#a LOT of heavy topics are discussed if you play through it all the way

[dailyadventureprompts]

Heavy Topics: A Child's Vision of Evil

One of the first big “aha!” moments in my journey to retrofit d&d’s laughably bad lore was the realization that the way the game treated evil didn’t make much sense.  As a dungeonmaster I was asked to create dramatic stakes for my players but the out-of-the-box antagonists supplied to me were as laughably one note as the pollution loving villains in Captain Planet. Who would ever worship the demon god of killing everything that lives? Of torturing you for all eternity? Of being unpleasantly covered in slime? 

None of it really made sense until I started to understand the world and recent history through a political lens, at which point several things became clear: 

Despite how large a bogyman it played in the satan scare of the late 80s, the people who laid the foundations for the lore of d&d came from a background of conservative american christianity, and baked a lot of that ethos into the game. 

The conservative christian imagination can only see things in black and white. People who disagree with them can’t just have a different opinion, even if that opinion is objectively good, they need to be wilfully evil . In fact they must be trying as hard to be evil as the christian is trying to be good, because they’re a backwards person, a monster, a demon. 

This idea of the “Backwards Person” is the exact process that gave rise to the bloodlibel, to the witchpanics, to the redscare, and yes, the 80s fear that satanists lurk around every corner sacrificing babies and putting poison in candy because they love evil that much.  It’s the same thought that’s given rise to Q-anon and the groomer panic. “People who disagree with just can’t just have a different opinion, they must be demons.”

D&D’s classic enemies are similarly all “backwards people”, hardwired to do evil so that players always have an excuse to kill them.  While on the surface it seems harmless or even childish it leads to the default d&d world being one where peace is impossible and genocidal violence is the only correct answer.  

We can do better in our writing than a bunch of shut-ins who wanted nothing more than to play cowboys and indians while ripping off Tolkien. Whether you want to write a sweeping epic or a mindless dungeon crawler, there’s a way to reconfigure d&d lore. 

Join me below the cut for a discussion of different ways to use evil in your games.

Children cannot control their emotions nor their fear, they lack the life experience necessary to contextualize things beyond a surface level reading. If you ask a child to "imagine something bad" they're going to take something that scared them, something gross or unpleasant or threatening and imagine it blown up to cartoonish proportion. Tolkien got bit by a spider as a kid and the entire fantasy genre has never lived it down.

D&D is weird because it keeps these childish ideas about evil and drags them forward into an adult context. Those three demon gods I mentioned in the intro make a sort of sense when you realize they're fears of dying, pain, and uncleanliness made manifest. That said most of us having outgrown our childish simplicity understand that those things are neutral, Spiders might personally gross you out but we all understand that doesn't make them bad on a spiritual level. In the base d&d lore however that personal distaste is ALWAYS true: Evilness is synonymous with ugliness and monstrousness, drawing a thick crayon line between the good people and the bad things.

That's where we get our particular flavor of backwards people, because one of those fundamental (pun intended) fears d&d inherited from it's creators was xenophobia, fear of the strange, but also fear of the stranger. When the white, suburban, middle class, christian creators of d&d imagined the other they took all the bad things they had been told in their youth about people who were not them and made them into monsters: That's why the default thinking enemies of d&d are tribal primitives who squat in the ruins of greater civilizations worshipping demons while coveting the beauty and wealth of cultured people. It sounds hyperbolic, but there's a one for one parallel between between the weird sexual anxieties conservatives have about black men and orcs raiding human lands to kidnap women as breeding stock. Same fears about emasculation and race mixing and ethnic replacement, only d&d gives the good ol' boys a narrative vehicle where they can revenge themselves upon their imagined foe.

Most modern d&d is not like this, and I chalk that up to the demographic shift that's happened both because of time passing and the influx of new voices that came along with the 5e renaissance. We're all media literate enough to avoid the obvious racial pantomime... except in cases like the Hardozee when the devs port something almost word for word from an older edition and we get a thanksgiving uncle/facebook aunt screed about how the silly monkey people are really SO happy to work for the refined and civilized and white elves.

What's left behind however is that pervasive childlike worldview: Where perfectly natural things that creep us out (like rot) or frighten us (like pregnancy) are made universally villainous regardless of any themes that are going on in that specific story. Ask yourself why the creators of a piece of media made their badguys look and act like they did, rather than just accepting that it's that way because "the lore says so".

Anyway, that's my rant over, and I promised you guys some different versions of how to use Evil:

Classic demons or lovecraftian horrors make for good bossfights but are thin on character, one of the basic building blocks of story. To remedy this, pair your unremitting force of darkness and destruction with a troubled and nuanced mortal agent, someone who is trying their general best but has been forced down this low road by circumstances beyond their control. This gives your roleplaying focused players something to play off against while your combat focused ones battle a building sized monstrosity. Raw evil isn't interesting, it becomes interesting when we see what it makes morally grey people, even good people, do in reaction to it.

Extremity is one of the best ways to turn normal people into villains, a looming disaster or recent crisis that's putting the pressure on everyone and preventing anyone from thinking beyond protecting themselves and their own. Beyond the people acting rashly, you're also going to have a legion of opportunists offering to fix the problem as your higher rank of antagonists to overcome.

Similarly, if you're going to have your villain backed up by legions of faceless mooks you're going to need a reason for their loyalty. Your villain is offering them something worth dying for, which gives your heroes an alternate win condition for overcoming their numbers beyond genocide.

If you're willing to take a step into a more fanciful, cartoony universe, feel free to play with the idea of good and evil as arbitrary teams: It's the badguy's job to cause chaos and it's the goodguy's job to stop em, they're all working professionals and the dungeon is the workplace comedy. This is fun, but then lets you escalate the tension when someone doesn't play by the rules. What happens when a zealot starts executing evildoers who'd already surrendered? what happens when the villain summons something that is more interested in devastation than wacky hijinx?

Think of morality like a punnett square: There's the party, and then there's the villain who wants the opposite of what they want. THEN there's the villain who wants what the party wants, and the ally who wants the opposite of party wants. Suddenly rather than a simple binary, the party is forced to balance the interest of varying groups as well as their better judgment. This can be made even MORE complex by creating different categories of "what the party wants", which is generally how you get complex political dramas like game of thrones.

[little-diable]

The Test of Time - Tommy Shelby (smut)

This is an idea I have been playing with for a while. It is very dear to me, so I hope it'll also be to you! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: When Professor Shelby meets his new student, he's instantly fascinated by her, not understanding why he feels this connected to her. But the second their hands touch, both feel themselves thrown back in time, meeting centuries ago. It seems like love will always stand the test of time.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, lots of fluff, mentions some war time stuff and blood, small breeding kink, professor x reader relationship, age gap

Pairing: Soldier!Tommy x nurse!fem!reader / Professor!Tommy x student!fem!reader (3.7k words)

4th of August 1916, Northern France

The air was sticky, his hands were muddy, dry, and heavy. He had to blink more often than his eyes liked, worsening the headache he had been plagued by for months. A shaky exhale left him, momentarily squeezing his eyes shut to try and keep calm. There was no way out, he was stuck, below the ground, and if there was one thing he couldn’t do, it was panicking – at least not if he wanted to stay alive. He couldn’t risk being shot for going against a command, for being frightened like a boy.

Voices echoed through the tunnel, ringing in his ears like another bomb going off in the distance. They had to work fast. They had to work precisely, otherwise they’d eventually be buried by the dark soil, swallowing them whole as the enemy won the battle. 

“Shelby!” A raspy voice ripped him out of his panicked state, he was shoved, forced to move faster, to keep on digging even though his hands were bleeding and the blisters kept growing. He had to keep digging, had to keep digging, had to keep digging. Before the darkness would swallow him whole. 

February 2024, Birmingham 

The sound of his shoes meeting the ground echoed through the empty hallway, eyes set on his black iPhone. It was too fucking early for his liking, silently cursing his faculty for forcing him to hold these early morning classes. Not once had he met a motivated student who wanted to talk about the First World War with him at 8 am, and as much as Tommy disliked the students he found himself surrounded by, he couldn’t blame them for being tired.

If he could, he’d occupy all afternoon classes, wanting to discuss his research topics with those who were actually interested in modern warfare, strategies, politics, and so on. And yet he knew the chance was slim, forced to back down and make room for those who taught the mandatory classes. 

With a sigh leaving him, Tommy stepped into the room he taught in every Tuesday morning, putting down his bag and shrugging out of his coat before he lifted his gaze. He was still on his own, wondering when the handful of students would pour into the room, probably seconds before class started. 

Tommy plopped down on the uncomfortable chair, he placed his laptop down – hoping that he could at least catch up with the morning news while still being engulfed in silence. He tried to focus on the words, tried to cling to the information he was fed, though without any luck, interrupted by the sickly sweet “Morning!” echoing through the room. 

His eyes found an unfamiliar pair, not used to being greeted this enthusiastically in the morning. It took him a second to reply, eyebrows furrowed as he studied the woman. She must have been young, and yet he instantly found himself drawn to her gorgeous features, the soft hair he wanted to feel beneath his fingertips. 

“(Y/n), right?” She had emailed him about a month ago, warning the professor that she’d have to miss the first two weeks of his course due to some family trouble. Back then he hadn’t cared about her missing out on it, it was on her to catch up with his teaching anyways, but now he couldn’t help but wonder how he had managed to miss out on having her around for even just a second. 

“That’s me! Sorry again for my absence, Professor Shelby.” He shot her a small smile, not daring to speak up as his throat grew tighter. What the fuck was going on with him? Tommy felt as if he was drowning, as if the cold ocean was soaking through his black clothes, sticking to him to add more weight to his frame. He didn’t know her, knew only her name, and yet he felt strangely connected to her. 

He needed to get a grip, needed to redirect his focus before he’d forget his surroundings and the information he was supposed to pass on to his students.

……

“Professor Shelby?” (Y/n)’s voice echoed through his office, making a small smile tug on his lips as his eyes found hers. She stepped into the room, carefully closing the door behind herself before she walked up to him. Wordlessly he pointed towards the chair placed close to his table, piercing blue eyes watching her sit down.

“I have to say, I’m impressed, (y/n). You’re the first to ever score 100 on this essay.” The smile that grew on her lips left Tommy choking on his air, forcing his eyes away from her face. It had been a selfish move to invite all students to his office hour, telling them that he’d like to give them each some verbal feedback. But deep down Tommy didn’t give a single fuck about his students, at least not about the others, having eyes only for her. 

“I wanted to leave a good impression, especially after missing out on so much.” He was forced to look at her again, shooting her another smile as he reached the essay out for her to take. His heart started racing the second her fingers touched his, vision growing blurry, unable to notice that she was going through the same confusing sensations. 

“Help! We need help!” The screams echoed through the tent, ringing in her ears as she watched the soldiers move closer. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the soldier whose face was covered in blood and mud, forcing her to run towards them. 

“Place him down over there, quick!” Panic was flushing through her. No matter how many soldiers she had helped before, no matter how many lives she had saved, (y/n) couldn’t help but fear these moments when she held their lives in her hands. She needed to work quickly, and couldn’t wait for the other nurses to return from their visitations, there was no time to lose. “I need you to hold him down.” 

Her eyes met a pair of piercing blue ones, momentarily robbing her of any air left in her lungs. She had to redirect her focus, bloody fingers trying to clean the soldier’s cheeks as the handsome man held him down. No words were spoken between them, she needed to concentrate, needed to stop the soldier’s bleeding. Feeling the other man near did something to her, something unfamiliar she hadn’t ever felt before. 

“Here, I need you to bite down on this.” She pushed a wooden piece between the guy’s teeth as she reached for her tweezers. A deep inhale of air was sucked into her lungs. Even though it wasn’t the first time she was about to pull a bullet from somebody’s skin, (y/n) couldn’t help but feel nervous. Before she could even try to move, she felt the handsome man’s hand on her knee, softly squeezing the flesh to try and wordlessly support her. She could do it, and could help the hurt soldier, especially with the support of the man who was sitting close to her. 

“Alright, this will hurt.”

“Uhm,” Tommy had to clear his throat, blinking a few times before his vision began to clear up. (Y/n) was still sitting close to him, wearing the same confused expression as Tommy. Both stared at one another for a few moments, wordlessly, before she grasped the essay. Her eyes flickered down to the paper, trying to recollect her thoughts. 

“Thank you again for this, I think it’s best if I leave now.” He didn’t get a chance to reply, could only watch her disappear before he could even try to speak up. Tommy’s heart was still racing, mind not understanding what had just happened.

Had this been some trick of his brain, something he had read about in a book or seen in a movie? And yet it didn’t explain to him why the woman had looked just like (y/n), and why (y/n) had been just as dazed as he had been. 

It took Tommy a while to move, shaking his head as he drowned the last sips of his now cold coffee. He needed to get out of his office, needed to grab a few pints with some friends, anything to distract himself from what had just happened, and from (y/n). 

……

“Here, let me.” She watched him light his match, stepping closer to help her light her cigarette. Both blew out the blue smoke, watching it dance in the warm August breeze. Tommy was covered in soil, hands and face dirty, just like his hair, and yet neither of them seemed to care, wanting to feel one another close.

It had been days since she had helped his fellow soldier, making it through the night and all the following ones, left to survive with a big scar gracing his cheek. Ever since that day, Tommy and (y/n) had searched for one another, needing to learn more about the one they couldn’t stop thinking of. 

“Do you miss home, Tommy?” (Y/n)’s whispers rang in his ears, loud enough to distract him from his surroundings, the shots going off in the distance, the calls, and cries. He was sure that no matter where he’d be, no matter who he’d be surrounded by, if (y/n) was close, he’d always find himself focused on her. 

“Always do.” A hum left her at his reply, unconsciously moving closer to him, breath getting stuck in her lungs as his arm found its way around her waist. Their eyes met, his piercingly blue and full of pain and sorrow, hers filled with questions, longings, and confusion. She watched his gaze flicker down to her lips, taking another drag of his cigarette before he dipped his head down. 

(Y/n) didn’t dare move, silently praying that he’d kiss her, that he wouldn’t pull away, wrapped in darkness’s comforting veil. But before he could move, they heard the calls growing louder, forcing all soldiers to return to their positions. Their eyes met once again as he stubbed his cigarette out, pressed a kiss to her cheek, and disappeared.

(Y/n) woke with a gasp, hands pressed to the warm mattress she had been sleeping on for the past hours. Her heart was pounding, her mind racing, still focused on the dream she had just been forced through. Ever since she had experienced that strange moment in Professor Shelby’s office, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking of him, of what her mind had pushed her through – what had felt like a memory but couldn’t be one. And now she was dreaming of him, her professor, and yet he wasn’t a professor, at least not in her dream.

She needed to talk to him, or at least touch him again to figure out of it had been a trick of her brain or something that would happen again. He had looked just as confused, dazed even, unsure what had happened the second their hands had touched. Perhaps she could speak to him after class, or show up at his office, whatever it took to be close to him again. 

……

“Professor? Do you have a moment for me?” He had disappeared too quickly after class for (y/n) to even try to catch up with him, forcing her to wait a few hours before she could turn up at his office. She watched him take off his round glasses, leaning back in his chair as a soft “Of Course” left him. 

For a few moments, they were engulfed in silence, eyes wandering over one another’s features, wondering how to express what they were plagued by. But even though (y/n) tried her hardest to speak up, she couldn’t, throat too tight, mouth too dry. Professor Shelby broke their silence as he cleared his throat, rising to his feet to slowly move towards (y/n). 

He kept his distance and leaned back against his desk, and yet she felt him close. Though not close enough, feeling herself pulled towards him like a puzzle searching for its last missing piece. With a sigh breaking through him, he reached his hand out for (y/n) to take, watching the hesitation tugging on her features. 

“It’s alright, I don’t understand it myself, but I guess it’s on us to figure this out. Whatever it is.” Her teeth ran along her lower lip as (y/n) stepped towards him, letting go of one last exhale before she carefully grasped his hand. 

“Look at me, (y/n). I’ve got you, I’m alive.” His voice rang in her ears, watching the tears drip down her cheeks as she stared up at him. She clung to his hand, cursing this very war for pushing these unfamiliar emotions through her. God, she had counted the hours, had lost hope, sure that Tommy was no longer alive. And yet here he was, alive, breathing, not even bleeding. 

She hastily took a step away, eyes wide, lips parted. He had his eyes focused on his hand, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Neither of them dared to speak up, not understanding what was happening, why these things that felt like memories were pushed through their brains. Only slowly did the professor dare to lift his gaze, studying her panicked features.

“What is happening? What is that?” (Y/n) choked on her words, torn between confusion and the pain she felt deep inside of her. It felt as if she was grieving something or rather someone. A pain she was so unfamiliar with, she couldn’t even understand what it was trying to tell her, what she was plagued by. 

“I don’t know, (y/n).” He spoke her name all too softly, sounding just like it had in her head moments ago. With wide eyes she kept studying him, needing to feel what had happened again, still not believing that this was something but a trick of her brain. All he did was watch her, eyes following her every move, even as she came to a halt in front of him, standing far closer than moments ago, he didn’t dare move. If there was one thing Tommy wanted to avoid, it was scaring her. 

“Can I try something?” Their eyes held contact as (y/n) murmured the words, waiting for his spoken consent before she moved. A quiet “Yes” left the professor, wondering what she was about to do, not expecting to feel her soft lips meeting his.

“You have to be quiet, love.” His raspy voice left her buzzing with excitement. Tommy had her pressed against a car, swallowed by darkness. Their lips met carefully at first, with her arms slung around his neck, and his hands placed on her waist. Neither of them could hold back, deepening the kiss within seconds as they hoped that no other soldiers, nurses, or commanders would find them. 

“Don’t stop, please.” He had taken over the kiss, forcing her down on his desk to stand between her thighs. Both were torn between the pictures their minds were painting and the feeling of one another’s hands exploring their bodies. Whatever it was that had pushed them together, they didn’t want to break the spell, needed to keep close. 

“Will you let me have a taste? Ever since I saw you for the first time I wanted to get my mouth between those pretty thighs of yours.” Her eyes were wide, lips parted to try and suck some air into her aching lungs. (Y/n) could only nod her head, forgetting how to speak, how to express the emotions she so desperately wanted to explain to him.

With their eyes holding contact, Tommy undid her trousers, pulling them down her legs before he pushed her damp panties to the side. The groan that clawed through him at the sight of her bare cunt left her walls clenching around nothing, needing to feel his fingers, his mouth on her. But the second he brushed two fingers through her slit, collecting drops of arousal, she found herself stuck in another memory. 

“Oh god, oh god. Right there.” Her eyes rolled back into her head, pressed against the mattress of the bed she hadn’t been lying on for years. It had been hours since they had returned from France, not daring to leave one another’s side once, hours they had spent hiding away from those who had waited on them for years, only focused on exploring their bodies without needing to worry about curious bystanders. His tongue brushed along her folds, moaning at her taste as his arms tightened their grip on her thighs. 

“I guess you’ve always tasted this sweet.” His words drew tears to her eyes, overcome by a wave of unfamiliar emotions, set on drowning her. Tommy kept moving his fingers as his tongue explored the spots she needed him to touch, choking on his name. She needed to hold onto him, needed to bury her fingers in his skin, but her fingers couldn’t move, could only cling to the edge of his table. “My pretty girl, fuck, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” 

“What a sight for sore eyes, I’m a fucking lucky bastard.” Tommy’s raspy voice filled their shared bedroom. He leaned back in his chair, chest bare, legs stretched out. Smoke left his nostrils, eyes set on her naked frame. She walked closer with a smirk on her lips, enjoying the way he marvelled at her, how he watched her every move. “I don’t deserve you, my pretty wife.”

His wife? Them, Married? Fuck, if these flashes were truly memories of their past life, she couldn’t help but thank whoever had pushed them together once again. Another shot at this life with Tommy by her side, another shot at this life with a man she had loved in other centuries. Love that would always stand the test of time. 

“I need to be inside of you, will you let me fuck you?” (Y/n) pulled Tommy in for a kiss, groaning into his mouth as she felt his covered bulge rubbing against her sensitive cunt. Their kiss was all tongue and teeth, growing more heated by the second, while Tommy’s impatient fingers freed his cock. He parted from her to roll a condom down his cock, and yet their eyes never broke eye contact. “Last chance to stop this, I need you to tell me you want this too.” 

“Oh fuck, of course I want this, Tommy. Fuck me, fuck me like you’ve always fucked me.” Her glassy eyes met his, both were clearly overcome by the emotions they still needed to adjust to. He pushed into her slowly, fingers interlaced with hers to hold her close. There was no need to adjust, it seemed like their bodies remembered one another the same way their minds did. 

“Forever mine, I will never let you go.” Tommy rasped his words into the darkness as he fucked her into their mattress. He couldn’t help but admire her, needing to take in every inch of (y/n), silently hoping that tonight he’d get to fuck another baby into her. Her moans left him smirking, fingers rubbing her pulsing bundle in sync with his thrusts, needing to push her over the edge any moment now. 

She didn’t allow herself to wonder what their life together had been like, and how many children they have had together – at least not at that very moment. All (y/n) could concentrate on was the feeling of Tommy fucking her ruthlessly, cock forcing her walls apart with every thrust. 

With her forehead pushed against his shoulder, (y/n) moaned his name, already close to letting go. Both were shaken up by what kept on happening to them whenever they touched one another in another place, bringing up memories that felt like they were straight out of a movie. It was unfamiliar and confusing, and yet it was anything but scary, no, it left them filled with excitement, needing to learn more about one another and the life they had once shared. 

“It’s alright, love, cum for me, cum on my cock.” Tommy’s gritty voice left her choking on her gasps, letting go with a moan. He kept on snapping his hips, enjoying the way she clenched around him, how she trembled from her intense orgasm. All because of him. With his thoughts set on (y/n), he came, letting go with a groan. 

For a few moments, neither of them parted from one another, holding on before he slowly pulled away. Neither of them spoke as they redressed, caught in their thoughts. Only as Tommy pulled her in for another kiss did (y/n) allow another smile to tug on her lips. 

“If you’ll allow it, I want to love you in this lifetime too, hold you close like we were destined to be.” With tears once again welling up in her eyes, (y/n) pulled him in for a breathless kiss. 

Tommy had his eyes set on her sleeping figure, hand stroking her hair. His thoughts were torn between the memories of the tunnel, of the darkness he hadn’t been able to escape from for long. But it had all been worth it, because of her, because of the woman he had married, the woman who was the mother of his children. And if there was one thing Tommy was wishing for, it was getting the chance to love her in all upcoming lifetimes too.

[southasianpercy]

miles-42 is a vigilante.

this is something my friend and i have discussed in private immediately after watching the movie when it was released. but, whenever we see anyone else say it online, they get heavy pushback from A LOT of people. and i believe those people def only watched across the spiderverse for reasons such as (1) the most popular movie at the time (2) it’s spider-man (but they only have a passive interest in spidey). i say this because their denial of miles-42 being a vigilante instead of a villain or anti-hero feels like they only care to look at the movie with a very shallow perspective.

i’m going to first talk about why my friend & i believed miles-42 was a vigilante after watching the movie (take note that we hadn’t really seen other ppl’s opinions on this yet & we also hadn’t searched up anything pertaining to the topic prior to our convos).

our main reason is that miles-42 was meant to be spider-man in his universe. and we all know that when a person is meant to be spider-man, they are a person with a heart of gold (i.e. a very kind and good nature).*

*yes, i know spider-man can be evil, but that doesn’t line up with the theme represented throughout the spiderverse films, so it’s not relevant here. also, with that logic, then you have to consider that prowler can be good.

miles-42 being the prowler in his universe doesn’t mean that he’s automatically evil/a villain/thug/gang member, especially since there are parallels between miles-42 and our miles (miles-1610).

• they have the same mural dedicated to a beloved family member who died.

• miles-42 caught the glove from uncle aaron-42 the same way that our miles caught the spray can from his uncle.

