#and when you ask her about it she bemoans about high school drama

[downadura]

> be contessa

> you get superpowers that tell you that god is evil

> you dedicate your whole life to killing god

> you do horrible, unspeakable acts in your efforts to do so

> some scrawny kid shows up at the last second and kills god instead of you

> she doesn't even care

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Looking for a Place to Happen

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity.

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: We’re starting Sam’s installment but this weekend I’ll probably only be catching up on my headcanons and drabbles because I’ve been a lazy bitch and I’m sorry to those who have been waiting.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 1: I've got a job, I explore

💀💀💀

The sleepy town of Birch was awake. 

In those last weeks, the arrival of outsiders had roused the attention of many once passive residents of the timeless territory. Those brick buildings unchanged by the tick of the clock inlaid into the old tower above the library that chimed every hour on the hour. They still stood with only chips in the mortar but the air tasted different. The frost was more bitter and the sky more grim. An omen of something no one could predict.

It was the perfect setting for a screenplay. The isolated town with its unsavoury secrets and the visitors who threatened to bring them to the surface. It was inspiring to you, to imagine what was hidden behind the stern wrinkled faces of the town elders and under the jackets of those men who wore the cut of the local club. The bikers ruled the town covertly but everyone knew that Bucky Barnes’ palm was lined with the map of Birch.

As a bystander, an unnoticed observer, just another ant in the hill, you watched from the side and amused yourself with the drama of others. It was like a soap opera or another HBO hype machine. Those things you aspired to when you could be free of this ho-hum town.

The snows added to the natural gloom of the place. The deep heaps smothered the noise and harkened back to those days of colonial settlement. Forgotten, desolate, fearful. 

You ventured down in your heavy boots that stretched to your knees and pushed your chin down into your scarf. As a child, you ran and jumped in those piles, now you were out of breath just trying to walk past them.

You stopped in the bakery that doubled as the only café, a place where the owner, Babs, tried to to intimidate the last caffeinated trends. She was always a few seasons behind but you didn’t mind so much. 

You ordered the salted caramel mocha and waited patiently as the quiet woman fought with the steaming machines. She was older than you but you’d work with her for one summer during high school, only five years ago. She had the eyes of a child still, but there was something worn in her. As if she’d been exposed to far too much in her three or so decades in that place. She was a harbinger of what you didn’t want to become.

You thanked her for your drink and set out once more into the billowing winds. Birch winters were never kind but this one was crueler than most. Your teeth chattered as you blew the steam away from the lid and hugged it with your mittened hands.

You stopped short as you heard the familiar ding of the diner door across the street. You recognised the mechanic who kept to herself and once growled at you in the grocery store. She stormed across the street, followed closely and quickly by a black-haired man you’d only seen once before. He was one of those outsiders who came to deal with the club men.

You sped up as you sensed chaos brewing and pulled out your phone as you balanced your paper cup in your other hand. You flicked your camera on just as you got to the front of the shop and the man grabbed the mechanic. You let out an ‘oop’ as she turned on him and you aimed the lens at the couple as they fell into the snow, the man’s shoes giving little traction to his steps. 

You moved closer, stunned by the scene, and kept your cell phone rolling as you found a better angle around the snowy walks. As she choked him on the ground he elbowed her and she coughed as she rolled away. She snarled as he clamoured to his feet, slipping and sliding as he marched away.

You killed the recording and watched the man cross the street again, nearly wiping out as he did and when you looked back to the mechanic, she was gone behind the clattering door. You chuckled to yourself and tucked away your cell. It was prime footage for TikTok; with a bit of editing, it would be comedy gold.

💀

You stomped up the steps of your grandmother’s house, this time through the front door as you heard her chair rocking in the front room. You usually took the stairs in the back as you paid her to live on the upper floor of the duplex. You checked in with her daily, she didn’t get out much more than the occasional trip to the grocery store when you couldn’t or you dragged her out to join you for a tea at Babs’.

“You’re late,” she grumbled as you set your cup down and unzipped your coat.

“For what?” you scoffed.

“It’s after noon and you don’t even come down to say hello? A ‘good morning, nan’,” she harrumphed.

You chuckled and hung your coat before shoving your boots over on the mat. You grabbed your mocha and leaned on the doorway as you watched her crocheting in her chair, reruns of some court show playing from the boxy television.

“I was working,” you said, “sent in some stuff for review. Hopefully not much work to be done.”

“I don’t know how you make money on that interweb,” she bemoaned, “I don’t trust it.”

“Maybe you’d trust it more if you used the Netflix subscription I got you,” you crossed your arms, “then you wouldn’t have to watch trash daytime TV.”

She shrugged and muttered under her breath. She could be crotchety but you liked her sense of humour. Your aunts and uncles never came around because they just took it as spite. You were the only one who knew how to handle the jaded old lady.

“Maybe you coulda looked out the window,” you snickered, “quite a show going on in town.”

“Hmm, what’s that?” she stilled her needles and reached for her tea stained cup.

“Just a fight. You wouldn’t believe it, that lady mechanic beat the shit--”

“Language,” she huffed.

“Anyway, she had this guy in a chokehold. It was awesome.”

“What guy?” she squinted at you over her glasses.

“I dunno. Some out of towner. Remember I told you about that burly dude hanging around the library?”

“There’s more?” she sucked on her teeth, “those bikers have never been good news and now they’re bringing in more.”

“Yeah, well, what’re you gonna do?” you sniffed as you took out your phone and rewatched the scuffle with the volume down. You shook your head and opened up your TikTok. 

“I don’t understand why you’re always on your dang phone,” your grandmother pestered.

“I’m not always on my phone,” you smiled at her smugly, “there are those time when I’m listening to you prattle on or you know, making you tea, oh, and cooking you dinner. What was it I did last week? Oh that’s right, I got Pippin out of the crawlspace.”

“I’m too old to be chasin’ that cat all around,” she huffed, “where is he anyway?”

“He’s your cat, I don’t know? Last time I saw him, I sent him back out the window for shredding my charger.”

“He knows you need to give it a rest,” she laughed to herself, “got your nose to that screen too much.”

“And what do you do, old lady? Crocheting doilies to put where exactly?”

She gave you that dry smile, the one that said watch it but carried a hint of humour still. You hit post and put your phone away as you waved off her irritation.

“Well, you know what, I sit all day at my computer, doing who knows what and you know what it got me?” you taunted, “a large mocha!” you sipped as you sat on the sofa and grabbed the remote, “and it’s paying my rent and putting bullet points on my resume.”

“Mhmm,” she scowled, “just remember, real life ain’t online. Those videos you’re always laughing at like hyena, that’s not reality. You forget it and it’ll come back and bit you. ‘Specially with those bikers.”

“Oh, nan, you know too well, don’t you? Didn’t you have a fling with one back in your hippie phase?”

“Two, actually,” she raised her brows, “I was young and stupid. Not like you, but still.”

“I love you too,” you chirped and sipped from your cup, flicking the station to Jerry Springer, “that’s more like it.”

💀

Your usual TikToks were sarcastic and dull complaints about your small town life. The response was less than pleasing but it gave you an outlet to vent. You liked to goof around and document the very specific type of weirdos that resided in Birch. But the video of the fight in the snow blew up your phone and made it difficult to ignore the buzzing as you went back up to your room to eke out the last of your captions for the ad agency.

When at last you could call your day hard-earned, you logged off and sent in your hours to the agency. Social media promotion was easy enough but the working gigs for a thousand different companies was tedious. You hoped you could build your portfolio enough to manage a single corporate page as you continued to chip away at your creative outlets.

You picked up your phone as you waited for Netflix to load on your tiny smart tv and flopped onto your bed, not two feet from your desk. You hit the icon in the upper panel of your phone and scrolled through the notifications, pausing to turn on another episode of the cable sitcom from ten years before. You snorted as you read each comment but the number under the video made your eyes round. The thing was bound to go viral.

As usual, you went down to help with supper. Pippin, the orange tabby, returned to cry at his dish and you fed him too. Your nan peered through her glasses at a crossword as she tasted the tangy pasta sauce. 

“More basil,” she snipped.

“Well, I asked if you wanted to help,” you muttered, “I think it’s good.”

“Hmmp, I need milk,” she jutted her chin out, “for my after-dinner tea.”

“You couldn’t say something like three hours ago?” you blinked.

“I could have but I didn’t,” she snickered. You rolled your eyes and she took another forkful of penne and filled in another line on her puzzle, “ah, no hurry, girlie, you know I’m patient.”

“Patient? You?” you chuckled as you took your plate and shoved it in the microwave to keep it warm. The ancient thing had a dial and the door stuck, “I’ll just go get it over with.”

“Don’t forget your mitts,” she called after you as you tramped into the front room, “it’s cold.”

You pulled on your knitted cap and matching mitts. You zipped up your parka and shoved your feet into the deep boots. You grabbed your wallet and buried it in the spacious pocket. You bounced out the front door and down the steps as the sky sent down another coat of powder for the night.

You went up White Forge Street and through the short path behind the diner that led to the main road. You glanced over at The Asp, the beacon of the dull town, and turned towards the grocer. Like anywhere in Birch, the store was outdated and stuffy. It felt like stepping into another time with the paper bags and chunky tills.

You went down the center aisle and stopped at the fridge to search through the frosted glass. Your nan only drank whole milk and the last time you carelessly grabbed skim, she whined that even Pippin wouldn’t drink it. She was particular but that was just her nature. You couldn’t say you were any less fussy in some instances.

You grabbed a jug and the door slapped closed against the worn rubber seal. You headed up the candy aisle and brushed your woolly thumb over your chin as you considered gummy bears or Reeses’ Pieces.

“Hard choice?” The deep voice jolted you.

You snatched the box of chocolate and looked over at the man in leather, his chin tucked down behind the collar as snow dusted his shoulders.

“Sure,” you said as you brushed past him.

The cut of the leather told you he was better not entertained. While you thought the men amusing, you weren’t stupid enough to engage with them. You rarely listened to your grandmother but she was wise in her own way. 

You knew a girl in highschool, she was fucking around with one of the club men in her junior year, she ended up with a baby and no support. You didn’t think he was into you that way but he could hardly have innocent intentions.

“How’s the old lady?” Clayton asked as he rung in your order at the end of the belt, you moved along with the groceries and pulled out your wallet.

“The usual, you know? She’s tryna quit again. Don’t know how long it’ll last.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll keep a carton aside for her,” he kidded as you felt your phone vibing in your back pocket.

“Don’t encourage her,” you swiped your card and punched in your pin, “although I don’t know what’s worse; the smoke or her sucking on those mints all the time.”

“Oh, it’s not the bitchin’?” he laughed.

“That, too,” you scooped up the paper bag and put your wallet away, “have a good one.”

As you came to the end of the first counter, you were nearly cut off by the club member as he swept around from till two. His own purchase of a car magazine and jerky was tucked under his arm.

“Ah, sorry,” he smiled, a sparkling smile, almost charming.

“No worries,” you continued on and he followed close behind.

“Those mitts look real warm. ‘Specially in this weather,” he said as you pushed open the door.

“Uh huh,” you kept on as your boots crunched out into the snow.

“You know where I can get a pair. Leather isn’t exactly thermal, you know?”

“These? My nan made ‘em. I’m sure Clayton got some hung up back there,” you looked across the street as you stepped up onto the ledge of snow between the sidewalk and the road.

“Am I bothering you?” he asked.

You looked at him dumbly and almost laughed in his face. You glanced back across the street then down towards The Asp.

“Sorta,” you answered.

“Make you a deal. Leave ya alone for your name.”

You eyed him. He was older than you like many of the Commandos. At least a decade, likely more than that. You chewed on your hesitation and cradled the bag more firmly against your side. His eyes strayed as he tried to see through the thick layer of your coat.

“Nah, I’m not s’posed to talk to strangers,” you said and hopped off onto the road.

You heard him behind you as he struggled to follow and as you came up to the other side, he came parallel with you and kept stride with you easily.

“I know you’re young but you’re not a kid,” he intoned, “what’s the harm in a name?”

“It’s a small town,” you stopped short of the end of White Forge, “I think I know enough about you to avoid you.”

“Oh ho, is that it? Well, I’m Sam, I’m not a stranger now, am I?”

“Not interested, Sam. Sure there’s women your own age over at the bar,” you nodded behind him.

“You wanna come see? Maybe have a drink?” he gave a crooked grin.

“You don’t give up, do you?” you shook your head, put off by his forwardness.

“Well?”

“Not tonight, Sam,” you turned around and headed down White Forge.

“Then what night?” he asked but you didn’t answer and he didn’t follow.

You turned down onto your street and refused to look back in case. It would be best not to mention the run-in to your nan, she was paranoid enough as it was. Besides, you’d forget about it by the end of next week.

[pippenpaddlopsicopolisthethird]

That person might not have said top ten but I would like to see the other five underrated animes 👀

(First post) I’LL KEEP ‘EM COMING, I LIVE FOR RECOMMENDING ANIME. I keep changing my mind on which ones to include because there’s so much good shit out there.

By the way, all of the recommendations in this list AND the last one are 26 episodes or less and tell a complete story. No cliffhangers, no “finish the manga to see the finale”, no “where’s the rest of it???” endings. That’s why, for now, Stars Align and Princess Jellyfish still get stuck with the honorable mentions even though what’s been made for both of them is incredible.

1. The Tatami Galaxy (Drama, Introspective)

The director behind Ping Pong the Animation and the original author behind Eccentric Family join forces to make Tatami Galaxy, which capitalizes on the best strengths of both shows. The protagonist is a lonely college student facing the prospect of graduating after having thoroughly wasted his college years. He bemoans how circumstances outside of his control, from conniving fake-friends to selfish and shallow extras, have conspired to ruin what should have been a “rose-colored campus life”, and wishes he could do it over again so he can get it right.

So he does, with the show using avant-garde animation and abstract storytelling to explore all of his threads of what-ifs. The plotlines seem separate but weave together and subtly build on each other, culminating to a finale that explores the meaning of relationships and who you are in the absence of outside forces that can define you. It’s heartfelt, funny, raunchy, and deep, and perfectly encapsulates the existential dread of being in college. I watched it for the first time when I was about to finish undergrad and it hit like an emotional freight train, then I rewatched it during quarantine and it hit like a truck. This is one of my top favorite anime of all time.

2. Re:Creators (Fantasy, action)

Most of the anime I’ve put on these lists get their spots for being deep, nuanced, and delicately crafted. This is not one of them. But, by god, is it one of the most over-the-top fun shows I’ve ever seen. Re:Creators is a rare reverse-isekai. Fictional characters from popular anime, games, and manga suddenly start turning up in the real world, instructed to “find your Creator and reshape the world you came from”. The soundtrack by Hiroyuki Sawano is bar-none one of the hypest things out there; seriously, just listen to Layers, the song for a character from a grimdark everyone-dies series begging her author to tell her why.

The characters in this show are so fun to watch bounce off each other, even if they’re not as “three dimensional” as others. Magical girls fight Stand users, mechs face down scifi-noir detectives, Lawful Good Paladins go toe-to-toe with Chaotic Evil light novel villains.  But by including the artists who imagined these characters as characters themselves, it also has a lot to say about the creative process, the reasons people create, and the relationship between an artist and their work. Between the high-octane fight scenes, there’s a surprisingly human and genuine throughline.

3. Sora no Woto (Slice of life, music, post-apocalyptic)

This show is another of my favorite examples of worldbuilding done right. A young girl joins the army as a bugler because it’s one of the only ways she can learn to play music. The episode plots focus on how she and her tiny regiment of young women stationed at a small town in the middle of nowhere deal with day-to-day troubles, while the details of the world around them slowly fill and round out the picture of a broken society where people still just... live. They still create myths, they still have festivals, they still blow glass and tell ghost stories and make art. The plots seem inconsequential, until the world built into the background becomes too prominent to ignore. The background art and music is some of the most gorgeous I’ve seen. It’s part of a genre I’ve been calling “soft apocalypse” and it’s been one of my favorites for years.

BONUS MENTION: Girl’s Last Tour (Slice of life, post-apocalyptic)

Yes, I’m cheating, but listen. Girl’s Last Tour fits perfectly into the canon narrative provided by Sora no Woto, just set in the far future, a few apocalypses later. It’s got less of a main plot, because there’s almost nothing of society left, just two girls wandering together through an abandoned world. It’s soft, introspective, and bittersweet, showing how humanity is still humanity no matter how few people are left. Despite having nothing about their productions in common, it’s the perfect spiritual successor to Sora no Woto and they deserve to be recommended in the same spot.

4. Tamako Market (+ the movie) (Romance, slice-of-life)

This show is the platonic ideal of a soft, heartwarming, sweet-as-sugar, slice-of-life romance. It follows the daily life of Tamako, a high school girl who lives above a family-owned mochi shop in a shopping center, who is followed around by a talking bird trying to find a bride for his prince in a far-off land. But really the show isn’t about the bird. The show is about love in all its forms. The love that the other families in the shopping center have for Tamako, the love that she and her friends have for each other, the love they have for the activities they’re passionate about, the love you feel when someone makes you a cup of coffee, fated love, childhood crushes, family love.

Something about this show that also stands out is how gently and naturally it incorporates some of the best queer representation I’ve ever seen in anime. One of the shop owners is a kind and soft-spoken trans woman, who is never the butt of a joke, never questioned, never treated as different, loved all the same. One of Tamako’s friends is gay, and her crush on Tamako is treated with as much respect and care as every other moment in the show. This series never makes you flinch for fear of “representation” that turns sour. It’s the epitome of a feel-good show.

5. ACCA 13-Territory Inspection Department (Political, mystery, drama)

Yes, I keep saving my favorites for last on these lists. I can’t describe this show as anything but the perfectly written plot. As a rule, I don’t like political dramas, and this is one of my favorite anime of all time. It’s set in a fictional country, where 13 regions all exist relatively independently under one collective monarchical ruler, and follows Jean, an agent of the independent Inspection Department, which acts as a check and balance to each power. The series begins with Jean being assigned a full review of each territory while the powers-that-be field whispers of a coup. This show masters foreshadowing, intrigue, escalation, and mystery. The stakes build and overlap on scales from intensely personal to national. The pacing is amazing, keeping tension balanced with plot twists that answer more questions than they ask.

Plus, it’s got one of the most visually appealing and stylized openings out there. I realize that political drama isn’t exactly escapism right now, but believe me, this series is worth it.

[written-on-the-trees]

Silver Linings In Winter Clouds - Machine Gun Kelly Fan Fiction

Prompt: Nativity Play (very, very loosely)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2100 words (I know, okay, it got away from me)

Summary: High-school AU. Colson is almost one-hundred per-cent sure that there was no punishment worse than having to join the drama club for their Christmas play, even one of the other members is possibly the cutest girl he's ever seen...

Colson had thought he had experienced the worst of his school’s punishments for bad behavior, having been in detention almost every week since he could remember, but he had been wrong.

   So, so wrong.

   He stared in horror at the carnage unfolding in front of him, and wondered if the punishment for bailing on this punishment could really be any worse than what he was currently facing.

 Sure, he might get suspended or something…but he wasn’t really sure that was any worse than being forced to take part on the drama club’s Christmas play. His dad would absolutely flip his shit, but he’d be able to pick up some extra shifts at work, and he’d get out of the fucking nightmare that was this drama club bullshit.

 Colson was more than ready to take his chances, when Mr. Greene, the drama teacher, saw him frozen in the doorway to the practice room, and cheerfully called out to him:

   “Mr. Baker! So glad you could make it.”

   Too late to escape now.

   Unwilling to lose face by running (or even walking) away now everyone was looking at him, Colson curled his lip in disdain and stepped further into the room.

 He wasn’t a coward.

 Disgusted by all this theatre shit, but not a coward.

 It was exactly the kind of attitude they were expecting from him, so it wasn’t long before they were all going back to focusing on that they had been doing before Mr. Greene had drawn everyone’s attention to him. Knowing Greene, it was probably a deliberate way of irritating Colson - the guy was just like that - but unfortunately that didn’t mean Colson could avoid him. Greene was the only one who could sign off on Colson’s report that documented him actually being here…and he was also the only one who could give Colson a job to do, because Colson sure as hell wasn’t taking any initiative with this shit.

