#also this edit has lived in my computer half finished for over a year and she's finally seeing the world

[blackhholes]

sam winchester - welcome to eden

I thought I was Eve but I guess I'm the snake

[sclarflared]

hello ! the name is jae ( she/they ) and i was super excited to stumble upon this rp because of my love of cyberpunk and scifi. i present to you all today, yoon jaehyun, local ansan who has lived here pretty much all his life and honestly hasn't known any other place but the city itself. a dj at orbital and one of the better known ones within the last few years, known for sometimes producing his own tracks and intermingling them with well-known songs in popular culture. more about him under the read more. also i ask that you please bear with me, last weekend i broke my humerus bone in my right arm, had surgery, and am recovering. my arm is splinted and i sometimes wear a sling, but my right hand is free so i'm able to type and stuff. i'm excited to plot with you all and if you have discord, i'd especially love to chat with you there ! edit : he now has a pinterest board ! and a stats page !

born and raised in ansan, he grew up with a single mother and a father that was never in the picture. when he was old enough to understand, his mother eventually told him that right after he was born his father earned a one way ticket to astra and didn't think twice and left them behind.

though he's never left ansan, this has largely colored his idea of the colony and he wouldn't give two shits if someone said he could leave tomorrow to the colony above. if he won a ticket in the lottery, he'd give that ticket to someone else in a heartbeat.

currently 24 years old, has a birthday in january, so he'll be 25 early next year. accepts he/they pronouns and is asked for a label would describe himself as a demi-male. often experiments with his clothes when it comes to usual gender norms and rarely has a normal hair color. currently rocking blue hair ( because i'm still over here crying and missing hongjoong's blue hair ).

lived just barely above the poverty line growing up as his mother didn't have a lot of skills or any kind of degree to help with that. she ended up working on average two to three jobs as he was growing up just so they could pay rent, pay for food, and try to give him fun things growing up when possible. grew up really close with his mom and as an adult he tries to help her in anyway that he can since he makes more money than she ever could.

developed anxiety and depressive issues in his middle years around eight or nine years old. was pulled out of school for years because he couldn't handle it and it would be years before his mother could afford something to help him, had some mood regulators that allowed him to enroll back and finish high school, but hasn't used any such since he was about eighteen years old.

always had a love for music and did odd jobs in his teenage years to afford meager producing equipment and a barely passable computer where he could create his own music. if you asked his opinion on his early stuff, it was mediocre at best but as the years have passed and he's gotten better equipment and learned new techniques.

posted some of his tracks on whatever the soundcloud equivalent would be and that gets him noticed slowly but surely. goes by the alias shadowstorm when he first posts his music and it sticks. finds the opportunity to to do some amateur dj gigs, before he finds out that orbital as looking to hire some new djs and were offering opportunities to those generally unknown in the nightclub scene.

surprises everyone when his one night audition is sort of a hit and is asked to become one of the alternate djs at the club. a few years pass and he becomes one of the regular djs headlining several nights during the week and weekend.

still goes by his alias for his stage name and is always seen with a mask that obscures the lower half of his face and large headphones that further obscure things when the dark lights of club strobe around him. he prefers that bit of anonymity that it gives him that not everyone would recognize who he is if he were passing them down the street during the day.

deals with his anxiety and depression issues through recreational drug use. it's not hard for him to acquire considering life revolves around nightlife and orbital most days. usually keeps it under wraps that it's more than just something fun to do and that he uses it as a coping mechanism. still refuses to use mood regulators again because he never liked how it made him feel.

lives in one of the lower floors of la mariposa in a studio apartment. being a dj and royalties from some songs that he had produced haven't made him super rich or anything, but much better off than he used to be. considering he uses some of his money to help his mother out, you won't find him in a bigger apartment or one of of the penthouses that the absurdly rich could afford.

personality wise ; headstrong to boot once he gets his mind on something it's hard to get him to stop. stubborn as hell, doesn't often like to be told what to do. sarcastic and isn't above a bit of dark humor when it suits him. unless you're close with him or known him for years, he's not the type to easily open up to others readily. seeks thrill from time to time and can be a bit reckless at times. if defined, is an introvert who pretends and thinks he's an extrovert but actually isn't and doesn't realize why he just crashes after a long night at orbital.

plots

if they live in la mariposa, someone he's seen in passing ? maybe they've run into each other at the gym, or simply in walking in and out of the building and on that hello i've seen you a few times basis.

fellow bad influence that he regularly does drugs with ? maybe they help supply each other with certain substances that the other isn't able to get easily and often have nights where they party and get wasted together and end up waking up half clothed on the floor of one of their apartments.

some flings and exes ? definitely see him as pansexual but has leanings toward masc presenting/nonbinary folks. give him an ex that really broke his heart and it's been hard on him to let anyone in like that since then ?

close friends he's known all his life, works for those who have lived in ansan for a long time or all their life as well.

anything really ? we can plot it out.

[deerblossoms]

i’m deeply fucking cursed. every pen i’ve journaled with in the past month has died. i JUST bought a new pen, used it once, and it’s already dead the next day. what the fuck??????!? like at first, when this started happening, i was joking about a silly little pen curse during the retrograde. now i think it’s me. this used to happen when i was in high school, too. when i was journaling all the time back then. so fucking weird.

kayla and i are on a week and a half break, not talking until the 18th or 20th or so, and it feels okay on my end. i’ve noticed i’ve completely stopped stressing about the relationship. but i’ve also noticed nobody texts me. kinda sucks! really sucks. i’m trying desperately to find people to go see challengers again with and nobody has the time. jack moves back today, finished their first year of college and i’m so proud of them. they’ll be closer next year which will be great. i am making a quick note here to say i’m soooo over the gabby luna sitch that i don’t even feel like writing about it. detaching myself. other people’s lives aren’t my own. and i certainly don’t need to worry about the lives of people who can’t even text me more than once every few months. jesus!

i don’t know. i feel so weird today. i couldn’t get myself up and at em today and spent all morning doomscrolling and watching SATC. yesterday i came home before leaving for work, sat down on the couch to catch my breath, and immediately started crying. couldn’t even figure out why. still don’t know! i’m not doing amazing, i don’t think. i was for a moment, when the cherry blossoms were out, but now i don’t know what to do with myself. i have the day off and i have no clue how to spend it. i might spend it watching tv all day, which i kind of want to do. could watch eternal sunshine and the social network and binge SATC. maybe i’ll put the footage i captured onto my computer. i need editing software so i can do something with it, though. lol! i did just get paid so i could shell out for FCP but i feel as though that’s unwise. is it? i have no clue. i guess maybe i need to just accept the loneliness i’m feeling, embrace it, stop trying to fill it or replace it. stop keeping myself busy and just be lonely, keep my own company. watch a lot of tv.

it’s funny how little i care about something after its time has passed. i was so excited to go see the barbie movie and then i didn’t, and now i doubt i’ll ever watch it. i have no wish to. i finally realized luna and i would never be real friends the way things stand right now, so i’ve stopped caring. javi doesn’t text me so i don’t text him anymore. everything comes and goes. once i know someone’s not interested in me i lose my crush on them completely. i forget about everything, and once i forget, it stops mattering even after i remember. this is actually a conversation i should be having in therapy because i can hear myself kinda spouting BS a little but i’m not sure how to call it on my own. high school was so awful and now it’s a million years ago. everything passes. life is a river and you never see the same wave twice. it’s probably not good for me that i haven’t written poetry in so long. though i remember i used to always say it was a “bad sign if i was writing poetry again”. truth is though, if i’m doing badly i should be writing about it. i’m trying to convince myself to start making art again. fill up my sketchbook with whatever. rip myself from my phone and put my anxious energy into my art. whatever that art is. i just feel so pathetic lately. so nothing. i feel like i could melt away and i would be as much use to the world as a puddle. sometimes i feel like i’m just here to entertain everyone else and i’m not living for myself. everyone loves me, everyone cares about me, everyone’s happy to see me, but nobody wants to spend time with me. nobody reaches out unless i reach my hand out first. nobody even has the time to go to a fucking movie with me. i’m just the eternal manic pixie dream girl. kayla reaches out, i guess. but that’s something else. we don’t have anything to say to each other. when i’m with her i don’t have any passions or dreams or aspirations. i’m just a body next to hers. old wise man with a guiding light when she needs it. and it doesn’t feel good, and it’s not her fault. it’s completely inexplicable.

anyway i’m sad. obviously LOL this is such a depressive pessimistic entry. i’m trying to quit biting my cuticles and i’m not doing well at it. i keep forgetting until i’ve already got the skin half-ripped between my teeth. and by then, might as well. i’m so over begging for company. people can come to me. people can make plans with me. people can do that or i can do things on my own, like always. maybe i want to be alone because i know every book and therapist and person will tell me this is an awful plan. no good to stop trying with other people. but i want to. i’m tired of trying. and i know i’m loved, i know i’m cared about. i’ve just started to feel like a monkey with cymbals in their hands. everyone’s off doing something important with their life, going somewhere, working towards something, caring and living and i’m the little kid on the couch, just waiting till they come home. i don’t feel like my own person anymore. i keep checking my messages, obsessively, looking for that little red dot. WHAT ever. it’s cold out and i finished my coffee and i feel very small.

[nomotorobison]

Appreciation of a Free Donut

It was the start of the winter holiday season in Aurora Colorado - probably around 1970 I was in junior high school and had been asked to paint a seasonal mural on the window of a donut shop at one end of the Hoffman Heights Shopping Center. It must of been my East Junior High art teacher who had set this up as there were a couple other students there and we each had our own large pane of window to paint. I remember the process began with using a bar of soap to sketch out the design on the glass before dipping into my tempera paints and then covering the window with color to reveal my original design. I don't know what time we started the process, probably early afternoon. But by the time I had finished painting it had become dark outside. Not that it was extremely late. This was December so the sun set early.

I cleaned up my paint supplies and as we were about to leave when the owner of the donut shop offered us a donut, any donut we wanted. I wasn't expecting any sort of compensation for my work. I did the painting as some sort of extra curricular art class assignment. But after smelling donuts while painting for several hours I was delighted by the offer. So I picked out a donut and the owner also gave me a cup of hot chocolate. The other students took theirs to go but for whatever reason I remained there in the donut shop, sitting alone, consuming my donut while gazing at the window admiring my work and feeling accomplished but also observing the outside world around the shopping center - all the lights and all the people having just gotten off of work rushing around doing their Christmas shopping.

A few years later I would take my very first job at the other end of that same shopping center. Bussing tables at Joe's Pizzeria for $1.25 an hour.

Perhaps the reason this memory of the donut shop has returned to me is that now that I am a few years retired, I am at the other side of that moment in terms of my working life. I am again creating art without any expectation of compensation. My medium has switched from tempera paints and a pane of glass to digital cameras and computer editing but still creating my art. So just as I was so appreciative of the donut shop owner who offered me a donut over a half century ago I am appreciative of those who have recognized my creative endeavors and are willing to contribute to them. I was recently surrounded by so many of those people at the cast and crew screening of my feature film "The Eve of May" and hope they realize how much their involvement is appreciated by me.

And in a final note: When you started reading this maybe you were expecting some exciting or humorous tale but I believe sometimes appreciating the simple happy moments in our lives is far more important. If you've seen many of my films you probably realize this about me. So, wishing all of you a merry Christmas. Enjoy your day today and each day that follows. Try not to let decades pass before you realize what a nice time you had today.

[tomboy-writer]

Game On

Chris Evans x Black Girl Gamer Reader

C.W.: bit of swearing, horror game mentions, Chris being a bit of a childish dork, me not knowing exactly how being a streamer works that much -\(._.)/-

AN: its a little crappy cause I haven't written anything in a very long time (a few years, to be exact), but I hope ya'll like it anyway.

   "That's all the time that I have for this video, my peeps," you announced to your computer screen as you sat in your black and red gaming chair; huge smile on your face. "So far this game is great! I love the story, awesome voice acting and great graphics. I just really like this game so much already! With that being said though, I still have to end this video here. Don't forget to give this vid a thumbs up if you enjoyed it, subscribe for more. Peace out!"

  After you finished your outro, you stopped recording and took a sigh of relief. As if on cue, your phone screen lit up, showing that you had a text from your boyfriend.

         Done recording, Y/N?

      Yeah babe, all finished

  Almost immediately after you sent the message, you heard footsteps running down the steps to the basement -or, as you call it, your gaming pad. The door swung open and your boyfriend ran up to your chair and hugged you from behind.

  “Chris, what are you doing,” you asked, looking  up at him.

  “Hugging you, obviously,” he replied as he ran his fingers through your naturally curly hair. Chris looked into your eyes and smiled his chipmunk like smile. “I missed you so much, honey.”

 “Chris, its only been two hours. Plus we’re in the same house.”

  Your boyfriend of a year and a half let you go and turned your gaming chair around so that you two were now facing each other. “One, it’s been four hours,” Evans corrected. 

  Your eyes bugged out a bit, not realizing you had been recording for that long. You would game for yourself for that amount of time, maybe even longer. But for your Youtube channel? Never. That was kept for only two hours; three a the most. Never four. But, in your defense, time flies by when you’re having fun.

 “Two, you never let me in here when you’re recording and I get lonely without you, babe.”

  “Hold up, Chris. I do so let you down here while I’m working. I just don’t want you in the screen,” you said matter of factly. “Or, ya know, your voice captured on the mic.”

“What’s wrong with my face and voice?”

  “Nothing. Except for the fact that they’re both very recognizable and I don’t need my fans knowing that I’m dating Captain America.”

     “Would you rather let them know that you were dating the Man of Steel,” Chris jokingly asked.

     “Please, you’re the first celeb I’ve ever dated. Plus, Cavil has nothing on you,” you replied with a wink.

   “Thanks, Y/N,” he chuckled, “but you still barely let me in here.”

 You smirked. “It gets tiring editing you out.”

    Chris faked being offended by placing a hand over his chest. “Oh it does, does it? Well fine, guess I’ll just eat all these newly bought snickers myself then.”

      “Evans, don’t you dare eat a single one without me!”

   Chris laughed at you and then pulled you out of your chair by your arms and held your hands. “Mmm, you have to come upstairs if you want them,” he teased, “or I will eat them all.”

  “Babe, you know I have to edit first.”

   “Or you can do what you sometimes do and save your video, check that you saved it, double check that you saved it, triple check that you saved it and then finally close your work and spend with your loving boyfriend.”

  “You know me so well. Fine, lets go.”

  You and Chris head upstairs into the living room to snack on some snickers and binge watch The Proud Family.

     Two weeks had gone by and you were home alone as Chris was working on a new movie that he had directed and starred in. You and him texted and Facetimed as much as you could, but you also used this time to game and livestream on your Twitch channel.

  You were in the beginning of playing Resident Evil 7 when you got your sixth jump scare.

     “Jiminy Cricket,” you shouted out of fright. Then you let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of your nose. “Its only the start of this damn game and I’m already this damn scared.” You chuckled as you read through some of the comments that the live audience was sending.

 ‘I think I’m actually gonna shit myself,’ one comment said and you couldn’t agree more.

    You took a quick breather and a few sips of water and continued on with the game.

  Finally -after what felt like forever- you got the game’s protagonist, Ethan Winters, further into the spooky house and running away from his possessed wife. You jumped, gasped and nearly yelled at the multiple jumps scares that came your way.

  “Alright,” you sighed while pausing the game, “time for a quick break. Ima roll my chair over to my mini fridge and get some more water and snickers.” You did just that and rolled back into the view of the camera after getting your snacks. You took a long swig of your water. “Stay hydrated, my friends,” you said as you wiped the corner of your mouth. You continued to chat with your live audience while snacking and calming your nerves.

  Once you were ready, you went straight back to the game and getting chased by Mia. Every few minutes you heard movement and other weird sounds in your house, but you shrugged it off as paranoia from playing a horror game joked with your viewers saying “there better not be a damn ghost in my house” and ( to the tune of WAP) “there’s some ghosts in this house, there’s some ghosts in this house!”

  The live viewers sent lol’s and lmfao’s in the chat and encouraged you to carry on. So you did just that and carried on with the game, drowning out the sound of your beating heart and...whatever bumping noise you heard upstairs. Maybe it was Dodger playing with his toys. You trusted the cute doggo enough to be by himself for awhile, especially after he had used the bathroom. Plus, the basement door was always left opened so Dodger was able to come and go as he pleased and you didn’t think anyone would recognize him either.

   The intro to the game played and you and your fans watched as Ethan Winters got ambushed by one of the game’s antagonists.

   “Welcome to the family, son,” you heard him say as he decked Ethan in the faced.

  You laughed at the now famous line, but then gasped when you heard a voice behind you say “ooh, that had to hurt”. You quickly swiveled in your chair and almost jumped out of it.

  “CHRIS,” you cried out in shock. “What are you doing here?!? I thought you weren’t supposed to be back home for another two weeks!”

       “Yeah, but I missed you too much babe,” Chris replied. He crouched down to hug and kiss you on the cheek and then looked right into the camera which you quickly turned away, almost knocking it over. “What? Is this too much to edit out or start over?”

  “One: if you think I’m starting this anxiety inducing intro over again, then you must be out your mind! Two: I’M LIVE, CHRIS!!”

   Your boyfriend dropped his arms from around you and let out a low “oooh”. Suddenly the chat bursted with comments of shock and awe.

   ‘OMG THAT’S CHRIS EVANS’

  ‘it’s Captain American guys :OOOOOO’

  “Shit,” you muttered, “I guess people know now.”

    “That’s okay, babe,” Chris replied. “I want people to know.”

  You let out a little ‘huh’ as your lover gently lifted you from your gaming chair, sat down on it and sat you down on his lap. “Hey, everyone, this is Chris Evans here. Yes, the Chris Evans,” he awkwardly chuckled.

   “Babe, you sound like a dork and this is not a two person seat.”

   “I know, Y/N, but I’m comfy...also rude.”

   Then Evans turned his attention back to the Twitch audience to answer some of the questions that were coming in through the comments section. “This beautiful woman and I are indeed dating; have been for almost years now and,” he paused to look at you with the biggest smile that he’s ever had before. “I love her. I love her so damn much.”

   “Chris,” you whispered, “I love you too, baby.”

      Not really meaning to, you and Chris kissed slowly on camera. When you two pulled away from each other, Chris gave you a quick peck on the top of your head.

    “I’m gonna go upstairs, sweetie. I’ll see you when you’re done,” he said. 

  “Okay, Chris,” you replied, blowing him a kiss as he made his way to the steps.

  He stopped midway to give you some words of encouragement. “Have fun, babe. Oh, and good luck; that game looks scary as hell!”

   You chuckled as you went back to playing Resident Evil 7. ″Okay everyone, lets get back to the game.” Your audience watched you play, asked a few more questions about your and Chris’ relationship (some didn’t believe that it was the real Chris Evans, and didn’t blame them). but most stuck to commenting about the gameplay out of respect for your privacy and generally for the fun of the game.

  You continued to trek through the scary in-game house when another unexpected scare happened.

    “Oooooh,” you screamed, much louder than what you meant to. “Shit, that was scary as hell!” Then you heard your phone’s text notification go off. Unlocking the device, you saw that the text was from your boyfriend.

  L.B.G. [Left Boob Grabber]: I told you that game looked scary!! I heard that scream all the way up here lmfaooo

  You shot him a quick text back saying I’m sure there’s more where that came from, so prepare your ears XP 

  Laughing to yourself, you put your phone back down and gamed on.

____________________________________________________________

Whew, my 1st Evans fic!! Well, I actually started writing an Evans fic a long time before this one, but this one is shorter (shorter than this at least) and I got it done 1st. I hope ya’ll enjoyed this, sorry for any typos or missing words (happens when i type fast). Requests are closed for right now as I already have some other stories on my list to write, but I am willing to write for other fandoms as long as I know them and have a feel for the characters. If you’re new to my page, then please check out some of my other fics! I wrote for The Wanted, Supernatural (I don’t watch the show anymore, so if I do get requests for SPN, then I’d really would prefer to keep writing about mid season characters. Think I left on season 10 or 12). I still write for WWE (where most of my requests came from) and am currently in the middle of a few fics.

Lemme know what ya’ll think about this fic; feedback is always welcome, just don’t be rude about it. This is also my 1st time using the ‘keep reading’ on one of my fics, so also lemme know if that works too :’)

Stay hydrated, everyone and have a good night/day.

[wizkiddx]

heyheyhey idk if u do req but love your dad tom stuff! PLZ PLZ do tom helping his kids with homework but cant do it and reader has to help and its all fluffy 😩💕

ye im down to do req and this had me going completely ott cos its v cute (and a lot less angsty than what ive written recently aha) so apologies for my ramblings:

Summary: tom has the kids for a day and maths homework throws a spanner in the works - tomhollandxreader

implied smut + v slight reference to porn but basically just fluff I promise xox

\\\\\\\\\\\\///////////

Tom had dealt with a lot of whining today. Nova and Leo were the absolute joys of his life, there was no doubt about it. Of course, he also loved you a hell of a lot too - sometimes to his detriment though, hence the position he was in now. 

You’d had a busy week at work and he had been away for the first half of it - leaving you as an almost single mother to a 5 and a 7 year old. So completely fairly, you’d asked if he wouldn’t mind watching the kids for a the day on Sunday, allowing you to go to a friends baby shower. There was no answer but to agree, Tom loved quality time with the kids and he wanted you to kick back and relax with you friends too. 

However the afternoon had not been nearly as idealistic as it were supposed to be in his head. You had left him only one real job (apart from the unavoidable essentials of keeping the kids alive with food and water, something you’d hope he need not be reminded about now). Really it shouldn’t of been that hard, it was just each kid had two pieces of homework. After convincing and cajoling the kids into sitting at the table which he’d already set up with Nova’s ‘Liverpool FC’ and Leo’s ‘captain marvels’ pencil case, the English was easy. 

In fact 5 year old Leo took great joy out of writing a poem with his Dad, which basically involved trying to rhyme any word with another - especially when he tried to convince Tom that all his completely fictitious words were real and worked together. A personal favourite had been ‘snakes’ and ‘palakes’ which Leo was convinced meant pancakes - arguing so vehemently Tom almost started to doubt himself on basic English. 

Thankfully though his eldest and most sensibly child eventually took him out his misery. If anyone had any control over the Holland boys, Leo and Tom - it was the Holland girls. You and Nova had both boys completely under you spell, often taking advantage of the fact too. It was only when Nova got bored of hearing Tom and Leo mock arguing, interspersed with the little boys giggles that Tom tried his absolute hardest to keep a straight face at, that she swooped in.

“Stop being silly Leo, mummy told you he’s not good at school!” She looked oh so innocent, eyes immediately flicking down to continue the little short story she was happily going on with. In response  Tom scowled, knowing your highly curious and intelligent daughter had asked you (for one reason or another) why he was not so academic. Yet instead of Leo bursting out laughing, instead he just nodded and accepted it too - making Tom scowl even more. Not even Leo thought it was a joke. 

So apart from his children apparently taking pity on his simple mind, it was all going smoothly. Perhaps, due to the thankful fact your children had inherited their brains from their mother - something Tom was forever thankful for, until he was shamed for his substandard intellect in the family. Then again though, he was Spiderman. So take that. 

Until Nova brought out her maths sheet. Then the afternoon quickly descended into chaos. It was fractions, something she hadn’t quite grasped from school yet - a concept that still hurt her head somewhat. Normally though it’d be fine, she’d bring the sheet to you and the two of you used ‘ girl power’ to figure it out… you prior experience as a tutor while in uni helping you know how to break through to her. 

Unfortunately Tom didn’t share this same experience. Nor did Tom share a maths qualification… something that had evaded him completely during his schooling career. Of course, it had never been a particular issue, acting didn’t require the use of maths and algebra and Tom was in a very lucky position of being able to pay someone to manage his finances from a very young age. So no, dividing 2/3 and 3/7 didn’t come the most naturally to him. Or at all to be quite honest. 

“I CANT DO IT AND GRACE IN MY CLASS COULD!” For context, Grace was one of her school friends, who forever liked to compare herself to the young Holland - especially because she was normally ahead. Nova had gone from quiet frustration, staring at the questions with her tongue sticking out slightly, to one of pure rage - yelling at her dad with tears in her eyes. Nova was normally incredibly intuitive, she always found it difficult when she couldn’t do something. Now, with a ‘teacher’ who was more useless than her - the frustrations inevitably bubbled over. 

