#a theater down there is doing showings of i saw the tv glow

[thewizardscurse]

sitting at work joyfully because im planning on maybe going on a little day trip to the city tomorrow

[doctorcurdlejr]

Niko!! what'd you think of I saw the tv glow. I finally saw it last night and noticed you posting about it so I wanted to know your thoughts :)

Levi!!! I was JUST wondering what you were thinking about the movie after I saw you posting about it as well... we are so media discussion pilled in this way, it's awesome. ANYWAYS I've had so many thoughts since I first saw it and I've been trying to turn them into something coherent for a little bit now.

Ummm okay I have written 1k+ words about this movie, the suburbs, and escapism via teen TV.... clearly I was dying for somebody to ask this I guess so thank you for indulging me <3

First and foremost, I absolutely loved it! I've seen it twice now and the first time I watched it I got to see Jane Schoenbrun talk about the film right after. I already really liked it from that first watch alone. I found it so deeply relatable to my experiences - both in terms of growing up gay and trans, but where I am now in my 20s trying to navigate adulthood. Hearing what Schoenbrun had to say really cemented my feelings and thoughts about the film.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer was a big influence on the movie (it's why Amber Benson makes a cameo as Johnny Link's mom). Even though I don't have the same emotional link to Buffy since I never watched it, I recognize it as the same type of warmth I experienced growing up with Riverdale. When Owen says he feels like his insides have been scooped out but that he's too afraid to look and have that wrongness everybody knows is there be confirmed, Maddy simply responds "Maybe you're like Isabel. Afraid of what's inside you." Tears forming but not falling, breathing shallowly, I grabbed the paper and pen the theater keeps at the seats for people to order food with and wrote that line down - the slip of paper is still somewhere in my car. Writing it now almost feels lame in its simplicity, but it felt like my insides were being flayed open.

During the director discussion, Schoenbrun talked a little bit about this idea of how truly fucking bizarre it is to grow up in the suburbs. Like, when we think about the pinnacle of normality in American culture, it's the image of middle-class cis-hetero-white suburbia. At the same time, despite this cultural dream of normality, everybody is hyper-aware that the suburbs are one of the least normal things ever. So, the ACTUAL cultural understanding of it is that it's where we go to, like, passively kill ourselves (*George Costanza voice* WE LIVE IN A SOCIETY YOU KNOW!). This idea isn't new, I mean there are so many films and shows about navigating that specific bizarre dissonance from Rebel Without a Cause to Heathers to Twin Peaks. Probably half the pre-teen to teen TV I watched obsessively growing up, stuff like Strange Days at Blake Holsey High, Making Fiends, Truth or Scare, and eventually Riverdale, were never shy about being weird and morbid and saying "yes, the suburbs are exactly as bizarre and lethal in the ways you can already feel in your bones at 13." I Saw the TV Glow does a really good job of keying not only into that mental dissonance but more specifically into how those of us who have felt so intrinsically weird and different and wrong fell back on these shows like they were capable of doing the emotional version of a rescue breath maneuver after being drowned.

In high school, if there were two things about me that any person who even vaguely knew me could list off it was that I watched Riverdale, and I was a lesbian - and I was mocked more for the Riverdale. At that age, I was, without a doubt, the most miserable I have ever felt in my life. I rarely left the house because my family lived in a development that made me want to scratch my skin off when I walked out our front door. Owen didn't leave the house for days, afraid Maddy could somehow force him out. I sobbed constantly and frequently to depressing indie rock on the floor of my closet while hoping my family would just once read the (honest to god) KEEP OUT poster plastered on my door since I didn't have a lock on it. Owen didn't leave his room for days, afraid of what Maddy recognized in him. I didn't go on dates and kept my chest binder shoved to the bottom of my bookbag while wearing dresses that could've come from a how-to-be the perfect 50s housewife manual. Owen didn't leave his bed for days, afraid of Maddy touching his neck and Isabel's dress. I also watched Riverdale with the kind of zeal you see in a Pentecostal who has found God and started speaking in tongues to let you know it. I own a button that says, "Don't Make Me Go Dark Betty On You," I cherish it in a way that is only achieved by knowing exactly how corny and trite it is and then moving straight past that because well actually, and most people wouldn't get this, she's holding back something deeply dark and wild and- and disgusting. something painful yet intrinsically her. but i get it, obviously. or maybe not obviously! hopefully not obviously, but- basically, I'm just saying I get it: the experience of reflection and recognition through the other and all that.

Whatever, the point is that this movie is one big glaring trans allegory about how it sucks dog shit to live in the suburbs, and even at our most repressed we find these little snow globes of actualization in the glow of a tv screen that isn't afraid to show you the world you see. I've seen some people say that, like, in this context accepting or coming into your transness is this monumental death of self, which I get, but I feel there lacks a nuance in that because either way Owen is dying. Unlike Maddy who buries herself alive only to come out renewed, Owen doesn't kill himself upon facing the reality that the world is constructed to keep him miserable and the only way out is to take back what it is that the world wants to keep scooped out of him. Instead he just passively lets it drag him to a much more permanent death. This lack of suicide sucks in the kind of way that forces you to sit in your car on the midnight drive home and think to yourself am I letting myself suffocate because at some point knowing the misery became less scary than admitting I've been capable of doing something about it the whole time?

Clearly, I’ve been enchanted by the film’s narrative and meta-textual language. If you're familiar with it, you can see how Schoenbrun built this movie like a long-form dream episode of a canceled teen show filmed in Vancouver. Lynchian? Yeah, sure. Riverdalesque? THIS we cannot possibly deny. Schoenbrun said they included Amber Benson as an act of healing the inner rage experienced at Tara’s death in Buffy. This is a Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa ending Riverdale with a bisexual polycule after his gay Archie play got ceased-and-desisted type move. There’s probably more I could say about the soundtrack and the visuals, but I’ve hit over 1k words on this, so I’ll leave it at I enjoyed this movie a lot. :)

Maddy is an out lesbian who left town to escape the misery and found it strapped to her ankles. She slinks out, an animal pressed against the gymnasium floor, and says "I'm not telling you anything you don't already know." Owen looks into the camera and narrates. He cuts himself open with a box cutter, fully acknowledges what's there, and the movie ends with his suffocating apology parade for the unremarkable inconvenience of his excruciating suffering. You can be gay and trans, you can know it and you can stop repressing it, but you're not going to stop suffocating until you can find a way to destroy the part of you that truly deeply does want to die, reaching for the comforting euthanasia of normalcy. Stop visiting the dream of the life you want and make it into your reality with the same kind of unrepentant conviction seen in some underfunded but wildly ambitious teen television series. In other words: you must try to survive the ego death of being weird. A weirdo, who doesn't fit in and doesn't want to fit in!

[stxrr-strxckk]

Something I noticed about I Saw the TV Glow that I haven't seen anybody mention yet

I saw this movie in theaters back in early may when it was released (Twice!), and it's been lingering in my head ever since then. Something I noticed on my second watch through: When Owen (and the audience) first see the Pink Opaque, we see Tara and Isabel in this sort of 90s nostalgia light, and I always thought they looked quite similar to Maddy and Owen. For example: Here is Owen and Isabel next to each other for reference.

While it's not entirely the same (Owen has softer features and is warmer toned, Isabel is more sharp and cool toned), they do look like they'd at least be related, cousins at least?

Same with Maddy and Tara, though not as much. (They looked more similar after Maddy's haircut, but I'm too lazy to change the photo)

But then, at the end when Owen is rewatching Pink Opaque? It's completely different. That nostalgic effect is gone and all of a sudden Tara is nowhere to be seen (Since Maddy left the world they were trapped in), and Isabel is completely different. Instead of being the confident, strong, WOC we see her as originally, she's just the same boring white protagonist of every little girl's show we grew up on.

And of course Owen is panicking, realizing that he lost his chance: He buried Isabel; she's dead underground, without her heart and instead of being who he truly is where he truly belongs, he's just... Owen. Stuck in suburbia, living the hell of being a queer kid growing up in the suburbs. Except now, he's an adult living a lie, knowing what he could have had is gone and he's stuck.

And another thing: I think the choice of the fun zone being where Owen works is deliberate. Sure, they could have kept him at the theater, but the theater shutting down is not only accurate (sad but true- please support your local movie theaters!) but shows how everyone is moving on from that experience of going to see a movie (and also from the joy of childhood and into adulthood while Owen is still stuck that awkward teenager!) in person- choosing streaming instead.

And we also notice this change in the Pink Opaque when Owen is watching it streaming. This is a reflection of how media felt more special growing up when it was in a physical form. Cds, vinyl, Dvds, casettes, film reels, even game cartridges, we've always had some physical object that bonds us to the worlds of creativity in which artists express themselves. And whether you've noticed or not, it's a special sort of feeling that just... Dies with streaming. Its like you own a piece of the media. Like saying: "This is mine, it's my personal piece of media that belongs to me and only me." and that's always made it feel special. Sure, there may be multiple copies, but this one belongs just to you. Not to mention the ritual of actually putting in cds, dvds, casettes into a player, or playing vinyl on a record player. There's this action you have to take to consume this media that's familiar and sort of gets you to anticipate what you're about to watch (much like Owen and Maddy's ritual of Maddy taping the show then leaving them around school for Owen to find) whereas now, you're just on a streaming service that lots of people own, and you're just mindlessly scrolling through hundreds of options.

Another thing: What do we see when Owen cuts his chest open in the final few minutes? TV static. Like when a tape finishes and you don't take it out of the player. His tape is over, Isabel is dead, and all that's left is the static of his fake life as he slowly rots in this husk. Now with streaming, you don't get that static. His connection with the Pink Opaque stems from his friendship with Maddy, the nostalgia of his favorite childhood show, and of course: his own queerness.

It's no secret this movie is about growing up queer and feeling like something is wrong. Like some part of you missing, the part that makes you normal. I've seen many reviews on IMDB that clearly missed the point, so I really want to spell it out here: THIS IS A MOVIE ABOUT QUEER PEOPLE FOR QUEER PEOPLE. And I've never seen a movie so perfectly encapsulate that feeling more than this one.

From my experience as a queer POC growing up with little to no representation I know this feeling all too well of seeing someone and realizing: "Wow, that's me." And projecting who I wanted to be onto that person. Even though they're not queer, they're not a poc, they're just a character. We try so hard to make them into who we want to be that the image of this character becomes so distorted you barely recognize them. Then, later revisiting that media to realize that a: you've become them, your true self, or b, in Owen's case: that you've buried that person alive and barely recognize yourself now.

It's really such a unique experience that I've never been able to put into words before. These scenes gave me such a visceral feeling and I almost cried in the theater. The scene of Owen in Isabel's dress is just the cherry on top. I myself am lucky enough to not need to transition and growing up I didn't feel as much dysphoria as my other trans friends, but this reminds me of a good friend of mine who used to dress in heels, makeup, skirts, and dresses to try and lessen the dysphoria she felt growing up in the wrong body.

I also love how the movie shows being queer in school.

Like how Maddy asks Owen if he likes girls or boys, and he replies with: "I think I like TV shows."

Avoiding the question because you either don't know the answer, or are so afraid you're gonna get bullied even more for being who you are.

Growing up, there weren't many queer kids in my school. So when we found each other, we stuck together. But for most of school, we were alone. No groups, not many friends, no space at the lunch table for us.

And seeing Owen, I just felt this connection to him almost immediately. Alone, not part of any group, until he finally finds Maddy. They don't have anything in common except the show, which is really the only reason they're friends, but it keeps them together, They're bonded.

For me, I see this as finding another queer kid in a mostly straight school. You may not have much in common, but that identity means you two will stick together, no matter what.

TLDR: I love isttvg, it makes me cry, everyone is gay and fuck imdb.

[comrademojave]

NARUTO UZUMAKI MADE ME TRANSGENDER: I SAW THE TV GLOW

Do you remember the first time someone called you a faggot? The first time I remember it was at school - muttered and spit in my face like acid, too young for me to understand. I understood the feeling behind it of course, there was something in me that other people didn’t like. I walked wrong, I talked wrong, I acted wrong. Even my family could see it on me, but they tried to not speak it. It wasn’t something adults talked about, and it certainly wasn’t something I wanted to talk about. And so I didn’t for two decades. I lived life inside myself and for myself, both ignoring myself and obsessed with myself. I retreated from life and found fandom right here on this very website.

I SAW THE TV GLOW is neon and scanlined. It is a film that loves fandom. Owen and Maddie are teenagers who live in eternal suburbia and their lives and home are so unimportant, so of a thing, that no details are ever offered to the audience. The film focuses on Owen, a sad and scrawny thing of a boy completely unremarkable in every way. He’s not particularly likeable or smart or lively. He’s scared and dumb. Early on he meets Maddie, an older girl dressed so dark and with such an annoying chip on her shoulder she could have been a rejected design for a Goth Kid from South Park before shuffling her ass down to Void High. She’s annoyed by him at first of course, everyone is. Owen immediately is struck by her and asks her about the television show he finds her reading an official episode guide for -  The Pink Opaque. Fandom given perfect, Buffy-tinged, VHS-blessed form. Owen and Maddie love this little show about two girls who barely know each other yet somehow share a supernatural and beautiful connection – tied via magic and psychic powers. Owen and Maddie sneak and lie in order to watch the show together. They never form a real friendship – and the time and things they share have to be done in the dark under the nose of the adults in their lives. In the Pink Opaque, Tara and Isobel have to claw a relationship in the dark psychic realm, Maddie and Owen do so in the in dark TV glow. Owen loves his mother and is scared of his stepfather. Maddie’s father drinks a lot, and she runs away in her junior year. Owen’s mother dies of lung cancer when he’s 16. Mine died when I was 19.

Owen loses himself in the Pink Opaque. Initially he watches the show alone off VHS copies Maddie makes and leaves for him in their school’s dark room but eventually, before she leaves, he watches it with her. She asks him to go with her and Owen agrees. He doesn’t go and his world is bleaker for it. Years pass and Owen works a gravedigging job where little by little, day by day, he kills himself. That’s right – he works for a local movie theater. Eventually, Maddie returns to their horrible little town, and this is where I knew Owen was transgender. Like me. Everyday he persists in pursuit of a life that isn’t his and an identity he’ll never have. Years go by, the world exists and grows and you’re still pouring a suburban family their popcorn. Maddie, she doesn’t go by that name anymore but Owen never gets to know this person who was once his only friend, returns and gives Owen a golden ticket out of Kansas and straight to Oz: they actually are Tara and Isobel! They were defeated at the end of the show and buried alive, and to retake their true selves they just have to bury these lives. Maddie has already previously helped Owen bury part of this farce he calls a life; years ago, during those fateful Pink Opaque viewing sessions, she gave him that very first drop of gender and put him in a dress and told him he was pretty. Owen never learned to give himself that and so he runs from Maddie again.

Like Owen, I spent much of my life hiding inside the television. Why live in the world that exists when I had bad anime and worse fanfiction? There, I could be and experience anything, all of it affirming and welcoming. I was hollow, but at least in some sense, I also felt like I was safe. Of course, that safety was bullshit. For faggots like us, I think it always is.

I SAW THE TV GLOW is monochrome and buzzed. It is a film that hates fandom. Owen persists. He has a family, he says he loves them, and works at a local Chuck E. Cheese-type fun center. Like the movie theater but longer. For Owen, dysphoria is like death but longer. One night, Owen narrates to us his sad little life and decides to rewatch the Pink Opaque as his new self and he fucking hates it. Its cheap, annoying and embarrassing. This thing that meant so much, that Owen used to convince himself closeted life was fine, losing Maddie was fine, as long as he had this thing – it was stupid. The Pink Opaque made Owen transgender and here he was 30 years later, transgender in a world that was decisively not. He has a breakdown at work and sees the television glow in himself.

Finally he asks: what if I really was someone else, very far away, on the other side of the television screen?

[katesprocessblog]

Week #1

Introduction

In class I had explored the topics of Belonging, Movies, and the Uncanny Valley. After doing the mind mapping exercise, I decided that for this week I will explore the idea of belonging and nostalgia in unsettling media. I don't have a particular destination in mind with my research, so for this week I want to expand upon those ideas and just go wherever the internet took me.

Research

Beetlejuice (1988)

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (2024)

With the sequel coming out, I thought it would be interesting to rewatch the original which I haven’t seen since I was a kid and then watch the new one in theaters. After watching them both as well as looking into the reception of the new movie, I realized how Tim Burton occupies a very niche place in Hollywood. And I think it makes sense to research him because I guess I am interested in exploring things that are unsettling, but I am not a fan of typical horror.

What I found out was that Burton got his start as a Disney Animator but slowly transitioned towards things that were more “spooky”. Here’s a list of all of the spooky movies he’s done: Beetlejuice, Sleepy Hollow, Frankenweenie, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, Hansel and Gretel, Edward Scissorhands, The Nightmare Before Christmas, and more. Looking into his background, Burton grew up in Burbank, California. Burton said that growing up there left him deprived of seasonal change, and the spooky holiday was a time he could experience that without actually having it.

Now knowing his background, it makes sense that most of his work is about a young outsider “suspicious of adulthood's normalcy”. I loved learning about his work. Going into this I actually was not a fan of Beetlejuice. I just thought it was too creepy as a child, but being able to look back as an adult now I was able to relate a lot more to the themes behind the films. While researching him, I also checked out some work from an art exhibit of his. I think the aesthetic in Beetlejuice is not for me, but I enjoy some of his other work a lot more.

"Untitled (Ramone)," 1980-1990.

"Untitled (Romeo and Juliet)," 1981-1984. 

Room of installations at the Tim Burton exhibit at LACMA

I Saw The TV Glow (2024)

Another movie my research made me think about was I Saw The TV Glow.

The director Jane Schoenbrun uses nostalgia and horror tropes to portray the feeling of queerness but that can be expanded to feeling alienated in general as a kid. In the movie, the main character Owen is introduced to this one show that he becomes obsessed with called the Pink Opaque. We see many clips from it throughout the movie. There’s a really powerful scene near the end of the movie where many years later he rewatched an episode from the show and it looks nothing like it used to be. It was far more childish. I think the movie really captures the feeling of rewatching something and your perception of that media being completely different from what you had in your mind. Sometimes a memory of something from your childhood persists far past the actual thing itself if that makes sense.

Don't Hug me I'm Scared

Salad Fingers 3: Nettles

Going down a bit of a nostalgia trip, I remembered some videos on YouTube that went viral when I was younger. I remembered how my brother liked to show me things like Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared and Salad Fingers because he always liked to freak me out and scare me.

