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inkandpen22 · 3 years ago

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Dazed and Confused ( S1: 3/?)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Female!Reader

Warnings: mild language and violence

Word Count: 3.1k

Part Summary: At Tina’s party, Y/N wants to forget all of her problems. Things take a turn when Billy makes a move on her, angering Steve

Masterlist

Arriving at Tina’s after dropping Dustin at Mike’s, I am in much need of some good old spiked punch. I yank down my gray oversized sweatshirt some more so that it hangs low off my shoulder. As I cross the threshold into the house, the heat of the crowded living room slaps me in the face. Directly to my left, the kitchen AKA the alcohol hub. I slip between bodies and end up at the counter covered with semi-empty bottles and old plastic cups. Most importantly, a bowl of maroon punch sits in the corner. I grab a cup and make my way over. A boy stands in front of it but I reach around him and scoop up some of the mystery substance.

“What’s in this?” I hear a voice holler behind me.

I turn around to answer but freeze when I realize it’s Nancy. She stares at me equally stunned. My face falls, this is awkward. Seriously universe? I couldn’t have at least one drink before bumping into her?

Steve appears behind her looking slick as ever in his black sunglasses and matching blazer.

“Everclear is my guess,” I answer, acting civil.

She nods timidly, “thanks…”

I step out of her way so she can get some of her own. Steve’s head travels up and down slowly with a blank expression. I can’t see his eyes but I assume he’s studying my costume. A gray oversized sweatshirt that hangs off the shoulder, red heels, matching earrings, and some shorts, though they’re unnoticeable. I can feel him starring me down through those stupid Ray-Bans. Silently, I beg for him to not bring up our encounter in the parking lot. All I wish for tonight is to drown out reality and try to forget. He’s a human ticking time bomb. The tension between us could be cut with a knife.

“Are you finally going to tell me what you are?” Nancy jumps in, forcing me to break my staring contest with her boyfriend.

I open my mouth to answer but Steve beats him to it.

“Flashdance,” he answers for me. “It’s one of her favorites.”

He acts distant, unattached, distracted by the party but I see right through it. There’s something he’s not saying. He says things like this as if it’s common knowledge. A random person wouldn’t describe my eyes as Y/E/C but gray depending on the lighting. One minute, he calls my eyes beautiful and the next he’s starring me down like a disapproving parent. The hell Harrington?!

Nancy gushes, apparently she and I are okay all of a sudden, despite early today with the whole Barb thing. Plus, I think she’s already been drinking for awhile so buzzed Nancy is fun Nancy.

“That’s so cute! You look hot!” She pulls me into a hug.

Over her shoulder, I glimpse up at Steve as he lifts his glasses to rest of his head. His brown eyes threaten to expose my upset from earlier. I get that he’s pissed about my neglect for my feelings. He wants to talk about what was wrong but right now we’re at a party and parties aren’t meant for depressing conversations.

“Let’s go dance!” Nancy suggests, already tugging me into the living room.

Steve calls after her but she ignores him. He follows behind us through the crowd with a groan. In the center of the living room, Nancy stops and turns to me with a bright grin. She cheers as she tosses her head back.

“Woohoo!” She laughs.

This is what I wanted, normalcy. We’re surrounded by our friends, drinking, dancing, being stupid! We did this before everything so why can’t we do it now? Perhaps after tonight, everything will fall back into place.

_______________________________________

On my third game of flip-cup, I’m beyond buzzed. In fact, when I walk I float. I’m on cloud nine. Here, this carefree and lively state is exactly where I wanted to be. Naturally, I’m competitive and amazing at drinking games so I finish my third game with yet another win. I cheer as Tommy from algebra hands me a cup of who knows what as my reward.

“Hey there beautiful,” a husky voice greets from behind me.

I spin around and kind of become dizzy from the action but catch myself.

It’s Billy.

“Hey hottie,” I smirk.

He snickers and closes the space between us to whisper in my ear. “How about you and I go somewhere a little more private?”

That’s a nice thought. He is cute. His ass could have its own zip code. Plus, he has no shirt on under that leather jacket, hello washboard like abs. His California tanned skin glistens under a thin layer of sweat. Damn, he’s a human Ken doll.

He’s no Steve though. Wait… what? I don’t think of Steve like that. Why would I think that? Um, yeah, that’s a no! Then again, Steve is always there for me. Sometimes it can be annoying how he’s always there. It means he cares but I don’t want to dump all of my drama on him. Then, he gets upset when I don’t open up. I hate it when I hurt him. I love him so much that when he’s in pain so am I.

“Okay,” I blurt out without truly thinking.

“Cool,” I hear him whisper as he takes my hand and starts pulling me toward the stairs across the room.

Wait, what? What am I doing? This isn’t me. I don’t like Billy. He treats Steve like shit. If anything I should kick his pretty ass. Though if I tried he’d probably murder me.

I glance down at his hand engulfing mine. It’s all rough and twice the size of my own. If we make it upstairs, it’ll be just him and I. I’ll be defenseless. I may be drunk but I’m not oblivious. My intuition is still working and it’s screaming for me to pull my shit together.

“Hey Billy? I don’t think…” I press my heels into the floor, slowing him down just as we reach the bottom of the stairs.

Aggressively, he whips around and purposefully towers over me to act intimidating. “What? Now, you’re saying no? Are you messing me? Playing with me!” He accuses.

I shake my head dramatically, “no! No, that’s not what-”

“Oh, so you still want to do this,” he presses.

Too impatient for an answer, he continues up the stairs. The grip he has on me has shifted up to my wrist. I attempt to tug myself free but fear dislocating it, his strength is too great. I stumble up the stairs behind me and I startle to feel dizzy. I think it’s safe to say I’ve had too much.

“No,” I whine, “I don’t want to! Stop! Please! I don’t want to! No!”

“Hey!” A booming voice echoes from the bottom of the stairs.

Rapid footsteps approach from behind me and a rush of relief consumes me when Steve appears beside me. He places a protective hand on my back.

“What the hell is going here?” He directs at Billy, taking note of his fist wrapped around my wrist.

“Nothing that concerns you, Harrington. Y/N and I were just heading upstairs.” He jolts his hand forward, causing me to traveling with it.

Steve instantly pries Billy’s hand from my body. Then, shoves him in the back, flying him forward to land with his ass on the stairs. “Don’t you ever touch her again! You hear me?!” He sneers. His face turns this deep red as he pants angrily.

The two start bickering but I can’t keep up. I see three Steves and a couple Billys shouting in each other’s faces. I lean against the railing unsteadily and slide down to sit on the steps. My eyes suddenly feel very heavy.

“I’m going to go to bed now,” I announce to no one in particular.

I decide to get some rest and shut my eyes. It’s okay, Steve’s here. He’ll protect me.

I’m not sure how much time has past when I hear Tommy and some of the other basketball boys come to break up the fight.

“Come on Y/N,” I hear Steve whisper to me, “let’s get you home.”

Feeling as light as a feather, I’m picked up like a sleepy child off the ground. For a moment, I fall asleep again. I rest my head on his chest and ponder the rare opportunity to sleep without being afraid of being eaten by a monster.

“Y/N?” I hear someone repeatedly call my name. “Y/N, wake up!”

I ease open my eyes and at first my vision is blurry but then they eventually adjust. Steve glances down at me as he we cross the threshold hold to the front yard.

“You smell like sunshine and all things exquisite,” I mumble to myself, adjusting myself in his arms to curl closer to his warmth.

“Even when hammered you still manage to be a walking thesaurus,” he teases.

Opps, he heard me. Oh well, I wasn’t lying. He smells like vanilla, the ocean, sugar, spice, and everything nice.

Goosebumps course over my skin as a brisk October breeze hits me. I shiver slightly and Steve holds me closer.

“We’re almost to my car. I’ll turn on the heat high. You’re okay,” he promises calmly.

Playing the hero, Steve places me into the passenger seat gently and straps me in. I toss my head to the side and rest my eyes again. He shuts the door for me before jogging to the driver’s side. The car drowns out the sound of chaos coming from the party and creates a sense of security. Steve slides behind the wheel and for some reason I choose now to act reasonable.

“Have you been drinking? If so, you shouldn’t drive,” I state like a health textbook.

He chuckles, popping in the keys. “I’m sober. Promise.”

“That’s nice. Good to know,” I yawn.

The last thing I can remember of the ride home is Steve turning on the car.

______________________________________

I wake up silently as Steve pulls up in front of my house. He’s unaware of my stare as he finishes parking and turning off the car.

“Hazel,” I tell him, announcing my woken state.

He looks to me with scrunched eyebrows, all confused. It’s cute when he does that. He’s cute. Geez, what the heck am I saying? He’s dating my best friend! Steve is Steve and Katherine, we don’t mix, at least that way.

“What?” He questions, turning to face me.

“Your eyes… they’re hazel…” I repeat softly with a yawn. “But, it really depends on the lighting.”

He snickers, and astonished expression blesses his features. The subtle blush forming on his cheeks makes me smile to see him all bashful because of my comment. He has no idea how gorgeous we truly is, inside and out. He glances down at his lap, at his hands fidgeting with a button on his jacket, then back up at me with hooded eyes.

“See, right now!” I point out, “they’re a dark brown like a burnt caramel, basically black. When you’re really focused on a task or upset about something, they go dark. Then, when you’re really happy or excited, they turn to a light hazel… like seaglass. It’s how I can tell if something’s bothering you. You don’t even have to tell me half the time. All I have to do is look into your eyes and I know,” I state a matter-of-factly with a light snicker.

I shift you see him directly and tuck a few strands of my hair away from my face. He watches my every move patiently, eagerly, for me to say something more, anything. I can’t speak for him but my heart won’t stop racing. Is it possible to have stage fright in a conversation? I feel like a mannequin, on display. Nervously, I twirl my hair at the ends and find myself unable to meet his gaze anymore.

“Your pupils are rarely small,” I add quietly. “They’re usually really big and take up most of your eye giving off the illusion they’re black. One thing that never changes is…” I make a circle with my finger in front of my eye to demonstrate, “is the gold rim around each of them.” I lower my hand into my lap and play with the end of my sweatshirt. “That’s my favorite part… ” I confess timidly.

I wouldn’t be saying these things if I were sober. I wish he would say something, anything. He must think I’m crazy. He finds me with Billy heading up stairs. I can only imagine what he must think of me now. Embarrassed beyond belief and sobering up, I excuse myself.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say as I unbuckle myself. “See you Monday!”

Swiftly, I climb out of the car. As I walk toward my front door, I curse myself for acting so stupid! Geez, what was I thinking? ‘The gold rim around each of them, that’s my favorite part!’ What kind of mushy, guhsy, marshmallow fluff is that? Ew! If he never spoke to me again I would judge that as completely reasonable! He has a girlfriend! He’s taken! Completely off limits! Why did I spew out this creepy nonsense to him like a total idiot? I’m not some lovesick teenage girl! I’m going to go to my room, put in some Guns N’ Roses, and just scream into my pillow all weekend! It sounds like an excellent plan to me because I just ruined my friendship with Steve forever! Add Nancy to that list because once he fills her in on what I said I’ll lose both of them!

“Y/N!” He calls after me.

I ignore it as I march faster toward the door. He’s only going to call me crazy because I was acting crazy!

“Y/N, wait!” He repeats as I hear him shut the car door and run toward me.

“Goodnight, Steve!” I urge him away without turning around.

His footsteps speed up until they come to a halt directly behind me. I reach for the door handle, my freedom. Desperately, he grips my forearm and steps in front of me, blocking the front door.

“Look, could you just slow down for a sec?” He yells at me as he pants to catch his breath.

“No! I can’t slow down! I just want to go inside, get in my pajamas, and forget tonight ever happened! Alright? Now, excuse me,” I gesture for him to get out of the way.

Reluctantly, paired with an overly dramatic eye roll, he steps aside. Despite wanting his to leave, I thank him quietly for cracking open the front door slowly, making sure not to wake anyone.

“Nance and I broke up…” Steve drops on me.

My heart leaps and I stop dead in my tracks. Unsure of what to do or say, I remain still in the doorway and wait for him to say more.

“She never loved me,” he explains with a heartbroken tone. “At least… I don’t think she did…”

Shit. Please don’t tell me that, Harrington. It only makes me want you more. He’s always so close but too far out of reach. I care about him more than anything but he’ll never mine. I’m just the friend.

I spin on my heels and offer him a sympathetic smile, “would you like to come in?”

He nods, clearly miserable. I step aside, allowing him in. After shutting the door behind us, I warn him to be quiet so we don’t wake my parents. He nods slowly and slips his hand into mine. Never breaking eye contact with me, he leads the way through the moonlit house toward my room. His platonic touch is so blissful, I can only imagine what it feels like otherwise.

_________________________________

Steve and I sit on my bed in our usual positions with my record player going quietly. He lounges like a patient in therapy and me, acting as his therapist, criss-cross beside him. He explains everything. He describes how drunk Nancy got and how he followed her to the bathroom. It was there they got into a fight. She admitted feeling guilty for the loss of Barb. Then, she called all of it bullshit. Us acting like carefree teenagers, never telling Barb’s parents the truth, her love for Steve, all of it is bullshit. He asked Jonathan to take her home and that’s when he stumbled upon me and Billy.

Watching Steve relive it all and hearing the pain in his voice breaks my heart. How could Nance do this to him? I get that she’s going through something, we all are. I’m by no means normal. I’m hiding everything for Pete’s sake! I haven’t been myself for over a year. Steve was just now becoming truly happy again! He was putting on a brave face for Nancy for so long! Now, she crushed it. She crushed him.

I reach and place my hand over his as they rest intertwined on his stomach. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am.”

“I really loved her. At least, I think I did. I don’t know anymore. I thought she loved me too.”

“I did too,” I tell him honestly.

He glances away from the ceiling down to me, “what can I do?”

I wish I knew the answer. I wish there was a way I could take away his pain. Yet, I have nothing. I shrug, “I’m not entirely sure. I think you should at least talk to her.

Tomorrow, of course, when she’s sobered up. Perhaps, she was just drunk and didn’t mean what she said. She wasn’t in the proper mindset.”

“So I shouldn’t take what she said to heart?”

“Well, there’s also the argument that drunk words are sober thoughts.”

“Does the same go for you?” He snickers.

I laugh, “sometimes.”

“So you don’t like the gold in my eyes? I thought it was your favorite part?” He smirks, turning to lay on his side and face me. My hand would’ve fallen off his hadn’t he flipped his over to catch it.

