#anyone who points and says ‘cat’ in such a nice font is a-okay in my books! 😹

[your-local-grinning-cat]

Cat.

Cat.

Cake.

Cake.

[no-droids]

The Sun on Both Sides

Summary: Cassian Andor is your very close companion.  He says best friend, you say pain in your ass—neither one of you are entirely wrong.  But then one night you smoke some unfamiliar spice with him, and everything you once thought you knew goes sideways.

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Cassian Andor/fem!Reader

Word Count: 11.2K

Warnings: SMUT, sex pollen (therefore DUB-CON by default), recreational drug use, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, dirty talk, oral sex (both male and female receiving), penetrative sex, me just making so much shit up honestly

A/N: All phrases in Festan are taken from other Star Wars conlangs.  I don’t even know if that’s the name of the language people from Fest speak tbh.  Probably not.  None of this is real.  Anyways this is Cassian as a young rebel pilot long before the events of Rogue One.  This oneshot will likely be deemed obsolete by Cassian’s new Disney+ show but whoooooooops~

—knock knock knock knock knock—

You know that knock.  It’s too quick, too rapid and annoying to be anyone else.

“I’m sleeping,” you huff with your mouth full, sitting on top of your mattress in a hoodie and sweatpants, legs crossed.

“I have gifts,” Cassian’s muffled voice asserts from the other side of the door.

“I don’t care,” you return, swallowing and shoveling more slop together with your tiny little biodegradable spork.  “S’the middle of the night.”

—knock knock knock knock knock—

“Stop it.”

“Knock knock,” he beckons vocally, as if you didn’t hear it the first ten times.  “Come, open the door.  Please—I will get into trouble.”

It’s exhausting being Cassian’s friend.  Truly exhausting.  It doesn’t matter what Maker-forsaken time it is, as soon as he comes back to base from patrols, he’s at your door.  You don’t know why he chose you as his sole victim to personally inflict this torture upon, but regardless of reason, he’s called you his close friend ever since you first offered to help the lanky, dark-haired six year old with his Basic and his best friend ever since your junior year of flight training.  Apparently with the promotion came the lingering, severe misfortune of his present company, almost always.

“Can I put in for a transfer?”  He also technically outranks you.

“Open the door and we will talk,” Cassian bargains.  Bantha shit, you and him both know it.  He’ll rip the papers in half before you can even finish filling them out.

You let out a dramatic groan just loud enough for him to hear, dragging yourself off the bed and padding over to the door.  “If I accept your gift, will you leave?”

“Maybe.”  No.

“If I accept your gift and trade it for the rest of this, uh,” you look at the MRE packet in your hands, “rice and shredded tauntaun meat in glockaw sauce, will you leave?”

“Maybe.”  No.

“Good call, not as great as it sounds.  What if I—”

He says your name impatiently, accented and sharp.  You roll your eyes as his knuckles rap on the door once more.  “Quickly, quickly—before someone sees.”

“It’s the residential quarters and it’s two in the fucking morning, Cass, nobody’s going t—”

He cuts you off once more.  “Open the door and I will submit for your transfer work, yes?”

You throw your spork prong-down into the beige pouch in your hands and pop your hip, narrowing your eyebrows at the thick slab of metal separating the two of you skeptically.  “No, you won’t.”

“No, I will not,” the voice behind it concedes immediately.  “But for you, I will pretend.”

As soon as you the door slides open and disappears up into the ceiling with a quiet shhhft sound, his dark silhouette quickly slips past you and sneaks into your room, immediately bouncing his bony little butt down on top of your sizable but thin box-spring mattress without a word.  You press the button to close the door behind him with a long, drawn out sigh, turning around and resting your back against the wall panel.

Cassian meets your tired, expectant gaze head-on and wide awake, perched on your bed and huddled around something hidden in his thick jacket.  “First.  You cannot tell anyone.  Understand?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, unimpressed.  “Are we children, Cass?”

“Secondly.”  He blinks up at you.  Maker, his eyes are so… wide.  Dark and warm and bright, framed with thick, long lashes.  “If you do not want it, just say.  Okay?”

Your expression suddenly narrows.  This is new.  It’s… still bantha shit, but it’s… new.  New bantha shit.

“Because the word ‘no’ holds so much meaning for you,” you tilt your head to gesture at the door to your right, “clearly.”

“Come.  Sit here,” he ignores you, patting the space next to him as if that isn’t your own fucking bed he’s inviting you to join him on.  “We will look together.”

“I will literally murder you,” you tell him genuinely, though you push off the wall to move toward him all the same.  “If that’s not a cute little mini-lothcat in your arms you got me for my birthday, Andor, I will literally murder you.”

“Today is your birthday?”  He glances up at you in surprise just as you’re lowering yourself down onto the mattress next to him.

“Two weeks ago, but you were off-base.”  You dig around inside the pouch for your handy little spork, not looking at him.  “Quit avoiding the subject, my death threat still stands.  Where’s my cat, asshole?  Who do I have to tolerate in my bed this late at night to push that kind of paperwor—oof—”

The second you catch the hard little end piece of it between your fingers is the second he reaches around you and pulls you into a tight, one-armed hug.  You fumble with the packet of food as you’re abruptly jerked forward, trying not to let it get squished it between you.

Stars, he smells good.  His parka smells just like him, the fur lining its hood so warm and fluffy and soft as it tickles your nose.  It’s still slightly damp from the wet sleet outside, but it smells so good.  The smallest undercurrent of clove and spice hidden beneath the sharp, clean scent of fresh snow.

“Happy Year-Over, caraya,” Cassian says next to your ear, quiet and fond.  “I know it is late, but I have your gift now.”

“‘Caraya’ better be Festan for ‘here’s your cute little lothcat, birthday girl’,” you warn him, moving to rest your chin on top of his padded shoulder and trying not to sound as breathless or affected by his sweet talking as you feel.  He’s never called you that before.  Caraya.  What does it mean?

It’s… it’s bantha shit, you remind yourself, trying not to close your eyes or lean into his half-embrace.  It’s all bantha shit.

“No,” Cassian acknowledges with a small head tilt, pulling his shoulder back but still keeping his long arm wrapped tight around you.  “No.  Not a… a cat, but…”  He slowly opens his other hand between the two of you, finally showing you.

You blink down at the thing in his palm, cradled carefully in thick gloves from the sub-zero temperatures outside.  It’s.  No, he’s right, it’s not a cat.  It’s a… a stick.  Reddish-pink, ground up plant matter wrapped in a semi-transparent binding.  Rolled up in a nice, even cylinder, a filter secured around one of its ends.

Spice.  Hand-rolled.  Expensive.  Probably swiped off a supply raid, whether by Cassian himself or another rebel fighter he bought it off of.  Ludicrous he got his hands on it, much less brought it on base.  Here, to your fucking quarters.

“I was wrong,” you eventually say, taking the joint from his open palm and holding it up to examine its strange color in the dim light.  “You don’t think we’re children.  You think we’re teenagers.”

“I think we are adults,” he corrects, swiping the MRE from your other hand, “with a reason to celebrate.”  He releases you and takes his arm back, sitting on your bed and digging two fingers around in your half-finished packet for your spork.

“You’re a bold pilot, Cass,” you tell him, studying the spice.  You’ve never seen any strain even similar to this before.  “It was one thing to do this during flight training, but now?  What happens if we have a piss test tomorrow?  Or, well—today, actually?”

“Different kind from before.”  He doesn’t sound bothered by the thought, though his mouth is currently full of tauntaun and rice in glockaw sauce.  “Only five hours high, not detectable after.  Piss tests are expensive, the rebellion has no money.”

“X-wings are expensive, too,” you counter, turning to look at him.  “You crash one of ‘em ‘cause you smoked this shit and your ass will be dead before you can even survive.”

“You hurt me.”  He uses the utensil to dig around the bottom corners of the packet for more slop, not looking hurt in the least.  “Also—you were right.  This one is… horrible.”

“Not to mention I have a oh-nine-hundred call.”  You both watch each other with matching looks of distaste as he continues to eat your food, clearly neither one of you enjoying it.  “You’re giving me barely two hours to come down before I got orange jumpsuits crawling all over me.”

“You did not hear?”  Cassian swallows.  “Reassigned Dreis during debriefing.  I will be leading red squadron tomorrow.  Or, today.”

You blink at him.  “You’re kidding.”

“No,” he shakes his head exactly once, throwing the spork into the empty packet and flattening it.  “No, I would not do that to you.”

“Course not,” you agree diplomatically.  “You’d just barge into my room at two in the morning, eat my food, offer me drugs, and then tell me I’ll be taking orders from you tomorrow.”

”Today,” he corrects.  “But I could not get our call changed, and for that I am sorry.”  He lifts an eyebrow at you, quirking the side of his mouth up and pushing the empty MRE pouch into your hands to throw away.  “But only for that.  Happy birthday?”

“We’re going to lose this war,” you tell him honestly, sliding off your mattress with a sigh to trash it.  “We’re all going to die horribly, and painfully.  The Rebellion is fucking doomed.  You and I will be but a mere footnote in the Empire’s endless reign of terror, you realize.  A footnote.  Our names at the very, very bottom of the page, in tiny little six point font, and it’ll link to a one sentence obituary for the both of us.  Died horribly and in pain.  Did you bring a lighter?”

“Here,” Cassian shifts to one buttcheek and pulls an arc lighter from his back pocket, offering it to you when you come back.  “Okay?  You will start it then?  Birthday girl.”

“You said five hours for one person, right?  So that’s two and a half each if we split it,” you reason with a shrug, putting the filter to your lips and talking through the side of your mouth.  “Two o’clock right now, nine-hundred call.  At least four hours to come down, and thirty minutes to shower if we’re both lucky.”

“We will be fine.”  He waves your careful calculations away with his hand as you flick the lighter.  “Because we are lucky feetnotes, yes?”

***

You’re not fine.

It’s fucking boiling in here.  Maker, you’re on fucking Hoth; why the fuck are you boiling?  It’s never even been warm in your quarters before, much less this hot.  You feel like you’re sweating buckets through your hoodie, your hair sticking to your neck in thin little curls.

And… and Cassian.

He’s sitting so unbelievably straight on the bed across from you, parka and gloves long abandoned on the floor.  His dark eyes flick over to you occasionally, though it looks like he’s trying really hard not to move a single muscle other than that.  His hands are clamped tightly between his thighs and he just… holds there.  A compact, rigid statue perched upright on the mattress, looking far too still and tense to fit the comfort of his surroundings.

“Are you okay?”  You ask him, blinking at how hoarse your voice comes out sounding.  Holy fuck, your mouth feels like a desert.  

Cassian stares at you, and for some reason, his large, expressive eyes seem even wider now.  They’re glassy and a bit red, but also so big and lovely and framed with long, dark lashes.

“This is not.”  His accent sounds thicker, words coming out deeper in his throat.  It settles down inside you just right and you feel a spark of heat at the base of your spine.  He blinks twice.  “This is not how it usually feels.”

“Should we stop?”  You look down at the half-finished joint in your hand, tilting your head thoughtfully as you consider the drug pulsing through your veins.  “It’s… it’s different, but I think it feels good.”

“Yes—I…”  He closes his eyes.  “Th-that is the problem, I think.”

He shifts a bit on the mattress and bites down on his bottom lip, and you must look so fucking dumb as you stare at him with your jaw slack, watching his lithe body stretch and handle the spice.  He’s fucking gorgeous.  Stars, you always thought he was gorgeous, but this is something else.  He flutters his eyes open to look at you through his lashes, and—

—oh.  Oh.  You see now.  You see what he meant.  Warmth pools deep down in your tummy as he looks at you with impossibly dark eyes, slowly drags his glassy gaze down your body.  Fuck, you’re getting turned on.  You go red and blink softly at him while he stares at you, trying to control your breathing.

“You need to—” your voice jumps, trying to remember the right cadence.  How do you speak to him normally?  “You can… take—take my pillow, if you want.  Lay down.  You’re too tall, your eyes are too big.  Look like a… like a Kaminoan.  Heal any—heal any clones recently?”

Bad joke.  Maker, he’s so beautiful.  Rich, dark features taking you in, blinking slowly at you and clearly not hearing a single word you said.

You shift your weight and throw him the cushion you’re partially sitting on without waiting for an answer.  You both need to calm the fuck down.  Hopefully the pillow will help.  Even if it’s squished and warm from your butt.  “It’s warm ‘cause I was sitting on it, m’sorry.  Fuck, it’s warm in here.  Do you think it’s warm in here?”

It’s like he still doesn’t hear you.  Cassian just takes your flattened pillow in his lap and looks at it for way too long, slowly rubs the fabric on the corner between his fingers and examines it, like if he tries hard enough he’ll be able to see through it.

“Cass,” you eventually call his name in reminder.  “Lay down, put that under your head—”

“Do you feel turned on?”  He asks quite suddenly, whipping his head to the side to look at you.  You almost drop the spice.

“No,” you say immediately, acting on impulse alone and trying to rearrange your face into something… something negative.  Something just generally negative, because you can’t even think of a negative emotion specific enough with the way your heart is pounding at the thought of something like this actually happening right now.  Holy fuck, you’re sweating.  What the fuck is in this shit?  “No, of course not.”

“Of course not,” he nods, turning back to look at your pillow.  “Me too.  Not.”  He shakes his head.  “Neither.  Either?”

“Lay down,” you tell him once more, desperately needing something else to do now, something to distract yourself from the way your lower muscles are starting to cramp up with heat and arousal.  “I’ll get us some water.  We need water.”

You’re off the bed and setting the smoldering spice on the small metal counter without another word, grabbing two empty cups and beginning to fill them up in the tiny little sink with your back to him. 

Stars, he was right.  It’s not supposed to feel like this.  It feels… it feels like everything is burning inside you, but such a good burn.  Like your mind is being seduced by your own body right now instead of the other way around, and the paradoxical sensation is manifesting itself in an unprecedentedly strong urge to jump your best friend’s bones.  The urge has always been there, granted, but it’s never been this shameless before.  Never arced and pulsed so brilliantly in your veins before, never been steadily fed by such a tempting outside source.  Not the drugs—but him.  The tangible fuck-me vibes Cassian is radiating towards you right now, staring at your back with those big, gorgeous brown eyes of his, silent and unmoving behind you as he watches you from your bed.  He’s never done anything to encourage your desire for him like this before.  He’s never wanted anything more than just platonic companionship and playful banter in the midst of war zones from you, and yet you can feel the heat burning from him too, feel it start to intensify your own high.

It’s bantha shit, you have to realize.  This whole Maker-forsaken situation—it’s forced; none of it’s real.  Cassian is your best friend, and he’s only looking at you like this because spice is chemically altering his hormones right now.  You can feel it doing the same to you, just steadily stirring deep in your floor muscles and amplifying your baser desires, but you need to snap yourself the fuck out of it and be the levelheaded one here.  Despite the arousal burning hot in your tummy, at least you know your thoughts are still fundamentally sound—in contrast, you have no fucking clue what’s going on in that hard head of his right now.  At least one of you needs to buck up, handle your drugs, and be the adult before things get out of hand.  If it falls to you, then so be it.

You focus on your breathing and do as much as you can to mentally will the tingling sensation down deep.  Taking a second to put a comfortable expression on, you finally turn around and start walking back to him.

When you raise your head and make eye contact with Cassian again though, the look in his eyes almost immediately threatens to undo everything you just decided.  Fuck, he looks like he just had an internal pep talk of his own, but in the entirely wrong direction you went.  He’s a bit more relaxed now, same as you, but his gaze is now searing hot on your body, tangible enough to stop you dead in your tracks in front of him.  It burns through you, and you literally feel the sweat drip down your back as a shiver rolls down your spine.

No.  Hold strong.  Maker, irresponsibility has always been appealing but never so fucking seductive as this is, has it?  Taking such a gorgeous fucking form.  You take a few more steps forward, quickly trying to gather composure.

“Should we stop?”  You ask him once more and stars, you were aiming for calmer and gentler and with more lung support—not this breathless scrape of a sound that feels like sandpaper in your throat.  He hasn’t said a fucking word and your resolve is already wavering.  You try not to make eye contact as you carefully hand him one of the cups.  “We’re only twenty minutes in, barely halfway through it.  We can stop and coast, it’s not a big deal.”

Cassian takes the water from your outstretched hand, letting the tips of his fingers brush lightly across yours in the process.  Your heart skips in your chest.  “Do you want to stop?”

You absolutely should fucking stop.  Just standing here and handing him water without ripping your clothes off is a challenge; you’ve still got half a joint left and you’re not even sure you’ve reached the come-up yet.  What if this is just the beginning?  What if this is just laying the foundation?  What happens when you actually peak on this shit?

“It’s not a big deal,” you repeat instead, keeping your answer as ambiguous as possible and taking a sip of the blessedly cold liquid.  At least the water is responding correctly to the frigid environment on this horrible fucking planet.  You feel ready to burn up.  “Just wanna make sure you’re cool.”

Cassian flicks his eyes over to the joint still cherried and smoking on the metal counter behind you.  “We can keep going.”

Your breathing picks up slightly.  Does he know what he’s really asking right now?  He has to have figured out what that spice does by now, right?  But no, he’s so steadfast in the way he looks at you, blinking up at you confidently.  Fuck, you should stop.  You should stop.

You should… compromise?

“If we keep going, no more of this,” you tell him, gesturing to the way he still hasn’t moved or drank any of the water in his cup.  “You need to.  Chill out, alright.  Act normal.”

Fuck, you’re normally so blunt and outspoken with him, so why is it that everything happening here is so fucking unsaid?  Everything is transpiring right below the surface, a conversation taking place within another conversation.  You’re telling him to cut the heart eyes, lay back on the bed and spend some rare quality time with his best friend.  Regardless of the weird side effects, this spice is still giving you an incredibly strong body high.  If he could just stop looking at you like that so you can stop rhythmically clenching and pulsing between your legs, you’d probably be incredibly relaxed right now.

“I will lay down,” he finally agrees, breaking eye contact with you and grabbing the pillow from his lap so he can throw it down next to him.  “Go, get the rest of it.”

“Drink.”  You stay rooted to your spot.

He gulps down the entire cup of water right in front of you, and something about how sassy and exaggerated it is makes you unwind just a bit and head back for the spice.

This is better, you think.  Butting heads with your strong personalities is better than whatever mind games you two were playing before, more familiar and grounding.  Cassian sets down his empty cup on the floor as you pick up the joint, and then you sit on the edge of the mattress across from him when you come back.

“So how were patrols?”  You ask him, taking another hit of it and studying the strange color it burns as you hold the smoke in your lungs, almost a light pink.

“Not bad,” he says, scooting back to lay lengthwise across the back of the bed.  His long legs stick off the end but he looks way more comfortable now, settling back into the pillow and watching you with a calmer, more easy-going look in his eyes.

“Where’d you get sent this time?”  You have to lean forward quite a bit to hand him the spice.

“The Lothal Sector,” Cassian responds casually, taking it from you.

“Oh, fuck off,” you snap, already unamused before he’s even started to mess with you.  “I will shoot down red leader tomorrow, Cass, don’t you dare fucking test m—”

“A local was trying to sell kittens to the pilots,” he goes on, completely ignoring you and relaxing back down into the mattress with the joint between his fingers.  “They were very cute.  But then I tell him no, because I did not know of anyone who could care for one.”

“That’s not fucking funny.” Cassian smiles slowly at you as you glare back at him very, very sternly.  “This is a no lothcat joking zone, I’m sensitive about this.”

He keeps smiling even as he takes his hit, gentle and fond and lovely on his face, but his eyes eventually go softer and a bit melancholy on the exhale.  

“I am sorry I missed your birthday, caraya,” he says to you truthfully, something sincere and tender in the way he looks at you.  “But I will get you something better than a cat.”

“What does that mean?”  You lean forward and grab the spice from him when he holds it out for you.

“No idea,” he admits during the careful exchange.  “Maybe something with less claws and teeth, I think.”

“No,” you shake your head, settling back on your butt once more.  “Caraya.  What does that mean?”

Cassian quickly opens his mouth to reply, but then pauses and takes a second.  As if he’s debating on what exactly he wants to tell you.  You inhale from the spice held between your fingers and wait patiently for him.  Probably something to do with birthdays, right?  Since he only started calling you that after you told him he missed yours.

You end up waiting for his answer so long, you actually feel like you should take another hit.  But when Cassian does eventually speak, it’s incredibly calculated and slow, like he’s actively trying to find the correct words to translate its exact meaning into Basic.

“Fest is part of a binary star system,” he finally tells you, breaking the silence.  “It is… it is what my people call the times when… when one of the stars sets while the other is rising on the opposite horizon.”

You pause with the joint halfway to your mouth, staring dumbly at him.

“It is rare.  I have seen it only twice.  Each time, for less than a minute.  It is very rare for them to match up perfectly, but when they do.”  His eyes go a bit softer, losing himself in his memories instead of concentrating so much on the words.  “The sky shines with every color.  Reds, yellows, and pinks to the west; blues, indigos, and violets to the east.  It is… it is also… something we call the ones close to us,” he continues, blinking his gaze slowly back to you.  “Caraya na cotâ vi zas iz’búsdari.  To care and be cared for is to feel the sun on both sides.”

You… you just keep staring at him.  Blank, unmoving, not really even breathing.  Your chest suddenly feels incredibly tight.  He looks back at you and stars, he looks so fucking gorgeous; long lashes dusting over his cheekbones at this angle, one hand resting lazily over his abdomen as he relaxes on your bed.

“It sounds…”  You sound winded.  “Lovely.”

“Yes,” Cassian returns softly, tilting his head on your pillow and blinking at you.  “It is.”

You don’t know why the fuck you thought this would be okay, honestly.  This whole thing was such a horrendous fucking idea right from the start.  You’re surprised you haven’t set the both of you on fire by dropping the lit spice between your fingers.  You were a fucking idiot to think you could resist him.  You were overconfident, underestimating him the way you did.  It’s like… like he’s approaching this in surges, almost.  Lulling you into a false sense of security for a bit, and then carefully pushes forward, toeing the line between best friend and person he wants to fuck and seeing how much you’ll let him get away with.

You’re… you’re a weak, spineless little thing.

“Is it—is it your turn?” You eventually ask him, looking down at the joint in your hands.  It’s barely above a whisper and it’s vaguely squeaky and it’s probably one of the dumbest fucking things you’ve ever asked in your life.  Of course it’s his turn, who the fuck else’s turn would it be?  

Cassian would normally rip into you for being such an idiot, but he doesn’t.  He just blinks softly at you, pupils dilated and glassy as they take you in.

“Would you like to…”  He sounds equally breathless now, swallowing thickly before he speaks again.  “You can… come closer, if you want.  Here.  With me.”  He pats his belly.  “No more reaching.”

What is… what is happening right now?  Is Cassian Andor actually, like—for real making a move on you?  His best friend?  The one he’s never looked twice at?

“You want me to…?”  Your cunt clenches.  Stars, you’re so wet already.  You can feel it, dampening your underwear as his eyes flutter slightly at the rasp in your voice.

“Come,” he pats his stomach once more.  “Lay down with me.”

You slowly begin to shuffle over to him on shaky knees, trying to move normally as he watches you.  He stretches out across the back of the bed, giving you a perfect spot along his open torso to relax into.  Your heart pounds as you carefully hand the spice to him before settling yourself on your back with your head on his tummy, making a little perpendicular t-shape with him on the mattress, vision slightly blurry but pulsing at the same time.

Maker, he smells so fucking good.  He smells like fresh snow and something warm at the same time, so lean and long above you.  You’re almost panting now, burning up in your thick layers as you try to get comfortable.

“Maker, it’s so fucking hot in here,” you whisper, using your sleeve to wipe the sweat gathering at your temples.  “Fuck.”

“Take off your shirt,” Cassian suggests quietly, and your mouth instantly goes bone dry, your chest forgetting to rise again after it collapses with a quick whoosh of breath.  “You have something on underneath, yes?”  He adds quickly before you can completely ignite in flames.  “Take off the top one.”

You… you have a thin undershirt on, but nothing underneath that.  It’s nearing three in the morning, of course you don’t have a bra on right now.  And the undershirt is white, and you’re sweating buckets, which means—

“It… it might show some…”  You have no clue how to phrase this, but Cassian quickly responds.

“It is just me,” he reassures, carefully reaching his arm around your head to hold the joint up to your lips for you.  You inhale the drug deeply, watching the pink light illuminate the tips of his fingers.  “We are best friends, and this is your room.  You should relax.”

Maker, this is… this is dangerous.  He’s dangerous.  He’s smart, choosing to go at it from this angle.  He’s not toeing the line anymore, he’s just… blurring it until it doesn’t exist anymore.  Or better yet, just walking over it and pretending it doesn’t exist at all.  Pretending nothing at all is happening between you right now.  Trying to see whether you’ll be more willing to give in if he comes at you from the side like this, not necessarily catching you off guard but refusing to outright confront you about it either.

Apparently precedent rules.  You’re a weak, spineless little thing, especially when presented with such a compelling out.  He’s… he’s totally right.  You are best friends, this is your room, and you should relax.  Nothing sexual about it at all, right?  Furthermore, relaxing trumps overheating any fucking day of the week, so… so that’s why you tell yourself it’s okay to sit up and immediately reach behind your head, grabbing the hoodie and beginning to pull the thick fabric off.  

Only, it’s damp and clings to your thin undershirt, dragging both of them up the length of your back as it goes.  You stop when the lower hem pulls up just below your breasts, trying to reach back behind your head even further and separate the two materials but struggling with the angle.

