#and then she has the gall to get offended when i say her actions are abusive

[whorenerdking]

mom: you forgot to do this one minor thing and because of that I'm going to point out how much of a fuck up and disappointment you are, okay love you :)

me:

[wondrlez]

excerpt from my hero AU:

“Perhaps you do not understand.” Even the way Dumbledore threads his fingers together is patronising, and it sets Regulus’ nerves off. “While I might not be able to send you to Hogwarts without your consent, I am under no obligation to extend the same courtesy to Mister Rosier, Mister Crouch, and Miss Lestrange,  and I had assumed you would prefer to stay with your current team.”

And Regulus’ blood freezes in his veins. To threaten to separate a team like that, especially for such a dangerous mission… Regulus can’t tell if Dumbledore’s serious or not. If he is, and Regulus decides to not go anyway, Dumbledore has to know that it’d result in Pandora, Barty, and Evan being outnumbered while facing highly dangerous villains. Having to be there at all is bad enough, but them being there without Regulus? They’d be at a severe disadvantage. For Dumbledore to say this and mean it—it’d be like saying he’d send a team to needlessly die to create a statement.

Regulus’ eyes grow impossibly colder. “Is this a threat, Dumbledore?”

Dumbledore has the gall to look offended. “Of course not, my dear boy. I merely wished to inform you of the possible repercussions your actions could cause. It is not up to me which team is assigned which assignment—that is Minerva’s job.”

Right. Like Regulus doesn’t already know this has Dumbledore’s fingerprints all over it.

There’s a pen lying on the table. It’s right in front of him, along with a form for Regulus to sign, which, if he does, he’ll be forfeiting his right to fight against the Order’s decision to send him to Hogwarts. The pen shines a metallic grey, glinting under the fluorescent lights in the office, and it looks like Sirius’ eyes.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle.

The atmosphere in the room could snap. And despite the infuriatingly genial smile Dumbledore has pasted on, there isn’t any way the old man doesn’t feel it too. It’s not a suffocating type of atmosphere, but a more treacherous one. Like Regulus is dangling off the edge of a cliff and the very next move he makes will determine if he falls. Except, Regulus is frozen, because this time, it’s not only his life he has to consider.

The choice should be easy. But it’s not. Instead, it turns out to be startlingly simple.

It turns out to be the way his mind thinks, Pandora. Pandora, and her ridiculous socks, and the way she always makes chocolate chip cookies perfectly but never fails to burn the toast. It turns out to be the way his mind chants, Barty. Barty, and his rubik's cube, and the way the corners of his eye crinkles when he laughs at his own joke that’s really not that funny. It turns out to be the way his mind whispers, Evan. Evan, and his plants, and the way he performs random acts of acrobats whenever he’s upset. It’s Pandora and Barty and Evan and everything else.

So it’s not him that decides in the end, really. Even though there’s a fire in his chest, and broiling in his stomach. Even though everything is churning.

 Regulus’ hands are gripping at the edge, fingers dug deep into the dirt. There’s a chasm below.

Regulus takes the pen. Regulus chooses to fall.

momentary peek into Dumbledore’s manipulation to get Regulus to accept the job, and more importantly, the hero team’s dynamics

[maria021015]

SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 19 AHEAD!

Zaida finished off the last bite of her buttered toast as she climbed past Scott into the back seat of the Jeep. “You are not going to believe what we figured out last night, Scotty boy.” She slapped the back of his chair enthusiastically. “Turns out our chemistry teacher might be a Kanima-wielding serial killer.”

“Stiles told me.” Scott sighed heavily, the stress of the problem weighing on him.

“How’d tailing the lizard go yesterday?” She asked him, wondering if anything eventful had happened. Though there had been no murders last night, so maybe Scott’s actions had indeed helped.

“Jackson was buying tickets for this underground rave tonight, but he seemed like he was in a daze or a trance.” Scott relayed.

“Do you think that he can be controlled even when he isn’t in Kanima form?” Zaida wondered aloud.

“Well, that’s how he wrote that threat in the library, right?” Stiles pointed out, but Zaida shook her head,

“I still don’t think that was a threat. I think he was warning us.” She disagreed with the boy.

“I’m pretty sure he can be.” Scott went back to Zaida’s question. “Or at least, he’s not in control sometimes. He couldn’t remember anything he’d done or said to Allison in the locker room the other day.”

“So then, whoever’s controlling him wants him at the rave.” Zaida deduced. “They’re probably planning another attack tonight. Which means, we need to get tickets too. Not only do we need to stop Jackson, but this could be our chance to try and catch the Kanima’s master. Pull some Scooby-doo shit, you know?”

“I’m already working on a plan. Derek, Isaac, and I went to see Deaton last night.” Scott started and both Zaida and Stiles scowled at the mention of the other werewolves. “Remember how we thought the Kanima was scared of water? But Jackson’s the head of the swim team? The Kanima is manifesting the weakness of its master. So, the person we’re looking for can’t swim. Deaton thinks that we can use the bond between the Kanima and the master against them. Like what happens to one might happen to the other.”

“So, if we catch Jackson in Kanima form when they’re bonded and…say we knock him out, the master might pass out too?” Zaida’s mind whirred, trying to formulate a plan.

“Exactly,” Stiles confirmed the logic behind her idea, pulling into the school parking lot and finding a free spot. “We just need something that will knock out a Kanima, and I bet our good ol’ buddy Deaton has something we could use.”

“We can go see him after school.” Scott offered and got out of the car, pulling the seat forward so Zaida could climb out from the back.

She hadn’t been out of the Jeep more than forty seconds when Isaac showed up, flashing his signature smirk. “Hey, Zaida.” he stepped in front of her, stopping her in her tracks.

“I don’t think she wants to talk to you,” Stiles interjected, getting in between the two of them as Scott eyed Derek’s beta warily.

“And I think you should get out of my way before I repay you for that wolfsbane.” Isaac turned to the boy with a dangerously low tone in his voice.

“What do you want, Isaac?” Zaida pulled the wolf’s attention back towards her and away from Stiles before the boy could get himself into any more trouble.

“I want you to come out with me to the rave tonight.” He answered, and she snorted in disbelief at the gall he had to even ask her that.

“What information does Derek want you to tease out of me this time?” She scoffed, still offended by the last time they’d spoken when he’d asked her out in an attempt to get her to reveal who the Kanima was.

“Come on, Zaida. You, me, dancing, it’ll be just like old times.” When his efforts didn’t convince her, he tried another tactic, pulling the tickets from his pocket and dangling them in front of her like a bright orange carrot. “I know you need a ticket.”

As tempted as she was to flip him off and storm in the other direction, he had a point. She did need a ticket. “I already regret this,” she sighed and moved to pluck one of the tickets from his hand. He pulled them away, just out of her reach, and clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

“Call me paranoid, but I need some kind of guarantee that you’re not going to take the ticket and ditch me.” He flashed his teeth in a smile and she rolled her eyes.

“Fine, have it your way. But I’m meeting you there, and have no doubts about it, this a purely transactional agreement.” Zaida relented begrudgingly.

“So, what do I get out of this exchange?” He smirked suggestively and this time she did flip him off and storm in the opposite direction, Stiles and Scott following after her. “I love watching you walk away from me!”

Stiles did a full one-eighty-degree turn, about to march right back up to the werewolf - to do what to him, Zaida didn’t know, but she also wasn’t about to find out as Scott grabbed his friend by the backpack and pulled him away with them.

“There's got to be some other way for us to get tickets, right?” Scott reasoned as they continued down the footpath towards the school.

“It's a secret show - there's only one way, and it's a secret,” Stiles emphasized and Zaida rolled her eyes at him fondly.

“Hey...Either of you guys know why no one's getting suspended after what happened the other day at school?” Matt called out to them, rising from locking up his bike to the rack.

“Just forget about it. Nobody got hurt.” Stiles waved the boy off evasively.

“I-I had a concussion…” Matt stammered, slightly offended.

“Well, no one got seriously hurt.” Stiles continued and Zaida slapped him lightly on the arm in a gesture to stop.

“I was in the ER for six hours!” Matt scoffed at them.

“Hey, do you want to know the truth, Matt?” Stiles’ voice was sarcastic and irritated as he dropped and held his hand hovering just above the pavement. “Your little bump on the head is about this high on our list of problems right now.”

“Are you okay?” Scott sighed, playing the more compassionate role in contrast to Stiles’ ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude.

“Yeah, I'm fine now.” Matt nodded and dropped the subject. “So, you didn't get any tickets last night, either?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where we might be able to get some? Because whilst I didn’t exactly swear a hundred years of service on the Flying Dutchman, I did make a pretty shitty deal to get a ticket and I would be very happy to dissolve that agreement.” Zaida flashed the boy her prettiest smile, laying on the charm.

“Uh, no, but I managed to find two online.” Matt was completely unaffected by her charm, which sent Zaida into a bit of a mood. “You should keep trying. Sounds like everyone's gonna be there.”

“I don't like him.” Stiles muttered darkly under his breath when the boy walked away.

“Me neither,” she grumbled. “What was that? I flirted with him and everything and he did not care one bit.”

“Smug bastard,” Stiles continued.

“Everyone always says my smile is one of my best features. I’ve got cute dimples and straight teeth and everything. Why didn’t that work? Am I losing my touch?” She questioned herself aloud, offended by how he had unflinchingly and almost rudely shut her down.

“You have a beautiful smile,” Stiles reassured her as Scott watched the two of them, shaking his head at their antics. “Maybe smiles don’t work on the spawn of the devil. That would explain it.”

“Yeah, I do have a great smile! Fuck Matt.” She got up in arms about it, climbing the entrance steps.

“Yeah! Fuck you, Matt.” Stiles pointed and shook his head at the boy with narrowed eyes as they walked past him in the corridor, and he gawked at them in surprise. Zaida snorted, shocked that Stiles had actually said it to the boy’s face. She hooked her arm through his and buried her burning face in his shoulder as she guffawed, unable to stop herself from laughing.

“I can’t believe you did that!” She squealed and dragged him to walk faster, fleeing the scene of the crime. “Hurry!”

“I can’t believe either of you.” Scott chastised but he couldn’t stop a small smile from spreading across his face as he watched them.

[zarnzarn]

Helloo!! How are you?

Hehehehe may I request another fic to you please? This time is a happy one

If you don't want its totally allright Thank you!! 💙 Moreover if you find me annoying please let me know!

Fluff

What if Blitz was turned into a baby? Owl man, millie, moxie, loona but mostly owl man must take care until he gets back to normal?

UωU

"Blitz!" Millie calls out in a voice so sweet even her husband seems to cringe from it, her right eye twitching with irritation. "If you come out, we'll give you candy!"

"That's cheating!" A dismayed, muffled voice shouts back. Stolas runs down the hallway and uses every last owl instinct he has to pinpoint where it's coming from, frantic and exhausted and very, very close to tears. "You can't use bribery!"

"She can and she will!" Loona shouts down the hall, one hand scrubbing away at the marmalade knotted in her fur. Stolas isn't actually completely sure that she won't take a bite out of Blitz when they show up for that particular stunt. "Get out here RIGHT NOW!"

A weight suddenly falls straight on top of Stolas's face, covering his vision and he stops moving immediately, torn between hysterically sobbing in relief and being incredibly offended at the absolute gall of this fucking-

Child. Blitz is currently a child. Stolas cannot hold them responsible for their actions.

"There's no way any of us were this annoying," Moxxie says feverently as he shoots Blitz with the tranquilizer, who flips him off and stuffs their face with more candy. "I have never met a more annoying child in my life. Even adult Blitz isn't this bad."

"No, you were pretty annoying too," Loona says, tapping away at her phone. "Wouldn't fucking do anything but cower in a corner of the library and read the original drafts of old fucking plays or something."

"There's nothing wrong with original drafts," Stolas and Moxxie say in indignant unison and Loona sneers disdainfully.

"And hey, you weren't all that great yourself, bitch," Millie says as she throws open the door and moves aside to let Stolas put the now asleep Blitz on the ritual circle they'd been using the past few days. "All you did was hide and growl and bite."

"This is coming from the crybaby," Loona snaps back. "'Wah, I miss my poppa and momma, I wanna go back home, where are my siblings.'"

Millie hisses with anger, tail lashing behind her and Stolas intervenes quickly before they get into a bloodbath. "Now, now! Settle down, you two. We don't want to wake Blitzy up and have to-" He grimaces through his smile at the very thought- "Chase them through the entire palace. Again."

That thankfully makes them back away from each other- Blitz had once said they dreaded the day the tension between the two of them snapped and Stolas could see why- and they grimace at the reminder of the filth they were all covered in; because Blitz had taken one look at them and immediately decided that the best possible option they had when they woke up in a stranger's house was bully them all relentlessly.

"Go take a bath, all of you," Stolas suggests, opening two portals for them. "I'll drop Blitz off tomorrow."

"Thank you, your majesty," Moxxie says warmly, grinning up at him. "We'll try our best not to get hit by a spell like this again."

"Please do," Stolas says dryly and Millie slaps him on the leg affectionately as she passes and they all disappear, leaving him alone with his de-aged partner.

"At least it hit you one at a time," He murmurs to the imp slowly blinking awake and swaying slightly in the circle. Stolas summons his book and chants the antidote spell they've been using, sighing in relief when there's a tell-tale hissing noise and a familiar shape appears, curled up on his bed.

"Blitzy," He whines loudly, picking himself up and throwing his body onto his partner. "Do you have any idea how exhausted I am? You ran us ragged."

"Ah, c'mon," Blitz snorts, rolling the crinks out of their neck with a sharp crack. "Can't have been that bad."

"That bad?!?" Stolas pushes himself up on his palms to state at his partner. "Blitzy, you threw marmalade and jam on all of us, soaked us with buckets of water, smeared butter on the floors of half the palace and started an impromptu slip and slide right next to twenty of my carnivorous plants, colored my feathers green, and then ran away and hid-"

Stolas stops his rant suddenly at the look on Blitz's face, and the way they're pressing the back of their hand against their mouth to smother their laughter. "Blitz."

"What?" Blitz replies, voice affronted and innocent and shaking with laughter and not fooling Stolas in the slightest.

"You were aware of your condition the whole time!" Stolas shouts indignantly. "Blitz!"

Blitz dissolves into cackles and weakly fends off Stolas's hands as he slaps at them in anger. "Yeah, I- I might have been- holy shit, the look on your face, Stolas."

"I can't believe you!" Stolas shouts at them. "Why did you fucking- you bastard, you- how were you even awake?"

Blitz hiccups out a giggle. "Got it hit by this thing seven years ago. Guess it makes you immune."

They pause and then suddenly smirk, winking up at him. "And by the way? Olive's a good color on you, babe."

"Do not fucking seduce me right now, Blitz! Fuck, I am so fucking angry with you, you piece of shit-"

"Mm, have I ever told you how hot you are when you swear?"

"Shut up!" Stolas shouts, grabbing a pillow and pushing it down over Blitz's face so they can't see how red his cheekplates are. "Just- you- shut up!"

Blitz cackles uncontrollably from under the pillow and Stolas wavers and then gives in, falling to the side and laughing along with them.

Blitz tosses the pillow aside after a while and turns to face Stolas, grinning wide. Stolas rolls his eyes, trying desperately to overcome the smile on his own face so he can pretend to be mad, and turns his back on his partner with a dramatic huff.

Blitz chuckles and wraps themselves around Stolas's body, tail tickling at his chin. "Aw, don't be like that, sugar. You were real fucking sweet when you were trying to talk me into coming out from under that one bush."

Stolas snorts. "You threw mud into my eyes and then stuck a thorn-filled rose in my feathers."

Blitz laughs quietly and intertwines their fingers, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Stolas's cheek. "Eh. That's how you know I love you."

[goji-pilled]

ha hah! bet u werent expecting another episode of DW AU, the prequel?!

The apartment was quiet. Despite being filled with four teenage girls, a full desert course spread across the isometric glass table, and fine tea cups filled with a delicious blend of spring tea not a noise was made from the four. Somewhere outside were the sounds of children laughing with thejr families as the city of Mitikihara lowly went to sleep.

In this once lively apartment were four girls, seated at a small table and all staring at one singular point; a small doll that looked like a little ragdoll was currently curled up against the girl with long locks of darkness, who was doing her best to comfort said doll despite her anxiousness. The doll kept burying itself further into Akemi-san's stomach and muttered gibberish nonsense, the noise dead upon four sets of ears. Kaname-san kept on of her hands in one of Miki-sans, the two constantly glancing between the doll amd Akemi-san. Mami could only stare at food, trying to gather her thoughts together and break this uncomfortable tension.

Thinking back to the labyrinth they had left - of all the mostly harmless familiars and sructures that laid within - an idea formed in Mami's mind and soon came a plan. Rising from the table Mami strood towards her kitchenette and to the fridge. Opening up the cold box she rummaged around for a block of gouda she had impulsively bought a while back, hoping to make a more western meal for her dinners a while back. Once she found the condensed dairy she sst herself down at the table and coughed to grab everyone's attention. The doll kept her face close to the middle school shirt Akemi-san was now wearing, until the girl nudged the little thing's face a bit once she saw what was in Mami's hands.

