#YOU’RE gonna give me PERMISSION? to interpret MY media?

[danothan]

this is a baseless complaint derived entirely from ego, but there is nothing worse than someone telling you to ‘go do research’ for your special interest/hyperfixation. you don’t know me but how dare you, who do you think i am, etc.

[maxwell-grant]

What are your thoughts on Jekyll/Hyde and his archetype of the human periodically changing into a monster ?

Jekyll & Hyde was the 2nd horror story I read following Frankenstein, I got it off the same library and it always stuck very strongly with me even before I got into horror in general. I even dressed up as Jekyll/Hyde as a kid for a school fair by shredding a lab coat on one side and asking my sister to make-up claw gashes on my exposed arm and paint half of my face, although in hindsight I think I ended up looking more like Doctor Two-Face than Jekyll/Hyde, but I was 12 and didn't have any Victorian clothing to use so I had to make do. The first film project I tried doing at film school was intended to be a modern take on Jekyll & Hyde, and I didn't get much farther than a couple of discarded scripts

Much like Frankenstein, Mr Hyde as a character and a story is something that's kind of baked into everything I do artistically. And it's not just me, as even in pop culture itself, none of us can escape Mr Hyde. I would go so far as to argue Mr Hyde may be the single most significant character created by victorian fiction, if only by the sheer impact and legacy the character's had.

(Fan-art by guilhermefranco)

Part of what makes Mr Hyde such a powerful and lasting icon of pop culture is that the very premise of the book invites a personal reading that's gonna vary from person to person. Because everyone's familiar with the basic twist of the story, that it's a conflict of duality, of the good and evil sides, but everyone has a more personal idea of what those entail. Some people make the story more about class. A lot of readings laser-focus on sex and lust as the driving force, and there's also a lot of readings of Mr Hyde that tackle it to explore a more gendered perspective, and so forth.

I don't particularly take much notice of the Jekyll & Hyde adaptations partially because the novel's premise and themes have become baked so throughly into pop culture and explored in so many different and interesting ways, that I'm not particularly starving for good Jekyll & Hyde adaptations the way I am for Dracula and Frankenstein. The Fredric March film in particular is one that orbits my head less because of the film itself (although I do recommend it), but because of one specific scene, and that's when Jekyll first transforms into Hyde on screen.

Out of all the things they could have shown him doing right that second, they instead took the time to show him enjoying the rain.

Just Hyde taking off his hat and letting it all cascade on his face with this sheer enthusiasm like he's never been to the rain before, never enjoyed it before, and now that he's free from being Jekyll, he gets to enjoy life like he never has before. It's such an oddly humanizing moment to put amidst a horror movie, in the scene where you're ostensibly introducing the monster to the audience, and it makes such a stark contrast to the rest of the film where Hyde is completely irredeemable, but I think it's that contrast that makes the film's take on Hyde work so well even with it's diverging from the source material, even if I don't particularly like in general interpretations of Hyde that are focused on a sexual aspect.

Because one, it understands that Jekyll was fundamentally a self-serving coward and not a paragon of goodness, and two, it also understands one of the things that makes Hyde scary: He wants what all of us want, to live and be happy. He's happy when he leaves the lab and dances around in the rain like a giddy child, he's happy when he goes to places Jekyll couldn't dream of showing up, he's happy as a showgirl-abusing sexual predator. Hyde is all wants, all the time, and there's not that much difference between his wants, his domineering possessiveness, and the likes exhibited by Muriel's father and Jekyll's own within the very same film, which also works to emphasize one of the other ideas of the original story, that Edward Hyde doesn't come from nowhere. That no monster is closer to humanity than Mr Hyde, because he is us. He is the thing that Jekyll refused to take responsability for until it was too late.

(Art by LorenzoMastroianni)

While many of the ideas that defined Mr Hyde had already been explored in pop culture beforehand, Hyde popularized and redefined many of them in particular by modernizing the idea. He was the werewolf, the doppelganger, The Player On The Other Side, except he came from within. He was not transformed by circumstance, he made himself that way, and the elixir merely brought out something already inside his soul. To acknowledge that he's there is to acknowledge that he is you, and to not do that is to either lose to him, or perish. Hyde was there to address both the rot settling in Victorian society as well as grappling concerns over Darwinian heritage, of the realization that man has always had the beast inside of him (it's no accident that Hyde's main method of murder is by clubbing people to death with his cane like a caveman).

I've already argued on my post about Tarzan that the Wild Man archetype, beginning with Enkidu of The Epic of Gilgamesh, is the in-between man and beast, between superhero and monster, and that Mr Hyde is an essential component of the superhero's trajectory, as the creature split in between. That stories about dual personalities, doppelgangers, the duality of the soul, the hero with a day job and an after dark career, you can pinpoint Hyde as a turning point in how all of these solidified gradually in pop culture. And I've argued otherwise that The Punisher, for all that his image and narrative points otherwise, is ultimately just as much of a superhero as the rest of them, even if no one wants to admit it, drawing a parallel between The Punisher and Mr Hyde. And he's far from the only modern character that can invite this kind of parallel.

The idea of a regular person periodically or permanently transforming into, or revealing itself to be, something extraordinary and fantastic and scary, grappling with the divide it causes in their soul, and questions whether it's a new development or merely the truest parts of themselves coming to light at last, and the effects this transformation has for good and bad alike. The idea of a potent, dangerous, unpredictable enemy who ultimately is you, or at least a facet of you and what you can do. That these are bound to destroy each other if not reconciled with or overcome.

You know what are my thoughts on the archetype of "human periodically changing into a monster" are? Look around you and you're gonna see the myriad ways The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde's themes have manifested in the century and a half since the story's release. Why it shouldn't be any surprise whatsoever that Mr Hyde has become such an integral part of pop culture, in it's heroes and monsters alike. Why we can never escape Mr Hyde, just as Jekyll never could.

It is Nixon himself who represents that dark, venal and incurably violent side of the American character that almost every country in the world has learned to fear and despise. Our Barbie-doll president, with his Barbie-doll wife and his boxful of Barbie-doll children is also America's answer to the monstrous Mr. Hyde.

He speaks for the Werewolf in us; the bully, the predatory shyster who turns into something unspeakable, full of claws and bleeding string-warts on nights when the moon comes too close… - Hunter S. Thompson

There is a scene in the movie Pulp Fiction that explains almost every terrible thing happening in the news today. And it's not the scene where Ving Rhames shoots that guy's dick off. It's the part where the hit man played by John Travolta is talking about how somebody vandalized his car, and says this:

"Boy, I wish I could've caught him doing it. I'd have given anything to catch that asshole doing it. It'd been worth him doing it, just so I could've caught him doing it."

That last sentence is something everyone should understand about mankind. After all, the statement is completely illogical -- revenge is supposed to be about righting a wrong. But he wants to be wronged, specifically so he'll have an excuse to get revenge. We all do.

Why else would we love a good revenge movie? We sit in a theater and watch Liam Neeson's daughter get kidnapped. We're not sad about it, because we know he's a badass and he finally has permission to be awesome. Not a single person in that theater was rooting for it to all be an innocent misunderstanding. We wanted Liam to be wronged, because we wanted to see him kick ass. It's why so many people walk around with vigilante fantasies in their heads.

Long, long ago, the people in charge figured out that the easiest and most reliable way to bind a society together was by controlling and channeling our hate addiction. That's the reason why seeing hurricane wreckage on the news makes us mumble "That's sad" and maybe donate a few bucks to the Red Cross hurricane fund, while 9/11 sends us into a decade-long trillion-dollar rage that leaves the Middle East in flames.

The former was caused by wind; the latter was caused by monsters. The former makes us kind of bummed out; the latter gets us high.

It's easy to blame the news media for pumping us full of stories of mass shootings and kidnapped children, but that's stopping one step short of the answer: The media just gives us what we want. And what we want is to think we're beset on all sides by monsters.

The really popular stories will always feature monsters that are as different from us as possible. Think about Star Wars -- what real shithead has ever referred to himself as being on "the dark side"? In Harry Potter and countless fantasy universes, you have wizards working in "black magic" and the "dark arts." Can you imagine a scientist developing some technology for chemical weapons or invasive advertising openly thinking of what he does as "dark science"? Can you imagine a real world leader naming his headquarters "The Death Star" or "Mount Doom"?

Of course not. But we need to believe that evil people know they're evil, or else that would open the door to the fact that we might be evil without knowing it. I mean, sure, maybe we've bought chocolate that was made using child slaves or driven cars that poisoned the air, but we didn't do it to be evil -- we were simply doing whatever we felt like and ignoring the consequences. Not like Hitler and the bankers who ruined the economy and those people who burned the kittens -- they wake up every day intentionally dreaming up new evils to create. It's not like Hitler actually thought he was saving the world.

So no matter how many times you vote to cut food stamps and then use the money to buy a boat, you could still be way worse. You could, after all, be one of those murdering / lazy / ignorant / greedy / oppressive monsters that you know the world is full of, and that only your awesome moral code prevents you from turning into at any moment. And those monsters are out there.

They have to be. Because otherwise, we're the monsters - 5 Reasons Humanity Desperately Wants Monsters To Be Real, by Jason Pargin

(Two-Face sequence comes from the end of Batman Annual #14: Eye of the Beholder)

For good or bad, Hyde has become omnipresent. He's a part of our superheroes, he's a part of our supervillains, he's in our monsters. He lives and prattles in our ears, sometimes we need him to survive, and sometimes we become Hyde even when we don't need to, because our survival instincts or base cruelties or desperation brings out the worst in us. Sometimes we can beat him, and sometimes he's not that bad. Sometimes we do need to appease him and listen to what he says, about us and the world around us. And sometimes we need to do so specifically to prove him wrong and beat him again.

But he never, ever goes away, as he so accurately declares in the musical

Do you really think That I would ever let you go...

Do you think I'd ever set you free?

If you do, I'm sad to say It simply isn't so

You will never get away FROM MEEEEEE

(Art by Akreon on Artstation)

[found--family]

‘Supernatural’ season 15, episode 15 screener secrets: We’re ‘Highway to Heaven’-ing this bitch

[everything is from this Hypable article] 

This week on Supernatural, Amara returns and are angels solving people crimes now? Hypable previewed Supernatural season 15, episode 15 “Gimme Shelter,” so read on to find out more.

After a sweet and fun return to ease us back into the world of Supernatural last week, things are heating up pretty dramatically – I knew there wouldn’t be much more time for messing around.

“Gimme Shelter” sees Supernatural dip its feet into what the Winchesters currently believe is their big plan – eliminating Chuck by also taking down Amara, resulting in what they believe will be a cosmic-being-free balanced world. But first, they have to find her. Sam and Dean get a pretty good lead on her location, which results in a very interesting conversation between Amara and the boys – especially with her most favoritest Dean, of course.

Meanwhile, Castiel is persuaded into taking Jack to investigate a nearby case in Missouri – which all three adults suspect is probably the work of a human criminal – for the sake of humoring Jack and keeping him both busy and supervised. On the way home, they have a very interesting conversation of their own.

Spoiler Warning: This article contains generalized spoilers for Supernatural season 15 episode 15, “Gimme Shelter.” If you do not wish to be spoiled at all, do not read this article in advance of the airdate.

The official synopsis for Supernatural season 15, episode 15 reads:

MATT COHEN DIRECTS — Castiel (Misha Collins) and Jack (Alexander Calvert) work a case involving members of a local church. Meanwhile, Sam (Jared Padalecki) and Dean (Jensen Ackles) go off in search of Amara (guest star Emily Swallow). Matt Cohen directed the episode written by Davy Perez (#1515). Original airdate 10/15/2020.

If you want to know what to expect from this week’s Supernatural, here’s 10 teasers plus 15 single word clues from our advance viewing of Supernatural season 15, episode 15 “Gimme Shelter.”

‘Supernatural’ season 15, [10] episode 15 screener secrets 

1️⃣ During the filming of this episode (27 January – 5 February) Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles both spent much of the week at home with their families in Austin, a detail which was made clear on their and their wives’ public social media accounts – possibly the result of scheduled time off as they’ve mentioned occasionally requesting? The result is that the episode is weighted much more towards Cas, Jack and the murder investigation they’re chasing than towards Sam and Dean, but on the flip side, the Sam and Dean arc is more crucial to the long game of the show, so what it lacks in minutes, it makes up for in impact. 

2️⃣ However, the episode still begins and ends in a grounded family group way, at home in the Bunker – one of those “we know we should be doing this together but there are Reasons we have to split up” situations. This detail, in my opinion, really speaks to the motivation of the creative team towards honoring the four leads as parts of a whole – in earlier days, this kind of episode would have been two entirely non-touching threads. This one is, if not a tapestry, at very least a braid – tied up together at both ends, and intertwined in the middle.

3️⃣ You might have seen pictures or ominous trailer footage of Castiel and Jack digging a hole at the crossroads. We all know what that means! However, don’t worry. They simply want to talk – and the demon they summon has some really interesting – and dare I say positive? – news about the state of Hell under Her Most Gracious Majesty Queen Rowena. Let’s just say the demon is actually pretty friendly… and extremely bored.

