#in a melodrama mood today

[sluttybibuck]

lorde was telling the truth in my head i do everything right 😔

[calmcoldevening]

Can you do a Valentine's day themed thingy for slashers x reader please?

Happy Valentine's day, kitten ♡⁠ I hope you spent this day with your love)

Slashers x reader, Valentine's Day headcanons

Michael Myers

• Michael basically doesn't see any special importance in this day, it's not Halloween. But seeing how you fuss that day, Michael just gives up.

• He returns home from hunting, and you meet him in the kitchen with a bright smile and a delicious dinner on the table. It causes a strange, mixed feeling in his chest. He doesn't know what it is, but it's something warm and pleasant.

• You have dinner together in almost complete silence, only sometimes you tell something about your day. Michael doesn't give this dinner that much importance, after all, you often have dinner together.

• After dinner, you sit on the couch together and watch a movie. This time you chose some kind of romantic melodrama, after all, it was in the spirit of today's holiday. And even though Michael didn't give you the special attention you wanted, you just liked that he was with you tonight. Michael liked horror more, he didn't particularly like movies with feelings other than fear. But it made him put some kind of puzzle together in his head.

• In the morning, as usual, you woke up alone. The sheets on Michael's side were cold. It left a painful feeling in your chest. When you came downstairs, you found a large bouquet of scarlet roses on the table. Next to the bouquet was a small note with an inscription on it, written in a sloppy handwriting: "Sorry ♡⁠".

Jason Voorhees

• Before meeting you, Jason didn't really know much about holidays, but now he wanted to please you on such special days. Valentine's Day was no exception. And although he didn't have much money for this, after all, Jason lived in an old camp, which was quite far from the city, and he didn't like people, the guy tried to make this day as romantic as possible for you.

• You did not return to your cabin until late in the evening (perhaps you were at work or studying). You were very tired and your mood was almost at zero. You just wanted to go to bed and forget, this day wasn't anything special. You slowly opened the door to your bedroom.

• What was your surprise when you saw Jason sitting on the bed. Your whole little room was filled with various, mostly red candles. Maroon petals of some flowers were scattered on the bed.

• Jason was sitting facing you, his cheeks flushed scarlet even through the cracks of the mask. He looked up at you nervously and pulled out a pink box from behind his back. You carefully picked it up and opened it. It was a big postcard with lots of pages and cute inscriptions on them. Everything was bright, although a little messy, but it looked nice. Hearts and seals were painted, compliments and words of love were written. Jason shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly nervous.

• You carefully put the postcard on the desk. As you got closer, you climbed onto Jason's lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. A nervous mutter escaped from the man's chest. You smiled, "I love you." Jason blushed visibly. A nervous "I love you too," Jason signed, wrapping his arms around your waist.

Bubba Sawyer

• Bubba was very worried. He knew about the upcoming holiday and didn't know how to please you. Besides, his brothers made fun of him because of his excitement. This made Bubba completely discouraged.

• And yet, the brothers understood his excitement, after all, you were the first and only person Bubba ever loved and who loved Bubba back. They are in no way going to interfere with his romantic plans.

• Bubba asked Drayton to do some shopping, which he agreed to, wanting to help Sawyer Jr., although not without a little joke. But not wanting to make the guy blush any more, Drayton and the twins left the house that day for 'important things'.

• You returned home after a little work in the city and were greeted by a pleasant romantic atmosphere. All the lights in the house were turned off, and the dining room was lit with wax candles. You walked in, smiling softly and looking around the room. Bubba couldn't hide his excitement and fear, he was nervously biting his lower lip. Finally, he looked up at you and handed you a big teddy bear. You smiled happily as you accepted the gift and hugged Bubba. He was overjoyed. After a sweet kiss, Bubba showed you the dinner he made just for the two of you.

• After dinner, you lay in each other's arms all evening. Bubba held you gently to him and covered your face and neck with kisses, whining softly. He was overwhelmed with emotion. He was happy to love you and be loved by you.

Hannibal Lecter

• This man will spend the best valentine's day of your life with you.

• Hannibal will bring you breakfast in bed first. It will be something light but delicious, like a classic American breakfast and a cup of your favorite coffee.

• Later in the evening, he will take you to a nice expensive restaurant and ask you to wait. The man will return with a large bouquet of your favorite flowers and a small gift bag. Inside was an expensive necklace with a bright stone that accentuated your eye color.

• If you prefer something simpler, Hannibal will suggest you take a walk after the restaurant. Gentle kisses under the night sky and caring hugs. Hannibal will offer you his jacket to keep you warm.

• This day will be full of tenderness and love on his part, Hannibal will try in every way to show that you are really dear to him. "Even in a room full of art, I would still only look at you."

Harry Warden

• This is a pretty difficult situation, because for Harry, Valentine's Day is a reminder of that tragedy in the mine, so it's unlikely that he will decide to cancel it, even with you.

• But the next night, he'll just decide to spend romantic time with you. The man will cook some simple but delicious dinner, and then offer to watch a movie. You will be sitting on the couch in the living room and cuddling. His arm is around your waist, your head is on his shoulder. This is a moment filled with pleasant silence and tenderness.

• A few hours earlier, Harry gave you a beautiful piece of jewelry, a box of your favorite candies (not in a heart box, no) and a neat bouquet of beautiful flowers. It's his own way of apologizing to you for ruining the holiday.

• You will also sleep in an embrace. Harry always falls asleep much later than you, but today it was especially noticeable. You were already snuffling in his arms, while Harry held you protectively in his arms and stroked your hair. His gaze is entirely focused on you and only you. He's just surprised how your wonderful angel agreed to be his soulmate. Harry is so happy. The man leans closer and kisses you briefly on the lips. "Sweet dreams, my love."

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

what songs have you been really into recently?

yaaaay yay yay yay I love getting asked about music thank you for this lmao. I cycle through songs that I'm obsessed with CONSTANTLY and I always want to talk about them!!!

okay okay okay I mentioned this the other day but I really didn't give Allison Russell's album The Returner enough love AT ALL in 2023. the entire album is great, filled with life-loving lyrics and warm, joyous instrumentals, but All Without Within is an especial standout for me.

speaking of albums I didn't appreciate enough when they came out: I've really been falling in love with Lorde's 2021 Solar Power recently. it didn't really click with me when it first came out (not that I didn't like any of it, Mood Ring was always a standout groove) because I didn't hyper-identify with it the way I did with Melodrama back in 2017. but after a couple of years I really love the pop melancholy of it, especially Secrets From a Girl (Who's Seen It All).

I also mentioned this earlier today, but Debbii Dawson's appearance on Orville Peck's new album has got me deep-diving on her, and I really like what I've discovered so far! her voice is so distinctive, I keep coming back to this track over and over just to marvel at her.

Noah Kahan has a deathgrip on me rn I truly don't know what to say

and shout out to the anon yesterday who reminded me how much Akwaeke Emezi's EP released earlier this year fucking SHAKES ME. the whole thing is so powerhouse, but I've got to uplift the first track for serving as such a blazing intro from the first second.

[laughatlocksmiths]

today i am thinking about bella swan, as a vampire arrested in time who will always have the psychology of a 19yo and can no longer fully remember how it felt to be human anyway, trying to parent teenage!renesmee.

maybe bella ends up being the same kind of parent her own mother was: sweet and fun and completely out of touch with the real world. well-intentioned, but unreliable. someone who loves her daughter very much but doesn't know her daughter very well.

maybe renesmee learns early in life that she can't go to her mother with anything important, because bella won't understand. maybe renesmee learns to indulgently tolerate her mother's moods and melodramas, just like bella learned to indulgently tolerate renee. maybe renesmee has to grow up too fast, just like bella did.

maybe bella never fully realizes this is happening.

[lordperceval-16]

Come Light Me Up

Max Verstappen x Sophie Russell (OC)

Sophie Russell is taking a break from her life in the US and travelling the world with her brother on the F1 circuit. Things get a bit more complicated when she reconnects with one Max Verstappen.

~Bahrain ~

"Oh sorry Sophie, I didn't think anyone would be up here."

Sophie turned around and smiled when she saw Max standing in the doorway, the light behind him shining out into the darkness.

"It's alright," she replied, "wouldn't mind a bit of company to be honest."

He came to stand beside her and rested his arms on the railing, looking out over the city below. They stood in silence for awhile, Sophie analysing the brooding look on his face.

"Sorry your race went shit today," she murmured, and he couldn't help but laugh at her bluntness.

"Gee thanks. I'm surprised you're not off celebrating your brothers' podium," he commented, his brows furrowing.

"Yeah I was but..." Sophie sighed, her head down, "guess I still haven't quite adjusted to the timezone."

"Why do I get the feeling that's not the whole truth?" He pushed, his gaze settling on her with curiosity.

"Aren't you observant," she snorted, glancing sideways at him before her shoulders slumped slightly on defeat, "but yeah, you're right, it's not the timezone really."

"Care to share?" He queried, nudging her elbow with his.

"Sure you actually care to listen to my ridiculously boring melodrama?" She quipped back, eliciting a laugh from him.

"Try me," he grinned, "maybe I'm in the mood for melodrama."

"You definitely have better options for your night than listening to me," she insisted.

"Look you don't have to tell me if you're not comfortable with it," he assured her, "but something's clearly up and if you need a friendly ear then I'm here."

"Well I..." she started, looking down again, "I love George and Carmen, in fact she's like a sister to me, but since I've come home I just...I dunno. Of course I'm so happy they have each other but...sometimes seeing them makes me feel...."

"Lonely?" He guessed, and she nodded her agreement.

"Yeah," she murmured, "I was with someone for three years before it all went tits up, and now I feel...a little lonely yeah."

"That's pretty shit," he replied plainly, "but I get it. It can be hard being the single one at the party.

"Wow," she snickered, "such insightful points you make."

"It's a gift," he laughed, "but seriously, if you ever need any more very insightful points then I'd be happy to listen to more of your melodrama sometime."

"Cheers," she chuckled, pushing herself away from the railing, "Careful though or I might just take you up on it sometime."

"I'll be waiting by the phone," he teased.

"Oh I'm sure you'll be glued to the screen" she quipped back, "I better get some sleep, we fly out fairly early in the morning."

"Wouldn't want that jet lag to make you late for your flight," he grinned.

"Ah yes, the jet lag," she deadpanned, rolling her eyes, "I'll see you around Max."

"Hey Sophie?" He called after her, "its nice to see you at race weekends again. Reminds me of the old days."

"Aha yeah," Sophie laughed, "those were the days. If only everything could be as simple now as it was then."

"It'll get better," he assured her quietly.

"Here's hoping anyway," she sighed before waving goodnight to him and leaving the rooftop. 

~Imola~

"We have got to stop meeting up like this."

Max looked up and huffed out a laugh when he saw Sophie sliding down the wall to sit beside him.

"What brings you here?" He asks, leaning his cheek against the cool wall and giving her his full attention.

"Well," she sighed dramatically, mirroring his position,"George and his mechanics are buzzing around the garage and it all got a bit too frantic for me so I stepped out to get a breather. I didn't want to get in the way or distract him before quali."

"That's fair," he chuckled, "things can get a bit chaotic in the garages."

"I have to wonder what you're doing here, hiding by yourself," she stated, "shouldn't you be holed up with Horner in a corner of the garage scheming up how you can pip Charles to pole?"

"Oh hawhaw," he deadpanned, sticking his tongue out at her, "you Mercedes fangirls love to paint us as the villains don't you."

"A fangirl?" She balked, bringing her hand to her chest, "never been so insulted in my life."

"I'll add it to my growing shelf of awards," he teased, grinning wider when she rolled her eyes.

"You're so full of shit," she scoffed, but she couldn't hide her amused grin.

"See I know you don't mean that," he smirked, nudging her with his elbow before pulling himself up from the ground, "I better head back to the garage, make sure our evil scheme is ready to go. I'll see you around Sophie."

"Hey Max," she called as she stood herself, a genuine smile on her face, "probably shouldn't be saying this to the enemy but...good luck, I hope your quali goes...moderately well."

"Gee thanks," he snickered, "I'll know who to thank if I get pole."

As Sophie walked through the paddock later that evening she was stopped by a hand on her elbow.

"Thanks for the good luck wishes," he murmured in her ear, "we'll have to make it a regular thing."

"Oh you are such an insufferable twat," she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"You don't mean that," he teased as he backed away from her, a cheeky grin lighting up his face. Sophie shook her head as she left him, but she couldn't ignore the excited little flutter in her stomach at the prospect of their meetings being a regular thing.

~Barcelona~

"Suppose congratulations are in order today," Sophie called from her spot leaning against the Mercedes motor home.

Max turned and grinned when he saw her there, sauntering over to her and leaning against the wall beside her.

"Wow thanks Sophie," he sniggered, "next time try it with feeling."

"Best I can do I'm afraid," she sighed dramatically, "as a Mercedes fangirl its my duty to be disdainful when you beat us, especially when you beat George."

"Aw I know you don't mean that Sophie," he pouted, "but it's OK, you obviously can't admit that you're actually a proud member of the orange army."

"Clearly the heat on track has gotten to your head," she snorted, shaking her head at him fondly.

"Don't worry," he whispered, leaning in to her ear, his breath tickling her neck, "it'll be our little secret."

