are CONSTANTLY seeing on the streets bc. why. is she built different. the metaphor is RIGHT THERE her father/shimmer enable her but they are also killing her from the inside mein GOTT.

also the first time i watched this show i kept confusing him with viktor lol

[sgiandubh]

Lights, camera, shit show

I was just cleaning my OL folders (all those Chinese paintings and scrolls do take a horrendous amount of space, heh) and I just stumbled upon something I completely forgot to share and discuss with you. I found this particular article during my solitaire lurking months and I remember being befuddled by it for a long time, then thought I've lost it for good.

I don't remember ever seeing it shared or discussed in here, either and if, by any slim chance, I am wrong, kindly forgive me. That professional website is now closed, but its content is still available to browse:

Anyway, there goes: https://www.studiodaily.com/2018/06/outlander-dp-stephen-mcnutt-asc-csc-saucy-scottish-show/

We discussed Terry Dresbach and her inebriated rants, Vanessa Woman's devastating impact on set as Intimacy Coordinator, RDM's jealousy and many other aspects of life on the OL set. Rumors likely to have originated there peppered our shipping trail like flickering lights in a sea of darkness. So yes, we dissected these things to death. But not Stephen McNutt's interview to Studio Daily, on June 22, 2018 - please keep in mind the date, it is essential!

Stephen McNutt is a well-established professional and a member of the American Society of Cinematographers (ASC) and the Canadian Society of Cinematographers (CSC), as he hails from British Columbia. He also has a consistent track record of previous work with RDM, both on Battlestar Galactica and Caprica (its prequel). Therefore, one has to immediately suppose he was handpicked and brought on set by the same RDM, of course: set a very low bar on your expectations, I am warning you.

By the grace of RDM, he was one of the main Directors of Photography for OL during Seasons Two and Three. IMDb is not the best source for corroborating things, because they credit him with 13 episodes in Season Two (including La Dame Blanche- he is the Blue Room guy!), but only one for Season Three (First Wife), which is completely wrong. I even had to check some opening credits on Netflix (at reduced speed, ugh), because he speaks at length of A. Malcolm, something that would have made little sense otherwise. He was there, of course: and his is a first-hand account, heavily loaded with both innuendo and TPTB bullshit, up to the point of complete incoherence.

We focus on the three final questions:

This is a study in bullshitology, right here. The question asked is very clear and very technical: how did you approach those famous love scenes?

The answer is a mumble jumble of retcon, deflections, slips and overall impossible scramble for a logical explanation. I am doing a line by line, because this is almost too good to be true:

'(...) But as far as Cat and Sammy making love (...)' : um, hello and excuse me, I thought the question was about Jamie and Claire?!? And then we are delusional and can't fucking separate, when your own henchman, the Director of Photography no less, seems to be totally unable to do so, too? Hello? Also: 'Sammy'? 'Sammy'? What. The. Total. Fuck, and I LOLed then and I am still LOLing now. Terms of endearment overheard on set - but no, here comes the 'friendship' shite, hitting the narrative fan with Mach 5 speed. Objective? Explaining in a plausible way the hugging and 'keeping warm'. And I am sorry, but this begs the question: what the hell did this man see on that set? And how many people did see the same, hence the need to release such a gratuitous lie, for pure retconning purposes?

'They are not an item at all - I think she just got married'. Oh, fuck my life, man: you are such a terrible, terrible liar! Remember, that interview was taken in June 2018: after the OZ EFH and just about when C. was gleefully answering 'oh, God forbid!' every time she was prompted by press about her marriage plans. How can somebody with a pretty high trophic level and personal rapport to both S and C be totally unaware about C's marital status at the time? How can a long time acquaintance and coworker of RDM say no both to a friend and to a current boss (same person, the worst case scenario) asking for a favor, in that particular context? It also goes to prove that the shit show plot mainlines never originated with S and C and that the Remarkable Week-end was already planned for quite some time. By TPTB. With the full knowledge of RDM.

Let's suppose Mr. McNutt was so deeply engrossed in his work as not to notice all the people who must have congratulated C on set. I mean, I know who our (spinster) colleague from Accounting is currently banging and that guy is (mercifully) not among our staff (I totally wish them well, btw). Maybe because nobody congratulated C on that fakegagement? Also, you know them well enough to confidently say 'they are not an item', but don't know she was not married at the time and state an enormity with the same confidence? What in the name of the hoo-ha did I just read, here?

'I was always in such amazement of that.' In amazement of exactly what, Mr. McNutt? Surely not a woman holding hands or keeping warm with her gay co-star on set, huh? I mean, I need the best American English dictionary, here:

Again: what the heck did this man see? What comments did he hear? Surely, 'amazement' is a very precise choice of wording, with particularly enlightening synonyms:

Hence the need to end the demonstration with a deflection: 'They would just have fun.' You know, there is no such thing as a virgin whore, Mr. McNutt: you either are in such astonishment or you think your pals, good old S and C, such a funny girl, were having, well... 'fun', what else? You can't logically have both in the same paragraph!

And there we go: 'a very collegial atmosphere on set'. The answer is pure fool's gold, if you ask me: 'Nobody goes to sit in a trailer or says they aren’t showing up that day. '

And I laughed. And I laughed. And I laughed. I really don't know what this man is talking about. I never heard McTavish telling S to get out of that trailer ('nephew'). I never read the 'two very loved-up birdies' in a trailer a-rockin' Anons. I never watched that 2015 Anglophile SDCC interview, when S mentioned listening in their shared trailer to Erasure's Oh, l'Amour and C immediately reacted ('oh, did you just admit to that?'). But unlike me, McNutt must have been legally bound by a big cojones Non-Disclosure Agreement and morally bound by loyalty towards RDM, his friend, boss and benefactor.

This. All of the above. This is the real reason for all the bullshit you've just read: explaining a real, shocking love story by socially progressive regulations, allowing the cast to be 'much more happy'. I would laugh some more, if this was not sinister and cruel, in fact.

It is Love. A deep, strong one. But the seeds of the adverse narrative were planted early and deep, forcing even decent people like this guy to lie and smear himself a bit in the process. What we see and hear now are but better worded and more refined consequences of that fateful January 2016 morning in LA. And since I am allowed the dubious luxury only a healthy distance in time allows, let me remind you a simple, fun fact about this interview who stated they were never an item:

About ten months after McNutt uttered these words, the fandom was hit by the Covfefe Pics.

I rest my case.

[assortedseaglass]

Curl Into Me

Billy Washington x AFAB Reader

Summary: Billy looks after you during your period.

Content Tags: Fluff, Drabble, Language, Talk of Feminine/Reproductive Health, Suggestive Language, Talk of Period Sex

Notes: Guess what came early? 🩸🩸🩸

“Babe?” Billy kicked the door closed behind him with a trainered foot. “Babe? Took a while ‘cause they didn’t have any of those ones you wanted in Boots. Had to pop to Superdrug to get ‘em, then off to Sainsbury’s for supplies.”

Nothing.

“Babe?”

Shrugging of his jacket and kicking off his shoes, Billy padded through the small flat and into the lounge.

He’d left you there an hour ago, curled amongst the cushions watching some trash on the telly. A few scrunched up tissues remained, an empty packet of paracetamol and an unwrapped chocolate bar.

The open plan room was empty. He filled the kettle in the small kitchenette, placed a peppermint teabag in one mug and a Yorkshire tea in another, and made his way to the bedroom.

“Babe?”

He pushed the door open a little. Light was streaming into the room, the white sheets invitingly crumpled and glowing under the bright sun’s rays. Billy would never get over this room.

In the old flat, his bedroom was like a cardboard box. Dark, brown, damp, uninviting. Made simply for sleeping, clothes littered the floor along with empty glasses and dirty plates. Whether it was an old habit or the result of his trouble state of mind, Billy wasn’t sure, but he’d never drawn the curtains nor made the bed. Here it was different.

You bounded into his life like a whirligig, full of curiosity, patience and open-hearted joy. Spent endless nights in the pub listening to him pour his heart out. Tentatively invited him to back to your new flat, the one you’d since decorated together. Helped piece himself back together, along with the small home you’d made your own, with picture frames and matching mugs. Your record collection alongside his games.

The little flat was just as bright as that day you’d unpacked the final box. Sure, the bookshelf needed dusting and there were a few dirty mugs in the sink, but you’d get to those later. Together.

Billy looked around the room. At the pillows rearranged on the bed. The abandoned romance book on the duvet. The blanket hanging of the frame.

-I will but you a bottle of wine

And we’ll laugh and toast to nothing

And smash our empty glasses down

Let’s have a round for these freaks and these soldiers

A round for these friends of mine-

Shit. Joni could only mean one thing. Her voice crooned from the record player and, at the sniffle from the corner of the room, Billy found you.

You’d dragged a pillow from the bed, folding yourself around its lumpy shape on the floor. Your comfy jogging bottoms and been discarded, and the two hot water bottles you owned were pressed against your back and tummy.

Through the mess of uncombed hair, you looked up at Billy from your position on the floor.

“Did you get chocolate?” You croaked.

He laughed a little and held up the plastic bag of essentials. He couldn’t help it. Some sick part of him loved seeing you so weak and needy. At last, a chance for Billy to step up and look after you, just as you had always done for him.

“Get on the bed?”

“I don’t want to move,” your voice was a pathetic whinge of pain and tiredness.