“Cass,” you eventually prompt, trying not to flush.  Not like he’d be able to tell, though; you’ve been unbearably warm and fidgety this entire time, your embarrassment conceals itself without your assistance.  “You wanna help me?  Or you just wanna keep watching?”

“Do not ask me such stupid questions,” he tells you plainly, unmoving.  “What did I say?  We are best friends.  Of course I am not going to help you.  You are…” he trails off when you lift your shoulders upright just a bit to see if the angle will work better that way.  It does, but the fabric drags further up your ribcage from the shift, “…You are nice to watch.”

Your heart pounds, and you’re even clumsier knowing he’s staring at your exposed tummy right now.  Maker, this should not be as difficult as it is.  You swing your arms back around behind you, arching outwards and trying to separate them from the bottom this time, but gravity doesn’t appear to work in your favor.  

Maybe you can do like, some sort of weird, half-and-half thing to get them apart?  Maybe?  Where you hold the undershirt from the bottom with one hand and pull the hoodie from the top with the other?

Yes, okay—that could possibly work.  Cassian inhales more spice as he lazes behind you, getting a front row seat to watch this subsequent genius unfold.

You get into your monkey-like position, beginning to pry the two materials apart from behind like you planned.  But then—oh, your undershirt still sticks to your hoodie at the front, pulling up a few inches with it and flashing the lower curve of your breasts to the room before you immediately halt and switch tactics, reaching back down and trying to pull them apart from the front withou—

A large, warm palm comes up to settle on your bare spine, right in the middle of your shoulder blades.

You freeze.  But Cassian doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything more than that.  He just holds his hand there, steady and solid against your upper back.

Neither one of you move.  It’s like… it’s like you’re both trying so hard to get a read on each other that your reactions are equally stunted.  Is he doing this to bring you to a still so he can help you?  Is he simply as blazed as you are right now and not thinking about things before he does them?  Is he—

But then Cassian starts slowly dragging his hand down your spine, carefully riding the gentle curve of it downwards as your breathing subtly picks up.  Your arms are halfway caught in the fabric, not able to stop him unless you untangle them and reach behind you.  So you just hold there statuesquely as his palm inches down the sweat-slick muscles of your lower back, thumb just barely brushing the hemline of your sweatpants.  

Fuck, you feel like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin.  Heat pools deep in your tummy, spidering outwards and sending pulsing shocks down your legs when he keeps his hand there for just a second.

Until… until he traces all the way back up and carefully hooks a finger around your undershirt.  

Your heart pounds as Cassian gradually pulls it over the top of your head with your hoodie, guiding you to bring both of them around your arms.  He pushes against your shoulder wordlessly, urging you to lie back down with your head on his stomach once more, the fabric stretched tight over your upper-body and the entire length of your spine now fully exposed as it touches the mattress.

“C-Cassian,” you breathe, fluttering your eyes up at the ceiling.

“Yes, caraya?”  He murmurs, and you completely forget what you’re going to say when he continues to pull the hoodie and undershirt down over your arms, exposing your naked breasts to the open air.

Your cunt pulses between your legs and you hear him throw the thick bulk of fabric carelessly on the floor.  “I—I-I don’t—”

“You will stay like this?”  Cassian tells you softly, brushing your damp hair back from your shoulder so that your bare chest is completely unobstructed as it faces the ceiling.  Your nipples are hard, a thin sheen of sweat covering your entire body, and you can feel his gaze drag down your naked skin, even if he doesn’t actually touch you.  No, he just takes another slow drag from the spice in his hand and tilts his head back to rest on your pillow, relaxing into the mattress with a gentle shuffle of his shoulder blades.  “If you are too warm, you will stay like this, okay?  Be comfortable.”

Is it possible to die from arousal?  Your clit is fucking pounding; everything from the waist down is unbearably tight and cramped.  Stars, you feel like you’ll cum if you even move wrong right now.  He told you to be comfortable, but you’re not—you’re boiling from the sensation, topless on your bed, trying not to close your eyes or squeeze your legs together.  It’s too fucking casual and unacknowledged, how he’s going about this.  You feel like you’re going to explode.

Cassian gently taps your bare shoulder to get your attention and shifts his head slightly to look down at you.  You bite your bottom lip and flutter your gaze sideways to meet his after a second, hoping you don’t look as flushed and tight with burning arousal as you feel.  Deep brown eyes look back at you, hazy and dilated.  He takes a second to slowly drag his gaze down the length of your half-naked body once more, now that he knows you’re watching him.  Your breath comes audibly now, quicker and shallower than it should be after laying flat on a bed for this long.

“Here,” Cassian prompts, holding the smoldering joint out for you to take.  His voice sounds raspier now, but still so… casual.  Like he’s out here talking about the weather with a mildly sore throat, not because your tits are out while you stare at each other and neither one of you is saying a damn thing about it.  It’s like he’s determined to hold onto the splitting tension, drag it out between you as long as he can.  “Want more?”

You know what he’s really asking, and it cramps your lower muscles up even harder.  He’s asking if you want more of this spice that’s currently getting you naked in front of him.  More of this madness, twisting up your insides with need and jumbling your thoughts.  More of him treating you like this, like there’s not a damn thing out of place in the universe right now, like you’re still just best friends so that’s why it’s okay you’re both doing this together.

Stars, do you want more?  Do you want him to keep winding you up like this?  More of this torture, this agonizing foreplay, wondering when he’ll finally give in and touch you?  Pretending like this is still completely platonic, like what’s happening here isn’t wildly unprecedented, insanely inappropriate, and so fucking hot?

You can feel your eyebrows pull up in the middle as you look at him, almost pleading with him to… something.  To stop, maybe?  Stop altogether, or just stop… fuck, stop ignoring the way your cunt feels clamped around itself tighter than a vice between your legs?  Stop neglecting your burning desire for him, even when it’s right in front of his face.  Stop refusing to acknowledge the way you’re just letting him look at you right now, how you haven’t once stopped playing along with this fever dream just in case you aren’t imagining it?  Fuck, but Cassian just looks back at you, his expression completely blank except for the smallest little glimmer in his eyes.  A silent, heated glint as he just barely quirks an eyebrow at you.

So you make the decision all at once.  You carefully reach over for the spice with your far hand, feeling your breasts shift towards him slightly with the slow movement.  Cassian doesn’t even feel like he’s breathing as you gently take it from him.  He just stares down at your naked chest and swallows thickly, eyelids dipping slightly as he moves to meet you halfway.

You let your nipple brush up against his knuckles just slightly with the exchange.

When you face back towards the ceiling again and readjust your shoulders flat on the bed, he lets out a slow, shaky breath under your head as it rests on his tummy.  The tension rockets up to eleven, weighing heavy and unspoken and ready to snap.  

But then like that, the moment passes—it’s just another invisible spark igniting between the two of you, just another thing buried beneath the silence and yet ringing so unbelievably loud because of it.  You’re both emitting and absorbing the same buzzing energy, amplifying it back to one another in a slow, endless feedback loop of rising pressure.

The spice comes up to your lips, and Cassian’s fingertips carefully trail along your other arm as it rests by your side.

“This is better, no?”  He asks you quietly, the rough tips of his fingers just barely gliding across your skin in small, mindless patterns.  They dance down your skin like feathers, tracing a small arch over the ridge of your elbow so lightly you almost feel like you might be imagining it.  Your eyes flutter when he gradually skims down the length of your forearm and brushes his thumb in a smooth circle around the bone in your wrist.  “Or you are still too warm?”

You bite your bottom lip when one of his fingers carefully stretches all the way up to your hip, running along the hem of your sweatpants.  

“Yeah, m’still a little—” you gasp, trying not to stutter when Cassian starts to draw up the length of your waistline, pausing right when his fingers reach your drawstrings.  “Little w-warm,” you finish hoarsely, painfully aware of how fucking wet you are, how your nipples are peaked and glistening with sweat as they move with your soft, shallow breathing.

He slowly dips one finger below the elastic wrapping across your hips, dragging it back and forth under the damp waistband.

“This fabric is heavy,” Cassian remarks, just the slightest husk in his voice.  “You… you will take this off, too?”

“I-I don’t—”  You’re about to say have anything on underneath except you immediately go quiet, because he’s suddenly slithering his entire hand down into your sweatpants and brushing his knuckles along the gentle slope of you.

He pauses once more when his longest finger reaches the very top of your slit.

But then he just holds it there for a second, tracing small arches back and forth along gentle give of it, the slight dip that separates your soft curls from your soaking heat.  You tighten up and wait in breathless anticipation for it, before the tip of Cassian’s finger finally comes to a rest over the soft split of flesh.

And then he’s suddenly pushing in, and down—

—fuckfuckfuckfuck—don’tcumdon’tcum—don’t—

You make a soft, vulnerable sound in bliss as he slowly slides his finger through the hot, slick cleft of your pussy.

“You are warm down here, too,” Cassian murmurs quietly.  Your eyes roll back when he drags the entire length of it up against your clit, letting you feel each individual ridge and joint and crevice across the swollen bit of flesh.  “Is it the spice?”  He asks, sinking his finger back down into you once more.  “Or are you always this wet between your legs?”

Neither.  Both, maybe?  Mostly it’s just him.  Cassian, whispering softly to you through the hazy darkness, lazily dipping his fingers into your cunt and letting it drench and engulf his skin in its heat.

“Tell me,” he prompts when you don’t say a word.  His finger pulls up and begins tracing slow, gentle circles around your clit.

“No,” you breathe haggardly, arching your hips up just slightly as he touches you.  “N-No, this is…”

“This is different,” Cassian confirms when you don’t finish your sentence.  He keeps circling your clit, and it’s like he’s just casually, carelessly stirring a pot that’s about to boil over and set everything on fucking fire.  You pulse threateningly under the tip of his finger, swollen and tight and just trying your best to control your breathing.  “So it is the spice.  Why you are this hot, this… this soaking.”

“It’s…”  Don’t you say it.  Don’t you fucking say it.  Don’t you turn this into something it isn’t.  “Yeah.  It’s—it’s the sp-spice.”

His finger follows the hard curve of you down to where you give, where you’re leaking wetness and heat from the source, before he’s suddenly shifting his wrist and pushing the entire thing into you down to his knuckle.

Now you do arch your hips, spreading your legs and helping him go deeper even as Cassian hums, stretching his finger and feeling you clench hot and tight around him.  He says something softly, something in a language you don’t understand.

And then he’s pulling out and rubbing circles around your clit again, the tip of his finger steady and firm as he steadily drags the pleasure out of you.

“We need to finish it soon,” he eventually reminds you, and it takes a remarkable delay for you to realize he’s talking about the lingering quarter of the joint still clenched tightly between your fingers.  “Take your hit.  We have a nine-hundred call, remember.”

Fuck, you bring the spice up to your lips with a shaky hand, trying to remember whether you should inhale or exhale first.  Cassian’s finger just keeps circling your clit, winding you up tighter and tighter.  His motions are so repetitive and predictable, but they’re somehow still lighting you on fire from the inside, slowing you down spectacularly as you try to take a steady breath in through the filter.

“Stars, you are so wet,” he remarks after a moment.  “Are you going to cum soon?  You feel like you are so close already.”

You are close.  Everything is swollen and slippery and tight, and hearing him say it out loud like that makes the pleasure rocket up even tighter inside you.  You don’t even feel him reach around with his other hand and take the spice from you.  You just lose yourself in the mindless sensation of Cassian’s finger on your clit, rolling your eyes back and reaching your hands down to fisting the sheets at your sides as he touches you.

“Does this feel good, caraya?”  He whispers quietly to you, inhaling deeply from the spice.  “You are usually so… mouthy with me.  Is this helping?  Do I need to rub your clit like this more often?”

“Fuck—Cassian, I’m gonna cum,” you tell the ceiling raggedly, chest beginning to arch up and hips bearing down.

“Do it,” he murmurs, reaching his thumb through your slick lips to pinch and roll the pulsing bud between his fingers.  “Right here.  All you can.”

And then wild, painful bliss stabs through you, launching you headfirst into a blinding orgasm.  A desperate sound tears from your throat as you cum hard all over your best friend’s hand, agonizing pleasure shredding mindless rapture through your veins.  It rings white noise through your ears and rips you apart from the inside out, arcing lightning down your spine more bright and explosive than ever before.  Fuck, it’s unprecedentedly powerful.  You’re drenched but your clit is hard and pulsing and swollen, and he’s able to keep it between his fingers the entire time your hips writhe desperately on the mattress.

Cassian inhales from the spice once more and massages your clit through the torturous, blazing hot aftershocks.  He drags the pleasure out of you until you’re a trembling mess, exhausted from the spasms wreaking havoc on your body.

But then… but then you’re still so hot.  It’s like your limbs have no energy left but your cunt is still pulsing and wanting more from him.  You feel your wetness coating his hand, your inner thighs, probably soaking through your sweatpants, but fuck, you want him to keep touching you like this—you want him to keep doing this.

It’s the spice, something tells you in the very back of your mind.  It almost made you black out with a wild orgasm and now it’s quickly preparing your overheated body for another one.  Your feet come up to brace against the mattress and your eyes close, jaw going slack as you grind feverishly against Cassian’s hand.

“Again?”  He whispers to you, fingers continuing to pinch and roll your clit and then—and then another debilitating wave of euphoria is suddenly slamming through you, pulling your chest up and flooding his hand with another series of wet, powerful contractions.  Cassian rasps something in his native tongue and rides you through the second one just as steady as the first, your pussy spasming uncontrollably as he slowly wrings the pleasure from you.

Fuck, it feels so good.  You’re worked up and trembling and trying not to whimper for him, desperately wanting him to keep his hand right here forever, buried right between your legs like this.  But you also—you also want Cassian to feel it too, feel the way the unrestrained hedonism practically burns you alive when you cum.

So you carefully turn over on your side and shuffle forwards a bit, resting your head on his lower stomach, right in front of the mouthwatering bulge in his trousers.  His fingers can’t fully reach your cunt from this angle, but Cassian is resilient.  He just drags his hand over your hip and slithers his fingers into your pussy from behind while you start unbuckling his pants with shaky fingers.

He’s unbelievably hard and throbbing and leaking when you pull his cock out of his underwear, the pulsing urgency of his erection not lining up with the way he’s still relaxing on your mattress, still hasn’t moved under you.  So you just hold his length up to your lips and open them, slowly sliding your tongue around the tip of him three times before taking his curved head into the hot cavern of your mouth.

Cassian takes a deep, shaky breath as you suck softly on the head of his cock, fluttering your tongue along a bead of precum he leaks from the slit.  He drags his fingers through your drenched pussy lips from behind as you carefully move your head down his tummy, opening your jaw wider and letting him fill your mouth deeper.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and you hum softly and lift your back palate slightly, sliding your tongue drift down his shaft and taking him a bit deeper still.  He shudders under you and pushes the tip of his finger up against your clit.

And then you shudder because Cassian completely bypasses your hood at this angle, bumping into the swollen bit of flesh without any resistance or protection and just… holding it there.  Barely moving an inch while you begin to slowly bob up and down just slightly around his cock, just keeping his fingertip right up against your clit and sparking heat down through your legs.

You move your hand down to cup his balls and start to roll your hips against his fingers.  Cassian’s breathing stutters as you lazily suck his cock, rubbing a tight little circle on your clit in silent encouragement.

“We should—” his voice is hoarse now, now that you’ve got his dick in your mouth and you’re gently swirling your tongue around it, almost as unhurried and casual about the act as he was bringing you to your first orgasm.  “We should do this.  More.”

You slowly pull off him, kissing the tip of his cock and mouthing at the way he’s steadily releasing thick drops of precum for you.  Cassian’s finger rolls firmly against your clit in response.

“You just want your dick sucked every time you come back to base,” you counter breathlessly, brushing your lips against him while talking with his cockhead resting on the edge of your tongue.

His hand shifts, and then he’s suddenly pushing two thick fingers deep inside you.  You moan around his tip and prop one leg up on the mattress so he can fill you easier, going back to sucking and swiping your tongue over his frenulum.

“I would not mind it,” he admits with a shaky exhale.  “You are.  Very g-good.  Fuck.  And wa—” he gasps, feeling you clench tight around his fingers, “—warm.  Fuck, every… everywhere.”

Fuck, it feels so good like this.  Laying here, topless and being penetrated two different ways by Cassian, feeling him throb in your mouth while you rest your head on his tummy, feeling him stretch your cunt walls with his fingers while you hold your legs open for him.

You pull off him to drag your slick tongue over your palm, coating your fingers in saliva.  Cassian groans when you wrap your hand around the thick base of him, and then he lifts his hips slightly as you start to slowly jerk him off into you mouth.

“Fuck—caraya, if you keep doing that, I will—” he whispers after a moment, curling his fingers inside you in warning.  You just tighten your grip and add just the slightest twist to your wrist and “Wait—wait—” Cassian grunts, starting to pull his fingers out of you—

You pull off him just enough to murmur the words against his throbbing head.  “You’ll want more than one, okay.  Trust me.  Cum like this, okay?  Cum just like this, right in my mouth.”

You wrap your lips around his cock once more and keep jerking him off slow and tight into the heat of your mouth, and Cassian’s abdominal muscles go incredibly tense under your head.  And then you squeeeeze your lower muscles around his fingers, and all the tension suddenly snaps.

His cock goes rock hard on your tongue and starts pulsing steadily as he groans out your name like it hurts, fingers stuffed deep in your cunt.  You swallow around him and moan, clenching rhymically around his fingers and letting him slowly empty himself into your mouth.  Fuck, he takes forever with it, shuddering and gasping and pumping cum down your throat, his orgasm clearly as powerful as yours was.  The spice drags it out, makes you both lose yourself in the raw heaven of release for far longer than normal.

The spice also prevents him from softening when Cassian finally stops spurting hot cum in your mouth.  You suspected as much—which is why you keep sucking his cock even as he stops throbbing, you keep him in your hot mouth even when he’s laying trembling and exhausted under you.  And he still stays rock solid on your tongue, swollen and needing more.

Cassian’s voice sounds shredded when he finally speaks.  “I—I am going to crash my x-wing tomorrow,” he tells you hoarsely, fingers finally slipping out of your channel with a vulgar, slick sound.  “You were right.”

You pull off him and kiss the tip of his cock one final time, making sure you’ve cleaned up the mess completely.  “Today.”

“Fuck.  Today,” he acknowledges tightly, adjusting his hips when you lift your head off his stomach.  “Fuck.  In a few hours.  You will make me crash, just thinking about this.”

“Why is it,” you turn around and blink at him, “that after literal decades of my friendship, you only acknowledge my perpetual rightness after I make you cum for the first time?”

Cassian just smiles softly at you, and his fingers are drenched as they rest lazily against your thigh.  “Caraya.  Two suns.  Twice the illumination, no?”

You bite your lip and try not to smile back at him, wanting to blush and roll your eyes in equal parts.  Stars, why is he so… so lovely?  Speaking to you so sweetly, looking back up at you from your pillow like you’re every single color in his sky.  Your heart seizes in your chest, staring at him with the same kind of fondness and admiration his beautiful eyes are shining with.  Fuck, you want… you want to…

“Can we… can we have sex now?”  You whisper.  Not really shy, but… but it almost sounds shy in its quiet, breathless hope.  

“You do not want me to taste you?”  Cassian immediately asks, reaching out with one hand to offer you what’s left of the spice while the other stays firmly wedged between your legs.  “I want to.  I have…”

You bite down on your bottom lip and take the nearly finished joint from him, feeling his fingers curl against your pussy lips at the same time and knowing you’re going to regret letting him finish his sentence.  He swallows thickly.

“I have thought about it,” Cassian eventually tells you, carefully admitting the words like he never expected he’d ever say them aloud and is completely unprepared.  “Sometimes.  Sometimes when… when I am about to sleep.  I think of… of you.  What you taste like.  Right here.”  He barely slips the tip of his finger back between your folds, fluttering his eyelashes at the way you’re still dripping in his hand.  “I bet you are so sweet.  Will you let me find out?”

Except.  Except you’re suddenly blanking.

He’s… he’s thought about you before?  Like this?  Fuck, he isn’t just… just saying that, right?  Just telling you what you want to hear?  Because fuck, it’s almost too good to be true; like everything out of his mouth since you first put his cock in yours has somehow sounded even better than the last.  You feel like you’re dreaming, and it.  It makes you almost frantic with need, overcome with the desire to solidify your connection with him before it can be ripped away like it always is.

You don’t respond to him.  You just quickly wiggle out of your sweatpants and get on top of him, swinging one of your legs around Cassian’s hips.  The spice is held in one hand while the other reaches down and aligns his cock right up against your opening.

Cassian grabs your thighs tightly and takes a long, shuddery breath under you.  Fuck, he really is a dream, isn’t he?  Long and lithe and beautiful, still throbbing and pulsing and ready for you after you already swallowed his first load.  You straighten your back and slowly sit down on his cock, letting the thick, hard length of it break you open slowly.

His hands trace up to your hips and then slide along the gentle curves of your sides, measuring the size of your ribcage before eventually grasping both of your tits in his palms.  You breathe through the pleasure and the stretch, letting Cassian pinch and roll your nipples between his fingers as you gradually slide down him and come to a rest flush against his pelvis.

Fuck he feels spectacular.  You can feel him pulsing inside of you, fitting and stretching the contours of your slick cunt perfectly.  You shiver and clench around him, finishing off the last hit of spice as you roll your hips slightly to adjust to the tight fit of his cock.

You twist your shoulders to carefully toss the smoldering roach into the sink when it’s done, really taking your time with aiming it to make sure you don’t miss.  The second it lands in the metal basin is the second Cassian grinds his hips up into yours while giving both of your nipples a gentle tug, and a jolt of pleasure rocks its way down your spine.

“Im-impatient,” you whisper, trying to scold him but it comes out sounding all wrong, far more needy and breathy than you wanted.

“I wanted my tongue in your pussy,” he whispers back in reminder, squeezing your tits as you start to circle and grind against him, letting you both enjoy the sensation of each other without any solid aim at the moment.  “You could not wait.”

“Later,” you gasp, tipping your head back and just—fuck, just enjoying his cock.  Enjoying how it feels, pressing up deliciously tight against something inside you that just absolutely loves the pressure.  You scoot yourself back just a bit, just so he is really shoved up hard against that spot as you grind and roll your body.  It ignites sparks deep in your floor muscles, makes you clamp tighter around him as you slowly ride your best friend’s cock.

And stars, Cassian just watches you.  He drags his hands over your naked body as it swells and rocks back over his hips like waves in the ocean.  He’s still completely clothed, and while something inside you wants you to get him as naked as your are, rub your exposed skin against his and make sure he never forgets how you feel against him, most of you is just fucking burning at the eroticism of being so bare and tall above him while he looks at you.

“Later,” he eventually repeats after you, definitively confirming what you said.  Cassian’s voice is somehow soft and rough at the same time, quiet but tight and hoarse in his throat.  “I will taste you later.”

You jerk a nod in agreement, starting to gain just a little bit of a rhythm on top of him.  Your eyes flutter closed as you lean your weight back slightly and begin to pull up when your hips twist in towards him, and then sinking back down on his cock when your hips circle back around again.

“Fuck,” you hear Cassian grit as you keep doing that, relaxing your lower muscles as he’s thrusted into you and then clamping down on his length as it’s slowly dragged out.  “Fuck, you are—a-amazing, caraya.  You are.  You are—fuck—”

A sinful heat starts simmering deep inside you as Cassian cuts himself off with a gasp and squeezes his eyes shut, starts rocking his pelvis up in time with your slow, sensual rotations.  Both of his hands clamp down hard over your hips as they continue to undulate in slow circles around his cock.

“Maker,” you whisper, trying to focus on your rhythm instead of the terrifying, building sensation inside of you.  Fuck, you can literally feel the threat of your orgasm start to carefully wind itself around the base of your spine, simmering and sparking with dark pleasure as it gradually spreads its electric claws outwards.  It’s huge.  You can already feel it gathering together inside you, culminating into something monstrous and fierce.

Cassian says your name, and you suddenly blink your eyes open at the unexpected urgency and tightness in his voice.  Your vision takes a second to focus on his gorgeous face, and when you immediately see the same exact storm of swirling desperation in his eyes, your jaw goes slack as you speed up, trying to chase him as Cassian all but hurtles towards the blinding explosion nearing its detonation.

“Fuck, I—” he gasps, and then he’s suddenly going rigid under you and cumming deep in your slick heat with a desperate sound, shuddering and gasping for you as his thumbs dig into your thighs.  Fuck, you grind harder, trying to find and focus on your favorite angle now as Cassian whimpers through the bliss and writhes under you, throbbing and pumping in steady, helpless jolts.

You whimper, too—fuck, you’re almost there, you’re gasping and trying to surrender to the swelling sensation, but it’s so intense and overwhelming and you’re close to tears because you’re fighting it just as much as you’re seeking it out, and—

And then the breath is suddenly knocked out of you when Cassian reaches up to grab you and flip the both of you over, your back coming down hard against the mattress.  He kneels between your legs, hooks both of your calves over his shoulders, props his arms next to your head, and then he starts thrusting.

You sob brokenly, slapping an open palm against his chest.  Fuck, his cock is still so hard and it shreds up achingly deep against that blinding spot so perfectly, you can’t focus on anything anymore.  The dark, evasive build immediately twists up sharp and impending as Cassian fucks you steady and deep, and you start to muffle your cries and gasps into the back of your hand.