When the doll finally locked her eyes on the cheese its demeanor changed quite rapidly; instead of holding it self like a scsred child it immediately leapt out of Akemi's lap and latched itself onto the cheese and into Mami's lap. Craddeling the doll that now tore its way into the cheese, Mami couldn't help herself as she let out a tiny bemused giggle. That lay the foundation to a contagious giggle fit by everyone else except for the "dark" magical girl as Miki-san would no doubt call Akemi. Once the cheese was consumed the little doll noticed where it noe sat and looked up into Mami's eyes. Despite having two beady little buttons for eyes, Mami felt a sense of great sorrow and grief from the doll, as it latched onto her and muttered gibberish into her own stomach.

A cough came across from her, the source being none other than Akemi Homura.

"I believe we should... begin our discussions. You undoubtedly have many, many questions I assume?" Akemi looked to be uncomfortable, almost as if she were dreading the following conversations. Shifting her arms to craddle the little creature as if it were a creature, Mami nodded her head and steeled herself.

"I have many questions, as you have said Akemi-san." A sniff from the raven haired girl. "I suppose to start with, is if you have ever seen this before? Of a witch being repetant of its actions, of taking lives?" The doll shuddered and started to mutter its words even faster now. It took all of a second for Akemi to respond.

"I have never envountered a scenario where a witch has refused to bring harm upon someone, no. However, I'm sure that isn't the question you wanted to ask." She had the gall to say all that ever so calmly, without ever so much as blinking through Mami's attempts at easing herself to the big question. Akemi only waited patiently as she grabbed a warm cup and drank some tea, both soothing her throat and getting to the point.

"H-How are you alive right now!" screeched Miki-san, who now had a growing look of mortification as she realized how her query sounded. Based on Kaname-san's offended gasp and Akemi's own displeased frown they cought on too. "Not that it's a bad thing. It's good that you're still here, with us! And not, like, stuck in that witches belly and- I'll shut up now." Miki-san found her lap to be a very interesting sight to behold as Akemi sent a fierce glare towards her, Kaname-san patting her best friend's back while wearing a small frown.

"To answer you questions, my survival is linked to a very crucial part of ourselves and now you too Miki Sayaka." Setting her tea cup down Akemi flexed her left hand into a fist, before opening her palm as her soul gem manifested itself from the small silver ring on Akemi's ring finger. "Our soul gems are what gift us our powers, they allow us to perform to heights that no normal person could rightfully do. Such as sprinting across town, leaping atop rooftops, or even being inconvenienced by death." Akemi's eyes darkened at that, mouth parted as if she wanted to day more but couldn't.

What had she gone through to discover that horrible truth?

"As you already know, we must hunt witches in order to replenish our soul gems and keep our magical power. Should they be tarnished beyond salvation, I fear what agony a magical girl may be forced to endure." From what Akemi says, it sounds as if the gems don't necessarily heal them. It sounds as if they postpone the pain they would feel when the heal. To be forced to relieve that agony of years of pain and hardship...

Mami doubted no sane girl wouldn't break from it.

From what she can tell the others have reached a similar conclusion. Miki-san was grimacing at the thought of experiencing something like that, while Kaname-san had tears well up behind her eyes again. But a small part of Mami-san couldn't help but wonder...

"Akemi-san..." focused brought back onto herself, Homura stared into Mami's eyes. "How did you ever learn about this?" Oh how Mami wished she never thought to ask. She should have let her curiousity fester and burn out; the light in Homura's eyes died out a little, as the raven took in a sharp breath. Miki-san was raptured by such a reaction from the aloof girl, while Kaname-san seemed to prepare herself to hug Akemi.

"...I've lived long enough... to see and experience such things... often..." Oh, her heart. Mami felt her heart shatter as tears began to fall from her eyes. Kaname-san dived into Akem-Homura's side while Sayaka looked ashen. The little doll in Mami's hold struggled out of its own hug to go and comfort Homura; it latched itself around Homura's neck and nuzzled her cheek.

"I see." Mami sniffled back the last of her tears. It wouldn't do well to continue their discussions now, not with the atmosphere heavy and the day growing so late. "Miki-san, Kaname-san, Homura-san. I want to apologize for my failures this afternoon. I am a veteran, and yet I had almost..." and here came bacl the tears. Her failure was crashing down on her now, her arrogance leaving her open for a fatal finale upon the tragedy that is her life.

And now they'll leave her all alone, once more.

And hand pressed itself onto her shoulder. Glancing up she saw the blurry face of Homura looking down on her.

"Tomoe Mami, you are a veteran magical girl of approximately two years now. While it is expectant to have you perform at your heighest capabilities, it is not improbable for you to experience shortcomings. At these times, it is best for us to recollect ourselves and try to better ourselves...

"With some assitance from allies, if you will allow it."

Mami couldn't believe her ears. Akemi Homura, the mysterious dark magical girl veteran that had lectured into her head to beware death and treasure life, was now offering solace.

"She's right Mami-senpai." Snapping her head aside, the blonde saw Madoka and Sayaka beaming smiles at her. "It wouldn't be right to assume that you couldn't be knocked down, or waver when times are hard. You don't have to do this alone anymore."

"Yep! It's just as my wife says, we'll be with you every stel of the way Mami-senpai! Can't let anything bappen to our favorite senpai after all, right transfer student?" A sigh of fondness and roll of the eyes (odd...) and Homura nodded her head.

A tap on her knees and she saw the little witch looking at up at her once again. It streatched its cloth arms towards her as it jumped up and down, sounds of happiness coming out of her(?) not-mouth. Craddling the witch, Mami let out a teary laugh.

"I believe little Bebe also agrees with you all." At the looms of confusion Mami explained herself. "Well, we can't jjst call her a little witch or doll, can we? She has thoughts and acts like us too, it would be a bit dehumanizing to not give her a name." The witch - no, little Bebe - seemed to grow extatic at that and hugged the blonde's stomach tightly.

Then Bebe's mouth opened and the work creature sprung out to lick Mami on the cheek before nuzzling her again.

...something to discuss later.

i think im gettin better at writing th girls nd their dialogue with each ask. hope u enjoy, u nd everyone else who see ur blog! <3

I DO ENJOY THIS YES. YES YES YES.

[lilxberry]

Comfort and Moving Forward - Jeff Atkins

Synopsis;

Jeff has to watch his dear friend suffer from Justins’ actions, all whilst hoping that she would notice her worth. And him.

Warnings: Angsty af. Fluffff. Mentions of cheating (past relationship). Language. Cute ass Jeff. Super cheesy, cliché plot line *eye roll*

Words: 2,711

Pairing: Jeff Atkins x reader, Justin Foley x reader (past relationship)

_______________

"So wait, you really said that?"

"Like I said. I. GOOGLED. EVERYTHING. How do you expect me to ignore Google?"

Y/N threw her head back with laughter as Tony and she walked down the hallways of Liberty High, drawing the attention of their peers. Taking deep breaths of air to help calm her down, she shook her head and patted her friend on the shoulder, slowing to look at him. "You're possibly the dumbest person I've ever met!"

"But I'm your favourite!" Jeff exclaimed proudly, a smug look plastered across his face.

"Hmm, I dunno about that..." Y/N trailed off, a feigned look of contemplation crosses her features as she rubs her chin, in false deep thought. "I think I like Jensen better."

Jeff stops dead in his tracks as he grasps at his chest, imitating hurt and heartbreak. "How dare you? I'm extremely offended Y/N/N. I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that."

A smile soon breaks across his face as he slings his arm across her shoulder and chuckles, pulling her close into his side. "You're lucky I love you." He makes kissy faces down towards her, making her face scrunch up in insincere disgust.

Y/N scoffs and playfully rolls her eyes as she jabs her finger gently into his ribs. "Sure am, dumbass."

They proceed to make their way their way out of the school and towards Jeff's car in the parking lot continuing to softly chuckle at the exchange when Y/N perks up, hearing the familiar roaring, boisterous laugh and an airy, girlish giggle carry through the air, making her fall behind Jeff and look around to find the owner.

Jeff noticed the sudden absence of his friend next to him and turns back towards her noticing she's staring of to the side, a mixture of sadness, longing and anger across her features. He takes note of the direction she's looking in and turns his attention to find the source of Y/N's rapid change in mood and behaviour. Once he laid his eyes upon the couple several parking spaces away, laughing loudly together with numerous jocks on either side of them, showing an excessive amount of PDA, Jeff understood immediately and swiftly moved to collect Y/N.

Once reaching his sullen friend, he wrapped his arm around her securely, pulling her along to his car to get in and flee from the scene that was playing out in front of them. Y/N hadn't even realised she was crying until Jeff reached a hand up to her face to wipe away fallen tears soaking the skin of her cheek in salty streams. He smoothed her hair down at the back of her head as he whispered words of comfort to her, in hopes of calming her down.

Finally buckled up within the confined of the vehicle, Y/N releases a long, shaky sign as her eyes screw shut tightly, trying to control her breathing and not break down into sobs.

"Fuck Justin, okay? He's not worth it." Jeff tries to improve his friends glum spirit. "Hey, wanna sleepover? We haven't had one in forever and I really do need to catch up with The Punisher. Plus, I think we both could do with not giving a shit what we eat right now." He throws her a mischievous grin.

She gives him a small smile and nods her head softly, not trusting her voice at that current moment.  

Giving her a one last glance from the edge of his peripheral vision, he turned on the engine and left the schools premises. _______________

With Y/N's parents away for the weekend, the house is empty and quiet, perfect for using the living room for their marathon. After unlocking her front door, Jeff hastily speeds past her and places the bags full of junk food on to the coffee table before sprinting upstairs, readying his arms for the mountain of pillows and blankets he will soon wrestle with to get downstairs.

Y/N watches in slight amusement at her best friend preparing anything and everything needed to comfort her and make her happy. She smiles softly as she kicks her shoes off before lazily making her way up to her bedroom to get changed into her warm and inviting sleepwear, which includes one of the many sweatshirts she's stolen from her frantic friend who's still setting everything up.

She's always adored Jeff, quite frankly was in love with him for the longest time, but as he got his first load of girlfriends in high school, she became disheartened and locked away all hope she could possibly have. She could never believe someone as amazing as Jeff could reciprocate her feelings. plus, she never wanted to endanger her friendship with Jeff, she would break if he was no longer in her life, discouraging her further from admitting her feeling to the baseball player.

When Justin came along one day and asked her out on a date to the movies, she was quite shocked but extremely thankful in a way as she could use the distraction to take her mind away from Jeff. The date went well and soon, multiple others occurred, leading to the two to finally become a couple.

Y/N genuinely fell for the boy and she thought he fell just as hard for her but those thoughts soon diminished once she had witnessed her now ex-boyfriend make out with Jessica Davis, one of the cheerleaders at Liberty, 3 weeks ago. Y/N and Jess weren't best friends of anything but they were civil enough to be considered acquaintances who occasionally hung around the same people.

She had voiced concerns to Justin himself about his friendliness towards the girl but he always dismissed it and said that he loved her and only her. Oh, how right she was to have her doubts.

Justin Foley had well and truly broken the poor girl.

'Was I not good enough?'.....'Am I not pretty enough?'.....'Did I bore him?'.....'What does Jessica have that I don't?'.....'Didn't I show him how much I love him enough?'.....

'Did he ever love me?'.....

She luckily had Jeff who was always there for her. He had shut down every doubt and nasty, self-deprecating thought that damaged her confidence and self-esteem. He would go to the ends of the Earth just to see her happy, even if he was miserable for the rest of his life.

When Y/N and Justin started dating, Jeff was absolutely devastated. He felt heartbroken but it all felt bittersweet when he realised how happy Justin was making his precious Y/N. He wanted time and time again for it to be him to be making her so happy and full of joy, but he never had the gall to state how her felt as he too was scared of ruining what they had.

And with that, he would suffer the consequences of his lack of courage and be subjected to watch his one true soulmate be with him.

"Will you bloody calm down Jeff! I'm getting exhausted just from fucking watching you!"

He exhales a chuckle as he makes his last trip consisting of covers down the stairs. "I just wanna get to eating and cuddling with my favourite." He grinned at her whilst sending her a cheeky wink.

She looked down as she felt her face flush with colour, tinging the tips of her ears and full cheeks pink. "Shut up." She mumbled quietly in reply, the corners of her mouth quirking upwards, forming a small smile to grace her features.

He smiles at her, eyes filled with adoration, absorbing the breath taking sight of his best friend that he was completely and utterly in love with. "I'm gonna go change. I'm pretty sure you left some sweatpants here from last time. I could find them and bring them down for you after I'm done, if you like."

"Yeah, sure." He gave her another small smile and a chaste kiss on the forehead before heading downstairs.

Her blush intensified as he left from the small display of affection. She walked leisurely into her room, quickly finding her sleepwear and stripping of her day clothes. As she changes, she looks over towards her once fully made bed to now see nothing but a mattress, noting the lack of pillows and covers. She releases a breathy giggle, imagining what she ever did right to deserve someone as amazing, kind, caring and special as Jeff.

Y/N's smile started to widen once her thoughts drifted back to Jeff, with his stupid, perfect face. She quickly shook her head to rid herself of the thoughts and finished slipping into her more comfortable clothing.

She dug through her draws, soon finding a pair of darkish grey sweatpants and a navy t-shirt. Collecting them into her arms, she flounces down the stairs to be met with a lounging Jeff surrounded by food, blankets and enough pillows to fill a warehouse. She lets out a snort causing Jeff's attention to be instantly directed towards the girl and a wide yet playful grin to cross his face. "Took you long enough."

"Ha ha." Y/N replies in a sarcastic tone then proceeds to throw the clothing towards the sluggish lounger taking up the couch.

A quiet ‘oof‘ escaped his lips as the clothing hit the intended target that is his face. He removes the clothing from upon his head and his smile falters for a millisecond before turning into a prideful smirk, taking his bottom lip in-between his pearly whites, raking his eyes over her form. "Nice sweatshirt you got there."

"Shut up. It looks better on me anyways." She playfully retorts back at him to distract him from the item of clothing in question and the painfully obvious blush creeping back on to her cheeks.

"That I can agree on." He stands and smugly struts towards the bathroom to go change. As he walks away, he playfully pinches her hip before speaking again. "Why don't you set up the T.V. ready."

Once he's disappeared around the corner and the door to the bathroom can heard closing, Y/N releases a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. Walking towards the couch, fumbling with the ends of the shirt she wears, she sits down and reaches for the remote, readying Netflix and bringing up The Punisher for the marathon to begin.

A mere 2 minutes pass before Jeff returns, clad in his sweats and shirt. He plops himself on top of the couch and impossibly close to Y/N, bringing an arm to rest behind her as he pulls a blanket over with the other. Once fully settled into their mountain of comfort, Jeff finally grabs the T.V. remote and presses play.

"Buckle up baby, it's gonna be a long night."

_______________

Through out each and every episode, Y/N couldn't help but let her mind wander and swim with thoughts, not truly paying attention to whatever Frank Castle is doing on screen.

'Was I really a terrible girlfriend?'...….'Should I be happy it's over?'...….'What's with all of Jeff's playful flirting?'...….'It's totally not flirting, right?'...….'He definitely does not like me like that'...….'Is it too soon to be thinking about Jeff like this?'...….

Y/N was so busy drowning in her own thoughts, she hadn't realised that Jeff has been trying to get her attention for the past few minutes nor that her eyes had glazed over and let slip a few salty tears. What truly broke her out of her revere was the gentle cupping of her cheek in a large, calloused hand wiping said tears with gentle strokes of the thumb.

She looked up through her long, delicate eyelashes and glassy irises to be met with the concerned gaze of Jeff. He had a sad smile on his face as he began to speak. "What's wrong Y/N/N?"

That's all it took for the dam to break and her body was wracked with sobs. Jeff brought her head towards his chest, burying her face into his shirt as he held her tightly, kissing the crown of her hair and cooing softly, telling her it's okay, that he's there and that he isn't leaving.

She bawled up his shirt tightly into her shaky hands, knuckles turning white, as her body trembled next to his. "wh-why wasn't....I-I-I g-good enough...?" Her voice broken, stuttering and hiccupping through her sentence, choking on her gut wrenching sobs and dry lump in her throat.

His heart broke watching the girl he loved look so fragile and in a state of distraught. He feels a knot in his chest tightening, the guilt that feels taking over. 'If only I had told her, she wouldn't have ended up hurt by him'. He takes fault in not having the courage to tell her his feelings before Justin got to her. If he had, she wouldn't have had her heart broken by some asshole who barely treated her right in the first place.

As he beats and berates his self on the inside, he exudes a strong and calming façade, trying to project any form of happiness on to her in the hopes she finds comfort.

"It's him who wasn't good enough. NEVER say you aren't good enough." She squeezes her eyes shut tightly, shaking her head and sniffling. "Th-then why'd he d-do it...?"

"Because he's a fucking asshole who never deserved you. He could never, in a million years, ever treat you how you rightly deserved to be treated. You're absolutely perfect and it kills me when you belittle yourself like that Y/N.

You're so beautiful. I could travel to any and every place on Earth and I could never find anything more beautiful than you. You're smart, kind, caring, compassionate, kinda a dork but there isn't a single thing I would change about you because I have and always will love you for who you are when you're yourself."

By this point, she's looking up at him with wide eyed, cheeks stained with dry tears, lips parted in shock.