4️⃣ The two main guest stars on Cas and Jack’s side of the episode are both actors who have been briefly featured on the show before, in a couple of pretty famous episodes – one from season 2 and one from season 5. I don’t think there’s meant to be any meta or Easter Egg element to this, just the usual Vancouver casting industry cycle (see the ‘Weren’t You In Another Episode‘ reference page on the SuperWiki) but one of them is one of those cute “I appeared on Supernatural as a child and now I’m here as an adult” situations, and the other, well… the original character’s very name has become the stuff of Supernatural legend, and if I were in charge of this episode I would have put the actor in a particular piece of footwear and made sure we got a shot of it, just for kicks.

5️⃣ Castiel steps into a prayer circle when the church group members are meant to give a testimony – presumably of their journey so far and their relationship with faith. That’s what Cas chooses to share, at least – in a non-specific, humanized way – and fans of the character will be moved to hear the ways he verbalizes his own growth.

6️⃣ Speaking of growth, some of Dean’s is spelled out for him in the most miraculous way by Amara. After Sam and Dean meet up with her and have a conversation about Chuck that’s ultimately a bit of a non-starter, Dean returns to ask her another, more personal question. Her response gave me legitimate chills. It’s a very weighty mic drop and the combination of the level of impact and the level of clarity (it’s entirely airtight, no room for interpretation) feels like the culmination of all the self-actualization work the show has been doing on Dean in the last four years. (I wish I could tell you Sam got a big special moment like this in the episode, but he doesn’t. Amara’s return was always going to be Dean’s thing.) Amara’s speech to Dean… it doesn’t feel isolated, like the idea of it was invented just for this episode. It feels more like concrete evidence of what the show has been trying to prove for ages. And the funny thing is, Amara is the anti-Chuck, right, and all season, we’ve learned about the version of the story Chuck thinks is good, and we’ve been told to root against that. Chuck’s version of Supernatural isn’t how the writers really feel. But I think Amara’s might be. Dean has obviously struggled to see what she tells him, all in one piece, but here it is – this was the point, laid out on the table, from the entity behind the curtain – both onscreen and off. Amara knew what she was doing, and so did the writers. This was always, always the point.

7️⃣ Even before this massive scene, Amara’s return is just great. Emily Swallow does such an incredible job with this character – she really is the anti-Chuck even without the whole writer comparison. Swallow imbues this character with such an incredible peace and stillness in comparison to Chuck’s histrionics – this was true in the way she spoke and behaved even in season 11, but this Amara also feels kindness and patience and tolerance. She radiates power, even when she’s also slightly goofy. There’s no fight, there’s no antagonism, but the boys in her presence are like little fish in a vast ocean – they quickly realise they have no real control in this conversation. The way that we leave her indicates she’ll be back and has more to say or do, and what she shared during her reunion with Sam and Dean makes me really curious about the role she’s due to play in the show’s endgame.

8️⃣ I’m not very religious but I really like the version of a church group or ‘faith-based community,’ as they say, featured in “Gimme Shelter.” Supernatural has a shaky history in terms of how the show portrays people in-universe who believe. Sometimes they’re treated like a joke, or stupid, or dangerous, or hypocrites, but occasionally civilian acts of faith are shown as great and powerful things, even in a world where we know that what they believe in isn’t strictly accurate. That concept became an even bigger question mark for me when we got the reveal that Judeo-Christian God is not only absent, but our actual villain. However, this was a really nice look at why faith can still be a framework for a good way of life – loving thy neighbor – for some people, no matter the truth about Chuck. The episode also features a callback to writer Davy Perez’ very first Supernatural episode “American Nightmare” in terms of the way that some people have weaponized faith and religion to the detriment and harm of others or even themselves, but this factor does not negate the positive point mentioned above.

9️⃣ Supernatural alum and newly minted director Matt Cohen really got the full old-school Supernatural episode experience when it comes to leaning into the spooky horror element. The murderous case-of-the week featured in this episode is heavy and lingering on the gore and even contains a little bit of a jump scare, so view responsibly.

🔟 So, um, you know that line, in this week’s teaser trailer? The line that a lot of people are freaking out about because it seems to pertain to something important that we know about Cas’ fate that Dean and Sam aren’t aware of? Yeah, it is 100% absolutely not about that at all. It is about something super important, but it’s not that. It’s also the last line of the episode, but trust me – it’s not a cliffhanger and it’s not a red herring and it’s not a twist. The information is gleaned within the episode and you’ll know exactly what Cas is telling Dean about after seeing it – narratively, that’s the reason it isn’t in the episode, because the show clearly assumes you’ll get the picture and can skip a rehash of information. But what you were probably expecting – maybe even hoping for – it’s not that. You’re gonna have to hang on for that one.

Finally, have 15 random yet significant words from this week’s episode without any context whatsoever: Gaia, Ronald, mother, pierogies, cats, philosophy, target, blind, permission, lockdown, Kool-aid, buffet, gift, trial, choice.

‘Supernatural’ airs Thursday at 8/7c on The CW

[fluent-in-lesbianism]

I really appreciate that you've talked more than once about growing up with a stutter. If you feel comfortable, would you share anything you wish people would know when they talk to people who stutter? I mean, the obvious "don't be a dick" and "let the other person finish their sentence" seem to apply (I hope!!), but is there anything else people should know or do which maybe they don't? Thanks and hope you and your mom are doing well ❤️️

I’m happy to share, but your “don’t be a dick” is the best tl;dr

So obviously, everyone with a stutter is different and has their own process and their own rules to follow when speaking with them. These are just a few of mine:

1) You can finish my word/sentence only if I give you permission. I won’t though, bc I hate it when people do that. Even friends and family. I know people do it bc they think they’re helping me, but I just interpret it as a sign of impatience. The only time I allow it is if I’m really tired and I don’t have the mental energy to maintain fluency anymore. In that case, I’ll usually just wave my hand at you mid-word/sentence and let you say whatever you want (even if it wasn’t what I meant at all).

2) Piggybacking off that: Stutters are physically and mentally draining. I can’t even fully explain everything it takes for me to talk to somebody, especially for long periods of time. By the time I’m done, I’m exhausted bc I literally spend the whole time planning out everything I’m gonna say in my head and how I’m gonna say it. Fluent people just expect a certain pacing to their conversations that I can’t maintain as easily as they can and tryna keep up with that pace is tiresome. So if you see me getting tired or taking longer to respond to you, it’s not you. My brain is just overwhelmed.

3) With that being said, I don’t care if it takes me 5 whole minutes to say one word, DO NOT:

  A) tap your foot   B) look at your watch/at a clock   C) sigh really loud   D) make that pinched :\ face   E) interrupt me   F) look away, like you’d rather be anywhere else   G) finish my word/sentence (without my permission)   H) or any combination of those

People think they’re being subtle, but I know the exact second someone’s losing interest in what I’m saying, and nothing shuts me down quicker than seeing someone mentally checking out of the conversation just bc I’m struggling to maintain fluency.

4) I use a lot of “filler words” (um, uh, hm, ah, like, etc.) because they get me out of stutters quickly. I know how I sound, but if you want fluency, then you’re gonna have to suck it up and listen to me say “uh” for the thousandth time.

5) Idk if I should be revealing this bc I’m kinda afraid to get called out on it if I use this method with y’all lmao, but I pretend I don’t know a word/phrase just so I can get out of saying it. All the time.

Like, if I already know I can’t say something without stuttering and I don’t have a replacement word/phrase for it, then I’ll just be like, “uh, you know that, uh. what’s it called? sweeper thingy you get dirt up with?” “broom?” “yes! that. you got one? I spilled my will to live…”

6) I also repeat words and claim it’s “for emphasis”, but really it’s just bc I’m about to stutter on the word after it and saying the previous word again usually gets me out of a stutter (“that’s really, really strong tea”). It’s not. I just struggle with st- words and words ending in -ly are easy transition sounds for me.

7) FOR THE LOVE OF GOD HERSELF, STOP 👏INVITING 👏ME 👏TO PLAY 👏TIMED 👏GAMES 👏If a game involves me having to verbalize a thought before a timer goes off to win, I will throw fucking hands! And, yes. I’m looking at you Pictionary, you piece oF SHIT (ง'̀-‘́)ง

8) I have a very strained relationship with fast food drive-thrus. Have I had a breakdown in a Full Moon drive-thru bc I couldn’t order my food clearly enough which led the employee to get pissed and ask why I was “wasting her time”? Maybe... That’s why I always walk in to order unless I already know exactly what I’m ordering. I also have to order it in the same exact way or I’ll stutter and the employee won’t understand me.

9) Speaking of strained relationships, phones. Fuck those, too! If I hear one more person say “You’re breaking up” while I’m tryna talk to them, I’m gonna scream. People hang up on me all the time bc they think the connection’s bad or the phone cut out. Even after I explain that I just have a stutter, they usually have no idea what that means. The more extreme people think I’m playing a joke on them so they get angry and start yelling or cussing at me before eventually hanging up. So using a phone is extremely difficult and has led to many an anxiety attack. I avoid them altogether unless I’m talking to someone who already knows to expect long pauses and skips.

10) And I know I’ve said this before over the years, but I’m gon’ say it again: I want more positive stutter representation in media.

I’m talking (lmao *finger guns*) verbal representation of a heavy stutter. Not a stutter on a word or two periodically with no obvious tics or one sentence in a flashback to explain why she doesn’t speak anymore (looking at you, OitNB). The split second rep stuff is okay, but let’s be honest, the vast majority of fluent people need to be exposed to heavier stutters. They need to see what a heavy stutter looks like, physical tics included. Otherwise, they’re not gonna know shit when they meet someone with a heavy stutter bc they’ve never been exposed to it. And it ain’t even their fault, but people like me suffer for it. If there were more true-to-life depictions of people with stutters on mainstream media, then it would go a long way in de-stigmatizing us and teaching people how to properly interact with us.

And maybe just because I want to see that aspect of myself on screen. I mean, I got wlws coming out my woolawoo atm, but ain’t none of them sound like me. And I’m tired of it. Damn it.

[clericbyers]

I have been thinking about the exchange between Will and Mike at the end of ST3 and in particular their word choice. In artistic media, whatever is articulated is there with purpose. It’s not coincidence (an old example is that if a gun is mentioned in text to be on a wall to a reader, then the reader expects the gun to be important in some manner, whether it is for metaphoric narrative or is literally used because it was explicitly pointed out in the narrative). In terms of cinematic media, the published take was used instead of other versions for whatever reason the director(s) decided, so everything has intent. (Finn even said in a Hollywood Reporter interview that the Duffers shot “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls,” with different phrasing, adding “yet” in one take that ended up unused. So, there’s definitely attention payed to what exactly is being said between Will and Mike.)

That being said, I wanna focus a lot on Mike’s, “Yeah, but what if you want to join another party?” and Will’s, “Not possible.” Before this exchange, Will donates his D&D manuals. He’s not taking it with him despite spending a good while three months back trying to regroup the Party through it. He states that he’ll use Mike’s set, if “we still wanna play”. Here he puts the ball in Mike’s court while acknowledging that they both might grow up and grow out of the interest but Mike holds the means to pursue D&D again. Mike says, “Yeah, but,” and it’s simple acknowledgement neither here nor there because he had something more important to say, something that unnerves him enough to let his gaze wander. He seems a little unsure and he pauses before continuing on, gathering his thoughts. He doesn’t make eye contact with Will until he says, “What if you want to join another party?”

[x]

Now party had two meanings in ST: party as in D&D in general and the Party (which I’ll capitalize) which is the best friend circle of Mike, Will, Lucas, and Dustin. Max and El join later but those four are the Party when it comes to D&D. Mike’s question is loaded. He asks if Will wants to play D&D with other people, he asks if Will wants to find a new friend group to replace the Party. He paints it as a hypothetical, a possibility for Will to pursue if he wants to, not when he plans to. Mike doesn’t say, “Yeah, but you can still find another party while you’re gone.” That is giving explicit permission for Will to move on, it’s what he already expects in a way but doesn’t want. He doesn’t say, “Yeah, but you might want to find a new party.” That paints the Party (and in turn himself) as old and something of the past, which Mike is battling with himself in terms of what it means to grow up.

Mike is asking about this loaded hypothetical situation. “What if,” hypothetically, “you wanna join another party?” ‘Another party’ implies in addition to the Party, an alternate of sorts. It’s not necessarily a replacement, just an addition. He’s offering the possibility because much like what Mike did when El joined the Party, the addition can very well become a replacement. Consider it ironic I suppose, but he doesn’t want Will to replace him.

Will’s response though...his response kills me dead. Will didn’t say, “Impossible.” He said, “Not possible.” There’s a difference between impossible and not possible. Impossible means it can’t occur, it cannot exist. It’s simply not able to be done no matter what. Every single possible event in the world can occur and this one thing simply cannot be done. It’s very finite and, well, pretty extreme and intense. ‘Not possible’ though? It’s technically the same meaning but context and delivery matters. ‘Not possible’ is so much more freeing in terms of interpretation than impossible.