These series were huge for my generation and they tap into this like collective cultural fear of unsettling dangerous things that are hiding “beneath the facade of normality”. It goes into the idea of the uncanny valley, the phenomenon whereby nonhuman objects or creatures’ resemblance to a human creates a feeling of unease and fear. You definitely feel this when watching these videos, where the characters depicted are seemingly harmless because they’re 2D or animated and resembling kids toys that should be safe. But then it devolves into a more sinister world and nature. While these examples don’t go super deep into a meaning or explanation, I thought it was a good starting point due to their huge popularity.

Other Sources

DeSalvo , Robert. “Exploring Tim Burton’s World of Outsiders and Misfits.” AV Club, www.avclub.com/tim-burtons-world-of-troubled-misfits-1850735603.

Southern California Public Radio. “Last Chance to See Tim Burton’s LACMA Exhibit.” Southern California Public Radio, 14 Oct. 2012, https://archive.laist.com/programs/madeleine-brand/2011/10/31/21195/talking-with-tim-burton-lacma-exhibit-winds-down/.

“‘Beetlejuice Beetlejuice.’” Spotify, The Big Picture, 6 Sept. 2024, open.spotify.com/episode/4vC26kGPTqJmboI8nJIZ1E?si=0968e62393964919.

Reflections

I think I explored some really interesting ideas pertaining to the topics that I started with. I like how this eventually led to where I am now. I also like how a lot of the media I watched and researched centered around the idea of not belonging and the feeling of being alienated. Going forward I’m not sure if I want to continue down such a creepy path and I might explore the topic of belonging through a different lens.

[scary-movies-on-netflix]

I SAW THE TV GLOW (2024)

We start off in 1996 with Owen, a sad boy in the seventh grade.  He meets Maddy, a ninth-grade girl, who is reading an episode guide for “The Pink Opaque.”  Owen can’t watch the show because it comes on at 10 pm, and that’s his bedtime.  He connives with Maddy to spend the night at her house (whilst he says that he’s at another boy’s house) and watches his first episode.  It looks like a late-90s or early-aughts teenage paranormal TV drama, like “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” or, I don’t know, “Supernatural.”  (I never watched the latter show.)  In the show, two girls are connected via a psychic link, and together they defeat the monster of the week, even though they live on opposite sides of the county.  The “big bad” is Mr. Melancholy.  Owen watches an episode about a terrifying monster with melting ice cream for a face.  Afterwards, Maddy talks about her step-dad breaking her nose “again,” and she sits on the stairs and says, “sometimes, ‘The Pink Opaque’ feels more real than real life.”  Owen walks home the next morning the thinks of the black girl of the Pink Opaque duo.

We jump forward two years.  Owen’s mother is terminally ill, and he still has a curfew, but Maddy leaves him videotapes so that he can keep watching ‘The Pink Opaque.”  He watches them furtively, hiding from his father.  He joins Maddy as she eats lunch alone on some bleachers and asks if they can watch “The Pink Opaque” again.  Maddy tells Owen that she’s a lesbian, and she asks him if he likes boys or girls, and he says, “I like TV shows.”  He says, “when I think about that stuff, it feels like someone took a shovel and dug out all my insides and I know there’s nothing in there, but I’m still too nervous to open myself up and check.”  Owen goes over to Maddy’s house again (still under the guise of sleeping at another friend’s house), and while they watch the episode the white girl of the Pink Opaque duo appears on screen and Maddy is sobbing.  Later, she says that she’s leaving the town: “I’ll die if I stay.”  Owen says, “if you leave, I won’t have anyone to watch ‘The Pink Opaque' with.”  She goes to him and draws the Pink Opaque symbol on the back of his neck, and he sees static in the air as she sleeps next to him.  The following morning, Maddy tells him that they’re running away the next morning.  Owen promptly tells someone.  He next says that his mom died soon after, and then Maddy disappeared, leaving only a burning tv in the yard, and then “The Pink Opaque” was cancelled.

We then jump forward eight more years (so it’s 2006!), and now Owen is a lonely dude working in a movie theater.  He drives home from work and comes across a downed powerline that for some reason is sparking pink and purple, and he finds a burned copy of “The Pink Opaque” episode guide, which talks about the season premiere for season 6.  At the grocery store, he sees Maddy!  They go to a bar to talk.  She asks him what he remembers about watching “The Pink Opaque,” and we see them hanging out as high schoolers and he puts on a woman’s dress and they go for a walk.  However, she’s asking something different.  “Do you ever have a hard time between distinguishing what happened in the show and what happened in real life, like somehow the memories got jumbled around?”  Owen wants to know where she’s been, and she says, “I’ve been there, inside the show, inside the Pink Opaque.”  She tells him to meet at the night school the following night.

Owen goes home and watches the last episode of “The Pink Opaque,” the finale of season five.  The white girl has been captured by Mr. Melancholy, and then the black girl is captured too!  They cut out her heart and feed her “the luna juice.”  Then Mr. Melancholy appears.  He licks her face and he shows the girl her prison: which is the world of seventh-grade Owen!  “Soon you won’t remember anything,” he tells her.  Then they bury her alive, and that’s how the show ended.  We next see as Owen is trying to crawl into the TV, but his dad comes and yanks him out, and then he puts Owen in the shower. 

He goes to the school.  Maddy has set up in an inflatable planetarium and monologues for Owen.  She felt that time was slipping away.  She paid someone to bury her alive.  She somehow fought her way to the surface, and she suddenly remembered her “real” life, as the white girl from “The Pink Opaque!”  She then sent herself back to our world, the “Midnight Realm,” so that she could find and save her partner, who is trapped as Owen.  He is highly skeptical.  She explains that she has to bury him alive so that he can remember.  He follows her outside, but then he knocks her over and runs away.

Owen then monologues.  He says that he never saw “Maddy” again.  (“That’s not my name,” she told him.)  The movie theater closes and he starts to work at the “fun center.”  “I work there now, restocking the ball pit with balls.”  Owen’s dad dies and he stays in the house and starts his own family, who he “loves.”  He rewatches “The Pink Opaque” on a streaming service and sees that the episodes are truly meant for children, with a smiling ice cream man, not the ice cream monster from his memories.  We then jump forward twenty years.  Now Owen is an asthmatic middle-aged man, still working at the fun center.  He joins his co-workers to sing “Happy Birthday” but suddenly starts crying for help as everyone else freezes around him. 

Owen goes to the bathroom and uses a box cutter to slice his body open.  He pulls apart the skin to reveal a glowing blue light, like a TV screen.  However, he puts his shirt back on and goes back to work, apologizing to everyone he sees.

This is by the same writer-director as “We’re All Going to the World’s Fair” (2021), so it would be natural to compare the two movies, which is exactly what I’m going to do!  Much like that film, this one isn’t really a horror movie, but it does utilize elements of horror to tell a story about growing up and discovering your identity.  Or, in Owen’s case, not discovering it.  There are certainly spooky elements and images; Mr. Melancholy would be a freaky villain, but, per usual, the most frightening things in life are the monsters of your own friends and family, or the monster of not being able to express or understand your own identity.  I will admit that Owen and Maddy’s journeys weren’t my own, but as a fellow human being with empathy I can understand and sympathize with their basic desires to be safe and accepted.

[flutter-corn]

**Episode 1: The Beginning**

The sun was setting over the city of Los Angeles, casting a warm glow over the sprawling metropolis. In a high-rise apartment overlooking the city, a young woman named Olivia was getting ready for a night out.

She stood in front of the mirror, applying the finishing touches to her makeup. She had just moved to LA a few months ago, chasing her dream of becoming an actress.

Olivia's phone buzzed on the counter, and she saw a message from her friend Chloe.

**Chloe:** Hey girl! You ready for tonight? It's gonna be epic!

**Olivia:** Hey! Yes, I'm so excited! It'll be good to let loose after all the stress of auditions.

**Chloe:** I feel you. Plus, who knows who you might meet at the club?

**Olivia:** Haha, true. But I'm not getting my hopes up. I'm just there to have fun!

**Chloe:** That's the spirit! I'll meet you there at 9. Can't wait to dance the night away with you!

Olivia smiled and grabbed her purse, heading out the door. She had no idea that this night would change her life forever.

As Olivia arrived at the club, she was greeted by a sea of people dancing and laughing. The music was pulsing, and the lights were flashing in time with the beat.

Olivia made her way through the crowd, searching for Chloe. Finally, she spotted her friend near the bar, chatting with a group of people.

"Olivia!" Chloe exclaimed, catching sight of her. "Come meet everyone!"

Olivia approached the group, feeling a little nervous. But her nerves quickly dissipated as she was introduced to a group of friendly faces.

"This is Olivia," Chloe said. "She's new to LA and trying to make it as an actress."

"Ooh, an actress!" said a guy named Max. "That's exciting. LA is the place to be for that kind of thing."

"Thanks," Olivia said, feeling a little embarrassed by the attention. "I'm just starting out, but I'm hoping to make it big someday."

"Well, good luck," said a girl named Emily. "We all have to start somewhere. I'm a writer myself, so I know how tough it can be."

As the night went on, Olivia found herself having a great time with her new friends. They danced, laughed, and talked about their dreams and aspirations.

At one point, Olivia found herself chatting with Max near the bar. He was funny, charming, and seemed genuinely interested in her dreams.

"So, what kind of acting do you want to do?" Max asked.Olivia took a sip of her drink and smiled. "Well, ultimately, I want to do film. You know, the big screen. But I'm open to anything really. Theater, TV, commercials, whatever. I just want to perform and tell stories that matter."

Max nodded, his eyes shining with admiration. "That's awesome. You know, I actually work in the industry. I'm a production assistant on a TV show. It's not glamorous, but it's a foot in the door."

Olivia's eyes widened. "That's amazing! It's so hard to get a job in the industry, even as a PA. How did you manage it?"

Max shrugged. "Honestly, it was a combination of luck and persistence. I just kept applying and networking until someone gave me a chance. And once you're in, it's all about proving yourself and moving up the ladder."

Olivia felt a surge of excitement. "That's inspiring. I'm definitely going to keep trying, no matter how many rejections I get. It's all part of the journey, right?"

"Exactly!" Max said, raising his glass. "To the journey, and all the twists and turns it takes us on."

They clinked their glasses and drank, feeling a connection that went beyond just friendly conversation. As the night wore on, Olivia found herself drawn to Max's charisma and charm. They danced, talked, and laughed, and Olivia couldn't help but feel a spark between them.

As the club was winding down, Max walked Olivia to her car. They stood in the parking lot, neither wanting the night to end.

"I had a great time tonight," Max said, looking into Olivia's eyes. "I hope we can hang out again soon."

Olivia felt her heart flutter. "I'd like that," she said. "Maybe we could grab coffee or something?"

Max grinned. "Definitely. How about tomorrow afternoon? There's a cute little café near my place that has the best pastries."

"Sounds perfect," Olivia said, feeling a rush of excitement. They exchanged numbers and said goodbye, both feeling the potential for something special between them.

[kiridarling]

𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐄

d.kaminari and h.sero | f!reader + corruption + weed/shotguning + praise + threesome + more! minors dni!

— 3.6k words

"I knew I wanted you the second I saw you."

Denki’s addicted to the pre-concert high.

His veins hum with a song that has yet to start, fingers drumming some mixed beat on the body of his electric guitar as he assumes his place on the dark stage. The theater’s dead silent, the room suspended in a titilating anticipation—and the steady rhythm Denki's heart dissapates into chaos when the faint crack of Eijirou's drumsticks bounce off the walls, and the click in his earpiece begins.

Eijirou hits the kick drum once. Twice. Then his hands fly across the set in a flurry, the rolling beat echoing into the packed arena and spurring the crowd to explode, fans flying to their feet to render their vocal cords for the night.

As the other instruments fill the blank space, Denki's hand grips the back of his guitar's neck, on hold for his solo, and by the time the electric blond steps up to the mic, pavlov's theory has already kicked in overdrive.

"Who’s ready to feel good tonight?”

“Dude, I’m on fucking fire!” Denki vibrates, nearly glowing in comparison to his bandmates as they sift through a flurry of fans at a meet and greet. It always seems like Denki and Eijirou are the only ones with energy after a good show—but what can he say? Being on stage lights him up like a live wire.

"You said that last concert, buddy," Hanta snorts, before his a fan ran sacks his attention by shoving a tiara into his hairline.

"And? My point still stan—" Denki cuts himself off with a gasp as a bra slings across his face, followed by a burst of pain when the metal hits him in the cheek. He peels the lacy thing off with an eye on the audience and an eyebrow raised in question, unsure of what to do with the undergarment (other than put it on) until someone screams:

“Sign it!”

Denki shrugs and pops the Sharpie cap with his teeth to sign the crest of both cups before flinging it back into the audience—he can only pray it pinpoints its rightful owner before the meet and greet ends.

Katsuki clicks his tongue (because he hates these events) and as the next round of fans lineup in front of their table, Eijirou stretches like this is a sport, saying, “Guess it’s go-time.”

"Go-time is when we perform," Katsuki grumbles in the seat to Denki’s right. "Go-time is when we're in the studio makin' a goddamn album, not meeting crazy fuckin' fans—no, I’m not gonna marry you, you obsessed fuckin—“

“Oh, you're just salty you're not popular with the ladies~“ Denki gushes, wiggling his eyebrows, and a fan hands him a canvas the size of his upper body. “Un—oh wow, did you make this for me—Unlike me, of course.”

"Okay, pretty boy." Hanta rolls his eyes, before signing a phone case and returning it to an overzealous fan. With a hand covering his mouth, he whispers, “Can you believe this guy? So full of himself, I swear.”

The fan giggles and Hanta meets the blushing cheeks with a satisfied smirk. Denki huffs from the disrespect, crossing both arms over his chest. “Full of myself? It’s not my fault I’m sexy—*an autograph? Of course!"

Katsuki chuckles, scratching under his chin with ink blue fingertips, "Call yourself sexy one more fuckin’ time and I'm projectile vomiti—no, I'm not signing your tits, give me a goddamn paper or somethin—"

"What?” Denki scoffs, chest collapsing with the disbelief that one could make such a lie. “I'm literally the definition of I'm sexy and I kno—"

"Um, excuse me?"

His gesticulations freeze at the passive voice, arms stretched wide and to the sky, and Denki knows he has to look absolutely ridiculous as he blinks down at the next person in-line; who's stood with bambi eyes and such a sweet smile the electric blond thinks it might make him sick.

"I-I'm your biggest fan! Could you—um, please sign this for me?"

She comes alive, shoving a poster into his chest with pink cheeks and shifty irises. Out of all the bras, all the breasts he's been asked to sign today, and here you are, with your pocket-sized poster and your lamb countenance. Denki beams.

"Of course, Sweetness! What's your name?"

"[Y/N]!" you say, giggling, and it's so. Cute. Denki opens the Sharpie and struggles to focus on signing instead of your gorgeous fucking face.

"Anything specific you'd like me to say?"

And he knows there's a rule—there always are when it comes to these things, and it's simple: don't fuck the fans. As tempting as it is, don't invite them back to your hotel room because there are too many uncertainties, and if something leaks to the press that’s possibly career ending, that’s it. So, Denki holds his tongue. For the future of himself and the band.

"Uhm, just write what you want! I...I think I'd like it best if it was authentic and came straight from you, so."

Fuck. Of course she does.

And maybe Denki just can't help it when he leans down to speak, perhaps a little lower, "You want something more authentic, cutie?"

You light up like a kid on Christmas, gasping, "Yes please Mr. Kaminari!"

So eager, too.

"Awe, you can call me Denki if you'd like," he coos, and you nod so quickly he starts to worry about whiplash. "Meet me out back, in the alley behind the venue if you wanna get to know me better. Sound like a deal?”

"O-Okay!" You nod, and when he returns your sign you grip it tight between both hands. "I'll um, see you soon Mr. Kami—I mean, D-Denki!"

You flush from the mix up and bow in apology, and Denki knows he's made the right choice when you light up, indicating you have no idea what he meant at all.

"Row row row your boat, gently down the stream," you hum, sniffling. You’re unsure if your nose is running, it's too frozen to tell, and it has you patting to confirm it’s presence. With your hands stuffed in your pockets and a jacket wrapped tight around your body, you'd think you'd be warm, but no.

The alley is dark. It's dank enough that you can smell it and you're positive what you're dancing in is vomit, but none the matter—today, you met your favorite band. Literally the people you'd die for.

"Merrily, merrily," kicking the loose rocks in the gravel every which way, you enjoy the sound of them scattering against the surrounding brick walls. "Merrily, merrily..."

"Life is but a dream," a voice finishes, a yelp rips from your throat and you jump twenty feet in alarm. But you’d know that voice anywhere; Denki chuckles at your reaction and it has you recoiling with timidity, unprepared for the surprised audience. "You have a lovely voice, Cutie. You should use it more often."

"I..." but you're not exactly sure what to say to that, knowing Denki's heard so many professional voices in his career to last a lifetime, and yet yours is lovely. "T-Thank you."

Denki watches your reaction with a hum and a smile, his visible breath escaping between the slit of his lips and into the cool air.

"Of course, Cutie."

Another voice sighs, shattering the friction that fills your gut when Denki gives you that look. You're not sure what to call it, but it makes you shiver, and that's enough to make you to run and hide.

"...Denki, who's this?"

"Um," the blond places his frozen hands in his pockets and swivels his head around to Hanta, guilty written all over his face. "A fan?"

Hanta sighs again, head tilting to the right in exhausperation, “Denki—"

"I know, I know," the electric blond sighs, waving him off. "But it's fine as long as we don't get caught, right?"

Hanta's black hair threatens to fall into his face so he combs through it, and you try not to drool at the sight of his bicep flexing. "Yeah, until we get caught."

A honk blares and it has you shrieking, to reveal a parked tour bus in the alley once the lights flicker on. Denki points the car keys at the vehicle and the doors swing open. "Awe c'mon, don't be a sour puss. It's a one-time thing, alright?"

Hanta's eyes narrow into slits.

"Seriously, dude! I'm a man of my word! On God."

The noirette's shoulders sag, but he waltzes around both of you to get on the bus. Over his shoulder, he warns, "Denki I swear to fucking god—"

"I'll be careful, I'll be careful~" he singsongs, hopping onto the stairs after the pianist. When Denki notices not you're not moving, he stills at the top step. "You coming, [Y/N]?"

"O-Oh, am I um, am I allowed?" You ask, biting your cheek at the thought of what Hanta just said as you peer around the electric blond’s body. Denki snorts, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, you're allowed," he exits the bus, only to tug you on via your collar. "Now c'mon! Let's have some fun, yeah?"