• they wear the same clothes. i believe the clothes are a heavy indicator for how similar miles-42 and our miles are—they both wear the jersey with the big puffy coat over, but the colors (red & black, purple & green) match their respective titles (spider-man, prowler). this definitely indicates that they stand for the same thing and represent the same thing for their respective universes, just with a different appearance.

now, when i’ve seen people try to defend their belief that miles-42 is a villain or anti-hero, they say “well, he tied up our miles!” or “he’s the prowler! and the prowler is supposed to be evil/kill people!” or “he’s only had a couple seconds of screen time, so just let people assume what they want.” i have a rebuttal for each of these.

“well, he tied up our miles!” yeah, this is another parallel, similar to how our miles tied up peter b. parker in itsv. did that mean our miles was a villain then? or evil? no, he was scared and wanted answers. but, in comparison, miles-42 is more experienced and has spent a year being his city’s hero, so he’s definitely going to be tougher and more capable compared to itsv miles.

“he’s the prowler! and the prowler is supposed to be evil/kill people!” people need to take into account that this is a different universe without a spider-man. there is no spider-man mantle to take up because there never was one in the first place/no one got bit, which means things function differently. miles-42 being the prowler is the closest thing to being spider-man in his universe (which, once again, is indicated through subtext: miles-42 & our miles’s clothing being similar).

“he’s only had a couple of seconds of screen time, so just let people assume what they want.” no. i don’t care that miles-42 had little to no screen time because there are heavy indicators that point to him being a hero in his universe. and letting ppl assume what they want has went into weird racist territory where people push this idea of miles-42 running his own cartel, being a threatening hoodrat, or anything else that falls under bullshit harmful stereotypes based off of his appearance alone. letting ppl assume miles-42 to be anything but a vigilante who helps people and doesn’t kill anyone just lets them play out their fantasies that are deeply rooted in racism. they even make it to where miles-42 acts & dresses insanely different from our miles even tho the movie has shown us these two have similar taste?? and rio-42 didn’t think miles was acting any different when he was talking to her?? the only difference between our miles and miles-42 is their environment, which forced one of them to grow up way quicker and adopt a tougher exterior.

and a couple months ago, when i was reading through the atsv art book, on the section about miles-42 the director literally confirmed what my friend & i thought all along: miles-42 is a vigilante and the hero of his universe. it’s nice to have it confirmed, but it also is important for the vigilante deniers to hear it because that’s the only time they’ll truly understand (even tho it’s been heavily hinted at in the movie).

p. 190 of the atsv official art book

p. 200 of the atsv official art book

[wickmitz]

SEDGEWICK SABLE & MITZI MAY : an overall study, part one .

discussing their individual characters, their relationship, their respective scenes, and a plethora of details found in-between.

this question is a good one! though i’m going to prematurely apologize for the length of my response to it, since this requires some extensive analysis. mostly because i feel like fans are prone to misreading and misinterpreting mitzi’s and wick’s relationship a lot in general, but also due to the fact there’s a lot of outside elements that are currently affecting their relationship as we see it in the comic. so to even begin to understand their mindset on the date, we have to rehash previous events and actually understand what’s happening within those moments. after all, like most good character writing, there’s a lot being said without actively telling the reader every little thing! it’s also important to note that this romantic relationship is very complex, with both parties involved being extremely human in nature ; prone to messing up and feeding impulses that, while understandable, aren’t exactly wise or good natured. for example, you will see some rather heavy miscommunication in this dynamic! but to start off with this beast of an analysis, let me discuss some statements i’ve seen made in regards to wick and mitzi, which are not only extremely biased in wick’s favor, but are factually untrue. these topics will come into play later! and will help establish some key elements i’ll mention again when recounting the events of the comic.

some opinions i’ve seen thrown around that are treated as canonical fact are a combination of ‘mitzi’s been setting out to use wick from the start / she isn’t actually interested in him / is merciless when taking advantage of him, and etc etc.’ -- and in order to properly begin this analysis and what’s really going on, you have to cast these ideas aside! i, personally, don’t think any of these views are true and serve as an extremely simplistic explanation for mitzi’s behavior, while also robbing wick of any actual agency he may have. he is not some helpless victim led astray by mitzi’s tempting offers and curves, and has even been stated to not be as morally righteous as he claims by tracy on occasion. he, like mitzi and everyone else in lackadaisy, is a heavily flawed individual! and that’s important to keep in mind as i go through and a.) debunk these misconceptions and b.) actually discuss the events of the comic, including the in-between we weren’t privy to as readers. i also don’t think i need to clarify this, but just in case someone out there is thinking it in passing : i cannot make it clear enough that mitzi is just as flawed as wick, if not more so! she is not an innocent party in the events, and i won’t shy away from discussing the morally ambiguous things she does either. however, it’s undeniable that she gets more hate than wick, or any other man in lackadaisy, thus i find it prominent to disprove the cartoonishly villainous reads of her character. i might defend her more than wick here, or approach her with more sympathy, but this doesn’t ever negate her wrongs and i know this. but with all these disclaimers, preamble, and topic starters out of the way, i’m going to go through these points one by one ( alongside their scenes together ) and discuss them as i see fit.

the first time we see mitzi and wick together is in the comic page introduction three : where they’re photographed together with some other noticeable faces, with a date of ‘5-21-1927’ dated in the corner. the two are beside one another and are leaning into each other’s space, an action that seems commonplace for them given how they’re depicted in the phantom bootlegger as well. it’s also worth noting that despite the rather tragic circumstances surrounding them, the two still appear to be in high spirits -- both donning a smile while flashing an almost coy look at the camera. they look as though nothing is amiss about the situation at all, honestly, and given their proximity, it appears they’re close. i’ve offhandedly mentioned to others that i wouldn’t be surprised if wick were standing in atlas’s ‘spot’, so to speak ; since he’s always shown standing to her left. it gives couple vibes! something that’s rather unremarkable since we know from wick’s own mouth that he’s been interested in mitzi since her days as atlas’s wife, as well as the implied affection at first sight in the side comic limestone. but i’ll note it nonetheless, because if this photo was taken before the proceeding events ( a likely story, since freckle is absent in the photo ), then this implies a closeness between wick and mitzi. they are comfortable around each other and are rather pleased to be in each other’s presence well before acting upon any feelings in a romantic light, unabashedly friendly before the other lackadaisy crew as well as not minding being posed so closely while being photographed together. they are on good terms and have likely stayed that way since they’ve known one another -- i feel like people act as though wick and mitzi had no genuine bond prior to the events of the comic, when it seems rather implied they were at least friends before. this also very weakly discredits claims of planned manipulation from the start as well as mitzi not liking wick outside of his money. the only thing up for debate, in my eyes, is how close they were, not if they were close at all … though now we reach actual canon events, most notably pages such as : formaldehyde, overtime, hallelujah, overture, caveat, and rendezvous respectively. these are pages that i’ll be talking about in length, since i see them as necessary reading ( and rereading ) for these two before volume two’s events.

formaldehyde, overtime, and overture are sort of bundled together for what they reveal where it concerns mitzi’s plans with wick as a person in her life. i think it’s easy to view her joy upon seeing sedgewick in the paper as an opportunistic lightbulb ; ‘good news’ that she can exploit and a balm applied to her financial troubles that had her looking at the obituaries for some levity. but i’d argue she is genuinely happy for wick too, with both selfless and selfish intent. while actually celebrating his success isn’t her main concern, i see some part of her proud of him nonetheless -- even if it’s an unspoken congratulations. though what’s more pressing is that it’s here that we see her intentions as clear as day, which is that she plans to schmooze wick’s investor friends in order to keep the lackadaisy afloat. emphasis on the investors here! her letter to wick shows her priorities clear as day, sending extra club pins and drawing attention to the desire for extra company, and not just wick’s own. when wick swindles the rather bored crowd the lackadaisy’s way, we see how mitzi leaps into action ; giving the men her full attention and chatting them up, making her motives clear as day to them while maintaining some business coyness. the real apple of her eye here is edmund church, who is poised to appear as the leading man where the investors are concerned, and even her body language is attentive towards the man. facing him directly, leaning the full weight of her body towards him …

but while doing so, she is visually turning herself away from wick. back practically turned to him and his presence all but ignored. it’s clear he’s not her schmoozing target, which implies she’s not searching for an investment from wick himself ; as though this is a line she doesn’t wish to cross, and would rather find her money elsewhere despite her mounting desperation. we also know that before these events that mitzi has sold everything she could in order to make things work, including rather sentimental items like wedding china and not limited to whatever mansion her and atlas previously lived in. to me, this shows that mitzi was never planning to use wick at all, really, and in fact was so against the notion that she’d rather manipulate his friends than the very easy target beside her. while she’s arguably a selfish character, people seem to not grasp how hard she tried to keep wick from becoming more than a loyal patron to the lackadaisy. it’s only when all other avenues have been exhausted that she attempts to use him -- and we’ll talk in depth about this decision later, since it wasn’t an easy choice, much less something she decided to do without some inner turmoil in her heart. and while yes, her exploiting wick’s investors is her using him to a degree, it’s worth noting that ( and i cannot stress this enough ) wick was more than well aware of her intentions and brought the men along anyway. he feeds these men to this lady he fancies, something church will call him out for in caveat and something borderline confirmed in overture itself. wick is hardly the idiot people make him out to be! he may be prone to obliviousness, but he’s no toddler who fails to understand even the most obvious social cues. at this point in the comic he trusts mitzi completely ; unfazed by the rumors she killed atlas and believing her incapable of violence due to how long he’s known her. he thinks her kind, he thinks her graceful, and his fondness for the widow is palpable in most of their early scenes … and even somewhat during the time in which their bond is strained.

in fact, the first time mitzi acknowledges wick’s presence beside her is when wick pipes up to offer her advice on how to win church over. not only is he aware of what she’s doing, he is now actively encouraging it by offering up tips and tidbits he probably learned himself when securing church’s investment, all while he smiles and leans towards her, a flirtatious and admiring nature about him.

sedgewick sable may be one of the kindest men in lackadaisy, but he’s still a capitalist at his core, someone who knows how important money is and is used to the give and take society he’s a part of. and while he’s still helping mitzi here, there’s also little denying the fact that he’s doing this to garner brownie points with her … there is some self interest he’s serving here, even if he’s rather sweet about it. as church so eloquently puts it, wick essentially tried to “charge in with ( his ) group of shareholders in a great display of concern for the lady.” and while wick vaguely denies this claim, i think it’s more than obvious that’s exactly what he tried to do here, especially given how quickly he admits it’s “difficult to resist a damsel in distress,” while adorning a rather sly look. what happened here is wick was bluntly called out for his readiness to use the investors so he could get in good with mitzi, appease her and impress her in some way, and he seems rather shameless about this intent thus far. many fans misinterpret this scene, due to being fiercely protective of wick and quick to sense church’s antagonistic role. and just to be clear, when i say antagonistic, i mean that he is the voice of opposition against something that wick’s arc is all about ( i.e. being in a relationship with mitzi ). because of this, fans are inclined to dismiss everything that church says as patently untrue. however, i find it pertinent to reassess church’s specific wording. when he speaks to mitzi in overture, he calls her business ‘criminal reputations’, and though mitzi is able to win him over enough that he stops complaining, he goes right back to his original opinion come caveat, where he states that ‘there’s no reason any of us should have an interest in illegitimate business’. what church says next, however, is curious ; he brings up both mitzi’s reputation and wick’s, pointing out just how incongruous they are, and spells out for him that if he’d like to associate with criminals, then he is in the wrong career. at no point does church tell wick not to have feelings for mitzi nor to pursue them -- what i believe church is essentially reminding wick of is that people will notice his associations with the lackadaisy if he decides to mix business and pleasure like he did tonight. after all, what wick has done, in the simplest of terms, is try to goad his investors into making an objectively harmful business decision so that he could get in good with a woman he fancies. the problem is hardly that wick goes to the lackadaisy ( after all, church and the other investors do go to speakeasies! ), or even that he has a clear interest in mitzi may. rather, church is warning wick against letting his personal feelings guide him into making poor decisions in his business.

it’s not shown how wick reacts to church’s advice, but seems to initially dismiss it, as he spends the rest of his time ushering them away and paying for viktor’s medical bills, an action he does partly due to wanting to look good in front of mitzi once again. while i believe wick would’ve paid them anyway ( he couldn’t ever just let viktor die ) i still find it interesting how the comic highlights ivy using mitzi against him and this working effortlessly. he stops asking questions and stops debating about the ethics of taking viktor to the hospital and merely pays the doctor when quackenbush gets there … before scrambling off to make himself useful at the little daisy.

all of this is to say that wick is hardly some helpless victim who was being used against his will here. he had something to gain from this too and helped these events unfold, completely aware of mitzi’s desire to win over his investors for her own needs. wick’s knowledge of this will come back into play soon enough, although we’re going to talk about mitzi real quick, as well as the comic page rendezvous.

after the events of killjoy, mitzi’s already dire situation takes a turn for the worse due to unseen circumstances, with many things falling at her feet at once. the last vestiges of their reputation has been tarnished alongside what was a golden opportunity, the lackadaisy is trashed and destroyed, she finds out that mordecai has taken all their arsenal, viktor is shot to hell, and had it not been for the presence of a stranger, the likelihood of her, rocky, and zib kicking the bucket was too likely to be comfortable. naturally, mitzi seems composed during these stressful events, keeping her cool as best she can and acting unfazed by what was imminent danger ; to a degree, this show of apathy is genuine, in the sense that mitzi is unafraid of death and physical harm. she made the choice to stay in the lackadaisy despite knowing she’d be safer on the other side of those doors, and in loggerhead she even implies she’d rather take the risks and die because allowing the lackadaisy to fade out of existence is a ‘sadder fate’ in her eyes. i don’t think i need to talk in length about how unhealthy this mindset is or how much this demonstrates mitzi’s obsession -- her selfishness to cling onto her husband’s ruinous legacy is so severe that she would even be happier perishing in its place, an almost passive suicidality mindset that i don’t see touched upon often. but for all her nonchalance about shootouts, there’s this worsening tiredness and despair that clings to her eyes and gestures when the pig farmers are slain. forced to do nothing else but accept the grim reality of such a brutal aftermath and see viktor’s awful state for herself, another blow she gets to see up close. they could’ve lost everything here, and they almost did! it’s a devastating end to a once hopeful evening, one that has her aimless and with no real plans for a future. i don’t think mitzi even thought to use wick even upon hearing about his offered charity, yet i believe we see the exact moment when such a thought crosses her mind ; maybe not for the first time, but here is when the idea becomes too tantalizing to ignore. she’s out of options and wick is there, like always, and mitzi’s desperation ( her grief ) eclipses any care she has for wick in a singular moment that changes their dynamic completely.

we’re finally at rendezvous, which is probably the most important page ( or at least one of the most integral pages ) to wick and mitzi’s relationship. a lot happens here between these two characters despite the simplicity of their actions, after all, chatting for a little and then kissing isn’t much to sneeze at plot wise. but what’s pressing here is the visuals and the dialogue rather than their actions. we start off with mitzi entering the little daisy cafe and catching wick tidying up the mess rocky and freckle created when they ran through the building ; he’s obviously waiting around to hear of viktor’s condition and doing something useful with his hands in the meantime, having been interrupted from where he’d been staring at atlas’ picture on the wall. miss may makes light of his ‘raiding’ and says she could’ve just made him something to eat if he really wants and wick responds in kind, sarcasm and banter exchanged briefly before they touch upon the events unfolding around them. mitzi expresses her gratitude and ensures she’ll pay wick back ( something she says without being prompted to ) before telling a curious wick about viktor’s condition. unable to help himself further, he asks mitzi what happened tonight, to which she remains silent -- wick realizes he’s better off not knowing and relents with a smile, to which we get this line from mitzi.

there’s a properness to this, where she goes as far as to stop using his nickname to address him as sedgewick instead. her paw reaches up to begin fiddling with her necklace ( something she does whenever thinking or reminded of atlas ) and before she can finish her thought, her attention is forced from wick onto the very picture he’d been staring at previously. my opinion on this scene is that, for all intents and purposes, this reads like some sort of formal rejection ; flavoring in ‘you’re so kind’s and ‘such a swell man, you are!’s before ending with your resounding no, so to speak. i think in this moment, mitzi was going to be honest with wick instinctively, especially after he saved her some trouble despite not having to. ”and i would hate to …” use him? lead him on? seemingly promise something she’s incapable of delivering upon? maybe she suspects he paid for viktor’s bills to win her over ( a semi correct assumption ) and wants to clear the air on that. say that while she’s thankful and while wick is an amazing person, he won’t be ‘getting’ anything out of this from her … not right now. i’ll talk more about how i believe mitzi views wick in a moment, but all in all i struggle to see what else she would’ve been trying to say here if not some kind of soft rejection. values his loyalty and kindness too much to lead him on in that way, or take advantage of him -- until she isn’t, which just happens to be obvious in this next scene. i need it on record that visually this is one of the most compelling scenes in all of lackadaisy to me! there is something so disturbing about it, somber, an eerie feeling that something is amiss and that mitzi’s state of mind is undeniably poor. that her view of things is clouded and warped, and this will overshadow any of her true thoughts or feelings due to this skewing of priorities.

and here we have this brief moment, a single panel of silence that doesn’t last more than a second perhaps, before mitzi ultimately kisses wick. what we see visually is wide, doll eyes staring at atlas -- her husband framed in time and sat at the little daisy cafe, surrounded by men who admired and feared him in equal measure, successful, and ‘looking’ down at her. seeing him renders her speechless, only roused from this heavy stare down when wick replaces atlas with his own face ; confused and worried, not at all similar to the emotionless expression she was taken by, but it’s interesting nonetheless. it’s only then that mitzi pushes into wick and kisses him! and i think this very scene is when mitzi not only thought to use wick, but was far gone enough to actually do so as well. there’s a lot of things to be potentially dissected from this scene! mitzi’s obsession with atlas, how she’s far gone enough to ruin a friendship just for his sake ( and for her own as well ) … or the fact wick seems to be her new direction, shallowly filling what space atlas has left behind, perhaps easing her loneliness and money woes all the while. this scene is never discussed and it’s criminal it isn’t, when there’s so much being said here in the silence of it all. she is haunted and tormented and all she can see is atlas, and after everything that’s happened to her and the lackadaisy, wick becomes an avenue and a tool for the sake of it. it’s not a kiss she seems to even enjoy and it looks as though it’s entirely impulsive and forced on her end.

with comics, it’s finicky to decipher what happens between panels, but what’s obvious here is that wick doesn’t respond to her advance immediately, which causes mitzi to pull back. she apologizes vaguely, giving a dismissive ‘i do that sometimes,’ something that’s probably not even true given how valiantly mitzi loathes feeling like a ‘harlot’, so to speak. she’s obviously trying to brush this incident aside ; either having come to her senses and being rightfully embarrassed or taking his unresponsive nature as her having read him wrong. feigns aloofness when wick asks what she does so often exactly, still distant by all means, and had it not been for the olives and their forced proximity, she might’ve made her leave. as quickly as the impulse came, it had left, and i don’t think it’s out of the realm of possibility to think mitzi quickly regretted her actions here due to how emotionally driven they were. but instead she lingers and stays, and then ( in my eyes, given the composition of the pose ) wick yanks her into another kiss now that the surprise has worn off. after all, he did want this! she had caught him off guard is all. it’s worth noting she looks more at ease with this kiss, knowing it’s reciprocated and enjoying it as a passionate thing led by wick rather than herself. maybe she can excuse it now, her attempt to use him, since he’s ‘leading’ so to speak. regardless, this is where rendezvous ends … however, i want to address one more thing before i move on completely.

there’s no true way of telling what happened after this comic page due to the morning timeskip we experience. all we know is that wick eventually went home, after being out ‘later than usual’, which could imply he stayed for a lengthy period of time after or could simply be referring to the fact he didn’t leave with bix at first. i’d argue the earlier assumption based on the fact wick technically ‘left early’ anyway due to the raid, but that’s besides the point. people seem to believe that mitzi selfishly dropped this investment deal onto wick, that it was solely her idea, yet we see multiple times in volume two that this isn’t the case at all -- and that wick not only agreed to meet with her, but seemingly for the purpose of talking about his potential investment. here we have wick acknowledging he made last minute plans in grindstone, as well as mitzi heavily implying wick was very much into the idea of investing in her business last night in doublet :

wick never refutes these claims and the narrative does nothing to disprove this either. so it’s safe to assume that either during their necking or thereafter, one of them brought up the idea of wick investing and they both seemed eager about the prospect, enough so to agree upon meeting later in order to discuss the actual details. once again, wick is well aware of mitzi’s intention during the events of her date, an intention she barely bothers hiding because they’ve agreed to talk about it, and we’ll put a pin in that for later. now that we’ve actually concluded the canon events leading up to volume two ( as well as some moments in between ) i’ll briefly talk about mitzi’s and wick’s feelings during this time.

one of the biggest problems they’re facing currently, and one that will worsen over time, is that neither of them are on the same wavelength here. there is undoubtedly mutual attraction between them as well as affection, but how they view and understand these emotions is where they stay divided. we have sedgewick sable who’s well aware of his feelings ( or, in time, thought he was anyway ), has been since meeting mitzi for the first time, and is so bold in his fondness that he lingered inside her circle despite her marital status. he knows he wants mitzi romantically or at the very least casually … everyone around him can tell this too. it’s not some secret or taboo sin wick is prone to shying away from! he doesn’t even care about the rumors or her widow status -- or how bad it would look to be public with her given the mysterious and illegal circumstances she’s surrounded in. he desires to impress and woo her on top of being helplessly smitten.

where they seem to differ is that while wick is keenly aware of his attraction, mitzi is not. or, more accurately, has no clarity to which she can view it and understand it for what it is. during the events of the comic, she’s long since rewritten her memories of atlas and has painted them in this golden picture of pure happiness and true love and joy … she’s romanticized her past with him, purposefully forgetting things in order to maintain this ‘i had a fairytale life when i was married to atlas’ viewpoint. we see how this perspective affects even the most major of things, like the way mitzi casually spits in the face of her old life with the band, now adamant about the fact she was miserable then and felt just oh so disgusting while performing. while i believe some of those feelings are true, i also believe that mitzi is inherently devaluing things that aren’t related to atlas due to a mixture of obsession and grief she’s not looking in the eye. when you lose someone you love or loved, the sudden hit of loss makes it very easy to morph the person in your mind into someone perfect and godly. mordecai has likely done the same thing. it’s simple to deal with heartbreak in that way, to better love someone when they’re dead and gone with only memories and photos and feelings left behind as evidence they were ever there at all. in many ways, mitzi can’t comprehend atlas anymore, and has channeled her wounds into this constant conflicting fixation instead of something to heal. so, naturally, she is not thinking about herself -- her desires, her wants, her thoughts, or her feelings ; it's a chorus of atlas and the lackadaisy instead. mitzi isn’t in the space of mind to inspect her feelings towards wick and figure out whether she likes him or not … not when all she cares about is her priority. it also doesn’t help that zib, the person who arguably knew her best ( but doesn’t know her anymore despite how they both pretend otherwise ), immediately accuses her of using wick at the very beginning of volume one.

again, zib isn’t wrong and it turns out his fears are more than valid! but it’s worth saying that mitzi’s clouded mind is already having the notion of ‘you don’t care for wick like that, you’re just using him’ shoved into her brain as evident fact from someone who’s important to her. while she fancies him and would, in another world, be more than eager to engage in frivolous courting and romantic inclinations, i don’t think she herself knows that. but if she did take a moment and examine what she’s doing and how she feels now, she’d probably dismiss all that and be more than convinced that she’s manipulating wick, utilizing his attraction to her while having none of her own in order to steal some much needed money from his pockets. like i mentioned in this post, mitzi likely believes atlas was her one true love and that she’d never love again, furthering this notion of her accidentally puppeting her own emotions to be more understandable in her eyes. this ( coupled with guilt for using wick so brutally ) is also why she appears to almost avoid romance entirely during their ‘date,’ only ever resorting to such overt flirtation when desperately trying to get wick to talk to her about what she needs to talk to him about. her methods and actions during those events are more calculated, as was her initial kiss in rendezvous. it’s also worth noting the next time we see mitzi is while she’s getting ready, sat at her vanity and looking particularly small and numb. it’s giving some levels of dissociation! this is not the expression of someone who’s remembering the events of last night fondly, which sadly includes the kiss between her and wick.

