#anyway it was really nice to work with Anita and being part of this event 😄✨

[diamondsheep]

Hi !!! I'm really happy to share my piece for Enmity : A ZoSanZo Bang, In collaboration with CurlyStrawHat ✨

I had tons of fun working on this illustration, since I absolutely loved this fic and all it's magic 💚💛 ( Here is the link of this amazing fic !)

I hope that you guys enjoy this fantastic love story 💖!!

[brucewaynehater101]

I had an AU, that at this point is more of a headcanon for me, that I thought you might enjoy because it's a nice mix of angst, Tim not thinking things are as bad as they very clearly are, and some fluff.

So it's pretty widely accepted that the Bats don't really know anything about Tim's days with Young Justice right? Like they might know one or two small facts, but they don't know that the gang blew up Mount Rushmore, any of the times the DEO tried to arrest them and drag them into Government Labs for experimentation, or that time they went to a Disco Themed Hell with Supergirl. They sure as hell don't know about any of the things that happened with Secret and Harm. Even though Tim would canonically be gone for days at a time (some of his adventures, mainly the one when they were gone for THE ENTIRE WINTER OLYMPICS) with no one noticing. One time they were in space and had enough time to not only go to Darksied's planet but spent WEEKS there and when they got back still not even Batman knows that Tim was even gone.

Anyways, all this to say. If Tim vanished for a month or two and just said he was spending time with Young Justice again while sending in case files and stuff to keep Bruce busy, I don't think anyone would notice. Nor would they notice if he suddenly switched from being Right Handed to being Left Handed and then after months of practice he goes back to being right handed. It's such a small change after all.

So here's the headcanon. On a Young Justice mission, something goes horribly wrong and Tim full on looses his hand. It's simply gone. The reason no one knows or notices is that he got a robotic replacement, a very realistic looking one like Roy Harper has, that he spent a few months learning how to work with and then went to physical therapy for it for years. It's just part of his life now and he thinks everyone knows, after all. How could they miss it? Jason has seen his palm open with a screw driver deep in his wires. Jason thought he was still tripping from fighting Scarecrow a few hours before. Not a single person outside of Cassie, Tim, Kon, Bart, Greta, Anita, Slobo, and Cissie knows that Tim is missing his right arm just below his elbow for almost 5 years.

That is until Tim has been up for 4 days straight and Dick says something about needing a hand with something and in a moment of sleep deprived brilliance, Tim takes off his hand, and throws it at Dick.

Yes! I love this AU/hc. There is a fic that kind of has this situation: "I told you about that... Didn't I?" by weewoow_070603. Jason is the one to find out, though.

I like the details you added in this AU that the fic (as far as I remember) didn't add: Tim being gone is a regular thing, the fear toxin with Jason, the months of physical therapy, etc.

I do think something as vital as this would happen to Tim, and he'd just forget to tell his family. At first, he tries to hide it. He doesn't want to deal with their fretting, the lectures, the scolding, and them getting involved. He has it handled, after all. After a while, he forgets that he should hide it and why he did in the first place. Then someone finds out, and he's confused why they don't know such a common place thing.

I'm also super glad you tied in all those YJ examples that you did. People tend to focus on the space baseball or Santa Clause (which I love those events too), so it was refreshing to see other events as examples.

[detectivedreameater]

Missed Reservations||Anita and Marley

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @professoranieves​ SUMMARY: This wasn’t the threesome either of them wanted. CONTENT WARNINGS: Gun violence, Death

This wasn’t a date. Obviously. Marley just liked pushing buttons, and it seemed Anita was still willing to play. She wasn’t sure what about Anita drew her in, but Marley found herself coming back to her more and more. She liked Anita, and Anita played along with her stupid antics. Even after the whole phlizard mess. And it was nice, to have someone around that she could just be easy and casual with. And that knew but didn’t know. Someone that wasn’t afraid to look her in the eye, even with their red glow. And so, she’d dressed up a little. Not too much, because this wasn’t anything like that-- but a little. Nicer pants, no jeans. A real blouse, not just a button up, and a blazer instead of her normal leather jacket-- though she did opt to grab it on her way out. Just in case. 

The drive to Anita’s was short, despite how close to the lake she lived. Marley had driven down the street to her place many times in the past week since the lake had been declared not safe, but it was refreshing to take the turn into the neighborhood instead of the turn to the boathouse. She remembered the house from last time she’d been there, noting specifically how different the inside and outside looked. Anita liked warm colors. It fit right in with Marley’s theory of what she was. Lifting her hand, Marley knocked on the door, putting on a cheeky smile for when Anita answered the door.

Anita was still a bit uneasy with how much she was seeing Marley recently. There was obvious attraction between them, and it definitely didn’t fade even after discovering that they were both less than human. If anything, for Anita anyway, that was part of what made her keep going back for more. She’d never knowingly been with someone who wasn’t human, and it was refreshing. She still kept her guard up, but part of the reason she cut people off after one night was the fear of them finding out about her. With Marley, that fear largely didn’t exist anymore. After she got home from work and took a steaming hot shower, Anita threw on a short black skirt and a bright patterned shirt. She finished her look with some nice high heels and a jacket. She was just finishing up her hair when she heard the knock at the door. A grin spread across her face as she saw Marley. “Well, you sure clean up nice. All that just for me?” She teased. 

“Hey, I can look nice when I feel the effort is worth it,” Marley said with a bright smile. She didn’t even have her sunglasses on right now, though they were tucked safely inside her jacket pocket, lest she feel the need to wear them. But with Anita, she felt no reason to. “Besides, you never know who else might be watching, right?” She held out her hand. “Sorry I didn’t bring flowers. Or a boombox. But I figured since this isn’t a date, it doesn’t matter,” she teased back. “Although I will do that thing where I say you look rather good. Not that you don’t always look good, whether you’re in a bathing suit, clothes, or, you know,” she shrugged with a cheeky grin, “naked.” Stepped aside. “Shall we?”

An uncomfortable chill ran down Anita’s spine at the mention of someone watching them. She didn’t let that get to her though, why would anyone be watching them anyway? “Definitely not a date.” She echoed, stepping out onto the front porch and closing and locking the door behind her. Despite some basic research, Anita was still not able to figure out exactly what Marley was. Probably because all she had to go on were those mesmerizing red eyes and the occasional intangibility. Anita grinned, nudging Marley slightly. “You know, now that you mention it, you look very good naked too. In fact, I think we both might be at our peak attractiveness when we’re fully naked.” Anita softly placed her hand on the other woman’s cheek, then pulled her in for a kiss. “You know, we could always skip dinner and jump right to the being naked part.”  

Marley couldn’t help but notice the momentary stiffness in Anita’s body as she stepped out. She wondered what could’ve caused it, but didn’t chance the glance away. It was both a gift and a curse, to always see everything through the lens of a behavioral profiler. She tried to brush it away, though, and smiled. “I think you might be right,” she agreed, leaning in as Anita kissed her, letting it linger for a moment, as if she were debating the offer. “But I made reservations,” she said with a fake pout, scraping her teeth along her bottom lip as she looked at Anita. “And you promised.”

Anita smirked softly and raised an eyebrow, “You made reservations? You sure you’re not trying to hijack this and turn it into a date?” She teased, then started walking towards Marley’s car. “But fine, I suppose since I did promise, I owe you that much.” Realistically, Anita knew that doing anything except sleeping with Marley was a bad idea. She didn’t really want to get to know her any better, because getting to know people leads to feeling for them. And that was just not something that she was interested in doing. Once she reached the car, she turned around, leaning back against the cold metal. “For the record though, this will be the first and last time I let you take me out for dinner. No matter how hot you are.” There was a teasing tone to her voice, but she hoped the look in her eyes let Marley know that she was being mostly serious. 

Marley was mostly pleased with the turn of events, following Anita slowly towards the car, taking her time going down the drive. Enjoying the view. She wanted to know what made Anita so wary of dinner and dates. Marley knew her own reasoning for it, and she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Anita’s was similar. Maybe she’d found a sort of kindred spirit. Not that she cared to, or needed one. She was fine on her own. She had been all her life. It was just nice to know there were others like her. Licking her lips, she stopped just short of Anita on the driveway, watching her lean back against the car, tilting her head. “We’ll see,” was all she said, no inclination as to whether she was being serious or teasin, before she stepped past her and to the driver’s side. The drive was fairly quick and quiet and when they pulled up to the restaurant, she unbuckled quickly, stepping out. “So, why the Red Dragon?” 

The drive was rather quiet, giving Anita time to think about her doppelganger she saw at The Velvet Rope the other day. But her worrying was cut short when they arrived at the restaurant. She unbuckled, then walked over towards Marley. “Quiet, good food, and close to my place for a quick drive back for dessert.” She said with a smirk. The pair walked into the restaurant, and Anita was pleased to see it wasn’t very crowded. “Guess you didn’t need to make a reservation after all, huh?”  

“Wanna know a secret?” Marley asked as they approached the stand, leaning over to speak quietly so only Anita could hear, “I didn’t actually make a reservation-- Two for dinner, please!” Straightening up and speaking a little louder as the hostess greeted them. She held up two fingers and a smile and the hostess grabbed their menus, leading them back to a booth in the back. The place was unusually quiet today, and Marley, again, couldn’t help but wonder why. Sometimes she cursed her natural curious nature and her need to know everything. Trying to ignore it, she slid into the booth across from Anita. “Well, good choice, anyway. I order takeout from here all the time.”

 Anita couldn’t help but laugh, and roll her eyes. Of course she hadn’t made a reservation. “All just part of your ploy to get me to not bail on dinner plans, huh?” As they walked back to the booth, Anita felt eyes on them. Not in a light and fun way either, she felt like someone, maybe something, was watching them closely. But as she looked around, everyone that was in the restaurant seemed to be preoccupied with their own meals, and not with them. Once she sat down she decided to shake off that feeling, focusing her attention back on Marley. Well, that was one thing to note. She ate normal food more than just on dates to keep up appearances. “So, uh, is this the part where we dive into the small talk about our jobs? Or does that come after the first round of drinks?” 

