#but my schedule blew up and my brain is fried

[adrift-in-thyme]

The next chapter of Give the Lion Fangs is posted!!

[sluttywonwoo]

something more || h.js x reader

Summary: it’s a tale as old as time- your roommate walks in on you masturbating and things escalate from there

Warnings: swearing, smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: originally posted on my tom holland fic account ( @wazzupmrstark )

Masterlist

additional warnings: additional warnings: masturbation, unprotected sex, choking, degradation, lowkey spit play

“Joshua! Come look at this!”

There were a lot of things you liked about your apartment. Cheap rent, nice views, mostly functioning air conditioning… however the gaping hole in your bedroom ceiling was not one of them. It had started out as a small leak a couple of weeks ago, water dripping from some imperceptible hole in the plaster that had slowly turned into a trickle and then a steady stream, until finally the ceiling had collapsed in on itself, unable to hold the weight of all of the water any longer. You had filed a maintenance request when you first noticed the leak, but it had gone ignored. Maybe now, now that your bed was covered in drywall and pipe water, now that you could see into the apartment above yours, your concerns would be important enough to be addressed.

“What is it?” your roommate called back.

You heard him approach and waited for the gasp that would follow. “Y/n…” he hissed, one hand over his mouth, the other gripping your shoulder in shock.

“I know.”

“Holy shit.”

“I know.”

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know.”

You sighed and took a tentative step forward into your room, wincing when your sock made contact with your damp rug.

“I’ll call maintenance,” Joshua offered and turned on his heel to grab his phone.

“I’ll… try and figure my shit out, I guess.”

His footsteps faded into the background as he retreated into his own room and you looked around your room with a frown, surveying the space for anything salvageable. You were surprised you hadn’t started crying yet. But apparently your brain hadn’t quite caught up with your eyes because all you felt was a numb sort of apathy as you gazed at the mess in front of you.

There was no way you could sleep in your room tonight. Even if you managed to dry everything and clear the debris, there was still a giant fucking hole in the ceiling. The mere thought of trying to fall asleep underneath it made you uneasy. You would have to crash somewhere else.

“They said not to touch anything-” Joshua shouted from the other room. You froze in place, afraid you’d already done something you weren’t supposed to and decided to join him in the kitchen instead.

Your socks left wet footprints against the concrete floor as you padded over to where Joshua was. He shot you a look of sympathy as you peeled them off and tossed them to the side, shifting his attention back to the notepad on the table in front of him to write something the person on the other end of the phone was saying.

The pen hovered above the paper momentarily, and Joshua rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tomorrow? Is that the earliest- yeah that’s fine.”

The little hope you’d had that the issue would be resolved tonight fizzled, and you blew out a breath of frustration. You pulled out your phone and began scrolling through your contacts, mentally making notes of who might let you spend the night at their place.

Joshua thanked whoever he was talking to and hung up, pushing the notebook away from him with a groan.

“They’ll be here tomorrow morning,” he said, giving you an apologetic look. “What are you doing?”

“Texting Seungcheol.”

Joshua made a face. “Seung- why?”

“I’m going to ask if I can sleep over.”

“You haven’t talked to him in months,” your roommate protested.

“He’ll say yes to me,” you assured him.

“That’s because he expects you to sleep with him.”

“I know.”

“Y/n! You’re not seriously going to have sex with him in exchange for a place to stay, are you?”

“Well when you put it like that…” you trailed off and sighed. “Whatever, I’m not above it. It’s been a while since I’ve been laid anyway.”

“Seungcheol couldn’t even last thirty seconds-” he paused when you gave him a look, “I know from what you’ve told me. Not because I slept with him.”

“You know saying that makes it sound like that’s exactly why you know.”

“Please, y/n, I have taste,” he said matter-of-factly, easily dodging a swat from you. “You’re not sleeping at Seungcheol’s,” he said as if he’d decided, as if he had final say on the matter.

“Well, what am I supposed to do, Joshua?” you demanded. “I can’t sleep in my own room, and you know I can’t sleep on the couch so what do you suggest?”

“Take my room,” he offered simply, shrugging like it should have been obvious.

“What?”

“You can have my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch. You don’t even have to fuck me for it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well what do I have to do for it?”

You could tell Joshua wanted to say ‘nothing’, but knew you wouldn’t accept his offer without feeling like you could give him anything in return so he settled for “fried rice”.

“You want fried rice?”

“I want your fried rice,” he clarified with a grin. “You know it’s my favorite.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Okay,” you agreed. “Fine. Thank you, Joshua.”

He gave you a knowing smile and nodded. “Don’t mention it.”

-

Joshua kept his room colder than yours. Your wet hair from the shower only made the chill worse, but you didn’t want to mess with the thermostat and throw off how he liked things. You were even hesitant to touch the pillows on his bed. You knew Joshua wouldn’t care, but you still wanted to respect his space.

Joshua was literally the most easygoing person you knew, which offered a nice balance in contrast to your high-strung, perfectionist personality. One time you’d bled on his sheets while you were just hanging out in his room and he was completely unphased. He just threw the bedding in the wash like nothing had happened and mentioned that he’d been needing to wash them anyway while you practically cried in embarrassment.

“It’s okay, y/n. I’ve had girlfriends before.”

“Yeah, but I’m not your girlfriend!”

“We live together, close enough.”

To be fair, you knew that this kind of thing happened all the time, but you were still mortified. You didn’t even pay attention to the rest of the movie you and Joshua had been watching. To this day you didn’t know how the Lego Batman Movie ended.

“You need something to sleep in?” Joshua had asked on your way from the bathroom back to his room, having noted your state of undress.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to make the trips to and from the shower in nothing more than a towel, but he knew you wouldn’t be able to go back into your room tonight, and that most of your clothes were still damp from the ceiling anyway.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

He just nodded from where he was on the couch and gestured past you in the direction of his door. “You know where everything is. Pick out whatever.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You’d chosen an old t-shirt from a gas station souvenir shop, one of many in his collection of road-trip tees and a pair of panties you had managed to snag from your dresser before Joshua had yelled at you to get out of your room earlier.

You hung your towel on a hook attached to the back of his closet door and sprawled out on his bed, pulling the comforter around yourself.

It was late. It had been late for a while, but you and Joshua were night owls. You both kept busy schedules, so at night you liked to take some time for yourselves before bed. Still though, you knew you should sleep. But you couldn’t.

You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to relax your muscles.

If you were being honest, the idea of getting laid had been exciting and you were a bit disappointed it wasn’t going to happen for you tonight. It had been a while since you’d been with anyone, and you were craving the intimacy, even if it was coming from someone like Dylan.

Your skin was beginning to feel hot and sticky, and you pushed the covers off of you in your frustration. You had just been cold a few moments ago, and all it had taken to make you sweat was the mere thought of sex. It was pathetic, you were pathetic, and you knew it.

Your fingers inched toward the waistband of your panties almost unconsciously before you stopped yourself. You were in Joshua’s bed. You shouldn’t be getting yourself off in his bed. That was wrong. It wasn’t your room, there must be some sort of boundary for this sort of thing. Roommate code. What if Joshua walked in on you- no. You clenched your fists by your sides and sighed. The idea of your roommate walking in on you with your hand down your pants should not be turning you on. It should be having the opposite effect. But you couldn’t help it.

You had managed to suppress your attraction to him for this long, being in his bed shouldn’t be the breaking point. Maybe it was because his sheets smelled like him, or maybe it was because you were wearing his shirt…fuck, you wished you had your vibrator. The little pink toy was sitting in the drawer of your bedside table, likely water damaged beyond repair. God, hadn’t you lost enough?

“Forgive me, Shua,” you whispered hoarsely into the empty room as you resigned yourself to your pleasure.

Your pussy had won over your head and you’d given into your desire. Familiar sparks of arousal flickered faintly in your stomach when you brushed the tips of your fingers over your panties. You weren’t shocked to discover that the material was already damp from where your wetness had seeped through.

You tried to think about Seungcheol, about your celebrity crushes, about anyone other than the person behind the other side of the door, but your mind kept drifting back to your roommate. You thought about what Joshua’s fingers would feel like instead of your own. They were so much longer than yours… you stifled a moan as you curled a finger into yourself and let your thumb begin to circle your clit, imagining Joshua’s head was buried in between your thighs instead.

Getting yourself to the edge was usually difficult for you without the help of toys or a third party, but you surprised yourself when your thighs began to tense in anticipation as you worked your fingers over your g-spot repeatedly, orgasm just out of reach. You were trying to be as quiet as possible, but you kept letting quiet sighs and curses slip from between your lips as your focus began to blur.

You pictured Joshua pushing himself into you, pictured how his face would scrunch up in pleasure as he felt you clench around his cock for the first time, how he’d kiss your neck and praise you for taking him so well- you bit down on your knuckles to stop yourself from screaming.

The invisible string inside of you snapped right as the door to Joshua’s room swung open and you were forced to rip your hand away from yourself as you came and your pussy clenched around nothing.

The light overhead flicked on and you squinted, groaning at the sudden blinding intrusion.

“Sorry,” Joshua apologized sheepishly. “I just forgot a pillow.”

You used your dry hand, the knuckle-bitten one, to throw him one of the pillows from behind you. He caught it with ease and you thought that would be it, but he zeroed in on your hand, narrowing his eyes at it with a confused expression on his face.

You hoped he couldn’t tell that you were still trembling from the aftershocks of your ruined orgasm, hoped he didn’t question why you were so flushed and breathless.

“What happened to your hand?” he asked, tossing the pillow aside and taking your hand into his own to observe. “You’re bleeding.”

Damn, you hadn’t meant to bite your hand that hard.

“It’s nothing,” you said and tried to yank your hand out of his grasp, but he was holding onto you too tightly.

“I have some Band-Aids in the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

“Shua you don’t have to-”

He was gone before you could finish your sentence, and back before you could protest any further. While he was in the bathroom you hurriedly wiped your other hand on your- his- shirt in an attempt to erase any evidence of what you had been doing just moments before he had interrupted.

“Give me your hand,” Joshua instructed, taking a seat on the bed so that he was facing you.

You outstretched your arm so that he could see the damage and watched as he dabbed a tissue at the specks of blood on your skin, applying pressure to stop the flow.

“It’s just a little scrape,” you insisted.

“Still, we don’t want it to get infected.”

“I guess,” you mumbled.

Once he was sure that you had stopped bleeding he dabbed a tiny bit of Neosporin onto your knuckle and wrapped a Spider-Man Band-Aid around your finger.

“Thank you.”

“Wait, I’m not done!”

“What do you mean?”

“I have to kiss it better.”

You rolled your eyes but gave in, lifting your hand to his face princess style. He pressed a gentle kiss to the Spider-Man Band-Aid and took a moment to admire his work. It was only when he was holding your hand closer that he noticed the indents in all of your other knuckles.

“Why were you biting your hand?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

There was no use in lying about it, the marks on your hand were clearly teeth marks. He would know you were bullshitting if you tried to play it off.

“I wasn’t.”

So much for that.

Joshua blinked. “Show me your other hand.”

“What? No.”

“Show me.”

“No!”

You grabbed the comforter and pulled it tighter to you while Joshua tried to wrestle it from your grasp.

“I swear to God, y/n,” he muttered under his breath.

You put up a good fight, but he was stronger than you and tugged it off of you within seconds of struggling. He pushed you back onto the bed and used his body to pin you to the mattress so that you couldn’t wriggle away. Now that you were stuck underneath him he was able to assess the hand that you had been trying to hide. You whimpered in embarrassment and watched in horror as he brought the hand… brought the hand to his…

“Joshua, what are you doing?” you breathed out.

He looked at you brazenly and then put two of your fingers in his mouth. You shivered as he sucked the arousal, the evidence, from your fingers to confirm his suspicion.

“You’re a liar,” he said finally.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammered.

Joshua chuckled to himself and let your hand fall back to your side. “And a brat too.” You scoffed in offense but Joshua just leaned down to kiss your forehead sweetly. “I already knew that, though.”

“Excuse you, but I am fucking delightful!” you argued.

“I never said you weren’t!”

“You just called me a brat!”

“Two things can be true at the same time.”

“I hate you.”

“So you… don’t want me to… give you a hand there?” he asked.

You paused. Was he really offering to-

“We’re friends, Joshua. You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. I want to.”

You could feel your heart beating in your throat and in your pussy. Joshua was your best friend and your roommate… but was there something more? Right now you wanted him more than you had ever wanted anyone. This couldn’t end well.

“Joshua?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

Joshua was back on top of you as soon as the words left your mouth, pressing his lips to yours while one of his hands tangled itself in your hair. You could taste yourself on his tongue and moaned softly into his mouth. You found yourself wishing the moment could last forever, but you quickly changed your mind when you felt Joshua pressing his thigh up in between your legs. Lazily making out was nothing compared to what he was doing now. He brought a hand to your hip and urged you to move. He guided you until you were rocking back and forth on his thigh at a steady pace.

“Feel good?” he asked.

You could only nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Your panties were the only layer between your pussy and Joshua’s leg, and although they were certainly ruined by now they still provided the means to create friction that went straight to your clit.

Joshua’s hands fiddled with the hem of the t-shirt you were wearing and he tugged at the bottom of it, motioning for it to come off.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

Another nod from you and he was whisking the shirt off over your head without a second’s hesitation. He was pulling his own shirt off next, tossing it into a pile on the floor with yours. His fingers found the waistband of your panties soon after, and he played with the elastic impatiently, eager eyes searching yours for approval. You lifted your hips off of the bed so that he could take them off, leaving you completely naked before him.

Joshua let his gaze travel down your body, shamelessly admiring every dimple, curve, and freckle that was now exposed to him. You shifted under him self-consciously, silently wishing you had shaved. If you had known you’d be fucking your best friend, you would have, but it was too late now and you could only hope he wasn’t bothered by a little hair.

“How are you real,” he murmured to himself, earning an eye roll from you. Joshua reached out and dragged a finger through your folds, smiling when you flinched. “So sensitive…” he noted. “Did you cum already?”

“Yes, but it was ruined,” you admitted.

“Poor thing,” he tsked in fake sympathy, bringing his hand back up to his mouth. “Just wanna nother taste. You’re too sweet to resist.”

“Shua,” you whined.

“What is it, baby?”

“I need you.”

He smiled down at you and took you by the chin, tilting your face up towards him. “You already have me.”

“You know what I mean!”

“But I want to hear you say it.”

You groaned stubbornly and twisted your head out of his grip, only to let out a yelp when he closed a hand around your throat.

“Stop being a brat,” Joshua spat as he forced you to look at him again. “I’ll give you one more chance to be a good girl, got it? Good girls use their words to tell me what they want. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you choked out desperately.

“Are you going to be a good girl?”

“I’ll be a good girl.”

“So what is it that you need, love?”

You swallowed your pride and opened your mouth to respond. “Your cock, please.”

“Sorry, what was that?” Joshua asked, cupping a hand around his ear as if he couldn’t hear you.

“I want- I need your cock, please.”

“Atta girl,” he praised and eased the grip around your neck. “Was that so hard?”

You shook your head weakly and watched as Joshua pushed his boxers down to his thighs, then onto the floor, letting his cock bounce up against his stomach. He was fully hard already and you wondered how long he’d been like that, wondered how he had so much self-control when you barely had any.

“We can stop whenever you want, okay?” Joshua said, face softening and hand gently cupping your cheek. “Let me know if it’s too much. Just tell me what you need, baby.” You nodded obediently and met him halfway as he leaned down to kiss you. He broke away from the kiss suddenly and held a hand underneath your mouth. “Spit,” he ordered.

You complied and sat up a little to spit into his hand. He worked that same hand over his cock a few times, using your spit to lubricate it before positioning himself over you.

“Is this a good idea?” you blurted right as Joshua was about to push himself into you, suddenly aware that you wouldn’t be able to go back from this as soon as he did.

You had shoved any feelings you’d had for Joshua down for so long and it would be impossible to keep doing after sleeping with him. But you had already come this far.

“Probably not,” Joshua answered with a shrug. “Do you want to stop?”

“No. Do you?”

“No.”

“Okay, cool.”

“Great.”

A brief moment of silence lapsed while you both stared into each others’ eyes, not quite sure where to go from there.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” Joshua said casually after thirty more seconds of silence.

“Yes, please do.”

You braced yourself for the stretch as Joshua pushed into you at an agonizing pace and sank your teeth into his shoulder to relieve some of the pressure. Joshua groaned at the feeling of you pulsing around his cock, a feeling which was only heightened by you nipping at his skin.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“You’re… so big,” you echoed back.

He allowed you a few moments to adjust before he moved. You were already so worked up that he slid in and out of you easily and it wasn’t long before he was pounding into you at a fast tempo. He pressed hurried kisses to your jaw and neck, leaving a trail of hickies to remember him by.

You cried out each time his cock hit your g-spot, overwhelmed and still sensitive. Joshua kissed you to drown out your moans, clamping a hand over your mouth in his stead whenever he came up for air. His other hand was up against the wall for stability, though it wasn’t helping much.

“Joshua,” you gasped.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can you choke me again, please?” you all but begged.

Joshua smirked. “Of course.”

He did as you asked and cursed when you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him in closer.

“See what happens when you’re a good girl and ask nicely?” he teased, cocking his jaw arrogantly. “You get rewarded.”

You could feel your orgasm building in your abdomen as Joshua continued to thrust into you and wondered if he was close too. You guessed that he was from the way his hips had began to falter.

“Up,” Joshua commanded suddenly.

He slipped out of you and grabbed you by the shoulders, hauling you into a sitting position.

“On your hands and knees,”

“And if I don’t?” you challenged.

“You don’t want to find out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Should I finish myself off, then?” he asked, pumping his cock lazily as if he expected you to call his bluff. “Leave you here needy, not let you cum?”