“Hey, we can work it out, just calm-“

“YOU CANT DO IT EITHER YOUR STUPID “ She was just young and frustrated, Tom tried not to take it personally but … it wasn’t always easy. Chiefly because this was the height of offensive statement Nova knew - this was her version of adult explicit language. 

“Nova you can’t be rude.” He used his stern voice, something Tom very rarely used with his little girl. Though he never wanted to upset her, neither did he want her to think it was ever okay to be so rude to anyone like that- no matter how crappy at maths they were. It hurt him to do so but it was necessary - life lessons about the importance of being kind needed to be learnt. And it worked… if what Tom was aiming for was his beautiful baby girl’s eyes to brim with sparkling tears, her bottom lip quivering slightly. 

Instantly Tom’s eyebrows drooped, trying to fight his natural reaction to scoop her onto his knee and reassure her everything was okay. But as you had lectured him many a time before, he had to put his foot down once in a while. So instead, the father and daughter were locked in a silence and intense eye contact, until Nova hesitantly began to speak. 

“I’m sorry Daddy.” During which, Nova shoved her chair back, making it screech against the tiled floors uglily before running off up the stairs. Tom knew she was crying a lot. Knew this was going to take a bit of fixing. 

With a sigh of his daughters name, Tom popped his head into the living to check on Leo who had already finished all his stuff. Seeing him completely zombified in front of ‘paw patrol’ on TV, Tom trudged up the stairs. He knew where she was, when Nova was upset she always hid in the corner of her wardrobe and cried in the darkness. So after steadying himself with a little internal monologue of how to approach the situation Tom walked in and sat down beside the wardrobe - knocking on the door slightly. 

“Nova… can we talk please?” All he heard was sniffing echoing from the wooden chamber until she tried to shout through the door.

“Go-go… go away daddy.” It broke his heart, the way her voice wavered, making Tom pout - gently letting his head fall against the wardrobe doors. 

“I don’t want you to be upset beautiful…. And you did apologise which I appreciate. You know why Daddy got angry right?” Her sniffles heightened before she muttered a quiet ‘yes’. “And you are sorry? Because that might’ve made me really sad too.”

“I’m s-s-sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

“Then that’s good and we don’t need to cry. You want a cuddle little one?” Before Tom could even properly get up the door was being pushed open by her little hands, revealing a tear stained face and big glassy eyes looking up at her Dad. Swiftly Tom scooped her up and out of the cupboard, whispering to her while she buried her face in his chest. 

“Oh come here my little bean.”

//////////////////////

When you came home late that evening, only mildly exhausted from spending the whole day gossiping with your girls, it was weirdly quiet. All the lights were out in the front room, which made you close the door gently, thinking Tom had managed to exhaust the kids - and himself in the process. With a relieved sigh at the peace you pattered into the kitchen to get yourself a drink (it had been a little concern that Tom would’ve worked the kids into a hyperactive and delerious state that kept them up long past bedtime - which ultimately you’d have to deal with). The house was remarkably silent and though it was clear from the littered toys everywhere that it had indeed been Tom alone in charge, everything seemed pretty okay. 

It was only as you were about to head upstairs to join your hubby in bed that you realised the study light was still on, streaming through the small crack in the doorframe. Assuming Tom had just neglected to turn it off, in otherwords Tom being Tom, you nudged it open with your hand. Surprisingly though, there was your husband, hunched over the desk, looking almost angrily focused - between the computer screen and a piece of paper below him. Normally you would’ve just assumed it was another script sent over or an edit Harry had sent of another screenplay they were writing together. 

But no, the blatant red flag was the screen that you could see. A screen on YouTube, of a man pointing at a whiteboard of fractions. 

So with a soft wrist you wrapped your knuckled on the side of the door, even if you had technically already entered the room. The reaction had you stifling a laugh, it was as if you’d caught him watching something *less PG* the way he jumped out his seat, closing the browser immediately. 

“Love!! I -er … didn’t know you’d got back?”

“I just did.” You smiled gently, while walking into stand behind his chair, wrapping your arms round his neck and pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Soooo…. what’ca doingggg” The glee in your voice was evident, making Tom groan and shut his eyes. 

“I hate you, you know that right?” 

“No you don’t… but you were watching a primary school video on fractions, if I’m not so mistaken?” He sighed deeply, making a point of turning the paper with his scribbles over to obscure it. 

“Nova’s homework.. she couldn’t do it and neither could I, so then she basically screamed at me for being thick and udseless and then had a breakdown.” 

Now you felt guilty. This was a bit of a sore spot with Tom, he always for some reason felt inferior because of his academic ability. Which was stupid- mainly because he was the most clever and talented man you’d ever met. Just…. Just not at fraction. 

“Oh T… you could’ve just left it for me to do with her, I don’t mind.”

“That’s not the point Y/n.” He snapped a little, shrugging your arms off him and spinning in the chair so he could face you. “She’s my daughter and I should be able to help her! It’s not like it’s that hard, it’s just I’m unbelievable thick.”

“Tom stop. Look - you can do this I assure you, it’s just been a long old time ‘kay? Your rusty and that’s only natural.”

“I really don’t think I could ev-“

“Can I teach you? It’s just the method and then I promise you’ll get it.”

It took a bit of persuasion but eventually Tom agreed, letting you pull the corner chair forward to beside his desk so you could demonstrate it to him. To be fair, he really could do it- just a bit of familiarising on the ‘stick-change-flip’ method. The way the lightbulb moment literally caused his face to light up; scurrying to do the question for himself, tongue sticking out in the process; then presenting it to you proudly - well it had you melting in your seat. 

“See! That took all of 5 minutes and you got it.” You elbowed  his side by leaning forward in the chair, which instead of letting go, Tom reached and caught, before pulling you up and round. You landed with you bum perched on the edge of the mahogany desk, Tom now stood up- his legs in-between your parted thighs - your feet hooking round the back of knees. 

“It’s all down to my incredibly talented teacher.”

“No…. No I really don’t think it is” You mused with a soft voice, fingers instinctively going to the nape of his neck - twirling the little curls round your fingertips. 

“Well even so… I think I could teach you a thing or two too.” Never one to mull on anything, Tom’s tone had immediately switched to something a lot more… mischievous. 

“Not even going to ask about my day? Wheres the chat mr smooth?” He had to repress the grin at your smirk because as much as you infuriated the hell out of him - you also had this weird ability of making him feel so entranced and helpless. He relented with a sarcastic chime.

“Fine, how was your day love.”

“Good…. but I have a feeling you’re about to make it a whole lot better.”

That was all the signals he needed to lean forward, in doing so forcing you back until your back landed completely on the cool wood. His lips feathered yours, both hands pinned either side of your head.

“Oh darling… you have no idea.”

[sombreboy]

Quality time⇢kth x jjk

⇢18+ ⇢pairing: Taehyung x Jungkook ⇢genre: Smut, fluff, mxm, married couple ⇢word count: 3.7k ⇢warnings: Profanity, fluff, smut, daddy kink, sub!jjk, dom!kth, dirtytalk, masturbation, anal, please its fiction use lube and be safe, creampie in da ass

A/N: Serves as a oneshot within the Love Maze series AU, however can also be read on it’s own. Co-written with my lovely @velvetwicebang​​ <3 Banner made by lovely @chimoona​ <3 Thank you xoxo

Jungkook & Taehyung absolutely loved and adored being fathers to little Taeyeon. There's no amount of riches in the entire universe that'd make them even consider trading their lives away. But... they'd be lying if they said they didn't need a break.

Ever since their little girl joined their family, both men have been busier than ever. With Jungkook being a very high demand tattoo artist, he spends the majority of his day putting art on people's skin. Sometimes he'd be able to bring the small one to work with him, but only when all he had to do was sketch-- and even then he'd get less than the ideal amount of work done. But he refused to let Taehyung take all the responsibility by himself. Luckily, Tae's job was not nearly as demanding. He could work on edits of his photos from his very couch with a baby in his lap without issues. Except for when the child was insatiable and wanted her other daddy. Adding to their exhaustion, when they both were actually home, all their energy went to keep Taeyeon happy, fed and clean. They love her so much, but... They've barely been able to show this love to one another.

With all this in mind, Jungkook had decided to plan a surprise for the night dedicated to his husband. From the amount of times he's been babysitting Joon and Jisoo's kids, they finally helped convince Kook to let them take Taeyeon for one night to let them breathe. Jungkook was very hesitant until he finally gave in; only with Taehyung in mind. He needed it.

Jungkook knew Tae would be waiting at home, as Koo had brought their baby with him to work to let the elder get some peaceful work done. After leaving his child at Joon's, he drove home feeling excited. On the way, he picked up some pizza. A simple luxury they've also rarely indulged in lately. Tonight was going to be simple, yet not. Jungkook felt his mouth salivate as he pulled up in the driveway, and it was not because of the pizza.

The exact moment Taehyung heard the familiar squeak of the doorknob, he dismissed his computer to the empty side of the couch. The elder was expecting to be greeted by Jungkook and Taeyeon— like always— but instead, he was met with a box of pizza in place of their baby.

“Kook, where’s Yeonie?” The little girl has been with them for months, it felt out of place not seeing her cute face after a long day of work, “Is she okay? Did something happen to her?” Tae’d been so busy thinking of the worst, that the rare box of pizza in Jungkook’s hold was momentarily forgotten. It was only when his husband had explained to him about the night’s plans that Taehyung visibly relaxed.

“Shit.. I’m so stressed out these days.” The elder sighed, finally looking into Kook’s soft eyes once he’d gotten a hold of himself, “You did this for us?” He looped his arms around Jungkook’s neck, “Baby, thank you. That’s so thoughtful of you..” Taehyung took the box of greasy pizza from his husband’s hand, careless as he sat it down on the coffee table. He plopped down onto the couch, forgetting about his ‘parent image’ for the moment. Tae brought a slice of pizza to his mouth, outwardly moaning at the forgotten flavor. He’s missed this, that’s for sure. “I missed pizza, thank you.” He was clueless as to what Jungkook’s motive was, “Want to watch TV? We still need to catch up on that show.”

"Sure, let's." Jungkook grabbed the remote as he plopped down next to Taehyung, turning the tv on to resume where they had previously attempted to finish half way through a show on Netflix. Kook reached for a greasy piece of the blissful garbage food of his own and quickly had it devoured, all while glancing over at his husband more than he was focusing on the movie. Without their child, it seemed like Taehyung really savored the moment to just be. It was like pieces of the old Taehyung seeped through the cracks of his father persona. Jungkook didn't really need nor want any more pizza, letting Tae eat most of it. The youngers appetite was for something else entirely.

As time passed, Kook allowed Taehyung to enjoy the relaxation of digesting and watching his show, but when deemed enough, Jungkook's patience ran low. Now that the elder got some time to breathe, it was Jungkook's turn to get what he's been yearning for.

"Daddy," Kook murmured coyly, knowing this specific word stirred something in his husband. He reached to caress Tae's cheek with his tattooed knuckles, a gentle way of asking the elder to look at him, "I have something else for you."

The elder found it exceptionally hard to digest his bite of pizza, so he sat the half-eaten piece down, now more intrigued by his husband’s daring words. It’s been so long; his needy cock was extra responsive compared to a few years back. It was obvious he’d been starved of sexual intimacy, every graze of Jungkook’s knuckles drove him mad with lust.

His inviting words were simply the strawberry on top. It was the extra boost the elder needed to finally attend to his own needs. And by the looks of it, his husband desperately needed it too. It was about time they looked after one another.. “Oh yeah?” Taehyung’s tongue swiped over his lips, “What is it?” Excitement was an understatement, and the growing bulge poking at his sweatpants proved that.

Jungkook had Taehyung exactly where he wanted him, aching with anticipation and excitement. It was endearing how easily affected the elder was-- but he couldn't blame him. Kook was just as needy after this long without any intimacy aside from kissing. ''You've been a bit tense lately,'' Kook's words were innocent as he leaned in to place one last sweet kiss on his lips. Now, he wanted anything but sweet, ''Let me take care of you.'' He murmured as his kisses traveled down Taehyung's sharp jaw, groaning into his tanned skin as one hand eagerly tugged at the button of his husband's pants to undo them and slide his long fingers underneath the waistband, ''Missed your big cock,'' Jungkook's words grew filthier, his hot breath moving to caress Taehyung's ear whilst his hand firmly gripped the hardening length, ''Did it miss me?''

Taehyung didn’t know when, but he threw his head back in a moan; the mere touch making him breathless. He’s been deprived of any kind of attention, and with Jungkook’s sneaky hand tightly holding on to his length, Tae felt like he could cum right then and there. The elder held himself back, though. Something told him they wouldn’t have time to themselves often, he wanted to make the moment last. “It missed you so much.. fuck. Wanna be inside my gorgeous husband..” The last part came out breathy, still heavily affected by the younger’s sudden need to take care of him. Hell, Taehyung wasn’t complaining in the slightest, “Bet it’s so tight too after all this time. Lemme get a feel, babe..”

"Anything you wish for," Jungkook cooed as he tugged the elders pants down to pull out his heavy length, grasping Taehyungs hand to place it on his own girth, "Touch yourself slowly." He ordered as he stood up to undo his own pants and pull them down with his underwear in one go, shamelessly exposing his already turgid cock. He pulled his shirt off too, making sure his husband could see everything, "You love seeing me like this?" Kook smile playfully as he grabbed his own length, making a show out of the way he rubbed circles on the wet mushroom head with his thumb. "Wanna help stretch me out with your cock, baby?"

“Mhm..” A strong gulp rippled in Taehyung’s throat, feeding off of his husband’s undivided attention as he stroked himself— slowly, like Jungkook had ordered. He didn’t want to upset the younger; Taehyung wanted to please, “Fuck, I wanna stretch you out like old times, fill you up with my cum..” An excited groan excited past Taehyung’s slightly parted lips. He couldn’t help it; he pumped himself faster. His brows knitted closer together, the wet sounds of his throbbing dick now more alive. “Baby sit on my cock, please.. wanna be in you again.” Taehyung didn’t care about how pathetic he sounded, if it’d get his point across, then he was pleased.

''Ah, how I've dreamed of hearing you say that.'' Jungkook whined as he firmly squeezed his cock, earning an aching throb from it. He felt his ass clench around nothing just from the mere thought of being stuffed full; the memory far from faded. He would never forget how good Taehyung feels, and he couldn't wait to refresh his memory further. Kook let himself go, his rock solid length wet and needy as he leaves it untouched and bobbing while straddling his husband. using his strong hands, he quickly makes work of taking Taehyung's shirt off to make it more fair in terms of nudity, ''Ah, my gorgeous husband... my sexy daddy.'' Jungkook purrs when he feels Tae's cock twitch against the skin of his ass, allowing his large tattooed palms to smooth over the elders soft stomach; less firm these days, a little plushier-- but no matter, it only made him sexier, and a perfect cuddle pillow. Kook's hands continued to travel upwards over Tae's still firm chest as he leaned forward to kiss him deeply, tongue finding it's way to slip into the elders mouth.

Taehyung’s wandering eyes throughout his husband’s face ceased their wandering, now fluttered shut whilst he drowned himself in the heated kiss; not failing to take notice of the bundle of unspoken emotions behind every brush of their tongues. His hands settled on Jungkook’s hips. They itched to pull him down— to give him a taste so he’d return the favor, but instead his warm palms ran along the curve of the younger’s ass, groping the rounded, firm skin. Tae pulled away from the kiss, rosy lips now a small trace of what’s to come, “Sit on daddy’s lap, baby boy. He also wants to take care of you..”

Taehyung roughly parted his husband’s flushed cheeks, flashing Jungkook’s pathetic little hole; just begging to be filled to the absolute brim.

Jungkook's eyes darkened with his growing need to feel Tae's cock stuff him full to the brim, a gasp pushed through his lips when he felt the elders rough, warm hands spread him open, his little hole clenching and unclenching around nothing--but not for long, ''Please, take care of me well..'' Jungkook's words were breathy, he'd spit in his hand before reaching back to wet Taehyung's cock, aligning the thick head with his needy entrance before slowly pushing himself down, far too eager to care about proper preparation-- it was worth it any future discomfort. A drawn out, breathy moan rumbled in Kook's throat at the stretch, eyes never wavering from his husband's expressions, observing and visually devouring every sign of pleasure in his face, ''I'm so tight for you, fuck...''

“O-oh..” Taehyung’s brows knitted closer together, and his eyes vaguely dimmed once Jungkook’s chamber of warmth fully settled in. His cock throbbed inside of his husband, trying to get accustomed to the tightness he once knew so well, but now lacked. “God, you’re so gorgeous..” Taehyung squeezed the younger’s ass, controlling the latter’s movements as he slowly rocked Jungkook’s hips into his own, holding eye contact throughout it all, “My fuckin’ husband, shit, I missed this.” He hissed out loud, drawn to every twist and tug of Jungkook’s face.

"We're g-gonna have to do this more often..." Jungkook's voice broke into a whine when he sunk deeper down on Tae's length, slowly but surely until he's fully stuffed, halting his movements to adjust to the stretch. He took a deep breath to relax his muscles, placing his hands on Taehyungs chest for leverage, "Can't go this long without feeling you again. It's too fucking good.." Kook's eyebrows furrow as they're drawn together, his expression a mix of the pleasure and faint pain. He gently started to grind his hips on his husband, moaning when he feels the bulbous tip brushing against his prostate, his own cock dribbling with beads of precum, "I missed this so much, god.. it feels amazing."

The elder peeked one eye open, his sealed lips twitching as if he was trying to conceal a smile, “Of course it feels amazing, it’s my cock.” A hint of the old Kim Taehyung peered through the cracks, and he had to admit.. it felt fuckin’ great to have zero responsibilities even if it was just for the time being. With his beautiful husband on his dick, Tae was reminded of their earlier; less demanding years. Suddenly, the ‘perfect father’ façade he’d built up in front of everyone else came plummeting down; he felt the most comfortable when faced by Jungkook.

“You good? I know it’s big.” A small smirk quickly shifted into an ‘o’ the moment his husband willingly rocked his hips faster against him, deteriorating Tae’s composure little by little, “Ah shit.. n-not too fast, don’t wanna cum in you yet..”

"I'm great." Jungkook's eyelids fluttered shut in bliss every time his small movements had Tae's cock prodding just the right spot, keeping his hips slow, simply rocking back and forth to still get himself used to the stretch his husbands blessed girth provided. Kook stopped for a moment, letting Taehyung truly feel the warmth embracing him tightly. His eyes opened once more before he leaned forward to cup his husbands face in his hands, stroking his thumbs on the soft skin of his cheeks, "I love you... please fuck me now." Jungkook begged, his doe eyes sparkling with need, "please, baby." Jungkook didn’t have to strain his voice when begging, or get down on his knees— Taehyung was already sold a while ago. He sensually traced the sharp outlines of his husband’s tattoos with his fingertips. And as if the responsive shivers from Jungkook’s painted canvas transmitted from the younger’s biceps to the rest of Taehyung’s body, the elder bit back an eager moan at the familiar sensation. “I’m gonna fuck you so fucking hard for all the other times I couldn’t..” With a feather-like touch, Tae’s bottom lip grazed upwards against the slope of the younger’s neck, gently sucking onto the latter’s unsteady Adam’s apple, “You’re gonna take all of it like a good boy, aren’t you?” His words came out as a low growl, and Taehyung’s hips teasingly grinded into Jungkook’s ass. “You’re gonna make daddy feel so fuckin’ good, there’s no doubt in my mind about it.” The elder pulled back from the other’s flushed skin, seemingly proud with his creation, “gorgeous.” The sweet moment didn’t last long, as Tae grew even needier from the way Kook’s walls closed in on him. He quickly flipped Jungkook over so his back laid on the couch, staring him down like a predator would his prey. Everything about the younger was so... addicting. Even after many years, Taehyung found himself throbbing from his husband’s expressions as he slowly thrusted into him, bending Jungkook’s legs down to his chest for better access, “F-fuck..” Tae bit down on his lip, the small scar on his forehead visible whenever he ran his fingers through his hair, wanting to see the younger clearly. “Want me to go faster?” He raised his brows, “beg then. I love it when you beg for me..”

''Yes,'' Jungkook's dark curls fell off his face to expose his glistening forehead, eyes blown out in the pure admiration and lust that swirled in his dark pools of brown, ''Please go faster, I need it so fucking bad... please." Kook cried out, his hands settling on Taehyung's lower arms in a tight grip to stay grounded, his ass clenching down harshly on his husband's thick girth. The initial pain from the stretch faded with every thrust, instead replaced with nothing but pleasure and feeling so full it makes his heart want to burst out if his rib cage, ''It feels so good, I want more, harder... Don't be gentle.'' His last words came out like a gasp when he felt his cock throb at a particularly angled thrust, pressing his head back against the couch with gritted teeth.

‘Harder’, ‘Faster’, ‘More’... Jungkook’s breathy moans in the shapes of incoherent phrases urged Taehyung to do just that. The man slammed into him— harder. “Wasn’t planning on being gentle, sweetheart,” The elder groaned at his increase of pace, faster like his husband wanted. Like how he wanted; Tae was only playing the superior part, he would’ve drilled into Jungkook minutes prior. But then again, it wouldn’t of been anywhere near as fun.. or thrilling. Taehyung fancied this best, he enjoyed hearing the younger plead for his utmost attention.

“T-tight... so tight.” More. Taehyung's hair dangled over his narrowed eyes, showing Kook no mercy whilst their sweaty skin continuously slapped against one another, the striking sound echoing throughout the empty house, “Tell daddy how you feel, baby..” The muscles in Taehyung’s chest clenched closer together, further showcasing the small tattoo layering his heart; one Jungkook had formerly etched onto his honey skin. Three daffodils; a smaller one in the middle.

"Feel so full, it's so good.." Jungkook's throaty words come out shaky every time Taehyung slams into him, causing his body to jolt upwards. With one hand, he reaches to smooth his palm over the pretty, small tattoo on Tae's chest, his heart swelling with the love he feels for his husband. After everything they've been through, ups and downs-- many downs, here they were still as head over heels for each other as they've always been; now with a family. Another thrust brought Kook back to the present, his blunt nails digging into Tae's arms as a loud cry in pleasure was forced out of the younger. Jungkook's hands travelled to run through his husbands hair, moving the sticky fringe away from his face, "you make me feel so good, so loved. I love your cock." Kook was greedy, and a glutton for being manhandled, and he wanted Tae to really fuck him dumb, like only he could. Both men have pent up stress, and what better way than to fuck it out. “I-I love you— fuck..” Taehyung’s brows furrowed in concentration, jaw slack as he moved his hands to each side of Jungkook’s head, still tightly engulfed by his husband’s radiating warmth. The elder hazily gazed down at Kook, putting a momentary pause to his hips’ rhythm before leaning down to press a sweet kiss onto his forehead, nose, cheek, chin— and lastly, lips. Taehyung knew he was supposed to be fucking him dumb, but he couldn’t help it. They rarely spent time alone, Tae felt guilty for not expressing his love more often.. Shit, he was being annoying. The movement of their lips turned less sweet, moving eagerly as it muffled their reactive moans when Taehyung began putting his hips to work once again, hitting Jungkook’s deepest places and rubbing against his prostate. Tae pulled out halfway only to ram into the younger, his movements slick from the sweat found all over their bodies. A low grunt followed after every sharp thrust; Taehyung felt like he’d lose his mind. He was deprived of sex, and now that he got it, he was far more sensitive. “‘M gonna cum soon baby boy, y-you close?”

Jungkook's haste nodding followed by short, clear chants of the word 'yes' served as his only reply as he was unable to form any coherent sentence. He was too far gone, too drunk on the pleasure he was experiencing with every loud snap of his husbands hips. The younger reached between their bodies with one hand to squeeze his aching length, too weak to ignore the almost painful need throbbing between his legs. He began to stroke himself in tandem with Taehyung's thrusts, doubling the speed to where his upcoming orgasm was building up, "I will--- slow down, just a bit..." Jungkook suddenly asks for the opposite, his free hand settled to cup Tae's cheek, the other still working his own cock, causing his insides to clench down harder on the elder, "I'm gonna cum so much, fuck... please fill me up."