But then, oh—words are coming, too.  Oh Maker, you can feel the urge to say them rise up along with the ferocious stirrings of your orgasm, clawing its way out of your throat before you can do anything to stop it.

“Fuck—” you tear your hand away to sob brokenly, not being able to stop yourself as the tsunami begins to peak, “oh, fuck—I love you.  Oh, fuck, I—I love you, Cassian—I love you, I—IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou—”

His cock splinters up against sheer euphoria inside you as you cum with a desperate wail of his name, pussy clamping down hard as it erupts into searing hot ecstasy around him.

—and then suddenly Cassian is lurching against you and bringing his lips down to yours, licking into your mouth and cumming deep inside you once more.  Maker, you nearly scream at the sensation, your tight cunt milking the throbbing length of him with endlessly wet, hot contractions as he grinds you both through the aching bliss.  He kisses you like he’s wanted to do it for years, bites your bottom lip as you whimper and spasm wildly around him.

Fuck, you can hear the mess you’re both making.  It’s obscene, filling the room with the slick sound of your desperate coupling.  Cassian eventually pulls his mouth away to look down at where he’s rocking into your drenched cunt, the evidence of his own pleasure slicking up hard lines of his erection.

Your eyes roll back when he doesn’t stop thrusting.

***

You lose track of everything.

Time, direction, responsibility—nothing matters, because Cassian goes on like that.  For hours, taking you apart every single way you can imagine.  You fuck the effects of the spice out of your body until nothing exists but him—Cassian’s cock stretching you, his tongue gliding along your skin, his whispered words of broken praise murmured against your neck.

Strangely, your body feels absolutely amazing when you finally manage to gain the slightest bit of awareness of your obligations again.  You feel like you’re floating above everything, almost dreamlike in how unbelievably satisfied you feel.  

You slowly blink up at the ceiling, and then suddenly remember the nine-hundred call you have to make.  You’re both naked, sprawled out on top of your mattress, and Cassian—

“Cass—” you rasp, pulling on the thick waves of hair tangled between your fingers and feeling his hot tongue slip out of your pussy.  It’s still slightly dark in your room, but that could just be the horrendous weather blocking the sun.  “What—what time is it?  Did we miss—?”

“Almost eight,” Cassian rumbles low against your thigh.  “We still have some time before we need to get up.”

You lurch into startled awareness, getting go of him to prop yourself you on your elbows.  “But that’s—no, we have to shower, and—”

“A ten minute walk to the hangar from here, yes?”  Cassian reasons, pressing a lazy kiss to your thigh and not sounding bothered in the slightest.  “Twenty minutes to shower together, ten minutes to get dressed.  We have at least ten more minutes before we need to think about getting up.”

You shudder and blink down at him, naked and relaxed as he mouths over your skin.  Maker, how can everything change and yet still be so familiar at the same time?

“I think I might crash my x-wing today,” you finally breathe out, dropping your shoulders back down to the mattress once again.

“No,” he returns, turning his head to kiss your other thigh.  “You will not.  Because I checked my holopad earlier, and they sent the coordinates for red squadron’s patrols.”

You narrow your eyebrows at the ceiling.  What does that have to do with anyth—?

And then you suddenly go shock-still under him, trying not to let the blind, overwhelming hope surge up inside you.

“Bring extra credits, caraya,” Cassian murmurs, lowering his head back down between your legs.  “We are going to Lothal.”

[dumb-hat]

Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought her back ;) 035. What is the most important rule your character lives by? | 068. How strong is your character’s sense of responsibility? What kinds of things trigger it? | 079. How easy is it for them to read the emotions of others? | 080. How easy is it for others to read your character’s emotions?

035. What is the most important rule your character lives by? 

"Yeah, so, I try not to do that. You know, as a rule.”

Don’t listen to this shithead.  Sure, he wants to look like a cool, unflappable, devil-may-care scoundrel at times, but his life is a whole complicated pile of rules and standards that he sets for himself, only to try and find excuses to weasel out of, make exceptions for, or otherwise ignore, and to eventually feel bad about. The good news, at least, is that he doesn’t hold anyone else to this.

If pressed, he’d admit that, yes, there are a few guiding principles he tries to stick to. The biggest one is something like “Everyone deserves respect, dignity and kindness, until they prove otherwise. Then they deserve exactly whatever the hell you feel like giving them.” He’s a strong believer in giving people a chance first and regretting it later, and he genuinely believes that if you give them the chance, most people will show you their true colors sooner, rather than later.

068. How strong is your character’s sense of responsibility? What kinds of things trigger it?

"Look, I’m no good at sorting my own shit. You damn sure don’t want me trying to sort yours.” Evander sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose and ultimately relents. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

As far as Evander’s concerned, everyone gets one guilt trip. It’s not a hard and fast rule, and it’s not something he’s ever articulated, either out loud or to himself, but if someone’s trying to manipulate him or goad him into something citing some responsibility he should feel? It’ll probably work once. He’ll probably see it coming, and he’ll certainly be resentful as hell and probably endeavor to make sure it’ll never happen again, but it’ll work. So if you ever really need him to do something? Just lay it on real thick; it’s a good way to get it done and a great way to lose a friend.

@mymistymornings and @charm-in-spades asked this too. You can see their answers here and here respectively.

 079. How easy is it for them to read the emotions of others? 

“The thing about people is that they’re a lot like books, right? Some are easier to read than others, some you get a feel for quick, and some you gotta spend time cracking into the text to figure out what they’re really about. Sometimes you like the story on the surface more, and sometimes you’re really glad you took the time to check the footnotes. I guess the question is whether or not you think I’m much of a reader then, isn’t it?”

He’s not perfect, but Evander’s got a pretty good read on people. He grew up running scams, so it was a necessary skill to hone early on, and it’s remained useful as he’s navigated a life full of hidden agendas and concealed animosities. This is a talent he keeps close to his chest though; he’s found that, with the circles he often finds himself in, people get itchy if they think you’re reading into them too closely. Also, if people think they’ve got you fooled, they’re more likely to underestimate you or tip a hand they were trying to keep secret.

080. How easy is it for others to read your character’s emotions? 

“You ever pick up a book and thing’s just thick as hell, and you think you yourself ‘Alright, this is good. A nice, long read. Should keep me occupied,’ only to notice that the paper stock all rough and heavy, the font’s huge, the kerning’s off and there’s more margin than text? You ever pick something up that’s like, a measly little pamphlet that you think is barely fit to wipe your hands with after a messy meal, only to find out that every little poem or essay can be read three different ways? That the more you read it, the more you can identify with what the author’s saying? So, I guess the question is, then, what kind of book do you think I am?”

Evander can sometimes come across as distant or guarded at first, but unless he has a really good reason to stay that way, he opens up pretty quickly. He doesn’t quite wear his emotions on his sleeve, but he rarely sees much point in trying to obfuscate who he is or how he feels. People will figure it out eventually, or they’ll just make up their own minds about who they think he is, so why not give them accurate data?

Ask me some really difficult stuff: 100 Random Character Development Questions

[coffeecomicsgalore]

Unveiled Love

@smutember

Ao3

Chapter 17 – Roleplay 

Marinette paced across their living room while Adrien sat on the couch, his head clenched between his hands as his elbows rested on his knees. His head was down, his eyes darting across the floor space between his feet. Marinette was nearly silent while her bottom lip clenched between her teeth, but every so often, she would stop pacing and start mumbling as a thought crossed her mind. Adrien would look up to listen to her when she did that, but Marinette would just purse her lips and continue her pace, neglecting the somber look on his face.

The low murmur of the television was playing in the background, and the kwamis were watching the news and waiting for the gossip section to begin. Twitter had already blown up with the highlight of the year a few hours earlier, and Marinette was none the wiser while she was in the middle of attending classes for the day.

Adrien had tried to call her, even hiding in plain sight high above the rooftops while waiting for Marinette to emerge from her class. While she was blissfully unaware, a sudden Twitter ping caused a sharp scoff from one of Marinette’s freshman classmates, and as the teacher began to question the disruption, Marinette was ultimately blindsided when the sneering comments of being a gold digger flooded the room.

Marinette, of course, had been mortified of the accusations, finding any way to stop the rumors while simultaneously keeping her anxiety in check. Her teacher had allowed her to leave for the afternoon when the students chose to continue their taunting instead of listening to the lecture. Marinette quickly packed up her things and ran out of the room, trying to find a way to hide from the world.

Chat Noir had noticed his fiancé running out of the building. She was pale and frazzled, and he quickly swept her up into his arms as if an akuma was in the process of flying towards her. Hopping over to the top of a secluded rooftop a few streets away, Chat wrapped his arms around her trembling body, allowing her to cry into his shoulder until the sobbing passed.

When they finally got home, Marinette and Adrien began to think of the next steps, spending most of the afternoon handling phone calls from her distraught and angry parents, their high school friends reaching out to see if it was true, and Nathalie arriving with tablet in hand for Gabriel to give them a piece of his mind.

There was one text message they were waiting to hear from, and when it came, it was a simple three word sentence that made Marinette’s throat dry.

“Care to explain?”

Marinette wasn’t sure if the message was in anger or if Alya was frustrated and waiting to hear her side of the story, but seeing those words haunted her. She should have said something in the beginning, explaining their secret relationship to their families and friends. But here they were, frantically trying to handle the repercussions of their stupidity, and they were having to deal with this all on their own.

Having that support would have been nice at that moment, especially if the gossip column was going to make this a bigger deal than it really was.

“Hey guys?” Plagg called out their wielders, pointing to the television when the segment came on. Marinette walked to the couch to sit beside Adrien, her hands trembling again with what was to come.

There it was, a slightly blurry photo of Adrien and Marinette sitting side-by-side on a date at a cafe with the headline on a white background and thick black font: Gabriel Interim CEO in Secret Relationship with Aspiring Fashion Designer – Amazing Love Story? Or Gold Digger Climbing to the Top?

It was as if the wind was completely knocked out of her. The worst thing that could possibly happen as her business was taking off was to be labeled as a slut, sleeping her way into the fashion world without swimming through the fashion sharks that were ready to tear her down.

She could feel the fear of losing everything she worked so hard to achieve. The tears started to fall as she stared at the screen, barely making out the words the news anchor was saying about the whole situation. Adrien wrapped his arm around her shoulder, kissing her temple as he ran soothing circles on her back to calm her down.

While Adrien was a shoe in to take over his father’s company, a scandal like this would surely tank sales, leading to a third quarter fallout and making Gabriel look like a laughingstock amongst the fashion moguls. Given that Adrien’s secret relationship could do damage instead of increasing sales, Gabriel had already thrown the task of making him repair the damage as payback.

You think you can undermine me and make a mockery of what Gabriel stands for? Well, for one, I won’t be there to help you repair this damage you’ve created. Either fix it or resign; and I suggest you fix it or else your girlfriend will be blacklisted from ever making a name for herself.

Adrien seethed as he thought over the words, but a knock brought his mind back to where they were. Marinette looked up and rubbed her eyes, giving Adrien the silent confirmation that she needed to be the one to answer the door.

Letting out an anxious sigh, Marinette stood up and walked to the doorway, opening it up to see Alya and Nino standing cautiously behind it.

“Hey.” Marinette said softly.

“Hey.” Alya echoed.

“C- come in.” 

Nino and Alya slowly walked into the apartment, her fingers intertwining and clenching in nervousness. Marinette could see that she wanted to be mad - wanted to be angry - but the journalistic side of her would always ask questions first before making her decision.

The couple stood awkwardly as they noticed Adrien on the couch, and Nino cleared his throat as he decided to leave the girls alone to talk amongst themselves. He and Adrien had already talked it out on the phone after the first Twitter post was launched, so they made their way to Adrien’s bedroom to get out of their hair.

Marinette and Alya watched the boys leave the room, then both stared at the floor, unsure of where to begin.

“I’m sorry.” Marinette finally stated. A slight tremor could be heard in her voice. Alya looked up and waited to see what she was going to say.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys about us. I’m sorry that I kept this secret from you. I’m sorry that I’m an idiot and should have thought with my head instead of my libido.” Alya smirked, but looked away before she chuckled. She was technically supposed to be mad. “We couldn’t tell anyone about our relationship, or at least, we thought we shouldn’t. The last thing we wanted was to expose this to the world, where being called a gold digger would only kill my prospects into the fashion world-”

The news of the secret relationship replayed again on the television, and Marinette turned away to pretend it wasn’t there. She ran her hand through her hair, then wiped the tear streaks from her cheeks as they began to fall once again. 

“-yet here I am, being called a slut and a groveler, sleeping my way to the top of the corporate ladder, his father hates us and told Adrien that he needs to fix it or resign, and my parents are so furious that I could hear my papa crying on the other end of the phone.”

Alya watched Marinette as she curled into herself, the tears of guilt falling uncontrollably. Alya looked at her with a somber expression, knowing full well that the bluenette didn’t deserve the callous defamation she was receiving. She had always loved that boy with every fiber of her being, yet the media was disgusting in the way they were acting to help increase their views.

The brunette walked up to Marinette and wrapped her arms around her tightly, waiting until the sobs slowed down. Once it did, Alya sighed.

“Listen. I wanted to be mad. I wanted to be so angry with how you kept this from me, from Nino, and from your family. But I get it. I get how the media is. I understand how the system works. They want to take anything and make it a thousand times worse than it really is.”

Alya began to rub soothing circles up and down her arm, helping calm Marinette down a little further.

“Luckily, you have a girl who works on the inside who can help you. All we need to do is work together and we can turn this around and show the world who you truly are.”

Marinette sniffled as she looked up to her best friend, a slight smile of relief and happiness curled on her lips.

“Are you mad?”

Alya shook her head. “No. I’m not mad. Slightly salty, but not mad. I get why you did it. This is what you were afraid of. But no worries girl; you have a slew of people behind you to help get you through it.”

“Thank, Alya. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

The girls hugged each other tightly before finally pulling away from one another. 

Alya grinned. “I know how we can repair this little speedbump of our friendship.”

“And what’s that?” Marinette asked curiously, narrowing her eyes.

“Make me your maid of honor and let me see that ring!”

----

“Hey.” Adrien turned to her as they closed the door. Alya and Nino had left after hatching their plan of attack, and they were finally alone again.

“Hey, kitty.”

“You okay?”

Marinette nodded and she let out a sniffle and Adrien wrapped his arms around Marinette. He kissed the top of her head.  They stood like that for a little while before he let out a smirk as he thought of something lewd crossed his mind, then decided that maybe Marinette needed a way to get her mind off of everything that was going on.

“Do you think you’re up for a little fun, bug? Something to get your mind off of the shitastic day we’ve had?”

Marinette hummed. “Honestly... I’m kind of tired.”

Chat sighed and relented, but Marinette looked up at him and gave him a questioning look. She let out a sigh of her own before looking back at him to ask what he had up his sleeve.

“Alright, what is it?”

“Well… I was thinking of a little roleplay? Maybe a game of cat and mouse across the rooftops? It gets you away from being Marinette for a bit, while also getting a break from being Ladybug.” Adrien bent down and whispered to the shell of her ear. “And maybe if this kitty catches the mouse, he could maybe have the mouse for a snack?”

Marinette pulled back and gave him a seductive smirk.

“Then I guess Multimouse needs to make an appearance.”

[bluethursday]

Friendly Neighbourhood Robin

The Villains on occasion, do Tim a favour or two. The Batfam is a bit confused. This is a prompt-fill for Yufei (you are the best) *smiles*. 

Tim stands crouched on a streetlamp, perching himself like a cat, the air is still and nothing is breathing tonight. He can see a figure moving in the dark, pouncing from rooftop to rooftop.

“Well, well, well, Baby Bat,” calls out Selene Kyle, holding the goods from a heist around her neck in the form of a diamond necklace. It is very cat burglar cliche if Tim doesn’t say so himself.

Blinking down at Catwoman, Tim gives her a wave. This close, he can see her holding a brown paper bag with grease stains on the bottom.

“I brought you…breakfast?” She offers, waving the baggie. Unsure of what the meal should be called.

Tim shouldn’t but he knows Selena well enough to trust the food, he’s hungry and he’s been out all night on patrol. Shimmying down the pole he swings himself down to grab the baggie, and stand beside the nice lady who brought him food.

Opening the bag Tim finds that he is in possession of what looks like a double cheeseburger and fries from one of the slummiest, yet most delicious joints in Gotham. It was shut down twice for health and safety violations.

Grinning up at Selena he says, “Thanks, Catwoman.”

Ruffling his hair Selena replies, “No worries kiddo, you helped me out in a tight spot at the Wayne party, it was the least I could do.”

Tim had served as an excellent distraction for Miss Kyle as she ran away fast as she could from one of the Gotham city council members who was convinced he could…solicit…her services. Tim dropped a wine glass on his crotch, entirely by accident of course. He was really, very sorry.

…

Joker stands at attention monologuing on about something to do with gas, and schoolchildren and killing, as Damian and Tim sit bound to each other by meters of sail rope. They’re back to back and not pleased with where they currently are in life.

Somewhere in his monologue Joker kicks a random floor knife backwards towards the bound heroes, and gives Tim a pointed look and a cough, before going on to say, “Batsy one and two will never get out of here alive, by the time Batman comes, I’ll have you dead…two little birdies in the garden.”

Which would ordinarily be very disturbing if he had’t just helped them out. They were wrapped up in rope like the world’s worst Christmas present. He gave them a knife. Ergo, he was giving them an exit plan. He also conveniently left the room he had no reason to leave while loudly exclaiming that he’d be gone for exactly thirty minutes to check on the other hostages.

It was such bad acting it almost felt like a trap. Tim pulled the knife close to his body with his feet, grabbed it and cut them free.

“It’s a trap.” Damian hissed.

Tim rolled his eyes, not that anyone could see the motion under the domino. “It could be, but either way we’re free. Let’s contact B. We’ll deal with the maybe-a-trap on the way.”

About two weeks ago, Tim had rolled Joker into a dumpster to hide him from some of Black Mask’s thugs, He didn’t think the clown was awake at the time, he also never expected repayment for his actions. But here he was, not dead, witnessing a cheesy looney tunes style villain monologue from one of the creepiest clowns in Gotham. It was…not reassuring but it was nice be…thanked…Tim guessed? Not that, not killing someone was usually a thank you, but in this case, Tim would take it.

“Come on Demon Bird, stop stalling,” Tim continued, grabbing Damian by the hand before repelling out the window.

…

Jay gaped in shock as he watched Slade give Tim a bo staff. Just give it to him. On a rooftop. It even had a little blue bow on it. It was a gift.

Pulling out a gun, after recovering from the shock, Jason pointed it at Slade and screamed, “What the fuck do you think, you’re doing Slade?”

Slade, creepy motherfucker that he was, stroked Tim’s cheek, as he purred out, “I’m leaving young Timothy a gift.”

Okay. Ew. “Back away from the little boy Deathstroke.”

“Relax, Jason. I’ll be out of your hair in a moment, though if you do pull that trigger you’ll find that you’ll be short one Red Robin.”

Who hit on someone, and then used that same person as a hostage? Jason kept the gun trained on Slade’s face.

He watched the assassin stroke Tim’s cheek one more time before running off. Tim, that moron turned to Jason, and waved the shiny new bo.

“Look,” he said. “I’ve got a new staff. Isn’t that nice?”

No. No that was not nice. Jason grabbed the thing and spat out, “We’re getting this tested, why the fuck is that creep even giving you things anyway in the first place?”

Tim kicked him in the shin, “It’s my staff. He’s just being nice.”

Jason raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “He’s Deathstroke he doesn’t do nice.”

Tim grumbled the entire way home, and was far too smug when the bo turned out clean. He helped out Rose the other day. He prevented her from getting caught by the police during an unexpected ambush, but throwing her out a window and into a tree. Slade was honestly just being nice. But it was funny to watch Jason panic so Tim was going to keep that information from him.

…

“Tim,” Batman started. “It has come to my attention that some of the villains are being…lenient towards you.”

That wasn’t an actual question so Tim waited.

“Do you have any idea why?” Bruce asked.

“Nope.” Tim replied. He lied. He knew exactly why. He was being a good samaritan. It’s not like the others didn’t help people get their penguins out of trees, or rescue lost cats, or help mentally unstable men find their things. It was just that Tim had the luck of running into villains pretty often, and those villains paid him back. Sometimes in increasingly questionable ways, but who was Tim to turn down a gift, even if that gift were a dead rat.

They hit lighter, created openings for him to escape, and sometimes gave him food. The highlight of his week was when Joker of all villains, tried to give him food, that wasn’t even poisoned. The muffin had a bite taken out of it, but it wasn’t poisoned, and if it was diseased Tim hadn’t noticed yet. They split it. J was cool when he wasn’t trying to kill everyone around him. Or having a mental breakdown.

Maybe if the Bats were nicer, they too would get half eaten muffins but until that point, Tim saw no need to enlighten them.

Bruce glared at him, and returned to his information map as though it would give him the answer Tim wouldn’t.

Smiling Tim turned, and left. He wondered if Ivy was growing apples again, he was craving some and she’d let him pick stuff in her garden if he helped prune the plants. Best grocery store on town.

…

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[lanamemories2]

Startled by the sound of his door opening, Lana turned after making her last adjustments. She’d been hanging his birthday gift by his window, a prime spot for the breeze to stir if the latch was undone. Strung up on a homemade mobile, one she’d recruited the help of various minions to make, dangled twelve separate origami animals, each a different colour. All had a personalised message from one of Dom’s friends, if you spread the paper flat to read them.

Ducky’s said ‘cool guy :)’ and was folded into a bear. Navy white pinstripe. 

Philly’s only had a little goblin doodled on holding a fistful of socks. The paper was an expensive kind, white with mint and lilac glitter. Folded into a caterpillar. Lana liked this one because caterpillar’s have butterflies inside them and she feels the magic in Philly is sourly overlooked by the general population -- she’s the most likely person Lana knows to sprout wings and fly away.

Viktor’s was far too explicit with a recurring mention of cock. It could not be included in the gift.

Maggie’s was a wolf. Lana drew a little smiley face below the snout that wasn’t quite fitting, but it felt friendlier, that way, more Maggie -- paired with a dainty floral paper, too. It had a quote written on from Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. “She rested her head against his and felt, for the first time, what she would often feel with him: a self-affection. He made her like herself.” It finished with “love you, Maggie x”. 

Marlowe’s was a tiger. Flame orange, eye catching. On it, it said: ‘anyone who's put up with my shit for almost four years deserves a medal of some kind... like pinned to their lapel and personally engraved and everything. i got outbid on ebay so I don't have a fancy medal to give you...so instead i'll just say, you're a good guy dom evans! and I hope you have a fucking awesome birthday man. if anyone deserves only good things its you :)‘.

Rosa’s was folded into a monkey. Pink paper, in the end, because Rosa makes Lana think of love and blushing and sunsets. ‘dom i can't believe you're 23 today, you're an old man now!!! when i was just an embarrassing 12 year old and made those happy 15th bday shirts for you i was so obsessed with you because a small part of you thought you were an angel on earth and you'd come to protect me but it's nice to know now that we can protect each other. i'm still going to wear those 15th bday shirts for the rest of the week so everyone knows, i think your life is the most celebration worthy thing in existence. and if you want to know i am, in fact, hoping that i never marry so that by the time i'm 35 we can just run off together, preferably with franklin in tow, and have a worry free life, it's what you deserve. i love you forever dominic james evans!!!‘

Kasey’s was a fish in a pastel shade, sweet like a ripe peach. ‘Happy birthday Dom, you're the best of the best!!‘

Jude’s was a sloth. Deeper blue. Lana hassled him to write Dom one despite the fact they aren’t even particularly close. On it, he wrote: ‘Dunno you that well but you seem alright. Lana’s pacing as I write, clearly riled her up enough. Saw your ass in full view, high definition. Was decent. Good work soldier. Back to the trenches. Happy birth and shit.’.

Gunner’s was a dog. She did her best to capture the essence of a golden retriever with yellow paper, given that this was his family pet’s breed. Notably, she drew a very large dick onto the origami between it’s legs -- assuring Gunner Paxton’s legacy wasn’t overlooked. ‘in first year i had a hard time making friends and you saw me struggling in the caf when i sprained my wrist so you offered to help me cut up my food and i thought it was weird but it was the first time a stranger showed me care in such a specific way now i always feel cared for with you and it's nice so thanks for being you and happy bday‘.

Jack’s was a lion. Below the paper mane Lana wrote ‘NOT UGLY’ in small, block font, almost fashioned like a collar. The paper was faded black and white, referee striped -- tribute to his time coaching little league. Unfolded, it says: ‘dearest cousin Dominic, you are my favorite cousin even when you peed on me that one time at the beach because you said it would keep the jellyfish away. thank you for always throwing the football around with me and even being okay with it if i threw it too hard and it hit your nose and made it bleed and we had to tell my dad you tripped over a rock. happy birthday let’s get fucked! Love Your Best Friend, Jack Hall :P’.

Will’s was a shark, folded from paper slicked to look like an oil spill, gleaming in the light -- dark and technicolour, all at once. Lana drew sunglasses over the eyes. ‘sorry i tried to dye your hair purple that one time. you're kind of great even if statistically you shouldn't be since you're an RA. that's fucking bizarre of you, by the way. you seem to be one of those people that's genuinely good which is also fucking bizarre but i figure if anyone around here deserves a good year, it's you. happy fucking birthday don't die xoxo‘

Marla’s was a pigeon. Oxblood red. She wanted a vicious city-dwelling creature that feasted on the flesh of abandoned McDonald’s fries. ‘you are more worthy than a thousand plates of ikea meatballs. you can seize life by the balls. the meatballs. extended meatball metaphor. you are a leaf floating on an amber river. you are a cherry blossom caught in a ceiling fan. if auras existed yours would be INCREDIBLY fucking sexy. you will live a long life and father approximately 333.3 children.’

