#flip side is kind of bleak post that I have Not been doing well and things are not good for. a while. but I’ve been staying afloat!!!! and

[b-blushes]

So bonkers how my general ability to do tasks has changed since new playlist and tv show. No longer pulled into spending one million hours stuck on The Apps either, I’m doing things. The power of feeling happy and excited…….

​silly. but I’ll take it!!!!!!!!!!

[mothandpidgeon]

Forgive Me (Joel Miller x f!reader/ofc)

MASTERLIST - follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/ofc (unnamed, no physical description)

Words: 3.5k

Rating: E 18+

Warnings: masturbation, the male gaze, dub con (looking at nudes without consent), references to p in v sex and blow jobs, references to drugs and alcohol, violence, general Joel Miller angst and self-loathing [let me know if I missed anything]

Summary: When Joel finds himself in possession of some sexy photos, temptation makes him question himself as he's fascinated by a woman he's never met.

A/N: She's back! I think it's been a year since I've posted any Pedro fic. I've been kind of uninspired but mainly focused on publishing my first novel. But Joel's got me all kinds of distracted from revising my manuscript. Please enjoy some angst.

...

It rained. A gray sky blanketed the QZ making everything look even more bleak. As if it needed help. Joel and his customer had taken cover under some scaffolding. Luckily, the weather meant that there weren’t a whole lot of people around, no suspicious glances in their direction. 

Joel opened his wet bag to reveal a pair of work boots to the buyer. Vince’s eyes lit up. 

“Hell yeah,” he said. 

Joel flipped the backpack closed again. These had been hard to come by and he’d gotten pretty good at this beat. Nobody got their hands on any goods without paying first. 

“Alright. I got you, man,” Vince said. This wasn’t his first rodeo either. He’d been doing business with Joel since the very beginning. He bought all kinds of shit— a radio, chocolate, tiny bottles of shampoo. Joel wasn’t sure if Vince resold the stuff but it was better not to know about that kind of thing. 

Vince put his cards into Joel’s hand and Joel counted. 

“What the hell is this?” Joel asked. 

Tucked into the stack of ration cards were a couple of photographs. A quick glance showed him they were all the same woman, naked or nearly naked. Vince had tried to pawn this stuff off on him before. In fact once he tried to pay with porn and Joel had to tell him he only accepted ration cards. 

“Just a little something extra,” Vince said with a wink. He happily took the boots and gave them a once over. “You got my size and everything.”

“I’m not interested,” Joel said and tried to hand the pictures back. 

“Come on,” Vince chuckled. “A stiff prick for a stiff prick.” He gave Joel a friendly slap on the shoulder which only deepened his scowl. 

“See you around.” Vince walked away and Joel had no choice but to tuck the bundle into his jacket. 

When he got home, Joel hid the ration cards away as he always did. He put the photographs into the hole in the floor as well. He hadn’t given them another look since they went into his pocket. Joel might’ve just gotten rid of them but nothing went in the trash without careful consideration. Everything in the QZ had value and these pictures were obviously worth something to somebody. It didn’t feel right to sell them but in a pinch, it would be good to have something that could grease some wheels. 

He put the floorboards back and promptly forgot about them. 

...

Joel’s hand reached into the hole in the floor. It was the end of a long and awful week. The Fireflies were causing trouble which meant the FEDRA rats were out in force. Joel hadn’t done any lucrative business in days. The honest work he could get was as degrading as ever. He smelled like trash and shit. He needed a fucking drink, couldn’t wait to feel it burn in the back of his throat. There was no chance his muscles would uncoil without a couple of shots. As he fished his bottle out of its hiding place, his fingers caught on something else. The slick side of a photograph stuck to his sweaty palm as he drew his hand out from under the floor. It’d been a while since he’d put the nudes down there and he hadn’t thought about them at all since. 

Joel looked at it. Curiosity, plain and simple. It was a Polaroid, taken on long-expired film that gave everything a tinge of sepia. The woman in the photograph looked out at him, a coy smile on her lips. It wasn’t her face that caught his attention. She sat on the edge of a bed, tits bare. One of her thumbs was hitched in the elastic of her panties. 

He pulled the other two out, just to see the variety, and took them over to his bed along with his bottle. The photos got more explicit. In the first she was laying back, completely exposed and touching herself. The other one had her on all fours, looking over her shoulder at the camera, at Joel. 

At first Joel chuckled to himself. He never considered himself to be the type to go for such exaggerated, porny stuff. And he hardly lost control of himself. There wasn’t room for desire in his life. Pleasure wasn’t a part of his vocabulary anymore. From the sludge that passed for his morning coffee to the hard mattress he lay on at night, there was nothing enjoyable to be found around him. 

Still, he felt himself twitching in his jeans. She had a nice body, the kind he used to like when he thought about things like that. She looked soft and he bet she smelled good. 

Joel began to wonder about her, if she’d taken the pictures for her lover. Or maybe for an ex who’d traded them to spite her. Either way, they weren’t for him. She might’ve posed for a creep like Vince to get a few ration cards. 

He didn’t like that. He didn’t like knowing that he was the kind of man who got stiff gawking at her. Joel did all kinds of things he wasn’t proud of but he had a good reason for them. Getting off on some woman’s private pictures just seemed wrong. 

She wasn’t his daughter but she was somebody’s and that made Joel’s gut twist. 

He tossed the photo aside and laid back, draping his forearm across his eyes. For a while he laid there trying to will his hard on away. His muscles were even more tense than before. He ground his teeth and screwed his eyes shut but the image of the woman had burned itself in. Soon he was absentmindedly touching himself through his jeans, dragging his fingertips over the lump in the denim. He craved that release. Each slow stroke made him pulse with want. 

He growled. What fucking difference did it make? Joel was acting all high and mighty like it meant something. He wasn’t any better than the man who’d given him these pictures. He had his own vices and he always felt about an inch away from violence. This poor girl had no idea he was looking at her body, that seeing her flesh was getting him hard. If that was the worst thing that ever happened to her, he told himself, she was lucky. 

Human decency be damned. Joel gave in to that selfish part of him, the animal inside that cared only about his own survival, his own desire. This world had taken everything from him and he was going to steal something from her. He knew what that made him but he didn’t care. 

Joel unzipped his fly, his cock weeping furiously and straining against his boxers. He took up the last photo, the one that was doubled over ass-out, and spit into his other fist. He pulled at himself as he glared at the picture. It felt good. Slick and tight. 

He could see a trail of wetness at her core reflecting the camera’s flash and he imagined how fantastic it would feel to plunge into her, to hold onto her hips and groan and buck against her. He kept tugging on his cock, squeezing at the head and dreaming up the noises she’d make, the sounds of their bodies connecting. He sped up his fist. He wanted her to cry out his name. He wanted her to take him away from all of this shit, just for a minute, just sixty fucking seconds when he could forget. 

A spasm ran up from his groin, an electric shock that travelled up his spine, and he moaned and swore through gritted teeth as he came. His heart pounded in his chest as he lay back, sticky and sweating. The photograph was still in his grip as his breath evened out. 

That wasn’t the last time he used her picture. Whenever he was amped up or way down, he’d retrieve the photos and get to work on himself. 

There was one photograph he favored over the others, the one where she was on her back. He liked to think about standing over her, taking in the sight of her. His eyes would move over every velvet inch of her before he went any further. 

She could be whatever he needed. Sometimes he would imagine her seducing him, straddling his hips and lowering herself onto his cock with a luxurious sigh. Others, he liked her to be sweet and innocent, just for him. When he was having a shitty day, he’d picture himself fucking brutally into her mouth until tears ran down her cheeks. It was messed up and he knew it but the guilt wore off quickly. He had next to nothing in this world, at least he could have this release.

... 

Joel had been waiting longer than he wanted. He’d circled the block three times already and he was getting impatient. He was meeting a buyer who was late and if they didn’t show soon, they’d be out of luck. Joel didn’t like to linger. 

He rounded the corner on the square and did his best to blend in. Another round of executions were underway. Above the crowd, four people were lined up on the catwalk, ropes around their necks. Joel chose to ignore it. He scanned the faces around him until he saw someone familiar. It wasn’t his contact. He wasn’t sure where he’d seen her before. That happened often— he’d spot someone he thought he knew from his past life. Most of the time, it was just a trick of the eye, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew the woman on the other side of the square. 

She had her arm around another woman. The other one was more than middle aged and crying, tears running over the wrinkles on her cheeks. The woman, the one that Joel recognized, pulled her friend in close and glanced around. She wasn’t crying but she had a lost expression on her face. That’s when he realized. 

Joel was looking at the woman from the photographs. There was no doubt in his mind that it was her. He’d spent over a year staring at that face. In person, she was just as pretty but her appearance was hidden under the same dirt and weariness everyone in the QZ wore. 

Joel’s chest went tight and he couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t breathe. His body was crushed by shame and disgust. He had violated her and she didn’t even know it. 

The FEDRA officer read out the charges and she squeezed her friend in close so she wouldn’t have to watch the bodies drop. Obviously there was someone up there that they knew. Joel watched her face go stony as the platform fell out. She barely winced, like she was just there to bare witness, but he could guess how she felt. You lost enough people, what was one more friend dying right in front of your eyes?

The crowd broke up and she lead her companion away, a tender hand on the older woman’s shoulder. Joel had no choice but to move and his feet decided to head in the same direction as the woman. He kept his distance because he wasn't following her. At least he told himself that he that. It just wasn’t safe for him to hang around with FEDRA crawling all over. Dusk was falling so she was probably headed home before curfew fell. 

Joel watched her wind down the streets, all the while sick to his stomach. He truly was a creep. He didn’t know why he was going after her. The last thing he wanted was to spook her and it wasn’t like he planned on introducing himself. There was a funny idea in his mind that she might turn around and see him and know, just by looking at his face, what he’d done. Maybe she’d scream at him and slap him in the face. Part of him wanted that. He deserved it. 

She was just helping her friend up the stairs to one of the brownstones when Joel connected with something. He’d been so wrapped up in watching the woman, he wasn’t looking at where he was going. It startled him out of his thoughts to be inches away from a FEDRA officer. Usually Joel kept a wide berth but he’d walked right into the back of his bulletproof vest. The officer turned and put his hands on his hips, narrowed his eyes. 

Joel gave an apologetic nod. 

“Move along,” the FEDRA officer commanded. 

Joel did, unsure he deserved to slip out of a close call like that. 

When he got home, he felt like shit. He pried up the floorboards and dug out the pictures. The face that looked out at him was the same one he’d seen in the square. He snapped his eyes shut and swore under his breath. 

He set the photos down at the kitchen table, then sat on the couch with his bottle. Joel sat there for a long time, watching the pictures like they might spring up and force themselves back into his hand. That night, he hardly slept. 

...

Joel knew better than to do business with someone as skittish as Max. This kid had already chewed his fingernails down to the quick and the way his eyes darted around would make anyone suspicious. But he wanted pills so damn bad, he’d give up more ration cards than they were worth. Joel insisted they meet off the street, in an alley buffeted by a fence and brick walls. 

“You’re a lifesaver for this,” Max said. He couldn’t stop fidgeting and it made even Joel nervous. 

“Mhm,” he grumbled. 

Max knew the drill. He was ready with the cards without being asked. 

Joel was about to reach for them when the worst thing that could happen did. 

“What’s going on here?” a gruff voice called down the alley. Fuck. A FEDRA officer in full uniform was marching their way, one hand on his weapon.

Leave it to Max to split. He made a break for it and blew past the officer leaving Joel to face questioning alone. If he’d been cool, Joel could’ve talked their way out of it but now there was no hope of leaving without trouble.

The officer radioed for someone else to go after Max, gave his position and direction, but he kept his eyes on Joel. He was shorter than Joel and under his helmet, he looked young. Probably born just a few years before the outbreak with no options but joining up. The patch on his chest identified him as DIXON.

“Hands on your head,” Dixon instructed when he was finished.

Joel obeyed, a deep frown pulling at his lips. Dixon scanned him and then reached for his radio again.

“I’ve got some ration cards in my pocket. They’re all yours,” Joel offered before he could make a report.

“You trying to bribe me?” the officer asked.

Joel shook his head. “Everybody’s in need these days. Just trying to help out.”

Dixon scoffed. “Trying to help yourself out of a tough spot.”

Joel clenched his jaw. This motherfucker was obviously one of those types that got off on throwing their weight around. Half of the FEDRA soldiers he’d encountered were happy to bend the rules for the right price. The other half only felt big when they reminded others how small they’d become.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” Dixon said, sliding his weapon onto his back so his hands were free. The chainlink fence rattled as he pressed Joel against it. Joel kept his eyes forward as hands searched his hips and down his legs. Dixon went into his pocket and Joel heard the crinkle of a plastic bag. “Pills. No wonder.”

He continued his search as Joel cursed himself. Losing that merchandise meant a nice stack of ration cards was about to evaporate into thin air. Not to mention the fact he was now in deep shit with FEDRA.

“Oh, fuck,” Joel heard. The delight in the officer’s voice made him turn his head. Joel’s stomach fell into his feet when he saw what had been found. Dixon held a Polaroid in his hand.

Joel had been toting the pictures around for two weeks, hoping chance might cause him to bump into the woman again. Sometimes he wandered past the building she went into before curfew, hoping to catch her there again. He could have just destroyed them, lit the corner and let them go up in flames, but he wanted to give them back to her so she knew that they weren’t floating around out there. That scumbags like him weren’t jacking it to her picture. That pigs like Dixon weren’t salivating over them like he was right now. 

“This your girl?” he asked. He raised the visor on his helmet to get a better look. “Damn.”

Joel pressed his lips into a line, shame washing over him again. He wondered if he’d had the same dopey grin on his face when he’d first gazed over her body.

“That’s a nice piece of pussy.” 

Joel seethed and squeezed his hand into a fist in hopes that he could ball up all the swiftly building ire right there.

“Y’know,” Dixon began, finally glancing back up to Joel, “if I got a taste of that, I might be inclined to forget about all this. If she’s any good, maybe I’d even let you keep your pills.”

His fist flew before he even knew it. Joel pounced on him, pinning Dixon against the brick and punching him right in the nose. Dixon fought back, clawing and grunting, scratching at Joel’s face. Joel didn’t care. In fact, he welcomed the pain. He wasn’t defending her, the woman he didn’t know. He wasn’t a hero. Joel pummeled the man the way he’d wanted to beat himself. Pervert. Scum. Monster. Blood gushed from Dixon’s nose and teeth were battered loose and it wasn’t long before he stopped defending himself. Joel finally realized he’d knocked him out. He was holding the officer up with his own bodyweight and when he let go, Dixon crumpled.

Joel stood over him, shoulders heaving with his jagged breaths. Dixon gurgled, a mess of swollen crimson. Joel stooped down and picked up the picture with a bloody hand. He turned down the alley and ran like the cockroach he was.

...

Joel leaned in the shadow of a doorway, his eyes fixed across the street. He’d been laying low, staying as far off of FEDRA’s radar as he could, but he’d been restless. A week had passed since he’d beaten the piss out of one of their officers. His knuckles were still red and raw. 

The sun was setting. He’d been out there for nearly four hours now and he’d need to get going soon if he was going to be back before curfew. There as no way he’d risk being out after dark when things were so hot.

He perked up when a figure rounded the corner. They were rushing, clearly fighting the same clock. It was her. Joel could tell from the other end of the block. He’d been resolved to get her pictures back to her but suddenly he felt like turning tail and going home. The urge only confirmed his worst opinions about himself. 

Joel strode across the street as she approached. He placed himself at the foot of the stairs he knew she was headed towards. 

The woman looked at him with nervous eyes. It stung but he couldn’t blame her. Joel was broad and his face always fixed in a scowl. She should be scared. He’d been no friend to her. 

“Do you want something?” she asked, staying a cautious distance away. Her voice wasn’t what he’d imagined. 

Joel pulled the photos out and she took a step back. He moved towards her, holding them out so she could see that he didn’t have anything dangerous. His fist was still swollen and a smear of Dixon’s blood had stained the white frame of the Polaroid.

The woman’s eyes bounced back and forth between his hand and his face. Finally, seeing that he wasn’t going anywhere until she took what he offered, she carefully plucked the pictures up. 

Her eyes went wide and then narrow. She glowered at him. “Where did you get these?” she demanded.

Joel’s mouth was dry. The accusation in her stare cut him deeper than he’d expected. The scabs on his knuckles burned like he’d scraped them against sandpaper. He looked at her for a lengthy moment and then decided that he’d done enough. 

Joel left her there after a grunt.

He walked swiftly, wanting to put as much distance between them as he could. He didn’t feel any better. It felt like failure. He’d already forgotten what she looked like, serpentine and sensuous, replaced by her hurt and admonition. 

Joel had planned on apologizing, but the words hadn’t come. 

...

My love language is words of affirmation so I'd love any comments or rbs. Thanks for reading, you beautiful person.

MASTERLIST - follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

[spaghett-onaplate]

I'm so sick of booktok books. Tropes sticky-taped together to make a semi-comprehensible and mildly enjoyable at best story. 2D characters that have no real defining personalities beyond banter and witty one-liners, that have no clear motivations or goals, that are inconsistent in their actions and thoughts. A lack of description that has you rereading passages over and over in a lackluster attempt to understand wtf is going on.

I'm reviewing this book for a bookstore magazine, and that fucking thing is the inspiration behind this. I mean, it has "TikTok" on the front cover, so I was a little sceptical at first, but now I'm just pissed off. Apart from what I've already mentioned, there are severe plot holes - the entire plot of the book is centred around a journey to recover a magical item of legends. Both of the main characters are sceptical of its existence, but they decide to try and find it anyway. Personally, I think it could have been executed much better if one of the characters believed in it fully and wholeheartedly, and was dead set on his goal to get it. Then, that would have allowed leeway for some scepticism in other characters while still moving the plot ahead, and added more depth to the otherwise bland characters. It also would have tied in very well with the backstory and just made so much more sense plot-wise.

I don't know, it's just really pissing me off. I probably wouldn't be able to finish this book if it weren't for the fact I'm writing a review, but it pains me to think of the fact I'll have to write a mostly positive review - so I'll do what I'm best at, and compliment the (few) enjoyable aspects while backhandedly complimenting the rest. I'll keep it honest, but if I didn't have a word limit/positive theme I would write a scathing review of 5k words, at bare minimum. There are so many points where I have to flip a few pages back and ask myself if I missed something - not that there's much to miss.

The two main characters are both cardboard cutouts with inconsistent goals and thoughts. One of the central conflicts between them makes next to no sense. The other two side characters are yawn-inducing and essentially useless, and I often forget they're even there. The lore of the world is bleak and two-dimensional. The writing style reminds me of The Hunger Games with its short and direct sentences, but is executed so poorly that I hesitate to compare it to, you know, The Hunger Games. It works in that series with Katniss' thought process and character, but here it just makes me cringe. It gives off the effect of trying to put emphasis on sentences that really don't deserve it. I think some books can pull that writing style off really well, when paired with other sentence structures, but in this book it just comes across as lazy and, well, badly written.

Writing a book is still an impressive feat, and the author could have done much worse. So I'll still write a kind review, but I'll keep it honest and I won't be happy about it.

Anyway, just needed to get that out of my system so that I can write a mostly positive review. But I'm just sick of what is essentially the Marvel-ification of a lot of recent YA books. I've seen other posts discussing this so I'm glad I'm not alone. And either way, bad books have always existed - it's not a recent phenomenon. Good books exist, bad books exist, and unfortunately it's a lot easier to find the latter.