[x]

For example, “It’s impossible to give you a ride,” vs “It’s not possible to give you a ride.” The former phrase implies defeat. It’s literally never going to happen for whatever reason. Maybe the car is full already or you have too much luggage that can’t fit. The bounds of the real world inhibit you from the car ride. It’s frankly just not gonna happen. The latter phrase though infers that there are other circumstances that means this simply isn’t possible. Giving you a ride isn’t in the list of possibilities at the moment. Maybe the car has an extra seat but there’s a dog you’re allergic to in it. It’s not impossible for you to ride in the car—there’s a free seat—but it’s not a possible option for you if you don’t want to have an allergic reaction.

In the context of Will’s reply, impossible would mean that Will can’t ever find another party. That’s frankly false; he could probably find another party, which Mike hypothetically thinks may happen given his question. Will knows this, he could find more people to play D&D with, it’s not impossible to join another party. But he looks down at the box between them—a box full of old toys to donate and move on from, a symbol itself of growing up—and then shakes his head with a soft smile. It’s technically possible to join another party—he has that choice—but in actuality, it’s not possible for him. It’s not possible for Will to replace the Party. It’s not possible for Will to replace Mike. Those cards aren’t in his hand despite them being in the deck.

Will is saying so much just with those two words, reassuring Mike that even though they have growing up in front of and between them (literally in terms of the donation box that’s only there because he’s moving away), the one thing that won’t change is how he feels, and his relation to Mike. That change is not possible. He will always love Mike.

And then Mike smiles.

[x]

Mike smiling with Will isn’t new, but the thing to note here is how he smiles. It’s not just a simple grin. He’s shy, he’s soft, he’s careful, he’s cautious. Mike being cautious about showing affection to Will? That’s new. He’s always been the first to reach out with Will, always caring and checking in, reaching out physically and emotionally. Throughout ST3, he’s shutting Will out and throwing that in his face and when he does that, Mike’s not cautious (as usual), but in ST3 it’s to the negative extreme of brashness.

Now though, Mike is questioning. He even called Will ‘dude’ earlier, trying to get a handle on his relationship with Will. Will is a boy, he’s a dude, he’s Mike’s male friend, right? He could have said “Woah, Will,” or “Whoa, Byers,” or even just, “Whoa,” but saying dude? Why would he ever have to do that, especially if he was still with El? Why is he reinforcing the fact that Will is “dude”? There’s all sorts of interpretations to be had on that but I wanna focus on Mike’s behavior afterwards. As stated before, Mike’s eyes wander when he gets a little unnerved, he worries if Will might forget about him, he’s nervous. Why would Mike be nervous about this? If he’s confident in his friendship with Will, there shouldn’t be any question about it even with the move. Yet, he questions being replaced, questions where he stands, questions what they are.

In response to Mike’s smile, Will smirks.

[x]

It’s a direct contrast to Mike. Will’s not shy, soft, or cautious. He knows what he said, what he implied (at least for himself if Mike doesn’t). He’s blatantly flirty. He’s figured out where he is and what he wants. He showed Mike the level playing field (“I’ll just use yours when I come back. I mean, if we still wanna play.”) and he’s kinda like, “I’ll see you when you get there.” There being acknowledging his feelings. I think it’s also Will noting maybe that Mike likes him, too, compared to three months prior when Mike basically broke his heart and Will proceeded to breakdown over it. Here, Will sees Mike’s shy smile, he sees his nervousness. Will has successfully put his heart out on the line (again) and this time Mike didn’t stomp on it. Mike is pleased to have it, and he’s careful about it. This is something new, them both noting that there’s something different between them. Now, it’s up to Mike to shoot his shot if he wants to.

(And later, when Mike mentions Will in his conversation with El, he gets excited about playing games again when El and Will come back to visit, excited about taking that shot (given games and D&D is Mike and Will’s metaphoric narrative about their friendship while growing up), and then backtracks. He says he sounds like he’s 7. At 7, Mike’s best friends were Will and Lucas. (There’s no explicit age stated when Lucas befriended the two but I assume it to be maybe like a year after Mike and Will became friends.) Mike basically said he sounds like a kid again, naive about many things yet deeply caring toward his friends and well, not dating anyone. In Mike’s character profile in the concept bible, he plays D&D to escape from the fact that he doesn’t have a girlfriend. D&D came out in 1979, which is when Mike is 8 (or 7 depending on his birthday). He wants to restart that D&D obsession, noting that D&D is a metaphor for Will and Mike’s relationship. He wants to return to this closeness from being kids, where it didn’t really matter what the affection meant. But he also knows that he’s 14 and growing up. This isn’t something he should want yet he says it right in front of El, his supposed girlfriend, the one he claims to love yet can’t tell her himself and then can’t return the statement or the kiss after she confesses too. He says it after the exchange with Will, where D&D turned from the game used to maintain the friendship into the game where they can take go further if Mike is ready for it.)

tl;dr Mike likes Will, too and Will gave him a second chance to try again if he’s done being a clown and wants to own up to his feelings.

[ first two gifs by ilu-3000 and last two by cath-avery, as credited above ]

[cyn-00]

Moreid one shot, 17 - "my hands"

Season 9, episode 3 "Final shot" (this is the one where the team has to catch a sniper: initially they thought the unsub was motivated by racism, and when they discover that the gun was the same used a few months before by "The General" - in prison, ex leader of a white supremacists group - to kill a black councilman - Adrian Clay - AND that in one of the shootings the assistant d.a. prosecuting him for that crime was killed; they decide to interview him. Re-interpretation of the scene where Morgan and JJ hold hands to make uncomfortable "The General" - racist son of a b*tch - during the interrogation... only there's Reid instead of JJ ;)

I believe @amplifreid and @smileythirteen asked me to tag them ❤️

Also, in my imaginary world, Morgan and Reid are a well established couple by season 9, but to illustrate this scene properly I think it was way better to assume they weren't a couple yet. Also with the same intent, the interview to "The General" (Adam Dawson) happens in an interrogation room with the one-way mirror glass and everything. Bear with the divergence from the actual scene - some of Dawson, Morgan and JJ's (=Reid) lines do remain pretty much the same, though

Read it on AO3

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

"Look at the change in his posture when Morgan got in..." Blake sighed, staring attentively at the interrogation room on the other side of the one-way glass. "Cocky. This guy's not gonna give us anything useful."

Rossi gave her an agreeing look, silently mimicking her head-shake while his hands slid in the pockets of his jeans.

"We'll have to work with that. Playing the black agent card is our best and only shot." Hotch replied.

"It's also very much obvious..." Blake added half-heartedly.

"He'll be too blinded by hate to even notice." Reid reassured her with a shrug, finally saying something after being glued to the glass for a few minutes with his arms folded on his chest, concentrated on the interrogation.

-

"Mr Dawson," Morgan greeted the convict with a fake polite tone, closing the door behind his back.

He sat in front of him and crossed his hands atop the metallic table. "Do you happen to have wondered why you're here?" he asked, squinting his eyes.

"I have a few guesses, yes." Dawson answered confidently.

Morgan tilted his head, while his brows shot up. He'd already picked up on what type of attitude the guy was planning to pull off on him for the whole duration of the interview. 

"Would you mind naming a couple of those for me?"

Dawson sighed, nodding his head. "I guess we're talking about my past involvement with the Southern Aryans."

"Past?"

"Past. Look, I even got my tattoos removed." he confirmed, not hesitating to show him the laser scar on the inside of his arm with a self-complacent grin, even if constricted in his movements by the cuffs chained to the table top.

Morgan couldn't bring himself to feign praising at the thought the guy once marked his skin with symbols and slogans to proudly remind himself and others that not only he was a racist son of a bitch, but more than that he also acted upon those retrograde and disgusting ideologies of his. So he just nodded, not even bothering to actually look at Dawson's arm.

-

Hotch's phone rang in his pocket, distracting him from the dynamic slowly - very slowly - unfolding in the other room.

"What is it Garcia?"

"My baby is in there with Dawson right?? Not that you aren't my baby too, sir- I MEAN you guys ALL are my babies regardless of our age gap-"

"Garcia." Aaron reprimanded her.

"Yes! I'm- I'm sorry, back to business: I managed to dig deep and dirty into every single detail about the murder of Adrian Clay, and in general every little, petty criminal activity this group of disgusting bigots have committed." she paused, gulping so noisily they could all hear it through the phone.

"They- they have engaged in a series of, quote unquote, 'harassments of any sort', in those areas of the city principally frequented by the lgbtq+ community through these past couple years. And- and Clay himself was rumored to be homosexual, but there's no reliable source for that." she explained in a rush, like she wanted to get it out of her brain as quickly as her breath allowed her to.

"...don't know about you, but I'm not all that surprised the shitheads are also homophobic. Those things don't sound like anything a group of neo-nazis wouldn't do, am I right?" Rossi snorted. "They'll target anything 'impure'." he air-quoted the word.

"Yes, that's what I had imagined too, I just- I just hoped I didn't have to get to the point of reading proof of it with my poor, pretty eyes! Like these guys weren't evil on earth already..."

"Garcia, is there a reason why you're telling us this?" Hotch furrowed his brows. They were running out of time, and Morgan was running out of questions aiming at making Dawson say what they wanted him to say.

"Actually sir, I hoped you'd ask because YES, there is a reason, and I know that this is not part of my job but I was thinking that maybe...you guys could use his homophobia at your advantage?" she kept it vague and stopped for a second to catch a reaction. Anything at all. But the others stayed silent to digest that idea.

"like, one of you boys could go in there and act a lil? Believe me I would sacrifice myself for that role, but you know-"

"Actually, that's not a bad idea at all. As Blake said earlier, Dawson was probably expecting us to use a black agent anyway, but this could actually set him off because it's a part of the group's criminal activity that's been hidden from the media and the general public. We're not supposed to even know about this." Reid spoke his mind out loud, receiving in response complete silence and three - well, four, if you count Garcia - pairs of eyes staring at him.

He stared back at them with his lips parted. "W-what? I'm right, right ?"

"You are." Blake simply said, raising a brow.

With a little delay compared to the others' - which NEVER happened - Spencer's mind started to process what that whole staring contest was supposed to mean.

"No- guys, I'm- I'm too young he won't- he'll never fall for it! If you take in account that I look way younger than I am, the age gap between me and Morgan is too wide, he's not a fool I can't-" he was starting to stutter and flush and almost hyperventilate to the point Hotch had to interrupt him.

"Reid. You know it has to be you." he gave him an apologetic look.

Reid wasn't trying to dodge the situation because he had a problem with fake flirting - he did not have a single problem with doing that. On the contrary: fake flirting for an interrogation or the like was the only way for Spencer to manage to pull off a flirty attitude with someone, covering it up with the fact that he was simply good at acting, since in actuality flirting wasn't exactly his first natural skill - it was Derek's. Problem was: he had to flirt with Derek Morgan, not someone.

On the other hand, Spencer also perfectly knew why it was their best shot to send him in instead of Hotch. Still, it was worth the try to dissuade him.

"You could do it, right?" he asked apprehensively, the tone of his voice lower and less certain than before.

Hotch knew he didn't need to explain it to him, so he didn't bother, keeping his gaze steady. Blake took on that duty for him, though:

"Spencer, you are exactly Dawson and his followers' stereotype of ideal human being. You're young, educated, intelligent, attractive, and more importantly: white." she paused, seeing that Reid had embarrassedly dropped his eyes when she mentioned him being attractive. Guess Morgan wasn't the only one labeling him as 'pretty boy' then.

"The only thing that parts you from being total perfection in his eyes, is your sexual orientation." she concluded.

"The minute we send you in, he'll think you're there to save him from an uncomfortable interview with a black agent. But when you'll start making avancés on Morgan, the guy will freak out." Rossi added, straight up.

Making avancés on Morgan. Dear God - Spencer knew he could do that with a minimum effort, and certainly without Derek making a big deal out of it; however the issue was: he would never get away with the physical reaction the avancés on Derek 's part would certainly trigger in his body, would he?

"THAT's what I meant!" Penelope's squealing voice filled the room all of a sudden, reminding them that she was still on speaker phone.

"Alright, thanks Garcia, that was a good catch." Hotch's firm facial expression never wavered an inch, even when he complimented her.

"Duty, sir."

"We can't call Morgan out, though. It has to be unexpected." he added, now only talking to his teammates in the room.

Without waiting for the others' agreeing - there was no need for that: he was right - Hotch pressed the button that allowed him to talk into Morgan's earpiece.

-

"Morgan. Guy's not only racist, but also homophobic. We're sending Reid in."

Morgan swallowed, trying not to make Dawson notice that he received an unspoken command he wasn't quite sure whether he'd be ready to obey, nor handle - emotionally AND physically.

When the door opened a second after, though, and he glanced over his shoulder at his tall, lean colleague standing behind him, waiting for permission to come in, Derek figured it shouldn't be all that hard to flirt with that.

"Pretty boy! Have a seat, we're having fun here." he gave Spencer his brightest grin, hand gesturing at him to come closer.