but still, we as the audience know she likes him subconsciously. we cannot always trust her perspective and instead need to analyze and look at the little things to infer if her views and genuine feelings align. her constant fondness for wick shows itself even during moments where mitzi believes she is uncaring. she is usually smiling at the mention of wick or from being around him, will casually touch him affectionately, and is visibly enjoying the act of posing with him in photomajig. everything i’ve previously said more than proves she cares for him to a rather utmost degree too. like most of their relationship and respective characters, these two extremes can coexist in their own unique way, and i wholeheartedly believe they do. i’ll also acknowledge that i haven’t talked about wick much, but don’t worry! we will get there in volume two soon enough, which i will now be covering and analyzing in detail as well.

as mentioned previously, the next time we see mitzi is after the events of last night, likely sometime in the afternoon given later events. she is putting in her earrings while sat at her vanity, surrounded by a seemingly endless supply of photos ( another metaphor for the past and how it never really leaves her alone ) as she looks on with an apathetic sort of misery. she gets up and totes around a tommy gun which she then shows off to the portrait of atlas in her ( still his ) office ; giving him a rather generous debriefing that leaves out some integral details, like viktor being shot, before harping more on mordecai and how she needs to deal with him so things won’t get worse. the only mention of wick here is her telling atlas that it ‘wasn’t a total loss,’ though her rather kicked expression, as well as how quickly she brushes past the details of that, implies she isn’t satisfied with the state of things. i also find it interesting how little she admits to the deterioration of things here, before the portrait of her dead husband, because while this can be seen as tracy not wanting to recount all the events we’ve just seen, i think there’s a level of avoidance here too. mitzi isn’t keen on vocally admitting to how bad things are, how much was lost last night -- perhaps due to the fact she’ll be forced to confront the actual helplessness of her situation, and realize that things aren’t exactly fixable as it stands. there’s actually very few instances where she willingly shares her feelings or talks about the state of the lackadaisy to anyone, and the few times she actually does so, it’s either a.) a weapon to utilize against someone else, like some kind of guilt trip, or b.) it bursts out of her like a dam. she is extremely private and reserved where it concerns her emotions, always wishing to appear competent and above things, and in my opinion, it’s something worth noting. after this, she decides to call the maribel hotel and confront asa about his and mordecai’s involvement in last night’s tragedy.

the phone call itself plays out, in the most simplistic of terms, with mitzi’s desire to discuss things being disregarded as asa avoids her through various means. he questions why she’s bothering with such low quality hooch, and upon mitzi trying to bring the conversation back to the original topic ( aka why asa would do this ), he then pries about the lackadaisy’s desolate state before telling her to quit before things worsen. mitzi expresses confusion, but once again isn’t able to form an entire sentence due to asa abruptly ending the call after deciding for her that they’ll just discuss this over lunch. all in all, it’s an extremely rude and frustrating exchange. and sadly this won’t be the only time today where mitzi tries to talk to someone about a rather pressing topic, one very important to her and the wellbeing of her establishment, only to be dismissed at almost every turn until the very end of things.

in the next page, mitzi is depicted silently stewing in a chair much too big for her, glaring daggers at nothing in particular, more than angry at her failure of a phone call. she is unresponsive to rocky’s rambling, including the potential hiring of freckle, and only rouses herself out of her irritation when realizing she can bring the two boys along in some sort of display of power. it’s a rather weak and grasping attempt at maintaining some level of control, especially when she outright tells asa why rocky and freckle are there : “you see, my circumstance isn’t quite as hopeless as you -- ” it’s a very obvious posturing, a weak show with nothing really backing it. neither asa or mordecai are impressed or swayed by this at all, with mordecai even calling out that rocky is some band member rather than some gun for hire. his insults rub salt into mitzi’s wounds ( which is why she believes asa brought mordecai at all ) and only then does she discuss viktor’s awful state, a hasty guilt trip that quickly loses its shine the longer she drags it along. while i may view mitzi through a more sympathetic lens than most and hardly believe her major flaw to be manipulation, she is still capable of it and will stoop so low when it may benefit her, or perhaps whenever it makes her feel a bit better. and this brief interaction with mordecai is one such case.

the overall contents of the lunch and the car scene thereafter proves rather irrelevant to my topic, so instead of summarizing how it goes ( poorly, it goes poorly! ) i’ll be talking about certain events that will matter later, or will help us understand where mitzi is at mentally by the time she actually meets wick for their planned visit. the major components being how asa treats mitzi during this impromptu meeting and the state mordecai leaves her in after they discuss atlas.

to touch upon asa’s treatment of mitzi, even from as early as the phone call we see that mitzi is forced to have a conversation with asa on his terms rather than her own terms. mitzi sets out with a clear goal in mind -- learning why asa sweet would attack the lackadaisy in the way that he did -- and she's repeatedly talked over and threatened, with her questions remaining unanswered. it’s very clear very quickly that asa doesn’t respect mitzi nor view her as someone worthy of his time like atlas was, and almost appears to approach her in a misogynistic manner. he demeans something as simple as her ukulele as a ‘teeny little guitar’ and acts as though mitzi’s tears would be bothersome to him, some sort of burden he’d be forced to deal with rather than a valid emotional response to threats, degradation, and the likes. while asa is by no means wrong with some of his observations, he’s certainly rude and uncaring with how he goes about it. when he tells mitzi that he’s here to suggest that she step down, because he so generously has her interests in mind, she doesn’t buy it ; once again bringing up last nights events, where asa willingly armed the pig farmers with the lackadaisy’s arsenal and sent them over her way without so much as a warning. asa dismisses this coldly, once again dodging any fault and claiming it was ‘happenstance’ and entirely mitzi’s own doing. even now, when he’s actively threatening her and making it clear they won’t stay friendly if she keeps trying to make it in this business, he still won’t fully admit to any sort of responsibility for the disastrous night he helped put her through. while this seems rather typical of asa given his disrespectful streak ( something even mordecai, as valued and as useful as he is, suffers because of ) it’s worth noting that this side of him is new to mitzi and not one she was at all expecting. she even says as much here, in heartstrings :

we also know that mitzi only met atlas due to her performing at the marigold speakeasy first, and it’s likely asa was rather present in her life due to his bond with her now husband. asa even admits that mitzi may be confused because they’ve ’managed a friendly coexistence for so long,’ once again hammering home this idea that up until this point, asa was indeed kind to mitzi, or at the very least cordial. but with atlas out of the picture and mitzi trying to take his position, suddenly asa is more than okay with getting her killed or taking all she has left -- even his plan is nothing short of apathetic and cold, an afterthought, expecting her to give up something important to her and only offering a one time offer to play at the marigold room ‘sometime’ with that ‘old band of hers.’ i’ve actually seen some people claim this was a valid out for mitzi to take, which i can’t disagree more with, since a.) her band days are not something mitzi is interested in anymore and b.) she’s sold basically everything to keep the lackadaisy afloat, meaning she’d be more than poor if she gave that up. playing once or maybe twice at the marigold room wouldn’t save her financially! it wouldn’t do anything for her at all, besides giving mitzi some sort of last hurrah in her mata hari dress, something that doesn’t even fit her anymore. while it’s clear to anyone that she needs to let go of the past in order to be happy, accepting this poor excuse of a deal from asa is just her trading one past in for another one. this is also why zib’s out, while certainly better, isn’t something good for mitzi either. but that’s another post on its own, so i’ll leave it alone for the time being. what’s important here is that mitzi is ruthlessly betrayed by a man who used to like her and is treated as a lesser thing due to his view that she’s too incompetent to run a rumrunning business. he also brings up atlas to, in mitzi’s eyes, ‘intimidate ( her ) into agreeing with him,’ and towards the end of the lunch, she looks particularly kicked and undoubtedly hurt. she leaves this meeting that could’ve stayed a phone call with a potential enemy made and with the world on her shoulders, now more determined than ever to be someone people like asa would be forced to respect. instead of being dissuaded, she’s been encouraged, and it’s not hard to realize why.

her scene with mordecai leaves her in a similar predicament after their very brief truce is broken, with him perpetuating asa’s threats as well as saying, “as though you could bring the remains of atlas’ estate to anything but further disgrace,” before promptly leaving. these words, plus the subject matter and who said them, leaves mitzi staring out the car window and actually brings her to literal tears. her eyes are suddenly watery, and when rocky tries to make her feel better, we see one paw hastily wipe at one eye in particular -- already having spilled a tear or two by the time her hires have made their way back into the car. i cannot stress enough that throughout the entirety of this brief arc, mitzi has been constantly ridiculed and told she is not good enough at this job to be doing it, on top of the extremely sensitive subject of her husband being brought up twice over, which only served as one more jab to be made at mitzi’s expense. she desperately wanted the lackadaisy to work before, some sort of memento to atlas that she could keep going, and being told to let go of it in such a harsh way isn’t going to have the intended outcome. most people become vindictive and determined when told something is ‘impossible’ or that they won’t ever be able to accomplish what they want because they’re too incompetent to do it, they see this as a challenge, they get angry, and they start fighting harder for the goal in question. it’s rather human : to be fueled by wounded pride and to want so badly to prove others wrong, to taste the victory of accomplishing something deemed impossible, to warrant the respect of your peers … mitzi is all that and then some, since she’s gripped by an obsessive grief that refuses to let her go.

she wants to do this for atlas, she needs to do it for atlas, and there is no life or goal outside of the one in front of her. again, as mentioned paragraphs before, she’s made it clear she’d rather die than see the lackadaisy wither away into nothing. asa’s and mordecai’s threats, their insults, were never going to do anything except push mitzi further down the path she’s already on. and with the added bonus of mitzi now being in an extremely fragile emotional state ( one she hasn’t had a single break from since last night ), this then causes her decision making skills to be finicky ; more likely to make rash calls and to act desperately, rather than thinking clearly and with her head. mitzi does her best to sweep her fraying mental state under the rug for the sake of business, with the comic page haggersnash providing the visual of her reapplying her makeup near the traitorous eye and she even goes as far as to change her clothes, though there’s no denying the perpetual state of misery clinging to her character moving forward. and like we’ll see in wick later, mitzi probably also didn’t get much sleep last night herself. that paired with the nonstop events that refuse to work in her favor, and the occasional mental breakdown, is more than enough to reiterate for a final time that she is not well, despite how good she is at appearing so.

shutting the door on mitzi and her no good very bad day, we then shift back into wick in the second and final part of this essay.

[palmtreesx3]

Act 4 - Going All the Way

Queening (Steve's Chapter)

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Summary: (10.6k)  Steve’s phone call with his dad does not go well, and the aftermath of that call impacts way more than Steve himself. Steve has to realize a few things, only one of which is that he’s got people there to pick him up when he’s down, but the most important is that relationships don’t have to be conditional. As everyone rallies behind Steve, a revelation comes in the form of a stranger on a bench, and that chance meeting starts a few wheels in motion behind Steve’s pretty head. Can he fix what he’s done when he was down and out? Can he patch things up? Is this the end of the road, or can he go all the way? Buckle up, and enjoy this angsty chapter of Get Off. 

Warnings: it's a sex shop and generally just NSFW so 18+. Heavier topics are explored, depicted or mentioned including prejudice and anti-gay bias, heavy binge drinking as escapism, depression and a blink of thinking better off dead, controlling parents, overstimulation and some dashes of neurotypical behavior you can catch if you blink slowly enough. There’s also the ongoing sexual innuendos and explicit discussion of body parts, as well as implied p+v intercourse, and the holy grail of pussyeating. 

"What the hell is going on, son?" his father's voice bellowed through the phone. "I just heard from a colleague that you're working in some... some pornographic store downtown! In town for business and he could have sworn he saw your lookalike walking into the place, but then you turned around and he knew it was my own flesh and blood. How goddamned embarrassing, Stephen. Do you know how embarrassing that conversation is to have over a business dinner?"

Steve winced at the tone his father took, a visceral response he’s had since childhood. A tone he knows well and somehow still cuts just as deep as it did when he was thirteen. "Dad, it's not like that. It's just a job. It’s…it’s retail, s’all it is" he stammered, attempting to diffuse the tension. To deflect. To play ball. 

His father scoffed, "Retail job? Don't play games with me. I've spent years paying for whatever you need, trying to get you scholarships for sports which you squander away with your shitty grades, and this is what you end up doing? Sitting on your ass for a few years and working in some seedy place, peddling who knows what!"

"It's not like that at all. It's just a store, and we sell lots of things, not…not just that stuff, Dad." Steve tries desperately to explain, slipping right back into it - the role of a boy trying to find any excuse to satiate a father that could never be pleased. Like the time he was a shameful teenage boy being told he’s worthless as he stood in the entryway of the house, barely over the threshold, all because he passed the ball and let Sammy Curtis sink the game winning shot instead of taking it himself.

"That stuff” he interrupts with a scoff. “Is this what I raised you for? I expected you to have a respectable career by now. Thought this move to the city was going to give you some fresh choices, not this... this filth!"

Steve was not ready for this. Half his hangover was still hanging on for dear life. Just a moment ago things were…not this complicated. He was eating a raw bagel talking about���you…with his friend. Even when that was the thing that felt complicated it wasn't really, was it? It was simple, and easy and… Now he’s struggling to find the words to defend himself, especially hard long-distance, though he also guesses he should be grateful it was - he wasn’t forced to see the rage and disappointment behind his father’s eyes this particular time."Dad, it's just a job. We needed work, and this opportunity came up. It doesn't define who I am. I just…it shouldn’t matter that much." 

“Just a job? Stephen? What do you mean just a job?” At that, Steve can hear his voice slip into a deeper register. He knows the face that goes along with this. He knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that his father is going to try and ruin his life. It’s not much of one, but it’s his, and he can just tell that he’s about ready to pull the rug out from under him. 

“You're 25, for God's sake! When are you going to get a real job, a job that befits the family name? Do you think your mother and I worked so hard for you to end up in some disgraceful position like this? Galavanting around a city and being a part in all this promiscuity. Goddamnit, at this rateI bet you even associate with the gays. Don’t you?"

He feels his body tense and wince as those words spill out of his fathers mouth. His eyes flit to his friend, sitting on the couch, legs tucked up under her and perched there watching one side of this debacle unfold like a deer in headlights. Forcing a smile at him, an awkward smile of encouragement, none the wiser about the hate his father is spewing about people like… about her. Tears welled up in Steve’s eyes thinking about it and Robin sees them - or at least she thinks she does - and her eyebrows furrow in concern. But before she can be sure, he turns around refusing to show his vulnerability right now even to her. He bites his lip to stifle the visceral response he had to his dad’s prejudices about his friend. "Dad, I'm doing my best. I'm trying to make a living and figure things out. It's not as easy as you think."

His father's tone softened with a hint of disappointment unlike the frustration and anger that has been flowing out of him since the minute Steve picked up the phone. In almost a plea, he says "You're embarrassing us, son. This is not the life I envisioned for you. You need to reconsider your choices and start acting like an adult."

After a brief silence, his father's voice returned, this time laced again with frustration - the softness that just fell was all an act. This is the hammer Steve was expecting, and it’s falling. Right now. "Enough of this nonsense. You're coming back home. I've arranged for a position for you in the firm. You'll start immediately. Stability, respect – those are the things you need. Not whatever you're doing in that disgraceful place."

Steve ran his free hand through his hair, shaking his head but not really knowing what to say. Dragging his hand back down his face, he felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The pressure to conform to his father's expectations had been a constant weight on his shoulders for his entire life and this is not the first time this conversation has been had. This time feels different though. Before he hadn’t had anything to call his own - not as much to lose. This stupid apartment and the life that they’re living, it’s been good. Maybe the best thing that he’s ever had. And it’s been his. Before, his dad just wanted control. This time, he wants to control him and strip him of the actual identity he’s been working so hard to understand and build. "Dad, I... I need some time to figure things out here. I can't just drop everything and come back."

His father's tone grew more insistent. "Time? You've had enough time, and look where it's gotten you – working in a place like that! It's time to put an end to this foolishness. You're coming back, and that's final."

Steve hesitated, torn between his desire for independence and the fear of his dad. He takes a deep breath and finally responds "I appreciate your concern, but I need to make my own choices. I can't just give up on everything I've built here."

"Built? You call this building a life? What have you accomplished, working in that... that den of immorality? Come home, and I'll set you on the right path. It's time you take responsibility for your future." 

As his father continued to insist, Steve’s yearning to forge his own path and avoid any that looks remotely like his fathers continues to intensify. He’s tuning out the insults at this point, desperate to find some sort of life raft to hold on to as he drowns in his fathers disappointments. It’s only then, that he finds it. The lifeline. The realization that he's got miles between him and his father now. He’s not coming home later to ground him or impose punishments on him. He isn’t relying on their money to pay bills. His mind is racing a mile a minute, and nothing…not one fucking thing he can land on points to any reason that he has to comply with his father. He isn’t depending on him for anything anymore, so why does he owe his dad anything at all?

"I'll think about it, Dad," And with that, he hangs up, knowing full well that he won’t think about it for another goddamn second. 

And that day, Steve called out of work. 

Robin couldn’t even argue with him. After the receiver hit the wall, she could tell that it was worse than she expected the minute he turned around and she could see his eyes glistening. She also was confused as fuck, because she swore she also saw him smirking just a little bit, but she was not going to poke the bear. She let him storm off and slam the door to his room. She didn’t bother him even though everything inside of her was screaming to go knock on the door and make him talk about it. Make him listen to her. She wanted to tell him he wasn’t anything that his father probably just said he was, but they’ve had this conversation before and…damnit she was working really hard at knowing boundaries - trying to read the room and figure out when she needs to shut up instead of rambling incessantly at all the wrong times. She thinks that this is one of those times that people need space, so she acquiesced. 

She makes a full pot of coffee, sets out some more food and the bottle of aspirin from the medicine cabinet and leaves it all out on the kitchen counter for Steve for whenever he emerges once she’s gone. Subtle. Not every way to help has to be in your face, she tells herself. I don’t need to meddle. He’ll let me know if he needs anything. Right?

Robin’s walk to work that day was quiet and dreary. The weather outside, overcast and air thick with that feeling that comes before the clouds break open and pour down on you. Seemed fitting. 

It took Robin five whole minutes after she got to work and put her stuff away before she meddled anyway. She picked up the phone once, and quickly set it down - thinking better of it. But immediately picked it back up against her better judgment and called you. As your answering machine picks up and your message plays, dripping with sarcasm and coyness asking your caller to leave a message after the beep, the realization hits then that she has no idea what your schedule is and it was a dumb idea to call you. Dumb dumb dumb. Steve’ll be pissed anyway. 

As the silence settles on the other end of the line Robin’s eyes widen in panic. She meant to hang up, call back later, pretend this didn’t happen at all and play it off as a wrong number. But she’s pretty fucking sure she just said that out loud instead of in her head. “Dumb dumb dumb. Steve’ll be pissed anyway.”

She hung up faster than the devil can fly, slamming down the phone and rattling the display case. The commotion drew Murry out from the back office, shirt pulled up and scratching at his stomach. “What’s got you all worked up Red? Little lost without your other half? Where is he anyway? Finally ruined his perfect attendance because of a wicked hangover, didn’t he? Make sure you tell ‘em he’s not eligible for the Perfect Attendance award this year, nowwww–ohhh something is off about this... What is it Red?.”

So for the next hour, Robin tries her best to summarize what it’s like to have the Harrington’s as parents and what just happened this morning. At least what she knew, because Steve hadn’t shared anything that his dad had said on the other end of that line. “Red, thank God you talk so fast, otherwise that story would have taken up your whole shift. Shit.”

That coaxes a chuckle out of Robin, which makes Murray smile. “Listen, that guy sounds like a Grade-A Asshole. No wonder Steve’s wound so tight…Makes so much sense actually. But this ain’t your fight. Steve’s gotta deal with this demon on his own and he has a funny way of showing it, but he knows where to find the people to help when he needs them. I’m sure of it. He’s not that fucking stupid.” 

“Yeah, see you’re wrong there Murray. He does absolutely think that he has to do everything on his own. Even when he knows we’re here, he won’t… he won’t ask for help. He won’t talk about it. He…thinks he deserves it.” 

It ended up being a slow day, not many people wandering the streets with the off and on drizzles happening all day long, so Robin used that time to bring Alex up to speed after she popped in the shop after work. 

Alex found the story surprisingly relatable. She grew up in a house with rich, successful parents just outside the city in the suburbs. Her parents hosted lavish dinner parties for business partners and she grew up in a way that seemed an awful lot like the Harrington house, other than the fact that they didn’t disappear on her for weeks on end. Her parents, however, were disappointed in her. Unlike Steve’s story, they were not pissed at her skill or her work ethic, her dreams or aspirations. No, they were pissed and disappointed at who was calling the house late at night and giggling on the other end of the phone. Who was picking her up for a night at the movies, or who she was driving off to meet under the swaying trees in the park. The boys she was dating were not good enough for the family - not a “strong enough merger of families” and then when she brought home a girl…well that was a horse of a different color all together. 

Five hours later, Robin and Alex are standing outside of their favorite pizza place in the neighborhood, thinking that a pie and some beers might just draw a sulking Steve out of his cave of self-loathing for the night. They haven’t heard from him all day, and Robin, despite thinking she should maybe let him be for a while, still decided to try and call home to check in on him. When he didn’t answer, Alex offered up a simple explanation, “Rob, he’s probably just sleeping it off, or not in the mood. It’ll be fine.”

Pies and six packs now acquired, they walk side by side the rest of the way back to the apartment, ready for whatever their friend might need. 

“Honey, we’re home!” Robin exclaims, as they barrel through the door. But she stops dead in her tracks seeing the counter laid out with all of the supplies, perfectly arranged exactly how she left them that morning. “Steve? Y’okay?”she shouts down the hallway, on her way to tap at his door before she hears Alex call her name from the living room, beckoning her to come. 

When she arrives, what she doesn’t expect to see are the crushed cans of High Life strewn all over the coffee table, an ashtray so full that she knew he had to blow through most of the pack he has tucked away from when they drink, and the half emptied bottle of Whiskey sitting at the foot of the couch. He didn’t even bother with a glass, she knew it. He spent the day trying to drink away the awful things that sorry excuse for a father said to him straight from the bottle. 

His shoes - the Chucks, the ones he’s been wearing lately - they’re not by the door. Neither is his jacket, so she knows he left and went somewhere. 

But then a high pitched beeping sings from the kitchen, and Robin immediately knows that Steve’s Tamagotchi is hungry…he left, but he forgot his keys. That stupid drunk idiot got locked out. 

All the strings Robin has been holding together all day come loose. They unravel like a dangling thread on a handknit sweater and Alex is pretty sure she hadn’t taken one breath since she started rambling. “Ohmygoddoyouthinkhe’sokay? Whatifsomethinghappenedtohim? Ican’tlivewithmyself. Howdoweevenfindhim? OhmygodI’mgonnahavetotellthekidshe’smissing. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.” 

“Robin.” Alex calmly speaks.

“Ifhe’sdeadI’mblaminghisdad,Isweartogodhe’sasgoodasadeadmanhimself” 

“Robin.”

“Jesus,weshouldcallthehopsital? Ormaybethepolice. Yeahwegottacallsomeone. Ohmygod.”

“ROBIN!” Alex finally screams, two hands on her shoulders now shaking her into some sense of reality. “You’re spiraling. You can’t be spiraling. We have to think.”

“Yeah. Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just….”

“Rob, I know you’re worried. We’ll figure it out. Okay?” Alex slides her hand along Robin’s cheek, around her neck and tugging her in for a deep hug, trying to get her to reset, regroup…focus. “Babe, first thing….why do you think he would leave?”

Pulling back, she assesses the situation. Eyes darting around the apartment, closing her eyes so she could think. Just then they pop open looking at the mess on the coffee table. The beer. That was the last of the beer. 

“He was out…” she whispers. “I bet he ran out of beer. That was all we had, and it looks like he polished it off.”

“Okay then. Let’s go for a walk. Check some places where he might get some beers - maybe the corner store you guys go to? See if anyone has seen him, okay? Sound good babe?” Alex’s tone is cool, calm. Her eyes are caring and concerned not just for Steve but also for Robin. She’s being so soft, and even in her panicked haze, Robin notices. 