"Okay!"

Denki steers you through the bus and into a space that looks a bit like a living room, with a couch, tv, and a makeshift kitchen in the corner. Following Denki to the kitchen, you look around.

"Where are Kirishima and Bakugou?"

"Out drinking," Denki tosses, flicking open a RedBull. You wonder if this is always the post-concert routine. Hanta fiddles in with something on the couch, but he still has yet to look you in the eyes tonight, even when you ask him:

"What are you doing?"

It seems he didn't realize you’ve relocated from the kitchen to the couch next to him from the noirette nearly jumps. The green stuff in his fingers crumbles, and you scrunch your nose at the smell.

"It stinks," you add. Denki snorts, jumping onto the cushion to your right. There isn’t a whole lot of room and his addition causes your shoulders to slush between the two of them, but it’s strangely comfortable.

"It's weed," he explains like it's obvious. "You smoke, Cutie?"

"Obviously not," you and Hanta say at the same time. You turn his way, and for the first time that night, Hanta looks you in the eyes—and it's a smile, with his eyes crinkling in the corners, but there's...something else. Something else hidden behind the thinnest veil that makes you cower, if ever so slightly.

Something feral.

Denki, unaware of the crushing grip your hand has around your thigh, huffs, and tosses the energy drink down his gullet, "It was a genuine question! Geez."

"What are you doing?" You ask again, and the electric blond whimpers from being ignored.

"Rolling a joint," he utters, lifting the paper to his lips to lick the length. You watch, semi-disgusted, as Hanta finally folds over the last bit of paper around the crest of the joint, gluing it together.

"Know what a joint is?" The noirette implores.

"Yeah," you breathe, shifting at the new closeness Denki provides when you feel his chest against your back. "My roommate smokes, so."

Hanta taps it on a tray, or what Denki describes as "packing it down," before twisting the tip and tossing it back onto the tray in conclusion. Denki cheers.

"Aha! The joint-rolling master has blessed us! Everyone say thank you, joint-rolling master."

"Thank you, joint-rolling master!" You giggle when Hanta's face turns a ruddy red. He reaches over to pop Denki upside the head. Denki gasps, before lunging to return the favor, and you squeal from being jostled between two men.

"Okay," when Denki returns to his seat he's panting and so is the noirette. He picks the joint off the tray and though there isn't much room, turns so he's facing you, your legs smushed against his body indian style. "You ready, Cutie?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," you huff, swinging your arms in preparation despite the lack of space. Just in case.

Hanta snorts, holding the joint to your lips, and Denki raises the lighter and raises it to the end until it's hot enough to burn on its own.

“Now suck."

You do, cheeks puffing, and you blow the smoke straight in Denki's face. It's...a lot.

"Not quite," Hanta chuckles, and flips you via the waist so you're facing him. Denki whines from the change but finds solace in hooking his chin over your shoulder. "Suck, and then inhale. Act like it's a big breath—you gotta hold it in your lungs for a sec."

"Okay," you assert with a nod, eyes burning with a new determination. When Hanta holds it to your lips, you suck and inhale, and start coughing your throat raw, in a flurry of smoke and tears, eyes watering and nose burning. You scramble for water, but by the time you get some, the only thing that's left to soothe is a sore throat.

"Here," Denki offers, grabbing the joint before flipping you his way again. "Take smaller hits, like this."

Denki's mouth wraps around the tip and smoke pours from his lips so smoothly you're determined to do the same. With a raised eyebrow, he passes it back to you, and though it takes a moment, you try again.

The back of your throat tingles but the glide is much smoother, and you find that it doesn't burn on your next exhale. So you do it again. And again. And agai—

"Okay," Hanta picks the joint from your fingers with a click of his tongue, before taking a hit himself. You frown, making grabby hands.

"Hey, wai—"

"Nu-uh," he tuts, pushing you down by your forehead. "You'll feel it soon enough, trust me."

You whine, crossing your arms over your chest. Hanta gives you nothing but a raised eyebrow as he takes another hit, and you're convinced it's to taunt you. "I'm not eve—"

But then the world blurs, a bit, and your legs hum in a way they haven't before; it's warm and it's nice, and it has you blinking down at your hands in bewilderment. Whoa.

"And there she goes," Denki announces, and somehow seized the joint from the noirette when you weren't looking. Your mouth drops to say something, but all you can produce is a light giggle before it melts into a guffaw that only comes straight from the gut, your hands trying to soothe your cramping belly. Tears come to your eyes fairly easily, and when Hanta asks if you're okay he sounds like he's underwater, and that's enough to send you flying through another fit of laughs.

"I—y-yeah, I'm just—just fine," you snort behind a hand, chest spasming as you finally gather yourself enough to calm down. "I'm good. Mhm."

"Yep. Totally fine," Hanta says, but something in his tone suggests he doesn't believe you at all.

You nod, biting your bottom lip to avoid another laugh attack with your hands bunching the bottom of your shirt for extra purchase. Hanta narrows his eyes while taking another hit, so you sock him in the shoulder with a huff. "Stop looking at me like that."

The noirette snorts, "Like what?"

"Like..." you start strong, but falter under his eyes. "Like you want to eat me."

Hanta hums at the comment but says nothing, and you're not sure if your mind fabricated the quick look he gives the electric blond sat behind you. Denki speaks first.

"Do you know what shotgunning is, [Y/N]?"

You frown, "Like a shotgun?"

"So no," Hanta answers for you.

"Here," Denki offers, turning you again. Plucking the nub of a joint from the noirette, he takes a big hit before picking your face up by the jaw and hovering your lips over yours. You're not sure what to do, but once your lips connect, smoke fills your lungs, and you don't exhale until Denki pulls away. You blink, a little dazed.

You just kissed Denki Kaminari.

"Feel good?" He asks, never leaving your personal space. You nod, and he grins. "Wanna do it again?"

Your hands fist his shirt, teeth tearing the inside of your cheek due to the amount of embarrassment this question encourages. "I wan—can we do it again but without the um...without the smoke?"

Denki's hands find your hips and it's hard for him to contain a sly smirk, biting his lips to move in on his prey.

"I knew I waned you the second I saw you."

Denki's lips feel much better when he puts a little weight into the kiss, pinning you between him and the noirette. You're not exactly sure what you're doing but he takes the lead, titling his head and kissing harder, rougher, so your lips are pink and swollen by the time he pulls away.

"A-Another," you whimper, tightening your grip around his tee.

Denki hums in contemplation, picking your head up by your chin. "Ask nicely, Cutie."

Flushing deeper, your eyes dart to the coffee table.

“Another, please."

"Good girl," Denki coos, and he's propping you up against Hanta's chest. You shiver at the comment, finding purchase on Hanta's thighs as Denki kisses you on the lips again. "Wanna feel even better?"

"Yes," you nod vehemently. "Yes please."

Denki hums at that, climbing down your body as his hands glide from your waist to the band of your pants. You frown, "What—What are you doing?"

"Eating you out, Cutie," the electric blond says, hands freezing once his thumbs dip under your waistband. "That okay?"

"Oh okay," you breathe, relaxing against Hanta's chest. "Y-Yeah, that's fine."

Denki rips your pants off at that, tossing them towards the corner of the room and ultimately, to a place you'll probably never find them. Pushing your panties to the side, he licks his lips at the sight of your pussy, and flicks your clit with a smirk. You jump.

"H-Hey, that's not—"

He flattens his tongue against your slit and chuckles when you shudder, and after tossing both of your legs over his shoulders. You're not sure what he does after that though, because Hanta picks your face up by the chin and presses his lips to yours.

Denki slides a finger inside and you squeal against Hanta's chapped lips. You hear the electric blond moan, readjusting himself between your thighs, before you finally peel your lips off the noirette's, chest having from lack of oxygen.

"Such a pretty pussy, Baby," Denki gushes before his warm lips fold around your clit and he sucks, humming in surprise when you buck against his mouth. Hanta hooks his chin around your shoulder with a second joint dangling between his lips—and where it came from is beyond you.

Once he exhales, the joint finds its way between your lips and he instructs you to inhale, and the head rush afterwards has you digging your head into his chest.

"You're so wet, holy shit," Denki pulls away, lips strawberry pink and glossed with slick as he trades his both for his thumb and inserting another finger. It crooks just right and that's enough to make your hips buck, nails carving crescents in Hanta's thighs.

“T-There,” you whimper, wiggling your hips again, and Denki grins, thumb pressing into your clit. Your thighs quiver with the strain it takes to hold them back and Hanta’s calloused hands skip to your waist after dropping the burning joint off in the tray.

“Pull his hair,” the noirette commands, but you hesitate, hands glued to his thighs. Hanta sighs, reaching over you to tug for himself.

“Mph—fuck!” Denki’s eyelids flutter as he moans into your pussy with a new passion, his hands wrapping around your thighs to hold you in place. You gasp at his reaction, fingers scrambling under Hanta’s own to thread through his electric blond hair.

“Move your hips—grind against his face, c’mon,” Hanta’s grip tightens around your waist as he offers the suggestion, and you whimper with a nod before your bucking into Denki’s mouth without abandon. As the noirette trails butterfly kisses up the column of your neck, the coil in your gut snaps, and you barely have time to squeak out a warning before you’re flooding Denki’s mouth.

“Good girl...ride it out—there you go,” Hanta coos, biting your ear. You shiver as Denki pulls away with a final (and obscene) slurp, grinning like he didn’t just shatter you to pieces with nothing but his tongue and fingers.

Denki’s lips are on yours in a blink—you moan, legs still buzzing from the afterglow as you weakly grope for the small hairs on the back of his neck.

“Taste good, don’t ya?” He says with a click of a tongue after pulling away.

“I guess so,” you flush, the humiliation from so shamelessly digging your heels into Denki’s back finally settling in. Hanta reaches under your arm for Denki’s chin.

“What? Want a taste too?” The electric blond giggles, wiggling his eyebrows. Hanta snorts.

“If you could be so kind.”

Denki hums at that, placing a hand on your inner thigh for balance as he slams his lips on the noirette’s for the first time that night. He dives straight for the kill, tongue and teeth and everything, and Denki moas when Hanta’s teeth sink into his bottom lip; you find that you like it a lot.

Though eventually you tired of watching, and press the heel of your hand on Hanta’s hard cock through the fabric of his jeans. The pianist hisses, and you grin—you’ve got their attention now.

“Whoa Sweetheart, what are y—“

“I...I want more,” you assert despite the tremor in your voice. Hanta raises an eyebrow in question which has you pressing harder in hopes he’ll cave just as easily as before. Just in case, you add, “Please.”

Denki redirects your attention by squishing your cheeks until you’re looking him in the eyes. With dark eyes, he says, “You sure you want more, Cutie?”

You nod despite the restriction, “Wanna...wanna get to know you better.”

You watch Denki’s pupils dialate at that, and he can’t even hold back a groan when he says:

“Gods, Baby. We’re going to ruin you.”

unpopular opinion: bakugou's the bassist and kirishima's the drummer. fight me.

not me projecting 12yo sun's fantasy of getting railed in the tour bus by 5sos um—

[potter-imagines]

Being Thor and Loki's Little Sister and Dating Peter Parker Would Include...

Notes: wow I haven't written a marvel one in a long time pls don't read too much into the timeline lol I know things overlap but just go with it (:

Warnings: none... I think ??

Word Count: 3.6k (sorry its a bit long for a write like this but I couldn't help myself)

You managed to do a decent job at keeping your relationship under wraps from your brothers for quite some time

Of course every other member on the team knew before the two of you even begun officially dating

Peter had spent three months ranting and raving to Tony Stark about how cute he thought you were and how much he liked you

Tony insisted time and time again he should tell you but Peter’s fear of rejection was much too large for him to find the courage for that

Unbeknownst to him,

You had spilled about your crush on Peter to Wanda and Nat almost a week after living in the compound

Being the only other girls there besides Pepper, it was easy to confide in them

Day after day you would wander to Wanda’s room and lay on her bed and gush about how handsome Peter was and how kind of a heart he had

Wanda found it adorable

And Bucky, Steve and Sam had placed the pieces together after days on end of watching Peter and yourself flirt like school kids in the gym during training

Even after being frozen for years, Steve recognized the look of smitten on Peter’s face when he talked to you

Bruce on the other hand had to sit through most of the kids talks with Tony in the lab so he figured it out fast

So when the two of you finally confessed your feelings for one another and Peter asked you out, there was only one road block holding the moment back from perfection

Your brothers

You and Peter shared the news with all the other team members expect the two, possibly most important in your case, members

You’ve been close to your brothers since you were brought into this world so it wasn’t like you didn’t want to tell them

It was more or less how overprotective they could be that made you bite your tongue

And as nervous as you are, Peter is 1,000% more worried about your brother’s finding out

Like honestly can you imagine how petrified Peter would be to tell Thor and Loki you two were dating

He’d purposely walk in the opposite direction every time he saw either of the two for the first week

Couldn’t stop fumbling with his words when he spoke to either of them

Like he was terrified

It’s sort of a cliché to have protective older brothers but older brothers who were also both Gods ????

Peter felt like a deadman walking

When the day finally came that you did tell your brothers about your relationship with Peter, it was absolutely cringe worthy

Peter had been coming home to the tower after a long day at Midtown High School when he spotted you the second he stepped foot out of the elevator

His excitement had clouded his judgement as he failed to check and see if the coast was clear

“Y/n! Hey!”

He nearly tumbled over his own feet as he rushed over to you

His face was gleaming with happiness and for a brief moment you felt a smile creep to your face until you were pulled back to reality by his hand reaching out to grasp yours

Your eyes widened in shock as you stared at Peter and before you could warn him to stop, he had planted a soft kiss on your cheek

That adorable smile was glowing from his face as he reached down for your hand only to fall once you pulled your hand away

He gave you a look of confusion, clearly surprised by your lack of response

But when an awkward cough sounded from behind him, he suddenly knew why

Peter didn’t have enough time to make any sort of a move when a husky, all too familiar voice spoke up,

“Hello, man of spiders. May I ask why you just kissed our little sister?” “Oh shit- I uh, well you see I…um...she had something on her face so I uh…”

Loki would snicker in amusement at seeing the boy squirm and prolong his torture “So you kissed her?” “Yeah…” “Hm, there something you’d like to share, little one?”

It wasn’t exactly the way you were hoping to break the news to your brothers

But it was certainly one way of doing it

The rest of the night was filled with awkward tension as you and Peter had to confess the truth to your brothers, who then made you share the news with the rest of the team

Thankfully, the rest of the team pretended they were just hearing about your new relationship for the first time, seeing as no one wanted to deal with an angry Thor

Now let’s get into your relationship with Peter

Peter Parker is the most caring person in the universe

Honestly

And dating him certainly came with it’s perks

You can expect to wake up every morning with a fresh coffee and a pastry on your nightstand, courtesy of Peter

He’ll also write you a sweet little ‘good morning’ note with a sketch of spider-man hanging from a web

(( he’s actually pretty talented in the doodling department ))

Makes cute sketches of him as spiderman and you as a princess ( vv fitting)

But also draws you as a total badass saving the galaxy bc… well you are

Count on him to be the first person to greet you when the sunrises and the last person to wish you a goodnight when it falls

Gets Mr. Stark to buy you an iphone so he can teach you how to use it

Has your name as “goddess” in his phone

The first thing he does is teach you about texting so he can pay you in imessage games

Refuses to play you in battleship since you somehow have crushed him every single time

Gets slightly annoyed with the overwhelming amount of random photos you snap of him

But he knows its all new to you and finds it irritatingly adorable

Loves it when you walk home with him from school

Will also keep reminding you that you shouldn’t have walked alone all the way to Midtown High School alone

Peter often forgets that you’re Asgardian and can protect yourself just fine

But it’s so cute how protective he is

He’s very observant and notices nearly everything

Like when you’re feeling a bit homesick

He picks up on it right away and will ask Thor and/or Loki for advice

Or when you start to become bored and tired at one of Star’s parties

Peter made his way over you before you even had the chance to turn and search for him

He’d escort you back to your room and lay with you until he was positive you had fallen asleep

Kisses to the top of your head

Is the boyfriend that will take your makeup off for you if you wear any

(( and sets yours lashes on the nightstand so neatly and labels which eye they were on cause the poor boy doesn’t understand ))

Spends weeks learning how to master the intricate braids that adorn your head

It’s so cute cause he’ll sit and look up Youtube videos and try to learn how to make the different braids and is just so confused but so determined

Taking Peter to visit Asgard

“Woah- this place looks like something from Lord of the Rings! It’s awesome!” “Lord of the Rings? I’ve never met that God.” “Uh, no, it’s a movie from Earth. We can watch it when we go back.” “To Midgard?” “Midgard? No, to New York.”

Loves it when your people refer to you as “Princess Y/n”

For some reason it makes him blush

Will tell everyone back on Earth that he’s dating a princess

I could def see Peter getting annoyed and frustrated with the Asgardian men trying to flirt and win your heart

Although that’s something that already belong to Peter

And even though Peter trusts you entirely

He’s still insecure from time to time

Especially when he sees how much taller and stronger Asgardian men look in comparison to him

But he finds reassurance in the feeling of your hand in his and the gleeful smile adorning your face as you show him around your homeland

Attempting to help Peter study

Although you’re not much help to Midgardian school work “Peter, darling, I don’t have a clue what a watergate is and I haven’t an idea how that could be scandalous.”

Maths however you excelled in

And Peter was thoroughly surprised to find you had the sequence of PI memorized to the one hundredth number- and in song form

Holding your hand 24/7

Endless cuddles on the couch

And when you’re walking around together, he does that thing where he swings your hands and back forth

Movie theater dates… at the tower b/c your brothers feel the need to be in close proximity the you guys at all times

Trying ice cream for the first time with Peter at two in the morning

One of Peter’s favorite things to do with you is take you through a walk in his world

At least three times a week Peter and you will walk around the city and find new things your Asgardian self has yet to experience

Like pizza

New York pizza to be exact

And hot chocolate

Ice skating at Rockefeller Center once the weather got cold

Loves to take you for drives in the more woodsy land of New York once fall set in and the leaves began to change

But by far his favorite thing is showing you Midgardian films and movies of all sorts

He loves that you don’t judge him for nerding out over his love for films

Not to mention you actually sit and watch Star Wars with him

(( maybe it was the whole space element but Peter was just thrilled you liked it ))

But then he shows you ‘Alien’

And it was an instant regret

It took him the rest of the night to convince you that the movie was fake

You made him sleep in your room just for reassurance

Your favorite out of the films Peter played was called ‘Toy Story’

Buzz Lightyear reminded you of Thor

In terms of TV shows

F.R.I.E.N.D.S. which quickly became your guys comfort show

Parks & Rec too “That Andy fellow looks an awful lot like Starlord, don’t you think?”