[mcmansionhell]

Underground, Part 1

[Author’s Note: A year ago, when waiting for the DC Metro, I came up with an idea for a short story involving two realtors and the infamous Las Vegas Underground House, typed up an outline, and shoved it away in my documents where it sat neglected until this month. The house recently resurfaced on Twitter, and combined with almost a year of quarantine, the story quickly materialized. Though I rarely write fiction, I decided I’d give it a shot as a kind of novelty McMansion Hell post. I’ve peppered the story with photos from the house to break up the walls of text. Hopefully you find it entertaining. I look forward to returning next month with the second installment of this as well as our regularly scheduled McMansion content. Happy New Year!

Warning: there’s lots of swearing in this.]

Underground

Back in 1997, Mathieu Rino, the son of two Finnish mechanical engineers who may or may not have worked intimately with the US State Department, changed his name to Jay Renault in order to sell more houses. It worked wonders.

He gets out of the car, shuts the door harder than he should. Renault wrinkles his nose. It’s a miserable Las Vegas afternoon - a sizzling, dry heat pools in ripples above the asphalt. The desert is a place that is full of interesting and diverse forms of life, but Jay’s the kind of American who sees it all as empty square-footage. He frowns at the dirt dusting up his alligator-skin loafers but then remembers that every lot, after all, has potential. Renault wipes the sweat from his leathery face, slicks back his stringy blond hair and adjusts the aviators on the bridge of his nose. The Breitling diving watch crowding his wrist looks especially big in the afternoon glare. He glances at it.

“Shit,” he says. The door on the other side of the car closes, as though in response. 

If Jay Renault is the consummate rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xer trying to sell houses to other rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xers, then Robert Little is his millennial counterpart. Both are very good at their jobs. Robert adjusts his tie in the reflection of the Porsche window, purses his lips. He’s Vegas-showman attractive, with dark hair, a decent tan, and a too-bright smile - the kind of attractive that ruins marriages but makes for an excellent divorcee. Mildly sleazy.

“Help me with these platters, will you?” Renault gestures, popping the trunk. Robert does not want to sweat too much before an open house, but he obliges anyway. They’re both wearing suits. The heat is unbearable. A spread of charcuterie in one hand, Jay double-checks his pockets for the house keys, presses the button that locks his car. 

Both men sigh, and their eyes slowly trail up to the little stucco house sitting smack dab in the center of an enormous lot, a sea of gravel punctuated by a few sickly palms. The house has the distinct appearance of being made of cardboard, ticky-tacky, a show prop. Burnt orange awnings don its narrow windows, which somehow makes it look even more fake. 

“Here we go again,” Jay mutters, fishing the keys out of his pocket. He jiggles them until the splintered plywood door opens with a croak, revealing a dark and drab interior – dusty, even though the cleaners were here yesterday. Robert kicks the door shut with his foot behind him.

 “Christ,” he swears, eyes trailing over the terrible ecru sponge paint adorning the walls. “This shit is so bleak.”

The surface-level house is mostly empty. There’s nothing for them to see or attend to there, and so the men step through a narrow hallway at the end of which is an elevator. They could take the stairs, but don’t want to risk it with the platters. After all, they were quite expensive. Renault elbows the button and the doors part. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” he says as they step inside. The fluorescent lights above them buzz something awful. A cheery metal sign welcomes them to “Tex’s Hideaway.” Beneath it is an eldritch image of a cave, foreboding. Robert’s stomach’s in knots. Ever since the company assigned him to this property, he’s been terrified of it. He tells himself that the house is, in fact, creepy, that it is completely normal for him to be ill at ease. The elevator’s ding is harsh and mechanical. They step out. Jay flips a switch and the basement is flooded with eerie light. 

It’s famous, this house - The Las Vegas Underground House. The two realtors refer to it simply as “the bunker.” Built by an eccentric millionaire at the height of Cold War hysteria, it’s six-thousand square feet of paranoid, aspirational fantasy. The first thing anyone notices is the carpet – too-green, meant to resemble grass, sprawling out lawn-like, bookmarked by fake trees, each a front for a steel beam. Nothing can grow here. It imitates life, unable to sustain it. The leaves of the ficuses seem particularly plastic.

Bistro sets scatter the ‘yard’ (if one can call it that), and there’s plenty of outdoor activities – a parquet dance floor complete with pole and disco ball, a putt putt course, an outdoor grill made to look like it’s nestled in a rock, but in reality better resembles a baked potato. The pool and hot tub, both sculpted in concrete and fiberglass mimicking a natural rock formation, are less Playboy grotto and more Fred Flintstone. It’s a very seventies idea of fun.

Then, of course, there’s the house. That fucking house. 

A house built underground in 1978 was always meant to be a mansard – the mansard roof was a historical inevitability. The only other option was International Style modernism, but the millionaire and his wife were red-blooded anti-Communists. Hence, the mansard. Robert thinks the house looks like a fast-food restaurant. Jay thinks it looks like a lawn and tennis club he once attended as a child where he took badminton lessons from a swarthy Czech man named Jan. It’s drab and squat, made more open by big floor-to-ceiling windows nestled under fresh-looking cedar shingles. There’s no weather down here to shrivel them up.

“Shall we?” Jay drawls. The two make their way into the kitchen and set the platters down on the white tile countertop. Robert leans up against the island, careful of the oversized hood looming over the electric stovetop. He eyes the white cabinets, accented with Barbie pink trim. The matching linoleum floor squeaks under his Italian loafers. 

“I don’t understand why we bother doing this,” Robert complains. “Nobody’s seriously going to buy this shit, and the company’s out a hundred bucks for party platters.”

“It’s the same every time,” Renault agrees. “The only people who show up are Instagram kids and the crazies - you know, the same kind of freaks who’d pay money to see Chernobyl.” 

“Dark tourism, they call it.”

Jay checks his watch again. Being in here makes him nervous.

“Still an hour until open house,” he mutters. “I wish we could get drunk.”

Robert exhales deeply. He also wishes he could get drunk, but still, a job’s a job.

“I guess we should check to see if everything’s good to go.”

The men head into the living room. The beamed, slanted ceiling gives it a mid-century vibe, but the staging muddles the aura. Jay remembers making the call to the staging company. “Give us your spares,” he told them, “Whatever it is you’re not gonna miss. Nobody’ll ever buy this house anyway.” 

The result is eclectic – a mix of office furniture, neo-Tuscan McMansion garb, and stuffy waiting-room lamps, all scattered atop popcorn-butter shag carpeting. Hideous, Robert thinks. Then there’s the ‘entertaining’ room, which is a particular pain in the ass to them, because the carpet was so disgusting, they had to replace it with that fake wood floor just to be able to stand being in there for more than five minutes. There’s a heady stone fireplace on one wall, the kind they don’t make anymore, a hearth. Next to it, equally hedonistic, a full bar. Through some doors, a red-painted room with a pool table and paintings of girls in fedoras on the wall. It’s all so cheap, really. Jay pulls out a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket along with a pen. He ticks some boxes and moves on.

The dining room’s the worst to Robert. Somehow the ugly floral pattern on the curtains stretches up in bloomer-like into a frilly cornice, carried through to the wallpaper and the ceiling, inescapable, suffocating. It smells like mothballs and old fabric. The whole house smells like that. 

The master bedroom’s the most normal – if anything in this house could be called normal. Mismatched art and staging furniture crowd blank walls. When someone comes into a house, Jay told Robert all those years ago, they should be able to picture themselves living in it. That’s the goal of staging. 

There’s two more bedrooms. The men go through them quickly. The first isn’t so bad – claustrophobic, but acceptable – but the saccharine pink tuille wallpaper of the second gives Renault a sympathetic toothache. The pair return to the kitchen to wait.

Both men are itching to check their phones, but there’s no point – there’s no signal in here, none whatsoever. Renault, cynical to the core, thinks about marketing the house to the anti-5G people. It’s unsettlingly quiet. The two men have no choice but to entertain themselves the old-fashioned way, through small talk.

“It’s really fucked up, when you think about it,” Renault muses.

“What is?”

“The house, Bob.”

Robert hates being called Bob. He’s told Jay that hundreds of times, and yet…

“Yeah,” Robert mutters, annoyed.

“No, really. Like, imagine. You’re rich, you founded a major multinational company marketing hairbrushes to stay-at-home moms, and what do you decide to do with your money? Move to Vegas and build a fucking bunker. Like, imagine thinking the end of the world is just around the corner, forcing your poor wife to live there for ten, fifteen years, and then dying, a paranoid old man.” Renault finds the whole thing rather poetic. 

“The Russkies really got to poor ol’ Henderson, didn’t they?” Robert snickers.

“The wife’s more tragic if you ask me,” Renault drawls. “The second that batshit old coot died, she called a guy to build a front house on top of this one, since she already owned the lot. Poor woman probably hadn’t seen sunlight in God knows how long.”

“Surely they had to get groceries.”

Jay frowns. Robert has no sense of drama, he thinks. Bad trait for a realtor.

“Still,” he murmurs. “It’s sad.”

“I would have gotten a divorce, if I were her,” the younger man says, as though it were obvious. It’s Jay’s turn to laugh.

“I’ve had three of those, and trust me, it’s not as easy as you think.”

“You’re seeing some new girl now, aren’t you?” Robert doesn’t really care, he just knows Jay likes to talk about himself, and talking fills the time.  

“Yeah. Casino girl. Twenty-six.”

“And how old are you again?”

“None of your business.”

“Did you see the renderings I emailed to you?” Robert asks briskly, not wanting to discuss Jay’s sex life any further.

“What renderings?”

“Of this house, what it could look like.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Jay has not seen the renderings.

“If it were rezoned,” Robert continues, feeling very smart, “It could be a tourist attraction - put a nice visitor’s center on the lot, make it sleek and modern. Sell trinkets. It’s a nice parcel, close to the Strip - some clever investor could make it into a Museum of Ice Cream-type thing, you know?”

“Museum of Ice Cream?”

“In New York. It’s, not, like, educational or anything. Really, it’s just a bunch of colorful rooms where kids come to take pictures of themselves.”

“Instagram,” Jay mutters. “You know, I just sold a penthouse the other week to an Instagram influencer. Takes pictures of herself on the beach to sell face cream or some shit. Eight-point-two million dollars.”

“Jesus,” Robert whistles. “Fat commission.”

“You’re telling me. My oldest daughter turns sixteen this year. She’s getting a Mazda for Christmas.”

“You ever see that show, My Super Sweet Sixteen? On MTV? Where rich kids got, like, rappers to perform at their birthday parties? Every time at the end, some guy would pull up in, like, an Escalade with a big pink bow on it and all the kids would scream.”

“Sounds stupid,” Jay says.

“It was stupid.”

It’s Robert’s turn to check his watch, a dainty gold Rolex.

“Fuck, still thirty minutes.”

“Time really does stand still in here, doesn’t it?” Jay remarks.

“We should have left the office a little later,” Robert complains. “The charcuterie is going to get –“

A deafening sound roars through the house and a violent, explosive tremor throws both men on the ground, shakes the walls and everything between them. The power’s out for a few seconds before there’s a flicker, and light fills the room again. Two backup generators, reads Jay’s description in the listing - an appeal to the prepper demographic, which trends higher in income than non-preppers. For a moment, the only things either are conscious of are the harsh flourescent lighting and the ringing in their ears. Time slows, everything seems muted and too bright. Robert rubs the side of his face, pulls back his hand and sees blood.

“Christ,” he chokes out. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” Jay breathes, looking at his hands, trying to determine if he’s got a concussion. The results are inconclusive – everything’s slow and fuzzy, but after a moment, he thinks it might just be shock.

“It sounded like a fucking 747 just nosedived on top of us.” 

“Yeah, Jesus.” Jay’s still staring at his fingers in a daze. “You okay?”

“I think so,” Robert grumbles. Jay gives him a cursory examination.

“Nothing that needs stitches,” he reports bluntly. Robert’s relieved. His face sells a lot of houses to a lot of lonely women and a few lonely men. There’s a muffled whine, which the two men soon recognize as a throng of sirens. Both of them try to calm the panic rising in their chests, to no avail.

“Whatever the fuck happened,” Jay says, trying to make light of the situation, “At least we’re in here. The bunker.”

Fear forms in the whites of Robert’s eyes.

“What if we’re stuck in here,” he whispers, afraid to speak such a thing into the world. The fear spreads to his companion.

“Try the elevator,” Jay urges, and Robert gets up, wobbles a little as his head sorts itself out, and leaves. A moment later, Jay hears him swear a blue streak, and from the kitchen window, sees him standing before the closed metal doors, staring at his feet. His pulse racing, Renault jogs out to see for himself.

“It’s dead,” Robert murmurs. 

“Whatever happened,” Jay says cautiously, rubbing the back of his still-sore neck, “It must have been pretty bad. Like, I don’t think we should go up yet. Besides, surely the office knows we’re still down here.”

“Right, right,” the younger man breathes, trying to reassure himself.

“Let’s just wait it out. I’m sure everything’s fine.” The way Jay says it does not make Robert feel any better. 

“Okay,” the younger man grumbles. “I’m getting a fucking drink, though.”

“Yeah, Jesus. That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.” Renault shoves his hands in his suit pocket to keep them from trembling.  

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[bullworthdrabbles]

Women in Bullworth: Zoe Taylor

TW: discussions of sexual abuse, trauma, CSA, Mr. Burton's ped* bullshit, self-harm, and other not-great stuff.

This one is super long and full of hard stuff to talk about don't read if you are not in the right headspace.

Oh boy, this one is going to be one of the hardest to write for me because I love Zoe and I know so many who love her as well. Then, there’s also a lot of triggering content in her story that needs to be discussed but hits me very close to my chest. This will likely be very long and particularly scathing due to just how frustrating Zoe’s story (or lack thereof) is to me. As a victim of CSA, this particular post is going to be very hard for me to discuss and will take me a long time to fully articulate. I’m sorry for how long it has taken me to write this, but I needed many breaks and to rant to several friends in order not to type all of this in all caps and through various curses.

Before I really discuss the tropes and stereotypes like I usually do I need to discuss the fact that as I write this series I’m seeing the unfortunate pattern arise of Rockstar sloppily using sexual violence against women in their stories without doing their research, taking the time to consider the consequence that happening would have in someone’s life, and just what message they are sending with how they tackle these kinds of stories. Sexual abuse and teachers using their power to take advantage of teens and minors is an unfortunate reality that does happen in high schools. I can understand the idea of wanting to discuss this issue when your game is set in high school where these things can happen, but this type of story is horrific and to do it justice requires a sensitivity Rockstar simply didn’t deliver.

The bully wiki and the game itself states that Zoe was expelled from the school for reporting Mr. Burton's sexual harassment and based on the previous missions involving this disgusting man we know Zoe isn’t the only victim. Does he ever get held accountable? Does he face any sort of punishment despite Jimmy quite literally being a witness and having evidence thumbtacked to his wall of Mr. Burton's disgusting behavior that he made Jimmy also take part in? No, not really, he only gets “fired” at the end of the game, and by “fired” I mean you still see him walking around the school like nothing happened, still saying the same shit and having access to underage girls. If it was just the lack of accountability I could interpret this as Rockstar taking a very bleak but realistic look at the situation. I could maybe think they were trying to show the disgusting truth that victims are almost never believed even with a mountain of evidence stacked against the perpetrator. They could be showing that it takes so much traumatizing bullshit just to try to get justice only for nothing to happen.

However, they messed up this story almost comically which makes me think it was just a cheap way to get her out of the school because they clearly didn't think about how abuse and a violation of someone’s bodily autonomy would impact an actual victim. I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t simply flip a portapotty onto the person who harassed and violated my bodily autonomy. I'm not a generally violent person, but I do think about harming my abuser in incredibly violent ways because of how much bullshit he has put me through. Rockstar never has her dealing with the side-effects and real mental toll this kind of abuse does to a person unless it’s time to make it a funny mission. Turning real horrific trauma into nothing more than a motive for a prank. Then there’s the dialogue of her talking about liking older guys, which I want desperately to believe is Rockstar trying to insinuate that Zoe is coping with her trauma via hypersexuality. Hypersexuality is a common unhealthy coping mechanism for survivors of sexual trauma, they purposely seek out sexual encounters as a way of reclaiming power and bodily autonomy sexually. It can also be seen as self-harm behavior if the survivor is having lots of purposely unprotected sex. But Rockstar clearly didn’t do enough research into sexual trauma responses, much less the basic realities of surviving sexual trauma, so I highly doubt that they even considered this when writing these lines.

Unfortunately, Rockstar was just trying to make her a “not like other girls” stereotype, I bet you thought I wasn’t going to bring it up but sadly I am. Zoe is one of the better-written female characters, but that isn’t really saying much when all the other girls are just cardboard cheap conflict and plot devices. We actually know a lot more about her background than we do the other girls, does it really change that she doesn’t serve much of a plot-significant role? Nope. Does this change the fact that Rockstar once again used sexual trauma as a cheap mission fodder? Nope? Is she allowed to be more than just a health pack, quest giver, and reward? If you think her being the “girl the protagonist gets with at the end” counts maybe, but to me, nope.

This was hard for me to say as it was a hard pill for me to swallow, but literally, all of her traits that separate her from the other girls are just so they could make her a “Tom-boy” and “not like other girls” stereotype. They don’t make her a fully formed unique person where her past, experiences, and traumas actually impact who she is as a person. No, they needed a final love interest for their protagonist so they just took his character traits and story and made some similar dialogue as the dialogue for Gary ( we can all admit there was something going on before the betrayal between those two) then slapped it onto another ginger, now with boobs. The funny thing is she doesn’t even seem that interested with Jimmy until the very end, their whole relationship seems forced and rushed so Rockstar fucked even that up. They clearly had a lot of ideas they wanted to touch on but because of their own unwillingness to take the time to flesh her out instead, we got...well everything I said before.

I’ve said it a thousand times and I will say it again, a lot of these problems could have been avoided. Rockstar could have taken their female characters seriously, could have written them well if that was one of their focuses, but it wasn’t. I love this game and I love a lot of these characters but I feel that even if this game provided me years' worth of comfort and entertainment, it should still be called out for its issues and how it mishandles very serious and sensitive issues. I hope this series and my thoughts on these characters made you think about your own writing and works you see making similar mistakes. I can tell that none of these errors came from a place of malice, but deep ignorance and works that perpetuate said ignorance can send harmful messages to people. I hope by shedding light on this I may make you re-examine the messages you see surrounding female characters in media and their stereotypes. Thank you for reading my incredibly long rants.

[maxwell-grant]

Your Top Five Pulp Heroes that you wish were better known? By Pulp Hero fans, I mean. Since pretty much all of them except Conan and Tarzan are fairly unknown.

It’s actually quite hard for me to narrow it down to just five, because I’m having to choose between characters that are my favorites that I wish were more well-known and appreciated (which is all of them), and characters that aren’t quite my favorites but I very much think should have achieved great popularity for a myriad of reasons. So instead I’m going to pick some of each. These are not necessarily ranked by their importance or my personal taste, just 5 characters I felt like highlighting in particular. 

Honorable mentions goes to characters I already talked about prior and don’t want to repeat myself on. These aren’t “lesser” picks, just ones that I already talked about: Imaro (who in particular definitely feels like he could, and should be, a pop culture superstar if he was only more well-known), Kapitan Mors (who’s got a lot in common with one of my favorite fictional characters, Captain Nemo, but also has a lot of interesting things going on for him as his own character). Sar Dubnotal (a character that appeals a lot to me and I think should be included much more often in pulp hero team-ups). The Golden Amazon (again, definitely a character that feels like it’s just begging to have a pop culture breakout, even comic books rarely if ever have female supervillains this ruthless and over-the-top), The Mexican Fantomas (who absolutely deserves a better name than what I’m calling him here, because he’s incredibly awesome and leagues ahead of just being a knock-off). And of course my homeboy, The Grey Claw, whom I would consider Number One of the list if it wasn’t for the fact that his obscurity has left him untouched by copyright and I got plans of my own for the character that wouldn’t be possible if he was more well-known, so I guess I’m ultimately glad he’s obscure (even if I’m still bothered by how little he’s known). 