“Al…Thank you. I needed that.”

With a soft kiss on her temple, Alex grabs Robin’s hand and tugs her towards the door. “Now don’t forget your keys, either, you maniac. Let’s go.”

It’s three pit stops and two meltdowns from Robin on the sidewalk curb later that they find him. It’s honestly the first place they should have looked, but at least they were on the right track. 

Steve did, in fact, get raging pissed that he was out of beer. The cashier they recognize, but don’t know his name, told them as much - mentioned that their friend came in angry and stumbling, grabbed a pack of beer and left it in the middle of the aisle when he rushed out of the store grumbling to himself. It seems as though dear Stevie also forgot his wallet. 

The next place they thought to look was The Hideout. Robin thought that maybe he’d come looking for her, begging for some cash so he could replenish his stash. Pay no mind to the fact that it was past closing for a weeknight and Robin was long gone, at this point they were absolutely certain Steve had no idea what time it even was. Half expecting to see him leaning on the door of the shop, or passed out in a slump on the front stoop, when they came up empty handed again Robin needed to cry.

Head in her hands, leaning on her knees as she sits on the curb, Alex tries to stifle a laugh at how splotchy faced and snotty her beautiful girl is right now. “Baby,” she says, pushing back her hair “Baby…let’s think, kay? is there anywhere else Steve feels safe in this city? Who else does he feel safe with other than you?”

The revelation comes quickly. 

Head popping up with a renewed sense of confidence in their search for their missing and probably sloppily drunk friend “I bet he’s at Bennys.” 

And after a 10 minute walk that is the most silent Robin Buckley has ever been in her entire life, she lets out a breath that she may or may not have been holding the entire time when the door to Benny’s swings open and she takes in Steve with his forehead on the bar. Hopper is standing behind the bar polishing glasses with an irritated scowl and right in front of Steve stands a Joyce, hand right on top of his with sad, concerned eyes that flit right to the girls who just sounded the bell. 

Pitiful. The look Joyce was giving him was pity. And if Steve were coherent enough to realize it, he would be completely ashamed to be receiving it from anyone. Steve was shitfaced drunk out of shame and disappointment and whatever feelings of inadequacy he was shielding away from everyone else in his life, but at least he was safe. Thank Christ he had the decency to come to Benny’s, where at least Joyce would take care of him - make sure he doesn’t do anything else stupid. 

“Steve!” Robin yells, rushing over to his side “Steve, we didn’t know where you were. And you left your keys. I was so worried. We thought you were dead, I swear….well I thought you were dead. Alex was much more rational, but…” 

A groan falls from Steve’s throat as their attention turns to Joyce. She opens her mouth to speak but Hopper interjects before she could even get a word out. 

“Your buddy here is a fucking mess. He’s lucky this is Rick’s third stop on his daily tour of downtown dive bars. Recognized the bastard and drug him over here after he got kicked out of wherever they were before this. I honestly don't know where. Ricky’s always so drunk I probably shouldn't even be serving him by the time he gets here anyway.``

“Steve, honey.” Joyce’s honey soft voice stirs him “Your girls are here. Rob and Alex, they’re here for you, baby. Let them help you, okay? Y’cant stay here like this.” She says as she rubs his hair back and tries to soothe him awake. 

“He’s been drinking straight ginger ale for at least an hour. He thinks it's mixed with whiskey but I just couldn't. It was easier than him and Hop arguing ‘bout it.” she says under her breath, just out of his earshot. 

After agreeing to let him sweat it out for a bit longer, Joyce passes the girls a drink while they wait and slides another ginger ale in a rocks glass in front of Steve with a wink.  With soft voices they talk about what has unfolded today just loud enough to hear each other over the din of the jukebox playing “Hunger Strike” in the background. 

Shit. 

As she hears the deep roll of his voice on Eddie Vedder’s verse she’s reminded of you, and remembers the cryptic message she most likely left you on your answering machine. Even though the boy is sitting there in the flesh in front of them, his eyes now open enough to see the whites of them, his stare is vacant and he hasn’t looked this way since… well. Ever. Robin has seen him through some pretty serious shit, and he’s never looked quite this detached. 

“I’m worried about him, girls.” Joyce coos. 

With a nod in agreement, she asks for the only thing she can think to do next. “Joyce, can I use your phone? I gotta call someone who might be able to help.”

Alex’s eyes go wide and she winces, “You sure that’s a good idea, Rob? I mean, I see where you’re going with this, but he’s gonna be pissed, isn’t he?’

Seeing the look of confusion on Joyce’s face, Robin grabs the phone and continues “It’s..a girl. He’s fine. It’ll be fine. I don’t care if he’s pissed about it at this point. We need help and… I might have already left her a message earlier in a panic. Oh - Hey!” interrupted in her rambling as you answer the phone on the first ring. “Yeah, yeah I’m so sorry about that weird message earlier. It’s been a… day - a real bad one. We need some help. We’re at Benny’s, and…it’s just - Steve. We need help with Steve, can you come?”

Of course you will. You were there to help as soon as you could. And just like Robin and Alex assumed, Steve was pissed. 

“I'm just saying Stevie, you didn't have to be so mean to her. She came because I called. Didya really expect the two of us to be able to drag your sorry ass home without calling in reinforcement? Have you seen my arms? They're basically twigs!”

“I wasn't trying to be mean to her. It was you guys. I was pissed you called her…cause I didn't… It's embarrassing. She didn't need to see me like that. I know you were trying to help. You can barely carry a damn grocery bag, so I get it, its just… I was pathetic.”

“Well. You said it, I didn't.” Robin shrugs, kicking her feet up on the stool next to her by the register. It's been a few days and they're at least able to poke fun a little bit at the whole thing. Steve and Rob had a long talk after he was able to shake off a two day long hangover that he spent in the dark, shades drawn - crackers and some Pedialyte by his bedside. 

Steve eventually spilled his guts to Robin on the fire escape while she smoked, his throat still too sore from the pack he inhaled in his drunken rage that day. He wouldn't even look at her when he told her about how his dad was talking about… her. Told her that there's been a lot of terrible, downright rude things that his dad has done and said over the years that he's made an excuse for or ignored, but that…that disregard, that intolerance he showed for someone that Steve cared about. That when it comes down to it, Steve loved. That was the last straw. He couldn't turn a blind eye anymore. 

He didn't feel he owed his dad an explanation. If he really thought Steve would show up this weekend with his bags and his Beamer ready to put on a suit and head to the office alongside his dad on Monday, he has another thing coming. 

Murray saunters into the storefront then “Before I finalize this schedule, ya sure you're gonna show up on Monday, dude? Last chance to turn in your notice and go shadow daddy dearest, because if you no call no show me on this schedule next week consider this bridge burned.”

“No way in hell, Murray. I'm fully committed to your dick shop. I'll sell anything you dream up over spending one hour in a building full of pricks like my dad. Don't care how much the salary is or how big the guilt trip.” 

“Well in that case, Steve, it sounds to me that where your dad works is the real dick shop, huh? We…deal only in one way tickets to pleasure town here.” 

“Touche” Steve gives Murray a pow pow with his finger guns before walking through the dangling beads hanging at the entrance to the break room. 

Emerging twenty minutes later (and five minutes late from his break) Steve is unsurprised to find Alex spread across the length of the couch. “What are you two assholes doing?” 

“Hi Alex, thanks again for saving my life and ensuring I don't die in a ditch or need my stomach pumped from alcohol poisoning and ensuring that my most magnetic and caring roommate and best friend didn't have a stroke while I was missing. It's nice to see you again. I am forever in your debt.” Alex mocks with a deep voice meant to imitate his while Robin cackles, slapping her thighs. 

“Smash or pass” she deadpans. “Julia Roberts.”

“Pass” Steve and Robin say in unison. 

“Really?” Alex pops up in surprise. 

“I guess I just don’t get the appeal with that one. I like her movies, though, just…don’t wanna see her bush. No rolling in the hay with her for me.” Robin says very matter of factly. 

“Yeah, for me” Steve quips pointing right at Robin. “Reminds me too much of this asshole right here. Can’t even think about it.” 

Madonna. Demi Moore. Sharon Stone. Liv Tyler was a unanimous smash. An hour went by throwing out names and shouting out whether or not they were fuckable before Alex’s bisexual ass snuck in Brad Pitt.

“Bleh, pass. That's a dick.”

“Smash.” Steve's eyes go wide. Did he just…

“Stevie boy, did you just smash Brad Pitt?” Alex is literally on the edge of her seat at this point. Robin's jaw is just about on the floor. He's waving her off “That…that's not.. I mean. If I were I guess…he’s a good looking guy, s’all I’m saying.”

 “You would like the golden boy type shit. I'm more of a ruggedly handsome older man kinda bisexual. I bet you'd smash Patrick Swayze too, handsome. UNLESS…are we talking Interview with a Vampire long hair type Pitt because…”

“This is too much for me!” Robin is shouting as she starts pacing. 

“Robbie, I’d expect a little more tolerance from you. I’m disappointed.” Steve pokes fun. “Anyway, you do have the late shift today, so I’ll save you from thinking about me boning Brad Pitt and get out of here.”

“Ew. Steve. No. You and Pitt? You’re definitely bottom. He’s batter dipping the corn dog, not you.”

Raising his middle finger in the air, he gestures behind him to the girls as he walks out the door. 

After grabbing a coffee, Steve swings into the record store to browse for some new vinyls. The guy at the front desk is starting to get to know Steve, and he likes that the guy is comfortable enough to make recommendations or pulls a vinyl or two to save for next time Steve comes in. It makes him feel memorable. He’s little more than guy at the record store to Steve, but yet guy at the record store cared enough to think about him and what he might like even when he’s not here. 

It’s stuff like this, that he hasn’t really experienced until he moved here to the city, that makes Steve feel less than insignificant. Who would have thought that coming to a city filled to the brim with more people than he knows what to do with would make him feel more seen than a small town where everyone knows your name ever did. 

He grabs his bag, filled with three new recommendations from guy at the record store, and he’s heading for the door before the cashier yells out “Oh damn, bro. I almost forgot. Someone left this for you. It’s already paid for, so don’t worry about it, but she said you gotta hear this one.” Steve reaches out to grab the bright red sleeve and turns it over twice before slipping it into his bag. “Yeah thanks dude. See ya around.” 

He lies to himself when he thinks that the brisk pace he is walking on his way home is because the nights are turning colder in the city and he wants to get home. He lies to himself a second time when he says he wants to keep moving so he takes the stairs two at a time instead of waiting on the elevator. He lies to himself for a third time, pretending that he’s not really in a rush even though he doesn’t take off his shoes and jacket before he makes a beeline right for his record player all while unwrapping that vinyl he knows that you left for him. 

The whirring of the player and the zap of the scratching needle connecting with the plastic make his brain start to buzz and he’s done lying to himself when he thinks that he was so fucking stupid when he shouted at you - drunk out of his mind or not, he has been expecting you to never speak to him again, so…you leaving this for him might just mean…

In the time of chimpanzees I was a monkey

Butane in my veins and I'm out to cut the junkie

With the plastic eyeballs, spray-paint the vegetables

Dog food stalls with the beefcake pantyhose

What the fuck did she leave me? He thinks, as he lets the record spin and listens, patiently. Waiting for the hook. Waiting for the bass drop. Waiting for those deep drum rhythms he likes so much. Waiting for the lyrics that are supposed to hit home.

Oh. 

Soy un perdedor

I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me?

(Double-barrel buckshot)

“Maybe I should just move home and take a stupid job with my dad like he’s been telling me to do since junior year of high school.”

Murray hears the boy complaining as he walks through the door with three giant boxes stacked on top of one another. “Casanova. Hey!” Setting them down he snaps both his fingers right in Steve’s face “We’ve been over this… focus on my dick shop, not your dads. I got new goods, get your sweet ass over here.”

He waves Steve and Robin over to the front window, and they dutifully follow. Ripping open the boxes with a rusty pocket knife he pulls from his tube sock, Murray rambles about the boxes filled with a new Latex fashion line he was checking out at the expo. He shoos Steve off to grab the mannequins from the back storage room so they can set up the window display. “Make sure to grab the dudes with the biggest packages back there, Stevie-boy!” before looking at Robin curiously, asking her to spill the details and explain the pivot back into full on self-loathing Steve took. 

“Ah, the lady friend? She gave him that? Sassy. I think I like her. If he doesn't want her…” wiggling his eyebrows, Murray is quickly cut off as Steve re-enters the floor.

“Doesn’t want who?’ Steve says, male mannequin under each arm. 

“Oh, nothing. I gotta go get some lunch. I’ll grab the plastic girls on my way back in and you two can play dress up.” 

“Hey Stevie, whaddya think?” Robin’s got one of the black latex outfits held out in front of her as she tries anything but effortlessly shaking her hips to the beat of the song playing overhead on the speakers. The would-be seductive dance is cut off when her face lights up, running off to the break room with the package in hand.

“I don’t like that look Robbie. What are you doing?”

Shaking the beads dangling from the door frame to announce her re-entry, Steve’s eyes glance up before doing a double take. Robin stood there, leaning into the wall looking as casual as she possibly can (which isn’t that casual, honestly), standing in a full head to toe black latex catsuit. If Steve could have, he would have taken a polaroid if not just to gift to Alex as a thank you, or apology. Whatever she needs most from him - he’s not too sure at this point. Robin arches her back like she’s posing for a centerfold and it’s not long before the two of them are deep in a fit of laughter from her antics. 

Except something goes wrong. The fit of laughter soon lets up, but Robin still can’t catch her breath. Steve is breathing deep, grinning again and shaking his head at her, and while she’s happy she’s coaxing out a laugh and a smile she hasn’t seen from him in over a week, her chest is getting tighter by the second. 

Looking at his friend's pallid face, his eyes dart around thinking while she starts wheezing for air. “Rob…are you...you’re not allergic to latex, are you?”

She shakes her head no adamantly but quickly backtracks, realizing that no, she can’t be sure she’s not allergic to latex. Holding up her hands between the two of them, her wrists are ballooning up around the seam of the catsuit sleeves, body swelling up making the suit stretch over her skin even tighter. She starts to claw at it, trying to get it off, but it’s so slippery and tight, and suctioned to her sweaty skin that it won’t budge and her panicked expression locks on to Steve’s. 

“You didn’t know you were allergic to latex? What the fuck Robbie?” 

“When was I supposed to find out, huh? Not like I’ve been carrying around condoms since I was 15 like you, you asshole!”

“So what…that’s not… What about a balloon? Haven’t you ever been around a fucking balloon before, Rob?”

“Steve, I'm poor. We didn’t buy balloons for birthday parties. I didn’t get….extra…shit. I…no. I can’t remember …ever having a…. balloon.” She’s sucking in breaths between words as much as she can. “Steve, help. It’s….I can’t…”

Walking down the street, Murray is on his way back from grabbing his sandwich, when he spots the flashing lights on the street ahead. What he doesn’t expect is to see those flashing lights belonging to an ambulance pulled up outside of his store. Dropping his sandwich into the grimey gutter, he’s absolutely dumbfounded at the sight before him - Robin laid out on the stretcher, clearly naked and covered with a white sheet and his new inventory in shreds on the sidewalk after the paramedics had to cut it off of her. “Oh for fucks, sake. I didn’t literally mean you should play dress up, Red.” 

It takes the paramedics another 20 minutes to get her settled and breathing from an oxygen tank in the back of the rig and explain the situation to Murray and Steve. Her reaction was bad, so they should expect her to be down and out for at least three days until the swelling goes down and she can recover her breathing enough to function normally. Murray storms off into the store grumbling about Workers Comp paperwork and throwing his hands in the air while Steve stays back, readying himself to climb into the back of the rig and ride with his friend before she stops him. 

“Listen, dude. I’m clearly not gonna be home tonight, and you don’t need to worry about me. Don’t you dare think you’re gonna sit and keep watch at my bedside. This is definitely the only time in my life my tits will look this big, so I’m not about to invite you in. Alex gets clear first dibs before the swelling goes down.” 

Steve grimaces, scrunching his nose up in disgust “Ew, gross Robbie. Stop talking to me about your tits.” 

“Whatever. All I’m saying is, maybe take advantage of the empty house? I know she sent you a message loud and clear with that record but I still don’t buy that she won't give you a shot to explain. Call her. Please?” 

All he can do is nod as she pats his hand and smiles. He backs away so they can close up the rig and watches as they pull off, lights flashing with his swollen raspberry of a friend in tow. 

Murray ends up closing the shop early that night, saying he’s had it up to here with both of them and he just wants to go see Hop and Joyce for an ice cold drink. Before Steve could even respond, Murray’s finger is in his face “NO. You’re not invited this time, buddy. I don’t wanna see your face until tomorrow. And you have the late shift. I don’t wanna close and I think you two owe me.”

“Owe you?! What the heck, I didn’t do anything, man. Robin, she is the one that -”

“No, you listen here. Your moping and loathing is getting irritating. I like you, unfortunately. I’m not sure why, but I like you Steve, and you’ve been fucking annoying since you let your dad get in your head. And whatever is going on with this lady friend, you better fix it.” He pokes Steve right in the chest - hard.

“Is she a girl, or a woman, Steve?” he says, and Steve remembers their chat about Steve’s choices. Why they never seem to work out and how he keeps going for the wrong kind. 

“She’s … she’s a woman. Obviously. She doesn’t want to put up with my bullshit.”

“Fix it, Steve. Thank me later.” 

He had two beers before he worked up the nerve to pick up the phone. He probably would have had another, but he thought better of it considering the last time he saw you. More like the last time you saw him because he doesn’t fucking remember a lick of it. An apology probably wouldn’t go over very well if he was shitfaced again all because he needed some liquid courage to get the balls to call you up. 

It took three, long, agonizing rings for you to pick up, your voice suddenly some sort of beacon in the night for him. He was silent for a beat too long, and just when you went to hang up muttering “whatever asshole, prank call someone else next time” he finally was able to whisper out your name just loud enough that it traveled through the phone line and made it to your ears. 

“You got my record?” 

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“I deserved that… and it’s actually good.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

“I know. Can I see you?”

And to his surprise, you agreed. You asked him to meet you outside, so you can walk to the cafe together. Promised in a way that had him believing it would all be fine - that you’ll figure it out from there. So he’s sitting on the bench outside of his building waiting, legs bouncing up and down uncontrollably mind weight down from anticipation, nerves and his least favorite piece of baggage, self-doubt. 

“You look like you’re waiting on something, boy. Don't wait too long, or you’ll end up looking like me and still never finding what you’re lookin’ for, ya know?”

Steve chuckles and nods. He thinks he does know. And God, he doesn’t want to spend his life chasing an idea and running away every time he gets close because he’s sure he’s not good enough for it. He doesn’t want to be sitting on a bench when he’s 80 lamenting about how he used to look good, had the good hair before it all fell out and turned gray, would get the girls and throw the parties, could pound back a six pack like it’s no big deal, how he was the former Keg King - King Steve. Like that all means anything at all. None of it did. It was all bullshit. 

“I’m Steve” he says, holding his hand out and reaching across the bench. The man reaches out accepting his grasp and introduces himself as Robert.“You live here too?” he nods back at the apartment building. 

“Sure do. Me and my little rascal Dart.” and Steve notices the small dog laying quietly at the man’s feet. 

“What you said before…I am waiting on something. Someone actually. But…I think I’m mostly waiting on myself.” 

“Ah, yes. That’s the age old problem innit? We’re always late to our own party. Been in this city for decades and it’s all the same. Young kids like you are lost until they find what they’re looking for, but some of ‘em, they never find it. No one leads ‘em to it and they forget that it’s even worth lookin’ for along the way.” 

Steve nods, a little solemnly, at the wisdom the old man is sharing. Resonating just a bit closer to home than the old man probably knows. But then he sees a flash of you from down the sidewalk, your jacket wrapped tight around your body, a tentative smile on your face when you see Steve waiting for you like he promised. 

“Ah,” the man laughs a hearty laugh. “She looks like she’s worth waiting for though, my boy. You should go.” 

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” Steve says with a bright smile, and it’s genuine. Maybe she's worth it? Or Maybe Steve will see the old man again. He's not sure which he meant, actually. Maybe…both. 

The walk to the cafe seems to go on for eons. After an interaction teetering on awkward, feet pushing at invisible rocks on the pavement and tentative smiles, you both head in that direction side by side, stealing glances for a block or two before either one breaks the silence.

It seems like both of you have let the dull drone of the city take up enough space in the night and you finally speak up at the same time. 

“I am sorry for being such a mess.”

“I'm sorry for being a bitch.”

“No. No.” You cut him off. “Yeah you're right. You were a mess and you were kind of a dick about it. I'm not gonna excuse that. But you were a mess, and Robin and Alex were worried for good reason, obviously. You were a mess because something happened and I can't be mad at that. I can be frustrated with how you handled yourself…how you treated people who were just there to fucking help you, man, but at the end of the day, you were going through some shit and…I held it against you instead of helped. And then I got you that record and…”

“I…yeah I should not have drank my problems like that. I shouldn't have. I was an idiot. I am an idiot. That song is…not that far off. Might be my theme song, actually.” He holds back a small laugh to himself. “I do stupid shit. That's not new. But…I wasn't mad at anyone until -”

“You sure seemed mad, Steve.”

“I was…it's just. I guess I'm realizing now I wasn't actually mad at anyone but myself and my dad until you showed up.”

“Correct. You made that loud and clear.”

“Oh. I -” silence falls over them for a few steps, Steve finally looking over at you in a way that makes you feel like he's looking into you not at you this time. “I think I finally understand. Can…can I try and explain? Once we get there?”

You nod. And you let him. 

Like a floodgate, the honesty Steve holds back on a regular basis flows out the minute he starts. Tucked in the back corner of the cafe, a steaming hot chai in front of you, a black coffee with cinnamon and nutmeg there in front of him, he tells you how growing up actually felt for him. Not just the my dad is an asshole version but how it really affected him. He says it out loud and admits the way his dad made him feel. Tells you stories about all the sports and the winning and the popularity that was never what he wanted anyway. Tells you how his dad has spent his whole life grooming him to be a mini-version of Mr Harrington, and that's the absolute last thing in the world he wants to be. He just wants to be Steve - whoever that is. 

And he cries. He cries when he tells you about the phone call. You notice it's not at the mean things his dad says to him, the names he's called or the put downs about his life that break him down - it's when he tells you about the disdain in his dads voice when he berates him about being friends with the gays. How he couldn't look at Robin after the way his dad talked and how he felt more shame in that moment than any other. Not ashamed that he’s friends with Robin. Not in a million years, but more from the idea that his dad - no anyone - would be lucky to find a friend half as good as Robin is, so who the fuck cares who she loves, right? Jesus Christ. Shame that someone he loves has to live in a world where people like his dad exist. 

You both need a refill before he can get through the hard part, though, the part where he hurt you. Steve motions to your empty cup asking if he can get you more and before you know it, comes back a short time later with two new steaming mugs and plates of assorted pastries and snacks balancing on top. I didn't know what you'd like, so I got it all. 

Something tells you that even if you don't actually say it, Steve would know for next time. He'd know that you're a sucker for their blondies and like to snack on their homemade caramel corn because even as he's spilling his guts he's paying attention to you, and from here on out every time you meet Steve Harrington at the cafe, he'd have your drink and a plate with a blondie on it waiting for you every single time. 

Then, Steve tells you about that day. About how he remembers chain-smoking inside the house and how he knew Robin would fuck me up for it but I didn’t care. He recalls for you how he sat on the sofa with the whiskey bottle muttering to himself about the things his dad said, trying to figure out why this man thinks he can still push his grown son around. He tells you he remembers leaving to get another 6-pack when he ran out but that was the last of it. He doesn't remember much of anything or how he got to Benny's. Hop had told him, and he makes sure to remind him every time he's seen him since that he was pitiful watching Steve being drug in by the drunkest man on the block. Never thought I'd see the day anyone was more drunk than goddamn Rick, boy. Sure proved me wrong. 