 “Got me,” Marley said with a wink. She picked up the menu and perused through. She hadn’t been lying, she did order from here a lot, but not because she wanted to-- simply because the dumplings were to die for. “Oh no, uh uh,” Marley said, shaking her head, “I have a strict no shop talk policy outside of work. Otherwise, it’s all people would have me talk about. All you need to know is that I’m a detective and no, I won’t give you a ride in my cop car. But please, do fill me in about your job. All I know is that you’re a bug professor.” A grin. “Which, really...how does someone get into a job like that?”

 “What if I ask for a ride in your car real nice?” Anita asked, drawing out the last two words as she pressed one of her legs against Marley’s under the table. “I mean, I can be really persuasive.” Human food was okay, but Anita really didn’t have much of a preference for it. She went more for textures than flavors, so pretty much anything with the word “crunchy” in the description caught her eye. “Entomologist, not a bug professor.” She smiled coyly, partly frustrated that they were actually going to do the small talk thing, and partly fine with it because she loved talking bugs. “Well, you get a PhD in an uncommon subject, then a small town university pays you to teach their students all about the life-cycle of the praying mantis. Then before you know it you’re out with some detective who wants to hear all about it without offering anything in return.” 

 Marley felt her skin tingle as Anita pressed a leg against her own. A grin spreading on her face. “You’ll have to be very persuasive. I don’t let just anyone in my squad car,” she said back, knowing full well that if Anita asked she would say yes even without the convincing. The waiter came by for drinks and Marley ordered gin and tonic before focusing back on Anita. She seemed almost a little distracted, and Marley wasn’t about that. She leaned forward onto the table, letting the blouse she’d chosen to wear sag slightly open. “Right, entomologist. And did you always wanna be that?” Tilted her head, giving a light chuckle. “Hey, you were the one who said you weren’t interested in getting to know me better. All you gotta do is ask.”

 “I guess I’ll just have to work on my persuasion skills and try it out someday then.” Anita said with a wink. As she looked up when the waiter came by, she could have sworn she saw someone in a black and white striped shirt staring at the two of them, but then in a blink of an eye, they were gone. She tried to shake the thought from her head, there was no way she had a doppelganger following her. Even if she did, it wasn’t really what she wanted to be thinking about right now. “No? I mean, didn’t even know what it was when I was younger. But I’ve always been fascinated with bugs, so I guess I always knew I’d end up doing something with that.” She hated this question. The real answer revealed too much about her family, and while she knew it was unlikely, she really didn’t need anyone connecting the dots from her to them, least of all a detective who already knows too much. “You always wanna be a cop?” She asked, her eyes flickering away from Marley back to where she thought she had seen something, just to be sure nobody was really there watching. 

Marley watched Anita curiously, growing increasingly annoyed as her attention seemed to be pulling in different directions. She kept glancing around, as if looking for someone, or something. Marley grabbed her drink when the waitress brought them back and took a sip. “Bugs, huh? Well, at least it’s not boring,” she said with a grin, taking another drink. The alcohol felt nice in her throat, not that she needed it to enjoy the night. “Mostly,” she said offhandedly to Anita’s question. “I didn’t really think about it before I decided I wanted to be a detective when I was 13, so,” a shrug, before she followed Anita’s line of sight again. She raised a brow, setting her arm on the table, chin in her palm. “Something else catching your eye?”

Anita looked curiously at Marley. “Not a lot of 13 year olds wanna be detectives. I’d imagine.” She hated that she actually found Marley intriguing. It’d make things so much easier if she actually didn’t want to know more, but the more time they spent together, the more genuine questions she wanted to ask. The waitress came by to take their orders, and this time Anita could sense something close to them, but she couldn’t see whatever mime-infused doppelganger was following her around. “No, uh, sorry.” She replied, taking a deep breath and focusing back on her not-a-date date. “I just… don’t you feel like someone’s watching us? And not in a fun voyeuristic way?” 

“Well, when your friend is murdered in front of you and no one cares to solve it, it leaves quite the impression,” Marley said dismissively, much more interested in what it was Anita was trying to say. “Watching us?” She stiffened a little, glancing around. She was usually attentive to these things, but in her intrigue with Anita, she hadn’t been paying too much attention. The waitress had come by for their orders, but Marley told her to give them a few more minutes. “You sure you’re not just saying this to get out of dinner?” she said, but now that Anita had pointed it out, she could almost feel it, too. A chill up her spine. Not that she ever got scared, but it was unsettling to feel. “Maybe we should just get out of here.”

Anita froze up at Marley’s response. About a million and one questions immediately began running through her head. She knew what that was like, hell, she’d probably murdered more than a few people’s best friends back in the day. She was about to say something when Marley asked about who Anita felt was watching them. “No. If I really wanted to just get out of going to dinner I wouldn’t have let us leave my place to begin with.” She said, a linger of flirtatious teasing coming off her words, but largely her focus had pulled from just trying to flirt with Marley. “Yeah, okay, good. Let’s go.” Knowing Marley was feeling something odd too made her feel a bit less paranoid. But she still was on edge. Grabbing her coat and purse, she got up out of the booth they were sitting in and made her way to the front of the restaurant. She wasn’t willing to tell Marley everything that had happened at The Velvet Rope, but she felt it was only fair to tell her a bit. “I, uh, I think someone’s been following me for the past day or two. I think that’s who might’ve been watching us.”

Marley managed to grab her drink and take one last gulp before Anita was bolting from the booth and she was chasing after her. The nerves seemed to be rolling off her now, and Marley watched her closely, her stiff movements and shifting eyes. “You think you’re being followed?” she asked when they got outside, heading towards the car. Marley looked around, eyes narrowing. It wasn’t quite dark enough for her to feel invulnerable, but she wasn’t about to back down if someone was following Anita-- them. If someone was following them. Sharp eyes glanced around, but she didn’t see anything or anyone. Still, the feeling was there, and Marley always trusted her gut. She backed up and put a hand on Anita’s arm. “C’mon, let’s get back to yours,” she said, leading them back to the car. “Did you get a look at them? Have they been at your home?”

Anita would never admit it, but it was nice having someone around at a time like this. In the past decade or so when shit went sideways she didn’t have anyone else around to protect her. And even if Marley wasn’t doing it for any other reason than that she was a cop and it was her job, it eased her nerves ever so slightly. “I just… I saw this person at the club last night, and ever since I’ve had this uneasy feeling that I’ve been being watched. Being followed.” Anita looked up at Marley when she put her hand on her, leaning into the gesture slightly. “No? I don’t know. The club was dark. They had facepaint on. They might’ve followed me home, like I said, I’ve been having this feeling almost non-stop since last night.” Anita was pretty sure that she had a Doppelganger, which she didn’t know much about other than it mirrored the person it stalked.  What else would explain seeing an identical version of herself? She got into the passenger side of the car and sunk into the seat, her head dropped into her hands and she gently rubbed her temples trying to calm herself down. “Fuck, I’m sorry that I’m dragging you into this. You can just drop me off at home. I’ll be fine.” 

Marley helped Anita into the car, keeping an eye out around them before getting into the driver’s side herself. “Don’t be stupid, I’m not leaving you alone if you’re being followed,” she said nonchalantly, starting the car and taking off. She made sure to do a few fake turns and loops around the block to determine if anyone was following them. “Not to mention I’m a cop and it’s my job,” she tacked on quietly as she turned back onto the road Anita lived on. No headlights around meant no one had followed them in a car, but in this town, it wasn’t always necessary. She didn’t get that strange guttural feeling anymore that they were being followed as she turned off the car in the driveway. “Stay here,” she said, opening her glover box and pulling out a small revolver. She held it out to Anita. “This end?” she said, tapping the barrel, “Point it at anything that’s not me. I’m gonna check the house.” Before slipping out and taking out her ankle holster gun, locking the car, and heading up to the house.

When it came to fight or flight, Anita was always flight. But that wasn’t really an option now. She was so settled in town, and even if she wasn’t she was not about to let one creepy mystical stalker ruin her life. Her stomach curled when Marley handed her a gun, she’d never actually held one before. It was so … heavy. “Uhuh. Okay.” Shakily, Anita gripped the revolver in her hands as she watched Marley make her way down from the driveway to the house. It felt like an eternity that she sat in the car waiting for Marley to come back out. But then she saw her appear from the side of the house? That was odd. Anita got out of the car, the gun still gripped in her hands. “Is it all clear? Nobody followed us?” She asked, but as the person approaching her made her way closer, Anita knew something was wrong. “You changed? Where’d you get those clothes?” 

Marley crept up to the house and went inside. Before she even did anything else, she made sure to go intangible and shut the door. She stayed still for a moment, listening, but heard nothing. Crept through the house silently, like a shadow-- she’d done it so many times, sneaking through houses, invisible, intangible, up to the bedroom. Nightmares and more. But not this time. This time, she was there to see if someone else was in the house, and she was here to protect someone. But only because it was her job. Nothing else. She made her way through the house towards the back, gun at the ready. The hairs on her arms stood on end, which let her know that something was up. But what, she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure what compelled her, but something in her gut told her to go back, that the trouble was outside. She turned quickly to head back out front when she heard a scream-- and broke into a sprint.

Suddenly, the person Anita had been talking to started miming at her. They had the same face, they moved the same. But that was not Marley. Slowly Anita began backing away from whatever this was. Why were all of these look alikes dressed like mimes? “Sorry, I don’t speak mime.” She said, trying to make sure her voice didn’t give away how afraid she was. The gun in her hands stayed pointed at this creature. “I uh, I’m not afraid to use this.” As the creature approached her, she thought about pulling the trigger. But she didn’t really know what this thing was, and she just couldn’t bring herself to take another life. She felt the grasp of the creature, it grabbed her shoulders and slammed her up against the car. Feeling helpless, Anita let out a scream, writhing trying to break free from the grasp of this creature. Her only hope was that Marley could get there. 