Noah’s was a sky blue dog with a doodled strand of wheat from it’s mouth. ‘hey man happy birthday :) not to get all sappy but im really grateful to know you. don't know if luck is real but if it is, hope this brings you some of the best of it there is’. A drawing of a little four leaf clover after the message.

There was a thirteenth string without anything attached and Lana almost took it as an omen of how unlucky it was, her opening up in this way, how much she’d come to see it as a curse. But she held it in her hands, anyway. A swan as white as the Betta fish she’d pointed out as him at the aquarium. Wishing star white. Whiter than an angel. The most Dom paper she could think to fold it from, when she woke up and realised she’d been dreaming about him. 

“Hey,” she breathed with a laugh, cat burglar caught with the ruby in gloved hands. By all practical accounts, she’d broken and entered. “Charmed my way in. Wanted to, um... Was meant to be a surprise, like, an in and out job, and... I told some other RA Gunner left his inhaler here and he went all crazed, like, Action Man, whipping out a master key. Totally Oscar worthy. Should probably... let him know Gunner isn’t dead, later, but. Wanted to give you your present. It’s, um... I mean, it’s everyone,” came as she sifted gently at Philly’s caterpillar, smile bubbling to the surface. “I got them all to write you stuff. It isn’t, like, crazy, or anything, but.” Lana wet her lips, excitement overflowing -- she couldn’t seem to smother her smile. “This... is mine.” That did it. It faded as her eyes dropped. She pinched the swan delicately in both hands, then, blood rushing in her ears -- it provided amusing contrast, the coy blush in her cheeks with the devil horns she’d slid into her hair, a costume nobody had asked for. “Kinda wrote it... a while ago. It’s -- I don’t know,” she second guessed, laughing again at how dumb she was sure she sounded. Gestures like this always scared her, when she really meant them, felt like far too much. “You can read it, if you wanna.” @domfm​

[chibivesicle]

Golden Kamuy chapters 218 & 219.  Everything is wrong in regards to panning for gold.

Chapter 218 starts off with the man that Sugimoto saved from the bear.  Which really as soon as he mentioned the scrape on his forehead was a recent injury (and no obvious signs of being chewed on by a freakkin’ bear) I’m going to go with the fact that there is no bear.  Or that this man IS the bear. Why?  Based on what he thinks about Sugimoto.  That Sugimoto is so nice!

You know who thinks Sugimoto is nice?  Criminals!  Henmei and the con artist Suzukawa.  Anyone who thinks Sugimoto is nice is almost always a dangerous person.  His brother apparently catches up to him and we learn his name is Heita (who really has to be a dangerous person).

Shiraishi then asks if he’s a gold prospector due to his fancy boots and Sugimoto then smiles awkwardly as he admits his poor experience searching for gold himself.  The older brother Taka is immediately suspicious as he looks at Sugimoto and Shiraishi, while Heita is just more interested in their plans.

I’m sorry Heita but your facial expression this panel really is making me nervous and Sugimoto is terrible at reading creepy and dangerous people in situations like these where he either saves or protects them.

Heita declares that there is still plenty of gold dust to be found while an younger brother? and his older brother are suspicious, since they do have 2 rifles, bayonets, the fact that Vasily also carries a pistol and Asirpa has arrows and knives.  The putative father points out that robbers wouldn’t save them.

The next page reveals a very attractive woman who has come out to inquire about their unique looking group.  She looks like she could be a seductive woman and she remarks on Vasily as a foreigner and Shiraishi winks at her to define them as comrades while Sugimoto annoyed decides to define them as a rabble in english.

I would take this to mean that Shiraishi’s using a more positive spin on their group while Sugimoto is distancing himself from Vasily.  The longer they travel with Vasily, I can’t help but think Sugimoto will see him more and more like Ogata.  Silent and observing them. Taka then angrily tells Noriko to head back to their tent and she seems annoyed by his order.

There are a few pages of gold prospecting 101 from Heita to Sugimoto and Shiraishi.  They try to do things while Asirpa just stays behind on shore giving minimal support by heating water so they can try to work in the freezing cold water.  Heita and his family are using a more effective way to look for gold and it seems that perhaps due to their friendship with Asirpa, Sugimoto and Shiraishi may not ever have a shot at finding gold since as an Ainu, she believes this is one of the mistakes people made polluting the river. I think it is a bit of a karmic reminder that they know enough information now, to realize they shouldn’t be doing this and if they do it - it won’t work out for them b/c they are friends with Asirpa and Shiraishi has even had the Kiro’s tour of Karafuto to explain the rights of the native peoples of the east/north.

And Shiraishi even knows this as he declares it just isn’t going to work for them.

Again, Shiraishi is the voice of reason.  Just follow through on things Shiraishi, you are getting there!

Just as Sugimoto is about to give up as well, Heita tells them about gold that is mixed with platinum, and his family seems uncomfortable with him telling them so many points that they must have been keeping secret from others.

The next few pages are more description of the rising interest in platinum metals from miners and the value is increasing.  It can be used in fountain pens which were become more popular in Japan and now they didn’t need to import it from elsewhere to make the pens.  Therefore, Heita says there will be a second “gold” rush in Hokkaido. 

Even though he’s factually correct, I would not trust to work with this man!  He looks like a smaller version of Usami with those eyes. 

Shiraishi and Sugimoto are awestruck and in shock as they look on with sparkle in their eyes as they then firmly hold each others hands and Asirpa looks on from behind them.  They don’t even look at each other when they do this, they just instinctively hold hands.

After this Heita notices the bear again.  The rest of his family can’t see it and no one else can see it either.  Just looking at his facial expression and the creepy font for his statement about the bear getting closer (a likely hallucination) he’s creepy and suspicious as all hell.  Furthermore, he says that the bear is the wen kamuy.  And Asirpa upon hearing that notices the carved bear case on his belt.

Thanks Noda, I now know who the wen kamuy is - it is Heita. 

Sugimoto and Asirpa go to check out where it was spotted.  Yet they don’t find any signs of a bear.  Asirpa clearly states that there is no sign of a bear yet Sugimoto does not believe it.  He fully believes Heita, just like he believed Henmei and Suzukawa (as an Ainu elder).

Then Sugimoto tries to kind of apologize to her by disagreeing with her read on the NO bear status by referring to the white bear a sign that the Mountain gods are angry.  Really Sugimoto?  This is a half-assed attempt to connect with Asirpa’s own belief system.  Yet she just pauses before she states that she wonders . . . The chapter ends with the older father being chewed on by the “bear”.

219 then starts off with Vasily sketching a wren.  For a character who I think is a snow leopard, he does seem to have a cat like tendency to patiently stare at a bird. Asirpa seems to becoming more comfortable with him.  I feel like this is Ogata 2.0, she has a reason to talk to him about a bird.  This also shows that Asirpa is still a non-judgemental person and she really does seem to try to approach others in a neutral fashion despite the fact that Vasily shot Shiraishi in the leg.  This is really Ogata 2.0 since she approached Ogata even though he had fought with Sugimoto with a clear intent to cause harm.

To add to the fact to my now official “I am the Wen Kamuy” Heita hypothesis, she remarks that the wren, Cakcak Kamuy should call indicating there the the bear is.  The lack of its call means there is no bear near by.  The last panel shows a super creepy looking Heita and he’s gotta be the Wen Kamuy.  He explains more prospecting tools and terms to Sugimoto and Shiraishi and then he appears to be almost magical as he tells them where they should look for platinum.  Sugimoto and Shiraishi are obsessed with him and ready to do whatever he says.  He gets them when he agrees to split the money between them equally and they would rather do this than kill the Wen Kamuy.  Asirpa then strongly interjects that gold panning polluted the rivers and everyone lost their focus on hunting.

She tries really hard to convince them otherwise, and they completely ignore her (and her uncle’s words that Sugimoto was already told once before) and they beg Heita to help them, Master Heita even as they bow. Asirpa then inquires about his Ainu tobacco case with the bear on it.  Heita says he worked with some Ainu and they got along well so they gave it to him as a gift.  She replies that it explains why he knew the term Wen Kamuy (and this must also imply that most Japanese in Hokkaido are not familiar with the term).

Sugimoto then tells Heita that they know about the Wen Kamuy and that it has attacked people along the river and then Shiraishi tries to re-assure him that it will be okay b/c Asirpa is their bear hunting specialist to help him relax and help them find the gold.

Asirpa tries to get information from him about the bear’s behaviour and he with the creepiest expression ever - white eyes, Usami shaped says that it has been going on for years and years - implying that this cannot be a single bear that has become a Wen Kamuy.

I assume that he also mumbled this a little since Asirpa turns around in shock as she says “What?” while Shiraishi is encouraging Sugimoto to do his best with him together.  As Asirpa looks back at Heita, his head is awkwardly turned to the side, his eyes a shut as he smiles in a scary fashion and his mouth is completely black.  A few pages before when Heita was speaking you could see his teeth and his mouth was a light grey.  But now, it is totally black which CANNOT be a good sign.  He’s no longer human with that facial expression.

The action then shifts to Vasily drawing by himself.  Noriko asks him to come with her to draw her in their hut.  To give context to her as a character, here are a few tweets form Sei Kobiyama describing the context of her type of character.

The story arc is a combination of Showa pulp fiction and horror stories explaining the creepy factor.  Noriko is also a draw like a typical dangerous and seductive woman looking to do something bad, I’m guessing likely towards a male target.

That immediately comes out as she strips down to pose in the nude for Vasily.  Based on his furious sketching he seems to have found it very inspiring.  However, she catches something out of the corner of her eye and she freaks out!

Some sort of object that she was trying to get rid of is back and at that moment Taka comes to interrupt them and does some major shaming of her behavior.  She seems tired of waiting for Taka and he tries to explain to her to wait a little while longer, it is clear that she’s lonely as they try to find the gold.  The next page then reveals Heita up in a tree watching them kiss as he licks his own lips and then climbs down the tree face first and leaps off like a flying squirrel.  Noda really wants to make it clear that Heita is not okay.  I get it. Thanks. Sugimoto and Shiraishi are trying to pan for gold when they realize that Heita is missing and they panic that something bad may happen to him.  They tell Asirpa to keep an eye on him as the bear expert.  She replies to them if there really even is a bear around. 

But either way, she does take their suggestion to go look around.  Meanwhile, Taka tells Vasily that Noriko is playing a trick on him by taking his binoculars and placing them over on a mushroom growing off of a tree.

Vasily being the sniper that he is, immediately goes to retrieve his precious binoculars.  It is clear that Taka is leading him into a trap, an amappo specifically set up by some local Ainu.

Thankfully, Asirpa manages to save him and points out the signs for others to observe the presence of a trap.

After she speaks Taka appears in the background watching them as it is clear that he sent Vasily there on purpose.  Vasily nods, so hopefully this is showing that he can understand a tiny amount of Japanese.  She then has a full monologue to Vasily about how she’s been trying to find evidence for the bear that Heita has seen. She went as far as looking beyond the described range, found all of the local bears that are all in hibernation so she knows that he’s outright lying.  Since Shiraishi and Sugimoto won’t listen to her - she tells Vasily who can’t even talk back towards her currently.

The big question is now, why is he lying?  Besides the obvious fact that he is a killer based on the Sugimoto is nice rule.

Sugimoto and Shiraishi notice a bear off in the distance and go to find Asirpa.  They caught a glimpse of its butt.  Bear bum spotted. The final page then shows a bear claw around the Father and youngest son, buried in the snow and a final scene of Heita screaming in total shock/fury/I don’t even know what else.

I would guess the bear claw is actually Heita’s foot via “Heita vision”.  The editor’s tag line of “I came, I saw, I devoured” instead of conquered makes me think Heita is the bear and a cannibal.  So where does all of this action in 218 and 219 leave us? First off this is a creepy horror story arc.  People driven by greed to pan for gold in the rivers, out for themselves, not trusting others and wanting to keep others from robbing/killing/stealing from them. Heita is clearly a killer - a Wen Kamuy human.  Shiraishi almost gets the idea that panning for gold is a bad idea, but he gives into Heita’s sales pitch.  Sugimoto and Shiraishi keep ignoring Asirpa and her observations.  I’m obviously biased, but Asirpa is getting a bit of the Ogata treatment/repeat of how Sugimoto ignored her during the Silent Kotan arc.  He should know by now that her observational skills are vastly superior to his.  I’m hoping Vasily will be a stand in for Ogata and he will help out in their battle against Heita and even Taka and his binoculars may be important to that. Sugimoto and Shiraishi are going to freak out when the horror reveal happens. It would be interesting if Asirpa is forced to fight against Heita.  What if she has to kill him out of necessity?  That would be a cool plot point where Asirpa takes down the human Wen Kamuy.  This would be a philosophically interesting point.

The other major theme is how Japanese people are exploiting the Ainu land and this is a bad idea.  I’m sure Heita did not get that Ainu tobacco case through friendly means.  Or, the Ainu gave it to him to warn other Ainu that this man is the Wen Kamuy.  That would be a totally awesome plot point as well! Just based on the fact that Sugimoto is still not quite getting Asirpa’s background shows that this will likely reveal something deeper between them in regards to Wen Kamuy, different cultures and how to really respect each other. Overall, these types of arcs in Golden Kamuy aren’t my favorite, but they are frequently tied to colonialism and the abuse of the natives as this has overlap with; the bear monster arc with the American, boss and princess; the Silent Kotan arc; how Japanese fisherman were over fishing and Henmei was hiding among them and the central theme of wanting the gold. 

[collateralfiction]

ODELL SHORT

DREW

“Do we have to go? I rather stay home with you, do a little recap of our day, have you massage my back, I’ll massage yours and do a little Netflix and chill shit at the end,” I could see his reflection from the mirror as he played with his blonde curls, twisting them between his fingers. The curve of his lip indicated a sly smirk and that his mind was in the gutter. I hadn’t seen him in over a week and instead of spending our time together, we’re going to a little get together by a few mutual friends and he hates it. I’ve had to literally force him to get ready and even so, he’s made every attempt to distract me and have me like putty in his hands.

“As tempting as that sounds, I think we should both pass and get some air, see some people. We have more than enough time now that it’s offseason. I get to harass you all the time, rub my feet against your face and take you to Ming’s nail salon so you can hear what the girls say. Trust and believe you’re going to be annoyed with me,” I said as I finished slicking my hair back into the neatest bun imaginable. My hair was naturally coily and thick. Luckily for me, gel was my best friend and actually helped tame down my wild mane. Albeit it might’ve took me thirty minutes to do a simple hairstyle, I was able to do it and that’s all that mattered to me.

“Which could possibly be true but since it is you, I have no problem tolerating it with your fine ass,” Heat immediately rushed to my cheek as I shook my head at his flirtation. If I wasn’t so headstrung he would’ve had his way for sure. “Come on, the later we arrive, the longer we’re going to have to stay,” he whined.

“Boy, these are your friends too, stop being a baby. I’m going to tell Ben you were talking shit about him,” I mumbled, grabbing my Chanel crossbody and slinging it against my shoulder. The mention of Ben himself immediately got his attention as he stood up and grabbed his red Supreme crossbody and tossed it over his body. He never left the house without it. Him and his murse.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he pulled me back by my belt loop, my back slamming into his rock-hard chest. His hands wrapped around my waist as his minty breath tickled the nape of my neck.

“I just might, just to see what you would do,” I teased, turning around while still in his grasp. His lips meshed into mine as his tongue lightly grazed against mine, causing a slight moan to purr from my lips.

“Yeah, we’re leaving early without a doubt,”

“Aye, look what the cat done dragged in! if it isn’t Mr. & Mrs. Beckham, how nice is it for you to grace us peasants with your royal presence. If only I can grow up to be like you two one day,” Ben had opened the door for us and as usual, it wouldn’t make sense if he didn’t have a smart-ass remark to accompany his greeting.

“Your mama definitely dropped you a couple of times,” I laughed. I playfully pulled him into a tight hug, rocking him back and forth. “But it is a-okay because we love you,” I giggled.

“Nah, ya mama might love you but not I,” Odell murmured, stepping inside. Their little brotherly banter was always something to just sit back and admire. It was hard finding genuine people to be around nowadays and for Odell’s sake, I was glad that he could count on Ben without a doubt. Ben immediately turned around and started to come for him in the only way he knew how to show love.

“And fuck you and whoever sold you on that Supreme satchel my nigga,” he said, pushing him forward a little.

“Your mama gave it to me for Christmas,” O remarked.

“You two together are a comedy show. I’m going to go find Kory. Please don’t get into any trouble while I’m away,” They simply threw a cheesy smile over their shoulder and scurried away while my nose followed the sweet-smelling scent that was coming from the kitchen. I’ve missed Sunday dinner for the past month, and I had to make it a mission to come out and surprise my friend. This was a tradition and now that the gang is all back together, it only makes sense to reconnect. “Is that my baby mama?” I squealed.

“Drewski!” Kory spun on the heels of her feet to meet me halfway as we both stopped to compliment each other on what we liked about each other’s outfits. “It takes wild child Odell for you to swing by and finally bring your ass in for some good ole’ southern cooking,” she sassed.

“Now you know I would never miss your cooking. But, it just didn’t feel right without him. You would’ve done the same if Ben wasn’t here so save it. And don’t act like I didn’t see your ass every week,” I reasoned.

“And so what!? I have a reason to be stingy with my friends, especially you,”

“Well I’m here so no more tears. Odell and Ben are probably in the living room cutting each other’s asses per usual. I bought banana pudding and I made a vanilla cake too so unfortunately you have no choice but to love on me,” I laughed, placing the bag on the counter. I quickly went to the sink to wash my hands before carefully putting the dessert inside of the fridge and placing the vanilla cake on top of its cake stand, marveling at how well I put that together in such a short time.

“Wash your hands boys!” By 9PM, the rest of the gang had arrived. Chanel and Sterling, Adrian and Bailey, Karreuche and Vic and the honorary single individuals- Kelsie and Juan. While the fellas sat and talked about the past season, I helped set the table with the girls and placed down the array of different foods. It felt like a taste of thanksgiving or our annual friendsgiving. Of course, we were a group of friends that loved to eat and wouldn’t pass up another opportunity to eat.

“Hold up now, y’all ain’t finna eat without my baby here at the table, slow your roll!” I busted out laughing from the kitchen as I finished drying my hands off. Odell either really missed me or he wasn’t going to let not a soul eat without myself being present.

“I’m coming, just grabbing the pitcher from the fridge,” I yelled, cutting the lights on in the hallway. “Rum punch and heavy on the punch,” I sat the concoction down in the middle of the table, sitting down opposite of Odell at the end of the table.

“Let’s all join hands,” Chanel said. I reached across to hold O and Kory’s hands, bowing my head as Chanel led the prayer. A round of Amen’s permeated the area once done and we all lifted our head with a smile as we each grabbed a dish to take something from. Odell grabbed the pitcher and poured a generous amount in both he and I’s cup before grabbing my plate to pick and plate what he knew I would eat. I sat back and watched, so enthralled by the fact that that’s my man. We’ve been together for about 3 years and if anyone would have told me I would be in a relationship with a world-renowned football player who has blonde tresses and dances about on a field? I would laugh; no matter how corny that sounds. But if you were to tell me I would be with my best friend I would be more open to that idea.

“So what has everyone been up to? Anyone engaged, pregnant, cheating? What’s the deal?’ Kelsie asked.

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything until I reached a certain point, but you guys are family and I would like to announce, me and Sterling are expecting!” Chanel exclaimed, placing sonogram photos on the table.

“Chanel, please do not lie,” I said, standing up to inspect the photos, my mouth dropping once I read the information to be correct. “Oh my God, we’re pregnant!” I yelled, hugging the both of them tightly.

“No, you are not pregnant, Drew. Unless, you’re trying to drop some hints,” Ben said as he shook hands with Sterling.

“She’ll be pregnant tonight if she keeps up that same energy. Congratulations, brother. Chanel you’ll be an amazing mother and of course I will be the Godfather, don’t even have to ask,” Odell said, smirking a little to gauge the reaction out of everyone else. His bottom grill shinning bright in the dim lighting of the living room.  

“That’s my godson in there loading,” Adrian said with a mouthful of food.

“Hush your mouth, Adrian. How do you know it’s not a girl?” Bailey questioned. At this point I had forgotten about the food and was so wrapped up in the excitement of a baby being added to the clang, but as for guys, they were masters of multitasking. This was almost as good as Football Sunday for them.

“Do you know the sex?” I asked.

“I won’t know for another two weeks. But I’ll honestly be happy with whatever God chooses to bless us with,” she smiled, lifting her shirt a bit to show her protruding belly.

“The audacity of you to not even give a bitch a hint. Knowing damn well I saw your ass two weeks ago and I offered you some mimosas too. Crazy,” I laughed.

“I know, that’s why I had to say something. You know I love you and yes, I will need your help planning this baby shower,”

“Well of course,” I smiled, kissing her cheek.

“Now that all that baby news is out of the way, let’s kindly go back to eating this delicious food that was made. You know I don’t like being the center of attention,” Chanel said as she took a bite out of the chicken.

“Says the Victoria Secret model,” Juan said, causing us all to laugh.

I returned back to my seat and immediately went for the macaroni. I grew up with southern parents so soul food and anything with seafood was a must for us. I could never not have have some on my plate, whether it was a side or my main dish. “Check your phone,” O said. He had been sending me bedroom eyes all night and even before we left. Flipping my phone back on its back, I slid my thumb over the message and unlocked it with my fingerprint. In its signature font read the message:

You want a baby?

I’ll give you that right now, whatever you want.

I hope you had enough sleep and rest while I was gone, I’m tearing that ass up.

I want dessert.. fuck the food.

My jaw dropped and I quickly locked my phone before Kory could see. The boyish grin that adorned his face was enough to make me combust. I have never been in a relationship where after years of dating, flirting is still a main priority. He makes it seem like he’s still courting me and it gives me butterflies no other man could do. None.

“Keep your dirty thoughts to yourself,” I snickered, taking a sip of the mixed rum drink.

“I would like to share it with you but you runnin’ from a nigga,” he mumbled, reaching over to feed me a piece of the spicy rice.

“I’m not.. I just wanted to finally be around everyone and just enjoy it you know. I got you, I promise,” I laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, my ass,” he grumbled, leaning back in his seat as he watched me eat. “The way you slurping on those noodles I want to see you do that on my d-“

“SO GUYS, where are we going this year for vacation? With Chanel being pregnant now, I don’t think anywhere too far is a good idea. Hawaii?” I spoke up before he could utter the word and have everyone in the group realize how sexually frustrated, he is. It turned me on just knowing that he was able to withhold himself for so long and wait till he came back just to have me all to himself. I know how lonely it can get on the road, but he never fails me and for that I always go above and beyond as he deserves it.

“Turks and Caicos isn’t too far away either,” Sterling said, as the general conversation shifted. Thank God.

I caught a quick glimpse of his cunning smirk before he downed the rest of the drink.

“Ben, stop fucking around and wash these dishes. Hot girl summer is here, and you guys lost that round of Uno,” Everyone could hear Bailey yell at Ben as she stood at the entrance of the kitchen to watch him. She was definitely the mom of the group.

“Has anyone seen Odell?” I asked.

“Last I seen him he was heading to the balcony. Go get him tiger,” Kory smirked. I shook my head and grabbed the bottle of Moscato off the table and traipsed towards the back where the faint scent of his cologne led me to his whereabouts. He was overlooking the city view as he leaned against the railing. I placed the bottle of alcohol on the floor and quietly crept towards him, wrapping my arms around his waist and laying my head on his broad shoulders. It seemed like a sigh of relief came from his lips as he purposely turned around and held me against him.

“Did you know a hug that lasts about 20 seconds produces a hormone called oxytocin that has a positive effect on the body and mind? That’s why I want to hug and cuddle so much,”

“I thought it was because a nigga smelled good. But something to that effect,” he laughed.

“Well you do and I’m sorry I’ve been teasing you all night,” I pouted, my lips puckering up. “Give me kiss.. I’ll make it up to you right now,” I said, tugging on his beard.

His eyes widened at my promise and he immediately dropped his head down to meet my awaiting lips. His soft lips enveloped mine, sucking on my bottom lip so tenderly it almost left me weak in the knees. If he didn’t have his hands wrapped around my waist to catch me, I surely would have fell. My tongue danced against his as I gripped onto his t-shirt, wrapping my legs around his waist. “The guest bedroom and make sure you lock the door this time,” I whispered.

[woohooligancomics]

Webcomic Whimsy: Dogstar!

Welcome to the Woohooligan Weekly Webcomic Whimsy! If you're a webcomic author and would like a review, you can see my announcement and review rules here.

Title: Dogstar

Author: Brandon V. Williams

Site: ComicFury • Tapas (Brandon recommends this site.)

Genres: Comedy, Superheroes, Action, Adventure, SciFi, Anthropomorphic, DuckTales Justice League

Rating: PG (?)

Updates: Every other Saturday (for now -- previous schedule was weekly?)

My Starting Point (requested by author): Page 0

Synopsis (from Tapas): A mild mannered pilot/magician's life changes dramatically when he crosses paths with the world's most famous crime fighter. This sets him on a journey of many adventures, in which he grows into something far beyond his imagination.