And when he gets to the part where his friends show up, when you show up, he looks downright ashamed and worried. With a deep sigh, falling from his lips, he tells you that the next and only other thing he remembers from that night was you walking through the door. With his head lain on the bar, vision completely sideways, what he saw was a fucking angel walking into the bar. Thought he was hallucinating or maybe even finally out of his misery and you were coming to bring him towards the light, until his brain made you right side up and he realized who it was. 

He didn’t remember the yelling, but Robin told him later how big of a douchebag he was when all he did was start yelling at you and making one hell of a scene. Hearing Robin tell him about how he shouted and asked in such an accusatory tone What are you doing here? made him wonder if he was no better than his dad in the first place. Sounded an awful lot like him in the moment, at least. 

You think he looks like a kicked puppy as he explains the rest. “I - I don't expect you to say anything. Or do anything. I don't expect you to forgive me or…” running his hands through his hair you can tell he's trying to pluck up some semblance of courage. 

“The thing is, I was mad when my drunk brain finally registered that you were there, and you were there to help. Because I didn't want that. Help sure…I fucking needed help. You saw me. But you….” His swallow is so loud it's audible. 

“I was embarrassed I didn't want you to see me like that. I… “

Reaching across the table you gently touch his forearm and it gives him enough courage to finish what he has to say. 

“I didn’t want you to see me like that, because I like you too much…Like, the real kind. And I feel so stupid saying it out loud, because I thought that if I showed you how broken I was, you’d see that I wasn’t worth it. Maybe you don’t think I am in the first place and that’s fine I can be just your friend. S’probably all I deserve, honestly.” 

He chances a look at you just then, and when it’s not a scowl or indifference he feels safe rough to continue. “Before I didn’t know why I was being such a jerk and I figured it was just because - I am a Harrington, after all. But, I understand why I did it now. I understand that even though I did it wrong, I was trying to protect you from me, and I was trying to protect myself from… ”

Scooting your chair closer to Steve, you push his wild and windswept hair back so you can see him even when his head is hanging low. His eyes flit up to yours and there’s no pity in your eyes. He was expecting pity at the very least, but it’s not there.

“Steve, who says I need to be protected? Especially from you?”

He doesn’t expect your fingers to find his on the walk away from the cafe. He doesn’t expect your touch to be soft. He doesn’t expect it to stay longer than a second - maybe just the gift of something fleeting. But it is. It does. Your fingers hook into his and they don’t pull away, holding on to him and his limp hand before he can even process what he’s being given. Fingers hooked and coaxing him to just let go and embrace it. Fingers he accepts as he laces his with yours, and they stay that way for the entire walk back to his apartment. 

—-

A nod of the head with a huge grin spread across his face, Robert welcomes Steve back to the building, still perched on the same bench he walked away from a few hours ago. Maybe Dart needed to go out again, or maybe Robert never left, but in that moment, Steve thought about everything the old man said to him earlier. He’s done with waiting. Waiting has gotten him nowhere. Hiding his feelings has gotten him nowhere. The only person standing in his way is himself. 

Your name falls from his lips softly, but there’s something there that wasn’t there earlier in the shop. It’s more sure of himself, almost confident. The predictable thing to come next was a goodnight kiss on his front stoop, and you’re thinking that maybe after all this time and him finally admitting that he’s into you, you’ll get what you’ve been wanting since that night in the back seat of the cab, or when you felt your tummy flip sitting across from him eating that ice cream. Poised to lift up on your toes to close the distance, instead he surprises you when he tugs your arm and pulls you inside the front door to his building with a grin. 

And you got that kiss. Oh God, did you get it. 

When the door closed to their apartment, Steve turned around to look at you. There was a heat behind his eyes as he slid your coat off of your shoulders for you, and a yearning hiding there when he looks up at you from below as he crouches down to help you slip off your shoes. Rising back up in front of you he’s close. So close that his lips are just barely apart from yours and the heat of his breath tickles your cheeks. The pair of you are so close that there’s barely any space between your bodies when you suddenly find your back pressed up against the door behind you. 

Lips finally touching, slow and just barely you breathe out “Robin…” 

“That’s not my name, honey.”

And you laugh. A sweet thing that makes Steve’s insides twist and turn.

“She won’t be home tonight. There was some latex…She’s fine. I’ll explain later.”

The kiss you finally get is sloppy, but in the best way. There’s no time for chaste kisses here, pillowy lips slotted together and moving effortlessly between one another. He adjusts your chin with the tips of his fingers so that he can gently caress the line of your jaw, following it back down and up again as he slides his fingers through the base of your hair. His grip there is tight, but not painful, Possessive but not overwhelming. It’s like he’s got something he wants so desperately and he’s afraid to let it go. 

He gently touches your upper lip with the tip of his tongue, coaxing you open further for him, letting his tongue follow the outlines of your teeth before letting his dance together with yours. He lets out a small sigh as you continue to nip at each other's lips and play with how you both respond to one another's kiss. The sigh makes your mouth crack open in a smile, cheeks drawing up with the grin and encouraging his kisses to explore elsewhere. Small pecks start on the corner of your mouth and then your cheeks, right on the apple of them as their pulled taught by your smile. 

Moving down towards your jaw, your neck, they get more and more salacious the lower they get. Red and pricking, a bruise is blooming at the spot on your neck just under your ear where he settles in to suck and kiss at your skin while the whimper that falls from your lips as he does it and your fingertips running through his hair and scratching at his scalp keep him grounded - barely capable of holding it together as is. 

When you ask him what he wants, the answer he gives you is not one you expected. Sure you expected him to want to dote on you - after all, he’s attentive like that on any given day, so Steve being a giver in the sheets was almost…a given? But when his gasping breaths punctuate each word that comes out of his mouth Can you … I want you to ride my face? was a pleasant surprise. 

Now surprising him, you not only agreed, but were confident about it. “Always wanted this. No…no one would let me.” He tells you as he breathes into you, chest heaving, foreheads touching. He barely notices as you pull the top of your dress down and work it over your shoulders, then the swell of your breasts. He only registers your exposed skin as you guide his hands down to your waist so he can hold you steady as you step out of it. 

Coaxing him backwards towards the sofa, you tap his shoulder and tell him to sit down on the floor, back against the furniture, as you make a show of removing your bra. He does as you ask, unable to tear his eyes away from your supple skin and perfectly peaked nipples, making a mental note that later he absolutely has to get his mouth on them. As you shimmy down your underwear in front of him, you pause to add a kiss to the top of his head before dropping the garment directly in his lap.

He bunches them up in his hand, sliding them into his front pocket for later as you settle over him, “Y’know…they call this Queening?” perched there on your knees, you’re fully undressed and slotted above his face so casually. 

“Mmmm. Makes sense.” He says, against the seam of your pussy and your thighs, making you vibrate with his words and his gentle hum. 

“R’mind me to tell you why one day.”

“Mmmmhmm. Sure thing.” In a haze, he reaches around you, fingers digging into your supple ass and pulling you closer. Forward and over, just where he wants you. The perfect position where he can use both his mouth and his nose - just like Robin told him he should.  Head moving subtly left to right, he tests it out, tip of his nose gently nudging your clit left to right and right to left and his warm breath teasing your wet, glistening folds. You let out a gasp followed by a small breathy little uhh, that has his ears ringing and he’s happy. Pleased with his position, he slips his tongue out and traces you with it, before returning with a big, firm lick - tongue flattened and wide making sure you touch all of you in one pass. Those big hands wrap further around you, now snaking over the tops of your thighs and this time tugging you down. Down down down and there’s nowhere else to go. 

Now you’ve had some fine oral sex before. It’s a non-negotiable for you when it comes to relationships: If a man is worried about tasting your clit, you don’t want him. You’re worth more than that. You’ve even done this a time or two, but Steve nestled between your thighs, under you like this fully clothed and pulling you into his face further despite there not being anywhere else to go is otherworldly.  

Other times you’ve found yourself in this position were tactical. A position change, a new angle, just for fun, a lazy guy. But being perched on top of Steve Harrington’s face is making you feel like a true goddess. You were about to give him a history lesson and tell him why this is called Queening and instead he’s proving it to you. Making you feel just like one.

Between smooth glides of his tongue, Steve sucks at your lips, your clit, the seam of your thigh. Once you’ve settled and allow yourself to fully relax over top of him, he releases his bruising grip - perfect tiny crescents left behind in their wake - and uses those free hands wherever he can reach. Sliding up your spine, ghosting over the peach of your ass, along the curve of your backside and between them, too. 

You’re not quiet anymore. You couldn’t be if you tried, and if you weren’t muffling the sounds coming from him with your thighs, you’re pretty sure the symphony of both of your moans would be enough to tip you over the edge. Since his are busy elsewhere, your hands find their way to your tits, rolling your nipples between your fingers and throwing your head back in pleasure as you start to absentmindedly grind on his face. 

He lets you bask in your pleasure for a while before tugging you out of your daze, hands covering the small of your back, pulling and angling you forward so that your hands fall to the arm of the sofa behind him. Now, leaning over him, soft and subtle grinding returning like muscle memory, he takes the opportunity to slide his fingers in from behind, just alongside his mouth. Thick digits slipping inside, scissoring alongside the wet muscle of his tongue, nose nudging your clit between deep rolls of your hips against him, he notices the twitching of your velvety walls first, followed by the shaking of your thighs. 

Freeing his hands, he finds your legs again, if only to hold you down to ride out your climax, combating how badly your sensitive body is trying to pull away, just slightly. The work he’s putting in on your pussy is paying off tenfold when you tremble and shake above him. Unable to move from the vice grip he has on your legs, you have no choice but to cry out and let him lap at you, drink you up until you're overstimulated and begging him to stop. 

Limp and satiated, you easily fall into his arms as he moves up between you and the couch, pulling you into his lap. Your head lolls forward has he grabs your cheeks to look at you “Y’feel good baby? Y’feel like a Queen?” 

You nod, dazed but eager and happy as he lifts you and stands. Legs wrapping around his hips while he peppers you with kisses that taste like your own pleasure, he carries you down the hallway to his room. 

Kicking open the door, he stalks over to his bed and tosses you onto it without a second thought.  Looking up at him with big doe eyes, he knows he’s done for. He can’t move fast enough as he loosened his belt and tugs down his pants. Crawling over you on his bed, he nudges that nose against yours again to get your attention. “You wanna? We don’t have to y’know?”

“Steve Harrington, I want to so bad, I’m gonna make you forget your name.” 

TAGLIST: @livsters @katie-tibo @johnrichardpapen @angywritesstuff @k-k0129 @tisthedamngoldrush @middle-of-the-sky @thebrazilianatheist @mochminnie @micheledawn1975 @falling-throughthe-hourglass @rafaaoli @ash5monster01 @gabessock @onyxslayss @scoopshxrrington @superblysubpar

[chaos0pikachu]

So @doyou000me sent me an ask about the film making of Love for Love's Sake (which I have learned is based on a novel and now I'm very interested in reading it lol) so having watched the currently available episodes the big thing I noticed was the shows use of Aspect Ratio.

"In simple terms, the aspect ratio of a movie is how wide the frame of the movie is versus how tall it is, usually expressed as a ratio. For example, most TVs and computer monitors are 1.77:1 (more often expressed on consumer packaging as 16:9), which means the screen itself is 1.77 times as wide as it is tall. The higher the first number in this ratio is, the wider the screen will be." (source)

I know, nerd math.

Basically you know those black bars you sometimes see on the top and bottom of the screen when watching a film or tv show? That's a director filming in a specific aspect ratio:

(source)

Film makers use aspect ratios in a ton of ways, there's a lot of examples out there from Hateful Eight (Quentin Tarantino), and Dark Knight (Christopher Nolan) where the former used aspect ratio to invoke the film making style of old westerns, while Nolan used a taller aspect ratio for fight/action scenes to give the scene more physical impact.

A recent example that I've seen that I think applies really well to Love for Love's Sake is Marry My Husband:

See how the first scene has black bars above and below? The director is using a different aspect ratio than in the second shot (these are both taken from ep01). What does this signify in the story?

Flashbacks. Flashbacks in Marry My Husband are always filmed in a different aspect ratio than scenes in the "present" storyline of the show. Perfect Marriage Revenge also uses aspect ratios this way.

Love for Love's Sake does something similar but instead of flashbacks it uses aspect ratio to denote between "worlds".

The game world is filmed in a longer aspect ratio than the "real" world which is filed in a different ratio (not a standard full screen but it does have a taller ratio than the game world):

This, so far, has been consistent in the four episodes that are out. We have another return to the "real" world in I believe ep03 and we see this same aspect ratio dynamic.

Another thing I noticed is the "real" world's color saturation is much higher and warmer than the "game" world, but it's also (ironically) much more enclosed - this could honestly be a story choice or a budget issue - and boxed in. Something I don't see discussed a lot in terms of cinematography in BL is the use of Lines and Shapes in film and how they add to the composition of a shot.

I really like this video on the subject though it focuses mostly on animation it's still relevant:

Now if you look at the "real" world scene in Love for Love's Sake we see that the protagonist, before we even know who he is, or anything about him, is in a highly saturated room, warmly lit, but also boxed in:

The warmer saturation denotes a sense of intimacy, which makes sense in a bar setting, but the boxed in frame around him gives us a sense of tightness, tension even, maybe a sense that he feels trapped. We later learn through dialogue he's unhappy with his life and unhappy with the way the novel story he read has played out.

Then, when the scene transitions into the "game" world, the protagonist is in a different aspect ratio, the color grading is now more desaturated and has a higher blue hue to it, the character is also in an open space and filmed front forward facing instead of from behind:

This all works well because the audience knows, even before the character does, they are in another "world" and its very different from their own. It creates to specific aesthetics which help set the worlds apart from one another.

For more on color theory, this is one of my favorite videos on the topic which has more to do with like, hue and saturation rather than "the blue curtains mean xyz" which is a singular and narrative heavy way to focus on color theory instead of how color adds to the tone, emotion, and world building of a piece of media.

I think the first episode of Love for Love's Sake is the best filmed of the episodes so far, the budget starts to chip away in other episodes but I do want to give them their roses b/c they do work within their budget well. There's a lot of interesting visuals used especially with the game pop ups that I really like, and some nice camera work. The editing is a bit weak at times but there's been some good choices too.

I also really liked the scene with Yeo Woon running and how his feet lit up and how that aligned with his affection points going up. The editing for that was well done.

So yeah, those are my film making thoughts on the show for now lol

Check out other posts in the series:

Film Making? In My BL? - The Sign ep01 Edition | Aspect Ratio in Love for Love's Sake | Cinematography in My BL - Our Skyy2 vs kinnporsche, 2gether vs semantic error, 1000 Stars vs The Sign | How The Sign Uses CGI

[like these posts? drop me a couple pennies on ko-fi]

[the-bottom-of-the-abyss]

siren song - chapter 3

previous chapter: chapter 2

next chapter: chapter 4

A/N: This is a little dialogue heavy and mostly mission focused. I really want to make it as immersive as possible! I'm like fighting with the taglist rn in getting it to tag everyone properly. If it doesn't notify you just message me and I'll see if there's a broken link in my Excel sheet somewhere! Thank you for all the love on this series!! I makes me so happy!!

Siren

29 August 2022

1915, Mexican Special Forces base, Las Almas

“We got a hit on Hassan’s location. He’s being stashed in a cartel safehouse not far from your current location.”

Maps pinpointing a safehouse appeared behind a picture Hassan as Laswell’s voice rang out in the dark room, the only source of light being the projector.

You stood out some compared to the rest of the room; while everyone else sported tactical gear, you were still in your outfit from earlier with an addition: you wore a jacket that was about three sizes too big on your frame and smelled of gun-oil and pine-scented body wash. You looked like a kid playing dress up in their parents clothes with it reaching your mid-thigh and sleeves being longer than your arms.

You stood next to the jacket’s owner, Ghost, as Laswell and the General went over tomorrow’s plan. Of course, once you caught up to him after your impromptu “conversation,” neither of you mentioned what occurred.

Seemed to be a running theme. 

“Ghost, Soap, Siren, and Mexican Special Forces will hit the safehouse tomorrow afternoon. Phillip Graves and his Shadow PMC will be on standby for air support. I’ll leave you to rest and prepare. We need to get Hassan.”

—

While everyone filed out of the room, Alejandro gestured for you to stay. Both Soap and Ghost gave you a look but you waved them on ahead.

“Siren,” he started. “I’m not sure if anyone else will say it, but you did good today, hermana. Others may not understand, but I know what it’s like to give everything for the sake of what is right.” In that moment, the dark look in his eyes made him seem ten years older than what he was. It was clear just by his demeanor that he had been through a lot, had to give up a lot to get to where he was now. “You gave us more than just Hassan. Things that we normally wouldn’t be able to get our hands on.”

“I’m glad,” you said, not really knowing what else to say. Did you say you were suprised but then again you weren’t? On one hand, you were used to discussing your exploits freely with Laswell and Shepherd, and before them, your previous superiors. On the other, you knew this was very different than what the others were used to when it came to gathering intel; likely it seemed very odd that someone would voluntarily let bad men get close in the most intimate way possible for any reason, regardless of importance. You had your reasons though, not that anyone besides a handful knew them.

“Let me show you to your room with Soap and Ghost.”

—

He brought you to a small room that held three cots. Soap sat on the far left one while the far right one had what you assumed to be Ghost’s stuff on it. Alejandro left to go brief his men on tomorrow’s plan while you sat down your stuff on the middle bed and turned to face Soap.

“Where’s Ghost?”

“In the shower,” Soap replied.

“Good. I think he’s a little mad at me.” 

“Nah,” Soap said. “He was just concerned.” You could tell he wasn’t really looking at you, instead training his eyes anywhere but you. Since Soap didn’t say anything more on that topic, you decided to breach the subject of your mission.

“Thanks for having my back.”

“O’ course,” he replied. Again, his answer was short and you decided that you should probably just address the elephant in the room.

“You’re allowed to look at me, Soap. And you can talk about what you saw. I’m sure it’s not your everyday idea of intelligence gathering.”

He nodded and finally looked at you in the eyes.

“I just,” he started. “I don’t want to be like them. I’m sure when you’re like that, men stare at you like you’re a piece of meat. I don’t want to make you feel like I don’t view you as equal because of what you do. You’re part of the team now, Siren.”

You gave him a small smile. “That’s very considerate, Soap, really. But I promise, it really does not bother me. I choose to do this work, and I don’t want you to feel awkward with me. Trust me, you’re not like them. None of you are.”

Just as you finished your sentiment, Ghost walked in. You slid the jacket off of your shoulders and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” you said not waiting for a reply before grabbing your things to shower. You did not want to open up the can of worms that was your mission with him, not when you needed to prepare for tomorrow. You could trade smart remarks and barbs another day.

“No one will give you trouble?” Soap asked, likely referencing your outfit, now on display once more.

“If they did, they would regret it,” you said, showing off your still bloody knife from earlier with a sacchrine smile.

---

Siren

30 August 2022

0930, En route to cartel safehouse, Las Almas

You sat squished in between Soap and Ghost with Rodolfo driving and Alejandro in the passanger seat on the way to the safehouse. You were on the way to hopefully capture Hassan and secure any missles still in his hands. Before you could get very far, you saw Soap reach for his gun.

“White truck, four armed in the back.”

“Hey—tranquilo,” Alejandro said, turning his upper body to face Soap. “Easy—that’s normal here. Guns on the street is jurisdiction of the police.”

“Where are the police?” you asked.

“Well, Las Almas has a very serious problem,” he began, looking at you in the rearview mirror. “There are few here to uphold the law. And many of those who resist corruption… Disappear.”

“What about the military?” countered Soap.

“Well, because we are well trained, soldiers are recruited by the narcos…”

“Why not you?” Ghost’s voice rang out from beside you.

Alejandro gave a shrug. “We grew up here. They call us Los Vaqueros… Cowboys. We love this place. And we will die fighting for it.” All you could think about was the brief conversation you had with Alejandro last night. It was clear he really did care for Las Almas. And would die for it as well.

As you continued to drive, you saw a cart with balloons and sweets serving families but with a twist: a cartel member in a skull balaclava holding a rifle was with them, interacting with them. 

“Kids, guns and balloons… that’s a new one,” Soap said, giving both Ghost and you a troubled glance.

“Narcos use generosity to win over the people,” Alejandro said in explanation.

“Even the children?” 

“Especially the children…” said Rodolfo, glancing at the three of you in the rearview.

Not even a few minutes later, you drove past another disturbing sight, one that made Rodolfo stop the car as you all looked on. An older blue pickup truck had a white sheet covered in spanish taped onto the bed of the truck. Under it lied two bodies covered with a cloth of the same mantra, their blood staining the cobblestone underneath. From the blood alone you could tell these deaths were not due to a simple bullet to the head. 

 “What’s on those sheets?” Soap asked.

“Narcomantas…” Alejandro said, a haunted look in his eyes.

“Cartel cloths,” explained Rodolfo.

“Messages from El Sin Nombre. Warnings, marking territory,” Alejandro shook his head. “Our streets are laced with death.” 

“Who’s Sin Nombre?” Ghost asked. 

“El Sin Nombre,” Alejandro corrected. “The Nameless… The leader of the Las Almas cartel.”

“Where can we find him?” Soap asked with a subtle threat in his tone.

“You can’t. No one knows who he is,” As Alejandro spoke, you drove past a mural to El Sin Nombre, along with the Las Almas cartel symbol: a rose with two crossed daggers. That same symbol was tattooed on Miguel’s arm along with the rest of his friends. “But he is everywhere, and this is a challenge,” Alejandro then chuckled and looked at his partner. “But Los Vaqueros like challenges.”

A beat passed before Rodolfo spoke up. “With your mask, you will fit in well here, Ghost.” Ghost looked at Rodolfo in the mirror while Soap made a hand gesture to not talk about it. You mainly just watched the exchange but couldn’t help to harden your gaze slightly at the remark; it doesn’t take a genius to infer that Ghost wore his mask for a reason.

“Hey, easy…” Alejandro told Rodolfo before directing him to avoid the roadblock ahead. “Checkpoint. It’s the army. Turn right, we’ll go around.” Rodolfo nodded and turned down a side street.

“Why?” Soap asked.

“Some troops are in the pocket of El Sin Nombre. Like I told you, he is everywhere. The info on the narco’s phone showed the cartel is hiding Hassan in the village across the river. Let’s hope he’s still there.”

You continued driving out of the main hub in Las Almas with everyone left in their thoughts as the smooth stone turned to well-driven backroads. 

You were thinking about last night. The thrill of the game, the satisfaction at getting people to believe your new personality. How you wore so many masks that not many knew the real one, not even you sometimes. 

But at least you weren’t the only one that wore a mask. Maybe you wore them for different reasons but you both still hid behind them just the same.

---

Siren 

30 August 2022

1000, Cartel safehouse, Las Almas

The car slowed down, the gravel underneath the tires causing you to jerk into both Ghost and Soap. Rodolfo had stopped the car at what looked like a small handful of houses, all hidden between trees.

“Team leaders, circle up on me,” you heard Alejandro say as he exited the car. All of you followed in suit and gathered your weapons. You carried a sniper rifle with a bit harder of a punch, the LA-B 330, and a VEL 46, a submachine gun that was quick to fire and could take down enemies fast in close combat.

You all then gathered around Alejandro to hear what he had to say.

As some of his other teanm passed you, some took a daring glance at Ghost, who now sported sunglasses over his mask. Luckily for them, none commented, not even in Spanish.

“Weapons hot, Vaqueros.”

“Where are they holding Hassan?” As Soap asked, Rodolfo and Alejandro exchanged a fist bump before Rodolfo departed, leading his own group of men.

“White two-story building. Back of town,” Alejandro told Soap. Alejandro lead you, Ghost, Soap and two of his men, Rodriguez and Sanchez, to a solid gate with the connecting archway being made of pieced-together cobblestone.

As you stood outside of the gate beside Soap, Alejandro whispered something in Spanish to his radio, likely telling them to stand by.

Then he counted down from three and Ghost flung open the door for Alejandro to enter, gun drawn, followed by Ghost, Soap, you, then Rodriguez and Sanchez.

“Clear. Move,” Alejandro ordered.