Sophie felt butterflies erupt in her stomach at his whispered words. If she turned her head even slightly then her nose would brush against his. She couldn't deny her attraction to him, couldn't deny just how tempted she was to turn her head and see what he would do.

"Hey Soph you ready to...oh, hi Max."

Sophie's head whipped around as George walked out of the motor home, his eyes flickering between the two of them suspiciously.

"Hi George," Max said cheerily, stepping away from Sophie and hoping it wasn't too obvious, "I need to head to the motor home and shower so I'll see you both around."

Sophie waved goodbye and watched him go, her neck prickling with the weight of her brother's gaze on her.

"You and Max looked mighty friendly," he commented as he stepped up beside her, "when did that become a thing?"

"It's not a thing," she insisted, crossing her arms as she finally turned to face him, "we're just friends."

"Is it me you're trying to convince or yourself?" George teased lightly,  raising an eyebrow at her.

"Oh shut the hell up," Sophie scoffed, "now c'mon let's get out of here and get dinner, I'm absolutely starving."

~Miami ~

Wanna play Mario kart?

Sophie huffed out an incredulous laugh when the Instagram DM from Max popped up on her screen.

Sure, what's your room?

She twiddled her thumbs as she waited for a reply, which thankfully didn't take too long to come through.

714 :)

Sophie swung her legs over the side of the bed and stretched her arms above her head, groaning in satisfsction when she felt the pop. She quickly slid on her shoes and grabbed her phone and purse before bolting out the door and heading for the elevator. As she waited for the lift to go up she checked her appearance in the mirrored wall, quickly taking down her messy bun and making it a little bit neater. She rapped on the door of 714 twice, starling back a little at how quickly it opened.

"You came," he breathed, almost as though he was surprised.

"Well while I did have some good offers," she mused as she stepped in and placed her things on the table, "I thought Mario Kart would be considerably more fun than any of those."

"Wow, I'm so flattered," he deadpanned, though he couldn't surpress his grin for too long, "now I'm dying to know which character you'll pick. My bets on Yoshi for sure."

"Well I hate to disappoint you," she replied as she picked up the remote and jumped onto the couch, "but it's Waluigi or bust."

"A woman of taste," he said, bowing dramatically before joining her on the couch, "this should be interesting."

"Oh sweetie," she sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder, "you may be the formula one world champion, but I'm going to absolutely destroy you at this."

"Oh is that right?" He quipped, raising an eyebrow in challenge, "well we'll see about that. Best of three?"

"You're on," she grinned.

"You cheated!" She exclaimed after their third grand prix came to an end, "you pushed me off the track at the last turn and put me in reach of the flowers, that's absolutely cheating."

"You're just mad cause you didn't think of it," he smirked, leaning back on the couch and shrugging his shoulders, "but it's alright, not everyone can be a world champion."

"Oh you are so full of it," she huffed, dumping her control on the table and hugging the couch cushion to her chest, a pout on her face.

"Aw don't be a sore loser Sophie," he teased, batting his eyelashes at her, "its just a game." Before she could think too much about it she swung the cushion in her hand and hit him square in the face with it.

"Really?" He asked incredulously, "did that make you feel better?"

"Yes actually," she smirked, before swinging the cushion again. This time he was ready for her though, and grabbed the cushion from her hands before it could make contact.

"Don't start another competition you can't win," he warned, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"What makes you think I won't win?" She challenged. Max made her no answer, and when she realised what was about to happen it was too late and the cushion had already slammed into her face.

"Oh its so on," she stated, grabbing the other cushion as she jumped from the couch and dodged his next blow. They raced around his suite for what felt like hours, trading blows and laughing like maniacs.

"Alright that's it," he threatened after a particularly harsh blow. Sophie huffed out a squeal as he tackled her around the waist and her back bounced onto the soft bed. She gasped for breath through her laughter, her heart pounding in her chest from the exertion. When she opened her eyes she found herself nose to nose with Max, who was staring back at her intently. His gaze flickered almost imperceptibly to her lips and her heart raced impossibly faster.

The spell was broken by the blaring of his ringtone. He groaned as he stood up and plucked his phone from the nightstand, answering it with gruff 'yes?'.

Sophie stood from the bed and straightened herself out, clearing her throat and ignoring the fluttering in her chest. When she looked up again he was hanging up the phone and watching her warily, as though she were a cornered animal.

"I had a lot of fun," she said quietly after an awkward beat, "certainly beat sitting on my own watching hallmark movies."

"Yeah me too," he agreed, his face softening, "probably the most fun I've had in awhile."

"Well I won't lie I probably would have had more fun if you hadn't cheated," she commented breezily, and suddenly the weird tension between them was no more. "Next time its all out war."

"I'm shaking just thinking about it," he teased. Sophie rolled her eyes and stepped closer to him, a small smile on her face.

"I better get to bed," she sighed, "rematch soon yeah?"

"Absolutely," he nodded, his heart thudding when she wrapped her arms around his neck in a hug. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek on her shoulder, his heart thudding so loudly in his chest he was sure she'd feel it.

"Night Max," she murmured as she stepped back and headed for the door.

"Night Sophie," he called after her, a content smile on his face.

~Monaco~

"Hey Sophie, want another drink?"

"Sure," she grinned, "I'll come with you."

Max led the way around the dancefloor to the crowded bar at the other side of the room. He had no problem muscling his way to the front of the crowd, but Sophie struggled to get through. She smiled gratefully when Max took her hand in his and pulled her to the front with him. He didn't let go once she'd settled beside him, and her heart fluttered at the feel of his hand in hers.

"Oh I love this song," she grinned as she finished your drink and a remix of 'Into You' blared drom the speakers.

"Come on then," Max suggested, downing his drink before grabbing her hand and dragging her to the dancefloor. He rested his hands on her waist and swayed their bodies in sync with the music. As the baseline began to rise her eyes met his and her heart felt like it was trying to escape from her chest. His face was so close to hers that their noses were almost touching, and when the lights flashed she could see the glint of want in his eyes and knew it was a look she wouldn't forget.

As the chorus dropped she threw all caution to the wind and pressed her lips against his desperately. He pulled her flush against his chest, his hands on her back holding her there. She felt like her body had been electrified, every inch that was pressed against Max feeling like it was on fire.

"Why don't we go somewhere more private," he murmured against her lips, and she couldn't surpress a shiver. She nodded in response, and he wasted no time in grabbing her hand and leading her through the club and out the front door.

"Where are we going?" She asked as he led her down the street. He stopped and turned to look at her, a vulnerable look taking over his face.

"Oh well I was thinking we could go to mine since it's so close," he started, rubbing the back of his neck, "but if I've misunderstood this then we can absolutely just...."

"No," she giggled, shaking her head and pressing another kiss to his cheek, "you haven't misunderstood anything. I was just asking."

"Oh," he laughed, "well then yeah, my place is nearby so we can go there."

"Lead the way," she grinned, "I'll text George and let him know I've left and that I'm OK."

"He's not going to murder me is he?" Max joked as they continued down the street.

"He's probably too drunk to even notice I've left," Sophie snorted. As they walked their hands brushed against each other, and Sophie couldn't fight her smile as he took her hand in his and swung them back and forth.

"So," he said awkwardly as they entered his house, "do you want a drink or..."

Sophie cut him off with a firm kiss, backing him up against the wall and pressing her body flush against his. "I didn't come home with your for drinks Max," she stated, pressing breathy kisses along his jaw, "so why don't you show me where your bedroom is and we can tour the kitchen in the morning."

"Who am I to argue with that?" He laughed before kissing her with renewed enthusiasm. He wrapped his arms around her waist and began to steer her down the hallway to his room, his lips never leaving hers.

[seizethedre]

The Silence Between Cicada Song: To Dance with the Devil

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The chirping of cicadas rang through the room from the open window. Warm air pushed past the blinds, the humidity from outside forcing strands of hair to cling to the tacky skin of Lucifer’s face. He lay in bed, blankets tangled in a heap around his bare waist as he stared up at the ceiling. He traced the streaks of light cutting across the room, unblinking despite the heaviness of his half-lidded eyes. 

His head was throbbing, thoughts and sounds sharpening to daggers as the subduing oblivion of last night’s drunken stupor wore off. His brain pounded madly against his skull, mouth dry and tongue thick like he’d spent the midnight hours throwing back glasses of sawdust instead of  alcohol.

Lucifer was miserable.

The mission last night was to find a way to outrun the parasitic darkness that had seemingly chosen him a worthy host to cling to, and while he had found success and comfort at the bottom of a bottle, post-inebriation clarity revealed to him that his preferred coping mechanism had never quite rescued him from the storm, rather it threw him a life vest. 

As he kept his stare fixed on the shifting light, stomach churning and one wrong move away from spewing last night’s mistakes, Lucifer quietly admitted defeat, understanding that he was, as he always had been, treading water. Yes, he was kicking helplessly against the devilish currents of the sea. It was only a matter of time before his tired, tired limbs gave out and he descended to his watery grave, never to be seen again. 

The melodrama of his perspective wasn’t lost to him, but such was his reality, or so he thought.

Eventually, he managed to haul himself to the edge of the bed, dropping a pale arm off the side as he felt around for the bottle he knew would be there. Fingertips brushing the cold hardness of glass, he swung his arm back up, nearly hitting himself square in the face as the momentum propelled the empty bottle further than intended. Lucifer’s eyes widened in surprise at the near-miss, blinking through the cloudiness of his mind.

He dropped the bottle onto the sheets next to him, flopping onto his front as he buried his head into one of the pillows. He screamed, the noise a muffled cry before it trailed off into a frustrated groan. He huffed, panting into the stale air, considered the benefits of suffocation for a moment, before he rolled right back into his original position to gulp mouthfuls of muggy oxygen. 

Lifting his head, he caught a glimpse of the clock, noting that it was well into the afternoon. 

If you had asked him, Lucifer would tell you that he had absolutely no intention of getting out of bed today, which seemed to be a pretty common occurrence in recent weeks, however if his memory served him right, and in his current state he couldn’t even be sure of that, then this drained bottle next to him had been his last and that simply wouldn’t do. 

He really wasn’t in the mood to run into people. It helped, of course, that he lived a bit farther out of town than the majority of the other residents, ensuring that he never received visitors and saw his neighbors only when he wanted to. The fact that he was new in town was helpful to his cause, too, and his status as a recluse had quickly driven away any of the bolder, more curious of the bunch from coming around to snoop around the fresh meat.

They’d eat him alive if they ever found out who he was.

But, as luck would have it, his self-destructive hierarchy of needs was missing one very crucial, foundational element and if he wanted to waste away into intoxicated bliss again tonight, he would, unfortunately, need to venture out into the great big world for some more booze. 

Oh, happy day indeed.

It was at least another hour before Lucifer pulled himself through the front door. His face was fixed into a scowl as he squinted into the dappled daylight that poked through the mess of trees that surrounded his humble abode. He hated the way the moisture in the air made his clothes cling to his skin, regardless of the fact that he had only barely stepped foot outside. The material was much too thick and absorbent for the region he found himself in, the fabric much better suited for the steadfast cold of London’s daily forecast. 

If he were a better man, maybe he would have gone out to purchase a new, more fitting wardrobe by now. Had he been the Lucifer from a year sooner, he would have made a day out of going to New Orleans’ finest shops, trying on the latest styles and paying an absurd amount of money without so much as a blink of an eye. Charlie would have accompanied him, of course. She’d pick out the bright colors that caught her eye, made him try on gaudy hats and ridiculous patterns, laugh at his model poses and primadonna impressions. 

God, she’d laugh so hard she’d start crying, probably. And he would laugh right alongside her, scooping her up in his arms and twirling her around exactly in the way she liked just to get her to laugh a little harder. The store clerks would eye them distastefully for their ruckus, but would ultimately remain quiet because a moment of chaos and revelry was worth the small fortune they’d be spending at their business.

Lucifer had lived out an entire dizzying afternoon with his daughter by the time he reached the fork in the road that would lead him into town.

Reality hit him like a punch to his chest, swift and cruel.

He blinked under the shade of an oak tree, chastising himself for falling privy to foolish, impossible fantasies and unfulfillable desires. Charlie was nowhere near here, and if the threats he’d been given held any truth, if they held even an ounce of weight, then he would never see his little girl again, either. 

The breath that had been knocked out of him returned slowly and by sheer force of will. When Lucifer finally managed to still his shaking form, he picked up one foot and set it back down on the dirt path in front of him. One. He picked up his other foot and placed it down in front of the first. Two. So on and so forth, he repeated the pattern of placing one foot in front of the other, thinking of nothing else besides the number he was on, counting each step until he reached nearly twelve-hundred. It was then that he stopped and looked up from the dust that coated his shoes and dirtied the hem of his pant legs.

He thanked whatever poor gods assigned to watch over him that the general store was the closest shop to his house. Just the idea of having to venture further into the town for any essentials he may need made his skin crawl. Just the thought of the stares and whispers aimed his way sent a sour taste filling up his mouth. 

At least he could count on Ozzie not to ask too many questions.

The brass door plate was cool to the touch, a pleasant contrast to the wet heat of the outside. Pushing, the wood swung open easily and quietly, his stealthy entrance foiled by the chiming of the door bell that announced his arrival. Cringing at the loudness, Lucifer jumped slightly at the sound, waiting for the heavy footsteps he knew would follow soon enough.