Peter refuses to let you watch Black Mirror

After the whole incident with Alien

Black Mirror didn’t seem like a good idea

Constantly teasing from the rest of the Avengers

Tony just can’t help it

He loves tormenting the two of you

Especially when Thor and/or Loki are around

“Hey Peter, I thought I saw you go into Y/n’s room last night but I didn’t see you leave until the morning. Heard a lot of noise too- thought Y/n was getting attacked. What was that about?”

Or

“Kid, I got you those condoms you asked for. How’d you manage to run out of that last box so quick? I just bought it for you a week ago!” “Messing with you, they’re just sugar packets- Thor put Peter down right now!”

Aunt May absolutely adores you

Always tells Peter how sweet you are and is constantly inviting you over for dinner

Lets you two have sleepovers in his room at her place

As long as the door stays open

Peter can’t stop laughing when you compliment May on her ability to make an amazing bowl of cereal

She thought it was a joke seeing as she burned dinner the night before to a crisp and laughs until she’s in tears

And you’re literally sitting there so confused, clearly not understanding the joke

Peter then takes you on a trip to a grocery store for the first time to show you a whole aisle full of cereal

It is then that you realize Aunt May didn’t hand make the fruity pebbles

She still laughs about it to this day

Befriending Ned and listening enthusiastically while he gives you a full speech on the franchise Star Wars

And his rant on how terrible Star Trek is in comparison

Is shocked when you ask questions out of genuine interest

Ned immediately takes a liking to you after that and asks Peter daily to invite you to hangout

Whenever Stark adds an upgrade to his suit, you’re the first person Peter shows it to

He shares quite literally everything with you

As do you to him

The rest of the Avengers love gossiping about you guys

Nat and Wanda have already started planning the wedding and Pepper has the perfect venue in mind, much to your brothers dismay

For some reason

Thor and Loki are always within reasonable distance, enough so they can keep an eye on you but also give some sense of privancy

Thor is def always the first one to step in

“Peter, please remove your hand from my sister’s behind.” “Oh uh, ye-yeah… sorry, Mr.Thor.”

Loki would find Peter amusing

He loves to mess with him whenever given the chance

“Ah, Peter. Good to see you. I’m sure Y/n informed you of our task today. Very impressed that you offered yourself as the sacrifice to the aliens-” “Wait, what? Y/n?!” “He’s kidding, Peter.”

Everyone in the Avenger’s tower knew Peter was lactose intolerant and knew the repercussions of the boy consuming any sort of dairy

(( he physically cannot leave the bathroom for a full day ))

Yet Loki regularly will swap Peter’s specially labeled almond milk with a jug of skim milk just for the hell of it

There’s something so hilarious to him about the look of panic and alarm that smacks abruptly across Peter’s face as he quickly stumbles out of the kitchen to his room

It keeps him laughing for days

You’ll just shoot your brother a look of disapproval, clearly certain it was his doing

“Loki, why did Peter run off?” “Not sure, darling sister, maybe he’s got one of those stomach bugs. I’ve heard Midgardians are prone to them…weak bodies and such.” "You switched out his milk again didn’t you.” “I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re accusing me of, little one.”

Thor is a bit more hesitant on accepting your relationship with his fellow Avenger

He trusts that Peter would never harm you

Although he did not trust that you would never be harmed because of Peter

It was risky enough that both your brothers were big names in space, as well on Earth, however

Thor knew Loki and himself were capable of protecting you but Peter?

He was just a kid, in Thor’s eyes

However the one thing that kept him from telling you this was seeing how happy Peter made you

As your older brother, Thor trusted your judgement and tried his best to be accepting of his little sister dating

And as much as he wanted to deny it, he saw crystal clear the care and love Peter gave to you and he wasn’t willing to break that for you

Still

Thor is the type of brother to barge into a room and shove himself between Peter and yourself without warning

This man does not care at all

At least Loki has the decency to give you two space as a couple

Thor does not

He is constantly third wheeling on your dates and will ‘accidentally’ walk into rooms he knows you two are in claiming he forgot something

Not that he ever grabs anything,

He’ll usually just stand and stare at the two of you until you either leave the room or ask him to leave

To which he always answers,

“No.”

But with a smile

A smug smile

PDA is something he will never be okay with

Thor will yank Peter back by the collar every time he sees his lips on yours and glare at him, “Man of spiders, I know you’re in love with my little sister but kissing her infront of me is too far.”

And Loki will physically gag just to piss you off

For the most part, your relationship with Peter is nearly perfect

It would be entirely perfect if you weren’t constantly worrying about him dying on a mission or getting hurt

But still, just like any couple, you had your moments

And when you did fight, it was typically over Peter’s safety or him not wanting you to tag along for a mission

Your common way of dealing with conflict was the silent treatment

Which is pure torture for Peter

Not only does he miss the sound of your voice

He misses having you around

Seeing your smile

Hearing you laugh from something he said

He felt terrible everytime

He’d go to Tony for advice and spend hours rambling on to him about how sorry he was for yelling at you and for adding to the fight

Tony would half listen while he worked away on a new system and suit, offering a ‘yeah’ and ‘hmm’ every few seconds which pleased Peter who thought his mentor was fully listening

And after almost two hours of his non-stop talking, Tony Stark had reached his limit

Setting his wrench down on the metal table with a thud he turned around to face the young boy

“Kid, why’re you saying all this to me and not her? I mean, I’m all ears but I’m also not Y/n. I know we’re both good looking so I can see why you mixed us up, but you should be talking to her right now.”

Similar to Peter you also had someone to confide in when the road got rocky

Loki had always been the one you shared all your secrets with

As children you were attached at the hip to both your brothers but Loki a smidgen more than Thor

Your father, Odin, had Thor at his side 24/7 growing up

While he was busy learning the ropes to ruling Asgard, Loki and yourself run amuck causing trouble left and right through the royal palace

Through the years of bonding Loki become your best friend, and you his

So when trouble struck in paradise, your older brother was the one you ran to

He’d welcome you with open arms and a questioning gaze

Loki is by far the best listener in your family

Instead of telling you what to do, he asks what you want, which is a refreshing change

After a long talk with Loki you’d search the tower high and low for Peter while ironically Peter was doing the same thing

When you did finally make-up, it felt like coming home

The apologies were so sincere and genuine

You’d end up having a sleepover in your room watching 80’s films that Peter claimed were ‘iconic’ and laying in his arms

And that’s where you felt complete

Fights never occurred often but bickering ???

DAILY

You two bickered playfully over everything under the sun

Like who’s the better superhero; Ironman or Captain American

Or

Debates between living in New York and living in Asgard

Loves to pull up Midgardian inventions and ask you to guess what it is “Princess, what do you think this is?” “Oh! Oh! I’ve seen this one! Tony has one in his kitchen!” “Okay, so what is it?” “Yes, it’s a chicken nugget maker!” “It’s actually an air fryer but we only ever make chicken nuggets in them so I’ll give you a half point.”

Peter sneaking out of your room at the crack of dawn and sprinting to his

As much as Thor and Loki liked him and supported the relationship

He was sure they’d both team up to murder him if they caught him sleeping in your bed

Steve and Tony, who seem to be incapable of sleep, have watched him tiptoe out of your room numerous times but they only share a look of amusement then go back to their previous discussion

Playing hide-n-go-seek and tag on rainy days at the tower

Cuddling in Peter’s bed while he asks you to tell him stories about Asgard

Loves hearing about your childhood and what it’s like to grow up with siblings

Is fascinated when you tell him about Heimdall

Stealing Peter’s hoodies

Especially his Midtown High School ones

They’re insanely soft

Sweet little kisses throughout the day

He's just so sweet and gentle

Loves getting to hold you and snuggle in his bed

Most weekends you spend lounging on the couch with Peter’s head in your lap while you play with his hair

Other times you’re sitting next to Peter on his bed watching him play some video game and asking a million questions “Who is that man, Peter?” “That’s me, he’s the main character of the game. That’s Mario, babe.” “You’re not Mario- you’re Peter.” “No, the main character of this game is Mario, I’m just playing him.” “Oh… and what is that green dinosaur creature?” “That’s Yoshi!” “Adorable.”

Making out between games

In terms of... y'know... sex

Neither of you were keen on rushing the process

You had tip toed on the line multiple times yet never fully crossed it

Until you had decided to make the first real move after being together for about five months

You trusted him with all your heart so it wasn't exactly scary, but rather exciting

He had a way of making you feel safe, comfortable, and loved all at once

Lets be honest, Peter nearly fainted the first time he saw you naked

And still, no matter how many times the two of you have sex,

He worships every inch of you like it was your first time all over again

You couldn't have asked for a better lover

Dating Peter means a new adventure everyday

You’re constantly learning new things about each other and from each other

Despite coming from two very different worlds

You’ve never felt more connected to a soul until Peter came along

[tcm]

In Memory of Brian, Fred and Jerry by Susan King

I mourn the loss of Hollywood legends, especially those I have interviewed over the years. I broke into tears when Debbie Reynolds died four years ago, recalling our last chat together in 2016 when we did a duet of “Moses Supposes.” And I still haven’t watched TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD (’62) since Gregory Peck died in 2003. I had the opportunity to interview the handsome Oscar-winner at his now torn down home in 1997 and 1999. He was everything you’d hope he would be – sweet, intelligent and funny. He also loved Bob Dylan. His last words to me as he walked me to my car were: “You are a most interesting young lady.”

In 2020 alone, I lost over 20 former interviewees including Kirk Douglas, whom I interviewed eight times between 1986-2017, and my beloved Olivia de Havilland, who I found to be delightful and a bit ribald in the two interviews I did with her. I got more than a little misty when Brian Dennehy, Fred Willard and Jerry Stiller died this year. They were supremely talented and made our lives a little brighter with their performances. And, they all were great guys and fun interviews.

Brian Dennehy

I interviewed Brian Dennehy, who died in April at the age of 81, several times in the early 1990s when I was at the L.A. Times. The former U.S. Marine and football player was intimidating at first sight. He was tall, burly and barrel-chested. He had a no-nonsense quality about him, and he spoke his mind. But he also was funny.

In 1991, discussing how hard it was for some actors to land parts after starring in a TV series, he noted “coming off a TV series is a tough deal, and you go into limbo land for a while, if not forever. Most actors go immediately to the ‘Island of Lost Actors’ and stay there. Troy Donahue is the mayor.” Dennehy never went to that island. Not with the complex and often memorable performances he gave in such films as FIRST BLOOD (’82), SILVERADO (’85), COCOON (’85), PRESUMED INNOCENT (’90) and as Big Tom in the comedy TOMMY BOY (’95).

He was nominated for five Emmys, including one for his chilling turn as serial killer John Wayne Gacy in the miniseries To Catch a Killer (’92).

I had one of the most extraordinary evenings at the theater in 2000 when Dennehy reprised his Tony Award-winning role as the tragic Willy Loman at the Ahmanson Theatre in Los Angeles in the lauded revival of Arthur Miller’s masterpiece Death of a Salesman. It was a gut-wrenching performance that left me emotionally exhausted. He earned another Tony in 2003 as James Tyrone in the revival of Eugene O’Neill’s superb Long Day’s Journey into Night. And he never stopped working.

Shortly after his death, the drama DRIVEWAYS (2020) was released on streaming platforms. And it could be Dennehy’s greatest performance. He plays Del, an elderly widower and Korean War vet who sparks a warm friendship with Cody, the young boy next door. The reviews for the film (it’s at 100% fresh on Rotten Tomatoes) and Dennehy have been glowing. The L.A. Times’ Justin Chang wrote that Dennehy’s Del is as “forceful and tender a creation as any in this great actor’s body of work.” And Jeannette Catsoulis of The New York Times stated: “What we might remember most, perhaps appropriately, are Dennehy’s warm, weary features and rich line readings. In a lovely final monologue, Del advises Cody to avoid rushing past the experiences in life that matter, as they pass so quickly on their own. Much like the careers of beloved actors.”

Fred Willard

I first encountered Fred Willard as the clueless sidekick of sleazy talk show host Barth Gimble (Martin Mull) in the late 1970s on the syndicated comedy series Fernwood Tonight and its continuation America 2-Night. I quickly became a fan, and that admiration grew when he became a member of Christopher Guest’s stock company of zanies in such comedies as WAITING FOR GUFFMAN (’96) and BEST IN SHOW (2000). In the latter, he played the equally clueless dog show announcer Buck Laughlin who quipped in his color commentary, “And to think that in some counties these dogs are eaten.”

Willard told me in a 2012 L.A. Times interview that he didn’t think he was funny until he was an adult. “I always loved comedy growing up – Bob Hope, Red Skelton and Danny Kaye,” said Willard, who died in May at the age of 86.

Willard got a serious part in Tennessee Williams’ one-act in a summer theater group when he was in his 20s. “I was getting laughs on all the lines,” he noted. “The director got upset because the audiences were always laughing. I didn’t try to do it deliberately. Then I realized I would say things around people, and they would laugh. I didn’t mean to be funny. I have always been relaxed around comedy.”

Just as Dennehy, Willard kept working. In fact, he received an Emmy nomination posthumously for his hilarious turn as Ty Burrell’s goofball dad on ABC’s Modern Family. He told me he wished he could try to do more dramatic fare like in Clint Eastwood’s World War II drama Flags of Our Fathers (2006). Willard even called his agent to see if he could get a role in the movie. “Clint Eastwood’s people called back and said, ‘We love Fred, but we are afraid if he appeared on the screen, they might start to laugh.’’’

Jerry Stiller

Jerry Stiller was a real sweetie and also very thoughtful. He sent me a lovely thank you note when I interviewed him and his wife, Anne Meara, in the early 1990s. When I talked to him for his son Ben Stiller’s remake of THE HEARTBREAK KID (2007), Stiller sent me a lovely bouquet of flowers. Ditto in 2010 when I interviewed the couple for a Yahoo! Web series Stiller & Meara: A Show About Everything. I also received Christmas cards until Meara died in 2015.

Baby boomers remember Stiller, who died at 92 in May, and Meara for their smart and sophisticated comedy act, in which the majority of the humor came from the fact that he was Jewish and she was born Irish Catholic. They recorded albums, were popular on the nightclub circuit and did The Ed Sullivan Show three dozen times. They split up their act when musical variety series went away.

Both were terrific dramatic actors. In fact, I saw Stiller in the 1984 Broadway production of Hurlyburly, David Rabe’s scathing look at Hollywood, and he did a 1997 production of Chekhov’s The Three Sisters. Of course, Stiller garnered even more success in his Emmy-nominated role as Frank Costanza, the caustic father of George (Jason Alexander) on NBC’s Seinfeld (1993-98) and was the best reason to watch CBS’ sitcom The King of Queens (1998-2007) as Kevin James’ acerbic father-in-law

But I most remember that 2010 interview where Stiller and Meara bantered back and forth much to my enjoyment. Here they talk about Ed Sullivan:

Anne: I never liked him.

Jerry: You are out of your mind. You never liked him?

Anne: He scared stuff out of me. I am talking about Mr. Sullivan himself. I wasn’t the only one. There were international favorites throwing up in the wings—singers and tenors and guys who spin plates. It was live. We were scared.

Jerry: Ed Sullivan brought us up to the level that we knew we never could get to – him standing there on the right side of the wings laughing, tears coming out of his eyes and then calling us over and saying, ‘You know, we got a lot of mail on that last show you did.’ I said, ‘From Catholic or Jewish people?’ He said, ‘The Lutherans.’”

[skarsgard-daydreams]

Scary Monsters and Super Creeps

Description: On a lone stretch of highway on Halloween night, Mickey and his girlfriend pass the time with a spooky story.

Warnings: strong language and maybe something spooky, also a tiny reference to there being an election, but that’s all

“I can’t believe Halloween is finally on a Saturday, and on a full moon, and we’re spending it driving through West Virginia,” Mickey complained, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he peered out at the darkened stretch of highway before him. You hadn’t seen any cars for miles in either direction, as if everyone else in the state had gone out celebrating the holiday and you two were the only people missing out. You placed your hand on your boyfriend’s arm and gave him a sympathetic look.

“I know, baby, but if we don’t keep driving, there’s no way we’ll make it home in time to vote,” you said sweetly. “And you know how important it is to me,” you added, leaning in to plant a soft kiss against his stubbled jaw.

Mickey’s agitation seemed to melt, then, and he looked at you with that raw affection that always made you so grateful to have him for your partner-in-crime. You smiled and tousled his hair with your fingers.

“I love you.”

“I know,” he said, and grinned, because he knew saying it drove you crazy, and it made him feel like Han Solo.

“Well, since it’s Halloween,” you said, snuggling into his jean jacket draped around your shoulders. “Why don’t we tell scary stories?”

Mickey lifted a skeptical eyebrow, glancing in your direction. “Yeah, but… won’t you get scared?”

You couldn’t help but giggle. “I’m not the one who dumped popcorn all over the row in front of us when we went to see Hereditary.”

“That movie was fucking terrifying and you know it,” Mickey grumbled.

It was. Though you’d never admit it, you’d been just as terrified that night in the movie theater. But you always became fearless when he was scared. That was your dynamic. If he was manic, you were calm, ready to talk him down. And when you were sad, he would do anything it took to make you laugh.

“Well, I don’t think my storytelling is nearly as scary as Ari Aster’s, so here goes.”

Mickey gripped the steering wheel tightly as you recounted an urban legend you’d heard on some silly TV show about cryptids at two in the morning one night when you had insomnia.

“One night, a pair of young lovers were driving down a road a lot like this one. They hadn’t seen another car in ages, and they didn’t have cell phone service this far out in the sticks.”

“Ooo, no cell phones,” Mickey said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “You’d never survive.”

You gave him a light smack on the arm. “Don’t interrupt me when I’m telling a story!”

The corners of Mickey’s mouth turned up in a smirk.

“Anyway,” you said emphatically, trying to remember where you were going with the story. “Oh, yeah. So, after driving all this time with no other cars, they finally saw what they thought were brake lights ahead of them. Two red lights shining in the dark. So, they slowed down a little, but as they approached, they realized it wasn’t a car.” You paused for dramatic effect.

“What was it?” Mickey asked, furrowing his brows.