Marley sprinted straight out the front door, leaping down the front steps and skidding into the driveway. Someone had grabbed Anita and was pressing her against the car and-- no, not someone, her! Marley faltered for only a moment. Whatever it was, she was, they were doing, she didn’t care. Anyone who hurt someone she liked didn’t get a chance to answer questions. It was shoot first, ask later. Marley swept up the drive, aimed, and fired. Eyes flashing anger as she rounded the corner, barrel still smoking. Whatever it was-- a doppleganger or someone imitating her, or whatever-- it didn’t matter to Marley. No one took her face. She finally lowered her gun, putting it back in the holster, looking over at Anita. “Are you o--” she started, but the thing on the ground was suddenly standing back up, grabbing at Marley. Marley swerved, grabbing her throat, eyes flashing again. She glared into her own eyes, her own face-- covered in white paint. She hated it. She hated this. She was so over mimes and mimes stabbing people and mimes hurting people and mimes exploding on people. With a single inhale, she stole the breath straight from the mime of herself, hand on her neck. When the body turned limp, she let go and the body dropped to the ground. Marley took a moment to herself, to calm, before turning to look back at Anita. “Okay...where was I...are you okay?”

Anita was about to resort to Plan B, using her venom on this thing, when she heard the bang. The vibrations from the noise was so loud it disoriented her a little bit. Slowly she slid down the side of the car until she was almost sitting on the pavement. There was something wet on her face, blood she presumed. But when she brought her hand up to touch it but when she brought her fingers down to her eyes, she didn’t see red, but black. What the hell was that? Her heart started pounding fast, and she gasped when the mime creature got back up. She watched Marley in awe as she seemingly sucked the life out of the thing. Her chest got tight and she felt like she was seeing stars. “I don’t think so.” She stared at the creature, trying to figure out what was happening. “I - I have one too. Last night, I saw… it looked just like me.” 

Marley looked at Anita. She was freaked out. This always happened. Always. Now she was going to be afraid of Marley, too, and right when she was starting to really like her. Sighing, Marley squatted in front of her, trying to meet her eye to eye. “Hey, hey,” she said with a soft voice, “you’re gonna be okay. It’s dead now, I promise.” She looked back at it, but something wasn’t quite right. It looked almost like it was...dissolving? In the next moment, it started smoking, with a very dark black and somehow white tinge. Marley grabbed Anita a little forcefully, tugging her up and helped her stand. “Let’s get inside,” she said. “In case more show up.” Because if Anita had one, too, that meant something really not good was going on here. 

Anita nodded, slowly bringing herself back to reality. She grabbed Marley’s arm when she reached down to her, but her eyes remained locked on the mime creature as it began to slowly dissolve right before their eyes. There was a smell, something familiar and…  buttery? She couldn’t quite place it, and she wasn’t very interested in doing so. Once she got onto her feet, she reached out for Marley without even thinking about it, clinging onto her arm. “Yeah, yeah, let’s get inside.” Anita’s heart was still pounding, and despite the fact that they had killed that Marley look-alike, Anita still felt like she was being watched. “Do you think you could stay? The night, I mean?” She asked, looking up at Marley as they walked towards her front door. 

As Marley helped Anita stand, moving quickly away from the thing with her face, she couldn’t help but feel a pang. Anita seemed more freaked out than she was letting on, but Marley wasn’t going to push it. And then she asked her to stay and Marley froze a moment. After a pause, she nodded, trying not to think about it too much. “Yeah,” she said as  they made it up to the door. “Yeah, I’ll stay.” She let Anita inside first, gently prying her off her arm. “Go inside, I’ll be right there, just need to...grab something from my car,” she said, making sure she was safe inside before heading out and going to her car. She grabbed her jacket, tazer, and dug around in some of the supplies she kept in her car. There, the motion sensor. Heading back in, she stuck it by the front door, locked it, then headed into find Anita. “House okay?” she asked, a little unsure of what to say.

It had been so long since Anita had been near a dead body, even one that dissolved into nothing shortly after being killed. Whatever that was, whoever sent it, there was one that looked just like Anita out there. No doubt just as violent a creature. “Yeah, okay.” She said with a nod, then walked through her front door, turning to watch Marley walk away. She walked inside and sat down on the couch, she felt dirty. Killing that thing was what was necessary, what was right, but that didn’t stop the flashbacks. “Yeah, house is good.” Anita shook her head softly, “What the hell was that? I mean... “ Running her fingers through her hair, she looked up to Marley. “Thank you. For what you did.” 

Marley wasn’t good at this comforting thing, but it looked like Anita really needed it. “Um,” she started out, rubbing the back of her head. She pulled her blazer off and set it on the table. “Yeah, you’re welcome. But as for what that was?” She glanced back towards the front door, “I have no idea. Dopplegangers aren’t usually that...aggressive.” She came over to where Anita was but didn’t quite sit down, wondering what the right thing to do here was. “You said there was another one? That looked just like you? Was it, uh-- mime looking like that one was, too?” Took a seat finally, keeping a small distance between them.

Anita smiled ever so slightly. “I thought it was a Doppleganger at first too.” She settled into the couch, wrapping her arms around her own torso. “Yeah, it was a mime too.” This was possibly the first time that Anita had been alone with Marley that she wasn’t the least bit interested in having sex with her. But she still wanted her to be around. Which was a strange feeling, a new feeling. She wasn’t entirely sure if she liked it. For a little while she sat in silence, feeling both incredibly awkward and also slightly comforted. “I’m sorry our evening got ruined.” She offered with a slight smile, trying to somewhat lighten the mood. “You sure you’re okay spending the night?”

Fuck mimes, Marley thought bitterly. Bristling slightly, she flopped back on the couch for a minute. When Anita spoke again, she looked over at her. The question was kind of loaded, whether either of them wanted to admit that or not, which meant that her answer would be loaded as well. Sighing, she sat up again and tried to give a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, “and yeah, I’m sure. I was planning on staying the night anyway, so it’s not like I have anywhere to be.” She silently thanked that she’d fed earlier this week and wouldn’t need to sneak out in the middle of the night to do that, though maybe it would’ve made her feel better. She ignored the feeling. “Besides, it’s my job to at this point,” she tacked on again, not sure if she was reminding herself or Anita of that fact. She stood again, holding out a hand to Anita. “C’mon, you should go up to bed. I’ll do another sweep of the house while you find me something to sleep in,” she said, “looks like it’s my turn borrowing your clothes.”

Anita nodded, smiling back at her. “Yeah, good point.” She reached out and took Marley’s hand, standing up and letting her hand linger as she stood there for a moment. Part of her wanted to hug Marley, maybe even kiss her, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. “Okay, yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” Anita made her way back to the bedroom, pulling out a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt for Marley. She then stripped out of her outfit from the night, noticing specks of the black goop were all over her top. She threw on a nightgown, then walked out into the living room with the spare clothes. “All clear?” 

Marley did do a thorough sweep of the house, but it was more so to give herself a moment. This didn’t have to be anything more than just making sure someone didn’t die because of a mime doppleganger. That’s all it was and all it needed to be. If that meant staying the night at a girl’s house who she slept with sometimes, then so be it. She paused in the middle of the living room and looked around, before going to the kitchen and grabbing a glass of water before turning to head to the room, only to be greeted by Anita in the doorway. “Oh, uh-- yes. Yep. All clear,” she looked down at the glass in her hand. “Here, I uh-- got this for you.” She didn’t know what Anita needed, but people always needed to drink water after traumatic experiences, right? She took the clothes gratefully. “Thanks.” 

Anita looked at the glass for a moment before taking it into her hands. It was an odd gesture, something she wasn’t really expecting, but it was also so nice. It was thoughtful. She didn’t really need water, but she took a sip out of courtesy. Anita set the glass down on the bedside table. “Thanks, for everything. I… I don’t think, If you weren’t here tonight… ya know.” She said, largely avoiding eye contact, as she pulled the sheets back on the bed. She climbed into bed, turning over on her side and looking over at Marley. It was oddly comforting to have someone there. Even if there was looming awkwardness too. 

 Marley nodded slightly, before pulling off her shirt and pants and putting on the clothes Anita had given her to borrow. It was strange, crawling into someone’s bed without having slept with them or without the intention. Though they’d slept together before, this was nothing like that. Just....lying in a bed with someone. Marley laid on her back next to Anita. She turned her head to look at her for a moment. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, “I won’t let it hurt you.” Hoping her words were some sort of comfort, any comfort-- and then immediately finding that thought unnerving. Still, couldn’t help but add on, “You’re safe with me.”

[pretty-perdita]

Cold War |*| [Fate]

In which Paul reveals a secret he’s been keeping...

@paul-patts

[tw--uhh talk of self-hate, thoughts of suicide, talk of thoughts of suicide, confrontation, thoughts of violence, etc etc nothing super triggering but just be cautious friends]

PAUL: Paul had a plan.

It was a good plan, a brilliant, foolproof plan, which was Roger-approved and guaranteed to get Paul what he wanted, i.e.-- Perdy-slash-his-kids meeting Attina and no big blow-up fight in the way of that goal. In retrospect, Paul would realize that it wouldn’t have mattered how he did it, that a big blow-up fight was gonna happen eventually. In retrospect, Paul would realize he was deluding himself.

Maybe that’s why he sabotaged himself before actually going through with said brilliant, foolproof, Roger-approved plan. Because he’d known deep down and he was a coward and he wanted the buffer time.

That’s why Attina had come up when Paul was on the phone with Perdy, discussing the schedule for the twins’ over the next week.

In Paul’s defense, the window appeared to open. It seemed like-- it made sense to say it then, on the phone, rather than to wait for later that afternoon when picking up the twins. He had his cell pinched between his ear and his shoulder as he and Perdy talked and Paul did some of his dishes after several days not doing them, and the conversation steered toward the weekend, and Paul reached forward and shut off the faucet.

“Oh, I was uh-- hoping I could take them for all Saturday for the carnival-”

And see, here it was. Here was the opportunity. It’d be weird not to say it.

“Because um. I was actually gonna…” he cleared his throat and grabbed at the phone with his free hand now, looking toward the balcony where he and Attina had had their dinner together a week ago. His other hand perched on the counter. “I’ve been seeing someone,” he said. “And I was hoping that she could meet them. The twins, I mean. If you’re comfortable with that. ‘Course you could meet her too, first, she’s uh-- she’s up for that, we talked about it and she’d like to meet you…” rambled Paul, then trailed off.  

