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thankskenpenders · 2 months ago

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Thoughts on Sonic 3!

On December 10th, 2018, I was on the last day of a trip to Milwaukee. The night before, I'd attended the wedding of one of my best friends, Jake, who I've known since high school. Even though half of us were sick the whole trip, it was a great time. Derek had asked the wedding DJ to play "One Week" as the first request of the night, and proceeded to lip sync the entire song on the dance floor. On that cold winter morning in a hotel room hundreds of miles from home, Derek and I groggily checked Twitter on our phones and saw the shocking news: Paramount had teased the design for Sonic from their upcoming live action film. Even in silhouette, the shape of his face and the realistic curvature of his limbs made him look like a grotesque little homunculus. This movie was going to suck.

Six years later, I've now seen the third entry in what's become a hugely successful Sonic film franchise. It features Keanu Reeves as the voice of Shadow the Hedgehog in a fairly faithful adaptation of his story from Sonic Adventure 2. At the time of writing, it currently sits at a whopping 86% positive rating on Rotten Tomatoes, vying for the title of the best-reviewed theatrically released video game movie of all time. Critics are saying nice things about the emotional journey of Shadow the Hedgehog. Never in a million years did I think I'd see this day.

I, too, have now seen this movie, and... yeah, it's pretty good.

I'm gonna get deep into spoilers here, so I'll just say up front that I liked the movie. It feels like just about the best possible execution of this version of Sonic. But that's also damning it with faint praise, depending on who you ask.

If you're a fan of the games who didn't like the second movie, you probably won't get much out of this one, either, unless you just really love Shadow so much that nothing else in the movie matters to you. It doesn't reinvent the wheel for this film series. It's still got a heaping helping of broad comedy, cheap pop culture references, bad one-liners, and characterization that diverges greatly from the source material. This is not high art, nor is it a direct adaptation of Sonic Adventure 2. If you're the kind of person who hates this portrayal of Sonic and Eggman, or a lore nerd who'll hate that they let Shadow do Chaos Control without an Emerald, then just don't bother with this.

On the other hand, if you did enjoy the last movie, then you'll probably have a fun time here, too. Shadow is very cool. The action is the best it's ever been. There's a bit more focus on characters from the games, and less on human characters invented for the movies—with the exception of Agent Stone, who's in this a lot because everyone likes him. There's a lot of SA2 fanservice. They even play "Live and Learn." It's a fun time! Be sure to stick around through the end credits.

And now, to dig deeper, let's get into the spoilers! I'm gonna jump around a lot and talk about different aspects of the movie, spoiling everything along the way.

Shadow and his reams of lore

Here's the main thing you came for: Shadow is great in this! They really did him justice. Keanu Reeves is extremely solid in the role. He can be a bit flat as an actor sometimes, but I think he did well here. He can be tough and menacing, but he can also be earnest and emotionally vulnerable. Good casting call. Excited at the prospect of seeing more of him in the future.

Really, as a Sonic Lore Nerd I'm most interested in discussing the changes they made to Shadow's backstory. I'm sure there will be many fans upset with the changes, but for the sake of streamlining a complicated backstory that was subject to a bunch of retcons and multiple layers of amnesia and fitting it into a 110-minute movie, I think they generally made smart choices.

For one, Gerald didn't create Shadow using Black Arms DNA, because Gerald didn't create Shadow at all! Instead, Shadow arrived on Earth inside a meteor, and Gerald was merely the prominent GUN scientist who studied him after he was captured. (That meteor does have very strong Black Arms vibes, though, so I wouldn't rule out the possibility of them exploring that stuff in the future.) This simplifies things a lot and allows Shadow to be a direct foil for Sonic, kind of a version of our hero who was treated as a lab rat and lost the only human he considered family instead of finding happiness like Sonic has. Then later Shadow hurts Tom and Sonic wants revenge, and it mirrors Shadow's feelings about Maria, and after they fight they can empathize with each other over this, Shadow sees the error of his ways and helps save the world, yada yada yada. You get it. People predicted 95% of this movie's plot from the trailers, but it's effective.

Likewise, all of the stuff about creating Shadow as the ultimate life form who's immune to all disease to cure Maria's illness is completely cut out. Shadow's still called the ultimate life form, but he's treated as more of an energy source than a genetic research project here, playing off of the stuff about Eggman wanting to harness Sonic's natural Chaos Energy in the movies. The original intent behind the ultimate life form project was always hard to explain in the games and doesn't even come up that much, so I don't blame them for cutting it.

Because Gerald isn't doing genetic experiments and creating artificial life, the Biolizard also doesn't exist. It does, however, appear in an old monster movie Shadow and Maria watch in a montage, with Shadow later commenting that he worries he's a monster like the one he saw in the movie. That's a clever way to include it, I think.

The ARK sort of exists. There was no space colony back in the '70s, all of the events of Shadow's flashbacks just took place at a secret GUN base on Earth. Fair enough for a version of the story ostensibly set in the real world. The big space laser in the third act of the film is obviously supposed to evoke the ARK, but it's referred to as simply the Eclipse Cannon. It's still not a full-blown space colony, just a weapon of mass destruction Gerald designed for GUN in exchange for his release (while also secretly planning to use it to blow up the planet in an act of revenge). I am, however, pleased to report that the Eclipse Cannon still has a giant Eggman face on it.

And as for Maria: I like her in this! She's obviously not going to get a ton of screentime, and she's always going to be a very straightforward character, but she's more playful and lively here. She teases Shadow for being grumpy and plays with him a lot. She feels less like this perfect embodiment of everything good and pure in the world and more like an actual kid. She's still not a complex character, but it works.

And the most important question: do they show a child getting shot and killed by the military? The answer is almost. In the flashback, GUN soldiers chase Maria, Shadow, and Gerald and ready their guns, but the young Commander Walters (who's in his 20s rather than being a kid) grabs them and tries to stop them from firing on a child. In the chaos, a soldier fires, missing Maria but hitting a generator that then blows up and kills Maria. So, y'know, close enough I suppose.

So, yes, many of the details change here, but they captured the gist of Shadow's story from SA2. The emotional core is there. I will say, though, I almost feel like Shadow isn't in this movie as much as I thought he'd be? I think he's used effectively in all of his scenes, and they make room for his backstory, and BOY does he get to kick ass in his fights, but for much of the middle part of the movie he's overshadowed by Ivo and Gerald. Though this might be a compromise to leave more screentime for...

Tails and Knuckles

I'm relieved to report that Tails and Knuckles both get a good amount of cool stuff to do in this! They don't feel like an afterthought.

I was worried that Tails in particular would completely fall by the wayside, since even his debut movie didn't entirely know what to do with him. But he's good here. He pretty much just feels like the Tails from the games at this point, especially since they dropped that fawning admiration he had for Sonic with that running gag of him going "Only Sonic the Hedgehog could do that!" He often chimes in as the one who wants Team Sonic to stick together when Sonic and Knuckles bicker. He particularly gets to shine in the Mission Impossible-inspired heist sequence at the GUN headquarters in London that serves as the climax of the second act, which feels like it was tailor made to let him shine as the tech guy of the team. He also gets several opportunities to swoop in and catch someone for a save in an action scene. He's good in this!

Knuckles is... fine. He's definitely fallen into the role of the comic relief dumb bruiser since joining the good guys, but he's at least a little better than he was in his own streaming show. The jokes lean more into him just being really brash about his strength and skill, rather than him being this archaic warrior who doesn't understand anything about the modern world. He also gets a few more serious bits in the back third of the movie where he gets to shine a little more, so overall it evens out to him being fine. They could've done way worse.

As for the relevance of the Knuckles show: Knuckles is now said to be the guardian of the Master Emerald, like in the games, though with no Angel Island this amounts to him hiding it somewhere for safekeeping. It's eventually revealed that he just gave it to Wade, who gets exactly one scene (sorry, Wade-heads) for a joke about him using the Master Emerald as a hockey puck. So, the miniseries explained why Knuckles has a connection with Wade. That's it! Also I think Knuckles might use the Flames of Disaster a bit in fights, but they never called the technique out by name, so I never really thought about it. So, yeah, the six-episode streaming miniseries about Wade bowling has zero meaningful relevance to the Shadow movie. Who could have seen this coming?

Miscellaneous humans

For that matter, the human supporting cast is MASSIVELY downplayed in this one. Tom and Maddie are there for two key sequences (the beginning of the movie and the GUN HQ heist), but otherwise they disappear for long stretches of the movie. They don't go to Japan in act I, nor do they go to space in act III, and there's no subplot for them during those periods, either. There's nothing like the wedding subplot in Sonic 2 where they'd constantly cut back to Hawaii for comic relief with the humans and only reveal why this was relevant to the plot near the end. (There's also no random dance battle in Siberia.) If a human character is here, it's because they have something to contribute to the plot right away. Most people will probably consider this an improvement, and I'd certainly say it makes for a much tighter script, though I have to remind everyone that I thought the wedding being a GUN sting operation was such a funny twist that I'm a defender of the Hawaii subplot.

On the subject of Tom, something funny I've noticed is that they've just completely downplayed the fact that Tom and Wade are cops. Tom being a cop never comes up once. Wade being a cop only gets referenced via the fact that he's practicing hockey on the roof of the police station in his one scene, but he's not in uniform or anything. They clearly got the memo that we don't want Sonic to hang out with cops.

Here's something else funny: Rachel and Randall got character posters, but they're actually not in the movie! Not technically, anyway. During the heist sequence at GUN HQ, Tom and Maddie use some gadgets Tails invented to holographically disguise themselves as those other characters. But the real Rachel and Randall never show up in the flesh. It's a very odd way to shoehorn the actors into the movie. (Jojo is also absent. They did not give her Amy's role of being the girl who reminds Shadow of Maria. Instead they just let Sonic have the big heart to heart with Shadow that makes him switch sides.)

You know who IS in this movie? Krysten Ritter. Not as the voice of Rouge, as the fandom once hoped, but as a director for GUN. She gets like three scenes and she feels completely checked out the whole time. Can't say I blame her! She's not really a character, just a plot necessity. Commander Walters dies in Japan but gives Sonic one of two keycards needed to activate the Eclipse Cannon, and then Ritter's character assumes Sonic stole it and labels him a bad guy. So that's why they have to break into GUN HQ in the second act instead of just talking things out with them. Still, I am at least relieved that Sonic doesn't work with GUN for most of the movie.

I gotta be honest: when Walters pulled a credit card-shaped object out of his pocket, I thought he was about to give Sonic another Olive Garden gift card as his final act before dying. Part of me wishes that happened.

The supporting human character in this who really gets to shine is Agent Stone, which I'm sure most fans will agree was the correct choice. There's a LOT of Agent Stone in this. He's good. I don't have much to say about him, but he's fun as usual.

But, of course, the ones who steal the show are Jim Carrey, and his costar Jim Carrey.

The Robotniks

I've gone back and forth on whether or not I can actually see movie Robotnik as Robotnik. I think with this third and final entry in the Jim Carrey Robotnik Trilogy, I've landed on... yeah, that's just Jim Carrey playing a Jim Carrey character. He's absolutely having fun with the role, and I enjoyed watching him, but I think a lot of that comes down to the fact that I'm a millennial who grew up watching Jim Carrey movies. If you didn't like him before, this movie will probably be nails on a chalkboard to you, because now there are two of him.

Ivo's arc here leans very heavily into the fact that he grew up as an orphan and never knew his family, a thing offhandedly mentioned in the first movie that's never been a thing for any other version of the character. Here, he learns that he has a living grandfather who's also a mad scientist, and it feels like a hole in his heart has been filled. It certainly makes sense for a place to take this version of the character, and it fits with the movie's themes of finding and losing family, but the cartoonish, childlike affection Ivo feels towards Gerald and all the scenes of them frolicking and dancing together have basically nothing to do with the characters from the games. He's a fun villain for this movie, but he's overwhelmingly used as comic relief this time rather than as a serious threat. He doesn't particularly feel like Sega's Dr. Ivo Robotnik, the arch nemesis of Sonic the Hedgehog who'd take over the world with an army of robots and a fleet of airships in the span of a day if Sonic wasn't around to stop him. He's a guy who lives in a big crab robot and has some drones. He has more in common with Carrey's depictions of the Grinch or the Riddler or Count Olaf than Dr. Eggman. Though he does, at least, finally get his outfit from the games by the end of the movie. So that's something. And also he's in a fat suit now. They only make jokes at the expense of his weight a little. Hooray...?