“No, please!”

You quickly got into position on all fours with your back to Joshua praying that he wouldn’t make good on his threat.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice.

You fell forward on your face when he shoved his cock back into you only for him to tug you upright by your hair. He fucked you like that in doggy for a minute or so before he snaked an arm around your upper body and pulled you flush against his chest. Being seated on his lap allowed Joshua the ability to touch practically anywhere on your body. He took advantage of the new position by grabbing your tits.

He was so fucking deep in you like this you couldn’t stand it. Every tiny movement brought you closer to the edge and you weren’t sure how much longer you could last.

“Shua, I’m close,” you warned through broken gasps.

“Don’t cum yet.”

“Why not,” you whined.

“You’re not allowed to cum until you answer this question for me,” he said breathlessly.

“What is it?”

“When you were touching yourself earlier, who were you thinking about?”

“I-”

“Was it Seungcheol?”

“No.”

Joshua’s fingers found your clit and began rubbing circles around it, making it that much harder not to disobey him.

“Fuck, Joshua…”

“Who was it?”

“It was you! I was thinking about you!”

“Do you always think about me?” he pressed.

“You only said one question,” you accused defensively.

Interrogating you while he had you on the brink of orgasm was not fair.

“Fine, cum.”

You cried his name as you finally came. He held you through it, your orgasm triggering his own as you clenched around him repeatedly. Your name tumbled from his lips too, while he lost himself in the midst of pleasure. You couldn’t see his face as he came, but you could imagine it, like you had hundreds of times before. The way his hair would stick to his forehead, the way he’d bite down on his lip and squeeze his eyes shut as he let go of control…

You couldn’t see him as he came, but you could feel him. You felt his entire body tense behind you, felt the warm spurts of cum fill you up, felt the way he instinctively grabbed at your throat to anchor himself.

Neither of you spoke for what felt like an eternity as you both caught your breath. Joshua collapsed on the bed with you in his arms, cock still buried inside of you. He brushed your hair out of your face and turned your head so that he could look into your eyes.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded sleepily and gave him a weak smile. “I’m good.”

“Are you sure? I wasn’t too rough?”

“No, you were perfect.”

He kissed you again without a second thought and you kissed him back. It felt familiar and warm, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Here let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, pulling out of you.

You winced at the empty feeling, but laid in bed motionlessly and let Joshua dote on you. He used a warm washcloth in between your thighs and wrapped a new Spider-Man Band-Aid around your hurt finger. He slipped back into his boxers and tossed you another pair of his to wear before fetching you a glass of water from the kitchen and making you drink it all.

Joshua returned to bed finally and snuggled up to you instantly. You nestled yourself into the crook of his arm and rested your head on his shoulder.

“I thought I didn’t have to fuck you to sleep in your bed,” you said quietly once he had gotten comfortable.

“Shut up.” There was still a lot to discuss between the two of you, but nothing that couldn’t wait until morning. For now you were content to fall asleep in his arms and ignore all of the unanswered questions bouncing around in your mind. “For the record, I still expect my fried rice.”

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[consumedkings-archive]

“You can sleep, I’ll keep you safe.” For t

For the

For murder wives bls *sobbing*

jess!!! i am so sorry it took this long..... and also sorry in advance (lol) to the few other prompts i got from the dialogue list, this is my first week fully back on a regular work schedule and it’s killing my vibes. (ಥ﹏ಥ) thankfully i could channel my suffering into this murder wives piece!!! i hope you like it! 

iii. listen before i go ✤ murder wives

diana/elliot + "you can sleep, i’ll keep you safe” taken from this prompt list!

words: 1.4k

warnings: mentions of murder, it’s elliot’s first Human Kill and she’s in agony. i don’t know that it needs a warning, but descriptions of elliot’s habit of disassociating and obviously mental struggles, brief reference to past trauma but not explicit. hurt/comfort.

This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

But it is. It is, and she scrubs the blood from her face and body in the shower until the skin is raw and pink, until she can feel every cell in her skin opening up when she takes in a breath. She can still taste it—the copper in her mouth, blood and viscera coating her tongue and the backs of her teeth—but it’s not so bad now. She might even say she’s gotten used to it.

In the confines of the shower is one thing. It’s small; she can touch one wall and the curtain with both arms bent at the elbow, without reaching very far, which makes it easy for her adrenaline-riddled brain to process. There are three things in the shower: water, shampoo, and cold tile. That is all that she needs to think about and process, so she does.

But there are other things, too, that haunt her. Other ghosts of the evening, clawing hands and gripping fingers and the arterial spray of blood and Diana—Diana’s hands on her shoulders and her face and she mimics the movements, like she’s forgotten what it’s like to be real so she has to play at it, before she realizes that Diana’s checking her for wounds. So she does, too, and the sickening wash of relief when she realizes that the blood on them is not their own but someone else’s propels her forward and they’re kissing—

So it isn’t only blood, then, that she tastes in her mouth, but Diana’s ghost, too.

It’s a strange kind of reckoning, like this whole time she thinks she has to learn who Diana is but actually she knows her already; like something in her marrow, like something that looks at the woman and sighs, there you are, there you are, I’ve been looking for you all this time.

Elliot pulls herself out of the shower. She dries off; the world expands from the small safety of the shower into the larger space of the bathroom, and then she’s tugging her clothes on and walking before she can think to stop herself. The wood floor of the house creaks under her feet. She’s only half-dressed, underwear and t-shirt hauled on haphazardly—and thinks, I’m home? Am I home? Is this my life? This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

She isn’t wasn’t a killer.

The gentle strike-through happens in her brain almost immediately: she wasn’t a killer, before. But she is a killer, now. A part of her feels wretched, like that if she was going to end up being a killer this whole time, then Elliot would have preferred it to be Mason—she would have rather started with him, not have her murder-virginity taken by a Peggy.

Moonlight cuts across the floor of the bedroom. Diana is already tucked into the blankets of her bed; the house makes a soft sigh as late-Autumn wind filters through the vents, and when Elliot climbs into bed and pulls the blankets up, she opens her mouth to say something.

Nothing comes out. Diana shifts under the blankets to look at her, her eyes sharp and clear. She always looks clear, like she knows exactly what she’s doing; Elliot wonders if she looks foggy, if the way that the world peels and pulls around her in moments like this, if the way that her heart beats in her chest like a rabbit’s, shows on her face. If it’s in her eyes. It’s in her, so it should, shouldn’t it?

“Can—” Her voice is hoarse coming out. She blinks; her eyes are burning. She doesn’t know why, but there is grief echoing in her, an eternal resonance that she is afraid will never go away. “With your hands, can—you?”

Diana doesn’t let the words linger long. She doesn’t think that the brunette has to try hard to understand; maybe once, maybe a long time ago, Diana was here, reaching for reassurance and comfort and maybe she didn’t get it and maybe that’s why it’s sorrow that pulls at the corners of her mouth. Under the blankets, one hand hooks around Elliot’s waist and pulls her close; their legs tangle, and her other hand reaches, bringing Elliot’s palm to the sternum of her chest.

Her heart beats: safe, safe. There is the occasional flutter, but it feels steady. Safe, safe, it says, like it doesn’t matter that Diana kissed her with blood in her mouth because it was relief, then, that drove them together.

The gratitude washes over her, so potent and overwhelming that she feels her lashes flutter with the weight of it. She swallows and says, “Diana—” 

And that’s all she can say, because it’s relief that drives her to Diana again, relief that has her pressing her mouth to the brunette’s in a haphazard, unsteady kiss; Diana’s hand comes to her face, cradles her jaw and threads through her damp hair, and she feels it again, that reassuring beat: safe; safe. I’m alive. We’re alive.

“Ell,” Diana says, against her mouth, her fingers digging into her hip a little, “when I saw you in all that blood, I thought — ”

“Me too,” she murmurs. “With you. I was worried, I...” 

She squirms and sighs when Diana's hands wind down along her abdomen, the pads of her fingers skimming the scars that she knows are there. Her breath hitches a little and she swallows back the noise that tries to come out of her.

Diana’s fingers lift; her heartbeat thumps against her chest until Elliot thinks her heart is trying to mimic the pace, the texture, the sound. She wants to let someone else take the reins; she’s a passenger, an audience member, to herself, wondering who is letting her kiss a woman that she doesn’t deserve, who is pulling the puppet strings when her fingers knot in Diana’s dark hair—dark, so dark, oil slick slipping through her fingers—and lets her open her mouth.

It isn’t her. She wouldn’t do that, would she? But she is; clutching Diana, holding her, kissing her, frantic and desperate to feel grounded and alive.

Safe; safe; we’re alive.

“You should sleep,” Diana says. Her voice is hoarse, and it’s easy to forget that Diana was there, too—but maybe the blood doesn’t bother her as much.

“I can’t,” Elliot whispers. “I close my eyes and—and I...” She feels her lashes flutter as she tries to collect herself; Diana’s fingers lift, up and up and up, until she grazes the pads of her fingers against her lips. How to say, every time I close my eyes, I see that man I killed, and his mouth opens over and over but no words come out because I blew his fucking throat open, and I can still feel his blood under my fingers, she wonders?

Here, Elliot can only think about and feel and breathe and taste Diana, the way that it was in the shower—the space small enough for her fried and frazzled brain to process just to the edges of her consciousness and that’s all.

“So worried,” Diana reiterates, her hands sliding down the slope of Elliot’s back and up beneath her shirt to splay, chaste and comforting, against the ridges of her spine. “Thought—”

“Di,” Elliot manages out, and leans up into her—presses against her, needy and a little panicked, her heart fluttering in her chest painfully. “Please.” She doesn’t know what she’s asking for; sanctuary? Safety? She wants to sleep. Every inch of her body aches and groans with exertion, her brain fizzing and popping tiredly as she tries to remember all of the things that are necessary for her continued survival, like breathing and blinking and firing neurons to create motor movement.

“I know,” the brunette says. She murmurs the words into her hair like a prayer; slides a leg between Elliot’s knees, hooks her around her Achilles heel like she's afraid Elliot will bolt. Maybe she will. Everything feels like it's too much and not enough all at the same time, like she wants Diana more and is afraid if she has her, it'll feel like she's breaking apart.

She's rotten, putrid—brimming with venom, and will she wilt this beautiful thing, too?

Diana makes a soft noise into her hair. She kisses there, arms wound around her, their legs intertwined, and for a second Elliot does—she closes her eyes and takes a deep, unsteady breath, and thinks, I don’t want to close my eyes, but she does it anyway. With her face buried into Di’s neck, closing her eyes brings only darkness, only exhaustion—

Only, only, only—

“You can sleep,” Di says, speaks the words against her temple, soft and reverent; like a prayer. “I’ll keep you safe.”

It’s the only time that Elliot thinks that she has ever believed someone to mean that.

[nvzblgrrl]

On the subject of old fics 1

Allegedly, A Gentleman’s Tale (published 1-6-2012) was my first fanfic ever (again, allegedly - will explain after a bit). It only exists now as a private copy at least one person has saved and a capture on the WayBackMachine (which thankfully covered the whole ten chapters of it), because I have a habit of... deleting stories that embarrass me after the fact. It’s something I’m trying to break myself of, mostly because there are a number of people who do enjoy my work even if most of what I see in it are the flaws and I would feel bad about taking away something they enjoyed.

The ‘allegedly’ part comes in in that, based on my memories of my One Piece OCs and stories (along with more concrete evidence from my tumblr), I had a few OCs with snippets of story (with one who had at least a few chapters worth of story that I have memorized in broad strokes) attached that preceded that by at least one or two years, even though the description of ‘my first fic’ was in the synopsis of the fic as it was posted. Unfortunately, it’s hard to trace that information thanks to the ‘destroy all the evidence of me embarrassing myself’ habit (I completely deactivated my deviantart account on account of ‘cringe’, that’s how bad it got) and the passage of time making it unclear which mutuals might have been around at that time or if they even remember those things.

Now, I still have the computers that I typed up those stories on (they’re hanging out in my basement), but - they haven’t worked in quite a while. I’m not sure if they’re completely bricked or not, but I haven’t had anything to do with them for a while and I know that at least one of them was replaced because it refused to turn on anymore. Someday, I might get the chance to pull out their hard-drives and get a look at the data there, but that’s not a ‘now’ solution so...

Anyway - got a bit distracted there -, thanks to the power of the WayBackMachine, I was able to reread this specific fic in its entirety.

‘A Gentleman’s Tale’ was a little thing that was pretty much Brook backstory wrapped up in the framing device of Luffy wanting a story to help him get to sleep. I was 18, had maybe a year or two of creative writing experience/interest under my belt, and a whole lot of Soul King Stan energy to spend on my favorite character despite being at the tail end of my high school career.

Surprisingly, it was not entirely awful for an alleged ‘first attempt’. The formatting was a little eh, the pacing was borked, and a lot of characters were fairly flat (and a few leaned too hard on certain stereotypes while a lot had Western order names for some reason), but other than that, it was actually palatable. Ten chapters, about 8000 words, not a whole lot to write home about or find objectionable outside of the odd grammatical error and the fact that alcohol is mentioned in almost. every. single. chapter.

Seriously, I have no idea why that was a thing for me 2012-2013ish (it ended up in Witt and Witticism a little bit - more heavily on the rewrites that never took off back in the day but a little present in the original too). I was 18-19. I’d never had alcohol. I still haven’t had alcohol. I’d never really been around drinking at that age, socially or not, beyond like, enjoying brew fries and eating chicken tenders at a bar one time because my shit father wanted to have lunch there for some reason. I just guess that I woke up at the start of 2012 and thought Drink Mixing and Booze were interesting things.

The story wasn’t much to write home about, but the characters are the real area of interest here, so let’s cover them and a few of my plans for handling them in the rewrite.

Brook - Starts out his backstory being seasick, gets to have five decent minutes when he meets Yorki, and then is immediately shoved into the wall-to-wall shitshow that’s his life as the battle convoy captain and resident responsible adult, despite 70% of the convoy being at least ten to fifteen years older than him. Somehow that makes his interest in getting black out drunk almost every single night sound reasonable. Seriously, that’s what he was doing in that story, according to what happened almost every other chapter of the fic (because pacing is for writers on their third or fourth story). That’s one reason why the timeline is being stretched out in the rewrite plans - so we don’t kill the main character through alcohol poisoning (though with the kind of stress he was under in that original cut, I can’t blame him for trying - he got saddled with three weird + constantly fighting teenagers and a dying military organization, snubbed by the king, publicly embarrassed in front of 90% of the kingdom’s nobility, and so on in the course of two to three days max). Honestly, in retrospect, I’m not sure how well this plays with the framing device of Brook relating his backstory 62 years later, because he should have lost so many brain cells to this nonsense.

Yorki - Starts his introduction by saying ‘hey, my name’s Yorki, i’m close, bi, and willing to take you on a whirlwind adventure literally two seconds after meeting you’ which Brook immediately responds to as the best thing that’s happened to him in the last (and probably next) month. Probably the only person in Brook’s life as of the fic not stressing him out or enabling his self-destructive coping habits, though that doesn’t stop him from being one of the better things Brook woke up to after one of his blackout drinking nights. Also got an incredibly shitty nickname thanks to me not knowing how that sort of thing works from his mom. In the rewrite, he’s from Ohio (because I and my Middle-Ground lingering Self-Insert are from Michigan and the opportunity for a struggle between ‘hey we’ve both being isekai’d into this weird place and have similar backgrounds/music tastes so we’re going to hang together based on that’ and ‘200 year old inter-state hatred turned into over the top sports rivalry and disliking the other state on principle’ was too good to pass up).

Luchere Gregg (Gregg being her surname) - junior member of the battle convoy. Incredibly thorny and violent personality, with very little respect for authority (outside of her father, probably) and a generally superior attitude towards literally everyone except her father, especially when she perceived someone as being weak and ‘uppity’ at the same time - Maysure was the main target of this (as was intended at the time of the writing), but considering that Luchere was taking a similar tone with Brook (which was probably intended to be for different reasons, but honestly reads very similarly almost ten years on, given that Brook’s everything is very much not in line with her ideal anything) but not Hana (who was ‘weak’ but definitely not trying to mess with Luchere’s preferred social order), I think I can get more development out of her in that dimension. Her everything was probably was cool and badass back when I was 18, but now she just strikes me as petulant and unpleasant brat.

Minalee Hana - Generic smart guy of the junior team, complete with ‘shy’ personality and ‘harmless cute’ look... which, in retrospect, makes it really confusing why she’d join a military force in the first place and just raises suspicions on the fact that she did. Honestly she could be a Government plant and I wouldn’t be surprised. Another ‘problem’ with Hana is that she was based on someone I was friends with at the time I wrote the fic, which kinda ended up helping me dislike her a lot on more recent rereads, just because of the nature of that real world ‘friendship’ and the way it blew up in the end (with a whole lot of ugly reveals along the way that went back to pretty much when I first met that person).

Maysure Semenov Tara Su-all Evony Taebory Celeste - was originally a parody of the Mary Sue archetype, as you may have guessed from the name. Flashy, overeager, desperate for acknowledgement, and not quite managing to act in ways appropriate to her age (15, directly stated in text), either being too cutesy with her speech pattern and body language or dressing in ways that would be suited for a very different profession than soldier. I ended up liking her the most out of the junior trio out on my most recent rereads, just because she’s the only member of the group that’s actually making an effort at anything (well, beyond Luchere being hostile + trying to make Brook leave), doesn’t go out of her way to be hostile or destructive, and isn’t vaguely there in a way that makes me suspicious. Apparently was the only one of the junior trio ever stated to have weapons training (with Luchere being an unarmed fighter and Hana... just being there) and was apparently dedicated enough to it to have the schedule for the different training drills memorized.