He brings his hand up to reattach to her cheek, cupping it gently as he leans forward, resting his forehead against her, noses lightly touching. "I love you, Y/N Y/L/N and I wish you could see just how much."

In a surge of confidence and possibly fear, she closes the gap between them and crashes her lips on to his. She tugs at his shirt to bring him impossibly closer as their lips mould together perfectly. They relish on the feeling of their lips against the other.

All too soon, they reluctantly pull away, the need for oxygen too much. Leaning their foreheads back on to one another's, they heavily pant for breath, staring into each others eyes with what only could be described and love, lust, adoration and awe.

"I love you, Jeff." She whispers breathlessly, afraid that if she spoke any louder, all the air will rush out of her lungs, scared the moment would be over and a harsh reality would crash over her.

"I love you, Y/N." Although, as Jeff whispers just as quietly and just as breathless as her, she smiled at the realisation that this could possibly the beginning of something wonderful.

"I think I may be over him." A chuckle rumbles in Jeff's chest.

"I sure hope so, otherwise this is gonna be really fucking awkward and I didn't even need to Google that to know so." She giggles and projects a beaming smile. "I get that you might still need time but, I'd love if you would be my girlfriend and let me take you out on an actual date?" He smiled sheepishly as he asked.

His sheepish smile soon turned into an over ecstatic grin as she nodded her head furiously at him instantly. She stretched her neck up and kissed his cheek gently then settled back into the couch, snuggling into his side. He smiled down towards her and places a sweet, chaste kiss on her hairline before turning his attention back to the television screen, bringing her closer into his embrace.

Words couldn't truly describe their feelings in the moment but as Y/N and Jeff continued to cuddle, watching The Punisher with cheek splitting grins etched on to their faces, there was a sense of serenity and safety surrounding them. They felt at peace in each others arms.

Happy, content and at peace.

_______________ . . . . . I really hope you like this I mean, it's my third fic so don't expect my ideas or plot to be exceeding your expectations, yanno lmao Any and all constructive criticism is welcomed as always and I really do look forward to hopefully receiving some requests (I may actually know what I'm doing then) If you enjoyed this, please don't forget to press that lil like button as it could really help me out :D

[cosmicjoke]

Alright, up through chapters 111 and 112 of SnK!

First, I just have to say a few things about Eren here and what a massive dick he was to Armin and Mikasa.  It’s hard as hell not to be pissed at Eren here, even knowing that he was trying to push his two best friends away in an attempt to keep them out of harm, and part of that is because, given what Eren later confesses to Armin, about not knowing what he was doing during this scene, I don’t think the way he treats them here IS entirely to protect them.  Armin says after the whole confrontation that Eren’s the one who’s a slave, specifically he says “You’re a slave too, and your master’s a worthless bastard.”  Eren has the gall to get offended by this, after he just spent the last however many minutes telling Armin and Mikasa both that they’re pathetic slaves with no will of their own.  But the important part here is what Armin says.  He’s referring, I think, to all of Eren’s worst traits as a human being.  He’s telling Eren that he’s let himself become a slave to the worst parts of his personality, the parts that want to hurt others, that finds gratification in hurting others.  That he’s letting himself be dictated by those ugliest, cruelest parts of himself.  I think part of Eren’s tirade against Armin and Mikasa was based very much in his honest feelings, those feelings of anger and hatred towards his best friends being born out of his own insecurity about himself.  He tells Armin that his constant attempts to “talk” are pathetic and worthless, and that Mikasa is only strong because of experiments conducted on the Ackerman bloodline.  Essentially, Eren is trying his very best here to strip away both Armin’s and Mikasa’s own merit, and cast their strengths and abilities in a negative light, treating those strengths as either weaknesses or as something unearned, some sort of freak accident of birth.  Eren goes particularly hard after Mikasa, trying to make her exceptional abilities seem somehow lesser or unimpressive because they’re only a byproduct of experiments done to other Ackerman’s over the centuries.  This smacks terribly to me of Eren taking out his own physical shortcomings on Mikasa and Armin both, blaming them for his own weakness.  Eren taunts Armin later while he beats the hell out of him, telling him they’ve never fought because it never would have been a “fair fight”, as if Eren himself was ever any kind of exceptional fighter.  It’s made a point of again and again early in the series that Eren isn’t particularly special or gifted in anything he does.  He isn’t a good fighter, he isn’t especially smart, he isn’t especially skilled.  But here we have him flaunting himself over Armin, as if Eren was ever some sort of uber bad-ass fighter who could destroy any opponent with ease.  It really does just come across as crippling insecurity on Eren’s part, on him acting out his self-loathing and insecurity in himself on his friends.  It’s really one of Eren’s lowest moments in the whole series, and especially because it doesn’t particularly feel like he doesn’t entirely mean it.  I think he does, to some extent.  

Anyway, okay, I also want to talk a little about Levi and how he reacts to the news of the Yagerists taking over the military, and Zeke’s involvement.  

What really strikes me here is Levi’s reaction to Pixis’ and the MPs plan to feed Eren to someone else, to give them the Founder.  Levi says to hell with that plan, and it’s really interesting to me, because this shows two things about Levi and how he regards Eren at this point.  It isn’t that he feels betrayed by Eren that Levi has his internal monologue about all his comrades dying in the line of duty while protecting Eren, it’s because he’s thinking about how all of those people died to protect Eren, only for the military to then turn around and render all of those sacrifices utterly meaningless by deciding to just feed Eren to whoever they choose.  A recurring and vital theme for Levi’s character throughout SnK is that he can’t abide meaningless death.  The thought of anyone dying or suffering in any way without reason, for Levi, is one of the worst things that can happen.  Pointless, meaningless death is a travesty to him.  And by deciding to just kill Eren then and there, to feed him to someone else, the military is basically shitting all over the deaths and sacrifices of an innumerable amount of Levi’s friends and comrades, essentially declaring those sacrifices null and void and pointless.  All these people will have died, it turns out, for nothing.  That’s why Levi calls the current situation they’re in a “farce”, because it’s made a joke out of all those lives lost.  And it’s why Levi won’t stand for it.  He refuses to let it happen, instead deciding it’s Zeke who should be fed to someone.  It must be more galling to Levi than just about anything, that these MPs, who never lifted a finger or sacrificed anything in order to fight for humanity’s survival have now taken it upon themselves to decide that all that effort, all those lives lost, all those morals compromised, all that blood gotten on the hands of the SC members for the betterment of humanity, meant nothing and was never necessary, that they’ll just kill Eren without any input or say from those people that sacrificed so much to keep Eren alive all this time.  And it’s not just the lives lost, like Mike’s, or Nanaba’s, or Nifa’s, or Erwin’s, or any of the other hundreds of SC’s members that died while protecting Eren, but also people like Jean and Armin having to get blood on their hands, going against their moral codes and now living with the burden of having taken lives, or Dimo Reeves essentially giving his life to protect Eren and Historia.  There’s any number of smaller sacrifices, on top of the lives lost, they’ve all made in order to protect Eren, because they all believed him to be essential to humanity’s future, that he was one of them, and could be relied on and believed in to always hold true to the ideals of the SC, to fight for humanity’s salvation.    The military’s decision to just kill Eren throws that belief back in the faces of the SC.  

I think, also, it’s interesting, because Levi’s still holding here to the possibility that Eren hasn’t betrayed them all.  He’s still showing that he believes in Eren, even as that belief is being strained and tested by everything that’s happening.  That Levi doesn’t just immediately wash his hands of Eren here, and say “Yeah, kill him.”, shows also that he still WANTS to believe in Eren, that all the hopes they put in him weren’t unfounded or for naught.  Even as he acknowledges that he doesn’t know if Eren is being controlled by Zeke or not, he still wants to give him the benefit of the doubt.  It shows that he still cares about Eren as a comrade and a friend.  He holds no such ties to Zeke, who’s done nothing but cause him pain and misery, and so Levi’s solution here makes sense.  Feed Zeke to one of the Yaegerists, then, after Historia gives birth, if she’s still willing, let her consume the Beast Titan.  Levi’s trying here to avoid killing Eren, both because he can’t bear the thought that all those people died for nothing, and also because he still feels loyalty and friendship towards Eren, which speaks to the depth of Levi’s dedication as a friend, honestly.  

Also, we get to see Levi’s suspicion of Zeke’s story about how and why he turned the people of Ragako into Titan’s validated, when it’s revealed that he lied about his spinal fluid, if consumed by Eldian’s, freezing them up.  The guy really is just a straight up liar.  And that particular deception of Zeke’s is what leads to the tragedy of what happens next, turning Levi’s comrades into Titans.  Like I said in my previous post, I think Levi was trying to genuinely glean if Zeke really was as heartless and uncaring as he appeared, trying to understand if there was some understandable reason behind his actions, and that he came the conclusion from reading Zeke’s tone, words and body language (just like Erwin says about Levi’s ability to see the true nature of man), that there isn’t any real humanity in Zeke at all.  And of course, what Zeke does here only proves that beyond any sort of doubt.  

Levi’s declaration here that he isn’t going to let Zeke dictate things any longer is Levi being fed up with these mind games and manipulations.  He’s known all this time that Zeke has been stringing them along, lying to them, using them, all with some ulterior motive and plan in waiting, even as he couldn’t know the details of those things, and Levi knows if he waits any longer to take Zeke out, things are going to reach a point of no return.  Levi’s instincts here are right, and have been from the start, but because he was beholden to the chain of command, he couldn’t act.  It’s the pussyfooting around that the military’s done up to this point, their indecision and fear, to trust Zeke, but also to have the balls to move against Zeke completely, that’s lead to things getting so out of hand.  Tragically, Levi’s decision here comes too late.  But man, he was ready to take matters into his own hands finally.  Someone should’ve listened to him sooner about Zeke.  They should’ve just killed his ass the second they had him on the island.

[slashy-ashy]

I think I like Dick so much because I just like vibe with him because I vibe a lot with my older sis, so it’s like she’ll be unapologetically her and I’ll be like “wow thats my oldest sib 🤩” and then I’ll relay what she did and like imagine what if Dick did this or said that🧐 so this is all to say that Dick has picked up roller skating and you can’t tell me that back in the day Dick wouldn’t be hitting the rinks up and it helps that now there’s this resurgence of people going roller skating or blading so this is what has been in my head for a literal year now, Dick Grayson with his own personalized roller skates, but like at first he has some regular ole skates that he just takes to the rink with him but on his birthday Tim’s like “I noticed you’ve been skating a lot so I thought that you’ll love these” and just hands Dick these absolutely beautiful red,green, and gold or some blue,black and gold skates I don’t know I’m leaning towards the blue, but Tim made sure to wrap them up in like this wrapping paper covered in chirping cartoon robins which gets a laugh out of Dick, so after Dick tears off the paper he sees this unassuming box and he starts thinking “oh no, please don’t let this be a prank” and so he flips the lid but the object is covered in some thin paper so he just bites the bullet and rips the paper off. He looks down at the skates and up at Tim, before again looking down at the skates again. Now the rest of the family don’t know what he has right now because Tim made sure to be secretive about his gift, so they’re all thinking some variation of “oh, is this a prank? Is it a good one or a bad one?” But Tim already had his phone out recording so he can see how Dick is unconsciously widening his eyes and how his hands are shaking a bit, so this goes on for three seconds before Tim asks him with a smile in his voice “so...you like them?”

And Dick SHRIEKS and he covers his face with his hands while squirming in his seat, because the minute he got to his apartment he was ‘kidnapped’ by Robin and Black Bat and was taken back to the manor where they forced a birthday hat onto him and sat him at the head of the table and they hadn’t let him get up before singing happy birthday and handing him his gifts, so Dicks like in almost hysterics and screams “I LOVE them!!” Before pulling out the skates and so everybody follows suit and starts feeding off the positive vibes and giving them out, and Dukes like “ aye, I bet you can’t wait to take’em out for a spin” and Dick, still grinning from ear to ear is like “yes I want to go to the rink right NOW” but Tim is like “you still have to open all these other gifts!” And Dick is like yeah your right so he puts the skates right beside him and he’s so happy that when the doorbell rings that surprises them because it was supposed to be only them so who could that be? But Alfred already knows who it is, so he opens the door and in comes Jason looking all cool in his leather jacket and what not so he goes into the dining room along with his family and gives Dick a hug, and Dick’s confused but he welcomes the hug anyway, so when this hug goes on for a while Dick’s confused and asks if Jason’s okay but he just pulls away and says surprise and moves out the way, and Dick’s scream was so LOUD but short too, because in comes Donna, Wally, Roy, Garth, Gar, Vic, Kori, Rachel, even Joey and is that...? Clark, Lois, and Diana!? Oh! And they brought Jon and Konner. And Dick justs sits dumb founded for a minute before covering his mouth, “you said you weren’t be able to make it!” He says shrilly, Roy shrugs a shoulder “ I said that MAYBE I won’t make it, and besides like I need an excuse to come see you” and goes up to hug him and Dick most noticeably has tears in his eyes when he looks at the others, and Roy looks at him with both his eyebrows raises “are you crying right now!?” He asks incredulously, “well what do you expect he OBVIOUSLY wanted me to hug him, now move you didn’t do it right” Roy was then hip checked by Wally and Dick couldn’t help but not laugh at how offended Roy looked, “but seriously dry those tears the fun has barely begun!”

He said before drying Dick’s face, “did you really push me out the way West?” “I told you before and I’ll say it again Harper, he wanted me to hug him, seeing that ugly mug of yours frightened him” he said condescendingly before he went to hug Dick and putting a big show of patting his back and rubbing his hair, even had the gall to add in a couple “there there’s” while he was at it. Dick smiled and pushed Wally off of him “ but really what are you doing here? I thought you guys had plans for tonight” Donna came and pushed Wally out of the way and got an offended “hey” from her actions and a couple chuckles out of Roy “we do” she said pressing a kiss to the crown of Dicks head “ and those plans include taking you out to the rink” and Dick gasped “really?!” “Yeah dude, we called around and did you know that apparently out there is a skating dimension? I mean really, entities love creating dimensions for fun” Wally said, a slice of cake in hand “ so whenever you’re ready you can come take those new wheels out for a spin” and he gasped before diving for the skates beside him “did you guys see them yet! Look at the colors and Tim even got more wheels! Thank you so much Timmy!” Tim laughed “ no problem I’m happy you like them!” He grinned “like them I love them, once I get through all these gifts we’re all going to the skating dimension no if’s ands or buts, I can’t wait to test these puppies out!” Dick said.

And so he open ups the rest of his gifts and they go to the skating dimension and he tears that place up, I mean the place defies the laws of gravity so like imagine that one ride at the fair/carnival that has you lean on the wall and the ride spins so fast that you can stand up perpendicular to the wall, I think it was called the tilt a whirl, or something like that? It looked like an space ship. So anyways Dick skating forwards, backwards, even takes one skate off to do a trick before putting his skate back on and is just living his best life with his friends and family, and it’s even better if he puts on a outfit that closely or is radiating the disco aesthetic, and one thing I love about Dick is out of the many hairstyles and lengths of hair that he rocked you could just pick and chose a style and length so I imagine him with his longer hairstyle and say what you want but I have seen mullets make a comeback so he can either have a mullet or he’s rocking his natural hair which I imagine to either be 2/3 a type of curl pattern. Haaa it feels good to finally get this all down 😌

[spongeguyandlelouchvibridankia]

SpongeGuy Reviews Every Disney Sitcom Ever!: Pair of Kings (1.1): “Return of the Kings”

I have a new least favorite Disney show!

Strap yourselves in folks, this is one heck of a ride!

Pair of Kings is a Disney XD sitcom from like 2010 I think? I don’t respect it enough to give it a year. This hellspawn of Satan’s BRO son who thinks that putting Chad on his resume is a surefire way to get a job is about two BRO’S: Brady (played by Jeremy from Phineas and Ferb, who has seen better shows clearly) and Boomer (I don’t know who plays him, but i sure as hell don’t care!). Brady Bunch and Ok Boomer are twins (They’re bi-racial, which is neat, but this kind of representation can only hurt) who learn that they are actually the sons of the king and queen of “Random Island so we can make Island Natives are weird jokes without offending anyone in particular” Island, and they are next in line for the throne, hence the title “Pair of fucking idiots” I MEAN “Pair of Kings”.

The rest of the show is as stupid as it sounds. Basically, there’s an island native named Mason who is Mr. Moseby from Suite Life, but if he was forced to be blinded to their idiocy, his daughter Mikayla who is every boring female lead in a show like this, you know, the one who is actually serious and doesn’t want to be with these bozo’s but the show will force her to like them because she TOTALLY doesn’t deserve anything better, and of course an evil CGI fish and the 12 year old boy who owns him and is trying to kill our leads, which according to the laugh track, means that Attempted Murder is fnuny. Huh.

Ok, i can only describe this show for so long before i die. Let’s get to the 45 MINUTE Pilot. Yes, I saw 45 minutes of this. And this is apparently the best we get of this show, since they put all their money into hooking us with this pilot.

Dear lord.