Gerald, meanwhile, is... largely the same character as movie Eggman, but older, so they can make jokes about him having saggy flesh and smelling funny and needing dentures. (Also, his voice kind of sounds like Homer Simpson sometimes?) To his credit, Carrey absolutely nails the handful of more serious scenes Gerald gets, whether it's Maria's death or his sinister turn when he reveals that he actually wants to destroy the Earth. But then it's right back to goofs about there being two of the same guy. Even the final battle features a lot of slapstick shenanigans with the two Robotniks fighting each other. I was able to enjoy the absurdity of it all, but if the humor doesn't land for you the dual Jim Carrey schtick is a hell of a lot of the movie. I wouldn't be surprised if there was more Gerald than Shadow in the movie, when you go and tally up their screentime. I was able to enjoy the sheer absurdity of it, but your mileage will vary.

I will, however, say that the split screen stuff they do with the two Carreys is EXTREMELY impressive, from a filmmaking perspective. They were absolutely flexing with their ability to pull the effect off. They don't rely on cheap tricks like cutting a lot, or having shot/reverse shot scenes where you're looking at the back of a body double's head. Instead they have a lot of long takes where the two Robotniks are talking to each other, you can see both of their faces, and they'll even hug and touch each other a lot, and the whole time the conversation maintains a natural pace like it really is two actors playing off of each other. It's really well done. It's an incredibly silly idea, but boy did they commit to it.

Sonic

I've hardly said anything about Sonic himself in all of this. It's his movie, isn't it! Well... I don't know, he's fine.

I feel like movie Sonic is a known quantity at this point, and either you like this take on the character or you don't. There was some speculation early on that this was supposed to be a younger Sonic who would grow into being the character we know from the games and comics, the one who's still got lots of quips but is also kind of aloof and cool, a free spirit who goes where the wind takes him, a figure the other characters look up to. And... no, that didn't happen. Once again he gets more serious as the stakes are raised, and he's totally badass when he goes Super, but the rest of the time he's still a little goober with tons of generic one-liners who learns schmaltzy lessons about the importance of family. He's still constantly going to undercut the tension of most scenes by cracking a pop culture reference that will make the average American parent go "haha I've heard of that." I don't think they're ever gonna change that. I think this just what the writers think Sonic is like.

And, again, for what it is, it's fine. He's a little annoying. You already know how you feel about movie Sonic. This third entry won't change that. But they do, at least, have him say "Talk about low budget flights, no food or movies... I'm outta here!" before jumping out of a helicopter. As my thoughts on the climax will show, I am not immune to fanservice.

The climax

God, the climax is SOOOOO fucking good. It's fantastic. Easily the best action these movies have ever done.

Rather than saving Super Shadow for the team-up with Sonic at the end, they have both of them go Super to fight each other first, and they just go full DBZ with it, fighting across the entire planet. It absolutely rules. I think this is the new coolest fight the two of them have had in anything ever. And then they have to stop the Eclipse Cannon together, and sure, there's no Biolizard. But Gerald DOES release a swarm of GUN Hunter robots, and the ensuing space battle turns into some Gundam shit. It's good! It's so good!!! The movie's flaws kind of melt away for me here when I'm watching Super Shadow take out an army of robots with Chaos Spears on the big screen. What a timeline we're living in.

And yes, they play "Live and Learn." They had to. They knew the assignment. They actually play a slight remix, but it's still got the original vocals, so it's perfectly recognizable. Actually, the tune of the song is used as a leitmotif for Shadow throughout the movie, first introduced via an acoustic guitar version played by Maria, and I really love that. I've been begging these movies to use more music from the games the whole time, and I'm glad they finally did so here. (They also use the traditional level clear jingle early in the film, and Eggman's theme from SA2 is very briefly used as a ringtone.)

... Anyway, uh, meanwhile Eggman, Tails, and Knuckles straight up just kill Gerald to save the world? They unceremoniously knock him into an energy field at the end of their slapstick fight aboard the Eclipse Cannon and he disintegrates like he hit a bugzapper. It's over in an instant. It's not graphic or anything, but it's, like... I didn't expect them to show it, or for it to be such a casual murder! Eggman has one quip about it and then immediately moves on.

Shortly after this, Eggman and Shadow sacrifice themselves to stop the Eclipse Cannon. Shadow's sacrifice doesn't stick, obviously (he's revealed to be alive by the end of the second stinger—pretend to be shocked), but Eggman's probably dead dead. I seriously doubt Jim Carrey's gonna come out of retirement for these movies again. His final moments before the big explosion are also SO dragged out and belabored. He has a dramatic final line like ten times in a row. It really just feels like the series saying goodbye to Carrey. And, again, it feels like a fitting enough end for this Eggman's arc, but it's an odd adaptation of the character from the games.

And so, that's what we're left with. This is far from Sonic Adventure 2: The Movie. It's not that, though there are many, many references made to that game in particular. It's a sequel to the film Sonic the Hedgehog 2 that has a similar tone and style, but Shadow and Gerald are in it, and Shadow gets some really cool fights, and there's a liiiiiittle more focus on stuff from the games than last time, and the script's a little tighter. If that sounds fun to you, you will have fun with this. I know I did. If it doesn't, you're probably better off waiting for them to inevitably do an animated reboot whenever this live action series runs out of steam.

It hasn't quite run out of steam yet, though...

The post-credits scenes, and the future

One of the big questions going into this was: what's next? How do they top a Shadow movie with heavy Sonic Adventure 2 overtones, in terms of hype for the fans? How do you fill Eggman's shoes after Carrey retires, for real this time? There are still more fan favorite rival characters to get through, but how many movies in a row can they introduce a furry foe for Sonic who inevitably turns good and helps him stop a larger threat by the end? And when the hell are we gonna see the girls?

Well, we now have our answer, and it's one I'm cautiously excited for: a whole army of Metal Sonics, and Amy!

Yes, Amy! Finally!! It's an absolute crime that we've gone three whole movies and a streaming miniseries without including the female lead of the series. I've complained about this ad nauseum (and also the fact that they cut Rouge from the story). But at least now they're finally doing something about it.

But now the question is, how will they characterize Amy? Sega's struggled with her for years, and there's a million different directions you can take her. Her one scene here has her smashing a bunch of Metal Sonics and wearing a cloak for the sake of a dramatic reveal, which gives her the vibes of a mysterious, badass action girl. This is, of course, completely different from how Sonic and Amy met in the games. What will her personality be like? She doesn't speak here, so who will they get to play her? Where did she come from? Will she even have a crush on Sonic? All of these have yet to be determined. So, like, I'm hyped to finally see Amy, a character who should've been in the movies from the start, but they could so easily end up playing it safe with an incredibly boring girlboss version of Amy who's no fun at all. We'll have to wait and see.

(My prediction: they're going to try to cast either Zendaya or Ariana as Amy.)

Metal Sonic, likewise, is very exciting, and he looks perfect. He looks just like the design from the games. But the question is: what will they do with this army of Metals? Will they be lead by one main Metal Sonic, perhaps Neo Metal Sonic, who gets to be a proper bad guy? Will they take some cues from Sonic CD, Heroes, and the OVA, or do something completely original? Where did they come from? Were they activated as a failsafe after Eggman died? Did they and Amy come from some sort of bad future, riffing on Sonic CD's time travel? Will they explore the fact that Metal wants to be the one and only Sonic? Or will they just be an army of disposable robot grunts for Sonic and friends to mow down like it's a Dynasty Warriors game, while some other villain takes center stage?

It could go so many different ways, and some prospects are more exciting than others. I mean, the Knuckles show had endless possibilities for what it could do with him, and none of the options on my bingo card were "Pachacamac's ghost tells him to help Wade win a bowling tournament." And while I'm a sicko who thinks it's funny that the Knuckles show is what it is, forgive me for keeping my hype about Amy and Metal Sonic in check here until we learn more.

Regardless of what they do, it'll still be hard to top the hype of Shadow, and it'll be hard to fill Jim Carrey's shoes for general audiences. So despite this clear statement of intent, I have no idea what the future of this film franchise holds. But regardless of what they do, I can say one thing for certain: the kids in my theater were hyped as hell for it. They popped off over Metal Sonic, and they were screaming their heads off with excitement over Amy. I heard a teenage girl on the opposite end of my row of seats say "finally!" over Amy's reveal, verbalizing my exact thoughts. She also said that this movie was "peak," though it diverged from the games, and she hoped they'd do a movie with Silver and Blaze someday.

The kids are gonna be okay.

#tkp post #other media #sonic 3 spoilers

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starlightshore · 5 months ago

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I updated my designs again! i wanted to try to get back into the show's roots -while still playing into my headcanons and new characterization. a good "back to basics" was needed, I know I lost sight of the of for a lil while...

But yeah, if you're new to my stuff:

gamer tucker w/ a twitch stream (not considered a nerd/loser)

nonbinary Sam, they/she!!

trans boy danny; injured from portal, has black/white streaks in both forms. more "scared," using the show bible pitch of Danny being a scaredy cat.

Jazz takes after Jack in body type

Ellie (Dani) is an alternative universe version of Danny instead of being a clone. Her halfa conversion is more unstable and frequently melts. She's also a trans girl.

Overall my take is a modern-day one, and often a dark comedy.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #danny pahntom redesign #danny phantom au #danny phantom fanart #dp fanart #fanart tag

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mrrharper · 3 months ago

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The Jocks Of Dark Forest College

They say stereotypes aren't real and one shouldn't judge anyone based on these preconceived notions. Well, they forgot to tell Dark Forest College. This place was like out of a 4/10 comedy. There were nerds with their glasses and button up shirts who spent their whole time either studying or worrying about exams. There were rich assholes to whom getting good grades came easily, leaving a lot of time to keep up their unearned social status. Obviously, a group of politically conscious activists could also be found, people who used the campus as one big soapbox and fought for whatever their cause was.

And then there were the jocks. Unquestioned leaders, alphas even, of the whole student body. Members of the football, soccer, hockey, wrestling and baseball teams, into which the school pumped enormous amounts of public and private funds. It was easiest to find them studying sports management or health and nutrition. Obviously they were not present during most lectures, and their GPAs were just barely above the NCAA minimum for sports scholarships. They were strong and arrogant meatheads, gym bros dumb as rocks who spent their days either working out, running through drills or broing out with their bros. They were the powerhouse of Dark Forest's Greek Row, controlling most fraternities and fucking most sororities.

With one major exception.

Darren Frost was meant to be a dumb jock. He was a junior playing on the Dark Forest Blackbirds football team, one of their most dangerous weapons on defense. A cornerback expected to be a top 5 pick in the draft class he would one day be a part of. His numerous interceptions, flashy tackles and defensive touchdowns made him a household name, a campus celebrity. And yet he was not a cocky meathead. He majored in economics with a minor in sociology. His grades never fell below a very respectable level. He was the recipient of both athletic and academic scholarships. And he never boasted about his sexual conquest. At one point there was even a rumor going around that he had a thing for a guy in high school. He was the exception to every rule of Dark Forest social life. And nature does not like exceptions. At least not the nature of Dark Forest College.

Every year in April the Blackbirds threw a giant campus-wide celebration for the athletes that were leaving their teams because they were graduating or they were drafted by the NFL or other major sports leagues. The so-called Draft Class Graduation was the biggest social event during the summer semester outside of maybe the actual graduation ceremony. The Dean was always orchestrating the whole thing himself, publicly thanking all soon-to-be former student athletes for deciding to play with the Dark Forest logo on their jerseys. Then, the crowds of rowdy jocks filled all bars and clubs around campus and partied the whole night, drinking booze and fucking chicks along the way.

Darren was always very uncommitted when it came to being a part of the partying culture at DFC. He went to the Draft Class Graduation during his first year on the team, which he did not particularly enjoy. That’s why the next year he just skipped the whole thing against the clear expectations of his teammates. He went out with his bros every now and then, but not as frequently as some of the other guys. He also infamously never drank as much as most athletes. Now he was on the finish line of his junior year and he planned on doing things exactly the same as the year prior - attend the formal part of the ceremony, talk a bit to the guys he knew and go home while the rest of the team went out to get black out drunk in some sleazy bar.

His teammates had other plans, however. After all speeches were done people started slowly leaving the campus grounds for the dozen or so bars that offered student discounts for the day. What Darren wanted to do at that point was to quietly and quickly leave the crowd of hyped up students and get to his dorm on the opposite side of DFC's campus. Instead, right after the Dean said his final words he was surrounded by almost the entire defensive line.