Like clockwork, not a second later he heard the thundering of heavy shoes tromping up the cellar stairs. If Lucifer were capable of it, he’d laugh at the absurdity of the man who was steadily coming into view.

Ozzie was a massive, hulking mass of a man. A lifetime of sea-faring had molded him into a formidable figure with the muscle to back it up. His hair was long and thick, dark locks twisted into dreads and pulled back. His forearms were thick and corded, oozing with the promise of deadly strength, a silent warning to anybody who happened to catch a glimpse of him for the first time. Yeah this guy was not to be trifled with, especially if you were someone like Lucifer, who tended to dwell more in the compact and lean category of male physiology.

Lucifer wasn’t the smartest man alive, this was a fact of life not to be mistaken for humility, please and thank you, but eleven he knew that Ozzie probably wasn’t someone whose bad side you wanted to worm your way into. The man was terrifying: a giant who could crush him without breaking a sweat. And yet, there was something very perplexing about his character that had halted Lucifer in his path when he had first seen him, and that was rooted very precisely in the little details of the man. Lucifer was referring to, of course, the fact that the man liked to wear a dainty pink apron whenever he worked in his shop.

You can see why Lucifer was unnerved, right? To mention or not to mention, the dilemma had Lucifer balking, thoughts teetering between catering to his confusion and giving into the whims of his already tightly-trung, frayed nerves. 

He was nigh pissing himself a month ago when Ozzie introduced himself with a plate of biscuits and a smile. Turns out the apron belonged to his mother and he wore it to honor her legacy. His parents had owned the store and through their hard work had been able to provide for their six children. When they’d gotten too old to run the place, Ozzie had stepped in to keep the business afloat, having just returned from his latest voyage at sea.

Lucifer was oddly emotional listening to his tale, touched by the big man’s gentle heart and warmth, if not a little overwhelmed by the ease with which he told a stranger about his life’s intimate details. Nonetheless, Lucifer was relieved to see that the same degree of openness with which he was greeted was not expected to be reciprocated by him. Ozzie let him keep his secrets, and Lucifer was grateful for that.

“Sam! I thought that might have been you. I was telling Bee just yesterday that it was nigh time we see you around here.”

“Evening, Ozzie.” Lucifer shook the man’s outstretched hand, trying not to wince at the natural tight grip that engulfed his smaller one. “How’s business?”

Ozzie turned back to the register and Lucifer followed alongside him, matching his stride with two of his own. “Busy as usual. You know the ports here get busier every single day. New faces come in and out of this place all the time. I’m just grateful to see someone familiar, you know?” The store owner laughed heartily, a loud, boisterous thing that Lucifer could feel echoing off his chest. His lips twitched into a small smile.

“Glad to know I’m still your favorite customer,” he replied smoothly, trying to keep his tone light.

“Come on now, man, you know you’re more than just a customer. We’re friends now, Sam! Me and the swamp rat, the best of pals.”

“Do people around here actually call me a swamp rat?” Lucifer knew he couldn’t blame them for thinking that if they did, he was never really around to defend himself or prove to them otherwise, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t at least a little bit offended by the title. Ozzie bellowed out another great, big chuckle and patted a heavy hand across Lucifer’s back sympathetically. “Only the folks who’ve never seen you!”

“So, basically the entire town, then?” Lucifer deadpanned, which set Ozzie off into a whole new fit of laughter.

“Aw, come on now, man. They don’t mean any harm by it. They’re just curious, is all. You’re just one big mystery, you know? You blew into town overnight without so much as a whisper and hardly come into town. Folks around here love to talk, you can hardly blame them for letting their imaginations fill in the gaps, can you?”

“I suppose not,” he relented, crossing his arms. “Not to cut to the chase or anything, but do you have–”

“The usual?” Ozzie finished, cutting him off while reaching for something beneath the counter. He hoisted up a small crate and set it down onto the counter with surprising gentleness. The contents tinkled as they rattled in place. “Yeah, I got it.”

Lucifer went red in the face. Maybe due to the fact that Ozzie’s easy smile had twisted into something almost disapproving and there was something that glinted suspiciously of concern in his eyes, or maybe it was because the sound of glass bottles and their promised contents sent a bolt of shame piercing through him. He swallowed past it and reached for his pocket, fumbling around for the bills he had shoved in there on his way out the door.

He couldn’t bring himself to meet his friend’s eye as he placed the money on the counter.

“Um, I’ll take two for now. I, uh, didn’t bring my bike today. I can come by tomorrow and pick up the rest if that’s alright with you?”

“I’ll do you one better,” Ozzie responded, voice soft as he plucked two bottles of whisky from the crate, sliding them over to Lucifer. “Why don’t I swing by later and drop them off at your house?”

Lucifer’s eyes widened in surprise, flicking up to meet the taller man’s gaze. He was touched by the offer, if only mildly. There was a greater part of him that tensed immediately at the man’s words, and despite knowing that Ozzie was a good man who had been nothing but forthright and good to him, Lucifer couldn’t help but feel on edge and suspicious of someone threatening to invade his space. 

“You would do that?” He asked, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.

“Of course, what are friends for?” Ozzie replied with a wave of his hand. “It’s about time I get to see where you live. I have to convince the town you’re not an actual swamp rat after all, right?”

The tension didn’t leave Lucifer's shoulders, but the nagging suspicion dissipated a little, leaving him to breathe a little easier.

“Besides,” the big man continued, “it’s not like it’s not coming with a price.”

“You want money,” Lucifer stated, already reaching for his pockets. He had no problem paying extra. If it meant he got the rest of it tonight and one less venture into town, he would gladly pay for the delivery.

“No no, I don’t want your money,” Ozzie ushered, batting away the offered cash with a frown. “I want you to come out tonight. My sister, Bee, owns a club just a few streets over. She says she’s got a new band coming in to play, and from the sound of it, this night is aiming to be a good one. Come on, Sam,” he prompted, seeing the hesitance in the other man’s face. “It’ll be fun, I promise. And if you’re still feeling too sober by the time we get there, I’ll buy your drinks the rest of the night. What d’you say, pal?”

No. I say no. Hell no, fuck no, even. At least that’s what Lucifer had wanted to say. Perhaps it was the lingering alcohol in his veins, or the prominent, imploringly wide eyes of the giant across from him, but instead, and despite his better judgment, he found himself nodding.

“I’ll go. Tonight, I’ll go. Just one night.”

“Alright, Sam. Alright then.”

…

Nine rolled around sooner than Lucifer could blink. Ozzie said he would head over his way after closing up shop and Lucifer hardly had time to process his words before his hands began to tingle and his heart started to thud audibly in his chest.

He couldn’t remember the walk to his house, only vaguely registering when he’d sat down on the edge of his bed, some far-gone, reasonable part of his mind wondering when he’d left the general store to begin with. Hours had passed in a blur of shallow breaths that mimicked his thoughts as they zoomed from one extreme to another. Everything and nothing crossed his mind. He considered too much, but not enough. The loud rush of his heartbeat in his ears prevented any single thought from taking root, and just as quickly as it had arrived, it was replaced by another, spiraling idea.

Why had he agreed to do this? That seemed to be one of the few, coherent notes darting around in the mess upstairs. Among other recurring thoughts were ideas of how he could wriggle himself out of this commitment. Perhaps if he drank enough, he would pass out before Ozzie arrived. But fuck, this was hardly enough alcohol. Maybe he could fake it? Under normal circumstances, Lucifer was a shit liar, but maybe the bottles in his hand could provide enough liquid courage to sell it? What if Lucifer forewent lying altogether and just told Ozzie that he didn’t want to go? Would the man accept? Or would he drag his sorry ass to the club regardless? Lucifer didn’t know anything except for the ringing in his ears and the racing of his pulse.

He needed to leave. He tore through the buttons of his shirt, finding the collar far too suffocating as sweat dripped off the side of his face. He needed to leave.

But then there was a knock on the door followed by the dull, twin thuds of heavy somethings hitting the floor beneath him. He glanced down and saw the bottles of whisky he’d been holding since he had left Ozzie’s store. His hands were sweaty and red from where he had gripped them tightly for the past handful of hours, necks clenched tightly in his fists. One of them rolled to a stop against the tip of his shoe.

Another knock came from the door, this one followed by a hesitant, “Sam?”

Lucifer groaned, face paling as he rose from the bed. He swayed on his feet and for a second he thought that he wouldn’t have to fake his unconsciousness before his legs regained their strength and he was able to face down the hallway at his front door.

“Coming,” he called out, shuffling towards the door. He pulled his wrecked shift over his chest, hoping his friend wouldn’t comment on the state of his wardrobe. Opening the door revealed a bright-eyed and freshly re-dressed Ozzie. His hair was loosed from its usual tied-up fashion, thick strands tumbling down between his shoulder blades. He was grinning wickedly as he took in Lucifer’s disheveled appearance.

“Well, it’s not that kind of club, Sam, but if that’s what you’re looking for I can definitely point you in the right direction.”

“Har-har, Oz. Come on in, give me a few minutes to get dressed and we can go.”

“Try not to sound too excited there, pal,” the larger man responded mildly, distracted as he looked around at the small home. 

It was, to put it politely, plain. The bungalow was unassuming on the outside, and the inside wasn’t much different. There were bare walls and minimal furniture, and while not lost to complete squalor, the place was definitely on the untidy side. But hey, Ozzie wasn’t one to judge and really he was just grateful that Sam had allowed him to come to his house in the first place

“Um, how does this look, Oz?”

Lucifer emerged from his bedroom wearing more clothes than he had in well over a month. His torn shirt was replaced with a cleaner, smarter white button-up tucked into simple brown trousers. A matching jacket hung from his hand and he stood unsure, tugging at his clothes as he waited for the verdict. Ozzie let out a low whistle as he eyed the man’s outfit.

“Sam, my man. Well you sure clean up nice, don’t you?”

“It’s not too much? Or, erm, too little? I don’t want to insult your sister by looking like a mess at her club.” 

Ozzie wandered over to his friend and dusted his immaculate clothes before settling his heavy hands on his shoulders. “You look good, Sam. Don’t worry. Have I ever led you astray? Besides, the only issue I see here is how I’m going to manage to fight all those women off of you,” he winked. “I’ll get you home in one piece if that’s what you want, don’t you worry.”

“Sure,” Lucifer mumbled. He shook himself off, forcing his posture to lose some of its stiffness as he slid his arms through his coat sleeves. He was sure he’d be taking it off sooner rather than later, the lack of sunlight only dulling the heat and humidity to a slightly more bearable level. “Well, shall we be off then?”

“We shall.”

The entire journey to Bee’s club was filled with lively chatter. From Ozzie’s end, at least. The man couldn’t seem to find it in him to stop talking about anything and everything. He was in the middle of recounting the riveting tale about how his younger sister, Belle, had fallen off of a dock one summer after they had been tasked with collecting crawdads. Poor thing had been not only soaked, but had to sit through a scolding while their mother picked the crayfish out of her curly hair. Lucifer was only half listening, too wrapped up in his own worry to feel any true sympathy for some past version of his friend’s sister that he had never even met. 

The hard thumping of his heart was back, it felt like a little jockey was riding his heart, pushing it to go faster and faster until he really thought it might just give out. The only thing that seemed to help him was his tradition of counting as he went. One breath, two breaths, three. He would survive the night if he just kept at it. 

Part of him was frustrated with himself for being so dramatic about the whole thing. It was a jazz club for crying out loud, not a fucking battlefield. This wasn’t one of those soirees or galas that his parents used to host. There was no one there he had to impress, no talent he had to sell, no worth he had to prove to anyone. It was just a room full of strangers and music and drinks. He loved to party, didn’t he? He loved people and crowds and dancing, and had spent so much of his life living it up and having fun, soaking in the ambiance of society. Why was this so different? Why was he incapable of enjoying what he never had a problem enjoying before? 

Deep down, he knew why. He was reminded of it constantly, even despite his efforts to drown out the recurring thoughts with alcohol, he knew. But tonight would be different. Tonight he would try and he would have fun because he was with his friend and life hadn’t ended on that lonely English bridge eight weeks ago, even though he really hoped it would.

He could do this. He could stay out and enjoy the night, just this once.

Surely his life couldn’t get any worse, right?

They had pulled up to the club all too soon and Lucifer fought to maintain his breathing steady as he read the sign above the door.

Bee’s Palace

Ozzie smiled encouragingly, sensing his friend’s discomfort as he held the door open for him to pass through first. It was hard to tell from outside since the streets of New Orleans were always teeming with live music from every street corner, but it was clear that this was clearly the place to be for a good time on a Friday night. Together they descended the small set of stairs, immediately engulfed in the loud, brassy notes of a live band. 

The room was cramped and hazy with smoke as bodies moved about the room. Plush red leather booths were pressed into the walls, occupied by patrons dressed to the nines and sipping casually on drinks. The room was dimly lit save for the stage at one end, the light of which reflected off of the polished wood of the dancefloor just in front of it. Couples were dancing, the night in full swing as they twirled and rocked to the beat of the song that was playing. The air felt heavy, sweet with the smell of sweat, perfume, and cigar smoke. Despite the volume of the band, Lucifer could hear light, happy chatter, laughter as people enjoyed themselves, having seemingly left all their problems at the door. Perhaps, he thought, he should do the same.