Jungkook's warning only lasted for a mere minute before his whines grew higher, jerking himself off at a torturous pace until he finally reached his peak. A raspy moan-- almost a scream erupted from his throat at the intensity of it, letting go of his cock to let it pathetically gush hot ropes of his cum between their bodies, his insides spasming and gripping Taehyung like a vice grip, "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Taehyung couldn’t handle his husband squeezing down on him with such force. It was as if Jungkook’s fleshy walls were pleading to be filled up with his cum, as if they’d missed squeezing every last drop out of his pulsating cock. Despite Jungkook reaching his climax, the elder still chased after his own. He was close, so close.. His hips snapped sloppily into Kook, losing the drive they once had. With every harsh slap of his balls against the younger’s ass, Taehyung felt himself gradually crumble down as he dug deeper into Jungkook’s clenched insides. “Gonna cum—“ Spurts of white shot into Kook, catching them both off guard, “shiiit, fuck yeah..” Taehyung threw his head back with a strained shout, tensing up as he disposed of his warm load into his husband. He pulled out to watch it dribble down out of his hole, only to push himself back in; not quite finished, “Fuuuck, it feels so good.. you feel so good..”

Once he was sure every last drop was snug deep inside of Jungkook, Tae withdrew for good. His slick tip came out with a ‘pop’, and a low whine slipped past his lips at the cool air that clashed against his wet length.

“That was amazing, I really needed that.” Taehyung leaned down to press a kiss onto Jungkook’s lips, unbothered by the pool of cum on the younger’s stomach, “I love you, you know that?”

© sombreboy 2020. Do not repost, edit or translate.

[missanthropicprinciple]

A Tale of Elio and My Fixation with Lovable Androids

TL;DR Feel free to scroll past this unless you’re keen to read my ramblings about androids, Neoclassical art, children’s lit, and bad science fiction movies. 

Since the late 1990s one of my favourite books has been A Tale of Time City (1989) by Diana Wynne Jones. It’s a mildly confusing story but engaging, with memorable characters, including the android Elio, pictured above - my own fan art from a few years ago. Studio Ghibli really needs to make this film if no one does a live-action version, seeing as they brought Jones’ novel Howl’s Moving Castle to life. Here’s a scan of my favourite edition with mesmerizing cover art by Richard Bober.

This book inspired me so much I’ve done research on it. I wasn’t in a class in grad school that allowed me to write about it so I took it on as a casual independent project in 2019. Two days after my dad died of cancer I was scheduled to present my paper on Elio from ATOTC. Needless to say I was not able to finish writing the essay. I told the department coordinator I would likely not attend but I would let him know. He was seriously surprised that I showed up. I must have looked like a ghost - wearing a nice top, skirt, tights, and short heels. I was still in total shock but I thought I might as well press on. My paper’s working tile remains as it was: Elio: Android Autonomy and the Personification of the Sun God. I presented a long bullet point list of working ideas and research done up until that point. My work is still on the broad side because it’s an intersection of young adult fiction, Neoclassic art, and android autonomy; I have some narrowing to do. Here are my main arguments thus far: 

Firstly, the android character Elio’s physical characteristics and personality are inspired by Helios, the Hellenistic Greek god and personification of the sun. Apparently, Elio is a Spanish name meaning sun and also an Italian given name referring to the element helium, originally derived from the Greek name of the sun-god Helios. 

Secondly, Elio and Helios share more than an etymological connection and the comparison of Elio to Helios can be articulated in two distinct ways: the aesthetic comparison, and that Elio possesses some of the qualities Helios is known for. Jones’ work repeatedly associates Elio with sunlight and golden hues, aspects which are exemplified in the 1765 Neoclassical painting Helios as the Personification of Midday by Anton Raphael Mengs. (I vaguely remember translating a couple passages from a large art book written in German when I was studying Neoclassical art.) 

This work is considered an unusual depiction of Helios. Mengs uses a motif of the glowing arrow which is interpreted by François-Xavier Fabre as a symbol of the midday heat and the sun's rays which penetrate and give light to the earth. The representation of the sun in this way is considered unusual for the 18th century because it goes against Classical and Baroque iconography which portrays Helios riding a chariot. Ironically, Jones references this. Elio proclaims his fondness for films, particularly the chariot race from Ben Hur. Elio, like Mengs’ depiction of Helios, lacks a chariot but retains his beauty and powers.

As for Elio possessing some of the qualities of Helios, the god is often referred to as “all seeing” or “Zeus’s eye.” Similarly, Elio has the ability to anticipate problems and see what humans do not, but not because he’s a god, but because he’s a servant. However, this is where his self governing comes into play when he uses his observations to take action beyond any directives he has been given. His physical strength, like Helios, exceeds that of humans. Elio himself says, “my utmost is more than twice that of a born-human” (Jones, 211).

Thirdly, Elio’s self awareness allows him to use both his powers of observation and superior physical strength independent from humans. He does not always wait to be told how to use his power; he wields it. Not only does he play a part equal to that of humans in Jones’ plot, he specifically controls the fates of certain human characters. For example, he doesn’t always utilize his speed when he’s at the beck and call of his master, Sempitern. He makes choices not to fully comply with the demands made of him.

My fourth point, which I can’t quite articulate well, is that the most significant dynamic of this comparison is the body of Elio and how his physicality interacts with his autonomy. Elio acts as an individual who contributes to a wider mythology just as Helios does. Yet, while Elio is superior to humans in many ways, his quasi-humanity allows him to act in ways which align with Helios’ qualities.

For example, Elio makes personal choices and exhibits emotions not necessary for him, as an android, to function. He confesses a desire to harm another android out of annoyance where a passionate opinion would not be expected from an android. This human failing is indicative of the same autonomy which allows him to act as Helios does. Elio has been constructed as a superhuman body in terms of his abilities, however, the human qualities which contribute to his Helios-like powers undermine his intended purpose. 

Ultimately, Elio ascends the usefulness of his “owned” body by acting independently from the humans who utilize him. His human qualities make him vulnerable and therefore he loses some of his godlike powers. Elio, while only an assistant to his human owners, utilizes his own physical and mental powers to maintain his autonomy. Conversely, his god-like qualities make Elio more human rather than affirming his android identity.

This is a very complex subject and I don’t really know where I’m going with it and have possibly made some suppositional errors. TL;DR: What I do know is that Elio presents a paradox: being idealized for his abilities allows him to be autonomous while being autonomous disrupts the servitude of his body.

I am in the process of determining what lens I will use to analyze Elio’s experience and functionality of being an android. I’m thinking about using Alan Turning’s 1950 work Computing Machinery and Intelligence. I’m still navigating the literary theory aspect, or indeed philosophical aspect, of this area of study. 

This brings me to something I came across later that relates to Elio and ATOTC. 

SPOILERS AHEAD

The closest depiction of an android that I’ve seen to Elio other than Data is from a terrible and somewhat forgotten science fiction film from 1989. “Byron”, (played by pre-Jurassic Park-fame Bob Peck) the android in the painfully awful film Slipstream comes very close to Elio in terms of tone, attitude, and characterization. Despite the embarrassingly bad script and dialogue, Peck does a bang-up job, seemingly acting in a wonderful film running parallel to the absolute trash his co-stars were apparently “acting” in. Yes, I rewatched this film just to write this analysis. (The secondhand embarrassment is off the charts and I had it playing at a low volume most of the time Byron was not on the screen.)

When you first see Byron he’s acting out autonomy but you’re not aware he’s an android. The audience is told he’s an escaped fugitive, a murderer, and that’s all we know for over half the film. Yet there are several clues. When you first see him he’s running over rugged terrain in a suit which was kind of a big hint but nothing makes sense in this film so I just thought that it was a weird costume choice. Then he’s literally shot with a grappling hook. He doesn’t seem to be in pain even though he’s shocked by it, and then is pulled down by a bounty hunter named Tasker (Mark Hamill) and hits the ground from a great height and doesn’t die. He just quotes what I think is John Gillespie Magee, Jr.’s "High Flight”: “I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth….and touched the face of God.” Next time you see him, he’s in handcuffs, looking super depressed, and apparently not bleeding out from the now absent grapple hook that’s gone through his forearm. 

He eventually quotes Lord Byron to cryptically indicate his name which is lost on Bill Paxton’s character, Matt. “Byron” essentially means cowshed. It’s ironic because Byron the android is in many ways a receptacle of knowledge. Matt even says sarcastically, “Well aren’t you a walking storeroom of information,” and Byron responds cheerfully, “Yes.” 

Byron breaks out of his handcuffs saying they’d “become rather superfluous.” You think he’s just showing off but once you know he’s an android you know he’s just honest all the time. He then heals a blind child and paraphrases Psalm 127:3. Matt says, “I didn’t know you were a healer.” Apparently Byron can perform cataract surgery in less than five minutes. Along their journey together (Bill is set on collecting the bounty on Byron’s head before Tasker can catch up) they camp out. Byron sleeps with his eyes open. (Even if he is an android wouldn’t his eyes need to be “cleaned” in the same way humans need to close our eyes and blink?) Matt wakes up to find Byron seemingly strangling him. “I was feeling your carotid pulse,” he explains. “I was just checking for arrhythmia and episodes of ventricular tachycardia.” At this point you realize he’s not so much a spiritual healer as a doctor who philosophizes a lot. 

Byron’s miraculous behavior and pontificating is called into question by a nomadic spiritual community which has been torn apart by an attack on their village. As he lays dying, Ben Kingsley’s character calls Byron a “false prophet” but his faith in this stranger is somewhat restored when he says, “all that will be left of me is bits of gold in the sand. You have a soul, do not abandon it in death.” 

Another character says, “The stranger is no mortal man.” Therefore it is clear that Byron likely isn’t human. We don’t find out he’s an android until 46 minutes into the film. Once that’s cleared up, other concepts arise in the script. While not well executed, they are really interesting; emotion both positive and negative, free will, perfection, A.I. slavery, and murder are all addressed throughout the second half of the film. Byron says he doesn’t understand “hate” in context of his “master” to whom he was nurse, brother, father, mentor, and friend, but he admits he was more of a slave than anything else. 

The character Ariel takes an interest in him for a variety of reasons, especially romantically. In one very evocative moment we see Byron in a museum exhibit, a false garden of Eden, full of fake vegetation and taxidermies, full body mounts. So we’ve got an android having an Adam experience. Whether or not he experiences “original sin” with Ariel or if he’s “fully functional” is never acknowledged. Although one woman says, “Amanda slept with a robot?!” (who the f**k is Amanda?!) and a man says to another sitting next to him, “I hear they’re rather mechanical in the saddle.” 

Byron is less concerned with consummation and more excited about love, sleep, and dreaming. When he is with Ariel he doesn’t quite know how to act in terms of sexual play and then apologizes: “I’m not accustomed to being loved.” We see him closing his eyes when he’s cuddled up with Ariel; the next day he is certainly very pleased that he fell asleep with his eyes closed and had a dream. 

In terms of his servitude and autonomy they did not spend an adequate portion of the exposition on it. Matt has a change of heart and says instead of collecting the bounty, he’ll set him free as it’s briefly revealed that Byron killed his “master” upon the man’s request. Naturally, this brings up a lot of confusing feelings for Byron. “Is this what it’s like to be human? I don’t think I’m up to it,” he says. “Can I be trusted with human feelings?” And in a way he cannot. Ariel is brutally shot by Tasker.

Byron is angered over Ariel’s death and follows the bounty hunter to his ship. Instead of taking him in to collect a reward, Tasker tries to run him down with the glider plane. Byron manages to get himself caught in the engine and starts to strangle his assailant. Tasker quotes “touched the face of god” which brings Byron to his senses and he stops killing Luke Skywalker Tasker and tries to save the plane. It looks like he’s going to hot-wire it but then uses the wires like reins (chariot imagery???). They crash into the side of a mountain slope. Tasker dies but Byron survives. Apparently he’s basically indestructible and somewhat godlike. “I’m too dangerous to be human,” Byron tells Matt. In the end, he goes off in search of the place he’d been dreaming about. 

Although in terms of physical appearance the two androids are vastly different, they have so much in common. Here are some basic concepts. 

Character: Both are stoic, formal, intelligent, honest

Indestructible: Byron is injured with a grappling hook, takes a major fall of about 20 or 30 feet without a scratch: he is somewhat godlike or slave-like, meant to withstand destruction and pain. Elio is less indestructible but easily repaired.

Healer: Byron has the skills to heal people with basic surgery. Elio doesn’t take his own injuries seriously and experiences pain for the first time (Jones, 218-9).

Both think they deserve to be punished: Elio states this quite clearly (Jones, 276) and Byron says the same thing about himself with resigned passivity.

Complex relationship with “human emotions”: Both come to terms with violence, anger, and love.

Autonomy: At the end of the film Byron goes off on his own to look for a promised land. Elio decides his own fate by deciding to accompany the children of the story, stating that Vivian is a “particular favorite” of his (278). 

Dreaming and stories: Byron is searching for a place, “where I think I belong,” he says, which is a place he often thinks and dreams about. Dreaming is considered to be a human attribute, a non-essential bi-product to consciousness. Elio enjoys stories and old films (Jones, 180), similarly “human” in nature. 

(Peck, seen here waiting for Bill Paxton to learn how to act. Sorry, I’m salty.)

Disclaimer: This is a work in progress! This project is an intersection of niche subjects that interest no one but myself. 

Anyway, my point is (yes, I did have a point...or rather several) was that if anyone should adapt A Tale of Time City, Byron from Slipstream is the best example of how Elio should be portrayed in terms of characterization. I feel that Slipstream should have been centered around Byron. The film was kind of like, just about the “we’re both fighting over the bounty of this fugitive” sorta thing. It would have made more sense to focus on Byron as he is arguably the most interesting character and represents many of the conflicts within the story. I would like to combine my research on ATOTC and Slipstream one day. In any case, this is a good start. 

Works Cited (WIP) 

Jones, Diana W. A Tale of Time City: Knopf, 1987. Print. Perkowitz, Sidney. Digital People: From Bionic Humans to Androids. Washington, D.C: Joseph Henry Press, 2004. Print.

Roettgen, Steffi, and Anton R. Mengs. Anton Raphael Mengs: 1728-1779 Part 2. München: Hirmer, 1999. Print.

Turing, A. M. “Computing Machinery and Intelligence.” Mind, vol. 59, no. 236, 1950, pp. 433–460. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/2251299. Wilson, Eric. The Melancholy Android: On the Psychology of Sacred Machines. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2006. Print

[sugiwa]

Hi. I am the Advice Anon. Please ignore those asks! I am so sorry for spamming your ask box. I still need help, so I’ll paste the entire thing over here. Again, sorry and thank you! Have a great day!

My reply and the full ask are below:

Hello! I hope you’ve been having a great day so far. This is probably unlike all of the other asks you get on a daily basis, author. However, I am in dire need of help, and I have turned to you. Before I begin, I want to apologize in advance, as this ask is going to be long. Now, like I said before, I need some help. You see, I am a freshman in high school, and school hasn’t even been going on for a full 10 weeks (a quarter), and I am already in a huge, messy, sticky situation. You probably already know that in high school, you need a certain number of credits in each field to be able to graduate. I am going to be extremely vague about this because it doesn’t really matter, and I’d really like to remain anonymous, if you know what I mean. One of the fields is World Languages and Visual Arts. Obviously, I am not talented enough to do Visual Arts, so I opted for World Languages instead. My teacher for the course I chose this year… she’s nice. Really kind, and I love that she makes learning a whole new language and culture, which is extremely hard, so much fun. And the fact that she’s one of the nicest teachers I know makes the rest of this so, so painful for me. 4 days ago, for me, was a Thursday. In this class, we had a vocab quiz that day (background info: two days before every quiz, my teacher posts a practice quiz to be done before class starts). I don’t really want to discuss what happened, as it still brings tears to my eyes, but I will give you a vague summary of what was going on. Basically, I couldn’t access my quiz (it was online), so my teacher told me to come in after school to re-do it. I was supposed to close down my computer and work on homework from another class, but instead of doing so, I worked on the practice quiz. And… this was considered cheating, because I was getting extra practice in before taking the quiz– something that the other students didn’t get, you know? My teacher saw my computer screen, and told me that she’d talk to me after school, and she’d be calling home. I couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the class, because I was afraid of what might happen when she called home. After school, she told me to speak with her, and be honest about it. When cheating happens, at our school, the teacher will write us up for Academic Dishonesty and give it to the administration, who then decides the consequences. My teacher had told me that if I was honest with her, she wouldn’t write my up; she’d just give me a zero on the quiz and call home and tell them what I did. I was honest with her, because like I said before, I was afraid. Once I told her everything that happened, she told me that I could call home, let them know what happened myself, and I’d be off the hook (with a zero on the quiz, of course). So, I called home, like she had asked of me, but… they didn’t pick up. I told her that they didn’t pick up, and she told me that it was fine, and that she’d talk to my parents in-person before they picked me up from school. I’m not going to lie, that terrified me more than calling home. I don’t really remember what happened after that, because I was too busy crying, but I do remember that she mentioned something about me doing this before, and that it was not OK to do it the second time, but she’d let me off the hook. The thing is, I am 100% sure I haven’t done this before… or maybe she just didn’t approach me the first time. I told her that I didn’t do this before, and she told me that I was lying again, and began to write me up. I told her that I didn’t mean to do this, and that I was sorry, but she told me to stop lying. She said that she DID approach me the first time I did this, and that I was rude to her then. This brought tears to my eyes– my kind of favorite teacher telling me that I was rude to her. You see, I didn’t grow up here, and although I’ve lived here for 4 years, I am not used to the way people interact here. It was very different where I grew up. For example, you didn’t ask each other how their day was, or what they did during their day, unless you were REALLY curious or concerned, because that was considered nosy and rude. So, I tend to be unintentionally rude, and completely oblivious to it; I have no idea when I’m being rude or not, unless someone specifically says so. I also don’t really understand people well, so that’s a huge problem. So… hearing this from her, really hurt. I told her that I didn’t intend to be rude, and I was trying my best to change (I mean, I was & am reading a book to teach me etiquette and all), and she replied with “that’s good to hear”. Then, when my parents came to pick me up, she talked to them, and even asked one of my parents to walk with us to the Administration Office to turn in the write up. Stuff happened, I got called into the Assistant Principal’s office, and now I have a zero on my quiz (and my homework activity that I never finished), Saturday School, and a black mark on my record. But the thing is… that’s not what I’m concerned about at all. Sure, getting my grades up in time for Progress Reports is going to be an extremely hard task, and Saturday School is going to leave a huge black mark on my record, but that’s not what I’m worried about. My grades have been fractured, but so has my relationship with this teacher. I feel as though she hates me now, that she has lost all trust in me. (Background info: our school does Odd and Even days, so I have half of my classes on one day and half on the other, so that means that I didn’t face my teacher at all on Friday) 3 days ago, on Friday, when I went to school, it was an average day. It would have been an amazing day, had it not been for the situation I was in. All I could think about that day was my World Language teacher. And just thinking about her, and about that classroom, it… gives me a bit of anxiety. This is where I need your help. What would you do if you were in my situation? I really want to repair my relationship with my teacher, because I know that she’s really important; we’re going to be on the same campus for the next 4 years of my life, and even more importantly, she’s going to be my teacher for the next 8 months. I want to graduate with good grades, but more importantly, I want to graduate without holding a grudge against my teacher. I want her to like me, and I want to gain her trust again. Today is a Sunday for me, and I have to go back to school tomorrow, and I have her class then. A part of me is really scared to go to school, a part of me is really angry at my teacher for reporting me (even though it was the right thing to do), and a part of me wants to ditch school tomorrow, or even drop out or transfer from her course, all because I don’t want to face her after I did the wrong thing. It’s not only that, either. I’ve also been avoiding my friends. Would you like to know why I am confiding in awesome strangers on the internet anonymously instead of letting my friends know what’s going on? It’s because I’m afraid that they won’t like me anymore, and they’d ditch me or something. They’re amazing people, and I know that they won’t do that, but a part of me is still paranoid. I’ve been avoiding my friends since Friday, barely talking to them at school, and texting them a little bit in our group chat. They don’t really suspect anything, but that’s good. And that’s why I am asking you. Not just you, but actually anyone who sees this, if they helped me, I’d really appreciate it. I really need help moving forward in this situation, and I’m desperate for help. My parents don’t understand the situation I’m in, and I’m too scared to talk to my friends about it, so I’d really appreciate the help. It’s OK if you don’t reply to this, author. I know that this doesn’t affect you in any way, so you’re not obliged to help me. I’d like to thank you for taking the time from your day to read these extremely long asks. Have a great day. P.S: I absolutely love What Heroes Do! Izumi is such a well written character, and sometimes, I see myself in her. The way she handles situations is so inspirational! And your writing skills are top-tier! My best friend and I actually started writing a book 4 years ago (I mean, we wrote for one month in 6th grade, and then spent one day in 8th grade editing it, and we’ve only got a prologue and 1.5 chapters done, so… clearly, we aren’t doing a good job lol), and you’ve inspired me to go back to that book and re-do it! Thank you so much for being such an inspiration and an idol of mine! Ilysm ❤️

sugiwa:

I wanted to take the  proper time to reply to this. I think any adult willing to hold a grudge against a child is in the wrong. You clearly made a mistake and are now taking steps to improve and learn from it. Additionally, I think teachers tend to forget how much stress students are under in their academic and private lives, so a mistake should be used as an opportunity to teach not punish. I don’t think that you should worry about what this teacher thinks of you. Your teacher didn’t believe you, despite you telling them the truth. No matter how kind or nice someone is, their behavior towards you will always reflect their inner thoughts. If you’ve clearly made a mistake, you should fight to prove that. It’s not as if you intended to ‘cheat,’ given the situation we’re all in with the pandemic, online classes and quizzes are the norm. These kinds of things probably happen regularly. Additionally. I don’t think you need to concern yourself with being rude. My culture is rather blunt and when I first moved here, people weren’t fans of brutal honesty, so it was a big cultural shock.  If people aren’t willing to learn about your culture and understand, then I don’t think they’re people worth hanging out with. Lean on your friends, I don’t think they’d make a big deal over a couple of mistakes and if they do, then it might be worth reconsidering why you were friends with them. 

Thank you for your kind words about the story and I really hope everything works out for you!!

[iknewyouweretroublegoatremix]

To my best firend, @13-taylor-swift,

Happy Birthday!

I really wanted to make something special for you. Yk, because you are special on your own so you don't deserve anything less. So as far as last year went, for all birthdays, I have drown for people, I have edited, I have written, I have searched all the conversation to find one message . . . I knew this time I wanted to do every single one of them. So happy Birthday you<3

I don't even know which one to start with.

I was going to scroll back to the start of our conversation but . . . I let my computer scroll for a day and it didn't get there so I guess that says a lot. I did find these though. Which is better cuz that, right there, was the first time I ever told you "I love you". And I will tresure that moment for the rest of my life as it is the truest truth I know best to say. ( Also I haven't pictured it but the way I freaked out after I said that . . . <3 )

Baby cows and Baby ducks are a must when talking about you. This is my drawing for you Ash. These are the cuttest animals I have ever seen and I owe you a life for letting me worship them like I do

I know the edit isn't much. But it's how I see you, excited, happy, lovely, full of life . . . there is no way to describe you.

As for the writing, I wrote you a story I hope you'll like. You might remember the characters? Billy and Tommy?

"

There once was a world where two bear brothers were hanging out in the forest. Billy and Tommy were their names and God, they loved playing. Mama bear didn’t always let them play too far from home because there could be dangers. She’s usually quite busy gathering food for the family to always keep an eye on Billy and Tommy so luckely for them two, those are the moments they can play and do whatever they want. But today is a special day, a really really special day. A day in which mama bear left all her work and played with her little bears. A day when every animal in the forest came to play with the two friendly bears. A day when even their newest friend who is usually too afraid to come out and play with other animals, comes and plays with them. Yes, Yes, Iam talking about Rabbit the rabbit. He plays too. And of all the days of the year today is that special day. Today is Billy’s birthday!

Billy is the youngest bear in the family and there is no-one lese that loves having a fun time and play than him. Of course his brotehr Tommy shares the same passion, but he coul never outrun Billy. So every bear in the family and evry animal in the forest knows that today, on this very special day, they are invited in front of the big tree where Billy and Tommy live. The elder animals usually just hang out with the bear’s mama so the kids are always free. Everybody loves it. So everybody comes to the party.

Animals start to round up around the big tree and Billy is so excited, you could say he’s over the moon. Everyone was there in such a short time adn evryone gave Billy a very nice present.