Summery: 

Brady (Mitchel Musso) and Boomer (Doc Shaw) are twin teenagers living in Chicago with their aunt Nancy and uncle Bill, as their parents are deceased. Brady and Boomer are unaware that they are destined to become the next kings of an island nation known as Kinkow. After they are bullied by the toughest guys in their high school, Mason (Geno Segers) and a group of warriors from Kinkow come to bring them home. Brady and Boomer break the island's sacred ruby, causing Kinkow's volcano to erupt. Their cousin Lanny (Ryan Ochoa) tricks them into going to get another sacred ruby so they would die on the dark side of Kinkow, allowing him to become king. While they are on the dark side, Brady and Boomer are caught by a tribe called the Tarantula People, but they are protected by the bat medallion that the Tarantula People obey. Brady and Boomer obtain the sister ruby and save the kingdom. However, the chain that controlled the Tarantula People falls off Brady's neck.

COMEDY: 0 Out of 5

I doubt this shocks anyone. The comedy of Pair of Kings makes one miss the intelligent musings of a conservative Albatross with a hernia in the middle of Sunday Church. The jokes are like The Incredible’s Hulk’s Jock Strap after a s mile jog towards the savannah: They stink so bad I almost gave up all hope for humanity and started planning an escape route from the planet. All manner of wit and charm is sucked out like a single strand of spaghetti through a straw as thin as my patience for the leads, and every character quirk is so basic and cliche that the old people’s home rejected their application. If I were to write blindfolded and and upside down, with half my keyboard letters missing and a sadistic autocorrect feature installed onto my PC, I would still write something better than the humor of Pair of Kings, because then I would have written nothing at all, and nothing is at least nothing. Pair of Kings exists; may God have mercy on our souls.

...

So in short, it’s not funny. I smiled in pain maybe once at an Overprotective dad joke, and that’s about it.

CHARACTERS: 0 Out of 5

Imagine your typical Disney Channel sitcom. Now think of the worst version of that. Now think of the Dorkly video based on that version.

Pair of Kings is 10 times worse.

The characters are bare bones at best. In fact, they are invertebrates, and not the funny absorbent ones like Spongebob. Their personalities are so 1 dimensional and obvious that if I were to show you pics of them you could tell me their entire biographies. The leads replicate an early 2010′s trend of being two BROS who keep doing stupid things, and that’s their personality. They also replicate a 2020 trend of making me wish the apocalypse was over. They are just BROS. Whenever they have even a moment of quote un quote “DRAMA” they undercut it with humor like a wet fart at a funeral reception. The supporting cast is like my life: Barely functional and clearly inept to deal with this shit right now. Mason is “The Native Overprotective Dad”; Mikayala is “DA GIRL”; Lanny is “Scar but boring”; The CGI Fish exists.

Can my pain end now?

STORY AND HEART: 1 Out of 5

I’ll make this quick: They have the GALL of pretending that OK BOOMER and Brady Bunch have felt sorrow when they almost destroy the island. They have the GALL to have them say that they will stop being kings if that’s what they want. I’m not saying they’re incapable of such feelings, but I guess this puts it best: At one point in this ACTION-COMEDY-DRAMA of sorts, Brady Bunch says he feels bad about the kids who could die on the island. He hears the volcano burst again, and says “Good Luck Kids” to run off. Sure, this is a typical sitcom joke, but if this show wants me to take it seriously that they mean well, they just shot themsleves in the foot.

The point is for set design and tbf not too bad CGI for a teen sitcom. But I can’t stand a show that lies to my face and pretends that these two are any good. Pair of Kings? More like Pair of END ME END ME END ME.

FINAL SCORE: 1 Out of 15

Bunk’d is next. May god have mercy on my soul.

EVERY SHOW RANKED:

1. Good Luck Charlie

2. Pair of Kings

EVERY EPISODE RANKED (PAIR OF KINGS):

“Return of the Kings” (S1 E1)

EVERY EPISODE RANKED (IN GENERAL):

1. “Study Date” (Good Luck Charlie)

2. “Return of the Kings (Pair of Kings)

EVERY CHARACTER RANKED (PAIR OF KINGS):

1. Mason

2. Mikayla

3. Evil Fish

4. Lonny

5.Boomer

6. Brady

EVERY CHARACTER RANKED (IN GENERAL FOR SITCOMS):

1. PJ Duncan

2. Teddy Duncan

3. Gabe Duncan

4. Bon Duncan

5. Amy Duncan

6. Charlie Duncan

7. Spencer Walsh

8. Mrs. Dabney

9. Emmett

10. Mason

11. Mikayla

12. Evil Fish

13. Lonny

14. Boomer

15. Brady

[fedonciadale]

The Phoenix Potion - chapter 11 - Getting galleons

Still in my Dramione hell hole.... I really don’t know why. This story has been in my head for ages.... I just need to write it down.

Just as a caveat: Percy has reasons for his actions that go beyond his dislike of Draco (for which he has good reasons). Also on AO3.

Rina followed the goblin and her dad with a sense of foreboding. They were led to a different area to a counter, that was clearly meant for potentially disreputable customers. Rina clutched her bag in one hand and gripped her wand in the other.

Behind the counter was a red-headed man in his middle ages, maybe slightly older than dad. He probably would have been handsome if not for his mien that spoke of an assiduous clerk, someone who met his superior’s expectation with avid punctuality.

The look he gave them was decidedly unfriendly. “You have a gall, Malfoy, to come here today of all days.”

Dad’s face gave nothing away and frightened Rina. He did not look like dad at all. “Mr. Weasley. I want to exchange British pounds into galleons. I am well within my rights. Last I checked that there are no days unsuitable for this endeavour as long as the bank is open.”

Mr. Weasley threw a paper on the counter. It was an extra afternoon edition of the Daily prophet.

‘It just didn’t work out’ was the headline and below was a photo of England’s famous quidditch keeper and a beautiful witch with dark curls. They seemed to scowl at each other.

Rina suppressed a groan. She had no difficulty to recognise Ron “Weasley is our king, he never lets the quaffle in”. It looked like he had ‘irreconcilable differences’.

“I do not see how a piece of gossip in the Prophet connects in any way to my wish to get galleons in exchange for pounds.” Dad’s mouth became a thin, almost invisible line.

“Don’t you?”

Mr. Weasley smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “It certainly does not interfere with your right to exchange. I can’t vouch for the time of negotiation or the rate of exchange. I suggest you return another day, when I am more in the mood.”

“I would prefer to purchase galleons today.”

“I guess, you’ll have to beg then, Malfoy. Or you could always negotiate with Mr Fawley, if you prefer that.”

Her dad bared his teeth. “Thank you, Mr Weasley, for the offer. I choose the begging, instead of Fawley’s method of negotiation. Shall we proceed, Mr Weasley? I’d like to have an official receipt for the pounds and then I’ll do all the begging you want me to.”

“Show me, what you brought.” Mr Weasley did not sound glad at dad’s insistence.

Dad opened her bag and took out the bundle of pounds and began to count the pounds on the counter.

“…800.” The count was finished.

“800, noted”. Mr Weasley took the notes. The moment he got hold of them, his face suddenly became even darker.

“What are you playing at, Malfoy? This is fucking muggle plastic.”

“Paper notes have been gradually exchanged for plastic notes for two years. This is valid Muggle money. You should ask someone who knows about this.”

Rina’s heart pounded wildly. The unfairness made her see red. Drawing her wand was a smooth motion, but the hex she sent, struck her dad’s hand who had been faster than her, anticipating her. It puffed away, harmlessly, with just the tiniest of sparks.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t see that,” Mr Weasley said, while dad gripped her arm and shook his head, vehemently.

“Is your daughter even of age? Or did I just witness her offending the law.”

“I am an adult,” Rina protested, blood racing to her face.

“Sadly, lacking decent upbringing and manners, I’d say. But what would you expect from a death eater’s daughter.”

“My father was acquitted. He was acquitted. And that was twenty years ago.” Rina clamped her teeth together.

“Your father was acquitted because of benefit of the doubt, Ms Malfoy.”

“It’s Ms Granger- Malfoy, certainly you would not forget who my mother is.” She narrowed her eyes. “You know, the witch without whom Harry Potter would have died a thousand times over.”

“I am quite certain, Rina, that Mr Weasley needs no reminder about the identity of your mother.” Dad’s face was still a mask, but his eyes clearly told her to shut up.

Mr Weasley scowled at her. “Your mother is also the witch that disrupted wizarding society and overthrew a perfectly capable minister of magic, all because she associated with a murderer.”

Rina opened her mouth, but her father’s hand descended on her arm again, and pressed it, hard.

“I beg to differ. First, I’d say that my wife did not overthrow your father. She just reminded him publicly of the fact that even the minister of magic must adhere to the law. Second, I did not kill anybody.”

“That has never been proven, Malfoy. There are plenty of people who doubt that.”

Rina felt tears spring to her eyes, but managed to hold on. It was all so unfair.

Her dad shrugged. “Be that as it may, any crimes would fall under the statute of limitation after two decades anyway.”

“You’ve really got nerve, Malfoy. Maybe I should just send you down to the Malfoy vault to get some galleons and see what happens.”

“I doubt, even a Weasley would do something as stupid as that. A clash between the protection on the vault and my scutum might blow this place up. So, shall we proceed with negotiations? Why don’t you have checked that the money is genuine?”

Mr Weasley narrowed his eyes. He waved to a Goblin and asked him to fetch Mr Fawley. Then he took a paper form, a quill, and sat down.

“What do you need the galleons for?”

Dad frowned. “That is nothing of your business.”

Mr Weasley’s face took on an ugly red colour. “You are difficult today, Malfoy. It’s a new ministry regulation against money laundering.”

“Which surely is against paragraph 32 of squib law that protects privacy.”

Mr Weasley smiled. “But you are not a squib, are you? So… you are obliged to tell me, as long as your wife does not hand in one of her remonstrations against wizarding law.”

He put down the quill. “That is, if you want to make an exchange. I’ve already told you, that it might be better to return another day.”

Dad pressed his lips together and stayed silent for a moment. Rina wondered if he was tempted to leave.

He drew a deep breath. “I need the galleons for the same purpose as usual. School equipment for my children.”

Mr Weasley’s quill still hovered over the parchment. “School starts in September, it’s January.”

“My son needs a new wand.”

The quill scribbled on the parchment.

“So, you would need about seven galleons? Given the usual price at Ollivander’s? I am surprised, Malfoy, you actually brought enough pounds to get the sum you need for once.”

Rina could not help herself. “The official exchange rate is five to one,” she protested. Ollivander would never sell them a wand for seven galleons.

Her dad scowled at her.

“You are quite right, Ms Malfoy, but that is only for muggles who need to buy at Diagon alley for their wizard or witch children. This is not the exchange we set for others. Galleons are partly gold, just in case you didn’t know, and we can’t have people take the galleons, melt them and make a fortune out of them in the Muggle world.”

“That would be illegal.”

“Which is why we have to prevent it happening.”

“Rina, I want you to wait outside, while I discuss this with Mr Weasley.” Dad’s eyes clearly told her that she did not improve the situation.

Rina fought tears and nodded. She clutched her bag and her wand and turned.

“Where are your manners?” she heard behind her back.

She felt the blood drain from her face.

“Good bye, Mr Weasley, have a nice evening,” she pressed out.

She managed to walk out with her head held high and tears held firmly in check. When she had reached the entrance, she risked a glance back and gasped when she saw that her father was on his knees.

She stumbled outside, sat on the stairs that led to the great entrance of the bank.

‘Beg, Malfoy’, he had said. It looked like Mr Weasley was true to his word. She was oblivious to the people around her and just let her tears fall.

[princess-of-france]

I’m interested in your take on Angelo & Isabella w/ personality parallels (also just your opinion on Angelo especially tbh because I feel like I under-analyzed him when I read the play bc I was just. Well, found him scary :P) because obviously w/ your production you’re pretty deep in and I don’t see a lot of MFM content

Oof, this is a loaded question.

I’m happy to answer it, but I think I should make a disclaimer that—as you point out—my opinions of Angelo are skewed by my experiences as an actor inside a specific production. I’m also not an English scholar; I’m a theater artist. My lit crit skills are dodgy at best (as @lizbennett2013 knows all too well), and I don’t believe there is a single way to interpret any character in drama, especially when you’re dealing with heightened text. All I can do is give my honest appraisal of Angelo as I have encountered him dramaturgically through cutting our script, rehearsing Isabella, and seeing his iterations in other productions. 

So! Angelo and Isabella. Two sides of the same coin. I really think they are.

Let’s get the obvious stuff out of the way first: Angelo is scary. He just is. His sexually motivated exploitation of authority continues to be one of the most transcendent aspects of this ever-timely play. However you stage it, however you trim the text, whatever charismatic actor you slot into the role, Angelo is a capital-T-Terror and there’s no getting around it. Coercive, manipulative, hypocritical, ruthless, misogynistic, fraudulent, and cruel, he basically spends the entirety of MEASURE FOR MEASURE committing crimes and then soliloquizing about how painful it all is for his bargain-price conscience. You’ll never hear me say he doesn’t deserve his reputation as one of the most reprehensible tyrants in all of Shakespeare. 

But.

Of the three defining qualities I see in Angelo—ideological dogmatism, rhetorical prowess, and professional pride—there’s not one of them that is not blisteringly prominent in his antagonist, Isabella. Despite the fact that she’s a Catholic republican (“Butt out of people’s lives, Big Government; God will judge us when we die!”) and he’s a Puritan[ical] bureaucrat (“My job is to regulate people’s lives because purgatory is a myth!”), they have far more in common, cognitively, than not. Understand: I’m not saying that Angelo is not a piece of shit for how he behaves throughout course of the play. Nor am I implying that Isabella is somehow culpable for his masturbatory exercise of power over her. My girl has flaws, but she’s unquestionably the hero of M4M. What I’m trying to articulate is that Angelo and Isabella were born with the same psychological toolkit, which they elect to apply towards radically different purposes. (Think Parseltongue and “It is our choices that show who we truly are, far more than our abilities…”) This shared intellectual arsenal is what makes their pair of scenes in Act Two so iconic. We basically get to watch them play out Newton’s Third Law in real time: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction… As far as rhetoric goes, neither Isabella nor Angelo can overwhelm the other. For every argument she makes in favor of mercy, he punctures it with legalism. For every judicial explication he provides, she dissolves it with morality. One minute, we’re nodding our heads along with Angelo as he explains why Christian values should have no place in a court of law; the next, we’re on our feet cheering for Isabella to convince him to factor human integrity into his role as a public servant. I can’t read 2.2 as anything other than the blueprint for every screenplay Aaron Sorkin ever wrote. It is the ultimate courtroom drama.

Just look at the play’s opening act. Angelo’s hasty promotion aside, both he and Isabella begin the story at the lowest rung of their respective vocational ladders: he’s a would-be Chief Justice, she’s a would-be Prioress. Deputy/nun. Politics/religion. Different spheres/same ambition. And, in like true zealots, both Angelo and Isabella express their commitment to their new duties in terms of self-flagellation:

“You may not so extenuate his offenseFor I have had such faults, but rather tell me,When I that censure him do so offend,Let mine own judgment pattern out my deathAnd nothing come in partial.”        (Angelo, II.i.29-33)

“And have you nuns no farther privileges?[…] I speak not as desiring more,But rather wishing a more strict restraintUpon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare.”        (Isabella, I.iv.1, 3-5)

It’s also worth mentioning that our first introduction to these characters features them scurrying along in the wake of an authority figure they respect. 

Act 1, Scene 1: Angelo wants to know the extent to which he can wield his law degree at the pleasure of the Duke of Vienna (the Duke himself!). 

Act 1, Scene 4: Isabella wants to know the extent to which she can practice self-denial for the glory of God and the approval of Mother Superior. 

They are both drawn to gravitas, to figures who represent order and authority. They are also drawn to discipline. He’s a non-drinking, non-smoking Precision. She’s a gluttony-abhorring Bride of Christ. Let the rest of the world eat cake. They will be eating their sins and purifying their souls, thank you very much.

At the risk of descending into the flaming pits of cliché, I’ll also touch on those three qualities I mentioned earlier, because who says the TPE (Three Paragraph Essay) is dead? 

First up: ideological dogmatism.

[Side note: I may be a crappy historian, but I do recognize there’s a historical paradigm at play in this text. Vienna needs to be a Catholic city and Angelo’s Protestantism needs to be allusive because Shakespeare presumably valued all his limbs and didn’t relish the idea of rotting in a Cheapside prison. If he’d lived in a “free press” kind of sociocultural context, he might have endowed his religious figures with a bit more Opinion. I digress.]

In the M4M-centered episode of Isaac Butler’s phenomenal podcast, “Lend Me Your Ears,” he interviews JohnPaul Spiro (Assistant Director of the School of Liberal Arts, Villanova University), who does a wonderfully unfussy job of summing up the Angelo/Isabella ideology parallel:

“In much the same way as our era is filled with political zealots—as well as, to a certain degree, religious zealots—what you’ll find when you look closer is there’s a small number of very loud people who are dominating the discourse. And a lot of people are in the middle and would rather not have to take sides. Claudio, he seems to be monogamous, he seems to want to just live a very simple life, he’s not really concerned with theological things. And when pressed on theological things, his point is: ‘I don’t really know. No one really knows what happen when you die, so I’m scared.’”