“Come to the back, Sam. Bee’s running the bar tonight.”

Lucifer strained to hear him, but nodded as he turned to follow his friend to the back of the room. It was an easy task as the crowd seemed to part for the big man and Lucifer was quick to match his pace lest the masses converge on him and swallow him whole. Before long they had made it to a long wooden counter. Manning it was a woman, slender and tall with dark eyes that shone with pure mischief and twinkled brightly despite the reduced light of the room. She struck Lucifer as being very beautiful, but he got the feeling her sweet appearance was not to be underestimated.

“Ozzie!” she cried upon seeing her brother emerge from the sea of people. She threw down her towel and ran around to the side of the bar, flinging her arms around his towering frame as she planted a fat kiss on his cheek. Ozzie returned the embrace and for a moment Lucifer stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do with himself as they went about their intimate greeting. 

“Bee, so good to see you as always. We’ve been missing you around the store, you know?”

“I know Oz, it’s just this place keeps me so busy, especially on nights like this. Forgive me, please?” She smiled cheekily, batting her long eyelashes up at her brother. “I’ll come by and help this week, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Ozzie relented before stepping back to reveal his much shorter acquaintance. “Bee, this is Sam. He’s new in town and I figure it’s about time I show him where all the good music is at. Sam, this is my sister, Bee.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Bee. Ozzie has told me a lot about you.”

Lucifer held out his hand, never one to let his nerves and insecurities get in the way of his manners and the instinct to secure a good first impression. Bee regarded him with narrowed eyes and he gulped under the unexpected scrutiny. Her gaze was stony and calculating, like she was stripping him down to his deepest secrets. He was very thankful for the heat in the room as it would provide a logical reason as to why he found himself suddenly sweating up a storm. Finally, Bee’s face broke into a wide grin and she shot a hand out to grab Lucifer’s hand and pull him into a tight hug before also planting a kiss on his cheek.

“We don’t do handshakes around here, kid, not when you’re family at least. My little brother is a good judge of character, so any friend of his is a friend of mine. Welcome to the Palace!”

She let him go and he took in a lungful of air in an attempt to ease his sudden dizziness at having been brushed between arms that were much stronger than they looked. Setting her hands on her hips, she regarded the pair of them happily before crossing back over to the other side of the counter.

“So, what are we drinking tonight, fellas?”

“Two martinis. Dry, please.” Lucifer didn’t miss the way he added the last part quietly, but he couldn’t find it within himself to care. Something told him that he’d want to be at least somewhat sober tonight.

As Bee got to work on their drinks, Ozzie and Lucifer slipped onto some stools that had freed up. Settling in, Lucifer turned to ask his friend a question only to find him already engaged in conversation with the couple to the other side of him. It came as no surprise, really. Ozzie and his family were natives and had spent their entire lives in New Orleans. Ozzie himself was also quite the social butterfly, capable of charming his way into friendly chatter with anyone wherever he went. After all, that was how he had gained Lucifer’s favor, was it not? No matter, Lucifer wasn’t a child who needed his hand held at every given moment. He could keep himself occupied until his friend’s attention was free once more.

He felt a nudge on his elbow and turned his head in time to catch the wink Bee sent his way as she slid a glass over to him. He smiled, nodding as he mouthed a small ‘thank you’ before turning back around to look around the room.

Sipping on his drink, he was grateful to taste something other than straight whisky for once. The tang of the gin paired well with the subtle notes of citrus as he was reminded that alcohol didn’t always have to be a grin-and-bear-it experience. Feeling a little more confident in his own dark, little corner of the bar, he let his eyes roam the rest of the room, setting himself up to the task of people-watching.

In the minutes since they had arrived, more people had entered, the room heating up to the point where he felt it appropriate to slip out of his coat and even let out the first few buttons of his shirt. The band was in full swing, the music so alive it seemed to Lucifer that he could almost hear it breathing and moving. Sharp, quick taps of a drum here, staccato notes pouring from a trumpet here, dancing piano keys there, it was beautiful and so unlike anything that Lucifer had heard before. Jazz, shockingly, was not nearly as popular in Europe as it was in New Orleans, where the city seemed to pulse and thrive with every beat of music running through it. 

He listened for a song, fascinated by how seamlessly the players transitioned into the next, nearly indiscernible song after song after song. Eventually, Lucifer had forgotten all about Ozzie. his drink was long gone and replaced with another. He was pleasantly warm and tingly as a result, but he felt good. He felt alive. Much more than he had in recent weeks.

Six songs into his observation is when he noticed them, the pair of devils dancing below the stage. While other couples filtered on and off of the dancefloor, gave themselves time to recover before jumping into the next song, those two hadn’t left, and hadn't stopped dancing once. Lucifer was impressed, to say the least. He was no stranger to loving a good dance, but even someone as passionate as him could see that these two were on a whole new level.

Although he couldn’t see them well from where he was sitting at the bar, it wasn’t hard to miss how the people around them parted to leave a wide berth of space for their enthusiastic choreography. The man and woman were tall, and every once in a while Lucifer would catch a glimpse of dark hair or tight, blonde curls, catch the glinting of light as it reflected off of their wide smiles, and see the flared fury of a skirt being twirled around its owner. 

He was captivated by them, a fascinated smile creeping onto his face before he could stop it. His foot tapped along to the beat against the footrest on the stool, itching for some dancing of its own. Despite his desires, he reigned in his excitement, satisfied with watching for now instead of partaking. Besides, it was clear that he would in no way be able to compete with the two of them, and aside from that, he had no one to dance with and he wasn’t about to impose on some poor, unsuspecting victim. His grin turned rueful as he shook his head slightly to rid himself of the notion and he turned back around to face the bar.

Bee was busy at the other end and Ozzie was still engrossed in his own conversations, his audience having grown in number since the last time Lucifer had cared to take notice. He glanced at his watch, noting that the time was quickly approaching midnight. Surely he had been here long enough that Ozzie wouldn’t protest to him heading back home, right? The thought of sitting around at the bar while he twiddled his thumbs meaninglessly didn’t seem very appealing, and he wasn’t willing to give the public another reason to think him pathetic. He thought he had caught a glimpse of a back door, perhaps he could just slip out there and avoid the embarrassing display of having to fight his way through the crowd of patrons?

His mind was all but made up, the rest of his drink downed, the glass placed back onto the counter on top of a neatly folded bill, when a voice rang out next to him.

“Bee, dear, can I get a gin and tonic and some rye, please? Thanks, doll!”

Lucifer’s gaze found the owner of the voice just as his lips were forming the last few words. He blinked, suddenly finding one of the devils from the dancefloor standing next to him. He froze, one foot planted awkwardly on the floor while the rest of him hung from the edge of the stool about to drop down. His heart, which had found time to repose and recover in the pleasant ambiance of the club, started racing all over again as he looked over the stranger.

He was, in every sense of the word, lovely. Tall, yes, although much taller up close than he appeared from the other side of the room. Slim but broad-shouldered, skin tanned nicely, which Lucifer appreciated as he gazed at his exposed forearms, the sleeves of his shirt pushed up so as to not get in the way of his dancing, he presumed. The man’s jaw was curved sharply, littered with the barest traces of stubble which he traced up to a strong chin and a pair of thin lips which were tilted into an easy grin. Long fingers plucked a pair of fogged eyeglasses from the bridge of a slightly upturned nose and Lucifer would only follow them as they worked to clean the lenses against the fabric of his dress shirt. He was still staring when those glasses were settled back into their proper place, framing a set of wide, dark eyes that blinked back at him.

Lucifer felt like crying as his face burned with the shame of being caught checking out another man. A married man no less, as his mind finally decided to register the fact that there was a gold band on his left hand. He snapped his gaze away, hoping beyond reason that no damage had been done as he hopped down the rest of the way off the barstool, cursing as he stumbled in his slightly tipsy haste and shot a hand out towards the bar to steady himself. 

I need to get out of here now. Forget Ozzie, he would come up with an excuse to tell him later, but right now he really needed to make a beeline for that backdoor. He pushed himself off of the bar when he was sure he wouldn’t fall over again and didn’t make it one step when that damned voice stopped him.

“Leaving so soon?”

Lucifer didn’t want to turn around. Hell, turning around was the last thing he wanted to do. It was the last thing he should’ve done, but there he was, turning to face the stranger because apparently he listened to noone’s orders, even his own. 

“It’s late,” he replied, seemingly incapable now of complex sentences.

“It is,” the stranger replied, leaning on his elbows against the bar. He dragged a slow, lazy gaze up Lucifer’s figure, taking in every inch of him. Lucifer felt like prey under his gaze, frozen as his instincts battled between the urge to fight or flee. “The name’s Alastor,” he said finally, voice light and charming and friendly enough, which did nothing to explain why Lucifer felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Sam,” he said, reaching a hand out to shake the one offered to him. He hoped its trembling would go unnoticed.

“Sam,” Alastor repeated slowly, as though trying out a foreign word for the first time. “It's a pleasure to be meeting you, Sam.” His grin was stretched languidly over his face, dark eyes hooded and shining with interest, looking at Lucifer like he was something new and exciting and worthy of all his attention. Lucifer gulped, his mouth drier than it had been when he woke up that morning as Alastor brought the hand he was shaking up to his face. He turned his wrist, pressing a chaste kiss to the fair skin of Lucifer’s knuckles, all the while keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the smaller man. “Quite a pleasure.”

Lucifer’s stomach dropped as his chest erupted with the feeling of his heart pattering wildly in its ribbed cage. He snatched his hand back, only vaguely registering how Alastor raised an eyebrow at the reaction.

“I have to leave,” he said, trying to hide the thickness in his voice as a lump formed in his throat. Without so much as a second glance, he turned on his heel and darted past the bar and down the hallway until he reached the backdoor. He didn’t stop running until he reached his front door, which he flung open as he tore at the buttons of his shirt. 

Later that night, a trail of clothing could be followed all the way from the front door to his bedroom. Lucifer was curled on his side, mouth hanging loosely from the rim of a bottle. He always drank to forget, but as he was beginning to realize, there were some things that were beyond running from, and his waking nightmares were haunted by the dark eyes of the devil himself.

<< Summary

First Chapter >>

[sapphire-weapon]

Hey! No pressure to answer this (especially bc I know some people get like... weirdly intense about fictional ships lol and it's understandable if you wanna avoid any childish controversy on your blog!). Why do you prefer Leon/Ashley over Leon/Ada (if you do)? I'm just curious, because I really enjoy reading into peoples different opinions and where they come from, when they're about characters that I enjoy! :) I really like all three characters, but don't ship any of it! Lol.

But yeah, if you'd like to delve into it a little (especially because you're a long time fan!!) I'd love to hear your thoughts. :)

I mean there's no profound reason why I like Leon/Ashley. It's just the flavor of ship that I prefer. I could tell you things about it that I like, but there's no real reason behind why I like it other than I just do.

I hate Leon/Ada because Ada does not exist as a character outside of her relationship with Leon. She was tailored solely to be his melodrama. That's not interesting or compelling to me. That's contrived bullshit. And it's insulting when you consider the fact that Ada should rightfully have a much larger role in the story that's completely divorced from him, because she worked for Wesker for six (or more, probably more) fucking years. But no. She's not allowed to be on screen without Leon. We're not allowed to know who she is beyond her relationship with him.

For as long as Ada is attached to Leon, she hasn't been and won't be her own character. And I don't fuck with that.

It also adds an extra layer of melodrama onto Leon that doesn't need to exist, because he already has the only negative character arc in this series to begin with, and it's like Ada's just tacked onto the end of it in order to make his life even more miserable.

Like, if you remove Ada's involvement in Leon's life past RE2, nothing about his character needs to change in order to compensate for her loss, because the core of Leon's character is that he's trapped in a nightmare that keeps repeating over and over again. He's looked at as a weapon and treated as such by the same government that kidnapped him and held his foster daughter at gunpoint, and there's no escape and nothing changes. He's both indispensable and yet completely powerless, and all he's been doing since 1998 is run in place.

Ada adds nothing to him. She's just baggage. She's merely part of the nightmare that keeps repeating, and she's not even remotely the most important part. She's just... there.

That's not to say that there's no there there in terms of the ship. I understand their connection, and I've written huge long posts about it. I'm just saying that narratively and thematically, their relationship adds absolutely nothing to the story of Resident Evil or to either of their characters -- and, in Ada's case, it actually makes her lesser.

ETA: I'm sorry anon, I should've sat on this a bit and answered it when I was in less of a foul mood (real morale hit at work today for the whole damn place). If I haven't completely chased you off, I'd be happy to go into what about Leon/Ashley makes me happy way later tonight when I get home and can hug a cat. My littlest cat will stay on my lap even when I'm typing.

[strideofpride]

random ask for when you’re in the mood: if you had both the opportunity and inclination to readapt the original gossip girl for today’s audience, what elements of the core characters would you alter, and which ones would you make sure to preserve? are there aspects of certain characters you’d want to give more or less emphasis as compared to the way they were presented in the original show?