“Alright,” Billy got down on the floor beside you. “Here,” he handed you a sharing bar of Dairy Milk and, with his back braced against the bedframe, pulled you back onto his chest.

You groaned as your muscles stretched. “Kettle’s on, I’ll refill your bottle in a minute.” Billy’s hands wound their way to your front and removed the hot water bottle there. The skin beneath your tatty tshirt was red raw and hot to touch. “You’ll burn yourself,”

“It’s the only thing that helps,”

“Let me,” In slow, tender semi-circles, Billy massaged your lower stomach.

God, he was good to you. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“Bath later, yeah?”

You could do nothing but nod. His hands rubbing your tender body, the chocolate, the heat from the hot water bottles. This was all you needed. If you could stay like that for the next, you would. Fuck, Billy would let you if you asked.

When you’d brought Billy home to meet your parents, they were nervous. You’d told them about his past; better to be transparent. Billy was best taken at face value. What you saw was what you got, and why complicate it by skirting over what had happened to him? Their worry had eased at once, however, when they saw how dedicated he was to you. How he made the effort to talk to each of them, interested in what they had to say. How he pressed his hand to your back and gazed at you, even when you weren’t talking to him. They couldn’t have chosen gentler soul for you.

“Billy?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you,”

He looked down at you, kissing your temple as he did so. “What for?”

“Going out and getting my stuff. Looking after me-”

“Jesus Christ, I’d be a prick if I didn’t-”

“I know,” you laughed at him. “But thank you.”

You sat there on the floor together, Billy rubbing circles into your stomach and back until Joni finished her singing and the record crackled on the deck.

“How you feeling?”

“Better, a little crampy, but better.” You sat up and turned to face him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“You know,” Billy smirked as he chased your lips and settled his hands on the skin of your hips. “I did a little reading about what else helps periods, you know.”

“Billy Washington, you angel.” You teased, kissing his neck tenderly.

“Mmm,” he rubbed your sides lazily. What was the rush? A day of cuddles and cups of tea was all either of you needed. “Rosemary tea is meant to help the cramps, stretching your legs too, for some reason. And erm,” he faltered as you kissed his collarbone. “Sex, apparently.”

You stopped your kisses and looked at him with a smirk. “Getting ideas?”

Billy blushed. “It doesn’t heart to try. Said orgasms can help relax the muscles, and make periods shorter.” He was rubbing his neck, trying not to let his ulterior motives show. He’d do anything for your comfort, but if it was nice for him too? Even better.

You were still staring at him. What if you thought he was disgusting?

“We don’t have to, you know, fuck or anything.” Jesus Christ, he felt like a teenager. “But, I can give you an orgasm, if it would help-”

You shushed him with a finger to his lips. “Don’t be so embarrassed.” He smiled lopsidedly. “Maybe later?”

Billy nodded. “No pressure, though.”

“I know,” you laughed and settled against his chest. “Rub my back again?”

He did so diligently, and you hummed. “I love you, Bill.”

His hands squeezed you gently against him, and you inhaled his scent of laundry detergent and cheap cologne.

“I love you too,”

Notes: Fluffy fluffy fluff fluff.

General Taglist: @arcielee @theoneeyedprince @targaryenrealnessdarling @babyblue711 @ewanmitchellcrumbs @exitpursuedbyavulcan @myfandomprompts @humanpurposes @whoknows333

[infinialtairs]

~ Baby girl <3 ~

I know i haven't post much and there's a good reason for that...

I may or may not been obsessed with Casper lately...i think the Nasty Dog animation changed me

I understand people might not care all that much for an fan-oc of Captain Laserhawk (i hear you, i'll promise yall smth on the 1 anniversary for Captain Laserhawk) If you don't wanna hear more in depth of Casper, feel free to skip, i just wanna yap 🦊

I keep thinking about Casper and Rayman and them as a dymanic (because there's two technically types of dymanic, one that leans more in canon in Captain Laserhawk and the other leans purely self-indulgent and you could say also experimental with Casper's character that then can be apply to Casper's personality or backstory in general)

"Canon" dymanic: - This is basically completely going along within Captain Laserhawk series (as far as for season 1 at least...). Because of hybrids being treated mainly as slaves and lower class essentially, Casper didn't grew up well with siblings to care of and even his parents cuz they were always off trying to provide some food and because of that. Naturally Casper and his family do not like Rayman for sooo many reasons, purely in the fact that Rayman (pre-Ramon) is fed with propaganda and lies that Eden told him and Rayman has faith in them and so the lies spreads for decades. Casper is a lot more "depressed" if you will, he's still THE funny comedy guy, always taking things sarcastically and never personally or close to his heart (cuz also tehe his entire family basically abandoned him on streets, I still haven't figure out why). Casper does flirt with people and hook ups but it is coping mechanism to deal with loneliness and that people as much as love his jokes and comedies, they don't exactly like him either because talking with him ACTUALLY in person he just comes across asshole and little mean (or in case flirting, very forward or blunt) despite that's how Casper just used to talk like this. I still don't think Casper and Rayman would even be able to meet in any way, shape or form due to very different views and again...Casper openly dislikes Rayman. BUT BUT! They could TECHNICALLY meet for the first time when Rayman is now Ramon, not dealing well at all along with Bullfrog and Dolph, Casper seeing that Ramon's world view is shattered and now changed sides, Casper might struggle to trust Ramon but eventually warming up, maybe also joining along side Ramon, Bullfrog and Dolph (I know it sounds too basic but because I'm still holding up from developing too much in further to wait for SEASON 2 HOPEFULLY)

Self-indulgent dymanic: - As the name implied - this is only purely for me, having fun and doing shits with Casper and Rayman if theoretically they could be a couple and how it would affect. Casper is now OPENLY flirty with most people, same hook ups or one nighters (he's quite a freaky man..) and eventually...yeah it leads to on Rayman with Casper's flirty remarks. I just like to think just imagine Rayman at the bar, drinking some wine or something because he just needs a moment of peace in his own life from being constantly on live shows, the face of Eden, etc. and then random ass hybrid fox man comes in and say "Oh-ho Face of Eden's here ay? Well, y'know you lookin' quite extra spicy" with smirk, raising his eyebrows up and down. Rayman doesn't like Casper much, not because he's a hybrid since Rayman still cares of hybrids and kids despite been ignorant of what Eden did to them. Rayman just dislikes of Casper's constant flirty comments and annoyances, they did eventually become friends (they don't know how either) but they did. They didn't spend a lot of time together because Rayman is always on the clock with Eden's stuffs but whenever THEY DO hang out, like a long distant friend just came by in the town, both realizing they both have this ITCH of feeling...like wanting MORE of this every day, just spending with each other - ending up crushing on each other while both denying in any way. With Casper denying it is similar to "canon" dymanic, he can ACT romantically and all flirty with others, he used with hook ups and all but in ACTUALLY catching feelings feels completely different realm to him and bit uncertain because of fear of being just used as nothing as just "one time off" (his trauma wooo). While Rayman denying is more or less the same, Rayman isn't typically consider a man who goes on all the dates or in any committed relationships, maaybe once or twice but it always fall flat on the s.o wanting just be known as the "Rayman's Significant Other". They did ENDED UP confessing each other and doing their baby steps in relationship that felt...wrong but they try to ignore and while also healing themselves up with things they either struggled or with Casper's case - traumatized of which he learned to move over time, maybe never fully but no longer held back by it. I know this was VERY fucking long, I didn't even expected it to be THAT long, I'm sorry 😭

anyway, have some concept doodle of Casper's family, not really anything much. I just wanted to experimented

annnd Casper's doodle page cuz i love him dearly like my son...

[meg2md]

Finished Volume 41 of Berserk, the last of Miura's work before he died, and I am unwell. I can't believe I didn't know about this series before recently!!!! I'm wrecked. It got me through the first three weeks of this night block, but I'm not sure how I'm supposed to survive the last week when I'll just be perseverating on the unfinished story :(

I still have work I need to do (M&M, AROM/FSE demos, surgical skills session paperwork) but I'm just not motivated.... All I want to do is re-read Berserk, go to the gym, and roleplay Guts and Casca fucking shit up in various video games :') at least I have this weekend off, because I've worked essentially three weeks straight and I'm tired

I got my first pull-up back at the end of August but haven't been able to progress past 1-2 with "ok" form and we're mid-way through October. I pulled the trigger on a pull-up bar and am going to try and focus my gym workouts on training specific muscles used for pull-ups but not unassisted pull-ups themselves, since I think too much of my limited gym time is wasted spinning my wheels with possibly questionable form when I could just do them at home when I have a spare second. I feasibly can only make it to the gym twice per week. There's just isn't enough time in residency to get all my extracurricular work done, clean my apartment, and enjoy life/hobbies/friends if I do any more than that. Which is sad. It's like, what's the point of life? Will I look back in 10, 20 years and actually be happy with everything I've accomplished? I don't think the answer is necessarily "yes" right now because I'm lonely and overworked and not sure what the point of anything is (lol I'm doing gr8) but that's another discussion. The only thing I know is that my physique/fitness/athleticism is one of the only things even remotely in my control, even if it still feels mostly out of my control due to residency constraints (poor eating habits, no time)

And yet we struggle on (gatsu <3)

I lost my 24/7 keycard to my gym so I'm going to hit the nursing school "gym" when I get off in the morning, plan for a "pull-up supplement" routine as follows:

Elliptical warm-up x10 min

Should rolls with bar, straight arm for warm-up

Inverted rows (with rings if able, otherwise barbell)

Bench press

Seated cable row

Superset tricep dips/t-arm raise

Superset dumbbell pull-overs/y-arm raise

Straight-arm Pushdown

Wide-grip scapula pull-ups

Dead hang

Ab exercise/hollow body rocks

General things to focus on for pull-ups:

External arm rotation for scapular activation, chest up;

Generate push-up/pull-up/bench press from muscles between shoulder blades; don't pull from hands - imagine arm is upper jaw, side is lower jaw and "biting down" to close versus "pulling up" (drive from your lats)!;

Body curls - bring legs up to bar

Target wide grip because it's my weakness, can focus on lats and small shoulder blade muscles

Practice hard movements, assisted if needed, to develop neuromuscular patterns - don't break form!! Stay within ROM with good form!! High rep/volume these movements

Focus on shoulders AWAY from neck for pull-ups and push-ups; engage back

[kehkr]

i keep coming up with ideas for new fics but i really just need to update the fics i already have......