“The red lights were the glowing eyes of an enormous monster with ten-foot wings and the body of a man with a hideous face. And his eyes—”

“Wait, are you trying to scare me with a story about mothman?” Mickey interrupted, looking at you with amused disbelief. “Babe,” he said. “I’m only scared of real things, like serial killers, ghosts, and Bigfoot.”

It was your turn to roll your eyes. “There’s no such thing as Bigfoot, Mickey.”

“Yes, there is!” Mickey exclaimed. “I told you, I saw him! He was right outside my tent on that camping trip.”

“That was one of your friends pulling a prank.”

“It was fucking Bigfoot, babe.”

You opened your mouth, ready to tell him how low the odds were that a creature as large as Bigfoot could maintain a presence in multiple regions of North America while also going completely unobserved by reputable zoologists, but your train of thought was suddenly interrupted when you spotted two glowing red lights ahead on the road.

“Mickey,” you said, your voice coming out as a squeak.

“I see it,” he said in that frantic tone he sometimes adopted when he got anxious. “It’s probably just a car, right?”

“Right,” you agreed, but you were gripping his arm tightly now. Mickey glanced at you and must have noticed the fear in your eyes because he tried to look reassuring.

“It’s okay, babe,” he said with a weak smile. “I got you.”

You nodded a little, but didn’t let go of his arm as he put on a brave face and continued to drive toward the lights, muttering to himself. “No fucking mothman is gonna get my girlfriend.”

As you got closer, the silhouette of a car became more visible in the dark and you both exhaled a sigh of relief. “Okay, no more scary stories,” you said.

Mickey nodded in agreement. “Fuck,” he said softly, raking a hand through his hair. He drove on in silence, catching up to the car ahead of you.

That’s when you both saw it. An enormous creature stood in the road in front of the other car, just as you had described it. A massive pair of ten-foot wings spread out on either side of its frame, and you barely caught a glimpse of its shining red eyes before it rose into the air, swooping over your car and disappearing into the night.

You weren’t sure who screamed louder—you or Mickey—but you were both screaming wildly as he swerved around the other vehicle and stomped on the accelerator, speeding down the tree-lined highway as fast as your shitty little car could go.

“Fuck West Virginia!” Mickey shouted. “Fuck Halloween! Fuck Mothman! Fuck all of that!”

You hung onto your boyfriend’s arm tightly as he sped out of there, shouting expletives. You had never been so scared in your life, but as you looked at him, you beamed with affection for the crazy man sitting next to you. No matter what happened, you knew he would always keep you safe.

---

Author’s Note: When I was trying to decide what could be so important that Mickey would be driving on Halloween night, the first thing that came to mind was his girlfriend insisting they had to vote in the election. Mickey strikes me as the type who’s never voted in his life, but if his girlfriend thinks it’s important, then fuck if he wouldn’t do anything she asked. Sorry for the small reminder that an election is happening. It tickled me. Also, apologies to West Virginia. Mickey didn’t mean it.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

God Forgive Us All (part one)

[Carrie AU]

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

Word Count: 5694

TW: Blood, bullying, child abuse, unflattering depictions of religious people, minor self harm

———————

-And Eve Was Weak-

You never really do get used to the heat of stage lights. Even after four years in theater, Anne never grew a resistance to the sweltering heat and blindingly bright lights that beamed down on the stage when performing. By the end of a mere rehearsal, her forehead was dotted with sweat and her green earrings gifted to her by her girlfriend felt like twin pieces of the sun blazing against her skull.

“Alright, everyone,” The stage manager, a bold, powerful woman named Catalina de Aragon, boomed. “That’s good for today! You all did wonderful!”

Several sighs of relief swept through the stage. The group of actresses either doubled over or put their hands behind their heads and took deep breaths. Eight-hour-long rehearsals like that always wrung them dry, but Aragon wanted to keep them sharp, and it did, even if it was exhausting.

“If you think this is bad,” Aragon said with a teasing smile, “just wait until our live TV debut. Now THOSE lights will fry you to the bone.”

There was a scattering of grins and giggles. Despite the heat from the lights, they were all excited for the upcoming TV performance of their musical, Heathers, in which Anne proudly played Heather Duke.

“Just wait until you get to be in that trench coat,” A voice said to her left.

She turned to see Jane Seymour, their Veronica Sawyer, grinning toothily at Cathy Parr, who also doubled as their incredibly talented, incredibly wonderful, and incredibly beautiful Jason Dean. Though, Anne may be a bit biased. She was dating her, after all.

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Cathy said. “I’m already soaked enough.”

“Which will make Dead Girl Walking even better,” Jane tittered, earning her a playful elbow to the ribs.

“Oi!” Anne barked. “Paws off, Seymour! She’s all mine!”

“I bet you two make Dead Girl Walking really happen in bed,” Their Heather Chandler, Anna Cleves, commented while passing by. She grinned at them over her shoulder.

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” Anne fired back, making Anna chortle and Cathy whack her arm.

“Enough of that.” Cathy hissed. “Come on, let’s go take a shower. I feel all sticky.”

“Sweat does that,” Katherine Howard, or Kitty, the gremlin-like Heather McNamara, piped in helpfully. Trailing behind her was Maggie Wyatt, the Ms. Fleming. Unlike most of the others in the production, the two of them were both teenagers, with Kitty being fifteen and Maggie being seventeen, but they were absolutely brilliant when it came to acting and signing, so it was no wonder why they scored a spot in a West End show.

“Yes, thank you, Kitty. I had no idea.”

Kitty and Maggie both giggled, but their expressions simultaneously went sour all of a sudden. Kitty slowed down in her stride to huddle in between Jane and Anne, while Maggie wrinkled her nose in visible distaste. Anne didn’t even have to ask what was bothering them, she, sadly, already knew.

“Uh-oh,” Maggie muttered, “Here comes Jitterbug.”

Most people would furrow their eyebrows and look around in confusion, wondering who would possibly give their child such a weird name, but everyone in the theater was used to hearing such a title. They all knew exactly who it was referring to.

The girl was the definition of sickly- shockingly thin, with sharp jawbones, a narrow chest, and deep hollows under her startlingly silver eyes, which were as grey and shiny as the moon. She was very pale, too, like she would shrivel up and die if she so much as stood out in the sun for too long. Her head was dipped low as she passed by the group of actresses cautiously and she had her hands wrung anxiously in her wrinkled baby blue flannel shirt, which helped explain why she had a nickname like “Jitterbug”- she was always doing some sort of nervous tick, whether it being leg bouncing or straw chewing or hand flexing, and it easily became a target of mockery by other people in the theater. She always wore a cross necklace around her neck, and today it was still in the same position as it had been the day before- lying peacefully on her bony chest.

“Her name is Joan,” Anne whispered.

Joan Meutas. A pianist in the pit. Not an actress. So you would think that would make her unimportant and ignored, and yet...

“Yeah, I know,” Maggie said, not keeping her voice low. She probably wanted Joan to hear her, which wasn’t much of a surprise. “But she’s so jittery. And super weird.”

“You know that,” Kitty said, poking Anne. “Did you see her today? When it was lunchtime she prayed before she ate!”

Anne frowned and shook her head. She never really did like the treatment of the poor girl, especially when it came from so many adults and Joan was only sixteen, but she was just one person against an entire theater. What could she do?

“Hey!” A voice shouted from inside the women’s shower room. “Watch where you’re walking!”

Anne and her friends entered the showers and bathroom to find a flurry of towels and clothes and bare skin. Shampoo of lavender and pear, coconut and watermelon, honey and vanilla all mixed together into an overwhelmingly sweet odor that wafted throughout the room. It was almost as thick as the steam whirling from the many hot showers going on.

And, in the midst of all the cleaning and bathing, there was Joan “Jitterbug” Meutas, staring guiltily down at a few fallen bottles of soap she had accidentally scattered with her feet. The look plastered on her face made it seem like this little mishap was much more than a minor inconvenience to her.

“I-I’m sorry,” She whispered, although her shaking voice could barely be heard over the cacophony around her. Her natural stutter was more prominent because she was scared.

“Can’t you use those creepy eyes of yours?” The owner of the bottles, a woman old enough to probably be married, spat. “Or are you as blind as you are useless?”

Anne clenched her jaw. This lady was an adult and she was picking on this child as if it were just a simple schoolyard, playground argument. It was so wrong. So, so wrong.

“I’m sorry,” Joan said again, this time even softer, but it went unheard when Kitty suddenly jumped into the conversation eagerly.

“Did she get in trouble?” The girl asked, eyes glowing with cruel mischief. “I knew she would get in trouble if she came in here! Did you clobber her?”

“I wish,” The woman snorted. She glanced at Joan, as if considering beating the poor girl into a bloody pulp for simply knocking over her soap, but thought against it. “Don’t do it again, brat. Or I’ll have you fired.”

Joan nodded with one more shaky “I’m sorry” before shuffling over to one of the benches and sitting down. She hunched her shoulders around her neck instantly, trying to make herself as small as possible. Her hands were tightly grasping a set of neatly-folded clothes she had brought in for herself. It was so pitiful. Everyone was anxious in some way, but with Joan it ran deeper, all the way to paralyzing fear.

“I can’t believe we have to change with her,” Jane muttered. “She could do something to us. To the children!” She cast a worried look at Kitty and Maggie.

“She’s a child, too, you know,” Cathy pointed out. “Come on, ease up on her. She’s not that bad.”

Jane snorted, but left the conversation there and glided off to a shower that had just opened up, which was also the one that Joan was about to go into, causing the girl to slam herself back down onto the bench instantly. Anne looked at her girlfriend with an appraising expression. Cathy enjoying the bullying of a teenager definitely would have put a dent in their relationship.

“Thank you,” Anne said to Cathy in relief.

“You really thought I would be in on this harassment?” Cathy raised an eyebrow. “Do you have no faith in me?” She grinned teasingly at Anne.

“No, of course not!” Anne said hurriedly. “But you never know. I just worry.”

“I know you do.” Cathy pecked her on the cheek and then went to fetch fresh towels.

Anne smiled, watching her go, then noticed a twitch on Joan’s expression out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head, thinking the girl may have finally gotten angry at her treatment, but instead just saw that her expression was twinged with pain. One of her hands was gripping at her stomach. Curious and concerned, Anne stepped over to her.

“Hey,” She said softly as to not shock Joan, but she still flinched anyway. “Are you okay?”

The look she got was almost comical. It was a mix of shock and adoration, with a hint of caution flickering in Joan’s silver eyes. She blinked several times, opening and closing her mouth like a startled fish that had just been pulled out of the water, before finally stuttering out, “U-uh-huh.”

“Are you sure?” Anne slowly sat down next to Joan, slightly surprised to find that she didn’t jerk away. In fact, she swore it almost looked like Joan wanted to curl up against her and fall asleep. “You look a little hurt. Physically, I mean. I’m sure everything hurts mentally....” She trailed off awkwardly.

“M-my stomach just hurts a little,” Joan mumbled shyly. “That’s all.”

“I see.” Anne said. “Well, I hope you feel better soon, Joan.”

She gave the girl a comforting pat on the shoulder and then stood up, going over to one of the now-open showers. She hung her clothes and towel on the stall door, then stepped inside and got undressed. She cranked the shower nozzle and hot water cascaded all over her body, washing away the sticky sheen of sweat that had been caked over her skin.

It always felt nice to take a shower after a long day of rehearsals. She loved being able to get clean, finally relaxing when she was done with hours of line run throughs and dance move reciting.

Someone got into the shower next to her; she could hear the click of the lock and the splash of water sluicing under feet. When she peeked down, she saw that the toenails weren’t painted, so it couldn’t have been Kitty or Maggie. She didn’t pay much mind to discovering who her stall neighbor was, though. She just tried to relax under the warm spray of water washing her clean and soothing her sore muscles.

And then she heard the shaky gasp.

It came from her left, from the girl without her toenails painted. The noise had been so soft and subtle that Anne thought she hadn’t heard anything at all, that it was just her imagination, but then she heard it again, this time slightly louder.

A shaky gasp. A definite whimper.

She peeked down again and saw something mixing with the water. It spiraled down the drain before she could get a good look, but she merely shrugged it off as none of her business and went back to washing her hair.

Or, she tried to, at least. It was a little hard when the girl next to her suddenly let out a sharp whimper and burst out of the stall.

“H-help me!”

Was that...?

Oh god.

Anne turned off the shower, not caring that she still had shampoo in her hair, and peeked out of the stall. What she saw made her heart sink into her stomach.

Joan, completely naked, was stumbling to a group of women with a horrified look on her face. She reached a desperate hand out to Cathy, leaving a red stain smeared against the woman’s blue blouse, and clung on for dear life.

“Help me!” Joan cried again. “Help me! S-something’s wrong!”

Cathy immediately recoiled in shock, causing Joan to stumble backwards clumsily. Everyone looked down at the handprint stained in crimson on her shirt. Jane gave Joan an evil look.

“What the fuck!” She roared. “Her shirt!”

“What is WRONG with you?” Maggie said.

“Some kind of freak seizure?” Kitty guessed.

And then they all noticed the trails of red running down Joan’s inner thighs.

“I-I’m bleeding!” Joan whimpered.

“Oh my god,” Kitty exclaimed as Jane’s face twisted with nausea. Cathy paled, looking down at her ruined shirt again. “It’s period blood!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jane hissed.

“It’s just your period!” Maggie said in amusement to Joan at the same time. She went over to the toiletry dispenser and took out a tampon. She offered it to Joan. “Just plug it up!”

Despite the moment of kindness, Joan was far too shellshocked and confused to understand what was going on, and so she reached out to Maggie’s hand desperately, hoping for some kind of comfort. Maggie instantly reeled away with a revolted gag when some of Joan’s period blood dripped onto her fingers.

“Oh fuck!” She yelled. “I got some of her pussy juice on me!”

“Gross!” Kitty squealed.

“P-please help me!” Joan howled. “I-I’m dying!”

“How do you not know what your period is?” Kitty asked her. “Are you that stupid?”

Joan merely let out a strangled whimper. A small pool of blood has accumulated around her feet and she’s now hunched over from obvious cramps. She’s shaking so badly that it looked like she may have actually been having a seizure.

When the other women noticed that they weren’t going to get through to Joan, they all turned to a different alternative instead of trying to help her- throwing tampons and pads at the poor thing.

“PLUG IT UP! PLUG IT UP! PLUG IT UP!” The group cheered.

Joan stumbled backwards and fell to the floor. Blood smeared across her thighs and the floor, causing several women to sneer in repulsion. Kitty took her phone out and began to record the freak out.

“HELP ME!!” Joan shrieked. “P-PLEASE H-HELP ME!!”

“PLUG IT UP! PLUG IT UP! PLUG IT UP!!” The group just sang louder.

Joan began to scream and cry, collapsing onto her side and curling into a trembling ball as blood oozed out from between her thighs and she was hit with a storm of women’s toiletry items. She just kept wailing at the top of her lungs, absolutely horrified and traumatized about what was happening to her. And Anne could only watch from her shower stall as the poor child was terrorized.

“Hey! HEY!!”

The voice was booming thunder in the rain or mockery and tampons.

“Ladies! Ladies! What the hell is going on here?!”

Aragon pushed her way through mayhem to the front and set her eyes upon one of the musical’s young musicians shaking and sobbing and curled up on the tile in heap of her own blood coming from her vagina and pads and tampons. She stiffened and blinked, clearly not expecting this image of all things and definitely not having learned how to deal with it from her training to be a stage manager, but she set her jaw in determination anyway.

“Okay,” She breathed out, pushing her shock to the side. She took a tentative step forward, which was enough to make Joan flinch and flounder awkwardly in the mess around her. “Okay... It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.”

Joan didn’t seem convinced- she kept gasping and wheezing like she was having a panic attack and whimpering in distress. She huddled against one of the closed showers, trembling violently.

“Come on, stand up,” Aragon encouraged softly. “Let’s get you stand up.”

“N-no, I-I can’t!” Joan mewled. Like before, so desperate for comfort, she reached out to Aragon for help, grasping onto her yellow skirt with both bloody hands and hanging on like her life depended on it. Several of the gawkers gagged. “I can’t! I can’t!”

“Joan, come on.” Aragon tried again. If the period blood getting wiped on her skirt bothered her, she didn't show it. “Stand up. Can you stand up?”

“It hurts!” Joan wailed. Her grip on Aragon faltered and crumpled back into herself. “It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!”

Aragon, who was usually so headstrong and sure of herself, looked dumbfounded. “Honey, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Cathy, who had been watching silently, stepped up next to Aragon. The stage manager momentarily glanced at the stain on her shirt that matched on the ones on her skirt.

“I don’t think she knows it’s her period,” Cathy told Aragon softly.

“NO!!” Joan cried instantly. “No! No! No! No!” Her panic was building. Her shaking was getting worse.

“Cathy, leave!” Aragon snarled, glaring at the woman at her side.

“But-”

“You aren’t helping!”

Joan’s cries were getting louder and louder and more and more shrill by the second. She was practically heaving, her lanky little body jerking and spasming. She looked so much more thin without any clothes to cover her skeletal frame. Her stomach was sunken in and her ribs were slightly visible through her milky white, doughy skin.

“Joan! Joan!” Aragon shouted to the panicking girl, but nothing she said was getting through to her, so she promptly raised her hand and slapped Joan across the face.

Gasps whisked through the shower room. Joan’s screaming was cut off with a sharp, alarmed squeak. She tentatively touched her stinging cheek with a bloodied hand and then whimpered pathetically.

A light overhead exploded and shattered into millions of pieces.

There were several startled yelps as the women leapt out of the way of falling glass. A few were cut, but not badly. Aragon grit her teeth at the commotion her actresses were making.

“Everybody out!” She roared. “Right now!”

Everyone obeyed, shuffling out as quickly as they could, but not without a few final glances over their shoulder at Joan. Anne was the only one who stayed, remaining hidden in her stall, listening.

“Hey, hey,” She heard Aragon murmur in the gentlest voice she’s ever heard her use before. “Deep breaths. Come here.”

She took Joan into her arms and Joan immediately curled up like she’s never been held before in her entire life. She buried her face against Aragon’s chest, weeping softly.

“Come on, it’s okay. You’re okay, sweetie.” Aragon said gently. “It’s totally normal. You’re not in trouble. It’s okay.”

She just kept reassuring Joan again and again, cupping her head against her chest protectively and using the other hand to rub her back comfortingly. Anne watched them from her shower stall with a frown until Aragon eventually got Joan to stand up, get changed, and walk out with her. Then, she finally got to washing the rest of the shampoo out of her hair in an eerily silent shower room with a broken light and period blood spattered across the floor.