(for context, this thought experiment came to me because i was thinking about how if anyone ever did reboot the original gossip girl today and weren’t writing dan as gg, they’d have to figure out how to present the non-gossip-girl-dan to an audience that’s primed to be skeptical/distrustful of him based on the choices of the cw series - in a way that the cw series obviously didn’t have to contend with when adapting the novels. this made me think more broadly about how characterization choices in newer adaptions of old material end up being influenced by the way pop culture has come to conceptualize a character - even if that’s contrary to the original intention of the text)

Hmmmmm. Honestly, I don't think you actually need to change much tbh? Like I think there's a reason people are still so obsessed with the OG Gossip Girl and that's cause the character archetypes of everyone really hold up and stand the test of time. I really would just update some cultural references maybe like:

Jenny is on fashion tiktok and always doing OOTDs and that kind of stuff, has a big following already as a freshman

Serena was super instafamous before going dark when she disappeared off to boarding school

Thanks to social media, Blair is an *excellent* anonymous hater/cyberbully lol. Like if GG is on insta like in the reboot, she probably has like five different accounts to comment mean stuff under gg posts lol

Vanessa is on Film Twitter and has a ton of letterboxd followers

Chuck definitely posts revenge porn cause he still sucks :(

Nate also has a large insta following but he mainly just posts blurry selfies and earnest stories congratulating his favorite sports teams lol

Dan probably is super online, maybe he has his own substack where his only followers are his dad and Vanessa, and then when he starts dating Serena, it takes off.

If I was making this version of GG, I would keep the focus mainly on Serena, Blair, and Dan, like they originally started with. Although I would like to see a real attempt made at the Blairernate triangle made as well, cause I know it's such an important aspect of the books. I would keep Chuck a villain, kinda like Georgina, where he just brings chaos. You could still do 107-113 c/hair, just none of the soapy melodrama from the later seasons. Based off the way most of the Euphoria audience reacted to Nate Jacobs, I'm hopeful that people would be less likely to romanticize this version of Chuck. Hell, maybe it's even like the guy from Do Revenge, where he does performative feminism now to try to get girls idk.

And then re: the whole Dan being GG thing...I don't really care what the audience thinks because in my version no one is GG and it will never be revealed lol. I honestly think it's a no win situation too, because the OG writers have straight up admitted they didn't decide on Dan as GG until s6 and there are so many instances in the show where it's literally impossible for Dan to be GG but yet there are still people who take it seriously so...

[keaalu]

Secondary Trines

Everyone thought the fallout from TC and Pulsar’s affair was dealt with, but it turns out Skywarp is not so easily satisfied. (And Pulsar has a big mouth – but everyone knew that.)

Set a few dozen orns after [How Long] . Nothing explicit, fade-to-black etc., but some element of mature discussion (plus lots of manufactured melodrama and authorial fiat, WOO).

Reminder: Pulsar is a bike. As a natural consequence of this, she has a big mouth, which often runs away from her and gets her into trouble.

As a natural consequence of Skywarp being Skywarp, this is a good thing; winding her up until she blurts out something embarrassing and/or incriminating is the usual end game.

Today, the trouble is associated with an interesting revelation.

Second little reminder: Pulsar is a little femme (like, just a smidge over half Skywarp’s height). ((What can I say; I like a bit of size difference.)) (((She is also unrepentant. The fact it makes her a useful projectile at times is just something she’s had to learn to deal with.)))

---------

Night had already secured a foothold in Deixar, dressing the house in deepening shades of indigo. Everyone else had already retired to their private suites, leaving just two residents to monopolise the furniture in the atrium.

Pulsar had been dozing comfortably on the couch, sprawled out with her head on Skywarp’s shoulder. Initially reading, while he watched something she’d seen a dozen times before, until her attention began to wane and the wafer slid from her fingers, disappearing out of reach… and she decided fetching it back was too much effort and she was just too comfortable, right now. She’d let her optics go dim, all her senses softening into idle mode, and a handful of dormancy protocols had begun to come online when-

A sharp sensation in the tip of one aerial startled her bolt awake.

“Stop that!”

Skywarp huffed but obediently took his lips off her antennae. “What did I do wrong this time?”

She noticed the entertainment system had all gone offline already, and wondered how long he’d been watching her snooze and waiting for her to wake up on her own. “There’s other ways to wake me up that don’t involve biting me-”

“Yeah, but they’re not so much fun.”

“-and I was comfortable!”

“You were offline.”

“That was the point!” She brushed a hand up over her antennae, checking for new kinks; finding none, she settled, trying but failing to find that cosy position again. “I was actually enjoying just snuggling up with you, for once.”

“Enjoying it so much, you couldn’t stay awake.” He raised his voice over her protests. “It’s fine, I get it. I’m boring, now.” He was quiet for several loaded seconds before asking, in a deceptively offhand tone; “was he better than me?”

It was Pulsar’s turn to be quiet for a second. “What?” She glanced up at him.

“Thundercracker. You’ve been in a funny mood since you two finally fessed up about fragging each other.” He was staring up at the stars, sprinkling the sky above the huge glass roof. “Got me wondering if you were just trying to save my feelings, by saying it was a fling and you didn’t think about it any more.”

“…the slag did that come from, Skywarp?” She propped herself on an elbow. “I was enjoying your company! How did you get from that to, oh, I bet she’s thinking about my best friend, now.”

Lips pursed, Skywarp let his gaze drift down to meet hers. He didn’t look particularly serious about it, though – no doubt his usual flavour of insincere windup – which succeeded in rankling her temper.

She squirmed out from under his arm. “It’s not a funny mood if I just want to be able to enjoy your company without slag like you biting my aerials. It wouldn’t kill you to be tender, every now and then.”

“Like Thundercracker would be, you mean.”

“Oh, shove off, Skywarp.” She stood to face him, bad-tempered. “He’s got nothing to do with it.”

He sat up as well. “Musta been a good frag if it was twenty vorns ago and you’re still thinking about him.”

“Primus, what is your malfunction, this evening?” Pulsar threw up her hands. “I’m not thinking about him! And I’m not comparing you against him, either! Let alone based on how good a frag you think you are.” She glared, and added; “or think you aren’t, apparently.”

“Not denying that you do think he’s better than me, then.” Skywarp vented a melodramatic sigh. “Anyone else would wanna take the chance to prove me wrong.”

“Mercy!” She covered her face with one hand and growled something incoherently obscene. “You're both gorgeous and I'd have the pair of you at once in a heartbeat if I didn't think I'd lose both of you just by suggesting it-!”

She visibly stiffened at realising what she’d blurted out full volume, optics brightening to such a humiliated cyan-white it was a wonder they didn’t short out altogether.

They just stared at each other for several long seconds, with the words just… hanging there, between them.

Skywarp’s brows had come up in a very steep arch, but his expression otherwise remained inscrutable.

Pulsar let her head hang. “Guess I'll go make myself comfy in dorms.”

“Hey. No.” Skywarp caught her arm before she could disappear. “Just… run that past me again.”

“What? No!” She jerked backwards on her arm but couldn’t quite get enough co-ordination together to extract it from his grip. “Are you telling me you didn’t immediately commit every word to your long-term memory? I am not repeating myself.” Her field felt scorching hot. “Certainly not for your amusement. Now let me go.”

“Aw, but I thought you liked it when I embarrass you,” he teased, pulling her into the circle of his arms.

“That’s different.”

“Howso?”

She closed her fingers into fists against his armour. “I'm trying to be serious here.”

“Uh-huh, me too.” He strummed a thumb down over her antennae.

She sighed, frustrated, and let her helm bonk down on his chassis. “You’re an infuriating glitch, sometimes. Being annoyed with myself and not in the mood to play with you doesn’t mean it’s because I suddenly want to get intimate with your wingmate instead.”

“…again.”

“Will you just stop.” She gave him a thump. “That’s not fair. I know we hurt you and I’m sorry, but you were dead, when it happened. Please stop making me feel like you want me to choose between you.”

He gave her a look with the most theatrically hangdog expression she had ever seen. “You do love him still, then.”

“Of course I do. We went through a lot together. I’d have never got out of Egypt in one piece, without him. He’s one of my best friends. But it’s not the same sort of love that we have.” She huffed hot air in a frustrated snort. “For one, he doesn’t send me obscene images of what he wants to do to me, or find the most inappropriate time of day to do it.”

Skywarp didn’t quite manage to successfully swallow the little triumphant ha! that leaped unbidden to his vocaliser. He made an abortive attempt to cover it with a cough of static.

“And that wasn’t what I meant, anyway, you obnoxious fraghead. You know you’re the one who wriggled his way under my armour, for reasons I absolutely cannot fragging understand, right now. You know how important you are in my life. You changed my life in a million amazing ways and I wouldn’t change you for the universe, but Primus if you aren’t the most frustrating aft I have ever met at times as well.” She stepped back half a pace, leaning into his laced fingers. “Now are you going to get off me, or do I have to sock you properly.”

He offered an exaggeratedly woeful little sigh and let his arms drop to dangle at his sides. “Fine. You wanna go be melodramatic, don’t let me stop you.”

She stepped free of his grasp, and resumed her flounce to the door.

He called after her; “What you said before. About the… both at once part… Do you ever actually… you know. Imagine doing it?”

She hesitated near the doorway. The silence clung on for long enough that it gave all the answer anyone could have needed, but she finally spoke. “…occasionally.” She flashed him a glare, optics like icy chips of temper. “But it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a stupid fantasy. All right? It’s stupid. I’m stupid.” She barged the door open with her shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

Disappointed, he watched her go; the streetlights glittered against her neon chequers and turned her into an abstract little ghost in the gloom.

Clearly this was not the good sort of embarrassed. He’d have to fix that.

-----

Night had fully sunk its teeth into the district when the boring square outline of Central station finally loomed up in front of her. Pulsar stomped past the front desk and ignored the desk sergeant’s attempt at a friendly greeting, and ducked into the dormitory block, going straight to the registry to see what options were available.

…aaaand it looked like home for the night was going to be whichever spare chair she could find.

Again.

She sighed, turned away and trundled wearily down the empty corridor. Had this stupid fragup happened earlier, she could have stood a chance at one of the spare berths in dorms. Mid-shift, though, and everywhere was already occupied.

Next time, she’d just… deactivate her vocaliser altogether, she figured. Rather than get needled into losing her temper and letting her big mouth run away from her. Again.

The couch in the corner of the officer’s mess was thankfully empty. (She wasn’t sure where else she’d have gone, if not. She was absolutely not going to camp out behind the intake desk in custody. Or in an empty cell.)

She let her motors unwind, plopping heavily down on the reinforced foam with a low whoomph of air. As couches went, it was… well, comfortable enough. So long as you weren’t hoping for too much. Someone considerably senior to her (and evidently never having been forced to recharge here) had ‘generously’ got it reupholstered, as well, so the cushions were annoyingly harder than she remembered. Not beaten to yielding softness by vorns of abuse from her friends and colleagues.

She scrunched a foil around her shoulders and tucked up into the corner, setting up a proximity alert so if anyone sat on her she’d have proof it was intentional; then shut off her optics, and initiated the first of her recharge protocols.

The last thought that flashed through her awareness before she successfully managed to switch off was of two pairs of wings, turning away from both her and from each other, and of being completely incapable of working out which set she should follow.

-----

Thundercracker was first to rouse, when morning finally rolled around. Skywarp followed him down not long after – unexpectedly alone.

It was… unusual, to have an empty seat at the table, but perhaps Pulsar had been called in early. Thundercracker didn’t pay it much attention; wouldn’t be the first time. The quiet made a nice change of pace, anyway. He called up the news on his wafer and got comfortable to read.

He got halfway through the headlines before the silence grew a little too heavy. Skywarp was never normally this quiet unless something was on his mind.

Thundercracker glanced up, and found his wingmate watching him, unexpectedly; optics subtly narrowed, head propped on one hand, twiddling a cube on one of its points with the other. Said cube was still almost full so he was obviously preoccupied.

“Is everything all right?” Thundercracker prompted, warily. “What’s with the intense scrutiny, this morning.”

“Had a lot to think about, before I managed to get offline last night. Still working through it at the moment.”

Thundercracker put the news to one side. “Did you want to talk about it? Maybe I can help.”

“Depends. Maybe.”

It was apparently one of those mornings. “Well you obviously do, or you wouldn’t be looking at me like that.”

“Fine.” Skywarp let his cube drop flat against the tablet again. “I was just wondering, if I look at you long enough… I might be able to spot what it is that Squeaky sees in you.”

“What?” It took an instant to parse the words, but Thundercracker visibly drooped. “Aw, come on, Warp. I thought we were done talking about this? We told you, we separated long before you came back. We’re not interested in pursuing anything intimate.”

“That’s why she said she wanted to interface with you again, huh.” The challenge in Skywarp’s voice had grown more overt.

“Uh.” Thundercracker licked his lips, uneasily. “…she said that?”

“Last night. Uh-huh.”

Well, that would explain the empty chair, at least.

And yet in spite of being his usual belligerent self, Skywarp didn’t seem angry. Just sharp, and challenging, in that way he got when he was determined to get an answer out of someone.

That someone wasn’t usually Thundercracker, though.