Captain Gregg - the former captain of the battle convoy. He was never seen, only ever referenced in the fic. Based on the content, he was pretty much Luchere 1.0 - crass, unpleasant, violent, and without a lot of tolerance for those that couldn’t deal with or keep up with the unfortunate matter of his everything. The notes on rewrite so far have him becoming a lot more pleasant and lot less generally awful person, though still a bit of a roughneck and unpleasant to be around if you aren’t cut from the same cloth or a similar weave. Was not inspired by Captain Clegg until I started imbibing pop culture in preparation for the various parts of the project.

Jeevenine - quartermaster of the battle convoy, bartender, and carrier of heavy butler vibes, which feels like it might have been intentional. Said to be a master of ‘improvisation combat’ but honestly seems to be the person most likely to have taught Brook his style of fencing (based on his speed and precision being noted as something Brook had difficulty keeping up with in text) and his gentlemanly ways, considering every other character I wrote into the convoy is some flavor of hot mess and either a bruiser or a gunman. Still loses points for enabling Brook’s blackout drinking habits and being passive-aggressive instead of properly helpful.

Jack Rackum and John Delacroix - sniper-spotter pair, as indicated by their nicknames of ‘Windward’ and ‘Leeward’ respectively. Highly implied to be in a long-standing romantic relationship with each other or at least in a long-term holding pattern of pining. Delacroix’s tendency to sleep in the nude is used as half of a ‘my eyes’ joke that Brook is the victim of (the other half is Maysure’s chosen nightclothes being both stereotypical of a ‘Mary Sue’ and vastly age inappropriate, which is a running gag with her). Rackum gets the most description out of the set, with his brown leather hat and green-grey hair being mentioned, along with his taste for fruity cocktails (he might also be an alcoholic, which isn’t really all that remarkable in this fic).

Kurotora Ren - Big Guy McHugeBeef. Also the guy responsible for keeping the battle convoy awash in homebrew booze. Almost kills Brook by accident during his introduction by clapping him on the back at the exact wrong moment. Doesn’t have a lot more detail than that, mostly because he slides into the background after that brief focus moment, but I like him for being genuinely sorry about the near-death thing on top of being friendly for real and not being duplicitous about his wants + thoughts.

Zest - noble. Stupid. Probably the closest thing that Brook has to a friend in his actual age range at the start of the story, which is really fucking sad considering Zest’s everything and the fact that Brook doesn’t enjoy his company at all. Somehow when I was 18, the idea of a guy who spent most of his time in some state of wasted and trying to get his ‘friend’ (who doesn’t even like him that much but seems to tolerate him more than literally everyone else Zest ever interacted with who wasn’t being paid) into a similar condition because of unrequited love or something was tragi-cute-slash-funny instead of pathetic and faintly disturbing (though I guess I might end up writing him as tragic again anyway just because it probably takes Some Shit to make a person like that). Spent 90% of his screen time in the old story making Brook’s life inconvenient and the remaining 10% fully aware that his own life is going nowhere. His personality is oddly similar to Maysure’s, which is... interesting, implications-wise. Holy Shit, is this guy going to be a trip to work with as an adult.

[mercutioswriting]

WIP1; Pt. 6

They were in a car. Andy driving, Bee sitting shotgun, Jazz, Peyton and Charlie in the back as usual. It wasn’t the van Andy drove— it was a sleek silver BMW. Andy’s hair was a thick dark brown, his soft smile wiped from his face and replaced with an annoyed frown. Peyton and Charlie were silent— they weren’t girls at all, but ghosts. Two young men wearing blue and white jerseys sat in their places, more brawn than brains. Someone held onto Jazz, who had one hand wrapped around the unknown person's and a bottle of beer in the other. The windshield was missing, but the car wasn’t moving, because they were in a gymnasium, the crowd roaring. There was no crowd. There was no car. There was no gym. There was no one.

              Brown eyes opened to see nothing— nothing but black.

              Andy woke up to a heart attack. Not a literal one, though it certainly felt like it. His phone was ringing loudly, and he scrambled to find it, knocking away Bee’s sleeping limbs and pulling off the blanket they shared. The phone had been on the arm of the couch, but Andy’s groggy flailing knocked it to the floor.

            “Hello?” he said.

            “Andy?”

            “Peyton? Why are you calling me so early? Is everything okay?”

           He turned to look at Bee, who was still firmly asleep. He slept like the dead, always had. Andy had a split second of fear that Bee was dead, that he’d somehow died in the night. Don’t be irrational, he told himself. Everything’s fine.

            But everything was not fine. “Charlie’s missing,” Peyton said. “I mean, I don’t know if she’s missing-missing, like officially, but she’s not responding to texts or calls and I can’t get in contact with her parents and I'm freaking out because she doesn’t do this, you know? She doesn’t just ignore people, even if she’s mad at me. Do you think she’s that mad at me?”

               “Take a deep breath,” Andy said calmly. No, if Charlie wasn't one to give the silent treatment, then worry was justifiable. But— “She probably just ran out of power, or her line is down.” He yawned despite trying to suppress it. “Sorry. Who else have you reached out to?”

                Peyton took a shaky breath and let it out. “You were the first one I thought of. You always seem to know everything in these situations, you know? She has a brother, I think I can find his number. Should I call him?”

                “Yeah, do that— it’s probably nothing,” Andy assured her. He took a deep breath of his own, trying to slow his racing heart, ignoring the part of him screaming that Charlie was dead in a ditch somewhere. The deep breath turned into another yawn. “She’ll call you back once her phone is working.”

                “Thanks, Andy. You’re a sweetheart.” She hung up.

                Charlie, shifting so Peyton could buckle her seatbelt. Charlie, kidnapped. Charlie, eating her lunch at school. Charlie, bloody and bruised. Andy pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to rid his dream-ridden mind of the graphic possibilities. He stood up. Thinking about it more won’t accomplish anything. Andy shook Bee awake, but Bee opened his eyes for the sole purpose of locating Andy and scowling at him, not moving a millimeter. Andy rolled his eyes as he went to make breakfast.

                 Andy’s mother came barreling into the kitchen, scarf flying and keys missing. Her hair was less vibrant than it once had been, but it remained a confusingly dark red-brown, a shade strangers admired and her son inherited. He had inherited few of her personality traits, one being her ease with a packed schedule. “Andy, I have a meeting— Is that Bee? Hello, Bee— so you’ll be on your own again tonight, okay? Love you lots,” she said, waving to him as she made her way out the door. The keys turned out to be in her bag, where she had put them. Just seeing her breeze through made Andy more stressed. The knuckles of his hand, clutching the refrigerator door, turned white.

                “I’ll make omelettes,” said the raspy voice of a young man behind him. Bee stood where the kitchen and living room met, wrapped in a blanket. His bedhead was a lion’s mane, his borrowed pajama pants slightly too long. He seemed somewhere between a child, seeking comfort from his parents after a nightmare, and a king. King of dreams. King of nightmares. King of being two completely opposite things together.

                “Sure,” Andy said, moving to the side. Why was Bee so, so, so striking recently? Andy was more used to him than his own family. Right?

                 The smell of cooking soon filled the kitchen, adding warmth to the crisp morning air.  Annie was lured downstairs, sleepily rubbing her eyes, only to squeak with embarrassment when she saw who was at the stove. “Morning,” he said to her, as if he was often found making eggs in her house. “Omelette?”

                 Andy muffled a snicker. Annie loved omelettes— it was the only thing she would make other than brownies, and that was with a packaged mix. She’d be embarrassed to be seen in her flannel pajamas, but she would stay. Sure enough, she said yes, getting a plate and a glass of tea and waiting at the counter with Andy. He raised and eyebrow at her drinking hot tea from a glass. She raised her eyebrows at his doctor-and-parent-prohibited coffee, and he conceded.

                 “Annie, do you want spinach or broccoli in yours?” Bee said.

                  “Oh, um, spinach, please,” she said shyly.

                 “Spinach is gross,” Andy said. “You’re weird.”

                  Annie stuck out her tongue. “You’re weird.”

                  “I’m team spinach,” Bee called out without turning around.

                  Andy stuck out his tongue at Bee’s back. What a traitor. A phone rang— not his, Bee’s. Bee sighed, serving the omelettes onto plates and bringing them over to the counter.  “Andelo, go find my phone. I’m not in the mood for talking out loud.”

                   “Andelo?” Annie repeated, taking a bite of her omelette.  

                    Bee winked at her. So he wasn’t in the mood for talking out loud, but could carry on a conversation with a middle schooler. Fine. “No one goes by their legal name these days, kid. What’s yours?”

                    “What’s yours?” she countered.

                    “Classified. Top secret. Not even I know.”  

                    “Come on, what do you put on— what’s on your driver’s license?”

                    “I said it’s classified, Anastasia. Eat your eggs.” He smiled— just a little tiny one— to soften the rebuttal.

                      “Bee, do you have Peyton’s number?”

                      Andy had returned to the counter, staring at the phone in his hand. Missed Call From Charlie. He’d tried calling back, but the call went straight to voicemail. Who knew Bee even had Charlie’s number? He only had about three people in his phone.

                       “No. Use your own phone,” Bee said. “Why?”

                    “She, uh, I have to call her back,” Andy said. But he couldn’t reach her by phone call, so he sent a text. Andy hoped that Peyton would see the message soon. He hoped that Charlie would be found soon. Why had she called Bee, of all people? Not one of her other friends, not Peyton, not Andy— uncooperative, apathetic Bee.

                   No, that wasn’t fair. They wouldn’t be friends if he was so awful. And Andy knew he wasn't being fair, but he also wanted, just for once, to be the judgmental one. He was tired, and stressed, and a million things would go wrong by the end of the day, he just knew it.

                   Andy told that part of himself to shut the hell up.  

       ———————————————————

                   “You can’t stay over two nights in a row. Your mom will think you’re running away.”

                   “What makes you think I’m not?”

                    “Damnit, Bee—”

                    “Can I step up for night number two?”

                   They burst into laughter at Jazz’s comment, which hadn’t been intentionally suggestive, but they played it off like it had been. They posed and blew a kiss at Andy. The dark polish on their nails was mostly chipped away, and they wore no makeup today.

                    “Slumber party!” They said. “C’mon, Andy, please?”

                    “Will your parents be okay with it?”

                     “Will yours?”

                     Bee wrapped an arm around Andy’s shoulder. “Of course— this guy gets away with murder. Because no one thinks he murders anyone.”

                   “Are you implying I’ve committed murder?”

                   “Are you implying I’m implying you’ve committed murder?”

                   “Uh… yes?”

                   Bee ruffled Andy’s hair, and while Andy swatted his arm away, Jazz stole a fry off of Bee’s plate. “So, can I?”

                   Bee pouted. “What, they can stay and I can’t?”

                   Andy’s thoughts were tangled. Bee’s mother really would think he was running away if he stayed away too long. But Andy knew he had to help him. And Jazz— Jazz had once vowed never to stay the night with anyone they didn’t know well and trust completely, and to be asked meant something was up. More ‘up’ than usual, that is. Their parents? Harassment? Andy’s nuclear family rarely interfered with his life, so his often-empty house had become home base for his friends. Especially because he had been the first one to get his license. He sighed. Some of the tension left his shoulders, more a sign of defeat than relaxation. “Fine.”  

                  Bee and Jazz cheered and toasted with fries from Andy’s plate. Damn, he knew he should’ve gotten the salad, even if it tasted gross. Randy’s Burgers was known for good burgers and fries— not anything else. Why did his friends even bother ordering their own meals?  

                  “Well, if it isn't my favorite people in the whole wide world!”

                   Jazz cringed, looking for the source of the voice. Andy groaned. Bee scowled from behind a curtain of hair. Albright. He approached with three of his similarly muscular and nasty friends. The vaguely attractive blond one was Connor Delaney, the shortest of the group Greg Neduva. The third was only vaguely familiar, but he shared a resemblance to Albright. Brothers? It wasn’t that much of a resemblance. Maybe guys who played sports and acted like dicks tended to share looks as well as personalities. Or lack of them, as it were.

                   Would ignoring them make them go away? No. Albright dragged a chair from another table and sat down between Jazz and Andy. He wasn’t even an unusually large person, but it felt like he invaded everyone’s space simply by being next to them. His sneering cohorts remained standing. Andy scooted away from them.

                  “What, MacDonald? Do you not like me?” Albright placed a hand on his chest, pretending to be hurt. “Greg, get a load of this guy! Think you’re too good for us, don’tcha, Andy-man?” Andy flinched at the nickname as Neduva obligingly snickered. “Oh, I’m sorry—” Albright roughly pulled Andy to him, trapping him in a headlock. It was useless to fight back— Andy had half the muscle and none of the cruelty Albright possessed. “Only your cripple boyfriend here can call you that, can’t he?”

                     “Shut up,” Bee snapped.

                     “Ooh, touchy-touchy,” sang the one who looked like Albright.

                      “Trouble in paradise?” Connor Delaney cooed. “Hey, Albright, why don’t we, uh, give the lovebirds a little time to cool off. Alone.”

                      “Get your hands off of them,” Bee said calmly. His hand lay on the round black table, fingers relaxed. It was all Andy could see from the headlock, his fringe falling into his eyes.

                       “Oh, I’m sorry—” Albright squeezed a little tighter, only releasing Andy when he choked. “Is that better?”

                       Bee’s eyes remained on Albright, his face a mask of calm. The hand not on the table held Andy’s, resting on his knee, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles. “Blondie, that means you too.”

                      Delaney raised his hands from Jazz’s shoulders in an I surrender gesture. “Hey, you’re the one complaining, not—”

                      “Shut up and get out of my way,” Jazz snapped, visibly shaking. The only thing they wanted to do was escape, which was the only thing they couldn’t. Delaney, right behind them, leaned over and whispered in their ear. “Nah.”

                        He was probably not expecting to have Jazz’s head slammed sideways into his skull. Knocking into the table and chairs, he tumbled to the sidewalk.

                       “Fuck you, you little bitch,” he said, rubbing his cheekbone.

                        Everyone was on their feet. “Fuck you,” Jazz spat at him. “Fuck all of you.” They stormed off, disappearing behind a corner.

                       “Bitch,” Albright muttered. Looking at Delaney’s red face, he added another word, one Andy couldn’t hear. In fact, he wasn’t sure he could hear anything. His ears were ringing.

                        Bee got in Albright’s face. People tended to forget, but Bee was actually quite tall. “Say that one more time and I will ensure your death is slow and painful.”

                        “I said—”

                        “Dude, we have to go, Sarah will be pissed,” the unknown one said. His gaze flickered to Bee.

                        “I don’t care about your fucking girlfriend, Chris,” Albright said. He was slightly deflated. There was a bruise on his jaw, Andy noticed. Peyton had left her mark.

                        “Well, I do. And we’re late. Let’s go,” Chris said, already walking away. Delaney and Neduva hovered awkwardly before following him.

                         It had turned from three against four to two against one. Albright was a dick, but he was also some part of a coward. Bee waited for his next move, an eyebrow arched.

                         Albright spat on the ground and walked away.

                         Watching him go, Andy thanked God that Albright and his friends walked the opposite direction of where Jazz had gone. Where had Jazz gone? The remnants of the food on the table had gone cold. As Bee stood glaring into the distance, Andy tidied away their things, then grabbed Bee’s hand and led him to find their friend.

                         “Are you okay?” Bee said. His tone was sour, but Andy knew he meant it with concern.

                       “I’m fine,” he said. The urge to touch his throat was squashed down.

                        “Found them.” Andy looked where Bee indicated to see Jazz leaning against a blank beige wall, their model’s pose guarded. Their arms were crossed and their eyes scanned for threats. Shadows from clouds and sun drifted across the sky, casting strange light across the courtyard of small restaurants and shops. Jazz’s purple hair, which Andy had assumed was intentionally messy, was the kind of unkempt one gets from stress, not style.            

                       “They left?” Jazz said when Andy and Bee approached.

                        Andy nodded. Jazz stood up straight, coming away from the wall, sweeping their messy hair back unnecessarily. “I know He was just being a bag of dicks, but are you two actually like, together?”

                        Bee dropped Andy’s hand like it was acid. “No.”

                      Andy put his hands in his pockets. He knew his face was turning red. Why? “Nah, Jazz, you know I don’t, uh, I mean—” He found himself stumbling over his words. Why? Why? Why?

                     Waving it off, Jazz said, “No, it’s okay, I get it.” Andy wondered what exactly “it” was that Jazz understood as they walked to his car. Bee was already there, leaning against the side much like Jazz had awaited them by the ice cream parlor. A model; long limbs, defined features. He wasn't supposed to stand on one foot like that. Andy didn’t chide him as they piled into the van. I’m not his mother.

                      I’m not his boyfriend.

                      “Where to?” Andy said as they pulled out of the parking lot.

                      “Home,” Bee said. His grip on his seatbelt, over his heart, looked as if he was saying the Pledge of Allegiance to the window.

                      Who’s home? Andy wanted to say. His, of course. Bee’s father would be at his house, and Jazz… Andy had never meet Jazz’s parents. It was one of those things you never really want to bring up, one of many elephants in the room. Or in this case, the car.

                      Bee wasn't saying the Pledge of Allegiance. He was praying.  

                      If you had asked him what he was praying about, he wouldn’t have given— wouldn’t have been able to give— an answer.

[questioningdragons]

It's been... a day. This morning I woke up to find that my headache from last night had not gone away.

Then mid-morning we had a vet appointment for all four pets. My kitties are doing well for 15 year olds, but one of them has lost some weight so will need to be monitored. Big dog has a sore paw that he won't stop licking so we got him a cone (that he's already busted), some antibiotics, and anti-inflammatories. We're also going to switch up his allergy meds to see if we can get those better under control. Little dog... we made the decision to book his euthanasia. He's almost 14 and has deteriorated a lot in the last year or so. The vet said that his symptoms likely point to brain cancer and confirmed that it's time.