 The less effort he could put in, the better. It was bad enough that people were going to think he was one of the drama nerds (albeit unwillingly), he refused to give anyone even an inkling that he was enjoying or being proactive about being part of this.

 As it was, Greene sent him over to work with the group of kids working on the scenery, muttering something about putting his height to good use. Colson had never been so grateful to be a lanky motherfucker as he was right then, walking over to where four girls and two guys were leant over various bits of paper, arguing between themselves.

   “Hey…apparently I’m meant to be helping out over here.” Colson announced to get their attention, watching as all six of them looked up from the paper and had six different reactions.

   Brendan, always the drama queen, threw his hands up and stormed away while muttering about not wanting to deal with ‘the white trash kid in detention’. His twin sister, Ellie, smiled apologetically and went after him to calm him down. Willow looked a little nervous, which was understandable since the last time she’d seen him he had been kicking the shit out of her older brother. Cameron beamed friendlily and welcomed him to the team. Darren just smiled.

 And then there was Belle.

 Colson had to stop himself from staring as she smiled at him, the soft, somehow glowing expression one he’d never had directed at him before.

 She looked so gorgeous, standing there in her black denim dungarees and white t-shirt with the small splotch of pink paint on the shoulder and with the paint and ink stains on her hands, Colson felt like he almost swallowed his own tongue. She just looked so…soft, so sweet, like some kind of paint-stained Christmas angel.

 He was instantly in love with her.

   I’m so screwed…

      Being in regular contact with Belle was doing nothing to stop Colson feeling like he was doomed – because if their first meeting had been difficult, with Colson feeling like he was tripping over his words every time he spoke to her (although thankfully she seemed not to have notices his sudden incompetence when it came to speech), then the second was basically excruciating.

 The thing was, Belle was nice.

 Genuinely, altruistically, nice.

 Unlike Brendan, who sneered at Colson every time he spoke, or Willow and Darren who were still a bit jumpy around him, Belle always took time to not just say hello when he showed up, but actually ask how his day had been and then listen when he responded - however flippant his responses were.

 She laughed at his jokes, and shut Darren up when Colson saw a bit of scenery design so blatantly stupid he had to suggest it be changed - because even if he was going to be part of this fiasco, he wasn’t going to have his name associated with anything so dumb as the fake graffiti Brendan had drawn on the plans.

 Modern take on the Christmas Nativity scene or not, there was no need for that bullshit.

   Colson hadn’t really expected anyone to take his side, even when he explained why he didn’t like it, but then Belle had nodded and said: “That’s a fair point - what would you suggest we do instead?”

 “Like, speak to someone who maybe knows how to do that graffiti shit?” Colson asked.

 “I’m sure you have a whole list of degenerate friends to recommend - ” Brendan sneered, but Belle cut him off:

 “Great idea, Colson. I know exactly who to ask.”

      On the day of their third meeting, Belle walked into the room five minutes later than Colson, with a familiar face trailing after her.

 Dom was a kind-of friend of Colson’s in the same way he was a kind-of friend with everyone in this school; he just had one of those personalities. He went to the same parties as Colson and his friends, wrote stories that had him in good standing with the English Lit kids, and apparently spent a lot of his art classes working next to Belle.

 He also was well known for creating various pieces of artwork all over any walls he got get to without being seen. His fingers were constantly stained with spray paint.

   Colson was a little bit surprised to see him, but still happy to chat while the others were distracted: “Hey man, I didn’t know you got involved with this shit.”

 “I don’t, normally. Mr. Greene hates me.” Dom laughed loudly - and drawing a furious expression out of Greene: “But Belle’s sound, and she asked me to ‘consult’, so here I am.”

   Colson shouldn’t be surprised that other people thought Belle was a good person - or ‘sound’ as Dom put it - and, when he thought about it, he wasn’t.

 He just surprised at how in love he was with her after just two meetings.

   I’m so unbelievably screwed…

      After a week of planning sessions, Belle took Colson to the art cupboard to help her gather supplies for painting the scenery Willow and Cameron were currently drawing out back on the stage of the school theatre.

 He wasn’t much use; standing outside with a big cardboard box in his arms while Belle actually found everything they had been sent out to go and get, but Belle didn’t seem to mind all that much…

   “I’m just so glad I don’t have to lug it all back by myself, or with Darren.” she confided in him while putting some pots of brightly coloured paint in the box he was holding: “Don’t tell him I said it, but you’ve got a lot more muscles than he does.”

 Colson knew she was only being friendly…but that didn’t stop him from winking at her: “Thanks, I worked hard for them.”

 “And they’re very nice, too.” Belle laughed, clearly taking his response as a joke…but Colson didn’t mind her missing him flirting with her.

   He’d seen her looking at his arms.

 She hadn’t just been teasing.

 Colson wasn’t the only one

      On opening night, Colson was hanging out backstage, leaning against a wall and waiting for his cue to help move the scenery about on stage. They had to keep it down, as to not be heard over ‘Marine’ and ‘Joey’ dramatically bemoaning that there was no room at the inn – in rhyming couplets (Colson was seriously glad he hadn’t been put with the kids writing the script for this punishment, he might have actually punched someone), but it was still…alright.

 Brendan was still a dick, obviously, but Willow had warmed up enough to offer him some sour patch kids from the bag she, Ellie, Belle, and Cameron were sharing (which was more than she’d offered Brendan - which Colson was taking as a major win), and Belle was leaning against the wall next to him, dressed in a pair of black slacks and a black button-down shirt like the rest of them, with her chocolate-coloured hair smoothed into a sleek twist, and her skin free of paint.

 Honestly, Colson kind of missed the paint stains…but he had to admit he wasn’t ungrateful to be seeing the smokey eyeshadow and deep red lipstick she’d put on for when they went out on stage to take their bow after the play was over.

 After a month of spending anywhere between one and three hours a day with her, Colson could safely say he’d never wanted anyone more than he wanted Belle.

 She was…indescribable. Literally; he didn’t have all the words to describe her properly, and Colson prided himself on being eloquent. He adored everything about her: from the fact she was constantly sketching in a notebook just as he always had scraps of paper to write down anything he thought might sound good in a song, the way she was quick to laugh and even quicker to smile, and the fact that she was always willing to give someone a chance, no matter how disdainful they were when she met them.

 Yeah, he was talking about himself.

 Belle had been nice to him, even when he didn’t deserve it. Even when, to make sure everyone knew he was no coward, he’d acted like a dick.

 Well, Colson still wasn’t a coward…so tonight, after they’d all taken their bow and shit, he was going to ask Belle if she wanted to go out with him at some point over the Christmas break. Just the thought was terrifying, but if she noticed anything, she was kind enough not to mention it as they waited around backstage, or as they moved scenery as required, or when they went out and took their bow with the script writers, the kid who’d done the lighting and sound effects, the kids who’d make the costumes.

 She just…carried on making normal conversation, and didn’t seem to mind when Colson’s responses were a little halting and disjointed. She didn’t even say anything when they were heading out of the back of the auditorium after most of the audience had left, and Colson was trailing after her, feeling a little like a lost puppy…

 He felt like an idiot, so when she paused just before she was about to say goodbye, Colson blurted out:

   “Hey, Belle, I know we probably won’t be seeing each other much now my detention in theatre club is over, since if I stick around I might get kicked out for finally punching Brendan like he deserves, but I was wondering if…maybe you wanted to go out over winter break? Like, on a date?”

 Belle looked surprised for a few seconds, and Colson’s heart dropped…but then she grinned, fishing a pen out of her pocket and scrawling her number on the back of his hand, before leaning up to press her lips against his cheek: “I’d love to. Text me to work something out?”

 “I’d love to…” Colson echoed, feeling a little dazed from the kiss…but still overjoyed.

   Belle laughed gently, before ducking out when someone called for her.

 Colson waited a few seconds in the room, probably smiling like an idiot, before heading out too.

   Slim and Rook were waiting for him just outside the doors, the grins on the faces confirming that they had heard everything Colson and Belle had said, with Slim greeting Colson with a congratulatory grin: “So, bro, how do we sign up next year? I’m thinking I need a way to find me a hot girl…”

[itsclydebitches]

You all want to hear a shocking secret? I’m still writing these 😅 

Drabble #3 for @valasania-the-pale! 

Reckless Conversation 

Pairing: Future Geralt/Dandelion with pining Dandelion and references to other ships

Word Count: 3,581

How'd it go? Geralt would ask, head bent over his blade like he wasn't hanging on Ciri's every word. 

I think I broke Dandelion's nose should produce a fun reaction. 

That was an enjoyment only future Ciri had access to though. Right now, present Ciri had to deal with the damn thing. 

"It's not that bad," she insisted, even as blood soaked through the rag she'd given him. She winced as Dandelion all but stuffed the material up his nostrils in an effort to stop the flow. Ciri was pretty sure she'd last used that to mop up some drowner slime... best not mention it. Besides, it wasn’t like he was breathing through his nose right now. "It's fine. You're fine." 

"I'd like to be the judge of that!" came the muffled reply. Dandelion staggered to a nearby water trough, blinking down at his own reflection. When he straightened his face was curiously blank. "You've ruined me." 

"Oh please." 

"I'm done. Through. My career will never recover. I hope it was worth it, little miss witcher, I really do." 

"Okay, first of all you're fine. Second, I doubt a bruised nose will hinder your poetry—" 

"I am speaking of my romantic career, dear, keep up!" 

Ciri rolled her eyes to the heavens, half hoping they'd open up and drown her. Dandelion had dropped plaintively to his knees, staring into the water and bemoaning his bloodstained shirt. She bit down on the urge to point out the new mud on his trousers. 

"Maybe," she said, rocking back on her heels, "you shouldn't go grabbing little miss witchers from the depths of alleyways. They have a tendency to hit first and ask questions later." 

The glare didn't surprise her. The words though... 

"Well, I was happy to see you." 

Oh. 

Shaking her head, Ciri pulled Dandelion to his feet and straight into a hug. "And I'm happy to see you too. Drama and all." 

The sounds emanating from her shoulder were curiously wet, though whether that was due to injury or emotion she couldn't say. "Friends pay for ruined clothes, you know." 

"Not when one friend has a monopoly on Novigrad's entertainment district and the other barely has two coins to her name. Plus, I'm pretty sure one of them is counterfeit. I owe someone else a broken nose. Sorry you got it instead." 

With a laugh Dandelion pulled away. "In truth I'm happy to receive anything you might give me, Ciri. Though I'd really prefer a strong drink." 

"I think we can manage that." 

After checking that his nose truly wasn't broken — just blooming a display of color that would put many painters to shame — Dandelion took Ciri's hand and led her into the city. He wasn't a native, but he might as well have been given the number of years he'd spent here, moving between high society circles and dangerous slums. Ciri knew there were few who could show her Novigrad like Dandelion and after months on the Path she was more than happy to let someone else call the shots for a while. 

She shouldn't have been surprised when, just minutes later, she was steered into a small alcove, the entrance so dark even she might have missed it passing by. An elf stood off to the side of a door, the bulk of his arms contrasting the ornamentally styled tunic. He inclined his head towards Dandelion as they slipped inside. 

"Milireth," he whispered, though the sudden onslaught of chatter made that unnecessary. "Great chap. Bit taciturn for my taste, but then I have plenty of stirring conversation for the two of us. He had some trouble finding employment a while back — you know how inhumane those Eternal Fire folks are and yes, I use that term deliberately — so I called in a favor with Julia and got him a spot here. Perfect fit. Now Milireth, in turn, lets me in without Julia being any wiser." He dropped her a wink. 

"Dandelion. Are we going to get kicked out halfway through our drinks?" 

"Absolutely not. Probably not. Provided we keep to the back. Or provided Julia has gotten over her most recent grudge. Either way I'd consider those excellent odds. Come on!" 

He led her through the establishment with impressive skill, weaving among the closely packed tables, dodging feet and legs. As Ciri's eyes adjusted to the low light she realized why Milireth was a good fit for this place. While Novigrad tended to divide its species rather strictly by districts and boroughs, here there was a diverse mix Ciri had only ever seen among her own friends and family. Dwarves, humans, elves, and, she suspected, a doppler or two made up the majority of the crowd, largely keeping to their own tables but still intermingling to an almost unheard of degree. They were literally sharing elbow room, leaning into one another's space with a confidence that said here, at least, everyone was welcome. A figure all the way in the back was shrouded in their cloak, but claw-like hands brought a mug to their lips. A woman with slit eyes smiled as they passed. Another was giving off pheromones — if the men draped in her lap were any indication. Monsters of all manner took refuge in shadows, fortifying themselves with good food, better drink, and even, if any would admit it, the company. 

Dandelion gently pushed Ciri into an empty seat. Her legs felt loose as a water hag's stew. 

"What — ?" she started to say before realizing that she knew precisely what this place was. Ciri shook her head. No one liked stupid questions. "How does this place exist?" 

Dandelion waved a hand. "Well, the philosopher might spout something about life finding a way, no matter what might stand against it. The Captain of our guard would say that the scum of the city are unerringly skilled at meeting in clandestine places. I suppose that both are right in their own way. Me? I might wax poetic about the stunningly skillful enchantments that keep this place from prying eyes." 

Ciri's gaze dropped instinctively to the Cat medallion against her chest. It lay quiet as a grave. Well, a grave post-witcher contract. 

"Very sophisticated enchantments," Dandelion said. 

"I'll say. I'm surprised you and the other humans aren't buckling with migraines." Ciri wasn't sure what protected her exactly. The Elder Blood, early exposure to magic, the fact that she was a Source... who could say. Except maybe Yen, and the last time she'd brought it up she'd gotten a mind-numbing lecture for her trouble. Better to simply let some things remain a mystery. 

Dandelion shrugged. "We will. Eventually. In an hour or two, but by that point one should be three sheets to the wind, so who can really tell the difference?" With a grin he waved down a passing barmaid who unceremoniously dropped two mugs on their table. Apparently one didn't order here. Or if you did, best be quick about it. The barmaid paused only long enough to peer closely at Dandelion's face. By the stretching of his grin he no doubt thought her a suitable distraction. Ciri suspected she was just interested in the growing bruise. 

She ignored them both to try the drink. Bitter and frothy, but it went down easier than most of what she'd had in the last year. Ciri took a long swing and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. 

"Which means," Dandelion continued, waving the barmaid away, "that we have more than enough time for you to tell me everything you've been up to. Don't spare the details! Though you may not have my knack for storytelling, dear, I know you're not entirely without talent. If you leave even a morsel out I'll be devastated." 

"Well, far be it from me to devastate you." 

"Precisely." 

So Ciri told Dandelion all, keeping her voice low in case a room full of creatures didn't take kindly to a list of her contracts. A few had eyed her swords upon entry, but said nothing, seemingly content to keep out of her way provided Ciri kept out of theirs. It was only too bad she couldn't say the same of her travels. Drowner infestations were one thing, even if the sailors too often tried to get handsy instead of paying her in coin, but a pack of werewolves had given her trouble for a solid month. All born into the curse, they possessed the ability to transform at will and had used it to their advantage as bandits, terrorizing a collection of villages. Solving the problem without indiscriminate slaughter had been a tricky business, demanding that Ciri pull from her knowledge of negotiation and mediation: neither of which were her strong suits. 

The werewolves at least would live out their days as members of a community. The rampaging godling out in Kaedwen was another matter entirely. Ciri hadn't had the privilege of meeting one until then — and she'd always assumed it was a privilege based on Geralt's teachings. "Not a beast to be put down," he'd say, eyeing the aggressive drunk. "Just mischievous. Respect them and at the very least you'll finish your contract without bloodshed. At best you'll come out of it with a friend." Well, she'd been more than respectful. Especially towards a being whose mischievous nature had resulted in families terrified of their own dreams, to the point where one newly minted wife had walked out her window. Another strangled her infant, thinking it an intruder. Ciri had tried to establish if the families had moved into what the godling perceived as her territory, if she had some sort of grievance towards young wives and mothers, even if it were possible for their species to fall under spells... all of it came to naught. Her inquiries were only met with laughter and, in time, more death. When a member of the Viper school had passed through and casually mentioned burdock root for navigating dreams, she'd bought him a drink, crushed a whole stem up in hers, and met the godling in another reality. Ciri couldn't swear she killed it, though as the Lady of Time and Space she suspected she'd had that edge. Either way, afterwards the women had slept soundly for a fortnight and it had felt safe to move on. 

There were others, of course, though no encounter quite as thrilling. It seemed like no matter how much people sneered at the trade — Geralt for his yellow eyes, her for being born a woman — everyone had a nest of something in need of extermination. Or a haunting to be put right. Or even, on occasion, just a particularly nasty job that no one else wanted to do. Ciri didn't mind mucking about in the sewers, provided her payment got her a bath at the end of the day. As well as, weeks later, the humor in watching Dandelion's face twist in on itself. 

"You didn't," he murmured, taking a large gulp of his drink. He swirled it as if to wash away an imaginary taste. "You drank from it?" 

"It was either that or die of thirst. I don't have a witcher's mutations. Sometimes you've just got to make do." 

"You poor, wretched thing." 

“Oh I know. Buy a poor, wretched thing another drink?” 

Speaking with Dandelion was easy. Even when he interrupted to supply what he considered to be the superior description, or went off on his own, thrilling tangents — forever stealing the spotlight. They were just the quirks of talking to him and after so long on the Path Ciri found herself welcoming the familiar. More than that, or the warm interior, or even the satisfying drink, she soaked up the feeling of family that permeated the air. 

It was a funny thing that, family. Funny, at least, if you shared her sense of humor. If anyone asked about her parentage (and plenty certainly had) they were in for quite the explanation. Born to the lovely Pavetta and Duny, though orphaned at a terribly young age. So really, in spirit Ciri’s parents were her grandparents, nothing less than the Lioness of Cintra herself and her devoted husband, Eist Tuirseach. But oh, haven't you heard? Her father hadn't really died. Why, he was no mere Lord, but the Emperor of Nilfgaard himself! Emhyr var Emreis, The White Flame Dancing on the Barrows of his Enemies and so on and so forth. Surely then he would be the one she referred to as 'Father'? Well, not when one considered a slew of complexities there, including her status as a Child Surprise. Duny, Eist, and Emhyr may have all vowed for the title of 'Father,' but destiny gave that dubious privilege��to Geralt of Rivia and time proved one a wise man and the other a fool. So it was that Ciri found herself with three fathers, technically, though four if one considered the childhood emotions she'd attached to the Urcheon of Erlenwald. Two mothers as well, with the third arriving along with Geralt: Yennefer of Vengerberg. Sorceress. Visionary. Protector in the extreme. 

Yet the irony was that it didn't stop there. Who were the other witchers if not additional fathers, given joke names like 'Uncle' and 'Brother' to avoid confusion? What else made up the Lodge but mothers when it was they who taught her everything from magic to the ungodly chore of managing her blood each month? For an orphan Ciri had an uncommon number of parental figures... including the man who sat across from her. 

"Who's raising who?" she'd once heard Dijkstra mutter while Geralt and Dandelion had argued over her. It had been about something inconsequential, the disagreement lost to time, but Ciri, hardly a teen, recalled thinking that they were indeed like children in their bickering. 

Now, as an adult, she was inclined to re-term such moments as... frisky. In the absurdly strange way of all witchers and bards. But really, what friends argued so strongly over the raising of a daughter? 

Their interactions across nearly fifteen years hadn't exactly escaped her notice, even if childhood had often mischaracterized what precisely those interactions were. Nor, of course, could Ciri have missed how Dandelion kept speaking of romance without naming any new paramours. 

"So," she said, leaning across the table. This time a young man passed with drinks and Ciri snatched one, enjoying the spicy scent. She dangled the brew before Dandelion's nose before taking a sloppy sip. She was no lightweight, but they didn't skimp on the alcohol here either. 