“I don’t know what to say to you, Warp. I can’t speak for her, but it’s never come up in conversation since you first found out. There’s been no reason for it to? We were being honest when we said we hadn’t continued anything.” But the longer the teleport stared silently into him, with those pursed lips and narrowed optics, the more off-balance (and slightly cross) he felt. “This is ridiculous, Skywarp. It was vorns ago! You know we wouldn’t suddenly choose to go behind your wings now.”

“Not denying that you’d like to though, huh. Interesting.”

“What? Primus. How did you get there from what I just said?” Thundercracker put his hands up. “You know what, this conversation is over. I can’t speak for Pulsar, and I don’t know why she said that, or if you’ve just… misinterpreted her, again. But I’m not playing along and letting you box me into a corner about something I haven’t done. Or said. Or thought. All right? Now if you’ll excuse me,” he turned his attention back on his flask, “I’d like to finish this? Because some of us have work to go to.”

“Sure, sure.” Skywarp watched as he picked up the wafer and glared thoroughly at the headlines, just to make it clear how extra done he was with this conversation. “Okay, anyway, fine. Confession time.” The teleport leaned forwards onto his elbows, features softening just a tiny bit. “I might not have been completely honest with you.”

Thundercracker paused with his flask midway to his mouth. “…go on?”

“I was trying to get her a bit fired up, right? I guess I thought I was just teasing, and she’d be all, right, time to prove him wrong! And she kinda… came out with something I wasn’t expecting.”

“I will never understand your idea of foreplay, but fine. Situation normal. What turned that into… whatever this big drama is?”

“So, what she actually said. Was.” Skywarp studied his interlaced fingers, where they rested on the table. “I'd have both of you at once, if the option was there.”

Thundercracker promptly choked on his energon.

“And yeah so ok, she didn’t really say it, as much as just…” Skywarp wafted his hands. “Vomit the words out and instantly look like she wanted the planet to swallow her.”

“So why are you telling me?” Thundercracker finally wheezed, once he’d managed to cough the last few drops out of his air intakes.

“Beeecause… I guess…” Skywarp offered a see-sawing sort of shrug. “I wanted to see if you wanted to?”

Thundercracker stared at him for a very long time.

Eventually he came up with a very inadequate: “What?”

“I thought it was a pretty straightforward question.”

Thundercracker made sure he’d put his flask down, just in case of any other bombshells. “After that time we spilled our sparks to you, and absolutely put ourselves through the mill in the process… You’re asking me if I want to interface with her. With your permission??”

“Not my permission, mech. With me. Together.”

In spite of it being physiologically impossible, it still looked like Thundercracker had paled. “…what?”

“You sure you should be downstairs yet, mech?” Skywarp waved a hand in front of his wingmate’s face. “Not really woken up yet, by my reckoning.”

Thundercracker grabbed the distracting hand and pinned it against the table. “With me. I did hear you right, right? With me. As in, both of us. At the same time.”

Skywarp smiled disarmingly. “Right. Humans call it a threesome.”

“A three-…” Thundercracker opened and closed his mouth a few times but nothing adequate seemed to want to come out. He quietly sagged against the chair’s backrest. “We’ve been trine for millennia. Is-is this something you’ve thought about before? Like, are you only just now telling me… you’ve wanted to do this… all that time? And I’ve just… what. Missed it? Never spotted it? Not even a hint?”

“Naw.” Skywarp’s features creased in that silly smile that crinkled his nose (and Thundercracker knew usually got Pulsar swooning. It… was kinda attractive). “I’d have told you long before now if I had. I guess she just got me curious?”

“Curious.”

“Yeah? I mean, why not? I know we’re both gorgeous.” Skywarp flattened his hand against his cockpit, fingers splayed, and Thundercracker couldn’t help the little snort of laughter. “You’ve never been interested to see what it’d be like?”

“Well-… no, honestly? You’re trine, Warp. The idea of interfacing with you has not once ever crossed my processor.”

One brow came up in an arch as if to say oh really. Skywarp sipped (intentionally causally) at his cube.

“I mean it!” Why did he suddenly feel so flustered. “A-aside from maybe… once. Thousands of vorns ago. We weren’t trine then. And then a war got in the way. Remember that part?”

“Pssh. Plenty of romantic trines out there, even if we never did.” Skywarp paused for effect. “…yet.”

Thundercracker rested his head against his folded hands. “I can’t believe you’re actually genuinely trying to talk me into this.”

“Why not?” Skywarp shuffled his chair closer around the table, and claimed one of his wingmate’s hands with his own. “It’d be fun!”

Thundercracker gave him a flat look. “‘Fun’.”

“Yeah. You know. That thing neither you nor Screamer know how to do any more.”

Thundercracker gave him a shove.

“Seriously.” Skywarp scooted back, and closer, this time. “So what if we’re wingbros. This is a thing we like doing, and you’re our friend. Pulse might not have suggested it on purpose, but friends share nice things with each other, and I thought: yeah, okay.” They were almost nose-to-nose, by now. He dropped his voice an octave or so. “…and you really are pretty attractive, into the bargain.”

Thundercracker snorted a laugh. “Colours aside, we’re identical, you vain glitch.”

Skywarp snickered. “Yeah but I never normally see me from this angle.”

“Are you sure Pulsar is all right with it?”

This time Skywarp did look a little sheepish. “Well I, uh, kinda haven’t seen her since she got mad at me and stomped off last night. I think she stayed in dorms. I haven’t actually told her I was gonna talk to you, yet.”

“Only because she’d have told you not to,” Thundercracker growled. “And you better not be using me as a way to apologise to her, either.” He sighed and let his forehead come to rest against his wingmate’s. “…can I think about it?”

“Sure.” Skywarp kissed his nose, playfully. “I can wait.”

-----

When Pulsar was uncharacteristically late to the daily pre-shift briefing, their boss dispatched one of her siblings to go looking for her.

Following her private signal, the eternally-elegant Longbeam tracked her down in the canteen. Pulsar looked somewhat frazzled; antennae askew, optics not quite at full brightness, and still covered in yesterday’s scuffs, contemplating her energon as though hoping to glean the meaning of life from the depths of the flask.

Longbeam slid into the chair opposite. “What happened to you.”

“No spare dorms. Stayed on the couch.”

“And there was me thinking you had a massive house – and a bunch of pretty seekers to go with it – out in the nice part of the city.”

Pulsar glared up from under hooded brows. “Those ‘pretty seekers’ are why I ended up sleeping on the couch. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Oh-ho.” Longbeam’s optics twinkled. “Say no more, sister. I wondered why you still looked so tired.”

“And what exactly do you mean by that.”

“Nothin’.” The tall bike gestured airily with her long, slim hand. “Crash with me and Vecks, next time. If nothing else, our couch is infinitely superior. You can fantasise all you like and no-one will interrupt.”

Pulsar swatted her hand away, and her sister snickered. “Why are you even here, Beemer.”

“Because you’re late to work?”

…Well done. Go draw a bit more attention to yourself, why don’t you. Idiot. Pulsar vented a long sigh and let her head clonk down against the table.

“So preoccupied that you flat out forgot why they make us come to this dump on the regular, huh,” Longbeam drawled. “Need me to go make some excuses to Nightsun for you?”

“No.” Pulsar’s words came out muffled by the tabletop. “Pass me a lid for my flask…”

In reality, nobody paid the two bikes the slightest bit of attention as they navigated the busy corridors, but Pulsar’s imagination was already in overdrive, (un)happily assuming everyone was talking about her. Why’s she still so scruffy / didn’t take a bath / stayed here overnight / have they separated / what did she do to upset him / really hope I don’t miss out on the juicy gossip. She kept her shoulders round and avoided eye contact.

Nightsun pinged a quick greeting as Pulsar slunk in and found a seat at the back of the meeting area, but otherwise didn’t break his flow, assigning cases and talking through the orn’s operations. She appreciated the discretion.

When Thundercracker drifted past on the way to his office, looking… distant, and distracted, for reasons she strongly suspected she knew… she slumped all the way down on her chair until she could hide behind Longbeam, and quietly took her beacon right off the grid. Just while he was in the vicinity. Just to avoid any awkward conversations in public. Just until she’d squared things up in her own mind.

This is such a screwup.

Eventually Pulsar’s shift ended and she’d run out of data to upload and reports to write and there came a point where she couldn’t justify loitering purposelessly at work any longer. And Longbeam kept giving her funny, knowing looks, so it would only be a matter of time before Pulsar ended up giving her an incriminating punch in the head. She left the building the most circuitous way she could find and skulked home with her tail between her legs, rehearsing over and over in her head what she was going to say to Skywarp. She’d not heard from him all day and didn’t really know what that meant.

I love you and can we forget I said anything.

…You spent all day thinking about it and that was the best you could come up with?

She settled uncomfortably in their lounge, on the edge of the couch under the house-maple, trying to concentrate on her datapad. She’d never really been that bothered that her feet didn’t reach the floor until now, when it felt like it might impinge on her ability to make a quick exit.

Across the room, the news unexpectedly clicked on, making her jump. Footsteps approached.

…and it wasn’t Skywarp. She swallowed the curse before it could escape.

Thundercracker settled intentionally nearby. She tried to ignore his proximity – and the way he was watching her read – but there was something off about his manner that was making the back of her helm prickle with a sort of anxious anticipation.

It was when he shifted slightly to artfully prop his head against one hand, still watching her, that she realised the game was indeed up.

She looked up and met his gaze, and immediately deflated. “…he told you,” she said, flatly.

At least he was smiling – and not in a mocking way, but a small, affectionate smile. “He did.”

She muttered something quiet that Thundercracker didn’t manage to parse, but sensed was probably pretty vulgar. “I might kill him.”

“I might hold him down for you!” He chuckled. “After I figure out which bit of this ridiculousness surprises me more – the fact you thought he might not, or the fact you’re surprised he did.”

His fingers drifted down over her antennae, trailing imaginary sparks all the way, and her fans hitched. She jerked her head away, frustrated. “This wasn’t fun to start with but it’s definitely not fun now you’re both sucking my sump.” She slid off the chair and made a break for the exit. “I thought better of you.”

He put out a hand and blocked her way as she went to pass him. “Didn’t you only just get home?”

“Yeah.” She looked down and watched as his fingers came up to softly encircle her wrist. “If I go now, there might still be some spare berths left. I’m not spending the night on that nasty hard couch again. And definitely not going to crash with Beemer, who can’t wait to rub it in-”

He kept his grip gentle – made sure she knew she could have stepped away any second she wanted, if she genuinely wanted out – but didn’t let go. “Why?”

“Really?” She gave him a tired glare. “Come on. Warp gets me to blurt out stupid, embarrassing garbage, shares the worst of it with you, and you wonder why I feel like I can’t face you right now. The last I need is for you to join in with mocking me.”

“I’m not teasing. I promise.” His smile widened, just a touch. He gave her hand a very gentle tug and she sagged into his lap.

“Well this isn’t fair,” she said, flatly.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m trying to apologise.” Her fans had already picked up speed. Her antennae prickled, like someone had connected them to a lightning rod and a thunderstorm was brewing outside. “I get it! I have a big mouth and no filter and I shouldn’t have said it.”

“Maybe.” Thundercracker lowered his voice to a particularly pleasant rumble. “But I’m glad you did.”

It felt like someone had stolen all the air from the room. “…what?”

Pulsar realised she’d wound her field so tightly around herself, she almost missed it when the third person joined the room. A bolt of electric alarm shot right up her back and she froze.

Skywarp sat down on his knees in front of the couch, caging Pulsar at the centre of a circle of arms. “So are we doing this, or what.”

She refused to meet either of their stares, shocked and stiff. “Doing what.”

“Well someone said something about having us both at once.”

Oh mercy. Pulsar covered her face with both hands; felt like her field was on fire. “You’re a teasing pair of glitches.” Her words came out strangled and staticky. “You shouldn’t say things like that unless you mean it.”

Thundercracker leaned down; let his helm bump gently against hers. “Who says we don’t?” he said, softly. “We know you want to.”

“Just because I want-… I-” She let her head turn subtly to the side, until she could just meet the muted garnet of his optics. “I don’t want to hurt you. It was a stupid, unguarded comment-”

“We’ve all said something stupid and unguarded at some point. But now it’s in the open, and we can do something about it.”

Skywarp was leaning in, as well, now. “You left me plenty of thinking time when you flounced last night. Me and TC discussed it…”

“…and that made for an interesting orn…” Thundercracker added, dryly.

“…and we decided, yeah. We’re both up for it. Let’s see what it would be like.” Skywarp pressed in closer “I think it’ll be fun.”

“But you can say no. That’s fine too.”

They were both so intoxicatingly close she could barely think straight. There was no way this could be real. Perhaps she was still offline, scrunched up and uncomfortable and stress-dreaming in the canteen. She scrambled for something that might bring back reality. “This can’t-.. I-I don’t want to hurt you. What if it makes things… awkward, or you fall out, or-… I would never forgive-”

“It won’t.” Thundercracker dipped his helm, until his lips were microns from hers, easily close enough to steal a kiss. “After forgiving all the slag we’ve done to each other during the war… why would an expression of love hurt us like that?”

She could feel the subtle movement of the air as he spoke. So close.

So close.

“But, if you really don’t-”

“Yes.” She dimmed her optics, and breathed the words against him. “I do. Please, Primus; yes.”

Skywarp snrk-ed, then leaned all the way in and tightened his grip on them both.