After all that emotional turmoil I had to leave my mom to finish up with the vet so I could drive to campus to get to class. We were talking about classroom expectations in my first class and I got weirdly fixated on the question of whether or not lateness is a sign of disrespect. Then I had a two and a half hour break, during which time my headache did not abate, and then another two hour class. It was nice to not have to deal with evening bus schedules, but $16+ a day for parking isn't feasible for every day.

An hour or so after I got home our house got hit by lightning. It took me a minute to figure out what was going on. The strike blew many breakers and made the cistern alarm go off. I thought at first that it was the house alarm and that the small shock I got from my charging laptop was a piece of glass from the storm breaking a window. It wasn't until after I had gotten up to check that all the windows (and lightbulbs) were intact and I conferred with my family that I figured out what had actually happened. Luckily nothing started on fire, but many breakers were blown and some electronics were fried. Including our router, printer, and one of the cable boxes. I'm hoping there's no other, less obvious damage.

And now, with no wifi, I should probably head to bed.

[lindseyluvsdrag]

Afterbirth Part 1

Aesthetic by @xximagoddamnmermaidxx

TW: Smut

6 months old, December 24th

---

Susan watched with judgmental eyes as Violet carefully applied the organic diaper rash cream to Clark's inner thighs.

“I don't know why you're paying $89 for a two ounce tube of shit that probably works as well as the $3.99 jar.”

“Because,” a clearly agitated Violet emphasized, “I don't want to just put random chemicals on my baby. I use organic and natural products only.”

“Well, I used the $3.99 jar on Matty and he turned out just fine.”

Violet scoffed. “Matthew claims that he can smell colors. I don't know what fried his brain, but it won't happen to Clark.”

“Yeah, with organic diapers that probably gave her the rash in the first place.”

“All babies get diaper rash at least once,” she said in exasperation. “Anything that irritates their sensitive skin: frequent bowel movements, chafing from the friction- don't act like I'm a bad mother, Susan.”

The woman defensively raised her hands. “I didn't say that. I just think you're wasting money.”

“It's my money! If I want to ‘waste’ it on my baby, then I can!”

Fresh out of the shower and still covered in a few suds, Matt swiftly descended the stairs as he secured the towel around his waist. “What's going on?”

“Your mother is judging my parenting skills!”

“Am not! I just said that organic products are unnecessary. Matty, you turned out fine with chemicals, snack cakes and full sodium foods. You've had so much sodium in your life that you could probably crap a salt lick.”

“I don't even…want that imagery,” Matt grumbled as she shook his head. “Mom, just please let Violet do her thing.”

“So I can't have an input on my only child's child?”

“You can have opinions, but don't judge her.”

“These are my opinions!”

“But it's not constructive criticism. It just comes across as attacking,” Violet retorted.

Susan scoffed. “You're just sensitive.”

Violet exploded so the woman shouted back, effectively startling the baby who immediately began to wail.

“Look at what you did,” Violet groaned as she cradled Clark before storming up the stairs. “When you're ready to apologize, we'll be in the nursery!” She slammed the door closed behind her.

“Good job, Mom,” Matt whispered as he rushed to remove the small box from its secret hiding spot in the grits box before dropping it into the pink stocking hanging on the mantle above the fireplace embroidered 'Violet’.

“Why do you have to play on Violet's hatred for me to manipulate her? Why can't you just propose like a normal person?”

“Ssshhhh!” he desperately hushed. “I've planned this thing, step by step, for weeks. She's mad now and maybe Clark got a little scared but it'll all be worth it once she sees the ring.”

“Can I see that thing again? Are you sure she'll like it?”

Matt grabbed the box and ushered his mother behind the massive evergreen that Violet and Clark had covered in shimmery pink ornaments. He lifted the lid.

“Yeah... I don't know, Matty,” Susan said as she assessed the custom made heart ring with an 'L’ stamped into the middle of it. “It's certainly not... traditional.”

“We’re not a traditional couple so, of course not. She will have the imprint and I'll have the imprintee.”

“Huh?”

“Have you ever seen the rings Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy on SpongeBob have? They interlock like puzzle pieces or something! My ring will have an ‘L’ and it'll match perfectly to this one so that when we fist bump, it'll be all matchy and romanticcc.”

“What's the 'L’ stand for? Lent?”

“Love, Mom! God, keep up!” Matt returned the box to Violet's stocking and gave his mother a giddy look before going stoic. “Now, to repair the 'damage’ you've done,” he joked before rushing up the stairs two steps at a time. He opened the door to the nursery but froze when he heard a sobbing Violet venting to their baby.

“God, I just feel so fucking trapped sometimes. I love you, Clark but why did Matthew have to be your father? I just can't fucking stand Susan. He doesn't even stand up to her. Like, are you even a fucking man? I don't regret you, baby, but why the fucking Lents? It's just, ugh.”

Matt pulled the door to a soft close and returned down the stairs.

“Well, that was fast,” Susan said. “Wait, what are you doing?” she asked as she watched Matt snatch the small box from Violet's stocking prior to storming into the nearest bathroom and flushing the symbol of love down the toilet. “Matty, wha-”

“The only reason I'm with that woman is for Clark's sake,” he sniveled. The declaration was made to protect his own feelings as the tears began to brew. Before they could, Matt rushed out of the back door to be with his dogs.

“Once he's with the boys, let him be,” Susan mumbled as a reminder to give the man his space. ---

“No, I don't mean that,” Violet sighed as she wiped her eyes. “I'm still shaking this postpartum shit off and I swear that I love you and your father and I wouldn't change either of you for the world. I just...ugh, I hate being so emotional, you know?”

Clark reached up and grabbed her mother's nose.

The woman smiled. “I love you too.”

---

Once the baby was down for her nap, Violet slowly descended the stairs into the living room.

Susan glanced at her. “I'm sorry for being such a judgemental bitch. I'll keep all future opinions to myself. If I want to raise another baby, I should have one instead of forcing my dated ideals onto you,” she robotically recited.

Violet folded her arms. “Thank you, but you have to apologize to Clark as well.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Will do.”

“Where's Matthew?”

“Out back.”

“He's in the snow with no clothes on?!”

“The dog house.”

“Oh…” Violet knew that it was serious when the man opted to spend time in the dog mansion that he'd built for his buddies rather than attempting to sneak them into the basement while her head was turned. The woman geared herself in a coat, cap and boots before rushing out of the back door. She sloshed through the foot of fluffy snow until she reached the heated dog playhouse. “Hey,” she greeted, closing the door behind her.

“Where's Clark?” Matt asked without looking at her.

“Napping. You okay?”

“I'm fine,” the man said coldly. “Here, Loki,” he cooed as he blew kisses. “Heyyy, buddy.”

“You don't look fine,” Violet replied.

“Then break up with me,” Matt said nonchalantly.

The woman made a face. “I meant that you're in a blizzard with nothing on but a towel, not that you're not ‘fine’ as in attractive. You know that could never be the case,” she said suggestively. “You're sexy, babe.”

“Dr. Doom, be niceee.” He laughed. “Oh, you guys kill me.”

Never the one to be ignored for an animal, Violet stormed over and stood in front of her boyfriend. “What's your problem?”

“I don't have a problem.”

She pouted. “You're ignoring me.”

“Oh, boo fucking hoo. You're not the center of attention for once. Go cry about it, or better yet, dump me.”

“Matthew, I don't want to dump you! Why do you keep saying that?!”

Matt thought about Clark. “I'm sorry,” he sighed. “I'm just under a lot of stress at work.”

“Really? I thought you loved your job.”

“Of course I do. Doesn't mean that there isn't the competition of the next guy trying to come along and take your spot.”

“Oh.” She softly grazed her fingernails along his hand. “Is there anything I can do to help you relieve some stress?”

“You could leave me alone with my boys.”

“Shit, true. Doing it in front of dogs isn't cute. I'll see you inside?”

Matt nodded. “Unless I get blessed with invisibility.”

Violet laughed, stole a kiss and rushed out of the front door. Loki followed her out of the doggie entrance flap but quickly returned inside when he was reminded of the snow.

The man chuckled. “See? Don't chase women. They do nothing but lie, freeze you out and break your heart.”

---

With a little wine, lit candles and sexy holiday lingerie, Violet was thoroughly prepared for Matt when he finally returned inside.

“Ho, ho, ho,” she said seductively.

Matt couldn't deny that the woman looked amazing and he couldn't fight his manly urges, so when Violet beckoned him over, he complied.

---

“Oh my God, Matthewwww,” Violet moaned as the man aggressively slammed into her from the behind. She wasn't used to his masculine grunts or him roughly tugging on her hair, but she definitely wasn't complaining. “Fuck, babe! It's all yours!” Violet squealed as her legs began to tremble in the midst of her Earth shattering orgasm while Matt panted as she filled his condom.

After pulling out and cleaning up, Violet was used to cuddling so it took her by surprise when Matt rolled onto his side away from her and went  straight to sleep.

“I love you,” she whispered.

The man replied with a snore.

---

“And then he just fell asleepppp,” Violet whined into the phone.

“Maybe he was just really tired, Vi,” Naomi said in attempt to calm her friend. “Was the sex bad?”

“No! It was the best it's been since I was pregnant, maybe even better but there wasn't any intimacyyyy.”

“So would you rather have lackluster, cuddle sex or cold, amazing sex?”

Violet sniffled as scheduled thought. “Cold and amazing,” she finally rushed. “Sorry for bothering you with this nonsense.”

“It's not nonsense, we all need a push towards the obvious choice sometimes.”

---

On Christmas morning, everyone was up bright and early. Clark was showered in so many trinkets and toys that she didn't know what she wanted to play with first. When the six month old was occupied by the plush Superman blanket that her father had given her, it forced her parents to interact.

“She looks so happy,” Violet sighed. “That's all I ever wanted, for her to be happy.”

“Me too.”

The woman smiled at her boyfriend. “Having both her parents here makes all the difference.”

“Agreed,” Matt said as he entered the verbal agreement that made him tolerate a woman that he didn't think loved him for the sake of his child.

Violet held the fresh mistletoe over Matt's head. “Oh, wow what do we have here?”

The man chuckled. If the beautiful woman wanted to pretend to be in love with him, he didn't see a problem with going along with it. Matt wrapped his arms around Violet and pulled her into a kiss.

---

2 years old

“Are you ready Clark?” Violet asked as she compulsively adjusted her daughter's dress and curls. “You have to smile big when you go down the aisle. And try to throw the flowers as evenly as you can. Okay?”

“I'm going to throw them everywhere!”

“No, baby, you can'tttttt. You have to make it nice and neat for Aunt Naomi and Auntie Raven, okay?”

“But I want to go crazy!” she giggled.

“Fine,” Violet sighed. “They knew what they were getting themselves into when they asked you to be the flower girl.”

“I'm the best flower girllll.”

“Of course you are, my love,” she said as grabbed the girl's hand and led her to the room where Naomi was getting dressed.

“Hi, Aunt Naomi!” Clark greeted excitedly. “You look so prettyyyy.”

“Aww, thank you, CC! So do you!”

The toddler spun in her puffy white taffeta dress and nearly toppled over.

“Be careful, sweetheart,” Violet pleaded.

“I ammmm.”

She looked at her friend and immediately became emotional. “Naomi, you look...so amazing. I couldn't imagine a more perfect dress.”

The woman gave a slow spin in her simple, fitted boat neckline dress. The draped cowl back gave the classic look some sex appeal and it was phenomenal on her flawless, statuesque figure.

“When we were five years old, did you ever imagine this day?”

“No,” Naomi said honestly through misty eyes. “And especially not to a woman,” she laughed.

Violet chuckled. “Raven’s not just any woman. You guys have been through so much together and you deserve all the happiness in the world.”

“Awww,” Naomi said as she wrapped her arms around her best friend. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Let's go get married.”

“Me too! Me too!” Clark cheered.

---

Raven anxiously waited at the altar in her fashion forward ivory jumpsuit with a plunging neckline until she heard the music that queued Violet down the aisle. As both maid of honor and the best friend of several years, the woman desperately wanted her Pippa Middleton moment. She slowly slinked towards the altar in a skin tight, sheer dress that only had delicately placed beaded embroidery to cover up her naughty parts, but the dress still left nothing to the imagination.

She winked at Matt and he smiled from his seat. Next down the aisle was Clark who marched in her ballerina flats as she, to her mother's dismay, tossed her white rose petals all over the place.

“Is it pretty?!” the toddler asked.

“Awww,” people said collectively. “Yes!”

Clark beamed from ear to ear as she continued and when she passed her father, she made sure to sprinkle a generous amount of petals on him.

“Now you're pretty,” she whispered before rushing to her spot next to Violet.

“Did I do good?”

“It was so good,” her mother assured.

“Here have some.” Clark scooped out more petals and offered them to her mother.

“No, no. You keep them in your basket...niceee and neat.”

Moments later, Naomi was walked down the aisle by her father who initially didn't understand her being transgender, but now he was definitely confused by his transgender daughter marrying a woman. But the man loved her enough to bite his tongue and support whatever she decided to do, even if she wouldn't take him up on the last minute offer to skip town in his Corvette.

He gave her away and the floodgates that were opened when the couple began to recite their vows didn't leave a dry eye in the house.

After the ceremony, Violet watched her friends first dance with a melancholy heart.

“What's wrong, Mommy?” Clark asked when she approached.

“Hm?” Violet turned to look at her daughter and nearly screamed at the sight of blue frosting that covered the girl's hands and area around her mouth. The woman pulled out her wipes and  immediately went into cleaning mode.

“Are you sad, Mommy?” Clark asked again.

“No,” Violet sighed. “I'm just...do you know that you're two years old now?”

“Yes.”

“So that means I've been with your father for nearly three years.”

“That's a lotta years!”

“I knowww and…” Violet leaned in, “we haven't even talked about marriage.”

“Marriage?!” Clark squealed in excitement. “You wanna marry Daddy?!”

“Sssshhhhhh!” she hushed as she looked around. When she saw Matt at the bar, she exhaled and turned back to Clark. “Of course I want to marry your father. I love him.”

“Well then he needs to marry you so that I can put on another pretty dress.”

Violet frowned. “All of the dresses that I buy you are pretty.”

“Yes but I never get to wear them to weddings.”

She smiled. “Touche. Hey, listen, don't tell your father about this conversation, okay? You've always been my little confidant. Hell, I've been venting to you ever since you were a baby. Let's keep it a secret.”

“I can keep a secret,” Clark assured.

Violet kissed her head and finished wiping the last bits of frosting off of her daughter. “Thank you.”

“I have to get more cupcakes nowwww.”

The woman made a face before relenting. “Take these with you.” She gave Clark the wipes and watched her as she made her way to the dessert table. Clark grabbed two cupcakes and skipped towards her father.

“Here, Daddy!”

“Oh, thank you, sweetheart!”

Matt lifted the girl and placed her on the counter. Once he accepted his cupcake, they toasted with the baked goods and took a big bite out of each them.

“Are you having fun?” he asked.

“Yes. I like weddings. That's why you and Mommy should get married.”

Matt's eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

Clark nodded.

“What if I told you that I wanted to marry your mommy a long time ago but she said no?”

The girl gasped. “No way!”

“Yes way! Well, kind of. I just heard her say some things once and,” he sighed, “I just know she doesn't want to marry me.”

Clark frowned. “But she loves you.”

Matt grabbed his daughter and began to tickle her. “You know who loves who? I love you and that's all that matters!”

The girl giggled as she squirmed. “Heyyyy, you're driving me coconuts!”

Matt cackled and gave his daughter a firm squeeze before kissing her head. “Just because your mom and I aren't married, doesn't mean that I don't love you.”

“But you guys kisssss. Doesn't that mean you love each other?”

Matt cleared his throat. “Um, yes. I do love her bu-”

“You both love each other! People who love each other get married!”

“I'll think about it, okay?”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, ladiesss,” Naomi said into the microphone. “Who's going to catch my bouquet?”

Matt watched as Violet elbowed her way to the front of the crowd.

“3...2...1!” Naomi tossed the flowers over her head and Violet practically shoved a middle aged woman to the ground in order to catch them.

“Yayyyy, Mommy!” Clark cheered.

Violet raised her arms in victory before she glanced over at her family. She gave Matt a soft smile and the man sighed as he turned his attention back to the bartender. “Can I get another shot?”

“Can I have a shot?” Clark asked as she batted her long lashes.

“Yeah, a shot of milk, little lady.”

“I'll take that.”

---

Matt carried his milk and cupcake wasted child into the house as Violet followed suit.

“Give her to me. I'll wash her up before you put her in bed.”

“She's already sleeping, you can bathe her in the morning.”

“Matthew, I'm not putting my child into bed sticky and dirty.”

“Violet,” he retorted with attitude, “I'm not going to let you wake her to bathe her and make her cranky just for you to get frustrated and have me come in to fix it. Going to bed a little sticky will not kill either of you.”

“No, but I'm this close to killing you,” she retorted.

Matt scoffed. “You probably would, psycho. And then clean up the crime scene like I never lived here to begin with.”

“I wish you didn't live here.” The woman didn't mean it, but her pride never failed to get in the way when the couple argued.

“Oh, tell me something I don't know. You never wanted me around and I don't even know why you bothered to fake it all these years.”

“Fake what? I've never been fake in my life!”

“Fake the obvious lie that you love me! I know that you'd rather have anyone be Clark's father but me. That shit hurts but I fucking stuck around because I don't trust you. If we broke up, you'd probably take her away from me and God only knows who you'd have around her playing 'daddy’.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?!”