Because religious extremism lies at the heart of the rhetorical warfare between Angelo and Isabella, I think there’s a misconception that M4M is a Play About Religion. But the ONLY characters who canonically go to the mat about the finer points of theology are…wait for it…Angelo and Isabella. This is an early modern text brimming with religious figures (Sister Francisca, Friar Thomas, Friar Peter, even the phony Friar Lodowick), but not a single one of them gets on the pulpit about ANYTHING in the course of the entire play. Sister Francisca’s role consists of bemusedly listening to her youthful novitiate describe her desire for stricter prohibitions at the cloister. Friar Thomas, a sycophantic priest whose parish coffers are probably lined with Vincentio’s gold, spends his one onstage scene nodding his head sympathetically as the Duke over-explains why he is disguising himself as a monk. Friar Peter, the poor Jesuit roped into delivering the Duke’s messages, forgoes moralizing and instead uses his limited dialogue to try to help two disenfranchised women receive justice for their abuse. And Friar Lodowick, of course, is nothing but an alias for a cowardly sociopath who wants to run the world without being held accountable for his mistakes. Nothing evangelical about any of that.

But Angelo and Isabella? They can’t shut up about religion. 

Isabella wants Angelo to temper his punitive Weltanschauung with morality, ideology, Platonic ideals, metaphysics…in short, all of the intangibles that can’t be used as evidence in a court of law. 

“Why, all the souls that were were forfeit onceAnd He that might the vantage best have tookFound out the remedy. How would you be,If He, which is the top of judgment, shouldBut judge you as you are? O, think on thatAnd mercy then will breathe within your lips,Like man new made.”        (Isabella, II.ii.97-103)

Angelo, in turn, wants Isabella to recognize the futility of Catholicism as a proper tool for creating heaven on earth because Catholicism permits withdrawal from the world and the abdication of earthly responsibility (cf: nunnery). Instead, he argues, what God actually needs is for people to actively toil in their communities to criminalize, punish, and eradicate sin. 

“I show [pity] most of all when I show justice,For then I pity those I do not know,Which a dismissed offense would after gall,And do him right that—answering one foul wrong—Lives not to act another.”        (Angelo, II.ii.128-132)

They take up the two sides of a theological debate that predates Christianity: ethics vs. justice. And that conflict is itself inextricably tied to the timeless political debate of non-intervention vs. regulation. And the thing is: even when Angelo and Isabella realize the irreconcilability of their respective schools of thought, they KEEP ARGUING ABOUT IT because extremism is just that: extreme. Angelo and Isabella may be major players in M4M, but they represent the radical minority of their world. They are the “small group of very loud people” and literally everyone is a moderate next to them. Ideology, not desire, is the bedrock of their personhood. When confronted with a person of an uncompromisingly polar viewpoint, they behave as if it might be possible to change the viewpoint of that person because the alternative is to admit defeat. To tragic effect, they hold their ideals more sacred than human life. For Angelo, that ideal is the law (i.e. integrity of action). For Isabella, it’s chastity (i.e. integrity of the soul). They are dogmatic in their beliefs, inflexible in their opinions, and inalienably convinced of their own “rightness.” They are austere, incisive, independent, articulate, and sharp. They are disgusted by the depravity of the world around them and determined to transcend it. What differentiates them is the content of their convictions, but they rate the value of that conviction equally.

So, yes, M4M is a play acutely interested in how religion shapes the law and human behavior. But I would argue that it is really only about one thing: power.

Which brings me to rhetoric.

Angelo and Isabella are lawyers. Both of them. High-powered, quick-thinking, weakness-sniffing, self-righteous litigators. Sure, Isabella may not have the paperwork to prove it; she was conceived by an Englishman in the early 17th century. But much in the same way that it’s obvious to everyone with eyes that would-be nun Maria [von Trapp] is a born music teacher from the first scene of The Sound of Music, so is it evident from Isabella’s first moments onstage that she is a born lawyer. She was, quite simply, born to argue.

Consider her first scene onstage: in the nunnery, with Lucio and Francisca. Unlike the audience, Isabella doesn’t have empirical evidence of Lucio’s amorality and notorious womanizing. She doesn’t need it. She can smell it on him. And in six short lines, she wipes the mosaic-laced marble floor of the cathedral with his ass:

LUCIOCan you so stead meAs bring me to the sight of Isabella,A novice of this place and the fair sisterTo her unhappy brother, Claudio?

ISABELLAWhy her “unhappy brother”? Let me ask,The rather for I now must make you knowI am that Isabella, and his sister.

LUCIOGentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you.Not to be weary with you, he’s in prison.

ISABELLAWoe me, for what?

LUCIOFor that which, if myself might be his judge,He should receive his punishment in thanks:He hath got his friend with child.

ISABELLASir, make me not your story.

LUCIO‘Tis true.I would not, though ‘tis my familiar sinWith maids to seem the lapwing and to jest,Tongue far from heart, play with all virgins so.I hold you as a thing enskied and sainted,By your renouncement an immortal spiritAnd to be talked with in sincerityAs with a saint.

ISABELLAYou do blaspheme the good in mocking me.

        (I.iv.18-40)

I’m not going to venture down the English professor’s rabbit hole of rhetorical devices and syntactical analysis—partly because there are thousands of scholars who have already done it better than I ever could (check out Claire McEachern and Julie Felise Dubiner!) and partly because I’ve been blathering for too long in general. But sufficed to say that three hallmarks of a good lawyer are as follows: 

The ability to seize and repurpose the language of one’s opponent (“Why her ‘unhappy brother?’”)

The ability to spot and sidestep landmines (“Sir, make me not your story.”)

The ability to redirect conversation (“You do blaspheme.”)

By that metric alone, Isabella’s performance here is worthy of the Harvard Law Review. 

And then, of course, two scenes later, she meets her match. 

A dear friend of mine, who is a first-year at Georgetown Law and basically the smartest person I’ve ever met, once told me: “The best and worst thing that can happen to a good lawyer is to meet another good lawyer with different ideas.” I do apologize for invoking Sorkin twice in one essay, but honestly: “The President likes smart people who disagree with him” (Leo, The West Wing, 2x05). It is a truth universally acknowledged that however infuriating it is for a highly intelligent person to debate with an equally intelligent person who disagrees with everything they stand for, it can also be unbelievably stimulating and monumentally entertaining to watch. (Hello, 50 million seasons of Law & Order.)

I’m now two weeks deep into rehearsals for M4M and I still get gobsmacked, daily, by the sheer majesty of Angelo’s and Isabella’s rhetoric. Theirs goes so far beyond the mental agility of anyone else in this play, or even—dare I say it—in Shakespeare’s canon. They are beyond intelligent. They are freaky genius kids with the kind of sanctimonious stubbornness that would be obnoxious if it weren’t so damn compelling. Between the two of them, between their two infamous scenes, they pull out every rhetorical trick in the book and play approximately seventeen unique rounds of intellectual checkers. (I say checkers because chess is too slow for them. If you want chilly brinksmanship, check out the Roman plays. Angelo and Isabella have agendas and professional pride on the line. Time is of the essence.)

ISABELLAI do think that you might pardon him,And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy.

ANGELOI will not do it.

ISABELLABut can you, if you would?

ANGELOLook, what I cannot, that I will not do.

ISABELLABut might you do it, and do the world no wrongIf so your heart were touched with that remorseAs mine is to him?

ANGELOHe’s sentenced. ‘Tis too late.

ISABELLA“Too late”? Why, no. I, that do speak a word,Might call it back again.

        (II.ii.67-78 [italics are mine])

Things get even more complicated when they start moving into those same theoretical marshes I described earlier:

“If he had been as you, and you as he,You would have slipped like him, but he like youWould not have been so stern.”        (Isabella, II.ii.84-86)

“The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.Those many had not dared to do that evilIf the first that did th’ edict infringeHad answered for his deed. Now ‘tis awake…”        (Angelo, II.ii.117-120)

ENOUGH WITH THE METAPHORS ALREADY. CLAUDIO IS ON DEATH ROW.

And even when they finally, finally get to the point, they remain at an impasse:

ISABELLAYet show some pity.

ANGELOI show it most when I show justice.

        (II.ii.127-128)

Which causes Isabella essentially to lose all sense of self-awareness and control because goddam it, never once in her entire life has she met a person she couldn’t out-argue, who the fuck does this deputy think he is, this was supposed to be a simple mission and she’s been standing in this room for ten minutes and he’s still siTTING THERE SMILING AT HER WHAT THE F—

“So you must be the first that gives this sentence,And he that suffers. O, it is excellentTo have a giant’s strength, but it is tyrannousTo use it like a giant[…]Could great men thunderAs Jove himself does, Jove would never be quiet,For every pelting, petty officerWould use his heaven for thunder,Nothing but thunder. Merciful heaven,Thou rather with thy sharp and sulfurous boltSplits the un-wedgeable and gnarlèd oakThan the soft myrtle. But man, proud man,Dressed in a little brief authority,Most ignorant of what he’s most assured,His glassy essence like an angry apePlays such fantastic tricks before high heavenAs makes the angels weep, who with our spleensWould all themselves laugh mortal.”        (Isabella, II.ii.134-152)

Which causes ANGELO to lose all self-awareness and control because goddam it, never once in his entire life has he met a person he couldn’t out-argue, who the fuck does this nun think she is, this was supposed to be a simple smackdown and she’s been standing in this room for ten minutes and he’s still waiting for her to admit defeat and oh God oh no oh no oh no why can’t he look away from her face, what the fuck is happening what the F—

ANGELOWHY DO YOU PUT THESE SAYINGS UPON ME?

ISABELLABecause authority, though it err like others,Hath yet a kind of medicine in itselfThat skins the vice o’ th’ top. Go to your bosom,Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth knowThat’s like my brother’s fault. If it confessA natural guiltiness such as is his,Let it not sound a thought upon your tongueAgainst my brother’s life.

ANGELO, asideShe speaks and ‘tis such senseThat my sense breeds with it.

        (II.ii.163-173)

Finally, Angelo gets her to leave and faces the music. My tremendous co-actor, Jude Van der Voorde, always slays this soliloquy.

“What’s this, what’s this? Is this her fault or mine?The tempter or the tempted, who sins most, ha?Not she; nor doth she tempt, but it is IThat, lying by the violet in the sun,Do as the carrion does, not as the flower,Corrupt with virtuous season.”        (Angelo, II.iv.199-204)

[Non sequitur: Jude is the kind of actor actors dream of acting with. He’s always got at least one trick up his sleeve, so my Isabella is constantly second-guessing herself around him. And he does the “sleazy wunderkind act” with a panache rivaling BJ Novak’s in Season 4 of The Office. He’s also one of the funniest people I’ve ever met. Kids, don’t be Method. Make friends with your fellow actors. Leave the emotions onstage and go get a midnight pizza. You will be so much happier.]

With regards to the M4M narrative, we all know what happens next, although it takes an agonizing 175 lines of text in 2.4 before Shakespeare levels off and gives us the canonical threat:

“Redeem thy brotherBy yielding up thy body to my will,Or else he must not only die the death,But thy unkindness shall his death draw outTo lingering sufferance. Answer me tomorrowOr by the affection that now guides me mostI’ll prove a tyrant to him. As for you:Say what you can, my false o’erweighs your true.”        (Angelo, II.iv.177-184)

What precedes this is the kind of tension-groaning, hair-splitting, goosebump-raising rhetorical tarantella that television writers today spend their entire careers trying to emulate. Isabella plays the fool for as long as she possibly can…

ANGELONay, but hear me.Your sense pursues not mine. Either you are ignorantOr seem so, crafty, and that’s not good.

ISABELLALet me be ignorant, and in nothing goodBut graciously to know I am no better.

        (II.iv.79-83)

…but eventually Angelo forces her hand and she has to deflect his onslaught with the sleek diplomacy of a kidnapping victim.

ISABELLABetter it were a brother died at onceThan that a sister, by redeeming him,Should die forever.

ANGELOWere not you then as cruel as the sentenceThat you have slandered so?

ISABELLAIgnomy in ransom and free pardonAre of two houses. Lawful mercyIs nothing kin to foul redemption.

ANGELOYou seemed of late to make the law a tyrant,And rather proved the sliding of your brotherA merriment than a vice.

ISABELLAO, pardon me, my lord. It oft falls out,To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean.I something do excuse the thing I hateFor his advantage that I dearly love.

        (II.iv.114-128)

Remember when I said that Angelo and Isabella are alike in that they are inalienably convinced of their own “rightness”? That still holds true. But now Angelo, without warning, has moved beyond the conceits of debate and is taking Isabella’s rhetorical arguments from 2.2 at literal face value in order to trip her up. He’s brought ideology crashing down to earth and introduced their physical relationship into the conversation…again, without warning and very much without her consent. And she has to figure out a way to back-peddle on her words without yielding defeat of the argument. It is nigh impossible. And I bring it up because guess who gets trapped in the exact same situation three short acts later?

LUCIOCome, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foh, sir! Why, you bald-pated, lying rascal, you must be hooded, must you? Show your knave’s visage, with a pox to you! Show your sheep-biting face, and be hanged an hour! Will ‘t not off?

        (LUCIO pulls off the friar’s hood and reveals the DUKE.)

DUKEThou art the first knave that e’er made’st a duke.—First, Provost, let me bail these gentle three.—Sneak not away, sir, for the friar and youMust have a word anon.—Lay hold on him.

LUCIOThis may prove worse than hanging.

DUKEWhat you have spoke I pardon. Sit you down.We’ll borrow place of him.       (to Angelo)Sir, by your leave.Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudenceThat yet can do thee office? If thou hast,Rely upon it till my tale be heardAnd hold no longer out.

ANGELOO my dread lord,I should be guiltier than my guiltinessTo think I can be undiscernible,When I perceive your Grace, like power divine,Hath looked upon my passes.         (V.i.395-421)

Game, set, match.

As for ego… Do I really need to talk about professional pride? I don’t think so. It’s Angelo and Isabella. Pride leaks out of every virtually every line they speak in this play. Pride in their conviction, pride in their moral righteousness, pride in their intellect, pride in their ability to judge the world with clarity (or whatever). Angelo actually admits it out loud to us in perhaps his most famous soliloquy, because the little fucker has a lot more Catholic guilt about lusting after a novitiate nun than his Protestant heart would like to admit:

“The state whereon I studiedIs, like a good thing being often read,Grown sere and tedious. Yea, my gravity,Wherein—let no man hear me—I take pride,Could I with boot change for an idle plumeWhich the air beats for vain.”        (Angelo, II.iv.7-15)

And even though Isabella could easily be the poster child for Christian piety, she’s so damn proud of her own humility that she occasionally threatens to void it altogether. 

ANGELOWhat would you do?

ISABELLAAs much for my poor brother as myself.That is, were I under the terms of death,Th’ impression of keen whips I’d wear as rubiesAnd strip myself to death as to a bedThat longing have been sick for, ere I’d yieldMy body up to shame.

        (II.iv.107-111)

Look at me, Angelo. Look at this body. It’s mine. Mine and God’s. I see what you’re doing, I know where you’re trying to go. And it is never. going. to happen.

Two weeks into rehearsal and I’m still not sure I’m convincing in my delivery of these lines. I’ve watched every filmed production of M4M I can get my hands on, and it’s no help. I just don’t know what to make of this. Scholars disagree virulently about these lines, but also…scholars aren’t actors, you know? I find myself questioning everything every time I get to this passage. Is Isabella actually a virgin? I’m not sure. Chastity and virginity aren’t actually the same thing and Isabella, for all her idealism, is more worldly than many of her ingenue brethren. One thing is for sure: she’s flushed with self-righteousness when she speaks these words. Angelo may be a haughty son of a bitch, but so is she, so is she, so is she.

Ugh, these characters. I love them so much. I hate Angelo, I do. I also love him. And God help me I love Isabella. They’re dumpster fires of human conviction and I’m so grateful to Shakespeare for giving us their story and for understanding four hundred fucking years ago, that this, THIS is the pinnacle of hell in the female experience: “Who would believe thee, Isabel?”

#MeToo

Thank you, Will. Thank you.

I feel like I should apologize for the length of this reply, but I’ve had so much freaking fun that I also don’t feel apologetic. Thank you for this amazing question! Hope you’re doing well! xx Claire

Tagging @malvoliowithin @measureformeasure @harry-leroy @suits-of-woe

[chaoticneutralwriter]

Unorthodox

You can’t tell whether you’re fortunate or not to have a guardian demon who thinks it’s funny to go around looking like your idol crush BTS’ Park Jimin.

Writing Prompt; Everyone has a guardian angel except you. You have a guardian demon. He deals with things in a much more violent fashion, but much more effective.

guardiandemon!Jimin x reader

genre: fluff, a little light, a little anxiety inducing though given what will happen, minor mentions of death and blood but nothing too graphic

word count: 3.7k

Related works: Genuine | 3AM Demon | The Grinch Who Stole New Year | Distance and The Heart

A/N: I thought this prompt was so good for Halloween but....late to the party again.... LOLL Also this is a bit of a mental gymnastic but don’t think too hard on it. Also, BST!Jimin is forever the look™ and I’m still not over it.

“Oh my God Jess that’s so bad!” You laugh as your friend finishes her story. The rest of your group laughs along with you, sharing their own off handed comments on the whole situation she was put in. Eventually, you had to quiet down and reel them back as you had caught stares and looks from the other patrons in the cafe you were all in.