Dandelion leaned forward to meet her. "So?" 

"Don't tell me I've been blathering on and you haven't thought of a single thing to share? No exciting adventures of your own? No... new friends?" 

In the shadows of the establishment Dandelion's face fell, then grew soft. In an instant the performer was gone and in his place sat a man closer to fifty than forty, a little tired, a little stressed, but more happy than anything else. He took the mug out of her hands and stole a drink for himself. "Can I share a secret with you, dear?" 

"Always." 

"Promise not to tell?" 

"Witcher's honor." 

"Your skillfully thrown punch may not have been the death of my career. I fear that's coming along just fine on its own." 

"Come on." 

He chuckled, so light and airy it floated away into the conversation around them. Ciri only knew he was laughing because of that smile and the shake in his shoulders. 

"All right, all right. You've caught me. There are still many men and women alike who flock to my side post-performance. Even a few who have asked for a private staging, if you catch my drift." 

"Dandelion. I've 'caught your drift' since I was fourteen and you gave me a lecture on avoiding venereal disease." 

"Did I?" 

"You were drunk." 

He took another massive gulp from their shared mug. "Well, that would explain it. But yes, I'm still popular — thank the gods for that — but I'd be a fool not to acknowledge that most of that stems from my unparalleled musical talent and a hefty nest egg. I'm not as limber as I once was, dear. I have wrinkles." Dandelion shook like a dog shedding water. 

Ciri smiled. Slow. Syrupy. "You're still the most handsome poet I know." 

"Oh thank you. I should hope so! The others are all cads..." 

"And you're dodging the question. Or the implied question, since I know you like to get technical." Dandelion scoffed. "No new friends? No last hurrahs before your golden years? Come off it, Dandelion. The last two times we've met up you haven't mentioned a single new 'acquaintance' and we both know you'd be talking up any encounters whether they'd been good or not. A girl's got to wonder." 

"A girl's gotten nosy." He slammed the now empty mug back on the table. "Let's go." 

"Ah — look. Sorry. If you don't want to talk about it — " 

"I don't want to talk about it here." Dandelion rolled his eyes with such fervor that Ciri worried for a moment that they'd leave his head. "Come now. Have I ever kept things from you? I'll tell all with a master's flair, but I'm doing it out of their earshot. Besides, that headache’s starting up." 

A few patrons cast them looks, which Ciri could only interpret as confirmation that they'd been eavesdropping. Then again, she'd been doing the same. There was a certain amount of camaraderie as they left the establishment, Dandelion passing a hand over all he knew (and dropping reminders not to mention him to Julia) and even she got a few nods of recognition. Changling, bard, vampire, or un-mutated Witcher, it seemed so long as you kept yourself to yourself all were welcome. 

She'd have to come back sometime. 

Ciri took note of the street as they ambled away, Dandelion's arm comfortably tucked into hers. They'd nearly reached the market before he spoke. 

"I know I just promised a tale, but are you really going to make me explain this?" His petulance drew out a laugh. 

"No," she admitted. "What's to explain? I’m not blind. You've spent the last twenty years following Geralt around and very nearly losing your head for the trouble. Or your voice. Your arm. Your balls, if some of those stories are to be believed."

"Oh, believe it, my dear."

"So I think that speaks for itself. Mere friends don't go to such lengths."

The toe of Dandelion's boot found a small stone, sending it soaring ahead of them. "Yet you forget one crucial detail."

"Enlighten me."

"Future loves do not have poetry worthy relationships with a sorceress."

She ground them both to a halt, the sudden loss of momentum drawing a curse from Dandelion. "Are you kidding me?" He squawked as Ciri reached up to knock some sense into him. Try to, anyway. "Oh, I knew immersing yourself in that exaggerated, destiny-laden, overly dramatic drivel would cause problems someday."

"One moment now! Drivel?"

Ciri ignored the outcry. "Yes, Geralt loves Yen... Just like Yen loves Istredd. Triss loves Geralt. Triss and Yen both had that weird thing for Philippa and don't even get me started on Fringilla. What do you think it means that Geralt spent months with Regis and Yen still dragged him up to that unicorn the moment he returned? Or that they casually talk about a 'sorceress' work' over the breakfast table? Dandelion, he's past his first century with so little family left. If you think that leaves less room for you in this mess than you're not nearly as smart as the masses claim. You’ve been listening to your own ballads too much."

She supposed this was some kind of accomplishment: leaving the most verbose man in The Continent utterly speechless. The alcohol still burned in the back of her throat and Ciri could admit that, in a more sober, everyday moment, she probably wouldn't have said as much as she had. But it was all true and dammit, if she'd learned anything since the Frost it was that a short life could be just as cursed as a long one. She was sick of people — herself included — letting things pass by.

"I don't know which is harder to believe," Dandelion murmured, raising a hand to his brow. "That you have twice assaulted me on this beautiful day. That I am being egged into a relationship with a witcher by his uncouth daughter..."

"Or?"

"Or that he remains that stunningly handsome at over a hundred years old."

Ciri snorted, tugging him along. Dandelion stumbled a moment, a testament to her words, but did quickly regain his feet. "You know we've never shied from discussions of sex in this family. Love though? Absolutely... so go slowly there."

A blush stained the great poet's cheeks, though no one else would have caught it on such a hot, sunny day. He delicately cleared his throat. "Any suggestions?"

"Hmm." Ciri pretended to think, tapping her chin. "We've been apart so long and really, our day has only just started, so I suggest that you come home with me. The three of us can start by having lunch."

The blush turned into a conspiratorial smile. "Where you will unexpectedly disappear, leaving the two of us alone?"

"But of course."

"My dear Ciri, I'll make a storyteller out of you yet."

A story she was more than happy to work on. How'd it go? Geralt would ask, trying to hide both face and curiosity. She'd done enough telling for today and Ciri looked forward to dragging Dandelion into their home, shoving him forward, and letting two of her dads work that out for themselves.

[captainseaweedbrains]

The Dance of the Color Guard, Op. 64: Chapter 2

Katniss and Peeta used to be best friends when they were kids, but now in high school, they're barely on speaking terms. It isn't until they are forced together as the titular star-crossed lovers for their marching band's field show that they will have to face their past mistakes and try to get along if they ever hope of defeating the notorious Capitol Height's Imperial Marching Crusaders in competition.

It's all about winning and if that means pretending to be in love with Peeta Mellark, so be it.

But a lot can happen in six months.

Tumblr: x x

Ao3: x x x

May

Tryouts came and went with an excellent turnout, the best Katniss had seen ever. And in true Miss Trinket fashion, the assistant director had sought out the theatre and dance kids with the promise of getting to perform such an iconic story on the biggest stage they’ll ever have the privilege to perform on. Miss Trinket wanted the drama, the flair, and she didn’t have to go far to get it.

Even more surprising was that they actually showed up and were actually pretty good. Katniss had had her doubts when seeing the likes of musical star extraordinaire Finnick Odair saunter into the gym where auditions were being held, wearing that arrogant smile she always saw on him, but after seeing what he and the other theatre and dance kids could do with a flag, she admitted she was wrong and focused her energy on earning her place as captain.

Between her and Miss Trinket’s determination, Athens Ridge Marching Gladiators might have a good chance of finally beating Capitol Heights this year at PSU!

“We’re looking promising,” she told Leevy as they put together their instruments. It was the day after final rounds of auditions and she couldn’t stop thinking how at the end of today, Miss Trinket would post who was on the team and Katniss would finally know if she was made captain or not. She had done her best, she kept telling herself, and now it was out of her hands. The wait was killing her, though, and her poor bladder was taking most of the brunt, the constant need to pee every two minutes distracting her in all her classes today.

Had she proven to Miss Trinket that she was enough to be captain?

Her legs twitched closed, the need to pee returning.

“You should have seen Finnick Odair twirl a rifle,” Katniss said to distract herself. “It was insane how good he is! I always thought he was a bit full of himself, but maybe he has a right to brag. I’m pretty sure Miss Trinket’s going to use him as one of the spotlight guards.”

Leevy’s eyes widened, her thick-rimmed glasses sliding down her nose a bit. Her crush on the performer was not an unknown fact to Katniss. “Oh, do you think she’d have him play Romeo? I bet he’ll be Romeo. He’d make an incredible Romeo.”

Katniss snorted. “I’m sure he’d be up to the challenge.” Finnick Odair not wanting the titular role would come as more of a shock to her. Miss Trinket hadn’t revealed much about how she wanted to choreograph the show, but if last season’s Cirque du Soleil and Alice Through the Looking Glass the season before were any indications of how she envisioned next season’s show, she would be using color guard to visually tell the story of the star-crossed lovers. Miss Trinket always had “big big big plans” for them all. There was no way she’d pass up on someone talented like Finnick.

Mr. Abernathy gave the two minute warning before rehearsal started up and the girls leaned toward each other to tune their flutes. As they made adjustments, Katniss wondered who would play Finnick’s Juliet. Madge, maybe? She was a good height and her years of ballet served her well, being the lead spotlight guard two years in a row. Or Glimmer? She grimaced at the thought of Glimmer Macklemore being the lead spotlight, believing it would go straight to her head. Glimmer was by far one of the worst human beings Katniss has had the misfortune of knowing all these years, but the girl was graceful. “Like a swan on water,” Miss Trinket was known for saying about Glimmer’s talent.

I hope it’s Madge, Katniss thought, glancing slightly over at her friend who sat further down the row from her, Madge’s cheeks slightly puffed as she tuned her oboe. Yes, Madge would make an incredible Juliet.

*******

All her thoughts and worry over color guard went away during what ended up being a long and brutal rehearsal. It was hard worrying over who’d play Juliet to Finnick’s Romeo when Mr. Abernathy was out for blood. He was yelling at everyone today, not pleased that they had a concert in another week and sounded like a beginning band. What made the rehearsal even worse was much of his agitation was directed at her and the two solos she had. Over and over he made her play in front of the whole band, walking her through the notes, asking her snidely who controlled the tempo. By the time he threw up his arms in defeat, her face was a completely different shade.

“Sign up for a practice room, Everdeen,” Mr. Abernathy told her after her sixth attempt at a difficult run. “And maybe work on your fingerings instead of drooling over Finnick Odair, huh?” He moved his attention to his next victims and was just as merciless.

Slumping low in her seat, her throat tight with choked back tears, Katniss focused hard on her music, pretending she was just practicing when really it took all her strength not to cry. Snickers from the brass section could be heard, or maybe she was just paranoid that the whole band was laughing at her. Either way, no matter how hard she kept her attention on her music, forcing back tears from spilling over, she couldn’t hide how dark her face must look right now. Mr. Abernathy’s words played over in her head, causing her cheeks to warm even more. From embarrassment or anger, she wasn’t sure. The man was never one to mince words and was known for his sour temper, but this was the first time he’d ever taken it out on her. And he thought her, one of his most dedicated players, as nothing more than a teenage girl drooling over boys. 

She’d never hated the man more than in this moment.

“Hey,” Leevy nudged her, face sympathetic. “You okay?” 

Katniss stiffly nodded, afraid if she said anything, she’d break and start to cry, and that was definitely something she didn’t want to do in front of the whole band. 

“He’s being an ass today,” her friend whispered in comfort, playfully bumping their knees together. “You’re his best player and he knows it. He’s probably just mad because Coin took away the pizza buffet in the cafeteria.” Katniss gave a halfhearted smile, knowing her friend was just trying to make her feel better, but Mr. Abernathy was at least right about her playing. She really did need to practice more.

“Okay, we’re calling it today,” Mr. Abernathy sighed, slamming his scorebook closed. “It’s clear no one’s practiced since yesterday and it’s wasting my time. I better hear improvement tomorrow, or I’m going to have everyone play their part and have your whole semester grade be based off that.” 

“Practice, practice, practice!” Miss Trinket trilled from the back of the room, typing at the computer. “We want to be the best, don’t we?” Mr. Abernathy gave her the stink eye, like he wanted to argue her statement, but waved his hand, reminding everyone not to leave the band room until the bell rang.

“Well that was brutal,” Leevy joked halfheartedly, her eyes still looking at Katniss with pity. Katniss looked away, unable to stomach her friend’s obvious sympathies. She’d received enough of  that look to last an entire lifetime.

“Can’t wait until he starts threatening laps,” Katniss mumbled, her throat still tight. She just wanted to leave. Run to a bathroom stall to collect herself, but it’d be too obvious and the likes of Cato and Marvel calling her a crybaby kept her seated.

*******

They didn’t often have so much time to lounge around, especially before a concert, but Katniss took the opportunity to catch up on homework she’d been neglecting, too stressed about tryouts to bother with algebra and chemistry. Feeling like everyone was still watching her, waiting for her to crack, she tucked herself in the back locker room, between two instrument lockers, out of sight from her classmates. The space was tight and not the most ideal of places to hide, but it blocked out a lot of the noise from out front and let her take a few deep breaths in. She couldn’t cry until she got home, but at least it didn’t feel like her tears were strangling her any more. 

Taking out the beat up copy of A Tale of Two Cities from her bag, Katniss began scouring the chapters they were assigned to read (or sparknoted, in her case) for political symbolisms Mr. Heavensbee, her English teacher, was always quizzing them on during his infamous rapid fire quizzes. English had never been a strong subject for her, finding the books they read incredibly dull and full of nothing but tales about old white guys bemoaning about their manhoods, but grades was the one thing her mom actually paid attention to and hers were slipping in Heavensbee’s class due to these stupid quizzes. Her pencil circled another example, not feeling confident about it, but if her index card wasn’t pulled early on, all the obvious examples would be taken and this would be all she had to argue. 

“Good book?” She jumped, her head hitting the wall behind her, pencil stabbing her in the gums. Peeta Mellark stood in front of her, looking all casual in his dark denim jeans and grey shirt, his hands stuffed in his back pockets. He smiled at her scowl. “Sorry,” he said, and to her astonishment, it sounded like he actually meant it. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“You didn’t,” she quickly informed, tucking her pencil in the book as a bookmark. “Just preparing to be publicly humiliated in English, that’s all. ”

“Heavensbee’s quizzes are brutal,” he agreed, still standing there, trying to be nonchalant, but his shoulders were way too tight to pull it off. It looked like it was taking all he had to be standing in front of her like this. Her hackles rose. Why should he look uncomfortable?  He sought her out. If anything, she should be the one uncomfortable, caged in a corner like this. “I think I almost cried during one last week,” he continued, not even looking at her now but at the locker next to her head. “Marvel wouldn’t stop making fun of me after that.” That didn’t surprise her, but it felt rude to point out what a shit person she thought Marvel Baxter was to Peeta’s face. 

“Yeah.” Katniss tapped her book, unsure what else to say. “Listen, I’m kind of busy trying not to fail and all, Peeta, so unless you have a question…?”

Peeta rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at his Converse, taking a deep breath in. It was a little unsettling seeing him like this, she realized, still confused why he was talking to her to begin with. Normally he knew exactly what to say, in any given situation she’d ever seen him in. 

“Okay, seriously,” she said at last, a bit more snappish than she meant. “What do you want? I don’t have time watching you sputter like a dead fish.” 

“I want to see how you’re doing,” he said in one breath. It was a totally innocent question to ask, but it felt more like a punch to the stomach, sending her back to when she was 11 years old and standing next to her mother and Prim as strangers she barely knew came up and smothered her in tight, smelly hugs. They cried over how young Sage was, still in his prime, and poor Cary, having to raise those two young girls on her own. The funeral had felt so surreal, her movements stiff and disjointed. Her voice hollow as she thanked the strangers for coming, trying not to cry in front of them as they passed. Her father’s death still hadn’t fully hit her yet and the only thing she wanted was to crawl into the casket with him and shake him awake, tell him this joke wasn’t funny any more.  Ha ha. He got her. Now could he please get up so they could go home?

 Katniss’ throat tightened at the sudden memory and she shoved her book in her bag, really needing to go before she did something stupid, like cry in front of Peeta Mellark.

“I’m fine,” she said, trying to push past him. Peeta wasn’t only tall, but his wide frame stopped her from escaping as easily as she’d like. “Really.” 

“Katniss.” He grabbed her hand to stop her, but pulled away instantly, realizing he had no right to touch her. “You looked like you were about to cry out there and then you bolted—I wanted to see if you’re okay.” 

“I  wasn’t going to cry!” she snapped, her vision red now. There were only so many punches she could take in one class period, but it seemed the universe kept wanting to come for more. “I was doing homework, Peeta, and then you waltzed in, wanting to rub it in my face that I’m a terrible player. Were you hoping I’d cry? Is Cato secretly filming this?” She looked around the small room for Golden Ass’ burley frame. 

“Cato isn’t in here, Katniss,” he snapped back, then winced, realizing his mistake. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. What I meant was: Abernathy is a complete asshole and he shouldn’t have said those things to you. Katniss, you’re the best player in the band and he knows it.” Any other day, hearing the sweet sentiment twice in one period would have been a real confidence booster for her, but today, it just felt like pity. Leevy felt sorry for her and now freaking Peeta Mellark felt sorry for her, too. What a blow  that felt, looking into his sad blue eyes right now. 

“I don’t want your pity,” she sneered, not knowing what else to say, but if he kept looking at her like that, she was definitely going to break down crying. Then he’d just look at her with that pathetic sad expression, feeling even more sorry for her.  “Abernathy was right about my runs and I can handle his criticism like I do with everything else in my life: alone. So if you don’t mind.” And she tried to push past him. 

In typical Peeta fashion, he blocked her only exit. “I wasn’t pitying you, Katniss.” His tone sounded as sharp and annoyed as hers now. “I was being nice. I know you don’t know what that is because you think the whole world is out to get you, but it means caring about other people and being there for them.” She looked down at her feet at the sudden weight of his accusation, her hand tightening around the strap of her backpack.

They were so engrossed in their argument, neither heard the familiar clap clap clap of Miss Trinket’s heels before the small woman announced herself, causing them both to jump and turn to the small woman. 

“There you are!” the assistant director smiled. “Peeta, I have been calling your name. Didn’t you hear me?” 

Peeta glanced down at Katniss, his eyes still hard, before looking over at his teacher. “Sorry, Miss Trinket. Katniss and I were just...talking.” Why did he say it like that? He made it sound like they weren’t talking and by the twinkle of amusement in Miss Trinket’s eyes, she suspected nothing else from two teenagers hiding in a back room. 

“I’m so sorry to interrupt your... talking” —Katniss’ cheeks darkened again, wondering how fast it’d take for the rumors to start going around that she and Peeta were caught making out in the instrument locker room by Miss Trinket—“but I need to speak with you for a moment, Peeta. If you don’t mind?” She motioned for him to proceed ahead. 

Peeta’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Am I in trouble, ma’am?” 

“No, no!” their teacher assured. “Mr. Abernathy and I need to discuss something with you about this upcoming season. Nothing scary, I promise.” He went ahead with no further comment, his hands stuffed in his front pockets, as Miss Trinket hurried ahead to unlock the band office door. He didn’t look back at her as she stood there, hand still gripping her backpack, and somehow, that felt worse than his pity. 

Katniss, I’m so sorry about your dad. It’s so not fair. How are you doing? 

Katniss? 

Katniss? 

Are you there, Katniss? Hey, how are you doing?

[lezliefaithwade]

A Breath of Fresh Air

The summer after my first year of theatre school, I was sleeping on the living room floor of my cousin's apartment in Toronto, trying to figure out what to do with my life. My cousin had been an actor before he became a quadriplegic in a car accident, and as I unadvisedly bemoaned my unemployment status, he said something like, "Seriously? You're complaining about your life? Don't make me burst a colostomy bag." He was right, of course. I wasn't in a wheelchair, though I did have a stepmother who had rendered me homeless because of her dislike for me. She was always saying things like, "Your hair can't be as ugly as that hat you're wearing." Or simply refusing to invite me to things like Christmas dinner. I always admired people with families. My boyfriend at the time was one of five kids who were always doing things together. Their house was always full of noise and activities. Even as a shiksa, I felt more at home there than with my stepbrothers and sisters, who never lost an opportunity to point out that I was weird. I wanted to stand up to them, but not wanting to cause my father any grief, I held my tongue and sought refuge elsewhere. It occurred to me that perhaps I was using the theatre as an opportunity to say things through characters that I couldn't find the courage to express myself.