"yer comin' with us bruh" Drake, a defensive end, took a step forward "ya know yer comin' dude."

"Guys" Darren smiled as he looked at the group of football players standing in front of him. "Ya know these kinds of parties or whatever aren't my thing. Also, remember we have practice tomorrow at 2. Don't wanna be hungover doing drills" He chuckled a bit. The guys grinned but didn't move.

"bruh, who cares about practice, that's tomorrow brah" Another player, Travis, came out of the crowd. "today we party dude!"

"heard a bunch of chicks from Epsilon Omega are goin' to The Blaze man! think 'bout all that wet pussy bro!" Chris, a defensive lineman, chimed in. The Blaze was famously the favorite club of the entire football team.

Darren listened to his teammates trying to convince him to join them. He marveled at how single-minded they all seemed. When they thought about going out, it was literally all they could think about. And when they were on the field, their minds were completely set on the game or drill they were doing. This was what seemed to set him apart from the rest of his team--

"so dude? yer comin', right bro?" Drake looked Darren right in the eyes, an arrogant smirk on his face. "am not takin' no for an answer dude, ya gotta live the jock life bruh"

Darren sighed and rolled his eyes. He didn't really have any plan for what to do that evening, there was nothing important happening the next day, except that 2PM practice. He could, potentially, go and order just one drink, then excuse himself early.

"Okay, okay, I'll go. Damn, y'all are a giant pain in the ass" He finally caved, and was met with all the guys patting him on the back, as well as a few whistles and cheers. They all chuckled and made their way towards the club.

When they arrived at the establishment, the entire space was very much packed. When they entered through the door though, the crowd immediately made space for the jocks. They were royalty in this club and they were very much treated as such. The Blackbirds' defensive line confidently walked up to a big table towards the back and moments later it was free for them to sit at. Darren was not fully comfortable with being treated that way, he'd have no problem just standing, leaning by the wall and sipping on his drink, but the rest of the guys made sure he came exactly where they went.

After making sure everyone in their immediate surroundings knew that the football team claimed these tables as theirs, the jocks began leaving to order, talk or flirt. Darren was one of the first to stand up and walk up to the bar, not wanting Drake or Chris to moan that he was not “livin the jock life". He ordered a drink with barely any alcohol in it, conscious of the practice he would have to go through tomorrow. As he did he saw a few of the guys already trying to pick up girls who started moving towards the athletes' sable the moment they came into the club. Almost every player on the team seemed to sleep with a different chick every week, and while Darren did not have much of a problem with that, it just wasn't how he did things. While his bisexuality was more or less evenly split he was on a guy-only streak recently. He experienced a few hookups with girls from DFU though, and they didn’t really satisfy him. He was looking for something more that casual sex and--

"dude, yer drinkin this fag shit?" Travis looked at Darren as he sat down at their table. "broooooooo, ya gotta taste some real shit bro" And with one swift move he took Darren's drink away from him and replaced it with a bottle of beer, the same one Travis had in his hand. "once ya taste this stuff, yer never gonna buy that fairy shit again, bruh".

Darren looked at the bottle that was now standing in front of him. He didn't recognize the brand or the type, but he was not an avid drinker so he just assumed it was some less popular beer other guys from the team really liked. He took a sip. It did not taste good, it was way too sour and much more carbonated for him to even remotely enjoy the taste. But again, not wanting Trevor to harass him about this, he slowly worked his way through the content of the bottle, one small sip at a time.

The beer took surprisingly little time getting to his head. Not 5 minutes after getting through the entire bottle Darren felt slightly dizzy. Surprised by this, he inspected the bottle but found nothing that would suggest the alcohol was particularly strong. He put the bottle on the table and looked around, watching his teammates dance in the middle of the bar, talking up random girls or being surrounded by them. They were celebrities here and it showed.

“hey, gorgeous” Darren was suddenly startled by a feminine voice coming from his right. He turned his head and saw a young woman, wearing a crop top and shorts - both very revealing, standing next to him and looking at his arms. He looked at her face and saw hunger in her eyes - she had a very clear goal in mind.

“Uhhh, hey” He responded, half-whispering, before putting on his standard, confident voice. “You need anything?” The woman giggled in reply. She then sat down beside him and put her hand on his biceps.

“Oh, there certainly is something” She gently squeezed his arm. “And I think you already know what it is.” Her hand started traveling up his arm, reaching his shoulder that she started slowly massaging, while also putting her other hand on his thigh.

Darren indeed knew what the woman wanted, but he himself didn’t really want for anything to happen between him and any woman tonight. He just wasn't in the mood for sex, and the continuous buzzing in his head caused by this weird beer Travis gave him certainly didn’t help.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but that’s not gonna happen tonight.” Darren said, as he gently took off the woman’s arm that had been feeling up his arms. “I don’t think you’ll have much problem finding more eager guys here.” He chuckled lightly, hoping the woman would leave him and look for some of his teammates. She looked at him for a few long seconds without saying a thing, which made Darren slightly uncomfortable, but before he had a chance to react she stood up.

“Well in that case, have a good night my gorgeous jock.” She smiled at him once again, then left and disappeared in the crowd. Darren felt like there was something slightly sinister in her last sentence, but dismissed the feeling. Damn, he needed some water, that beer was not good for his head.

“bro, what the fuck dude?” Drake suddenly appeared by his side. He was shirtless and sweaty, with signs of lipstick on his upper body suggesting he had already found a girl to get some action with. “did ya see these tits bro? guys would kill for Beth to come to them out of her own, and ya just let her go man?”

“You may not believe it, but I’m not always in the mood for sex” Darren rolled his eyes.

“exactly bruh, i don’t believe ya dude, yer a jock bro” Drake came up to him and put his arm around Darren’s shoulder “so ya should be horny as fuck bruh, like 24/7 or somethin’ like that” He then scratched his crotch, his cock visibly hard under his shorts.

“Sure, man” Darren didn’t really know how to respond so he got himself out of Drake’s arm and walked up to the bar to get something to drink. But when he got here and was ready to order, he felt that he was holding something. He looked down to see a bottle of that weird beer Travis gave him in his hand. Only it wasn’t his empty bottle. This one was full, unopened even. How did it-- damn, that buzzing in his head just wouldn’t stop. What was he planning to do? Oh yeah, get something to drink. He looked at the bottle for a moment. Then, as if driven by muscle memory, he opened the bottle and took a large sip. This didn’t taste that bad. Well, duh, if it tasted bad he wouldn’t have bought it. Wow, he was such a dumbass sometimes. Darren grinned to himself and made his way back to the football team’s table.

He was immediately surrounded by a few of his bros. Propped up by tons of alcohol, they were loud and obnoxious, making crude jokes and expecting Darren to join in. For now he just sipped on his beer and listened to the conversations happening around him, while trying to ignore the buzzing in his head. Travis and, uhhh… Brett? Was it Brett? No, wait, it was Travis and… Brandon, yes, Brandon. Brandon and Travis were loudly discussing how one of them has been juggling two chicks at the same time, and both found this hilarious. Darren felt inclined to follow their conversation, but when he tried to focus on what they were saying too much he felt the pain in his head intensify.

“bro, i’m tellin’ ya, yer dick feels great when ya give it fresh pus every week”

“yeah dude, that sounds sick, but ya know how chicks are… i bet Jessica would bitch about, like, infidelity or exclusivity or some other bullshit, i mean how do you make sure these chicks don’t get mad as fuck?”

Darren found this conversation weirdly fascinating. Normally he would steer away from any discussion like that, as he didn’t really like to listen as his teammates describe their dating life and strategies for hookups in detail.

“bro, there’s one correct answer here - ya don’t tell ‘em dawg!” Wait, who said that? He did? Wow, that was unexpected. Except, why would it be? He was just talking with his bros, it would be unexpected if he didn’t join the conversation, right? Right?

“exactly bruh” Travis burst out laughing as he patted Darren on the back. “that’s what i’m talkin’ about. why the fuck would they have to know, i’m the one who’s the source of anythin’ good in their lives huhuhuhuh”. Brandon and Darren joined in, chuckling like idiots.

The discussion continued and Darren found himself in this weird state where he was sure he was taking part in conversations with his bros, joking and talking about getting chicks for a quick fuck, but at the same time his brain seemed to not register most of what was happening around him. He knew what was happening right in that moment, but what happened just a moment ago? A blank void. The party at the bar kept on going and Darren was an active part of that, always by his bros’ side but everything seemed disconnected from reality, somehow.

He was sitting by their table, officiating an arm wrestling competition between the linebackers. A moment later he’s standing by the bar watching as a teammate of his gets a girl to go to the bathroom with him. Suddenly he’s leaning against the wall and looking at some hot guy’s ass.

Darren blinked and looked around. He didn’t remember going to the bathroom. He looked down. There was a chick down there, slowly unzipping his pants and freeing his hard cock. I took him a moment to register what was going around him and in that time the girl - wait, was that, ugh… Betty… or, Brittney… yeah, Betty, that chick form earlier - turned around and put her bare ass in front of his dick.

“You promised action. Now deliver, my football star” she purred. Darren looked at her hole and was overcome by some instinct he didn’t recognize.

“Fuck yeah” he growled and got ready for his next conquest. Wait, conquest? His brain didn’t have time to process this thought though because his mind turned off just as he pushed his cock deeper.

Darren slowly opened his eyes. Fuck, he felt as if his head was about to explode. What… what was… he was… ugh, damn that fucking headache. Oh, yeah! He got drunk at a bar with his team. Why did he agree to drink so much booze—

Wait. Where was he? Darren looked around. He wasn’t at the bar, and he wasn’t in his dorm room. Maybe some kind of office? No no no, it didn't look like that either. God, why were the lights so bright? Darren raised his hand to cover his eyes— what the fuck? Why was he wearing his uniform? He looked down and yeah, he was in full gear, as if just before a game. Something was very wrong.

A silhouette appeared in front of him. Darren narrowed his eyes and recognized Drake, one of his teammates, also in full gear, walking up to him holding a protein shake in his hand

”take that, brah” His bro said, extending his hand with the shaker to Darren, who eagerly accepted it, suddenly very hungry. He then quickly drank the whole mixture. It tasted of peanut butter and banana, his favorite flavor.

”Thanks dude” Darren smiled Drake and gave him back the shaker, who in return slapped him on the shoulder and took a few steps back, now standing on the side of the room, which… wait, it was a locker room! His eyes now used to the lighting, he recognized the rows of lockers on the sides and the familiar smell of sweat reached his nostrils.

”What… what’s happening, Drake?” He asked, but the other football player did not react, standing still in the corner, looking straight with his arms behind his back. Only then did Darren realize that he was tied to the chair, ropes going around his abdomen and legs.

“What the fuck?” He muttered to himself, the headache still going. He tried to get Drake’s attention a few more times, but without much success.

The door to the locker room opened and an older man wearing a very expensive suit walked inside. The man was holding something in his hand, it looked like a football helmet. Darren looked up as he stood in front of him.

”I’m glad to see you’re awake.” Darren furrowed his brow. That voice sounded a lot like that of Dean Prescott. Wait, what was he doing here?

”Sir… what am I doing here?” He asked. “And what time is it… I have practice at 2 and—”

”Oh, yes, the practice.” the Dean laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m going to make sure you’ll be there. Oh, don’t you worry about that. But first, I have one more thing to take care of.” With that, he put the helmet he was holding on Darren’s head, then looked him right in the eyes.

”You’ve been a pain in my ass for three years now, but finally I’m going to sort out the mess you’ve created.” The man said as a weird buzz suddenly surrounded Darren’s mind. The sound was extremely annoying, not loud enough to keep him from hearing what the Dean was saying, but loud enough that he couldn’t ignore it. Thankfully the helmet’s visor stopped the light in the room from assaulting Darren’s tired eyes.

”The entire time I’ve been the dean at Dark Forest I made sure everything worked perfectly. And that involved making sure that every student had a very specific role to play while attending my school. It’s way easier to control what’s going on when everyone behaves in predictable ways.” A smirk appeared on the older man’s face as he slowly walked up to Drake, who was still standing like a statue. “Nerds, theater kids, rich assholes” He put his hand around Drake’s shoulders “and of course jocks.” Dean’s hand moved south until it encountered Drake’s biceps. The man gave it a firm squeeze, a cocky smirk clearly displayed on his face. Darren watched the scene in pure confusion, not understanding why Drake didn’t react to Prescott acting like a weirdo-- fuck, that buzzin’ made it hard to concentrate, bro.