 It’s a Saturday afternoon and granted the place was busier than usual, you still managed to be the loudest bunch, getting a little too carried away with the volume of your voices. You shoot any lingering miffed gazes an apologetic smile as does some of your friends who noticed, but you can’t help yourself. It’s been so long since you’ve all got together to just hang out, everyone so caught up in their lives that time had become a luxury and any free schedules overlapping becoming as rare as a blue moon.

 So it’s times like these that you cherish, seeing everyone after so long of just the occasional instant messaging that your worries seem to fade. Eventually, your group has decided that perhaps your rambunctious energy needed to be taken elsewhere lest you wanted to disturb the people again. Seeing as how the weather outside is lovely, you all head out to do some city strolling.

 You all chatter amicably with each other, bouncing from one conversation to another. Your group makes it to a park, unanimously settling down under a tree.

 “Did you see BTS’ new song MV?” gasps one of your friends and you return her enthusiasm, eyes alight.

 “Yes! The song was so good! And how they look?!” You pause to inhale, heart palpitating at the memory of the video you watched earlier before meeting up. It was such a good way to start off your day that, as you left your house, you felt nothing could possibly ruin it.

 Or so you thought.

 Amongst the excited conversation, your gaze wanders, taking in your surroundings. It’s no surprise that you see many people walking about and relaxing or having fun in their own way and for a moment, nothing seems out of place until your eyes land on an all too familiar face. You pale, feeling your blood run cold despite the heat of the afternoon sun at the figure lounging just too casually for your taste on the bench with a vantage point straight at you.

 Even from the distance, you see his lips quirk up into a smirk, eyes crinkling in the slightest and you just know that he’s been watching you way before you had even spotted him. You hate this feeling, this sensation of breaking out into a cold sweat when such a face, under any other circumstance, would have brought you a whole slew of other emotions except absolute dread. And you hate him all the more for it.

 “Y/N? Hey, you don’t look so good. You okay?” You hear your friend call but to you, it sounded so far away from the blood rushing through your ears.

 “Y-Yeah, I’m fine. I just— I-I think I’m gonna go use the washroom real quick.” You manage to stutter, shooting a shaky smile their way before shooting up to your feet and walking off, not giving them a chance to squeeze in another word.

 You walk the distance heading towards to the washroom but after making sure you’re far enough from your friends’ line of sight, you divert. You circle around to make your way back to the bench you saw him in, only to see that it’s devoid of the occupant you’re looking for. Your mouth gapes in confusion as you scan your immediate area but failing to find the dark cladded figure.

 “Looking for me?” His husky tone breathes so close to your ear that it has you jumping. You whip around to find unmistakable dark eyes gleaming back at you with amusement and mischief.

 “God!” You gasp, nerves still rattled by his sudden appearance. He grimaces a little at the name you called out but you could hardly care, the initial dread transforming into annoyance. “What do you think you’re doing here?!”

 “I don’t think you know how this works, darling.” He replies back coolly, hands stuffed into the pockets of his well-pressed trousers as he leans his weight on one hip.

 “I don’t think you know how this works.” You hiss back, brazenly pointing an accusatory finger at the taller male, your eyes darting about quickly to make sure as few people witness this exchange as possible. He goes to open his mouth but you grab a hold of his wrist to pull him behind a large oak tree. He peers at you in disdain, finding your actions over the top and no doubt unnecessary but he lets it slide; he never understood humans and you’re the weirdest one he’s encountered.

 “You can’t just go around so casually looking like…. that! “ You continue, wildly gesturing to his person.

 “I’m sorry if my taste in clothes are far superior for your small human mind to comprehend.”

 “Not what I mean.” You say through gritted teeth, refraining from outright knocking him over the head (he’d probably end up burning you to a crisp, contract be damned). “I meant looking like a Korean idol that the whole world knows! You’ll be spotted!”  

 “And here I thought you’d be rather pleased that I look like this.” He replies in mock exasperation, running a hand through lush silvery locks as if to further emphasize his point. You find yourself holding your breath, cursing at the butterflies unintentionally fluttering in your stomach. You forcefully remind yourself that no, this is not the person who you think it is despite looking exactly like him. 

 In fact, he wasn’t even a person to begin with.

 “If this isn’t what you wanted, would you rather I go for something…. more natural?” The ruby lustre taking over his eyes as well as his sudden drop in tone startles you into action. You nearly tackle him to prevent any sorts of supernatural events from happening in such an open, public space.

 “No! No, no stop! Not what I meant either!” Your hands grip at his arms, heart thrumming a little in panic at his small threat. He smirks triumphantly at you, causing you to narrow your eyes in a glare before releasing your hold on him in a huff. You never realized dealing with a demon could be such a headache. Rubbing at your temples, you exhale through your nose.

 “Just— Can you not follow me around? Or like, not be so out in the open about it? Again, you literally look like a Korean idol…. that actually exists.”

 “So?”

 So?! You think incredulously. You reel yourself in before you explode again. “So…” You reiterate with much effort, “You’re technically famous— a celebrity. Which means people will lose their minds if they see you and on top of that, if photos of you gets out on the internet, your cover is going to be blown because how can anyone explain why Park fricken Jimin of BTS is here, in North America, when he’s also half way across the world in South Korea?!”

 You’re practically whisper screeching from working yourself up, all the while the carbon copy of one Park Jimin (only that he’s not) watches you with mild interest, looking as impeccable as a marble statue. You stop your tirade to pin him with another seething glare and all he does is quirk his lips. To your astonishment, he throws his head back to let out a bark of laughter. If it was actually Park Jimin, you would’ve swooned and keened at the sight but it makes you glance around nervously to see if it has drawn any attention, thankfully no one seems to notice and was stilling milling about, minding their own business.

 He comes down from his spiel, having the gall to wipe at his eyes too.

 “Oh my sweet cherub,” He breathes and you frown at the pet name, “You actually thought I would waltz around to parade this beautiful face for all to see?”

 You give him a pointed look, one that clearly says, ‘Yes you would, knowing you’. He kisses his teeth; hands on either side of his hips and you’re ready for an incoming sassing.

 “What I’m saying is that you’re more stupid than you look and it offends me that you would think I would be stupid enough to do that. Of course I’m aware.” He huffs indignantly. “Which is why, for your information, demons have cloaking spells; which means you might be able to see me but anyone else won’t.” He then peers down at you like he was explaining something to a child. “Happy?”

 “Could’ve told me sooner.” You snap back in defense, like how were you supposed to know any of that beforehand? Not like he gave you a Demon 101 booklet when you first met.

 “Yeah, but I thought it would be funnier to make you look crazy for talking to thin air.” He sniggers back. At that, you whip your gaze around again, immediately landing on a couple and a family watching you warily from a distant. You feel your face heat up in embarrassment, thoughts running a mile a minute, wondering just how long he actually had this cloaking spell on and was just messing with you.

 Your gaze flits back around, ready to give him a piece of your own hell, only to find empty space. You swear you could physically feel your blood pressure rising and perhaps, to your twisted delight, you would die before having to experience the full extent of what it means to have a demon as your metaphorical guardian angel.

 —

 The day goes on with not seeing so much as a hair from the demon with an angel’s face. You breathed a sigh of relief knowing that. You’d spent the rest of the day hanging out with your friends, eventually grabbing dinner together and by the time you’d all said your goodbyes, the sun has long gone down.

 You swiftly make your way down the streets to the nearest subway station, figuring it be much cheaper and faster considering Ubers were much harder to grab on the weekends and in a busy downtown area. Also, the ride wouldn’t be that long anyways.

 Besides, you’re only worry at hand is actually getting to a station; they were practically at least two blocks apart and the chill the night air brings does nothing to settle your growing nerves. Downtown was lovely during the day but at night it’s like all of the shadier things make themselves known. You’re on edge, eyes darting around every so often to be aware of your surroundings as you pick up your pace. 

 Vaguely you hear a man’s gruff voice call out to you but you determinedly ignore it, catching sight of the station’s sign just ahead of you. You make your way down the stairs, heart starting to beat a little erratically as you press your metro pass to the gate and slide through. Once you’ve descended the second flight of stairs leading to the tracks, your nerves starts to settle down.

 The train hadn’t arrived yet, a quick glance up at the monitor informed you that it would be in five minutes, leaving you with no choice but to wait. You heave a breath to yourself, taking out your phone to plug your headphones in. Taking a quick glance around, you find that you’re probably one of three people in the tunnel; a man sitting hunched over on one of the benches looking a little worse for wear and an older lady way down the other end from where you were.

 You think nothing much after, and before you know it the train is pulling up on the tracks. You shuffle in, easily finding a seat given the lack of passengers in your car. Another sigh; you’re halfway to getting home and so far, there’s no hiccups. You relax at the notion, settling into your seat as the train takes off and you wait again until your stop arrives.

 It was about two stops away that things start going south. It starts when the compartment door to your cart slides open, startling you to look up and see the man at the station before you boarded. You duck your head down, not wanting to draw any attention and hoping that he’s just passing through. Luck wasn’t on your side however, as he stumbles and then takes a seat right across from you, the scent wafting from him nearly makes you choke.

 You’re determined to fixate your gaze on your phone, pretending to be scrolling through the same apps you have open, but even then you could feel his heavy gaze on you.

 Please, please hurry up! 

 You steal a quick glance anxiously at the map above you, a small LED light indicating which stop you’ve just left and how far away yours is. It’s then that you hear a gruff voice call out through your headphones. Still, you pretend you didn’t hear and it worked until his voice grew to a volume that it startles you. Nervously, your eyes flit to meet the man and warily take out an earbud.

 “Fuckin’ kids goin’ deaf.” You hear him say under his breath before he roughly grunts, “Got any change on you?”

 You shake your head, quietly replying, “No, I don’t. Sorry.” And you silently prayed that would be the end of that but before you can put your earbud back in, the man speaks again.

 “Where’re you goin’ so late huh?”

 “Just— home. Excuse me.” You keep your answer clipped, shooting up from your seat with the decision to get off this cart at the upcoming station and try to get back on in one where there were other people on. The station the train pulls up is one short from your actual stop but you don’t think you can handle being in the same cart alone with this man, even if it’s just for one more station. You get off, trying to keep yourself from trembling to be as subtle as possible. You’re best bet was that you a) get on a cart that has people or b) he won’t follow you at all and you can possibly catch the next train.

 Unfortunately, neither one happens because out of your peripheral you see his looming figure exit the cart, walking down your way. You pick up your pace, heading more to towards the front of the train but the chimes signaling the doors are about to close catches your attention and you gasp. You bolt into the closest cart and hope that you were much quicker than the man.

 Heart racing, you glance around, finding an empty cart. You’re not sure whether that’s a good sign or not but you’ll take it.

 Just one more stop.

 You chant it like a mantra, too antsy to take a seat now as your mind had taken precautions that if you see any signs of the man again, you would head through the compartment leading to other carts.

 Your station name rings over the PA and you almost jump in joy. As soon as the doors slides open, you’re out of there. You make quick work of the steps, leading up from the tracks and then exiting the station. The orange tinge of the streetlights offer little comfort to you as the prospect of having to clear one more block before getting to your house looms at the forefront of your thoughts.

 You steel yourself and walk at a faster pace than usual, head down and clutching your bag in a vice grip. You round the corner of the convenient store, a checkpoint. You’re nearly there.

 “Hey, girlie.”

 You spoke too soon, so hyper focused on just getting home that you miss out on a group of guys hanging around off the side of the store (doing God knows what). Your strides, though fast, were not long enough to outpace the figure coming up beside you.

 “Where you going so late?”

 You shrink away from him, trembling as you try to maintain as much distance as you can without having to put yourself out on the road. You think, quite frustratingly, why do they not have anything better to do as you stubbornly ignore his advances, and very close to straight up running. 

 “Shouldn’t be out here on your own like this.” You catch the sentence too close for comfort and that was the final straw to push you into a run. You don’t get far however, as a large hand roughly grasps you by the elbow, jerking you off balance.

 “Hey! I’m talking to you. It’s rude to ignore someone who’s—“

 “Don’t touch me!” You shout, voice bordering hysteria. You rip yourself from the man’s hold with as much force as you can and it causes you to stumble a little. For the first time, you catch sight of three figures, the one speaking being closer to you compared to what you assume are his friends, trailing not too far behind but you don’t care to put a face to your harasser.

 “What the fuck! Why you gotta be such a bitch for?!” The hand makes a grab for you and snags your bag. The force this time gives you a whiplash, shoulder pulled painfully and you whimper, feeling tremors go through your body uncontrollably now with tears threatening to overtake your sight.

 Your mind flies into a panicked state, seconds away from abandoning your  bag altogether and just making a run for it when the street lamps overhead flickers. All at once, they go out along with any light source within the area because suddenly everything is so dark.

 It all happened so fast.

 The weight is lifted off of you, a chill settling over and then you hear an ear-piercing shriek. You can’t tell if it’s your own or something else as a cacophony of noises fill your ears.

 Indecipherable shouting.

 Scraping.

 Crunching.

 Gurgling.

 Disembody voices.

 And then silence.

 It felt like you had been trapped in a whirlwind, shaking violently from the aftermath of it and so disoriented you hadn’t realized you’ve curled in on yourself with eyes shut tight until a soft voice coaxes at you.

 “Y/N….” 

 It’s familiar, you’ve heard the lilt many times before and it so easily calms your hyperventilating. Despite the comfort it brings however, the strangeness of hearing such a voice so close to you creeps back in. A warm hand brushes against your own held to your ears and though the touch is gentle, you still flinch. The hand retracts momentarily before the voice speaks to you again.

 “Y/N…deep breaths and look at me, Y/N.” It’s a soft command and you do as you’re told, breathing in deeply and exhaling a couple of times before finally peeling your eyes open.

 Your vision is slightly blurred from unshed tears, but you make out his handsome, young face and silvery locks in the orange dim of streetlights. His deep ruby eyes bore into yours steadily, expression stoic if only for his gaze to betray the concern reflecting in them. He blinks and they’re back to being a deep brown.

 “That’s my girl.” He praises with a small smirk, voice no louder than a murmur as his hand engulfs yours in a warm hold. An overwhelming urge to be close to him takes over, as if your body and mind is crying with relief at the sight of a safe haven and before you can think straight, you rush forward, collapsing into him with hands feebly finding purchase on his black button down shirt. 

 “Jimin….” You croak out, care and logic thrown out the window because you so desperately need something to anchor you down right now and his was a face that your mind knew could do you no harm, like it was second nature. He doesn’t seem to mind; gathering you in his arms all the same and gently cradles you.

 “Easy now…shhh easy.” You hear him coo as you bury your face into his neck until your senses flood with his scent; a surprising combination of lavender, vanilla and spices. His hands rub soothing circles around your back until the shaky breaths you exhale return to normal. 

 He helps you to stand slowly, minding the small tremors that erupt every so often from you and the way he’s treating you like he’s handling delicate glass is so unlike how he normally is that it makes you want to double-take.

 “Are you hurt?” He pulls away from you slightly if only for that moment to ask, though he takes the liberty to look you over himself anyways without waiting for your reply. You shake your head no, voice still feeling as if it’s stuck in your throat. As he’s wiping away a stray tear, you bring your gaze to take a good look at him, eyes drawing up to take in his full height. His silvery coiffed hair is still immaculate as ever and his face is picture perfect, flawless except….

 You reach up in spite of your shaky hands to decipher what it is that marred his otherwise porcelain complexion when he stops you. He gently guides your hand away before reaching up with his own to swipe at his cheek. Your Jimin doppelganger tsked at the sight, indifferently wiping his soiled fingers onto his shirt.

 “Nothing for you to worry about, darling.” He says, smiling at you so angelically. You blink, perplexed until slowly, your mind starts to catch up with the events that transpired.

 “W-Where—?” You make to turn your head around, looking for your assailant but again, he stops you by taking a hold of your chin and directing it back to him.

 “Ah, ah, eyes on me sweetheart. Like I said, there’s nothing to worry about anymore. You’re safe.” 

 “But—“

 “Shh... Sleep.” His hand gently cups your cheek and with his whispered words, your mind is overcome with a sudden haze and your eyelids droop shut.

 He catches you mid-fall, scooping you up in his arms as if you weighed nothing more than a feather. He kisses his teeth again, annoyance rolling off of him in waves as his eyes narrow down on his also soiled shoes.

 Whatever.

 At least you didn’t notice that.

 Nor the streaks of blood leading to the dumpster.

[andorerso]

Jyn and Bodhi are investigating the disappearance of a drama teacher when they accidentally stumble upon a school play based on their lives. And the writer of the play has some very specific ideas about the nature of her relationship with Cassian.

so yeah, here’s the Supernatural AU I was talking about. It’s based on the 200th episode but I think it should be okay for people who don’t watch it? It’s pretty silly tbh, I have no excuses.

@cats-and-metersticks if you’re still interested!

you can find it on ao3 as well

Jyn was going to strangle Yoda if she ever saw him again.

This was all his fault, as far as she was concerned, him and his damn books. If it weren’t for the stupid old man writing about their lives and the monsters they dealt with – as if he had any right to – and publishing it as a series of fantasy novels, of all things, there wouldn’t be fans. There wouldn’t be fanfiction. And there would be no goddamn school plays.