The Toronto Star was still open on the kitchen table, and I rummage through the Want Ads, that dirty part of the newspaper near the back where complete strangers will soon become complete assholes in your life by forcing you to work menial jobs in humiliating uniforms for minimum wage.

"Find anything?" my cousin called from the bedroom, where two attendants helped wash and dress him.

"Social services are advertising for camp councilors to work with emotionally challenged kids."

"Oh yeah," He said. "That might suit you."

I'm not sure I knew what he meant but, I was beginning to think I'd outgrown my welcome. My cousin probably would have encouraged me to join the circus if the option had been available. Knowing my living room days were numbered, I thought it best to make an effort and apply.

I had no experience teaching drama—no experience working with kids and no experience going to or working at a camp. Despite all that, I was hired. It's worth noting that it's probably not a good sign if you get a job with no qualifications whatsoever.

My official position was Drama Councillor, and I prided myself that with only a year and half of theatre training behind me, I was well equipped to help others benefit from the wealth of my experience. I imagined myself, Maria Von Trapp, teaching children how to sing while they looked at me adoringly. Somehow, I conveniently blocked out the rebellious early stages she experienced and skipped straight to the good parts. Also, I might add, forgetting about the Nazis and having to climb over a mountain. Still, visions of me biking around camp with a group of happy campers behind me filled me with a sense of self-satisfaction.

As I packed my knapsack with deet and a secret stash of Twinkies, I thought of how only three weeks earlier I'd been in New York walking through Central Park and savoring Cappuccinos at outdoor cafés on Columbus. Now, here I was, ready for something different. The wilderness, I imagined, would be a welcome change—fresh air and loons instead of smog and sirens. I thought smugly about my classmates sweating behind visors at take-out windows shoveling fries into cardboard cups or wrapping sandwiches in tinfoil. Thumbs up to adventure, I told myself. The fact that I'd never once in my life enjoyed the great outdoors didn't factor into my mind. All of this changed with each accumulated minute of the 391 Kilometer drive north.

It was late afternoon when I arrived at the compound. Overcast, sullen, it was a place so secluded you'd need flares to find it. It had that distinct aura of someplace time forgot. A place left behind and neglected. In the brochure, the sun was shining, flowers filled the meadow, and you could practically hear laughter floating off the page. What I was looking at bore more of a resemblance to a situation in a Stephen King novel where camp councilors discover a pack of hungry teenage zombies have lured them to a seemingly idyllic retreat. Situated right in the heart of black fly country, I spent most of my days swatting insects so big they seem Jurassic.

During our orientation, child care workers warned us that children with mental health needs tend to run away - a lot and to keep strict attendance records and all eyes on them at all times. "These kids are resourceful and clever," they cautioned. I couldn't imagine being so determined you'd risk your life by escaping through the woods that surrounded us, but then again, I'd never been around children who weren't allowed cutlery before either

I shared my cabin with three other women with who I had absolutely nothing in common. Delia, a humorless 27-year-old cooking instructor who answered every question with a monosyllabic grunt, Jennifer, a 26-year old tennis instructor with massive blond ringlets who talked so quickly she sounded like a record on high speed, and an older aboriginal woman named Sunny who made us all dream catchers and offered advice about how to heal ourselves on days when we'd feel spent. "Remember, these kids need us," she said while purifying our cabin with sage. As I glanced around my assigned bunk, taking in the spider webs and loose floorboards, I had that sinking feeling that comes when you know you've made a terrible mistake. Before long, I was eating copious amounts of peanut butter on stale bagels amid a never-ending supply of starch. I'm not sure who thought it was a good idea to feed children with challenges like anxiety, depression, hyperactivity, and eating disorders copious amounts of sugar and carbs. It certainly did nothing to help them or me.

On the first day of class, I sat everyone in a circle. "Welcome to drama class," I said with a smile. "Let's begin by sharing with everyone a little bit about ourselves. Anything at all you'd like us to know?" A hand went up.

"I'm Tracy, and I hate my stupid ass brother. He can go straight to hell."

"Okay," I said, "That's a start. Who's next?"

Another hand. "I'm Jonathan, and this place sucks so much I wish it would burn to the ground!"

"Fair enough. Anyone else?"

"I'm Jo. I'm schizophrenic. So sometimes I'm Rachel and Julia. You'll know the difference because Rachel has a British dialect, and Julia talks slang."

"O-kay." I glanced at the social workers who sat on the edge of the room and looked at me with an expression that basically said, "We can't wait to see what you do next."

"Let's write a play," I suggested. "Write anything you want. Once you're happy with the work, I'll shape it into a cohesive piece that we'll rehearse and then present at the end of the season talent showcase."

The kids liked this idea. The showcase was a big deal. It was an opportunity for them to blow off some steam and express themselves to friends and family in a creative way. My only stipulation was not to use profanity. As the weeks passed, I was impressed with how well they all threw themselves into this project—all except Eric, the oldest boy in my 12 to 15-year-olds. Eric often wandered around the rehearsal space, unfocused and sullen.

"Any ideas for your piece?" I ask, checking in to see if I could help.

"I'm thinking," he'd say and then pace.

With three weeks left in the summer, I took my well-deserved week off to decompress. My boyfriend came up from Toronto and drove me to his parent's house at Post and Bayview, where caterers were preparing the tennis courts for an outdoor party. I walked into his mother's living room, and she gasped. "What happened to you?"

I didn't blame her. I hadn't spent much time looking at a mirror the past four weeks, but one glance at the large one in their bathroom told the full story. My hair was ratty; I had scabs on my knees, bruises on my arms and legs, and I was sunburnt. I was wearing a vintage skirt and blouse that was probably more Value Village than vintage and a pair of worn, scuffed purple moccasins; in essence, I was wearing slippers on my feet.

"Please take her to the mall and at least buy her a pair of shoes," his mother said, handing me her credit card and then rushing off to make sure the stuffed alligator would float in the pool. That week I ate my way through rugelach, hamantaschen, brisket, and bagels while his family watched me with awe and disgust.

Back at camp, the smell of burning insect repellent greeted me along with the news that the sailing and tennis instructors were sacked for disorderly conduct. Never mind, I had renewed energy and a sense of purpose. There were costumes and props to make. Sound and lighting effects to create. And we needed to rehearse. It was only a tiny stage somewhere on a remote camp in Northern Ontario, but the excitement was palpable. I was excited. This would be the best talent show ever, and my kids were going to blow the socks off everyone there!!!

"Eric," I said, "How's your piece coming along?"

"I finished it," he mentioned casually

"That's great. Can I see it?"

"I want to surprise you. You're going to love it, though. I promise."

I patted myself on the back. Eric had a breakthrough. All my encouragement and patience had paid off. Perhaps I'd helped him have a developmental breakthrough.

"Can you tell me what it's about?" I asked.

"The Beatles."

"Great. Okay," and left it at that.

Talent Night arrived along with parents and family friends. The lights dimmed, the kids performed, and the audience enthusiastically applauded as each "Mighty Mite" or "Spirit of Paradise" breezed across the stage, acting out skits about fairies and monsters and assorted escapades. Finally, it was Eric's turn. Out he came, looking serious and theatrical. He cleared his throat and addressed the audience.

"This is called, The Beatles Last Recording Session. By, Me."

Three of his closest camp friends filed out and took a space on the stage. The audience was silent.

There was a dramatic pause, then the piece began.

"Fuck you, Ringo,"

"Fuck you, Paul."

"Fuck you, George."

"Well fuck you, John."

Then they bowed and left the stage.

Personally, I thought it was kind of brilliant. Needless to say, I wasn't showered with accolades about my teaching methods or the effect I had on kids. I left there having no catharsis about mental health except that giving people the opportunity to express themselves without censor is probably a lot healthier than insisting they stay quiet. I admired the honesty displayed in the kid's work. If only, I thought to myself, I could be half as brave. Wasn't that what I was spending time and money learning how to do?

A week after being home, I found myself packing, once more, for school in New York. Our term letters had arrived with instructions on where to buy character shoes, leotards, copies of The Children's Hour, and Death of a Salesman. The camp already felt like it was 391 kilometers away - soon to be 659. My father drove me to the train station with my stepmother beside him; she was there, no doubt, to ensure I boarded.

"You going to be okay?" my father asked, giving me a hug and slipping a $50 bill into my pocket.

"She'll be fine." Elsie chimed in. "You don't have to worry about her. Let's go."

But I wanted my father to worry about me. Not all the time and to the exclusion of all else, but certainly the appropriate fatherly amount.

As I settled myself on the train, I watched my stepmother pull from father from the platform to the car and thought of Eric's brilliant play. Under my breath, I whispered the immortal words of the Beatles, "Fuck you."

#stepmother #mental health #children #young people #summer camp

[undeadorion-archive]

Strap in, folks! It’s family drama time! But there’s a lot of history, first. CW: emotional abuse, anti-vax/mask, physical assault

I have 2 sisters. One older, one younger. We’re all our own brand of mess thanks to an emotionally abusive and manipulative mother. But my older sister takes it to a whole new level. She’s the one who fell into perpetuating the cycle of abuse. 

Older sister is 6 years older than me, thus in her mid-40s. Younger sister is 1 year younger than me. 

Technically, my older sister is adopted. But she’s also my biological sister. It’s a longer story, but my mom got into a serious accident when my older sister was just a baby. My mom’s cousins adopted her, but didn’t tell her until she was like 10. They told her she was going to meet her biological family, gave her a one way ticket from the midwest to Oregon, and put her on a plane by herself. They didn’t tell her she was leaving for good. Which, understandably, would mess someone up for a while. 

Growing up, she had some serious issues with acting out and just being awful. She’d skip school to bring boyfriends home and have sex in other people’s beds, for example. 

The big thing she did to me, however, happened when I was like 20. I’d injured my knee severely and was still waiting to see the physical therapist. I couldn’t bend my right leg at all, I’d later find out it was because my kneecap had started to heal crooked. But at the time this happened, I was just in so much pain I was physically ill. She cornered me in the kitchen about something and refused to let me leave until I told her what she wanted to hear. I was in tears because I just wanted to go lay back down. I begged her to move, she wouldn’t listen. I tried to slap her out of sheer panic, but because of the pain and standing on one foot, I barely even touched her. She responded by taking my feet out from under me and laying on top of me, in a wrestling move type of thing. She then mocked me for not being able to get back up while I was laying on the floor having what I now realize was an extreme panic attack. I couldn’t even speak. 

To this day, she waffles between claiming to not remember it even happening and it not being a big deal. By one line in the sand is that if she apologizes, genuinely, for it then I’ll speak to her again. She’s tried exactly once in 15 years, and it was to tell me to get over it and move on.

At some point, she moved 300 miles away. She would periodically come to visit, but I wasn’t speaking to anyone in my family during that time.

She got REAL mad when I moved in with my dad. For the longest time using my deadname or the wrong pronouns. Eventually upgrading to calling me “Colon” (with the quotes). I’ve lived her since early 2018, and she continues to insist that I turned my dad and younger sister against her. Even though it was her vitriolic behavior about me that did it. My only caveat is that I don’t have to see her if she ever comes to visit. Yet somehow that’s too much for her to handle.

Slowly, my dad and younger sister started distancing themselves. The biggest blow coming in the middle of 2020. Late in 2019, my dad had started planning a trip out to see her in May. He bought plane tickets because he’s getting older and he just can’t do that drive anymore. Then his flight was cancelled so he re-scheduled for September. But the more the pandemic dragged on, the more he questioned it. So he told her he was going to cancel for now and they could try again after the world got back to normal.

She absolutely fucking lost it. Just blew her top. Started ranting and raving about how it’s all a hoax. Called him selfish and demanded he have empathy for her plight. Expecting him to risk the airport, when he was in a very high risk category, between his age and health issues. 

After that, she got REAL loud about being against masks. And eventually, against the vaccine. 

Then, about a year ago, she “coincidentally” tested positive for COVID when she went to the hospital for pneumonia. And expected the family to travel 300 miles to see her because of it. She’s still anti-mask and anti-vaccine.

All the while she’s been threatening my younger sister to come and visit. While also demanding to take my niece and nephew (ages 9 and 4) out for a day just the 3 of them. Without any other adults. Like flat out harassing my younger sister about it. 

She was constantly attacking both my dad and younger sister. And any time they’d say anything in the real of “that’s not okay” she’d start in with the usual “That’s just my OPINION” nonsense. Like telling my younger sister to have a cleaner house.

Then added on top of all that, over the last year we lost our 2 closest relatives. Our aunt and uncle who lived one town over. We practically lived at their house for several summers. When older sister was told about their passing, all she said was “sorry to hear that,” as if they were strangers. She didn’t care at all about it, and was almost irritated that she was expected to acknowledge it.

Until a few weeks ago. We went to help our cousins with clearing out the house. Took some heirlooms and sentimental stuff and otherwise helped sell what they weren’t keeping. They lived in a huge house out in the middle of farm country, so cell signal was non-existent and internet was spotty at best. She saw younger sister posting photos from the visit, and lost her shit. Because she expected us to video call her so she could see what stuff there was. Of course didn’t give a damn about the emotional weight of it all. 

Sometime after that, she ended up calling my dad and berating him about it all. Just yelling and insulting him for no reason. She called him a “Stubborn old fool” and hung up.

In the interim she had to go back to the hospital due to post-covid complications. During which she was on a call with my younger sister. Pulled that usual abuser tactic of pushing someone’s buttons until they explode and then letting someone see just the fallout. So she could then tell my dad the doctor asked if everything was safe at home, and called my younger sister abusive for it.

Well, today was all of this coming together in one single phone call. My dad called her back after a missed call, mostly to check in after her hospital visit. And all of a sudden it became her bemoaning her “abandonment issues.” Like literally saying “You should have compassion because of my abandonment issues.” This was in response to my dad telling her calmly that he didn’t like when she insulted him or yelled at him, which she also defended with saying she had been “frustrated”. As if that excused any of her behavior. It ended with him saying “I’m not your therapist,” and telling her to speak to one.

Ultimately, she proved that she’s allowed to say or do whatever she wants and everyone else must only be nice and sweet to her. 

Also, somehow, this is all my fault. Personally. 

Family is exhausting.

[daddyotho]

So you think it's over. Your mind is still reeling, you're still in shock. I mean literal shock. Your lips are numb. Everything is surreal and dreamlike. Exhausted. She's made this fairly easy. She gave me a chunk of money and a book of instructions, one of which was this is what I want, but don't overdo it. I haven't worked in a couple of months and this was the last of our savings. Darlin', it doesn't work that way. In addition to the shock there still a shit-ton of guilt over having unplugged her. The four people that I had to go out into the hallway and confess this to are now sitting around the table with the planner. The planner is very compassionate, very patient and very understanding. No high-pressure sales. I really tried to give everybody a say and considered all of their opinions.

She leads us through the checklist. We pick out an urn, select the right Flowers, I let the kids pick out jewelry which will contain her ashes. Nice little things for them. She wants a viewing so that people may say goodbye. In that case even though she's going to be cremated, she has to be embalmed. For the viewing, do we want to put her in a cardboard box? Or we can rent a casket from them for 2800. As a side note, this cannot be used again and since she's going to be cremated, by law, they will have it crushed and sent to the landfill. Another WTF aside, I got a call about a week later from her asking if I would like to donate it to the drama Department at the local College. Visions of her casket setting in a frat house full of ice and beer doesn't really convey the dignity I had sought for her. I said crush it.

Of course we want a nice obituary. Who wouldn't? 500 bucks. This is the same paper we've been getting for 50 years. Last time I placed an ad to sell a motorcycl,e it cost me $7. Must be paid today. No problem a little more than I had thought, but it was awfully nice. And she does tell me that they have a payment plan. Even better.

She has a night gown picked out which is in the shopping cart and I realize I forgot to order. That's okay I can bring it in. I finish tbe order when I get home and hope it arriives in time.

Death certificate. $20 each. Everybody is going to need one. We order 6 with the understanding that we can get more later. As it turns out nobody really needed one. They just needed to see it, and they make their own copies. The only one that needed one was her credit union in Virginia for her car loan and they mailed the original back when they were done.

She informs me that the cemetery plot has to be paid for before the funeral. 1800 bucks + 400 to put her in. My stomach is dropping a little. But there's no way I'm going to let these guys down again. I just killed their mom and their daughter. The feeling is like being at the grocery store and having your card declined or having to put stuff back on the Shelf.

She runs the total. $9,000. I tell her that she didn't give me that much. I'll have to take the payment plan. Somewhere along the line she is taking off the compassionate funeral planner face and put on the school teacher face. She tells me that that is fine, we can do that, and that by the way, we require a third down. Quick truckers math I realize I can't do it. I send the kids out of the room. No way I can tell them they can't have their jewelry, or that I can't afford to do this. I tell her I only have about half of that, if I have to pay for the cemetery today and I already paid for the obituary. We sit there in stunned silence. I am in tears again, on the verge of letting her down again. What happens now? The look on their faces is, Well we're waiting. What the hell am I supposed to do? Put her in the garage until I can come up with the money? I don't know what I'd havedone if her dad hadn't spoken up and offered to cover the rest and that I could pay him back whenever I got it.

Long way to go for a punchline. Backstory laid again.

Tina has one last zinger left in her. I often bemoan the fact that she doesn't give me signs or visits. However, this may have been the first. I left everyone at the funeral home and went out to the cemetery to pay them their stuff so if she's not sitting in a parking lot somewhere. I'm still tearful and the people there are terrific. They have all the Paperwork ready and I gave them my credit card. Declined. They ran it several more times and in each case it was refused. I did the math. With what was left from the I should have had enough with a couple of hundred left over. I didn't understand it. I was a total wreck by this time. They said the only thing I could do was call the bank and see what was up. It didn't make much sense to me but I did. Over the course of the years, she handled​ everything financially and I just trusted her to give me what I needed. Apparently somewhere along the way, she placed at $2,500 per day limit on my card, With the obituary, and the deposit at the funeral home I had already exceeded it. The bank raised the limit temporarily so that I could get her into the ground. I'm sure she had a good laugh over that. God I love her sense of humor although her timing sometimes left a bit to be desired.

[the-eternal-captain-harlock]

Captain Harlock & Miime: Musings on Isolation, Loneliness and Grief

(For the scope of the analysis I will be focusing solely on the Harlock/Miime relationship as it is portrayed in the 1978 Space Pirate Captain Harlock TV series. If you haven’t watched this anime yet, you really need to.)

“I am Miime; I am the woman who has given her life to Harlock.” - Miime, SPCH

It did not take me long into my sojourn into the 42-episode long self-contained Space Pirate series (and my first Matsumoto anime) to discover just how much I loved Miime, the tall willowy, mouthless, alcohol-swilling, harp-playing, soft-voiced alien woman whose relationship with Harlock is almost as meaningful and touching (in this series) as the relationship between Harlock and Tochiro.

Miime quickly became an exemplar of everything I wanted to see in a supporting female character. I already knew what I didn’t like: female characters who nagged, female characters who made the primary male characters awkwardly uncomfortable, who made them stammer, blush and act like idiots (if they were of high-school age) or forced them to supplant their ideals and opinions with their own, either through sheer bitchy determination or the pervasive ‘power of love’ angle (if they were older and *allegedly* mature). I didn’t know what I hated more: the female characters who ruthlessly and annoying imposed either their emotions, ideals or bodies onto their male counterparts, or, conversely, the male characters who allowed them to do so and conceded to the woman’s wills. I’ve always been more interested in fictional male protagonists then in female ones, and I always view the arrival of a new female character – be they hero or villain – into a novel or show with a certain amount of trepidation, owing to the drama they ineffably inflict upon that particular fictional universe, whether this is intentional on their part or not. 