Clark stirred and whimpered in her sleep.

“Just shut up,” Matt hissed before going up the stairs. He entered his daughter's room and placed her in her princess canopy bed prior to tiptoeing out. The second that he closed door, he was caught off guard by Violet's hand slapping him across the face.

“Don't you ever tell me to shut up!”

The man simply pursed his lips and descended the stairs.

Violet quickly followed him. “Matthew, I'm sorry,” she offered. “You're saying that I'm fake and that I don't love you and I don't know where that's even coming from.”

“So you hit me,” he chirped sarcastically. “

Brilliant logic.”

“I’m sorryyy,” she sniffled.

“Yeah, you are.” Matt grabbed the bourbon from the cabinet. “But not as sorry as you will be, love,” he said as he dropped the bottle and let it crash on the floor.

“What are you doing?!”

The man began to pull anything and everything he could get his hands on to the floor, making the biggest mess possible. Dishes, food and even the paintings on the wall were sent crashing to the hardwood in the man's rage fueled tantrum.

“Matthew, stop!” Violet pleaded.

Matt smashed a jar of pickles against the wall. “Oh, sorry, I didn't mean it!” the man said sarcastically. “I'll just hurt your feelings or slap you and then take it all back because I didn't mean it!” He paused to catch his breath before knocking the toaster over. “And then I'll leave you to pick up the pieces.” Matt stormed out of the room leaving Violet to sob and hyperventilate over the enormous mess.

Matt made his way up the stairs and froze when he saw Clark in the doorway of her bedroom.

“Is there a hur-a-cane?” she groggily asked as she rubbed her eyes.

“No, baby, there's not a hurricane. Go back to bed.”

“I don't wanna go back to beddd.”

“Then what do you want to do?”

“Paint.”

“Arts and crafts, huh?”

---

Violet cried until she was able to compose herself enough to trek to her cleaning closet. She opened the door and frowned when she didn't see her hazmat suit. Violet heard Clark giggle.

“I like this one, Daddy!”

The woman rushed up the stairs, opened the door to her daughter's bedroom and screamed when she saw that the father/daughter duo had cut her hazmat suit to shreds so that they could use it for their artwork.

“Look, Mommy, I made you a flower,” the girl said excitedly as she rushed to hand over the bundle of glitter covered hazmat plastic.

“Thank you, sweetheart. Matthew,” Violet said through a clenched jaw. “May I speak to you outside for a second?”

“Nope.”

“We're busy, Mommy.”

“Clark Christine Lent, was I speaking to you?”

The girl pouted. “No.”

“Precisely, therefore I didn't need your input. And look! You've got glitter and paint in your carpet! What did I tell you about using that stuff in your room?!”

“But Daddy, said it was okay,” Clark sniveled.

“It is okay,” Matt said nonchalantly as he grabbed the bottle of blue paint and squeezed a glob into the light colored carpet.

Violet swore that she heard something inside of her snap. She calmly made her way downstairs,  grabbed her phone and called her sister.

“Hello?”

“Rose, do you think Clark can spend the night with you? I don't want her to see this.”

“See what?”

“Me killing her father.”

---

A few minutes later, Rose arrived and Clark was ushered towards the front door.

“Wait, you didn't ask me if it was okay if Clark could go somewhere,” Matt said.

“But I want to go, Daddyyyy,” the toddler whined.

“Fine,” he sighed. “I'll miss you.”

“I know.”

“You know?!” he asked dramatically as he pulled the giggling girl into his arms. “See you later, munchkin.”

The second that Clark rushed out of the door with Rose, Matt was ambushed by Violet jumping onto his back and wrapping her arms around his neck.

“What the-”

“Die, motherfucker!”

The man dropped to his knees and when her chokehold began to cut off his air supply, he purposefully drooled on her arm; a surefire way to get her to let go.

“Eww!” Violet squealed as she released and then shoved the man before pulling him into a headlock.

Matt grabbed the woman's thighs and pinched them as hard as he could.

“Owww!”

“Let me go,” he wheezed.

“Not until you're dead! Now apologize for making such a huge fucking mess!”

“Kiss my ass!”

Violet tightened her grip on the man's neck while he twisted the sensitive skin on her thighs even harder. They both groaned out in pain and demanded for the other to give up when Clark burst back into the house, pausing when she saw them.

“Clark, baby,” Violet panted in a shaky voice. “What are you doing back?”

“I forgot Lex Luthor,” she said as she grabbed her teddy bear while her eyes stayed curiously fixated on her parents. “Is this what Mommy and Daddy time looks like?”

“...Yes,” her mother replied unconvincingly.

“Okay. Have fun!” she cheered before rushing back out, closing the front door behind her.

Her parents sighed in relief before their quarrel continued.

“Say uncle!” Violet shouted.

“As soon as you let me go!”

“Never!”

Violet swung her arm and delivered a punch to Matt's face. The man couldn't believe that she'd hit him like that. Completely annoyed, he used his arms to knock Violet on her ass and with her arms still wrapped around his neck, she took Matt with her.

The man bit into the woman's left boob and she hollered as she finally let go.

“You fucking animal!”

“You punched me!”

Violet attempted to swing again, but Matt slammed her arms against the hardwood.

“Oww,” she whined.

“Stop trying to hit me in the fucking face!”

“You're getting out of control! You and Clark drew on the walls: Fine. I let it go and we played in the water. But then you let her go to bed all sticky, look at what you did to the kitchen! And worst of all, my hazmat suit! You went too fucking far, Matthew!”

“No, going too far is having a baby by someone you don't even love!”

Violet's bottom lip began to quiver. “You don't love me?”

“You don't love me!” he shouted as he pushed away from her. “I remember it like it was yesterday! Christmas Eve, two years ago, Clark was like six months old. You were fighting with my Mom and you stormed upstairs with the baby. I go up there to see if you're okay and you said, and I'll never fucking forgot it, ‘I just feel so fucking trapped sometimes. I love you, Clark but why did Matthew have to be your father?’”

Violet didn't recall saying it, but she didn't put it past herself as something she'd say while upset.

“Who else would be her fucking father?!” he shouted as he punched the wall, effectively leaving a fist sized hole. “Without me, she wouldn't even be Clark and you wouldn't have that amazing little girl as a daughter! Bitch!” the man fumed as he released two years of pent up anger and resentment. “I've stayed this long for the baby, but fuck it. I can't live like this anymore.”

At this point, the woman was sobbing but she managed to get her words out clearly. “Matthew, this is all some big misunderstanding, okay? You have to believe that.”

Matt rolled his eyes as he made his way up the stairs and quickly Violet followed him, barely catching the door in time so that he couldn't lock her out. She watched in pain as the man began to pack.

“What are you doing?” she sniveled.

“I’m leaving.”

“Matthew, you can't do that. What about Clark?”

“I'd prefer it if my child grew up with parents who hate each other rather than no parents because one is dead and the other is in jail for their murder.”

“But we do love each other!” Violet cried. “Nobody wants to murder anybody.”

“Speak for yourself,” he grumbled as he messily tossed the rest of his things into his luggage. He locked it, snatched it up and began to make his way down stairs. “I'll be back to see Clark tomorrow.”

“But you can see her all the time if you just stayed! Matthew, I love you! What am I supposed to do without you?!”

Matt opened the front door but then paused, making Violet's teary eyes grow wide with hope.

“Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn,” he said coldly prior to continuing out of the door, leaving Violet to fall to the hardwood as her sobbing became uncontrollable then hysterical before she passed out on the foyer floor.

---

Violet had no idea what time it was when she crawled up the stairs, but when she found a mirror and saw the dark bags under her eyes, her matted curls, her uncountable bruises and ripped gown, the woman burst into tears all over again.

---

Matt strolled up to the hotel counter and the wide eyed receptionist reluctantly greeted him.

“Can I get a fucking room?” he asked.

“Umm...ye-yes. Should I call an ambulance as well?”

“Why would you call an-”

She held up her phone's reflective case and the man was finally able to see all the damage that Violet had done.

“Well damn,” he exhaled. “I didn't know that I was bleeding.” The man snatched a few Kleenex out of the box on the counter and placed them against his nose. “Bitch can't weigh more than 118 soaking wet and she manages to black my eye and put me into a fucking chokehold that almost made me black out. How was I supposed to react to that? I leave before I kill her, that's what I do,” the man angrily ranted to himself.

The receptionist slowly moved her hand to trigger the alarm, but she froze when Matt turned to look at her.

“I need a room for three nights,” he demanded.

“We’re all booked!” the woman shouted in fear before rushing out of the door behind the counter.

---

“She put you in a headlock?!” Shea asked over the FaceTime call before bursting into laughter.

Matt puffed out his marijuana smoke. “That's not funny!”

“It is though! I didn't think she had it in her.”

“She's a psychopath.”

“True, but you love her.”

Matt scoffed. “Fuck all the way off.”

“You do. You're just hurt over what happened and you held that in for so long that it's driving you crazy. But if you didn't love her, you wouldn't have given a fuck and you would've left a long time ago.”

“I stayed for the baby.”

“Oh, bullshit. I hate when people use their kids as an excuse to stay miserable. You stayed because you love her and you won't convince me otherwise. In fact, every time you call me, it's to talk shit and complain about her.”

The man took a puff of his blunt. “You look really pretty in that lighting.”

Shea rolled her eyes.

“Leave your boyfriend so we can get remarried.”

“You're funny.”

He chuckled as he blew out smoke. “I love you. Always have, always will.”

“Ditto, babe.”

“I'm going to try and get some sleep. I need strength in case she wants to go for a round two in the morning.”

“Take it easy on her. Wouldn't want to break your baby mama’s arm.”

Matt cackled. “Maybe I do.”

Shea simply shook her head and blew her ex-husband a kiss. “Later.”

---

“Please don't stain, please don't stain,” Violet whimpered as she scrubbed the tomato paste out of the hardwood. She heard the doorbell ring and reluctantly left the mess to go answer it.

“Oh my God,” Rose gasped when she saw the red spots on her sister's dress. “You really did it didn't you? That's his blood!”

“What? Oh- no!  This is tomato paste, I'm cleaning.”

“Violet, you can be honest with me. If you did do it, let's get you out of the country now.”

“Matthew is alive...but I don't know if I am,” she sniffled. “He left.”

Rose pulled her sister into an embrace. “It'll be okay.”

“Mommy, Mommy!” Clark shouted as she rushed inside, followed by Clover. “I had waffles and Clover and me made cookies! See!”

Violet quickly put on a happy expression but Clark knew better.

“That's wonderful, sweetheart. I'm sure those cookies taste amazingggg.”

“What's wrong, Mommy? What happened to your dress? You stayed in it the entire night?” she asked, knowing that it was strange for her mother to do such a thing.

“Yeah, I was really busy last night.”

“With Mommy and Daddy time?”

Rose and Clover made faces.

“We'll take Clark to get ice cream,” her aunt offered. “You want ice cream, Clark?”

“No, I want to stay with Mommy.”

Violet nodded, assuring her sister that everything would be okay.

“Do you need help with anything?”

“No, we're fine. I'll see you guys later.”

The family shared hugs and kisses before Rose and Clover exited.

“Your dress is dirty, Mommy.”

“I know, sweetheart, it's okay. I'll get another.”

“Where is Daddy?”

“He's not here right now.”

“Are you mad at him?”

“Um…no.”

“Did you talk to him about a weddinggg?” she asked, large blue eyes full of hope.

“No,” Violet said honestly.

Clark frowned. “Grownups are so slow.”

Her mother laughed. “True. Let's go get cleaned up.”

“Can I pick you something to wear?”

“Of course, darling. And then we'll play the clean up game, okay?”

“Okay!” she chirped as she skipped along.

---

Matt took a deep breath as he made his way up the cobblestone path to the front door. With donuts in hand, he reluctantly entered his home and wasn't surprised by the floral scented cleaners that wafted through the air.

“Clark?” he called.

“Daddyyyy!”

The toddler came sprinting out of the living room and into her father's arms.

“Heyyy, princess!”

Clark gasped when she saw Matt's cuts and bruises. She placed both of her hands on her father's cheeks. “What happened to youuu?”

“I got into a fight.”

“With who?”

“Umm...Harley Quinn.”

Clark scowled. “I'll kick Harley Quinn's ass.”

Matt couldn't help but cackle. “Baby, don't say ass.”

“Well, if she kicked your ass, I'm gonna have to kick her ass.”

The man snorted. “Thank you, Clark. But say kick her butt because ass is a bad word.”

“Ohh...well, Mommy and I will both kick her butt! Mommy!”

“No, why are you calling her?” Matt rushed in a whisper.

“She has to see this and access this situation.”

“Access?” he chuckled at her misuse of the word.

“Yes! Mommyyyyyyy!”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Matt intervened. “I brought you donuts.”

She paused. “Jelly ones?”

He scoffed dramatically. “Of course jelly ones.”

“Yayyyy!”

Matt sighed in relief over the girl's short attention span as he placed her to the floor and handed her the box.

Clark swiftly accepted the gift and ran to find her mother. “Mommyyyy, Daddy brought donuts!”

Matt groaned.

When her daughter rushed back into the living room, Violet closed her book. “What happened, sweetie?”

“Daddy brought donuts because Harley Quinn kicked his ass.”

“Clark Christine,” her mother chastised.

“I mean, kicked his butt. Look at his face, Mommy! You have to make his boo-boos better!” Clark waited for her father to round the corner, but when he didn't, she placed the donuts in Violet's hands and rushed around the corner. Matt was nowhere to be found. “Daddyyyy!” she shouted up the stairs. The man didn't respond, leaving the toddler with no choice but to cry as she rushed back to her mother.

Violet placed the donuts to the side. “What's wrong, Clark?”

“Daddy is gone! He's hurt and he's gone!” she sobbed.

The woman sighed. “Do you want me to call him?”

“Yes!”

Violet pulled out her cell phone and called the man who took at least six rings to answer.

“Hello?”

She quickly handed the phone to her daughter. “Hello? Daddy?” Clark sniveled.

There was nothing worse in this world to the man than hearing his daughter cry. It made him feel ten times as worse as Violet's tears used to, and it was truly his kryptonite.

“Baby, why are you crying?” he asked weakly.

“You left me!”

“No, I didn't, Clark. I'm in the driveway and I'm coming back into the house now.”

The girl dropped the phone and sprinted towards the front door, making perfect timing to jump into her father's arms. When she continued to sob, Matt squeezed her even tighter.

“Baby, I'd never, ever, ever, ever, leave you without saying goodbye. Do you know that?”

“Yes,” she sniffled. “But you upset meeee.”

The words felt like a dagger to Matt's heart. “How did I upset you?”

“You have to let Mommy and me fix your boo-boos before they get injected!”

“Injected?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, sweetheart,” Matt sighed as he kissed her head. “I'm so sorry for upsetting you. It won't happen again.”

Clark wiped her eyes. “Okay.” She shimmied out of her father's arms and pulled him along until they reached the living room. “See, Mommy! Look at what Harley Quinn did!” the girl fumed as she folded her arms.

“Oh nooo,”  Violet said, barely convincing the child.

“Well?! Go get your first-aids kit!”

“But he's not bleeding.”

“But he is hurt!” Clark shrieked, quickly growing exhausted by her parents lack of understanding for the severity of the situation. “You love him so fix it!”

“You're right, Clark. I do love him...so I'll do my best to fix it.”

Matt understood the underhanded nature of the comment and rolled his eyes.

“Sit down, Daddy,” Clark ordered. “Mommy, we need that first-aids kit, now!”

“Is this the emergency room?” Matt asked.

The toddler nodded.

“Are you a nurse or a doctor?”

“Nurse.”

“May I please have some water then?”

“Coming up!”

While Clark rushed into the kitchen, Violet returned to the living room. Matt refused to even look up at her.

“Listen, um,” the woman began, “I want to be in this uncomfortable situation just as much as you do. All I can say is that I'm sorry, but I don't know what else I'm supposed to do to fix this.”

“Hmmm, have you tried eating a pound of garlic?”

“But I'm allergic to...oh.”

“Here's your water, Daddy,” Clark chirped as she rushed around the corner with a bottle.

“Thank you, Nurse.”

“You're welcome. Now, be a good patient and let Mommy doctor fix you. Don't be a crybaby.”

Matt laughed. “I'm never a crybaby.”

“You are sometimesss.”

“What?! When?”

“When Mommy plucks your eyebrows.”

“Hey, hey, that was once and only because I lost a bet.”

Clark giggled.

“Why you laughin’ at yo Daddy's pain, girl?”

“Cause it's funny sometimes.”

“Fair enough.”

Clark climbed onto the couch and stood next to her seated father while Violet retrieved her first-aid kit. She grabbed the Neosporin and gently began to dab it along his black eye and cut nose bridge. Matt winced.

“Sorry,” Violet said softly.

“It’s okay,” Clark assured.

Matt fought the urge to smile.

“Is that better, Daddy? Is Mommy a good doctor?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

Matt sighed. “Yes, Mommy is a good doctor.”

“She takes care of both of us.”

“Mm hmm. She surely does,” he said dryly.

“This is why we need to do a wedding!” Clark squealed.

“What wedding?” her parents asked collectively.

The toddler threw her arms in the air out of sheer frustration. “Your wedding!”

“Clark,” Matt exhaled. “There won't be a wedding.” He cleared his throat. “Um, Mommy and I are breaking up.”

Clark frowned. “What does that mean?”

“We... I-I won't be Mommy's boyfriend anymore.”

The girl gasped. “Why not?!” She aggressively grabbed Matt's cheeks. “Mommy is the most beautiful woman in the world!”

“I know she is.”

“No you don't if you don't want to be her boyfriend!”