The younger agent smiled awkwardly and closed the door, making his way to the chair only 5 inches beside Derek's - who, by the way, was overly aware that their knees would inevitably touch if he didn't pay attention to keeping his legs glued together.

As Spencer got comfortable in his seat, keeping eye contact with him and subtly brushing his tongue in between his pink lips, Derek wondered if that was gonna come naturally to Spencer as it surely was to him. From the look on his face and his body language, Derek was leaning toward yes as an answer to that question.

"Mr Dawson is sick and tired of me." Derek scoffed, leaning back in his chair to stretch an arm on the backrest of Spencer's. "Guessing you came here with a few questions of your own?" he asked him.

"I did." Spencer replied, squinting at Dawson with an inquisitive look. "Mr Dawson, by any chance you've kept in contact with the other members of the Southern Aryans' group?"

"Agent-"

"Doctor." Derek pointed out dryly. "Doctor Spencer Reid." the way he pronounced his name caused Spencer to shift in his seat. Morgan wasn't quite sure why.

"Doctor, then." Dawson snorted, eyebrows raised in surprise as to why the older agent cared that much about specifying the other's title. "As I was saying: I'm in prison. My opportunities to socialize are...somewhat limited." he replied sarcastically. Which was how he'd been doing it at every single question Derek had asked.

The fact that he was managing to keep that cocky attitude was a sign that he wasn't uncomfortable enough. Everyone had imagined he would've got all jittery the second the nickname "pretty boy" would've come out of Morgan's mouth. Apparently so, Derek had to step up his game.

"Spencer, baby," Derek called him so he'd lean back in his chair as well, drawing his face farther away from "The General" and from under the blinding neon light beam illuminating the area of the table.

-

Reid leaned back as Morgan had implicitly asked him to, crossing his arms on his chest. Spencer, baby. The instinctive part of his brain didn't hesitate a second to recognize the combination of pet name + uncommon use of his first name, associated with Derek's deep voice. Probably because he'd imagined his colleague calling him that a thousand times, along with other names - some less appropriate than others - he couldn't keep his mind from drifting to when he heard that voice of his. The other part of his grey matter though, the logical, predominant one, the one used to Morgan only calling him by his last name or "pretty boy" and "kid" at most; sent a tingling sensation from the canal of his ear where the words reached him, all the way down to his arms and hands.

Spencer kept his gaze on the convict sitting across from them, as he realized Derek had inched dangerously closer to his ear. Dawson shifted nervously in his seat, jerking his eyes away from the two of them.

"You think we should kiss at some point? " the man asked mockingly at last, whispering and with a hand half-covering the motions of his mouth: he was acting like he didn't want Dawson to be able to hear, or read his labial - which, on the contrary, was exactly his plan.

Spencer froze. He tried to keep his look on Dawson unchanged. What he could NOT control, though, was the sensation of heat spreading up his neck, 3 inches from Derek's mouth. Dawson, too, was very noticeably trying to contain his sickened reaction, which turned out to be a mere close-eyed sigh and an irritated clench of jaw.

Reid pulled off the most natural chuckle he could, before answering out loud.

"I don't think it'll be necessary." it was true: Derek had asked only as a joke, and Spencer understood that. But he kinda wished in that moment it were appropriate for him to reply "yes, please, tongue me down during an interrogation."

Derek leaned forward again, finally removing his eyes from that spot of Spencer's jawline below his ear that moved as he spoke.

"Anyway. That's not what we heard." he said, pointing at him and Reid with his finger. "Rumor has it that you're in charge. In fact, you're still known as 'The General'."

"Some folks would like to, uh, imbue me with a great deal of power. But it's a mantle I choose not to accept." The General answered, his voice less arrogant than before and maybe even ever-so-slightly hoarse.

"So you COULD call the shots, you just... choose not to...?" Reid asked, unconvinced and a bit concerned about what kind of annoyingly fake-innocent answer the guy would give this time.

"That's what I said. How can I lead when I no longer believe, 'pretty boy' ?" Dawson replied, back at it with his smug tone, air-quoting the nickname.

Spencer had the abrupt - albeit fictitious - feeling that someone was knotting his guts with their bare hands, when he heard the man pronouncing those two words. Sacred, two words, only reserved to Morgan.

"Doctor Spencer Reid, is my name. Thought you were smart enough to understand it the first time." he said ice cold, leaning forward, knuckles white from crossing his hands too tightly over the table top.

"You're not allowed to call him that." Morgan stated, his black eyes piercing through the man in front of them.

"With all due respect, that's what you called him earlier, agent Morgan."

"With all due respect, Spencer is MY boyfriend, not yours." Derek bit back.

The lack of hesitation in pronouncing the words 'Spencer is my boyfriend' and how good they sounded coming out of Morgan's lips, along with the way he untangled Reid's hands to take one of them in his, warmly and comfortingly intertwining their fingers to loosen the tension in his phalanges - all of it, made Spencer's heart speed up, and his lungs hitch as he breathed, and his mouth water, realizing now more than ever how much he actually wished all of that could be real.

-

"Although I bet you wish he was your boyfriend, don't you?" Morgan added, teasing Dawson even more. The man snorted, but his body language was telling them that he was struggling to keep an unbothered attitude.

"Is that why you killed Adrian Clay? Because he was black and probably had a boyfriend, just like agent Morgan here?" Spencer asked.

Derek looked at him with his brows raised, pleased at how well he was keeping up with his game. Though, that sensation managed to ease only partially the slight but sudden feeling of discomfort that hit in his chest, at the news that the councilman that was killed was black AND gay, just like...him? Was he bisexual? The things flashing in Morgan's mind in reaction to the proximity with Reid's body, and that feeling of having his hand melting in his - the feeling that holding Spencer's hand was right - were making Derek doubt even more his already unclear understanding of his own sexual orientation. Doctor Spencer Reid was making him doubt once again his sexual orientation.

Clenching his hands in tight fists, Dawson made an effort to visibly swallow the expectedly offensive comments he bore on the matter - Derek found himself mentally thanking him for that - and shifted his eyes toward the wall at his left, too disgusted by him and Spencer to keep looking at them any longer.

As soon as he did that, Morgan felt Reid's hand slipping out of his, much to his silent disapproval.

"Alright Derek we- we're wasting our time here." Spencer mumbled, turning his back on Derek with his eyes low and placing a palm on the table top, about to stand up from the chair.

Derek had the impression that Spencer's reaction was somewhat genuine, that he really was starting to get triggered by The General's attitude - righteously. But, as selfish as he knew it sounded, he didn't want Reid to leave his side. His hand. Him.

Before he could effectively get up, Morgan wrapped his hand around that spot on Reid's arm, the crook where his forearm met his bicep, a couple inches below his shirt rolled up sleeve; that spot where his exposed skin was sensitive enough that those curling fingers sprung tickling chills everywhere, intense to the point of Spencer freezing in place and turning his head to give Derek worried puppy eyes and sweet, slightly pouty lips that Goddammit can I just KISS them off his face?

"C'mon baby, I just have a few more questions" Derek settled to say, softly, trying to recover from that fucking look of his.

"No seriously, can- can we just g-"

"Hey, hey, hold tight. We haven't even got to the point yet. It'll only take a second and then we don't have to see this son of a bitch's face anymore alright? Promise." Morgan reassured him; pitch black irises staring straight into hazel brown ones.

Spencer sighed and nodded, as Derek loosened the grip. He leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms, annoyed but ready to listen to more of the man's crap.

Dawson snorted. "You must have quite the nerve to come in here and insult me, tell me I'm a racist and a homophobic-"

"Nobody said either of those things, Mr Dawson." Derek tilted his head. "We asked, and you didn't answer. Not verbally anyway. Seems to me that now you are the one saying those words, uh?"

"What do you know about today's events?" Reid cut it short, not even willing to wait for Dawson's reaction at Morgan's insinuation.

"Today's events?"

"You must have heard about the shootings." Derek specified, carelessly leaning on the backrest, and decided it was the moment to do what he had planned on doing since Spencer entered the room.

-

Reid had his eyes fixated on Dawson, to catch every single twitch of his facial muscles, or minute movement of his body.

Suddenly he felt a hot, broad hand wrapping around his inner thigh. He sincerely hoped the only physical reaction to that were his toes curling up inside his shoes, or at worst how his breath got stuck in his throat for a second, and nothing visible on the outside - because on the inside, he could feel his whole abdomen heat up at a concerning rate.

When the man's hand started stroking back and forth, each time his palm went upwards it seemed to Spencer that it was getting closer and closer to that part of his body he wished so bad Derek wasn't aiming for - at least not in that context. Spencer tightened the grip of his hands bracing his arms, thanking God that shirts were made of cotton and not paper that would start flaking off under the squeezing pressure of sweaty fingers.

He couldn't allow himself to take his eyes off Dawson, especially now that he'd seen Morgan's hand on Reid's thigh and had immediately stiffened up; his temples glimmering with sweat under the neon light.

Dawson gulped nervously and looked away from the whole rubbing of skin on fabric, bringing his gaze back to Morgan's smirking face. "Enlighten me."

"The assistant d.a. prosecuting you for the murder of Adrian Clay was killed." Reid condensed the explanation, realizing that if he wanted to look natural he had to say something. He admittedly did a pretty good job at keeping his voice steady, considering Morgan's hand seemed having no intention to find rest any time soon.

A confused scowl crinkled the convict's face.

"Did you order that hit?" Derek asked. To be fair, both him and Spencer were almost 100% sure by then that the guy had no idea what they were talking about.

"I had nothing to do with it." Dawson asserted without hesitation, his voice deep and unfazed.

By that point, Spencer had relaxed into the other's touch, and he didn't know whether it was supposed to be a good sign or not. He didn't know whether the fact that he melted like jelly under Morgan's hands, even being usually uncomfortable with touching in general, was a good sign because it meant that he felt safe within their friendship and trustful of him; or it was a bad sign because it meant that his body was designed to be touched like that by his colleague and him only. He didn't know whether it was good that if he thought of anyone else - his former crush JJ, for instance - touching him in a way that wasn't finalized to be emotionally comforting, he would picture it as uneasy regardless, be it 30 seconds or 30 minutes long; whereas he was almost certain that that very same kind of touch applied upon his body by Morgan's hands would be in equal parts electrifying and soothing each time, all the time.

He wasn't supposed to try and understand any of it, though. Nobody was asking that of him - Derek wasn't asking and would never ask that of him. There was no need for Spencer to spend hours analyzing how that kind of approach would affect him. Because it was an unrealistic scenario that didn't belong in his future, anyway.

A growing wave of self-consciousness and realism woke Reid up from that thought. All of a sudden he realized he couldn't bear staying there any longer than a couple minutes at best. Hence, he speeded things up.

-

"You had nothing to do with it?" Spencer's calm voice echoed in the room that had been silent for a while. Dawson didn't repeat himself.

Derek was ready to throw in the towel - he was frustrated that the case wouldn't come to a solution as easy and logical as a white supremacist targeting the assistant d.a. prosecuting him, but on the other hand he couldn't say he hadn't enjoyed spending time touching Spencer without the commitment of having to admit he would've wanted to do it regardless of the interview.

With the corner of his eye he saw Spencer finally untangling his arms and stretching one of them toward him. He didn't have the time to take a mental guess on what he was planning to do, that he felt his feather-like fingers slightly brushing against his nape.

Derek's palm stopped moving on the other's thigh, immobilized, the moment Spencer's cotton-hand spread to cup the back of his neck; a lukewarm and soft sensation growing on the very surface of his skin as well as deep inside his chest - nothing short of a cheesy metaphor, if you will, of how Spencer's touch had the power of rocking up both his emotions AND his body.

When Spencer's thumb started tracing slow circles on the side of his neck, Derek found himself imperceptibly tilting his head back to sink into his touch; trying not to put pressure or, way worse, squeeze the other man's thigh, who might've taken it as a cue that Morgan was enjoying what he was doing. He most certainly was, by the way.

"And that would be, because you're not racist or homophobic anymore?" Spencer ultimately asked.

God, he was smarter than he gave himself credit for when it came to pushing all the bad guys' buttons. And they couldn't even get mad, with that face that he had. At least, Derek knew he could never - best case scenario, he would limit to sprinkling said face with kisse- ahem, what?

-

"I'm done talking to you." Dawson claimed, having pulled himself together enough to bring back almost entirely that confident attitude he had when Morgan first got in.

"Oh, we are too." Morgan said arching his brows. He stood up on his feet, regretting detaching from Reid's contact immediately after.

"Mr Dawson, I can't tell you how impressed i am with you!" he added dry-wittingly.

Derek leaned forward over the table and grabbed the man's hands in his own, cuffed to the cold, metallic surface. He kept his eyes no more than 7 inches from his, making sure he couldn't escape them.

"So I'd like to shake your hand, and congratulate you for making such a positive change in your life." he said, his voice low and thorough, resonating in The General's ears.

Dawson lost his cool and instinctively tried to snatch his hands away from Morgan's grip, soon realizing it wasn't his grip he couldn't escape, rather the one obliged by the chained handcuffs.

"I'd be really careful." Morgan advised, a stabbing glare in his eyes.