                    Miime was blessedly free of all of the above behaviors. Everything about her, from her simplistic yet elegant character design, to her voice, mannerisms and hobbies, spoke of maturity, of refinement, and, most important to me at least, the desire to be true to her own person, to remain herself, as she is the last living remnant of her race. Perhaps if she had been a human woman her relationship with Harlock would have been radically (an unsurprisingly) different, but as she is a Juraian, an alien, a literal ‘Other,’ she abides by her own codes of conduct and not once does Harlock ever request or demand that she alter her behavior towards him, just as she never tries to ‘change’ him, as most human woman would try to do.Thus she remains unique, mysterious and ultimately unknowable - much like Harlock himself.

And the relationship the two of them share is unique indeed. Harlock makes no demands upon Miime whatsoever. She has no specific duty as a crew-member of the Arcadia and is free to move about the ship as she pleases. She pours Harlock his wine, but not because she is his serving girl and it is her duty to do so; she plays the harp for him, but not because she is his court musician and it is expected of her. Everything she does for Harlock is for their mutual enjoyment. They do not ask or demand anything from one another, they simply do things together, organically and naturally, in complete emotional and physical freedom. They are perfectly at ease with each other, displaying no awkwardness or stress when together.  Miime does not bicker with, fight with, flirt with, nag, challenge or impose on Harlock’s freedom in any way. She has pledged her life to him, even stating she would follow him into hell if he ever asked her to. Her devotion is total. Her loyalty is beyond reproach (1). Her relationship with the Arcadia’s brooding Captain puts her in the unique position of possessing true knowledge of his personality, allowing her to share her insights as to what kind of man he is with the other crew-mates, who are often confused by Harlock’s decisions and actions. She becomes his unofficial spokesmen and advocate and never doubts that he will accomplish his goals.

 Likewise, Harlock confides in Miime, telling her his plans, expressing his occasional doubts and frustrations or simply reminiscing about the past, often over drinks. But Miime is not a merely passive character Harlock keeps around as a drinking companion. Miime proves her worth as a fighter, displaying competent shooting-skills and reveling hidden depths of power when Harlock is threatened. Unlike Tadashi Diaba, however, she is not learning how to become a warrior or out for revenge against the Mazone invaders. Like Harlock, much of her story has already taken place and she has already reached the pinnacle of her character development. To remain at Harlock’s side is enough; she has no set goals or plans like Tadashi, no ulterior motives or hidden agendas.  Whatever else is happening to the galaxy at large is inconsequential as long as Harlock continues to wander the stars under his ‘flag of freedom.’  Calm, quiet and thoughtful, Miime stands unobtrusively by Harlock on the command-bridge, ready to give advice or make pointed observations, or fills his cabin with the soothing melodious music that relaxes him while the rest of the  crew revels in the Arcadia’s corridors, living for the moment while their haunted Captain broods on the fate of humanity, vowing to fight to the end to protect the earth even as he bemoans the hedonistic apathetic state of mankind. Miime is the only one he truly confides in, and Miime repays his trust by simply being there and supporting him (sometimes even saving him), regardless of the circumstances.

But what truly bonds them? Why do they enjoy one another’s company so thoroughly? Why do they understand and respect each other so fully? What lies behind the simple dignified tenderness they display towards each other? They are not lovers; they display virtually no hint of romantic infatuation or physical attraction. Yet despite retaining their autonomy and personal freedom they still share a certain bond, an intimate relationship which seems to transcend both love and friendship. But this bond is, sadly, rooted in tragedy and grounded by the threefold components of isolation, loneliness and grief.

  I: Isolation

One sad reality of Harlock’s existence is that he is an extremely isolated individual. Although the entire universe is essentially his sandbox and the Arcadia possess enough firepower to level cities and hold off entire alien fleets, Harlock never takes advantage of his considerable power and fearful reputation to make the rest of humanity do his bidding or live according his higher standards. Planet Earth is not a sheltering or welcoming place for the self-exiled space-pirate. Harlock has no wish to dominate, but he will not suffer himself to be dominated, so he endures the derision and scorn of Earth’s rulers and the constant harassment of the planet’s Defense Force with little genuine retaliation, preferring to roam the stars in hopes of finding his ‘final resting place.’ Despite having a homeworld and a people, Harlock, both by choice and circumstance, lives out a solitary and confined existence, with only those few chosen comrades who remain with him in order to fight for their own beliefs and carve out their own paths.

Miime shares in this isolation; for although planet Jura still exists her race has been completely destroyed in nuclear warfare and the following environmental retaliation brought on by the planet’s sentient plant-life. In a brief flash-back, a younger Harlock visits Jura and rescues Miime, now the last Jurian, from the plants and offers her refuge aboard his ship. Not only does Miime owe her life to Harlock, she also is allowed to live on his ship seemingly condition-free. Harlock has no utilitarian motives - neither practical or personal - for keeping her around. Miime does not cook or clean or fly Space Wolves or man any of the Arcadia’s guns; she is not a doctor, a scientist or a navigator. The bulk of Harlock’s otherwise human crew seem mostly indifferent to her presence; they do not compete for her attention or affection, nor do they make advances on her. Even aboard the Arcadia Miime remains in isolation and because Harlock also lives in voluntary isolation, spending most of his time in his elegant sterncastle drinking, brooding and playing his ocarina, their mutual situations and circumstances draw them closer together in a relationship built upon what is missing in their lives rather than what they have in common. They are both unique one-of-a-kind individuals, alone in a cold inhospitable galaxy that has little to offer them in terms of meaning and fulfillment. Even when together, isolation still dominates, for although Miime and Harlock spend a great deal of time alone behind closed doors there is always a significant physical distance between them. Both are heavy drinkers (Miime requires alcohol to survive, as it it is a natural part of her diet; Harlock is an alcoholic), but we never see them genuinely intoxicated and acting stupid, flirty or inappropriate with each other. In their isolation is also their liberty, for being who they are  - free, above all things - they are under no obligations or expectations to behave in certain ways. Harlock and Miime have nothing to prove to each other or to anyone else. Their relationship remains fixed and unchanging amid a universe full of chaos, danger and constant strife. They can always rely on one another - their isolation is their safeguard and shield; perhaps it is not such a tragic state after all.

II: Loneliness

  There is - or should be - a distinction drawn between someone who is physically alone and someone who is feeling lonely. For most people, the two aspects are one and the same. If there is no one around you, no one to talk to or interact with in some manner, this will be perceived by most as a negative state, one which they quickly rectify by either calling or visiting friends, chatting online or making plans for family gatherings and meaningful dates with significant others. To be alone with oneself, with ones’s own feelings, thoughts and memories without any distractions for an extended period of time, is hard for most people to handle - for most, but not all. I myself am an unapologetic loner. This is not due to shyness or social ineptness; I am merely extremely introverted. As I write this part of the article I am alone in the house (except for a sleepy old pit-bull) and I love it. This is the main reason I became so attached to Harlock and Emeraldas - they are both loners living according to their own codes and beliefs, following their own paths and perusing their own destinies (2). The Arcadia - which serves the duel purpose of being Harlock’s fortress, safe-haven and tomb -  enables him to remain free and unattached to the rest of humanity, liberating him from the confines of mankind’s apathetic degenerate social state and allowing him to remain true to his own self and goals.

But although Harlock is a true loner and possesses a solitary nature, he still suffers from genuine loneliness from time to time, although the only other human he intentionally seeks out to spend quality time with is Tochiro’s seven-year-old orphaned daughter, Mayu, which he does at his own peril. Miime, on the other hand, suffers loneliness even more keenly. Harlock, at least, can draw comfort (however sparse), in that he actually has a home-planet and a race to protect (even if he wants nothing to do with them), while Miime is the last of her kind - the last Jurian. Her planet still survives but the Jurian civilization is now nothing but ruins overrun by hostile plant-life. There is no going home for her. Her family and friends are all dead. She is a dispossessed being, without home or people, adrift in a hostile universe. In order to alleviate her loneliness she cleaves to Harlock with a single-minded vengeance, offering him her life, going were he goes, aiding him in all the ways she can, never once standing in his way or making demands of him. “It is better to be with people you hate then to be alone,” she tells Harlock, after lamenting how she had hated her people for the destruction they had wrought, only realizing after they were all dead how much she missed them now that she is truly and utterly alone. Her loneliness is made all the more potent in that she cannot truly leave the Arcadia. Harlock’s human crew-mates can leave and return to Earth if they wish but there is nowhere for Miime to go and no reason for her to leave. But she does not view Harlock’s ship has a prison - she learns about its secrets, about Tochiro, and this draws her and Harlock even closer together. Both Harlock and Miime are alone (one mostly by choice, one entirely by circumstance.) but their shared emotional experiences (and their mutual love of wine and music) allow for them to form and maintain a relationship that dulls the pain caused by loneliness (and the isolation) and gives Harlock the space to engage in meaningful interactions with another that brings them both happiness. Loneliness is the driving force that keeps their relationship stable and constant for the entirety of the series. Neither Miime or Harlock take each other for granted. Both remain grateful for what the one does for the other. Loneliness has gifted them to one another, and, because of its overhanging spectre, their bond is further strengthened by the knowledge that what they have is something unique, something valuable, and ultimately, something that neither one dares to compromise - for if that should happen the loneliness would become unbearable and the isolation truly complete.

III: Grief

The entire Space Pirate Captain Harlock series is overshadowed by an atmosphere of quiet unshakable melancholy. It rests upon Harlock like a second cape, infusing all his actions and choices, unweakening in its hold on him from the first episode to the last. He is never freed from it, for this is a melancholy born of grief, of loss, and of a seemingly-futile yearning for what can never again be. Harlock is in a perpetual state of unending mourning – he mourns for an Earth whose natural beauty and splendor is fading with each passing year, he mourns for a humanity who has forfeited its dreams and visions of the future so as to live in a state of continuous apathy and sloth; but, above all, he mourns for the loss of his best friend, the man who never gave up hope either in humanity, the future, or even Harlock himself. Tochiro Oyama is dead (except in two flash-back episodes), and without that that spunky, optimistic genius-engineer at his side, Harlock’s natural inclinations towards pessimism and depression must be battled at every turn if he is to remain an effective apposing force in the fight against the Mazone. Harlock speaks in passing about ‘looking for a final resting place’ and about spending ‘a life wandering space, looking for a place to die.’ Harlock is a less hopeful and forgiving man then Tochiro, and is tempted often to abandon mankind and the Earth to its fate. But to abandon either of these things is, in effect, to abandon Tochiro himself, especially as his only child, Mayu, lives in an orphanage on Earth. To turn his back upon the planet and its people is to turn his back on Tochiro and his heirs and to scorn his friend’s dream of a better future. Almost against his will, Harlock denies Mazone Queen Lafresia the earth for Tochiro and Mayu’s sake, if nothing else, though he does wish to prove to humanity (who view him as a disruptive, peace-threatening menace to society) that he can and will protect them, regardless of his own negative feelings (or theirs). Prior to the Mazone’s arrival, Harlock lived a listless, goalless life of petty piracy, protected and entombed in a semi-haunted Arcadia infused with the soul and living brain-cells of Tochiro himself. His war with Queen Lafresia gives him a purpose again and rekindles his fighting spirit, but even when victory is achieved Harlock refuses to remain on earth; instead he self-exiles himself once more, leaving his entire crew behind, to continue wandering the stars - but this time, only Miime is allowed to accompany him.

  If Miime is dominated by her loneliness (and her literal ‘alone-ness’) then Harlock is ruled by his grief; no-one, not Miime, Tadashi or even Mayu, can take the place Tochiro holds in his heart. Harlock does not desire wealth, fame, acclamation, status as a hero or even to be respected and appreciated. He fights successfully to secure a future for the Earth but he cannot be apart of that future – for Harlock desires only the Arcadia of his youth, his past life with Tochiro, the long-ago days when it was just two carefree young men seeking to live free and pursue their dreams. But those times of youth and adventure cannot be reclaimed. Tochiro is dead (though still present) and Harlock can do nothing but carry on without him. He keeps Miime at his side, and she follows him willingly into the dark and to whatever fate awaits them. Earth may have been saved and mankind given a second chance, but for Harlock, Miime and Tochiro there is no going back home. Home does not exist for them anymore. Their only true home now is the Sea of Stars, their only banner the Jolly-Roger, and a life lived in freedom their only sustenance. Miime vanishes with Harlock into the vastness of space, remaining loyal to him to the last, even as Harlock remained loyal to Tochiro’s dream, the three of them uplifting and sustaining one another in their long exile. It is not necessarily a happy ending, but it is certainly a fitting one, appropriate to the nature of its characters and in keeping with the series’ overall mood and tone. 

Thus wherever Harlock may go, Miime will always be at his side, a true companion he can rely upon for comfort and advice. For Miime, Harlock will always remain her savior and provider, and her comfort and advice are gladly given, since they both retain their freedom - which is, ultimately, all they ask for and in the end, as long as they remain within the confines of the Arcadia, is all they are allowed to have.

  (1) You can only imagine how pissed-off I was when in the 2013 Space Pirate Captain Harlock CGI film, after Yama replaces Harlock as captain, Space-Elf!Miime declares that her loyalty is to the ship rather than Harlock himself. Boy that made me mad - that among so many other things.

(2) Harlock’s, Emeraldas’s and my own personality traits in a nutshell.

[ayearofpike]

See You Later

Pocket Books, 1990 226 pages, 15 chapters + epilogue ISBN 0-671-74390-2 LOC: PZ7.P626 Bo 2012 (Bound To You compilation) OCLC: 746155163 Released July 15, 1990 (per B&N)

Sometimes it is hard to know what we want coming out of school. That might be even more true for those with congenital physical disabilities who don’t really expect to survive much past graduation. But when Mark meets Becky, for the first time he thinks he might actually know. Becky sure does, anyway – at least, an older and wiser future Becky who comes back in time to break up with her then-boyfriend-now-husband and get together with Mark, thinking that this very act will affect the future of all of humanity. 

First things first: More than anything else, See You Later is a love story. Even though it’s got elements in common with Pike’s earlier stuff, this book is not a horror story, a detective story, a straight-sci-fi story, or a murder mystery. It’s a romance from the point of view of a dude, which makes it the first of these books to use only a male POV and only the second to use the first person. It’s got computers, a space station, murder, and thermonuclear war, yeah, but the core of the story is Mark’s growing feelings toward Becky and his despair at the possibility of her returning them. It retains enough Pike that you can recognize his characterizations and stylistic devices, but it’s really not what anybody would expect to come out of this dude’s pen if they’ve read the 14 books that came before it.

That said? It’s one of my top five favorites. It carried me through my lovesick teen years, and rereading it this week brought back all the feels.

I first encountered See You Later around the time I started to notice girls and think that maybe I would like to be affectionate with one. Before this point (maybe around the end of eighth grade) everything I wrote was a straight-up spy heist, but after it I caught relationship drama sneaking into my stories. I eventually realized it was my imagination manifesting the girl I was too shy and scared to talk to, the one I’d built up as the image of perfection and the key to my happiness, and allowing my protagonist to get her without actually having to do anything. Like, maybe I should just let the first paragraph of this book do the talking for me.

It began with a smile, or at least that’s what I thought. But then, I didn’t think much when I was eighteen. I just longed for things I didn’t have, and reacted when they came to me and I no longer wanted them. But love ... I always wanted to be in love, and to have love, and to pretend they were one and the same thing. I was like everybody else, I suppose, and I thought I was so different. I had to find that one girl who was so different, so perfect – who would accept me just the way I was.

It’s both the reality of my existence in high school and the problem of teen masculinity in general: I just expected things to happen for me, especially love. We’re told that if we behave in a certain specific way, the circumstances of our picture-perfect life will just fall into place around us. You can either be a rich jock asshole who cons girls into falling for your status and biceps, or you can quietly support and compliment them until they realize the rich jock assholes are not where it’s at and that the nice guy they’ve always wanted has been there the whole time. We’re familiar with the inherent problems of the nice guy model in 2018, but in 1991 it was just the way to go, not to mention way more attainable for the shy band geek on the honor roll.

I’m not sure that Mark completely fits into this mold. He certainly takes his destiny more firmly into his own hands by actually asking Becky out, rather than only hanging around all the time and hoping her boyfriend magically disappears and that she sees the light of his presence. (Although he does that too.) He is definitely the shy nerdy type, a computer programmer who avoids his high school graduation and has disavowed his abusive family and is sickly due to a heart defect. He could just hang out at Becky’s store all the time and bemoan his poor luck of being born sick and growing up nerdy and unsupported, and face whatever is fated to come his way however Becky decides. But this is Pike, so there’s got to be something more to the plot than that.

On one of his visits to the store, Mark sees a weirdly familiar guy over in the corner, reading the copy on the box of one of his games. It turns out the dude is also a game designer, and wants Mark to come and critique the most recent one he’s written. While at his house, Mark meets his girlfriend, another weirdly familiar person despite her not looking or sounding like anyone he’s ever met (he doesn’t know anyone with long blonde curls and a Scottish accent). She takes an immediate interest in Mark’s pursuit of Becky and decides to help by getting the boyfriend out of the way. So she goes to the bookstore where he works and gets him to ask her out, then goes to Becky’s store and pretends to recognize her from a picture in her “cousin’s” wallet. This, of course, immediately gets Becky to break up with the dude and ask Mark out the same day. They have a great time, they spend the night together, and in the morning when he calls she hangs the fuck up on him.

Wait, what? This certainly wasn’t in Mystery Girl’s plans. It turns out that the boyfriend got wise to the plan and told Becky all about how Mark planned the entire breakup, using his blonde Scottish friend to trick the guy into going out with her so that Becky would be free for Mark to snap up. The girl realizes that something’s up, that the boyfriend has been warned by someone else, and while she’s screaming at him about it, whoops, her accent falls off and she reveals she was faking the whole time. However, we do learn that the whistleblower is a dangerous man, and that the mystery girl wasn’t counting on him following her, and that even though Mark has no idea what’s going on he knows it’s way bigger than he had previously thought.

I’ve already laid this out in the intro, sort of, but here’s the whole thing: In the future, Becky marries her boyfriend and Mark dies of his heart disorder. (And loneliness, it’s implied.) The boyfriend husband joins the Air Force, is quickly promoted to general, and is assigned command of a military space station that is supposedly only for scientific research but which everybody knows boasts an enormous arsenal of weapons. In the global argument over this space station, the general gets an itchy trigger finger, and decides to win once and for all by nuking China. Of course this leads to global war that more or less wipes out human life on the planet, and the space station is crippled and houses about a hundred survivors, including Becky, all of whom cluster together and pray for forgiveness as the air runs out. (Except the general, who is “too busy” – presumably still bombing brown people.)

Then the aliens show up. Only they’re not defined as we would expect. These aliens are nothing more than fuzzy balls of light, and there’s one for each human on the ship. They use their undefined advanced technology to clean up a chunk of Los Angeles and make it a beautiful garden, where Becky can spend the rest of her days in peace and happiness. Only she’s not happy, because she’s still thinking about how things might have been different if she’d married Mark instead of this ruthless warlord. Wasn’t it her support, her help, her forsaking of her own career plans to allow his to grow, that made this dude able to control the country’s nuclear arsenal? Conveniently, right about here the aliens offer Becky a deal: go back to any point in her own life and make some kind of a change to increase her own happiness. They also somehow resurrect Mark and send him back with her.

You guessed it: the weirdly-familiar people are Becky and Mark from the future. Future-Becky’s goal for happiness is to break her past self up with her boyfriend and start her going out with Mark. Future-Mark’s goal is more benign: world peace. See, the game he’s got Mark testing is completely based on the war, and just like with the real war there’s no way to win – UNLESS you decline to launch any weapons from the very start. Unfortunately, the time travelers don’t have a clean palette to paint from, because Future-Becky’s husband has learned about the plan and has traveled to the same time, not to save his relationship but to ruin Becky’s. He thinks that she’s held him back, restrained him, made him too soft, and without her mitigating influence he will be able to successfully blow the shit out of the other side of the globe. Sure, you could argue that this same timeline would be effected without his interference, but then again, he’s a vengeful asshole. She ruined his life; why should she be happy? And what easier way to make her unhappy than to kill the dude who would replace him?