Ugh, he’s such a sneaky jerk! His cheeky smirk only grows with my silence. Warmth rushes to my cheeks as I bashfully hide my face.

“Yeah… about that…” I laugh nervously, “let’s just pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“Should I forget that you also said I smell like sunshine and everything exquisite?” He adds to the torment.

I groan, tossing my head back. This must count as torture. “Preferably, yes,” I request shortly.

We share a laugh at my annoyed reaction. He’s impossible! Even he should be mopping he still manages to tease me!

A comfortable silence fills the air and I stare down at the pillow in my lap as I play with the lettering on it.

________________________________

Masterlist

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #stranger things smut #stranger things image

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

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This day in history

#10yrsago Charlie Stross and me at Makerbot, talking Rapture of the Nerds https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5fg6fWw6OnY

#10yrsago Radio circuit board laid out like the London tube map https://www.designboom.com/technology/yuri-suzuki-london-underground-circuit-map-radio/

#10yrsago Wells Fargo mistakenly forecloses on the wrong house, destroys elderly couple’s entire lifetime’s worth of possessions https://www.cbsnews.com/losangeles/news/owners-lose-possessions-after-home-near-twentynine-palms-is-mistakenly-foreclosed/

#5yrsago Judge tosses out Hulk Hogan lawyer’s suit against Techdirt over that guy who claimed he invented email https://www.techdirt.com/articles/20170906/13431338159/case-dismissed-judge-throws-out-shiva-ayyadurais-defamation-lawsuit-against-techdirt.shtml

#5yrsago Florida management company bans tenants from using storm shutters as Hurricane Irma approaches https://www.wptv.com/news/region-c-palm-beach-county/west-palm-beach/renters-told-theyre-not-allowed-to-board-up-windows

#5yrsago Ugandan ethics chief boasts of his new magic South Korean pornography filter and its efficacy against “homos” https://www.techdirt.com/2017/09/08/ugandan-government-obtains-mysterious-south-korean-built-anti-porn-machine/

#5yrsago Broward County GOP secretary split a female classmate’s skull with over 40 claw-hammer blows https://www.miamiherald.com/entertainment/ent-columns-blogs/jose-lambiet/article171549182.html

#5yrsago Case study of LAPD and Palantir’s predictive policing tool: same corruption; new, empirical respectability https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.1177/0003122417725865#articleCitationDownloadContainer

#5yrsago In an engineering paper, bunnie Huang and Ed Snowden describe a malware-resistant hardware Iphone privacy overlay https://www.tjoe.org/pub/direct-radio-introspection/release/2

#5yrsago Epipen: Mylan and Pfizer let people die while jacking up prices on defective devices, says FDA https://arstechnica.com/science/2017/09/fda-slams-epipen-maker-for-doing-nothing-while-hundreds-failed-people-died/

#5yrsago Equifax waited 5 weeks to admit it had doxed 44% of America, did nothing to help us while its execs sold stock https://arstechnica.com/information-technology/2017/09/why-the-equifax-breach-is-very-possibly-the-worst-leak-of-personal-info-ever/

#5yrsago Brexit: UK Tories propose changing thousands of laws in secret, without Parliamentary oversight https://www.independent.co.uk/voices/great-repeal-bill-eu-withdrawal-democracy-rights-liam-fox-deregulation-a7934091.html

#pluralistic

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grantzarrr · 4 years ago

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Tension E.d

warnings: smut, a little of everything idrk, poorly written sorry :)

summary: When Ethan and Y/n look a little to good at this party so obviously it ends up a build up of tension and teasing.

A/N: to nervous to tag anyone🙈 so if you see it, you see it..

Ethan Dolan would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want to bend her over right in front of everyone and show her a real party and Y/n Y/l/n would be lying straight through her teeth if she said her boyfriend didn’t look so fuckable tonight. They both craved to be in each other’s arms and they knew their partner was thinking the same but not tonight, tonight they couldn’t just go to the bathroom and fuck out their tension—this party was the fanciest restaurant in town and the smallest ‘inconvenience’ would have them banned and looked upon. Due to the many paparazzis outside waiting for someone to step out or even kicked and banned.

But god the way that dress showed all her perfect curves and stuck to her skin tightly made him just wanna bust right there and it wasn’t helping when she would eye fuck him across the room or softly bite her lip and give a small giggle once she sees the damage she’s doing. And don’t forget how Ethan was taking his toll on this too, he knew that the pants he wore showed enough of his budge to get her to melt or the thin button-down that would display a nice viewing of his abs and biceps and to make it even better he wouldn’t wear his jacket to show it off more. Let’s not even mention the little smirks and winks he would so when he would catch her staring for a little too long. Y/n and Ethan could most definitely feel the tension build-up, the hot and thick build-up that would form when their eyes meet, burning into each other’s souls ready to latch out any moment.

The longer you beamed on your boyfriend the more you wanted to suck the living soul and burning tension right out of his cock or even how badly you wanted him to fuck you raw in missionary just to see his eyes glow and the facial expressions that would appear on this man face. And god he wanted to suck little bruises on your clit and have you shaking as he fingered fucked you, he wanted to pull your legs above your head and hammer into your already bruised pussy. And oh- everyone here looked so innocent not one dirty thing coming across their mind and the two lovers sitting in their own hot and sweaty filth and yet that still aroused them.

As the music started to speed everyone started getting up for a little dance time thus pushing the two right into each other. “God the things I wanna do to you, baby.” Ethan grunted as he whispered in your ear, you were so desperately wanting anything to happened that those words alone had you even wetter.

He leaned into your ear again “And I bet your little pussy is soaked—ready to be licked, sucked and fucked isn’t it, angel?”

That caught you completely off guard, you could tell Ethan was ready to risk it all and you didn’t prepare a single sentence to say to him. All you could do was nod your head swiftly and at that moment you were ready to risk it all as well. But wait...the party- you couldn’t let this opportunity slip this quickly especially knowing how well these people treated the guests, this was not the time nor place. “Ethan this is a newly opened 5-star restaurant we are not ruining this shit, keep it in your pants and wait.” You cocked your eyebrow at him, stopping him in his tracks instantly. He then hummed at this knowing you were right, he’s been trying to get a spot in this place for months. “Yea you’re right— I could go another hour or so without your pussy.” Just pushing his limits even more but he presided with that and went his separate way over to Grayson.

And this is when our first little turn started, Grayson could smell that tension as soon as his brother sat down next to him. “Bro, what the fuck are you smirking at?” Ethan asked, he was still irritated by getting badly aroused but not being able to do anything. “M’nothing...just can feel that y’all are so close to fuck each other’s brains out.” Grayson said, continuing to give Ethan a very cheesy smile that pissed Ethan off even more. And before Ethan could softly yell at his fuck face of a brother, Grayson broke out to go dance with another random girl of the night- still smiling hard as if he was holding all the secrets to himself. And there Ethan sat at their table, the blood still rushing throughout him and his dick the more he watched his girlfriend pretend she wasn’t a horny mess waiting to happen. He just knew that the little smiles she would give from across the dance floor wasn’t innocent nor the little hip swings and dips she did weren’t just for the dance but to fuck him up even more.

Y/n was getting tired of dancing with her newly made friends and decided to go sit with her boyfriend whose eyes still hot on her trail. So she decided to go and fuck with him a little, “Are you gonna eye fuck me all night, or are you gonna do something about it?” She smirked at him, “Fuck you, you know I can’t do shit about it until we leave this hell hole.” He grunted, he knew she was better at hiding this and she was taking her place on him right now. “Mm I know baby but the slow dance is in a bit and after I’m all yours.” She wined and as she went to get something to drink she swung her ass in his face a little just to get him up there and Ethan swore he was about to give her ass a good smack but fuck he couldn’t once again.

Ethan, Grayson and Y/n were sitting at their table, the tension wasn’t as thick anymore it kinda died down as time went on everyone was just waiting on the slow dance especially Ethan, he had something very special for his ‘innocent girlfriend’. Once the lights dimmed and slow played music started a lot of people got up to dance, some left to go home and some even stayed in their seats but Ethan practically dragged you down there to go dance, once you got there Ethan pulled you in close, hands locked swaying back and forth to the music but then his one hand unconnected and the other was at your lower back. The empty hand found itself at the slit of your dress- very close to you pussy that was getting more butterflies as he reached closer and closer, he found your thong and slipped it aside and rubbed two fingers against you. “I knew you were soaking, why didn’t you tell me, angel?” He asked as he slipped a finger in. And Ethan still had to sway back and forth to seem like you both were still dancing to lesson the suspension on them.

“We’re in public, you know.” You whined, your hips bucking up for some more friction. Ethan chuckled and pressed your hips down “Princess I know it might feel good but you have to learn to stop doing your hips like that.” He laughed a little, but this time he added in a second finger starting to softly fuck you with them, you climbed onto him tightly desperately wanting this. He then began to tease you like you’ve been doing to him, “Does this feel good, angel?” He hummed and you didn’t want it to stop he just knew you pussy way to well, “Yes, yes, yes Ethan oh my-.” And with that, he pulled his fingers out completely, licking them to collecting all your juices. “Ethan! What the fuck?” You silently yelled, you were pissed but still didn’t want to cause looks. “What? Oh, am I being a tease like you?” He continued to tease.

“Alright come on gray, we’re ready to go.” Ethan said, and saying this like he just didn’t finger you and lick your juices in front of at least 20 people. As you approached Ethan after saying bye and getting socials with your newly made friends, you grabbed Ethan by his shirt and kissed him shoving your tongue with his. You two made out the entire car drive, you sitting on his lap and rubbing your clothed pussy on his crotch “oh- fuck angel.” He groaned, getting hard all over again. Neither of them caring that Grayson was driving but all he did was just turn up the music louder.

They made it to the bed finally after what felt like years of build-up and teasing. Ethan putting her arms above them, “Ethan stop teasing.” You whined. “If you don’t like my teasing then why are you moaning?” He asked and you simply couldn’t answer.

And now clothes were off and Ethan was pounding you raw, his tip right on the verge of you g-spot, tears almost falling out from pleasure. He was fucking you so hard and rough it was like you could tell he’s been waiting all this time for this moment. “Fuck! You think you could’ve gon al— all day with that fucking dress on, huh?” His grunts and huffed sounding so good when he was on top of you and his face when you would clench purposely. You were clawing at his back just knowing marks were gonna be left and he would hiss but he fucking loved it. He wrapped this hand around your neck and that was it for you, you never came harder and he made it so easy when he would squeeze a little harder. “I see you came without warning huh?” He huffed, he wasn’t mad he just wanted you to cum on right in his mouth. “Fuckkk, I’m gonna mix our cum baby- I’m gonna—.” And he fucking came hard, mixing y’all come together for sure and very visibly making a mess on the sheets.

“Dammit, we made a mess...Wanna go another round, baby?” He smirked

#ethan dolan smut #ethan dolan #ethan smut #dolan twins fanfic #dolantwins #grayson dolan #nervous #to post or not to post

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himbowelsh · 4 years ago

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Hi! I loooooved your drunk band of brothers hc's so much, could you elaborate more on the pacific and saving private ryan boys? 🥰

oooooohhh dude if you insist

The Pacific

Robert Leckie: The Messy Drunk. Giving Leckie booze is highkey like disco dancing beside a hornet’s nest. You’re going to get stung, and it’s going to be severely unpleasant, you just don’t know how or when. Drunk Leckie... is that friend. He really can’t be left alone; when out partying, he’s probably fine, but his moods swing from reckless highs to terrifying lows. All his guards are lower, and pent up emotions are quicker to bleed through --- because he can’t be assed to hold them back. He’ll drunk-dial his ex and leave a dozen voicemails, or call his mom to tell her how he really feels about his fourteenth birthday party... and when friends try to step in, suddenly he’s shouting at them. Why? They didn’t do anything... but Leckie is a mess, and it bleeds all over everything. Safest range for him is comfortably drunk. When he crosses the border into hammered territory, he’s a hazard to himself and others.

Runner Conley: The Energetic Drunk. No one knows what drugs Drunk Runner is on, but he needs to share. Whoa, is he wired. Alcohol is a suppressant, but no one ever bothered to inform him; he gains energy when he’s drunk. He’s the one on the dance floor for hours, busting a move and trying to convince his friends to join in; he’s the one shouting song suggestions and hollering about how it’s his friend’s birthday, hell yeah, pour it out (it’s not actually Leckie’s birthday, but if it gets them free drinks he’ll roll with it). Runner is very inclined to drunk gymnastics, but should not under any circumstances be allowed to. Other than that, excellent guy to have on a night out.

Chuckler Juergens: The Ladies’ Man. Don’t worry, he’s having a great night. Chuckler’s got a very high tolerance, so he actually keeps his head pretty well; this is good, because he’s got to keep an eye on everyone else, before Runner cartwheels out a plate glass window. He isn’t the Mom Friend Drunk, however... oh no, Chuckler’s got other things on his mind. Namely, flirting with every cutie in the bar. He’s great at flirting sober, but Drunk Chuckler is absolutely gifted. He’s suave, charming, funny, and no one on earth could tell he’s already had three vodka-and-limes. He spends most of his evening chatting girls up and dancing with them; his friends have to actively drag him away at the end of the night, otherwise he will end up going home with someone. He’s never drunk enough that it’s a bad idea, just drunk enough that he can’t think of a reason not to. After a night out, he finds numbers written on multiple places on his body. Once, someone wrote their number on his abs.

Hoosier Smith: The Dr. Jekyll. Give Hoosier a bottle of whiskey, and he turns into a different person, okay. He’s still... like, he’s still Hoosier, but this Hoosier grins. With his teeth. This Hoosier will actually dance; he’ll flirt with people for the hell of it (”for the hell of it” is Drunk Hoosier’s philosophy), he’ll try to talk Runner into gymnastics just so he can film it... he got a job drunk once. He literally made one phone call, ended up having a twenty-minute conversation, and came back to tell everyone he just got hired as a finance manager. Drunk Hoosier is impressively cool in the face of a crisis; there’s nothing messy about him (he observes Leckie’s swaying and slurring with disdain). He could probably be coached through first-aid drunk. If you didn’t know him, you wouldn’t be able to tell he’s drunk at all, you’d think he’s just like that.

Sid Phillips: The Impatient Drunk. Does not have time for anyone’s shit, and no longer cares to pretend he does. No one knows why Sid gets so short-tempered when he’s drunk. He’s not like that sober, so the going theory is he just has a lot of pent-up frustration. Now, when buzzed, Sid is a delight. He’s talkative, bubbly, and overall a treat to be around. This is where he should stay. The more he drinks, the progressively less fun the party gets, until he’s glowering at people across the room and shouting at someone for bumping into him. He will not win a bar fight, but he will start one, and not remember a damn thing about it in the morning. By the time Sid’s reached his limit, most of his friends are still just starting, so they’re usually sober enough to cut him off before he gets to that point.