For a sci-fi comic with a title like Dogstar, the opening seems a bit small scale. Here the five villains meet to discuss taking over... the galaxy? The world? The pacific northwest seafood restaurant market? Nope... one town called Beacon City.

After reading a bit further, it turns out that impression from the title was off-base and the story as a whole isn't a space opera, it's really a superhero story done in the style of DuckTales.

The jokes on the first page do a good job of setting the tone, with the pirate's hook-fingers, talk of brain stealing, and the mysterious evil overlord's mysterious silhouette cleavage.

The lettering on this first page needs work. The text isn't large enough to read comfortably and doesn't flow within the word balloons, leaving that incongruous feeling when a round balloon meets text with a straight left edge. It's like putting a sexy dress on the Iron Giant. Lettering on the latest pages shows marked improvement.

Writing does a good job of establishing the tone as not being Warner Brothers like I expected and instead being more Fritz the Cat. I doubt there will be displayed nudity or uncensored swearing, but dick jokes are definitely implied in what's obviously a champagne room.

Page two also commits some lettering sins that weren't on the first page. Dialogue balloons covering character art with plenty of empty "white space" left untouched is the big one. Panels 3-5 should have been close-up shots.

Ha! So the heroes' solution for a slow response from an agent is electroshock. That sort of thing is usually reserved for villains like Darth Vader's force choke. I guess if he's really insubbordinate he gets the hose.

Bullock Towers looks surprised! |8

Is it just me or is "Junk Jaws" a more intimidating name? Metal Mouth is literally how we used to insult kids in high-school if they had braces on their teeth. Spyke's trying to insult the guy, but he just makes him seem cooler. "Time's up, Ball Breaker! ... Actually, my name is Testicle Trasher, but now that you mention it I think yours is better, I'm gonna go with that..."

Wait... there are robots and cyborgs like Metal Mouth and he and his goons are still using tommy guns? "We could have had M-16s, but we're going for a prohibition era gangster look, you know, it's vintage!" I guess these villains are hipsters.

Nice visuals on that first panel... are the cop cars a photograph with a posterise filter?

Spyke McGruff apparently has the Judge Dredd gun... although glue-mode is new.

Panel 3 should have been close-up.

The extra space before the exclamation point drives me nuts... the font is too small, so every time it looks like an I in the middle of the sentence. "What a moron I he's using..."

Plus I sprang extra for the wax... but not the undercarriage, that's a rip-off.

He splits after one hit? Where'd all the confidence from the new jaw go? He never even tried to bite Spyke.

Just like a hipster... they can cloak a blimp, but they're still using tommy guns.

Oh, finally on page 11, the actual hero of the story! :P Oh, you thought it was Spyke? Psyche! Remember the synopsis said he's a mild mannered pilot, not a bombastic "secret" agent.

I guess you're just not extreme enough man... that's what real adrenaline junkies do, scope out the only two giant vertical poles in a hundred acres of open field just to perform a stunt that could get us killed. Barell rolls are for pussies!

Artistically, I feel like the presentation of the poles could have been better. I don't think anyone's going to be confused by the art here, but I think a shot from behind the characters' heads on approach, followed by a side-shot of the plane passing between the poles, (preferably with an exhaust trail), would have been a little clearer and more dramatic.

Is that other thing that's coming a beer? I don't always drive my business into the ground, but when I do, I prefer a Dos Equis hang-over.

You know what kids really love? Nearly dying in an airplane trick! ;D

What the hell was that? Pointy teeth and glowing red eyes?... It looks like some kind of Shit-Spider-Demon... It looks evil enough, maybe you should ask it for some help with the magic tricks.

The door was open, but property damage is how I get everything I need... I'm a hero!

That's SECRET Agent Spyke! You've never heard of me... psst... don't blow my cover while I demonstrate my SUPER-misogyny shutting up this broad witha face-full of glue... mmm, yes, "glue"...

Dialogue balloons in panel 2 are in reverse order... Daniel's dialogue needs to be at the top to read first, before Spyke's reply.

The best pilot but man he's the worst at everything else -- business, social skills, knowing when he's likely to be shot at.

What?! That last page looked like a direct hit... Gotta work on that perspective.

Pretty sure that's supposed to be light filtering in the corridor from the hatch, but it sure looks like the kind of glowing purple ooze that gives people superpowers... or mutates turtles.

Page 19 and here's that turning point where Daniel becomes the hero of the story... I have to say, of the comics I've reviewed so far, this is one of the few that's well paced. 20-24 pages is the length of a typical printed comic issue, and he's right on time to make Daniel the hero as the cliff-hanger for the end of the first issue. Nice work!

The name of the mad scientist who's obsessed with collecting brains is "Nobrainer". That's like if you invented the Richie Rich character, and named him "Deadbroke Deadbeat". :P

Okay, but can we talk about tha name? Because I'm pretty font of "axis"... you know, as a tribute. Why not? I mean... it couldn't be any worse than Confederate Monuments. :P

Yeah, man, like... you gotta be chill for High Leader... High Leader is chill, so just, y'know, get your bud on and chillax... Woah! Dude my hands are HUUUGE! Who's got the snacks?

Dialogue in the 5th panel is in the wrong order. Yes, left-to-right, however, top-down supercedes left-to-right. Think of the panel like it's a page of a book. So, put your thumbs over the art, you just have text on the panel wherever it is. Which do you read first? As a rule, people will read the first line at the top first, even if it's shifted over to the right, rather than starting on say line 4 or 5. So Dr Nobrainer and Captain Blackjack should swap Triforces.

The fair agent's condition is good.

Great!

No, good.

Wait, his condition is bad?

No, good.

What's the fair agent's condition?

Good, sir.

Yes, what is it?

What's what?

The condition.

I don't know...

NEAR MINT!

...

The words "Successful" and "Initiated" shouldn't be capitalized.

We control the vertical. We control the horizontal... so just chillax while commander mysterious-boobs pumps some of the good shit in the air for you, we're talking primo chronic, man...

Psst... High Leader... I think you might be a little too high, you forgot to issue any actual demands for people to comply with... like... bring me the mayor, hand over the key to the city, or call 555-2-surrender?

I think Daniel just discovered his battle cry... like the thing's "It's clobberin' time!"... Daniel rushes into the fight, "I CAN BEND THEM ALL!" Mostly it confuses the enemy and gets them off-guard.

Yeah, what were you thinking? Catching this guy is no job for a squad of cyborg-super-ninjas!

This is a job for a midget senior citizen!

You'd be amazed what drinking Ensure does for your reflexes.

Of course he doesn't have a choice... what's he gonna do? Punch out some old grandpa? That's not what heroes do... heroes cause PROPERTY damage... didn't we cover this already?

Best way to get a magician to tell you his secrets? Brutally murder him... by sawing him in half. They have to respect the classics.

Not sure why the robot suit looks like MODOK... He was building an evil Voltron and could only afford the head?

I guess the pink cockpit dome is supposed to make him look like MODOK's brain.

White motion lines in panel 5 would have been better contrast, easier to see.

I can't believe he used up all his brain-hostages... anything that's precious to the villain is leverage.

Oooh... Dogstar is like Skywalker... so... I'm guessing no space-opera elements like I expected from the title...

Doesn't Double-R still think Double-M stole a super-W? Doesn't destroying the blimp without securing the weapon leave it open to salvage by "the wrong hands"?

Caaaapers... <drool>

Doooouble entendres... <drool>

The juxtaposition of the angry MODOK face with Daniel's shit-eating grin in the first panel! Well done, Brandon!

Actually I'm fairly certain that dirigibles don't just careen into the ground when an engine goes out, because the gas in the envelope provides lift while engines are purely for maneuvering... even if an aerostat does require forward motion to stay up, the descent after an engine failure is likely to be a fairly sedate affair, not nearly as dangerous as an airplane crash (which has an over 95% survival rate).

But, y'know... Hollywood.

Plane should be in the lower-right corner of panel 5 (leave Daniel where he is), and in panel 6 the perspective is nice, but there should be ground below the plane, and the clouds should be perpendicular to the perspective, not parallel to it. And from that angle, there should be little to no gray on them, because you're seeing the water vapor from above, where the sun is hitting it.

I think it's fair that Bullock Towers looks surprised again. :P

Nice shot of the crash -- good job on the smoke and flames.

I think the plane in that last panel should be angled up and to the right -- or at least rolled so the wings angle the other direction. The position of the plane makes the wings line-up with the carriage under the blimp and creates a visual tangent. This one is called a "stolen edge" or "parallel". It makes the plane visually blend into the blimp, which is obviously undesirable for clarity unless you have a very specific reason to want something to blend in a particular shot.

I saw the job offer coming, although Spyke being a vindictive dick about someone else saving his life and completing the mission was a little unexpected... it doesn't seem entirely out of character, but I tend to expect government agents to be team players (Fox Mulder notwithstanding). It's not a bad twist, given that a lot of the first chapter was fairly predictable... and I think it's a good wrap for this first chapter overall, including the job offer -- tropes aren't always bad.

Overall I liked Dogstar. Decent art improves over time (though the six panel layout seems pretty rigid and I think you should experiment with some alternative layouts -- an occasional wide shot, etc). I think if you enjoyed DuckTales or DarkWing Duck, you should definitely give Dogstar a look! :D

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Thank you for sharing yourself with us! Sam

[sinsiriuslyemo]

EPISODE 2

“Don’t forget to pick up Vanessa,” your mother said to you as you and the girls headed out to the car.

“Yeah, yeah.” You rolled your eyes and got in. “We gotta go pick up my fucking cousin,” you mumbled bitterly.

“Is she really that bad?” Roxie asked curiously.

“Yes,” you said flatly, pulling onto the road and driving off.

When you arrived at the hotel, you immediately growled before putting on a fake smile the moment your cousin came out. You got out of the car and squealed to hug her.

“Um, did I misunderstand?” Isla whispered to her sister inside the car.

“Apparently, there’s not only a crazy uncle, but a crazy cousin as well,” Roxie replied.

“Oh my god it's so good to see you!” You both smiled and hugged each other tight.

“Bueno, where are we going? Oye, Sloppy Joes is supposed to be the place to go, pero anywhere on Duval street,” Vanessa said, one of her large hoop earrings getting tangled in your hair. She expertly untangled the lock as she followed you back to the car. “Oye, I heard you got married. Why you didn’t invite me to the wedding?” she asked, playfully smacking your arm.

“Small wedding right after I popped out my daughter,” you said with a smile.

“Ah, you had a baby, that’s why. I thought you had gained some weight,” she replied nonchalantly. “Oye, I can not believe Rafelito is getting married,” she added as she got into the SUV. “The last girl he said he was gonna marry was una gringa que se llamara Amber. Pero he called Anthony like a month after he said that, y la puta se fue par carajo. Tu te majina?”

She looked over at Roxie, Isla and Amber, smiling at them and waving before she looked back at you.

“Yo sabía que el se iba a casar con una Americana,” she mumbled to you.

“He's marrying someone from the UK.” You pointed to Roxie, “This is the bride, her sister and this is Amber,” you pointed each person out.

“La misma chusma que se fue a Pakistan, no se que carajo?” Vanessa asked and you nodded. “Coño, and he invited her to the wedding?” she mumbled only loud enough for you to hear. “He’s always been too nice,” she added, smiling at Roxie and reaching out for a hug. “Welcome to the family. Oye, does she speak English or does she only talk in Ukrainian?” she asked, looking back at you.

“Amber's friends with Roxie and she's my best friend.” You tried hard not to roll your eyes.

Roxie hugged her. “The U.K. as in London,” she said with a warm smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, coño, so young. Rafelito is a Cuban man after all,” she teased. “Bueno  where are going? Duval street, right?”

“We're actually going to have tea and then head to a movie,” you explained.

“I got to plan my big sister's bachelorette party,” Isla said with a smile from the back.

“Aye, que cute,” Vanessa said half-heartedly, looking back at Isla with a fake smile. “Bueno, okay. Vamos a tomar tea.”

You looked at Roxie and rolled your eyes, and she snickered silently.

Izzy smiled while Rafael picked the grapes he wanted for the wine.

“This sucks,” Eddie mumbled to Greyson.

“I think this is a really romantic idea.” Greyson smiled and wrapped his arms around Eddie's neck. “Something so thoughtful and well put together, Roxie's a lucky girl.”

“Coño, you dropping hints?” Eddie said with a smirk.

“Maybe,” Greyson replied.

“Oye, who knew there were so many different grapes?” Nevada mused, looking at two different ones that look identical to him. “Mira, what the fuck is difference? They’re both fucking green.”

Rafael looked over, pointing at the one on the left. “These are sweeter.”

“Are you gonna make one for Tia?” Eddie asked Nevada curiously. “I think she'd love that.” He moved to wrap his arms around Greyson, pressing noisy kisses to the boys neck.

“I guess, I mean we’re here, right?” Nevada replied. “What about you Izzy? You making one? If you do, I’ll split it with you.”

“I think I'll make one,” she nodded softly and grabbed Eddie by his hair, tugging him backwards. “I'm the only one who gets to be that gay in the family, Eddie.” The two playfully shoved each other.

“So, what are you thinking for the key notes and the flavor profile?” Greyson asked curiously, smiling at Rafael. He really was a friendly boy.

“What language are you speaking right now?” Nevada asked and Rafael rolled his eyes.

“Pay no attention to the beast in leather,” he said, turning back to the fruits in front of him. “I’m thinking some kind of Pinot Noir. Maybe some raspberries?”

Greyson smiled. “Eddie told me she runs a bakery, Raspberries are very popular in bakeries, right? She'll love that!” He leaned over and glanced at all of the grapes. “Eddie says you're the best lawyer in Manhattan,” he said casually as he smiled still. “Don't tell him I told you.”

“Well, that’s nice of him to say. I do what I can,” Rafael replied, smirking softly. “Are you studying law too?”

Greyson nodded. “Yes, I'm studying to work as a family law attorney.” He popped a grape into his mouth and turned to smile and wink at Eddie. “He looks up to you a lot, his grades slipped for a while but...now he's back and at the top of his class again.” He left out the part about him withholding sex. Greyson may have seemed like prey but he was a predator at heart, he had Eddie wrapped around his finger.

“That makes me happy to hear,” Rafael said. “I’m glad you guys are back together, you seem to bring out the best in him.”

“I love him, I wish loving him were easier but...I love him. With all my heart,” he said honestly then smiled at Rafael. “When did you know with your bride to be?”

Rafael thought for a moment; he almost said he’d known right away, but that had been a romanticized ideal, not real love, even if it had felt like real love in the moment. The fact was that she lived in London at the time, and he in America. Still, some of the happiest moments of his life were spent with Roxie on that trip to London.

“I think I knew right away, but when I knew I wanted to love her and only her for the rest of my life was after her bakery was burglarized. I already cared so much about her, but when I heard that she’d been robbed, the reality that I could’ve lost her forever hit me like a freight train. That was when I realized that I wanted to love her for as long as I could. And then when she was kidnapped, I realized that I would never love anyone the way I love her ever again, and I wouldn’t want to either.”

Greyson's eyebrows raised. “This was two separate incidents? Is New York really that dangerous?”

“No,” Rafael answered. “New York isn’t anymore dangerous than any other major city. This was a small group of isolated incidents. Some people that I prosecuted a long time ago were trying to get to me, and so they took it out on the woman I loved the most.”

“That sounds very scary.” He put a hand on Rafael's arm and gave it a sympathetic pat before letting go. “I'm sorry you went through that, but something clearly good came of it. You have a beautiful bride and your whole lives ahead of you.”

“I'm bored,” Eddie called out from the table sitting down. “I thought we were getting strippers.”

Greyson chuckled and rolled his eyes.

“No strippers, go find strippers on your own time,” Rafael called back, taking one more raspberry and moving to the table with Eddie.

Greyson followed, getting comfortable in Eddie's lap, effectively shutting Eddie up.

Izzy and Nevada took a seat a few moments later as the woman came over to collect and properly label each ingredient basket.

“Next you'll be designing labels.” She handed them a menu of colors, designs and fonts.

“Jesus fucking Christ. Oye mami, do we get to have a little vino while we play arts and crafts?” Nevada asked, looking up at the woman. “I’m thirsty,” he said with a wink, smirking at her.

She smiled and nodded. “Of course.” She grabbed a menu, handing each of them one. “Feel free to select anything on the menu, compliments of the house while you make your own bottles.”

“Coño, que bueno,” Nevada mused, looking over the menu. “I wanna put a cat on my bottle, you got any of those fluffy little pom poms?” he asked, looking up at her again.

“Jesus, we can’t take you anywhere,” Rafael groaned, rolling his eyes in annoyance as he looked through the design book with Izzy.

“It's digital design sir,” she said softly.

Eddie looked at the book and smiled. “This one looks like the invitations you had to your second wedding tio,” he said with a grin. “She'll love this one.”

“I want a cat. A kitten,” he replied, shaking his head and unable to help the smirk that came over his features at the private joke.

“Just let him get a cat Eddie--”

“A kitten,” Nevada corrected.

“A kitten, a cat, whatever your mind desires,” Rafael replied, finally coming to a page with a design that looked to be made for a baker. “I’d like this one, with ‘Rafael and Roxie Barba’ and the year scripted underneath,” he said to the woman, pointing at the design.

She smiled and nodded then moved to Nevada. “I can have one of our illustrators come up with a cat design, what would you like it to say?”

Nevada thought for a moment, smirking when he came up with something before writing it down and handing it, face down to the woman. She took the sheet and read it, blushing and clearing her throat.

“What type of font would you like?” she asked.

“Something in cursive,” he answered, winking at her.

She nodded and moved to the back room again, returning with wine. “Here you all are,” she smiled giving them each a glass except for Eddie and Greyson whom she gave sodas.

“Gracias,” Nevada called out to her. “Bueno, what do we do now? We gotta take off our shoes and stomp the juice outta this shit?” he asked.

“This isn’t I Love Lucy, Nevada,” Rafael mused, arching a brow.

“What's that?” Eddie asked curiously. Both Greyson and Izzy also looked to them for an explanation.

“You’ve seen I Love Lucy, cabrón. You used eat that shit up when you were little,” Nevada replied.

“It was a TV show with Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz,” Rafael offered. “It plays on syndication all the time. You mean to tell me that none of you have ever even heard of I Love Lucy? Either you purposely live in the dark or you’ve never watched television a day in your life.” He looked at Izzy. “You might be the exception since your childhood consisted mostly of Flavor of Love.”

Izzy smiled fondly at the memory.

Greyson thought. “Was it on before Keeping Up With The Kardashians started? I didn't follow much tv before then.”

“Is Lucy hot?” Eddie added.

“You’ve seen it, pendejo!” Nevada said again, louder this time.

“Yes, it was on way before...Keeping Up With the Kardashians. Really? That’s good TV?” Rafael asked with a look of pure bewilderment.

“Jesus Christ, bro, these guys don’t even know what good TV is,” Nevada mused, looking back at his brother in law. “The fuck are we gonna do?”

“Make them sit through at least five episodes of Lucy,” Rafael answered.

“And All in the Family,” Nevada added.

“That might go over their heads,” Rafael observed.

“I don't know what they're talking about,” Izzy mumbled.

“Old people tv.” Eddie smirked as he looked to Greyson. “Oye you're not supposed to tell people that you like the Kardashians, that's shit you don't talk about.”

Greyson blinked and quirked a brow. “Why not? When Kim had her second baby we talked about it for weeks.”

“Coño, called. Out,” Nevada chimed, looking from Eddie to Greyson before he added. “Oye, I have a picture of this kid from when he was eight, dressed as Ricky Ricardo. Remind me to show you. He even had a little guitar and everything.”

“So you know exactly what I Love Lucy is, you’re just afraid of being included in the ‘old people’ category,” Rafael mused, smirking at Eddie. “Sorry to break it to you, mijo, but it sounds like you were an I Love Lucy fan.”

“I don’t get why these kids care so much about what the fuck Kardishens are doing. What the fuck talent does it take to be a big enough cunt to have TV show about your life?” Nevada asked no one in particular. “Kim, isn’t she the pendeja that had that sex tape?”

“Yes,” Rafael answered and Nevada sucked his teeth.

“She leaked that shit on purpose.”

“It's a terrible show,” Eddie grumbled.

“That he watches weekly,” Greyson teased.

Izzy looked at everyone and rolled her eyes. “How do you even have time to watch tv? I don't even have a tv in my house, it stifles my artistic creativity.”

Greyson and Eddie both blew raspberries at her and gave her the thumbs down.

“It does!”

“Good for you, Izzy. Reality television has sucked the creativity out of everything,” Rafael replied. “Sorry, but it’s true. The only reason people enjoy watching reality TV is more often than not because they would rather watch someone else make chaos out of their life than deal with whatever chaos is going on in theirs.”

“It’s like watching other people be trash to feel better about yourself,” Nevada added.

“Right. There’s no more fictional story to serve as an allegory for everyday life. Now, people deal by watching others fail,” Rafael replied.

“Are we gonna suck this bad when we're in our fifties?” Eddie asked with a smirk.

Izzy laughed as Greyson swatted them. “Eddie that's rude.”

“And I’m not even in my mid-forties yet,” Rafael added, glaring at his nephew. “But you may wanna take into consideration how karma works. My guess is that you’ll see your first grey hair by the time you’re thirty.” He looked at Izzy. “You’re about halfway there, hermanita. It won’t be long until Lily and the twins will be calling you two ‘old.’”

“I don’t give a fuck about being old. I get laid whenever I want, I got money to keep my wife and my kids comfortable, and I do what I want,” Nevada mused, shrugging. “Who gives a shit about grey hairs. Women love that shit.”

“There is no way my sister is getting you laid whenever you want,” Izzy mused and shook her head.

“How do you figure? She’s turned me down maybe twice in almost ten years.” Nevada replied. “Niña, I get laid whenever I want.”

“Ew,” she made a face.

“What’s ew about it? Your sister’s hot--”

“Okay! Thank you,” Rafael exclaimed, shaking his head a little as he took a big gulp of wine.

The kids all chuckled.

“I'm glad we did this,” Roxie smiled as she sipped her tea.

You smiled back at her, this was painfully boring, but if she was happy, that's what mattered.

Amber looked at her watch. “Oh man, I gotta go feed Fallon, so I have to head out.” She hugged you and Roxie tight before waving to the other girls and moving for the door. “See you tomorrow when you're Mrs. Barba,” Amber said with a smile.

“Hasta luego!” Vanessa chirped, smiling widely at Amber and waiting until the woman walked out before she turned to Roxie. “Mira chica, you better let her know that Rafelito is your man, me entiendes? Ex girlfriends sometimes think they still have a hold, you gotta nip that in the buck,” she said with a serious expression.

Roxie laughed. “They can't stand each other, plus, I'm not worried.” She smiled at Vanessa.

“Bueno, aya tu,” Vanessa answered, looking over at you. “Y tu, I wanna meet that handsome husband I’ve been hearing so much about. Como se llama?”

“Nevada.” You beamed moving to grab your phone and pulling up a picture of Nevada and the kids all piled on top of him. He looked handsome as always but your focus was on how much he smiled with the kids, you loved that about him.

“Coño, que sexy!” she exclaimed, taking your phone and staring at Nevada. “And green eyes, dios mio! Maybe I should move to New York.”

You laughed. “He's the love of my life,” you said, almost to yourself.

“And you? Do you have a boyfriend or husband?” Vanessa asked Isla.

Isla shook her head. “We broke up, I'm focusing on my schooling right now,” she replied, smiling.

“Aye, que bueno. It’s good to be single,” Vanessa replied. “Now and days, we have to keep our options open.”

Isla giggled and nodded as she held Roxie's hand. “I'm so excited for you, you deserve someone like him. He's an amazing man.”

Roxie was glowing as she smiled back. “Thank you, I'm so excited as well.”

The two girls hugged and you sipped your tea.

“Right then, let's all go to a movie,” Isla stood as the other women followed.

You were glad Roxie was enjoying herself because you certainly weren't. But you'd suffer through hours of this for the woman your brother loved. She was family now.

Rafael followed Izzy to the car, their bottles of wine in hand, and smiled at her.

“Thank you for this, it was fun,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders.

She smiled back at him. “I may seem ditzy, but I pay attention to you and I cherish the things that make you who you are. So I know how to show you a good night.”

He snorted softly, nodding his head. “I’ve never thought you were ditzy. Maybe a little naive in some areas, but never ditzy,” he replied.

“Can we go to a strip club now?” Eddie chimed as they got in the car.

“No,” Rafael replied, sitting in the front seat while Nevada got in the driver’s seat.

“Then at least show me your bottle tio,” Eddie said to Nevada. “Please?”

“I already know what you’re gonna say when you see it. Why should I show it to you?” he asked, glancing back at Eddie in the rearview mirror.

“Because it got our hostess hot and bothered. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do shit, all I did was make a wine bottle for your tia,” Nevada replied. “What’d you put on your wine bottle?” he asked.

“They didn't let me and Greyson make one,” Eddie said with a frown. “But I already got him something special the first day we got here,” he grinned and pulled Greyson closer.

Greyson blushed again and smiled as he tugged at a chain around his neck with a silver ring at the end.

“Awww an engagement ring, coño que cute,” Nevada cooed as they drove back to the hotel.

Eddie didn't say a word of contradiction, just smiling and pressing a kiss to Greyson's lips.

“What is it with you kids getting married at such a young age?” Rafael asked himself. “Like its some kind of game that you can just hit the replay button on.”