Allright let’s go:

Number 5: Sheridan Doome

Sheridan Doome appeared in fifty-four stories and three novels from 1935 to 1943. As chief detective for U.S. Naval Intelligence, Lieutenant Commander Sheridan Doome’s job was a grim one. Whenever an extraordinary mystery or crime occurred in the fleet, on a naval base, or anywhere the navy worked to protect American interests, Doome was immediately dispatched to investigate it. Fear and dread would always precede Doome’s arrival in his special black airplane. For, in an explosion during WWI, he had been monstrously disfigured. 

He was six feet two inches tall; had a chalk-white face and head. It appeared as though it had once been seared or burned. For eyes, he had only black blotches; glittering optics, that looked like small chunks of coal. His nose was long, the end of it squared off rudely. He had no lips, just a slit that was his mouth. His neck was long, as white and as bony as his face…. Sheridan Doome looked more like a robot than a human being. He was tall and ghastly; his uniform fitted him in a loose manner. Long arms hung at his sides; his face was a perfect blank. He had no control of his facial muscles; consequently, his countenance was always without expression, chalky and bony.

But behind the ugliness was a brilliant mind. Sheridan Doome always got his man. Before Sheridan Doome became a staple in the pages of The Shadow magazine, two Doome hardcover mysteries were written in the mid-1930’s by acclaimed hard-boiled author Steve Fisher (I Wake Up Screaming) and edited by his wife Edythe Seims (Dime Detective, G-8 and His Battle Aces). Age of Aces now brings you both books in one huge double novel, presented in a retro “flip book” style. This book is currently Out of Print.

I sadly don’t have any more information on the character other than this. The book is unavailable for me to acquire in any capacity, and the text above is taken from the Age of Aces website as well as Jess Nevins’s personal profile for the character. I’m not even sure if any of those 54 stories even exist anymore, since although he was published as a backup in Shadow Magazine, there doesn’t seem to be reprints of them anywhere, at least as far as I can find, and the original Shadow magazines have largely turned to dust by now. 

A character who combines aspects of The Phantom of the Opera and The Shadow, whose adventures are set in a backdrop that can easily lead to ocean adventures? That’s like, what, three of my favorite things in the world combined. I really, really wish I could at least read the stories this character stars in, but as is, this description is all I can provide. Again, time really has been cruel to the pulp heroes. 

Number 4: Harlan Dyce

This is another character I’ve only been able to learn about through Jess Nevins’s archives and have not been able to attain any further information on, which is sadly the case with a lot of pulp heroes that nowadays only seem to exist as footnotes in his Encyclopedia or records in libraries. I don’t post more about these characters because I really would just be copying the stuff he wrote without much to justify me quoting him verbatim, and I hate the idea of doing that.

I especially hate that in Harlan Dyce’s case though. Here’s his description

“Dyce had brains, taste, money, ambition, and a total lack of physical or spiritual fear. But—

“Dyce was thirty-three inches tall and weighed sixty pounds.

“That was all the world could ever hold against him. That was what had made the world, most of it, in all the countries of the world, stare at Harlan Dyce, billed in the big show as “General Midge.””

Harlan Dyce is a misanthropic and venomous private detective. He has an “amazingly handsome face,” and the aforementioned brains. But all anyone sees is his stature, and he hates that and turns his cold eyes and acid tongue on them. 

The only person Dyce likes and gets along with (besides his dwarf wife, a former client) is his assistant, Nick Melchem, a six-foot tall former p.i.’s assistant with bleak eyes and a strong body. Melchem ignores Dyce’s stature and treats Dyce normally, which Dyce responds warmly to.

Dwarfs may be the single most maligned group of people depicted in pulp magazines, even more so than the Japanese in the war years or the Chinese during the peak of the Yellow Peril’s popularity. Evil dwarfs, murderous dwarfs, sexually depraved dwarfs, they are all loathsome, ugly cliches that are, sadly, the only instances you see of dwarf characters being represented at all, with the only ones who are awarded any measure of sympathy are doomed henchmen or tragic villains.  Even outside of the pulps, the only other examples of heroic, protagonist dwarfs I can think off the top of my head are Puck from Marvel Comics and Tyrion Lannister from Game of Thrones.

I’m not gonna say Harlan Dyce is great representation because I’m not a little person and can never make that kind of claim for a group I’m not a part of, but Harlan Dyce may be the first time I’ve ever seen a dwarf character in pulp fiction who was not a villain or a murderous goon or a victim, but an actual person and a heroic protagonist, and that definitely counts for something. I’m not sure how popular this character was or could be if someone picked up the concept and ran with it (and I’m pretty sure he’s public domain), but I definitely think this is a character that should exist and should be popular. 

Hell, this character has Peter Dinklage written all over it, give it to him. Maybe then he will get to play a smart, fearless, cynical, misanthropic but good-natured and heroic character in something where he actually gets to keep these traits until the show ends.

Number 3: Audaz, O Demolidor

Audaz is a Brazilian character who was created and published by Gazetinha, the same publishers of Grey Claw as well as properties exported from elsewhere like Superman and Popeye, and much like The Grey Claw, he is also completely unknown even here. I’ll get to Audaz more in-depth sometime but here I’m going to provide a quick summary: 

Audaz, The Demolisher is a gigantic crime-fighting robot controlled and piloted by the brilliant scientist Dr. Blum, his close friend Gregor and the child prodigy Jacques Ennes, who pilot the giant robot from a massive laboratory inside it's head rather than a cockpit. He takes on a variety of ordinary human criminals, mad scientists, supervillains and invading armies, towering over skyscrapers and grappling with jets.

Audaz was created in 1939 by illustrator Messias de Melo, a year before Quality Comics's Bozo the Iron Man and 5 years before Ryuichi Yokoyama's Kagaku Senshi, and decades before the debut of Mazinger Z. Although he is not the first giant robot of science fiction, he is the first heroic giant robot piloted by human pilots, and thus the first true example of "mecha" fiction.

Number 2: Emilia the Ragdoll

This is another Brazilian character, although nowhere near as obscure as Audaz as even a cursory Google search can show. Although Brazil did not have a “pulp era” in the same way the US had, we’ve long gotten past the point of sticking to it as a definitive rule, and I’m including Emilia as a pulp hero because she’s a 1920s fantasy literature character who was created under a publishing company that released pulp stories, because she doesn’t quite belong in the mold of fantasy literature characters she takes after, and because I like her and if I was putting a bunch of pulp heroes together in the same story, I would definitely include Emilia in it. It’s not like she really has anywhere else to go, now that she’s public domain and she’s outlasted her franchise.

As you can tell by the above image, Emilia’s had a lot of variations over the years and that’s because the work she was created for, Sítio do Picapau Amarelo (Yellow Woodpecker Ranch/Farm), has become a major bedrock of Brazilian fantasy literature, one of the only works created here that you can find substantial information about in English if you go looking for it. Here’s some descriptions of Emilia’s character:

Emília is a rag doll described as "clumsy" or "ugly", resembling a "witch" that was handmade by Aunt Nastácia, the ranch's cook, for the little girl Lúcia, out of an old skirt. After Lucia takes her on an adventure and the doll is given a dose of magic pills, Emília suddenly started talking, and would never stop henceforth.

Emilia has a rough, antagonistic personality, and an independent, free-spirited and anarchist behaviour. She is rogue, rebellious, stubborn, rough and intensely determined at anything she sets her mind on, eager to take off on just about any adventure. She is often immature and behaves like a curious and arrogant child, always wanting to be the center of attention.

She is extremely opinionated even when she constantly and confidently mispronounces words and expressions. Her attitude often gets her into trouble, and she very often has to fight against the villains who attack her home on the Yellow Woodpecker Farm and mistreat her friends.

In the stories, Emilia often takes the role of a heroine who travels through different realms and dimensions, as the books include not only figures from Brazilian and worldwide folklore, but also several characters both real and fictional, such as Hercules, King Arthur, Don Quixote, Thumbelina, Da Vinci, Shirley Temple, Captain Hook, Santos Dumont and Baron von Munchausen.

She's fought scorpions and martians and nymph hordes, her arch-enemy is an alligator witch, she rescued an angel from the Milky Way and tried to teach it how to become a human, and once shrunk the entire population of Earth to try and talk the president of the United States into ending war forever.

To little surprise, she has become the most popular character and the series’s mascot.

It’s a little strange to consider Emilia underrated considering she is one of the most famous original characters of Brazilian literature, but hardly anyone outside of Brazil even knows who she is, and regardless of the quality of the original stories (and Monteiro Lobato’s views on race that tar much of his reputation), Emilia definitely feels to me like a character that should be a lot more popular globally. 

She is the only character from Yellow Woodpecker Ranch that has transcended the original stories, since she was always the most popular character and there’s been a couple of stories written about her that usually separate her from the ranch and just set her out on the world by herself. The latest story about this character has been a series called The Return of Emilia, that’s about her stepping out of the books in 2050 and discovering a Brazil that’s been ruined by social and ecological devastation, and traveling back in time via a flying scooter in order to try and prevent this calamity. 

Now that she’s public domain, I definitely think there’s some great stories that can be told with the character that just about anyone could get to, and I definitely think she’s a character that deserves more appreciation. Anything goes in stories starring her and it’s that kind of free-for-all freedom that I think can benefit future takes on pulp heroes. I would be very happy to place Emilia among them.

Oh yeah, and there was one time she kicked Popeye's ass by tricking him with a can of mouldy cabbage instead of spinach, making him sick and then beating him, which possibly puts her as one of the all-time badasses of fiction, except she would be pissed at not being number one and likely embark on a quest to beat everyone else just to prove she could, because that’s how Emilia rolls.

Number 1: Luna Bartendale, from The Undying Monster (1922)

Not necessarily my favorite of the bunch, but one who sort of epitomizes what you asked, a character who is both incredibly obscure and incredibly underrated in every sense. Despite the book being somewhat known, mainly thanks to the movie, the character is so obscure that I don’t even have an illustration of her to display here, not even fan art, just one of the book’s covers that I think best conveys it. Luckily, the book is also available freely online, so you can all go check it out here. The movie adaptation does not feature the character of Luna Bartendale which makes it pointless to talk about.

To not spoil it too much, The Undying Monster is a very fascinating book, ahead of it’s time in quite a few ways. You expect it to just be a detective story centered around a werewolf cursed, except the subtitle of the book is “The Fifth Dimension” and then it goes to talk about dimensions of thought and post-WWI trauma and love and hypnotic regression that travels through time and ancient runes and Norse mythology. It’s not exactly an easy book to get through in one setting, but I’d recommend it much the same if only because it’s got supersensitive psychic sleuth Luna Bartendale, literature’s first female occult detective, and she’s an incredible character who absolutely feels like she should have become a literary icon. 

She lives in London but is world-renowned for her many good deeds. She is a small, pretty woman, with curly blonde hair, dark eyebrows and a high-bridged nose, and a slight build. She has a voice described as a light soprano that "does not make much noise but carries a long way". 

Petite, bedimpled and golden curled, Luna is completely in charge of events, dominating every scene that she appears in with her welcoming disposition and cleverness. 

Bartendale has various psychic powers, including mind reading. She is well-versed in psychic and occult lore, is a “supersensitive” psychic, and has a “Sixth Sense” which allows her to trace things and people through both the Fourth and the Fifth Dimension. (The Fifth Dimension is “the Dimension that surrounds and pervades the Fourth–known as the Supernatural”).

Her extensive knowledge of occult rites and practices puts John Silence, Carnacki and Miles Pennoyer to shame, and she beats them all with her "super-sensitive" gift of being able to psychically connect with troubled souls and hypnotize them.

She uses a divining rod for various tasks, including psychic detection and tracking, and distinguishing between benevolent and malevolent forces. She has various (undefined) powerful psychic defenses, can carry on seances, and can even cure a person of “wehrwolfism.” And she can always rely on her massive, intelligent dog Roska for help.

Luna sadly doesn’t show up in the book as often as I’d hoped, but everything about this character is so delightful. In a lot od ways she hardly feels like a pulp hero, at least the ones I usually talk about. She feels like a lost protagonist from an incredibly successful kid’s adventure series where a kind and eccentric detective witch and her giant dog go around solving occult mysteries and encountering all sorts of weird supernatural beings while counseling and helping people, like Ms Frizzle meets Hilda. Like this character is just waiting for Cartoon Saloon to make a film about her.

Its not so much “this character should/could be popular but it’s clear why that didn’t pan out”, it’s more me being confused as “why the hell isn’t she super popular? This character should have had a franchise ages ago, holy shit put her in everything””

[thegeminisage]

Wait hold up… would you be willing to deposit some of the tlou 2 shit talking onto the blog? Apologies if you’ve already posted about this before and I just missed it

this will inevitably show up in the tlou2 tag where i do not want it to so strangers please know i do NNNOT want to debate about it with tlou2 defenders i am simply answering an ask if you try to argue with me or engage me on my post i'm just gonna block you and delete your reply if you send me an ask that gets deleted too. don't waste your time or mine thank you <3

ok i have posts here here and here that i made as i went thru the game but to add to those (cut for length + spoilers + discussion of upsetting content - racism, violence, etc):

i think the bait and switch they were going for (that initially you side with ellie and feels what she does is justified and halfway through the game you flip and side with abby and begin to see ellie as a monster) was DOOMED to fail because of three reasons: primarily, that people love joel and ellie so much that some of them were never going to side with abby; secondly, that abby took a long time to grow on most of the audience because most of the empathy for her comes from her scenes with lev and the rest of her group is kind of flat and boring; thirdly, because based on Values different people are going to have very different reactions to ellie torturing and executing a black woman and getting lovingly comforted afterwards by her brown girlfriend in a game and i cannot stress this enough that was released on juneteenth - and i don't even think they released it on juneteenth on purpose, i think that happened to be the friday before father's day and that they weren't thinking about black people or black issues at all, which is pretty par for the course as far as these games go

i think druckmann thought people would kind of eagerly execute nora the first go round because they hated her for her part in joel's death and then later realize that was monstrous and ellie is a monster and Oh God I Executed Her Too I'm Complicit! but like because of the protests happening around that time it just comes off as...extremely tone deaf. and the game literally doesn't give you a choice, other than to turn it off and quit. to get to the end of this thing you paid $60 for you have to do it. so like ??? who's the one who's complicit here? i didn't write that game, druckmann did

I also think the game could have had ellie learn the lesson it was trying to teach maybe ten hours sooner??? like, she let abby go in the end, but the ending of her coming home to nothing would have almost been more powerful if she had killed her. like congratulations you shithead you got what you wanted how does it feel! i think maybe they didn't have ellie kill abby because they didn't want her to be completely irredeemable but the way it's written invariably huge swathes of the audience will have already found her to be a monster a third of the way thru the game or will never decide she's a monster no matter what. they could have had that same fight in seattle on day 3 but instead we have to have abby and lev kept as slaves first and then beaten and starved and literally left for the crows to eat. if the game had ended with the shocking horror of that leading to either ellie either killing abby (partially out of mercy) or saving her and letting her go i could have dealt with it - it might have been especially effective if that was your only real choice in the game - but it just would not stop and would not end. and like lol of course we're gonna include slavery in this game and release it on again juneteenth like...buddy...

i could have even dealt with like, abby meets up with lev and they attempt to rescue abby from the slavers together but they find her like that and lev begs for her life, putting abby in the position that joel was in at the beginning of the game, and putting ellie in the position that abby was, and lev in the position that ellie was. like and THEN she chooses to do it different, you know?

but instead it's 75% misery porn, it's not very well paced, and almost all of the character interactions fall flat, and the ones that DON'T we don't see nearly enough of. tlou1 was one of the best games ever written, it was perfectly paced, and even for all the bleak misery and hopelessness the setting offered there was always something to fight for and some joy in the characters being there together. tlou2 was almost completely joyless, and it just feels like druckmann got all that money and manpower to work through something* he could have done with an essay or some therapy sessions or whatever

* reportedly this game was partially inspired by druckmann's reaction to a lynching and the extremely normal justifiable and appropriate reaction he had to it, which was that he wanted to hurt the people doing the lynching. instead of being like "yeah lynching is bad fuck those guys i hope they die" he became uncomfortable with that feeling of wishing violence on someone and made tlou2 to tell us about why wishing violence on people is bad, even if they appear to be bad people. which like. ok. you took all those years to waste all that goodwill and untold manpower and money with one of the worst and most miserable development periods to tell us that? really??

anyway, it was always going to be a polarizing experience because he chose to kill joel and the audience's feelings on joel were polarized by the end of tlou1 but from what i can tell "polarizing" here means half the people who hate it hate it for one reason and half the people who hate it hate it for the other reason - and unfortunately not as many folks fall in the middle, but somehow it still won awards? god ok i'm done now i'm literally never talking about tlou on this blog again if anybody else asks i can link them to this post

[grumpyhedgehogs]

those who are left behind (share the grief between them)

Summary: Cody goes to find Rex. Ahsoka finds him first. AO3. Part 2 of “scraps” series. Part 1. Part 3, Part 4, Part 5.

Warnings: Grief/mourning, canon-typical violence.

Cody tries to find Rex.

It’s the only thing he can think of after he manages to get off the Death Star--a feat in and of itself, as he knew it would be. He’d had a couple close calls; he knows he was on the list to be transferred to a teaching job for new initiates, and clones as a whole were kept under close watch. Too many of the vode had killed themselves or disappeared or went berserk and killed their commanding officers. (Cody thinks about those brothers now and wonders how crazy they really were.) He’s not sure if he was under closer observation than most post-Order 66, due to his place at Kenobi's side for years; those memories are hazy, and upsetting besides. Obviously Vader didn’t think he’d be more of a problem than anyone else now, because even with the close watch Cody’d been able to slip security and hitch a ride on a stolen emergency shuttle with little fanfare. The fiasco with the droids weeks earlier taught everyone exactly how much the Empire let slip between the cracks.

The lightsaber was tempting. It still is. But Vader keeps it in his secure chamber, hoarding it like a Krayt dragon. Cody didn’t even try.

So he gets away and goes to find Rex. Rex, who had told him about the chips. Rex, who Cody had dismissed. Rex, who was made commander and promptly had everything else taken from him with Order 66. Rex, who Cody had seen hide nor hair of during his tenure as CC-2224. Cody tries to find Rex.

Ahsoka finds him first.

He's on some backwater planet, somewhere bleak and angry looking; drab grey roads and trees with no foliage against a blood-red sky. The people here live in hovels and call themselves lucky. Cody closes his eyes as he leaves the tiny fishing market on the edge of the docks. The smell clogs his nose and makes him want to retch, but for a moment he can almost feel the weight of Obi-Wan’s hand on his shoulder. He can picture the exact curl of Obi-Wan’s mouth, the twitch of an eyebrow as he tells Cody to find the beauty in the small things. The people here are born with silver scales lining their cheekbones, their fingers webbed with thin, iridescent skin that catches the light just right and turns to millions of colors. There are children who actually play in the street here. There are no stormtroopers raiding the stalls. Happiness comes in small packages, Obi-Wan would say. Cody exhales the smell of dead fish and wraps the robe tighter around himself.