“It's not that I don't want to be her boyfriend, I just...hey, do I really have to explain my relationship problems to you?”

She squeezed her father's cheeks even harder. “Yes!”

“You want me to be to honest?”

“Yes.”

“I don't think your Mom loves me as much as I love her.”

“No,” Clark protested. “She loves you and thinks you're more handsome than Thor.”

Matt laughed.

“She does! Don't you, Mommy?”

Violet bashfully tucked some of her hair behind her ear. “I do.”

“See, Daddy? She thinks you're hot stuff.”

Both her parents laughed.

“Seeeeee, you guys love each other.”

“Of course I love your Mom, but I can't be with her.”

Clark dramatically fell back onto the couch. “That doesn't make senseeee!”

“It doesn't have to make sense to you, little lady. All you need to know is that we love you and that you'll always be taken care of.”

“But I'm not happyyyy,” she groaned.

“Why not, Clark Lent?” Matt asked as he placed his hand underneath his chin.

“Because I'm only happy when Mommy is happy and now she's not happy! She wants to marry you but you don't even want to be her boyfriend! You're driving me coconuts!”

Violet pursed her lips in embarrassment over the girl's revealing rant. “Um, I have to go to the bathroom.”

When Violet left the room, Matt turned to Clark. “Mommy wants to marry me?”

“Yes! She told me.”

“Wow…” Matt exhaled.

“She loves you and you're being so self-righteous.”

“Self-righteous? Where are you getting all of these big words?”

Clark folded her arms.

“Are you ignoring me?”

“Hmph!” the girl huffed as she turned away from the man.

“Oh noooo, not Grumpy Clark. What can I do to fix it?”

She continued to ignore him.

“So, when did Mommy tell you that she wanted to be married to me?”

“Yesterday,” the toddler grumbled.

“Oh…” So did her opinion on me change over the years or is she just saying that to tell Clark what she wants to hear? the man asked himself. “I'll go with the ladder.”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, sweetheart. Want to go to the zoo?”

Clark jumped up. “Yes!”

“Go get dressed.”

“Okay.” The toddler raced out of the room and up the stairs.

When Violet finally exited the bathroom, it was obvious to Matt that she'd been crying.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” she said quietly.

“I'm going to take Clark to the zoo.”

“Okay.”

“So...yeah.”

“Daddy, can I wear my cape?!” Clark shouted down the stairs.

“Of course, sweetheart!” Matt pushed himself off the couch. “Do you need anything while we're out?”

Violet shook her head just as Clark skipped down the stairs. “I’m ready!”

“Alright.”

“Are you coming, Mommy?”

“No, I'm a little tired, baby. You'll have fun with Daddy.”

Clark frowned. “But the go-ril-lasssss, Mom!”

“They'll be there when I go next time.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “Let's go, Daddy!”

“I'm coming. I'll start the car, you say bye to Mommy.”

Clark rushed towards her mother and Violet groaned as she picked her up. “You're getting so big, my love.”

“I'm growing up,” she chirped before cupping her hands around her mother's ear so that she could whisper. “Don’t worry about this, Mommy. Daddy will marry you because I have a plan.”

Violet sighed. “Okay, sweetheart. Have fun at the zoo. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

She kissed her daughter's cheek before returning her to the floor. The woman watched as Clark's cape floated through the air while she rushed out of the door. Violet was close behind to make sure that the girl made it out safety. After she was buckled into her carseat, Clark waved goodbye to her mother as the car sped away.

“Fuck, she's getting so big.” Feeling nostalgic, Violet made her way to the living room and dug out all of the old home videos. She popped in the first DVD and tears were brought to her eyes nearly instantly.

“Oh my Goddddd. I was so fatttt.”

Push, Violet, push! Matt encouraged on the video.  

“I need a glass of wine for this.”

After settling onto the couch with her Merlot, Violet laughed at Matt's Spider-Man costume.

“Crazy man.”

---

Say Mama. Sayyyyy Mama! Violet prompted.

Her first word will be Dada, Matt intervened. Mark my wordsss.

The woman laughed. “I can't believe he was right,” she said as she took another sip of wine. “But of course. Dada has simpler syllables than Mama.” Violet popped in the next video.

Oh, fuck, Matthewwww, the woman moaned as Matt sucked on her clit.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Violet panicked as she rushed to eject the sex tape. “Why is that with Clark's baby videos?” The woman marked the DVD with a big red X before moving on to the next.  “I'll watch that later.”

---

Matt held onto the chubby 10 month old’s hands, but once she steadied herself he let go.

Come to Mama. Comeee to Mama, Violet urged from across the room as she crouched on the living room floor. Come on, baby.

The toddler took one cautious step, then another before she lost her balance and plopped to her butt.

Awe, it's okay, Matt assured as he grabbed her hands to help her up. You can try again.

Clark babbled and took one bold step towards Violet before tumbling.

Babe, she needs the cape.

Matthew, that cape looks ridiculous.

Noooo, I swear she took more steps last time with the cape on.

Violet huffed. I guess it won't hurt.

Yes! Don't worry, Clark, help is on the way! Matt said as he bolted up the stairs while Violet turned towards the camera as Susan continued to film.

So ridiculous, she mouthed to the lens.

Moments later, Matt rushed back down the stairs with the bright red toddler sized cape in had. He secured the velcro loosely around his baby's neck.

Be careful, Violet ordered. Her top is Burberry.

Matt smoothed the baby's cape and clothes prior to helping her to her feet again.

Come on, Super Clark, he encouraged. You can do it.

Dada, she cooed as she reached for him.

Within a second, Clark was in Matt's arms. He kissed her cheek and blew air bubbles against it causing the baby to laugh.

Don't spoil her, Matthew. I can barely get her to try walking as is.

The man sighed and returned his daughter to the floor. He held onto her tiny fists until she could find her center of gravity prior to letting go.

Come on, Clark. Come to Mommy.

Matt blew a gust of air underneath the baby's cape to make to flow. Super Clarkkk.

Clark giggled.

Matthew, stop distracting her.

It wasn't me. Her powers are activating.

Violet groaned in exasperation and it made her baby frown.

Mamaaa, she whined as she took a step towards her. Always in tune with her mother's emotions, Clark used the woman's frustrated expression as motivation to get to her.

The woman extended her arms. Yes, baby! Come to Mama.

The toddler began to wobble, but she refused to give up as she took one unsteady step after another.

Mom, is the camera still on? Matt practically squealed.

Yes, Susan excitedly replied. She's doing so good.

With one last shaky step, Clark fell forward into her mother's arms.

Yayyy, everyone cheered in unison while Clark laughed and clapped for herself.

It was totally the cape, Matt assured.

---

The next video started with the camera facing Violet as she walked. Do you want to know what happens when you leave your baby daddy alone with the baby? she asked as she entered Clark's nursery and turned the camera to Matt.

Babe, babe, look, Matt barely got out through his laughter. He'd placed the six week old baby in the front pocket of his apron. She's like a kangaroo.

Violet cackled. “I can't believe she was tiny enough to fit in thereeee. Well, hell I remember her fitting in one hand as a newborn.”

---

Clark's first Christmas was printed across the screen before it faded into Violet holding the chubby baby as they hung ornaments.

It looks good, ladiesss, Matt complemented, circling them as he filmed.

Dada, Dada, Clark babbled as she bounced on Violet's hip.

Hi, babyyy. I love you.

Clark flashed a toothless grin. Matt reached for her but she turned away.

How rude, he gasped.

Say go away, Daddy. We're decorating.

Clark spewed out an unintelligible rant that made her parents laugh.

Violet watched the endless footage of Christmas Eve and then their party on Christmas day as her sister filmed.

What are you expecting to get today? Rose asked.

Violet scoffed. I'm not expecting anything. She looked around and laughed. Wait, where's Matt?

In the snow with Clark.

Oh, okay so get this. He asked me for my ring size a few weeks ago, she squealed.

Oooo, you know what that means.

I need ten carats, henny.

The sisters laughed.

I have to practice my surprise faces for when he proposes.

Violet paused the video and took a large gulp of her wine. “I never got to use those fucking faces.”

---

Every time that Clark would bring up Violet, Matt would distract his daughter with toys or treats. The father/daughter duo made their way around the zoo twice and when the toddler passed out from sheer exhaustion, Matt loaded her into the car and took her home.

“We're backkk,” the man announced as he entered. He didn't hear a response but he made his way to Clark's bedroom and tucked her in anyway. “Violet?” he called when he returned to the main floor. The man entered the living room and found the woman passed out on the couch with a bottle of wine next to her. “Drinking alone is never a good lookkk,” he whispered.

Matt turned to leave, but stopped out of curiosity when he and saw the paused shot from a video that he'd never seen before on the television. He pulled the remote control from Violet's hand and pressed play.

Show me the face you'd make if he proposes, Rose continued.

Violet placed her hands on her cheeks and gasped dramatically. Matthewwww, it's so beautifullll! Yes! Yes, of course I'll marry you!

Rose giggled. Perfect! And I better be your maid of honor, bitch.

Wait, what's this about maid of honor?! Naomi shouted from across the room.

Nothinggg, Violet assured. At least not until we open presents, the woman said hopefully. Keep the camera rolling.

“Damn,” Matt exhaled. “Wait, this is...after I overheard her, so-”

What'd you get, Vi? Rose asked as she continued to film everyone open their gifts.

I don't know yetttt, Violet said excitedly as she pried into the small box. And it doesn't say who it's frommm. The woman beamed from ear to ear only to have her face fall when she finally got the box open and saw the watch.

Do you love it, sweetheart? her father asked.

Oh, this is from you, Dad? Yeah, it's beautiful.

As Matt continued to watch the video, he noticed how Violet became more and more anxious after each gift. At the time, what he thought was bitterness and resentment, was actually disappoint that he hadn't gone through with his proposal.

Are there anymore gifts for Violet?! the woman shouted.

Once you have a baby, all your gifts become gifts for them, Rose informed.

Yeah but... nevermind. The camera caught Violet pushing herself off of the couch and making her way towards Matt.

“God, I look miserable,” the man groaned when he saw himself on the screen.

Violet's words couldn't be made out, but Matt did his best to read her lips.

Are you okay?

I was, he replied as he downed another glass of eggnog.

Oh...well, I hope you're having a good time. Clark is really enjoying her first Christmas.

I'm only here for her, Matt slurred before the camera panned the room.

“Damn it,” the man hissed as he paused the video. “So much fucking time wasted…for nothing.” Matt reached out to stroke the woman's hair but then stopped. “All those times I was mean or when I knew she wanted affection-”

“Hmm?” Violet groaned as she stirred in her sleep.

“Baby,” Matt cooed, sliding onto the couch beside her. He kissed her neck then her jaw.

“Matthewww,” she slurred. “It's too hotttt.” When Violet attempted to push him away, she ended up rolling herself off of the couch, hitting the hardwood in a muffled thump. “Ow.”

The man suppressed his laugh until he saw the woman's expression. “You look like Grumpy Clark.”

Violet snorted. “Help me up?”

Matt leaned over to assist the woman, but she pulled him onto the floor next to her. The man didn't seem to mind as he walked his fingers along her collarbone.

“Violet?”

“Whattttt?”

“You know I love you, right?”

“I don't know. You want me to eat garlic and break up and-”

“No, no, no, I didn't mean it. I mean, I did at the time, but I was mistaken.”

“But when I say I don't mean something, you get all mad,” she hiccuped. “I hate your double standards and I hate youuu.”

“You don't hate me,” he said as he rolled on top of the woman.

“Oh my God, you're fattt. You're going to make me puke.”

“Puke on me if you have to, I deserve it.”

“Nooo, Matthew,” the tipsy women groaned. “You're beautiful and you deserve the world.”

“Awe...you really feel that way or are you just drunk?”

“Both.”

Matt laughed and kissed her. “I'm sorry for being such an asshole to you all these years.”

“It's okay, Matthew. Just get off of me.”

The man stole another kiss before finally giving Violet some breathing room. “You won't believe what I found earlier,” she slurred as she struggled to get to her feet. When she did, she popped in the DVD marked with the bright red X.

Oh, fuck, Matthewww, Violet moaned on the screen.

“Whoa!” Matt exclaimed. “When did we make this?”

“I don't know...back when you still cared about me. Back when we made love and not that rough, cold stuff that makes you just roll over and go to sleep when you're finished without kissing me goodnight.”

The man knew that he was guilty of making the woman feel that way and he wanted it to end. Matt pushed himself off of the couch and approached Violet from behind. As he wrapped his arms around her waist his lips found her neck.

“Mmm,” she exhaled.

Matt eased the straps of the woman's nightgown off of her shoulders causing the silk negligee to fall to the floor, leaving Violet in nothing but her favorite pink thong. The man smiled as he slowly ran his hands along her arms and then her breasts. Violet turned around and their lips met in a tender kiss. Matt gently glided his hands along her curves, stopping at her ass which he cupped to lift the woman. She wrapped her legs around his waist, making it even easier for the man to walk backwards until they flopped onto the couch.

They laughed and continued to kiss while Violet's hands fumbled with Matt's belt but he stopped her.

“I wanna take care of you tonight. I have two years to make up for.”

The man eased the woman onto the cushions but she wouldn't release her legs.

“Not on the couch,” she whispered.

Matt smirked and kissed her. “Come on, big baby.”

He lifted her off of the couch and bolted towards the stairs.

“Waittttt, don't forget my nightgown.”

“You don't need that,” he assured.

“Yeah, but neither does the floorrrr. If you don't get it now, it's all I'll be able to think about."

Matt groaned and retaliated against the woman's difficultness with a firm bite on her neck before doubling back and picking up the negligee then rushing up the steps. Instead of tossing her onto the bed,  Matt gently eased his lover onto the mattress and took his time to practically worship every inch of her body with tender kisses.

“Nooo, Matthewwww,” Violet squealed. “Not my feetttt.”

The man laughed and tussled with the woman until he was able to kiss the top of her foot.

“I'm never kissing you again.”

He laughed. “You kiss me after I go down on you.”

“Yeah, but my cooch is pristine.”

“And your feet aren't?”

“I guess you have a point.”

Matt kissed the woman's freshly pedicured big toe. “I have no problem appreciating every part of your body, whether you think it's gross or not.”

Violet smirked while she rolled her eyes. Those same tawny brown eyes rolled into the back of her head when Matt kissed her thong. The thin cotton was the only thing that separated her throbbing clit from the man's eager mouth.

The woman gently gnawed on her bottom lip as Matt's nibbling and warm air from his exhales gave her new and exotic sensations that quickly began to drive her crazy.

When Matt could feel how wet the woman was through the thong, he knew that he'd teased her enough. He pinched the thin pink straps that clung to her hips and slowly slid them down.

“I hate youuu,” Violet playfully grumbled.

He frowned. “Why?”

“Stop teasing me.”

The man grinned and tossed the woman's panties over his shoulder.

“Nooo, Matthew, you have to put them in the hamper.”

“Can't it wait? I-” Matt relented when she gave him the look. He retrieved the thong and sniffed it as he made his way to the bathroom.

“You're so grossss,” Violet said as she bashfully covered her face.

“If loving everything about you, inside and out, is gross, then I don't wanna be... whatever the opposite of gross is.”

The woman laughed but didn't remove her hands from her face as Matt positioned himself between her legs. He returned to giving the woman soft kisses along her inner thighs and vaginal lips, but he didn't want to torture her completely so he took her clit into his mouth sooner rather than later.

The man started with gentle sucking with the occasional firm lick thrown in.

Violet finally removed her hands from her face. One found its way to the sheets while the other found Matt's hair as she gripped it. “That feels so good.”

“I'm just getting started,” Matt assured as he added the swirling of his tongue to the mix. The man traced rhythmic patterns along Violet's entrance and love button, listening as the woman's breathing became more labored.

“Matthew, you never do thissss,” Violet panted. “It's usually so r-ushed!” she squealed when the man began to shake his head from side to side with her clit still nestled between his smooth lips.

It only took a few more minutes of this before she began to tingle all over.

“Oh my Godddd. I'm cominggg.”

Matt didn't even need the heads up as the sweet and tangy taste of the woman flooded his mouth. He didn't waste a single bit of it and even used it to lube up his fingers before slowly sliding them into the woman. In addition to his gentle sucking,  Matt knew exactly what angle to thrust his fingers in order to find her G-spot. He always knew that he'd found the tender bundle of nerves when Violet arched her back.

“Fuckkk,” Violet moaned as she arched her back.

The man curled his fingers upward and firmly massaged the sensitive spot.

“Ahh,” she groaned in pleasure as she tightened her grip on the sheets and Matt's hair. “You're so good, baby, oh my Godddd.”

It wasn't long before the woman was climaxing again and Matt enjoyed every second of her sugar walls contracting around his fingers. He took advantage of the human slip-n-slide as he began to vigorously work his hand up and down.

Violet tried to pull away but Matt held her in place and continued until she begged him to stop.

“Fuck,” she whimpered weakly.

Matt kissed the woman all over her trembling body as he undid his belt. After dropping his trousers, he distracted Violet by taking her lips so that she wouldn't notice him toss his clothes to the floor. The woman heard the soft thump, but she was too far gone to care.

Matt fished a condom out of the nightstand and ripped it open prior to sliding the rubber onto his rock hard dick.

“Are you okay?”

Violet nodded.

“Are you ready for this?”

“I don't know, but I'm willing to try. I mean, I feel so amazing already.”

“Welp, I told you I'm just getting started.”

Matt grabbed the woman's thighs and slowly pulled her towards him prior to rubbing his cock against her clit.

“Mmm.”

After making sure that the woman’s engines were still warm, Matt aligned his dick with Violet's entrance and slowly slid into her. They both sighed in pleasure as they adjusted to being so intimately connected.