Eugene Sledge: The Snuggly Drunk. He just gets lonely, okay? Liquor makes him morose, and he prefers not to be alone whenever he does choose to indulge. He needs someone there, just to keep him from getting lost in his own thoughts. When out with friends, Drunk Sledge is docile, pretty sweet, but unabashedly clingy. He wants to touch people; he’ll touch their faces, their hair, lean against their shoulders, hug them (”someone help me,” Drunk Leyden says in abject terror, with Sledge wrapped around his waist)... he’s just fine as long as there’s someone there to keep him entertained all night. Tell him a story and he’ll listen in silent rapture; give him a phone and let him watch videos, and he’ll be entertained for hours.

Snafu Shelton: The Possessive Drunk. Snafu... is not a fun drunk to be around. He’s a funny drunk, but this does not make him fun. Drunk Snafu’s idea of fun is not dancing in the club, it’s setting a dumpster on fire. He’s never gotten arrested drunk, but whoa has he come close. So long as he has a more responsible friend to keep him in line, he’s going to “behave” (and Snafu has a very strict rule that he does not drink alone, for his own good, so there’s usually someone). However, he... latches onto this person. Like, he acquires them like a $1,000 watch, and refuses to let anyone else near them for the rest of the night. Since Burgie wouldn’t put up with it, this behavior only becomes really apparent with Sledge, because Snafu is fiercely protective of Drunk Sledge. (Drunk Sledge needs to be protected tbh.) He looks after him all night, steals drinks for him, makes sure he’s drinking water and not hugging strange men... if Drunk Snafu doesn’t have a project, he’s going to commit a felony. Drunk Sledge is a godsend to his criminal record.

RV Burgin: The Hyperfocused Drunk. It’s not safe for him to get drunk, because he has to be the mom friend! He has to keep everyone else from burning the bar down! He knows this, but somehow his friends always end up pushing drinks on him, and next thing he knows, he’s five shots in wondering where rainbows come from. Drunk Burgie has a very one-track mind, and little patience for anything else. He’s not looking after his friends, because he can’t understand why dogs don’t have twins. He’ll discuss this out loud; he’ll crowdsource opinions. Drunk Burgie is actually very outgoing, but no one knows what the hell he’s talking about. His brain goes off in directions no one can follow, and next thing you know he’s trying to get to the library at midnight to see if they have any books about crayfish. (God forbid if he decides he wants fast food; he’ll talk about it for an hour, until someone’s annoyed enough to get it for him.)

Jay De L’Eau: The Giggly Drunk pt deux. He’s such a nice drunk. Everything is funny, and he’s constantly laughing at the dumb jokes and antics of everyone else; he’s less inclined to do the crazy shit, happier just to watch. He’ll stop and ask a stranger if they’re doing okay, or give his last few dollars away just because someone else needed it --- he’s an angel and everyone’s thrilled that he’s here.

Andrew Haldane: The Bemused Drunk. Okay, he doesn’t drink too much as a rule, because he’s a responsible person, okay... but Andy is weak to peer-pressure coming from his friends, so when he goes out, he’ll probably end up having a few. Liquor makes him thoughtful, and he’s a placid drunk overall. His reflexes are a lot slower, but he’s content to just sit there, observing everyone or lost in his own thoughts. He’s just... not totally there. If he puts something down, he will misplace it. If he’s talking to someone, he’ll lose track of the threads of conversation halfway through, and need to be stared back on topic. He doesn’t remember what bar he’s in, what street he’s on, where he lives --- he can rattle off sports history facts like he’s reading from a mental wikipedia page, but god help him if he knows where he put his wallet.

Hillbilly Jones: The Responsible Drunk. He doesn’t know how he always ends up looking after everyone else during a night out. It’s not a responsibility he wants. There are at least two people in the group better suited for it. But Andy’s been staring out the window for ten minutes humming to himself, and Burgie is trying to remember what his brother said to him years ago, and Jay is about to give his wallet to a homeless man, damn it --- Hillbilly isn’t a big drinker, but liquor lends him a bit more patience. This is a godsend, because somehow he ends up wrangling the whole crew. He makes a good mom friend, keeping them from wandering off and reminding them to drink water, making sure they don’t go too wild... Hillbilly’s night isn’t over until everyone else has gotten home safe. No, he’s not thrilled he’s gotta be the one to do it, but someone has to.

Gunny Haney: The Stripper. I’m sorry.

John Basilone: The ‘And I’ll Do It Again’ Drunk. He pretends he has a rule where he’d never do anything drunk that he wouldn’t do sober. This is... almost true. John wouldn’t not start a barfight sober, if given a damn good reason, but he’d think it through a lot more. Drunk John... does not think things through. Not for a second. He does things without considering the consequences. There’s a thin line with John, between “fun to have at parties” and “needs to be asked to leave”. Usually, he knows better than to drink enough to cross that valley, but when he does... let’s just say, JP and Manny are banned from a few bars by sheer association.

Lena Riggi: The Careful Drunk. Lena does not have control issues. I’ll say it again, because she needs everyone to know: Lena does not have control issues. But if she’s going to be out of control, it’s no one’s business but her own. She hates the idea of really letting her hair down in front of strangers --- or worse, casual acquaintances. Which isn’t to say she’s not fun at parties, she just... minds her alcohol intake. She’s very aware of when she’s getting tipsy, and knows when to stop. She also keeps up with her friends, and is an expert at keeping an eye on them, wrangling them when they wander off or get into trouble. (Basically, she’s the perfect person to rein in Drunk John’s self-destructive tendencies.)

Saving Private Ryan

John Miller: The Depressed Drunk. No, really, this man shouldn’t be allowed to drink. He tries not to, as a rule. He knows his limits. Only on rare occasions does he actually get drunk, and once he does, everyone regret it. He’s... not fun. He’s not responsible. He’s just sad. He’s got a lot of thoughts, and is clearly working through them right here at the table. He’s been staring at his hands for the past half hour, he won’t talk to anyone, and looks like he’s going to cry. Someone needs to take him home.

Mike Horvath: The Drunk With A Lot of Opinions. He’s a very social drinker, and doesn’t need to know anybody else at the party to have a good time. Mike will talk to anyone. More specifically, he’ll talk at anyone. He’s got a lot to say about the Black Rhino crisis, the 1998 Superbowl, sitcoms that ended 20 years ago... he feels very strongly about these things, and is not accepting dissenting opinions at this time. He won’t pick arguments with people, really, but he won’t shy away from them. Mike’s one rule on a night out is that he Will Not Dance, so he has to do something with his time.

Richard Reiben: The Shouty Drunk. He’s not even shouting at anyone. Reiben isn’t an angry drunk, he’s just loud. His entire drinking philosophy is “turn down for what” and the answer is: nothing. He’s not going to turn down, he doesn’t feel inclined. He doesn’t really dance, just gets excited and fistpumps the air a lot; he thinks drunk sports are a great idea; he’s nicer to people, for some reason, but will also talk their ear off if allowed. If he’s a pain in the ass sober, he’s even worse drunk, because he’s got twice as much to say and no indoor voice to say it with.

Daniel Jackson: The “Dude, Watch This” Drunk. He really doesn’t change that much when drunk, to be honest. Jackson’s got a lot of self-control, and doesn’t overindulge often. When he does drink, he gets a bit chattier, but that’s about it. He prefers not to dance, and will responsibly stop his friends from doing things likely to get them killed... only to do those things himself, just because he can. He’s drunk vodka out of a broken lightblub; he jumped from an upstairs window into a frozen swimming pool; he stole Horvath’s wallet. The question is not “what won’t he do”, it’s “why would he do this”? He’s not that drunk. He’s never drunk enough to justify anything; he just uses liquor as an excuse to do all the things his sober friends would dissuade him from.

Stanley Mellish: The Karaoke Drunk. He’s actually so much fun to go out drinking with, because he’s having a good time, having a good time --- he’s the life of the party. He’s the one standing on tables and riling the bar up; he’s got the best drunk jokes; he always knows when someone needs another drink, and finds one for them. (He made it a special project to get Upham drunk the first time they went out, and was thrilled with the result.) Loves to drunk-sing. If the bar does not have a karaoke stage, Mellish will simply create one.

Adrian Caparzo: The Drunk White Girl. My man completely forgets that he’s over six feet tall and has a pair of brass knuckles in his pocket. Caparzo doesn’t remember exactly why he came out tonight, but he’s out, and he’s had so much vodka, and he just threw up into a potted plant, and his shoes hurt, and now his shoes are off, and he lost a shoe, and where’s Fish, oh my god, they lost Fish --- (Mellish is right behind him, laughing his ass off.) Things get messy. He’s very sweet, however, very liberal with compliments, extremely supportive, and really craving fast food.

Irwin Wade: The Tragic Backstory Drunk. Wade gets a lot more upbeat after he’s had a few drinks; he talks louder, smiles brighter, and really comes out of his shell a lot more. Unfortunately, he’s a talker. Drunk Wade has not learned the virtues of shutting the fuck up. He doesn’t need to talk about everything, he just occasionally starts blabbing about really personal shit, like the time his grandmother died of cancer or the first time he saw his mother cry, and it’s like... are you okay, buddy? Do you need to talk to someone? He says it so casually, too, like the liquor has numbed whatever obviously raw emotions are tied to these memories. His friends always know Wade a lot better after a night out, in plenty of ways they didn’t need to. They’ve learned to be smart about it; anytime Wade starts rambling, Reiben pushes some pretzels in his mouth, just so he’ll happily shush.

Timothy Upham: The Enthusiastic Drunk. He’s having a great time, even if no one else is. Drunk Upham comes out of his shell a lot more, which would be great if the liquor gave him any extra social skills. It doesn’t. Honestly, he just gets... more oblivious to everyone else, and cares less about what other people are doing. He’s just vibing, and having fun doing it. Will bop along to music even if no one else is dancing with him, will ramble even if nobody’s listening... oh god, and he loves to be on the dance floor. Like, the best way to keep an eye on him is to just drag him out and plant him in the middle of a dancing crowd, because he’s just happy to be there. 10/10 pleasant drunk, doesn’t know what the hell is going on. What language is he speaking? Who knows.

James Ryan: The Fun-Time Drunk. No, really, the rest of these guys are disasters, here’s the dude you want to go drinking with. He never goes alone, always with a group of buddies; he comes out solely to have a good time, and will not accept alternatives. This man has done body shots before. He loves loud music, crowded bars, and lively people. Yes, he can be a little obnoxious when drunk, but no more than your average well-intentioned dumb kid. He’s such an emotionally supportive drunk friend; he’s very physically affectionate, and will hug people while trying to coax them out of their sour moods. Anything can be solved with a trip to the dance floor. By the end of the night, he’ll probably end up passing out on someone’s shoulder, probably on the ride home, but he’s just worn out from a great party.

#saving private ryan #the pacific #headcanons #this got SO LONG

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archdukecaleb · 5 years ago

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Freezerburn Week 2020 — Day 3: MMA AU

WordCount: 2000

Weiss restlessly tapped her nails against the sleek, wooden table. Her eyes were never settled in one place as she scanned the establishment over and over again. She could not help but glance at her phone and groan at the time.

I’m still early…

Today she was meeting with someone for a special day out. A date of sorts, though Weiss refrained from referring to it as such.

To be honest with herself, Weiss had not planned on dating anyone for a while. She knew she was out of practice and was only doing this because her friend, Blake, begged her to.

Weiss could not remember the last time she was this on-edge about meeting someone. She generally thought of herself as a confident, competent, and forward-thinking woman. Though, she knew exactly why this particular meeting was so precarious.

She did not like to admit it, but Weiss was not the best at interpersonal communication when it came to finding a potential spouse. Sure, she had met some wonderful people in the past, but it never got to the point where she seriously felt anything for them. After a few months of focusing on her job, she received a much-needed push from her best friend to start actively looking for someone.

It was then that Blake suggested using a dating app on her phone.

Of course, Weiss was skeptical. She was aware of the reputation of certain dating apps, and she had no intention to hook up with anyone for a night. She was looking for something real.

After some help from Blake with setting up her profile and a week or so of using the app, Weiss finally found a match with someone. She was a woman with long, curly hair of the brightest shade of gold Weiss had ever seen, and a pair of absolutely mesmerizing, lilac irises.

From the pictures on her match’s profile, Weiss noticed how warm and friendly she was with everyone. Photos of her with friends and family, along with a few selfies. There were plenty of photos of her in a sports bra and training shorts as well.

Weiss bit her cheek as she caught herself thinking about those photos. Chiseled abs Weiss never knew were attainable on the human form, flawless skin that glistened with sweat, and toned arms with the perfect amount of muscle…

And her name was Yang Xiao Long.

Weiss could not recall any person she had ever known that was more beautiful; more stunning, than this bombshell. She thought she had every right to believe Yang was out of her league, so she nearly leaped with joy when she matched with her.

Since then, she and Yang have had a few conversations. She learned that Yang goes to the gym frequently—as she could have surmised, has a younger sister named Ruby, really loves her family, and has broken her arm not one, but three times.

Weiss genuinely enjoyed texting with Yang, which excited her greatly. She wasted no time in inviting Yang to meet up in person, to which she agreed happily. Now, she waited, still a few minutes early, in a restaurant she and Yang agreed on to have lunch together.

The waiting around only served to make Weiss more anxious. She could not help it when the thought of being stood up crossed her mind.

Oh, God… I am such a wreck.

Weiss sighed as she rested her face in her palm and pulled out her phone. Without even meaning to, she opened up Yang’s profile and marveled at the many photos she had there.

Yang was just gorgeous in every way.

Weiss was so busy gawking at Yang’s photos that she nearly failed to see her sit down across from her. She hastily placed her phone, face down, on the table and met Yang’s lilac eyes with her own.

They’re even more captivating in person…

“Weiss! Hi!” Yang’s jovial voice greeted, “It’s nice to finally meet you in person! I’ve got to say, the pictures on your profile don’t do you justice. You look absolutely beautiful.”

Weiss nearly forgot to pick her jaw up from the floor and allowed a wide, genuine smile to grace her lips.

“Thank you! That’s so sweet of you, Yang. I was just thinking the same about you,” Weiss giggled as her cheeks heated up, slightly.