SO ANYWAY the fic idea is that kai is now an adult and ceo of hiwatari enterprises but he STILL doesn't give a shit. he goes through secretaries like they're fast food because he has unreasonable standards yet he skips meetings and important reports because idk- he's too busy jumping off the side of mountains for fun??? enterting back alley beyblade tournaments???? even tyson has moved on to taking over mr d's job but kai, nooooooo, he just rocks up to the tournament in a terrible disguise and expects tyson to not realise its him.

"kai you're too old for this!"

"fuck you!!!!!!"

anyway!

kai is a meance and his secretary, isobel, has to essentially plan his whole life, do his job for him and make sure he doesn't get into too much trouble whilst also trying to impress upon him the importance of acting like a normal responsible human being. it just so happens that isobel is just as insane as he is.

WELL I GUESS IM JUST GONNA WRITE SOME OF IT HERE? SOMEONE RESTRAIN ME

Isobel grinned, feeling an overwhelming sense of satisfaction as she opened up the calendar that she shared with her boss. Who cared what Voltaire wanted, he had stepped down from the company three years ago, this was really none of his business. After all, her job- in her opinion- was to make sure her that boss was happy, not Voltaire. He better appreciate this, thought Isobel as she typed in the schedule that she had come up with for the next week and pressed the update button. She reclined in her office chair, glad for at least a few moments of rest. Unfortunately, it did not last long. Within minutes her phone was ringing. The name on the screen flashing up, Kai Hiwatari. A feeling of dread spread through her chest. Maybe she had been wrong. "Hello?" she answered. "Why have you added a helicopter ride to my schedule next Friday?" he demanded coldly. Isobel tried her very best to be patient, taking a deep breath in before responding. "If you look at the next thing scheduled-" "Yeah, skydiving? Into…" he trailed off. "The arena…" he sounded confused. "You've scheduled me for the beyblade match?" "Of course, the only way I could fit it in was if you get the helicopter from the landing pad, the roads are so busy that time of day," she said curtly. There was a long pause. "But why did you schedule it in the first place?" "Did you not want me to? I'm very sorry Mr Hiwatari, if you'd rather I cancel the beyblade match-" "No!" he snapped, although Isobel was sure she heard an amused huff of air zoom down the phone. She smiled. "If you would also take note of the practice session the day before- we don't want you falling to your death. That would be a lot of paperwork for the firm and I don't think your Grandfather would be too pleased." "Yeah…" "Undoubtedly you will defeat your opponent in a timely manner," she continued smartly, "which will allow you time to get in the car that I have scheduled at 19:00 to take you to dinner with your fiancée, followed by an evening of drinks at the rooftop whiskey bar with your colleagues." "I- right. What's the little glasses emoji you've put at the end of the battle for?" "Mr Saien will check your beyblade over after the battle. I've also scheduled myself to meet him on Monday to give your beyblade a check-up before the match." "You contacted Kenny?" "I did." There was silence on the line which Isobel assumed could only mean that Kai Hiwatari could not find one thing to complain about. "Right. Well, uh. Good. I would have preferred not to have to go to the dinner and drinks-" "I believe it is essential to appease those who do not approve of your beyblading pursuits." "Eh- right." Her boss let out a long sigh. "Mm. Yeah. Good job Olgivy," and the phone went dead. Isobel span wildly in her chair. Kai Hiwatari had said she had done a good job! He had never said that to her, ever, in her whole entire month of working for him! Maybe she would be good at this after all!

(can't help but feel that this would suit a KaiXHil fic too lol)

[thegeminisage]

STAR TREK UPDATE TIME, holy shit! tuesday we watched ds9's "a time to stand" and "rocks and shoals."

a time to stand:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUGH

i feel like ds9 is so fucking good every episode i rate "watch" on ym spreadsheet would easily be "must see" in any other trek show. where do i even fucking start

i love that theyre just casually mentioning bashirs darkest secret in playful banter now. theres something in there that makes me very emotional but also it's extremely funny. also, he really DOES quote percentages like a vulcan. whatever he and garak were doing, i don't know what that was but i loved it. literally his boyish smile

oh speaking of couples. KIRA AND ODO. they've got the station all to themselves...um, e quark. i did get deluded for a hot second, when they were all at the bar together, into believing in kira e odo e quark. i don't think that's going to be a permanent feature in my psyche but it was fascinating to experience just once

ODO. MAKES HANDS. TO TOUCH PEOPLE WITH!!!!!!!!!!!

no one made this gifset so i have to make do with a screencap

HE MAKES HANDS TO TOUCH PEOPLE WITH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i may have had to pause the episode to start screaming

also. hi. "im glad you can still smile" "only when im with you" what if i threw myself into the sun

dukat and kira, holy shit. i've never been so scared in my life. i think about it all the time that he essentially called leeta into his office to fuck him. he BLOCKED KIRA'S EXIT. jesus christ we've come so far from his gay little fireworks show and the thron in his ass

odo manipulating weyoun who's obsessed with him <3 king. but he only did it because <3 kira asked him to. he literally said i've walked this horrible horrible line before i can do it again...their relationship is somehow moving forward because they are going back in time

and like GOD she knows he loves her and she hasn't decided how she feels back but somehow it's still comfortable because he doesn't ask for anything...IMPECCABLE fucking vibes. WHO is doing it like them

on the spaceship side, all of that was very fun, especially sisko and his <3 headaches. but even funnier was them getting stuck 17 years away from help. JUST like. star trek voyager

rocks and shoals:

AND IT GETS BETTER!

kira in this episode. mwah. she quite literally can't live with herself and it's SO clever because at first you the viewer are also like aaaa no dont let the bajorans protest aaaaaa theyll get in trouble and then kira has the change on heart and youre like oh shit. oh fuck. whose side am EYE on?

also, the fact that this was also odo's kneejerk reaction, and she said "don't make me fight you too" and he immediately fell in line. that's love.

garak's "oh, NO" as they were falling. please let the man say "oh shit"

o'brien ripping his pants <3 incredibly funny i felt like i was getting loopy right along with them. the wide shot of the flaming ship sinking into the sea as they laughed their asses off.......cinema

poor dax!!! she tries so hard to be brave but man she really did get fucked up

the little vorta freak in this episode...i want him dead. what an evil thing to do to your own guys AND one of sisko's people died too because of it. ik they won't kil him but they should kill him

i wasn't expecting the thing between garak and nog to have like consequences but it was funt hat they brought it back up. good for them and good for nog, even though i still wish it had been bashir on the post

julian being so chirpy and cheerful w the vorta after fixing him up as though he is a normal patient...sir please control yourself

my only complaint is i wish jake had more to do...right now he just seems to be getting underfoot, when staying behind was supposed to be a sign of maturity. hopefully all his reporting isn't for nothing!!!!

TONIGHT: voy's "day of honor" and "nemesis"

[mangoshorthand]

No Hard Feelings- [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Ch7

Note: this chapter was added as part of a major edit/extension of this fic which is why it's being posted now and out of order. SUMMARY: You're Five's latest assassination target, but things don't go to plan and now he wants you as his fuckbuddy. Funny how what we want and what we need are rarely in line. (Aged up Five because things get smutty...obviously.)  Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five- Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve

Having stormed out of your apartment, Five's getting fifteen flavors of fucked up.

Chapter Seven: Scars

Now he knew why Lila had been acting like more of a prick than usual lately. 

Since not murdering Santiago’s mother was essential to maintaining his position as his favorite uncle, he decided against doing his drinking at home.

Instead, he sucked his final lime with his elbows on the bar before dropping the shot glass on the tray beside the other five. The ritual of salt, tequila and then lime always appealed to Five, and tequila was a remarkably efficient delivery system.

“Jesus, son. Another bad day?”

“What?” he snapped, head whipping in the direction of the voice like a bated dog on the verge of biting.

“Woah,” said the old man, one hand held up in surrender, “just saying hi. We talked in here a couple of months ago, remember? You bought me a drink. Just repaying the favor.”

As Five looked at him from under lowered brows, the guy placed another tequila slammer in front of him.

“Oh,” Five said, recognizing him and nodding, “Thanks, but I’m not in the mood to socialize.”

The guy, clearly drunker than Five was, (and nowhere near as drunk as Five intended to get), brushed off the rebuff.

“Name’s Geoff. What’s eatin you…?” he asked, the question tapering off expectantly.

“Five,” Five supplied, reluctantly.

“Like th-”

“Like the number, yes,” he snapped, irritated by the predictability.