———

“Are you, uhh, feeling any better? Need some Aspirin? Some juice?”

“Juice? Really, Tony?”

The director raised his hands in a mock surrender, then peered back at the trembling girl sitting in front of him. There was a flicker of worry in his eyes, but he seemed more concerned about what this would do to his production. After all, a cast needed to be close to work best, and the actresses terrorizing one of their coworkers would definitely make things difficult to achieve that unity.

“Do you want us to just leave you alone?”

There was no reply once again. Joan was way too shellshocked to answer. Instead, she was just wrapping one of her fingers in the chain of her cross necklace and tugging on it nervously.

“Joan, honey,” Aragon knelt down in front of the chair Joan was sitting in. “I am so sorry I slapped you. I should have handled that situation better.”

Joan just stared up at her with big, sad silver eyes that looked so much like an injured lamb’s.

“You know, getting your period is totally normal.” Aragon tried to smooth her panic out. “Usually it just comes a little bit sooner.” She paused, hesitated, then quietly asked, “Is this your first time?”

Aragon wasn’t sure who looked more uncomfortable: Joan or the director. Both seemed supremely uneasy with the question, but the director was sweating awkwardly and kept trying to open his mouth to interject, only to think against it. Aragon shot him an irritated glower.

Joan herself was quiet for a long time, but eventually squeaked out, “M-my mama never t-told me about it...”

“Oh, baby...” Aragon cooed pitifully. She sat down next to Joan and set a hand on her shoulder, feeling her jump and then lean slightly into her touch. “Do you know what’s happening to your body?”

The director wiped away a bead of sweat from his brow.

“I...I thought I f-felt something m-move...down there...” Joan said softly.

The director’s eyes bulged so far out of their sockets that it was a miracle that they didn’t pop out completely.

“Honey...”

“W-well—” The director suddenly interjected. Aragon gave him a warning glare and he shuffled over to the water cooler in the room, poured himself a cup, took a drink, crushed it, and then tried again with speaking on the topic. “Maybe you could talk to a therapist! Or a nurse! At the A and E!”

Aragon looked at him as if he were crazy. He rubbed his palms against his pants and took a seat at the front desk, clearing his throat. He did his best to make himself look refined and sophisticated, but that was impossible with his lack of knowledge over a completely normal situation and from the way he kept making it even weirder than it needed to be.

“But what I want to know—” He said, attempting to steer away from the period talk. “Is who started throwing...the things.”

Aragon rolled her eyes at his behavior. She expected nothing less from men.

“It was Jane Seymour, Maggie Lee, and Katherine Howard. Then everyone else joined in.” She said.

“Julia-”

“Joan.” Aragon corrected firmly.

“Joan.” The director said again. “Did those three girls start this?”

“Don’t call them ‘girls’, Tony. One of them is a grown ass woman.” Aragon said bitterly.

“But the other two aren’t,” The director said, then turned his gaze back to Joan expectantly.

Joan opened her mouth, looked up at the director, then closed it and shrunk back in her chair. She suddenly found the floor a lot more interesting.

“Sweet pea, you don’t have to defend them.” Aragon told her. “What they did was unforgivable and awful. You won’t get in trouble for telling us the truth.”

“I-I won’t g-get f-fired?” Joan sniffled feebly.

“No, no, honey,” Aragon tucked a stray lock of wet hair behind Joan’s ear and this time she definitely felt the girl lean into her touch. “Of course you won’t. You’ll still work here.”

Joan nodded, but she still wasn’t able to speak up. She gave Aragon a deeply apologetic look and then lowered her head uselessly.

“Well, it doesn’t seem like June-”

“Joan.” Aragon snarled.

“Joan—” The director corrected himself quickly, eyeing Aragon warily, as if he were expecting her to leap over the desk and strangle him. “—is going to point any fingers, so Catalina I’m going to let you handle this with the ladies. Let the punishment fit the crime.”

“Okay,” Aragon nodded. “I’ll fire them.”

The director floundered. Aragon smirked. Even Joan made a tiny, amused sound that wasn’t quite a giggle, but it was something else from her usual whimpers and distressed noises.

“What? No!” The director warbled. “Not that!”

“Why not?” Aragon said dismissively. “We have understudies for a reason.”

“You can’t fire an entire cast! The understudies are not as good as the all-star cast! That’s why they’re understudies! They’re good, but not good enough!”

“I-I think the understudies are really good,” Joan offered meekly. Aragon smiled at her and she even cracked a ghost of her own on her pale lips.

“They are, aren’t they?” Aragon said.

“You are not firing our stars.” The director said firmly. “You can do anything else! Just not that!” He cleared his throat, calming himself. “Now. Due to this...issue...Joan,” He glanced at Aragon when he used the correct name, “I’m going to have to call your mother to pick you up for the day.”

Joan stiffened like she had been struck by lightning. She went horrifically pale- paler than she usually was.

“Wh-what?” She whispered.

“I’m calling your mother,” The director said again. He furrowed his eyebrows at her distress. “You’re a minor, Joan. Your parents have to be called when something is wrong. And you need to be picked up. I know it’s basically the end of rehearsals, but you probably shouldn’t stick around any longer than you have to.”

“No,” Joan said in a voice that’s strangled with fear. Her eyes are wide, like she’s already predicting a million different futures where this goes horribly wrong and gets her in trouble or humiliated again.

“We have to get your mother involved.” Aragon said gently, hoping to get through to the frightened girl. “She needs to know.”

“No!!” Joan cried, and then the water cooler against the wall burst apart.

———

Bernadette Meutas was as sickly as her daughter, but less so physically, and more so mentally. She had wide, wild, and bloodshot moss green eyes that were sucked into their sockets and sunken cheeks that made her head look more like a dead person’s skull. Her lips were frayed and bloodied from constant chewing on the flesh and her wrists were covered in scars, some old, some new.

Joan always hated the scars on her mother’s wrists. They made her feel guilty, like it was her fault that they were there.

“So, you’re a woman now,” Bernadette muttered.

She and Joan were sitting in the car outside their shabby house in the far outskirts of London. The building cast an eerie black shadow across the unkempt lawn. Behind it, the setting sun glowed blood red.

“Y-you should have told me, mama.” Joan said, voice shaking.

Bernadette clenched her jaw for a long moment, then roughly unbuckled her seat belt, threw open the car door, and stormed inside. Joan was left alone in the car, sniffling, trying to hold back tears.

“Maggot Meutas! Maggot Meutas!!”

Her mother had moved them all the way out to the sticks of England in hopes they could get far away from all the sinners and unholy leaches, but she didn’t seem to do a good job because there was a little neighbor boy on the other side of Joan’s window, shrilling like a bat out of hell.

“Maggot Meutas! Maggot Meutas!” He changed again, then pressed his nose against the glass and made what he thought was a good impression of a maggot’s face.

Joan clenched her fists with a pathetic whimper. Her blood was starting to boil.

The boy cackled loudly, twisted his bike around to drive off to celebrate his success of tormenting the city’s local freak, but didn’t get very far. Because Joan twitched and, suddenly, the kid is toppling over very ungracefully into a heap in the grass. He looked up at Joan, just as startled as she was, then scrambled to get his bike back up and rode off screaming.

Joan stayed very still for a long time, staring at her hands. Then, she’s wiggling out of her seat and walking slowly into her house, unable to ignore the confrontation with her mother any longer.

Bernadette was sitting in the kitchen with her back to Joan, rereading the Bible for what was probably the hundredth time and smoking a cigarette. The overhead lights were dim, but Joan could still see bloodstains on her mother’s green sleeves. She whimpered softly, but quickly bit her tongue when she glanced fearfully up at the large crucifix hanging above the dinner table. It was usually used to discipline her for her perceived infractions, and, because of that, always made her nervous whenever she stepped anywhere near it.

“Mama,” She spoke up softly, stepping warily into the kitchen doorway. “Y-you said y-you’d stop cutting yourself...”

She knew, deep down, that that promise was nothing but a hollow lie, but she liked to comfort herself with the thought that her mother would get rid of her self destructive habits and they could be a happy, normal family like she always wanted them to be.

“And God made Eve from the rib of Adam,” Bernadette recited instead of replying. Her voice was hollow and drained. “And Eve was weak and loosed the raven on the world. And the raven was called sin.” She creaked around slowly in her chair to stare at her daughter. “Say it.”

“Wh-why didn’t you tell me, mama?” Joan asked quietly.

“Say it.” Bernadette merely said again, rising to her feet.

“And the raven was called sin,” Joan said and the words were horribly sour on her tongue. She shook her head. “Why didn’t you just— why didn’t you tell me, mama?” She tangled her fingers in her cross necklace like she always did when she was nervous. The cold metal lacing bit into the back of her neck when she tugged on it. “Mama, mama, please. It hurts, mama. It hurts, it hurts!”

Bernadette is unfazed by her daughter’s desperate pleading. “And the first sin was intercourse.”

“I’m not Eve, mama!” Joan wheedled. “I-I didn’t sin!”

“You were showering with other women.” Bernadette said exasperatedly. She looked sick when she spoke that sentence. “You were having lustful thoughts.”

“N-no, no, mama!” Joan stammered, eyes widening in fear. “I-I wasn’t, mama! I promise!”

“You were having lustful thoughts about women.” Bernadette oozed scathingly.

“No! No!” Joan shook her head. “E-everyone has to shower! I-I was j-just cleaning myself up because I was sweaty after rehearsals!”

“So it’s this blasted play that’s doing this to you,” Bernadette mused, not even hearing her daughter. “It was a mistake. I thought putting you into homeschooling would give you more time to focus on your prayers. And you had been doing so good that your reward was to be in this damned show, but clearly you don’t deserve that.”

“No!!” Joan cried. “No, mama, please let me stay! Please! I-I promise that I’ve been a good girl! I do my schoolwork during any free time I have and I always pray! Always! I promise!”

Even if it earned her awful ridicule and teasing.

“But you sinned.” Bernadette seethed. Her voice remained dry and hollow, sending several chills down Joan’s spine.

“I didn’t!” Joan said. “I-I’ve never sinned! Never ever! N-not at school, not at home, no at the theater! S-so please don’t take me out, mama, I love to play mu—”

Joan was cut off when her mother hit her across the head with the Bible. Her frail, lightweight body instantly crumpled under the force of the heavy book and she toppled to the ground with a cry of shock and pain.

“And the first sin was intercourse.” Bernadette said blankly, gazing down at the shuddering figure of her young daughter.

“I didn’t sin, mama!” Joan just said again, hoping she would eventually get through to her mother.

“Say it.” Bernadette said. “The first sin was intercourse.”

Joan stammered, choking on her words.

“The first sin was intercourse. The first sin was intercourse. The first sin was intercourse.”

“Mama-���

“The first sin was intercourse.”

“The first sin was intercourse!” Joan sobbed, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. “Mama, I was so scared! I-I thought I was dying! A-and e-everyone was laughing and th-throwing things at me—”

“And Eve was weak.” Bernadette said. “Say it.”

“No!!”

“Eve was weak. Eve was weak. Eve was weak. Say it! Eve was weak. Eve was weak.” Bernadette chanted over and over again.

Joan covered her ears, pulled her knees tightly to her chest, and wailed, “Eve was weak! Eve was weak!”

“And the Lord visited Eve with a curse,” Bernadette whispered. “And the curse was a curse of blood!”

“You should have told me, mama,” Joan wept. “You should have told me!”

Bernadette suddenly dropped to her knees in front of Joan, making her flinch away. She ripped Joan’s hands from where they’re over her ears and held them tightly in her own.

“Oh, Lord!” Bernadette howled, shaking Joan. “Help this sinning girl see the sin of her days and ways! Show her that if she had remained sinless, the curse of blood would have never come on her!”

“No, mama,” Joan whined weakly, wriggling in her mother’s grasp.

“She may have been tempted by the anti-Christ, she may have committed the sin of lustful thoughts—”

“M-Miss Aragon s-said it h-happens to every girl!” Joan said. “Th-that they all get it a-and it’s normal!”

“No, no,” Bernadette shook her head. She held tighter to Joan’s hands, digging her long fingernails into sensitive flesh and causing her daughter to sob in pain. “Don’t you lie to me, Johanna. Don’t you know already that I can see inside of you? I can see the sin within you.”

“P-please stop, mama, you’re hurting me,” Joan whimpered.

“You need to pray.” Bernadette suddenly said and Joan’s teary eyes shot open wide. “Come. Get in your closet.”

“No! No!!” Joan struggled against her mother as she was forcefully dragged across the floor to a small storage room underneath the staircase. She kicked and screamed, but it did little to free her as she was thrown into the cramped space like a worthless sack of potatoes. She tried to get up and run out, but the door was slammed in her face and promptly locked.

Banging on the door and screaming was fruitless. Joan gave up after a few minutes and curled up in one of the corners of the room, staring fearfully at the dozens of photos of Jesus’s death around her. The statue of him on a cross was by far the worst, though.

Pain seized her lower stomach and she whimpered. It felt like a demon was trying to claw its way out of her belly.

Joan curled up tighter, rocked herself back and forth slowly, and cried.

[danganronpastories]

Double date Part 2

( @broth-y here’s part 2 for you. The actual date, I hope it’s alright. I also used an idea that @soudam-appreciation had, I thought it was cute.)

The movie theater had soft blue carpeted floors, with tiny colored squares that were also designed on the carpet that looked like confetti. There was people everywhere: Buying tickets, getting snacks, at the arcade on one side of the movie theater and just heading to their designated theater room.

The boys were getting their tickets, their was music playing over the speakers, tvs on the walls showing trailers and people walking around. Gundham looked around, “Theirs so many mortals” he thought. Gundham’s breathing started to speed up, he fidgited with his scarf and scoffed his boot tip on the carpet. The mortals around him were starting to overwhelm him. “Hey” Gundham jolted when the voice broke through his panic. Kazuichi was holding his hand, rubbing circles on Gundhams palm. “Hey baby, just focus on me til we get to our seats ok, don’t pay attention to anything else. Just focus on me, everything's ok” Kazuichi soothed, holding his hands soothingly, giving Gundham something to focus on. “Are you guys ok?” Mondo walked over with their snacks, Ishimaru was carrying their tickets. Gundham spoke up quietly “Yeah, we’re fine, let’s go”. They all walked to their theater room.The movie was a scary one, full of jump scares and a creepy ambiance. Kazuichi was clinging to Gundham, face buried in his chest. Gundham was rubbing his back, and kissing Kazuichis hair every so often. Honestly though Gundham was just faking being calm, he was actually terrified and with every scare he would slightly jump and would have to put on his mask to fake him being stoic.Ishimaru was sitting on Mondos lap, more focusing on playing with Mondo’s shirt than the movie. Mondo chuckled and kisses Ishimarus forehead. Mondo was the only one who wasn’t scared, it was just a scary movie, he didn’t think it was that big a deal. After the movie the boys went back to Mondos house. Mondo and Taka grabbed two tent bags and the other two grabbed their own and some other bags Mondo and Taka wanted them to carry. They went to a car in Mondo’s driveway. Mondo turned to Kazuichi “you can drive right Kaz?” Mondo asked, his pompadour swishing when he turned. Kazuichi nodded, wringing his hands. “Well you drive and i’ll give directions to our destination from the passenger seat ok” Mondo explained, his voice joyful and excited, even if his voice was somewhat gruff. Kazuichi nodded, “Yeah, I can do that” Kazuichi agreed enthusiastically, smiling his shark tooth smile. The boys got into the car, Mondo gave instructions to their destination while Kazuichi drove somewhat nervously. Gundham and Kiyotaka sat in the back, talking well more like yelling excitedly. Taka was talking about the newest subject he had just learned, while Gundham answered or gave remarks in his normal speech patterns.By the time they got to their destination it was sundown. The sky was a bright beautiful orange, while streaks of pink covered the orange, the edges of the sky were darker and the sun went down like slowly dripping paint. They were in a grassy field devoid of human life, the fresh green grass swayed in the cold crisp breeze in a beautiful hypnotic dance. Tree’s were all around the field, dotting the edges like a border of some beautiful artwork hung on the wall.Kazuichi drove the car off the dirt road with a slight crunch onto the edge of the grassy area. Gundham was the first one out of the car, he had figured out the moment he saw the tent bags that they were going camping, and god was he ecstatic. He ran to the middle of the grassy clearing, looking around like a kid who had never seen the woods before. That was false considering Gundhams talent but he was still excited. “Hah this is truly a place where demon beasts roam!” He yelled excitedly. Kazuichi closed the drivers side door with a click and looked lovingly at his boyfriend. He laughed a laugh to himself before running full speed at his beloved. Kazuichi hugged Gundham from behind but the force of Kazuichi running full speed hitting Gundham from behind sent them both to the ground. Kazuichi propped himself up on his and knees while Gundham rolled over to his back. “G-Gundham i’m so sorry, I didn’t me-” Kazuichi was interrupted by soft lips hitting his. Kazuichi gasped at the sudden contact before melting into the kiss. “Fellow friends, help us unpack at once before you start your shenanigans” Ishimaru yelled, waving his arm up and down in straight angles. Mondo laughed before shouting “Yeah fuckers, we don’t have all day!”. Kazuichi pulled away slowly and helped Gundham up. The boys unpacked the tents, and it was obvious to anyone that Kazuichi had no idea how to set up a tent. Gundham decided to give his boyfriend a job so he didn’t feel left out. He kissed Kazuichis hand and Souda blushed bright red. Kazuichi, my darling could you please grab our personal bags?” Gundham asked, in his deep silky tones. Kazuichi nodded, finding his voice had died in his throat. While Kazuichi went to grab their bags, Gundham and Mondo set up the tents and Kiyotaka blew up the air mattress. Once the boys had set up their sleeping quarters they set on their new task: The fire. Immediately Mondo glared daggers at the pink haired boy and the boy who should not be wearing a scarf in the middle of spring. “You two, don’t even touch the fire. Last time we let you handle fire, you both almost burned my shed down” Mondo retorted with a seething force.Kazuichi backed up, scared of Mondo’s tone. Gundham smiled wide, made a show of swishing his hair back and laughed uproariously “Hah your shed was no match for the dark lords magic flames” Gundham proclaimed, making a pose. “Ugh Gundham if you don’t shut up I swear to god, i’m gonna kick your ass!” Mondo roared, taking a step forwards in Gundhams direction.  While Kazuichi backed away now very scared, Gundham stood firm. His arms dropped and he chuckled lowly. A dark shadow fell over Gundhams fae, leaving only his red eye glowing, he tilted his head slightly. Mondo tensed, Gundham to him resembled a cobra about to go for the kill. Gundham raised his head a bit, “Hah I’d like to see you try” Gundham challenged menacingly, it felt like he was spitting venom from his lips. Kiyotaka sensed how ugly this situation could get, and while he knew Mondo was strong Gundham was known to be a terrifying fighter, especially provoked like this. Ishimaru hugged Mondo’s waist “Mondo, you promised me you wouldn't get into any fights” Ishimaru pleaded. When Mondo saw the puppy dog eyes looking up at him his heart melted, and the resolve to fight left him. He relaxed and pet Ishimarus hair, who in turn leaned into his hand. “Ok baby, I won’t fight” Mondo said softly, and Ishimaru smiled softly. Kazuichi decided to use his secret technique to calm Gundham, Kazuichi really didn’t want to see Gundham almost kill someone today.Kazuichi slipped under Gundhams arm, beside his chest and started petting and playing with Gundhams hair. Gundhams scary disposition melted and Kaz caught him as his boyfriend fell comfortably into Kaz’s arms. “I think you guys can make the fire now, I think Gundham’s out of commission” Kaz told the two, giggling a bit at Gundham, he really reminded Kazuichi of a cat.  “Got it” Ishimaru answered and Mondo and him cleared out a patch of grass, Mondo kissed Kiyotaka’s cheek and he blushed and hugged him. “Ishimaru, honey I need to start the fire” Mondo said lovingly, caressing Ishimaru’s cheek. Ishimaru made a pouty face and clung on for a few more minutes before helping Mondo start the fire. Meanwhile Kaz was sitting in the tent, with their air mattress and made bed with the normal blanket underneath them and the weighted blanket that Gundham used to sleep better. Kaz was petting Gundhams hair, the man in question’s head was on Kaz’s lap. Gundham was making a sound that resembled a cat’s purring and Kaz was trying to have his heart not explode. “You’re so cute babe” Kazuichi whispered, Gundham grumbled and uttered “No i’m very fearsome.” Kazuichi looked at his boyfriend, “of course you are babe” Kazuichi just decided to go along with it. Gundham sat up at the sound of a crackling fire, “we should go out now” Gundham told Kaz and the two made their way out. Kazuichi brought out smore materials and Kiyotaka held hot dogs and skewers. Kaz jumped up and down, he was so excited to make smore’s. “smore time, smore time” Kaz whispered in a sing songey voice. Gundham chuckled and kissed Kazuichis cheek.  Ishimaru set up the food for everyone and the couples went into comfortable chit chat while they ate hot dogs, smores and basked in the warm orange glow of the campfire. For two hours there they were in peace. Ishimaru sat on Mondos lap, both stopping to kiss every 5 minutes, the other two didn’t mind, they were both cuddling and flirting with each other. They were in their own little safe bubble, with only the cricket sounds and the moonlight to keep them company this night.  Soon they all went to their tents to get some rest. Kiyotaka cuddled into Mondos chest and Mondo gave him sweet kisses and pet Taka’s hair. “I love you” Ishimaru proclaimed, giving Mondo a kiss on the cheek. “I love you too Taka, with all my heart” Mondo answered. He rolled onto his side, pulling Taka close. Mondo blushed and started to sing softly, Ishimaru smiled and snuggled close beside Mondo. Mondo sang until he heard Taka’s breaths go steady then he fell asleep as well.  Meanwhile in the other tent the boys found out they were missing something. “Shit Gundham, I think you forgot your headphones” Kazuichi told Gundham, who agreed. Kazuichi held Gundhams hand, “do you think you’re gonna be able to sleep darling?” Kazuichi asked. Gundham went quiet, he could hear the crickets chirping their symphony, the wind blowing through the grass, the leaves rustling with the wind, and if he listened real close, nocturnal animals scurrying around on the ground. “Yes I think i’ll be just fine”  Gundham answerede, smiling. The two settled down into bed, Kazuichi rested on Gundhams chest, Kaz’s right hand intertwined with Gundhams left. The two quickly fell into a deep sleep, both fitting perfectly together, like two puzzle pieces.