“Ever since I’ve started my program to make sure every member of the student strictly conformed to the role that I assigned them I’ve encountered no hiccups.” The Dean turned back towards Darren. “Take our man Drake Harris for example, he’s been incredibly easy to steer onto his correct path. Do you know he used to be a member of a glee club in high school?” He let out a hollow laugh “What insanity! But all it took was one two-hour football practice and Harris was a proud meathead, incapable of thinking about theater ever again. He’s now the jock he’s supposed to be. Right, Mr. Harris?” The Dean looked at Drake, who in response moved, his body shifting into an arrogant stance and a grin appearing on his face, then said:

“Yeah, dude” Drake’s voice was weirdly neutral, lacking some of his usual bravado and sounding a bit robotic. “I am a dumb jock. I work out every day. My IQ is lower than 80 and I have no interest in studying. I fuck every gril I want, and I fuck as many girls as I want. I am the alpha in the room. I am the greatest player this school has ever seen.” After he was finished, he went back to his previous stance, hands behind his back, looking straight ahead.

Darren looked at this whole scene with wide eyes, the buzz fading into the background as the implications of what he’s heard registered in his head.

“What are you..” He started speaking, only to realize his speech was a bit slurred, making him sound kinda drunk. Or kinda dumb. “Uhhh… so you, like… turn students into walking stereotypes?” Damn, why was it suddenly so hard for him to form a sentence and say it?

“I guess you could say so.” Dean Prescott moved towards Darren, stopping in front of him and looking down. “And you are the first obstacle I’ve encountered. You, Mr. Frost, were supposed to be just like Harris and the rest, a dumb brute who gets his brain turned into paste. But you just had to be all smart and academically successful.” He spoke the last few words with a high-pitched, mocking tone. “Oh, and gay. Or bi or whatever. God, what a disaster, a football player who gets fucked in the ass, disgusting.” He then looked at the watch on his wrist, chuckled and looked at Darren sitting speechless in front of him. “But this problem too is going to be solved in just a moment. The protein shake should have been absorbed by your body by now and the helmet is about to finish the priming stage.”

“What’s gonna… happen to me…” Darren drawled, the buzzing growing in intensity and the headache coming back with more force. The older man leaned in and looked him in the eye.

“I’m gonna make sure you’ll turn into the dumb jock you were supposed to be form the moment you first stepped foot on this campus.”

Suddenly, the visor exploded with light, blinking images quickly appeared on it and then disappeared before Darren’s brain could register what was on them. The buzzing got so loud he could barely hear the Dean talking, even though he was standing right in front of him.

“Just a few minutes of this and you’ll be just one of dozens of dumb jocks of Dark Forest.”

Darren opened his eyes, surprised by some loud noise right in front of him. He blinked a few times and grinned. Chris had just slapped Brandon in the ass with a towel. Everyone was laughing at them and Darren quickly joined in. He looked around. He was in the football team’s locker room but couldn’t really remember--

“ey brah!” Drake, who was sitting right next to him, punched him in the shoulder “ya alright dude? cause yer lookin’ like ya just woke up bro. or maybe ya got distracted thinkin' bout Betty's wet pussy”

“nah, am fine, just…” Darren didn’t know what he wanted to say, so he just sat with his mouth slightly ajar, a dumb expression on his face, images of some chick's ass flooding his brain. He started drooling and scratched his crotch, while Drake just laughed in response.

“dude, yer so fuckin dense brah” He put on his helmet, still chuckling. Darren followed suit, putting on his own and taking his mouth guard in his hand.

“am a football player bro, ain’t gonna find no Einsteins here dude” He responded, a grin appearing on his face. Then he flexed both his arms, his biceps bulging under his skin. “just a bunch of fuckin’ meatheads, amirite bro?”

“fuckin A brah” Drake said. Then they exchanged fistbumps and stood up.

“ya ready for some fuckin’ football, bros?” Darren shouted to the rest of his teammates and got a bunch of ‘fuck yeahs’ in response. “then let’s fuckin go brahs!” He said and ran towards the field.

#jock tf #jock #personality change #football jock #gay to straight tf

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astralnymphh · 11 months ago

Text

copy that, romeo

— ellie williams was supposed to be your supervisor, not your object of infatuation ~ ♡

⋆❝ this is cordero tower, calling in.❞⋆

CHAPTER ONE: SUMMERTIME INTERLUDE . NEXT CHAPTER > ♡. pair; firewatcher!ellie x recruit!reader

♡. summary; it's 1995, and the angel crater national park welcomes you; a retrograde lookout all to yourself, a space nerd for a supervisor, and a whole summertime job spent in hues of sepia and juniper, waiting for the first sign of smoke. ninety–three days. you don't know her face, you share no breath— but by walkie–talkie, you know her voice.

♡. a/n; READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. CLICK HERE. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. ALSO THIS.

♡. content; EVENTUAL SMUT, narrator present, silly fourth wall breaking, a dash of comedy, slowburn (somewhat), living alone, long–distance pining, reader/characters are similar ages(mid–late 20s), depression, heavy metaphor usage, complicated poetry styles, mentions of organs, mentions of weaponry, metaphorical death, grim humor, drinking alcohol, drunk!ellie, drunken flirting (vaguely and bluntly), ellie jumpscare, uh-oh sassy masc apocalypse, she's corny and cheesy too (a dork), awkwardness, humiliation, lighthearted bickering, nicknames used. [lmk if i missed anything] . SERIES PLAYLIST .

WC; 6.1k+ ✮ thank you @trackinglessons for your sexy brain and beautiful ideas + custom art ✮ masterlist ✮ series masterlist ✮ ellie ref sheet

Summertime is the interlude between misery and Mondays.

May was a rough patch for you. A coagulated chapter within the spring world, a shunned ponder, red jello in the gradience of passage. Tempus, time. Early months hence were just as pessimizing, doubt is an arid reservoir in you. But, as a maypole sits a svelte giant in the sweet Beltane soil, braving an invisible smile whilst little ones— little laughters, spun prances and wraps of dainty satin to an ensnare on its long body, it weeped for its delicate capture. You; flesh coarse like timber, relate to the log standing, ensnared. Sunk in that gelatinous texture, unmoving as pressures collided with the surface outward, ripples everywhere yet incapable of sprinkling through you. Something would have to delve itself to drag you out.

Chapters; cusp of autumn to April, every single month, wound ‘round you. They each had separating colors, and spared turns to soundly fold your limbs and bulge your skin in ribbons. It snipped your circulation, shriveled the ripe breath in your skull and traded it for a pressure. A throb. Weight upon the cranium, you felt the narrowing cradle inside wilt from thought, drain from consciousness, and soften your stiff eyes locked on drywall. Hour to hour.

But those weren't the only things taunting you with a dance— expectations danced faster. Expectators, paired minds heaping expectations; yourself and the selves blackjacking their wants expressed as worries onto you. Stressful creatures, they are. Bosses, co–workers, energy vampires disguised as lover boys prowling about your workspace, general creatures of the retail world. God, they're like ravenous wolves snarling hunger through their teeth, slobber moonlight–bright of that dire carnality for variety meats. Depression just took the first serving before they could.

Even the domesticated places are a wilderness untamed.

Stress drained you of life. It softened your desire to even try. Gods are dulling, blamed you, on another dull morning where the trickling sound of coffee pouring drilled irk into your ears, rather than simply a trickle. Caffeine, a roast so void–black was brewed to un–drain you. Yet, it fuckin didn't.

Impugning was your everything, until it could no longer purify; Elaine. Emptiness. Hmm, you gave this state of vacuum–headed hollowness a name, keenly because it deserved so by its dismantling of your autonomy. You don't want it. It's not you. It's Elaine. A some–angel fallen out of grace, weary of its wander upon a washed up cove, beige toned and swept shivering–cold. Interested by the warmth your sundry organs pushed into its light silhouette.

And perhaps, if the bird was never freed from its heavenly cage, it would be powerless to pester you, to poke the meat inside with the pointy end of plumage.

Elaine was an organized assault on your wellbeing, moreso against the pulpy, pinkish-gray blob sitting ugly above your throat. Believe it, or assume it. A paralysis, moving shoulders from bed sheets proved farcical, running bristles over your teeth twice a day rhymes with nonsense, and midnight ink born to swirl and curtsy to convey thoughts gone rancid, goes unused atop the white flutter between your journal hardcovers. You have a morbid case of the seasonal blues, except this time, the season is beyond its blue hues. Spring, a fuckin’ kaleidoscope embellished. Blotches of big fuck you greens so vibrant you'd long to die from your tears, and an abstract spit of smell me reds thorny as your stomach brought to a scream for something. Anything.

It was a slow, banal descent into the jello.

January, floating atop the sweet delicacy, atop your bed.

February, the solidity gave out beneath you, goo subtly etching around your ankles, calves, elbows, unforgivingly cold when it first hit. When in reality, the bed was heating from your lay.

March, marrow goes heavy, your limbs at this time could not lift, your efforts waned, and satiating the rumble in you with sustenance was forgotten, as that rumble got so, so.. quiet.

April, the jello had stuffed your nose, your sockets, and lullabied your ligaments. You let it happen.

May.

You let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.

The descent doesn't taste of sweet delight, but it also fails to churn your lips with a heavy saccharinity. Neutral, your hopeful side did say. Nothing, rationality slapped past your lips.

Five months, either a misery, or a Monday.

Yes Eve, a bite out of the Apocrypha will indeed fill this human abysm in me. Forbidden knowledge is my craving. Contraband of truth, bite to bite, I envy that I could not cope with its coating of my empty gut earlier.

Innocence is so dull. You are depressed, not a fucking saint for staying indoors, starving your rage.

But on came a crisp bouquet of biker–boy newspapers; ‘Hiring’, and a few scans further; ‘Do you harness a great love for the evergreen?’

A honed section in Missoula's local print— jobs. A publisher boldens and compresses enthusiasm sporadically; writing–on–the–wall hollers speckle themselves meticulously on the newsprint that strike a sense of obligation into the susceptible and soft–of–heart chunk of the population. A pert voice read with persuasion between your ears, gritty in tone and stereotypical of a middle aged ranger, vocals fried by cigarettes but as booming as a cannon.

“Do you care for the animals inhabiting our national sanctuaries?”

Abutting small paragraphs, the sagging belly of a black bear, tender caramel snout and snoopy–faced, fitted on its head a mustard yellow campaign hat labeled, ‘Smokey’. Its burly, blundering frame on all fours stood out over a comic–style vista of the Montana rockies, paws obscured by blocks of thickset text reading ‘Only you’.

Huh, a realistic depiction of Smokey Bear— over a not–so–realistic background, avant–garde.

Tree greens sprawly that didn't shout ‘Fuck you’ on your poor, sunken eyes searing for sleep and a twilight darkness. Sagey lichens that didn't draw out the spasms above your own bones, calling your regard to bring pin–sized problems and blemishes sprawling your own flesh out of the bliss of ignorance. Brunette muds with only a fleck of sun, a slice of earth dull, humble and unprocessed enough from benevolence to leave you unconsumed, unsunken. A mere slop and pudge in the future and wake of your walk. Nothing obnoxiously grand, nothing sanctimonious. Nature is by birth— righteous, regardless.

“Before we can be proud of our nation, our nation must be proud of us!”

The advertisement gropes for a summertime made free. A cyclopean sinkhole in the becoming of time. Recruits–in–waiting are called to bargain normalcy and the bustling cities plump with lumbering limbs of sheen–tight pantyhose shaded under short shapes of plaid skirts for boot–cuts n’ backpacks hefty with gear that could either save you the trouble of mountaineering by path, or trouble your time with a faulty snapping of two things. Rope and neck.

Too grim?

A months’–long moment of tension snapped at the pressure joint— Summertime the snapper. You'd be devoting ninety–three suns, ninety–two moons, and some two–million breaths of fir laden air up in Angel Crater National Park, northwest of here. Pupils flickering the double-page setup, you continue: A pictographic, old–fashioned lookout taller than the timber spires surrounding would be your station, your core of operations, for those three young and sunny months. Boxed provisions and supplies are guaranteed to ship every other week, and testimonies encourage even the anxious, balmy buzzes of your brain to sigh in solace learning that the weald creatures there— are mostly harmless, if you aren't bred an imbecile. Alongside, an appointed supervisor, whose name was never disclosed duly except for a scratch of text gingerly clasped in quotations reading, “E.R.W” trailing the mention of said supervisor. What’s required of you was delivered plain written and patent on that shoddy newspaper, held thick in your intrigued thumbs; Keep the forest from catching wild fire.