They had both decided semi-formal attire would be appropriate for this meeting, and Yang did not disappoint at all. She wore a bright sundress that was perfect for the beautiful day it was today and carried a small, yellow handbag to match.

“You’re early,” Weiss commented in an attempt to break the ice.

“So are you,” Yang smiled, brightly, “I wanted to make sure I didn’t keep you waiting, but I guess that didn’t happen.”

“Funny,” Weiss chuckled as she tucked a strand of her white hair behind her ear, “That’s why I got here early as well.”

“Oh! Well, that is very considerate of you, Weiss,” Yang chuckled, “Now, what do you say we order soon. I’m so hungry.”

“Same here,” Weiss agreed as she passed Yang a menu.

The two women looked through the menus for a few seconds before Yang smiled at Weiss again.

“I really love your dress,” Yang complimented, “I think it perfectly matches with your hair and really goes well with your eyes.”

Weiss felt herself blush and tried to hide her smile behind the menu, “Thank you! You are too kind.”

“Don’t hide your smile,” Yang chuckled as she set her menu down, “It’s one of the many things that add to your beauty.”

“Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever been complimented this much on a first date before,” Weiss smiled as she lowered her menu.

“I tell it how it is,” Yang shrugged.

The two talked for a while longer before the waiter came around to their table and gathered their orders. Not too long after, their food was on the table and they began to eat together. They talked the whole time, and Weiss found herself become more relaxed by Yang’s presence as time went by.

“So, there I was just sitting there with banana cream pie all over my face and in my hair. And these kids! I swear, they were ruthless. It was the last time I ever volunteer to fill in as a clown at a birthday party.”

Weiss struggled to keep herself from falling out of her seat from how hard she was laughing. She could feel tears building up at the corners of her eyes, and your abdomen was starting to ache.

“I’ve never met a kid who was capable of such evil,” Weiss wheezed as she clutched her stomach.

“They're about one in a million, to be honest. I think most kids are awesome,” said Yang, “But enough about me, I want to hear about the life of Weiss Schnee.”

“Oh! Um…” Weiss thought hard about something interesting she could tell Yang, “My best friend and I recently went to Spain for a vacation.”

“That sounds fun! What did you guys do there?”

“We mostly relaxed at the beaches,” said Weiss.

“Yeah, I’ve been to Spain too, but I didn’t get to stay there very long,” Yang explained, “I never got to see the beaches, either.”

“They were beautiful, but it was always crowded. My best friend thinks it was because there was some big MMA fight there at the time.”

“Oh, that’s a bummer,” Yang chuckled as she briefly looked off to the side, “Do you have a favorite color?”

“That’s an odd segue,” Weiss laughed, “But I guess I would say… either white or light-blue. What about you?”

“Yellow for sure,” Yang chuckled as she gestured to her attire.

Weiss giggled as she leaned forward on the table, “I don’t know what it is about you… You just make me feel so relaxed. I really needed this.”

Yang smiled warmly and folded her hands on the table, “I’m so glad to hear you say that. I’m having a great time getting to know you, Weiss.”

The whole restaurant shook as the door was bashed open.

“Everybody, stay in your seats!” a loud voice boomed.

Yang turned in her seat and watched as two men with knives walked into the restaurant.

“Everyone, just stay calm and put any money and valuables you have in the bag!”

Weiss froze as Yang looked between her and the man that was coming around to each table with a worn-out, burlap sack.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Weiss whispered as she tried her best to hide her purse under the table.

She was surprised to see Yang was unnaturally calm and simply waiting for the man to get to the table.

At last, the man was shaking his bag at Weiss.

“This is all I have,” said Weiss as she dropped a twenty-dollar bill into the sack.

The man curiously looked at Weiss through his black ski-mask, “Wait a second… You’re Weiss Schnee! You’re rich! You’ve got to be hiding something else!”

Without any further hesitation, Yang jumped out of her chair and sent her knee straight into the man’s stomach while grasping the hand with the knife in it. With another swift move, Yang disarmed him and struck his nose with a speedy hammer-fist.

“What the—” started the other man as he prepared his knife.

Yang was on top of him in seconds as she grasped his arm and landed two swift punches to his gut and one directly under his chin.

She dusted off her hands and stood over the two unconscious robbers as rapturous applause filled the establishment.

Weiss stood up with her jaw wide open, “What was that!”

Yang flinched and hastily turned to face Weiss as she scratched the back of her head, “Heh… Did I mention I’m a professional MMA fighter?”

Weiss closed her mouth and timidly held her arm, “You may have let that slip.”

Yang chuckled, uncomfortably as Weiss approached her.

“Yang, you’re bleeding!”

“What?” Yang asked as the cut on her forearm was suddenly made known to her as well as the few spots of red that dotted her dress, “Oh, man! My dress!”

Weiss scoffed and help up Yang’s arm, “You are literally bleeding and you’re worried about a dress.”

Yang waved the injury off, “Nothing a band-aid can’t fix.”

“No, what you need is a bandage and some gauze! This cut is deep! I’m calling an ambulance.”

Soon, the restaurant was surrounded by police cruisers and an ambulance. Weiss watched as Yang’s wound was tended to by a paramedic. As the paramedic finished up, Yang waved to him in thanks and found Weiss looking at her.

Weiss blushed and approached Yang, who was currently sitting on the curb near the front of the restaurant.

“Uh… Thanks for calling the ambulance. I actually could’ve lost a lot of blood,” said Yang, bashfully as Weiss sat down beside her.

“I wasn’t about to let you leave the place without proper treatment,” Weiss chuckled, “Does it hurt much?”

Yang held up her bandaged arm, “Nah, it’s not bad.”

A few moments of quiet settled on the two women as they watched the police haul away the robbers and the paramedics pack up their equipment.

“I’m sorry our date kind of fell apart,” Yang sighed.

“Are you kidding?” Weiss asked, incredulously, “This is the most fun I’ve had on a date ever. And, for what it’s worth, I thought you were very brave.”

Weiss swiftly pressed a soft kiss to Yang’s cheek, causing the latter to blush, lightly.

“It was no big,” Yang chuckled.

“So… A professional MMA fighter, hm?”

“Yeah…”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Weiss asked.

“In my experience with dating, I’ve found that being an MMA fighter is a major turnoff for most people… And I really wanted this date to go well, so I didn’t want to risk ruining things. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you.”

“No, I understand completely,” said Weiss, “I wanted this date to go well, too, and I think, for the most part, it did. I hope we can do this again?”

Yang smiled, brightly, “I’d love that!”

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Weiss laughed, “And, if it’s all the same to you, maybe you could save a seat for me at your next fight?”

Yang could not help herself and pulled Weiss into a big, strong hug.

“Bet on it.”

#freezerburnweek #@freezerburn-week #rwby #weiss schnee #yang xiao long #weiss x yang

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planetsam · 5 years ago

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The unmarked envelope is heavier than Michael expects.

He’s still getting used to having one hand and one claw, so it takes him some effort to get it open. When he does, there’s no paper in it. No long explanation he can roll his eyes at and read a thousand times over. He actually has to tip the envelope over.

A pair of dog tags spill out.

For a moment his mind shuts down. He knows even before he picks them up what’s on them, though his eyes don’t want to take in the information. He sits down hard on the bed, staring at the two tags on their long ball chain. He’s noticed Alex isn’t around, but why the hell would he be? After Michael couldn’t protect him, after he was so useless what point was there in sticking around. Roswell has never felt so claustrophobic. Now he knows where Alex is.

Alex is in the Air Force.

Michael grips the metal to his chest and for the first time since the hammer fell down, he lets himself weep.

He doesn’t think much when he hears about the military changing their dog tag rules.

Not until the envelope comes.

These ones are different, there’s a series of randomly generated numbers instead of the digits of Alex’s social security number. And now both the tags are surrounded by black rubber bumpers. He looks up the news immediately and tries not to be sick at the announcement that the first people who get these are the ones who are deploying.

Alex is good and smart, of course they want him on the front lines.

God, Alex is good and smart and so reckless. Michael feels sick to his stomach as he holds the tags in his hand. He can’t even look at them. He puts them in the drawer with the last ones and flees to the Pony, getting so shitfaced that he winds up being not only thrown out but also banned for a week. He staggers home and pours three bottles of acetone down his throat before he goes back to the drawer.

He runs his thumb over the dog tags before he loops the chain around his neck and falls asleep as close to Alex as the world will let him get.

The next set of tags arrive two years later.

The only change is Alex’s religion.

Apparently he’s a Jedi now.

Michael laughs.

“I need to borrow a shirt,” Alex admits, holding up the one that Michael has literally torn off him.

“Top drawer,” he says.

Alex rolls his eyes at the smile he flashes and pushes himself up. Michael enjoys the view as Alex does up his pants and goes over, opening the wrong drawer. The sharp lines on his golden skin go even sharper and Michael realizes with a dull thud of alarm that he’s opened the wrong drawer. He’s opened the drawer with his collection of Alex’s tags. Which wouldn’t be quite so creepy if he hadn’t made it so that each had their own built in box, carefully done so they wouldn’t tangle and he could see each of them.

They are naked and they have been inside each other a lot over the past few days, but they both have an out. This can just be sex. Amidst the chaos of his trailer, Alex’s dogtags are possibly the best organized, most maintained objects. Michael doesn’t get off the bed but he does push himself up as Alex stares down at his history—at their history—with an unreadable expression on his face. Michael finally gets up and reaches over, pulling out a t-shirt and holding it to him.

“Thanks,” he says. Michael has to resist yelling when he doesn’t reach for it and instead, brushes his fingers against the dog tags, “you kept these?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael says.

“I—“ Alex starts.

“I said don’t worry about it,” Michael says and closes the drawer when his hands are free. He doesn’t need Alex’s pity and he doesn’t want to talk about the fact that he’s kept the dog tags. He doesn’t want Alex to leave. “Here,” he says.

Alex finally takes the shirt.

He comes back two days later and then Michael can open the drawer again.

“Michael please,” Alex says, crouching in front of him.

Michael doesn’t remember. Not how he got on the floor, not why everything smells like the acetone bottles he can see everywhere. His hand is red and purple like it’s supposed to be but the skin is smooth. It smells like nail polish. Looking at Alex takes a moment for his eyes to focus and he tries to smile but it only makes the pain on Alex’s face go worse.

“Your family—“

Pain slices through him.

“My family’s dead,” he snarls.

“Isobel isn’t,” Alex tells him, his voice low and angry, “I’m not,” before Michael can respond, he gets up and goes into the drawer. Michael can barely think but he knows he’s not supposed to go in there. Before he can stop him, Alex comes back and loops the chain around his neck, tucking the tag into his shirt. It hangs over his heart like a brand, “you’re not either. Please remember that.”

“Why’d you send these to me?” He questions, pushing himself up.

“I was a coward,” Alex says and fuck him for saying it so calmly. Like he can look at his flaws and face them. “But I wanted you to know.”

“So I couldn’t look away,” Michael snaps.

It comes out like an accusation but Alex doesn’t take the bait. His head dips but he doesn’t snap back. Michael isn’t in any position to fight but hell if he doesn’t want to. The lack of pity in Alex’s eyes doesn’t help. He hates Alex for once again being mature and reasonable. Better than he could ever hope to be. Alex pushes himself to his feet, he’s good with the prosthetic now. Better than he was the last time Michael remembers seeing him.

“I don’t look away either,” he says, “that’s not what family does.”

“This isn’t Game of Thrones!” Michael yells after him.

He gives up trying to be upright after that and lays back on the floor. His hand is still tacky with polish, but there’s no acetone left. He doesn’t care about his already ruined shirt and closes his hands over the dog tags, pressing them into his skin.

Maybe some of Alex’s strength will seep into him via osmosis.

He can only hope

“Captain Manes?” The guard at the gate looks confused, “ID?”

Michael has a doctored ID which seems to pass first inspection, but then the guard looks down and he prays to every God he knows that he grabbed the right tags. The most recent ones. The guard’s lips curve into a faint smile.

“Jedi, that’s a good one,” he says.

“I thought so,” Michael says and they wave him through so he can go and un-kidnapp the real Alex Manes.

Hopefully before anyone figures it out.

Alex lifts his shirt off and stops, staring at the tags.

“How long—“

“Since you put them on me,” he says.

Alex kisses him until he’s dizzy and sure the tag is pressed between both of their skins. He doesn’t mind the thought of having Alex’s information branded onto him. No more than he minds the thought of his lips doing nothing else but finding new ways to kiss his skin. Alex dips below his collarbone and before Michael can whine at the loss of contact, he kisses the imprint the tags have dug into his skin.

There’s something that’s both chaste and hot as fuck about it and if not for Alex’s hands at the small of his back, he’s pretty sure he’d be jelly. Alex’s lips continue to trace the outline and then kiss down his abs and lower until Alex is on his knees in front of him. Michael opens his mouth but all that seems to come out is air as Alex opens his belt and caresses every new sliver of exposed skin with his mouth. Michael clutches the tags so hard it’s a miracle they don’t leave him with a whole new kind of hand scar. He’s not entirely successful in controlling himself and for the first time ever, he moves something during sex.

“Sorry,” he exhales and Alex releases him with a wet sound that’s hotter than anything he’s ever heard, “fuck you’re good at that.”

Alex grins and untangles Michael’s hand from the tags, kissing his palm.

It feels like being reborn.

“What are you doing?” Michael asks as Alex slips the ball chain off his neck while he’s elbow deep in soapy water.

“Here,” Alex says and drops a new chain over his neck.

Michael glares at him and Alex rolls his eyes, holding up his own tags so Michael can read them. The name on them doesn’t feel real. A part of hime expects he will open his eyes and still be on the floor of the trailer, still be sobbing himself to sleep with those first ones clutched in his hand. Not standing doing the dishes and having silent conversations with the person who knows him best in the world.

“Go put those with the others,” he says.

“Fine, Guerin,” he says.

“That doesn’t work anymore!” Michael calls after him, “it’s your last name too now! We’re both Guerin. I have the proof.”

It hangs by his heart.

Right where Alex Guerin always has been.

#michael guerin #alex manes #malex fic #malex #roswell new mexico #roswell nm fanfic #malex fanfic #michael x alex #new low i have apparently inspired myself #planetsamception

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animaticaskblog · 1 month ago

Note

BAN HAMMER YOURE ALIVE ??????

…why wouldnt i be??