"Because somebody might think you still believe."

Clearly, Derek had long lost any interest in keeping the boyfriend-play going: he looked furious and quite nauseous - and it was his God-given right to feel as such. Nonetheless, that was nothing but the millionth proof that Spencer had no reason to fantasize about their relationship becoming something more, someday.

Morgan stormed out of the room. Reid followed a few seconds after, which he'd spent shooting Dawson one last glance - not nearly as threatening and blood-freezing as his colleague's, but still.

-

When they got on the other side of the glass, Reid felt all eyes on them - especially on him, for some reason. It was like someone slapped him back into reality.

"Sorry guys, I- I kinda snapped." Morgan finally spoke up, a hand on his hip and the other rubbing his face.

"Don't. It was very much understandable." Blake reassured him, waving a hand and shaking her head.

"Well, what can I say?" Rossi changed the topic. "Great job in there." he added with a hint of smirk, arching a brow and shifting his gaze from Spencer to Derek and viceversa several times.

"Pretty boy here did all the work." Derek's tone was lighter now, as he pointed at pretty boy.

Spencer bit the inside of his cheek, unable to even say a due "thank you" - it would've come off as pathetic in that moment, to say the least.

"It- it was kinda useless, though...he had no idea what we were talking about." he said instead, sighing disappointedly and crossing his arms on his chest.

"He didn't even explicitly confess anything about his past crimes that we brought up. We literally only managed to confirm that he's a racist, homophobic piece of shit." Derek scoffed.

"We didn't need to put up a show for that though, did we?" he concluded, as his previous frustration arose again; seconds before splitting his way through his standing teammates to get out of the room.

They followed him with their eyes, and once the door was closed - slammed, almost - behind him, they got back to looking at Reid, who was frowning deeply.

After a long silence, Rossi nodded his head toward the door, like he was giving him permission to go and talk to Morgan.

Reid sighed and followed Morgan's previous steps, trying to hide how his words and tone from earlier had someway offended him. Judging by his demeanor and his glances in the interrogation room, Spencer could've sworn Derek seemed to have almost enjoyed it - he didn't care that it was probably more of a mocking kind of enjoyment, rather than a genuine 'I enjoyed touching you'. It was still something. And, at the end of the day, Derek Morgan had rubbed a hand on his thigh 2 inches from his groin, for Christ's sake, how dare he keep complaining?

He was startled awake from his paranoia by Hotch's hand, placed on his shoulder the second Spencer had grabbed the door handle.

"I hope I didn't push you too much. I'm sorry if I did."

Spencer shook his head. "Not me. I don't know about Morgan, though."

-

"Hey" a soft voice awakened Morgan from his thoughts.

He stopped pacing up and down the hallway and raised his eyes from the floor. He truly wasn't expecting Reid to follow him.

"H- hey, kid."

"Everything alright?"

No. Nothing was alright. From how wrong and dirty Dawson's behavior made him feel, to how right he found himself unwillingly thinking the contact with Spencer's body was: NOTHING was alright.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." he answered anyway.

Spencer nodded, unconvinced. And this time it wasn't because of his capability to read his colleague and best friend like an open book, rather simply because Derek didn't know how to hide his discomfort anymore.

Reid made a few steps forward, supposedly to make the conversation more intimate - though nobody was really around, so that left the other a bit confused. Plus, boy was definitely too close now, if it was Derek's to say.

"Look, I- I'm sorry it had to be me, I tried to convince Hotch to do it at my place but- but he said that I was more suited to be-" Spencer almost hiccuped. "...for the role, because I'm younger and-"

"Hey, hey, it's alright, it's not you." Derek interrupted him, placing a hand on his shoulder, seeing that he was starting to get flustered and even guilty on some measure. He also noticed how he avoided the word 'boyfriend'. He wasn't sure what to think of that, though.

"It's him. How he looked at us- at ME. I just- I don't know, I just can't believe some people out there really think it's not normal to be gay or black or both, that's all." Derek paused. "as if one could help it, right?" he snorted.

Spencer raised his eyes from the floor. "Yeah. I get that." he murmured.

Derek chuckled a little as a thought popped into his head, taking his hand off of Spencer's shoulder and shoving it back in his pocket.

"Honestly I don't know if I could've done it with Hotch. He's my superior, it would've been...weird, lemme tell you."

Reid giggled and...blushed a little? At least that's what it seemed. Morgan didn't take it well, though: he thought he'd made him uncomfortable.

"I mean," he swallowed sheepishly. "I mean, I hope I didn't...mess you up. I know you're not comfortable with touching."

-

Mess him up. That was cute. Derek Morgan had "messed him up" the second he had introduced himself to Spencer on his first day at the BAU. The guy had never known Spencer as not messed up.

"W- what?? No, no absolutely not, it was part of the thing. We- you had to...touch me. Wouldn't have worked otherwise." Spencer replied, furrowing his brows and shaking his head vigorously.

Silence.

"I have to ask you this..." Morgan said, regaining his usual teasing attitude. Reid wasn't sure if he was supposed to be relieved, because it meant the man had relaxed a little; or if he should start worrying about what that attitude would imply. Probably the second.

"Ask what?" Spencer hoped his heart couldn't be heard as loudly from outside as it was inside his ears.

"Was it all...acting?" Derek paused, and Spencer faked a confused expression, because before answering he had to be sure he meant what he thought he meant.

"...cause it looked very natural, if you ask me." Yeah, he did mean what Spencer thought he meant.

Morgan looked around quickly and came even closer. He non-chalantly took Reid's tie in his hands and straightened it - earning a gasp from him - biting his bottom lip like he was really concentrated on the task - which he wasn't. He didn't give a shit if his tie was ok, he was clearly doing it to make Reid's blood pulse out of his veins.

"Was it? Natural?" he repeated, almost murmuring at that point.

Spencer didn't know what to answer: he had stopped the train of thought that would've eventually led to a proper answer to that question when he was in the interrogation room, and he had suddenly realized that Derek would never ask such a thing of him. And there he was: asking it to him.

"I guess, kinda...? I- I'm not sure-" he finally replied, his chin tilted down to follow with his eyes what the man's hands were carefully doing with his tie, taking advantage in the fact that Derek couldn't look at his face in order to do that.

He couldn't stop his mind from drifting to that imaginary place where Morgan's hands would most definitely not stick to adjusting his tie; that place where he was allowed to wonder that if the man was so good at adjusting ties, then what else could those nimble fingers do.

As if that weren't enough already, Derek ran his tongue in between his lips, before speaking up.

"Me neither."

Suddenly, he raised his eyes to look at something that was happening behind Reid's shoulder. He coughed and nodded in that direction, forcing himself to take his hands off Spencer.

Reid turned around and saw it: Hotch, Blake and Rossi were walking their way toward them; luckily chatting instead of looking at Morgan "adjusting his tie" or whatever.

-

"And did you mind? My hands, I mean." Derek whispered in his ear from behind him, making him wince at how those words flowed smoothly in a hot, steamy wave over his neck.

Spencer didn't turn around, nor look at him with the corner of his eye - which he could've easily done. He concentrated on staring forward at their teammates approaching closer, rather than on the inviting heat radiating from the man only a few inches behind him.

"...n- not- not really..." he muttered, not sure what kind of nerve pushed him to give Morgan even the slightest hint that he could've enjoyed it, instead of denying adamantly.

Another breathy, humid whisper tickled his ear.

"Me neither."

[categoryhouse]

“Come any closer and I’ll shoot, don’t fucking tempt me. Daddypool over here could use a couple ‘a headshots.”

Even with the mask on, Peter knew Wade well enough to know that the other man had no intention of being cruel, his hard exterior little more than a front - a means of protection from those who stared at him with disdain. 

To them, the jaded crowd of pedestrians, the ex-mercenary was inhuman; an otherworldly beast, present only to plague their collective existences. They didn’t see behind the bloodied mask, but when they could, they would muster nothing more than disgust, aiming it at the man like a barbed spear. 

The irony was nothing short of painful- they saw him as a bloodthirsty murderer, but the only weapons drawing blood were those of which they so proudly held.

Equipped in full suit, katanas and all, Wade could only stand and watch as they circled him. They were no angry mob, brandishing not much more than cellphones and cameras, but they scowled at him with contempt and nothing less. They only came so close, retaining a couple of meters of distance, because at the end of the day, he’d end any of them if they stepped to close. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t affected by their resentment. 

Peter stood to Wade’s left, the silver webbing along his suit glinting in the sunlight. The gunman him and Wade had just downed was curled at their feet, mouth bound by a gag and arms webbed to the pavement. He’d attempted to open fire three blocks down from Times Square, and if it hadn’t been for Wade spotting the poorly-concealed semi-automatic on his person, they wouldn't have been able to stop him in time. 

And that, unfortunately, was what the general public just couldn’t see- the side of Wade Wilson that was genuinely trying to change, to make a name for himself that didn’t just involve senseless contract killing. It was Deadpool that had potentially saved hundreds of lives, who had been on the ground and incapacitating the offender before Spiderman had even realized what was happening. 

The truth of the matter was that these days, Deadpool did nearly as much good as Peter. He was out on patrols daily, covering for Peter when he had to put in extra hours at the Bugle, but regardless, his previous reputation stained every life he saved and innocent he protected like wine, insidiously seeping into each one of his actions and marring his perceived intentions. 

Years prior, the media had a field day when they’d initially broke the story of the Spiderman-Deadpool partnership, taking the opportunity to make absurd claims about Spiderman’s ‘switch to the dark side’, and how they had been right all along about the hero’s intentions. There hadn’t been a paper in the greater New York area that wasn’t plastered with obscene rumours about the two of them. And yet, not one paper commented on Deadpool’s informal resignation from mercenary work, or the unofficial Avengers membership status granted by Stark himself. 

Instead, the papers chose to continuously frame him as a killer- unchanging, unrelenting, and insane. They chose to ignore the dozens of lives he saved daily, chose to accuse Spiderman of endangering the city by inviting the mercenary to stay. The truth of the matter was that Wade had been working towards change, towards using his powers in a more socially responsible manner even though it meant going against his every instinct. 

Peter could see the effort, could see how fucking hard the other man was trying in every way possible to be better. Wade tried, and though there were slip ups, and the occasional accidental murder, he was usually successful in refraining from maiming or permanently injuring enemies, instead opting to disarm them for the police to deal with.

And yet, regardless of his effort, of his blatant character change, the public still stared at him like some sort of freak, some sort of villain. Even standing next to their beloved Spiderman and the mass-murderer he’d just taken down, their loaded gazes firing loathing, disgust, hatred. 

“C’mon, ‘Pool,” Peter muttered, motioning towards the sidewalk, “Police are gonna be here soon, they’ll take care of this guy. Lets head out for food or something, huh?”

It was a struggle to keep his voice gentle, the unadulterated judgement emanating from the crowd of pedestrians provoking the anger expanding against his ribs. He once looked at Wade like that- when they had first met, when he hadn’t yet gotten to know the tender person beneath the leather costume. Part of him resented himself for ever thinking such a thing about Wade, and the other part just wanted to slap some sense into the deluded onlookers, make them see what he saw in the older man. 

Wade nodded, eyes trained defensively on their audience, before following Peter out of the commotion. The two of them were watched by wary eyes as they paced the streets, but there were no comments, no brave soul willing to approach.

No one wanted to bother Spiderman if Deadpool was around. It was both a blessing and a curse. 

They stopped at some tiny pizza joint sandwiched between a dry cleaner’s and a convenience store, grabbing a box to go and bailing as soon as possible, knowing that shopkeepers didn’t exactly enjoy having mercenaries (ex or not) as customers. 

The two men only travelled a couple of paces further before scaling an apartment complex, because unless they were unfairly high up, eating in peace as Deadpool and Spiderman wouldn’t go without garnering some sort of negative attention. 

Peter reached the top of the building first, tossing the pizza box onto an air conditioning unit as he waited for Wade, who threw his body over the roofs edge with little reserve. He pulled himself to his feet, adjusted one of his swords, and sauntered over to where Peter had settled. Wade left a few meters of space between them, and the distance was beyond uncomfortable for Peter, who was more than accustomed to Wade’s penchant for being as close as he could possibly get away with. 

Muscles still rigid from before, the ex-merc hardly reacted as Peter yanked his mask off, pitching it to the side and grabbing a slice of pizza. It was unusual, Wade not reacting in some capacity when the mask finally came off. At the very least, there should’ve been a whistle, a wink- something. The dead silence didn't sit well, caused his stomach to stir. 

He took a bite, dark eyes watching as Wade continued to stand still. “Hey man, take a slice. There’s no way you’re not starving after all that.” 

Only four storeys up, the wind wasn’t substantially stronger than it had been when they were level. But Wade’s continued wordless demeanour cut right through him, sent chills up his spine. 

When the other man finally opened his mouth, his voice was hard, vulnerable in a way Peter hadn’t ever heard before.

“What’s the point, Pete?”