You fiddled the idea. Should I? Or should I wallow the summer away? Fiddled it anxiously, fiddled it needily, bumped the clumped rim of the newsprint on your cupid's bow in bending rumination, steadied it cause newspaper smells oddly good— but next to minutes racing hours upon musing, a conclusion had to knock your static looping of gloomdom in the butt.

One phone call, and the bird would be barred again. Pesterer, Elaine the Terrible, would be cast back where eyes can't roll over the cottony clouds. Just a couple fucking prods to your number–pad, might genuinely un–drain you.

Luckily, you aren't an idiot reared to take bullshit longer than meritted.

You took the job.

May 30th, 1995, 7:28 PM.

What does any clever pedestrian traipsing capricious terrain store in their pack to avoid total gangly–branch–grips–of–nature butchery?

Item one; Black nylons— scratch that, you aren't getting paid to snag at every kink and curl of the forest, tighties of gossamery fabrics are a no–go. Citywear stays citywear. Double scratch on those sweet, blackberry Mary Janes too prized and polished to muck up in shit of the earth. Immolating the rigid underside of some chunky hiking boots to the unruly woodlands is the adrenaline pinnacle of out–worlding, come on. It proves you've got a hardy backbone and the right row of teeth to chew what you've bitten off, sullying boots ‘till the color is forevermore stained. Backup boots are tradition, so that's item number two. Best get used to cargo, ankle–length overalls and miscellaneous graphic tees, cause the rockies’ fashion gurus can't get enough of ‘em!

Clothing, check.

Swathes of ropes twined pumpkiny orange and plenty of clanging anchors to bolt them in, goddesses and gods forbid you be tight on anchors. Medical kits— duh, did you trudge all from yonder just to die out here? This country is dicey, at the cuddly claw of a bear, or not. Hair ties, scrunchies you hoarded as a teenager in the eighties, disposable camera to suit your flaky memories, and an eclectic dump of nutty and fruity cereal bars galore. Unless you're allergic. Substitute.

Accessories and essentials, check.

Ah, and a spare pistol and switchblade in replacement of newcomer paranoia! Keep that hush–hush though. No matches or lighters, obviously.

True American, illegal weaponry, check.

All this paraphernalia bangs and clangs heavily on the polyester holding of your backpack, straining your scruff uncomfortably as you tiptoe, scarcely tumble, and tread lightly across a log. It creaks, it groans, it wobbles slightly over the blaring white rush of a stream, suctioning your heart–to–stomach when it grinds a wee bit louder than you thought it should.

“Shit!” you crimp your torso in and dart wary hands on the timber beam at your feet, assuming a gawky newborn–bambi–pose in hesitation, shuddering in cracked tones, “This can't be the right way..”

Hoping on an evaporated sun, you frazzlingly testify in repetitive thought that the map mailed by the rangers a week prior led you on this perilous and incorrect path.. for the last two days. Winding and wounding, literally— your bruises are measureless and on top of that ache your skin to want no more of this. But, you have to. A boulevard of brown, short and stout, wrung unyielding from one gray side to the greener other, a shortcut. Assumed to be a shortcut, based on the route drawn by utter confusion.

Oh yeah, and remember the advertisement stating the park was twenty-five miles out?

Nothing about that hot-press, black-cat inked newspaper accounted for the extra eight weighing your ankles down and your motivation dead low. Twenty-five only stretched out unto the ranger parking lot. The entrance, for fuck's sake.

Shaky flit of your digits, they float gently off the carve–veined surface of the wood, unfolding your spine as you rise. “Wrong way—” you utter to your chest, oven–warm as it puffs, “—gotta be the wrong..”

Tentative–ism is normal here, right? Like, no way you're cautious and sweating at the brow for nothing. Right?

One foot— creeakkk— in front of the prudent other, two sailing lunges, three hurried hops and a matched thud soft as marshmallows plants your shoes to hallowed ground. Blades of verdant whiskers so innocent crush under, and it feels fucking— demeaning, actually. All that gulping and pausing.. for nothing.

You tuck a shoulder–glance to the makeshift ricket of a bridge, and blankface, “Didn't feel like killing me today?”

The tree bears no reply.

“Hmph, surprising. Seeing as someone killed you,” a sigh parts, fading into the whip and straightening of your head, “figured the pursuit of revenge doesn't stop at ghosts.” and the hoist of your boot up, carrying onward.

Sundown paints, crescent layers repose approaching moonlight and dying sunlight sprawls psychedelic limbs above you. Balance ambling in tiny bops only made the swirling grasp of those gradient rays more trippy on your eyes and coercive of daydreams, rot–nip for the brain. You spot nutbrown brick— a fireplace in your mind, fevered heat roasting on the inside wall of your forehead too. It was Christmas before the storm, a subzero December. And it was, in fact, colder than the unreachable heaven. Dad was hunkered down in front of that innocuous amber crackle, his right leg slack to the ground and his left arched in the neck of an acoustic guitar, arms plaiting its hollow curve into his chest. 1971, when the veil through and within was thin, and love–vomit poured so easily through. A time of justified ignorance; Childhood.

Stood you adjacently, legs short and posolutely not stout, dimpled in the knees. Aged two years, and mushy as ambrosia, contorting your mouth jubilant as you're told for the camera, contrary to your father with his expression drooping to his strumming fingers. Sickly sweets, adult–you unpurposefully neglects to twirl lips at, your extraordinary grins now turned ordinary flat–lines. Holiday memoirs, those spoiled ripe quick after adulthood bolted itself in the slabs of your tender spine and instilled an artificial love for labor and country, displacing nostalgia from ever being seen as a flesh existence.

“Say cheese!”

America is sub–human, and sub–humans created America, the imperfect cycle. Families tear, eagles outcry, friends drink their death, and the days continue to unfold without a trace of acknowledgement. Days exist where you soak festivities and stave off the pointer–finger poking at so called slack you relish, and some twenty dwindling years ahead the slowly deadening oak grove road, carousals will be criminally known as layabout–makers.

Joy is a luxury now.

A blockage prevents your foot from winching clean forward, meeting the bone–hard kiss of a boulder to sore your toes. “Fuck!” you brand your throat walls to a shout, pissed at the rock rather than your woolgather that lead you to said rock, “Fucking fuckhead rock!”

Woolgather means daydreams, by the way. Funner to use words that don't make a split of sense. Yay for English.

The sunset clouds dripped with a mania of fascination and had strung your brain to its hypnotic whims, like a siren had soloed a trance, drifting your mind somewhere utopian and phantasmagorical. It sounds silly, but, blanking out seems so often out of grasp from your control, you usually could never flag what caused it, when it started, and why. Nothing practical surfaces. Fuck, your head is so tangled upon memories, you haven't even noticed the progression of scenery twelve o’clock from you.

Ponderosa boughs band together where your eyes brush shapes and forage for a clue of what scene wants to greet you ahead. The sequestering silence of rustles indicates a clearing, possibly. Possible as it could be, you fully expected this cruel footslog to wallop your ass into a minefield, so you bet cards and course carefully beneath the crowns of pine, completely bent to the chance of another obstacle threatening your tender ankles. Leafy whispers above strum your ears brimmed with its sotto voce song, and then— colors it silently behind.

“Holy shit.”

Presence crumbles above you, and opens before you. The lookout. Wood shafts slant in opposing directions, up and up along four brawny beams in three consecutive layers, like a blocky cone. The face closest to you overlaps the backing rest, giving the illusion of tufted wooden legs sketched under all lackadaisical. Endgame daylight spies from behind this one–roomed cyclops, gushing final spurts of citrus rays as if it truly was an orange squeezed to pulp. So, the flank and forehead of that towering, mountainscaping lookout rolling a cold shoulder to the sun, paves in a tattered tapestry of garnet smokiness instead. Shadow of sundown. From where you sow feet, a football field apart, petty details are difficult to squint into clarity, but the window panes appear tawny, too.

An intimidation, “So much for a tiny room.” A beaute intimidation, “And no actual bathroom.” it makes you feel like a genuine insect compared.

A sort of stairwell serpent faintly chokes the foot, the calves, the thighs, and punctures kindly a mouth leading up to the skirting balcony hedged in many gaunt teeth. Tamping gravel closer, subtleties and fine points fade as the tower's plank–lined and flat underbelly turns to you. Larger and larger, it dips darkly from miniscule masquerade.

Bringing your decently aching foot to the first step, you press into the curb and meander your cruder aching— thanks to a random boulder— foot weirdly on the outer ridge of your boot. Making it up the stairs to fund yourself a fucking break was a palpable mockery in itself. Like, ‘Hey! Climb this long–ass stairwell for a teensy break before doing it all over again the next day!’.

Un–fucking–believable.

Fifty years of history and past rangers grate in your walk, the floorboards thump with their stories, thump into your skin— verse you a wordless eulogy. Each step is a sentence, and every sentence branches into a whole tree of genealogy, lives. Lifestyles you can't understand now, but will.

Really redundant of me to highlight the generations alive in those floorboards. The walk up there isn’t that exciting.

After the last step, you're met eye–to–frame with a scratched door, pygmy window centered and paper–screened from within, and the stories predating your stay inspire a comical theory, “Jeez— bears make it up here?” you half–suppress a snort, palming a fist on the doorknob coldly before rotating and giving sympathetic pressure to the door.. jammed.

“C’mon..” knuckles pulse into the knobs plate, gradually upping the force you pushed, “.. losing light out here..” eventually adding your other hand to sweeten the push.

Sure, a whole year has gone by since it homed somebody, and it's retro, but come on.

Breaking splinters into the door was your last intention, so you try so–so carefully— to some extent, “Please..” now butting the tip of your boot on the rim to ease it— ease, and finally pry, a clapback of wind blowing dusty, nightfall air past your crescent cheeks following the snap of the fallow door.

Thank goodness for your grace and balance, some days, avoiding a timely trip face–first to a floor so powdered in light dust, any kid would mistake it for a good time sweeping snow angels.

Not so good for the respiratory system though.

Muggy space filtering your lungs tightly, you cough out, “Gah— fuck!” nothing higher than the level of a guttural wheeze, your chest punching into your throat. Gaping out the last flock of butterflies clumped at your collarbones, the tickle inside calms, and you find your sights taking in a dark box. A dim orb of lily silver glow rests in the middle of the pall room, raising the natural, “Where's the ligh— ah, big clunky thing—”

Flicking the off–white and stubby nub attached to an impractically sized lightswitch, which frankly resembles an electric box externally, an essence of Apollo ladens the room. Lemony–gold light, passably bright off the redwood ceiling, and murmuring a low buzz through one ear, and out the other, your pupils caper along the contrasting shades awakened.

“Definitely retro, but.. no roommates.” spoke you, gingerly content with the colors piecing this camper pad together. You observe.

Forget–me–nots bled the cotton bedsheets baby blue, leavening the mattress with a tidy emotion as it's tucked, folded at the top and draped in a complimentary quilt— benevolent blues, hues your lids soften on. The bed beelined from the doorway, a corner counter fawn–brown as the wood extends adjacent to it, covering the northeastern angle of the room. Magpied brands of canned food clutter shelves, spines spanning thick books of epic poetry to sci–fi comics create a ribcage of literature along a compact bookcase perching that countertop, and sunken in the east side of it, a steel sink. It shimmered sunflower bands of light as you moved, a rainbow–arched faucet brightened completely.

Step by step, you draw near a circular table in the middle. Strange rods and gadgets stuck out of the borders, inlaid glass protecting a local map so sleek you could see a phantom of your face in it, and a black bar looming the width, so it rings with tangible importance. Of which you'll gauge about later. Truthfully, the journey by foot here? Dead–beating, your knees bloated, throbbed flesh hot, and almost buckled; fatigues infamous way of scolding you to sit the fuck—

“Sup Maple lake, you there?”

A pang hammers to your heart, and a crawlish wave of startled blood pales from your face and drops to your jaw, “Jesus!” sweat hitting you a blink after, every normal function just— flunked. That voice, more like a ruptured stereo sizzling, caught you the fuck off guard. Now you dither, dumbassery taking your eyes through a new loop of figuring out where–why–how and what the robotic intruder wants.