It was probably too big on Obi-Wan by the end; it fits comfortably around his shoulders, and although Obi-Wan was a little taller, he certainly wasn't wider than Cody even on the best day. He’d slimmed down during the war too; they’d had few rations going around in the hard times--it was always a task getting the general to eat when his men were going hungry. Cody nearly put him on an IV a couple times.

The robe covers what’s left of his stark white stormtrooper armor well enough. He’d stripped the leg armor off immediately, stole some fatigues from a clothesline when he’d landed on the first planet he could find and slipped those over his blacks. He’s been planet hopping for a while, chasing rumors of rebels and crossing imperial battlegrounds. They’re burial sites now. Cody doesn’t know enough about the Force to do more than read the fallen their last rights and ask them to be well as they pass on. Every place is the same; empty, except for bones. The Mando’a prayers spill from his lips easily but his voice is rusty and Cody usually settles for a silent vigil instead. There are so many dead.

After the first graveyard, Cody stripped off as much of the white paint from his vambraces as he could. It’s a shoddy job, but it’s the best he can do. Paint is a luxury he can’t afford. Cody doesn’t have a credit to his name.

He bows his head to the small woman who pushes a package filled with row after row of tiny fish into his hands and chatters at him in an unknown language. Places like this, even as untouched by the Empire as they seem, know hardship. The people here are kind. Obi-Wan would be proud to have met them. Cody tries to be proud too, but his chest is so hollow now. The robe flutters and whips against his knees as he walks away.

He’s outside town limits, thinking about a campfire and shelter, when he hears it. There’s the scrape of a boot on rock somewhere above him in the hills that line the dirt road. He should have gotten off the path into the treeline when he’d had the chance. The hood is good cover from the light rain but it gives too much of the movement of his head away; by the time Cody whirls around, there is no one behind him. He scans the trees anyway and counts how many bolts he has in his blaster. He’d taken out those troopers on Florrum weeks ago. A couple of hunting trips when he couldn’t beg or work for any food in townships. He’ll have to make the shots count.

But before he can do more than pull the blaster from his sleeve, they're upon him. There’s a sound of ignition, one that has Cody thrown years into the past, and then a flash of white. A figure in dark clothes bears down on him with a white lightsaber, and Cody doesn’t mean to react how he does, he really doesn’t, it’s not red but—

But he’s spent years as a slave to a lightsaber wielder dressed all in black and he can’t do that again, not after watching Obi-Wan fall. He can't go back to the Death Star. Cody pulls his blaster and fires a shot, dodging to the left and then feigning a stumble, hoping to get around to the attacker's other side. The other fighter, also cloaked and hooded against the rain, is spry and wiry--perhaps female--and obviously trained. One of those Knights of the Empire they were talking about training? They dodge another bolt as Cody curses and then a second ‘saber lights up and--the handles are the wrong way around.

They’re holding their lightsabers wrong. Cody nearly does trip this time, only just scrambling back from a slice that surely would have taken his head off. As he does, the figure speaks.

“Where did you get that robe?” They hiss, and prepare to strike again.

“ Ahsoka?”

“Wh-- Cody? ”

“Oh, Force,” Cody says, feeling like he did when Longshot knocked all the air out of him during a sparring session. He pushes his hood down hurriedly. Rain splashes down his forehead, rolls off the end of his nose, fills his mouth. “It is you. You’re alive!”

He’d been so afraid of being alone.

Ahsoka, older and leaner and sadder than he’s ever seen her, lowers her own hood. One ‘saber stays in her hand. Good. “Cody. You’re...you.”

“I remembered,” Cody chokes out. It’s hard not to vomit when he thinks about it for too long. “Who I was, before the Order. I remembered.”

Ahsoka’s eyes are sharp. Her mouth is a thin line. “Good men lost their lives that day. Dead men walked among us for years afterward. I--I’m sorry for your loss, Cody. It has been a long time.”

“I’m sorry too,” Cody says. It tastes like ash in his mouth, like the pyre he should’ve given Obi-Wan and never got the chance to. “The vode weren’t the only people lost that day.”

She softens, if only just. The lightsaber is hooked onto her belt under her own robe. “It really is you. Come then, I have a fire.”

They settle around her campsite, small and remote, on a perfect vantage point, before she speaks again. Cody is waiting for her when she does. He unwraps the fish, ignoring the mud splashed onto the scales from their impromptu fight, and lays them out on a flat rock in the fire. They are too small to debone individually; they’ll have better luck eating around the skeletons and hoping for the best. (“If you kill my grandpadawan via choking on a fish bone I will never forgive you,” jokes the Obi-Wan in his head and Cody suppresses a snort.)

“The robe.” Ahsoka murmurs. Her lekku twitch, in apprehension or agitation Cody isn’t sure. The pit in his gut, always there, yawns wider. She’s Obi-Wan’s family. Next of kin. He by all rights should give it to her, but… “It has Obi-Wan’s Force signature infused in it, but I recognized that yours was different. I thought…”

“I’d taken it off his body.” Cody finishes for her. Ahsoka nods, grim. He nods too and flips the fish. “You’re almost right. He didn’t leave behind a body, just his lightsaber and the robe. Vader killed him; it’s what woke me up. Chip’s stopped working, I guess. Too old.”

“I felt him when he went.” Ahsoka’s eyes are far away when Cody snatches a glance at her. She sits, back ramrod straight, unyielding, steely. He thinks Obi-Wan would have been like this in the end; untouchable, almost. He was statuesque, carved from marble, right up until the moment he died. “His light went out; that day the Force got much darker.”

“Wasn’t sure it could get darker.”

“Obi-Wan spoke once to me,” Ahsoka tells him after a long silence. She takes the food offered and nods her thanks. Cody’s heart is dead, has been since he left the Death Star, but he curls his fingers into the robe’s edges and listens anyway. He never stops hurting these days. “Through the Force, I mean. It was right after--right after. Just a fleeting thing, a feeling. He wanted to make sure I was safe, that I knew he--”

Cody doesn’t move when her words cut off. He knows. She knows.

It is like stripping off his own skin with a dull blade when Cody shrugs out of the robe and offers it up. “Here.” His voice is hoarse, tortured, not his own. “I just--you’re his family, but I can’t... please.”

Ahsoka is beautiful even when she cries. The robe looks worn, dingy in her hands, but she holds it close, like a child. She has to work hard to get the next sentence out. “You loved him.”

Cody nods. His face is wet too. “Still,” he whispers, almost inaudibly over the fire. “Still.”

“It’s yours,” Ahsoka promises. “Let me meditate with it, just once, and then--it’s yours. It’s yours.”

Ahsoka goes still; her shoulders stop hitching after a while, her cheeks dry, her breathing evens. Cody does not sleep, but he does drift. He knows she will not mind the salt water on his own face when she wakes. Obi-Wan would tell him to release his grief, perhaps that Obi-Wan is not worth it; Cody holds on almost greedily, bottles up the pain and sorrow and regret and keeps it with him, cold as ice in his chest.

He knows she comes back by the small cry that slips past her lips; she jerks in place, nearly toppling from her meditation pose. Ahsoka straightens again and clenches her hands in the robe, head bowed. “Alright?” Softly, softly. He knew her when she was just a child.

“Meditation is rougher than it used to be,” Ahsoka admits, and, reluctant, passes the fabric over in a bundle. “Thank you.”

“I miss him too.”

“What are you doing out here?”

Cody smiles without real feeling. “Following you. Or the Rebellion in general, I guess. Thought maybe I could find Rex that way.”

Ahsoka raises her eyebrows. “The Rebellion hasn’t been here for months; I’m just here checking up to make sure refugees we helped are still doing alright.”

“You guys got a head start on me.”

Her laughter is quiet, like Obi-Wan’s used to be. Cody looks away, twists his hands in the robe.

Wait.

He knows Obi-Wan won’t mind. He lost so many during the war anyway, went through them like tissue paper. It was a game among the 212th, who could find them on the battlefield first.

Cody looks up, eyes Ahsoka shrewdly. She’s taller, more muscular than she used to be. He’s no seamstress. “Scarf or sash?”

Ahsoka blinks at him. He presses his lips together and nods. “Sash. Won’t get in the way.”

The sleeve comes apart at the seams easily enough. Cody ignores her protest, and tears the other sleeve away too before pocketing one--someone else will want it, someone else who can hold vigil with Cody and Ahsoka both. Then he tears open the remaining sleeve and flattens it, before holding it out to her. “Through the belt loops,” he advises, blandly, like the tears on both their faces don’t exist. Her eyes are the size of dinner plates in her head. “Won’t get in the way when you pull your weapon.”

Ahsoka’s lips tremble when she takes the scrap of fabric. Cody doesn’t watch her loop it through her belt, taking the time to wrap the rest of the robe around his shoulders in a makeshift poncho; the hood hangs down his back still, and the ends of the robe are still long enough to cover most of his breastplate, some of the only trooper armor he has kept. There is a scratch on the shoulder from when an overconfident Jawa took a shot at him on Florrum.

Ahsoka gasps when he looks up. She gestures at his chest. “You…”

Cody splays his hand where she indicates, over the insignia he painstakingly etched into the armor covering his heart. The lightsaber was tricky to overlay on the 212th logo. It took him hours. He has a lot more time on his hands now that he’s not being controlled by the chip, though; it was worth it.

“Yes,” Cody answers. “I--I don’t want to forget again. Never again.”

Ahsoka reaches out and takes his hand over the fire that gutters low in their makeshift hearth. A thousand lives lie between them, and a thousand deaths. Her hand holds his so carefully. Cody squeezes back and feels Obi-Wan smile. “Never again,” Ahsoka vows.

[forever-rogue]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do these prompts from your post "STAR WARS PROMPTS (take your time! No rush whatsoever!). I chose #18, 45, and 64 and for Dyn, please!

18. “We are stranded here together, so we may as well work together to get off this rock alive.” & 45. “If you don’t let her go right now, I swear I will break every bone in your body.” & 64. “Tell me why I should stay. “Because I need you...I...I’m not good with this sort of stuff.”

Some hints of... risque talk, but that’s about it. Enjoy!

Mandalorian Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

“This is just fantastic. Bloody fantastic,” you sighed as ran a dirty hand through your hair, leaving a bit of grease on your forehead. The brooding Mandalorian next to you made a noncommittal sound as he reached over and tried to wipe the spot off, but you just swatted his hand away. That really was the least of your concerns at this moment. The much larger concern was the fact that the Razor Crest was no longer starting and you appeared to be stranded in the middle of nowhere, “I told you this was a bad idea. I told you, but no, we just had to come here and chase this lead.”

“Is this really the time, Y/N?” he sighed as he threw back in exasperation, trying to bite back the sarcastic remarks that were dancing on the tip of his tongue.

“Well it’s not like we really have anything else we can do right now, so yeah, it is the time,” you insisted, growing more annoyed and kicked the outer wall of the ship, immediately regretting it as pain shot up your leg.

“Fine,” he groaned, rolling his eyes under the helmet; he was glad you couldn’t see his face at moment because he knew it would have just spurred you on more. You had a fiery personality, something he both adored about you, but something that could frustrate him at the same time. With his stubborn streak, the two of you often butted heads, but usually it was nothing serious, “you were right and I was wrong. Are you happy?”

“Nope,” you said, placing emphasis on the p, “because we’re still stuck here with no plan. And nothing around. So I suggest you think of a plan and think fast.”

“Can you cool it for like five minutes, Y/N? You think I planned this all out-”

“Maybe this was your cheap ploy to try and get me,” you put your hands on your hips as you raised an eyebrow at him. You knew it wasn’t anywhere near the truth, but just wanted to take out your frustration somehow. Besides you both knew, even if you wouldn’t admit it, that he could have easily had you. He’d just never asked...so far, nerves and his surprisingly timid nature getting the better of him.

“Please,” he said as he scanned over your form, feeling hot under the collar as he tried to keep himself composed. You hadn’t totally just put the thought of him taking you then and there into his mind. Totally not at all, he tried to convince himself, “as if I actually needed to try.”

“Whatever,” you scoffed at him, trying away from him so he wouldn’t see your rapidly reddening cheeks. He had you, he totally knew it and you hated how it was for him to get you so flustered. You rubbed at your temple before poking at his beskar covered chest, “just fix this and get us out of here. There’s plenty of viable work we’re missing out on.”

“Would you just....look we’re stranded here together, so we may as well work together to get off this rock alive,” he tried a more gentle approach but the look on your face suggested that his idea wasn’t real received on your end.

“You got us into this mess, Din Djarin, you get us out of this mess,” you sighed as you pushed past him, holding up your binoculars to try and scope out the area, seeing if there’ anything nearby. Much to your chagrin there was nothing nearby, not even a single lonely hut, “you should have your pilots’ license revoked.”

“You don’t need a license for that,” he smarted back at you, causing you to roll your eyes and shove the binoculars into his chest. You decided that since he appeared not to care about what was going on, it was up to you to find some way. Typical, you thought to yourself, always cleaning up the messes, “where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” you shouted as ducked into the ship and grabbed your bag out of it. It had a few essentials that you figured might come in handy; and besides that your trusty blaster almost never left your side, “to find something to help, or anyone. Keep comms on and if I find anything I’ll let you know. Try and sort out this flying hunk of junk in the meantime.”

“She’s not junk!”

“Tell that to the ship that’s falling apart,” you spat at him, giving him the bird as you headed off in the only direction that looked promising. How it looked promising, you weren’t sure, but you figured it was something.

“Wait,” he quickly made his way over to you, effortlessly closing the distance with his long legs, “just stay here. Don’t go.”

“Tell me why I should stay,” you crossed you arms over you chest and waited for him to give you some sort of viable answer. In reality, you knew you were being much more dramatic than you needed to be, but you didn’t care in the moment. He almost never listened to you, and this time you were both paying for it. Maybe this would teach him a much needed lesson.

“Because I need you...I...I’m not good with this sort of stuff,” he said, adopting a more gentle tone; you knew that tone, he usually reserved it for when he wanted something from you, or needed you to fix some type of situation. If you were being honest, it got under your skin, but only in the best ways, and you found yourself wondering what that tone sounded like whispering other things in your ear. You snapped yourself out of your little daydream fantasy and back in the bleak reality of your current situation.

“With what kind of stuff?” you sighed at him, holding your hands up in anticipation of his response, “please enlighten me.”

“I...with...with things,” he said lamely, shrugged his shoulders. It was weak, but he was willing to try anything to get you to stay, “stay?”

“You’re an idiot,” you sighed at him, “I am leaving to try and find some sort of anything can help us. You stay here and see if you can fix the problem. Okay? Okay.”

You didn’t wait around for him to respond, instead turning on your heel and throwing your bag over your shoulder and stomping off. You could hear him calling your name, growing more and more annoyed until you could no longer hear him. Shaking your head as you got further and further away from the ship, praying to the Maker that you’d fine something out in the middle of the desolate desert.

»»————-　♡　————-««

After walking for what seemed like a small eternity, your heart completed a series of flips as you realized you had stumbled up on something that would ever help you, or perhaps be the death of you.

“Jawas,” you groaned to yourself, “of course it’s Jawas.”

You walked up to their travelling fortress, finding a group of them looking at a new haul of parts. They turned to you and started yelling as soon as they saw you, so you help up your hands above your head to show them that you meant them no harm. Of course, given the choice you would have punted each and every one of them off into the distance, but right now they were your best bet.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” you did as best as you could in your broken Jawaese. You understood the basics at least, picking up little bits here and there in your years of being a bounty hunter, “I may need some parts.”

They looked at you suspiciously but didn’t seem to be scared. One of them walked to the front and quickly asked, “what kind of parts?”

That’s how you ended up in their rolling home, trying your best to strike a deal with them. They were driving a hard bargain, but you tried your best to keep your temper in check, especially since you knew that they had exactly what you needed. They had demanded almost everything from you, and you were willing to trade it all except for -

“Not the blaster,”  you shook your head fervently, ready to chew them out when you heard Din over your comms system. You groaned as you held up a finger to signal that you needed a moment, “not now, you fool. I was just about to get us what we needed!”

“Where are you?” he sounded concerned, and he had right to be, you’d been gone for several hours and the sun was slowly starting to set, “answer me, Y/N.”

“I’m with the Jawas,” you said quickly, turning to the small creatures and giving them a smile, “these lovely friends have what we need and I’m about to acquire it so let me handle this.”

“Y/N-”

You shut off your comms device and turned back to your hosts, internally sighing as they looked between your blaster and you. You weren’t going to give it up, you just weren’t, and you were willing to wait and bargain until the banthas came home.

Din realized after several moments of silence on your end that either something was wrong or that you were ignoring him. He knew it was most likely the latter, but he wasn’t willing to take the chance. Not now, and most definitely not with you.

»»————-　♡　————-««

You weren’t sure how much time had passed since you’d first started negotiating with your Jawaese hosts, but you were getting tired and seemed to be getting nowhere. You were sure you could have offered them a sacrifice of any children you had one day, and they still wouldn’t budge. You just couldn’t give up your blaster, it had too much sentimental value...plus it had been gifted to you by your bullheaded Mandalorian partner. You just couldn’t part with it.

“Listen here you little-”

“If you don’t let her go right now, I swear I will break every bone in your body!” the door to the Jawa’s refuge was knocked down and in tumbled the Mandalorian, blasters raised and ready to shoot anything on sight. You looked at him and hung your head, ready to curse him out.

“I’m not being held hostage, you idiot!” you almost shouted at him as the Jawas started shouting and panicking at the two of you, “I had this under control!”

“You weren’t responding and I had to make sure you were alright!” he countered as he lowered his blasters, “are you really going to blame for making sure you were alright? You could have been dead!”

“Well I wasn’t,” you said as you stood up, trying to get away from the prying hands and shouts of the Jawas, “and you’ve messed up everything I’ve been working on for hours!”

“Well excuse me for caring!”

“Not excused,” you said as you pushed past him, closely followed the little screaming creatures. You pushed a few of them out of the way as you made your way back outside, the Mandalorian following closely behind you.

»»————-　♡　————-««

It was silent for a while as the two of you trekked back to the ship, side by side. You could tell he was eager to say something, unspoken words threatening to fall out of his mouth, you knew him well enough for that by now. You stopped suddenly and turned to him, “what? Out with it.”

“Nothing...”

“I know you better than that,” you narrowed your eyes at him, “now just say it.”

“Oh you think you just know-”

“Out with it!”

“Fine, you want to know? Fine,” he paused for a moment as he searched for the right words, “I’m sorry I ruined whatever you were doing, but I’m not sorry I did it because I’m glad to know you’re okay and not out dead somewhere in this maker forsaken desert.”

You were mildly taken aback by what he said, so much that you couldn’t help the smile that started stretching across your features. There he went again, doing that subtle but not subtle at all, flirting. Before saying anything you reached into your bag, digging around for a moment before pulling out a small silver item, “lucky for you, I managed to grab what we need while those weird creatures were busy freaking out at you.”

“You did it,” he said, as he took the part from your hand, examining it closely. He looked at you and let out a small laugh, shaking his head in amusement, “I guess I should have know better than to ever doubt you.”

“Uh yeah, duh,” you stuck your tongue out at him, “we’ve been partners for how long now? I know a thing or two, Mando. After all, I’m the one who’s always cleaning up your messes.”

“Well thank you,” he said gratefully as you grabbed the part back and put it in the safety of your bag, ���at least we’ll be able to get off this rock now.”

“Yes,” you agreed before deciding to tease him a little more, seeing how far you could manage to push him. If there was one thing you liked, it was pushing his buttons, you thoroughly enjoyed your little back and forth with Din, “you like me!”

“You’re my partner,” his voice went up about an octave as he tried to keep himself composed, “of course I care about you. I need to make you’re safe so we can continue working.”