“Here. For you Billy, Happy Birthday!” Giggled a guest the bear was so happy to see. Sidney brought Billy a flower, she was like a sister to him, they get along so well and she is kind to a fault. Whenever Tommy has to help his mother out with the work and Billy can’t hang out with him, he always sees Sidney. She is a dear and she is realy dear to Billy. To Tommy too.

“Thank you, Sidney!” The bear said. “I am glad you could came.”

But who was he kidding. Everybody could come to the party. And when someone couldn’t, well, they made time to come cuz there wasn’t anyone who would want to be anywhere else than Billy’s birthday.

The parents talked and the kids played. It was such and astonishing day. Tommy and Billy were beating everyone at every game, they were unstopable. Of course, Tommy even let his brother winat the games they couldn’t play together, just for today anyway. Everyone was there and everyone was happy. Except there wasn’t evryone at the party.

There was a guest that didn’t manage to come. Half of the day has alredy past and he still wasn’t there. Where could he be. Billy grew more panicked as the time went by.

“He’ll be here” Promissed his brother. “I am sure he will.”

“Yeah . . . he will.” But Billy didn’t quite mean that. He thought, maybe, something happened to him, or, maybe, he didn’t like Billy after all. So the bear wasn’t feeling that well.

Where is he then.  Where is Rabbit the rabbit.

There is nobody who would miss this so why would he. Maybe he was there, maybe Billy just didn’t see him. So he had the best idea. He satrted playing hide and seek. While everybody was hiding and he was searching he could easily look for Rabbit. But he wasn’t anywhere. He looked and looked, he didn’t even care he was finding the rest of the guests, he just wanted to find Rabbit the rabbit. So even when he found evryone, he was still searching . . .

Mama bear saw hsi son quite sad and walked to him. She understood what was the situation and she suggested Billy’s favourite game! At first Billy was tempted but he couldn’t How could he play his favourite game without Rabbit? It would’ve been unjust, he refused.

Some time passed and Billy’s hopes of Rabbit showing up were close to none. Tommy kept making his brother laugh and feel better and all the other guests helped too. At one point, Billy really forgot about his friend. He was again feeling good at his party cuz, after all, it was his party! And for sure, if Rabbit wasn’t there, he must have a good reason so Billy was ready. He told his mum and they started playing Billy’s favourite game.

“Let’s go play Billy” Tommy Said with a smile on his face.

And as everyone was ready to play in the darkness of the night, just before his special day to end something happned. Behind Billy some yellow warm light hit the grass and evryone in front of him looked in awe at what happened behind him. Billy didn’t even had time to turn as he heard:

“You were going to play without me Billy? How rude.” It was Rabbit the rabbit!

And as Billy finally turned he saw his rabbit friend standing near his mama bear and he couldn’t believe his eyes. They were holding a big honey cake with candles lighting everything around them. Rabbit was so happy to surprise his best friend like that.

“Happy Birthday, Billy!”

Finally, the bear was so happy and so surprised. Rabit really missed almost all his party, just to get him a cake as great as this one. Every guest tasted the amazing cake and evryone felt good. They played Billy’s favourite game and the day ended with everyone happy and with their faces laughing.

“You got me again Rabbit.” Said Billy smiling adn then laughing.

A special day is a good day.

I love you ash, you deserve the best. Also this? This isn't all. The day is long and I still have plenty to give you. I did not stay up that much to tell you Happy Birthday but I promise, I did stay up really late to finish this.

Happy Birthday, you daughter of a sun of a bitch!

[beca-mitchell]

you are my favorite thing (1/1)

Summary: Beca and Chloe find themselves alone in their apartment after the instruction comes to self-isolate. Set pre-PP3. Just pretend PP3 doesn’t exist.

Notes: Apologies for this fic. It stuck with me...and I had to write it before it drove me crazy. I know it's not that good but hopefully it brings a small smidge of levity to your lives. <3 I promise I'm working on other stuff, just haven't been feeling well lately.

Word count: 3.1k

Rated M/E.

Read below or on AO3.

When the announcement came that it would be in everybody’s best interest to self-quarantine and self-isolate, Beca hadn’t really known what to expect. In fact, she feels kind of bad for not taking this more seriously and leaving Chloe to pick up the slack. Chloe, who had been almost zealously preparing for the “worst to come” by her standards.

And now, apparently the CDC’s standards.

With the rampant news updates and social media seemingly tearing itself apart at the seams, Beca kind of wishes she had picked a career that required her to be on her computer less but now as she lugs her two laptops and three pairs of headphones home from the label’s head office in midtown, she supposes that she has no choice.

“Oh good, you’re home,” Chloe says upon seeing her. She reaches out automatically to help Beca with her bags as Beca belabours the fact that they live on the fourth floor of their walk-up. She tries to smile gratefully at Chloe, but Chloe is already pacing across the small kitchen space in front of her.

“No welcome home?” Beca jokes. She shrugs off her blazer and moves towards the rack of clothes so she can hang it up neatly. Chloe quickly places a hand on her chest but before Beca has a chance to squawk indignantly at Chloe’s hand placement (Beca totally doesn’t think it’s nice or whatever...because she doesn’t care), Chloe stares at her seriously.

“Do we have enough groceries?”

“Did you eat all the groceries from two days ago?” Beca asks, confused. She turns on her heel to open the fridge to check. “Nope, we literally have all the food that we still haven’t eaten.”

Chloe slumps, moving to sit at the table instead. “Sorry, it’s just been super hectic today. I know we just went to get stuff, but my parents are stressing me out so much.”

Beca smiles sympathetically. “I get it, my dad was messaging me all day today. I told him it would be fine. It’s just a matter of waiting it out.” Beca injects some optimism into her tone. “Plus, Amy isn’t around this weekend so…” she trails off hoping Chloe will understand.

Chloe brightens. “Trashy television night?”

Internally Beca groans, but the smile on her face is genuine because it’s worth it to see Chloe smile.

— — — — —

So the whole having a crush on your captain/co-captain/best friend/bedmate thing?

Kind of overrated. Beca’s over it—or she wants to be over it.

She wants to stop thinking about how nice Chloe’s smile is or how effortlessly Chloe can lift her when she overenthusiastically hugs Beca.

Or how ridiculously happy Chloe makes her.

All those dumb things and dumb feelings that she never really felt to any extreme or significant levels with Jesse. And definitely not that one night stand after her break-up with Jesse.

It’s just that Chloe had somehow always been there, somehow slipping through the cracks and all the crevices of Beca’s carefully constructed walls—places that Beca didn’t even know were available to fall victim to Chloe’s special brand of love and care.

But if there’s one thing that Beca has come to love about Chloe, it is exactly that care—that specific way Chloe somehow makes her feel like she’s the most cherished person in a room. In the world, maybe.

It’s gross and cheesy.

Beca loves it.

It just kind of sucks that all of this pondering—all the pondering the world, maybe—wasn’t enough for Beca to be wary of what it would mean to be stuck twenty-four-seven in an enclosed space with the girl she’s in love with.

— — — — —

With how busy their lives have been, Beca realizes with a pang in her heart that she really hasn’t had time to just sit down with Chloe and just be. It’s Tuesday and after a weekend spent just catching up with Chloe and meal-prepping for the rest of the week, Beca realizes that this whole situation could be a lot worse.

I’ve missed you, is what she wants to say.

Like most things when it comes to her feelings for Chloe, it just sticks inside her head instead and she settles on saying good morning to Chloe.

“It feels weird,” Chloe admits, sitting down next to Beca on Tuesday morning. She scoots her chair closer to press her cheek against Beca’s shoulder.

Beca scrolls lazily through her social media feeds, a habit she picked up from Chloe. Naturally, her body turns into the warmth offered by Chloe’s close proximity. “What feels weird?”

Chloe sighs. It is a large enough sigh to shift Beca’s shoulder as Chloe moves against her. “Not having work.”

Unlike Beca who was permitted to work from home, Chloe’s supervisor suggested that she just take some time off. It wasn’t like Chloe was really being paid a lot to begin with, as a temporary veterinary assistant, but Beca knows that the blow must be hard on both the financial and emotional level.

“You can be my assistant for the day,” Beca suggests. “I have to finish finalizing a few tracks on this album. You can give me feedback. It’ll just be like the old days. Just, um, don’t tell anybody about it. And no posting on social media.”

Chloe immediately brightens at that, like Beca just offered her the entire world on a silver platter. The kiss that she presses to Beca’s cheek is absolutely worth it.

— — — — —

Chloe is, as Beca has always known, incredibly attentive. She also has no real concept of personal space.

Beca knows however, that if she had bothered to say anything to Chloe about that, Chloe would have backed off years ago, but Beca kind of likes that it’s their thing. Kind of.

So when Chloe leans right over her shoulder to watch her work, Beca says nothing.

Whatever.

This is way better than being stuck in an office.

— — — — —

“Hey,” Chloe says, drawing Beca’s eyes up from her screen. “I’m just going to shower, do you mind.”

Beca shakes her head, no, because she doesn’t mind. Chloe lives here too. Chloe can totally walk around half-naked if she wants. She’s confident about all that. Chloe can toss a towel over her shoulder and hum to herself. Chloe can squeeze Beca’s shoulder in affection. Chloe can step into their dingy bathtub, draw back the curtain and proceed to strip off all her clothes in front of Beca—almost quite literally—and just shower a few feet away from where Beca is accidentally deleting an important layer in her audio editing program.

Chloe can do whatever she wants because Beca and Chloe are roommates and that’s what roommates do.

— — — — —

Chloe doesn’t need to shower every day, Beca’s sure of it.

She’s not really complaining. It’s not like she can even see anything, though the reappearance of her rather vivid sex dreams about Chloe on Thursday night is alarming.

But honestly, Beca’s not really complaining even though she hundred percent moves her seat at the kitchen table on Friday so her back is towards the shower.

She thinks Chloe pouts at her on the way to her shower, but Beca’s too busy renaming arbitrary files on her computer to really pay attention to that.

— — — — —

It’s crazy that it is in these circumstances that Beca is really truly considering that she should just tell Chloe how she feels. It’s just hard, wanting to kiss Chloe all the time. It’s hard because they’re really and truly alone and Beca has nothing to do but stare at Chloe’s stupidly perfect face and her lips and she has to see her sweet smile.

It’s gross. Beca’s gross.

(It also doesn’t help that sometimes she catches Chloe staring back—with the same degree of affection to boot. The same care, affection, and desire in her eyes that Beca knows must be shooting out of her own like fucking spotlights.

But she supposes that she could be imagining it too.)

“Beca?” Chloe asks. “Are you watching?”

Chloe’s voice cuts through Beca’s thoughts gently. Beca gazes up at Chloe who has not moved her attention from the screen. She takes the moment to genty observe the curve of Chloe’s nose. The fullness of her lips. The way her lips gently part as she expels a breath.

“Yeah,” Beca says before slowly dragging her eyes back to the screen with some reluctance.

She’s fucked.

— — — — —

Beca Dude where are you

Fat Amy At a friend’s place, don’t wait up xoxoxo

Beca What???? Come home now Amy?????

— — — — —

“Remember college and how I said I wish I experimented more?”

Beca chokes on her water.

“N...yes? Why?” Beca demands, ignoring the way her heart races. Being in close proximity to Chloe tends to do that to her. Nothing new.

Chloe hums to herself. “Nothing. Just lots of time to think today.”

“Oh,” Beca says. “Okay.” She quickly refocuses on her work.

Chloe sighs and returns to her textbook.

— — — — —

Beca blames the long, extended time spent inside. She kind of forgets that they had dinner plans. Or that she probably should have sent that email to her boss.

It’s so easy to forget that they’ve been confined to their apartment for days, but Beca can’t complain.

Mostly because Chloe’s tongue is in her mouth doing absolutely sinful things.

And well—now they’re kind of tumbling onto their deeply uncomfortable but satisfactory for the moment bed, Beca grunting as her back hits the mattress heavily.

“Sorry,” Chloe pants out, drawing back. “Are you—”

“M’fine,” Beca mumbles, pulling Chloe back down for a kiss. Chloe responds eagerly, not-at-all minding that she had been cut off. Instead, she makes a happy little sound, curving her body neatly into Beca’s. The warmth of Chloe’s body on top of her own is driving Beca crazy—that and the distinct lack of friction between her own legs. “Wait,” Beca says, after pushing lightly at Chloe’s shoulders. “Wait—can you—”

Chloe’s brow furrows. “What is it?”

“Just…clothes,” Beca mumbles.

“Oh!” Chloe grins then. “So forward.”

Beca’s cheeks heat up spectacularly. She both loves and hates that Chloe can still tease her like this, even though they’ve both completely eviscerated whatever fragile lines they had set up in their already-confusing friendship.

Chloe, ever the master of making Beca feel many things at once, doesn’t stop there, however. She smiles, leans back—sits all the way upright for Beca’s viewing pleasure—and pulls off her shirt in a smooth motion that makes Beca’s mouth go dry.

Then, when Beca thinks that it can’t get worse…

“I like it when you’re forward,” Chloe murmurs, leaning back down to cup Beca’s cheeks before kissing her so thoroughly and deeply that Beca thinks she might soak through her jeans completely.

Speaking of her jeans—

Beca whimpers into Chloe’s mouth when she feels Chloe’s thumbs expertly popping open the button on her jeans before Chloe is pulling away again to slide the offending material down her legs. Beca scrambles to sit upright so she can pull off her shirt quickly.

It is all pent-up urgency and flying clothes as Chloe climbs back over her, all messy hair and flawless skin, and pulls her into another sweeping kiss. It ought to be illegal, the way Chloe’s tongue flicks through her mouth, desperately seeking out Beca’s. Chloe somehow has made making out a high-level art form and Beca is only all too willing to pay full price for admission to that particular show.

Beca has imagined this, she would be remiss if she weren’t going to admit it right off the bat. It is just difficult reconciling her imagination with this reality because the reality is making Beca’s imagination look very, very weak.

Chloe’s arms come around her, pressing against the mattress before Chloe is rolling them all at once. Beca groans, moving to straddle Chloe which proves to be a mistake, somewhat, because suddenly she can feel the ripple of Chloe’s stomach—damn abs—right against her soaked center. She bites her lip, leaning back slightly and watching with rapt attention as Chloe follows, folding Beca into her arms again.

“I want you so much,” Chloe rasps, voice hot and low against Beca’s neck. “Like, right now.”

Have me, Beca wants to say. I’m yours.

A whole slew of clichés float through Beca’s mind, but all she manages is a guttural moan because Chloe chooses that mount to eagerly palm Beca’s stiff nipple while sucking a nasty hickey into the side of her neck.

“Was that a yes?” Chloe murmurs.

“Fuck yes,” Beca grits out, holding Chloe’s head against her as Chloe’s kisses descend lower so she can envelop Beca’s neglected nipple in her mouth. The sensation of Chloe’s lips, her tongue, the graze of her teeth—all of it right against Beca’s sensitive flesh.

— — — — —

So how that happened is kind of a long story and it might or might not be Beca’s fault.

The short story is that Chloe wanted to watch a movie and Beca had agreed because movie nights with Chloe usually meant cuddling.

But strange times call for unexpected occurrences, though upon reflection, the build-up had been there all along.

(Literally. For years.)

Beca just didn’t really expect the whole making out thing. And the sex thing.

Oh—

And the whole ‘watching Chloe sleep next to her while she runs her fingers through beautiful red hair to calm herself down because her heart is threatening to burst out of her heart’ thing.

That thing.

— — — — —

“You’re horrible at picking up signals,” is the first thing Chloe says to her when Beca wakes up on a bright and sunny Saturday morning.

“I am,” Beca agrees, rolling into Chloe’s body with no intention of going outside ever again. “But maybe you’re horrible at dropping hints.”

“Maybe,” Chloe murmurs, breath hot against Beca’s mouth.

— — — — —

“So this is week two,” Beca says in the most dramatic voice she can muster. She grins at Chloe’s little delighted giggle as she pulls the sheets over both of their heads. It is early Monday and Beca’s phone has been on silent pretty much all weekend. She and Chloe pretty much only left the bed to shower and eat, both of which were activities that could be pleasantly underscored by sex.

“It is week two,” Chloe echoes, pulling Beca in for a slow, muted kiss. It reminds Beca of the kiss Chloe had woken her up with after their first time—the mild disorientation had faded away quickly.

“Whatever shall we do?”

— — — — —

Beca thinks that morning sex absolutely should be part of her regular routine—no matter the circumstances.

Chloe trails gentle fingers down Beca’s neck, between her breasts. Beca waits with heavy breaths, watching Chloe’s progress as she maps out invisible lines on Beca’s body, like an artist at work. Beca clenches her hands into fists, resisting the urge to pull Chloe into another messy kiss. She kind of likes this slower pace—this care and attention bestowed upon her. Chloe’s eyes are incredibly blue as they track over Beca’s body carefully, like she doesn’t want to miss a thing.

“You’re so…” Chloe trails off, sighing happily as she presses lazy kisses around the curve of Beca’s breast before leaning up to suck gently at her nipple. A familiar sensation now, Beca’s back still arches obediently as her breathing quickens.

She doesn’t need Chloe to finish her sentence. She just needs Chloe to continue whatever she’s doing. Naturally, Chloe settles between her legs after a few more torturous minutes of lavishing attention on Beca’s chest. Beca’s hips rock up impatiently, almost of their own accord. She is wholly aware of how uncomfortably wet she is and she knows she’s going to need another shower, but she doesn’t care about that at the moment. The ache between her legs only intensifies when Chloe’s fingers finally make their way to her aching clit.

“Oh fuck,” Beca mumbles. She slowly moves her hand to tangle her hand in Chloe’s hair, needing to feel Chloe closer on all accounts. She spreads her legs wider to accommodate her lover, heaving a breath when Chloe shifts closer still and leans up to press a kiss against Beca’s neck delicately.

“I think I love seeing you like this the most,” Chloe murmurs.

“Like—how?” Beca squeaks out when Chloe’s fingers press down more firmly against her clit. A soft whine escapes her lips.

“This. Spread open. For me.”

Chloe says that like it is the most natural thing she could say to Beca. She says it like she is simply discussing a reading assignment or that she thinks Beca should add another layer of harmonies.

Not at all like she's describing exactly how much Beca wants her; how wet she is; how much she needs Chloe between her legs before she combusts.

Beca pulls Chloe in for a messy kiss, already aching for Chloe’s tongue in her mouth. Chloe indulges her for a few moments, sweeping her fingers through her wet folds. Up, down. Around.

Beca cries out, muffled against Chloe’s mouth. She rips herself away from their kiss. “Chloe, please. Fuck me.”

Chloe grins and leans back in to nip at her lower lip gently. “I thought I was?”

Beca groans in frustration. Fucking tease. She tightens her legs around Chloe’s waist, moving her hips so that Chloe’s fingers almost slip inside her. At the sensation, her head falls back and she lets out a broken whimper.

“Oh,” Chloe murmurs. “You meant like this.” Chloe gently pushes a finger past her folds and Beca clenches hard around it. Chloe begins a slow rhythm, curling her finger every now and then. “And like this.”

It is such a slow, steady pace that Beca has no real reason to complain. Uncomfortably, her neck arches. She reaches down to grip at Chloe’s wrist with a trembling hand, but she does not stop her. “More,” she whimpers. Begs. “Please, baby, more.”

Chloe seems to perk up at the pet name (or the begging—Beca thinks she should do more research; she can absolutely do more research with all the time in the world at her disposal) and to her credit, she listens to Beca for once. She picks up the pace, this time adding a second finger to join the first. Beca grunts at the fullness, blinking up at the ceiling for a brief moment before she squeezes her eyes shut only to see stars explode behind her eyelids. She grunts again, louder, slackening her grip on Chloe’s wrist. Automatically, her hand drifts to her momentarily-neglected clit and she rubs at it with as much pressure as she dares.

Chloe growls—full-on growls—and nips at her throat before using her free hand to move Beca’s hand out of the way. “I want to,” is all she says when Beca opens her eyes, ready to demand Chloe explain herself.

Oh.

Well, if Chloe wants to do that, Beca isn’t going to stop her. They’ve got weeks to figure it out.

— — — — —

Beca Amy, nvm, you should probably stay exactly where you are Just to be safe yknow thanks

fin.

[everydayanth]

Academic Elitism: an institutional issue

Sorry for being so rant-y lately, but the elitism of university has been a problem for me from the exact moment I accepted my scholarship with a signature and a handshake in high school. (The scholarship was later revoked due to state up-fuckery, but that’s another story, and I was already in too deep by the time they told me).

My parent’s house was only an hour north, my younger sister had already claimed my room, but I was excited. I was in the furthest dorm building, because that’s where the scholarship kids went, it was like a poor kid diversity hall, every few doors was someone from a completely different background, but we were all poor except our Swedish RA, and there was an odd pride in that. We all had various scholarships: robotics, dance team, nerds like me, etc. (not the football or hockey athletes though, they had their own dorm next to the library for... reasons, lol).

But being the last hall, it wasn’t actually full, most of us had entire rooms to ourselves, often whole suites; our hall was co-ed, but rooms were only occupied at every-other, staggered down the corridor. Only the front two halls were used, the back two closed off for construction or codes or something. We had to hike up the hill for dining halls, which was fine until snowdays that shut the whole campus down (and I mean west Michigan ones, with 4+ feet of powder and ice underneath). I had an old computer my dad got me for graduation and I didn’t know it was old until my peers started calling it a dinosaur. I had to use the library computers to write and print papers, and most places I went, I ran into the other scholarship kids. We didn’t talk much, just a head bob here and there, awareness at our similarities and an annoyed spite at being thrown together this way. It was lonely for everyone.

I had a purple flip phone I’d gotten only that calendar year (2009) and was still learning to text with (abbreviations? instant messaging? what?). My roommate had come down from Alaska to live near her dad, we’d talked in the summer, but I never saw her. I moved my things in and her stuff was on her side, I texted her about going to turn in paperwork and when I came back, there was a note on my bed and all her things were gone, she couldn’t do it, had never been away from home for even a night. She left a few mismatched socks and a bag of junk pens that I resented for years. 

Social media was mostly a way to talk to people across campus and exchange homework and party times/locations. We posted over-edited photos of our food and still jogged with our mp3 players and ipods. But within two years, I had to trade in my computer three times and upgrade to a smartphone to keep up with the expectations of communication. Professors would cancel classes by emails an hour out, and if I was on campus, I simply didn’t get the message, running between classes with 19 credit hours and three jobs. Work would call in or cancel my appointments (tutoring) and I needed to be able to communicate at the rate of my peers, so though it wasn’t something we could easily afford, my parents let me get the smartphone and my dad helped me find computers that could keep up with writing papers and researching without having to go to the lab, which saved so much time. 

There was little understanding for my suffering. I didn’t have a car, I had to call my parents and organize a time to get home or take the train which was more expensive than waiting around on an empty campus. They were often things that even the wealthiest students had to deal with, but there were so much more of them for us, more stress, more problems, more solutions, more consequences, and in some ways, more determination.

I spent plenty of breaks holed up in my room, but when the swine flu/H1N1 outbreak happened, guess where they quarantined students?

In our hall. 

Not the back one that was closed. In the room attached to my suite. 

After half a semester alone, suddenly strangers shared my bathroom. I never saw them, I would just hear the formidable click of the bathroom lock followed by the shower. A week later I got a blue half-sheet note in my mailbox about quarantines. The other kids were as pissed off, as we watched kids escorted in with blue masks and were told to just get cleaning wipes from the front desk –they ran out in a week. 

We were the recyclable students, brought in to trade scholarships for university grade averages. Many of my friends were struggling with scholarship qualifications and gpas (which only encouraged my continual obsessive perfectionism and involvement). 

We were expendable. 

I didn’t understand the elitism then, or I did, but I’d twisted it in my head from years tossed between private and public schools. I was an invader, I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I wanted to be. I understood that I didn’t deserve it, that I had to work harder to stay. I completed Master’s coursework for my Bachelor’s degree, finishing two BA programs (anthropology and English: creative writing) and 2 minor programs in philosophy and world lit, lead several campus groups and volunteered with honor’s societies. I spent hours on campus every day, running home just to go to one job or the other. I slept about four hours a night and I still romanticize it because I loved it. And I was good at it. It was a closed system, easy to infiltrate, easy to watch and observe and follow, to feel protected from the world, but there were always ways that I came up short. 