But pre–realizing, your ears perk to a more coherent, and outstretched string of static, “C'mon, know you're checked in.” and post–realization tugs your eyes to a mustardy n’ black cased device; a walkie–talkie.

Okay, way to creep recruits out. Whoever, for whatever reason— at the nick of night too, gimme’ a break. You wry, knitting raisin crinkles above your nose, trying to discern your palette of options; pick up the walkie, tap in and feign politeness in the shortest and sluggiest scraps of small talk to be done with the day, or rant off the bat— highlight how fucking late it is, and how taxing a double–goddamned–day hike made your head and patience feel. And right now, the second response route feels arguably more tempting than—

“This is Cordero Tower, calling in. Can see ya’ standing by the Osborne, by the way.”

Its staticy feedback has waned completely, densening a thick husk and tilting towards a honeyed undertone. Relaxed sounding or not, what the fuck.

You react predictably, flicking your chin west, then east only for you to meet the dead of night— thanks mountains— stalking perfectly in every single window. So, useless to check. Answering it was a yes–go, it would be sickenly awkward to thrust it under the rug now. Your knees pull forward, eyes calligraphing the power buttons tinted in cherry light, palm drawing to meet your focal point.

The case is ribbon gentle under your fingertips’ graze, fresh and in store–new condition. Maybe the only thing hot from the pot of newfangled technology. Plastic intricacies roll under until you settle on a swollen button, denting the plush of your finger as you press, hold, and speak. A crisp crackle activates your line, tuning you in.

Breath hesitates between your chords, “Maple.. lake.. speaking,” off–the–tongue words manifesting on–the–spot, “you can see me?”

“Yeah.” the walkie chuckles, sugary curl pitching up and through their tone, “Look out ur’ north window, you'll see her.”

Her?

Nooking your nose north, you only widen pupils on that same, starless coast of darkness nosing the rim of your window sills. What do they mean to—

“Nh–no,” You literally said north, “get closer to the window, n’ look up.” What, are you a fucking sparkling, rasp–voiced eagle?

“Fuck are you talking about,” mouthed you void of voice, stumped on what this person was getting at. Wedging your knuckles below the meshy underside of your backpacks right strap, you wrangle it down your arm as you glide rubbery sole along croaking oak, tossing that bag so cumbersome atop a lily white pillow— looking fresher than a daisy, and clamber the mattress pliantly dented to your knees to grasp a broader panorama.

And with that window hood washed over, a convoy of fireflies focus a tiny constellation in the murked glass. Little pinholes of light, dots in the distance. They rough–hew a blur, but the excess seconds taken to brood squints and balance the blurry blotches, an outline crops up. Another fire lookout, sprouting from rock and rise of a berg. Offspring of the distant cordillera that gives this whole park its sense of a cradled–woodland, but either way thought, a lookout hosts it home on top.

“You can see me from all the way out there?” you wondered, truly. I mean— at minimum, a sore sprawl of miles bridges you both.

“Mhm..” a pause loiters that fluid hum, then some really throaty syllables, “Binoculars~” you could almost envision— nah, feel the stare of those binocs, undoubtedly taking note of every contort in your body right now.

“Oh thats, totally.. not,” you blunt your tone, shying a few inches from the glass, “.. creepy.” awkwardly. “Uh, who are you anyways— are you like, uh, another recruit?” as you engage small talk, grumpy frown pouting, the habit of kissing your wrist to your jaw as you would a piglet–tailed telephone overruns your burnt out focus, having to wince the walkie away when your eardrums nearly burst.

Ouch.

“For one, I'm actually your supervisor. I know, I don't sound like a typical smoker–lunged, middle–aged white dude.” their tone gruffs and deepens to impersonate, finger air quotes practically radiating from the other end, “And two, my name is Ellie— Ellie Miller–Williams, if you care.”

“Don't.” you heave out the pain stretching your head, aching each time you simply thunk.

“Straightforward,” her timbre ups in approval, seemingly, “I like it. I like you, recruit I dunno’ the name of.” and a bubble hics her throat, quite audibly.

“Not single.” Wrong, just uninterested. Hooking two fingers in the fabric handle of your bag and craning it to the ground, with scattered grates of plastic buckles skating the floor.

“What?”

Oh, shit she wasn't— oops, ‘course she meant that platonically, heads so damn muggy, “Uh, it's—my name.. sorry I’m just a bit out of the loop—” Dumbass, unscramble your brain alphabet soup, will you?

“That’s a long ass name, what were your parents thinking? Haha.” Her duo–beat chuckle flares your humiliation, and then proceeds to pinch its swollen parts into total inflammation, “Where does it originate from?”

Cheesy bitch, “Can you not— I like, pfhh..” you temper yourself with a moon–cool blow to chap your lips and inflate your cheeks, ending up with a draw of an even more loosened tongue sour as it complains, “Did a whole two–day hike through the most torturous terrain just to get here, I really don't—”

Please.

And if gripes trudged through teeth aren't persuasive enough, you recess your bone–ache bod avidly in the springy haven of your bed which chirped at your weights shifting motions, collarbones packing down on your vocal chords. You shouldn't sound up to chat whatsoever. Instead, vehemently drained, “I just wanna get some shut eye, talk me over n’ the mornin’.” your thumb lying a button away from disconnecting.

“Hey, hey—” Ellie ushered, her slurry breath fogging up the mic. Lips squeak softly into it, smacking before an intone, “Can't I be a little curious?”

You synchronized in noise, sucking teeth behind heart–pursed lips, “Do you think somebody this exhausted has the appetite to entertain you?” stilling your thumb–pad on the power off key.

“If I keep bothering you,” that alone ticked you, her blatant drive to carry on when your brain rejected its substance, “.. yeah. Maybe you'll be nicer then too.. huph!” a heartier peep hicced up on the speaker, and right then that noise jogged a discovery.

“Are you drunk?” has to be.

Of course, she ignores the naked and sorely obvious, “Did your boyfriend break ur’ heart or something— an’ that's why you're out here?” bottle sloshing in the background of her mumble.

Dumbstruck, you furrow a miffy expression, “W–what, boyfriend?”

“Said you weren’t single.” she recalls, warmly unspinning the fuddle that knit your brows, “Think I forget so easily?” drawled like a sultry retort, baking your ears.

You a hundred percent forgot though.

Gosh, short–term memory sucks, or it's just your energy drought making you woozy. Blame it on lethargy, “No no, that was just.. tired talk. I thought you were hitting on me.”

“Oh? That's cute.” her choosing to say that latter statement unfolded discordantly, you seriously couldn’t gauge if that was a flirt, or another paper daisy— mock honey, a platonic notion. Even so, it sounded so damn smooth, lace to the ears. “But no, I wasn't— m'not like gay or ‘whutever.” stammered her, light snort fanning.

A stifled chuckle hops from your chest, mixing with hers, “Uhuh, cool.” halfway uncaring and halfway amused, bafflement working your facial muscles.

“Yeah, um, but seriously..” her voice drifts into a ponderous rasp, the faint rustles of flimsy paper licking page to page subtler than her speech, “what's got you out here, newbie?”

“Newbie. Really?” A brow pricks.

“I mean, you're new— new to the lookout, new to the job, in need of my phenomenal supervision and my wide range of knowledge. Yeah, a newbie.”

Then your brow mellows, tension held in your face dropping dead on backhanded flattery, “You are funnily agonizing.”

“Aw.” her scratchily suave coo has your jaw set like stone, “That's so sweet.” but her short–lived song has your heartstrings soaked in ripe honeycomb, touched to the core by sweetness nebulose and an assortment of some foreign threads. Thickened heart, tighter ribs, a churn to weaken your stomach, a maverick of things unfamiliar to you.

Momentaries, but still noticeable even if your senses were twisted backwards.

Chewing over how you'll begin to explain, a few letters sift through your chords, until you hook on a sigh, “Ah, well, I'm out here for a fuck ton of reasons—”

“Reasons, or— huhp, problems?” Ellie blurt–hics, nosy.

“..”

A brief gulp and exhale wheezes from her, “Sorry, it's the bourbons’— super good. Continue.”

You loosely split your mouth, gasping to exchange a gale for words pressing out, “A series of reasons, and problems, that I don't bother to lay on a grand platter, so you'll get a summary tossed on an appetizer plate.” you preface. Allow an elliptical gap to cut through, rousing her hum to let you know her ears are as intent–peaked as a Chihuahua’s, “Contact with my parents’ has gone cold, my last job made me want to hurl into a pack of crocodiles— and the city became too loud and too heavy–handed. Saw this job on the local paper, and got the hell out of dodge.”

An omissive summary, you meant.

There’s more that eats the heart. People can’t just.. drop the burden of knowledge wantonly on randos like they’re idling under fertile treetops waiting for the apples to plummet, biting into a pulpy biography. She’s just a girl, not a therapist.

A discomforted purr lengthens into her reply, “Mmmmh, ever try a drink or two?” her intoxicated reply.

“Oh, see,” you flap your hand and slap it to your denim clad thigh, “you are drunk.” as if she could even see your gesture.

“No, I’m Ellie, hmhm~” comes with a giggle, and you consider her state of insobriety to be— wavering, but it’s stimulating to hear her fluctuate between groaned jokes and extra raspy comments, “Still haven’t told me your name though.”

Some moments during this whole ‘Who are you?’ seminar made you concerned for your future here— if you’ll make it out psyche intact, but some moments found by winnowing through the illogical backtalk touched you with inbound camaraderie.

Invisible touches that inhabit your neck with a leak of your name so— sincerely. It transforms into a fairer sound on your ears when she repeats it, affirming it. Nobody else's teeth clutches your name so welcome as she.

“Hmm, ‘name kinda fits your voice.” odd commentary, but since composed with her already peculiar and drunken tongue, the shoe fits.

That said, crabby confusion seems easier to articulate, “Thanks, weirdo.” but lips rebellious, they press an inevitable grin together.

“No problem, sleepyhead.”

So many nicknames.

Recognizing that downtick in hubbubs and breaths on the walkie, checking out for the night posed as a passionate option the burden weighing your eyelids couldn't or shouldn't veto. So you haul your torso up, kick and poke your toes over ankles to butt your boots off prior planting your heels, whisking toward the lightswitch and committing your lookout to swell with the outside's dark fresco.

Stygian tones.

“Speaking of sleepy heads..” you taper off speech, leaving the rest to her— touch wood— wide enough, hopefully–not–drunk–enough imagination to fathom as you slide and slip desperately beneath woolen blankets, sleepy worries, and sentences sailed to rest.

“Aw man.” Ellie bums so, so stupidly, for comical value.

“Yeah, man.”

“Mpht—” wetness smacks, “wanted to bore a pretty girl to death with recruit regulations and syllabi..”

How would you know?

In reality, Ellie was reaching a transcendent caliber of wasted, drinking up your atmospherics and drunken to her gutly core. Woods hatch forlorn people; forlorn people get thirsty, “But, mhh, heads’ nearly falling off, whoof.” she expresses a soaring of vowels, but it parallels a gruff howl more.

Drowsy, buzzy jubilancy, plucking her flirty strums. You sugarcoat the flare in your chest hearing ‘pretty girl’, ears clicking to the swallow convincing your heart that Ellie was not flirting. As established; She’s under the influence, and not gay. Your brain repeats that, over and over, repeat, repeat, she isn’t flirting.

“Hey, here's a tip..” you inch the walkie a penny away from your flopped head, clefting your lip open, “Don't get drunk on the job. They didn't hire you to decoct your brain the day before chaperoning a recruit in the literal wilderness. So, stash that shit, n’ let's both get some shut eye, yeah?” and saying all that, may have just cashed in your last dose of breath and brain cells for the night.

Ellie being Ellie— well, what you suspect is a ‘her’ thing after these few speckled minutes, dopily laughs at you. And dammit if she wasn't glamoring a dopey smirk in accord, you’ll have gleaned wrong.

A voice, “Who’s the boss again?” her witty and cruel wisecrack, “They didn't pay you to boss the— hup, boss around.”

They will pay you to confront and reflect your spectrum of limits if this girl brushes their seams, that's for certain. Or, play God and lambast her, tender as milk.

There's even a stroke of a chance, that your crooked lips poached her dopey grin instead, “Kay, well, maybe they'll reimburse me for your poor services.”

“My services are not poor. You'll see, tomorrow.” the volume of her melts away, going muted under liquid swills clanging on glass.