Jyn thought she’d made her peace with the “Supernatural” books already, had forgotten about it, best as she could. There was nothing to be done; Yoda had disappeared, and the books were over. That was a small comfort, at least.

But when she and Bodhi investigated the disappearance of a drama teacher in Flint, Michigan, it turned out the play she had been working on with her students just happened to be the musical version of “Supernatural.” The characters were all there: Lyra in her bloody nightgown, the man in white, Chirrut with his staff, Baze with his flamethrower. Bodhi with his ponytail, Cassian in his blue parka. And of course, Jyn herself with her kyber necklace and a low bun. Jyn wanted to ram her head into the wall as soon as she saw it.

The girl didn’t even look like her.

Bodhi had the gall to grin like this delighted him and Jyn gave him a glare so murderous, even his smile froze a little. But there was nothing to be done, she just had to push her anger down and play along. They were here on a job, she was a professional; of course she could ignore the ridiculousness of the situation. She could ignore the rehearsal going on as they talked to the student in charge of the play, the actors practicing some scene in the background where Jyn and Bodhi talked next to the Impala.

But her eyes strayed back to the stage unconsciously, and she remembered how she felt when she first read about herself in a book, the things she’s done, thoughts and actions and entire conversations, word for word. Things no one should be able to know and not with such precise detail. She was a private person and having all that information about her readily available to anyone – even if people believed it to be a work of fiction – just didn’t feel right.

These people thought they knew her because they read about her in a damn book. Well, they were wrong.

And then there was the fanfiction. Jyn could have gone her entire life without learning what that was. All those stories people wrote about their lives and suffering for their own enjoyment, getting off on their pain or something. Not to mention the ones which paired her up with Bodhi, even though he was her brother. Adoptive, sure, but that made no difference to her when they had grown up together.

It was weird. And the incest shit was positively gross.

This felt a little like that, like fanfiction. The cast, the characters, the props, it was too much.

And the singing. There was singing too, and not the good kind. Not the classic rock she usually enjoyed. Jyn almost fell over standing still when they started singing. (“There is no singing in ‘Supernatural!”)

On top of it all, when the monsters came out of the bag, so to speak, and Jyn reluctantly admitted that all of it was real and they were, in fact, the Jyn and Bodhi from the books, the girl, Marie, the superfan, had laughed and called them too old to be Jyn and Bodhi. Jyn was a little bit offended but she didn’t argue.

Fan fucking fiction.

That was not the worst part, though. Anyone else might have said the evil goddess trying to kill them was the worst part, but Jyn was used to that. Even killing ancient gods didn’t faze her anymore.

No, the worst part was when she caught the two students who played Jyn and Cassian locked in a passionate embrace in the corner and looked at Marie in confusion.

“What are they doing?”

Marie eyed Jyn like she was stupid. “I believe that’s called kissing.”

“But is that in the play?” Jyn demanded, voice getting higher. Bodhi shifted nervously on his feet.

“Oh no, Siobhan and Kristen are together in real life. But the nature of Rebelangel is something we do explore in Act Two.”

Silence. She could feel that next to her, Bodhi scarcely breathed. Jyn was confused and horrified all at once, because somewhere in the back of her mind, she understood what Marie was getting at. Still, she didn’t believe it.

“I’m sorry, the what?”

“Rebelangel? It’s the shipname of Jyn and –”

“No, I get that,” Jyn cut in forcefully before Marie could say what she was about to say. “I mean, what nature?”

Marie gave her a blank look. “Well, it’s lowkey but the romantic tension is obviously there. And you know what they say, you can’t spell subtext without sex.”

She shrugged and flitted away with her little notepad in hand.

Jyn felt like her mind had exploded. She shouldn’t be surprised. If these people could pair her up with her own brother, Cassian wasn’t even a huge reach. But the idea of being romantically involved with Cassian –

Yeah, no. Nope, no, no. No way that was happening.

It was insane to even think about it. Sure, they had grown close over the years, she might even go as far as to call him her best friend, really, but that didn’t mean there was anything between them. They were totally incompatible. They’d drive each other mad. They already did so as friends – and that was all they were, friends. Why, just because he was a guy and she was a girl, that automatically meant they had to be together? Couldn’t men and women be just friends? It was such an outdated, sexist worldview, it made her mad.

Women and men can be friends. They were the living proof. Jyn and Cassian, just friends, best buddies, and totally nothing more.

Cassian, she was pretty sure, was entirely uninterested in dating, anyway. Not that it mattered to her one way or another.

Jyn closed her mouth, realizing it had been hanging open. When she looked at Bodhi, he was both amused and concerned. It looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“Let it go,” he tried to tell her but they both knew she wasn’t going to. Jyn marched over to where Marie was instructing the students on stage.

“Jyn and Cassian do not have romantic tension,” she said, hands on her hips.

Marie turned to her, sighing, and raised an eyebrow. “How we been reading the same books?”

“He’s her best friend!”

“Because friends have never hooked up or fell in love with each other. Ever.”

Jyn turned to Bodhi helplessly. “Tell her!”

Bodhi stepped forward, putting an arm around her shoulder to pull her back.

“I don’t think this is our biggest issue right now,” he reminded her gently. “Forgive her, she’s a big fan.”

Jyn sneered but didn’t argue.

Fine. She supposed she could ignore this too. She was good at that. Just add it to the long list of things to avoid thinking about.

“I don’t get it,” Bodhi said as they headed towards the car after a job well done. She didn’t have to ask to know what he was talking about. His amused, slightly teasing tone said it all.

“Me neither.”

She felt calmer after defeating the goddess and had to admit the play was actually kinda nice. Marie obviously put her soul and heart into it, and though Jyn didn’t agree with all of her interpretations, that was alright. Marie had her version and Jyn had her own. As long as it remained just a story for people, she couldn’t tell them what to think about it.

“I mean shouldn’t it be Jyssian or something?” Bodhi went on. Jyn felt a vein twitch on her forehead.

“Really? That’s your issue with this?”

Bodhi let out a hearty laugh as they stopped next to the Impala.

“Okay, what about me? Hunterangel? Angelhunter?”

“Bodhi.”

“No, you’re right, that one doesn’t sound quite right. Bassian?”

“Bodhi.”

“And why are you a rebel?” Bodhi pondered, actually tapping a finger against his cheek in thought. “Is it because of your rebellious nature? Maybe I should look for an adjective that describes me really well.”

“Bodhi, I’m begging you to stop.”

“Jyncass?”

Jyn threw her hands in the air and Bodhi laughed happily at her misery. “Okay! Enough. Get in the car.”

As they pulled away from the school, he sing-songed, “I can’t wait to tell Cassian about this!”

Jyn groaned.

[laguera25]

A Very Long Review of Zak Bagan’s Demon House

I watched Zak Bagans' <i>Demon House</i> because I wanted to just how far up his own ass he could climb.  Turns out he can almost create a perfect ouroboros of insufferability by sucking his own wang.  It's not the charlatanry of it that offends me; in fact, if I could rake in the cash by claiming to sense and understand the paranormal, I'd consider it as long as it didn't involve fleecing anguished families with phony contacts with their dear departed.  It's the patent stupidity and laziness of the fraud that galls.

Before the "documentary" begins, a disclaimer appears, which warns those huddled around their televisions or laptop screens that paranormal experts agree that demons can attach themselves to hapless victims through electronic equipment.  Uh huh.  And when did they decide this, because I've never seen any other paranormal show declare this.  Was there a synod of all the self-proclaimed psychics, physical mediums, empaths, and every EMF reader-toting, patchouli-sniffing paranormal Scooby gang in the past twenty years where they all held portentous debates on the subject?  Was it held at the Waukegan Airport Holiday Inn, where the desk staff mistook them for a 20th reunion of the emo-kid sigh-and-snivel club?  And was Amy Alan there, presiding over the punchbowl and listing decidedly to the left after imbibing a bit of spicy, fruity inspiration from Mr. Hawaiian Punch?

And if that were true, and spirits and demons could transmit themselves and their malign influences through electronics, then wouldn't that mean that every paranormal investigator should be possessed by now, given their love of ridiculous gadgets?  If listening to an EVP or watching a video can bring demons onto your scene, shouldn't there be millions of people gargling on pea soup and marinating in their own sulfurous piss in mammoth exorcism wards manned by sweating, emaciated, half-mad priests who haven't slept in days?  Shouldn't a haggard, booze-swilling Wolf Blitzer be whispering furtively from some sanctified bunker about the hordes of possessed Imhoteping it through the streets?

More on that later.

According to the documentary, many of Bagans' friends have tried to warn him of the danger he's courting by visiting this house that the locals in Gary, Indiana, have allegedly dubbed the portal to hell.  One friend even says the demon is an 8 on a scale of 10 on the Demon Badassery Scale, just below Satan himself. How this friend knows this without visiting the scene is never explained, nor, for that matter, is the criteria for the aforementioned DBS.  Suffice to say that this demon probably uses the souls of dead infants for an invigorating anal douche.

Hearing this alarming news, does our hero, Zak, who styles himself a crusader against the evil forces, cancel the documentary, have the place exorcised by the Pope and his grandmother, and tear the house down so no one will be afflicted by the unspeakable horrors that lurk within?  Of course not.  The only sensible course of action is to invite more people inside, film a documentary, and broadcast it across the globe.  Because the only surefire way to contain a malevolent entity that can spread itself through electronics is to make sure it has ready access to homes and eyeballs uncounted.  With clear thinking like that, what could go wrong?

With the stakes--and Zak's blithering idiocy--firmly established, the documentary gets rolling.  Zak gives viewers an admirably clear and concise--if not terribly believable--history of the house and the evils that befell the Ammons family.  According to the family and the ginned-up police reports that are never shown in sharp focus and over which Zak is ever hunching in order to obscure all but the text we're meant to see, the children all begin to chant in tongues and spew profanities at their family members.  Ah, the time-tested hallmarks of possession tales everywhere.

But!  A twist!  The children are hauled to the hospital, where the oldest reverse-moonwalks up the wall, across the ceiling, and down the opposite wall.  Hee hee!  Points for chutzpah.  Zak claims this is all in the police report and witnessed by doctors, nurses, a CPS worker, and a child psychologist, but he develops an odd and intermittent case of spinal collapse that obscures the report, so for all we know, he's "reading" the departments memo about the impending visit from the crackpot paranormal team, with its reminder that any PR is good for the department in the current climate.

Zak further tells us that because the family uncle has been in the car with Zak, who has been in the house, the family refuses to let him return.  Huh?  According to the uncle, he was the one who manhauled the snarling, slavering children into the car for the trip to the hospital.  If it's demon cooties you're worried about, surely that would present a bigger threat than sitting in the same car with the beanie-wearing hipster who wants to make a documentary?  But never mind.  The house has claimed its first victim in this film's runtime.

Zak does say that the mother of the family was exorcised by a Father Maginot and delivered, but no mention was made of the three children, to whom the demon was attached in the first place, receiving the same.  I guess Mom got the family package.  So Uncle Fred, who has been hanging with the three uncleansed children with no ill effects to this point, is suddenly become a social leper.

Onward.

While Zak is setting up his equipment in This Old Hellhouse, a woman who used to live in it pulls up.  How convenient.  She asks to see the house with her three teenage children in tow.  Now, remember, according to Zak's friend, the demon in this house is second only to Old Scratch in terms of badassery and allegedly affects anyone who enters the house in horrible, life-scarring ways.  Does Zak politely but firmly demur and thereby shield innocents from the possibility of harm?  No.  No, he does not. After a rather feeble warning that the house has a demon that does bad things to anyone who enters, he invites them inside.  Apparently, he has no moral compunction about offering up the vulnerable souls of gormless teenagers like tasty canapes.

Sure enough, two days later, the mother calls to tell Zak that her daughter has attempted suicide.  She does this <i>while the cops are taking a report and the EMTs are tending to her daughter.</i>  Sure.  No mother would hesitate to call some random dude she just met to tell him about her daughter's suicide attempt while her daughter is being carted to the ambulance.  Makes perfect sense.  Surely it makes even MORE sense that after suspecting that a demon from her childhood home has possessed her daughter and enticed her to attempt suicide, she would return to that same house to chat about the incident on a janky old rent-a-couch as though they were discussing old times.  As Jake Peralta would say, cool, cool, cool.

One of Zak's cameramen quits at this point.  Reverse-moonwalking on the hospital ceiling is nbd, but a teenage girl having a histrionic tiff with her mother is irrefutable proof that Dark Forces Are Afoot.  Or maybe he just got tired of shoveling such pungent bullshit.  Either way, out he goes.  Lucky man.

The girl swears she has no memory of her attempt to punch her ticket, and so we are treated to the world's most sedate exorcism by a bored Father Maginot, who recites the ritual with all the verve of Droopy Dog.  The girl, who squirms on the metal folding chair as though the demon is tickling her taint, grimaces and wrings her hands in an effort to look as though she is undergoing a great spiritual battle, but mostly, she just looks like her disagreeable lunch is trying to make a hasty exit from one end or the other.  I smell Oscar.  And dodgy potato salad.

It would be remiss and unfair of me not to acknowledge that Mr. Bagans does make a game attempt to determine if any of these phenomena can be explained by natural means.  He brings in both a home inspector and an environmental inspector to see if either of them can find anything that would adversely affect the occupants--mold, high magnetic fields, radon, carbon monoxide, et cetera.  Nothing is found, but Zak helpfully informs us that the home inspector was diagnosed with cancer shortly thereafter.  The house, he would have us believe, has claimed another victim.  Dun, dun, dun.  As for the environmental inspector, he will play a larger role in the story in just a few segments.

Before we get to that, though, we need to further explore Zak's earnest attempts to debunk the theory of demons.  He visits the original owner of the house, who places no credence in the stories and produces a copy of an article in which a grandmother of the Ammons family(they of the reverse-moonwalking child, you will remember,)claims that none of this ever happened. This article will never be mentioned again.

Confronted with that inconvenient speedbump on the road to paranormal stardom and the most legit documentary ever, u guise, Zak does what any moneygrubber would do when confronted with the possibility of disappointing and less remunerative truth:  he ignores it and temporarily hares off on a theory of his own.  What if, he theorizes based on no evidence previously presented, the controlling ex-boyfriend of Mother Ammons pulls intimate knowledge of dark magic out of his ass and conjures the demon to torment her?  Excited by this exhilarating asspull, he tries to speak with the man in question, but he, bless his sensible soul, wants nothing to do with this elaborate rub-and-tug of the old third leg.  Stymied in his quest for answers. he leaves this avenue of inquiry and returns to the trustier path of powerful demons who just chose this house in Buttfuck, Indiana, as their glamorous timeshare.

But what's this?  His new neighbor has called to tell him that someone is trying to break into his house. Zak and his crew race to the scene and find three cruisers in the yard, lights flashing.  Strangely, none of the three officers will approach the house, there is no sign of an intruder, and the footage is so dark that no facial features can be discerned.  The officers, safe in the knowledge that their dignity is safeguarded from the jeers of their colleagues, spin a jumbled yarn about all the strange vibes this house gives off.  One alludes to the existence of a five-page police report about this house.  Multiple times.  Zak never asks to see it, nor does he try to ascertain whether it is the report about the Ammons children or a different report altogether.  Allow me to stand in awe of the frat-boy, come-handed sloppiness of his investigative technique.

We're roughly an hour into this bad boy, so it's time to ramp up the suspense and the ooga-booga factor before people turn the channel for something more exciting, like <i>The Vanilla Ice Project</i>.  Enter Dr. Traff, an amiable, bespectacled man with a case full of gizmos used for measuring magnetic and electrical fields.  He does a slow walkthrough, but nothing much happens until they reach the basement. Naturally.  As any horror fan knows, the basement is where all the eldritch beings slither and creep and sniff for the souls of the living.  The readings are slightly elevated, but the readings fluctuate wildly at a certain spot.

"Wow," they all say in hushed tones meant to impart a sense of unease as the needle swings rapidly from low to high.  If that's not too much excitement for a body to take the good doctor soon discovers that Zak's electrical field is eight to twelve million times higher than it should be.  I think I need to lie down.  How am I to cope with such knowledge?  Lovecraft would blush.  Part of me wonders if the reader wasn't reacting to Zak's belt buckle.  Or a clandestine penile implant.

"What?" Zak says, and for the first time, I empathize with him, because he sounds exactly like I did in the bygone years of my college algebra classes, when I would blink at the equations on the transparency like a poleaxed weasel and plead with my brain to understand.

Zak has grown increasingly agitated during this sweep, and when Dr. Traff turns to put away his equipment, he lunges at him.  It's quick and aborted, little more than a partial curling of fingers and a short step toward the doctor's back, but to hear Zak tell it, he was seconds away from attacking him.  Fearing for the unsuspecting doctor's safety, Zak heads upstairs, which gives the entity a chance to prey on Dr. Traff. What evils does it wreak?  It...makes him dizzy.  Such terror is almost too much for a heart to take.