Geoff sat down next to him, undeterred by his obviously forbidding attitude.

“Five. Sure. Is it still chick stuff and job stuff?”

Five chuckled darkly. Drunk as it was like six shots from a revolver, the tequila was permeating his brain extremely quickly. He found that Geoff wasn’t as annoying as he might have expected.

“Just chick stuff now.”

Geoff made a sympathetic noise, as if he knew Five’s situation of old.

“You in a fight with your girl?”

“No,” he said, “she’s not my girl. That’s the point.”

Geoff looked his confusion and Five explained.

“I’m seeing her casually but she’s getting clingy.”

“Treating her mean to keep her keen, huh?” 

“No.” Five grunted, raising his new glass briefly to Geoff before downing the shot. When he surfaced, wincing slightly, he continued:

“She knew the deal. It’s casual or nothing, but she’s sticking her goddamn nose in my past.” 

He was becoming effusive, the liquid sounds in his words starting to drag and hand gestures becoming more pronounced than usual.

“What gives her the right to…to psychoanalyze me? To pathologize the only good thing I had- she has no idea what I’ve been through.”

“Sounds tough, son,” Geoff replied, only understanding part of this, “she sounds like my ex-wife. Everything’s always ‘oh, you have a transactional understanding of relationships’, ‘you aren’t attuned to my emotional needs’ or some dumb shit like that.”

“Exactly!” Five said, pointing at Geoff, “she doesn’t know my goddamn shitass life. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t understand. All we had was each other for over forty years. You don’t just forget that.”

“Exactly!” Geoff repeated, not really listening, “my ex could never understand that I’m not a mind-reader.”

The two men talked over each other:

“-You don’t just throw it away because it wasn’t normal or whatever.” Five said, tipping the shot glass again in the hope of a final drop of tequila. “She was the fuckin’ love of my life. She saved me. She was there when nobody else was, and I don’t regret a single minute of it. So fuck her.”

“ ...just expected me to magically know when the housework needed doing. Here’s the thing, Karen : I don’t know if you don’t tell me.”

“-she doesn’t get to judge us. She doesn’t get to call her a fuckdoll just because she wants me to be her emotional support animal or whatever. Delores was twice the woman she is-”

“...and maybe,” Geoff ranted, “if she’d put out now and again I might not have got all that credit-card debt spending money on cam girls.”

“Looking up at me with those goddamn puppy-dog eyes and she thinks she can…she thinks she can make that all go away? Like it never mattered?”

They both stopped talking at the same time, both of them having caught up with some contents of what the other said. There was a brief moment in which they looked at each other, confused.

“Well…thanks for the shot,” Five said, not wanting to hear any more about Geoff’s cam-girl debt. 

“No problem.” Geoff replied, clearly deciding that the mental wherewithal to unpack how such a young man could have had a 40 year relationship with a sex doll was beyond him, “bye then.”

He decamped quickly, not looking back.

After the brief interruption, Five turned his attention back to the task at hand: getting fifteen flavors of fucked up.

“Hey, you,” he says to the bartender, “will you do me a double tequila and ginger ale?” 

The bartender looked over at Five and the several empty shot glasses in front of him.

“I think you’ve had enough. Your ID says you’re over twenty-one, and that’s fine, but I’m not serving you any more. You’re gonna end up having your stomach pumped at this rate.”

Five tried to summon the wit needed to persuade the guy, but found it that he lacked it given the sudden influx of alcohol to his brain. “Ah…well fuck you.”

He blinked with surprising accuracy given the booze and emerged, swaying, behind the bartender. He grabbed an opened bottle of scotch, gave him the finger, and disappeared again.

He shivered out on the street in a sudden blast of chilly December air. Drinking out in the open wasn’t a problem for him: that was where he’d done most of the drinking in his life, after all.

In the apocalypse, drinking alcohol was a rare godsend. It represented brief moments of respite: a break from obsessive reading, calculation and fight for survival. Alcohol even gave him sweet, dreamless sleep, something he learned to value above almost anything else.

And throughout it all, she’d been there. His angel, his saving grace: Delores. She’d been there when he was thirty and sure he was going to die of an infection, she’d been there when he was forty-two and had the most severe of his nervous breakdowns. She’d been there through the good and the bad, and she’d borne it all with her Mona Lisa smile.

He took off his tie and undid a couple of shirt buttons as he walked, not really knowing where he was walking to. He’d clung to her; a lifebuoy in stormy oceans and, in return, she’d kept him afloat. Their love was a deep-rooted thing, in itself terrifying. In his fractured, beleaguered brain, she spread and clung, filling the gulfs, digging into the sinew and creating new, if diseased, pathways. 

His love for her was so essential to his sanity, so entwined in the basest part of his brain, that there was a time he thought she could never be extracted, even if he wanted her to.

At random, he turned down a sidestreet and then down the sort of alleyway he envisioned Klaus inhabiting during the worst of his addiction. With numb hands, he twisted the lid off the whisky and took a long swing, smacking his lips appreciatively. 

He left her behind when he first got back to 2019 because he felt himself come full circle: once again, he was a young boy in a strange world. He felt their lifetime together could end poetically...and she had always appreciated poetry. 

Leaving her behind in the department store had attractive symmetry: her back with her friends and him back with his family…but he’d anticipated visits. He hadn’t imagined skipping between timelines, encountering more apocalypses and ending up somewhere similar but entirely different, where that department store had only ever used faceless mannequins. 

He lowered the whisky bottle and slid down the wall, back leaned up against it and legs splayed in front of him.

Delores didn’t even speak in his head anymore. 

Before, when he was apart from her, he had a direct line to her consciousness. The part of his mind reserved for her could communicate easily with the rest of him. When they were together, he liked to talk to her out loud, but he didn’t really need to. They could have entire conversations without either of them needing to speak a word. 

Yet she simply wasn’t there now: at some point in the last six years of contact with other people, she’d faded into nothing.

He raised the bottle to his lips, inhaled the smoky, molasses smell and relished the precious oblivion it promised.

An improvised fuckdoll. A fuckdoll, you called her?

His teeth worked furiously at his lower lip.

“Fucking bitch,” he murmured, inbetween deep gulps of whisky.

“Please! S’still Thursday.”

You woke suddenly, eyes wide. It was him. He was outside in the hall, knocking loudly and insistently.

“Please….please,” he begged, “c’mon…it’s Thursday for like ten more minutes.”

Cautiously, you got to your feet, grabbing your robe from the back of your bedroom door, wrapping it tightly around yourself and creeping out into the hall. You could hear him moving around in the hall: his heavy movement sliding against your door. 

“Please. I’m sorry. Pleeeaase.”

He didn’t sound like himself. 

Briefly, you considered just ignoring him. You could pretend you never heard him and wait for him to leave. You wavered on the cusp of indecision. 

At last, you spoke through the door.

“Go away, Five.”

“Please…I won’t blink in but please … oh shit, I couldn’t blink in anyway. But please, talk to m-”  but he cut himself off with a loud dry heave.

Maybe it was his increasing volume, maybe it was the thought of what your neighbors would think, after this racket at ten to twelve, only for the whole hallway to smell of puke in the morning. Whatever it was,  it made you open the door.

He all but fell through it, catching his balance at the last minute and stepping slightly back into the hallway, waiting to be formally admitted. 

“m’sorry.”

He looked entirely and absolutely awful.

“Can you shut the fuck up?” you hissed, sticking your head out and taking a furtive look down the hall.

He swayed, following your gaze as if expecting to see onlookers gathered. 

If his hair was mussed before, now it was a disaster; some stuck up at odd angles and the rest was plastered to his face. His tie, waistcoat and left shoe were gone. His shirt was untucked and unbuttoned to just above his nipples. His face, though still handsome, looked slack, his eyes unfocused. He held a bottle of scotch by the neck with less than a finger’s width left in the bottom.

“Shit.” you muttered, under your breath.

He smelled so strongly of the whisky that it hung in a miasma around him. 

“I need to pee,” he whined, like a kid in school.

You regarded him for just one more moment and then stood aside with an angry exhale, now only happy to get him off your doorstep. Better for him to be inside embarrassing himself than to be outside embarrassing you. 

“Thank you,” he said. As he entered,  he stopped a second, facing you in the doorway. His eyes were bloodshot:

“Your eyes are a lot like hers, you know.”

You’re weren’t sure what to do with this information.

“How much have you had to drink?” you asked, worried, as he crossed the threshold, “have you drunk that whole bottle?”

“Nah. It was only…only half full. I only had that and some tequila.”

His words blurred together. 

“How much tequila?”

He stepped past you. On his first attempt to enter, he walked into the bathroom door frame, making it through on the rebound. You could hear him urinating, muttering incoherently under his breath. 

“How much tequila have you had?” you asked, raising your voice to follow him through the bathroom door.

“Only two shots…or maybe like, six?”

“In…” you checked the time incredulously, “under two hours?”

“M’fine.” he said, sounding more his age than usual: every inch the gruff old man.

Rolling your eyes, you went as if to wait for him on the couch, but then you heard a crash, a short yell and more retching.

“Five?” 

Yet more retching was the only response.

“Okay, I’m coming in.”

You pushed the door, still ajar, to find him kneeling with his head in the toilet bowl with vomit splattered on the cistern and toilet seat. He could barely draw breath in between bouts of vomiting. His whole body heaved with the force of the mostly-liquid mush surging out of him. 