#animatic battle #object shows #animatic animatic battle #animatic ab #ab animatic #ban hammer ab

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lunarlooroo · 7 years ago

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do you think we could have a little something about snape getting jealous? a little bit of light angst before heather shows him that his fears are unfounded and then cue heavy fluff? i'd love that

Severus’ eyes slowly peeled open to greet the new day. A few years ago, this action would have been followed by low grumbles and much cursing. A few years ago, he would have swiftly risen from bed to get ready for a day of trying – and failing – to hammer Potions knowledge into stubborn, ungrateful minds. A few years ago-

His train of thought was interrupted by low humming and a warm body trying to burrow closer to his own. Trying, because they were already lined up chest to toe, not even air hoping to separate them.

A few years ago, he didn’t have someone he loved to wake up to.

“Sevruss?” a slurred voice called out.

He smiled, a private thing only the other person in this room saw on a regular basis.

“Good morning Heather.”

With eyes still closed, Heather raised her head. He leaned closer to meet her searching lips. Only when she got her morning kiss did she lift her heavy eyelids to reveal her bright green eyes.

“Mornin’, Severus.”

His heart filled, almost enough to bursting. He had his beautiful wife in his arms, an apothecary in both their names and a future to look forward to.

Yes, he was looking forward to the brand new day.

~~~

‘A premature assessment,’ he thought, hours later. He observed Heather’s pinched features with great worry as she stubbornly continued her work.

She had been feeling slightly dizzy the whole afternoon, an ailment perhaps exacerbated by the summer heat and humid potion fumes. Still, she insisted it was of little concern and wanted to finish out the workday.

When she started swaying on the spot at the workstation, he finally put his foot down. “Heather, you are ill. Go home and rest before you keel over a boiling cauldron!”

He pulled the knife out of her hands and firmly led her out of the laboratory. He sat her down briefly to go and lock up the store before apparating them home. There was a pang of guilt at worsening her nausea with the transport, but all kinds of wizarding travel disagreed with her. He had little choice in the matter.

Batting away all her protests, he tucked her into bed with a fresh cup of the chamomile tea she favoured. He placed a Dizziness Draught on the nightstand in the event she needed one and left only after she fell asleep.

Returning to the shop didn’t diminish his worry for Heather, but he forged on, knowing that she wouldn’t want him to waste a business day on what she called a ‘minor trifle’. Except, it was neither minor, nor a trifle to tend to a sick loved one. Heather hardly ever fell ill. In fact, he could not recall a time when she had. Injured, yes, too many times. Sick, never.

Somehow, he managed to occupy himself with work until it came time to close up. It was a challenge being the one to field all the customer inquiries, since Heather did it most of the time, but no one had gone home in tears this time. He should be pleased that business was brisk, but at the moment, all he wanted was to hurry home.

An irrational fear struck him, that he would return to find Heather sprawled at the foot of the stairs in her attempt to brave them in her vertiginous state. He had come upon his own mother’s body, a week dead from pneumonia, once upon a time.

His disapparation left a deafening crack as he spun rapidly on his heel.

He reappeared in their bedroom to the sight of an empty bed. Heart thundering, he left immediately to locate his missing wife. It was only a small comfort to find the stairwells empty.

“Severus?” Heather’s voice called out from below.

Immeasurable relief filled him and he composed himself before turning around to head downstairs. She didn’t sound poorly or distressed. Heather was perfectly safe and well.

“I’m almost done with dinner, help me set the table please?”

As he entered the kitchen, any remnants of worry slipped away at seeing her. Her cheeks had a healthy flush, the pallor from the afternoon a thing of the past. She walked with graceful, balanced steps, clearly experiencing no more dizziness. She was in a much better mood than he expected, after having been forced abed by illness.

“How are you feeling, Heather? Any pain, nausea?” Severus couldn’t help asking, despite the perfect picture of health she was.

She laughed. “I’m perfectly alright, you worrywart. It must have been the heat, I felt fine just an hour later. I knew you’d have my head if I went back to the shop, though, so I caught up on some reading in bed.”

He was surprised, but he didn’t question Heather’s acceptance of his order to rest. He stepped up behind her and pressed a kiss to her hair. “Good. Next time, just take a break if you’re feeling unwell,” he murmured. She hummed – hopefully in agreement – and leaned back into him.

“Come on,” she said a few moments later, “I hope you’re in the mood for bubble and squeak.”

~~~

All seemed well in the few days after Heather’s brief bout of illness. However, it wasn’t long before she was beset by another ailment; extreme lethargy.

She started sleeping more, retiring much earlier than Severus did, then having trouble waking in the morning. As such, she was usually able to drag herself to work only in the afternoon. It wasn’t much trouble, seeing as she was one of the owners and could thus set her own hours. But what worried Severus was that she had never needed much sleep before this, a remnant of the atrocious treatment suffered at the Dursleys’ hands.

The morning her woke up to find the other side of the bed cold and empty, he very nearly had a heart attack. He searched the house in a frantic rush, only to find Heather curled up in the guest bedroom. She’d had a horrid nightmare and didn’t want to wake him.

It was thus understandable that Severus was extremely anxious about her wellbeing. Before he could insist on taking Heather to see a Healer or even Poppy, however, her symptoms abruptly abated.

He was so thankful, he didn’t think to question it. Heather rapidly regained her healthy glow, appearing even more lively than before her sickness. The only change Severus could see was that her appetite had increased, even though it was already larger than was usual for her weight range.

He thought that perhaps her recent foray into a new runic project had been more magically taxing than expected, hence she had not increased her nutrient intake to appropriately match her magic usage.

Whatever the reason, Severus was just relieved Heather was well again.

~~~

Having recently returned to a normal work schedule since taking ill, Heather was banned from the laboratory and relegated to counter duty. They both remembered the last time Heather had stubbornly insisted on brewing while in a compromised state. That had been back in her seventh year, and she hadn’t made the mistake twice.

Severus resisted the urge to hover protectively and retreated to the backroom to catch up on the backlog of orders. Thankfully, the quality of their potions was good enough that their clients didn’t complain about the slight delay.

But if he cast a One-Way Mirror Charm on the wall facing the storefront, then that was his prerogative as a fretful husband.

He had finally relaxed enough to fall into the soothing motions of brewing when it happened.

Heather laughed, a full, utterly joyous sound. His lips twitched upwards in response and he paused his work to look up.

And stiffened.

Heather had a bright smile, eyes shining emerald with happiness.

But no, that was not what had him clenching his fists so hard he could feel the bite of his short nails.

It was the man in front of her. He was what one would call classically handsome, with blue eyes and blond hair. Someone who might be featured on the covers of insipid rags like Witch Weekly. And he was leaning in much too close to his wife.

They were bent towards each other over the counter, clearly whispering excitedly to one another. Then the man reached out to touch Heather’s forearm and Severus found himself striding out the door of the laboratory.

They both straightened at his entrance. The man had a vaguely discomfited look on his face whereas Heather was much too Slytherin to appear anything but entirely casual.

“Severus!” Heather turned a beaming grin his way. “Here, meet Warren Brookes. He’s a friend of mine.” She then faced the man again. “Warren, this is Severus Snape, my husband.”

Brookes wore a knowing smirk at the words and held a hand out politely. Severus bristled inwardly at the man. Something about the man just rubbed him the wrong way. As if he knew something Severus didn’t.

“A pleasure,” Severus stated, in a way that indicated it was anything but. The man’s offered handshake was firm, perhaps just this side of too tight. Like a challenge. Severus’ eyes narrowed.

“Warren, didn’t you say you had to go somewhere? Wouldn’t want to hold you up!”

The minute amount of surprise in Brooke’s expression showed that no such thing had been said. Severus sneered inwardly. Clearly, the man was no Slytherin if that was the way he reacted when caught out in a lie.

Severus glowered at his back as he left the shop after a jaunty wave to Heather, hoping he had seen the last of him.

~~~

That was far from the last time Severus saw Brookes.

He had become something of a regular at the shop, coming every few days to buy simple potions like Stomach Soother and Bruise Paste. It was all quite bizarre, how he went through batches of them in just days. There was no conceivable reason why he needed all these potions, no decent reason why he kept associating with a married woman the way he did.

“Here was that book you wanted, Heather!” Brookes announced cheerfully.

The One-Way Mirror Charm had long since been joined by an Eavesdropping one. He watched the interaction with hawk eyes, feeling rather chagrined to be doing so, but unable to help himself.

“Thank you, Warren!” Heather flipped through the offered book eagerly, all but devouring the pages. “Oh, there are even notes written in the margins!”

Severus gritted his teeth at that.

“Yeah, more advice is always good when it comes to this. You can keep that, by the way. Not like I need it anymore.”

They both laughed at some sort of inside joke at that statement. Severus wanted to curse the grin right off that smarmy wanker’s face.

He fumed, even as Brookes left as quickly as he had arrived. Heather was cradling the damn book in her hands like it was something to be treasured, special. The same way she had held his old textbooks, those bearing the moniker Half-Blood Prince.

If only the force of his fury could smite the book to ashes.

~~~

‘Out to meet a friend. Will be back for dinner.’

Severus crushed the note in his hands and lit it afire. It only served to further stoke the flames inside himself.

‘A friend’ could only refer to Warren Brookes.

Severus forced himself to put the pieces together.

Heather had a new friend she was inordinately close to.

She was keeping secrets from Severus with said friend.

She didn’t sleep in their bed anymore, claiming nightmares.

The one glaring conclusion one might come to was infidelity, but Severus knew Heather better than that. She was not one to betray vows like that. It was more likely that Heather was oblivious to both her waning feelings for Severus and subsequent budding ones for Brookes.

Of course, Brookes was young, handsome, amiable, untainted by a sordid history of supporting nefarious villains. All around a much better match for a remarkable witch like Heather than Severus would ever be.

Severus despised Brookes, from the very core of his being. And yet, who was he to stand in the way of Heather’s happiness? He only wanted the best for her, and that was certainly not himself.

At least he had two years of marriage to her. Almost, considering that their anniversary was the following week. He had nearly forgotten in the maelstrom of recent events.

The crackling of flames from the floo may as well have been a death knell.

Out of reflex, Severus positioned himself just a few steps away, catching Heather as she stumbled out of the fireplace. He took in her wide smile, the happy flush on her cheeks.

He ached with love at the bliss she exuded. It almost made it difficult to hate Brookes when he brought such joy to Heather. Almost.

“Severus! How was your day?”

He wiped her cheeks to rid it of soot and proceeded to pat down her robes. A quick charm would have done the same, but he needed to cherish these last few opportunities with her.

“Se…verus?” Heather asked hesitantly, when his silence persisted.

He gently led her to take a seat. She was still quicker to tire since her illness.

A hand on his cheek turned him to face her. Her eyes shined with concern. At least he knew she cared for him still, if not as a lover, then as a friend.

“Are you alright?”

He tugged her hand down to clasp in both of his.

“Did you enjoy your visit to Brookes?”

Heather visibly startled.

“What? Oh, how did you know?” She shook her head. “Of course you did, what was I thinking?” She smiled ruefully. “I hadn’t planned for you to find out just yet. Not until our anniversary, at least.”

Perhaps she wasn’t quite as oblivious as he had thought.

“Thank you for wanting to give me a happy anniversary, but I would have preferred if you had told me as soon as you knew.”

Her face fell. “Oh, I’m sorry. Sorry for keeping it from you. Are you angry?”

“No, I’m not angry. Hurt, perhaps. But I would never try to keep you by my side if you wanted to leave,” he forced himself to say.

There. The words were out. Now all was left was for him to wallow in solitude.

The hand in his grasp jerked away. He had no chance to mourn its absence.

“Wait, what?” Heather got to her feet, agitation clear in the way she held her posture. “What do you mean by that?”

“Heather, it is okay if your feelings for me have faded. I know Brookes is much more suited to you. I may not like him personally, but all that matters is what you think of him.” He succeeded in keeping his expression blank throughout, not revealing the storm in his heart.

Heather continued to stare at him, clearly shocked at his words.

Finally, she spoke. “Do you really think that?”

He carefully kept the tremble out of his voice and stared determinedly at the space between Heather’s eyes. “Yes, I do.”

“No, look me in the eyes and tell me that,” she insisted.

“I am.”

“You are not! Don’t lie to me!”

His fraying patience snapped to pieces. “Well,” he shouted, “what do you expect me to say? Do you want to hear that I hate Brookes so much I wish I was still amoral enough to do something about it? Or how about that I cannot bear to see you leave? Or perhaps you want to know…” His voice had gotten softer the more he spoke. His anger was fleeting, leaving only resignation and heartache in its wake. “Perhaps you want to know that I love you enough that I would gladly embrace this pain if only to make you happy?”

When he finished speaking he finally noticed, to his horror, that Heather was sobbing. He hadn’t meant to make her cry.

Heather threw herself into his arms, gripping onto his robes tightly.

“You…stupid…man!” she bawled into his chest. She even shook him a little.

Wasn’t he supposed to be the one crying?

It took her a few minutes to recollect herself. A few minutes that Severus took advantage of shamelessly to hold her tight and stroke her hair.

“You know, I’d meant to wait until our anniversary,” she said, sniffing still.

He frowned. They’d established that already, yes.

“If you’d listen, maybe you could have spared us both this heartbreak,” she scoffed.

Confused, Severus remained quiet.

Heather pushed herself out of their embrace and reached into her pockets for something. Unshrinking it, she handed it to him wordlessly.

He took what seemed to be a folder of some sort and flipped it open. It took him a minute to comprehend what he was seeing.

They were Magi-pulse scans, a kind of diagnostic tool used to view internal organs. Commonly used in pregnancy.

His eyes shot up to meet Heather’s then back to the pictures. A line of text caught his attention.

Presiding Healer: Warren G. Brookes

“You’re…” His mind was still blank.

“Pregnant, yes,” Heather filled in. “With your baby, I should add. I didn’t think I would have to, but judging from our previous conversation…”

Sluggishly, his mind connected the thoughts. “You’re not having an affair with Brookes.”

“No.”

“We’re going to be parents.”

“Yes.”

“…I ruined your anniversary gift.”

At that Heather burst into watery laughter. “Yes.”

“I am such an imbecile!”

“Not denying that either.”

His arms shot out to pull Heather into a desperate hug. “You’re not leaving.”

“Never.” Heather pulled away, ignoring his growl of disapproval to look directly into his eyes. “I am in love with you. You and no one else. And with a baby on the way, it seems you’re stuck with us forever now.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Then he pulled her into a kiss that lasted until they had to break for air. And again. And again.

~~~

“You know, most people would just get jealous if they thought someone was flirting with their wife. Not get jealous but then self-flagellating and offer to bow out.”

Severus grumbled, but otherwise ignored Heather’s teasing words, continuing to stroke lovingly over her still-flat abdomen as he read every word of the conscientious medical reports of her pregnancy.