“That never gets old,” Matt exhaled.

“What never gets old?”

“Your face when I put it in.”

Violet blushed. “It feels good.”

The man smiled and kissed the woman as he pulled out and then slowly pushed back in. He made sure that Violet could feel every inch of him as he kept his strokes steady and deep, causing her to pant with each movement.

Matt took advantage of the missionary position and stared into the woman's tawny brown eyes. The couple hadn't been this intimate during sex in nearly two years and the man nearly forgot how perfect the woman's expressions were.

“Fuck, you're so beautiful,” he exhaled.

Violet buried her face into the crook of Matt's neck as she secured her arms and legs around his body while the man continued to thrust into her.

“I'm gonna come.”

Matt was surprised. “Already?”

“Yes,” she whimpered before digging her nails into his back.

“That's not an orgasm,” Matt scoffed as he sat up, pulled the woman's legs over his shoulders and began to roughly pound into her.

“Oh my God!” Violet moaned out as her toes curled and her fists twisted in the sheets. “Shittttt!”

“Now that's an orgasm,” the man proudly panted.

The woman continued to moan, groan and convulse.

Matt kissed her foot. “You okay?”

“Yes,” she managed to get out.

“You had enough?”

Violet shook her head. “It feels too good.”

Matt grinned and repositioned them so that Violet was on top.

“Shit,” the woman moaned as she adjusted to Matt being so deep inside of her. She closed her eyes and slowly began to ride the man while Matt caressed her breasts.

He loved seeing how Violet's hair fell to the sides of her face and how she exhaled through parted lips, letting out the occasional 'Fuck’ whenever the stroke was just right.

Matt caressed the woman's body all over but when he reached her hips, she stopped him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she panted as she returned his hands to her boobs.

He made a face. “What's up?”

Violet sighed. “I don't want you to feel my ripples.”

“Ripples?”

“My stretch marks!”

Matt attempted to look but Violet palmed his face. “Stopppp.”

“Babe, you don't even have stretch marks.”

“Yes, I do,” she sniveled. “You just haven't noticed because you're used to a quick fuck from behind.”

“Not even,” Matt retorted. “I like when you're on top too,” he joked. It earned him a playful pop on the chest. “In all seriousness, I've never seen a stretch mark on you and if there is, there's nothing wrong with that.”

Violet frowned and guided the man's hand to her hips so that he could feel the scars. “I noticed it a while after Clark was born. My body went through the craziest fluctuations.”

When Matt saw that the woman was visibly upset over the change in her body, he grabbed her hand and interlocked their fingers.

“Can I look at it?”

Violet paused before she reluctantly nodded and dismounted when Matt eased her off of his lap. The woman laid on her stomach and buried her face into the pillow while the man examined the two pale scars on her hip.

“Babe, these are badass.”

“Really?” she replied, voice muffled by the pillow.

“Well, for one, they're barely noticeable. But babe, guess what? You carried a life. Without you, Clark wouldn't be here and I'm so grateful for that. You should be proud of these tiger stripes. I know I am.”

Violet peeked up at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, woman! Do you need proof? Like-” He licked her hip where the stretch marks were.

“Ewww!” Violet squealed.

“I told you that you look amazing. You're perfect, you're beautiful, you look better than Linda Evangelista, okay? You're a model. No part of your body grosses me out. You could sneeze on me and I'd probably thank you.”

The woman laughed before Matt met her lips and stole a kiss.

“You ready for more?”

“Mm hmm.”

Matt climbed off of the mattress and when Violet  followed suit, they smooched before he gently bent her over the bed. The man showered the woman's shoulders, back and ass with more kisses before he slid his cock into her entrance. He started off with slow and steady strokes prior to adding deep, forceful thrusts that made the woman moan his name every time he tapped her G-spot.

“You feel so good, baby,” he panted.

“So do yo- fuckkk,” Violet groaned as her legs began to shake. “I'm coming,” she squealed.

“How many orgasms is that?” Matt smugly asked.

“I don't knowww,” the trembling woman groaned into her pillow.

Matt pulled out, lifted Violet back onto the bed and positioned his head between her legs before wrapping his mouth around her clit.

The woman's back involuntarily arched. Her body was near the brink, but she didn't want the pleasure to stop. In addition to licking and working his tongue, Matt added his fingers to the mix. Once they found Violet's G-spot the woman began to tremble even harder.

“Fuck! Shittt! Matthewwww, okay, okayy! Stop!” she pleaded as she squirmed.

After pulling away, Matt sat up and slid his cock into Violet's sensitive entrance. The woman winced, but she didn't tell him to stop as he began to pound into her.

Matt enjoyed every moment of Violet's animalistic moaning and as his own toes began to curl, he buried his face into the crook of her neck.

“I'm coming,” he whispered against her goosebump covered skin. “Fuck.” As Matt moaned and filled the condom, Violet convulsed and whimpered when the man pulled out.

“I love you,” Matt exhaled, kissing her face, neck and collarbone while he waited for her pleasure induced convulsions to stop. “Did you get enough?” he teasingly asked as he gently touched her clit.

Violet flinched at the contact. “Don't,” she whimpered. “God, it's so sensitive.”

“I hope this makes up for the past two years.”

“It m-m-makes up for the last five years, plus a t-ten year cr-credit,” she managed to get out while she steadily trembled. “God, Matthew!”

“Whatttt?”

“It was amazing. I literally can't stop shaking.”

“Did I rupture a nerve or something?”

“I don't knowww.”

“Well, you're still beautiful. Even if you are all twitchy.”

Violet laughed and pulled the man into a kiss. The couple's lips remained connected until Violet's body finally managed to calm down. Matt pulled her into a cuddle and when the duo was practically asleep, Violet grumbled.

“Matthew.”

“Hm?”

“Put your clothes in the hamper.”

---

“Good morninggggggg!” Clark shouted into the  walkie talkie her parents had gifted her to prevent awkward moments such as walking into their bedroom to see her father's naked butt in the air.

Matt groaned as he blindly reached for the device.

“Are you guys awakeeeee?”

When he found the walkie talkie, Matt pushed the button and spoke into the microphone. “Good morning, Supergirl. How did you sleep?”

“Good,” she chirped. “What about you?”

“I'm still tired,” he grumbled.

“Well, I would let you go back to sleep, but I'm hungry. Can I have pancakes?”

“You certainly can have pancakes. Start brushing your teeth and washing your face. I'll be right out.”

“Thanks, boss man,” she said with a giggle before hanging up.

Matt turned to Violet who was flat on her back and snoring. He knew that the toxic combination of alcohol and great sex would have the woman out for awhile. The man smirked as he kissed her cheek prior to pushing himself off of the bed. After he brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face, Matt made his way to Clark's bathroom. He peeked around the corner and found the toddler brushing her dark curls.

“12...84...26...19...41,” she said as she counted the brush strokes.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Matt greeted.

“Hi, Daddy!” Clark squealed, dropping her brush prior to jumping into his arms.

“Gonna help me cook?”

“Mm hmm.”

Matt carried the girl down the stairs then into the kitchen.

“Okay, chef Clark, get your Batgirl apron on and we'll get started.”

After he grabbed a medium sized bowl, Matt let the toddler dump in the the pancake mix and pour in the water before he stirred. When the ingredients were lump free, he dolloped some of the mix onto her nose.

“Heyyy!” In retaliation, the toddler stuck her finger in the batter and smeared it on her father's cheek.

“Ahhh, you got me!”

Clark laughed as her dad guided her to the barstool, far away before he proceeded to pour the mix onto the hot griddle, making the mini pancakes just the way that Clark liked them.

When he was finished, he presented the toddler with a plateful of tiny pancakes and a generous helping of syrup while he settled next to her with his BLT.

“Yummy, yummy,” she said, kicking her legs while she ate.

“Clark?”

“Yes, Daddy?”

“I need your help with something.”

“You need my help with what?”

“I want to marry Mommy, so I need your help figuring out how to propose to her.”

Clark slammed both of her sticky hands onto the table. “Now you want my help?! I told you that Mommy loved you a long time ago and you did not want to be her boyfriend but nowwww,” she said as she rolled her eyes, “you want to marry her?!”

“Sssshhhhh! She'll hear you. And yes, little lady. I want to marry her.”

The toddler groaned and stuffed another mini pancake into her mouth.

“Are you Grumpy Clark right now?”

The frown on her face didn't budge as she continued to eat her pancakes.

“Come on, boo, don't be like that. Don't you want to help Daddy?”

Clark rolled her eyes.

“Heyyy, if we have a big wedding, you can eat all the cupcakes you want.”

She paused. “Cupcakes?”

“Yeah, cupcakes. And you get to wear a pretty dress. Maybe even with a cape.”

Her eyes grew wide in excitement. “Okay, I'll help you!”

[the-master-cylinder]

SUMMARY Houston police officer Jack Caine will not let police procedure prevent him from pursuing his mission to wipe out the White Boys, a gang of white collar drug dealers who killed his partner while Caine was stopping a convenience store robbery.

The White Boys disguise their narcotics trafficking behind rows of expensive luxury sports cars, executive level jobs, and flashy designer suits. Led by the vicious but urbane Victor Manning, the White Boys operate above accusation but not suspicion. When the White Boys steal a shipment of heroin from a federal evidence warehouse, they hide evidence of their involvement by blowing up the facility, killing or injuring numerous people. This brings in the FBI, and Caine is partnered with a by-the-book agent Arwood “Larry” Smith. They investigate the drug theft and the later murder of several key White Boys soldiers by a hyper fast spinning disk. At the same time, Caine is made aware – via his girlfriend, coroner Diane Pallone – of a series of drug-related deaths. The corpses are full of heroin, but the cause of death is a puncture wound to the forehead. Unknown to Caine and the police officers, the deaths are caused by an alien who is extracting something from the victims, but is being pursued by Azeck, a similar alien to himself.

Azeck soon tracks Talec to a supermarket where a battle ensues. After being severely injured in the fight, Azeck is able to sneak into Caine’s car as Caine and Smith investigate the bloody scene left at the super market. After Cane and Smith are ordered off the investigation by their superiors, they discover the mortally wounded Azeck. Azeck explains that he is a police officer from his own home planet, and that Talec shoots his victims full of synthetic heroin and then uses alien technology to extract the resulting endorphins from their brains, synthesizing them into a drug called “Barsi” to be used by addicts on his home planet. He warns Caine and Smith that if Talec is not stopped, thousands of intergalactic drug dealers will start to come to Earth to slaughter its population, as Earth is a cheap source of Barsi which is extremely rare in the rest of the galaxy. Azeck dies and his body cremates itself – but Smith has retained Azeck’s powerful hand-gun and intends to pass it onto his FBI superior to prove that the aliens exist. Cain warns that Switzer should not be trusted and wants to give the gun to his own Chief Malone. The two disagree and separate.

Smith gives the weapon to Inspector Switzer, who reveals that they already know about the aliens and intend on opening dialogue with Talec in order to gain technological and weapon advantages. He then attempts to shoot Smith, but Caine saves him at the last moment. Thanks to information from Azeck, they track Talec down to an industrial complex but are waylaid by the White Boys who believe Caine to be behind the deaths of their soldiers. Talec arrives in the middle of the standoff and kills the remaining White Boys before being forced to retreat after Smith uses Azeck’s weapon against him.

At the complex, Azeck’s weapon runs out of charge and Talec attempts to kill Caine using his drug harpoon. While fending off the harpoon Caine grabs a vial of the synthesized Barsi drug and the two engage in hand-to-hand combat over the vial, resulting in Talec being impaled on a steel spar. Cain retrieves Talecs gun – a similar weapon to Azeck’s – and shoots nearby drums of fuel, killing Talec in the resulting explosion.

With Talec dead, Caine and Smith realize that they have completed Azeck’s mission: Talec won’t return to his home planet, so no one from his home planet knows about Earth.

BEHIND THE SCENES “When we wrap here, I’ll go back to New York for a couple of months, where I’m studying acting under Warren Robertson,” said Lundgren. “All I want to do is keep making enough movies so that I get to work with good people … not that I haven’t already.” How much acting talent Lundgren has remains to be seen, but he’s clearly extremely intelligent, and has already beaten the Arnold Schwarzenegger problem-though Swedish, he speaks accent less, vernacular English with no effort.

The final confrontation occurs in a deserted cement fac tory, filmed near Houston’s Ship Channel, with Caine pursuing Talec, who has kidnapped Dr. Pallone. Talec gets impaled on a rusty pipe and goes out with a bang, literally. His species doesn’t just expire. They melt and explode when they die.

Bruno Van Zeebroeck, DARK ANGEL’s special effects chief, was easily the most direct, un-Hollywood-like personality encountered on the set. He gave Lundgren, who was a European and Australian karate champion in the early 80s, high marks for his physical efforts. “He’s not lazy,” said Van Zeebroeck. “He likes to do his own stunts, and that makes the whole thing go easier, especially in special effects. Instead of having to shoot with tricky camera angles and stand-ins, we can go full-tilt.”

Van Zeebroeck has a rich history in special effects, having worked in various capacities in television and on films including DIE HARD, PREDATOR, DUNE, and RETURN OF THE JEDI. DARK ANGEL is his first feature film as special effects supervisor. Van Zeebroeck said he has been pleased with the effects they have achieved. “We did a lot of spectacular pyrotechnics,” he said. “This is going to be a good special effects movie. In the abandoned cement factory, we set off 14 fireball explosions in sequence. One mistake, and somebody would have fried. But we haven’t had a single injury on this movie. I’m proud of that.”

Another major effect was filmed when the crew blew up Houston’s condemned Franklin Bank Building, doubling for the film’s Federal Building. “My department would be exactly on budget except for that one,” said Van Zeebroeck. Normally, a building scheduled for demolition would be stripped of reusable materials. For movie purposes, however, the building had to stay intact, at least on the outside. “When it came down,” said Van Zeebroeck, “I got charged $47,000 for the glass alone.’

Van Zeebroeck’s crew of eight was enthusiastic about working with him. “He’s a good guy,” one said, while Van Zeebroeck was out of earshot. “He treats you right and he teaches you stuff. You’re not just a flunky to him.”

This was important to the crew, since half were Houston locals, aspiring to the big time while learning their craft in Houston’s gradually growing film industry. ROBOCOP 2 began shooting in Houston two months after DARK ANGEL wrapped. Young said that producing Hemdale’s COHEN AND TATE in Houston is what brought him back for DARK ANGEL. “The city is incredibly cooperative, you can make a movie for much less here, and the technical help is thoroughly professional.” There do seem to be limits, though. About half the crew of 160 were locals, but all the crew supervisors were imported from Los Angeles.

Most of the special FX were of the on-set variety. “There were a lot of second unit effects.” Irwin adds. “that involved this weird tube that extracted endorphins from unsuspecting human heads, but as far as opticals go, there were very few. It was mostly explosions, gunfire, a lot of exciting car chases. I don’t think anyone is disappointed-it’s like Lethal Weapon or Die Hard, another test-tube adventure. Put all the ingredients in, shake it up, and hey, it explodes, makes millions.”

Craig Baxley, the director of I Come in Peace, was put together with Irwin by Baxley’s father, stunt coordinator Paul Baxley. Irwin had a good time working with “Bax,” whose only previous film was Action Jackson. The director Irwin claims, “has a good visual style toward action, and I have a good visual style toward lighting, and we just clicked on that script.”

Irwin has a realistic view of his craft. “The mechanics of filmmaking have nothing to do with art. You’re given a call sheet, and see the call time is 6:30, first setup is by 7. and the sun goes down by 7:45, and you have to do this many shots because we’re not coming back here, and so on. It’s funny to stand back and say, ‘Well, artistically here. we intended to… It’s impossible. You have to think on your feet and go.

“That was the great thing about Craig. He would go on a technical scout of all the locations, get a floor plan of the location or a constructed set, and would map out all the angles and all the coverage. He gave everyone a shot list and this floor plan, with all the numbered angles. He had it written down two weeks in advance, and it was great.”

Pre-planning is a big help for the cinematographer, because it enables him and his crew of focus pullers, grips and gaffers to get the lights, camera tracks, cables, etc. laid more quickly. There are even directors who are very specific about such things, but those aren’t necessarily the kind Irwin likes. “I prefer,” he explains. “to work with a director who says, ‘Here’s what I want to feel when I’m watching this footage after we’ve shot it,’ instead of the guy who says, 35 mil [lens] right here, [camera] 2 feet off the deck.’ Then I’m just filling in the blanks, and there aren’t that many blanks.”

But, says Irwin, he can work with directors who are very rigid about their technical demands, because that gives him more time to light the set. David Cronenberg is quite the opposite. “He will not prep anything,” Irwin remarks. “He doesn’t want storyboards, doesn’t want to rehearse in empty rehearsal halls, or anything like that. He wants to be on the set and work it out with the actors, and the blocking comes from there. I’ve gotten used to that.”

How Irwin chooses to set up and light his shots is often dictated by the location-literally. “As soon as I see a location, it tells me, ‘Here’s how I’m waiting to be lit. If there’s a window, that becomes a light source; if I have neon lights, I have to light it like that.” In the case of an opening nightclub scene in I Come in Peace, when the bad alien smashes it up in his search for drugs, “the street outside was kind of seedy and run-down. Inside the nightclub, it was all very slick and colorful in a different way. The counterpoint there was great for me. It took two days to light and shoot it. There were neon lights hidden in walls”-much of it purple-“and valance lights and strip lights everywhere.”