You hovered, unsure what to do. Him vomiting was probably good, right? It was hard to feel too sorry for him given his behavior, but listening to his painted groans wasn’t exactly fun. As much as he terrified you that night, hearing him in real discomfort still tugged at you. Your hand hovered for a moment as you considered laying it comfortingly between his shoulder blades, but anger stopped you.

 When, at last, he subsided into watery gasps, you leaned over him and flushed the toilet.

“God…I’m so sorry.”

He fell back onto his heels, one hand still holding the bottle where it stood upright on your bathroom floor. He looked up at you, chin caked in puke. Now the entire bathroom was filled with the mixed smells of scotch, piss and bile. 

You shook your head at him.

“Take off your clothes.”

He giggled drunkenly.

“This is hardly the time!” 

“Shut up and get in the shower.”

He laughed again and stood up, swaying. You caught his bicep to steady him.

“Whoops” he said, steadying himself with difficulty, “thank you m’dear.”  

He said it ironically, but his use of the endearment made you frown.

He managed his shirt and shoe alone, but needed to put a hand on your shoulder for balance to remove his trousers and underwear, struggling to stand on one leg. 

When he was naked, you helped him take the wobbly step over the side of your bathtub, turned on the shower and pulled the curtain in front of him. 

“Ah! S’cold!” he exclaimed, shocked by the water’s icy temperature. 

You couldn’t help but feel a hint of schadenfreude at this.

“I don’t care how cold it is. Deal with it. It’ll warm up in a second.”

“Okay,” he said, submissively. 

 The shampoo’s next to you. Make sure you wash everything. You stink.”

“Yessirrr,” he slurred.

You kicked his clothes to one side and with a sigh, turned to the cupboard beneath the sink and dug out your cleaning stuff: the heavy-duty antibacterial variety. You cleaned the floor and the toilet, trying not to puke yourself at the smell. As you worked, you could hear Five stumbling around in the shower.

As you scrubbed, you asked yourself what the fuck you were doing here. Here you were, cleaning the vomit of a man who screamed in your face earlier, someone you knew could murder you if he chose. A man who trashed your apartment, who never even held you after he fucked and degraded you.

A small clatter and a whisper.

“Shit.”

He’d dropped the shampoo. 

Not wanting him to attempt to bend over, make his head spin and vomit again, you removed one of your latex gloves and leaned over the bath to pass it to him. 

“Th-nks.” he slurred, face and hair covered in suds. 

He tried to take it off you, but his reactions were too shoddy, especially with the addition of soap on his hands, and he dropped it again with an identical clatter.

“Shit,” he said, again, as if faced with an impenetrable problem. 

“Just leave it.” you said, firmly, “you got plenty on you.”

“Yeah, okay,” he replied, sounding thankful that this insurmountable issue had been solved for him. 

You finished up your cleaning and closed the toilet lid, using it as a seat while you waited for him to finish in the shower. Once or twice, you were sure you caught him sing-humming a couple of bars of Cher’s If I Could Turn Back Time . 

You certainly didn’t imagine any of this knelt on the floor with his gun to your head.

“You nearly there?” you asked, searching for a spare toothbrush.

“Yup.”

A few seconds later, the water shut off and he opened the shower curtain. As he did so, he gave a small hand gesture as if to say ‘ta-da’. You couldn’t help but laugh at this with him standing there, looking so pathetic.

You got him dried, supervised him cleaning his teeth, helped him put his underwear back on, and then shepherded him into the living space and onto the couch. At least the water seemed to have sobered him up slightly.

“I don’t deserve you.”

He tried to take your hand, but you avoided his touch, instead throwing the blanket over him.

“No, you don’t,” you said, pointedly.

As he lay down, you put a full glass of water on the coffee table and a basin on the floor near his head, just in case. As you did so, he looked up at you.

“She did…challenge me,” he said, eyes appealing to you, begging you to understand, “i-in the ways I could imagine.”

He took a few sob-like breaths before continuing.

“She kept me sane…more or less.”

You sat cross-legged in front of the couch, your face on a level with his. 

“I know - I know how it sounds. But she was real. She made me...laugh. Y'know, take myself a little less seriously? She didn’t always agree with everything I said. She wasn’t some…Stepford wife.”

He turned his face into the couch cushion, muffling his voice.

“She’d kill me if she knew what I did today.”

You waited. You could sense there was more to come.

“But the love was - is - real. The grief is real. I know what a shrink would say. I know that I projected my conscience onto an…an object. But I love her. I love her and I miss her every day. I felt like I could fuck you and not betray what we had, but I couldn’t hold another woman like I held her.”

You couldn’t help but pity him. Your anger and resentment ebbed away even as you watched him, hiding his face in your couch. You knew how much this must have cost him to say. For once, he looked like the lost, lonely boy of so long ago.

“She sounds very special.”

“She was”

“And,” you hesitated, “I’m no shrink, but if she was ‘just’ part of you, then…isn’t that good?”

He couldn’t unpack this. Maybe it was the drink, maybe not, but you tried to explain.

“She sounds sweet and loving and she stopped you going mad. And that…that’s all inside you. You and she did that together. You can’t lose her if she never fully left. It means you have all that love to share. The love you have for her and the love she had for you. If she was loving, then so are you.”

“You're getting a little ‘kumbaya’, don’t you think?” he said. And then, as his characteristic cynicism faded, “Thanks.”

You stood up.

“I have work tomorrow. Drink that water and then sleep on your side in case you puke again. I’d rather avoid having someone who looks like he’s not legal to drink choking to death on my couch.”

“ ‘kay,” he mumbled, eyes already heavy as he shifted onto his side, “she always said I drink too much.”

“She was right.”

*** Friday morning. You intended to let him sleep, but when you entered the living room he wasn’t there. The blanket he slept under was folded neatly on the couch, the bowl and water glass clean and drying on your draining board.

He’d cleaned up the broken glass and your destroyed TV was gone. In its place was a note:

New TV arrives tomorrow. Sorry again.

Masterpost

Alternatively, join me on A03.  Here is a link to the whole series

[voltrixz]

Favorite blorbo and why ? You must tell me your lore

STARES AT YOU WITH GLEAMING WIDE EYES AND SMILES RLLY WIDE. (I WILL BE RAMBLING A LOT)

I cant narrow it down to just one so you'll be hearing about my current top 4 (putting the rambles under a read more because erm. THIS SHIT IS LONG AS FUCK, I RAMBLED SO MUCH...)

Auditor (Madness combat): LOVE LOVE SHADOWY CHARACTERS WITH GLOWING EYES. AND EXTRA BONUS POINTS IF THEY HAVE ELEMENTAL RELATED POWERS. And well Auditor is very funny to me. Essentially a major antag but he like rarely shows up, hes just in his dinky office drinking soda (canonically has a sweet tooth and HEHE). Also said to be canonically not the brightest which like this mf has a whole agency dedicated to kill ONE guy and still fails. Also struggles with hand to hand combat, like what is is their problem. This guy is basically a god and this whole thing is their one job yet HE SUCKS AT IT!!!!!!!! And they're such a show-off and so dramatic about it and AGRHRHRHRHR strange guy. I like him a lot.

Phobos (Madness Combat): What is his problem. Like geniuely. This guy is so ?????? LIke he was the leader of the biggest cities in Nevada, had people full under his control. And he was willing to drive the whole city and Nevada into pure destruction to achieve his selfish goals born out of his MASSIVE EGO and self entitlement and his belief of him being a god. Yet he failed. But HE HAD A BACK UP PLAN, HE WAS PREPARED AND HE STILL GETS HIS ASS KICKED. Like this guy. He'd be as pathehic as Auditor but like. his influence over Nexus City and the narrative is SO GAHRHRHJ, rlly interesting guy. He is very often played off as a joke but like. gneiuly such an interesting guy that forever changed the course of the narrative.

Electro (TSSM): i mean. I mentioned liking characters with elemental related powers and well. "Volt" is literally in my name so you can take a guess on which elemental power I rlly like. (ELECTRICITY!!!!! I LOVE ELECTRICITY RELATED CHARACTERS/THINGS!!!!) And also AGRHRHR what a guy. WHAT A GUY I TELL YOU!!!!!! Gets his life completely turned upside down by a workplace accident. Freaks out and lashes out (understandable I would have killed a man) and its only downhill from there because this guy cannot make a good decision for the life of him and he is TERRIBLE at managing his frustrations. He is also terrible at handling any kind of relationships, the ultimate fumbler. The fact we first see him as just a your average typical guy but as he descents further and further into villiany it kinda makes you question about who he was before. BECAUSE THE SUPER INTERESTING THING IS OUT OF ALL THE VILLAINS IN TSSM, HE IS THE ONE WHO WE SEE THE LEAST BEFORE HIS TRANSFORMATION. super interesting to me. Also his design fuckin rocks. And hes trans coded as hell, so double win (hes just like me fr...) Also i both need him and need TO BE HIM. but yeah.