A sensation of cold and freefall and of being in two places at once-

-and suddenly the lounge was empty.

-----

The first subtle blues of early dawn streamed in through the crack in the blind, slicing the room into a collection of shadows. Pulsar was first to stir, nudged awake by an internal alarm, and the reluctant knowledge that she had a shift coming up. She allowed herself an indulgent few seconds of stillness, to figure out exactly where she was – and more importantly, with whom.

It hadn’t been a dream, then.

Sensation slowly came back to her tired processors, as each individual module booted reluctantly back up. She felt sore, and stiff, and… weirdly stretched… and completely powerless to move, sandwiched between two large, heavy, affectionate bodies.

And… she found she really didn’t care, actually? It was a good sore. It came with quiet and calm and contentment, all folded up in a soft nimbus of protection and affection.

Would be nice to stay like this forever, actually.

She called up her memory record, just soaking in the remembered pleasure, for a little while. Thinking about those careful, cautious little experimental touches, working out each other’s boundaries and individual hotspots… Of trying really hard to give as good as she got, but also of being trapped at the epicentre of a tornado, swept along, ultimately able to do nothing except surrender control and enjoy the ride.

Then, when she was too sore and exhausted to do anything more, just… laying to watch, and purr contentedly, enjoying vicariously as they explored each other, in ways that were simultaneously completely alien (those wings, oh Primus those wings), and also so unbelievably familiar she could almost feel it.

Yeah; mmh, that had been good, too. Particularly good. She shivered at the memory, filing it carefully away, wondering if she’d ever be able to get Warp making those same soft little noises of pleasure and need that he’d wrung from Thundercracker.

She turned her attention quietly to her berthmates.

Skywarp was an untidy sprawl, of course, because when wasn’t he. Limbs and wings at all angles, as though he’d just been dropped there from a great height. His cheek pressed heavily against the top of her helm, though, and the arm on which she lay was bent around just enough for his fingers to rest on her hip.

The smudge of blue on the other side, in the periphery of her vision, was a less familiar sight to wake up to, but… welcome. It also revealed the source of the weight resting on her shoulder. One big wing protruded into her field of view, like a shield against the world. Thundercracker’s free arm stretched all the way across both of them; possessive, protective.

She managed to wriggle one arm free, and stroked the pale cheek pressed against her shoulder.

It took several seconds for Thundercracker’s optics to respond, and they remained dim, but his features softened into a smile. “Good morning.” His voice was thick, and distorted, but comfortable – as though he’d quite happily let his mind slip back into idle and stay that way for the whole orn.

“Very good morning, from my perspective.” She kept her fingers against his cheek and purred quietly as he leaned into the touch. “I was worried I just dreamed it.”

He harmonised his purr with hers. “I’m glad you didn’t. Thanks for including me.”

“Thank you, for agreeing to come.”

Thundercracker gave an involuntary little snrk, and they shared a tired giggle.

“Those were some interesting noises he got you making last night,” Pulsar added.

A little flicker of mixed amusement and embarrassment danced through the blue seeker’s field. “All that practice he’s had with you probably helped.” He stretched his shoulders, subtly, looking for a slightly more comfortable position. “…and I guess I needed it. It’s been a while.”

She pressed a little kiss to his brow. “I’d like to think maybe this doesn’t need to have been a one-off,” she suggested, carefully. “If you’d be interested.”

He brought his own hand up, and coaxed her closer for a proper kiss; her fingers threaded between his, pulling tighter against him.

“Definitely interested,” he murmured, letting his lips linger close to hers when they finally parted. “And flattered that you’d like to share.”

Her words came out underlaid with a subtle static. “You’re absolutely worth it.”

He chuckled. “And how long have you been fantasising about Warp and me together?”

Pulsar smiled and glanced away, optics brightening. “I stand by my assessment. You look so good,” she husked, drawing little wispy fingertip lines against his helm. “But who wants to just watch. Being involved with the two people I love most in the universe is better.”

He hummed his amusement, and let his head come back down onto her shoulder, at just the right angle to encourage those pleasant little doodles to continue.

All too soon, a reflected beam of strengthening sunlight had found its way through the nearby buildings, and lanced straight into his optics. Thundercracker grimaced and flinched his face subtly out of its line of fire, then sighed. “This is probably fate’s way of saying I should be starting to think of going to work, about now.”

“Call in sick,” Skywarp said, muffled and distorted; Pulsar hadn’t even realised he was awake, and if his volume were anything to go by, he was only just.

“Thank you for the tip, but some of us are meant to be setting an example.” Thundercracker pushed himself partially upright, and grunted softly. “Oof. Even if they’d rather stay here all orn. Until all their cable tensions rebalance.” But he soon succumbed to gravity, sagging back to his elbows. “Primus, ow. I am amazed you two can ever walk, if this is what the two of you get up to on a regular basis.”

Pulsar felt her optics brighten, and audibly rebooted her vocaliser to cover the embarrassed giggle. “Practice, remember?”

“They’ll survive without you for half an orn, TC,” Skywarp added, sleepily. “You’re the boss. You write the rules.”

Thundercracker dithered for several very long seconds, under the expectant weight of his friends’ combined stare.

“Maybe just another couple of breems won’t hurt,” he accepted, tiredly reorganising his bulk so he wasn’t pinning them quite so completely – but keeping that possessive arm around them.

…by the end of the first breem, he was clearly dozing contentedly again, growing heavier as systems went dormant, and by breem two was completely offline again, fans cycling with a low, quiet purr of satisfaction.

“So much for setting an example,” Skywarp observed, quietly, voice still muzzy. “I guess he never said what sort of example.”

“Aw, leave him in peace. He deserves at least one morning off for once in his life.” Pulsar gave his nose a little flick. “What about us?”

“Stay here as well, I guess.” Skywarp grunted and after a little ineffectual squirming managed to fold her a little deeper into his arms. “Seeing as we can’t get up anyway, looks like we have the boss’s permission for a lay in.”

“Probably imprudent to go to work with paintstrikes in his colours, as well.” Pulsar examined a little azure scuff on the teleport’s obsidian enamel. “Would you take a bath with me?”

“Guess I can indulge you, this once.” Skywarp remained silent for several loaded seconds before speaking again. “And fine. You were right.”

“…What?”

“…He is a better frag than me.”

Pulsar tried unsuccessfully to smother him with a pillow.

---------------

If you need a soundtrack to this, I guess it’d be this one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tSRYvYN1ayw (Górecki, by Lamb. One of my absolute favourites of all time)

(Yes OK I posted this to AO3 MONTHS ago. I’m still catching up with posting stuff here...)

[lgcxnoeul]

today's mood

With the removal of free training for the entire month, Noeul was stuck finessing his language skills until his progress was evaluated by one of the coaches, but the evaluation seemed too easy. Was there a catch to the evaluation? It couldn't be just presentation. He expected questions to be thrown at him by the coach to assess whether or not he could have a casual conversation about the topic he had chosen to present. He had merely graduated nearly two weeks ago, but his father had been right when he reminded him during his speech that learning was never over.

Although, he would have loved a reprieve from studying for a couple more weeks at least, but he knew he had it easier than the majority of the other trainees. He wondered if the coaches were impressed that he hadn't complained at least once, or ended up distracted and wandering the halls of the company instead of studying. He had even jokingly told his friends to speak to him only in English for the entire month. He should have known that ( @lgcseojin ) out of all his friends would have taken him up on the idea and hold him accountable whenever he reverted back to Korean out of frustration.

Being roommates, coworkers, and training together meant that he would have to constantly be thinking and responding back in English, which was challenging to say the least when he was still a novice. On this particular day, Noeul had childishly refused to speak English to Seojin and instead non-verbally expressed his disgruntlement with his fingers whenever he saw him in the hallway. It was merely out of jest as the two acted more like brothers, and unsurprisingly, Noeul was the least mature out of the two.

"How is acting, hm?" He questions stubbornly in his native language, plopping down beside the older man on the floor, before continuing with a cheeky grin. "Do you even need to work on that skill? I thought melodrama was your thing."

[georginaramsey]

Editing Class Week 4

The Role and Treatment of Dialogue in Different Genres

Todays Class with Susan Brand:

Melodrama

In melodramatic films like All That Heaven Allows (Dir. Douglas Sirk, 1955), dialogue often serves to reveal internal emotional states and tensions. Melodrama uses dialogue to navigate social norms, conflicts, and the emotional vulnerability of its characters. For editors, pacing and strategic pauses after key lines enhance tension or satisfaction, inviting the audience to absorb the characters’ emotional responses. This genre often requires balancing explicit dialogue with subtext to ensure scenes resonate emotionally without becoming overly literal or “on the nose.”

Action-Adventure

In action films like The Terminator (1984), dialogue tends to be functional, often explaining plot points or intensifying suspense. In these sequences, dialogue is typically explanatory, filling in critical information for characters and audience alike, but is sparingly used to avoid unnecessary exposition. Here, visual storytelling takes precedence, and dialogue often acts as a quick mechanism to propel the plot forward rather than provide deep character insights.

Editing and Framing Choices in Dialogue Scenes

According to Ken Dancyger, dialogue scenes are often among the least imaginatively treated sequences in films, generally structured as over-the-shoulder or two-shot setups. This style creates an objective viewpoint, where the audience observes from an external perspective, often lacking the immediacy or emotional closeness that a POV or close-up might bring. Close-ups on listeners or cutting to reactions (especially at pivotal emotional or turning points) can create a more subjective experience, enhancing emotional tension and character depth.

I have also bought:

Dancyger, Ken, The Technique of Film and Video Editing: History, Theory, and Practice (Boston: Focal Press, 2011).

Dmytryk, Edward, On Film Editing, with contributions by Andrew Lund (Oxford: Focal Press, 2018).

Bernard, Sheila Curran, Documentary Storytelling: Creative Nonfiction on Screen (London: Routledge, 2016).

In films like Paranoid Park (Dir. Gus Van Sant, 2008), focusing solely on the listener’s reaction—especially when holding on a single take—heightens subjectivity and requires audiences to interpret the speaker’s words through the listener’s silent response. This editing choice shifts the emotional weight from spoken words to non-verbal reactions, which is particularly effective in films dealing with psychological nuance or interpersonal disconnect, such as the protagonist’s detachment in Paranoid Park.

Subtext, Reactions, and Timing in Dialogue Editing

Effective dialogue editing involves careful timing and the strategic use of reaction shots. Edward Dmytryk’s advice in On Film Editing emphasises the importance of cutting away from the speaker to the listener before the speaker finishes, allowing the audience’s understanding to drive the cut. This principle prevents over-reliance on spoken words and instead draws on the subtleties of reaction, conveying information more naturally. Overacting or exaggerated reactions can detract from realism, so editors must often work around large gestures, prioritizing subtle expressions or micro-expressions that feel more natural.

In The Power of the Dog (2021), Jane Campion uses close-ups on cigarettes and objects to convey tension and mood without relying heavily on dialogue, demonstrating how props and sound can support dialogue to enrich storytelling. Such details reveal the characters’ power dynamics and emotional states, making dialogue supplemental rather than primary.

Balancing Dialogue with Visual Storytelling

Dialogue is ultimately one component of a scene’s storytelling. It needs to align with visual and narrative elements to enhance, rather than detract from, the scene’s impact. Collaborating with the director is crucial; understanding their priorities can guide editors in determining whether dialogue should take precedence or if reaction shots, pacing, or non-verbal cues better serve the narrative. By aligning on these elements, editors can strike a balance between explicit dialogue and the subtext or atmosphere that surrounds it, keeping scenes grounded in the story’s emotional reality.

This lesson was extremely interesting as I had not previously considered the creative potential that the editor has with dialogue to add to the emotional weight of the story.

[denimbex1986]

'When the new film by British director Andrew Haigh celebrated its Austrian premiere at the Viennale, we also heard stories about storms of tears in the cinema. “ All of Us Strangers ” has nothing in common with cheesy Hollywood melodramas. The bittersweet plot unfolds far from the usual manipulative emotional strategies. Haigh wraps the queer love story in a hallucinatory narrative in which the boundaries between day and night, fantasy and reality are blurred.

In general, you can hardly find comparable works, even after long consideration. The closest thing that comes to mind for the writer of these lines is the cinema of Hong Kong director Wong Kar-Wai. Celebrated art house milestones like “Fallen Angels” or “Happy Together” were the visual counterpart to the then popular trip-hop sound in the 1990s.

Delayed beats and lascivious chants dominated this music genre, the mood was reminiscent of drugged moments at dawn. Trip hop has been hailed as the perfect bedroom soundtrack. And it was also about the day after, about the hangover mood and the melancholy. In this sense, “All of Us Strangers” is something like trip hop for the eyes.

Very vivid ghosts next door The opening sequence is reminiscent of iconic videos from Massive Attack or Tricky. A middle-aged man (Andrew Scott) lives in a brand new London high-rise, seemingly all alone, drifting through the corridors and, isolated in his apartment, writing a script about his own childhood in the 1980s.

The alienation surrounding this character is palpable, like in a stylish science fiction dystopia, but “All of Us Strangers” seems to be set in the present. One day, author Adam meets another lonely soul, the younger Harry (Paul Mescal). A love story and sex affair is brewing. The two men soon exchange intimate secrets, but Adam initially hides an important part of his everyday life from his friend: his parents.