He still hated Brookes.

#WHfP #prompt ficlets

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parrafo451 · 7 years ago

Text

The Best Films of 2017

By Zeke Trautenberg

During this tumultuous year, the movie theater was a site of refuge, introspection, and conflict. The year began with Donald Trump’s travel ban, an executive order which represented a challenge to openness and freedom of exchange. In response, the filmmakers nominated for the Best Foreign-language Film at the Academy Awards released a defiant statement, in which they extolled film as a cosmopolitan remedy to the politics of nativism: “So we’ve asked ourselves: What can cinema do? Although we don’t want to overestimate the power of movies, we do believe that no other medium can offer such deep insight into other people’s circumstances and transform feelings of unfamiliarity into curiosity, empathy and compassion – even for those we have been told are our enemies.”

The second half of 2017 was no less tumultuous. The revelations of dozens of allegations against Harvey Weinstein, first revealed in The New York Times and The New Yorker, ushered in the most significant reshaping of the power dynamics of Hollywood in the industry’s history. Rose McGowan, Ashley Judd, Annabella Sciorra, Salma Hayek, and the hundreds of other brave women and men who have come forward with their stories of abuse at the hands of Weinstein and other men in Hollywood have brought about a sea change in the culture at large. Ultimately, reforming the film industry’s toxic workplace cultures and practices, will require fixing the longstanding discrimination against and lack of opportunities for women and minorities in Hollywood.

Amid the charged partisan atmosphere of the country and the fallout from the Weinstein scandal, the film industry continues to adapt to an increasingly digital world. The proposed merger of Disney and Fox is a response to the growing clout, budget, and subscriber base of Netflix. This mega merger may well as a sign of things to come as studios consolidate to stave off competition from Amazon, Apple, and Netflix.

The list that follows is the product of my year at the cinema (and in front of my TV). I did not have the chance to see every one of the acclaimed or terrible films (here’s looking at you Geostorm) released in American cinemas this year, but all the movies listed here are worthy of your time.

10. Endless Poetry

Director: Alejandro Jodorowsky

Throughout his peripatetic career, Jodorowsky has returned time and again to his favorite subject: himself. Endless Poetry is a filmic memoir, which unfolds in nineteen-fifties Santiago, as a young Jodorowsky (played by the filmmaker’s son, Adán) comes of age as a poet. As occurs in The Dance of Reality (2013)—which is based on Jodorowsky’s youth in a small town in northern Chile—, Endless Poetry features repeat, direct interventions by Jodorowsky himself. In Endless Poetry Jodorowsky conjures imaginative sequences, production design, and characters amid his oppressive home life. One memorable sequence depicts the bedroom walls of fellow poet Enrique Lihn’s bedroom covered from floor to ceiling in scribbling. This three-dimensional page serves as a mirror to the film itself, in which present, past, and future intersect.

9. Ladybird

Director: Greta Gerwig

Greta Gerwig’s first film is a coming-of-age story about a young woman in Sacramento in the early 2000s. The film follows Lady Bird (Saroise Ronan) during her senior year at Catholic school as she takes up theater, loses her virginity, and goes to prom. The film is laugh-out-loud funny and features a stellar cast, which includes Laurie Metcalf, Beanie Feldstein, and Tracy Letts. In addition to portraying the pratfalls of young adulthood, the film depicts the frustrated pursuit of respectability and economic insecurity among middle-class Americans in the years leading up to the Great Recession.

8. I Am Not Your Negro

Director: Raoul Peck

Raoul Peck’s documentary is based on James Baldwin’s unfinished manuscript Remember This House about the civil rights leaders Medgar Evars, Malcolm X, and Martin Luther King, Jr. Like Now (1965), another film about race in America by a director from the Caribbean, Peck’s film is a confrontational call to action. Peck juxtaposes the Black Lives Matter movement and police violence against African Americans with Baldwin’s searing analysis of race in twentieth-century America. The film underscores the connections these two periods by bookending the film with images of recent protests against police brutality, but leaves viewers to draw their own conclusions about where the Civil Rights Movement and Black Lives Matter intersect. In his voice-over narration, Samuel L. Jackson channels the author’s stoicism and resolve and delivers one of the most potent performances of his career.

7. Icarus

Director: Bryan Fogel

There is always a certain lack of control in documentary filmmaking. The limited control filmmakers have over the ways their narrative unfolds is part of what distinguishes documentaries from fiction films. Bryan Fogel’s Icarus is a wonderful example of the ways in which documentary filmmaking is an adaptive art form. What begins as a story about an amateur cyclist who subjects himself to a rigorous doping regimen, transforms mid-way into a geopolitical thriller about a Russian sports scientist at the heart of one of the biggest scandal of modern sports: the systematic, state-sponsored doping of Russian athletes across decades. The scientist in question, Grigory Rodchenkov, is the kind of colorful character— his wardrobe includes bright orange shorts—that documentary filmmakers dream of. As the danger for Rodchenkov increases, Fogel grapples with how to intervene and tell a story that is no longer his own.

6. After the Storm

Director: Hirokazu Kore-eda

After the Storm tells the story of Ryota (Hiroshi Abe), a divorced father and novelist as he grapples with how to be a father after his recent divorce. Ryota works as a private detective, while struggling to write a second novel. However, instead of paying his alimony, the gumshoe spends his salary on his gambling habit. Abe communicates the protagonist’s sense of perpetual exhaustion and weariness with his slouched shoulders and hangdog expression. Ryota loves his son, but struggles to be a good father. The distance between father and son is exemplified by a memorable scene in which the author and detective watches his child play baseball with binoculars while sitting in his car. The film climaxes during a nocturnal summer storm which traps Ryota, his ex-wife, and son in the same apartment. As the rain falls, the fractured family renews the terms of their relationship and Ryota forges a closer bond with his son by sharing memories of his own childhood.

5. Call Me By Your Name

Director: Luca Guadagnino

Luca Gaudagnino is a master of the contemporary melodrama. His previous films I Am Love (2009) and A Bigger Splash (2015) unfold in settings heavy with symbolism—an old house, an island in the Mediterranean—and Call Me By Your Name is no exception. Guadagnino transforms a villa in Northern Italy into the site of first romance for Elio (Timothée Chalamet). The arrival of the handsome Oliver (Armie Hammer), who is there to assist Elio’s father with archaeological research, elicits a potent mixture of self-doubt, shame, and desire from the cosmopolitan teenager. Although the film depicts Elio’s emotional turmoil with an earnestness that may grate on some, its emphasis on naked feeling and passion is all part of its bittersweet fun. And if you need one reason to see Call Me By Your Name, stay for Michael Stuhlbarg’s monologue on life, love, and the loss, which is the single most memorable scene of the year.

4. Frantz

Director: François Ozon

François Ozon’s Frantz follows Adrien (Pierre Niney) and Anna (Paula Beer), two characters who are bound together by the same man, the recently deceased Frantz. Set in the aftermath of World War I, the film is an allegory of Franco-German relations, but also an exploration of guilt and the horrors of war. Shoot in gorgeous black and white, the film’s visuals are a departure for Ozon, who uses color to great effect in Potiche (2010) and The New Girlfriend (2014). Like these earlier films, Frantz features magnificent costumes (designed by Pascaline Chavanne), and a healthy dose of melodrama. And, as in In the House (2012), Frantz revels in the slippery nature of fiction. Ozon challenges viewers to discern the reason for Frantz’s visit to Germany and the meaning of the sentimental stories the interloper tells Anna’s grieving family.

3. The Shape of Water

Director: Guillermo Del Toro

The Shape of Water had been swimming around in Guillermo Del Toro’s head for years, before he got the idea that made it all click: the story had to pass “through the service entrance.” Set in the 1960s, the film follows the mute Elisa (Sally Hawkins) works as a janitor at a top-secret research facility—a recurring setting in Del Toro’s films—where scientists study a creature they captured from a river in the Amazon. Elisa falls in love with the creature, who like her cannot speak. Together with her gay artist neighbor (Richard Jenkins) and black co-worker (Octavia Spencer), Elisa sets out to free the creature from the lab and its vicious director of security (Michael Shannon). The film is an allegory of being different in a world built on the principles of order and knowing your place. Working with a budget of under twenty million dollars, Del Toro makes a film that looks many times more expensive. The production design incorporates art deco and modernism, with acute attention to detail. The special effects are also remarkable. For the underwater scenes, Del Toro used the dry-for-wet method, which involves suspending the actors and props on wires, pumping in smoke, using fans to create the illusion of movement, utilizing light caustics (projecting images of light in water), and shooting it all in slow motion.

2. Get Out

Director: Jordan Peele

A horror film and social satire, Get Out is an incisive depiction of race and racism in early-twenty-first century America. The film follows Chris (Daniel Kaluuya) and Rose (Allison Williams) as they embark on a weekend visit to Rose’s parents. As Chris and viewers see more of this WASPy household, which is seemingly haunted by a silent black maid and gardener, the manicured lawn and colonial style house transform into a nightmarish prison. The hypnosis sessions with Rose’s mother (Catherine Keener), in which Chris travels to the “sunken place,” is a frightening and vivid metaphor for black experience in America. The allegorical qualities of the film are enhanced by its pitch-perfect incorporation of the horror genre, from the eerie drive through the woods to the hidden laboratory in the basement.

1. Wormwood

Director: Errol Morris

The genre and medium-bending Wormwood is a film of the streaming age. This documentary-cum-series with a running-time of four hours was produced and released by Netflix in six parts and released in a limited run as a stand-alone film. Wormwood centers on the death of Frank Olson (played by Peter Sarsgaard in the fictional scenes), an Army doctor who died after falling to his death from his New York City hotel room in 1953. Errol Morris interviews Olson’s son, Eric who has dedicated much of his life to finding out what happened to his father. The Cold War, biological weapons, Hamlet, the Book of Revelation, and the misdeeds of the CIA intersect in this Russian Doll of a film. Morris offers a masterclass in the juxtaposition of sound and images, the use of split screen (the scenes with Eric Olson were shot with ten cameras), and, as A.O. Scott puts it, dogged cinematic sleuthing. The film’s use of fictional sequences alongside the talking head interviews and archival footage that are standards of the documentary genre, add depth to a film about the nature of truth and the pain of the search for truth. Towards the end of Wormwood, the investigative reporter Seymour Hersh tells Morris: “But don’t you know how wonderful it is not to have an ending?” In lieu of offering closure to the story of Frank Olson, Wormwood douses the viewer in a bitterness for which there is no salve.

Honorable Mentions

Dunkirk – Christopher Nolan

Graduation – Cristian Mungiu

It Comes at Night – Trey Edward Shults

Loveless – Andrey Zvyagintsev

Marjorie Prime – Michael Almereyda

Quest – Jonathan Olshefski

The Florida Project – Sean Baker

The Lost City of Z – James Gray

The Other Side of Hope – Aki Kaurismäki

The Unknown Girl - Jean-Pierre Dardenne and Luc Dardenne

Photos: Warner Bros./ABCKO/A24/Magnolia/Netflix/Gaga/Sony Pictures Classics/Fox Searchlight/Universal/Netflix

#endless poetry #lady bird #i am not your negro #icarus #after the storm #call me by your name #frantz #the shape of water #get out #wormwood #best films of 2017 #párrafo

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birdscreeches · 7 years ago

Text

Mr. Monster Maker’s Menagerie || Aisha R.

The last monster left in the ruins of Mon Ocampo’s home was, ironically enough, not one he created himself.

It sat, silent, locked inside a wooden chest by his bedside. The chest was wrapped in chains held together with a thick, rusted padlock. Dusted over and almost forgotten, he used the chest as a table for a simple altar; a small crucifix, a barely opened prayer book, and a Santo Niño statue. He slept next to it, unafraid, because it was easy to forget that it was anything more than a table. The monster inside the chest was always so quiet and still. Never did it snarl or roar. Not once did it ram against the confines of its dark cage. It never even tried to give him nightmares.

All monsters, even those who did not intend it, gave humans nightmares.

In his hand, Mon held the key to the chest.

“The art of monstercraft is, by far, the most human artform of all.”

-Jean Dupérey, High Renaissance monstercrafter

Mon named his first monster Luna.

It had all begun with a fear.

He then had started to sketch. Erratic little lines dragged over the backs of his homework. After studying, he’d sharpen his pencil and he’d draw a monster. Big luminescent eyes. Claws. A tail that rattled. Fur as black as darkness. When he was satisfied with the design, he acquired the materials. He found two shards of a broken mirror and jagged pieces of what once was a porcelain plate. He filled a small candy box with pebbles and taped it shut. With his mother’s garden shears, he cut huge, uneven patches of shadow from under his bed (for it was the darkest place he could think of, then). He nicked pieces of wood from the carpenter next door.

In the garage, he began to put her together. He worked the wood into limbs that could move. Tied it all together with twine to become a skeleton. The pebble filled box was nailed to the tail. The porcelain pieces were glued as claws. The biggest challenge was covering the whole thing with shadow, for shadows were slippery and hard to work with. Mon had kept the dark expanse in place with safety pins while he sewed his monster shut with wobbly backstitches. His mother had told him it was the strongest type of stitch.

The final touch were the eyes. He set the mirror shards out on a full moon, and when the light hit, he quickly covered the shards so that the light may not escape.

When he unwrapped them the next day, they shone. He glued them on, and Luna was alive.

She was a slow and clunky little creature. Just about the size of an askal. Her limbs were hard to bend and hard to move, so she toddled into the walls of his home, into the legs of the furniture, sending vases crashing. Her tail rattled, but it was also heavy, so she rarely bothered shaking it. It dragged behind her instead, thunking and thumping. Her claws caused her to slip with sick screeches that sounded like nails against a chalkboard. Her eyes could not blink and glowed constantly. When the lights were off, one could not see her at all save for her jagged, misshapen, shining eyes.

Luna was a clumsy attempt at monstercraft; a child’s vision made by a child’s hands.

She was also the most beautiful thing Mon had ever seen.

He released her in the hallways of his school. Luna had ran off, well aware of the job she was created to do, and disappeared into where one couldn’t really see her. She went to the corner of one’s eye, always just a little bit out of sight. Filled with worry, dizzy from excitement, he went to bed that day wondering if Luna would succeed. If he would succeed.

Tossing and turning, sleep took him much like how a frustrated mother struck her child.

The next day, all of his classmates had professed their newfound fear of the dark.

“The lifespan of a monstercrafter is interesting. Half of us die before we turn twenty five, and half of us live to be so damn old! It’s either we drop like flies or we become the cryptkeeper, I swear.