The sun was beginning to set, casting a pale orange hue over the maroon planes of Wade’s suit. He stood with his back straight, chest puffed, a sign of external pride and confidence even though Peter knew that he was feeling neither of those things internally. For Wade, it was all about appearance, what others thought of him- more specifically, what others hated about him. He fed off of the negativity, took every bad thing said about him and convinced himself it was true. He truly, truly believed he was a monster- an irredeemable creature that was better off with a bullet through the skull.

It broke Peter’s heart. 

“If I’m killin’ the people they pay me to kill, they call me a maniac. If I’m savin’ their sorry asses, they call me disgusting. If I’m on my own, they think I'm about to shoot ‘em up or something. And if I’m with you, they’re convinced that I’ve brainwashed you or hurt you or turned ya evil and-” Wade, who’d been frozen in space up until that moment, began to pace back and forth, creating a warped oval of footsteps as words tumbled out of his mouth, “And there’s no point, is there? Me doin’ this? I could be fucking hot dudes in Australia, eating like a fucking king in Dubai- what am I doing here? If no one gives a shit, what the fuck am I doing here?”

Peter watched as he ripped a dagger from its hip-sheath, glaring at it only briefly before whipping it forwards into the ground. It stood up, perfectly adjacent to the roof it stuck out of. 

Having dropped his slice of pizza at the beginning of Wade’s rant, Peter waited until the man marinated in his temper before approaching, movements slow and steady and careful. The last thing he wanted was to make this harder than it needed to be. 

“You’re here with me, yeah? Figured out a long time ago that I couldn’t take New York on my own- actually have a shot now, with you as my partner.”

Wade’s shoulders hunched forwards, spine curving as he shifted his weight. Peter interpreted the motion as permission to take another few steps forwards, reaching a hand out to delicately brush at the other man’s wrist. 

When Wade didn’t throw himself off the building at the contact (which had, in fact, happened in the past, and wasn’t something Peter ever needed a repeat of), Peter moved even closer. He could feel the warmth radiating off of Wade’s chest, could smell the thick aroma of leather that wafted from his suit. 

“You’re here for me, being a better person for me and like- hey, maybe I’m not the best person out there but like, everything you’re doing? Just because they can’t see it doesn’t mean I don’t. Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it more than I’d like to admit.” Carefully, so as to not startle the man, Peter leaned forwards, pressing his forehead against Wade’s collarbone. His enhanced hearing picked up a nearly imperceptible increase in heart-rate, but otherwise Wade didn’t react. 

“Doesn’t matter if they don’t see it, Wade,” Peter insisted, eyes fluttering shut as he close the little distance between their bodies in a barely-there hug, “Because I see it, all of it, and I love it. I love how you’re trying, how much good you’ve been doing. It’s unfair that they can’t see it and I’m sorry, they fucking suck, I get it. But I see it, and I’m sorry if that’s not enough.”

And, as though he’d done it thousands of times before, Wade pulled Peter tightly against his chest, masked face buried into the fluff of his hair. 

“Course you’re enough, baby boy,” Wade rumbled, grip against the younger man’s bones tight- comforting in a way that couldn’t be put into words. 

The sun had disappeared behind a high-rise by the time the two of them parted, their hands still entwined after their bodies separated. They ate together in silence, the contact feeling as natural as anything. 

The headlines and the disgust and the judgement would always be brutal, Peter knew, but watching as Wade tugged his own mask off to smile over at Peter, he had a feeling they’d be just fine. 

[nerdvi]

Miss Sherlock <3

Yeah ok, i’ve seen some “issues” people are having regarding Miss Sherlock, and are actually some shared ones, i’ve read a post that i am unable to reblog I have no idea why, but I know @dr-wato​ gave a marvelous answer regarding deductioning, casting and character dynamics, so here i’m addressing some points that I found...regretably interesting:

1. All the cast look exactly the same:

I’ve actually seen this one thrown a lot, and well, it’s racist as hell. Not even sorry, it is a very common comment usually thrown about east asian folks, folks from the philippines (i’m struggling to find the right terms bc i’m not a native english speaker) and generally black people and brown latinxs to dismiss their stories and not bother with their content because “they all look the same anyways”. It’s not only lazy and ignorant, it’s racist as hell.

My brown latina ass can’t distinguish 2 white men in the same movie/show for the life of me, they all look the same to me and i struggle to discern which freaking Chris i am watching right now, I can however discern every character in Miss Sherlock and other Japanese drama; i can tell which character is which in a bollywood movie or a telenovela, because i mainly consume media that has a completely non white cast or at least it has an ethnically diverse one and i spend my days surrounded by latinxs, so my eyes are trained. The fact that you are not able to tell actually says a lot about the media you consume, which is fine, but it does not say anything about the overall quality of the show. It’s your eyes that are not used to non white features, don’t blame that on the show.

2. Sherlock is plain and not dramatic enough:

Ok, here’s the T on this one: BBC Sherlock is NOT  the only valid ACD interpretation out there. ACD gave no shits about Holmes’ character and gave full permission to do whatever the fuck we wanted with it.

On that note, people should also remember: MISS SHERLOCK IS A JAPANESE CRIME DRAMA. IT IS A JAPANESE PRODUCTION WITH A JAPANESE CAST FOR A JAPANESE/EAST ASIAN AUDIENCE AND THEREFORE IT IS SET, you guessed it, WITHIN JAPANESE CULTURE.

If you’re familiar with Japanese media, you would know they have their own rules when it comes to pacing, storytelling, editing and character tropes, they do their own thing and, as a consequence, the final product has a very distinct way to it. For what I know about Japanese media and culture from a life of anime, movies and documentaries, is that for Japan’s standars, Sherlock is an absolute drama queen.

She has her signature coat, she’s openly childish despite her age, she’s rude, outspoken, mocking, she has no regards for societal rules or personal space and she gives no fucks about social niceties-she goes into a stranger’s house without taking her shoes off, i mean come on- she only displays a medium of respect for authority and mostly when it’s convenient for her purposes. She insults Wato, a person she barely knows, several times and as much as she claims to be all logic, she displays her emotions- generally boredom and disdain- pretty openly for a culture as private as the japanese one. She wears dark makeup, darker than any of the other many women character’s we see on the show, and she comands attention when she enters the room, by her cultural contex, she’s not just dramatic, she is the drama itself.

It’s just- again- a japanese reinterpretation of a western character, and that’s totally fine.

3. “Watson” is boring/has no arch/has no point: Again, i’m gonna stop you right there. This show does not obey to a western story structure: you will not see wetern tropes here. Wato is probably the character that will grow the must throughout the show because such is her character archetype, she’s probably the naive, shy obedient girl that slowly turns badass without losing her kind self. Her dynamic with abbrassive, cynic Sherlock works precisely because they will learn from each other in a way that will not be overly evident or waaay too noticeable. Again, this show is set in a story structure that was its times, its pacing, its own sense of development.

4.  The unspoken one. It’s not BBC Sherlock:

Honestly, most issues regarding this show- deductions and technical aspects aside because again, dr-wato slayed that answer- is that it’s not a carbon copy of bbc sherlock and it’s not a westernized adaptation. And you know what? thank fuck it’s not. Regarding how we might feel about bbc sherlokc, and believe me, my opinion is pretty low, we already did bbc sherlock. Been there, done that, good or bad, but over nontheless. It’s ok if you loved it, it is also ok to have more options out there, more adaptations to watch and love.

Miss Sherlock is not looking to give you an intelectual superiority complex, it seeks to give you a layered, compelling and interesting crime drama that is quirky and fun and is reinterpreting some of the Holmes’ traits that has been a bit lost in recent adaptation and is taking it bit further with the reinterpretation of tha character, i’m personally really excited about that. We finally have femlock, people. You were crying and screaming for this for years- i saw that shit, i was there- and now we have it, but in Tokyo, not in england. They’re japanese women, not english ones and the story obeys to Japanese’s tropes, not western ones. Does not mean she show is bad, it just means it’s different and is an opportunity to you to explore other types of media content, come on, how exciting is that! We’ve had the west dominating media for so long, that it won’t kill any of us to take a million seats and try to learn, share and enjoy how other parts of the world treat their stories, only good can come off it.

[trans-shuichisaihara]

fake it till (we) make it - Scene 2

have i mentioned that i love kokichi? he’s such a little shit and i love that

(read on ao3)

Once his scattered mind begins to calm down, his first response is to shout, “What the hell’re you talking about?!”

Kokichi blinks at him, light fluttering of his eyelashes. “I meannnn, let’s fuck around with the tabloids and stuff. I’m bored and they all annoy me to no end, so I wanna pull a prank on them.”

Okay, he gets that, but- “Why with me?!”

“Becaaause,” he sighs out, “Everyone except Shuichi sucks and he’s going on tour next week. Plus he’s just a terrible actor. You at least have that going for you.” He then grins. “Plus, people eat shit like this up - you know, where the hero and the villain get together? That’s a really popular trope.”

“Dude, that was one time! And what happens when we have to film the sequel?!”

“You act as if this’ll last that long; it’s only gonna be like, maybe a month or two at max.”

A bead of sweat rolls down his face. “If it’s gonna be that short, then why can’t you find someone else?!”

Kokichi raises a brow at him. “Like who? No one would be thrilled to and you know it.”

“Well, uh-” He sputters. C’mon, there has to be someone- “What, what about that one guy, uh, Rantaro Amami?” There’d been some sort of rumor about them once, right?

“Taken. He’s a model anyway, always busy running around in a different circle. Only met him because his girlfriend was working on one of my sets designing outfits.” He sighs loudly, propping his chin on his hand. “He is really cute though...”

“Okay, uh, well...” He trails off awkwardly, trying to think of some other answer to give him. “What the hell do I get out of this? I’m not gonna ruin my reputation or anything just ‘cause you wanna screw around.”

“We’re not gonna fuck, so don’t worry about that.” Kaito has to bite back a reaction to the likely purposefully wrong interpretation of his words. “And I know people think I suck, but pretending to date me isn't going to ruin your rep, so...” He pauses for a long moment, before grinning as wide as he can. “You should just man up and help me prove the media is stupid as hell. I mean, I’m sure you hate them too, and you’re not scared of them, riiiight?”

Fuck. “Like hell I am,” he growls, massaging his temples, “I’ll do it, alright? You happy?”

He nods, grin still plastered across his face. “Yep! See you after your beauty rest, babe!” He winks and blows him a kiss.

An uncomfortable feeling immediately fills him. “Never call me that ever again and maybe I’ll sleep nightmare-free.”

“No promises!” He sings and turns away from Kaito before an argument can start, flopping back down on the couch and pulling out his phone to end all further conversation. He shakes his head and leaves Kokichi be; he has shit to do this evening, he needs at least some rest before his manager starts blowing up his phone asking where he is.

Stardom sucks when no one trusts your ability to get yourself dressed and show up with enough time for the makeup crew to do their thing.

He locks his bedroom door - just in case Kokichi decides he’s bored enough that he’s going to come and pester him more - before closing his curtains tightly to block out the morning sun that’ll soon rise. He then lies in bed for at least half an hour, despite his desire to just pass out into the realm of sleep.

Unfortunately, the tension building in his mind from his sudden deal with Kokichi makes it hard to do such a thing.

He can’t stop thinking about how the world will react to them dating. He’s not scared, it’s just- Even if it’s fake, no one would know that until it’s over, and even then it’s doubtful anyone would believe it. That’s just how fans were. He runs his hands down his face, exasperated with Kokichi, but also with himself; why the hell’d he just let himself get dragged into this?

His sleep ends up being restless, broken apart by frequent reawakening and his phone buzzing insistently. He isn’t in the mood to deal with whatever they need, so he throws his pillow over his head and ignores it.

After an unsatisfying 6 hours of sleep, he wakes up for real a bit before noon, body sluggish as he showers and throws on some shorts and a tee. He idly checks his texts as he’s making his way downstairs, astounded at the mess that was created while he slept.

Kokichi Owoma @real_ouma tweeted:

hanging out with the bae @kaitomomota #firstdate

Along with the heart emojis following the message, attached is that dumb selfie he wanted to take, which makes Kaito wonder if that was his goal all along. He pinches the bridge of his nose; the tweet already has well over 10 thousand likes and nearly half as many retweets, along with a fair number of replies. Most of them calling B.S. on it, which is a bit relieving.

He’s about to check the rest of his texts when he notices that Kokichi didn’t leave after he went to bed. Instead, he passed out on the couch, one of Kaito’s space-patterned comforters that he’s almost positive was in his bedroom closet pulled around him tightly. He’s tempted to wake him up and scold him for informing the world without permission, but he can’t be bothered. A sleeping Kokichi is a quiet Kokichi, after all.

He turns his attention back to his phone. Most of his texts are from his friends that have seen the tweet and are informing him of its existence. He doesn’t really post on his twitter, so it’s understandable that they would feel the need to let him know.

His manager is trying to give him advice for dealing with dealing with false rumors and offering to help make a public statement to shut it down, which causes him to sigh. If he has to guess, this looks like Kokichi attempting to stop him from backing out, and it works; it’d be more of a hassle to deny the rumors than to play along, after all.

He honestly doesn’t want to deal with any of this celebrity shit. He just wants to star in cool sci-fi films and be able to afford living in L.A. where all his friends are.