PERDITA: This had become routine. At this point, it usually went rather smoothly. Perdita’s schedule was flexible, and if worse came to worse, Duchess didn’t mind if Perdita brought the babies with her to her house, so long as Perdita didn’t have a million errands to run that morning. Which was--well, honestly, Perdita didn’t know how she had lucked out with this whole gig. But, Duchess was a great boss (if not a little flighty, Perdita had insurance on that though, and she would take her to court if it happened again.)

It normally went: Paul told her his schedule for the Deer, Perdita checked that against her calendar of Duchess’ various events and they decided who had the twins on what night and what days. Sometimes, it would get awkward if things didn’t overlap properly, but there was always Anita and Roger and Stanley and the Grants to pick up the slack (and Sarabi, who was a very last resort if absolutely no one else was available.)

It worked for them and there had yet to be an argument about who got them when. (Though, with the holidays coming up...they were civil enough to...spend them together...weren’t they? With Roger and Anita as a buffer, perhaps.)

Anyways,

It was going perfectly fine, as usual, until Paul’s voice got nervous out of the blue. If he’d just said “I’d like to have the kids Saturday to take them to the Carnival” Perdita would’ve said “sure, fine, that sounds nice”. But, she got suspicious immediately, suspicions confirmed in the next second.

There was silence on the line. Perdita felt a storm brewing in her chest--it’s intensity terrifying, especially considering that her anti-depressants made her feel like there was a fog inside of her most days, dampening any emotion--sad, tired, hungry, happy, furious.

Her hand gripped the phone tight and the silence extended and extended--she almost wanted Paul to say something else, to continue to babble and just make all of this worse.

She didn’t know what to say.

Perdita hated that. She could say no or she could say fuck you or she could say fine, whatever or what the fuck?

But, she--couldn’t.

The phone line crackled in the silence.

PAUL: The line went dead and for a second, Paul really did think that Perdy had hung up. But he could hear what he thought was one exhaled breath-- a sign that she was alive, and yes, Paul had really said that, and maybe that made him an idiot and he should have waited to do all of this in person, because at least then Perdy couldn’t hang up on him. Was she going to hang up on him? 

Why would she hang up with him? What was there to be angry about, really? That he-- that he hadn’t told her at the beginning? Was that it is? And Paul got battered over the head with guilt, the feeling twisting his stomach and ducking his head there in the kitchen as though he could feel Perdy’s eyes from here.

But why did he feel guilty? He did nothing wrong. He swallowed roughly on the phone, trying to remember that his crime wasn’t a crime at all.

He and Perdy-- they weren’t a thing. He wasn’t cheating. He’d just found someone who made him, god forbid, happy, or happy-ish at least, and if that wasn’t a goddamn miracle after everything in his goddamn life, then--

But if he squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them, he could imagine Perdy on the other side of the counter, staring at him, just staring at him. 

The line was still eerily silent. He knew it was a battle tactic. To force him to speak. 

So fine, he’d speak, and he’d try even if Perdy didn’t because unlike her, Paul didn’t want to go to battle today. 

“Perdy,” said Paul. “I know-- look. The only reason I didn’t tell you before this was I-- I didn’t even know if it was gonna turn into anything. I was gonna mention it this afternoon when I came to pick up the kids, but it just seemed-- better to do it now, I mean-- we can, we can talk, if you want.”  Still nothing on the other line. The guilt rankled and crawled up his spine-- he blurted, “Perdy, jesus christ, say something.”

PERDITA: I didn’t even know if it was gonna turn into anything.

He said this like somehow that made it better. It didn’t. If anything—it made it worse, because all the opportunities flashed before her eyes. All the opportunities for them. Times that they could’ve clung to each other and apologized or screamed at each other until they were hoarse (which yes, was a good thing, which meant all the ugly was out in the open), flitted behind her eyelids as she closed them for a beat. For one, steady breath. The anger was pushed back then, for just a moment, as the guilt and the sadness swelled.

Perdy, Jesus Christ, say something.

And just like that, that moment of—regret?—swept out again and the anger replaced it.

How dare he try to tell her what to do.

She didn’t even think, just removed the phone from her and clicked it off. The line went dead and she threw it in her purse, grabbing her sunglasses off the counter.

“Anita? Anita, dear? Will you watch the babies? Something has come up and I need to go take care of it. I’ll be back in an hour.” Her voice was a bit shriller than normal, but as she peeked out of her room where Anita was already sitting with the babies taking their afternoon nap in the pack-n-play, she smiled. Once she got confirmation, she zipped out the door without another word.

She was in a pair of sneakers, which she was grateful for. As excellent as she was maneuvering in heels, even she couldn’t walk with the proper fury and urgency in every step that she needed to. Part of her was hoping that she would walk all that energy off, so by the time she got to Paul’s door, it would be gone and she’d stare at the golden number on his apartment and then turn and leave and he’d have no idea she was even there.

That didn’t work.

When she arrived at Paul’s door, she didn’t even hesitate, her fist raising to pound on the door. She pictured that it was Paul’s chest, her lips twisted in a snarl.

“Paul! Open the door. I know you’re in there.”

PAUL: She hung up on him. Soon as Paul said what he said, there was a split second, and then a tiny click, and the line went dead. Paul pulled the phone from his ear at once and he stared down at it, at Perdita’s name looking right back at him and he thought--

For a second, he thought of calling back, starting over. He could say he was sorry. 

But what the fuck would he be apologizing for? 

What the fuck did he need to apologize for? For holding her hand in the hospital, for showing up, for staying beside her? For taking the babies for weeks while Perdita started therapy and got a handle on her medication for her post-partum? For waiting, for being patient, until she was ready again? For-- jumping through hoops for her schedule, for accommodating her new job? For telling the bloody truth?! For going out of his way-- AGAIN-- to be honest and fair and to give Perdita a chance-- 

A chance. Always another chance. Oh, she thought he was some cad for finding someone who actually made him happy for once, she probably thought he had gone behind her back or something. She was going to snark about him to Anita and this afternoon, when he saw her, she’d look at Paul with her cold eyes and try to make him feel small and insignificant. Like he had never mattered. Like he never would.

Attina made him feel the opposite of that and she wondered why he would want to keep that-- her-- all to himself? 

Paul clicked off his phone and tossed the fucking sponge back in the fucking sink. His phone clattered onto the counter too. He turned to the fridge and yanked it open, snagging one of his beers out. He got the top off and paced all the way cross his flat, all the way to the balcony, flinging the doors open and letting in all that September air. He slumped over the railing and took a swig of his drink. And oh yes, this was familiar. Last September was just like this, wasn’t it? Paul calling Perdita, rambling to Perdita, waiting, desperately, for something in return. And time and time again, the line would go dead. And Paul would get himself a drink. 

He should probably go back inside and text Roger, tell him to get his arse down to the Deer. Or maybe see where Stan was, or ask Jim if he was available or -- no, he couldn’t text Attina. He wanted to. He wanted her to be here so she could smile at him. Listen to him. But it wasn’t fair. 

Paul was nearly done with his entire drink when the pounding started, making Paul jump outta his skin. He turned around, brow furrowed, and heard Perdita barking at him. A scoff left his lips. Now this was new. 

He stalked back the other way, leaving his bottle on his kitchen counter and yanking open the door. 

“Forget how to use a phone, Perdita?” he sneered at her.

PERDITA: There was Paul looking as angry as she felt and Perdita’s heart twisted in her chest. Which only served to make her angrier. How dare he look at her like that? Talk to her like that? She was the mother of his children. Where did he get off thinking that he could—he could—

Move on.

Didn’t their talk in the hospital mean anything? Didn’t all those practice kisses for Romeo and Juliet mean anything? He must’ve felt what she felt. When their lips touched their circuitry had jumped back into place. They made sense again. Everything made sense again. Because the world didn’t make sense without Paul. Perdita had always found the world a big, terrifying place. Which was why she did her best to be bigger and more terrifying than it. That was her only defense. But with Paul, the world got softer and smaller.

Until it was just them.

It was just them now. It was just them and this girl that Paul had been seeing, right under Perdita’s nose. The thought spiked sharp in her brain, stabbed at her heart and her lip curled up as she pushed at Paul’s chest.

“How dare you tell me over the phone!” she snapped at him. “When did you turn into such a coward?”

PAUL: “Me?! A coward-- me?!” snapped Paul at once, though he actually moved out of the way so Perdy could storm in-- though why, he didn’t know--

Well, he wasn’t thinking, honestly. He wasn’t thinking and this felt familiar. Like just another blow-up argument from a long time ago, when there had been a them. A reason to argue.

There was no reason to argue now. It was simple: he was dating Attina. Perdita had to get over herself.   

“You’re a bloody hypocrite, Perdita, calling me a coward when you’re the one who picked up everything and took our kids and ran away! And noooooooooow you’re mad at me because I was trying to be honest with you?” He said, whirling on her as he slammed the door shut. “And that makes me a coward?” 

PERDITA: Perdita stormed in without even thinking as soon as Paul took one step to the side. She’d never actually spent an extended amount of time in Paul’s apartment. Usually she just handed the babies over, turned on her heel, and left. And this was because looking around—all she could think of was their apartment. Their home.

Which she ruined.

Which Paul was bringing up now. That made the fire inside her chest roar brighter, and she had to let it out, or it’d burn her alive.

“That wasn’t my fault! How could you throw that in my face?!” she barked at him, her arms crossed over her chest, her face slowly growing redder.

“I’m not mad at you for being honest—which by the way, how long has this been going on for? How long have you be lying for about it? Keeping this bitch from me because you were scared? I’m mad at you for—that. For doing it in the first place. You don’t see me dating anyone!”

PAUL: Ah yes, that was right. Wasn’t Perdita’s fault. How could anything be Perdita’s fault?

It was Paul’s fault. It was Paul’s fault for probably forcing her to have their kids in the first place, it was Paul’s fault for getting a different job to try to make more money and therefore not being around enough, it was his fault for not realizing that something was wrong, and then it was his fault, his fault, that when Perdy ran away--

He hadn’t figured out the right string of words to convince her to come back.