Why? Why does this happen? Well, it’s because of the whole fear thing, yeah? We can’t really feel it anymore. The guys who don’t fear death end up dying doing something stupid like crossing the road. The guys who don’t fear life end up living for-fucking-ever.

Which type am I? Take a lucky guess, fellas. Do I look like a young guy to you? Christ.”

-Ralph Steele, comedian, contemporary monstercrafter

For years, a historical debate raged on about one thing in particular: the world’s first monster. It was an impossible endeavor. Imagine trying to find the world’s first painting, but this painting lived, died, and left no ruins for anybody to remember it by. Monsters of the past only ever lived through the accounts of humans, and everybody knew just how reliable those were. Researchers continued to speculate anyways because Mon assumed they had nothing better to do.

Something a bit easier to find was the world’s largest monster. The largest monster was built to swallow the moon. The ingenuity of its construction would have been monumental. Astronomical. Even now, modern monstercrafters could not fathom how it worked. Countries scrambled to take credit for it, but there was never enough evidence. There were accounts and legends strewn about all around the world about the moon-eater, but they were all only stories until they could be proven.

Mon always believed it the Philippines made it. The Bakunawa.

He could only imagine what a sight it was. The moment the last scale was hammered into place, the Bakunawa would’ve cracked its eyes open and taken to the sky. When it swallowed the moon, it must have been the second most terrifying thing the world had ever seen, preceded only by one thing.

The only thing scarier than a giant serpent devouring the moon was the fact that eclipses happened before its creation anyways.

“Monstercraft, while an incredible and respectable form of art, is also archaic. Outdated. We are past the days of having to fear lightning or predators because we have explained them through thoroughly. It may be sad, but the fact stands: humans no longer need monsters because we do not need fear.

Fear is irrelevant when, with knowledge, we create bravery.”

-excerpt from the introduction of The Death of Fear (2006) by Alexei Hudson, PhD.

Mon only ever created monsters of his own.

While he met many other crafters during his career, he only let himself admire the designs, suggest improvements where he could, and move on. He never accepted monsters as gifts, which was something that happened often after his brief rise to fame, and he never purchased any as well.

This, like many of the things in Mon’s life, changed. His rules were shaken from their foundation when the world progressed in ways Mon didn’t want it to.

In 2009, surrounded by his empty cages and empty aquariums, by his dusty corners and dimly lit workshop, by the barren desk out front and quiet garage out back, he made a call.

The name Mon Ocampo, while long forgotten by many, still had sway in certain circles. He made a call, arranged the delivery and shipping costs, and bought a monster.

He bought it from a Russian monstercrafter, a stoic, unassuming man from St. Petersburg who specialised in monsters that made one fear the forbidden fears, the type that, if manufactured on a large level, could decimate cities. These were the kinds of monsters that crafters spoke in hushed whispers about. Banned. Illegal. Terrifying.

It arrived long after he had sold his workshop in Santa Elena—the new owners were going to turn it into a Japanese surplus store—so it ended up on the doorstep of his home.

The monster was in a medium sized chest roughly the size of a table, covered in chains held together by a thick, rusted padlock.

Mon took the chest inside and wore the key to it around his neck.

"Monstercrafter Quentin ‘Mon’ Ocampo’s dead body salvaged from Marikina river”

-headline from ABS-CBN news (news.abs-cbn.com/), September 25, 2017

His business reached its height, its magnum opus in the 80s. It was then that his name became a known one.

When he started making monsters in his teens, classmates looking to rile him up called him Monster Boy, always uttered in a derisive sing-song. Eventually, it was shortened to Monster, because they were all only just children and children liked to rush even insults along, shedding the unnecessary words like heavy bags. Monster was then shortened to Mon, because he liked it better than his real name. He liked the idea of his identity completely defined by what he did.

He was Mon Ocampo, the Marikina Monster Man. The best monstercrafter in the monster capital of the Philippines. The best crafter in Manila. The sign that flapped above his door said Ocampo’s Professional Monstercraft. It was the name murmured by mothers wanting to teach their kids a lesson, exchanged by pranksters looking for a good scare.

Mon’s office was located in Santa Elena, near the palengke, right next to a boutique that sold second-hand clothes. A single floor lot with a receiving area in the front and a warehouse turned workshop out back. It was in the workshop where Mon put together his creations, and it was also there where he kept them in birdcages or old fishtanks until they could get picked up. Inside their little homes, the monsters shrieked, barked, howled, screamed, moaned, or groaned. They walked the length of their temporary prison, always pacing, uneasy, restless to get let out to do their job. They would constantly ram themselves against their walls, clanging the bars. Silence was nowhere to be found.

Kids in the neighborhood often dared others to sneak into the shop at night, but none of them ever actually did it. Mon never even bothered with locks. Nobody would enter, let alone rob, a warehouse full of monsters.

Before, he used to work alone; receiving commissions, toiling in the shop, arranging the pickup. When his business boomed, it simply wasn’t feasible, so he went and found anybody who could work under the cacophonous conditions of the menagerie. Mon found a secretary, Cora, who puzzled out all of the logistics of deadlines and materials and orders. She was the one who spoke to the customers so Mon could work in peace creating the products. Benny, the delivery man, was in charge of carting off the beasts to wherever they needed to go, all so that Mon wouldn’t have to waste his time on the road, and could instead use it on the next project.

The setup worked well. He went to the shop, worked, and then went home. His life became a continuous hum of another monster to make.

Of all the countless monsters he made then, he had, of course, much like a painter who made duplicates of his work, favorites.

There was Kidlat, a popular monster among mothers who didn’t want their kids playing out in a storm. Built like a spider, it crawled around walls and ceilings, waiting for its prey. With the flashbulb attached to its back, a bright light would flicker, and Kidlat would rapidly fall from its perch, creating a loud, incongruous boom.

Stranger was one Mon was quite proud of, as it was one of his more clever designs. Stranger was to create the fear of unknown men and women, so Mon had to model it after humans. He had cracked a full length mirror and propped it up in front of his office, people passing by every moment. Afterwards, like Michelangelo and his sculptures, he carved the ever changing reflections out.

He had made many revisions to his design of Luna. Sleeker, faster, more a wisp than anything else really. He once made a monster that was just an invisible mist that suffocated its victim. There was another that was just a claw that grabbed on ankles when the victim was on a high place.

Mon designed new monsters and innovated old ones. The work was fulfilling. The money was good. The monsters were incredible.

Then days passed.

“We aren’t fearless, oh no. At least not really. I assume that somewhere, in our brain, there is fear. Our only problem is that we can’t feel it. I mean, how could we? We spend day in and day out toiling, working, crafting beasts that create fear. Our understanding of the machinations of fear is so intimate, I guess you could say we’re desensitized. We know too much to feel fear with the childlike wonder needed to truly experience it.

This is a big problem for us, you know? As a crafter I know the importance of fear. We need it. We’ve always needed it. Monstercrafters are martyrs, like this. In the process of creating fear, we lose the capability to feel it.

I almost didn’t step out of the way of a car coming straight at me. Logically, I knew that I had to get out of the way, but the urgency wasn’t there.

I couldn’t feel afraid.”

-Vivien Tan, poet, painter, contemporary monstercrafter

The key caught, rust against rust. The padlock opened and the chains dropped.

Mon, with his time weary hand, marred by wrinkles and weak bones, lifted the lid of the chest. Slowly, the monster spilled out from its prison like smoke, or perhaps, like water. It spilled and spilled and spilled until he could not tell where the monster was and where it wasn’t.

Vaguely, there was a part of him nodding in admiration of the monster’s construction, but this pride was hidden behind a fog. He could not think. He looked at the monster, an easy feat, for now it was everywhere, the walls, the floor, the bed, and he did not know what to do. His heart an erratic drumbeat in his ears, he was overwhelmed. Overstimulated. Breathless.

Mon was afraid.

It was the most beautiful thing Mon had ever felt.

And it felt like drowning.

“This question is a favorite to ask monstercrafters, yes? Why we do what we do? Of course, this is the question of art and why we create it; because we think it matters, and sometimes, as artists, we are thinking this against the entire world.

Why monsters matter is something I need not regale to you all, since even children know why. Fear is important. Experts can rattle on and on about how we don’t need monsters anymore, but, at one point in their lives, they were afraid. They were human.

But, personally? I create monsters because I believe in the foremost principle of monstercraft. The reason why we began in the first place. It was not because we needed fear, for we did not know that yet, still primitive beings. But because we feared so much that we needed a face to look at. A reason.

We wanted to understand why things happened, and when no explanation came up, we made our own villains.

Without monsters, it becomes apparent that there is no reason, just chaos. Just things happening because they do. The most terrifying reality brought us to create monsters: the reality that things happen because this is the way things are.

Everybody believes monsters were created because fear is important, but at its core, it’s the opposite. We created them to give us reasons. A safe haven of explanation.

Monsters were created for the express purpose of helping humans sleep at night.”

-Quentin ‘Mon’ Ocampo, monstercrafter

#fiction #this story is my love letter to the natural magic i feel is present in marikina city #FINALLY i post a fiction piece #this was written months ago as an application requirement to become a comic writer for my org!!#so i concentrated a bunch on worldbuilding

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herochan · 7 years ago

Photo

Here are the 2017 Eisner Award Winners

Named for the pioneering comics creator and graphic novelist Will Eisner, The Will Eisner Comic Industry Awards, considered the “Oscars” of the comic book industry, were given out in 31 categories for works published in 2016.

Below is the full list of the nominees and winners (highlighted in bold).

Best Short Story

“The Comics Wedding of the Century,” by Simon Hanselmann, in We Told You So: Comics as Art (Fantagraphics)

“The Dark Nothing,” by Jordan Crane, in Uptight #5 (Fantagraphics)

“Good Boy,” by Tom King & David Finch, Batman Annual #1 (DC)

“Monday,” by W. Maxwell Prince and John Amor, in One Week in the Library (Image)

“Mostly Saturn,” by Michael DeForge, in Island Magazine #8 (Image)

“Shrine of the Monkey God!” by Kim Deitch, in Kramers Ergot 9 (Fantagraphics)

Best Single Issue/One-Shot

Babybel Wax Bodysuit, by Eric Kostiuk Williams (Retrofit/Big Planet)

Beasts of Burden: What the Cat Dragged In, by Evan Dorkin, Sarah Dyer, and Jill Thompson (Dark Horse)

Blammo #9, by Noah Van Sciver (Kilgore Books)

Criminal 10th Anniversary Special, by Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips (Image)

Sir Alfred #3, by Tim Hensley (Pigeon Press)

Your Black Friend, by Ben Passmore (Silver Sprocket)

Best Continuing Series

Astro City, by Kurt Busiek and Brent Anderson (Vertigo/DC)

Kill or Be Killed, by Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips (Image)

The Mighty Thor, by Jason Aaron and Russell Dauterman (Marvel)

Paper Girls, by Brian K. Vaughan and Cliff Chiang (Image)

Saga, by Brian K. Vaughan and Fiona Staples (Image)

Best Limited Series

Archangel, by William Gibson, Michael St. John Smith, Butch Guice, and Tom Palmer (IDW)

Briggs Land, by Brian Wood and Mack Chater (Dark Horse)

Han Solo, by Marjorie Liu and Mark Brooks (Marvel)

Kim and Kim, by Magdalene Visaggio and Eva Cabrera (Black Mask)

The Vision, by Tom King and Gabriel Walta (Marvel)

Best New Series

Black Hammer, by Jeff Lemire and Dean Ormston (Dark Horse)

Clean Room, by Gail Simone and Jon Davis-Hunt (Vertigo/DC)

Deathstroke: Rebirth, by Christopher Priest, Carlo Pagulayan, et al. (DC)

Faith, by Jody Houser, Pere Pérez, and Marguerite Sauvage (Valiant)

Mockingbird, by Chelsea Cain and Kate Niemczyk (Marvel)

Best Publication for Early Readers (up to age 8)

Ape and Armadillo Take Over the World, by James Sturm (Toon)

Burt’s Way Home, by John Martz (Koyama)

The Creeps, Book 2: The Trolls Will Feast! by Chris Schweizer (Abrams)

I’m Grumpy (My First Comics), by Jennifer L. Holm and Matthew Holm (Random House Books for Young Readers)

Narwhal: Unicorn of the Sea, by Ben Clanton (Tundra)

Best Publication for Kids (ages 9-12)

The Drawing Lesson, by Mark Crilley (Watson-Guptill)

Ghosts, by Raina Telgemeier (Scholastic)

Hilda and the Stone Forest, by Luke Pearson (Flying Eye Books)

Rikki, adapted by Norm Harper and Matthew Foltz-Gray (Karate Petshop)

Science Comics: Dinosaurs, by MK Reed and Joe Flood (First Second)

Best Publication for Teens (ages 13-17)

Bad Machinery, vol. 5: The Case of the Fire Inside, by John Allison (Oni)

Batgirl, by Hope Larson and Rafael Albuquerque (DC)

Jughead, by Chip Zdarsky, Ryan North, Erica Henderson, and Derek Charm (Archie)

Monstress, by Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda (Image)

Trish Trash: Roller Girl of Mars, by Jessica Abel (Papercutz/Super Genius)

The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl by Ryan North & Erica Henderson (Marvel)

Best Humor Publication

The Further Fattening Adventures of Pudge, Girl Blimp, by Lee Marrs (Marrs Books)

Hot Dog Taste Test, by Lisa Hanawalt (Drawn & Quarterly)

Jughead, by Chip Zdarsky, Ryan North, Erica Henderson, and Derek Charm (Archie)

Man, I Hate Cursive, by Jim Benton (Andrews McMeel)

Yuge! 30 Years of Doonesbury on Trump, by G. B. Trudeau (Andrews McMeel)

Best Anthology

Baltic Comics Anthology š! #26: dADa, edited by David Schilter and Sanita Muizniece (kuš!)