To Future-Becky’s reckoning, there’s only one possible solution: kill the boyfriend before he can become the grizzled, vengeful general, and do it tonight before the full moon is at its highest point in the sky and all the time travelers phase out of existence. All Mark can think to do is ask Becky for advice on how she would kill her boyfriend. And of course she knows, having just broken up with him – she’d run him down with her car as he left his store at night. Which is exactly what Future-Becky tries to do. Only Becky doesn’t have the baggage of thirty-plus years of a shitty marriage, and she runs out in front of the car to warn the boyfriend, and it’s going too fast to stop.

The boyfriend rushes Becky to the hospital, and Mark plans to follow, only Future-Becky knows there’s no point and takes him back to a cave in the hills behind her house. This cave has been around throughout the story, but it’s only here that Mark realizes it’s the time-travel point. It doesn’t hurt that the husband is hanging out there waiting for them. It doesn’t help either, as he’s got a gun and plans to kill Mark right there. So Mark has to talk fast. 

Something I didn’t mention before is that with a little effort, the time-shifted variants of the people can experience what the other half is doing. Mark did it before, when the husband kidnapped and killed Future-Mark and we learned what his plans were. Mark asks the others to do it now, to see the pain brought on by Becky dying in the hospital, to remind them of how they once cared for each other. And lo and behold, they remember why they got married in the first place, what was there before they felt trapped and resentful and eventually forgot that wasn’t the original point of their relationship, nor the only way it had ever been.

In the morning, the time travelers are gone, Becky is dead, and Mark and the boyfriend have to explain to the police how and why it happened. This is a formidable effort, considering that a) the only other witness, the mall security guard, was stoned out of his gourd and b) nobody except for the two of them knows, remembers, or even saw any evidence that there were future alternates hanging around and fucking shit up. Like, the car Future-Becky was driving when she smashed into her past self? No such car, no such license plate, no record of sale. So the security guard saw Becky bleeding on the ground, he figures there must have been a car – but he didn’t see it, didn’t hear it, didn’t see Future-Becky standing there mourning herself. The boyfriend is furious, and moreso when Mark adopts the same line. But eventually he catches on, and when Mark tells him what happened in the hospital (something Mark couldn’t possibly know, not having been there) he seems to accept that some things are magical and unexplainable.

So this leaves us to wax philosophical about what the hell just happened, as Mark dies of his heart defect ten years after the story’s events. This part stinks of mansplaining a little bit. Future-Becky described the events of the war and the time travel quite thoroughly, but Mark doesn’t believe she actually knew everything and proceeds to give his own version of events. I don’t know where he gets off, but it is true that he has no plans to save himself for future medical care, and doesn’t even know of the possibility existing as she described. So he has to come up with something, and his something is more metaphysical than science fiction. He thinks that the “aliens” are actually time travelers from a farther distant future than we know, a time when our souls manifest as light rather than in physical bodies – that Future-Becky was being helped and guided by Even-Farther-Future-Becky. This helps to clear up some of the inconsistencies in Future-Becky’s story, true, and maybe we should grant a dying man some clemency as he’s thinking about his mortality and the fate of the future. And yes, a lot of this is coming from me being like another ten years along from Mark dying, and more enlightened by nearly thirty years of societal progress since the story itself was written. But still, he wasn’t even fucking there.

Nonetheless, I really enjoyed rereading this story. It’s the tightest Pike’s written so far in terms of characters: technically, there are only three, leaving out the security guard and the cop at the end (who I think pretty much only exists because our dude can’t resist writing detective interrogation scenes). There’s almost no fat to cut, though the epilogue goes a little farther than is strictly necessary. And honestly, it was warmly nostalgic for my years of thinking I knew myself and what I wanted and needed and actually not knowing dick. That’s where Mark ends up, after all: not knowing, and realizing that’s OK. We might still wonder how this possibly came from the same dude who wrote revenge murderers and sexy lizard teens, but as we analyze what came next (and probably was written before and during this one), it’ll start to make sense. Maybe.

[brella]

i feel like we always ask you about books so today i wanna ask you some anime recs :)

HOW INTERESTING THAT YOU SHOULD COME TO ME NOW, JUST AFTER I FINISHED ATTEMPTING TO BRIBE A TWITTER MUTUAL WITH A PHYSICAL CAKE SO THAT SHE WOULD WATCH AN ANIME I LOVE. i am always happy to share anime recs. 

ping pong: the animation (dir. masaaki yuasa): effusive yutaka “peco” hoshino and reserved makoto “smile” tsukimoto have been best friends since day one, and both of them love to play ping pong. peco, a child prodigy at the sport, loves it with all of his soul, and is so confident in his own talent that he’s become arrogant; while smile, in spite of his natural talent, does not take ping pong seriously, seeing it as nothing more than a way to pass the time. things are shaken up for the boys by the arrival of wenge “china” kong, a chinese player sent to redeem himself in japan after being kicked off the national team, who skunks peco in their first match, sending him spiraling into crisis; meanwhile, smile catches the interest of the school’s coach, a former star player, who is determined to make sure smile does not waste his talent. also joining the cast are manabu “akuma” sakuma, peco’s belligerent rival since childhood, and ryuichi “dragon” kazama, vanguard of the elite ping pong team at kaio academy. when all is said and done, will smile and peco’s friendship—and the love of ping pong that bonds them—remain? i urge everyone to watch this anime; it is perhaps the best i’ve ever seen. a work of art, of joy, of sadness and failure and triumph—a tribute to being alive, and to what it means to love something so much you feel like there’s no point in being alive if you can’t do it. and the animation, voice acting, and score are outstanding! 11 episodes.

the tatami galaxy (dir. masaaki yuasa): an unnamed college student is perpetually dissatisfied with his life, bemoaning the fact that he can never seem to grasp that “rose-colored campus life” he was certain he would have upon attending college in kyoto. just about the only thing he has in his corner is his mischievous frenemy, ozu, who drags him into scheme after scheme that only seem to make his situation worse; and a fellow student, akashi, who the protagonist has feelings for, but can never quite seem to spit it out. after a bad break-up sends him over the edge into total cynicism, he starts to wonder if his college years would have been spent differently (i.e., better) if he had chosen to join a different club on his first day. unbeknownst to him, the desire to go back and do it over again does send him back in time—each episode is an alternate timeline based on which club he joined. no matter how things change, though, he always seems to keep running into ozu, to just miss akashi, and to get involved with a man calling himself higuchi, who claims to be a god of matrimony; a bone-headed popular senior named jougasaki; and a beautiful but intense dental hygienist named hanuki. in the protagonist’s quest for the perfect college life, however, will he miss what’s right in front of him? i really love yuasa as you can probably tell and this, just like ping pong, is beautifully animated, great fun, and unexpectedly moving. a testament to the little things, to seeing the beauty and wonder in what we have. and the opening and ending are GOD TIER. 11 episodes.

gekkan shoujo nozaki-kun (dir. mitsue yamazaki): if you somehow haven’t watched this yet, please love yourself and do it. a romantic comedy series that follows 16-year-old chiyo sakura’s attempts to woo her crush, umetarou nozaki, gsnk, contrary to the shoujo form, actually begins with her confessing to him—but he misunderstands and gives her... his autograph?! yes, it turns out nozaki moonlights as a hugely successful shoujo romance mangaka, and he’s been needing an assistant, and sakura is in the art club... convenient! this show has it all—uproarious humor, masterful comedic timing, incredibly charming characters, and just the right dose of heartfelt romance to warm any heart. other cast members include mikoto mikoshiba, nozaki’s best friend, whose flirtatious antics constantly cause him to nearly die of embarrassment; yuzuki seo, chiyo’s best friend, a brash and oblivious jock with a beautiful singing voice; hirotaka wakamatsu, a mild-mannered basketball player constantly aggrieved by seo’s bullying; yuu kashima, star of the drama club and dashing prince of the school; and masayuki hori, drama club president and kashima’s ever-frustrated director. love is in the air not just for sakura, but for a few others, as well—it’s going to be an interesting year! 12 episodes.

kids on the slope (dir. shinchiro watanabe): kaoru nishimi is a shy and depressed honor student, classically trained to play the piano, who has spent his entire life moving from town to town due to the nature of his father’s job. at the beginning of the summer of 1966, he is sent to a small coastal town in kyushu to live with relatives, and is prepared for another year of loneliness until his world is turned on its axis when he meets delinquent sentaro kawabuchi. the two develop a strange and unlikely friendship, and kaoru soon discovers that sentaro, or sen, is an avid fan of jazz, then an emergent form of music in japan, and plays the drums in the basement of a record store owned by the family of his childhood friend, ritsuko mukae, with whom kaoru immediately falls in love. when ritsuko says that she would love to hear kaoru and sen play together, kaoru begins to acquaint himself with jazz, too, and finds that it holds more magic than he expected. part classic coming-of-age drama, part love letter to the jazz genre, this series was, fun fact, directed by the man behind cowboy bebop and samurai champloo—so, like, if that isn’t a testament to its quality, i don’t know what is. it will make you cry, though. just warning you. 

silver spoon (dir. tomohiko ito): desperate to escape the pressures of his home life, beleaguered honor student yuugo hachiken foresakes his chances of attending an elite tokyo high school and applies to ezonoo agricultural school in hokkaido. at first holding himself a rung above his peers, due to his perception of them as bumpkins who have never had to work hard academically due to their security as farmers, hachiken quickly learns that there’s a lot he doesn’t know, and he’ll have to work hard if he wants to keep up with his peers. though initially withdrawn, hachiken comes to make many new friends, and soon begins to take his studies seriously, earnestly trying to learn all he can about the world of agriculture and how it affects the lives of his friends. this series is easily something i’d call “the feel-good story of the decade,” but it also has many profound and emotional moments, and a hugely relatable protagonist in hachiken. it’s definitely a comedy, but at its heart, it’s one of those special series that kind of takes your hand and smiles at you and says, “yeah. i get it. i know how you feel. but it’s all right. life’s pretty fun, even if you don’t notice.”

hyouka (dir. yasehiro takemoto): to this day i’m still a bit stunned that kyoto animation managed to come out with something as good as hyouka, since it’s so different from their other works, but the truth is there. it’s simple, with a cast of only four characters and few recurring side ones; a subdued score using mostly public domain classical pieces, a quiet high school as the backdrop, a close and intimate portrait of the four kids it brings together. the PV actually does a fine job of introducing the characters—apathetic houtarou, inquisitive eru, cheerful satoshi, and caustic mayaka—so i won’t go into that too much. essentially, houtarou is urged by his sister to sign up for the classics club after no one else does, since it will be disbanded if it does not have at least one member. much to his surprise, someone else already has signed up by the time he does—a curious girl named eru with an insatiable appetite for mysteries. though houtarou lives by a philosophy of what he calls “energy conservation,” eru has a power over him (read: he has a big, beautiful crush on her) that compels him to go along with her antics, and his penetrating intellect doesn’t help much. satoshi, houtarou’s best friend, and mayaka, a childhood... acquaintance of houtarou’s, also join the club, and hyouka chronicles all of the things that happen to them over the course of their school year. when asked about the meaning behind the title (”hyouka” means “frozen dessert”), the author of the novels said, “the colour of youth is like ice cream. its many flavours are like the spectrum of a rainbow, but no matter how it tastes, what doesn’t change is its richness and flavour. another distinguishing feature of ice cream is the short time one has to eat it, and how we must take care to avoid polluting it. it’s just like how youth is full of numerous possibilities, but its fragile and limited energy is easily challenged by the outside world.” i think that probably speaks for itself in alluding to the bittersweet tone of the series. it really is one of my favorites.

and, because my fingers are getting tired: yu yu hakusho is my favorite shounen series by a mile and one of the few for which i highly recommend the dub—it’s long though, 100+ episodes, but worth every minute. i’ll be glad to go into why yyh specifically is the best in a separate post if anyone is interested bc hoo boy. uchouten kazoku season 1 is great and one of my favorites but season 2 was kind of eh to me. if you like action and tragic romance, kyoukai no kanata is my second-fave kyoani series after hyouka, though it does have some fanservicey bits and fetishy humor that kind of date it a little bit. and if you haven’t started boku no hero academia yet—PLEASE GET ON THAT; IT’S SO MUCH FUN! 

and, of course, the anime of my heart and soul: lovely complex, a romcom about a tall girl and a short boy, and their arduous, hilarious, heart-melting journey from vitriolic best buds to lovers. hits all the right notes. no other shoujo compares. it’s a series that anyone and everyone can AND WILL enjoy. 

i hope that’s enough to get you started! :’D pls let me know what you think if you watch any 

[sochews]

change

The home is a repository. Of objects, like sofas, television sets, fine china. But also of subjects, of a past shattered into a thousand fragments we keep inside boxes and store away in our mind.

A year ago, my family moved out of our house of 21 years on Jalan Batai. We were seeing everything for the last time, and so over our last month, what was still life woke up. The koi pond became the place Chin Leong put algae water in a cup and gave it to an unsuspecting Suresh. The guest bedroom became the place Greg stayed in for months and many midnight conversations. When objects left one by one, what remained was the strange echo of subjects created by people living under one roof, and by each other’s stories.

The echo became a literal reminder. With no more furniture, the living room was hollowed out like a coconut, whiteness and a decaying wood-and-zinc husk left. It’s as if our voices and footsteps had no chairs and tables to play with, so sound lounged and lingered in the pleasure of a rare void. The echo felt like the excitement of emptiness. 

I’m reminded of this by the group of men who helped us move - they were ex-drug addicts from a rehabilitation centre called Kenosis. That is the Greek word that means “to empty.” Their job is to come inside a home and move stuff out. They - in work, and certainly in life - specialized in change. They are intimate with the spectacle of nothingness. It’s a peculiar, unfamiliar state for most of us. It’s a state we - and I - avoid for most of our lives.

In my final clowning class of my penultimate semester at LAMDA, Heriberto gathered us in a circle. He asked us to share our journey, specifically in this class, but because our thoughts intersect like spaghetti, we ended up sharing about our nearly-eight months in school that was coming to an end.

Every story felt like a single oral history - first, excitement; then, apprehension; then, the what-the-hell-am-I-doing-here sheer terror of an acting existential crisis, before coming out with some semblance of a building intact: doors now swung open, windows clearer to the outside world, maybe a little more willing to move the tables around for the hell of it. We were still under renovation, though. The home, while fully-fleshed in our hearts, would always seem just out of our reach.

Heriberto commended us, before leaving us with this encouragement: don’t be afraid to let something come out of nothing. When you can face that kind of change, you are in a place of creation. When you can stand in front of a group of people, willing to let something - anything - arise from a place of vulnerability and availability, you have found gold.

There is a video, about a social experiment surrounding a 10-metre diving tower, that has come to symbolize my own relationship with acting. School felt like a giant cycle of standing on a high platform, looking at the yawning drop, feeling the rush of fear, and then jumping in with the hope I’d not make too much of a mess. The exploding waves rush to ingest the adventure, and the water becomes a new mix of loud and quiet achievement. Rinse, repeat.

I love acting because it reminds me that I need to change. Acting reminds me that the road to take often passes through a valley that is brown, barren, beckoning. There is a rhythm to change - summer becomes winter, something becomes nothing, and nothing becomes something. The kenosis rhythm.  

Every morning now, I lie on my back and become a split of myself. I’m in semi-supine, legs bent, heads on a stack of books, the belly swelling up and down like a whale traversing the ocean, and suddenly, a well overflows and I weep. I don’t know what I’m weeping for. But it’s more, I’m weeping from. Like this posture of surrender sends impulses galloping from transmitter to transmitter, that this boy is ready for change. Ready to be changed. And I weep from this laid-back state.

Stripped down, revealed: I want to be reduced on platforms that seem too high. Where fright lets the air out of the ego. I want to feel like for a second, I have nothing to offer, then realize that all I need is just a bit of daring faith, a bit of visionary hope, a bit of forgiving love. Then I jump empty. Then I change.

I’ve come back home to Malaysia, and I just visited my Batai house again. The structure has been torn down, and an uncomfortable blueprint has been laid upon it. Everything looks completely different. And yet, when it is done, when we eventually move back in, it will still be called home.

I’ve bemoaned the loss of my history, my addiction to nostalgia threatened by the smell of paint and wobble of plywood underneath my feet. But this is change. It is taking what you love the most - my art, my home, my personality trait I’d give a big bold tick on a Myers-Briggs test - and dropping it to the concrete ground. Then I learn to pick up the pieces, and I grow up.

Before coming back, I managed to catch Things I Know To Be True. I fell in love with the show: the fluid movements, its dissection of family, potted plants! But mostly, for the final monologue from the play’s lead girl who initially finds it hard to write a list of all the things she knows to be true. No bullshit, just things she’s certain of. By the end of tumult that swallows every person in her family, she comes back and makes a list:

I know that having your heart broken by a boy from Spain won’t be the worst thing that happens to you. I know that things can’t remain the same no matter how much you want them to. I know that people aren’t perfect. Even the people you love. Especially the people you love. And I know that love is not enough to save them.

I know what grief tastes like. It’s bitter. I know what it sounds like. It’s loud.

I know that summer turns to autumn and that autumn becomes winter and that winter turns to spring and spring back to summer. And it goes on. Life. It goes on.

Post-drama school, that’s what I hold on to the most. Nothing remains the same, no matter how much I want them to be. Nothing is perfect. And as I get caught in the whirlpool of change, life will make sure I’m okay. I may feel like I’m nothing. But I’ll be okay. Change will be okay.

[pixiealtaira]

My Biggest Cheerleaders…

Kurt-centric fix it

Kurt smiled as he looked around the loft and considered how wrong his life could be and how right it felt at the moment.

He could have given into Rachel and stayed to help her reestablish the Glee club at McKinley, but after seeing Blaine and Dave he decided to not stay in Lima.  He almost did.  The deal at the retirement home had fallen through, and Rachel had begged him to help her. He had bombed his first attempts at dating in NYC after Blaine and his break-up and his therapist had convinced him it was entirely his fault anyway and no one showed at their planned meet-up. Running home sounded promising…at least his dad loved him, right? Rachel’s offer and getting Blaine back had sounded good (it probably hadn’t helped that he also hadn’t really slept in a month…Blaine had made him get rid of Bruce the moment he found him.) However, the call to the Dean at NYADA to set up helping Rachel as his work-study option wasn’t nearly as promising as he’d hoped.  (He’d been not so gently reminded he was in the musical theater program, so unless they were doing a musical he should probably reconsider…or focus on setting up a good drama department instead.)  The call the next day with four work-study options in New York at theaters producing musicals, two of which also had small salaries attached and then the reality of living at home made him reconsider his options and he decided to go back to New York.  (Carole telling him his therapist was full of crap helped as well.)

He moved back into the loft, thankful he hadn’t given it up completely.  He and the friend of Dani’s who was going to sublet it for half a year realized in the month he’d given her to find a new place that they got on fabulously and life was much better with a roommate.  Nora stopped looking for someplace else and Kurt started making friends not linked to anyone in his past…and letting himself do so.  Nora also found him a new therapist.

Through Nora, Dani came back into his life…and Elliot.  They restarted the band, they had to replace several band members, but it was good in the long run.   Tori, who tried out as a back-up singer (don’t you ever leave me singing alone…just don’t) and as their bass player (who also played the upright bass and cello) worked at Vogue.com and through her Isabelle came waltzing back into his life as well…waving her wand with a part time writing job and her personal assistant for evenings when needed and he was free. Jolene, her current assistant was a young mom whose husband had taken a job in France for a year and therefore had no babysitter past school hours.