I didn’t have leggings or Northface fleeces or Ugg boots or name brand anything (except a pair of converse I got in 8th grade from my Babcia). I had old high school sweats and soccer shirts, hand-me-down clothes from sisters and cousins that mix-matched a style I thought was unique but I now understand screamed I don’t really belong here. Example: I went to propose an independent study to a professor I really admired and I panicked about what to wear. I still cringe at the memory, gahhhhhh, but I pulled on what I thought was a decent dress because it had no rips or stains or tears and though I’d picked it up from a clearance rack, it was the newest thing and therefore the best. But in retrospect, it was definitely a “party” dress, I grabbed a sweater, hoop earrings that had always been beautiful in my neighborhood, and heels I never wore otherwise, and presented my idea. This old professor was just like “um...did you dress up for me?” Clearly spooked by red flags and I realized my mistake. Saved by quick thinking I clarified “no, I have a presentation later,” and being a familiar face in the social sciences department, I let him assume I was dressed up as something. I just went in my sweats and t-shirts after that, got a haircut that tamed the wavy frizz and learned the importance of muted tones, cardigans, and flats.

I made a lot of interesting friends in the process, people who also stuck out from the American Academic culture: exchange students, older (non-traditional) students, rebels, and other poor kids. But that also meant that we all evolved during our time there, so friendship was quick and fleeting as we adapted or dropped out or remained oblivious, lost in our studies and dreams of changing the world or our lives. 

I had no idea how to approach the dining halls because I could only afford the bronze plan that was included with my room+board scholarship. I could enter the hall ten times per week, with four included passes to the after-hours carry-out (this was an upgrade from the free high school lunch I was coming from). I met other kids on this plan and their dorm rooms had fridges and microwaves and shelves of ramen and mac’n’cheese. Mine was sparse, my fridge had jugs of water from the filtered tap in the common room, and though it had a shared kitchenette, it always smelled bad or was being used and the nearest grocery store was Meijers which was a 15-20 minute drive from campus. I used so much energy dividing up my meals and figuring out how to sneak food from the hall for later or just learn to not eat, which is another story involving malnutrition, broken bones, and the American Healthcare System.

We like to summarize the college experience with fond struggles. I went back to my old high school to watch my younger sisters’ marching band competition that first year (it’s MI, and they were good). My old art teacher (not much older than we were but she felt so much older at the time, also her maiden name was Erickson and so was her fiance’s so she didn’t “change” her name and that blows my mind to this day), anyway, she stopped me to ask how school was going, and I was not prepared to be recognized in anyway and stammered out something like “oh, yeah, stressful. Fun, cool, yeah,” like the eloquent well-educated student I was. And she said, “oh, I loved it, don’t you love it? Everything’s so charming, and being poor? Oh man, it’s hard for a while, but it’s so good to go through.” 

I was dumbfounded at her reference to poverty as a thing to go through when you’re a student. I again had to remember that I was infiltrating places where people weren’t just marginally more well-off than I was, but far beyond, in a place where they couldn’t comprehend an alternative, couldn’t conceive of surviving poverty, of not having a reliable place to fall if you mess up, parents who couldn’t support you if things went wrong, who couldn’t save you from having to drop out if scholarships were canceled because the money just wasn’t there.

Talking with my parents never worked, and I recently found this video by The Financial Diet about Boomer shame in being poor, where many Millennials were united by it and it was #relatable. But all this is to say that there are so many layers and ways we develop in higher education that are often overlooked by the romantic nostalgia of the elite expectation. What we demand from education vs. what it offers us in return is rarely equal for students coming from poverty, and it starts with that first sacrifice of looking at money and deciding it has to be worth it to do something bigger, and that education is a necessary piece of that goal.

Now I live near Brown University, I’ve been to Harvard when we lived in Boston and recently took a trip to Yale with bold expectations. I am friends with several people who work at these places and I hear the same things: so many students are in a place where their obsessions are considered more important than the larger world, an argument that Shakespeare is a woman is more important to prove than the greater issues of sexism in society as a whole, while others are trained to look at data and the world as a pocketable fact-book, going to conferences and  week-long summits and then off to D.C. to make important decisions about places they’ve never been to, for people they’ve never met, about problems they’ve never experienced.  

It’s not new. It’s not romantic. It’s not nostalgic. It’s just sick. 

I was horrified at New Haven. I have read so many social science reports and papers and experiments and academic bullshit that has come from professors at Yale with a big badge of ivy-league validation. So much of this research was focused on homelessness and culture clash and socio-economics in America, as that was my “dissertation” that got me discounted master’s classes for my BA in Anthropology. Anyway, my point was that I thought this noble, proud university that put out so much research was going to be situated in something of a utopia, where their research is put into practice. Obviously, I was wrong, but I didn’t expect how wrong. (I had also started reading Leigh Bardugo’s Ninth House, so... there’s another thing).

My observations were validated by employees of ivy-league schools, who have watched over the past 2 decades as they grow more and more reclusive, hiding away from the public except through a few, probably well-intentioned, outstretched hands that do little to contribute to the world outside the university itself. These ivory towers are built by poaching: environments, observations, resources, research, and yeah, even students.

I love academia. I will sit in a library for hours just pulling down tomes (and putting them back in their proper locations like a dork) and drawing connections just for fun. But right now, I’m a bit bitter and spiteful and angry. 

When something like Coronavirus sneaks up on us, we have a tendency to throw the most expendable people under the bus as quickly as we can, and all I can think about is my shadow of a suite-mate sneezing and coughing with swine flu for two weeks, at how I refused to use my own bathroom and listened to my hall-mates’ advice about showering at the rec center a mile away as we all collectively locked our bathroom doors and were left there by the university to get sick without insurance to help with any foreseeable costs.

It’s not the same now, they’ve rebuilt the entire section of the campus, it’s odd to see it, I wonder where they put the expendable kids. Or maybe they don’t accept them anymore. I’ve worked in college admissions since then, and it is a scary industry of politics and preference and hidden quotas and image-agendas. Not all schools are industry monsters, but when you’re expendable, they sure do feel like it, whether you graduate summa cum laude with two degrees, six awards, and five tasseled ropes around your neck or not. 

I wish I had a positive message. I wish I was in a place to help people who feel expendable or like they can’t keep up with communications because of technology or language or network or environment. But I don’t have much right now. For all its posturing and linear progression, academia needs to create profit. All I can do is yell about this existing.

If you are feeling expandable in university, I can tell you you’re not alone. I can let you rant about all the small ways your peers don’t get it, whether its an accent they shit on or ceremonies you don’t have the right clothes for or textbooks you share with a friend to cut costs but then they hoard them. I can relate to you about guilt and that sneaking panic that fills you with anxiety at night as you question yourself and wonder if it’s worth it at all, if it’s necessary, if it’s okay to be expendable to follow something that feels bigger. I can validate your doubt and tell you that you’re not actually expendable, you’re a bridge. 

I’m sorry it still works like this. I wish we figured out how to change it by now, I wish I had secret shortcuts to tell you about, that there was more accountability or hope, but I’m not seeing it lately. I hope you do. <3

[davidmann95]

So... Morrison’s 10 part interview on All-Star Superman, along with all other older Newsarama articles, just seem to have ceased to exist. One does not simply live without having those interviews available to reread... Can I find them anywhere else?

Rejoice! I finally borrowed a computer I could put my flash drive into, and emailed myself my copy of the Morrison interview. Here it is below the cut, copied and pasted direct from the source way back when, available again at last:

Three years, 12 issues, Eisners and countless accolades later, All Star Superman is finally finished. The out-of-continuity look at Superman’s struggle with his inevitable death was widely embraced by fans and pros as one of the best stories to feature the Man of Steel, and was a showcase for the talents of the creative team of Grant Morrison, Frank Quitely and Jamie Grant.

Now, Newsarama is proud to present an exclusive look back with Morrison at the series that took Superman to, pun intended, new heights. We had a lot of questions about the series...and Morrison delivered with an in-depth look into the themes, characters and ideas throughout the 12 issues. In fact, there was so much that we’re running this as an unprecedented 10-part series over the next two weeks – sort of an unofficial All Star Superman companion. It’s everything about All Star Superman you ever wanted to know, but were afraid to ask.

And of course there’s plenty of SPOILERS, so back away if you haven’t read the entire series.

Newsarama: Grant, tell us a little about the origin of the project.

Grant Morrison: Some of it has its roots in the DC One Million project from 1999. So much so, that some readers have come to consider this a prequel to DC One Million, which is fine if it shifts a few more copies! I’ve tried to give my own DC books an overarching continuity intended to make them all read as a more coherent body of work when I’m done.

Luthor’s “enlightenment” – when he peaks on super–senses and sees the world as it appears through Superman’s eyes – was an element I’d included in the Superman Now pitch I prepared along with Mark Millar, Tom Peyer and Mark Waid back in 1999. There were one or two of ideas of mine that I wanted to preserve from Superman Now and Luthor’s heart–stopping moment of understanding was a favorite part of the original ending for that story, so I decided to use it again here.

My specific take on Superman’s physicality was inspired by the “shamanic” meeting my JLA editor Dan Raspler and I had in the wee hours of the morning outside the San Diego comic book convention in whenever it was, ‘98 or ‘99.

I’ve told this story in more detail elsewhere but basically, we were trying to figure out how to “reboot” Superman without splitting up his marriage to Lois, which seemed like a cop–out. It was the beginning of the conversations which ultimately led to Superman Now, with Dan and I restlessly pacing around trying to figure out a new way into the character of Superman and coming up short...

Until we looked up to see a guy dressed as Superman crossing the train tracks. Not just any skinny convention guy in an ill–fitting suit, this guy actually looked like Superman. It was too good a moment to let pass, so I ran over to him, told him what we’d been trying to do and asked if he wouldn’t mind indulging us by answering some questions about Superman, which he did...in the persona and voice of Superman!

We talked for an hour and a half and he walked off into the night with his friend (no, it wasn’t Jimmy Olsen, sadly). I sat up the rest of the night, scribbling page after page of Superman notes as the sun came up over the naval yards.

My entire approach to Superman had come from the way that guy had been sitting; so easy, so confident, as if, invulnerable to all physical harm, he could relax completely and be spontaneous and warm. That pose, sitting hunched on the bollard, with one knee up, the cape just hanging there, talking to us seemed to me to be the opposite of the clenched, muscle-bound look the character sometimes sports and that was the key to Superman for me.

I met the same Superman a couple of times afterwards but he wasn’t Superman, just a nice guy dressed as Superman, whose name I didn’t save but who has entered into my own personal mythology (a picture has from that time has survived showing me and Mark Waid posing alongside this guy and a couple of young readers dressed as Superboy and Supergirl – it’s in the “Gallery” section at my website for anybody who can be bothered looking. This is the guy who lit the fuse that led to All Star Superman).

After the 1999 pitch was rejected, I didn’t expect to be doing any further work on Superman but sometime in 2002, while I was going into my last year on New X–Men, Dan DiDio called and asked if I wanted to come back to DC to work on a Superman book with Jim Lee.

Jim was flexing his artistic muscles again to great effect, and he wanted to do 12 issues on Superman to complement the work he was doing with Jeph Loeb on “Batman: Hush.” At the time, I wasn’t able to make my own commitments dovetail with Jim’s availability, but by then I’d become obsessed with the idea of doing a big Superman story and I’d already started working out the details.

Jim, of course, went on to do his 12 Superman issues as “For Tomorrow” with Brian Azzarello, so I found myself looking for an artist for what was rapidly turning into my own Man of Steel magnum opus, and I already knew the book had to be drawn by my friend and collaborator, Frank Quitely.

We were already talking about We3 and Superman seemed like a good meaty project to get our teeth into when that was done. I completely scaled up my expectations of what might be possible once Frank was on board and decided to make this thing as ambitious as possible.

Usually, I prefer to write poppy, throwaway “live performance” type superhero books, but this time, I felt compelled to make something for the ages – a big definitive statement about superheroes and life and all that, not only drawn by my favorite artist but starring the first and greatest superhero of them all.

The fact that it could be a non–continuity recreation made the idea even more attractive and more achievable. I also felt ready for it, in a way I don’t think I would have been in 1999; I finally felt “grown–up” enough to do Superman justice.

I plotted the whole story in 2002 and drew tiny colored sketches for all 12 covers. The entire book was very tightly constructed before we started – except that I’d left the ending open for the inevitable better and more focused ideas I knew would arise as the project grew into its own shape...and I left an empty space for issue 10. That one was intended from the start to be the single issue of the 12–issue run that would condense and amplify the themes of all the others. #10 was set aside to be the one–off story that would sum up anything anyone needed to know about Superman in 22 pages.

Not quite as concise an origin as Superman’s, but that’s how we got started.

NRAMA: When you were devising the series, what challenges did you have in building up this version of the Superman universe?

GM: I couldn’t say there were any particular challenges. It was fun. Nobody was telling me what I could or couldn’t do with the characters. I didn’t have to worry about upsetting continuity or annoying people who care about stuff like that.

I don’t have a lot of old comics, so my knowledge of Superman was based on memory, some tattered “70s books from the remains of my teenage collection, a bunch of DC “Best Of...” reprint editions and two brilliant little handbooks – “Superman in Action Comics” Volumes 1 and 2 – which reprint every single Action Comics cover from 1938 to 1988.

I read various accounts of Superman’s creation and development as a brand. I read every Superman story and watched every Superman movie I could lay my hands on, from the Golden Age to the present day. From the Socialist scrapper Superman of the Depression years, through the Super–Cop of the 40s, the mythic Hyper–Dad of the 50s and 60s, the questioning, liberal Superman of the early 70s, the bland “superhero” of the late 70s, the confident yuppie of the 80s, the over–compensating Chippendale Superman of the 90s etc. I read takes on Superman by Mark Waid, Mark Millar, Geoff Johns, Denny O’Neil, Jeph Loeb, Alan Moore, Paul Dini and Alex Ross, Joe Casey, Steve Seagle, Garth Ennis, Jim Steranko and many others.

I looked at the Fleischer cartoons, the Chris Reeve movies and the animated series, and read Alvin Schwartz’s (he wrote the first ever Bizarro story among many others) fascinating book – “An Unlikely Prophet” – where he talks about his notion of Superman as a tulpa, (a Tibetan word for a living thought form which has an independent existence beyond its creator) and claims he actually met the Man of Steel in the back of a taxi.

I immersed myself in Superman and I tried to find in all of these very diverse approaches the essential “Superman–ness” that powered the engine. I then extracted, purified and refined that essence and drained it into All Star’s tank, recreating characters as my own dream versions, without the baggage of strict continuity.

In the end, I saw Superman not as a superhero or even a science fiction character, but as a story of Everyman. We’re all Superman in our own adventures. We have our own Fortresses of Solitude we retreat to, with our own special collections of valued stuff, our own super–pets, our own “Bottle Cities” that we feel guilty for neglecting. We have our own peers and rivals and bizarre emotional or moral tangles to deal with.

I felt I’d really grasped the concept when I saw him as Everyman, or rather as the dreamself of Everyman. That “S” is the radiant emblem of divinity we reveal when we rip off our stuffy shirts, our social masks, our neuroses, our constructed selves, and become who we truly are.

Batman is obviously much cooler, but that’s because he’s a very energetic and adolescent fantasy character: a handsome billionaire playboy in black leather with a butler at this beck and call, better cars and gadgetry than James Bond, a horde of fetish femme fatales baying around his heels and no boss. That guy’s Superman day and night.

Superman grew up baling hay on a farm. He goes to work, for a boss, in an office. He pines after a hard–working gal. Only when he tears off his shirt does that heroic, ideal inner self come to life. That’s actually a much more adult fantasy than the one Batman’s peddling but it also makes Superman a little harder to sell. He’s much more of a working class superhero, which is why we ended the whole book with the image of a laboring Superman.

He’s Everyman operating on a sci–fi Paul Bunyan scale. His worries and emotional problems are the same as ours... except that when he falls out with his girlfriend, the world trembles.

Newsarama: Grant, what are some of your favorite moments from the 12 issues?

Grant Morrison: The first shot of Superman flying over the sun. The Cosmic Anvil. Samson and Atlas. The kiss on the moon. The first three pages of the Olsen story which, I think, add up to the best character intro I’ve ever written.

Everything Lex Luthor says in issue #5. Everything Clark does. The whole says/does Luthor/Superman dynamic as played out through Frank Quitely’s absolute mastery and understanding of how space, movement and expression combine to tell a story.

Superboy and his dog on the moon – that perfect teenage moment of infinite possibility, introspection and hope for the future. He’s every young man on the verge of adulthood, Krypto is every dog with his boy (it seemed a shame to us that Krypto’s most memorable moment prior to this was his death scene in “Whatever Happened To The Man of Tomorrow.” Quitely’s scampering, leaping, eager and alive little creature is how I’d prefer to imagine Krypto the Superdog and conjures finer and more subtle emotions).

Bizarro–Home, with all of Earth’s continental and ocean shapes but reversed. The page with the first appearance of Zibarro that Frank has designed so the eye is pulled down in a swirling motion into the drain at the heart of the image, to make us feel that we’re being flushed in a cloacal spiral down into a nihilistic, existential sink. Frank gave me that page as a gift, and it became weirdly emblematic of a strange, dark time in both our lives.

The story with Bar–El and Lilo has a genuine chill off ammonia and antiseptic off it, which makes it my least favorite issue of the series, although I know a lot of people who love it. It’s about dying relatives, obligations, the overlit overheated corridors between terminal wards, the thin metallic odors of chemicals, bad food and fear. Preparation for the Phantom Zone.

Superman hugging the poor, hopeless girl on the roof and telling us all we’re stronger than we think we are.

Joe Shuster drawing us all into the story forever and never–ending.

Nasthalthia Luthor. Frank and Jamie’s final tour of the Fortress, referencing every previous issue on the way, in two pages.

All of issue #10 (there’s a single typo in there where the time on the last page was screwed up – but when we fix that detail for the trade I’ll be able to regard this as the most perfectly composed superhero story I’ve ever written).

I don’t think I’ve ever had a smoother, more seamless collaborative process.

NRAMA: The story is very complete unto itself, but are there any new or classic characters you’d like to explore further? If so, which ones and why?

GM: I’d happily write more Atlas and Samson. I really like Krull, the Dino–Czar’s wayward son, and his Stalinist underground empire of “Subterranosauri.” I could write a Superman Squad comic forever. I’d love to write the “Son of Superman” sequel about Lois and Clark’s super test tube baby.

But...I think All Star is already complete, without sequels. You read that last issue and it works because you know you’re never going to see All Star Superman again. You’ll be able to pick up Superman books, but they won’t be about this guy and they won’t feel the same. He really is going away. Our Superman is actually “dying” in that sense, and that adds the whole series a deeper poignancy.

NRAMA: Aside from the Bizarro League, you never really introduce other DC superheroes into the story. Why did you make this choice?

GM: I wanted the story to be about the mythic Superman at the end of his time. It’s clear from the references that he has or more likely has had a few super–powered allies, but that they’re no longer around or relevant any more.

For the context of this story I wanted the super–friends to be peripheral, like they were in the old comics. The Flash? Green Lantern? They represent Superman’s “old army buddies,” or your dad’s school friends. Guys you’ve sort of heard of, who used to be more important in the old man’s life than they are now.

NRAMA: Some readers were confused as to how the “Twelve Labors” broke down, though others have pointed out that Superman’s actions are more reflective of the Stations of the Cross (I note there’s a “Station Café” in the background of issue #12). Could you break down the Twelve Labors, or, if the cross theory is true, how the storyline reflects the Stations?

GM: The 12 Labors of Superman were never intended as an isomorphic mapping onto the 12 Labors of Hercules, or for that matter, the specific Stations of the Cross, of which there are 14, I believe. I didn’t even want to do one Labor per issue, so it deliberately breaks down quite erratically through the series for reasons I’ll go into (later).

Yes, there are correspondences, but that’s mostly because we tried to create for our Superman the contemporary “superhero” version of an archetypal solar hero journey, which naturally echoes numerous myths, legends and religious parables.

At the same time, we didn’t want to do an update or a direct copy of any myth you’d seen before, so it won’t work if you try to find one specific mythological or religious “plan” to hang the series on; James Joyce’s honorable and heroic refutation of the rule aside, there’s nothing more dead and dull than an attempt to retell the Odyssey or the Norse sagas scene by scene, but in a modern and/or superhero setting.

For future historians and mythologizers, however, the 12 Labors of Superman may be enumerated as follows:

1. Superman saves the first manned mission to the sun.
2. Superman brews the Super–Elixir.
3. Superman answers the Unanswerable Question.
4. Superman chains the Chronovore. 
5. Superman saves Earth from Bizarro–Home.
6. Superman returns from the Underverse.
7. Superman creates Life.
8. Superman liberates Kandor/cures cancer.
9. Superman defeats Solaris.
10. Superman conquers Death.
11. Superman builds an artificial Heart for the Sun.
12.Superman leaves the recipe/formula to make Superman 2.

And one final feat, which typically no–one really notices, is that Lex Luthor delivers his own version of the unified field haiku – explaining the underlying principles of the universe in fourteen syllables – which the P.R.O.J.E.C.T. G–Type philosopher from issue 4 had dedicated his entire life to composing!

You may notice also that the Labors take place over a year – with the solar hero’s descent into the darkness and cold of the Underverse occurring at midwinter/Christmas time (that’s also the only point in the story where we ever see Metropolis at night).

It can also be seen as the sun’s journey over the course of a day – we open in blazing sunshine but halfway through the book, at the end of issue #5, in fact, the solar hero dips below the horizon and begins the night–journey through the hours of darkness and death, before his triumphant resurrection at dawn. That’s why issue 5 ends with the boat to the Underworld and 6 begins with the moon. Clark Kent is crossing the threshold into the subconscious world of memory, shadows, death and deep emotions.

Although they can often have bizarre resonances, specific elements, like the Station Café, are usually put there by Frank Quitely, and are not necessarily secret Dan Brown–style keys to unlocking the mysteries. I think there might be a Station Café opposite the studio where Frank Quitely works and the “SAPIEN” sign on another storefront is a reference to Frank’s studio mate, Dave Sapien. At least he’s not filling the background with dirty words like he used to, given any opportunity

NRAMA: For that matter, do the Twelve Labors matter at all? They seem so purposely ill–defined. They seem more like misdirection or a MacGuffin than anything that needs to be clearly delineated.

GM: They matter, of course, but the 12 Labors idea is there to show that, as with all myth, the systematic ordering of current events into stories, tales, or legends occurs after the fact.

I’m trying to suggest that only in the future will these particular 12 feats, out of all the others ever, be mythologized as 12 Labors. I suppose I was trying to say something about how people impose meaning upon events in retrospect, and that’s how myth is born. It’s hindsight that provides narrative, structure, meaning and significance to the simple unfolding of events. It’s the backward glance that adds all the capital letters to the list above.

Even Superman isn”t sure how many Labors he’s performed when we see him mulling it over in issue 10. 
When you watched it happening, it seemed to be Superman just doing his thing. In the future it’s become THE 12 LABORS OF SUPERMAN!

NRAMA: And on a completely ridiculous note: All–Star Superman is perhaps the most difficult–to–abbreviate comic title since Preacher: Tall in the Saddle. Did you realize this going in?

GM: Going into what? Going into ASS itself? In the sense of how did I feel as I slowly entered ASS for the first time?

It never crossed my mind...

Newsarama: I’d like to know a little more about Leo Quintum and his role in the story. He seems like a bit of an outgrowth of the likes of Project Cadmus and Emil Hamilton, but in a more fantastical, Willy Wonka sense.

Grant Morrison: Yeah, he was exactly as you say, my attempt to create an updated take on the character of “Superman’s scientist friend” – in the vein of Emil Hamilton from the animated show and the ‘90s stories. Science so often goes wrong in Superman stories, and I thought it was important to show the potential for science to go right or to be elevated by contact with Superman’s shining positive spirit.

I was thinking of Quintum as a kind of “Man Who Fell To Earth” character with a mysterious unearthly background. For a while I toyed with the notion that he was some kind of avatar of Lightray of the New Gods, but as All Star developed, that didn’t fit the tone, and he was allowed to simply be himself.

Eventually it just came down to simplicity. Leo Quintum represents the “good” scientific spirit – the rational, enlightened, progressive, utopian kind of scientist I figured Superman might inspire to greatness. It was interesting to me how so many people expected Quintum to turn out bad at the end. It shows how conditioned we are in our miserable, self–loathing, suspicious society to expect the worst of everyone, rather than hope for the best. Or maybe it’s just what we expect from stories.