“Please tell me that's the sound of you putting the bottle away.”

“Mhm!” came out plugged, the bottle confining her garble, then popping clean as a cork, “Fuck— okay,” she siphons air in, pure little clink tinting the end of her sharp–edged sniffle, “Make sleeping in earlier worth it t’morrow, wanna drive you nuts with my questions.” she nasals, drawing near the mic again.

Such a magpie, “Cause you're lonely?” and weird.

“Shut up,” she shushes you, a satin whisper light–hearted and quick on beat, “M’not lonely anymore, right?” The type of softly spoken outcry that would balloon your cheeks with soreness if you were face–to–face with the throat that conducts it. Involuntary smiles plague you everywhere. But there is no mouth, no larynx, no throat that you view the swallow of. Just a walkie, so you settle in stoicism.

You tug your upper–lip and pivot your eyes, drumming up something clever to combat, “In a sense. Not like we’re bunkmates, thank goodness.”

“Fuck you,” Ellie breaks into a cuss spout so serenely, she sounded small and harmless, “just go to bed.” reduced to birch in winter shed of its brittle autumn arguments.

“Don’t gotta tell me once.”

By the first full and emphatic giggle she cast just now that wasn’t suppressed nor achieved by humble pie, you take it that Ellie found you funnily harrowing just as her, two peas in an outstretched pod. Fault be with her, for getting wasted. Otherwise, you might have pried her skull open with questions dolled up as a pruner, clipping the forelimbs that are foliated in a messy breadth of first glance leaflets and attitudes until you piece it prettily, in a way that thralls you to never shrink your eyes back into their sockets. Drunk people are like prone beehives though, so you don't prod them.

Tomorrow, you can paint her portrait, or vice versa.

“Whatever you say, newbie.”

And with the whirry crunch of the walkie shutting off, Monday, came to a close.

if you enjoyed this chapter, please lmk what you thought!! i love getting asks about my content ♡

perm taglist: @whore4abby @aouiaa @ellieslittlewhore @baumbii @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @fleshunger @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @fairyysoiree @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @disaster-bi-suki @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @ellieswh0r3 @beemillss @elsmissingfingers @bugaboodarling @slynxs @maleelee @savannahsdeath @littlegingerperson5 @seraphicsentences series taglist: @tearouthearts @planetloverr @elliesexual @isitadinosaur @eveshyper @3lli3l0v3r @yourmothersfavgirl @emst4rr @theloserqueen @crxmxnzl-c0rpzes @whenlostinthedarkness @diddiqueen @deliriousrn

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blackynsupremacy · 1 month ago

Text

YOU AND COOPER

WATCHING WICKED

HEADCANONS

pairing: cooper koch x black!fem!reader

summary: being theater kids, it’s only natural that you and your best friend become absolutely obsessed with the 2024 movie adaptation of wicked.

contains: inspo from the bestie @austeenbootler, platonic relationship, fluff, comedy, swearing, a bit of a self insert, cooper just being the best of besties.

taglist: @greengoblinswifey @thabiddie23 @hopefully-saturn @jkr820 @hoffmansgirl @austeenbootler @niteskysx @sabrinasopposite @thabiddie23 @hnch33rios @xoxoglittergossip @supaprettyg @motherismotheringggg @oscarisaackissmykitty @simply-lovley44 @elitesanjisimp @gxuxhdjdu @venic-bxtch @stargirl-mayaa @miguelspvssy

a/n: i just saw wicked for the second time! can you guys tell i love me some musical theater? if you guys like musicals, tell me some of your favorites in the comments! i love phantom, wicked, hairspray, heathers, grease, hamilton, shrek, and mamma mia. more cooper fics coming soon

• let’s face it, you and cooper koch share many things in common that solidify your friendship.

• but the one thing that binds you together the most is your shared love of broadway musicals.

• you both done musical theater and show choir in high school and college. that’s where some of your greatest memories lie.

• sometimes you got leads, other times, supporting and ensemble roles.

• you and cooper are the typical music theater nerds.

• you’ve got playbills, soundtracks, and various merchandise from your favorite musicals.

• you both would randomly burst into a show-tune when the opportunity serves.

• of course you both know quotes, lines, and choreography.

• one year for halloween, you went as danny and sandy from grease.

• wicked is one of your favorites! you both have seen it live on broadway in 2022.

• you had to see this specific tour because you wanted to see brittney johnson, the first black glinda, in action!

• you and cooper enjoyed yourselves! if you could see it for the first time again, you would.

• you even cried tears of joy because as a black woman who loves musical theater, it was so refreshing to see someone who looks like you starring in roles that weren’t stemmed from a stereotype.

• you firmly believed that when it comes to most roles, the casting should be determined by talent instead of looks.

• “aw, n/n!” cooper would endearingly say, bringing you in for a hug because he knew how important this was to you and he was going to support you every step of the way.

• fast forward to when you hear that wicked would be getting a film adaptation starring ariana and cynthia.

• you saw cynthia’s work in the color purple, so you knew she would absolutely smash it as elphaba vocally, theatrically, and aesthetically.

• you and cooper were counting down the days until the premiere.

• he’d wear pink, you’d wear green.

• when it was a week before the premiere, you both got your nails done to celebrate.

• you got a green full set while cooper got a regular manicure with clear pink polish and tiny green hearts.

• at the l.a. premiere, you were both so excited to be there on the red carpet in your coordinated outfits and accessories.

• your faces practically hurt from smiling out of excitement for so long.

• no matter if you were taking photos or doing interviews, you were both so hyped for it!

• the highlight of your evening was getting a photo with cynthia and ariana.

• girl, you and cooper were going to treasure that night forever.

• the move itself: a masterpiece.

• you knew when released to the general public, it would blow the box office out of the water.

• you and cooper had to contain yourselves from singing along.

• the visuals, the soundtrack, the dialogue, and the subtle reference to the manin story of the wizard of oz was immaculate.

• CYNTHIA AND ARIANA RESPECTIVELY DID THE DAMN THING!

• johnathan bailey as fiyero looked so damn sexy. he had you and cooper swooning during his scenes.

• michelle yeoh served cunt as madame morrible.

• the whole film gave you and cooper chills.

• you’d never be the same.

• after the premiere and after party, you and cooper were tired, but at the same time, still on a high from it all.

• “okay, but can we talk about how adorable gelphie is? you can’t tell me that they’re not in love.” you say sitting on the couch after grabbing you and cooper some drinks.

• “it’s so obvious! like, they need to elope and let me have fiyero.” cooper replied, you agree with his statement by raising your glass and clinking it with his, “that part!”

• you didn’t forget about one more character.

• “okay, coop, hear me out—the wizard could get it lowkey.” you confess and giggle at how well jeff goldblum had aged like fine wine.

• “girl—hold on…” cooper took a pause and a swig of his drink before nodding in agreement, “now that i’m thinking about it, i hear you loud and clear.”

• you stayed up and did karaoke of “popular” with cooper as glinda of course.

• he’s such a diva.

• whether you consider yourself a singer or not, you’re not afraid to hit that “defying gravity” riff.

• at the end of the day, you wouldn’t trade this whole experience for anything as you were dancing through life as just two friends.

• two good friends.

• two best friends.

#black reader #cooper koch #cooper koch imagine #cooper koch x reader #cooper koch x black reader #cooper koch x y/n #cooper koch x reader fluff #cooper koch x reader smut #cooper koch fluff #cooper koch fanfic #wicked #headcanons #x black reader #x black!reader #x black!fem!reader #actor x reader #actor x black reader #monsters: the lyle and erik menendez story

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kellysue · 6 months ago

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Members of the cast of #FMLComix tell you how to pre-order #FMLComix.

FML #1 arrives in November 2024 with main cover art by David López and variant covers featuring artwork by Alvaro Martinez Bueno, David LaFuente, Nicola Scott (1:10 incentive variant), and Pepe Larraz (1:25 incentive variant). One additional variant cover will be revealed at a later date. Each issue will feature bonus material such as essays on music, true crime, interviews, and more that will be exclusive only to the single issues.

“David and I have been talking about doing something creator-owned together since Captain Marvel, but it took years for the stars and our schedules to properly align,” said DeConnick. “Now that we’re here though, it almost feels planned — like we needed exactly as long as it took us to grow and change, both as artists and as people, so that we could come back together for this big swing.

“FML is a challenging book — stylistically and in tone — and I’m not sure we could have pulled it off five years ago, honestly. But here we are—and I’m so proud of and impressed by the work put in by everyone involved. David is drawing like he’s got something to prove, Cris is pulling disparate styles together seamlessly, tying them together with her palette and Clayton of course, our ace and secret weapon, works his subtle magic on lettering to make sure you hear everything in your head exactly the way it was intended. McCubbin developed this terrific logo that evolves with each issue, and I don’t even know where to start with how supportive and inspiring Daniel Chabon’s editorial team has been. They’ve given us exactly what we needed at every step along the way.

“For my part, FML feels of a piece with Pretty Deadly and Bitch Planet; it’s as personal as the former and as satirical and of-the-moment as the latter.”

"This is without a doubt one of the best and most important books I have had the honor to edit in my fifteen years in the comic book industry,” added Senior Editor Daniel Chabon. “I have been a tremendous fan of this creative team for a long, long time; and I cannot wait for everyone to pick up this series and to see what an amazing achievement it is."

Riley is a 16-year-old heavy metal kid who draws down his anxiety with a ballpoint pen. His mother is an aging punk cartoonist slam dancing with a true crime obsession. Bound by threads of magical realism, they navigate the absurdities and horrors of our modern lives.

Issue one introduces Riley’s daily life: terrorism diaries, school shooter drills, and social pressures under the constant shadow of encroaching wildfires that rain ash like a morbid snow. His refuge? The Forest Park Witch’s House, where tales of chaos magic and trickster gods promise some semblance of sense in a senseless world.

Echoing the comedy of “Bottoms,” the nostalgic pull of “Stranger Things,” and the coming-of-age journey in “Stand By Me,” DeConnick’s first return to creator-owned comics since Bitch Planet is an apocalyptic odyssey that speaks to the resilience of the misfit and the power of art.

FML #1 (of 8) arrives in comic shops on November 6, 2024. It is now available to pre-order at your your local comic shop for $4.99.

Be sure to follow DarkHorseComics on social media and check our website, www.darkhorse.com for more news, announcements, and updates.

Praise Kelly Sue DeConnick and David López: “DeConnick has always combed top-notch lyrical text with a knack for bringing out the best in the artists she works with.”—Polygon

“Kelly Sue DeConnick either writes with a King Midas pen, is one of the few remaining wizards in the world, or, most likely, is just that damn good because Bitch Planet is yet another amazing series with her name on the cover.”—Word on the Nerd

“Pretty Deadly pushes at the limits of medium, challenging our ideas of what comics can be.”—IGN

“Kelly Sue DeConnick’s Wonder Woman Historia: The Amazons may just be the best thing to come out of the Black Label line to date.”—IGN

“Kelly Sue DeConnick is a force in comics.”—Book Riot

“Kelly Sue DeConnick—a powerhouse in the comics world.”—Salon

“A primal scream in exquisitely worked gold.”—Polygon on Wonder Woman Historia: The Amazons

“López’s pencils are like a breath of fresh air. His style evokes a classic superhero aesthetic while still bringing subtle emotional vulnerability to these characters through strong storytelling and page design.”—Nerds Unchained on Captain Marvel (2014)

#comics #dark horse comics #kelly sue deconnick #fmlcomix #fml #new comics #preordering comics

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acknowledge-reigns · 3 months ago

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Rivals With Benefits | Jey x Black!fem OC (18+)

Description: Sparks fly between Jey and Jax at Roman and Iris's Engagemennt Party.

Chapter: 2/5

Face Claim: Ariana Debose.

Warnings: Flirting, Daddy Kink, Oral (fem receiving), praise, Daddy Dom x sub dynamic, begging, teasing, love bites.

This is set in an AU in which the og bloodline reunited before wrestlemania 40 and Roman retained. This is the Jey x Jax sequel to Swipe Right. As always my stories are NOT about real people and does not reflect their character. While there is not smut in Chapter 1, there will be in others. This is very much an 18+ BDSM based romance with some comedy thrown in there. This particular story features Jey as a Daddy Dom (Not Mysterio, you fucking nerds 😂) google if necessary and if this isn't for you, please scroll. You have been warned.