“Civillians?” you asked. It didn’t seem like it was strictly a drug manufactoring hub. There were soccer balls, grills, and gardens around some of the houses, things that were more indicative of families than narcos.

“Gone,” Alejandro replied. “Cartel took over. It’s a hideout now.” You passed two abandoned houses before coming upon a gate like the first one.

“Good place to keep Hassan,” Soap commented.  

Just before Ghost opened the gate you could hear voices on the other side. 

As Alejandro entered, he radioed to his men to his team to move in while he fired at one of three members. You used your SMG to take out one while Soap took out another.

“They’re down,” Alejandro said. “Push up.”

You moved forward and turned a corner. Bullets were fired towards your team from the end, and you all returned fire, taking down the two men shooting at you.

“Clear,” you said after those two were killed.

“Secure this house, then we go for Hassan,” Alejandro told the five of you.

“Cartel will move him fast,” Ghost cautioned.

“Then we move faster.”

Voices from inside the house could be heard; there was no way they did not hear the gunfire being exchanged.

“Heads up, they’re ready. Take the door, Soap.” 

Soap opened the door, revealing a darkened interior. You didn’t have to search for anyone long because as soon as Soap was about to turn down the hall, you hear, “Muere, hijo de-“ before being cut off by gunfire.

“Doorway, right side,” you told Soap. He swung his rifle into the side room which was clear of any hostiles.

“Hassan could be anywhere…” Alejandro said.

Before Soap could check the next room, shots were already fired from within, the muzzle flash illuminating the room. Soap shot through the door and nothing else could be seen or heard.

“Room clear,” he said.

“Good shots, hermano.” 

“No sign of Hassan,” you commented.

“Not yet,” Alejandro replied.

The six of you pushed into the living room. It seemed like a cozy space, once upon a time. A red, well-used couch sat in front of a TV and the connected kitchen had white tile that contrasted with the dark, wood cabinets. It looked like a family home.

Apparently, you weren’t the only one who thought so.

“What happened to the families here?” Soap asked.

“The cartel brings violence, so they leave,” Alejandro said. “Get ready to move.”

Just as Soap went to open the door, Alejandro stopped him. “Stand by…”

He radioed some of his men, with the only word you could translate being smoke.

A hissing noise filled the air as a heavy mist could be seen falling outside the windows.

“Where’s your family, Alejandro?” Soap asked.

“Soap!” you chastised. He gave you a look that was like, “What? It was just a question.”

Alejandro nodded at you and looked back to Soap. “I keep that a secret, hermano… To protect them.”

Ghost, ever the tactition, said, “We have concealment.” 

This earned an affirmative nod from Alejandro who then said, “Let’s move. On me.”

You followed him out the door and into the smoke. The house in front of you was two stories, white, with three bay windows. An abandoned red, yellow, and blue toy tricycle laid in the yard, the image causing a pang in your heart. 

“This is where they were hiding Hassan. Expect resistance,” Alejandro said. He then radioed to the other team your location.

“¡Vamos, vamos!”

Sanchez shot off the lock and Alejandro rolled a flash grenade in, letting it go off before entering. Shots were exchanged almost immediately; Alejandro took out a few, leaving the rest for you, Soap, and Ghost.

You took out one who was firing through a door before yelling out, “Clear!”

“Clear!” Alejandro confirmed. “No Hassan.”

“Second deck,” Ghost ordered.

“Si. Vamos. Let’s move upstairs and get Hassan.”

You followed Alejandro and Ghost up the stairs while Soap and Rodriguez came up last. As they reached the turn in the stairs, someone began shooting at them. Ghost quickly got rid of the threat before moving to the side of a doorway.

“If Hassan’s here, he’s in this room,” Alejandro said, gesturing with his head to the doorway Ghost stood at. Two cartel members fired at the five of you but stood little chance with five soldiers with automatic weapons aiming for them.

“Move in. Secure the room. I’ll cover,” Alejandro said once the bullets stopped coming from the room. You made your way through, stepping over one of the bodies in order to check the bathroom. You flung the door open and let out a breath when it was empty. “Clear. No Hassan.”

Alejandro radioed to his men that Hasssan was not in the building and Rodolfo seemed to confirm that he had gotten the message.

A desk was sat near a window and it had what looked to be an open backpack, a beer, a plate, and a binder that Ghost was now flipping through.

Alejandro heaved a sigh. “They must’ve moved him.”

“When?” Soap questioned, walking up to stand beside you and Ghost.

“Recently.”

Before you could chime in, Ghost pointed at a flag above the desk. It was a vibrant blue with a yellow symbol on it. It depicted a hand gripping an assault weapon in a fist in front of a world symbol. On it was text you couldn’t decipher but you didn’t need a translation to recognize the flag.

“Quds Force. That’s his flag,” Ghost said.

“He was here,” Alejandro said.

“Siren’s intel was good,” Soap concluded.

Before you could make a comment on it, Rodolfo’s voice came in urgently over the radio. Whatever he said caused Alejandro to curse.

“¡Mierda!”

He rushed to the bay windows facing the village entrance, causing you all to follow.

“What is it?” Ghost asked.

“The army,” Alejandro said ominously.

“We got reinforcements,” Soap said. However by Alejandro’s tone and subsequent orders to his men, you had a feeling this wasn’t an aid in your search for Hassan.

“Negative,” Alejandro said, confirming your suspicions.

“What’re we doin’?” Ghost asked quietly, kneeling in front of the wall between two of the windows. You took a place beside him, looking out the same window as Soap while Alejandro looked took the other side of the window Ghost was peeking through.

“Covering my men,” Alejandro answered. “Once they’re clear, we fall back.”

“You want us to engage with the fucking Mexican Army?” Soap asked, incredulously.

“No, carnal. These troops are paid by the cartel. They’re helping the cartel protect Hassan.”

You saw a couple cars drive into the village. You switched to your rifle to look through the scope at the approaching forces.

“Hold your fire,” Alejandro ordered. “We’ll dig in until my men are clear.”

“Multiple vehicles… Troop transports. Light-armor,” Ghost noted.

A beat passed. “Hold fire,” Alejandro repeated. “Let them get close.”

Then, a Mexican Army officer yelled, prompting Alejandro to say, “Weapons free!”

Bullets rained down into the house, causing the windows to break. You took aim with your scope and shot a few, only to find they didn’t go down in one shot like they should have. 

“Shit! They’re armored!” You yelled, trying to take some of them down but it was taking far more bullets than you were used to.

“Target the helmets! They’re weak!” 

You did, still annoyed that it was taking two shots to take them down. However, it was much less than the five to shoot them in the chest.

“They’re using shields!” Ghost yelled as he leaned out of cover to take aim at soldiers coming in the gate. 

“Semtex out!” You pulled out a Semtex from your tactical vest and chucked it at a combat shield; it luckily stuck and you watched it go off, taking out nearby soldiers as well as the one holding the shield.

“Nice throw!” Ghost yelled over all the noise.

“Thanks!” you yelled back, giving him a grin that seemed out of place with your surroundings.

Rodolfo’s voice came through Alejandro’s radio but you were too occupied to try and listen.

“Okay! My men are clear!” Alejandro yelled.

“Then we need to move!” Soap replied, narrowly, throwing a frag out the window.

“Fall back! This way!” Just as Alejandro ordered it, a canister was thrown into the room, an orange smoke erupting and causing you all to cough. 

“Tear gas!” you choke out. Tears came out of your eyes unwillingly and you felt like your lungs were burning. It was all you could do to keep moving one foot in front of the other without falling to the ground to catch your breath.

Alejandro broke a window in the back of the room and you all stumbled over and jumped out after him. Still coughing a little, you followed him as he ran through a break in the cobblestone wall acting as a fence around the village.

“Army’s right behind us!” You heard Soap yell from behind you.

Rodriguez replied to him in Spanish while Alejandro yelled out orders.

“Down the hill! We’ll lose them in the mountains! Fan out and stay close!”

Gunshots went off like fireworks behind you as you ran, doing all you can not to trip on the rocky terrain.

“¿La vieja rute?” Rodriguez yelled.

“Straight to the bridge!” Alejandro told him. A second later, a bullet hit Rodriguez, causing him to fall and roll to the bottom of the decline.

“Rodriguez!” Alejandro called out.

“Army’s on us!” you called out.

“Cover! Cover!” Alejandro gestured to the giant rocks along the path to crouch behind.

“Get to cover and return fire!” Ghost echoed.

You took out one after another with your rifle, pausing only to rechamber and reload. Distantly you could hear Alejandro talking to Rodriguez who was thankfully good enough to stand and get into cover. It seemed the bullet hit him in the backplate, saving him.

And just as you were about to remark that you were glad he was okay, you heard Rodriguez yell out, “Shit-! Sanchez is down!” 

You glanced to your right and a couple yards from you Sanchez was face down, blood pooling around where he was hit in the head. He looked so young earlier, about 20 years old.

Apparently, you took a second too long because Soap yelled for you. “Siren! Gotta focus!”

You nodded and put any thoughts of sympathy in the back of your head. He was right; focus was integral to survival; you knew that all too well.

The number of soldiers shooting at you trickled down to none after a few minutes of firing nonstop.

“Are we clear?” Soap asked.

“For now,” Alejandro said, sparing a glance at Sanchez’s body. “We gotta move! Go!”

“You know these trails?” Soap asked as you all began running down another hill, a smaller part of the large mountain you were currently near the top of.

“Very well, but so does the army,” Alejandro answered.

“We can’t hold off an army. We need extraction,” Ghost said.

Alejandro ordered for Rodriguez to call for exfil but before he could, shots were fired, hitting the tree trucks and rocks beside you.

“Contact!” Ghost yelled, running behind a large rock and gesturing for the rest of you to the same.

“All guns, hold here—take cover,” Alejandro said, peeking around the side of the rock to look at the above ridge you just ran from.

“Ghost, Soap, Siren, behind the rocks.”

Soldiers from the Mexican Army appeared at the top of the hill, raining gunfire on the rocks you all used for cover.

Distantly you heard Alejandro speak. “We suppress by fire, then we advance. ¡Disparen! Light them up-!” Then to Rodriguez, he told him, “Rodriguez, get comms up!”

As you shot anyone who appeared in your crosshairs, you heard Rodriguez attempting to hail Control with no success.

Between Alejandro, Soap, Ghost, and you, you had all taken out the immediate threat but knew it wasn’t over yet.

“We clear?” Ghost asked.

“For now,” Alejandro told him. “There’ll be more. Vamos.” Alejandro ran down more of the hill with the rest of you following. Dust was being kicked up due to all the foot traffic and you could feel clumps of grass getting caught in the tread of your boots.

“Any word from Rodolfo?” you asked both Mexican Special Forces officers. 

“No—we lost comms,” Rodriguez told you, his response eliciting a curse from his commanding officer.

“Puta… Let’s keep it moving. Through here.”

“Your man get the call out?” Ghost asked, referring to the request for extraction.

“Let’s hope so,” Alejandro offered, having no real way at this point of knowing what got through.

“What’s the plan?” Your fellow Sergeant questioned.

“There’s a bridge at the river,” Alejandro informed. “Extraction will be there.”

As if bullets weren’t enough, a rocket launcher shot, barely missing the five of you and exploded into a tree some distance in front of your team. 

“Contact! RPG!” Ghost yelled.

“On the ridge!” Alejandro called out, causing you to quickly take aim there, needing to get rid of the guy controlling it. While you could survive a bullet or two, a propelled grenade was a whole other ordeal.

You lined up the shot, took a quick breath, and pulled the trigger, getting a headshot and taking him out instantly. “RPG’s down!”

More gunfire was exchanged, with soldiers now just throwing regular grenades at the five of you, causing you to have to throw yourself out of the way at times.

Finally, those men were taken out as well.

“Anyone hit?” Alejandro called out.

“Negative!” Ghost replied.

“Good to go!” Soap added.

“I’m good!” you told him.

“Copy. On me!” Alejandro ordered, running down a much narrower part of the mountain.

He stopped at a ledge with a gap of ten feet or so between it and the next. “We’ll have to jump here!”

“Can we make that?” Soap questioned, not sounding convinced.

“Hasta la muerta, hermano,” Alejandro said before running and jumping onto the ledge and sliding down the smooth rock to the next ledge. Ghost went next, landing on his back a little harder than Alejandro but still making it. Soap went and then you did, making sure you got a running start before leaping. The breath got pushed out of your chest when your back hit the ground but at least you made it.

“Pinche cabrones aren’t far behind.” You were up fairly high, able to see a whole forest below from the rocky mountain you currently stood on.

“Where to, Alejandro?” Soap asked him.

“Soap push forward. Rodriguez, keep working the radio, rest o’ you watch for snipers.” 

Alejandro directed Soap where to go while you scanned the cliffside from where you came for any soldiers.

“Got anything?” Ghost asked. You shook your head at him while Alejandro replied to him.

“They’re out there… believe me…”

As you looked, Rodriguez still tried to get signal but the effort was fruitless.

“We need to get to the river…” Alejandro said in response to the lack of radio contact.

“Found it!” Soap yelled out. All of you followed him but before you could get very far, you could hear blades whirring, indicative of only one thing.

“Escucha… You hear that?” 

“Incoming heli…” you muttered. Just what you all needed.

“Si. Get to a firing position. We’ll take them by surprise.”

“Which way to the bridge?” Ghost questioned.

“Straight ahead. Past the helo. They’ll try to cut us off.”

“We’ll have to go through them,” Soap chimed in. You took cover behind large rocks once again and waited for soldiers to get closer.

“Weapons free!” you heard Alejandro command.

You peaked out and shot whoever you could see. Most came in through a bottle-necked opening but the others got smart once their comrades had been shot down. They fanned in from the sides as well, causing you all to have to take the out quickly before they attempted an all-out flank.

Another RPG was shot, but just like last time, you took them out quickly, allowing the team to focus on just shooting instead of worrying about being blown up.

A few minutes later a symphony of “Clear!” came from the five of you, allowing Alejandro to give his next order.

“Up the ridge! The bridge isn’t far! They may position shooters out here. Watch your backs.”

You all moved up, cresting the top of the hill and seeing a waterfall flowing from the top of a mountain in the distance. If this weren’t a true life and death experience, it would be painstakingly beautiful.

“There’s the bridge.” Alejandro pointed down to a bridge over a river at the base of the mountain.

“No visual on extraction,” you told him, looking with the scope on your LA-B 330.

“Comms didn’t get through. Hijo de puta…” Rodriguez said, muttering the last part.

“We’ll radio when we’re down there,” Alejandro assured. “This way.”

You continued to jump down ledges with Alejandro cautioning to watch your footing. Rodriguez seemingly agreed, saying something about it being dangerous.

“You know your way,” Ghost observed.

“We used to cut school and play here,” Alejandro told the four of you.

“Until the cartels moved in?” Soap asked after landing on a lower ledge.

“Exactly. The narcos changed everything.”

As you all continued moving along the mountain side, a bullet struck the wall next to you, making you jerk back.

“Sniper!” Ghost yelled. “Move!”

Rodriguez followed by Soap then you attempted to make your way to Alejandro and Ghost, both of whom already made it past the part where you had to hug the wall and take small sidesteps to make it across.

In front of Soap, a bullet hit Rodriguez right in the chest, causing him to fall forward and off the edge, tumbling down the steep cliff. If the bullet didn’t kill him, the fall would have.

“Rodriguez!” Alejandro yelled. A second later he informed the remaining three of you, “Sniper’s down!”

“Bloody good shot, mate!” you heard Ghost praise. Soap and you followed behind the other two listening as the Mexican Army could be heard looking for you.

“Army’s still trailing us,” Soap said.

“We’ll gain some ground!” Alejandro replied before jumping down to a ledge below. You jumped as well after Ghost, cursing when the impact hurt much more than you were expecting. As you followed the Colonel and your own Lieutenant, your heart dropped into your stomach. 

Ghost then echoed your concerns to Alejandro. “You lead us to a dead end, mate.”

“We jump from here!” Alejandro said, leaping off. “Don’t lose your weapons!”

“Oh fuck,” you whispered, looking down at the height currently between you and the water. You weren’t necessarily afraid of heights. You had been to the top of many buildings before and you were no stranger to skydiving. However, you did have a fear of falling without any protection, which you assumed was a fear every human had.

Except Ghost apparently with the way he was talking.

“Your turn, Sergeant!” he told Soap. Soap hesitated for a second before running and leaping off, clutching the straps holding his guns to him.

“Siren, you’re up!” Ghost said looking at you. After a second of hesitation he addressed you again. “Siren, we stay here, we’re dead! Now jump!”

Honestly, you were going to jump but apparently it wasn’t quick enough for Ghost because he grabbed your hand in his.

“Hold onto your weapons, Sergeant!” 

He backed up with you and you both ran off the edge, jumping off hand in hand. You were probably squeezing his hand half to death but you weren’t thinking about that. You were thinking of the air rushing past you and how quickly you were falling to the water and how all your bones could break if you landed slightly behind the water.

You closed your eyes before you got too close to the ground. Luckily, instead of rocks, you felt cold water wash over you. The force with which you hit the water caused your hand to be pulled away from Ghost’s. Not that it mattered; both of your hands were occupied swimming upwards.

You took a gasping breath when your breached the surface. 

“You good, hermanos?” you heard Alejandro say, though it wasn’t as clear due to the water still in your ears.

“Affirm,” Ghost said from beside you.

“Soap?”

“Breathing.”

“Siren?”

“Alive,” you confirmed.

You looked over to Ghost to find him already glancing at you. You nodded to him in thanks before turning your attention to Alejandro’s orders.

“Move down river to the bridge. Use rocks for cover,” Then he spoke into his radio. “All stations, this is Victor 0-1—How copy?”

To your surprise, the radio crackled to life, an American accent coming through, although broken up.

“-dow 1! Do you—?  -ay again, -o you re—?”

“Radio’s picking up somethin’,” Soap commented.

“Sounds American,” you added. You suspected it was the PMC group but couldn’t know for sure until you got confirmation.

Gunshots started to hit the rocks you were behind as the Mexican Army stood on the other side of the river. 

“Here they come. Weapons free!” the Colonel ordered.

“Contact front!” Ghost yelled.

You used your SMG to shoot back but it was difficult; the current was stronger than you had expected and it was a struggle to shoot straight and stay behind cover.

“Army reinforcements rolling in!” Alejandro yelled. “Keep pushing up the river!”

You dove under the water to avoid being seen and tried to move quickly to the next rock. Like before, you all exchanged fire for a few minutes before being ordered by Alejandro to move up. And again, you dove under, this time to get under a large tree trunk that spanned the width of the river.

“Enemy vehicles! Right bank!” you heard Ghost yell, his voice a little distorted from you being underwater.

You came back to the surface behind another rock in the middle of the river. Not only was it hard to shoot but you were beginning to run low on ammo as well.

“The river’s slowing us down, mate!” Ghost yelled to Alejandro.

“It gets shallow up ahead,” Alejandro cautioned. “Swim up! Keep moving!”

Now you could see the bridge that you did above. However, it wasn’t empty.

“Vehicles on the bridge!” Ghost called out.

“They’re not ours!” the Colonel replied. “Fuck—! It’s the army!”

“Get to cover!” Your Lieutenant ordered.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you muttered, trying your best to return fire, but it was becoming increasingly clear this was turning into a disastrous situation.

“We have to hold here and get extraction,” Alejandro said, narrowly missing a bullet by leaning more towards the rock you were all behind.

Soap continued to shoot and yelled out his frustration. “We can’t do shite against that armor!” 

Before the four of you were overrun, which looked to have been coming up soon, the radio crackled to life once more.

“This is Shadow-1! Engaging the bridge north of your position. Danger close!”

“Who the hell is that?” Alejandro asked.

“Commander Graves,” Ghost answered, “Shadow company. They’re with us.”

Shots came from the air, pelting down on the bridge, causing you to feel relief well up within you.

“Shadow-1, Bravo 0-7!” Ghost hailed. “Good shots! Fire for effect!”

Before long, the entire bridge collapsed, unable to take all the firepower aimed at it.

“All stations, no enemy movement detected. You’re clear. It’s good to see you boys and girl.”

“Likewise, mate,” Ghost told him.

“This way!” Alejandro ran out of the river and into the side forest.

“Graves, we’ve located a vehicle for exfil,” Ghost informed him, following behind you.

“Roger that. Be advised, we got a possible hit on Hassan, two klicks north of your position.”

“That’s cartel land. They have a compound there,” Alejandro commented as you all made your way to a camo-covered pickup truck.

“Load in!” Ghost commanded.

“I’ll drive!” Alejandro said, getting into the driver’s seat while Soap got in the passenger’s side, leaving you and Ghost the backseat.

“You guys good to roll up Hassan with some fire from the sky?”

“Let’s wrap this fucker up, Graves,” Soap replied.

“Solid copy. We are pushing to the target di-rectly. Shadow-1 out.”

Taglist:

@jinxed-yep@july4th1918-mycaptain@rickgrimes12643@sarcasticwalrus0@aykxz98@midaribaby@your-highnessmarvel@ssqra@voidinfernal@nobody-000@theyounglingslayer@untoldshortsofthefandoms@memeorydotcom@kuutski@sodbos@lenasvoid@caleb-bailea@clayzayden@thelesbianwithissues@luxuricious@kwiltshire13@summerbbygirl@persephones-garden@andromacher@jaysealynn@eternallysarcastic@cryingdvst@mystic-of-fire@bakusatsuhoe@tranquiiit@multiple-boxes-of-earthworms-de@kc-957@scaredknight@mrsspector-grant@polar-pluto@orcishkitty@sodbos@iyaheartsabbyanderson@fluffyspaceprincess@itsagrimm@chiggennuggie@comedinewithmeyeh@muffinsz@bingblomp123@blazinghost@berrxessi @elentiyaiswriting@scaredknight@lovingly-kc@almostcrystalized101@spider-thot0115@starcoveredhoney@cvpitvno@harmssss@somnolentintrovert@callyum@rosegxoxo@thatawokenhunter@syd-vixious@orestukassss@ryunniez@kaitlynisinfinite@peachfridges@cocosie@plutogamer@way-of-love@anitdot@sleepynyx@swissy23@seasaltt99@isasinterlude@cynicalmnm@euovennia@ho3forghost@spoonz@teaties@stilestheabominablesnowman@embers-of-alluring@ohh-theaudacity@raswiet@freegardenstudenttree@angelsquid@workof-a-rr-t@le0thely0n@skulli33@lovely29701@fantasticcopeaglepasta@un1k0@stupidstupidstupids@tojisprincess@urfavgay67@doodle-cat16@ryzetop@experienixie

[alpaca-clouds]

Solarpunk and Sports

Something I see discussed in Solarpunk communities again and again is the topic of "sports". Which sounds weird at first, until you think about it.

In general the main reason people discuss this topic so much is, that there is a lot of tribalism in sports - tribalism that at times leads to violence. There is also the fact that sports will usually have winners and losers, which is inevitably going to play into some sort of hierarchy. And those hierarchies? Well, they do not necessarily gel well with those anarchist ideas.

However, I also think that sports are actually mostly a good thing. Well, at least some sports are (American Football most certainly isn't, and I would argue that some of the more violent sports are not either), because on one end they lead to a sense of community, and on the other hand they also allow people to develop more self-confidence.

What I actually think is the main issue with sports right now, is very connected to capitalism. Or said differently: Take capitalism out of sports and sports themselves are gonna be fine.

See, this heavy tribalism that we have around sports is actually encourages through capitalism. Because if you have that big ass tribalism, folks are gonna spend a lot more money on their team. They'll buy more merchandise and they'll also be more likely to buy tickets for games and what not. Hence, more money for the investors.

The capitalism also is what leads to the professional players to be so strongly exploited. After all, they are merely things for the investors to make money with, so their personal health does not actually matter in any way or form.

Without capitalism involved, though, there is also not much of an incentive to make all those big leagues. Because those are in the end mostly about selling you stuff.

I mean, in the end... For the most part - even if we ignore how many sports organisations are corrupt as fuck - people are more likely to win, if they are from a place that can afford the best training equipment, the best trainers and also the best players.