Having said that, there is indeed a necessary whiff of Lucifer about Quintum. His name, Leo Quintum, conjures images of solar force, lions and lightbringers and he has elements of the classic Trickster figure about him. He even refers to himself as “The Devil Himself” in issue #10.

What he’s doing at the end of the story should, for all its gee–whiz futurity, feel slightly ambiguous, slightly fake, slightly “Hollywood.” Yes, he’s fulfilling Superman’s wishes by cloning an heir to Superman and Lois and inaugurating a Superman dynasty that will last until the end of time – but he’s also commodifying Superman, figuring out how it’s done, turning him into a brand, a franchise, a bigger–and–better “revamp,” the ultimate coming attraction, fresher than fresh, newer than new but familiar too. Quintum has figured out the “formula” for Superman and improved upon it.

And then you can go back to the start of All Star Superman issue #1 and read the “formula” for yourself, condensed into eight words on the first page and then expanded upon throughout the story! The solar journey is an endless circle naturally. A perfect puzzle that is its own solution.

In one way, Quintum could be seen to represent the creative team, simultaneously re–empowering a pure myth with the honest fire of Art...while at the same time shooting a jolt of juice through a concept that sells more “S” logo underpants and towels than it does comic books. All tastes catered!

I have to say that the Willy Wonka thing never crossed my mind until I saw people online make the comparison, which seems quite obvious now. Quintum dresses how I would dress if I was the world’s coolest super–scientist. What’s up with that?

NRAMA: Was Zibarro inspired by the Bizarro World story where the Bizarro–Neanderthal becomes this unappreciated Casanova–type?

GM: Don’t know that one, but it sounds like a scenario I could definitely endorse!

Zibarro started out as a daft name sicked–up by my subconscious mind, which flowered within moments into the must–write idea of an Imperfect Bizarro. What would an imperfect version of an already imperfect being be like?

Zibarro.

NRAMA: I’d like to know more about Zibarro – what’s the significance of his chronicling Bizarro World through poetry?

GM: It’s up to you. I see Zibarro partly as the sensitive teenager inside us all. He’s moody, horribly self–aware and uncomfortable, yet filled with thoughts of omnipotence and agency. He’s the absolute center of his tiny, disorganized universe. He’s playing the role of sensitive, empathic poet but at the same time, he’s completely self–absorbed.

When he says to Superman “Can you even imagine what it’s like to be so different. So unique. So unlike everyone else?” he doesn’t even wait for Superman’s reply. He doesn’t care about anyone’s feelings but his own, ultimately.

NRAMA: The character is very close to Superman, so what does it say that a nonpowered version on a savage world would focus his energy through that medium? Also, does Zibarro’s existence show how Superman is able to elevate even the backwards Bizarros through his very nature?

GM: All of the above. And maybe he writes his totally subjective poetry as a reflection of Clark Kent’s objective reporter role. The suppressed, lyrical, wounded side of Superman perhaps? The Super–Morrissey? Bizarro With The Thorn In His Side?

But he’s also Bizarro–Home’s “mistake” (or so it seems to him, even though he’s as natural an expression of the place as any of the other Bizarro creatures who grow like mold across the surface of their living planet). He feels excluded, a despised outsider, and yet that position is what defines his cherished self–image. He expresses himself through poetry because to him the regular Bizarro language is barbaric, barely articulate and guttural. And they all think he’s talking crap anyway.

It seemed to make sense that an interesting opposite of Bizarro speech might be flowery “woe is me” school Poetry Society odes to the sunset in a misunderstood heart. He’s still a Bizarro though, which makes him ineffectual. His tragedy is that he knows he’s fated to be useless and pointless but craves so much more.

NRAMA: Zibarro also represents a recurrent theme in the story, of Superman constantly facing alternate versions of himself – Bar–El, Samson and Atlas, the Superman Squad, even Luthor by the end. Notably, Hercules is absent, though Superman’s doing his Twelve Labors. With the mythological adventurers in particular, was this designed to equate Superman with their legend, to show how his character is greater than theirs, or both?

GM: In a way, I suppose. He did arm–wrestle them both, proving once and for all Superman’s stronger than anybody! And remember, these characters, along with Hercules, used to appear regularly in Superman books as his rivals. I thought they made better rivals than, say, Majestic or Ultraman because people who don’t read comics have heard of Hercules, Samson and Atlas and understand what they represent.

For that particular story, I wanted to see Superman doing tough guy shit again, like he did in the early days and then again in the 70s, when he was written as a supremely cocky macho bastard for a while. I thought a little bit of that would be an antidote to the slightly soppy, Super–Christ portrayal that was starting to gain ground.

Hence Samson’s broken arm, twisted in two directions beyond all repair. And Atlas in the hospital. And then Superman’s got his hot girlfriend dressed like a girl from Krypton and they’re making out on the moon (the original panel description was of something more like the famous shot of Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr kissing in the surf from “From Here To Eternity.” Frank’s final choice of composition is much more classically pulp–romantic and iconic than my down and dirty rumble in the moondirt would have been, I’m glad to say).

Newsarama: Tell us about some of the thinking behind the new antagonists you created for this series (at least the ones you want to talk about...): First up: Krull and the Subterranosaurs...

Grant Morrison: We wanted to create some throwaway new characters which would be designed to look as if they were convincing long–term elements of the Superman legend.

We were trying to create a few foes who had a classic feel and a solid backstory that could be explored again or in depth. Even if we never went back to these characters, we wanted them to seem rich enough to carry their own stories.

With Krull, we figured a superhuman character like Superman can always use a powerful “sub–human” opponent: a beast, a monster, a savage with the power to destroy civilization. For years I’ve had the idea that the familiar “gray aliens” might “actually” be evolved biped dinosaur descendants, the offspring of smart–thinking lizards which made their way to the warm regions at the Earth’s core.

I imagined these brutes developing their own technology, their own civilization, and then finally coming to the surface to declare bloody war on the mammalian usurpers! It seemed like we could develop this idea into the Krull backstory and suggest a whole epic conflict in a few panels.

Dom Regan, the Glasgow artist and DC colorist, saw the original green skin Jamie Grant had done for Krull, and suggested we make him red instead. Jamie reset his color filters and that was the moment Krull suddenly looked like a real Superman foe.

The red skin marked him out as unique, different and dangerous, even among his own species. It had echoes of Jack Kirby’s Devil Dinosaur that played right into the heart of the concept. A good design became a great design and the whole story of who Krull was – his twisted relationship with his father the Dino–Czar, his monstrous ambitions – came together in that first picture.

The society was fleshed out in the script even though we see only one panel of it – a gloomy, heavy, “Soviet” underworld of walled iron cities, cold blood and deadly intrigue. War–Barges that could sail on the oceans of heated steam at the center of the Earth. A Stalinist authoritarian lizard world where missing person cases were being taken to work and die as slaves in hellish underworld conditions.

NRAMA: Mechano–Man?

GM: An attempt to pre–imagine a classic, archetypal Superman foe, which started with another simple premise – how about a giant robot villain? But not just any giant robot – this is a rampaging machine with a raging little man inside.

Giving him a bitter, angry, scrawny loser as a pilot turned Mechano–Man into a much more extreme and pathological expression of the Man of Steel/Mild–Mannered Reporter dynamic, and added a few interesting layers onto an 8–panel appearance.

NRAMA: The Chronovore – a very disturbing creation, that one.

GM: The Chronovore was mentioned in passing in DC 1,000,000 and would have been the monster in my aborted Hypercrisis series idea. It took a long time to get the right design for the beast because it’s meant to be a 5–D being that we only ever see in 4–D sections. It had to work as a convincing representation of something much bigger that we’re seeing only where it interpenetrates our 4–D space-time continuum.

Imagine you’re walking along with a song in your teenage heart, then suddenly the Chronovore appears, takes bite out of your life, and you arrive at your girlfriend’s house aged 76, clutching a cell phone and a wilted bouquet.

NRAMA: One more obscure run that I was happy to see referenced in this was the use of Nasty from the old Mike Sekowsky Supergirl stories. What made you want to use this character?

GM: I remembered her from the old comics, and felt her fashion–y look could be updated very easily into the kind of fetish club thing I’ve always been partial to.

She seemed a cool and sexy addition to the Luthor plot. The set–up, where Lex has a fairly normal sister who hates how her wayward brother is such a bad influence on her brilliant daughter, is explosive with character potential.

They need to bring Nasty back to mainstream continuity. Geoff! They all want it and you know you never let them down!

NRAMA: Speaking of Mike Sekowsky, I’m curious about his influence on your work. I have an odd fascination with all the ideas and stories he was tossing around in the late 1960s and early 1970s – Jason’s Quest, Manhunter 2070, the I–Ching tales – and many of the characters he worked on, from the B”Wana Beast to the Inferior Five to Yankee Doodle (in Doom Patrol), have shown up in your work. The Bizarro Zoo in issue #10 is even slightly reminiscent of the Beast’s merged animals.

GM: Those were all comics that were around when I was a normal kid, prior to the obsessive collecting fan phase of my isolated teenage years. They clearly inspired me in some way, as you say, but certainly not consciously. I’d never have considered myself a particular fan of Mike Sekowsky’s work, but as you say, I’ve incorporated a lot of his ideas into the DC Universe work I’ve done. Hmm. Interesting.

While I’m at it, I should also say something about Samson and Atlas, halfway between old characters and new.

Samson, Atlas and Hercules were classical mainstays of old Superman covers, tangling with Superman in all those Silver Age stories that happened before he learned from his friends at Marvel that it was possible to fight other superheroes for fun and profit, so I decided to completely “re–vamp” the characters in the manner of superhero franchises. Marvel has the definitive Hercules for me, so I left him out of the mix and concentrated on Atlas and Samson.

Atlas was re–imagined as a mighty but restless and reckless young prince of the New Mythos – a society of mega–beings playing out their archetypal dramas between New Elysium and Hadia, with ordinary people caught in the middle – and Superman.

Essentially good–hearted, Atlas would have been the newbie in a “team” with Skyfather Xaoz!, Heroina, Marzak and the others. He has a bullish, adolescent approach to life. He drinks and plunges himself into ill–advised adventures to ease his naturally gloomy “weighed down by the world” temperament.

You can see it all now. The backstory suggested an unseen, Empyrean New Gods–type series from a parallel universe. What if, when Jack Kirby came to DC from Marvel in 1971, he’d followed up his sci–fi Viking Gods saga at Marvel, with a dimension–spanning epic rooted in Greek mythology? New Gods meets Eternals drawn by Curt Swan/Murphy Anderson? That was Atlas.

Samson, I decided would be a callback to the British newspaper strip “Garth.” Although you may already be imagining a daily strip about the exploits of time–tossed The Boys writer, Garth Ennis, it was actually about a blonde Adonis type who bounced around the ages having mildly horny, racy adventures.

(Go look him up then return the wiser before reading on, so I don’t have to explain anymore about this bastard – he’s often described as “the British Superman,” but oh...my arse! I hated meathead, personality–singularity Garth...but we all grew up with his meandering, inexplicable yet incredibly–drawn adventures and some of it was quite good when you were a little lad because he was always shagging ON PANEL with the likes of a bare–breasted cave girl or gauze–draped Helen of Troy.

(Unlike Superman, you see, the top British strongman liked to get naked. Lots naked. Naked in every time period he could get naked in, which was all of them thanks to the miracle of his bullshit powers.

(Imagine Doctor Who buff, dumb and naked all the time – Russell, I’ve had an idea!!!! – and that’s Garth in a nutshell.

(Sorry, I know I’m going on and the average attention span of anyone reading stuff on the Internet amounts to no more than a few paragraphs, but basically, Garth was always getting naked. In public, in family newspapers. Bollock naked. Let’s face it, patriotic Americans, have you ever seen Superman’s arse?

Newsarama Note: Well, there was Baby Kal-El in the 1978 film...

(Brits, hands up who still remember the man, and have you ever not seen Garth’s arse? Do you not, in fact, have a very clear image of it in your head, as drawn by Martin Asbury perhaps? In mine, Garth’s pulling aside a flimsy curtain to gaze at the pyramids with Cleopatra buck naked in foreground ogling his rock hard glutes...).

Anyway, Samson, I decided, was the Hebrew version of Garth and he would have his own mad comic that was like an American version of Garth. I saw the Bible hero plucked from the desert sands by time–travelling buffoons in search of a savior. Introduced to all the worst aspects of future culture and, using his stolen, erratic Chrono–Mobile, Samson became a time–(and space) traveling Soldier of Fortune, writing wrongs, humping princesses, accumulating and losing treasure etc. Like a science fiction Conan. Meets Garth.

Fortunately, you’ll never see any of these men ever again.

Newsarama: How have your perceptions of Superman and his supporting characters evolved since the Superman 2000 pitch you did with Mark Waid, Mark Millar and Tom Peyer? The Superman notions seem almost identical, but Luthor is very different here than in that pitch, and so is Clark Kent. Did you use some aspects of your original pitch, or have you just changed his mind on how to portray these characters since?

Grant Morrison: A little of both. I wanted to approach All Star Superman as something new, but there were a couple of specific aspects from the Superman 2000 pitch (as I mentioned earlier, it was actually called Superman Now, at least in my notebooks, which is where the bulk of the material came from) that I felt were definitely worth keeping and exploring.

I can’t remember much about Luthor from Superman Now, except for the ending. By the time I got to All Star Superman, I’d developed a few new insights into Luthor’s character that seemed to flesh him out more. Luthor’s really human and charismatic and hateful all the same time. He’s the brilliant, deluded egotist in all of us. The key for me was the idea that he draws his eyebrows on. The weird vanity of that told me everything I needed to know about Luthor.

I thought the real key to him was the fact that, brilliant as he is, Luthor is nowhere near as brilliant as he wants to be or thinks he is. For Luthor, no praise, no success, no achievement is ever enough, because there’s a big hungry hole in his soul. His need for acknowledgement and validation is superhuman in scale. Superman needs no thanks; he does what he does because he’s made that way. Luthor constantly rails against his own sense of failure and inadequacy...and Superman’s to blame, of course.

I’ve recently been re–thinking Luthor again for a different project, and there’s always a new aspect of the character to unearth and develop.

NRAMA: This story makes Superman and Lois’ relationship seem much more romantic and epic than usual, but this one also makes Superman more of the pursuer. Lois seems like more of an equal, but also more wary of his affections, particularly in the black–and–white sequence in issue #2.

She becomes this great beacon of support for him over the course of the series, but there is a sense that she’s a bit jaded from years of trickery and uncomfortable with letting him in now that he’s being honest. How, overall, do you see the relationship between Superman and Lois?

GM: The black-and-white panels shows Lois paranoid and under the influence of an alien chemical, but yes, she’s articulating many of her very real concerns in that scene.

I wanted her to finally respond to all those years of being tricked and duped and led to believe Superman and Clark Kent were two different people. I wanted her to get her revenge by finally refusing to accept the truth.

It also exposed that brilliant central paradox in the Superman/Lois relationship. The perfect man who never tells a lie has to lie to the woman he loves to keep her safe. And he lives with that every day. It’s that little human kink that really drives their relationship.

NRAMA: Jimmy Olsen is extremely cool in this series – it’s the old “Mr. Action” idea taken to a new level. It’s often easy to write Jimmy as a victim or sycophant, but in this series, he comes off as someone worthy of being “Superman’s Pal” – he implicitly trusts Superman, and will take any risk to get his story. Do you see this version of Jimmy as sort of a natural evolution of the version often seen in the comics?

GM: It was a total rethink based on the aspects of Olsen I liked, and playing down the whole wet–behind–the–ears “cub reporter” thing. I borrowed a little from the “Mr. Action” idea of a more daredevil, pro–active Jimmy, added a little bit of Nathan Barley, some Abercrombie & Fitch style, a bit of Tintin, and a cool Quitely haircut.

Jimmy was renowned for his “disguises” and bizarre transformations (my favorite is the transvestite Olsen epic “Miss Jimmy Olsen” from Jimmy Olsen #95, which gets a nod on the first page of our Jimmy story we did), so I wanted to take that aspect of his appeal and make it part of his job.

I don’t like victim Jimmy or dumb Jimmy, because those takes on the character don’t make any sense in their context. It seemed more interesting see what a young man would be like who could convincingly be Superman’s “pal.” Someone whose company a Superman might actually enjoy. That meant making Jimmy a much bigger character: swaggering but ingenuous. Innocent yet worldly. Enthusiastic but not stupid.

My favorite Jimmy moment is in issue #7 when he comes up with the way to defeat the Bizarro invasion by using the seas of the Bizarro planet itself as giant mirrors to reflect toxic – to Bizarros – sunlight onto the night side of the Earth. He knows Superman can actually take crazy lateral thinking like this and put it into practice.

NRAMA: Perry White has a few small–but–key scenes, particularly his address to his staff in issue #1 and standing up to Luthor in issue #12. I’d like to hear more about your thoughts on this character.

GM: As with the others, my feelings are there on the page. Perry is Clark’s boss and need only be that and not much more to play his role perfectly well within the stories. He’s a good reminder that Superman has a job and a boss, unlike that good–for–nothing work-shy bastard Batman. Perry’s another of the series’ older male role models of integrity and steadfastness, like Pa Kent.

NRAMA: There’s a sense in the Daily Planet scenes and with Lois’s spotlight issues that everyone knows Clark is Superman, but they play along to humor him. The Clark disguise comes off as very obvious in this story. Do you feel that the Planet staff knows the truth, or are just in a very deep case of denial, like Lex?

GM: If I had to say for sure, I think Jimmy Olsen worked it out a long time ago, and simply presumes that if Superman has a good reason for what he’s doing, that’s good enough for Jimmy.

Lois has guessed, but refuses to acknowledge it because it exposes her darkest flaw – she could never love Clark Kent the way she loves Superman.

NRAMA: Also, the Planet staff seems awfully nonchalant at Luthor’s threats. Are they simply used to being attacked by now?

GM: Yes. They’re a tough group. They also know that Superman makes a point of looking out for them, so they naturally try to keep Luthor talking. They know he loves to talk about himself and about Superman. In that scene, he’s almost forgotten he even has powers, he’s so busy arguing and making points. He keeps doing ordinary things instead of extraordinary things.

NRAMA: The running gag of Clark subtly using his powers to protect unknowing people is well done, but I have to admit I was confused by the sequence near the end of issue #1. Was that an el–train, and if so, why was it so close to the ground?

GM: It’s a MagLev hover–train. Look again, and you’ll see it’s not supported by anything. Hover–trains help ease congestion in busy city streets! Metropolis is the City of Tomorrow, after all.

NRAMA: And there’s the death of Pa Kent. Why do you feel it’s particularly important to have Pa and not both of the Kents pass away?

GM: I imagined they had both passed away fairly early in Superman’s career, but Ma went a few years after Pa. Also, because the book was about men or man, it seemed important to stress the father/son relationships. That circle of life, the king is dead, long live the king thing that Superman is ultimately too big and too timeless to succumb to.

NRAMA: There is a real touch of Elliott S! Maggin’s novels in your depiction of Luthor – someone who is just so obsessive–compulsive about showing up Superman that he accomplishes nothing in his own life. He comes across as a showman, from his rehearsed speech in issue #1 to his garish costume in the last two issues, and it becomes painfully apparent that he wants to usurp Superman because he just can’t be happy with himself. What defeats him is actually a beautiful gift, getting to see the world as Superman does, and finally understanding his enemy.

That’s all a lead–in to: What previous stories that defined Luthor for you, and how did you define his character? What appeals to you about writing him?

GM: The Marks Waid and Millar were big fans of the Maggin books, and may have persuaded me to read at least the first one but I’m ashamed to say can’t remember anything about it, other than the vague recollection of a very humane, humanist take on Superman that seemed in general accord with the pacifist, hedonistic, between–the–wars spirit of the ‘90s when I read it. It was the ‘90s; I had other things on my mind and in my mind.

I like Maggin’s “Must There Be A Superman?” from Superman #247, which ultimately poses questions traditional superhero comic books are not equipped to answer and is one of the first paving stones in the Yellow Brick Road that leads to Watchmen and beyond, to The Authority, The Ultimates etc. Everyone still awake, still reading this, should make themselves familiar with “Must There Be A Superman?” – it’s a milestone in the development of the superhero concept.

However, the story that most defines Luthor for me turns out to be, as usual, a Len Wein piece with Curt Swan/Murphy Anderson– Superman #248. This blew me away when I was a kid. Lex Luthor cares about humanity? He’s sorry we all got blown up? The villain loves us too? It’s only Superman he really hates? Genius. Big, cool adult stuff.

The divine Len makes Lex almost too human, but it was amazing to see this kind of depth in a character I’d taken for granted as a music hall villain.

I also love the brutish Satanic, Crowley–esque, Golden Age Luthor in the brilliant “Powerstone” Action Comics #47 (the opening of All Star #11 is a shameless lift from “Powerstone”, as I soon realised when I went back to look. Blame my...er...photographic memory...cough).

And I like the Silver Age Luthor who only hates Superman because he thinks it’s Superboy’s fault he went bald. That was the most genuinely human motivation for Luthor’s career of villainy of all; it was Superman’s fault he went bald! I can get behind that.

In the Silver Age, baldness, like obesity, old age and poverty, was seen quite rightly as a crippling disease and a challenge which Superman and his supporting cast would be compelled to overcome at every opportunity! Suburban “50s America versus Communist degeneracy? You tell me.

I like elements of the Marv Wolfman/John Byrne ultra–cruel and rapacious businessman, although he somewhat lacks the human dimension (ultimately there’s something brilliant about Luthor being a failed inventor, a product of Smallville/Dullsville – the genius who went unnoticed in his lifetime, and resorted to death robots in chilly basements and cellars. Luthor as geek versus world). I thought Alan Moore’s ruthlessly self–assured “consultant” Luthor in Swamp Thing was an inspired take on the character as was Mark Waid’s rage–driven prodigy from Birthright.

I tried to fold them all into one portrayal. I see him as a very human character – Superman is us at our best, Luthor is us when we’re being mean, vindictive, petty, deluded and angry. Among other things. It’s like a bipolar manic/depressive personality – with optimistic, loving Superman smiling at one end of the scale and paranoid, petty Luthor cringing on the other.

I think any writer of Superman has to love these two enemies equally. We have to recognize them both as potentials within ourselves. I think it’s important to find yourself agreeing with Luthor a bit about Superman’s “smug superiority” – we all of us, except for Superman, know what it’s like to have mean–spirited thoughts like that about someone else’s happiness. It’s essential to find yourself rooting for Lex, at least a little bit, when he goes up against a man–god armed only with his bloody–minded arrogance and cleverness.

Even if you just wish you could just give him a hug and help him channel his energies in the right direction, Luthor speaks for something in all of us, I like to think.

However he’s played, Luthor is the male power fantasy gone wrong and turned sour. You’ve got everything you want but it’s not enough because someone has more, someone is better, someone is cleverer or more handsome.

 Newsarama: Grant, a recurring theme throughout the book is the effect of small kindness – how even the likes of Steve Lombard are capable of decency. And Superman gets the key to saving himself by doing something that any human being could do, offering sympathy to a person about to end it all.

Grant Morrison: Completely...the person you help today could be the person who saves your life tomorrow.

NRAMA: The character actions that make the biggest difference, from Zibarro’s sacrifice to Pa’s influence on Superman, are really things that any normal, non-powered person could do if they embrace the best part of their humanity. The last page of issue #12 teases the idea that Superman’s powers could be given to all mankind, but it seems as though the greatest gift he has given them is his humanity. How do you view Superman’s fate in the context of where humanity could go as a species?

GM: I see Superman in this series as an Enlightenment figure, a Renaissance idea of the ideal man, perfect in mind, body and intention.

A key text in all of this is Pico’s ‘Oration On The Dignity of Man’ (15c), generally regarded as the ‘manifesto’ of Renaissance thought, in which Giovanni Pico Della Mirandola laid out the fundamentals of what we tend to refer to as ’Humanist’ thinking.

(The ‘Oratorio’ also turns up in my British superhero series Zenith from 1987, which may indicate how long I’ve been working towards a Pico/Superman team-up!)