Word count: 2,816

My masterlist can be found here

The day of the engagement party arrived, and as Jey and Jax inevitably crossed paths when they carpooled together, they couldn't help but notice that they were both wearing similar outfits. Jax was in a sleek, form-fitting black dress, while Jey was in an all black fit as well. They both looked incredible, but it was hard not to notice how similar their outfits were.

Jey nudged Jax playfully. "Looks like we're matching," he said.

Jax chuckled and playfully rolled her eyes. "Great, now everyone's going to think we're a couple," she teased, bumping her shoulder against his.

Jey smirked at her response, enjoying their playful banter. "Would that be so bad?" he teased back, raising an eyebrow at her.

Jax couldn't help but get butterflies at his words. "Oh, shut up," she retorted, but there was no real malice in her voice.

They continued to watch the many couples slow dancing, and Jey's gaze kept drifting back to Jax, taking in her every movement.

Jax noticed his gaze and felt a flutter of excitement in her chest. She knew that look all too well.

"See something you like?" she asked coyly, turning to face him fully.

Jey's smirk widened as he met her gaze. "Maybe," he said, his voice low and filled with promise.

He stepped closer to her, his body inches from hers, and he reached out to brush a strand of hair away from her face.

Jax's heart began to race as Jey stepped closer, his touch sending shivers down her spine. She could feel the tension building between them, and she knew that they were both thinking the same thing.

"You're playing with fire," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jey leaned in closer, his lips hovering just millimeters from her ear. "Shii, maybe I like the heat, baby." he murmured, his breath hot against her skin.

He placed a hand on her hip, his fingers gently caressing her curves through the fabric of her dress.

Jax felt a shiver run down her spine as his hand moved over her hip. She couldn't help but lean into his touch, her body responding to his proximity.

She tilted her head slightly, her lips hovering just above his jawline. She could feel the stubble on his chin and the heat radiating from his skin.

Jey could feel the tension between them reaching its breaking point. He could barely think straight with Jax's body pressed against his and her lips so close to his skin.

He leaned in further, his lips finally brushing against her ear as he whispered, "Let's get out of here."

Jax nodded slightly, her eyes fluttering shut at the feel of his lips against her ear.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the music.

She reached out and grabbed his hand, their fingers intertwining as they discreetly made their way out of the crowded venue.

They made their way to the car, their steps hurried and eager. As soon as they were both inside, Jey pulled Jax close, his hands roaming over her body.

"I can't wait any longer," he said, his voice hoarse with desire.

Jax straddled his lap, her dress riding up her thighs as she settled in. She could feel the heat of his body against hers, and it was driving her wild.

"Neither can I," she whispered, leaning down to capture his lips in a hungry kiss.

Jey's hands moved to her hips, gripping her tightly as he returned her kiss with equal passion. He nipped at her bottom lip, his tongue teasing hers as he deepened the kiss.

Their bodies were pressed tightly together, the car filling with the sounds of their ragged breathing and soft moans.

As they kissed, Jax's hands began to wander, moving up his chest and over his shoulders. She could feel the hard muscles beneath his clothes, and she couldn't help but run her fingers along the lines of his body.

Jey's hands moved up her back, tracing her spine before tangling in her short but voluminous curls. He pulled her head back slightly, breaking their kiss and exposing her neck to his lips.

Jey took advantage of the exposed skin, his lips trailing kisses down her neck. He could feel her pulse racing beneath his touch, and he knew he was driving her wild.

He bit down gently on her neck, sucking and licking at the sensitive skin, leaving behind a trail of marks that would serve as a reminder of their passion later.

Jax gasped as he bit her neck, her body arching into his touch. She gripped his shoulders tightly, her nails digging into his skin as she moaned his name.

"Jey..." she breathed, her voice filled with desire and urgency.

Jey paused for a moment, his lips still hovering over her skin. He could sense the tension in her body and the need in her voice.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting hers as he took a deep breath.

"There's something I need to tell you," he said, his voice rough and husky.

Jax could see the seriousness in his expression, and her heart began to race with anticipation.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jey took another deep breath, his fingers tracing patterns on her thighs as he tried to gather his thoughts.

"It's about my...preferences.." he finally said, his eyes locking onto hers.

Jax could feel her heart skip a beat as he mentioned preferences. She could tell that this was something important, and she was both intrigued and a little nervous. She was pretty open minded to most kinks.

"Go on," she urged, her hands moving to rest on his tattooed chest.

Jey took a deep breath and spoke the words that had been on his mind for a while.

"I'm a daddy dom," he said, his voice steady and firm.

Jax's eyes widened slightly as he revealed his dominant preferences. She had a vague idea of what that meant, but she was still processing the information.

"A daddy dom..." she repeated, her mind racing as she tried to picture him in that role.

Jax's cheeks heated up slightly as she pictured him dominating her. The thought of him taking control in the bedroom was both intimidating and exciting.

"I...see," she said, her voice trembling slightly.

Jey could see the effect his revelation was having on her. He could see the desire in her eyes, the way her body responded to the thought of being dominated by him.

"You like the sound of that, don't you?" he said with a smirk, his voice low and seductive.

Jax bit her lip, unable to deny the thrill that coursed through her body at his words.

"Maybe I do," she whispered, her eyes locked on his.

Jax couldn't help but smirk as she remembered his bossy behavior on their date.

"So that's why you were so bossy during our date, huh?" she teased, raising an eyebrow at him.

Jey chuckled at her playful remark, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"You're right," he said, his voice low and sultry. "I was being a bit bossy. But I had my reasons."

"I wanted to take care of you," he continued. "My Daddy tendencies got ahead of me."

Jax's breath hitched as he explained his motives. The way he wanted to take care of her, to dominate and provide for her, made her feel desired and cared for in a way that was both thrilling and comforting. Something no guy had ever offered.

She leaned into his touch, her eyes never leaving his face.

"Wow," she said, her voice soft and vulnerable.

She reached up and placed a hand on his cheek, her thumb gently stroking his skin.

"I want you to dominate me," she whispered, her eyes darkening with desire.

Jey's heart skipped a beat at her confession. The look in her eyes and the tone of her voice were like a siren call to him.

He pulled her closer, his hands gripping her hips possessively.

"You're going to be a good girl for me, aren't you?" he growled, his voice low and commanding.

Jax shivered at his words, her body responding to his commanding tone.

"Yes," she breathed, her eyes locked on his. "I'll be your good girl."

Jey smirked, his eyes flashing with desire.

"That's what I thought, baby," he purred, his hand trailing down her back and giving her ass a firm squeeze.

After getting situated, he started the car and they drove off to his house, the air between them charged with anticipation and lust.

As they arrived at his house, Jey parked the car and got out, coming around to open the passenger door for her. He held out his hand, helping her out of the car and leading her towards the front door.

Once they were inside, he shut the door behind them and immediately pinned her against it, trapping her between his body and the hard surface.

Jax gasped as her back hit the door, the suddenness of the movement causing her heart to race.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and anticipation. She could feel his body pressed against hers, the heat radiating from him.

Jey leaned in, his lips finding the sensitive spot on her neck that he had discovered earlier. He began to kiss and nibble at her skin, his teeth scraping against her skin as he worked his way up to her ear, "Just say red if you ever want me to stop" He tells her.

"I'm going to make you feel so good," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.

Jax let out a moan as Jey whispered his intentions, her body arching against his.

She knew exactly what he was going to do, and the thought of it sent a wave of desire coursing through her.

"Please..." she breathed, her hands clenching into fists as she braced herself for the pleasure to come.

Jey chuckled, enjoying the effect he was having on her. He could sense her anticipation, and it fueled his own desire.

He slowly sank to his knees in front of her, his hands sliding down her body as he went. He looked up at her with a wicked gleam in his eyes, his gaze locked on her face as he positioned himself between her legs.

Jax's heart was pounding in her chest as she looked down at Jey, his face inches away from her most intimate place.

She was already aching for his touch, and the sight of him on his knees was making her feel even more vulnerable and needy. Some would call his position a submissive one, but he'd never been more in control. He held her pleasure in the palm of his hand.

Jey couldn't help but smirk at the look of desire on her face. He could see the way her body trembled with pure desire. He hiked her dress upwards and tugged her panties down taking not of the wet spot in them.

He slowly ran his hands up her thighs, his fingers tracing the contours of her skin. He could feel the heat radiating from her, and he knew that she was already very wet and ready for him.

Jey continued to tease her, his fingers inching closer and closer to her sweet spot.

Finally, he gave in to her silent pleas and slowly ran his tongue along her folds, relishing the taste of her on his tongue.

He let out a low growl of pleasure, the sound vibrating through his chest as he began to explore her more deeply.

Jax gasped at the sensation of his tongue on her, her hands instinctively reaching out to grab his hair.

She could feel his tongue working its way inside her, sending waves of pleasure through her body. She arched her back, pressing herself closer to his face as she moaned softly.

Jey continued to pleasure her with his tongue, his movements growing more intense as he felt her body responding to him.

He could feel her hands gripping his hair, and it only fueled his desire to give her even more pleasure.

He shifted slightly, changing the angle of his tongue as he began to lap at her clit, his hands gripping her thighs tightly.

Jax's breath hitched as he began to work her clit with his tongue, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

She let out a strangled moan, her legs trembling as he continued to work his magic.

She was already on the edge of orgasm, the sensations he was giving her pushing her closer and closer to the brink.

Jey could sense that she was close, and he increased the pressure of his tongue on her clit, flicking it back and forth with a skilled touch.

He knew exactly how to drive her wild, and he was determined to make her come undone.

Jax's moans grew louder and more urgent as she approached the peak of her pleasure.

Her body was tense, her muscles clenching as the waves of ecstasy built up inside her.

She was teetering on the edge, her hips moving involuntarily as she sought more friction.

Jey suddenly pulled back, leaving her on the edge of her climax.

He looked up at her with a smirk, his hands gripping her hips tightly.

"Ah, ah, ah," he said in a scolding tone. "I didn't tell you to move your hips, did I?"

Jax let out a soft whimper at his words, her body shaking with the effort of holding back.

She looked down at him with pleading eyes, her face flushed with desire and frustration.

"Please," she begged, her voice strained with need.

Jey chuckled at her desperate plea, enjoying the way she was completely at his mercy.

"Oh, baby," he said, his voice low and teasing. "You're going to have to do better than that if you want to come."

Jax let out a soft sob at his words, her body aching with the need for release.

She was so close, but he was holding her back, prolonging the agony.

"Please, please, please," she repeated, the words tumbling from her lips like a mantra.

Jey smiled as he watched her beg, enjoying the sight of her completely undone.

He loved having this power over her, and he was determined to make her wait just a little bit longer.

He ran his hands over her thighs, his fingers gently tracing the sensitive skin, before leaning in again and placing a soft kiss on her inner thigh.

Jax shivered at the gentle touch of his lips, her body trembling with need.

She could feel the heat of his breath against her skin, and it was driving her insane.

She wanted nothing more than to buck her hips against his face, to take control and find her release, but she knew that she might get punished.

Jey sensed her frustration and the way she was struggling to control herself.

He loved that he could reduce her to a desperate mess with just a few simple touches, and he was determined to keep her on edge for as long as possible.

He moved his mouth closer to her center, his breath hot against her sensitive skin, before moving away again, leaving her wanting and whimpering.

Jax was practically panting with need now, her body writhing in frustration.

She was so close to losing control, and she could feel herself on the verge of tears.

She was desperate for release, and she would have done anything to get it.

He looked up at her with a smirk, his lips hovering just above her skin, before he finally gave in.

He leaned in and ran his tongue along her clit, giving her just enough pressure to push her over the edge.

Jax let out a loud cry as she finally found her release, the waves of pleasure washed over her. She shuddered and trembled as she rode out the orgasm, her fingers digging into Jey's hair as she held onto him for dear life.

Jey continued to work her through her orgasm, his tongue gently lapping up the remnants of her release.

He was relishing the way her body responded to him, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the sight of her coming undone.

As her body finally began to relax, Jey pulled back and looked up at her with a smug smile.

He loved seeing the aftermath of her orgasm, the way she was completely blissed out and sated.

He slowly stood up and moved closer to her, his hands running gently over her body as he leaned in to kiss her neck.

Jey kissed her lips tenderly, making her taste herself on his lips before whispering in her ear, "Good fucking girl."

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#Jey Uso #wwe jey uso #main event jey uso #jey uso smut #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso fic #bloodline fan fiction #jey uso x black oc #jey uso x oc

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