Adam visits his former parents' house in the suburbs at irregular intervals - and suddenly the light is on in the living room. We viewers know: Mom and dad died together in an accident when the son was still a child. Nevertheless, Andrew Scott sits quite naturally as a traumatized loner in front of Claire Foy and Jamie Bell, who embody very lively ghosts next door. There are discussions at the kitchen table: about the boy's peculiarities, about important family moments, and also about queerness; The guardians preserved in the 80s represent even more conservative worldviews.

Chemistry between lost souls “All of Us Strangers” seamlessly combines motifs from ghost films (without any horror or threats) with a relationship drama, shines with hypnotic club scenes and pop quotes. This mix is ​​held together by fantastic actors. Claire Foy sparkles in the mother role, oscillating between tenderness and severity.

But it is Andrew Scott and Paul Mescal who really burn themselves into the retina. The former, who subscribes to flamboyant characters on TV series (“Sherlock”, “Fleabag”), fascinates here as a quiet poster boy of urban loneliness. His young colleague plays his way into the upper shooting star league with charm and wistfulness at the same time. The chemistry between these lost souls alone is worth going to the cinema.

Everything about this journey through the interpersonal Twilight Zone (very loosely based on a book by the Japanese writer Taichi Yamada) is intoxicating. Extremely stylish but never confusing images, great dialogues and music that oscillates between euphoric 80s and 90s homage.

In the end, so much warmth flares up in the deepest darkness, so much power of love , that your heart and eyes overflow; Don't forget the tissues. A big recommendation for “All of Us Strangers”, one of the most magical films of today: pure trip hop for the senses.'

[kerringtonthoughts]

The Goths

Greetings, Gothic enthusiasts, and interior design critics! Today, we're venturing into the unsettling world of Edgar Allan Poe's "The Fall of the House of Usher," where mansions crumble faster than a game of Jenga, family drama is as twisted as a pretzel, and everyone seems to have a flair for interior decorating that would make Martha Stewart reconsider her life choices. Join me on this sarcastic journey through the haunted halls of Usher, as we explore how this Gothic masterpiece relates to early American times and our own modern-day domestic nightmares.

Roderick Usher, the man who proves that home renovation projects can lead to more than just a Pinterest fail. In the grandiose halls of the Usher mansion, where every creak echoes like the ghost of an HGTV host weeping, Roderick's attempts at DIY interior design result in a home that makes the Winchester Mystery House look like a model of practical architecture.

Madeline Usher, the queen of family drama with a plot twist more shocking than a reality TV finale. In the gloomy shadows of the Usher estate, where secrets are as abundant as cobwebs, Madeline's grand entrance is the stuff of early American soap operas. Move over, Downton Abbey; the Ushers were serving drama before it was cool.

The Usher mansion's aesthetic is the OG haunted house chic, inspiring generations of horror enthusiasts. Fast forward to today, where homeowners embrace the haunted house aesthetic in the form of distressed furniture, peeling wallpaper, and ghostly moans that may or may not be the central heating acting up.

The Ushers had a family curse that makes modern family dynamics look like a Disney sitcom. In early America, where family feuds were as common as smallpox, the Usher curse takes the cake. Forget sibling rivalry; Roderick and Madeline redefine "sibling goals" in a way that would make the Kardashians nod in approval.

Roderick's melancholia is the early American version of "emo" before it became a music genre. In the depths of the Usher mansion, where gloominess is both an aesthetic and a lifestyle, Roderick sets the mood for centuries to come. Move over, Hot Topic; Roderick was the original purveyor of melancholic vibes.

"The Fall of the House of Usher" is a sarcastically dark comedy of family drama, haunted house aesthetics, and questionable interior design choices. So, the next time you find yourself contemplating a home renovation or caught up in family melodrama, remember: the Ushers did it first, and they did it with Gothic flair. Stay sarcastic, my haunted home enthusiasts!

[qu-film-history-to-1968]

A Little Comedy Never Hurt Nobody

Mikela Picard

Charlie Chaplin’s The Gold Rush (1925) is a great example of taking a dramatic and devastating historic event and adding elements of comedy to it. In the film, Chaplin’s character The Tramp, is seen frolicking in the snow, running from a bear, constantly falling over, cooking and eating his own shoe, turning into a chicken, and almost slipping off a cliff, all while supposedly dying of starvation and hypothermia, as did many during the Gold Rush. These elements of comedy, when combined with the drama of the time period, create a genre known as “melodrama.”

In her journal, Linda Williams proposes what makes a film a melodrama, claiming “In The Melodramatic Imagination (1976), literary critic Peter Brooks has argued that what has often been most maligned in melodrama-its excessive emotional pathos, its simplistic polarities of good/evil, light/dark, salvation/damnation- is really the root of a vitality that has dominated bourgeois art from the overblown theatrics of the post-revolutionary French stage melodrama…” (Williams, 28). It is clear that Charlie Chaplin made these efforts to combine drama and comedy in the film, by appealing to the emotional pathos of freezing and starving while stuck in the cabin, and also his blooming but rocky relationship with Georgia. In Woal and Woal’s journal Chaplin and The Comedy of Melodrama, they further explore Charlie Chaplin's efforts to combine drama and comedy in The Gold Rush (1925) stating, “‘Desire- a lack and an endless pursuit, the promise of satisfaction offered and withheld- has been said to lie at the heart of melodrama’ (Affron 8). Not surprisingly, Chaplin's earliest efforts to combine melodrama with comedy corresponded with his increased personalization of his comic little tramp character by giving Charlie an inner life, an inner life animated by desire…” (Woal, 4). The Tramp is a character well known and loved by all due to his funny mannerisms and situations he gets himself into, like when he and the prospector struggle to keep the house balanced as it rocks over a cliff, slipping up and down the floor in a hilarious manner, and jumping out the front door.

Woal further states that the funniest scenes in The Gold Rush were inspired by the bitter cold and starvation experienced during that time, but when combined with comedy, it made it that “good/evil, light/dark, salvation/damnation” idea that Williams claims are key to melodrama. He claims, “Chaplin's prospects for creating a comedy from such serious and sentimental material looked dubious. ‘It won't work,’ warned some of his friends. Chaplin, however, was beginning to get a philosophical grasp on something he had known instinctively- close relationship of comedy to tragedy and its poor cousin, melodrama. Relating how his funniest scenes in The Gold Rush (1925) were inspired by a grim account of the bitter cold, starvation, and cannibalism experienced by the Donner Party, he later recalled, ‘In the creation of comedy, it is paradoxical that tragedy stimulates the spirit of ridicule, because ridicule, I suppose, is an attitude of defiance. We must laugh in the face of our helplessness . . . or go insane’ (Chaplin 303). Chaplin had succeeded in using laughter as his personal defense against the sadness in his own life and now, in The Kid, he deftly used laughter as a means of balancing melodrama and modernism by distancing the sentimentality in his work.” (Woal, 8) 

Both Williams and Woal claim that the lack of comedy and a laugh during a bad situation is what makes it a bad situation, so sometimes comedy is necessary to get through it. This is something we see in film and TV today, with many shows and movies having one specific character that is mostly there for “comedic relief.” Chaplin’s lighthearted nature of The Tramp, when combined with the serious and grim events of the Gold Rush added that little spice of comedy to lighten the mood, intensify the action, and offer some relief from tension. 

Works Cited

Williams, Linda. Film Quarterly, vol. 36, no. 4, 1983, pp. 28–30. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/3697095. Accessed 27 Sept. 2023.

WOAL, MICHAEL, and LINDA KOWALL WOAL. “CHAPLIN AND THE COMEDY OF MELODRAMA.” Journal of Film and Video, vol. 46, no. 3, 1994, pp. 3–15. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/20688043. Accessed 27 Sept. 2023.

[elevateherja]

The Curious Journey: Navigating Love and Relationships

Dear Diary,

Today, I find myself in a pensive mood, contemplating one of life’s greatest mysteries: love and relationships. It’s quite fascinating how a mere four-letter word can hold so much power over us, evoking feelings of excitement, joy, and at times, utter confusion. As a 22-year-old who has yet to experience the exhilaration of a romantic relationship or the sweetness of a first kiss, I often wonder if love is nothing more than an illusion, a mirage that leads to nothing but pain and heartache. Is it merely a fleeting infatuation born out of teenage hormones, or does it hold deeper, more meaningful significance?  I find myself questioning the true essence of love and the complexities of navigating the labyrinth of relationships. Join me, dear readers, as we dive into this uncharted territory of the heart, where curiosity reigns supreme.

While many of my peers seem to possess an encyclopedic knowledge of love’s labyrinthine ways, I find myself in the peculiar position of observing from the sidelines. As if I’m part of an elaborate social experiment, I watch as others navigate the highs and lows of relationships, decoding the complex language of love while I remain an intrigued spectator. But fear not, for this unique vantage point offers a fresh perspective on the subject that I am eager to share.

First and foremost, I must confess that I’ve become somewhat of an amateur love detective. Armed with my laptop and a trusty Wi-Fi connection, I have embarked on countless late-night expeditions through the vast realm of online dating. Swipe left, swipe right, a match here, a ghosting there; it’s a peculiar dance where the rules seem to change faster than the latest smartphone release.

Yet, in a world obsessed with instant gratification, where swiping right has become the norm, I often wonder if I’m missing out on something magical or simply preserving my own brand of romantic purity. It’s like being the last kid in the neighborhood to discover the secret hideout, both curious and cautious to step foot into the unknown. While my heart yearns for connection, it also craves the authentic, the extraordinary, and the grand.

People often say that love finds you when you least expect it. But how does one navigate this maze without a map?

Throughout the ages, love has been both a captivating muse and a treacherous path. We’ve seen it unfold in the pages of timeless classics like Shakespeare’s plays and Jane Austen’s novels. These literary masterpieces have beautifully captured the complexities of love, revealing its challenges and unforeseen obstacles. And yet, we are none the wiser.  

But I lay blame on the silver screen, that whimsical world of cinema, for perpetuating our romantic delusions. We’ve been fed a steady diet of enchanting love stories, with their passionate exchanges and breathtaking endings. From star-crossed lovers defying fate to hilarious misadventures that leave us doubled over in laughter, movies have become our escape from reality, offering a tantalizing glimpse into the kaleidoscope of emotions that love entails. As I immerse myself in these romantic narratives, I can’t help but wonder how closely they mirror the intricate dance of real-life relationships.

As I sit here, sipping my steaming cup of coffee, I can’t help but think back to my high school days. Oh, the melodrama of those years! Crushes that would make my heart flutter uncontrollably, only to fade away like autumn leaves in the wind. It seemed that every passing day brought a new “love of my life” or a clandestine romance that existed only in my dreams. Looking back, I realize how foolish and innocent those infatuations were, fueled by raging hormones and the desire to be a part of something bigger than myself.

But now, in the throes of adulthood, I find myself questioning the very essence of love. Is it really just a chemical reaction in our brains, a concoction of dopamine and oxytocin, tricking us into believing in fairy tales and happily-ever-afters? Or is it something more profound, something that transcends the boundaries of logic and science?

The star-crossed lovers, the grand gestures, and the soulmates who are destined to be together against all odds. Are these depictions of love merely products of an overactive imagination or wishful thinking? Or is it what a mere person can gain?

Perhaps, dear diary, love is not something that can be easily defined or understood.

Despite my skepticism, I hold a glimmer of hope that one day, I will uncover the true meaning of love in my own life. Until then, I shall continue to embrace the beauty of solitude, relishing in the freedom to explore the world and myself without the constraints of a relationship. Who knows?

So, dear diary, as I close this chapter of contemplation, I do so with a sense of curiosity and anticipation. I must admit that I’m no closer to unraveling the enigma of love and relationships. But perhaps that’s the beauty of it all.

Until then, dear diary, I shall continue to embrace the unknown, revel in the joy of self-discovery, and eagerly anticipate the day when love’s melody will dance upon the strings of my heart.

Yours curiously,

Saint Nick

[steadystudyparty]

Friday 18.11.22

Mood of the day:

Green Light ~ Lorde

All the things on my to do list are check for uni, so I can go to bed peacefully.

I joined my friends on campus so we could study together, their midterms are tomorrow and I will be thinking of them all day. I am sure they will do great, they were ready today already. I don’t say it a lot but I genuinely adore the people that I got the chance to meet in law school. Some have been around for four years now and they just make me happy. I am incredibly lucky to be surrounded by amazing people every day. This group is the reason my inner child finally feels at peace with the teenage dream I never lived. They make me feel young and wild, they make me feel old and wise, and I know that we are all walking forwards our own life yet have each other back from afar. We are each other hype-men.

After a productive morning at home and a productive afternoon at the library I decided to take my evening off to rest.

I bought groceries and cook myself dinner that I ate while watching the beginning of the Christmas movie “Klaus’ family” or something like that. It was lovely, I will watch the end tomorrow.

I then decided to read a wolfstar fanfiction - yes, finally, it’s the first time in a long time that I had en entire evening ahead of me to enjoy reading properly-

I read “that’s the hart of getting by” and cried and cried and cried, I don’t even know how I could read through all those tears. I just started “best friend’s brother” and I already know I will be reading all night, while listening to melodrama. I love days like those. I love my life. I am happy to live.