So, instead of answering any of the texts, he takes a picture of Kokichi sleeping for blackmail or something, then grabs his leftovers out of the fridge and tosses it in the microwave. He then sits down, pulling up the tweet again before making the decision to retweet it without any comments. Before he can regret it, he turns the notifications on his phone off and sets it aside, instead starting to make a grocery list for his upcoming trip to the store.

He’s contemplating getting them delivered instead when his lunch finishes with a loud beep, followed by a thud from the other room. He holds back a sigh; the silence he desired didn’t last nearly long enough.

“Huh?” In the living room, Kokichi hauls himself up, hair sticking up all over the place as he blinks sleep out of his eyes. In the time it takes him to grab a plate and dump his heated meal onto it, he reaches fully awake status and hurries into the kitchen to bother him. “Oh, you’re finally up!” His own phone is in his hands as he sits down in the chair next to his. “Did you see the-” For a moment, his face goes flat, before bouncing back to excited. “Oh, you retweeted it! Did you like it too?”

“Nah,” he answers, shoveling a bite of food into his mouth. After swallowing, he continues with, “By the way, thanks for that; had everyone and their mother blowing up my phone while I was sleeping.”

“You’re welcome!” He doesn’t miss a beat as he scrolls through the comments. “Hmm, it’s gonna take a lot of work to convince everyone. Care if I post about you getting ready for your day?”

“I do, actually; that’s really fuckin’ weird and won’t convince anyone of anything except that you’re a creep.”

He pouts. “Fine. But we really should talk about how we’re gonna do this.”

He scratches at the stubble along his jaw. “I guess. I’m not gonna make any gushy tweets or anything like that, before you ask.”

He hums. “Wasn’t gonna suggest anything like that. Let’s say... We’ve been officially dating for two weeks, keeping things on the down low, before we decided to come out about it last night.”

He coughs as an epiphany hits him. Fuck, he has to deal with that aspect of the media on him. “Dammit, I didn’t even think about that part. The media’s gonna be all over me for being, for being gay! Which, well, you know, isn’t a bad thing to be, but-” He can’t exactly say he isn’t when he went through that whole shebang in college, but he wasn’t wanting the world to know that.

Kokichi shrugs. “It was going to happen eventually. I mean, people have been suspecting you are since at least last winter due to the vague gay subplot going on in your latest film.”

Kaito’s forehead falls into his hand, covering his eyes. “God, can’t people tell the difference between fiction and reality anymore? That’s a fucking character-”

Kokichi’s phone rings, cutting him off. The two of them look towards it, Kokichi quirking a brow. “Oh, it’s Toujou, one sec.” He turns away from Kaito and answers the call with an obnoxiously fake shout of, “Good morning, Mom!”

Kaito rolls his eyes; he doesn’t know how Kokichi can address Director Kirumi Toujou like that. She’s scary intense when on set. He’s worked with her for two movies - both of them great, but both of them grueling to film due to her perfectionism and no-nonsense aura. He can hardly believe she’s only two years older than them with how huge the difference in maturity is.

To avoid eavesdropping on his conversation, Kaito gets up and begins to clean up his lunch and what remains of what was technically their breakfast, seeing as Kokichi didn’t bother to. He doesn’t mind doing household chores like this, honestly; he had to do them regularly while living with his grandparents. He’s faintly aware of eyes in his back as he tears up the pizza box to fit into his trash can and moves to begin washing the handful of dishes in the sink.

Finally, a loud sigh sounds from the other side of the kitchen, and he pauses to give him a glance. His phone is facedown, so the conversation is likely over. “What happened?”

“She wants me to come in today. Apparently, one of the cameramen screwed up on the shot we did a few days ago and she just noticed it and it’s bugging her. Important scene and all that.” He waves his hand. Kaito feels sorta bad for him; all scenes were important scenes to her, so this was likely not an actual emergency.

“Just one scene, right? Hopefully you won’t be there too long, then.” One scene could still take hours, but it’s still likely to be shorter than a full session.

“Dunno. You know how it is.” He stands, stretching. “Welp, good luck with your day. Interview tonight, right?”

“Damn, yeah.” He shuts the water off, drying his hands as Kokichi looks around for his car keys. “You know they’re gonna be all over me because of your tweet.”

“Good. Play along. If they ask you who made the first move, I asked you out, and you accepted because I’m ‘kinda cute’ - those exact words. If they ask, ‘only kinda?’, you respond by seeming embarrassed.” He finally locates and plucks up his keys from the ground in front of the sofa, almost hidden by the blanket draped along the side of the couch and onto the floor. “Honestly, it should be too easy to fool them.”

He has a whole script ready, huh. “Man, who died and made you director?”

“Unfortunately, no one; the universe isn't that kind as to rid the world of any of them,” he dramatically says, before he shakes his head and returns to a more neutral tone, “Anyway, I'll be back tonight; we can discuss the schematics of our act then. Don't say anything unnecessary, be vague, they can fill in any gaps themselves. Got it?”

He responds by shooing Kokichi out of his house. “Yeah yeah, don't worry. It'll be fine; I'm not stupid.”

[canonicallyanxious]

1. What do the birds in "Yellow House" symbolize? I thought they were homophobia the first time I read it but that also could be very very wrong 2. Favorite themes to write about? 3. Last piece of media that gave you Feelings 4. How are you doing? 5. When are you Going To Sleep

1. What do the birds in Yellow House symbolize?

Oh man, i haven’t thought about that story in a while [if anyone is curious, look up the third issue of Glass Kite Anthology]. the thing is, what i most wanted for that story was to write something completely open to interpretation, so i feel kind of strange assigning something as the ~one true symbolism~ for the birds in the story? or anything, really. plus, what i thought about writing that story then is, uh, really different from how i think about it now. therefore i would say homophobia is 100% a valid interpretation and in fact probably what i was thinking of when i first wrote the story!

Having said that, looking back at it now i like to think of the birds as a symbol of mental illness, and how debilitating it can be when you don’t know that’s what you’re suffering from. the faceless statues to me seem a more apt stand in for homophobia, although maybe it’s a moot point because now i regret writing the kind of story where both of the queer characters die, yikes. regardless! you have my express permission to completely disregard my opinions and form your own interpretations of that story! In fact i encourage it and if you told me about them i would be thoroughly delighted

2. Favorite themes to write about?

Ooooooh. okay i know i’ve told you this one before, obviously i’m quite partial to things like moral ambiguity, the difficulty of finding the right words sometimes but also the importance of overcoming that difficulty, relationships that are hard to define and harder to talk about, found family, relationship between names and identity, fate v. individual agency, etc. but recently i’ve also found myself interested in themes related to immigrant identity [particularly when your parents grew up in a different culture from your own]. fun fact, that was going to be a central part of the marching band AU, if i ever got around to properly writing it rip. also coming to terms with the uncertainty of the future! Geez i wonder why that’s something i’m fixated on right now lol

3. Last piece of media to give me feelings?

THE LATEST EPISODE OF MIDDLEMARCH FUCK TOMORROW CAN’T COME SOON ENOUGH!!!!!!!! WHEN ARE THEY GONNA KISS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! also i recently watched room in rome which, like, for a movie where the main characters spend literally 95% of their screentime naked, had less sex and more emotional shit than i expected?? although there’s still a lot of sex lol. i’m not exaggerating about the nudity

4. how am i doing?

Better than i was doing up until quite recently!! imma level with you since i guess the point of this is to be honest or something, but these last few weeks have been utter shit mental health wise for me - to the extent where i had an essay due like two weeks ago i haven’t started yet and i basically stopped talking to everyone on social media because all i had the energy for was scrolling past pretty gifs on tumblr and watching yt videos i’d already seen #yikes. but, you know, i think things are finally starting to stabilize for me [i’ve felt almost normal for two days in a row!! what a record!!!] and i have the support of my teachers and admin and my therapist so. that’s pretty okay i reckon. how are you, friend?

5. when am i going to sleep

never

honesty hour or some shit

[ernmark]

were you able to see mikaela buckley's nsfw art on her Secret Patreon Blog? because 1. i'm pretty sure one is based on one of your fics and 2. i would love to see you write something based on any of them

Thank you for thinking of me!

I did, actually (I admit I’ve been dragging my feet about it, but it occurred to me that @disasterscenario‘s comic and her Penumbra stuff brings me a lot of joy, so it’s only natural that I should actually give her money for all the media I consume. Also, you’re not the first person who’s informed me of Penumbra porn, and apparently I have very little willpower in that regard.)

My great big ego took one look at the picture in question and went “OH MY GOD, IT’S THAT FIC!!!” A more rational part of me realized that a whole lot of people probably had the same idea, and she’s as likely to have gotten it from one of them as she is to have come up with it herself. Regardless of where it came from, I freakin’ love the pic. 

Ahem.

If you want to see that art in particular, or you’re also a general fan of Mikaela Buckley’s art, you can check out her patreon hither. 

If you have seen The Post, then you might recognize what I’m describing from one of the images. If not… well, I’d call it “handsy”. (Okay, so I may have drawn from a couple of pics, but one in particular comes to mind.)

I think it’s safe to say this fic is NSFW.

Ramses isn’t exactly the first rich guy who’s offered to keep me on retainer– I’ve had a few clients with deep pockets and lots of enemies, but most of them are the type that make me want to scrub down with steel wool after I’ve shaken their hands, so I tend to decline. Sure, the pay is good, but I’m not that kind of girl.

Besides, what am I gonna spend it on? More booze? Or a new liver once the one I’ve got finally decide it’s had enough of me? It’s not like there’s anything that I want desperately enough that I can’t wait for a paycheck or two to clear (as for anyone… well, money wouldn’t fix that, anyway).

So I sit on my money. Buy my booze. Pay off the debts I’ve been neglecting. Get a tune-up for my death trap of a car. 

And when I’m energetic enough to be bored and bored enough to do some window shopping, I make an impulse buy. 

It’s a practical purchase, really. I have needs, after all, and Ramses keeps me too busy to do much on the dating scene… and besides, after that disaster with… with what’s-her-name, I’m not in any hurry to get back into it. This is a nice substitute: a short-term interface that lets me see and feel and fuck like there’s a whole other person here with me, except without the awkwardness and expectation of reality. All the met needs and none of the mess. 

Yup. Exactly what I need.

Okay, so maybe I shove it under the bed and don’t touch it for a few weeks. Buyer’s remorse is a thing. 

Only, like I said, a lady has needs. And they’re not the kind of needs I’m interested in dealing with on my own. So I break out the interface, and I read the instruction manual a few times over because like hell am I calling in Rita to help me figure it out, and then I put it on.

It’s a hell of a lot of work for a process that shouldn’t take all that long, but hopefully it won’t take so long after I figure out the basics and get it set up. First I need to program in the auditory failsafe, then I need to program in everything I am and am not okay with, and then I start entering in my preferences on partner– gender expression, physical sex, body type, all that stuff. You can even scroll through the profiles for all the models they use. They’re all fairly attractive, in one way or another, but none of them really stand out to me. I’m near the end of the very long list and I’ve pretty much decided to settle on whatever when I spot a name. 

It isn’t a name I know, but it feels familiar all the same. Seeing as I’ve got nothing better to do, I make the selection: Solomon Clay.

My every muscle tenses at once. “Halcyon,” I tell the interface, triggering the failsafe. “Goddammit, I said Halcyon!” 

I yank it off me, breathing hard. It can’t be. It goddamn can’t be. He wouldn’t be that– that stupid, not after all the effort he put into hiding his face. He wouldn’t be that bold–

Okay, so he would be that bold. Especially if the profile is hidden in the farthest corners of a decently expensive program. And it’s not like most people buy a porn interface to look at the stars’ faces. 

Slowly, carefully, I put the interface back on. I was right about it being faster the second time: my preferences are all saved onto the software, and this time I don’t even have to search.

“Give me Solomon Clay.” 

And suddenly I’m on an expanse of silk as far as the eye can see– or I think I am. I’m not exactly paying attention to the decor so much as I am to the man who’s sharing it with me. Peter Nureyev is lounging in front of me, wearing an amused smirk and not much else. Well, a little bit else, but the big crystal necklace and ear cuffs and bracelets don’t really count, and the rest is perfectly tailored so it doesn’t actually hide anything. God, it looks good on him, though: gloves so long they almost reach to his shoulders; silk stockings that stop at his perfect thighs and held in place by a slinky garter belt, and a slip of fabric that might be called a thong if it had less dignity. All of it is black, all of it so thin it’s almost translucent, all of it classy and refined and so very Nureyev. 

“Here at last,” he purrs, resting his head on one knuckle. “I’ve been waiting for you.” 

There’s a spike of adrenaline, and I almost use the failsafe again– but no. No. This is just a pre-recorded message. It’s part of the program. It’s got nothing to do with me leaving him in that hotel, or shoving the interface under my bed and pretending it didn’t exist.

He hums contentedly. “So. Where shall we begin?”

I should begin with an apology. I should begin by groveling at his feet. I should…

But that doesn’t matter, does it? Because no matter how much I apologize, this is just a program in a computer. A digital projection of him. No matter what I say, he won’t really hear it.