At its most basic, the ‘Oratorio’ is telling us that human beings have the unique ability, even the responsibility, to live up to their ‘ideals’. It would be unusual for a dog to aspire to be a horse, a bird to bark like a dog, or a horse to want to wear a diving suit and explore the Barrier Reef, but people have a particular gift for and inclination towards imitation, mimicry and self-transformation. We fly by watching birds and then making metal carriers that can outdo birds, we travel underwater by imitating fish, we constantly look to role models and behavioral templates for guidance, even when those role models are fictional TV or, comic, novel or movie heroes, just like the soft, quick, shapeshifty little things we are. We can alter the clothes we wear, the temperature around us, and change even our own bodies, in order to colonize or occupy previously hostile environments. We are, in short, a distinctively malleable and adaptable bunch.

So, Pico is saying, if we live by imitation, does it not make sense that we might choose to imitate the angels, the gods, the very highest form of being that we can imagine? Instead of indulging the most brutish, vicious, greedy and ignorant aspects of the human experience, we can, with a little applied effort, elevate the better part of our natures and work to express those elements through our behavior. To do so would probably make us all feel a whole lot better too. Doing good deeds and making other people happy makes you feel totally brilliant, let’s face it.

So we can choose to the astronaut or the gangster. The superhero or the super villain. The angel or the devil. It’s entirely up to us, particularly in the privileged West, how we choose to imagine ourselves and conduct our lives.

We live in the stories we tell ourselves. It’s really simple. We can continue to tell ourselves and our children that the species we belong to is a crawling, diseased, viral cancer smear, only fit for extinction, and let’s see where that leads us.

We can continue to project our self-loathing and narcissistic terror of personal mortality onto our culture, our civilization, our planet, until we wreck the promise of the world for future generations in a fit of sheer self-induced panic...

...or we can own up to the scientific fact that we are all physically connected as parts of a single giant organism, imagine better ways to live and grow...and then put them into practice. We can stop pissing about, start building starships, and get on with the business of being adults.

The ’Oratorio’ is nothing less than the Shazam!, the Kimota! for Western Culture and we would do well to remember it in our currently trying times.

The key theme of the ‘Dark Age’ of comics was loss and recovery of wonder - McGregor’s Killraven trawling through the apocalyptic wreckage of culture in his search for poetry, meaning and fellowship, Captain Mantra, amnesiac in Robert Mayer’s Superfolks, Alan Moore’s Mike Maxwell trudging through the black and white streets of Thatcher’s Britain, with the magic word of transformation burning on the tip of his tongue.

My own work has been an ongoing attempt to repeat the magic word over and over until we all become the kind of superheroes we’d all like to be. Ha hah ha.

 Newsarama: The structure of the 12 issues involves both Superman’s 12 labors and his impending death. Do you feel the threat of his demise brings out the best in Superman’s already–high character, or did you intend it more as a window for the audience to understand how he sees the world?

Grant Morrison: In trying to do the “big,” ultimate Superman story, we wanted to hit on all the major beats that define the character – the “death of Superman” story has been told again and again and had to be incorporated into any definitive take. Superman’s death and rebirth fit the sun god myth we were establishing, and, as you say, it added a very terminal ticking clock to the story.

NRAMA: When we talked earlier this year, we discussed the neurotic quality of the Silver Age stories. Looking at the series as a whole, you consistently invert this formula. Superman is faced with all these crises that could be seen as personifying his neuroses, but for the most part he handles them with a level head and comes across as being very at peace with himself. You talked about your discussion with an in–character Superman fan at a convention years ago, but I am curious as to how you determined Superman’s mindset.

GM: I felt we had to live up to the big ideas behind Superman. I don’t take my daft job lightly. It’s all I’ve got.

As the project got going, I wasn’t thinking about Silver Ages or Dark Ages or anything about the comics I’d read, so much as the big shared idea of “Superman” and that “S” logo I see on T–shirts everywhere I go, on girls and boys. That communal Superman. I wanted us to get the precise energy of Platonic Superman down on the page.

The “S” hieroglyph, the super–sigil, stands for the very best kind of man we can imagine, so the subject dictated the methodical, perfectionist approach. As I’ve mentioned before, I keep this aspect of my job fresh for myself by changing my writing style to suit the project, the character or the artist.

With something like Batman R.I.P., I’m aiming for a frenzied Goth Pulp-Noir; punk-psych, expressionist shadows and jagged nightmare scene shifts, inspired by Batman’s roots and by the snapping, fluttering of his uncanny cape. Final Crisis was written, with the Norse Ragnarok and Biblical Revelations in mind, as a story about events more than characters. A doom-laden, Death Metal myth for the wonderful world of Fina(ncia)l Crisis/Eco-breakdown/Terror Trauma we all have to live in.

The subject matter drives the execution. And then, of course, the artists add their own vision and nuance. With All Star Superman, “Frank” and I were able to spend a lot of time together talking it through, and we agreed it had to be about grids, structure, storybook panel layouts, an elegance of form, a clarity of delivery. “Classical” in every sense of the word. The medium, the message, the story, the character, all working together as one simple equation.

Frank Quitely, a Glasgow Art School boy, completely understood without much explanation, the deep structural underpinnings of the series and how to embody them in his layouts. There’s a scene in issue # 8, set on the Bizarro world, where we see Le Roj handing Superman his rocket plans. Look at the arrangement of the figures of Zibarro, Le Roj, Superman and Bizaro–Superman and you’ll see one attempt to make us of Renaissance compositions.

The sense of sunlit Zen calm we tried to get into All Star is how I imagine it might feel to think the way Superman thinks all the time - a thought process that is direct, clean, precise, mathematical, ordered. A mind capable of fantastical imagination but grounded in the everyday of his farm upbringing with nice decent folks. Rich with humour and tears and deep human significance, yet tuned to a higher key. We tried to hum along for a little while, that’s all.

In honor of the character’s primal position in the development of the superhero narrative, I hoped we could create an “ultimate” hero story, starring the ultimate superhero.

Basically, I suppose I felt Superman deserved the utmost application of our craft and intelligence in order to truly do him justice.

Otherwise, I couldn’t have written this book if I hadn’t watched my big, brilliant dad decline into incoherence and death. I couldn’t have written it if I’d never had my heart broken, or mended. I couldn’t have written it if I hadn’t known what it felt like to be idolized, misunderstood, hated for no clear reason, loved for all my faults, forgotten, remembered...

Writing All Star Superman was, in retrospect, also a way of keeping my mind in the clean sunshine while plumbing the murkiest depths of the imagination with that old pair of c****s Darkseid and Doctor Hurt. Good riddance.

 Newsarama: This is touched on in other questions, but how much of the Silver/Bronze Age backstory matters here? What do you see as Superman's life prior to All-Star Superman? (What was going on with this Superman while the Byrne revamp took hold?)

Grant Morrison: When I introduced the series in an interview online, I suggested that All Star Superman could be read as the adventures of the ‘original’ Pre-Crisis on Infinite Earths Superman, returning after 20 plus years of adventures we never got to see because we were watching John Byrne‘s New Superman on the other channel. If ‘Whatever Happened To The Man of Tomorrow?’ and the Byrne reboot had never happened, where would that guy be now?

This was more to provide a sense, probably limited and ill-considered, of what the tone of the book might be like. I never intended All Star Superman as a direct continuation of the Weisinger or Julius Schwartz-era Superman stories. The idea was always to create another new version of Superman using all my favorite elements of past stories, not something ‘Age’ specific.

I didn’t collect Superman comics until the ‘70s and I’m not interested enough in pastiche or nostalgia to spend 6 years of my life playing post-modern games with Superman. All Star isn’t written, drawn or colored to look or read like a Silver Age comic book.

All Star Superman is not intended as arch commentary on continuity or how trends in storytelling have changed over the decades. It’s not retro or meta or anything other than its own simple self; a piece of drawing and writing that is intended by its makers to capture the spirit of its subject to the best of their capabilities, wisdom and talent.

Which is to say, we wanted our Superman story be about life, not about comics or superheroes, current events or politics. It’s about how it feels, specifically to be a man...in our dreams! Hopefully that means our 12 issues are also capable of wide interpretation.

So as much as we may have used a few recognizable Silver Age elements like Van-Zee and Sylv(i)a and the Bottle City of Kandor, the ensemble Daily Planet cast embodies all the generations of Superman. Perry White is from 1940, Steve Lombard is from the Schwartz-era ‘70s, Ron Troupe - the only black man in Metropolis - appeared in 1991. Cat Grant is from 1987 and so on.

P.R.O.J.E.C.T. refers back to Jack Kirby’s DNA Project from his ‘70s Jimmy Olsen stories, as well as to The Cadmus Project from ’90s Superboy and Superman stories. Doomsday is ‘90s. Kal Kent, Solaris and the Infant Universe of Qwewq all come from my own work on Superman in the same decade. Pa Kent’s heart attack is from ‘Superman the Movie‘. We didn’t use Brainiac because he’d been the big bad in Earth 2 but if we had, we’d have used Brainiac’s Kryptonian origin from the animated series and so on.

I also used quite a few elements of John Byrne’s approach. Byrne made a lot of good decisions when he rebooted the whole franchise in 1986 and I wanted to incorporate as much as I could of those too.

Our Superman in All Star was never Superboy, for instance. All Star Superman landed on Earth as a normal, if slightly stronger and fitter infant, and only began to manifest powers in adolescence when he’d finally soaked up enough yellow solar radiation to trigger his metamorphosis.

The Byrne logic seemed to me a better way to explain how his powers had developed across the decades, from the skyscraper leaps of the early days to the speed-of-light space flight of the high Silver Age. And more importantly, it made the Superman myth more poignant - the story of a farm boy who turned into an alien as he reached adolescence. I felt that was something that really enriched Superman. He grew away from his home, his family, his adopted species as he became Superman. His teenage years are a record of his transformation from normal boy to super-being.

As you say, there are more than just Silver Age influences in the book. Basically we tried to create a perfect synthesis of every Superman era. So much so, that it should just be taken as representative of an ‘age’ all its own.

In the end, however, I do think that the Silver Age type stories, with their focus on human problems and foibles, have a much wider appeal than a lot of the work which followed. They’re more like fables or folk tales than the later ‘comic book superhero’ stories of Superman when he became just another colorful costume in the crowd...and perhaps that’s why All Star seemed to resemble those books more than it does a typical modern Marvel or DC comic. It was our intention to present a more universal, mainstream Superman.

NRAMA: In your depiction of Krypton and the Kryptonians, you show the complexity of Superman’s relationship between humanity and Earth even further. Krypton has that scientific paradise quality to it, but the Kryptonians are also portrayed as slightly aloof and detached, even Jor-El. But from Bar-El to the people of Kandor, they’re touched by Superman’s goodness. What do you see as the fundamental difference between Kryptonians and Earthlings, and how has Superman’s character been shaped by each?

GM: My version of Krypton was, again, synthesized from a number of different approaches over the decades. 
In mythic terms, if Superman is the story of a young king, found and raised by common people, then Krypton is the far distant kingdom he lost. It’s the secret bloodline, the aristocratic heritage that makes him special, and a hero. At the same time, Krypton is something that must be left behind for Superman to become who he is - i.e. one of us. Krypton gives him his scientific clarity of mind, Earth makes his heart blaze.

I liked the very early Jerry Siegel descriptions where Krypton is a planet of advanced supermen and women (I already played with that a little in Marvel Boy where Noh-Varr was written to be the Marvel Superboy basically). To that, I added the rich, science fiction detailing of the Silver Age Krypton stories and the slightly detached coolness that characterized John Byrne’s Krypton, which I re-interpreted through the lens of Dzogchen Buddhist thought, probably the most pragmatic, chilly and rational philosophic system on the planet and the closest, I felt, to how Kryptonians might see things.

We also took some time to redesign the crazy, multicolored Kryptonian flag (you can see our version in Kandor in issue #10). The flag, as originally imagined, seemed like the last thing Kryptonians would endorse, so we took the multicolored-rays-around-a-circle design and recreated it - the central circle is now red, representing Krypton’s star, Rao, while the rays, rather than arbitrary colors, become representations of the spectrum of visible light pouring from Rao into the inky black of space. In this way, the flag, that bizarre emblem of nationalism becomes a scientific hieroglyph.

Showing Krypton and Kryptonians was also important as a way of stressing why Superman wears that costume and why it makes absolute sense that he looks the way he does. I don’t see the red and blue suit as a flag or as rewoven baby blankets. There’s no need for Superman to dress the way he does but it made sense to think of his outfit as his ‘national costume‘.

The way I see it, the standard superhero outfit, the familiar Superman suit with the pants on the outside, is what everyone wore on Krypton, give or take a few fashion accessories like hoods and headbands, chest crests and variant colors. In fact, all other superheroes are just copying the fashions on Krypton, lost planet of the super-people.

Superman wears his ’action-suit’ the way a patriotic Scotsman would wear a kilt. It’s a sign of his pride in his alien heritage.

 Newsarama: Although All–Star Superman ties in with DC One Million, you style of writing has changed dramatically since then.  How do you feel about One Million now?

Grant Morrison: I just read it again and liked it a lot. Comics were definitely happier, breezier and more confident in their own strengths before Hollywood and the Internet turned the business of writing superhero stories into the production of low budget storyboards or, worse, into conformist, fruitless attempts to impress or entertain a small group of people who appear to hate comics and their creators.

NRAMA: Obviously, this book is the most explicit SF–Christ story since Behold the Man, only...happy.  Superman/Christ parallels have existed for decades, but this story makes it absolutely explicit, from laying his hands on the sick and dying to...well, most of issue #12.  You’ve dealt with Christ themes before, particularly in The Mystery Play, but outside of the comics, how do you see Superman as a Christ figure for the “real” world?

GM: The “Superman as Christ” thing is a little too reductive for me, and tends to overlook the fact that Superman is by no means a pacifist in the Christ sense. Superman would never turn the other cheek; Superman punches out the bully. Superman is a fighter.

When did Christ ever batter the Devil through a mountain?

The thing I disliked about the Superman Returns movie was the American Christ angle, which reduced Superman to a sniveling, masochistic wreck, crawling around on the floor, taking a kicking from everyone. This approach had an odd and slightly disturbing S&M flavor, which didn’t play well to the character’s strengths at all and seemed to derive entirely from a kind of Catholic vision of the suffering, martyred Jesus.

It’s not that he’s based on Jesus, but simply that a lot of the mythical sun god elements that have been layered onto the Christ story also appear in the story of Superman. I suppose I see Superman more as pagan sci–fi. He’s a secular messiah, a science redeemer with tough guy muscles and a very direct and clear morality.

NRAMA: Continuing the religious themes, in issue #10, you have Superman literally giving birth to himself, both philosophically and as a character – a nice little meta–moment showing how Superman inspires a world where he is only fiction.  How did that idea come about?

GM: It came from the challenge we’d set ourselves: as I said, issue #10 had been left as a blank space into which the single most coherent condensation of all our ideas about Superman were destined to fit.

I wanted to do a “day in the life” story. So much of All Star had been about this threat to Superman himself, so we wanted to show him going about a typical day saving people and doing good.

Then came the title “Neverending,” which comes from the opening announcement – “Faster than a speeding bullet!...” of the Superman radio show from 1940, and seemed to me to be as good a title for a Superman story as any I could think of. It seemed to distil everything about Superman’s battle and his legend into a single word. And the story structure itself was designed to loop endlessly, so it went well with that.

 On top of that went the idea of the Last Will and Testament of Superman. A dying god writing his will seemed like an interesting structure to use. Then came the idea to fit all of human history into that single 24 hours. And then to show the development of the Superman idea through human culture from the earliest Australian Aboriginal notions of super–beings ‘descended” from the sky, through the complex philosophical system of Hinduism, onto the Renaissance concept of the ideal man, via the refinements of Nietzche and finally, down to that smiling, hopeful Joe Shuster sketch; the final embodiment of humanity’s glorious, uplifting notion of the superman become reduced to a drawing, a story for kids, a worthless comic book.

And also what that could mean in a holographic fractal universe, where the smallest part contains and reflects the whole.

Of course the next panel in that sequence is happening in the real world and would show you, the reader, sitting with the latest Superman issue in your hands, deep within the Infant Universe of Qwewq in the Fortress of Solitude, today, wherever you are. In “Neverending,” the reader becomes wrapped in a self–referential loop of story and reality. If you actually, seriously think about what is happening at this point in the story, if you meditate upon the curious entanglement of the real and the fictional, you will become enlightened in this life apparently. According to some texts.

NRAMA: On a personal level, you’ve explored all types of religions and philosophies in your work.  What is your take on religion and how it influences humanity, and the Christian take on Jesus Christ in particular?

GM: I think religion per se, is a ghastly blight on the progress of the human species towards the stars.  At the same time, it, or something like it, has been an undeniable source of comfort, meaning and hope for the majority of poor bastards who have ever lived on Earth, so I’m not trying to write it off completely. I just wish that more people were educated to a standard where they could understand what religion is and how it works. Yes, it got us through the night for a while, but ultimately, it’s one of those ugly, stupid arse–over–backwards things we could probably do without now, here on the Planet of the Apes.

Religion is to spirituality what porn is to sex. It’s what the Hollywood 3–act story template is to real creative writing.

Religion creates a structure which places “special,” privileged people (priests) between ordinary people and the divine, as if there could even be any separation: as if every moment, every thought, every action was not already an expression of dynamic ‘divinity” at work.

As I’ve said before, the solid world is just the part of heaven we’re privileged to touch and play with. You don’t need a priest or a holy man to talk to “god” on your behalf: just close your eyes and say hello. “God” is no more, no less, than the sum total of all matter, all energy, all consciousness, as experienced or conceptualized from a timeless perspective where everything ever seems to present all at once. “God” is in everything, all the time and can be found there by looking carefully. The entire universe, including the scary, evil bits, is a thought “God” is thinking, right now.

As far as I can figure it out from my own reading and my own experience of how the spiritual world works, Jesus was, as they say, way cool: a man who achieved a state of consciousness, which nowadays would get him a diagnosis of temporal lobe epilepsy (in the days of the Emperor Tiberius, he was crucified for his ideas, today he’d be laughed at, mocked or medicated).

This “holistic” mode of consciousness (which Luthor experiences briefly at the end of All Star Superman) announces itself as a heartbreaking connection, a oneness, with everything that exists...but you don’t have to be Superman to know what that feeling is like. There are a ton of meditation techniques which can take you to this place. I don’t see it as anything supernatural or religious, in fact, I think it’s nothing more than a developmental level of human consciousness, like the ability to see perspective – which children of 4 cannot do but children of 6 can.

Everyone who’s familiar with this upgrade will tell you the same thing: it feels as if “alien” or “angelic” voices – far more intelligent, coherent and kindly than the voices you normally hear in your head – are explaining the structure of time and space and your place in it. 
This identification with a timeless supermind containing and resolving within itself all possible thoughts and contradictions, is what many people, unsurprisingly, mistake for an encounter with “God.”  However, given that this totality must logically include and resolve all possible thoughts and concepts, it can also be interpreted as an actual encounter with God, so I’m not here to give anyone a hard time over interpretation.

Some people have the experience and believe the God of their particular culture has chosen them personally to have a chat with. These people may become born–again Christians, fundamentalist Muslims, devotees of Shiva, or misunderstood lunatics. Some “contactees” interpret the voices they hear erroneously as communications from an otherworldly, alien intelligence, hence the proliferation of “abduction” accounts in recent decades, which share most of their basic details with similar accounts, from earlier centuries, of people being taken away by “fairies” or “little people”.

Some, who like to describe themselves as magicians, will recognize the “alien” voice as the “Holy Guardian Angel”.

In timeless, spaceless consciousness, the singular human mind blurs into a direct experience of the totality of all consciousness that has ever been or will ever be. It feels like talking with God but I see that as an aspect of science, not religion.

As Peter Barnes wrote in “The Ruling Class”, “I know I must be God because when I pray to Him, I find I’m talking to myself.”

 Newsarama: When we spoke earlier this year, you talked about some of your ideas for future All Star stories. Are you moving forward on those, or have you started working on different ideas since then?

Grant Morrison: I haven’t had time to think about them for a while. I did have the stories worked out, and I’d like to do more, but right now it feels like Frank and Jamie and I have said all there is to be said. I don’t know if I’m ready to do All Star Superman with anyone else right now. I have other plans.

NRAMA: You end the book with Superman having uplifted humanity – having inspired them through his sacrifice and great deeds, and with the potential to pass his powers on to humanity still there. Do you plan to explore this concept further, or would you prefer to leave it open–ended?

GM: I may go back to the Son of Superman in some way. At the same time, it’s best left open–ended. I like the idea that Superman gets to have his cake and eat it; he becomes golden and mythical and lives forever as a dream. Yet, he also is able to sire a child who will carry his legacy into the future. He kicks ass in both the spiritual and the temporal spheres!

 NRAMA: The notion of transcendence – always a big part of your work. But the debate about All Star Superman is whether or not it "transcends its genre." Superman becomes transcendent within the series itself, and inspires the beings on Qwewq, but does the work aspire to more than that? Is it simply the greatest version of a Superman story, and that’s enough?

GM: That would certainly be enough if it were true.

It’s a pretty high–level attempt by some smart people to do the Superman concept some justice, is all I can say. It’s intended to work as a set of sci–fi fables that can be read by children and adults alike. I’d like to think you can go to it if you’re feeling suicidal, if you miss your dad, if you’ve had to take care of a difficult, ailing relative, if you’ve ever lost control and needed a good friend to put you straight, if you love your pets, if you wish your partner could see the real you...All Star is about how Superman deals with all of that.

It’s a big old Paul Bunyan style mythologizing of human - and in particular male - experience. In that sense I’d like to think All Star Superman does transcend genre in that it’s intended to be read on its own terms and needs absolutely no understanding of genre conventions or history around it to grasp what’s going on.

In today’s world, in today’s media climate designed to foster the fear our leaders like us to feel because it makes us easier to push around. In a world where limp, wimpy men are forced to talk tough and act ‘badass’ even though we all know they’re shitting it inside. In a world where the measure of our moral strength has come to lie in the extremity of the images we’re able to look at and stomach. In a world, I’m reliably told, that’s going to the dogs, the real mischief, the real punk rock rebellion, is a snarling, ‘fuck you’ positivity and optimism. Violent optimism in the face of all evidence to the contrary is the Alpha form of outrage these days. It really freaks people out.

I have a desire not to see my culture and my fellow human beings fall helplessly into step with a middle class media narrative that promises only planetary catastrophe, as engineered by an intrinsically evil and corrupt species which, in fact, deserves everything it gets.

Is this relentless, downbeat insistence that the future has been cancelled really the best we can come up with? Are we so fucked up we get off on terrifying our children? It’s not funny or ironic anymore and that’s why we wrote All Star Superman the way we did. Everything has changed. ‘Dark’ entertainment now looks like hysterical, adolescent, ‘Zibarro’ crap. That’s what my Final Crisis series is about too.

NRAMA (aka Tim Callahan): Continuing with the theme of transcendence: The words "ineffectual" and "surrender" are repeated throughout the book. Discuss.

GM: Discuss yourself, Callahan! I know you have the facilities and I should think it’s all rather obvious. 


NRAMA: What was the inspiration for the image of Superman in the sun at the end? (I confess this question comes as the result of much unsuccessful Googling)

GM: I didn’t have any specific reference in mind - just that one we‘ve all sort of got in our heads. I drew the figure as a sketch, intended to be reminiscent of William Blake’s cosmic figures, Russian Constructivist Soviet Socialist Worker type posters, and Leonardo’s ‘Proportions of the Human Figure‘. The position of the legs hints at the Buddhist swastika, the clockwise sun symbol. It was to me, the essence of that working class superheroic ideal I mentioned, condensed into a final image of mythic Superman, - our eternal, internal, guiding, selfless, tireless, loving superstar. The daft All Star Superman title of the comic is literalized in this last picture. It’s the ‘fearful symmetry’ of the Enlightenment project - an image of genius, toil, and our need to make things, to fashion art and artifacts, as a form of superhuman, divine imitation.

It was Superman as this fusion of Renaissance/Enlightenment ideas about Man and Cosmos, an impossible union of Blake and Newton. A Pop Art ‘Vitruvian Man‘. The inspiration for the first letter of the new future alphabet!

As you can see, we spent a lot of time thinking about all this and purifying it down to our own version of the gold. I’m glad it’s over.

NRAMA: Finally: What, above all else, would you like people to take away from All Star Superman?

GM: That we spent a lot of time thinking about this!

No. What I hope is that people take from it the unlikelihood that a piece of paper, with little ink drawings of figures, with little written words, can make you cry, can make your heart soar, can make you scared, sad, or thrilled. How mental is that?