“No shit,” Nevada mumbled.

“No one said anything about marriage but you,” Eddie pointed out. “I'm not as stupid as Izzy.”

Izzy took off her heel and chucked it at his face. “Asshole.”

“Besides tio, I'm not gonna wait until I'm in my forties...that's kinda sad. No offense. You're handsome and accomplished and stuff but...by the time your kids get to college they'll be changing your diapers.”

The mood suddenly shifted as Rafael said nothing, just stared at the window, biting on the inside of his lip. He’d heard it from everyone around him for as long as he could remember; sure they were impressed with his accomplishments, but somehow he was considered less than because he’d waited so long to settle down. He could’ve let it go, it wasn’t as though Eddie even knew that Roxie lost a baby or that she’d been carrying one in the first place, but the kid had inadvertently hit a sore spot. And the worst part was that everyone else in the car-- with the exception of Greyson and Eddie-- knew it.

If it had been isolated, Rafael might’ve been able to wave it off and heckle right back as he usually did, but it wasn’t isolated. It one in a number of endless strings of jokes with regard to his age.

“Oye, you know something?” Nevada spoke up after a moments of dead silence. “You can be a real fucking dick sometimes.”

Greyson nudged Eddie, shooting him a look.

“Fuck, I'm sorry tio, that was really shitty,” Eddie said as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“I don't blame you for waiting,” Greyson spoke up. “If you hadn't waited for the right person, you just would have divorced anyway. It's important not to jump into things. Besides, there's nothing wrong with being in love with your work. My dad was a doctor and he raised me by himself. He never felt the need for a wife because he was helping people and saving lives. Rafael just had a different calling until now, I think that's really admirable. Roxie is beautiful and accomplished, you both seem like such a wonderful couple, I couldn't imagine you with anyone else.”

He nudged Eddie again.

“Tio you've always been the guy I looked up to,” Eddie mumbled. “I know I'm an asshole but I didn't mean that shit.”

“Then why’d you say it, cabrón?” Nevada chimed and Rafael waved him off, shaking his head.

“Just let it go, Nevada,” he mumbled.

“Just a tip,” Izzy mumbled only loud enough for Eddie to hear. “When you’re invited to a bachelor party, it’s supposed to be the best night before the best day of a guy’s life. Maybe leave the cruel jokes for another time.”

“I said I was sorry. Who are you to talk? You're always bothering him. Being all needy and trying to monopolize him and fuck him.”

“Hey!!” Rafael boomed, finally turning his head to glare at Eddie.

Izzy threw her hands up. “Why does everyone think I'm trying to fuck Rafael?!” she shouted in frustration.

“Apologize to her, now. That was completely unnecessary,” Rafael said.

Eddie sighed loudly. “Sorry,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Oye, Greyson, lemme ask you something. How does this kid even have friends?” Nevada asked, glancing back at Greyson.

Greyson looked down at his hands and Eddie took his hand, squeezing it.

“I don't really have friends,” Eddie said after a long moment. “Not because of the way I act though. I usually don't act like this. Something about family puts me on edge. I'm sorry…”

“I've actually never seen him like this before,” Greyson said softly. “He's usually the nicest guy.”

“Your family puts you on edge. That’s nice, real nice,” Nevada mumbled. “Bueno, I don’t wanna stress you out anymore than I have to,” he added.

“That's not what I mean and you know it.” Eddie frowned. “But I'm not me when I come back to the Heights, I don't know how to explain it…” he sighed. “Look, I'm just gonna bow out of the rest of tonight.” He opened the car door when it stopped and smiled at Rafael. “Sorry Tio, I really am.”

Greyson moved to follow but Eddie stopped him. “Go have fun, you shouldn't always have to clean up my messes.” He kissed the boys lips and moved to head into the hotel alone.

“Oye!” Nevada called out, putting the car in park and getting out to follow Eddie. “You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself right now, me entiendes? Don’t tell me that you’re not you when you come home, and that’s why you act like an asshole. That’s bullshit, where you are has shit to do with who you are, me entiendes?” he said. “So instead of playing the victim, and the misunderstood guy, why don’t you be the man that me and your tia raised you to be, and come spend time with your tio before he gets married.”

Eddie wanted to protest, Nevada had no idea how wrong he was but he just nodded. “I don't think Rafael will want me there anymore, but if he's okay with it, I'd be happy to come.”

“Of course he wants you there, you were his first nephew. Why wouldn’t he want you there?” Nevada asked.

“Okay,” Eddie nodded and put his hands in his pockets. “He's better than me, he deserves a shit ton more than I can ever give him...but I'm gonna marry him,” he said seriously before he began moving back to the car.

“You can’t marry him, he’s marrying Roxie tomorrow, bobo,” Nevada replied, pulling Eddie back to stand in front of him. “What’s going on with you?” he asked softly.

“You know who I meant,” he mumbled but looked down at his feet. “I don't want to...I'm not ready to talk about it,” he whispered. He felt a few tears slide down his cheek as he shook his head, wiping them away and then putting on a smile. “We should go celebrate.”

Grabbing a handful of hair on the back of his nephew’s head, he gently pulled so that he could see Eddie’s face. Bringing him closer, he placed a firm kiss on his forehead and gently patted him on the back.

“When you’re ready, you know where to find me,” he said. “I’ll tell you what I put on your tia’s wine bottle.”

“What?”

Nevada smirked, leaning in to whisper it Eddie’s ear, and the boy made a face.

“Ew!” he said in a chuckle, earning a laugh from Nevada.

“I told you, I already knew what you’d say,” he chortled.

Eddie laughed and smiled at Nevada for a moment before stepping close to him and pressing his face to Nevada's chest, not hugging him, but staying close for a long moment. Without hesitation, Nevada wound his arms around the kid’s frame, hugging him tightly and letting his mouth rest on the top of his head.

“You know, no matter how much of a dick you are, I love you. Nothing’s ever gonna change that. I’m always gonna love you no matter what, me entiendes?”

“Don't make promises if you can't keep them,” he whispered in warning.

“No matter what, I’m always gonna love you,” Nevada said again.

Eddie nodded and pulled back, wiping his tear stained cheeks again. “Gimme a sec, I'll be right there okay?” He nodded to the car. Nevada nodded back, moving towards the car to get back into the driver’s seat.

Izzy rolled her eyes, “I can't believe you're dating that creep,” she mumbled to Greyson.

“Oye, ya esta bueno ya. When he gets back in the car, nobody says anything else about it,” Nevada said, looking back at Izzy.

“He didn’t mean what he said, Izzy. He’s angry about something,” Rafael observed. “He’s probably just not ready to talk about it yet.”

“That creep would take a bullet for me,” Greyson said softly. “And you too Izzy, he loves you with all his heart. He talks about all of you so fondly, which is why I was so shocked by the way he was behaving…”

“Do you know what’s going on with him?” Rafael asked, looking back at Greyson.

Greyson looked out the window sadly to his boyfriend. “I do,” he nodded. “Which is why I'm going to beg you all to cut him some slack, please. Just this once.”

“What’s his problem?” Izzy asked. “I think we have a right to know.”

“No, you really don't,” Greyson said firmly for the first time since he'd met them. He sounded very sure of himself and stern.

“It’s not his business to tell us anyway, Izzy,” Rafael offered softly.

“That’s bullshit, so we just have to smile and take his verbal abuse?”

“Izzy. Enough,” Rafael said.

“I know it's a lot to ask, but please Izzy,” Greyson said softly.

Izzy gritted her teeth but nodded, more than anything she was upset she didn't know. Eddie was her best friend. They told each other everything...or so she thought.

Eddie moved back into the car and smiled, sitting next to Greyson. “So what now?”

You dialed Nevada at around ten, waiting desperately for him to answer as you sat in the movie theater bathroom.

“Hey mami, what are you guys up to? Having fun?” he asked softly, having moved from the living area of Rafael’s suite to the balcony that overlooked the beach.

“I'm going insane,” you hissed. “I need to get out of here!”

“Why? What’s the matter?” he asked.

“We had tea and now we're watching some trashy romcom, coño at this rate I'm going to die of boredom.”

“Bueno, if it makes you feel any better, we’re not doing anything that exciting. Just sitting around in  Rafael’s suite, drinking, shooting the shit,” he replied. “Just try to remember it’s not your bridal shower.”

“I know, but who the fuck enjoys this? Even Vanessa likes the movie!” you sighed, “I need to get back before they worry.”

“Try to have fun, chica. Don’t be that girl,” he said softly. “I got you something, by the way.”

“Oooh is it big?” you purred.

“Kind of. Bottle of wine made just for you,” he replied with a smirk.

“Seriously?” you asked in surprise. “That's so romantic. Thank you,” you smiled, blushing a bit.

“Wait till you see what I named it,” he answered with a grin.

“Oh god,” you said with a laugh. “I can't wait. We'll be back within the hour. So after that I'll be in bed. I love you.”

“Love you too,” he replied, hanging up.

By the time the movie ended, you all were yawning heading back to the hotel for the next morning.

“This was perfect,” Roxie said seriously.

You smiled at that, even if it hadn't been your style of party, the bride had a blast. That's what mattered. You gave her a huge hug and smiled.

“I'm so glad you had a good night, your sister knows how to throw a good party.”

Isla beamed at you.

As you all walked back to your hotel rooms, you glanced to Vanessa and smiled, deciding how to politely get her to leave.

“Bueno, now that the Mary Sues are in bed, let’s go get drunk,” Vanessa said excitedly. “We should go and see what the men are doing.”

“I can't,” you said, not able to think of a reason why not.

“Ay, why not? Don’t pretend like you weren’t as bored as I was. Coño, and Rafael is marrying her? She must be really good in the kitchen and even better in the bedroom,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Porque la chiquita es un coño al revés.”

You shook your head, “she's a wonderful girl. But she isn't wild. I think that's one of the reasons he loves her.” You sighed, “come on, let's go see the boys,” you resigned and grabbed her hand, tugging her to Rafael's suite and knocking.

Nevada answered, opening the door and closing it a little when he saw it was you so as to hide the fact that Eddie and Greyson were drinking with them.

“Hola mami,” he said with a smirk. “You guys have fun?”

“We had a blast,” you said as you crooked a finger. “Come meet my cousin?”

“Yeah, okay,” he mumbled, following you down the hall a ways.

“Coño, Y/N, que sexy!” She looked him over when he stepped out. “El es el hombre de mis sueños,” she laughed and ran a hand over his chest, inspecting him while you grew increasingly more annoyed in the background.

Luckily only Nevada could see your urge to choke her.

“Well you're family now,” she said with a sly grin, tapping her lips, “dame un besito, Papi.”

Arching a brow at her, he dipped his head, quickly moving to give her a cheek kiss instead, the same kind he gave to your mother whenever he saw her. As he pulled away, her hands locked behind his head and pulled him down for a full on kiss on the lips, and he looked over at you as she hummed against his mouth.

You closed your eyes, mentally blocking it out. If you let her get to you, it was over. “That's more than enough of a welcome, thank you Vanessa,” you said as calmly as you could.

Letting him go, she licked her lips, humming softly as she looked him over again.

“Bueno, are you going to invite us in?” she asked.

“Sabes que? I was just leaving, y yo creo que Rafi se vas a dormir tambien,” he replied, moving over to where you stood and wrapping an arm around you.

He could feel every muscle in your body was tense as you grit your teeth, smiling at her. “We should probably head to bed too,” you said with false remorse.

“Ay, que pena. Bueno, I’ll see you tomorrow then, I guess,” she said, pouting before she grinned at Nevada. “Hasta luego, papi,” she purred, running a hand over his chest and brushing past him.

“Coño, that was scary,” he mumbled to you after she got on the elevator. “She used her tongue too, it was disgusting,” he added, moving back into Rafael’s room to grab the wine he’d made, still wrapped in the brown paper bag.

You waited outside for him, arms crossed and still furious with her. When he came out again, he placed his free hand on your hip, walking with you towards your room just down the hall.

“Oye, have you talked to Eddie lately?” he asked softly, trying to steer the conversation a bit. The last thing he wanted was for you to go to sleep angry, even if it wasn’t with him.

“Just casual chit chat, why?” You looked over, anger immediately replaced with concern. “What's wrong? Is he okay?”

“I don’t know. Something’s going on with him, but he wouldn’t tell me,” he replied unlocking the door to your suite. “I can tell something’s off though.”

You frowned and nodded. “Okay...should we talk to him? I don't want to push it if he isn't ready but…”

You stripped off your dress, letting it fall to the floor and unhooked your bra as well, stretching and turning to him.

“We should spend more time with him, I worry.”

“Yeah, and no just let him come to us when he’s ready. If we push him, he’ll never open up,” he replied, setting the still wrapped wine bottle down before he took off his jacket. “You wanna see your present?” he asked with a smirk, unwrapping the wine and holding it against his chest so you still couldn’t see the label as he slowly walked up to you.

You smiled and kicked off your panties as you walked to him as well, meeting him in the middle and holding out your hands excitedly.

Turning the bottle, he showed you the label, smirking as he watched your reaction.

Your jaw dropped as you traced your fingers over the label, a simple outline drawing of a beautiful cat with the cursive inscription, Daddy's Little Kitten.

You stared for a minute, then two, examining the bottle. “Did...did our kid and my brother and sister see this?”

He shook his head. “No...but Eddie knows what it says, just not what it looks like. I was trying to cheer him up,” he replied.

You made a face before looking back down at the bottle and beaming, “You made it for me?” You set it on the table and wrapped your arms around his neck. “I love it,” you whispered, “It's absolutely perfect.”

“Wanna drink it?” he asked, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You smiled and nodded, “Yes I do. Also, why did I get a text from my sister saying I should turn you down for sex more?”

“Cause she’s trying to prove a point,” he answered honestly. “They were getting on me and your brother about being old, and I told her I didn’t give a shit about being old, cause I got enough that you and my kids are comfortable and I get laid whenever I want.”

You made a face, “Don't make it sound like I'm the one begging for sex all the time...even if I am,” you mumbled with a laugh as you grabbed wine glasses and opened the bottle, sniffing it. “This smells delightful,” you beamed at him, nodding to his fully dressed form. “Stop making me feel like a nudist, unless you're gonna spank me, strip down buddy,” you teased.

“I didn’t make it sound like you were the one begging for sex, I was just saying. You’ve only turned me down a few times in all the time we’ve been together. Me too, I haven’t turned you down that many times,” he replied, unbuttoning his shirt with one hand.

You nodded in agreement, “I like having sex with you.” You waited until he was stripped before handing him a glass and taking your own. “To us and our earth-shattering sex since day one,” you teased with a wink.

Clinking his glass with you, he took a tentative sip from the glass, furrowing his brows and looking down at the dark red liquid.

“Oye, not for nothing, pero this is pretty fucking good, no?” he asked, taking another sip.

“This is super good,” you nodded in agreement, “baby this is the best,” you hugged him tight and sipped your wine again. “I love that you thought of me,” you whispered softly. “I'm sorry for today, I hate fighting.”

“I do too, pero we were just fucking around. You guys always take us so serious, coño how long have you been married to me?” he asked with a smirk.

“I know, but she's hurting from this divorce. All I ask is you just give it some time before you're all giving her shit. She's getting no sleep with the baby and she misses Omar, even if it isn't romantically. But I know you never mean any harm,” You kissed him again. “Let's just forget about it and spend the rest of the night doing something better,” you winked.

“Okay,” he mumbled against your mouth, kissing you deeply.

Rafael knocked on Roxie’s door, sliding his hands into his pockets as he waited for her to answer. The two of them had decided to sleep apart the night before the wedding, and he just wanted to see her so he could properly say goodnight.

Roxie opened the door and smiled immediately, she was in a soft white silk nightgown that had the word “bride” written onto the left chest piece.

“Hi,” she smiled at him.

“Hi,” he replied, smiling back at her, and looking her over briefly. “You look beautiful,” he mumbled. “How was your night?”

“It was really pleasant,” she said as she stepped closer, “and yours?”

“It was nice, actually. We made wine,” he answered, leaning against the door frame. “I can’t believe we’re getting married tomorrow,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” she blushed and bit her lip. “I'm so happy, I never really thought about anything but my career before you. You make me feel like I can have the whole world.”

“So do you,” he replied, still smiling a little before it began to falter a little. “Do you think I’m too old to be a father?” he asked.

“What? Of course not, who said that rubbish to you?” She shook her head, “You're not old, Rafael. Sorry to break it to you.”

“I know I’m not, it was just...something Eddie said earlier…” He shook his head, looking down at his bare feet. “It’s nothing,” he added, smiling softly up at her.

“It's not nothing,” she whispered and stroked her fingers over his skin. “You are the sexiest, most loving and compassionate man I have ever met. You are going to be the best father, I don't doubt it for a moment.”

Smirking, he pulled her into a tight hug, tucking his face in the crook of her neck.

“I love you so much,” he whispered. “I can’t wait to marry you tomorrow.”

“I love you too,” she hugged back for a moment then smiled. “I'll see you in the morning,” she kissed his lips gently and shooed him away with a giggle.

“Goodnight,” he mumbled, moving back to his suite.

[fly-pow-bye]

ThunderCats Roar - “Dr. Dometone”

Co-Executive Producer: Victor Courtright

Supervising Producer: Nate Cash

Producer: Marly Halpern-Graser

Story by: Joan Ford

Teleplay by: Justin Becker

Directed by: Jessica Borutski

If you're looking for me, you better check under the earth...

The episode begins with Tygra suggesting a new mission for the ThunderCats: go around the rest of Third Earth and try to fill in the gaps in their knowledge of it. They know about everything around the Cat's Lair, they know about that evil pyramid where Mumm-Ra lives, and they even know about the horrors of hook mountain, but what about everything else?

Tygra, being the sensible one, just wants to make friends with everyone around them, but Lion-O immediately gets out his sword and thunders it up. Tygra makes a desperate plea to Lion-O to use his words and not his magical swordplay if he manages to find anyone in his spot of land. This happens to be a beach, and unfortunately, or maybe fortunately even if Snarf was there to prevent any kind of wrongful swordplay, nobody on Third Earth wanted to do a suntan. There is far more than a slight implication that Tygra put him there because he doesn't really trust Lion-O to not accidentally start wars, though that might come from Tygra's unique ability of having common sense.

Lion-O does manage to find a crab, though. The crab clearly can't talk, but that doesn't stop Lion-O from chasing it under the water, telling the crab that he just wants to ambassador it. No, there's no explanation to how Lion-O can speak and/or breathe underwater, but they do at least make him do a gurgling voice. It is basic cartoon logic: plot holes are okay as long as they're funny, and...eh, I don't know.

Speaking of holes, Lion-O lifts up a bunch of rocks that the crab was trying to, and one of them happens to be the Giant Oceanic Plug. One might think a giant plug at the bottom of the ocean was something made up for this wacky reboot, but no, that's actually something from the original ThunderCats. Unplugging it was something the ThunderCats had to prevent, as unplugging leads to...

...a really, really dry planet. This is shown by showing what the other ThunderCats are doing, with the oceans receding into the hole that plug was covering in the background. They could have just ended with the shot of Third Earth without an ocean, but it's good to see the effects Lion-O's bumbling is causing in the world, even if nobody else seems to care. Well, one person seems to care, at least.

The episode is called Dr. Dometone, so we get to see him come in with his giant amphibian robot, which he names Hercules. Just like in the original, he is the guardian of the Great Oceanic Plug, and he's none too thrilled to see the lack of water. Lion-O has no time to discuss this, because hey, a new guy to ambassador!

With no knowledge of what evil person could have done such a thing, he jumps into Hercules, and dives right into the plug. Somehow, this diving makes a fart sound, because we needed one of those. Lion-O, who snuck into the robot alongside Snarf much to the doctor's mismay, just ends up telling him he did it. Any kind of tongue lashing against him would have to wait, though.

There's an upside down city of mushroom people known as the Moldians, all sobbing from having their underground city flooded. As the Lord of the ThunderCats, he tries his best to tell everyone that he will help them out with this sudden flooding without telling them he was the one who did it. I do like this line:

Moldian Mother: My baby is all wet!

Lion-O: I'll get you a new...uh, I'll dry your baby.

A rare moment where Lion-O has to realize what he said. They manage to find the mayor, Sportimer Fungustus, and he tips his hat-shaped head as much as he would allow at the fine gentlemen. Dometome tells Lion-O to stay quiet and let him do all the talking, as Lion-O has done enough harm. He does make the mistake of introducing them as being with him, and Lion-O had to say two words that really gets the Mayor upset: "what's up?"

It turns out, the Moldians aren't exactly hip to that phrase, and assume he's asking what is up. The Mayor points down to the ground and says "the ground", and this leads to an argument. See, to the Moldians, up is down and down is up. They spend quite a bit of time explaining this to the audience, along with how they're in the hollow part of Third Earth. This could be our first confirmation this isn't a far out into the future version of the Earth we're on now, but I'm not sure about that.

Because the plot needs to go further, Lion-O butts in and says that nothing Dr. Dometome is saying is making any sense, because all of that water was drained into this city. With a zoomed out shot to possibly indicate how awkward that statement was, it's clear that the Mayor isn't too happy to be eye to eye with the people responsible for the great flood. Lion-O may not get that tongue lashing, but he will get something else.

BUM BUM BUM BUM, Lion-O, Dr. Dometome, Snarf, and even Hercules are now tied up to a mushroom rocket with chains! The Moldians did at the very least know that superheroes would need a little bit more than ordinary rope. That rocket is headed straight for Third Earth's core, or, as the Moldians know it, the "great sky ball."

Frowning at the fiery doom that he has accidentally put his new friend and his cool robot into, he can still hear the nagging words of Tygra, telling him that he should do the opposite of what he normally does. I'll say this, how he interprets this is way better than the way Lion-O did the opposite of what he says he's going to do from the previous episode. It also gives a point to that sword scene in the intro, which is nice to see.

We do get our mandated action scene, and I'm not complaining about that at all, as the Moldians have declared war on their "underground" menace. Aw, and he was trying to prevent that from happening! It's here where Dr. Dometome's involvement in the plot besides all of that exposition reaches its apex, as we get to see him use that giant robot to avoid all of those mushroom missiles. Yeah, that's pretty much it.

Technically doing the opposite of what he did, even if he's actually doing the same thing he did before, Lion-O goes "up" into the ocean. "Over" their waters, they have their own plug, conveniently labelled the "reverse plug". Who put that sign there? Who cares, the most important part is that it fixed everything, and none of the other ThunderCats suspected a thing. He must be so glad everything ended up being convenient.

As the honest Lord of the ThunderCats, he does end up telling him the truth about his adventures, but Tygra doesn't believe him. They do add a twist on this by making him not believe anyone else, either. Admittedly, playing ping pong with a mole man? Those are pretty outlandish compared to fighting giant mummy monsters.

It all ends with a rather generic The End card, but I do appreciate the consistency with their appearance.

How does it stack up?

It's a pretty silly episode, but I do like the (literal) world building. 4 cats.

Next, with such a title, an episode that's sure to be exciting!

← Mandora - The Evil Chaser 🐈 Study Time →

[trustafarian-theserialfiction]

“trustafarian” part 12: delivering the wingier wing March 4, 2016 8:56 pm

The tomato/lentil curry stew thing Bruce made was really hitting the spot.  The green stuff was knotweed from someoneother’s window microgreen grow.  It went on top with some recently expired plain yogourt Bruce assured him wouldn’t make him sick with some new thing.  Dan had seen the container in the second fridge the other day or whenever it had been, and overlooked it after assuming off the bat that, like at his parent’s place, there would be a few mouthfuls of some mouldy leftovers inside.  If he’d known it was yogourt he still wouldn’t have gone for it.  One it was from the trash, two it was unflavoured, three he didn’t eat yogourt. Wasn’t that for lady tennis players or whatever?  But it was good with this.  He’d slowly eaten a bowl sitting at the kitchen island while Bruce ran around Painting The Living Room Ready. Or red-y, Dan wasn’t sure what the pun was there; either way it involved rummaging around in the tin box-shed thing built off the back of the skate ramp, and pulling out a big tyedyed sheet. This was followed by a red loveseat that looked like it was just the big square cushions off some larger piece of furniture structured together with single wall sections of milk crates and pallet slats.  The sheet went up on the wall by hooking the beam it was all wrapped around and stuck to at one end, onto a latch thing that was on a rope with a pulley dial doohickey up by the ceiling on the wall. Then he pulled out a projector from somewhere inside the halfpipe/shack storehouse of wonders. And lo and behold, appeared the laptop from behind its slider cubby-door in the wall.

It played movies for them all from the projector sitting on a pulled-up barstool, because Mouse had finally reappeared from his little room behind when the food smell got to him.  He’d been talking to himself and banging things and listening to some kind of soviet ska since finishing his half-Russian (for all Dan knew) rant about Bruce’s improper labelling on the way in.  Dan had been feeling exceptionally magnanimous since eating Bruce’s food again and drinking some filtered water from the pitcher that had been filled, but he’d stayed out of it entirely when Mouse sniped about it again before eating, which seemed fair.  At this point, from his point of view, it was really a nonissue and he was happy to not get upset about it by proxy.  Turned out he’d just been clowning himself by drinking the water from the sink for hands, which (of course) didn’t have a filter on the tap-end, because (of course) it was for hands, and steaming, and whatever.  Bruce said they filtered it again through biochar or some crackpot sounding thing, Dan had been only halfway paying attention to the human attention-craving hummingbird Bruce had become with two somewhat willing, somewhat captive “out-of-actionses” to fuss over, and was more interested in how movies looked on the resplendently ridiculous backdrop of the tyedye. It was like a sunflower field if you looked at the patterns long enough, but all lucky charms colours and every-petal-a-rainbow type sunflower field.  For some reason Bruce had decided to show them lawnmower man and was gabbing incessantly about it.  The laptop’s audio naturally went through all the various speakers around the place and with the sound too low to really hear over Bruce even though it was everywhere, the effect was a kind of entertainingly lyrical din.  A din to which Dan managed to eat more soup, at an increasing rate until he’d blown through several tentatively self-portioned half-bowls.  He suspected Bruce being perched on the top of the halfpipe he liked and blowing bags of volcano vape everywhere, was “somehow” giving him an appetite.