“I just…” my voice breaks. “I just want to look at you for a minute.” 

Another warm hum. “That sounds lovely.” He lays back, sprawling across the silk so I can see every inch of him. 

He looks younger– he must have been in his twenties when this was recorded– and he’s somehow even more lean and willowy than when I knew him. His skin is flawless, his muscles toned and perfect, his hair artfully disheveled. But it’s him. Oh god, it’s really him.

My hands are shaking when I reach out to touch him, and his skin is warm and smooth under my fingertips. I can feel muscle, and beneath it the hardness of bone. While I run my hands over his chest, he tips back his head and sighs. 

“You like that?” I ask, my voice dry.

“That feels wonderful.”

And that’s… that’s permission, isn’t it? To keep touching him.

What am I saying? It’s a porn program. Of course it’s going to be okay with me touching it. But I have to ask. I can’t look at that face and not ask.

I touch him slowly, reverently. He deserves more than that– he deserves more attention and care than I know how to give, but I have to try anyway. He chuckles when my hands brush his bare skin. Moans when I card my hand through his hair. When my fingers slip under his garter belt, he gasps sweetly, his leg rising like a reflex. I bend over him, pressing my lips to his knee, and then slowly make my way down until I’m kissing his feet. I don’t know how else to let him know how badly I fucked up, how sorry I am, how much I need him to forgive me.

The program probably interprets it as a submissive gesture, because he’s sitting up now, his gloved elbows on his stockinged knees, and the look he gives me is dark as an oil slick.

“Do you want me to take over for a while?” he asks, and I nod frantically. I don’t know what else to do with myself. He’s here but he’s not and there’s so much I want to say but I can’t– 

"Come here.” The command in his voice is inescapable. “That’s right. On your knees.” The silk of his gloves glides across my skin and circles my entrance. A single finger slips inside me, and I’m gasping. 

“It’s lovely to see you like this,” he purrs, stretching me open with an inexplicable slickness. It’s happening faster than it rightfully should, but I don’t care. I can feel the stretch, the burn, the sweet friction of his fingers inside me, and I push against it.

With his free hand, he swats at my ass, and I gasp. The sting of it sings against my senses. 

“Not until I say so,” he warns. “You’re not finished yet.” 

“Goddamn getting there.” I’m panting, my whole body shaking as he plunges deeper inside of me. I grab at the sheets, just to have something to hold onto. And then his fingers find just the right spot, and it’s like I’ve been lit up from the inside. I’m writhing on the sheets, trying to press myself against his hand just so he’ll do that again. 

His free hand wraps around the back of my neck, pressing me back into the sheets. “Ah-ah. Not until I say so. You’re in my power now, remember?” 

“Yes,” I gasp, trembling against him. “God, yes, whatever you say-- just please do that again.” 

“You’re lovely, do you know that?” He laughs, his fingers twitch against my prostate, and I might just melt here and now. “Absolutely beautiful. And nobody else gets to have you this way. Only me.” 

“Only you. You’re the only one I want. Nobody else.” I’m babbling now, but I don’t care, not when he’s pushing me closer and closer to the edge. “God, Nureyev, I need you, I need you so bad, please--” 

“Very good.” His hand tightens around my neck. “Now there’s one last thing I want you to do.”

“Anything.” My voice is muffled in the silk sheets. My back is arching. “Anything, please. I’ll do whatever you want, just say the word. Please, just--” It ends in a frustrated keen. 

He leans close, his lips inches from my ear. “I want you to come.”

I wouldn’t dream of disobeying. I don’t even know if I could.

I come so hard I’m left shaking on the sheets. I’m soaked-- there’s sweat dripping down my skin and tears from my eyes and come pooling in the sheets underneath me. I’m still weak-limbed and nearly limp when he gathers me into his arms, cradling my head in his hands. I’m too hazy to understand the words he’s whispering in my hair, but I don’t think they matter when he’s holding me like this. 

I reach up and touch his cheek. He feels so solid and warm and strong.

This moment is everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s absolutely perfect. He’s absolutely perfect.

That’s how I know he isn’t real.

It’s weakness that makes me draw it out. I wait until I stop twitching before I open my mouth. “Halcyon.” 

He stops short, his lips frozen around a half-spoken word, and then he disappears. The come and sweat and tears are still there, but now they’re uncomfortably cold, and I’m alone in my room.

I pull the interface off me and shove it back in its box. I should throw the damn thing out. I should smash it into pieces. I should drown it in the kitchen sink until it short-circuits.

Instead I shove it into a dark corner under the bed. 

Sooner or later I’ll talk myself into using it again. Sooner or later I’ll be desperate enough to pretend that I’m looking at him, and not some digital echo. I’ll probably hate myself then as much as I do now, and I’ll probably think the same thing that I do now:

That it was worth it. Because just for a few minutes, I had him back.

[metalofmontana-blog]

JASEN MORENO - DROWNING POOL - Lead Singer Interview

Metal of Montana founder, Josh Richards, had the opportunity to speak with Jasen Moreno, (Drowning Pool – Lead Singer), earlier this month in anticipation of their appearance and the Make America Rock Again Tour on October 2nd at the Wilma Theater in Missoula Montana. They spoke on topics including the bands history, the interpretative and incessant dark cloud that seems to inherently linger over the lead singing position of the band and its history, our always popular “Metal Or Myth” segment, tattoos, the Resilience versus the Hellelujah album, Headbangers ball, Lita Ford and much much more.

“What follows below are segments, or the mere meat and potatoes of the interview in which we laughed and joked and ended up really asking what we wanted to ask Jasen.  He was honest, forthright, fun and most of all humble in everything he does…..off the stage!  We cant wait to see them on the 2nd and will be there IN FORCE and Early for the VIP fun.  Come join us and MAKE AMERICA ROCK AGAIN!”  Josh.

Tickets are limited but available and can be purchased online at: https://logjampresents.com/event/make-america-rock-again-tour-15201/

The “Metal or Myth” section was addressed with Jasen to prime both us and Jasen for the remainder of the interview and boy was it classic.  

METAL OR MYTH

#1 “Metal or Myth” Question: “The band got its name “Drowning Pool” as that was a movie playing when Stevie lost his virginity?”  Jasen replied laughing with Josh, “Ture. METAL.  I’m Sorry. M.E.T.A.L. Like more metal than ever in the history of metal!” At which point Josh followed up with “If the same scenario applied to you what would the name of your mythical virginity band be?” Jasen replied laughing, “Man I have no idea!”

#2 “Metal of Myth” Question: “You were once so close to a fan that you were bit on the chest?”  Jasen replied, “METAL.”  Josh followed up with “Male or female?”, to which Jasen replied “It was female. Thank God. I mean I know it’s 2017 and hey man the PC and whatever you are you wanna do is what you do but, it was a female and if I had to get bit by somebody let it be a female. Ya, I jumped into the crowd, she unzipped my shirt and took a bite!  It was awesome!”

#3 “Metal or Myth” Question: “Nutrition and staying in shape is priority number one while you guys are on the road?” Josh asked Jasen, again followed up amused of course, “Oh! That’s myth. I don’t know where you got that one man!  I mean we try to be as as you know healthy as possible, but its a damn tour and you know we're getting catered and that's cool. That's one of the reasons why you know this "Make America Rock Again" tour is pretty rad. At venues and there's catering and all the fans are great. You know we keep waiting for the wheels fall off, but, with that being said there's still going to be you know pizza pushed in your face after damn near every show so it's really hard to be you know conscious towards you're health. You know you're making pizza sandwiches after shows.

#4 “Metal or Myth” Question: “The band tried to talk you out of the lead singer position?” to which Jasen followed up with, “METAL. That’s so METAL!”  Josh followed up with “Any specific reason why?” and Jasen replied, “Well there's a running half assed joke if you will of the dark cloud that follows Drowning Pool around and it's not that they didn't want me to be the singer. It was more of the obligatory friendly warning, "Hey man. Alright just be aware you might not want to do this because it's all downhill from there." So. They had to do their part to really make sure that I understood what it was that I was asking for. Mike especially was like, "Dude. I don't know if you want this. You think you want this but thats only because you don't have it but once you get it!" And I have to say he was, he was kind of right. You have to be careful what you wish for.  I'm not complaining. I love it. It's a rad gig. I love but, That surely surely did not know that the hell I was getting myself into man. No doubt about that. METAL for sure.”

#5 “Metal or Myth” Question: “You waited an entire year before getting the DP ink?” Jasen replied, “Full on metal up YOUR ASS! Yeah I waited a year just to make sure that it was going it was gonna work. That I wasnt going to get fired. You know. And to further give you some insight on to that I asked permission to get it. Sat em'down and said, "Hey man is it cool I get this. I don't want to, you know, disrespect anyone. I mean would have been a bit presumptuous. A year in and then oh well its not working out.”

If you COULD?

The interview continued as Josh and Jasen spoke about the relevance of bad tattoos, blown out lines, the tattoos that are the most regrettable and hold the most meaning as well as songs in which Jasen would choose to sing with three bands influential to him and his music. Pantera, Iron Maiden and Queen.  A segment which we call “IF YOU COULD?”

Josh asked Jasen, “Pick the song you could perform. Phil Anselmo and Pantera?”  Jasen replied “If I could sing a song with Phil Anselmo on stage with Pamtera I would pick. Ah man that's such a hard one. Probably "Cemetery Gate" or maybe, maybe something off of Great Southern Trend Kill because that album was terrifying. That’s one of the first ones that just blew my mind as far is like singing it . The way he was swithcing from these beautiful soaring cleans to these you know really heavy guttural. Ya. The dynamic that he, he flexed on that song, and remains to this day pretty bad ass.

Next up was Bruce Dickenson and Iron Maiden, to which Jasen did not hesistate, “Ahhh. Two Minutes to Midnight man! I want to sing Two Minutes to Midnight with Bruce. Followed with the third and final question, “Freddie Mercury and Queen, If you could?” Josh asked. Jasen went big with “Man I would probably do. Man another hard one. Uh, Death On Two Legs probably. Just because it's obscure and really bad ass. Killer Queen would be cool.”

The MEAT!

At this point the questions and answers were flowing and it was time to ask one of the two big questions we had planned and in true “Yeti” fashion Josh was able to get to the bottom of Jasen’s honest opinion on the Resilience album.  

Josh: “Was there a specific event or reason that you guys in this new album Hellelujah that you took it more to the metal side in the songwriting and music production of this?

Jasen: “Ohhhhhhh. The question. Alright. I am just going to be brutally honest.  I'm not meaning to throw anyone in the industry under the bus. But I will say and I know its gonna to sound so cliche, but, I really wish that I could let the world here on a scale, you know, with marketing and media and I wish that people could hear Risilience as it was supposed to be. 'Cause all the demos were uber heavy and and just like Hellelujuah, but, it just happened to be that the label that we were on at the time that the producer that we were working with didn't go for that. So the record that we actually did delivered was drastically different from what we had intended it to be. So in relation to how Hellelujah it wasn't so much of a conscious effort to you know depart from the Resilience sound we just got to do what we wanted to do and had we truly gotten our freedom Resilience would of been the same way. So difficult to really say it was a decision is a decision that we made it was just a freedom that we were granted. At that time.

Josh: “How freeing is it for you to know that like you mentioned before that whole doom and gloom, cloud, singer all that is over with and you are the singer for Drowning Pool and you're just you're the band. You guys are Drowning Pool. Let's move on.”

Jasen: “Is it over with? Is it really? Does that dark cloud ever go away? No. I mean it's uh. We're in a really good place man. You know we all know the journey but we can't really know the journey especially with a band like Drowning Pool. What they have been through. Like I was close to them and I remain close to them but I wasn't in the band so like everyone else I was a fan and and a bystander and I watched this meteroic, you know, ascension to the top was the highest of highs and then you know it seemed everything got sideways man we know you know extreme highs and extreme lows so. I think I think we are in a good... My point is I think we're in a very good place mentally, musically and it does feel rather satisfying but at the same time I think we still have more that we want to say you know with our art. I think we have, I don't think there will ever come a day where we are feeling so gratified that we don't have anything to prove. I think I think we're always going to have that chip on our shoulders and we're always going to be spouting some kind of negativity. You know we're always going to find something to bitch about and turn that into a song and then go for it you know. Lots of bands do that positivity and that uplifting message and that's great for them and that's what they do and I commend them on that but I think Drowning Pool that, that we are now is I mean we got a lot of things that we feel passionate about and we're gonna say it. Its gratifying in a sense but we still got a lot to prove man. A lot of more songs to write a lot more music to make and a lot more you know venues to destroy. Crowds to be pissed off with you know. It’s Metal Man.”

The interview continued with Josh and Jasen going in depth about their infatuation with Lita Ford, Headbanger’s Ball and all while Jasen manscapes, half naked and mid shave!  Full audio and transcript are available via our website and downloadable here:

http://www.metalofmontana.com/interviews 

Special Thanks to: Adrenaline PR, Drowning Pool, Jasen Moreno and Paul….The MANager!!