And he’d tried. Phone call after phone call, he’d tried. He yelled at her, he begged her, he cried on the phone to her. He bargained, he bribed, he threatened-- he called at least once a day for over a month and sent her texts and didn’t go to the police because, stupid Paul Patts, he thought there was no way that Perdita wasn’t gonna come back to him. She deserved a chance.

So yeah, it was his fault, it was Paul’s fault for not going straight to the station and getting the police to drag her home.

And it was Paul’s fault now for trying to be happy while the mother of his kids struggled with her mental health, yeah, he knew what it looked like and he was tired of hating himself for his mistakes-- or his not-mistakes! Because Attina wasn’t one of them.

“I’m allowed to date whoever the fuck I want and I don’t have to tell you about it, and you wanna know why-- YOU LEFT ME!” The words thundered from the chest and he jabbed his finger in the air at her, taking a threatening step forward. “YOU. LEFT ME. I-- “ and the anger broke into some mad half-laugh as he ran his hand through his hair. “I have been so careful not to piss you off, Perdita, I’ve done everything you asked me to. I didn’t push you with the kids, I gave you time, I gave you space, but no, Perdy, I’m-- you don’t get final say over my love life anymore because YOU TOOK YOURSELF OUT OF IT.”

PERDITA: Perdita jumped.

It was just the volume of his voice more than anything, because Perdita wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t afraid of Paul, especially. Well, none of that was true. There were a great many things that Perdita was afraid of. Paul was one of the biggest. But, not in this way. Not in a way where she was afraid he’d—hit her or anything like that. She was afraid of him because of what he could do to her heart. Around Paul it was a fragile, vulnerable thing. Paul was the only person who could do any real damage to it.

Her mother had done enough already. When it came to her mother, Perdita’s heart was as tough as scar tissue. And Perdita’s siblings would never hurt her. Anita would never hurt her. Her father would never hurt her.

But, Paul—Paul was the only one.

She hated him for it and she loved him for it. She wanted to spill her heart back into his hands. It was all she wanted since he’d shown up at her doorstep. Take it! she wanted to say. But Paul was right, she was a coward.

So, she flinched from the words, her eyes darting about the room before she looked back at Paul’s laugh. Her brow furrowed as she looked at him and—

She felt the dissonance. They’d always been on the same page, her and Paul. From that first moment when she’d whistled at him and he’d snapped his head up like a hunting dog waiting for a command. Now—they weren’t because didn’t he—didn’t he realize?

Perdita let out a huffy-laugh herself, in disbelief, shaking her head. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes but she didn’t let them fall as she looked back at him.

“I left for YOU, Paul. Don’t you—don’t you get it? I-I left because I was—I was broken. And I was broke. My mother drained all of my accounts. I had NOTHING. I had NOTHING to give you. I-I had the babies, I went through ALL OF THIS because I-I wanted to, but also because we could. With my money, w-we could. But it was GONE and I wasn’t going to do that to you. Don’t you—didn’t you—it was for you,” she told him, taking a step forward, her hand reaching out for just a moment before she dropped it down to her side.

She was wasn’t angry anymore. She was—confused and—desperate for him to understand. For so long, Perdita hadn’t even understood herself. That time was like—some kind of fog. But at least she knew that that was true, in her sick, twisted, fucked up head, she’d been trying to help him.

PAUL: Paul laughed. It was a higher pitch than normal-- just one laugh, like the air was exploding from his chest, like it had to get out. And oh, it was hilarious, what Perdy was saying. It was hilarious and just so like Perdita Faye, who could never be in the wrong, who knew how to twist things up so she could get off scot-free. That was her superpower. Patch must get it from her, that shield of his-- everything always bouncing off. 

Hitting Paul though. It always hit Paul. 

He had tears in his eyes too, and his whole chest was burning hot and he wanted to just take a seat and let out a giant sob. Because he’d wanted an explanation for months and months. That was part of the phone calls and the texts: the unknowable why. Why would she leave him? Why wouldn’t she just tell him?

After a while, those answerless questions, they destroy you. You have to move on. 

But Paul was pretty bad at moving on. And now he was finally getting his answers.

They took him right back to day zero, and he felt doused in gasoline, Perdy holding the match that threatened to ignite. Her words didn’t do much to comfort him because he couldn’t believe them. Perdy might mean it. She could have convinced herself of that. But that didn’t make it true. All it did was make Paul feel like a fool who was still not good enough. If he’d had the money, if he’d had a better job, if she’d trusted him-- 

So not the point. 

“No, you don’t get it, you can’t genuinely believe that you leaving and taking our babies away from me was something I was supposed to THANK YOU for--” his voice was twisted and hoarse now, tears blurring in his eyes.

“Because if you really believed that Perdy, that means you didn’t hear alllll those phone calls where I was begging you, so drunk I could barely walk, to come back to me. You would have called me back or left a fucking note or broken up with me like a normal person, instead of leaving me to ROT. That means when I showed up here, you would have told me the goddamn truth and apologized, but it took you-- it took you four months and a nervous breakdown to say those words and oh I know, I’m the asshole here for throwing that in your face, I’m the asshole who is pissed at my ex-girlfriend with post-partum, and you’re-- you’re right, it’s not your fault--!” he said, laughing again. “How could anything be your fault when you were just doing it all for me!”

PERDITA: Perdita hadn’t listened to a single one of Paul’s voicemails. She saw each and every one of them pop up on her phone screen and she’d deleted them all. She knew it was the only way to stay strong enough. To keep Paul away, so he could move on with his life—do something better than be a factory worker from the East End, from the “bad” part of London. He deserved so much more than that. Perdita had just been trying to give him a chance.

That’s what she’d told herself as her thumb had pressed delete, delete, delete, over and over, until she was numb from it, until it didn’t hunt anymore. Until it just—felt like a routine. Change the babies’ diapers. Cry. Feed them. Cry. Delete Paul’s voicemails from the night before. Cry.

And honestly, she hadn’t thought about what she might’ve done to him. Oh, yeah, sure—that sounded selfish, it did. But, her alternative was better. The one where Paul was sad for a while but then he pulled himself up by the bootstraps and made something of himself, just to spite her.

That was what her broken brain had wanted. So that was what it saw.

And she knew—part of it was her. Though, if she hadn’t been sick, Perdita would have let all the money drain, watching every dime slip away, in secret, before she told Paul. Because she was a coward.

Either way, it would have ended like this.

For a moment, there was silence. Both of them were breathing harshly and part of Perdita wanted to claw at Paul’s face, rip him open like he’d just ripped her open, because she hated the way he was making her feel. Like she was—like she was—

“What? What did you want to hear from me? Sorry? Was SORRY going to fix any of this? It wasn’t. It’s not like you would’ve believed me. I didn’t know what was WRONG WITH ME. My whole brain was a—a FUCKING MESS, Paul. I wanted to die. You know how many times—”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“I knew the second I walked out that door sorry wasn’t going to do anything, no matter how sorry I was—how sorry I am. But it was my only option. It was the only thing I could see. I-I’d rather you hate me than take you down with me.”

She sucked in another breath and two tears fell from her eyes. She gritted her jaw hard so her teeth ground together and wiped the tears away.

“I’d rather I love you all alone than condemn you to a life you hated.”

PAUL: There was an alternate version of this story. Paul could see it like one of those choose-an-adventure books he so loved as a little boy. He poured over those books, navigating his way through ending after ending, trying to find the best one where he was the hero with all the chips, all the glory.

He could see that ending now. He could see himself closing the divide between he and Perdita like it had never cracked open. Taking her hands, touching her cheek. 

In that ending, he wasn’t angry or out-of-control. He told Perdita that she should have just told him. That she was so, so wrong in so many ways--

That yes, an apology would have meant something to Paul because he loved her. And he knew her-- he knew Perdita would never actually say those words unless she meant it. 

And yes, if she’d just come back-- if she’d come back, that would have meant everything. 

Paul was not like Perdy. He didn’t have ice in his soul, he had fire. It could burn and bite, yeah, but it melted him quick when it came to the people he loved. Paul wished, right now, that he could lean into it and be melted down into that kind, soft, forgiving version of himself, that he’d be all polished and handsome and brave and true. He wanted to choose that ending. 

But this fire was just gonna burn him to ash. Perdita hadn’t apologized. Perdita would never have come back. 

Even now-- she was more concerned with defending herself. She cared more about her pride than him, than-- than just--

He had tears in his eyes, thinking of that big, incomprehensible just and what came after it. All the things he wanted and couldn’t want, even now. 

His whole chest was so heavy, his stomach felt mangled, he stared at Perdita through a veil of his tears, hot in his eyes,  and he wanted to hurt her all over again. His brow creased as he struggled to hold them back, even though she had been the first-- for once-- to cry. 

“Then you-- you should be happy,” he forced the words out of his throat. “You should be happy because I hate you. I do, Perdy, I hate you. You broke me, and I hate you--” 

And then before he could stop himself, he reached out to her, pulled her toward him, and kissed her on the mouth.

PERDITA: I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

Perdita prided herself on being someone who didn’t care when someone said they hated them. She kept her head up and she iced her heart over so she could chip the part of it that housed her affection for that person out. Crack, it was gone and she didn’t think twice about it. It was what she’d done with so many people in the past. It was what she’d done with her own mother in a lot of ways. Her mother—who she blamed for all of this.

But, Paul. He was her whole heart. If she tried to cut it out of her chest, she’d stop breathing. Instead, the words just cut through the ice, chipped it away until the red muscle beneath was exposed, and then it pierced there too.

If Paul thought Perdita used love as a weapon, she had nothing on Paul. Paul who loved with his whole soul, who hated with it too. It always astounded her how warm he was. How he could smile and charm even with everything he’d been through. If Perdita was Paul, if their fortunes had been reversed, she couldn’t imagine how twisted she’d be, if having a relatively cushy and happy life had made her the way that she was now. But Paul—he stayed warm, he stayed good. And most importantly, he loved with everything and wasn’t afraid of it when it happened to him. Not like Perdita. Not like Perdita who acted like it was a plague infecting her body that she had to get rid of.