[lavendersblues]

Buddie + 3? I'm living vicariously through you and several others with this ship ^^;

Valentine’s day at the firehouse always sucked, in Buck’s humble opinion. His last few had been miserable (the date with Abby was nice, the impromptu tracheotomy not so much). And now that Bobby was married, suddenly Buck was one of the last single people on their shift.

“Oh cheer up, Buck,” Hen teased as she caught sight of his moping face. “You’re not the only single person in the firehouse this year.”

She then sent a significant glance towards Eddie’s back and Buck didn’t know whether or not to be sad or comforted. He settled on sad, giving Hen the briefest acknowledgement, before returning to staring at the back of Eddie’s LAFD shirt bearing his name.

The thing was bothering Buck most, however, was that he knew Eddie wasn’t supposed to be single.

Eddie was supposed to be spending this Valentine’s day with Shannon. But that option had been taken from him in the most tragic way. Not only had Shannon asked for a divorce, but she’d been hit by a car. Eddie hadn’t even had a chance to make things right before Shannon was gone. It wasn’t fair.

Before Buck could spiral further into his own thoughts of tragedy, self-pity, and sadness -- both for himself and for his best friend slash unrequited love -- Eddie turned and offered Buck a beaming smile that sunk right into his heart.

“Hey Buck,” Eddie greeted, slapping Buck on the shoulder with a hand and giving it a gentle squeeze -- an act reminiscent of a day in the not too distant past where Eddie had broken through the final lock on Buck’s heart. “Have any plans for today?”

Buck shrugged. “Oh, you know, pizza and Star Trek. It’s really just another day when you’re single.”

“True that!” Chimney called from the balcony, and a there was a swell of chuckles that followed. When the echoes died out, as they finished bouncing around the spacious concrete structure, Eddie turned back to Buck with those hyperfocused eyes.

“There’s nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you.”

“So why don’t you come over and do pizza and Star Trek with me and Christopher? We can make it a boy’s night. I’ll even spring for beers.”

Buck’s heart lurched in his chest and then quickly shifted into fluttering almost painfully as a tiny bubble of hope rose up. He tried desperately to quash it and play off his agreement with nonchalance. “Oh, yeah, sure! That sounds great. I’ll bring the pies.”

Eddie gave that heartwarming half smile that sent Buck’s heart into a tizzy as he clapped Buck’s shoulder one last time. “Sounds great. See you at six?”

“Yeah,” Buck dry swallowed. “Six.”

As Eddie’s retreating back disappeared out of sight, Buck heard a faint clicking. He turned to his left and saw Chim and Hen with their arms crossed, Hen with her head bowed as she shook it back and forth, clicking her tongue.

“Boys,” she muttered with heavy exasperation. 

Chimney nodded sagely at her side. “You said it.”

---

Buck pulled up to Eddie’s house at 6:03 PM after having showered and shaved (slightly), with piping hot pizza from Giovanni’s, the small local restaurant that was only ten minutes from Eddie’s place and was an immediate favorite of Christopher’s. There were two boxes -- one, a standard combination pizza for Eddie and Buck, and a smaller pepperoni and mushroom pizza for Christopher.

Knocking once for an air of politeness, Buck shouldered open the door with a practiced ease. “I’ve got pizza!” he called into the apartment. There was an immediate flurry of noise as Christopher came barreling down the hall as fast as his crutches would carry him before he collided hard with Buck’s midriff.

“Buck!” Christopher was chanting, hugging Buck tightly. “Buck! Buck! Buck!”

“Hey, buddy!” Buck slid the pizza boxes onto Eddie’s counters before reaching down to envelop his favorite kid in a tight, protective hug. One hand landed on the back of Christopher’s head the way it had when he’d pulled Christopher from the water all those months ago. All Buck wanted to do was wrap Christopher up in his arms and keep him safe forever, but experience had taught him that you couldn’t wrap up kids in bubble wrap.

“Buck! It’s boy’s night!” Christopher crowed happily before detaching himself from Buck and moving back into the living room. “Gonna watch Star Trek with us, Buck?”

“You know it!” Buck grinned, glancing up as Eddie entered from the hallway with a soft smile. Buck’s heart did a backflip. Eddie’s hair was damp, and so was the collar of his shirt -- he must have just gotten out of the shower. He looked so clean he was almost glowing (but Buck was almost positive that Eddie glowed even after a four-alarm fire with his hair sweat matted and his face smeared with soot).

“Thanks for coming Buck,” Eddie said softly as he went for the pizza, using the disposable plates Giovanni’s had provided. “Beer’s in the fridge. I’ll get the disk loaded up in the DVD player.”

Buck grabbed two beers and a bottle of IBC Root Beer for Christopher (Eddie’s way to help Christopher feel included when the adults had their ‘grown-up drinks’). He popped the tops and set them on the coasters spread across the coffee table. Christopher had plopped himself into a special ‘movie theater’ seat that Eddie had bought off eBay. It had a cup holder and it reclined like the fancy new seats that were sweeping the nation, but it was miniature and just the right size for an eager seven-year old to use as he ate his pizza from the coffee table.

“So, what episodes are we watching?” Buck asked curiously from the couch where he had unceremoniously thrown himself, leaving just enough space for Eddie who shoved his legs out of the way before sitting.

“Wait, you actually meant the TV show?” Eddie asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “What happened to the Buck who didn’t care about anything that was made before you were born?”

Buck felt his face heat as he grew flustered. “Well, I just knew it was Christopher’s favorite show that he shared with you so I started watching it. I’m not very far -- I fall asleep a lot when it’s on. But I think I’m in Season 2?”

Eddie looked gobsmacked. It took a second but he shook his head, seeming to regain his composure. “We’re actually watching the 2009 movie with Chris Pine. Lots of explosions and action sequences. We thought it was more your style.”

“And sky-diving!” Chris piped up from the floor. “They go sky-diving!”

Both Eddie and Buck laughed, and Eddie took that moment to hit play on the menu screen before he settled in with his pizza, nestled just close enough to Buck to be absolutely maddening. Buck watched the film with moderate interest -- he’d seen it when it had first hit the theaters with his friends back in Pennsylvania but he hadn’t been super interested in the sci-fi genre at the time.

But now he wanted to watch and appreciate the film for what it stood for as a representation of his growing closeness with Eddie and Christopher.

It was just damn hard with Eddie’s leg burning a brand into his knee through the entire two and a half hour film.

Buck was so screwed.

---

After the film ended, Buck hung around on the couch as Eddie got Christopher ready for bed. He laughed as Christopher kept trying to convince his dad to let them watch at least one episode of the original Star Trek series before bed, but Eddie wasn’t swayed.

“It might be Valentine’s and you might have had too much candy at school, but it’s still a school night and that means bedtime is at 8:30. We’re already late on getting you into pajamas and teeth brushing!”

“But dad! Buck hasn’t seen Tribbles!”

“Tribbles can wait until the next boy’s night, okay?” Buck called down the hall, craning his neck around the corner to see Christopher, half in his pajamas and partially in the doorway of the bathroom where he was standing toe to toe with Eddie. At Buck’s words, however, Christopher gave in, allowing Eddie to usher him back into the bathroom with a grateful smile sent back down the hall to Buck.

After that it took no time at all to get Christopher tucked into bed with one final, “Good night, Buck,” followed by a warm hug and the soft sounds of Eddie telling his son one last story before the door to Christopher’s bedroom shut with a muted click.

Eddie’s feet dragged down the hallway with soft heavy padding noises before the frazzled father himself rounded the corner and he collapsed onto the couch, his head nearly in Buck’s lap. Eddie stared at the ceiling for a long moment and Buck took that moment to stare at Eddie.

“Thanks for coming over tonight Buck,” Eddie sighed, his eyes drifting shut for a few long moments. “We both really needed this.”

“Yeah,” Buck replied, desperately trying to keep his voice from cracking with all of the emotion behind it. He failed. “Anytime.”

Buck paused, then continued -- “And it’s not like I had anyone that wanted to spend Valentine’s day with me anyway.”

From his position on the couch, Eddie stiffened, his eyes still remaining shut -- though now with some apparent effort. After a few moments of deliberation, Eddie sat up turning to face Buck with a heavy expression.

“I wanted to spend Valentine’s day with you, Buck. That’s why I invited you.”

It was like a punch to the solar plexus and Buck reeled backwards. “But -- but I thought you only offered because my whole plan for the day sounded pathetic.”

Eddie’s hand was on his shoulder again, warm and solid and strong.

“I was the one who asked you what you were doing today, Buck. I wanted to invite you over. I just thought your plans would be fun with the three of us.”

Buck’s heart tripped and he felt short of breath. “Wait, so -- so it’s Valentine’s day, and you wanted -- you wanted -- but it’s not like -- I mean you’re not -- you haven’t been flirting with me or anything!” he sputtered, stumbling over his words.

Where Buck was flustered and buzzing, Eddie was calm and steady.

“Buck, I’m flirting with you. I have been since the day I met you.”

“But you -- Christopher -- I don’t -- wait --,” Buck’s breaths were coming in hard and heavy and he suddenly found himself with nearly a lap full of Eddie Diaz as Eddie’s hands cupped his face and the other man drew himself closer.

“Buck, Buck,” Eddie stressed, pointing Buck’s face towards his own, “look at me Buck. Deep breaths. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Or to break your trust, but I --”

Whatever apologies or retractions Eddie had set to spill from his lips were silenced as Buck leaned forward quickly and pressed his lips against Eddie’s. Buck didn’t want the apologies or retractions or the ‘We can pretend this never happened’. He wanted this. He wanted nights watching cheesy sci-fi remake films and eating pizza and hugging Christopher good night. He wanted Eddie Diaz pressed next to him from shoulder to ankle, warm and real. He wanted all of this -- but he’d just been too afraid to say so.

Buck pulled away from Eddie’s soft and incredibly willing lips with a soft smack, feeling Eddie’s exhale brush gently against his skin. Eddie’s thumbs brushed over his cheekbones softly and sent a thrill up Buck’s spine.

“I’ve been flirting with you too,” Buck said softly, through a smile that he thought might actually break his face.

Eddie grinned then, that same bright indulgent smile that seemed to be reserved only for Buck. He pecked Buck on the lips quickly before pulling away, their smiles making it difficult to do much more.

“You’re incredible, you know that right?”

Buck couldn’t help the smirk that creeped onto his face. “So I’ve been told.”

“Shut up.”

Eddie shouldered Buck hard, sending Buck rocking back away towards the other end of the couch -- laughing all the way. But it was worth it, seeing Eddie’s pink tinged cheeks as he rolled his eyes, taking one final swig from his beer.

Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley was in love with his best friend, and it turned out that when your best friend loved you back? Valentines Day didn’t suck as bad after all.

[cecilspeaks]

163 - “Bravo”

Our moral compass has been demagnetized. Welcome to Night Vale.

Night Vale, Carlos and I went to see a new play the other night. It’s been ages since we went to the theater. I think the last show we saw was “Hamilton”, which is a Tony and Pulitzer winning hip hop musical about figure skater Scott Hamilton, who died in a duel to fellow Olympian Katarina Witt. “Hamilton” was wonderful, but live theater is so expensive. It’s a rare treat for us to get out of the house, what with the cost of tickets plus dinner, parking, a babysitter, tuxedo rentals and all that time spent watching YouTube makeup tutorials for jamming facial recognition cameras.

But my friend Charles Raynor invited us as his special guests to watch the premiere of a new play at the Night Vale Asylum, where Charles is the warden. The play was called “The Disappearance and Cover-up of Flight 18713 as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum of Night Vale under the Direction of Undercover Agents from the National Safety and Transportation Bureau.” Or, “18713/NTSB” for short. I’m used to seeing plays at the New Old Opera House or in the high school auditorium. There’s also the Black Box Theatre, which presents some of Night Vale’s most experimental drama from young performance artists. No one has seen any of these shows, or if they have, they’ve never emerged from that doorless black box, its walls perfectly smooth and faintly warm.

But this particular play was at the asylum itself. The Night Vale Asylum perches atop a craggy peak in the Sand Wastes. It’s brutalist concrete walls intermittently slashed with slivers of windows. I do not personally know anyone inside this intimidating institute, other than warden Raynor himself. And I’ll admit to being a bit nervous venturing out at night to a heavily guarded home for the criminally insane. But Carlos put me at ease by rolling his eyes. He said it was neurotypical ableism that makes us think this way. That movies and TV shows often play up harmful tropes about psychopaths and lunatics, planning daring escapes so they can return to a life of criminal misdeeds. Carlos explained that asylums are merely places where we hide away the people who most remind us of the inexplicable fragility of the human brain.

Driving out past the Scrublands under an indigo sky, the full moon low over the horizon backlighting the Night Vale Asylum atop its jagged rocky ridge, my nerves returned. I thought I heard coyotes howling in the distance, but it was the car stereo. Carlos had put on his favorite new Frank Ocean album called “Various Animals Screaming”. When we arrived, warden Raynor greeted us at the gates. Two guards wearing army style green dress uniforms flanked him. Their right breasts were laden with medals, chevrons and stripes. They each were armed with billy clubs, tasers and slingshots, and one of them was wearing an eye patch, but it was positioned in the middle of his forehead.

The warden escorted Carlos and me to our seats, which were simple wood chairs. There were only ten seats total, all in a single row along the rear wall. There was no standard stage to speak of, no curtain. The actors were all in costume in the center of the room, already in character. The other seats were already filled. Warden Raynor, Sheriff Sam, three of Sam’s secret police officers, two of Sam’s overt police officers, and an angel I had never met before, but who introduced themself to me as Erika. With a K, they added. “Nice to meet you, Erika,” I said. “You got ten bucks?” Erika asked. “Uh, sure,” I said. “What for?” “Not everyone gets to know everything,” they said. “You either got it or you don’t, man.” So I handed them ten bucks and minutes later my lower back pain, which has plagued me for the last six months, was gone. I looked back at Erika and I saw the wink at me, or I think they winked? They have ten eyes, so it could have just been an asynchronous blink. It’s hard to even tell what they’re ever looking at.