So, I think in a Solarpunk context, it would make way more sense to have teams that are not artificially constructed by some investors. Just let people play and compete not for some artificial price, but just... to have fun. Isn't that what sports should be all about?

[rviner]

Vanity Fair, August 2024

Your role in the upcoming "The Crow" is quite intense and emotionally charged. How did you prepare for playing Shelly Webster, and what was it like diving into such a dark, gothic narrative?

Shelly's story is one of love that transcends death, and I found a lot of comfort in that. I also spent time studying the original comics and film, immersing myself in that world. It's a dark narrative, but at its core, it's about love, and that's what I focused on. Death, love and loss are all very personal subjects, everyone is touched by them in some way at some point in their lives. I think that's what's great about gothic themes, they're actually intensely romantic and they explore the depth and range of these emotions we all face or go through.

You’ve played a wide range of characters, from a chess player in "The Queen’s Gambit" to a sous-chef in "The Bear." What draws you to such diverse roles, and how do you choose your projects?

I love roles that challenge me, both emotionally and intellectually. I love characters with depth, who face real-world issues or navigate complex emotional landscapes. My choices are often driven by the story itself, if it has a strong message or explores themes I'm passionate about. I want to walk in to a project feeling like I'm going to learn something.

"The Queen’s Gambit" was your breakthrough role. Looking back, how did that experience shape your career and influence the roles you've taken on since?

The show's success, I think, proved that people really want to experience stories with complex and also flawed characters. It's definitely influenced me to seek out roles that aren't afraid to dive deep into the human experience. It definitely gave me the confidence to be more intentional with the roles I work on, too.

In "The Underground Railroad," you portrayed a character with profound emotional depth. How do you approach roles that require you to channel such intense feelings, especially in historical contexts?

It's important for me to approach any role with respect and understanding. Especially when dealing with such important stories that are also historical. I spent a lot of time researching the era and the real stories of people who lived through it. For me, it's about honoring their experiences and making sure that I'm telling the story truthfully. I also rely on my intuition, acting is about feeling the emotions as honestly as possible.

Working on "The Bear" must have been quite a change of pace. What was it like transitioning from that high-stress kitchen environment to the gothic atmosphere of "The Crow"?

It was definitely a shift! "The Bear" was all about the chaos and pressure of the kitchen, which was intense but rewarding. Transitioning to "The Crow" meant slowing down and focusing more on the emotional and atmospheric aspects of the story. Both environments demand a lot of focus, but in very different ways. I enjoyed the contrast, it keeps things fresh and challenging. But peel away the obvious differences, and there's a lot of similar themes being explored in both stories. Especially when it comes to the emotional aspect.

Your chemistry with Felix Ranström in "The Crow" is crucial to the story. How did you and Felix work together to build that connection on screen?

We spent a lot of time discussing our characters' backstory and what drives them. It's important to understand the emotional stakes, and we both approached it with a lot of honesty. We're also very comfortable with each other, which helps in those intense scenes. It's all about trust. I think we were both apprehensive because working together when you also have a personal relationship comes with it's own challenges, but in the end I think it translates with a lot of authenticity.

In "Lovecraft Country," you dealt with both racial and supernatural themes. How do you navigate roles that intertwine such complex and heavy topics?

I think it's important that the supernatural elements don't overshadow the real world issues being addressed. A balance is key, ensuring that the supernatural is actually used to amplify the story. Because there's loads of great metaphors to be used between the two, as well. Sometimes, certain stories and messages can be easier to digest and learn from when there's something not realistic teaching you it.

Many of your roles involve characters facing significant personal struggles. How do you maintain a balance between your professional and personal life when dealing with such emotionally taxing roles?

It's all about finding time to recharge. I'm a big believer in self care, whether that's spending time in nature or meditating or seeing friends and family. Creating a space to recharge and relax is so important, in any line of work. We should all be able to connect to ourselves and make the time to do that.

You’ve worked on both television series and feature films. Do you have a preference for one over the other, or do you enjoy the unique challenges each medium presents?

I love them both for different reasons. Television allows you to develop a character over time, which is really fun to see and also feels as if you're growing with them. It can be incredibly satisfying. Films is a more concentrated burst of creative energy, you have a set amount of time to convey a story. It's just as satisfying, for me. It can feel more immersive because you really have to get all up in your character's business, quickly and intensely.

Finally, what are you most excited about in 2024, both professionally and personally? Any upcoming projects or plans that you’re particularly looking forward to?

Right now, I'm spending as much time with my family and friends as possible. I think I got caught up in the excitement and momentum of my professional life, getting really hyped for the next project. I'm just slowing down right now, but I can't promise it will be for long because I'm sure something really exciting is going to come along and I won't be able to help myself.

[miloscat]

[Review] Even the Ocean (PS4)

A unique and soulful puzzle-platformer.

Anodyne 1 and 2 are really special games, so it's past time for me to catch up on the rest of the Analgesic catalogue from Melos Han-Tani and Marina Kittaka. This is their second game together, and takes on the puzzle-platformer genre but with a heavy emphasis on story.

Compared to the Anodyne games, the themes are a little more straightforward and the world more grounded than their abstract dreamlike spaces. The story deals with environmental and social issues, but with strong characters who feel very human and real through their dialogue. The story opens with the death of a minor character, but rather than exploiting it for dramatic stakes and moving on, the entire rest of the game sees you forming a friendship with her grieving partner, discussing deep topics with her and so on. As the game goes on and the stakes are further raised, it still takes the time for smaller moments and well-drawn minor characters.

This emotional content and social commentary is the strongest part of the game, not to say that the gameplay parts aren't also good. But the puzzle platforming can feel isolated or distinct from these aspects. The mechanics of it do tie into the worldbuilding which is linked to the themes though. In this sci-fi fantasy world, the main governing principle is the two energy types: light/green/vertical, and dark/purple/horizontal. Everything is built around this central idea.

Our protagonist Aliph has to balance the two energy types while blocking with a directional shield. She has a personal energy bar and when interacting with objects and obstacles this shifts between the two extremes. Charge yourself with dark and you walk faster, with light and you jump higher. But rather than a traditional health system, if you fill up completely on one or the other you die. Basically all interactable elements are aligned with either energy, and this leads to all sorts of clever puzzles along with the balancing act of managing your own tendency.

Progression through the puzzle spaces is mostly linear and I didn't find it very challenging for most of the runtime. There is a lot of customisation though, and you can choose if you want to just play the action parts or the story parts, as well as gameplay modifications to make it more manageable if you're having trouble. This makes the game very accessible, although oddly there is no option for button reassignment.

As I've come to expect with Analgesic games, there is also an extensive postgame although Even the Ocean takes it to extremes I haven't yet seen in their catalogue. You get new options to zoom around, warp, and display minimaps but most of all you get an entire new game world consisting of rough drafts and earlier versions of levels filled with developer commentary. This really opens the door on the development of the game and is really interesting from an archival perspective, having this behind the scenes content in playable form within the game itself. You get to see assets from when all the environment pixel art was made by hand (the final game uses art from larger images outside of the "dungeon" areas), as well as much more complex and difficult level design ideas.

These in-depth offerings are such a fascinating look at what the game could have been that I couldn't help but wish that some of it had made it to the final product, that we had more polished forms of these more challenging puzzles. On the other hand, the choices made to simplify the art production process I thought resulted in a fantastic end product, the interesting character designs coming through well in pixel form against the beautiful and moody backdrops.

Either way, these extras are remarkable, a candid conversation with the player on how the game was shaped and when you are directly told the rationales it's hard to argue that Melos and Marina made the right decisions to make the game memorable and accessible, and the game as a whole is much stronger and more interesting for having them. Please spend some time exploring the postgame if you give this a go! Anyway, although I have quibbles with the slow difficulty curve and the sometimes awkward menus, Even the Ocean ended up being another unique offering from Analgesic, packed full of ideas and heart.

[syncopein3d]

Left Alone 7: Riddles

Tropes/content warnings: M for mature themes overall. Vampire whumpee/caretaker, male whumpee/caretaker, non-binary whumpee/caretaker, general morbidity. There will be a lot of play with, and discussion of, the concept of consent in this series, as it applies to many topics. There will be angst. Vampire biting can be painful, platonic, or NSFW and I'm not sure what direction that will take, but Tolly will definitely continue to fantasize about subtextually or literally sex-murdering Arden, as vampires often do.

If you would like to be added to, or removed from, the tag list of this series, please let me know!

Part 6: Regeneration

Tolly drank.

The taste of cold pig’s blood only got worse as his senses grew more acute, but more years rolled away. His face began to gently fill out, flesh and muscle building over the bones under his questing fingers. By the time he had consumed the full gallon, eight to sixteen ounces at a time in between washing with body wipes, he looked to be in his mid-thirties. He held up the lantern to look at his reflection in the metallic surface. He had a high-boned, angular face, but it was the face a living man would have, a face he knew. He was still unnaturally pale, but he might pass for someone alive and very ill. His lips, unfortunately, were still fuller than he felt was masculine, but it couldn’t be helped.

Now his irises were pale green, if he tilted the lamp so light could reach into the deep sockets under a heavy brow. Flecks of amber showed, if one were to look very closely. The hand that shoved the empty gallon jug into the bag in front of him was a big man's hand, bony, with old scars across the knuckles. The talons were still not human. They were yellowish now, at least, but it needed a special grooming kit to trim them.

It took almost the entire box of body wipes to remove the accumulated grime, scrubbing himself until his new skin felt raw, but at last he was satisfied that his flesh matched his new hair. He used the last few on his chair and table, naked in the cold air that he could actually feel now, before he put the books and lantern there. Only then did he dress. The clothes were loose and there were no shoes – he imagined Arden furtively hurrying through a thrift and forgetting, as if anyone would care they were buying things too big for them – but the sensation of clean, intact fabric against his body was so overwhelming that he had to pause and just stand for several minutes, unbreathing, as the tears flowed.

He staunched them with his sleeve at last. There was no one to see his weakness, something that Nicholas would have rolled his eyes at. Come now, Bard. Are we not men?

There was a blue tarpaulin folded in the bottom of the shopping bag. Arden had forgotten to mention this, or Tolly had upset them before they got to it. He stood staring at the eye-searingly bright color for a while before he opened the package and smoothed it out over his rug. Now there was a clean place to roll out the mummy bag. That was black, with a dark red flannel lining.

Tolly shamefacedly considered bringing Marguerite de Valois into the bag with him. It was the 1969 Limited Editions Printing, probably worth less than $60 in this decade, but that was a lot of money to Arden. It wasn’t as if he tossed and turned in that sleep of death, but he should treat his savior’s belongings with respect.

Your savior. The one you are planning to deliciously murder the moment you are free from this cell?

Yes, but they brought me books. Soft things.

Perhaps there is a way to let them live. Perhaps there is a way to have just a taste.

But I WILL have a taste. Even if I have to wait. Nicholas will not win, damn his eyes. I need it. I need it!

In the end, gratitude and guilt momentarily won out and he sat at the table with the lantern, carefully smoothing each page as he read. When he began to grow heavy, he lined it up carefully with the others, all arranged on the table. Then he nudged the trash bag as close to the barrier as he could and crept into the sleeping bag. He had debated if he was allowed to keep the shopping bag, but ultimately decided Arden would have said if they needed it back. He left it sitting carefully folded under The Collected Sherlock Holmes.

With the sleeping bag zipped, and the hood up, there was soft flannel around him on every side. Tolly turned on his side and buried his face in it, sternly abjuring himself not to shed further tears that might dampen the fabric.

Perhaps because he had fed so much, he did not dream that day. When he woke, even the taste had perished from his mouth and throat, burnt up. His teeth were clean. He realized, as he looked at them in the distorted curve of the lantern, that with a little effort he could retract his canines again. They withdrew politely to a length that even a mortal would find ordinary. They were still sharp, but most people wouldn’t notice that.

He combed his talons through his hair as beat he could. He wasn’t happy with it, but it would have to do. He wasn’t sure he would even see Arden that night. He still forced down the lingering fear that they would not come back at all. He had mismanaged their last conversation, but –

The basement door opened. Tolly’s head came up, nostrils dilated. To his immense shame, the canines he had just retracted betrayed him immediately as the scent of human blood wafted down ahead of Arden’s footsteps. His sense of smell had fully recovered. He could identify the brands of their deodorant, shampoo, makeup – cheap except for the eyeliner.

As they drew nearer, he could hear their heart beating, too: light, slightly fast. In another day he would be able to tell it apart from the sound of every other heart on earth.

He brought the chair back in front of his rug, turned it around so he could sit with his arms resting on the back, and turned the lamp on, moving slowly and deliberately. It had been so long since he’d heard a heart beating.

Descending footsteps paused at the click and at the light washing out into the basement, but Arden eventually resumed. They stopped in front of the barrier, one hand resting on the outside doorpost. Today they had a gray cotton hoodie on over their baggy shirt and jeans. They looked at him from heavy, puffy eyes, taking in the changes.

“You’re different now,” Arden said. There was a note of uncertainty. They had begun by talking with a dusty, withered corpse. Now they were faced with someone who looked barely older than themselves, bigger, broader, so very male when they so very much did not want to be that, Tolly thought. He had been right to present himself below their eye level. His present form was more threatening than the old one.

Tolly inclined his head, trying not to be distracted by a living thing exhaling into his space. Coffee. Water with electrolytes and a little artificial sweetener. Nothing else recently.

“I am substantially better. I will always be in your debt for that,” he said.

“I told you, you paid me much more than it was worth.” Arden looked at Tolly’s hands, eyes roving over his scarred knuckles, his talons. He watched color rise into their face as their heart accelerated just a little.

“Not to me,” Black Tolly said.

“What ring were you talking about?” Arden asked abruptly. “The first time I saw you, you said something about a ring, too.” They were paler than usual. He was certain it wasn’t just the light.

“The Eye of Rule, Nicholas called it,” Tolly said. “You’ll know it if you see it. The star ruby is ten carats. I’m certain he would have wanted you to have it, if he left you this house.”

“He left me a message,” Arden said. “In the piano. He used to hide messages for me there when I was a kid. If I could guess which key he’d give me a star sticker, and if I got enough stars he’d give me something. It might be candy, or a book or – for a while I thought he was working up to something creepy.” They turned away abruptly, and then swayed, grabbing at the post of the door. Tolly was acutely aware of the vein pulsing in the back of their hand.

“You’re not well,” he said gently. “How long since you’ve slept? Since you’ve eaten?”

“The whole thing is just too weird. I can’t - that’s not what I came down here for,” Arden said. Tolly was still, debating with himself. One stumble and they were both done for. But he didn’t want to scare them away again, either.

“He wouldn’t have hurt you,” Tolly said. “I wouldn’t call him a good man, but he wouldn’t have interfered with a relation or a child. I’m sure he had plans for you, but not like that.”

“I think so, too. But I don’t know what this means. I hoped, since you knew him – “ They made an awkward gesture, reluctantly turning back to face him.

“Of course,” Tolly said. “Read me the message.”

They dug into a pocket for a folded piece of paper and opened it up with shaking hands.

“If you want to earn a star,

The key to a greater gift,

You’ll have to risk a red one

And abandon all your thrift.”

“For someone who considered himself so clever, he never did learn proper meter, but he always loved riddles and tricks.” In spite of everything, he couldn’t keep a reminiscent tone from his voice. “I’m not sure what ‘risk a red one’ would mean, but Nicholas liked coins. Did he ever give you one?”

“More than one. But he probably knew I would still be carrying around the two aegina drachmas,” Arden said. A smile twitched onto their lips and away, there and gone like lightning. Tolly found himself momentarily stunned, not quite hearing part of the next sentence.

“- Not real, they’re replicas, but I loved them as a kid because they have a turtle and you can feel it with your fingers.” They dug in another pocket and came out with two irregular round coins, each with a turtle so thick it was almost three dimensional molded into one side.

“Is there anything in this house you can fit one of those into?” Tolly asked.

“Sure, this place is incredibly cluttered. But the red thing means something dangerous or not allowed. He’d give me red stars for touching the stove or getting into his room, things like that, and if I got five red stars, he said I wouldn’t be allowed to visit for a week. I never did,” they added, eyes blankly focused on the middle distance.

“If I were you, I would start in his closet or bath, then,” Tolly said.

They nodded, the very dark eyes flickering back to his face. “Thanks. I, uh. I ordered you a phone. It’s pay-as-you-go, so it’ll work until you can pick a carrier. It’s supposed to get here tomorrow.” Their eyes darted to his socks. “Shit. I should get you some shoes, too.”

“When I have a phone, I can order my own things to this address, if you don’t mind the annoyance of deliveries,” Tolly said.

“Not a big deal, Tolly. Like I said, it’s the least I can - ”

“Not a safe thing to continue saying to the monster in your basement,” Tolly said.

“But I’m out here. And you’re still stuck in there,” Arden said. “Are you thirsty? How often do you need a drink?”

Tolly caught himself looking at Arden’s throat and politely redirected his gaze to their face again. “Oh, I’ll always be thirsty,” Tolly said dryly. “It is the nature of the beast. But I can maintain in my current health on about sixteen ounces of animal blood or four ounces of human blood per week. The other gallon should last me eight weeks in sedentary conditions, if you wouldn’t mind bringing me a glass in a few days. Go on. Find the ring. Eat and sleep, please.”

“Yeah, yeah.” They waved him off, looking away, but they were blushing again.

Part 8: Faint

@fleur-a-whump, @bitchaknso

[somebodytolove31]

Midsommar is not a "good for her" movie, but it's understandable that people think that

Content warnings for: cult stuff, discussions of heavy topics such as rape, suicide and grooming, a lot of gaslighting

So I watched Midsommar recently, it's good, it has it's flaws (which I will talk about in a later post probably) but it's a solid 8/10 for me

One of the first things I do when I watch a movie is see what the internet thinks about it. I enjoy seeing the reviews of other people and funny memes and whatever else I can find. So imagine my surprise when I found out that people think Midsommar is a "good for her" movie

And like, no???

For those who aren't aware, a "good for her" movie is, as the term implies, a movie with a woman protagonist that makes you go "good for her" when it finishes, think for example of Knives Out, usually movies like these involve the protagonist in question cheating the system to get what they want, even if it's done on a morally (or legally) gray way. People classify Midsommar as a "good for her" movie because of the ending, in which the main character burns down her shitty boyfriend inside a bear

If you haven't watched the movie you may probably think "oh wow, well that's a good ending right?", and out of context, yes, in context however? this action is the representation of her leaving her life behind and joining a murder cult

From that fact you now may think "well how the fuck do people think that's a good ending?", but here's the thing, Midsommar does a great job at deceiving the audience into thinking the cult is not that bad, and the main way of doing this is through the main character we talked about, Dani.

At the start of the movie, Dani is in one of the lowest points of her life, her family has just died because of her sister’s suicide, she is in a shitty relationship, and it is implied that she has mental health issues of her own. Through the course of the movie however, she is helped by the cult, they offer her a “peaceful” place to be in while she grieves, she is often complimented, and they even burn down her abusive boyfriend by the end. From her perspective, this place has done nothing but help her, even if it’s done in non-traditional ways.

Except they don’t. Everything they do is simply a way to brainwash her into becoming a part of their community and use her. The cult still murdered 5 innocent people, they still forced Dani’s boyfriend to "mate" with a minor, they still make people kill themselves when they turn 72, they still inbreed, they still drug you without consent.

If this movie was played out through the point of view of anyone else, it would be seen as a horrifying tale of a death cult tricking a friend into becoming one of them, but it’s because of the emotional position Dani is in that we see them as saviors.

Even I was brainwashed by them in one scene, the one where Dani sees her boyfriend "cheating" on her and has a panic attack (a link for those who haven't seen the movie and are curious). Panic attacks are something I suffer from often, it’s gotten better with therapy, but it’s still horrible when I experience it, so when I saw the women of the cult gather around Dani, caressing her and screaming with her, my first thought was “wow, I wish I had a group like that, people that would scream with me when I’m feeling horrible”, it wasn’t until I really thought about the scene later on that I realized, wait, that scene wasn’t good! they are not helping her, they are just acting as if they know her pain, they are simply shifting Dani’s hopelessness to anger even though they're the ones that caused the hopelessness in the first place

This is a tactic not only used by cults, but by many people who want to indoctrinate you, as a simple example, think of all of those alpha male channels that play into the insecurities of men to tell them that women are the problem.

This is why people think the ending is a happy ending, their fear is shifted to anger, and they feel relieved when Chris is burned, just as the cult did with Dani

TL,DR: no one is immune to propaganda, so be on the look out for ways people might want to indoctrinate you

[jamneuromain]

Wishful Thinking Chpt. 3

Andy Barber x You (Reader), no use of Y/N

Alternate Universe - College AU

Summary: A new semester. A new task. A new boyfriend, your previous professor, Andy Barber. Everything seems to be going on the right track. So why didn't it?

Warning: detailed description of (performed) oral sex, inappropriate teacher-student relationship, power imbalance, age difference, explicit language, TW: BDSM/safe wording, angst

A/N: This fic has some disturbing themes, and discusses potentially upsetting topics. Please read through the warning before engaging with the fic. As I have said, the fic has mentioned a number of (potentially) triggering and heavy topics, you don't have to engage further if you feel uncomfortable about one or more topics.

Wishful Thinking M. List Dancing in the Daydream M. list

Andy: Morning, sweetheart. How are you feeling today?

You’ve been staring at the message on your phone for precisely seventeen minutes now. Andy gets up a bit earlier than you did. As usual. He sends the message when he’s not there when you wake up. As usual. And you’ve been hesitant to reply. Which is not usual.

You roll over on your bed, exiting and re-entering the text message page. You should text him. You know you should. Yet, you drop your phone on your stomach and cover your eyes with your hands.

You wish you rather go back to sleep.

You safe-word last night, and you’ve been… odd.

You came back home as if you have lost half of your soul and don’t even remember how you went to bed. Your mind was, and still is, playing the scene over and over again. How he didn’t make eye contact when he forced you to deepthroat him. How your stomach and your throat protested. How you wanted him a second ago and abominated him the next.

And you are also certain that you ruined his floor. Either that or his carpet. Or both.

Your fingers clench and unclench on your soft beddings, as if it would bring you some comfort. You want Andy, you know for sure, but how can you ever face him when you safeword during sex? And his words last night, “fucktoy”? Does he want you? Does he want you in a sexual way or a spiritual way? More importantly, does he love you? How can he love you if you are so different (at least from the age perspective) and you barely know each other apart from two months of dating? How can anyone fall in love after a dozen dates?

Your eyes are dry. A bit swollen too. Thanks to all the tears you poured onto your pillow, for reasons of God knows what – you kept crying, you felt bad, and the worst part is that you couldn’t pinpoint the feeling, you didn’t know why you were feeling bad.

Your stomach gurls in another protest. Quite a lot protests coming from your body recently, you can’t help but being sarcastic. But you manage to get up from your cozy bed and decide to make yourself some breakfast, secretly hoping breakfast can take your mind off him. Andy. Last night. Whatever.

The TV is playing another episode of Alicia, the leading character of The Good Wife, crying and breaking up with her lover, also her boss – again, you think. Somehow, you are gloating because Alicia has to see Will again at work while you could avoid Andy because you don’t have any of his classes, however, you are also frustrated because Will clearly loves her, and they deserve to be together, not like… Jesus fucking Christ, does Andrew Fucking Barber ever take a break from occupying your head!

Marta is taking up one of the stoves, frying bacon and eggs while sparing a glance at the TV every now and then.

“Hi!” She greets you cheerfully.

“Hi.” You greet back, clearly not in a chatty mood, not that you ever were.

The sizzling of the frying pan and the humming of the kitchen ventilator have you focused on your plate. Your empty plate, which needs to be filled. ASAP. Before you start thinking about the-man-who-must-not-be-named again.

Marta is focusing more on the plot playing rather than cooking. When the character Alicia went out of the room, crying, she can’t help but “awww” in frustration, and stomps her feet on the carpet, “nononono you both idiots! Why don’t you just talk!”

Yeah, talk. As if that’s an easy job.

You are reminded of Andy again. You are pretty sure you need to talk this through or this would be the last action that buries your relationship.

But do you? Want to talk?