Shocker (TSSM): I need him so bad. WHO SAID THAT. WHO SAID THAT. ok but like. He's a cowboy and hes a hired merc. And he's given a dumb looking suit when doing so at some point. He literally comes up with his villain name by using A FUCKIN PUN/QUIP WHEN HE FIRST MEETS SPIDERMAN. I hope he gets hit by a truck. LIE. Idk hes a very ??? guy to me. Because unlike the other villain he has a no personal vendetta against Spiderman, he was just hired to take him down and well thats his job and hes dedicated to it so thats what he does. Also hes wayy more comfortable with quips and such, and AGRHRH despite appearing the more rational and level headed of the villains, he has RLLYYYY bad temper and hates hits at his ego (which spiderman and his boss's right hand man do ) Also hes the one who's way more involved in the criminal underground and AGRHRHHR its so interesting to piece together his relationships within that underground. Also he has a bar and he plays pool, very cool. Also he hates working with the other villains (the rest of the s6) and would rather work with the enforcers (his orignal team) since he sees all of them as amateurs and only sticks around because his boss told him too like AGRHR he hates their asses... LIKE AGHRHR idk hes such a guy. Hes so different from the rest of the villains and yet. agrhrhrhr agrhrh. A lot of story and dynamic potiental there. AGRHRH

[evupdates]

GuitarWorld: “I did everything by working my ass off. I played in bars six nights a week, 300 shows a year, three one-hour sets every night for eight years with no record deal”: Evanescence’s Troy McLawhorn on his guitar firsts, favorites and embarrassing moments https://trib.al/khFs88q

Interview Behind The Read More

In this Inquirer column, we reach out to Troy McLawhorn of Evanescence to answer the essential questions in any guitar player’s life. We’re talking first songs learned, first guitars played, and what would McLawhorn do if he had a time machine?

Well, maybe we know the answer to that – he’d take that damned trench coat back to the store…

What was your first guitar?

“My mom and dad had guitars in the house, and though they didn’t play them that much, those were the first guitars I grew up playing on. The one I really started to learn how to play on was my mom's nylon-string classical guitar.

“I played that for years before they bought me my first guitar, which I picked out in a music store down the street from my house. It had a black Gibson Explorer-style body with a maple neck and was made by a company called Lotus.”

What was the first song you learned to play?

“House of the Rising Sun by the Animals. I figured out the chords and then gave a little concert to my mom and dad. I was around 12.”

Do you remember your first gig?

“My first gigs were playing at parties. In my hometown, older kids would have what they called keg parties, where they’d buy a couple of kegs of beer and have a band play. So my first gigs were in people’s backyards, playing at parties for older people who were getting drunk. One of the earliest bands I can remember being in at the time was Hellrazor. By default, our only payment was beer.”

Ever had an embarrassing moment on stage?

“I can't think of anything in particular that occurred in Evanescence, but I do remember one embarrassing moment back in the early ’90s when I was in Still Rain. Whenever I performed, I’d wear snakeskin boots and a leather trench coat that went all the way down to the ground.

“One night, I was playing a solo at the front of the stage and totally rocking out. When I was done, I took a step back, but because my trench coat was so long, I stepped on it and couldn’t stand up straight.

“Each time I tried stepping back, the trench coat got shorter and shorter, until I fell down on stage on my back into the drum kit. I rolled around for a second so I could get my shit together, and I finally got up.”

What’s your favorite piece of gear?

“One piece of gear that I regret letting go of was a Mesa Boogie Mark IV. It was a combo that had a beautiful tweed front. As for my favorite, it’s my 1985 Gibson Les Paul Custom that was given to me for my birthday by a good friend.

“It was used when I got it, but it’s a beautiful guitar that’s got this amazing piece of leather artwork on the front. I’ve never seen anything like it and it just sounds and plays great.”

Suppose the building is burning down; what one guitar from your collection would you save?

“My wife gave me a really great American Telecaster for Christmas a few years back. It’s one of my favorite guitars to play when I’m at home, and it means a lot to me because my wife gave it to me.”

When was the last time you practiced and what did you play?

“It would’ve been last night before the show. I warm up before every show, playing guitar for 20 or 30 minutes. I will usually go through some exercises, and maybe a couple of things in the show that I may have fucked up the night before.

“I don’t really have a routine, as I don’t actually sit down and practice all that much when on tour, as I concentrate on maintaining and getting ready for the show I’m about to play. But when I’m home, I practice a lot and like to learn new things.”

What aspect of the guitar would you like to improve?

“I’d love to have more of a knowledge of music theory. Growing up, I learned everything by ear. I just listened to records and tried to figure out what I could. I think it would be great to have more of an educated knowledge of theory and scales and all that stuff.”

What advice would you give to your younger self?

“I’d say invent a time machine so it can take you to now, where you could watch YouTube videos! I think it’s amazing that kids have YouTube now, because it would’ve been a whole different thing for me if I had all the knowledge that’s on YouTube."

“I did everything I could by working my ass off. I played in bars five and six nights a week, playing 300 shows a year, playing three one-hour sets every night for about eight years with no record deal. The experience was amazing. I don’t know what more I could have done outside of what we did in that time.”

Fallen (20th Anniversary) is out now via Craft Recordings.

[hacash]

A couple of things in that flashback which I think make the Disruptors interesting:

Most of the Disruptors clearly do not come from money. By their thirties they’re essentially washed-up failures hanging out at a dive bar, none of whom have the power or the money to make it big. I don’t think you can interpret them as having grown up warped by money and power in the same way that the Thrombeys were.

Miles’ connections and his ability to fund the gang’s passions indicates, however, that he does come from money.

Each of the crew originally had some sort of driving passion - fashion, politics, science/education, hell, even Duke seems to have loved his gaming before he got sucked into the far-right MRA shit. It’s reasonable to assume that they’re reasonably decent people with hopes and dreams like anyone else.

Meanwhile Miles is the only one whose inner life seems to be total insubstantial: he doesn’t have actual goals, he wants fame for fame’s sake and glory for glory’s sake, ‘to be remembered in the same breath as the Mona Lisa’ (LOL). 

At the beginning, the Disruptors are clued in enough to recognise his Mona Lisa quote for what it is: pretentious bullshit! It’s only once they start getting a taste for the luxury and the power that hanging out with Miles affords do they get taken in by it (/are willing to overlook the obvious bullshittery if it means getting what they want)

Essentially it’s a reasonable read that they were solid enough people but were corrupted hard by Miles and his wealth

The story of the Disruptors therefore doesn’t strike me as a simple ‘rich people are dicks’ aesop. It’s an example of people who weren’t originally rich attaining that privilege and wealth, and then getting a taste for the good life - people who know what it’s like not to have the good life! And who then gradually lose all sense of themselves and are willing to fuck over other people in their desperation to keep on the gravy train.

I also don’t see the Disruptors turning on Miles as some grand redemption arc: I personally interpret it as a mixture of the gang seeing which way the wind is blowing, and of coming to the breaking point of putting up with his bullshit. But I also think the ending does leave Lionel, Claire and Birdy with a little bit of hope. Miles has always been empty and stupid, and as such, he has nothing to fall back on after the events of Glass Onion. But Lionel, Claire and Birdy had a bit of substance to them back in the day, and even though their careers are now toast, the film’s ending leaves them at least with the potential to return to that someday.

[direwombat]

a possessive kiss that is meant to stake a claim . + Sybille and Jacob?

another installment of me chipping my way through the prompts in my askbox. have a late-game katc moment where the gang (guns for hire) find out that syb's a peggie now :)

2.2k

It isn’t uncommon for Sybille to disappear for days on end. 

She’s a private person who values her alone time, and considering how much she’s done for the county since Joseph declared the Reaping, Grace is willing to grant her privacy. Without her, John would still be terrorizing the Holland Valley, and Faith — or, Rachel, as she’s going by nowadays — would still be infecting everyone’s minds with Bliss. Without Sybille, the Resistance wouldn’t have been able to organize in the way that they have. 

Without her, they’d still be fighting for survival, rather than making the organized efforts in dethroning Joseph Seed from his reign of terror. She stepped up when no one else would and became the leader the county needed. 

The poor woman has been to Hell and back more times than Grace cares to count. The woman works herself to the bone and barely sleeps. If she decides she needs some time to disconnect and get some rest, Grace isn’t going to stop her. 

Even machines break down if they’re not taken care of properly. 

But, after going a week without hearing from her, Grace starts getting antsy, and after another few days of radio silence, she decides to take matters into her own hands. 

She has a map of the Whitetails spread out over the table of one of the booths at the 8-Bit, desperately trying to get Nick, Hurk and Sharky to fucking pay attention. Last she heard, Sybille was in the Whitetails, which means that odds are she’s being held prisoner at the Veterans Center. And that means doing recon is essential. 

Jacob Seed is fucking smart. They can’t just go in guns blazing if they want to rescue her. 

“You know who’d be real good help here is Boomer,” Sharky says. “That guy could sniff out every Peggie in a ten mile radius! Locks onto Peggie B-O like a fuckin’ missile.” His grin falters and his heavy brow furrows as he frowns. “Where is he, anyways? I ain’t seen him around in a while.” 

“Might’ve gotten captured along with Syb,” Hurk says thoughtfully. “She said that John was gonna send ‘im up north before she freed ‘im, right?”

Nick groans in dismay. “Shit, Jacob better not be turnin’ him into one of the Judges. I don’t think I got the heart to kill old Boomie if he attacked me, y’know?”

“All the more reason for you all to focus,” Grace grits through her teeth. “Now, can we please —”

“Hey, y’all?” Adelaide calls from where she stands behind the bar, fixing herself her third cocktail of the hour. “I ain’t gonna say you’ll all want to see this, but, uh… I think y’all should.” 

“What is it, Mama?” Hurk asks. 