The play began with an introduction by warden Raynor, who welcomed us all to this unusual night. The first ever performance of an original play by inmates in his asylum. He introduced the writers/directors of the piece. There were three of them, each dressed in an electrical blue jumpsuit. One of them had a blister on his upper lip, another a swollen red lump along the cuticle of his right index finger. One of them had an unceasing nose bleed. I recognized them as the agents from the National Safety and Transportation Bureau in Washington, who had come to Night Vale two months ago to investigate the disappearance of Delta flight 18713. Sheriff Sam had placed these agents undercover in the asylum to try to meet with an inmate named Doug Biondi, who claimed to have pertinent information about the missing aircraft. Upon remembering this, I flipped quickly through my playbill to find the ensemble members’ names. And there on the title page was the name Doug Biondi, who was cast as airplane pilot. As the warden returned to his seat and before the house lights dimmed, I leaned over to Sheriff Sam and asked, “How is the undercover operation going, Sheriff?” Sam glared at me and said, “I’ve no idea what you mean.” “You know, with the NTSP officers here in the asylum trying to interview Doug Biondi?” I asked perhaps a little loudly for a theater. “The NTSP officers are criminally insane, Sessil,” the Sheriff said unironically and with more than a touch of scold in their tone. “That is why they are here. They are a danger to themselves and others.” I had many more questions, but before I could say anything, the lights faded to black, and I heard the first voice of the play.

“Find us,” called the voice in the dark. “Find us,” it echoed again. A faint glow coated like frost the wild-eyed faces of the inmates on stage. The frantic visages made all the more panic by deep eyeliner, rouge and lipstick. Most were dressed in common street clothes: slacks, jeans, buttoned-down shirts, mid-length pattern skirts. Two were dressed as flight attendants and one as the pilot. I could only presume a small budget, as the uniforms worn by the latter groups were largely suggested by navy blue hats and little plastic wings on their lapels. The pilot wore anachronistic aviation goggles and so it was difficult for me to see and remember the face of this actor, this inmate, Doug Biondi. But I could see his mouth, which was unusually white. The corners of his lips extending well past the width of his eyes. He had an unusual number of teeth in his harsh smile, a smile which never abated, even in his most somber of scenes.

“Weeee surviive,” said Biondi’s pilot character. “Weeeee livve. Weee cannot dieee. Noot here, noot in No..Where.” He said it not like the vague concept of “in no place”, but “No Where”, two words capitalized, like the name of a specific place. Each actor was seated in short tight rows of four, a narrow aisle in between, mimicking the floor plan of a common fuselage. At the front of the troup sat Doug Biondi, as airline pilot. “How did we get here, in No Where?” said one of the passengers. “And how shall we return?” said another. “Only,” they said in unison, “when you find ussss.” This last line they said with a quick twist of their necks towards the audience. Then the scene shifted, the chairs cleared and all of the actors stood in the profile of a Greek chorus. They explained the flight from Detroit, the view of lake Erie, they told stories of different passengers. One who had a job interview, one who was looking for an apartment, another who went to Palm Springs on vacation. They told the story of a bright light and a loud pop, and suddenly the engines were silent. The plane felt still, unmoving, and then the chorus all pantomimed the leaning, concerned gaze out airplane windows. Instead of tops of clouds or distant shapes of great lakes, though, they looked out and saw – children in a gymnasium. They heard the squeak of sneakers and the joyful cries of playful exercise. It felt like minutes, maybe a whole hour. They could not understand what they were seeing. They could not comprehend an elementary school gym six miles above southern Canada. But they were not six miles above southern Canada. They were only a few feet above the American Southwest, inside an airplane, inside an elementary school gymnasium, in a town called Night Vale. And as quickly as they had appeared there, they disappeared. Off the radar, gone from the skies, out of known existence. Throughout this chorus, the speakers filled our ears with the joyful shouts of children, the hollow metallic thumps of red rubber balls, and the collective panicked inhale of a 143 passengers and crew of a displaced plane, and then it was silent. And then it was dark.

A single green light appeared on the far wall, a dot, a blip. A radar blinking on, then off. And the voice of Doug Biondi said: “Weeeeeee are not passengers on a plane. Weeeee are actors. Weeee are inmates of the Asylum of Night Vale, but weeeee do not belong here. Weeee are people who know truths. People who know more than is allowed, and for that, weeeeeeeee are kept in cages. Weeeeeeee are fed poisoned pills and circular logic.” And at this point in the play, I felt movement in our small audience. The warden had stood up and was shouting: “This is not in the script, Doug!” But Doug spoke louder, faster. “Iiiii am not insane, I say! Only the insane would say such a thing they say. Then I am insane, I say. Yes you are, they say. I am trapped, I am framed, I spit out your poisoned pills! I reject your propagandist blather. I know what I know I say. Hold him down they say.” Warden Raynor had gone to the tech board and turned on all the lights. He shouted “code blue” into a radio receiver, and we saw half a dozen security officers in their green medal laden uniforms lurch from the corners of the room, penning the ensemble of inmates into a tight circle in the center. “Return them to their rooms,” the warden called.

But as the guards encroached, the three men from the NTSP stepped to the perimeter of the mass of inmates. They were holding little plastic wings just like those on the costumes of the actors playing flight attendants. One of the NTSP agents, the one with an unceasing nose bleed, opened the back of the wings, revealing a long sharp pin, and thrust it into the neck of a guard. Simultaneously, the other NTSP agents and several other actors did the same, and the guards fell to the ground. One of the NTSP agents, the one with a blister on his upper lip, grabbed the keys and weapons from an unconscious officer. “Dearest audience,” he said in verse. “We mean them no harm. ‘tis but a sleep, a little pharmaceutical rest for a uniformed guard who kept us confined, made life hard for us low level agents doing our jobs, trapped ‘neath the lies of a warden who robs our freedom and murders our spirit. At last we can go, approach the wall and clear it, but heed my warning: as we this coup fly, every man for himself, better run – or die.” And upon this last line, the alarm bells of the asylum rattled my ears and my nerves, shaking Carlos and me from our seats. The inmates scattered in every direction as Sheriff Sam and their officers gave chase. Carlos was nearly stepped on by one of the escapees, and as I bent to help him up, I was knocked over by two officers in full sprint.

When the commotion died down, I looked up and saw Erika still sitting calmly in their chair, and I asked: “Erika, what is happening?” Erika looked down at their playbill, and then back at me, and said: “I think it’s intermission.”

And now the weather.

[“One One Thousand” by Raina Rose rainarose.com]

After 15 minutes, Carlos and I returned to our seats hoping, but not truly believing it really was an intermission. We’ve seen immersive theater before, like “Sleep No More”, an interactive show in New York City where audience members are placed inside a huge warehouse of actors dancing out the plot to “Macbeth”, and at the end everyone is granted the ability to live out the rest of their lives without sleep. It’s expensive and not for everyone, but totally worth it if immersive theater is your thing. But this show was not that. No. “18713/NTSP” had gone wrong. Or, perhaps it had gone right. Under the strict critique of plot structure, character development, and production value, the play failed terribly. But as a piece of political or (agit prop) theater, it was a rousing success. The Sheriff’s Secret Police have placed roadblocks around the entire city, hoping to keep these supposedly dangerous inmates from leaving the area. It is bad optics, to say the least, for the entire population of the town’s asylum to escape custody.

But as Carlos and I left the theater space, we walked down the long corridors, cells and rooms open, no security detail in sight. In one of the cells, below a cot, was a journal. It was the journal of Doug Biondi. Page after page was filled with monologues, narratives and conversations from various people. People who were on a plane, people in transit between checkpoints of life, between relationships, between homes, between jobs, between vacation and work. These stories were written as verbatim dialogue, as if Doug Biandi had transcribed them himself. As if he could hear the voices of those very people. Like former air traffic controller Amelia Anna Alfaro. I wonder if Doug heard the same voices. The same passengers of the missing plane. I had my intern Seamus go down to the library and look up public records on Doug Biondi, hoping to find some connection between Doug and Amelia, but Seamus still has yet to return with that information . I even double checked my playbill looking for Amelia’s name in the cast or crew, but she was not listened here. She was likely never in the asylum.

One thing I did find, though, was a note in the back of Doug’s journal. This note seemed to be in Doug’s own voice. “They tell us we are kept here for our safety, but they keep us here for their safety. They fear what will happen when the people on that plane are found. But I think they have already been found. They should be afraid of what happens when the people on the plane find us.”

Night Vale is on lockdown, so stay home and stay safe, listeners. I do not believe any of us to be in danger from those who escaped the asylum, but I do believe us to be in danger of most everything else. Stay tuned next for a serious of audio clicks, which is definitely not federal agents tapping your radio. Don’t worry about it.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

[theveryworstthing]

Pictured: three blooming Luna Mandrakes.

Field Notes: Fruit Bats

From my experience you suddenly know exactly what’s happening when you see the Blooming begin but you don’t really care about it more than any other seasonal marker. It happens every year to specific people and for some reason it just slips your mind when the physical signs are less obvious. It’s just the way things are. One of the natural mysteries here that no one really thinks about but that we all reflexively keep from outsiders.

Maybe it’s the smell that triggers the return of memories? During the day you’ll start to get tiny whiffs of their musty fruity aroma if you stand too close to the Luna Mandrakes. Not that most people stand especially close once they remember what they are, but in some cases it’s unavoidable (or just rude) to keep your distance. They’re a part of the community after all. They’re the soft spoken neighbor who lives in the house where grass grows up through the floorboards. The kind butcher who’s bare feet are always caked in blood and dirt. The school janitor who stared at the sun, eyes unaffected by the glare, every lunch break when I was in high school and told us stories about the founding of the tribe that settled here before this town was built. Every spring they and others like them go about their lives as the days grow warmer and their skin grows paler and nobody mentions the way they gently scratch at their too-long necks when the the time to bloom grows near.

The process has always reminded me of those time lapse videos of seeds sprouting. For some the buds bubble up through their flesh and squeeze cascading blossoms through the widening pores that begin to honeycomb their throats. You can even hear the thin protective membranes that re-form every morning pop open under the pressure if you’re nearby during their evening transformations. For others the flowers don’t wait for an opening to spring from, instead their skin simply twists and puffs itself into fat white knots that always reminded me of oiled balls of dough. By day they hang heavy from the knobbly stem formed from spines shrink-wrapped in velvety white skin. At sundown the buds begin to split and separate, until they eventually fan out into dramatic manes of thick white petals. The flowers themselves come in different sizes and configurations, but they all finish their evening blossoming by unfurling blood-red clusters of pistols and stamens that pulse like gentle heartbeats. Personally I find them all breathtakingly beautiful in that gross way that nature is beautiful. Almost makes me wish I had studied botany instead of biology.

How do I always forget that they aren’t human?

How does anyone ever forget?

I’ve always felt like I should be terrified by the cycle of forgetting and remembering and maybe if I hadn’t been born here I would be. It could just be that my endless curiosity about the ecosystem around my home trumps the fear. Or I’m just weird inside. Probably a mix of the three. I don’t even think I’m supposed to notice that I should be upset by it. No one else feels the same way.

No one else gets anxious around the bats either.

I think they’re harmless, I’ve been told all my life that they’re harmless, and I tell every classroom of children I visit that they’re harmless. They show up every year right as the Luna Mandrakes start blooming to feed on their nectar and in turn, pollinate them. Just like regular bats. Regular bats that are large enough that their combined wings of their relatively small population completely black out the sky for at least ten minutes every evening, the sight of which has always given me such a rush of smothering claustrophobia that witnessing and recording the the spectacle for my research leaves me shaking and lightheaded. Regular bats that only thrive in a neighborhood on the south side of the city with the densest population of Luna Mandrakes, where harsh restrictions and curfews send any human on the streets at night without a botanical license straight to jail for encroaching on the habitat of a protected endangered species. Regular bats that my mentors and I, even with our exhaustively thorough paperwork are only allowed to observe through field cameras in approved locations or by studying the occasional disfigured body found at the edge of the desert.

Regular bats that I finally saw alive and up close last night when I grabbed a burner phone and slipped out of my apartment with a fake botanical license and the promising seeds of a future panic attack.

So.

Right off the bat (no pun intended) something is wrong with the cameras we’re using.

Something about them is distorting the images into visions of creatures both more bestial and less monstrous than the bats I saw attending the lavish night market that has apparently existed here for god knows how long. Draped in finery and walking upright with ease they wandered the streets freely, stopping ever so often to converse with each other in a language I couldn’t understand or flitting from one open door or window to the next. I peeked inside one dimly lit bar and found it converted into a sort of small theater where a few bats munching on mealworms crowded around a huge flat screen tv and a human woman with a lanyard matching my forged one flipped through movies on Netflix and described each one in detail, pausing between summaries to gauge the half hearted chirps coming from her audience before moving on. Next door a supposedly closed for renovations bed and breakfast was transformed into a makeshift spa where human attendants rubbed shimmering oils into the sprawled out wings of bats being meticulously groomed by other bats with white beads braided into their fur. In the open garage of a closed auto shop yet more bats sat around watching chickens in a makeshift pen. The chickens weren’t fighting, in fact I think they were both hens? At one point a bat reached down to pet one before being aggressively clucked at and recoiling back to their seat. I still have no idea what the point was with that one.

I should have taken pictures. I mean I’m glad I didn’t because I drew enough attention to myself without snapping Polaroids like a tourist every five seconds but I have a feeling once I get some sleep this is all going to feel much less real and I’ll forget important details before I can get some solid sketches of the bats done. I wish I could draw right now but I’m still too jittery.  

Also I am procrastinating because writing out my thoughts about chickens and giant bats trying to agree on if they were in the mood to watch Spice World means I can avoid talking about the Luna Mandrakes.

As I said before, this area of the city is where most of the Mandrakes lived. I was confused at first because I saw so few out on the streets where the bats mingled but the ones that I did see looked…off. They were all bare foot and either wore off the shoulder garments or went topless, probably to comfortably make room for their floral manes. Angel hair thin tendrils of flesh peeled away from their ankles every time their feet touched the ground for more than a few seconds and gently prodded the sidewalk beneath them until they continued walking. Their half-lidded eyes had a reflective sheen to them in the glow of the street lamps and they rarely blinked as their focus darted back and forth from the market wonders to the bats that watched them with open curiosity or kept pace just steps behind them. They moved like they were swimming through warm molasses. Smooth and purposeful, but easily too slow to lose their admirers. It gave them a kind of floaty quality that would have been quite elegant if not for the fact that their hands seemed to be just out of sync with the slow down, flexing and fidgeting as if untethered from the strange spell the rest of their bodies were under.  

I followed one of the plants deeper into the residential area and watched them disappear into a darkened home. I was too afraid to join their entourage inside, but I did decide to look at some the houses with less traffic. Even with fewer bats or human officials to potentially discover my ruse, the Mandrakes’ homes were eerie enough to give myself a three house limit on investigations before I turned around and made my way back.

I made it to one.

It was a small house tucked away on a dead end street, totally unremarkable outside of a couple of trees and bushes out front that shielded much of it from view and the fact that the door was open but the windows were all shut. I should have left when I heard the guitar from just inside the dark entryway, but I didn’t. Mostly because the high of curiosity and the possibility of catching a giant man-bat monster thing maybe having a chill jam session overpowered my common sense. Instead I followed the meandering melody down the hall and tried to dodge the sticky sections of the wall that coated the hand I used to guide myself in the dark with what felt like watered down syrup. I followed it all the way to a slightly open door in the hallway where the moonlight through the windows was more than enough to make out the carpet of red stained petals I had been walking on.  

There were at least five bodies on the floor of that room.

Whatever did it had torn through the blossom manes of the Mandrakes, leaving their heads barely attached by strands of viscera to chests that seemed to have been crushed and gnawed on by some massive creature. All evidence pointed to them being dead but those who had them still slowly followed me as best they could with their cloudy eyes.

I took a step inside and tried not to meet their gazes as I tried to mentally process the destruction. Besides a few thin smears and splatters there was surprisingly little blood at the scene. Or maybe it was all nectar. I feel like my clothes stink of both now. I also think I’m probably dangerously deep in shock because my first move upon getting home from such a scene was to write it all down instead of sitting in the shower and screaming for days, which seems much more up my ally when it comes to finding a room full of corpses that track you with their eyes but that’s neither here nor there.

The Mandrake with the guitar sat in a chair by the window, clearly also a victim of whatever mauled the others but mostly intact and still breathing fairly easily. He didn’t respond to my intrusion, I don’t think he even knew I was there. The tendrils around his ankles had rooted him in place, threading themselves into the rug at his feet and winding around similar limp and blackening tendrils branching from the fallen bodies nearby. He played as if in a daze and I debated on whether I should try to get his attention or simply haul him out of there before whatever did this came back to finish the job.

This dilemma is probably what distracted me from the footsteps until I felt the clawed hand gripping my shoulder.  

“You’re not supposed to be here,” The bat said in a deep feminine voice. Their tone was light and neutral as if merely giving me a friendly reminder, but they extended their wings just enough to block my exits while long red fingers reached for my lanyard. I felt just as rooted as the Mandrake while it turned my fake id back and forth in the moonlight, purring to themselves in an inquisitive tone before eventually smiling and setting the piece of plastic back against my chest with a little pat. Their hand came back up to my shoulder and paused for a second before sliding up to grip my collar bone and smearing something warm and wet against my throat with a clawed thumb.

“You are not,” they said, quieter now as they leaned down and forced me to stare into their giant brown eyes for what felt like hours, “supposed to be here.”

I nodded.

And then they just…let me go.

They strode past me into the room, sparing the other bodies only a glance as they headed for the Mandrake with the guitar. I only stayed long enough to watch them gently brush the dark brown curls out of his eyes before my body’s flight response finally kicked in and I bolted.

And now I’m home. I kept calm and got past the barricades like I was supposed to. I discovered that a species I thought I knew all my life has a secret society that mirrors our own which brings us up to two sapient non-human species living alongside us that the rest of the world has no idea about. My plan totally worked despite the fact that it totally shouldn’t have. And I’m not sure if any of that matters because to be honest I have no idea what to do with this information. What I do know is that I got a news alert on my phone about an hour ago when a home on the south side of the city was destroyed in an electrical fire that claimed the lives of the five people inside before firefighters could arrive and thankfully extinguish the blaze.

No word on a sixth body.

No word about any dangerous creatures on the loose.

And I can’t even focus on the implications of these new mysteries because all I can think about is the shadowy courtyard just outside my apartment where I swear I’ve spotted a tall dark figure with nectar-stained hands at least twice now. I don’t think they can do closed doors and windows but mine are all locked and bolted just the same. All I can do is wait.

Forty-five minutes until sunrise.

over on patreon Shannon Leigh Legler  asked for 'big fat flowers', Sabrina Gross asked for 'cute girls of any kind', and he_walks asked for 'April showers bring May flowers.....but what else do they bring?'. the first two prompts inspired the sketches and the last prompt plus the sketches inspired the short story :)