Kurt interviewed for all four options he was told about for his work-study period.  He chose working as the paid everything boy for a musical that was just being put together in an off Broadway venue. It held the option of him continuing on past the semester.   Sure, he was a basic errand boy, but the company was very serious in furthering the education of those who were doing work study with them.  Kurt sat in on meetings where the writers and producers tightened the script and music and meetings about arranging workshops for the actors and meetings for set designing workshops and costume designing workshops.  He watched the casting process.  The producer and writer and songwriter all asked why he thought they worked things the way they did and made sure he understood the hows and whys and ways things worked.  They had him write up papers about what he learned, which the producer, who’d once taught for a while, graded.  They allowed him to sit in on the different workshops.

Kurt loved it.

After the third week, they brought in the costume designer and her crew.  One of the girls from Adam’s Apples worked with her. Cat wasn’t one of the ones Adam had been really close with, but still.  It was awkward for the day…and driving Kurt batty.  He pulled her aside and took her to dinner to try to fix it.

“He pretty much loved you, you know.” She told him. “And none of us could understand what happened.”

Kurt sighed.  “All I heard from pretty much a week after Blaine and I broke up was how much Blaine was hurting and how crushed he was and how I could fix it if I would just behave.  Even when I started to hang with Adam, my roommates, although they would be for it one moment it seemed, would both constantly tell me how much Blaine and I should be together and how much Blaine and I were perfect together and how much Blaine loved me and how much better Blaine was …for me, then me, all together. I went home and all I heard was what Blaine had done for my family while dad was having his treatments.  From everyone…my step-mom, old friends, the kid who lived at the house while finishing school there, my dad even.  They made it all seem like such a big help and big deal.  I later learned it wasn’t much.  He drove my dad to chemo two times when Carole had to work and Finn couldn’t.  He did grocery shopping with Sam a few times, using the money from the grocery jar at the house, not his own.  He would stop and bring Carole coffee when picking up Sam from school.  But they all made it seem so much more at the time.”

“And I was a wreck at that time.” Kurt explained.  “It was near spring break for us, so I went home half a week early.  I had worked until the wee hours of the mornings for a week and half to get everything done so I could leave early…so I was pretty sleep deprived. I was stressed…very badly stressed.  We were going to see if my dad’s cancer was gone…that was what I was home for.  I was going to spend time with my dad and my step-brother and a few old friends who also had break and were in town.  Blaine was everywhere. My step-brother was busy and I spent less than a day with him, my step-mother was singing Blaine’s praises but didn’t even notice I was such a nervous wreck that I counted out sugar packs, blinks in the mirror, and pretty much ever thing else.  My dad was certain I’d regressed back to the OCD levels I experienced after my mom died and figured Blaine would help…because Blaine told my dad we were getting back together and my dad listened to him more than me.”

Kurt waved the waitress over and got a refill on his coffee before he continued. “I was supposed to go the day after their glee club regionals.  I let myself be talked into staying a few more days. Finn would be home more, Dad wanted more time with me, and surely I wanted to see more friends while down there.  Sunday, I saw my step-brother again and listened to him for hours bemoan his estrangement from Miss Berry. I listened to Puck wax on about Quinn.  I heard all about how they should have seized the day and how high school romances were the true loves if one was brave enough to hold onto them. I had watched Mr. Shue, our glee teacher, finally get married to his OCD wife and heard all about how someone like that had to grasp onto whoever could handle that type of behavior.  I heard my dad go on and on about how well Blaine handled my OCD behavior ...even though he’d never seen Blaine do so. Monday, I called Adam and he had just found out he hadn’t made it into the master’s program he wanted and would be leaving, at least for the summer.  We weren’t exclusive yet and the last I heard before we got cut off was him saying he though we should probably…and I didn’t know what else was supposed to go there.  I couldn’t get back in touch with him and since I know it was my end that was cut off…because I was cut off by Blaine and Sam goofing off and knocking my phone out of my hand and onto the floor…I thought he was avoiding talking to me.”

“He dropped his phone in a sink full of dishes.” Cat said.

“I know…but I didn’t know then and I couldn’t get hold of any off the other Apples I had numbers for. I only had two other numbers.  If I’d only bothered to get more than that before I had left, or just stuck to my guns or something….”

“Why didn’t you?”            

“Tuesday, Rachel called and started in on how much Santana, our other roommate, missed Brittany…her ex. And how much Rachel missed Finn and how much Blaine and I were perfect and should be together. How even Adam knew that. I thought he’d come over and got all his stuff or something.  Of course at the time Rachel and Santana were drunk, but they weren’t to the slurred speech state and I didn’t realize it. She and Santana emailed and messaged me every single photo if Blaine and I together they had…all day long, one or two at a time. She also emailed me the anti-cheating contract.   I gave up.  Wednesday, I asked Blaine to date again, like everyone wanted.  He talked me into staying out the rest of the week. Friday my dad drove me to a ‘surprise proposal’, dressed in an outfit Blaine had picked out and told me all about how he regretted time he could have spent with my dead mother if they’d just gotten together earlier.  Blaine had four show choirs, a marching band, and all my old friends there…except for my step-brother and Puck. There were rose petals falling from the ceiling. He asked with everyone congregated together to watch. There was no option to say no without probably being lynched.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope.  I said something affirmative, I can’t remember what. I only remember buzzing in my head and shortness of breath.  Blaine kissed me, I remember that, but then he went off to accept congratulations from everyone around and I sat on a stair trying not to pass out.  No one told me congratulations, the few who talked to me only spoke about how lucky I was and how wonderful Blaine was.  I shrugged it off because I was only there another half hour anyways. I didn’t see Blaine again the whole time. My dad drove me from there to the airport, with a ring on my finger.  Rachel had told everyone here before I even landed in New York.  She made a special effort to text Adam personally over Facebook. According to a few who saw the text; she seemed to be gloating to them.  Apparently not only those on the Lima side thought so. I met Adam for lunch very publically at a restaurant we’d never eaten at so no memories would be tarnished and apologized. I was seen by Rachel and one of her NYADA ducklings.  I was shamed for daring to speak to him…by Rachel and her toadies, by Santana, by Blaine and every single person in Lima Blaine knew.   All before lunch was even done.  It was actually the first I’d heard from Blaine since I’d headed back to New York. We decided it was better for us to not see each other at all. All I heard about for the next week was prom and who my new fiancé was going with and how he was going to be Prom King and how wonderful it was to be able to go and have fun and not worry about me trying to make him dance with me the whole time.  I took off my ring and was going to call and break it off Monday.  And instead got a call Finn had died. Yeah, I was not going to rock any boats after that. Why bother?  I’d messed up everything with Adam, it wasn’t hurting me.   I figured Blaine would remember we were an us again, he’d just been distracted.  I kept waiting.”

“Did he?”  Cat asked.

“Not really. I honestly am not sure he knows how to think about someone other than himself. He was at NYADA last year, he flunked out…got too distracted with June and when that didn’t immediately pan out he decided to plan our wedding and got mad when I wasn’t on board with it.  We had been unable to live together when he first got to NYC, we were just starting to attempt it again, and I was not ready for wedding planning. We were arguing all the time and after a huge row we broke up.  I was almost stupid and tried to chase after him again, but I came back here instead. It had been about four months, I thought to try dating again and it bombed so I immediately thought, as per my therapist insisted at the time, that I must still be in love with Blaine. However, my new roommate and the therapist she found me laughed when I said that and advised I take some time off from dating for a while longer.  Learn to be Kurt.”

“Sounds like sound advice to me.  I’m sorry I was cold earlier.  I didn’t realize anything else that was going on in your life was happening.”  Cat said.

“I didn’t talk about it…any of it.  Adam knew I wasn’t over the teenage fantasy of first love…I’m not sure though he even knew why we’d been broken up in the first place.  We were building a relationship and talking and communicating more than I ever had with Blaine…ever…but I ruined it before we had a chance to be a solid relationship yet.”

“You haven’t forgiven yourself have you?”  Cat asked.

“I don’t think I ever will.” Kurt replied.

Kurt hadn’t thought much about the conversation with Cat other than they were fine working together after that dinner.  Then a few weeks later Joey called and invited Kurt to sing with the Apples, a mash-up Kurt had spoken of wanting to do when he was an Apple.  Kurt accepted so long as Joey made sure before he even showed up that there would be no hard feelings.  

He was greeted much the same as when he first showed up.  Welcomed.  

It was a blast.  Kurt had forgotten how fun singing with a big group could be.  By the end of the second week, Kurt was back in the Apples and the Apples had met Kurt’s band.   Everyone meshed.  Kurt made friends among the Apples in a way he hadn’t before.

At Christmas, Kurt invited Carole and Burt to NYC, and they came.  His dad dragged his heels at first, insisting Kurt wasn’t nearly as happy in NYC as he’d have been in Lima helping Rachel resurrect the glee club. Kurt laughed and told his dad he was happier where he was at.  He knew everyone there was sore that he hadn’t gone to the Brittana wedding, but the play had been doing the first attempts at staging and Kurt decided he wasn’t missing learning about how to do that….besides his invitation was a demand he be there and that he show up ready to grovel.  It hadn’t set well with Kurt.  Kurt threw a huge party and invited Isabelle and told her he would love if it ended up like their first Thanksgiving.  Kurt watched his dad and Carole as people came in and out of the loft…people from Vogue, friends of Isabelle’s, Apples and others from NYADA, Nora’s friends, Elliot and Dani and other band members and their friends, people from work…even the producer and writer showed up for a few.  There was singing and dancing and fabulous clothing and laughter and Kurt was happy.

His dad didn’t try to convince him he’d be happier in Lima after that.          

Rachel was back at NYADA when the new semester started.  Kurt saw her two or three times.  He was ahead of her in the courses now and she was a bit irate that no one would allow her to waive those courses she quit and missed.  She was furious she had to redo dance courses and take courses she’d talked her way out of the first time around.  She was being a brat about him to anyone who would listen, but it wasn’t getting her far.  She would not speak to him though.

It was good.

It was now Valentine’s Day and he’d once again opened his loft for a huge party.  He was still working with the company he’d done his work study with, still Mr. Errand Boy.  His NYADA classes were going well and he loved them and he worked for Isabelle on weekends and evenings when she needed him.  He’d had two pieces published in the print version of Vogue in January.  Neither were over a paragraph, but still.  His loft was again full of Apples and band members and friends and whoever wanted to stop by…

And Adam.  

Adam was at NYU getting a Master’s Degree. He and Elliot had hit it off the moment they met.  Kurt worried they’d start dating for a few days, but both just laughed at him when Dani caught onto his trepidation about it. Dani and Adam became best of friends within a week.  Nora adored him.  

It was awkward for about an hour, the first time Kurt ran into Adam…at work of all places.  Then it wasn’t.  They weren’t dating.  Kurt still wasn’t going to even try for a little while longer.  Adam was actually dating a friend of the head costume designer for the play…not very seriously, but not entirely casually.  Patrick was every bit as hot as Adam.  Kurt once teased him that he ought to have been a model. Instead he wrote jingles and designed ads…and made a good deal of money doing so.

Kurt had thought it would be bad and weird and…it wasn’t.  They talked it out.  They were friends.

Laughter rang through the loft as Adam, his boyfriend and Elliot started singing “Cowgirl Shake it for Me” and some other country song Kurt did not recognize mashed together. Dani and Nora and Dani’s current girl were whopping off to the side.  Tori was yelling that they didn’t have the right twang.

Adam caught Kurt’s eye and waved him over to join them.  Isabelle and one of her drag queen friends were walking over as well.  Kurt laughed and ran over to join them in their second round of the song, dragging Tori and Cat with him, everyone cheering as he joined.

“Shake it, Kurt!” Elliot yelled.

“I’ve seen you do it before…in fact Santana once showed me some very entertaining videos online.” Adam added.

“Did she show you the Cheerleading Nationals of 2010?”  Dani asked.

“Wait? What?” Tori replied.

“Someone find a laptop when we’re done with this,” Isabelle said.  “I once went looking and everyone is in for a treat.  He’s adorable.”

Kurt laughed.  The thought didn’t even embarrass him like it would have just a year before…and he was sure it would still if these weren’t his friends.  Because he knew none of those in the loft would hold anything they saw over him or torment him with it or use it against him.

“Fine…however, if you want me to sing this mash-up we’d better start now.”  Kurt said.   “And someone video tape this…It will be the only time you ever hear me say bedonkadonk.”

It could have been so wrong.

[bellabooks]