And here Paul was, infecting her with it again as he grabbed her bicep and jerked her towards him.

Their lips, teeth, collided sharply, Perdita sucking in a breath of surprise through her nose. She stood for just a moment, shocked but then—

Her nails were raking through his hair and she’d pressed her body right up against his, mouth hungry, body quaking with anger. She bit his lip. He bit hers. The whole time, she wanted to hit him. Slap him. Bang on his chest like a drum. She wanted to wiggle away from him, because he was dangerous. He was a pyre she was going to burn herself up on. But, she also didn’t care, because she was kissing Paul and he was kissing her and both of their mouths tasted like tears, but she could taste him too.

They weren’t Romeo and Juliet. They were just Paul and Perdita. Except Paul and Perdita were so much more than just Paul and Perdita, weren’t they?

PAUL: His lips moved roughly over hers, even while she stayed still. And Paul could taste her shock and feel it in the way Perdy swayed, like a tree bending in the wind. And Perdy, she didn’t bend. She snapped. Like him, she snapped, she broke, and then with her edges sharp, she cut whoever broke her in the first place.

Paul knew that was coming, but for a moment, he held her and she was soft for him and it was all he wanted.

For a moment, she didn’t fight, snarl, bite, claw, or hurt him. For a moment, he moved his lips over her own, his eyes squeezed shut so he could pretend. Smell her hair and realize it was the same shampoo as before. Taste her, and it was the same too. For a moment, time twisted back on itself like Paul was opening a rift and stepping back before all this bullshit had started. It was a long and beautiful and wretched moment, in which Paul was selfish and he loved her again. He kissed her like he loved her.

He never stopped-- he didn’t know how.

Then time snapped back into place like a rubber band, and Perdy’s hands raked in his hair. Her lips opened, and he could taste her breath, right before she bit down into his lip. It was all electricity and dynamite, both at once-- an explosion in his gut, a shockwave down his spine. Paul moved back, shoving Perdy against the door. Hard. It rattled in its frame and Paul bit down on her bottom lip too, hard enough to make her gasp for him. His own body shuddered, remembering all the time she’d made those noises before. He knew each one intimately. He knew Perdita.

Through the kiss, he could taste salt-- and he didn’t know which one of them was crying. Did it matter? No.

He didn’t care. His hand moved down her body, grasping at her waist. He gripped her like he wanted to press his thumbprints into her as he kissed her hard and sloppy, wanty and needy and dirty and angry. All those things, one kiss. Their other ones really had been make-believe-- two people following a script. But this was real.

PERDITA: Paul pushed Perdita against the door and she felt the explosion in her gut, it spread through all her limbs with an intense heat that made her toes curl and her heart skip a beat. He bit her lip, hard enough to make her suck in a breath and her fingers tangled tighter in his hair in response. Her leg came up, pressing her heel into his calf, trapping his hip with her thigh. She didn’t want him to go anywhere, she wanted to stay right here.

He grabbed her hard, Perdita felt her flesh press against her hipbones and she just moved her pelvis forwards, wanting him to press harder—to mark her up, so she’d feel it afterwards. She’d feel his hands on her no matter what, but she wanted the marks too. She wanted to see it—so that she would know that she wasn’t just making this up, which there was a danger of.

Perdita did this thing, apparently, called “disassociating” and she needed these details to ground her. To remind her that her body existed in this place. In this time. With Paul. And later, she’d be able to prove to herself that it happened, that it wasn’t just in her head. Because Perdita had thought about this exact scenario so many times. Every time she had looked at Paul. She’d thought about it every day that they’d been apart. She’d thought about Paul, angry, punishing her, but loving her, in the messy way they’d always loved each other.

Her heart was pounding hard and she had to break the kiss to draw in a sharp breath. Her lips were trembling from the emotion. She loved him, she loved him, she missed him. Her hand stroked once through his hair and she kissed him again—softer this time, but still pushing her lips rough against his, the kiss mostly breath, mostly lips, her tongue brushing his lightly.

“I-I’m sorry,” she said against his lips, like she could push the words into his lungs. “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry.” She kissed him again and again, her leg notching higher on his hip, drawing him closer to her, like she could press him right against her heart and he would know just how sorry she really was.

PAUL: First, there was only the frenzied heat between their bodies. He felt it in the points where they met, where they smashed into each other: the weight of Perdy’s heel on his calf, the soft curve of her thigh, her hip bone jutting against his own. It had been so long since he was this close to her, so close he felt like he could melt into her. And he did want to melt into her-- to be inside her. His body burned for it, from his fevered lips as they sucked on her own to the heat boiling in his stomach and in all the places where she touched.

He wanted to fuck her. Hard. Maybe against this door, with his fingers between her own, hand pressed up against the wood. He’d sink into her and make this whole place rattle. He’d make her shout, he’d pull her hair, he’d bite her neck and suck bruises into her skin.

He wanted to make love to her.

He knew it was less than a minute between himself and his bedroom and he could pull Perdita in there and have her on his bed in seconds. He had the comforter from their old room together, the sheets, too. She’d picked out those stupid sheets. He should have burned them, but he brought them here to Swynlake, almost like he craved this--

Like he wanted the ellipsis of their relationship to end and a new sentence to begin and he wanted it to be like she never left and she’d hold him with her legs and arms and sigh tenderly…

He wanted to do a lot of things, but it didn’t matter what he thought, not at first, because at first, it was just about that heat.

That heat ballooned around them when the kiss broke, like it was released from Paul’s lungs. He felt his body more concretely-- his tight jeans,his hand bunching up Perdy’s shirt. Perdita kissed him again, and again, and again, and now Paul was thinking about those two very different scenarios. He wanted both and couldn’t have either. His desire felt like it was going to bury him. His broken, bleeding heart in his chest was the heaviest thing of all.  He felt the urge to break down-- to slip onto his knees and press his face against Perdita’s stomach, and hold her, and cry.

He still had tears on his cheeks.

Perdita was kissing him, did she even notice? Did she notice that he’d stopped kissing her back?

And then there was Attina-- she slipped in through the pain. Really, it was the pain in his chest that had stopped Paul first, see, but it also opened the door that let her back in. Attina kissed differently than Perdy. She was all soft, she liked to wrap her arms around his neck and giggled when he dipped her, like they was movie stars on a poster. He liked that about her, you know, he really did.

Paul panted and his hand moved from Perdita’s waist up to grasp at her shoulder and Paul pulled away.

“No,” he whispered it into the shared air between them. “No, Perdy--”

And he stepped away from her, stepped two, three, four steps back to return the safe distance. “No-- I shouldn’t have done that. You’re too late, you can’t-- you can’t wait until the second I dare to be happy again to decide you want me again. You had months. She’s my girlfriend, I asked her to be my girlfriend-- I can’t do this.”

And Paul had no idea if he was telling Perdita or telling himself.

PERDITA: Perdita knew. She knew that he’d stopped kissing. Perdita knew what Paul kisses felt like—how gentle and soft, how playful, how naughty, how hard. She knew all of them, in a way she didn’t know anyone else’s kisses. There was no one else she’d let kiss her as much and in all different ways. Only Paul. The language of his lips was the only one she allowed herself to learn.

She knew, but it didn’t stop her. It just made her more desperate. If she just kissed him enough, he wouldn’t pull away, even as she felt his muscles begin to tense. Her fingers curled, latching into his shoulder blade, but it was nothing in the end.

Paul stepped away from her as if it was easy. Stood there talking about his girlfriend and how she made Paul happy.

That was a load of shit and Perdita knew it. See, people like her and Paul—they used band-aids like they were prescription drugs. They popped kisses like Vicodin. They didn’t acknowledge pain, they covered it up with frivolous things. Perdita turned her words sharp and used the laughter at other people cowering around her. Paul used smiles—not his own, oh no. He collected them from others, like a sorcerer, he pocketed them for rainy days.

Someone like Attina, she was just like Vicodin—her sugar smiles numb Paul right up.

Perdita knew better, though. Because Perdita knew Paul. They were cut from the same cloth.

Does she know? Perdita wanted to say. Does she know about Lucas? About your mother? It’s not real, she doesn’t know you. Doesn’t know you like I know you.

She didn’t say that. Because Perdita and Paul were people who used band-aids. And Perdita’s shield was laughter.

With a scoff, she crossed her arms over her chest, pressing her back up against the door, staring hard at Paul. She’d just ripped herself open in front of him, but the second he’d stepped away, she’d stitched herself back up. Armor donned again.

“Well, you already did,” she reminded him, a wicked glint in her eye. This war wasn’t over. This had just been another battle. One which Perdita had won, and they both knew it.

“But, fine, play with your little chew toy.” She shrugged, flicking her hair over her shoulder. She sucked one of her plump, red lips into her mouth for a second. “We both know that you want this. And I do too, so—“ she shrugged again, smirking at him, feeling much better than when she’d first come by.

There was a beat and her face softened, just the smallest fraction.

“I do love you, Paul. And I am sorry.”

PAUL: The anger came back, though it was different this time, not a deep and twisted thing at all, but something bright and new. He’d carried all those other words he’d just shouted at Perdita-- tried to push into her skin and bite into her lips-- around inside him for a whole year. Those things had ripped out of his chest like some monster rising from the depths. Like-- like the bloody sarlacc from Return of the Jedi.

Yeah, Paul was comparing his year-long angst to a Star Wars monster. So?

Point was: this new anger was nothing like that. It didn’t make him want to break things with his hands. It made him want to pull on Perdita’s hair like a six-year-old. Push her down on the playground. Stick his tongue out at her. Call her a mean name.

That’s what Perdita was doing to him. They weren’t playing with fire, but with sticks and stones, Perdita sneering out insults like chewtoy at Attina. He should slap her for that. He wasn’t going to. No, he was keeping back. He was keeping back, and curling his fists and staring her down.

Perdita was going to be wrong about them. She was going to be wrong about him.

Paul decided, then and there, that he wasn’t going to love her again. Yeah, he was gonna make it that easy. All hot and angry like this, even with his blood still churning and his lips freshly bruised from Perdita’s kiss, it was easy to stare at her and hate her again. Even when Perdita’s face changed for that nanosecond. Even then, his heart was burning, and he knew it was all a trap that he wasn’t gonna fall into. 