That piece of paper is inert material, the corpse of some tree, pulped and poured, then given new meaning and new life when the real hours and real emotions that the writer and the artist, the colorist, the letter the editor translated onto the physical page, meet with the real hours and emotions of a reader, of all readers at once, across time, generations and distance.

And think about how that experience, the simple experience of interacting with a paper comic book, along with hundreds of thousands of others across time and space, is an actual doorway onto the beating heart of the imminent, timeless world of “Myth” as defined above. Not just a drawing of it but an actual doorway into timelessness and the immortal world where we are all one together.

My grief over the loss of my dad can be Superman’s grief, can trigger your own grief, for your own dad, for all our dads. The timeless grief that’s felt by Muslims and Christians and Agnostics alike. My personal moments of great and romantic love, untainted by the everyday, can become Superman’s and may resonate with your own experience of these simple human feelings.

In the one Mythic moment we’re all united, kissing our Lover for the First time, the Last time, the Only time, honoring our dear Dad under a blood red sky, against a darkening backdrop, with Mum telling us it’ll all be okay in the end.

If we were able to capture even a hint of that place and share it with our readers, that would be good enough for me.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #461

“this city looks so pretty, do you wanna burn it with me?”

Have you ever wanted a Nikon camera? Or do you have one already? My camera before the one I have now was a Nikon D3200. I use a Canon now. Who was the last person (if anyone) you said Happy Birthday to? A friend. Do you have Photoshop? If so, how often a day do you use it? I have it, but I barely use it nowadays. I use it to edit photos for character profiles or profile pictures, add a watermark for my actual photography, and I used to make Mark-oriented gifs like crazy. They mostly did really well, so... I might wanna get back into that and get That Sweet Validation. Do you watch any shows that you know your parents wouldn’t approve of? No. Have any of your exes gotten married or had kids since your breakup? None, I think. Do either of your parents have a mental illness? My mom has depression. Can you tolerate children for a long period of time? NO. Have you ever lived with someone you felt thoroughly uncomfortable around? No. Are you into dubstep? Yeah, I tend to enjoy it. Zelda or The Sims games? Can I pick neither? lol I don't feel very much at all for The Sims, and Zelda games have always looked... boring to me? Like I've watched most of the Game Grumps' playthroughs of all the games, and they make it hilarious of course, but the games themselves? Nah. Are you terrible at assigning bands their proper genre? YES YES YES YES YES YES. Even in my preferred category, that being metal, FUCK if I know the sub-genre. Have you ever made out in a closet? No, that shit sounds claustrophobic as hell. Have you ever been to a laser tag place? Yeah, on a triple-date once! It was SO fun. How do you wanna celebrate your next birthday? Have a couple friends over, pig out at The Cheesecake Factory. o3o Do you tease your parents about them being old? No, especially not Mom. She's self-conscious about getting older. Are you in love with someone? "In love" is a bit too far, buddy. But I love someone. Have you ever ridden a unicycle? No. Have you ever wanted a pet bunny? I was VERY serious about getting a lop-eared bunny for quite a while, but we just couldn't afford to adopt one (even off Craigslist) and get a cage for it, toys, etc. Are the bottom of your feet clean? I HATE seeing the bottom of my feet. Not because they're dirty, but because it's Callus City. I ain't even fuckin jokin'. Do you like really salty food? Yeah. :x When’s the last time you bled a lot? Well, I just recently finished my cycle after not menstruating for three or four MONTHS, so you can figure that one out. Have you ever watched a needle go into your own skin? Yeah. I like to know exactly when it's coming. Have you ever seen someone get a piercing/tattoo? Yes to both. When you’re done eating finger foods, do you usually lick your fingers? Usually kasdjlf;kalsdjf shut up ok I like food. What’s the most racist thing you have ever said? As a little kid, when my really good friend (a neighborhood kid, even) asked if he thought we'd be a good couple, I told him no because "blacks and whites don't date" or something like that. It was an idea I'd never been exposed to before; the idea was so foreign to little kid me. I had no idea I was being racist. It ended in a small fight and we didn't talk for a few days 'til he came to my house telling Mom that he had to "be a man" and fix this and if that ain't the cUTEST SHIT RIGHT THERE. We were friends again after that. He's still on my Facebook, and he actually semi-recently got married! :') Do you know someone that is mute, deaf or blind? No. Have you ever spent more than two weeks in a wheelchair? No. Does weed smell good? Or no? Ugh, no. Where do you see your closest friend in ten years? Successful and happy she kept pushing. Mama to so many reptiles that are blessed with the best lives possible in human care. Got at least one amazing book out there. If she's reading this, you've fucking got this. <3 Would you like to have twins? Mother of fucking god, no. Even if I WANTED kids, do fucking not give me twins. Who was the last person you got into an argument with? My mom. Want to have kids before you’re 30? Once again, I don't want kids, but IF I did, that'd be preferable before the risk of birth defects and other issues climb with age. Does anybody have a tattoo with your name on it? My older sister has my initial. Do you think somebody’s in love with you? No. Do you think you and your best friend will be friends in ten years? Yes, I genuinely do. Who were the last people to hang out at your house? Miss Tobey, our friend and landlord. Does anyone like you? Welp... I hope he still does. Guess we'll figure that out soon. What person on your Facebook do you talk to the most? VIA Facebook? Probably my friend Lyndsey. She likes to comment on stuff I share. Do you want to fall in love? I do, but I'm also utterly horrified to and risk being hurt again. Are you interested in more than one person at the moment? No. Once I realized I was so deeply into Girt, all other romantic feelings kinda just... poofed. How was your last break up? Civil and done with both of our best interests in mind. What is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to say? Probably the first time I admitted I needed to go to the hospital for suicidal thoughts. I was so, so scared of what it was going to be like. What is the hardest thing you NEEDED to hear? That if Jason wasn't happy with me, he had every right to move on. She was right. Do you treat yourself well? No... but I'm trying to change that. What was the last song you sang out loud to? This "Set Fire to the Rain" cover. Do you take good pictures? I think I do? Have you ever done any internship? No. What’s a topic you’ve drastically changed your opinion on? Holy shit, so much, especially when it comes to morality and political stances. I am now a massive supporter and member of the LGBTQ+ community, I'm pro-trans rights, pro-choice... I've done like a dozen 180s in a lot of topics. Do you know anyone who has a PhD? I mean, some doctors, but no one in my truly personal life. Do you know anyone who works as a lawyer? Yes: my cousin. Have you ever experienced sleep paralysis? LAKSDJFKLA;JWD NEVER AND I PRAY TO THE HOLY LORD THAT I NEVER DO. Does the thought of having wrinkles when you’re older upset you? Not massively? Like literally everyone gets them and is natural and inevitable. Do you know anyone who’s struggling with addiction? I know one alcoholic, and one that's probably borderline. I also have two friends who are extremely addicted to weed. Look me in the eyes and say it's not an addictive substance and I wouldn't believe you one bit. Is there a video or computer game that you can get lost in for hours? Eh, sometimes World of Warcraft. Some days I'm really into it, and others I barely touch it. What’s your favorite Disney Channel movie? I have no clue. I don't even remember movies that were made *for* Disney exclusively. Do you ever have to do yard work? No. We have a friend from the dance studio mow the lawn. Do you have any live versions of songs in your music software? My iPod has a whole live album of Ozzy. Did you or do you listen to Britney Spears songs? Both did and do. Britney is a boss bitch. Does your favorite band have a male or female lead singer? Male. Have you seen the movie Moulin Rouge? No, but I've seen some of that P!nk music video of the song and it brings out the Gay in me. Do you have a key to anything besides your house? No. Could you ever complete a 500-piece puzzle? I've done that before. I miss doing puzzles... Have you ever been to any sort of convention? I went to a reptile expo with Sara!! I REALLY want to go to another when my legs are stronger and can handle standing and walking so much. Is your mom or dad the older parent? Mom. Have you ever tried to walk on a moving vehicle and fallen over? No????? What is your favourite kind of bread? Is there any of that in your house? Pumpernickel. No. Are/were you in the school band, and if so, what instrument did you play? I played the flute all through middle school and I wanna say half of HS. Have you ever ordered an unusual drink at a bar? Never even been to one. Have you ever been pulled aside by security at the airport? I think once for some reason I don't recall? What is your favourite seasonal candy? (only available at certain times) Gingerbread men, probs. Or chocolate bunnies!!! :') How do you feel right now? My stomach is KILLING me. I'm super excited though that Girt is coming over tomorrow. Have you ever had surgery that kept you in the hospital for over a day? No. What would you like your generation to change? How we treat nature. Is there anyone that you truly could not live without? No. I learned that is a very unhealthy mentality to have. Do you like carrots more if they’re raw, or cooked? I just hate carrots. What restaurant did you last go out to dinner at with friends? With friends? I couldn't even guess. Does your refrigerator have an ice maker or do you use ice cube trays? It has an ice maker. Do you have a favorite sibling, if any? No; I love them all. Do you have a favorite brand of clothing? I STAN CLOAK. How’s the love life? Something new might start tomorrow. I think it will. Do you watch the news? No; that shit is depressing. Who do you admire most? Mark. Do you have a favorite album? Black Rain by Ozzy Osbourne takes the cake and always will.

[mistressemmedi]

who are the guys in the blue hair and with the... pearls? (I think)

OMG STRAP IN, it’s a wild ride 

Short version: the guy with the pearls is Achille Lauro, and the guy with the blue hair is Boss Doms. Achille is an Italian singer, Doms is his producer/guitarist/whatever instrument he decides to play that day. 

Long and juicy version: Lauro participated to this year’s edition of Sanremo, which is a singing competition held every year in Italy. It’s been going on for 70 years and the winner usually represents Italy at Eurovision. 

In the last few (many) years, Sanremo has turned into a running joke since most of the participants are so old, they have to dust the mothballs off their shoulders before they go on stage askjfdhaskjdfh - also, people who attend are so old, Sanremo needs specific permission to host that many fossils together in one place. 

ANYWAYS, lately it has been getting better and bit more wild (thank you Francesco Gabbani and his gorilla) - still, it remains a stifled 5 day event that’s filled with political placements and irrelevant ads. 

THIS YEAR IT WAS A GLORIOUS DISASTER. Everyone was unhinged and the poor host almost had a nervous breakdown by the end of it. 

Let’s start with Lauro and Doms: Gucci dressed him for the entire competition and his outfits were OUT OF THIS WORLD 

And, bless him, he caused the entire audience of old farts to clutch their pearls and furiously whip out their rosary, in hopes to save their soul from the sinful display in front of them. 

AND THEN THEY KISSED ON LIVE TV, AND THE POPE PROBABLY HAD AN ANEURYSM ALONGSIDE THE HOST. ITALY CHEERED HARDER THAN WHEN THE COUNTRY WON THE 2006 WORLD CUP. 

Video of the entire thing can be seen here 

Real MVP of the whole thing was Doms’ girlfriend (wife? idk) Valentina, who got asked “Doesn’t this bother you? Makeup, blue hair, kissing a guy in public?” and she replied with an epic clap-back which came down to “Why would it? He respects and loves me. The real question is, why does it bother you?”. A queen, we don’t deserve her. 

So, besides the duo that shook the knickers of this catholic country, this year’s competition also had memorable moments like: 

One of the hosts (Fiorello) had a spat with one of the musical guests (Tiziano Ferro). They publicly made up and Tiziano kissed Fiorello, followed by Tiziano screaming and saying “Not sure my husband will be ok with that”

Morgan and Bugo, who were competing as duo, had a fight behind the scenes that involved bites and spitting at each other, which culminated on stage with Morgan singing insults to Bugo and the latter ripping up a music sheet and WALKING AWAY DURING THE SONG. The poor festival’s presenter, Amadeus, had a small stroke on stage, didn’t know how to go on and, after the evening was over, went around the town of Sanremo until 4 am to try and find Bugo and patch things up. Best part was that apparently BUGO HAD BEEN HIDING IN A UTILITY CLOSET FOR THE ENTIRE TIME SJKADFHAKJHSDF

Piero Pelu’ (look him up, honestly) who decided to rob an old lady mid-song, and whipped around the lady’s purse on stage without a care in the world. 

Elettra Lamborghini (yes, that Lamborghini) who tried to have a moment on stage with Miss Keta a la’ Britney Spears/Madonna circa early 2000s

Francesco Gabbani was not allowed to bring back the gorilla, so he dressed up as an astronaut because, why not? 

Elodie made Italian women question their sexuality 

The winner being spoiled by a news agency a whole HALF HOUR before the ending because one of the journalists fell asleep at the computer (I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP, I SWEAR) 

2.30 am reggaeton (the competition was scheduled to finish at 1 am lmaooo) instead of announcing the winner

I’m probably missing much more, but honestly? This past I aged 20 years in 5 days, and it all feels like it was a hazy nightmare that my brain is actively trying to not recollect. 

Cheers 

[chelsfic]

Unseemly Desire - Chapter 3 - Guillermo x Nandor

To read past chapters: WWDITS Masterlist

Summary: Nandor and Guillermo deal with the fallout of their makeout session and the almost-attempted mind wipe. Guillermo discovers the untapped well of anger living inside him!

Warnings: Angst, Blood drinking, gratuitous use of the word Fuck, Angry kissing

A/N: Look how frickin handsome Nandor is in this gif. No wonder Guillermo can’t resist this idiot. Also, I wrote this really fast and barely edited it sooooo ehhhhhh sorrayyy.

---

Shit! Fuck! Damn! Fiasco!

Nandor retires straight to his coffin after storming out of his familiar’s room. He’s still fully dressed and the little hair pins in his bun stab the back of his head as he lies down. 

Fucking guy!

Who gave him permission to have those kinds of feelings, anyway? Nandor’s almost certain he included something about not falling in love in Guillermo’s employment contract. He’ll have to check on that tomorrow evening. He growls in angry frustration as he realizes the contract is locked in one Colin Robinson’s basement filing cabinets. Maybe he doesn’t need to worry about checking. He’s positive that he mentioned it to Guillermo before he became his familiar. No falling in love with me. End of discussion!

How dare that little guy ruin his perfect plan? What does he think, just because he has smooth, tan skin, a disarming smile and perfect wavy hair he can just go around forcing Nandor to be horny for him all the time? It’s unacceptable!

Nandor turns onto his side in a huff. He has half a mind to go back there and mind wipe him after all. But the vision of Guillermo’s tear streaked face as he begged Nandor not to hypnotize him floats before his eyes in the darkness and he feels that stabby, annoying pain in his heart area again.  

And now he’s having more confusing heart palpitations again. Great!

---

The movie is still playing on Guillermo’s discarded laptop. Claudia shrieks after learning that she can never grow or change as a vampire. It’s his favorite movie. He’s watched it hundreds of times. And Guillermo is only just now contemplating the real world evidence of that phenomenon. Nandor may have centuries of life experience but emotionally he is still the same repressed, spoiled, arrogant 13th century warlord he was when he was turned, just with a few new pop culture references under his belt. Can he really never learn or change? And if that’s true then what the fuck is Guillermo doing here?

He’s frozen in place where Nandor discarded him like so much refuse. His eyes are fixed on the curtain in fear or hope--he’s not certain--that Nandor might come blazing back into his little room, filling it up with his massive presence for better or worse. Salty tear tracks stain his cheeks and he’s still half wrapped up in the dumb snuggie. His face crumples and a silent sob escapes his throat. He’d been so stupidly happy there for a moment. Nandor--his dream boy, his vampire, his Nandor--kissed him and held him like Guillermo had always dreamed. But the memory tastes bitter in his mouth now as he remembers the cold, blank mask of his face after Guillermo mistakenly confessed his love. 

He fists his hands into the soft material of Nandor’s snuggie, burying his face in the fabric as his tears start anew. He begged for this, didn’t he? How pathetic is it that he pleaded with Nandor to let him hold onto the memory of yet another rejection? He falls asleep like that, crying silently and clinging to the only physical evidence of his master’s fleeting, mercurial affection. 

---

When he opens his coffin the next evening Nandor finds Guillermo waiting to attend him like always. The vampire hides his surprise and holds out his hand for assistance with all of his typical haughty self-importance. He spent all day plagued by nightmares of his familiar running away into the sunlight. Packing up his computing book, his cute little sweaters and his pizza rolls and fleeing from Nandor like he was some kind of...monster.

Ridiculous, of course.

Guillermo won’t leave him. He’d said so last night. He’d promised in exchange for his pathetic memories. But then Nandor notices the human’s hands are shaking as he adjusts his cravat and Guillermo won’t meet his eyes. There is also a strange new smell coming off of him that he usually only encounters around victims.

Fear.

“Guillermo…” Nandor wrinkles his nose “Have you been cleaning the cell? You should really shower afterwards. It’s not hygienic to be dressing me after being around all those human juices.”

His familiar finally looks up at him, eyes narrowed in confusion as he tries to parse his master’s thought process.

“No…” he finally answers and his voice is like a ghost, thin and ephemeral. “I haven’t been cleaning the cell master.”

He self-consciously leans down to sniff his own armpit and Nandor grimaces in disgust. 

“Well, then why--” he stops himself, his deep brown eyes going round as he finally makes the connection. Guillermo is afraid of...him? It is like his nightmares are coming to life!

“Guillermo! Snap out of it now! This is very upsetting and...unprofessional. Why are you afraid?”

Guillermo flinches as if struck by Nandor’s words. He didn’t realize how transparent he was being. His first instinct is to deny it but a flare of anger takes hold of him and he’s speaking before his ingrained habit of suppressing his true feelings can kick in.

“Why am I afraid!? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you almost erased my memories last night? And you could do it any time you want and I’d be powerless to stop you?”

Nandor’s brows knit together and he scoffs, “But that’s always--”

He stops himself, guiltily averting his eyes, but it’s too late. Something changes in Guillermo’s face. The anger bleeds away and his skin goes pale. He almost looks like a vampire or… or one of his victims. The thought sends a shiver down Nandor’s spine.

“Master…” Guillermo’s voice is calm and cool but Nandor has a feeling that what comes next will determine something very important. 

“Have you--” He swallows against the lump in his throat. “--Have you hypnotized me before?”

Nandor grimaces, baring his sharp fangs in an uncomfortable smile and looking like the vampiric embodiment of a dog shaming video.

---

There’s the time he dropped Guillermo while he was helping him dust around the spider houses…

...the time Guillermo saw Nandor fall down at the roller rink and the human children all laughed at him…

...when he shamed himself while Guillermo helped him adjust his orgy suit…

And countless other small, trivial moments that now seem to add up to quite a lot.

And, of course, there’s the other night when Nandor admitted that Guillermo is special to him.

---

“...Once or twice.”

Nandor watches his familiar’s face fall and his eyes start leaking. Guillermo angrily scrubs the tears away and shakes his head, throwing off the hurt as he’s learned to do all his life. From elementary school bullies to the love of his life, Guillermo has been rolling with the emotional punches for as long as he can remember. This is no different. So what if the last five years are a lie? So what if he can't trust his own memory? Guillermo is resilient. Guillermo is rubber. Guillermo kills ‘em with kindness and lives to fight another day. Or...

“Fuck you, Nandor,” he reaches up to finish tying the cravat, angrily cinching it around the vampire’s neck with a painful tug.

“Ouch! Watch it with that!” Nandor complains, batting Guillermo’s little hands away. Guillermo crosses his arms over his chest and glares back at him with fierce, thunderstorm eyes. Nandor’s never seen his familiar like this. So forceful…he shakes his head violently, banishing the stupid horny thoughts attempting to take over.

“Alright! So I hypnotized you a few times. So what? Kind of comes with the job there, Guillermo. Did you even read your contract?” 

“You mean the one you scribbled on the back of a Panera menu?” Guillermo rolls his eyes. “How did it go? ‘I.O.U. one unholy transition. Signed, Nandor the Relentless’?”

Nandor scrunches his face up and he shifts his eyes as he tries to remember. There must have been more to it…

“I don’t think…” he falters, losing steam for a second before riling himself back up through sheer force of will. He is Nandor the RELENTLESS! “That’s neither here nor anywhere, Guillermo! The point is...eh...the point is you should have expected the occasional hypnotic trance when you took the job! It is common sense!”

“You’re right, master,” Guillermo says in the tone he uses when he doesn’t mean the thing that he is saying. “Silly me, expecting that you’d treat me any differently than one of your victims.”

Nandor feels like he’s rapidly losing the thread of this conversation. Or, more realistically, that the thread ran out from between his fingers long ago and he’s grasping at the empty air. Guillermo thinks he treats him like a victim? After all the troubles he went through to get the smelly red flowers and the music for his dirty biting fantasy? After he saved him from Nadja’s horrendous aim? After all of their chess games and strolls through the moonlit hunting grounds and the countless hours Nandor has spent listening for the soft thump of Guillermo’s human heart? This is what he thinks?

Nandor curls his lip and hurls his next words to Guillermo’s feet with disdain, “Didn’t you say you were jealous of my victims, Guillermo? Well, now you do not have to be. You are one. Perhaps I should finish the job.”

Guillermo barks out a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob, “Oh, please! You’re not going to kill me anymore than you’re going to turn me.”

Guillermo turns away, the job of dressing his master left unfinished and he starts to leave. Nandor looks at his familiar’s back and he sees him running away, abandoning him just like in his dream. 

“No!” he roars, lifting off the ground several inches as he flies at Guillermo, tackling the human into the wall of his crypt and knocking a 700-year-old sword to the floor. He presses his hands into Guillermo’s shoulders, pinning him in place and marveling at the soft give of his flesh layered over strong muscles. “You are my familiar and I have not given you permission to leave!”

Guillermo’s eyes harden and he parts his lips to deliver what Nandor is certain will be a devastating blow. He’s going to leave him. He’s going to quit. All because Nandor wasn’t aloof enough! He can’t let him do this! If Nandor’s heart could beat he’s sure it would be bursting from his chest this very second. He squeezes Guillermo’s shoulders too hard, painfully grinding the bones beneath his palms as he lunges, burying his face into the pristine, smooth expanse of his familiar’s neck and biting down with all the force in his body. Guillermo screams and flails against him, but it’s pointless. Nandor is too strong and he’s hell bent on giving his human a bruise to match the one on the other side of his neck.

Guillermo’s blood was made for Nandor. It floods his mouth, coating his tongue like a thick, sweet nectar. He swallows it with a savage groan and presses harder against Guillermo, digging his growing erection into the softness of his belly. 

Guillermo is lost in a confusing tangle of rage, sadness, fear and arousal. He can’t fucking believe that Nandor is doing this, basically proving that Guillermo is nothing more than another human victim. And it really, really shouldn’t turn him on this much. His words ring in Guillermo’s ears as the life pulses out of him. Perhaps I should finish the job. Guillermo doesn’t believe for a second that his master is planning to kill but just in case…

He fists his hands in the vampire’s shiny, soft hair--hair he’s lovingly brushed and arranged every night for the last five years--and he yanks it back with all of his might. 

“Ouch! Fucking--” Nandor rears back, blood pouring down his chin and his eyes blown with hunger and lust. He captures Guillermo with those eyes and the familiar is drawn in like a moth to the flame. Why is he always chasing the thing that will hurt him?

Before he can second guess himself, and before Nandor can do something stupid like turn into a vapor, Guillermo grabs the vampire’s collar, tugs him down to his level and slams his mouth against his in a brutal, angry kiss. Fuck you for throwing an axe at my head. Fuck you for making me feel inadequate. Fuck you for kissing me and then trying to erase it from my memory. And really, truly, deeply, fuck you for making me love you anyway.

Guillermo’s hands paw at Nandor’s bearded jaw, holding in place as their lips slide together, tongues seeking and massaging. The salty copper taste of Guillermo’s own blood fills his mouth as Nandor plunders inside. The vampire moans, his hands straying down over Guillermo’s chest, his stomach, reaching around to settle over the round curve of his backside. Guillermo whimpers into Nandor’s lips as the vampire squeezes his fingers into his buttocks and simultaneously rolls his pelvis. There’s a sound in the distance trying to attract his attention. As if Guillermo would let go of this moment for anything in the world.

In the next instant, the door to the crypt flings open and Laszlo ducks inside, slamming it shut again just in time to keep out his shrieking, furious wife. Nandor breaks away from Guillermo, jumping back and holding his hands aloft with an obvious, guilty expression. 

Laszlo takes one look at Nandor’s blood stained mouth and Guillermo’s utterly ravished appearance and snorts in amusement.

“I fucking knew it!”