A quick recap for those who missed it: According to Zak's friend, the demon in this house is second only to Satan in power and uses the souls of dead infants as an anal douche, and it drives anyone who comes into the house to suicide or marks them for tragedy or serious illness or injury.  So Zak, the only one with paranormal experience, leaves an environmental inspector and his camera crew unattended while he <strike>huffs his own socks</strike> gets some air.  If he's all that stands between us and Satanic annihilation, smoke 'em if you got 'em because we're boned.

Perhaps sensing that a wave of dizziness and a gesture of frustration used by nonas everywhere aren't exactly revving viewers' engines, Zak suddenly announces that he thinks he's discovered the house's insidious pattern.  Well, hot damn, lay it on me.  I've been waiting for this with bated breath, so tense that I've nearly strangled my pet hemorrhoid.

The house, Zak proclaims solemnly, disorients and confuses its victims.  To illustrate his hypothesis, we see footage of Dr. Traff wandering around the house and staring at support beams in the basement or gazing blankly out of windows. Frankly, he looks like he's waiting for his Uber so he can collect his appearance fee and hit the Shoney's before he goes back to the hotel and beds down for the night.  That's it?  That's what you've come up with?  A demon that makes you look like you're on a magic carpet ride with the Doobie Brothers?  Why am I still watching this? It's not like I paid for it.

The producers must feel that we're not getting enough bang for our emotional-investment buck, too, because the next thing we see is one of the cameramen, Adam Ahlbrandt, roaming the halls and bellowing like a gut-shot steer for "that bitch" to come out.  He throws himself against doors and reserves special invective for the elevator, which he punches kicks and shoulders repeatedly.  He also disappears into the elevator for long periods and just stands there until Zak gets him out again.

I'm sure this is all meant to be scary, but it's cheesy and patently fake, and all I could think as I watched was, I hope there were no cripples on that floor who needed that elevator.  Or any floor, for that matter, because elevators aren't supposed to be used as battering rams or tantrum boxes for artsy fumblefucks feigning possession rage.  I can only imagine impotent, seething fury of some poor cripple who just wants to get to their room and take a shit in peace but can't because some fucksticks high on shrooms and ego keep holding the elevator for take after shitty take or have broken it outright.  There would be no comp high enough for their loss of independence and dignity when they shit on the lobby floor and get blamed for making a mess, though I'm sure Bagans wouldn't waste the opportunity to declare that the demon made a hotel guest defile the lobby in a challenge to God's authority.

After an interminable sequence of watching the cameraman rampage up and down the hall like an escapee from a Butthole Surfers concert who mistakenly shoved the LSD tab up his ass in the hopes of a cooler trip, Zak and the remaining cameraman wrangle him into the hotel room, where the rage magically ceases and he delivers an unconvincing recitation about seeing something evil in the elevator.  When Zak presses the subject, Adam replies curtly, "I think you know what I fucking saw, dude."

DUN, DUN, DUN!!!

Zak does, in fact, know what he saw. Before he came to the house, he had a nightmare about an eleven-foot-tall goat man who breathed black mist into his mouth, and now it's turned up in the hotel elevator.

"It doesn't want me, it wants you, man," Adam mumbles.

And there we have it.  Satan's second-in-command has taken up residence in a house in the butthole of cornfed country and terrorized numerous occupants in order to lure Zak Bagans there and destroy him.  Uh huh.  If the demon can enter your dreams, why didn't it just reach out and pulp your puny brain while you snored, farted, and drooled in your BVDs?  Why waste its time with an elaborate, imbecilic plan clearly concocted by a dribbling moron?  Or someone who doesn't know how to write a convincing story?

Armed with the truth, Zak decides he must take a courageous stand.  How will he do this, you ask?

Just you wait.

Armed with his steely, many resolve(and no doubt fortified by a snifter or two of cheap brandy from the nearby ABC Liquor store), the intrepid Mr. Bagans swings into action. The first step in Our Hero's ingenious battle plan is to send the jabbering, elevator-ravaging cameraman packing.  For his own safety, of course, and not because he's served his purpose.  Because everyone knows that the wisest thing you can do with a person under the pernicious influence of a demon that likes to cause chaos and harm whenever possible is to set him loose on an unsuspecting populace without so much as an attempt at removing the suspected attachment. Crack work.  Goooo, team!

The second step in this grand plan to take the forces of hell down a peg?  Why, Zak is going to barricade himself inside the demon's timeshare and become that annoying, unexpected houseguest that turns up on your doorstep unannounced, raids your fridge and snarfs the cannoli you've been holding out for yourself as a reward for surviving another day in the 9-to-5 trenches, uses your toothbrush, makes your bathroom uninhabitable for the next 12 hours, and is busily laying rank aftershocks into your sofa cushions, a traveling stench farmer who will be long gone when his rancid, gaseous seeds bear their noxious fruit the next time you plop down for a relaxing binge-watching session on Netflix.

On the face of it, this doesn't sound like a bad plan until you recall that this is the same yutz who:

-thought giving a powerful demon who can allegedly transmit itself through electronic equipment a global platform.

-allowed people, including lackwit teenagers, to enter a house purportedly infested by Satan's right-hand man with no protection whatsoever.

-Invited even more people into the demon's lair without protection.  Maybe he was going to offer them up to it like a handful of scrumptious piggies in a blanket.

-left an environmental engineer and his camera crew unattended in the basement, the nexus of the dark doings.

-turned his raving cameraman, who just spent twenty minutes and a great deal of energy doing his best imitation of a meth-addled redneck, out without so much as a farewell wellness check.

Oh, boy.

The sheriff isn't exactly impressed with this sterling plan of action, but he doesn't forbid it, either, and a savage, petty part of me suspects that the good sir consented to it just to watch the show from the comfort of his squad car, chugging coffee and shooting the shit with the boys back at the station over the radio.  Or maybe he wasn't too terribly fussed at the prospect of an overweening chode getting snatched into the abyss.

With approval in hand, Zak undertakes the epic final battle with the forces of evil with the doughty knights of the Home Depot who seal him inside the house with the help of plywood hammered over every door and window.  Just before Zak steps inside with nothing but his smartphone and has the door sealed behind him, the sheriff says, "If stuff starts happening, and you need to get out, call me so I can send the fire department and have them bust the door in."

If only things could be so exciting.

Alas for us, not much happens once Zak offers himself as bait.  He wanders the house and tests the doors and windows in a show of authenticity, texts from the comfort of the by-now-familiar janky sofa(Way to go, braintrust, run down your charge so that when you need the fire department to save you from your dumbass self and stellar record of piss-poor decision-making, you won't be able to call the sheriff.  Don't worry, though; he's probably ensconced in his squad car just out of camera range, laughing up his sleeve and trying not to inadvertently irrigate his nostrils with hot coffee.), and stares at the walls.

"I don't want to go dark," he says, as though that makes sense in this context, since no previous mention has been made of the demon needing darkness to operate.

Eventually, Zak departs the sweet embrace of the janky couch and turns off the light.  Thanks to the wonders of cuts and time lapse, things shift into warp drive.  We see Zak sitting on a bed in one of the rooms.  Then he sprawls.  Then he sits.  And then, after ninety minutes of buildup, the grand climax.

Even though he is alone, heavy footfalls and ominous creaks are heard.  A good little marmoset, Zak sits up, on the alert, and gazes before him.  There's nothing to see, but we can hear a furtive shuffling, as though Mr. Meth(ed) Man has come back after his bender and is trying to crawl into his room without disturbing his more staid roommate.  This is followed by an unholy howl that speaks of the torments of the godless damned, but bears a suspicious resemblance to someone farting into a vuvuzela with unbridled gusto.  Or hey, maybe the good sheriff agreed to feed his distorted radio static through the hidden speakers for an extra 100 dollars and a gift card to his favorite coffee joint.

"Stay away!" Zak cries, and scoots back on the bed as he gazes, horror-stricken, at nothing. Later, he will tell us it was a black mass, which is a phrase which here means the sad consequences of too much Saturday night.  "I said stay away!"  And-

And cut.  When next we see the bed, it is much lighter, and the picture is painfully clear, almost stark. There is no sign of Zak, but we find him soon enough in the kitchen, clutching his head and bawling drunkenly about pain in his eyes.  He lumbers and lurches around the house for a time and makes his way into the living room, where he bellows, "I want out", and sweeps unidentifiable bric-a-brac from a nearby shelf.  He then turns and batters the front door.

And that's it.  The knights Home Depot did not offer up the best of their goodly plywood for his righteous quest, because the fire department never needed to bust him out.  All Zak needed was his mighty fists and shoulders, I guess.  Hipster SMASH!

When next we see Zak, he tells us he's having the house demolished.  Huzzah!  An act of great sense. Perhaps there was a purpose to this journey, after all.  Not to do with Satan's tag-team partner or bogies in the night, but with a man coming to greater maturity and wis-

Wait, what?  He's had the house demolished, but because he's an investigator and a collector, he's kept a few items from the house, as well as some dirt from the basement.  And he keeps it in a cheap storage locker that any dribblebib with a pair of bolt cutters could breach?

Flames!  Flames on the side of my face! You have a demon so powerful that it is second only to Satan, you think it can transmit itself through electronic equipment and the briefest of contact, and anyone who has contact with anything from that house is beset by misfortune, and you're so afraid of it that you decide to tear the house down, but you opt to keep three fifty-gallon drums full of cursed earth in a poorly-secured storage locker?

You, sir, are a fucktruckle.

But Zak isn't quite done yet.  He also tells us that the "confrontation" with the demon damaged his eyes and gave him diplopia, forcing him to wear prism glasses for the rest of his days, oh, woe.

You mean the same glasses you've been wearing since the start of this documentary?  The same ones you've been wearing since at least 2010, five years before you filmed this? Those glasses?

You absolute fuckcricket.  It's a shame Satan's spotter didn't rip your sphincter out and use it as a key fob for his new timeshare in Laguna Beach.

[carpe-libris]

Please fire me. For about a year there’s been a lot of bad feeling building up and resentment going on at my job. There’s two women I work with in my office, both are a good twenty years older than me and they feel that entitles them to dictate how I do my job. One makes comments and criticises everything I do, including occasional comments about what little she knows about my personal life which I mostly try to brush off. The other harbours resentment towards me because the hours of my job she feels should have been given to her despite the fact that she had quit. She is also prone to outbursts and occasionally snaps at patients on the phone and other staff walk on eggshells around her. On Monday  morning when I came back from annual leave that all came to a head. 

The second woman got aggressive and intimidating with me after I mentioned that they were more than welcome to have the extra hours our manager had offered in a meeting I had missed as I’m happy with the hours I have and they constantly tell me my hours should be theirs. I thought I was being considerate. She became confrontational and asked accusingly if I had an issue with the job and when I looked away to close down what I was doing on my computer she snapped at me to look at her when she was talking to me. She said that I had been ignoring her, that I had done it more than once. 

I asked her nicely if she could tell me when I had ignored her previously because I’d never do it intentionally, but she rebuffed me. She then became even more angry towards me and raised her voice to which I told her very calmly and without raising my voice back that the way she was speaking to me wasn’t acceptable and I wasn’t going to continue to speak with her if she continued. She kept it up so I had to leave the room before things could escalate further. I thought I did the right thing by not allowing it to escalate. Silly me.

I brought attention to this incident of co-worker aggression to my department boss – mostly to explain why the phones were unmanned for that short amount of time in case there were any complaints, and just explain the situation. I had a meeting with her today and she basically patronised me the entire time. That I had the situation all wrong because this deeply unhappy and resentful co-worker has issues in their life (erm, so have I, but I’ve never ever taken things out on others. Ever.) So that excuses her actions. More or less that I must have done something to cause that behaviour and that it was just “office banter” that would blow over.

I also ‘pushed her buttons’ and ‘offended her’ by not looking at her immediately and instead at my screen for a second while I closed a page, you know, doing the job I’m supposed to be getting paid for. Silly me again. So, her snapping “look at me when I’m talking to you!” out of nowhere and generally becoming confrontational and personal was justified and there was nothing malicious behind it, apparently.

I was told in a patronising way to “suck it up” that all workplaces are like this. That I could be saying one thing but my body language is “saying something completely different” by getting on with my work and getting on with things. I just need to pick up “the right life skills to deal with people and diffuse situations.” So, now I know the next time she becomes aggressive with me I should just sit there and take it and that it’s my fault for bringing that side out of her when I haven’t been anything but professional. She even suggested a stress course to me.

I’m not stressed, I was getting harassed and bullied in my place or work. Why am I the problem? I actually ended up apologising for having called about it on Monday. Like it was my fault that it happened and I was making a big deal out of nothing. I left the office feeling like a little kid tattling on a classmate for pulling my hair or something. It’s crazy.

This is also a place where sexual harassment incidents like inappropriate physical contact and verbal abuse have been continually brushed aside involving not just one but three female members of staff against a male member of staff who has not been dealt with formally or even at all. He’s been promoted to one of the highest ranks in the department. I know two of the people affected by him and I’m so angry for them that nothing’s been done and nobody has asked if they’re okay and what can be done for them. One manager had the gall to say to one of them “and what did you do, why didn’t you say something at the time?”

Please fire me. Fucking hell.

[groundramon]

I don’t like south park because, at the risk of sounding heterophobic, I’m not interested in the cishet white male’s opinions of our society.

I guess put a (tm) by that white cishet male because, specifically, I think of the one episode of south park I did watch.  Was doing a little experiment where i checked out four of the most popular adult cartoons at the time (/still are, as of writing this) and those four cartoons were Rick and Morty, Family Guy, South Park, and Bojack Horseman.  All of these cartoons I went in knowing what to expect - the only one I expected to like was Bojack, and I didn’t expect to like the first episode.  The two that offended me the most were Rick&Morty and South Park.  Rick and Morty probably offended me because I was probably lowkey hoping I’d change my mind about it, even if I didn’t realize it, and also it’s harder to deal with being right about knowing you’d hate a popular show when everyone around you says its great.  But whatever, it was more of a personal thing.  South Park I went into fully expecting to hate, hoping I could understand where some of this fake-intellectualism came from but ultimately still expecting to be offended and annoyed.

How did it piss me off more than I expected?  How did it piss me off more than Family Guy?  By the way, I googled the ep I watched of South Park - it’s smack dab in the middle of fan-rated lists of South Park.  It’s not like I happened to randomly select one of the worst episodes, or went to the beginning of the series.  I picked a modern-ish episode at random, and it seemed based on my research that it was a fair sample of the show.  Family Guy’s episode I watched I didn’t look up, but the particular ep didn’t have any ableism jokes at Joe’s expense (besides the old age concept of people in wheelchairs being like “fuck stairs” but that’s just understandable, idk if thats ableism or not but its not rlly my decision so ill shut up now) so I was bored but also like.  Whatever.  I think they killed a guy?  I don’t know.  It wasn’t as offensive as it could be but knowing Family Guy’s worst episodes, I’m thankful I managed to pick an ep at random.  (Also I’m not here to defend Family Guy, so if it just so happens that the ep i watched was one of the best modern Family Guy episodes, well, I can’t complain with the conclusions you draw from that either.)

But South Park blew every expectation I had out of the water as far as horridness goes.  The animation isn’t any better in action, the voices are EXTREMELY grating (people praise the VA in this and critique the VA in chipmunks??  It’s the same thing dude), and guess what - it’s just as racist as I expected!

I had a conversation about someone who likes South Park/was trying to defend the episode on dA back when I first watched it - and it was a good conversation, don’t get me wrong!  They helped me make sense of what the episode was at least TRYING to do, which DID make sense.

But the “message” of the episode was, basically, that pursuing dreams is pretty worthless because shitty people always end up in power through unfair circumstances.

And there’s about 15 things wrong with that, but here’s a few I can come up with on the top of my head. - You have the emotional maturity and mental foresight of me when I was 14.  I’ve been actively trying to combat that mindset ever since I was able to recognize my depression because I know it’s bad for me (as an ambitions-driven person).  I don’t need people telling me that the work industry - particularly, the work industry that I want to get into - is unfair as fuck. - Can you imagine the galls of the writers who fucking thought this was a good idea?  Have you no goddamn self-insight?  Like...you realize YOU ARE THIS, YOU ARE THIS PROBLEM, right???  You could become part of the solution!!  You’re an influential show!!!  But nah let’s be racist instead - Did I mention the entire show is about being racist - Did I mention that the show has to have goddamn pedophilia to make this point.  Not tasteful pedophilia or anything!  But definitely pedophilia!  And everyone is just like :] thats just how it is - Okay so specifically, this show singles out a single “fake” hollywood type (and definitely, definitely isn’t intentional that she’s hispanic) and just mocks her for the entire episode.  I don’t give a fuck shit about jennifer lopez and she’s probably problematic but not for any reasons that the people behind South Park care about, that’s for damn sure. - ALSO HEY yknow how South Park creators hate liberals??  Because we fucking criticize them??  And they call us hateful and cruel because we critique them and insult them by name??  LMAO....GUESS WHAT BITCH!  YOU DO THAT FOR THE ENTIRE WORLD TO SEE ON YOUR DAMN SHITTY SHOW!  ILL MOCK YOU AS MUCH AS I DAMN WANT (and I DONT have to do it by implying your significant other is a pedophile, lmao)

God I need to get off my computer but ill add more on mobile if i get pissed off enough but this is just what i can think of off the top of my head

TLDR: South Park isn’t smart, it doesn’t have a right to call itself “challenging society”