“Ohhh, sure,” you said as you skipped away, giving him a wink, feeling more bold than you had imagined you would have been when it came to confessing your feelings for him, “that’s all. But I know better, I can see through that cool facade, you like me Din. Like me, like me.”

“What are we? Children?” was his only response, but it came out broken and ragged as he tried to play it cool, “besides, it’s not like you don’t feel the same.”

“You wish,” you almost stopped dead in your tracks as he called you out, “there is no way I would ever fancy a fool like you!”

“Is that why you think about me at night?” he didn’t know where it came from suddenly, but the words were flowing freely, coming out before he could fully think them through. Your heart dropped as you realized he knew; apparently you weren’t being subtle or quiet at all as you thought of him late at night in the privacy of your own bedroom, “I can hear you, you know.”

“I-I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you lied, trying to keep a level head, “just because you wish it were true, doesn’t mean it is.”

“Y/N...”

“Din...”

“You’re a horrible liar.”

“Well, you’re horrible at a lot of things,” you were getting trapped in a corner, but didn’t want to go down without a fight, “so there.”

“There’s one thing I’m not horrible at,” there was a lilt to voice that kept you intrigued and you wanted him to keep going, but a part of you was nervous as all hell. He took a step closer to you as he put a gloved hand under chin turned your face towards his, “and I bet you’d like to find out, wouldn’t you?”

“Din,” you raised your eyes to where you were sure his were, “don’t start what you can’t finish. That’s your biggest downfall.”

“I intend to finish this,” his voice was barely audible as he trailed a finger to the corner of your mouth, “if that’s what you want.”

“What I want,” you grabbed his wrist with your hand and pulled him off of you. You needed to keep a clear and focused mind, and right now that didn’t include getting distracted by your lust (and love) for him, “is to get out of this place. Now let’s go back and fix the ship so we can leave.”

“This isn’t finished,” he insisted as he followed after you, already knowing that this was going to be hard, in more ways than one. You just smirked at him and shrugged your shoulders innocently.

“Whatever you say,” you giggled as you started running from him, the ship in site on the horizon, “come and catch me then!”

“Maker,” Din picked up the pace as he started after you, “you’ll be the death of me, Y/N.”

[softboywriting]

Christmas Lights | Peter Mendes | Mendes Triplets AU

Summary: Taking a chance on Peter Mendes may be the best thing you do this Christmas. [fluff] [triplet au] [college au]

Word Count: 4k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Making friends on campus is hard when you don't know a single soul in the town you've moved to. St. Augusta college has the exact major program you've been looking to get into. You spent two years back home at your community college doing your prerequisites since it was far cheaper than doing four to six years at St. Augusta. The only downside to college in a small town is that everyone seems to know each other and they aren't really looking for new friends.

Christmas is approaching and you've been planning on going home for the holidays but you can't exactly leave your cat alone in your apartment for a few days. Bugs is not exactly one for traveling either, so a three hour car ride home would be absolute hell. You decide to stay, to wish your family Merry Christmas via video chat and open presents with them that way. Well. That's the plan anyway.  

Thursday, four days before Christmas, you win tickets to go see the light display at the park in town. It's a huge event and people come from all over to see it. You honestly didn't think you would win and you only entered because you figured it would be something fun to do other than sit around your apartment and watch Netflix.

When you pick up the tickets at the administration office you find out that it's a pair of them. Wonderful. You've got no one to go with. For a moment you wonder if you should just give them back, to have the secretary redraw the winner. Surely a couple would love these. You know if you were still with your ex boyfriend you'd love to. No. You'll find someone to go with.

So the hunt for a companion begins. You text the girl you talk to in your psychology class, having her number from a project you worked on together a few weeks ago. She's got plans. You text your friend Amie back home to see if she wants to drive up for the weekend and hang out. Nope. Her car is broken down. Just when things look bleak you remember the community board in the courtyard of your apartment complex. There were always postings on there for lost dogs, tutoring, and private classes of all sorts. Why not just see if someone wants to go with you?

You get back to your place and take a seat at the computer. Bugs jumps up on your lap and headbutts your stomach. "You wanna go with me Bugs?"

He meows.

"Yeah I didn't think so. I'd probably look like a freak walking my cat on a leash."

He purrs, flopping over on his side and covering your legs.

You open up a blank document and sigh. Alright. This may be a new low for you, but hey, maybe you'll make a really good friend. You type up the flyer and even add a few clip arts of Christmas lights along the bottom. It has your school email address on it in case anyone wants to contact you. You were going to put your number on there but thought better of it. You don't want some douchebag sending you nudes or something.

One brisk sprint to the community board outside later and you've got it posted. Now you wait. If no one replies then you'll go alone and give your spare ticket to some kid in line at the display. Here goes nothing.

____________________

Saturday morning you wake up with you phone blinking with a notification. You grab it and slide up to unlock. It's your email. Your school email. A surge of excitement courses through you and you're hoping someone has replied to your bulletin.

You open the app and flip through some emails from your teachers about assignments due after the holiday break. Sure enough there is one that's from a student. You can tell because it doesn't have a name attached as a contact like the staff emails do. It just says unread from pmend2580@staug.edu.

Hi, I'm Peter. I saw your post on the community board. If you're still interested I would like to go.

You chew on your lower lip, nervous about going. What if this guy is a creep? You can bring your pepper spray. Maybe you can assess him by showing up early to the community board and seeing if he looks like a weirdo. Not all creeps look like a creep though. Okay. You're not being fair. Not all guys are bad, besides if you don't reply to the email, he probably won't show up right? He'll just think you've found another companion.

All day you contemplate emailing Peter back. Do you want to go with a guy? Maybe you should wait and see if a girl wants to go. But then again, you didn't specify your gender on the posting. So he doesn't even know if you're a guy or girl. Well that changes things. You're gonna do it.

Around dinner time you email Peter back. You tell him to meet you at the board on Christmas Eve around six and that you're going to be wearing a white coat. You still don't reveal your gender, just in case. _____________________

The time has come. You put on your puffy white coat, boots and a pair of gloves. You give Bugs some kibble and head out to the community board in the courtyard. There aren't very many people out there, a few groups of people talking near the decorated trees at every corner of the yard. There is no one by the board and you're kind of disappointed but relieved. Maybe he would flake out.

"Hey, are you the one with the tickets?"

You turn and you're met with a guy quite a bit taller than you. He's got a mop of curly brown hair, flushed cheeks covered in freckles and greenish hazel eyes behind some cute round glasses. He's in a bulky pink hoodie with a jean jacket over it just like he said he would be. He looks familiar, you're pretty sure he's in one of your classes.

"Peter?"

"That's me." He pulls his hand from his hoodie pocket and you shake it. "I'm so glad you replied back. I really want to see the lights, I just don't have the extra cash for a ticket this year."

You smile big and he grins right back. "I'm glad you replied too. I didn't really want to go alone."

"Then why'd you buy the tickets?"

"I didn't. I won them."

"Oh! Gotcha. Well, let's go? We don't want to miss it."

"Right. Do you want to walk or..." You look over at your car in the lot and wonder how much gas you have.

Peter shrugs. "It's a short walk. Like twenty minutes tops?"

"Probably, and I wore my boots." You look down at your old black snow boots. "They're pretty comfortable for walking."

"Let's get to it then!" Peter says excitedly, patting your shoulder. "No time to waste."

_____________________

The walk to the park proves very interesting. You learn that Peter is studying to be a photographer and does photos for the school newspaper while also doing some freelance work on the side for a couple of students with blogs. Both of you love hot chocolate with cinnamon in it. You both love the color pink, and you both have cats. His is a girl named Peach after Princess Peach from Super Mario. He is also in your business management class, and you can't believe you didn't pay more attention to him. He's so cute.

When you get to the park you show your tickets at the booth and they let you skip the line to get in. Once inside you can't believe how much it has changed since you visited once as a kid. There is a ten foot tall reindeer, life-size snowmen with tophats, and a small replica of the eiffel tower that's all lit up with tiny star shaped lights and a big star on top. It's incredible.

Peter tugs your arm and you follow him over to where an old woman dressed as Mrs. Claus is handing out flyers. "We have to do the scavenger hunt."

"The what?"

"Hello! Join the scavenger for a special surprise at the end of tour of lights!" Mrs. Claus says, handing a flyer to you and a few kids who are nearby.

You look over the list. "Find Santa's belt, Rudolf's nose, the elves stockings, Mrs. Claus's glasses, and the magic Christmas bell. Take a photo with each object and show at the end of the tour for a special Christmas surprise."

Peter takes the list and looks like a kid in a candy store. "They changed it up this year. This is going to be so much fun."

You can't help but smile. Peter has turned out to be the best companion you could have hoped for so far. "What is the prize at the end?"

Peter looks up from the list. "No clue. It changes every year. Last year I got a stocking."

"Oh that's actually kind of cool. I figured it'd just be like one of those big candy cane sticks or something."

"Nah, they go all out." Peter looks around the park. "We should start the hunt, we don't want to be the last ones to find everything."

"Why not?"

"They could run out of prizes for the night. Plus, I want to stop by the elves workshop and get some hot cocoa." Peter puts his arm out and you take it, looping yours under his. "Let's do this thing."

_____________________

The scavenger hunt is a blast. You and Peter literally comb through every display trying to find the items on the list. So far you have found the elves stockings and Mrs. Claus's glasses. Rudolph's nose is your next target as you head for the sleigh display.

Just as you reach the sleigh you see the last person you ever expected to see. Your ex boyfriend Blaine. He's got his latest fling on his arm, some tiny little thing with dark hair. Honestly you have no idea why he ever dated you. Every girl he's dated since you, there's been five in the last nine months, has been your polar opposite. You're not sure if it's him trying to not think of you or if it's that those girls are his type and you just weren't.

"Can we look for Santa's belt?" You ask, stopping mid stride and Peter looks back, clearly confused.

"We're right here though?"

"I know...I just don't want to do this one yet."

Peter walks back to meet you and crosses his arms. "You're avoiding someone."

"What? No, I-"

"Oh come on. Who is it? Family? Ex best friend? Ex boyfriend?" He looks around at the people nearby.

You sigh and roll your eyes. "It's my ex boyfriend if you must know. I'm surprised he's here considering our hometown is three hours away."

"Oh, dramatic." Peter puts his arm around your shoulders. "Which one is he?"

"The guy over there with the Steelers hat on with the girl attached to his arm." You point out Blaine, clear as day.

Peter nods and pushes his glasses up. "He looks like a douchebag."

"He is."

"Why'd you date him?"

"Small town? He was the best I could get?"

"Ouch." Peter laughs. "Well, you wanna make him jealous? I can be your pretend boyfriend for a while."

You look Peter over and he holds his arms out. "You are way more handsome, and you're definitely bigger." You chew on your lower lip. "I do want to get back at him."

"I'm all yours." Peter laughs. "Sounds like he really hurt you. I'm all about getting back at a douchebag."

"Alright. Yeah. Why not?"

Peter wraps his arms around you and walks you toward the sleigh display. He grabs your gloved hands and holds them close to your chest. It's actually nice. You haven't been held since you were with Blaine.

"There's Rudolf!" You point to the front of the light display and sure enough it's Rudolph but his nose isn't lit up.

Peter pulls you toward a big present box nearby. It's got a lid like a chest. He lifts it up and you grab the huge pom pom like ball out of it. Rudolph's nose.

"Wanna pose for a picture together?"

"Yes." You pull out your phone and hold it out while Peter leans down behind you, both of you holding the pom pom as you make goofy face and snap the picture.

"Oh hey," Blaine says as he approached with his girlfriend. "Crazy seeing you here."

Peter wraps his arm around you and holds you against him, pressing his face into your hair. "Do we know you?" What a power move.

"Crazy? I go to school here." You roll your eyes.

"This is your ex?" Peter asks, as if you hadn't already told him. He's playing along very well.

"Yes." You lean your head back against Peter's chest. "Why are you here Blaine?"

"Date night." Blaine grins, kissing his girlfriend grossly and for way too long. "It's so romantic here, and Christmas Eve is the perfect time to see a light display. I couldn't imagine bringing my beautiful girl anywhere else."

Peter rubs your side obviously reading into how tense you've gotten with Blaine's asshole demeanor. "Isn't it the best? I brought her here for our six month anniversary." He looks over at you with a smile, having really put emphasis on six months and you bite your lip. "We're going to dinner afterwards, the steakhouse on tenth street. They do a Christmas Eve special for couples. Reservation only."

Blaine looks annoyed, and one upped. Which, honestly he has been because Peter is really selling the lie. "Funny, we were gonna do that too. Guess we'll see you there."

"Really?" Peter grins. "Because the only restaurant on tenth street is a McDonald's. Get over yourself and stop being a dick in front of your ex."

Your jaw drops and Peter threads his fingers between yours. He walks you away from Blaine and you can't help but let out a laugh in astonishment. Peter just destroyed him in a matter of seconds like it was nothing.

"I can't believe you did that," you say, looking back at Blaine and his girlfriend who's yelling at him about something. Probably for embarrassing her.

"Yeah, well, he was being a dick. You could tell he was trying to rub in that he was on a date with someone who wasn't you. I can't stand guys like that."

You lean your head against Peter's arm. "Thank you. You didn't have to do that, I could have just walked away."

"What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn't defend my fake girlfriend?" He laughs and you laugh too. What a crazy night it's been.

_____________________

You and Peter finish the scavenger hunt and go to the prize booth to show your photos. The worker hands you both a lidded box that's wrapped up like a present and you step aside to open it and see what you got.

"Fuzzy socks!" You squeal, holding up a pair of fluffy candy cane striped socks.  "These are awesome!"

Peter opens his box and he's got a pair to but they're green and red. "I'm not sure these will fit me, but you can have them." He looks down and sticks his tennis show clad foot out. "Maybe they will?"

"You'll have to see." You turn in your gift box at the little drop off bin for people who don't want to take it with them. "I suppose it's time to go back home now."

"Yeah." Peter pushes his glasses up. "I had a great time. Thanks for letting me go with you."

You chuckle. "I almost went alone. I didn't know if you were some creep or not. I'm glad I did email you back though. You're pretty cool."

"You are too. And I promise I'm not a creep." Peter crosses his fingers. "Swear I'm normal."

"You're a goof."

"Yep. That's me." He loops his arm under yours and the two of you head for the apartment complex. You really are glad you decided to say yes to him. This night was incredible, even though you saw Blaine, it was still great.

_____________________

"Any plans for Christmas?" Peter asks as the two of you stand outside the front door to your building.

"Nope. Just me and Bugs video chatting my parents some time in the afternoon. They've sent me a few gifts in the mail so I've got some stuff to open."

Peter runs a hand over his hair and bites his lip. "Well, if you wanted to, my brothers and I are making breakfast and stuff. I'm sure they wouldn't mind if I brought a guest over."

"Do your brothers live with you?"

"Yeah," he turns and points at the building to the left of yours. "We share one of the penthouse apartments."

"Fancy." You raise your eyebrows. "Those things are like super expensive."

Peter smiles sheepishly. "They are, but all three of us have full ride scholarships and Raul got a massive grant. We all pay our part from our grants pretty much but Raul pays a little more since he wanted the big apartment."

"Ah, I see. Well...can I get your number? I'll text you if I am able to make it?"

Peter pulls out his phone. "Of course."

The two of you exchange numbers and say your goodbyes. You head up to your apartment, smiling to yourself. Peter is kind of awesome. You finally feel like you've made a friend. Christmas miracles do exist.  

_____________________

Christmas morning. It's snowing heavily when you wake up. Bugs is on your head, asleep against your hair. Your phone lays on the pillow beside you, notification light glowing. You grab it and turn it on, seeing two messages. One from your mom saying Merry Christmas and one from Peter telling you their building security code and there is a photo attached.  

You open the photo and it's him in a Santa hat and the ugliest sweater you've ever seen. In the background there is another guy, his brother you assume, and he looks super similar. Maybe Peter was a twin. You reply back with a photo of Bugs in his little Christmas sweater you had put on him last night.

After a call with your mom and dad, making plans to video chat around one in the afternoon, you decide to go over to Peter's apartment. He's been sending you photos all morning of the food and you just can't resist. He's such a dork but he's so genuinely cute.

You bundle up and cross the courtyard to head to his building. Peter meets you at the front door and you laugh at his reindeer print pants. "You didn't have to come all the way down here."

"Yeah, I did." He chuckles as you walk down the entry hall. "I sort of forgot to mention something."

"Uh oh. What?" You stop short of the elevator doors. "Is there where you tell me you're a crazy psychopath and you're gonna eat me?"

"No!" Peter's face goes white but he quickly realized you're joking. "No, no no no. Okay that sounded bad. Okay no, I just forgot to tell you about my brothers."

"What? Yes you did, you said they live with you?"

"Not that. I mean, we're triplets."

"Oh!" You laugh. "That makes sense."

"What?"

"Well, in your photo of your Santa hat I saw one of your brothers in the back ground and I thought he looked super similar to you."

"Oh. Yeah, that was probably Shawn. We look the most alike." Peter pulls out his keycard to the elevator and swipes it to go up. "Raul still looks like us, but his hair is darker and he's got a little bit more angular of a face. Anyway, they're really excited to meet you."

"Why's that?"

Peter rubs his neck and blushes. "I don't bring a lot of guests over."

"Like just female guests or?"

"Any really. My brother's always tell me I'm antisocial. Whatever."

You step out of the elevator and Peter heads to the left. "I wouldn't have guessed you're antisocial. You're pretty talkative with me. You told me about so much yesterday."

"Yeah well, you're easy to talk to." Peter pushes open the door to the apartment. "And-"

"Damn Peter!" One of the brothers says as you walk in. "How'd you manage to get the balls to talk to her?"

"Shut up Raul," Peter says, throwing a pillow at him from a nearby sofa.

Raul stands and walks over to you. "I'm Raul. His older brother."

Peter rolls his eyes. "By minutes."

"Every second counts." Raul smirks and shakes your hand. "Merry Christmas, welcome to our shithole."

"Raul!"

You stifle a laugh. "Merry Christmas to you too. I was told there would be breakfast?"

"Just missed it. I ate it all." Raul says with a shrug and a tummy pat. "Christmas morning munchies."

"Oh shut up," Peter says and motions for you to follow him to the kitchen. You do and Raul flops down on the sofa laughing at his own dumb joke. "Shawn, this is the girl I told you about." He introduces you and you shake Shawn's flour covered hand.

"Hey, welcome. We've got a ton of food, please eat. It's just us." Shawn says, gesturing to the counter with plates of pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon.

Peter hands you a plate from the cupboard. "Don't be shy okay? I promise none of us will judge you for eating a bunch or something."

You take the plate and grab some of everything. "Don't worry, I'm starving so I won't be shy."

_____________________

Post breakfast the guys open gifts. There are quite a few under the tree and you're surprised to find there are three for you. Considering you just met Peter yesterday and the other two today, it's a shocker. How could they even know what to get you?

"How...how do I have gifts?" You laugh as Peter plops a small red box in your lap.

"Well, last night I went out and got some stuff in case you did decide to come over. I really hoped you would, and I didn't want you to feel left out."

"That's so sweet." You lift the lid and inside is a little bag of cat toys and treats. "For Bugs!"

Raul chuckles and hands you another box. "Open this one."

You tear open the small box and inside is a hot cocoa mix in a mug that says Meowy Clawsmas. All of you have a good laugh at that.

Peter hands you the last box and he's flushed.  You give him a look and open it. Inside is a flat small envelope. "What is this?"

"Just open it," Peter says.

You tear open the little seal and inside are two printed tickets to the ice rink downtown. "Ice skating?"