Matthias Hues Interview

Okay, but then you got cast in Dark Angel, which is probably your biggest role. How did that role come about? Did you audition, or did Dolph Lundgren recommend you? Matthias Hues: I auditioned. I got a call saying that the producers were looking for a basketball player, or track and field champion. I was track and field, so I walked into the production office and saw all these massive basketball players and professional athletes. I walked in to meet the director, Craig R. Baxley, and he took one look at me and said, “This is your job, but you’re going to have to do everything I say. You’re going to have to be willing to die for it. You’ll have to do every stunt because I want to see your face. That’s why we need an athlete, because we need someone that can actually do what the character can do.’ I said, ‘No worries! I’ll do anything!’

Did Dolph remember you at all from when you first moved to Los Angeles? Matthias Hues: He was the first person in Hollywood that I walked up to and asked for a job. At the time, he just made fun of me and put me down, but I was just one of the many people who come up to him every day, so he didn’t take me seriously.

Was there any on-set payback? Matthias Hues: I didn’t have to say anything, because Dolph came up to the director and said he wanted to take his shirt off in the final fight scene with me. The director said, ‘No Dolph. If anyone’s taking their shirt off, it’s Matthias, not you!’

I had more then one challenge on a daily basis, mainly to stay alive where the explosive team and stunt coordinator argued with the director if it be smart to have me to this or that as it might kill me. All I kept overhearing is the director saying, he just has to be faster or jump higher. No worries he can outrun all explosions. Mind you I was nearly blind in the film, more or less. Wearing the white contacts I only could see shadows, I was let around the set most of the time by an assistant once I had the contacts in so I wouldn’t run into things. Once we ran through the shot, I simply remembered the steps I had to take, like running over the cars. I rehearsed this all morning and when the take came I put on the contacts and did it all by memory while the last thing I overheard is the explosive guy saying that if I miss this or that car or stand still on them while running I will be blown up. But the race wasn’t over there. I needed to clear a jump through the window, on fire and land on a small rig built 70 feet in the air, which was packed with a camera and someone to catch me. I arrived with so much speed it was a miracle I didn’t take us all down. Your adrenaline is so high, but if I would look at it now and have someone explain it to me and say this is now what you are going to do, I would say, do it yourself..!

Azeck and Talec (the good and the bad aliens, respectively; they’re both the ugly, what with white eyes and Twisted Sister hair and weird viscous blood-“cream of snot,” says special effects man Tony Gardner, come to Planet Earth armed to the teeth, and everyone on the production is sure their lethal frisbee will be an audience pleaser. “It’s about the size of a compact disk,” says Van Zeebroeck. “It’s ejected from a gauntlet the alien wears on his hand and goes right for the throat. It can slice through steel beams and everything.

“The idea of doing something different with the weaponry intrigued me,” continues Baxley, “but we were working from the knowledge that everything has been done. All you can do is put a new twist on things. So we looked for a different photographic treatment; what we wound up with was a point-of-view that puts you right on board as it flies.”

Like Phantasm’s flying spheres, the disks were a technical challenge. “There was a scene where it slices through a wall,” explains Van Zeebroeck, “and Craig was looking for an effect like what you get when you take a power saw and draw it across the wall-sparking, fire, chunks of stuff being torn out. We tried about eight different ways of doing it-sparklers, igniters, primer cord; you name it, we tried it-before coming up with the solution.

We used these teeny, tiny bullet hits called D-80 quarter loads. We stacked them side by side it took 54 hits-cut them into this wall, set up the disk and the result was great.”

Although the basic alien make-ups were straightforward-little more than contact lenses and hair extensions—their death throes kept Gardner busy. “When the aliens die, their whole bodies kind of internally combust like flash paper,” he says. “Azeck dies in the back seat of Caine’s car, and we did some appliances on the actor (Jay Bilas), making his face look as though it was splitting open. We lined the cracks with tiny, rice-sized bulbs, about 15 per crack, so it looked as though light was escaping. We also made a mouth plate with a bunch of larger bulbs emitting red light. As Jay’s lips part, it looks as though something is building up inside.

“He reaches up, as though he wants to tell Caine something or give him something, and we built a false arm rigged on a rheostat so we could control the intensity of light, gradually increasing it. All of this happens within seconds, then you cut to outside the car and see this huge, red fireball engulf it. When we cut back to the interior, all you see are the police officers scrambling to get out of the front seat of the car and some smoldering clothes in the back.” Talec’s demise is even nastier. “He gets blasted repeatedly by a shotgun in an old factory building. The blast knocks him backwards and he’s impaled on a pipe; the director compared the effect he wanted to a spider pinned to a card, writhing and unable to get away. Once he’s impaled he drops his own weapon; Caine picks it up, shoots him, and he explodes.

“The first rig we used was designed so we could show Talec being propelled backwards and up into the air. It was kind of like a teeter-totter on wheels. In effect, we had Matthias Hues on a large, mobile slant board with a false body extending from waist to neck. Inside that false chest there was a ram with a length of pipe about three feet long on it. The whole platform was moved backwards as the shotgun hits went off, and on the last hit the ram released so you get the sense he had been slammed into the pipe with tremendous force. It was also rigged with tubes that oozed alien blood. Once Talec was impaled, Matthias was slung in a harness.

“For the explosion we did a full-body cast; the head and hands were detailed, but the body was cast in non-fire-resistant, rigid foam dyed a kind of pinkish-white. The clothing covered it and it was wrapped in detonation cord. The idea was for the body to explode into a cloud of pinkish whitish dust, but what’s nice is that because it isn’t flame resistant it actually turns into a fireball. When audiences see that, they’ll know Talec is really dead he’s not coming back.”

Van Zeebroeck’s expertise was in nonstop demand. “This was a very heavy pyrotechnics show,” he comments. “We’re doing some of the most complicated stuff I’ve ever seen. Lots of stuntmen, lots of actors, cars exploding and flipping over, fireballs everywhere. In one scene we have Talec running over the hoods of cars while explosions go off in the cars, around the cars, parts of the cars fly off… it’s quite something.

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“We did an explosion at the Franklin Bank, a historical building that’s 80 years old,” he relates. “Craig wanted to see a wall of fire six stories high all across this six-lane boulevard and that’s what I gave him. It was awesome. We built fire hoods around the windows to hold the initial source of the explosion. We used napthaline bombs inside the building and put gasoline borders outside so that the fire would progress from inside to outside. We had mortars behind cars blowing gas on the fire at ground level and the whole thing climbed about ten stories high. There were 29 different explosions, 29 different wires to multiple detonators at the other end, and they had to be fired in sequence. It took eight of us about 12 hours to rig that effect. I like to see things blow up right—it’s a science.”

The film wrapped its principal photography in Houston the last week of April 1989, two weeks over schedule and over budget by an undisclosed amount. Producer Jeff Young was unwilling to reveal the budget figures (the Houston Chronicle pegged it at $8 million).

Several cast and crew members gave Baxley credit for maintaining an amiable work atmosphere despite setbacks and a grueling dusk-to-dawn night shooting schedule. “Usually, by now, everybody would be growling and snapping at each other,” said one crew member. “But he’s not a yeller. He stays calm even when everything is coming apart. That helps a lot.” Perhaps helping former stuntman Baxley stay relaxed was the fact that DARK ANGEL is a high-action, stunt laden film, and the stunt coordinator was his father, Paul Baxley Jr., an experienced director himself.

Dark Angel/I Come in Peace (1990) Soundtrack/Score

CAST/CREW Directed Craig R. Baxley

Produced Jeff Young Jon Turtle Rafael Eisenman

Written Jonathan Tydor David Koepp

Starring Dolph Lundgren Brian Benben Betsy Brantley Matthias Hues Jay Bilas

Music Jan Hammer

Cinematography Mark Irwin

CREDITS/REFERENCES/SOURCES/BIBLIOGRAPHY thewitteringnerd Cinefantastique v21n01 Fangoria#97 Horrorfan#04

Dark Angel/I Come in Peace (1990) SUMMARY Houston police officer Jack Caine will not let police procedure prevent him from pursuing his mission to wipe out the White Boys, a gang of white collar drug dealers who killed his partner while Caine was stopping a convenience store robbery.

[mrandyzavala]

It's The Little Things (That Freak Us Out)

You guys.  I had a dream last night that inspired this blog.  In that dream, I got this idea, which resulted in the remainder of the dream being spent trying to operate my phone in order to open the Notes app to write down a blurb to remind me of the idea.  But like all of my dreams that have to do with my phone, I CAN NEVER USE IT.  Like WHAT IS THAT.  I can’t run from monsters/bad guys in my nightmares, 911 is always busy, and I suddenly have completely worthless hands that cannot operate a touch screen on a cell phone.

 STAY AWAY

So all of this hype basically means that I will now continue on to totally disappoint you with a relatively mundane (but, I’d argue, very important) topic that was important enough in my subconscious to bring forward.  But then again, I have also dreamed about half-mice-half-women and also, frogs.  

This blog, as well as countless other zookeeper-related social media posts, have addressed some of the major downsides to our job, including the really scary ones.  Most of us have worked with animals who can kill us, via brute force, precise lethal blows/bites, venom or toxin.  Most of us have major anxiety about locks and gates, or leaving potentially dangerous items in habitats that can be ingested.  We worry endlessly about sick animals, pregnant animals, animals who look slightly off but probably are just a little constipated.  These are the Real Fears of zookeeping.

But what about the OTHER things we freak out about on a daily basis? Are those tiny, insignificant worries not worth their own blog?  According to my brain, it’s time we addressed them.  The world should know what animal caretakers deal with emotionally.  And frankly, all of you need to know that you’re not alone and/or effing insane.

Let’s take a look at the Top Ten Really Stupid Fears I had in my tenure as a marine mammal specialist.

1. THE FEAR OF  My Favorite Hose Nozzle Breaking

Ain't no exhibit gettin clean with those kinks!

Oh. Oh.  ANY zookeeper who uses a hose for any amount of cleaning is probably standing up and placing their hands over their hearts.  There is nothing like walking into a sea lion-poopy (or, oh god, otter poo-slime) habitat and knowing that you have a baller hose that is basically 1 psi away from a fire hose.  You KNOW that sh*t is getting clean.  You feel like some kind of Doolittle AquaMan as you wield and manipulate jets of water like they are extensions of your own hands.  You control where each water molecule goes, you dilute and rinse every soap bubble, every speck of disinfectant.  You time yourself and know you can bang out a spotless exhibit in record time.

But then, your beloved nozzle breaks.  Or, worse, another coworker gets “the good hose” before you get there.  And then you’re left with the shriveled little hose, that is just left installed for posterity, that does not so much spray as it oozes water.  This is the nozzle that would do a worse job than if you carried in a water fountain to clean up massive piles of sea lion crap. You’re going to be there for hours.  Hours.  And the entire time, the sea lions judge you.  YOU judge you.  You only need one experience with this pathetic, worthless nozzle to instill intense fear that THIS WILL HAPPEN AGAIN IF YOU ARE NOT ON YOUR GAME NEXT TIME.

Let’s not even talk about winter, when water lines freeze and you not only can’t clean the exhibit, but you slip and fall directly into a pile of whatever that brown goo is on pinniped teeth that they shoot everywhere like giant streams of snot. 

2. THE FEAR OF YELLOW FLIES

Behold, for I bring you demons from hell

Florida peeps,  hear me.  I moved to Maryland where the worst bug we get is a mosquito. Yeah, they carry some illnesses.  But really, this is the safest place I have ever lived insect-wise (of course, I live right next to Baltimore City so it all evens out, safety-wise).  But you guys have yellow flies. 

Despite being utterly miserable working outside in freezing temperatures in Florida, despite wanting to be warm and enjoy not feeling like I was going to die, I still dreaded summertime when I worked as a dolphin trainer in the sunshine state.  Why? Because the Yellow Flies liked summertime too.  That is where our common ground ended. 

You see, *I* like summer time because it meant sun tans, sunset fishing on the beach, wearing nothing but a bathing suit all day, gardening, etc.  Yellow Flies like summer because blood.  

Now imagine your entire back covered in those

I have never experienced pain from an animal like I have yellow flies.  As a zoological expert, I can tell you that the mouth parts of yellow flies are composed of circle saws dipped in hydrofluoric acid. Unlike mosquitoes, which you may or may not feel biting you, yellow flies land quietly on the most inaccessible part of your body and perform major surgery in order to extract what seems like 89 liters of blood and at least one major organ.

I literally flipped out in complete, paralyzing fear anytime I saw these stupid mofos.  You know how people react when a spider is on them? Or a bee or something?  That is all of us in Yellow Fly country, except as zookeepers we are outside 90% of our day and usually have our attention and hands focused on something more important, like our own safety or the safety of our animals.  The Yellow Flies know this and make their vicious attacks, leaving gigantic welts and PTSD in their wake. 

3. THE FEAR OF Forgetting Deodorant

The internet understands

As a zookeeper, this is one of the worst mistakes you can make that does not result in anyone’s death.  Although, I think I have come close to killing someone with my uh, Natural Scent after being in the sun for 10 hours with no deodorant.  I AM SO SORRY.

4. THE FEAR OF Being In A Wetsuit and Have To Pee.  No, I lied.  Number Two.

Too bad

Yeah, they don’t tell you about this in the shamelessly-monetizing BE A DOLPHIN TRAINER books.  But you will get hermetically sealed in a wetsuit.  And then, just like when you played Ultimate Hide and Seek when you were a kid, you will have to take an enormous dump 5 minutes afterwards.  This is especially true in the winter months, when you are wearing two or three layers of neoprene and require the Jaws of Life to get you out.  Good luck if you had Chinese food the night before….

5. THE FEAR OF Girl Problems

Except you have to drive a front loader today

Not to be gross, but we are all scientists here.  We are biological experts.  And we know what happens to human and naked mole rat females on a monthly basis.  I distinctly remember standing next to one of the dolphin habitats in my bathing suit and rash guard, listening to a supervisor go over our plan for the next round of sessions when all of a sudden….I knew something bad was going down.  I knew I had at most, 30 seconds to address it.  So when my (male) supervisor looked at me and said, “Okay Cat, here is your role, go do it right now” I looked at him, my heart racing and anxiety through the roof, and said something like, “NO I CAN’T RIGHT NOW” and just ran away.  I was so terrified of what was happening to me that I didn't even care if I got in trouble.  Because you know what, I was sparing my supervisor some Night Of The Living Dead stuff. 

Girl, I feel you

Woe betide those of us who have had khaki uniforms…..

6. THE FEAR OF Reading Your Work Schedule Wrong

WE HAVE ALL BEEN THERE

Shift work is hard to keep track of, even if your manager is amazing at scheduling consistency.  You know that your week is not always going to look the same.  Who else has dealt with Excel-based work schedules?  Who else has worked on a team with more than ten people on it?  Who else has looked at the wrong column and showed up at the wrong shift time because they did not have Golden Eagle Vision? 

The fear I experienced about misreading the schedule was instilled deeply in me after an experience I had as a mid-level trainer.  I was sitting in bed, hanging out with my cockatiel Lennon, reading a book.  I was enjoying my morning before a later shift (11-7:30), which was especially needed because I had horrendous tonsillitis.  Around 8:45, I got a call from my supervisor asking why I didn't show up for my 8:30 shift.  Furthermore, I was scheduled on the 9:15 dolphin swim.  

THIS

I flew out the door and made it to work in time, panicking that I had made a Terrible Mistake That Would Totally Get Me Fired.  Luckily, that fear took my mind off of the feeling like I was swallowing shards of glass.  But I sure did develop an OCD habit of checking and rechecking and rechecking and rechecking and rechecking the schedule

7. THE FEAR OF  Speaking To Guests In A Language I Took in Middle School 17 Years Ago

You're welcome.

“Hey Cat! We have guests from France who only speak French! You speak French, right?” *Heart lurches into my throat, butterflies flap wildly in stomach, intestines stop working* “Uh, yes, in high school 35 decades ago”

“GREAT! Here they are!”

And then a horribly embarrassing exchange would ensue, in which my foreign guests would attempt to speak English to me after hearing my pathetic attempt and probably ruined their entire vacation, where they would return to Paris or whatever and tell their friends, “Oh, we had this well-intentioned girl with the intelligence of foot fungus guide our dolphin swim.”

8. THE FEAR OF Forgetting My Lunch

 #forgotlunch

This is simple.  We burn 90926892368236 calories a day.  If you forget your lunch at most aquariums, your choice is to eat french fries the snack bar bought from Walmart 9 years ago, or eat ice cubes from the fish kitchen’s ice machine until your shift ends when you can eat Chinese food in large quantities.

9. THE FEAR OF Weather n’ Wildfires

UNLESS YOU ARE A DOLPHIN TRAINER. THEN YOU HAVE TO STAY OUTSIDE

I’ve never been afraid of thunderstorms until I was required to work outside in them.  Also, wildfires that blew ash all over everything.  Red Tides. 

10. THE FEAR OF Gastric Samples

It's all fun and games until the dolphin volunteers the Sacred Fluid

This is more specific to dolphin trainers who take their own gastric samples.  I know some of you suck on the end of the tube (you guys are, and I say this with love, seriously insane and do you realize you do NOT need to do that????), and you guys probably experience this specific fear more often than the rest of us.  But…there is really no fear as compares to inserting a tube into the mouth of a dolphin who is just ready to blow out every ounce of gastric fluid they have directly into your face, onto your shoulder, or (for you crazies) into your mouth.  Directly. 

THIS IS IT EXACTLY

I have seen dead animals.  I have fallen in blood, poop, pee.  I have gotten pus in my face.  I have had weeks worth of otter poop poured over my head.  I have used limb loppers to cute sea lion ribs.  There is not a lot that grosses me out.  But gastric fluid shooting onto my shirt? AHHHHHHHHHH

So, friends, those are just a handful of the fears and unpleasantries I experienced as a dolphin trainer.  But now let’s hear some of yours!

from The Middle Flipper http://ift.tt/2ufD6N6