“Well I don’t believe you. Someone who loved me, someone who was sorry-- they’d never act like you do,” he said in a cutting, cold tone (he learned that one from her). “So get out of my apartment. Attina and I will pick up the kids on Saturday.”

[staticid-blog]

Thomas sabo shops manchester

The Essence thomas sabo shops manchester bracelets are lovely, you should definitely give them a goEugh I know! There's always something at the moment that seems to have production issues or are withdrawn quickly. I love the rose gold collection! I don't have an entire dedicated bracelet but I do have several pieces I like to mix in with my sterling silver pieces. Hi Anita! Glad to hear you like the collection This is the complete preview for Summer 2015 as far as I'm aware - although there may be a Pre-Autumn collection later in the year too.I'm not aware of any Disney launch for Summer but it's possible that news just hasn't trickled down yet. It seems to me more likely that they will just do two Disney launches a year - one for Spring and one for Autumn - but I could be wrong! I'll definitely update the blog if I hear otherwise Hope that helps! ^^"Ellie, thanks so much for compiling these photos. I have the anti tarnish pouch and the polishing cloth. Oh you should do the promo if you can this year's ornament is just lovely! I was going to do the promo but a lot of stores near me have run out, so I actually bought mine from Acotis in the end. I just hope the colour doesn't look to 'pastel' in person, as well but I'm not a fan of pale colours. I did! I was considering waiting until graduation, but then I was going through a dissertation nightmare and just needed a pick-me-up Thanks, and good luck with all your exams too Final year is tough but at least the end is in sight! Do you finish soon?I keep hearing about a sale and I'm just trying to follow it up! With the Summer collection and then Pandora Rose launching next month too, I think this is set to be a pretty hard-hitting month for my wallet I hope ROJ are taking part again as I got some absolutely amazing bargains from there last time! x

Hopefully they will launch the festive packaging soon too. I'm so happy because I want those things for very long time. At my local store they had the tower event I got the two flower clips and the new flower open work. I got a free silver moments bracelet ?. This is going to be my fairy tale bracelet I have put the apple I got from holiday to represent Snow White, the snow flake charm for frozen and a snowman charm for Olaf. I really excited for this bracelet I love the fairy tale charms. The pretty floral charms I had already chosen fit very well with the idea of Bambi, conjuring the idea of forests and nature, without going down thomas sabo shop birmingham the full Disney route. I'm so excited, I've been saving up for this! I am going in tomorrow and I want the pave heart clasp bracelet, so I am really glad they are giving the option to spend more and get the more expensive bracelets. I am hoping to get charms I have wanted for a while rather than the newest ones this time, I would like the flower garden murano, the little elephant and two clips for my new bracelet but i haven't decided which ones yet! I know i will spend all this evening making a list with my nose in the catalogue! I think I can say I'm finally done with Pandora. I have long maintained that the existing one is more peach than pink! It won't work through the Rue app, I think, so that might also be your problem.

I just recently got the little gold money bag from Las Vegas. But I am a complete convert now! All my bracelets have dangles on. Also on my list is the Disney bracelet, possibly the White rabbit and rapunzel dress. StylingMy stylings will inevitably focus a lot on pink, as he does have rather a nice pink bow (and I love pink anyway), but Eeyore also looks great with more neutral shades. The Radiant Droplets will be a nice way to add pops of color to a design. Aha, doing themed Pandora bracelets is always a dangerously expensive business. ^^ I never used to do it, thomas sabo bracelet sale but I've started making bracelets to accommodate charms I want, rather than always picking charms that go with bracelet designs I'm already working on, which is a very bad habit indeed!Ah, I love that you're doing navy and deeper blues for your fairytale bracelet. It's not a colour scheme you see all that often for that kind of styling, and yet it's so appropriate with blue being something of a royal colour. Happy holidays to you too! Aha, I was planning on ring fencing some Pandora spending money for the mint glitter muranos but then I went overboard on the Rue sale again this month, and I just bought the retired Beehive from the Pandora pages. The Layers of Lace is very pretty nevertheless though! ^^

Btw, the pony is very cute but it has been retired this year. Hi Snapdragon! The Poetic Droplets rings don't come in all the birthstone colours (although that would be rather nice!) - I think there will be blue, purple, pink, clear and a gold/brown one, too. The offer lasts until December 8, or while stocks last, and offers a wonderful opportunity to indulge in the Black Friday 2016 charm or perhaps one of the holiday gift sets! I do just a few charms on my small bangles and I fill the mediums like I would a bracelet, it's nice not to need the clips on the clip stations. As much as I adore Pandora sometimes they miss the thomas sabo bracelet charm boat on a design. I have a slight fondness for the very old cameo designs, but they were so expensive! And the sign for Libra (scales) is so boring that I'm not ever really tempted! So excited to see the next Disney release has been brought forward - but it is so bad for my budgeting! I am going to get Bambi and Thumper, and I have wanted the Frozen muranos for ages, so I think I will have to space them out. I know I will want the Christmas ornament GWP, so I think I will follow your idea Ellie and save up my purchases for that - but it will be difficult to stay out of the Pandora shop for that long! Haha, thanks Rachelle! I will gladly accept that hug Oh my gosh, three bracelets! I heartily approve.

[konstantinwrites]

Treasures from the Roof of the Insurmountable, Part 1

Small Worlds XI (Wassily Kandinsky)

Hi friends! So, I ranked all 42 songs of the 2017 Eurovision Song Contest. It was as simple as comparing each song to every other and missing every social event for a month. I didn’t give /10 scores and didn’t add a bunch of space between songs to signify gaps in quality, like a cool blog would. However, many generous friends of mine reviewed these songs as well. For an alternative, reasonable point of view, theirs is here.

I understand that asking to listen to 42 three-minute songs on the Internet should be reserved for astonishing lovers, but I hope that you’ll give them a play. The reviews are based primarily on the studio versions, linked in the title, but for fun I more strongly recommend the embedded live performances. This turned into an epic nine-parter only by luck -- Tumblr wisely halts this kind of obsessiveness by setting a limit of five embedded videos per post. 

Anyway, I think you’ll like at least some songs. Not this next one, but some.

42: Spirit of the Night by Valentina Monetta and Jimmie Wilson (San Marino) (Returnee, Eurovision 2012, 2013, 2014)

I will make a conscious effort not to embalm you in Eurovision completely, but I have to bend here since Valentina Monetta breaks all unwritten rules anyway. This was her fourth Eurovision appearance, all for the Most Serene Republic of San Marino, in six years. San Marino houses less people than you saw this weekend, sure, but there are probably a few other musicians in the country that would like a boost to their career.

Maybe some of them were on stage for 2012’s timely “The Social Network Song” (titled “The Facebook Song”, pre-zucc), with which Valentina began her pillage of this contest. (If you have patience for exactly one hyperlink...)

 The lyrics incandesce:

Are you ready for a little chat?/And a song about the Internet It's a story ‘bout a social door/You’ve never seen before;

And the “Social Network” music video, all morning bedsheets and Safari browsing and wild leers into camera, is like the aftertaste of a burp from the dude who ran ARK Music Factory. 

Throughout the last eon, the early to mid 2010′s, peace still ruled. It was underpinned by dark respect for the creature, and fear, but effective and true peace it was. In Year 3, Monetta qualified to the grand final. Appearing in that show was supposed to be the prologue to another Sammarinese age of serenity. Yes, she breathed too hard and accidentally set the Finnish commentators on fire, then threshed her wings and flew out through the arena roof. Human Eurovision performers have gimmicks, too. It was our Monetta, we prayed to her benevolence, and she made other countries and micronational principalities respect us as well.

But we grew tired of living in fear ourselves. If our Monetta was truly done with this world, we would be happy to raise a new generation in peace. Families waited to resettle back to their birth land, planning carefully. At dawn, sometimes, you noted the unsavory magicks in the distance, still discharging in the air. The tribe elders knew that kids were their most important constituency: every evening, a few fun rhymes with the kids that made each of the elders look silly; every forgathering, the children could run off after roll call. Irreverence and joy, with which the children played games on the hills, was as crucial as the considered warnings that the adults were made to hear.

Come spring, at the agora, Elder Dendroch took his deepest breath of the year, all wheeze, as he screwed in the VGA cable to the projector, casting the San Marino 2015 Eurovision artist announcement onto the smooth side of the hill. During the countdown, even All-Naked Christoph went silent. This was to determine his capacity to continue to gyrate himself around the fire each morning without being clawed by Monetta and thrown into the nearest cactus. Her swift retributions of All-Naked Christoph was one of the few Acts that the tribe was grateful for; however, now they yearned for calm and agency. They were ready to pay the price -- and cover their eyes at breakfast.

What a cheer, then. It was, indeed, someone else for 2015. The slothful bards were worth their silver on this day, spooling blunt limericks on the spot, tribesfolk teary with laughter. The eyes of all, awash with joy and soapy bubbles, feasted on daydreams about this new era. Resettling back to town, with everything as it has been (apart from the bread, now a furry green pet), we gleefully watched Anita Simoncini rap -- for we could scream, “No!”. The year after that, Serhat proselytized us, trying to make what sounded like, “I am a dick tit” happen. We loved telling him that it’s not going to happen, and besides, he was the neighboring queen’s chief accountant and she was not letting him out on any more trips like that. Our power was back.

But, well... You saw the rest. You saw 2017. Not even Mostly-Naked Christoph thought that eurodance would rise again. Not even the gloomiest of the kids ever had in mind that Monetta was always in control, and that there is nothing that we can ever do but point our projector at the stars.

“Spirit of the Night” is a dance anthem structured around a conversation between two horny and dim-witted patrons of a San Marino club. “Hey, are you the one I dream about?/Baby, I am.” After successfully capturing his target’s interest with this awful line, the man proceeds to use amateur pick-up artistry to delve into the murky depths of her insecurity. “Every time I see you smile/There is sadness in your eyes.” 