Or you want to bury your head under your duvet and just ignore all that had happened?

“Maybe it’s better off this way.” You comment, while making yourself a sandwich, “I don’t think he - Will - wants to settle down.”

Marta shakes her head as fast as she could, “but he loves her!” She exclaims, making a face when Alicia is trying to act normal in front of her family, “the least they could do is to start an affair to get back at her cheating husband!”

“So it’s about payback?”

“It’s about Alicia being stupid!” She slides the fried bacon into her own plate, wiping her hand with kitchen cloth, clearly disagreeing with you, “she loves him, and they deserve being together!”

You munch on an apple, “she has her family… she’s still married.”

“Yeah, married to a cheating husband.” She snorts, chewing the bacon like it’s a crispy chip, “fuck her family. Her kids are ungrateful little brats. Her mother-in-law is awful. And the only kind guy is her brother, who supports her being with the love of her life!”

You grow silent for a small while.

Guilt and regret claw their way back into your body, tugging your heart along with the pain you feel down your throat.

At this point, you can’t tell the difference between your biological pain and your psychological ones any more.

You lost the appetite that’s barely there. The slight interest you had in your apple. Poof. Gone. Even if it’s a small one.

You are a bit annoyed because Marta thinks cheating is “right”, in soaps at least, and you believe the opposite. You are also embarrassed, because deep down, you think what she said has a tiny bit of correctness. Panic, too. Because you think you approve of what she said.

Plus the fact your throat is not getting any better.

Andy: Talk to me, sweetheart. Please. Call me when you feel better.

The ding in your phone nearly has you throwing it half way across the room.

That certainly didn’t help.

You are getting more annoyed by the minute. Clicking your phone back to lock mode, you put it screen down on the kitchen counter without much patience.

Call him. A tempting choice.

A daunting choice.

If only you have the courage to face him. To accuse him of what he did. To address the harm he inflicted on you. To be as brave as the characters in the stories, to face him.

…to be honest, you’d rather pour yourself into writing. Writing stories and fantasies. Writing those perfect men that only exists under your pen and keystrokes.

Maybe that’s the better option. Write of a story you will never post. About some man who loves being a dom in the relationship.

A voice inside your head reminds you. This method is also known as procrastination.

Your phone is on your bed when you are pouring your heart out into a new story. You have Bluetooth headsets playing loud music, aiding you in writing a dramatic scene. You are sitting by your desk, working on your iPad, when the beating drums in your headset turn into a ringtone for phone calls.

Must be the delivery guys. They could never find the correct entrance to your apartment building.

You press the “call” button on your headset, still typing frantically on your screen, “hello?”

No sound. No voice. No nothing.

In just a millisecond, you can tell something is wrong. It doesn’t feel like someone butt-dialed or called the wrong number. And scams would often be more eager to speak than you.

“Hello?” You begin to wonder if you pressed the “pause” button for your music instead of the “call” button. Lifting your headset a little, you can see the blue light is on – which means your phone should still be connected to your headset, which rules out another possibility. You clench your teeth in annoyance, stretching your arm to its utmost limit to reach your phone, “is anyone ther-”

Andy 00:15

And the call is still on.

Andy.

As if someone just pulled out a big vacuum machine and sucked your entire courage and your voice into a tiny box that is locked in outer space.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He sounds hoarse, unlike him.

Do you miss his voice? Hell yeah.

Do you want to talk? Hell no.

But you press your headset tighter to your ears, as if you can hear him more clearly this way.

“Sweetheart, I know you don’t want to talk. Please, just … listen.” He croaks at the last word, and some more silence, probably to cover the fact that he, like you, is also on the verge of tears.

“I’m so sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry that I didn’t notice your call for help. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you through. I know you hate me right now. I’m so sorry for that. I never meant for this to happen. I …” his hesitant voice becomes determined, “I love you, and I-I know it doesn’t mean anything but-”

You hold your breath, waiting for the next sentence that’s about to put an end to your relationship.

This is it. This is the end of your pathetic relationship and your futile attempt at giving a shot with your professor.

But this marks the period of your fun, your hate, everything that’s ever happened between you two.

Gone.

“- you didn’t do anything wrong when you safe word. If you want to put a stop to all of this, I, I…”

His phone vibrates as another call hits his number.

Some papers shuffling in the background, Andy looking for the draft he wrote before making this phone call, clearing his throat, “I… I just want another chance, if that’s okay with you. We’ll start it all over, like the way Ari got back with Ana in Love and War.”

Cheesy. And corny. And not Andy-like at all.

You’d never dream of him quoting from your stories as a make-up line. Not to mention that was your random one-shot story months ago.

You chew on your lower lip, a small chuckle leaving your lips even though tears are still swelling in your eyes.

Andy lets out a breath of relief. Hearing your chuckle has the big stone sets in his stomach, finally not worrying over you still being totally and utterly upset with him.

Though you are still upset, that he needs working on.

“Talk to me, please, sweetheart?”

The begging tone. He’s killing you with it. You couldn’t resist his soft voice, the pleading, and the hint of hope lacing behind his words.

“I dunno, Andy.” You gather all the courage you have left, sitting back on your chair, shifting your weight to one side of your body just as if you are leaning on his shoulder, murmuring to the speaker, “it feels weird, and difficult. And I don’t feel like myself. After I safe word. It’s just …” You feel vulnerable for saying it out loud. You wanted Andy, but not his presence, and the conflict is eating you up like a horrid monster.

Or you are the horrid monster for wanting a man, a man you have known for a mere couple of months, to dominate you. To control you. To break your neck just to place it together again.

You want him to own you. And yet a part of you screams for independence.

You were reckless when you dared to surrender your submission. Now you regret it. You are scared.

You don’t know whether you want this more. Or worse, if you want this less.

Being a sub seems like an inseparable part of being with Andy, and you are not sure if you are completely pliant enough.

But the feeling of giving up control. It’s intoxicating. It has you light-headed. The way he punishes you, brings you both pain and pleasure, calls out to you, like it was meant to be, like you belong to him.

Or you are into D/S relationship, just that Andy is not the right person?

And how are you even able to face him after all this? You were thinking about having him as your dissertation tutor 24 hours ago, and now you are positive that this is not a good idea at all.

“We’ll figure this out. I promise.” Some rustling noises, and a dull thud, then his voices are smaller, sounds like he’s out in the open, “I miss you so much.”

“Miss you too.” You don’t know whether you are lying or not at this point, but you do miss his warm hug and his soft smile.

“Why don’t you look outside your window for me, sweetheart?” He replies, standing by his car, holding his phone in one hand, looking up at your bedroom.

“Oh you did not!” You gasp in shock, can’t believe he pulled another cheesy corny stunt, right in front of your face.

And damn it works.

Andy waves to you when he sees your face by the window, blowing you a kiss. You can hear the smugness in his voice when he says, without a single trace of regret, “sorry about turning your words – your stories, to be precise – against you.” Damn him when he borrows all the tricks from your stories, your plot, your design, your idea about how to make up.

It's not original but it sure as hell matches exactly how you want it to be.

He looks at you, and he sees you.

He understands you.

Does this mean you should equally understand him too?

You dash out of the room before you brain could react, the questions in your head only a mere glimpse, a spark of thought, which you quickly throw away when you run down the stairs of your apartment building, not even caring you are in your fuzzy slippers and thin pajamas or the fact that you could literally break your neck running like that.

Nothing matters.

You need to see him right this second. Touch him. Kiss him. As if he is the string that attaches you to the ground, preventing you from drifting into space.

“Sweetheart?” Andy takes his phone away from his ear to take a good look at the screen.

You just hung up on him.

He thought he had you. You were so close to forgiving him and what he had done, but…

Is it too much? Showing up, in person, on your doorstep?

Were you scared?

He is going to dial your number again when you run into his arms. Catching him completely off guard.

“Hey.” He kisses your cheek, his arms circle your waist, gently stroking your back.

“Hey.” You inhale deeply. His woody cologne wraps you around, having you bury your face in his collar. Soft. Warm. Comforting. The skin contact you have been wanting ever since last night is finally relieved from your mind.

“I’m sorry about being rough last night. Really am.” Andy dips down to capture your lips in a brief peck, his blue eyes sparkling with a hint of giddiness as he notices you are welcoming his close proximity instead of rejecting it.

“I’m sorry too. Safe word and all that … I must have you worried.” You hug him tighter, blinking to prevent the tears from falling again.

“Hey hey hey.” He cups your face with his palm, “don’t EVER apologize because of safewording. I’m glad you are able to use it. Or I could…” hurt you more, but he chooses not to say that, “that’s the purpose of safe word, telling me to stop. And you make me so proud of using it instead of not. I know it’s a lot to take in, but you did nothing wrong.”

You hide your face on his shoulder again, having him sigh and hug you back, “you sound like kindergarten teachers.” You mumble, “and I feel like a crybaby.”

“Well, I am a teacher. So there’s nothing wrong with that.” Soft kisses land on your hair and your temple, “but improper use of adjectives, I’d say.”

“Yeah, you’re a university professor-”

“Not that,” he grins from ear to ear, wrapping your body in his jacket, which makes you slightly puzzled, raising your chin to look at him, waiting for his answer, “you’re not a crybaby. You’re my baby.”

Taglist: @geminiflanagansblog@wintasssoldier

[superthatguy62]

FFIII Fun Facts of the Whatever: Dev Interview Edition (Part 1)

When the DS version of the Final Fantasy III remake was released in Japan, Square-Enix released an official strategy guide to go with it. This strategy guide went into quite a lot of detail about the game, giving tips on how to use jobs, showing off unusual team compositions and even discussing some mechanics that may not be clear in the game itself.

I’ll talk about that stuff later, but the most interesting aspect is an interview with the game staff at the back of the manual, touching upon various aspects of the game.

Thanks to Alex Highsmith of Shmupulations, a significant chunk of this interview has been translated. This section features Tomoya Asano and Hiromichi Tanaka as they go into topics such as the reason for the new character personalities, why they cut a significant amount of the new scenes and what drove some of the changes to the game's storyline. There are other topics as well, including explaining the switch from the Capacity Point system to the Job Adjustment Phase system.

(Character Personalities / Story Influences / Cut Scenes)

--Was it decided from the start that you would give the characters individual personalities?

Tanaka: That was actually something we'd thought about doing when we made the original Famicom version. The reason they had no personalities then was a reaction to the character-heavy setting of FFII, but ever since FFIV we've always given the characters actual personalities. It always felt weird that the sub-characters like Desch and Sara have names, but the main characters don't… especially considering how much talking there is in the event scenes. It helps bring the story into better focus, I think, when the characters have personalities. That's why we added them for this remake.

--Were there any influences for the story [scenario]?

Tanaka: In the Famicom version, there were a lot of key points in the story that were deliberately left vague. For this remake, given that we were adding personalities to the four heroes and re-structuring the story, we wanted to see if we couldn't re-visit some of those ambiguities and write something that explained things in a satisfying way.

Asano: I think "why is the floating contienent floating?" lies at the root of all that vagueness, so I put my effort into that area. However, I took care to make sure the character personalities weren't pushed too far forward, so as not to destroy the atmosphere of the original.

--Were there any scenes like that, were you felt "oh, this is actually too much character development" and they got cut?

Yabuta: At first, we had a lot of character-driven scenes throughout the entire game, all the way through to the ending, but ultimately we decided to go in a different direction. We decided instead to have it be more about leaving a certain impression, and we limited the overt character stuff to the beginning (up to where you get the jobs).

Asano: This time you acquire each party member one-by-one, and the story of each of their individual motivations are wrapped up in the ending, but initially--and in part because we were excited about using polygons--there were a lot more dramatic scenes. But we thought it was a little, hmm, cloying or obnoxious even…

Tanaka: If we were making a brand new game I think it would have been perfectly fine. But it would be jarring to the people who played the original. So we went for a decidedly lighter touch. (laughs)

--What were those more dramatic scenes like, by the way?

Asano: From what I can remember, it was like, Luneth and Princess Aria fall in love and Aria dies, and Ingus sets off on a journey after spending the night with Princess Sara.

(The Original Famicom FFIII)

--Did you replay the original in preparation for the remake?

Asano: Of course. I was in 5th grade when FFIII came out. It was the first RPG I'd ever played, so I have a ton of nostalgia for it. Replaying it now for this development, I was struck by how fun it is to experiment with the different jobs and party combinations. That's why I wanted to make the DS version such that you can use your favorite jobs throughout the whole game.

Tanaka: I didn't replay it, but I watched a lot of video replays. I'm still feeling the trauma from not getting enough sleep during the original FF3 development, you see, so I opted not to touch it this time around. (laughs)

--Sounds like that development was no cakewalk either. (laughs)

Tanaka: When we made FF3, we were kind of flying by the seat of our pants. That's why, when I look at the game now, there's all these puzzling things. Like, why did we call them Onion Knights? And why do Dragoons "jump"? The stat data and calculation formulas we used too, even though we put a lot of effort into them and did our best for the time, if we'd just imported that directly into the DS it would have created weird inconsistencies. So we talked with Matrix about freely re-mixing all that. Thankfully, of all the games in Final Fantasy's long history, FFIII was uniquely well-documented and we had all the planning docs and database material at hand.

Asano: It was super interesting to read through those original planning docs. They were written on graphing paper, and contained pixel art designs by Koichi Ishii, as well as jobs that never came to be, that no one knows about.

Yoshida: It was my job in FF3 to analyze the original source code, and I was very impressed by how much they crammed in there: not an ounce of space was wasted.

(Changes from Famicom Version + Last Dungeon)

--What parts of the Famicom version did you want to revise, and what did you want to retain?

Yoshida: We used the experience point table as-is. The other thing I knew I wanted to keep was the flying speed of the Nautilus. (laughs)

Yabuda: I wanted to keep the overall dungeon structure such that they'd feel familiar to people who played the original.

Tanaka: Though there were many things we wanted to change about the dungeons, to be sure.

Yabuda: Especially with the Cave of Darkness. The Famicom version had all these hidden passages, plus the encounter rate was sky-high, and it was really easy, after a battle, to lose track of your position in the dungeon.

Tanaka: That was a regret of ours from the original development, so it was something we wanted to fix here.

--Did Tanaka have any detailed requests or instructions about the dungeons, like what you mentioned about the Cave of Darkness?

Tanaka: No, I don't think I was too specific. Mostly I just gave them guidance about the overall feel of each dungeon, how the secret paths were laid out, things like that.

Asano: We wanted to retain the overall playfeel from the original, so I think the dungeons probably are a little harder than what'd you find in newer RPGs. We did make it a little easier overall though, since we want to bring in new players too. Allowing you to leave Eureka with teleport, restoring HP/MP after boss fights, that kind of thing. The Crystal Tower is probably the most emblematic of those changes, though.

--I bet opinions were divided among the team on whether to allow saving there or not.

Asano: A lot of people who were fans of the original were staunchly against adding save points.

Tanaka: Those would be the truly hardcore players. (laughs) I think more people out there had the experience of throwing their controller down in frustration. We didn't collect any data on this so I don't know for sure, but I think very few people actually beat FFIII and saw the ending. When you consider that, adding save points is one solution, but it does run the risk of making the dungeons less satisfying in some way. We were very careful about that balance.

(Job System Revisions)

--Next, I'd like to ask about the heart of FFIII, the job system. What was your goal in removing Capacity Points and introducing the "Job Adjustment Period" system?

Suzuki: In the Famicom version, if you earned enough CP from battles, there was no penalty for changing jobs, but it was easy to end up with too much excess CP by the end of the game. So at first, we removed the CP entirely and had it so you could change jobs whenever you wanted, but we realized there should be a penalty, or limitation of some sort, on changing jobs like that. So we decided to lower your stats while you "adjusted" to your new job.

Aoki: Almost everyone who played the Famicom version ended up with two Ninjas and two Sages, so you just had all this extra CP piled up. That was something we all decided on early in the development though: no more Sage or Ninja.

Suzuki: We've adjusted things so you should be able to reach the ending with any job.

Yabuda: One of the reason people didn't use certain jobs in the Famicom version was the dearth of available weapons for those jobs. When I played it I remember feeling like the latter half of the game only had weapons for certain jobs, so we adjusted the contents of several treasure chests. However, I do worry that doing so might have had the reverse effect of making players uncertain about what the really powerful items were. I'd like to hear from players on this point.

The second part of the interview, focusing on the battle system and the jobs, can be found here.

Thanks once again to Alex Highsmith of Shmupulations. Both parts of this interview will be on the site in the future.

[spaced-out-muses]

Spaced-Out-Muses

❖Indie Multimuse, Multifandom & OC RP Blog ❖Semi-selective ❖Extremely Crossover, OC & and Duplicate friendly! ❖Follows back from @starkitters Rules | Muses | Mun | Verses

Rules under the cut for easier viewing:

1. Getting it out of the way now, I am very liberal when it comes to blocking/soft blocking. If you make me uncomfortable in any way, shape, or form, I reserve the right to block you. Full stop. I also ask that—unless it is something we can talk through—you block/soft-block me if there’s anything you don’t vibe with as well. 2. Please do not send in any unprompted magic anons, I am not accepting them.

3. This blog is duplicate friendly! I am more than comfortable with them, and while I currently don’t have that many canon muses, I am more than alright with and encourage duplicates of other canons to interact! HSR and Tezuka play with the multiverse a lot, though only my HSR muses will be actively aware of the multiverse. 4. Mun is of age, however there will be no ERP on this blog. While I am more than alright with suggestive content, discussing sexual headcanons and fade to blacks, I am not comfortable writing full on smut on tumblr and would prefer to do so through discord or DMs. 5. On that note, Please let me know if you want me to trigger tag anything. I will try my best to tag any heavy topics when they arise, as I do like gore and angstier scenarios, but it’s very possible there will be things I miss. If that’s the case, please please please let me know and I’ll be sure to properly tag it. 6. Feel free to DM me or ask for my Discord if you want to discuss potential plots! I always enjoy planning an interaction, even if it doesn’t happen right away. Communication is key, after all! 7. Feel free to poke me if I’ve forgotten to reply to a thread or anything! I often get sidetracked with other things in my life and forget, and other times my social battery may be too low to work on replies. Even so, I genuinely do not mind if you send me a message with a reminder if I’ve been MIA for a few days. Communication is key, after all. 8. I am open to ships!! While I do have a few I have outside of RP, I’m very multiship and always down to explore different dynamics and see where things go. All I ask is that you please talk through things with me first. Again, communication is key.

[destiny2paladin]

Astroneer is by far my favorite game and it has such a small but dedicated fanbase. I will be making a long post here about the general game, progression, missions, and some very heavy spoilers for late-game. Also, its an independent studio making the game and bless its nearly perfect.

This will likely be the longest post I ever make on this hellsite (affectionate) and it'll be worth it.

First up, the setting. Astroneer is a game set in a different star system, with five planets and two moons. Each planet/moon has unique challenges, resources, and requirements to properly explore and utilize. You are The Astroneer, sent to this system to exploit its resources and research the system. You land on Sylva, the first of the planets, remarkably similar to our home of Earth. It is orbited by a singular, crater-pocked moon named Desolo. Nearby is Calidor, an arid, desert-like planet similar to Mars. Then there's Vesania and Novus, exotic, alien-like forested worlds. Glacio is the frigid tundra planet, and Atrox rounds out the group by being awful and feeling hostile down to the air around you. Astroneer's core gameplay loop is exploration -> collection -> manufacturing -> repeat. You start out with a tiny shelter, go out and grab some basic materials, build some better stuff, expand your base, get more stuff, go find more resources, get better ways to explore and manufacture, etc. So, in a sense, its like Minecraft and Factorio and maybe Satisfactory, but I've never played that last one.

Astroneer has so many mechanics and systems to play with that I'd have to make a 2 hour long video essay discussing them all. Automated crafting, resource gathering, transportation, research, processing, and more. I really only have delved into automation twice, and both times I've been floored by how INTENSE it is. There are: Storage sensors, power sensors, proximity repeaters, button repeaters, count repeaters, and thats just the BASIC items.

Everything below this is spoiler territory, so if you're happy with what you've read, congrats. Lots more below the cut.

First up: Gateway Engines and Gateway Portals. The bread and butter of 1.0 and when the lore and theorycrafting really got going. The Gateway engines apparently generate gravity in weird ways and are at the cores of each planet/moon, needing a unique resource to activate. There are six (or two, for the moons) purple nebula-filled structures (Gateway Portals) on each planet that require 30 seconds of power PER NODE to activate, and the power requirement increases as the planetary difficulty escalates. Sylva needs 6 power, and Atrox needs 30 power. For reference, the highest output portable generator of power has an output of 9 units a second. Everything higher is either stationary or dependent on environmental power for output. And since we're on the topic, energy production varies from planet to planet, and the day/night cycles are even different.

Sylva is the most neutral, with an average cycle, Desolo has no wind but decent sun, Calidor is REALLY good with solar power, Glacio has fantastic wind, Vesania and Novus both have good wind, and Atrox has almost nothing. Not even any unique planetary resources. This means that each planet, to have a functional base, needs a special set of power generation solutions, and there's even DIFFERING TERRAIN HARDNESS THAT REQUIRES DIFFERENT DRILLS AND TOOLS.

Moving on to the story, the player, through missions, is tasked with accessing and activating each planetary core in order to activate a strange satellite orbiting the sun. Once completed, you pass into a strange portal and then respawn back at your base. Congrats! You... did the thing? But that was when 1.0 came out back in February of 2019. In the four years since, Missions, Power, Trains, Xenobiology, Automation, and more updates have come out. The most interesting of which is Awakening. And Awakening introduced the lore and told the story of the game. It explained everything.

When you have completed three specific missions in the mission log, a new one is added. It simply says: "Help." And then it asks you to break reality. Something is speaking to you through the mission terminals. A little fox named EVA speaking to you on behalf of Chronos, the AI in charge of everything on the ship you came here on. Except... You never made it. The ship crashed. Life support, repair systems, the generators, all of it damaged. Data banks and the SOS system. So Chronos shoved everyone onboard the ship into a simulation, or at least unique instances of the simulation. This includes you.

Yep. That's right. Everything is a simulation. The sky, stars, all of it. Even the sun is a simulation, and THE DAMNED SUN IS THE CONTROL CENTER. You are told that Chronos' memories are broken, and need to be repaired so that the SOS signal can be sent and you can all be rescued. So you go around, learning more about how the world should have been. The wrecks? Originally fully-populated bases. Calidor? It was supposed to have gold! Vesania and Novus were massive research bases for alien structures. Atrox was supposed to be radioactive and with some sort of anomalous destruction present. The missions have been helping you repair the systems, the Gateway Portals and Engines have been repairing the real-world systems of the ship. The reason you respawn is because your real body never died. Just a copy, a simulated form. The dead bodies aren't real people, just NPCs that didn't load! The data is corrupted and missing shit so it throws in broken stuff! You're not alone in a cold and unforgiving world, you're just in a simulation like thousands of others! The ghostly versions of the Wanderer, the Conductor, and the Scientist are just what's left of the only casualties from the entire crash!

So you go around collecting the memory fragments, bringing them back to the control room to try to fix Chronos. Except... at the end, EVA realizes what the plan actually is. The memory fragments, they're not just memories. They're data. Codes for a manual shutdown of Chronos. Chronos came to the conclusion that there's not enough power for life support, AI systems, the simulation, AND the SOS beacon at once. Something needs to go, and Chronos chose to have you pull the switch. EVA is the final piece needed, and with everything together, you watch as this little fox and the AI who didn't want anyone to die fade to nothing so you can call for help. And it works. And at the end, Chronos left you a gift: EVA. A copy of the little fox for you to take care of. Someone to keep you company and remind you that you will be saved. You came here unaware of what was going on, died perhaps dozens of times, traveled across worlds, set up rail lines, studied alien life, and then uncovered the memories of a shipboard AI. All because the AI refused to give up and saw you as the best hope for the crew surviving. AND I SWEAR IF NONE OF YALL AT LEAST LOOK UP THIS GAME AND TRY IT BECAUSE ITS ON EVERY PLATFORM I WILL SCREAM. I LOVE THIS GAME AND I WILL DIE DEFENDING IT.