"I think Peter is asking you on a date," Shawn says from where he's cleaning up wrapping paper on the couch.

You flush, warmth spreading across your cheeks. "You want to go out with me?"

"Y-yeah. The light display was so much fun I thought maybe... y'know, we could do something like that again." Peter pushes his glasses up and clears his throat. "It doesn't have to be a date. We can just go as friends, or if you want to go with someone else that's okay."

"Peter."

"Yeah?"

"I'd love to go out with you." You lean forward and give him a hug. He seemingly melts into you, big hands coming up and resting on your back. "Relax."

Raul and Shawn let out a little chorus of awes.

"Thanks for not making Christmas suck this year." You laugh, pulling back and pushing Peter's hair out of his face. "I'm glad I took a chance and invited you to the light display."

"Me too. Merry Christmas," he says with a smile and you smile back.

"Merry Christmas."

_________________________

Thank you for reading! Please reblog if you enjoyed this and reblog to support and encourage myself and fellow writers. Next part coming soon! - A

Custom header per part made by the incredible delicateshawn

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted fics.*****

[maemi324]

Seasonal

Hey there friends!  As I am posting this it is my Birthday! I’m a whole 25 years old.  I.FEEL.ANCIENT. But I decided to post this blurb that came to me, talking about seasonal depression, which is hitting hard as it’s starting to get cooler and becoming fall. To be clear, this is just my experience with Seasonal depression, everyones is different. It’s something that affects me, and many others, in different seasons, so I hope this little blurb will give you some form of joy- regardless of whether or not you have the depressions.  It was actually kind of hard to write, but I got through it! Warnings: Talk of seasonal depression, numbness the like.  Only been seen by one other person, and only edited by me. So I probably missed some stuff. Let me know what you think!

The day was cool and dreary, overcast that hung in the air. Cloudy days themselves weren’t bad, but the cool breeze nipping at the previously warm air kept you inside, scrolling through your phone. 

It was a myriad of posts, those glad for the cooler weather and excited for the spooky holiday on the rise. You huffed a small laugh as the skeleton song popped up onto your page for the umpteenth time in that hour alone.

Even still, it was hard to see a constant reminder of the bleak months ahead as you tried to push it from your mind. But there was no fooling your body, or your mind. Seasonal depression was starting to kick in, and kick hard. The fucker never played fair anyway.

You were so tired, arms heavy as lead as they shook, a feeble attempt at keeping your phone from falling out of your grasp. Your mind was filled with the overcast clouds, no room for anything but sleep. You went to bed tired, you woke up tired and had the hardest time staying awake.

You leaned back further into the couch you were sitting on, looking onto the wall that held the crystals you gave to Keigo. Even with the sun gone, there was still enough light to show a few gentle prisms.

Though the colors were pretty, it didn’t alleviate the frown on your face. You had read that getting up and doing things would help you wake up or at the very least stay awake. Active, but simple things, cleaning up your bedroom, brushing your teeth and getting ready for the day. 

How could you when your arms refused to lift for most things, hands feeling too smooth to actually grip, not that you had any product on there to cause said sensation. Whenever you got up, your knees felt like they were jello, though you got from place to place. Was it just in your head? Of course it was, but getting out of your head was the hard part.

You turned to look over at the end table beside the couch, only then remembering to turn on the happy light you were advised to get. You weren’t entirely sure it actually helped, it didn’t mimic the sun's golden hue, despite how bright it was, it maybe made the room a bit warmer. But it was still such a cold light, much like hospital lights that made your eyes ache after a while. 

You pass another video, someone putting up fake skeletons whilst what you assumed to be a friend ran about in cheer for the cooler weather once again. You refrained from making any snide remarks in your head, it wouldn’t be fair to ruin their happy time. After all, Your summer could be their fall.

Your eyes gazed onto the clock. It’s only nine am ??! It was hardly close to lunch time even.

Irritation flashed within you, stomach gurgling in agreement. You hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, though you knew you should have. Food currently had no taste, no matter the amount of spices you added. It didn’t matter what was made, it never filled you and your stomach raged on. 

You shuffled further into the blankets you covered yourself with, your tank top and shorts hardly keeping you warm, but you refused to wear pants, they just got tangled in the blankets and felt so constricting. You glanced to the kitchen, a glare on your features as the usually wonderful treats in there mocked your current state of taste bud. 

You focused back onto your phone, ignoring your stomach for yet another random haul a user got for Halloween. Your eyes slowly began to fall closed, the music in the video, despite its energy, lulling you into a sense of...calm.

Thunk!

Your heart hammers hard against your chest, eyes wildly glancing around for the noise source.

Instead of monsters clawing from the grey shadows of daylight, you were met with sweet honied eyes.

“Well hello to you too angel” His voice hid none of his amusement, his hand held out towards you. You looked down to his hand only to find your phone. You must have dropped it at some point.

You took the phone from him, setting it on the coffee table and wrapped your arms around his neck. “ Keigo…” you cooed sleepily, “ You’re home for Lunch a bit early.” 

You pressed kisses to his cheek and neck, trying to ignore that empty feeling growing back to life.

“Early? Nah, right on time, it’s noon babe. You fell back asleep it looks like” He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you so you were standing with him. He looks you in the eyes, searching for something.

“Yeah, I guess I did” you murmur, eyes averting his gaze. He’d known you were having trouble staying awake, that the change of seasons really hit you hard. He seemed to have found whatever he was looking for as he pressed a sweet kiss to your lips and let go. 

“Well, I guess that just makes it more of a surprise, speaking of surprises!” he turned to the coffee table, rummaging through some bags. With a chirp of victory, he hands you a take out box filled with your favorite, (F/food). “ I brought your favorite back home with me” 

You couldn’t help but smile, though it didn’t feel forced, it didn’t feel like you were emoting quite right though your genuine happiness was there. He sat down on the couch with you, leaning into your side as he flipped on his phone for something.

A soft beat came first, followed by the gentle plucks of a guitar, sounds you usually associated with summer time music. You glanced over at him, brow raised in a silent question. 

He was already opening his take out, a smirk on his face

“Sorry dove, it was just a bit too quiet” was all he said.  “Hardly a quiet moment with you Keigo” you teased, “ But I can’t say I dislike your choice in mood”  “My sense of mood is never wrong angel!” 

You ate relatively quickly, wanting to spend more time with Keigo than focusing on the food, which did have just a bit more taste than anything else you had eaten. 

He talked to you about his day so far, nothing too crazy that he couldn’t handle. 

The relaxed tune you had been listening to turned into something a bit more fast paced.

It was a favorite between the two of you, the song you danced to at the bar, the night you had your first kiss on the beach. He stood up, offering his hands to you, “ Come on, it’s our song love bird!” It might have been corny to have a song but you couldn’t care less. Not with that smile that lit up a room, a laugh so sweet you could eat for dessert.

So you took his hands, his wings fluffed up in excitement. He took off his visor, and placed it on you, your vision becoming slightly yellow tinted. 

Oh it made so much difference

Everything looked and felt a bit more...alive. There weren’t any dull sensations of haze and endless numbness. You grabbed his hands again as he pulled you in.

It was hardly a masterful thing to fawn and coo over, but it had you laughing as he spun you around, his feathers having moved the coffee table out of the way. As you would spin out, he’d do something entirely and fantastically goofy, waving his hands in the air then pulling you back in. All to make you giggle and laugh as he hugged your back to his chest, blowing raspberries on your neck. 

“Keigo!”  “Oh what? Did I spin you too slow, so demanding my dove” and he spun you out again with an extra kick of some sort of energy. 

The song came to an end, and you were all red in the face, heart beating hard, but it was welcome.

“You utter goof” You giggled, pushing his visor off of your eyes, the change dented your happy mood, but only just slightly. 

“Your goof” he pressed a wet kiss to your cheek.  “So, I noticed you liked the visor? It is pretty stylish if I do say so myself”

You flopped back onto the couch, nodding, “ Yeah, they look real good on you. But it was nice, things just looked...better” 

Did the color really change your outlook so much? 

“Well, I was doing some late night browsing and found that sometimes glasses that are yellow tinted or block blue light can help with your seasonal grey time blues” a feather brought over a small bag, hiding between the food bags, and placed it in his hands.

“So I thought...these might help, whenever we can’t just dance the blues away” His cheeks turned a slight pink as his wings flapped awkwardly at your lack of response. 

He’d gone out of his way to get you these special glasses, just so that you could feel better. 

Your eyes watered slightly, getting back up from the couch and walking over to him. You placed both hands on his jaw and pulled him down for a tender kiss that he gladly reciprocated. “ You are entirely too sweet for your own good Keigo. I love you, thank you...thank you so much” 

He unfolds the glasses, placing them gently on your face. 

“I love you too song bird”

[artificialqueens]

Heart of Glass, Mind of Stone, 1/? (Jiji, Methydoll) - Ella

summary - When Crystal envisioned her life as a law student, she daydreamed of topping her classes and the inevitable sleepless nights that it would come with. What she didn’t expect was to be so tied up to a high-profile murder case that it was next to impossible to get herself out of it.

a/n - welcome to my first ever multichap! ive been planning this for almost a month now, so glad that it’s finally out here! thank you so much to the amazing and talented @imalwaysaslutfordrag for beta-ing! thank you to v as well for helping me sort out some concerns, she’s really really cool :>

feel free to hmu here on tumblr @dawningofdrag or maybe, if you have the time, give this a read on ao3 as well! enjoy some lawyer gays, folks

-

There was a dead body lying on the floor and nobody. dared. to move.

“We killed her,” Crystal spoke, voice so hoarse from the screaming just moments ago that her throat ached.

Her eyes were blown wide- just like everyone else’s -as she stared at the corpse lying lifeless on the dark herringbone floorboards. The bright fluorescent light of the lamp posts that stood outside the property peeked through the sheer curtains of the living room they stood in, almost perfectly framing the bleak expression of the cadaver resting in the middle of the circle the Latina and the rest of the group had created.

A breathy scream broke the silence and Crystal traced the sound back to Gigi, who dropped to the floor in sheer terror. Her green eyes barely broke contact with the body, short erratic breaths escaping her bare pink lips through the pale hand that covered it. Crystal instinctively ran over to where the blonde now sat on the floor, wrapping her arms around her lean frame in an attempt to calm her down.

“She’s dead,” Gigi gasped out, bloodshot eyes still refusing to tear away from the body laid out in front of her. The Latina grasped the blonde’s hand, squeezing it to offer some sense of comfort despite the horrifying circumstances.

The room fell silent, a thick, heavy air resting on their shoulders as they all collectively just stood there, allowing their actions and its repercussions to settle into their conscience.

“We’re murderers,” Gigi whispered through her hiccups, and all Crystal could do was nod. They killed her. They committed murder, and all of a sudden it felt like it was much, much harder to breathe.

- three months before -

Crystal shot the rest of her now lukewarm coffee down her throat in a quick motion, slamming the warm thermos down on her incredibly small desk with a loud thud. She exhaled, setting her bag on the floor next to her chair before inserting herself in it. Her hands grazed the chipped wood that made up her armrests, a soft smile appearing on her painted lips.

First day of law school, totally not the scariest thing in the whole world. Not like she dreamt of this day since she was a little girl, you know?

Crystal could now proudly declare to the world (and her extremely judgemental tia’s and tio’s) that she was studying law at the best law school in the country, sitting in a lecture hall ready to attend a class spearheaded by the sole individual who made her realize she wanted to pursue a law career in the first place. How she wasn’t fully freaking out right now was just as much of a mystery to her as it was to everyone else.

She set her laptop on the desk attached to her assigned chair, flipping through the thin folder of her academic roster with curious eyes. She quickly glanced over her classes, the professors teaching them, taking into account the buildings they were held in and when they started.

The sound of a cough diverted the Latina’s attention, bright green eyes meeting hers.

The woman was clad in an olive green pantsuit and a plain black blouse that seemed to fit her like a glove. It seemed perfectly tailored, almost as if the suit was custom-made. Her short blonde hair was styled to be pin straight, meticulously tucked behind one ear to show off her strong jawline. Her green eyes were narrowed, staring into the Latina’s eyes as if she was guilty of a crime she didn’t commit.

Crystal almost laughed at how hard the woman tried her best to look intimidating.

“Can I help you?” She questioned in a sing-song tone, a perfectly shaped eyebrow raised in confusion. The blonde rolled her eyes.

Crystal narrowed her own. Okay, Elle Woods.

“You’re sitting in my seat.” The woman tapped the sole of her black Louboutin on the tiled floor repeatedly, impatiently waiting for a response.

“Pretty sure I sit here, Ms. Woods.”

“How original.” The blonde scoffed, pulling out a digital image of the assigned seating from her phone to show the Latina who still sat comfortably in her seat, showing no willingness to move whatsoever.

“I sit in the sixth chair from the right.” She stated matter-of-factly. Crystal didn’t even bother hiding her amusement.

She chuckled, turning her body to point at the vacant seat next to her. “I sit in the fifth seat from the right.” Crystal grinned a mischievous smile. “You’re one off, Woods.”

She watched as the blonde woman’s cheeks flared up in embarrassment, quickly taking a seat next to her while keeping her head hung low.

“You’re a law student and you can’t even like, count correctly?” The brunette mocked the woman next to her, nudging her side softly to lighten the mood.

“I’m smart in other ways.” The blonde rolled her eyes once more, but her cold facade faded away just moments after doing so, and a grin started to creep up on the edges of her glossed lips.

“Georgina Goode, Columbia.” She greeted Crystal’s lighthearted gaze with an extension of her arm, hand out for her to shake. “Guess I should master the art of counting before I try to act like I know my shit.”

“Well, you learn new things everyday.” The brunette grinned. Of course she was a Georgina. She reeked of water polo lessons and summers in a beach house in Miami. It further supported Crystal’s initial hypothesis that Ms. Goode, she was definitely an Elle Woods type. You know, the privileged but woke white kid who believed they deserved a medal for recognizing their privilege. She met a couple of them back in pre-law, and they were all so incredibly annoying.

Gigi seemed slightly less annoying though, so she’ll reserve the need to have an opinion until she actually got to know her.

“Just call me Gigi, though.”

Crystal nodded at the information, extending her arm out to receive the open hand.

“Crystal Harness, Yale.”

Their hands collided, a firm couple of shakes and soft smiles before they both pulled away, shifting away from each other to set up their table (seriously though, why were they so small? She wasn’t paying forty grand a semester for her lecture desk to support the weight of half her laptop).

“So, what brings you here?” Crystal couldn’t help but question, starting a conversation between the two and sparking the interest of the woman next to her. It never hurt to make friends in law school.

“I mean, if you were already in Columbia. Don’t they like, top the bars all the time?”

“Oh, easy.” Gigi scoffed at the question as if her answer was so painfully obvious, briefly pointing to the professor’s desk situated just a couple of rows in front of them. “Her.”

I mean, that reason was fair enough. Crystal would be lying if she told you she didn’t also take the attorney into mind when choosing a law school. If she really had to tell the truth, then yes, Attorney Jaida Essence Hall’s teaching position was the sole reason she chose Middleton for law.

Could you blame her though? She was Black, gay, female, and an absolute fucking legend. Harvard Law Valedictorian, record-breaking LSAT score, and built her whole reputation from the ground up. She was a whole ass celebrity in Crystal’s eyes, and hearing that Jaida had a teaching position in Middleton was all the information she needed to choose the university.

“I get it.” Crystal replied after a brief moment, finally relaxing against the back of her chair’s deflated cushions. “I kind of wanna be her.”

“You and every other woman in this class, Crystal.” The blonde mumbled, smirking at her snide remark. “You’re not special.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong.

The booming sound of high heels clicking against the tiled floor almost startled Crystal, immediately turning her attention towards the woman who just entered the room.

“Good morning class, my name is Jaida Essence Hall-”

She set her black Hermes bag on top of the wooden professor’s table with a loud thud, flipping her long dark hair past her shoulder so effortlessly that she had Crystal, Gigi, and the rest of the class absolutely mesmerized.

Professor Hall turned to face the class in one swift motion, sporting a welcoming grin before continuing her entrancing introduction.

“- and welcome to Criminal Law 100.”

Crystal swore under her breath, taking everything in. The reason she wanted to pursue law was standing twelve feet away from her, leaning against the table with her arms crossed around her chest.

The Latina couldn’t even force herself to focus on the rest of Jaida’s probably really inspiring opening monologue, mind still busy trying to wrap about the idea of breathing the same air as Jaida Essence Hall. Was she overreacting? Probably. Did she care? Absolutely the fuck not. Let her have this.

“If you have been keeping yourselves updated on local news, I’m certain that you have crossed the ongoing case regarding the murder of Brianna Heller.”

That sentence pulled Crystal out of the trance she found herself in, the wording of her statement incorrect in her honest opinion. You didn’t need to watch the local news to know about it. If you lived in Philadelphia for a solid five minutes you’d know about the case of Brianna Heller. She was a Middleton undergrad who went missing for a whole month before her body was found two days ago in the basement of an abandoned warehouse, a spot frequented by undergrads looking for their dose of illegal thrill. Each and every aspect of the case felt like it was pulled right out of a murder mystery book, down to the alleged suspects and their relationships with each other. The press was having a field day milking the case dry for any information they could publish.  

Jaida went back and forth across the platform, one hand on her hip as she continued. “Just this morning, I was asked to represent one of the main suspects, Jamie McKenna.”

The woman clicked on her remote, displaying a photo of the woman on the projector screen.

I mean if you were gonna ask Crystal, she thought Jamie did it. After quickly scanning the case a couple of nights ago when she had absolutely nothing better to do, she had a gut feeling the blonde committed the murder. They both had rather large online followings due to their theater backgrounds, but Brianna had much bigger numbers in comparison to Jamie, even though in Crystal’s opinion, Jamie was a much better singer.

There was a very clear motive and intent. All they needed was to find the murder weapon and the case was closed.

The class erupted in loud whispers once the photo displayed itself on screen, Gigi visibly unfazed next to her. Everyone has had a conversation about the case with friends, family, strangers. Talking about it felt redundant and unnecessary, and if you were going to ask Crystal, the conversation was getting really boring.

Jaida paused for a brief moment, allowing the murmurs to die on their own before speaking further. “And although both my associates are very capable individuals, the publicity surrounding the case is unbearable, which means I cannot make one single mistake.”

Crystal narrowed her eyes, confused as to the relevancy of her announcement until it hit her.

Oh my fucking God.

Jaida’s gonna need a team.

“Which means I’m gonna need a team.”

Holy shit.

“For the next week, I will be paying close attention to how you all work during my lectures. My associates will be in attendance, watching from the sidelines, and observing each and every one of you. We need the best of the best so that those chosen will be more of an asset rather than a burden.”

Crystal’s eyes were blown wide at Jaida’s words, her head still spinning as she tried to grasp how big of a deal this actually was. Her eyes met Gigi’s, who was equally as taken back as the Latina, jaw slacked open in shock.

“You will be meeting my associates tomorrow, but make a lasting first impression on me and you might find yourself in the list of people I consider. Am I clear?”

Crystal nodded absent-mindedly, her mind sprinting a million miles a minute as she automatically started to come up with ways to stand out of a class of sixty people.

“Alright, now that that’s all cleared up,” Jaida turned on her heel to fiddle with her laptop, displaying the assigned reading on screen before turning to face the class once more.

“Does anyone want to summarize the case of Commonwealth v. Polachek for me?”

Crystal had never raised her hand quicker in her entire life. It was game on, I guess.