“Pretty Little Liars” recap S7 Ep20: Til death do us part

Pretty Little Readers, this is it. The last PLL recap I will ever write…until the inevitable reboot in 2032 that follows the adventures of teenage twins Lily and Grace DiLaurentis-Fields. But I’m getting ahead of myself. This was a two-hour finale with buckets of exposition, so let’s dive on in! I’m glad this show finally upped their budget and gave Jenna a pony   We open on a deserted Rosewood street, where the Liars are all drinking coffee and bemoaning the drama-less state of their lives. It’s swelteringly hot, but all anyone can talk about is how boring everything is without any mysteries to solve. Oh, and Lucas tap dances by in a white tuxedo. And Jenna rides by in a decorated horse like she’s a circus performer. And then it starts snowing.  Is that snow? NO IT’S COCAINE!!!   The Liars look to the heavens, and the camera zooms out to reveal they were inside a snow globe, which was no joke my fantasy ending for this show. But who is holding the snow globe? Mona Vanderwaal, queen of the heavens, runner of the games, genius among geniuses. She’s locked up in Welby with only her snow globe, which she drops to the floor when she’s confronted by a black hoodie. She asks them if they are there to kill her, and she smiles that Mona smile. Then the opening credits run for the last time, and all the Liars do the “sshhhh” together. TOGETHER!  For real though guys, who is in this coffin?   We then cut to ONE YEAR LATER, and check in on the gang. Ezria is on the Warner Bros. lot (which is incidentally where they shoot the show- so meta!) because their book is being turned into a movie. They are also getting married in a week. Spencer is rescuing horses with Melissa and bonding with her, and Toby returns to town after a long Eat, Pray, Shave tour of the world. Spencer is rehabbing a cute pony named Bashful, who is skittish around everyone but her. Don’t worry, this will come back later in a big bad way. Emily and Ali are juggling twins, Lily and Grace. Also, Ali has the worst bangs and it’s so distracting I had to rewind this scene twice just to focus. Ali meets up with Pam Fields at the Radley, and they have a secret conversation about taking care of/loving Emily. Ali continues teaching English at Rosewood High, where she discusses literary endings (wink wink) with her class. She’s still teaching mini-bitch Addison, who disrupts the class and calls Ali a lesbo. Ali is in no mood, and grabs Addison after class. Addison isn’t scared of her, but she IS scared of Jenna Marshall, who is now a life skills teacher at Rosewood. What life skills is Jenna imparting to these children?! How to seduce men and women alike into doing your bidding? Firecracker dodging? I have so many questions, the first of which is, where do I sign up? Addison tries to sass Jenna by waving her hands in front of her blind face, but Jenna grabs her by the wrist like she’s Dare Devil and tells her that she while she can’t see, she can smell a bitch from a mile away. In a world where teachers can sleep with and marry their students without censure, I guess calling someone a bitch is small potatoes.  BITCH CAN SMELL   Meanwhile, things aren’t sunshine and lollipops with Hanna and Caleb. Mona is being discharged from Welby, and Hanna invited her to stay at the loft without running it by her husband. Caleb is upset that the woman who tried to push his wife out of a bell tower is now their new roommate, but Hanna knows that while husbands come and go, ride or die BFFs are forever. On cue, Mona shows up at their door and Hanna welcomes her. Mona seems fragile and forgetful, and tells them that with her new meds, she isn’t as sharp as she used to be. If this series ends with a neutered and sad Mona I will never forgive Marlene. Why is the wifi password Hanily?!   The Liars and friends meet up at the newly renovated Lost Woods resort, which Spencer and Ali are re-launching. Everyone’s gathered for a surprise bachelor/bachelorette dinner for Aria and Ezra. There is wine and laughter and memories, and everyone is having a good time…except for Haleb, who can’t stop squabbling. Spying on them from the bushes is a black hoodie, who turns around to reveal MELISSA HASTINGS…or is it? Everyone is enjoying drinks by the fire pit, when Emily remembers that this is their first night without the babies and drags Ali to their room for some sexing. Then everyone else pairs off to hook up, except for Toby and Spencer who decide to play scrabble like a couple of nerds. We find out that Spencer is going to law school, working at her mom’s firm, and rebuilding her relationship with her family. Isn’t it nuts that we’re 25 and have two kids?!  Tell it to my bangs: they’re already 45.   While everyone else gets a lengthy sex scene, complete with saxophone music, Emily and Ali press their cheeks together and touch legs because that is how lesbians have sex on Freeform. At least, they are trying to…Ali is feeling all sentimental while Emily is trying to get it on. I feel like this would be a totally adequate sex scene by itself, but pairing it with Ezria’s lengthy romp only highlights the double standard when it comes to queer sex scenes.  Nothing says sex scene like closed mouth kissing!   Despite this disparate treatment, let’s all take a step back and marvel that this series is ending with a happy queer couple, where no one is dead or heartbroken. It’s 2017, but there is still something delightfully revolutionary about the awkward gay jock winning the heart of the most popular girl in school and living happily ever after. It’s kind of lovely until you remember what they did with Maya and Shana and Charlotte. In a less romantic sex scene across town, Hanna and Caleb are still fighting while Hanna sits with her legs up, trying to conceive. Yup, these two dummies are trying to have a baby. And in sadder fertility news, Aria gets a phone call from her doctor and finds out that she can’t have children. Why is everyone so baby crazy on this show?! Y’all are 25, settle down. Aria wants to call off the wedding, but the Liars convince her that Ezra won’t care. She tries to keep it a secret, but ends up telling him the next day, and he responds as he should: that it doesn’t matter, and there’s more than one way to make a family. Melissa watches the Liars comforting Aria from the bushes, and removes her mask to reveal MONA underneath. Dun Dun Dun! I would love it if A.D. turns out to be a Russian nesting doll of masks leading to an empty hoodie. Mona Facetimes with A.D. and demands to know who they are. You know what would really take this party up a notch? Jenna Marshall on a damn horse!   The next night is Aria’s rehearsal dinner, and Hanna brings along Mona, which is rude as hell. You don’t just bring your crazy hyperadrenalized murderer BFF without RSVPing for her first! No one is more shocked than Ashley Marin, who separates from the Wine Moms to give Hanna a talking to about co-dependency and toxic friendships. The Wine Moms keep talking about that time they got locked in a basement, yet another spin-off show that we’ll never get from Marlene.  A toast to the best parent on this show: Chardonnay!   Emily sees Alison sneaking around with Pam and assumes that Ali is hiding something from her. She gives Ali the third degree until she reveals that Pam gave her the family engagement ring—she was planning to propose to Emily somewhere romantic, but instead she’s doing it right this second in her pug dog sweater. Ali thanks Emily for loving her unconditionally, even when she was a zombie bitch who communicated through stolen birds and old witches. Even when she was flying a plane in a Vivian Darkbloom wig. Emily says yes, and they kiss.  If you can love me through these bangs, you can love me no matter what   Meanwhile, Spencer goes back to Toby and they have a lengthy sex scene of their very own. Spencer steps out of the shower and finds Mona in a black hoodie in her room. Mona says “Déjà vu bitch!” and knocks her unconscious. Spencer wakes up in a prison cell, disoriented. She looks in the mirror and checks herself out, until the mirror Spencer starts moving on her own. Holy crap, Twincer is real! And British! Kudos to everyone who predicted this twist, I honestly thought it was going to be someone else. This British twin is Alex Drake, aka A.D. and she’s busted Mary Drake out of jail for a family reunion. Put some pants on, we need to talk about Spencer’s accent: it’s not just British. It’s Eliza Doolittle meets Burt the Chimney Sweep meets Mrs. Lovett from Sweeney Todd. It’s SO over the top and terrible and delightful. Just like this British evil twin conceit: soapy and ridiculous and I am so on board with this nonsense. ‘Ello Guvnah! I’m your twin I is!   In a series of flashbacks, we get the sordid tale of Alex Drake: When Mary was in labor at Radley (in the 1940’s) she gave birth to Spencer, who was quickly whisked away by the Hastings family. So quickly in fact, that no one stuck around for Spencer’s twin sister Alex to be born. To buy her way out of Radley, Mary sells Alex to a fancy British family who raise her across the pond…until they realize that she is the baddest of bad seeds and dump her at an orphanage for evil geniuses. Flash forward, and teenage Alex is pulling pints in a bar where she runs into Wren. Wren can’t believe he’s found a British Spencer, and tells Alex of her true parentage. They fall in love (eww) and Wren arranges a meeting for Alex and Charlotte. Once the half sisters meet, they become thick as thieves, each finding the family they were searching so long for. Charlotte falls in love with Archer, and they proceed to double date their way around Europe. It’s like The Parent Trap, but with more wigs, murder, and asylum stays.  This is my Sarah Manning cosplay…fancy a shag?   But Charlotte can’t handle being away from the game, so she goes back to Rosewood to play with her dolls, where Mona murders her in the bell tower. Consumed by revenge, Alex sets out for Rosewood and picks up the game where Charlotte left off. In her quest to find out who murdered Charlotte, she gets a glimpse into the charmed life of Spencer Hastings, and wonders what could have been if she had that life. You know, that idyllic suburban experience where your father bangs every mom in town, you’re related to all your friends, and you spend your entire adolescence being terrorized by a maniac in athleisure wear. Ah, the stuff that dreams are made of! Alex starts cosplaying as Spencer and pops up in a series of flashbacks: Alex was the one who held Hanna when she was locked in that barn. Alex asked Toby for the goodbye kiss. Alex also banged Toby and fell for him. Soon enough, she decides she wants to be Spencer full-time, so she’s locked Spencer in her new dollhouse and takes over her life. She’s so into mirroring Spencer that she makes Wren shoot her in the shoulder so she has the same scar. She also uses Wren’s sperm to father Emily and Ali’s babies, before killing him and turning him into a diamond necklace. Which she wears around her neck. EVERYWHERE SHE GOES. I mean, it’s no bracelet made of teeth, but it’s still pretty bonkers.   Does this seem like a lot of exposition? Because it’s an insane amount of exposition. Alex isn’t revealed until at least halfway through this 2-hour finale, and she hits the ground running, checking off every unsolved mystery this show ever made up. Bitch can summarize! Alex heads off to Aria’s wedding, where no one notices anything different about her. Aria comes out in her bridal gown, and it is some wacky vintage nonsense that only Aria could cook up. Frankly, I’m surprised it was missing her signature leopard print pattern. It’s the last ever Emily Fields cleavage appreciation post!   Meanwhile, Mary tries to comfort Spencer by making her Peruvian chicken and assuring her that living life in a jail can be fun. Spencer begs Mary to release her, and Mary gives her a hug. Instead of bum rushing her birth mom out the door, Spencer cries in her arms. Once Mary locks the door, we see that Spencer has taken a bobby pin out of her hair. Someone is about to Nancy Drew her way out of this underground prison! Back at Wedding Central, Ezra still hasn’t shown up. Aria is crying Byron is threatening to beat up Ezra, and everyone is confused. Did Ezra have a crisis of conscience and decide not to marry the girl he seduced at 15? Of course not! Alex abducted him and threw him in a jail cell next to Spencer. Does Ezra help Spencer escape? Nope, he just mansplains lock picking to her with a pissy attitude. Back at Radley, the Liars are all sharing a room and consoling Aria. Alex climbs into bed and strokes Aria’s hair, telling her that they’ll be the closest of all. How did she find out about Team Sparia all the way in England?!  Team Sparia for Life   The next day, Alex meets Toby at the stables, where the horse starts freaking out because he knows she’s not Spencer. That, or she’s a vampire. Toby starts putting the pieces together. Later, Jenna meets with Alex and can tell just by smelling her that she’s not Spencer. Finally, Toby takes the book of French love poems Alex gave him, and realizes that it can’t be Spencer’s book because there aren’t any notes in the margins. Toby brings this information to the Liars, and everyone is like, “evil twin? Yup, sounds about right” and they go off in search of the real Spencer.  YOU’RE NOT MY MOM!   Back at the bunker, Spencer picks the lock and frees herself and Ezra. They try to escape from the bunker and run outside of the house…only to realize that they aren’t outside at all. The ceiling is painted to look like the sky, and there is fake grass and everything, but it’s just a dollhouse within a dollhouse. Mona confronts the Liars and tells them that Wren tried to kill her in Welby, but she convinced him she could help bust Mary out of prison. Mona has also tracked Spencer’s coordinates to Toby’s house, because she is in this damn game to win it.  Here I am, explaining this game to you dum-dums one last time!   The Liars bust their way into the bunker, where they stumble onto the classic twin face-off: Spencer and Alex wrestling, and trying to convince the Liars that they’re each the real Spencer Hastings. Oh, and Ezra hits his head on a rock. Toby grabs one of the twins and demands to know what their favorite poem is from the book, and the real Spencer (in classic Spencer fashion) starts reciting it in perfect French. The cops rush in and arrest Alex and Mary, and Spencer is reunited with her friends.  I’m the right real Spencer, you barmy old chaps!   The Ezria wedding gets a do-over, and everything goes smoothly, even Marlene King’s cameo as a photographer who didn’t turn off her cell phone. The Liars walk around the only square in Rosewood, and talk about how much they’ll miss Aria while she’s on her honeymoon. Spencer is back together with Toby, and Hanna reveals that she’s pregnant. They all hug and it’s very sweet.  So long Rosewood…you’re the 6th bitch at this table!   But what of Miss Vanderwaal? We find Mona living in Paris, selling antique dolls and making out with a beefy French dude. She steps into her backroom, where she has dollhouse decorated with two brunette dolls. The camera pulls back and we see Mary and Alex Drake imprisoned in a dollhouse of their very own. Looks like Mona won the game after all.  Praise be to VanderJesus, for ever and ever, amen.   Then the final scene is a rehash of the pilot opening, with Addison’s mean girls at a sleepover (with Maya’s cousin) waking up to find their queen bee missing. Nice try show, but I’m not spending another seven years with this hot nonsense. And that’s it: seven seasons of masks, wigs, doll parts, Grunwalds, and interchangeable white guys. Seven seasons of Shay Mitchell’s shiny pony-like hair and two facial expressions. Seven seasons of that same damn yellow top that Ali wore on the night she died a thousand times. I started this show the way most of us did, by reading Heather Hogan’s recaps and laughing along with the #BooRadleyVanCullen crew. I didn’t know then that I would go on to write recaps for Autostraddle and AfterEllen, nor did I know that AfterEllen would meet a cruel and untimely end. I didn’t know that I would meet my very own Twincer, Dana Piccoli, who would bring me here to the Bella Books blog to complete this ridiculous journey. To everyone who edited my work, gave me encouragement, and provided me with screengrabs (shout out to @PLLBigA) I want to say thank you. Bitch can appreciate! At its best, Pretty Little Liars was campy frothy fun with some serious heart. It gave the queers of the world Emily Fields and Paige McCullers and Alison DiLaurentis. It also gave us Ravenswood, Ezria, and oh so problematic treatment of Charlotte. Most importantly, it gave us an online community, a world of inside jokes and memes that bonded us nerdy, pop culture obsessed queer folks together. Visibility still matters, now more than ever. I will miss recapping this show, but more than that, I will miss the weekly check-in on Twitter, and laughing my face off at all your hilarious comments. I’m taking a break from recapping to work on my own writing, film my web series, learn how to fly a plane, assume an alias, speak to birds, and life-jack my twin. But just like Alison DiLaurentis, I’ll be back. I hope you’ve enjoyed these recaps over the past couple of years: I’ve enjoyed writing them and getting to know all you beautiful weirdos. Ending these recaps is a real mannequin leg to the heart. What else is there to say but…XOXO bitches! http://dlvr.it/PRGG7Q

[thecineastes-blog]

Grand Prix RPDR RuView: Fractured Fairy Tales (S06E03)

Who wants to live happily ever once upon?  For Grand Prix RPDR RuView, we’ll be giving you the top moments of each episode, the shadiest moment of each episode, our favorite queen of the each episode, our least favorite queen of each episode, best looks on the runway, and our predictions for next week.

So the episode opens with the 13 queens entering the workroom and seeing Jaymes Mansfield’s mirror message. Alexis Michelle and the other queens congratulate Valentina on winning the first maxi challenge. Some of the queens admitted they underestimated her, mistaking her inexperience for weakness. Then Trinity Taylor opens her big and bemoans not winning. She’s acting like the drunk, bitter bridesmaid, envious that it was not her “special day”.

It seems that queens like Trinity, have to be the bride at the wedding or the corpse at the funeral (aka the center of attention).

The next day RuPaul enters and has a rather odd discussion about her wax figure, on loan from Madame Tussauds Wax Museum. I didn’t understand her hinting there may be a hidden camera, all of them are already followed around constantly. She then informs her legendary children that the episode’s Maxi Challenge will be having to create their own Fairy Tale princess character, as well as a cool sidekick creature, which they will be performing as well...

I find it odd RuPaul is still referring to it as a “Maxi Challenge” as the last time (to airdate) that there was a mini challenge was in All Stars 2. I wish the producers would bring those back.

The queens are free to use the materials from the Fabric Planet kiosk. Aja believes with her sewing skills that her creation will be so avant-garde and amazing, that she is a force to be reckoned with. Farrah plans on doing a water/mermaid based princess...until she finds out Trinity is doing something similar. Kimora decides on a jungle motif for her princess; she also laments that she does not sew and is dreading doing it. Eureka collects all the rats and cockroaches for her idea, a sewer themed princess. Alexis Michelle, was inspired by her personal hastage #SubwayFish, since she rides the subway to and from events.

For their one on one with Ru, Farrah explains her princess is an underwater celebutante. Farrah tells RuPaul that her sewing proficiency is not up to par, but will try her hardest. Aja tells Ru that her princess, Distastah a volcanic inspiration and her confidence will sell the look. Valentina, dressed as a young Norma Desmond (that’s not exactly the best career reference) describes her princess from the ice planet Azula. 

Trinity begins to discuss her princess and sidekic....but then digresses into complaining about Valentina winning.

Farrah Moan has gone into full Blonde Benet Glamsey mode when trying to make her ensemble. Eureka, who was moved to pity, decides to help her as much as possible. It may have been just to shut her up, but hey whatever works! The next day, Kimora has Cynthia explain what exactly “cucu” means, she informs that it’s an alternative to the spanish work “culo” (which is a pejorative). Trinity and Cynthia talk about their connection to the Pulse massacre. The daughter of Trinity’s friend was killed, after just finishing school. Cynthia having to reschedule her appearance there had her good friend die after going to Pulse to see her, and deciding to stay to have a fun night out. The queens affirm they must be strong, proud, and have synergy to have the world. it was a really great positive moment in the episode’s drama.

So this week RuPaul walks down the runway in a look that would give Cinderella a run for her money! Her makeup and outfit are much better this week, I think she may have finally called her Fairy Godmother. The guest judges are the princely Todrick Hall and Broadway baby Cheyenne Jackson. This marks the only time what RuPaul has let anyone in the nine seasons and +100 episodes who has performed in drag on the judge's panel. 

Fashion Over-Ru:

Category is Princess fantasy!  Leading the runway was Cynthia Lee Fontaine as Princess Cuculina in an ensemble that was essentially an embellished pageant gown. It wasn’t bad, just a bit boring and safe. Her rabbit sidekick was far more entertaining. Peppermint’s fiery Princess Carcinogenetta was half DC villain Volcana and Disney’s Hades. 

Her “flaming” sidekick, Petey the pilot light was funny and complimented the look well. Farrah Moan’s Princess Pacifica was a cute idea but poorly executed, as she can’t sew and apparently can barely handle a hot glue gun. The bra/fabric wrapped around the waist look was straight out of Season 8 courtesy of Derrick Barry.

(Anytime you get Queens that say they can’t sew; I hear Bianca Del Rio saying, “really Queen?”) The best part of her Princess look? The wig. Charlie Hides’ Princess Climaxica was very futuristic Hanna-Barbera in a metallic copper gown and spangled headpiece she reminded me of something out of ‘The Jetsons’. Her sidekick, Isabella SnatchPacker, reminded me of the Great Gazoo. Eureka’s sewer princess, was much better looking than I expected it to be, and her story was funny, but I can see the #wigtopiary is still an ongoing look.

I really liked Alexis Michelle’s makeup and hair as Princess #SubwayFish, but felt the more simplistic ensemble wasn’t as exciting. Her sidekick, #subwaytadpole’s makeup on the other hand reminded me of a cross between Insane Clown Posse, Ornacia, and New York guido. Going for a skimpy ensemble when you can’t sew isn’t a bad idea, but Kimora’s Princess Banana Lady was so uninspired and expected that it couldn’t save her lackluster sidekick and less than sensemaking story. Also cut the jungle banana princess motif, Josephine Baker did it first and MUCH better!

Princess Zathena, Nina Bo’nina Brown (Pinkett Smith’s) martian princess was out of this world! Another stunning makeup job and a cohesive storyline pulled this look together. (I kept laughing at her sidekick because she was essentially boobs on a unicycle) Sasha Velour, had one of the more serious stories, as Princess Uglina and her imaginary troll Lump. The looks was a little hodgepodge, but it correlated with her story and sidekick. Shea Coulee’s Princess Aquaria reminded me ALOT of of Latrice Royale’s Pride Boat look on Season 4, minus the bejeweled lips and sculpted blue updo. It again wasn’t a bad look, just safe and a bit boring. 

Valentina’s chilly Princess Vira was a strong look, I only wished it was a gown, and not a leotard. I think it's safe to say her sidekick, Niddy, was inspired by Navi from The Legend of Zelda. In a look best described as a cinnamon pimp straight out of Candyland, was Aja as Princess Disastah. This look was a disaster from head to toe! From the Heat Miser wig to the chaps (what princess do you know that wears chaps?) to the harsh and ridiculously overdrawn makeup-this look was a hot mess of volcanic proportions. It was if Xtina was thrown into a volcano and bestowed super powers.

Lastly was Trinity Taylor as Princess AquaPussy. Her look was well executed and was far stronger than the other two queens with oceanic/underwater themes. Her sidekick, Stanky the starfish was especially entertaining. The first sewing challenge showed us who has the strong ideas and creative skills and who has questionable taste levels and inexperience.

Alexis, Nina Bo’Nina, Charlie, Sasha, Eureka and Shea were safe and excused to the backstage. Peppermint confesses she used the princess challenge to face her fear of fire. Farrah’s mermaid ensemble did not make waves, and Kimora’s jungle princess did not have the judges going bananas. Valentina’s icy princess was totally chill. Unfortunately Aja’s creation Disastah went up in smoke. It was way too many things being done at once.

Trinity won the maxi challenge, and Farrah was given a lifesaver by Ru. Aja and Kimora lip synch to Bonnie Tyler’s “Holding Out for a Hero,” which is more than appropriate. Aja’s death drops and true raw emotion shined through in the lip synch. So it was Kimora who had to sashay away. Kimora was rather pragmatic, “I did my best, and I looked gorgeous, and now I’ll be known as one of the pretty ones.”

On Untucked it was Alexis, Shea, Charlie Nina, Sasha, Eureka, and Cynthia go backstage and joke being excited to see fanart about their princess looks. They also open about who they would Kai Kai with, which refers to when two drag queens engage in dating, sexual activity or “hook up”. Who should they try to Kai Kai with? Easy, his name is Jesus. 

Eureka seems to have learned from last episode and is actively being more reserved and respectful in her intensity. All the queens are sure that Aja will be safe (which is a surprise to us!).

The other queens come to join the others backstage and Aja is on the warpath, clearly upset that she may end up having to lip sync. Trinity tells the queens that Michelle commended her on thinking outside the box and not being afraid to look unpretty (especially for a pageant queen!) When asked about her critiques Valentina begins to tell them, but is interrupted by Aja berate Valentina on all the positive things about her. Cinderella has come back from the ball, and her stepsister is having sour groups as a midnight snack.

Aja explains why she was so hostile to Valentina, projecting her anger and frustrations. And I commend Valentina for taking the high road and not clapping back at what Aja was saying.

Farrah puts her two cents into Aja’s costume, but she should keep the stones for her own glass house. Trinity chimes in that the judges want to see that the critiques they give are being implemented. Kimora and Farrah have a nice heart to heart, and how Kimora relishes being able to conquer the world with her Las Vegas sister. Alexis, Shea, and Sasha go over and give a pep talk (and some much needed wig glue) to Aja. We see Aja listen and rehearse to the music before heading out for the lip sync. Kimora goes backstage to pack and sees all the letters written to her from the other contestants. Now with only 12 queens left, the Drag hunger games will that much more treacherous!

Jonny’s Favorite Moments:

Grimm: I always loved fairy tales and folklore as a kid, so this challenge definitely was very exciting for me...unfortunately I think it fell flat.  I do give the contestants props for creating their own characters...but it is times like these I think they would have benefited from having to do their own takes on established fairytale and storybook characters. Or they needed someone to come in and help them EDIT their overall ideas. Many of them forgot that a fairytale is a story, and that is what you need to sell to the people. Queens like Charlie, Alexis, and Nina had such strong looks but did not have th best story or sidekick. Or queens like Farrah and Aja had stronger stories, but their outfits were rather basic.

Fairy Dragmother: I really liked that Eureka was so helpful to Farrah and Nina when it came to helping them sew their garments (Nina’s tutorial was one of the extra scenes on the Logotv website). I have a love/hate relationship with Miss O’Hara. She is strong with her aesthetic is solid, although her behavior can be rather abrasive. I was hoping for some Tracy Turnblad’s cockroach dress for dirty glamor for her princess.

Jonny’s Favorite Shadiest Moments:

Sewing Circle: Charlie Hides, the senior of the group  was anxious about the next maxi challenge: “I’m still sore from cheerleading, so I’m hoping it’s not anything physical.” Nina Bo’Nina Brown chimes “A knitting challenge?” #LovedIt

Daughters of Triton: Four underwater/mermaid looks? This was somewhat like Kimono Gate. If you (Farrah) know at least one other person wants to do the theme look you are and are much better at sewing and tailoring clothes, think of something else! Because if you don’t look better, you will be read to filth!

Jonny’s Favorite Queen:

Alexis Michelle, her Princess #SubwayFish look was amazing...I just wish she had a better story and sidekick that connected it.

Jonny’s Least Favorite Queen:

Kimora, jungle princess did not have us going 

I was hoping that maybe we could have seen something with Vietnamese cultural flair with your princess. Instead we got George of the Jungle’s chickenhead. Also her first-world problems of not wearing padding (and expecting the judges to sympathize with her?!) was just really odd.

Predictions for Next Week:

It looks like an acting challenge with Naya Rivera...why didn’t they have her for the Cheerleader challenge, since she actually played one #JustSaying

Anais’ Favorite Moments:

Twist in the tale: I enjoyed the challenge and totally agree with Jonny that it should've been the queen's interpretation of established fairytales-if they had a mini challenge to determine who would assign the queen's which fairytale, I feel they could have concentrated more on their looks and less on creating a rushed story and sidekick.

Back to Basics: RuPaul looked more like RuPaul this episode...was her glam squad on vacation last week?

Anais’ Favorite Shadiest Moments:

Modern day saint: Michelle reading Kimora’s lame excuse of not wearing padding was HILARIOUS. #FirstWorldProblems

Silence is Golden: Valentina’s silent glare at Aja’s tantrum in Untucked-like Shea said “she's definently feeling a little bit bitter.”

Anais’ Favorite Queen:

Charlie Hides, I thought she pulled out a great look and (funny) cohesive story for the maxi challenge this week.

Anais’ Least Favorite Queen:

Aja, who (show wise) I feel wasn't as conceptual and innovative as she thought she was. She honestly reminded me of Serena Cha Cha this week with talking a big game and pulling out a disappointing look-then throwing a hissy fit because the judges didn't like it.