“I don’t — I can’t…” It’s the first time Grace has ever heard the woman at a loss for words. She’s usually so easy to joke -- the more serious the situation the more inappropriate the comment -- but when Grace locks eyes with her, all she sees is fear. “Just come look at the TV.” 

Grace’s stomach drops. 

Ever since the Cult took over, nothing good has been playing on TV anywhere in the county. Most days it's just broadcasts of Joseph’s sermons interspersed with other programs that are blatant Cult propaganda — cult song sing-alongs and storytimes led by the former-Faith, John’s alleged “self-help” programs, and, perhaps the only useful things that play between segments: Jacob’s five-minute survivalist tips. But every now and then, the Cult puts out something new. Something that looks more at home in a horror film than it does on public television. 

The broadcast of Deputy Pratt, ankle deep in water, tied to a chair, sobbing and pleading for his life will forever be burned into Grace’s memory. 

She and the boys slip out of the booth and all cautiously approach the television resting on the bartop. The video quality is poor — dark and fuzzy — but when she makes out the figure on the screen, she claps a hand over her mouth. 

“Shit,” she breathes. 

At the same time Nick cries out, “Jesus Christ!”

Standing, at attention, before the red-and-black version of the Peggie flag and dressed in the garb of the Chosen is the Deputy. She stares into the camera, her face calm and expressionless. No fear or anger; she remains stoic as the soldier she is. 

The camera zooms in for a moment and then back out, focusing on her face before the voice of Jacob Seed sounds from offscreen. “State your name for the record.”

“Sybille Marie La Roux,” she answers. 

Jacob steps forward, just enough so that only one of his broad shoulders is in frame. “Do you, Sybille Marie La Roux, solemnly swear to support and defend the Project at Eden’s Gate against all enemies, both foreign and domestic?”

The words ring bizarrely familiar in Grace’s mind, and it takes her a moment to recognize them as a bastardized version of the Army’s Oath of Commissioned Officers. Her breath hitches and dread roils in her gut. It twinges painfully when Sybille answers with a firm, “Yes, sir.” 

“Do you swear to bear true Faith and Allegiance in the Father and the Project?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bullshit,” Nick hisses under his breath. Bullshit, she’s swearing this oath of her own free will. Surely, Jacob did something to coerce her into this. 

But what if he didn’t? What if she is joining the Cult of her own volition?

Grace’s jaw clenches so tight that her ears ache. 

“And do you swear to well and faithfully discharge the duties asked of you by the Father and your Commander?”

“Yes, sir.” 

Jacob steps further into frame, completely obscuring Sybille from view. There’s the distinctive sound of a knife being unsheathed and Grace catches the red flash of its handle as he appears to lift one of Sybille’s hands and presses the blade against the soft flesh of her forearm. “Then in the name of the Father, I appoint you Judge, Jury, and Executioner of Eden’s Gate.” He wipes the knife against his jeans and slips it back into its sheath, and lifts his hand to draw something on the woman’s forehead. “May you act as God’s Divine Wrath and enact His judgment against our adversaries.” 

“Yes, sir.”

He leans down to pick something up and then moves to circle behind her, revealing the red cross he drew on her forehead. It matches the blood that stains the faces of the wolves he’s tortured into submission. Leaning down, his lips brush the shell of her ear and he eyes the camera with a sadistic smirk. 

Even where she stands, miles away from the Whitetails, Grace barely suppresses a shudder. It may be a video recording, yet she still feels like he can see them through the screen. 

“Praise be to the Father,” he says, low and breathy, with the intimacy of a lover.

Sybille lifts her hand to her forehead in salute. “Praise be to the Father,” she repeats. 

What happens next stuns everyone into utter silence. 

As Sybille’s hand falls back down to rest by her side, Jacob is wrapping a hand around to cradle her jaw and tilt her head up and towards him. It’s so quiet that Grace nearly misses it, but he mutters a quiet, “Good girl,” before leaning down to capture Sybille’s lips in a devouring, open-mouthed kiss. Her eyes flutter shut and she leans back against him, allowing his tongue to plunge hungrily into her mouth. Small, whimpering moans are pulled from her every time their lips move. As she tilts her head back to give Jacob easier access, the red scarf wrapped around her neck slips, revealing a band of leather wrapped around her throat. 

A sharp gasp flies from Adelaide’s lips and she covers her mouth and nose with both hands, muffling the quiet “Oh no…” as her eyes go wide. Nick’s face goes red. Whether it’s in anger or second-hand embarrassment, Grace isn’t sure, and both Hurk and Sharky’s mouths hang agape, absolutely dumbfounded. 

The Chosen uniform, the collar, the kiss — Jacob might as well be fucking her on camera. Not only has Sybille pledged her allegiance to the Cult, but she’s allowed herself to be claimed by one of the most ruthless men Grace has had the displeasure of meeting. 

When they part, Sybille’s lips are swollen and her eyes are glassy. Jacob’s arm wraps around her waist, pulling her back and holding her against him. Her head leans back and she melts into him,, seeming to forget that the camera is still there. 

But Jacob doesn’t. Piercing blue eyes focus back on the lens to address those watching. “Let it be known to all who stand in opposition to the Project: the Sword of Justice will be swift and merciless.” Everyone lets out a horrified gasp when he lifts Eli’s head — severed from his body — into frame by the hair. “Your sins will be weighed and judged. Those deemed worthy, those deemed willing to repent, will be spared. Those who aren’t…” he trails off, lips quirking smugly upwards as he glances at the decapitated head in his hand, “...will be set free.” His gaze snaps back to the camera. “This is the will of the Father.”

The video cuts out, replaced by static before it begins to loop. 

Adelaide turns the TV off, and all those gathered stare at the blank screen in horrified silence. 

Sharky is the one brave enough  to shatter it. “W…we’re gonna help her, right?” he asks, looking to the rest of the group with round, pleading eyes. 

“She’s gotta be brainwashed,” Nick says shakily. The flush of his face has given way to a sickly green. “The conditioning…there’s gotta be a way to deprogram her,” he says before tacking on an uncertain, “Isn’t there?” 

Adelaide’s brows knit together, and she looks to the boys apologetically. “Sugar, I ain’t so sure there’s anythin’ we can do.” 

“Why not?” Sharky asks. His voice is small, almost childlike. 

Grace’s stomach churns. “Because she’s exactly where she wants to be,” she says grimly. 

“What — how…?” Nick stammers. 

Adelaide taps at her throat. “The collar, honey,” she explains. “Y’all’ve met her. You think she’d be wearin’ that if she didn’t want to? You think she’d let him do that to her on camera if she weren’t at least a little into it?”

A wave of disgust washes through Grace. To think that the woman who helped her defend her Pops’ grave and saved Falls End — the woman she looked up to as a leader and commander — is now Jacob Seed’s pet. 

“I’ll be damned,” Adelaide sighs. “The military kink I kinda expected, but I ain’t ever woulda pegged her as a sub.” She knocks back the martini she’d been holding in her hand and grimaces again. “Guess we know why we ain’t heard from her or Eli in a while.” 

“Fuck,” Nick hisses. “Shit.” He drags his hand over his face and rubs at his beard. “How — how the hell did we miss this?” 

Grace sighs wearily and leans over the bar, pulling up the first drink her hand touches. Unscrewing the cap, she doesn’t bother with a glass and drinks whiskey straight from the bottle. 

At first she thought the delegation of missions was just Sybille being a good leader. It’s impossible for her to do everything, and, at the time, it made sense to have teams attacking outposts and doing what they could while Sybille was elsewhere in the county. But then she thinks about how much time Sybille had spent in the Whitetails — how whenever she disappeared for days at a time, it was always when she was up north. How she was always so irritable, almost volatile, whenever Grace had asked about how her “solo-missions” went whenever she returned. 

It’s easier to spot the red flags in retrospect. Hindsight is a bitch like that.

Sybille always played things close to her chest, hiding problems until they couldn’t be hidden anymore. Ever since the night she dug herself out of her own grave and struck Joey during Burke and Virgil’s funeral, Grace has known that something was wrong with Sybille. But she always assumed that they were close enough — that she was trusted enough — that she would confide in her if something was weighing on her shoulders. 

And maybe that’s Grace’s fault. Maybe she should have pressed harder or checked in more often. 

Not that it matters anymore. They all missed the writing on the wall, and while Eli was the first to bear the consequences, he certainly won’t be the last. 

The county’s greatest hope has turned into its biggest nightmare, and now they need to figure out how to fight it. 

Abruptly, the door to the 8-Bit swings open with enough force that it bashes against the wall. They all whip around, pulling their sidearms from their holsters.

Stumbling through the door is a man dressed in Peggie garb. His hair and beard blend into one dark, tangled mass around his face, and his bright green eyes are bloodshot and wild. Wheaty leans against him, his arm wrapped around the Peggie’s shoulders, while his other hand is pressed against his abdomen. Blood oozes between his fingers and he’s barely clinging to consciousness. 

“My name is Augustine La Roux,” the Peggie says, looking to all of them with fearful desperation. “I need your help.”