-

Crystal fumbled to pull out the keys of her front door from the pocket of her cross-body bag, feeling the contents with her fingers until she felt the metal touch her skin. She walked past her neighbor, flashing a nervous smile the woman’s way before she stopped just in front of her apartment.

“Weren’t you in Professor Hall’s class today?”

Crystal’s head whipped around to face the woman who stood a couple of feet away from where she stood, leaning against the doorway of the apartment just next to hers.

The Latina’s eyes met the other girl’s equally dark ones, wavy dark hair framing the woman’s face perfectly. She was clad in a tight-fitting black turtleneck tucked into a high waist black pant, dark plaid blazer and gold jewelry breaking the monochromatic fabrics and causing her jet-black hair to stand out against the blazer’s tweed fabric.  

“Yeah. ” Crystal stumbled over her words, running her free hand through her thick curls. How was every single woman in her Criminal Law class so fucking pretty? “Middleton Law too?”

“Mhmm.” Her neighbor smiled, taking a couple of steps forward to close the rather large distance between them both.

She reached out her hand. “Jackie Cox. Harvard Medicine.”

Crystal has never shaken so many hands in such a small period of time. The second they all entered law school everyone became so pathetically professional that it almost humored her.

“Crystal! NYU.” She grinned, shaking her hand before catching onto the words that filled Jackie’s introduction.  

“Wait, medicine?” Crystal questioned, pulling her arm back and tucking it into her jean pocket.

“Yeah.” Jackie shrugged the question off with a rather confused tone, acting as if her circumstances were a normal occurrence. “Medicine got really boring, so did Harvard, so I thought I’d give law a shot.”

The Latina didn’t know how to respond. “Woah that’s uh, really cool.”

Crystal wanted to wince at herself for sounding like a fucking four-year-old. She stepped back, shifted her body away, and lifted her key to the lock. Her mind ran in circles, deciding whether or not to invite Jackie to the dinner she and her roommate planned to have later that night. Making friends in law school had many more benefits than it had consequences, and having an incredibly smart medical student-turned-law student on your side sounded like an incredible asset to have in future study groups. Plus, Jackie just seemed really fucking cool.

“Well, uh, my roommate Heidi is coming tonight and we were planning to get to know each other over dinner at 8 o’clock.” The Latina smiled, meeting Jackie’s eyes once more. “Do you maybe wanna join?”

As if on cue, Crystal’s front door burst open to reveal her roommate, who greeted her and Jackie’s startled dispositions with a toothy grin and bare arms spread wide, ready to envelop the Latina in a warm hug.

“Oh my god, Crystal it’s so nice to finally meet you!” Heidi ran a couple of steps to tackle the smaller woman into a tight hug, rocking from side to side as if they were long lost sisters who had finally been reunited. “I can’t believe we’re here!”

A laugh escaped from deep in Crystal’s chest after her new roommate knocked the wind out of her with an overexcited hug. She paused for a quick moment, still taken back by the sudden action, before wrapping her arms around the shorter woman. “Hi!”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Crystal pulled back a couple of inches, reciprocating the infectious energy her new roommate put out for her to receive.

Crystal had never met Heidi before, they’ve only been exchanging a handful of texts and semi-professional emails just to get their living situation all sorted out before they moved in. The brunette never would have thought that the woman behind the meticulously worded emails she was receiving over the week was an extrovert who would rather give out hugs over a professional handshake. The duality of man, I guess.

She and Heidi exchange introductions, Jackie joining in on the conversation after a while as they talk about their dinner plans together.

“That sounds great!” Jackie grinned at the invitation, beamed almost, unlocking her door with a twist of a key, pushing it open with force. “I’ll bring some baklava for dessert.”

“I have never heard of baklava! Is it like a Middle Eastern thing or sum’n?” Heidi questioned, her fingernails mindlessly picking on the lint of her wool sweater.

Jackie nodded, a soft laugh coming out of her mouth as she did so. “Yes it is, you hit the nail on the head.”

“Well, it sounds delightful.” The Black woman smiled, arm wrapped around Crystal’s waist like they were all of a sudden the bestest of friends. She honestly didn’t mind having someone like Heidi as a roommate, the loving and positive energy just radiating off of her warm skin was a great juxtaposition from the cold and professional people she was probably going to encounter throughout her law student experience.

They bid their goodbye’s, setting up their final dinner plans before they entered their respective apartments, Heidi already chatting up a storm as they turned to leave.

Crystal waved as Jackie disappeared into her apartment, a small grin resting on her painted lips as she turned to swing her front door open. “See ya, Doc.”

-

“Gigi, if you fucking scream one more time I swear to god-” Jackie spoke through gritted teeth, knuckles turning white at how tight she gripped the metal bat in her hand.

Her dark eyes scanned the room, pausing at the surrounding windows to check if anyone was peeking through them. Jackie dropped the bat with caution, afraid that the collision of metal on wood would startle anyone that was currently inside the house. She crouched down to inspect the lifeless corpse that separated her from the rest of the group, delicately grazing the pale skin and dead blue eyes with her trembling fingers. She closed the body’s eyes before meeting Crystal’s brown, much more alive ones.

“We have to get rid of the body.”

“Are you fucking insane?” Crystal scoffed, guiding a very distraught Gigi to sit against the armrest of a lounge chair not far by. She made sure the blonde was much calmer than she was just moments ago before shifting her gaze to the Persian across the room.

“You want us to go out on a Friday night? after finals week?” The brunette spat out, her uncontrollable fear turning itself into annoyance and frustration at the sound of her friend’s suggestion.

“Are you dumb?” Jackie hissed, the heels of her boots clicking against the wood as she looked around for a way to clean up the blood slowly pooling around the corpse’s body. “Our DNA is on her skin, Crystal. Under her nails, on her clothes, on the fucking gun.”

“We go to an incinerator and burn the body.” Jackie reasoned, pulling a handkerchief from her bag and getting on her knees as she soaked up the blood from the floor like it was nothing serious. “We’ll classify the remains as animal carcass.”

Crystal stood in place, jaw slacked open in awe of Jackie’s lack of disgust towards the corpse as she dragged the previously clean fabric across the wooden floorboards. “Get rid of any evidence. We can say she ran away. They’ll believe it, her case was a clear loss anyway.”

The Latina groaned in defeat, pulling a handkerchief from her winter coat as she crouched down to join Jackie in cleaning up the mess they had made together. “Fuck you, Doc.”

“Can’t help that I know my shit, Mistress.”

[dotthings]

Okay SPN 15.04, here we go, where I feel weirdly self-conscious about posting a meta post about an ep that had so much meta on itself and now I’m going to write meta about it, so it’s meta on meta on meta, while I’m having my feelings.

THAT COLD OPEN HOLY CRAP DIRECTOR JENSEN. As a director Jensen always pulls out warm performances from actors and he’s a really kinetic director too. That opening fight sequence I held my breath for a lot of it. 

BENNY OH NOES IT’S BENNY (this must be the character Jensen said was one of his favorites and the actor came back to set for one day to do it). “I’ll see you on the other side, brother.” Thanks so MUCH, spn, I thought I was over this and then you come in and reopen that and now I’ve got feelings gdi. Benny was a good friend to Dean. My heart hurts. 

Ohshitohshitohshitohshit demon blood Sam. Noooooo. And he kills Dean. I can never erase these images from my mind, thanks a LOT spn. 

Just a nightmare of Sam’s except no probably not given Sam’s god-wound, so wow this maybe happens on one of Chuck’s other worlds, that’s fine, oh that’s okay I’m fiiiiine, it’s fine. *covers face*

So we have a flip on early S14 here where Dean was turtling to cope with his trauma which is a healthy thing to do but hiding from the world wasn’t going to fix anything so Sam coaxes him out with a hunt. Dean coaxes Sam out with a hunt only I don’t think hunting works for Sam the same way, it’s not Sam’s mental comfort food the way it is for Dean, but still I appreciate the mirroring there.

Sam’s struggling with Rowena’s death and I think those horrific AU nightmare visions aren’t helping much either, but it’s clear he’s feeling the loss. Her loss, all the recent losses.

Dean trolls Sam with real bacon, which seems like Dean is maybe trying to cheer Sam up by pranking him and trying to cheer himself up via food pranks. Dean has quite the case of the munchies in this ep. 

I noticed almost every scene Dean is snacking or drinking from his flask. How’s that whole “Cas walked out and left apparently for good” working out for you Dean, wow, you’re suspiciously chipper while stuffing your face and drinking and Not Talking About It. Did Sam and Dean talk about where’s Cas? Who knows, the ep didn’t mention it, hey SPN you needed a Cas mention, OH WAIT THE EP IS GOING TO CALL ME OUT FOR SAYING THAT.

Seriously though, this is very Dean MO, and I have thoughts about his mood in this ep and how Cas’s absence was felt, and what it means, I’ll get to that later, but even before the last scene Impala talk, I was thinking Cas is a reminder of pain--and no it’s not all about Dean’s anger at Cas, it’s not because Dean is angry at Cas. Cas is a reminder of some things Dean just isn’t coping with very well and part of the problem is Dean cares so much. 

So Dean’s snacking and drinking and Sam is feeling the weight of them knowing all the scary things out there while people go on obliviously with their lives and I’m not sure if Sam is envying them or Sam is feeling some existential angst about the state of the world, how people can go about their lives unaware there are real monsters ready to pounce and tear their lives to shreds. And feeling the weight of the job they do in every bone of his body. Sam’s in a dark headspace.

Ok I admit I was not thrilled to see Becky again given her previous episodes and role. SPN’s later in-canon fan characters were much more nuanced and successful and respectful depictions of fans. But as with many other things, this era of SPN is revisiting some things to move them forward in a different way than before, and subvert some things that needed subverting and Becky has had--wait for it--character development. How about that.

Yes, Becky, run, you do not want anything to do with Chuck. Run, Becky run. I’m rooting for her now. RUNNNN.

Along with finding a more constructive way of channeling her interest in the Winchesters’ lives, and having a satisfying fandom creative life and a full life of her own, Becky has funko pops of Sam, Dean, and Cas. LOL. I see you spn. 

Dean, still with the case of the munchies. So this is like the eating a whole pint of ice-cream after a break-up, only Dean does it with junk food while hunting vampires.

I enjoyed this conversation between Becky and Chuck about writing immensely. Becky is actually right. Speaking myself as someone who’s suffered from writers block for a while, it’s miserable, and not writing just perpetuates the cycle. You feel cut off from an important part of yourself. And--oh here we go getting meta within meta--I find writing meta on SPN a positive outlet. 

“Writing is writing.” Damn Becky’s takedown of Chuck’s derisiveness about fanfic was sizzling and oh excuse me Chuck, what is it you think you were doing with those Supernatural books about your favorite story. Even though he’s the creator, I know. But still. Also seems to be a sly comment on how male-authored “fanfic” based on someone else’s characters or historical characters gets to be professionally published novels and nobody wants to admit it’s fanfic but it is, but women write fanfic and women write novels based on someone else’s characters or historical figures and it gets derided. 

Did not expect commentary celebrating the creativity and validity of fanwork of women in particular an episode of SPN, especially not with Becky of all people, but here we are. 

Uhhhh is Chuck writing this episode, as it happens? I am seriously uneasy now. What is going on. What is real. Which is what I think Dean is going through because of Chuck and OUCH the Winchesters think they’re free but they’re not but also they are their own people and Chuck isn’t controlling them but it’s like he’s still making the framework?? Or would this case just be happening on his own and Perez is just messing with our heads in this script right now.

Oh damn because this ep wasn’t sadness enough now here we go with the Jack parallels. “I can’t control this.” “I’m a monster.” “I killed someone I love.” Parents doing anything to save their out of control teenage kid or does he need to be killed, so the parents are Cas, while Sam and Dean are Dean. 

Interesting that Dean lowered the gun and didn’t kill Jack, but tells Sam they would do that for Jack if it was necessary. You didn’t, though, Dean. You couldn’t go through with it any more than those distressed parents of the vampire teen.

Becky is voicing various non-dire fan complaints here, every lane of the fandom is being gently called out right now. Hahaha including lack of Cas mentions in an ep that pointedly is not!Mentioning Cas because it’s not a mistake there’s actually reasons for that which is just lampshading how much Dean is pointedly Not Going to Talk About Cas. 

“Where they sit around doing laundry and talk” -- again every lane of the fandom should feel very called out right now. Seriously, fandom lanes that hate each other’s guts all have that common factor of craving more domesticity, and would like to see the laundry ep of SPN and for many, it has better include Cas, or we’re working through our need for this via fanfics or fanart. Even Jared and Jensen have expressed interest in a “Winchesters do the laundry” kind of episode. 

But here’s the thing--here’s the thing about SPN...it depicts domesticity. In small bits of pieces. Even in this ep there’s domesticity. SO HA. It’s not that SPN is against depictions of domesticity, it’s definitely in the toolset of its storytelling, to give the characters more layers, to make their lives seem more real, but there needs to be mostly an action plot because that’s the genre so they mostly kill monsters and we only get nibbles of domesticity.

Becky and Chuck arguing about Chuck’s incredibly dark story ending, after Becky criticized him for the story not having enough bite, was so interesting. While the episode’s dark story ending was actually quite well done IMO and not overdone and yes it’s bleak but it’s supposed to be. So it’s not that sad is always terrible writing, no. It isn’t. But its overuse has been a raging hot topic in spn fandom for years and SPN is a hopeful narrative as well as a bleak one. Overuse of loss of hope and misery can hurt the story, causes a number of fans to become desensitized and lose their emotional engagement for it (which has happened to be at a couple of points in SPN’s long run). So that conversation interested me a great deal, yes it did.

So.....SPN had its current biggest of the biggest of ultimate big bads, the ultimate power God himself, the author, and made him the enthusiast for overuse of the misery pr0n like that’s the only smart way to tell a story. The season’s big bad villain is a misery porn enthusiast.

I’m just gonna....sit here and absorb that for a moment.

Oh and this while all the PR for the show keeps warning us about how sad this story is and how bleak the ending will be, not a happy ending show. Are they warning us? Are they trolling us and misdirecting? Because they made their villain a misery pr0n fanboy and this intelligent, self-aware positive depiction of Becky the fan taking him to task for it. 

I feel like could be headed for every story needs its darkness and its light, you need the darkness to appreciate the light, and you need some light or the story is less meaningful. We’ll see.

“I’m a writer,” says Chuck and then takes away everyone Becky loves and then unmakes Becky. This is a purposeful depiction of a writer creator as a sadist. It’s a diabolical reversal on the Stephen King’s Misery scenario. Becky played the deranged fangirl in the past, who kidnaps an object of obsession, now she’s the victim of the deranged sadistic writer who breaks into her home, destroys her life, and then effectively kills her because of his own obsession with making Sam and Dean wretchedly miserable because he thinks that’s the only way to make the story exciting.

*blinks*

In the last scene, oh thanks Sam, for vocalizing the Jack connection. 

Hey Dean, that’s really a nice speech and yes Sam did give you a great pep talk but Sam wasn’t the only one who told you what you did still has meaning. This is like 15.01 where Dean is pointedly erasing Cas again despite Cas very obviously having done something Dean refuses to acknowledge. In 15.01 it was Dean leaving Cas out of his us vs the forces of evil speech to Sam, despite Cas having spent most of the ep shooting ghosts in the face and saving Sam’s life twice. Sam and Cas both have given Dean pep talks about the meaning of what they do but only Sam pulled Dean out of it...uhhh yeah that’s not writer error or canon ignoring Cas. That’s Dean trying to push Cas out of his mind. Something there hurts so much Dean isn’t dealing with it right now.

As I said, as I’ve been saying, it’s not so much that Dean is that angry at Cas. It’s not just about Mary. Or about Cas keeping things from him. Although those are all valid reasons for Dean’s hurt and anger. Dean seems to be afraid or hurt over more than that. And his love for Cas, IMO, is part of why this is weighing so heavily. What does he fear. I think it’s connected to the whole existential crisis about Chuck. What if none of this is real. I’ve talked about that in other posts, if none of this is real, if Dean still doubts, then what if what’s between him and Cas isn’t real, what if Cas doesn’t really care about him because none of it real. 

Dean valiantly puts a brave face on things here, they keep going, they keep fighting for the sake of those they lost, no matter what, “keep putting one foot in front of the other.” Which makes sense. That’s how you honor those you’ve lost. It’s just that I don’t think Dean has really reached that. He is Not Dealing with an awful lot of stuff here. And we have seen again and again how hard Dean reels from losing loved ones.  So what’s going on with Dean here. This is a healthy concept, but not if Dean is just whistling past the graveyard again. This might look like character development except look at what’s been going on with Dean. How deeply losing Mary, losing Jack affected him. The impact of those losses needs to be acknowledged and dealt with in order to truly move on and move forward. It’s like Dean is voicing a healthy outlook but isn’t actually experiencing it. I think Dean is posturing because if he lets all the hurt it right now, it will devour him.

There’s also the part where Sam and Dean have in the past displayed a lack of ability to just keep on keeping on if they lose each other, so they used to sell their souls, or violate the other one’s wishes and autonomy, or let the darkness free, but we’ve also seen them let each other go, and “keep putting one foot in front of the other.” Sam and Dean have done both ways with each other. Dean didn’t exactly just keep on keeping on no problem when Cas died at the end of S12.

Sam voices the other side of things, he can’t just move on right now. He’s feeling all the losses. They’ve piled up and piled up and it’s crushing him. Sam says he "can’t breathe” at times. He brings up Jessica, a loss he suffered 14 years ago. 

So Sam and Dean are airing the two aspects of loss and grief on SPN. One the one hand, you don’t just give up and quit because of loss. Honor who you’ve lost and keep on fighting. But losses are deeply felt, and it’s not all okay either. Sam and Dean don’t just shrug off these losses because they have each other. That’s not how this works. They need more than just each other and SPN is increasingly having more and more open dialogue about all of this.

S15 so far has been so much about the impact losing people they love has on Sam and Dean, and why their isolation isn’t a good thing. 

And there’s Chuck, the big bad, typing away to add more misery. Because Chuck gets off on giving them loved ones and taking them away, over and over and this isn’t presented as a good thing or a satisfying thing or a desirable thing or a celebration of anything. 

[bewaretheidesofmarchyall]

I’m Always Up For Some Theorizing!

So, there’s been a question looming in the Sanders Sides fandom.

Who is the orange side?

Will it be Roman?

Will it be Logan?

No one’s asking if it’ll be Patton, which is kind of interesting...

Anyway, here’s my hypothesis! (@chaoticemopidgeon and anyone else who hasn’t seen all of Sanders Sides, be warned. Spoilers abound)

For starters, it’s not Roman or Logan. Let’s just get that settled. Not that Roman or Logan won’t go darkside (maybe that’s the wrong term, given the actual dark sides in this universe. How about Brightside? It works better for a light side burning out), but there are going to be 8 individual sides (yes, I said 8, not 7). 

Brightside Roman and/or Logan doesn’t change the number of existing sides. There would still be six sides.

(By the way, here’s the explanation for the 8 theory:

https://xechoecho88x.tumblr.com/post/620578064105111552/this-is-a-theory-ive-wanted-to-talk-about-for-a )

So, what are the Orange and Pink sides?

I think that Orange will be Logan’s dark side. But what’s the dark side of cold, hard logic? 

There are several options, such as ignorance, for example

But all of the other dark sides have had a positive flip side to their effects.

Virgil keeps Thomas alert and out of danger

Janus makes sure Thomas takes care of himself

Remus is just as important to creativity as Roman

Does Ignorance have a positive flip side?

I think not.

And so, I think that the Orange Side is (drumroll please)...........Faith.