Island Magazine, edited by Brandon Graham and Emma Rios (Image)

Kramers Ergot 9, edited by Sammy Harkham (Fantagraphics)

Love Is Love, edited by Sarah Gaydos and Jamie S. Rich (IDW/DC)

Spanish Fever: Stories by the New Spanish Cartoonists, edited by Santiago Garcia (Fantagraphics)

Best Reality-Based Work

Dark Night: A True Batman Story, by Paul Dini and Eduardo Risso (Vertigo/DC)

Glenn Gould: A Life Off Tempo, by Sandrine Revel (NBM)

March (Book Three), by John Lewis, Andrew Aydin, and Nate Powell (Top Shelf)

Rosalie Lightning: A Graphic Memoir, by Tom Hart (St. Martin’s)

Tetris: The Games People Play, by Box Brown (First Second)

Best Graphic Album—New

The Art of Charlie Chan Hock Chye, by Sonny Liew (Pantheon)

Black Dog: The Dreams of Paul Nash, by Dave McKean (Dark Horse)

Exits, by Daryl Seitchik (Koyama)

Mooncop, by Tom Gauld (Drawn & Quarterly)

Patience, by Daniel Clowes (Fantagraphics)

Wonder Woman: The True Amazon, by Jill Thompson (DC Comics)

Best Graphic Album—Reprint

Demon, by Jason Shiga (First Second)

Incomplete Works, by Dylan Horrocks (Alternative)

Last Look, by Charles Burns (Pantheon)

Meat Cake Bible, by Dame Darcy (Fantagraphics)

Megg and Mogg in Amsterdam and Other Stories, by Simon Hanselmann (Fantagraphics)

She’s Not into Poetry, by Tom Hart (Alternative)

Best U.S. Edition of International Material

Equinoxes, by Cyril Pedrosa, translated by Joe Johnson (NBM)

Irmina, by Barbara Yelin, translated by Michael Waaler (SelfMadeHero)

Love: The Lion, by Frédéric Brémaud and Federico Bertolucci (Magnetic)

Moebius Library: The World of Edena, by Jean “Moebius” Giraud et al. (Dark Horse)

Wrinkles, by Paco Roca, translated by Erica Mena (Fantagraphics)

Best U.S. Edition of International Material—Asia

The Art of Charlie Chan Hock Chye, by Sonny Liew (Pantheon)

Goodnight Punpun, vols. 1–4, by Inio Asano, translated by JN PRoductions (VIZ Media)

orange: The Complete Collection, vols. 1–2, by Ichigo Takano, translated by Amber Tamosaitis, adaptation by Shannon Fay (Seven Seas)

The Osamu Tezuka Story: A Life in Manga and Anime, by Toshio Ban and Tezuka Productions, translated by Frederik L. Schodt (Stone Bridge Press)

Princess Jellyfish, vols. 1–3, by Akiko Higashimura, translated by Sarah Alys Lindholm (Kodansha)

Wandering Island, vol. 1, by Kenji Tsuruta, translated by Dana Lewis (Dark Horse)

Best Archival Collection/Project—Strips (at least 20 years old)

Almost Completely Baxter: New and Selected Blurtings, by Glen Baxter (NYR Comics)

Barnaby, vol. 3, by Crockett Johnson, edited by Philip Nel and Eric Reynolds (Fantagraphics)

Chester Gould’s Dick Tracy, Colorful Cases of the 1930s, edited by Peter Maresca (Sunday Press)

The Realist Cartoons, edited by Paul Krassner and Ethan Persoff (Fantagraphics)

Walt & Skeezix 1931–1932, by Frank King, edited by Jeet Heer and Chris Ware (Drawn & Quarterly)

Best Archival Collection/Project—Comic Books (at least 20 Years Old)

The Complete Neat Stuff, by Peter Bagge, edited by Eric Reynolds (Fantagraphics)

The Complete Wimmen’s Comix, edited by Trina Robbins, Gary Groth, and J. Michael Catron (Fantagraphics)

Fables and Funnies, by Walt Kelly, compiled by David W. Tosh (Dark Horse)

Trump: The Complete Collection, by Harvey Kurtzman et al., edited by Denis Kitchen and John Lind (Dark Horse)

U.S.S. Stevens: The Collected Stories, by Sam Glanzman, edited by Drew Ford (Dover)

Best Writer

Ed Brubaker, Criminal 10th Anniversary Special, Kill or Be Killed, Velvet (Image)

Kurt Busiek, Astro City (Vertigo/DC)

Chelsea Cain, Mockingbird (Marvel)

Max Landis, Green Valley (Image/Skybound); Superman: American Alien (DC)

Jeff Lemire, Black Hammer (Dark Horse); Descender, Plutona (Image); Bloodshot Reborn (Valiant)

Brian K. Vaughan, Paper Girls, Saga (Image)

Best Writer/Artist

Jessica Abel, Trish Trash: Roller Girl of Mars (Papercutz/Super Genius)

Box Brown, Tetris: The Games People Play (First Second)

Tom Gauld, Mooncop (Drawn & Quarterly)

Tom Hart, Rosalie Lightning: A Graphic Memoir (St. Martin’s)

Sonny Liew, The Art of Charlie Chan Hock Chye (Pantheon)

Best Penciller/Inker or Penciller/Inker Team

Mark Brooks, Han Solo (Marvel)

Dan Mora, Klaus (BOOM! Studios)

Greg Ruth, Indeh (Grand Central Publishing)

Francois Schuiten, The Theory of the Grain of Sand (IDW)

Fiona Staples, Saga (Image)

Brian Stelfreeze, Black Panther (Marvel)

Best Painter/Multimedia Artist (interior art)

Federico Bertolucci, Love: The Lion (Magnetic)

Brecht Evens, Panther (Drawn & Quarterly)

Manuele Fior, 5,000 km per Second (Fantagraphics)

Dave McKean, Black Dog (Dark Horse)

Sana Takeda, Monstress (Image)

Jill Thompson, Wonder Woman: The True Amazon (DC); Beasts of Burden: What the Cat Dragged In (Dark Horse)

Best Cover Artist (for multiple covers)

Mike Del Mundo, Avengers, Carnage, Mosaic, The Vision (Marvel)

David Mack, Abe Sapien, BPRD Hell on Earth, Fight Club 2, Hellboy and the BPRD 1953 (Dark Horse)

Sean Phillips, Criminal 10th Anniversary Special, Kill or Be Killed (Image)

Fiona Staples, Saga (Image)

Sana Takeda, Monstress (Image)

Best Coloring

Jean-Francois Beaulieu, Green Valley (Image/Skybound)

Elizabeth Breitweiser, Criminal 10th Anniversary Special, Kill or Be Killed, Velvet (Image); Outcast by Kirkman & Azaceta (Image/Skybound)

Sonny Liew, The Art of Charlie Chan Hock Chye (Pantheon)

Laura Martin, Wonder Woman (DC); Ragnorak (IDW); Black Panther (Marvel)

Matt Wilson, Cry Havoc, Paper Girls, The Wicked + The Divine (Image); Black Widow, The Mighty Thor, Star-Lord (Marvel)

Best Lettering

Dan Clowes, Patience (Fantagraphics)

Brecht Evens, Panther (Drawn & Quarterly)

Tom Gauld, Mooncop (Drawn & Quarterly)

Nick Hayes, Woody Guthrie (Abrams)

Todd Klein, Clean Room, Dark Night, Lucifer (Vertigo/DC); Black Hammer (Dark Horse)

Sonny Liew, The Art of Charlie Chan Hock Chye (Pantheon)

Best Comics-Related Periodical/Journalism

The A.V. Club comics coverage, including Comics Panel, Back Issues, and Big Issues, by Oliver Sava et al., www.avclub.com

Comic Riffs blog, by Michael Cavna and David Betancourt, www.washingtonpost.com/new/comic-riffs/

Critical Chips, edited by Zainab Akhtar (Comics & Cola)

PanelPatter.com, edited by Rob McMonigal

WomenWriteAboutComics.com, edited by Megan Purdy and Claire Napier

Best Comics-Related Book

blanc et noir: takeshi obata illustrations, by Takeshi Obata (VIZ Media)

Ditko Unleashed: An American Hero, by Florentino Flórez and Frédéric Manzano (IDW/Editions Déesse)

Krazy: George Herriman, A Life in Black and White, by Michael Tisserand (Harper)

The Life and Legend of Wallace Wood, vol. 1, edited by Bhob Stewart and J. Michael Catron (Fantagraphics)

More Heroes of the Comics, by Drew Friedman (Fantagraphics)

Best Academic/Scholarly Work

Brighter Than You Think: Ten Short Works by Alan Moore, with essays by Marc Sobel (Uncivilized)

Forging the Past: Set and the Art of Memory, by Daniel Marrone (University Press of Mississippi)

Frank Miller’s Daredevil and the Ends of Heroism, by Paul Young (Rutgers University Press)

Pioneering Cartoonists of Color, by Tim Jackson (University Press of Mississippi)

Superwomen: Gender, Power, and Representation, by Carolyn Cocca (Bloomsbury)

Best Publication Design

The Art of Charlie Chan Hock Chye, designed by Sonny Liew (Pantheon)

The Complete Wimmen’s Comix, designed by Keeli McCarthy (Fantagraphics)

Frank in the Third Dimension, designed by Jacob Covey, 3D conversions by Charles Barnard (Fantagraphics)

The Realist Cartoons, designed by Jacob Covey (Fantagraphics)

Si Lewen’s Parade: An Artist’s Odyssey, designed by Art Spiegelman (Abrams)

Best Webcomic

Bird Boy, by Anne Szabla, http://bird-boy.com

Deja Brew, by Taneka Stotts and Sara DuVall (Stela.com)

Jaeger, by Ibrahim Moustafa (Stela.com)

The Middle Age, by Steve Conley, steveconley.com/the-middle-age

On Beauty, by Christina Tran,  sodelightful.com/comics/beauty/

Best Digital Comic

Bandette - Paul Tobin & Colleen Coover (Monkeybrain/comiXology)

Edison Rex, by Chris Roberson and Dennis Culver (Monkeybrain/comiXology)

Helm, by Jehanzeb Hasan and Mauricio Caballero, www.crookshaw.com/helm/

On a Sunbeam, by Tillie Walden, www.onasunbeam.com

Universe!, by Albert Monteys (Panel Syndicate)

Will Eisner Spirit of Comics Retailer Award

Comicazi, Robert Howard, David Lockwood, Michael Burke. Somerville, MA

#Eisner Awards Winners #Will Eisner #Will Eisner Comic Industry Awards #awards #comics #sdcc #san diego comic con #news #eisner awards

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science-criticaltheory · 8 years ago

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The Republican Party Is Catastrophically Broken by Joan Walsh

House Speaker Paul Ryan at a news conference after Republicans pull the American Health Care Act bill on March 24, 2017. (Reuters / Jonathan Ernst)

When the history of the fledgling, fumbling Trump presidency is written, the past week will go down as either the end of the beginning, or the beginning of the end. Trump’s disastrous week began with FBI director James Comey confirming that his campaign is under investigation for possible “coordination” with Russian officials to sabotage Hillary Clinton’s presidential candidacy. It ended with the ominous slam of a door Friday night: House Speaker Paul Ryan pulling the monstrous American Health Care Act because he didn’t have the votes to pass it, admitting that the GOP’s seven-year crusade to repeal the Affordable Care Act is over.

A president who campaigned on the promise that “we’re going to win so much, you’re gonna be sick of winning” has suffered a disabling string of losses in his first two months. He had to fire his National Security Advisor, Mike Flynn, for lying about conversations with Russian Ambassador Sergey Kislyak; Attorney General Jeff Sessions, also discovered dissembling about his Russian ties, had to recuse himself from Comey’s investigation into Trump campaign coordination with Russia. Federal judges have repeatedly blocked his Muslim ban. But nothing has been as publicly humiliating as the betrayal of a core campaign promise: That Trump and Republicans would “immediately,” in his words, “repeal and replace” the nightmare of Obamacare. Influential conservative writer Philip Klein called Trump and Ryan’s move to pull the bill from consideration “the biggest broken promise in political history.”

Although it only lasted 17 legislative days – a ridiculous timeframe for a major health system overhaul – it was enough time to show that Trump is an incompetent poseur, hardly the master negotiator he claims to be, and that Paul Ryan is a shallow opportunist who pretends to be a policy wonk and sharp political leader, but is neither.

The bill was a tax cut for the rich disguised as healthcare reform, financed heavily by cruel cuts to Medicare. Most people would have paid more in premiums, and the plan would have insured 24 million fewer Americans over 10 years. As I’ve written before, it couldn’t have hurt Trump’s voter base – older white working class red-state residents – more had it been expressly designed to do so.

Clearly an unprecedented progressive mobilization played a huge role in the bill’s failure. Republican lawmakers reported receiving thousands of phone calls on the AHCA, all but a handful against it. That stiffened the spines of House Democrats; by staying completely united, Democrats exposed the deep fissures in the GOP.

Folks on the right and left want to give the center-right “Tuesday group” – so-called GOP moderates who are in fact conventional conservatives; the rest of their party has moved far to the right—credit or blame for the bill’s defeat. They deserve little credit. Sure, they blocked the horrendous bill, but only after years of empowering the Freedom Caucus as well as Speaker Ryan, letting their party turn into a roadblock to democracy. They voted for ACA repeal again and again, encouraging the fantasy that Republicans had a unified approach to gutting Obamacare. But they did not.

That they did not is remarkable, but not surprising. The Republican Party is too fractured to agree on a federal approach to healthcare reform. So-called moderates at least see a role for the government in providing healthcare, using mostly market solutions. The Freedom Caucus wants to take a hammer to government programs, including the ACA, believing the market can and will provide. For six years, the GOP caucus was united in saying “no” to Obama, but never tried to get to “yes.” As Harold Pollack writes in Politico:

“There was a conspicuous smallness to this AHCA effort, a puzzling shoddiness given the human and political stakes…. For all their endless warnings about how Obama’s signature health law was hurting American families, driving up costs and putting us on the path toward socialism, it turns out they didn’t care enough to put in the work.”

Indeed, the bill was an abomination, a Frankenstein monster stitched together in secrecy by Paul Ryan and his minions. But Republicans are likely to fail again when they approach tax reform and infrastructure. Which forces us to face: The modern Republican Party is not a governing party. It is a collection of grievances, a noisy minority of the country held together by anger, frustration, anti-government ire, and for some, a bonding epoxy of racism. The Freedom Caucus, which came in during the anti-Obama Tea Party wave, represents a permanent resistance movement; they are guerrillas, subversives; they don’t want to be part of government, they want to blow it up. Many of them, and their voters, marinated in Obama-hatred for eight years – and party leaders coddled them. The fateful decision by Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell, as well as former Speaker John Boehner, to block everything Obama did for two terms kept the party free of the messy job of governing. Now that they control the House, the Senate, and the White House, they have no clue how to govern.

Democrats should not help them. Americans need to see how the modern GOP’s solution-free, grievance fueled anti-Obama politics gave rise to Trump – and how dangerous Trump and his party is to the country.

#republican party #alternative political parties #political dysfunction

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