[metavandetta23]

nobody is going to read this, so I am just gonna put it out there warning: rambling from some fucking guy ever. you have been warned.

life sucks, blah blah blah, but instead of just complaning about that, how about I give you bit explenation as to why. so sit down there one of my 121 followers. If anyone of you read that is and not just clicked follow on one art I made and buzzed off (no offense there, just saying.) Okay so you might ask, why now out of sudden i blow like up that. Here is the answer: See, I have been doing creative stuff like, be it art, writing, music or whatever for past..... lets say 4-5 years. As you might guess, some of these ventures didnt pan out in the end. i mean, its given. It happens. Let me mention some of the things I tried over the years. I tried making a homestuck comic on mspa when I first started doing creative stuff. I managed to get pretty far compared to most projects I will mention, but I didnt finish in the end. Why? I got burned out, because I worked on it full non stop. Then I tried having a cool rp campagin session with pals from discord server I known. That ended in tragedy, especially after one of them out of fucking blue, send a fucking gore of dead person. None of us expected this to happen. Earlier I tried music, couldnt do that thing earlier unless you call "music" by swapping midis with shitty piano font. Well, atleast it didnt end up with a gore.

Then I tried working on some ut aus. Did it even work? HAHAHAHAHAHA, what do you think? Ofcourse, not. Didnt peak interest, because I didnt capture interest basically. Anyways this goes on and on. Deltarune au there, some another rp server there and there (one turned into glorified horny rp out of college setting that I tried initially, pal if you are reading this, sorry but this server just sucked ass) I think you might start seeing a pattern here. You would think eventually. That being "Gee meta, thats sure lot of failures, you must have atleast succed one time BIG right?" Haha, no. Okay I did manage to finish some of my stuff but like. really really low bar stuff. so essentially in the eyes for everyone, nothing. See, most of the failures from these projects came from me doing solo. You would think me teaming up with someone would help? Not really, unless I literally pay them money for it, tough fucking luck. Out of 5 years of me doing creative shit, only 4 people helped me out that I recall. they couldnt helped me out for long in the end, but i appreciated for them when they could. all rest of people? Fucking went ghost and then I was left alone, figuring this shit out myself. It isnt fun knowing that you put trust in someone, only in the end to be alone in this in the end. I wish I was so fucking talented, creative, witty or self efficent as the people i asspire to, the artists i admire who make works of artm writers who can write witty, fun but touching stories. I wish I could be at thier level, so I could make great works of art. But atlas, I am not. I dont seek glory or fame, even if it would be nice. No, I just want people to enjoy creating what I make, to feel like I have impact on the world, that people can share with. to make connections with. Look in the end I am just 20 year old guy from europe, that isnt much good at anything, including social life, apperantly. Only thing I am good at is pixel art, but just barely. I am very much uncreative person. and unconfident and rather hopeless one these days, despite how much I try to hide in fake smiles.

I dont have much better way to end this sort of ramble, besides mentioning tobys recent post from spring newslettter and my view on it. "There's times where it feels like your hopes and dreams are simply slipping away from you. That the things you wanted to achieve are floating away from you in the sky while you lie there, fallen in a crater, your wing torn off, never to grow back. Bitterness grows, and you feel like you may never leave the ground again.

But

That's not true.

You can still fly.

Even if you lose a piece of yourself, even if it feels like you can't get up anymore, you can. You can fly with one wing. You can fly without any wings."

Can you really even fly, even if you feel like a part of yourself was torn off? That it happened right before you could even took off. No matter how much you struggle, scream and rage. You can still never to be able to fly like others, much even take off from ground. No matter how much you try. You feel shackled to ground, to the bones of earth. While you look towards as sky, as other people dance in the air beyond your wildest imagination. Its so beautiful, yet so out of your reach. Cries of helps can be heared coming from you from miles in the air. But they all fall on the deaf ears. Or maybe its just out of bliss ignorance? You cant say. You want to join them, join them so badly. To feel like you could finally be a part of something greater. To feel like you could belong somewhere. To be cared. But you just cant. It wasnt meant to be made. Resentment grows inside your soul. As that feeling rots inside you more and more. Part of you wishes this feeling to be gone, to never be felt. But the other part, says otherwise. It wants that liberty desperately, looking with its green eyes at them. Why they? Why not me. Why not me at all!?. You just want what they have yourself. It grows inside you more and more as you allow it to. You eventually consdering tearning off other people wings. Even if you cant ever fly agian, doesnt mean you should be the only who suffer like this right? And why do they deserve to fly, anyway. They would be better off without that, you think. Plus, even in this state. You know you can do this option. To cripple someone, just to make yourself feel better even if its only for a moment. But then you realise. If you ever would reach to that point. Whatever drive you initally, would be just gone. In fear of your insecurities and weakness. You decide to lie up, instead. Rendering your shackled and vulerable. Locked inside, with no way or out. Perhpas in the end.... Its better if you dont fly at all...

[nevermindirah]

dirah what are your thoughts on booker and buffy meeting. would they be friends? would they have fun death related stuff to discuss?? inquiring minds want to know!

Booker and Buffy!!!!

Ok first of all an essential fact to know about Buffy is that her formative trauma, before she became the slayer and got a whole boatload of new traumas, was that her dad left. Booker would meet her and immediately go Dad Mode Activate.

I'm picturing two different versions of the same scene, one when Buffy's 15, pre-show, when she's only just recently become the slayer, another when she's all grown up after the show is over. Booker finds himself in Southern California for some reason, one thing leads to another, here he is in an alleyway getting his ass handed to him. A tiny blonde person appears and ends the fight by causing Booker's opponent to disappear into a cloud of dust.

Booker's thinking oh huh I've heard about vampires, guess Andy wasn't making that up, maybe this is the slayer?

Buffy meanwhile is warily eyeing how the enormous gash down the side of this guy's neck seems to be healing itself up like nothing she's ever seen before. "What kind of demon are you?" is the obvious question, to Buffy at least.

Booker explains that he's just a regular human except for the immortality, she's like "weird", he's like "yeah", he asks if she's the slayer, they have a whole exposition dump banter thing to establish their respective universes' rules to each other's fandoms, it's fun and charming and made all the better by the fact that it's not written by Joss Whedon, entertaining all around! Buffy's a little put out that she's got nowhere near the world record on coming back from the dead. She died twice! That's a lot of times to come back from! Booker assures her that this is indeed an impressive number for a mortal and she's not missing out on anything fun by not having died more.

In the version with teen Buffy, Booker says, "I heard slayers were young but merde, you're way too young to be out here doing this. I feel like I should buy you an ice cream to thank you for saving me from possible double immortality."

Buffy makes some kind of joke I can't think of right now but she agrees she'd rather not have a destiny and yeah actually ice cream sounds great.

So they go get ice cream and they have a nice chat about what bullshit it is to be stuck with a supernatural gift-curse thing that turns your whole life to shit. Booker listens to her complain about how being the slayer is ruining all of her clothes and the old guy they assigned to mentor her doesn't get how much that matters to her. Her watcher doesn't get it and maybe Booker doesn't quite get it either but he cares that it matters to her so he listens and he says supportive things and when they part he gives her a nice big dadly hug and it's wonderful 😭

In the version where Buffy's a grownup, Booker offers to buy her a drink and they spend hours at whatever nearby bar commiserating about the various indignities of their respective bullshit destinies.

Buffy asks how old he is, then when her reaction to his answer is "huh you're the same age as my high school boyfriend" Booker gets to have a moment of WHAT, bc age gap discourse is silly in supernatural contexts but also she was sixteen and Booker is feeling very dad feelings about this kid who had to grow up way too fast.

He tells her about his kids and she tells him about her baby sister who's sort of her child bc some monks magic'ed her up out of Buffy's dna. As far as Buffy knows there's only ever been one slayer who gave birth and that didn't turn out super well, but now being the slayer isn't a one at a time thing, maybe being a mom is something she could do? If she wanted that? It feels like a lot to risk, and Booker tells her that parenting is so much scarier and harder than fighting bad guys but also it's the best damn thing.

They maybe play a drinking game about who's seen a weirder villain or had a more embarrassing (near-) death. Buffy's seen an impressive variety of weird demons but Booker's seen an incomparable variety of weird human nonsense and they have to stop doing the drinking game part before they both fall down.

Buffy asks Booker about historical things she always wondered if Angel and Spike were making up. Booker's first thought on Spike: "you willingly had sex with a Victorian?" Then she explains the aesthetic and the trauma bonding and he's like "yeah that tracks". Buffy teases Booker about the possibility that he might someday meet his immortal soulmate, a mystery person who might not even be born yet as they're having this conversation. "You might want to start thinking now about whether you'd be cool with that person affectionately calling you 'old man'." >:)

For those following along, this ask is a response to my tags on this post about coming back wrong except you're just fine it's everyone around you who's wrong now. Buffy didn't come back just fine exactly — Willow magic'ed her out of heaven and she was understandably depressed as shit about it — but Willow 100% "broke [herself] into shards and bloody bargains to get [Buffy] back". And this has gotten me thinking about Booker's mortal family, and especially Jean Pierre. Remember that sweet little kid who wanted his papa to take his favorite doll with him to war to keep him company? What might that little kid have done hoping it would bring his father back?

Immortality had Booker on its shitty destiny list no matter what his family did or didn't do in the hopes it would bring him back alive, but they didn't know that, and the kind of stubborn hope that borders on magic is especially strong in children. I'm imagining Jean Pierre fashioning a golem to go off to Russia and bring back his papa. Someone returns, but is it his papa, with his traumatized mind and mysteriously changed body, or is it some twisted version of his golem wearing his papa's face? And either way why can this seemingly indestructible protector do nothing to stop the cancer? Papa, why?

Well this sure took a turn. Booker and Buffy: friends! With a lot of terrible stuff in common 😭 but charming friend chats too!