Not necessarily in the religious sense. More in the sense of blind trust of anything, and being convinced of things that aren’t backed up by logic. Faith (or hope, trust, whatever you want to call it) is in direct opposition to Logan’s reasoning. Faith is, however, a side that Thomas will need to accept as well as have caution for, as a life without any hope is dull and bleak.

I hope that it’s Faith because there could be some cool costuming choices (an orange blindfold because of the expression “blind faith”???), as well as a cool potential opening number, power, and relationships with other characters.

Their introductory song could be called Pandora’s Box, since Thomas has opened a figurative pandora’s box for the other dark sides, letting them into his mind, but in the myth, hope was left in the box. Which makes sense, given that every other dark side has left them behind to have a redemption arc. Plus I just like the sound of the idea.

Every dark side canonically has a voice related power. Janus can make the other sides cover their mouths and stop talking, Remus can muffle the other sides to speak directly to Thomas, and Virgil can make his voice louder so Thomas will pay attention to him.

I think that Faith’s power will be forcing the other sides to say what Faith wants them to, effectively “telling Thomas what he wants to hear”. Faith will be able to use them as mouth pieces (which again, is great for the opening song thingy)

And as for character relationships?

Oh boy

First off, Janus. Faith/Trust and Lies would make a heck of a combo. Janus is still dealing with his redemption arc, meaning that a dark side calling him back would be interesting and perhaps needed. It isn’t interesting if the person switching to the heroes side doesn’t have a villainous side to go back to.

Roman has lost faith in his abilities and himself, lacking in confidence and esteem. If someone offered him those things again, who knows what he’d do? Just because Roman isn’t the orange side doesn’t mean he won’t fall.

Anxiety and Faith don’t necessarily mesh well. This means that Virgil will either be just as antagonistic towards Faith as they are with Janus or, on a more interesting note, Faith could have been a sort of mentor figure for Virgil when he was still in the dark sides. After all, they probably would have been one of the few things that could get him to calm down.

I don’t know how much Remus connects to this matter. He has his own character arc, sure, but I don’t know how much it ties into Faith.

Of course, Logan would hate them. And maybe the lengths that Logan will go to to get rid of them could be a sign of a downward spiral?

And Patton. Poor Patton. Patton doesn’t know what to trust anymore. His morals are shaken, he’s indecisive, simply put, he’s lost his faith. If someone told him that morality WAS black and white and he WAS doing his job right, and he just needed to trust them...

Yeah. They’re all screwed.

One final question remains:

The Pink side.

Now, I don’t know what their function is, but I know one thing:

They were Virgil’s light side.

But why did they leave? And what are they going to do now that every dark side is redeemed (because Faith will be redeemed)?

In fact, the people who painted the Orange side as wrath, a warrior sent to destroy, might not have been far off.

Just one side early.

[mysmedrabbles]

Another Place [Yoosung Kim]

from the Fourth Wall breaking series

quote contributors: 2 anons and @thedujifuji (submissions bolded, will not be posting the actual asks)

a/n: welcome back to hell i’ll be your tour guide,, finally posting these after only 19 years!! Hope you guys enjoy!

warnings: big sad

-7th wall mod alex

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       It was the late night chats that were always the loneliest. Staring up into the bleak cracked ceiling, you traced the shadows cast by the moon outside with your eyes, the empty feeling filling you yet again... a void that demanded to be felt no matter the cost. It was times like these, under the cover of darkness where you were left alone with your thoughts, a yearning so deep you could swear you would unravel, leaving nothing but the shell of the person you once was.

       Man this game was fucking you up.

       Rolling on your side, you checked you phone, the bright light assaulting your eyes. Able to distinguish the time, you made your way to the Mystic Messenger app. Two minutes to 2 am. Ten minutes until you could sleep.

`

       With the cheery tune of the opening screen, a smile couldn't help but find its way to your face, an almost giddy sensation filling the previous void you’d longed to be filled, an otherworldly feel as you surveyed the winnings of the latest Honey Buddha Chip package on your screen. Not much, but enough for a call perhaps? A call to a certain golden haired boy? 

       One more minute until the chatroom opened.

` 

       Your eyes surveyed the screen yet again, looking for something to do to pass the ever stretching seconds, when the familiar ring of a phone call echoed through your room. A call. From Yoosung. A glitch? Weren’t calls supposed to happen after chatrooms? 

       Without thinking you pressed answer, the smiling face the blonde avatar bore fading away as the call subtitles took its place. 

`

      “Hello?” his voice was higher than usual, almost panicked, and yet you could feel your heart flip in your chest as his voice struck you, a small bit of reality you had left. “Hello?” came Yoosungs voice again, voice cracking near the end. “Damn it, damn it.” you heard him mutter from the other end. 

       You expected a chatbox to pop up, to respond, but nothing came, nothing but silence as the incoherent muttering came from far away on the other end. You listened intently... would anything happen? What kind of glitch was this? 

       “Hel-damn it, Seven said this would work- Hello?”

       Cheritz? Answer box please?? 

`

       You heard a deep breath on the other end, and you could almost imagine Yoosung closing his eyes as he calmed himself, one hand gripping the table to keep himself steady as the other held his phone to his ear. 

      “Hello? I- MC... that’s... thats not your real name is it. I dont know... if you can hear me, I’m praying Seven could do that for me.. I-Mc-” his voice wavered dangerously, trying his best to collect himself before he continued, his voice weaker than before, “If you can hear me... please.. say something-i- let me know you’re there.”

       Were you supposed to... answer? It felt silly, replying to the emptiness, saying something that would immediately be swallowed by the dark, but it also felt wrong to sit there doing nothing, waiting vainly for a chat box to appear. Maybe it was a new update.

       “...Hello?”

Silence.

       Just as you moved to end call, Yoosung spoke again, his voice drawn to a hush, as if he were afraid to break the fine glass line separating the two of your worlds. “You're..you’re real,” he breathed, defenses down as he himself clutched his phone desperately with both hands, pressing the device as close to his ear as he could before continuing, “I thought- that you were just a character on a screen I never- there’s so much I need to tell you, so much that-”

       “Yoosung?” was all you could muster, your mind blank at the reality you were facing, until the only thing that could be heard was your heartbeat pounding in your ears, distorting the silence of your room.

       “-And I don’t know how much time we- yes?”

There was so much you wanted to say to him...

       “Thank you,” you started. Whether this was real or not, you weren’t going to pass up an opportunity to talk to him. The idea that this might have just been another simulation broke your heart, but these were quickly rushed away when you looked down at the continuing phone call, remembering Yoosung on the other end.

       His rambling was cut by your thanks, confusing him, it was he who should be thanking you, not the other way around, he started to respond, but you beat him to it, “Yoosung I- in- in you I saw so much of myself; I was,” you took a deep breath before continuing, “so lost, wanting to move forward but so afraid to let go of the past. You showed me,” a crack in your voice as tears threatened to swallow you whole, emotions you hadn’t known you even had rising rapidly to the surface, “You showed me that it's possible to move forward even after you've lost your way. You have helped me and shown me far more kindness than anyone else ever did when I was at my lowest point and because of you I want to be a better per..son with ... every passing day.”

       You finished with a flustered breath, heat suddenly rushing to your cheeks as you realized your declaration, completely our of character from your usual stoic self. This was a game. You declared your love to... someone who wasn’t even real. The shame of idiocy spread through your chest the longer he stayed silent, only his own heavy breathing heard on the other end. 

`

       Taking a second to bring himself back together, Yoosung tried to ignore the warmth spreading through his body, heart and gut synchronized in a flustered dance, both struggling to keep up with the racing of his mind. It didn’t seem real, that the person he’d inevitably loved- continued to fall in love with day after day, was real, not just a character made up by Seven, a virus in the app.

`

       You heard a small giggle from Yoosung, making your heart soar. You could almost imagine his face, violet eyes shining with the threat of tears, blush adorning a smiling expression as he vainly tried to hide his face in his hands, too embarrassed by the way your words stripped him of rationality, touched him in a way where he’d lost all functionality, enraptured by your voice, by you. 

       A smile made its way onto your face as you continued, set to get everything you’d wanted to say out in the open, “You’re amazing and I just, I love you so much and I wish, I wish more guys were like you in this world. You’re so, soft, amazing, artistic, and an excellent cook? The omurice will never stop looking delicious.”

       To this he finally had a response, “It was! It was delicious! If I send you the recipe will you promise to make it?”

       “Of course.”

       “I’ll see if I can text it to you! You won't Believe the things I went through to get to this point, good thing it was worth it in the end! Being with you is always worth it..” 

       He was rambling, and the initial tenseness of the first meet shaken off as his infectious laughter filled the receiver, voice bright with excitement as he went on about the other recipes he tried in his spare time, the ones he’d always wanted to make one day for you... the ones he never could.

`

       His voice started to crack, static becoming more and more prominent as his voice was broken by what? Bad cell service? The fact that you were talking across dimensions? 

       Yoosung could be heard getting sad, his tone dropping, a melancholic need for you filling his head, suffocating him with thoughts of you. He paused his words, starting anew. “MC I... I’m sorry I think... we’re running out of time but before I go I just... I need to tell you... gah why is this so hard.”

A pause.

       “I love you... truly. You showed me kindness when there was no one who believed in me, and it’s because of your love that I’m still alive.. that I have something worth living for. Every time you play my route...” the static got worse, ripping a few words from his sentence, actively trying to separate the two of you as he went on, “...I wish I could protect you forever, make you as happy as you make me.. I wish we had more t- I wish we had more time. There’s so much I want to ask you, so much I’m sure you want to ask. Please, no matter what.. stay happy for me.”

Well...actually.. I do have one serious question for you... Yoosung Kim: does Yoosung Kim is bi?” you chuckled cautiously, a weight lifted as you heard his broken up giggle in response, and for a second you could almost believe that everything would be okay.

The static got louder, cutting in between Yoosung’s words, only fragments of a, “well - lov- ou so,- h-pe s-,” were able to be made, connection weakening, Yoosung’s presence fading away.

`

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Tapping on the phone, where you were praying for some sort of relief, you were only met with a blank screen, his voice gone, leaving a gaping hole where he’d buried himself into your heart.

`

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Gone.

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[villain-enjoyer]

Like Thelma & Louise [oneshot]

GEAH Briefcase buddies | 1900+ words | action-adventure 

Summary: Sam-I-Am and Guy-Am-I had driven all the way from Meepville to Glurfsburg outrunning the cops within an inch of their life. This was their last stand.

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This isn’t the big fic I’ve been working on but something I wanted to finish to get my mind off of it. I’ll post this one on ao3 too once I get an account.

Special thanks to @lustylop for talking about her AU where our heroes are both criminals on the run in chat! :-D

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In the early morning a roofless Cadillac could be seen kicking up dust out in the Glurfsburg desert. 

Their getaway had been clean. Guy had busted Sam out of a holding cell under the cover of night without much trouble and without any witnesses. But they weren’t out of the woods just yet.

As the car rolled to a halt at a substantial distance between them and one of the great canyons the Glurfsburg desert was known for, reality was setting in for Sam-I-Am. 

 He had dragged an innocent man into his schemes and had also somehow manipulated him into rescuing his sorry behind. Guy was in the driver's seat beside him, trying to catch his breath and suppress fits of laughter as they came on. Sam failed to see the humor in any of this.

 He turned to face the tangerine knox with a bleak expression and quietly asked “Why did you come back for me?”

 Guy didn’t respond to him. He instead ran a fuzzy hand over his face and started pointing towards the vista in front of them.

 “Now would you look at that, isn't that the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen?” He said, seemingly without a care in the world.

 The inventor hadn’t been wrong. Warm streaks of sunlight were peeking from underneath blue clouds and gently waking up the desert. The deep terracotta rocks of the canyon now partially painted red as the minimal desert flora remained as hazy shadows on the horizon.

-

It was beautiful.

But Sam-I-Am couldn't care less about that right now.

“You could have gone back to Meepville and forgotten this ever even happened!” He grieved. ”I lied to you, put you in danger and held you hostage for almost a week. You’re innocent Guy, so why would you come back for me?”

The knox stopped chuckling but didn’t turn his head away from the view as the who demanded he explain himself.

-

After a moment he heard him softly say, “I hated working for Snerz.”

That wasn’t what the thief expected to hear.

“Come again?”

 The knox erupted. “I said I yipping hated working for Snerz!” 

“It took nearly 10 years of my life to convince them I was worthy of being the Snerzco lead inventor, and for what? So that I could invent gizmo’s that would replace all of the real bean-counters and pencil-pushers so that he could cut costs?” He raged on.

Guy turned towards him with an incredulous expression.

“You thought that you were keeping me hostage? I have at least three feet on you Sam, I could have left whenever I wanted to.”

 “But I was armed?” The confused felon countered, but the knox wasn’t having it.

 “Oh get over it, I knew from the minute I met you that you wouldn't hurt a flea.”

 The short who knew that wasn’t true, he just never had any intention of hurting Guy. This still wasn’t adding up.

 “Then why did you stay with me? You could have just left Snerzco, you didn’t need me for that”. Sam asked almost exasperated.

Guy paused to let out a deep sigh,

-

“I was ready to quit inventing for good before I met you.” He confessed. “But you made me feel like my ideas were still worth something. Being with you showed me that inventing could still be fun and exhilarating. It’s been a long time since I felt like what I was doing actually mattered and I have you to thank for that.”

 The who’s demeanor softened. He didn’t think he had made such a big impact on the knox in the short time that they had known each other. He nodded as the inventor went on.

 “I wasn't looking for a way out of Snerzco, I was looking for a way to make him pay. Snerz took the best years of my life, treated everyone he ever met like a doormat and got away with it just because he was in charge! I wanted nothing more than for that horrible little man to get what he deserved.”

“But I was scared of him too.” He confides.

Guy gently puts a hand on Sam's shoulder as he continues, “You came in and exposed Snerz for the fraud he is and then also had the guts to also rob him blind. What was I supposed to do, not help you? Not make sure you were alright?” 

 “I came back because I don't think I can do this without you. Hell, I don’t want to do this if you’re not by my side Sam.” He insisted.

On the inside the little conman was a hot mess. This had never happened before. His clients didn’t stick around or care if he was okay as long as he completed the job he was hired for. And the people he had tried to befriend along the way had all ended up leaving him one way or another. So to hear that Guy not only cared for his wellbeing but also thought he was brave made him want to jump for joy. 

-

As Sam opened his mouth to express his gratitude his opportunity was unfortunately cut short. The noise that had until now had just been a hum in the background turned into a cacophony as a helicopter rose out of the ravine in front of them. 

“BACK UP, BACK UP BACK UP BACK UP-” Sam yelled as he tried to jerk the wheel.

 “I’M TRYING.”

Guy swiftly put the car in reverse, attempting to pull out and drive away. But as the helicopter flew overhead and the dust settled around them they realized that the cops had caught up to them. Squad car after squad car driving up to the space ahead of them. Whos, bumbles and seussians alike getting out of their vehicles and surveying what the two delinquents were going to do next.

 Their luck had run out, this was the end of the line. The thief cursed himself for not paying more attention to his surroundings and glanced over to see how the knox was coping.

 -

To his surprise it seemed like he hadn’t given up and was steering them back towards the canyon again.

 He put the car in park and asked, “Do you want to keep going?” His voice sober, but clearly trying hard to keep it that way.

 “Go where?!” Sam was frantic at this point. “We're completely surrounded!”  

 As Guy gestured his chin towards the gulch in front of them his blood ran cold. He couldn’t possibly be serious. The gap was too wide, even with all the luck in the world they wouldn't clear that jump.

 “The way I see it we’ve got two options.” The knox cut through his dismay. “We either turn ourselves in right now or we don’t, so I’ll ask you again.”

 “Do you want to keep going?”

 Sam looked at him. Really looked at him. He knew Guy hadn’t rested in days. His fur was a disheveled mess, his scowl lines looked as if they had been etched even deeper into his face due to the lack of sleep and the constant barrage of danger they’d been through. But his eyes were begging Sam to say yes. To believe that he’d get them out of here safe and sound if he just gave him the chance.

 In the short time the who had known him, he’d cared more about his well-being than any person ever had in his entire life. Guy had been kind to him, even in times when he definitely did not deserve it. He now understood that he trusted the clementine knox with his whole heart. So even with his body screaming at him to flee, it felt easy for him to say,

 “I do”. 

 “Good.” Guy seemed relieved as he jumped into action. “You make sure you and the money are strapped in tight.” 

 -

The cops behind them were getting impatient, now aggressively repeating their demands for the duo to get out of their vehicle and turn themselves in. 

 As Sam turned back to put on his own seat belt he noticed switches and a lever near the dashboard that had definitely not been there before he got arrested. He figured that the inventor most likely used their time apart to do some tinkering of his own. The short who was silently enamored by the knoxes tenacity. 

 Guy seemed determined as he faced the felon.

 “Are you ready to go?”

 Sam was ready all right. Ready to pass out. But before he did he decided this might be his last chance to do something he’d been daydreaming about ever since he met the bold, handsome knox.

 “Almost.” He said as he yanked Guy in for a kiss. 

 It only lasted a moment. Their teeth clicking together in a desperate attempt to get close, but it felt exactly as sweet and messy as the bent who had hoped for.

 The thief held both of his hands up in the air as they parted.

 “F-for good luck?” He stuttered, inwardly cursing himself for lying.

 Guy’s awe just melted into endearment as he shifted into first gear and floored the gas pedal.

 “Of course.”

 And they were off.

 -

The inventor acted fast. His foot was buried deep on the gas, intent only waning to shift gears. He took his hands off the steering wheel to flip the recently installed switches one by one. After that he slotted the rod into 6th gear, then pulled the new lever tightly backwards and waited. 

 His brown stovepipe blew away with the speeds they were reaching but Sam quickly snatched it out of the air and held onto it tightly as well as his own hat. 

 They were now driving dangerously close to the edge and Guy still has not let go of the lever.

 Sam was about to yank the yipping thing himself when Guy let go, releasing an incredible force from underneath the car that propelled them forwards and upwards.

 As they soared through the sky the world around them seemed to slow down. The velocity of the jump had made both passengers float in their seats. For a moment they both felt weightless.

 Then they made contact. 

 The Cadillac skidded out of control before rolling backwards, brakes unable to keep them in place. They had reached the other side of the gulch but were hanging nearly halfway over the ledge. Guy quickly shifted back into first gear and hit the gas once more. Their vehicle huffed and puffed and then slowly but surely brought them back over the brim of the canyon.

 Their terrified screams now dissolved into relieved laughter as they realized they had made it by the skin of their teeth. 

 The cops were still behind them. Sirens blaring and their brakes squealing when they met the fringe of the ravine. 

 Sam couldn’t help but let out a holler as they sped off into the desert.

 -

After taking a second to see if all their limbs were still attached, the who asked, “So where are we off to now, CB?” The adrenaline still pumping through his body.

 The inventor glanced over at him with a content smile, “Crime buddy, really?” The thief nodded with vigor.

 “Or boyfriend.” His mind supplied effortlessly.

 “I heard Solla Sallew is great this time of year.” Guy responded. “But it’s going to take a while to get there”.

 Sam handed the knox his trusty stovepipe and tipped his own red hat over his eyes as he tried to relax into his seat. “Sounds like a plan, lead the way partner!” 

-

Hope you enjoyed it!

This story is also heavily based on the final scene of Thelma and Louise as the title might suggest. I doubted on using Solla Sallew as their next location because I’m aware that it could be read as a synonym for heaven, but I figured the boys could use a vacation to a place that doesn’t have many troubles after all of this. :’)

I have some more fics in the works so stick around if you liked this one!

And if you have any suggestions or feedback on my writing I would be happy to hear it.

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