Luckily for him, his quarry eats this obvious nonsense up. After connecting through dance, he seals the deal by revealing that he’s a hurt, insecure man who is in need of a woman to protect him. “Hey, are you the one to take my pain?/Just take my hand/I’ve been so hurt before, it’s hard to trust again.” Nonstop key changes and a reference to obscure weather phenomena attempt to mask the utter vacuity of “Spirit of the Night,” but nobody is fooled. 1/10.

Richard Hansen

41: Keep The Faith by Tamara Gachechiladze (Georgia)

Ten seconds in, this has all the potential in our supercluster. It becomes “Keep The Faith”, but that moody horn-driven bar can lead into a Jay-Z track, a Antony and the Johnsons symphony, or the title screen of “Swordfish”. But it becomes “Keep The Faith”, and it’s a little awkward; I live and work in Georgia, and super enjoy this country. 

However, this song is derivative garbage, devoid of any sensory pleasure. It has many siblings, songs of this type, all grey, parts-per-million pollutant specks. It’s a pure ballad and a very specific type of ballad, none of which have ever been enjoyable: pie-eyed on piano, throaty-vocaled, vowel-elongating, forcefully important, crudely pitch-raising, artless fat zeppelins of songs, avoiding melodiousness by purpose and not even by chance. 

I like the few seconds in the bridge where Tamara and the backup singers go, “Oh - ohhh - oh! - ohhh!”, and I like the final string cadences, the last two notes in the song. I wish they’d signaled the end to something not so comprehensively dopey.

Please also let me just add here that I adore “Mzeo” by Mari Mamadashvili, the Georgian winner of Junior Eurovision 2016. 

I’ve cried listening to it. I’ve showed her performance to many people. Don’t revoke my residence permit. Look at how much good stuff Billy wrote.

Having heard a plethora of Georgian music over the past year, I really didn’t have my hopes up going into this one. But I have to hand it to Tamriko, she may have actually pulled it off. The song’s video isn’t much to talk about, and I found the opening lyrics about hiding behind a veil and then panning to a woman in a hijab to be slightly off color, but the tune and subsequent lyrics are actually pretty cool. One might say the video had my sentiments shaken, but not stirred. That’s right, I referenced James Bond (Jamesi Bondi) and how could I not? The ominous violin, three-key piano repetition and horns - the song practically screams, “put us in the next movie!” and I happen to agree.

If we got rid of the whole weird hip-but-frowning aspect and replaced it with an unmistakable gun-toting secret agent silhouette, complete with tastefully nude female figurines, Georgia might actually have a hit on their hands. Don’t get me wrong, I am a big believer in letting music speak for itself and in many ways this song does, but at the end of the day it’s also a pop song and that music video HAS to be tight. Get this out to Eon Productions, Georgia; I’ll be disappointed if Ed Sheeran gets to do another title sequence.

As far as vocals go, Tamro fits the role pretty nicely - she can really belt it and it adds to the overall grandness of the song. As a matter of fact, grand is probably the word I would use to describe this. It’s the kind of song that makes you clench your fists and pump your arms dramatically and ceremoniously. Tamo’s powerful vocals and lyrics are engaging and entertaining; my only real worry is that with such a Bond-sounding song, people might have a difficult time seeing it as its own thing. Not to mention, if people dislike James Bond, they’re probably just going to see this as some hack interpretation of an Adele hit. While some might view it as lacking in theme originality, I see it as a distinguished work operating in a certain genre (a difficult one at that). I don’t think the sky will be falling on this song any time soon! Qochagh, Sakartvelo! 8/10.

Billy Moran

40: Gravity by Hovig (Cyprus)

The lifetime of this adult contemporary rockvomit is: released to the suffering masses, all 4th grade boys for three days repeat-blast “Gravity” on the family speakers, then torrent Battlefield and yelp and chaotically shake their faces to its menu music and forget about “Gravity” forever. No other integration of this song into a human life can be permitted.

This wailing, free trial-distortion-effects, tragically detached one-dimensional nonsense would take aback a NHL video highlights editor, and they’re immune to this stuff. “Gravity” is for a montage of, like, a corrupted toothpaste factory, where the toothpaste is evil. There is something a little demonic with the toothpaste. It’s been breached. There are lich in the toothpaste, hiding themselves and their sorcery, and they now terrorize users of toothpaste all over the world. Only those who still use tooth powder have not yet turned. With this paragraph, I have now released more beauty into this world than the Cypriot entry. I’m not proud of putting lich and toothpaste together. I know I’ll answer for this one day. Sometimes you have to drive a point home.

This is a solidly made pop ballad with a catchy chorus that I could see getting good radio play for about two weeks before being promptly forgotten. While somewhat catchy on first listen, it quickly loses its appeal and you realize there is nothing more there than another over-produced pop song that makes oatmeal look plain and generic. This song is the definition of standard, meaningless pop. It's begging for some sort of edge to it, some sprinkles to go with its vanilla. As is, I'd much rather listen to “Hook” by Blues Travelers.

Ryan Haskell

39: Dying to Try by Brendan Murray (Ireland)

I like Brendan’s voice. For 54 seconds, he makes a serviceable dyingtotry. I like that the first line of this Segway-speed ballad gets close to saying, “Take a leak of faith with me”. I like his tuneful delivery through the lightly layered first minute, and you could stroll to this and take sips of still water and feel correct.

Then the songwriters take out their game hunting rifles, trundle us into the basement and serve us a soup of impotent key change, never-ending chorus and string accompaniment, all of which we would spoon out of the dish in a less savage situation. You eat — you have to — belch, relax a bit, and then notice Brendan at the table, his meal long finished, as he mouths to you, “trying to die”.

As an American who grew up American, with American parents and American grandparents, I myself am American. That said, I definitely identify with the Irish a bit - they’re my ancestral roots and I root for the guys for sure. But I have to say, Brendan Murray, bud, you let me down. The song can be summed up in one word: boring. The kid looks to be about 15 and, sure, he has some pipes (little Irish pun there), but I have to believe these impressively high notes he’s hitting have more to do with his lack of pubic advancement and less with actual talent.

The music video takes us on the journey of love’s rocky road, complete with a daughter of Elrond and a poodle man that would make Dr. Moreau jealous. Perhaps I would have paid more attention to the lyrics if the featured couple were less visually jarring. I mean, the woman was fine… But the poodle man! That hair! There’s a million elf-y looking guys in Ireland to complement the girl, and they choose that guy!

My biggest complaint comes at the peak of the song’s rising action. Brian is walking through the grassy knolls of Ireland, as one does, and the viewer is treated to a beautiful melancholy landscape that just screams of Ireland. But instead of giving the listener something to complement the breathtaking view, we get a gospel choir harmony as Brian dives into his chorus. It was the perfect moment to incorporate cultural music - so poorly utilized by Israel - and Ireland missed it! If a lovely flute had accompanied Brian as the camera raced across the Irish shoreline back to our visually perplexing couple, I think I would have poured a shot of Jameson on the spot and shed a tear for all the struggling lovers in the emerald isle. Instead, the song loses its identity and all my invested interest is gone with it.

Brian, the wise fifteen-year-old he is, ever wary of love’s slings and arrows, tells us, “No one can promise that love will ever learn how to fly”, but I can promise Brian that his song won’t be flying to the top of any billboard charts. Maybe something a little more fun next year, huh Ireland? Sláinte! 4/10.

Billy Moran

38: My Turn by Martina Bárta (Czech Republic)

The indifferently mute student can be the most frustrating. Staring at the arithmetic poster for two minutes at a time, boring with their pen more and more millimeters of their desk hole, finding the right moments to sip a hidden can of Fanta with the vigilance of a mosquito pursuing a meal from a human absentmindedly playing the Chrome dinosaur game -- apathetic students cause little obvious trouble in class. However, asked to contribute to any task, their monastic silence and translucency can drop a teacher’s command of the classroom to the floor. Other students, especially ones wavering between “kind of paying attention” and the Frowning Face With Open Mouth emoji, sense the student’s apathy, think that the lessons are, indeed, for nothing, and mentally teleport themselves out of there as well.

Which brings me to “My Turn”. It would be out of date during Pangaea, but out of date is very often fine. The prime disappointment is that it has a harmonious, sentimental melody to throw around, as most ballads do, but concretely refuses to get out of the hotel elevator, or the Saturday morning wine tasting. There are many piano works like these; it shouldn’t be an excuse to bunt and be another, especially because it’s got a pleasant tune. I’ve listened to “My Turn” at least 30 times and can recall the main progression with roughly the same clarity as remembering why Fletcher Christian mutinied and vamoosed to Pitcairn Island, the Wikipedia summary of which I probably read once, or maybe someone told me. Before going home, Teacher Eurovision will leave an inspirational message for Martina on her desk. “You can be different!” The next morning it’ll only be used with a shout of, “Kobe!” and be another clump a few feet from the trash basket.

Czech Republic’s Eurovision results, 2007 (debut) to 2017:  28th in a 28-song semifinal; 18th in a 19-song semifinal; 18th in a 18-song semifinal; Not participating for five years (understandably); 13th in a 17-song semifinal; 9th in a 18-song semifinal, 25th in a 26-song final; 13th in a 18-song semifinal.

Czech selection committee: just put a donk on it. You’ll like the results.

Not only did Ms. Martina choose to submit a song written in English to the Annual Eurovision Ritual, helping the beast of globalization devour her culture and language, but she also submitted a song with lyrics so boring that they flee from my mind immediately after I’ve heard them, as if Gilderoy Lockhart himself has just charmed them directly out of my cerebellum. Lyrics: 2/10.

Luckily, the music video itself is far more interesting than the song itself. I’m at least 80% sure this video depicts what people experience while rolling on Ecstasy. Nude bodies of various age and shape, writhing in ways that are at once harmonious and cacophonous. Here an old white man finds peace in a warm-towel embrace of a large black man. There a bald man hangs his head in his ultimate shame only to be comforted by an equally bald woman. At one point the bacchanalian dancers just all freeze and turn their heads sharply to one side, staring at the audience with eyes that contain something between abject misery and ultimate pleasure. Disturbing! Music video: 7/10. I found this video hilarious. Personal enjoyment: 9/10.

Cody Phillips