Sometime after dark Jean-Paul had shown up, and Dan thought it was because Bruce texted about the predicament of the two lost little lambs.  Or, whatever-Mouse-is.  A snarling little lamb on a snarled little settee that looks like a llama, honestly.  Despite all his rage he was just a guy too high to reasonably leave le Mais-on for the moment on his le Mouse-own. The maze… he squinted through the haze the room had taken on, watching Jean-Paul’s expression.

Dan was feeling a lot better than Mouse seemed to be, and he was glad to see Jean-Paul, who seemed nonplussed by the whole situation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mechanical separation, he thought. Mechanically separated was the only phrase he remembered now from the zine he’d pondered briefly in the kitchen, thinking instead mainly of the pictures. Dan asked himself why, what it was about the phrase. Jean-Paul is explaining about his job: Dan tried to focus.  It was riveting really, but he was really unclear on why his friend of lo these ten years had chosen tonight to explain that he ran around having sex for money.  And that it ran in the family, so to speak, which explained everything about the weird moment he’d had with Andreah last month and maybe something about why she hadn’t tried to get in touch at all.  But that wasn’t the case, he realized, running it by himself a few times; she had played it off really cool, she must have understood that Jean-Paul used to say whatever, to his old friends.  People he was scared wouldn’t “get it” or whatever. Dan wasn’t sure he got it.  Andreah hadn’t been sure he’d get it, or wasn’t sure she was supposed to tell him.  Since he didn’t know.  Apparently it wasn’t worth bringing up unless he was all juiced up on The Brew.  Maybe he’d seemed relaxed or something.  He had felt pretty relaxed, now that he was feeling much less high and much more level.  Mouse still seemed agitated as all get-out but hadn’t left, or seemed interested in anything that was going on aside from the movie playing directly over his head and occasionally begrudgingly responding to something Bruce was on about in the background, over all their heads.  Jean-Paul had perched himself on the halfpipe itself, in a square he cleared in the rummage against the short pallet wood leg of the second segment of strawberry red “couch” that Dan had been lounging on fully extended for some time before Jean-Paul had arrived.  He had been feeling like a big happy cat, all snug in its basket or whatever. The couch was holding together pretty well, like two big armless Adirondack chairs conjoined, it didn’t shift and it sandwiched Dan pleasantly in the middle.  He still felt snug, but now it was sort of like, he couldn’t get away if he wanted to.  He went about not feeling like he’d rather not bail. "So, I mean, how do you...Did your mom give you like, a welcome basket of …rubber gloves and condoms when you were legal or something?" "What?" He sounded quite scandalized, but amused.  Dan guessed this was going better than he’d anticipated. "I was picturing some like, eyes wide shut scenario," he'd never seen it, didn't know how the sexmask club recruited, "or something. With y'know, welcome baskets and… business cards. With italic font...fancy...in cursive..." he waved his hands vaguely, splashing it out in lights: "club ...somethingorother." "The Moulin Rouge," Jean-Paul laughed at him. "Alice linked me up, actually. I mean obviously I always knew, about my mom, like she never hid it from me, but I understood to repeat whatever job she said she had, when it came up. I'd never really thought about following in Ma'mere's footsteps but I'd never thought up any other backup plan for the band manager thing falling through. That was sort of step one in a whole...career I had planned out. Apparently I'm bad with setbacks." Maybe Jean-Paul had secretly been waiting to retire since before even starting. Dan had always wanted to retire, himself. Maybe he'd dropped out of retirement. For the first time. He was technically a freelancer.  He was freelancing.  If he factored in the cost of his room and board, if it had been in a rentable place of equivalent amenities, he was doing really well.  Astronomically well, even.  It wasn’t a penthouse downtown or anything but he’d really only been in town three months.  Or two months, that always confused him.  He counted forward from January on his fingers, and was surprised to find that it had only been two months. "So, how'd it, how'd you end up asking Alice...about it," he frowned at his accidental echo. Go ask Alice, he heard Andre tell him in the past, again, still there, next to the dumpster Bruce was in.  The bike was there. "She parties around town, there's places where you meet clients pretty easily, which is to say, where you make friends who look like bankers even naked and they give you various drugs people don’t really do anywhere else, and later you hit them up for rent when they,” he made a noise like was considering how “iffy” to be about it, ”require further service. Female-identifying people get in free so Alice is all over it, I’m not really one for the sex bar scene.  I go to my bar, where I know people, with people I know, and I don’t take dates there. Anyway Alice and I have a similar enough client base, or, there's enough overlap where she was able to set me up with a few guys who weren’t looking for what she’s offering now.  So there’s a nice wingman thing in it for my friend, too; she gets to say there’s a brand they can switch to, they in turn might forward whoever, to her.”

Well, that seemed to explain that.  Dan wasn’t sure where to go from there.  Was he supposed to check that Jean-Paul was okay or something?  He seemed fine.  No more not fine than anyone else he knew.  Generally pretty poised and in control.  It seemed pretty condescending to get all weird, so he tried “Okay.  Well, cool? Are you …all good?”

Jean-Paul laughed and looked at him sidelong.  Dan realized there were easy entendres there and he felt his face groan. Graciously Jean-Paul overlooked the joketake and said “overall it’s, ah, quite a fulfilling occupation, actually.  I encounter some very,” Dan saw his mouth shimmy as he pursed his lips in a sort of fond way “interesting older gentlemen. All groovy, ground control,” he said.

Bruce screeched “good morning starshine the earth says hellooooo,” over at them, obviously and obnoxiously eavesdropping.

With a wave of his hand, Jean-Paul ignored Bruce and continued, “it’s excellent work, honestly” sounding extremely honest.  Dan wasn’t sure whether to believe him, and chose to reserve judgment. He had found the word “overall” dubious.  He supposed Jean-Paul’s clients never yelled at him in bars.  If anything—Dan cut the power to that thought, blinked and decided the movie was interesting again, because it was a different movie, a movie so interesting he had no idea what he’d been about to think, even, or why that would’ve mattered.  Jason was in space in this one, huh?

“Pete says he’ll be here in a couple hours if we order a sumptuous Chinese meal in the betweentime.” Bruce continued to pester-yell, sounding very happy. “I have a twenty I found on the ground! All freaky and new! I think the machine 3d prints them from plastic bag pellets! Don’t quote me! I can get more out if you all are gonna stay away-ay-ayyychk?”

Staying awake for Pete sounded like kind of a-hurdle-too-many for him, but he didn’t want to run away just when Jean-Paul had come out to him or whatever about his line of work.  Seemed like that might come off as overly mindboggled about it, which would probably mean he wasn’t really that cool with it, in the light of day.  This all swam into his mind as he stared at the projected square on the wall and at everyone, the others.  Mouse and Bruce and Jean-Paul, all together in his line of vision, their heads looking sort of cherubic in his fading potion-paisleyed view.  He felt a sort of conduit of sympathy between them run in a circuit, then, and breathed out so he didn’t startle, feeling like he might.  He had a funny sense of the others as ectoplasms or something, like visible souls.  The scene seemed like an apparition of a stage play, with four ghostly players, watching an even ghostlier play as it played out on its own borax box.  The space ship or whatever it was, satellite or something, in the movie, reminded him of their house, all compartments of a unit. He was trying not to pry into the others in some way, by focusing away from them.  It immediately seemed overly intimate to investigate them too intently.  Instead he thought back to the question he’d been asked, so long ago it felt like but it couldn’t have been, Bruce had just asked and was distracted again.  They were on the same setting now, it seemed.  The same frequency.  It came back to him, hadn’t Bruce said something about that on an episode of the podcast?  He had intuited what Jean-Paul would think if he bailed, because Jean-Paul was thinking it.  And Jean-Paul had realized he’d realized because Dan been thinking it.  And the others knew too, or it felt like—it had felt like they had.  He felt like the best option was to be circumspect about his drug-fuelled revelations, but, not wanting to bet on being wrong, he finally announced that he couldn’t pitch but had been planning on eating more of what Bruce had made anyway.

“It is very homey,” Jean-Paul commented his way, watching the movie.  He had brought his knee up in front of him one at a time, alternating after a while, since sitting, and was now on the left one, hands clasped in front of it.

“Did you just call my cooking HOMELY,” Bruce wailed in feinted anguish. He was rolling around on the strip of halfpipe next to Mouse’s perch, between two pile-esque rows of whatheverthehell (looked like big sheets of fabric, paint rollers, chairs of various folding types, just a bunch of random shit like you’d see in the back of a school multipurpose room or a scout hall, which was probably exactly the type of place it had all come from originally), holding his balloonbag of vapor like an otter with a clam.

“Like home cooking,” Dan clarified redundantly, to contribute some chatter for its own sake.  For the sake of homeyness, and homieness, he figured.  It kind of felt like Bruce figuring it.  He was probably spending enough time around him for it to be catching, he smirked to himself.  Thinking of things catching brought him back to the almost electric jolt he’d felt earlier, when he’d had that sensation like they were all conducting something back and forth and it was an impressionistic soup of stuff, and he’d thought about how Jean-Paul was doing, or how he’d feel if Dan left, which brought him back to a half-had idea from before Bruce had distracted him, and he said “I can trade you spots so you’re not on the floor, or move my feet or something,” to Jean-Paul.

Jean-Paul opened his mouth, seeming to reply, but sounding a lot like Bruce cutting him off.  “Don’t bother I was gonna-unna go get Pete and me and him some padding.  I’ll get you another bowl too so you can stay a warm little patty all sandwichy and full of spices.”

“Are you calling me ginger,” Dan wasn’t heard, or if he was he wasn’t answered.  Bruce had bounced his way over the lip of the curved ramp and down the other side, and now he was in the kitchen, bustling. “Thanks,” he told Bruce with feeling, receiving more delicious mush on what he took to be a b-line to the second floor for supplies. Supplies.  He’d been thinking about asking about something from in there, but he couldn’t remember what it had been.  Somehow, though, it reminded him to ask Jean-Paul for clothes, since he did remember wanting to ask about clothes.  He tried to think of what the other thing had been, and amended to ponder it in a shower, after asking.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He wasn’t sure whether Jean-Paul would still be upstairs with them when he got out of the shower, and thought that if he wasn’t, if he’d gone back to his own floor, Dan’d do the same, except that his floor was right below where this impromptu slumber party was taking place.  Bruce pretty much had him corralled either way, he realized, sudsing his scalp with someone’s old Lush product. It looked filmed in dust enough to belong to no one who was there to care.  When he came back out, towelling his hair with a hand-towel while he held a larger towel around his waist with another hand, he spotted the new additions to the landscape he’d been wanting; a change of clothes was on the back edge of the red couch thing.  But he also felt himself deflate slightly at Jean-Paul’s absence from the scene.  Cast adrift, slightly, he tried not to scurry his way over despite feeling the wintery chill of the evening, wondering where Bruce was as well.  Mouse was still posted up on the settee, looking angry and watching the movie.  The cloth of the towel felt surreal somehow, like if he’d been higher he’d have taken on its properties and melted.  He wanted to have on things that didn’t need holding.

“Uh, did you want more,” he asked Mouse when he came back clothed. “While I’m standing,” he added.  It wasn’t his plan to get back up.  In fact, he planned to eat another half bowl himself and pass out in the chair thing, so he wouldn’t seem avoidant like it felt going down to his room now would be.  He wasn’t sure about being high around Pete, it seemed like it might quickly max out his always taxed ability to tolerate white people.  Passing out seemed prudent, and so it was his plan.  Otherwise who knew what would happen, maybe Pete would convince him somehow to run out into the night to host some kind of live event only to chide him for never learning to use a turntable.

Looking churlish at best Mouse said “no.” Dan decided Mouse was also reaching max on an always taxed ability of some sort, or, whatever was going on it looked like getting into it would hurt.  Like it would result in a fist to his face or something.  Mouse seemed to find him as fun as he found Mouse.  Not very.  But he liked Mouse, also.  He didn’t want to be annoying, but he couldn’t become unannoying by going away, because he’d be conspicuous somehow as the hole in the floor, he still felt like.  It was at this juncture that Jean-Paul came back, followed by Bruce, both of them lugging spare futon-type things.  One seemed to be foams in a duvet cover and the other looked circular but otherwise futonlike.  The circle was slotted into a cleared space on the halfpipe next to Mouse, between which and Dan a square longboard had been laid across two milkcrates of some cymbal stand stuff and pedals and random guitar strings and piles of melted wax.  The foams in a duvet went up on top of the halfpipe next to the silver vape, that ziggurat of canna-conveyance.

“Can I get that—”  Jean-Paul started to say to Bruce.

“I’m on it,” was already being shouted back from behind the divider wall.  Bruce was making noise like he was going through the stuff on the back of the divider.  He came back in short order, waving a smushy, folded stack of melted-looking clear green plastic.  Bouncing up onto the back of the halfpipe from the back end, he appeared like a gargoyle, curling his legs and feet under himself neatly.  Dan was impressed by his dexterity and recalled the other day, when he’d turned out to not be two-litre-jug-hoisting strong, lately.  He made a raincheck-resolution to make a resolution with himself when the weather changed for real, to get back to normal as soon as humanly possible.  He felt vague about what he had intended to do in the intervening time that wasn’t getting back to normal, and it seemed like the answer was, because he had some music to backlog for Bruce first.  While the backlogging was good.  Before whatever seismic shift in reality that everyone seemed to wait all winter for, occurred.  He remembered Andre telling him he should see it in the summer. The pace would change after the lousy smarch weather stopped, he understood, but he wasn’t sure how that new pace looked or what it would mean for him.  But it sounded like a lot of distractions.  Dan was distracted just now in fact, by Bruce using an attachment to make the volcano inflate the smushy pile, which was an armchair, in fact.  He tossed it over Dan in an arc, eventually, and he watched it sail sort of like a forlorn beachball at a very empty, dark rave, over to “JP!” who Bruce reminded “head’s up,” after the fact.

Jean-Paul toed wider the space he was using for seating and dropped the chair into it.  It seemed really incongruous to Dan that he’d be using a chair that seemed both conspicuously fragile and attention-grabbingly lacking in taste.  In his mind Jean-Paul would leave a room before sitting on a piece of furniture like that—something so contrary to his essence—like tackiness was contagious.  That was the same note of surprise he always hit with Jean-Paul, now.  Here.  Maybe it’ll stop being surprising sometime, he tried to log in his mind, so it’d stick.  Jean-Paul made kind of a production out of seeming more fastidious and fancyminded, than he actually was.  Dan had no idea why really, it was the opposite of what everyone tried to do in his experience, except for his ex and her family, but that was because she was like that.  Bougie.  He thought everyone hated that.  Everyone who wasn’t like that, anyway.  He’d always found it sort of annoying about his ex, himself—and at times acutely mortifying, depending how annoying someone she wasn’t paying attention to found her as they provided some service to her.  She was really transactional about everything, he recalled.  It seemed like a counter-intuitive affectation to give people the impression that people like his ex were more similar to yourself than they were, particularly in the context at hand, in which Jean-Paul existed as a part of some broadly inclusive “anti-authoritarian” community.  Then again, Dan realitychecked himself and noted that for months, he’d been wearing clothes his ex had picked out.  And they made him look kind of, if not fancy then different, in a not-homeless way.  He had no idea if he looked bougie or not.  He knew they wore clean clothes all the time.  His ex almost never took laundry out to get it done, she usually just bought another store-washed vintage thing and threw it on one of the piles when she was done.  Probably bougie people threw away clothes that needed mending, he realized.  Besides, “fitting in” didn’t really seem to be the point of being an anti-authoritarian, so dressing to fit in seemed kind of counter-intuitive, itself.  Which meant anyone judging him based on his group sameness score probably fit in less than he did, in the relevant way, so he could forget about what his clothes said and speak for himself.  His current wardrobe said, Jean-Paul repainted his place beige at some point, or did something else that got some of his ninja-monochrome clothes smeared in paint.  There was a terrycloth hotel robe as well, for extra wrapping.  He felt very snug and dry, and the increasingly gentle, circular ribboning of his psychedelic musings was diffusing some edge of tension that apparently had been propping up his eyelids.  He felt himself drifting in and out of a hazy sleep, half an ear open to the room as Bruce’s chatter bubbled into it like a pump-looped fountain in a midrange sushi restaurant bathroom.  Bruce was intermittently reading through a paper menu he had from some place off St. Clair a few blocks over, and bickering affectionately with Mouse, who sounded impatient about delivery arriving, now, as opposed to ambiently murderous to have found himself on a surprise detour into his brain’s own toon town.  Mouse insisted the food was better from the Vietnamese places at the Runnymeade intersection and Bruce insisted Pete hadn’t said a sumptuous Vietnamese meal so they had to order from yum-yums or wherever.  So on and so forth. Apparently there was a congee place way further north up Keele that would deliver via some thirdparty courier app, but it was vetoed for hassle despite the nearby place not having congee.  Whatever that was.  This all reminded him an awful lot of making similar calls with his ex.  He tried not to let the remindedness roll in like a fog and contaminate the evening for him.  This wasn’t like then.  This was an actual gathering of friends being friendly.  Which was fun, not fatiguing.  Dan was fatigued, but not emotionally.  Which was a weightlessness he’d been waiting for possibly forever, but at least since before his relationship had started to hit turbulence.  Maybe it was the same feeling has Magic card gatherings in highschool. Sort of closeby, like different tints of the same hue.

By the time Bruce’s chunky old flip-phone was letting them know food was outside by blasting a midi of reggaestep at them indiscriminately, Dan had managed to get all the way over to the other side of the waking divide, and he felt himself swimming back up to the other world ponderously, unsure of the way and feeling like it was easy to get lost somehow.  To cul-de-sac in a somnambulistic sub-realm somewhere before where eyes open.

The food-smell did the whole job of getting him online again, and he sat up, watching Bruce spread out the array of vessels.  There wasn’t enough space on the longboard and he ended up decamping three items to his perch on the halfpipe.  It was precisely at the most convenient time for a buffet haul, and Pete chose it as the time to show up, appearing from the direction of the bedrooms, where he might or might not have been sitting around alone waiting to eat.  Dan assumed he’d texted Bruce his part of the order.  It looked like more than twenty dollars worth of food and it looked like it was supposed to feed more than just Mouse and Bruce and Pete.  This was confirmed for him by Jean-Paul rotating several little cartons toward himself to check the sigil expressing their contents on each, before snagging what seemed to be his own individual order of deep fried tofu in chili sauce.  Dan guessed that was his version of junkfood. The rest of the spread was closer to his own, minus what was later revealed to be a container of green beans in sauce, which everyone seemed to treat as what Jean-Paul called a crudité.  Dan still wasn’t entirely sure what that was, but it seemed to be small portions of healthy stuff you could eat as finger food. Maybe cooked didn’t count, maybe that was how tapas was different.  His ex liked tapas.  That was right up her alley; small portions, fancy name. Bougie.  She’d have been hard pressed to pick something out of tonight’s line-up, although, she’d have been the only one.  There were two kinds of glistening barbecued meats to tantalize the appetite, as well as pineapple fried rice, two orders of fries and three boxes of chicken wings in varying preparations.  Bruce had also ordered a bunch of cans of soda even though there was soda down the block for less, and there was water to drink in the Maison.  Really going all out hosting the big ball, he thought at Bruce.  Just as he thought it, Bruce’s head rotated unerringly toward him and he found himself being beamed at, maximum beam.  

“Mange, mange!” Bruce shouted over from his spot, making a rotating eat-eat gesture with his hand in front of his mouth as he did.  It reminded him of Andreah ordering take-out on that snowy night in Kensington, and a ghostly gust of cold air made him shiver.  He should really do some reaching out textwise before Andreah decided to forget his name when she saw him again.  It seemed like only a week ago that they’d had breakfast, less than, even.  But no, here it was, days into March.  Soon a month would’ve passed since they’d talked.  That seemed both wrong in the sense that it was rude or kind of cold or whatever, and in the sense that she was the only person he knew who didn’t live in the same building as him but might be willing to let him stay in hers for whatever arising reasons might be forthcoming but premonitions of which were unforthcoming to Dan in the moment of consideration.  He wasn’t sure she was a great escape route but escape routes were the kind of thing you wanted to keep track of, he’d learned that the hard way from his breakup; turned out he’d never even thought about it before needing to, and that Jean-Paul had been his only escape route.  He’d been lucky, so lucky, in all this, he re-affirmed to himself.  He’d felt a lot less lucky about it since moving in here, but that wasn’t really on the people or the place, since they all seemed to click together tidy-as-all-get-out.  Figuratively tidy.  Feeling dejected and out of sorts all the time because he found the environment stressful was a stupid way to interface with free housing that had come along when he needed it, Dan made another point of it to himself while he ate his way through a chickenwing.  It was sublimely greasy in the most fantastically covert way, the savoury tide of runny melted fat being held around the muscles and bones by a faintly fryer-popped mantle of crisp fried skin that was seasoned delectably with something very salty and faintly sweet, salt and MSG and some kind of spice; he vectored in on it out of appreciation, feeling high on chicken.  He was pretty sure there weren’t wings like this for delivery in Vic.  The closest thing he could think of was the little deep fried wings at kfc, which came frozen and preseasoned unlike all the other bone-in chicken, and dropped in the fry oil station baskets in the prep area, away from the piece production kitchen.  The wings were pointedly small and yet, pointedly expensive, so no one who didn’t eat them for free ever got them, but they were leagues ahead of anything else on the menu in terms of their desirability to Dan and their actual nutritive food-value by weight. And the wings from this place a few blocks away were at least twice as good as those wings, if not three times.  And it wasn’t just because they were three times larger for the same price, or that he was embedded currently in the process of wasting away from not eating enough.  They were actually just, better. Freshness, he found the attribution.  They sell these things all night every night, that’s why it’s perfect.

Pete had been making quick work on his own wingfeast, piling up bones on a container lid as he went, looking pleased.  “I know, right,” he said to Dan cordially over the longboard table, as if he’d heard the whole thing, that whole line of thought about the wings.  It felt comfortably and uncomfortably like he had.  Pete had that way about him, Dan realized.  He assumed it was a skill Pete had developed on purpose to keep people on edge, seeming confidently aware of what you were thinking.  His older-older sister did it too, she was usually bluffing.  Dan knew how to bluff along, he could play it by ear.

“Not the worst wings I ever had,” he agreed back.

“‘Not the worst’,” Pete quoted him, laughing.  This made him feel really sharp and conversationally functional for a second before he realized that was stupid and told himself to get a grip and learn to not-care-one-way-or-the-other better.  He’d been working on not-caring-one-way-or-the-other for a long time.  It should have been paying off, by now.  “That’s so, uh, wasp-y, why can’t you guys ever just like things. Openly.  Honestly. Directly.  This is why you don’t get chicks—if that’s like, something you wonder about.”

“Yeah well, let me know when you figure out how to keep them,” Dan started, and stopped, noticing Pete was not a person with a face like he was having some fun banter with a friend.  Mouse, however, suddenly exploded with barks of laughter, spraying micromorsels of sumptuous Chinese meal into the air around him for a few seconds, mercifully derailing whatever horrifying social snafu had been about to go off in place of a spit take with a laugh track.

“I believe you have just gotten served,” Mouse chortled at Pete, clearly annoying him.  Bruce seemed to be chiming in with some giggles about it as well. Dan didn’t turn his head to look at Jean-Paul’s read, but interpreted the dense silence near his feet to mean a tongue was being bitten over there, or his friend was just apprehensive about the sudden decline in ambient camaraderie.

“You can make volleyball analogies when you’ve finished highschool equivalency. Or started it,” Pete groused at the small crumple of person just over his left shoulder, sounding like he was trying to land a hit on a sore spot.

“You are a cunt,” Mouse announced back, still sounding amused with himself and the situation.  Bruce made hooting noises at them and chanted that they should fight.  Dan couldn’t tell if it was serious or not, the goading.

“Takes one to get some,” Pete primly deflected.  “Eat some fries, you look thin.”  He handed a box of no-longer-steamyfresh fries over. Mouse had only eaten meat so far, picking at each different kind in turn.

“Disgusting,” Mouse told him, eating fries anyway.  Dan wasn’t sure he meant the fries.  It hadn’t occurred to him before now to wonder about who Mouse thought about dating, if anyone.  Now that it had, he assumed it was a short and fraught list, if it existed at all.  

So this is it, the thought gelled, this is a night in at Maison Rokkoku. He watched the currently-playing movie for a second, trying to get his bearings in the image as it traversed another image, the sunflowers. He couldn’t make sense of what the action on screen was.  A fight or something, or some kind of choreographed routine.  Oh it was sports; he finally hit on the swing of things and magic-eye style it all settled into coherence.  They were watching some old football team underdog, come-from-behind, island of misfit toys-type romper room feelgood fan favourite or whathaveyou.  

[st-kristopher]

I. 000 - Destiny Islands - Prologue

Although every day felt like summer here on the island, it was inevitable that this day would come. She's long prepared for it, but the magnitude of pain she'd experience wouldn't change regardless.

"Better hurry up or I'll leave you behind!" her lips were a natural rose, skin the color of bronzed mahogany.

Three kids trailed behind their mother, the first was a boy of about seven or eight years old, a mop of raven black hair made the bulk of his head.

"Loma!" he complained to the girl behind him, same age, however engrossed in a GameBoy console.

"Yeah, yeah." she responded quickly, eyes lit by the intensity of the button mashing.

"Sadia, ¿estás bien allí? (are you okay back there?)" called their mother from the font of the line. A little one, wearing a bright yellow sundress and matching hat walked forward happily, one hand grasped on the hanging strap of her sister's overalls.

"Yes Mama!" she chirped.

"Mijo (son), get your sister out of the clouds." Their mother was dressed casually, in a flowing red blouse tucked into her blue denim shorts. Her majestic black hair rolled in waves below her wide brimmed straw hat, decorated with a bright cluster of marigolds.

The boy turned around and frowned; "Hey!"

No reply. Only an aggressive 'oof'.

"Heyyyyyyy!" without hesitation he snatched the GameBoy right from Loma's hands. "It's family time!" he yelled.

"Abel!!!!!" Loma screamed and charged, but Abel made a beeline for his mother. Sadia yelped as she frighteningly let go of her sister, who embarked in a murderous game of 'catch me if you can' with her brother. It didn't take long for Sadia to start crying.

The matriarch, who was pulling a wagon full of beach essentials sighed, coming to a halt before the sandbar.

As Abel and Loma chased each other on the beach, their mother scooped up Sadia, offering a compassionate smile.

"Don't let anyone ever leave you behind, you hear mi reinita (my little queen)." she cooed. Sadia giggled. She loved when her mother called her that.

★☆★☆★☆★☆

Laying on a colorful and large tribal printed towel underneath a beach umbrella, a mother watched her children as they screamed and splashed in the water. Other local kids who came to the beach that day quickly joined in on the commotion.

A woman with brown hair walked up to the blanket; "Ama!" she waved.

Ama lowered her black cat-eyed sunglasses; "Hey girl! Take a seat!"

Ama patted the spot next to her, to which the woman happily joined.

"Interested in a drink?" Ama opened the cooler and offered her a glass bottle labeled 'Crystal Soda'.

"Oh you know that's one of my favorites!" she giggled.

"Where's that little runt Sora?" Ama questioned, the woman laughed and motioned over to the water.

"Right over there with Riku, they've been introducing the new girl to everyone."

Ama took another bottle of Crystal Soda out of the cooler, popping the cap off with ease. "New girl you say?"

"Oh Ama, you know. She came here during the meteor shower, the mayor adopted her."

"Point her out to me." Ama took out two straws, handing one over to the brown haired woman. She stuck the white plastic tube into the bottle.

"You can't miss her, she's the one with burgundy hair. It's quite vibrant."

Ama peered at the group of kids playing in the waves. Sora was introducing her to Abel, Loma, and Sadia, quite loudly too. That kids so obnoxious. she thought.

The six of them were all smiles, especially when the new girl decided to push Sora right into an incoming wave. They all laughed. Innocent, untainted laughter.

"Mmm, what's her name?"

"Kairi. Pretty isn't it? Sora adores her already. She's all he talks about at home!"

"Sounds like your boy's got his first crush!" gushed Ama with a sharp chuckle.

"They're just kids, and actually, I don't think this is the first time he's been so enamoured with someone either. I have a hunch." The brown haired woman's blue eyes flicked over to Riku for a moment.

"So where did she come from anyway?" Ama took an audible sip from her soda bottle.

"No one knows. Although there are rumors she comes from....elsewhere." The woman looked longingly towards the sea.

"There has to be something more across these waters. That's what Sora believes at least." she continued with a tired sigh.

"Yet another topic he never seems to stop talking about."

Ama's eyes sharpened underneath her sunglasses. "Don't be ridiculous. Your making it sound like she's some kind of alien."

"The islands are all I've ever known. But I don't have a problem with that, I'm happy here." The brown haired woman smiled; Ama sympathized.

"As long as we have our kids, it doesn't matter where we are." she stated.

The brown haired woman' nodded; "Of course, although I know it's been difficult...without a father figure in their lives..."

Ama didn't flinch at the notion of single motherhood, at this point she deemed herself a parental master, but she wasn't about to make that spiky headed runt's mother feel bad.

"Death is a cycle of life. The reaper comes for some sooner than others, however..."

Ama pursed her lips compassionately at the brown haired woman, this next thought was always a comfort to her.

"If we always remember our loved ones from the past....they'll never die."

★☆★☆★☆★☆

As the evening winded down, Ama and the rest of her brood made it back home before the twilight darkened into night. She was a bit tired from the hooting and hollering of her kids, but she was glad they had a good time.

They lived in a small suburban cottage on a grassy knoll, two bedrooms and one bathroom. The twins slept in one room, and Sadia slept with her mother.

In the kitchen Ama was putting the finishing touches on that evening's dinner, a home cooked meal straight from the pages of her mother's old recipe book.

Sadia stood next to Ama, watching the red sauce in the pan cackle to life from the heat. "Are you gonna put that sauce on top?" she asked.

"Yes mija (daughter)." Next to Ama was a tray full of tortillas wrapped and stuffed with cheese and chicken.

" Are you gonna put cheese on top?" Ama couldn't help but laugh.

"Well of course! Otherwise I wouldn't be able to call it enchiladas."

As soon as she finished cooking, Ama made four plates of food and set them on the table. "La comida esta listo! (the food's ready)"

Ama loved to watch her kids relish in the food she made; "Wow! Mama this is delicious!" exclaimed Abel.

"Mmmmm...." was the only sound Loma could make while she stuffed her face, Sadia smiled after every bite.

Ama hoped her mother was proud, despite all the chaos she went through every day thanks to her energetically charged children, she was still able to tame them with a warm cooked meal at the end of the day.

"Did you have fun at the beach? Sora's mom told me about Kairi."

Abel was the first to speak; "She was kind of quiet at first, but it didn't take long for her to have fun with us."

"I thought she was a weirdo." shrugged Loma, mid-chew.

Ama frowned. "Paloma, why would you say something like that, huh? That's not a very nice thing to say."

"I'm sorry! It's just this feeling I got, I dunno." Paloma's mother sighed.

"I like her. She was nice to me. She told me she's gonna teach me how to make stuff." Sadia offered the table a toothy grin.

"I liked hanging out with her too. I'm glad Sora and Riku are her friends already. I can tell she used to be lonely." continued Abel.

"Well duh, she's lonely 'cause her parents abandoned her!" offered Paloma.

"We can't jump to conclusions mija (daughter), we don't know anything about her situation. The only thing you need to worry about is making her feel welcomed."

Loma shrugged and went back to eating; Ama looked over at her with a concerned look, Paloma was by far the most outspoken of the three, not to mention the most rebellious in nature.

Abel was a nice boy who tried to do the right thing all the time, but Ama could tell actively 'trying' to be a good person twenty-four seven put a strain on him....and Sadia, the youngest, was a helpless little thing, very attached to her mother, or anyone she's close to, anyone who can guide her through life. Ama often thought she's become a little too dependent on others.

They were flawed individuals, but they were only children. And all people, no matter how young or old they were, have flaws, including their very own mother.

Ama got up from the table and headed toward the fridge; "And for dessert, I proudly announce...."

"Your favorite, tres leches cake!" All three of her kids gasped; "A slice for each of you."

The white frosted spongy cake had always been an absolute hit within her family. There was no one in this world who could ever say they didn't like tres leches cake.

Abel, Paloma, and Sadia pierced their slices with a fork as soon as their plate hit the table.

The corners of Ama's rosey lips stretched into a smile. "The rest of the cake is in a pink box in the fridge, but absolutely no cake for breakfast. Entiendes? (understand?)"

All she got in response was a chorus of inaudible 'yes mama's'; Ama laughed, her children were savages.

"You know, I love you guys. Each and every one of you. Very, very much." She then proceeded to give each of her offspring a hug and a wet kiss, whether they wanted it or not. Paloma was the one who was usually most resistant to mother-daughter affection.

"Okay, stop! Your embarrassing!" cried Paloma, as she broke away from the embrace. She disappeared into her room, probably to play her GameBoy no doubt. I regret ever buying her that thing.

The rest of the evening proceeded with board games and jolly laughter between Ama, Abel, and Sadia. At some point though, Ama decided to check up on her eldest daughter, whose already been in her room for over an hour and a half since dinner.

It took two knocks until Paloma yelled "Come in!"

Opening the door fully, Ama tilted her head at her daughter, who laid on the bed mashing buttons on her GameBoy, just as she had been doing all day.

"We're playing loteria (bingo), wanna join us?" she asked.

"No, I'm okay."

"Are you sureeee?" Ama tried sounding as obnoxious as possible, which only made Loma roll her eyes.

"I'm too old for that."

"Or maybe you're too old for that." Ama pointed at her GameBoy, which caused her daughter to scoff.

"Can you just leave me alone right now? I'm almost done with this level!"

Ama sighed. "Okay, have a goodnight then mija (daughter)." she leaned over and kissed Paloma's head of dark hair before returning to the den.

As the clock crept closer to eleven, Ama wrapped up a night of fun and put Sadia to bed.

Meanwhile Abel helped clean up the kitchen, including the dishes; Ama shook her head at the sight.

"You don't have to do that." she stated tiredly.

"It's okay, I wanna help."

"You always wanna help mijo (son)." Ama ruffled his thick black hair; "Never lose that. You should always want to help people. "

"Working on anything big tomorrow for work?" asked her son.

"Probably another wedding dress." Ama joked.

"Did you like being married....to dad?" Abel's voice remained calm, although his father's been on his mind quite frequently the past month.

Ama didn't expect such a deep question so late at night, then again, she knew Abel had been in deep thought recently.

"Of course. I loved him. But the universe sometimes has different plans for us." Ama didn't sound sad but accepting, she's cried enough for one lifetime already.

"I miss him, a lot." sighed Abel.

Ama put a loving hand to Abel's cheek; "I know mijo (son)."

The night was slightly colder than usual, but the day was just like any other. As soon as her three children went to bed, Ama knew it was time.

★☆★☆★☆★☆

"Man, why does Riku always ace his tests!?" complained Paloma.

Ama's three children were walking back home from school that day, little to her brother's surprise, Paloma was in a mood.

"He looks like he studies...Something you should start doing Loma. Instead of playing that GameBoy all the time."

Loma sneered at Abel, while Sadia made a dash towards the door. She was excited to tell her mom more about Kairi and her knack for crafts. Today she taught her how to make charms.

"Mama!" Sadia called as she entered the house. Paloma and Abel were right behind her arguing, but the youngest didn't pay them any mind. When Sadia didn't get a response, a feeling of dread pierced her stomach.

"Mama?" Nobody was in the kitchen, which was strange because Ama was usually home before the kids got back from school. She'd be cooking dinner when they'd arrive.

"Mama?!" Sadia yelled this time as her heart began beating with anxiety.

"Mom's not here!"

Abel raised an eyebrow at Sadia's bewilderment, "Well maybe she went to the store."

Loma opened the refrigerator door, but the shelves were fully stacked. "Hmmm, I dunno for what. The fridge is full of food."

"Maybe she's with Sora or Riku's mom. Their friends after all." he suggested

"She should've left a note then!" exclaimed Sadia. Paloma and Abel exchanged concerned glances.

The three kids searched the house up and down, the backyard, and front yard, but nothing. Abel called Sora and Riku's residence on the house phone, but Ama wasn't there either.

"Abel. Sadia." Paloma's voice was grim. "I found it."

Back in the kitchen Loma held a white letter up, face a sickly white. Her siblings quickly joined her, and once they realized what was going on, their expressions matched their sister's.

Sadia began to cry.

[alltheworldsaroulette]

News Archives from ComicFury

These are old updates that are still on my old website, which will likely remain up.  I may also use the old site as a backup for my posts in case anything happens to the main website.  As you will see if you read these, I had a pretty rough start and re-wrote the comic at least twice.  This time I plan to see it through, but these show how rocky my progress was at first.  So here we go, in order from oldest to newest:

What’s to come?

25th Nov 2014, 10:08 PM

"Gee, Starr!  That's a nice cover you got there, but what the heck is the actual comic going to look like??"

I'm still debating on the exact coloring style, but I can tell you it will be MUCH simpler than the covers are.  I don't have the energy or time to fully color every single page like that, but I promise to make it look nice, and even give my viewers a say.  Keep an eye out for a post on my dA asking your opinions on which coloring style I should use for this comic.  Actually, I'm just gonna do this:

Here's what I'm thinking about doing.  And just any type of feedback is GREATLY appreciated, especially for a starting comic artist like me.

I'm going to try to get on a natural schedule for myself, but I can't promise anything right now.  I hope you'll put up with my possible inconsistancy pffffff.

Thanks for stopping by, and have a good one!

Til next time,

Starr Myers*

We’re off to a good start!

14th Dec 2014, 5:02 PM

And I have SO MUCH planned for this comic.  I think I'm over-doing myself, but man am I excited.  To give a basic idea of how I'm going to be organizing everything in the future, there will be three books, each with two arcs with parallel points of view from the same two characters: Julie and Eileen.  Each arc will have however many chapters it takes to finish it, and who knows how long each chapter will be.  Though, I can tell you now that (Arc 1) chapter 1 will be very long while chapter 2 will be very short.  That's about it for now!  ENJOY MY SLOW-ISH UPDATES HAHA! <3

~Starr Myers*

Hiatus

14th Feb 2015, 12:07 AM

I know it's a little early for any of that, but I'm running slow on updates, and it's embarrassing.

If you haven't read the comment under my most recent page, I will in fact be putting this comic on a hiatus for awhile.  But, never fear!  I will be working my arse off to get tons and tons of pages drawn and colored and ready for the internet!  I will just be holding off on posting them for quite awhile until I have enough to set up my not-so-long dreamt of schedule of twice per week.  This un-hiatusing will likely not occur until I am good and settled in my new home.  I have several months of school left to get through before I graduate, and then it's off to Arkansas!  However, I may lack internet for awhile once I am moved.  So, once that is up and ready and delicious, I promise to start posting as soon as possible again.

I really hope anyone who comes across this comic will put it on their back burner or something for later because I do plan to return with so much more development on it and a better grip on the scheduling and what not.  Also, since I'm an indecisive little cat-girl, I am currently considering scratching my previously mentioned idea of splitting the comic into two points of view, and just sticking with Julie's ALREADY SUPER LONG (as planned) point of view, leaving room for some shorter side stories.  I'm pretty scared as it is taking on this kind of commitment, and I don't want to get burnt out!

Not to worry guys.  I'll still be on deviantART everyday to update more often on my ideas and art and everything else.  You will likely get a warning there, and possibly here, shortly before I move.  And as for Julie and her new alien target, they will see you all soon enough.

Bye for now! <3

Temporary Hiatus Drop

23rd Jun 2015, 7:12 PM

I am breaking my hiatus for the next 8 pages in order to give some more content for a contest I'm entering JR in.  So, until page 18, the hiatus is broken!  Huzzah! :3

HERE is the contest, if anyone else is interested in entering.

Re-planning and re-drawing

30th Sep 2015, 12:09 PM

I took a look back at my original script and realized that a lot went unexplained in the actual comic as well as some things later being rather juvenile-sounding and even badly written.  The comic was too blocky with the 4-part plan thing going on (I plan WAY ahead).  Now I'm going to mix things up a bit to give it a more natrually flowing structure, a deeper story, and actual exposition.

Beginning with CHAPTER 0, the entire comic will be re-drawn (which isn't much since I'm only at 20 pages).

To be frank, I haven't had the motivation to get any further than that, which was really my fault.  I was too busy writing random roleplays that had nothing to do with the canon story and otherwise being lazy.  I'm still going to be lazy, but I have more confidence in the story now and much better writing skills that I picked up from some admirable sources.  So far, hiatus isn't the best thing for me (though in a way, it was to give me time to fart around and finally come to the conclusion that the story needed to be modified), but I'm not quite sure what I'll do for uploads.  I'm thinking I'll ditch the schedule for now, and just upload based on bulk.  5-10 pages per update: how does that sound? =3 That way I can still work at my own pace and have little minestones to motivate me.

So, I guess I will see you in 5 pages, since ch. 0 is already written and ready to be drawn. <3

Refreshing

8th Aug 2016, 8:09 PM

Okay!  So... I haven't updated in almost a year and I feel TERRIBLE about that.  I don't even know what happened.  There was an OCT and moving boxes and visiting family and just... so much stuff, as well as a major artist's block and lack of motivation (which is what originally caused me to stop working on the comic).

A quick update: I am changing the font in all the current pages to Steel City Comic, which can be found at 1001Fonts.com, and it's free for commercial use.  I changed it because the previous font, Comic Book, was not, and I want to be precautious in case I ever do make money off my art. I'm also snipping out the scene that page 5 transitions to (with Boss and the Chief alone in his office) because I found it took the focus away from the first scene too quickly and may have confused the narrative.  I decided to go ahead and do this since I'm still so early in the drawing process.  I can afford to redo one more page.

Also, one good thing that has happened since I "left" (I never really left, I just wasn't drawing comics): My YouTube channel is finally active and I have a schedule and plans and such.  I unfortunately do not have a schedule set for the comic updates yet because I don't know if I can do five pages a week yet, and one page per week sounds agonizingly slow for the viewers.  So I'm sticking to uploading whenever I finish a five-page bulk, but the difference this time is that I am integrating the work into my schedule.  I will upload videos every Thursday, and in between making videos I will draw as much as possible, whether it's the comic or personal art or commissions.  This does not mean the bulks will be uploaded every week, it just means I will definitely be working on them every week.  But I am determined to get back on this comic.  It's time to get JR off the ground.

Thanks to anyone who has been watching the comic for being so patient.  I hope it's not too late for you to enjoy the story. =3

[manshootswedding]

Business cards and why mine is the best.

Here's a few business cards i've put together.  You can see the evolution of my design.

Brace yourself for a long winded rant about my business cards. You kinda asked for it... those were a lot of Facebook comments. 

      So Zazzle who I typically use for my business card had a little bit of a trimming mishap when producing my cards. This means I get new cards, in fact I get a credit and can actually adjust them. The thickness or weight of the card was so thick that during the cutting process the sheets shifted slightly. I had text very close to the edge and it showed any slight deviation. I only noticed it while dropping off a set of business cards.

     So I've put this out to my friends on Facebook. I was mostly looking for feedback on my red hat that I want to include. I've spent a lot of time designing my card to stand apart from everyone else. Typically everyone does the same exact thing. Name, Phone, E-mail, logo and maybe a slogan. Think about how many business cards look exactly the same. 

     The design of my business card has been the same with minor adjustments over the past five years. One side is always a large image of my logo, large enough to read if it's on the ground or a table. I've chosen the chubby size cards instead of the standard for two reasons, it stands out and doesn't fit behind other cards nicely. The second reason is it's different, it's usually been a tear-proof material which is always an interesting challenge to my clients to tear it up. 

     So I appreciate everyones input for the cards. Some of the advice I totally understand. Use a beautiful image you've shot, use this font, why is the phone number so big. This is not a card which I've put together quickly. It's been made to stand out from the pack.  A thousand cards will probably last me most of the year. Brides and grooms who typically end up with my card end up with it because they are in my office. Most people are finding me on Google, Facebook, Instagram or a random phone call. If these were being used for a wedding expo I would probably have something a bit different. 

     One of the biggest things with photographer is everyone happens to use a camera aperture for a logo (myself included, guilty). So I changed my logo a year or two back to something a littler bit more reflective of who and what. It now includes the words wedding which is my focus. I also have the dot come in the logo as well so now I don't have to do any additional dot come references elsewhere in the card. The main goal of my card is for it to stand apart from everyones no matter what business's card it's next to. My business name was believe it or not an AIM handle back in 1996 which was unity1818. Unity is an Operation Ivy song, not a Queen Latifah jam. It ended up as a placeholder for my website because I eventually needed one. Unity happens to work as a name for a business name but unity photography is actually taken by another photographer named Ken who I've actually met in real life. Anyways the reason I mention this is logos are hard and also very much essential to pull together a website, business card and any branding you may want to do. I didn't get to do anything cute like Two cranes photography or jumping cat photo. I based mine off a teenage Aol Instant Messenger name. 

     The giant phone number is something that takes people a second to grasp sometimes. I've had lots of people pick it up and say what is this and then it clicks. Then I have a few different sentences fit above, in-between and below the giant phone number. So whoever has already picked up my card because they don't understand the giant numbers at first and now they're reading all these sentences i've put on my card which is done is a very small font.  So they've spent anywhere from fifteen seconds to twenty seconds reading this side of my business card. I just times myself doing it from picking it up and skimming through everything. 

TEXT LISTED CURRENTLY ON MY BUSINESS CARD

Follow me on Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, Google+ and Facebook. Visit my website to find all my social media links.

Wow, this is a very impressive business card. Thank you, I agree. If you find this impressive then wait until you see my photos.

The number on this card is my phone number. Please visit my website to send me a more formal message.

Don't lose this card. Int has your future wedding photographer's contact info on it.

There is a rhyme to my reason.... is that even a saying?

     So think about how long it takes for you to usually comprehend information on anyones business card. You look at a logo, an address maybe, hours possibly, phone and e-mail. I've already gotten almost twenty seconds of someones time. I've told them where they can find my social media links. I've directed them to my website to send me a message. I personally don't like a random e-mail from someone with a simple sentence "HOW MUCH" "WHAT ARE YOUR PACKAGES". So I love to direct people to my website where I have a proper contact form and more importantly all the information.  I've also included a little bit of my humor by saying how impressive the business card is. If you didn't get what the numbers were or skipped over the numbers in favor for a full sentence then it's explained here with the above text. I've also told them how important the card is and not to lose it, it has your future wedding photographers info on it. Okay, that last sentence is a little cocky but it's cool, I know I rock.

    So if you found this card and and saw all this information you would be able to get a quick snippet of who I am, personality wise possibly. As a wedding photographer i'm the person you'll have the most contact with during a wedding day. I'm literally with a bride all day long give or take some distance. The big thing I try to convey when I meet a bride and groom is the attitude of easy going. I'm very easy going, in fact most of my meetings i'm wearing that red hat and a hoodie. More meetings happen in the winter time. I'm also friending all of my brides and grooms on Facebook at some point. Since i'm spending the entire day with someone it totally benefits me to keep them in a good, relaxed and happy mood. Some of that comes from the informality of most of my approaches. I have brides contact me at eleven at night with a simple question or on Facebook on a Sunday afternoon. I'm very accessible and I make sure the bridal couple knows this. My goal is to have it feel like a friend is shooting your wedding. 

     With my current design i've chosen to remove some of the text to focus more on branding myself with my favorite object, a red hat. Affectionally worn for the past six years solid or so. I'm regularly recognized everywhere for this hat. Currently it's a red winter hat from American Eagle but i've also had many other variations of this red hat. I can't really wear baseball caps when I shoot outdoors and fedoras or these winter caps have always hung around me. I've actually gotten to meet a lot of my Facebook friends in public because they spot me somewhere in Worcester, Boston, NYC. It's a very bold color and my attire doesn't really have to match the hat. What i'm doing by including the red hat with my business cards are training anyone who ends up with this card to eventually be able to spot that exact red hat. Think about it. You have this random card with a red hat, phone, name, wedding photographer and you see a random photographer with the same exact hat. Chances are you are going to come up and say hi and tell me about how you ended up with the card. 

I'm going to meander a bit, follow along.

     So beyond wedding photography I actually do a number of things. One of those things being web design. When I meet someone who asks for photos or video the first thing I ask is what it's being used for. They tell me they want to put it on their website or Facebook. The next question I ask is to see their website and from there I see their website is angelfire or geocities hosted (antiquated reference, totally worth googling). So from there I talk to them about web design in addition to photos. So I can put togethers someone website pretty easily with a few photos and rearranging information. Here's the other thing I do, consulting work. 

     What is consulting work as it applies to you? Okay, thats a question being asked to me if that didn't make sense there. What I do is interview a business owner and pull out content to add to their website. Often times while explaining things it leads to other questions which inadvenrtuly conclude with a change in their own business's infrastructure. One of the best questions you can ask someone is "What would this look like if it were easy". It's a question you can ask any business owner. It helps them identify a problem area and provide the easiest solution and then we can work on the actual route to getting there. I also will call out an weak areas in their dealings and suggestions I may have to changing routine. 

     So I deal with many different businesses and these owners all happen to be around Worcester and Boston and every once and awhile I get recognized in a Starbucks or while on the job shooting somewhere. I'm training everyone as well as brides, grooms to recognize and associate the red hat with Michael Hendrickson, wedding photographer. 

I have time.

So hopefully everyone will understand my reasoning a little bit better now. It's not simply a harsh design choice. I've slowly evolved it from the very simple to the more complex. My goal with my cards are to stand apart from everyone and I fear being similar to everyone else will make me blend a little too much. I've spent a few minutes to design some of what everyone's asked for in a business card just to appease some.

I've made a few quick mock-ups of what some think would make a good business card. I've also reverted the size back to a standard business card size. This is not a dig on anyone. This is suggestions i've gotten on the initial thread on Facebook as well as in private messages.